Oh, I know what Ringo would teach me: style! (and I still don't own the Beatles)

A/N: Chapter 10! Double digits! Thanks to Macca40 over on WattPad for all the support!

"What are we going to do?" moaned Brian. "We can't go anywhere in the bus, it's too recognizable and we might hit a fan, and god knows that would destroy the Beatles' reputation, but we can't get out, we'd be mobbed and that's far too dangerous, but how else can we go find the others?"

"Don't we have a backup plan?" asked Ringo, confused. "We always have a backup plan!"

"Lennon . . . ." Brian growled.

"Sorry?" asked Ringo.

"The backup plan was the rental car," said Mal despondently.

They sat (and stood in Mal's case) for a couple of silent, miserable seconds.

"We're going to have to do something," said Mal eventually. "It's either bus or foot."

"Sounds like we're stuck between a hard place and a harder place," said Ringo.

"Bus," said Brian decisively.

"Right-o," said Mal to Brian, and then to the driver, "Take it away, mate."

As the morning mist drained out of the alley, cars started to zoom by on the larger streets at either end. None of the arriving commuters noticed two young with long hair men crouched behind a dumpster in the alley.

"Sounds like a plan, then," said Neil, standing up and brushing himself off. George also stood up.

"Let's hope Brian and the others stay put," said George. "Are you ready?"

"I can't believe we're doing this," muttered Neil, "But yes, I'm ready."

"Let's get this party started!" exclaimed George. "One, two, three, GO!"

Neil and George raced around the dumpster and back the way they had come, zig-zagging through traffic as they dashed across the street and down another alley.

Several girls entered the alley from the opposite end and began to scream.

"JUMP!" yelled George. He and Neil both leapt into the air, grabbing the first-storey landing of the rusted fire escape above them. They hauled themselves onto the flimsy metal platform, the girls below trying to pull them down by their legs. One even managed to pull off George's left shoe.

Neil and George scrambled to their feet and legged it up the rickety staircase to the roof of the building. Once there, they paused for a breather.

"Which one's the hotel?" asked Neil, gesturing to the rooftops surrounding them.

"Two buildings that way," said George, panting.

"Thank God the first two are connected," said Neil. He and George hopped over the divider between the two rooftops.

"Ooh, look," said George, pointing to the street below. It was thronged with screaming, wailing, fainting fans.

Neil looked slightly queasy. "I'm fine over here, thanks."

"So now we just have to leap over two two-foot gaps, then we're at the hotel," said George. "From there, we can go back down the prearranged route, most of the fans've probably left by now."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" asked Neil.

"Absolutely not! But it'll be fun regardless," said George with a grin. Neil paled.

The screams suddenly grew louder down below. George leaned over the edge of the roof to take a look. Neil stared at his friend, alarmed.

"There's something going on down there," said George.

"Please don't fall! Brian would blame me," said Neil.

"It's –" said George, but then suddenly broke off and said something that they wouldn't allow on prime time television.

"What's wrong?" asked Neil. "Have you lost your grip?"

"It's the bus!"

Neil joined George at the edge of the roof, just in time to watch the tour bus careen out of the alley, scattering fans, and sail down the street.

"That's not good," said Neil.

"Quick, down the stairs!" ordered George. The pair bolted into the building through the thankfully unlocked door and zoomed down the stairs. Several businessmen entered their cubicles that morning convinced they had been hallucinating on the stairs.

George and Neil raced out of the building through the lobby and down the street after the bus. The bus itself wasn't going very quickly, as a conglomeration of fans had grouped around its front and didn't look like they were going anywhere.

"We're not letting you leave until we see the Beatles!" screamed one girl.

"We love you, Paul!" screamed another.

"No, John's the best!" screamed a third. She and the Paul girl were soon rolling around on the ground while George and Ringo fans egged them on.

"It's THEM!" shrieked a girl who couldn't have been more than nine, catching sight of George and Neil as they tried to get through the crowd.

George and Neil pushed their way through the crowd as quickly as possible, finally reaching the bus. The doors were flung open by someone inside, and they tumbled in, gasping for breath.

Mal slammed the door shut behind them.

"You look like you just came through a paper shredder," said Ringo, not bothering to get out of his seat.

"Gee, thanks," said George sarcastically. "Just the look I was aiming for."

Brian positively radiated relief. "Oh, you're back! We were so worried!"

George and Neil collapsed into their seats.

"Where are John and Paul?" asked Neil.

"We thought they were with you," said Brian.

"No, we thought they were with you," said George.

"So they're still out there!" exclaimed Ringo. "They don't stand a chance!"

"Perfect!" said Paul as he tied the zoot suit's coat together. It made a makeshift bag containing his and John's Beatle suits.

"Here," said John, pushing the end of a mahogany walking stick through the knot. "Now you can carry it over your shoulder."

"Brill!" enthused Paul. "You sure you don't want to take off those heels?"

"It won't be realistic otherwise," said John.

"I didn't know realism was a goal," said Paul dubiously.

John merely winked.

"I guess that means you're holding me up, then," said Paul.

"But you're not wearing any underwear!"

"So?"

John rolled his eyes and knelt down on all fours. "My dear, care to elevate yourself on me?" he asked in a high-pitched voice.

"Certainly," Paul snickered. He stepped up onto John's back carefully and reached for the grimy basement window.

"There we go!" he exclaimed triumphantly as he pulled open the window. It protested with a loud screech but fell open nevertheless.

"Hurry up, my back's killing me!" complained John.

Paul hauled himself out through the window, into the deserted alleyway on the opposite side of the hotel from the tour bus.

"Pass me the suits," said Paul, reaching back into the basement. John held up the bundle. Paul grabbed the end of the walking stick and pulled the makeshift bag out of the cellar.

"Coming?" asked Paul, reaching back into the basement. He heaved his friend out of the window. They sat on the cobblestones for a second before bursting out laughing.

"You look great!" giggled John.

"As do you!" laughed Paul. "I hope the press doesn't recognize us!"

The two Beatles doubled over laughing.

A/N: Subliminal (review!) advertising (review!) is (review!) useful (review!) sometimes (review!).