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It had been pouring the last couple of weeks, and she didn't know how much more of of it she could take. George wouldn't be home for another two days, and as far as she knew, it would continue its seemingly natural downpours even after he was scheduled to come home.
The band had set out three months prior, and she couldn't get enough of the letters and phone calls from him every night; they were going to kill her from making her heart swell so big. She didn't need to see his face, though he sent photographs of him with the boys, and even though seeing his face would make her amazingly happy she needed to hear his voice, and feel his arms around her and his body against hers.
Cleaning up around the house was normal for rainy days but by the time the end of yet another drenched week had come the house was completely spotless. Even the little room George used as a 'songwriting room' was shining, and she would be lying if she told you she didn't work her arse off to get it there. She was tired to say the least, and she couldn't wait to get to bed that night and sleep sleep sleep until she couldn't anymore.
A quick knock at the door is what startled her from her reading by the window, and she tied a robe around her waist while she made her way to the front of the house. Cracking it open a tad, she peaked out and saw someone, or a few people, with their backs turned, murmuring between each other. At first she feared it was fans coming to see George, even though the whole world was aware that the boys were on tour. She furrowed her eyebrows, scoffing a bit under her breath at the thoughts of the boys coming home early; they would've at least phoned first.
Neither of them had heard her though as the conversation between them hadn't stopped and one turned around to knock yet again on the door. As his fist raised, she looked at his face to see it had been Paul, and before his knuckles hit the wood she swung it open.
"What the hell are you doing here?" She questioned, studying their soaked appearances as they stood out in the downpour.
"I mean, we were hoping to come out of the rain," John started, peeking his head inside the door and closing his eyes as the warm inside air smoothed over his features. "It's ruining our perfect heads of hair."
"Please let us in, love, we're drenched and the fans know we're here." Paul shivered, his eyes pleading. She pulled open the door a bit more, just now realizing that there was a group of fans cascading down the slippery street after the three boys and Ringo, Paul and John all scrambled in and shut the door behind them, pushing her out of the way. She huffed and brushed off the front of the robe as she moved in front of the door to see them all huddled together, shaking from the relief.
"Where's George then?"
Their breathing stopped, and they all slowly pulled themselves apart with the widest eyes she'd ever seen on people before. They looked between each other, before Paul scratched the back of his head. "So, there's a problem with that-you see, George had a bit of a, mishap."
And that's when the pounding on the door began. "Let me in! They're at the gate!"
She gave them all a look of horror as she rushed to pull a dripping wet George in from the rain, and quickly locked the door behind him. He scrunched over, coughing loudly as the other three stood looking at their feet. She fell to the ground, cupping George's face in her hands. "Fucking hell, are you alright?"
He nodded as she stood to hug him. "Just a bit wet is all."
After checking up on him and saying a quick (and rudely interrupted) hello, she turned to the boys. "Alright, what is this?" She motioned to George, and they all looked from their shoes to her fiery eyes.
"He took twenty minutes to finish at the bloody cafe," Ringo admitted. "We said we'd meet him back here, and he didn't listen when we said that birds had heard the news of us being back in town, when we tell you some of them are insane-"
She sighed, looking up at George before looking back at them.
"Well, I suppose you're all staying the night then, yes?"
Paul shrugged. "That was the plan—unless you want us to be mauled."
"And we wouldn't want that would we?" John spoke up. "We're special guests in your home, aren't we Hazza?"
George shot him a look, and he nodded towards the stairs. "You lot left me, tricking me usually to get me going about those bloody girls, you know I don't like them all that much."
"We kept on telling you that-"
"Alright alright, that's enough! All of you upstairs, or I'll throw ya out onto the street!"
They looked worried as they headed for the stairs, George glaring at them as he walked towards her. When they had disappeared into their rooms, he took her in his arms and spun her around, earning a surprised laugh. "Ah, I missed that laugh."
"I called you yesterday, George."
"And? Not as good as the real thing."
She smiled into his shoulder as he set her down, peppering kisses anywhere he could reach. He kissed all over her face and her fingertips, all while she stared at him adoringly. Her heart was overflowing.
"Care to tell my why you're home so early?" she put her hand to his lips to stop him.
"Last few shows we're called off; Eppy's sick."
"Poor chap," she sighed, pressing her forehead to his. "I've always liked Eppy, he's a great manager."
"He's great at what he does," George whispered. "But I don't want to talk about tours. I missed you. Have you changed anything since I've been gone?"
He turned and gazed around at the house, nodding slowly as he inspected the shiny furniture and sparkling countertops. "I see you've cleaned?"
"You say that like I've never done it before, I clean more often than you ever have, Hazza."
He ran a finger over the counter. "Missed a spot."
"You're an ass."
He smiled, taking her in his arms again. "My god I missed you so much."
"I missed you too."
"Beyond anything, love, I truly did," his eyes looked sad as he said this, and it pulled at her heart strings. "I wanted nothing more than to come home and see you and hold your body against mine. I can't even explain it, it-" he paused as he looked through her eyes and into her mind. "I love you. And I hate going away."
"Imagine being me," she chuckled, her finger running over his jaw.
He still had that sad look lingering on his face, and it made a chill run down her spine. She was about to speak, before he talked over her; "We're going to stop touring publicly after this next U.S. tour."
She paused, her finger stopped moving and she looked up into his eyes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw somebody standing by the door at the end of the stairs and turned her head to be greeted with the three other Beatles. "Excuse me?"
"There's good reasons, really," George said. "Death threats, the screaming-"
"John's remark about Jesus," Ringo added. "They've publicly burned our records, there've been protests, hell there's barely half of the people at our concerts anymore."
"God," she started, looking between the four of them. Their faces said enough, they were falling apart and they knew it, all because of an opinion someone had. "Do the wives know?"
They shook their heads. "Only you." Paul said quietly. "We plan on telling them when we see them next, about the tour and all that."
She nodded, and faced towards George. "Well, how about some proper scran? You lot must've had a ball with all that grease I bet you've been eating that whole time?"
