Isabel didn't sleep very well that night. She already wasn't fond of the disturbing, confusing imagery that would flash before her eyes every time she dared to close them, but now the anxiety and uncertainty of everything that had transpired in the past day was hitting her hard and all at once. Feeling the familiar throbbing sensation in her fingertips, she witnessed the woefully tattered state of her hands.

It wasn't painful, what she repeatedly did to herself. She had become stunningly adept, over the years, at withstanding and blocking out pain; she was numb to it. This habit, ingrained in her since childhood, was something she was seldom ever fully conscious of when she did it. The pulsating morning-after effects of it brought her more pleasure than pain. Sighing in shame, she looked down upon her destroyed fingernails. How could something so horrifying look so beautiful and comforting to her?

Evidently, Paul had not gotten much sleep either. Isabel could hear him coughing loudly in the other room. When he eventually came out, it became apparent that he was indeed very ill: his skin was pale, his hair was disheveled and his eyes were bleary and bloodshot.

"Good morning, love," he chirped with a smile, sounding a bit hoarse. "How was your night?"

"Less than splendid," Isabel admitted. "But what about you? You sound dreadful..."

"Oh, I'm fine, love, don't worry about me!" Paul gleefully stated, his chuckles turning into a coughing fit.

~~~

"Are you sure you're fit to go to work today?" Isabel insisted as they rode in the cab, noting his incessant sniffling.

"I have to, darling, the lads need me!" Paul asserted, discreetly wiping at his nose with a handkerchief.

"Do they need me?" Isabel asked, unsure of why he wanted her to tag along.

"Maybe I need you..." Paul said with a playful grin, to which Isabel responded with her signature vacant stare.

Paul raised his eyebrow and smirked slightly, "Still nothing, huh? One of these days I'll get you to crack..."

After a moment of silence, Isabel took in a deep breath, longing to unload all the silly things on her mind that had been burdening her.

"Paul, I..."

Before she could finish her thought, Paul suddenly turned to the side and sneezed fiercely into the crook of his arm.

"Pardon me, love," Paul muttered, once again sniffling and raising his handkerchief to his reddening nose.

"It's not too late to turn back," Isabel reasoned, awkwardly toying with the idea of initiating some form of comforting touch. "I'm sure if you rest up and ingest the proper intake of fluids you'll be feeling better in no ti--"

"There's no time or need for all that! I assure you, I am fit as a fiddle!" Paul pressed in a light yet serious tone.

In awe of his stubborn determination, Isabel bit her lip and shifted her eyes to the side window, a tad shocked to realize they had already made it to EMI Studios.

"After you...ah-AAACHOOO!!!" Paul sneezed forcefully into his jacket as he opened the door for Isabel.

"Bless you," Isabel winced timidly at Paul's condition, which appeared to be steadily worsening.

"Thank you, dear!" Paul replied, still sounding surprisingly chipper.

~~~

As the two made their way into the building, they immediately caught the attention of John and Ringo.

"Eyy, Macca!" John trilled. "I see you've returned with the South American bird in tow..."

"Yaw-right, mate? You look terrible..." Ringo remarked, taken aback at his friend's pallid complexion.

Paul opened his mouth to respond, only to break down into another violent coughing fit.

"You sound bloody awful as well..." John added, about equally as concerned as he was amused.

"I swear, fellas, I'm...fine! Never been better..." Paul wheezed and gasped for air, hunched over from his coughing spasms.

John rolled his eyes endearingly and approached his sickly bandmate, "Alright, buddy, let's get some Arrestin in you..."

"Paul, may I borrow you for a mome--by Jove, what happened to him..!?" Brian rubbed his eyes and nose in lament as he marched in and spotted the suffering bassist.

"No worries, Bri, I've got it covered..." John said with a sneaky smile as he glanced down at a still hunched down Paul, grasping him tenderly from the back.

"John, please don't make me guzzle down that nasty cough syrup..." Paul whined.

"It's either that or you get sent home, Macca!" John stated firmly. Paul moaned but obliged in return.

"Uh, John, I'm going to need to have a word with you as well..." George Martin, the band's producer and audio engineer, spoke up.

"In a minute!" John flared, slowly hobbling out of the way with Paul still under his arms.

Slightly alarmed at the scene that had just arisen, Ringo shot a quick glance at Isabel and shrugged, leaving her alone in the brightly-lit room.

~~~

It had been a couple hours, and there was no sign of Paul or John, let alone anyone else she actually recognized, after their initial abrupt exit. Isabel sat bored in the corner, observing the bevy of people who walked in and out of the studio, fixated on their specific individual tasks.

Suddenly, she spotted someone familiar: it was none other than lead guitarist, George Harrison. George's eyes widened, immediately noticing her presence, and he moseyed on up to where she was sitting.

"Did Paul leave you here all by yourself..?" he asked quietly, appalled that his bandmate would abandon her in such a way.

Isabel looked up and then stared back down at her feet, "Yes, I suppose he did..."

"Ol' bugger..." George mumbled, rolling his eyes.

A long silence then ensued. Isabel was already deep into her own little world when George showed up, and it generally took her a while to come down from that.

"Well, I reckon if Paul isn't around, you can hang out with me for a bit. I feel like I don't know you very well..." George offered.

Isabel nodded, somewhat relieved to be whisked away from her boredom.

"You sure are a quiet one, aren't you..?" George remarked, grinning toothily. "That's okay, I can relate to being the one they deem 'quiet'..."

As he chuckled and shook his head, he extracted a long-necked, gourd-shaped string instrument from his case.

"Have you ever seen a sitar?" George inquired, looking up at Isabel.

"No, but I believe I heard it for the first time on your previous album..."

"You did indeed," George smiled. "I've become enamored with the South Asian soundscape -- it's truly one of a kind!"

"What got you so interested in Indian culture?" Isabel asked.

George bit his lip and chewed the inside of his mouth, deep in thought. "I dunno. I needed something that was all my own, something that made me stand out. I was struggling a bit with my identity within the group, but all that changed as soon as I found spirituality. It was like the missing piece I needed to find myself..."

Suddenly finding herself wide-eyed and breathless at his words, Isabel realized that she, too, was going through an identity crisis. She always felt like an empty shell, a husk, lacking a sense of self.

"Still," George continued. "I'd love to share this knowledge with the rest of the world. The lads and I have been discussing the possibility of going to India sometime soon."

All of a sudden, the telephone blared harshly. It proceeded to ring a couple times until someone finally picked it up.

Within a moment of the man answering the phone, he hurriedly handed the receiver to George.

"It's for you," he stated with a knowing raise of his brow.

"Thanks, Mal," George replied, narrowing his eyes in slight confusion. "Hello?"

His expression instantly shifted to casual amusement as soon as he recognized the voice on the other end.

"Is whatever you need so urgent that you have to call me at work? ... Seriously? You know you can get Neil to do it. I could get bloody spotted out there! ... What is that supposed to mean!? They would still care if it was just me!" he sighed and shook his head in defeat. "Alright, anything for you, Mo..."

Isabel winced a bit as she stared idly, somehow feeling as though she was witnessing something unseemly.

Finally, he hung up the phone and glanced back at Isabel. "Isabel, right? Would you fancy running some errands with me?"

Surely, it was an odd request. However, despite everything, Isabel felt rather at ease with George.

"Yes, I think I would fancy that..." Isabel face dimpled cutely.

~~~

The sun beamed warmly and brightly on the duo as they cut through the alleyways covered with overgrowth. Isabel, innately drawn to nature, couldn't help but notice how serene and photogenic everything looked around her. Catching a quick glimpse of George, she could tell he enjoyed being outdoors just as much.

Things immediately started to cool down as soon as they entered the nearest shop. Both seemed to mentally go their separate ways as George became focused on locating what he needed and Isabel began to zone out. Overtime, the two found their way back to each other in the middle of the store.

"I still can't believe Paul left you all by yourself..." George mentioned in disapproval.

Isabel remained quiet for a moment, absentmindedly inspecting a can of tomatoes.

"Maybe I needed to be alone for a little while..." she replied distantly.

"I was a bit surprised to see you go so readily with him last night..." George added.

Isabel once again paused, this time to examine her own logic. In the moment she agreed to stay with Paul, any alternative sounded better than whatever was waiting for her back home. Why would she go back to being a colorless, barely discernible moth when she could be treated like a beautiful, delicate butterfly?

"Maybe I needed some time away..."

George began to nod, seemingly understanding her cryptic statement. However, midway through the nod, he caught wind of Isabel's swollen red fingernail.

"Hey, what's that?" George pointed.

Isabel's eyes widened in panic as she broke into a sweat, "Oh, that's nothing! I swear!"

"What's wrong with your finger?" George pressed.

"Nothing!" Isabel nearly screamed. "It just looks red because I was touching some frozen items back there..."

George appeared unconvinced but decided it was best to drop it for right now.

"Should we start to head back..?" he suggested gently.

Isabel nodded slowly and lethargically, the lack of sleep now very apparent on her face.

"Are you okay..?" George inched closer, inspecting her exhaustion.

"I had a bit of a rough night..." Isabel confessed.

George brought a hand to his chin and arched his eyebrows, briefly contemplating.

"I know what might help..."

~~~

George silently motioned Isabel to follow him and they trudged back to the studio. Once inside, he led her into an empty room.

"You need to learn how to turn off and tune out," George declared.

"I'm not sure I follow..." Isabel replied meekly.

"Meditation!" George clarified enthusiastically. "It's the only way to achieve peace of mind! Try not to focus on what was or what will be. It's the here and now that counts! The conflicting, disruptive things you're feeling are all in your mind. All you have to do is empty it..."

Isabel suddenly felt engrossed in everything he was saying, much like she was when he was speaking to her about spirituality. This time, however, she found herself catching her breath.

Here and now. Here and now.

With a few more deep breaths, she allowed herself to transcend into a meditative state. They both remained in this state for an hour.

~~~

Slowly, as they both began to come back from their trance, they raised their bodies up from the ground and exited the vacant room. After walking a few steps, they crossed paths with Ringo, who raised his eyebrows suggestively at them.

"Hello, you two. What, may I ask, were you up to in there?" he stifled an indelicate chuckle, his eyes darting at the room George and Isabel had just come out of.

"Why do you always assume I'm some cad, mate?" George cackled heartily.

"Now, now, I'm just teasing," Ringo clarified with a wide smile. "I know you're not like that. You're a stunning example of a friend and gentleman."

"Speaking of which, where the bloody hell is Paul?" George questioned irritably.

"Hm? Oh, Paul? Yeah, I think he died..." Ringo answered nonchalantly.

"What!?" George exclaimed in shock.

"He left with John a few hours ago. He was looking mad pale and coughing up a storm..."

"BUT I HAVE TO FINISH THE SOOOOONG!!!" Paul's feverish bellowing suddenly echoed throughout the studio.

"Speak of the sly devil..." George muttered, biting his lip.

"Alright, I think we've practiced enough for today, love," John remarked gently, patting Paul's back.

"NO!" Paul sniffed. "WE NEED TO FINISH THE SONG FIRST!! IT'S ALL WRONG..."

"We can fix it tomorrow, Paulie. Right now you need some rest..." John coaxed.

"SCREW REST!! I'll rest when I'm dead..heh..the song..guhmuh..." Paul's words began to slur out as his illness and sleep deprivation got the better of him.

"Don't mind him, lads. We didn't even work on any song today. He's just all swimmy from the cough medicine..." John explained huskily.

"WAIT! WHERE'S ISABEL...?!" Paul suddenly bubbled up from his drooling, sleepy state.

"Right here, mate," George stepped aside to reveal a patiently biding Isabel. "We kinda spent the day together. Thought you had up and abandoned her. I didn't know you were sick..."

Paul's face perked up in a child-like awe as he approached George, "...You looked after her today..?"

George nodded.

"Thanks, mate!" he reached out to shake his bandmate's hand in gratitude, but not before a mighty sneeze escaped him. "Ha-AAAHCHOOO!!!"

"Uh...t'was no problem..." George chimed back as he warily wiped his hand on his shirt.

"Heh-heh, come love, lemme take you back to my place..." Paul addressed Isabel with a grateful chortle.

John suddenly raised his brows in alarm, "Uhhhhh, I think I should take you home, Paul..."

Paul giggled, "Okay!"

At that, John grabbed Paul and they waddled away, Paul's head now resting sleepily on John's shoulder.

George then turned to face Isabel.

"Do you want me to take you home? Your real one..?" he asked softly.

Isabel hesitated for a moment, but eventually nodded.

"Alright, come with me."

~~~

The sun was setting, turning the twilight skies a rich, milky purple, as they silently cruised the streets. Isabel's eyes remained glued to the outside world that appeared through her window, the one she was discovering more and more of each day.

"So, how do you feel now that you've had some time...away..?" George asked as he drove, his eyes fixed on the road.

Isabel chewed on the question, her gaze not leaving the sunset.

"Still drained," she finally said. "But better."

"I'm glad to hear it," George bobbed his head in approval.

Within a couple minutes, they reached Señora Rojas' cottage. Just as she was about to get out of the car, George laid a hand upon Isabel's arm in concern.

"Hey," he started. "Be careful with Paul. I can tell he fancies you. He acts some kind of way with all the pretty girls..."

Isabel felt her heart flutter and her stomach flip as she bit her lip and nodded at his words.

~~~

Isabel stumbled upon some empty wine bottles as she walked through the main entryway of the cottage. A few of them were broken. Looks like another fun party had broken out in the vicinity.

Slowly, she trudged up the entire staircase and locked herself in her room; her only sanctuary away from the madness. Once there, Isabel slipped out a vinyl from underneath her bed. The only record she had brought with her from America. After blowing some of the dust off, she stuck the needle on the disk and started the record player.

Isabel laid atop her bed, her back firmly against the mattress, as the enticing music filled her ears and mind. Though she had listened to this particular song countless times, she never failed to reach utter euphoria.

I keep looking for a place to fit
Where I can speak my mind
I've been trying hard to find the people
That I won't leave behind
They say I got brains
But they ain't doing me no good
I wish they could
Each time things start to happen again
I think I got something good goin' for myself
But what goes wrong
Sometimes I feel very sad
Sometimes I feel very sad
(Can't find nothin' I can put my heart and soul into)
Sometimes I feel very sad
(Can't find nothin' I can put my heart and soul into)
I guess I just wasn't made for these times
Every time I get the inspiration
To go change things around
No one wants to help me look for places
Where new things might be found
Where can I turn when my fair weather friends cop out
What's it all about
Each time things start to happen again
I think I got something good goin' for myself
But what goes wrong
Sometimes I feel very sad
Sometimes I feel very sad
(Can't find nothin' I can put my heart and soul into)
Sometimes I feel very sad
(Can't find nothin' I can put my heart and soul into)
I guess I just wasn't made for these times

And as she blankly stared up at the ceiling in her dusty, old room in the cottage, Isabel finally found the words she had been struggling to find.

~~~

NOTE: Okay, I'm sorry I made you guys wait well over a month for an upload, but at least this didn't turn out as lousy as I initially thought it would.

The primary purpose of this chapter is basically just to set up plot points for future chapters. And, as you can see, I couldn't resist having a little fun with it. Where the hell did Paul and John run off to? That's what I'd like to know. And how exactly did John get Paul to ingest that medicine?

I hope you guys enjoyed this little detour with Isabel and George. I wasn't trying to imply anything romantic between them, but I knew right away they would connect through their similarities. My plan is to have different characters slowly but surely bring Isabel out. And, spoiler alert, we get some bond-y stuff with her and Paul next chapter. ;)

I may or may not elaborate and expand upon certain details in this segment (and I mean this quite literally, as I'm not absolutely sure if I will yet). I know for sure that at least TWO of these details will become a recurring thing in the series. Anyway, as always, thank you for reading! Cheers! ♥♥♥