#realized i messed up the ship tag sjafldkaj

[izzy-b-hands]

Eventuality Eventually

My first bit of Smile fic! Roger has bought a new van for himself/for the band! And it is...something. But of course, this is less about the van and more about the three goof balls that plan to ride around in it. Set in a loose-ish AU? If only because I’m doing real general research rn, so I might fumble things about the timeline as I go, if I write more after this one (which I would like to do!) Some Brian/Roger here as well, which I didn’t actually intend, but then I got going and suddenly here it is lol. 

A quick note too that Freddie is mentioned in this, but only in that this part of the timeline he was friends with them, and at this point was still using his old last name of Bulsara; just noting it so seeing that name isn’t a surprise!

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

“But does it run?” 

Roger looked horribly offended, his arms falling from their stretched out motion of presentation. “Of course it fucking runs! Wouldn’t have bought it, if it didn’t.” 

“I know,” Tim said. “It’s just that you like projects-” 

Roger shot him a dangerous look.

“And that’s a good thing! It shows preservation, and a willingness to put in hard work,” Tim continued. “We don’t want to be stranded again, is the thing.” 

“Was embarrassing, having your mum come pick us up,” Brian added. “She was so upset...” 

“It was awfully late,” Tim noted. “Can’t blame her; we did wake her up.” 

Roger frowned. “So you hate this van, is what you’re saying?” 

“We didn’t say that,” Brian said, but he didn’t unfold his arms or take a step closer towards the simultaneously rusting and rust-colored vehicle. 

“Safety comes to mind,” Tim said, trying to be diplomatic. “But I’m sure it’s better on the inside, isn’t it?” 

Roger smiled at that, and yanked open the side door of the van. It let out a shrill shriek of metal on metal, but Tim motioned for Brian to not say a word about it. 

“See?” Roger crouched inside and dropped into the passenger seat, pointing for them to take the two rows of seats behind the passenger and driver section. “Much better on the inside. You could sleep comfortably in this, if you wanted!” 

“There is a spring that nearly went up my ass,” Brian hissed to Tim, leaning awkwardly forward on his seat. 

“Nice material,” Tim said, running a hand over the worn and cracked leather. “Vintage!” 

Roger’s eyes were starry with happiness. “Exactly! That’s what I thought when I saw it. And good condition, considering the price.” 

“How much did you pay for this?” Brian asked. 

“It was a steal,” Roger replied with a grin as he leaned back in his seat, tossing his feet up on the dashboard, watching them with the cracked rearview mirror. 

“That’s not a number,” Brian said. “How much, in an amount with numbers, did you pay for this?” 

Roger looked wounded again, and internally, Tim sighed. They could go from being the best of friends to stabbing at each other in a heartbeat, these two. It made him think of fencers: neither stabbed to kill, but occasionally they landed a hit that bruised and then looked to him as some sort of ref, as if he should have somehow ripped the saber from the other’s hand before the blow could land. 

“I don’t know if it matters much, if Roger isn’t asking for us to give him any towards it,” Tim said. “Are you, Rog?” 

Roger shook his head. “Just toss me money for upkeep and fuel every now and again, or buy me dinner.” 

“Like your girlfriends then,” Brian snorted, and Tim reached an arm back to slap at his leg. 

“Yeah, but you don’t get what they get out of it,” Roger said as he stuck his tongue out at the mirror, his reflection sending it to Brian in the backseat. 

“A warm sweaty number of nights in the back of a rusty van?” Brian mused sarcastically. “Isn’t that basically what we have every time we drive back from a show?” 

“Those are notably less...” Roger paused. “Well. They’re fun, but not the type of fun-” 

“I think we get the picture,” Tim interrupted quickly.

“Oh, but I could paint a better one,” Roger grinned mischievously. “C’mon Tim. Let me use my brush and make that one blush.” 

But Brian was already blushing, and looking more frustrated by the minute. 

If he didn’t do something, the sabers would be tossed away, and they’d be fighting with fists, at least metaphorically. 

“Why don’t we finish the tour of the van, and then go for lunch?” Tim offered. “My treat?” 

It was a blessing that, as low on money as they could be on occasion, they were often food-motivated creatures. Tim included himself in that, and the promise of food, even if he had to buy it for himself, was what kept him going now. 

“Not much more to see,” Roger sighed, clearly still nursing some hurt. “There’s enough space back there for our gear, behind the coat rack they’ve apparently included on the second row of seats-” 

“Hey!” Brian shouted. “You ought to talk, you...” 

He fumbled, blushing somehow redder still, and Tim felt for him. It was obvious to him that both Brian and Roger were stumbling around feelings for each other, but neither of them made it easy. Truthfully, he was hoping they’d just finally confess to each other about it, or fuck, or both. 

He did have a bet riding with Freddie Bulsara on the fucking though, and a fiver to win if he was right and they did it within the next six months. 

Brian was still stuck as Tim tumbled out from his thoughts, and he gave him a gentle poke to the knee. 

“Are you going to say something rude to him, or not?” Tim asked. “Just wondering if we can go get lunch now, or if we ought to wait you out.” 

Brian gave him a look, then sighed. “No. I’ll make up for it later. Let’s go.” 

“That’s so sweet of you,” Roger laughed as he moved to the driver’s seat, keys jingling as he forced them out of his tight trouser pocket. “You’ll really give it to me later, huh? Make me cry?” 

Tim nearly blushed himself. Surely, Roger could hear himself, and knew how he sounded...

But then, he almost definitely did know, and that had to be supplying the shit-eating smile Roger was wearing as he glanced at them in the rearview mirror again. 

“I don’t ever want to make you cry,” Brian said, but Tim could not for the life of him tell if he was being sarcastic or genuine or if this was Brian trying to flirt. 

“Yet you did drop that amp on my foot,” Roger said as he started the van, that made an odd belching sound as it woke up. “And then I did cry and swear for two minutes.” 

“That was an accident,” Brian said. “Your foot was fine.” 

“You never did say sorry.” 

“I did so!” Brian protested, and tapped Tim on the shoulder. “You heard me; I did!” 

“You did, but you did say it while blaming him for your dropping your end of it,” Tim said. 

“He did make me drop it!” 

“I did not!” Roger shouted back, eyes half on the road and half glaring at Brian in the rearview mirror. 

Before Tim could beg Roger to keep his gaze more on the road, Roger hit the brakes hard enough to toss him out of his seat as he pulled them to a barely big enough street parking space. 

“Get out of my van!” 

“This is a band vehicle; I don’t have to go anywhere!” Brian’s usually soft voice was harsh now, and he was yelling more in Tim’s ear than anything else as Tim scrabbled off the floor and back onto his seat. 

“I’ll make you get out!” 

“Good, make me!” 

“I will!” 

“I’d like to see you fucking-” 

“Will the two of you kiss, or fuck, or whatever you need to do to make this stop?!” Tim shouted, and they fell silent.

He had planned to say that in his head, and it dawned on him after another beat of silence that he had said it aloud instead. 

They were both blushing, bright red, eyes wide. 

Roger swallowed hard. “That obvious, is it?” 

“You’re both so bad at hiding it,” Tim said weakly. “I mean that kindly, as much as I can.” 

Brian nodded. “Well?” 

“Well what?” Roger asked softly.

“Are you going to make me get out of the van?” 

Roger gave Tim a nervous glance, then slipped out of the driver’s seat and moved past him to Brian. 

He stayed long enough to see the kiss, then slipped out of the van quietly as Brian pulled Roger down with him onto the seat. It was a blessing that the back of the van didn’t have windows except for one at the far back door. 

He pulled the keys from the ignition and pocketed them before he left, his destination the nearest shop that had food that would qualify as lunch and be fairly cheap. 

With one detour, to the nearest phone box. 

“Bulsara? Yeah, just wanted to give you an update. A kiss, and they might be fucking in the back of our new van. If you’d like to come down and have lunch with us, you could give me that fiver right away...”