Sal here, letting you know that this one shot may not make you happy.  At all.  So, if you do choose to continue, please remember, this is a non canon, so it's not at all a part of the real story.  However, this was written expressly so that you guys might understand that this non canon storyline, where she stays and everything is peaches and cream between these little lovecats, is not all it's cracked up to be- and that not everything is as it seems.  Life isn't perfect, Life isn't fair- not even in this great big stupid fanfiction monstrosity. XD

For the record, I do not see him this way, I do not believe he was this kind of person.  But lots of people do.  Which is sad.  But hey...

If you still want to see what I mean, then read on- but remember, you have been warned!

(Life Hack #39: Reading this one-shot while envisioning Rami Malek as Freddie and Allan Leech as Paul Prenter actually makes this short story simultaneously easier to believe and to tolerate.  I can't imagine why.)

Freddie

21 April, 1978

It hit me the moment I opened my eyes that morning- or at least, when I attempted to.  The Belgian sunlight beaming through the windows burned them before my lids even had a chance to part all the way, temporarily distracting me from the pang in my heart- the first and weakest of many stronger ones to come. 

Very slowly I sat up in bed, rubbing my face.  My head was killing me, as was practically every other muscle in my body.  Cracking my neck, I let out a soft little moan of discomfort and blindly reached to the side for the telephone to ring my wife good morning as was my habit this tour-

And touched a bare, muscular forearm instead.

My pulse quickened, stomach wrenching, guilt overtaking me like a tidal wave.  I whirled to look, suddenly having the strength to open my eyes- only to wish I could tear them out of my sockets and unsee the big blond chap I had just found lying there beside me.

Oh, my God.  What have I done.

As if I didn't know.

The night before had passed in such a violent haze.  I remembered blasting through our second and last show in Rotterdam, then boarding the plane not an hour later back to Brussels where we had set up a last-minute third show because demand for us there was so high.  By this point I was whacked, and drunk, and lonely- the third thing apparently so obvious to Paul that he suggested I go clubbing, meet someone, and have a good time. 

Now, I did in fact turn him down, the first time at least, but by the time we had landed and were on our way to the hotel, he had convinced me to at least go grab one more drink at this one "intimate little place" he had discovered the last time we were in town.  It was there I met this fellow, there he told me his name was Antoine- and there I asked him a few drinks later to come back with me to spend the night. 

Somehow, discussion of the ring that had been wrapped round my finger for the last four and a half months, and my very pregnant wife I had waiting at home, never transpired once, nor did so much as the thought of them cross my mind while Antoine and I did what we did.  But I was thinking of them now- and regretting everything that had happened the night before. 

Desperately I tried to assure myself, I'll never see him again, I'll never do this again.  This was a one-time thing.  If I don't tell her, she'll never know, and this will just blow over.  This happens all the time anyway with rock and roll stars, one night stands while they're away from their families.  I'm certainly not the first, and I won't be the last.

Problem was, that didn't fix it.  I had still cheated on the woman I married- and with a man at that.  I loved her, I loved her with everything that composed me; regardless of how commonplace infidelity was in my line of work, I had still betrayed her, my sweet wife.  She deserved to know that I had been a fool, and that I was sorry.  Oh, God, was I sorry.  When I would do the actual apologizing was unclear, however- but I set in my mind that I would, and soon.  Very soon.

But first, let's take care of this before it gets any worse.

So, I jostled Antoine's arm.  The man stirred, his blue-green eyes fluttering open and wrinkling at the corners as he smiled.  "Goedemorgen, knap."

"Yes, yes, good morning, yes.  I had a lovely night and all, but I'm in a terrible hurry today, I wonder if you wouldn't mind getting dressed and pushing off as soon as possible?"

Antoine blinked at me, his eyes hazy with sleep and confusion.  It was clear he didn't have the faintest idea what I had, so I cleared my throat and did the next natural thing: I insulted his intelligence.

I pointed at him.  "You."  I pointed at his jeans, laying in a heap on the floor.  "Get dressed."  I pointed toward the door.  "Get out.  Ja?"

The man's face, handsome though it was, seemed to sag a little as slowly he nodded.  "Ja."

Thinking that we were on the same page, I leapt out of bed and headed for the bathroom, Antoine rustling the sheets as he too slid his feet to the floor. It's nothing personal, darling, really, but there's no time, I told him silently. Julia might call at any second and I can't possibly waste another minute playing charades to make the situation clear to you. 

Just thinking of her name sent bolts of guilt through my veins.  Julia, my little stray kitten. Julia, who had literally traded everything she held dear, everything by which she defined herself, in exchange for me and my love.  Julia, who trusted me, believed in me, married me, would give birth to our first child in less than a month-

Suddenly there was a knock at the door, interrupting my pity party.  Drawing on my dressing gown, I opened the door and let Paul in. 

"Good morning," he said cheerily.  "Nice night, then?"

I ignored the question.  "Listen.  I need you to get your friend a cab, get him as far away from here as possible, as fast as possible, I never want to see him again."

Paul looked hurt.  "I'm sorry he didn't please you-"

"It's got nothing to do with that, Paul.  It's Julia."

"What's Julia?"

"You know.  The woman I married?"

He didn't so much as blink.  "What's this got to do with her?"

"That's not funny, Paul.  You know damn well what it has to do with her!"

"Yes, of course I do," he chuckled.  "I'll take care of it."

I didn't like the curve of his lips as he said this. "What does that mean exactly?"

"Oh, Freddie, don't you trust me?" he asked. 

I blinked.  "Of course I do, but-"

"I'll make sure she never has even the slightest suspicion, don't you worry," Paul purred, rubbing my back consolingly.  "Now relax, you've got another show tonight and you don't need something like this distracting you."

"Mm," I sighed.  About that much, Paul was right.  Even I told myself as much, however, I couldn't unwind the knots in which my body was tied.  All I wanted in this moment was time alone, so I could wallow in my stupidity, curse my thoughtlessness, weep my remorse. 

But while there were still prying eyes watching me, I had to keep a straight face and a cool tongue.  "I'm going to wash up now, so I need you to dial room service.  Have them send up some tea and breakfast."

"Yes, Freddie."

Antoine by now was fully dressed, and had strode up to my side, waiting patiently.  I looked up at him, almost asked what he was standing around for only to remember, Ah, yes, almost forgot.

"Just a moment," I said through gritted teeth.  One look at Paul, and he immediately produced my checkbook, which I took and filled in one with some ungodly amount, tore it out and handed it to the Belgian.  He took it in his hands, squinted at it almost like he was disappointed I wasn't giving him more- although it could have been as simple an explanation as, he merely couldn't read.  Who knows, and who cares.

"That should be more than satisfactory," I hissed. "Now go."

The man muttered some sort of farewell, then stumbled toward the door which Paul had accidentally left open, closing the door behind him.

Shaking, I sat down at the foot of the bed.  Paul picked up the phone, called room service as I had instructed him.  No sooner had he hung up the phone when there was another knock.

"Who's there?" Paul called.

A string of garbled Dutch seeped in through the door.  Feeling my guilt morph into anger, I stomped toward the door, found Antoine standing there.

"What do you want now?" I snapped.

He made a few hand motions and spoke insistently; apparently he had forgotten his jacket.  So I went and found it laying there by the window, passed it to him through the doorway, and sent him off a second time. 

"Right, now I'm having my bath," I whispered.  "If that fucker knocks but one more time, you have my permission to call the po-"

But then there was a third knock.  By now, I was ready to bash his head in.  My face flushed, jaw clenched, fists tightened.  This guy's like fucking herpes, I said to myself.  Just when you think he's gone...

Throwing caution to the wind, I flung open the door and roared, "My God, JUST GO AW-"

The enraged scream expired there in my throat a split second later.  My eyes widened, and my heart burst as I looked upon the face not of a hulking Belgian man- but a pale, lovely girl with a two rings on her left hand, which rested just under a swell so tight and round she seemed about ready to pop.

Oh... God.  Oh, God, please, no...

Julia didn't say anything right off.  She didn't have to.  The look on her face was damning enough.  She must have seen Antoine blunder out of my room, seen me pass him the jacket, perhaps even noticed the fucking check I had signed in my own unmistakable hand as he passed her by. 

I spoke first- or rather, I whispered first.  "...Hello, darling."

Her eyes were moist- but her voice, impossibly flat.  "I," she managed, "hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"O-o-of course not. Come in."

"No, thank you."

"All right."  A deafening pause.  "What- are you- um-"

"What am I doing here?" she finished for me.  "Yes, that would be the next question.  I, uh- suppose I wanted to- well- you had said so many times in the phone calls you made, how much you- wished I was there, how you were lonely and you wished you could see me instead of just hear me- and so, I - guess I kind of wanted to surprise you this morning, see you before-" she sniffed- "before you went off and played this show because I - missed you too."

I was speechless.  However guilty and horrible I felt before, I was more than ready to jump out of a window now.

Paul moved into view over my shoulder; her eyes drifted towards him, hardening.  "But, it would seem- that- you didn't need me as much as you let on after all."

I swallowed hard.  "Oh, angel-"

"Don't you dare call me that," she hissed.

I shut up right away, knees trembling- but when she spoke next, her voice had chilled once again.  "Anyway, uh- I don't want to be third wheel- or fourth, or fifth, or sixth, however many people it is you got in there-"

I reached for her.  "Julia, please-"

"So I'm just, uh- going to go now, leave you to it," Julia went on over me, moving out of range.  "Don't bother calling tonight- or tomorrow night, I - shall we say, will not be available, so- don't waste your time." 

"Darling, please, I'm sorr-"

"Honey, no.  No, you're not."

"Yes I am, dammit!" I snapped.

"No, you're not- because this isn't the last time, and for all I know, it may not even be the first.  It's going to happen again, and again, and again; we might as well just see this for what it is.  So-if anyone is sorry, or should be sorry, it's me." 

She didn't even blink at the tears streaming from my eyes as she turned and walked away.  "Have a great show."