—A Note—

Thank you so much to everyone who has enjoyed reading this fic and has followed me every step of the way, it has meant so much to have that level of support for my writing. It's with a heavy heart that I've decided to stop writing this story. There never seems to be enough time or space to finish it, and I would want it done well. There are many chapters in here I would want to go back and rewrite and chapters I'd want to add in between, but I don't think I'd ever truly be satisfied enough to keep on with the story. And there have been many ways I've grown since beginning this story in January 2017 that now make me feel lost when it comes to sitting down and writing this. Nonetheless, it was an amazing experience. Though I may be ending the fic, I didn't want to leave you without an ending. The fic was likely going to be at least another 10-15 chapters longer, so what I'll do is give you a detailed synopsis of the events and a dip into the very last couple of scenes. Thank you so much for reading, all this way and all this time. It really has meant a lot to me, so thank you ❤️

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We last left off with y/n and Freddie's breakup.

You were going to stay with Brian for a while, where else could you go? The breakup with Freddie was hard, really hard. It would take a long time for you to get back on your feet let alone feel okay again. Roger came by a few days later to drop off your belongings and mentioned the hurt you'd caused Freddie. You started to feel like you weren't any better than the people in Freddie's original timeline who'd caused him all that pain you sought to take away. Brian tried to help distract you from the guilt, you began spending a fair amount of time together. The rest of your friends had given Brian and you the cold shoulder since the breakup and so there really wasn't much else to do but be with one another. You and Brian went nearly everywhere together, you went to gigs, pubs, went walking, went shopping. Things were going quite well, and there were times when you almost felt okay again. Until of course, the day you ran into Freddie and Mary.

You only saw each other in passing, across the street. He looked happy. Even though that is exactly what you wanted for him, and it was evidence that the plan of getting them together had worked, it still broke you. You felt lost again, and at fault again. You missed home for the first time in a while. To make you feel better Brian invited you to stay with him at the observatory that night. He had to do work in Hampstead and it was probably best not to leave you alone in such a state. The two of you had a lovely time at first, stargazing and listening to records. He'd been used to spending nights out in the observatory and had stashed plenty of things to keep himself comfortable, record player included. Something about the way the stars looked reminded you of that night with Freddie, over looking Feltham from the balcony of the church. Brian noticed your tears and came over to comfort you. Eventually one thing led to another and you ended up kissing, and then kissing ended up becoming something more. It didn't solve the heartache, that night with Brian, but it at least made you feel better for the moment. It felt good to feel like maybe you still had something worth being here for.

Following your night together in the observatory, you and Brian slowly began to form a real relationship of sorts. Now it was more than just pretending. You were a bit concerned that he'd suddenly seemed to forget all about Chrissy—there still was the matter of keeping a mildly accurate timeline—but you found that being together also made you forget about your feelings for Freddie.

Weeks passed and friends slowly returned. You spent most days hanging out with Brian's friends. Freddie hadn't forgiven you yet but it wasn't so bad. You followed Smile along to their gigs in Truro, and it was good to see Roger at least. A few times during your time together you had also asked Brian about Dr. Goldstein, the quantum physicist who was supposed to help you formulate a plan to get home. As always he assured you that they'd been in communication, and that you needn't worry. It felt good knowing that there was at least some hope of fixing the mess you'd made. It wouldn't always be this way.

In April, Brian invited you to his parents' to celebrate his dad's 49th birthday. You had a good time and enjoyed getting to know Brian's parents—they were so much like him. You got to see the home where Brian grew up, his room, all the toys and trinkets that made him who he is. But when Brian stepped out of the room, you noticed something. A copy of 1984. You wouldn't have paid too much attention to it had Brian not named his first band after it, but you were curious to know what it was about the book that intrigued him so. It was an innocent thing to wonder. But as soon as you opened it, you noticed something—Goldstein, Emmanuel Goldstein. Wasn't that the name of the professor? You wanted to brush it off as coincidence, but something felt strange. Brian sure had been adamant about keeping the communication with Dr. Goldstein between only him. Why hadn't you been allowed to meet the professor? You brushed off the suspicion, there was nothing to worry about, it was just a coincidence. Brian likely noticed the coincidence himself, that's why the professor and him are so close.

About a month later, Smile decided to split up. Tim went off to join Humpy Bong, and as history would have it, the stage was set for the beginnings of Queen. You hoped that Freddie would still want to join the band, hopefully you hadn't messed things up too bad. Only time would tell.

You began asking Brian about the professor once more, asking this time if you could meet him yourself. "It's dissertation season," Brian explained, "The professor doesn't have time to meet with either of us, he's got to meet with his own students". It sounded like a valid excuse, but it had been months of excuses. You found it hard to believe that two brilliant physicists such as themselves didn't have any sort of remark to say on your situation. It had been ages since you'd even discussed the subject with Brian on your own. And so you decided that the time had long since passed to have a word with Dr. Goldstein yourself.

The next morning Brian and you had planned on joining Roger at The Red Lion, but as planned, you were decidedly sick in bed—too ill to see even Roger. Brian offered to stay with you, but you assured him that you would be fine resting on your own. Reluctantly Brian left you, and when you were certain he was far enough away, you headed out for Blackett Lab. The room directory was no help and neither was walking past faculty offices, you couldn't find mention of a Dr. Goldstein anywhere. You found the department of natural sciences head office by chance and asked the receptionist if she knew of such a professor. No Goldstein in the physics department. You then checked with the college's main reception desk. Not a single Goldstein on campus. Brian had lied.

It took everything from within you not to break down in that moment. You wanted to believe that maybe Brian had lied because he wanted to solve the problem himself. Maybe he didn't trust anyone to not interfere with your chances of getting home. Brian had been good to you, taken care of you when you needed him. But he also had been the one to make you need him. He was the one who told you to stay away from Freddie. It was his plan to have you cheat on Freddie. It was all him.

You dashed back to the dormitory and began rifling through any book of Brian's that even remotely resembled a physics textbook. You flipped through page after page, not entirely sure what you were looking for. You figured it would be unlikely to find discussions on time travel in a regular physics textbook, but you knew that even if Brian had lied to you, the scientist in him would be too intrigued to resist research—you just had to find it. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw something on his bookshelf: a single book with the spine facing inward, pages lined with many earmarked corners. Room silent, mind loud, you rushed to pull it off the shelf.

On the Subject of Time - An Overview of Its Theoretical Paradoxes.

Got it. One by one you scanned the pages Brian had studied. The grandfather paradox, causal loops, the many-worlds interpretation. You had no idea what information was representative of your situation, but throughout every page one thing became abundantly clear: Brian had lied. There was no mention of the consequences, or warnings on the importance of keeping to a strict timeline. According to theory, there was no point to such things. The paradoxes described could not exist unless they completely disrupted of the normal flow of time. They simply couldn't exist, meaning that you, in this moment, didn't exist. Neither did Freddie, Brian, Roger, Tim, Mick, or Mary—no one. Somewhere you might be able, but not here. You were trapped, and a paradox could be the only explanation. There was no time machine to send you home, no three wishes to be granted, no ruby red slippers to click the heals of, there was no place like home. You didn't quite know how to handle the feeling of it, the betrayal, the oblivion. All you knew is that you were out of here. You packed what things you still owned, now including Brian's earmarked book, and headed off. You hadn't the slightest clue where you were going, but you were going. There were bigger problems to either solve or let go of.

You spent the rest of the afternoon walking. Your only goal was to travel down streets you'd never been down before. Past, nor future could ever find you there. First you travelled to Fulham, then you crossed the Thames to Wandsworth, and eventually you wound up in Battersea. You strolled through Battersea Park awhile and sat along the edge of the Thames, contemplating. You didn't know where you were going to sleep, eat, or call home. The bench seemed to suffice for now. Maybe you could start a life for yourself here, you thought. Get a job, earn enough to rent a place and maybe one day go to school. Or maybe you could be a vagabond, rivaling the fantasies that Freddie once had, of his vagabond outcasts. Being stuck in the dawn of 1970 surely had to be the most diverse of freedoms. You could do anything, be anything. Well, assuming of course that your hope isn't completely blind like it always had been. What a dream—land in 1964, by the house of Freddie Mercury, no less. Live through the 1960s, stranded in the 1970s. It was the fantasy those from home could only step into through the pages of their notebooks or through the scroll of a digital tale. They could spend the days pining away over a place that they'd never have to think about the reality of. How fascinating that must have once seemed. How lovely to be them, living in a world where it was lovely to be you.

Laying things out plainly, you had no real identity. No certificate of birth, no address, no bank account, no family—your family. You didn't often think of your family, at least as often as you should have. The times you did, it hurt too much to think of them, they were all so far away. But here, you had a thought, an idea you hadn't yet considered. 1970, that was the year your grandparents met. They were likely out there alive and well, without a clue you existed, or would exist. You wondered what it might be like to see them, back home in America. Maybe you could explain, and they would let you stay with them. It seemed like the most viable option for survival, and the most like home again. Looking out at the Thames felt foreign again, a feeling you hadn't felt in a long while. You missed home. Battersea Park couldn't be home, and so you continued walking on.

You crossed the Thames again and came across a decent looking pub in Chelsea, The Crown. You didn't have much money on you, but you did have plenty to eat and drink. Maybe you'd spend the night in the bottom of a glass. Dreaming up a way to save money for a flight to America could wait until tomorrow. For now, you had a breakup to process. One drink became two, then three, and eventually you found yourself loosing sight of the fingers you were counting. The bartender had expressed concern the whole evening, asking you about your situation, but you were more concerned with numbing things—at least for the moment. You were sure it was a trick of the alcohol, but a familiar face seemed to walk through the door. You hadn't seen this face in a long awhile, it took you a moment to place it. John—it was John Deacon!

You unknowingly shouted out his name across the pub, causing a bit of a stir. He looked confused a moment and walked over, asking if you'd met before. Without answering his question, you immediately began to talk to him as though he'd been with you all along—through the Wreckage and 1984 years, through the break up, through the trouble with your time travel, and made mention of the desire to possibly go back to the states and see your grandparents. John, almost certainly and entirely confused, stayed to listen to your ramble.

He caught on quickly, sincerely trying to help you with what he could understand through the out of context garble. You must have looked absolutely insane, but it didn't matter to you then—the hazy blur made sure of that. Something about that familiarity just broke you down bit further, and made all the complexity of things want to flood out. You felt bad for John here, listening to you. As you sobered up, you looked down to see schoolbooks. He'd likely come here to study and you'd completely derailed the evening. You mentioned this to John, but he didn't mind. He only wanted to help you through all this troubled commotion, and also wanted an answer as to how you knew him.

Sobering up also gave you the advantage of being able to better explain things. You'd already let the cat out of the bag on your being from the future, and you knew Brian had lied about there being consequences, so you told John everything. You explained who Queen was, what you knew of him, what his future would be like, and what yours was once like. He didn't seem nearly as phased as you would've expected, though this might be due to the fact that from the moment he met you, you had him on edge. He stopped you from getting anymore drinks and offered you the couch at his place, as a helpful friend—as he so put it. You accepted, but it felt so strange. How did you manage to run into John Deacon out of all the people in London? Now this feels like a fanfiction, you thought. You felt guilty about how kind he'd been to you after you'd just sort of forced yourself into interacting with him, but he insisted you let the feeling go.

The next morning you awoke with a strong hangover, it took a long while to get up on your feet again. You weren't sure which was more nauseating, the hangover or the realization that it had been only twenty-four hours since you were laying in Brian's bed at Imperial. You found John in the kitchen, he was busy fixing a cup of tea and offered you some. You accepted. As he poured you your cup he began to talk about how he'd been thinking over a solution to your problem of needing to get back home. He tried to be respectful about it, but suggested that maybe the way to fix things was to prevent you from ever going back in time in the first place. If you knew the date and place your grandparents met, you could prevent them from ever meeting, thus preventing you from ever being born to travel back in time. You were surprised you or Brian hadn't thought of it before. You vaguely remember your grandmother telling you about the summer night she fell for your grandfather. The details were fuzzy, but perhaps when you were over the hangover they would become clearer. You decided to rest for a while and discuss it later. John was off to class and you were off to sleep.

When you awoke you began counting what money you had. Barely £200. You were certain that would definitely not be enough to get you across the Atlantic, let alone across the states. Coming back to you was that your grandfather was in the Navy, and had been stationed off San Francisco. He and the boys went into downtown one night and stumbled across a concert at the Filmore. B.B. King, you think it was. Your grandmother lived in the city, and lived for it, as she'd always say. A friend had invited her to the gig that night. In the middle of a song they locked eyes and the rest was history. Thinking about the story logically, you'd have to find the date of the gig and hope it hadn't passed.

In the middle of your planning, John returned. You talked things over and decided it was worth the money to make a long-distance call to the states. You offered to pay every penny of it, but John at least wanted to chip in a little. It took quite a bit of help from operators and quite a few phone calls, and was worth quite a bit of money, but you eventually got on the phone with the staff at Filmore West. May 21st. That was the date of the gig. It was May 18th, you still had time. Only three days, but it was time. You just had to figure out a way to make it happen.

You thanked John for his hospitality and help, and told him it was time you should go. You'd have to go find a travel agency and figure out how much money you had left to earn. You told him it was something you'd have to do yourself. You couldn't interfere with the lives of Freddie, Brian, Roger, or John any longer. Even if there were no consequences to it in a temporal sense, it never felt right, most especially now.

But John wouldn't let you go, he knew as good as anyone else that the money you had left couldn't cover the flight or be earned in the time you needed it by. He explained that if this timeline would truly be erased by your going, then there was no harm in pooling every resource you had. Even if there had been many broken hearts along the way, the people you'd spent your life with these last six years cared for you. The tears, anger, sorrow, joy, laughter, and love were certainly evidence of that fact. You may have not been meant for this time, but the people you had come to know and love here—the people beyond Queen—meant something to you, and you to them. That had to be worth something.

You agreed with John and decided together to go to the travel agency and then find Freddie. You pleaded with John that he stay and continue on with his daily routine, but he figured that restoring an alternate timeline and getting to meet the people he'd one day conquer the world with seemed like a pretty good excuse for ditching. You agreed. And so you were off to the travel agency.

Walking around Chelsea awhile, you eventually came across a travel agency on Park Walk. The travel agent who served you kindly offered you and John many package holiday deals. You had to mention many times that you and John were not a couple, and only you were seeking passage to California—though, the trip to the south of Spain certainly sounded lovely. After some talking, you finally found a flight tomorrow out of Heathrow. There were no direct flights to San Francisco available, but the British Overseas Airways Cooperation had a flight to New York that was decently priced, Flight 6564 from LHR to JFK. From there you could catch a flight to San Francisco for much cheaper anyways. In total, accounting for the flight to SFO from JFK, and being so last minute, you would need around £600-£800. You told the travel agent that you didn't yet have the money and would hopefully be back later that evening or the next morning. They said they would do their best to reserve the ticket but they could make no promises. It was a chance you'd have to take.

After you had finished at the travel agency, you took the Beaufort Street bus to Church Road. You hoped that Freddie had not yet decided to move into Mary's flat on Victoria Road. He probably had, but with any luck he would still be with the boys in Barnes, at least for a visit. The bus seemed to take ages. All the while you were racking your brain trying to come up with every bit of the plan. How would you stop your grandmother and grandfather from meeting one another? How could you get Freddie and the boys to trust you? Do you have everything you need in order to make the journey overseas? There were too many things to consider all at once.

The bus arrived at Church street and as soon as you and John stepped off, it was back to hurrying down the road. After about a ten minute walk, you arrived. It had been a long while since you'd been at the steps of this door, and it struck you then that this would likely be the last time as well. The sounds and voices echoing through the windowpanes were unmistakably Freddie, Roger, and the boys. You heard some new voices too, unfamiliar but in a good way. Time had passed and the circle of friends had grown. In your pausing, John wondered if you'd found the right place.

"Yeah," you sighed, looking at the alcove with a familiar smile, "This is it".

It would have been polite to knock, but no one ever knocked on this door. It might as well not even been there. You simply grabbed the knob and stepped inside just as you always had.

The room suddenly went silent. All eyes were on you. For a moment you'd forgotten everything of the last few months. Stepping into 40 Ferry Road felt as usual as it always had, but the expressions of everyone inside it said otherwise.

"I need your help," you stated plainly, you couldn't think of a better way to say what you needed to say. There would hopefully be time to apologize for all the mistakes you had made later. For now you'd have to do your best to get things on the move. Three days, that's all you had.

"Who's help?" asked Roger. He had been sitting on an ottoman near the fireplace, that's new. Lots of things about Ferry Road seemed new.

"All of you. Anyone," you replied, "I've got a plan to get home, we've got a plan to get me home".

You stepped aside to show John Deacon behind you, he gave a simple nod.

"Who's that then, your new boyfriend?" quipped Mary. You hadn't heard her from the outside, but it was to be expected she was over. She had her hand on Freddie's thigh, "Brian told us you left him. You going to leave this one too?"

You so wanted to snap back at her, but you hadn't the time. You would need her help too.

"This is John Deacon," you introduced. John gave a quick wave and a smile, before stepping back again to let you continue. "He is the fourth member of Queen," unsurprisingly there was little reaction from the room, "In just a few shorts weeks Freddie, Brian, and Roger will form a band called Queen and in a little less than a year John will join. Together they end up being one of the most well-known bands of the 20th and 21st century. And I know this because I'm from there, the 21st century".

"Bullshit," one of the newcomers replied, face smug. He had a look of planned disbelief, his tongue rolled around his mouth, feeling out which words would be best to spout next. But you weren't going to let him get there.

"I am from 2017. In June of 1964, Freddie found my laying outside his house in Feltham. I have no idea how I managed to get there, but Freddie was kind enough to take me in. We've known each other for years," you said, very clear and concise. You wondered if Freddie was even on your side anymore. You'd done wrong, and you weren't sure if he could forgive you. If he wanted to turn you away here and now, he was fully right to, "He never once doubted me, through all the explanations, and through all the hardship and heartbreak. Not once. It's okay if you don't believe me, but if there is one person who knows I'm telling the truth right now, it's Freddie. And Freddie, I need your help. I need all your help. Anyone who can".

You paused a moment to catch your breath. All the faces in the room became quite hard to read, except for Freddie's. He was the furthest away. Your getting home depended upon reaching him. No one could trust that you were actually telling the truth if Freddie couldn't even look you in the eye.

"And Freddie," you slowly walked over to him and took a seat down on the coffee table, "I am so sorry...I wish I would've known what Brian was up to. He convinced me that my only way of keeping you safe was leaving you. And I foolishly fell for that," You wanted to add, and him, but it was too soon, "You know, I spent these last six years here thinking I knew what was best for you. But the truth is, I don't. No one does but you...Back in my time, I used to daydream about what it would be like to be here. To live in the 60s and 70s alongside Freddie Mercury. I used to think that if I had the chance, maybe I could give you a life better than the one you had before. I could take away all the pain. It sounded so lovely long ago... I don't know why the universe put me here—maybe it's some sort of cosmic joke to teach dreamers like me a lesson. But I do know this, time waits for no one, Freddie. And what a gift it was that for just one moment, it waited for you". Tears were welling up in your eyes and you could feel most everyone in the room grow a bit softer. "I hope you'll forgive me," you finished.

Finally he looked up. Tears also welled in his dark eyes—oh how you missed those eyes, you would always miss those eyes. He reached out his hand to clasp yours.

"Of course, dear".

"Alright, now what is it you need from us?" piped Roger, gracefully taking you out of the moment. You wiped your tears and stood up in front of the room once more.

"I've got a flight to catch tomorrow at 2pm," you answered, much more power to your voice now, "I'm flying to New York, and then to San Francisco. Hopefully I can stop my grandparents from ever meeting so I never am born to travel back to 1964. Things should go back to normal then, and you all will never have met me. I just need your help getting that flight," you turned to John in the doorway, "John? How much do you think I'd need?"

"Let's see," he walked further into the front room and began counting heads, "11 of us, divide that by...".

"Make that 12," said a voice from outside the door. You turned to see it was none other than Brian, "Sorry about that, I was coming by to look for y/n and didn't want to interru—".

"You bitch!" you shouted at Brian. Your anger towards him needed to come out one way or another, "You absolute fucking bitch!"

"Woah there," remarked Roger. Everyone in the room was relatively startled, you were sure Freddie was smiling about now.

"How dare you manipulate me like that! I could've been figuring out a plan to get home ages ago!" you shouted, and then turned back to the members of Ferry Road, "I'll be done in a minute".

"Is this Brian?" asked John, he'd stepped far off to the side after you'd begun shouting.

"Yeah, this is Brian, one second," you replied before returning to shouting, "Fucking, fuck you! You better be back here to help because if not, you can get right out!"

"I'm here to help, I'm here to help!" he answered back, you could tell your shouting had surprised him. He didn't expect that level of a reaction from you, "I'll even pay for half the ticket".

"It's two tickets, Brian," you replied. You were sure everyone in the room now must have thought even worse of you, but you sort of had a right to be this angry. He deliberately broke up you and Freddie, guilted you about the time you'd spent with Freddie, and kept you from learning anything that could help you get home just so he could sleep with you. Even if you had consented to being a part of that situation, it still was a messed up thing to do.

"Then I'll pay for one of them," he suggested.

"Good," you accepted the offer, it was the least he could do. You turned to speak again with the rest of the room, "Now, is anyone else able to contribute? If this works, none of this will matter, you won't be out any money in the original timeline".

"I bet you say that to all the girls," quipped Roger, "Yeah I've got some money"

"I can chip in some," said Mary, to your surprise.

"Really?" you couldn't believe it, a few minutes earlier she'd still been griping about what you'd done to Freddie and Brian.

"I'm sorry about before...I appreciate what you did for Freddie," she said softly. You could tell saying that was difficult for her, but you really appreciated it. You nodded your head in reply.

"I've got some to spare," called out Richard.

"And me too," added Ken.

Everyone had begun going back into bedrooms and rifling through wallets and pockets. It was hard to believe they cared so much, that they could believe everything you told them without you having to prove anything. You could've given them facts about the near future, or told them what it was like in the distant. But they just knew, they knew you well enough to know what you were saying was true. It wasn't the right moment to cry, but as the group handed you what few pounds they had on them, you couldn't help but let tears fall.

John gathered all the money together and began adding it up.

"398, 399...400 pounds exactly, including the money you had left," John concluded.

"Make that 600," said Freddie, emerging from the back room with two hundred pounds in his hands.

"Oh no, Freddie, I couldn't" you responded, speechless as he reached out to hand it to you.

"I'm sure some of it's yours, just take it," he said, placing the money in your hand, "Besides, we'll all be dead in a few days," he laughed.

"You don't have to look at it that way," you replied, how easily he took to this. You marveled at the ability he had to adapt and accept.

"Isn't it true, though," he continued, twinkle back in his eye all along the way, "I say that we go out tonight and get proper fucked. It's not just your last night in England, it's the night before all of ours. And I should like to go out having a good time if nothing else".

"How would we even pay for it?" you laughed for the first time in days, "We're spending all our money on my plane tickets".

"Just tell Angus down at the Lion it's your last night in England," Roger answered, "It works for me every couple of months—and this time I wouldn't be lying".

"Oh alright," you caved, you were going to miss this feeling so much, "Brian, John, and I are going to go down to the travel agency to purchase the tickets before they close, we'll meet you there. Sound good?".

"Sounds good," replied Roger, finally getting up off the ottoman to prepare for the night.

It was getting late. The travel agency was a half an hour bus ride away and it was nearing dinner time. You could have gone to a travel agency closer by, but you couldn't count on the fact that they would have the right airline plates and would have the same seats reserved for you that the agent in Chelsea did. Riding back with Brian was a bit difficult, but it was good to have John as a buffer. You would've had John stay back in Barnes with everyone else, but you were sure he'd likely want to go back home. Instead he wanted to stay for the night. You'd only properly known each other for a day now and it somehow already felt like forever.

You arrived at the travel agency just before closing and luckily enough, the tickets were still available. Brian paid for the tickets from JFK to SFO and almost all the rest of the money was used for the LHR to JFK ticket. The money you had left was reserved for bus and cab fare. You couldn't believe how smoothly this plan was going. It seemed almost too good to be true.

After getting the tickets, you took the bus back to Church street and walked up the road to The Red Lion. Though your nights here had grown old and time was ending, the night felt so young. It was warm out and the cloudless night led way to all the stars above. Too perfect a night for a final night. You closed your eyes a moment to hold it forever. The sounds of the cars passing on the A306, the smell of the warm sidewalk, the way the still, night air seemed to hold you as dear as you held these moments. Nothing could replace this.

Meeting the rest of the group in The Red Lion, you found, unsurprisingly, that Roger's little trick hadn't worked. What did work, however, was opening up a tab that the boys said they would pay next week. You'd have to relax a little on how much you'd have to drink, as it would make tomorrow easier, but you certainly weren't going to keep from enjoying yourself.

The whole night everyone seemed so much more at ease than you'd ever seen them. Even Mary seemed to be enjoying herself. And the man who had ridiculed your explanation from before, even offered up some money for the trip finally. You caught the slightest glimpse of Disco Deaky when Angus turned on the radio and Sly & The Family Stone happened to be playing. Roger, Freddie, and You had fun singing along to every song you could remember the words to. Brian tended more towards sitting by himself, likely going over everything that had happened. Even after all he'd done, you didn't want some of your final moments with him to be like this. So you invited him over to join the rest of you. You couldn't have asked for a better night.

It was a good thing the flat wasn't all that far from the pub because nearly everyone seemed about ready to fall over every step they took. Freddie had accomplished what he had hoped for it seemed. Before crashing in the living room, those of you that were awake enough decided to go out to the backyard to look at the stars. Laying there in the grass, you felt a new kind of peace. In the next two days you'd be dead and gone. Rarely do people have the chance to accept that sort of fate free of suffering. You felt as though everyone else around you was feeling similarly. None of you said a word. The stars and the space between them said all that ever need be expressed.

After some time you returned to the house to sleep. Freddie offered to lend you his bed for the night, as did Roger, but you decided an official night as a couch vagabond in 40 Ferry Road was just the thing you needed. Sleep came all too easy that night. You wished the night could go on forever, but even the good days in life have to end.

The next afternoon you returned to the pub for lunch, still running up the tab, and then headed for the airport. The whole group decided to accompany you to your gate, they did have a vested interest after all. Freddie insisted that surely his time spent working at Heathrow would mean that he could upgrade your seat. But as a baggage boy who never actually handled the baggage himself, there was little to no chance of that. It took some time finding your gate and confirming that your flight would arrive in New York before your flight to San Francisco would leave, but everything fell in order eventually.

It was ten minutes to two by the time the gate agent finally called for your gate to exit on to the runway. It was time to say your said you final goodbyes. It was hard saying goodbye to these people you'd come to know and love these last few years. More than who they were in biographies, documentaries, newspapers, and song, they were each someone who meant something personal to you, and you to them. Giving them up would be the hardest thing you'd ever have to do. But you knew it had to be done. If history is to be restored, if Queen is to become who they are meant to become, then you had to let them go. All the moments, all the faces, all the days, you had known and loved them well. Even if you forgot every memory you had together, it would never once reduce the value in their being made. Time waited for no one, no one but you. And now it was time to move on.

You grabbed your belongings and walked out into the sunlight. Turning to say goodbye one last time. How meant to be it all seemed. As you climbed the steps into the plane, a thought crossed your mind. What if?

"Wait! Wait!" you shouted, hoping to catch everyone before they left the terminal. They hurried back as quickly as they could, Freddie and Roger in the lead.

"Why aren't you on the plane?" asked Freddie in a panic, trying to catch his breath, "It is going to take off any minute".

"Okay, hear me out. I don't think going to California is the solution," you started.

"What!?" shouted Roger, Freddie, and Mary.

"We just spent all that—," Roger exclaimed.

"Listen. As I was boarding the plane, I started thinking about how too perfect this all was. I've felt it many times through all this. Not just these last few days, but during my whole time here. There are just too many coincidences," you explained to a group of many wide eyes.

"That is just how life is sometimes, coincidental. It's no reason to be bothered," said Freddie, trying to get you back on the right track.

"But you see, I wouldn't have gotten here had it not been for those coincidences," you reached in to your bag to pull out Brian's book on paradoxes, "I remember reading something in your book, Brian, that talked about how coincidences in and of themselves are unlikely unless they have a common cause," you flipped through until you landed on the earmarked page, "According to your book, 'if time travel were ever to occur, we should see extensive uncaused correlations'. It doesn't make sense that I would land in 1964 outside of the house of Freddie Mercury. It doesn't make sense that I should run into Brian May in a bookshop in Feltham. It doesn't make sense that I come across John Deacon in Chelsea within only hours of being there".

"What does it matter?" asked Roger, hurriedly trying to get you to finish your explanation before the plane takes off.

"It matters entirely!" you continued, "I was a Queen fan back where I'm from, and not just casually. I specifically land in 1964, the year Freddie Mercury comes to the United Kingdom. I grow close to him and his friends, even date him. When I go to get a job, I get a job at Biba just before Mary is hired. Seeing Mary I'm motivated to put the timeline right. I seek out Brian, who had known me years before we'd even first formally met—seeing me once before in a bookshop in 1964. Brian convinces me to leave Freddie for him so that Mary and Freddie can get together. Brian and I break up after I'm tipped off about there being something suspicious by a book I find in his room. After the breakup, I run into John in Chelsea. He gives me the idea to travel to the US and stop my grandparents from meeting. And I couldn't afford the ticket without first having friends like you. Don't you see? It's a causal loop! All the things I've been through were the only things that could've motivated me to be catching that plane right now. If I stop my grandparents from meeting, I'm pretty sure the loop resets".

No one quite knew how to respond. You wouldn't know either. You weren't even sure how you'd figured it all out. Somehow you felt it all along, this strong feeling of serendipity. Most every moment was noticeably too good to be true. Too many times you kept having to remind yourself of reality. All this had to be purposeful.

"But how did you first get here?" questioned Freddie, the faces of all friends and nearby strangers in the terminal showed similar expressions to his. You flipped to a page in the text.

"That's how causal loops work, things simply come from nowhere. There isn't a beginning or end to them...unless of course, you can break the loop. But I'm not even sure that's possible," you trailed off, if traveling to America wasn't the answer, what would be, "Brian, what do you think?"

Brian thought for a moment, his brow furrowed and his hand brushed through his curls, "I'm not an expert on these things, but I think there's a possibility that not going could break the loop, yeah".

"Then, I think I should stay. It's not as though there are any other options for me getting to America, this is it. We have no more money and no more time," you responded, and breathed out a sigh. This is it. 

You looked at all the faces around you. How young they all looked, but how old your time here felt. The must have thought you were completely out of your mind, and you weren't entirely convinced you weren't either. How could you know what was the right choice to make?

"Last call for Flight 6564 to New York City. Last call for Flight 6564," the gate agent called over the PA from behind their desk.

"Six five, six four, why is that so familiar?" you muttered to yourself as you turned to see passengers out the window boarding the plane. Six five, six four, "My god". You reached into your bag to grab the very first journal you wrote in when you arrived.

"What, what is it now?" asked Freddie, turning you around. He was more panicked now than he been before.

"Nothing it's just...Flight six five, six four," you responded, showing him the first page in your first notebook.

In the very corner of the top of the page it read: 6/5/64. It was the date you first arrived, the numbers written in the American date format. It might have well been a coincidence, but it was too much of a coincidence. It was your very first, and your very last.

"You should stay," said Freddie, placing his hand on your shoulder. You were glad he didn't let go. If these were your last few moments together, you wanted them to be like this.

"Okay," you replied.

Together the whole group of you walked over to look out the window at Flight 6564. You watched it board, Freddie's hand still on your shoulder. Mary walked up to him and he clasped her hand. Roger came up on the other side of you, and Brian beside him. The rest of the boys huddled around, watching alongside you.

The stairs were moved away from the plane, and it began to pull out onto the main runway. It moved into position and began to speed up for take off. You looked around at all the faces on either side of you, and as the plane lifted off the ground, you said the only thing that could be said after all this time.

"Thank you".