In the Year of the Cat (Queen or Freddie Mercury Fanfic)

7. Eggs Fried for Breakfast

When my eyes half-opened the next morning, I was cozily nestled between the smooth sheets.  The sun poured gently through cracks in the curtains.  I buried my face into the pillow, forgetting that some traces of what minimal makeup I wore were still smeared upon my eyes and lips, and breathed a sigh of endless relief.  Such a nightmare.  I almost believed it, too. 

I tried to decide which was a better idea- staying in bed until I absolutely had to get dressed for work, or dragging myself to the kitchen to fix a much-needed big breakfast.  Decisions, decisions.  I rubbed my nose and sniffed, glancing at my watch as I did.  And frowned.  Why did it say it was one in the morning?  It was far too bright outside to be so early.  Darn thing had to be broken.

I realized the walls had turned green overnight.  I sat up, shifting my feet and nudging against a warm mound there at the foot of the bed.  An orange furry head with pointy ears turned and two green feline eyes stared back at me.

"Aw, man," I muttered.  I patted my chest, felt the bump of the tracker under my shirt, and fell back against the bed.  "Well, I was hopeful."

Two hours, tops, Dr. K had assured me.  Just two hours, and here it was the next day! "Steven Kurzweil, you disappoint me, dearie," I said aloud.  "It's eight, now.  Man, I slept long.  This time warp stuff must take a greater toll than I realized."

Suddenly I remembered I'd fallen asleep with my backpack in my arms.  Mildly freaking, I looked at the side of the bed and found it sitting quietly there, undisturbed, next to my shoes.  I made sure nothing was missing, and found everything in its proper place.

I frowned, slightly perplexed.  But I hadn't taken off my shoes.  Or pulled back the covers.  Or intentionally set my backpack anywhere.  And I wasn't the kind to wake up in the middle of the night and do it without being able to remember later.

Who cares, I thought to myself.  What's important is, he let me stay here for the night.  Freddie might have tucked me in for all I know.  He didn't even report me.  How nice of him.  Not many people would do something like tha-HOLY MOSES! I'M IN 1977 WITH FREDDIE MERCURY AND I ACT LIKE I'M JUST CRASHING AT A FRIEND'S HOUSE BECAUSE I DRANK TOO MUCH THE NIGHT BEFORE!  WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?!?!  IT'S FREDDIE FREAKING MERCURY!!!!  F-R-E-D-D-I-E M-E-R-C-U-R-Y!!!

It took a few minutes for me to calm down.  But I would be lying if I said those few minutes didn't involve me jumping around, silently screaming my head off, and generally just bouncing off the walls in a strange mix of euphoria and anticipation and madness and pent-up energy. Come on.  It had to happen sooner or later.  People only take it well the whole time when the script and the director say so.  This is reality.

However, I did at last get hold of myself, partly due to the funny look Oscar was giving me, but mostly because I was still weary with hunger.  Jumping up and down excitedly wears thin pretty quick when that's the case.  I couldn't take it anymore.  I had to eat.

So I washed my face, dragged a brush through my hair (I needed a new hairstyle, this rather ambiguous one wasn't doing it for me anymore) and put my contacts back in.  I licked my lips as my imagination laid out a beautiful breakfast spread.  Fried eggs over-medium, with bacon and either English muffins or devastatingly rich, sugary French toast, and as a triumphant finish, fresh berries with whipped cream. 

I slid the Relic into my back jean pocket.  No way would I miss a call today.  And just before I descended into the living room, I stopped at the closed door across the hall.  Quietly I leaned forward, listening for any telltale sound.  But either Freddie didn't even breathe while he slept, or he'd already gone wherever, Wessex maybe.  I was pretty sure I was alone.  Wasting no more time, I rushed down the stairs, Oscar bounding along behind me.