Starstruck

Part 12

Warnings: swearing

Historical Inaccuracies: n/a :)

Word Count: 5.3k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

The three of you had sat in the hospital lobby for over four hours, without any news from the outside world— or from the inside world of the hospital, for that matter.

Roger had read magazines and dozed, whilst you and Brian had attempted to keep yourselves entertained. You'd done this by various means, from trying to see who could name the most Beatles songs, wandering about, discussing your progress in guitar and his lack of progress with songs for Queen's new album, to making up backstories for various strangers that passed through the room.

Your particular favourite backstory, which may have been your favourite simply for the fact that you were getting increasingly bored and sleepy, was the most recent one you and Brian had come up: it was for a woman in a pinstripe suit and bright-toned makeup, leading no less than three leash-less chihuahuas through the lobby.

"You see," Brian had said, leaning over your armrest so that he could still hear you even when his words were quiet, "she's actually an evil genius, and those are her little minions."

At the seriousness in his voice, you'd actually giggled. "Oh, yes? And why is she at the hospital?"

Brian had rolled his eyes. "Well, obviously, Y/N, do those minions look human to you?"

You'd snorted. "No..."

"But they were, once," he'd continued. "Until her arch nemesis—" Brian had nodded to a man wearing a pinstripe suit almost identical to that of the chihuahua woman— "tried to foil her evil plans."

"By giving her minions dog biscuits?" you'd asked.

"Yes, exactly," Brian had nudged your elbow. "Now she's at the hospital to try to get them turned back into humans."

"Why not just go to the bakery instead and get them real biscuits, to reverse the process?"

"Now that," he'd shaken his curly head, "is beyond me. Maybe you're the evil genius," he winked.

"Don't you know how to flatter a girl," you'd poked his side. "Calling her evil, how sweet."

"Will you two shut up?" Roger interrupted. "You've been all giggly for the past I don't know how many hours."

"Oh, live a little, Rog," Brian tutted. "Have a giggle. Be a bit silly. There's no one here for you to impress."

"I really never thought the nerdy science chap would be telling me that," Roger mumbled, rubbing his eyes beneath his sunglasses.

Then Deacy entered the room, looking more tired than the three of you put together. And if he looked this weary, you could only imagine how Veronica felt.

"John!" said Roger, and you all leapt up.

John raised a hand in something like a wave, but it wasn't quite there. "You know," he said, "if you ever find someone whose pain drains you as much as it drains them, marry them. You're in love." He gave a sigh, but it wasn't one entirely of discontent. Perhaps a little tired, perhaps a little worn, but coming from a place of tenderness and affection.

"How's it going, Deacy?" Brian asked with a sympathetic smile, patting his friend's back.

"Alright, alright," John sighed again. "Veronica's fine. First labour's always the worst, according to the books, but she's doing well. The doctors say everything's okay, even if it will be a bit of a premature birth. They're confident, and Ronnie's quite capable of anything in the world, so why shouldn't she be fine now as well?"