*WARNING*

This chapter has major spoilers head (depending on what you consider a spoiler) and therefore has the potential to cause a decrease in my readership. So if you don't want this story being ruined for you then I would recommend that you skip ahead.

Otherwise, well, you have been warned...

Garden Lodge, London, 20th September, 2004

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

"Ladies your damn right, you can't read a man's mind..." Roshni Bulsara sang along under her breath as her fingers tapped furiously on the keyboard, answering her email from work, "We're living in two tribes, and heading for war..."

The young woman stopped to giggle as Peter Freestone or Phoebe, her father's personal assistant, swung his hips to the beat as he folded away the ironing board in the corner of the kitchen with his back to her.

"Bloody hell, Roshni. Switch that shit off!" Freddie Mercury interrupted, pacing into the kitchen with a towel around his neck as he pat his freshly shaven face dry.

"Leave it on a little longer, I like this bassline" she spoke through a mouthful of cornflakes as she sat at the breakfast bar in front of the laptop.

"So do I!" Phoebe sounded, folding laundry.

"But I thought you hated girl groups... you couldn't even stand The Spice Girls!" Freddie snatched the remote off of the sideboard and pointed it to the television on the wall, "I mean, look! They aren't wearing proper clothes! That's just to compensate for their bad singing!"

"Says you who seemed rather excited when he found out that he was going to be shooting Friday night with Johnathan Ross alongside Girls Aloud next Thursday." his daughter reached back and pulled her long black hair away from her face, tying it into a messy bun at the nape of her neck.

Freddie simply blushed as Phoebe chuckled warmly, "Your old man is still a hot mess"

"Old man? Excuse me! 58 isn't old," Freddie scoffed playfully.

"Your dyed hair and crow's feet say otherwise" Roshni smugly peered over the top of her laptop screen.

He simply shook his head, and looked down at the remote, "Wait until yours starts thinning and going silver."

"It'll be a long while yet before that happens" Phoebe piled the clean washing.

Just as the chorus of the girl group's latest single switched off and to a black screen with pixelated text Freddie began to mutter, "Bloody hell, what are all these blocky letters doing on the screen?!"

"Dad, you're pressing the teletext button again. The off button is the red one at the top" Roshni droned.

"I'll do it" Phoebe set the laundry basket down and came over.

"Thank god for that," Freddie went to the coffee machine, "At least these things are easier"

Roshni shook her head, "You're so tame with technology"

"Says you who fixes people's computers for a living!" He snarled, putting the capsule in.

"Office computers, not personal computers!" She corrected him.

"What's the difference? They beep and crunch and sing when you turn them on" He grumbled.

"Well, so do you," Roshni shrugged. "So are they really that different to people?"

"Nice try, young lady" he got a mug from the overhead cupboard.

His daughter grinned to herself, and looked back to her screen as Phoebe went out of the room with an armful of laundry.

Clive, Freddie's beloved blue Maine Coon of five years, bounded into the kitchen upon hearing the sound of him opening the drawer for a teaspoon.

"Hello, little man," he cooed, picking the meowing cat up, "I suppose you'll be expecting some milk?"

Clive purred, affectionately nuzzling Freddie's chin and neck, and the man let out a soft chuckle and set him back down onto the ground.

Just as Freddie took the towel off of his shoulders and was about to finish drying his hair, he heard a chiming noise behind him.

He turned back around to Roshni at the breakfast bar, "Is that your bloody web space thing again? Or is it Johnny wanting to telephone?"

"It's called MySpace, dad," she corrected him, "...and no, it's Yahoo. I got an email"

"Yahoo, MySpace, they are all the bloody same to me" he lifted his mug filled with fresh coffee from the machine caddy.

"You've said 'bloody' a lot today, and it isn't even 9 am yet" Roshni teased, and went back to opening the most recent email from her inbox.

"Yeah, well you're not even dressed yet, so ha!" he stuck his tongue out as he spooned sugar into his mug.

"Yes I am! Look!" She got up, displaying her denim jeans and straightening out her blue chequered jacket.

"I mean, really! Wearing that tatty old thing... that's what Harry Potter wore when he was still living in the cupboard under the stairs. You can't go out dressed like that!" Freddie's tone started turning from playful to contrary.

"Why do you always monitor what I wear?!" Roshni argued back, returning to her laptop.

"Because you're 25 and you're still living here!" He snapped.

Roshni silently stared back at her computer screen, resting her chin on her hand, her eyes glistening as the light bounced back onto her face.

His children always had the same look on his face when they were hurt.

"Oh Roshni," remorseful, Freddie set his coffee cup on the side board and rushed over to her, "Darling, I'm sorry for being so foul. You know, with everything going on-"

"The estate agent says he'll be able to do a viewing for the flat in Shepherd's Bush!" She interrupted, a bit more cheerful now.

"Really?" He peered over her shoulder.

She scrolled through the photo gallery, "It's this one on the top floor. You can get up onto the roof"

Roshni passed the mouse to her father, and Freddie pulled a stool next to her and looked through each photograph intently.

It was the typical west London terraced building with the tall windows and high ceilings, and oh how the interior reminded him so much of his flat at Stafford Terrace as the curser hovered against the panels on the white walls.

"Those summer nights... locked safe in her arms, her in mine..." the nostalgia hit him again, as it always did these recent months.

"So, what do you think?" His daughter gave him a quick nudge, "Do you think that it'll be anything like the pictures?"

He took a moment to bring himself back to the present, to think about what his plans were for the day.

"...Does this mean that you won't be able to come with me today?" He finally said, drawing his hand back to himself.

"Oh... I never really considered that..." she looked away, her mood changed from excited to hesitant.

He watched as she too was now sadly staring into space, at a loss for what to do.

He put his hand over hers on his thigh, "How about we meet somewhere for dinner and you tell me how it went and I will tell you about mine?"

She sighed, "Dad... maybe you should stop looking and just ask Cliff Richard for a copy before it's too late-"

"That'd be too easy... " Freddie exhaled, "He has a new studio album coming out anyway. I shan't be hassling him"

Phoebe entered the room again, "I've put the washing away upstairs..."

He trailed off when he saw father and daughter sitting in a conflicted silence.

"Is everything okay? Is this a bad time?" He stood by the doorway

They lifted her heads, and Roshni spoke, "I managed to get a slot for a viewing today"

"Well, that's wonderful!" He stepped back I tot the kitchen, "You should go!"

Roshni looked to her father for an answer.

"You had my approval all along. You should take it." Freddie squeezed her hand gently.

"But dad, will you be alright today?" She shut her laptop.

"I'll be fine, darling. You can always visit her tomorrow evening..." he turned to his assistant, "Phoebe, please get my list from the bag"

"How many more shops have you got left to try?" Roshni asked, getting onto her feet.

"Just a few more in the city centre" he replied, and Phoebe hurried over with the notebook, turning to the marked page.

"Do you want me to come with you today?" He offered.

"I'll be alright today, Phoebe. The pond men are coming today and I need you to let them in"

"Are you still keeping those fish alive? We hardly have any left!" Roshni noised from the corridor as she put her shoes on.

"You know how much they're worth, dearie" Freddie called back.

"Are you sure? You will get a recognised." Phoebe handed him his list of shops.

"There is no harm in a few autographs," he stood back up, "And anyway, nobody will recognise me without the moustache"

"You have your mobile phone anyway if you ever get into trouble." Roshni reappeared.

Freddie rolled his eyes, "In my day, we had spare change for the pay phone!"

"Whatever, I'm calling a taxi" She took her mobile out of her pocket.

"Alright love, I'll try to text you later on that bloody thing about where to meet for dinner later," Freddie followed her out through the grand hallway and to the front door, "If not, I will get Phoebe to relay it to you. He knows how to operate that stupid little hunk of metal and plastic."

"No pressure on me then" Phoebe thought, watching the father and daughter briefly hug on the doorstep.

*****

HMV, Picadilly Circus, later that day...

"Young man, I have told you already, it's the single I want and not the album!" Freddie's voice elevated.

"Sorry, I'm afraid we only sell current singles nowadays. But you're welcome to try finding the album that it's on using our indexed system though" the young clerk behind the counter told the exasperated rockstar standing in front of him.

"I know, I have tried that already. I know how the industry works!" The aged rock star took his glasses off, revealing his identity.

He didn't care if the teenager likely wasn't even born when Live Aid occured. Freddie was losing hope of finding what he'd been seeking around London for the past month.

"But this is HMV!" he looked around the bustling record store that he was standing in, "Surely you must have a record of it somewhere."

The clerk sympathetically shook his head, "I'm afraid not, sir. There's only so much we can do."

"I've tried every bloody little pre-loved vinyl and record shop in the city centre," Freddie huffed. "and I can't go in there without somebody asking for a bloody photograph!"

But even after revealing his eyes, the perplexed young man did not recognise Freddie Mercury.

"I'm afraid we cannot help you, sir," The clerk calmly repeated, this time with more sympathy. "We do not archive our stock"

"...You don't know how much it'd mean to me if I could find this song," Was the only response he was able to muster, then he went on to explain, "There was a little girl I once met who would've loved it if someone could buy it for her."

"...I'm really sorry. This isn't the right place to look for a single that came out in 1965." The clerk looked at him solemnly.

Freddie sadly turned away, putting his sunglasses back on and zipping up his black leather jacket to hide his unflattering dad belly before somebody recognised him.

His hand felt for the list of music stores in his pocket, then crumpled it up. It was no use to him anymore. His search was over.

But the young man's voice stopped him.

"You can try searching for it on the internet."

"Not that bloody yahoo World Wide Web thing that Johnny and Roshni won't stop banging on about"  

He spun on his heels, "Oh no no. My daughter keeps telling me that I should use the internet but I have an email and a website run for me. That's enough computer rubbish for me to entail"

"You can get someone to do it for you then," the clerk suggested. "All you need is a search engine. Just type in the single and the year it came out, then 'for sale' afterwards"

Freddie didn't know how he was going to remember all that to bring back to Roshni. There was no way she would be able to help him if he was unable to explain to her what he wanted.

Nonetheless, he thanked the clerk, "I do appreciate your advice... I will keep the interweb in mind.

The clerk couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity looking at that man as he put his aviators back on and walked away.

Freddie headed out of the building as swiftly as possible before someone could recognise him (he was in a multimedia store after all) and into the sunny streets.

"Fucking hell, London is a sweat box even in autumn!" he scoffed as he fixed his shirt collar.

He kept an eye out for a taxi that was off duty, something that was difficult to find in Picadilly Circus.

Much to his luck, he caught a driver standing outside his cab to smoke a few hundreds away.

"Excuse me sir?" He called off in the distance, "Are you on duty?"

"No, where you want to go?" He was a skinhead with a strong eastern european accent.

"Bupa Cromwell!" Freddie answered.

"Sorry?" The driver dropped his cigarette to the ground and smothered it out with his shoe on the tarmac.

"The Hospital on Cromwell Road" he repeated, short of breath.

"Okay sir, I take you there sir" the driver opened the back door.

Once he got seated inside he pulled his Nokia bar out of his pocket and checked the time.

4:45pm.

He had an hour and fifteen minutes before visitation hours were up.

"You mind if I play radio sir?" The driver asked in his broken english once he was strapped in.

"Not at all, dear man" Freddie nodded as he looked into the rear view mirror, and the sound of Amy Winehouse's velvety voice singing Stronger tha me filled the speakers.

"Anything to occupy me from worrying about whether or not I will make it in time, even if it's bloody depressing" he thought to himself, feeling his heart rate slow down as the cab moved away.

But he wasted no time returning to his search for the single from 1965, opening a new message to his son and daughter, grumbling as his large fingers accidentally pressed the wrong letters on the keyboard:

"HELP* I NEDF T0 FIND

SUMMR HOLIDAY BY CLIF RICHARD

ON YAHO6 FOR YOUR MOTHER"

It took ages for him to type it out, and he'd finished the message eventually, and he didn't care that it some words were misspelt and that it was in big letters, even though his two children had tried to show him how to get it off caps lock countless times.

"I'm sure they'll desipher it somehow" he grumbled as he put his 'hunk of metal and plastic' back into his pocket and taking off his glasses.

"You... like Amy" The driver suddenly said.

"Pardon?" Freddie met his eyes in the mirror.

"You, Amy Winehouse," the driver repeated, pointing at the control panel where the speakers were, "Same eyes, same jaw"

"Hmm yes, maybe a bit..." he looked out the window, hoping that the song would end at any minute, even though he was unable to take the lost single out of his mind.

"If I'm really in trouble, I'm definitely going to bother Cliff Richard's people about getting it, even if it's the last thing that I can do for her." He murmured.

He'd recieved two new texts by the time his taxi had reached the Bupa Cromwell Hospital:

"Told you that tech is a wonderful thing!   ;)

C u later x

R"

"You woke me and it isn't even 8am in LA :(

but I'm on it! Johnny"

Freddie envied how his own children were able to properly speak english better than he could on their phones, let alone make those funny little faces out of characters. Nontheless, there was no time to compete, so he made his way over to the main hospital building.

He felt uneasy going anywhere without Phoebe. But only the paparazzi were ever able to track his location, and he could mostly walk the streets unnoticed these days. If anything, out of the four of them it was mostly Brian that got recognised with the cloud of curls on his head.

Freddie looked like any other visitor strolling through the automatic doors of the hospital that afternoon, and almost every afternoon he would get there, heading straight to the hospital shop's flower stand to pick out a dozen flowers of a different species, one starting with each letter of the alphabet. Today was the letter P.

"We have pansies or peonies," the shop owner replied when asked, "That's all we have because they don't have exposed pollen"

Of course, Freddie picked the more extravegant variety, "I'll take the peonies then"

"A little pungent," he thought, watching as the owner wrapped them up for him carefully, "But at least they'll go with the orchids I got her yesterday"

He paid and left, heading towards the elevator that'd take him to the oncology ward.

He began forwarding the message to his children:

"TY x"

He got enough bars once he stepped out of the elevator and into the corridor, feeling his hand go sweaty as it clenched the bunch of peonies in his hand.

A few familiar doctors and nurses greeted him as he strolled past, him returning a shy and solemn nod of acknowledgement.

Finally, he made it to her unit, lifting his arm slightly to present his bunch of the day as he walked in.

He gently tapped his knuckles on her door frame, breathing her name...

"Monica..."

The she was, resting in the slightly elevated hospital bed directly across from where he stood, on of the nurses tending to her wired-up figure.

"Oh, Mr Mercury! We were't sure when you were going to drop by today" She pulled her hands back from the morphine drip at Monica's bedside, "Would you like me to change the water in the vase and put those in for you?"

"Please do" he felt her lift the fresh bunch of flowers out of his hands, then looked at his wife.

The low-setting sun spilling though the blinds fell across her bed, highlighting her profile and the emerging greys in her finer brown hair that fell around her head upon the pillow. Her eyelids and fine lips were twitching as she stirred in and out of conciousness, her brows furrowing in slight distress, as if she could sense Freddie's presence.

In spite of the disheartening state that she was in, like always, his heart still fluttered at the sight of her.

"Oh darling, I'm sorry I'm late..." He rushed over, grabbing her limp left hand that wasn't wired to any equipment or medicine.

"Your wife nodded off about an hour ago. She might wake up again soon" The nurse spoke from the sink in the corner of the room.

Freddie looked back at Monica as he lowered himself into the seat, sighing in disappointment, "She's been sleeping more and more these days, hasn't she?"

"She certainly has" The nurse took the vase back to the window sill, and started fixing the peonies, "there we go... I will leave you two in peace. I'll be outside"

"Thank you" Freddie murmured, lacing his fingers with hers as the nurse exited the unit.

Once he heard the door shut behind him, he was left alone with just the sound of the beeping of the heart monitor. He swore it was going faster than when it was only a minute before.

He chuckled to himself a bit as he watched her mouth curve slightly, sensing that she was stirring and about to wake up. He sat back up a little as her eyes fluttered open.

"Oh... you came..." Monica croaked meekly, "I was starting to think you wouldn't."

"I did... just in time," he smiled, "you know that I'd never skip a day without you"

He smoothed her hair back from her forehead, closing his watering eyes and leaning down to ever so gently kiss her with trembling lips.

A lump formed in his throat when he didn't feel her reciprocate. He could tell that her kisses were getting weaker day by day. Instead, her fingers tightened around his hand.

With great effort, her arm steadily reached up and carressed his cheek, her thumb wiping away the tears that fell, "Tell me about your day"

"I didn't do anything, just got a taxi straight here," He lied, then added, "Roshni was meant to come today, but she had a viewing for a property in Shepherd's Bush."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" her sapphire blue eyes finally twinkled, "Any word from our boy?"

"...I was talking to him last night. He says he's thinking of coming to London in a few days..." he whispered.

"My handsome boy..." She trailed off.

"Thank god he got your gnashers and not mine" he snivelled.

He swore he could feel the palm of her hand warm against his as a touch of pink returned to her aged, sunken cheeks. It was almost as if it was her own way of reacting to the good news. Noneletheless, there wasn't enough of her warmth or presence for Freddie to work with, for talking had taken more effort for her these days.

He continued to ramble, "I wish I'd come here earlier... I was longing to hear one of your stories, your memories... I loved the butterfly one. The one that you said you saw in Cornwall..."

"I love that one too..." she whispered, "Thank you for the beautiful flowers"

He looked across the room at the windowsill where the fresh flowers were, the sunlight shining through the transparent pink petals. The nurse was no florist, but the two species were still nicely arranged with one another. But the heart monitor beeped, spoiling the serenity in the room.

"You're welcome darling" he forced a smile for her, putting his free hand into his leather jacket, his fingers tensing as his hand was curled up in his pocket. That's when he felt a sharp edge of paper slicing into his balled-up knuckle.

He grit his teeth and hissed as he pulled his hand out of his pocket, and indeed there was a tear in his skin. It wasn't deep enough to draw blood, but he knew it was going to sting when exposed to air.

"What's wrong?" her pale face contorted in concern.

"I got a paper cut" His hand dug around for the culprit, his fingers catching the thick piece of card, and out came what was a polaroid picture and not a business card or pamphlet like he initially expected.

Despite how poignant everything was, Freddie had been feeling nostalgic just as much as Monica had, and like her he had found a joy in reminicing ever since she'd been spending time at the hospital, digging out his old albums and photographs.

"What is that in your hand?" she asked again.

It was the two of them the year they met, more youthful than they were now and getting intimate in the tourbus somewhere in Texas. Freddie didn't need the description scribbled at the bottom; he remembered the day well, for one morning in december they were Houston-bound and Queen Productions had to hire a new coach. He had forgotten whether it was John or Brian or Ratty who snapped them in a passionate kiss, or how he'd gotten hold of it. But when he stumbled across it he decided to keep it close.

And now that the young girl in the picture whose energy used to fill his head with stars was the mature woman by his side in a bed-ridden state, his stomach dropped just looking at the way they used to hold eachother.

"Oh... I remember that day," she let out a soft chuckle, "You were such a dish back then... still are"

"Speak for yourself" he muttered.

Her head turned away, "I don't know how you can look at me this way anymore"

"Oh, my darling, my delicate irish flower," He gushed, leaning down and pressing his forehead against hers, "I shouldn't have taken these times for granted..."

Her lips had formed into a frown once again, to which he pulled a tissue from the box of kleenex at her bedside to dry his tears, sitting in front of Monica's glasses and the framed photograph of her two children on their first ever day of school.

Her hand gave his a light squeeze, "You know how I hate hearing you talk this way... seeing you this way... you need to be strong for our children"

"You have to help her through the pain like you promised her all those years ago... when you took her away with you." he told himself, staring into space and unable to look at the fear in her eyes.

So, leaning close again and swallowing a few deep breaths, Freddie put the photograph back into his leather jacket and decided to do what he did best.

His hand smoothed over her forehead, pushing her stubborn brown baby hairs back from her hairline as he nuzzled the side of her face...

"Look into my eyes and you'll see I'm the only one..." his voice wobbled, "You've captured my love, stolen my heart," he spoke the last words, "...changed my life."

He glanced behind him, to the door where he heard staff outside in the corridor, but focused his attention back to the woman he loved, his thumb sliding across her knuckles tenderly as her eyelids drooped.

"Every time you make a move," He stammered as he sang, "You destroy my mind, and the way you touch, I lose control and shiver deep inside... You take my breath away..."

He paused for a moment, trying to remember the rest of the lyrics to 'the music box song' that he only performed at one world tour and as a lullaby to his children.

He skipped a whole chunk of verses, but he didn't care, "So please don't go...Don't leave me here all by myself, I get ever so lonely from time to time... I will find you, anywhere you go," He slid key, "I'll be right behind you, right until the ends of the Earth... I'll get no sleep till I find you to tell you..."

He hesitated again, then spoke into her ear, "I love you."

She had a peaceful smile on her face as she slipped out of conciousness and back to sleep.

As Freddie rested against the side of Monica's face lovingly, he never noticed the two butterflies, a Painted Lady and the Peacock, resting on the peonies and orchids in the vase on the window sill.

But the painted lady had to fly, and  slipped through the blinds and out the open window, leaving the peacock butterfly on his own as she flew over the rooftops and the trees lining the streets of South Kensington.

But she was from another place, and was only in England to migrate for a short period of time. Now it was autumn, and it was her time to return to where she belonged.

Author's note

I am sorry for how depressing and soon this chapter was. Because of what's going on with personal matters at the minute, this was an idea that I had in my head the past while but I still do hope that it makes you enjoy the positive moments of my fic, and that it makes you look forward to what is left of Freddie and Monica's life together in present time. You said yes when I asked, and if you'd like I am prepared to write more future fillers which are not too soon but not too far ahead of time like this one was. And hopefully A LOT more positive than this one, which may be taken down considered it was just an experiment.

Thank you all x