⇾𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐈𝐈

Chapter Forty-Two: Quickening

March 15, 1967

"I wanna play my fucking sitar!" I heard George yell from inside the recording studio. Then, "Paul, it's my damn song! I wrote the bloody thing!"

John and I exchanged curious glances before he opened the door and promptly joined in on the argument. "Just give him his damn sitar," he yelled at Paul.

Paul whipped his head around with an irritated look. "And who asked you, Mr—." Paul noticed me and stopped whatever he was going to say, probably for my own good. "Donna!"

George looked towards the door, followed by Ringo, who had been calmly fidgeting with his drum set in the corner as Paul and George bickered.

"I'm alive!" I said teasingly. Brian came down from the box he was in with George Martin and immediately came in for a hug.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I feel great," I said over-optimistically.

"Well, isn't that just jolly!" said Paul jokingly, clapping his hands together. "Now, Brian, Tell George that his untitled song doesn't need sitar."

"That's not your decision!" fired George at Paul.

Averting his eyes, John leaned down to whisper something to me before he sent me on my way. "If anything feels off," he said like a concerned mother. "Tell me and we'll leave."

I looked at him expectantly. "Oh, believe me, everything will be just fine."

"I know, I know," he said defensively. "But just promise me you will."

"I promise," I said solemnly.

"C'mon, Donna," said Brian and I waved to John before following Brian back into the control room.

As I always did, I situated myself in a rolling chair, grabbing my clipboard on the way in. I listened to Brian and George discuss what they wanted to do and caught a glimpse of George and Paul continuing to argue over what I could only assume was the sitar part.

George Martin turned the microphone on and we caught the bare end of them arguing.

"Paul, it's not--."

"Boys!" George yelled and the shouting down below halted.

"We're putting the damn sitar on it, now stop bickering," added Brian.

George gave a severely frowning Paul a triumphant look and I went over towards the microphone to comment on it.

"Hey, Paul, stop frowning like that or you're going to ruin your perfectly smooth skin of yours," I remarked and everyone laughed.

"Fuck you!" said Paul bitterly, scowling like a child.

"We'll record the sitar in a few days, George. Today I thought we could get a headstart on the vocals."

George nodded understandingly. I went and took my seat again. Across the top of my paper, I scribbled "Untitled George Song" and waited for George Martin to start telling George what to do.

I settled back in the chair, watching as the boys went around the studio. George positioned himself at a microphone with his lyrics in hand. "I'm not sure how this'll go," he said to George. "But I will certainly give it my all."

"Just give me what you've got," George encouraged.

The other three sat down on a bench spread across the back wall, leaning and whispering to one another in attempt to not be picked up by the microphone George was using.

Without warning, I felt a little fluttering in my stomach. "Ooh," I said out loud as it startled me. I sat the clipboard down and put my hands to my stomach, wondering if it would happen again. Brian and George looked at me imploringly.

"Something wrong, Donna?" asked Brian.

"I-I think one of the babies kicked," I said. "You can continue, it's fine."

"Huh?" asked Brian, sounding frantic. "We can't continue. They kicked!" His voice was laced with excitement.

"Brian, no, it's alright."

"Hey, John, your baby is kicking your wife," said George into the microphone, smirking at me because he knew I didn't want him to tell John.

"What?" said John loudly and George flipped the microphone back off in defeat.

I waited patiently for John to burst through the door and make a scene, shaking my head at a still-grinning George Martin.

"It kicked?" asked John as he threw the door open.

"It was barely a flutter," I said dismissively. "It hasn't even happened again. I'm not even sure you could feel it."

"They're moving!" he said excitedly, then suddenly he came and wrapped his arms around me. "We're gonna have babies!" he chanted teasingly and everyone laughed.

~~~

"You're sure they kicked?" asked John excitedly as I drove us home that night.

"Yes, I'm sure," I responded, laughing.

"That's amazing," he said, giddy with amusement. Then, he looked at me curiously. "What did it feel like?" he asked.

"It kinda just felt like a little fluttering. Y'know, like butterflies," I explained.

He nodded, telling me he understood. "Have they done it again?" he asked.

I shook my head. "They have not."

"When do you think they will?"

"I'm not sure," I responded and smiled at him. He had the widest smile I'd ever seen in my life plastered across his face. It was so wide that I giggled.

Then, he frowned. "Whatcha laughin' at?"

"You," I said simply, returning my eyes to the road.

"Whyyy?" he asked, leaning over the console teasingly.

"Because you're so happy and it makes me so happy that I laugh at it." I smiled dopily at him.

"Is that so, pet?"

"Yes, it is, darling," I teased.

"Ooh," he commented. "I like it when you call me that."

"Do ye?"

"I dooo."

I pulled into the driveway and parked before turning the car off. Before I could step out, I felt it again. A little kick, just vague enough to be noticeable.

"Woah," I said, touching my stomach.

"Did it happen again?" asked John in a rush, excitedly.

I turned and nodded at him. Before long, we were smiling at one another in what little light the setting sun was letting off.

Finally, he spoke up. "You'd better get in that house before I kiss that pretty little smile off your face right here," he said daringly.

I raised my eyebrows. "Excited?" I asked, smirking.

He shrugged. "A little." We both got out of the car, slamming the doors and making a beeline for the front door.

~~~

I hate George Martin and George Harrison for both being called George. It makes my life so much harder than it should be😔

Like seriously

...aNd wAiTed fOr gEorgE tO tELL gEoRgE wHaT tO dO.

Bro go die😳

Oh and quickening is what it's called when a baby first starts kicking so the chapter title isn't just some random word I chose to be the title😔😔😔