The Tube doors opened.  "High Street, Kensington," announced a stuffy, recorded voice.

Here was my stop.  Heavily I picked myself up off the seat, squeezing between the people holding onto the straps overhead.  "Stand clear of the door," said the same voice, and the doors slid shut behind me. 

The station was rather trashed, and reminded me of the New York subway minus the homeless fellows banging on cardboard boxes.  I rushed up to street level, but not before I inspected the random posters taped on the white tile walls, looking for job advertisements.

Getting a job here in Great Britain was going to be harder than I realized.  Living in Texas, I had never had to deal with something that, in the seventies, absolutely ruled the UK: the unions.  I hoped I could talk to Freddie about it tonight, see if he knew how one could join them- or, more ideally, get around them.  I didn't feel like spending any more money, so I decided I would trek my way from the Tube station to Freddie's flat on foot.  I was tired, but not that tired.  Surely it wouldn't be that far.

An hour and a half later I rounded the final corner.  I was literally dragging my feet, worn out, the sleep I'd enjoyed on the plane still far from sufficient to refresh me after the breakneck pace of the last two and a half days. 

I hoped I wouldn't be crashing a little soiree between Freddie and any of his given friends.  Seeing Mary had somehow sucked all the Vegas buoyancy right out of me.  She was another reminder that Freddie was not mine to keep, nor would he ever be.  Had "Liza," or David, been our greeter, I would have felt about the same, but with a little sadness dusted around the edges instead of jealousy.  It wouldn't have been a nicer feeling that I had now, but it wouldn't have been worse. 

I didn't want to be jealous.  I knew better than to be jealous, especially considering what I had known for years.  That is, Freddie belonged to no one.  Maintaining his "freedom" was far too important, especially at this point in his life. 

Far be it from me to wedge myself between anyone and my pr- I mean, THE prince. 

Unlike in Vegas, where I could afford to be the wild child right along with his pals, once again I likely would take on the role of his mute pet.  I had to respect Freddie's busy Queen world, and all the drama and craziness that came with it.  At least, until I knew where I was going with my life.  As much fun as I was having, I didn't like that I still was, in actual fact, completely dependent on Freddie.

I unlocked the front door and walked in to see the lights dim and the cats all snoozing on the sofa.  Listlessly I stroked Oscar's fur as I passed, ignoring how his back arched up against my palm- something that usually delighted me.

Except for the cats, the flat was empty- and I was sick to death of my maroon dress.  I fed my feline friends their dinner, and with one last burst of energy I dragged myself into the bathroom to clean up. 

I still wore my tracker faithfully, no matter what.  But now, for the first time since I slung it round my neck ten days ago, I took it off.  Absently I rubbed the round spot between my collar bones, where it had spent so much time.  I suppose a small part of me still had fingers crossed and hopes high that a miracle would happen, and the Relic would fall back into my grasp.

Now, if Dr. K and his superteam had been smart, he would have put the tracker in a needle, inserted it into my arm or something- and used a Bluetooth earpiece instead of a Nokia.  Oh, well.  This was after all T-Rod's maiden voyage.  Original versions are never as sophisticated as their successors. 

With a resigned little shrug I cleaned up, put on some pajamas, then curled up on top of the bed.  I quietly threaded my tracker between my fingers.  I thought again of my family, wondered what they would do if it was indeed my fate to never return home.  The world at large wouldn't mind- I cast a small shadow upon the earth, even for a lightning rod - but there were many people I loved whom I might never see again. 

Strange, I wasn't as broken up about it as I could have been.  I loved my family.  And I missed my small circle of friends from school and work.  But I had been here ten whole days; by now I should have had some kind of meltdown.  Curious.  The man who was trying so hard to unravel me, was at the same time keeping me together. 

God, hope, and Freddie.  My three pillars of strength.

Just the thought of Freddie made me smile.  He wasn't mine, I wasn't his.  And I could still very well be on borrowed time.  But I was glad to know him as well as I did. 

Glad.  What a weak word.  Blessed is closer. 

In my first complete, utter silence since the day of the Heatwave, I felt myself drift away.  And asleep I stayed for about two hours, but I must not have slipped too deeply into unconsciousness.  My eyes opened to the sound of heaven floating softly from below.

I sat up, listened closer. Someone was at Freddie's piano.  Still clutching my tracker, I rose, walked into the hall and down the stairs a way.  When I saw him, for some reason it felt as though my heart literally lifted a bit in my chest.  Freddie was home at last.

He had his back to me, lost in the music.  It wasn't a rock song he was playing; perhaps he had been practicing them before I woke up, but certainly not now.  Instead, it was a classical piece, the second movement from Beethoven's Pathetique sonata.  If you've never heard it, I implore you to fix that right away.  Even if you don't like classical music, Freddie did, so do it for Freddie.

I thought it odd, that he was sitting there alone.  Where were his friends?  Why wasn't he out with Liza, Minsy, Straker, or whoever the heck he preferred to hobnob with on Sundays?  Surely he'd seen enough of me this weekend. 

Then again, Freddie did say he wanted to talk- or at least for me to "ask what he was thinking."  I wondered what I was in for, but one thing was for certain.  I couldn't let him sway me again. I would treat him as a good friend while suppressing the obvious attraction.  There were too many other people in his world who saw me as a threat, from Mary down to Paul.  I could not be that threat. 

But what beautiful music he made.  I stood there, entranced, watching him play, every note vibrating gently across my spine. 

Freddie played one sour chord.  "F---," he cried, breaking the spell.

I began to laugh, then caught myself.  But he had heard me.  He whirled around on the bench, saw me standing halfway up the staircase.  I waved shyly.

Freddie's lips curled in a smile so warm I could feel it from where I stood more than twenty feet away.  "What's new, pussycat?"

I smiled back, hoping my eyes didn't look too soft.  "Hello." 

"Have you been here this whole time?"

"Certainly since before you got back.  I was asleep."

"I had no idea.  You just blow in and out of here without a sound."

Freddie waved his hand, gesturing for me to walk on over.  So I came closer, and stayed standing.  He went back to playing piano for a little while.  

"Beethoven, huh?" I said.

"I'm a little rusty, as you can probably tell," Freddie murmured. "Haven't played that since boarding school." 

My eyebrows rose.  "You went to boarding school?"  

He nodded.  "In India.  Went there for eight years.  Didn't I tell you?"

"No."  So he's talking about it now?  Interesting.  He held back about the place in Panchgani before.  

"That's where I learned to play- what little I can play-"

"Oh, would you stop, you're such a talent and you know it."

Freddie leaned his head back against me and closed his eyes: a silent thank-you.  But he didn't say much else about it, and I didn't want to press.  Freddie struck a few idle chords that followed the same progression as the Beethoven piece, but screwed up again.  As if to erase the mistake, his hands flowed over the keys in a cascading, chromatic waterfall, letting the sound ring a moment or two before setting to practicing songs for the new album.  He hummed quietly to himself- what song, I couldn't quite decipher.

I cleared my throat.  "So how was Mary?" I asked cheerfully.

His back stiffened, and he took his hands off the ivories.  "She's fine."

"That's good.  What'd you guys do after I left?"

"We talked, had tea, that's about all."  Freddie turned to face me.  "Darling, you really didn't have to run off like that."

"I wanted to give you guys some alone time.  You hadn't seen her in days!" I crooned.

"It wasn't necessary."

"I thought it was.  Imagine what she might have thought, the two of us sprawled on the floor together like that!"

"Yes," Freddie murmured.  "Imagine."

I continued, ignoring his tone.  "Did you go see Liza?"

Freddie's eyes narrowed.  "What?"

"Liza!  Did you go see him?"

"For a - for a while."  He was sounding more and more uncomfortable.

"I bet you were glad to see him.  I know Liza was dying to see you, that's how it sounded on the phone. My goodness, Freddie, how do you keep up wi-"

"Okay, two things," Freddie interrupted.  His voice was cutting.  "First, stop calling him Liza.  It sounds so f---ing queer when you say it."

"Then what is his real name?"

"It's... It's Joe.  Okay?  His name is Joe."

I processed the information with the efficiency of a computer: Joe. I only know one Freddie-related Joe.  That's Joe Fanelli. Fanelli rhymes with Minnelli. Freddie loves Liza Minnelli. Liza Fanelli. Liza is Joe Fanelli. Of course he is.

Freddie went on, "Two, I'd rather not talk about my day, it was altogether mundane, I didn't come home tonight to talk to you about Mary and Joe.  All right?"

Ah, yes, things are indeed back to normal, I quipped to myself.  To Freddie I nodded, saying, "Okay, so what did you come home to talk about?"

"I want to know where you ran off to," he said quietly. 

"I told you, I did all the things I said I was going to do.  I job searched, then got churched."

Freddie's face seemed to relax; he let himself smile a little.  "Did you confess your sins properly?"

"I'm not Catholic, but I think I did okay," I nodded.  "I still haven't said my three Hail Marys yet.  Will you help me with that later?"

"I'll do anything you ask," he purred, and kissed the hand resting on his shoulder before noticing the tracker wound between its fingers.

His brows furrowed. "Why do you still even have that thing, dear?"

"Just in case," I shrugged.  "It makes a great rosary too."

"But it's gone, isn't it? The Relic?" Freddie said.

"Anything can happen," I replied. "Never say never."

"Mm."  He began playing the piano part of "We Are the Champions."  "So did you find anything?  A job, I mean."

"There were a few openings, but they were all union jobs."

"Ugh, dreadful things.  Trade jobs, huh?"

"Yep.  How do I get into a union?"

"It'd take more than a Passport."

"That's what I thought."  I sighed.  "Maybe I could wait until a place opens up at Kensington Market.  That's what you did."

"You could," Freddie said doubtfully, and looked up at me.  "But darling, you really don't have to bother with any of this, you know."

"That's true," I said.  "I can still go join a convent."

"Again, you could- though I'd hate to see a girl like you go to waste."

"Go to waste?"

Freddie rolled his eyes.  "Don't you know what they'd do to you?  First they'd make you cut off all your hair.  And then they'd put you in a little dark room with an ugly black habit and a Bible and, uh, some rosary beads, and tell you to be happy with the nothing you have.  Say goodbye to life altogether."

"At least I'll have a purpose.  Everybody needs one."

"Am I not purpose enough?"

"What does that mean?"

Freddie huffed.  "Nothing.  Never mind."

"Besides, life as a nun isn't that cloistered.  Nuns can have fun, too.  They go out and do all sorts of things.  They have to get those pictures for the calendars and the greeting cards somewhere."

"You weren't meant to be a nun," Freddie muttered.  "You don't have the body for it."

I shot Freddie a downward glance.  "Say what?"

But he didn't explain.  Instead, Freddie rose from the piano bench and stood before me.  He took my hands in his.  His behavior startled me.  This was different from yesterday morning, somehow I could tell; this wasn't about sex.  He stared deep into my eyes a moment as I tried not to blush, the black diamonds searching for some nameless emotion.  What's gotten into you, Freddie?

"There's something we need to discuss," he whispered.

"We do?" I asked, my voice involuntarily small.

"Come on," he said, nodding his head.  "Up on the terrace."

"The terrace?"

Freddie didn't reply.  He simply took my hand and led me toward the stairs.

"Can I fix you anything to eat first?" I asked.  "If you didn't have dinner already, I could throw something together for you real quick-"

"No thank you, I had dinner with Joe tonight."

Right.  So you ate at Joe's.  I stifled a nervous laugh, which instead came out as a snort. 

Freddie whirled on me, and for a moment I thought he would slap my face.  "You're not taking me very seriously tonight, are you?"

"Yes, I am," I answered.  "You're just being so touchy.  Could you stand to relax just a little?"

"I'm fine, now come on, upstairs," he commanded.

So to the terrace we marched.  Just before we did, Freddie took the phone off the hook, and dead-bolted the front door.

"What are you doing?" I asked. 

"There'll be no interruptions tonight," he declared.  "Remind me later, darling, I need to call John."

"What's going on with John?"

"Apparently he called on Friday, had some big news or something.  Ought to find out what's so important.  That's all."  His mouth twitched anxiously.

"Oh," I said. "By the way, I think Jeff Lynne produced it."

"What?"

"I went into a record shop for a few minutes today.  Saw a 45 of 'Do Ya.'  Jeff Lynne produced the album that has 'Do Ya' on it."

"So?"

"So the guy you said that ELO wouldn't be anywhere without- is the guy who heads ELO."

Freddie blinked.  "I knew that."

"Riiiight."

Freddie laughed.  Music made him feel better, even when it regarded his competition.  "I really didn't mean they wouldn't be anything, I was just being flip.  He's an incredibly talented chap.  We used to be a bit jealous of them, you know, when we were just starting out- well, I was, anyway- I suppose that was a bit of leftover green showing through.  ELO and Led Zeppelin. Those two especially."

"Now, the engineer, though," I said, "is a guy named Mack."

"Well, of course.  Engineer is actually what I meant to say-"

"Oh, good grief," I smiled. By now we were out under the overcast night sky- it had been cloudy all day, the weather seeming to remember finally that this was Great Britain, whose climate isn't all that different from wet and rainy Seattle.  Despite the jokes, I could see Freddie was on pins and needles.  Whatever he had to say must have been important.

Freddie saw me giving him a good hard stare.  "What?" he asked.

I shook my head.  "I'm just trying to reconcile this person with the guy I saw on stage yesterday," I explained.

He shrugged.  "It's just me."

"Yes, but which you?"

 Freddie didn't answer me, went straight into it.  "Darling, what would you do if - um... the Relic happened to show back up?"

"What would I do?"

"Yes."

What kind of question is that?  I'd leave, of course!  But to my surprise, that wasn't the answer to fly from my lips.  Something in his eyes made me instead say, "I... Why do you ask?"

"I want to know."

"It doesn't matter what I would do, I can't do it," I said evasively.  "It's gone."

"Yes, but if you were to, uh- be given that second chance," Freddie persisted.  "Doesn't even matter if it involves the Relic, if you could go back, would you?"

"Well, I mean- uh-" I spluttered.  "I mean, Freddie, I couldn't stay with you anyway-"

"Why not?" he demanded.

I stared at him, unable to believe my ears.  "What are you saying?"

Freddie drummed his fingers against the rail, and attempted to explain.  All he did was confuse me further.  "I- I mean you wouldn't have to go find work somewhere, I could take care of you.  You could stay with me.  I wouldn't mind.  Not at all."

My throat suddenly felt very dry, as crazy thoughts burned in my head.  Control, I told myself.  Control.  In my head I repeated the list of names like a mantra.  

"You're welcome to stay," he whispered, his voice growing gentle again.  Freddie took my hand, the one which still wore the wedding ring, and squeezed it tightly in both of his. Too late I realized I'd made a foolish choice in choosing my short pink nightgown to wear to bed.

"For how much longer?" I heard myself ask.

He took a step closer.  "As long as you like."

That hypnotic, smooth voice was sliding through the cracks in my concentration, his dark eyes melting my resolve.  I couldn't help being attracted to him, but I indeed had the power to resist.  Why did he have to make it so hard?  I put my other hand on his shoulder, intending to push away, but my muscles couldn't find the strength.  

Freddie let go of my hand to put his arm slowly around me.  "What do you say?  Do you think your Boss would mind too much if I kept you?"

I swallowed, looked down.  "That's a very- very, very sweet offer-"

"Not sweet," he murmured, pressing his forehead against mine.  His other arm slipped around my waist.  "It's selfish."

"Selfish?"

"Naturally."  He kissed my cheek.  "I'm only thinking of how happy you make me- and how wonderful things are in my life whenever I'm close to you."

My head began to spin.  I opened my mouth to speak, but no words would come out. And even if they had, they wouldn't have gone far. 

"Do I," he whispered, "make you happy?"

My eyes wide and uncertain, all I could do was nod.

"Would you want to stay?"

"I don't know," I squeaked.

His eyes sparkled dangerously.  "Here.  Let me help you decide."

Freddie's lips found my own again and kissed them. Why did he have to be so much stronger than me? Why did he have to be so desirable?

He pressed me up against the terrace door- not as violently as yesterday morning, but with definite purpose.  "Forty-three," he whispered.  "You're above average."

"Now what?" I managed.

Freddie's eyes glowed even in the dark.  "Now, I catch you up on everything else."

Oh, God.  I should have known by now. "There'll be no interruptions tonight," he'd said. The butterflies returned, flying in frenzied little circles.  Frantically I tried to repeat the names in my head.  Mary.  Joe.  David.  And these are just the current people.  I could dip into the eighties and spend all night ticking them off.  Mary.  Joe.  David.  Mary. Joe. David.

But it was no use.  He kissed me again, fingering one of the thin straps that held my nightgown in place.  I felt his hand slide both the straps off my shoulders. Control, I told myself again- but in a much, much weaker voice. He started gently nuzzling his nose into my neck. 

I bit my lip.  What are you doing?  Freddie, please!