Find My Way (A Paul McCartney Fanfiction)

(5)

The car ride to TopShop was an eventful one, to say the least, since Paul was amazed by every little thing we people of the future would call ordinary. For example, the radio proved a mind-blowing experience for him. I let him turn the volume up and down on it, and everything was fine until he turned it up much too loud, scared himself to death, and thus proceeded to scream like the drama queen he was because he'd forgotten how to turn it down again. But, ignoring that little mishap, he seemed to not mind the actual music that was playing, which I'd led him to believe was modern music, when really it was the 70s.

We drove through London in pleasant conversation (which consisted of him asking me questions about why cars looked the way they did, why television screens were everywhere, why people looked down at tiny devices all the time, etc.), until we arrived at our destination.

Before we went inside, though, I wanted to make sure Paul knew what to do and what not to do.

"Okay," I said seriously, which prompted him to project his big hazel eyes to me in attention, "being that modern life is different than it was in the 60s, I need you to make sure that you leave the talking to me. Don't get too curious either. You know, curiosity killed the cat," I grinned as I pointed to his 'kittens in rain boots' face mask.

"Shut up," he replied good-humorously, as he put his sunglasses on.

Once we walked into TopShop, we were greeted by an employee who looked at Paul, noticed his mask, and said, "Sir, we don't require masks in this store, so you don't have to wear that if you don't want to."

Surprised that she'd said such a thing since I'd never heard anyone else do so, I faltered a bit. Quickly enough, though, (but not quickly enough to spare myself from awkwardness) I came up with a response, "He's just sort of frail, ma'am. Always getting sick, he is. Even the sun bothers him," I explained with a gesture to his sunglasses.

I felt Paul give me an indignant look at that, but I ignored it and smiled at the employee who said she understood completely. We walked away, and then Paul spoke up in a comically provocative tone, "Frail? Is that the best you could come up with?"

"What else did you want me to say? That you're Paul McCartney from 1963 who's wearing a kitten mask and sunglasses because you don't want to be recognized?"

"I understand your point, but frail? I'd prefer a much more flattering adjective than that to describe me," he sassed jokingly with a girly swish of his hand.

I held back my giggles as I replied, "Okay, how about conceited?"

"Well at least then it would be true," he laughed as we found our way to the gentleman's department.

I decided that a pair of jeans and a couple of shirts would satisfy his needs for now, so I first found a pair of jeans I thought he'd like and then asked for his size.

"32 x 33, luv," he answered kindly with a wink that sent my heart soaring.

Quickly enough, I found his size and then told him to try them on in the changing room I directed him to. He whined at the idea of having to try them on, and it was all I could do to keep myself from giving him a playful shove, for he truly sounded like a four-year-old.

I waited as he changed into them, before he soon came out and showed them to me. They were a little big on his slenderly-built frame, but he didn't seem to mind so I figured I didn't either.

Next, we went to find him some shirts. He was a bit perplexed by some of them, especially the graphic tees, which displayed various pop culture icons. Thus, we ended up having to have a ten minute conversation about what Mario Kart, Metallica, and The Avengers were, and why such things would be printed on a shirt. I then let him out of my sight for five seconds while I looked at a nice button-up, when I heard the sounds of intense laughter coming from a child somewhere to my left. Deciding to investigate, I walked closer to the sound, and was both irritated and heart-warmed once I found out what was causing it.

There, lying flat on his back with a ridiculous fedora upon his head, was Paul pretending to be shot as he clutched his chest, the child doubling over in fits of laughter. I could only assume that he and the child had begun playing cops and robbers or something of that sort and Paul, being the robber, had been caught and thus shot, but of course there was also the unlikely explanation that Paul was just having a stroke.

Angered that he'd broken my rule, I hissed at him, "Paul! What on earth are you doing? Get off the floor!"

"I can't, Molly," he whispered weakly. "Policeman, uh, what was your name again, lad?" he asked the child.

"Maddox," the boy replied with a stifled giggle.

"What a strange name..." I heard Paul whisper to himself. "Anyway, Policeman Maddox has killed me because I'm a robber and I stole a little old lady's money."

"Well in that case, I'll be your coroner," I grumbled as I bent down and grabbed Paul's hand. He got up a bit shakily, and then looked at the kid, pointed to me, and shrugged.

"She's a party spoiler, isn't she?" he whispered to Maddox, who then howled with laughter.

"Well, so sorry to ruin your fun," I rolled my eyes as I practically dragged Paul back over to the shirts, all whilst he waved a goodbye to Maddox, who still hadn't stopped laughing.

Once we were alone, I let him have it. "Paul! I told you not to talk to anyone! Especially not when you look the way you do! What if his mum had come back and seen you, your face completely hidden, playing with her kid? You've got to do as I say, because I don't want you to get into trouble."

At my outburst (which prompted a few curious looks from other shoppers), his whole demeanor shifted. He seemed truly regretful and guilty for causing me stress, and that was all it took for me to instantly forgive him, although I didn't tell him so.

"I'm sorry, Molly. I wasn't thinking. I just felt bad that the lad was standing all alone with nothing to do, y'know, so I played with him. I should have remembered the situation, though," he sighed, and I could hear a tinge of sadness in his tone, reminding me that he was probably still upset about being in a time he didn't belong in.

"No, no, it's alright, Paul. It was kind of you to think of him," I smiled, which seemed to relax him a bit. "Anyway, enough of all that, yeah? Why don't we find you some shirts now?"

"Sounds gear," he replied, and, although I couldn't see his eyes because of the sunglasses, I knew he'd winked at me.

I don't hate this chapter as much as the other ones, so I really hope you all liked it, too! Thanks for reading, and for leaving all of your wonderful comments and votes! I really appreciate it! ❤️