"Nay," he suddenly declared. "I must retreat into the gloomy bliss." And he descended into the chlorine-infested waters. They fomented and gurgled behind him, forming the words in drowsy bubbles: "Doctor Lennon Double-Oh Seven does not own the Beatles with an 'a'."

A/N: Happy Birthday! Beatles in a Beetle turns one year old tomorrow! Everybody sing the first line from the Beatles' "Birthday!" Or just hum. Or do nothing if you're in the middle of an urgent, secret CIA meeting. The usual shout-out to my reviewers: Thanks to Macca's Little Teddy Bear and the mysterious "Guest" on FanFiction (and yes, that is a Doctor Who reference in Chapter 11) and to Macca40 and CityofStarlight over on WattPad!

An hour into the drive, the atmosphere in the bus had relaxed somewhat. Mal was taking a quick nap in the back of the bus while Brian and Neil planned the next leg of the tour. George had woken up; he and Ringo were reading Mal's Elvis fan magazine. John and Paul were jotting down ideas in John's notebook.

"Alright, everyone, we're going to stop soon," called Brian loudly. The Beatles, who were closer to the front, turned around to look at him. Mal shook his head groggily and put on his glasses, pushing himself up in his seat.

"If you need to use the WC, now is your chance," said Brian. "We're not stopping again until we get to Ipswitch."

"Does that mean we get tea now, then?" asked John hopefully.

"If they offer it, of course you may buy some," said Brian.

"I'll go tell the driver," offered Mal. He trudged to the front of the bus and murmured something to the driver. "He says there's a gas station about five minutes away," Mal informed them.

"Who's getting off, then?" asked Neil.

"I will," said George. "I'd love a cuppa."

"I have to get off too," Ringo informed them.

"Why?" asked John.

"None of your business, Lennon," joked Ringo.

"You getting off, Eppy?" inquired Paul as the bus pulled into the otherwise deserted parking lot of a rather shabby gas station.

"Yes, I have to bribe the press to keep quiet about John cross-dressing in the streets of Bournemouth," grumbled Brian. "No thanks to you, I might add."

"Yeah, sorry about that," said Paul indifferently. He and John returned to their notebook.

The bus slowed to a halt. George, Ringo, and Brian all got up.

"Can you grab us some tea while you're out?" asked John.

"Come and get it yourselves," replied George.

"We're busy," said John.

"We could be writing another hit record, you know," added Paul.

Ringo shrugged. "Sure, I'll get you some tea, John. You too, Paul?"

"Yes, please!"

Mal, George, Ringo, and Brian all shuffled off the bus. Neil snatched the abandoned Elvis magazine from George's now vacated chair.

As soon as he stepped off the bus, Brian made a beeline for a payphone in a booth against the wall of the gas station. Mal, Ringo, and George all entered the store.

Mal and Ringo both headed to the back in search of the loo, so George was left roaming the aisles for snacks. He grabbed seven packets of crisps and headed up to the counter to get some tea, but he was distracted by an aisle devoted to Halloween decorations. George grinned as he snatched some costume accessories.

He nearly bumped into Ringo on his way to the counter.

"Come to get some tea?" asked Ringo.

"Yeah, and you?"

"Same. Say, what d'you want with a pile of hair and a pile of tan rubber?" asked Ringo, noticing the things George was holding.

"These," said George, holding aloft his soon-to-be purchases, "Are four Beatle wigs and four skull caps."

Ringo's eyes widened and his mouth dropped into a small "O."

"Quick, let's get this stuff before Mal sees," said George, ushering Ringo over to the counter. A wizened old man who couldn't have been taller than five feet stood behind it, peering over the cash register.

"We'd like to buy these, please," requested George, putting the crisps and the costumes on the counter. "And four cups of English Breakfast tea."

The man smiled toothlessly at George and Ringo before puttering about, pouring hot water into paper cups.

"And could you go quickly, please?" added Ringo, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

"Of course!" said the man in a high-pitched voice. He added a tea bag to each cup and carefully placed the lids on so that the tea bags' tags didn't fall into the water.

"Er . . . really, could you go as fast as you can? Not to rush you, but we're in a bit of a hurry," said George, drumming his fingers on the counter.

The man turned back to them and typed their purchases into his cash register slowly and deliberately. He got about halfway through when he looked up at them again and smiled broadly.

"You're the Beatles!" he chirped.

"Just half of them," replied Ringo modestly.

"Could I have your autographs?" the man asked eagerly. Ringo and George exchanged an incredulous look.

"For my granddaughter," the man added hastily.

"Okay," said Ringo. "Can I have something to write on?"

"Oh!" exclaimed the man, flustered. He searched around in the drawers under the desk. George glanced at his watch pointedly.

Finally, the man pulled an old receipt out of the drawer.

"Who should I sign it to?" asked Ringo.

"Joe," replied the man.

George raised an eyebrow.

"Your granddau— Ow!" yelped Ringo as George kicked the drummer in the ankle.

"To Joe . . . from Ringo Starr," muttered Ringo as he signed the receipt. He handed it back to the man.

The man held it out to George.

"Oh, fine," said George. He hastily signed the receipt. "Now can you please check us out?"

They finished the transaction as hastily as possible and shoved the Beatle wigs into a paper bag just as Mal emerged from the men's room.

"Heeeey Mal! Fancy meeting you here!" exclaimed Ringo as he and George whipped around guiltily.

"I've got to go see whether Brian's got everything sorted," said Mal. "Meet you back at the bus."

"Gear!" replied George a little too eagerly. "Let's go away now, Rings."

The drummer and lead guitarist returned to the bus as quickly as they could without spilling the tea. On the way past the telephone booth, they heard Brian fuming, "No, I will not pay that much to keep the news from leaking! . . . Do I want to keep out the news that George was playing Spiderman as well? What do you mean, George was playing Spiderman? Don't tell me he was dressed up too . . . ."

As they got on the bus, they heard John exclaim "Quota!" to Paul.

"Ooh, that's a good one," replied Paul appreciatively.

Ringo handed the two teas he was carrying to John and Paul. "Here you are!" he announced proudly.

"Ta," replied Paul. John grunted gratefully.

"What're you doing?" asked George, pausing on his way down the aisle to look down at John and Paul.

"Listing words that start with 'Q'," replied John as if this were the obvious answer.

"What're we missing?" asked Paul, holding up the notebook on John's lap for George to see.

"A purpose in life," replied George before continuing to his seat two rows behind them.

Soon Brian and Mal clambered onto the tour bus as well. Brian managed to slip past John and Paul, or maybe they didn't want to cross him when he looked likely to start tearing his hair out.

"Right! Time to go, then!" said Mal, walking down the aisle as the bus lurched into motion.

"Stop!" yelled John, snapping his right leg and arm into the narrow passage, blocking Mal. "You can't sit down until you give us another word starting with 'Q'!"

Mal frowned, scratching his head.

"Queen?" he suggested.

"Nope, got it," said Paul.

"Erm . . . quid?" Mal posited.

"Nah, we got that ages ago," said John.

"Let the man sit down, John," called Brian tiredly from the back. John twisted in his seat and stuck his tongue out at Brian. Mal took advantage of John's distraction and pushed aside the Beatle's arm, stepping over the extended leg.

"What about 'curdle'?" asked Ringo.

"That doesn't start with 'Q'," replied Paul in befuddlement, turning around to look at the drummer.

Ringo looked crestfallen. "It doesn't?"

"Better be careful, Ringo. If you keep chasing after parked cars you'll get dain bramage," snarked John.

"Aw . . . ."

Brian pulled a black eye mask over his face. "Don't wake me until we're fifteen minutes outside Ipswitch," the manager requested of Neil.

A/N: This one's one of the longest installments yet, to make up for last time's shortness. Yay!

The gloomy deep bubbles reformed one last time to reveal the final message to the awaiting awestruck heroes. Elfric and Belladonna frantically jotted down the next remark in their pretty palm-frond spiral-bound notebooks from £4.93 at select stores and resale outlets:

"And don't forget to review, my bonny friends!"

And then he left for good, and they had a picnic and a good time happy to be rid of him.