Time Passages (Queen or Freddie Mercury Fanfic)

Birdman's Eye View: A Blast from the Past

"Oh, bollocks!" I cry without thinking.

The boy speaks again, this time sounding rather confused.  "Uncle John?"

"Hm?  Oh.  Yes, Danny, hello, sorry."  I struggle to get myself back on track.  Hopefully he won't hear the frustration in my voice. 

I don't even know how many times I've called each of the Samuels' various phone numbers in hopes of either demanding an explanation from Julia for what in bloody hell was going on here, or getting that... apparition on the line, and speaking to him properly- if I was even capable of keeping it together whilst doing so.  Alas, if the lines weren't engaged, they were simply left unanswered. 

And of course, the one person who finally does pick up has to be the least informed one of all. 

Still, I'll give my little godson a chance. 

"Hi," he says in those clear, cheerful tones. "Sorry for hanging up on you before."

"It's quite all right, no harm done."  In that way, that is.

"We were actually just about to call you.  It's crazy."

I blink.  "Who's we?"

"Me and Lauren.  Remember Lauren?  With the red hair?"

"Oh, yes," I hum absently.  "Your neighbor.  Right, right." 

"She doesn't believe that you played bass for Queen."

I blink.  "What?"  I never told him anything about me playing for Queen.  That was the agreement.  Clearly new lines have been drawn since before this morning.

"I was going to call and prove it.  Wanna talk to her?  Cause she wants to talk to you."

Danny, this is the least of our problems at present.  "I'd love to, but-"

"Cool, here she is!"

"Danny-"  But before I can tell him no, the phone changes hands, and now the voice belongs to a young girl with a prominent Jersey accent.

"Hi, Mr. Deacon," she chirps. 

I swallow hard, foot tapping impatiently.  "Hello."

"Is it true you're Queen's bass player?"

"I- was.  I'm not anymore, I don't have anything to do with th-"

She gasps.  "Really?"  For a moment I hear two muffled, children's voices as Danny cuts in with a triumphant "I told you!" or words to that effect.  "That is- shhh, Danny, stop talking- that is so awesome!"

"Well, thank you, but-"

"What was Freddie like?"

I roll my eyes. This is not remotely what I had in mind when I called.  I suppose I'd better come to the point.  "Love, I'm afraid I haven't much time, would you mind please handing the phone back to Danny?"

"Oh, okay." 

In another second or so, the phone is back in my godson's hands- and I don't mince words.  "John Daniel, I need to talk to you in private."

He straightens up right away; whenever his mother or I address him by both his first and middle name, he knows it's serious.  "Private?  Why?"

"It's very important."

Just out of range I can hear the young girl protest in jumbled, unintelligible syllables.  After a moment, Danny pipes, "Is it okay if Lauren stays here?"

"Why?"

"Lauren wants to know, too."

"I don't care," I snap- then realize how bad that sounds, and go on hastily, "Danny, this is solely between me and you."