Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize.

October 10th, 1962

Hold me close, and tell me how you feel.

Tell me love is real.

When Molly woke up the next morning, everything was incredibly foggy. Her head felt as if it weighed four hundred pounds, and though she tried, she couldn't get back to sleep because of her throbbing headache. She slowly crawled out of bed, trying to remember how she got there, and nearly ran into Paul outside of her bedroom door.

"Shit!" she muttered, "Sorry, Paul."

"It's alright," he chuckled, barely awake himself.

"Stop screaming," she moaned, holding her head, "Do you know if we have any aspirin?"

"I dunno," Paul said, "It'd be in the kitchen, wouldn't it? I'm going down for some breakkie anyway. You can join me."

"No thanks," Molly said, "I'm just getting my aspirin and going back to bed."

When the pair entered the kitchen, Paul froze in the doorway, but Molly stumbled across the room, not realizing that Paul had stopped. As she sifted through the various items in the cabinet, Paul, in a completely flat tone, said, "I didn't think you were still here."

"What're you talking about? Of course I'm still here," Molly said, turning around and finding a petite redhead sitting at the kitchen table.

"Oh," Molly said, aptly summarizing the feelings of the three people in the room.

"Gosh," the girl said, her face flushing, "I didn't know you had a girlfriend!"

Molly looked from the girl to a flabbergasted Paul, and a smile tugged at her lips. In her best attempt to sound angry, she asked, "Paul, who is this?"

With one look at Molly, Paul knew what was going on. "She's no one, honey," Paul said, rushing to Molly's side and wrapping an arm around her waist, "She means nothing. I don't even know her name, honest!"

"I mean nothing to you?" the girl asked, standing up, "That isn't what you said last night! You bastard!"

She grabbed a teacup and threw it at Paul and Molly, who ducked before it hit them. The girl stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

Paul removed his arm from Molly's waist and let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you for that," he said, "I honestly thought she left already."

"The awkward morning after," Molly chuckled, resuming her search for aspirin, "We've all been there."

"Even you?" Paul asked with a raise of his eyebrows.

She shrugged. "Growing up in Liverpool, it's not exactly uncommon, is it?"

Paul nodded slightly. "Either way, I owe you," he said, "Really."

"Would you mind making some coffee, then?" she asked, closing from the cabinet and starting to search the counter.

"I thought you were going back to bed," Paul stated.

"I can't sleep after that. In one day, I've been the girlfriend of both you and Ringo. I'd have nightmares."

"Ah, it can't be that bad. Sure, Ringo's got a large neb, but he's loveable underneath it, really," Paul said.

"I was talking about you," she said.

"I resent that," Paul said, pouring two cups of coffee and handing one to Molly, who was on the ground, looking under the stove.

"Ta," she said, moving to a sitting position and leaning against the stove.

"You're going to stay there?" Paul asked.

"I don't think I can stand up," she said.

"Then I'll join you," Paul said, sitting next to her.

"You know what'd be really nice right now?" Molly mumbled, "A ham sandwich with HP Sauce."

"What's that?" Paul asked, scrunching his forehead in confusion.

"HP Sauce?" Molly asked, "How do not know what HP Sauce is?"

Paul shook his head. "I've never heard of it before."

"Then I know what we're doing today," Molly said, "We're out of aspirin, and we have no HP Sauce. We're going shopping."

"My three least favorite words," Paul groaned.

"No, it'll be fun!" Molly said, "All five of us can go. Actually, now that I mention it, where are they?"

"John spent the night at Cynthia's," Paul said, his voice laced with contempt, "And I reckon George and Ringo are still sleeping. It's only nine o'clock, you know."

"Well, I guess we can let them sleep. If they had half the night I did, they're in for a rough morning," she sighed, "Tell me. Did I really compare Des to an otter?"

Paul nodded, and chuckled as Molly groaned.

"I guess it's for the best," she said after a minute, "You don't think I was too harsh, do you?'

"Could've been worse," Paul shrugged, "Anyroad, he told you he agreed with you."

"Yeah," Molly said, soothed by the thought of not hurting Desmond.

"I meant what I said, you know," she said, "About living, that is. So I told Des he was an otter? Life goes on. So I made a drunken fool of myself last night? Life goes on."

"So you have a massive hangover and nothing to dim it with?" Paul interrupted.

"Then you go out and buy some painkillers," she answered, "And then life goes on. Speaking of which, I need aspirin and I need it now."

Molly pulled herself from the floor and filled a glass with water. She crept up the stairs, Paul following behind with an amused look on his face. Carefully, she pushed open the door to George's room. Molly and Paul slowly snuck across the room to George's bed, where George was sleeping, remaining completely oblivious to the scheming pair. After sharing a grin with Paul, Molly emptied the entire glass on poor George's face, leaving George shouting profanities and Paul and Molly in fits of laughter.

"Fuck!" George cried, sitting straight up, "What the hell was that?"

"We're out of aspirin and HP Sauce," Molly said seriously, though Paul was still in hysterics.

"You had to dump the Atlantic Ocean on me because of some fucking sauce?" George spat.

"Well, sorry about that, but it had to be done. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to wake up Ringo," Molly said, scampering across the hall, where she poked Ringo's forehead until he woke up.

"Wake up, beautiful," she said when Ringo reluctantly opened his eyes.

"What are you doing?" he asked, "It's too early to get up!"

"We've got to go grocery shopping," she explained, "We're out of aspirin and HP Sauce."

"HP Sauce, you say?" Ringo asked, "That's alright, then."

"You're much more reasonable than George," Molly said happily.

"You didn't empty a bucket of water on his head!" George cried from across the hall.

Molly winced at the volume, but said, "I'll admit, that was a bit unnecessary, but you're overreacting. Getting up early every once in a while isn't exactly a bad thing, you know."

"She's just got a wicked hangover and needs some aspirin," Paul said, "That's the real reason."

"Thanks, Paulie," she muttered as a devious grin grew on George's face.

This did not go unnoticed by Molly, who said, "Whatever you're planning, Harrison, forget about it right now."

George shook his head. "I saved you from John. We're equals now, you see. I have my rights to retaliation."

"Haven't you ever heard of chivalry?" Molly asked.

"There's no chivalry for Beatles, Molly," Paul said/

"Unless you'd like to be the Beatlette," George added.

Molly narrowed her eyes at the laughing pair. "Bite me."

"Careful what you say, Mol," Paul said, "someone might take you seriously."

"'Specially Rings," George said, "He's still hung up on you, what with your relationship ending and all."

"Oh, ha ha ha. George Harrison, what a joker," she mocked, "D'you think John left his car here, by any chance?"

"Doubt it," Ringo said, emerging from his room, "John'd never trust us with his car."

"I don't blame him," Molly shrugged, "Looks like we'll have to walk to the grocery, then."

"Have you gone soft?" Ringo asked, "This is London, not Liverpool. We'll get lost!"

"I don't even know where the grocery is," George added.

"You'll find it," Molly told him, giving him a reassuring pat on the arm, "There's food there. You'll be attracted to it like a moth to a flame."

"Or John to Bridgette Bardot," Paul added.

"Or… George to anything edible," Ringo said.

"See? We believe in you, buddy," Molly smiled.

"Really?" George smirked, raising his voice to an unnecessarily loud level, "Is that so, Molly? You really believe in me?"

Molly winced at the volume. "Come 'ead, you wankers. We've got groceries to buy."

The boys followed Molly down the stairs and out into the London streets laughing like mad men and singing, "Hangover, hangover! Molly's got a hangover!"

Words of love you whisper soft and true.

Darling, I love you.

Three hours and eight bags of groceries later, Molly, Paul, George, and Ringo found themselves on a dead end street.

"We've been walking around for two hours," George whined, "Where are we?"

"We're currently strolling through California," Paul snapped, "We're at a bloody dead end somewhere in London, George! Where d'you think we are?"

"I told you we'd get lost!" Ringo cried.

"Calm down, you lot," Molly said, feeling relieved after taking three aspirin, "We got here, and we can figure out how to get home too."

"Sorry, but I didn't bring the bread crumbs, Gretel. How are we getting home?" Paul sighed.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist," Molly said, "We passed a church a little while ago. They'd give us directions."

Ringo shook his head. "We've been walking for two hours. I'm done."

"Same here. I'll wait with you while George and Molly go to the church," Paul said.

George began to protest. "I'm not going to some daft church-"

"If you want to get home, you are," Molly said, "If I go alone, I might get even more lost, and we'd never make it back."

"Fine," George grumbled, handing his grocery bags to Paul, "If you lay a hand on my biscuits, I swear you'll never see another day, McCartney."

"He won't eat your biscuits, George," Molly laughed, "Come 'ead. I'd like to get home before dark, y'know."

She grabbed George by the arm and dragged him down the road as he glared daggers at Paul.

"Ah, come off it," she laughed, "If those damn biscuits mean so much to you, he won't eat 'em."

"How d'you know? Paul's unpredictable. I don't know what he's going to do half the time. You barely know him; you don't know what he's thinking," George pouted.

"Is that so?" Molly shrugged, "I think he's pretty predictable. Now, would you stop sulking and help me find this church?"

"Where was it?" George asked.

"Only a few blocks down, I think. Not too far," Molly said.

"And what if they don't want to help us?"

"It's a church, George. They have to help us."

"Oh. Right."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, until George blurted out, "Why'd you join our band?"

Molly stopped dead in her tracks. "What?"

"Sorry!" he said, "That's not what I meant at all."

"Then what did you mean?" Molly asked, her voice growing slightly defensive.

"It's just been a question I've had for a while, you see. Most girls don't want to be in a band. I just wanted to know why you did, that's all," George said, "That's what I meant."

"Oh," Molly shrugged, "I've always liked music. It really started when I was little, and I used to sing to Florence all the time back when she was a baby. My dad bought me a guitar when I was ten, and I fell in love with it right away. I started with piano after that, wrote my first song when I was fifteen, and from then on I know I wanted to make music."

Molly chuckled a bit and added, "It also drove my mum mad that I left school for The Beatles."

"What were you going to school for?" George asked.

"Journalism," she said, "If I couldn't play the piano forever, I'd write instead."

George nodded, taking in the information.

"What about you?" she asked, "When'd you realize you wanted to join a band?"

"Got my first guitar at twelve, joined the band at fourteen," George shrugged, "It's the only thing I'm good at, really, and it's the only thing I've ever wanted to do. Otherwise I would've been an electrician, and I'm rubbish with all that."

"You don't look like an electrician," Molly commented, searching her pockets for a cigarette.

"Really? What do I look like, then?" George asked, also taking a cigarette, "The world's best guitarist?"

"You could be a farmer," Molly laughed, lighting both her and George's cigarettes.

"If I'm a farmer, you're a schoolmarm," George laughed after a drag.

"No thanks," Molly said, "That's my mum."

"Your mum's a teacher?" George asked, his eyebrows knitting together.

"Yep. She's taught at the Liverpool Institute for Boys for about fifteen years," Molly explained.

"Wait. Your mum's Mrs. Wade? The Mrs. Wade?"

"Yep."

"Shit. I'm sorry."

"Me too," Molly paused, taking a long drag of her cigarette, "Come on. I think I see that church."

They walked in silence for a moment, but George broke it by saying, "I'm glad you joined, anyway."

"Really?" Molly asked, a hint of a smile betraying the surprise she felt from the butterflies that appeared in her stomach because of that sentence.

"Yeah. If it was anyone else, they probably wouldn't have been left-handed like you, and it'd look weird if we had three right-handed guitars and one leftie," George explained.

"Oh," Molly laughed, the butterflies dissipating, "Silly me, thinking you liked my guitar playing, or who I am as a person or something like that."

"Come off it, Mol, you know you're one of the gang," George said, "Your guitar though…"

"What about my guitar?" Molly said, mock offended.

"Hate to break it to you, miss, but you'll never play as good as I can," George boasted.

"Is that so?" Molly asked.

"It's the facts, cheeky baby."

A grin grew on Molly's face. "Are you willing to prove it?"

"Any time and any place," George said.

"As soon as we get home, then," Molly said, "It'll be me versus you, guitar battle."

"I don't know -"

"Aw, are you scared, Georgie?"

"Course not," he said, shaking his head, "I just don't want you to be too upset when I beat you."

"You wish," Molly laughed, "Come 'ead, here's the church."

George started up the steps of the large building, but Molly threw her arm out and caught him.

"You can't smoke in a church!" she hissed.

"Right," George said, dropping his cigarette on the steps and stamping it out as an amused Molly rolled her eyes.

"Let's go," she said, and the pair made their way into the dark church.

Immediately upon entering, they saw a stout nun sitting at a desk.

"Hello," Molly said, walking towards the desk with George following behind, his hands stuffed in his pockets, "We're lost, and we were hoping you'd help us."

"Oh, you poor dears," the nun cooed, smiling sympathetically, "And so young! Well, you've come to the right place. I'll just run and get the father. You're making the right decision, dears."

"I'm sorry, but what are you talking about?" George asked.

The nun offered a soft smile. "It's okay. Many people in your situation come to us for help, and we'll help you to the best of our ability. Your parents may be upset now, dears, but once they hold that little -"

"Whoa!" Molly yelled, "We're actually lost. We need directions to get home."

"Oh!" the nun said, her face turning the same shade of red as George's ears were, "I'm terribly sorry! I thought… well. What's your address?"

"114 Abington," Molly said sharply, sucking her stomach in.

"Oh, that's not very far at all!" the nun said, "Once you leave here, turn to the left and walk to the grocery, and turn left there and it's only two blocks from there."

"I told you we should've gone left," George grumbled.

Molly hit him lightly on the shoulder. She muttered an insincere thanks to the nun before grabbing George and running out of the building.

"You can stop holding in your stomach, you know," George said, "You don't look like you're pregnant."

Molly spun around to face him. "But the nun! They aren't supposed to judge!"

"Yeah, well, two scruffy-looking teenagers walk into a church asking for help. I'd think the same thing," George said, "Come on, Molly. If you look like you're pregnant, then so do I."

Molly cracked a grin. "Don't think that just because you're making me feel better right now, I'll go easy on you during our guitar battle."

"It won't matter if you do. I'll crush you," George chuckled, "Come on. Let's go home."

"We have to go find Paul and Ringo," Molly said.

"That won't be too hard," George said, nodding at something behind Molly.

She turned around and saw Paul and Ringo standing behind her.

"Hello," Ringo said cheerfully.

"But why are you-" Molly started, but was interrupted by Paul.

"We were bored. How do we get home?"

"To the left. Come on, fellas," George said, "And Molly."

With a quick roll of her eyes, Molly followed the other three Beatles as they ran down the street, whooping like animals.

Let me hear you say the words I long to hear.

Darling, when you're near…

Brian paced the floor of the Whatever Room while John and Cynthia sat on a couch, whispering sweet nothings to each other.

When he could no longer handle it, Brian yelled, "Where are they?"

"Ah, calm down, Eppy. They'll get here," John said.

"We've been here for an hour. Where could they possibly-?"

Brian was cut off by the front door slamming open and the four missing Beatles charging in, singing, "My sunshine used to smile for me, but then she traded me for style!"

"Boys!" Brian boomed, "Where have you been? I've been worried sick!"

"Sorry, mum," Paul laughed, "We went out for groceries and got lost."

"Well, you shouldn't have left," Brian said, "I've got news for you."

"Is it good news or bad news?" Ringo asked.

"It depends on what you boys think of Hamburg," Brian said.

"I think I was deported," George said.

"Same here," Paul said.

"Never mind that," Brian said, "Because of the contract you signed the last time you were there, you have to tour again. You'll be going to Hamburg next month and in December."

"Touring?" Molly said, "Gear!"

"But how are we able to go back if Paul and I were deported last time?" George asked.

"Well, your contract is legally binding, for one, and the fact that you're currently number seventeen on the charts might have something to do with it," Brian said with a smile.

"Seventeen?" Ringo cried, "Alright! Hamburg, here we come!"

"Never mind Hamburg," George smiled, "We'll take on the world! Seventeen's only sixteen away from one, you know."

"While you lot are busy celebrating, Cyn and I have our own announcement," John said, "You want to tell them, Cyn?"

Cynthia beamed as she said, "Our wedding's next week!"

During the boisterous congratulations that followed, no one noticed as Paul's face turned pale.

"Next week?" he repeated dumbly.

"Right before we leave," John said happily, "And Macca, would you do me the honor of being my best man?"

"No," Paul whispered, looking from John to Cynthia, "I couldn't."

"Why not?" John asked angrily.

Paul froze, unable to think of an excuse. Molly, who had noticed Paul's unease, came to his defense.

"Well, Eppy wants to keep this a secret, right? It'd be sort of obvious what's going on if you take Paul with you," Molly said.

"She's right," Brian said, "George, why don't you do it?"

"Hey," John snapped, "It's my wedding. I should get to choose who my best man is."

"Then by all means, John, pick someone," Brian said.

"Hey Georgie, d'you want to be my best man?" John asked.

"Sure," George said as an exasperated Brian rolled his eyes.

"Come on, then," Ringo said, searching the grocery bags for anything they could toast the couple with, "Let's celebrate!"

As the group cheered, Molly turned around to notice Paul slinking up the stairs, his guitar in hand.

George's voice pulled her from the curious scene.

"I guess we'll have to postpone our guitar battle," he said.

"You just don't want to admit I'd beat you," Molly smirked.

"In your dreams, Molly Wade," George chuckled, "In your dreams."

"Dreams?" Molly laughed, "I won't be sleeping for a while."

When George was totally confused, she added, "In the past twenty four hours, I've dated Ringo and Paul, and I've been pregnant with your kid. That's enough to give a girl nightmares for months!"

Words of love you whisper soft and true.

Darling, I love you.

AN: *Paul McCartney voice* I'm sorry, I'm sorry, God, I'm sorry! *Normal voice* Yes, I know. I'm a bum, and I haven't updated for about a month. Here's a list of things I'm going to blame:

*Band camp

*School starting

*Writer's block

*Difficulty in picking a song to match the chapter (Which I didn't do very well anyways... oops. Oh, and I used the whole song. WHAT?)

That's about it, really. I told myself I had to update, because my scumbag of a brain has been writing chapters for 1968 and 1964 and 1976 and things like that, but story-wise, we're still in 1962. Ah. All the same, I think I liked how this turned out. Next chapter, we'll be in Hamburg! Whoo, Hamburg! Tell me what you think in a review, if you'd like! Your comments are always appreciated! :-D