A/N: Hey, lovelies... I've decided to finally update this story...but no one has read it. Hopefully someone will read it. I would like you to know that each Parallel Universe has it's own history, so if there are any Beatles lovers that read this, please don't get upset with me. I'm a Beatlemaniac, and I've dug down deep into their history...haha. If you don't believe me, then go read another one of my stories. One of the main reasons I haven't updated this story is because I started a sequel to it that is by far more interesting. It doesn't involve as much Doctor Who as it does Beatles. I may end up posting it up here. You don't really need to read this to be able to read that one, but there is a spoilerish..not that much. It doesn't tell you the story but it says what happens in the end.

And also, reading this over, I have realized how much my writing style has changed. I wrote this months ago, but due to the lack of people reading it, I wasn't motivated to put it up. But here goes, anyway.

DISCLAIMER: I [sadly] DO NOT OWN DOCTOR WHO, THE DOCTOR, THE TARDIS, K-9, OR THE BEATLES.

Pick-up Lines and Tea

Paul sat on the couch, cigarette between his fore and middle fingers. He looked at George, who was looking at Ringo, who was looking at John, who was looking at Paul. It was a square of stares.

"Well, Macca?" John urged. "What do ya say?"

Paul took his gaze from George and gave it to John. "Are you sure it would be, err, safe?"

"As long as we have protection, then it sure will." Ringo budged in.

George looked between the other three band mates. "We're only gonna do it if all four of us agree that we'd like to do it. We only need you, McCartney."

Paul narrowed his eyes at George. "Well, Harrison, I would be willing to do it, but the problem is, I don't think I want all these fangirls coming back here all the time, expecting us to do it again."

John raised his eyebrows. "Now, Paulie, we can always announce it." He said in a light, baby voice. He then lowered it. "Come on, Paul."

The "it" or "thing" the Beatles were discussing was a simple "home-show". Their plan would be to have security block off parts of the street, and the Beatles would perform in the clear, fangirl-free space given to them. It was Lennon's idea.

However, it was extremely unlikely for Paul to even be thinking about the idea. Paul and John had the biggest egos one could imagine, and the were usually the first to agree on ideas.

Ideas they made up.

The fact that Paul was even thinking "no" to the idea was strange as well. You'd think that a man with a big ego would be all for it.

But no.

John was looking at Paul strangely. "Are you sick or something? I figured you would love the idea." He put his cigarette out in the ashtray and stood.

The other three stood as well from their comfortable couches. "Oh, come on, Paulie. Everything would be fine," said Ringo.

"Yeah," George came into the conversation. "It would make us more popular and unique... And you never know, Paul, you could get laid afterwards."

Paul smiled and the whole band laughed. "Alright, fine." He finally gave in, making his way to the door.

While everyone was grabbing their coats, John picked up his phone and dialed up their manager to tell him they had agreed to the idea.

The four then took their escape route out the back door, only to find the gate entrance clogged by fans. They pushed their way through the sea of screaming girls who were all trying to catch and touch them.

Ringo and George had straight, determined faces, while Paul was smiling back at John, who had his hands together out in front of him to act as a utensil to cut through the crowd. He was saying a series of high pitched "beeps" as he plied his way through. The girls went mad.

The Beatles piled themselves into their taxi, closing the door before they could even get off of each other. They straightened themselves out and looked out the windows, trying to see through the cloud of hands that were banging on the windows.

Paul giggled, loving the attention. He waved to some girls who screamed even louder when they realized his attention was directed to them above all the other girls.

John laughed. "A simple movement of a hand made by Paul McCartney could change a girl's life forever..."

"You know it," the bassist told him and smirked. He then smiled at the girls that walked and ran with the car as it began to crawl away.

George, their guitarist, was just staring blankly out the window. "I wonder if they realize that they can get hurt by trying to keep up with a moving vehicle," He said, his tone plain and showing the faintest bit of curiosity. His Liverpool accent was crisp.

Richard Starkey [Ringo Starr] looked at him. "What do they care? They'd probably be over excited about it. We'd soon see them at a meet and greet, where they would ask us to sign their cast that they had to get after our taxi ran over their foot." He said, lightly, his accent strong as well.

The great John Lennon looked over. "Aye, that is true, Ringo."

Paul was just waving to the girls, not paying attention to the conversation...not paying any of the attention that he was getting.

And so, the four were driven to another press conference, where, of course, they would have a sea of smelly, annoying people with flashing cameras, asking them questions about money and their personal lives. When they arrived, they had to dart straight in and avoid all the girls trying to get them.

In this world, the boys had a short tour around the UK before they started their non-stop tour for 2 years. But the boys were recently popular, and girls were really obsessed over them. They decided to call off touring until the girls calmed down a little. Once every few weeks they would perform live for a station on the radio or television. Those were the only shows fans could go to for that year.

Paul hated the shows. He always wanted to experience the joy and fun in playing music for people, but for him to get to a point where he couldn't even introduce a song, because the girls were screaming so loudly for simply hearing him talk, was ridiculous. It drove him mad.

Paul was very bitter-sweet about his fans. He loved all the attention and having fans, mostly because of his ego. But he sometimes hated them for not letting him say one sentence. He sometimes wondered if they could even hear the music over their screams...probably not.

The four, yet again, had trouble getting food at the press conference, because everyone was asking stupid, useless questions.

The food issue ticked George off. George was known for eating. He ate so much, but yet he never would get any bigger. George took advantage of his so-called "skill" and constantly ate snacks.

While George was off, trying to fetch some food, Ringo, their drummer, was trying his best to answer the questions that was asked of him without making up too many sarcastic or funny comments.

Meanwhile, in the world of Paul, reporters were asking him all about his not-so-recent-to-Paul-anymore break up with Jane. It was 1963, and Paul had dated Jane for about a year. They broke up earlier than the other universe. Paul never even got to propose to Jane. And in this universe, there was no such thing as a Linda Eastman. However, Paul had completely moved on by then, and was ready to go back to having a new girl stay over at his house ever night...what a slut. He answered their questions dramatically, over-exaggerating his answers.

John was just answering stupidly, even though Brian, the band's manager, had asked them to be serious just for that one conference.

Yeah, like that would happen.

When the press conference was over, the four headed over to a TV station to announce their home-show.

The news interviewer asked them a few questions on what their ideas were for the home-show.

Just another boring, old day in the life.

On their way home, Paul had his "bitch face" on.

"Hey, Paulie, what's up with the face?" Ringo asked him.

"Those bloody reporters...they won't stop asking me about Jane." He said, closing his eyes and resting his head against the window.

"Well, you looked like you had fun answering their questions," said their rhythm guitar and mouth organist...A.K.A. John.

"Yes, well, I'm getting to a point where my solution to not getting annoyed with answering their questions is getting annoying." He said. "One would think they'd catch on what my answer would be from the first reporter that asked the question..."

"I hear you," Said George.

The band's taxi finally rolled up to Paul's house. Paul stood and began to get out.

"Go have some tea, Macca, calm down, and think about how tomorrow night you could possibly get laid by a new woman in months." John winked at Paul.

Paul shook his head with the slightest chuckle and shut the door of the taxi. He waved lightly as the taxi drove off. He went in his house and plopped down on the couch. He called for Philip, his wonderful servant, to come to his aid.

Paul politely asked for a cup of tea, and stared at the wall. He actually did what John said. By the time he got his tea, he was already smiling at all the different pick-up lines he had thought of for the following night.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! :D