FicWad

Author's notes: For the soundtrack, put on a Michael Buble CD, or anything by the Andrews Sisters.

"Ricky, baby!" exclaimed the man with the electric guitar as he walked into the nightclub. "Where the hell have you been, darling? We've been waiting for you for simply ages!"

Sir Richard opened his mouth to give the man a somewhat terse response to the overly familiar greeting, but stopped before he could actually say anything. The man who had spoken was Bern's deputy, Harry.

"Never mind," Harry said quickly as Sir Richard groped around for a sensible answer. Harry grabbed a pair of drumsticks, thrust them into his hands, and guided him quickly to the band's drum kit. "Tell us later."

Abruptly, an oddly familiar-looking woman burst out from between the curtains behind the band. "Harry, have you seen Jeannie? Georgie and I can't find her anywhere!"

Sir Richard sat down and did a quick drum sting. He played with a band every weekend in a riverside jazz club, so this was no strange situation.

The woman looked over at him in surprise. "Ringo!" she exclaimed, and then immediately lowered her voice. "Thank god! I thought that the authorities had arrested you!"

"Why would they do that?" Sir Richard asked curiously, but the answer almost immediately became obvious as he looked around the room. Everywhere he looked he could see an unwelcomely familiar black and white symbol.

It decorated every wall, and the arms of many of the patrons, too. Sir Richard decided that it didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened in this particular version of reality. Obviously, Adolf Hitler had managed to win the second world war.

"Never mind," he said. "Forget I said it."

She gave him an odd look, but did as he said. "Damn that Lennon," the woman said, almost hissing her anger in her attempt to keep it from the ears of the Nazi servicemen filling the room. "She's probably gone and got herself arrested."

Sir Richard saw a man enter the club and look around. The newcomer's eyes met his, and widened in shock. Abruptly, the newcomer wheeled around, and left again. Sir Richard couldn't help but be curious. Particularly since he'd never seen the man before in his life. He was also a little worried. The woman who looked like his old friend Sir Paul thought that he had been arrested. The man had to have been an informer, or an undercover agent, or even the arresting officer. He was obviously going back to check on his charge.

This was not, he decided, a good version of reality to make mistakes in.

"Can you manage without her, Paulie?" Harry asked.

"We'll have to," she replied furiously.

"I can sing her part!" said another female voice with a touch of desperation in her voice, "Come on, Aunty Pauline! You know I've stood in for mum when she's been late for rehearsals. I know her part really well." Sir Richard looked around to see a young lady who looked so much like the pictures Sir Paul had shown him of John Lennon it was uncanny. Like Pauline, she was wearing a sequinned satin evening gown and heavy makeup.

Pauline sighed. "Alright, Julia," she replied. "I don't think we've got much choice."

"You haven't seen her, have you, Jules?" Harry asked.

Julia shook her head. "You know me and mum aren't on speaking terms, Harry. She's probably just annoyed that I get on so well with Pauline and Georgina. She'll be here later."

"If this is your mum's idea of a joke, Julia, I'm going to give her a good hard spanking when she arrives," Harry said severely, although it was clear that nobody really believed him.

Julia looked disgusted. "Ew," she said. "Keep your fantasy life to yourself." She went back behind the curtains, with Pauline close behind her.

Sir Richard looked down at his drum kit to make a few last minute adjustments. To his relief, there was a play list attached to the back of the chair in front of him. To his equal relief, the songs were all songs that he knew. Several of them were songs that had been written by that song-writing duo that he'd come to know surprisingly well for a duo which had never existed in his reality and never got played in nightclubs - Lennon/McCartney.

A few minutes later, Harry announced to the room in general that they were about to be entertained by the lovely ladies known collectively as the Beatles, and Pauline, Georgina, and Julia came on.

Sir Richard guessed that the trio sounded much like the Andrews Sisters had, since they were accompanied by a shrunken big band, rather than a simple four-man rock band or blues ensemble. Fortunately, he was proven right, and his improvised drumming was not noticed by anybody other than Harry, who shot him a few puzzled looks as they played.

It was while they were playing "Please Please Me," towards the end of the first set, that the trouble started. There was the noise of a fight outside, and the sound of running feet. Every single serviceman in the place took notice of the sound, and put their drinks down. Without a word, they started moving the tables and chairs back towards the walls, and prepared themselves for a fight.

Harry signalled them to keep playing. Suspecting that he was about to see something that he didn't want to see, Sir Richard did. He was in too much trouble as it was to risk making a scene. The last thing he needed to do right now was to draw attention to himself.

His apprehension rose with every passing moment as he watched the bartender move the glassware off the counter. Soon enough, the nightclub door opened, and a tall, skinny man wearing jeans and a battered t-shirt ran in. He skidded to a halt at the sight of the servicemen arrayed in front of him.

On the stage, the Beatles stopped singing with a startled yelp when they caught sight of the newcomer. Sir Richard also recognised him instantly, although he hadn't had the opportunity to meet him yet. It was John Lennon.

He glanced toward the stage, where Julia was standing. Her eyes were wide, and her hands were over her mouth in pure shock. She extended one shaking hand to point at him. "You...you're not my mother!"

Behind John, more Nazi servicemen filed in to form a large ring around the man.

Pauline and Georgina both stopped staring at John at Julia's statement to turn and give her startled looks. Julia herself frowned a little as she replayed her gasped comment through her memory, and then said defensively, "Well, he's not, is he?"

"And you're not my son, either," John commented, staring back at her. "What the hell is going on here?"

Sir Richard decided that perhaps another way out of here would be a good idea. If this place mirrored the layout of the Project exactly, then there was a corridor with a door at the far end that lead to an emergency stairwell. He frowned at John, standing in the centre of a circle of Nazi servicemen, and decided that he wasn't going to be able to help him immediately.

The door slid open, and the man Sir Richard had seen earlier came in, a couple more uniformed Nazis in tow.

Sir Richard ducked down behind the other musicians, and put his drumsticks down as carefully and silently as he could. This wasn't the first time he was grateful that drum kits were customarily put at the back of the band, but he had never been more grateful for it than he was now. Getting down on his hands and knees, he crawled to the curtain a scant two metres behind him, and was soon completely hidden from view.

Getting to his feet, he looked around. There was, as he had expected to find, a corridor in front of him. In his home reality, this corridor lead to offices and laboratories. Here, it evidently lead to the change rooms. He wondered if one of them lead to a costume department - it would be very useful indeed if he could find a greatcoat and a hat. If the coat bore a swastika armband, so much the better. It would be his best hope of getting out of there.

Looking around once more, he spotted nobody. Behind him, noises suggested a struggle - a sound which told him, better than anything, that Lennon had just been jumped by the Nazi's. He opened a door at random and found a dressing room. The occupant was a woman, judging by the dress hung up on the screen, and the sequins scattered about the floor.

Closing the door, he opened another one to find another woman's dressing room. A third lead to a cleaner's cupboard. The fourth to an office. The fifth lead, somewhat unexpectedly, to toilets.

"Psst," said a voice.

Sir Richard looked around.

"Over here," the voice continued urgently.

Further down the corridor was another man that Sir Richard had only seen pictures of. He didn't know his name, either - simply that he was often seen with early pictures of the Beatles.

The man looked decidedly fussy, and very worried. He was almost painfully well-groomed, in a fashion that reminded Sir Richard of a gentleman's manservant. The man's most noticeable feature, however, was the pink triangle sewn to the lapel of his suit.

"Come with me," the man said urgently. "If that informer finds you, you'll be executed on the spot!"

"I didn't think he meant to give me flowers," Sir Richard replied, and followed the man down the corridor.

He was ushered into the room he'd been hoping to find earlier - the costume department.

"Ringo, what the hell do you think you're doing, coming back into the most heavily defended military facility in England?" the man hissed furiously. "I don't know how you managed to escape, still less how you managed to get back into here. I'm not sure I really care. But why?"

Outside, a noise was heard in the corridor, and the man looked alarmed. He shoved Sir Richard to the back of the room, and twisted the knob on a cupboard. The wall next to the cupboard slid aside to reveal a priest's hole, left over from the days when the facility had functioned as a mansion. Sir Richard needed no prompting to get into the hole, and the wall slid shut behind him.

"Mr Epstein," said an unfamiliar voice with a heavy German accent. "We are pursuing two fugitives. One of them is Richard Starkey. He escaped from us recently, but was injured in the attempt. He received a bullet wound to the right shoulder. The other is unknown to us, but he also has been injured. Have you seen either of them?"

"I have seen no injured men pass this way, sir," Mr Epstein replied with confidence. Sir Richard could not help but admire his ability to dodge the truth so easily. It was a skill which took time and practice to acquire. In fact, it was considered a necessessity in those who would rise high in the public service.

The Nazi replied, "Very well. But if it turns out that you have lied to us, it will go very badly for you and your...kind."

Sir Richard frowned slightly, struggling to remember what the Nazi meant. Soon, however, he recalled that gay men were forced to wear pink triangles on their clothes to identify them, just as Jews were made to wear yellow stars. He was astonished to find one working in a place like this, let alone alive.

"I would never dream of lying to you, sir!" Mr Epstein replied indignantly. "I'm not stupid."

The Nazi snorted contemptuously, and left the room. Sir Richard frowned, thoughtfully. Apparently, John Lennon had somehow managed to escape from the clutches of the Nazis in the club. Considering how badly outnumbered he had been, Sir Richard was amazed.

The door to the priest's hole slid aside, and Mr Epstein stood in front of him. "Show me your right shoulder," he said quietly.

Wordlessly, Sir Richard took off his jacket, and unbuttoned his shirt. Sliding the shirt down his arms, he displayed his two, entirely unwounded shoulders.

"Who are you?" Mr Epstein asked.

Sir Richard told him who he was, and where he had come from. Then he explained who the other man was.

"I see," Mr Epstein replied. "Do you know me?"

Sir Richard shook his head. "I've never laid eyes on you in my life. In fact, you were one of the few people from the photographs that we have been unable to identify."

"My name is Brian Epstein," he replied, "and here I am the wardrobe manager for the club. I am also, as you may have guessed, gay. As such, I am regarded as a moral degenerate."

"I'm surprised you're still alive," Sir Richard admitted.

"I have been careful not to give them a reason to execute me," Brian replied, "Although I am sure it will not be long before they find an excuse to execute me anyway. I am not useful enough to them to avoid it."

Sir Richard clapped him on the shoulder, but before he could offer any message of support, they both heard the sound of running feet in the corridor. Brian shoved him back into the priest's hole, and shut the door. Moments later, the door to the wardrobe room opened, and Sir Richard heard a man stumble in.

"You would be Mr Lennon, then," Brian said.

"You...you gotta help me!" Lennon replied in a voice rough with pain.