Sorry for the overdue update. Part of the reason to blame is because, in February, I went to London on a last minute solo trip. While I was there I paid a visit to a certain house...

Did I feel Freddie's presence (or ghost)? I don't think so, but as you can see it was a beautiful day and the trees were still mostly bare which only enhanced the surreal and ethereal serenity that I felt standing in front of the iconic door, which is now black and no longer forest green. Little did I know that two weeks later to the day I took this photograph, news would become public about Garden Lodge being put on the market. I just hope that the new owners will treat the house with the respect it deserves. For all we know, maybe a Queen fan with enough money in the bank will snatch it up...

(P.S. I also stayed in the hotel which, incidentally, hosted Johnny and Roshni's school prom in the Smells Like Teen Spirit chapters. A happy little accident, I promise ;D)

Saturday 10th January, Chelsea and Westminster, around 9:30pm

"Bloody hell, Kash was right about ordering a taxi..."

Freddie Mercury strode into the entrance of the Chelsea and Westminster hospital, throwing down the hood of his dripping wet coat from the bucketing rain outside.

His aviator sunglasses protecting his identity were fogged up with perspiration, but he still managed to see the elevators that Monica mentioned in her instructions given to him over the phone.

"'When you get out onto the first floor, take the corridor left of the escalators in front of you and look out for Apollo Ward'... fuck, what does that even mean?!"

Her words replayed in Freddie's head, but he was too pumped up with adrenaline to visualise them properly, and was basing his co-ordination on parts of the hospital he'd already been to.

He got in the first lift he saw, and even if it didn't take long for it to reach the next level Freddie willed it to go faster.

There was a dinging sound, and the elevator doors swung open to reveal a waiting health care worker standing by with an empty wheelchair.

"Excuse me?" Freddie asked as he stepped out, taking his glasses off to wipe them dry, "Which corridor goes to the Apollo ward?"

"It's on the wing at the southeast end, this only goes southwest." the worker answered.

"Oh fuck!" He leapt out of the lift and turned left past them both, realising he'd made a mistake.

"This is Elevator D, you need to take Elevator B if you want to get there quick!" The healthcare worked called out after him.

But all that Freddie cared about was getting there, not how fast it was going to take...

*****

Monica glanced at the clock on the wall. It had been at least twenty minutes since she phoned Garden Lodge, not even a heartbeat, and he still wasn't here.

"He's probably getting a taxi or Phoebe to drive him," she thought, "Even in Queen, he's always been the tardy one..."

But as more moments passed, and the further the hourly hand on the clock turned, her disappointment grew.

"He isn't coming," Monica convinced, reclining in her seat and pulling the blanket back over herself, "Maybe I freaked him out and the more he thought about it he changed his-"

There was a click of the door handle turning.

The darkened silhouette standing in the door was too dressed too bulkily in winter layers be a night nurse in scrubs, or a doctor, heaving and panting heavily as his raincoat started forming a puddle on the floor.

Freddie and Monica's eyes met in the dark for a second, which felt like much longer, before he laid his eyes on their son lying unconscious in the bed, bandaged and wired up.

She was the first one to greet, "Hi."

"...Hello." He simply replied.

Monica then heard a pitter patter sound on the linoleum that wasn't there before.

"Are you wet?" She heard herself ask.

"I ran here in the rain," Freddie started unzipping his rain jacket, followed by his white and blue Adidas windbreaker underneath, "Seemed like a good idea at the time but it's simply cats and dogs out there."

"Really? That's not like you." Monica awkwardly remarked.

"Actually," he casually corrected her, "At school I once cycled to Poona and won trophies for sprinting."

"Where even is Poona? Somewhere far away, that's for sure" she pondered.

Another tense moment of silence between them followed.

"You should take your coat off before you catch a cold." She advised him.

Freddie let his wet garment slide off of his shoulders, and he took one step closer and asked, "When are they moving him to Ormond street?"

"They say before ten tomorrow morning."

"...And where's he getting the new kidney from? Who, I mean?" He purred, loosely folding his coat in his arms.

Monica took a deep breath, and answered, "Me."

"What to you mean 'you'?" Freddie asked in bewilderment.

"He's getting my kidney, Fred. I'm going to be under the knife too."

"Goddamn it, Monica. Why did you have to outdo me?!" He spat, hastily starting to unfold his coat again.

"I'm not trying to outdo anyone!" Monica defended.

Freddie was now looping his hand back through one of the armholes, "Is that why you invited me here? So that you could gloat about how brilliant a parent you are?!"

"No! I wasn't thinking about anything or anyone but our son's life when I made my decision!" She fired back.

Freddie was about to turn on his heels and leave, but he let his coat slip back off.

"You know,  I felt the same about donating blood to our son. It was the most natural thing in the world to me." He told her matter-of-factly.

Monica breathed out sharply, "Well then, let's not make 'which one of us can donate the most of their own vital organs to Johnny' into a competition, alright? For once, let's just do the right thing and co-operate instead of being crap parents."

Freddie's lips curled was he kept his mouth closed. He found the first sentence funnier than he should've, but knew she was right.

He noticed the way in which she sat comfortably in the chair by the bed, dressed in flannel pyjamas with a blanket slumped over her knees.

"Is that the way you've been sleeping?"

Monica explained, "I'm scared of letting go of Johnny's hand at night in case he-"

She stopped herself. She didn't want to say it.

"In case of what?" Freddie coaxed.

"In case he dies." Monica reluctantly let out.

He winced at the possibility, noticing the sofa by the wall in the corner of his eye.

"Why not just bring the sofa over to here?" Freddie pointed to it.

"The doctors and nurses need to access Johnny's bed in case of an emergency, Freddie. If you just saw the way Johnny convulsed the other night, you'd agree."

"But you've injured your neck, darling," he cajoled, "You shouldn't be sleeping on a damn tasteless wooden chair."

Monica gave in, getting up and walking around the bed and catching one end of the sofa whilst Freddie caught the other.

They adjusted it so that it there was a small gap between them and their son. When they were finished, he stood at the headboard waiting for Monica's next move.

"You can sit nearest him at the top if you'd like." She told him.

Freddie wordlessly shuffled in the gap between the sofa and the bed, and situated himself at the top end so that he was now sitting by Johnny's head.

Monica took her blanket from the chair, and stretched across the bed to hand it to him, "Here."

Freddie starred at it blankly, "You want me to stay over?"

"That's why I wanted you to come over, to spend time with our son." Monica told him, still holding out the blanket.

"I thought it was because you missed me!" He ached to say.

But Freddie was still glad more than anything to be given the opportunity to be close to his son and spend time with him in that moment, taking the blanket from her without arguing and setting it on the armrest beside him.

He then suddenly drew his arms back, "What's the hell is that?"

"What's what?"

"That weird, white rat thing that's staring back at me!" He said with a shudder.

Monica peered over, and saw the Womble resting under Johnny's limp arm with its large, plastic eyes.

"If it's too distracting I can take it away." She offered with a sigh.

"Please!" Freddie answered without hesitation.

Monica reached over to pry the soft toy out, and placed it by the window sill next to the rest of Johnny's gifts, making sure to place it down so that it was staring out the window and not at them.

Freddie watched as she did so, marvelling at all the greetings cards and presents which he hadn't noticed until now, all waiting to be read and opened. The fax that Phoebe had sent out on his behalf had reached more people than he had realised.

He thought aloud, "Our boy has so much love, doesn't he?"

"He does." Monica agreed.

Freddie then trailed off sadly, "More love than I can ever show him in a lifetime..."

"Don't say that."

"But I've been so awful him," his head hung low in regret, "If I could say I was sorry then-"

"You can." She interrupted.

Freddie lifted his head, "What?"

"You don't have to allow Johnny to believe those things. Tell him."

"What's the use?" He said in defeat, "Johnny's still a child, and you don't hurt your children's feelings because they'll remember it forever."

Monica instinctively walked around the bed, and sat down next to him.

"Listen to me, Fred," she told him seriously, "Would you rather that Johnny lived and never forgave you, or would you rather he died believing that you never truly loved him?"

Freddie's chiselled face contorted into a mixture of both pain and remorse as his lower lip wobbled and tears welled in his dark eyes. It was the most awful expression Monica had ever seen on him, but the man needed to hear the truth as well as tell it himself before it was too late.

His hands crept cautiously closer to Johnny's form, and he flenched when he felt how cold the skin on his arm was, but that didn't stop him:

"Johnny Amran Bulsara, my only son..." he began, smoothing his trembling hand through the tufts of Johnny's brown hair, "I hope you can hear me right now... and if you can't, then I hope you're not in too much pain or having any bad dreams or anything like that."

"Just talk to him as if he were awake and listening to you. It's easier than imagining his suffering." Monica told him gently.

"Anyway," Freddie softly continued, "I never told you this, but I watched your play with Auntie Paula on Christmas Eve. For a boy your age to take on all that singing and dancing and acting all at once, it's incredible. You made a perfect Peter Pan... and when you sang Uncle Brian's song, when the fairy died or whatever, your performance actually moved Paula and I to tears."

"He did?!" Monica sounded in disbelief.

"Now I'm sitting here beside you, with all of this plastic shit going in and out of your bruised body, worlds away from the boy I know..." He mused, "it's far too dreadful seeing you this way, wondering whether or not you really are going to become the boy who never grew up."

The words, "I'm sorry I made it happen" lingered on Monica's trembling lips as she held back her own guilt for the car accident.

Freddie carried on, tenderly rubbing Johnny's bandaged head, "Watching you on stage in the lead role, and remembering the way you earned money for Live Aid on your own initiative when I refused to perform in it...  those moments made me in awe of the fact that you are my son and I made you, and that you're a part of me. The moment when you made me your father, when I first held you and your sister in my arms in that hospital in Geneva after you were born, I couldn't imagine the life you were both going to give me, and all of the adventures we were going to have... Even with the nappies, the tantrums, the pranks, and the way you'd run through the house screaming every morning and waking us up, I'd give anything to have those moments back again, to have you back with us... because the last four days without you and your mother and sister have been the worst days of my life."

Before Monica knew it, she was rubbing circles into Freddie's upper back. Not once did he flinch or resist her touch.

His voice started to crack, "I know I don't deserve you as my son... but if you wake up, I promise things will be the way they used to be. I'll teach you quick songs on the piano again, just like before. I'll play with you and your sister more often, and kiss you goodnight before you go to sleep. I will love you and cherish you the way you both deserve to be loved and cherished. I will be there for you when you need me and I'll never, ever call you stupid or try to leave you and your sister again..."

Freddie finally broke down, pressing his wet face against the side of his comatose son's head.

"P-Please don't fly away to Neverland, Johnny. Don't fly away just yet," He begged through his tears, "Y-Your mother and I, neither of us can handle losing you."

His sorrow was contagious yet unbearable to watch, so much so that Monica could no longer conceal her own anguish.

Finally, he blubbered, "I-I love you, Johnny..."

Monica tearfully threw her arms around Freddie's shuddering, weeping figure. They sunk into the sofa, and lay there crying at their son's bedside for a good minute, too overcome with their own grief to stay strong for him any longer. But the longer they stayed wrapped in each other's arms again, melted into each other's warmth, the lesser their sobs and the calmer they felt.

"Here..." Monica dried her face with her flannel sleeve, and sat up a little to lift the blanket back up off the armrest.

Freddie watched through blurred eyes as she draped it across the both of them, and took his hand in hers. Monica settled back down on her side so that she was facing their son and Freddie was spooning her. He then allowed her to lace his arm beneath the crook of her neck and stretch it across to the bed.

"There," she whispered, sandwiching Johnny's small hand beneath his and hers, "now he'll sense that his mum and dad are both here for him."

Freddie instinctively moulded himself behind her, holding her close to him as her other hand squeezed Johnny's hand tight.

"What is going on?" he pondered, unable to read the situation, "Are we on good terms, or are we just mutually parenting our son together?"

"Freddie?" Monica interrupted his train of thought.

"Yes?" He noised in anticipation behind her.

"...Do you think that you can sing him a lullaby?" She shyly croaked.

Freddie pricked up, "Like what?"

"I've been singing your tune from the music box that your parents had made, the one that was on A Day At The Races... but I've forgotten the words so I've had to hum it to him." Monica admitted.

Freddie instantly knew which song she meant.

"You Take My Breath Away? But I only remember parts of it."

"It doesn't matter," she said tiredly, "just sing what you know or remember."

He then asked, "Why do you want me to sing it anyway when there are many other songs like You are my Sunshine, Over the Rainbow, Baa Baa Black Sheep...?"

He felt Monica's body shake in his arms as she giggled slightly, "Because, to me, it's always been about us and what we made with our love... our children."

Freddie drew in a deep breath, and gently began to croon:

"Look into my eyes and you'll see, I'm the only one... you've captured my love, stolen my heart, changed my life...."

He paused, having forgotten the next verse, and jumped to the chorus:

"Every time you make a move, you destroy my mind. And the way you touch, I lose control and shiver deep inside... you take my breath away..."

All the while, Monica let out a long yawn and she felt her eyelids grow heavier...

Freddie carried on quietly singing for the next few minutes or so, smoothing his index finger up and down Johnny's thumb as he did so:

"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... I'll be right behind you, right until the ends of the earth... I'll get no sleep 'til I find you to tell you when I found you... I love you..."

When he finished he sat up a little, and looked down. Monica's eyelids and lips twitched, for she was somewhere halfway between awake and asleep.

Freddie saw that as a sign to stretch up and pull the light switch for the lamp above the bed, and the room was plunged into darkness.

He then closed his own eyes and buried his face into the back of Monica's neck, but it was difficult to get comfortable. There was a padded collar around her neck that was in the way of her warm, soft skin he had missed pressing his face to. And the sweet musk lingering in her dark wavy hair that he missed smelling every night before he went to sleep had been overpowered by the same clean, sickly antiseptic smell that filled his nostrils each time he'd entered the hospital.

This moment should've been bliss, but the longer he spent alone with his thoughts the more agitated he became.

"Monica?" he said her name in the dark.

"...Mmph?" she sleepily noised.

Freddie hesitated for several seconds, then broached, "...When you said you missed me on the phone earlier, did you really mean it?"

There was no reply.

"Monica?"

Still, there was no sound except for the sound of her rhythmic breaths and Johnny's life support machines.

An ache grew in the pit of Freddie's stomach when he realised that his singing voice, his most successful asset that earned him fame and fortune and changed the course of his life, had lulled her to sleep at the wrong time.

"I just want you to know that I still love you Monica," he quivered in her ear, trying to keep himself from choking up, "I love you more than life itself, and no matter what happens, even if we give it another go and it still doesn't work out, I'm willing to be the parent you need me to be, for their sake..."

He leaned over to press his trembling lips on her cheekbone, which was dry with tears and still pink from where his hand struck, and then he lifted Johnny's hand closer and kissed his knuckles before laying back down.

He felt too conflicted and heartbroken to stay awake, yet too weary to cry anymore, and by now the humming and beeps of Johnny's life support machines in the background were blending in with the noise in his mind.

Before long, Freddie drifted off towards his own slumber, uttering some final words.

"Goodnight, my darlings..."