Jump: A Beatles Fan-Fiction

Chapter 8: December 6th, 1963, 2:00AM || London, England

"Next Jump in 36 Hours"

I stared at the door in shock for a moment. I didn't know what to do. Should I have begged Paul to let me come in and sleep on the couch? I could have, but he seemed pretty set on me being with George that night.

I clutched my clothes tightly. I wasn't ready for anything too intimate, especially with somebody that didn't live in the same time period as I did.

But George would understand that. Maybe he got another bed, or a couch, or a--a futon! Yeah, a futon, I thought.

I slowly walked down to George's room, number 243. My stomach was flipping, I couldn't think straight.

After what felt like ages I reached his flat. I knocked on the door, "George, it's me, Penny," I said softly, half-hoping he may not hear me and I could go back to Paul's.

George answered right away and pulled me inside, "Penny!" he said, looking into my eyes.

I could feel my face heating up as he took my hand, "George. Thanks for letting me crash here, it's really nice of you,"

"Of course! I really want to spend time with you, you know, if you end up having to leave," he trailed off.

I glanced around his flat. It was very nice, but kind of messy, it looked as though George had tried to clean up a little bit before I came. I could see some papers rumpled in the corner and under the bed. George also had a few instruments and some equipment lying around.

"So where would be a good place to put my things?" I asked.

"You can just set them on the table," he replied.

"I'm so tired, probably from all of that dancing," I laughed. It was then that I realized that I hadn't gotten sleep in over 24 hours. "We'd better get to bed, it's very late," I sighed.

"Right!" George said, finally breaking my gaze. "You don't have any night clothes, do you?" He asked.

It didn't even occur to me that I might need pajamas. I was still wearing the dress Paul gave me.

"Here," he handed me a striped button down shirt, and matching striped pants. "I'm sure they'll be a big, but it was all that I could find."

"Thank you," I said.

He pointed me towards the bathroom, where I changed. He was right, they were much too big, but they smelled wonderful.

I let my hair down, and walked out to find George had changed into black, silk, pajamas.

"Penny..." he sat down on the bed, "I have a confession to make."

I knew where this was going.

"I don't actually have two beds. I just told Paul that so he'd let you stay with me tonight. That's okay with you isn't it?" he asked, looking concerned.

I gave him a blank look. George Harrison lied to Paul McCartney, so that he could spend time with me, alone.

Nobody had ever wanted to spend time with me so badly before.

George started to look even more uneasy. I sat down next to him, and kissed him.

That seemed to reassure him.

We kissed for a long time, but when we pulled apart it felt like only a split second had passed. Everything was happening so fast. It made my head spin. The two of us sat on the bed for a moment.

"We'd better get to sleep. Don't you guys have stuff to do in the morning?" I asked.

"Yes, we have a photo shoot tomorrow afternoon. Then we're playing a gig later on in the evening," he sighed, "But you're right, we do need sleep."

George got up and turned off the light. I set my glasses on the bedside table. We climbed into bed together.

He took me in his arms and kissed me gently, "Goodnight darling," he whispered.

"Goodnight George," I whispered back.

We laid there, facing each other for a couple of minutes. The light from the window glinted in his eyes. His hair was disheveled, and he had a small, content little smile on his face.

I wanted more than anything in that moment to tell him. To tell him all about 1993, where I was from, what was happening, and what was going to happen. But I knew that I couldn't. I was going to have to go back to my time. I was already screwing things up as it was.

I decided to talk to him anyway. I had to let him know that this couldn't last, "George?"

"Yes, Penny?" he said softly.

"When I get my memory back I'm probably going to have to leave," I said.

"I know," he moaned.

"I don't want to," I admitted.

"Then don't. Stay with me. We can have a life together. The guys love you... Penny, I love you."

I froze. Nobody (that wasn't related to me) had ever uttered those words to me.

"George, we only just met today. You don't know me. I don't even know me. You can't love me. You're just tired." I rambled.

"Who says I can't love you? I feel like I love you. I love your hair, your personality, your smile, and even your mysterious clothes. Isn't that all I need to love you?" he insisted.

This crushed me, knowing that I'd have to leave George. Even if I did get stuck in the 60s, there would be no way I could pursue a relationship with him; it would alter history too much.

"Yes George. I guess it is," I sighed.

I paused for a moment, trying to decide if I should tell George how I really felt. I did love him. I had loved him for a long time before that day. All that I had ever read about him; all of the songs I'd heard him sing, they made me fall in love with him far before we had met.

"I love you too George." I blurted out.

We were silent. I looked into his eyes, they seemed to never end. Behind them was burning compassion. Care. Excitement. Love.

I buried my face into his chest. His pajamas were soft, and he was warm. I snuggled closer, trying to forget my worries, and drifted into a deep sleep.