Find My Way (A Paul McCartney Fanfiction)

(7)

It was a little after twelve when we finished eating (well, Paul didn't actually finish his, but you know what I mean). Seeing that we still had the whole day ahead of us, I was wondering how we would fill the time. I looked at Paul, imagining what he might like to do, when I hit upon a idea.

"Paul? Would you like to go to a bookstore before we go home? I mean, if we pick up a few books you'll have something to do when I have to go back to work tomorrow," I said.

He nodded with a smile, but there was a look in his eyes that I couldn't quite place. "Or would you rather go home now? It doesn't matter to me," I assured him.

"No, no, that sounds like a good idea. I'd like to have something to do while I'm home all alone by my lonesome," he joked in a melodramatic tone, but I could still sense that something was bothering him.

"Perhaps he's a bit scared of being by himself," I thought to myself. "I should have realized that he might be."

"Molly," he then spoke up in a serious manner, which immediately got my attention. "I do appreciate everything you've done for me so far, and I thank you, but, y'know—I hope you don't think ill of me for saying this—," he said as he bit at his forefinger and shifted awkwardly. "I'm, well...I'm still rather worried about figuring out how to get back to 1963. Y'know...well, what if I'm never able to go back?"

His eyes watered a bit, and I didn't know if he was suppressing tears or if his eyes were simply dry. I went to console him, nonetheless, but almost as quickly as his innermost thoughts and feelings had been spoken, they'd been covered up by his next comment. "No, no, it's alright. Sorry I said that, luv. I'm just being the worrier the lads always tell me I am."

Again I thought of how much acting he truly did on a daily basis, which went unnoticed by anyone who didn't truly know him. I frowned in sympathy for him. "Paul, you've every right to feel the way you do. Trust me, I will try to think of how to get you back, but I must admit that I really haven't a clue how to right now. I am sorry that you're in this predicament, though."

"Well how could you have a clue about all this? If anyone should have one, it's me," he said with a hint of annoyance, which I could tell he'd tried to hide. "It's alright, though. It's not your fault, and that's the main thing. We'll figure it out soon enough."

"But what happens if we don't..." I couldn't help but wonder as I plastered on a smile.

"Of course we will...Jonathan," I instead teased as I reached forward and grabbed his pale, trembling hand, which betrayed how upset he truly was.

"I believe you," he replied with a confidence that seemed triumphant over his unsure face.

"Now if I can believe myself, too..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Our serious talk had not put a damper on either of our moods, so we decided to go on to the bookshop. Within ten minutes, we'd arrived at Pages of Hackney, my book store of choice, and one that happened to only sell classics or modern classics so I thus wouldn't have to worry about Paul finding a book about himself.

Once inside, Paul's eyes seemed to light up like a child's on Christmas morning. It was quite a sight to see him so relaxed and excited about something, especially since only minutes prior he'd expressed his deepest worries and fears.

I laughed and patted him on the shoulder. "Excited, Paulie?"

"Just a little," he grinned shyly. "I always did love to read, y'know."

I refrained from saying that I did indeed know, and instead told him to start looking around, then. Nodding happily, he went off in one direction and I in another. I hadn't even managed to flip to the first page of a Sherlock Holmes novel, before he came running back to me, though.