If You Believe (George Harrison/Beatles FanFic)

Chapter 14

When George was able to wake up, staring down at him were a set of brown eyes and a set of blue eyes.

"Thanks for scaring the bloody shit out of me," John Lennon told him harshly.

"Same goes for me," Ritchey muttered.

"You're lucky now that you're awake that I don't punch you back where you came from," John continued with a growl.

"Who called you rotten bastards?" George moaned, shifting in the hospital bed with a grimace. "And did you see Annie? Is she okay? Where is she?"

"Calm down, Jackie Stewart," John grumbled. "We saw her. And we already arranged for you and her to be transferred to the private hospital. They're getting you this afternoon. The National Health is all well and fine, but let's not take any chances."

"You're not answering me about Annie....," George glared at John.

"We saw her. She's down the hall. She really isn't awake yet," Ritchey said carefully.

"And what does that mean?"

John and Ritchey gave each other a quick, wordless glance.

"It means she's not awake yet," John barked at him. "Jesus. Did you forget how to speak English? You just woke up. She needs more time, I guess. I'm not a fucking doctor."

George sat up on his elbows, his eyes wide and angry. "Then get me her goddam doctor, John. I'm not pissing around. I'll yank this shit out of my arm and find her myself."

"She's banged up pretty good," Ritchey spoke softly, appeasing him. "But she'll be okay. She's still out of it now."

"I want to see her," George looked at both of them. "I have to see her. She needs to know I'm here."

"Look man, she's still knocked out. She cracked her skull pretty good on the windscreen," John said gently this time.

"What the fuck day is it?"

"Tuesday. You've been out for a day," John continued.

"Why did they call you?"

"Funny, but it seems they recognized you and because you had no emergency information, they called Apple who called the cops to verify the story, then called me and I called Ritchey and your dad. He's going to meet us at the private hospital with your brothers."

"Fucking christ," George covered his eyes with his hands. "Look, I need to see Annie. I don't care if she's out cold. If the situation was reversed, you'd understand. I have to get to her."

"Alright, alright," John agreed. "We gotta get you something to wear over that hospital gown or your lily white, ex-Beatle bare ass will be plastered all over the rag mags. Hold on. I've got an idea."

Ritchey shook his head and smirked. "That spells trouble."

John left the room, returning moments later with another hospital gown and a wheelchair. "Put this hospital gown on backwards so the opening is in the front and park your ass in the wheelchair. We'll hang whatever shit they're feeding you on the pole attached to the wheelchair. Then we'll take you to Annie."

When George was finally situated in the wheelchair, he grabbed a blanket and put it across his lap and down his legs, then put his shoes on. "Let's go."

Every horrid picture of Annie's imagined condition floated through his mind. Black and blue. Bloodied. Stitched up. In a body cast. Fucking traction. Connected to machines with multiple tubes in her veins, her nose, her mouth. And not only would they lose a baby, but George would lose her.