In the Year of the Cat (Queen or Freddie Mercury Fanfic)

26. Pillow Talk

I don't think I was entirely honest when I said I couldn't remember any of that night.  I do recall an intense dizziness, and feeling like someone was slowly turning the dial higher and higher on my internal thermostat.  And somewhere in the swirling fog I remember something light falling away from me, like clothes.  But the other ninety-nine percent either gave itself over to my unconscious mind, buried in its deepest cavern and never to be unearthed until a time when it was least helpful, or evaporated altogether. 

What I did recall, clear as crystal, was the nightmare.  Shortly after I slipped out of sentience, seconds afterward it seemed, the dry ice smoke began billowing forth from all directions, this time a darker magenta, rising and thickening until Freddie magically appeared before me and led me through the fog once more.  But we hadn't traveled more than twenty feet when the earth began to quake violently.  A deafening roar as the ground beneath us split open.  The jolt threw me off my feet, projecting us forward.  Luckily for me, I had enough land before me to keep me from falling into the rift.

But Freddie didn't. 

He hit the ground and rolled toward the cliff.  Desperately he scratched at the dry earth trying to get a grip on anything.  I shouted and reached out for him, but still he tumbled till he went right over the edge- and then the nightmare ceased.  Just quit right there, as though someone took White Out and smeared it all over my mind's eye.  From then on, I was absolutely senseless.

But I didn't want to think about last night.  Last night could go hang itself, as could this next morning.  All I wanted to do was lay in bed and vegetate.  I hadn't the energy even to think.  Oscar lay at the foot of the bed -at least, I assumed it was Oscar since only he liked sleeping with me.  I was face down into the pillow and I didn't feel like making sure.  My eyelids hung heavier than lead weights; I had no desire to force them open.  It was like coming out of general anesthesia, times two.

My ears were first to kick back in working order.  Gradually I started hearing Freddie's voice coming from his bedroom.  He spoke softly, as if to someone right next to him.  Ah, I thought dimly.  Guess he got lucky last night.  Well, good for him.

As he talked, however, the conversation sounded distinctly one-sided. After a moment, I realized he was on the phone. 

"...Course not, Rod.  No hard feelings," I heard him say, then laugh.  "Yeah, we were both pretty out of our heads."

Who's Rod? I asked myself.  Maybe Stewart?  Was he there last night?  Maybe?  Oh, wow.  Wonder what happened.  Summoning up all my strength, I tried to roll over, but the nauseating soreness in my limbs put the kibosh on that right away. 

Freddie hung up, then padded into my bedroom.  I didn't know what to do, so I pretended to still be asleep.  When all else fails, plausible deniability.

Which was much harder to maintain when he yawned, pulled back the sheets a little, and slipped in next to me.  My insides started working themselves into knots.  Freddie, what are you doing? 

That was bad enough.  But the knots only tightened when he snuggled right up against me and his warm, bare legs wrapped around mine.  He put one hand on my waist and with the other brushed my hair away from his face.

We're spooning, I noted.  Then in the very next moment I asked myself, Why? 

I was surprised at myself, reacting so coolly.  After all, it wasn't every day a man slid into bed and spooned with me.  With a pit in my stomach, I wondered if we'd been like this all night.  I stiffened with speculation.

"Good morning, Eve," he whispered. 

"Hmm?" I mumbled.  "What?"

"You're awake."