Above Us Only Sky (Paul McCartney/Beatles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 25 - Weepy Time Down South

"Place of residence?" The bored Customs agent barely glanced at the couple standing in front of him.

"London," Paul said.

"Me too, London," Marisol added. She clung to Paul's arm, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Who knew what mayhem awaited them beyond the doors of Passport Control? It boggled the mind. Paul gave her a reassuring wink. She tried to smile back. On his shoulder, Melody slept on, unfazed by the too-bright lights and the general airport clatter of announcements and aircraft noise.

"Do you want to see our marriage license?" Marisol said.

"No," said the agent, stamping their passports.

They stood to one side to wait for the others to clear Immigration.

"I need you to take the baby home in case we get separated," Paul said to his brother. He eased a slumbering Melody into Mike's arms.

"Right Wack, got it."

"Angela, Mike will get you home, or to ours, whichever you want."

"Okay..." Angela exchanged a worried glance with Marisol.

"Ready?" Paul said to her, reaching for her hand.

"Umm..."

"We'll walk fast. Nothing to it."

The thick glass door to Customs & Immigration slid open and Marisol stepped through, looked to her left, and froze. Flashbulbs filled the room with quick explosions of light. A group of men in dark suits lunged at her amid a volley of shouts. Marisol's first instinct was to turn and flee back through the door, but Paul propelled her forward into the group of newsmen.

"Oh shite. Here we go," Paul said through gritted teeth.

Someone shouted her name and Marisol automatically turned her head in the direction of the voice. A bright bulb flashed in her face.

"Marisol! Paul! Look this way! Over here love, give us a smile!"

A recording device was thrust under her chin. "How was the wedding? How does it feel to be married to a Beatle? Paul, how does it feel to be married finally?"

As Paul tugged her hard to the right, a man in a suit emerged from the crowd and wrapped a hand around Marisol's other arm. She instinctively shrank away until she realized he was someone she should recognize.

Paul snarled at the man over her head, even though the expression on his face remained placid. "What the bloody hell, Tone?"

"You didn't give us much time to react, Paul."

Suddenly Mal Evans was in front of them, forging a path through the heaving crowd of newsmen, yelling at them to stand back. The flashes kept firing.

They turned down a corridor and were thrust into an empty conference room. The door slammed on the reporters and Paul dropped Marisol's hand and glared at Tony. "Fucking hell, Tone! I can't believe this shit! I'd have you sacked again but Brian would only hire you back in a coupla days!"

"I know, I know." Tony held his hands up in a placating gesture. "Take a few minutes to compose yourselves. I've promised them a short press conference."

"You've WHAT?!" Paul roared. "For fuck's sake, do you realize we've been traveling for an entire day and a night?"

"We've got to give them something, Paul. It was your decision not to get out in front of this."

Paul spat out more profanities and pulled at his hair with both hands, leaving it standing it up in little tufts.

"Right," said Tony. "I'll leave you to get sorted." He looked at his watch. "Twenty minutes."