the scent of heat → r . taylor ( COMPLETED )

twenty six

It was strange, waking up alone. What was stranger still was the lack of any kind of phone call from Roger. Every time he reached for the phone, something stopped him. The little voice in the back of his mind halted him, reminded him that he really had nothing to say. Because Adeline was right. John hadn't pushed Veronica aside for Queen, Brian actually called Cecelia when he was going to be home late, and he even asked to have their kids put on the phone. Even the word 'kids' going through Roger's mind made him feel ill. But he pushed it all into the corners of his mind, the looming Live Aid concert taking all of his focus.

One afternoon, a few days before the concert, the band was rehearsing in an empty church upon Freddie's request. The acoustics inside gave the room a certain type of depth, and the sound bouncing off of the walls gave the impression of an echoing stadium. Roger sat behind his drums, keeping the time as Brian and John played their own chords, and Freddie sang, much to everyone's surprise, out of tune. When he pulled the microphone away from his face, John turned to Brian, jerking his hand across his throat.

"Sorry," Freddie started, "I sound like shit. You all are lovely, you sound good. Been a while. My throat feels like a vulture's crotch," he said as the others tucked their instruments away, and Roger came out from behind the drums.

"We still got a week," Roger said, chuckling a bit.

"We'll get there," John agreed.

"Yeah, we're at a good place, Fred. You just need a bit of rest, that's all," Brian said as he adjusted the Red Special in its stand.

"Yeah." Freddie nodded.

"Get a drink, Rog?" John asked.

"Yeah, there's a nice little pub down the road, actually."

"Can I come?" Brian asked, smiling a bit.

"We're just an exclusive..." John teased.

"No, of course not. Invite only," Roger muttered, sticking his hands in his pockets. Another evening out with the others, yet Adeline was only one phone call away. She'd left Abigail's number pinned up near the phone, but he hadn't touched it. Not once in the weeks she'd been away. But she hadn't called him either. Yet he found himself wondering if she was smiling at that moment, maybe even laughing. Maybe she and Abigail were out walking around, and he'd bump into her while going for drinks.

"Before you leave... Could I have a second?" Freddie asked, turning around and snapping Roger out of his thoughts, Adeline's smiling face vanishing from his mind.

Yeah, what's up?" Roger asked.

"I've got it."

The other stood in silence for only a moment, and all eyes were on Freddie.

"Got what?" John asked.

"AIDS. I wanted you to hear it from me."

"Fred, I'm so sorry," Brian said quietly.

"Brian, stop. Don't. For right now... it's between us. All right, just us. So, please, if any of you fuss about it or frown about it, or, worst of all, if you bore me with your sympathy, that's just seconds wasted. Seconds that could be used making music, which is all I want to do with the time I have left. I don't have time to be their victim, their AIDS poster boy, their cautionary tale. No, I decide who I am. I'm going to be what I was born to be. A performer... who gives the people what they want."

John, Roger, and Brian all blinked back tears as they listened to their friend, Live Aid forgotten.

"Touch of the heavens," Freddie said as he raised his finger to the sky. "Freddie fucking Mercury."