Some Day One Day (Maylor AU)

Chapter 55

Sleep didn't come easily for either Brian or Roger that night, yet both were up and about by sunrise. While the former succumbed to the daunting task of cleaning himself up—making himself presentable—the latter debated on whether he should see the professor again, and how. He'd burned all the bridges he'd built in London when he left for America, and that river dividing them seemed impossible to cross now. Freddie's encouragement wasn't enough to bring them back together; he needed transportation, a car, and there was only one person at his disposal who had one—Mary.

He had to find a way to coerce her into helping him, and it did him no favors that the two of them despised one another. He spent most of that frigid morning thinking of ways to change that, and just before the sun began to peek over the horizon, right after he took a final drag from his second cigarette, the answer became crystal clear to him—he'd make her breakfast. Not only would the kind, unexpected gesture distract Mary from the fact he'd willfully gone against her wishes and sneaked inside, but she would be so astonished that, in her state of awe, when he'd ask her for a ride, she'd have no other choice but to say yes. The only issue was that his cooking skills were quite limited; he wasn't even sure how to boil an egg.

Nevertheless, when Mary and Freddie came downstairs, they were surprised to find the blonde pouring each of them a cup of coffee—the mugs part of an elaborately mediocre spread that covered their kitchen table. Plates of toast, bacon, and sausage were set at opposite seats, along with two bowls of dry cereal and a milk carton placed in the center of the table for use when they were ready. The couple froze in the doorway, struggling to believe that the blonde standing before them was the same blonde they'd picked up from the airport the night before.

"My god, Roger," Freddie muttered under his breath, drawn to the table as though he were in a trance and slipping into one of the two seats. "What's all this for?"

"What? A guy can't make his friend and his fiancé breakfast?" Roger replied teasingly, an amused smirk pricking at the corner of his lip while he topped off the cup of coffee he'd been attending to.

"He's probably poisoned it," Mary grumbled, maintaining her grudge towards the blonde despite how early it was. She made her way over and sat down in the seat Roger pulled out for her—cautious in taking it, afraid the blonde was going to pull it out from underneath her.

Needless to say, he didn't. Instead, he politely pushed her in and forced a grin upon his face, leaning in close to whisper in her ear, "Only yours, babe." With a quick, belittling peck to her reddened cheek, Roger waltzed over to the counter and picked up the plate he made for himself. Mary widened her eyes at Freddie, but the dark-haired man ignored her wordless plea to do something about his friend—too engrossed by the food on his plate to hear her.

"Roger, darling, I didn't know you could cook," he commented distractedly, lifting the piece of toast atop the stack of three to reveal its burnt bottom.

"I didn't know I could either," the blonde retorted, joining the couple at the table and taking a bite into the bacon that was so crisp it shattered—the rock-hard pieces falling onto his plate and into his lap. "Fuck me," he groaned, tossing the remaining scrap he managed to hold onto with the others and crossing his arms over his chest.

Mary mirrored the blonde's stance and narrowed her eyes, asking bluntly, "What's your angle, Roger?" He met her gaze, those innocent baby blues having no effect on her whatsoever. "What's this breakfast really for?"

The blonde's glance flickered over to his best friend, finding no such luck in gaining his support as he continued to prod the charred sausage links like they were a specimen in a lab. Roger heaved a sigh and looked back at Mary, hanging his head shortly after in avoidance of her poignant, unrelenting glare as he admitted, "I need you to give me a ride."

A disbelieving laugh slipped past her lips. "I hope you're joking."

"Mary, please," he begged, sitting forward and clasping his hands together on the table—daring to bring his eyes to hers once more. "I need to see someone."

Mary scoffed at the desperation dripping from his voice. "Who?"

Roger's cheeks grew warm just thinking about his reunion with Brian. "A friend," he answered timidly, snapping Freddie out of the curiosity-driven daze he'd fallen into.

He gasped and wrapped his hand around Roger's thigh. "You're not talking about who I think you're talking about, are you?"

"No, he's not, because he hasn't got any friends to visit except you," Mary sneered, Roger rolling his eyes in annoyance. It absolutely amazed him how she continued to resent him so passionately. They'd known each other for years, and Roger thought that by now the hatred would've died down a bit, yet it remained just as strong as it was when it first began. He couldn't remember what he did to make her act so cold, colder than the winter nights in England, but it was too late in the game for him to ask her, so he just dealt with it—especially if it meant seeing him again.

Freddie smirked. "No, he's got someone else, but I wouldn't say he's his friend. He's much more than that, isn't he?"

His fiancé's eyes doubled in size as she pieced the growing puzzle together. "Hold up, are you talking about—" Her voice went silent, her thoughts refusing to turn themselves into words. However, she didn't need to say anything for the two men to know which name was about to roll off her tongue. They didn't need to say anything either to validate her beliefs. "No, no. No fucking way." Mary shot up from her chair, shaking the whole table in the process. "I'm not letting you ruin my new friend's life again. I won't let it happen!" In forbiddance of any room for argument, she stormed off—her heavy footsteps pounding against the stairs as she retreated to hers and Freddie's bedroom.

Roger's eyebrows furrowed together and shifted his attention to Freddie, looking for answers. "New friend?"

"She's talking about Chrissie," Freddie explained with a nonchalance that greatly contrasted the tense situation. He grabbed the carton of milk and popped it open, tipping it over and adding the milk to the bowl of cereal—perhaps the only edible option on the table. "Remember? I told you. They're friends now; she told her everything."

The blonde groaned and covered his face with his hands. He'd honestly forgotten about that—his spontaneous, drunken escapade following the conversation they shared wiping his memory clean.

"Don't worry, though, darling," Freddie assured him, slamming the carton back down in the center of the table and picking up his spoon—tapping it against Roger's fingers and getting the blonde to reveal his frowning face. "I'll take you to him."

"How?" Roger snapped. "You don't drive, Freddie."

"Who said anything about me driving?"