"Big ears!"

"Pointed nose!"

"Crater face!"

"Granny glasses!"

John gasped dramatically. "Harrison! This is a new low for you!"

"What? You called me 'crater face'!"

"Well, you called me 'granny glasses'! You know how insecure I am about my glasses!"

"You know how insecure I am about my ears!"

"Well, you know how insecure I am about my — "

"Both of you shut up!" Paul screamed, jerking at his hair. Behind him, on the drum kit, Ringo looked bored out of his mind, leaning to one side, smoking out of the corner of his mouth.

"He started it!" John and George said simultaneously, pointing at one another.

Paul breathed in and out slowly. "If you don't stop fighting we'll never get this album done."

"Who cares if it gets done or not?" John said, plopping down next to Yoko, who had become a regular in the studio. That was also what was making George feel anger boiling in his gut. Her. She sat on his amp and he hadn't been able to think of a nicer way to tell her to get off. So he'd just said . . . what he'd said. He had immediately regretted it, but there was nothing he could do about it. She didn't need to be there. None of their wives were there, but she was there and she wasn't even married to John. Yet.

"I care," Paul said pointedly, pointing a finger at his chest. "I care, John."

John shrugged, picking at his fingernails.

"What's it going to be called?" Ringo asked, desperately wanting to change the subject. George didn't blame him. He didn't like conflict, no one there really liked conflict. Except John. He could get into an argument with a brick wall, but he was out burning baby dolls for peace. Makes a lot of sense, George's thoughts scoffed.

"A Doll's House," he mused, thinking about those poor, poor dolls that John burned on his free time.

"I like that," Paul nodded, looking around at them all, but avoiding Yoko.

"Yeah. Great," Ringo agreed.

Silence hung in the air as they all looked at John.

"I don't like it," John said finally, glaring at George behind his round lenses. George just stared back at him, not going to allow himself to break the gaze first. They sat there, staring each other down for the next thirty seconds, burning thoughts in each of their heads.

"This needs to end," Paul said finally, causing their gazes to break.

"Well, what are you gonna do about it, Macca?" John challenged, venom dripping from his words.

"I think we all need to have some quality togetherness outside of the studio."

"What? No. No. No!"

"Quiet in the studio, please."

"No!" John yelled again. "I don't socialize with you people outside of this building. The days of sleeping together are over. Over." He glared daggers at Paul, but Paul just looked at him.

"I think you and George should spend some time together — "

"Me and Harrison aren't doing nothing!" John interjected.

" — and it may help get this album done."

"No, no, no, no! I don't need that bloody kid following me around like he used to!"

Out of all the things that John could have said, this stung the worst. John knew how much it bothered George to be called a "kid." He was twenty-five years old, for God's sake. Was that really a kid? He didn't think so.

"If you won't do it willingly, I'll handcuff you together," Paul threatened.

"You wouldn't," John said, but his voice said he was unsure.

"I would. Tomorrow is Saturday. You two are going to spend your weekend together."

"No!" John said, this time a lot quieter. "I won't, and you can't make me!"

Paul stood up and made his way to his bag that he brought to recording sessions. He pulled out two pairs of handcuffs. He walked over to John, slowly, as if he was approaching a wild animal. That might as well have been what John was, because something tore up his throat that sounded a lot like a growl. George's eyebrows knitted together. Seriously? he thought. You're growling?

Before John could snap his teeth at him, Paul snapped one of the cuffs on John's wrist and pulled him over to where George was sitting. George recoiled from him, almost causing his chair to topple. He couldn't run away, though. Paul had already snapped the other cuff on his wrist, and now he and John were just two feet apart. This was the closest proximity they'd been to each other since . . . well, George couldn't remember the last time.

"There. You will spend the next two and a half days like that," Paul said.

"What about the other cuffs?" John spat.

"Ringo and I are going to spend our weekend like this as well."

"I didn't agree to this!" Ringo protested.

"If they're doing it, we're doing it, Rings," Paul said, slapping a cuff on Ringo and one on him. "There. Let the weekend begin."

Ringo looked at him like he'd lost his mind. John sneered at him, wrinkling his nose and all. George, however, just stood there, willing himself to remain calm. He'd spent the past year meditating and learning to calm himself, so that's what he did.

"Yes," he said, nodding and smiling at John. "Let the weekend begin."