A/N: Quite a long one today, but I hope it makes up for not updating last week. Hope you enjoy and thanks for voting and commenting!! :)

27 January, 1969 - Monday Morning
Peter and May's Apartment.

May skimmed through the mail whilst listening to the radio - "Over and Over" by the Dave Clark Five was playing. She stopped once discovering a postcard from her parents. The picture on the postcard was of a monument with many columns, situated on brick, with a blue sky in the background. The Parthenon, it said in cursive writing at the bottom. May flicked over the other side to the message:

May and Peter,

Greetings from Greece!

We're loving it here. We sit here and relax, with no thoughts...you should try it sometime!

See you in two weeks.

From,

Mum and Dad.

They didn't even ask what she was doing. Or how she was. Or how Peter was for God's sake. The tear of the cardboard and lifting of the metallic garbage can lid echoed in the kitchen, before May grabbed a bundle of papers from the kitchen counter and George's jacket and left the house.

****

Apple Kitchen.

May slowly swirled the plastic spoon in her cup of coffee, her eyes vague and entranced with the hot drink. She didn't have a shift for Monday morning, but the staff allowed her to have breakfast at Apple because she was...well, she was their tea lady. She was their friend. Well, that's what May hoped for. Her shift didn't start until 2:30 pm, but May decided to skip school and have a quick breakfast at Apple before going to the cinema to kill time.

She couldn't have breakfast at her house. Not after the discovery of the left side of the bed empty and cold for a second time...the postcard was just the cherry on top of an already shitty morning. She tapped the teaspoon on the rim of paper cup, before popping a slice of bread into the toaster. Louie sensed she was upset when she arrived and therefore tried to get her to talk, but May didn't feel like talking. Peter still hadn't returned home, and part of her wondered if it was because of her...has he grown tired of me? But another part of her - a selfish part - wanted him never to return. The idea of marriage frightened her. But she had already agreed to it, so she thought backing out would cause too much trouble. She was bound to end up married someday, so why not do it now?

After thinking about it, May figured that settling down with Peter wouldn't be that bad. Her parents always said he was a nice boy, would make a good husband. But every time she entered the Apple building, those thoughts and morals disappeared, and she just craved the attention of George...

The toast popping up startled May, and she quickly spread marmalade across its burnt surface, before making her way to the dining room. None of the Beatles had arrived yet, but she betted that Paul or Ringo would come in first for their breakfast. May sat at a table, near the corner of the room, and pulled her study notes from the pocket of George's jacket. An exam for Ancient History was on Tuesday, and even though her mind was busy on Peter's absence, she did want to succeed with her studies. Plus, the studying served as a good distraction. Every now and then someone would enter the dining room, like Sam or George Martin or one of the engineers. May did try to learn everyone's names, but they were all so busy, so she just stayed out of people's way most of the time and never bothered to learn their names. She watched Phil Spector cross the room to sit with Michael Lindsay-Hogg and his team. They seemed to have a good laugh.

She took a few bites of her toast, but nausea began to crawl up her stomach, so she set the plate aside. May was engrossed in memorising the numerous locations of political propaganda in Ramesses II's reign, when two figures stopped at her table. She looked up, her mouth slightly agape.

"Oh, hey...Paul and Ringo," she said quietly - very quietly.

It was daft, but being near pop stars - particularly people as big as The Beatles - was intimidating to her. She'd witnessed musicians flip out when in sight of her, when they've told her to "fuck off" because she interrupted a session, and it can lower a person's self esteem. It was odd because she worked at a recording studio, where she was bound to get close and interact with the talent, and yet she was scared of them. She was only seventeen and trying to find her confidence. Most of the time at Olympic - besides serving them in the studio - she hardly spoke to the stars. The first relationship with a musician which grew outside the studio walls, was George. 

"Hey," Paul greeted her, distracting May from her thoughts.

They both smiled at her, and she could only offer a small wave of her hand. She didn't feel like smiling today.

"Um, would you guys like breakfast? A tea? I can get it for you," she replied, about to get up from her chair.

"No, no. Sit back down, May. We're good, aren't we Paul?" Ringo glanced at the bassist, who smiled at May.

"Yeah, right as rain," Paul winked.

"Oh, okay," she breathed, her cheeks growing warm, and settled into her seat.

"Can we join you?" Paul asked, gesturing to the chairs in front of her.

May nodded, and the two Beatles sat. She discarded her papers for a minute, not really wondering why Paul and Ringo had decided to stop by and see her. She figured they wanted to chat before the other's arrived.

"It's really cold today," she commented, and looked out the window to the gloomy, grey clouds outside.

"Yeah," Ringo replied as he buttoned his black jacket, and Paul rubbed his hands together. "Can't wait to start playing and warm up,"

May noted the limited amount of clothing they wore. Paul was only in a yellow long sleeved shirt, a grey vest and black pants; and Ringo wasn't any better, in a light maroon shirt and black jacket, which really wasn't enough in these cool conditions. Sure, it was warm in the Apple building, but the day had just started, and it took a while for the heating to kick in.

Paul cleared his throat. "We heard about what happened Saturday night. It sounds awful, we're sorry about the whole thing," he said sincerely.

Ringo agreed. "The drug scene is bad these days, really heavy stuff,"

May had unknowingly become talk of Apple Corps. George had briefly mentioned to Ringo about Saturday night, which was overheard by a young cameraman, and the story spread like wildfire. Paul was told by Sam after a session. Mal snuck some words about it to John when having lunch. Business was boring, and gossip—though trivial—was just...there. Gossip wasn't business, which is why it was appealing.

But Ringo and Paul were not with her to mock—only provide comfort.

May's eyes flicked between the both of them, words lost on her. "Oh, yeah. Well, thanks. I'm okay now though,"

"You didn't take any, did ya?" Paul asked, generally interested, but concern was there, and it was an unfamiliar sight to May.

The musicians she had been around didn't normally take care to how she was...besides George—he seemed to always care about her feelings.

"Uh," she bowed her head, picking at her fingernails. "Yeah, I did,"

"Oh. Hope it wasn't that bad of a come down. The morning after can be really nasty," Paul stated with a hint of a smile, as if he had experienced numerous of these "really nasty mornings".

"What was it again?" Ringo questioned, furrowing his eyebrows, trying to remember what George had told him, but forgetting every time.

"The drug? Just mescaline,"

"Yeah, just mescaline," Paul smirked at Ringo, and he returned it.

May smiled with them, not understanding why. She spoke about the drug like it was Coca-Cola, which both men found amusing, because mescaline was anything but Coca-Cola. Ringo lightly tapped his fingers against the lime green table, whilst May's eyes lingered across her hand, to her engagement ring. She played with it for a moment, running her forefinger against its few, small silver diamonds.

"What's this?" Ringo pointed to the papers next to her, which had been stapled and re-stapled many times.

She glanced at them, before answering. "Oh, just some stuff for school...for a quiz,"

"Can I?" Ringo questioned, gesturing to take a look at them, and May nodded.

Ringo and Paul read through the notes together.

"Akh..." Ringo paused, and sounded out the word. "A-k-hen-a-ten...fuck, that's a mouthful, isn't it?" he mused, and May laughed.

"Yeah, it is. He was a Pharaoh in the...uh, I think it was 18th Dynasty Egypt,"

"Correecctt!" Paul exclaimed, in a talk show host voice, closing his fist and talking into it as if it were a microphone. "You've just won a prize! What will Miss. Maggie May be taking home tonight Mr. Starr?" and Paul directed his closed fist to Ringo to speak into.

"This brand new, all-powering, deluxe washing machine that'll wash clothes - not once - but twice as fast! You heard it here folks!!" Ringo exaggerated the greatness of this prize with his eyebrows and hands, as May loudly chuckled.

"This is good! Let's keep going! I need to memorise for the test,"

Paul looked at Ringo, then at May. "We'd be more than happy to help,"

For about 15 minutes, Paul and Ringo fired questions at May, with her receiving at least a dozen more washing machines from Ringo, as well as an autograph from both. May assured them that she was joking about the autographs, but Ringo simply flipped over the back of the page and signed it, before passing it over to Paul. May was over the moon. The two Beatles didn't stay long after that as they wanted to have breakfast and talk to George Martin and Neil Aspinall. May just smiled as they left, realising that for the whole thirty minutes, she hadn't thought of Peter, and she had to internally thank them for the wonderful distraction.

But once alone, May couldn't help but think of Peter. When Peter was around she acted as if she didn't like him, but now experiencing what it's like to be without him, she missed him. It was a vicious cycle. You don't know what you have until it's gone. But was she better off without him? It was times like these in which she wished she could speak to her Mum, but alas, Greetings from Greece! We're loving it here...it saddened her that her parents were having the time of their lives without her. May's friends thought Peter was cool, but she hardly spoke of her problems about him to her friends. They were more there for complaining about homework or finding out which store had the best discount for lipstick. And May was fine with that. But she was in need of some relationship guidance, and she soon discovered she was on her own.

May was fixated on the half eaten toast, as her mind raced back to Saturday's party. The memories made her body temperature increase, and she had to take off her black jacket. She wasn't certain if the sudden hotness was caused by Apple's heating finally making its way into the dining room, the shock of events on Saturday, or the incident in George's car afterwards. She hung George's jacket on the back of her chair whilst pondering the thought. He had tried to kiss her and she freaked out. No freaking biggie...he must of had rejection at least once in his life...But every time May counted the benefits of having rejected George - her fiancé being at the top of the list - she wished her body had remained still, and let him kiss her.

A knock on the table caused her to jump, and she looked up.

"Anyone in?" he smirked, and knocked the table three more times.

May deeply sighed. "Hi, John," she smiled, before turning to the woman basically attached to his hip. "Hi, Yoko," she paused. "And yeah, I'm in,"

John's eyes scanned across the table to the piece of toast, crumbs on the plate and sprinkled around its edge.

"Ya gonna have any toast with that marmalade?" he joked, noticing the thick layer of marmalade she had spread against the slice of bread. He had never seen so much of one condiment on a piece of food before.

She shrugged. "Yeah, maybe. Why? Want some?"

John regarded May for a moment, before grinning. "Nah, I've ad' my breakfast," he winked, and squeezed Yoko's hip, before leaning down and giving her a quick kiss.

Unlike Paul and Ringo who asked if it was okay to join May, John and Yoko just pulled out their chairs and sat down across from May. She inspected John's neck, the faint redness near his collarbone, and the whiteness of his shirt. Both of them were in white in fact, and quite striking. May thought it was cool how they matched, almost like this burst of lightness when they walked into a room.

May never liked white pants. She didn't understand how Yoko could wear them. May immediately grimaced at the memory of her fifteen years old self, when her period decided to unexpectedly arrive whilst in a lovely, white skirt. Never again.

"You knew someone in Vietnam?" John asked.

"My friend Gina—it was her brother,"

John gestured between himself and Yoko, "We're very sorry, that's awful to hear,"

"Oh," she nodded. "Thanks, John...and thanks Yoko,"

May made sure to acknowledge both of them, after all it was her job. It didn't matter that Yoko wasn't in the band, John was in the band, and if Yoko was with him, then she had to recognise that.

"I'll be sure to tell Gina,"

"Good, good," John nodded. "Tell her we love her and that we're thinking of her,"

"Oh, yeah. Of course," May replied, and licked her lips. She couldn't wait to tell Gina that John Lennon - Gina's favourite Beatle - told her he loved her. She's gonna flip!

John sensed a tad excitement in her eyes. "Make sure ya tell her, the world needs a bit more luv in it,"

"I will, promise,"

"If we stand together and try to stop the war, but in a peaceful way, then it's bound to do something.? It's difficult, us sittin' here, when we know people ova' there,"

May sat and listened to John's thoughts, but the dream of peace seemed...unattainable to her. She didn't wish to speak her negative opinion, but she guessed by her confused look and crossed arms, he was aware of her doubtfulness. John encouraged May to express her thoughts on the matter.

She leaned forward, "Your words are good, John, but preach all you want about peace. It still doesn't bring my friend's brother back. The damage, to me, is already done,"

John examined her from across the table for a moment. He could faintly make out the freckles on her cheeks, but besides that, her skin was quite clear. He had to squint to see the freckles though. John pulled out his roundish glasses from his pocket and...fuck, that's much better, as objects and people became defined and clear.

He was somewhat pleased that she did disagree—at least she was speaking her mind. Hell, when he was seventeen, he would've thought the same thing about peace.

"You don't have to be afraid," Yoko quietly stated.

"Who's afraid?" May questioned, eyebrows furrowed, her arms still crossed.

"Well, the thought of peace seems impossible, but it really isn't. You look scared of it,"

John's stare moved from Yoko to the table, noticing the papers next to May's elbow.

"What's tha'?" he asked and nodded to notes.

May's gaze followed his line of sight, and it took a while to answer.

"Just something for History class,"

He didn't seem that interested in it however.

"May, if you paid enough attention to peace, like you do on homework, then it would be a step closer to this shit storm of a war ending. Ever thought of protesting?" John softly replied, leaning close, his left arm on the table, whilst Yoko gripped onto his right forearm, seemingly listening to his words, although she wasn't looking at him.

His words were good and nice, but she was in a terrible mindset, focusing instead on Gina's tearful mourning, the sore cheek she was nursing after that night, the cut on her lip, and everything else that was wrong with the relationship with her fiancé. May wanted to disagree with everything John suggested for the sake of it.

"No." she replied curtly, but instantly regretted it—John realised she was simply not in the mood for any conversation.

May picked at the crumbs on the table with her finger. Her eyes caught quick detail of her engagement ring. She didn't want to look at it any longer, so she placed her left hand on her lap.

"I'll tell George to see you when he gets in,"

She nodded. "Thanks,"

John glanced at Yoko, before both got up from their chairs. May didn't bother to watch them leave, but she didn't need to, because she suddenly felt a warmth on her shoulder, and John and Yoko standing next to her. John leaned down, his mouth next to her ear.

"You talk to us, May. Anytime you want,"

John offered his hand to her, and May inspected it for a minute, the lines edged into his palm and the faint blister on his thumb. She looked up at John, and he smiled, as Yoko peeked from behind him. May's hand found its way into John's, and he tightly squeezed it for a second, and rubbed his thumb against the back of her skin a few times.

"Thank you," she breathed out, her gaze focused on John - and only John this time.

John and Yoko left the dining room, before quickly returning with a piece of toast and tea each, heading to a table near the entrance of the room. Paul joined them after a few minutes, and May witnessed the three of them deep in conversation, with the occasional chuckle. It was a sweet scene to watch.

George finally arrived. May observed as he approached John's table, speaking with him for a few minutes, a couple of smiles here and there, before John motioned in May's direction, and George's eyes met her's. He immediately crossed the room to her table.

"Hey love," he greeted her with a small smile.

May's eyes cast down to her notes, and she simply mumbled, "You're late today,"

George took a seat next to her, his body close, and he draped his arm along the back of her chair.

"Yeah, sorry. I was up late writing a song actually,"

"All night?" she questioned, eyebrows furrowed, as she turned to face him.

It was then she realised how close he was. From across the room, Yoko regarded how the pair's movements were so in sync and relaxed.

"All day and all of the night," George softly sang to her, and she smiled. "But yeah, all night. John once told me that when you start writing a song, you should try and complete it...so, y'know, the mood doesn't escape you. I didn't really do that in the beginning. I'd have most of it, but some parts would be missing, you see? I think that tip helps with whatever...writing, art, music...whatever,"

May glanced down at her notes, half taking in George's words. The highlighted text and nonsense, such as "examine", "Tutankhamun" and "tomb" jumped up at her from the page, catching her attention briefly.

May sighed. "Pity I'm not that creative," she replied flatly.

She was really craving a cigarette. George recognised that her depressive state had lingered - perhaps even worsened - since Saturday night. May felt his arm around her shoulder now. He was so fucking close, and she didn't know what to do.

"Hey, how's everything with your friend - Gina, was it?" he whispered in her ear, and May nodded. "How's everything going? You talk to her - give her a call?"

May shook her head, still reading her notes, but the information failed to stick in her brain. George nodded, letting out a sigh. She's not talking, don't make her. He contemplated asking about Peter, but decided against it. His fingers played with the loose thread on May's woollen sweater. He was surprised at her choice of casual clothing, it was a school day after all. He peered down at her lap. No skirt today even.

"New clothes?" he asked, and continued to glide the fabric between his fingers.

May kept the same confused expression - furrowed eyebrows and lips almost in a pout. He wished he could kiss that goddamn pout away. May was normally so bright and enthusiastic, and whenever he visited her in the kitchen, her carefree attitude towards life lifted his spirits. Without that enthusiasm however, life seemed to suck even more, as if her sadness was...infecting him. George honestly didn't want it to, because he had been on such a high after writing a song last night. He was slowly realising that he relied on her happiness a bit too much...as if it was some kind of drug, and drugs can be addictive.

After more silence from her, George figured she didn't understand what he meant.

"Your school uniform, love. I'm beginning to miss that tarty, catholic skirt of yours,"

May stared straight ahead, before taking a gulp of the lukewarm coffee. She licked her lips.

"Oh, isn't this kinky enough for you?" she questioned sternly, one brow raised.

He laughed, and squeezed her into him, and the gush of warmth from it brought comfort to May.

"What will the answer have to be for you to crack a smile?" he said in her ear, his breath rushed across her cheek.

She smiled brightly at him.

"No." she blurted out, not considering her words. "The answer would have to be no,"

George smirked, and seduction oozed from his core, as he licked his plump bottom lip. He was irresistible. He picked up the paper cup next to May, expecting there to be coffee, but once discovering it was empty, put it down. George continued to play with the rim of the cup whilst talking to May.

"Skipping school today, are we?" he asked.

May nodded. "Was planning on going to the pictures before my shift," she plucked the cup from his hand and tore a piece off the paper cup's side, placing the section at the bottom. She continued this for the entire rim of the cup.

"Why not stay here?"

"And do what?"

"Join us in the studio? Watch and listen," George replied calmly.

May was flattered...but God, she had heard the numerous sighs of annoyance and bickering from the control room due to Yoko's presence in the studio. She did not want to become a pain in the ass. May couldn't believe George had even suggested it.

"Are you crazy?" she exclaimed, facing him with disbelief. "I-I can't just sit in. I'm just a worker...I mean...no, I'll go to the cinema. I'm fine, really,"

George was taken back by her frantic response, it was the most energetic he had seen her this morning. She went back to the task of slowly destroying the cup. George leaned in close to her, his arm still around her shoulder.

"Stay here, it's basically like watching a movie except you're...I guess in the process of it, instead of sitting down and seeing it," he explained, his voice soft, and his breath brushed against her cheek again. May felt her skin blush, and she began to sweat from his intimacy with her.

"What?" she stared at him, confused. "What are you talking about?"

George nodded to the corner of the room, and May followed his line of sight, her eyebrows raised as she realised a camera was focused on the two of them...in their close embrace. She turned to face George.

"Holy shit," she breathed.

"Holy shit indeed." he grinned.

May couldn't help but turn and look at the camera again. The thought of being in the film was exhilarating, particularly because she knew her friend's will want to see it when it's released, and if this footage was inserted in it...fuck—she enjoyed imagining their shocked faces. Most of May's friend's were jealous when she informed them of her job at Olympic studios...but now working at Apple Studios with the Beatles...she was sure she was being talked about behind her back majority of the time.

"Why are they filming anyway? You never told me,"

"Uh...long story," he paused, examining the torn cup. "I think it was Paul's idea. It's supposed to be like a 'fly on the wall' type scenario, an inside into us making an album...I don't know, I don't want to talk about it really,"

May observed George with furrowed eyebrows, her gaze running down the side of his face, as he failed to look her in the eyes, just fiddle with the torn bits of the cup. The idea sounded cool to her; everyone she knew would love to see the Beatles in the studio and behind the scenes during takes. But the way George spoke of it seemed like it was such a drag and waste of time.

"Oh, okay." was all May could answer with. She decided to change the subject. "I like this," she commented, and touched the purple bowtie around his neck, its plush material numb between her fingertips.

May had never been with a man who wore something so flamboyant before; a white shirt with a purple bowtie lazily hanging around his neck, black jeans to match...it was a combination she would had never thought of, and yet it appeared so stylish. George's eyes locked with her's, a friendliness to them. He smiled.

"Thanks, June. You're sweet to say that," he replied, and May didn't have time to react as George leaned in and gently kissed her cheek.

She didn't dare turn around to see if the camera was recording them.

****

Apple Bathrooms.

May toyed with the hem of her red sweater, staring into the mirror, replaying George's kiss to her cheek in her mind. She had recounted it so many times, that exaggerations were already peppered throughout the memory, such as the longevity of his mouth against her skin, or the colour of his lips, or the dreaminess of his smile. May hadn't left for the cinemas yet. Following the kissing encounter, George left to get some breakfast, but never returned to the dining room. She assumed he had become busy with someone - an engineer or producer. Whenever she saw The Beatles - out of the studio, or simply during a break - they were 90% of the time in conversation with someone - whether they wanted to or not. May decided to head to the bathroom to prevent herself from growing insane waiting for George.

She observed her complexion in the mirror, finding the beginnings of a pimple growing just above her left eyebrow, Great....Viewing her body in the mirror, she noticed how her plait had slowly become un done, and decided to re-do it. Halfway through re-braiding her hair, another woman entered, startling May.

It was Yoko. May quickly greeted her with a short "hello". Yoko returned it with a small smile, her footsteps so quiet against the tiled floor as she entered one of the cubicles. It was such a contrast to John, as he made more of an entrance into a room, whereas Yoko timidly slithered into a space.

May heard the toilet flush as she slipped the elastic band around the ends of her hair, loosening her plait a bit. John and Yoko had been inseparable since arrived, and May was amazed that John did not accompany her to the bathroom. May felt this strange compulsion to share this thought with the Japanese artist.

Yoko didn't really react to May's joke, but nevertheless gave a shy smile. A few moments passed, as she studied the basin and Yoko washed and dried her hands. She then heard a quiet voice say,

"I could say the same about you and George, y'know. You're close, yes?"

The beat of May's heart intensified...the kiss. "Oh, uh, we don't - uh...you saw that?" and May's nervousness broke off into a pathetic laugh.

Yoko smiled at the bashful teenager. The pair made small talk for a few minutes; May wanted to escape to the cinemas, but remained polite as Yoko spoke to her about her art exhibition 'You Are Here'. The subject of the art show was brought up because May commented on how John and her wore white, which led to Yoko explaining that they did the same at the exhibition in order to match the white colouring of the walls. May didn't really know what to respond with except for, "Oh, okay. Cool." It seemed that she was disinterested.

John's pounding on the bathroom door, wondering what was taking Yoko "so goddamn long" caused the artist and May to wind up their conversation. May smiled as Yoko left, a deep sigh escaping once finally alone.

****

Apple Studios

Jojo was a man who thought he was a loner,
But he knew it wouldn't last...

They had been rehearsing the same number - 'Get back to where you once belong' - for quite a while now, with George continuing to strum the guitar, eyes scanning the studio and the numerous cameras. The track was still coming into shape, with a few mistakes here and there throughout the numerous takes. George predicted they would visit the control room soon to listen to the different versions they had recorded in the afternoon. George was to play rhythm guitar on this one, which he didn't mind. John had assembled the lead and solo when he temporarily left the band. They agreed that instead of George learning the parts, he would play the rhythm and John would play the lead; it was just easier that way. And, knowing Paul, he probably wouldn't be happy with me doing lead, even if I did learn it, George thought, his pessimism showing.

George looked up as he watched Paul and Billy Preston share a laugh as they played the piano, and it brought a smile to George's lips. He hoped bringing Billy to the sessions would calm the tension, and it had to some degree today, which he was happy about. They had tried to practice 'Get Back' once more, but it had turned into a casual jam, with improvised rockabilly licks, and all four Beatles had a nice time revisiting the tunes they had worshipped when they were teenagers. There was currently a semi-break, so George took the opportunity to leave the studio and locate May's whereabouts.

****

Apple Kitchen - 2:10 pm.

"May, be a dear and chop those carrots up for me?" Steffie, one of the chefs, kindly instructed.

"Sure thing, Stef." May nodded, retrieving the chopping board from the cupboard.

May had arrived at Apple twenty minutes earlier than her scheduled shift, and was therefore helping out Steffie in preparing the salad for lunch and dinner. Steffie was a classy, late thirties chef who had worked at Apple for nearly five months. Part of her took the job at Apple to be near the talent, whilst the other half was excited to be practicing her cooking skills and learning from more experienced chefs, such as Steve, who was an early fifties, sweet man who happened to be a master at culinary and had served in the Apple kitchen for nearly the same amount of time Steffie had.

Then the kitchen door opened.

"Ah, hello ladies, how are we today?"

May heard his footsteps, but ignored them, and grabbed a washed carrot, placing it on the chopping board. Steffie turned from where she was, standing in front of the stove, stirring a tomato based sauce.

"Oh, hey George. And we're fine - aren't we, May?" Steffie smiled, and gave the sauce one last swirl with the wooden spoon.

May cleared her throat, "Mm, fine," she mumbled, the crunch of the carrot as the knife pierced into it nearly overpowered her soft voice.

George noticed May's impoliteness, but nevertheless made conversation.

"Ah, well that's good. Gee, it smells delicious in here! What's cooking?"

May continued to cut the carrots, observing George's closeness to her from her peripheral vision.

"A simple penne with a tomato and basil sauce, salad to go with," Steffie answered, placing the wooden spoon, which had spots of finely chopped tomatoes on its ends, on a serviette next to the stove.

"Well it sounds lovely, can't wait to taste it!" George smiled, and Steffie's heart pounded quickly. She was close to her forties and a divorcee, so George's interest in her cooking was an offer of affection she had dearly missed, particularly as her now ex-husband was not a keen foodie, unlike herself.

George approached May, playfully nudging her shoulder with his own. She didn't react like he envisioned.

"Aye, you okay?" George softly asked her.

May nodded, pushing the sliced carrots to the end of the chopping board, before retrieving a bunch of washed celery and beginning to chop them up for the salad. George assumed May's moodiness was due to her chaotic Saturday night, it did worry him that her sadness had persisted, but there wasn't much he could do. He could see that May was hurting, but if she wasn't to listen and cooperate to his advice, then what was the point of guiding her to a more positive view? What was the point of helping her if she couldn't even look at him? George scanned down her profile and neck, to her delicate hands, which chopped up the celery into fine, little sticks. He reached for one of the celery sticks, a harsh gasp emanating from May - which caught Steffie's attention - just as George took a large chunk from the green vegetable.

"George!" May exclaimed, looking at him with huge eyes. "Why would you do that? I have a knife in my hands for Christ's sake, I could've chopped one of your fingers off!"

George quickly swallowed, before bursting into laughter. "Well, that would've made the front pages, aye?" he joked, a smirk remaining on his features. " 'Looney teen gets medieval with knife on Beatle' - you would've been hated by all under 16!"

May rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure you would be laughing if it had actually happened,"

"Aw, c'mon May," he bumped her shoulder again, but this time she smiled at the teasing gesture. May quickly hid her delighted expression by continuing the task of chopping the celery. "You haven't laughed once since I came in ere'. Where's the May that usually cracks up at everything I say?"

Before May could answer, Louie entered the kitchen. Louie wasn't anticipating the kitchen to be so full, he expected only Steffie. Louie gave a muttered hello to George and May, before joining Steffie and discussing lunch preparations. George's attention was occupied with Louie and Steffie's conversation, and thus May's voice startled him.

"That May you speak of is still here," she looked at George. "Maybe she finally realised you just weren't that funny," she replied with a hint of a smirk, before grabbing a piece of celery and munching into it.

"Oh that's bollocks and you know it!" he blurted out, his accent was thick between his words, and it caused goosebumps to flourish down her neck.

"Yeah, sure," she rolled her eyes, stepping closer to him.

"Yeah," George agreed in a shaky breath, his gaze falling to her legs, which were brushed against his, and then up her body to her neck, and finally to the celery stick in her hand.

Without hesitation, he quickly snatched the light green vegetable from her grasp, and May shrieked in response to George eating it, which caused Steffie and Louie's heads to turn towards the Beatle and young tea girl.

"Aye, George! Uncool, man!" she exclaimed with mirth in her tone, and clutched onto the front of his white shirt with one hand, playfully insinuating that she was to beat him up for taking away her snack.

George could feel her knuckles against his chest, and he hoped that she could not feel the rapidness of his heart racing against her skin. She had never handled him like this before. The peck on the cheek in the dining room earlier in the day had been - sort've - platonic for him. It wasn't a lingering kiss, but George realised that perhaps May saw it as a gesture for something more...and George was comfortable in admitting that he was up for more.

A clearing of the throat caused the both of them to look at each other. George hadn't noticed it earlier, but May wasn't staring at him, and vice versa. They had been staring at her hand on his chest. May hastily let go, rubbing at her wrist, not daring to take a peek at the two figures on the other side of the kitchen. George did the opposite; he turned his head to Louie and Steffie, wondering if he should apologise.

"S' getting a bit crowded in here, don't you think? The guys will probably want me for the playback," George said. He was stumbling, and he wasn't proud of it.

"Yeah, definitely," Steffie replied, smiling weakly.

As George went to leave, he turned around. "Still can't wait to taste that pasta dish though," he winked, before exiting the kitchen.

"Gosh, May, didn't know you were so close to the talent! Is this why you took the job?" Louie grinned.

May didn't look up.

"So what if she did, Louie? Who cares?" Steffie protested, turning the stove off, letting the pasta sauce rest for only a few minutes before serving it up. "Is the salad nearly done, sweetie?" she asked May.

May nodded, and walked to the fridge, collecting the salad bowl, and adding the celery and carrots to it.

"Well the newspapers will care, that's for sure," Louie replied, moving out of the way so Steffie could gather bowls for the pasta.

"I'm not even sleeping with him," May uttered, fetching a pair of tongs to mix the salad with.

"Oh, of course not! Because you're most definitely the first girl he's ever flirted with at the office." he rolled his eyes. "I've been here four months, May. Remember that..." he warned, arms crossed.

Steffie watched May slowly toss the salad, putting down the tongs, and staring at the blend of lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes, celery, carrots and croutons. Perhaps it was because George Harrison had been so kind to her that Steffie spoke up.

"Oh for God's sake, Louie. No one cares how long you've been here! Now, will you help me dish up for lunch?" she sternly instructed, letting out a sigh, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear.

Steffie understood that Louie was only cautioning May - and she thought that was very generous - but Steffie was able to let the close behaviour slide because she had taken the job for - supposedly - the same reason May had - to get friendly with the musicians.

"May? We're pretty much finished in here, do you want to go to the dining room and see if anyone wants a drink?" Steffie proposed, and May agreed without words, only a smile.

****

4:30 pm - Apple Dining Room.

"Here you go, Mr.Harrison,"

George watched the silver tea tray leave her hands and gently slide onto the table, a few drops of tea flowed over the edge of the tea pot. George's eyes wandered up to her face, to her soft hazel eyes.

"Mr. Harrison? That's new, you've never called me that before," he smiled and watched as she poured the delicious, amber liquid into a dainty tea cup. The steam rose up, into May's face, that she had to squint and cock her head back for a moment.

May placed the teapot down, reaching for the container of sugar.

"Do you not want me to call you that...Mr. Harrison?" she asked, adding two teaspoons of sugar into the tea and swirling it around.

George smirked, his gaze running along her slim, almost skeletal, fingers and hands. He imagined her soft touch along his sides and back, and it was almost agony to look at her, but never hold her. May worked quickly, pouring in the milk and stirring it with the teaspoon. May gently placed the cup in front of George, looking into his eyes.

"I've just ad' a thought - I don't even know your last name," George revealed, leaning back in his chair.

"Williams," she blurted out, without thought.

'Williams' was actually Peter's surname, but she figured since she was to be his wife, she should get used to sharing his last name.

Two thoughts proceeded to enter May's head, both from this morning: 'Because you're most definitely the first girl he's ever flirted with at the office' and 'the newspapers will care' - had Louie been correct? It haunted May for all of lunch, and now interacting with George, the questions bubbled up to the extreme. But she couldn't just interrogate George about it. May knew it would be rude and odd if she suddenly asked, "Oh, so do you regularly sleep with tea girls in the office?". May pondered back further, to John's snap at George one time - "are you too busy trying to fuck the tea girl?!".

"I gotta get back, I think Stef might need me," May explained, looking down at her shoes.

"You sure? It would be great to have some company," George smiled, and it was a small turn of his lips, as if he was nervous.

May felt a warmth in her palm and realised George had reached out and clutched her hand in his, softly squeezing it. She flinched at the contact, not in rejection, but in shock at his touch. George unfortunately mistook her gesture, and immediately let go of her hand.

"Actually, you're right. You better get back to work, sorry," his eyes failed to lock with her's, and he took a sip of his tea, inspecting the faint scratches on the table.

May collected the silver tray, leaving the room without a word.

****

7:40 pm - Apple Kitchen.

May had been asked to stay back after work - midnight, the latest. But she was aware it could extend longer than that. After sharing a snack of fruit salad and ice-cream with Steffie, May was left alone in the kitchen. She eyed the telephone, wondering if she should call home, the thought of Peter's presence there filling her mind. She figured that if Peter was at home, he would care of her whereabouts, particularly if she was to be staying back at work. May hastily picked up the receiver and rotated the wheel to dial the number.

May waited for a few minutes, and no one picked up. She slammed the receiver down, a deep sigh exiting her lungs, deciding to not let Peter's absence depress her any longer. He'll come back when he's ready...

The kitchen door swung open, her eyes meeting his.

What a surprise, she thought, before casting her gaze to the floor.

"Hey," George checked his watch. "Isn't it about time you were packing in?"

May shook her head. "You guys stay back, so I stay back,"

"Ah, lucky you," he replied, and May smiled.

"You want a cuppa?" she asked, looking at him. George replied with a soft "I'd love one".

George watched as May prepared the tea, setting out the milk and sugar, as the pot rest on the cooker, heating up slowly.

"So, what's the track that's getting so much attention tonight?" May questioned, facing him, arms crossed, as she leaned against the benchtop. George copied her stance, except he was on the other side of the kitchen. Close, but not too close.

"One of Paul's. 'Get Back' is what I think we're callin' it," he replied, eyes scanning down her body, before meeting her gaze again.

"Cool. Is it any good?" she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side.

"Well, why don't you hear it yourself? Come up to the control room and ave' a listen," George offered, fiddling with the bowtie around his neck.

May's mouth went agape, as if to protest, but she couldn't think of a reason to refuse George's suggestion. Listening to the track and watching the Beatles in the studio sounded very appealing and fun, so she agreed, and George smiled brightly at her response.

****

Get back, get back,
Get back to where you once belonged...

The groove was just so good. May had never heard a sound like "Get Back"; it was so catchy. George reckoned it would be a single, he told her shortly after they arrived into the control room. They had been trying to get the sound right; the lyrics and melody were fine, but every take had at least something not quite right. May couldn't work out what this "something" was - she thought that every take she heard was fantastic - but the rest of the Beatles nit picked about a certain note here, or how this riff should be a bit higher there. Something so small and minute, but in the end made the song even more perfect. It was magic to watch.

But that had been before. The Beatles had tried at least one more take, with May watching on. She noticed John was uptight about something. He was more isolated from the others than usual, not giving in his input like he was an hour ago, spilling secrets into Yoko's ear every minute or so. May figured he wanted to call it a day. Unfortunately, John's annoyed mood caused everyone else to become annoyed.

It was nearing midnight and May wanted to go home. She sensed George did as well. He was sitting next to her, their knees touching. George must've asked "are we packing in?" at least five times, and no one answered him even once. Everyone was in their own world - John with Yoko, Paul talking to some techie, George Martin and Spector in conversation, Ringo speaking with Glyn Johns and Billy. May wasn't sure if it was like this all the time, but if it was, she felt sorry for George.

Finally, George stood and grabbed May's hand, pulled her up, and whispered in her ear, "Let's go and have a drink in Derek's office,". They left without anyone noticing.

May had never been up to Derek Taylor's office, but was aware that it was quite a fun house after sessions, with drinks served frequently. She knew Derek was the press officer for Apple, and had met him before, sharing only brief words, but thought he was nice and funny. They raced up the stairs, hand in hand, and George entered Derek's office without even knocking on the door. The three of them drank a glass of white wine, conversation here and there. May scanned the books on Derek's bookshelf, whilst Derek informed George of the new shrubs in his garden, which his wife had planted. George was generally interested in the state of Derek's garden - even offering advice to help the greenery grow - whereas May found the idea of gardening such a drag. She wasn't made for the outdoors, and had the most terrible hay fever, so any sort of flower caused her nostrils to fill up with phlegm and hives to occasionally appear. So instead of contributing to the conversation, May quietly snooped around Derek's office, eyeing up the numerous magazine clippings, and neither man minded as she sipped her wine and blended into the background.

George and May left after twenty minutes, glasses empty and a sweet goodbye from Derek to the both of them.

There were girls still lingering outside Apple studios, so George suggested May wait at his car, whilst he spoke and gave autographs to the "Apple Scruffs" - as he called them - before joining her and driving her home. May agreed, and after ten minutes, George was driving her to the apartment. She wasn't certain if it was the drink beforehand, but George was speeding down the streets, and May had to grip onto her seat for nearly the whole ride home.

"Could you slow down a bit?" She weakly asked, her voice quiet and small.

George looked at her once, before turning his attention to the road. "Relax, May. I know these streets like the back of me hand,"

She nodded, appearing calm, when really her fingers were digging into the leather seats for dear life. They arrived to her flat in under five minutes, the lights in the windows still off, and May sighed deeply as George turned the ignition off.

"So, ye' alright?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

May didn't really want to enter her apartment on her own, knowing her fiancé was out doing God knows what.

"Do you wanna come in for a bit?" she proposed, and their eyes locked.

"Peter's not home?" he furrowed his eyebrows.

"Business trip," she lied.

There was a pause, as George eyed the steering wheel, before looking at May. "Well, I guess I better come in then,"

****

May and Peter's Apartment - the bedroom

Night - 12 A.M.

The window was open ajar, allowing a light breeze to flow in. The lamp on her bedside table produced an orange glow. May was in her salmon pink babydoll nightie. It was a bit of a risque outfit in front of George, but she wore a long dressing gown over it, so she was covered quite well. She was currently skimming over Chapter 4 of her History textbook, which was dedicated to the ancient society of Sparta. The book sat nicely on her thigh, as she was cross legged in bed.

A small tug to her hair disturbed her concentration, the small ache immediately lessened with the even curve of the back of the hair brush.

"Sorry, June. You ave' quite a few knots," he softly spoke, careful not to interrupt her.

May smiled. "S'okay, George,"

After their arrival to the flat, May and George shared another glass of wine - May was hesitant, but George coaxed her into it, and she was soon happy to have given in. May was feeling buzzed and wanted to use this sudden burst of liveness to do something productive - study. Following the drink, the pair settled on her bed. George noticed the hairbrush on the dressing table and offered to comb through the tangles in her luscious locks. It had been almost fifteen minutes and George was just about finished. The crinkle of the paper as May turned the page, and odd murmur or two from her as she memorised the information, were the only noises throughout the apartment. The only thing that reassured her that she was not alone was the calming crawl of the bristles from the brush on her scalp and George's hand gently gripping her upper arm every so often.

"That should just about do it, May." he squeezed her shoulder and placed the brush on the wooden bedside table.

George reclined on the pillow behind him, only to stop mid way when he heard a crunching sound arise from beneath him. He smirked, and lifted the pillow, only to find a pile of papers scattered on the bed sheets. The papers were stapled together, the words 'HISTORY - EGYPT' on the top in red marker.

"You sleepin' with someone else, then, aye?" he asked, grinning.

"What?" May immediately questioned.

She heard him shift through the papers in his hand.

"Oh," she laughed, "I like to sleep with my notes, helps me remember,"

George chuckled warmly. "Oh, interesting. I didn't know..." he ran his eyes down her messy handwriting "...Ramesses II was a good shag,"

She rolled his eyes, and grinned. "Guess you didn't pay much attention in history class. He had over 100 children, he must be somewhat good,"

"An' does it work?"

May turned her head to view George, lying in her bed, looking gorgeous with his messy hair and ruffled shirt.

"My friend's Dad told her to sleep with her notes on top of her head, so that the info would stick," she explained.

"It worked then?"

"Top of the class, George," she smirked, shaking her head, and returned to her readings.

He sighed, stroking her back, his touch barely there.

"I should go, then," he said, and she could hear the sadness in his tone. "Let you work," George proposed.

May felt his movements on the bed, his closeness to her body. She turned back around, meeting his gaze.

"No, no. Stay...you can rest, and I'll cram,"

"Sounds good and...tempting," and they giggled. "...but, maybe another night?" He ended with a wink, and it melted inside of her, his lust for her oozing from his eyes.

May nodded, biting her bottom lip, understanding it was for the best. George smoothed her hair back, gently, and leaned in to kiss her cheek, before whispering in her ear,

"I'll just end up wanting ya, anyway. And then ya won't be able to beat your friend,"

May felt the faintest flick of his tongue against her ear, and she was sure it was an accident. But there was some part of her, deep inside, that hoped to God it wasn't. The statement was so bold, and unexpected, that it swirled within her mind for a few minutes. They were already so physically close on the bed, knees touching, and May's History textbook discarded.

But the tease was not enough for George, and he needed more. He wetly kissed underneath her ear and jawline, his hands on her waist, slipping inside her gown, caressing her hips, fingers sliding against the nightie. Her hair was so fucking soft from when he brushed it, that it shimmered in the light. Her deep breaths were too much, and the cool exhalation could be felt against his neck, that he just seemed to crave more; not of the feeling, but of May.

They glimpsed into each other's eyes for a moment, as May's heart beat madly. With the alcohol in George's system, he didn't feel the need to back away, so he tenderly ran his hand through her hair, to the back of her head, guiding her towards his lips, into a gentle kiss. George felt her pause for a second, her hands tense and still, unsure where to go. But May calmed herself down, as his lips pressed onto hers with a bit more force, and one single thought entered her mind: I want to kiss him....

He lead her into a deep, passionate kiss; their eyes closed and the sound of their uneven breaths mixed with the wind rolling into the room from the open window. May was freezing in her skimpy gown and nightie, but the crave for her, that George radiated from his kiss, the gentle, wet slide of his tongue against her's was enough for her to heat up, and she grasped onto his shirt, fistfuls of the fabric, trying to get warm.

May's arms lazily hung around his neck, tightening slightly, her nails running through his hair. She could feel the tingles against her upper lip from his moustache, and the affection he showed with his strokes of her nightie and feeling so small in George's arms, created a warmth within May.

George wanted her closer to him; he leaned back, scooting down the bed, and held May tightly against him, so she lay on top of him. He felt an object dig into his back and broke away from May for a second to discover the History textbook she had been engrossed with was underneath him. George cursed, lifting the textbook and chucking it onto the floor, causing May to laugh. His lips back on her's quickly ceased her giggles. The rush of his fingers through her smooth, brown hair - the specks of honey and auburn with a glossy finish - and his right hand brushing down her curvy hip, which was outlined in the silk of her nightie, as May straddled him, her hands planted firmly on his chest, not wishing to move from this one spot.

Just as he breathed out her name, a loud bang broke them apart, and May gasped. Her eyes followed to the window, the wind increasing ever so slightly. Her heart was pounding from the shock, as she realised the strong winds had caused the bathroom door - which was across from the bedroom - to slam shut. They stared at each other, and the breeze tickled against her neck, that May got up and closed the window. She didn't turn around at first. Then cocked her head around and witnessed George gaze at her from the bed, unmoving. She wasn't sure if she should join George back on the bed, or ask him to leave, or what he wished to do. He was completely unresponsive, just lying there with those piercing brown eyes of his. May licked her lips and left the room, walking into the bathroom and shutting the door. She sighed, contemplating if kissing George had been wrong. She was still wearing her engagement ring for Christ's sake...they had even made out in the bed she shared with Peter. There was this expectancy that she should feel guilty for kissing another man, but the feelings didn't emerge. The thoughts of remorse were present, but her heart wanted to be back on that bed, kissing George more than ever.

May heard a door swiftly close. She remained still, trying to determine where it came from - it sounded like the front door. She quickly fled from the bathroom, checking her bedroom, noticing the bed now vacant. George had left.

"Fuck," she muttered, before running down the hall, to the front window, just in time to see George outside, entering his car and driving off down the street.