A/N: Happy New Year's Eve, everyone! :) So, I promised this chapter and the next one (which, with any luck at all will be up by tomorrow *crosses fingers*) by Christmas, but I'm only a week late, right? Think of it as a New Year's present. Except that it happens during Christmas. I realized I made a mistake in my timeline, though. This is set in 1967, and I said that John and Yoko married. They didn't get married until later though. Can we forget I said anything about that? I'll go back when I'm not drowning in homework and see if I can fix it up.

Anyhoo, enjoy!

Sam tripped into her flat, wiping the snow out of her eyes and yawning hugely. Midway home the snow had begun falling in earnest, flurrying around and making seeing difficult.

"You look dead," Liz said, getting up from her spot on Sam's couch and leading her friend to sit down. Sam gave the young woman a look that said, Thank you very much for your kind observation.

"Been on my feet all day," she mumbled, collapsing on the sofa. "The phone refused to stop ringing."

"Any new developments with Ringo?" Liz grinned, wiggling her eyebrows. Sam rolled her eyes, flapping a tired hand in the air and rolling over on the couch. "Piss off, Liz," she muttered into a pillow. "I didn't even see him today. They were in the studio doing paperwork for their movie." This wasn't entirely true, she had talked to him briefly, but she wanted to avoid being given the third degree by Liz. She loved her friend and hanging out with her, but she never, ever seemed to run out of questions, especially if they had anything to do with Sam's nonexistent love life.

"Okay, okay," Liz backed off. "Well, it's late and I'm knackered. Goodnight."

"Night, Lizzie," Sam said, stretching. She'd just close her eyes for a second...

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"Daddy missed you a whole lot, buddy," Ringo whispered, kissing his son's forehead gently. "Were you a good boy for mummy?" He looked up at his wife for the answer to his question.

"He was lovely, they both were," Mo assured him, kissing his forehead gently. "Love, you look dead on your feet, let me help you to bed once I put the baby down."

Ringo managed a tired smile. "Only if you come with me." Mo patted his arm gently and headed off to put their son in his crib.

Once upstairs, he kicked his shoes off with a groan and flopped down on the bed, throwing an arm over his face. He heard Mo come into the room carrying his pajamas. She sat down on the bed next to him. "I got your flannel pajamas for you."

He merely rolled over on his side. "I'm tempted to just sleep in me clothes," he mumbled, pressing his face into the all too comfortable mattress.

"I'm gonna go to sleep now, goodnight, Rich," Maureen kissed his cheek briefly and crawled under the covers. By the time Ringo had undressed and put his pajamas on, his wife was fast asleep. He sighed, rolling under the covers next to her and burrowing into his pillow. A few years ago, she would've waited up for him, helping him with his pajamas and giggling, whispering nonsense into his ear and kissing every available square inch of his face. Now, he was lucky if he got a kiss on the lips and an 'I love you'. She was increasingly uninvolved in their relationship and he knew that he had been as well.

It was far too late to be thinking about such things. Ringo allowed himself to be swept away on the tides of sleep.

The next morning, Ringo awoke to the delicious smells of breakfast and an empty bed, meaning that Mo had already gotten up and was cooking this morning. He ruffled a hand through his hair and wandered into their spacious kitchen, where a delicious vegetable omelet was awaiting him.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Mo laughed, coming away from the stove to give him a hug from behind and a kiss that Ringo caught with his own lips. "Did you sleep well?"

"Like a rock, love," Ringo said, digging into his breakfast. "This is fab," he commented through a bulging mouthful. She giggled, sitting down next to him and wrapping her ankle around his.

"You're welcome, figured you deserved a good breakfast after all that yesterday," she said, running her hand up and down his arm gently. "You remember how Peter Brown was thinking about throwing a costume party a few days before the airing of your new movie?" Ringo nodded around a large mouthful of eggs, encouraging her to go on. "Well, it's decided. It's definitely going to happen. What kind of costume pair should we do? I kind of like the idea of cowboy and Indian outfits. What do you think?"

Ringo swallowed and said, "Oh, I dunno. I'll wear anything, I s'pose." Maureen gave him a disparaging look that clearly bemoaned the apathy of men when it came to clothing.

He was spared from having to respond when Zak came tottering into the kitchen rubbing his eyes and a loud wail signified that Jason was now awake. Mo went to get the latter and Ringo scooped Zak up into his lap.

"Morning, pal, how'd you sleep?" he asked, hugging his still groggy son.

"Mornin', daddy," he mumbled, nuzzling into Ringo's chest. "Fine, I guess. I missed you lots."

"Missed you too, Zakky," Ringo said, ruffling the little boy's hair.

"Can I have some of your brekkist?" Zak asked, reaching for the fork. Ringo laughed at the mispronunciation and helped him get a bite from the plate to his mouth with little trouble.

Mo came into the room with Jason on her hip. "Ritchie, you have to be at the studio in a half hour," she called.

"Oh blimey, that's right," Ringo clapped a hand to his forehead and set Zak in the seat next to him. "Gotta go to work buddy, sorry," he said, dropping a kiss onto his small, tousled head. "Love you big!"

"Luv you too, daddy!" Zak called after him.

Ringo jumped into the nearest sort-of matching outfit, yanking his arms through the sleeves and hopping around the room in an attempt to pull his pants on. Sticking his feet in his shoes, he ran a perfunctory comb through his hair and scrubbed a toothbrush around his mouth quickly.

Dashing downstairs, Ringo snatched his coat with two fingers, kissed and hugged Mo, and kissed Jason's head.

"Love you all, bye!" he shouted, jumping into the car waiting for him and expelling a windy sigh as he slumped into the backseat. Invariably, he found himself thinking about the issues he and Mo still had to talk about. Dropping his head into his hands, he massaged his temples. Today was going to be a long day. He could tell.

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"Owwww," Sam groaned, rolling off the couch and rubbing her neck vigorously. She had meant to rest for a moment, but ended up sleeping all night. "Not my best moment," she muttered, getting to her feet and looking at the crumpled state of her uniform with despair.

"Good morning, sunshine," Liz said with a grin, leaning on her cane as she walked over to Sam. "Sleep well?" Her leg must be hurting her today. Most of the time, she hardly needed it.

"Until I woke up, yes," she said, stretching and wincing as a wave of cracks and pops went up her spine. "I'm gonna go iron my uniform, could you get me a cup of tea and a crumpet?"

"Only this once," Liz said, heading for the kitchen. "I'm a lot of things, but one thing I'm not is your housekeeper."

"Really, so that's not what I hired you for?" she quipped, going over to the ironing board. Slipping into her robe, she ran an iron quickly over her uniform and put it back on, savoring the warm cloth for a few moments.

Liz had a steaming cup of tea and a buttered crumpet waiting for her on the table when she finally emerged from the bedroom. "You do good work, Watson. I'm impressed."

Liz grinned, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Do I ever do anything else?" she asked. "Don't you dare answer that question, Samantha."

"Oh, fine," Sam said, taking a gulp of her hot tea and wriggling quickly into her coat. "Ruin my fun, why don't you?" She smirked, waving goodbye. "Bye, Liz. I'll call you on the extremely off-chance that I get a moment of peace."

Sam hurried to work, keeping her head down and focusing on not being late. She was going so quickly that she didn't see someone else entering the building at the same time as her. Colliding with the person, Sam fell against the wall, bringing the unknown man down with her in a tangled heap.

"Watch where you're—" they both said at the same time, until they recognized each other. Sam was staring into the surprised blue eyes of Ringo Starr, who was at an uncomfortably close distance to her at that moment. Their noses were centimeters from each other.

Ringo made a clumsy attempt to stand up and eventually ended up rolling over to the side and sitting next to her against the wall. "Sorry about that, Miss Samantha, my head is in other places this morning," he said, sheepishly smoothing the front of his hair down. Getting to his feet, he offered her his hand, which she took gratefully. "How are you today, other than the fact that I've just heartlessly knocked you to the ground?"

Sam laughed, getting to her feet and dusting herself off. "Oh, I'm fine today. Don't worry about it, it takes more than a bump to get me down. How are you today?"

"Well, other than a bit distracted, I'm alright." He glanced at his watch and shook his head sadly. "Looks like I've got to be in the studio five minutes ago. See you later perhaps, Miss Samantha?" he asked.

"Perhaps," Sam replied, making her way to her check-in station. "Oh, and Ringo?" she called at the last minute. He turned to look at her. She had no idea why she said what she said next, but it came tumbling out of her mouth anyway. "Call me Sam, won't you?"

If Sam thought she was going to have any time at all that day to call Liz and chat, she was horribly mistaken. All day, she was either baking, carrying trays of coffee or food everywhere in the building or answering the phone, which never seemed to stop ringing. Most of the time, it was an association of the Beatles or an up and coming artist that wanted to be passed through to the office that would get them a bundle of money to fund their latest project which was sure to be "the next big thing". If you asked Sam, she thought most of them were harebrained at most. But no one asked Sam. It was her job to answer the phone, pass the important calls on, and provide friendly customer service to the less pressing or fan-related ones. Opinion-giving wasn't in her job description.

Lunch was fleeting at best, a leftover sandwich and a gulp of water from a bubbler and she was back in front of the insistent phone, scribbling down notes until her hand cramped up and trying vainly to remain calm. At around six, she finished a long, unfriendly call from yet another disgruntled fan and slouched against the desk with her hands over her eyes. Today was even worse than the long day yesterday.

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Ringo's day in the studio was uneventful, but thankfully laid-back and calm. No one yelled, no one disagreed with anyone, it was basically a long, relaxed jam session.

"Ringo, toss a pen over here, will you?" Paul called, lounging in his seat and plucking absentmindedly at the strings of his bass. "Mine's run dry."

Ringo picked up a writing implement and threw it lazily over to the bassist, who thanked him. George, whose lanky form was far too big for his chair, sat up a little straighter and it was obvious that he had something on his mind. "You all remember that thing we went to in Wales with the Maharishi, right?"

"Yeah," John said, taking his granny glasses off and meticulously cleaning them.

"I was thinking that we could possibly go to India for awhile in the future," George said. "The Maharishi has a school for transcendental meditation there and I was thinking we could try it?"

John looked intrigued. "Maybe you've got something there, Geo. We've all been a little tightly wound lately and could use a little relaxation." He appeared to turn pensive. "Who knows? Maybe we'll get some answers while we're there, too."

George smiled approvingly. That was the kind of reaction he'd been looking for. "We probably will. Well, fellas, we've gotten an astonishingly little amount done today. Shall we call it a day?"

Paul finished scribbling something down in his ever-present notebook, shoved it into his coat pocket, and stood up. "Sounds good to me. Oh, before I forget again, Peter Brown decided that we're going to have that release party on Christmas eve. It's gonna be like a masquerade ball of sorts, with costumes and everything. A bunch of singers and such are coming."

"Yeah, Pattie's been trying to get me to dress up as a pirate," George said, running a hand through his hair slowly.

"I gotta get going, fellas," Ringo shrugged his coat on and turned his collar up. "I'll see you all on Monday, I think we all need a bit of a vacation after getting that album and movie together."

"Bye Rings, say hello to Maureen for us, okay?" said John. Ringo nodded and headed for the front door. He was almost there when something changed his mind about leaving. Sam was slumped against the side of the desk with her palms against her closed eyes. She looked absolutely run down.

He wandered quietly over to her and touched her shoulder. "Love, are you okay?"

Sam looked up slowly, blinking blearily. "Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Just a little tired."

"No offense meant, but you look terrible," Ringo said, stroking a few stray curls out of her face.

That got a dry chuckle out of her. "Thanks, Ringo," she said.

"I've got a bit of time before I need to be home. Can I treat you to a coffee and a scone or something?" he asked, suddenly a bit shy and hesitant for some reason.

"Sure," she said, a little blush coloring her cheeks and making her look even prettier than usual. "I guess that the tables have turned."

"My driver is out back, it'll be a bit faster and warmer than walking again." She smiled thankfully and pulled her coat around her shoulders, following Ringo into the car. The driver raised a silent eyebrow, but said nothing about the young woman getting into the car with his boss.

"Never been in a famous person's car before," she said, looking around at the plush seats and the various other additions with wide, wondering eyes.

Ringo chuckled. "It's not so different from a non-famous person's car, it's just who's been in it that's different." He could see that Zak had left a few of his toys in there and he'd accidentally left a few of Jason's things in there as well. "'Scuse the mess won't ya, little kids make cleanliness a near impossibility."

"I would bet," Sam giggled. "But I wouldn't know. Haven't got any kids, y'know."

"Well, I wouldn't think so," Ringo said with a smile. "With you not being married and all." A thought struck him. "But surely you've got a boyfriend?"

Sam shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Nope. I'm as single as single can be." Ringo was shocked. Surely a girl as pretty and sweet as her would have someone special in her life.

"Really? That surprises me! You don't have blokes falling at your feet all the time, then?" he asked.

"You're just as bad as my friend, Liz Watson," Sam flicked Ringo's arm. "She's simply convinced that I need a bloke in my life to 'complete' me or something."

"You seem pretty complete as is," Ringo remarked as they got out of the car and made their way into the café together. Sam suddenly became quite silent and Ringo worried he'd said the wrong thing.

Thankfully, there was a different waitress today and they got their coffee and blueberry scones ordered with little trouble. Ringo allowed silence to softly blanket the table before he spoke again. "What had you so overwhelmed today?"

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Sam stopped, coffee cup halfway to her mouth. "Just some irate fans and so-called up and coming artists that wanted big chunks of money to fund their endeavors," she said, huffing out a breathy sigh. "People can be so insistent sometimes."

Ringo nodded, chewing thoughtfully on a bite of his scone. "I get that, love. Insistent is a word that might be a bit too soft to describe some of the fans we encountered in our touring years. I was afraid for me life sometimes!" he exclaimed.

"Really?" Sam asked, intrigued.

"Oh, definitely. They'd just mob us. Sometimes they'd run the policemen that were holding them back straight over and come charging right at us."

"You never got hurt though, did you?" Ringo laughed, shaking his head no.

"We got a little jerked around, but as a rule no one ever got really hurt. Someone snipped a lock of me hair off once, though. Just walked straight up to me with a pair of scissors and cut a bit of it off!" he chuckled, ruffling the back of his hair for emphasis.

"That's crazy!" Sam said, giggling. "I mean, I like you fellas and all, but I really don't want a piece of your hair."

"Well, that's a relief," Ringo grinned. "Here I was, worrying that you had a shears in your purse, waiting for the opportunity to steal all of me precious hair."

Sam almost choked on her coffee laughing. She set down her cup and covered her mouth in an attempt to stifle her guffaws. "Are you trying to do me in, Mr. Starr?"

Ringo winked at her, taking a delicate bite of his scone. "Thought never crossed my mind, Miss McMillan."

For a half hour, they traded stories of moments of hilarity or mild insanity they participated in or watched occur. "...And that was how I nearly got thrown out of a special tour in Buckingham Palace. I told my friend that we weren't supposed to touch the statues, but he did and he almost knocked one of the nicest, oldest ones over. The tour guide was not pleased to say the least," Sam finished with a laugh. Her childhood friend, Ben Carlton, had been a bit of troublemaker and the statues looked perfect for touching to him, mostly because they had large signs stating that they must not be touched on them.

Ringo began to chuckle, standing up and putting his coat on. "Well, I've had a lovely time, but I think we'd both best be getting along. I'll give you a ride if you'd like."

Sam shook her head vehemently. "No, no," she said. "You don't need to go out of your way like that." She got up and put her scarf back on. "I can walk, it's not that far."

Now it was Ringo's turn to shake his head. "It's too cold, you'll freeze. It's not that much trouble, really."

"You know, I'm resisting in part because my friend Liz will never let me hear the end of it. Ever," Sam said with a smile.

"She won't know it's me, don't worry," Ringo replied. "I'm far too stealthy for her to tell it's me." To prove this point, he tiptoed exaggeratedly out of the café. Sam could only laugh and follow him into the car. He had won, this time anyway.

"You don't really act famous, you know," Sam remarked when they got into the car.

He looked at her questioningly. "How are famous people supposed to act?"

Sam blushed bright red. "Um, I dunno, really. More stuck-up? ... You just seem so down-to-earth all the time like being so famous doesn't really bother you."

He smiled. "A lot of people say that, but I feel as though I've changed quite a lot. But you're right; being famous doesn't bother me all that much," he said, fidgeting with the corner of his jacket as though there was a thought on the tip of his tongue. "Say, I was wondering if you'd like to come to our little party that we're having for the movie we're releasing? Not with me, necessarily, but would you like to come and bring the friend you were talking about? Think of it as a reward for all the tough work you've been doing."

Sam began to giggle. "Well, first of all, I don't think you'd want to see Liz within eyeshot of you lot. But, I'm not sure. I mean, it's a party for various celebrities, and I'm far from a celebrity," she said, playing with the ends of her hair.

"Nonsense, you're practically a celebrity in the office. People think you're the greatest," he said. "It's on Christmas eve in the ballroom at the hotel two doors down from Apple. It's a costume party."

Sam rolled her eyes. "The greatest? Oh, hardly. But you've given me no alternative other than to say yes. I'm not exactly sure I want to go, but I'm sure Liz will be ecstatic." The car pulled up and stopped in front of Sam's flat. She made to get out, but Ringo dashed around the back of the car and opened the door for her.

"My lady," he joked, grinning goofily. She slapped his arm.

"Thanks for the ride, Ringo," she said. "See you later."

"No problem," he said. Right as she was at the door, he called out, "Sam? Call me Rich or Ritchie, won't you?"

As soon as she got into the flat, she was assailed by a flailing Liz. "Was that Ringo Starr giving you a ride home?!"

Sam groaned, flopping down on the couch and kicking her shoes off. "He lied! He said he was far too sneaky for you to see him!" she laughed, fending off the pillow thrown at her head.

"No one is ever too sneaky to get past me, speaking of which, you've got news. Spill," she demanded, sitting down next to Sam and propping her chin up on her hands.

"I swear, you've got X-ray eyes," Sam sighed. "Well, Ringo offered that we come to a party they're throwing for their new movie—" her sentence was cut off by a barrage of excited questions.

"Did you say we? When is it? Who will be there? Is there a theme?" Liz asked. "Oh, sorry, I'm babbling, aren't I?" Sam nodded slowly. "This is just so exciting!"

"I know," Sam said, giving into the excitement for the first time. "It's going to be interesting, that's for sure. It's on Christmas eve and it's a costume party."

They spent the next few hours planning costumes and poring through magazines for inspiration. Sam ended up drawing what each of them were going to wear and they made plans to go shopping for the things they didn't own already.

A/N: Ta-da! Next chappie should be expected by tomorrow, I think. I hope. Anyway, expect a little more, shall we say, complexity in Sam and Ringo's relationship.