A/N: Oh. My. Goodness. I'm so sorry. I was trying to finish one of my other fics before school started and then, lo and behold, I got buried under a tidal wave of homework. I'm taking two AP classes and they LOVE giving out homework. *sigh*

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

Paul's POV (1968)

Four years. That was how long I'd been married to my songwriting partner, fellow mischief-maker, and best friend. Had it all been a lovely, carefree bed of roses all the time? Of course not. Anyone who says their relationship has never had any problems before and probably never will is an out and out liar. There will always be small quibbles here and there, some of them will be full-blown fights just short of coming to blows. That's all part of it.

The trick is knowing how to get them solved with minimal damage done and come to a mutual understanding about it. Is that always an easy thing to do? Nope. Sometimes it feels like there will never be a way to do it. But there always is.

At least, that was my somewhat naïve view was before certain aspects of my life went to pieces.

~OoOoO~

The loud sound of barking launched me out of my warm, comfortable bed at an hour I thought far earlier than my definition of reasonable. Groaning, I scrubbed at my eyes with my hands and stumbled out into my kitchen. I was greeted by a massive ball of grey and white fur jumping up at my chest and licking my face.

"Martha, you bloody menace," I grumbled, not really angry with her. "What is it you want, you silly dog?" Barking once, she bounded to the door, sat down expectantly, and wagged her tail. With a sigh, I found her leash in the closet, clipped it to her collar, and took a couple steps out the door with her. I shivered in the brisk, foggy morning air. My feet were bare and beginning to sting a bit with cold.

Suddenly, I heard a car engine at the top of my drive. It was too misty to see anything yet, but I cocked an ear in the general direction. Something about the noise excited Martha; she began barking and straining at her leash, wagging furiously. I was forced to assume the stance of a waterskier and dig my heels into the ground to avoid being dragged along at the whim of my English sheepdog.

When the car came into view, it was an easily recognizable Rolls Royce with an even more recognizable horrible driving method. I felt a grin spread across my face and I would have waved had it not been for the fact that I was still trying to reel Martha in. John parked in the paved part of the driveway and hopped out, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Which one of you two is the master here?" he teased, scratching Martha's ears. "It's a little hard to tell."

As Martha seemed to be calming down a bit, I felt safe in loosening my hold on her somewhat and walked over to John, laying my head on his shoulder. "Very funny," I growled playfully, nudging his side.

"Glad someone appreciates my humor," he said with a chuckle, dodging Martha's licking with little success. "I fear it may have got straight over poor Miss Martha's head." He kissed me quickly.

"Not that I'm not happy to see you," I said, inviting him inside, "but I wasn't really expecting you 'til six."

He took a seat on one of the tall chairs by the island in the middle of my kitchen and propped his elbows up on the counter. It was one of our nights in where we ordered takeaway from one of the nearer restaurants, scanned the telly for any good movies or shows, and shut ourselves away for the night. Since it was more populated by John's house, we usually ended up here.

"Yeah, I know," he said, reaching out and pulling me close, "but I've got a couple things to do that sprang up suddenly and I might be late by about an hour. I wanted to make up for the hour I'm going to miss later." His arms wound around my waist, tugging me flush against his chest, only far enough away so our noses were touching. For a moment we simply stood there, exchanging tiny, soft kisses. But of course it wasn't enough.

Reaching up to hold his face between my hands I murmured, "apology accepted."

We moved into the living room and sprawled out on the couch, not really needing intimacy so much as physical closeness. Ever since we stopped touring, I hadn't been able to see John as much as either of us would have liked. If it were a simple thing to do, we would've already moved in together in a nice, quiet place where we could do whatever we wanted. But it didn't quite work like that and we were confined to scheduling nights in, occasionally weekends, and running up our phone bills like mad. There were days it nearly drove both of us crazy, but moments like these made up for it.

I relaxed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and relishing the feeling of his guitar string-calloused fingers carding through my hair rhythmically. "Y'know," he started, his voice rumbling through his chest against my ear, "there was no need to get so awfully dressed up today, don't you think?"

My mind fuzzed over with confusion briefly before I remembered I was still in my light blue pajamas. I laughed, threading my fingers through his. "Considering it's only ten in the morning, I figure this is perfectly acceptable attire," I said. "Plus, a certain English sheepdog woke me up rather suddenly only minutes before you got here."

"Good on Martha," John nodded approvingly before shifting a little to look at his watch. "Oh crikey, I've been here an hour already?" he groaned, giving me a look that plainly said he would much rather stay right where he was than go do anything else. I agreed wholeheartedly.

"Please tell me you're kidding," I said, reluctantly sitting up and stretching. He shook his head, making a mournful face.

"As much as I'd like to stay and be far too comfortable for my own good, I really do have to go," he said, standing and pulling me up with him.

"I love you," I murmured, kissing him softly. John responded by pulling me into a passionate kiss that seemed to last forever. I wanted it to last forever.

"I love you too," he said, finally breaking the kiss. "I'll see you later."

"I look forward to it."

I watched him walk over to his car and run a hand through his hair, slowly and contemplatively. Before he got in, I saw him take a small, rectangular piece of white paper out of his pocket, look at it, and replace it. What was it, an address to wherever he was so urgently needed? Probably. I was almost certainly reading far too much into it, but something about that unknown piece of paper made me uneasy.

For the remainder of the day, I just sat in my studio and listened to some old records. I just didn't feel like composing that day. Maybe it was the weather, but all of my creativity felt like it had leached straight out of me. So, I contented myself with playing the old songs that used to make my blood run hot with the inspiration that I, one day, would be just as famous as the people singing. Now I was, but lately being in The Beatles was not all it was cracked up to be.

I desperately wanted to get back on the road again, touring and playing to sold-out stadiums. Every time I so much as hinted at it, however, I was met with a resounding and vehement no from the rest of my bandmates. For the most part, I understood why they had no desire to get on a stage again. Screaming girls drowning you out, a different bed varying in comfort almost every night, and unhappy wives or girlfriends because they never got to see you weren't fun to deal with. But I just didn't get why they never got even the smallest feeling of nostalgia for the sensation of adrenaline pumping through your veins as you stood on the stage, instrument in hand.

As it neared seven, I called the nearest pizza restaurant and placed an order. "Hello? …Yeah, I'd like a medium pepperoni pizza please... Yes, that's takeaway, you deliver, right? ...Cheers, luv." Hanging up the phone, I sat down in the kitchen to wait, feeling Martha settle as a furry lump on my feet. She sighed, licking my toes for a moment.

Seven o'clock came and went. At seven-thirty, the pizza arrived and I got it from the delivery boy, setting it on the counter and deflecting an expectant dog who, given ample opportunity, would devour the whole thing and feel absolutely no shame about it. Half an hour passed and I took a slice of pizza from the box, reminding myself John had said he would be around an hour late. That left room for margin of error.

But as the night wore on and it neared ten o'clock, I began to worry. Where was he? Why was he late? If he was in a place with a telephone, why hadn't he phoned? Was he in a car accident or something? Given his awful driving skills, it wouldn't be surprising. Calm down, Paul, I told myself. You know how John is, he probably just let the time get away with him. He'll be over any minute.

I repeated this mantra until I found myself waking up the next morning on the couch. John wasn't there. He hadn't even come. A little sliver of anger slowly worked its way into my jumbled up mess of thoughts. There was no message on my answering machine, no explanation for why John blew off the night in we'd had scheduled for weeks. Martha, sensing my distress, ambled over to me and put her head in my lap, sighing heavily. I sat there scratching her ears absentmindedly for awhile, attempting to put my mind off the thoughts that were making my head spin.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Springing up with m heart going double the original pace, I ran to the door and threw it open as fast as I could. John stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets. "Hey there," he said, smiling.

Before I had time to rationalize exactly why I was feeling that way, I was angry. He didn't seem to harbor even one speck of apology for leaving me to pace around my house all night, wondering where he was and if he was all right. "Is that all?" I inquired testily, crossing my arms over my chest.

It all began to fall in a rapid downward spiral from that point on.

A/N: I am so mean. D: Sorry guys!

As always, reviews are very much welcome!

PS: I posted a chapter for my story, Life Goes on Within You and Without You the week before last and I have yet to receive any reviews for it. :( Could you make a slightly sad author happy by going over and reading my latest chapter, or the whole thing if you haven't read it yet? 'Cause that would be kind of awesome. ;)