A/N: I have a distinct feeling you guys are gonna like this chapter... heheh ;)
Paul's POV
Amazing. That was the only word I could think of to describe our trip to America. Our fans' level of dedication was incredibly flattering, slightly strange, (who knew four lads with funny haircuts could inspire that sort of reaction?) and at times just a little frightening. Like the time they climbed onto the wings of the plane we were on. I could have definitely done without that. Brian had nearly had a stroke at that point. The four of us were almost sitting under our seats. Death by overly zealous fans. What a way to go.
Thankfully it didn't happen, and we had been back in good old England for a few months. I was glad to be home, but John had been absolutely enthralled by the busy life in the States, especially New York. It was all just a tad too noisy for me and I was relieved to be back on my farm. John still lived in London, but we made frequent visits to each place. Needless to say, the visits were rather discreet.
Being in the Beatles had one distinct advantage aside from the obvious—the chance to write songs and have the world love them—we were exceedingly good at disguising ourselves and going around without notice.
John was still having problems with Cynthia and trying to be able to see Julian. It had been a long time, far longer than John had ever wanted and he was starting to go a bit bonkers about it. There was no way I could argue with him on that: I'm sure I would feel the same way if I had a son or daughter I was forbidden to see by their mother.
The anniversary of John and I falling for each other like two fools was fast approaching, and while his rather odd behavior from our America trip had ceased, I couldn't help but think he was still thinking about something. I didn't know what it was, though. Every time I asked, he became evasive and tried to distract me with kisses or sex. And yes, it worked effectively.
Right then, we were at my farm in the kitchen and talking. By talking, I mean we were sneaking in words through a rather heated snogging session. I was backed up against the sink and John had his hands braced against the counter behind me when they weren't otherwise occupied. My back was protesting the abuse, but I ignored it.
"Paul?" he mumbled against my lips between sloppy, eager kisses.
"Mm," I moaned, not exactly hearing the question through the buzz of pleasure in my ears. When it managed to come through, I replied, "Yeah?"
"Wanna do something?"
I managed to raise an eyebrow. "Aren't we already?"
He pulled away, leaving my lips suddenly very lonely. "You git, that's not what I meant!" His tone was good-natured and teasing.
"By all means, elaborate and inform a poor, confused Liverpudlian," I joked, grabbing him by the collar and bringing his face down next to mine again. "And come back here," I purred.
John shivered against me. "Your voice ought to be illegal when it sounds like that," he said, kissing me briefly before speaking again. "I was wondering if you'd like to have a picnic of sorts tonight. Y'know, out by the pasture somewhere."
"Then you wouldn't be able to hear it," I replied, nudging my nose against his. "Yeah, sounds good to me. Any reason in particular?"
He hesitated for just a fraction of a second. "No, not really. It's nice out tonight and it's almost that day," he grasped my hands between his own.
"What day?" I played dumb for a moment. "Oh! You mean the day I fell in love with the biggest idiot the world has ever known?"
"Nope," he said. "I did that first." We stood in a loose embrace for several minutes until I spoke again.
"Um, John?"
"Yeah, love?"
"I think one of us may have bumped the faucet on at some point."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because the sink is overflowing and I can feel it soaking my shirt."
John leapt away from the sink, tugging me with him. I looked at the soaked back of my pants and shirt and began to laugh, squelching back to the faucet to turn it off and drain the sink. I heard John whistle behind me.
I turned around and fixed him with a playful stare. "See something you like?"
"Gotta say, Macca," John started, running a slow eye up and down. "You look good wet."
"You would say that," I laughed. "I'm gonna go change and if you want to have any time at all for our little picnic, don't help me." He made a puppy face. "Too bad, Lennon. I'll be back so fast you won't know I've gone." Blowing a kiss in his direction, I ran up the steps to change out of my wet clothing.
John's POV
As soon as Paul was out of sight, I pulled a tiny velvet box out of my pants pocket. Opening it revealed a simple silver ring with tiny diamonds embedded all around it in the middle. It was the least girly engagement ring I could find that wasn't flat-out boring.
I'd bought it a couple weeks back, and ever since then, it had been in my pocket as though that would make me braver about the thing I wanted to do so badly. Now I was finally brave enough.
Waiting for the man I loved to come down the stairs, I thought back to when I bought the small object that would change my life forever.
-Flashback-
"May I help you?" The woman behind the jewelry counter smiled at me in a sickeningly sweet way that made my stomach churn. If she carried on like that, I didn't think I could go through with what I was about to do.
"Yes, actually," I said, pasting a smile on my own face and adopting a lower, slightly Scottish, tone. I had a hat, a pair of sunglasses, and a paste-on mustache. I hoped that was enough. "I'm looking for an engagement ring for me girl." Or rather, for my lover who happens to be Paul McCartney.
The woman nearly popped an artery in her excitement. With a squeal, she brought the entire case of rings out for me to see, nearly spilling them in her haste. "Oh, how wonderful! Now tell me, what is your girlfriend like?" Oh, you mean what is Paul like? Well, he's a bloody fantastic bass player, handsome, smart, a smart-arse, funny, and sweet. I guess that's not quite what you were looking for, huh?
I forced myself to use the correct identifying pronoun. Do not say he. "She's the most amazing person I know, I can't really describe her."
The woman was practically swooning by this point. "Isn't that just the sweetest thing? Oh, she's a lucky girl. Is she athletic, or more bookish? Romantic?"
This was proving to be far harder than I thought it would be. "Erm, she's sort of sporty, I s'pose," I said, hoping that would rule out all the overly feminine ones. "But she's also a bit of a romantic. And she also doesn't like anything overly showy."
I think that may have confused her a little, because she took her time in responding. "Well... Okay, perhaps one of these?" She removed a selection of about ten rings or so and presented them proudly to me. I pored over them selectively, brain whirring in decision. Too plain, too feminine, too... weird. I was almost going to thank her for her time and leave, but then one caught my eye. It was plain, but not boring, and I could just picture it sitting on Paul's finger.
I pointed at it. "I think she'd like that one." She looked at it questioningly for a moment and then asked me for the size I would need. I told her my estimation on what I thought Paul's size would be and she wrinkled her nose for a fleeting instant once again. Apparently, she thought my "girlfriend" had some rather large hands.
"Ta much," I said, paying for the ring and leaving with the box held tightly in my hand. In that box was the symbol of the rest of my life, even if it would have to be in secret. Somehow, I'd managed to accept that some things were too good to share. Maybe this relationship was one of them.
-End Flashback-
I quickly slipped the box back into my pocket when the sound of Paul's feet on the stairs was audible. He grinned at me in his usual heart-melting way and pulled a wicker basket out of the closet next to the stairs.
"What d'you want to bring for food?" he asked, setting the basket on the counter and beginning to pull some silverware and cloth napkins out of a drawer.
"I dunno, maybe chicken salad sandwiches?" I responded nonchalantly, leaning against the wall and trying to avoid showing how hard my heart was beating. "I know we have leftovers of that in the fridge from the other night." Paul nodded at me, returning to his task. I remained standing where I was. When he turned around again and saw I hadn't moved, he waved a hand in a "get on with it" gesture.
"What?" I shrugged.
"Go on, then! I'm not gonna do all of this by myself," he joked, flicking water at me.
"All right mother, don't get your knickers in a bunch." I shot back good-naturedly, digging through the refrigerator in search of the chicken salad. When I found it, I nicked a spoon from Paul and started spreading it on bread to make several sandwiches. I wasn't going to eat too much, butterflies took up residency in the majority of my stomach. I smoothed a nervous hand over my pocket to reassure myself the little box was still there. It was.
Paul pulled a bottle of red wine from the cupboard above the sink, stuck it carefully in next to a pair of glasses and the sandwiches, and grinned at me. "Ready? I'm starved."
I have never been more simultaneously ready and not ready in my life, I thought, nodding and taking Paul's hand gently. He squeezed my fingers in return, bumping the door open with his foot because his other hand was occupied with the picnic basket and blanket.
We took our things out to a spot where there were a lot of trees, but we sat in a clear spot with trees in a ring around us. If you looked at it a certain way, it wouldn't be hard to believe we were the only people in the world at that moment. Which was how I wanted it. The sun was slowly sinking down behind the curtain of trees, leaving a sky streaked with clouds and vibrant hues of red, orange, yellow, and purple. Soon, there would be stars. I made a decision; I would ask when the first star appeared.
That's what Paul was to me. The only star in my otherwise empty sky.
Right before the stars began to appear, Paul paused in our conversation and gave me a long, searching look. "John, what's bothering you?"
"Bothering me?" I played innocent, clenching my fist around the tiny velvet box. There was sweat beading on my lip and I silently cursed my nerves repeatedly.
"You've gone all white," he said in concern, reaching out to touch my cheek with his hand tenderly.
Now or never, Lennon, I thought, clutching the box and beginning to draw it slowly out behind my back. Buck up and do it.
"Paul..." I began slowly, getting to my feet and pulling him up with me. The star was out.
His forehead instantly creased with worry. "What is it, John? Is everything all right?"
I grinned shakily, the sight of him standing there in front of me washing away my doubts like the ocean washing away a sandcastle at high tide. "Never better, actually."
His head tipped to the side in question. "Then why're—" I pressed a finger to his lips, slowly removing it and taking his left hand in my free hand.
"I'll tell you why. Paul, when I first met you, I was just a teenaged guitar player with a rule breaking streak and big dreams. I didn't think I was going to go very far in life... And then I met you. When I first heard you play Twenty Flight Rock I thought to myself..." I held his hand like a lifeline. "I thought, 'If we're together, we could do some amazing things with music.' Looks to me like we have." There were tears pricking my eyes. I blinked rapidly to clear them.
"I gained a best friend that day," I continued. "Someone I could write music with, talk to, laugh with, just be myself. I could be the John I knew I was around you, rather than the John everyone else thought I was." I leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips.
"And then about a year ago, I found out I had something even better than a best friend," I licked my lips nervously. "I had a soulmate. This past year has been the best one in my entire life. There is not a time I remember being happier... And I want that happiness to last for the rest of my days." I gulped down the last of my fears and sank to one knee, pulling the box from behind my back and momentarily letting go of Paul's hand to open it and extract the ring.
His eyes looked like saucers when I looked back up again. "John... Oh my..." He couldn't string a sentence together. There were tears gathering in his eyes.
The tears spilled over and down my cheeks, but they were tears of happiness. "James Paul McCartney, I love you with all my heart, and I always will. I want you to be the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see at night. I want to be able to curl up with you in bed on rainy days and sit outside with you in the sun. I want to grow old with you until we're bald, little, toothless old men still hobbling around on the stage. We can never do this the right way, the way I really want to do it, but..." I slid the ring on his finger gently. "Will you marry me?"
Paul's jaw hung open for the longest time. Finally, he got himself together and hauled me upright. "I'm supposed to be the sentimental one, John Winston Lennon, where do you get off with that? Of course I'll marry you, you daft git! I don't care how illegal it might be or that we won't be technically married." He pulled me into his arms for a crushing hug. "I'll be with you, and that's all that matters." We swayed back and forth with the intensity of the embrace.
"Ya bloody poofter," I muttered some time later, not actually serious.
"You should be talking," he replied, running a hand through my hair slowly.
"Point taken."
I felt like we were any other couple head over heels in love and recently engaged. And you know what? We were.
A/N: I grinned like an idiot the entire time I wrote this. I hope you do too! It was wayy too much fun to write. :)
Review? :)