Julia

I sprang into action. Although I'd asked Danny to give the house a quick once-over, I brushed past Freddie to make sure everything was shipshape downstairs. "Trust, but verify," I always say.

Freddie followed me about halfway down. "Are we expecting someone?"

"Ah, yes, I failed to mention it, but Stuart said he was going to stop by tonight," I replied. As I had expected, the couch pillows were still smushed up and sagging from where I'd slept two nights ago. Stuart often would drift down to the living room and sip his drink while we would chat, so I went over to fluff them up some, disturbing a very comfortably-lounging Fry in the process. But he didn't mind; all he did was wag his tail and jump up to greet me.

"Who's Stuart again?" His voice was too flat for me to determine whether or not he was being tongue-in-cheek.

"He's Stuart!" I said, distractedly rubbing Fry's back. "You know, Stuart?"

"Her boyfriend," Danny called from above. Funny, I still had such a hard time with that word. My own son could say it with less effort than I.

"Oh, yes," Freddie sighed, faintly smirking. "I'm sorry, dear, that's just such a forgettable name."

I looked up. "Well, do me a favor, please, and don't tell him that," I quipped. "He's touchy enough when people don't pronounce his last name correctly."

He arched his brow. "Is he?"

Before I could answer, or realize I'd just made a huge mistake in even telling Freddie such a thing, the door bell rang three times in rapid succession. "Danny, would you please get the door?"

"No, you go ahead and answer it, I'll fluff these fellows here," Freddie said, coming closer. "I can at least do that."

"Thank you, Freddie," I said.

"It's no bother whatever," he replied.

Even though the past couple of days had been absolute wild cards as far as Freddie's emotions were concerned, I really was glad to see him that evening. Before I hustled back upstairs, I leaned over and kissed his cheek.

His eyes widened with genuine surprise, looking me up and down as though he was asking me, "Are you off your head?"

"That's for the flowers," I said softly. Foolishly I marveled to myself, I can't believe he remembered.

Freddie blinked, started to smile, then proceeded to pop my balloon. "Well, actually, they're some of my favorites, too, so I mean- um- and they were sort of for the house, as opposed to-"

"I know, but thank you anyway, they're lovely." I smiled and turned away, hoping he couldn't see how stupid I now felt, how idiotic to almost assume he had bought them for me. I knew so much better than that. After all, we weren't an item. Not anymore, anyway.

And, God willing, never will be again, I told myself defiantly as I marched up the steps. Certainly not considering how short a time he's going to be here. Why, for all I know, he could be gone tomorrow, shipped back to Munich, picking up where he left off, partying down with all his "friends," remembering nothing and living out the rest of his numbered days.

Such thoughts didn't summon the darkness the way they might have in a normal setting. Whenever my emotional situation became extremely perilous, such that I couldn't stand against that shadow without assistance, I always had my "happy pills" to fall back on, and protect me (which meant I'd been on them since Saturday)- a secret I kept solely to myself. It affected no one but me, so one else needed to know- especially not the man standing outside the front door, whom Farnsie greeted like any time before, and whom I now received with a pair of open arms and a "Hello, Stu!"

Stuart met my embrace wholeheartedly, squeezing me so tight I squeaked. "Good evening, Jules," he grinned. "Missed you today."

Looking back over what I have talked about thus far, I realize I haven't said much of anything about how Stuart looked, aside of his small, deep-set blue eyes and cockily arched brows. His was a square jaw and a strong chin, making for a perpetually determined yet skeptical face framed with unruly brown hair that always seemed to fall into college professor-esque disarray no matter what he did to it. He had a nice nose above his thin lips, which were naturally curved in a clever little smirk that made it impossible to tell whether or not he was being serious- but since he usually was, it didn't make a lot of difference. He was indeed a handsome man -not beautiful, per se, but handsome- and carried his forty-three years quite gracefully in his pleasantly muscular, six-foot-one body, his age only showing through the deep creases in his forehead and ever-present rings around his eyes. The man worked so hard.

"I'm about to start making dinner," I said to him. "Fried chicken with potatoes and green beans, very homestyle-cooking. Care to join us?"

"What a coincidence," he pretended to be shocked, following me to the kitchen and drawing a bottle of white wine from behind his back. "It just so happens I have a fine Riesling with me. So, I guess I'd almost have to stay."

"It's almost like it was planned," I chuckled, bowing low and speaking in a funny, intentionally poor Middle Eastern accent. "A worthy offering, Sahib. Lay it before the altar so that its dearness may not be diminished by heat, O Wise Man of Science!"

Stuart kind of looked at me for a minute. "What?"

"I don't know, I'm just being silly," I shrugged sheepishly. Freddie Mercury is downstairs fluffing the couch cushions, Stu. Cut me some slack. "Give it to me, please."

"You're very silly lately- can't say I blame you, though," he remarked while I put the wine in the fridge to stay chilled while I cooked. "Where's Danny anyway?"

"Right here, Dr. Preus, sir," his voice carried into the kitchen even before he walked in.

"There he is! Hey, buddy, how's it going?" he smiled.

"It's good, how are you?" He sounded so shy whenever he spoke to Stuart, always seemed so uncomfortable around him, which made me a little sad. I wanted Danny to be respectful towards him, of course, but not to a continuous, militaristic "sir, yes sir" degree.

Stuart told him he was great. "Are you excited to go watch Star Wars on the big screen on Wednesday?"

"Oh, yes, sir," he nodded. "I've never seen it, so it'll be cool."

"When I was your age, I had practically every line from the first three memorized, I watched them so much," Stuart smiled. "Your mom says you do a killer Yoda."

"Do or do not; there is no try," Danny said in as gravelly a voice as he and his natural falsetto could manage. "Easy, it is! Hrrmm!"

"That was awesome," Stuart grinned, and put out his fist for a bump. Suddenly Danny's eyes lit up, and he turned to me, leaving Stuart hanging.

"Hey, Mom, guess what?" he announced proudly. "I taught Freddie to fist-bump today!"

I covered my mouth, unable to even fathom how that must have come up. "Sweetie, he's Mr. Mercury to you-"

"But Mom, he doesn't like it when I call him that. He wants me to call him Freddie. Can't I please call him Freddie? Please?"  He took off his glasses.

I could almost feel Stuart's eyes boring into the back of my neck, but still I chose to bite the bullet and said, "If he wants you call him Freddie, then do. I'm not getting in the middle of that-"

"Darlings, my ears are on fire," that melodious, confident voice crooned from below, followed by brisk upward footsteps.

Stuart blinked while Danny quickly put his glasses back on. "Is that who I think it is?" he murmured.

I didn't answer; I didn't have to. In the very next second, Freddie glided into view, complete with another burning cigarette resting between his long fingers. "Let's have no secrets, my dears," he purred. "What sordidly scandalous beans are we spilling?"

The look on his face when he had fully ascended confirmed my suspicions: the mask was on. Freddie was in full-fledged untouchable performer mode, right down to the flamboyant manner in which he was now talking, and the much more camp tone to his already musical voice. All he needed was a microphone, and he would be completely ready for another Live Aid.

But Danny wasn't intimidated in the least. "Nothing," he replied casually. "Just saying that's what you want me to call you."

Freddie smiled gently at him and put his hand on his shoulder, the mask melting in the very slightest- and when I looked at Danny, I saw he was smiling back. It seemed that my son had already fallen under Freddie's spell. I wasn't too surprised- after all, he was half-Freddie to begin with- but I felt a little concerned. I hadn't counted on them connecting so quickly.

But then Freddie looked back up at Stuart- and his smiling lips curved into something a little more patronizing. "Ah, you must be that love-ly boy of Julia's I've heard so much about. So good to meet you finally, dear Stanley."

"It's, uh, Stuart, actually- Stuart Preus," he said, putting forward his hand. "Good to meet you, too- under more respectable circumstances."

Freddie took his hand and shook it, but held on longer than Stuart anticipated. "Are you saying we've met before in a less respectable situation?" He leaned in closer, his eyes gleaming when Stuart instinctively took one step back. "Why, yes, my dear, you do seem terribly familiar. Don't tell me, I'm sure I remember. Let me think..."

Stuart clenched his jaw, while very subtly attempting to slide his hand out of Freddie's grasp- and failing, which made his smirk all the more obvious. "Come now, dear, don't be shy. I don't bite too hard- at first. Ah, yes! Tell me; did we, or did we not, meet last year in that splendidly naughty little club in Paris?"

It was a strain not to react, especially not when Stuart's eyes darted to me as if pleading for some kind of intervention. But it was far too dangerous to pick a side and risk the almost inevitable wrath of one of these men, especially since one was technically my boyfriend, and the other was my roomie. All I could do was stand there and pray that some time soon Danny would stop giggling. I love you, Daniel-san, but that's not helping.

"I doubt it," Stuart said, suddenly recovering. "I don't typically gravitate toward geriatrics."

Freddie blinked, a little caught off guard. "What?"

"Though, I do have to say, looking at you, I'd never have guessed you were a whopping eighty-one years old," Stuart went on coolly. "What's your secret, Freddie?"

Frowning, Freddie turned to me. "I thought people weren't supposed to know who I am."

"Freddie, he's known from Day One," I explained. "He was the one who found you and I on the floor of Speck-"

"In a rather compromising position, I might add," Stuart put in.

I continued, wishing for a hot moment that I could slap him, "And- and he's the guy who designed Speck, which is the machine he and the team are trying to fix so that they can send you home."

"Exactly," Stuart smirked. "So if you're wanting to get out of here," he said, yanking his hand away from Freddie at last, "you're going to have to go through me."

"I look forward to doing that very thing, my dear," Freddie said softly, punctuating the statement with a drag.

"As do I," Stuart answered coolly. "We'll work as fast as we can, trust me. In fact, if I had my way, you'd already be home."

"Stuart," I whispered without thinking.

Freddie shot me a quick glance, then looked back at Stuart. My muscles tightened as I awaited the incoming "last word," which as I recalled, Freddie always had to have. But to my surprise, none came.

All he did was nod, wink, and much to Danny's amusement, pat Stuart gently on the cheek.  Then without another word, lips twitching over his teeth, he lifted his chin and traipsed back down the stairs and out of sight.

As for me, I was thoroughly embarrassed. Granted, Freddie had more or less fired the first shot- and Stuart had never liked Freddie all that much to begin with, whether as a performer or as a defining figure from my own personal past. All that being said, Freddie was still a guest of the future, and Stuart was not acting on his best behavior.

And we hadn't even sat down to dinner yet.

"Well!" I clapped my hands, cutting this increasingly tense moment short. "You know where the alcohol is, Stu, pour yourself a drink. I'm going to go ahead and get started on dinner. Danny, come with me please, I'll need your help."

"You work too hard, Jules," Stuart said, touching my shoulder. To myself I seethed, Oh, don't you try and butter me up. I am not happy with you right now.  "Can I do anything?"

"If you want to start boiling some water for the veg, that would be very helpful," I murmured. Which, I might add, would be a nice change from what you've currently been doing.

Danny started toward the fridge to get the chicken, but paused. He turned and, very innocently, asked Stuart, "Dr. Preus, is Freddie going to be here long enough for Christmas?"

"Not if I can help it," Stuart replied automatically, then realized how bad that sounded and added hastily, "I mean, after all, buddy, Christmas is a little less than two weeks away. The machine that brought him over will be able to keep the 'bridge' standing for at most two weeks, the way things have been going. That would be the extreme worst case scenario."

"Well, when do you think you guys'll have it fixed?" he asked.

"If things go as successfully as they did this afternoon, I'd say as early as tomorrow or Wednesday."

Danny thought this over a minute. "What's gonna happen if you guys don't fix it in time, or- or something goes wrong? Does that mean he's stuck here forever?"

"I don't know, pal, that's probably what we'll find out tomorrow, when Speck is all fixed and we can see what actually happened," Stuart said, this time with a subtle note of annoyance. I suppose Danny was asking him too many questions.

As I turned on the heat under the cooking oil, I decided to finally turn on Stuart's playlist. I wasn't really in the mood for U2, but they held a special place in his heart, and I needed some distraction anyhow.

But before I could issue the Modo command, a beautiful cascade of music tumbled over me from below. I stopped for just a minute and listened. No one but Freddie could have coaxed such enchanting sounds from that old upright piano. Granted, I couldn't hear him singing along, or even vocalizing the melody. The only things at work were his hands, feet, and creative mind. With a deep sigh, I closed my eyes. I hadn't heard him play in so many years- and still it made me smile with my heart.

Stuart watched me closely, and swallowed. Then he whispered in a voice he thought I couldn't hear, "Oh, Jesus, I certainly hope not..."