Faking It • Queen FanFiction

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 36

"BRIAN!" Racing up to the curly haired figure on the other side of the street, Bernie flung her arms around his lean frame and got a mouthful of his curls. "Pleh," she spat them out of her mouth and was lifted off the ground momentarily by Brian's crushing hug in return. The street was relatively empty, which was just as well as all four tired band members did not look like they could cope with being harassed by dazed fans.

Even though Ridge Farm had been more of a holiday, they all looked knackered as they clambered out of the black minibus. "Never. Never are we taking another fucking minibus." Freddie announced, nursing his aching knees from the journey spent compacted in the back of the bus.

"Speak for yourself," Roger cracked his back and rubbed his eyes. He was the one who had the misfortune of carting everybody around London for three hours. Bernie quickly found out that the minibus hadn't been very practical when they all wanted to go to different places at different times with only one vehicle that two people were insured to drive: Roger and Veronica. She was a stronger driver than anybody gave her credit for. Chrissie, Mary and Veronica looked decidedly less tired than Queen, so Bernie stood chatting to them about Ridge Farm whilst the boys unpacked their luggage, even though Bernie had already been informed of most of the stay away by now.

It took the better half of an hour for everybody's luggage to be lumbered back out of the bus and for each couple to make their way back home, leaving only Bernie and Roger left on the street with a suitcase and a dusty black minibus. Farms do not show mercy to slick modern vehicles. "How was it without me?" Roger asked cockily, taking advantage of their lonesomeness to be subtly flirtatious, but not so much that he was 'breaking the rules of their friendship'.

"You want my honest answer?"

"Of course."

"Absolute shit. On a stick."

"Oh." Face falling slightly, Roger awkwardly hovered on the spot, unsure of whether or not it was within the boundaries of their friendship to hug her. "Why?"

"I don't wanna talk about it. C'mon, let's get your luggage home and this bus back to the rental place." She turned to get in the passenger side of the minibus, clambering up using the step attached to the body of it. Despite the pair of them agreeing to be friends and friends only, Roger couldn't help his gaze falling onto her backside as she climbed into the bus. His feelings for her were sleeping, not dead, but she couldn't know that.

Chucking his suitcase back into the minibus, he went round and sat back in the driver's seat, whirring up the engine, which gave a wheeze and a clunk. He hit the dashboard and slammed his foot down on the clutch, earning a harsh, spluttering rev from the minibus before reversing out of the temporary parking space. "So what did happen?" Craning his neck round, not using his rearview mirror, he pestered Bernie one last time about her off-handish attitude.

"I told you, just let it drop, okay?"

"But you look worried."

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"That didn't sound very confident..."

"For fuck's sake, no, I'm not alright! Is that what you wanted to hear? For five weeks Holden has been up my arse trying to sleep with me and I've had it up to here with him! Happy now?" Bernie's aggressive hand signals were everywhere and more than once the window was in danger of accidentally being smashed in by an overwhelmed fist. By the look on Roger's face, that was exactly what he didn't want to hear. Not in the slightest.

"Bernie... Why didn't you say over the phone?" Creases came to his forehead as he focussed on both Bernie and the road.

"I wasn't gonna just go and spoil your fun with my own problems back over here. Besides, I've dealt with it, haven't I?" Lip curling and fingers fidgeting, Bernie continued to briefly explain what Holden had been upto in the six weeks that Queen had been gone. Roger's eyes widened wider and wider as she elaborated, each sentence more radical than the last.

"Fuck, if I could get my hands on him, I'd-"

"You'd what, Roger? Beat the living daylights out of him? Oh please, I could do better than you could, you can't fight for shit." A small smile came to Bernie's face and she crossed her arms resolutely, sticking by her statement regardless of Roger's false look of offence.

"No, no! I can fight!"

"Look, I'd love to agree with you, but then we'd both be wrong Taylor." Suddenly, her eyes widened and she fought to keep her mouth firmly sealed and expression blasé as she realised what was happening. They were flirting. And she was enjoying it. So much more than when they were forcing themselves to remain strict, rigidly sober friends.

Roger gripped tighter on the steering wheel, leaned forwards in his seat and manoeuvred the bus down his own street. "Care to come in?" He asked friendlily, with the lightest dusting of innuendo sprinkled in his voice.

"You're on your own there. I'll wait here." Truth betold, the flirting had sort of spooked her out, so now she wanted both time to process it and to remain as friend-like as possible, especially as she was almost certain he picked up on it too. The bus was decidedly boring, and after a few minutes she was beginning to regret not accepting Roger's offer of going inside. It'd definitely be more interesting than sitting there sweltering like she was. For starters, she'd never set foot in Roger's house and would've liked to know what form of squalor he decided to live in, being a bloke who lived on his own and all.

But she resisted the urge to make her way up to the sweet little house snd instead started rummaging through the glove box, hoping to find something fun. But all she came across was a small pack of mints, a tissue box and a string of interconnected condom packets. It looked like one had been torn off the end of the reel and she peered her neck round, getting a glance of the seat arrangement and wondering how that was managed in such a tight space like the minibus. But she wasn't left wondering for long as Roger has returned wearing a different t-shirt.

"Thanks for the lift, Roger," Bernie waved him goodbye ten minutes later after he had dropped her back home and watched the black minibus zoom down the street loudly, making its way to the depot to be dropped off.

14/1/23 - the boys are back!