Christmas Eve 1963
George's POV
"Come on, lads." I said as I put my guitar down, "why don't we do something fun?"
"Like what?" John deadpanned, "Cyn's got a cob on cos -"
Because she knows you're not faithful.
"Why don't we go seeEm?" Ringo suggested. "She lives with Paul now, so it wouldn't just be the three of us and her."
"I don't think that's a good idea, Rings."
Because she's pregnant and she doesn't want John knowing.
She had made that very clear when I had last seen her - over a month ago, now.
"Come on, Geo." John said, jumping at the opportunity to embarrass me, "maybe you'll find some mistletoe." He put his coat on and waved at George Martin in the recording booth, signalling that that was all for today. "I'll drive." And he swept out of the studio, not bothering to wait for Ringo or me to follow him.
Emeraude's POV
"Please sit down." I sighed, throwing an annoyed glance at my brother over my shoulder. "Em..." he crossed the kitchen and took the baster from me. "The turkey'll be fine -"
"But I need to -"
"You need to sit down." He gestured to the chair by the window which he had brought from the dining room for me a few nights ago when we had had exactly the same conversation that we were having now. "You're going to exhaust yourself."
"I'm pregnant, Paul, not paraplegic." He crinkled his eyebrows at the disability, and I knew that what I said I had gotten to him. He hated me talking about disabilities, and said it might jinx the baby. I said that he was paranoid and being silly, but he wouldn't have it.
He was more protective of the baby in my belly than I was, if that were possible.
"Paul," I crossed my arms against my chest, "I'm only a few months, it's fine -" The doorbell sounded throughout the house and I smirked, "fine." I paused, "you finish basting the turkey and then put it in on the lowest heat setting, and I'll get the door." Paul sighed and nodded and I dashed off to get the door.
My eyes widened when I opened the door, my mouth opening and closing as I silently greeted the people who had knocked.
John, George and Ringo.
"I -"
Ringo and John were staring at my belly, George was just grinning. He stepped forward and took me into his arms, kissing my cheek lovingly. "How are you?" He asked me.
"G-good..." I replied, feeling ambushed. "What is he doing here?" I hissed into George's ear, being very careful to speak quietly enough that only he would be able to hear me.
"I'm sorry, Em," he replied equally as quietly, "I couldn't stop him. They both insisted, and y'know what he's like when he gets an idea in his head..." George paused, "I have a present for you, by the way, but it's at the flat because I didn't expect to be coming tonight -"
"You didn't have to get me anything, Geo." He just smiled and then stepped back to stand in line with the other two.
"You're up the duff, Em!" Ringo declared, stepping forward and crushing me into his chest, though being very careful not to hold me too tightly around the belly.
I laughed uncomfortably. "Y-yeah..."
"Em?!" I heard Paul calling from our kitchen, which was downstairs, "who is it?"
"It's the boys!" I called over my shoulder, hoping that my reply had been loud enough for him to hear me.
When I turned back to the three men, John was still staring at my belly.
"Lo..." John said simply, as if he couldn't think of anything else to say. "Y-your -"
"My belly." I put a hand on the bump. It was bigger than it had been when I had gone to see George that day the previous month, but it wasn't large at all.
"Y-you're -"
"Pregnant." I finished the sentence for him, knowing that he knew what that meant. John, who I had always considered my best friend, someone who was practically a brother to me, was not an idiot and he knew me well enough to know that I wouldn't sleep around.
John was moving slowly in coming to terms with the fact that he was going to be a father again.
Ringo looked between John and I and then let out a low whistle before he turned to George, "drink?"
"I -"
But before George had had a chance to reply, Ringo had whisked him away and in the direction of the kitchen where Paul and I kept our pitifully small collection of alcohol. That left just John and I.