Sorry, guys, but this really isn't my best work. I like to try and make things humorous, because I KNOW how boring some chapter can be and then you just want them to end. This, I'm afraid, is going to be something along those lines. Except with the Beatles. So…less boring maybe? I don't know what I'm saying anymore. Okay! Now it's time for chapter fourteen!

I was happy. Skipping happy. And that was exactly what I was doing.

"A.J., you freak, stop that!" George called from behind, chuckling. That was exactly why I was so happy. It seemed that me and George were good again. I don't know why; I think the boys had a word to him about it, but he was talking to me again. Happily talking to me. Hence the skipping.

"No!" I called down the street. We were on our way home from the studio, and usually at this time of day the girls would be freaking out. But they had followed John, Paul, and Ringo, and it was only a matter of time before it got through their stupid minds that the youngest Beatle was absent. But until then, George was happy to accompany me on a 'walk'. Or a skip. Whichever you preferred.

"Get back here!" I turned around, stuck my tongue out at him, then broke out into a run, turning down a street that we didn't usually take on the way home. I was three houses down the block when I stopped dead, staring at the fourth. Rather, who was outside the fourth.

In this time, George caught up with me. "Hey!" he yelled, then stopped next to me, breathing heavily, and frowned. "What's wrong?"

Wordlessly, I pointed to the man that was tending to his garden just a couple feet away. He was humming to himself, apparently unaware of us. George cocked his head, trying to figure out who the man was.

"Wait…that's…"

"PAPA!" I screamed suddenly, my body turning back on. It was like a flash from the past-or rather, from the future. Doctor Robert Ryan, the man my mother had called father for all of her remembered life, looked up. A grin slowly slid onto his face.

"Ah, there's my girl," he drawled in that thick Irish accent. My mind clouded over with a mixture of happiness and confusion. Wasn't he supposed to be in America with Maggie Mae? Weren't they to be married? How did he know who I was if I wasn't even born yet?

I walked over to him, in a daze, letting George trail behind me silently. I didn't know what he was thinking because I couldn't see his face, but I could practically feel his distrust.

"What…I don't understand..." I was at a complete loss for words.

"I knew you'd find me sooner or later." He chuckled deeply. "Why don't you come inside and I'll explain some things."

I nodded slowly, then turned to George. He was, indeed, staring at Papa with narrowed eyes. "You can bring your friend along," Doctor Robert added, already peeling off his gloves and wiping off his trousers.

We strode quietly into the small brick house, not taking our eyes off the back of Papa's head. Now that I knew the truth-that John was my grandfather, not Robert-I saw signs of it everywhere. There were the physical traits; Papa had big, round, startlingly green eyes (unlike our narrow blue ones) and thin, light pink lips (VERY unlike our full, dark red ones). He walked with his feet perfectly straight, while both me and my mother (but not Maggie Mae) walked with our feet pointed outwards, sorta like a duck. And think about this logically, if both your parents don't have something that you have, where do you think you get it? Of course my mother wasn't stupid, but she wasn't naïve enough to just automatically assume that John Lennon was her real father if she shared something physical with him that no one else in her family had. I mean, come on. What were the chances of that?

However, there were also the personality things. I had always grown up believing that your personality was directly influenced by your parent, and little quirks that you may have were sent straight down from Mom and Dad. Take your sense of humor. The Gramma and Papa I knew were both happy-go-lucky people. They weren't sarcastic and temperamental like my mom. So where would she get that? C'mon, at this point, do you even have to ask? It was funny how it all kinda made sense. If it didn't, there was no way I would ever have believed George when he told me in the first place. But all the signs were there.

We sat at the table in the kitchen, Robert bustling around to make us our tea. When he sat down again, he had with him three scorching hot cups. I took mine gratefully, wanting something to calm the uneasy feeling that was welling in my stomach.

"So," Papa began, "I'm sure there are a few things you'd like to ask me, aren't there?"

I swallowed roughly, glancing at George. He was still glaring at Robert. "Um, I would say so."

He nodded, waving his hand and signaling me to ask away. "Okay. How do you know about me?"

Papa smiled gently. "The same way I was able to send the young men to get you."

I was about to say something when George interrupted. "Yeah, and we never DID get our money from that."

The doctor looked at him and said simply, "Oh, you will."

George knitted his thick brow together, but said nothing. He was probably pondering this the same way I was thinking about the answer to MY question. "So you're…a time traveler or something?"

George snorted incrediculously. But Papa answered, rather simply, "More or less."

We both turned to stare at him, me excitedly and hanging on his every word, George disbelievingly. "How does that work?" I wanted to know.

"Are you kidding me?" George hissed. "You don't really think he's telling the truth, do you A.J.?" They both stared at me, and I felt myself blushing.

"I…er...well…he's my grandfather! I always believe him." That was the truth wasn't it? I mean, ever since I was a little girl I just accepted that what Papa said was law. He was extremely smart, always wise, and thinking that he might lie or be wrong about something…that didn't sit right with me.

"No, actually he's not." I dropped my jaw, not quite believing that George had said that.

What surprised me most was that Papa just nodded along, as though this was the truest thing he had ever heard. What is that?

"But you practically raised me! How can you even go along with that?" I asked, addressing Robert.

He shrugged. "It's true."

"And you never told me. What is that?" I was getting kinda mad.

"Well, WE never told your mother either. So, rationally, why would we have told you, sweetheart?"

"Don't you sweetheart me, Papa." George chuckled. "Do you think that was easy for me to hear? I mean…John Lennon? Really? You would think that Gramma would want to tell everybody. But noooo."

He frowned. "You think she was proud of that? Would you be?"

I didn't know what to say. "So…uh…speaking of her, where is she?"

Papa just grinned cheerily. "Oh, she's off to the States. I'll be followin' her in a couple of weeks."

There was something nagging at me. "Why didn't you go with her right away?"

Papa's smile faded slightly, looking at me as though it were obvious. "Well, I had to stay here for you, of course."

"What do you mean?"

"Whenever you decide to go back home, I have to be here, don't I?"

George stood up suddenly, making the table shake and my raised cup of tea splash on my face. "Okay, that's it. Time to go."

I looked up at him questioningly. "Huh…?"

He grabbed my arm, tugged me up from my chair. Papa sat back watching the scene with a dull expression.

"But-wait! How will I know when it's really time to go?" I asked as I was pulled through the front door. George didn't even say anything, just continued to stalk out angrily.

"You'll know," Papa called to me, "when it's time, you'll know."

When we were half-way down the block, George released me, his hands shooting up and going through his hair agitatedly. I watched him, wondering what he was so fired up about.

"What is your problem?" I asked him, crossing my arms.

"MY problem? That guy is a…a…LUNATIC!" He shook his head exasperatedly, as though I was some silly little girl who didn't know any better.

"Hey! That's my grandpa!"

"Will you stop saying that? He is NOT! John is!"

"No, George. Actually, he's not." I thought this over. "Well, technically, yes. But I've grown up with him, and he's never been anything but sweet and caring and everything a grandfather SHOULD be to me. And John's…well, he's an asshole."

George stared blatantly at me, as though wondering how this could ever be true. "Well that's only because John doesn't know that he really was Jeanie's father. I mean…if someone told him, I'm sure he'd be nicer."

I snorted. "I'm not gonna be the one to tell him that. It's hardly any of my business."

"Actually," George corrected me, "it is every bit your business."

We looked at each other, and I could practically see the light bulb pop over his head. But before he could open his mouth, I was ready. "No," I said bluntly.

He gave me his best puppy dog face. "Please? Maggie Mae's gone, so it's not like he can actually do anything. And she'll never know he knows! And then-"

"George, if Maggie didn't want him to know, then he shouldn't know. He may be my grandfather…but she was my grandmother first, if that makes any sense."

George sighed, shrugging in defeat. "Whatever. We can talk about this later. Right now we need to get home."

The walk home was a quiet one, each of lost in our own thoughts. I didn't want John to know what he really was to me. Somehow I thought that that would only make things worse between us. No, I decided, it was MUCH better if he didn't know.

"Hey!" George called once we were inside.

There was a muffled response, and we found them all in the living room. Ringo had his sticks, Paul had his bass, and John was holding George's guitar. They looked up when we entered.

"Hey!" Ringo greeted cheerily. "We were just getting home when inspiration struck. We weren't sure when you two would be back." He raised his eyebrows suggestively at George. John laughed, but Paul didn't even look up, plucking something out on his instrument.

"What? Never mind that. Guess who we ran into?" George looked around at them all expectantly.

"Elvis?" John guessed.

"The Pope?" That was Paul.

"A.J.'s ti-" Ringo started to say, but Paul nudged him in his ribs. I shot Paul a grateful look. Even though I wasn't sure what Ringo was going to say, I really didn't need him making fun of me. That could be crippling at this point.

George pointed to Ringo. "Don't even go there." Then he addressed the room as a whole. "I officially met A.J.'s grandfather today."

"Meeting the family already?" John asked, earning a snicker from Ringo. George and I exchanged a glance. That was ironic, wasn't it?

"Don't you get it? He wants to send her back!"

The room was suddenly silent. I looked up at George. "He didn't say that..."

"He implied it."

He was staring at me, daring me to contradict him. "He said…that he was going to be there for me when I wanted to leave."

"Well, where could he possibly be going?" John inquired, raising his eyes up to mine. I blushed, not wanting to tell him the truth.

"To America." I didn't elaborate.

John nodded, his eyes distant. Paul frowned, thinking over what was said. "But…what if you don't ever want to go back?"

"Well, I have to go back sometime," I reasoned, thinking this was obvious. Apparently it wasn't so obvious.

All four of them stared at me blankly. Finally, Paul said, "Why?"

That was a little bit much. I mean…I HAD to go back, didn't I? It was absolutely necessary. If it wasn't, I would stay here with my happy little crush and my idols. "Life goes on! I mean, I have an entire life back home! I have a family and a house and…" Uh-oh. "And a sorta boyfriend."

That was something I certainly had thought about in a long time. I had been so caught up in this whole Beatles thing, I had forgotten my life back home. "I have two brothers," I mumbled, semi-aware that I was more talking to myself than to them. "Two little brothers, and they have to have SOMEONE to look up to. And I have my great-aunt Val living at my house that I have to take care of. And I have parents who'll freak out if I never come home. Hell, they're probably freaking out already!"

The three boys in sitting in front of me had their heads down, not meeting my eye. And George, I don't know. I would have to look up to see what he was thinking, and I didn't think I could quite manage that at this time.

"So when are you going then?" George asked. I could feel his eyes boring into the side of my head, but I promised myself I wouldn't look at him.

"I don't know. He told me I'd know, remember?" I still didn't look at George. I was afraid he'd be mad at me again. And I didn't want that.

It was quiet, then, "So, you never told us you had a boyfriend."

I stared at John unashamedly. "It never came up."

Ringo, who was sitting closest to me, reached over and flicked George's arm. "Don't worry Georgie Boy. It's obviously not that serious if it never came up."

Huh? What's that supposed to mean? I snuck a look at George, and he was looking just as confused as I felt. Still, I didn't want Ringo to know about him. He wasn't really all that important, I guess, and the way I was feeling for Ringo was WAY more than I had ever felt for him. And that wasn't saying much, as what I felt for Ringo was really just a small crush. Mostly.

"What was his name?" Paul asked, leaning forward and resting his chin on the top of his bass. If it were two months ago, when I first came here, I would have practically been swooning at the mere sight of him. But now it kinda made me laugh at how the girls worshipped him.

"Des," I answered, glad that we were moving on.

"Des?" he asked, a little bit incrediculously. "What kinda name is that?"

I sighed, shaking my head. "Des as in Desmond. You know…like in Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da?"

They all looked at me like I was crazy. "Oops…" I muttered.

"What the hell is that?" Ringo wanted to know. He was probably thinking it was some sort of cult or something.

"A song."

"By who?"

I looked around, a little bit uncomfortable. "Actually, it was something some Jamaican guy or something said, but then Paul or John or someone heard it and they liked it so-"

"And this Jamaican guy? Would that be this Des?" Ringo queried, raising one eyebrow.

"No, Des is my sorta boyfriend." I REALLY didn't want to talk about this. It was actually quite uncomfortable.

"No! God, you're so stupid guys, Des is her SORTA boyfriend," John mocked, putting on a fake American girl accent. Then he stopped. "What the fuck is a sorta boyfriend."

"You know…" I muttered. "He's sometimes my boyfriend, sometimes not." I looked off to the side awkwardly.

"That's ridiculous."

I narrowed my eyes at John, a little bit tired of this conversation. "Oh, you think so? Because if I recall correctly, you had a LOT of girls like that. Yeah, but you didn't call them SORTA girlfriends. Nah, you called them WIVES!"

And just like that, BAM! Conversation terminated. Because then John stood up, George and Paul backed off, and Ringo cowered where he sat, stuck in the middle of us. I really didn't want to go through this again with Ringo right there, because it wasn't very feminine of me to basically get into a fist fight with one of his best friends.

But before John could step toward me and retort, Ringo shot up, standing between us. "Will you two knock it off for just five seconds?"

"One…" I counted.

"Two…" John tallied.

"Three…"

"Four…"

"Five," we said at the same time.

"Um, that was my turn," I snapped, crossing my arms.

"Actually, because five is an odd number, and you got 1 and 3, and I got 2 and 4, then I think it was only fair that we SPLIT 5."

"Well, we're not splitting anything when you're yelling over me."

"Oh, that wasn't yelling. You wanna hear yelling?"

"STOP IT!"

We both looked at little Ringo (okay, from my vantage point, he wasn't exactly 'little'. But from almost everybody else's view, he was considered just as tiny as me…for a guy) in surprise. The thing was, Ringo wasn't usually the yeller. Sure, he was always the peacemaker. But usually me and John were the yellers, George was the hider, Paul was the runner, and Ringo was the talk-it-outer. And that was the way these things worked, and it always worked out well. But now Ringo was the yeller and it was throwing our whole balance off.

And it was also kinda turning me on.

"Now, John. I understand that you feel threatened by A.J." John opened his mouth to protest, but Ringo silenced him. "And A.J., I understand that you are frustrated by John." I rolled my eyes. That was an understatement. "But for the sake of me, George, and Paul, could you PLEASE just be civil with one another?"

We both regarded him differently. John was glaring, but I must have been looking at him with all the feelings that I've been bottling up in my chest pouring out of my eyes.

He turned to me first. "A.J., would you please, for me, stop fighting with Ringo?" He looked deeply into my eyes. God, what gorgeous eyes. They were crystal clear, the purest blue you've ever seen. I felt myself getting lost in them, drowning in their perfect waters. I subconsciously started leaning towards them, longing to fall into their magical pools. He cleared his throat.

"Yeah," I choked, blushing at the girly sound of my voice. From the corner of the room, I could see Paul gagging. Above Ringo, I could make out John's disgruntled face. He cocked his head as Ringo nodded sharply and turned to him.

"Sure," he said before Ringo could ask him what he asked me. "But I have one condition."

Oh, shit. This was not going to be good. "Okay…?"

He was barely holding back a chuckle. "You have to tell me what that was all about."

AHHHHH! SAVE ME PAUL! I looked over at him desperately, while Ringo looked between us confusedly. He was obviously wondering what in God's good name was going on. John was giving me this smug look, and I figured I had three choices. For one, I could admit it. I could drop to my knees and profess my undying love for the man that was standing before me. Alright, maybe 'undying love' was a little bit extreme. But you know. Second, I could play dumb. That had worked before, hadn't it? I searched my head to remember I time when this had ever helped me in life. Well, it had certainly worked for years with my brothers. But thinking about them made me homesick, so I moved on. My third option, I figured, was what I always did; run.

But I thought I'd change it up a little bit. And since I would NEVER do what I should, I decided to play dumb.

"What are you talking about, John?" I widened my eyes, hoping he would catch my drift.

He laughed coldly. "Are you kidding me? You looked like you were about to-"

"Okay!" Paul burst loudly, coming through for me. "I think that it's time for something to eat, because I sure am hungry."

Ringo nodded, then sped out of the room. John frowned. "Hey! You didn't answer me!"

"Oh, come on. Do I really need to?" I was the brightest red I think I've ever been, and that's saying something.

"Look at you!" he exclaimed wildly, pointing to my face. "Someone likes R-"

I clapped my hand over his mouth desperately. "No, John, don't! I'll do anything!"

"Wait…" George murmured. "A.J. likes-" But he was cut off by Paul, who had followed suit from me.

"This doesn't leave any of us." I looked them both squarely in the eye. "Is that understood?"

"How come you told Paul, but you didn't tell me?" George whined. I rolled my eyes.

"I didn't tell him anything." That was the truth, wasn't it? And Paul certainly hadn't told, so it was okay.

"I can't believe you like him!" John hissed. I shrugged.

"Why not?"

"Because…" He bit his lip, looking for a valid reason. "He has a really big nose."

I gasp. "Take that back!" So what if that's true? Noses are noses. You can't change that! Well, you can…but that wasn't something Ringo would ever do.

"No!" he barked defiantly.

Just then, the door to the living room opened and out comes Ringo, munching on an apple. "Didn't I just tell you two to stop fighting? NOW what is this about?"

I close my eyes, knowing what was about to come next. Because John Lennon, I know, LOVES to humiliate people. He thrives off the awkwardness. It's sick, really.

"Nothing," John said. I let out the breath I was holding. And that was the end of that.

Thank you oh kind Lord…and John.

AHHHHHHH! JOHN KNOWS! Actually, I SHOULD say that they all know…except for Ringo. And I wonder how that's gonna go, seeing as they're all WAY close and everything? Hmmmm…do you think John'll tell? I wonder. Because really, in my view, he's a pathetic excuse for a human being. And he's pretty damn heartless. Yeah, I know, I know. He's not actually living anymore. And when he died, he was actually not that bad of a person. But, guys, I'm not focusing on that. Right now I'm focusing on the fact that you all need to REVIEW!