January 1980

Paul got brought in for a check-in with the F.H.O. again at the beginning of 1980, just after the New Year had begun. They didn't attempt to look inside his memories, like they once had. Paul still found this suspicious, but Barney told him, once again, that he shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

It was the same questions as the past two times he'd been brought in, and the questioning went relatively in the same direction. They asked about his plans in regards to keeping John alive, and he said that he had him tied down in England and he told them about the plans to start another album, and President Wilson did not seem impressed but he let him go. That was that.

February 1980

The following month, the Unknowables brought him, George, and Yoko in for an update on how John was doing. They said they would continue to do this throughout the course of the year.

"I thought you didn't care if he lived or died," Paul said. "You're putting a whole lot of effort in for something you don't even care about."

"We said we'd help," Marbella said. "We're helping. When are you planning to pitch doing a new Beatles album?"

"Over the summer," Paul said. "I've started slowly bringing the idea up to him."

"I'm going to start bringing up to Ringo next," George said. "We need to ease into it. We've been on break for a quite a while now."

"Good," Darren said. "That's good. I think you're on the right track, but we'll continue to check in."

"We appreciate the concern," Yoko said.

March 1980

In March, Paul and John went on a trip to visit Mimi. John talked to her on the phone all the time, at least once a week, but he hadn't been out to see her in quite some time.

Mimi was overjoyed to see them. She sat them down right away and started bustling, very slowly, about the kitchen, ready to whip up some food for them. "Vegetarian for Paul! I remember!" she said.

"Mimi, please, would you just sit and relax," John huffed. "Jesus, you're going to bust a hip."

"I'm just fine, thank you," Mimi snapped back. "I do live on my own, you know, and I have managed to take care of myself thus far."

John sighed, smiling. "I know that. But please, just have a seat and I'll make the tea. All right?"

"Oh, all right," Mimi grumbled, taking a seat across from Paul. "It's sweet of you, John."

"Anytime," John said, pulling tea down from the cabinets, and setting the kettle on the stove.

Mimi looked to Paul, but addressed both men. "You know, boys, I'm not going to live forever."

"You don't say," John said.

"Well, if anyone can mange it, I bet it'll be you," Paul said laughingly.

"Thank you, Paul," Mimi said, smiling.

"Ever the charmer, that McCartney," John said.

"But I'm serious," Mimi said. "I'm not going to live forever. I am getting on in my years, after all — I am seventy-four —"

"I know how old you are," John said. "I can do maths."

" — and one day, hopefully not very soon, but one day, I am going to pass away and go on to the next chapter of existence," Mimi said. "You do realize this, don't you, boys?"

"We do," Paul said, nodding.

"Is there a point to all your rambling, Mimi?" John sighed.4

"Well, I was only trying to ask about — well," Mimi huffed, pursed her lips, then started again. "I was only wondering when you two were planning to tell me that you are a couple as I'm not going to live forever, and you've waited this long."

"Wha— what?" Paul said, mouth suddenly very dry.

John had gone as bright red as a tomato. "Mimi!"

"John Lennon," Mimi said, glaring at her nephew, "do you think that I don't know what it means when two men, who are both unmarried, live together all alone in a very big house out in the middle of nowhere? And with a dog that they share ownership over?"

"We just —" John began.

"Do you think me stupid?" Mimi snapped.

"No, but we're not —" John tried to laugh, but that didn't work out. "We're just — we —"

"John," Paul sighed, shaking his head.

"I don't mind it," Mimi said, shrugging.

"You don't?" Paul asked, a little surprised. John was stunned into silence.

"No," Mimi said. "I did at first, but, John, I always thought that you might be — well — you know. And when Paul started coming round, I really — well — the point is that I don't mind. Just be honest with me, goodness, John."

"Well, I —" John swallowed hard. "I thought you'd be angry."

Mimi sighed. "No. Anyhow, how's that baby I heard George has? Do you have any pictures on you?"

And just like that, the conversation was over and they moved on. And that was that.

April 1980

The Unknowables pulled Paul, George, and Yoko out of their lives again in April for a meeting, and that went smoothly.

Back at home, Paul and George got together to discuss how they were going to convince John and Ringo that it was time for a new album.

"John's so happy being on break," Paul said, sighing. "I don't know how well this is going to go over. I mean he's taken up gardening — and knitting."

"Ringo, too, he's more of a family man than I ever thought he would be," George sighed.

"Not like you?" Paul said.

"I love Dhani more than life itself," George said. "I would die for him. And I love Olivia like breathing. But I do miss being in the studio, making music. Plus, I'm anxious to have something to keep John rooted here in December."

"No kidding," Paul said. "So am I."

    May 1980

At the beginning of the month, Paul got pulled into another meeting with the F.H.O. It was a smaller one this time, just with President Wilson and Barney present. "How's the album plan coming along?" the President of the F.H.O. asked Paul during the meeting.

"Really well, I think," Paul said, nodding. "Yeah, we were going to pitch the album over the summer, but George and I have been meeting for the past month and we've decided to pitch it later this month."

"You haven't even pitched the album to John Lennon yet?" President Wilson asked icily, glaring at Paul. Paul swore it felt like the man was staring directly into his soul.

"No, but we're trying to time it just right," Paul said. "We need time to warm him up to the idea, yes —"

"And you are already going on halfway through the year, yes?" President Wilson said.

Paul blinked. "Yes," he said, "however, we also want the album to be in production all the way through the end of the year. If we start to write and record an album right now, then it could be done by September. We need to make sure we're in the thick of the thing come December eighth."

President Wilson didn't seem impressed, yet again, but he accepted this answer and he sent Paul on his way.

Yoko came to visit for Paul and John's anniversary. She planned a whole week long trip around it — and it was planned this time. They had a dinner planned, Stuart called to wish them a happy anniversary (John had been very open about telling him about his and Paul's relationship these days, and they spoke on the phone often enough these days).

"Are you two ready?" Yoko called from the front entryway. "We're going to be late!"

"We're coming, we're coming!" John huffed. "George is a stickler about being on time anyway, he'll get our table and hold our place even if we and Ringo are late."

"Has Ringo got a new girlfriend?" Yoko asked as they were walking out to the car.

"No," John said, brow creased. "Unless you know something we don't?"

Yoko hummed. "No, I was just wondering."

"Yeah, me as well," Paul said to her underneath his breath, quiet enough so that John wouldn't hear. Then, at full volume, he said, "But he does have Lee this weekend, and we invited her to come to the anniversary dinner."

"And will George have the baby?" Yoko asked, giddy as she climbed into the backseat. "I just adore babies."

"You should have one," John said, and an awkward hush fell over the car. John did not notice this, of course, and went on talking. "And, you know, that baby of George's is almost two years old now."

At dinner, things lightened up. Though, Paul and Yoko were avoiding eye contact now. Olivia was deep in conversation with Lee who was going on about something exciting that happened at school earlier that week, and Ringo and Yoko were doting over Dhani. George looked to John and, without very much finesse at all, asked, "Have you been working on any new songs lately?"

John blinked. "Erm. No, not really. I jot some things down here and there, but I'm really enjoying the break. Aren't you?"

"Not really," George said.

"Oh," John said.

"I was thinking —" George began, but John cut him off.

"Do not," John said, "and I mean, do not dare, suggest we do another tour."

"No, not a tour," George said. "Just an album."

"No," John said firmly.

"Well, wait a second," Paul said. "Why don't we talk about it?"

"What do you mean 'talk about it', Paul?" John huffed. "We're on a break. We agreed we're on a break. No music for a while."

"It's been almost three years, though," Paul said.

"Well, I'm not done being on a break," John said.

"But —" George began, but this time Paul cut him off.

"Okay, okay," Paul said. "I don't want to fight, okay? Especially not today. You're not done being on a break. We'll talk about it another time."

The table settled back into regular conversation. George caught Paul's eye from across the table and opened his mouth to say something, but Paul just shook his head. Now's not the time.

George huffed and he questioned wordlessly, When is the time, then?

And Paul knew that he had a point. They were running out of time.

June 1980

John was reading in bed one night, Paul curled up at his side, when Paul brought up the subject matter again. "Don't you miss making music?" he asked.

John did not look up from his book. "I do."

Paul raised his eyebrows at him. "So do I. And don't you miss being in the studio?"

Still, John did not look up from his book. "I do," he said again, then he licked his finger and turned the page.

"So why don't you want to make a new album?" Paul asked.

And still, John did not look up from his book. He stared down at the words on the page in front of him, his eyes unmoving now, and this time he took a very long time to answer. He appeared to be deep in thought; Paul swore that he could see the cogs in John's head turning around and around. Until finally, John replied, "It's just not the right time, Paul. Not yet."

Paul sighed. "Right."

Not the right time. Never the right time. Running out of time.

July 1980

Another meeting with the Unknowables. Same old, same old.

August 1980

Another meeting with the F.H.O. (another big one this time — President Wilson still wasn't impressed and he still let him go without saying much about it), and another meeting with the Unknowables. George and Olivia had a party for Dhani's second birthday. Paul had barely seen Barney in months, aside from at the Unknowables meetings and the F.H.O. meetings. John still didn't want to make another Beatles album, and Ringo was disinterested, as well.

Paul was panicking.

September 1980

There was no Unknowables meeting in September. There was no F.H.O. meeting in September. However, halfway through September, Paul woke up in a room he did not recognize. He hadn't even realized that he was being taken from his bed, he was just here all of a sudden. With no explanation. And he was tied to a chair.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he realized that he did recognize this room. This was the room where George had found out about time travel, and about John dying.

"The fucking Shadows," Paul hissed.

"That's us," a woman said, walking toward Paul. She pulled up a chair and sat down opposite him. "Hello, Paul. Nice to see you again."

"Have we met before?" Paul said, one eyebrow arched.

"Yes," she said.

"Can't for the life of me remember your name," Paul said.

"It is literally the same name as one of your friends' wife," she huffed.

Paul frowned. "Oh! Olivia. Right. I remember you. You tried to ruin George's life."

Olivia sighed. "Okay, Paul. Listen, I'm not here to argue with you."

"Great, can I go home, then?" Paul said.

"Paul," Olivia huffed. "The Shadows want to give you one more chance to work with us. Admit that saving John Lennon is not the right thing for history. Work with us."

"This is your last ditch effort?" Paul said, raising his eyebrows. "Really? Talking to me?"

"Would you prefer the alternative?" Olivia asked.

"Is the alternative going home and sleeping in my bed?" Paul asked. "Because, in that case, yes. Very much so."

"The alternative is torture, idiot," Olivia said, rolling her eyes.

Paul shrugged. "Sounds less painful to me."

"Okay, Paul," Olivia said. "Look. You're either with us or against us, and if you're against us —"

"I am against you — I have always been against you — I have made it very clear for nineteen years that I am against you."

Olivia stared back at him. "Well, then. You're against us. I guess we're done here."

"That's it?" Paul said. "Still not going to kill me?"

"That would still negatively impact the timeline," Olivia said. "Just like John staying alive would. We want John to die, when he's supposed to, and we want you to live for as long as you're supposed to. We want to correct history."

"I was told a long time ago that the Shadows were originally responsible for John's death anyway," Paul said. "That doesn't sound like leaving history alone to me. Does it sound like that to you?"

"Where did you hear that?" Olivia asked.

"From Barney," Paul said.

"Mhm," Olivia said, nodding. "And was this before or after Barney realized that the F.H.O. is a bunch of filthy fucking liars?"

Paul blanked.

"That's what I thought," Olivia said. She stood up and turned to walk away. "Have a good life, Paul," she said over her shoulder. "See you in December."

October 1980

That fall, Paul and John celebrated nineteen years of being a couple. On their anniversary, since John was in such a good mood, Paul thought it might be a good time to bring up doing another Beatles album again.

He was wrong.

They wound up getting into a screaming match on their anniversary instead of spending quality time together, as had been the plan.

Paul was starting to worry that this would be their last anniversary spent together.

November 1980

Paul thought that, at the very least, John would cool down. But weeks and weeks went by, and John was still miffed that Paul kept trying to convince him to do another Beatles album while they were on a break. He would bring it up every few days, he would bring it up when he was in a bad mood, he would bring it up when Paul was in a bad mood.

"John, please, just let it go," Paul said.

"Why should I?" John snapped. "You wouldn't let it go."

"I've let it go now," Paul sighed.

"Yeah, it only took you months," John huffed. "You know what? I'm fucking tired. I'm going the fuck to bed."

"Fine," Paul said, throwing his arms up in the air. He went the other way and went to the kitchen. He snatched a water bottle from the fridge and leaned against the counter with a groan.

"Hello," Barney said as he materialized out of thin air.

"Hi," Paul grumbled.

"What is wrong with you?" Barney frowned.

"John and I are fighting," Paul sighed.

"That's — that's really bad," Barney said, eyes wide. "This is not the time for that to be happening."

"Yeah, you think I don't know that?" Paul huffed. "I'm working on it. Anyway, what's up? Another meeting?"

"No, I just wanted to come check on you," Barney said. "Seeing as we're getting really close to, you know, The Day, and all. Which, clearly, was a good decision."

"It's — it's gonna be fine," Paul said. "Everything is gonna work out. I'm working it out — I'm working on it — it's fine."

"Okay, okay," Barney said gently. "It's okay, Paul. I believe in you. You know I do."

"I — I know," Paul said, breathing heavy. "But what if I don't quite believe in me anymore?"

"You've got to," Barney grabbed onto Paul by his shoulders. "You have lived for John for nineteen years, pretty much. You've done everything and anything for him. So just... look at it like that. Believe in yourself, if not for yourself, for John."

Paul sighed. "Okay, yeah."

"You've got this," Barney said.

"I've got this," Paul echoed, trying with all of his might to believe it.

"I have to go," Barney said. "But I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Okay," Paul said, nodding.

"Everything is going to be okay," Barney said. "You've got this."

Paul nodded. "See you soon," he said.

"See you," Barney said, and then just like that, he was gone.

Paul moped around the kitchen, feeling badly for himself, for a little while longer. He washed the few dishes that were in the sink and put them away in the cabinet. He was just starting to think about whether he should go up to bed or just sleep on the couch when he heard the horrible screaming coming from upstairs.

"John?!" he cried, bolting for the stairs. He bounded up to the second floor, taking the stairs two at a time. He burst into the bedroom, afraid that he'd find one of the Shadows standing over John's lifeless body. But when his eyes landed on John, it was only to find that John was yelling in his sleep and wrestling with the blankets.

A nightmare, Paul thought to himself. He'd forgotten all about the nightmares that had plagued John early on in the sixties. It had been such a long time since he'd had one like this.

Paul got onto the bed, frowning. He knelt at John's side and shook him awake. "John — John!" he said urgently, and John flipped himself over as his eyes flew open. "It's me," Paul said. "I'm here."

"You're here," John said back to him.

"I am," Paul said.

John pulled him in. He held onto him. "Don't leave," he said.

"I won't," Paul said. "I'm not going anywhere."

December 1980

They didn't speak about the nightmare. Looking back on it, maybe they should have. But they didn't — they ignored it all together and John went on being mad about the Beatles album debacle.

Fighting with John stressed Paul out a lot, given the circumstances. But December 7 rolled around and John was still at home, with him. They were in the sitting room, sitting opposite one another, and neither of them had said anything in a long while.

John broke the silence by snapping his book shut and tossing it down on the coffee table.

Paul looked up.

"You know there's another thing that's bothering me," John huffed.

Paul blinked. "Okay." He put down his own book. "What is bothering you, John?"

"The fact that you want the break to be over so badly," John said. "Like just living life, here with me, isn't enough, huh? It's not enough for you, Paul."

"It is lovely," Paul said evenly. "We have built an incredible life together and, John, I love you so much. I just love the music, too."

"More than me," John said.

"No," Paul said.

"While we're on the subject of what and who you love," John said. "At the Christmas party we had a few years back, you said that you don't have feelings for Yoko. I think it's time I call you on that lie."

Paul released a long, slow breath. Stay calm, he thought, stay calm.

"John," Paul began. "I told you then, and I'll tell you again, that I do not, have not, and never will be in love with Yoko."

"Well, it's got to be someone," John snapped. "If not Yoko, then who?"

"You," Paul said, his temper beginning to slip. "It's you. What have I ever done to make you think that it's not you who I am in love with and devoted to for my whole life, John?"

"You wrote that song," John hissed, talking quieter than before.

"You're going to have to be more specific than that," Paul sighed. "I've written a lot of songs."

"The 'Maybe I'm Amazed' one," John said. "It's all about a woman. I saw it."

Paul froze. He swallowed hard and searched for the right words to say because his brain started shouting LINDA, LINDA, LINDA at him and he couldn't do that to himself right now. She didn't belong here and now — she couldn't.

"John, what — we have written so many songs about women who are just — they don't exist," Paul said. "We have to — you know we have to!"

"This one was different," John said. "I know it was."

"How do you know that?" Paul demanded.

"I know it was different that time," John said.

"John, there is no one but you," Paul said.

"But there was," John said.

"No," Paul said. "I have never strayed from —"

"I didn't say you did," John said. "I'm just saying you had feelings for someone somewhere along the line."

"You're wrong," Paul said. "It has been you, and only you."

"Paul, just tell me the truth," John said. "I'm not gonna be mad."

"You're already mad," Paul huffed.

"I wouldn't be if you'd tell me the fucking truth," John snapped.

"There's nothing to tell," Paul said. "I am telling you the truth. That song is about no one."

"I can't believe you can't even tell me the truth about this," John huffed, getting up out of his chair. "This was over ten years ago, you can't just tell me who caught your eye fucking over a decade ago. You and your fucking pride." He turned and stormed out of the room.

"John!" Paul jumped up and ran after him. "So, what? You're going to just run upstairs and —" he stopped short, stopped talking, and just froze in place because John wasn't storming off to the bedroom. He was getting his shoes on, and his coat. "Where — where are you going?" Paul asked.

"Don't know yet," John huffed.

"It's cold," Paul said lamely.

"There's heat in the car," John snapped back, then turned and walked out the front door.

"John!" Paul shouted. He ran after him and his feet were numb as soon as they hit the icy cold ground but he didn't care. "John!" he yelled.

"Give me some fucking space, McCartney!" John growled over his shoulder.

That was the breaking point for some reason, the angry use of his last name like John always used to do in the other timeline. Paul saw red. "You always run away!" he cried. "You always break me and then you run away!" And that wasn't fair, and Paul knew that wasn't fair because John didn't remember everything that Paul did — this John Lennon hadn't done a lot of the things the John Lennon in the other timeline had done.

Nineteen years of hard work, and Paul was pretty sure that he had lost.