Chapter Text
Chapter 4
(I want to) Come Home
The airport was busy: everyone concerned with their own business; so much so that Julian passed completely unnoticed. He slipped through the crowd like water, sliding past businessmen and parents alike. It was only when he arrived at the ticket counter that he was met with the familiar look of recognition. To her credit, she tried not to draw attention to it.
“Hello sir, how may I help you?” she asked politely, but her smile was mischievous: the smile of shared secrets.
“I’d like a ticket to England, please.” He kept his tone light and his smile easy. He couldn’t let anyone see what he was really feeling or he’d hear about it in the enquirer tomorrow.
“Anywhere in particular in England?” She looked amused.
Julian’s smile turned flirtatious as he leaned in a little closer. “If you could get me anywhere on the island, that would be fantastic.”
A blush stained the girl’s cheeks, and she turned her attention to the computer screen in order to hide it. “There’s a flight to London in five hours. We have two spots left in First Class.”
“Perfect,” Julian purred, sliding a credit card across the desk.
Accepting the card, she copied it onto the receipt. “And what name would you like this under?”
“Julian Lennon,” he said with a smirk and a wink.
She visibly melted.
“Jules! Jules! Jules!!” a tiny voice yelled in the distance.
Julian turned just in time for the six-year-old to latch his arms around Julian’s waist.
“Jules! Jules!” he just kept shouting, rubbing snot and tears into the hem of Julian’s shirt.
“Sean!” He pushed the child back long enough to get to eye level. “What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t say goodbye!” Sean’s face collapsed on itself as his little body shook with fresh sobs.
“Aww…I’m sorry, kiddo.” Julian pulled him into a tight hug. “I was going to call you as soon as I got home.”
“You said that last time, and then you never did!” he wailed, locking his arms around his brother’s neck.
Squeezing tighter, Julian rocked him back and forth. Slowly, Sean’s sobs quieted to the occasional hiccup. Lifting him up, Julian carried him toward the lounge area. “Hey, Sean…” he hazarded, “How did you get to the airport?”
“Uncle Ritchie brought me.”
“And where is Ringo now?”
The boy shrugged against Julian’s shoulder. “I dunno. I lost him when I saw you.”
Grimacing, Julian quickly scanned the airport. Sure enough, there was a former Beatle causing a scene.
“Come on, kiddo: let’s go get Uncle Ritchie.”
Burrowing his nose into Julian’s shirt, Sean murmured, “I don’t want him to yell at me.”
Chuckling, Julian headed off in the direction of their uncle. “It’s Ringo: he never yells at anyone…I stuck gum in his hair once and he didn’t yell at me.”
“Really?” Sean asked, sounding hopeful.
“Yeah. He just laughed and said it matched his suit. Now Uncle Brian, on the other hand, was pissed right off. He gave me a tongue lashing for the ages.”
“Who’s that?”
Julian opened his mouth, but then closed it again; at a loss as to how to explain. He finally settled on, “He was a friend of Dad’s when I was little. He was my godfather.”
“Oh.” Sucking gently on his thumb, Sean mulled this over. “Do I have a godfather?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Dad.”
“There you are!!” Ringo had finally spotted them. It took a few minutes to push his way through the crowd that seemed denser around him than anywhere else in the airport. “Sean, I told you not to run off! You could have been kidnapped or killed, and then your Dad would kill me, and we’d all be miserable…”
“You said he wouldn’t yell,” Sean accused in a whisper.
Julian leaned in a little to whisper back, “He’s not yelling: he’s scolding. There’s a difference.”
“What’s the difference? It sounds the same,” Sean asked petulantly.
“Scolding is deserved.”
“Are you two even listening to me?!” Ringo demanded.
“Sorry, Ritch,” Julian muttered, tuning back into what Ringo was saying.
“Sorry,” echoed Sean.
“I just don’t like it when you run off…either of you.” Ringo looked pointedly at Julian. Feeling his cheeks warm, Julian looked away and cursed his fair complexion.
“But, what’s done is done; and I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson.” Just like that, their lovable ‘uncle’ was back. “You’ve got a few hours, right Jules?”
Julian nodded.
“Excellent! Let’s get some food before you’re subjected to plane food for twelve straight hours.”
Smirking, Jules informed him, “You know, I am in First Class.”
Ringo shook his head. “Makes no difference. It’s all freeze-dried, vacuum-packed rubbish.”
Julian shook with laughter as Ringo led the way to the nearest eatery.
“You know, he ran after you: dripping wet from the tub and completely starkers. I just barely caught him before he ran right through the lobby and into the street. Then he would only put on trousers once I agreed to bring him to find you.” Ringo’s tone was casual, almost conversational, as they watched from a park bench while Sean climbed a jungle gym a short distance away.
Julian tried to suppress a grin, but failed miserably. “Really?” He asked, tightening his arms around his torso to fight off the chilled New York air.
“Yeah. I suppose it’s the Lennon flair for the dramatic coming through.” Ringo nudged him playfully. “I seem to recall you pulling a similar scene when you were that age.”
“I would never,” Julian insisted with a very put-upon air, though he breathed a small chuckle through his denial.
“My kids never pulled anything like that,” Ringo stated proudly.
Shaking his head, Julian’s smile grew wider. “Somehow I doubt that.” Remembering his manners suddenly, Julian asked, “How are your kids, anyway? I didn’t see the boys at the wedding.”
The smile slipped from Ringo’s features. “That’s because they weren’t there.”
Feeling the change of atmosphere, Julian grimaced and slumped down in his seat. “Wow. I just can’t keep my foot out of my mouth today,” he murmured, angry with himself.
“No, it’s all right,” Ringo rubbed a hand over his face before continuing. “The kids are fine, living with their mum. You know how it is.”
“Yeah.” Julian turned his attention back to watching Sean, willing to let the conversation drop between them.
“You know, it’s all right to be angry at your Dad. If anyone has a right, it’s you....” Ringo trailed off.
“…But?” Julian prompted impatiently, disliking where the conversation was headed.
Ringo looked almost startled. “There’s no ‘but’.”
Julian held an eyebrow aloft. “Uh-huh.”
“There is no ‘but’!” Ringo insisted.
“All right,” Julian conceded, letting a companionable silence fall between them once more.
A moment passed.
“But—”
“Ha! I knew it!” Julian gloated, shaking his head at the older man.
Ringo rolled his eyes and waited a moment before continuing. “But…he’s your dad. You can’t ignore him forever.”
The familiar anger began to churn inside Julian’s stomach once again. “Watch me,” he defied.
Ringo sighed and let his head fall back against the bench. “Jules….”
“Don’t defend him.” Julian’s tone was clipped.
“He’s not the best at dealing with things,” Ringo offered, diplomatically.
“Ritch…” Julian warned, subconsciously leaning away and focusing all his attention back to the playground.
“All right, I won’t mention him again.” Ringo didn’t want to spend the last of their time together arguing.
“Thank you.” Julian tried to get his shoulders to relax again, attempting to reclaim the pleasant mood.
Ringo looked around, desperate for something to break the awkwardness that had settled between them. “I want you to come visit sometime,” he blurted out without thought.
“What?” Julian squinted at Ringo in confusion.
Ringo slouched a little lower. “Well, you never call, you never write, you never visit. We only see you when Linda decides to invite us. Keep this up, and George and I’ll start thinking you don’t like us anymore.” Ringo almost sounded embarrassed.
Julian’s confusion turned to bemusement. “Of course I like you guys, I just didn’t want—...” He hesitated.
“What?”
Julian bit his lip before finishing. “I just don’t want to be a bother.”
“You’re not a bother,” Ringo insisted, as Julian knew he would - whether true or not.
“I know,” Julian lied.
Ringo looked at him sadly a moment before finally giving up. “How much time do you have left?”
“‘Bout an hour,” Julian answered after a glance at his watch. “I should probably get back to the airport.” He stood stiffly, stretching to loosen his back after sitting so long.
“Want us to come with you?” Ringo asked gruffly, knees cracking as he stood.
Julian gestured at Sean to come back to the bench. “I’d rather just say goodbye here, not draw it out...”
Ringo pushed his hands into his coat pockets. “Your choice.”
Reaching forward, Julian pulled Ringo into a hug. “It really was nice to see you, short as it was,” he offered sincerely.
“Yeah,” Ringo agreed, though the air was still tense with all the things left unsaid.
Julian gave Ringo one last pat on the back before turning his attention to Sean. He knelt in front of the little boy. “I gotta go now, Kiddo.”
A frown was rapidly becoming a permanent feature on Sean’s small face. “I don’t want you to.”
“I know, but it’s time.”
“Will you call me?” Sean asked, his tone flat, as though he already knew the answer.
“Definitely.”
Sean’s expression didn’t change. He just didn’t believe Julian.
“Actually, I got you something.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small business card.
“Oh?” Sean was unenthused.
“See these numbers on the back here?” Julian pointed out the numbers, hastily scrawled in red ink. “If you dial this into the phone, you can call me in England.”
Face suddenly coming alive, Sean reached for the card with a reverence usually reserved for holy relics. “Really?” he asked, carefully clutching the card in his fingers.
“Yup,” Julian grinned, relishing Sean’s reaction. “Just remember that time is different in England, so you can’t call after supper...who knows, maybe when you’re older, you could even come visit.”
Sean threw himself at Julian, wrapping his small arms around Julian’s neck. “Thank you!” He screamed, shaking with excitement.
Rocking him back and forth a few times, Julian finally pulled away and stood. “You be good.” He ruffled Sean’s hair once for good measure. Turning to look up at Ringo once more, he added, “Give my regards to George.”
Ringo nodded.
Julian looked at them for another moment before walking away. He paused at the edge of the park and looked back, waving one last time before he disappeared into the crowd.
George came up behind John, stepping heavily so as not to startle him and send him tumbling over the edge of the roof. “So, are you done being a prick yet?” He asked as he sat himself down, hanging one leg over the edge of the building.
John snorted, looking at his friend. “Terribly sorry, good sir, but I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he answered in an overly posh tone.
“Of course,” George huffed, taking a cigarette before passing the pack to John. “You’ve been just an angel to deal with. I’m sure all those insults you’ve been spewing were just an effort to impress us all with your intellect.”
“Of course,” John agreed, with the barest hint of a smile.
“And yelling at Jules was just your way of expressing your love and concern.” The conversation was beginning to take a dark turn.
A look, very much like guilt, crossed John’s face. He swallowed but didn’t answer.
“And punching the boy: classic.” There was no mistaking the anger in George’s words.
John buried his face in his hands, as though attempting to hide from the world. “My wife just died.” He sounded lost.
George looked away from his friend, toward the city that had so captivated them in their youth. “I know....which is why I didn’t beat the ever-loving shit out of you.” His tone softened minutely, tempered with resignation.
“Like you could,” John ventured, trying to draw some playfulness out of his friend.
“You think I couldn’t?” A slight curiosity in an otherwise numb response.
“Not with those chicken arms, you couldn’t.”
George snorted, but the effect was hollow, the camaraderie superficial at best.
A silence descended between them, so deafening that not even the sounds of New York city could fill it.
“It was Sean that changed the baby’s name,” John murmured, finally breaking the silence. “I saw a clip of it on the news.”
“I figured as much.” George shrugged, flicking some ash over the side of the building.
John looked at him in surprise. “How’d you know?”
“It’s not like the baby’s name really has any impact on Jules’ life, is it? Why would he bother?”
John pulled a leg up to his chest and wrapped his arms around it. “It all seemed to make perfect sense when it was happening.”
“Bullshit.” George felt resentment begin to simmer under the surface. “You were just pissed at the world and were begging for a reason to start a fight. I wouldn’t rise to your baiting, neither would Ringo, so you decided to try Jules. It just didn’t occur to you that the boy would walk out instead of dealing with your shit.”
“Fuck you.” John lips edged into an angry scowl. “My wife is fucking dead.”
“Yeah, your wife is dead” George answered, this time without sympathy. “Your wife is dead and you’ve been using that as an excuse to be a little shit. I’m glad Jules walked out; it’s about time someone did. For as long as I’ve known you, people have excused your behaviour. ‘Oh, that’s just John being John’, ‘Oh poor John, his mother died’, ‘Excuse John, he didn’t have a proper family’, ‘Just ignore John, he’s just in one of his moods’. Well, fuck that. You can’t go around treating everyone like shit and expecting people to just go along with it.”
“Paul never went along with it,” John countered, angrily throwing his cigarette over the side.
“Oh, please,” George scoffed. “Paul was the worst of them all. John, you tried to fucking punch his pregnant wife and he found a way to excuse it. Had anyone tried to punch your pregnant wife, the lot of us would have been burying the poor sap in a shallow grave behind the studio; so don’t give me that shit.”
“What do you want from me?” John demanded, moving to stand. “You want me to say ‘I’m sorry’? Well I’m sorry. I’m sorry my wife died and I’m a little upset.” He spat.
“I’m sorry Yoko is dead. I truly am. Frankly, the woman would have had to have been a fucking saint to put up with you.” George stood as well, crowding into John’s space. “Jules came here because he loves you. He came here because he was worried about you, and what do you do? You barely speak to him and then you hit him. That behaviour is unacceptable, and I’m not going to sit here and say that it’s okay because you lost your fucking wife.”
“Jules came here to fucking gloat.”
For a moment, George’s shock completely overpowered his anger. “What?”
John’s eyes were wild, as he gestured out towards the ocean, towards England. “Jules never liked me. It was always Paul this, and Paul that. Paul was so much more fun, Paul never lost his fucking temper. Now Jules is a fucking honourary McCartney and he wanted to rub it in my face that he’s managed to land himself this fucking perfect family while I lost fucking everything!”
George gaped, his mouth hanging loosely. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Don’t be so naive. Jules has wanted to be rid of me since he was a fucking child.”
“Jules was desperate for your attention and you always ignored him, so don’t start blaming him because you were a shit father.” The anger was back, powering every accusation.
“I’m a great fucking father, Sean’s turning out great.”
George sneered. “Yeah, so great that he didn’t seem a bit surprised to see you banging down the door trying to attack Jules. Great parenting skills you’ve got.”
“Fuck you!” John’s rage was evolving into desperation. “I’m a good father. I love my boys. Both of them!”
“Do you?” George’s voice was turning cold, deadly. “Do you really? Or are you just saying that because you can’t stand the fact that you might actually be a worse parent then both of yours combined.”
John stared at George, his face twisted in anger but his eyes filling with tears. He sucked in a harsh breath, jaw clenching as if to contain the onslaught of emotion that was rapidly overtaking him. “Fuck you,” he ground out through clenched teeth, desperate to keep himself from flying apart at the seams. “My wife just died.” He choked on the words.
George looked away with something akin to regret. “I know.”
The airport was crowded when Julian landed. Of course, airports were always crowded so it wasn’t particularly surprising. It was still annoying to be jostled by the crowd though. Weariness was weighing him down as he pushed his way forward toward the baggage claim.
All around him, people were hugging their loved ones, waving frantically over the crowds, just so happy to be together. In that moment, Julian hated them all.
Angrily, he pulled his bag off the track and began to stalk towards the door. He just needed a good night’s sleep.
“About time you landed,” a voice said, off to his right. She didn’t sound nearly as annoyed as her words implied.
A small smile graced Julian’s lips, which he forced away before turning to face her with a practiced nonchalance.
“Heather.” He crossed his arms. “I thought you were cross with me.”
Mimicking Julian’s stance, Heather meandered forward at a leisurely pace. “Well, mum phoned and said you slagged off your dad and stormed all the way out of New York...” Her voice made no secret of her amusement, her lips twisted into a smirk. “Well done,” she added, almost as an afterthought.
Julian offered a small bow. “I aim to please.”
“Besides…” Heather let her arms drop when she was within reach of Jules. “There are things more important than being angry, right?” With that, she dropped the mask of unconcern and all that was left was her worry.
It was that look which finally broke Julian’s resolve. He wrapped his shaking arms around her, squeezing tightly as though trying to tell her everything through touch alone.
Heather responded in kind, holding him with equal strength. “I’m sorry things didn’t go well with your dad,” she whispered into his shoulder. “I know how much it meant to you.”
Julian felt his eyes warm, but no tears fell. He was struggling to breathe, but every breath smelled of vanilla and cinnamon – of her. Of home.
Heather just rubbed his back and let him hold her until he was ready to let go.
Slowly his shaking subsided. He loosened his grip from around her, and lowered his hands to take hers. “Thank you so much for coming.” His voice was heavy, full of all the things which could not be put into words.
Heather smiled, squeezing his hands. “Hey. It’s you and me against the world, right?”
“Right,” Julian breathed, feeling lighter than he had in months. Draping an arm loosely around her shoulder, he turned toward the exit. “Ready to go?”
She lifted her hand and twined her fingers with his. “Let’s go home.”
“Hey, Jules?” She asked suddenly, as they were walking.
“Yeah?”
“What happened to your face?”
Julian didn’t answer. He just laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
He was home, he was loved, and he was free.