Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sometimes you get an inkling in the back of your head that you've made a mistake. Nothing major, but perhaps a slip in judgement a very long time ago.

It could be anything. Every time you didn't question, just acted.

When you followed them, left the farm, told you mother you'd make riches beyond your wildest dreams.

Maybe you have. Maybe you did and you lost it.

Maybe there's no mother to go back to.

The split second before you rode your mare into the tracks of one of the lesser known passenger trains riding to Phoenix. You hesitated.

But ultimately, you went.

You aren't sure if you had a choice.

---

When you forget the mistakes, when you are alone in your rented out room, waiting for your seabound companion to return.
There is where it happens.

That is when you remember the love.

It is vast in your memory, beautiful like the long-ago stolen jewels you keep tucked behind your dusty vest in the very back of your dresser.

It wasn't at the end, not when you were blinded by a cloud of emotion. Even if love did lie at the core of it.

Playing card games with made up rules.

Whispering secrets in desolate fields.

Relaxing under the stars.

Knowing in your heart you are safe with these people.

Basking in the feeling, blissfully unaware of the sadness that would one day become your life.

Not even your last remaining partner was able to stand in the soil.

Escaped to the sea to combat the cloud of loss that falls over you when you are alone together.

There are pieces missing.

You were gleeful about the split, but after your partner insisted California was where you should head, the loss of another lover dimmed any joy you had about "freedom".

Letters can be used, but it takes so long you fear you'll never be able to catch up. You never could before.

Why try now when you are not just years, but miles behind.

---

They say the sea is so vast you forget you are real, but you remember the desert, the farm, the city you are trapped in.

You can't help but wonder what led you here, and the cycle begins anew.

Chapter Text

The ocean is wide, it stretches out into oblivion.

This is what you needed. A state of nothing, just floating in the waves. But somewhere in your soul you feel alone.

You are surrounded by crew, friends, your family is left in the dust, quite literally.

You wish you'd taken them with you, but you couldn't have.

There is a silver bracelet you wear during the worst times, it's really all you have.

Besides one of the last group meetings being photographed and cut out of an early edition of the Arizona Daily Star.

You want them to be here, the four of you together again.

But nothing like that could exist anymore, you were the first to do what you did and you succeeded.

You escaped the law, but you left the only chance you had behind.

---

When all the jobs are done and you are able to relax, you return to music.

You weren't as good as the others on the guitars, you were the most active thief.

If there's one thing you know, it's people can't resist a compelling drum beat.

Even still, it brings you comfort. Strumming meaningless chords.

You hum while you play, painting a precious story in your mind, living under the ocean with the people you love.

It's just another way to cope with what you've lost. Even if it is still obtainable in theory.

---

You love them so much.

More accurately you miss them so much.

Chapter Text

Often you contemplate how you got here.

But you reason it's only because it's so lovely.

Your wife, your children, your horses.

You love your horses, you always have.

The methodical brushing of the mane, the rumbling clunk of the hooves on dry, dusty soil.

Your horse, the one you took to the tracks on that first heist, and the one you rode away from it all on.

She's gotten older, but she's still as beautiful as the day you first saw her.

---

It was a warm spring morning, the heat hadn't reached over 90, and your father had just given you permission to visit the town after you finished your work.

You were so excited you almost left your silver bracelet behind.

It was a gift from your mother.

She left you and your brother many of the same things after she died, but she left you this bracelet.

You kept hold of it the entire way to America.

You kept hold of it up until the end of your old life.

You rushed across fields, past large rock formations.

The town looked perfect, like a melody you couldn't place. Perhaps it was one you'd need to make yourself.

It was one of the first buildings you saw, there was another boy standing there, with a sharp face.

You waited with him, he gave you a piece of his clementine.

It was nice.

Turns out you were in line to buy a pony.

She was weak, had trouble standing.

You got her for half price, Da' threw a fit.

You took care of her.

She took care of you. Or at least, that's how it felt.

Martha was a good horse.

---

Your wife.

The Lovely Linda.

A photographer, a thief, your hero.

You met on an excursion to celebrate one of your best victories yet.

She took a group photo, stole your new watch, and your new heart.

You left on a cold sunday morning.

Pressing the last loose items on your person into the hands and pocket of the people you love-

loved?

The green strip of cloth you tied to your hat.

A red bandana.

The silver bracelet.

You climbed on your horse, picked up your love, and abandoned any sorrows hiding in the shadows of outcropping rocks or hastily built tents in the desert.

---

Your children.

Heather went with you and Linda on the ride to the farm.

An old property her father's brother's uncle owned.

Mary was born, she takes after her mother's interest in film.

Stella came next, just a few years after.

They play while you work in fields, and listen to you play music.

Only Heather really remembers the past.

But not well enough.

She asks, sometimes, who the people in the photo are.

You tell her they were very special in your heart, but you had to leave them, because they were making bad choices.

She asks if they're special like Mum is.

You contemplate, but Lin sweeps in, smiling bright.

She answers with something along the lines of 'Why would there be a picture of strangers in our house? Of course they're special.'

You can't thank her enough for how she makes your words work.

You can't.

---

The darkness envelopes the range, the birds fall to slumber, there is no clattering of rails under your back, no hooves, just the one body beside you.

Despite the large family, you feel lonely, always.

You just want to weep, flood the earth, then maybe the waves will crash you back to where you belong.

But you couldn't stand the sadness it would cause your family.

Perhaps this is why you've stayed here as long as you have, why you are here in the first place.

You take Martha out for a ride.

You've always loved horses.

Chapter Text

You rid your horse to the edge of town and back every day.

Right down both sides of main street.

You watch your town wake up and start the day, and you watch them pack away their children and stands and return to their homes.

You are the mayor.

You were the sheriff.

In fact there were supposed to be four of you.

But after a certain dissolution you were chosen as mayor.

People liked you the most.

That was only because of what you did to the others, unable to defend themselves.

You destroyed their reputations while they sat in their new empty lives, ignorant of what you were doing to their home.

But you got tired of that.

You and your wife crafted a powerful brand.

Though she wishes you would rule more with an iron fist than the flowery power akin to your pacifistic thievery.

That's what got Brian killed.

Your mind often wanders while you ride.

But today is the day your thoughts become words.

You're haunted by the places they do not fill.

You open up the stationary your wife got you.

It has green flowery designs on it.

You write to your lovers and friends.

Three.

One for the farmer who lives down the lane.

One for the city mouse in his city house.

And One for the drummer adrift and sea.

It ends today.

---

It begins tonight.

The letters sent to the postmaster.

Only time will tell if the stables will be filled once again.

You love them.

You have never doubted that.

Chapter Text

You wake up in your quiet home.

Your wife and children must be out, visiting the town over the hill.

That is where you sell your crops, buy new clothes and luxury foods, and collect the mail.

It's a quaint little place.

But you're not really a fan of quaint, are you?

You'd like to think so, but...

one look at the riches you've accrued and the fact that you and your wife often go out on excursions to the town to meet with a one Denny Laine and Associates to play music to vast crowds.

Actually once, in the earlier days post-beatle, you and your wife and Denny and his band would go around in a wagon and perform.

Now mostly you keep it to the smaller settlements, ones where you step out of your wagon and say

"quaint"

and find the local saloon owner.

But you yearn for the times you could step out into a thriving metropolis of a town.

Multiple places to play, places to get kicked out of, and still more new ones that would let you in.

---

On days like these you think a lot about things.

Not just the regular whimsy and yearning.

But about how, in those very same post-beatle days

you were living at the greatest point in your fame

and so, instead of robbing trains

you would waltz right into saloons

and the band would play

and you would hightail it out of there before the sheriff arrived.

And how you wished you could've done this with The Others.

You'd go to bed in your wagon, surrounded by your family.

And you would have gorgeous dreams, like heyday of Beatlemania, where passengers would fill their pockets with gold in hopes you would arrive to steal them away.

But instead you performed on stages with crowds as far as the eye could see, the sky starry and bright behind you,

not that dissimilar to the night of card games and joking kisses

well

maybe not as joking as you once figured.

but when you woke up, you couldn't help but be disappointed.

not because the crowds were less favorable, or the band wasn't cohesive or sounded bad or anything,

it's just

you can't look at anyone the way you looked at them.

You don't think anything could possibly compare to what you felt

Playing beautiful music and gaining riches with people you get to go home with and share these joys with at the end of the day is something being a patriarch and boss can't live up to.

---

When Linda returns in the afternoon with a sack of goodies and your three daughters, you've already made up your mind

You're about to suggest touring again, when she set a letter on your lap.

Oh.

You know that font.

You know that address too.

What happens next is a bit of a blur.

The letter lays ripped open on the ground,

the actual paper is stuffed into your vest pocket.

You are on a beeline for Martha, you hook her and Eddie up to the cart on your way to town.

You tell Lin to start packing, and you are off.

A little while later you are seated at the helm of a wagon, your whole life in the back.

You've been waiting for this day your whole new life.

You've always wondered if they even cared, if they even remembered what you do.

Looks like they did.

And it only took, what, six years?

It doesn't matter.

This is it!

You're free!

The hooves on the ground and the bumps on the trail are the most musical sound you've ever heard.

---

This, the sun, the family, the target.

This is heaven.

Chapter Text

You awake one clear day.

It's rare the fog lets up like this, it usually signals a drought.

But you have provisions, you'll be fine.

You've registered your dear friend's three children and your horses as adult human men.

You get dressed, prepare and call the children to breakfast, and begin working on a new testimonial you can probably sell to the Daily Morning Bulletin.

You hear a knock at your door,

you stop for a second.

It could be the mail, but that's the farthest thing on your mind.

It could be officials coming to haul you off to San Quentin.

It could be your beloved companion returning from his ocean voyage!

Or, it could be one of his fellows delivering heart shattering news.

But today, on one of the clearest days you've ever seen since you moved out here, it is just the mailman.

And he has but one letter for you.

You slice it open at your desk, prepared for a last will and testament of Richard Starkey, but none comes.

It is, instead, a letter straight from hell.

Or a ghost.

Inviting you to return to the place you left all those years ago.

You need to plan.

What to do about your seabound lover?

And the three children living in your home!

You could leave them here to wait for their papa to return.

But the oldest has only just turned nine.

You could hire someone.

But most of your riches have been spent securing your safety as a citizen and not an inmate.

You are the one that wrote Taxman after all.

You miss when the children in your wandering groups stayed with their mothers.

But if they had stayed with their mothers, you would not have such sweet memories of your lovers with their children.

So you set to work, drafting letters and stories that will provide the children with money, and make sure that, upon his return from the sea, your best man will know where to go next.

Domestic life is such a drag anyway.

Chapter Text

You never got seasick, but could there be such a thing as landsickness?

You're sure of it, when you step off the voyage and into the cobble street.

You see Zac, your second eldest, waiting in the bay. He's got Sewer out and he's feeding her oats. Normally your darling is here to greet you.

No, not today.

You follow Zac back home, but instead of telling you where dad went he jabbers on about what Jason and Lee were arguing about this morning, and how Julian wouldn't share his bread.

You keep your eyes locked on home, waiting for you house to come into view.

When it does you see Julian, sleeping in some makeshift hammock, Jason and Lee reading some- most likeley innsapropriate- book, and Sean and Dhani in the window, enjoying some fruit. Oh George.

---

The sun has set, all your children assured of your love, and two letters on your kitchen table.

Rents been taken, children cared for, still no answers.

The opened letter is a note, Read the other one, I set off on the fourth, love you.

The unopened letter is from someone you haven't seen in years.

Oh, George.

---

You make arrangements for a wagon, you wait for the payout organized by your spouse, and you will take your leave.

You can't wait.

---

Creeks where children play, sandcastle, sandstorm.

Chapter Text

You start off your day as normal, observing the town, checking in on major businesses

Everything is as it should be, the saloon is alright for the time of the day, taxes in on time, the general store raised some prices, but other than that they're well.

Overall you citizens are happy, so you wander around town, saying hello, boosting moral and all that

But then, something strange happens.

A young kid comes up to you, starts talking about a new wagon rolling into town. That's odd.

There shouldn't be any new deliveries, and no current gossip about visiting relatives.

You stand up tall and walk down main street, coming upon the new wagon.

The driver is in back, helping his family get out.

And then one of the children run up to you.

Heather.

You look up to see the face of a man you weren't really expecting to come back.

He smiles at you, big and warm, and comes in for a strong hug.

You're shocked for a minute before you push him off, asking him to state his business.

He asks you to state your business, of course he does, thinks it's a joke.

You tell him as such, and he bites his lip in a funny way before saying he was answering a letter.

You nod sharply, sure, and who gave you this letter, you ask.

You know you did, but it's good to keep pretense around your citizens.

He asks if you're serious.

You are.

He starts joking around, being funny.

You tell him to stop and he tells you make me.

You both go in for the punch at the same time.

It's satisfying getting to hit him for what he's done to you, less so when he beats you back.

You keep at it for a while before you manage to get on top of him, punching him in the gut.

It sure is something to have him under you, beating the shit out of him in a good, meaningful way.

Your blood starts dripping down on to him and you realize he's probably broken your nose.

You put your arms down and he asks if you want to get drinks.