George didn't seem to know what to say after I had told him.  He, gently, rolled up the sleeve off my dress to see the cut, as if he thought I was lying.  He stood there for the longest time staring at any place I wasn't.  

Placing a hand on his shoulder, I said quietly.  "George, please talk to me." 

He shrugged off my shoulder and ran a hand anxiously through his hair.  Sitting down on my bed, he ran a hand through his hands.  I tried to talk to him again, but without warning, he picked up onto the pillows and threw it against the wall.  I took several steps back and almost stumbled into a chair.  

"George!"

"You're supposed to talk to me about these things!  You're intelligent, Elle!  You know what's best for you, and for us!  How could you do such a thing!"

"I was scared, George.  I didn't know what to do.  I don't know why but there's something inside me that knows no matter how hard I lie and try to fit in I never will.  Time has finally found a way to get rid of me, and it's turning me against myself." I whimpered, trying so hard not to cry.  I shed too many tears in front of George.  He was bound to think I was weak.  "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" George snapped.  "Sorry?  You think you can just solve this by apologizing?  You would have killed yourself!"  I had never seen him so angry, and I was more frightened than I had been the night we were attacked in London.  This was George.  He was never this loud, this intimidating.  "You've got treatments for this!   You were getting better!"

"I'm scared!  I don't know what to do!" I cried.

George was silent for a moment, but then he moved towards me.  I suddenly was frightened out of my wits at the way he moved, and ran into the bathroom quick as a rabbit before he could catch me.  I slammed the door and locked it, breathing hard, my palms against the cool surface of it.  

His tone softened from the other side.  "Elle, come out.  Please, I didn't mean to scare you.  I'm not going to hurt you.  Please..."

Things were silent for a few minutes, until loud knocks on the door startled me.  "Elle, please!  Open up!  You're frightening me!  Please, Elle..."

I pictured him slumped against the other side of the door, head in his hands.  He was angry with himself for making me hide away.  How could he frighten me?  He promised to protect me...

Cautiously, I opened the door, and fell to my knees next to him.  I wasn't crying, but my voice threatened to break.  Throwing my arms around him, I said, "I'm sorry.  I was just...really scared for a moment."

"It's my fault, darling.  I'm sorry." 

We sat there for awhile in silence, listening to each other's heart beat and the buzz of Paris outside my window.  The lads would have to play another show the next night, and they'd get to see all of the fine scenery.  I would be working again on Brian's reports and quite possibly seeing Doctor Baudine after my confession to George.  

I leaned up and kissed his forehead, and yawned, leaning my head on his shoulder.  He held my cheek, and kissed me gently, but passionately, as if he had been wanting this for a long time.  I certainly had.  

The youngest Beatle pulled me closer, beckoning me to sit on his lap.  But I just stayed where I was, feeling uncomfortable to move any closer.  Though he wanted more anyway, so he laid down on the hard floor, and pulled me with him.  As we kissed, he rubbed my back and I held his cheeks.  We had to pull away to breathe, and when I did, I shivered and said, "George, will...will you stay with me tonight?"

I believe you can figure out what he said.  

By then, it had been about a week and half of the lads' time spent in Paris.  They had grown fond of the city, but George, Ringo and Paul had began to often ask to look at my locket as a reminder of home.  John was the only one who hadn't voiced his homesickness, though he had written to Aunt Mimi almost every other day.  

Even though he hadn't talked to me since our fight, I told him once, "Can you tell her that I miss her too?"  Either he didn't hear me or he ignored me then, but I saw him mention my name later in the letter.  

I ended up telling Paul about the cut, and he wasn't as spastic as George, but equally sad.  In fact he cried.  

"Why?  Why would you do this?" He asked me.  

I gave him the only answer I could think of.  "I'm not sure."

Though my reply did not satisfy him one bit, he didn't ask that question again.  But then his eyes went incredibly wide.  "Was it something I said?"

"No, no, Paul!" I took his hands.  "It's not your fault.  It's never your fault."

Though, he didn't seem convinced.  

I spent more time with Doctor Baudine, but I actually started to feel better.  Paul was pleased, though he always kept an eye on me.  Even when he wasn't there to watch me during the day, he had me stay in the lads' room.  It was like his spirit was watching me, or he had a sixth sense.  Amusing myself, I walked out into the hallway for a minute each day, wondering if he would come running down the corridor, demanding I got back in the room.  

After I had finished my report that day, I was chilled so I went into the kitchen to make tea.  As I put water in the pot to be boiled, I sang as I worked.  I almost made it to the chorus of Magical Mystery Tour when someone grabbed me from behind and said, "Got you!"

Because of the sudden surprise, I nearly knocked over the teakettle and accidentally hit Paul where no man wants to be hit.  He crouched over, wincing in pain.  "Holy shi-"

"Oh my God, Paul, I'm so sorry!" My eyes went wide, but a small part of my mind was laughing hysterically.  "Here, let me help you sit down-"

"No, no, no.  I've got it." His voice rose a few octaves, and his face was completely red.  This was definitely not his finest moment.  

I ran to the icebox down the hall, and wrapped some ice in a towel for him.  It was incredibly awkward, and I turned away so he could properly place the make-shift icepack.  

And only to make matters worse, in came his bandmates.  

The lads stopped talking as soon as they saw the two of us: Paul, with ice between his legs, grimacing in pain and at the loss of his pride, and me, covering my equally red face and trying not to laugh.  

John looked from me to him, and then back to me again.  "Care to explain?"

"Well, he startled me and I hit him in the-"

"You didn't need to hit me in the-" Paul began to point out.

"It was an accident.  I'm so sorry!"

The lads were trying so hard not to laugh, but then they couldn't contain it anymore.  Paul's face was tomato red when he said, "You better start running 'cause I'm going to kill you!"

John smirked.  "We could leisurely stroll around the entire city of Paris by the time you manage to sit up, Paul."  He chuckled as the lads disbanded.  Clapping me on the band, he said, "Nice work."

After they had gone, I said, "Paul, I'm so sorry.  It was-"

"It's alright." He groaned, trying to hide his shame by covering his face.  

"Can I get you anything?"

"Tea would be nice."

For a few hours I played nurse for Paul.  I felt so bad, for he was mortified.  He wanted to at least be able to get up and do things for himself, but I had apparently hit him quite hard.  I offered to change his ice, and he refused, even though it had began to melt and it looked like he urinated himself.  And after he noticed that wondeful little detail, his face went red again and he said, "Nothing is going right today."

I wet a washcloth, and gently dabbed at his flushed cheeks.  "You're so warm, Paul.  You ought to stop blushing."  He smiled slightly, which made me smile too.

Once he could walk again, even though he still looked horribly sore, he went into his room and returned with a box.  It had a pale pink ribbon tied around it.  He held it out to me.  "For you."

"Oh, Paul, I couldn't-"

"Come on, Elle.  It will be the one good thing that's happened today." He said, obviously not in the mood to argue.  

Carefully, I undid the ribbon and opened up the box.  Folding gently inside was a beautiful blue scarf that was multiply shades and decorated with little Eiffel Towers.  "Oh, Paul, it's beautiful.  I feel so bad."

"You've been locked up here for ages.  It's the least I could do."

Giving him a hug, I said, "Thank you."  He winced.  

"Oh, sorry." I said.  

Gently, he took the scarf from my hands and wrapped it around my neck.  I admired it for a moment while he watched me.  It was so soft and silky. With a smile, I took it from mine and draped it around his.  "It looks better on you," I mused.  

He dramatically held a hand to his chest and fluttered his eyelashes.  "You think so?"

I nodded.  My eyes wandered to the clock, and it was around 18:00.  Brian had told me he wanted me to come over to his room for some sort of meeting then.  "I must go," I told him.  Without warning, I took the ends of the scarf, which was still wrapped around his neck, and pulled them closer to me.  Paul, of course, complied, and we were nose to nose.  He was a bit surprised at my action, for we hadn't been this close in so long.  Kissing his nose, I whispered, "Goodnight, Paul."  I left before he could open his eyes.  

Paul's POV

The scarf smelt like roses.  Her perfume.  

It was soft and beautiful, just like her.  

Her kiss was so gentle.  Goodnight, Paul.

Oh my.

Elle's POV

Knocking softly on Brian's door, he opened it and said, "Miss Sullivan, I believe you've met Monsieur Robert, the director in charge of the opera house."

The man was the same one who was talking to Brian a few night before.  "Ah, yes." He took my hand and kissed it.  We all sat down.  

"Elle, Monsieur Robert and I were just discussing about extending our time in Paris.  The Beatles have had a massive success here, and it would be very beneficial to stay for another few weeks past our original agreement."  Brian explained to me.  

From what I knew the original time was set from January 16th to February 4th.  If they stayed a few more weeks, they would miss perhaps the most important date in the entire career.

February 9th, 1964.  

The Ed Sullivan Show.  

"We were just getting ready to sign the new contract." Brian said.  The man looked very excited.  

"No," I blurted, before I could manage anything intelligent to say.  

Both of the men looked up at me.  "What is it:?" The director asked me.  Brian said, in a low voice, "Elle, this is not the time or the place-"

"Monsieur, I do beg your pardon, but I must speak with my manager in private for a minute."  Before Brian could protest, I pulled him into the his kitchen.  

"Elle, what is going-"

"You can't sign that contract." I begged him.  "Or you must at least delay him."  I was beginning to worry that somehow this was a sign that I had messed with time and the Beatles would never perform in America.   But I had to have hope.  

Brian ran a hand through his hair.  "You've pulled me away from a critical meeting.  What is your explanation?"

Taking a deep breath, I said, "I know you have many reasons not to trust my judgement, but I know that you will regret signing that contract in a matter of days.  I can't tell you why, because then the opportunity that will present itself might not happen.  But please listen to me just this once.  I only want what's best for the lads."  I was breathing hard by the time I finished rambling, and I gave him my most sincere look.  

That day, Brian did not sign the contract that would keep the Beatles in France through March.  And that night, the lads found out I Want To Hold Your Hand was number one on the charts in America.  

"Let's celebrate!" Paul said, a few photographers capturing his every mood.  

"No, I'm tired," John complained.  But when Paul pouted and turned away, John whacked him across the back of his head with a pillow.  Thus ensued the Pillow Battle of the George V Hotel.  Soon those photographs would be in magazines all over, along with the title Beatles Bound For America.  

Brian was even amused.  He kept throwing glances my way, as if he was trying to figure out how I knew.  Soon, he told the camera men to disperse, and I got my chance to be with the lads again.  

Well that was an eventful chapter.  

They're coming to America!

Hit vote if after you'd accidentally hit Paul where it really hurts, you'd dress him up with Parisian scarves.  

Or you don't have to vote.  

But it would make Luna happy :D

Peace, 

Luna <3