A/N: Read, review and ENJOY! :)
She continued to play until the Sun sank below the horizon.
The boys, growing weary of sitting still and doing nothing, had been outside to have a proper mud-fight, and had used the garden hose to clean off before returning upstairs. They'd then started to jam in the bathroom, where she wouldn't be bothered by them. George had stolen her guitar, and Ringo used spoons to maintain a steady beat on the bathtub taps.
After they'd spent a few hours making music, they'd made themselves a rudimentary dinner, and ate on the mattresses, flicking the television onto the news.
Fascinated by what was happening in the world fifty years after the last news broadcast they'd seen, they watched rapt, as terrorist bombings, political scandals and climate change doom flickered across the screen. In colour.
"Is there anything that doesn't eradicate your faith in humanity?" Hayley asked, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to George, and stealing some of his dinner.
They looked up in surprise, having not noticed the sudden silence emanating from the room across the hallway.
They hadn't turned on the lights, so they only saw her by the flickering light of the small screen. It shimmered across her subdued features, and she blinked quickly to get the sudden light out of her eyes.
"You know, I once had a friend-" she began
"A likely story!" John interrupted, more out of a reflex of his funny bone than an actual need to say something. Paul whacked him.
"-who believed in 'voluntary extinction'. He vowed to never have kids. Said the human race didn't deserve to continue."
"Voluntary extinction, ay? Sounds pretty gloomy to me," George said, glad she seemed back to normal. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Paul get up and go into the kitchen.
"Tell me about it. I suggested he throw himself out a window, but it didn't go down well." She stared at the small television screen with a straight face. Ringo, John and George followed her example, and didn't say a word.
"Oh, come on! That was funny!" she exclaimed suddenly, throwing her arms out in exasperation. They were being way too serious. "Wait, no – that was pun-ny!"
Ringo snorted with laughter, and turned to her with a wide smile. "I like you, Hayley. You make even me look funny." He had tomato sauce smeared on his chin, but didn't seem to notice.
John rolled his eyes. "Ringo, you're actually quite a funny guy. I think it's yer nose." He grinned goofily and tapped said elongated extremity. "And Hayley, my sense of humour just shrivelled up and died, it was so embarrassed at yer pun."
"Show me a piano falling down a mine shaft, and I'll show you A-flat minor."
"Oh no, you didn't!"
"I used to have a fear of hurdles, but I got over it."
"George, pass me that pillow, would you?"
"A grenade thrown into a kitchen in France would result in Linoleum Blown-apart. The man who survived mustard gas and pepper spray is now a seasoned veteran."
John held the pillow threateningly, poised to strike. "This is your last chance."
"My last lance? My past romance? My fast dance?"
"That's it." He lunged at her, and George and Ringo quickly grabbed all the food out of harm's way. He started to wallop her with the pillow, as she writhed around underneath him and tried to escape. She probably could've succeeded, if her laughter wasn't sapping her strength.
"Promise you won't do anymore!"
"Flom-is you bon't goo danny-floor!"
He snorted. "That doesn't even make sense!"
"Shloop bumble boop-doop."
"What, ya mad bird?"
"Herp derp herpy derp."
They both laughed, and she wrestled the pillow off him. He rolled over, still laughing, and lay back on the mattress. He was happy; actually, sincerely happy. And he didn't really know why.
Her laughter died out, and she sat up, George and Ringo giving her amused looks. She turned, and looked down at John, who still had a smile lingering on his handsome, pale face. He caught her gaze, and his smile blossomed into a fully-fledged grin. The top two buttons on his shirt were undone, and his sleeves were rolled up, giving him a casual, semi-formal look, as though the dinner party had ended a while ago, and now the fun actually started. It was highly alluring.
George smiled at the two of them. They seemed like brother and sister, bickering and play-fighting. He finished his meal, which had been picked apart by the rosy-cheeked girl, and turned back to the television set.
Ringo, realising his dinner had dripped down his chin, hastily smeared it on the back of his hand, hoping no one had noticed. Damn. He thought he'd gotten away with it, when John stared pointedly at his shirt, and he looked down to see bright red stains soaking into the fifty-year-old fabric. Double damn.
Paul came a short way out of the kitchen, and leant against the doorframe. "Would you like something to eat, young madam? I do believe you haven't had anything all day."
She couldn't believe he was being so nice – she'd always been under the impression that Paul was the egocentric narcissist of the group. She realised that she was in fact rather hungry, and looked up at him gratefully. "Make me a sammich, woman!"
John chuckled, as Ringo rubbed at the stains in his shirt desperately, and George stared transfixed at the television. "Yeah, ya silly bird. Go back into the kitchen, and don't you dare come out until you've finished making a . . . what was it, Hales?"
"Sammich! Sammich sammich sammich!" She pounded the ground with her fists, and pouted like an insolent toddler. John laughed quietly, and Paul smirked.
"Well, if you insist. . ."
"Sammich!"
"Of course, I'd just finished cooking you some bangers 'n' mash, like wha' we had. I thought you liked it, seeing as how you started wolfing down George's." Paul cocked an eyebrow, knowing he'd won.
She squealed, leapt up, and jumped on him, crushing him in a bear hug. "Bangers 'n' mash sammich!"
He hugged her back. She seemed hyperactive this evening, and it was highly entertaining. He started to blush, as she continued to squeeze him tightly, and looked nervously over to John. To his surprise, the mop-headed songwriter wasn't even paying attention – he was laughing at Ringo's misfortune with the sauce stains.
He gave her a last squeeze, and pulled away. "Wanna help me make the 'sammich'?"
She grinned at him, combing her fringe smooth with her long, pale fingers. He realised they were distinctly pianist's fingers – he could almost see the sinew and muscle beneath the skin, and pictured them gliding over the keyboard effortlessly.
"Sure. You'll probably stuff it up if you're left to do it on your own."
"Hey!" he cried in mock insult. "The others haven't complained about my cooking!"
"Yeah, well, they've recently time-travelled. It's almost certainly played havoc with their tastebuds."
She waltzed into the kitchen, and he leant against the counter as she began to assemble an Australian-style sausage-sandwich. "So, what did your mother say?" The others heard his question, and subtly muted the television, straining their ears to hear her reply.
Hayley didn't falter – she was feeling much more able to deal with everything now. "She said that he has a brain tumour, and it's serious. He's more likely to die than survive, but they started his chemo a few days ago, and are being quite optimistic about it all. He's a healthy, resilient young man with access to some of the best medical treatment in the world, so his chances are looking reasonably good, all things considered."
She slathered two pieces of white bread with butter, and smothered them in tomato sauce. She then smeared on a layer of mashed potato, and it turned pink when it mixed with the sauce. She then cut the sausages up into little chunks, and pressed them into the thick, potato coating. To top it off, she sprinkled some grated cheese on top, and pressed the two halves together. She cut the monstrous sandwich in half, and slid it off the chopping board and onto a plate.
Paul looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. "No wonder you need good medical facilities where you come from, if this is how you eat."
She ignored him, and smacked her lips. "This is the tastiest thing ever. Hayden and I invented it when we were little, and mum was too busy feeding Leo to supervise our eating habits properly. We introduced the Hay Hay sandwich to him when Alex was born, and then we did the same to Alex when little, wittle Will was born. It's the special thing all five of us make at barbecues to disgust our grandparents."
She carried it over to the dining table, and sat down, wedged against the wall. Paul turned the lights on for her, so she could see what she was shovelling into her gob. She started to munch on her dinner, and Ringo, George, John and Paul watched in horror.
"That's disgustin'," George muttered.
"Don't you have a gag reflex?" Ringo asked naively, eliciting amused looks from the others. John waggled his eyebrows, and George clamped a hand over his mouth before he could say something too risqué. Hayley chuckled through her mouthful, and shook her head.
"When I was in high school, my friends and I taught ourselves how to suppress our gag reflexes. For a laugh, you know," she explained, feeling stupid.
"Has it ever come in handy?" Paul asked, channelling John's pent-up dirtiness.
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, many times. I suck dicks all the time, and having no gag reflex has made me quite popular among London's hookers."
George looked at her wide-eyed, and Ringo's jaw dropped. Paul's mouth twitched up in a small smile, and John's mind started imagining a variety of situation where her talent would be useful, using her comment as inspiration.
"Cor, love, I think you've just corrupted little Georgie here," Paul said, ruffling the thin lad's dark brown hair. "He's broke, he is."
"If he's broke, how's he gonna pay me for last night?"
George blushed, and John ridiculed him gleefully.
She finished her meal, as the news continued, and the boys collapsed on the floor. It sure filled her up. Once she was done, she sighed happily, and dumped her plate in the sink, where Paul had started to wash the dishes, but given up. She came back to find that the news had finished, and the boys looked at her expectantly.
"What is it? Do I look like Sauce-Boy?"
John patted the spot on the mattress next to him, and Paul asked her, "Well, what do you wanna do now?"
"Yeah, it's up to you." Ringo smiled at her, and her eyes drifted down to his shirt.
"Ringo, d'ya want me to pop that in the washing machine? It's no trouble."
He smiled sheepishly. "That'd be marvellous, love." He quickly stripped it off, and handed it to her. She had to admit, while Paul definitely won the naked chest competition, Ringo was in no way unattractive. She'd never really noticed – she'd probably just been distracted by the others.
"Ooh, Ringo, you're so manly," John crooned, draping himself over the semi-naked drummer, and running a hand along his biceps. Ringo jokingly held his arm up and flexed. John squealed in a falsetto voice, and pretended to faint onto his lap.
"One day, your fans will actually be like that," Hayley said, collecting various items of clothing from around the room which also looked like they needed a wash.
"What – fainting over us?" Paul asked, intrigued.
"No – gay." She stood in front of the TV with her hands on her hips. "Does anyone have anything I can wash? Last chance!"
John looked up at Ringo from his lap, then over to Paul, who looked to George, a smirk playing with the corners of his mouth. Suddenly, as if on some silent signal, the three still with shirts immediately began unbuttoning them, and tossed them over to her. All four of them then pulled off their trousers, and sat back down in their underwear – checked boxers, for all of them.
She stared at them in shock, her glazed eyes drifting over their exposed frames as their discarded clothing dropped to the ground from where it had been tossed onto her. Paul and John were more muscular, while George and Ringo were lean, though still with defined muscles. She had to be dreaming, that was it. Maybe she was still passed out drunk. Or maybe she'd jumped off the balcony in delirious grief.
They acted as though it was perfectly normal, and George returned to reading his book as the other three chatted. Ringo pulled out a deck of cards, and they began to play, while she remained standing there, perving on them.
Ringo, while cutting the deck, looked up at her. "Hayley, you know you feel like a sister, or something, yeah?"
"You're one of us now," Paul said, smiling sweetly, as John surreptitiously peeked at his hand, and stole an ace.
"And to be one of us, you have to realise that we're the same with or without shirts." George looked up from his book, and grinned crookedly at her. "Or pants."
She grinned back. "Hey, I'm not complaining, am I?" She forced herself to look away, and marched into her bedroom to gather things to add to the large laundry pile in her arms.
While she was gone, the boys made sure their decision to strip didn't backfire.
"Suck it in a bit, John. You're bordering on-" Ringo blew air into his cheeks, imitating a goldfish.
"Like you can talk, Starkey. I have just one piece of advice for you, ya drumming baboon – permanently flex your muscles. It's the only way she'll ever be able to see them." John pretended to look at the drummer's muscles through a magnifying glass.
"Lads, do me knees look rather knobbly, or am I just imagining it?" George ran a hand over his thin legs nervously.
"George, they look fine, but pass me that pillow, will you? My nipples are embarrassing," Paul admitted, looking down ashamedly.
John adopted a fake look of sympathy. "Aww, poor Macca's nip-nip's look funny. We all told you not to breastfeed, didn't we?"
Ringo laughed. "After that, there's no going back, Mrs. Mac. Say goodbye to normal nipples forever!"
John approached the left-handed boy, and eyed him mischievously. "Of course, I'm sure a good shock will make them better."
"Whaddya mean?" Paul asked, dread pooling in the bottom of his stomach. "You don't mean- no, surely not."
"Nipple cripple!" Ringo cried, and he and John attacked Paul, clawing at his nipples and twisting them painfully.
Fate chose that moment for Hayley to re-enter the room. She saw John and Ringo, sitting on top of Paul with their hands on his nipples, and looked at them oddly for a moment. She then shook her head to dispel any bizarre thoughts, and carried a large white plastic clothes basket, full of all the laundry she'd stumbled across, to the front door, and left the apartment, to visit the Jameson's downstairs, and their open-door laundry service.
"Great one, guys, now she thinks we're all boning, or something," said Paul with disgust, easily throwing them off him, and sitting up.
There was an awkward silence, which John decided to break. "Your nipples are fine, by the way. Quite firm and perky."
George and Ringo snorted, and Paul glared at his oldest friend. "You're a swine, Lennon. A real swine."
John grinned a toothy, self-satisfied grin at the red-faced boy, and grunted like a pig. Paul rolled his eyes, and told Ringo to start dealing again another round, before they started to kill each other. George curled up on his side, and continued to read, becoming absorbed in the fascinating story Hayley had recommended.
Eventually, Hayley returned, and came in smelling of laundry powder and bleach. "It'll be another hour or so. But they promised to bung it straight in the dryer, so it's more like two hours until everything is ready. What do you wanna do til then? Are you happy to continue what you're doing?"
John looked down at his hand, then up at her. "No, let's do something else. Racial lynching!"
"And the rest of you? Surely his isn't the only suggestion."
George ignored her, and continued to read.
"Harrison over there will probably read that until he runs out of book. That's what he's like. You should never have given it to him in the first place, ya silly bird," Paul teased, nonchalantly crossing his arms over his nipples.
Ringo smiled up at her. "We could do something else, if you want."
"Well, there is a movie I wanna watch."
"Well good! Then that's what we'll do." Ringo rubbed his hands together, and started to collect up all the playing cards.
"But . . . it may contain several spoiler-like moments." Hayley confessed, wringing her hands.
"Stuff that!"Paul exclaimed, throwing caution to the wind. "If it's what you want to do, then we'll just promise to not use our new knowledge in any time-illegal ways."
She thought it over, as John and Ringo fought over the last few cards, which John was trying to hide in his boxers. "Okay, I guess if you all promise, then it's not that bad."
They all agreed, and she put on Hayden's favourite movie – The Blues Brothers. They watched in relative awe, as she sang along, and occasionally got up and danced. They thoroughly enjoyed it, and spent a vast majority of the next two hours laughing.
Once it finished, no one had enough energy to get up and remove the disk. The lights had been turned out once more, and the dark light from the television's standby screen filled the room with eerie light and peculiar shadows. They lay back on the mattresses in a circle, their heads nearly all touching. They began to talk.
"Hales, are we still alive today, in your world?" George said, turning his head to the side to face her.
She took a while to answer. This was dangerous territory. "The last survivor passed away three months ago. Other than that, my lips are sealed."
They were silent for a while as they digested this fact. None of them, it would seem, would pass eighty.
"How do I die?" John asked, and she pretended to not have heard him. Instead, her hand sought his, and, to his surprise, she entwined their fingers.
The thought of his death brought tears to her eyes. She blinked quickly to get rid of them, and wished she could have told him how to stay safe. But she had a strong inkling that it was very, very against the rules.
"How do I die, Hayley?" George asked quietly, not sure if he even wanted to know the answer.
As with John, she went to hold his hand, and her heart broke as she imagined how useless throwing out his cigarettes would be. She wanted to tape his mouth shut, and lock him in a padded cell.
"Wha' bout me, Hales?" Paul enquired, and was silenced when she affectionately leant her head against his, feeling much the same as with the other two.
"And me?" Ringo asked, wondering why the others weren't pressuring her for an actual answer. He didn't see how she had answered them.
She thought for a moment – she was running out of hands and heads. She ended up pulling her head away from Paul's, and kissed Ringo on the cheek, pressing her lips against his face softly, yet firmly. She then rested her head where it was before, and her russet locks mingled with Paul's dark brown ones.
They lay in the peaceful, dimly lit room for a few more minutes. She felt as though she was mourning them, and they didn't feel the need to break the sombre silence.
Eventually, though, John did.
"So, tomorrow – back to 1962?"
The others didn't say anything. They all knew they had to go back; they'd overstayed their welcome, and were too far away from home anyway. But none of them wanted to leave Hayley.
Hayley had a solution, however.
"I wanna go back with you."
They immediately sat upright, looking at her with concern.
"Hayley Evans, are you sure about that?" John asked, brushing his thumb across the back of her hand.
She nodded, completely serious. "I've thought about it for a while now, and I'm decided."
Paul's warm brown eyes looked at her with apprehension. "What about Hayden? And your family?"
She tightened her grip on George and John's hands. "I can always come back to now. But they won't miss me much anyway – I'm one of five, after all."
"But Hayden will miss you," George said softly. "Don't you think that he needs you right now?"
She remembered what she had decided earlier, and stuck to it completely. "I can come back for him. And anyway, I don't think I'll be much support anyway – it'll destroy me to see him so sick." She cleared her throat. "He's managed without me for three years, anyhow."
They looked at each other, and, by some psychic communication, Paul was elected head diplomat.
"Well, state your final case, and then we'll have a band meeting."
"Okay," she agreed. She quickly gathered her thoughts. And there were plenty of them. "I want to accompany you back to 1962, because I feel a stronger emotional connection with that era than my own. I write, I play and I read to escape my own reality. My family is the only thing which really keeps this time alive for me, and at the moment they're imploding with yet another disaster. This time last year, my parents were getting a divorce. This time next year, Leo will probably have attempted suicide, or the family would be divided by Will announcing his partiality to fellow males. Ever since I was a teen, you four have been my favourite band, but now you're more than that – you're my friends. And I don't want to lose our friendship before it has had a chance to flourish. That's why I want to go back with you. Technically, I don't even mind about the year, as long as I'm still with you four."
She blushed, and fell silent. Without the others saying a word, she got up, and walked into her bedroom, quietly closing the door behind her.
"I think we should take her," Ringo started, looking around at the others. "She's a right laugh." He meant more than that, but he knew he didn't need to explain it to them.
George nodded. "Even though she has a lot on her plate right now, I want her to come back with us." He pulled his legs up to his chest, and rested his chin on his knees.
John sighed, and rolled his eyes. "Of course I want her to come back. It should be fun. And I like her. We all like her."
They looked to Paul, and he pouted, annoyed at having to be the bad guy. "Well, I like her, and of course I want to continue our friendship, but it's because I care for her so much that I think we should leave her here. It's better for her – we all know what it's like to be so far away from home, and would you ever inflict that pain upon her?"
John immediately replied, "She's already got a heap of pain. If anything, I think the time-travel might actually make her feel better."
"Make it easier to deal with," George added.
Paul sighed in resignation, and said in defeat, "Well, I guess it's three to one."
"It's settled then," Ringo smiled.
"Tomorrow, all five of us go back to 1962," John concluded, a wide grin spreading across his face.
Things were bound to get interesting.