What Connie didn't realise as she put up with Ruby and Henry's speculation over her activities the night before was that George was going through the exact same. He'd not really thought much of the other lads that morning, since Paul was still asleep in their room and there had been no sign of John or Ringo as he led Connie out, but by the time he got back to their suite, John and Ringo were in the living area, the remnants of breakfast on the table. Noticing a spare piece of toast, George threw his overcoat and hat down onto a chair before grabbing it, taking a bite.

"So, go on then, big man," John spoke up without looking up from his magazine, specifically the New Times. "We're all dying to know the details,"

"What details?" George asked with a frown, sitting down next to Ringo on the sofa, the drummer making his way through a pile of autograph sheets. "'Ere, pass us a pen, I'll help with some of those,"

"Yeah, go on, do your homework and ignore me," John muttered rolling his eyes, especially as Ringo passed George a pen and he began signing the sheets too.

"I haven't got a clue what you're going on about, John," George said, not even taking his eyes away from the photographs he and Ringo were putting their signatures on.

"He wants to know if Connie was a good shag last night," Ringo stated bluntly, making George smudge the pen across the photo as he flinched out of shock. "Ay, this one'll sell for more,"

"Oi!" John exclaimed, rolling his magazine up, leaning over and hitting Ringo across the head with it. The drummer looked offended, stroking his hair back down, though he glanced nervously over to George, who'd put his pen down, looking sheepish as he lit up a cigarette. "That's my 'lil cousin you're talking about!"

"Yeah and it was your 'lil cousin George was shagging last night," Paul's voice called as he came out of his and George's room, his top buttons still undone as he was tying his tie, glancing up to his band mate with a small, knowing smirk. "Or were you just returning the favour of letting her sleep over, y'know, like when you slept over at hers the last time she was in Liverpool?"

George didn't say anything, merely puffing on his cigarette, avoiding eye contact with his three bandmates who were all watching him closely. John was staring at him intimdatingly, cleching his jaw, and Ringo and Paul were fighting back grins, occasionally glancing to each other as they waited to see what would happen next. All three of them knew how protective John was of Connie as if he was her brother, and despite his usual fear of confrontation, that didn't usually seem to apply when it came to his cousin. Though he teased her mercilessly and was willing to poke fun out of George's crush, the thought of John and his temper knowing what George had done with Connie the night before made George nervous.

"Cheers for that, Paul," George muttered under his breath before finally looking up and meeting John's intense stare. "Erm, about what he jus' said, John, it wasn't like that, it was-"

"Save it, Harrison," John rolled his eyes again, leaning over and taking George's cigarette out of his hand, stubbing it out in their ashtray. "Do what you bloody like, I'm not gonna stop you. Y'know what Connie's like, if I try and stop her from doing what she wants she'll give me a thump,"

"You scared of her?" Paul called from behind the armchair, he and Ringo sharing a smirk. John shot a glare at him.

"'Course I am, you've seen her in a scrap," John spoke seriously. "But even if I wasn't, I'm not gonna stand in her way from something she wants, and if that something's you... well, George, good on ya'. Just know, if you get her in trouble, I will have you, d'you hear me?"

George swallowed nervously, thinking over John's threat, as well as the fact that John believed he was something Connie wanted. In George's mind, he adored Connie, and had done for a very long time, but he doubted she felt the same way considering the only time they'd seriously talked about it was two years ago after they woke up together. He'd love to be able to call Connie his girlfriend, but it was all so complicated considering he still technically lived up in Liverpool whenever the band wasn't touring, not to mention the added complication of the fans. John was only just making his marriage public knowledge, and whilst most fans were kind and understanding, there were some who were cold and cruel about her, and the same could be said for Ringo's girlfriend who'd already faced abuse from the Liverpool fans. He didn't want to subject Connie to the same jealousy Cynthia and Maureen had to face everyday, and he certainly didn't want to put her in the eye of the press, something that could threaten her career and her safety.

A relationship might have worked if he'd been brave enough to talk to her properly when they were teenagers, when things were so simple, but now she was a writer living in London and he was a musician, part of the biggest band on the rise. Nothing was simple anymore.

"Right," George nodded to John, who was still staring at him through narrowed eyes, his look making him nervous, though he eventually cracked a smile, leaning over and ruffling George's hair.

"You're a good boy, aren't you, little Georgie?" he cooed sarcastically, making George scowl and the other lads laugh as he jumped to his feet, throwing his magazine to Paul who immediately began flicking through it to find Connie's article.

Paul, George and John had all been there when Connie had gotten a letter from the recruitment team of the New Times Magazine asking her to come down to London for an interview confirming her apprenticeship with them. It was a huge sense of relief for her, considering she'd been writing mock articles for months and then posting them to all different publishing companies, but it was her review of a night at the Morgue Club in Liverpool that caught the New Times' attention. They offered her an apprenticeship to join a new team of writers as the magazine was updating to appeal to a more modern, teenaged audience, and her only hesitation over it all was the fact that she'd have to move away.

However as soon as she was there she realised there was more problems to the job than its location. The people weren't the friendliest, though that might have just been because she was different to the rest of them, and the ones who seemed friendly seemed to stab her in the back as soon as they could see the benefit of it. Somehow she managed to be one of the three apprentices taken on permanently, though the bias in the office didn't seem to stop after that. Despite it all though, she never dared tell the boys. They were off in Hamburg at that point, but if she'd have told them all the trouble that had occurred there she knew that John would be on the first plane back. It didn't matter that she'd not told them all the details anyway, since they were all smart enough to realise she was thought less of in the office, a fact that still seemed to remain after nearly four years.

"Those wankers have put all her stuff at the back!" Paul exclaimed angrily, gesturing at the back page of the magazine where Connie's article on smoking's impact on youth culture was published. "Half the other shit before it is... well, it's shit!"

"It'll be 'cause she's northern, and a woman," Ringo, who'd gone back to signing autograph sheets, reckoned. "That's four weeks in a row that her stuff's been put to the back, isn't it?"

"Six, actually," George corrected him, his tone annoyed as he took the magazine off Paul, flicking to the front,  rolling his eyes when he noticed who's articles were published first before anyone else's. "That posh git she hates has all the top spots again as well, I bet she'll be raging,"

"I hope she's raging, I want to see her fight one of those snobs, I've missed watching her punch people," John told them, his voice sounding sad and nostalgic even though he was trying to seem funny, and they could all tell it was because of how much he missed hanging around her all the time. "Whatever, I'm going for a walk,"

"Enjoy being ripped to pieces," Paul called to him as John headed over to the door as he headed back into the bedroom, only for him to poke his head around the doorway with a frown.  "Does anyone know where my jumper is?"

***

It was a tradition on Fridays that most of the writers and editors would go home from the office early, and so that was how Connie found herself in the office alone, or so she thought. Wanting to crack on with her article on the concert from the night before, she stayed at her typewriter for the rest of the afternoon, so focused on her work that she didn't even notice who'd come and who'd gone. That was until she heard a sneering laugh from behind her, feeling a figure leaning over her shoulder to read what she'd written.

"'The boys - with their northern charm and witty bravado - are the product of their societal upbringing, and maybe that's why girls all over the country are falling head over heels in love with them... literally'," Henry read in a mocking voice and Connie felt her cheeks grow red. "I think your bias is coming out there, Constance, dear,"

"What bias?" Connie asked, not bothering to turn around and face him, though she'd taken her fingers off the keys and had begun clenching her fists.

"Well, if what Ruby told me was true, you have more than the fact you're all a bunch of scrappy, uneducated, out-of-place northerners to make you want to defend them," Henry explained patronisingly. "See, you liking them always made sense to me before, I always thought you liked them just because they were scousers too, but it turns out you'd been shacking up with them all, long before they were even trying to be famous,"

After almost four years of working at the New Times, Connie had tried to get used to Henry's degrading comments, whether they were about her work or her background or just herself. His comments could be quite cruel, the sort of things that would have made her want to fight somebody back in the day, but instead of just punching him she took it all on the chin. That was, however, when the comments were about her. If Henry was talking bad about the boys, that was a whole different ball game.

"They're my mates, but even if they weren't I'd still like 'em, they're good lads who make good music, and they're bloody hard workers too," Connie turned to face him, trying to keep her voice level even if she could feel her accent slipping through, something Henry noticed and chuckled over. "I don't know why you've always got to be so bloody rude to me,"

"Because you don't belong here, you never have, 'Connie'," Henry edged his face closer to hers, saying her name mockingly. "I can understand why you'd want to move to London, living up there by the River Wye so far away from civilisation, wanting a fresh start, but you don't belong here. I wouldn't worry, your beloved 'boys' will realise that soon enough too,"

"I think you'll find Liverpool is by the River Mersey," a familiar accent called, and Connie's head spun to see John stood in the doorway, his eyes narrowed angrily, a look Connie recognised and remembered from her youth very well. "Who's the uneducated one now?"

How long John had been stood there, neither of them knew, but Connie couldn't quite describe the overwhelming relief of seeing John, even if he was wearing a similar disguise as to what George had been wearing before. She didn't need him to ride in and stick up for her, she was more than used to having to fight her own battles, but seeing a familiar face in the office seemed to reassure her of who she was. It was like the morning Brian appeared in the office unexpectedly and she suddenly remembered that she had a life before London, that she had a reputation that extended past her life at the New Times. She wasn't just Constance Emilia the hardworking writer whose articles were only ever published at the back of the magazine. She was Connie Lennon who passed all her O-levels and worked at the Cavern and had the best punch their side of the Mersey. She had a life before she moved to London and as much as he acted as if he knew everything, Henry barely knew Connie.

Speaking of Henry, he was speechless, for once, his gaze flicking between the two of them and both of them knew what he was doing. Same nose, same chin, same eyes, similar build, the two of them were very clearly related, a fact Henry must have mentally confirmed after comparing the two's appearance. He might have just been trash talking the Beatles to oblivion, but as soon as he turned and saw John stood with confrontational glare on his face, a glare that made even Connie nervous because she'd seen it so many times before when he'd been arguing with someone, Henry's eyes widened slightly and he instantly looked away from Connie, as if realising he'd messed up.

"You're..." Henry paused, paling significantly as John came into the room, throwing his messenger boy hat to his cousin.

"Henry Atweed, I'd like you to meet the great John Lennon," Connie introduced, a one sided smirk appearing on her face as she rose to her feet, especially as John grabbed hold of her shoulder, squeezing her tightly. "Johnny here might be a scrappy out of place northerner but he's also my cousin, and you seemed pretty damn set on talking shit about me and his band a few seconds ago, now where's that courage gone all of a sudden?"

Henry opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if searching for the words, though eventually he gave up with a frustrated sigh and for once Connie felt the overwhelming pride of having the upper hand on him. That rarely happened, and she still couldn't believe she'd defeated him when he pulled an annoyed face as he stormed back over to his own desk, grabbing his coat and throwing it over his arm as he headed out of the office.

"Have a nice weekend... Wanker," Connie called to him with a fake grin, waiting to make sure he was out of earshot before she added the last part, and as soon as he was gone she turned back to John, punching his arm gently with a genuinely thrilled smirk. "Cheers for that, Johnny,"

"Is he the git who's shitty ramblings are published before yours?" John asked, and despite Connie's smile she could see he was still bothered by the situation he'd walked in on, an annoyed frown on his face. "I thought she was bad last night, that posh bird, but... Is he like that all the time? I know Geo said you hated him, but, fucking hell, Con, how haven't you smacked him yet?"

"He wasn't always like that," Connie shrugged, her casualty over it all annoying him even more.

"Jesus, Con!" John exclaimed, making Connie roll her eyes, knowing he was overreacting simply because of how protective he was of her. "You never used to let anyone think about treating you like that, let alone actually talk to you like shit! Who the fuck does he think he is, acting as if you're less than him just 'cause you're not a post southern twat like the rest of 'em,"

"John-" Connie tried to stop him, her tone firm as she took hold of his arm, though he simply ignored her, grabbing hold of her left hand, squeezing it tightly as he looked at her knuckles. "What're you doing?"

"See them?" he asked, bending her hand back so she could see the thin scars on her knuckles. "That is what happened when someone insulted you when you were fifteen, and right now fifteen year old you is laughing her arse off, cause she'd never let someone act like they're better than her!"

"No, those scars are the result of me having a shit temper, no other way to deal with grief, and a bus stop that just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time," Connie sighed with a small laugh, pulling her hand out of his grip. "If I do to Henry what I did to that bus stop, I'd be fired, and I need this job because as shit as it is that my work always gets shoved to the back of the magazine, it's a platform and I need it to make myself a name as a writer. Being a writer has been my dream since way before Mum died, I don't want to screw this opportunity, now calm down, because I haven't seen you in ages and I can't be arsed with you yelling at me,"

John clenched his jaw in frustration before he let out a long sigh, collapsing back into her desk chair, knowing she had a point, though it didn't make it any less irritating. He was so used to seeing her act in a certain way that it was hard to watch someone mock her. As a teenager she'd been so fearless and feisty that their friends still talked about her even four years after leaving, and regardless as to what anyone else thought, John had missed her more than she'd realise. The band had been busy in the last four years, what with Hamburg, the beginning of their recording career and the madness of early Beatlemania, but in the quiet moments he realised how much he missed his younger cousin who was practically his little sister. To see someone making fun of her was so infuriating, but as much as he personally wanted to strangle Henry with his stupid tie, he couldn't cause Connie that trouble.

"Still can't believe you're press," John muttered, spinning the chair around to read what she'd written so far. "Y'know we make fun of the press,"

"Yeah, I've seen the interviews," she rolled her eyes as she hopped onto the desk next to the typewriter. "This article on last night's concert is probably my big break here,"

"I liked your stuff from a few weeks ago, that thing you wrote about the Rolling Stones was pretty good, and Paul loved the one you wrote about us and Beatlemania, the vane sod," John recalled with a shrug. "And your old man loved the one you wrote about Teddy Boys,"

At the mention of her father, Connie bit her lip, looking down at the floor. She missed him, and she definitely didn't call or write to him enough, but it didn't help that he was always on night shifts. That was nothing new though, considering her father's work schedule was the reason why her house was often where her friends would choose to hang out, not that he minded. He never said anything, but she could always tell her father liked it when her mates were round at theirs, as if they were ringing life back into the house.

Connie missed the way things used to be, but most of all she missed her dad. The two of them had been a team since 1952 when her mother died and after deciding she couldn't visit home without wanting to move back, one of the things she was most ashamed of over that decision was not being able to see her dad. She wanted to see him so badly, and she wanted to see her home again after so long, but she couldn't bring herself to go back.

"Don't look all sorry for yourself, Con, you could come home any time," John scolded. "He'd never admit it but Uncle Arthur does miss you,"

"Yeah, I know, but you know how homesick I get," Connie mumbled, jumping slightly as John hit her leg. "What was that for?"

"Dunno really, you were just annoying me," John explained simply before his face lit up excitedly. "'Ey, I know! You should come home at the end of next month, we've got this gig at Liverpool Empire, it's a pretty big deal, and you'll love the support acts, Gerry and his lads are playing-"

"You mean the Pacemakers?" Connie asked teasingly with a raised eyebrow, laughing as John pulled a face at her.

"And your old mate Cyril," John continued, narrowing his eye as he waited for Connie's reaction, a reaction that didn't disappoint as she let out an excited gasp. "Exactly, turns out you'll refuse to come home for your family but the moment you hear that Cilla bloody Black is singing with us you'll pretty much run back to Liverpool,"

"Bugger off," she laughed, hitting his arm again. "I'll consider it, alright? As for right now though, wanna get out of here and get something to eat?"

"Well," John frowned, spinning the chair around to look at the clock on the other side of the room, letting out a groan. "I've got to be at the concert hall in an hour or Brian and the lads'll have my bollocks. D'you want to gate crash the gig and watch from the wings?"

"There's nothing I'd rather do with my evening, Johnny," Connie grinned, hopping off the desk and taking her jacket off her chair.

"We should probably stop off at your flat though," John suggested, a smug look on his face as he looked her outfit up and down. "Y'know, gives you chance to change out of Paulie's jumper,"

***

Word count: 3731

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