Body Language. Queen

Forgive And Forget.

Freddie's P.O.V.

I recoiled a little once I saw the blonde drummer sat alone in his little corner, I didn't know if I should go up to him, ask him what on earth he was doing down here or sit down and join him...or completely disregard him and pretend I'd never seen him, sit at the bar on my own and hope he wouldn't see me and come sit with me instead.

I wasn't impressed with Roger these last couple of weeks, nobody was, and he knew this full well. But to see him like this made my heart ache for him a little. He knew he had done wrong, yet he didn't know how and couldn't think of a way to get himself out of it.

In my head, it was easy, get rid of Patrick and make up with John. But of course nothing is ever as easy as you first think.

Because Roger couldn't get rid of Patrick now, he was stuck with him and I don't think he wanted to be anymore, even if Patrick wasn't physically by Rogers side, he was on his mind, already brainwashing the drummer like he had tried to do Deaks years ago, but he was at least realising just how much of an arse Patrick was...but he couldn't do anything about it. And as long as Patrick was around Roger, Deaky wasn't. And understandably so. But it was making it impossible for the two of them to get on common ground again and apologise to each other.

Even if the apology meant they just connected friendships again...not the relationship.

It was quite obvious to Bri and I that they were never going to be romantically involved with each other again. Not after all this. It wasn't something you forgive and forget about.

I'd took my drink from the barman, a double vodka with ice, and eyed the drummer over sneakily, I wasn't so sure if he had seen me, or even if his eyes had ever strayed from the stale drink he had been swilling about in his glass since I first saw him.

His eyes seemed like they needed to be propped open by matchsticks, he looked exhausted, but something was certainly not letting him rest.

My guilty conscience got the better of me and I found myself slowly swanning over to him, I stood in front of the table he was sat at and yet he still didn't look up.

"How about I get you a fresh one, hmm?" I said ever so softly, laying my hand over his that was a little too ferociously swilling his glass about, the contents that remained almost spilling over the rim.

His eyes snapped up at me now, but his facial expression never changed, although, I could see in his eyes that he had had enough of whatever shit he was going through, it was a silent cry for help yet nobody could hear him. He may have gotten himself into the situation...but he needed help getting out of it and as much as I didn't like what he'd done...I felt like I had to help.

"Fred?" He croaked, "What are you doing down here?" He swallowed thickly.

"I could ask you the same question, darling." I replied, gently. I could tell by his voice and his wavering eyes that he was indeed very sadly drunk.

I put my drink down on the table before going back over to the bar and ordering him a drink.

"What's that?" He asked, hoarsely, when I'd put it in front of him.

"Vodka and lemonade." I said matter of factory, when actually it was just the lemonade, minus the alcohol. But if I had told him that, he wouldn't have drank it, and he really did not need any more alcohol in his suffering system.

I sat opposite him, watching him as he tried to chase the straw around the glass in order to have a sip, but failing due to his spinning head.

"You're drinking a lot lately, Roger." I stated, eyeing him up.