All Those Years Ago - Lennison Fan Fiction - Beatles Slash Fan Fiction

Chapter twenty-three : 1971 part three, Charity Begins at Home

"Just book me on the next flight to Europe, will you?" John snapped to Dan, pushing his sunglasses back up his long nose angrily. The sun was high in the hopelessly blue sky, shining hard upon the roof of the car. The air was stifling hot and the leather interior burning to the touch, increasing John's unease.

"It's Paris." John blinked, looking back up to Dan. "The next flight," his assistant repeated, looking frayed. "It's Paris." John shrugged, and stepped out of the car, dragging a small bag behind him and slamming the door shut, the metal smooth and warm under his hand, like the skin of an animal. "Don't care."

He strode to the airport, crossing the sun-blasted expanse of the parking lot looking neither right nor left, in the hope of not being recognised, Dan following unsteadily, hot on his heels. The artificial coolness of the air-conditioned building hit them as they stepped inside, as unpleasant and unnatural as the hotness outside. "I'll go and queue?" Dan proposed carefully and John nodded, the move brisk, handing him his passport and check book.

The queue was long and slow, sliding between the counters like heavy water, and Dan barely managed to get a seat in the end, booking John on the next flight after a long and tedious argument with the hostess. He found John in the lounge, drinking duty free whiskey in a plastic toothbrush cup.

John accepted the tickets with a begrudging thank you, getting up unsteadily, his bag sliding steadily over his narrow shoulder until it fell to the ground with a soft thump. He didn't seem to notice. "Tell George..." he began, before stopping. "No, tell Yoko..." He sighed angrily. "Don't bother. See ya." Dan watched him in puzzlement as he stomped away towards the boarding terminal.

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"When I got the call from Ravi about Bangla Desh I couldn't say no, John. The people are suffering and need help," George was saying. John hummed encouragingly and tucked the phone between his ear and his cheek, wriggling his toes against the white pillow of his immaculate couch.

"I phoned you because you've got a lot of experience with this sort of thing. I'd like to have you 'round for the concert, it would be good. Do you think you'd be up for it?" George asked quietly, thinking that it was unlikely John would turn him down. His mate had backed plenty of causes already , using fame for good, just as George wanted to do with that concert. "It's just in the beginning stages, but I'd like to know if you'd be interested or not," he added gently, not wanting to pressure John into anything.

Ever since the Beatles had made that pilgrimage to India in 1968, the idea of using his celebrity for something he believed in had appealed to George. He and his former band mates were still constantly followed, their every word hung upon as if they were some kind of gospel. He figured that if people were so eager to listen to him go on just about anything, it would be just as well to say something important and turn them onto what was going on in the world. It was possible, John had done it often enough.

"Yeah, sure, 't's not a bad idea," John agreed easily, nodding to himself. George's reasons for lending himself to the cause of raising awareness and funds for the refugees of Bangladesh were sound enough, and they came from a good place. "It's more complicated that it should be though, charity. Pretty unusual to have a charity concert, too." He scratched his stubbly cheek, titling his head to the side and staring at the white wall in front of him without seeing it, eyes narrowing in thought. "It's a good idea though. I like it."