Later that year, when the Beatles are recording another album called Revolver, the band was in the studio and decided to take a smoke break.

"Shit," John hissed. "We're out of ciggies."

"I'll run to the store and get more," Paul offered.

"Thank you, love." John smiled and pecked Paul's cheek, causing Paul to blush viciously and shuffle away toward the door.

"Hurry back!" Ringo called after the bassist as he left the building.

Paul walked along the pavement, hands stuck inside his pockets, and began to whistle a tune. He looked up to see the leaves of the trees that was planted along the sidewalk every five feet or so. The leave were orange send red and yellow and brown now, giving off a very autumn feeling which was only right seeing as it was early in October now.

The second youngest Beatle walked into the drug store that was conveniently located just two blocks from the Abbey Road recording studio. He picked up two packs of cigarettes and headed toward the cash resister where he saw a woman with a young child paying for a gallon of milk and a carton of eggs. Paul smiled.

"You're short a pound," said the store employee who stood behind the counter coldly.

"Damn," Linda hissed.

Paul pulled a pound from within his pocket and reached around Linda and he laid it down in the counter.

She looked around, about to protest, but she never got the words out. She just stood there, mouth hanging open.

The man behind the counter scooped up the pound and put it into the cash register. "All yours," he pushed the milk and eggs toward Linda who shook herself from her trance, picked up the eggs and milk, and led Heather from the store.

Paul paid for the cigarettes then left the store to find Linda and Heather standing outside. "Hi," he smiled.

"Hi," Linda smiled back. "You didn't have to do that."

Paul shrugged his shoulders. "It's no big deal, really."

"I don't care," Linda shook her head. "It's a big deal to me. I barely get by some days, you know."

"Why are you here in England?" Paul asked in a kind voice. "Don't you have family in America who can help you out? England isn't the nicest place, sometimes."

"Neither is America," Linda said. "I'm not exactly on good terms with my family. Actually, I'm not on speaking terms with them. They think I'm stupid and foolish for leaving my husband when I had a child with him and have a child to raise. My mother called me selfish for taking Heather with me when I left because she could have had a better life with my ex-husband, an easier life. And she's half right about that, but I'm not selfish for bringing her with me. If I had thought that she would have had a better life with him, I would have forced myself to leave her there. But he hit me and I had no reason to believe that he wouldn't do the same to her so I left and got a divorce and went to my parents and they disagreed with my decisions. They judged me and so I left and came here to start fresh. Heather is all the family I'll ever need, right?" She smiled down at her daughter.

"Yep!" Heather smiled proudly.

"That's awful," Paul said. "What your ex did and what your parents did. Listen, if you ever need anything I'd be happy to help, okay?"

Linda laughed. "I don't know if you'd noticed, but you're kind of worldly famous. How am I supposed to get ahold of you?"

"Do you know where Abbey Road studios are?" Paul asked.

Linda nodded.

"I'm there all the time," said Paul. "And if I'm not there," Paul looked around and saw there was a table that stood in front of the drug stores with a stack of napkins beneath a paper weight. Paul grabbed a napkin. "Have you got a pen?"

Linda set the milk and eggs she was holding down on the table and fished a Ken from within the purse that hung from her shoulder. She handed it to Paul.

Paul wrote down a series of numbers across the napkin. "If I'm not there, call this number,"

Linda took the napkin, read the phone number, and smiled. She slipped the napkin into her purse and nodded before she picked up the milk and eggs again. "Got it. Thank you so much."

"No problem," Paul said. "Well, I've got to get going. I'll see you around."

"Yeah," Linda smiled. "See you around."

"Bye, Heather," Paul waved to the small girl.

"Bye bye!" She grinned and waved to Paul over her shoulder as she and her mother walked away toward their apartment.

~~~

Paul, John, George, Ringo, and Brian were sitting in the living room of the apartment a few days later at about eight in the evening when the phone suddenly began to ring persistently.

"I'll get it," George said before Paul could open his mouth to say the same thing and stood up.

Paul watched him anxiously.

George picked up the phone and pressed it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Paul?" Came a female voice totally unfamiliar to George.

"No, I'm George. Who's this?"

"Linda,"

"Linda who?"

Paul leapt up from his spot on the sofa beside John and snatched the phone away from George quickly. "Hello? Linda? Hi, it's Paul."

"Hi, Paul." Linda said. "Listen, I've got an..erm..situation."

"Yeah?" Paul urged Linda to continue, trying desperately to ignore the daggers that John was staring at him.

"Well, I've been a bit late on my rent for my apartment lately and the landlord, well, he told me to get out immediately." She sighed. "So, Heather and I need a place to stay and I was wondering..."

Paul took a deep breath. How could he explain to the lads that he needed to bring a woman and a child that they had never met before or heard about before into their apartment because she needed a place to stay?

"I was wondering if you knew of anywhere I could stay?" Linda asked.

"Oh, um, sure." Paul said. "Hold on, just give me a minute."

"Sure," said Linda.

Paul held the phone again this shoulder. "A friend of mine needs a place to stay. Is there anywhere any of you can think where she could go for a night or two?"

John was staring at him suspiciously and if looks could kill, Paul would be dead ten times over. Geogre and Ringo glanced at each other, puzzled. Brian furrowed his brows. Paul swallowed hard.

"She, uh, could stay here," George shrugged his shoulders and it was his turn to have John stare daggers at him. "I mean, there's no harm in it. Right, boys?"

Ringo and Brian both nodded, but John sat stiffly in his place on the sofa and stared from Paul to George and back again.

"Okay," Paul nodded, eyes flicking past John nervously. "Hey, Linda?" He placed the phone again this ear again. "You can come stay at the apartment for a while if you'd like."

"Really?" Linda asked. "Oh, thank you so much."

"Of course," Paul said. "No problem." He told her the address and said he'd see her soon then hung up the phone.

"What the hell was that?" John snapped, bounding to his feet and striding toward Paul.

"John, I know what you're thinking," Paul said quickly.

"Do you?" John narrowed his eyes at his boyfriend. "Do you really, McCartney?"

Paul flinched at John's harsh use of his last name. "John, please listen to me."

John shook his head slowly and resumed his spot on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest and glowering at the wall, completely ignoring any attempt made by anyone to speak to him.

Brian cleared his throat, breaking the thick thick and agonizing silence that followed. "Right, well I'm going to go home and get some shut eye. I'll see you all in the studio tomorrow morning."

"Night, Bri." Ringo said.

"See you in the morning," George said.

"Bye, Brian." Paul waved.

John remained dead silent, not even bothering to look up.

It was twenty minutes after Brian left that Linda knocked on the door and Paul answered it to see her standing there in the hallway with two suitcases and Heather all impossibly held in her arms. "Hi, Paul," she smiled breathlessly.

"Hey there," Paul greeted, taking her suitcases from her and leading her inside.

"Hello," George smiled when they entered the apartment.

Linda set Heather down on two feet and smiled kindly at George. "Hi, I'm Linda."

"Yeah, I know," George extended an arm and shook her hand. "We spoke on the phone about a half hour ago. I'm George."

"Oh, I didn't know that was you," Linda said, then chuckled. "Yes, I know who you are. This is my daughter, Heather."

Ringo sauntered over and knelt down so that he was eye level with Heather. "Hello there, Heather. My name's Ringo."

Heather giggled in her high pitched little voice. "That's a silly name,"

"Yeah, it is, isn't it." Ringo grinned from ear to ear.

John didn't say anything and, thankfully, Linda didn't attempt to speak to John.

"Well, come along." Paul said. "I'm going to show you where you'll be sleeping." Paul led Linda and Heather to his bedroom and set down the suitcases beside the dresser. He grabbed his guitar and his song book. "Sleep well," he smiled.

"Wait, this is your room?" Linda asked.

"Yeah," Paul nodded.

"Where will you sleep?" Linda frowned.

"Oh I'll sleep on the, um, floor..in John's room." Paul reassured her, lying about the floor part. "Don't worry about it. Goodnight." Paul left the room, clutching his belongings tightly. He looked to the left toward the sitting room to find it empty. So he turned to the right and walked down to John's room. With his guitar in one hand and his song back tucked underneath his arm, Paul knocked on the door.

There was a grumble of "Come in," from the other side of the door.

Paul walked into the dimly lit room and stood his guitar against the dresser and set his song book down there. He noticed a crumpled piece of paper, but didn't think anything of it. "We need to talk, John."

John was standing at the window, hands gripping the window sill. He was leaning forward, forehead pressed accident the glass. "There's nothing to talk about,"

"Yes, there is." Paul walked toward John, but John turned and pushed past him, striding across the room and toward the door.

"John, I know what you're feeling right now!" Paul yelped.

"No you don't!" John snapped.

"You're jealous, John!"

John froze, dead in his tracks, hand wrapped tightly around the door knob.

"What you're feeling right now?" Paul said. "It's exactly what I used to feel, what I felt for years, anytime I saw you with Stuart."

John's death grin on the door knob slowly loosened, the tension in his hand as well as the rest of his body deteriorated. He turned to Paul. "Not this again,"

"Yes this again," Paul said. "And I got over it years ago, I trusted you. I love you so so much and and I know that you love me and you have got to try and understand that I met Linda months ago. I didn't mention her because it was no big deal," Paul said, half lying. "Then I ran into her a few days ago. She's been struggling, shes a single mum, and I told her to call me if she ever needed any help. She got kicked out of her apartment, she needed help."

"You have no interest in her, you know, romantically?" John murmured, staring at his feet.

Paul reached toward John and cupped his cheek. "How many times do we have to go over this, John? You're the on that I want. You're my forever, you're my always. Don't you get that by now? We've been together for nine bloody years.."

John smiled. "Yeah, we have. I believe you, Paul. I trust you. I really do. It's just that I get nervous and jealous so so easily. And I am so afraid of losing you."

"You're never going to lose me," Paul smiled. "You're stuck with me for life."

John wrapped his arms around Paul's waist and pulled him closer. "Good," and then his lips met Paul's.

Paul hummed contently into the kiss and melted into John's warm embrace.

~~~

At one in the morning when the two of them lie bare and tangled in both the covers and one another's limbs, they couldn't manage to sleep.

"Can you believe next year will be ten years since we got together?" John laughed.

"A whole bloody decade," Paul breathed, running a hand along John's naked chest.

"We've made it through so much shit," John whispered.

Paul laid his head in the crook of John's neck and hummed his agreement, a smile on his face as his eyes finally began to grow heavy. "Terrible shit... My dad."

John immediately held Paul closer to his body. The last time Paul had begun to think of his father, he had had terrible nightmares about his father coming back and his mother scolding him. "Shh, don't think about him. He's gone, he's in the past. This is us now."

"Hm," Paul's eyes fluttered shut. "Yeah." He managed as he fell into a deep oblivion.

John kissed the top of Paul's head, the younger man's dark hair tickling John's nose. "I love you, Paulie." The guitarist whispered.

~~~

"No,"

That small whimper was enough to wake John from his deep slumber at around three thirty in the morning. He looked down at Paul who's face was contorted into a terrified expression, cold sweat dripping down his forehead.

"Stop,"

"Not again," John hissed, and cursed beneath his breath. "Wake up, Paulie. Wake up. Come on."

"No!"

"Wake up!"

And for once, there was no screaming or writhing. Paul remained wrapped around John's body and his eyes fluttered open and looked up at his lover. "John," he said shakily.

John sat up and pulled Paul into his lap, prepared for what was surely to come.

There may have been no screaming and writhing, but Paul shuddered and he began to shake uncontrollably like a weak leaf lost in the winds of a raging hurricane. He buried his face in the crook of John's neck and sobbed silently while John ran his hands up and down Paul's bare back.

It was at least an hour before John pulled a still crying Paul off of his lap. "Come on, let's get you dressed and warm. I'll make you some tea and you can go back to sleep."

"I don't want to go back to sleep," Paul whimpered as John pulled on a pair of boxer shorts and a plain t-shirt. "The nightmares are getting worse every time I close my eyes John."

John was getting a pair of pajamas pants and a pajama shirt out of the spare drawer that Paul used. Holding the neatly folded material in his hands, he turned back to Paul. "What do you mean?" He shot Paul a worried look. "Have you been having nightmares about your father ever since they started again? Paul, why didn't you tell me? I can help you, you know I can."

Paul took the clothes from John and dressed himself. He shook his head as he button the pajama shirt. "I didn't want to worry you, John.. I'd dint want to be a burden. The burden you had to wake every night from a terrible dream. So I learned to suppress the nightmares best I could, and not scream and writhe in my sleep. It took time, but I managed it and then it became more of a subconscious thing. Every once in a while it would slip up, but you know about those times."

John shook his head, close to tears. He cupped Paul's face in his hands. "You're not a burden. You've never been a burden. You never will be a burden."

Paul forced a smile.

"How long have they been going on? Ever since that time with the Dream about your mother?"

Paul's cheeks went bright red and he stared at the ground. "No," he murmured.

John placed a finger underneath Paul's chin and lifted his face to look into his eyes. "How long have you been having nightmares about your father again, Paul," John said firmly, demanding an answer.

"I can't - John, I - uhm, oh god, John..don't hate me.." Paul frowned, averting his eyes to looking at something - anything! - else in the room aside from John and his eyes.

"Never," John shook his head. "Just tell me how long you've been suffering."

Reluctantly, Paul looked John dead in the eyes and sighed. "They never stopped. Okay? After he was arrested, after he died. They never stopped. I've been trying to control the, for years."

John shuddered at the thought. Over eight years! Paul had been suffering, silent and lonely, for the majority of eight years! John ran his fingers through his hair before he wrapped his arms around Paul.

"So you don't hate me?" Paul asked, slowly returning the embrace.

"I never could," John whispered in his ear as he rocked Paul back and forth in his arms. "You're a fighter, Paul, but you didn't have to fight alone."

Paul sniffed.

"Just promise me you'll stop fighting this battle alone, okay?" John looked into Paul's doey brown eyes and he felt as if he were going to melt into a sticky puddle of goo.

"I promise," Paul nodded.

"Good," John ran his fingers through Paul's dark hair. "Come on, let's get you some tea and get you back to bed. And I'll be right there with you the whole time."

"You promise?" Paul raised his eyebrows as they walked, hand in hand, toward the kitchen.

John smiled. "I promise. I'm always going to be there with you, right beside you holding your hand. You're never going to have to fight this battle alone again."