I woke up to the sound of retching coming from the bathroom. I hurried off the couch to help whoever it was. And it was Paul. 

I kneeled down next to him in the bathroom. He didn't notice I was there until I tapped his shoulder. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, Elle."

"You're sick." I said, helping him up. I realized, for some reason, my voice was hoarse. Maybe it was too much singing last night. "Here, let's get you to the couch. I'll get some ice for your head. I really should have been watching your alcohol intake last night."

I set him down on the couch, and hurried out to the ice machine. I wrapped some in a towel and handed it to Paul. 

"Thanks, Elle." All of his words came out as a groan. "You'd make a fair nurse."

All of the boys had gotten up, and were lounging around with ice packs on their heads. 

Brian walked in on our room-coverted-hospital, and said, "I told you not to go out last night."

"They didn't." I said, rising to their defense. "They just drank here last night." That really wasn't defending them, but I didn't want to lie more than I had to.

Brian's expression grew frustrated. "This is even worse. I already have bad news. Our train was cancelled. We're going to have to stay in London two more days." He turned to me. "I told you to tell me if they were doing anything irresponsible."

"I'm sorry, Brian. But I couldn't leave. They held me captive. They made me dance on the table."

"What? Really?"

"No."

He sighed. "As soon as you lot sober up, I suggest you pack in case another train arrives unexpectedly. I'll be in the room across the hall if you need me." He left. I thought I heard him mutter: "Why am I even surprised?"

I offered to order the lads some tea, and they accepted. 

I handed out some to the lads, and Paul said I needed some too, because of my voice. 

"Paul?"

"Yes?"

"I have a question."

"Go ahead."

"Do you really raise your pinky when you drink tea?"

He laughed. "Only if you're going to talk formally, hold your nose in the air, and look scandalized." We tried it together. 

"So, Miss Sullivan, is how you believe the posh British act?" He said, in a high, mocking tone.

We both laughed. 

"Mr. McCartney, I'll drink to our friendship."

"Cheers, Miss Sullivan."

"Cheers."

As a drank my tea, Ringo decided to make another silly face at me. I almost ended up spitting my tea all over Paul. We laughed as soon as I stopped coughing. 

I was reading the newspaper again when I saw a flash in the corner of my eye. I put the newspaper down at looking at George, who was holding a camera. 

"What are you doing?" I asked. A few of the lads were up and moving now, slowly, because they still were aching everywhere. George and I were the only awake ones on the couch. Ringo was sleeping soundly.

"Taking pictures." He said. 

"Please don't take anymore of me."

"Are you camera shy?"

"No, I just don't like to have my picture taken."

But yet he still attempted to take my picture. It eventually became a game. I would hide behind the newspaper, and when I wasn't aware he would take as many pictures as he could.

"I find it ironic that you're the one who's trying to photograph me." I said. "You're behind the camera for once."

He smiled at the ground. George was always quite shy around me, but I had no idea why. I thought that I wasn't necessarily a terrifying person to be around. 

"Hey, do you want to take a picture of us together?"

"Um...yes."

I sat down next to him on the couch, and took the camera from his calloused hands. "This is what we call a selfie." I explained. "They're very annoying, because everyone thinks that they're a photographer in the future, fully qualified to take pictures of themselves." He nodded, even though he probably didn't fully understand. 

"We're, um, going to have to get closer together." I stated, awkwardly. We scooted closer to each other. I could feel his brown eyes on me as I fiddled with the camera. 

"Alright. Smile!" I said. The flash blinded me for a second. And, unfortunately, like cameras in my day, you couldn't see the picture you took. George would have to get the film developed. But I told him that it would be a great photograph anyway. 

I handed the camera back to George, and he took it gingerly, as if it were as fragile as an egg. He looked at me and said, "You're a different type of bird-" 

I cut him off with the raise of my eyebrow. "Girl, I mean. You're a different type of girl, Elle."

Well, two Beatles confirmed it. Elle Sullivan is a different type of girl.

"Is that a good or a bad thing, George?"

"Good. Most certainly good. You're just...special."

Considering that this was the most George ever said to me, and the fact that it was a complement, it made me truly feel special. 

I smiled at the ground, trying to hide the red in my cheeks. "Thank you, George."

After a few moments of awkward silence between us, he said: "I think I should put Ringo back in the bedroom." As he pried him off the couch, I asked if he needed help. He said no, but thanks.

I went out on the balcony, watching the afternoon sky. Clouds were gathering on the horizon, and it looked like rain. People bustled about in the street below us, probably trying to get back to their homes before it started to storm. 

Then I felt hands grab my sides and I shrieked out of surprise. A voice laughed. I pushed the hands off of my waist. 

"Scared you, didn't I?" John gloated, his brown eyes gleaming. 

"That wasn't funny, John." I crossed my arms and looked back down at the street. 

"Oh, it was." He said, smiling. He mirrored my actions, scowled and leaned over the balcony. 

"I have some questions for you, John." 

"What do find so curious about me?"

"You know about my family. What about yours?" I knew about his family. I just wanted to see if he would lie, or tell me the truth.

He looked down at his feet. "I, um, lived with my aunt for awhile. My mother died and my father's gone." He turned his head. I thought he had tears in his eyes. I wished I hadn't said anything at all. I felt horrible.

I gently put a hand on his shoulder. "I-I'm so sorry, John. I shouldn't have asked."

"It's alright, Elle. I knew about yours. It's only fair that you knew about mine." His mood had completely changed from the cheeky lad that I knew to this solemn man who would barely speak.

"You've told me about your parents, Elle. Haven't you got any other relatives?" He said, suddenly closer to me. I was reminded of our talk that night. 

"Um, my grandmother. I miss her, and my dog, Kirby." I said, feeling my heartache for a moment. 

A part of me wanted to believe that I could stay there for the rest of my life. But the truth is that I could never part with my Grandmother and Kirby. And my mother. 

It's terrible to say, but at that time, I didn't love my dad. I couldn't believe what Paul said. If he tried to kill me, there is no doubt in my mind that he hated me.

"You consider your dog a family member?"

"He's like a little brother."

We were silent for a moment, and thunder rumbled in the distance.

"Elle," John said. "I guess if we had to be stuck with an annoying, yet slightly talented, American bird-" I glared at him. "Fine. If we had to be stuck with a girl like that, I'm glad it's you."

"Was that a complement or an insult?"

"It depends on how you perceive it."

John looked down at the streets, occasionally running a hand through his hair. 

"John?" 

"Yes?"

"One last question. What is the most insane thing that's ever happened to you?"

"You."

He went back inside, just as it started to rain. 

That night, it continued to rain rather hard, and the rhythm pounding on the roof was a calming sensation. But for some reason, I was inexplicably drawn to the rain. 

I pulled on my sweatshirt, opened the balcony door, and stepped outside. I was instantly chilled to my bones, and the cold rain woke me up. Only a few people were out. Just a group of boys not much older than the lads coming back from a bar, and a couple hurrying to get out of the rain. 

After a few minutes of just staring at the stormy skyline of London, a voice said, "You're going to catch a cold, Elle."

I turned around to see Ringo standing the balcony doorway. 

"This view is worth it."

He reached out and took my arm. "Come on now, Elle. I don't want you getting sick."

He lead me back inside, shutting the door behind us. For some reason he was careful not to touch my hand. 

Ringo sat down next to me on the couch. "See, you're already soaked to the bone. I'll go get you a towel."

"No, Ringo, you don't have to do that." I thought it was interesting that Ringo's paternal nature was so prominent around me. He cared, and that was really sweet.

"It's alright, Elle."

The lad went into the bathroom and came out carrying a towel. 

"Thank you, Ringo." I said, quietly. As I wiped my neck, I asked him, "Should I call you Ringo? Or would you prefer Richard?"

"It's Ringo. It always will be." He reassured, making me smile. "But you can call me Ritchie, if you like."

"I like."

He smiled. I began to ask him a question, but then John called from his bedroom: "Ringo! Get you and your massive nose back to bed!"

"Fine!"

Ringo sighed. "I have to go."

"Or we could whisper."

"That sounds like a plan."

So I stayed up late talking to Ringo. Ever so often he would make me laugh, and I would have to put my face in the pillow to keep myself from laughing too loud. He loved to make me laugh, and we stayed up until an inhumane hour before he got too tired. 

"Good night, Elle."

"Good night, Ritchie."

He smiled, and walked back down the hall. And at about 2:00 a.m. I fell into a deep sleep.

"Elle, wake up!" I felt someone shake my shoulder, and I woke up, still feeling exhausted. Paul was leaning over me, already dressed in a suit. "Sorry to wake you so abruptly, but we have to go." He looked over towards the door and said, accusingly, "Epstein just decided to tell us that we have an interview in a hour."

"You're lucky I didn't tell them to come over when you're still sleeping in your knickers, Paul." Brian retorted. "Now will you tell your girl to get moving?"

I hurried off the couch, not wanting to upset Brian even more. I was dressed and cleaned up in a matter of twenty minutes and the manager had ushered all of the Beatles in the car. He took my arm before I could follow them. 

"Paul and I have been talking, and we've agreed that you should have a small job in order for you to earn your keep."

"That seems fair." I thought out loud. 

"Well, that's good. Because I have a job for you already. I would like for you to help me organize some files of mine when we get back to the hotel."

"Absolutely. I'll do it."

"If only the lads had your eagerness to do what I say."

He laughed. I forced a smile. 

We went in seperate cars, Brian always keeping an eye on me. I knew that he didn't completely trust me yet, but I was determinded to earn it. 

I stood off-stage with Brian while the lads answered questions, occasionally making the interviewers laugh. They smiled and posed for the cameras, which made me laugh. The camera and everyone behind it sees a different group of boys than I did. They saw the amazing new band that was taking the world by storm; I saw the people, the kind lads behind the music and the fame.

Afterwards, the lads were ready to go home. The conference lasted almost two hours.

"Sorry, boys. You've got two more conferences today, but then you're free tonight."

Paul was pleased. John wasn't. When Brian turned around to talk to someone, John stuck his tongue out at him. Well, that's the PG version of what he did.

The day dragged on, and The Beatles were absolutely exhausted by the last interview. 

If I knew what was going to happen that night, I would stayed at the boring conference all day.

Once we arrived back at the hotel, Brian cut them loose. I could tell that he was tired too. 

Three-fourths of The Beatles wanted nothing but to collapse in their bed. George was the only one that wanted to go out. All of the others just grumbled in response when he asked them to go. 

I never thought I would see the day the lads didn't want to go out and drink.

"I'll go with you, George." I suggested. Clubs and bars definitely weren't my thing, but no one else would go. And he shouldn't be wandering the streets of London alone at night.

"Let's go." He took off his tie, and pulled on his jacket. I took my coat, and we headed out the door. 

The bar was quieter than the apartment, and a girl was singing up on a make-shift stage. I didn't catch her name, but she was pretty good. 

The waitress hid a smirk when I asked for a water. But she brought us our drinks, and George downed his in about a minute. I tried to monitor what he was drinking, because I didn't want another episode like the day before. 

Once a girl recognized George, and asked for his autograph. Thankfully, he was sober enough to sign a scrap of paper. She smiled, thanked him, glared at me, and then left to fan-girl with her friends. 

The band declared that it was enough for tonight, and they packed up. 

"Go up and sing." George said, after taking another sip of his drink. He took a long drag from his cigarette. Once he finished that one, he left the lighter on the table. I took it, wanting to prevent a fire-related accident, for I didn't know how drunk he was.

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. They're letting anyone go up and sing. Go!"

"No way."

"I'll sing with you."

"Can you even stand?"

"I can stand, Elle. Come on." He stood up, and took my hand, leading me onto the stage. The people in the bar looked at us, whispering at the fact that George Harrison was on the stage.

"I don't know what to sing," I mumbled. 

"Think of something."

I bit my lip, racking my brain. What was a song George would know?

I smiled, then whispered my choice in his ear. He smiled, and nodded. 

The small crowd in the bar quieted down when we both stood by the microphone. My breath hitched in my throat. Even though there wasn't many people here, I was nervous about singing. 

It was more the fact that I was singing with George Harrison that concerned me.

"It's okay," He whispered. "Just look at me."

That wasn't helping, but I did as I was told.

Wise men say,

Only fools rush in, 

But I can't help falling in love with you.

I knew a harmony to this song. I never understood how, but I could just figure out harmonies as I sang. It was like music was a part of me, and it just came naturally.

I sang against him softly.

Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin?

If I can't help, 

Falling in love with you,

Like a river flows surely to the sea,

Darling, so it goes,

Some things are meant to be.

Take my hand, take my whole life too,

For I can't help falling in love with you.

George smiled while he sang, making me smile too. He was enjoying himself.

It was good for him to sing lead for once. And he liked it.

Like a river flows,

Surely to the sea,

Darling, so it goes,

Some things are meant to be.

Take my hand, take my whole life too,

For I can't help falling in love with you,

For I can't help falling in love with you.

I hadn't realized that I was lost in his eyes until the bar audience started clapping. I smiled, and looked down at the ground. George said thank you into the microphone. 

We sat back down, and by then George looked exhausted. 

"Are you ready to go now?"

"I think so."

We paid and left. It had got even colder out, and I was thankful for my coat. 

It seemed like we were the only people out on the street, which unnerved me. We heard two people talking farther behind us, but I dismissed it.

We should have ran. 

George took out another cigarette, and I lit it for him. I didn't occur to him where I got it, which made me laugh slightly. He offered me a cigarette, and I said no, but he pressed it in my hand anyway.

I looked back behind us, and those same two men were behind us. We were being followed. 

"George, we need to hurry-" I began to say, but then the two men were chasing us. I grabbed George's hand, and dragged him along with me as I ran. He almost stumbled several times, and I realized that there was no way we could outrun them. 

They grabbed George first, pulling him into an alleyway. I tried to cry out, but another grabbed me from behind and took me too. 

He had a hand clasped around my mouth. So I bit it. He cried out, and backhanded me, pushing me against the wall. I fell, feeling blood run down the back of my head. He pinned my arms behind my back. His breath smelled of alcohol and tobacco. 

"What's a pretty thing like you doing out so late?" He slurred. 

I kicked him where the sun didn't shine. He let go of me.

"Why, you little..." Strings of vulgar words spewed out of his mouth.

The lighter. The cigarette. Use it. 

I lit the cigarette when he lunged for me again. Once he got close enough, I crushed it into his left eye. He screamed in pain, falling to the ground. 

You get what's coming to you.

I ran to help George. The man had him pinned against the wall, pummeling him every time he lifted his head. 

This just got real. 

I didn't know karate. I didn't know any martial arts at all. But I knew the ancient style of crazy, and I was going to use it. 

I jumped on the man's back, pounding his chest and scratching his face. "Let. Go. Of. Him!"

He stepped back and crushed me into the wall. I fell and he picked me up by the neck, pinning me against the alley wall. I saw in the darkness my dad's face, and my lungs burned.

"George!" 

Strong hands pulled the man down. "Leave her alone!" George and the man were going at it, meanwhile I tried to stand up. I groped around in the darkness, hoping to find something that could be used as a weapon. I found something that felt like old wood. 

I brought it down on the man's head. He collapsed, his head hitting the hard ground. 

"George, are you alright?" I said, panicked. "Can-can you hear me?"

He only groaned in response. 

I swore. "Come on, Elle." I told myself. "Put this strength to use."

I helped lift George from the ground. "Stay with me, George. Stay with me. It's alright. You're going to be fine. You've just got to stay awake."

Luckily, the hotel wasn't far. 

The man at the front desk gasped. "What happened?"

"Help me." I commanded.

He helped me get him into the elevator, and down the hall to the room. I pounded on the door, and I heard John say on the other side of the door, in a woman's high-pitched voice: "Sorry, but we're closed."

"John Lennon!" I shouted. "Open the door!"

He did as he was told, gasping and swearing when he saw us. 

"Paul! Ringo!" 

I told the man from the front desk that he could go, and we both stumbled inside. They helped George onto the couch.

Paul gasped at me. "Elle..." He looked at me with wide eyes. It was then I realized in the light I was covered in blood. Red dots danced in front of my eyes.

"I...feel...dizzy..." I remembered hitting the floor. 

"Elle."

"Elle, wake up."

"Elle, it's John. Don't die on me. Wake up."

I was laying on the couch, with lots of toilet paper and napkins stuck to the back of my head. George was gone, and so was Ringo. John was sitting on the ground next to me, and Paul was leaning on the opposite couch, biting his nails.

"Elle!" He said, kneeling down next to me. "You're awake. I...We were so worried-"

"Easy, McCartney. Give her some space." John said. "How're you feeling?"

"I hurt...everywhere."

Paul went to look for medicine, meanwhile John stayed and talked to me. "George told me that you practically saved his life." He said, twirling a loose strand of my hair around his finger.

"That's...not true. We...saved each other." I struggled to speak. 

John did something unexpected then. He leaned over and kissed my forehead. "You're a brave girl, Elle. I don't think I could have done that."

"Yes...you could have." I started coughing and breathing hard. 

This paternal nature of John was strange, but comforting. "Relax, Elle. Breathe slowly and deeply."

Paul came back as soon as Brian walked in. He took one look at me and turned on Paul.

"What the bloody hell happened?" He demanded. Paul and John both stood up.

"We can explain." They said. 

"Do so then." The two Beatles took him into the other room, so I couldn't hear their conversation. Then someone came out to talk to me. 

"I'm so sorry, Elle." Ringo said. "I should have came with. I could have stopped them from hurting you." I felt like all the lads' little sister.

"There wasn't anything...you could have done." I breathed. My throat hurt something terrible. Ringo noticed. 

"I'll get you some water."

When he came back, I sipped some. "Thank you, Ringo. You're very sweet."

He smiled. Then his face grew a bit serious. "I promised the lads that I would watch George. You should get some sleep. I hope you feel better." He kissed my forehead too, and left. 

Brian, John and Paul came back out. Brian was rubbing his temple, completely flustered. He turned to me. "You should get some sleep, so you can be ready for tomorrow. We'll talk about this more in the morning." With that he left. 

Paul came back to my side. "Can you walk?"

"I think so."

"Let me help you."

I sat up slowly, and I had a serious blood rush which almost knocked me off my feet. "You can sleep in the bed tonight."

"No, Paul. I can stay out here."

"I insist. And, yes, I must be a gentleman at this time of night." I limped along next to him. He helped me sit down. 

"Um, the bathroom's right there if you want to change." He stood there awkwardly. 

"Paul, um, I need to change, so..." 

He left, getting what I was insinuating. 

I changed painfully, and laid down in the bed. I was in the wonderfilled place between sleep and dreams, when I felt someone lie down next to me. 

"Is this Paul or John?" I asked.

"It's John. I'm just checking in on you."

"That's your excuse?"

He laughed quietly. 

"You must leave in five minutes."

He sighed dramatically. "Fine."

Paul came in a few minutes later. "Hey, Elle."

"Hi Paul." I said, as John said, "'Ello, Paulie!"

"Oh, Lennon," He said. "I love this side of you. You're such a softie."

"Shut up."