Chapter Text
Paul had been awake for a while, reading quietly in the crinkled comfort of his hospital bed, when a nurse opened the door to the recovery ward and let two similarly dressed figures into the room. Slacks and suit jackets, thin black ties, leather ankle boots. Paul smiled in spite of his head ache. He’d accept any visit from his bandmates.
George and Ringo walked to Paul’s bed in lock step, and Paul didn’t miss the way George’s hand ghosted at the small of Ringo’s back. They were a fitting couple, Paul thought, short and tall, quiet and sociable, strings and drums. Everything seemed so calm and easy with them, and while part of that was probably due to George being a beta, it was also the natural state of their personalities balancing each other out. Paul felt a sharp pang course through him, but he shoved it down. That longing hadn’t been possible in over three years. No sense in wishing for something he couldn’t have.
“Hello there,” Ringo greeted warmly, coming up next to the bed. “We’ve come to bother you.”
“He has,” George corrected. “I’m here to actually be useful.”
“I welcome you both with open arms,” Paul replied, emphasizing with the appropriate gesture. “Here, you can pull up a chair or something.”
George did as suggested, bringing one to Paul’s bedside, while Ringo sat himself on the middle of Paul’s bed, just next to Paul’s legs. It was a pleasant little triangle, but none of them missed how it could have been a square, with one more person. Ringo cleared his throat.
“John came with us, you know. He wanted to see you, something awful, too. He got right mad at the receptionists, but they wouldn’t let him here, where all the omega wards are.”
Paul nodded with flat understanding. “His pheromones would cause all manner of mayhem. Especially for those of us on breathers.”
“That was that thing is? The tube under your nose?” George pointed at Paul’s face, then to a small tank beside the bed. He hadn’t seen it on Paul before. But then Paul had only started going to hospital in the past four months. “It’s got alpha pheromones in it?”
“Beta, actually. More uniformly soothing, they are. They’re keeping me upright at the moment,” Paul chuckled. It was a humorous thought: a smell was the only thing keeping him from lulling in and out of consciousness or lapsing into periods of pain.
Neither George nor Ringo laughed, though. Instead, they exchanged nervous glances. Paul had seen those looks before. He’d grown accustomed to seeing their anxious expressions once a month or so. There were looks from Brian and Mal, too, both concerned yet hesitant.
But the most worried look of all came from John. It was almost taught with pain, somehow, as if John was hurting just as much as Paul. At least, it had seemed painful the last time Paul saw it. He’d stopped looking at some point, not being able to bear the memory that there used to be something there.
“Uh, Paul?” George suddenly asked quietly.
“Hmm?” Paul once again pushed those thoughts away. Now wasn’t the time.
“What did they say? The doctors or nurses, about your… condition.”
Paul sighed. He’d been hoping they’d somehow forget to ask. Not as if hope had been doing him a whole lot of good recently. “No improvement. About the same as last time, really.”
“Did they suggest any treatments?” George pressed nervously.
Paul leaned back with a somewhat irritated shake of his head. For being such a good mate to an omega, George was shockingly uninformed at times. Luckily for both of them — Paul’s irritation would have resulted in a snarky reply — Ringo answered the question.
“There’s not much they can do, sweetheart.” Ringo took George’s hand. “Maybe one day they’ll make a treatment that only quiets the scent receptors, but for now, any medication would have to suppress the heat altogether, and we know Paul can’t take those very often.”
“Why can’t he just keep the tube and tank set up?” George sounded bewildered, but he was bordering on desperate.
“Well for one thing,” Paul took over, “it’s incredibly addictive if you use it too much. It’s basically a pain killer, except it stops pain and, uh, mating urges. Not something to use regularly. They didn’t even let me use it last time, hardly.”
“What? Why not?” Ringo’s eyes widened.
“Because they put me on it the time before, the first time I came. Next time I’m in here, after this, I won’t be on it very much either.” He shrugged. “If I use it too often it just messes everything up. My receptors and cycle and even some neuron connections, if it gets bad enough.”
“But you never told us this!” Ringo burst out. “Every time I came to visit you had it on!”
“Just lucky timing. I still get to wear it for a little bit on the off times.”
Ringo didn’t want to hear the answer to his next question, but he asked it anyway. “So, so you’re just half asleep and in pain the rest of the time?” He couldn’t imagine his heats being that painful, especially not now that he had George to spend them with.
“Mostly, yeah. But it’s not all bad. The food here is pretty alright.” Paul gave a weak smile. “And they have special lotion stuff. They put it—”
“Damn it, Paul!” George cried out, nearly startling Ringo off the bed. Paul jumped back against his pillows.
“Lord, George! What the hell was that for?” Paul demanded.
“For you! For you taking all those bloody suppressants after you first presented! ‘Cause now they don’t work anymore, do they? They barely lessen your heat and now they’ve started making you throw up! You realize that if you’d used them right, suppressants could actually help you right now? That John wouldn’t be out there worried sick about you? Just, Christ, just damn it!”
Paul blinked. He never expected to hear that from George. They’d grown up side by side. They’d gone through the struggles of presenting together and George had helped Paul through his early heats with cold compresses and nesting materials. Until Paul started taking suppressants, that is. It was after Mary… passed. It was cancer, they’d all known that, but then the doctors found something else. An underlying disease that had been dormant for her adulthood. It was an odd illness, a genetic condition that affected the scent receptors in such a way that, if consistent alpha or beta pheromones weren’t breathed in during a heat, the nerves began to spasm quite painfully.
The disease only really became serious after a certain age, though, when the body reached a healthy age for reproduction. Paul hadn’t been born until Mary was in her 30s, giving the disease time to spread, but because she took mild doses of suppressant before then, she’d inadvertently kept the disease dormant. No one had known she’d had it.
Paul had done the opposite. As soon as the doctor explained the disease and what it meant for omegas, he’d panicked. He took too many suppressants, and too often, popping them much more frequently than his heats would have arrived. Now, at 23, they hardly worked at all, and on the occasions he tried taking them, he found himself knelt over the porcelain bathroom bowl in the studio or some hotel.
Conveniently, 23 was also when his body decided it was ready to reproduce. The disease “activated”, so to speak, and though he’d only been experiencing it for about five months, it was every bit as awful as he’d imagined. Every heat consisted of painful muscle spasms and the inability to stay awake when he wanted to. The past two times he’d been taken to hospital, it was because he’d fainted in the middle of the studio.
Something else happened with the heats, too. Scent was a large part of any cycle, but it was much more intense with the disease than it had been for him as a teen — before the suppressants, obviously. Now, not having a consistent alpha or beta scent to breathe in — and not having that scent want him back — was almost torture. Even worse, his nose had already decided who it wanted to smell consistently, and that was the one person he couldn’t have. He’d made a right mess of himself, at least biologically, and he knew it. George had every right to be upset.
“I’m sorry, Geo,” he whispered. “I know how much it affects the band. Probably not great to see your friend in pain, either. I wish so much that I could go back and change it. But we just have to carry on now.”
George clenched his fists in his lap. “I’m not just going to accept that you’ll… waste away for the rest of your life! Not as your bandmate or your friend! There has to be something you can do!”
“Of course there’s something I can do,” Paul muttered sourly. “Two things, actually, but it's looking like the only realistic option is the surgery.”
“B-but, I always thought you wanted pups…” George looked confused.
Paul bristled. George was only trying to help, he knew that, but he was in the most mind-tangling heat he’d ever had, he was in mild pain, and despite the beta pheromones being funneled into his nose, his receptors wouldn’t stop whispering about who they really wanted. He wasn’t about to sit and be criticized for not having pups.
“I always thought Ringo wanted ‘em, too, but I don’t see you doing anything about it,” Paul growled.
“Now wait a—”
“Hey now, both of you calm down,” Ringo cut in, putting a hand on George’s arm.
“But Ritchie, he—!”
“George, stop—”
“But he—!”
“George love, please calm down,” Ringo repeated. He brought his hand up to George’s shoulder, slipping his fingers just under his shirt lapel and thumbing over the mark at the junction of the neck. George visibly untensed, still not altogether pleased, but his arguments ceased. Paul looked away. “There. Paul, you know George only wants to help. George, you know better than to tell an omega — or anyone, really — about having pups or not. Understood?”
The other two nodded.
“Thank you. Now, Paul, as much as I just told George not to talk about this, I’m fairly certain you’d prefer not to get the surgery, yeah?”
Paul nodded glumly. He wasn’t as angry anymore — that emotion had passed quickly — but he was melancholy. He’d always wanted pups. As much as some kids dreaded being an omega, Paul had been happy with how he presented. Even through the more painful parts of his heats, he was excited by the idea he’d be a mother one day. Before he started with suppressants, he nested with a small stuffed bear, sometimes letting himself imagine it was a pup. He didn’t want that chance to go away.
“Well, you said yourself there are two solutions,” Ringo continued. “We both know what the other one is. And I think we both know that, realistically, you need to do it.”
“Don’t tell me you have to mate with someone. That sounds barbarbic.” George looked at Paul with concern.
“He doesn’t need to mate, necessarily. That’s the far end of the scale,” Ringo explained, watching Paul to see if he wanted to take over. When he said nothing, Ringo kept on. “All that really needs to happen is for Paul to scent mark someone. And for them to do it back, of course.”
“That’s enough to make the receptors quiet down? To stop the nerves and fainting?” George didn’t sound convinced.
“If it’s a strong mark, it’s enough. Cruelly simple, isn’t it?” Paul ran his fingers along the white bedspread.
“So you wouldn’t be sick anymore?”
“Not really, no. I’d still be tired and have mild pain spells for a while, but the disease stops spreading, stops hurting me. I’d be shockingly fine after a few heats.”
George looked earnestly at Paul. “You just need to find someone then, yeah? You’ve got a hoard of admirers to pick from.”
“You know as well as I do that it’s supposed to be a solid relationship, George,” Paul laughed softly.
“But surely the sheer quantity of people has someone in it you’d like back.”
“... I suppose.” Paul picked at a bump in the blanket threading. “My receptors might not be persuaded, though.”
“How do you mean?”
“It’s John, isn’t it?” Ringo said quietly.
Paul kept his eyes down, but George’s shot to Ringo, then to Paul, and then rapidly between them. “John? You and John are…? I thought, but wait, you ended it! You broke it off! Three years ago!”
“Hush, sweetheart,” Ringo chided gently. “Do you want me to explain it, Paul?”
Paul pushed a hand through his hair. “I might as well. I feel bad I haven’t really told either of you.”
“But how did Ritchie know?” George’s expression was growing more confused by the second.
“Just an omega thing. We can tell sometimes.”
“It’s witchcraft, I swear,” George muttered.
“Not quite,” Paul chuckled in spite of himself. “But, anyway, umm. Well, you both know John and I were together when the band was forming. I never had a heat that whole time, but John had ruts. We, uh, spent them together. We both talked about bonding, me getting off the suppressants and having a heat with him, but I was too scared to. I wanted to, I just… couldn’t.
“But then, around the time we started getting big, I guess I sort of realized I was ready to actually be with John, bonded and all. Except I never told him.”
“But why?” George was incredulous.
“Everything was getting so big with the band and bonding meant stopping the suppressants — that I’d been taking for years — and then having at least a few months with a heat to get back on track. They’d be awful heats, too, mind, and I knew I’d be sick for as much as a third of every month. I couldn’t take that time away from all of us. So I didn’t tell him. It got painful, though, knowing I was emotionally ready and still not able to have it. I had to end it, selfish as it was.”
“So you just told him that your current relationship, not even with a heat, would get in the way of the band?” George asked. “I thought you fell out of love or something. That’s what you told me.”
“I wasn’t exactly on the straight and narrow with that explanation I told you, I’m afraid.” Paul looked ashamed of himself, and George gave his knee a reassuring pat. Paul continued, quietly. “I told John us staying together could make things messy, all that. He agreed, I guess. He didn’t argue, anyway. That was three years ago, like you said.”
“But Ringo and I, we’re mated. It never got in the way of the band.”
“I know,” Paul sighed. “To be fair, though, you two got together when we were more used to everything, when we understood what we were in for. And it’s lovely. I’m really happy for both of you. It’s just that John and I didn’t go back to each other. I can only assume he’s not interested.”
“You are, though?”
“Emotionally… and physically,” Paul admitted with a breathy laugh. “I’ve missed being with him, having that relationship, since we ended it. And now that I have heats, my receptors have decided they really want to be near him. It’s like I need to have his scent. That’s the consistency it wants.” He swallowed. “Only John has to want it, want me, back. And he’s not about to.”
“Why not? You were together! He chose to rut with you, despite you not having your heats,” George protested. “You were the one who ended it, not him!”
“But he didn’t say anything against it. And as much as I know we’re friends, partners, he hasn’t seemed to want to be anything more these past three years.”
“But you do,” Ringo countered.
“I know, I just told you—”
“That’s not my point.” Ringo held up his hand. “You’ve wanted to be something more with him for a while. But he’s never known, has he? In fact, I’m the only one who’s been able to tell, and even then only recently.”
Paul cocked his head, confused.
Ringo stated his next part as though it was obvious. “So how do you know he doesn’t want it as well?”
“I, I… I don’t know,” Paul stammered. “I just always thought I could tell. When we were together, y’know, I could always tell his ruts were coming on before he could. Even though I was on suppressants and my receptors were a bit off, I could smell it, sort of. I haven’t smelled anything like that since I ended it. Probably means he’s taking care of them with someone else., right when he starts.”
“... Or that he hasn’t had one in three years.” George offered.
“What? John’s not exactly the type to take suppressants,” Paul countered. “I think he took them maybe once the whole time we were together.”
“And why was that?” George challenged back.
“I can’t remember anymore, really. It was when Dad took Mike and I to visit Aunt Gin for a few weeks or something.”
“Without John.”
“Of course without John, he’d have died of manners overdose in a house full of McCartneys for two weeks.”
“Exactly, so he wasn’t with you. He chose to suppress his rut when he wasn’t with you, not to find someone else for a quickie or suffer through it alone and make you worried he in pain.”
“Well yeah, I guess so,” Paul admitted. He hadn’t really thought about that before. It hadn’t occurred to him that he might have been the reason John avoided that rut. But that was so long ago… He sighed. “That was only while we were together, though.”
“It could also have been the past three years, too,” George repeated. “You don’t know.”
“George—”
“He has a point, Paul,” Ringo cut in. “It might not be true and maybe he’s been spending them with other people, but I know John really cared for you. I could tell the first time I met you all. And whenever he was near you, his scent changed. Became much more relaxed and pleasant. I don’t think he’d easily move on from that.”
Paul wiped at his eyes. He remembered spending afternoons at Mendips, the two of them on John’s bed and John curled up against him, breathing in Paul’s faint, suppressed scent. And there had been times after shows, times when it was all too hard, that John had led Paul to a private room, shrugged off his own jacket, partially unbuttoned his shirt to move his collar, and let Paul bury himself in his neck. It calmed them both down almost instantly, but it was also intimate and delicate. He missed that more than anything, sometimes. He missed having someone be gentle with him.
George cleared his throat, his eyes soft. “I don’t want to make you… sadder, or anything, but for what it’s worth, I’ve realized a few things about being the more ‘alpha’ one in a relationship. And, uh, an alpha willing to stay with an omega who won’t — or can’t — have heats is a strong person,” George said, watching Paul for a negative reaction. “Do you remember when Ringo got sick, before we left for Australia?”
Paul nodded wordlessly.
“He couldn’t have his heat for a few months, and when my rut came during that time, it was incredibly hard not to have it, er, satisfied with a heat. And my ruts aren’t even that intense. I mean, I’m a beta for goodness sake,” George chuckled. “For John to have chosen to rut with you for all that time, even though you didn’t have a heat… he had to overcome a lot of biological frustration.”
Paul was stunned. He’d never even considered that before. He knew it was always more satisfying for mates to have their… urges satisfied at the same time, but he didn’t realize how frustrating it might be to not have that.
“He never told me,” Paul finally said. “Is it, I mean, was he in pain?”
George’s eyes softened even more. “Not painful, exactly. It’s more like an itch. Don’t worry Paul, you didn’t hurt him.”
Paul nodded again. He didn’t know what to say anymore. Somehow his explanation of his condition had turned into an exposée on how he broke up with John, but now it was ending with the possibility that the two of them could still be mates. That meant there could be a solution to all of this. There was a chance, anyway. It was overwhelming. The child in him wanted to curl up in a nest with that stuffed bear. He wanted to be home, in his own house with his own room and his own bed and feel his heat. He wanted to drift off to sleep with the knowledge that everything would be better when he woke up, that his body was doing what it needed to do. And, just below that wanting, he didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to be with someone. With John.
“You alright, Paul?” Ringo touched his knee. “We, uhh, we didn’t mean to make you feel down and all. We just, I dunno. We’re worried about you, being so sick and all.”
Paul shrugged. There was nothing to say.
“Is there anything we can do?” George asked quietly.
He sounded almost guilty, and Paul couldn’t help wondering if he and Ringo had planned the general topic of their discussion today. Not that Paul minded. He knew he couldn’t keep doing this. His heats were too damn difficult to ignore.
Again, Paul thought back to his first heats, his time nesting, his dreams of having pups. There were times where it hurt, of course, but biologically, it felt right. He remembered John telling him how just being in rut could be the same way. It was a bit intolerable at times, he said, but there was also a certain comfort in your body feeling that way. And Paul wanted to feel that way again with his heat, illness or not. He wanted to have a heat again, and that meant it was time to get out of this hospital.
“I want to go home,” he decided.
“What?” George and Ringo spoke in unison.
“I would like to go home,” Paul said again. “And, and I want to actually have a full heat, no medicine or anything.”
“Paul, you can’t!” George protested. “You’re, you’re sick! You said you needed whatever these pheromones are!”
“I know. But practically since I presented I’ve been on suppressants and pheromones and Lord knows what other kinds of minor medications. I just, I want to feel a heat again. I know it’ll hurt, because I’m sick and because it’s a heat, but I want to nest again… and more than that, I want to have that feeling again. That my body is doing what it needs to.”
George looked just as shocked as he had when Paul first said it, but Ringo seemed to be seriously considering Paul’s request. He turned his hands over, looking at the inside of his wrists, where his scent glands released a scent that told the world he was an omega. When he was in heat, the glands could feel a number of things, from itchy to painful, but they also felt warm. His whole body felt warm sometimes, perfectly cosy and safe. He’d rather like to feel that way now, if he could, as stressful as things were. He could hardly imagine how much Paul must want to feel it.
He sighed, then looked at Paul with a serious tint to his eyes. “If you go home, will you be in physical danger due to the illness?”
“Ritchie!” George stared at him in disbelief. “You can’t seriously—”
“Paul knows what his body needs. If he wants to and is able to go home, we should let him.”
George bit his lip. Ringo knew better than him and Paul knew better than either of them about this, but he didn’t like the idea of taking Paul away from the only thing that was maintaining his health. He didn’t want Paul to be alone, either. Not when he was weak enough to faint at the drop of a hat.
“Can one of us stay with you? You’re not supposed to have heats alone, right?” George ventured.
“You can’t stay with me, George,” Paul chuckled. “Not if you don’t want your and Ringo’s scents to be all muddled up tomorrow. Rings could, though. And to answer your question,” he addressed Ringo, “no, I won’t be in danger. The only risk would be falling over if I was walking around, like in the studio yesterday. And well, I think once I’m home, I’ll just, y’know… nest.” Paul’s cheeks flushed. He hadn’t talked about his heats in this way since he presented. The comparison made him feel rather childish.
“Will the hospital let you leave?” Ringo asked.
“They can’t keep me here. I’m technically not in a life-threatening situation, after all.”
“You’re sure about this now?” George pressed. “You know what you’re getting yourself into?”
“Sure as I’ve ever been. I want to feel that way again, that rightness of it. You understand, right Ringo?”
Ringo nodded with a gentle smile. “Yeah. I do. Let’s get you checked out of here, yeah?”
Paul reached up to his nose, closed his fingers around the tube, and yanked it away from his face. He was going to do this, one way or another.
And it actually seemed like he might be able to, too. Ringo called for the nurse and they got the immediate things taken care of there, so they didn’t have to spend as much time at the desk. Paul got out of bed with just a little help from George, who was handling him like glass, and he was able to walk entirely on his own. The pheromones were only just wearing off, after all. It was only when they emerged from the omega ward section and reached the main discharge desk that all three of them realized how hard this was about to be.
Sitting in one of the blue-cushioned waiting chairs and looking like he was on the verge of a panic attack was John. Ringo could have kicked himself. John had come with him and George. The three of them had driven together once the hospital said Paul would be awake enough for visitors. But now all four of them had to go home together. It wasn’t a good idea to have Paul and George in the same space for too long, and George was a beta. Having John and Paul that close together would be a disaster if Paul started losing focused consciousness. They’d have to make the car ride quick, with as little close proximity before and after as possible.
John seemed to know this, too, because he leapt out of his chair and scooted backward when they approached. His eyes couldn’t focus and his cuticles looked like a house with paint scraped off. “Is he, Paul, are you alright?”
Paul nodded vaguely. He couldn’t quite place everything around him and he already knew the pheromones were wearing off. Even worse, he could smell John. He wasn’t in rut, either; he was just his normal self, normal John, but Paul’s receptors were so hooked on it that he could hardly smell anything else. It’s not that they were telling him to carry out any sexual urges, exactly. They just wanted him to be close to John, preferably near his neck, to breathe in enough of his scent to calm his nerves down.
“Are you alright to be going home?” John inquired nervously. He made a motion to walk forward, then remembered himself and inched backward instead.
“Yeah, just fine.” Paul paused and readied himself to say more, but his vision wobbled and he twisted sideways, finding Ringo’s shoulder to lean on. “Maybe you better tell him, Rings,” Paul mumbled. It was like he was drunk, only without any of the preceding pleasures.
“Ah, yes, well.” Ringo cleared his throat as he watched George sign the final discharge paperwork. “He wants to go home. And he wants to have a heat, like a full one.”
Paul's head swam. He couldn’t hear a whole lot, and he was willing to bet that if he opened his eyes, he wouldn’t be able to see very much, either. Damn, those pheromones wore off fast.
The one thing he could vaguely recognize, though, was John’s voice, and he didn’t sound happy. He didn’t sound angry, per se, but Paul could tell he was upset. Paul’s heart leapt at the idea that John might be concerned about his condition. He didn’t want to worry John, but maybe his anxiety meant George was right. Maybe John wanted the same thing that he did.