A/N: Happy Crimble to you all - hope you have a good holiday break and have a chance to relax! Thank you all for reading, it means so much to me! xoxo

January 25, 1969 - Saturday Night

His Aston Martin DB5 was camouflaged in the darkness, as George pulled up to the curb. He spotted her in front of the house, standing on the wet grass, smoking a cigarette, in the same mini skirt and jacket she had worn at the studio.

"Christ, she must be freezing," he muttered.

The weather had considerably dropped overnight, with a chilly bite to the wind. Her handbag occupied the other hand. George watched her run to the car, and stub out the cigarette on the road, before sliding into the passenger seat. They stared at each other, May's eyes wide, clouded, and vacant. A million questions ran through his mind - the first being the reason behind the tear in May's skirt and cut on her lip, blood seeping from it.

"Christ, May, what happened?" he asked, and gently cupped her cheek in his hand, his thumb faintly touched her bottom lip, smearing the blood.

She turned her head, his hand falling.

"Just drive, George. Please," May pleaded.

She didn't have to say anymore. He immediately sped off to her flat; no words, only silence. May wiped her tender mouth with the back of her hand, the blood streaked across her skin, and it dried by the time they arrived at her apartment. From what George saw in her eyes, she was slightly stoned, and as more time passed, she retreated further away from him.

After her distressing call to George, he managed to find his way to May's friend's place. George contemplated calling his driver, but he wanted to take the drive himself. It was a bit risky, and not something he was particularly keen on doing, but May pleaded with him on the phone, and he found himself giving in...willingly.

They arrived at May's apartment a few minutes ago, but neither of them moved. George turned the ignition off, and watched her quietly. May's head was bowed, knees together, and seat belt undone. Her left leg shook - perhaps from the cold - and she began to pick at her fingernails, her hair masking her face from him. Her pear coloured jacket was covered in dirt, as if she had been lying on the ground, rolling in it perhaps. George received no response from her when he put his hand on her upper arm. Not even a flinch.

His concerns lay more with her fiancé's whereabouts and why May resorted to calling him. George felt the shaking of her shoulders, and it registered that she was quietly crying. She didn't have the guts to face him and reveal her vulnerability.

"May...look at me. C'mon," he softly whispered.

She gave a shaky sigh, that sort of came out as a broken sob. May finally turned her head, those pretty hazel eyes now red and weary. She bit her bottom lip, her salvia mixing with the open cut, and it stung, that she cried out, squeezing her eyes shut. The mucus clogged up her sinuses, and she was soon in need of a tissue.

"I-I'm just being silly. I'm sorry..." she said, her fingers raked through her hair, fringe falling into her eyes.

"Hey, you're not being silly. You're upset, it's good ya called." he gently squeezed her shoulder, but he wished he could do more.

They sat in the darkness, goosebumps travelling along her exposed legs, teeth slightly chattering. She was a fool to wear such a short skirt in cool temperatures, but it didn't matter now. She wanted to sleep more than anything, but her body wasn't ready to lie down and drift off just yet. May realised it was a mistake to drag George away from his home - particularly on a Saturday night - when she had hung up the phone from their chat. It troubled her, not only because George was a 'celebrity', but he was her employer, and she deemed that somewhat important. Perhaps it wasn't. But she had been brought up to respect the employer/employee relationship. May was young, and a bit too weak to stand up to values learnt as a child.

Despite this, it was evident that George was anything but her 'employer', with their relationship having this special quality to it since first interaction. She wiped her face with her hand, sniffing a few times.

She apologised again. "I shouldn't have c-called, but..." her gaze fell to her apartment, the lights off. "...I didn't know who else," she quivered.

"It's fine. I said on the phone it was fine."

May nodded, glancing at his neck and the collar of his jacket. Even in the darkness, she recognised the jacket - it was the one she had taken from Wednesday. George lit two cigarettes, and handed one to May, hoping it would subdue her nerves. They took long drags, smoking in the dark, the light wind the only disturbance.

"Tell me what happened. Start at the beginning," he said, flicking a piece of ash out the window.

May nodded, eyes kept down, on her skirt, and she swallowed thickly. Her mouth was very dry.

"M-my friend...did I ever mention Gina?"

George thought for a moment. "I don't think so, love."

"Well, she cried in my arms for nearly two hours, at the party. Her brother was in Nam'. He died. Shot dead."

She said it in such an empty and apathetic manner, that it was frightening. An individual in their youth shouldn't be so dehumanised to such violence and sadness, and yet it was if she had grown up with it.

"Oh shit. I'm sorry," George replied, his apology seemingly genuine.

May looked at him. "Yeah,"

They disposed of their cigarettes on the side of the road, before George wound the window up, and they settled into the seat. He noticed May's hand positioned on her knee, calmly laying there, and he took the chance to rest his hand upon her's, stroking it softly. She didn't flinch, or move it, and George smiled. May continued to tell of her night.

"There was mescaline or something in the drinks. I had some. But this guy had too much and just was on this bad trip, y'know? Went down the rabbit hole and never came back sort of thing...he beat someone nearly to death, and I fucking saw it with my own eyes. His blood in the grass and his blonde hair. They called the ambulance...and I-I-" and she chocked up again.

George observed the fullness of her lips in the moonlight, caused by her continuous crying. She was trembling, he could feel it through her bones, from where his hand was relaxed upon her's.

"Adam gave me some pot to calm me down, I guess. It's doesn't seem to be workin' though, must be weak as piss,"

"Who's Adam?" George questioned.

Her eyes grew stern. "Does that really matter right now?"

Her hand tensed, and was about to let go, but George tightened his grip on her's.

"You're right, I'm sorry," he quickly stated, and his grip lessened. May didn't move her hand away. "Did he at least get a ride home?"

"Yeah. I was scared, George," and he could identify it in her eyes, the fear shone threw her. He could sense the incident was the only thing running through her mind, and the shock of her friend beforehand must be heavy on her heart; he realised she must be quite an empathetic person.

George nodded. "I know, but it's okay now. You're okay now,"

He ceased the interrogations for a bit, allowing her to relax. She observed the seat belt and interior of the car. It was nearing 1 am, and George was exhausted, but he tried desperately not to let it show. Recording had dragged on until late, particularly with Paul's consistent nagging to settle down, let's do one more take...just one more bloody take...and another take...and all George wanted to do was go home, and he presumed so did the other two. Sure, things had been okay during the morning and rehearsing his number, but for some reason, the evening had brought everyone's mood down. Perhaps because it was a Saturday, and everyone just wanted to go home or go out, have dinner, or watch a movie...something other than work on a record that all four Beatles didn't really want to record. Or perhaps it was because it had been a long day and everyone was just tired; sessions began quite early as it had been scheduled that staff and the Beatles arrive at Apple at approximately 8:30am everyday. George wasn't particularly clear on whose idea it was that they start at such an ungodly hour, but he couldn't be bothered to look into it...all he knew was that it was a real pain in the arse.

However, despite the fluttering irritation in his system - which George had to work hard at to bury deep inside of him for now - he was determined to stay with May until he was confident she would be okay on her own. The lights in her apartment were off, questions about Peter's whereabouts screaming in his mind. But part of George felt that it was none of his business. She hardly pestered him about his personal matters, so why should he? Because I care about her...don't fucking lie... If May wanted him to know about Peter, she would reveal it.

All this stress about the band and May was getting to his head...he needed a fucking cigarette. George released his grip on her hand, and the sudden loss of pressure caused the coolness of the car to be much more extreme on her skin. He reached for his cigarettes on the dashboard, taking one out.

"Can I have another one?" May piped up, clearing her throat.

He looked at her and smiled. "I hope my bad habits aren't rubbing off on ya, May."

She shook her head. "Nah, just need one,"

They slowly smoked their cigarettes, no words between them. His gaze lingered on the edge of her skirt, to the ragged tear in the fabric.

"May...love," he whispered, and he waited until her eyes were locked with his. "What happened to you? Your lip, your skirt?" George looked down to emphasise his point.

From what he could see in the faint lightness, her eyes glassed over. She looked to the floor, and shrugged, and George realised he would never know the full extent of her night. So he let the questions go...but it didn't stop him from creating endless theories about the troubles of May.

"Do you work tomorrow? Well today I should say..." he smiled and looked at his watch. 1:10 am.

May shook her head. "Sunday's I have off."

George was slightly saddened by this, but understood it was the best for her to recover from the shock of her night. He flicked his cigarette out the window, and May did the same.

"What happened after I left the studio? Anything good?" she asked, settling into the seat.

George stayed quiet for a bit, not wanting to go into the whole drama of the evening sessions at Apple.

He shook his head. "We tried recording one - 'Let it Be', it's called. But I wasn't really feeling it, we'll probably try it later on. Paul was annoyed cause' we weren't focused," he replied, and picked at the steering wheel with his fingernail. There, that's brief yet still gives her insight into the session, George thought, deeply sighing.

The tiredness of his sigh and blurred infuriation in his words surprised May because she had left the studio when everyone was fine. It caused sadness in her because The Beatles were a big part of her childhood, she adored their music...and to hear that one of your favourite bands is not "feeling it" or are "annoyed cause' we weren't focused" is difficult to hear, even if you are just the tea lady who should be accustomed to the inevitable disagreements in the studio.

"Oh. But everything turned out good with your's?"

George nodded. "Yeah, yeah." and paused, thinking. He wanted to cheer her up. "But another thing is that the other tea lady - she came in after - isn't very sweet...unlike you," he said, his head leaned on the headrest, and they both smiled.

Their eyes were strained from tiredness, but they wanted to hold each other's attention for just a moment longer.

May wasn't really familiar with the other tea lady. May had met her only once before, when she came in before May's shift had ended. She was probably early thirties, although May couldn't tell, she was terrible at guessing people's age.

"Does she get the teas wrong or somethin'?" May asked, and her eyes closed for a few moments.

"Yeah, and no biscuits either. The guys agree with me, we prefer you. We've grown accustomed to your..." wifely...sexy...thrilling...entertaining...and, oddly enough, motherly nature.

George couldn't find the words, they were caught in his throat, and it made him incredibly nervous. He was sweating and falling into his introverted self, that it reminded him of behaviour as a teenager. It scared him to an extent; that he could turn into a mess so easily. And it was all for this...girl.

May slowly opened her eyes. "Grown accustomed to my what?"

Curiosity caused her smile to grow.

"...to...you. Just, you," he replied, and it sounded genuine enough, but he was definitely holding back.

May was delighted by his words however. It was his tone of appreciation that grabbed her, and it was finally her turn to reach out for his hand. He hummed in acceptance, gently squeezing her hand, and they closed their eyes.

* * * *

George awoke first. He squeezed his eyes shut, for a moment, before taking a glance at his watch...almost 2 am. He licked his lips, rubbing his tired eyes, and peered at May. After carefully stretching in the confined space of the driver's seat, George leaned over, close to May. Her breathing was shallow, her head shifting down, as she fell into a deeper sleep. He gently shook her, figuring it was best to wake her up so she could retire to her bed. May was startled, as she inhaled sharply, and tightly gripped onto George's shoulder.

"George..." she breathed, in fright of how close he was to her.

"Hey," he croaked, clearing his throat.

May's muscles flexed, and she sighed.

"We must've fallen asleep," she softly said.

"Yeah, we must've," George replied, his face still close to hers.

The intimate proximity was dangerous, but neither backed away. She straightened up her back, their eyes remained locked, and it made her dizzy. He would breath or talk, and the smell of cigarettes and honey would engulf her. George pushed back the delicate strand of hair on her face, tucking it behind her ear, his gaze briefly focusing on her dry lips. He leaned forward, the leather chair squeaking, her heart racing, and she quickly turned her body, so that George's lips came into contact with the back of the cold, leather passenger seat. His eyes were closed, so he was confused to the slightly wrinkled feeling of the surface against his mouth. He finally opened his eyes, realising that she had moved away from him, and all he could do was softly laugh at the whole thing.

His smile faded nevertheless, and the rejection ran coldly down his spine, that he immediately looked into her eyes, and realised that the want for him was there, but she held back, God bless her. It was like high school all over again...getting to a certain point with a girl, and then, the halt. The excuses...but George already knew May's reasoning, and he - barely - accepted it. Perhaps it was because women usually ached for his attention and did anything they could to catch a glimpse of his presence...and May was just this quiet teenager, who - to George - didn't really try that hard to tempt him. It was unbeknownst to him that May in fact did spend a lot of time on her appearance in order impress him. But she had a way about her that seemed so effortless...she was fun and gorgeous, just wishing to have a good time and have a laugh...and having a laugh seemed so appetising to George as he suffered through this constant war within himself and his bandmates.

"I better go, not keep you any longer," she whispered, breaking the silence.

May witnessed the lust in his eyes, before he glanced car's floor. George backed away, coughing into his fist.

"Will you be okay?" he asked, voice strained.

She nodded. "Thanks for the ride home, George," she said, and stuck a piece of gum into her mouth, disposing of the wrapper in her bag.

He sighed, a faint smile on his lips. "My pleasure, June." A warmth present in his voice, like sugar, and her breathing became ragged.

May was buttoning up her jacket, when George said,

"Here, take mine. Extra bit of warmth for ya." He began to slip his arms out the black, denim jacket.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded and handed it to her. "You've already stolen it once this week, might as well do it again." he smiled. "Plus, you look good in it,"

May put on the jacket, swiftly buttoning it up. The mood was lighthearted, despite George's previous, awkward attempt to kiss her.

"See you Monday. I'll try and stop by in the morning, before school."

"See you then, May."

* * * *

January 26, 1969 - Sunday.

Late Morning - Kinfauns.

George rubbed his eyes, yawning, as he stumbled to the wardrobe. He didn't get much sleep last night, constantly tossing and turning. He was therefore late into the studio - not that he could care less. He stood there, shirt wrinkled, slipping on a pair of jeans, whilst in another world. All he could do was...laugh.

George had spent at least ten minutes trying to find his black jacket, the one he had brought to many sessions. When he suddenly realised...he had loaned it to May the night before. His exhaustion was showing, and with images of May now filling his mind - and heart - all he could do was grin. That stupid, bloody kiss...

"What's so funny?" Pattie asked, as she sat on the bed.

She had just finished brushing her hair, looking lovely to George. Despite this, he did not voice his satisfaction of her beauty. It was only a couple of years ago that nearly every second day he would compliment her appearance. But time rolls on, and standards fall. George shook his head.

"Oh, it's uh, nothing really," he said, reaching for his brown jacket on the coat hanger. "Just remembered something."

* * * *

January 26, 1969 - Sunday.

May and Peter's Apartment.

May rubbed her feet together, feeling as if she was falling or drowning, her breath caught in her throat, as her arm reached out across the bed for Peter...but wishing for him to be there instead. And she didn't know why, but his name escaped from the back of her throat, a careless whisper, that her eyes opened suddenly.

"George," she said, her tone husky from sleep. The sound of her voice interrupted the silence of the apartment, and she blinked a few times to wake herself up. She was usually excited for Sunday's because it was Peter's day off as well, and they would spend a day in bed together.

It was then that she realised she was alone. Her hand ran across the left side of the bed, which looked as if it hadn't been touched, the coolness of the sheet raising May's worries. He didn't come home last night... She called out for him, but her throat and mouth was dry, so her voice wasn't as loud. May cleared her throat and tried again. She sat up, the bed sheets strewn across her legs, and decided to go to the bathroom. She quickly went to the toilet before brushing her teeth, and examining her complexion in the mirror. She ran her forefinger against her bottom lip and the tiny crack on its pinky surface, giving a small curse as it was still a tender spot.

It just happened so fast. The bass from Steppenwolf's 'Born to Be Wild' racing through May's stomach as his hand rapidly connected to her cheek in the hallway, her flesh bruising, and she saw the venom in his eyes. A sharp gasp emerged from Gina beside her, and she remained there, still and calm, like a robot, as she licked her bottom lip, blood seeping into her taste buds, a sort've metallic poisoning to her tongue. The ring on his thumb had accidentally clashed against her lip, and Gina's hand squeezed her forearm.

"You asshole!" Gina yelled, a strain in her voice from the endless sobbing beforehand.

May could smell the alcohol as he stepped close to her, and he cupped her cheek, wiping a single drop of blood from her trembling lip. She went to grab his chest and push him back, but instead of feeling his leather jacket, her palm slammed into glass, and she was confronted with her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

May returned to the bed, waiting for Peter, occasionally leaving the bed for a drink or food, spending the day like they normally would...but instead of it being with her fiancé, it was by herself.

* * * *

June 28, 1970 - Monday Morning.

"Bye, May. I'll see you tonight, okay?" Peter said, giving her a kiss on the forehead.

She nodded, gently rubbing the sleep from her right eye. "Y-yeah," she croaked, and coughed into her hand. "See ya,"

She waited for the front door to close and the screech of the tires on their driveway as Peter left for work, before May flung the blanket off her body, and swiftly walked to the wardrobe, putting on her dressing gown. She struggled to tie it around her waist, as her eyes caught sight of the wedding band around her finger. It didn't faze her as much this morning, as her thoughts were racing from last night's questions and worries. It has to be there...I know it is. May stumbled down the hallway, running to the garage. May hardly went to the garage, it was mainly Peter's getaway. It had his records and a pool table, which his parents had given them as a wedding present. May didn't really consider the pool table a wedding gift because they hardly used it as a couple, it was more a place to collect dust.

May hastily turned the knob of the garage door, and it failed to open. She cursed loudly, forgetting the keys on the kitchen bench. She ran to collect them, before arriving back to the locked garage door, her breathing ragged and keys jingling in her hand. The door harshly clashed against the wall from May swinging it open so violently. Numerous unopened boxes lined the wall, from when they moved. The unpacking had been put on hold since Peter started working again.

May didn't know where to start. It could be in any one of these boxes... She switched on the light, her bare feet stepping onto the cold, cement ground. She pulled her dressing robe tighter around her chest. She bit her bottom lip, gazing at every box...I guess I'm going to have to go through each one...

Majority of the boxes contained silverware and bed linen. She didn't think of labelling the boxes when moving, so she had to sort through each one to get to the small object she wished to find. It was difficult because when packing the item, she had to hide it from Peter, so it was most likely to be wrapped in newspaper or a sheet or something...but for the life of her, May couldn't remember. She sighed, getting nearer and nearer to the last box, until she felt something hard dig into her palm as she patted down a pink, woollen blanket which she had used as a child. Her eyes widened, uncovering it, as she breathed a "thank God".

May placed the small statue on the pool table, staring at it with wonder, like the first time she received it. The turquoise and dark blue tiling of its body had collected some dust whilst in the box, and she quickly wiped it down with the edge of the blanket, before placing it back on the pool table. The gold of its arms and hands was still fresh and glimmering as if she had purchased it yesterday. The elephant head of the god was slightly tilted, and it reminded her of a smile, that she couldn't help but be happy when she saw it. A smile immediately brought it her face.

May couldn't remember the name of this god...something with a 'G' or 'S'...it seemed so long ago when she received it. Despite this, May did remember that the god was 'Lord of Obstacles' and was to be prayed to when stuck in life's problems. May didn't know how to pray or meditate, but George assured her it didn't matter, just talk to the statue and the "Lord of Obstacles will clear the way for you, May,".

May sat down on one of the unopened boxes, and decided to finally talk to someone about the troubles of George and her marriage...even it was to a gold statue of a god she hardly knew anything about.