Time Passages (Queen or Freddie Mercury Fanfic)

60. The Music Man, Part One

Julia

"Right, that does it," Freddie declared, throwing down his napkin.

I stopped cutting my last spear of asparagus and looked up. "What?"

"We can't be friends anymore," he said bluntly. 

I was terribly confused until a second or two later, when I realized what he meant.  "Seriously?"

"I'm sorry, darling, but that's one difference I just can't overlook."

"You've got to be kidding me," I scoffed.  That's where you draw the line?"

He nodded, faintly smirking.  "A man's got to have some sort of standards, after all.  And those are mine."

As tormented as today was for us both, it had turned out to be a really beautiful evening.  The food was excellent, the conversation warm (if also just a tad superficial), and the jazz band, delightful.  Even better, we saw a light dust of snow begin falling outside the window, adding just a little more enchantment to what had already gone down in my book as the best date ever.

All throughout the last hour, Freddie and I had made valiant efforts to keep the mood bright and cheerful, even as the reality of his imminent departure lurked relentlessly in the back of our minds. Despite all the simmering truths that needed to be told more than ever and unresolved situations that cried out for closure, neither of us wanted to part on negative terms. And as a result, from the time we shared our first champagne toast, we steered intentionally clear of talks of Stuart, Danny's father, Charles's actual identity, my broken promise, and anything else that had the potential to escalate into another emotional war of words just hours before we said our final goodbyes.

Counterproductive? Yes. A waste of this precious second chance? Definitely.

Then again, after all, Freddie wouldn't remember these conversations, no matter how open and soul-searching. There were so many things I wanted to get off my chest, so much I wanted to tell him- but the only one who would recall any of it was me, which sort of defeated the purpose. What was more, he himself hadn't wanted to go over them either, otherwise he would have spoken up. And I honestly understood to an extent. This was after all our first date, as unbelievable as that sounds- and first dates must go over smoothly if nothing else.

Regardless, I was grateful for the night no matter where we were, or what we were talking about, so long as we were together- even if in this moment we were reduced to arguing over something as trivial as whether John Lennon or Paul McCartney was the better Beatle.

"It's not that I don't like him, Freddie," I explained, "I just happen to hold Paul in somewhat higher esteem than I do John."

"By a little, or a lot?" he asked.

I bit my lip. "Kind of a lot, actually."

"My God," he sighed.

"What?" 

"I'm just so disappointed in you, darling."

I folded my arms and sat back.  "Well, the feeling is mutual.  The absolute lack of respect you're showing for Paul right now-"

"No, no!" Freddie cut in, waving his hands. "Don't misunderstand me, Paul's wonderful- but John Lennon was an absolute genius."

"That's fine, I'm not going to argue with you there," I conceded, knowing that if I did, I ran the risk of flat-out insulting one of his heroes and escalating this playful debate into something much more damaging.  "And they made a great team, granted, but- for me, I look at it in terms of the way their solo ventures developed."