Talk about Magical Mysteries

There will be an answer

A/N: Somehow, this chapter wrote. With the way things went down yesterday, I wasn't even sure if I could do one.

Thank you all for reading, can you believe this little guy's becoming ten chapters soon? I thought I'd only be at three with my intended posting schedule.

Reminder, "-o-" means the Beatles, and "-oo-" means the Wizards.

I just realized I missed the perfect chance to quote Revolution 9. Oh well.

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-o-

They did not want to pose as sitting ducks. They were not helpless.

Those were the few words that continued to swirl in George Martin's mind like a mantra from an enlightened Buddha. If he knew this was what he was going to feel for the days without the boys, he would've been... no, he knew it wouldn't be perfect and easy. He knew that they were going to have to stand tall even when they are weary and begging to run back into their arms.

He would've spread those arms and envelope them if he could've, but it was imperative that the four – Mal, Brian, Neil and he, make sure that the four boys still have those they could return to after their touring days are complete. They didn't live in the studio for St. Peter's sake. They had to make sure their friends were alright, the relatives or parents (for some) were still awake and encouraging them to fight the pain of life.

They were all waiting in the Liverpool Mansion. While small on the outside, the inside was huge enough to fit a city.

Paul's father was courteous enough not to press for details when he was called to the Mansion. Despite that, George didn't know if he could keep his steeled and focused expression when he heard the older man lament that the house was quiet when Mary was given to the God who is protecting her and had gotten quieter when his sunshine boy Paul stopped living there. The little brother Michael—Mike for short, had said words similar, but added quickly that he was proud and ready to get his career going as well.

George knew his father meant no harm, it was just hard on an older man who has lost many dear to him. It was evident that he loved his sons very much—in fact, it was quite noticeable that Paul's kind and patient demeanor came from his father. They did not look alike, but their words, their kindness... it was all there.

Perhaps Paul had gotten his mother's sweet smile and light heart. It was quite adorable to see in such a time.

Cynthia was cradling her son, her tiny little boy in her arms who was sleeping but whimpered so often. The poor girl wasn't sure what she could do, she spent most of her time with him, making sure he was fed, played with, and attended to, but... he was not crying, but simply whimpering, resting his head on her comforting shoulder as she rubbed circles on his back. Paul's father checked on the child as well, finding nothing that he could help with.

Perhaps the child was also missing his "Unka Pawl".

George remembered how the bassist was enamoured by the child, holding him close and sweetly telling John and Cynthia that they were so lucky to have such a beautiful baby. A perfect blend of the two. They were in the studio at that time, and George was discussing arrangements with Paul who was mostly interested.

He did not miss the odd scowl on John's face and the strained smile on Cynthia when Paul spoke those words. In those years, he didn't quite understand what was wrong with that. Every parent would want to hear that their child was a product of the two's love, not just a carbon copy of one with no traces of the other. Yet..