Time Passages (Queen or Freddie Mercury Fanfic)

30. Jealous?

Freddie

The fingers of one hand drummed impatiently against the notebook on my knee, while the other hand reached over and grabbed the hot tea from its holder and lifted it to my lips.  It wasn't all that wonderful, I could make a much better cup myself- but it was warm, and the world was frigid, so I didn't complain.

I'd been sitting in this damn car for the last hour at least, while my self-appointed driver silently navigated through traffic that made London Bridge congestion seem reasonable, stopping only once to pick up coffee at this place called Starbucks, because Charles hadn't had "his morning dose of caffeine yet."  I tell you, from the line of cars we had to wait behind, I expected it to be much more marvelous, but the tea was tea, and the frozen coffee thing Charles ordered (and in winter, too- he had to have been utterly mad) looked like a frozen coffee thing, and the whipped cream on top really didn't do a lot to change that.  If any of you reading this chapter disagree, and happen to think Starbucks is the bee's knees, I apologize, but the place is overpriced, overdone, and overrated. 

But I digress.

I had no idea that Wes was based out of New York, otherwise I would have turned him down in the blink of an eye.  I was no DJ material.  Perhaps I sat at a console in a cramped little room like one, but I was actually making music, not playing it back ad nauseam, while occasionally chatting on about the weather and road conditions just to break up the boredom.  My God.

"It's just a half hour," Charles said suddenly, as though he could read my thoughts.  "Five hundred bucks for thirty minutes- man, I wish I had that kind of set-up."

I rolled my eyes.  I was in no mood for shallow optimism.  "Are we there yet?"

"Pretty close, maybe another twenty minutes away," he replied.  "How's the song coming along?"

"Which one?"

"Whoa.  Are you writing several at once?"

"Trying to," I said, a bit too coldly.

He swallowed.  "Sorry."  And fell silent again.

I sighed, shaking my head.  "No, dear, I'm sorry.  I've just- there's a lot weighing on my mind at the moment, and uh-"

"It's all right," Charles hummed. 

And there really were a lot of things swirling about inside.  The silence (Charles had turned off the music altogether when he saw I was trying to concentrate; he was so tuned in to me, which was nice- he really reminded me of my first official chauffeur/bodyguard, to be honest) allowed me to think clearly without distraction, but I still found my thoughts wandering to unhelpful places.  Home, for example- my cats, my big lovely house, Mary, Jim, Phoebe, Paul, Straker, and all the other people I called friends, that were wondering where the hell I had run off to.  It wasn't like me, to just leave right in the middle of a org- uh, party; surely the police were all over Germany looking for me at this point.

Just as much, though, I thought about the boys in Queen- Roger, Brian, John; I really did miss rowing with them.  I missed making our music, writing new songs, doing things that actually would have an effect, mean something- instead of having to sneak around using someone else's name, making sure no one recognized me and that nothing I did caused any ripples.  That wasn't me. 

And Julia knew that, too, or else she would have tried to convince me not to do this.  My voice would be broadcast all over the Northeastern states, heard by tens of thousands, if perhaps even hundreds of thousands or more- and she had all but encouraged me to go for it.

She really does understand me, I said to myself- then scoffed, Or, she just saw it as a way to get me out of her hair.  Again.

Charles spoke up, interrupting my thoughts.  "If it will help any, you don't have to just sit there the whole time.  A way to cheat, is- pick, like, a six or seven minute song, then set a timer on your watch-"