HI. Regular updates now, promise. Pinky promise, and I NEVER EVER break a pinky promise.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize.

Blackbird Singing in the Dead of Night

Chapter Nine: Hello Goodbye

~GEORGE~

'So, where were you last night, Macca?' asked John slyly. Stu, his girlfriend Abby and John's girlfriend Cynthia all snickered, but George hid his face behind his beer mug, hoping they wouldn't get to asking where he'd been last night. He wanted it to be a secret. He wasn't ashamed - no, it would definitely earn John and Paul's respect. Leah was not an easy bird to get. George got butterflies thinking about it: did this mean that they were together? Did she like him? And what was that stuff he'd seen at her house - those pictures! Maybe he could ask her now.

'Well, George?'

George's head snapped up. Everyone in the booth of the diner was staring at him. He blinked. 'Uh, sorry, what?'

'Well, haven't ya got something ter say ter Macca here?' John demanded. Paul's face was scarlet; he looked uncomfortable.

'Um. No?' George ventured.

'Macca just slept with yer girl!' Stu exploded. He was grinning and shaking his head. Abigail and Cynthia looked serious and disapproving, and slightly disgusted. John looked as though he found the whole situation hilarious.

'My girl?' asked George. 'Le -'

'Meg!' exclaimed John, before George had been heard.

George was surprised to find that he did not particularly mind. 'Meg's not my girl anymore,' he said mildly. 'We broke up, remember?'

'So, uh, we're alright then, Georgie boy?' asked Paul hopefully. George nodded nonchalantly. 'Just a word of advice though, get out while you can.'

The table exploded with laughter. Abigail and Cynthia in particular laughed loudly: they did not like Meg. 'But I thought you were upset about the break-up,' Abby managed after their laughter had subsided.

'Aye, I was, but come to think, she was pretty much the worst I could do,' said George thoughtfully.

'True, true. You could do better, Georgie boy,' said Stu, nodding. 'Like ... that girl.' He cocked his head towards a pretty brunette sitting in the next booth. George glanced at her. She was alright. He took another swallow of beer. 'Go on, Harri,' said Paul. 'Ask her to come to the gig tonight.'

George took another swallow of beer as though considering the matter, but really he was trying to figure out how to get out of it. 'Go on,' prompted Stu. 'We saw her here a coupla days ago and you thought she was hot then too.'

'I did?' George frowned.

'Yeah, ya did.'

The whole table was looking at him expectantly. He glanced around and to his surprise, Leah walked by the shop. His heart started hammering. 'I, uh, need a smoke,' he said hastily and slid out of the booth. John stuck his leg out and tripped George flat on his face. His cheeks burning, George scrambled up. Leah was gone. He hoped she hadn't seen.

'Leaving so soon?' said John innocently.

'But it wasn't soon enough for us to discover your lil' secret,' trilled Paul gleefully. 'Georgie boy's in love!'

The crowd was thin tonight.

Tuesday nights, George was beginning to realise, were not the best for gigs. He sighed heavily - tonight's soundsystem was especially crappy. He barely had one square foot of space in which to move. How was he supposed to perform here? But, he realised, being a musician would mean taking it all as it came. Till the fame hit, of course. That would come later.

Their audience comprised of eight men from the shipyard who'd drunk themselves silly by eight o'clock. There was also a stripper from the club across the road who looked about 40. George wondered if Leah was going to turn up, but that thought was squashed quickly when he saw a familiar face beaming at him from the meagre crowd. Meg. George may not have had any feelings left for her, but he was still pissed that she'd cheated on him - in his own bedroom too. He averted his eyes and concentrated on his guitar. Paul looked worried at the lack of energy on stage; John just looked resigned.

'Let's take a break, shall we?' suggested Paul. The band trooped off stage. George headed straight to the bar; he needed a heavy drink. He sat on the bar stool, downing his beer and pointedly not looking towards Meg and Paul sucking face next to him. 'Harrison,' said a stern voice. George found himself face-to-face with Pete. 'That beer,' he said, pointing to George's mug, 'is like drinking fucking apple juice. To get back over there,' he threw one thumb in the direction of the stage, 'and get this show going, you need this.' He thrust a drink into George's hands. George wasn't sure what exactly it was, but it sure got his blood pumping. All of them considerably more lighthearted with the alcohol buzzing in them as they went back onstage.

George was stumbling up the stairs to his apartment and suddenly he found himself in a tangled heap somewhere in the middle with his guitar on top of him. Paul and John just wriggled on the floor of the landing laughing at him. Stu, coming up the stairs, tripped on George and rolled down several flights. 'Help,' said George, but none of his tipsy bandmates could do more than fall about giggling.

'Need help?'

George could only see the toes of his saviour - with some pretty toe-rings on them and an anklet - but he could recognize the voice. 'Yes,' he said, but with his face in the carpet of the hallway it sounded like 'Muf.' Leah dragged him up by the shoulders and carefully leaned him against the wall. Stu, Pete, John and Paul - they were all sleeping in, a tradition they liked to follow after most gigs - traipsed into the apartment, but George hung back.

~LEAH~

George was standing outside the door. Leah looked into the apartment just to make sure there was no blockage in the doorway stopping him from going inside. She willed his tipsy feet to carry him in - Leah was not getting involved with this future rock star. Hadn't she read the story of his marriage with Pattie Boyd? How the fame had led him to religion, which led them apart? So why was George's cute playful-drunk smile making her feel like smiling too?

George tried to take a step forward and tripped tipsily - Leah quickly held him up for support. George grinned at her and wrapped his arms around her waist. 'Hello,' he said playfully. Leah groaned under his weight. 'Goodbye,' she mumbled, pushing him off her. George sat down on his butt, looking slightly hurt. His hurt expression faded to thoughtfulness as he surveyed Leah and smiled a little. Leah sighed, tapping one bare foot, a little impatient - she couldn't leave drunk George sitting out here. He'd never make it into the apartment. 'Come on,' she huffed, pulling him up. She half-carried, half-dragged George into the apartment and stopped in the middle, not sure which room was his. George's weight was almost toppling her over. 'Where's your room?' she asked, but George was too busy making shapes out of her hair.

So Leah led him to the sofa and laid him down on it. 'Where are you going?' asked George as she went into one of the bedrooms, where Paul and John were passed out on the same bed. She picked up one blanket and then put it around George. 'Leah,' hummed George happily. 'I like you.'

Leah giggled. His eyes were already shutting. She sighed - he looked so cute, she thought, hair all mussed, curled up under the blanket - she just wanted to crawl in with him and cuddle. But being involved with a Beatle?

'Night, George,' she said, kissing his forehead. Then she shut the door and went up to her own apartment.

Ohmygod Leah's such a pissoff. Like, who wouldn't cuddle with George? Even a drunk one? I would date a Beatle ANYDAY. Despite all the other problems. I shall knock some sense into Leah in the next few chapters. Or try at least, she is quite a stubborn duckie. Thanks for reading! :) -Jen.