Fort Worth, Texas, 11th December 1977

"Would you be able to have her ready within the hour?" John Reid anxiously looked across the yard as the garage workers unchained the tourbus from the garage company's tow truck. It was dark, seeing as the sun wasn't up yet, but the yard lights illustrated enough.

"Sorry, man. She's a big baby," the garage manager, a rugged figure in stained overalls who spoke with a strong southern accent and reeked of engine oil shook his head. "My workers can't make time go faster for even the world's best rock band right now"

"Well, the boys and crew need to be in Houston by this afternoon for sound check and we don't want to get a flight. They'll be knocked over by publicity," Jim Beach added. "What are the options?"

"Well, we also do rentals. There's a bay around the back" the manager suggested.

Wanting to have their sweet old tourbus back and retain a sense of closure for the band, yet completely lost for ideas, John and Jim looked at one another for answers as to how they should respond.

Meanwhile the band (all except Roger, he slept in) and their crew were wondering around inside the foyer of the offices' main building, tired and clueless as to when they'd be on their way to their next stop in their US tour for News of the World.  Whilst the roadies guarded the baggage, John was looking at the local road maps on the stand and Brian preparing his camera to capture another candid of the team. As for Freddie, he sat hunched on the bench as Monica lingered by his side, tapping her foot impatiently as she played with the buttons of her camel coat.

"I want to get on the road... I don't like this place!" He croaked, his voice still sore and slightly gravelly from their concert the night before.

Monica sat down on the space beside him, and put her hand over his, "I'm sure we will reach Houston by tonight. You're Queen, you're too in demand. Someone will make sure you get there."

"Hmm... being in Queen sure does take its  toll... and how in the bloody hell did those people find us here?"  he looked out the window anxiously at the groups of several fans being held back by security outside the garage doors.

A black limousine pulled up, and Roger limped out of it, Crystal in tow with his bags.

"Oh fuck, Roger's drawn more attention to us" Freddie huffed, then fumbled through his top pocket and took his shades out.

"Well look what the cat dragged in... I take it you saw John's [Reid] note on the mini bar" Brian turned to the drummer as the glass doors swung open as he strode in.

"Don't talk to me about cats, I miss my little Mandy and Goliath" Freddie spat, not making eye contact, and Monica's thumb slid across his knuckles gently.

"Good morning to you too" Roger rolled his eyes.

"She won't be so little by the time we get back" Monica tried to lighten his mood.

Freddie grumbled and dug a few cents out of his pocket, "Do stay here and keep watch. I might ring Mary's flat about the cats on that payphone over there while we wait"

"You aren't going to try talking to them now, are you? We're about to head out the door" She felt his hand slip out of hers as he stood up.

"Only if there's time" He pecked her lips.

But Mr Reid interrupted as he was about to disappear, "We're sorted, lads! There's a red whopper waiting for us out the back."

"Well, thank fuck for that" Freddie lifted Monica's bag from the floor as Peter Hince took his, the foyer erupting with sighs of relief.

"What about Mary and your beloved cats?" She asked in disbelief, following quickly behind.

"I'll worry about that when I get to Houston" he grabbed her wrist, and as they emerged from the building they were hit with the hot Texas air.

"This way please" the garage manager waved the band and crew to follow.

"You heard him, folks" Mr Beach shortly went after him, and he led them around the back of the building to where a large tourbus was waiting, its red paint winking in the sun.

"Thank goodness" Monica unlinked her arm from her lover, watching as the garage worker handed their manager the contract on a clipboard.

"Let me have a go on the front wheel then!" Roger pushed Brian out of the way and rushed up the steps as the driver huffed, and the guitarist shook his head, "That man sure loves his motors."

"I bet the toilet is like a Petri dish" Freddie whispered to Monica, then shuddered as he proceeded to climb inside, dragging her behind him by the hand.

"It will be when those two are done with it" Roger murmured so they couldn't hear when they walked past as he sat at the wheel like a young boy on a tractor in a county fair, and Brian playfully smacked the back of his head.

"I don't think Fred would attempt to do it in such places" John murmured to him.

"He did when he was "exploring" his sexuality" Roger whispered.

"Well yeah, the poor fellows have nowhere else to do it. But while we're here? Come on!" John kept his voice down.

"But just look at how in love they are" Roger tilted his head down the aisle, and John watched as Freddie bundled Monica's bag into the overhead luggage rack, and protectively wrapped an arm around her shoulder as he slid in next to her.

He took his aviators off, "I suppose it'll have to do."

"It's only six hours down the road" she folded her camel coat onto her lap.

"You don't mind if I nap on the journey, darling?" He stuffed his sunglasses into his top pocket.

She laid her head against him, lacing her hand with his sitting on her shoulder, "Of course. Six hours or less can go pretty quickly, especially with this lot."

"And what makes you say that?" He pulled her legs across his lap so that she could feel more settled.

"My parents took us on a bank holiday weekend trip to Cork city once," she settled herself under Freddie's arm, against his chest. "Five and a half hours to get there from Belfast in a small Ford Consul."

"Mmmm... Roger? How small is a Ford Cosul?" Freddie called to the front.

"It's a box." Was the husky response he received.

"How did you survive being in such a small space?" He spoke into her hair, knowing that he heard unpromising things about her mother and sister's temper.

Her fingers grazed the chest hair peeping out from his unbuttoned polo shirt as she reminisced, "We sang along to the radio and played I Spy... stared at the Irish countryside rushing past... Lenny and I tried to count all of old ruins of towers and castles dotted in fields here and there."

"I bet it's greener than here, hmm?" He smiled a little, staring out at the tarmac and dusty landscape beyond.

"A lot greener, probably fruitier too." she giggled, and he tightened his hold around her.

"I'll tell you who's fruity!" Roger added suggestively as he passed them, on his way from being kicked off of the driver seat by the coach driver.

"Alright, be on your way!" Freddie scoffed basfully, pushing him along his path as the blonde chuckled mischievously.

Although a little embarrassed, Monica had to let out a little laugh.

"Don't encourage him. Someday soon he's going to wake up in the Texan wilderness dead," he spoke through gritted teeth, square jaw locked. "With a flock of vultures chewing at his rotten, dismembered limbs."

"Your mum told me that's what your people do when you die," she played with a bit of his silky black hair brushing against his collar. "If you hate him so much are you sure he deserves a Zoroastrian rite of passage?"

John shook his head, sitting down in the row in front of the couple, "Ignore him. He plans on starting some sort of '12 pints of Christmas' scheme when we finish this gig so he's a little excited"

"Be thankful he's not yours" Crystal Taylor added as he passed them, Roger's overnight bag slung over his shoulder.

Monica giggled a little, and turned to Freddie, "Oh believe me, I have my own handful."

The man lowered his shades at her to reveal a pair of harsh brown eyes, and John started undoing the curtain, "Seeing as we're sitting on the east side of the bus, we don't want the morning sun getting into our eyes, do we?"

"Thanks John," Monica smiled as he passed it to her, and she pulled it across her half of the window. "Freddie and I aren't ones to wear glasses indoors."

"Unlike some people, eh Rog?" Brian called, overhearing their conversation.

"Shut up!" The drummer spat, and contributed, then swung the toilet door open, "By the way, the toilet is clean, but don't forget it's a communal space" he winked and sat down.

The engine started with a splutter before Freddie could let out a comeback, and along with that came the radio.

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"Oh no, anything but Cliff Richard!" A crew member whined as the theme to Summer Holiday came on, but Monica's heart let out a small flutter.

"Leave it on, I know someone who admitted to having and inkling of a crush on him" Freddie called to the front, jabbing Monica in the ribs.

She hit his thigh, "Your mother brought him up that day when she described what you looked like and I couldn't resist telling you!"

He chortled boastfully as the song continued to play and a few voices tagged along, "Every girl wanted their own Cliff Richard, dearie... no wonder you based your imaginary friend Eustace on him"

Her cheeks burned, "I wish I never showed you that drawing from my childhood."

"Don't single yourself out," he kissed her head. "I met a little girl in a record shop once who told me she wanted to be in that movie with Cliff. You weren't the only one"

"Well, I guess that's reassuring" she stretched up a little and kissed his lips before joining into the song.

She was on a red bus after all. She might as well have felt like she finally had no more worries for a week or two...