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

43. Mixed Signals, Part One

I was a little nervous about falling asleep on the plane; I have a tendency to talk in my sleep, and I didn't want first class (or more specifically, Freddie) to know I had lustful, magenta dreams every night.  I thought maybe if I had my music softly humming into my ear, I might distract my brain from that same old earthquake.  It seemed to work; for the few hours I spent unconscious I dreamed no dreams.  That I can remember, anyway.

It was music that awakened me as well- but a different kind.  Someone was softly singing a cappella to themselves.  And it was a song nobody in 1977 should have known. 

"Dah de dah, spending ev-er-y daaay, dah dah di dah dah in the pouring rain..."

Before I even opened my eyes I reached for my Android at my side.  It was gone.  I looked, now wide awake.  Oh, there it is. 

It was in Freddie's hand, one of the earbuds nestled in his right ear, as he held the Android's LED flashlight over his sketching paper (Where'd he get that anyway?  Did he make a stop somewhere at an art store in Vegas?  Who knows) and the screen facing him showed a Matisse-inspired image of a Lady Godiva figure holding a Pandora's box, under which read the words "Maroon 5: She Will Be Loved."

I freaked.

"HEY!" I whisper-shouted.  There were other people sleeping after all.

Freddie glanced at me.  He blinked once, then his face split into a nonchalant grin- almost too nonchalant.  "Good morning."

"What do you think you're doing?" I hissed.

He looked blank.  "I'm working." 

"How'd you hack into-"

"The password, of course."

"I never told you the password!"

"Oh but you did, unintentionally.  I'm not a complete dunce, you know."

When I reached for the phone, he held his hand out into the aisle.  "Darling, where are your manners?"

So we've gone from "too polite" to "where are your manners."  This man, I swear.  "Will you kindly hand that Magic Mirror of mine back to me?"

"Only if you show me where the camera is."

My insides writhed.  "What all have you seen?"

"Not too much, just the music, really, and that speech bubble thing at the bottom."

"You went through my texts?" I tried not to scream.  I didn't send anything via text I wouldn't want serving as a New York Times headline, but I still couldn't believe Freddie had been so blatantly inconsiderate.  I thought he was better than this.

"Not really, I left it alone, I just tapped it and a bunch of numbers appeared.  Looked a bit unexciting so I didn't stay there.  Most everything else didn't work.  I tried opening up this thing called In-sta-grahm, but it couldn't, said it wasn't connected to Wee-Fee."

"You mean, Wi-Fi?"

"I'll say it however I like, Miss Har-Lee-Quin.  How do I, um- connect it?"

"You can't.  There's no Wi-Fi here."

"What is Wi-Fi anyway?"

"I'll tell you when you're older.  Please give it back."

"What are you so worried about?"  Freddie's eyes gleamed.  "What dirty little secrets have you hoarded up in here?"

"Nothing."

"I mean, besides those soft porn songs you've got-"

"Soft porn?"