For well over a year, I've been having the exact same dream every few months. That in itself is irritating, but the worst part is that I always wake up before it ends.

"It'll be okay," dream-Roger assures me each time. "Trust me."

And I want it all to be okay. More than anything, I want to trust Roger. But all I can manage is: "I..."

That's it. That's all that comes out. And then I wake up, cursing my brain for refusing to reveal what I was supposed to say.

So imagine my horror tonight when, faced with the real-life Roger, the same thing happened. We'd been having the best conversation in a long time, half of which was unspoken: an undercurrent of glances and a swirl of shared emotions. I wanted to bare my soul to him at that moment, but I just couldn't get the words out.

Laying in bed an hour later, I replay the evening in my head, and then once more just for kicks. What did it all mean? And where does this leave me, aside from half-asleep, half-drunk, laying on a pillow wet with tears? And why didn't I listen to my gut so many years ago when it said that this thing with Roger would only lead to heartache?

My alarm is set for five hours from now, and I'm going to be a disaster tomorrow. Turning onto my side, I bunch the pillow under my cheek and force myself to close my eyes. I toss and turn for what feels like forever and, finally, drift off to sleep.

Except I don't quite make it til tomorrow before the banging on the door wakes me up. I open one eye groggily before my mum instinct kicks in, and I realize that Jesus Christ, it's half-three, and the noise will wake up Cadie.

Leaping out of bed, I run down the hallway to wrestle open the front door. Cold air rushes in, and I blink at the glare from the streetlight. Then, slowly, I register the blonde drummer standing in front of me. He's nervously tapping his thigh, his hair sticking up as if he's run his hand through it one too many times. He appears vaguely tormented and, at this very moment, looks so fucking hot.

We stand in silence, me in disbelief that he's here, and him apparently in shock that... well, that he's here.

"Could I come in?" he asks quietly.

"Uh, yeah, of course." I nod, opening the door wider so he can walk inside. I pause a moment before shutting the door firmly, and, as soon as I turn around, I bump into him.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize--

"I've been walking for hours," he interrupts, sounding a bit dazed.

His face is just barely visible in the dark, and I've no idea what's going on. I'm reasonably confident that this is just another dream, so I decide that there's no harm in asking.

"Is this real?" As soon as the words leave my mouth, I groan internally. Even if this is a dream, who asks that!?

"Is this...?" Roger replies, sounding confused.

"Nothing," I mumble, wiping a hand over my face in exasperation. "It's these dreams I keep having."

"You have dreams about me?" I can hear the smirk that's most assuredly on his face.

"What?! No! That's now what I said."

Roger takes a step towards me, then hesitates. "Could I...?

Without waiting for me to answer, he wraps his arms around me. My arms automatically encircle him, and his head rests familiarly on the top of mine. We stand like that for a long while, our breathing eventually synchronizing.

"Why were you wandering around in the cold?" I finally ask.

"Just thinking." Roger's voice is raspy, as if something is caught in his throat.

"About?"

Roger disengages from me and starts to pace back and forth in the darkened foyer.

"Freddie said..." he runs a hand through his hair as if agitated. "And then John... and I guess I'm wondering...."

He stops, looking at me curiously. "I mean, obviously, I, uh... sorry, my mind is all jumbled, I guess what I'm trying to say is..."

He reaches up to rub his collarbone, his eyes on the floor. "They all say..." he mutters, so quiet that I barely catch it.

"Roger, what are you--"

Before I can finish, Roger crosses the foyer and grabs my hand.

"Can I just--"

The next thing I know, his lips are against mine, and my arms are around him. It's been years since we were this close, and suddenly I realize that I've missed it every day. How the fuck have I gone so long without being with this close to him?

Just as suddenly as he started the kiss, he pulls away. We're both breathing heavily, and Roger rests his forehead against mine and closes his eyes.

"The thing is," he murmurs, sounding almost hoarse. "Freddie says that we're still in love with each other."

He pauses, opens his eyes. "And I thought, no, that can't be right. What an absurd idea, right?"

All of a sudden, I can't breathe, and my mind is swirling. My first question is, has it been established that Roger being here is, in fact, real? If this were a dream, would I know? Or would I wake up crushed and hopeless? But, if this is, in fact, a dream, then I'm driving myself to the loony bin in the morning.

I close my eyes, then open them again, half-expecting Roger to disappear like a mirage. But he's still here, and he's watching me anxiously as he continues.

"So, I left the party, and then I walked at least three miles---"

A horn blares from the street, causing me to look over at the window. When I look back at Roger, his face is briefly illuminated by the headlights of the passing car, and something about the way he's looking at me breaks me.

Cutting him off mid-sentence, I grab his shirt to pull him close. Our lips crash together almost violently; my hands tremble as I try to undo the buttons on his shirt. He's quick on the uptake:  his fingers briefly tug at the hem of my oversized shirt, and then, next thing I know, he's pulled it over my head. Just as quickly, his shirt is off, and I'm working on his belt.

"Sky, are you sure--"

"Shut up," I say, looking up at him with a small smile. "Unless you want me to stop."

Roger groans in response. "That's pretty much the last thing that I want you to do." Tugging my hand, he pulls me towards the bedroom. It's even darker in there, and I can only see his silhouette as he kicks off his shoes and jeans, and soon we're both standing in our underwear.

"This is mad," he whispers.

I nod. "I know."

His hands reach for my face, cupping my cheeks so that he can bring his lips to cover mine. We stumble in the dark to the bed, me first and then him. And then he's above me and then inside me, and I think that if this is a dream, then it'll be the end of me.

"I--"

There it is again. Godammit. My throat feels like it's filled with sand, and it's almost painful to get the words out.

"I love you." 

I'm not sure if I've actually said the words out loud until I realize that he's stopped moving. It's a long, agonizing pause, and my body screams for him to continue.

"Say it again," he says, his voice hoarse. I practically melt, remembering the same exchange from so many years ago.

"I love you. But if you don't feel the same--"

"Sky, I never stopped loving you. Don't you know that?" He says this as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, and I'm crazy to think otherwise.

I stare up, wishing I could see his eyes. With a low groan, Roger bends down to kiss me just before he continues to move inside me, and it's only a few moments before we both reach the highest of highs.

We're a blurry tangle of arms and legs, too exhausted to think, much less speak. I drift in and out of sleep, my dreams mocking me only to wake up securely in Roger's arms.

"What does this all mean?" I whisper into the night, feeling Roger's arms tighten against me.

"I don't know," he replies quietly.

"Will it all be okay?" I ask, but sleep consumes me before I can hear his reply.

The next thing I hear is my alarm blaring next to my face. Opening my eyes slowly, I squint at the early morning light invading my bedroom. I'm disoriented for a long moment, wondering why I had so many drinks at Freddie's party.

Then, all my memories come back to me with a whoosh, and I bolt upright. Turning my head, I half-expect Roger to be there with his arm curled under a pillow. But the bed is empty, the sheets next to me cool.

The alarm is still beeping, which has woken Cadie up. I lean over to turn it off, feeling dazed like I'm still in a dream. Cadie's whinging starts to escalate, so I get out of bed, wincing as my bare feet hit the floor.

I walk towards the door, pausing at the entrance to the room. I turn around once more, looking for even a hint that any of last night was real. But I see nothing, feel nothing, so I pivot and walk towards Cadie's room.

As predicted, the entire day is a disaster. I still can't shake the feeling that I'm stuck in a dream. I'm late dropping off Cadie at nursery, earning a stern talking-to from the teacher. I'm late arriving at work, but, thankfully, I'm the boss now, so there's no one to yell at me. That doesn't stop the residents from looking at each other quizzically when I forget what I'm saying mid-sentence, and certainly doesn't stop the head nurse from commenting pointedly that I'm uncharacteristically off my game.

I manage to make it through my shift and run to the Tube, just barely making it on before the doors close. My mind is a maelstrom, and all I can think is that I have to break things off with Pierre. He's a good man, and he doesn't deserve someone like me.

I'm so tired that I fall asleep on the Tube heading home. I'm drifting in and out of sleep when I hear the familiar announcement that Baker Street is next. Forcing my eyes open, forcing my body upright, forcing my feet to carry me onto the escalator and through the bustling streets and up to my apartment.

The first person I see when I open the door is Marla, our nanny. "I'm so sorry, I know I'm late--"

"Mummy!" I hear from the other room, causing me to drop my briefcase in the foyer and hurry into the living room.

"Hello, my darl--"

My voice falters mid-sentence when I see Roger sitting on the sofa surrounded by stickers and crayons and a coloring book. Cadie hurtles herself towards me, wrapping herself around my leg.

"Daddy's here!" she says excitedly, looking up at me.  I reach down to pick her up, nuzzling her hair if only to stall for time because, honestly, I've no idea what's going on right now.

"Hi, Sky," Roger says quietly from his perch across the room. He walks hesitantly over and pauses in front of me. We stare at each other, both of us ignoring Cadie's chattering.

"Hi," I finally reply. I place Cadie back on the ground, and she runs off to find Marla.  Roger leans forward and quickly kisses my cheek. Was that a friendly kiss? Was that an I-remember-last-night kiss? I don't know, and I want to scream.

"Is it okay that I'm here?" he asks softly so the nanny doesn't overhear.

"Yeah," I reply unsteadily. "Yeah, of course."

I walk into the kitchen to give myself a moment to think. Cadie and Marla are singing the pajama song as they start to prepare for bed in the bedroom. I just need a minute to collect my thoughts and put my game face on. 

"Hi." Roger's arms wrap around my torso from behind, pulling me back against him. His lips are next to my ear, his voice soft. "I'm sorry to just show up like this. I've been going crazy all day."

"Well, this is Cadie's house, so you're welcome here anyti--" I'm rambling and, quite honestly, feel like an awkward teenager.

Roger sighs and loosens his grip. "So that's how you're going to play it?"

He's about to turn away when I turn around and reach out to grasp his forearm. "I'm glad you're here."

His eyes light up, and he looks at me almost bashfully. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," I reply, taking a step closer. I put my palm on his cheek and lean in. "I am."

"Well, then I think that--" his words are cut off by Marla, who is back in the kitchen and probably wondering what the hell is going on. She's usually the go-between during our feuds, so she's seen the worst of both of us.

"Dr. Evans... and, er, Mr. Taylor... Cadence is ready for bed, so I'm going to--"

Roger and I jump apart guiltily, probably making the situation look much worse than it was.

"Marla, thanks so much, oh, gosh, it's getting late, thanks for staying past your usual time--" I start to babble on as I place a hand on her back, guiding her towards the door. I wait patiently as she collects her things, and she definitely thinks that I've lost my marbles.

Which maybe I have.

Hearing silence in the apartment, I walk into Cadie's room to find her curled up with Roger in bed reading a book. I stand in the doorway, watching them until, after a few moments, Roger looks up and flashes me a grin before continuing the story. It doesn't take long for Cadie to fall asleep, and Roger manages to extricate himself from beneath her.

"I didn't mean to barge in," he says as soon as we're out of her room.

"You're not barging in," I reply. "I've got a fascinating night planned:  leftover takeaway and Coronation Street."

"Could--" He pauses to rub his collarbone before continuing. "Could I join?"

I raise an eyebrow. "You want to stay?"

"How else am I going to find out if Emily figures out that her husband is already married?"

My eyebrow rises even higher. "You watch Coronation Street?"

Roger nods in earnest. "Never miss an episode. Marla tapes them for me when I'm out of the country."

"Since when?"

"Since..." Roger looks up at the ceiling and runs a hand through his hair. "Maybe a year and a half? Ronnie turned me onto it."

I fight to hide a grin, but the image of Roger sitting around watching Elsie and Bet fighting over Dan is just too much.

"What?" he says, a smile threatening to break out on his face too.

"Nothing," I reply, smothering a giggle. "It just doesn't seem very rock-n-roll at all."

"Shh," he replies, putting a finger over his lips. "Just don't tell anyone."

And so that's how, an hour later, I find myself sitting on the sofa next to Roger Taylor fighting over moo shu pork and debating plot points.

"That motherfucker!" Roger explodes when it's finally revealed that Arnold is, in fact, a bigamist.

"It was obvious from the start," I point out, causing him to take one of my chopsticks and throw it at me jokingly.

"What?!" I reply. "It was so obvious. That poem he wrote her!? C'mon, Rog, don't pretend like you didn't see this coming."

We banter back and forth, just like old days. And it's lovely. As the credits roll, Roger stands and offer his hands to pull me up. After a moment, I take a step towards him and bury my head against his chest.

"What does this all mean, Sky?" he asks, repeating my question from the night before.

"I don't know," I reply honestly. Can two people be in love but have too much emotional baggage?

Roger pulls away but keeps my hands in his. "I'm flying to Munich tomorrow so we can finish up a track with Mack. But I'll be back in a week, and uh, I was wondering if we could... go to dinner?"

His voice gets fainter as he nears the end of the sentence, and a blush creeps up to color his cheeks.

"Are you asking me on a date?" My voice isn't much more than a whisper either.

"I think so, yeah."

It's small, but it's a start. And, let's be honest, we usually do better with small.

"I'd like that," I reply.

Roger leans forward to kiss my cheek, lingering for a long, heady second. "Goodnight, Skylar," he says before collecting his coat and softly shutting the front door behind him.