Faking It • Queen FanFiction

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 49

The next week drifted by smoothly, the horses were recovering well, the weather had been generous and the new album was coming along nicely. They'd almost finished recording three songs fully now, with snippets of others in the making. One thing that wasn't floating by as harmoniously as everything else was Bernie and Roger. For an entire week and a bit, she'd been craving a spare interval to pick things up where they left off by the river, but there'd been no opportunity. Bernie refused to do anything that wasn't platonic whilst they were sharing a bed and Roger agreed, as she wasn't ready to get in bed with anybody: the idea made her feel sick to her core. Usually, he'd be barely holding it in his pants, which he was, but with more dignity as he understood the difference between Bernie's and his past relationships. There was a foundation already and it was pretty strong, so he couldn't get ahead of himself. Bernie was chuffed that he turned out to be so respectful, as she was in no position to tell him about what happened with Holden.

They shared the occasional cuddle and good-morning-nose-kiss, but nothing more. There was something about being in the bed and having a room to themselves that seemed a bit too fast for Bernie now that things had become more romantic....slash sexual. Not that they'd had sex, but they also hadn't been on any wholesome dates either.

"Here you go, Bernie. I told you I wouldn't forget just because we're not at home," Brian said cheerily and victoriously one morning, plonking a present in front of her at breakfast. The purple wrapped box was relatively sizeable and she shook it curiously, scrunching her nose ever so slightly in thought. It didn't make a noise, but something definitely moved.

"What's going on here?" John asked, pointing his porridge spoon in Bernie's direction a little too forcefully and splatters of oat landed on the immaculately wrapped box. "...Sorry." He wiped it off with a tissue whilst Freddie laughed at him, still in his silk dressing gown.

"Yeah, is it your birthday darling?" Freddie's eyes widened: he loved birthdays, specifically parties and decorations. Roger, however, was scarred by Freddie's birthday enthusiasm and gave him the side eye before fixing his attention on the birthday girl, like everybody else was.

"Of course it is, did you all forget!" Brian tutted, standing behind Bernie, who was still sat on the wooden dining chair and trying to figure out what was in the box. She enjoyed guessing before just tearing open the gift. Perhaps it was something soft, like a blanket or clothes? Oh God, Brian was notoriously dreadful at gifting girls clothes. Reading the label, she was relieved to see the gift was addressed from both Brian and Chrissie, meaning that if it was clothing then it would have something to do with her, too.

"No...Bernadette never told us it was her birthday," Freddie eyed her suspiciously as she took a sip of apple juice. "Why not? We could've gotten you gifts and decked the place out!" Light shone in his eyes hopefully as he imagined the house decorated in tasteful party banners and streamers.

"That's exactly why. I hate making a big deal out of my birthday, especially as you're all super busy with recording." Bernie reasoned, but she was stopped by Brian. Secretly, she just wasn't in the right place to be the centre of attention for a whole day, but she also felt like she needed attention, so she didn't know how to feel.

"Oh, come off it. Every bloody year. You're not going to be eighteen again and one drink away from being felt up by Jimmy Page in the club!" Brian raised his voice, for the first time in weeks.

"YOU DON'T KNOW THAT!!" Bernie shouted back even louder and stood up, grabbing the purple box and going to sit on the sofa by herself, chin jutting out, brows furrowed and eyes cast away from the breakfast table. In other words: in a grand sulk. Forever, her lifelong regret had been turning down a drunken Jimmy Page, guitarist of Led Zeppelin, on her eighteenth birthday at a club in London. Why she did it, she'd never, ever know, but Brian found it absolutely hilarious and thoroughly enjoyed making fun out of her remorse.

Collectively, like three birds, Roger, Freddie and John all peered their heads around Brian's indignant tall figure, standing with his hands on his hips, to catch a glimpse of Bernie, who was sitting on the sofa staring at her present. Every year, it took roughly two minutes or so for Brian to come back and watch her open his gift. And this year was no different. After a few of the world's longest moments in absolute silence, Brian huffed and sat next to her, jabbing her with his elbow, telling her to open the damn box.

The other three let out a relieved sigh and came over to watch her open the present too. Carefully, she detached the tape from the paper and pulled the lid off of a cardboard box. Inside was white tissue paper, so she pulled that back too to reveal the most gorgeous pair of trousers she'd ever laid her eyes upon. She daren't pull them out of the box. They were the pair that she'd had her eyes on for months and months but could never afford. "You bastard! I told you not to spent too much money on me! These cost an absolute fortune." She stood up and gently pulled the trousers out of their box, holding them up to her for everybody to marvel in their beauty.

"You know, a traditional 'thank you' also works," Brian chuckled as she almost cried out of joy. The black and white striped flares were pressed against her over her pyjamas and everybody looked on, not sure what to think. They weren't exactly flattering as they were, so Bernie darted upstairs to pair them with her favourite plain navy blouse with it's long, dramatic collar. The trousers came with a brilliant red belt, which completed the look entirely when matched with subtle makeup and her Nike Daybreaks. It was like magic. The high waisted trousers hugged her curves in all the right places, the thick belt accentuating her waistline, alluring buttons trailing all the way up to the waistband. Not to mention how comfortable they were for such a stylish garment: slightly stretchy, but not sporty.

"I look fucking epic," she declared once back downstairs and stood in the same way Brian had earlier, hands on hips, but with more style. Her wavy ginger hair flowed down her back and everybody's eyes lingered on her for longer than necessary, especially Roger's.

"Fucking epic indeed," Brian stood from the sofa.

"Thank you," she said quietly and wrapped him in a hug. "You always buy me gifts more expensive than I deserve."

"You deserve the world Bernie, but I can't buy that. Happy twenty sixth," he hugged her back and held her tight, a type of hug that only came out on birthdays.

"Don't remind me," she pushed him off and lightly hit his arm. "You're pushing your luck now."

"Bernadette?" Freddie came through a short while later as she was sitting at the table again, working on a drawing. She'd been sitting alone for almost half an hour now, the sun glistening in through the window, casting a helpful glow on her sketchpad.

"Hi Fred."

"We're just going to go and do some more recording for a few hours, okay? We didn't know it was your birthday, you should've told us! Here's a tenner, go into town and get yourself something nice dear," Freddie thrust the note in her direction and she had no choice but to accept his generous gift.

"Oh, my God. Are you sure? You really don't have to, that's a lot of money-" trepidatiously, she tried to bargain with him but he wasn't giving in.

"No, no, go and enjoy your birthday, maybe there'll be birthday cake when you get back, we'll see what we can do. Bye for now darling," he smiled his infamous smile and bounced out of the room. "Oh, and by the way," coming back momentarily, he poked his head through the door and added: "you really do look gorgeous m'dear, mind Roger'll keep his hands to himself." A wink. Gone.

25/2/23