Freddie

I woke again to the sound of a heavy downpour. With a slight start I opened my eyes, clearer now than before, to see I lay in an empty bed that wasn't mine. For the briefest moment I wondered where I was, before I saw the four framed Warhol prints, and I relaxed. I didn't remember anything about returning to the little house last night, but it had happened- and I was safe. For now, that was good enough.

I was still dressed in my clothes from the night before- the new ones, which I had bought in a fit of what I've heard some call "retail therapy" (although personally I like the term "spending rampage" better; it sounds more exciting, dangerous even, and less like something right out of a self-help book). My shoes and my jacket were the only things missing- and the top button of my jeans (I slept in my blue jeans; no wonder I felt so constrained) was undone. I had vague recollections of Julia tending to me earlier this morning; it had to have been sooner rather than later, for I could still detect traces of her scent still lingering sweetly about.

Clearly I had passed out at some point last night. Strange, as I hadn't really drunk very much at that club- not enough to knock me out, anyway. I wasn't even hung over, I was just rather woozy, much in the way I was upon first awakening on this side of Time.

Perhaps that eager little Cuban boy spiked my drink, I speculated, thinking back to last night's bout of misconduct. But with what? LSD, perhaps? That would explain a lot.

It certainly would have explained the intense out of body experience I had- and the nightmares which followed. But then again, no. Drugs had never made much of a difference as far as bad dreams were concerned; if anything, they just made them seem more convincing. Might have been something in the water, something in the air, who knows?

(You may be wondering what happened last night when I stormed out on my own, hit the New York club scene- but I'm afraid that's all I'm willing to say about it at present, as it's rather embarrassing. The rest will unfold on its own eventually anyway, for better or for worse. Suffice it to say, I am not proud of what took place. Right, let's get on with it...)

I hadn't even wanted to really go out anywhere yesterday, to be honest. I had been "on" all day, which wasn't anything foreign to me, true- but even supermen like myself need time to recharge the batteries. All I wanted was to just relax and dish with Julia.

Not that I harbored some deeper motive, of course. She and Danny were all I had at the moment- although in retrospect, I probably shouldn't have said that to her face. That was an easy thing to misconstrue- and even in hindsight, the words did indeed sound sort of defeatist and not at all flattering. No doubt she had taken them exactly how I had not intended them.

With a sigh, I flicked on the lamp and squinted at the wall clock (whose battery Julia had apparently replaced, thank God- one less thing for the Modo to monopolize). The hands read a quarter to eleven. If I had to venture a guess, Julia had most likely already gone to work. I hadn't awakened in time to see the dear boy off, he and the red-haired Adams girl had been taken to school hours ago. I shrugged a bit sadly, and lit the day's first cigarette.

Now, of course, I wasn't stuck here. I knew that. Unlike a couple of days before, I had places to be now, and people who needed me; numerous times yesterday, the chaps at the station had all but begged me to come back as soon as I could, even gave me a three thousand dollar cheque in advance for my next radio appearance. Even if I chose not to put in time at the station, whether as a DJ or as a recording artist, Charles was only a phone call away, eternally willing to take me anywhere I wished to go. The world was truly my oyster.

So I started thinking. Well, let's see, it's a thirty or forty minute drive to Princeton. If I hop out of bed now, call Charles, and move quickly, I can be ready at least by eleven-twenty, and assuming he gets here at most round half-past, I can be there in half an hour, give or take a few minutes because of the rain. Either way, I can definitely be there by around noon for the driving les-

I halted myself mid-plan. Very slowly I retraced my mental steps, realized what I was saying.

A million other things I could do today, even with the rain in mind- and first impulse was to go see Julia.

Good Lord.

As though yesterday hadn't been enough discouragement by itself, let alone the last eight years.

My blood began to boil and my ego to bruise (again) as I relived the day's events. What was wrong with me? How was it that the morning after she made it quite clear to me I came second, I desired to brave the weather, on the slim chance I would get to see her face-to-face, even if only for a few seconds before Stuart came round like clockwork and snatched her up? Had I forgotten already how she chose that dick over me not once, but twice? TWICE? In a single day?

Why do I care? I don't need her, I can have anyone I want whether that's here or there, I said to myself bitterly, throwing back the covers. What's more, she can't stand me, she probably never could. Everything that rolls off her tongue is a fucking lie. Even back then, she just- pretended to think I was wonderful until such time that her people could swoop down and rescue her from my clutches. That's basically what happened! Julia always was a crafty cat, saying or doing anything she had to just to keep me strung along- and I, like a fucking idiot, kept swallowing the bait. But I know who she is, and I know what she is. I have known for a very long time-

I cut myself off again, and listened. For the first time this morning, I noticed faint music seeping through the wall. Apparently she had forgotten to turn the Modo off before leaving. I swung my feet off the bed, winced a bit when they hit the cold floor. Quickly I bent over, searched under the bed skirt for my slippers, and pulled them on before I took one more step. Then, with some hesitation, I stood, and made my way toward the door.

On the other side I found just about every light in the house was on, with Simon and Garfunkel gently crooning through the Modo. Scents of vanilla and cinnamon, the same I had noticed when I awoke except much stronger, drifted all about me as I made for the kitchen. It was well past time for a cup of tea.

Tea for one, I mused unhappily. Just doesn't have nearly as nice a ring to it as "tea for two," does it?

I entered the kitchen- and gasped. The place was an utter wreck. There were baking ingredients strewn all over the counter and spilling over even onto the table, to the point where the slowly wilting flowers looked a bit cramped. In one corner a very scrumptious-looking bundt cake stood cooling, while something else was still baking away in the oven, judging by its counting down timer. It smelled like the inside of a patisserie, or, perhaps more fittingly, a gingerbread house. I drew closer to the counter to see a patch of rolled out, dark brown dough full of cut-out empty spaces in the shapes of men, candy canes, and Christmas trees.

I couldn't quite accept the idea that Julia had left all this several hours ago; the cake was still warm, I know because I peeled a crumb or two off the edge and tasted it for myself (and it was delicious, let me tell you). And the gingerbread men didn't seem to be burning, as they certainly would be after spending all morning trapped in an oven. I'm no cook, but I know that much.

Just then the song changed to some much more uptempo tune, I want to say a Van Halen track or something. That newer song called "Jump," I believe. Not ten seconds later a voice shouted, "Modo, skip!"

Like a charm, the song halted, and became something else, something I'd never heard before. Someone's feet started padding briskly up the stairs- and for some reason I darted out of the room before I could be spotted. I whipped back into the hall, standing just so that I was invisible, but still had a fairly good view of the kitchen.

I heard her speak once more, softer this time. "Sorry, Roxette, I love you guys but you'll wake him up, too. Modo, skip."

The song changed yet again, this time to something I recognized- "Pride" by U2- and her response was instantaneous. "Modo, skip!"

When the music stopped for a moment while it looked for something else, she finally walked into my field of vision, muttering with a little laugh, "We ain't no Bono-Bots. Not today, we're not."

The bird on her shoulder beeped, as if in agreement, then shook his feathers. When the new track began, her eyes lit up. "That's more like it," she murmured aloud. "Billy Joel to a rainy day is like- like-"

Julia thought a moment, and then snapped her fingers. "Like Freddie to a kitten," she declared with a sweet smile. "Of course."

I couldn't help smiling myself. Despite my thoughts only minutes earlier, I felt my heart melt somewhat at her words.

For a good bit of time I watched Julia from my hiding place, taking her all in. She quietly bopped about, pulling the gingerbread men out of the oven at the sound of the alarm and started putting them on a rack to cool. "Don't wait for answers,/ just take your chances/ Don't ask me why..."

I'd never seen her like this. Instead of her more staid, refined work attire, she was dressed in tight black leggings and a cozy gray jumper with the sleeves rolled up her arms. A bit big for her, perhaps, but I found it all a rather fetching combination nonetheless. She didn't seem to be wearing any makeup or shoes, and her hair fell in wild, messy waves down her back, as though she had let it air dry after washing it. Those things I recognized from the old days, of course; what got me were the glasses, which sat just a little crookedly on her nose. But she didn't seem to mind, not even when Farnsworth started climbing up the side of her face using the frame as support. All she did was giggle and gently scold the little fellow for being distracting- which set me to chuckle as well, the old bitterness subsiding with every second I spent watching her.

Then I frowned, confused. Had she been here this whole time?

Julia's head turned toward the bedroom; I ducked out of sight, stepped back in. She didn't seem to see me, which suited me fine. Selecting a change of clothes, I made my way into the bathroom to wash up; I wanted to at least be somewhat presentable before she saw me.

I didn't take too long, for fear she might step out before I had the chance to say hello- which meant I skipped the shave for now. Once I decided I was decent (if that's even an applicable word where I'm concerned), I patted my still somewhat damp hair smooth, winced when I checked the tender place on my nose, and walked out to greet her.

She still hadn't caught sight of me at first. Throwing a glance at the time, Julia sighed and said to Farnsworth, balancing precariously on his perch, "I hope he's okay."

With a sigh, she faced the other way. Now was as good a time as any. I strode out and boomed, "I'm much more than okay, darling, I'm divine. How are you?"

Julia whirled, eyes bugging out behind her spectacles. "Oh!" she gasped, managing a quick grin. "Hi!" Then she turned away from me, took off her glasses, and started frantically rolling down her sleeves over her arms again.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Nothing, just didn't think you would just pop out like that, hold on." Only after she flipped her hair back, dusted her floured hands off over the sink, and cleared her throat, did she turn back around.

"So," she chirped. "How are you feeling?"

I didn't answer. I almost didn't even hear her at all. I just kept looking into her face. After a moment or two, her cheeks reddened a little and she turned away, covering her eyes.

"Sorry, I know I look like hell," Julia whispered. "I just got so wrapped up in things, didn't have a chance to put my face together."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't be ridiculous." Unsuccessfully I tried pulling her hands away.

"No, don't, I beg you," she groveled playfully. "It is not for you to look upon my potato face, Your High-Handedness. Your eyes were only meant to see beautiful things."

"Exactly," I agreed. "Which is why I demand you move your hands, so I can keep doing just that."

She hesitated, then very slowly lowered her hands, a soft half-smile curving her mouth. "I guess you feel better."

I frowned. "Did I not feel well at some point?"

"Freddie, when Charles brought you home, you were out like a light. We thought for sure you'd be nursing a serious hangover this morning."

"Dear, my liver would have to be on the verge of shutting down before I were to sort of pass out," I said. "I wasn't even close. I mean, I was on my way, but I had at least another fifth to blow through before I'd sort of-"

"Let me see." With that, she laid her less flour-dusted hand against my forehead and cheek, I suppose feeling around for any fever. I closed my eyes a moment. I believe that was the first time she had touched my face in this way since I'd arrived here- and it was all I could do not to lean into it.

"Does this still hurt?" Very gently she touched the bridge of my nose. Before I could check myself, I squealed. That's really the only way to describe the sound I made.

"That answers that," she said dryly. "But as for the rest, I'm impressed. I thought for sure you'd be hung this morning-"

"Oh, but I am, darling. Always."

Her face blanched, then turned as red as a ripe tomato. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

"But it's true, wouldn't you say?" I smirked.

She shook her head. "Unbelievable."

"Isn't it? You ought to know."

"I wasn't talking about- that, I didn't mean to say hung, I didn't mean it that way, I meant hung over!"

"You should have said that, then, shouldn't you?"

Her weak, squinting eyes hardened. "I did not stay home from work for this!" Julia cried, throwing down a dish towel she had been wringing nervously in her hands.

"Well, then, why did you stay home, dear?"

"Because I thought you might need a little help!" she blurted, voice swelling with emotion.

"Darling, I don't need your help, but thank you," I said coolly.

Julia sighed. "Apparently not. I apologize. I thought you might need some assistance, sort of get you back on your feet after yesterday and whatever it was you did-"

"What for?" I scoffed. It would seem not all the tart things I'd been thinking had completely vanished. Unfortunately.

She spluttered, "Because I wanted to help you, because I- because I didn't want to leave you hanging or- or make you think I, you know, look for any and all opportunities to abandon you-"

"Yes, except you do."

Those four words had flown through my head a split second before I uttered them. I hadn't meant to say them. Never in a million years had I meant to say them. They just fell out, as they had a couple of days before.

In the seconds that followed, we were silent. Although Judy Collins had just begun to play, and the rain continued to pour outside, the ambient noise only seemed to add to the quiet, the cold, deathly quiet, between us.

After what seemed like forever, Julia opened her mouth. I expected some ironic agreement, some subtle insult, things I surely deserved- but she said nothing, simply closed her mouth again. Somehow, that was even worse.

Rubbing her eyes, she drew a deep breath in, slowly exhaled. "Then," she whispered at last, "I've made a mistake."

I blinked. "What?"

"I fucked this up from the get-go. I really did." Her voice was flat. "I should have left you there."

"What are you talking about?"

She took hold of her right wrist, started rubbing it slowly back and forth. "It would have been better for you to just- lie there, asleep, waiting for them to fix the machine regardless of how long it would take. I should have let you stay there, instead of talking Stuart into letting me take you in, letting you have a chance to live, and experience, and downright enjoy yourself in a world that may not be your own- but a place where you can still be yourself, instead of staying a vegetable in some underground laboratory."

Something in her words was cutting me open. "Julia, what are you saying?"

But she kept right on talking, as though she couldn't even hear me. "And I should never have called you last night to say- that I wished you were there, that, if things were different- that I wanted you there with us- that I needed you there... that I was wrong, and I knew I was wrong...

"But- I forgot- how- poisonous I happen to be, and how evil is my every intention, and how that's all that matters. I forgot. I- I'm sorry. I'll remember next time, don't worry."

Her eyes glazed over, and she brushed past me, heading for the bedroom.

"Where are you going?" I asked tentatively.

"I want to go for a walk," she murmured.

"In this weather?"

She didn't answer. When Julia emerged, she wore a flimsy looking raincoat with no hood. Her eyes remained flat, her face pale. She seemed to be taking my words harder than the last time this happened.

I tried once more, in a rather small voice, "I didn't know you called me last night."

Julia nodded. "I did. Left a message and everything."

I swallowed. "I didn't know that."

"I know," she replied over her shoulder. "You didn't even read my note, why the fuck would you listen to a voice mail?"

And without another word, she walked toward the front door, opened it, stepped out into the rain, and shut it, leaving me alone.

My throat tightened. Julia, I didn't know any of those things.

Of course, I didn't have any clue then how much I honestly didn't know, and how dangerous a state that was in fact. I'd soon learn. Very soon. Not soon enough, perhaps- but it would happen.

But for now, I still had Julia's words ringing in my ears. What note? I asked myself. Did she really- she offered to take me in? And I was the one who started this again, wasn't I? But she offered- under her own steam- to take me on? She didn't have to, but she did.

So why did I seize every chance to blame her, why did I still so willingly ascribe to this idea that she wanted nothing to do with me? Why did I use that as an excuse to be cutting? Why did I try so hard to show her my worst side every time we were really alone, when we could have been living these moments in sweet harmony?

And anyway, where did she go?

Looking back, I never should have let her put one foot out that door, should have drawn her back and held her close, we might have fixed things that much faster, truth be told- but I'm a very stubborn, and often very stupid, person. It was a few minutes and almost the whole cut of "Send in the Clowns," before my guilt outweighed my pride enough for me to go out and find her. I didn't think about a trenchcoat, or an umbrella, I just bolted out the door, calling her name.

I didn't have to go far, really. She wasn't walking very fast, and even if she had been trying to pick up a little speed, the rain would have slowed her down right enough. I simply rounded the nearest corner and there she was, seated on a lonely little park bench, hunched over, face in her hands, looking just as abandoned as I often felt.

Blinking against the rain, I drew closer to Julia. Very quietly I seated myself beside her shuddering little body.

I touched her wet, dripping hair. Ever so slowly, I watched her sit up, look at me. Tears were streaming freely down her flushed cheeks, the hazel eyes full of pain. This woman looked so small here in the rain, so very weak, so broken- and it tore at my heart.

I brushed a tear off her cheek, and whispered, with a shiver in my voice, "Hello, my stray kitten."

Her red, watery eyes widened. Before I knew it I had thrown my arms around her- and just as quickly, I felt her wrap her own around me, and cling so tight I almost couldn't breathe. But I didn't mind, I scarcely even noticed. I might have been crying too, to be honest I'm not sure, it was raining terribly hard that morning.

All I knew was that we two fools were sitting there, nearly drowning in the rain, holding each other, which we could have very easily done later at home, and made smaller puddles in the floor than the ones we eventually created when we finally stopped blubbering out sounds that were intended to sound like "I'm sorry" and made our way back to dry land, but neither of us cared.

I won't say we kissed and made up, because we didn't kiss. I don't know exactly why, but we didn't. I will say, though, at the very least, when we walked back to the house, our eyes were dry, our words were gentle, and our hearts, though perhaps still guarded, were at least a little less bitter. And her hand was securely held in mine.

"What do you want first?" she whispered, shutting the door. "A cup of hot tea, or dry clothes?"

"Yes," was all I said. Not a particularly clever reply- but it made her smile, and laugh. I would take it.

One thing at a time.