Escape of the Nerk Twins

Chapter XVIII

I don't own the Beatles, InmylifeIloveLennon does. Oh, wait, sorry, what was that, my insignificant intern? Sorry, news from the front: InmylifeIloveLennon just got out of the I-Just-Learned-I-Don't-Own-The-Beatles Rehabilitation Camp.

A/N: Gah, I finally pulled through technical difficulties to bring you this chapter! I can't believe it's already the last solely George, Ringo, et al chapter . . . . But don't worry, you lot have "Murder Most Discreet" to look forward to the second I finish Nerk Twins :0) Thanks to InmylifeIloveLennon and PurlyandGirly for the disclaimer. Thanks so much to all the lovely reviewers, from newcomers to returned friends (hi omgringo :0) to steady stalwarts: FanFiction - omgringo, Macca's Little Teddy Bear, ThisBirdHasFlownToRhye, leah9712, Swimmer girl 17, Naturelover422, and Georgehorse64; WattPad - Macca40, cityofstarlight, PurlyandGirly, Marvel_is_best, NJ2001, and InmylifeIloveLennon

Ringo sat up and yawned widely. He glanced around the hotel room lazily, his eyes travelling over the heavy curtains with bright yellow sunlight streaming in around the edges. In the bathroom, he could hear the pitter-patter of the shower, and if he listened carefully he thought he could hear George singing. His gaze meandered over to the alarm clock, which announced it was 11:15.

The drummer yawned again as he slid out of bed and stumped across the stubbly carpet to his slippers. He pulled them on, blinked, yawned again, and wandered toward the door.

He grimaced as an unexpected dampness sank into the sole of his slipper and looked down to see that a puddle of lukewarm water was inching out sluggishly from under the bathroom door across the carpet. Ringo bent down, pulled off the sodden slipper and tossed it across the room. It slapped the bland white wall and fell to the ground with an anticlimactic squelch.

Ringo yawned again and stumbled, one-slippered, out the door into the suite's living room. He squinted against the sudden rush of sunlight.

"Good morning, Ringo!" said Brian pleasantly, putting down his fork. Spread out across the coffee table was what seemed to be the hotel's full room service menu, from bacon to tea.

Neil and Mal waved from the couch, each with a full plate of scrambled eggs.

"Why didn't you wake us up?" Ringo asked, sitting down in the nearest chair and grabbing a plate from the coffee table.

"No point, as you don't need to go anywhere today," answered Neil, swallowing a mouthful of toast. "You're grounded to the suite, unless John and Paul turn up."

"Have you lot been looking for them?" wondered Ringo, helping himself to several pancakes.

"All morning," replied Brian gloomily. "I'm starting to get rather worried about them, to be completely - oh, good morning, George!"

George strolled into the living room in jeans and a blue t-shirt. His damp hair still dripped occasionally onto his shirt, creating an odd pattern of dark splotches on the fabric.

"Morning, everyone," said the guitarist, shaking his head a little and sending water droplets flying across the room. Brian grimaced as he wiped one off his tie, but George continued to talk obliviously. "Good to see you up finally, Rings. Hey Eppy, what's the word on John and Paul?"

"According to the Glasgow Herald, they've gone to Norway to give a free concert," replied Mal, clinking his empty mug back down onto the glass coffee table. "But the BBC seems to think they've gone back to Liverpool to try to resume normal lives."

"But we don't know where they are," added Neil. "All we have is a couple of dead ends. We've basically given up" - here Brian tutted impatiently - "and we're just waiting for them to come back."

"We haven't given up, we're simply taking a moment to collect our thoughts," interrupted Brian quickly.

"You'll love this story from the newspaper," said Mal, picking up a discarded newspaper from the couch next to him. He read aloud, "'Yesterday, fans of the pop group 'the Beatles' laid siege to Dundee Hospital in search of their heroes. Not a single policeman guarded the building or its occupants as nearly two thousand teenage girls tore the place apart; however, the fans were unsuccessful - neither hide nor hair of John Lennon and Paul McCartney has been seen since their Dundee concert."

"And listen to this!" said Neil, grabbing the newspaper and yanking it unceremoniously out of Mal's hands. "The Glasgow Herald says: "Beatles Ringo Starr and George Harrison are being kept in the dark about their bandmates' disappearance by the group's management. This has led to some speculation that manager Brian Epstein may have been responsible for the disappearance of John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Perhaps it is simply a publicity stunt, or maybe it's something darker. Nathan Smith says that -"

Brian groaned. "Can you please stop reading that? It's giving me a headache."

Neil smirked as he tossed the newspaper onto an empty chair.

"Should we watch a little telly?" asked Mal. Everyone else shrugged, so the roadie leaned over and pushed the button on the small, blocky television in the corner.

Everyone gasped, staring at the fuzzy black and white image, as the newscaster announced, "- appears to be the supposedly ill Paul McCartney, one of the two missing members of the Beatles."

A/N: Excuse me, you there? Yes, you! You've won a prize!

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