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

13. Slippers, Sins, and Stomps

I said I would turn Freddie's flat upside down.  Well, I did.  As soon as I'd cleaned up the kitchen (and the roast chicken was delicious, if I do say so myself, even Freddie proclaimed it excellent), I attacked the couch cushions, scoured the shelves, peered under the furniture.  I checked the cabinets, and even glanced into the freezer in case I'd been so dense as to store the Relic there for future freshness. 

The search halted for the night as I caught up with Day 3's happenings in my journal, and continued again early the next morning, because when your existence hangs in the balance of whether or not you find your phone, you don't sleep too soundly.

When Freddie came downstairs, I still hadn't given up.  I'd shoved myself behind the entertainment center to such a degree that the only visible parts of me were the bottom part of my striped pajamas and my bare feet. 

A shadow fell over me.  Squinting up, I found Freddie's silhouette looming in front of my light. 

"Good morning," he said. 

"Hi!  Did I wake you?"

"No, I just felt like getting up early.  Found the buried treasure yet?"

"Not yet, I started the tea, it should be boiling in a minute or two," I said, pointing at the kitchen. 

He folded his arms.  "Eve.  You're not wearing those slippers I bought you."

I rolled my eyes.  Is this important, Freddie?  Does this look like a good time?  "I don't wear slippers."

"You don't?"

"No.  I'd go barefoot everywhere if I could, even in public."

"Why didn't you say something?"

I tried to sit up, and failed.  "I did.  You just weren't listening."

He shifted out of the light's way and knelt down by my defenseless feet.  "You really should. Wear slippers, I mean.  They're great protection."

I knew as soon as I asked this, I was done for.  "From what?"

"From evil people who do this." 

Freddie ran his finger along the arch of my foot.  I couldn't stand it.  I'm not even ticklish anywhere else, but my feet, especially my arches, are my Achilles heel (no pun intended).  I kicked at him. 

"Well, at least we know your reflexes work," he said thoughtfully.  And kept tickling me.

"You dog!  Stop!  This is serious-" I gasped, waving my feet in the air so he couldn't touch them. 

He sighed, grabbed my left foot and did his worst.  "You have such a sexy way of flailing about.  How do you do it?"

"Oh!" was all I could splutter- not out of anger, but because I couldn't keep myself from laughing.  Then I realized I couldn't sit up and I cried, "Why don't you do something useful for once and help me out of here?"

"All right, all right."  Freddie stood and put his hand out.  I took it and he pulled me back upright.  I found that his hair was tousled, he hadn't shaved, and he wore nothing but a robe (or as the English say, a dressing gown) under which his bare chest was half-exposed.  He'd probably just rolled out of bed.  Still, I couldn't help thinking he looked cute this way.

"Thanks," I growled facetiously.

He beamed, saying, "Where would you be without me, darling?"

I made a big show of not wanting to answer that.  "I'll, ahem, go and make the tea now."

I rushed into the kitchen where the teapot shrieked like a banshee.  Freddie had shown me on Day 2 how to put together a proper cup of tea.  On this fourth day, though I had it down pretty pat, I missed my father's coffee back home.  Tea's great and all, but I'll stick to my cup of Joe with two sugar cubes and a spot of cream.