"Where the hell is Lennon?"

The three Beatles on the receiving end of their manager's most recent and most demanding inquiry shrugged simultaneously; their un-vocalized answers proving every bit as truthful as their general knowledge on the subject allowed for. Unfortunately, it was the wrong answer in Eppy's eyes.

"What do y'mean you don't know? Are you or aren't you aware of the pending photo shoot you've got coming up? It's in less than-" He paused to glance frantically at his watch, "Less than two hours, really. And it takes about forty-five minutes to arrive and..." He paused again to heave somewhat of a mental-stabilizing sigh. "We simply cannot afford to be late!"

"Relax, Eppy," Ringo stated calmly in as levelheaded a way as he could muster, "I'm sure he's around somewhere. 'S'not like he 'as any place to sneak off to around 'ere, anyway. We're not entirely familiar with the area..."

Paul scoffed with an opposing shake of the head, "This is John we're talking about, Rings. Remember?"

Ringo frowned with the renewed realization, "'T'is isn't it?"

"Well, I don't care where he is or what he's doing there," Eppy butt in, "Find him immediately!"

Ringo cringed. Their manager had been an unrational, frazzled mess from the moment he'd entered the suite; the cause unknown. Setting him off anymore than he already was wouldn't be wise... Still, the drummer couldn't hide the realization that he hadn't the slightest clue how to how to begin to grant his wish. "But Ihaven't seen 'im all day," he cautiously professed.

"Me neither," Paul quickly followed up, "Geo's the only one who has!"

Almost immediately, three pairs of eyes turned towards the young lead guitarist who had yet to vocalize any thoughts on the matter. George in reaction rolled his eyes, "Sure I saw him this morning, but that doesn't mean that I know of his whereabouts now. Lazy git's probably off sleeping somewhere. Could be under the kitchen table fer all I know... or more logically, our bedroom!" He couldn't figure out why everyone was wasting so much time getting worked up on the matter when no one had even bothered to begin looking for him in even the most obvious of places. Perhaps, it was because it was Lennon they were speaking of. And whenever the rhythm guitarist chose to slip off into oblivion without so much an explanatory word, it was often due to the fact that he didn't wish to be found. And such happenings often only unraveled whenever he was upset over something... which had been more often than not as of late.

"Quite..." Ringo stated softly, pensively, "This isn't the smallest suite we've stayed in, really. Possibilities are endless. And when it comes to Johnny..." He allowed his voice to taper off, one glance to Eppy informing him that he wasn't gaining any more patience from the conversation he was currently being faced with. If anything, it looked as though he was mere instances from exploding in a panic-induced rage.

"I'll find him!" Paul sighed, taking it upon himself to get the ball rolling. Pissing off Brian was no way to start any day. "I've a feeling I know exactly where he is... the bloody git..."

"Atta boy, Macca," Eppy praised.

Paul didn't respond as he let himself out of the sitting room area in pursuit of the bedroom the aforementioned rhythm guitarist shared with George. Like the bedroom he currently shared with Ringo, there was a separate room in which extra belongings could be stored. It was just large enough to accommodate one person comfortably and the bassist knew from past experiences in similar hotels that it held the necessary degree of solitude that Lennon would sometimes crave when he was at a near breaking point. Judging by how evasive and reclusive the guitarist had been lately, there was no reason to suspect otherwise this time around. Of course, Paul had been wrong before, but never often when it came to the best mate that he knew like the back of his hand. Better than the back of his hand even.

He crossed into John and George's bedroom, taking brief notice of John's empty bed and locked his focus on the doorway to the storage room. "I know yer in there, Johnny..." he stated quietly before swiftly saddling up to the door and wrapping a hand firmly around its handle. Before pulling on it, he pressed his ear soundly to the door and listened intently, seeing if his ears could first confirm his suspicions. Nothing. Silence. He was just about to pull away when he heard it. A muffled sound that sounded something of a whimper. 'What on earth...'

Paul quickly yanked the door open on impulse revealing to him the source of noise. Sure enough, there sat Lennon in the middle of the floor with his back to him.

"John?"

The rhythm guitarist jumped and quickly made a show of composing himself before turning partially to face him. "Can I help ye'?" he asked, taking care to keep the brunt of his face hidden view.

"Are you crying?"

John scoffed loudly. "What?!" he snapped, incredulity ringing through his voice, "Y'crudely barge in on me privacy to ask me if I'm crying?"

"Well are ye'?"

"Don't be daft..." John mumbled, beginning to fumble around in the dark. A book was produced from the shadows. "I look like a bloody nancy to ye'? I'm reading."

"In the dark?"

Though he couldn't see his face, Paul could sense as Lennon rolled his eyes at him. "I may need glasses t'see but I'm a man of many tricks, Macca."

"What?"

"Nothing. What do y'want?"

"Eppy's here to collect us fer our photo shoot," Paul replied softly. He stepped tentatively into the tiny room, staring hard at his mate's hidden form, scrutiny radiating from his eyes all the while. He wasn't even in uniform yet. "You didn't forget did you? Are y'even ready?"

There was a long pause before the guitarist finally responded, "Do I look ready?"

Paul frowned, "Not quite... How quickly can y'get ready?"

"As quickly as it takes fer ye' t'leave me be."

Paul didn't budge, his eyes continuing to study the rhythm guitarist. "Did ye' even eat? Y'missed brekky, y'know."

John shrugged indifferently, "Yeah, so?"

"So...where've y'been all morning?"

Breaking momentary eye contact with the page that had been holding his attention somewhat captive thus far, John scrounged up a grin to aim at the ever perceptive bassist that was his best mate, "Here," he responded cheekily, knowing instantly that Paul would disapprove of his lazy habits.

"George said he saw ye' earlier this morning," Paul blurted out, not letting onto whether or not he was getting annoyed with his mate's cryptic behavior.

"He did, did he?" John found himself scowling at this for reasons unknown, "What else did our little mate, Georgie say?"

"Not much else," Paul shrugged, "Other than the fact that ye' left in a huff. What's on with ye', love?"

"Wasn't fully awake," the rhythm guitarist lied offhandedly, "Woke up to a bit of a headache, really so rather than go back to bed, I came 'ere to rest me eyes..."

Paul's face softened in understanding as he unknowingly took in his mate's well-constructed fallacy. "Is it gone?"

"Is what gone?"

"Yer 'eadache, John," Paul elaborated, trying his hardest not to get short with the fellow musician as was sometimes inevitable. His antics were forever maddening.

John smirked finally in response to the bassist's everlasting concern for him, "Yes, love."

"Well, y'must be right starving then," Paul automatically went on to insinuate, "It's almost noon, y'know. I'm hungry and I've eaten already."

John unwittingly made a face at McCartney's words and shook his head, "I'll eat something later, Macca. I'm actually not that hungry."

"Not that hungry, John?" Paul echoed as though such feelings were merely unheard of. He frowned in an instance of fleeting concern, "Are ye' sick?"

John shook his head again, beginning to grow a bit impatient with Paul's nosiness, "I'm fine, Macca. Can't yer see I'm trying to read?" he snapped.

Paul rolled his eyes, "Well yes, John... though y'could be better spending yer time getting yer arse ready! What is it yer bloody reading that's got y'so captivated, anyway?"

"Uh... Um..." John flipped the book over for a quick glance at the cover, but his eyes refused to adjust, "Some book..." he murmured, with a dismissive wave of the hand, "Picked it up on some bookshelf... Quite interesting y'know..."

Paul's eyebrows furrowed as he quickly scanned the exposed book cover, his concern temporarily overrun by confusion towards his mate's latest antics, "The thesaurus, John?"

John blinked at him, "What?"

"Yer reading the thesaurus," Paul pointed out, torn between wanting to laugh or interrogate him further on the subject.

"Yeah, what's yer point?" John countered, his eyes narrowing on the bassist in challenge.

"Might I ask why?" Paul asked.

Lennon rolled his eyes. "I wish to learn... Exercise me wit. Last I checked it wasn't a crime!"

"Aren't y'known fer yer wit, though?" Paul asked, still unsure whether to laugh or not.

John quickly broke eye contact. "Not anymore..." he found himself murmuring under his breath.

"What was that, John?" Paul questioned, his ears failing to pick up on the whispered words.

"I'm not a robot, McCartney!!" John exploded without warning, "I don't 'ave perfect photogenic memory, y'know!!"

"It's photographic, John," Paul tentatively corrected him, "And no one said y'did."

"What in blazes are ye' on about?!"

"You said photogenic."

"So bloody sue me!" John defensively countered.

Paul drew back finally, his eyes wide. "John, easy! I didn't mean-"

"No one ever thinks they mean anything!" John growled, "But deep down in, y'know damned well they do!" Realizing suddenly what he was unintentionally escalating to, the rhythm guitarist faltered and with a deep much-needed breath, forced himself to calm down. "I'm not a robot..." he mumbled. He lifted a free hand and took a passing gander at it, realizing he was shaking an unfathomable amount. What else was new?

"Y'sure yer all right, John?" Paul dared to venture, his eyes softening once more in all-out worry for his friend.

"Fucking peachy," John responded jadedly, "Jus' clear off, would ye'? I've a blinding 'eadache yer not helping."

"Can I get you anything? Some painkillers, perhaps?"

"No. Jus' leave... Tell ol' Eppy not to get his knickers in a twist. I'll be ready shortly."

Paul backed out of the tiny doorway. "If y'say so, Johnny..."

Feeling more bemused than ever, the bassist quickly crossed the latter of John and George's room and forcefully helped himself to the door somewhat reluctant to separate himself from his mate's unusual behavior. While he'd been acting a bit strangely for days now, this somehow seemed even beyond the usual strangeness Lennon was perfectly capable of exhibiting. Either something was up or... he, Paul, was simply going mad. Perhaps, he was going mad then. No one else seemed to suspect anything out of the ordinary... Then again, they didn't know John like he did.

Stepping gingerly out into the hall, he closed the door cautiously behind him and had only began to turn in his tracks when he nearly collided head on with Eppy. The manager didn't seem to notice the barely avoided accident; his mind clearly occupied with other things of important nature. "Well, where is he?" he asked hurriedly; impatiently.

Paul frowned absently, finding he was still buried waist deep within the recent display involving his best mate. "Where's who, Brian?"

"John, Paul!" came Eppy's exasperated response, "Where is he?"

"Right..." the bassist responded, instantly sobered from his manager's blatant frustration, "I suppose he's readying himself..." He took a moment to further contemplate everything that had just recently transpired involving the rhythm guitarist before lifting his troubled gaze to Eppy's eyelevel, "Go easy on 'im today all right?" he asked, "I think something might be wrong with him."

Brian frowned. "What are ye' on about?" he prodded, apprehension taking him over, "Is he ill?"

Paul shrugged and shook his head. "I... don't rightly know... I can't quite put me finger on it..."