Faking It • Queen FanFiction

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5

The temptation for Bernie to phone in sick almost overwhelmed her, but running from her problems didn't get her any closer to becoming a fully-trained police officer. So instead, she decided to flip back the comforting duvet and get ready for the day. Last night had been a nightmare, the reality of it all kicking in. After Brian had gone home at around 8 o'clock, all hell let loose. The dramatic row that commenced consisted of Bernie firing blame at her sister for not demanding to meet the landlord in person before legally agreeing to move in.

Flo didn't have much of a counterargument, as everything Bernie was telling her had been absolutely true, but they were both under an equal amount of tress and screaming at each other didn't make this hardship any easier. When Bernie padded through to her new - and now tainted - kitchen, Flo was already perched at the breakfast bar, reading her book over a bowl of granola and a cup of tea.

Bernie never understood how Flo could stomach a full meal in the morning, even throughout highschool they had had opposite ideas of how to breakfast. Whilst Flo sipped on tea and filled her stomach with nutritional breakfast food, Bernie was more than happy with a cup of coffee and maybe a biscuit. But now was not the time for bickering more about what was deemed a substantial breakfast, the two sisters now had to support each other through and through.

Luckily, Bernie finished work at 3pm, so she was able to drive to the recording studio to meet Brian and catch the last dregs of whatever it was that Queen were tampering with today. Bernie had always taken an interest to Queen's progress, but not so much the final result of their music. She was a strong believer in the idea that music as good as theirs should be played and heard live. She owned all three of their records so far, but she rarely listened to them and only had them sitting on her shelf to show support to Brian.

"Hey beautiful, I heard you were having troubles with a toxic ex-boyfriend slash landlord. I'm sure I can help take your mind off of it all," was Bernie's greeting from none other than the band's most terrible flirt, Roger. As soon as she had managed to drag her body up the steps and into the booth.

"Fuck off," she deflected his comment and headed straight for the vacant chair next to Brian, slumping herself down into it with a sigh. Her feet were killing her, relentless pins and needles running up and down her calves and feet. In a desperate muddle, she tugged at the laces of her work boots and felt the regular blood flow return to her feet.

"That's my seat," Roger crossed the room and said to Bernie, a look of mock-sadness on his face.

"Not anymore it ain't, loverboy," Bernie replied sassily, resting her ams on the side of the chair and peering up at Roger. From down there on the seat, she could see up Roger's nose and quickly averted her eyes. She didn't want to be looking at any part of him if she didn't have to, least of all his nose.

"Guess I'll just have to sit on your lap, then," he smirked and Bernie scrambled up as quickly as she could to give Roger his seat back, almost tripping over her laces in the process. As funny as Roger found himself, sitting himself back in the chair with glee painted on his face, the same couldn't be said for Brian.

He backhanded Roger on his upper arm and hissed at him: "don't be a fucking perv, Roger, I mean it." Even in Brian's naturally soft voice, there was no disguising the simmering anger within it. Bernie heard it, Roger heard it and even Brian himself heard it, looking shocked at how sinister he could make himself sound. Hastily complying, Roger arose from the seat and offered it to Bernie, who couldn't be bothered to even begin to argue about being okay with sitting on the floor.

Because truth betold, she wasn't okay with sitting on the floor and was more than happy for Roger to instead. She'd had a pretty naff day, standing under the blistering early July sun all day in her full uniform and boots, which had sent shooting pains up and down her legs all day from the restricted blood flow. The way she was being trained, people would think she was joining the military, not the police force. Explaining all of this to Brian, he ran a reassuring hand up and down the center of her back and reminded her that her training was so nearly up.

Even Roger looked at Bernie with sympathy in his eyes, behind the lust and flirtatious glares. "I just can't wait to get my aching arse home, if I can even call it that," she burrowed her face in her hands and rubbed her temples, where a nasty headache was threatening to explode. Freddie came out from behind the glass and hooked an arm around her neck.

"I'm so sorry darling, I heard every word." Bernie silently hoped that he wouldn't give her another hug - not that she'd tell him that - but she wanted to be able to breathe without sounding like a pug for the rest of the day. His condolences were enough, sympathies uttered in his melodious voice. "Sometimes I don't think I realise quite how easy my job is!" He literally spun away and leant on the clearest stretch of wall, checking his watch. The rest of the wall space was plastered with intruding framed records and obnoxious photos of music artists who had recorded in this exact studio. It seemed that Queen were possibly the most famous on the wall.

"Perhaps not," Bernie replied drily, not looking in Freddie's direction, but at her knees instead. She didn't want to have to be social, she wanted to go home as a wave of exhaustion washed over her. "Maybe I'll just go home..." she went to stand, but Brian caught her arm.

"Do you want me to come with you? We can watch a film or something, just to make the place feel more homely?" Bernie really did appreciate Brian's sincere offer, he always knew exactly what would make her feel better, but right now the only thing that would settle her buzzing brain and wilting body was her own company. She craved her bed, the shower and a large bowl of soup.

"I could always come and help make you feel better," Roger caught Bernie before she slipped out of the room and muttered into her ear.

"Roger. You make me feel insecure." Were the only blatant words that left her, her lips barely moving.

Roger, looking extremely taken aback, was rendered speechless. Even his shot at self-redemption failed. "Bernie, look-"

"This isn't up for debate. I'm going home." With that, she slid away and left the studio, a hole of hurt imprinted onto Roger. He just stood there motionless for a moment before returning to the final hour of recording.

"Everything okay?" Deacy asked, sensing how tense Roger seemed, and how quickly his entire demeanour changed in less than five minutes.

"Yeah, fine..."

27/9/22