Above Us Only Sky (Paul McCartney/Beatles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 15 - No Place Like Home

"Welcome home Paul, how was your holiday?"

"Who's the young lady? Sweetheart, what's your name?"

"Over here, honey, give us a smile, c'mon love."

Flashbulbs and questions fired from all directions. Marisol fought the urge to dash back inside Passport Control. With Mal the gentle giant beside them on the flight home, Paul hadn't bothered with slicking back his hair or wearing his thick glasses. News of his imminent arrival must have reached London long before they did. A small army of newsmen and cameramen waited for them in the Arrivals area, snapping pictures and shouting questions.

Paul's reaction was swift. He shoved his carry-on at Mal and grabbed Marisol's hand and plowed through the throng of newsmen. A smile was plastered to his face for the benefit of the cameras, while he barely responded to the questions shouted at them.

"Why the mustache, Paul, is it a disguise?"

"Obviously not, or you wouldn't have recognized me, right?"

"Who's your lovely companion? C'mon, Paul, give us something, mate."

"When we're ready to make an announcement, you'll be the first to know." Paul's voice sounded calm even as his fingers tightened around Marisol's and he increased his pace.

A cameraman leaped in front of Marisol and she gasped as she nearly tripped over him, blinded by a flash.

"Hey, hey, watch it!" Paul pointed at the photographer and his voice turned menacing. "I know your face, man, don't pull any more stunts like that." Then he gave Mal a look.

"No pictures!" Mal boomed. "Step aside and let them through!"

Marisol nearly jumped out of her skin. She'd never heard soft-spoken Mal make so much noise.

"About bloody time, Mal. Christ." Paul's lips were as rigid as a ventriloquist. He somehow managed to look genial for the cameras while snarling at Mal.   

At the airport exit, Paul made an attempt to placate the hungry newsmen. "Look, mates. I'm on holiday, right? The Beatles are back in the studio next week and it will be a pleasure to see all of you there. All right? Caio. See you then. Cheers. Bye."

The drizzle had turned into a steady rain outside the terminal. Paul looked up and down the row of cars and threw up his hands in disbelief. "Where the fug is my car?"

With photographers still snapping away, an airline representative and some sort of security agent scurried up. "Sir, can we offer assistance?"

"Yes. That'd be grand. Get us out of here, would you mind?"

Magically, umbrellas were raised over their heads, and Marisol and Paul were rushed to a private waiting area inside the terminal building while Mal struggled with the luggage and tried to suss out why Alistair hadn't arrived before the flight with the DB6, as planned.

Twenty minutes later, their alternate limousine transportation still hadn't arrived. Paul took his frustration out on Mal, who looked drenched and miserable. Finally the airline representatives bundled Marisol and Paul into a black taxi, leaving Mal to sort out the luggage and his own transportation.

Inside the taxi, Marisol did her best to soothe her frazzled fiancé, rubbing the back of his neck and reminding him how wonderful it would be to see their baby. Paul's mood had darkened by the minute, from the time their plane had touched down in a cold drizzle.

"I just want my car to show up where it's supposed to when it's supposed to. Is that too bloody much to ask? Fuckin' Alistair." Paul sounded like a petulant little boy.