Time Passages (Queen or Freddie Mercury Fanfic)

Birdman's Eye View: If You Can't Beat Them

I swallow quietly, trying to keep my eyes closed, and my breathing even and deep.  I wonder, would it be overkill if I make myself snore on occasion?  Maybe.  Both Brian and Roger themselves enjoyed a bit of a catnap a little while ago, and they made nary a sound.  I mustn't push it too far.  God forbid they should suspect that for the last good bit of time I've been, as I have heard Julia say Danny will do on the first day back to school, "playing possum."

We've been on the plane for six hours at least- though it feels more like six years, to be honest.  This has got to be one of the longest and most awkward plane trips I've ever taken in my life.  Six hours peppered generously with autographs, selfies, titters from all around about the band finally getting back together- something I cannot straightaway deny however much I would love to, since I am now nestled a bit too cozily amongst the other two, the very fellows I broke with a long time ago when I retired from the band, and despite my inner feelings I still can't be that rude.

They have me surrounded even now.  Granted, the two of them switched places, so that it is Roger who's sitting beside me while Brian took his seat across the aisle.  That's not so bad as the other way.  While I still don't necessarily consider either of them mates of mine any longer, and as much as Roger tended to poke fun at me a little more than the other two, it's always been a bit easier for me to deal with the drummer than with Brian, especially after it all fell apart in the nineties.

To their credit, though, neither of these chaps have taken to really picking my brain, prodding me with questions as to why I'm really here.  They have respected my space and my privacy, and they seem reasonably content with my explanation, that I'm visiting my godson in New Jersey.  That may change the closer we get to the States, but so far, so good.

I decide I'll take a chance and pry one eye open, take a quick look-about to see if I can get up and stretch my legs, move more freely about the cabin as it were.  Roger's eyes are closed, a good old-fashioned book (with pages, no less) lying open-faced across his lap while Brian roosts comfortably across the way, phone securely clenched in his hand while his fingers swipe all across the screen.  If I had to guess, he's probably live-streaming the entire trip via the plane's Wi-Fi.  Good God.  The man's an addict.

They've really aged rather well, though, those two, I note quietly.  Better than I have, that's for certain.

I sigh quietly and wonder again if he will recognize me.  I've changed quite a lot through the years; while I may have been the youngest in the band, a full five years younger than Freddie, I certainly do look like I could be the oldest of them all now.  According to the latest reports, apparently he didn't recognize Jim Beach at all until he reintroduced himself to him.  It's this that makes me wonder if he really is Freddie, or this all some grandiose hoax in order to paint the three of us as the worst kind of gullible. 

Then again, why would today's tricksters select three old boys from a fifty-six-year-old English band to taunt?  Why not someone younger, more accessible to the modern public?  Sure, Brian  basically turned himself into a meme, and has held onto that status with an iron will- but that doesn't exactly make him hip.

Whatever my doubts, however, I still can't wait to see him- providing I get there before they send him back to 1985 Germany.  God, I hope I make it.  If I don't- no, I'd better not even consider that possibility, all it will do is frustrate me more.

My limbs feel stiff; I've been stuck in this chair almost the entire time.  I ease myself out of my seat, tiptoe over Roger's legs as nimbly as I can manage- which apparently is not nimble enough, because I trip over his foot and nearly fall flat on my face.  Naturally, he stirs, because God forbid I get away with anything anymore.