Hello! This will be a series of one shots inspired by songs by The Beatles. A way to unite my favorite band with my favorite ship.

Sometimes there will be a line from a song, or what it describes will happen, or it will just be a story to accompany a song.

I dreamed of many of these one shots (sometimes I dream productive things) therefore they will be little stories that I already love.

As always, sorry for my English (lately I am having more problems with the language, so if you see errors, I apologize)

Thanks for reading and commenting.

EIGHT DAYS A WEEK

She put on two drops of perfume, one on each side of her neck, and smiled at the mirror. Her chest bubbled since that morning, when she opened her eyes and knew, really knew, that everything was fine.

Timothy was still in the hospital, but nothing threatened him anymore, just the upcoming holidays where he will surely get bored at home doing physical therapy exercises. His health improved by the day, and his mood, too.

And she had left her self-imposed ostracism, and was closer to her former sisters. And the nurses, well, they had made her their favorite doll: new clothes, new hairstyles, makeup, and this perfume. The first allowed in years and it smelled delicious.

Everything was fine after the storm, everything except Nonnatus, but hope hung in the air, like the spring that was bringing an expected wedding.

So that day when she woke up, she was sure of all that. There were no guilt, no regrets. And she was in love.

So in love.

Unable to contain a smile, she looked at the watch on her wrist, and the smile lost a bit of color. It was early, it was not even nine in the morning, and there were at least eight hours to go. She would spend them occupying her hands with little things, but unable to occupy her mind with anything but Patrick.

She missed him so much, her anxiety and longing almost pained, but the pain was not like when she was in the sanitarium. That was a wound that healed, but this feeling was new, the result of her security and also her impatience. It did not hurt her, it just made her look at the clock, hoping the hours would go faster.

She would see him that afternoon, but it seemed like forever. Her chest, her stomach, everything about her jumped again in anticipation and biting her lower lip, she pushed the window curtain a bit back to look out at the street.

Outside, cars and bicycles, workers and housewives greeted each other, as a lazy sun illuminated the morning. It was an everyday thing, she saw it hundreds of times.

It was the natural landscape of Poplar, but that morning it seemed wonderful to her. People were smiling, bicycle bells sounded joyous, children were running and playing. She knew that everything was the same as always, but she also knew that that day, she saw the world with different eyes.

She was giving herself permission to be happy and feel in love. For the first time.

Her smile broadened, a little giggle escaped.

She reviewed what she would do that day and when she finished, she looked at her watch again, hoping that time had moved on, in a crazy way. But no. There were still eight hours to go, or maybe more because she could not be sure considering Patrick's job.

She frowned and stamped one foot, like a wayward child who cannot get what she wants. There was no other option but to wait, when she just wanted to see him, hug him and grin like a fool.

She never imagined that she would be in this situation. With a fiancée, looking out the window and waiting for the hours to pass to meet him.

She put her mind to imagine what she would do when she saw him: she would greet him, take his arm, cuddle, and inhale his signature cigarette scent. And she would tell him that she had spent that day missing him.

She shook her head. No, she would not say such a thing. It sounded silly to say something like that. Instead, she would ask him for a cigarette. She still did not dare to do that: ask for things. But she would try. She would listen to what he told about his day, they would go together to see Timothy, and then they would chat a little more and then say goodbye.

She shook her head again. It was such a short time, just a couple of hours. Too much waiting, for later, just having that little moment together.

She sighed, but tried to feel hopeful. All of this would be over soon. She would be his wife in a few weeks and Patrick would continue his crazy work schedule, but at least they would be in the same house, have dinner together, and she could sleep and wake up with him.

Shelagh felt her blush at the thought of that, nerves and fear curling up. Just as she did not dare to ask for cigarettes, she did not ask for kisses, or any other kind of intimacy. She choked just thinking of the word and it made her angry.

There were a few weeks to go and she just settled for the chaste little kiss that Patrick gave her when he said goodbye every night, even when she was dying to kiss him all the time.

She looked out the window again, suddenly the joy she saw from there vanished. It seemed like a normal weekday morning, with the sellers fighting, the noise of the horns and the screams of mothers scolding their children. Her eyes no longer saw everything with the filter of happiness.

She looked at the watch. Seven hours and twenty minutes to go.

She rested her forehead on the cold glass, and with her sigh, she blurred it. With the tip of one finger, she drew a heart that soon faded.

An idea crossed her mind, and she straightened.

Running her hands up her skirt, she turned and left the room. In the living room, her landlady looked at her in surprise when she saw her go to the phone.

It barely took two rings for Patrick to answer and when she heard him, her whole world was bright again. However, he seemed concerned.

"Shelagh is there something wrong? Are you feeling good?"

She was going to say yes, and that he did not care about her call, but the wicked and unknown side of her was faster.

"Patrick I'm not feeling well, could you come here?"

"In a minute I'll be there!"

She felt guilty. He was going to leave urgent things for a lie from her. The first lie.

Her heart began to feel heavy, and she was about to call again to tell him that everything was solved and that he could continue with his day.

But she did not. She stared out the living room window again, her impatient fingers tapping on the glass, punctuating the seconds.

Until she saw the car turning the corner and she simply opened the door, ran into the street and with a jump she threw herself into the surprised arms of Patrick, who had just got out of the car.

She pressed against his neck, smiling, knowing she had done the right thing.

"Shelagh?" his voice was concerned, but his arms were wrapped tightly around her waist. He set her down gently, and Shelagh pulled back a little to get a better look at him. She immediately felt guilt again for her outburst.

"Sorry. I lied to you. I was feeling a bit bad, but it's because...I missed you so much," she lowered her eyes and shook her head, "I'm sorry that was very silly."

Patrick loosened his arms around her, but he did not pull away from her.

"It wasn't silly at all, it was an excellent idea. Shelagh, look at me."

Reluctantly, she barely raised her eyes. She saw him with that half smile that always destroyed her balance.

"I also needed to see you. Waiting until the afternoon was feeling like torture."

Shelagh felt relieved and dizzy from everything. She smiled and hugged him again, burying her head against his chest. She could hear the noise from the street around, but she did not care if someone saw them or commented on something.

"I'm very happy," she whispered, in a voice so small that it was a statement more to herself than to him. But Patrick heard her, and he kissed her hair.

"It makes me happy that you are happy."

Shelagh pulled away, and looked at him carefully. Then she brought her hands to his neck, and stood on tiptoe. This time she would dare, now she knew that she could take initiatives on her own, and she really wanted to kiss him, in front of all of Poplar.

But she stopped midway. Silly words crossed her mind, but it was the exact description of what was happening to her with him and not saying it seemed unfair.

"Patrick, you know? If the week had eight days, I would miss you those eight. I love you every day, you're always on my mind, and ain't got nothing but love for you. Eight days a week is not enough to show you how much I care. I love you. I do it all the time and I need you."

It was the first time she had said it openly: "I love you." "I need you." "I Miss you."

She did not feel foolish for doing it. And if that morning when she woke up she was happy, now she was even more so.

"Oh Shelagh, darling, you are wonderful," he kissed her gently, and barely moving away from hers lips he whispered, "And I love you too, I need you, I miss you. And my life will never be enough to prove it to you."

"Hold me."

Of course he did and she closed her eyes, feeling calm and protected. She then she heard him say:

"Since you took me out of work, are we going to walk around? I only have… "he glanced at his watch, "just a bloody hour. Sorry, it won't be enough for..."

"Yes," she interrupted, "It's not enough, but I want to spend the bloody hour with you."

Patrick laughed and offered his arm for her. He told her to find a coat, the morning was cold, but she refused, and just laid her head on his arm and smiled, smiled, and smiled.