temporary fix || george harrison

44%

GEORGE WAS nothing less than a nanny goat after my incident at their show in Darwen, patching me up and taking me along with him to every show after that with a strict leave of absence from Chris.

Whom I'm starting to suspect is trying to get George and I to marry as soon as possible, suggesting to George that he should take me on holiday just the two of us as soon as The Beatles' tour of the UK was over. I had a good laugh over that, but secretly hoped that Christopher hadn't put any rash ideas into George's head regarding the whole nuptials ordeal.

George had mentioned to me on the roof that he had it in his right mind to make me his wife. Something that in any other situation, I would whole heartedly accept with passion and fervor. The whole idea of becoming a Beatle wife pleased me beyond logical reason, but also terrified me. George and I were both just barely 20, but if I were to have my birthday in August in 1963, would I still age forwards?

Besides the point. Even if I did stay in the past with George and married him, would we even last? As horrible as that had even sounded, would George still love me when he went on tour?  During the peak of his fame?

These were all questions that had plagued my mind ever since he revealed to me his true feelings- the ones that we so desperately tried to shut away. Just for the sake of the safety of our hearts.

Too bad for me that I wore mine on my cheek.

Crawling out of the hotel bed, I pulled aside the curtains and noticed yet another classic English grey sky that seemed quite unbothered by my woes. Well, at least that hadn't changed.

And speaking of changes now that I thought of it, George and John had been completely on nonverbal terms. Both regarding each other coldly, if they ever did come close. But being in a band made it rather tricky and damn near impossible to avoid each other completely.

I knew it was all because of me, and John's poignant song about his unyielding affection for me. George made it a point to keep him away from me, which was totally unnecessary and against my pacifist nature. I was in the midst of a trench war, neither John, nor George allowing me to walk the strip of  no man's land to draft a peace treaty.

George and I had also yet to acknowledge the fact that John's song was about me, I had figured it was a point of soreness for George. Or he didn't even give it a second thought once he declared his possession of me in front of John. But that was most likely not the case, George time and time again had proved to me that he was the jealous type. Not that I minded.

On top of everything else, I've been thinking of that fever dream I had of John's death in the hospital since the day I was discharged. Was I supposed to make something of it and tell John? Was I supposed to be the one to stop it from ever coming into reality?

My thoughts were quickly smothered by the intense warmth that suddenly draped around me, much to my own pleasure.

"G'mornin' love." George's arms circled themselves around my waist, resting so easily on my hips with a warm squeeze.

I shivered at the feeling of his deliciously warm breath on my neck, tilting it just so slightly to get that tingling feeling all over.

"Morning, Geo." I whispered, angling my head for a sleepy morning kiss that I knew would end up with us rolling around in the sheets. Painfully ignoring the desire that oozed so addictively hot in our bodies.

Our lips spoke the language of our love, and only fed into our desire like wood to a flame. Burning, scintillating, effervescent in light and passion. I could feel myself losing grip on my own sanity as well as my self control the longer this went on. I knew it was a mistake to kiss him and come back to George in the first place but god did it feel so good.