{okay guys, i know I alternate between early and late Beatles eras, but since it didn't work out as I expected, this chapter also takes place before the Let it Be sessions. Enjoy!}

1965

The Parisian weather was especially nice today. Prudence wore a sleeveless yellow dress and her favorite blue shoes, which clicked on the cobbled street. Her purse held the summer designs that Mr. Allemande had requested, and she was carrying them to the buyer's offices at the Porte de Versailles. Her hair was tied up in a neat bun, the hairstyle which she preferred for professional engagements. The meeting was in half an hour, and since her apartment was not too far, she had decided to walk instead of taking a cab.

A day this nice shouldn't be wasted inside a stuffy car, anyway.

Each fresh breath filled her with happiness and excitement anew. If the buyers like the designs, Prudence would be highly lauded at work. Or so she hoped, anyway.

She passed kiosks selling newspapers and trinkets; old men sitting on benches; young couples, local and foreign, holding hands and taking pictures; a mother buying ice cream for her child; a stout, old woman selling roses; a taxi driver smoking a cigarette; an outdoors market wafting the fresh smell of fruits and vegetables; a drunk man lying on the ground; women walking and fanning themselves with newspapers; a record store; a big concert poster; another big concert poster; another big concert poster...

Prudence stopped in her tracks, and turned on her heels. The posters were seven feet tall, and glued together side by side on the wall next to the record store.

She didn't have to know French to understand what the posters displayed. The band name was tossed all over the sheets.

BEATLESBEATLESBEATLESBEATLES

She walked up to the poster, her mouth wide open. She stared at each one in turn, though all three were exactly the same. There were no photographs, just words, and BEATLESBEATLESBEATLES etched everywhere.

She looked at the bottom of the poster. 20 juin, 1965, 19:00, Palais de Sports. That was tonight.

One thought entered her mind. I can see him.

She nearly threw her head against the wall to knock out the thought.

Why must that be the first thing she thinks of when she sees the band?

She had developed a cycle by now, and it ran on a very diligent schedule. Somehow, somewhere, the Beatles would be mentioned, and Prudence would promptly begin to think of John. Then she would spend hours coaxing herself out of the delusion, you have to stop acting like this Prudence, it's pointless, he's married, he has a wife, he doesn't love you, he stopped loving you when he went to Hamburg, you're just hurting yourself with these stupid ideas. And then she would feel alright, until the next time the band would pop into her head.

She remembered she had work to do, and she dragged herself away from the posters, and forced herself not to look back at them. The sun now seemed unforgiving.

It was too late by now. She knew when the concert was. She knew what time. She knew where. She knew that, in seven hours, she would be putting on her best outfit, getting into a taxi, and buying a ticket to see the show. She knew that she would find her way backstage, and confront John, and ask him why, why, John, did she deserve all of this, why couldn't he write, John, why couldn't he tell her that he didn't love her?

She knew she wouldn't be able to talk herself out of it. John was so close. Nothing could keep her from seeing him now.

That thought, in some perverse way, contented Prudence, and she let go of it, as if she had finished the shopping and didn't need the grocery list anymore. Clear-headed, she focused on her imminent meeting, and walked confidently to the buyer's office.

____________________________

"Pas plus billets, mademoiselle," the man in the booth said, shaking his head.

"Monsier, si vous plait, un billet," Prudence stammered, pointing at the facade of the venue.

She should really get around to learning French properly.

The salesman shook his head again. "Il n'y a plus! Es vendu!" He waved his hand to shoo her away.

Prudence gave up her second language. "But you don't understand, I have to get in!"

"No more, no more!" The man replied in stilted English. "Sold out!" He kept waving his hand until eventually Prudence walked away from the booth.

Tears did not spring to her eyes. She did not cross her arms in defeat and slowly trudge away. Prudence had made her mind up that she would see John, and that no one would stop her.

She heard the screams coming from the venue. She couldn't believe how intense the fans were, even here in Paris. A sliver of pride welled up for the lads. They really were at the toppermost of the poppermost.

The man in the ticket booth pulled the shade down in the window, and stepped out through a tiny door. Lighting a cigarette, he began to leave with a rough walk. He shrugged an apology to Prudence. She just looked away.

The man kept going, but before continuing down the street, dipped his head into an alley. "Au revoir, Monsieur!" he shouted. Prudence listened intently, from a distance.

"Au revoir! Merci beacoup!"

The accent was markedly un-French, the words said uncomfortably and with extreme effort. The salesman took another drag on his cigarette and hobbled away.

Prudence waited for him to cross the street, and then ran to the alley. She leaned against the wall of the venue and turned her head to look.

It was dark, except for one light. The light was above a door, which was perched on a fire escape balcony. Also on the balcony was a man, leaning on the railing. Prudence could make out blonde hair and glasses, but not much else. She knew it wasn't a Beatle. She began to walk down the alley to the balcony, her heels clicking with every step. She didn't make an effort to hide herself.

"Uh, bonjour?" the man said into the night, hearing but not seeing Prudence.

"Excuse me? I'm down here," she shouted back. The man turned to face her.

"Oh, uh, hello." He stared down at her as she walked right beneath the balcony.

"I'm here to see the Beatles," was all she said.

The man let out a goofy laugh. "Well, everyone's here t'see the Beatles, miss. But the concert's almost over."

She recognized his accent. "A fellow Scouser, I see?"

"You're from Liverpool, too? What a small world it is, then."

Prudence grabbed onto the ladder and pulled herself up. Her dress crawled up above her hips, but she knew that no one would see her intimates in the dark.

"Erm, miss, what are you-"

"Hold on, I'm almost there." Her heels got caught in the rungs, so she kicked them off, first the right, then the left.

She was wasting no time. She had to see John.

She reached the top of the ladder and stuck out her hand. "Help me up," she said, matter-of-factly.

After a beat, the man grabbed her and pulled her onto the balcony. He surveyed her as she dusted herself off and adjusted her dress. Leaning against the door, he crossed his arms.

"Now what?"

"Well," Prudence answered, patting down her hair with her hands, "now you'll take me to see the Beatles."

The man guffawed. "Gee, miss, it was very bold of ye to come up here, but I'm afraid I can't-"

"You can and you will," Prudence interrupted. "I haven't seen the band in six years, and I'd like to catch up." She folded her arms over her chest defiantly, and raised her eyebrow, requesting a challenge.

The man just asked, "Liverpool buddies?"

Prudence nodded. "I need to see them. I need to see John."

At that, the man's eyes widened. "Were you two...?"

Prudence nodded again. "Yes. And I need to see him."

The man sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Listen, lady, this may not be the best time for your intervention. John's family's here."

At first Prudence thought of his aunt Mimi. But then she remembered.

"His wife," she said softly.

"Yeah, so it may not be smart to go in and start up a love affair in front of the old lady."

Prudence looked into his eyes defiantly. "I just want to see him. To talk to him. Now take me to him."

The man didn't budge. "I still am not sure if yer lyin'. You're a complete stranger."

"My name is Prudence." She smiled as politely as she could. "What's yours?"

He smirked. "Mal."

"See? We aren't strangers anymore. Now, please, take me to the band."

Mal hesitated, then got off the door and opened it.

"Ye better keep yerself in check, Prudence."

_____________________________________

"Great show, gentlemen!" John said as they walked offstage.

"Yeah, it wasn't bad," Paul added.

"Those Jelly Babies nearly got me in th'eye," George sighed. "One of these days I'm gonna go blind."

"Ah, s'alright, mate!" Ringo chimed in. "I'm sure ye can play with no eyes."

"Good job, boys!" Brian said, leading them to their dressing room. "Now change and off to the hotel."

The lads walked single file, chattering among one another.

"Eppy, d'you know where Cyn is?" John asked.

Brian replied, "Waiting with Julian in the dressing room. The poor child couldn't stand the noise, she went to put him to sleep."

John just nodded and rejoined the banter with the group.

Mal walked into the hallway. The lads all greeted him with a chipper, "Ey, Mal!" He just nodded and motioned to Brian. The two walked off to the side and whispered to each other.

"What d'you suppose is the matter?" Paul asked softly.

"Probably business things. They just go over me head," George returned.

Brian walked over to John, a concerned look on his face.

"What's doin', Bri?" John asked. He felt a little nervous, seeing Brian tense like that.

"There's a girl here, John. She says she has to speak to you."

"Oooooh, d'you think it's that bird from last week?" Paul teased. John glared at him, shutting him up.

"What girl?"

"Her name's Prudence."

John immediately tensed up. So did George and Paul. Ringo remained silent, confused.

"...Prudence?" George asked softly.

Brian nodded. "Yes. Who is this girl, John?"

John didn't answer. Anger boiled inside of him.

Why was she here? What did she want from him? She stopped writing, and he accepted it. He moved on, he got with Cyn, he married her, and now she was crawling back into his life? Did she want money, fame? Did she want to ruin his life? Tear his heart into pieces another time?

"Tell her to go away," John muttered. "I don't want to see her." With that, he pushed past Brian and continued walking to the dressing room. Brian just nodded and walked over to Mal.

Prudence stared as John walked down the hallway, away from her. She couldn't believe he could be so blunt. No. She would not end things this way.

"John!" she yelled, pushing Mal away and running towards him.

The sound of her voice made John freeze. He turned, and the two finally stood face to face.

The last time they had seen each other, they were saying goodbye. John was off to Hamburg, trying to make himself a famous man. Ringo wasn't in the band yet. Brian wasn't yet a manager. Prudence was still in the art school. That was so long ago.

Sadness, angst, yearning, hatred, erupted in both of them.

"How could you not write?" The shouts were simultaneous.

After a second, each realized that they had said the same thing.

"How could I not write?" John shouted.

"I wrote every week!" Prudence yelled.

"So did I!"

Neither seemed to hear each other. Neither realized that the other was not at fault.

"Was there something better in Hamburg, that you couldn't-"

"I leave, and you throw me away like an old rag-"

"I cried over you! I cri-"

"I told you I loved you! You told me-"

"Do you know what I did while you were off with other girls in Germany? I stayed home, in bed!"

"You deserted me! I came back to Liverpool, and you were gone!"

"I can't believe how you've hurt me! And now you won't even apologize-"

"Apologize? I've got nothing to apologize for! You should be the one-"

"Alright! Enough!" Brian shouted. "Mal, take her away!"

George, Paul, and Ringo just stared as Mal grabbed Prudence and dragged her away.

"I hate you, John!" She shouted, as mascara-dyed tears began to flow. "I hate you!"

John said nothing, just stared at her with piercing eyes. George woke up from his stupor.

"Mal, stop it!" he ran to the man who had lifted Prudence off the ground, her bare feet flailing in the air. "Let her go!"

Prudence cried silently, staring back at John. Mal shook his head. "She has to go, George."

"I'll take her out, just put her down!"

Mal obliged and set Prudence down. Despite the tears, she remained bold.

"Now go back to your wife, John! And don't desert her, too!"

John lunged at her, hands balled into fists, but Paul and Ringo held him back. George grabbed Prudence's shoulder. "Come 'ead," he said softly, leading her away.

As they left the hallway, Prudence saw a woman come out of a door. Her platinum blonde hair shone. She held something in her arms. She walked to John nervously. Prudence saw the two of them talk. John kissed her on the forehead, then kissed the bundle in her arms.

It was his wife. And a child. John had a child. Prudence went limp.

"Prudence-" George caught her and held her up. "You alright?"

Prudence steadied herself, and though she knew she was lying, she nodded.

George let out a sigh. "I... I think you should-"

"Yeah. I know."

George nodded soberly, and led her to the exit.

{{this was the dramatic part I had you all waiting for :)

This was the longest chapter I've ever written wow

took me three hours is that bad

in other news, I am an accompanist for my school chorus and I already got dibs on playing Space Oddity but there's this kid who wants to take it away from me and it's getting my knickers in a twist

he was like "i played piano for 8 years" and then I was like "I played for 10"

im too sassy haha

Enjoy your morning/afternoon/night!

PEACE AND LOVE L***}}