Adeline sat in the studio, her legs crossed and a book propped up against her thigh. Roger was next to her, his arm draped along the back of the couch with his fingers brushing over her shoulder. On the other side of the room, Brian was playing ping pong, and John was sitting in an armchair, arms crossed firmly over his chest.
"We're a rock and roll band. We don't do disco," Roger said, glancing to his wife for support.
"Leave me out of this. Fight amongst yourselves," she said, pushing her glasses a bit farther up her nose.
"It's not disco," John argued.
"The what is it?" Brian asked, turning away from the ping pong table with a hand on his hip.
"It's Queen."
Adeline simply shrugged her shoulders and continued to read, slowly turning the page as her husband inched a bit closer to her.
"It's bollocks is what it is," he whispered in her ear. She turned to look at him, but before she could retort, Freddie's voice came over the in-studio loudspeaker.
"So sorry, my darlings! Lost all track!"
Everyone turned to look at the back booth, and Adeline felt her fingers twitch. Freddie had brought Paul with him, as he usually did, and she snapped her book shut. Roger got to his feet after giving her shoulder a squeeze, and his voice was a bit deeper than usual.
"You fired Reid without consulting us!" he snapped. "You don't make decisions for the band."
"Hey." Brian reached out to Roger, earning a glare from him. Adeline stood and took his hand, tracing over his knuckles with the pad of her thumb. He looked down at her, then brought her hand up to his lips, gently pressing them to the back of her hand.
"Well, I'm terribly sorry, dear." Freddie walked past them, cigarette in one hand and beer bottle in the other. "It's done."
"If you were sorry, you wouldn't have done it. Or you'd hire him back on," Adeline said, letting go of her husband's hand to set both of hers on her hips.
"Besides," Freddie said, ignoring Adeline and snuffing out his smoke in the ashtray on Miami's desk, "Miami will manage us. Won't you, darling?" Freddie turned back to the group to the soundtrack of Miami's nervous laughter.
"I'll think about it," he said.
"No."
"Are you high again?" Brian asked as Roger pulled Adeline closer to him, one arm tight around her waist.
"Well done, Columbo."
"You need to slow down, Fred."
"Oh, don't be such a bore. I'm here, aren't I?"
"Are you?" Roger asked.
"Physically, yes. Mentally, I think you're back with Prick Prenter," Adeline said, and as Roger glanced down at her, she shrugged her shoulders. "I'm not wrong, and I should say it."
"I don't care if you're shit-faced. As long as you can sing," John said as he pressed the sheet of lyrics into Freddie's chest.
"John, don't encourage this, please," Adeline said softly, but he ignored her and walked to the others, handing them their own sheets. Something flopped in her chest as he walked past her, not even sparing a glance.
"No, John, I don't wanna play it," Roger said, handing Adeline his sheet, which she read over a few times.
"Then I'm all for it," Freddie said.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh no," Adeline whispered as Roger stepped away from her, leaving her beside Brian with a sick feeling in her stomach.
"I'm tired of the bloody anthems. I want the energy in the clubs. The bodies, I want to make people move," he explained.
"You mean disco?" Brian asked.
"Why not?" Paul's voice came from behind them, and both Adeline and Brian turned around to look at him.
"Do you mind pissing off? This is a band discussion," Brian spat.
"Then why is she here?" Paul pointed to Adeline lazily, and she nearly punctured the sheet music in her hand.
"Because I care about them. Now fuck off, you sleaze," she retorted.
"Drum loops? Synthesizers?" Roger asked.
"If you say so," Freddie muttered.
"It's not us!"
"Us?"
"It's not Queen!"
"Queen is whatever I say it is!"
Adeline's eyes widened at Freddie's outburst, and she tried to grip the back of Roger's jacket, but the material slipped past her fingers as her husband stormed over to the lead singer. She stumbled back a bit, and Brian caught her, holding her arms gently to keep her out of the scuffle.
"Well, you can play your own bloody drums, then." Roger got in Freddie's face, and in retaliation, Freddie pressed his sheet of lyrics into Roger's face, shoving him backwards.
"Rog!" Adeline gasped.
"Fred," Brian said, exasperated.
"Okay, let's see how good of a boxer you really are!" Roger yelled, trying to get close to Freddie once again, but Brian got between the two, his hands pressed against their chests. Freddie entered a fighting stance, and Adeline grabbed onto Roger's jacket.
"Roger, take it easy! Take it easy! Take it easy," Brian yelled, keeping the two men away from each other. "All right, Muhammad Ali."
Roger huffed and let Adeline hug him, and he leaned against her, closing his eyes for a brief moment. Brian pulled his hands away from the two, and all eyes were on John as he plucked at his bass strings.
"That's... That's quite a cool riff, actually," he admitted.
"Hmm. You wrote that?" Freddie asked, and John simply glared at them. "That's really good."
"Yes, it will be, if you all can just shut up and play." John glanced at Adeline for a moment, and she let go of Roger, smoothing out the back of his jacket as her cheeks warmed up.
"He started it," Freddie muttered.
"Oh, shut up," Brian said. He walked away from the group to grab his guitar, and Freddie gave Roger his beer bottle. Adeline went to go sit back on the couch, crossing her legs again but leaving her book untouched.
"You have to admit, it is a good riff," she said, and she saw the tiniest flicker of a smile on her husband's lips. She then watched as Freddie picked up the fallen sheet of lyrics from the floor, and he began to pace around the room.
"Steve walks warily down the street, with the brim pulled way down low. Ain't no sound, but the sound of his feet, machine guns ready to go. Are you ready, are you ready for this? Are you hanging on the edge of your seat? Out of the doorway the bullets rip to the sound of the beat."
"Okay, I'll do it," Miami set his briefcase down on the table as Freddie continued to sing speak. "I'll do it."
That was all it took to get Roger behind the drums and Brian back onto his guitar. Adeline remained on the couch, tapping her foot as the boys worked through the song, her eyes never once leaving her husband. And despite her hatred of smoking, she couldn't deny how good he looked, just in his element. He caught her eyes about halfway through and winked at her, making her stomach flop.
Once they were finished, Adeline gathered her things and held out her hand for Roger. He took it with a smile, raising her hand so he could kiss the back of it.
"What did you think?" he asked as they left the studio.
"I thought it was amazing. Still not a huge fan of disco, but you pulled it off very well," she said, walking with him out to their car.
"I like to think so, too," he said with a chuckle, helping her into the car. He got in after her, and after starting the car, he pulled away from the curb and drove them home. Adeline was quick to get out and grab her things, hurrying inside the house once she'd found her keys. Roger, with his head tilted, quickly followed her inside, kicking the door shut with the heel of his shoe.
"Addy? What's wrong?" he asked, spotting her in the living room. She turned back to him, biting her bottom lip gently.
"I... I just wanted to get you into the privacy of our own home before telling you how sexy you looked at rehearsal," she said softly. Roger paused mid-step, one of his brows arching.
"Oh, is that so?" he asked, crossing his arms with a smirk.
"Mhm. So either come here and let me get my hands on you, or I'll go and do it myself," she whispered. In two long strides, Roger was in front of her, hoisting her up for her legs were around his waist.
"Thank god it's Friday," he whispered, and with a laugh, he carried her up to their bedroom.