A/N: Hope you enjoy this week's chapter and sorry it took so long to be released. It's a bit sad this one and hints to some later developments in the story, but everything will be revealed in time to come... I would have included photos to go along, but Wattpad is playing up. Anyway, enjoy!! xx :)

August 6, 1970 - Thursday Night.
Peter's Mum and Dad's House.

Two of us riding nowhere,
Spending someone's
Hard earned pay.

Two of us Sunday driving,
Not arriving...

A week had past since the "calling out George's name whilst dreaming" incident. May could sense the resentment from Peter at times, but it wasn't always present. It occurred at odd moments, like when their eyes met at the dinner table, or before they went to bed. There was a light warning in Peter's stare, as if to say, "I know what you did, and I will never forgive you for it...".

Nonetheless, May tried her best to reassure Peter she loved him...particularly now since she stood on the doorstep of her husband's parents house.

Peter squeezed May's hand tightly, as they waited on the front porch for Peter's father to come to the door. Peter seemed nervous, but May couldn't work out why. They had, had meals at his parent's house before, so what could be the problem on this occasion?

"Hey, you okay?" May softly asked, the afternoon sun shining through his blonde hair.

"Yes, fine."

May sighed at his short tone, realising she shouldn't have bothered him when he was in a grumpy mood. May steadily juggled the apple pie in her other hand, which had been messily wrapped in cling wrap. The apple pie was store bought, although May would never reveal that to Peter's mother, Elizabeth Williams. May felt quite intimated by Mrs. Williams, although she was convinced it was her general insecurities that made her believe that Mrs. Williams did not like her.

Peter was an only child and most definitely the apple of Mrs. Williams eye. She had been the one to get him the job at the butchers, which he still had, and even somewhat introduced May to Peter.

May and Peter attended the same school, but Peter was a year above her, so occasionally their paths crossed. But it was the acquaintance between Mrs. Williams and May's mother that began at the local newsagent - where May's mother worked - that the two women began talking about their children, and thus the pair were matched.

The door suddenly opened, Peter's father, Steven Williams, welcoming them in warmly.

"Hi son, quite a nice night, isn't it?" Steven smiled, shaking Peter's hand firmly.

"Y-yes, quite," Peter spoke, his voice cracking a bit. He began to walk down the hallway to greet his mother.

Steven turned his attention to May. "And, good evening, May. How are you, dear?"

May cleared her throat, "Very well. I made an apple pie for us to have after dinner." she presented the plate to Steven.

"Oh, for just the two of us?" Steven teased, taking the plate from her.

"Oh, no, no..." May shook her head, cheeks red from bafflement and making a mistake. "For the four of us."

"Relax, May. It was a joke. Thank you for the pie." Steven smiled and guided May to the living room for pre-dinner drinks.

****

January 30, 1969 - Thursday Morning.
9 Commercial Street, Mayfair - Peter and May's Apartment.

May buttered the toast, listening to the noises of Peter getting ready for work in the living room, such as his tired sighs and putting on his shoes. He sat on the couch, waiting, as May prepared breakfast, making small talk with her.

"Tom and the guys said to say hi by the way!" Peter said, flipping through a magazine.

"Oh, that was nice. How was your night out?!" May called from the kitchen, reaching for the strawberry jam.

There was a hesitant, "Yeah, alright. How was your night?"

May's mind was cast back to the activities that took place the night before on the couch her fiancé now sat upon...

"Got a light?" May's eyes flashed with excitement.

"You bet, doll." George smiled, pulling out a lighter from his jean pocket.

They passed the joint back and forth, gentle pecks on the lips occurring in-between puffs. May watched as George deeply inhaled the joint, its fiery end becoming prominent, and before he could exhale the smoke, May kissed him, their mouths opening, as the smoke slowly trickled onto May's tongue and throat. She pulled away, blowing the smoke away from George's face, as he stared at her with hazy eyes, his hand brushing against her knee...

May cleared her throat, "Y-yeah, my night was fine. Nothing interesting at all," she replied, putting the strawberry jam away in the fridge.

There was silence for a while; May continued making breakfast, pouring the orange juice and cutting up an apple. Peter waited and studied the coffee table, his focus drawn to a small item on it.

"What is this?" May heard Peter question loudly.

"What?!" she responded with, slicing the knife into the pink lady apple.

"This...this - it's a pick,"

May paused, thinking. "A what?" she asked, appearing confused, when really she had understood him perfectly.

"A pick! Like, y'know, to play guitar with."

Shivers went down her spine as May remembered George's lips on hers, his guitar discarded to the side, the guitar pick in-between his fingers as he grazed it up and down her thigh, before placing it on the coffee table, his focus on her completely. May immediately walked to the living room and was greeted with Peter's perplexed expression as he held the guitar pick in his hand.

"Oh." May breathed, unsure how to answer.

"Oh? That's all you say?" Peter furrowed his eyebrows. "Why is it here? It's definitely not ours,"

"Well..." May began to speak, and as she did, she ran her hand up her arm. A memory of George completing the same action as his lips touched her neck came to mind.

"George Harrison gave it to me!" she blurted out, her cheeks flustered from overthinking.

"What? George Harrison?"

"Well, I do work at Apple. It's the Beatles company after all." she shrugged.

"Yeah, but...you don't even play guitar,"

"Well, George just wanted to...to give it to me. He said I was doing a good job with the teas." May's mouth turned into a tight lipped smile.

Peter paused, placing the pick down on the table, looking at it for a second. "He didn't..." he sighed. "He didn't come over last night, did he?"

"No, no-

Peter glanced up at her, "Be honest, May."

"He wasn't over last night!" she declared. "Why would he be?"

"Well, why would he give you a pick?"

"I don't know! Fuck!" she exasperatedly sighed. "He's a giving guy, I guess."

Peter looked at her strangely, but didn't respond.

"Can we have breakfast now? The toast is getting cold," May explained.

Peter reclined against the couch, arms crossed, and gaze fixed on the window. "Yeah, whatever," he muttered.

May rolled her eyes, returning to the kitchen to collect his breakfast. As soon as Peter left for work, May retrieved the pick from the coffee table, hiding it in her school skirt pocket.

****

Late Morning - Kinfauns.

George rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, as he brushed his teeth, glimpsing over a small stain on his red button up shirt, which was currently unbuttoned, revealing his chest. The bristles of the toothbrush ran along his back teeth, as George's hand swept through his dark, brown hair, and the same motion, except with May's dainty fingertips, entered his mind. He quickly rinsed out his mouth with cold water, placing his toothbrush on the bathroom vanity.

George examined the redness near his collarbone and neck, his lips curling into a smirk as he remembered May's lips kissing and sucking on his skin, his breath caught in his throat. He gently bit onto his bottom lip, just like May had done the night before, and George took a few minutes to calm himself and his racing heartbeat before buttoning up his shirt and leaving the bathroom.

George stopped once he reached the bedroom, gazing over at the empty bed, an odd sense of disappointment washing over him at the sight. Pattie had accepted a modelling job and left earlier than him that morning. George had expressed disapproval of her going, but his wife strongly went against his wishes, claiming she had missed modelling. In the end he gave in, but it nevertheless saddened him that she wasn't in bed that morning to greet him.

****

"Look, Liz! May has baked us this delicious apple pie for dessert," Steven beamed, showing off the dish to Mrs. Williams.

"Oh, thank you May...I had planned for us to have a red velvet cake for dessert, but I guess that doesn't matter now, does it?" Elizabeth's arms crossed, one eyebrow cocked, the rouge colour of her lipstick poignant against her fair skin.

May glanced at Peter, but he didn't meet her gaze, and instead studied his shoes.

"N-no, no...I-I wanted to help out, you see? So I thought I would prepare something for after dinner..." May licked her lips, eyes full of worry.

Steven Williams cleared his throat, exiting the lounge room to place the apple pie in the kitchen, steering clear of the tension brewing between May and his wife.

"Hmm..." Elizabeth walked to the liquor cabinet. "Would you like a drink?"

May shook her head. "No, thank you," her voice almost a squeak.

Elizabeth poured herself a sherry, as Steven called out from the kitchen if Peter would like a beer. May had to smile when Peter replied with, "Yeah, I need one, thanks." Peter and his father sat on the couch, clinking their glasses. May timidly shared the black ottoman with Elizabeth, watching as the older woman sipped the lightish brown liquid with ease. The two pairs settled into their own conversation; Peter and Steven spoke about sports and how things were at the butchers, while Mrs. Williams asked about May's mother, Marie, and life in the new house.

"Oh it's great, nice neighbours...and we're near Hyde Park," May smiled, although it was forced. Nevertheless, Elizabeth nodded, pleased with her response.

The new house wasn't far from the apartment Peter and May shared last year with her parents. The main reason for the move was space. It was crowded in the apartment, and she had an inkling that her parents were expecting extra people, such as children, to be arriving and making it more uncomfortable. Thus, the move was decided for Peter and May.

There was a silence between May and Elizabeth, as the two men on the couch laughed and murmured.

"I really didn't mean to spoil dinner tonight," May blurted out.

Elizabeth regarded the nervous seventeen year old for a moment, sighing.

"It's fine, May. Let's not get silly about it now. I'm sure the apple pie is...nice,"

"Thank you." May smiled, fiddling with her necklace. This caught Elizabeth's attention.

"Oh, May, that's a stunning necklace! Did my boy give it to you?" Mrs. Williams beamed, touching May's neck, which she instantly flinched at due to the tickling sensation.

Elizabeth's excitement caused Peter and Steven to cease their conversation and peer at the two women.

"Yes, it's absolutely beautiful," Steven agreed.

The necklace was delicate; a gold chain, with a single pearl on it. Such a beautiful pearl, a lovely colour of cream and white. May hadn't worn the necklace for quite some time, but after the dream of George a week back, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about it.

"Mum, c'mon! I could never afford something like that. Six month's pay couldn't pay for that." Peter shook his head, taking a sip of his beer.

"Oh, well then where did it come from?" Mrs. Williams eyed May suspiciously, licking her lips.

May rubbed the pearl in-between her fingertips, her cheeks warming up.

"My mother gave it to me...as a graduation present," May replied calmly, although her heart was beating quickly.

May's mother did not have enough money to afford such an expensive piece of jewellery. The pearl necklace was given to her from someone quite wealthy.

"That's very sweet of her," Mrs. Williams commented, before finishing her glass of sherry. "Dinner will be ready shortly." she softly announced, leaving the room.

May rubbed her arm, bowing her head, trying to get her heart to stop palpitating, her body temperature already rising. She felt Peter sit next to her, his hand on her shoulder.

"Are you sure you don't want a drink?" he whispered. May nodded.

Peter sighed, massaging her shoulder for a bit. "I know Mum can be a bit full on...but she means well," he spoke close to her ear, so that his father could not hear their conversation.

May nodded, not responding, and she felt pathetic for sulking like this.

"Only a few more hours and then we can go home. Okay, May?" Peter's hand gently squeezed her's. She met his gaze, and for that night, she was genuinely thankful Peter was by her side.

****

Apple Building and Studios.

May hurried down the hallways, glimpsing down at her shoes to notice her laces coming undone. She didn't stop to tie them up as she passed a corner, a single thought occurring - I hope I haven't missed it. She had skipped English class to ensure she would get to Apple on time. After all, it was going to be May's first Beatles concert, and she would hate it if she was late.

May remembered George's words to her from last night...

They stood near the front doorway, hands clasped, ready to say goodbye, yet not saying it. George brought her hand to his lips, kissing each of her knuckles.

"Once you get to Apple, meet me in the kitchen, June. I think I'm gonna need a cuppa before going up to play on the chimney," he smiled.

May immediately headed for the kitchen, pausing as she noticed Steffie standing near the bench top, writing something down, with no sign of George.

"Oh," she breathed, catching Steffie's attention.

"May, I was waiting for you!" Steffie smiled, placing the pen in her hand down on the bench top.

May didn't acknowledge Steffie's words at first, sadness building within her.

"Are they here yet? Are they already up there?!" she panicked, pointing to the ceiling.

Steffie chuckled. "Are you daft, May? You would be able to hear them,"

May exhaled with relief, but it was disguised with her breathy laugh. "Oh, I see. Well, then..." she wasn't sure how to articulate her request without drawing speculation from Steffie. "...is, uh, George around?"

Steffie licked her lips, "Um, yes, I think I saw him floating round' the studio. But, May, I want you to serve the guys upstairs first, okay? This concert on the roof is attracting lots of people, especially in production to record it, alright? So make them teas before you go off to watch the concert yourself,"

May sighed, but didn't let the instructions dampen her spirits. This was her job, and if she was required to do a certain task, then she had to carry it out. Nevertheless, her excitement caused a sloppy job of the teas - and served without biscuits. The people from production definitely complained about that.

Before making her way to the studio, May properly prepared a cup of tea for George. She figured he must of forgotten to meet her in the kitchen - that, or he had been held up by someone wanting to speak to him. May carefully walked down the stairs with the steaming cup, her guesses of George's whereabouts confirmed when she spotted him with Ringo and a dark haired woman, in conversation. May slowly approached the trio, but then had to increase her pace because the cup was burning through her fingertips.

She cleared her throat, "Uh, George?" she interrupted the group's discussion, and he turned to greet her.

George smiled. "Ta, June," he replied, taking the cup of tea from her hands.

He stepped to the side to allow May to join the group.

"Oi! Where's me cup of tea?" Ringo questioned, faking to act tough and pissed off, but unfortunately May did not catch on.

"Oh..." she glanced to George then back at Ringo. "I-I'm so sorry, I can get you-

"Look what you've done, Richy! You've made the poor girl nervous - give er' a break," the woman beside him laughed, playfully hitting his shoulder in an attempt to scold him.

"You're right - very sorry, love. I was only teasin',"

May looked at George, who smirked at her, before taking a quick sip of his tea. May nodded at Ringo, her gaze scanning to the woman beside him, "Hi..." she shyly said.

George watched and found May's timidness quite sweet and innocent, almost like the texture of his tea - light and pure, her skin creamy like milk.

"This is my wife, Maureen. We call her Mo," Ringo explained to May.

"It's nice to meet you." Maureen smiled, her hand extended out.

"Oh, it's nice to meet you as well." May shook Maureen's hand. "I'm-

"June."

The three of them looked at George. May's hand was still clasped with Maureen's, and she quickly let go, furrowing her eyebrows.

"It's not - my name is May, actually," she explained to Maureen.

"Ah," Mo nodded, slipping her hand into her coat pocket.

"Yeah, but we all call her June," George replied casually.

"No, it's you that calls me that!" May shrieked to him, a grin faintly growing on her lips.

Maureen observed the pair, noting their close body language; the way May - or 'June' - gazed at the younger Beatle, the way she had brought only him a tea, the cute, inside jokes and nicknames they shared. It caused Maureen to grow suspicious of their intimate behaviour, but it was all so harmless at the same time, that Maureen couldn't provoke herself to draw conclusions. She could already sense a connection between the young tea girl and George, and it had only been a few minutes of meeting her.

"Well, it's quite chilly today, isn't it? Not particularly good weather to have a concert?" Maureen said, trying to make conversation.

"Yeah, it's gonna be even worse on the roof," George commented, setting his half-finished tea on the table next to the group.

May secretly viewed Maureen from a distance, slightly star struck by her, which was strange because she worked with some of the most well known musicians in the world. All May could think of was being thirteen years old in 1965 and discovering a photo in a magazine with Maureen and Ringo from a press conference, after their wedding. They looked happy, and May thought Maureen was so pretty. But seeing the Beatle wife in the flesh was something else entirely. A nudge to her hip caused May to snap out of her growing fascination with Maureen.

"I was thinkin' of having a repeat of last night...but tonight," George whispered to her, as Maureen and Ringo settled into their own exchange.

May laughed, but was suddenly reminded of the guitar pick. She fetched the pick from her pocket, showing it to George.

"Speaking of last night...you left this at my place," she replied, placing the pick in his hand.

"Oh, thanks, love." he squeezed it, the curve of the pick digging into his palm.

There was a small turn of appreciation on George's lips, an urge to kiss May nearly overpowering him, but he remained stationary.

The events of this morning and Peter's accusations washed over May, and the need to tell George was on the tip of her tongue. But for some reason, she instead said,

"This will be my first Beatle concert, y'know?"

George's smile faded, an awkward silence growing from it, and May wondered if she had said the wrong thing.

"At least you'll be able to hear at this concert," he said, melancholy to his tone.

His behaviour was unusual, a nervousness surrounding his speech and actions, but May couldn't understand it fully. George touched her shoulder, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"I better go now, love - y'know, get ready and all..." he paused, glancing down, somewhat shy. "I'll see yer up there," he lightly pinched her cheek, causing the skin to redden slightly.

She watched George leave the studio, and he looked back at her only once, May recognising a lack of confidence to his aura, a vagueness - slight doubtfulness - to his eyes. She felt a pressure to her wrist, and turned to see Maureen holding her arm, Ringo now disappeared from the studio.

"Let's get up to the roof. Why don't you sit with me?" Maureen offered, guiding May out of the room without waiting for her response.

****

I'm in love for the first time.
Don't you know it's gonna last?
It's a love that lasts forever.
It's a love that had no past...

"They sound great!" May exclaimed in Maureen's ear, but it was still muffled over the noise. Maureen nodded with a warm grin nevertheless, turning her head and watching the Beatles perform.

Maureen had informed May prior to the concert, whilst they sat waiting in the freezing cold, of the Beatles shows at the Cavern Club, before the fame. It was interesting to hear Maureen's recollections and served as a nice distraction from the iciness of the wind. May could feel a relief to the air, like it was somehow easier to breathe up on the roof. There had been endless debate over the concert, that it was pleasurable to finally be doing it.

She observed each member as they played, and all of them at one time or another had a smile on their face - even if it was for a second - as if to say that what they were doing was right. Very rarely would George glance over at May, but when he did, there was genuine reassurance in his eyes, and May would smile and clap in awe of his wonderful performance. There was no question that it had been a struggle for everyone so far, with constant bickering in the studio and heavy sighs of exhaustion. But for this moment, it didn't matter, as they simply played.

There were some complications - the first being the cold weather. Breaks between songs consisted of complaining of the chilly conditions, with everyone rubbing their hands together, and lips and noses red. Apple Executive Ken Mansfield kept a stream of lit cigarettes in order for George to warm his fingertips, which May laughed at, but secretly wished she could have the same treatment. She was rugged up in George's jacket, the same one he had loaned the night after the party - the black one she had nicked from the studio on her third day working at Apple. The material was a bit too thin to keep completely warm, but it was satisfactory for the day.

There was a lot of stop-start, tune ups and occasional short jams. May realised that none of George's numbers were played. A melodic strum of the guitar startled May, the words "don't let me down" sung with such fervour from John. The band had practiced this one already, but John had messed up the lyrics on the first go, and therefore it was preferred that they rehearse it again for the film. May wasn't bothered by it because the track was quickly becoming her favourite. It was sung with such passion and sincerity.

There were a group of girls huddled on a balcony opposite, and May waved at them, her side fringe brushing into the corners of her eyes from the breeze. As May tapped her foot to the beat, she noticed a few policemen in conversation with Mal Evans, whilst a cameraman tried to capture a sneaky shot of the exchange. The policemen would sometimes stand and watch the performance, almost allowing it continue. But it wouldn't last long as it was soon followed by another few words between Mal and the police.

Jojo was a man who thought he was a loner,
But he knew it wouldn't last.
Jojo left his home in Tucson, Arizona,
For some California grass.

The final song was "Get Back". There was an inkling that it would be their last number—the amount of cops had increased, as well as workers or residents in apartments that had climbed onto their balconies or roof tops to get a glimpse of the concert. It wouldn't be long before an accident occurred. It seemed that not only was this their last number for the concert, but the end for the band altogether, and May assumed this was why George had been so sad before.

This version of "Get Back" was slightly faster than the one May had heard in the studio. The drumbeat was even more prominent, thumbing through to her insides, and it caused May to choke up a bit. She didn't cry, but the pressure in her chest and cheeks from the overwhelming feeling that she was at this concert was present.

Maureen and May instantly clapped and cheered once the track concluded, which earned a "Thanks Mo!" from Paul. The bassist then looked over to May, who was beaming from the performance, excitedly applauding the group. It was reminiscent of the Beatle touring days. With the vexed words of George from yesterday swirling through Paul's mind, all he could do was nod at the seventeen year old. He didn't dare acknowledge her aloud incase it would cause further strive between him and his mate. In some ways, George had spoiled the friendship Paul was making with May, but if it ensured harmony between the band for just a little longer, he was willing to sacrifice this one relationship.

What didn't occur to Paul at that moment, is that he shouldn't have to making these type of sacrifices for a man so infatuated and insanely protective of a shy girl.

"I'd like to say thank you on behalf of the group and ourselves and I hope we've passed the audition..."

****

Apple Kitchen.

"So what was it like up there? Freezing I bet!" he laughed.

"Sam, I don't know why you didn't come up - it was fucking awesome!" May beamed, rubbing her hands together.

Sam placed two mugs on the bench top, preparing for tea as the kettle boiled.

"I told yer, I was with the camera crew - they let me hold some of their equipment, how wicked?!"

May poured the steaming liquid into the mugs, as Sam reached for the milk and sugar.

"Yeah, I guess it sounds wicked," she replied monotonously, stirring two sugars into her tea, trying to warm herself up from standing out in the cold for close to an hour.

After the concert, the Beatles exited the roof and had a brief meeting with the producers of the film, as well as the policemen. May decided to chat with Sam until everything cooled off.

"They placed a camera in the lobby so that it captured people coming inside Apple to take a look at where the hell the music was coming from. It even got the cops coming in!" Sam explained.

May gently blew on her cup of tea, before taking a small sip. "Sounds cool."

"Mmm, yeah, it was." Sam nodded, his finger outlining the handle of the mug.

There was a pause, various murmurs and conversations coming from down the hall, a faint beat of the drums and guitars blending into the background noise.

"Um, y'know, the crew is allowing me to watch some of the footage they got today," Sam said, scratching the back of his neck.

"Really? Awesome." May smiled, curling her palm around the cup's surface to heat her hand up.

Sam stared at his feet for a minute or two, trying to calm his nerves. He definitely had feelings for May, he was aware of it a few days into speaking with her. But she was always off with George Harrison, that he never had the chance to properly ask her out. There had been talk in the studio that George and May had something going, but Sam refused to believe it. He figured this was his time to finally show May he had confidence and hopefully charm her to being with him instead of a Beatle. His chances were slim, but what was he to lose?

If only Sam had taken extra notice of the ring on May's fourth finger, he might of realised that she wasn't George's either, and she never would be.

Sam cleared his throat. "Um, did you want to come see it with me?" he asked, slightly mumbling, and May glanced into his eyes.

"Oh, I don't know, Sam...would they allow me to watch? I mean they said only you-

"C'mon, May! It would be fun, maybe they even got a shot of you on there?"

May figured it would be interesting to view the concert from a different perspective, so she agreed with enthusiasm.

"Gear, May! We could watch it this afternoon then? They said I could, I'm really tight with some of the guys," Sam smirked with pride, and May was impressed.

Whether it was bullshit or not, May was too naive to see through the exaggerations of the truth - such as how "really tight" an immature, third assistance boy was to a professional camera team.

"The repairmen for the fridge should be in then, so you probably won't be serving too many teas. I'm sure they'll allow you to see some of the footage." Sam added.

"Sure, that sounds great." May nodded, genuinely intrigued.

"Cool. So just the two of us, yeah?" Sam confirmed, biting his lip.

May smirked at the question, "Yeah, of course."

They smiled at each other, Sam's heart beating like mad, and he was worried May could hear it. Just as Sam stepped closer to her, the kitchen door opened. Steffie and Mal walked in, the two startled seventeen year olds giving a quick hello. Sam collected his tea and passed May, whispering to her, "see yer later, then..."

Two of us sending postcards,
Writing letters,
On my wall.

You and me burning matches,
Lifting latches...

****

Apple Bathrooms.

May was applying lip balm to her dry lips, when the door to the female toilets opened - it was first ajar, almost as if the person on the other side was contemplating to enter or not, and then a head popped through. To May's surprise, it was George.

"What are you doing in here?!" she laughed, smearing more gloss to her mouth.

"I've been lookin' for yer everywhere." George closed the door, and it didn't go unnoticed by May that he locked the door as well.

George walked up behind May, his hands rubbing up and down her hips. He was still wearing the big, fluffy black coat from the rooftop, and as he pressed into her, the warmness spread down her body.

"So, how did we sound?" George asked, kissing her ear.

May watched in the mirror as he kissed the nape of her neck, sweeping tendrils of hair away as his lips touched her skin. Her breathing instantly became shaky, arousal growing from her lower stomach to her thighs, and the intensity of it was unlike anything she had felt before.

"Fine..." May exhaled, her eyes continuing to follow George's mouth as he trailed kisses on the outside of her ear, nerves tingling.

"Only fine?" he muttered, his left hand lifting up the hem of her shirt, and May heard the hitch in George's breath as he came into contact with the warm skin on her stomach. She was so soft and soothing to touch, particularly on her abdomen.

"Well..." May began, closing her eyes. "Not only fine,"

George's right hand on the top button of her blouse caused her eyes to shoot open, unable to protest as his fingers carefully unbuttoned it. He tugged the material slightly off her shoulder, gaining access to her collarbone, peppering it with kisses, her fruity perfume more poignant in that area, and George was soon addicted to her saccharine scent. His thoughts were hazy, his other hand lightly massaging her hip, every now and then fiddling with the zipper of her skirt.

"You smell so sweet, May..." he whispered in her ear, gently brushing his nose on her neck. It was such an affectionate touch, almost cat like. "...do yer know that?" George asked, finally meeting her gaze in the mirror.

May shook her head, eyes darting from his stare to the basin. "You're the only one who has told me that,"

She appeared so young to George then, that all he could do was smile. Nonetheless, another feeling - pride somewhat - surfaced within George, as he was the only one to speak these words to her, cause these emotions. With a soft peck on May's head, George mumbled against her ear,

"Well, I'm glad."

May blushed, turning around in his arms to face him.

"I better be off soon," she poked his chest. "I'm gonna be seeing the footage from the concert before you do." May revealed proudly.

George titled his head in confusion, and she chuckled.

"The film crew has allowed me to watch a sneak preview of it - how exciting?!" she beamed, her skin growing hot as George kissed her jawline and neck.

"Mmm...yeah, very exciting," he murmured monotonously, his hands wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer.

May laughed, giddy from the proximity of George and the tickle of his moustache on her skin. He traced the few freckles on her cheekbones, gazing at her fondly.

"Ave' you been chatting up the film crew to do this?" George smirked.

"No, Sam invited me," May replied, and as the words left her lips, she witnessed the twitch in George's playful mood, and his eyes filled with a peculiar seriousness.

"Sam?"

May glanced at him with worried eyes. "Yes. Sam." her voice almost inaudible.

His back straightened, as she remained in his hold, but it was much looser. George didn't respond for a moment, his thoughts racing, cheeks and neck flushed with agitation. George was aware of Sam's crush on May, beginning with the third assistance's wandering gaze on her - particularly her body - even when George was around. It made his blood boil, and as much as George tried to settle his annoyance, the more it grew, until finally he could only think of one solution - try and persuade May to bring him along. Thus, he smiled - it was small and hurried, not revealing much, but relief immediately washed over May.

"Aw, June, that's a shame you'll be out later on...you won't be able to receive your gift..."

The promise of a present was true, but despite this, George couldn't make eye contact with her, and instead focused on his fingers resting nicely on her hips, caressing them.

"You bought me something?!" May questioned, excitement evident in her tone.

He looked at her. "You bet, doll. It's up in Derek's office."

May laughed in disbelief. "Oh, George! You didn't have to do that - can I see it now?" her hands relaxing on his shoulders, and he was satisfied with this, taking the chance to kiss her quickly on the lips.

"Ah, but don't you have somewhere else to be?"

She pondered Sam's question from earlier - "So just the two of us, yeah?". May was conflicted with what to do, and when she looked into George's eyes, it was the first time she had seen resent in them. The thought of hurting George alarmed May, and as a result she said,

"Do you want to come with me? I'm sure the crew won't mind you watching the footage - I mean, you're in it for Christ sake,"

George hummed in response, "Right you are," and kissed her again, this time more slow and delicate, tongues sliding against each other, May's breathing becoming shaky once more from the euphoria.

She gently pulled away, looking up at George, his lips a rosy red from the kiss. The intimacy they shared reassured May that what she had decided wasn't bad, even if she had to confront the fact she might have been disappointing her friend.

"We could go up to Derek's after and get the present then," she negotiated.

He grinned, "Fab."

****

Sam paced up and down near the doorway, his palms sweaty as he waited for May. She was taking so damn long, and the camera crew were growing impatient. Michael Lindsay-Hogg was eager to view the footage, and for all he knew, this gangly, seventeen year old nobody was getting in the way of that.

Michael sighed, "For God's sake! Is your girlfriend here yet or what?!" he snapped, crossing his legs.

Sam's heart raced, the words 'she's not my girl' on his lips, but one of the cameramen, Chris, interjected with, "Yeah, he wishes she was his girlfriend," giving him a sneer, a few chuckles around the room.

Sam's cheeks reddened, "She'll be here in a second, promise." he managed to explain, but his voice was shaky.

Michael rolled his eyes, "Fine. Give her two minutes then."

Soon enough, May appeared, and Sam watched in delight as she ran down the hallway, her skirt rustling between her knees and thighs, cheeks a lightish pink, her braid bouncing up and down her shoulder as she came closer towards him.

"Sorry for being late!" she exclaimed. Sam couldn't accept her apology, because when May greeted him, she immediately whispered in his ear, "Hope you don't mind, George wanted to come," gesturing behind her, to where George was now making his way down the hallway.

George arrived so cooly in his black, furry coat, a cigarette hanging from his lips, and Sam quivered in intimidation. George nodded to him, his eyes heavy, and Sam watched as George guided May through the room, his hand on her lower back, lingering near her bottom.

Sam had to look away, the ground becoming blurred, his eyelashes wet as he blinked. He hastily wiped his eyes before viewing the film.

****

May leisurely walked up the stairs, ready to meet George in Derek's office. George had left halfway through watching the footage. He didn't say anything to her whilst viewing himself and the band, but as he left, he regarded her with tearful eyes, muttering to her, "Meet me in Derek's when you're finished,". Sam didn't stay for much longer after George's departure.

May passed Paul whilst climbing the stairs, giving him a cheerful smile, for which he sighed in anxiety and refused to meet her gaze. She furrowed her eyebrows, stopping, and turning.

"Paul?" she called, and he halted, but didn't face her. May's eyes studied his black vest and the way his hair flicked up on the nape of his neck.

When he didn't respond, she asked, "Have I done something wrong?"

There was a horrible silence to follow, that not even the music filtering in from one of the nearby studios could calm the pair's nerves.

"Why do you ask?" Paul cleared his throat.

May bit her lip. "You hardly look at me...don't smile,"

"Just cause' we played piano that time your me mate, now?" he snapped.

May didn't see, but Paul winced at his words. They were awful, and he meant them to be sarcastic and almost playful, and instead they came out as nasty. His tone wasn't correct either. Unbeknownst to May, Paul had just come from Derek's office, where he had bumped into George and exchanged a few words. They had tried to overcome their differences from last night, but they always seemed to say the wrong thing, and ended up further frustrated. Therefore, Paul was marginally shaken up from it, and accidentally took it out on May.

"Oh..." May had never felt so disheartened in her life. She had experienced musicians irritability due to creative frustrations, but it had never impacted her like this.

"Okay, I'm sorry," she apologised in a quiet voice, turning to continue up the stairs.

It was then that Paul looked over his shoulder to see May's back, her shoulders heavy with rejection, and his heart pained with guilt.

Compared with Paul's irritable manner, George warmly welcomed May, giving her a big kiss as soon as she entered the room.

"Where is it?" May beamed, searching the room for the wrapped gift.

"No 'hello, George'. No, 'how are you?' first?" he teased, his arms wrapping around her waist, and they swayed side to side for a few second or so.

She pouted, "Fine. Hello George. Happy?"

"Considerably." he smirked, to which May rolled her eyes. George then stepped to the side, revealing a polished, antique, solid gold statue. It wasn't very big, but looked very, very expensive.

"Oh, George!" she gasped, covering her mouth in awe of its beauty.

"No, Durga, actually," he softly chuckled. "She's a Hindu goddess, and acts somewhat like a 'protective mother' if you will, giving aid to us with the troubles and evils of the world."

May approached the statue with wide eyes, her finger gently outlining the head of the lion in which Durga sat upon. The lion's body was smooth to touch, whereas the grooves of the sari that the goddess wears is bumpy and uneven due to the carving. George joined May's side, admiring the statue, as well as his lover's reaction to it. She looked at him and stood on her tip toes to give his forehead a light peck.

"Thank you," May whispered.

George nodded, his hand relaxing on her back as they studied the intricate detail of the golden sculpture. May panicked however.

"But George, I don't know how to pray to a goddess." she gazed up at him. "I'm not even Hindu!" she exclaimed.

He laughed at her worries. "That's okay, luv. Pray is a form of communication, so by simply talking or keeping the statue in your house will be fine," George explained calmly.

"See how Durga has been represented with ten arms," he pointed out by running his forefinger along the numerous objects in the goddesses' hand. May nodded. "Well, this symbolises the ten quadrants in Hinduism, meaning she protects all devotees in all directions,"

"Protects us from what?"

"The evils in our life, whether it be worldly, like the war for example. Or personal troubles," George explained.

"Personal?" she questioned.

"Yeah. An example of 'personal' could be that Durga can help defeat ego by bringing pain to that person. It's ridding the bad stuff from within us, but also protecting us from the bad people around us. See?"

"Oh." May nodded, glimpsing at the statue again. "Yes, I see,"

George informed May of a couple more facts, including that Durga is usually depicted wearing a red sari, as red highlights her ability to destroy and shield human kind from suffering. The seventeen year old was extremely appreciative of George's knowledge and made sure to tell him after every detail he shared.

"I think I'll put it in the living room, that way everyone who enters the house is safe," May said, and George smiled in response.

"Can't wait to see it," he replied, kissing her cheek.

But as the words left his lips, she couldn't help but think of Peter and his assumed apathy for the goddess, as well as the statue in their home. After the interrogations about George's pick on the coffee table this morning, what was Peter to say about a hand made, exquisite sculpture? The thought caused May to not bring the gift home that night...nor the night after that.

****

"This is delicious soup, Elizabeth." May smiled, gently blowing on the liquid in her spoon, before tasting it. The soup wasn't fantastic, it was in need of a pinch of salt and spices, but May didn't make a fuss, she only wished to make a good impression to Peter's parents.

"Thank you, May." Mrs. Williams nodded.

Conversation slowly arose, Peter's Dad doing most of the talking - well, commenting on everyday topics such as the patterns of weather and gardening. Peter stayed quiet for most of the dinner, which May found odd as usually he dominated conversation during meals at his parent's home. He appeared terribly nervous and quiet, and she couldn't comprehend his change in mood. Soon enough, there was a window of silence and May decided to take a risk at contributing to the discussions.

She cleared her throat. "I-I might be applying for a job soon," she announced awkwardly, and Peter looked at her with concerned eyes. "There's a cafe not too far from the house, pay shouldn't be bad either,"

Elizabeth glimpsed at Peter's Dad, who continued to eat, and then at Peter, who sheepishly smiled at his mother.

"Oh, well...trying to save up a bit of money before you start having children, I suppose," Elizabeth said to May.

May glanced at Peter, but he had decided the best way for him to respond was with silence and slowly swirling his spoon around in his soup. The thought of being pregnant created butterflies in May's stomach, and instantly her appetite was gone.

"Yes?" Elizabeth questioned, gliding her spoon through the bowl, collecting the last remnants of soup.

To Mrs. Williams, his son and her daughter-in-law had taken the correct steps in life - met, engaged, married early, bought a house. The next logical stage was to have children. This was how she was brought up, and she felt the duty to show Peter and May what to do. Elizabeth married and conceived much later in life, and now she regretted it. Thus, she only wished her son the best, and Elizabeth thought this was it. Unfortunately, the consideration of Peter's aspirations in life were not factored - nor were his wife's. May and Peter were still kids themselves, and as much as they were opinionated, they couldn't face rebelling against their parents wishes just yet.

"Uh, y-yes." May shakily replied, struggling to make eye contact with Mrs. Williams.

"Good, very good." Elizabeth nodded.

****

May sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the hem of her pyjama top. Peter soon joined her in the bedroom, settling next to her, his hand resting on her leg. They returned home from the William's not too long ago, both getting ready for bed in silence.

Everything was coming up from the year before. It brought tears to May's eyes, her head soon pounding from the memories. Pregnancy. George. Let it Be. The entire affair was very difficult to let go of for May. And to make matter's worse, there was yet to be a response from George to the letter she posted almost two month's ago. She was a fool to believe he would still want her.

"I already knew."

Peter's words startled May. She faced him, wiping the small teardrops from under her eyes.

"What?"

He sighed, glancing down. "I already knew Mum would ask about children. We had a conversation about it a few days ago,"

"You knew she was going to ask me?"

Peter caressed her cheek, his thumb slightly wet from her tears. "Yes. I'm sorry, May. I told her I didn't know what you wanted, but she didn't listen,"

It dawned on May that Peter's secret could explain his timid and jumpy attitude at dinner. May nodded, accepting his apology.

"I could never imagine you pregnant, y'know? The idea of it...scares me," Peter admitted quietly, his fingers combing through her messy hair.

With a few more sobs, feelings of guilt surfaced through May, and she wasn't sure if it was the right time to bring up the memories once suppressed. For her husband to know that early last year she believed she was pregnant with another man's child would be devastating.

Things were good now. All that drama from 1969 had seemingly passed, and May realised it was perhaps time to move on. The letter to George was probably a mistake, but his lack of response might have been a blessing in disguise for her to make some changes in her life.

"It scares me too, Pete." May sniffed, kissing his cheek.

He smiled sweetly, "Let's forget about it, aye? Fuck them, we don't want kids. It's not their relationship, it's our's. The two of us."

Two of us wearing raincoats,
Standing so low,
In the sun.

You and me chasing paper,
Getting nowhere,
On our way back home...

****

August 8, 1970 - Saturday Night.
Peter and May's house, Mayfair.

George picked at the steering wheel with his the tip of his car keys, checking his watch for the umpteenth time - 11:40pm. He promised Pattie he wouldn't be out this late; eleven pm the latest. Nevertheless, George simply wasn't ready to drive home yet. The stress of his home life, including his mother's recent illnesses, as well as the recording of the new album, had become too much, and a night of reflection and seclusion was necessary. So, George drove around aimlessly, until he remembered May's new address, which was written on the letter she had sent him a month ago.

The letter...it had been at the back of his mind for quite some time. George wasn't ready to respond. There were coincidences holding him back, such as his mother's unexpected health problems, and the album occupying his time. But there was another factor, which was that May reminded him too much of the past, particularly the bad times of the Beatles, and a large part of him didn't want to be associated with that anymore. It was 1970. Time for change and new beginnings. George was meant to let go of May in the sixties and leave this all behind. But the letter had brought it all back up again, making him angry, and thus the hesitancy to write back to her.

George was briefly blinded by headlights, his gaze following the car that was pulling into May's driveway. George shuffled down into his seat, worried he would be caught. He watched as two figures exited the car, her laughter echoing through the quiet street, and George reminisced of how he once could make her erupt with giggles like that, how infectious she was - and still is apparently, because he has a wistful smile on his face. George continued to stare as they walked up the driveway, May's hand interlocking with her husbands, and just before they enter the front door, they share a kiss, looking into each other's eyes.

George turned away, immediately hurt, deciding then and there that the developing ache in his heart was too much to bear, and it would be near impossible to ever respond to May's letter...

You and I have memories,
Longer than the road that stretches out ahead.

We're going home,
you better believe it.

Goodbye...