Faking It • Queen FanFiction

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2

Jolting awake the next morning feeling ill-rested and grouchy, all Bernie wanted to do was go back to sleep, but today was her only day off and she was going to utilise it as best she could. She would have liked to have met her new landlord, Mr Henson, but unfortunately he was working. The hesitation she felt towards him was almost unbearable, this whole affair seemed incredibly low security: only communicating via letters over matters of finance. This wasn't the 1920's.

Additionally, this landlord and a certain ex-somebody in her life shared a surname, which struck Bernie as extremely suspicious. However, Flo had assured her that there was no way it could be the same guy: they had different jobs and lived in different parts of town. This provided some respite for Bernie's hyperactive mind, but it was still on her list of Concerns.

With the couple hours of the Tuesday morning Bernie had left (she had spent a majority of it sleeping), she decided to catch up on some chores that she had been unable to do last week. All very exciting stuff, but it needed to be done. After next Wednesday, she'd be cutting back her hours significantly as her training time was almost up and the force needed more room for newcomers. A sigh of relief escaped Bernie everytime she merely thought of only having to do 30 hours a week, as opposed to 44.

At around one o'clock in the afternoon, Brian let himself into Bernie's flat again. At least she was fully dressed this time. "Aren't you supposed to be at the recording studio?" She quizzed him through a mouthful of the cheese sandwich she had made herself for lunch. Finally she'd had time to pop to the shops and make some substantial purchases of bread, dairy and more beer.

"Yes and no my dear friend," he took a seat at the table, tucking his legs under the cramped space, and took a crisp from Bernie's plate. She smacked the back of his hand and made a "shoo" noise, but with a light hearted smile nonetheless. At this point, it'd be more unusual if they didn't nick each other's food.

"Explain." Another large bite of sandwich was taken.

"Well, turns out we only have to be in the studio for the rest of this week as we signed some papers this morning for a month-long stay at a place called Rockfield Farm, to get cracking at writing for our new album!" Not a single breath was taken for the entirety of Brian's enthralled announcement and Bernie became momentarily concerned.

"Oh. My. God, that's amazing!" Bernie abandoned her sandwich and threw herself at her best friend, wrapping her arms around him and giving him a congratulatory squeeze. "When do you leave?"

"August." Brian declared proudly and the two syllables sounded crisp, punctuating the tight air of the flat. It was currently only June, meaning that the band had 2 months until their departure and Bernie couldn't be happier for both Brian and his bandmates. Things really were looking up for Queen and she couldn't wait to see their imminent rise to stardom.

"Want any food?" Bernie broke the comfortable silence when she heard a tumultuous grumble come from Brian's stomach.

"I was actually on my way to the shops to grab some food, but stopped by here to tell you the news and ask if you wanted to come back with me to the studio? Beings as you have a day off," Brian barely breathed between sentences, something she recognised that he did whenever he was particularly ecstatic about something.

"I mean, sure, why not? Just give me a few moments to get ready and all that jazz," in a sudden fluster, Bernie arose from her seat at the table and began to rush around with getting her plate washed. Meanwhile, Brian was having a hard time unfolding his legs from under her table. Once he had safely freed himself from the tables' clutches, he bid his farewells, with the arrangement that he would come and pick her up on his way back to the studio after having some lunch. That bought Bernie some getting-ready time whilst Brian scoured the shops for something to fill his stomach.

It had been so long since Bernie had gotten ready to go out anywhere at all that all of her favourite clothes were stuffed with abandon in the bottom of her drawers. But after some precarious rooting around, she'd successfully comprised an outfit of some black leather trousers, a chunky belt, red top and her favourite denim waistcoat. It wasn't the best thing she could've pulled together, but with the help of thick eyeliner, heeled boots and plenty of jewellery, Bernie felt good to go.

Right on time, Brian arrived outside to pick Bernie up meagre moments after she had applied the last stroke of eyeliner. Double checking that the door was definitely, 100% locked, she sauntered over to Brian's car with the sway in her hips that only naturally came about when she was wearing the clothes that gave herself that extra boost of confidence that she loved. She clambered inside and strapped herself in, whacking the dashboard cockily, signalling Brian to drive as if he was a taxi-driver.

"You look nice, long time since you were that waistcoat," he commented as they drove down the traffic-filled streets of London. Occasionally, he went into girly-mode when having outfit talk with Bernie, and she loved when she could talk humbly about fashion with him. With girls, talking about fashion was like trying to win a competition; she had no idea how female company managed it, but any conversations about clothing always turned into who had the most expensive, contemporary, designer stuff. To be quite frank, she didn't have time for it.

"Thanks, it's been a long time since I've worn something that wasn't police uniform and pyjamas." At this, Brian chuckled and put both hands on the steering wheel to swerve the car into an available space outside the studio.

They got out of the car and ambled inside, Bernie brushing a hand through her thick ginger hair, remembering that she forgot to do anything more than brush it when she was at home. Oh well, it wasn't a fashion show. Upon entering, the band barely acknowledged the presence of Brian, not until their eyes fell on who was in tow - Bernie.

Unknown to herself, she looked absolutely drop-dead gorgeous with her effortlessly voluminous hair, cherry red lips and outfit that hugged her in all the right places. Despite her look only being a throw-together thing, nobody could take their eyes off of her for a solid thirty seconds. "You all remember Bernadette, Bernie, you saw her at Christmas." Brian grabbed his guitar, seemingly unaware what everybody was looking at. Or rather, who they were looking at.

"Darling! Of course I remember! You were the one that had the bauble boppers." Freddie came towards her, arms outstretched and brought her in for an infamous Freddie Hug. The difference between a Freddie Hug and a regular hug was that anybody who had the misfortune of being engulfed in a Freddie Hug would be greeted with the most bone-breaking embrace they'd ever experience. And yet, something about Freddie's hugs, painful as they were, made you never want to let go.

Bernie felt a particularly pointing pair of eyes on her and turned her head in the direction that her senses were telling her to, to be met with the sight of a spectacularly blue and equally as snide pair of eyes boring into her. The whimsical yet malicious eyes belonged to none other than the drummer of the band himself, Roger Taylor.

6/9/22