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John slowly crept up the stairs to the apartment that he shared with Paul. He turned his key into the doorknob and opened the door as quietly as he could, trying not to wake up the man inside.

"Where have you been?" Shit, John thought. Paul was still awake. "Well?" he asked impatiently, crossing his arms sternly.

"I was out," John said, putting away his coat.

The younger man rolled his eyes. "I figured that part out on my own, smart ass. Now tell me where the hell you were!"

"Alright, alright... I was in the studio...," John lied.

"Really?" Paul said, clearly not convinced. "Then explain why you smell like you've been fuckin' drenched in alcohol."

Shit, John repeated in his mind. Shit, shit, shit. He had been caught. He had just come home from a bar that he started going to so he could get away from Paul, but he couldn't tell him that... There was no way he could explain it to him without getting yelled at. "I... I had a few drinks at the studio," he said, hoping Paul would believe him this time. His head hurt, and all he really wanted to do was go to bed, but instead he got a look that said, "You're kidding me, right?"

"You've been fuckin' around at a bar, haven't you?" John could feel Paul's brown eyes piercing into him, almost into his soul, even when we wasn't looking at him. He figured he wasn't going to win this, but he was still going to try; for some reason, he felt as though he still had some sort of a chance.

"No," he said. "Didn't you hear me? I just told you I was at the studio!"

"Don't lie to me, John Lennon!" Paul snapped. "I know you never even went to the studio today!"

"I did too!" John insisted. "Dammit Paul, why won't you believe me?!"


"Cos I know you're lying to me!"

"I wouldn't lie to you!"

"Yeah right... Isn't that what you said to Cyn and Yoko? And all the other birds you've had?!"

"Don't bring them into this!"


"Why shouldn't I?"

"Cos they have nothing to do with this!"

"But you loved them, didn't you, John? And you love me! Or is that just a fuckin' lie, too?"

John's temper was raising to a dangerous level. It was then when he took a swing at Paul, punching him in the face. Paul stared at him in shock.

"I'm tired of you not believing me," John gritted in his teeth, grabbing his coat and putting it back on.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Paul asked angrily, holding his nose where John hit him.

"What the hell do you think I'm doing? I'm leaving!" He opened the door.

"Good! I hope you never come back, you bastard!"

"Well I wasn't planning on it, so you're in luck!"


"Fuck you, Lennon! Fuck you!"

"Same goes to you, McCartney!" With that, John left the room and slammed the door shut. Paul stomped off to his and John's--well, now only his, he somewhat hoped--bedroom, tears streaming down his face. He wiped them away and climbed into bed, starting to cry into his cold pillow. The two of them had been arguing for the past few days. He was getting so sick and tired of John and had been wishing deeply for him to leave, but at the same time, he was worried the day would come that his wish would come true. Now after what all had happened, he felt like shit. The biggest load of shit there was.

He was surprised John didn't even look at Paul with concern after what he had done. He knew he was angry at him, angry enough to argue once more, angry enough to leave and slam the door, but not angry enough to hurt him and not regret it.

Suddenly, he heard it. He heard the sound that would change everything--

Gunshots. Three gunshots to be exact, loud and clear.

He scrambled out of the bed and looked out the window. There stood John, wobbling slightly before he completely collapsed, and about 30 feet away from him stood a man with a gun, shaking with shock for what he had just done.

"JOHN!" Paul screamed, running as fast as he could to the dark streets. "GOD NO! GOD NO!" He got to John, who was growing weaker and weaker by the second as blood streamed from his back. "JOHN, SPEAK TO ME!" he shouted. "SPEAK TO ME! SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE!"

John mumbled, "I-I've been sh-shot..."

Paul cried. "I know you h-have... I-I can s-see that..." He held the older man and ripped off his shirt, pressing it to his wounds. John moaned slightly. "E-everything will be alright, Johnny... Just stay with me..."

Minutes later, an ambulance arrived and hurried John into the vehicle with Paul at his side, sobbing hysterically. "Stay with us, John, stay with us!" he kept repeating, his voice soon dying from his screaming and crying. The seemingly long ride to the hospital made Paul more anxious, and he grabbed John's hand and sobbed even more.

Finally, they had arrived. "We're here, John!" Paul cried. "I told you everything would be okay..." But his thoughts were losing as he felt John's hands becoming cold as ice, saw his skin turn white as a sheet, and his breathing become completely nonexistent. "N-no..." Paul barely whispered. He could feel his own heart tearing apart as he refused to take in the truth--

John was dead, and there was nothing he could do about it.


~~~


Even though it had been over a week later, Paul still couldn't take it in. He was all alone and felt as thought he had no one to talk to, even anyone else he loved and could trust. He locked himself inside the apartment room during those days and answered no phone calls or doorbell rings or anything. He cried himself to sleep each night--although some nights he didn't even bother trying to fall asleep--angry at the world, angry at John's murderer, but most of all, angry at himself. After all, if only he had believed John was at the studio, if only he hadn't argued with him so much, if only he had just went to bed that night before John had arrived home, the man he loved and cared about so much would still have been alive.

He got out of bed and looked in the mirror. He couldn't look at himself anymore the same way he used to, nor could he see him the way John used to see him. He angrily punched the mirror, ignoring the cuts he was receiving from the blow. He started running around the apartment like a maniac losing his mind. He then picked up anything--dishes, glass, chairs, anything--and threw them at the wall with all his might, his anger growing even stronger.

Then, a figure lurked from the shadows of the night and into the room. But Paul couldn't see it. He couldn't see the new form John had obtained.

"Paul!" John shouted as he flew towards his lover. But Paul couldn't hear him either. He kept throwing things despite John's presence. "Paul! Paul, stop that!" He started to lose hope as he was ignored again. "Paul, I'm here! Look! Look at me! Paul!"

Soon, Paul stopped throwing everything and fell into a heap on the floor. He sobbed harder than before, his hands bleeding from everything he had broken--furniture, memories, and his heart.

"I-it's all my f-fault..." he cried in a whisper. "I-I'm s-sorry... J-John..."

John quickly flew to his side, trying to hold him in his arms. "Don't blame yourself," he cooed sadly, tearing up at the sight of his lover. "Please... This wasn't your fault, Paulie... I was the ass that lied to you and left... I was the one who acted like such a bastard to you and everyone else in this whole damn world for so long... I should be the sorry one... And I am sorry... Even though 'sorry' isn't really going to help now..."

As though Paul could hear his words, he calmed down a little bit and said softly, "I l-love you, John..."

"I love you too, Paulie," John said back. "I love you too..."

The dead man kept the younger man in his translucent arms, trying to put him at ease for the night. Minutes went by before Paul was finally in a deep sleep, the deepest he had been in since before the night of John's murder. John looked at him and, remembering something he had learned soon after he had died, entered his mind and into his dreams.


~~~


Paul was lying on a couch in the studios before he felt someone poking him. "Mft... Stop that..." he groaned, trying to swat at whomever was prodding him with their finger. "Go away..." Then, a pair of hands covered his eyes. Even though he couldn't see yet, they were still annoying him. "Fuck... I said go away..." he groaned, trying to get them off.

"Not until you guess whoooooooo this is!" a voice from behind him chimed. He figured it must have been the same person who was now blocking his already blackened vision, considering that's usually logical. That wasn't hard to figure out. What he was confused about was who exactly this person was. He recognized the voice but denied who he thought it was.

"No... It couldn't be..." he said.

"Why not?" the voice challenged.

"J-John?" Paul squeaked after a few minutes. The mysterious voice took his hands away and Paul turned his head around with a gasp. In front of him was indeed John Lennon, THE John Lennon, the same John Lennon that had just been shot over a week ago. But... Something about him was different... He looked... Younger... Then, he looked at himself and realized he looked younger himself.

"What's wrong, Paulie?" John asked innocently. "Aren't you glad to see me?"

Paul realized what was going on. Somehow, he was back in 1965, and John was still alive. He jumped off the couch and wrapped his arms around John, crying sobbing as though he'd like to never stop. John, pretending he had no idea what was going on, wrapped his arms around Paul as well.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Why are you crying?"

"I-it's n-nothing," Paul cried. "I... I'm just... happy to s-see y-you..."

John smiled. "I am too, Paulie... I'm always happy to see you."

Paul smiled. It felt good to be in John's arms again, to feel how warm he was.

"Oh! And Paul!" John said, trying to look at Paul's face despite the fact that Paul was squeezing him enough that he couldn't reach. Paul loosened his grip finally and looked at him.

"Yes, Johnny?" he asked. John slowly took a few pieces of paper that Paul could have sworn came from absolutely nowhere.

"I wrote a song and I wanted to show it to you..." John said with a soft smile.

Paul smiled back. "Alright..." John gave the papers to Paul and the younger man looked at what John had written.


I get high when I see you go by
My oh my.
When you sigh, my, my insides just fly,
Butterfly.
Why am I so shy when I'm beside you?

It's only love and that is all,
Why should I feel the way I do?
It's only love, and that is all,
But it's so hard loving you.

Is it right that you and I should fight
Every night?
Just the sight of you makes nighttime bright,
Very bright.
Haven't I the right to make it up girl?

It's only love and that is all,
Why should I feel the way I do?
It's only love, and that is all
But it's so hard loving you
Yes it's so hard loving you -- loving you.


"Well... What do you think?" John asked. Paul was stunned. This was a song John had written so many years ago... Well, it was when it was still 1980. Now it wasn't even a song that had been released. "Yoo-hoo... Earth to Paul, earth to Paul... Did you hear me?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah... I did," Paul said, still staring at the lyrics.

"Well? Then what do you think?" John asked again, slightly impatient.

"It's great John..." Paul said. "Just great..."

"I... I wrote it... For you." John said, almost shyly.

"R-really?" Paul said, even though he already knew it. What was going on? This had already happened! Why was it happening again? He just didn't get it... Unless... Was he getting a second chance to be with John again? To make the right choice?

"Yeah," John said. "I mean... I felt bad after all the arguing we've been doing lately... And... And I thought you needed a song... Although I had to say 'girl' in it instead of 'boy'... I didn't want to make us sound queer... Not yet..."

"It's perfect, John..." Paul said truthfully like he did all those years ago. "Just perfect..." He hugged John again before kissing him gently. "I'm sorry too... And you're right. We shouldn't argue as much..."

John smiled and kissed him back slightly deeper. "Do we agree? Apology accepted on both parts?"

Paul nodded and smirked slightly. "Why don't we go make up somehow..."

John nearly read his mind and smirked back. "I say let's..."

The two men ran off to the nearest closet they could find.


~~~


George and Ringo had been trying to contact Paul ever since they had found out about the horrifying news. But because Paul never answered anything from the outside world during that time, they grew more and more worried about their friend.

"Do you really think he'll answer the door this time?" George asked as he and Ringo walked up the stairs to John and Paul's--well, now just Paul's--apartment.

"Maybe," Ringo replied. "I'm not really sure... It won't hurt to try."

"But we've already tried this twice!" George said.

"Hey, you know what they say--third time's a charm!" Ringo said as they got to the door.

"Pfft, yeah right...," George said, rolling his eyes. "You know Paul."

Ringo sighed. "Yes, I do know Paul, George, and you do too."

"I wish I didn't..." the youngest of the former band grumbled. At this time, George and Paul weren't exactly on good terms. Neither were John and George. The only ex-Beatle that wasn't against anyone and had no one against him was Ringo, always being so friendly and easy-going all the time.

"George, stop it... You said you wanted to see him, didn't you?"

"Yeah," George said, "the first time we came here when the news was still clouding my mind almost every minute of the day. Now I'm just tired of him hibernating after we made our way to fly here."

"Please," Ringo said, closing his eyes, getting somewhat annoyed at George's remarks, "just... try to cooperate, please?" All he got were eyes rolling once again as he turned to ring the bell again. "Paul?" he called.

No answer.

"Told ya so," George said, turning around and starting to walk away before Ringo grabbed his collar and yanked him back.

"No, you didn't tell me so," Ringo hissed. "Now stay! I just ringed once!" He ringed the doorbell again and again, still receiving no answer. Usually he'd hear some kind of crying noise or Paul telling them to go away or something, but this time there was absolute silence. "Paul?" he called loudly, knocking on the door. "Paul?!"

"It's no use," George said, "he'll never answer the door!"

"That's what I'm afraid of...," Ringo said, banging on the door louder. "Paul?! Paul, can you hear me?! Are you there?! Paul?!"

"Hey! Quiet down!" George said, griping Ringo's shoulders. "You don't want to wake everyone up! Especially if we're all here!"

"I know that!" Ringo snapped. "I'm trying to see if Paul's awake!"

"Well you can stop that! I'm sure he's awake now!"

They waited again for a response from the lonely and depressed bassist, but all they got was no reply. Ringo looked around the area frantically.

"What the fuck are you doing?" George asked.

"The spare key!" Ringo yelped. "I'm looking for the spare key! I have to find it and get in! I need to see if he's alright!"

George sighed. "I think he's fine but alright..." he mumbled, looking around before he found it in a random plant. "It's right here, Rings."

"GIVE ME THAT!" Ringo grabbed it and nearly jammed it in the keyhole. As soon as he got it in correctly, he swung open the door and the two men walked in. Well, George walked in, but Ringo sprang in like a Slinky on a staircase. Once he saw Paul lying on the floor in a bloody mess with broken things everywhere, he almost screamed.

George looked at Paul and his eyes widened. He really doubted anything was wrong, but clearly it seemed his thoughts were completely opposite from what was really going on.

"My god, Paul..." Ringo breathed, hopping over to him. George just stood there, somewhat frozen in his place. Ringo slowly put his fingers to his wrist to find a pulse and sighed in relief to fine one.

"Is he..." George said nervously, suddenly softening up a little for Paul after holding in so much bitterness.

"He's alright," Ringo said with a light smile. "I think he's just sleeping..."

Meanwhile, John's ghost was waking up when the other two came in. He leapt into the air and tried to hug them as well. Of course, they couldn't see him either. It appeared no one could. "Guys?" he asked, even though he knew it was no use. For some reason, he kept urging to win like he had done when he had last argued with Paul. "George! Ringo! Listen to me! C'mon, guys!" he shouted. "Please?" Seeing they were only trying to get Paul awake, he swooped down to help.

Slowly but surely, it worked. Paul's eyes slowly opened. "What... Ringo?"

"Paul?! Are you ok?!" Ringo asked.

Paul nodded slowly and looked around before he saw George. The two men that were in front of him looked older to him. He looked at himself and realized they were in 1980 again. "No..." he whispered, "It can't be... No!" He stood up, again, ignoring everything broken around him.

"Paul, what's wrong?!" Ringo asked him.

"Everything!" Paul cried. "Just... Everything! I was just with John! I had another chance with him! I had another chance to make things right!"

"It was probably just a dream, Paul..." said Ringo in a soothing voice. "I'm sorry..."

Paul couldn't take that. "NO!" he shouted. "IT WAS REALLY! I'M TELLING THE TRUTH! I WENT BACK IN TIME AND SAW HIM AGAIN! I SWEAR!"

"Paul, calm down, please... We know you're upset, but please..."

"RINGO, I'M TELLING YOU! IT WAS REAL!"

"It was just a dream, Paul! A dream!"

Paul slapped Ringo in the face and cried into his hands. Ringo held his face and winced from the sting that was now on his cheek. "What was that for?!" George asked, still standing behind them. "You can't do that, Paul!" He hopped over to Ringo and pulled him over to him. "Are you ok, Ringo?" he asked.

"'M fine, George, now let go of me..."

George reluctantly let go, slightly shaken from Ringo telling him to stop. He backed away a little as Ringo crawled over to Paul.

"I-I'm s-sorry, Ringo," Paul cried. "I... I didn't m-mean to d-do that..."

"It's ok, Paul... Shh... Everything'll be ok... You'll see..." Ringo rubbed his back and hugged him gently, and Paul hugged back. George slowly crawled down and joined them, feeling bad for his sour attitude before, and John's ghost finally completed the quartet.

The four of them sat there together, as the tune of "It's Only Love" was mysteriously heard throughout the whole building.