Faking It • Queen FanFiction

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 11

"Roger Fucking Taylor!" Bernie, holding a bag in her quivering left hand, slapped Roger with the other for what he had done merely five minutes ago.

"Actually, it's Roger Meddows Taylor." Another slap.

"You arsehole, why did you kiss me? Us being seen together would've been enough to fool that dozy bastard!" Her heavy boots clacked against the pavement of the now desolate street. In her mind, there was absolutely no need to be kissed. She despised PDA's, but she despised Roger more and having the two put together equalled to an absolute nightmare for her, fuelled by fear.

"It was just a kiss, Bernie, don't fret it," he brushed her off cockily, acting just the way she expected him to. Bernie wouldn't have been at all surprised if he'd kissed her plainly because he wanted an excuse to. According to Freddie, Roger had had a hopeless crush on her for a while now, but she didn't believe it to be true until today - she thought he was just an exceptional flirt. And oh, God...what was she gunna tell Brian? The meagre thought of them two being together was enough to unsettle him for a week.

"Don't fret it! Why the fuck wouldn't I fret it! You think yourself lucky one of my hands are occupied, otherwise you'd have a series of well versed punches coming your way, I can tell you." In actual fact, the paper bag she held was full of everybody's drinks, as she didn't trust Roger not to send them flying in one way or another.

"Well it certainly showed Holden, didn't it? Did you see the look on his face?" The triumph on Roger's face told Bernie everything she needed to know: this was no longer a 'rescue Bernadette Maxwell' mission, it was a man's fight for her. A fight she was less than willing to be a part of. Having two blokes she utterly loathed fighting for her was not a fun activity to embark on. She had a career to pursue, and that did not involve two awful men chasing her around 24/7, thank you very much.

"No." Act pissed. Genuinely pissed. Her method of choice seemed to work as Roger's spitefulness and cockiness thawed.

"I won't do it again, okay?"

"Do you promise?"

"...No." A slap.

••••••••••••

"God, what happened to your face, Rog?" Brian quizzed once they had returned to the studio after their silent trek back. On Roger's left cheek was a large red mark, with the faint shape of a handprint.

"Bernie happened. Multiple times." He sat down and nursed his face with a cold glass that was sitting on the side. "We got the goods, though." The two paper bags sat on a sideboard next to the panel and Bernie wordlessly distributed around the food and drinks. Truth betold, the slaps round the face she'd given Roger, although deserved, weren't resting easy on her conscience. Her feminist mind realised three slaps too late that if he'd done that to her, then there would be legal hell to pay. And yet, here he was, silently just accepting his fate.

Although, weighing it up, his side wasn't much better off - embracing her in an unwanted kiss that hadn't been consented? She called it even.

"Bernadette did what?" Freddie bustled over and sighed as he took a revitalising sip from his earl grey. "Tastes like shit." He declared peacefully, and continued by taking another gulp of the supposedly repulsive drink.

"She hit me," Roger said it quietly and guiltily. It was evident to Bernie that he'd weighed it up too and realised that she wouldn't have hit him if he hadn't have kissed her unwarranted.

"Why?" Brian asked, giving Bernie a look that told her he'd already sussed that it had originated as a Roger-Wrongdoing. Having known her for most of their lives, Brian knew that she only attacked when she was severely provoked. And she was. Seething, in fact. You could possibly hear the water boiling over in her head.

"I-" Roger started, but couldn't get the words out. Both the kisser and the kissed knew how Brian would take this, even if it was meaningless. "I kissed her."

"Why?" Brian asked again, in the exact same tone as his previous 'why'. This caught everyone off guard, even Deacy, who was always one to expect the unexpected. There was no hurt, no rage, no shock in Brian's voice. Just a light tone of curiosity, which was somehow worse than if he'd let rip at Roger, and the entire room sat on tenterhooks.

"Because we saw Holden walking down the street." Roger continued which cautious consternation, definitely fearing the next move of his friend. It was like a game of chess where the queen is in control of the board, and all the other pieces have to work around her. But instead of continuing to interrogate Roger, Brian swivelled round on the black spinny chair and addressed Bernie. This was not good. It was a thousand times easier for him to read her than it was for him to read Roger.

"Did you mind that he kissed you?" A voice of calm collectiveness. Bernie stood perfectly still and forgot how to blink in a regular pattern. She couldn't remember if her hands belonged at her sides and how her mouth usually sat. Yet, despite her best efforts to remain blasé, she didn't even have to say anything before colour arose to Brian's usually sallow cheeks and his large hands balled into fists.

In one flash, he had grabbed Roger by the collar of his shirt with both hands and had him pinned to the chair, spitting the words at him. "You justify your actions this instant Roger, or Queen will be looking for a new fucking drummer." From where she was standing, Bernie could see Brian's spittle on Roger's face, yet he didn't wince. He just looked incredibly...tired? The rest of the room descended into deathly silence: not even Deacy's slightly hoarse breathing was audible.

"Well, we, we saw Holden walking down the street. And you know the deal we made - we saw him and I kissed her, to prove that we were dating to him. And him only." Roger was treading on so many toes here, and badly. So much so that Freddie winced in the corner at how bad this was looking for his drummer, whom he desperately needed to keep. Slackening his grip ever so slightly, Brian's face went from puce to plum, then from plum to crimson. Crimson to rosy. Rosy to white. White to it's usual shade of 'pale as heck'.

Ever so slowly, he let Roger out of his clutches and stood upright again, but over the seat so he towered above the drummer. "Bernie doesn't seem too shaken up, so I'll forgive, but I won't forget. You deserved all three slaps you got." Brian then resumed his own seat and dug into the food. The room remained in an incredibly tense silence for a further ten seconds before Brian, seemingly oblivious to everybody's hesitation, broke the silence: "how're you getting along with Veronica, Deaks?"

A relieved sigh escaped his mouth. "Good, yeah, really good, actually. I'm thinking of paying her father a visit soon."

Following John's comment, the argument from only moments ago was forgotten. But for how long...?

17/10/22