A/N: Here is Chapter 14; a long one, but I hope worth the wait. Plus, enjoy this photo of George after the 1969 drug bust xxx

****

Early December, 1970.

May entered the door first, Peter following, his eyes trailing down the arc of her back, her body adorned in a tight, black dress...stockings to match. The stockings caused her legs to appear much thinner and long. She had really made an effort tonight. Lately May had greeted Peter of an afternoon when he arrived home from work in her old, matted pyjamas, hair messy and oily and displeasing. Peter was aware that wives tend to let go after a while of marriage...but he didn't realise it would be this early on. He thought that a lack of effort in appearance would be the result of children...and Peter soon panicked about whether May was pregnant. He shook his head, dismissing the thought.

May was hesitant to have a night out, not really feeling any day or night lately. However, Peter's reservations - and continuous begging - persuaded her to finally agree. As the pair were guided to their table by the waiter, May scanned the room, exchanging glances with the other customers. Peter lovingly pulled out the chair for May once they reached their table, but his gesture lacked an appreciative response from her. She sat, adjusting the cutlery, Peter opposite her. The young waiter passed the menus and wine list, kindly inquiring if the couple would like either sparkling or still mineral water to start with.

"Umm..." Peter's gaze fell from the waiter to his wife, "May? What would you like?"

She answered with a shrug, flicking through the menu. "Uh, just still, please." he smiled apologetically to the waiter.

"Still. Of course, sir."

May and Peter eyed down the menu quietly, speaking only to thank the waiter for the water and small basket of bread. After a while, Peter reclined in his chair, "I think I'm gonna get the lamb chops. What about you?"

May had her menu closed on the plate, fiddling with the edge of the bread basket. "I don't know," she mumbled. "I don't want anything,"

"What?" he questioned. "C'mon, get something. A salad or a starter - a small dish,"

"I don't want anything," May replied curtly, a mean look in her eyes.

"May..." Peter called her. "Stop this now. We're all done up and out...please, just get something for God's sake,"

Did she have to be so damn difficult? Peter wondered.

"I'm not hungry." she looked up at him, arms crossed. "I didn't even wanna come ere'," she replied nastily, eyebrow cocked up. Peter was extremely hurt, although he tried not to show it. He had to wait for weeks and weeks to be able to save enough money to take May out for a nice dinner, and now she treated him like this...Peter speculated on what possibly he had done wrong.

His menu collided with the plate in front of him as he leaned forward, about to protest, when coincidentally the waiter appeared at the table asking for drink selections - and if ready - what they wanted to eat. Peter held the pained and annoyed look in his eyes as he watched May order a rum and coke—that was her new favourite drink. Gina and May were big fans.

"Anything for you, sir?"

Peter shook his head, a bit startled. "No, no. I'm fine with water,"

"Okay," the waiter looked up from his notebook, "Appetisers?"

"Um..." Peter peered at May, who was avoiding his gaze. "Can we have a few more minutes?"

"Of course,"

Once he saw the waiter had tended to another table, Peter leaned in, warning May in a hushed voice, "Don't you dare do this. I have worked hard for us to come out tonight, alright? I wanted to take you out...the least you could do was act like you want to be here."

Peter sat up right in his chair, as May studied her fingernails, then locking eyes with him. "I didn't ask to come out tonight-

"I wanted to surprise you...do something good-

"Well, looks like you've wasted your money,"

He licked his lips, unsure how the mood had changed into a bad one so quickly. "What is going on with you? Why are you like this?"

May refused to meet his stare, answer his questions. She didn't want to talk anymore. She was sick of the restaurant, sick of the black dress she wore, sick of the muffled music in the room and incessant chatter. She heard Peter scoff, "You know what, fucking starve. I don't care,"

The waiter came round, Peter ordered, and she appeared as a moping child, not daring to even acknowledge that a conversation was happening in front of her. After her drink was brought to the table, Peter excused himself to go to the bathroom.

"What is going on with you? Why are you like this?"

May wanted to speak. But there was something holding her back. She didn't know why she was like this. Time went on, and pain and anger towards everyone increased, and it was uncontrollable for her. It seemed that every word she uttered was destined to be malicious. And in those throes of 'it's me...it's my fault...', her eyes welled up with tears. She hastily grabbed the napkin, brushing away the tears gently, forcing herself not to cry. Everything...hurts, she grimaced...recalling the start of it all only a few weeks back...

November 30, 1970. May's nineteenth birthday. Not much of a milestone, but a celebration nonetheless.

May woke up to a gentle shake of her shoulder, her eyes slowly opening and adjusting to the light, which was beaming in from the windows. Peter was gazing down at her, his hand running up and down her arm.

"Hey, sweet," he whispered, and she smiled at him, responding with a husky, "Hey,"

Peter pressed a quick peck to her lips, and they were quite dry against his from sleep. She rubbed her eyes as he drew back, before combing her fingers through the ends of his blonde hair, which had grown to his shoulders.

"Happy birthday, May." he grinned, and she matched his happy expression as he leaned in for another kiss, this one much longer than the first.

"I have to go to work soon. But don't worry, I have a surprise for you!"

"A surprise?!" she beamed, "Can't wait,"

They ate breakfast together, and May opened the card Peter had bought for her. Peter soon left for work at the butchers, while she started on the chores around the house. May had a few phone calls throughout the day, lots of friends and family wishing her a happy birthday and how they should catch up soon.

May had just poured herself a cold, glass of lemonade, planning to sit in the autumn sun and read a magazine, when there was a knock at the door. Although her first thought was of Peter's surprise, another feeling arose - one of déjà vu, and about a certain dream a month or so back that had started with a knock at the door. She hastily opened the screen door, a delivery man greeting her with a wonderful, healthy bunch of small, white and lilac flowers. They were arranged in a fancy, gold box. May thanked the man, before closing the door and bringing the flowers to the kitchen.

There was a label on the side of the wrapping they were in, that read, Epigaea (Mayflower). She wasn't aware that there was a flower after her name.

"You've really outdone yourself, Pete..." she chuckled, gently sliding out the white envelope that was attached to the front of the box.

Nonetheless, May's grin soon faded, as she read the first line of the card...To June...

May didn't read further. Her eyes scanned down his messy handwriting, and the words made no sense to her. She quickly put down the card, her gaze drawn to the white flowers. It was still...little traffic outside the house, as May's eyes roamed around the kitchen, to the fruit, the sink, the toaster, the oven, the radio...and then the flowers. White and lilac. George loved her in that lavender bra...he told her so many times, and now it was all she could think of. Lace and soft, yet stiff around the ribcage due to its hardwiring.

May wasn't sure if she should be celebrating that George had finally written to her...or crying because it had taken him five months to do so. After a few minutes of doing nothing and staring at the card, she picked it up, and walking to the bedroom, hid the card in her bedside table, underneath a few books and journals. Out of sight, out of mind. Although May was curious about the message George had written, she was hesitant to digest it at that moment, and thus discarding it until a prior date seemed the better option.

Next, the flowers. That was something May didn't want to see lying in the bin. Their petals so pure and delicate...it would be a disgrace. Instead, she retrieved the scissors from the drawer, and carefully unwrapped the flowers from their exquisite box, trimming the stems and bunching them into smaller groups. With the white flowers in her hands, May knocked on every house door on her street, offering her neighbours an early Christmas gift of the precious 'Mayflower'...

****

March 10, 1969 - Monday Morning.

Plans had changed. Leaving on Sunday proved difficult, and thus May and George decided Monday would be the better day to drive to Wales for the 'honeymoon with your other husband' - as George had cheekily referred to it as over the phone. He can still recall that deafeningly pause on the other line. Sunday was an...overwhelmingly busy day for May - she had bought her wedding dress. The dress was close to 600 pounds, and when May sheepishly asked whether this purchase was in their price range, Marie reassured her with unusual ease, "Of course. We'll have more than enough," It was strange to May. Her parents only a week or so ago were concerned with tight budgets - a possibility that she would be given her mother's old wedding dress to wear for the big day just to overcome this. However, that was apparently all forgotten.

Currently, George and May were in the car, luggage in the back, radio softly playing.

"What about yer grandma?"

"What bout' her?"

"Aren't we goin' to er' house? What if she's there," George explained incredulously.

"Oh, yeah. She doesn't live there anymore actually. In fact, maybe someone else could've moved-

"May!"

"Kidding!" she giggled, "God, you are so easy to wind up today," she rubbed his shoulder lightly, "Lucky we have plenty of time to unwind you..." she muttered softly, and George just rolled his eyes in response.

"Anyway," May sighed. "The house is still in our name so don't worry. And she won't come visiting either...my grandma doesn't really visit us...she's basically a hermit," May told him matter-of-factly.

"Sounds nice," George commented as he turned right.

"I guess. I think it's her way to cope...after our grandfather died. She doesn't come out of the house, I don't think she can stand it without him, maybe. She's not even coming to the wedding," before George could add, May interrupted. "The only place she really goes is the shops - not even a five minute walk. But even that took her time. We see her...but, y'know,"

May described her grandmother's isolation and depression to George with such ease, that it was disturbing to some extent. That was May's language...or her twisted view on things. It was either her bluntness or...something; George wasn't sure how to understand it. But he was certain it wasn't her inability to empathise, more her way of explaining things. There was a reminiscence of when May informed him of her best friend's, Gina, brother dying in Vietnam not short of a month ago. May was sensitive, like she had been with Gina, comforting her and frequently hanging out either in school or after...but she dished out the truth in a raw manner.

"What about yer parents?"

"I said I was over at Gina's, for a school project,"

"Ah, 'project'," he laughed. "...and what did you tell Peter?"

"Peter?" she questioned, perplexed. She faced George, focused on his hands upon the steering wheel...the clench of his fists... "Why would you want to...know?"

George wasn't sure of a response because Peter's name had sort've been blurted out. It was an impulsive inquisition...he did and did not want to know about her fiancé. "I..." he shrugged, "I was just...asking,"

"Oh," May shook her head, "Well...if you must know then - I told him straight," she causally replied, reclining in her seat.

"Yer what?" George laughed to cover his disbelief, quickly glancing at her then the road.

May shrugged, "Yep. Told him I was going to my grandma's....Why? What did you think I told him?" she played innocent, and George regarded her with an unamused look, followed by her infectious smirk.

"I-I..." she flexed her hands in nervousness, "I don't think he really wanted me to go..."

"But you did want to...yeah?" George's eyes locked with hers briefly.

That wasn't a question May wanted to answer because deep down she presumed that George already knew. Mentioning Peter was not what she wanted this to be about. Peter was at home, left behind in that world. In the car with George was their world. So instead May asked,

"What excuse did you make, then?"

George grinned, "Science project at Ringo's."

****

After the four hour drive to Wales, consisting of chit-chat and George monologuing in an old, posh British accent as he made fun of the street names, they finally arrived at May's grandparent's cottage. It's white exterior was fading and camouflaged by greenery. May assumed it would be a bit dusty and food - if there was any at all - in the cupboard out of date; she would have to take a trip to the supermarket later in the afternoon.

May showed George around the small house; the kitchen, bathroom, guest room, her grandparent's room, and the room her mother had as a teenager. They decided the guest room would be the more appropriate option to sleep in. The house was pretty average, and she was worried that George might not be comfortable with that, but he seemed content, almost glad that it wasn't extravagant.

"I had this room when we stayed over, it's been a while," May commented, as she leaned against the wooden dresser; its white paint was chipped, legs in a curvy, Baroque style, lined with gold paint. George was going through his luggage, bent over, his tight butt in those blue jeans on display for her; it was certainly a...satisfying sight. "I'll have to go to the shops, get some dinner..."

"Dinner?" George smirked, as he turned to face her, "What's on the menu?" he walked to May.

"Umm, well...I can make...toast?" she blushed, and George laughed.

"Toast, eh?" He acted impressed, hands rubbing up and down her waist.

"Sandwiches too." May pointed out.

"Bread seems a favourite ingredient of yours?"

She giggled, "Tea is also my speciality." and they smiled sweetly. Pressing her gently onto the dresser, George kissed her, his hand lightly trailing from her cheek, to the outline of her shoulders and hips. A pleased hum escaped him as May's arms locked around his neck, inevitably bringing him closer to her. He paused after a moment, taking hold of her left arm, lips brushing up her wrist and elbow, tongue flicking in between pecks, and George smiled when she would laugh.

May watched as his mouth slipped down her fourth finger, saliva lightly trailing down her skin as George removed her engagement ring. He withdrew the ring from his mouth, placing it on the table.

"Today...tonight...and tomorrow...you're mine," he whispered, eyes locked with her's, and May was left speechless at the seriousness of his tone. "And I'm yours."

"I like that." she smiled.

"Good."

****

"Ugh yer slower than my aunt, do you want Pall Mall or not?" May whined, as George contemplated the property as if it was actually his own.

"How much with one house?"

May checked the card, "50."

"Ah...yeah give it over here," his palm upright, as she placed the card in his hand.

"God, that didn't take a million years," she rolled her eyes.

"The commentary isn't part of the game,"

She licked her bottom lip, "Um, well I say it is," May grabbed the dice from the board. "My go!"

George had found the Monopoly in the cupboard, and insisted they play. The clouds were currently gloomy and dark that afternoon, so a little fun in the Shepard living room was to excite the pair. They sat on the floor, May on one side, George on the other, drinking lemonade and listening to the radio. May's strategy was simply get the four train stations, water works, and electricity company - the big ones. Anything else was a bonus.

There was one train station left on the board- Liverpool Street Station...how ironic, she mused. May needed two fives on the die to get to the damn station...it would be difficult, and most likely unachievable, but she would try anyway. She ended up with a 3 and 2 = 5. Go to Jail. She rolled her eyes, moving the iron piece across the board. She could feel George's sneer at her.

George was closer on the board to Liverpool Street Station, and she sensed he wanted it as well. She could trade perhaps? As May handed him the dice, the poignant bass, followed by strumming of the acoustic, filtered from the radio on the coffee table. Roy Orbison's 'Sweet Dream Baby' warmed the air, as she watched in anticipation the dice roll on the board.

May had already figured out that George was to get the station before his racing car had reached it, as the chorus voices of "Ooohhh" backed Roy's powerful voice.

Dream baby got me dreamin' sweet dreams the whole day through,
Dream baby got me dreamin' sweet dreams night time too.

"George?" she trembled, and he paused, looking up. "Are you a bit hot? It can get a bit stuffy in this room, y'know, near the door," May made excuses, and George regarded her oddly, chuckling, and then moving his car one space.

"George?" she repeated, this time a whisper.

Sweet dream baby,
How long must I dream...

Her fingers lingered near the top button of her sweater, unbuttoning it...and then the next. George didn't notice, knowing what property he was going to land on, hopefulness rising. However, just before he could make it, May's hand blocked his way, causing George to nearly lose it.

"What're yer doin'?"

But then he saw her properly...that red, tatted sweater nearly un-fucking done, her lips red and wet... taunting him like that, doe eyed and gorgeous. George realised then that if May couldn't get Liverpool Street Station, then no one would. His gaze ran past her sweater, exposed collarbones and cleavage, then back up to her lips.

"Actually, I do feel a bit...parched," he gave her that charming grin, and she raised one of her eyebrows. "I thought you might be..."

George's hand reached for her shoulder, tugging the material slightly, the goosebumps along the swells of her breast now revealed. Her tits were like a wonder on earth..perky and bouncy and plump. Everything he wanted...that he discovered his hand was there already, just begging to cup it. Her softness fit perfectly in his palm, and that was something he really liked. May's breasts had been sculpted just to be caressed by his hands. Their eyes closed, a pleasurable hum escaped George's throat, a shake in her breaths...she was achin' for it.

But there was a halt within George. Why not...toy with her a bit? And lucky for him, the clock in the dining room rang - 5:00 pm.

Their eyes snapped open at the shock, his hand removed, cold air rushing to her skin. And he asked with a smirk, "Fancy a tea?"

****

December 1, 1970.

It had been two days since her birthday that May lay in bed, unable to sleep. It was 4:00 am. She had watched the clock since three. Having had enough of listening to her husband sleep so soundly, she decided to get up and at least sit in the kitchen. Watch TV? Another thought followed, and before she realised what she was doing, May carefully opened the bedside drawer, searching through the cluttered mess...to the card. The card had continually played on her mind. May wanted to wait, not rush, but her subconscious apparently had a patience issue, and so she quietly left the bedroom and down the hallway with George's card in her firm grasp.

Setting a glass of water on the small, round kitchen table, May tightened the tie around her robe, sitting down. She didn't waste time, reclining in her chair, opening the card, and read,

To June,

I miss you, too. It's hard not to.

May smiled at that. She was glad that she hadn't made a fool of herself by admitting she had missed him as well in her letter.

Those last few words go through my head. Constantly.

They do for me too, George, she thought.

But do be aware, I meant them. And still do.

G.

May re-read the last line, slamming the card down on the table, lips pursed. She wanted to shout, but chose instead to hiss, "Bastard!" That was not exactly what she envisioned him writing. Their last conversation had been...nasty. Things were said, and May can't remember the entire episode, the memory a tearful blur for her.

In May's perspective, she had made the effort through the letter to try and amend the relationship. Her 'I miss you' might have been too personal, but she had tried to reach out. Those words were all could think of at the time to at least catch George's attention, make him think. He hadn't even apologised for his damn words! she thought, well I didn't either...but he's still a jerk. And what May could not for the life of her overcome was that it had taken George five months to respond. She honestly did not care if he had been too busy to reply, the throb in her chest and stomach because of this...abandonment, rid May of any sympathy towards him.

Thus, May would certainly reply to George's letter...but she would take exactly five months to do so.

****

George heard the running water, as his back reclined against the headboard of the bed. It was all too easy to imagine...her hair down her neck and shoulders, droplets upon her skin, the softness of her breasts due to the warmth of the water, the steam rising between her legs. It was such an ache...

He hadn't properly recovered from their little grope on the monopoly board in the afternoon...and thus his body was just craving for her touch. He could've had her then, but the wait was always much more fulfilling. Upon hearing the cease of flowing water from the bathroom, George rushed to its door, knocking a few times. It took a few moments before the turn of the lock, as he was then presented with her beautiful face, and he leaned against the door frame, watching as she dried her body with the towel. George approached her, his gaze darting back and forth from her naked body to her eyes and lips. He took the towel from May's hold, tossing it onto the floor, as he leaned in to kiss her.

A few pecks here and there turned into languid, wet and passionate kisses, his hands all over her hips, back and curves, whilst May's hands sort've dangled near his sides. She was so swept up with the ardency of his kiss, that physically it was like she was floating, and her back leaned up against the basin, as George pressed into her. His lips left her's, only to go to her neck and jawline, his breaths heavy and rapid as his fingers slid lower and lower down her back, onto her arse, giving a healthy squeeze.

"Christ..." he breathed against her ear, moaning at just how good it felt to touch her, and for her to touch him, "I want yer so bad," he mumbled.

May didn't have a chance to respond, as she was lifted onto the basin, her bottom slid against its hard surface awkwardly, causing her breathing to jump, her hands falling onto his neck. This proved to be difficult, as the kisses grew sloppy and uncared...she couldn't touch him properly, being so out of reach from his waist and back on the basin.

"The bed, George..." she mumbled against his lips. "Let's go there..."

****

March 11, 1969 - Tuesday Morning.

George awoke to an empty bed, his arm limp on the mattress, as he lay on his side. Once he blinked a few times, his vision coming into focus, he saw her...sitting on an arm chair, by the window. She hadn't noticed him yet, and for a while he observed her silently. It was oddly calming...something with the colours...her turquoise singlet, tight on her body, with its lace on the top edges...she wore it like a doll. Her grey underwear, with a black denim jacket over her shoulders...which took George a few seconds to realise was his.

"Hey..."

May was startled by his soft utter, and she turned, tendrils of hair falling into her eyes due to her loose bun. She gave him a friendly smile. "Hey..."

"What'er yer doing over thurr?" he asked, voice croaky and slow, thick from sleep.

"Watchin' the birds," she answered, amused, and returned her gaze to the window. "Oh - they're gone now...you must've scared them off," she laughed.

"Me?" George cleared his throat, "Must've been scared of your morning face,"

May rolled her eyes, waiting until he was finished stretching and yawning, before she asked, "There's some tea brewing in the pot. Do you want some?"

George realised then the cup of tea sitting on the window sill. In a gentle and loving voice, he said, "I don't want a darn tea. I just want you..." He patted the space empty next to him, vulnerable and desperate for her. "C'mere, lie with me..."

****

Kinfauns.

Pattie was preparing a late dinner, when she heard a knock at the door. Her thoughts first went to George, but were quickly dismissed when she remembered his insistence that he would be 'out' for a few days...whatever that meant, Pattie wasn't sure. Fans then, perhaps? Pattie placed the wooden spoon - which she had been using to stir the tomato and herbs sauce with - on the kitchen bench top, hastily wiping her hands on the tea towel, before walking to the door. She was surprised at who was waiting for her.

"Hi Pattie, is George there?"

"Oh, hello Eric," she breathed, marginally flustered from hurrying around the warm kitchen to answer the door. "No, he's not. At the studio tonight, late one I think, sorry,"

"That's fine then, thought he might want to jam a bit," Eric replied, and her gaze fell to the black guitar case in his left hand. "Are you...alone then?"

"Yeah." Pattie nodded. "Just cooking dinner, actually. Was out with some friends... I just came home," she explained, the mood turning slightly awkward, but still manageable.

"I see, yeah," Eric hesitated, perhaps searching for something to say, finding his only option was to fib. "I was out too, today," He was cursing himself over the statement, it was all so forced and not the way he wanted it to go. To Pattie however, his voice was soft and pleasant to her ear, that his stuttered, simple remark was not seen as weak, but as a kindly gesture.

If she had wanted to lie to herself, she could have...and maybe she would for quite some time afterwards. The fact that her husband wasn't home, or that their relationship was becoming troubled wasn't contributing - as much as Pattie would have preferred - to her feelings at that current moment. It was somewhat in her subconscious...because if she reflected long enough, she realised that if her husband had been home and settled - i.e monogamous - it would not have made a difference. Pattie would still have been charmed by his soft stuttering, and warm smile, and bluesy guitar work. And as much as Pattie wanted to deny and deny, it also prompted her to ask,

"Have you eaten yet?"

Eric's eyes locked with her's, shaking his head, "No, no I haven't," and he gave her a friendly smile, almost in a thankful way.

Pattie returned it, "I hope you like tomato and mushrooms with rice then - it's sort've like goulash, but the veggie version."

She stepped to the side, allowing Eric to enter the house.

He laughed gently, "I'm sure it's great."

****

May was sitting at his feet, watching George play guitar. He was on the couch, and May cross-legged on the carpet. Some tunes she recognised, but most she didn't as they appeared to be his own songs. There would be long pauses, or mumbling of words, or repeated chords, almost as if he was working it out at that moment. May remained silent, except for when George asked her what she wanted to hear.

"Um..." she pondered. "There's a song, I don't know the name of it though,"

"What's the words, then?"

May thought for a second, before singing very softly, "Because you're sweet and lovely...I love you..." her bashful self caused her to stare at the ground whilst the lyrics came out of her mouth, but once she was finished, she looked up at George. It took a minute or two for him to register that those were the only words she knew.

"Oh, that's one of mine," George uttered, as if it had suddenly dawned on him, and she giggled. "It's called 'For You Blue'."

"For You Blue." May nodded, repeating it as if to commit it to memory.

George began to play it for her; only a verse and chorus. He was too busy looking into her eyes, that he didn't really feel like singing anymore. Those hazel orbs, mixed with a tinge of light brown. George ended with a gentle sequence on the guitar, ceasing his strumming gradually, and keeping eye contact with May, he said lovingly,

"Maybe I should've called it, 'For You Hazel', instead. What do you think?" he tilted his head to the side, a warm smile on his lips.

She matched his expression, and in her own humble fashion, replied with, "It wouldn't have rhymed well then,"

George laughed, resting his acoustic against the couch. "C'mon, let's go out to the garden, see the trees,"

"But we saw the trees yesterday," May whined, as he stood up.

Holding out his hand for her to take, George said, "Ah, yes, but we haven't seen them today,"

****

Late November, 1970.

Robert and Marie were getting ready for bed; he was settling under the covers, about to retrieve the morning's newspaper from the nightstand, whilst she was in the on-suite bathroom, cleansing her skin with water and soap from the day's makeup, dressed in her long, blue nightie. Robert had chosen the blue nightie as a birthday present a few years back; he loved the colour blue on his wife, it complimented her hair so well - an ageing grey instead of the blonde he had first been blinded by at a young 23. In his peripheral vision, Robert saw the light from the bathroom switch off, Marie sigh, and the closing of the door. But then there was silence. Robert glanced up, smiling to his wife,

"Aren't you coming to bed? It's cold tonight,"

Marie remained stationary, hesitant. "Is something wrong?" Robert pressed.

"I did something." she finally said, the words coming out rushed, that he almost didn't understand it at all.

"What?" he questioned, the anticipation causing some amusement. "What could you have possibly done, darling? Steal some roses from the neighbour's garden?" he grinned.

Marie shook her head. "I don't think you'll like it - but I had to,"

Robert sighed deeply, discarding the newspaper onto the bedside table. "Come." he patted the sheets next to him. "Sit and talk to me. Tell me what happened,"

"No, no." Marie once again shook her head.

He tutted, "Please, for goodness sake. What is it?" he urged.

"Will you be mad?" she asked quietly.

"Well I can't be mad if I don't know what's the problem, can I?" Robert rolled his eyes.

"Maybe I shouldn't have brought it up - you're already upset-

"Jesus, Marie! You just like to cause trouble...I'm here and listening, now what-

"George!" she blurted out, closing her eyes, almost in a wince that her voice had projected so loudly, but she just wanted Robert to stop.

Marie finally opened her eyes, as Robert softly uttered, "George?"

She swallowed thickly, mouth dry. "George." she nodded. "I might have, or might have not, asked May about...George,"

Robert took off his reading glasses, "Well, did you or didn't you?"

"I...I did," she whispered.

"Why would you do that?"

Marie sighed, "You know she hasn't been the same since...the whole thing," she gestured with her hand, not exactly wanting to identify the money exchange that took place early last year. "She's upset, I thought it might be good-

"It's not, Marie!" Robert snapped. "He brought trouble - I was right that we should not have trusted him."

The 'we' was more aimed at his wife as she was for the 'money deal', rather than him.

"We needed that money, Robert. We did. He helped us - he did give us the money, let's not forget that," she pointed out.

"Don't start for Christ's sake," Robert grumbled, arms crossed. "Then where is he now then? Huh?" he questioned, voice cracking. "Where the hell is he when our daughter is left miserable?"

Marie quietened after that, gaze on the floor, as she contemplated her husband's words. Things had been...uneasy between May and her parents ever since the wedding and 'George deal'. It was fine, most of the time, but accusations were sometimes made, hate exchanged. They just wanted what was best for their daughter, and it was now that they were finally coming to terms with their naivety and greediness towards the ex-Beatle.

"Just..." her words a whisper. "Just don't be cross...understand why I had to ask,"

"I worry about May too. I know she was hurt, okay?" Robert confirmed, leaving the bed and walking over to his wife. His hand gently wrapped around her arm, trying to be supportive, but also cautionary. "Maybe we didn't do the right things, we trusted the wrong people...but do listen to me when I tell you, Marie. That boy only wanted May to warm his bed - he didn't give a damn about her feelings. He knew what he was doing, you know that,"

Marie couldn't meet Robert's gaze during his stern talk, visibly twitching at the thought of George taking advantage of her daughter. Had she seen the signs? Yes. But what did she do about them? Did she allow it? Marie was having a difficult time deciphering her thoughts and feelings towards the situation.

"Ugh, God!" Marie groaned. "It's all wrong, Robby. This whole thing. I don't know...I don't know if we're doing the wrong thing by saying these bad words about George, or keeping him away from her,"

"No, no, no!" Robert let go of her. "Don't start with that. He pushed her away - not us." he reminded Marie.

"Yes, but..." she trailed off. "Why would he bother...with the money?"

"Oh, geez, I don't know?!" he exclaimed, pacing around the room. "Some sort of fantasy or joke, y'know pop stars, everything's a joke with them,"

"I just..." Marie trembled. "I just don't know..."

"What don't you know? Why are you questioning everything tonight?"

"George was our friend, Robby!" she cried. "Don't you think about this? I sometimes look back and...and I think I knew. I could tell something was between them...and we let it happen, didn't we?"

Robert sighed, reaching out to comfort Marie. "I know, love." he mumbled softly. "But it's in the past-

"That's not the point. We knew what was happening...and now May has to suffer-

Robert interrupted, "That was George, not us. He caused the heartache, and we are trying to support her."

"Was it George?" Marie quivered, looking up at Robert with teary eyes. She hurriedly pulled out of his grasp, wiping her eyes, heading towards the bathroom, locking it.

Robert sat on the edge of the bed, hearing the hushed whimpers of his wife in the next room, as she cried, and he was left to battle the remorse alone.

****

March 12, 1969 - Wednesday Morning.

She lay on her side, eyes closed, resting them. She was unsure of how long she had been awake for...it couldn't have been an hour; it was quite difficult to move as she was wrapped in George's hold as he slept. Uncomfortable for May, but apparently very pleasing for George, feeling him twitch beside her as he dreamed. She exhaled with relief at the clearing of his throat, his hand on her waist tightening slightly, before she felt the coolness of the sheets as it left her skin. She fidgeted a bit, rubbing her feet together, whilst George struggled to sit up, hearing his feet hit the floor. May remained on her side, and George took a minute or so to become mesmerised by the curve of her back, before he went to use the bathroom.

It was quiet, except for when she heard the toilet flush down the hall, the running tap water, thump of his feet against the floorboards, and finally the warmth of when he joined her again in bed. The sensations of when he settled behind her, their limbs interlocked against the mattress, was all so harmonious and soothing. May pressed her backside against him - whether accidental or not - and it particularly brushed his crotch, an evident hitch in George's breaths from the pleasurable surprise. Then there was his touch...it was a teasing linger at first, his hand on her thigh and up to her hip. The gentle playing upon her skin. The flirting between his fingers and her underwear as he explored the dips of her waist and stomach.

The tingles as George's hand reached her bottom, cupping and massaging, and the long, whining moan that escaped May ran through his body to his cock, instantly rubbing it against her backside. His breaths were hot and heavy on her ear and neck, turning into shaky and incoherent words as time progressed.

Her undies were loose from numerous loads in the washing machine over the years, and therefore easy to discard. His hands were free to roam... May then felt his fingers interlocked with hers, as he tugged her arm back, resting it upon his erection. His hand guided her's against it, in a firm grip, and she could feel George's lips against her back as they parted when a deep groan emitted from his throat. His body moved with his hand, gradually increasing the intensity and speed, her shoulder throbbing from the force of his thrusts into her hand. His twitches between moans and hisses against her ear never stopped. And when he knew he was close, he freed her arm, grabbing her roughly, parting her legs, sucking on his fingers, rubbing them against her clit, ensuring she was wet enough. His saliva trailing down her skin took May's breath away.

"I've got to have yer now," he huskily murmured, both panting from the fast-paced passion.

May didn't even have time to nod, before George entered her from behind, his stomach flush against her back. The contact in itself had almost caused George to lose it. He wanted her so much, so bad. And this desire was transmitted through as he carelessly fucked her, grinding her further into the mattress, her knuckles white from clenching the sheets so tightly...from just how good it felt. May's moans were muffled from her face half buried in the pillow, but that half pleasurable, half struggling sound was strangely arousing for George, and thus he slowed down gradually, his hips gyrating in a circler motion, and it was one of the best things May had ever had done to her.

There was something...different about this encounter. She had never been taken from behind...she had never thought of it actually. And from behind, his cock seemed to rub much closer to her clit than when facing her, and therefore her climax hit faster...and more than once. George came with a shaky breath and curse, just pulling out in time, as May felt him all down her inner thigh. After settling for a minute or so, George shuffled back a bit, so May could properly lie on her side again. His hand relaxed on her hip, one of his favourite places to touch. George kissed her shoulder lightly, it was as if a feather had brushed her back...and was a distinctive contrast from how he had handled her moments before.

"I dig you so much," he softly said, "Do yer know that?" Lethargic and warm after having his way with May caused George's tongue to be much looser.

She hadn't completely recovered from his fervent love, and therefore it took her a few breaths to reply with, "I dig you...too,"

This confession of fondness for one another didn't seem so...serious and concrete, as much as 'I like you' or 'I love you' did. The statement was flirty and light, not as heavy to process...and it was easy to admit because they definitely did enjoy each other's company. That had this thing going...she was 'June' and he was 'G'; nicknames...they 'dug' each other...they didn't 'love' each other; a common language...this was the game they played.

May heard the slowing of George's breathing, that familiar flinch every minute or so that indicated him falling deeper into sleep. The position of them now mimicked the way she had woken up - with his hand on her waist, pressed against her back. And May in her sleepy state she questioned if the past few sequences had even happened...the only indication that it had was the tinge of soreness down below, and the dampness of the sheets and skin.

****

"Scoot, babe," George knocked her playfully with his side, making room for him in front of the mirror and basin.

May gasped, feigning hurt, "A simple please would do, babe," she drawled, and he laughed, hanging his head back in a cute way.

As she applied toothpaste to her toothbrush, a quite domestic scene unfolded, with George combing his hair and whistling. Shirtless and gorgeous, while she was only in her underwear and red sweater. May watched him retrieve a razor and shaving cream from his toiletries bag.

"No! You're not seriously shaving are you?"

George rubbed his five o'clock shadow and hair on his upper lip, "Mmm...it just gets a bit irritated, is all,"

May responded with a deep sigh, unsatisfied, as she began to brush her teeth.

"Why? Not happy?" he smirked.

With a mouth full of toothpaste, she mumbled, "No, em' not,"

George shook his head with a chuckle, running water over the razor and lower half of his face, beginning to shave. Halfway through brushing, May paused, leaving over the basin, as she inspected a growing pimple near her left eyebrow. She tutted, which accidentally caused specks of toothpaste to land on the mirror. She had already taken care of one pimple last week...and now another one had surfaced. May fetched a tube of cream from her bag, placing it on the counter.

The thing about May's teeth, George observed, was they were actually pretty crooked. The top set were okay, but the bottom teeth could have used some work. She also had a slight overbite. A pair of braces would've done her good...although George wasn't one to judge because he wasn't exactly winning 'Best Teeth of the Year'.

By the time May had rinsed her mouth and applied minimal cream to her pimple, George had finished shaving, patting down his now wonderfully soft skin with the hand towel.

"Hmm..." she turned to him, "I'm gonna miss the mo," pouting, the back of her hand brushed down his smooth cheek. His freckles were more noticeable now.

George grinned, an arm around her waist, pulling her close, "Well, if you stay long enough, you might watch it grow back,"

It was supposed to be a joke, but there was a subtle attack at May. It took her a moment to understand what exactly George meant by "if you stay long enough". She took it as a hint that this - whatever they had going - wasn't going to last, and that it would be her to ruin this good time by...marrying Peter. What was she to say? It just...stung.

"What does that mean?" May questioned, a hand on his chest, sadness etched into her features. "If I stay?"

"I-I didn't mean-

"You did!" she raised her voice. May tried to tug out of his grasp, but he tightened it, like George always did. "You promised that we would still see each other...didn't you?"

She taunted him with that look of helplessness and bewilderment, as if she had to be rescued, and somehow he had been the one assigned to do it. The night a week back when May had, had her upset after the Sound of Music, George had raised the possibility of continuing their relationship after her wedding. However, recalling it now, he wasn't sure if that was just...talk. Feelings and thoughts were confused this morning. Perhaps it was lack of sleep, or the disappointment that they would be returning to London today. The thing was that they could continue to see each other...but there was a hesitance in George to do so, with which he was still wondering why.

"I know, I did," he reassured her with a smile, "And I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. It's not yer fault,"

With his voice apologetic and faint, she settled marginally, choosing to nod and accept. Despite this, George noticed her eyes were misty, and a tinge of guilt washed over him, yet he remained quiet. He kissed her forehead, lips trembling, a struggle of lechery and integrity toying with his psyche.

May gazed down, pulling out of George's hold - he didn't try to keep her in it this time - and muttered softly, "I better get dressed," leaving the bathroom.

****

Apple Corps.

Derek Taylor sat at his desk in front of his typewriter, notes - and now his thoughts - scattered, when the telephone rang across the hall.

"Can someone get that, please?" he called, before taking a swig of warm tea. The ringing eventually ceased, fingers hovered over the keys, when the phone rang again. Derek sighed, getting up from his chair, and walking across the hall.

"I'll just do everything around here," he sarcastically stated, picking up the handset, "Hello? Derek Taylor, Apple."

"Hello?! It's Pattie, thank god you answered. Is George there?"

"Uh..." Derek fiddled with the telephone cord. "I'm not sure-

"The worst has happened,"

His brows furrowed at her alarmed state. "What? What are you going on about?"

"The police are here." There was a pause. "Are you sure George isn't there?"

"Police?" Derek repeated, voice wavering. It had to be drugs. His eyes scanned down the hallway, landing on Sam, who was approaching, papers in his hand. Derek moved the handset away from his mouth. "Sam?!" he beckoned the teenager with his fingers. Sam looked like a deer in headlights, hurrying to him.

"Y-yeah?"

"Can you check if George is in any of the studios? He's probably hiding down there somewhere - it's urgent."

"U-um, yeah, of course." Sam turned to leave, but stopped abruptly, holding up the papers. "Um, where do I-

"Just put them on the desk! Hurry now," he instructed, and Sam quickly left.

Derek sighed, his forefinger running along the smooth exterior of the rotary phone, "You there, Pattie?"

"Yes, yes - what do I do?" she panicked.

"Don't worry, I'll send someone down-

"They're searching all around the house, Derek," Pattie warned in a hushed voice.

Derek rubbed the back of his neck, wincing at the possibly stressful situation. It didn't sound all too good. "Well...did you have anything?"

"Are you crazy? Of course!" she exclaimed, before continuing in a soft voice. "Only pot, nothing that might be too...serious, y'know?"

Before Derek could reply, Pattie interrupted, "Didn't the same happen to John? Please find George...he hasn't been home,"

Derek was about to enquire her last sentence, but fearing further distress in Mrs. Harrison, assured her with, "Yes, okay, well we're just seeing if...uh," his gaze then flicked to the puffed out Sam that was running towards him. "One moment," he covered the speaker with his hand. "Well?"

Sam responded with a shake of the head, bending over, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. Derek tutted, returning to Pattie. "He doesn't seem to be here. I'll check with Abbey Road. But stay calm, okay? I'll send someone over."

"Alright, make sure George calls?"

"Yes, yes." Derek rolled his eyes. "Goodbye."

Derek requested Sam stay whilst he dialled up Abbey Road Studios. The teenager watched on as confusion and disappointment washed over the older man's face, before slowly placing the handset down. Derek faced him, saying softly, "He's not there."

Sam shrugged his shoulders, unsure how to help, "Oh."

Derek remained silent, thinking, as Sam ran through possible locations, like could he be at someone's house, or decided on a last minute holiday - which was the closet to the truth. None of the ideas assisted much. But then Derek asked,

"Where's that young girl he's always with? The brunette one,"

"Oh, um..." So Sam hadn't been the only one in the office noticing George's frequent follower of May Shepard. "You mean, May?" Sam shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah, that's the one," he nodded. "Makes tea's or somethin', doesn't she?"

"Oh, uh," Sam's gazed to the floor, "Yeah, think so," he fibbed, pretending to not know much about her, when really he had obsessed with May for longer than a month. "I haven't seen her..."

And then the penny dropped. "Oh..." Derek drawled.

"Yes..."

"You don't think...?"

Sam stuttered, voice wobbly and cheeks flustered "I-I don't know? Wouldn't George have told someone if he was leaving with...her?"

"Hmm..." Derek glanced to the phone, then Sam. "I wonder how Mrs. Harrison is going to take this information," he quipped, but the boy had difficulty finding the amusement.

Unfortunately, George was not going to make the circumstances any easier, as he had run into trouble of his own...

****

"License and registration, please sir."

From where May was positioned in the passenger seat, all she could distinguish was the navy blue, button down coat, and half of the officer's face. Her focus was more on George, as he struggled to straighten up in his seat so that he could retrieve his wallet, which was in the back pocket of his jeans. As he handed his license over, the officer asked,

"Do you realise how fast you were going?"

"The signs change up and down this part...it was 80 back up the bend there," George explained, gesturing with his thumb.

"Mmm...yes, but you were going at least 75, this is a 60 km zone - see," and the cop pointed to the sign a few metres away, adopting a condescending, sarcastic tone for the young couple.

"75? Hardly a crime I would think,"

May had never been pulled over by the police for speeding, and it was somewhat scary, humorous and exhilarating. There was some fear when they first heard the siren as George was famous, and was currently in the car with a girl who was not his wife - rumours could start that way. But everything was calm so far, and therefore they would worry when the time came. George had told her to "just be quiet and let me handle it".

"Comedian are we now, sir? Well hand your license over and see if you'll be laughing in a few minutes,"

George scoffed, his arm propped up on the window ledge of the car, seemingly intimidating in his dark sunglasses, "But I've already handed you my license," and their gaze dropped to the narrow card in the officer's hand.

The cop was silent for a moment, perhaps in embarrassment, before uttering, "Be a few minutes," and returning to his car behind them.

"What was that last bit about?" May immediately questioned George.

He shrugged, relaxing in his seat, "Oh, I don't know. Trying to be a prick just like all pigs,"

She nodded, glancing around the greenery surrounding them. George turned the engine off, as May recalled the few seconds before being pulled over; they hadn't been on the road for that long.

George tutted as he checked his watch, and May sneezed twice, sniffing as she hadn't brought a handkerchief. Her nose was very irritated and dry. The transition from winter to spring had brought with it pollenated air and chilly breezes, badly affecting May's sinuses. She was annoyed with it, asking George for tissues; it was met with a vacant shake of the head from him.

Since their words in the bathroom tensions had been low, feelings marginally hurt, but on the mend. She figured it was fatigue or the fact they were leaving; the pair had really had a good time, and their passion that morning had equally effected both.

Summer's almost gone.
Summer's almost gone.
We had some good times,
But they're gone...

"I don't think he recognised you with the shades on," May commented, resting her head against the seat, as her fingers brushed back some hair behind his ear.

George didn't seem fazed by her words, "He'd have figured it out now."

After waiting for about ten minutes, the police officer returned to the driver's side. "Here's your license back, Mr. Harrison."

Mr. Harrison. May tried her best to eavesdrop on the conversation.

"Thanks," George mumbled.

"That'll be a 269 pound fine, Mr. Harrison. Should be in the mail in a few weeks,"

"Fine, okay." he nodded, fumbling with his car keys, not as interested now that his license was returned to him.

"Y'know, my daughter is a big Beatles fan, Mr. Harrison..."

"Hmm, yeah...just like the rest of the planet," George softly replied, as he stuck the key into the ignition, shoving his license back into his pocket.

The officer didn't properly acknowledge his comment due to the nerves and excitement of asking for the quiet Beatle's autograph.

George looked up, a smirk on his face, "Why don't I send you that autograph with the 269 pounds or whatever?"

The cop unfortunately failed to pick up on his mockery, "Seriously?"

"Of course...be like getting a free glass of wine with a steak dinner," George teased, and May couldn't help but let out a hushed giggle.

Just as the officer was to bid the pair a good afternoon, he leaned down, peering closer into the car, his eyes locking with May's.

"How old are you, miss?" he asked.

May was hesitant to answer, her eyes darting from the cop, to George, and then back to the cop. As George observed, he was reminded then of May's youthfulness; without makeup, she appeared quite girlish and child-like, pure.

"She's 18." George replied for May, as he could sense she was tensing up.

May cleared her throat, "Yes, 18." she said, voice shy, but she made sure to look the officer in the eye, just like George had. They're just pricks, like George said. I can stand up to a prick, she assured herself.

"Hmm-

"Look, we really gotta split." George interrupted, "How bout' I sign somethin' now and call it even, yer?"

This fortunately changed the officer's tone, and whether the promise of an autograph now rather than with the fine had been the cop's actual wish did creep into George's mind. But as he signed his name several times for the officer's apparent four daughters, George decided to just bite his tongue and deal with it, so that he could be back on the road as soon as possible.

Ten or so minutes after leaving the police officer, and further obstacles arose. Persistent agitation of her nose, rubbing and sniffing, caused an...unpleasant result, and before she knew it, blood was gushing from her nostrils.

"Oh, my god!" she cried, covering her nose with her hand, as the blood dribbled down her fingers. "George, pull over,"

"We can't, I need to get back..."

May could only hear him. She was more focused on the blood, her head kept down, yet careful not to drip any of it onto the leather seats. For fuck sake.

"Do you have a tissue?"

"I told you already—no!"

"Pull the car over then! I don't want it to get on the seats,"

And George quickly did, halting on a dirt side street. May opened the car door, leaning over to the side, removing her hand and blood fell to the ground.

"Does this happen often?"

"No!" she whined, wishing for the blood to stop. "Do you have anything - paper or somethin'?"

"I've only got a receipt from the gas station,"

"Just give it over!" and extended her bloodied hand, snatching it from his hold.

She immediately covered her nose with the dainty, white receipt, squeezing her nose tightly. George told her to "put yer head back", but May had, had nose bleeds too many times in her childhood to know that the better way is bowing it down. Several minutes later and the blood had ceased, allowing May to ditch the receipt. When she finally looked at George, all he could was laugh at the randomness of the situation. With her nose irritated, dried blood all over her hands, fingernails, wrists and nose. It looked as if she was either badly hurt, or had murdered someone.

George licked his thumb, gently rubbing away a speck of dried blood close to her left nostril, careful not to knock it.

He smirked, "Lucky we didn't run into the cops now. Who knows what they would've thought!"

****

Apple Corps.

May and George arrived at Apple just after 3:30pm. She wanted to use the bathrooms to wash her hands and face before arriving home, whilst George would check in on things...

They arrived hand in hand, and even though her palm and fingers were covered in dried blood, George didn't mind. They had reached the second floor, when Sam and Terry Doran greeted them, seemingly flustered.

"George, what the hell, man?! You said you'd be back!" Terry declared, and simultaneously, Sam exclaimed, "May! What's happened?!" gesturing to her hand. Terry continued, "Derek's already at the house, we have to meet him there...everything's being sorted..."

There was just...voice. And lots of it, as Terry listed off instructions that made little sense, and May explained the bleeding nose.

"What are you on about?" George's brows furrowed at Terry, his hand still locked tight with May's. To him, their holiday wasn't over until he saw her to her parent's apartment.

"The cops are at your house. C'mon, now," Terry grabbed his forearm, tugging him over, but George refused to part with May.

"Cops?" May repeated, looking at George. "Did they follow us?" she asked innocently.

George shook his head, "No, no. Don't be silly, now,"

"Your wife's been goin' mad, ringing here," Sam informed them, and George witnessed the upset and devastation glass over May's eyes.

He was about to comfort her, until Terry interrupted, "C'mon, for god's sake, George! Leave the tart and let's go!" and once again, jerked George to him with his hand. That was, until George lashed back, letting go of May's hand to shove Terry backwards, falling against the wall.

"Call her that again and you better watch your fucking back!" he snapped, anger rising at the fact that George had arrived to this...mess. He didn't want this. Was it too late to drive back to Wales?

He turned to May, holding her hand again, kissing her quickly, yet gently. He whispered against her lips, "I'm still yours." and they met again in a wet peck. Terry was half way down the hallway, Sam watching on silently, as George left May, his fingers slipping through hers as he looked back, then followed Terry out of Apple.