CATCH ME IF YOU CAN
by Kelonzi

"'Ow d'ya loose a man?!" Ringo's eyes were wide with incredulity. This wasn't the kind of wake-up call he had been expecting at all when he'd called down to the front desk last night. He'd nearly leapt for the ceiling and hung there by his fingernails when Paul came racing in, tossing their adjoining room door wide open, ranting like a maniac. Laying in bed fumbling around for his glasses, Ringo imagined he looked quite a sight. Not to mention the fact that during the summer, the drummer preferred to sleep in as comfortable and "natural" a manner as possible. He glanced ruefully at his pants laying across the room as Paul flailed his arms around. "Didja check the lost an' found in the lobby? He couldn't 'ave gotten far, could 'e?"

Paul turned a sarcastic smile to his ex-bandmate. "Well, 'ow should Ah know? Ah'm not 'is bloody keeper, Richie!"

His hands closed around the frames and Ringo drew the precious lenses to his face. "John was in a foul mood last night. Maybe---" He offered, blinking rapidly to adjust to the light.

"Train of thought already been through that station." Paul had to think. Obviously whatever had been eating at John hadn't simply gone away with a good night's sleep. Mostly, because he hadn't gotten a night's sleep. If Paul were to guess, he'd figure John had gotten one hour. At best.

"The apartment?"

Paul cringed. He hoped not. The last thing they needed was bringing John's damn wife into the picture. Sure, he'd put the Yoko Ono fights in the past, but the less he saw of that woman, the better. He was overwhelmed with an intense desire to not have to go explaining everything to that woman.

One Mrs. Lennon was enough to cope with.

"What would you 'ave us do, then? Run around the streets of New York callin' "JOHN!" at the top of our bloody lungs?"

"Yes!" Paul exclaimed suddenly and rushed back into his room.

Ringo gaped. "Ah wasn't serious about that now, mate." He launched himself out of bed, snagged his pants and was almost decent again when Paul returned, phone in hand.

"For the love of--- Starkey!! Put your damn---"

"Whaddya think Ah was tryin' ta do the whole time ya were pacin' before me bed?!"

Trying to put the Ringo full monty out of his mind, Paul turned to face the wall as his call was put through. "Yes. Oh excellent...." Pause. "'Ello, Jules!... Yes, Ah'm wonderful.... In town for a day or two, ya 'eard right.... Well, that what Ah was 'opin' ta talk ta ya about. Ave ya 'eard from yer mum today?"

From his end of the conversation, Ringo was getting the general idea that they would be heading out, so he decided it would be prudent to secure himself a set of clothes. The conversation proceeded while he pawed through his suitcase, questing for something that, if not completely Snuggle Fresh, would be in a less advanced stage of funkdification. He made a mental note to get his everyday clothes cleaned up STAT.

"That's wonderful! No... don't tell 'er. Ah want it ta be a surprise. Yeah. Luv ya, boy." Paul smiled tenderly, energy slowly draining away into a state of deep thought. "See ya soon."

"Takin' a field trip are we?" Ringo tossed a pile of rumpled PJs on top of the bed as he grabbed his wallet and coat.

Paul nodded, clearly wrapped up in own world. There was a lot of maneuvering to be done, he realized. If John was AWOL, the least he and Ringo could do would be keep tabs on Cynthia. John would show up eventually... right? Paul's brain spun. He very nearly walked into the wall, so submerged in thought was he.

"Whoa. Hold up, lad." Ringo grabbed him by the shoulders and gently pointed him in the direction of the wall. "Got a lot on yer mind, Ah see. Julian doin' well?"

"As always." Paul forced his brain work again, if at least long enough to emit a response slightly above that of the average caveman. "Should we wake Geo?"

"Let 'im rest. 'E's been gettin' run down as of late. Overly tired. Headaches."

A smirk played at the corners of Paul's mouth. "Doesn't that describe all of us?"

"A'course."

Ringo closed the door behind them. He cast a momentary thought toward George's room. That had to be it. George was a trooper.... a little rest and he'd be right as rain again. What Ah wouldn't give for that 'little rest' right about now.

George was one lucky bastard.

* * * * *


}}}} I think my head's going to fall off. {{{{

}}}} Don't even joke that way. You're just overly tired. {{{{

}}}} Me? George Harrison? Tired? Never!! {{{{

}}}} Ha. Ha. Just promise you'll see the doctor at some point. {{{{

}}}} Once this is done. {{{{

}}}} Ever the workhorse. {{{{

}}}} Bloody right. {{{{

}}}} WILL YOU just PLEASE see a doctor? What are you doing
today anyway that's so incredibly important? {{{{

}}}} Finishing this thing for a start. {{{{

}}}} Lame excuse. I can finish up here and you KNOW it. {{{{

}}}} You sure? {{{{

}}}} Positive!! And you know I'll just keep badgering you until
you finally give in and go. {{{{

}}}} Fine! Fine! I'll go. I'm getting up now, taking a shower and
seeing the bloody doc. {{{{

}}}} Good. I didn't want to have to come down there and beat
you into your senses. {{{{

}}}} And that would have done WONDERS for me headache.
TTYL---- {{{{

}}}} My god! {{{{

}}}} What?! What's wrong?! {{{{

}}}} lol... Just you. I finally got you to hip up a bit. 'TTYL'?? I
didn't even have to teach you that one! {{{{

>>>>>>>>>>> USER IS UNAVAILABLE <<<<<<<<<<<

}}}} Why you fresh little---- {{{{

>>>>>>>>>>> USER IS (still) UNAVAILABLE <<<<<<<<<<<

}}}} Alright, now I KNOW you're just playing with my head---- {{{{

* * * * *


John kept a low profile as he slipped toward the second sound studio. He had to admit, he was getting quite good at the stealth thing. Hanging around backstage at Paul's concerts had been exceptional 'combat training'. For the most part, though, he found he didn't have to be excessively careful here. Whoever was recording today, he certainly commanded quite the retinue of employees. Some big shot. John reasoned. Or else it was just a lot of people who wanted to catch a glimpse of his infamous wife. EX-wife. He corrected harshly. He'd stopped feeling anything for Cynthia many years ago.

Hadn't he?

She was being the bitch, after all. Selling her story to the highest bidder. Just as she had all sold of his worldly belongings that were still in her possession at the time of his death. Two can play at this game, luv. Ya wanna destroy me an' the boys? Yer gonna 'ave one 'ell of a road ta get there. He silently rejoiced and clenched his fist as he arrived and caught sight of Cynthia through the window.

"This ends right now." He waited as nonchalantly as possible by the door until a group came toward him. Pretending to be completely absorbed in the mail he held, he noted that they hadn't even cast a second glance his way.

Which worked out well as he joined the back of the gaggle walking through the door and into the control room. They didn't say anything to him, and he didn't say anything to them. It worked well. At least until----

His breath caught sharply. There she was, less than twenty feet before him.

"Punch up the drum solo there." Cynthia instructed the operator with an enthusiastic nod.

Since when does she know a bloody thing about what sounds good on a record? John eyed her challengingly. He decided to amuse himself for several minutes, listening to her ideas and criticizing them with his own. If he were mixing, it would sound infinitely better, John smiled. Somewhere during this, however, his attention strayed to the glass window directly to his left. It was merely for a moment, but that was enough to send a bolt of nostalgia coursing through his body.

There was some young buck in there, strumming away merrily. If John were to guess, he'd suppose the man was in his late 30's. Likely up and coming.... maybe a soap opera star on the side or some such nonsense. Pretty boy crap, really.

But Cynthia sure seemed interested by him. Extremely. Intimately.

Ya know, Ah wouldn't be surprised if those two 'ave somethin' goin' on. John scoffed. A sudden inspiration hit him at that moment. Now it all added up. Betcha anythin' Cyn's plannin' on usin' the royalties off my ruin ta launch this kid's career... then rush off with 'im ta some exotic island. They'll get married, makin' love in the sand, all the while her mind bein' on 'ow she screwed me over an---

He couldn't stay here. He was fairly certain that if he did, he'd go absolutely insane. Not jealously. He snapped. Never jealousy. She was dirt to him. What she was going to pull was the absolute lowest of the low. She had no justification living in luxury with her male model boy on his misery.

Or are ya just afraid ta see 'er 'appy? Where did that come from? John shook his head in surprise. Cyn can... go ta... 'ell... The words seemed to be loosing their impact.

Damn insight. He began to see her side of things. He hadn't told her he was alive. He hadn't told her anything. Rightfully, she should have known. Sure, they weren't married anymore, but she had been just as upset by his death, he'd wager. Possibly moreso because she'd never gotten to say goodbye. Neither had he.

Of course, he hadn't told Yoko either..... but Cynthia had no way of knowing that.

It was supposed to be a secret. She'd just stumbled upon things straight in the middle. Right when they were still trying their damnedest to sort the whole messy affair out. In retrospect, it was probably bound to happen. Murphy's Law and all that nonsense.

He'd talk to her just as soon as the opportunity presented itself, he vowed.

Which would probably be several hours down the road. They all seemed rather wrapped up in their work and---

"Take ten, boys. Go get yourselves some lunch and hurry back. We've come to as good a stopping place as any."

--- or right now.

* * * * *


Paul turned the corner briskly, Ringo at his heels. "Slow down, Paulie. It's not like Cynthia's goin' ta fly away on us."

"No, but she'll probably get on that bloody phone. Ya 'eard the man at the desk. They're takin' a break... RIGHT NOW. Tell me, if ya were Cyn, when would you pick ta call up this reporter bloke?"

A flood of workers very nearly ran the two Beatles over as they were leaving the studio in a rush.

"Feedin' frenzy." Ringo chuckled, rubbing his forearm. That'll bruise. He grimaced. "Guess now would work for that phone call."

But Paul was already ahead of him. Through the door and practically on top of Cynthia.

"Hell, Macca. Wait up for once."

* * * * *


Cynthia smiled as Ringo slipped in the door. "What a surprise."

Paul tried to avoid staring at the cellphone in her hands. They'd just made it.

"Sorry ta break in on ya like this, Cynthia. We were just wonderin' 'ow things are goin'."

"Fairly well. Finished up another track this morning. Would either of you like to hear what we have?"

Trying not to sound overly anxious, Paul nodded quickly, assuming she would sit down next to him at the control panel. He was wrong. The tell-tale beeping of a dial pad met his ears and he shot straight back up out of the chair hastily. "Would ya show me yerself?"

She looked at him like he'd grown five heads. "Come on. Don't tell me that the recording master Paul McCartney has forgotten how to run a simple control panel?"

"Well, it's been a while and ya never know what new gizmos can come out---"

"You recorded a new song less than four months ago. Things don't change that fast."

Paul knew she had him. "Never know." He sighed and glanced at Ringo for help.

But Ringo had exactly as many distract-o plans on his mind as Paul did. Zilch.

"Well, Cynthia-----"

At that moment a man stepped out of the shadows in the corner, snagged Cyn by her blue blazer jacket and pulled her out roughly into an adjoining conference room.

"What the HELL?!"

The door slammed shut. And locked.

Ringo wiped his forehead. "An' the timin' of the year award goes to our ol' mate John."

"As well as luck of the century award." Paul's eyes were on Julian in the control room. Fortunately he had had his back turned when his mother was yanked out of the room. Otherwise they would have had a whole bonus set of problems on their plate.

But they'd lucked out. Neither of them wanted to be in John's shoes right now, but lady luck had certainly seemed to smile on them today. Now it was their turn to keep Lennon #2 occupied. So ...

"'Ey there, Jules!" Paul clicked on the intercom smoothly.

Julian's eyes lit up. "Paul! Come on in!" He waved happily.

As Paul and Ringo walked in, Julian's eyes shone like a child at Christmas time. "Ringo!"

"Julian!" Ringo pulled the man into a bear hug.

"Ah told ya we were in town." Paul smiled.

"But ya didn't tell me ya 'ad friends along for the ride!" Julian turned his attention back to his instrument briefly, having unceremoniously dumped it on the floor moments before. "Was this the surprise ya said ya 'ad for me when we spoke on the phone?" He clicked the guitar case closed quickly, shoving his pride and joy out of the way.

Ya could say that. Ringo glanced back at the now empty recording booth with a shudder. No, he didn't want to be John Lennon right now. Not for all the money in the world.

* * * * *


The window of the observation room was one way. Facing into the studio.

She couldn't very well bang on the glass either, as the booth was soundproof.

Cynthia was filled with a sense of dread. She was trapped like a rat. Completely. "Who the hell are you?! And how did you get past the security checkpoints?!"

The figure laughed in a voice she would have known anywhere. He reached up and pulled off the baseball hat, allowing shaggy gray hair to spill out over his ears and down the nape of his neck. "Guess it must've been my charmin' personality." The glasses were next off, revealing a wide face, long hooked nose, and piercing brown eyes, which, she couldn't help but notice, carried a good deal more bite and frostiness than they used to. "Who could resist this face?"

"John."

The silence was palpable.

"'Ow've ya been?"

"Nice of you to ask." She made sure her eyes flashed with just as much ice as her ex-husband's. "I'm fine. How about you tell me what you're doing here." He didn't reply. "Now would be good."

"'Ey, 'ey, 'ey.... slow down, there. We've barely said our 'ellos an' now..."

"I want you out."

He had had a feeling this wasn't going to be easy. "Sorry. Not goin' anywhere until Ah talk with ya."

"Well, your lips moved. My lips moved. There were words. So we've spoken. Time for you to leave and for me to make my phone call."

"You don't want to do that."

Cyn wasn't going to be deterred. "You make it sound like I have a bomb in my hand and I'm about to go running through the subway tunnels."

"Well, Ah don't know about the subway... but Ah do know that what yer about to do could be just as bad as a bomb. It'd blow everythin' the boys an' Ah 'ave worked for to kingdom come. Runnin' ta the first overanxious reporter could---" Ooops. He noted the flare in her eyes with a slight tingle. Wrong button ta press.

"And what exactly is this everything?!" She exploded. "Why is it so damn important that you've faked your own death for the past 20 years?! LIED TO THE WORLD!! You know what it's done to me?! YOUR SON?! Hell, even that whore Yoko you've pulled around by a thread---"

"Leave her OUT OF THIS!" John screamed suddenly. This was familiar territory. She'd accuse, he'd defend, she'd go after Yoko, he'd lash out. The more things change.... "Wanna know somethin'?!" He was absolutely livid. "I was dead. An' Ah AM dead... INSIDE."

Cynthia wasn't buying it. "Dead? You look pretty alive to me! You looked pretty alive in front of those thousands of people at Paul's concert too. Try another line!"

"MAGIC." John finally spat.

"What?"

"Ah was dead until some wicca pulled the whammy on my afterlife. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Oh this is rich---"

"It's the TRUTH, damnit!" John reached down and pulled the T-Shirt up over his head.

Aside from being shocked to see her ex-husband's naked upper half for the first time since she didn't know when, Cynthia was equally shocked by what she saw between his exposed shoulder blades. It was dark. Almost a scorch mark, if she were any judge. But it wasn't just the kind you'd get if you were too close to a smoking iron. This was most definitely a symbol of some sort.

"Now Ah don't know what that means, but it's been there since March." He turned to face his former wife, hot rage swelling in his eyes. "When Ah came back." Pulling the shirt back on, she heard him added, slightly muffled, "'Aven't actually shown anyone that. Didn't feel the need." His head came up. "Until now."

She faltered more than just a little. "How do I know it isn't just... a tattoo... or---" She felt her resolve slipping. Something told her that wasn't just a tattoo. And the story was pretty outrageous for any sane person to fake up. John was smart. If not with relationships, at least when it came to practicality. He would've come up with something better than this if he were fishing for a story..... "God. You're supposed to be dead."

"Here we go with that ol' song an' dance again!" John threw his hands up in the air. "If ya only knew how many people 'ave said that to me---" He stopped.

"How many people know?!" Cynthia barked sharply. The tension, which had only slightly begun to recede, came straight back at double the potency.

You really are the biggest damn idiot on the face of the Earth, Lennon. If he could have, he would have gone back a minute in time to slap a strip of duct tape across his mouth. "Just the boys. An' a few birds---"

"WOMEN?"

John's face was straight. No hint of mirth shown as he corrected his statement. "Girls. Teenagers. Friends of that wicca girl." He sighed. "An' that's all. Ah only told on a need ta know basis. Same with the boys."

"So, Olivia, right? Dhani... Barbara... Probably even Paul's new little flirt skirt, Heather?"

"No." John shook his head slowly.

Cynthia raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Yoko?"

Shame colored John's features, in spite of several efforts to remain outwardly calm and cool. "None of the families know, Cyn! Don't ya realize that would just cause more problems?"

"More problems? If you can't trust your family, who can you trust?!"

John had no answer. This was touching on areas far too sensitive for casual discussion. Especially if Cynthia was just going to tear him down for it. "Talk about trust." John found the words coming before he knew exactly what he was saying. "Let's talk about you an' this 'ere album. This young buck yer fawnin' over! Has this become the Beatles extended family trend? Go all ga-ga over someone who's 'alf yer age? Ya talk about Paul an' Heather----"

"What?! What are you talking about?!"

"That 40-somethin' pretty boy in the other room. 'Ow long 'ave you two been an item, eh? Not tellin' anyone about that, were ya?"

Cynthia's jaw dropped.

"Caught ya, eh?" John added smugly. "So we're even. Some things ya just don't talk about, right?"

"You're... you're wrong!! So very wrong."

He was taken aback. "Then who----"

"You really haven't changed a bit. Arrogant and presumptuous as ever!" She had to keep from laughing out loud. "That man in the other room?" Cynthia pointed over John's shoulder. "Is your son."

John whirled, practically smacking up against the glass pane. "Son?"

"Yes. Julian." She nodded her head, voice dripping sarcasm. "Remember him?"

Rubbing his nose, John stared through the one-way window. God the boy had grown. Well, not so much a boy anymore, then. More the age you were when ya... ya died. John said to himself as he examined the man in the window. Strong chin... fiery eyes... he'd even let his hair grow a bit... Ah'm not lookin' in a window, Ah'm lookin' in a mirror. John found a small smile creeping over his face. "An'--- An' he's performin'?"

"Well... this isn't his first album, John." Cynthia said quietly, feeling the hostility draining away. This was hard. "He started because music was in the family. He'd, uhm, he'd hoped you'd be proud of him."

John wasn't sure how to answer that. Music was most assuredly part of the "family business", but with a famous name like Lennon, it couldn't have been easy on his son. Not to mention the loonies in the world... He felt foolish, but it seemed right to ask for permission. "Can I see him?"

"Well, are you prepared to tell him everything?"

"Do you think he'll believe it?" John swallowed uneasily.

Cynthia glanced down at her hands. The ball was in her court now. Her son had a right to know, but she also hesitated to put this on Julian's shoulders as well. He had been a teenager when John, "went away", as Jules had called it then-- he hadn't been able to bring himself to say "death"-- but it hadn't meant that the boy was immune to the pain. He wasn't a little five year old like Sean had been, but it had hurt him too. That's why Cynthia could have clawed out Yoko's eyes when she dared play the martyr. She and her baby boy weren't the only ones who had suffered from the assassination. Being barred from a formal funeral to say goodbye had filled her with such unspeakable rage that she---

But there was John before her. She couldn't make herself go back and relive those days. It didn't seem to matter near as much as it had. Julian would see that his father was alive again, they could be together, and Yoko would have to wait her turn. Yoko had seen him last then... it seemed fitting that Cynthia see him first now.

"We'll have to wait and see when he comes out." Cynthia breathed quietly. "I'm still not sure how we're going to break this whole thing to Julian."

John smiled slightly. "Ya mean Ah can't go yankin' him in 'ere the same way Ah did with you?"

She eyed him, lowering her glasses down the bridge of her nose. "You know, I have yet to thank you properly for that." Her face was contorted in the effort not to smile. She understood things now-- how and why they had to be what they were-- but that didn't mean she was ready to give up the anger. No, she wanted to go on being angry with him for just a bit longer. Just... a... bit... longer...

"No need ta thank me." John replied quickly, bating her into a response. Getting none, he shrugged and began fingering the cuff of his coat out of boredom. How much longer could a man talk, anyway?

And that was when he went face first to the floor behind the conference table, lights out, Cynthia on top of him.

"What the---?"

* * * * *


"She's not in here." A man with a heavy Spanish accent hollered back out the door, glancing briefly around the dimly lit room.

"Keep looking, fool! Time is money!"

John turned his body facing up to the ceiling, Cynthia still sprawled across his chest. "Hell, woman. If ya wanted a shag, ya could 'ave just said so."

Cynthia rolled her eyes. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" She hissed, "Just keep it down until they've left. For your information, I may have just saved your reincarnated ass."

"Yes mummy."

"I should have clobbered you over the head while I had the chance."

"As if ya would 'ave hit anythin'!" He mimed a weak little punch against the carpet.

Not missing a beat, Cynthia shot back, "Ahh yes. I forgot about your hollow head. Nothing to hit!"

"'Ey!"

"Asked for that one, John."

"Well, yer askin' for----"

"What?"

He pulled her in and kissed her full on the lips. Cynthia's eyes went wide for a moment, struggling briefly to get away. No, he wasn't going to put one over on her again. She wasn't going to fall for his charms a second time.

But the struggling soon ebbed as she returned the kiss in kind, pressing slightly harder this time.

* * * * *


Paul nodded his approval. "Quite impressive, Jules."

A smile spread across the man's face. "Thanks, Paul."

"But it's not like ya needed me ta tell ya that. Put out whatever the heck ya feel like puttin' out there. Ah'm just an old hippie. Not like Ah know a lick about what kids like these days."

"No. It's actually important ta me that ya like it." Julian was piling stacks of sheet music together as he wrapped up for the evening. He couldn't believe that the whole day had gone by. With Paul, and Ringo in the room, time had simply flown. They'd given him tips, he'd shown off a few things he could do with the old guitar, and generally they'd just had one long afternoon of excitement.

"Yer the closest Ah've got ta me father." Julian hadn't wanted to say the words, but they somehow spilled out of his mouth.

The look on Paul's face was enough to make him wish he could go back in time. And slap a strip of duct tape across me mouth. A chill ran down his back. Where had that come from? And why did saying that give him such an odd feeling of deja vu? Clearing his throat, he turned to the mirrored window. Any excuse to look away from Paul----

No, kid. Yer closer now. Paul merely shook his head realizing only an inch or so of soundproof Plexiglas stood between Julian and the biggest shock of his lifetime. Wonder if Johnny's lookin' in on ya right now?

"Paul! We've got ourselves a---" Ringo burst in from the booth with a panicked look on his face, only then realizing Julian was still in the room.

Julian turned, eyes a touch reddened. But only a touch. He wasn't going to let one random comment ruin what had been such a fabulous day. "Somethin' wrong?"

"Uhm..." Ringo's mind went blank. "We've got a---- hit!" Lame.

But Jules seemed to take the bait, eager to get his mind off his faux pas of moments before. "Really?"

"Yes!!" Paul caught Ringo's eye and quickly followed him out the door. "We'll be right back, mate."

"Sure." Was Paul trying to avoid him? How badly can ya screw things up in one day anyway? Must be goin' for the world record. He chastised himself.

Clean the room. Must leave everythin' the way Ah found it. He picked up a stool on which his guitar case had spent the better part of the day perched. All he could think to do was look busy now. Keep his flushed face to the floor. Now, as he took the wooden object in his hands though, he was overwhelmed with a sense that something was seriously wrong. The only thing that he could imagine would cause this feeling was what had just happened. Paul and Ringo were probably on the way to the taxi cab now. They didn't talk about his father. It was one of those unspoken rules of etiquette. And he'd gone and broken it.

Frankly, he wasn't even certain what had brought the famous John to his mind at all. It wasn't like he was one of those weirdos who went around his whole life living in the past. He'd moved on. At least...... until a few months back. That was probably about the time he'd started to get such a unsettled feeling inside.

Just one ordinary night. He'd woken up in a cold sweat and there was no reason for it. His dreams had all been pleasant ones, actually.

He had just felt as if, in that moment, his life had instantly changed forever.

Stupid, really. Who knew in one moment that his life would never be the same? Especially when he had been out like a light moments before? But that was the only thing that came to his mind. Actually, that wasn't wholly true. The first thing that had come to his mind hadn't even sounded like his own internal voice.

W-what's goin' on?

Julian threw the stool roughly against the wall and it splintered into four whole pieces. Sinking to a seated position, he let a heaving back move up and down against the wall. Silent tears coursed down his face. He hadn't acted this irrational since he was seventeen years old. December 9th, 1980, to be exact.

* * * * *


In the adjoining room, John and Cynthia were firmly wrapped in each other's arms, oblivious to the doorknob mere feet away. Nor were they aware when it turned and the door slowly opened into the room.