Faking It • Queen FanFiction

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 14

꧁ Aᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's Nᴏᴛᴇ: ꧂
𝐻𝑖! 𝐼'𝑚 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼'𝑚 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑡𝑜𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑤, 𝑠𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑓𝑒𝑤 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑠. 𝐴𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑝𝑢𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 6 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑠, 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛. 𝑈𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 - 𝑏𝑦𝑒! <3

Bernie couldn't say that her hospital experience was much fun. Not much fun at all. She was prodded about and wheeled from room to room in a wheelchair. What was worse was a friendly doctor had to immediately change her clothes upon arrival: her uniform was too restricting for the doctors to conduct certain tests and checks. It certainly was humiliating, having somebody undress and dress her into the most unflattering hospital gown she'd ever had the displeasure of fashioning. Not to mention that getting changed had never been more excruciatingly painful.

Once she was painfully changed, she was wheeled through to an x-ray room. The mere idea of being carted around like this made Bernie frustrated, let alone it actually happening. In the x-ray room, there was a female doctor and a male nurse, both looking absolutely knackered but smiley all the same. "Hello, Miss Maxwell. How are we feeling today?" The nurse asked, taking the handles of her wheelchair from the doctor that had wheeled her in and placing her behind the machine.

"It's Bernie. And yeah, shit, you?" This earned a laugh from both of the medical professionals. They probably didn't get many lighthearted patients, generally injuries made people irritable and impatient. The x-ray machine was switched on and half an hour later Bernie was propped up in a bed on a ward with her leg bent at an angle atop the clinical white sheets.

By now she'd been heavily drugged with painkillers and was feeling extremely drowsy. All she wanted now was to go home and curl up in the comfort of her bed, not here, surrounded by blaring bright lights and the gentle murmur of other patients being seen to. Her leg couldn't be laid out straight, confirming some sort of breakage of either her leg or knee. Either way, she didn't care which one, it bloody hurt and looked a little bit gruesome. Why did her kneecap look like that?

"Hello Miss- Bernie!" The cheery doctor corrected herself and came over with the results of Bernie's x-ray. "Do you want the good news or the bad news first?"

"Is there even any good news?" Bernie slurred, groggy from the high dosage of painkillers. She couldn't even feel the pain anymore, her right leg just felt stiff and heavy.

The doctor - Doctor Yoll - smiled politely. "Well, no, not really. I'm sorry Bernie, but you've broken your ankle and have a harsh dislocation in your knee. I've never seen anything like it, your kneecap is two inches higher than it should be."

"Which knee?" She tried to laugh, but it was all she could do to just lean her head back on the pillows and close her eyes, pretending that the doctor hadn't just told her that, pretending that she hadn't been crushed by a poorly constructed wall, pretending that she would be back at college tomorrow. "Well isn't that an interesting fact? Thank you, Doctor Yoll." She tried to smile politely, but it came out as a grimace. Even though she couldn't feel it, her face muscles seemed to know that she was in pain and wouldn't let her smile.

"Wow, most patients generally don't thank us when we tell them that they'll be out of action for eight weeks."

"EIGHT WEEKS!?" Bellowed Bernie, horrorstricken, suddenly on full alert and gaining the attention of other patients on the ward. No, no, no, no, this could not be happening. She was due to finish her training and start work as a fully qualified police officer in three weeks. What now? Eight weeks? That was two precious months of her life gone. And possibly the most important ones of her entire life, too. Doctor Yoll could only stand there and wait until she could get words out of her patient again.

"Oh and Bernie, nobody knows you're here. Who would you like me to call?"

She thought about it for a moment. Who did she want to call? There were only two people to call really: Brian and Flo. Her parents lived in Yorkshire, so that'd be a fruitless effort. "Urrr, my friend Brian May, please. Have you got a pen and paper so I can scribble his number down?" Something lit up in Dr Yoll's eyes, like she was trying to fathom out a puzzle, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Where did she recognise that name from? Nonetheless, she gave Bernie the pen and paper and made her way to the reception with Brian's phone number.

Hours later and here Bernie sat, in the same bed, still with a crooked knee, but with an immobiliser strapped tightly to it. Dr Yoll and aother new nurse tried to perform a closed reduction, but it would have been impossible without the possibility of causing further damage. So here she lay, white fabric wrapped round her ankle, awaiting a boot. Now she was ready to collapse from tiredness, she'd been prodded about all day and she couldn't stand it anymore. She appreciated the work of the doctors, but prayed to be left alone.

Just as she was trying to find a position that was semi-comfortable enough to doze off in, she heard footsteps of...high heels? Clip clop, clip clop. No, it sounded clumpier than elegant stilettos. But then she caught sight of a lean frame, a crooked nose and long, lanky jean-clad legs. The footsteps weren't the work of high heels, they were clogs! Brian was here! "Just this way," the short receptionist guided Bernie's curly haired visitor to her bed where she was sprawled in possibly the world's most awkward sleeping position.

"Brian!" Bernie squealed, his familiar face the only source of comfort amidst everything she'd had to face alone. "Brian," she repeated, quieter this time, more out of relief than anything. Somebody was here! The strain of the artificial smile on his face wasn't convincing anybody, let alone Bernie, who had known him for longer than anybody else had.

"Oh, Bernie," he stepped forwards and Bernie held her arms out. He crouched down and wrapped his arms around her, knowing she wanted to be hugged more than she wanted to hug. Especially Brian's hugs, she loved Brian's hugs. As she tightened her arms around Brian's torso, she felt heat prickle at her eyes and sniffled loudly as warm liquid poured down her cheeks from her eyes. "You're crying." Brian put his hands on her cheeks and wiped the stream away with his thumbs.

"No shit," she sniffed, but she couldn't block out her despair with humour in this instance like she usually did. Instead, the floodgates opened and a tidal wave of tears let loose, alarming sobs echoing out of her mouth.

"It's alright," Brian whispered, putting his arms back around her, stroking her hair and attempting to reassure her. Her slightly muscly arms didn't even bother with the effort of wrapping themselves round Brian's lean waist in return, instead she let herself be cared for - something she hadn't done in years.

"No it's not alright! Look at me!" Nobody could lie, the situation looked rough. "I was so close to the end of the course, Brian," she sobbed some more. The curly guitarist sat on the side of her bed and just held her against his chest. There was nothing anybody could do and that made his heart ache more than anything. The rock had cracked, with no way to pick up the pieces.

23/10/22