A/N: Sooo ugh I don't know how to write this chapter! I should've planned this story before I started writing it but of course I didn't….:) let's see where this goes! I know as much about this story as you do! But this story is nooo where near done… just warning you!

Oh and I was just watching a video of the live 'Maybe I'm Amazed'… Paul is the only man who could ever make a mullet look sexy. No arguments.

Disclaimer: I don't own the beatles :'/

Chapter 7: We Can Work It Out

Aria's POV

I look up to see the face of the man who had bought me the hot chocolate and into those deep rich brown eyes with the slightest hint of green. Last time I looked clearly into those eyes, I remember seeing that crazy gleam of something that I had never seen in anyone's eyes before. And then I had run, as fast as I could, away from them. That was almost seven years ago. And now I am looking into them again.

He looks almost the same as he did when he was fifteen. Same hair, same baby face, same everything. Same eyes, same lips, same expression of confusion. But he looks older. More mature. More experienced in the ways of life. I can only hope that he is.

He clears his throat. "I already ordered your hot chocolate, if you don't mind." It is almost a whisper. I take a seat down across the table and am at a loss for what to do. Address the elephant in the room? Or ignore it? For once in my life, I decide to take the easy way out.

"So, um, I guess I'll just be asking you some questions about…" I trail off.

"About the band."

"Yes, that's right." I remember that morning after that night, when we had to hand in the paper. How I had cried so much that night while finishing that damned essay and writing both our names on the top. How I felt so scared sitting next to him for an hour, and how he had started to say something to me and I didn't even acknowledge him. But I'm not scared of him anymore. He can't do anything to me- I've come so far from that night.

I can't think of any questions to ask. What am I supposed to even say?

I already knew the answer to this one. "So, how did you find yourself in the band?"

A small smile appears on his face as he remembers the past. That smile used to be directed at me almost at me, when we talked to each other about things that I never really felt the need to share with anyone, like where we were going in life. But talking with him for all that time had really made a difference in realizing what I wanted to do. What I wanted to be. He had such a direct goal when we met: be a musician. And where was I? Nowhere. But as he read through all the pages and pages of rough draft that I had written, his only remark was, "Your writing was amazing". And then I knew what I wanted to be, and it's been my only since then.

"It was all John. I heard him and his skiffle group, the Quarrymen, playing locally, and I met him after that. We immediately got to talking about music, and it just took off from there. It was a dream come true, really."

I write senseless nothings down into my book, almost positive that I am writing in a made up language that only aliens could read.

"And what do you think of your fellow bandmates?"

"Ah, they're closer to me than my real brothers are, and that's sayin' something. George and I grew up together since we were little, Ringo's the wise one who still acts like he's sixteen, and he's always there to help me through everything. And John- well I can't really begin to explain him in the slightest. But he's a piece of work, that one." He finishes off with a small chuckle. Maybe this won't be as bad as I thought.

"And do you expect the band will make it big one day?"

"I really hope so. I know we can, just look it the crowds out here in Liverpool! I feel like we're getting closer, it's just that we need a recording contract. And if we manage to snag that, I don't know how far we'll go, but we're hoping it's far."

Not really thinking, I asked the next question that appeared on my list, one that I had asked every other one of the four and had gotten interesting and insightful answers. John had told me about the artists that he had grew up listening to, like Buddy Holly and Elvis, George had told me about the time when he finally mastered this immensely difficult guitar part, and Ringo reminisced about when he was given his first set of drums. Good information for the article.

Paul's POV

Well, this isn't as bad as I thought. But I need to find a way to talk to her- really talk to her. Not just about this article. About every thing that had happened. About where she went, and why she came back. About what was going on in her life now. And about if I ever, ever, had the smallest chance in getting her back. Then, she asks the next question. "So, what made you realize that you wanted to become a musician?" I blurt out the truth before I even think about filtering myself.

"You."

Well, I just fucking blew it, didn't I?

I see her eyes bulge out of their sockets. She really wasn't expecting that, wasn't she? After this entire interview of niceties and politeness, here we go. This is going to be one hell of a bumpy ride.

A hard, determined look cools over her shocked brown eyes and I can see her contemplating whether to run for the door right now. What am I supposed to do then? Not let her go, like I should've done that night instead of standing there holding my cheek, like I should've done when she exited out of Mrs. Cunningham's English classroom all those years ago?

"Paul."

It is a warning.

"Aria."

It is a defiance.

Aria slumps back in her chair, looking utterly defeated and like she just wants to get the thing she's been dreading for years over with. "Fine, talk! Go! You obviously made me walk all over this goddamn city late at night just because you have some to say. You obviously postponed one of the most important thing in my life just so that you could have your little apology session so that you won't have to feel bad and pity me anymore. You obviously haven't changed one bit since we were in ninth grade because all you care about is your schedule, and what's the best option for you. So go ahead! Please humor me and talk! I'm looking forward to what you have to say."

Silence. I was not expecting that. She didn't want me to talk. But she has it all wrong- all wrong. I just need to explain. I don't pity her, how could I? She's strong, independent, and is much more of a better person than I could ever be. And I of course I do feel bad, but I just need to explain. I need to try, at least.

"Aria, listen. That night, I don't know what I was thinking-"

"Well obviously you didn't know what you were thinking!"

"That's what I'm trying to say, Aria! Listen, I was so foolish and such an idiot back then. I thought, I thought you felt the same way! I really did, and I was just so hungover and out of my mind and I had been trying to fight my feelings off for a long time, and I really thought you felt the same way! And I didn't even know, I didn't even know something was wrong until you slapped me. Really. If I had heard you saying stop, if I had heard any of those things, I wouldn't have. I'm not that kind of person, Aria, and I never will be! What do I have to do to make you see that? No, I don't pity you, and why would I? I pity those people who can't stand up for themselves and do what they want, and you are not one of them, that's for sure. And of course I feel bad! I wouldn't be human if I didn't feel bad. But I'm not apologizing to you for the reasons you think I am. I'm not doing this just so that I don't have to feel bad about myself and so that I'll have a clean slate. I'm doing this because what I did was so wrong and for seven whole years I've remembered the way you slapped me and ran, and that tear you cried that day in English class after telling the teacher that I deserved as much of the grade as you did, and the way you sat there and you were just so afraid of me, it really just tore me in two."

I took a deep breath. I need a cigarette; my nerves are bouncing up and down the wall. "What, I'm just trying to say is that I'm sorry, Aria. I'm really sorry. And I know you aren't going to forgive me, and hell if I were you I wouldn't forgive me either, but if you're just listening, listening and understanding, that's all I need to know. I need you to understand that I'm just really sorry."

Aria is very quiet for a long time. Neither of us says anything, and I know that I cannot rush this. She stares off into the distance and her hot chocolate is left untouched. I feel a sudden impulse to push away the thick curly strand of hair that is falling over her face.

"What made you think that?"

What was she talking about? "Think what?"

"Think that I felt the same way." She was talking in almost a whisper.

I run my hand through my hair. How am I supposed to explain this? I should just come out and say what I thought, no matter how much of a git it made me out to be. "I don't know, Aria. Back then I was just so…full of myself. Every morning I'd get up and tell myself "I'm Paul McCartney". It took me three months to try and even talk to you after that first day, and when we were partners and spent all that time together, and you were always laughing and we were always telling each other things… I fell for you hard. And I was just so stupid to automatically assume you felt the same way. All the ever girls I had ever gone after before that had always gone after me first and…and I was just an idiot."

"I trusted you."

Trusted. What a difference two letters could make.

"And I'm sorry."

More silence. I really don't know what more to say. I am not making any of this off, she has to believe me. She just has to.

"Paul, I don't know what you expect me to say."

"Say you don't hate me."

Her eyes grew sad and she says, "Paul, I never hated you. I was hurt, and scared, and just confused, but I never hated you. It's just that this all happened- you and I became friends, you listened to me. And all of the things happening between my parents was just building up and I had no idea who to trust when you came along. But I felt like we were friends and that…that I don't know. I was stupid."

Were friends. I look at Aria across the small table, and all I want to do is give her a hug, and let her know that I still needed her in my life, in any way. Any way at all.

"Where'd you go? Where'd you go for all those years, Aria?"

"I went to live with my dad in America, after the divorce and all. My mum stayed here, but I didn't really want to. She remarried and is now living in Greece, anyways. What about your parents? How's your mum doing? She was always so nice to me whenever we were at your house."

I stiffen up, feeling emotion after emotion re-enter my mind after I so carefully tried to keep them locked up. I feel Aria's questioning gaze on me.

"She died from breast cancer about a year after you left," I say flatly.

Aria's mouth opens her mouth and I hear a sharp intake of breath. "Oh, Paul."

I'm glad she doesn't say that she's sorry. I've heard enough of that to last me forever. I check my watch and it reads eleven. "Look, let me walk you to your home, it's late and not the safest to walk by yourself in."

"That won't be necessary; I'll just take a cab. I do live quite a way from here." With that, she stands up and starts to leave, but I can't let her leave without knowing anything. Not again. I follow her out of the shop and into the crisp summer night. She stands with her back to me, attempting to hail a cab but failing.

"Aria."

She whips around quickly and looks at me.

"Look, I know this is too much to ask, but I've been waiting to see you again for almost seven years. I don't want to not know when the next time I'll be seeing you again is. We can't just keep running into each other every few years, can we? Can you just give me a chance to be your friend again? I promise that I will never hurt you like I did ever again. I just want you to be apart of my life."

She's going to run. I just know it. A cab pulls up in front of her. She is going to get into it and try to avoid me the rest of her life.

She thinks deeply for a few moments. When she finally speaks, I hold my breath as I hear if I possibly have any chance of ever making anything up to this girl.

"I think I'd like that." She sounds unsure of herself, but hell, she still said. I grin as she smiles softly at me.

And with that the taxi takes her away into the night.

A/N: So what do you guys think? Too cheesy? I sure think so! But we cant have the entire story being about Aria staying mad at Paul, can we? Please R&R, thanks for reading!