A/N: Welllllllp here's chapter 3 lol. Took a lot of tweaking and whatnot but here is it unguarded and in the open. Hope you like it! REVIEWWWW IF YOU DOOOO :))! ALSOOOO I'm loving the reviews thus far! They're keeping me motivated to continue on with this oh so interesting piece of work :)

Already situated in their hotel suite which consisted of two separate sets of bedrooms and two bathrooms joined by a kitchen/dining/living room environment, Paul and George looked up from their seats on hotel furniture as they were suddenly and hastily joined by John and Ringo.

"Well, 'ere ye' two are," Paul acknowledged, throwing them each a grin. "Y'know, the luggage arrived before you," he added matter-of-factly.

Ringo couldn't help but stare at him incredulously as he crossed the room and helped himself to an arm of the sofa his band mates had situated themselves on. Paul looked and seemed the least bit tired out of all of them and seemed even more alert now than even before they'd reached the hotel. It was like he constantly fed off their fans' energy, a trait not just admirable to him but he was certain, admirable to the others as well. In his honest opinion, Paul was in a way, the heart of the band; strong, sturdy, and unwavering when it mattered most. Now only if energy was contagious. They could all use it right about then. Especially, he glanced uneasily to the guitarist that hadn't moved from his position in front of the door since they'd walked in, John…

"Y'blokes get lost?" George asked, breaking the silence that had fallen since Paul had spoken what seemed like ages ago, "Paulie 'ere was considering getting Mal on the phone to make sure y'guys didn't get mauled or something."

"We weren't that long!" Ringo protested, "So y'guys 'ave been 'ere what…five minutes tops?"

"Nine actually." George stated with a tired shrug.

"Ten." Paul corrected him as if one minute made all the difference in the world.

"And 'ere I was thinking y'gits couldn't count," John muttered disinterestedly, breaking his own silence. He had turned slightly away from them, his head tilted slightly back against the wall as he pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, eyes squeezed tightly shut. A barely visible grimace was planted on his face where a sardonic smirk would normally have been after such a comment.

"Yeah, we're full of surprises," Paul replied casually. His tone remained light but his eyes dark as he eyed his best mate. "Got a headache, Johnny?"

Headache…shoulder aches…arms, legs, back ache… Bloody everything was beginning to ache. But rather than play a game of 'Guess What's Bothering John Lennon', he finally succumbed into a tired nod. "'Aven't been able to permanently shake the git of a thing all day…" he added, words just tumbling tiredly from his mouth. He started to grin as if the nagging situation had humorous potential, but stopped abruptly as three pairs of annoyingly concerned eyes only continued to glare back at him.

Paul frowned, beginning to wonder what should worry him more. The fact that John had been nursing an unexplained headache all day, or the fact that he was openly admitting to his discomfort without the additional prying it usually took.

George seemed to be wondering the same thing, "Fuck, Johnny, yer not coming down with something now, are ye'?" he asked hesitantly.

"Just need to get some sleep is all," John assured him, easing into a tired smile as he made his way towards the end of the couch opposite Ringo, "Don't remember the last time I've felt so bloody knackered. Starts to make y'feel like crap after a while…" He reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of Marlboros and in what proved to be a rather clumsy manner; removed a cigarette and shoved it in his mouth as if his life depended on it. Ever paying attention to the subtle details about him, Paul readily supplied a box of matches along with an ashtray and watched with mild interest as John proceeded to light up, tension melting instantly from his face after the first puff.

Ringo's frown matched Paul's, "How y'gonna sleep with all the bloody racket surrounding this place? Fans are more relentless around here than I've ever seen!"

The Beatles liked to think of their fans as anything but nuisances. They were far from that, really. They loved them, appreciated their support a full twenty-four hours a day, performed for them, participated in interviews for them, all without question or hesitation. They were used to the publicity that came with worldwide fame, but tours consisted of all of this in nonstop overdrive, and needless to say, there was no rest for the weary.

John brushed off the concern with one of his trademark grins, though this one a little more wilted than usual. "A pack of wolves mauling me innards couldn't even keep me awake right now."

Both George and Ringo gained laughter from the completely graphic Lennon-like statement, but Paul remained pensive much to John's dismay. The guitarist found himself rolling his eyes at his friend's still obvious concerns. "Christ, relax, Paulie, would ye'?" he sighed, his trademark grin fading at the prospect that it suddenly felt too heavy to hold, "Last I checked, I'm not about to keel over," God, but his face hurt. How was that even possible?

Paul didn't answer, instead taking the time to really assess his friend and his obvious lack of good judgment. Was it his imagination or did John seem much paler than when he'd seen him last? The unasked question went unanswered as a sudden and violent string of curses broke the evaluation process, drawing all eyes in John's direction. Wordlessly, Paul noted the dropped pack of cigarettes at John's feet and the aggravated look on his face as he glared daggers at it.

"Nice one!" George commented ever so helpfully as he looked on in tired amusement.

John didn't say anything as he continued to glare at the cigarettes, debating in his mind whether to pick them up or just leave them there. Currently, he felt as though he might as well be staring down at them from the top of Mount Everest on the very floor they were situated on.

Without much more in the way of thought, he hopped off the couch and stooped down to reach them, the rapid change in position all but keeping him steady. The results were unexpected as he plunged suddenly forward, just managing to break his fall with his hands. At some point, the lit cigarette had fallen from his mouth but he couldn't be bothered to figure out where. His entire world was on a merry-go-round. If he didn't stop it, he'd surely be sick. He closed his eyes and tilted his head down, barely aware as Paul crept up beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "John, what's the matter?" he asked, slight worry permeating his voice.

Listing slightly where he sat, John gave his head a slight shake before lifting his eyes to his friend's level. The dizziness abated itself, leaving a bit of mild nausea in its wake. "Nothing…I'm fine…Me contacts are bugging me…" he muttered, proceeding to rub at his eyes.

"Ye' dropped yer smokes," George supplied from somewhere in the background.

"And this," Ringo inserted his hand in front of John's face and handed him his still lit cigarette, "Set the place on fire ye' will," he added as if John had purposely meant to drop it.

Groaning slightly, John rose to his feet and eased himself back onto the sofa. He bloody felt like shit. Still there was a nagging something he needed to do before it completely slipped his mind. He needed to fulfill a check in with his aunt and wife; let them know he was okay and vice versa. With the eventful evening they had scheduled, it seemed now was the only time he would get to do so unless he waited until tomorrow when they ended up in New Jersey. Presently, the latter seemed almost beneficial with the way he was feeling but getting it over with and done seemed even better…or did it? Blimey, when did thinking become such a bloody challenge?

Currently Cynthia Lennon was staying with his aunt Mimi where she could receive help with their son Julian while John toured with the Beatles. Last he heard, things were going well, but shamefully, it had been a few days since he'd last checked in and he was sure to get an earful from both parties.

A while back before the Beatles had even begun touring, both Mimi and Cyn had separately made him promise that when fame officially took flight and he found himself shuttling from country to country performing, he wouldn't fail to ring home no matter what circumstances got in the way. Mimi hadn't been in favor of his music career to begin with but had reluctantly allowed it, knowing that John stubbornly had his mind set on it.

"The least you can do when you're out gallivanting around with those boys," Mimi had disdainfully told him, "is give me a ring when you can; preferably every time you enter a new setting." She had then followed up with a thorough explanation about how it would leave her with less room for worry and more room for content. Since then, John had always managed to check in; only failing to do so when something stood between him and a phone. Today, however, his family had barely crossed his mind until that very moment. Was that unusual?

"John!" Ringo tore abruptly into his thoughts, his sudden unexpected increase in tone practically shattering his eardrums.

"Bloody, 'ell, what is it?!" John snapped, turning to him in resulting anger, "Can't bloody think with all the racket going on around 'ere!"

"You were right staring into space," Paul stated mildly in Ringo's defense, "Is that what it takes to get a thought out these days?" He had meant the latter as a slight joke but John didn't seem to pick up on it nor did he pick up on its evident lameness which was unusual considering the endless wit he was normally equipped with.

John stared at him blankly for several seconds before eventually finding his tongue. "What?" was all he could readily manage for lack of a better response.

"Nothing…" Paul muttered, the wind having been sucked from his sails, "It was… nothing…"

John blinked blearily struggling to assess whatever it was Paul was going on about but gave up within seconds of even trying. His stupid headache was sucking the life and sense out of him. "Never mind then," he muttered disinterestedly, his anger subsiding, "I've gotta give home a ring 'fore I forget. Where's the bleedin' phone?"

"Right in front of you, John," Paul supplied gesturing to the table positioned slightly to their right. He offered his friend a questioning look, "You sure you're all right?"

John didn't answer, instead taking the time to reach for the phone. He almost didn't feel up to the task at hand as feeble as it was. In fact, talking was the last thing he felt like doing period, let alone on the phone when he was barely capable of even thinking. Cyn would be sure to talk his ear off and Mimi… He was feeling considerably under the weather and he was almost certain the older woman, as perceptive, as she was would be able to pick up on it. She was like Paul in that sense. Always seemed to know what was going on behind the scenes. John had the feeling she was sitting by the phone at that very moment just waiting to hear from him. He didn't have it in his heart to bring himself to disappoint…

He dialed the number and cradled the receiver to his ear, grimacing slightly as several harsh rings resultantly vibrated his aching eardrums. He was almost thankful when his aunt's familiar voice finally filled his ears. "Hello?" she spoke.

"Hello, Mimi, it's John," John responded, clearing his throat as it chose that very moment to crack inconveniently. It was strange how one could never realize how much they truly missed someone until they were given the opportunity to talk to them after what seemed like ages of limited contact. It made him unexpectedly emotional in a weird way. Homesick almost…

"I see you've finally decided to take time from your busy schedule check in, John." was Mimi's displeased reply, "We've been waiting to hear from you."

Flooded by slight guilt, John was lost for words.

"Well, how are you?" Mimi prodded, her voice warming slightly.

"A-all right," John stuttered, forcing himself to shake off his aunt's less than cheery greeting, "I'm in New York now. We…" He paused to clear his throat again, frowning at the incessantly growing tickle that was asserting itself undesirably at the increased use of his voice, "We have a show tonight. Thought I'd call and check in before the craziness began." He grimaced at how hoarse he sounded.

"What's the matter with your voice?" Mimi asked suddenly, suspicion already gripping her tone, "Aren't you feeling well?"

"Nothing, it's…I'm fine," John ensured rather quickly, in no mood for her immediate scrutiny, "How're things? How're Cyn and Julian?"

"Oh, they're fine. Cynthia's out for the day running errands and Julian's down for a kip, sleeping soundly like a little angel. Looks just like you when he sleeps, he does."

John managed a faint grin, "Ye' make that sound like it's a good thing!"

"It is!" Mimi replied. She paused as if trying to recall something, "You should know, John, that that wife of yours has been in contact with those other ladies you boys are associated with. Seems to me like they might be planning to come see the lot of you sometime in the near future. Right daft if you ask me. Meanwhile, I'll be stuck with your child like a bloody nanny! Let me tell you, John, I don't approve. Reap what you sew I always say. She was foolish enough to have your child, she-"

"When?" John interrupted, unable to take her ranting anymore. He was achingly tired and his head was spinning.

"I don't know. You'll have to speak with her when you get the chance."

John started to nod before sheepishly remembering that his aunt couldn't see him through the phone and quickly proceeded to respond, ignoring a puzzled glance aimed at him courtesy of his band mates. "That sounds great, Mimi," he murmured, his tone lacking the genuine enthusiasm he had meant for it to portray. He grimaced, realizing his body was choosing some of the worst moments to announce its misery. "Send me love to her and Julian, will ye'?"

"Are you all right, John?" Mimi demanded, "You don't sound like yourself."

"I'm fine… Just a bit knackered is all," John muttered quietly, not feeling up to giving his stubborn headache the recognition it didn't deserve. "Nothing serious, really…"

"Are you sure?" Mimi questioned, and John could almost see her suspiciously arched eyebrow as she attempted to bait him, "You wouldn't dare keep anything from your aunt, now would you?"

John sighed, momentarily closing his eyes against his incessantly pounding head. "Yes, I'm sure, Mimi…" He wanted nothing better than to wrap things up so he could have a proper smoke and catch a kip, as selfish as that sounded. His aunt was driving him mad and honestly he didn't have the energy to put up with her lack of tolerance towards everything. "Look, I just wanted to check in t'see how things were going and…"

"You have to go, don't you?" Mimi interrupted knowingly, "Well okay, Johnny. I know how busy you are."

"I'll call in a few days, all right?" John assured her.

"I'll expect it," Mimi responded, "And whatever's bothering you, love, take care of it. I'd hate for you to fall ill so far away from home."

John smiled, "I'll see to it. Love ye', Mimi."

"Love you too, Johnny. I mean it when I say take care of yourself," she paused, "Oh and John?"

"Yeah?"

"When we speak next, I should hope I won't hear a single trace of that Liverpudlian rubbish you've been carelessly tossing about these days. Your mother allowed it, but I won't. It's unbecoming.

John rolled his eyes, "Mimi-"

"I allowed it to slide today because frankly you don't sound like you're feeling quite up to par but-"

"I have to go." John interrupted before hanging up. He glanced to his friends briefly before looking away in exhaustion-laden disinterest. "Me aunt says hi," he murmured indifferently. Taking a drag from his cigarette, he closed his eyes temporarily and rubbed at his aching temples. His head ached all over.

"Who ye' kidding, Johnny," Ringo told him with a half-hearted smirk, "We all know she doesn't like us."

John shrugged, "She's just a bit standoffish, really."

"How's Cyn?" George asked, coming to the conclusion of his own that he needed to give his own girlfriend a call at some point during the day.

"She's all right. Julian too…" John responded absently. He figured he should probably mention something about Cyn and the girls planning to visit but…that would lead to more words and he was bloody fed up of talking.

Sensing a pair of eyes on him, he turned back towards his friends, catching Paul's dark worrisome eyes focused on none other than him. Despite his growing annoyance, he met them with an air of tired amusement. "I know ye' think I'm pretty, Macca, but if ye' could resist staring at me, I'd be right grateful…" he stated simply.

"Don't flatter yerself…" Paul muttered, "Yer not exactly my type."

"Not what you said last night," John quipped, taking a final drag from his cigarette before snuffing it out and tossing it into the ashtray. When Paul didn't respond, John knew the musician was upset with him. Somehow though, he wasn't all that bothered by it. People talked about his temper, but Paul could be just as much of a hothead when the situation fit.

The uneasy silence only continued to deepen and John absently found himself filling it with a tune familiar to all of them. Before the others knew it, he was singing softly in a detached manner.

"There's a place
Where I can go
When I feel low
When I feel blue…

And it's my mind
And there's no time when I'm alone…"

Paul couldn't take it anymore. "Look at ye' self, John. Yer bloody, fucking pale, clearly knackered as all 'ell!" he exploded, unable to keep his thoughts to himself any longer, "You've been bleedin' out of it all day and truthfully I'm not even sure y'even know what yer doing anymore!"

George couldn't help nearly jumping out of his skin at the bassist's sudden outburst. He turned to him wide-eyed, and then glanced to John who to his surprised didn't seem all that affected despite being the recipient of Paul's anger. He looked out of it if anything, as though the situation hadn't quite registered within his mind. His contemplative gaze was fixated on the ceiling in such a manner; it seemed something of entertaining measure had presented itself beneath it only to him.

"Tends to 'appen when ye' 'aven't properly slept in months…" John stated with quiet nonchalance after awhile, his slightly amused gaze unmoving from the ceiling's surface.

"Well, I don't think it's healthy what you're forcing yer body through!" Paul stated firmly, "Y'keep going on like this, you'll surely end up ill…Ask George…"

"Aye, it's true," George piped up from the other side of Paul.

John allowed his eyes to close, his lids sliding over the burning orbs like warm blankets. Had it been up to him, he'd choose not to reopen them for the rest of the day. "So let's stop the tour, then," he muttered apathetically, heavy sarcasm lacing his voice, "Bring it to a dead halt, and see how that works out with Eppy, Mal, and our fans… Of course we've been planning this for months but 'ey why not throw away all that we've bloody well worked for? And while we're at it, I might as well give me mum back the guitar she bought me. Tell 'er, to 'ell with it all. Oh wait, I can't… Know why? She's bloody, fucking dead and guess what? She's not coming back…" He allowed his voice to trail off, his mind suddenly failing to form more words. "Just leave me alone," he muttered, "Me head's killing me as it is."

"Don't be a git, John," George told him calmly, "We're just concerned is all,"

"Well y'don't have to be…" John grumbled, his eyes still closed, "I feel fine. Just this… bloody headache…"

Paul shook his head, his frustrations only continuing to grow with John's lack of focus on the situation, "Are ye' sure it's just a headache and nothing more? Be honest, I don't have time for games!"

"If I answer, will ye' shut up?" John asked; his tone and antics remaining blasé much to Paul's annoyance, "Making me headache worse, ye' are," He forcefully reopened his eyes and dropped his gaze from the ceiling to his friend, the tired amusement within them remaining in adamant control.

"Maybe…" Paul muttered without any real conviction.

John rolled his eyes, despite the additional ache the action brought on, "I'm fine then, Macca…No need to get yer knickers in a bloody twist."

"That's not what I asked!" Paul snapped, "I'm not letting you dance yer way around this one, Lennon! I know what yer perfectly capable of."

"I'm sorry, yer magistrate. Didn't bloody realize I was on trial," John quipped, his amusement in regards to the situation becoming only slightly unnerving at this point. Both George and Ringo exchanged glances, each knowing what the other was thinking. Had John finally lost it?

"Christ, can't ye' be serious for even a second?" Paul demanded.

No one spoke, unsure of what to make of the budding situation. Ringo got up from his seat, deciding he could use something cold to drink right then, while George contemplated a nap of his own.

'Can't ye' not be serious fer a second?' John wanted to counter just to further piss Paul off, but…he was quickly getting sick of the back and forth. He frowned, realizing he wasn't in the mood for any of this, really. He felt he was losing his grip on reality as it was. He needed sleep before he lost it completely. "C'mon Paul…" he sighed, a hint of truce hidden within his tone, "Where's me room in this bloody place?"

"Where's me answer, John?" Paul threw back, mockingly, his sharp gaze not lifting from his friend. He held up a shiny key and dangled it in front of him. "Y'won't be able to get in without this and you won't get it until you give me what I'm asking for."

At any other moment, John would've smirked his appreciation regarding Paul's bold blackmail attempt. Perhaps throw in a proud comment about how he was finally rubbing off on the goody-goody, but given the current circumstances, he just didn't bloody well feel like it. Nor did he feel like fighting him for the key, though in his mind, he knew he had what it took to get his hands on it. "It's just me head…" he murmured quietly, by way of satisfactory response, "M'bloody, fucking 'ell of a head…" That ought to satisfy the pest in him…

"Good boy," Paul confirmed, appearing visually satisfied, "But if I find out you're lying, Lennon, so help me, the little slumber yer about to embark on just might become permanent."

'And now a threat,' John mused inwardly, his tired mind understanding that much. He'd really have to commemorate Paul later if he remembered…at a time when he didn't feel ready to kill him…or keel over…

Paul stood up finally; feeling smug at the realization that he'd gotten John Lennon to back down in a way that most weren't capable of, "Now let's see to that room of yers, shall we?"

"If I had the energy, I'd see to me fist and yer scrawny frame…" John grumbled grudgingly, not entirely sure if the statement even made sense. It didn't sound right to him for some reason, but he wasn't sure if he even cared. He was fucking cold again; though his face felt annoyingly warm, seeming to make his head hurt even worse than it was already pounding. He fought back a shiver and glanced down at his arms, noticing instantly, the sprouting of goose bumps. With a growing feeling of trepidation, he grimaced, realizing he might actually be getting chills…

"'Ey, John…?" Paul's voice suddenly cut into his thoughts and he glanced up feeling strangely dazed and a bit disoriented. At some point, Paul had gotten up and was already standing in front of him; that increasingly worried gaze fixated on him. When the fuck had that happen? He blinked, unable to contain his surprise at his band mate's new-found stealth. "Wh-what?" he stuttered uncharacteristically, causing both Ringo and George to gaze with wonderment in his direction.

"Are you sure you feel all right?" Paul asked, frowning again. Without warning, he reached out a hand to place once again to his friend's forehead, just making contact beneath the long bangs for a few seconds before he was hastily pushed away.

"Leave me alone, I'm fine…" John snapped.

"He got a fever?" Ringo asked from the kitchen area, his bright blue eyes displaying concern, "Should I get Eppy to send fer a doctor?"

"I don't have a bloody fever, y'git!" John growled at him. His glare shifted to Paul, "I don't have a fever," he repeated sharply.

Paul's frown deepened. Much like earlier, John still seemed a bit on the warm side, but then again it was also a hot day. He shook his head slowly, "Rain check on that one, Rings," he sighed reluctantly, not quite in favor of making a mountain out of a molehill. He glanced back to John and was nearly surprised to see that the guitarist seemed to be rapidly losing his battle to stay awake, "Right, yer room…" he sighed, realizing how far off track he'd managed to get. They were losing precious time, the hours to show time ticking away with every passing second.

"Sod off, y'bloody wanker, I'll find me room meself, "John grumbled, "Don't need a bloody key. I can pick a lock." Blinking blearily, he rose achingly to his feet, grimacing slightly as a dull pain shot up the base of his spine. The time of day had registered as well within his haggard mind, and a slight fear passed through him regarding whether he'd actually be able to feel better in time for their big night. In all truth and honesty, he didn't, dare he think it, feel good at all. Fuck, if he didn't somehow manage to sleep this off, Eppy, Mal, and the band would have his head for sure…not that the thought seemed so bad at the moment… The bloody thing was killing him…

"Y'barely found the hotel, what makes you think you can find your room?" Paul teased, succeeding in lightening the mood. Before John could say anything in response, Paul was practically on top of him, an arm draped around him in a playful brotherly fashion. For a split second, Paul found himself regressing back into a frown as he was almost certain he could feel a bit of heat radiating from the back of John's neck where his bare arm made contact… But somehow, he managed to convince himself otherwise… "Y'wake up looking worse for wear, I'm sending for a doctor," he warned his friend, nonetheless, as he led him out of the room.

A/N: While writing this, my biggest concern was how I was gonna portray John's infamously strict aunt :/. But I'm ALWAYS up for a challenge and this was one that I really wanted to take on. Not overly satisfied but hope the chapter was okay, nonetheless and not too chaotic :)