"You idiot," a cold voice spoke to Paul. "Paul McCartney, you complete and utter idiot! What were you thinking?!"

       "I have to go back," Paul said shakily, staggering to his feet and locking eyes with President Wilson. "Please, I've got to go back. He'll die — he's going to die! I have to go back now!"

      "Yes, he will," President Wilson said as calmly as he could manage. "He will die, just as he was supposed to. If you did not wish to face this, you should have let him die when he was supposed to!"

      "You never told me not to save him!" Paul said, willing himself not to cry — he couldn't cry, he knew he couldn't cry! Not now! "You never said I had to let Brian die! So — what? Am I just supposed to let him die? Am I just supposed to sit back and watch George die?! Am I supposed to let everyone except for John die?!"

      "You are supposed to do nothing without our explicit permission!" President Wilson bellowed.
   
      "I do not have to ask for your permission for every little thing I do! I have made changes without asking you, without you telling me to!" Paul yelled.

      "Paul," said a soft voice from the corner and Paul looked over and saw Barney, arms crossed and mouth curved downward into a tight frown. "Be careful," he mouthed.

       "Those were small things!! MINUSCULE things!" President Wilson screamed. "You could have ruined everything today! You do not stop someone from dying without our permission!"

      Paul shook his head slowly. "Please... He's my friend..."

      "No," President Wilson scowled and though Paul opened his mouth to speak again, President Wilson snapped his fingers and Paul was falling, soaring, and he slammed back down on the concrete.

       Blood. So much blood.

      "Brian," Paul murmured, reaching for his manager, for his friend, but he couldn't see — his vision was fuzzy and dark around the edges. "Let me save Brian, let me save him please..."

      There was another hand on his shoulder then and he flinched.

      "It's okay, Paulie," said a gentle voice, smooth and familiar.

       "John," Paul breathed. "John... Brian..."

       "I know, Paul," John said softly, pulling Paul to his feet. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

      "No... Brian..."

      "Can you walk?"

      "I — "

     "Paul?"

     "I can't see."

     "Okay," John said gently. He ushered Paul slowly back to the flat.

      When Paul's vision returned to him, he was on the sofa wrapped in a soft blanket with a cup of tea in his hands. John was beside him, both arms wrapped around his waist in a protective sort of way. George and Ringo were standing, watching him carefully with tears filled eyes.

      "He'll be okay, he'll be okay," Paul kept saying, over and over again.

     "Paul."

      "He'll be fine, he's okay."

      "Paulie, he's dead."

      "He's fine!"

      "He's gone, Paul," John whispered against Paul's shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

~~~

     Paul walked into the studio, pocketing his key.

     He hoped John wouldn't panic when he awoke to find Paul gone. Paul had left a note, but John could be quite oblivious at times of crisis -- as well as just in general, to be honest.

      It had been several months, now, since Brian died. Paul was coping well enough, but it still wasn't at all easy. He was finding himself needing more and more alone time whether it be in the flat, in the studio, going for a walk. He just needed to be alone sometimes (and by sometimes, I mean disturbingly frequently).

      There was more to think about than just Brian, of course. Paul had seen it coming, he just hadn't known when it was going to finally happen seeing as it was already terribly late — Ringo was getting married. Ringo was getting married, which meant Ringo was moving out of the flat that all four Beatles had shared for so long.

     When Paul got to the recording studio, he went straight for the piano, running his hands along the sleek instrument with a smile that appeared on his face out of nowhere when his gaze fell upon the smooth, pearly white keys.

     Paul slid onto the bench, his fingers ghosting across the keys before he began to put pressure on them. His fingers then danced across the piano like a ballerina across a stage, striking notes here and there with expertise.

     "Would you care to sit with me
For a cup of English tea
Very twee, very me
Any sunny morning,"

      Paul wasn't even sure he'd been played the right chords and notes for English Tea, but it was the first song that came to his head and regardless of whether or not he'd been playing the right tune before he started singing, he was now.

     "What a pleasure it would be
Chatting so delightfully
Nanny bakes, fairy cakes
Every Sunday morning

Miles of miles of English garden, stretching past the willow tree
Lines of holly, hocks and roses, listen most attentively,"

      Paul found his mouth to be forming a joyous grin.

     "Do you know the game crochet
Peradventure we might play
Very gay, hip hooray
Any sunny morning,"

     He whistled happily, still grinning to himself. He felt like his old self -- and by old he quite literally meant old -- again, and he never thought that'd be a good thing. But it most certainly was.

     "Miles of miles of English garden, stretching past the willow tree
Lines of holly, hocks and roses, listen most attentively

As a rule the church bells chime
When it's almost supper time
Nanny bakes, fairy cakes.."

     He continued to smile to himself for a few moments before the silence that was flying on top of was broken by clapping. He turned around quickly to see John standing there, leaning against a wall, just casually clapping as if he was supposed yo be there.

     "That was lovely," John smiled.

     "Tha-thanks," Paul said. "Er, when'd you get here?"

     "Very shortly after you did," John shrugged. "I heard you getting out of bed this morning, and I knew where you were going because you left a note..so... I wasn't exactly planning on keeping my arrival a secret, but you were a bit preoccupied making love to that piano."

      Paul smiled shyly, blushing a bit.

     "Hey, don't be shy with me," John shook his head. "Don't you ever be shy with me... Now, what do you think? That song? Next album?"

     "What?! No!" Paul exclaimed, shaking his head. "No no no no no!"

     "What? Why not?" John asked, eyes wide. "It's gorgeous, we've got to put it on the next album!"

     "No!" Paul said again.

     "Since when did you get so shy?" John crossed his arms.

     "I just..I don't think this is a good song for our next album," Paul said. He had promised himself over and over again that he wouldn't change any of the albums, he wouldn't use any of his non-Beatles material until Let It Be had been recorded and released and he'd managed to keep the Beatles together for an extended period of time. "It's not really the kind of song you like, is it? Why do you want it on the next album so badly?"

     "Well, you're right," John nodded. "It's not really my type of song, but... I've learned to love your type of music over the years, as long as you're the one singing it."

      Paul smiled. John would be his best friend and the love of his life no matter what, but he did have to admit that he could be a pretty shitty person from time to time. This time around, though, John really was such a lovely person — it amazed Paul from time to time.

      "You know, my type of music used to be your type of music," Paul chuckled.

     "Yes, it used to be," John nodded, "but people can change."

     "Ain't that the truth," Paul smiled, nodding. "Well," he sighed. "If you really insist, I guess we could put it on the album." What harm could one little song do, after all?

      "You know, George is talking about moving out when Ringo does," John said. "Getting his own place."

      "Yeah, I know," Paul sighed. "It's been so long since we had a flat with just the two of us. It should be nice to think about but...I don't know...it sounds kind of lonely to me now that we've lived with George and Ringo for so many years."

      "I was thinking," John said. "What if we got a house?"

      "A house? A whole house all to ourselves?" Paul raised his eyebrows. "Isn't that a tad overkill? What would we do with all of that space and just two people? And don't you think people will get suspicious when two supposedly single men from the same band move into a house together? Also, why would we want to spend money on all that space if we're not going to use it all?"

     "Paul, I don't know if you've noticed this so allow me to point it out to you — we're in the Beatles!" John said, earning himself a very dramatic eye roll from his boyfriend. "We've got enough money! And think about it... If we had a yard, and a lot of space inside, we could get a pet — we could get a dog!"

      Paul's heart thrummed longingly for Martha for a moment.

      "We could get a place out in the countryside, far away from anyone," John said. "No one will be suspicious."

      Paul sighed. He still thought getting a whole house for just the two of them wS a little ridiculous but John looked so excited at the idea. "Oh, very well." Paul rolled his eyes and laughed.