It was hot — very hot — and The Beatles were lounging outside, soaking up the rays of sun. It had been just a few months since the chaos of Spring when George learned Paul's big secret, Pattie agreed to marry George, and John asked Paul to marry him, and the cool wind and rains of April were a mere memory in everyone's minds. They were confronted, now, with humid air that made breathing just a little bit difficult and sunshine so extreme it threatened to burn all of their skin right off.

There were two reclining lawn chairs stood a few feet apart that Paul and John were stretched out upon.

Ringo was sitting at the edge of the inground pool that John and Paul had had installed in their backyard in the past few months. His feet were dipped in the water and he kicked legs legs a little bit, making small splashes. "The pool was a good decision," he said.

"I think so, yeah," Paul said, propping himself up on his elbows. The world started spinning a little bit and Paul figured that the heat was so bad it was making him dizzy. "What do you think, Georgie?"

George, who was basking on an inflatable pool float that crept across the surface of the water, stuck his arm into the air and indicated his approval of the pool with a thumbs-up.

"Glad you like it," Paul said. He laid back down slowly, wincing. He noticed how sore he was and tried to figure out what it was that he had done to make his body ache so much. Again, he attributed it to the heat. "Johnny?"

John hummed from his chair. "Yeah?"

"Come lay down with me?" Paul asked, a hint of a whine in his voice.

"Paul," John laughed. "I love you dearly, but it's far too warm for that."

"Oh, very well," Paul said, sitting back up, wincing once more, and swinging his legs over the edge of the reclined lawn chair. He rose to his feet, stretching his arms above his head, and he stiffly crossed the stone patio built in around the pool. He dipped his toe into the water, testing its temperature before kneeling down at the pool's edge and sliding in.

"Oh," George said. "Pattie and I've picked a date for the wedding."

"Oh, excellent," John called from the patio. "When will it be, then?"

"December fifth," said George.

"Interesting choice," said Paul. He swam lazily. Really, he was floating across the pool and vaguely moving his arms and legs.

"'Interesting' meaning bad?" George asked.

"No, just 'interesting' meaning interesting," Paul said.

"Hm," said George.

"When are you two having your backyard wedding thing?" Ringo asked Paul and John.

"We haven't picked a time yet," Paul said, a little out of breath from the small bit of movement he'd been doing for the past couple minutes. He swam up to the side of the pool, folding his arms on the pool's stone edge and leaning his weight there. "We've been talking about it but we think we'll wait until after we release the next album."

"The next one's gonna be a big one," said John. "I can feel it."

"Yeah, Johnny?" Paul laughed.

"Yeah!" John exclaimed, propping himself up on his elbows. "I can feel it in my bones."

George snorted.

"What about you, Ringo?" John asked. "When are you finally gonna ask the big question?"

"Maureen and I got married a month ago, actually," said Ringo.

John raised his eyebrows. "And you didn't think to tell us?" he asked.

"I've been waiting for the right time," Ringo laughed. "It's big news, I was waiting for the perfect moment."

"Wait, they didn't know?" George asked Ringo.

"You did?" Paul asked George.

"Well," said George.

"Maureen and I, we went to the courthouse," Ringo explained to Paul and John. "We needed two witnesses for the marriage to be recognized by law. Maureen brought her parents along, and I brought George."

"Why weren't we invited?" John asked, unable to hide the fact that he felt a little offended.

"I rang," Ringo said. "You didn't pick up the phone," he added, shrugging his shoulders.

"Wait, what?" Paul asked. "We didn't... pick up the phone? Why didn't you just, I don't know... call back a little later? Or come round and ring the doorbell?"

"It was sort of a last minute decision," Ringo said, scratching the back of his neck.

"A last minute decision?" John asked. "To... get married?"

"Yeah, well..." Ringo said slowly and he trailed off.

"Wait, they don't know about that either?" George asked, sitting up on his float.

"No, but I've got a sneaking suspicion that they're about to find out," Ringo sighed. "I actually was planning to tell you today," he told John and Paul. "Was just waiting for the right moment. It's big news, real bigs new..."

"I thought Paul knew, at least," George muttered behind Paul, softly so that only Paul could hear it, and then it struck Paul what Ringo was about to say.

"I'm gonna be a dad," Ringo said, grinning at the water.

"Oh my god," said John, sitting all the way up. "Ringo. wow! Congratulations."

"Thank you," Ringo said, smiling.

Paul fought hard to swallow the lump in his throat. "That's — that's great, Ringo. Damn. Congratulations, man, really." He tried his best to sound like he meant it, and he he did mean it. He hoped that he sounded convincing. He really was happy for Ringo, genuinely happy for him. But at the same time, he was starting to panic, the walls of the pool were closing in on him, the water was starting feel more like ice, and he needed to get out of there immediately. "I'll be right back," Paul told his bandmates as he climbed out of the pool. He snatched his towel up on the way to the door, throwing it around himself as he burst into the house.

Paul practically flew through the kitchen and swung around a corner, then bounded up the stairs. He threw himself into the bathroom, slammed the door shut, and collapsed to the tile floor with his back pressed to the door.

He was already crying before he could get the towel up to his eyes. He pressed the towel against his face, sobbing grossly, barely able to breathe. He curled his legs up closer to his chest and tried to stop his body from shaking so violently, but to no avail.

Zak.

Paul cried out, sinking further down the door so that he was lying down on the floor.

Jason.

He rolled over onto his side, sobs still wracking his body, and pressed the side of his face against the cool tile.

Julian.

"It's all my fault, it's all my fault..." Paul choked into the towel. "All my fault..."

Sean.

He sucked in a long, slow breath, trying to force his body to calm down, trying to even his breathing out. For a short moment or two, he laid there, chest rising and falling slowly, evenly...

Mary.

The sob that wracked Paul's body was painful. His chest ached.

Stella.

His heart ached.

James.

In that moment, he didn't really care if he dropped dead. That was, quite honestly, preferable to this feeling. This... felt like shit. Paul felt like shit.

He placed his hands flat against the tile floor, pushing against it with all of his might to try and sit up again. Despite his efforts, however, he could only manage to get his upper body a few inches of the floor. This caused immense pressure to go rushing to his head and a burning pain with every breath. The room started shaking and then, after several seconds spent holding himself there, it began to spin. Round and round it went until Paul couldn't support himself any longer, and he collapsed against the floor. The room was still spinning, though. It wouldn't stop. Paul could hear his own voice asking it to stop, but he couldn't feel his lips moving.

"Paul?"

Someone was knocking their fist on something... The door, probably...

"Paul?"

And they kept saying his name.

"Paul?"

He couldn't tell who it was.

"Paul, I know you're in there," the voice said.

John or George, Paul thought to himself. It's gotta be either John or George.

"Paulie, come on."

Then again, thought Paul, maybe Ringo.

"Paul, I'm gonna come in, okay?" the person standing outside the bathroom said. "Paul, if you don't answer me, I'm gonna come into the bathroom, okay?"

Paul moaned in pain. Tried to form his mouth into a word, tried to say "Help", but nothing came out.

The door opened slowly and Paul looked up to the best of his abilities. He tried to say George's name but only low, weak sounds came out.

"Paul, what's wrong?" George asked, kneeling down at Paul's side. "Paul? Paulie, can you hear me?"

Paul groaned, trying his best to answer George but again, no words were coming out. He tried again, tried to tell George that no, he most definitely was not okay. Tried to say that he'd been feeling a little bit sick all day, tried to say that it was all hitting him like a ton of bricks now. But it was to no avail, and he started to cry again out of frustration.

"Okay, Paul, it's okay," George said gently. "I'm going to get John, okay? You're going to be okay... It'll be okay..." he was doing his best to convince Paul of that, he was doing his best to convince himself of that.

It felt like a really long time to Paul, lying there, his body on fire. Not literally on fire, of course, but he might as well have been. He felt like he was.

It like a really long time for George, too. The hallway seemed so much longer than it had on the way into the house, and it felt like the staircase was built with so many more stairs than it had been a few minutes ago.

George burst out onto the patio, yelling, unsure if he was saying any words at all. But John looked up at him, eyes wide as he made a beeline for the house, so something must have come out that must have made some sort of sense.

John couldn't recall running to the second story bathroom. The next thing he remembered was being at his fiancé's side, on his knees, pulling him close. "Paulie? C'mon, talk to me."

"Don't feel s'good," Paul slurred out.

"I know, I know," John said gently. He slipped one arm underneath Paul's head and the other under his legs, and he lifted him off of the floor. "We're gonna get you to bed." He pushed past George and Ringo where they stood in the doorway, looking on in concern.

"John?" George said, following him down the hallway. "John, I felt his forehead when I found him. He's really warm."

"I know," John said.

"He's burning," George said.

"I know," John said as he laid Paul down on the bed.

"He should see a doctor," George said.

John looked up. "I know."

"No," Paul groaned.

"What's wrong, Paulie?" John leaned down close to him.

"No doctor," Paul said, shaking his head as hard as he could, though his head barely moved at all. "Afraid..."

John looked into Paul's face, frowning. Paul stares back at John but didn't seem to see him at all.

"He's delirious," Ringo murmured.

"Okay, I'm gonna get him dressed," John said. "Will one of you bring the car round? And can one of you call the E.R., tell them we'll be there soon."

"The emergency room is an hour away, John," George said.

"God," Ringo sighed, "why do you two have to live in the middle of fucking nowhere?"

"It's better we get there in an hour than not at all," John huffed. "Come on, help me out here, please."

George and Ringo exchanged a brief look, then they fled the room, off to do as John had told them to do.

"J'n....." Paul moaned miserably.

"It's okay, Paul, it's gonna be okay," John said as he began rifling through one of the dresser drawers designated for Paul's clothing.

Paul tried to push himself up into a sitting position, and failed miserably. "Don't... dont..."

"It's okay," John said. He brought the loose fitting clothes he'd picked out of the drawers over to the bed and started dressing Paul gently. "It's all going to be okay."

"Don't make..." Paul breathed heavily. "Can't..."

"Paul, you've got to see a doctor," John said as he was sliding Paul's sweatpants up his body.

"No," Paul huffed out, choking on a sob. "No."

"Ringo's got the car running out front," said George as he was bursting into the room. "I called the emergency room, they know we're coming."

"Can't," Paul cried.

"Paul, you have to."

"J'n, don' make m..." Paul trailed off, sobbing.

"Paul... Paulie," John inhaled sharply. He pulled him up into a sitting position and cradled him against his body. "Paul, come on, please."

"Please, don't make me," Paul sobbed. "Don't make me, don't make me, don't make me."

"John, you're shaking," George said.

"I know, George!" John snapped. He laid Paul back down as easily as he could. "You've gotta go, Paulie, it's gonna be okay."

"Don't make me."

"It's okay, Paul."

"Okay," George said gently. He kneeled next to John. "It's gonna be okay. He's gonna be okay."

"He doesn't wanna go," John said shakily. "How do I force him to do something that he doesn't wanna do? And when he can't possibly stop me."

"John, you know this is what's best for him," George said. "It's gonna be okay. Just... let's get him in the car, come on."

Paul cried as John and George dressed him, but eventually got quieter and quieter until he was altogether silent. His breath was shallow but even, chest rising and falling in a pattern, face looking gentler in sleep.

"I'm gonna put socks on him," John said, almost as an afterthought, more to himself than to George or Paul's unconscious form.

"Shit," said a voice, one that didn't belong to John or George or Paul. It wasn't Ringo. George could not, for the life of him, place the voice.

George turned around slowly and saw, in the doorway, a man of average height, slender and blond.

"Who the hell are you?!" George cried, terrified, falling backwards off of his knees and onto his backside. His first thought was that this man might be a member of the Shadows.

The man tilted his head curiously. "You can see me?"

"George, who the hell are you talking to?" John asked, brow furrowed.

"Um," George said, looking away from the stranger and at John. "No — no one. Sorry, I think I'm feeling a little sick, as well..."

John frowned. "Do you need to see a doctor as well?"

George shook his head fast. "No, I just... I think I need to stay here. I'm feeling sort of dizzy."

"George, if you're feeling dizzy you should see a doc—"

"Keep your priorities straight," George snapped at John. "Get Paul to the emergency room. I don't have a fever, I'll be fine. I'll stay, just until I feel well enough to drive."

John furrowed his brow, but he knew he didn't have time to argue. Paul needed to see a doctor and needed to see a doctor soon. Very soon. "Look, stay here, yeah?" he finally settled on saying to George. "Don't go anywhere, even if you feel well enough to drive, okay?"

"Okay, fine," George huffed. "Just go already."

John hesitated for one more moment, thinking that maybe he should just force George to come along, drag him kicking and screaming if he had to.

"Go!" George yelled.

"Alright, alright, I'm going." John crossed the room in a few long strides, scooped Paul up like he was a child, then turned and marched out the door.

The stranger who was standing in the doorway moved out of his way quickly, worry etched across his face as he watched them go. He stood there silently, watching after John and Paul long after they had disappeared from view.

George rose slowly to his feet from where he'd been kneeling at Paul's side next to the bed. As soon as he heard the front door slam shut and the car pulling away from the house, as soon as he was positive that John was out of earshot, he questioned the stranger once more. "Who are you?"

"You can see me," the stranger commented again.

"Yes, I can bloody see you," George snapped. "Why can't John see you? Why is it a marvel that I can? Who — are — you?"

"Can't tell you that," the man said and he forced a laugh. "No, no. We'll have to deal with this right away... Question is, how? It'd be best if Paul was here...." He trailed off, tapping his chin lightly as he thought deeply. He eyes grew wide and he looked up. The worried expression had returned to his face. "Er — what's wrong with Paul, by the way?"

"Tell me who you are and I'll consider talking to you about Paul," George snapped, crossing his arms.

The stranger groaned, running his hands over his face. "Oh my god, what to do, what to do..." he sighed. "Look, George, I know this all must be very frightening. There's obviously something wrong with Paul, and you don't know who I am —"

"I could know who you are," said George. "If you'd only just tell me. And how do you know who I am? How'd you get my name?"

"Anyone can get your name," the stranger said, crossing his arms impatiently. "You're sort of a part of the most famous band in the world."

George glared at him because there was nothing he could really say to that. That was true. So, instead, he asked, "Who are you?"

"I can't tell you," the stranger huffed. "I'm sorry, truly I am, but it's against the rules."

"The rules?" George said, a feeling of horror setting in. "What rules?" he asked, his breath quickening. "You're — you are with the Shadows, aren't you?"

"You know about the Shadows?!" the stranger exclaimed. "What is going on..."

"You're — you're —"

"I'm not with the Shadows," the stranger said. "How... do you know about the Shadows?"

George was quiet for a long time, staring at the strange man, weighing his options. Eventually he settled on answering with, "Paul told me."

"Why would he do that?!" the man exclaimed.

George frowned. "He... didn't have much of a choice."

"What do you mean he didn't have much of a choice?" the man asked. He matched George's frown.

George squinted thoughtfully at the man who still stood in the doorway, telling himself that he shouldn't answer that question. He should just hold him off, keep him talking, hope that he could keep this going for hours... He knew he couldn't keep this going for hours. Oh, God, he was so dead. "Um," he said. "if you're not with the Shadows, then... who are you with?"

"George, why did Paul have to tell you about the Shadows?" the man asked.

"Are you with the F.H.O.?" George asked, swallowing hard.

"You know about the —" the man spoke breathlessly.

"Or the — the — the Unknowables?" George asked, hoping he was remembering the name of the organization correctly. "Are you with them?"

"I —" the man slapped his hand to his forehead. "I — yes. I'm with them. And I'm with the F.H.O. as well.... I mean, like, sort of. It's really complicated. But I don't —"

"Oh my god!" George exclaimed, and he breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

"What?" the man asked, eyes wide. "What now?!"

"You're Barney!" George grinned.

Barney Lynch's eyes grew impossibly wider. He dropped his arm to his side, looking at George with his mouth agape. "I've got a feeling I'm gonna be here a while."

***

"What's taking so long?" John huffed. He was pacing back and forth at Paul's bedside.

"John, you need to just try and calm down," Ringo said. "Look, they didn't think that it was bad enough that he needed to be admitted to the hospital. It's just the emergency room, so clearly he —"

"They could be wrong," John interrupted. "They could have made a mistake. It could be some illness that they don't recognize at all and —"

"John," Ringo cut him off. "You can sit here and think the worst and freak out if you want to, but it's not doing you any good. It's certainly not doing me any good, because it's fucking annoying. And you know what? It's not doing Paul any good, either. So how about you just shut your mouth, work on calming yourself down, and sit with Paul. Be here for him."

John looked at him for a few long moments, breathing heavily, then sighed. "You're right," he said, sinking into the empty chair standing to Paul's right. "You're... right. I'm just... never mind."

"You're scared," Ringo said.

"Maybe," John said.

"No, not maybe," Ringo said, rolling his eyes. "You are. That's what's happening here and you don't want to say it because you don't want to admit that you, like, have feelings. But who're you trying to fool right now, John? Paul is hurting, it's okay to be frightened by that."

John frowned and he nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said. He reached out and laid a hand on Paul's arm. "Yeah."

***

"Oh my god."

"I know."

"Oh... my god."

"I know."

"This is awful."

"I'm aware."

"Okay," Barney said, beginning to pace. "Okay, it sounds like... it sounds like Paul is going to be okay."

"Yeah, I think so," said George. "He's seeing the doctors now. He should be fine."

"Right," Barney said. "Now, the F.H.O. is calling for Paul to report to them immediately. That's an easy fix, though, because of time travel and all. It wouldn't have been a year ago, but our technology that concentrates our magic has come such a long way since then. It makes magic use so much more controllable now."

"Right..." George said, not entirely certain what Barney was saying. "Why does Paul need to report to the F.H.O.? He says they're... for lack of a better phrase, the bad guys. Is he in trouble?"

"No... maybe... I don't know," Barney sighed. "He had to report to them a while ago. God, that feels like a lifetime ago now, and it hasn't even been as long for me as it has for Paul. But that was just back in 1962, I think, or maybe it was in 1961..."

"But report to them for what?" George asked.

"Just for an update, as far as I can tell," Barney sighed. "They weren't planning to have another one until 1972 — yeah, it was definitely 1962 that he had to report to them in, because they were planning to wait ten years — well, ten years for him — and the date to take him from for that was originally set in 1972 so —"

"Barney," George sighed.

"Right," said Barney. "They say they're moving the date up because of the incident of a couple years back..."

"What incident?" George asked, brow furrowed.

"Doesn't matter," Barney said, shaking his head.

George frowned, thought for a moment, and sighed. "Oh," he said. "You're talking about what happened with Brian, aren't you?"

Barney huffed out a humorless laugh. "Well, fuck, did Paul tell you everything?"

"I don't know," George said and he shrugged his shoulders. "How am I supposed to know if he left anything out when he's the one who's got all the information to give me, and without him I have none of it."

"Right," said Barney. "Fair enough. Well, like I said, those are both easily amendable. Even if Paul's really very sick, we can get him a cure from whatever century we need to go and find it from. But the Shadows taking you and Paul hostage," he paused and sighed very deeply, "now that's something that's going to be tough to deal with."

"Well... what about it needs to be dealt with?" George asked, obviously very worried by this. "It's in the past, right? Isn't it? And it sucks but —"

"I don't quite know what's going to happen just yet," Barney answered him truthfully. "There's not much to be done until we can talk to Paul. Under different circumstances, we wouldn't need to consult him on this, but... oh, Darren really needs to hurry up with this new tech of his."

"What's... tech?" George asked, frowning.

"Technology," Barney said.

"Oh," George said. "What kind of technology are we talking about here?"

"Don't worry about it," said Barney. "Just know that it'll be a way for Paul to contact me or any of the Unknowables from anywhere at anytime."

"So like... a portable phone?" George said.

Barney laughed at him and George could not, for the life of himself, figure out why. "Yeah," said Barney. "Exactly like that, actually." He sighed, leaned up against the wall with his arms crossed, and looked to George. "So, how much do you know?"

"I know that John might die," George said, and suddenly he found himself blinking back tears. "I know that the last time this was all happening — or, the last time it was happening for Paul — I don't really know how this works, but — but I know that John was shot."

Barney nodded solemnly. "Well, with a lot of hard work and a little bit of luck, that won't be happening this time round."

"Even though the prophecies are fake," said George.

Barney looked at him oddly.

"Look, don't get me wrong," George sighed. "I don't want John to die. He's my friend. One of my very best friends. But Paul gave me the whole spiel and it does raise some questions about ethics and morals and the space-time continuum."

"I... I know," Barney said. "I don't know what to say, George. I don't know what to say or do or think anymore."

"Yeah," George said. "Neither do I."

***

"The flu?" John said. "Just the flu? You swear?"

"Yes, Mr. Lennon," the doctor sighed. "A pretty severe case, but all the same —"

"Just the flu," John said. "Treatable. It's treatable."

"Easily treatable," the doctor confirmed.

"It's just the flu?" John asked again.

"Yes," the doctor said, and he looked to be on the verge of rolling his eyes. "The flu. It's the flu. Not cancer or a heart attack like you came in here worrying it might be. It is the flu. We are prescribing him antibiotics and you can take him back to his house tonight. It would be wise for someone to be with him for a few days while he recovers. Goodnight, gentlemen." Before John could ask anything else of him or question his diagnosis again, he turned and quickly left the room.

"You were being a little obvious, John," Paul said, his voice cracking and weak.

"I don't care," said John. "Who's he gonna tell if he suspects anything? Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that jazz."

"It's just the flu," Paul coughed. "See? No reason to see a doctor."

"A severe case, Paul," Ringo said and he rolled his eyes. "People do die of influenza, you know."

"I'm fine, though," said Paul, yawning.

"Because we got you to a doctor," Ringo huffed.

"I don't want to fight about it anymore," John sighed. "I just wanna get you home. I wanna check on George. I wanna go to sleep."

Paul frowned. "What's —" he coughed "— what's wrong with George?"

"Said he was feeling a little dizzy just before we left to bring you here," John explained. "He decided to hang back and take a rest."

"Oh," Paul said, frowning and unsettled by this news.

"He's fine, I'm sure," John assured Paul. "Come on. Let's go home."

******

A/N: I'm baaaaaaaaaaaack :)