After a moment, Freddie's slim shape appeared beside me. I greeted him with a small smile, then stared back out into space. He did the same, giving me a glance or two every now and then to break up the monotony. No one spoke for a little while.

At last, Freddie ventured, "Is everything all right?"

"Of course," I lied. "I just need to sort of- decompress, if that's even the right word."

"So you came up to the terrace?"

"Hey, I do my best decompressing on terraces," I replied.

Freddie thought a moment, then took a step back. "Should I go?"

I shook my head, sighing through my nose. "No, I'm really fine, I just- I'm a little overwhelmed, is all."

He came closer again. "Go on."

"Well, no one's ever written a song for me before," I whispered. "And such a beautiful one at that."

He half-smiled. "If it's beautiful at all, it's because the girl who inspired it is beautiful."

My cheeks burned, and a familiar tightness crept up my throat. I kept my eyes focused on the one constellation I could recognize in the sky- the Big Dipper- and I smiled a quiet thank-you. My prince, do you want me to cry?

Freddie shrugged bashfully, continuing, "But I will warn you, the way I write lyrics, it's, uh, likely going to lose some of its magnificence as soon as I put words to the thing."

I shook my head. "The words are only going to make it more beautiful. You just wait and see. It's one of my fav-" I cut myself off, but not fast enough.

He frowned, then asked, "Wait- you've heard it before?"

I swallowed. "Well, um, I-"

"Oh, f---, how could I forget," he sighed, rubbing his face. "You're from the f---ing future, you know everything. You probably already even know what it's called."

"Well..."

"What's it called?"

"I can't tell you that! It'll spoil it for you."

He blinked. "I don't actually call it 'The Julia Song,' do I?"

"Oh, no, of course not. John Lennon would be all over you for that."

"That he would." Then he said thoughtfully, "Then again, you know, just because John Lennon can write a song and call it 'Julia,' doesn't mean I can't. Perhaps I will after all."

"Freddie, you shouldn't name me in your song anyway."

"Why not?" He slouched forward a little. "Would you be embarrassed?"

"Of course not."

"Then what's the problem?"

"You've written songs for other people, about other people, and you don't name them. You didn't do that with anyone else. Not even for those guys, the Sheffield-"

"Those m-----f-----s," he hissed.

"Yeah, see? You hate those guys, quite rightly [this I added to again assure him I was on his side; while on the plane home from Vegas, Freddie had told me the band's Trident Productions horror story, and I made the near-fatal mistake of remarking "Freddie, it couldn't have been that bad..."], and you didn't call them out!"

"They know who they are, I didn't have to. But I mean, I've been at this game for long enough, maybe the time has come for a change," he winked.

"Oh, heavens..."

"Darling, don't worry so much. I won't, I probably won't call it by your name anyway- although it does fit rather well, I think. Ju-li-a. We'll see."

To myself I was rationalizing, trying to get myself back into old habits, Freddie must have had this in his head before I ever entered the picture; I must have just sped things up as far as song development is concerned. But he cannot call that song "Julia." He just can't. As sweet as that would be, he can't.

Then Freddie gave me an out. "Of course, that's all assuming I even planned to use it for the album-"

"I wish you wouldn't," I blurted, not realizing how that might sound.

He looked stunned. "What does that mean?"

"It means, I'd rather keep that song just between ourselves, if 'Julia' is indeed what you're going to call it."

"But darling, if you recognize it, that means it is going to be on a record someday, right?"

"Not necessarily," I dodged. "Is that the only other song you've written, besides 'Champions' and 'Melancholy Blues'?"

"No, there's another one, still rather fresh in my mind. Completely different from your song. Just sort of came to me this afternoon, I was fooling around on the piano and suddenly I thought of this sort of driving, pounding, very sexual kind of- what's that look for?"

"What look?"

"You've just got this little grin on your face now as soon as I started talking about the other-"

"It's nothing, I simply wasn't, uh, surprised when I heard the description."

"What can I say? Sex sells. Trust me."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, Lord..."

He smirked, as we now moved out of this dreamy, romantic mood into another bicker session. "I can't help it, darling. I tell you, it's not easy being such a devastatingly handsome sex god."

"Easy enough to puff your chest out about it, though," I remarked.

"Well, I mean, over time, you just get to the point where you have to sort of embrace your lot in life, and I guess that's mine, so- I might as well face it, right?"

I rested my chin wearily in my hand. "It's times like these I wish I smoked."

"Why?"

"Because then I wouldn't have to think of some biting comeback; I could just take an exasperated drag off my fag and blow the smoke right into that elegant nose of yours."

His brow arched. "Run out of lines already, eh?"

"How's this one: shut up."

"Oooooo.... I'm crushed. How will I ever recover from such a lethal blow."

"Don't worry, I'm sure I'll be paying you back in the near future."

His eyes widened suggestively. "Is that a promise, my little wildcat?"

I sighed, lowered my head, and burst out laughing. Freddie joined me, filling the air with that devilish giggle of his. As vinegary as our conversation could become, I loved these harmless little spats. Then my spirits deflated, as with a touch of sadness I realized just how horribly I would miss them, if I followed through tonight.

Suddenly he leaned in and nuzzled my cheek, closing his right hand over my left. "You know, I must really love you," he whispered.

"How do you know?" I said quietly.

"Because I don't know of anyone else I can squabble with- and see it as some sort of love talk, but that's basically what it is, what we do. It's like- I mean, sometimes it feels like- it's just natural. And it's kind of fun at that."

"Everything you're a part of is fun," I told him. "Even when things don't go quite as expected, it's always such an adventure."

"Some people wouldn't see it that way," Freddie murmured.

"Well, I do." I looked down at the big hand hiding my own. I smiled, adding, "You have the most wonderful hands."

"So I'm told," he said slyly.

I covered my eyes and groaned, "Aw, man..."

With another naughty laugh, he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. "Darling, I do have to hand it to you, I must be a real- um, piece of work, shall we say, compared to what you must have come from."

"You are," I nodded. "But I love you, too."

He thought a moment and asked, "Did you love me even before all this?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did you, um- in the time you spent, I suppose- stalking me, when you were younger- were you in love with me then?"

"No," I replied.

"Rather fast with that answer, weren't you?" he said sharply.

"Maybe," I shrugged. "But I wasn't. I'm being perfectly honest."

"Brutally honest, more like," he pouted.

"Would you rather I lie?"

"About that? It might have been nice."

"Well, I didn't- but only because I didn't know you. Is it possible to truly love someone you don't know? You can be infatuated, curious, obsessive, but you can't really care for someone you haven't met, can you?"

"Yes, yes, I do understand, just- At least let me down a little easier next time, hm?" He squeezed my hand gently, pressing my ring finger's tender spot. On reflex I squealed in pain.

Freddie jerked away, startled. "What did I do?"

"Nothing, I'm okay-"

"That's bollocks. What's wrong with your hand?"

"I just sprained my finger a little while ago, nothing major," I said, rubbing the smarting area.

But Freddie pressed, "How did you do that?"

"I just hit it against something too hard, I don't really want to talk about it- but it's much better now than it was."

He opened his mouth, about to ask perhaps what I had hit, when the look in his eyes changed. After a moment, he pushed off the railing and walked back inside without a word.

"Freddie?" I called after him, but he kept going. I watched in mounting confusion as his shoulders hunched over and arms folded, and Freddie disappeared out the bedroom door. A couple of minutes ticked by, then a couple more. But gone he stayed.

Shutting the balcony door, I crept downstairs to look for him. But the piano bench was unoccupied, the kitchen was empty, and all the cats but one -Tiffany, who had made herself a little burrow in the clean laundry basket- were on the sofa with no long fingers rubbing them affectionately under their little chins.

"Which way did he go, Oscar?" I asked my favorite.

"I'm right here," Freddie's voice drifted down from above. I turned to see him descend from the top floor, hand barely touching the banister.

"What are- I thought you came down here, not-"

"No, I just went into the spare room a moment," he replied.

"What for?"

He shrugged, not even looking at me as he passed. "Like you said, to decompress."

It seemed that all the earlier happiness he was showing had been drained out of him. Now what? I asked myself. Good grief. He should have come with a user's manual, or at least a tech support hotline.

"I'm, uh, pouring myself a drink," he said over his shoulder. "Would you like anything?"

"Yes."

"What?"

"An honest answer to the question, 'Did I miss something back there?'"

He turned and finally made eye contact with me. "No. Unless I missed something even earlier, as far as you're concerned."

I shook my head. "No."

We stood there a second, Freddie with his bottle of vodka and me with my orange tabby. And I kid you not, we blurted this at each other in almost perfect unison, "So what's the matter with you?"

"I told you, I was emotionally overcome," I protested. "I just couldn't believe you wrote me that-"

"F--- that. Darling, it didn't just start with the song, you've been acting like someone strung you too tight since before we left John's house. There's something you're keeping from me-"

"Of course not!"

"Yes you are- but I think I know what it is."

I balked. "You do?" I exclaimed without thinking, and therefore gave myself away.

"Mm," he nodded. "It's about me, isn't it?"

"Well," I mused, "I suppose it has to do with you."

He nodded again, pouring vodka over his glass of ice. "Let me guess-"

"No, hold on. If we're going to tell each other secrets, let alone guess at them, we're not doing it this far apart and standing up. Come over here by me." I patted the sofa cushion.

Freddie did as I ordered, absently sitting down on my skirt. I watched him while my heart beat loudly in my head. What does he think he knows? What did C and K tell John- and what did John tell Freddie? Maybe he knows I'm planning to leave. Maybe I don't have to tell him, maybe he already knows! Is that it?

He sipped his cocktail and asked, leaving me no time to think up a generic, evasive fallback, "So tell me, dear: where you came from, was I dead?"

POW!

That single question knocked the wind right out of me. His words were cower-worthy all by themselves- but their tone! God, he was so casual, as if he'd already come to terms with the reply no matter what it would be.

"W-what brought this on?" I whispered.

"A hunch," he replied. "Something one of your Relic friends said."

"My Relic friends? You spoke to them too?" I went pale.

"Dear, please don't change the subject."

"But Freddie, that's such a macabre question-"

"I know, I know, but still I need to ask, or else it'll drive me mad with wondering: in your old world, did I make it to seventy? And no beating about the bush, please. Brutal honesty."

After what seemed like forever, I shook my head. "No, where I came from, you- didn't make seventy years old."

"Right!" he nodded. "That's what I thought, really. Seventy is too long anyway. I've no desire whatsoever to grow that old. I'd be so bored."

Hearing my prince speak this way curdled my blood; I could barely keep my voice at a normal level. "Freddie, don't you dare ask any more about it."

"I won't. I'm satisfied."

"No more questions, because I swear I won't answer them. Not how, not when-"

"I don't want to know those things, Julia. That, I prefer to keep a surprise," he dismissed. "Oh, darling, don't dwell on it, I only brought it up to clear both our consciences, especially yours, since it's obviously been plaguing you- but see, now I've spared you the headache, and we can move along, right?"

"Oh, Freddie, how can you be so cool about it?" I exclaimed. "It's your life! How the hell can you think of yourself like that?"

"I've always felt like that, ever since boarding school. If I die tomorrow, I couldn't care less. Julia, you look so horrified. What for? We'd both be much better off if I just dropped dead. You know it."

It was a moment before I could whisper in a shaky voice, "Why are you saying these things to me?"

"Because they're true."

"Would you say this to Mary?" I demanded abruptly.

"What?"

"Mary! Would you talk this way to her? Would you just point blank tell her things like 'I wish I were never born' and, and 'I don't care if I die'? Would you?"

"I don't- know-"

"Or Minsy? Do you say those things to him?" I felt myself getting wound up. "Or Liza? Or Paul? Or whoever else?"

"What do they have to do with it?"

"Because they do. Remember, Freddie, I know more than too much. So, tell me, what is it? Do you talk that way to them? Why are you making me listen to it- me, someone you met two weeks ago under stupid circumstances?"

Freddie paused. "Because I know I am much more trouble than I am worth- and you deserve better than me."

"What?"

"I have no right to- to feel like this when I've given every reason in the world to expect otherwise."

"To feel like what?"

"Like I want to keep you."

My heart ached at his words. "How can you say that? All the things you've done for me-"

"Yes, but that thing, that f---ing phone Relic whatever-it-is- is in there, and- when I think about the way I acted that night- that's how you sprained your finger, wasn't it? When you hit me?"

"Yes it was," I conceded. So that's what made him walk away like that.

"And yet you came back. I still don't know why."

"Because I loved you."

"You said it was honor."

"That was me unwilling to accept that I loved you- and I was still pretty mad at that time anyway."

Freddie shook his head. "Still, I never should have treated you that way, no matter what Paul said."

"Freddie, I have forgiven you already for- what?"

"Hm?"

"You said something about Paul."

"Yes, I met Paul at a bar around where he lives right before I came home that night."

"You met Paul first," I repeated, all the pieces of the puzzle now slowly coming together in my head. "Did you tell him what I wrote?"

"Honestly, I don't remember- I think I might have said something about you thinking I was a monster, because he said, um- he said, 'Prove her right, she wants you to, so prove her right.'" Freddie shook his head. "I was rather angry still, and I'd had a lot to drink, so I suppose I took his words to the extreme."

I might have known! I shouted inwardly. So that was it! Paul egged him on! My God, Freddie, don't you see how easily he can manipulate you? He waits till you're mildly incapacitated, then he strikes!

"But, anyway, I guess I did prove you right," he sighed. "I-"

"Freddie, I was wrong," I cut him off. Now an idea was brewing in my head. Quickly I darted upstairs for my journal and a black pen, then came back down the stairs, writing furiously.

"Julia, you're the one who knows how this is all going to end up," Freddie pointed out. "All you can be is right."

"Remember when you said that a little change would do this world some good?" I said, nose buried in the book. "Maybe I've been wrong about everything from Day One because that future crumbled as soon as I arrived here."

"But you don't know for certain?"

"No. But it could very well be like this-"

"Darling, if this is about to get technical, please don't bother, because I'm not going to understand half of it."

"It's really short. Maybe, the way it works is, that future has already changed, but my little jaunt here in yesteryear hasn't affected the development of time travel technology, so they haven't really been affected by it. Time may have changed around them and they don't even know it. So the new future is the only future they remember. For them, nothing's changed.

"There's a second thought too, although it's much more Zemeckis than reality: that the future's changes are pending."

"Pending?"

"Waiting on the link between this new past and the old future to be broken."

Freddie snapped his fingers. "The Relic."

"Right! When it dies, and all the juice in the Relic has been drained, that breaks the chain, destroying the old future to make way for a brand new future. But that's the less likely option, as that defies all the laws of physics and Einstein and everything. Besides, the Relic's already been broken once, so-"

"But doesn't the, um, whole concept of time travel sort of bend the rules all by itself too?"

"Maybe- unless there's other rules we have yet to discover that annihilate the original laws of physics. Maybe Isaac Newton was wrong- and maybe Einstein was high."

Freddie squinted. "So, um, what does that mean for us?"

"That means, assuming Option A is true, we do not have to be governed by the old future! Perhaps you do make it to seventy this time!"

"No need; I'm quite content to cap it at sixty-nine."

I shook my head, smiling. "All right. Here's the contract."

Freddie held up his hands in defense. "Contract? Oh, no. I sign no contracts unless Deacy's given them a good looking-through first."

"Oh, don't be cute. Read it and sign if the terms and conditions are reasonable."

"Right," he muttered, and read my sloppy handwriting aloud:

The Great Compromise of 1977

I, the Party of the First Part, a.k.a. Freddie Mercury, do so agree to, while enjoying myself more than should be humanly acceptable in Life, acknowledge and practice three resolutions:

a) to keep my wits about me, as after all, ooh, baby, baby, it's a wild world (Freddie rolled his eyes, and whispered, "You couldn't help yourself, could you?")

b) to not indulge in such a lifestyle as would place my own health at high risk

c) to be wary of my relations with Paul Prenter, and to make sure they do not exceed most others in value and/or importance

Underneath this text was an attempt at a straight line where I had prompted him to put his signature.

"What do you think?" I asked.

Freddie read it silently to himself