A Man For All Seasons (Queen or Freddie Mercury Fanfic)

Prologue: The Story So Far

December 18, 2027

At half-past six in the morning, a soft bell-like tone briefly tinkled, rousing the sleeping man nestled warmly between the sheets. Opening his bleary eyes halfway, he reached over to his nightstand and fumbled around in the dark for his cell phone before accidentally knocking it onto the floor. With an annoyed little groan, Dr. Steve Kurzweil snatched it up, opened the message- then groaned again, even louder.

For the group text read, "Video call in half an hour. Urgent."

K already knew well what kind of conversation he was in for that snowy Saturday. He had been mentally preparing for it ever since he got home very late the night before. Suffice it to say, he was not looking forward to it. But still, the old man gathered up the guts to slide his feet to the carpet, shuffle into the kitchen to pour himself the first of what would become four cups of coffee slurped in rapid succession, and fire up his Mac.

Five minutes before the meeting deadline, K padded back into his study, gray suit jacket in one hand and his half-full coffee mug in the other. The latter was a gift from Madelyn, given to him on his birthday some months ago. On the side it read "I'm a Perfect 10," which was innocent and self-confident enough a message- one which became unexpectedly blue, the minute K turned it over while putting it in the dishwasher, and read the single word on the bottom.

K knew that certainly Madelyn had no idea about the underlying meaning- but that didn't stop this mug from becoming his favorite. Even now, as he opened up the Skype app, a crooked little smile curved his mouth. Perhaps he was forced to hold off on a hit or two till after the meeting was over, but he could still quietly indulge in his private dirty joke while he listened to his colleagues fuss and fret.

Stifling a yawn, K tugged his blazer on over his pajama top; the less reason C would have to poke fun at him, the better. All right, you guys, he said to himself, cursor hovering over the "Join" button. Let's get this over with.

He clicked once- and presently three other faces appeared on screen, each moving at unevenly delayed frame rates.

"There he is," Dr. Christopher greeted his compadre. "So glad you could make it, Steve."

K didn't have the energy to let that bother him this morning. "Hello, everyone."

"This is wonderful, everyone is on time," Dr. Ling said approvingly, her smile far too bright for this early in the morning.

What's she in such a good mood about? K asked himself. Did I miss something?

The third, most pinched-looking face rolled his blue eyes; Stuart Preus never was one for pleasantries. "Yeah, fantastic. Okay, let's get started."

"I thought we already did," Ling put in.

"Officially, this time," Preus sighed. "But first- hang on. Tim, did you say something about George sending you an email?"

C sat back in his chair. "Not an email; he called me personally."

"Oh, right." The exhausted forty-something ground his teeth; that was even worse, somehow. "So, what did he say?"

"About what you'd expect."

"Which is-?"

"In so many words, he demanded an explanation as to why, after seven whole days, you still haven't managed to get rid of Bucky."

K let out a sigh through his hooked nose. Ah, yes, Bucky 13. Such a respectful title for a man whose music has transcended generations, whose voice is known and loved all around the world, and whose name is synonymous with "legendary". It doesn't even begin to do him justice.