JOHN

I woke up to a horrendous headache. I tried to open my eyes. Only one opened; the other sent a tremendous shot of pain through my face. I flinched, and let out a small groan.

"John? You awake?"

"No, I think I'm dead," I instantly regretted the wisecrack, as my eyes began to brim with tears from the pain.

Someone walked into the room. I turned to see who it was, but I didn't make it very far, the ache overwhelming me.

"Don't move," the voice said. "It's George."

"Mornin' George," I whispered.

"Actually, it's afternoon," he replied, sitting down next to me, on a chair.

'Aw, George," I breathed out. "I'm smarting." My whole body seemed to tremble with the pain.

George sighed. "Yeah, I know. You got beat up pretty badly."

"Yeah, I remember." I let out a sigh of my own. "Jesus, that was dumb."

A quiet laugh came from George. "Yes it was. But the doctor came over while you were asleep. He said no broken bones. You'll be fine."

My eyes closed, I whispered, "And Paul?"

"What?" George said. He couldn't hear me.

I turned my head to fully face him, even though it hurt like crazy. "Paul," I said. "Will he be fine?"

George looked at me, and his mouth turned up in a weary smile. "Yeah, John. He'll be okay. Ringo called 'bout an hour ago, said Paul's just really thirsty."

I turned my head back, the pain more bearable now. "Well," I said tiredly. "Maybe he should go out for drinks more often."

The last thing I heard before drifting off into the soft release of sleep was George's laughs, calm and loving, rocking me like a mother with a child.

GEORGE

I watched as John fell asleep, and sighed. His eye was encircled in purple, and he lied in a stiff pose, protecting himself from any pain.

I got up, and left the room, heading to the kitchen to make some coffee. I hadn't slept all day, and I was running out of energy.

The silence was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. I picked it up, and said the usual "Hello?".

"George?" The voice was quiet, full of fear and exhaustion, but I recognized it right away.

"Margo," I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck with my hand. "How are you?"

"Alright," she said, then let out a shaky breath. "No, I'm not alright. I'm... just... can you pick me up?"

I blinked. "What?"

"I'm at Kennedy Airport. I just," another shaky breath, "I have to see him."

"Um..." I looked at John, who was still asleep. "I'll send a chauffeur right-"

"No, no, no, no," she said quickly, her voice shattering, "no, please, can you please come?" A pause, and then she let out a sob, one single solitary noise, over before I knew it.

"Margo, I don't know-"

"Go."

I turned around. John was awake, his one healthy eye staring at me. His mouth was tight, a straight line.

"John, you sure?" I asked, holding my hand over the phone.

"Yeah, yeah, go on. I'll be fine," His mouth curled into a smirk. "Can't just leave her there, now can you?"

I smiled, and lifted the phone to my ear. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Margo kept repeating it in between small sobs, a mantra, the only thing keeping her together.

"Alright," I said. "Just wait at the pick-up area."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you....."