1960

I don't worry,

Whenever skies are gray above,

Got a pocketful of rainbows,

Got a heart full of love.

"What is this granny music?" John frowned at the record player.

"It's Elvis," George said, picking up the record sleeve. "'Pocketful of Rainbows'."

Pete chuckled. "Manly, eh?" 

Mister Heartache,

I found a way to make him leave.

Got a pocketful of rainbows,

Got a star up in my sleeve.

"That almost sounds dirty," Paul mused.

Prudence looked at John, her arms crossed. "You don't like it, do you?"

"No, it's not that," John stood up off the mattress and straightened his jacket. "It just... doesn't sound very much like the King, y'know?"

Prudence let out a frustrated sigh. "Well, that can't be helped. Elvis sings what he wants to sing. I thought it was a nice gesture, but I can see it wasn't apprec-"

John cut her off with a big, sloppy kiss. The boys all jeered and shouted until the couple untangled themselves, locking eyes instead.

"Ta, love," John said softly. "It's a great gift."

Kiss me extra tender, hold me extra tight,

'Cause I'm saving your sweetness for a lonely ni-i-i-ight

George put down the sleeve and stood up. "I'm headin' outside for a smoke," he announced to no one in particular before grabbing his jacket and leaving the apartment. Once outside, he sat down on the kerb and lit up.

Tonight was the last night before Hamburg. John and Stu were hosting a little get-together at their flat, after which they planned to get drinks at the Casbah. George wasn't much in the mood, though. He would have preferred to walk the streets, taking it all in one last time. 

The door opened and Prudence walked out, wrapped in a blanket. "Scoot over," she said, and George obliged. She sat down next to him with a huff and pulled the blanket tighter around her.

"Nervy?" she asked, extending her hand for George's cig. 

George sighed and shook his head, before breaking into a chuckle. He couldn't even feign confidence for a second. "What kind of a question is that, Pru? 'Course I'm nervous."

"Don't be." Pru returned the cigarette. "You boys will be great." 

Muffled laughter came from the open flat window. Pru seemed to pay it no mind, staring out into the street. George saw the sadness in the corner of her eye. She couldn't hide her feelings too well, either.

"John's a big fat liar, by the way." George took a puff. Prudence looked at him questioningly. With a smile, George explained, "He actually really wanted that Elvis record. I reckon he was planning to nick it from the shop the day it came out."

"I knew as much," Prudence rested her chin on her knees. "The big softie."

George put his hand on her shoulder, and she turned her head to him, her cheek now against her knees. "Y'know we're gonna take care of John, right?" he said, deepening his voice to sound more... manly? He wasn't quite certain. "We won't let anythin' bad happen to 'im."

Prudence had to laugh. "Oh, Geo. I can always count on you." Her eyes welled up. "I'm gonna miss you. A lot. I hope you know that."

George smiled a little, dropping his cigarette to stamp it out. "I know. I'll miss you too, Pru."

Prudence lifted her blanket up and put it around George. The two of them sat, side-by-side, reminiscing, wallowing in goodbyes, until the rest of the group came outside on their way to the Casbah.

~~~~

PRUDENCE

"What a beautiful day."

Henri turned his head upwards, his dark sunglasses catching the light. He scrunched his face. "I suppose so," he paused to drag on his cigarette, "but un peu chaud, non?"

I sighed, stretching my arms skyward. "That's exactly why it's so beautiful. London's hardly ever sunny and warm." I relaxed my arms and leaned back in my chair. "Don't take it for granted, Henri."

Henri chuckled and puffed on his cigarette again. "We French are rather good at that." 

I gazed at the street from our cafe table on the kerb at strolling couples, bicycle riders, kiosk vendors, and other Parisians basking in the sunlight. A group of children ran down the block, followed by a group of mothers clutching grocery bags and chattering to each other. A young man and woman holding hands crossed the street without looking both ways. 

"And how was London otherwise?" Henri asked. "Anything to note besides the weather?"

Anything to note besides the weather...

I had returned to Paris, back to my work, back to my life without missing a beat. I allowed myself to feel sad about the sour way things had ended for a very limited period of time. By the time I landed in de Gaulle Airport, my anger had fizzled out. There was nothing I could do about what happened. Yes, it was... unfortunate. Yes, I was disappointed when I couldn't say goodbye. Heart-broken, one could say. But that's just what happened. No use mulling over it.

I picked myself back up the first time he broke my heart. It wasn't that difficult to do the second time around. 

I looked at Henri, the cig in his hand, the ring on his finger. He had gotten engaged to his girlfriend, a secretary in our office building, while I was away. She was a sweet girl.

Anything to note besides the weather...

"There's not much worth mentioning." I squeezed my lips into a tight smile. "I'm glad to be back."

PAUL

Allan Klein and I stared at each other from across the table. The only sound was my fingers drumming against the wood.

Klein let out a sound somewhere between a cough and a grunt and looked down at his watch.

"You've somewhere else to be?" I asked, unable to remove the bite in my tone. 

"As a matter of fact, I do," he retorted. "The Stones and I-" his voice rose on Stones- "need to discuss their next tour." He smirked, and I rolled my eyes.

It was just the two of us. The rest were late. Or not coming. It was hard to tell when I called them up yesterday. Ringo said he'd try his best to be here. John had Yoko answer, which even under normal circumstances wasn't very promising. George never picked up the phone.

Footsteps approached, and Ringo walked in. "Sorry I'm late, fel-" He paused, scanning both me and Klein before letting out a breath and sinking into the nearest chair. 

"Guess I'm not that late, then," he muttered, then forced a smile. "I didn't have to chug my beer this morning, did I?" 

He hunched over the desk, a little tired, a little sunken into himself, but not too worse for wear. I looked to the doorway, but no one else arrived.

It'd been a few days since the big blowup. George hasn't since been to the studio. John showed up, but at irregular hours and with little interest in recording. At least two of us were here at some point in the day to get work done, however reluctant the process was. We'd chug along, covering instrumentals for each other, recording and rerecording, until songs started to sound half-decent. But, of course, the record label need more than half-decent. Klein said that all the band had to meet up for an "intervention of sorts, to put our differences aside", so I'd tried to arrange it.

So far, it was a meeting like any other in recent memory: Ringo and I staring into space, silently praying for and dreading the potential arrival of the rest of the lads, Klein waiting for the moment he could mosey on over to his more cooperative stars. Eventually, he began to push himself up off his seat, but froze at the sudden echo of footsteps from the hallway. We all sat up the slightest amount, but immediately our anticipations fell: the footsteps were too fast for George, one pair of feet short for John and Yoko. 

Allan jammed himself back into his seat as the secretary rushed into the room. "Message for Misters Lennon, McCartney, and Starr, sirs," she said briskly, holding out a folded paper in no particular direction. After a long pause, Ringo reached out and collected it.

"Ta, love." The secretary nodded and scampered away. Ringo opened and scanned the note, his eyebrow raising ever so slightly.

"It's from George. Says he's leavin' town and won't be back for a few days."

Klein allowed himself a liberal eyeroll before painstakingly ejecting himself out of the seat again. "Gentlemen," he chortled as he reached the doorway. "Give me a call when the Beatles are ready to work again."

I felt about ready to flip the table, but I stayed put. After Klein's footsteps were gone, I released the breath I hadn't realized was caught, unclenched the fist I hadn't realized was there.

"Oh boy, Paulie," Ringo said, running one hand through his hair, the other still holding the note. "This is a bit of a mess, isn't it?"

I nodded along, equally jolted. Reaching out my newly relaxed hand, I gestured for the note. Ringo handed it over while continuing aloud, musing mostly to himself. 

"I knew it was bad, but leave-town bad? George had left for the day, but hadn't really done that before, had he?"

The note was terse, to the point. Ritch, Paul, John - I'm jetting out for a few. Not sure exactly when I'm back. Something I needed to do. - George

"But this'll all blow over, won't it?" Ringo pondered. "I mean, we've all needed a vacation at one point or another. Everyone needs a break for a little bit. Hell, I left for a couple weeks, and it was fine. Came back to a drumset of flowers..." He stopped speaking, as the realization must've dawned on him: it was George who had organized that floral display. As he slunk a little lower into his seat, I kept reading the note over and over, George's message and his earlier explosion muddling together.

"She 'up and left', did she?"

I'm jetting out for a few.

"You couldn't let her leave on her own terms, with her own goodbyes! Only on your conditions!"

Not sure exactly when I'm back.

"Was your dream to destroy everything? If that's what it was, then it certainly came true!"

Something I needed to do.

The pieces crashed together, and I whipped my head to face Ringo. He glanced up at me, his eyes sandwiched between sloped brows and puffy bags. 

"Ritch, I think..." I paused, unsure whether I could believe it myself. But it had to be. It made perfect sense. "I think he's going to Paris."

{{{hi guys

I'm baaaaack

Since the last time I updated this, years ago, I graduated college.  I started working and have been for a few months. I turned 19, 20, 21. We've been in and not-quite-out of a pandemic. All this to say - it's been a while.

Over the past few years, I would come back to the draft of this chapter, read it over, maybe change a couple words, and then shelve it away, realizing I had no interest in picking it up again.

But I recently reread my story and realized - I wasn't half bad at this. It's cheesy and overdramatic, sure, but I enjoyed reading it and seeing how it evolved over the ~4(?) years I've been updating it. So it feels sad leaving it undone. All this built-up tension, all these melodramatic tears these characters cried, and none of it gets resolved?

I've also been reading a lot more in general (now that I have free time again - yay), which probably helped me get in a writing mindset again (especially all those Harry fanfics I've been perusing - my emergence as a Harrie is another thing that happened since I last wrote)

So I decided to take another crack at it. I have a rough outline of where I want this story to end up. I'll update at my own pace, but faster than I used to (fingers crossed) and until I feel there's a conclusion. 

It's going to sound different. I've gotten a little older, and I've written waaaaay more research reports and thesis content than I've written stories, so my writing style has definitely changed. Even this author's note is way more formal than they've been in the past.

It might not be as enjoyable to read for you as it was before. You probably don't remember what even happened (and if you don't, maybe consider rereading! I had a blast). There might not even be anyone out there who cares about my updates anymore. That's fine. I mentioned this years ago - whenever I would update this story, it's because I enjoyed writing it. I'd work on it, publish it, and then leave it alone until I thought of the next part to write. I'm still doing it entirely for selfish reasons. I want to see how the rest of the story plays out. So if no one's reading it but me, that's okay.

Still, I really appreciate the people who read and commented and voted on my updates, and I'm sorry for never replying. I didn't focus too much on interacting with others, which I slightly regret now, because I didn't realize how many people were invested in the story. Looking back at all the comments makes me feel some kind of way. It's hard to believe that people care about this story of mine.

Alrightie, that's enough of this. This vent was waaaaaaay too serious and sappy for a silly Beatles fanfic. Back to your (ir)regularly (un)scheduled programming!

PEACE AND LOVE L***}}}