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nosferatvpussy · 4 years ago

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distorted lullabies [chapter X]

Word count: 9,034 (big chapter again... I’m sorry?)

Warnings: vulgar language

Pairing: Dracula x female reader

AO3 link

___________________________________________________________

Friday. The day before the big day.

Evelyn would finally tie the knot and I would, hopefully, be still alive by the end of the night and be free of Count Dracula. If everything went according to plan, in a few years I would only remember him as that mysterious guy I once had a fling with and reminisce about him over wine on nights where I found myself lonely.

I should not remember Count Dracula as the guy I had a fling with nor should I ever think about him as I was lonely. It would be better if I didn’t think about him at all, for the rest of my life. The fact that my brain hadn’t immediately presented that as an option was worrisome enough to make me press the button for St Thomas Hospital’s ground floor again, like that would make the lift descend faster.

The faster I met with Zoe, the faster I would be reminded of the dangers of thinking about Dracula as any sort of romantic interest. That wasn’t an alternative – not when I was cornered into choosing eternal life or dying.

“This can’t go on, Zoe,” said a male voice.

I’d been in the process of entering the hospital’s lobby when I heard it and stopped dead in my tracks, dodging behind a flower bouquet display for sale. I grabbed one of the ‘get well’ cards and pretended to read it, pricking my ears up. The attendant circled the counter, offering to help me with the appropriate bouquet and telling me how I could buy one and send it up to my loved one’s room, but I quickly waved her away.

I wasn’t entirely sure why I decided to hide but my gut told me this wasn’t a conversation I was supposed to hear. Like the world’s worst spy, I peered up between leaves and colourful flowers to see Zoe, sitting down on one of the hospital’s ugly couches as a young man paced in front of her, hands on his waist like he was scolding her. Zoe was facing sideways but I wasn’t in her line of vision, leading me to shift closer so I could hear the man.

“... strong enough. You’re near death, for God’s sake! And you want to take him down with you?”

“Keep your voice down, Jack,” Zoe said.

She tried to grab his wrist but he stepped out of her reach, shaking his head to the sides. Jack, her student if memory served, was one of those people that could be anywhere between 16 and 30. His pale face didn’t bear a shadow of a beard, which made me wonder if he could grow one at all, but his huge eyes looked so frightened and troubled that he couldn’t be a teenager.

“Zoe, this is a stupid plan...” he said something else in a hushed voice, and I moved closer, straining my hearing. “...happened in Surrey wasn’t enough for you? The Foundation has to stop. Everything has to stop! This is wrong, and you know it.” Shock kept me from gasping but I couldn’t help when my mouth fell open. “Why do you care about this woman? I ask you for help with Lucy, my- my best friend, and you push me away but you run to help this woman you barely know! You’ve known me for years, Zoe. I trusted you every step of the way with the Foundation but you can’t do this for me?”

“You don’t understand. There is no way I can help you with Lucy because she does not want to be helped. Y/N does! She wants out and after reviewing her reputation in London’s courtrooms, she doesn’t mind if things get ugly, either. She’ll do anything to be free of Count Dracula, I’m sure of it, but I’m not sure you’re willing to go that far, Jack.”

“I am!” He protested, slamming his foot on the floor. “I… I love Lucy, Zoe. I’ll do anything for her!”

“Would you let other people risk their lives for her? I’ll have over fifty people risking their lives at this wedding, not to say about the other two hundred guests that will be in danger if we don’t manage to get Dracula. Y/N can handle it but do you want something like that on your conscience?”

“No! But it’s stupid, Zoe. Nobody needs to–” he whispered the word but ‘die’ was clear on his mouth. “Help me get Lucy out of London and let Dracula have Y/N! Lucy will be safe with me, I’ll take her to Ireland, yeah,” –he nodded, face brightening– “she’ll stay with me and my grandparents until she gets better and the Count will be too wrapped up with Y/N to take any notice. It’s a great plan.”

“It’s a naïve one, Jack. Lucy won’t go willingly, that’s called kidnapping by the way, and I need Count Dracula. Is that included in your plan?” Zoe paused and Jack simply stared at her in silence. “I know it’s not. Unlike yours, my plan has a high chance of working–”

“At what cost?”

“–and Lucy will be free by the end of it, same as yours,” Zoe continued like he hadn’t spoken. “It’s not up for discussion, Jack, I told you about this as a courtesy, now go wait for me in the car. I know you’re angry but do me a favour and don’t storm off, I’m really in no condition to drive.” She looked at the watch on her wrist. “Y/N will be here any minute, she usually finishes up with visiting Mr. Renfield about this hour. Go, Jack.”

Jack stood there in a staring contest with Zoe. Not a moment later, Jack lowered his eyes, granting her the win before making his way towards the exit. I raised the get well card, concealing my face behind it as he passed me. I had never seen him before but now that I knew he was driving Zoe around, I couldn't be sure that he didn’t know me.

If I could, I would find somewhere to sit and ruminate about their conversation but then Zoe would have enough time to grow suspicious about my delay.

As soon as Jack disappeared from my sight, I threw the card on the counter and strode over to where Zoe was sitting.

I hadn’t made up my mind about how I was going to deal with what I had just heard until I took one look at her face. She was paler than when I last saw her and now her skin had a greenish tint that solidified death’s hold over her body. Her eyes appeared sunken like she’d lost a lot of weight in the span of the past week, but that could be the dark circles around them playing a trick on my brain. Zoe gave me a shaky smile that made me sit down next to her as if I was made of stone.

“I know I look like shit,” she said, patting my knee. “Save the pity.”

“I don’t pity you but I am worried about you. Is the cancer getting worse?”

“A bit but you caught me on a bad day, that’s all. Are you ready?”

“Zoe–” I began but she threw me a cold look with a slight shake of her head. “Okay, you don’t want sympathy, fine, but is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yes, now that we have these” –she pulled an orange pill bottle from her pocket and shook it– “you can trap Count Dracula. That’s what you can do for me.”

I plucked the tiny bottle from her fingers, analysing the two pills inside of it – one of them red and the other one blue – and then started to laugh. Zoe furrowed her brows but her lips tugged up, waiting for a cue to start laughing, too.

“Matrix pills,” I explained between laughs but Zoe didn’t join in, apparently clueless. “Keanu Reeves is offered two pills in the film, the blue one keeps him living in willful ignorance from the evil in the world and the red one is, well, freedom, if we put it simply.”

“Nevermind their colour, both of these are your red pill.” Her mouth quirked up. “Follow the white rabbit.”

“Hey, you know it!” I grinned.

“Yeah, I’m a cool kid.” Zoe chuckled but was interrupted by a cough that soon left her out of breath. She waved me off before I offered help, so I stood there, waiting for her to cough up a lung anytime. “I made two–” another series of coughs “–two pills–” she cleared her throat and took a deep breath “–just in case... but I can replicate them if this fails and we need more in the future. I ran out of blue cases which is why they’re different colours.”

Remembering the day I first met Zoe and how she mentioned that studying Count Dracula might help with finding a cure for her cancer, I was filled with a determination I didn’t feel often in my everyday life. This plan wasn’t all about me. I needed to do this for Zoe so she could have a chance, too, no matter what.

“I’ll take the red pill for good luck,” I told her. “Does it actually work?”

“Yes, it works. Before they ingested the medication, the subjects were asked to memorise sequences from a card deck and play a memory game with them while we monitored brain waves. We continued mapping their brain all throughout the test, including the moment of the pill’s ingestion–” Zoe stopped, taking several breaths and sounding like she’d just ran a marathon.

“Okay, no need to explain the science behind it. If it works, I’m fine with it. What about the side effects?”

“Still the same ones, unfortunately. Short term memory loss is still a possibility which is why the plan needs to move fast after you take the pill. Here, you’ll need this, too.” From another pocket, she pulled a mobile phone and gave it to me. There wasn’t a scratch on the screen so I assumed it was brand new. “There are a few numbers saved in the contact list, one of them is mine. In my condition, it’s best that I stay in London, and if I go anywhere near Berkeley I bet Dracula will be able to scent me. Anything feels weird to you, anything at all, you text me and we abort the plan. Remember, text this time. We’ll destroy the phone later anyway. If you call me from inside the Berkeley Castle, the Count might be able to overhear it. Raoul’s and Sylvia’s numbers are saved there, too. Who are them, again?”

“Zoe, we’ve been through this–”

“I know we have but I need to be sure you remember. Parrot it back to me.”

I took a deep breath.

“Raoul is the burly french guy you showed me a picture of last time we met. He’ll pose as a waiter at the reception; when I’m ready, I ask him for a Manhattan. Terrible drink, by the way, I’m absolutely not drinking that.” I made a face of disgust and Zoe snorted. “Raoul will leave to ‘get the drink’”–I made air quotes–“ but he’ll take too long, so I tell Dracula that I’ll go look for the waiter because I’m really thirsting for a Manhattan. Then I slip out to the ladies’ room and take one of the pills. I’ll return to Dracula, annoyed because I couldn’t find the waiter, and ask him to join me in the garden.” Now, for the scary part. “Away from everyone, I’ll let him bite me and pray that this bloody pill works and he doesn’t kill me.”

“It’ll work.” Zoe clasped my hand and squeezed it.

“Sylvia is the tiny girl with short red hair disguised as one of the wedding planners,” I continued. “She’ll be outside all night, controlling who can go in and come out of the castle and she’ll have a panoramic view of the gardens. When Dracula is, huh, distracted drinking my blood, Sylvia will turn on the UV lights in the garden. If I’m still alive, I’ll run as your team moves in on him.”

“Now, for the final blow,” announced Zoe as she rummaged through her purse. She showed me a pen, black and slim. It looked like one those fancy, expensive ones posh people usually had. “It’s not an actual pen,” she explained as if reading my thoughts. “Looks like one, yeah but it’s a modified insulin pen.” She opened it and my nose was attacked by a wave of lavender, rosemary, and cinnamon. Not a nice combination. I was still grimacing when I noticed the tiny needle at the tip. “Inside of it, there are essential oils to disguise the scent of our true weapon, my blood.”

My mouth dropped open. It was sick, and genius at the same time.

“You didn’t tell me about this part of the plan.”

“I didn’t think of it until three days ago.” Zoe closed the pen and handed it to me. I took it like it was made of crystal. “When Dracula bit me, my blood crippled him enough for the Foundation to take him into custody without any casualties. It was surprisingly easy once he was poisoned by it, I expect it’ll work perfectly this time, too. The pen is pressure activated. Jab him with it when you think he’s sufficiently distracted drinking you and he’ll go down like a ton of bricks.”

“Brilliant,” I said, turning the pen between my fingers. “Can we still keep the UV lights, though? Safety and all.”

“We’ll keep them. You’re all set now. Are you leaving tonight?”

“Yeah. I’ll take a train to Gloucester at 9pm. It’s twenty minutes away from Berkeley by car, so it should be fine.”

“Are you staying in Gloucester or Berkeley?”

“Gloucester. There weren’t vacancies in Berkeley anymore. It’ll be a full wedding, I guess. Will you need samples today? It’s all healed up now.” I pointed at the side of my neck where Dracula had bit me.

Apprehension made me hold my breath. What if Zoe collected my blood and somehow found out it was different because I drank the Count’s blood? I hadn’t told her about that, and I frankly had no plans to, whether it impacted her research or not. As much as I would like to deny it, that moment at the park was terrifying and sensuous at the same time, and entirely mine to remember. Zoe would only ruin it with her scolding and I wanted to keep at least a few good memories.

“No,” said Zoe, assuaging my worry. “Now that it’s healed there aren’t any antibodies and white blood cells being produced specifically to combat the wound. There’s no point in collecting samples.”

Zoe and I stared at each other as silence fell, our resolve making our gazes nearly clang in the air.

I trusted Zoe to make this work; trusted her because I knew she not only wanted this but needed this to survive. How far that trust reached was an entirely different matter. She was hiding something from me, and now, after overhearing Jack spouting at her, I knew it involved the Foundation and what happened to those poor students in Surrey. The fact that she had lied to me that day meant that I wouldn’t like the truth if I heard it, which is why I needed to know.

“Do I have to worry about what happened in Surrey?”

Zoe shut her eyes and threw her head back as she blew out a breath.

“You heard all of that?” Her voice was calm. Not such a bad liar, after all.

“Most of it. So. Anything you want to tell me?”

“Not really. Two of Jack’s friends from the Foundation got conscience heavy about some things and committed suicide.”

“The news are saying it was murder,” I countered.

“The news are making a spectacle,” Zoe said with a touch of finality. “It was suicide.”

I watched her carefully, shooting her one of my most piercing stares but she simply stared back without crumbling.

I wouldn’t be quick to trust Zoe’s word on that matter; she’d lied before about it. It confirmed my suspicion that the Jonathan Harker Foundation was shady but as long as it didn’t affect me under these extraneous circumstances, I didn’t care what had weighed enough on those boys’ minds to commit suicide, or murder each other if the news were right. I knew damn well I should care like any person would and I found myself wondering if my ability to be stone-cold was something that appealed to Count Dracula.

What did it matter what appealed to him? In the next 48 hours I would be free of him. I’d never hear his voice again or look upon his face. I’d never live in fear of him again.

But why wasn’t I dancing with joy at the prospect of going back to my normal life?

“Who’s Lucy?” I blurted.

From what Jack said, I had a pretty good idea of who she was to Count Dracula but I needed to hear Zoe say it. I needed to be reminded that I wasn’t special, and it was more than my life on the line.

“A friend of Jack’s,” Zoe breathed. “Dracula has been feeding from her ever since he got here. She’s a willing donor, it seems. Jack thinks she’s very fond of Count Dracula.” Zoe stared at me with raised eyebrows to let me know just what type of fondness she was talking about. “Protective of him, too. Jack said she threw a massive fit when he questioned her about the bites on her neck.”

Something tore inside me. I tried to push it aside but my nose started to burn like I was about to cry.

This was what I’d wanted when I asked Zoe about Lucy, wasn’t it? Another reason why my entire ‘relationship’, if one could call it that, with Count Dracula wasn’t real. He had been manipulating me from the very beginning, and I should’ve been smarter than to fall for it, yet here I was: feeling betrayed and rejected, wishing to be swallowed by the ground for ever having thought that I mattered to him when I was just a conquest to keep him entertained while he drained Lucy. I should feel glad that he wasn’t that infatuated by me because it would make things easier but I felt the furthest thing from victorious in that moment.

I blinked to clear the tears that had threatened to spill.

“I’m being ridiculous,” I murmured, looking down at my hands because I was too ashamed to look at Zoe. “Anyway. Why don’t we review plans B, C, D and all the rest of the alphabet in case things go south and I can’t stab Dracula with this?” I shook the pen.

“Y/N–” Zoe’s voice was gentle, and I gritted my teeth.

“Oh, please don’t be nice. You don’t want sympathy and neither do I. Come on, plan B. I think I’m still a little off on the details, so help me out.”

“It’s the bond, Y/N. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s not real.”

I nodded, meeting her eyes briefly before looking down at my hands again.

“Right. So, plan B…”

When we were done reviewing the other scenarios, I barely remembered what I’d been so sad about but my chest still felt constricted as I headed home.

_______________________________________________________________

I thought I had it all figured out as I closed my suitcase. The jealousy and rejection I’d felt earlier must have derived from the bond I shared with the Count; much like Renfield had gone into a fit upon finding out his ‘master’ had bitten me, I had felt a figment of that when Zoe told me about Lucy.

Simple as that.

But when my phone rang and I saw the name Count Dracula, I almost didn’t answer him out of spite.

“Stupid fucking bond,” I cursed, staring at the screen. “It’s not real, Y/N. Just answer him. He probably just wants to ask how to get to Berkeley.” I noticed my reflection on my window and frowned. “Talking to myself, excellent. I’ll be like Renfield in no time.” I grabbed the phone. “Hi.”

“What are you wearing?” Dracula asked, making my eyebrows shoot up.

“Usually there’s more foreplay before phone sex,” I blurted, and smacked my forehead as soon as I said it.

Silence. And then a hearty laugh.

“I meant the wedding. But, I’m delighted to know that’s been on your mind. Would you care to elaborate, darling?”

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“It was a joke,” I managed to say, throwing myself on my bed and placing a pillow over my face as if that could keep my cheeks from blushing.

“Of course it was,” he said, still laughing. “So, what colour is your dress? People tend to match for occasions like this, right?”

“Purple,” I replied, hoping my smile didn’t come through in the word. Was he worried about us looking good together? And why was this so endearing to me?

“Ah, perfect.”

“Is your tie purple, too?”

“No, but it’ll match. You can come down, now.”

“Come down to where?”

“I’m outside of your house,” he said. My doorbell rang as evidence, making me fling the pillow I had on my face across the room. “I’d only thought of the tie when I got here and I feared we would be late in case I needed to return home to–”

“No, I will be late.” I sat up. “I’ve got a train to catch for Gloucester in an hour. I can’t go on a date with you tonight.”

“It’s not a date and you’re not taking the train. I bought this car and I mean to use it, so I’m driving us there tonight.”

I didn’t know where to start; the fact that he had probably planned this and not warned me in advance – better yet, asked me! – or that he expected me to simply comply and come down because he said so.

Instead, what came out of my mouth was, “It’s a three hour drive!”

“We can make it in less than that. Are you all packed?”

“Yes but I’m not going with you. I already bought train tickets. I’m not wasting my money and I’d much rather go by train and arrive there earlier than travel with you.”

“I’ll pay you back, and I promise I’ll be fun company.”

I stood up from the bed and started stomping around my room.

“You can’t make demands and expect me to obey. I don’t know how women were during your time but I certainly won’t–”

“Yes, yes, you bow to no one. We’re very clear on that,” he said with plain impatience and mockery, which made me huff in affront. “Take this road trip” –he chuckled– “as part of your deal. Like I said before, you didn’t specify how I was to convince you to accept immortality, and this is one of my many ways. You’re bound by your contract conditions, Y/N. Unless you want to rescind your deal,” he drawled “in which case I’ll go up there and make you mine. Right now.”

I stopped walking in front of my bedroom’s door, staring down the flight of stairs to the front door like I could burn a hole through it with my gaze and strike Count Dracula.

I’d once won an entire case in court because I gave an expert at the stand a death stare so powerful that they suddenly changed their opinion on the crime scene’s blood splatter pattern. Sadly, I’d tried that death stare with Dracula already and it hadn’t worked. Knowing him, he had probably taken it as flirting. He couldn’t see me right now but I still hoped he felt the burn of my stare.

“In short, you’re giving me no choice,” I muttered, marching around my room again because I was too wired to stay put.

“Quite the contrary, my darling. Denying our deal is still a fair choice if you have a sudden change of heart. As much as I would be disappointed if you gave up so easily–” he sighed dramatically “–I wouldn’t pass the opportunity to savour you as you so deserve.” The silent threat of desire in his tone made my pace falter and my hair to rise in its ends. “I’m not a total beast.”

My belly coiled in unwarranted need and I bit the insides of my cheeks in an attempt to ground myself. All it did was make my mind run wild with ideas of Dracula kissing me and piercing my lips with his fangs, tasting me, and slowly willing my blood into his mouth in excruciating passion as he–

“Mmm,” he made and another stab of desire attacked my body as I wondered if that’s how he would sound if I knelt before him. “I can smell your lust from here.” A chuckle. “Say the word and I’ll go up there.”

It would be easy to say yes, and easy shouldn’t be a word concerning the Count. Besides, I wasn’t a quitter.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” I bit out.

Blowing out a breath, and with it some of my sanity, I ended the call. Next I grabbed my suitcase, backpack and threw the black garment bag containing my dress over my arm. Before I started descending the staircase, I took a moment to squash my sex drive. After much needed concentration, no intrusive thoughts remained but my body still felt like someone had set me ablaze.

Count Dracula was waiting by his car when I opened my door. I took in his appearance before I started mouthing off at him.

So far I’d only seen him in blazers and slacks but tonight he was sporting dark jeans and a leather jacket, and for a second I was so in shock that I forgot why I was mad at him. The jacket was one I was most used to seeing bikers wear – straight cut around his neck in a way that framed his chiseled jaw and simple details on the shoulders that faded before reaching his arms. And it fit him perfectly.

The man was sophistication incarnate in his manners and way of dressing but somehow the leather didn’t look out of place on him. In fact, he looked… cool, which wasn’t a word I would ever thought of attributing to him. Chic with a touch of menace? Yes, but cool while slightly less threatening? Not at all.

“I’ll take your blank expression as admiration,” he said, rolling his shoulders and making the jacket accentuate muscles on his arms that I hadn’t had the opportunity of noticing before.

“It is. Look at you… All modern-like.” I swept my gaze through him again, nodding.

“I’m modern,” he protested as he walked towards me.

“Modern-er, if that exists. I’m not complaining but why the sudden change in style?” I gave him my suitcase when he extended a hand for it.

“A road trip calls for comfortable clothing. At least that hasn’t changed in the last century.”

Since I was exchanging an hour and a half train trip for the double of that in a car with him, I was more than thankful for choosing to wear a large sweater over leggings and trainers. As for Count Dracula, there was no denying he looked good in a leather jacket but I wasn’t sure if it could be considered comfortable. What would he have worn to his travels centuries ago? Fur and armour? That’s a sight I would be curious to see.

I followed Dracula to the BMW’s trunk when he opened it and frowned at the earthy scents that drifted to my nose.

“Are you planning on gardening in Berkeley?”

He laughed as he pushed the wood box where the smell came from to the side and fit my suitcase next to his.

“No. Just a little something I need to travel with, in order to rest properly when I’m away from my own home. My former home, that is.”

Former home; another way to say Wallachia, I supposed. I sniffed the air and prayed that by the end of the trip my clothes wouldn’t smell like Diana’s garden after she decided to plant new seeds.

“What’s inside the box, dirt?” I joked with a smirk. When Dracula nodded, my smirk vanished. “Are you serious?” Another nod as he shut the boot. “What? Why? Is it a vampire thing?”

“It’s very much a vampire thing. One you’ll have to learn to live with when I make you my bride.”

Too stunned as I tried to mull that piece of information, the Count opened the door to the backseat and took my dress from me, carefully placing it on top of another garment bag. Next, he held the passenger’s door for me, gesturing for me to enter. Last time he opened a door for me, things got a little sidetracked, which reminded me of why I was mad at him.

His mouth opened in a large grin as I strode over and anger flared up again.

“Keep in mind that I’m only accepting to travel with you because the other option, well, isn’t an option,” I told him.

“Oh, yes, of course. How preposterous,” he leaned closer, smile growing sardonic “you consenting to relentless nights of pleasure for the next hundreds of years at my side. We can’t have that, can we?”

How in the hell he managed to make his voice feel like a caress and a whip at the same time was beyond me, and I had no intention to find out.

“No, we can’t have that,” I declared. “For the next hours, I expect you to keep your full attention on the road. Unlike you, I don’t have the luxury of surviving a car crash. So hands and legs to yourself at all times.” He chuckled at the emphasis, switching his weight on his feet so that his knee touched my thigh; I gritted my teeth and forced myself not to move. I’d rather die than let him know how much he got to me, then again, not dying was the entire point. “No funny business.”

“I don’t see it as business. It is incredibly fun watching you squirm, though.”

“Yeah, must be a riot.” I rolled my eyes. “Are we agreed? Oh, fangs, too.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes.

“Sadly, yes.” He stepped aside, unblocking the way so I could enter.

Once inside, I looked up at him.

“You owe me 30 quid for the train ride.”

“Consider your dinner paid,” he said and shut the door.

I was still smiling, wondering what 30 pounds could buy in rural England – a feast, presumably – when Dracula entered the car, turned it on and started accelerating down the street, all in 5 seconds. Understanding dawned on me when he said we could make the trip in less than 3 hours. Vampire speed combined with a BMW obviously resulted in him developing a leadfoot.

“Oh, are you staying in Gloucester, too?” I asked as I hurriedly pulled on my seatbelt.

He glanced at the navigation system on the car’s dashboard that indicated our trajectory towards Gloucester and then at me.

“Yes, in a hotel. I couldn’t find anything available in Berkeley.” He clicked the screen in the dashboard a few times and music started playing softly. Hungry Like The Wolf, of all things. “Whose wedding are we attending? I seem to recall from our last date that you don’t consider this person a friend.”

I blew out a breath.

“Evelyn Seymour. I work with her. She’s done some awful things to me when we were starting at the firm and I’ve said some pretty terrible things back at her. She would’ve found a way to get me fired if it wasn’t for Renfield intervening.”

“What did she do?”

“I thought you knew everything there was to know.”

“The important things, yes, they’re easy to make out from your blood. Her name rings a bell and I know that you hate her but that’s it.”

Even my blood didn’t consider Evelyn important? Sweet.

“Remember those girls you met the other day when you picked me up from my office?” I asked, and he nodded. “All of us interned together plus Evelyn. Oftentimes the interns were paired together to run errands for our bosses, such as running to the courts to file motions and request subpoenas, things like that. Renfield and Talbot, the partner who Evelyn responded to, felt that she and I had different enough profiles yet skilled in our own ways to learn from each other, so we did most of those things together. Quite the learning experience,” I scoffed. “Everything is a competition to Evelyn, so instead of helping each other, she saw this as an opportunity to get ahead and fuck me over in the process, especially because I was being regarded as one of the most promising attorneys in the firm’s future.”

“It didn’t work,” said Dracula. He looked at me. “Renfield told me that you’re in line for becoming a partner if he doesn’t get better, so whatever Evelyn did was worthless.”

Becoming a partner at a big firm was something that I’d dreamed of since I got my degree. Until not long ago it was something I thought about often and I expected to be happy if I ever received those news, however, to my surprise, I felt absolutely nothing when hearing those words come out of Count Dracula’s lips.

Maybe it wasn’t as important as I’d imagined.

“Yes, she tried her damndest to hurt my career, though, and me. She even went so far once to accuse me of having an affair with a judge from a case I was working with Renfield. Claimed to have ‘photographic’ evidence and everything. The partners insisted I be investigated and Renfield managed to prove that it was all pure slander before the other partners took any decisive action towards me. I think the only reason Evelyn didn’t get fired for this was because the firm practically belongs to her family, but she still got suspended for a week. She’s stopped trying to get in my way since then but she never loses an opportunity to take a jab at me, be it an outfit she deems unfashionable or a case I lost.”

“Which is where I come in,” Dracula remarked.

“Yes, as much as I try to be the bigger person when she’s involved, I’m not above a tiny bit of retribution,” I chuckled and he smiled at me before turning his eyes back to the road. “What’s with the box of dirt? I’m curious.”

“Because I’m not in Wallachia anymore, I need to rest in soil from my own land,” he explained like it was perfectly logical.

“What happens if you don’t?”

He shrugged.

“I’d rather not find out.”

I frowned.

“Fairly inconvenient, isn’t it? Sleeping on the earth?”

“I don’t sleep in it. Not anymore. I just need it near me when I sleep.”

“But why?”

“It’s one of the rules of the beast,” he said, chuckling.

I didn’t see how that was funny but he obviously knew something I didn’t.

When he wasn’t looking at me, it was easy to watch him without feeling like I was doing something improper, so I decided to keep up the conversation.

“Did you travel a lot? Back in Wallachia?”

I imitated how he said the word and he immediately opened a smile. I tried not to smile back at how delighted he seemed but he must’ve caught me trying to hide it because his smile grew into a full-fledged grin.

“Except when I was traveling to battle, I didn’t really travel as a ruler. It was dangerous to travel and leave my land unguarded. Afterwards, though, I traveled to most of Europe.”

“As a vampire?”

“Yes. But the world’s changed so much, now, I doubt I would recognise all the places I’ve been to.”

“Did you have a favourite?”

“Oh, yes. I spent an entire month in Moscow when I first went there in 1785, I think was the year. Unlike anything I’d ever seen... There was this cathedral there, just stunning. I had to force myself to go in there but I couldn’t leave without seeing what it looked like on the inside.”

“I think it’s pretty famous now. You’re talking about the one that’s all colourful and has crazy shapes, right?”

“That’s the one. We can go there once you're a vampire.”

“Stop saying it like that, it’s disconcerting.” I said, making him glance at me. “You still have to convince me and so far you’re not doing very well.”

He laughed and gooseflesh trailed my skin as if he had touched me.

“Somehow I doubt that but I’ll stop since you asked so nicely.”

I raised my eyebrows, unable to conceal my surprise.

“Well, if I had known it was that easy I would have asked you to leave me alone. But we both know that’s not happening.”

“Depends how nicely you ask me. I might be open to hear you pleading if you fall to your knees.” He gave me a grin that could only be described as naughty.

I prayed that he couldn’t see me blush under the high-tech lights coming from the BMW’s dashboard but I was deluding myself by entertaining the idea. Not less than 20 minutes ago, I had thought about doing exactly what he had just proposed. I wasn’t telling him that, though.

“Ha-ha. You got jokes.” I said without any humour, fussing with my backpack as if it suddenly felt uncomfortable on my lap. Something popped into my head that made me put my questions about Moscow aside. “How did you come to be a vampire?”

“Ah, that’s not a story for travels.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not a good one.”

“Not everything is made up of good stories.” I shrugged. “I think you’re avoiding the question and I’ll let you slip this time but I’ll ask again some other time. You never know, maybe it’s something that can convince me, Count.”

“Maybe.”

For a moment there I’d forgotten that tomorrow I would have to carry out my plan with Zoe. I’d spoken to him as if we would have all the time in the world. And I almost wished that we would have more time, at least time for him to tell me about Moscow or Romania. Share with me all his experiences that I was curious about. We would spend hours talking freely about what he’d seen and how people changed, how history passed before his eyes; and how could he learn things from a person’s blood, and didn’t he miss discovering secrets by himself? How was his life when he ruled as a prince? And how did it differ from now after centuries had passed?

With a jolt, I realised I felt a great need to know him down to the bone. Even the worst things about him, and the best, too. Perhaps that would cast a light into what made him so compelling to me or perhaps I just craved listening to him talk. Either way, exploring that was as dangerous as staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.

As silence fell, music hailing from the 70s, 80s and 90s filled the car with melodies I knew well enough to hum along. Dracula surprised me by tapping his fingers on the wheel to the rhythm of INXS’s Need You Tonight; he even had a little Queen thrown in there which made me nod in approval. If he was trying to catch up with all the classics he had missed, then he was doing a good job of it. For over an hour stuck in London traffic, we talked about music and he let me connect my phone to his car to show him songs that perhaps weren’t iconic but just as good.

We’d gone from Queen to Billy Idol to Heart to Garbage and finally Nirvana. When I started yawning, Count Dracula changed Heart-Shaped Box for a piano version of Smells Like Teen Spirit. Reminding myself to congratulate him later, I allowed myself to close my eyes for a nap.

I knew I was dreaming when the piano chords were replaced by the repetitive tone of a music box.

The miniature ballerina spun slowly inside the box, forever trapped in dancing to the same old song. A song I knew but couldn’t decipher it on account of sounding distant and off-tune. As I watched, I wondered if she was happy but then laughed at what a silly thought that was. Why would the ballerina be happy? She was just a pretty toy, made precisely for the purpose of dancing in circles whenever someone opened the box.

I closed the box but the song kept playing, now mixed with the cries of anguish of the ballerina, imprisoned in the haunting darkness of such a small space. My fingers struggled to open the box again, now afraid that I’d suffocated the ballerina but it wouldn’t open. In my battle, it fell to the ground and shattered as if it was made of glass instead of wood. The ballerina was nowhere to be found among the debris but blood pooled around the shards. More blood rose up from the floor as if I’d been standing in it the entire time and coated my bare feet, making me slip as I retreated from it. In my panic, I fell on my back and was quickly engulfed by a sea of blood.

I started gulping large quantities of blood, smiling at the pleasant taste as I tried to keep myself from drowning. Suddenly, the sea was gone but I wasn’t breathing anymore.

There was something hard in my mouth and I gnawed at it, trying to find out what it was. Movement beneath made me draw back and I realised, horrified, that I’d been biting Count Dracula’s neck. Mocking laughter drowned all my other senses and I spit his blood from my mouth, noticing that it tasted the same as the sea of blood. I tried to scramble away but he held onto me, his fingers digging hard into my flesh during the struggle.

“Shhh, shhh. Take me. Do it,” he urged.

“Take what?!” I swatted at his hands, still trying to get away.

“All of me,” he responded, snatching my wrists in his grip to stop by blows.

“That’s impossible.”

“Don’t you want me to be yours as you are mine?”

His taste was still in my tongue and I frowned, knowing that was the only part of him I would ever possess.

My lips moved in the dream but I didn’t hear my answer.

Whether it was yes or no, Dracula’s face transformed into a distorted version of his features. I watched in complacency, too fascinated by staring death in the face to get away. He buried his head in my neck and, as he started to drain me, I looked up at the reddened sky above us with the same ingenuous revere cherubs held in their gazes.

I’m not sure what woke me up; the lack of movement from the car, Tori Amos singing about being crucified or Count Dracula’s voice sounding distant as he talked to someone that wasn’t me. Whatever it was, it wasn’t the dream. If I hadn’t been disturbed, I was certain I would have remained in that dream forever. Nothing significant could have pulled me from the peace I felt when Dracula bit me in the dream, yet there I was, awake and trying to understand why I was sitting alone inside the car parked outside a gas station.

I quit fiddling with the car’s GPS to find out where we were when the Count’s words reached my ears.

“Because you’re not invited.” He laughed. “No, darling, I’m not neglecting you...” A pause. “Do that and I’ll bite you in a way you won’t enjoy. Stop being childish, Lucy, you know I don’t like it when you act this way.”

Trying to be as quiet as possible so he wouldn’t know I was awake, I slowly turned in the direction of his voice. Dracula had his back to me, a few metres away from the car, standing in the glow of blue neon lights coming from a convenience store. I hoped it was my fertile imagination playing tricks on me but I could swear I heard affection in his tone for a moment there.

“Who I’m with doesn’t concern you,” he said into the phone, and this time there was only irritation in his voice. “Lucy, Lucy,” he laughed grimly. “This isn’t a relationship, and it never will be.” Another pause. “Yes, I still want you. I’ve got to go now. Goodbye.”

As he turned around, I got out of the car and stretched as if I had just woken up.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” he said upon laying eyes on me. “I bought you dinner, as promised.” He showed me a brown paper bag in his hand that I hadn’t noticed.

“How did you know I was hungry?” As if on cue, my stomach growled. “Oh.” I blushed as I took the bag from him, peeking inside. “Oh! Pizza! Thanks.”

“I wanted to stop on the way so you could eat properly inside a restaurant but you slept more than I expected. If I’d waited for you to wake up, there wouldn’t be anything open so I stopped for fuel and went to get you food. I recognise it’s not the best–”

“No, I love pizza,” I cut him off. “Can I sit on top of your car to eat or are you becoming one of those guys who has a crush on his car?”

He answered me by sitting on the hood and patting the spot next to him. The car must have been off for a while because the metal was cold on my butt when I took a seat.

“Where are we?”

“Oxford,” he said. “An hour away from Gloucester, I think.”

I looked at the block we were in, searching for traces of the medieval architecture Oxford was so famous for but there was nothing special about it; we could just as well have been in London.

“What time is it?” I asked after finishing the first slice of pizza.

“Almost ten.”

“We made it all the way to Oxford in 40 minutes?” I raised my eyebrows and Dracula grinned, looking proud about that. “You can expect speeding fines in your mail during the next few weeks.”

He shrugged, apparently unbothered.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about her?”

I stopped reaching into the bag for another slice of pizza upon fully registering the implications of his question. He knew I’d been listening. Like he’d told Lucy, this wasn’t a relationship and he didn’t owe me an explanation any more than he owed her, but him bringing it up made it seem like I deserved one.

My dream from earlier flashed in mind. Freud only knew what the ballerina in the music box meant but I didn’t need a psychoanalyst to explain what it meant to bite Dracula in my subconscious.

My throat tightened as I thought about what I’d told Dracula in the dream, that it was impossible to have him. But I wanted to, I knew I did. I wanted this part of him, the part that knew I was bothered by him paying attention to someone else and cared enough to check on me, even if he wasn’t subtle about it. I wanted to believe it was the same part of him that had thought about taking me to V&A and broke into the Painted Hall because he’d seen how enthusiastic I was about it. The part of him that carried me to bed and laughed at me when I mumbled nonsensical phrases.

I wanted something that wasn’t real. Something that I would never have because at this time tomorrow I would be injecting him with Zoe’s blood. And because it wasn’t real, I could play along for a little while.

“What’s to ask? It’s pretty obvious that you’re feeding from her.”

“Don’t play coy, Y/N, just ask me.”

“Fine. Are you fucking her?”

“No.”

I’d braced for a confirmation but his reply made my courtroom face fall apart. I scrutinised his face but nothing came to the surface.

“Really? It sounded a hell lot like you are.”

“I have fucked her but I haven’t made a habit out of it. Lucy is awfully… needy.”

It occurred to me that this was the first time I’d heard him swear and I had to purse my lips not to laugh like a nervous teen. Maybe it was the f-bomb that made me want to burst into laughter, or the sudden joy I’d felt when he called Lucy needy with obvious exasperation.

“Will you make her a vampire?” I continued since he was granting me the freedom to ask.

“Yes.”

“Does she want to be one?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have to convince her like you’re trying to do with me?”

“No.”

“Then why–” I exhaled “–do you still want me if you can have her?”

“Lucy is fun and wild and she wants to die but she doesn’t understand. You do.”

I frowned.

“Understand what?”

“What it takes to live forever.” He grinned but there was no humour in his eyes; I found a sliver of heat in his gaze, though. “Your pizza is getting cold.”

Dracula slid off the hood, like that was the end of the subject and I stalked after him, ignoring my pizza. He started rounding the car towards the driver’s side and I grabbed the back of his jacket to make him stop.

“What does that mean?” I questioned as he turned to look at me. This time his smile was slow, deepening the wrinkles around his eyes.

“The fact that you don’t know what I’m talking about only solidifies my beliefs about you.”

“Being cryptic isn’t helpful,” I snapped.

“I’m not trying to be helpful.”

“Well, try!”

He took a step towards me and held my face in his hands. The shape of his lips distracted me and it took me a second to register his next words.

“From the start you’ve asked me for a reason to live forever. Don’t you think that means you value more than simply existing as you do now?”

“No. It’s just logical,” I countered, although I was suddenly frowning. “People don’t usually make big choices like this on impulse, you know? Of course I needed a reason.”

“Of course,” he repeated sarcastically.

“I don’t know what it takes to live forever!” I protested, flailing my arms.

I waited to see if he would contradict me but he just stared at me, eyes filled with mockery and confidence that served to further aggravate my mood.

“I barely know what it takes to live this life I’m living, how could I possibly fathom eternal life?” I continued, speaking so fast I could barely understand myself. I carried on when he didn’t reply, “Have I considered it since my deal with you? Of course I have, kinda hard not to but, but– I don’t know! I don’t know what I want! Or or or– how! How can I just give up everything and live forever? I’ve built things, things that I’m proud of, things that matter! And you want me to give them up! For you!”

Rambling wasn’t something I was used to and I forced myself to stop. Every word that came out of my mouth was usually carefully calculated to persuade a jury but this was my life and there was nobody to persuade, so why did it sound like I was trying to do just that?

“What matters in this life that could make me want to live forever?” My voice was so tiny that I scarcely heard my words.

Suddenly I was literally swept off my feet and before I knew it, Dracula’s lips were on mine and I forgot all the things I was so confused about.

My eyes shut into the kiss and my breath left me like my lungs had stopped working. Heart beating so fast I could feel it fluttering inside my chest, I wrapped my arms around him in senseless thought as our tongues met, sending sizzles all throughout my nerve endings. As soon as it had started, it was over, and I was standing with my feet on the ground again, body screaming in abandonment because Dracula’s hands weren’t touching me.

“What was that for?” I asked, trembling like I was cold.

“You were being emotional and looked like you were about to cry,” he said, stepping back from me and looking indifferent to what he’d just done as he ran his hands through his hair. “A kiss seemed like a good idea to stop that from happening.”

“That was a terrible idea.”

“But it cleared your head,” he assured.

It did but it didn’t solve anything.

Looking at him suddenly became a challenge because I knew that at any second I could throw myself headfirst at this, despite the danger, despite feeling like I shouldn’t… All I wanted in that second was to not think and to drown in his kiss again.

Instead, I turned my back on him and grabbed the brown bag from the car’s hood on my way to the passenger’s side.

“Let’s just go,” I told him, stealing one last glance at him. He was watching me with the same fascination he had when gazing at the Painted Hall but when I blinked, his face went back to that sarcastic mask he always wore. “We’re halfway to Gloucester.”

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petnews2day · 8 months ago

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Newborn puppy dies after being ‘thrown from a car’ – The Irish News

New Post has been published on https://petn.ws/leNop

Newborn puppy dies after being ‘thrown from a car’ – The Irish News

A newborn puppy has died after apparently being thrown from a moving car. The terrier puppy named Puzzle was found squealing in distress in Sunbury-on-Thames, Surrey, on Friday night by a passerby who wrapped her in a jacket and took her home before calling the RSPCA. The 83g puppy had a cut on her head […]

See full article at https://petn.ws/leNop #PetCharitiesNews

#Pet Charities News

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ineloqueent · 4 years ago

Text

Starstruck: Part 10

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 10 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 9 / Part 11

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.

Warnings: swearing

Historical Inaccuracies:

Crystal did not join Queen until November of 1975

There is no attic bedroom at Ridge Farm

Word Count: 6.6k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Before you knew it, it was June, and you were packing your suitcase with the last of the things you were taking home for the summer holidays.

You were absolutely ecstatic to have this year’s exams finished, especially because you’d made very high marks on Carmichael’s final assessment. Brian had done well too, turning around excitedly in his chair when he was handed back his test, waving the paper in your direction with a brilliant smile as he pointed to the percentage marked in red. You’d made a clapping motion in his direction, and he’d mouthed thank you. The gratitude shone in his eyes, and happiness bubbled up inside you at what an improvement you’d helped him to make.

Today, however, frazzled nerves replaced elation, your insides tumbling and your hands unable to stay steady for very long at a time. Today was the day that you would go with Freddie, Roger, Deacy, and Brian to your home at Ridge Farm. Today was the day that you would join two halves of your life, and having never imagined that they would coincide, you were anxious about how it would go.

The day after the expedition to Zandra Rhodes’ flat, you had called your parents to discuss the notion of Queen coming to stay and to use the studio. Your dad had been thrilled, overjoyed that a real band was coming to use his studio, a studio he’d worked so hard to design and to build and to maintain. Your mum was pleased too— it was a long time since you’d had friends over, and she was happy to finally be meeting the people you now spent the majority of your time with, to put faces to names. Your brother would be home too, but, your mum said, “As he’s not yet got up and it’s two in the afternoon, he gets no say in the matter.” And so it was decided that Queen would be spending the summer of ‘75 at Ridge Farm.

Heather, Veronica, and the often-elsewhere Mary Austin would also be joining the party, and plus two roadies, your number totalled to ten. Roger, as the only one with a car, was taking himself, Heather, Freddie, Mary, and his roadie Chris— though everyone called him Crystal— up to the farm. You, Brian, Deacs, Veronica, and John Harris— another of Queen’s roadies— were to take the train.

It was a quarter past one in the afternoon when you shut your suitcase, tossed on a pair of sunglasses, and bid your other housemates goodbye for the summer. Heather, who was to play the role of navigator for Roger, had gone on ahead to his flat because it would take a little longer to reach Surrey by car than by train. You were headed to the Waterloo Station to meet the others in time for the train’s departure at 13:39 for an estimated arrival at Epsom, Surrey, at 14:23.

When you opened your front door, you were surprised to find none other than Zandra Rhodes with her hand raised to knock.

“Oh, hello!” she said brightly. “I was just coming to find you.”

“Me?” you laughed. “How do you even know where I live?”

She shrugged. “Freddie.”

“Ah.”

“Quite.”

You hesitated. “I’d say come in and have a cup of tea, but I’m actually on my way to the train station,” you winced apologetically.

Zandra waved her hand. “It’s fine. I’m busy myself. And I assume today is the day that the band goes off to the countryside? Freddie mentioned,” she explained.

“Yep, off to write an album!”

“Must be so exciting, all that musician stuff,” Zandra mused, shaking her head. “Anyhow, I’m here to give you this.” She handed you a soft parcel wrapped in plain brown paper and tied up with white string. “Go on, open it. You may want to take it with you.”

You looked at her questioningly before setting down your bag so as to free your hands. You pulled at the string and it fell free of the package, which in turn fell open. Inside lay a swath of sparkly black fabric.

Lifting it up from the wrapping paper, you admired what Zandra had turned into a blouse. With a deep v-neck slit, little buttons down the abdomen, a cinched-tie waist and long, cinched sleeves, the blouse was the picture of elegance. It reminded you of the night sky.

“Zandra, it’s beautiful,” you smiled at her. “Thank you. What do I owe you?”

“Nothing, nothing at all,” she said. “But, you owe it to yourself to try to impress a certain someone, wearing that top.”

“I haven’t got anyone to—”

“Oh, sure you do!” she exclaimed, such great spirit that it did not cross your mind to contradict her again. “Let me know how it goes when you get back to London, yeah?”

You pressed your lips together. Nothing was going to happen. Nothing ever did.

“Will do,” you said. “And thanks again. Truly, it’s lovely.”

“I know. Have fun!” she waggled her fingers in a wave and looked both ways before striding across the road.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

From Camden you made for Waterloo, and shortly after you arrived, you spotted Brian.

At the familiar sight of gangly limbs paired with a slim figure and a mass of curly hair, standing on the platform with his head bowed over whatever it was he held in his hands, relief spread through you like a warm cup of tea on a cold day. Everything would be okay. This was Deacy and Ronnie and Roadie-John you were bringing to your home. This was Bri— this was your friend you were bringing to your home, not a stranger.

Strangers did not make you feel like this.

Approaching, you found the others close by, chatting and laughing and sharing bags of crisps. Deacy and Ronnie waved at you and John Harris grinned.

Brian looked up when you neared him, and he flashed you a bright little smile, which you couldn’t help but return— his cheeks were rosy and his eyes crinkled, and you would have died for that smile.

Then he raised his Polaroid camera in your direction and clicked the button.

“Brian!” you exclaimed, knowing that there was no way that photo could have turned out well. “Why’d you do that?”

He pulled the photograph from where the camera was spitting it out, shaking it lightly and letting the camera strap hold the camera for him as he shielded his face from the sun with his other hand.

“Candid,” he said happily. “First of many.”

“Not on my watch,” you narrowed your eyes. “Let me see.” You snatched for the photo, but tall and long-limbed as he was, Brian simply extended his arm above his head and held the Polaroid out of your grasp.

His smile was amused when you glared at him for his betrayal, but you weren’t about to give up. You jumped and reached, but he stepped sidelong and shook his head.

“No. You’ll never let me keep it,” he said, sticking out his bottom lip in a rather petulant pout.

At the idea of him keeping a photograph of you— why? did he think of you?— a tingle ran down your sides, but you quelled all straying thoughts when you remembered that you probably looked terrible in said photograph.

“Bri,” you crossed your arms obstinately, “it’s mine. Give it to me, please.”

He continued to pout, but then sighed. “Fine.” he said, lowering his hand and holding the photograph out to you. You took it slowly, cautious not to let your fingers brush his. “But really, don’t throw it away. You look lovely.”

Before you could hide the blush that rose to your cheeks at his remark, he winked, and turning away, he called out for the other three to smile!, taking the picture before anyone could react.

You pushed your sunglasses up onto your head and squinted at the Polaroid picture in the sunshine.

Your gaze had been directed upwards, toward Brian, your chin was lifted in a manner that looked almost proud, or in the very least confident. Your sunglasses had briefly slipped down your nose at the moment the picture had been taken, and so your eyes could be seen, bright and animated in the warm light of the sunny afternoon, and the hair was blown away from your face— sunlight emphasised the dips and planes of your features. You’d worn a sundress because the weather was for once for it, and it had rustled in the wind, sweeping around your legs; you were painted in elegance.

Brian was right.

You looked lovely.

But perhaps the craftsmanship of the photo played a part as well. Despite being a hastily-snapped candid, the photo was framed perfectly, and the light that illuminated your figure was well-contrasted. It was art, in yet another form; Brian seemed inherently capable of creating art in any and every moment. And he certainly knew how to pick his moments. In photography, at least.

“Y/N!” John called to you, and all the others turned to you expectantly. “Train’s here.”

Sure enough, the clock hanging above the platform matched the departure time printed on your ticket. You hurried over with your bags, which was quite a feat, given you had your messenger bag, your guitar in its case— Brian had encouraged you to bring it— and your suitcase. The others were equally badly off— Deacy carrying his bass, Brian with not one but two guitars, Roadie-John with packed-up amplifiers and cords, and everyone carrying suitcases. Deacy in particular looked strained, having insisted upon carrying some of his wife’s things so that her load would be lessened, but subsequently, his own was significantly worsened. You made quite the group.

You caught up with the others and with a few quick hello’s the five of you shuffled alongside the rest of the crowd toward the train carriages.

Brian was at your side and nudged your elbow. “Guitar looks heavy,” he said.

“Mmm…” you murmured. “Some idiot suggested I bring it along.”

He chuckled warmly, and despite the sunny weather, you longed to move closer to his warmth. “I’d offer to carry it for you, but I’m rather decked out myself.”

You sniffed. “I suppose it’s the thought that counts.”

Just then, a man in a time-worn jacket jostled you, and you stumbled.

“Excuse me,” you muttered. But the man continued to try to push past you, past anyone who stood in his way.

You glanced over at Brian to roll your eyes at the man’s behaviour, but Brian’s face had taken on a peculiarly pinched look. He looked angry.

“Oi, mate,” Brian raised his voice slightly. The man didn’t react. “Hey,” Brian said when you got shoved for the third time. He stepped forward. “Hey, watch it!”

The man whirled around with an equally angry expression, but Brian was taller, and he made that fact quite obvious, leaning down and glowering at the other man. Shoulders stiff and eyes dark, though he had no hands free with which to defend himself should the situation take a violent turn, Brian glared with such scorn at the man who’d run into you that anyone would’ve rightly wilted beneath his gaze.

“Bri,” you said, hoisting your guitar onto your back, “let it go.” Brian didn’t move, though the other man bared his teeth. He stared past you like you didn’t exist. Then the rugged man spat on Brian’s clogs, and Brian lurched forward in fury, his bag and cases landing on the ground.

You were quick to step between the two men, placing your palm firmly against Brian’s chest. That caught his attention— his heartbeat quickened beneath your splayed fingers.

“Let it go,” you repeated.

Brian’s eyes flickered, then met yours. You stared down his intensity, unwilling to back down, though your lungs and their rapid intake of breath were inclined to disagree.

His eyes were melted toffee, and beneath them, you could have melted as well. But then Brian inhaled carefully, and with a gentle touch, pried your fingers off of his chest.

He nodded to you in promise to not antagonise the other man any further, then let go of your hand.

You would have intertwined your fingers with his and held them there, if the crowd hadn’t begun moving again.

And if you’d had the courage.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

The train sprinted along the tracks from Waterloo to Epsom, and the journey passed quickly. Your arrival in Surrey was perfectly on time, and this day, the weather in your home county was no less pretty than that of London.

From Epsom Station to Ridge Farm was another half-hour or so, but luckily, your dad owned a minibus and was waiting at the station to pick you and the others up.

“Y/N!” your dad called when he saw you.

“Dad!” you rushed forward and dropped your bags, flinging your arms around him. You hadn’t seen him for months, and had spoken to him only every few weeks; you weren’t going to be embarrassed for being happy to see your dad.

“Missed you, love,” he squeezed you tightly.

“Missed you too.”

Then you stepped back so as to introduce the others.

“So we’ve got exactly half of the band here, and the other half I think we’ll intercept on the way home,” you said. “This is John Deacon, bassist and vocalist—”

John laughed. “No no, I can’t sing, Y/N. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Andrews,” he shook hands with your dad. “This is my beautiful wife Veronica,” he beamed upon introducing her. The two of them were so in love, it was ridiculous.

“Hi!” Ronnie said, hardly taking her big eyes off of Deacy.

“Hello there,” your dad greeted them.

“And this is our second John, who crews and just generally is a great help,” you said as Roadie-John strode forward.

“John Harris. But everyone just calls me Roadie-John, to sorta prevent confusion with Deacy over there,” he jabbed his thumb in Deacy’s direction, and your dad laughed amicably.

“So they call you Deacy, then?” he asked John, John Deacon.

“Yeah, or Deacs, or something like that. Seems to have stuck.”

Your dad laughed again, and you smiled, pleased. It seemed he and Deacy would get along well.

Then Brian caught your eye timidly. He looked a bit lost, like meeting new people wasn’t his strong suit. It probably wasn’t— Brian very much conformed to the initially-shy-and-awkward stereotype of an astrophysicist.

“Oh dear, sorry Bri,” you apologised. “Dad, this is Brian.”

“Hello,” Brian said, extending his hand. Your dad shook it.

“So what do you play, Brian…”

“Brian May, Mr. Andrews.”

“Brian May. What do you play then, Brian May?”

“Oh, I play guitar.”

“Any good?” your dad inquired.

“I—”

“Very good,” you interrupted. “He’s actually been helping me to learn to play,” you said, pride in your voice.

“Has he really?” your dad muttered in an odd tone. “My Y/N’s been having quite the trouble learning.”

“Dad…”

“Really? She’s a natural!” Brian smiled disarmingly, but your dad’s expression was set.

“We’ll see,” your dad responded, and you thought he looked rather standoffish. Brian’s shoulders seemed to droop.

You frowned.

“Uh, sha’ we get going, then?” Roadie-John stepped in.

“Yep, yeah, sounds good!” you patted your dad’s shoulder and he made a noise of agreement. He took your bag for you, and took one from Ronnie as well.

“Thank you. Those things are heavy,” she said.

“I’m not actually a rotten husband,” Deacy added, “I’ve just already got my hands full.”

“No one thinks you’re a rotten husband,” Ronnie pulled her arm around Deacy’s waist and leaned her head on his shoulder as you all followed your dad toward parking.

“Well thank goodness for that,” Deacy responded, and Veronica brushed his hair away from his face.

You were so distracted by how Deacy and Ronnie looked at each other, with such unyielding affection and warmth, that you didn’t notice Brian until he was next to you, the sleeve of his cream-coloured jacket brushing your hand.

“Hey,” he murmured, and you slowed your pace, guessing correctly that he wanted to talk apart from the others.

“Hey,” you said back. “What’s up?”

“Um… I don’t… I don’t think…” He stopped, then tried again. “What did I say wrong?” His eyes were soft and pitiful, and he looked so genuinely crushed that you almost threw your arms around him. “To your dad,” he continued. “I think I said something wrong.”

“Brian, what could you possibly have said wrong?”

His curls bobbed as he shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure, but I don’t think your dad’s pleased with me, all the same.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” you said. “He gets like that sometimes, when I introduce my friends. He’s a bit protective of me, I think.”

Brian bit his lip and made no response.

“Cheer up, Bri,” you nudged his side. “You can’t possibly look so sad when you get to spend an entire summer with me.”

“Half. Half a summer,” he corrected you. “D’you think I’ll last that long?”

His grin was brazen and his tongue poked out between his teeth.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re on thin ice, Brian May.”

He only went on smiling.

And you’ll surely melt the rest with that sunny smile of yours.

But no, you had it wrong. He would not melt the ice. He would melt you.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

The car ride from the station to your home was mostly uneventful, but as you’d predicted, Deacy and your dad got on like a house on fire. Your dad had studied electrical engineering, which John was studying now, and he played many instruments, including bass guitar. The two were currently occupied discussing electric pianos, and the one that your dad owned, which Deacy now wanted to learn to play.

Veronica and Roadie-John spent the journey playing weird road trip games, half of which you’d never even heard of. You resolved they’d made a few of them up on the spot.

You’d stared out the window, watching the landmarks of your childhood pass you by, pointing out a few of them to Brian who sat beside you. He appeared very interested in it all, to understand where it was you’d grown up, and he asked a multitude of questions concerning your school, an ice cream parlour you’d frequented ever since you were little, and finally, about the lush woods that surrounded the wealth of land that was Ridge Farm. You were happy to answer his questions, and to ask your own of him. He told many stories, and he told them well, upon one occasion eliciting so much laughter from you that your dad raised his eyebrows at you in the rearview mirror.

When the minibus finally rolled up the drive to the main house, your mum stood waving, and your family’s dog, Selkie, bounded back and forth with his tail wagging madly.

Then, Roger’s shiny red Alfa Romeo pulled up beside the minibus, just as you were getting out. Music was blaring, and everyone’s hair was thoroughly windblown.

“Did you even remember sunscreen?” Brian called to the passengers, pulling his guitars from the boot of the minibus.

“Nice to see you too, Bri,” Roger responded, giving Heather a hand out of the car.

“No,” said Mary, trying in vain to comb her hair into some semblance of a ponytail, “we definitely forgot sunscreen.” Gingerly, she touched a finger to the tip of her nose, which was looking rather pink, and winced. “Definitely forgot,” she muttered.

“You’re all pasty-pale,” Freddie laughed, fixing his hair.

“Well,” Crystal returned, “aren’t you lucky, Fred?”

“To be honest,” Heather was swaying slightly on the spot, “I’m not feeling too great. You drive too fast for me, I think, Roger.”

He kissed her cheek. “‘Course I don’t! Have a glass of water and you’ll be perfectly lovely again.”

Heather whacked his arm. “Cheeky.”

Your mum approached the scene, smiling with amusement at the various interactions going on around her.

“Mum!” you said, hugging her tightly. “You’re not at the pub?” Your mum ran the local pub— The Plough— and could thus be found there quite often.

“Hello my darling,” she kissed your cheek. “No, I got your brother to cover for me. It’s good to see you.” She pulled back from the embrace and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “You don’t call nearly often enough.”

“Sorry,” you winced, crouching down to scratch Selkie behind his big, floppy ears as the golden retriever panted happily, having run to you upon seeing you.

“You’re here now, so no need to be sorry!” She smiled her bright smile, the one that never failed to cheer you up, to comfort you, and you knew that she meant what she said. Your mum always meant what she said. It was both a blessing and a curse.

A whirlwind of introductions followed, and apologies too, because your mum worried she’d forget the names of nine new people as quickly as she’d been told them. Of course, no one minded; there would be plenty of time for everyone to get to know each other. Six weeks, to be exact.

Then there was the matter of accommodation. Your parents had yielded the main house to you all, preferring themselves to retreat to the smaller building farther up on the farm. Frank had his granny flat down the path from the main drive, so that left you, the band, their partners, and the roadies divided amongst six bedrooms.

You had your childhood bedroom, Freddie and Mary took a room, Roger and Heather took another, Deacy and Veronica a third. Meanwhile, Brian, Roadie-John, and Crystal drew straws to see who would be sharing and who would get their own room. In the end, Roadie-John and Crystal drew the shorter two straws and ended up in the bunk-beds of the room that your two brothers Frank and Billy had once shared. Brian had looked much relieved by this turn-out, because, as he told you— “My legs wouldn’t have fit on that bed!”

“Well, good you got the room to yourself,” you’d responded. “Though, you could easily have guilted me into giving up my bed to you.”

Brian had laughed, rather nervously. A blush rose to your face when you’d realised how your remark must have sounded. Deacy had then made the incident twenty times worse by turning to you and saying “Y/N, was that an innuendo? I’m proud of you!”

This had resulted in further blushing on your part, and in Brian stuttering out some weak-reasoned excuse about going to unpack.

“What’s his problem?” Crystal had asked, and Freddie had snorted.

“Think for a second, Chris,” Roadie-John had cuffed the back of his mate’s neck.

“Yeah thanks John, that’s going to help me think, you idiot.”

“You don’t need to think, Crystal,” Roger had shaken his head. “It’s pretty bloody obvious.”

“If it’s so bloody obvious, Rog,” you’d interrupted, crossing your arms, “then would you mind pointing it out to me?”

“Oh, darling,” Mary had said to you, almost pityingly, while Roger had laughed.

“No, Y/N, Roger sha’n’t tell you, and nor shall anybody else,” Freddie had put it plainly. “You’ll be blind a while yet.”

And with that cryptic comment, he had wrapped an arm around Mary’s shoulders and dragged the others with him to explore the house and grounds.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

When the sky turned orange and all the land below it golden, your dad had tea ready. He loved to cook and had thus created a masterpiece of salads, grilled vegetables, barbecue, homemade bread, and a variety of dips.

Summer was finally setting in, and so, even in the glow of the six o’clock evening, the sun would not set for at least another three hours.

You and the others had spent the afternoon unpacking, and setting up instruments in the studio. You’d managed to keep everyone’s attention for long enough to show them around said studio, but then Freddie had insisted on more “exploring”, and the others had followed excitedly. You’d offered to give them a tour, but Freddie argued that exploring was more fun, and everyone had agreed wholeheartedly. Except Brian. He’d been lost in his thoughts, sitting in a corner, tuning his guitar as though he intended to begin a songwriting session then and there.

Heather had then tried, and failed, to convince you to join in the exploration. Failed on account that you needed an hour or two to yourself— hanging around nine people, plus your family, was really quite draining. And when you’d looked about the sunlit studio fondly before leaving it for your own room, Brian was nowhere to be found.

When teatime rolled around, you had not seen him for several hours, and he remained elusive even as your mum, your dad, the others, and even your brother Frank who’d slept the day away, gathered in the dining room.

“Oh, this looks delicious,” said Roger enthusiastically, eyeing the food piled up on the table.

Murmurs of agreement echoed all around, but your dad frowned. “Where’s that Brian May got to?”

“Sebastian,” your mum chided. “It’s been less than two minutes since you called us all in. He’s probably just upstairs or something.” Your mum turned to you. “Y/N, would you go look? I’ve just got to let Selkie out.”

“Yep, sure.”

You left the kitchen and bounded up the stairs, smilingly taking two at a time, now that your legs were long enough. You’d always tried to take them two at a time when you’d been little, but you’d never managed more than one set at a time before falling over your own feet.

It was quickly obvious that there was no one upstairs.

Poking your head into the kitchen, you announced, “He’s not upstairs, but I’ll just check outside. You might as well start.” Your dad looked to your mum for approval, and she shrugged.

“Bon appetit, then,” he said.

You slipped on some canvas shoes and jogged down the main path and to the end of the drive, where you stopped.

“Where’ve you gone, Bri?”

Your eyes fell to the green by the path, where tufts of grass had been pressed down in the memory of footprints. Beyond the grass, there was mud, and there too were footprints. And they really were footprints— the person who had made them did not seem to have been wearing any shoes. You set off following the trail.

Down the hill, skirting a meadow, and through the sand by the bank of the river, you stepped with your shoes into the footsteps that had been left.

Finally, you caught sight of the owner of the footprints.

He stood knee-deep in the river, his back to you and his face turned to the canopy of the trees about him.

Birds streaked across the sky above, merely silhouettes against the bright colours of the sky, and the air glittered as ordinary dust turned to stardust in the golden light of the sun.

The river babbled in an almost talkative manner, greeting you— hellohello slosh rush hellohello— and the creatures in the wood had realised your presence, pausing in their activities no matter how careful you made your footing upon the ground. Brian had not realised anything.

A thrush knocked a seedpod against the base of a tree, and other birds twittered merrily in the branches above. The trees whispered their secrets, rustling and passing their leaves along one another’s boughs like notes, and the grass shone in glory green, dotted white flowers conjuring an aura of magic.

You crept along the edge of the clearing by the river, careful not to let Brian notice you. You wanted to notice him first.

His face was expressive— his parted lips, the soft line of his chin in contrast to the sharpness of his wide hazel eyes. His hands hovered by his sides, slim fingers and wrists, the already lightly-tanned skin of his arms showing where he had pushed up his sleeves. His curls were tossed by the breeze and he stared up to the sky with reckless abandon, as though his entire existence hung upon the breath of starlight that would steal across the sky this night and every night after, as though he would give up anything, everything, to be a star as well.

And you understood that he would, because you would too. Without thought, without a single hesitation. Oh, to be a star.

Brian spun around, the water protesting with splashes about his calves, his shoulders tensed and his eyes now wider than ever.

Oh, you’d said that out loud.

“Y/N,” he said, relaxing almost instantly as he recognised you through the rays of sun that streaked across the clearing. “Yes, I’d like to be a star. What a vantage point that would be. I wonder what I might see differently from up there.”

“Everything,” you said. “You’d see everything differently.” You stared up at the sky, the waning crescent of the moon faintly visible in the glow of evening. But Brian was still looking at you; you could feel it. Your skin prickled.

“Would you come with me?” he asked. When you returned your gaze to him, his smile was gentle.

“Oh, but you wouldn’t need me out there, Spaceman. You know it so well.”

“Maybe,” he said, “but it’s lonely out in space.”

You shook your head. “You’d be a star. You wouldn’t think of loneliness. You wouldn’t think at all.”

“Well, while I still have my thoughts, I think that would be preferable to have someone there with me.”

You couldn’t help but stare at him. In an instant you realised that you had been wrong; you didn’t want to be a star, you wanted to feel how starlight looked— ethereal and inspiring, yet powerful. And the closest you’d ever been to feeling how starlight looked was when Brian looked at you.

“You’d give it all up?” you said, and still he gazed at you.“Really you would?”

He hesitated, then said, “Some days, yes. Others, no.”

“Today?” you asked.

There was that gentle smile again. “No,” he exhaled softly, as though he had been holding his breath. “Not today.”

You smiled. “Then hurry up and come back inside. Tea’s waiting, and my dad’s an excellent cook. If you want to get on his good side, then compliment his food.”

“Do you think it’s still possible for me to get on his good side?” Brian began to wade back to the riverbank. “He seemed rather to have made up his mind, this afternoon.”

You held out your hand to Brian as he approached, planting your feet firmly in the sand. “Careful. The rocks are slippery,” you told him. “And no, I think there’s still hope. He’s not as bad as he seems.”

“Oh, he’s not bad, it’s just—” Brian had not heeded your warning and pitched forward. You grasped his hand just before he fell, and he smiled at you gratefully. His fingers were warm where they curled around your own. “It’s just me. I don’t think he likes me.”

“Brian,” you guided him around a particularly mossy rock, “why on Earth does this bother you so much? I’ve never heard you talk like this,” you said honestly.

He finally made it to the riverbank, and the sand dusted his toes, his cuffed trousers dripping water, soaked through because he hadn’t folded them up far enough. “Clearly, you haven’t spent enough time with me. Not to worry, though. Soon to be remedied.”

“Brian.”

He huffed. “Because it’s you, Y/N,” he said, and your heart rose to your throat. “I don’t usually care who doesn’t like me, but they’re your family and you’re my friend.”

Your heart sank.

Once, your insides had warmed when he’d called you his friend, but now things were different. You wanted more from him than just that, and you could admit as much to yourself, even if you couldn’t admit it to anybody else.

But his hand still rested in yours.

Take what you can get. It’s all you’ll ever have.

Your hand curled more tightly around his long, dainty fingers.

He glanced at you, and you realised that you had not said anything for a while. You’d been walking through the wood for minutes and you had not spoken a word, only held his hand, as though you had a right to. You didn’t though, did you?

You pulled your hand from his, and it felt like a severance when he let go.

“Shoes,” you murmured.

“Sorry?”

“You’re not wearing any shoes,” you laughed at the silliness of it.

He looked down at his bare feet and laughed too. “No, I’m not.”

“Why on Earth not?”

“Why on Earth should I?”

“Why not on Earth should you not?”

“Why not on Earth should I not not wear shoes?”

You stopped walking. “You’re absurd.”

He grinned. “And you’re an angel.”

“Oh, so I’m that far gone, am I?”

“Not as far as me.”

“It’s lonely out in space,” you repeated his words from earlier.

“You know,” Brian began as the two of you crested the final hill that led up to the house. “Think I’ll stay around.”

The breeze rustled his curls, and his eyes were bright, his profile illuminated by the sun. A small smile rested on the curve of his lips, and you couldn’t believe that he was real.

You were breathless; he took your breath away.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Tea was not the awkward affair you had expected, with your dad and Brian skirting around each other. It was instead talkative and homely, like the nine extra people at your table had always been a part of your family. It was a shame your brother Billy had decided to stay abroad with his mates this summer; he would have loved all this.

The table itself was taking the meal quite well— it held up, despite the great amount of food and plates and cutlery and glasses and bowls and napkins and trays piled atop its oakwood surface.

It was quite an arrangement, thirteen people around the same dining table, and chairs had been fetched from all over the house, from stools to desk chairs. Perhaps the feeling of closeness amongst you all had been achieved through literal closeness, seeing as the dining table was not meant for more than eight people, and certainly not for thirteen. Knees and elbows knocked, and you had the fortune to be seated next to Bri, whose hand or thigh bumped yours quite often as he reached for something or picked up his knife and fork. He apologised frequently, and every time he apologised and you assured him that it was fine, your stares grew longer and his eyes grew softer.

You could have gazed at him forever. And spoken to him forever, too.

The occupants of the table both roared with laughter and listened attentively as stories both utterly silly and quite serious were shared. There were tales from childhood; tales of Queen from before your time, when they were known as Smile; tales you already knew; tales you had experienced as they had happened, including the recent story of how Roger had plotted and executed his master plan of locking you and Brian in the kitchen. You laughed harder than anyone at that story, because in hindsight, it just seemed so silly, so ridiculous, how angry you and Brian had both been, not at each other, but at being locked into the kitchen with one another. Brian had been sure to describe— in detail— the look on your face when you’d realised that Roger, John, and Freddie had left you in the kitchen, to your own devices.

Your face ached from smiling, and your stomach hurt from laughing, and it was the best pain in the entire world. You wanted to feel like this forever, both young and old at once, young in spirit but wisened by nostalgia and an already great wealth of memories.

And with every glance you stole at Brian, to gauge his reaction to a particular story, or indeed, to nothing in particular at all, you were closer to reaching over and taking his hand in yours again, sliding your hand over the smooth skin of his wrist and palm, and along his slim fingers.

But you didn’t do it. His hands were not yours to hold.

When tea was finished, yawns began to make appearances between words, because it was good and well eleven o’clock at night. You all helped to clear the table and stow leftovers into the fridge, the chatter never ceasing as you communed between the dining room and kitchen. Your dad even broke into song at one point— he’d probably had a little too much to drink— and Roger joined in without hesitation, which led to Heather’s participation, and Ronnie’s, and Deacy’s, and yours, until the entire house was filled with the melodic tune of thirteen people singing ‘Hi Ho Silver Lining’. Your dad swung your mum around the kitchen and she laughed as they danced, and you couldn’t remember the last time your parents had been so carefree. Something about the dynamic of the people around you was extraordinary, and irreplaceable.

It was midnight when you had bid your parents, Frank, and the members of your entourage that had the downstairs bedrooms— Freddie and Mary, Roger and Heather, Ronnie and Deacy— a good night.

Upstairs you trudged alongside Roadie-John, Crystal, and Brian, the former two of whom were arguing about who was to sleep in the top bunk, and who was to sleep in the lower bunk.

At the top of the stairs, Crystal and Roadie-John departed to the left.

“Night,” they chorused, and you and Brian responded in kind.

You made for the last set of stairs that led to your attic bedroom, which you’d always favoured because of its view to the open sky, but you stopped on the first step. You had remembered the polaroid Brian had taken of you, and it burned through your pocket.

You turned back.

“Brian—”

“Yes?”

He had turned back too. Eurydice and Orpheus. If they had both been obligated not to turn back. And had turned back all the same.

The words left your lips in a breathless rush, “Your photograph.”

“My photograph?” he wondered aloud.

You descended the step you’d climbed and walked toward him. His eyes trailed you, and your skin felt warm beneath his gaze.

You held the polaroid out to him, and it felt as though you were handing him your soul. “Have it.”

He blinked at you. “But I thought—”

“You thought I hated it? Yeah, I thought so too. But it’s art. Just like everything else you do. And it belongs to you.”

His lips parted and the world was suspended in that moment.

He took the photograph from your hand, but he barely looked at it. He was looking at you— like he was going to do something.

But of course he wouldn’t. You and your overactive imagination.

“Good night, Bri,” you whispered, and swept up the stairs.

There was no reply.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

A/N: the sheer amount of love i have received on this fic is just mind-boggling, not to mention incredibly touching. thank you <3

taglist: @melting-obelisks @stardust-killer-queen @hgmercury39 @topsecretdeacon @joemazzmatazz @perriwiinkle @brianmays-hair

Masterpost / Part 9 / Part 11

#tina's writing #starstruck #brian may #brian may x reader #brian may x y/n #brian may x you #queen #freddie mercury #roger taylor #john deacon #queen fanfiction #1975 #1970s #fic

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hubbie22 · 4 years ago

Text

Tears Ricochet Pt 3

Tagged: @jennyggggrrr

A/N: let me know if anyone wants to be tagged! Enjoy my angsty sad trash 😊

Everyone around Liv changed, from the person they used to be to who they were now. In those five years she spent comatose, they were growing and finding themselves.

Now, it was her turn.

“What excited you before the accident?” Dr Styles asks her one day, it seemed like an odd question for a doctor to ask his patient. “What did you enjoy?”

Her brows knit together as she thinks, “I loved photography.” She majored in Art History in uni, and from what she could remember she was a photographer for a magazine. She could remember tagging along on a few tours with the boys, taking candid photographs. That seemed like another lifetime ago, and in truth it was. Her face lights up, “It used to be my job.”

“You should get back to it.”

“Yeah?” She hangs on his words, but then she remembers how she approached everyone. “You should tell that to my friends.”

“I can’t keep depending on y’all for a free handout.”

Freddie rolls his eyes, “Nonsense! Don’t be dramatic! Besides, I can’t legally adopt you. I checked.”

Liv looks at him, “Are you joking?”

Freddie deadpans, “No.”

“I’m almost 30 years old.”

“And your point?” Freddie says with a mischievous grin.

“You aren’t finished with PT and your hospital appointments.” Chrissie says she looks like a frazzled mother. “Bloody hell! You’ve been up for a few months!”

Promoting Brian to follow with a logical explanation, “You can’t work, no company would be flexible enough to allow you to juggle the amount of appointments you have.”

John looks more sympathetic, “You need to have something that’s not handed to you?”

“Yeah, Deaks.”

“Well we can work that out, can’t we?” Veronica says with a small smile, always the chipper one. Always positive, glass half full type.

Of course, what was worked out was Freddie giving you an allowance for running errands. You really were their child.

“I’ll speak with them. I think it could help you readjust to life. It will also give you a sense of the normality you used to have.”

“You think I could?” It’s a veiled question. It’s loaded with the unsaid thought, you think I could be normal?

“I think you have all the tools to be successful, I think you also have the personality to put this behind you.”

“I wish my friends felt the same way.” She sighs, she was growing tired of their incessant worrying. “They treat me like their child. You know they proposed I stay a week with each of them?” She huffs, “Fred, Deaks, Ronnie, Chris, and Bri devised a plan to share custody of me. Me! An adult! I even heard Freddie enquiring to Miami, the band’s lawyer, if he could adopt me! It started as a joke between us, but he seriously wanted to know!”

He chuckles, before he turns to her. She’s clearly upset, but she needs to understand that they only do so much because they care. “They love you.” He wanted to finish the sentence with and it’s easy to see why, but that would be unprofessional and unethical. “They are being careful, as they should be. Your mind is healing, and so is your body. What you went through was mentally and physically traumatic. Not only that, everything you thought you knew vanished, when you woke up. You can’t blame them for handling you like they have.”

“You think Liv needs a job?” Chrissie looks at the man like she has two heads. She and Brian are sitting on the two chairs flanking Liv, looking like worried parents as Dr Styles briefs them.

“I think she needs independence.” Dr Styles says with a pointed look. “And a job can be that form of independence Olivia needs to feel like she isn’t a burden.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, from what I’ve read assimilating to normalcy to early can cause regression-”

“With all due respect, Mr May, I am the neurologist here. We all want Olivia to be happy and healthy, correct?” Brian and Chrissie nod their heads, “As I thought, then don’t drag her into a depressed state under the guise of helping her. Because that’s what is happening here.”

“What do you even want to do?” Brian looks at her, and she feels like a child getting in trouble. “Have you even thought about that? What if you want to go back to school? Which you could do-”

She interrupts him, “What I used to do, Brian.”

“I’ve already contacted the magazine Olivia worked for, they are more than happy to welcome her back. They are more than willing to accommodate her appointments.” Dr Styles looks at her, and she mouths a thank you to him.

“Well, Brian and I can’t fight that.” Chrissie says with a small smile on her lips, as she watches the way Dr Styles looks at Liv.

The conversation with Freddie, Mary, Ronnie, and Deaky about her new found employment went down fairly well. They accepted it, and for the first time she felt like she was going in the right direction. Maybe they noticed the change in her, when she came home from that first day. A new camera hanging off her neck and a megawatt grin plastered on her face. And how she went from feeling like she was so far behind them, she was no longer paused. She was finally trekking down the intended path, instead of being motionless in the void.

“Surprised you don’t have that old camera around your neck.” Marcus’s fingers grazed over the shiny black metal casing her new camera. She remembered him when he came back from assignment, it felt nice to see a familiar face in the office that wasn’t her boss. And the time apart, did nothing to hinder their working relationship. They picked up where they left off.

“You were attached to that bloody thing, like it was an extension of you.” All it took was one sentence to bring back the memories of that camera, and who bought it for her.

“Open mine!” Roger says with a twinkle in his bright blue eyes, he had been on pins and needles for months about her Christmas present.

She tears open the poorly wrapped paper, Roger was many things- a master gift wrapper was not one of them. She’s greeted with that camera she’d been looking at in the shop window for the better part of six months. She’s practically flying across the space between them to hug him. “This is amazing! Thank you! Thank you!”

“That was ONE year worth of Reaction gigs.” He says, quite impressed with himself.

“Now I can immortalize you in film!” She says happily as she snaps a picture of him. Blonde hair sticking out everywhere in his mismatched pjs, a beautiful sight on Christmas morning.

“Happy Christmas, Livie.”

“I don’t even know where it is, don’t even know where to start.” Her mind comes out of the memory of a time long gone.

“Start with that mansion you used to live in.” Marcus says, “I’d start there.”

She wondered if Roger threw out that camera, like she assumed he had done with her clothes. Because the moment she stepped over the threshold of Garden Lodge, her room was lifeless slate; devoid of personality. Because of this, she assumed Roger threw out all of her belongings or simply gave them away. It took one look at her for Freddie to decide that she needed a new wardrobe. And she was never one to turn down a chance to go shopping, it reminded her of the old times, when Fred and Rog had their Kensington stall. She knew something was off when Deaky told her he had possession of her dad’s records. She knew there was something more to that, something Deaky wouldn’t tell her. And she let that be, because what’s the point of dragging up something Deaky clearly didn’t want her not to know.

She wondered if Roger erased every trace of her from the Surrey house.

“Really?” Liv looks at him, they were going to go from a two bedroom flat to buckingham palace? “I didn’t know the Queen was selling one of her properties.”

“Oh come on, Livie! It’s bloody brilliant!” His blue eyes dance with the possibilities of the future they could have here. He’s dragging her around every room, his voice echoing of the emptiness. He’s already pointing out what would go where.

“And the kids have their own rooms.”

That caught her off guard, “Kids?”

“Well, yeah!” He opens up the door to one of the superfluous bedrooms in the ten bedroom home. Sunlight pours in from the windows. “Imagine your hair, my eyes, my talent our kids will rule the world.”

“I guess I don’t have talent?” She punches him in the shoulder.

“In other areas.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

She rolls her eyes, pretending she didn’t hear him.

“Well what do you think?”

“It’s very practical.” She says with a shit eating grin. “Save us loads on heating. And a garage for every one of your lovies.”

“You’ll always be my number one.” He pokes her cheek, and bops her nose.

“Yeah, yeah. Keep it in your pants.” She pushes him off.

“What do ya say?”

“I’ve always wanted to live like the Addams Family, I suppose.”

“We are very creepy and kooky.”

“This it?” The gruff voice startled her back into reality. She could go anywhere she wanted, and yet she couldn’t go home.

“Yeah.” She says handing the man his money. She exits the car, she can hear the gravel crunching as her legs carry her to the front door. It was an alien feeling, ringing the doorbell to what was once your house.

The door opens after what seems like years, and she’s facing Roger. “Livie.” He slips back into his old nickname for her so easily. He looks like he wants to pull her across the doorway and into a hug, like he used when he came back from touring.

But he doesn’t.

“Can I?” Her teeth are chattering from the cold.

“ ‘m must be freezing!” He says as he steps to the side letting her walk into the foyer. “Come on, let’s get some tea in you, yeah?” He takes her coat, and hangs it on the bare rack. She wonders if they get any visitors? Have the sounds of the wild parties been replaced with the sounds of baby toys and children shows?

He leads her to the kitchen, she notices the cabinets are no longer light, but now dark. The whole of the kitchen is completely re-done, it’s no longer light and airy, but dark and chic. The whistle of the kettle startles her from looking at the kitchen, and him from looking at her. “Here.” He lays out two mugs, “And of course the most sugar for you.” His eyes twinkle as he overloads her tea with sugar.

“Surprised you remember.” She blows on the teacup, relishing the warmness pooling in her hands.

“Kinda hard to forget, you like sugar with a splash of earl grey.” He gives her a cocky grin, before he motions her to follow him to the living room.

She walks down the hallway and into the living room, none of the pieces of furniture she bought for the house stayed intact. All of it was replaced with new pieces, emulating the French countryside in an English country home. Ironic. She smiled when she saw the maroon colored antique couch she bought at a Kensington market so long ago.

She settles down on the couch, “You kept it.”

He sits across from her on some chairs, she remembered Roger picked out. “ ‘Course I kept.” She wants to ask if this was the only thing he kept of hers? Since, he threw everything else out.

The silence around them is deafening, so many emotions and unsaid feelings hanging between them.

“So, I’ve been working at the magazine.” She looks around her, seeing the frames that used to house pictures of her and Roger have been replaced with Roger’s new life. She swallows the bitter bile that raises up in her throat.

He smiles at that, remembering how much she loved her job.“Fred told me, I’m proud of you. You always enjoyed what you did.”

“Marcus mentioned my old camera and I thought it might be here.” She cuts right to the chase, she didn’t want to be in this house longer than she absolutely had to. “Do you have it?”

He runs his hands through his hair, “ ‘M sorry Livie, but-”

“But, what?”

“I dropped it.”

She let out a breath, she didn’t even know she was holding in. “What do you mean you dropped it? That camera cost you one year of reaction gigs? How can you drop something that was in a case, anyway?”

He looks at her with those damn puppy dog eyes, she knows that look. It’s the look he used to give her when he wanted forgiveness. “I had taken it out of the case, see if you had film in it. Dom wanted to look at it and it happened so fast.”

“You lied.”

“What?”

“You said you broke it, but you didn’t.”

Roger tries to reason with her, “It was an accident.” But she will have none of it. She knows he isn’t telling her the truth. It was so very like Roger to skirt around it, telling bits of it to make his conscious lighter.

“Just like it was an accident, that John ended up with my dad’s old records?”

He was taken aback by that, she can practically see the guilt radiate off of him. “I was in a bad place. I wasn’t myself.” He bites his lip, “For the first two years, I listened to those records before every show. My way of keeping you with me.” He looked at her, a little smile playing on his lips, “Bloody hell it hurt. It was like I was flayed open, and every nerve ending going off. And I just had too...” He can’t look at her for the next part, “A roadie told me that if I wanted to forget, he had something. And for the first night, I could look at a woman and not see your face. And it felt good... so good not to be flayed open for a few hours.”

Her eyes began to water, so she bites her lower lip to keep the tears from pouring down. And for the first time, it’s Roger that is broken. But like all things concerning him, whatever he is feeling she takes on. “So, I threw them out. I threw them out thinking. I packed everything I had of you up. I figured if I buried myself in coke and groupies, I wouldn’t feel so raw and open.”

She stands up, she can’t believe him. “Did I really mean that little to you?” She asks, voice cracking.

“You meant everything to me. How could you ever doubt that?” He’s holding her face in his hands, and she can feel every one of his calluses on her cheeks. He has more than she remembered, another sign of time slipping away.

“Meant as in past tense.” She takes his hands off of her cheeks, “Something that’s over, that’s done now.... like us.” She steps away from him, “You put me in something that meant to you, when you trashed my dad’s records. And I didn’t mean everything, when packed my whole life into boxes. Just like all the other things you don’t want to want remember, you filed me along with everything else that meant something to you.”

“No, please don’t think that… please.” She’s opening already headed to the foyer, determined to get the hell out of this house. But, Roger won’t let her go. It’s ironic, that he was so eager to once. And now he can’t. “I was high and just dead inside, I went back for them. I’d always go back. And John had them, because he knew. He knew, I’d always find my way back to you.”

She whips around, looking at him. He looks like the scared little boy, she used to know. “But you didn’t, you didn’t come back this time.”

“I wanted too, bloody hell I wanted too.” She wonders if he is going to start crying. His blue eyes are glassy. “The worst thing I ever did was what I did to you. And I’ve done some shitty things. Telling you about my life now, watching you try to understand and accept that I gave up on you. I couldn’t hold onto you, without killing myself.” He tries to hold onto her hand, but she pulls it away. He flinches at her reaction to him. “‘M so sorry that for the first time in a lifetime, I can't come back to you.”

Her voice is breaking, “Would you? If you could, would you?” An unanswered question hanging in the air. Would you trade what you have now, for what you had?

“I- I don’t know if I could. It’s like half of me is screaming to keep you, whatever the cost. But, the other half of me can’t do that. But then I think of not having you in my life as anything, not even my best friend. And I’m angry at myself, at the world- at how cruel time can be.” There it was the truth laid bare.

“When you feel that way you should look what time and the world have brought you.” She tries to smile, but she doesn’t have the energy. “As much as I want you to say you’d change it, that you’d come back to me…. I don’t think you would.” She bites her lip, a nervous habit. “Not now, not after knowing what it’s like to have a family of your own. Having what you always wanted, what you craved but never had.” She opens up the door, “Goodbye, Rog.”

Between appointments with Dr Styles, and work she kept busy. She kept herself away from Roger, it was easier that way. It was easier than pretending she wasn’t dying inside, every time she saw him and Felix. It was better that way. She was better that way.

“She’s sick? Again?” She can hear Roger’s voice waft up the grand staircase of Garden Lodge. “I brought Felix to see her.” He sounds defeated, because he pulled out the big guns this time.

“Liv seems to always be feign illness, when you pop by Roger darling.”

“What the fuck happened between you two?” Leave it John to be the one who would cue to the chase. “One minute she’s playing on the floor with your kid, next minute she doesn’t want to see you.”

“She showed up the other day at the Surrey House.”

Freddie made a gasp that could belong in a soap opera. “Oh my the scandal! Liv showing up announced! None of your gentlemen callers will want you now, that you have been left sullied by an unchaperoned visit!”

“Shut it, Fred.” Roger’s voice is low.

“Some guy at work told her about her camera. She wanted it and I had to tell her Dom broke it. It somehow all went up in flames after that.”

“You have a tendency of doing that.” Brian quips with a snort.

“What exactly did you do, Rog?” Freddie asks

“Isn’t it obvious?” Deaky scoffs. “He told her the truth, the whole truth. Didn’t you, Rog? He had to tell her about the drugs, the women, and how he basically had a massive purge of her from his life.”

“Deaky, darling, don’t be rude.”

“I’m being honest.”

“So was I.” Roger says flatly. “And it cost me everything.”

“Your short term and long term memory seem to be functioning at a normal rate.” Dr Styles says, as he jots down notes on his chart.

“That’s good, right?”

“It’s excellent, Olivia.” He’s the only one to call her by her full name. It makes her feel like someone else. “So much so, I’m signing your release forms.”

This shocked her, she hadn’t expected to be released only nine months after waking up. She thought she would be in and out of hospital for years.

“Really?”

“Consider yourself officially discharged from my care.” He says as he hands her the paperwork. “Of course, you will have your routine checkups with your primary, but no more weekly visits.”

“I’ll miss those visits. For a time, it was the only stability I had.” She hops off the exam table, “Alright, I guess this is goodbye, Dr Styles.” She extends her hand for him to shake.

He didn’t want to say goodbye. “It doesn’t have to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well you aren’t my patient anymore, that means anything is possible.”

Her brow raises, “Anything?”

“Like is having dinner tomorrow night at seven?” He says hopeful, and praying to whatever god above he didn’t just ruin this. Because he was smooth with the nurses here, he’d even go as far to say he was popular. But, bloody hell she made him nervous.

She laughs, “I’d like that.”

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