A/N:

It's been a minute.. . . .

I think my dark days are behind me now. I was at a loss for quite a while, but alas my beautiful prince has lifted me again. ❤️❤️❤️

Let's enjoy the head games again. You know you like it 😉🙃

————————————————

Charlie:

Lily and I can hardly step foot off the property! The damned press is stalking right outside of the garden gates and I, for one, don't want to be front page news. Not that I have any say in that right now...

It's day 3 since my private interview with David Wigg has hit the airways. Little did I know there was also a linked story going around that was truly the cause for this kind of paparazzi stake out.

"Turn the tv on. Are you watching this?," Richie always thinks he knows everything. He's on the other side of the world and still in everyone's business.

"Yeah, I know. I'm the one who set it up-"

"No. Not that," he sighs. "I'm sending you a link..."

Seconds later my phone dings with a new message. "I'm putting you on speaker— JESUS FUCK!"

"Yeah... I was about to warn you," he laughs, but only for a second. I carefully walk closer to my phone, which I had just thrown across the room.

I think I'm scarred. Yep. Scarred for life.

"You should've started with a warning! This is— this is frickin porn!"

"Well, it's your fault!," he sneers.

"How the hell is a leaked video of our parents doing god knows what in public my fault?!," I can't believe this!

"Well, read the article that goes with the video-"

"No thanks!"

He starts to cackle like a lunatic, confusing the crap outta me as I'm still trying to gauge my eyes out. I quickly click out of the link to the video of our parents necking on some dark, sketchy rooftop.

"The headline says it's the night we were conceived—"

"RICHARD!," I shriek at the top of my lungs. "Watch your language."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I thought you'd get a kick out of it. The only reason it was probably dug up anyhow is because of your interview. So.....," he drags on.

"So....," I roll my eyes, yanking Lily away from the front door. "One second, Rich.."

"And just where do you think you're going?," I ask Lily as she fixes her appearance in the hallway mirror.

"I've got plans, ya know with friends-"

"There's no way you're getting passed the gates without a million photographs," I mumble.

"Duh. Why do you think I'm dressed like this?," she smirks.

"Can't you just wait a minute. I'll drive you," she huffs, crossing her arms as she peers behind the curtain toward the crowd of reporters out front. "Fine," she whines, throwing herself back into the couch.

I take the phone off of mute mode, "Still there?"

"So, is it rami?"

"Wh—huh?," I pause a second, even taking the phone away from my ear to see if this is actually my twin brother speaking. "Aren't you on your honeymoon, go enjoy yourself for fuck sake. I don't feel like fighting internationally."

"Oh, come on! Is it him? It's gotta be," he chuckles and I have to wonder if he's being held at gun point on the other end of the line.

"Whats it to ya?," I retort.

"See, Laura. I win. It is Rami," he snickers, sounding happier about the situation than I am at the moment.

"Okay...," I start slowly, "what rhe hell's gotten into you? Cough once for hostage. Cough twice for Laura's gone psycho and has a gun to your head."

"Haha! Don't be ridiculous!," Richie exclaims and I can hear his smile through the phone. "I just realized that everyone deserves this kind of happiness. And shit, as long as it's not Sid."

"Do you...do you mean that?,"

"Of course I do. Don't get me wrong. I'm still gonna have to shuffle Rami around a bit, rough em up a tad. You're my little sister."

"By like 5 minutes!"

"Doesn't matter.."

"Well good luck. If you talk to him, you know if he's even alive or whatever, tell him to kindly return my calls or messages!"

"What do you mean? Aren't the two of you together-"

"No! I haven't seen or spoken to him since the wedding. He hates me."

"Alright okay, since you're begging"

"But, I'm not.."

"Yes, well since you asked so nicely."

"Richie— don't!"

"What? I'll just call him and threaten him with a stiff slugger if he doesn't take care of his responsibilities. You see— goddamnit. Well I tried. I wasn't angry before, but now knowing he's ignoring you and his baby, I—"

"It isn't his fault! He doesn't even know..."

——————————————-

Rami:

I've come to realize everything doesn't happen for a reason. It happens because of consequence.

Why do I feel so lonely?

Why am I filled to the brim with jealousy over a filthy scumbag?

Why am I sitting here at 2 AM staring at pictures in my camera roll, trying to bring myself to delete them?

Why does my heartache like I've left a part of me behind, lost of hope, or promise of blossoming love?

All consequence of meeting Charlie.

I kick off my slippers, nestling into the pile of pillows I've set into a fluffy mound in the center of my bed. Picking my glass of cognac off of my nightstand, my fingers scroll endlessly through my social media. Besides the odd post of aesthetically pleasing filter selfies and primly positioned restaurant food, of course there's news related to Queen and the like.

Stupid internal phone robot is always listening, huh. It can probably read my thoughts by now. And, just as soon as I think it, the next scroll makes me spit out my drink.

I slam my glass back down on beside me, gripping the burning in my throat from momentarily choking on hard liquor. There's a gif made from a video of Freddie Mercury and his wife in an all too compromising position.

Curiosity clicks the link.

Yep! Holy shit! I wonder if they know this is spreading like wild fire across the internet. Maybe I should call them? No. I mustn't meddle.

I refuse to watch the entire video, it's obvious this was done without their consent and I feel weird watching not only my idol, but the parents of my girl— uh, my best friends' parents.

But, oh, how those sneaky, slimy headlines work...

On the sidebar of clickbait is an article about Charlie. Maybe some new update about her pregnancy. Maybe an announcement of her breaking up with shitface Sid. Who knows...but let's continue torturing myself, shall we?

Jealousy makes me keep reading.

It's an interview, apparently requested by the princess herself. She says it's the only way for her to clear the air.

I refill my glass before continuing after the introduction. The interview topic is set around her news and I have to wonder whatever else she could possibly have been hiding.

Wait.

Hold on.

She says she's almost four months pregnant.

She says the father isn't Sid! But then...

No. No, wait now... I'm getting too ahead of myself.

I put my phone down on my lap, taking a heavy helping down my gullet, letting my tongue soak in the words that want to leave my mouth.

It can't be me...right? She would have told me! She had plenty of chances. She showed up with Sid. She didn't deny anything.

I reread the article again, trying to read between her words, but I'm sure they've been sliced and diced by the reporter anyhow.

It has to be me. Unless she truly was lying this entire time, which might be the case. I don't know! Who's to know!? She can't be trusted.

Frustration fueling my thoughts, liquid courage persuading my actions, I go through my call list, easily findings her name from the massive amounts of missed calls. Closing my eyes, my fingers hovers over the calm button.

Should I call her? It would be amazing to actually hear her voice is time with normal conversation. I've ignored her, yes, but that doesn't mean I don't miss her like crazy.

"Ughhhh," I groan, setting down my empty glass to try and think straight for a second.

Maybe that's what she wanted? She wants me to call her. She wants me to think this way. Sid is probably a possible father, but maybe she's fooled around too much to be certain.

Either way I spin it, it sounds like a helluva lot more hurt to me.

My phone starts to ring, startling me since I'd forgotten I had the volume turned all the way up. Great. It's Richie.

He should be countries away on his honeymoon right now. What the hell would he want with me?

Unless she told him.

Crap! She probably did. She's vindictive that way. Or at least, she can be.

"Heyyy, Rich," I try to hide my slurring as plain ol' chit chat. "How's the married life?"

"What are you doing right now?," he asks the question and my heart drops. I feel like this is a set up.

"I'm— uh, nothing. Just about to go to bed."

"That's right. You're ahead," he hums for a moment; I wonder where this is headed.

"I was wondering if you could do me a favor, actually," he sounds like he's smiling. His voice is chipper and upbeat, so let me not jinx this.

"And, what's that?," I ask, chewing on my lip.

"I'm not going to be back home for another week at the most. Uh, and my parents are away on holiday as well..."

"Ahhuh..."

"Anyway, I don't know if you know this, but my sisters having a pretty tough time. Um, were okay now, everything family wise is back to normal, but she's not with Sid anymore. Actually the were never really together..."

Where the hell is this heading? Does he know about mine and Charlie's little rendezvous or what? He probably just wants me to admit it.

"Rami? You there?," he kept talking. Damnit. He kept talking and I didn't even catch what he said. I was too busy talking to myself.

"You cut off there, Rich. What was the question?"

"I said I promised her I'd go with her, since she has no one else. But I can't. I'm not home. So.. if you don't mind helping me out just this once."

Why did I answer the phone? I need to think of an excuse to get out of this. I don't even know what "this" is just yet, but if it has to do with seeing Charlie— I'm just not ready for it.

"Helping how, exactly?," the words slip out of my mouth. I feel betrayed by my own lose tongue.

"I'll take that as a yes!," well, he sounds excited. "Its tomorrow at noon. I just sent you the address. She'll meet you there. And before you ask, she's fine with it. I already told her you'd said yes."

"Meet where? For what?"

"chhh chh cant hear chhhh chhhh bad reception chh to go! Chhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh bye!"

Bloody wanker! I may be drunk enough to agree to stupid things, but I'm not stupid enough to fall for a bad reception lie. My phone chimes as soon as the call goes dead. The address isn't too far from Garden Lodge, but do I really want to do this.

No. I should. I should do this. I need to find out the truth and if doing this favor doesn't pay off somehow, then I'll have learned my lesson.

————-

Freddie:

"We're on a boat," Roger drunkenly yells like a banshee.

"You don't say, darling," The heat of midday has me less than enthused to be lost in a yatch junkyard right about now. "Ask him what the dock number is," Phoebe whispers.

The booming thumps of music leading our way through a few more rows of abandoned ships and we finally arrive.

As soon as I board the yatch, I'm almost tackled to the ground, "Hope you brought your sea-legs!"

"Anita, dear, you made it!," I smile as I return the hug. Oh, Brian will just be having a field day with this. "Of course, wouldn't miss it!"

"Oh, of course not," Brian mumbles behind me as he passes.

Anita greets Cherie and rolls her eyes at Brian's comment. Looping her arm through mine, we all make our way to the seating area.

"Now there's absolutely no fighting on this float of romance," Roger announces at the wheel. "Don't make us turn this boat around," he wags his finger, turning to smirk directly at Brian.

He stretches his arm around Chrissys shoulder in response. I guess this whole situation has to be awkward for the three of them, but at least Anita tries to just act normal. Brian and Chrissy often show excess affection. It's like they're insecure or something...

The day-drinking swiftly rolls into an early evening party, everyone having had much too much too quickly. Our laughter could float across the ocean for centuries, the free feeling of sailing along with my closest comrades is a gift in itself.

"For the next tour, I think we should go bigger! Bigger than ever before!," Roger slurs, tipping over his beer in the process of excitedly expressing his vision.

"We've already sold out stadiums, dear— even those wild Brazilian nights were a record of its own," I chuckled, taking back the rest of my drink, searching around for a helping hand for a refill.

"Vodka n tonic?," Phoebe grabs my glass when I nod my thank you.

"Yes, but we can do a fancier light show now— upgrade a little," Roger continues.

"Deacy should upgrade the amps. Work your magic so we can shatter windows," Brian adds, a little devious rumble chuckling behind his tight smile.

"I don't know. Maybe we should aim for more intimate setting...," Deacy mumbles. "We've already done it big. Why not try smaller shoes, getting to know our fans and what not..."

"What?!," Roger squawks. "Smaller?! What for?"

"Because, we're old men now," I note the pat on my knee from Cherie as a sign to take it down a notch. She's got my best interest in mind, don't think anything less.

"Speak for yourself," Roger scoffs.

"Besides," I continue, feeling the lift from beside me as Cherie gets up to walk away from the table. "I don't think I can do it anymore— the touring and running around, I mean. Recording albums, I'll do until the day I die, but for now, smaller sounds nice. Smaller sounds doable."

"Oh, come on, Fred. You're just out of practice," Brian shakes his head, his curls bounce like yourself shadows in the fluorescent light above his head.

I take a deep breath, feeling my heart squeeze inside my chest, laying it all out in one honest, voice-quaking statement.

"I-I can't do it anymore. I'm finished..."

—————————————

Cherie:

It doesn't take long for the sun to dip behind the horizon. The vibrant colors of the sky fading into a beautiful, dark blanket with gigantic, sparkling stars. It's nice to take it all in as I sit on the deck near the furthest end of from the cabin.

Each wave thrashes against the boat that sails along, idle now that we're settling closer to the shore again.

"What are you doing out here all alone?," Freddie walks nearer, gripping the railing to make his way.

"I don't feel much like a party, but don't let me stop you," he kisses my cheek, sliding one arm around my waist, laying his head on my shoulder, his the other hand still holding on to the rail for support. He sighs contentedly through his nose, staring out into the sea like me. "How's your head?"

"Still as handsome as ever," he coos, nuzzling his lips against my neck. "Everyone's still going strong in there," he tilts his head toward the cabin. "Let's go for a walk?," he turns to motion towards the dock, the boats just been tied to by accompanying captain.

We've pretty much used this vacation as a much needed break from reality. Carefully hoping off the edge of the boat first, Freddie extends his hand to help me down.

We stroll off the dock, flicking our shoes off, forgetting about all of our troubles, just enjoying paradise together. We keep walking away from the crowd and booming music to find a quieter space where the land meets the sea.

"So much for celebrating with our friends," I giggle as Freddie tugs me closer to his side.

"I'd rather have this time with you, Angel...," he sighs again but it sounds strained this time. The wind is a gentle breeze on our faces. Smooth, almost suffocating heat, but peaceful nonetheless.

We walk for what seems like ages— just us two. With his hand securely placed in mine, we stand at the waters edge, letting our naked toes seep into the soft, wet sand, feeling the coolness of the ocean prickle our skin.

"I'm glad we came," I say as if in awe of this beautiful setting. The heat is relentless here, and still I know the clammy feel of our sweaty interlocked hands doesn't bother neither one of us one bit. "There's no place I'd rather be," Freddie finishes with a sweet, low hum that tickles my ear, turning me in his arms, placing his body behind mine.

His cheek nuzzles against mine. The carefree scruff of his midnight shadow scratches my face, but I don't mind at all. He's calm here— tranquil and peaceful, even. And that's all I could ask for. He hasn't used his cane all day long, as if the tender sand beneath his feet adds grace to his step once again like the easy, frolicking swagger of his stride from yesteryear.

"Let's make a picnic, hmm?," he suggests and just as I've declared him an easier going version of his old self, his voice sounds more hoarsenwith every breath. He kisses my cheek before pulling away to walk further from the edge of the waters.

I follow him, a sincere little smile on his face as he plops down on the ground, lying back to place his hands as a cushion underneath his head. "But we haven't gotten anything to eat," I muse, lifting a quizzical brow.

He reaches his hand out for me to grab and when I do he quickly pulls me down to him. I fall on his chest. He sighs again, this time letting the sound of rushing air out from his pursed lips; the vibration from his chest lingers a while beneath my fingertips.

"We don't need food to have a picnic, darling," he breathes haggardly as if we've just ran a marathon. Maybe we should call it a night, go and get some rest. Maybe the heat is too much for him. "Life with you is picnic enough," his smirking smile makes me kiss his lips, a tiny peck and quick. But when I pull away, staring into his clouded eyes he holds my face in his hands, brushing my hair away. His expression unreadable even to my well-trainer eye.

"And all the night tide, I lie down beside...," he starts at the end, but he always does. "My darling...," his hands cup my face, his thumbs work circles against my features, like a blind man reading brail for the very first time. "My darling...My wife and my bride...here by the sea..."

"You're magnificent," I whisper against his lips right before he turns his head, slowly closing his eyes. I watch as his long, dark lashes flutter shut, his perfectly plump lips reach for mine and we dive into a messy kiss.

Completely entangled with one another, on the hot sandy beach, without a care in the world.

A cold wind blows, an icy chill drifts over us from the nearby waves covering my coveted and me in a shiver or two. The moon beams brightly. The stars rise higher when his gorgeous brown eyes freeze on me. The swirls of honey darken to mahogany.

"Freddie?," I watch the furrow of his brow. His forehead creases, confusion deepens, and with his mouth ajar I find that his breathing has shallowed as his fingers twitch next to my cheek. "Papi? What's wrong? What is it?"