Faking It • Queen FanFiction

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 62

With only three days left at Rockfield Farm, everything was running smoothly. Brian had made sure Bernie ate three meals a day and she felt a million times better for it. Meanwhile, the new album was coming along and according to Roy, the band had completed nearly all the songs but needed some extra studio time when back in London. In between every spare interval, Roger had Bernie tucked behind one of the outhouses or alone in the studio for five minutes or so where they shared many kisses, unknown to everybody else. John and Freddie knew there was something going on, but not to the full extent.

One afternoon, the sky had gifted Rockfield's visitors with some beautiful sunshine, so the band took more regular breaks to stand and smoke in the clean, warm air. Roger pulled Bernie aside from the rest of the band and together they dashed into the tack room in the yard, giggling their heads off childishly. Checking the coast was clear, their lips found one another's like they knew so well. There was a gentle breeze floating in and it rustled through Bernie's hair, which Roger's hand was embedded into as she held his cleanly shaven face. There wasn't even a trace of the sideburns left and she expressed her gratitude through her kisses.

The breeze seemed to cast a shadow over the tack room as Bernie suddenly felt an unsuspected coolness on her arms. But she shrugged it off, too lost in the moment to think about the weather. The way Roger softly nipped her bottom lip and traced swirls on her neck with his thumb transported her somewhere lightyears away from planet earth. Hang on... how can wind have a shadow?

"What. The fuck." Mouth agape, hands by his sides, the intruder stood in the doorway of the tack room, not believing what he was witnessing.

"Brian!" Bernie squealed, springing away from Roger as if he was a troll.

Brian's curls shook as his head moved from side to side, utterly flabbergasted. "Roger. What the fuck do you think you're doing to Bernie?" He crossed his arms indignantly, face reddening from the nose outwards across his cheeks.

"Bri, it's okay-" Bernie tried to interject, but she was quickly cut off.

"No, it's not okay!" Brian's voice was picking up volume and she could hear the crunch of gravel coming from behind him. People were approaching.

"Please, just, calm down."

"I WILL NOT CALM DOWN!" His arms flew apart and he jabbed a finger aggressively in Bernie's direction. "I trusted you with my drummer and THIS is what happens? Fuck me, Bernie, I didn't have you down as just another one of Roger's fuck buddies." His words stung. They pierced through Bernie's skin and slipped into her bloodstream, pounding in her head.

Hackles raising alarmingly fast, she stormed up to Brian and half-shouted in his face on tip toes: "do you know me at all? Who was that man that cared for me when I blacked out in the studio a couple of days ago, because it certainly wasn't you."

Brian took two steps back from her. Although she was considerably shorter than him, Bernie certainly knew how to intimidate. Her rational thinking got her further than his rash conclusions and despite being absolutely livid about what he'd just witnessed, Brian knew it was no use getting in a fight with her about it. He'd never win; she was right. He knew Bernie better than she knew herself sometimes and in an instant he felt very guilty about believing she'd get into anything like a one-night stand, especially with his best friend.

Behind him, Bernie could see everybody crowding round, all wearing different expressions. John looked mildly apologetic, whilst Paul, Peter and Roy all reeked of awkwardness. Even Kingsley had
come out to see what the commotion was all about and he didn't seem too impressed by all the shouting in his yard. Completely contrasting everybody, Freddie stood slightly to the side, sunglasses on, cigarette in hand; applauding. "Well done you guys. Top marks for romanticism, bottom for discretion."

He took a victorious drag of his cigarette and continued on smiling, leaning on one leg in his white satin trousers. That was, until the smile was wiped away by Brian, who glared at Freddie scathingly. "Oh look, a bird..." he peered up at the cloudless blue sky where a bird was rather conveniently flying over.

"I need some air." Brian muttered.

"Brian mate, you're outside..." Roger quipped, raising his eyebrows at the guitarist's mechanical demeanour.

"Not your air." He shook his head again fiercely, sending his curls flying. "Prick." He added, just for good measure.

"Brian, wait-" Bernie sighed and took off behind him, not daring to touch him but sticking by his side as she tailed behind him into the woods.

"That was uncalled for, he's a prick." A voice sounded in the distance.

"Yeah, just have a fag, c'mon." Came another one.

In their wake, Bernie could hear the rest of the band sharing hushed childlike conversations followed by muffled laughter as the distance between them and her and Brian was lengthening.

"So what's she like in bed?" Was the last thing she heard before their voices were drowned out by the sounds of nature as they descended into the woodlandy tracks.

"Brian, talk to me. We can't just strut in silence forever, we'll end up back in London!" Bernie tried to make a joke, but it seemed only the grass found it funny as it rustled in response, tussled by the wind.

"How could you." Brian said to his feet. The hurt vulnerability in his voice almost made her regret every time her lips had met Roger's, everytime they'd cuddled in bed and discussed telling Brian before it was too late, but chickening out. Now she wished she hadn't backed out of it and just communicated with her best friend in the first place. Because at that moment, she didn't feel very deserving of the title 'best friend'. She'd lied to Brian's face, kept secrets from him and even avoided him at times. And worst of all, so had his other so-called 'best friend'.

"I know. We've been meaning to tell you pretty much since we got here-"

"SINCE WE GOT HERE!? Fucking hell, I'm either really thick or you're an equally as bad friend for not telling me when we've been living under the same goddamned roof all this time. Bernie!"

"Probably the latter," she said sadly, feeling the waves of emotion emanating from Brian being transferred to her, too.

"Oh, shut up. Stop making jokes when I'm trying to be pissed off at you."

"Trying?" Bernie stopped in her tracks, and so did Brian when he stopped hearing the crunch of her shoes on the ground. They stood a little way apart from each other, the narrow river flowing peacefully beside them and the trees rustling with the restlessness of the end of summer. It was such a beautiful setting. The same setting she'd dragged Queen down before, when Carter the white stallion fell ill. The same setting she'd first kissed Roger at...

Bernie took Brian's deadpan as a sign to carry on. So, in an uncharacteristically small voice, she added: "remember when Roger and I brought you down here because we'd gone for a ride and that horse got sick?"

"Since then?" Holy shit I'm a dumb arse."

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