A/N: Hello everyone! This is chapter 2 of Life Goes on Within You and Without You! Still looking for a better title, HELP. PM me or leave a review, I don't care which.

No reviews for the last chapter? :( I thought this was a semi-decent story.

The next morning, Sam rolled out of bed with a groan, casting a dirty look at her alarm clock for waking her up at such an ungodly hour. She usually didn't go into work until a few hours later, but the Beatles had decided to do an all-day studio run, starting early and running late. She was sure she'd be dead on her feet by the end of the day.

The wood floor was icy cold and Sam shoved her feet into her slippers as soon as possible. The slippers had been a christmas present from her mum when she moved out. They were a deep, forest green with a thick, fuzzy lining. And right then, they felt like heaven.

Sam staggered into the bathroom in a sleepy haze, wincing when the bright, fluorescent light burned mercilessly into her pupils. She took a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the cold light. Splashing a few handfuls of frigid water on her face sent her gasping and spluttering, but allowed her to feel somewhat more alert. Her hair, which fell in semi-curly, chestnut waves to the middle of her back, was feeling kind and had decided not to frizz into a lion's mane this morning. Thank God for small mercies, she thought drily, running a brush through it and pinning one side out of the way so it wouldn't tumble into her face too much during the day.

If there was one thing Sam could truly not stand, it was her uniform. The pants weren't so bad, as they were a pair of mildly fashionable tan slacks, and the blouse wasn't a bad style, but it was the color of the blouse. It was a horrid, pale green color that reminded her far too much of the first flat she had ever leased. It was the cheapest one she could find and by extension, it was also in the worst condition. It was the tangible redefinition of Murphy's law. Anything and everything that could possibly go wrong with it did go wrong. The ceiling leaked, the terrible green paint peeled in every imaginable place in the flat, the floor had either burnt orange carpet or splintery wood, every apparatus in the bathroom and kitchen leaked, the heat didn't work in the winter and conversely the air conditioning failed in the summer, and there were occasionally pests of every kind. Thus her dislike of the shade of green. Nevertheless, she pulled it on, stepped into her little black pumps, and wandered into the kitchen to hunt down a bite of breakfast.

Surprisingly, Liz was already up and about. She was seated at the kitchen table. Her ultra-curly black hair was pulled into a knot at the top of her head and she was wrapped in a deep red dressing gown that Sam had gotten her for christmas one year. "Morning," she said, blinking owlishly at Sam. "Your alarm sent me straight through the ceiling this morning," she informed her friend, looking a tad disgruntled.

"Has to be that loud," said Sam, sitting down and helping herself to a cup of tea and a crumpet. "I'll sleep right through it otherwise."

"Your snoring is pretty obnoxious too, thought it was a train at first," Liz smiled impishly.

"Oi!" Sam exclaimed, nearly choking on her tea. "I don't snore!"

"That was some proper imitation, then," Liz said, grinning and wiggling her eyebrows over the top of her cup. "Nearly took off the roof, you did. Got a few complaint calls." She ducked at the last second to avoid the roll that Sam threw at her. Peeking out from underneath the table she said, "Jesus, I was just kidding!" she gasped through her giggles.

"Remind me again what planet you're from?" Sam chuckled, getting up and wriggling into her coat.

"Same one as you," said Liz. "Planet Crazy!"

"Okay," Sam laughed. "I gotta go, bye Lizzie." She waved, stepping out into early morning London. She lived at 219 Baker Street and it thrilled her to know that one of her favorite book characters had been written to live near there in 1800's London. Sometimes, she tried to imagine what it would have been like to live back then.

The morning was freezing to say the least, but Sam decided to walk. The buses were her emergency go-to, and frankly, she hated cabs. It wasn't the cabbies, just the horrible, stifling smell of either normal or marijuana smoke. It made her nauseous.

She just barely made it in the door on time. Her pencil was in mid-descent to the paper for signing in when her boss came around the corner. He was a warm, friendly individual with a bit of a potbelly, thinning hair, and a big, toothy grin. He was sort of like a second father to Sam.

"Good morning, Sammy," he said, patting her shoulder. "Cutting it a bit fine, yes?"

"Sorry, Joe," she said. "I decided to walk today." He shook his head, laughing at her.

"Daydreaming, eh?" he nudged her side with his elbow. "It's okay, come into the kitchen. We have a load of pastries and coffee to make today!"

She shrugged her coat off, dropping it onto the rack before pulling a hairnet over her curls and tying an apron over her uniform.

"Morning, Sam!" called a few of her coworkers. Sam was well liked by most of her coworkers for the most part. Some got jealous that she was usually the one to bring things to the various people working at Apple Corp. Sam wasn't sure what there was to be jealous about. She never talked directly to them and often got a slight earful if the food or beverage wasn't to their liking. By far, her favorite person at Apple was Chris O'Dell, a secretary. She was always sweet and friendly to Sam.

Sam shoved her third tray of pastries into the oven and sighed, popping her knuckles to loosen them up. Her short reprieve was interrupted by a shout from the front of the kitchen.

"Oi, Sammy! Could you take these breakfast trays to Mal Evans and Neil Aspinall?" Joe called, pointing to them. Normally, the kitchen didn't do much more than the occasional snack, but they were working hard to meet a deadline and didn't have time to go out or order a takeaway.

"Sure, Joe. On my way," Sam replied, picking her way through the gleaming white countertops and burnished pots and pans. She took the trays in her hands, balancing them neatly before leaving the kitchen. Mal's office was close to the kitchen and it took her a matter of seconds to stand outside the oaken door with the plaque reading his name in gold lettering.

"Mr. Evans?" she said through the door, knocking gently.

"Come in!" his muffled reply sounded. She let herself in and set the tray down on the corner of his desk. He appeared to be roughly eyeball deep in paperwork. He looked up wearily from something he was signing. "Thanks, love," he said gratefully. "Been here an hour already and I've hardly made a dent."

"Good luck, sir," said Sam, leaving the room and closing the door gently. Everyone looked just about worn to the bone already and the day had barely begun. Neil's office was next. She tapped her fist against the door and opened it slowly. Almost immediately, the door crashed into a load of boxes, books, and papers, sending them in a wobbly tumble to the floor.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" Sam cried, setting the breakfast tray down quickly and bending down to pick up the mess she had created. Bull in a china shop, what an apt self-description, she thought in self-irritation.

Mr. Aspinall waved her down. "S'okay," he said, chuckling and rubbing the back of his head in a tired way. "Everything's easier to get at that way. Thanks for the breakfast." He moved to pick up the tray and suddenly stopped. "Oh bugger, I've forgotten to give the boys this," he said, clapping a hand to his forehead and picking up a stack of paper that looked identical to the numerous other ones in the room. "Could I trouble you to give this to them for me?" Sam took the papers and nodded. The studio was on her way back anyway. "Ta."

"You're welcome, sir," Sam said, turning to leave. "Good luck with everything." Mr. Aspinall gave her a comical little salute and Sam headed toward the studio.

She was immediately met by a ragged-looking Paul McCartney. "Morning, miss," he said, his eyes falling on the page in her hands. "Say, those aren't from Neil Aspinall, are they?" he inquired.

"Yeah," she nodded, handing them over. "I just brought him his breakfast and he asked me to bring this over to you."

"Thanks a bunch," he said. "This movie's gotta be done by three days before christmas and some of the kinks are still getting worked out."

"Hope all goes well," Sam said, waving and turning to leave. A few paces down the hallway, she bumped into someone familiar, a very sleepy-looking Ringo Starr. He yawned hugely, rumpling up the back of his hair.

"Morning, Samantha," he greeted her, shrugging out of his coat.

"Good morning," she said, sticking her hand out for a handshake. He took her hand, but a few seconds later seemed to recall something.

"I've still got your scarf!" he exclaimed, digging around in the pockets of his coat an pulling out a piece of white, tasseled fabric.

Sam gasped and took it. "Oh my gosh, thank you!" she grinned, tucking it into the pocket of her apron. "This is my favorite scarf, you are officially my savior."

Ringo shoved his hands into his pockets and smiled goofily. "Aw gawrsh, t'weren't nothin', marm," he drawled, bobbing around like an actor in a slapstick comedy.

She giggled. "I've got to get back to work, have a nice day, yeah?"

"Alright, you too love!" he called after her. Sam smiled to herself as she hurried back to the desk. For the remainder of her shift today, she was on telephone duty and that was never the most pleasant thing in the world. She might not mind it as much today, though.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Ringo dropped his coat onto the hook and wandered into the studio. Not much playing would happen that day, it was mostly just tweaking various aspects of what was to be their third movie.

"Ringo, get your arse in here!" John shouted good-naturedly. "We haven't got all day!"

"Don't get yer knickers in a bunch, Johnny boy, I'm coming," Ringo teased, plunking himself down in a chair. He was amazed at how much more at ease everyone seemed to be.

"Okay, enough joking around," said Paul, coming to sit down with a massive stack of paper in his hand. "We've got to get through all of this today." The words sounded like a death knell, drawing heartfelt groans from everyone in the group.

"I can feel my hand cramping up already," George said, wiggling his fingers in anticipation of the abuse to come.

"Well, let's get cracking," Ringo said, popping his knuckles. For several hours, they plowed through the paperwork needed for their movie, occasionally stopping to call their lawyer who was on holiday at that moment and not readily available. Most of it made sense to Ringo, but at times things slipped in one ear and went flying right back out the other. He wasn't too fussed about it, though. As far as he could tell, it didn't pertain to him.

Around one-thirty, stomachs started to rumble hungrily. "Christ, I'm starved," George said, tipping back in his chair and rubbing his stomach.

"Let's order something," Paul suggested. "Maybe that Indian place down the street? Don't worry Rings, we'll order something mild for you."

"Ta," Ringo said, meandering over to the drum set and mindlessly tapping around.

George, being the most familiar with the place, ordered and they settled in to wait.

Roughly twenty minutes later, a call came from the front desk. "Hello?" Paul answered. "Oh, alright then. Ta." He set the phone down. "Sounds like they're a bit tied up at the front desk at the moment. Who wants to get the food?"

"I'll do it," George volunteered, getting to his feet and stretching.

"Don't go eating it all on the way back!" John lectured his friend, grinning and dodging the smack aimed in his direction.

"Oh sod off, will you? I won't," George said, hand on the door handle. "Or at least, not all of it."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOooOoOo

"Yes ma'am, I understand that, but—" Sam was cut off for the four billionth time in five minutes by the angry young woman on the other end of the phone line. It seemed that someone had sold her a fake set of Beatles autographs.

"Ma'am, I'm very sorry, but Apple Corp. doesn't sell autographed photographs or anything autographed for that matter. We cannot be held responsible for the false photographs you bought," Sam said calmly, wishing the woman would just understand. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw George Harrison approaching the desk. The bag of Indian food on the counter that had been making her mouth water fro the past few minutes floated to the forefront of her mind. "Excuse me, could you please hold for a moment?" She set the phone down and picked up the bag to hand it to him.

"Thanks, miss," George said, taking the bag from her. "Good luck with that phone call." He winced in sympathy for her. Sam was touched by his concern.

"It's nothing, really," she assured him. "Just a disgruntled fan." She screwed a fake smile on her face and picked up the phone again. "Sorry about that, ma'am..." In the end, she would be sending her a coupon for a half-priced Beatles album. It had been an exhausting affair and Sam treated herself to a ten minute break in the lounge room.

"Sammy," Joe's voice boomed. She turned to see her boss coming toward her with a bag in his hand. "Someone dropped this off for you," he said, handing it to her and rubbing his eyes with one hand. He was obviously exhausted.

"Thanks," she said, patting his arm. "Wonder who this is from?" She opened the bag to find a turkey sandwich, crisps, and a bottle of orange soda. Immediately, she knew it was from Liz. She sure knows me, Sam thought, smiling to herself as she ate her lunch quickly. She knew she had to get back to work soon, because nobody liked being on front desk duty and the person filling in for her was sure to get irritated if she didn't show up exactly ten minutes later. She was going to be there for the rest of the day and knew that the calls would taper off a few hours from now. That was the reason she stocked paper at the desk. Nine times out of ten, the calls were from silly fans that were just desperate to talk to the Beatles. More often than not, they were a bit more than cross with Sam when she told them they couldn't speak to them.

Other times, famous people would call and give Sam the shock of her life. She was by now used to the Beatles popping in and out, but she was still starstruck by other celebrities. The first time Mick Jagger had called, she had nearly had a heart attack. He had sensed it and from what Sam could hear he had nearly died laughing.

"Hello?" Sam answered the phone at about eight that night.

"May I speak to George Harrison, please? This is Eric Clapton." Sam's eyes nearly popped out of her head.

"Um, sure," she said, attempting mightily not to stammer. "Hold please." She passed the call through and set the phone where it belonged again. She definitely needed to start getting used to things like that.

She turned back to the drawing she had been doing previous to the shocking call. It was a sketch of the Beatles circa 1965, one of her favorite years mostly because of Rubber Soul. In fact, she was attempting to recreate the album cover with her own ornamentations like names of songs blended into the background.

"That's a pretty gear drawing," a voice floated up behind her, procuring a yelp and a jump from Sam. She whirled around to see Ringo leaning on the desk. "We're calling it quits for the night, paperwork's done and we just need to send it to the broadcasting station."

"You scared me," Sam said shakily, pressing a hand to her chest. "Thanks, though. Better day today?" she asked, taking her apron off and putting her coat and scarf on.

"Much," Ringo said happily. "Just a bit long for my liking. How was yours?"

"Long and filled with cranky people on the phone, but not bad," she said, noticing that it had begun to snow outside.

"I gotta get going, have a good night!" Ringo said over his shoulder, starting to walk away. Turning back for just a moment he said, "You're a fab artist, y'know. Maybe you should draw me sometime," he joked.

"Maybe," Sam said, feeling her heart flutter a bit in her chest at the pearly white grin sent in her direction. She passed it off as a side effect of being loopy with exhaustion, but she would find out soon that it most certainly wasn't.

A/N: Fin! :) Review?