Every time you make a move

Future Filler: Smells Like Teen Spirit Pt. 1

Garden Lodge, around 7:30am, Wednesday 20th November, 1996

"God, my head fucking hurts..."

Freddie Mercury groaned from his Queen-sized bed, feeling sorry for himself whilst his personal assistant of nearly eighteen years, Peter 'Phoebe' Freestone, drew open the curtain of his master bedroom.

"What do you expect? You were shovelling down so many drinks last night" Phoebe bit his tongue, blushing slightly.

"Monica's taking too long in the bathroom" Freddie whined.

"Do you want me to knock on the door?" Phoebe offered.

"Nuh, leave her. She's probably on the blob or something..." his boss rolled over onto his side.

The Queen frontman was a sorry sight. His salt and pepper hair was greasy, he had a five o'clock shadow and eye bags. The night before Freddie and his wife, Monica Brannigan, had attended the re-opening of Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice's Jesus christ Superstar on the West End. And surprise surprise, he hated the musical so much that he drank his own weight in alcohol to get through the after party. When he returned home in the early hours he'd flopped into bed in his burgundy cotton dressing gown and fell asleep within seconds.

"Must've been embarrassing for Monica too." Phoebe thought back, plumping the printed duck egg cushions of the florally upholstered sofas in the master bedroom seating area when he saw an incoming call from Jim Beach, who was still Queen's manager, on the pixelated screen of the ringing handset sitting on the bamboo coffee table.

"Who is it?" Freddie croaked from across the bedroom.

Phoebe looked behind and saw him rubbing his forehead and squinting in the light, sensing that he was in no state to be taking phone calls if he couldn't even function properly.

"Oh, unknown number." he lied, picking it up and pressing the red button.

"You see? It's those scammy fraud robots," his droned on, "Our telephone number has been leaked onto the computer spiderweb that Roshni keeps talking about."

"The world wide web, Freddie"  Monica, his wife, corrected him as she reappeared from the en suite bathroom.

She looked elegant with her wavy brown hair slung into a bun on the nape of her neck. She wrapped her turquoise silk kimono up as she sat on the edge of the mattress beside her cranky husband.

"Whatever, cannot make head nor tail of it," Freddie dismissed her correction, then stretched his head up towards his personal assistant's direction, "Can you please prepare me a glass of Alka Seltzer if you're making breakfast, Phoebe?"

Knowing that poor Phoebe already had his hands full, Monica saved him,"I'll do it, but only since you asked him nicely"

"Thanks, Monica" Phoebe watched as she leaned down to kiss her husband on the lips.

He noticed that Monica had frown lines and crows feet when she straightened back up, features which naturally emerged with her age but also became more prominent when there was something agitating her, particularly if she also had a distant look in her blue eyes.

He watched more as she headed for the slider door, but stopped beside as she brushed past him to quietly tell him, "There's plenty of bacon and eggs in the fridge, you help yourself to something as well Phoebe."

"Thanks again, but I already ate," he forced a smile, thinking, "Still a kind, kind woman"

"Suit yourself," Monica nodded back, patting him on the shoulder amicably, "I'm off to wake up the two lazy lumps then."