Work Text:
Paul knew it would happen. But he didn't know it would happen in Liverpool. He thought he would go to London. He would have some songs. "When I'm 64" was good. He could write more like that, and then someone would have to let him write: songs for shows, for the great singers, for Sinatra. And when he got to London, then there would be someone else. Someone who would sit with him at the piano. They would put melodies to the words, and words to the melodies. And eventually, everyone would know their names. Paul was prepared to be patient.
But then he looked up, and he saw that Ted singing. Singing and playing the bloody guitar. He couldn't believe it. And what was amazing - he didn't know the words, and he couldn't really play the guitar, but he owned the band, and he owned the stage. And as Paul stared at him, at the red hair, the strange glint, he turned and looked right at Paul. And when Paul couldn't turn away, he just smiled and kept singing his invitation right to Paul: "... Come, come, go with me, down, down, down to the penitentiary..." And Paul thought for a crazy moment that that was exactly where he was headed.