When Paul woke up the next morning, he was positively over the moon. He was going to save John Lennon! He wasn't going to let him die! John was going to live this time!

      Paul suddenly had high hopes and dreams for his life. He began planning, trying to figure out how he was going to save everyone. He'd have to try and convince George not to smoke and maybe he could find a way to make sure Linda is diagnosed earlier on and she could be treated!

     This time, everything was going to be better. He would make sure of that.

     He got dressed and headed over to John's flat around noon, carrying his guitar in its case. He pressed the buzzer and John let him in a few moments later. He hurried up the stairs, all twelve flights, and he was out of breath and sweating by the time he got to the top - of course, he couldn't care less.

      Paul opened the door and walked in without knocking. "Hey, Johnny!" He called and his heart fluttered at just being able to do this again.

      "Hey, Macca!" John called back and walked into the room. "You're early."

     "Well, you know," Paul shrugged.

     "We should write until we have to leave," John said.

     "I thought we were doing that tomorrow," Paul said.

      "Yeah, but I've got a really great idea for song!" John said and Paul realized how much he had missed seeing John get so excited whenever he had a really great idea. "Okay, I've already got a little bit of it." John grabbed his guitar and began to strum. "Ready to be blown away, Paulie?"

      "I'm ready," Paul laughed.

      John smirked and played his guitar. "Last night I said these words to my girl
I know you never even try, girl
C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon
Please please me, whoa yeah, like I please you,"

      Paul's heart stopped for a solid few seconds.... This wasn't supposed to happen. This song wasn't written for over another year! What the hell was going on....

      John looked Paul dead in the eyes as he sang. "You don't need me to show the way, love
Why do I always have to say "love"
C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon
Please please me, whoa yeah, like I please you,"

      Paul watched John carefully as the older man (well, John was technically older now, but Paul was really seventy three, so...) set down his guitar.

      "That's all I've got so far," John shrugged, his gaze never leaving Paul's. "So, what do you think?"

     "I...I love it," Paul said. This isn't supposed to happen, this isn't supposed to happen, this is all wrong!

     "Truth?" John raised an eyebrow.

      THIS. IS. NOT. SUPPOSED. TO. HAPPEN. "No, really! I love it, John." Paul said and shook himself out of his thoughts.

     John smiled and it was a real, genuine smile that he Paul remembered him hiding from most people. "Thanks, Paul. It means a lot coming from you, you know."

      This was something Paul could deal with. Paul could handle the rough and tough John that was all about sex, booze, and music. Paul could also handle the real John, the one that was hidden behind a mask - the one that came down from time to time...the one that only Paul really ever got to see when they were younger. But he absolutely could not handle the John that was writing songs over a year before they were meant to be written!

      "George and Pete are going to be here in a little bit," John said, getting to his feet. "Pete called. He said he'll make it through the show, so that's all settled. He promises he's fine but I swear, ill or not, if he throws up onstage in front of an audience, I'll pummel him."

      Paul laughed.

     "Want a beer?" John said.

     "I'd love a tea," Paul said.

      John rolled his eyes. "Typical," But he went to the sink and filled the kettle then placed it on the stove, and even though he'd had every intention of having a beer, he got out two teacups and two tea bags. "So, Paulie, how's flat hunting looking?"

      Paul smiled... He remembered this conversation in vivid detail.

    "So, Paulie, how's flat hunting looking?" John asked, one eyebrow raised.

     "Not great," Paul sighed. "I just don't think I can afford my own place right now."

     "Well, you can't keep living with your dad," John rolled his eyes.

      "I don't know, it's not that bad, I suppose," Paul had shrugged his shoulders. "Besides, if I can't afford it then what am I to do? Until your name is in lights, a musician isn't exactly the best paying profession in the world."

     "Well, one day your name is going to be in lights. Yours and mine." John said. Little did he knew at the time how right he really was.

      And that had been the end of it. So Paul said, "Not great," and sighed. "I just don't think I can afford my own place right now."

      "Well, you can't keep living with your dad," John said and Paul could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

     "It's not that bad," Paul said, not bothering to follow his mental script. "I mean, he's my dad. It's not the worst thing in the world to be able to see him every morning and every evening."

     "Sounds like hell to me," John said.

     "Well, my father and your father are very different people, you know what I mean, John?" Paul said. "Anyway, like I said, I can't afford it right now and if I can't afford it then what I am to do about that? I love music, I really do, and I wouldn't give it up for the world, but until your name is in lights, a musician isn't exactly the best paying profession in the world."

      "Your name is going to be in lights," John said. "One day. Yours and mine and George's and Pete's. Everyone will know the band called The Beatles, I promise you that. And then we'll be rich and we'll never have to worry about any of this."

      He was almost totally right. Paul wanted to make a comment about Pete, but he decided that that would be a very very very bad idea.

      John and Paul were both very silent then. John finished making the tea and carried the cups into the room, handing one to Paul. They both sat there, sipping their tea, until John spoke again. "You could move in with me," John said.

      Paul nearly spit out his tea. He swallowed hard and painfully and looked at John with wide eyes, because that had certainly never happened. "Wha-what?!"

      "Oh, come on," John said. "It could work! I've just got a mattress in my bedroom, you know, but you could move your bed here! It's not like we've never shared a room before - hell, this'll be easy. We had to fit you, me, George, Pete, and Stuart into a room in Hamburg!"

      Paul thought it over. Was it such a bad idea?

      "It's a good idea, Paul," John said, sipping his tea. "We'd be together all the time and we could just write whenever we want. You'd be able to get out of your dad's house and I wouldn't be all on my own."

      There was a voice in the back of his head telling him to decline. This hadn't happened the first time around, so it shouldn't be happening now. God knows why John was suggesting it! 

      But this time around was supposed to be all about change, right? And this was John! He was Paul's best friend! What could possibly go wrong?

      "You know what?" Paul said. "It is a good idea. You've got yourself a deal, Lennon."

~~~

      "Well gonna write a little letter
Gonna mail it to my local D.J.
It's a rocking little record
I want my jockey to play
Roll over Beethoven
I gotta hear it again today,"

      John's voice, accompanied by Pete's heavy drumming and Paul and George's intense guitar playing, filled The Cavern Club. His voice was gruff after singing for hours and none of the girls - or guys, for that matter - in the club could deny that it had a certain sex appeal.

      "You know my temperature's rising
And the jukebox's blows a fuse
My hearts beating rhythm
And my soul keeps singing the blues
Roll over Beethoven
And tell Tchaikovsky the news,"

      When George showed up at John's for practice, Paul had to restrain himself. He wanted to throw his arms around George and sob and tell him how much he'd missed him, but that had just downright confused John and Paul's father so he thought it best not to.

     "I got a rocking pneumonia
I need a shot of rhythm and blues
I think I got it off the writer
Sittin' down by the rhythm review
Roll over Beethoven
We're rockin' in two by two,"

     Paul had forgotten how easy it was to play with John and George, and he couldn't wait until Ringo joined the band. He just couldn't wait to be part of the Beatles again - the real Beatles!

      It was just so easy to fall back into a musical routine with John. Passing the microphone back and forth to sing, playing until their fingers blistered. Bodies dripping in sweat with their hair plastered to their foreheads, jumping about and grinning from ear to ear the whole time like there was nothing in the world they'd rather be doing - and really, there was nothing in the world Paul would rather be doing than rocking out on stage with John Lennon.

     "Well if you fell you like it
Well get your lover and reel and rock it
Roll it over and move on up
Just jump around and reel and rock it
Roll it over
Roll over Beethoven
A rocking in two by two, oh

Well early in the morning
I'm a giving you the warning
Don't you step on my blue suede showes
Hey little little
Gonna play my fiddle
Ain't got nothing to lose
Roll over Beethoven
And tell Tchaikovsky the news

You know she winks like a glow worm
Dance like a spinning top
She got a crazy partner
Oughta see them reel an rock
Long as she's got a dime
The music will never stop
Roll over Beethoven
Roll over Beethoven
Roll over Beethoven
Roll over Beethoven
Roll over Beethoven
And dig these rhythm and blues!"

      The crowd went wild, clapping and cheering and just bloody screaming!

      "Thank you, thank you!" John shouted into the microphone. "Big round of applause for our drummer, Pete Best!" He paused while the crowd cheered. "Our guitarist, Mr. George Harrison!" The crowd cheered again. "Our very own, very sexy bassist, Mr. Paul McCharmly."

      Paul rolled his eyes. Classic John. He grabbed the microphone and said. "Kind words, John. Ta."

      John smirked. "I didn't mean them," he chuckled into the microphone.

      Paul rolled his eyes and took the microphone again. "Ladies and gentleman, the one, the only, the biggest arse in the world, John Lennon!"

      John laughed at Paul as the crowd cheered for him.

     "That was so great!" George exclaimed as they were leaving the club.

     "Just awesome!" Paul agreed.

     John, George, and Pete all looked at him with confused expressions. "What?" John said.

      "Uhm..." Paul said. Crap. "It - it means, like, really good. Like the show was great, yeah? It was awesome!"

     "Huh," Pete said.

     "Erm, where did you hear that?" George raised his eyebrows.

     "Uh, I read it in a book," Paul said quickly.

     "Well, that's what you get for wasting your time reading books all the time," John slung an arm across Paul's shoulders and laughed. "You start using nonsense words that no one would ever use!"

     Oh, yeah? Just you wait, Paul thought defiantly.

     George and Pete went their own separate ways to go home, and Paul just went back to John's flat with him. "Can I stay here tonight? I don't feel like walking home right now." Paul sighed.

     "Of course, Macca," John said. "After all, it'll be your flat, too, pretty soon."

      Paul laughed and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I suppose it will. Well, I guess I'll take the chair."

     "You can share with me if you'd like," John shrugged. "It wouldn't be the first time."

      That's true. The sleeping arrangements had been a bit screwed up for the first couple of weeks in Hamburg and they'd been one bed short. "If you don't mind, then..."

      "It's fine," John said. "Come on, let's get some sleep."

     Paul thought that John was acting suspiciously un-John-like, but he brushed the thought away for now as he and John kicked off their shoes and threw their leather jackets to the side. They crawled beneath the covers in their clothes and just like that, they fell asleep.

~~~

      After talking it over with his father, Paul had officially decided that he was going to move in with John. He spent all day on Sunday packing all of his clothes and other belongings. John and George were coming over Monday morning to help Paul move his mattress over to John's flat - he wasn't bringing his whole bed because it wasn't like John's bedroom was particularly big and he figured he should save space.

     Meanwhile, John was lying on his mattress in his bedroom wondering what the hell he'd done.

      That was so stupid! He thought to himself, shoving his face into a pillow in frustration. Now Paul's going to move in here, and what the fuck am I going to do with myself then? This is a disaster! An absolute wreck! But he'd dug himself into a deep hole now. Paul was coming to live with him and that was that.

      It worked out well, though, in the long run.