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

59. Promise Me

After a moment, Freddie's slim shape appeared beside me. I greeted him with a small smile, then stared back out into space. He did the same, giving me a glance or two every now and then to break up the monotony. No one spoke for a little while.

At last, Freddie ventured, "Is everything all right?"

"Of course," I lied. "I just need to sort of- decompress, if that's even the right word."

"So you came up to the terrace?"

"Hey, I do my best decompressing on terraces," I replied.

Freddie thought a moment, then took a step back. "Should I go?"

I shook my head, sighing through my nose. "No, I'm really fine, I just- I'm a little overwhelmed, is all."

He came closer again. "Go on."

"Well, no one's ever written a song for me before," I whispered. "And such a beautiful one at that."

He half-smiled. "If it's beautiful at all, it's because the girl who inspired it is beautiful."

My cheeks burned, and a familiar tightness crept up my throat. I kept my eyes focused on the one constellation I could recognize in the sky- the Big Dipper- and I smiled a quiet thank-you. My prince, do you want me to cry?

Freddie shrugged bashfully, continuing, "But I will warn you, the way I write lyrics, it's, uh, likely going to lose some of its magnificence as soon as I put words to the thing."

I shook my head. "The words are only going to make it more beautiful. You just wait and see. It's one of my fav-" I cut myself off, but not fast enough.

He frowned, then asked, "Wait- you've heard it before?"

I swallowed. "Well, um, I-"

"Oh, f---, how could I forget," he sighed, rubbing his face. "You're from the f---ing future, you know everything. You probably already even know what it's called."

"Well..."

"What's it called?"

"I can't tell you that! It'll spoil it for you."

He blinked. "I don't actually call it 'The Julia Song,' do I?"

"Oh, no, of course not. John Lennon would be all over you for that."

"That he would." Then he said thoughtfully, "Then again, you know, just because John Lennon can write a song and call it 'Julia,' doesn't mean I can't. Perhaps I will after all."

"Freddie, you shouldn't name me in your song anyway."

"Why not?" He slouched forward a little. "Would you be embarrassed?"

"Of course not."

"Then what's the problem?"

"You've written songs for other people, about other people, and you don't name them. You didn't do that with anyone else. Not even for those guys, the Sheffield-"

"Those m-----f-----s," he hissed.

"Yeah, see? You hate those guys, quite rightly [this I added to again assure him I was on his side; while on the plane home from Vegas, Freddie had told me the band's Trident Productions horror story, and I made the near-fatal mistake of remarking "Freddie, it couldn't have been that bad..."], and you didn't call them out!"

"They know who they are, I didn't have to. But I mean, I've been at this game for long enough, maybe the time has come for a change," he winked.

"Oh, heavens..."