Martha My Dear, Where Have You Gone?

Part 5

John's P.O.V.

There I was. Sitting in some stranger's car on the way to the vet with Paul's burning, feverish body in my arms. He was still out of it, which was bothering me, but, at the same time, I was relieved because, at least this way, he wouldn't be in pain, plus he wouldn't have to worry to death about his beloved dog. Martha was lying in the back and I was praying she would be alright as well. I mean, I honestly don't think Paul could live without her.

I looked out of the fogged-over window to find nothing but more, raging snow. I wondered if it would ever stop as I then began to grow anxious. For some reason, I've always felt that if nature was unsteady, I would feel unsteady as well and, right now, it was having that effect on me.

"How much longer until we get there?" I asked impatiently.

"Not too much longer. Maybe ten minutes. Sam is just driving a little bit slower because of the weather," Robert replied, his dark eyes meeting my almond-shaped ones. "Why? Is your friend okay?"

"I don't know, honestly. I hope so," I exhaled as I looked down at Paul's childlike face, which was lined with sweat.

"Well, don't worry. We'll be there in a jiffy."

"Okay. I'll try not to."

******************

Omniscient P.O.V.

Ten minutes later, the black car carrying the two men, half of the Beatles, and Martha pulled into the parking lot of a small, yet sufficient-looking veterinary clinic. John, still holding his unconscious friend, was more than relieved that he and Martha both would finally get the medical help they so desperately needed. He still thought it was too bad Paul wouldn't be treated in an actual hospital, though.

"Alrighty, then. We're here," Sam declared as he parked the car. "I think we've made it before they closed."

"Thank gosh!" John breathed as he prepared to carry Paul in, but something happened which caused his preparation to become useless.

"J-John?" drifted faintly and weakly from Paul's mouth.

"Macca!" John exclaimed happily. "You're awake, thank goodness!"

"What happened?" the younger Beatle croaked as he rubbed his bloodshot, hazel eyes.

Before John had a chance to respond, Paul suddenly cried out in agony as he winced and bit his finger, as an attempt to push away the awful, tremendous pain in his ailing leg.

"Oh gosh, it hurts!" he yelped.

"I know it does lad, but that's why Sam and Robert here have taken us to the vet's."

And that's when John knew he had messed up terribly. The vet? Why couldn't he think before he spoke?

"Wait a minute, why are we at the vet's and not the hospital?" Paul inquired, puzzled.

But, as soon as the words had left his lips, a look of pure anguish and worry spread across his flushed face. John knew his mate was about to flip out, but how could he really do anything about it?

"Martha!!" Paul screamed causing everyone in the car to cover their ears. "We've got to get her in there now! What the heck are we doing still sitting here?!" he demanded, his glassy eyes darting around wildly.

"We'll get her in now! Don't worry, lad!" Robert bellowed as he quickly opened the door and got out, which caused a blast of icy, cold air to shoot through the inside of the car. Paul shivered a bit in response and, once more, John felt sorry for his feverish friend.