Chapter Text
The corner of Paul’s mouth ached as he forced himself to smile for what felt like the millionth time that day. When the camera flashed, he flinched, his eyes stinging from the blinding light. However, his smile stayed on as he tried to do everything in his power to avoid retakes.
The last thing Paul wanted to do was photo shoots, especially with George and Ringo. John had convinced him, arguing that it would satiate the starving beast that was the media. If they showed the world that they were alive and thriving, perhaps less would pry for information. Paul couldn’t force himself to believe that optimistic viewpoint, but figured it was worth a shot.
The photographer waved his hand, signaling an end to the session. Each of them sighed with relief. Paul wiped away a bead of sweat sliding down his forehead, unsure if the room was hot or he was experiencing another hot flash. In the corner of his eye, he saw John rush to the pram parked just a few feet away from the set.
Although neither Paul or John were quite comfortable with taking Joseph in public yet, they also weren’t ready not to have him close.
John peered inside, calmed by the sight of his resting baby. Meanwhile, Paul chewed on his fingernail, absentmindedly listening to George and Ringo drone on about some current affair he still wasn’t up to date with.
“Ey, Paul?”
Ringo spoke up, finally noticing Paul’s vacant expression. Paul blinked, turning to the drummer.
“You doing alright today?”
“Oh…yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”
“I get it. Newborns are awfully needy aren’t they? Especially at night.”
Paul took his thumb out of his mouth.
“It’s not too bad. John helps a lot. My body feels like hell. Been bleeding like hell these past few weeks and…”
Paul trailed off as he read Ringo’s expression. Although he tried to suppress it for the sake of being polite, the drummer had a slight grimace on his face.
“Sorry…I guess I’ve forgotten my manners.”
“No, no, don’t worry about it, Paul. I’m here to listen.”
“Thank you, Ritchie. I appreciate it, I really do.”
Paul grabbed his shirt collar, pulling it hoping to get some airflow to his body.
“Your baby is beautiful.”
Ringo said, looking at John and George, who were peering inside Joseph’s pram.
“He’s wonderful. I’m lucky to have him.”
Paul said, beaming despite his discomfort.
“You think he’ll grow up to be a musician?”
“Not sure he has much of a choice. Poor thing.”
Ringo smiled, amused and relieved that Paul, despite everything, retained his humor. He hadn’t seen it in so long. Though it was still rare, his wit was gradually returning as Paul pieced himself back together.
“Morning, Joseph.”
John cooed as his baby’s eyes fluttered open. He lifted him out of the pram, planting a kiss on Joseph’s forehead.
“Eeeeh.”
Joseph whimpered, his mouth finding the tip of his father’s pointed nose.
John wrinkled his nose at the ticklish sensation and instinctively pulled away.
Joseph began to wriggle in his blue swaddle, frustrated and confused by the lack of nourishment.
The baby let out a shrill cry and Paul went wide eyed. The familiar sensation of pins and needles around his nipples followed.
“Ah, fuck…”
Paul murmured, crossing his arms over his chest.
“John.”
Paul choked, frozen in place. Upon noticing his plight, John came closer, leaning into his friend’s ear.
“There’s a dressing room down the hall.”
He whispered, motioning Paul to follow.
“We’ll be back.”
John announced to the group before promptly marching to the nearest private spot. Paul was close behind, his face flushed a bright red.
Once there, John opened the door, allowing Paul inside first. Although the space was rather cramped, it at least had a door with a lock.
Paul sat on the cushioned bench, finally uncrossing his arms.
“Fuck!”
Paul bawled, looking at the two wet patches on his shirt. He huffed, undoing the stained garment’s buttons and pulling it down to his waist. He looked up at John, arms outstretched.
“I’ll take him.”
Once Joseph settled in his mother’s arms, it wasn’t long before he was comfortably latched and suckling away.
“I’m sorry, Paul. No more photoshoots after this. At least until Joseph can take a bottle again.”
“Did anyone see?”
“The photographer definitely didn't see anything. If Ringo or George did, they’re good men. They won’t tell a soul.”
John reassured, seating himself next to Paul.
“I want to go home.”
“I’ll take you home right after this. We don’t have to stay a second longer.”
After about fifteen minutes, Joseph popped off the breast and closed his eyes. Paul turned to John, handing the baby over. At first, Joseph whined, but was quickly settled by his father’s familiar warmth and scent.
While John gently patted his son on the back, Paul buttoned up his shirt, frowning at the dark stains.
“Hold on.”
John said, holding his baby with one arm and using the other to shrug off his fur coat.
“Here, Macca.”
Paul happily accepted the oversized jacket. Although he found it a little too heavy for his liking, it hid the stains.
“Thank you, John.”
“What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t let you wear it?”
Paul stood up.
“Come here.”
He said, motioning for John to lean in. Once he was close enough, Paul kissed him. It was on the cheek and lasted no more than a second, but it was the last thing John expected.
“There. Now you’ve been thanked like a gentleman.”
Like the kiss, Paul didn’t linger. He exited the dressing room, leaving John there, completely and utterly dazed.
***
John laid on his side, watching Paul sleep. He had just finished nursing Joseph, so the baby was expected to sleep at least for an hour or two.
John knew he should have taken the opportunity to sleep, but he couldn’t. As ridiculous as it was, he was still fixated on the kiss.
Him and Paul had sex. Not just once. He lost track of how many times they had done it; especially near the end of Paul’s pregnancy when their captors had them fucking like rabbits in hopes of inducing labor.
On top of everything, they had a child together, although the conception was unnatural.
The more John thought about it, compared to a normal relationship, they had experienced everything backwards. First, they made a baby, then came the sex, and finally, the first kiss.
Although John had spent the rest of the day thinking of that moment, Paul carried on as usual. When they returned to Jim's home, Paul gave his father a particularly long hug before collapsing on the sofa. John took Joseph upstairs for a change and managed to set him into his bassinet without a fuss.
With his son asleep in his cradle, John went downstairs to see Paul lying on the couch, still bundled in his fur coat. He kneeled down, pulling off Paul’s leather boots. Although it had gone down since birth, Paul’s feet and ankles were still swollen. It made John wince, not out of disgust, but sympathy.
John remembered the last few visits he had with Paul before he gave birth. His poor friend had never looked so uncomfortable. He was so big and swollen that he had to waddle around the cell and could only sleep on his side. John wanted nothing more than to help his best friend, especially while he was carrying his child. He wished he could have been around to help Paul throughout his entire pregnancy, but they were only allowed so much time together. John would have waited on Paul like a pampered princess for nine months straight, but all he had time to do was provide a few moments of physical and psychological comfort.
John never thought he would return to England. He couldn’t believe he was home until stepped off the plane and laid eyes on his Aunt Mimi.
At least to John, Paul seemed to be adjusting better than he was. He was stressed about his decreased milk supply–likely from stress and the separation from Joseph–but with some effort, it returned. If anything, he was an oversupplier now.
John missed it more than anything, the nursing. It was one of the only things he had to look forward to in captivity. It was awkward at first, but so was the sex. With time, he grew to enjoy both. He loved Paul’s scent, his warmth, and the sweet, creamy milk coating his tongue.
After their rescue, John was forced to go cold turkey. With Joseph being exclusively breastfed Paul often moaned about his chest being sore. John doubted he would be open to a grown man clinging onto him and suckling on his already raw nipples. Paul was a newly postpartum mother, it would be selfish to expect such a thing from him.
It especially wasn’t going to happen while they were living under Jim’s roof. Although he was getting better, Paul’s father was still uncomfortable around the baby. If he witnessed his son nursing his best friend, his heart might give out.
Although John wanted to snuggle up to him, he didn’t want to risk waking Paul up. Instead, he rolled onto his back, closed his eyes, and tried not to think about the past year.
***
These days, when Paul woke up, he was either terrified or furious. Sometimes he would jolt awake, drenched in a cold sweat and with a steam hammer pounding in his chest. Even when he realized that he was in fact home and not in his sterilized prison, it usually took a while for him to settle down. Sometimes, he soothed himself by holding his baby or turning to John. One night, he even went downstairs, seeking comfort from his father like he was a child.
However, as of lately, Paul had been waking up angry. He’d wake up hot in the face and his stomach boiling.
Now that he was free with John and their baby, Paul tried to avoid anything that reminded him of captivity. He declined all interviews regarding the event, only reciting his story to the necessary law enforcement. He didn’t even bother following the case. His mental well being and baby were more important.
Paul had always wanted to have a child. He never imagined it would happen so soon and in the way it did, but he would cherish his son no matter what. Nothing could change the fact that Joseph’s conception was traumatic, but also, nothing could change the fact that he was here now.
Paul held no resentment towards his son. Only his captors.
Although he tried to avoid the news, the morning after he returned home, Paul stumbled upon a certain newspaper. If he had to guess, either Mike or his father had brought it home. Paul knew he wasn’t meant to see it, as the paper was under the TV set, folded and tucked under a heavy classic literature book. He only discovered it after he had the idea of reading Shakespeare to his fussy son. Even if the baby couldn’t understand what he was saying, Joseph was often soothed by the sound of his mother’s voice.
On the front page, there was a familiar face. It made his blood run cold and his nerves ignite.
It was the “doctor”. Paul wanted to throw the paper in the fireplace. It's what he should have done. Instead, he unfolded the paper, reading the bold headline under the doctor’s picture.
“Suspected Human Trafficker, Lawrence Hidle, Found Dead From Self-Inflicted Gun Wound.”
The night he was rescued, Paul remembered hearing gunshots as he was escorted out of the building. He didn’t think about that detail much until now. From the article, he learned that Hidle, along with much of his accomplices had committed suicide upon their operation being uncovered.
The news should have been a relief to Paul. His captors were dead and couldn’t hurt anyone ever again. However, it did not comfort him in the slightest.
Paul never thought of himself as the type of person to revel in the suffering of others, but goddamnit those people deserved it. He wanted all of them to experience what he did ten fold. He wanted them locked away for the rest of their lives, but instead, they took the easy way out. It wasn’t fair. Why did they get to lock him away, make a profit off of his womb, and not spend a moment behind bars.
Although Paul didn’t think of himself as a religious man, in that moment, he hoped there was an afterlife. More specifically, he hoped there was a hell just for them.