Crazy Little Thing: BH! Roger Taylor

8

AN: Get ready for some fluff, ya'll

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"Are you going to come along to the show tonight?" Emily asked over the telephone.

"I wish that I could, darling." I croaked into the telephone before erupting into another fit of coughing.

"Oh." I could tell that she was frowning. She got on well with Mary, but I knew that she was more comfortable when I was there because I was always able to continue the conversation between the two of them. At least she'd be able to have a catch up with John. It had been a while since they had seen each other which made Roger and I's plotting practically futile. "Got a cold?" she asked.

"I wish that was all I had. I've been chucking up my guts all morning and afternoon." I groaned.

"Aw I'm sorry, love. I'll come round tomorrow and make you something good to eat?" she suggested.

"Nothing sounds good to eat at the moment."

"I'll miss you at the show." she said sadly.

"Oh, try not to miss me too much. It will all be worth it if you finally get to make your move with Deaky."

"Piss off." she laughed. "Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow. Get some rest, alright love?"

"I will. That's all I want to do right now. Bye, Em. Have fun at the show. Tell the boys I say hi." I put the telephone back on the receiver and made my way back to my bedroom. I laid down and pulled my duvet all the way up to my chin. I so wished that I could be at the show, supporting my favorite boys and normally I would even if I felt under the weather, but this was a different kind of ill and I knew that there was no way I would even make it to the venue without throwing up. As such, the second that I felt even remotely comfortable in my bed, I had to run to the loo again. As soon as I was doing throwing up, I shut the toilet lid and rested my head against it. What a sight, I was. It must just be the flu because I hadn't eaten anything out of the ordinary. Figuring that it was a better option, I dragged my duvet into the bathroom and laid down on the floor. It wasn't the most comfortable, but it was better than chucking up on the floor if I weren't able to make it to the bathroom in enough time.

I woke up on the floor to the sound of knocking on my door. I groaned and left my cover on the floor of the bathroom. I checked the clock on the way to the door to find that it was two o'clock in the bloody morning. Emily said she wasn't going to come until tomorrow. Unless she had great news regarding John Deacon, this better be someone else. I was surprised when it was Roger at the door instead. I had spoken to him that morning over the phone and he knew I wasn't feeling well, but it wasn't all that serious this morning. "Hi." I tried to muster a smile but it was really no use.

"You alright, love?" Roger asked, holding his arms out. I shook my head and wrapped my arms around him. "Emily told us that you were practically bloody dying."

"I practically am." I answered with a straight face. "You should probably stay five feet back though. You do not want to catch whatever it is I have." I said, distancing myself from him.

"I'm not afraid of you." he said, stepping inside.

"You should be." I grumbled, leading him to the couch. I sat down and hugged a pillow to myself. I felt really shit.

"I'm sorry, love." Roger cooed, brushing a piece of hair out of my face.

"Sorry that I look so shit. I feel it."

"Come off it. You wouldn't look shit even if there were literally shit on your head."

"Y'know, it's hard to take that as a compliment." Suddenly my stomach lurched again and I was off the couch, sprinting to the loo once again. I don't even know how it's possible to throw up this much. I haven't eaten anything since I first started getting sick, so now all that was coming up was stomach acid.