Julia

Suddenly a high, shrill tone pierced the air.

Finally.

I shut off the timer before it could drone on too long, slid on my oven mitts, and drew out the round, golden brown rum cake, a tasty holiday tradition in the Samuels household. This was the second one I'd baked this dreary, rainy day; however, neither of them were meant for us. The one I was just now tipping over and setting down to cool belonged to the Adamses, while the other I had baked for our dear Cousin Roxie, as small tokens of gratitude for all their help.

Mom makes one every time we head down there for Christmas anyway, I told myself. In the meantime, we have the gingerbread men to keep us busy.

Putting my hands on my hips, I looked around me and sighed with satisfaction. The aforementioned cookies had been put in the pantry, chores that had been neglected over the past few days were nearly all taken care of, and the kitchen no longer resembled an absolute disaster zone. If nothing else, Freddie's "hangover" had given me a splendid excuse to get caught up with housekeeping.

"Hey, Modo," I whispered, "any emails to my work address in the past couple of hours?"

Just before Modo could give an equally soft run-down of my inbox's contents, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. My eyes, now clear with contacts, glazed over, and the only sound I heard was that of a clear, silken voice drifting up from below.

Freddie was singing again.

Not really singing, mind you. It was more along the lines of vocalization, nonsense syllables instead of words- but it was music nonetheless. Then again, any sound that emanated from that golden throat, I considered music. He could be reading off the name list of a graduating senior class, and I'd still listen to it over any of Beethoven's symphonies, Verdi's arias, or Chopin's preludes.

It was really a wonder I'd accomplished anything at all today. When I wasn't standing there, mesmerized by the maestro noodling around at the piano (although from the sound of it, Freddie had indeed made a lot of progress the day before, as the music seemed much more deliberate, much more coherent, like raw cuts of full-blown songs as opposed to simpler, fluctuating pieces of melody), those three words rang in my head as clearly as if he was whispering them to me all over again:

"My stray kitten."

He remembers, I kept saying to myself, the blood rushing to my cheeks. He remembers that name.

Those three words were enough to clear my soul of the wretched darkness that had begun enclosing it. Really, it was just as well he didn't use my other nickname. If he had, this stalemate of ours would have ended much sooner- and quite, shall we say, passionately, at that. Fortunately, he didn't, and I was able to keep it together for that much longer. There was, after all, Stuart to consider.

But Stuart was the furthest thing from my mind at present. All I could think about was how much I wanted to go downstairs to be closer to Freddie, to hear the music better- but I couldn't, not at the risk of distracting him. His focus over the past couple of hours was practically nonexistent; every little thing I did seemed to wreck his concentration.

Wait a second, I reminded myself. It's not my fault he stayed here when he could have hotfooted it back up to the radio station if he's feeling so much better. And anyway, I've just missed everything Modo said about my work emails, and it never provides any useful details anyhow. So I still need to go downstairs regardless.

And if it disturbed Freddie?

Well, he'll just have to suck it up, I told myself in playful defiance. I live here, too. This is MY house, after all.

So deciding, I squared my shoulders and marched (on tiptoes, of course) down to the lower floor. Fry scurried to the foot of the stairs to greet me, tail wagging, and Farnsie, contentedly riding along on my shoulder, beeped softly. And the pampered house cat, too enthralled to notice us for once, kept right on working, pausing only for another drag or to scrawl some new idea down on that notebook of his.

Why did he stick around, I wonder? He could get so much more done in New York. Ah, well. Either way, I'm glad he's here.

Very quietly I slipped into the "office," where we kept the computer; I much preferred reading and replying to emails there than on my phone. It was such a small space it could very easily have been mistaken for a closet, but somehow Danny and I found a way to cram in a little desk, a computer, and our ridiculously extensive DVD library inside. I shut the door behind me, making nary a click, booted up the old PC (how old, I won't say, because it's a little embarrassing), and set to checking on work life.

Just overhead I saw our copy of the film Labyrinth. With a smile, I recalled how much that movie freaked Danny out when he was younger. He was about five when we watched it the first time, and the only redeeming thing about it for him was Jennifer Connelly. Danny hated it everything else- especially Jareth, the villainous but charismatic Goblin King. During the following two weeks, as I remember, he would crawl into bed with me at night for fear the Goblin King was hiding in the shadows, just waiting to come snatch him away once his blurry eyes were closed.

"Danny, the Goblin King's not real," I kept telling him. "Besides, the only thing that summons him is if you say-"

"NO! SH!" And he would cover my mouth with his little hands, just before pulling the covers over his head and burrowing under the pillow. All the monsters and evil-looking puppets in that movie, hellish creatures that still gave me the shivers, and he decided to be afraid of David Bowie.

Go figure.

Singing "Golden Years" under my breath (for now I had Bowie music on the brain), I opened the inbox. Before I could get started, however, there was a hard, quick rapping against the office door.

"Yes?" I called.

"Can I come in?"

As always, I felt my cheeks redden the moment I heard his voice. But my own remained nonchalant as I replied, "Sure!"

Th door knob rattled, then rattled again. "Darling, it's locked."

"Whoops!" I hopped out of the chair and opened the door a crack, peeking out at the fellow standing behind it.

"There you go again, locking me out of things," he sighed dramatically.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "It wasn't me, this door's a little glitchy. Now come on in."

With that I pushed the door open all the way. Freddie stepped in, eyes wide as he looked around. I knew exactly what he was thinking to himself, so automatically I apologized, "I know, it's kinda messy in here, but there's not a lot of places to put things in this house."

"What is all this?" he asked, reading the movie titles on our overflowing shelves.

"Movies, mostly," I replied. "DVDs, to be exact; that's why the boxes are so thin."

"What are they?"

"Basically, they're CDs, but they play movies. Video cassettes have gone the way of the dinosaurs."

"Hm," he chuckled. "Quite a collection."

"Been amassing it since I was a child. It ought to be." I looked around too, then my eyes fell on Labyrinth again. And I had an idea. "Want to see something funny?"

Freddie looked at me. "What?"

I pointed. "Pull that one down, please- and tell me if you're reminded of anyone."

So he plucked Labyrinth from the shelf, looked at the cover- and his eyes bugged. "Is- that-?"

"What?" I blinked, doe-eyed.

"That can't- Is that- That's not David Bauwie, is it?"

It was all I could do to swallow a laugh. Oh, Lord, the way he says "Bowie"...

I wrestled with the idea of telling Freddie about the sixty-nine year old Elton John stealing the show in the second Kingsman film as well, but in the end I decided against it. It was one thing to show Freddie a film starring a still-young David Bowie; it was quite another to point out his good friend "Sharon" as the much older, heavier, but nonetheless kick-ass kook fighting alongside Colin Firth- let alone end up having to go on to say Elton was no longer with us. That was a can of worms we needed not open yet, certainly not this afternoon.

Aloud, I asked, squinting, "Who?"

"Bauwie! You- darling, you can't tell me you've never heard of David Bauwie, that's- I just heard you singing it!"

"You did?" I think I'll have a little fun with this. "Bauwie, you said? I'm not sure..."

"Just now! 'Golden Years.' That's David Bauwie!"

Funny, I was practically whispering the words; how did you hear me through the door, Freddie? "No, it's not."

"Yes, it f---ing is!" he insisted.

But I shook my head. "No, you're thinking of David Bowie. Golden Years is Bowie. I've never heard of anyone named Bauwie before, is he any good?"

Freddie opened his mouth, then shut it, realizing what was going on. His eyes narrowed, his cheeks flushed a little, and he turned his back on me, growling, "Oh, f--- off."

And I burst out laughing.

When he couldn't take it anymore, he whirled back around and declared pompously, "You, darling, should be the last person to make fun of the way anyone talks."

"Oh, yeah?"

"My God. Need I go down this road, Little Miss Dezarruss?"

"That was ten years ago!" I exclaimed. "That all you got?"

"That's all I've chosen to remember," he sniffed. "Unlike some people, I don't look for things to pick on others about."

"Freddie, I'm just messing with you and you know it," I giggled, putting my hands on his shoulders. "I love the way you say 'Bowie,' even if it's wrong!"

He rolled his eyes, looked away- but I could tell the snit was on its way out. I continued, "Anyway, you think my accent's bad, you should hear my family talk. They live in Mississippi now- and that drawl mixed with the Texas thing you hate so much, they sound pretty darn Southern. Be grateful you won't be there for that."

"For what?"

"Christmas. We're going to my parents' house to stay for the holidays."

"That's quite a trip."

"Yup. Two days of driving."

He looked aghast. "You mean, you drive all the way there?"

"The airlines won't let us take Farnsworth along- so we have to take him the whole twelve hundred miles by car. Fry stays with the Adamses, they know how to handle another dog- but Bird-Brain comes with us." I smiled. "It's actually a lot more fun than it sounds. Danny and I always have a good time. But it is a lot- and getting there is always somewhat of a relief."

"I can imagine," Freddie agreed.

Both of us fell awkwardly silent after he spoke, as if we were trying to remember how the heck we got around to talking about this. Abruptly I realized my hands were still gripping his shoulders; very slowly I pulled my hands away, cheeks burning.

I cleared my throat. "So, um- what did you want again?"

"Hm?"

"The reason you knocked on the door, silly. What was it?"

"Oh. Um..." Without warning, he bent in half, laughing heartily. "I just- wondered what you were doing, that's all."

"Oh!" I laughed as well, but without covering my mouth as he did. "I was just checking my email. Making sure I didn't miss anything big today."

"Ah," he nodded. "So did you?"

"I don't know, I haven't really looked yet, so if you'll give me a second-" So saying, I plopped back down in the chair, and began sifting through the inbox. Freddie didn't leave, however, and instead (very nosily, I thought) peered over my head, read the subject lines to himself. Toward the bottom of the screen I saw that Stuart had sent me an email earlier this morning. But it didn't seem to concern extremely pressing matters; the subject line read "Have You Seen This? XD"

All the same, I knew Stuart would ask me about it later. The little arrow pointer drifted over the message, but before I fell for his clickbait, I remembered I wasn't alone- and any communication with Stu tended to contain some left-handed remark and/or unflattering image of Freddie in attempts to make me laugh. Sometimes they worked, and most times they didn't- but the man looking over my shoulder would find none of it amusing.

I turned toward Freddie, about to ask him to please step out a moment- but it was too late. He saw the message too. "Oh, Lord, What's Samantha want now?" he grumbled.

Uh-oh, we've crossed into the drag name territory now, have we?

"Would it kill you to call him by his real name every once in a while?" I asked.

Freddie ignored me. "Have You Seen This Ex Dee," he read aloud. "What's X-D stand for?"

"Nothing. It's supposed to resemble a sideways laughing face."

He frowned, thought about it, and shrugged. "Do you have to read it now?"

I swallowed. "No. Why?"

"Good. Then come on out of here, I want to show you something."

"Freddie, hang on-"

"Come on!" Then he all but pulled me out of my seat, started leading me out of the office.

"Just a minute! Let me put Farnsie away."

"Fine. Come right back."

"But my work stuff-"

"Can wait. You're with me right now, you're not at work, those buggers can wait a few more minutes, and I've personally waited long enough for you to finish up your kitchen things as it is. Now come along!"

"But what about Stuart?" I protested as he dragged me to the piano.

He rolled his eyes. "Yes. What about him."

"He's probably wondering where I am. I need to-"

"My God, why doesn't he just put a leash and a, a bell round your neck and be done with it?"

I had to laugh. "I just don't want him to worry. I'm actually surprised he hasn't called yet."

Freddie sat down at the keys, cracking his neck and stretching his arms over his head. "Well, he's just going to have to do without you today. Right now, you're all mine."

"An interesting choice of words, mate," I quipped softly.

He leaned back and looked up into my eyes. "Really?"

"Um- at least, I- I thought so," I said.

All he did was keep staring at me, the liquid brown eyes glittering with an old, familiar light, and take one more drag off what remained of the cigarette he had left burning in the ashtray. Thus far today, though he had smoothed his hair and dried it as soon as we came in from the rain, Freddie still hadn't shaved; dark stubble sprouted along his wicked jaw and framed those pursed, full lips. After a moment, his mouth relaxed, letting the teeth show just a little. Despite what I knew, and knew well, about this man, he looked so gentle, and so innocent, in this moment.

And my heart ached.

"Aren't you going to sit down?" Freddie murmured at last.

I blinked. "Yes! Yes, sorry." Wasting no more time, I seated myself on the bench beside him. My eyes fell on the closed spiral notebook on the sheet music rest. "What's in there, Freddie?"

"Ideas," he replied laconically while he warmed his hands back up with a few suspended scales.

"Oh," I nodded. "Hey, by the way, aside of the nose, how was last night's escapade?"

"It was fine."

Good talk, I sighed inwardly, but really I didn't mind. For Freddie was sliding back into music mode; conversation always ran dry while his soul and body were too busy throwing themselves entirely into his art, as they were doing now.

Freddie spent the next little bit of time going over the new songs he had put together over the past few days. He played them for me, vocalizing the melody in most places and singing the rare intact lyric line in others. Most of what he showed me was still in its formative stages, mere concepts that had yet to bloom into full, sophisticated songs. Of them all, I liked the simplest and most complete little tune he had concocted, the one whose eventual chorus ran, "I'm not the only one." I had never heard the song before, which meant that Freddie would never release or perhaps not even finish it, but I thought it a tender little piece just the same.

It was interesting; as close as Queen were to the initial development of A Kind of Magic, I had yet to hear anything Highlander-related. Perhaps Russell Mulcahy had not yet approached Queen in early September of 1985- or perhaps Freddie simply hadn't set his mind to the project thus far, at least not as much as Brian would.

But I loved every minute of it, this precious spell of togetherness. I sat there quietly, listening to every note, treasuring every soft "dee dee dee." I never looked down at his hands, though, not even once; I was too busy studying that clear-cut profile of his, and finding it more and more difficult not to touch that one dimple in his gaunt, rough cheek.

I couldn't help but marvel, Good Lord, he's a beautiful man, isn't he?

And didn't it just figure that the very next thought to cross my mind had to be, Yes, very beautiful, wasn't Mr. Hutton a lucky son of a bitch.

"Jesus," I breathed- but I picked the wrong moment to do so. At that moment, Freddie stopped playing and heard my whisper. He turned, brows furrowed.

"What's wrong, dear?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said hastily.

"No good?"

"Oh, don't be silly, it's all- it's wonderful. I don't have to tell you that. I just- just suddenly remembered something important."

He blinked. "Did you- I thought you were finished up there, am I slowing you down?"

"What?"

"All those things you were doing, the baking and things- was there something else you-"

"No, no!" Now I was laughing. "Why would you worry about that? If anything, I don't want to slow you down."

Freddie sighed. "Darling, if I intended to really work on any songs today, do you think I would've stayed in a place where I can't sort of professionally record?"

"True," I conceded. "What did you stay for, then?"

"Because they said I'd be out of here by tomorrow evening."

The temperature in the room took a nosedive when he said that.

"Isn't that what they said?" Freddie asked, his tone rather subdued.

"Right," I squeaked, then coughed and spoke a little more confidently, "Right. You're right, that's what K told me anyway."

"Mm. So- really I'm still here to, uh- sort of-" Freddie looked down in his lap, then hit his fist against the piano keys in frustration. The words were clearly not coming as smoothly as he hoped. "Oh, f--- it. It's like this: Do you realize, Julia, you've told me absolutely nothing about what's gone on the last ten years?"

"What does that have to do with-"

"Look, my point is, I know the clock is ticking, and yes, I won't remember, but I could be whisked away at any moment so I just want to use my time wisely, and very little of it has been spent alone with you, and so- that's why I didn't leave."

I didn't quite know how to respond to that, so I just smiled at him. For a few seconds Freddie said nothing else, and turned back toward the piano, while his restless, delicate hand noodled around in the key of E flat. Were I paying closer attention I might have realized he had inadvertently played the very beginning of "Guide Me Home."

"I'm glad you didn't," I whispered.

He paused. "What?"

"I said, I'm glad you didn't leave," I repeated. Gingerly I laid my hand over his. "I'll take all the time with you I can get."

Freddie looked at my hand as it partially covered his own, then looked up into my eyes. He said nothing, but he did smile- albeit a rather sad, Mona Lisa sort. But the tragic look didn't stay; the moment was interrupted by Prince.

"Sometimes it snows in April/ sometimes I feel so bad-"

Then I realized, the music was coming from upstairs- and I had turned off the Modo music since Freddie started playing. That left only one explanation- and judging by the depressing ringtone, only one man could possibly have been calling. With a sigh, I stood, excused myself, and scrambled for the stairs.

I had barely put my hand on the banister when Freddie called behind me, his tone indecipherable, "You're not really going to let him take you away from me again, are you?"

For some reason those words gave me such a warm feeling inside. Smiling a little wider, I replied, "Just let me answer the phone, okay?"

So I hustled upstairs, snatched up my cell before Stuart could become impatient and hang up. "What's the story, Morning Glory?" I greeted him- and why I did it like that, I'll never know.

"Jules! There you are," he sighed.

"Yo." I cleared my throat. "What's going on?"

"Oh, just stepped out of the lab a moment to call you. Dr. Ling just got here, she's taking inventory of the situation. If she gives us the go-ahead, hopefully we can have him home tomorrow."

"Ah." I would have been a little more intelligent with the response, except Freddie too had ascended while Stuart was talking, so now he could pretty much hear everything we were saying. "He'll be - very glad to hear that."

"Who will?" Freddie asked.

"You will," I mouthed, before continuing out loud, "What are you calling about again?"

Freddie casually looked over the rum cakes cooling on the counter. "He needs you to come down and wipe his ass, is what."

I shut my eyes, fought down a laugh, and forced myself to tune back in to Stuart, who was saying, "...Weren't answering your work phone, so I came on down to find you're not even here. Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," I replied, then paused. How was I going to explain the situation to him?

Easy, tell the truth. I told myself. Don't knock it till you've tried it.

So I did. "I, uh- Freddie just came home really late last night, passed out cold. I'm just helping him get back on his feet."

Stuart's voice chilled. "You stayed home to take care of him?"

"Well, wouldn't you?" I asked indignantly. "He looked so pitiful lying there, I had to nurse him back to health-" Here, again, I had to stop; for as soon as I said "pitiful," Freddie began striking big theatrical poses, crying out melodramatically, "C'est la vie, C'est la vie, O Agony, O Pain, Oh, why is life such shit?" and I knew if I stood there much longer I would lose it. I ran to my bedroom and closed the door, face turning purple.

"So- yeah," I managed.

"Hm," he said, still none too convinced. "Well, do you think he'll get to a point today where he can take care of himself?"

"Stuart, really, you've read the book," I scoffed. "Some of those wild nights, he took a whole day to bounce back from- and always with help. I don't expect anything less today."

"Oh," he said- this time a little absently. Some insistent out-of-range interrupter, I assume C, was trying to hijack his attention. After a second, he spoke to me again, "Just be careful, Jules. Okay? And remember, if he so much as touches you-"

"Stuart, do I have to say it again? Because I don't want to have to say it again."

"You don't," he chuckled. "Hope he feels better. He's in your capable hands- unless you want us to go ahead and come pick him up? I can do that, too. We have doctors down here if he needs one."

"Don't worry about it, Stu, it'll happen soon enough anyway," I forced myself to sound cheerful. "I don't want to hold you up, sounds like they need you."

"All right. I had a great time with you and Danny by the way."

"As did I. Thanks for the night."

"My pleasure," he replied. "See you tomorrow then?"

"Indeed. See you."

"Love you!"

"You too."

"Bye!"

"Bye-bye."

Beep.

I threw the cell phone across the bed, let out a loud weary sigh, which Freddie took as his cue to yell through the door, "So what's his problem?"

"Nothing, he just wondered where I was." I walked back out. "He hopes you feel better."

"Mm- sure he does," he said, mouth full. "Good Lord, Julia, this is fantastic."

"What i-" I stopped when I saw the little plate in his hand with the good-sized slab of rum cake upon it, and watched him dig the prongs of a fork into it for another bite. "Freddie, what are you eating?"

He stopped chewing, looked slowly down at the plate in his hands, turned his eyes back up to mine even more hesitantly. "...Cake?"

"Is that rum cake?"

"Is that what this is? Well, it's simply delicious, I tell you."

I drew in a deep breath and let it out bit by bit. Then I asked, "Does that piece have nuts in it?"

"Uh-" he checked- "yes. Why?"

I nodded. "Well. I guess that one's ours now."

His eyes bulged. "Oh, was- was this not for us? I thought you made an extra-"

"I made one cake with pecans, and one without. The one without is for the Adamses, because Lauren doesn't like nuts. As for the other... it too belonged elsewhere." I folded my arms, clicked my tongue. "Freddie, you naughty thing, you cut into Roxie's cake."

Freddie's face blanched. "Oh, my God, darling- I'm so sorry, I didn't know-"

"It's okay! Just need to make another one is all."

"Oh, f---. More work for you."

"It's all right, I love cooking. I don't mind working in the kitchen; I think I prefer it honestly," I giggled.

But Freddie did not at all see the humor here. With a sigh, he shrugged and set the half-eaten piece of cake on the counter. "Guess I'll go back down again."

"What for? You can stay in here if you want. Talk to me! I get lonely up here, and it'll make this go by even faster anyway."

Freddie looked shocked. "You really won't mind?"

"Of course not. I didn't mind before, I just didn't want to distract you down there."

"Darling, I was down there doing things because I didn't want to distract you!"

I blinked. "Really?"

"Yes!"

We stood there a moment, basking in our profound idiotic assumptions, till finally I announced, "You and I need to work on our communication, I think."

He nodded. "Oh, yes."

"But anyway, I would love it if you stayed up here, kept me company-"

"Can I help? I'm no cook, but I can do little things."

I beamed at him. Why did something as simple as this conversation feel so good? "Of course- but on one condition."

Freddie's brow arched. "What's that?"

"You have to listen to a very special song as penance for your cake-eating ways."

He chortled, "That's all?"

"You laugh now, but you won't laugh long," I told him ominously.

"What song?"

With a soft, evil giggle, I turned to Modo, and requested, "Hey, Modo, play 'Ice Ice Baby.'"