Stars in Your Eyes (Queen/Roger Taylor)

44. Freddie

"I couldn't believe it, darling, he actually fucking said that! To my face!" My mouth is curled up in a mischievous grin; my voice louder than usual to compete with the din of the busy restaurant.

"So, then what happened?" Across the table, Straker rests his chin on his fist, eyes wide with disbelief.

Seated a respectable distance beside me, Joe leans forward to finish the story. "And then he put the  box on his head!"

"Oh, fuck off, he did not. Did he really!?" Straker chokes out, starting to laugh so hard that his eyes begin to tear up.

"You should have seen him! And I thought that Freddie would--" At this, Joe glances over at me, ready for me to jump in and finish the tale.

But I'm long-gone from the conversation. Instead, my attention is diverted to a table across the restaurant, where a familiar woman is sitting across from a small ginger fellow.

"Hello, Freddie? Anyone home?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, right, exactly what you just said." After too long of a pause, I pretend as if I've been paying attention the whole time, which of course, I haven't been.

"I was saying," Joe repeats slowly, "that after he put that stupid box on his stupid head, I was sure you'd--"

Once again, I stop listening because there's a boisterous internal debate being waged in my head. The angel sitting on my proverbial shoulder--whose voice sounds very much like Mary--pleads, no! Don't meddle, Freddie! But the devil perched on the other shoulder gleefully shouts, just fucking do it, mate!

As usual,  the devil wins the argument.

"I'll be right back," I murmur, cutting Straker off mid-sentence. As I stand abruptly, Joe's eyes follow my gaze across the restaurant and widen with recognition.

"Freddie, you really shouldn't--"

"Life's no fun when it's only should not's," I grumble as I throw my napkin on the table and begin to march determinedly across the restaurant. My eyes are straight ahead, but I can feel the looks of recognition from my fellow restaurant-goers, can hear the whispers of it's Freddie Mercury! as I glide by.

Skylar still hasn't seen me, so I could always veer to the left and head to the safety of the loo. That would be the more responsible choice.

But, fuck it. Sometimes, the universe needs a little nudge to make things right. A helping hand, if you will.

Roger and Skylar, for example. They could use some help. Actually, they could use a fucking heapload of help. I mean, really, have you ever met two people who get in their own way more than those two? It's fucking obvious that they're still in love, even though they'd never admit it. Despite how happy and satisfied and blah-blah-blah they are with their current partners... it's not the same, and they fucking well know it.

I've done my best to stay out of their shit for the past few years. Partly because, well, it's none of my business. But mostly because I've been distracted.

But that all ends right now.

"Dr. Evans!" I call out cheerfully as I approach the table. Skylar turns at the sound of her name, looking surprised.

"Freddie!" She leaps up to peck me on the cheek. "So good to see you."

"Lovely to see you, darling," I say to Skylar before turning to her dining companion. It's not her Frenchman; instead, it's a bookish, doctory sort of bloke who, if I'm not mistaken, plays for the same team that I do.

"This is Peter, one of my oldest friends," Skylar says, motioning to the fellow.

"Freddie," I say, leaning over to offer my hand before turning my attention back to Skylar.