John Deacon's the one that got away. Roger Taylor's the baby daddy. Things get complicated for reader in this love triangle.
Summary: roger and deaky talk. roger and yn talk about her pregnancy. roger and deaky have to confess some big things at an interview.
Note: grammar and spelling errors. sorry for the long chapter... but the series is almost done so kinda long chapters???
Warning: language, angst, smut
Words: 12.5k+
***March 15, 1977***
Roger stepped into John's hotel room, looking around nonchalantly as he made his way over to the large window to show off the busy street.
John watched him.
An uneasiness in the room as neither one of them spoke.
Struggled to talk.
About Roger and John.
About you and the baby.
"Want something?" John offered, pointing his thumb to the bar.
Roger turned around from the window to say, "Oh, no. I'm alright."
The brunette nodded, pouring himself a drink.
Undesired small talk.
"Mind if I?" Roger asked, pulling out a cig.
Usually Roger didn't ask because the two smoked together, but that was when things were different.
John shook his head.
"Want one?" Roger mumbled, holding out a stick.
John shook his head again before Roger proceeded to light the cig and hold it to his lips.
Silence again.
Roger sat on the large windowsill, keeping the cig between his lips as he opened up the window to let the smoke out.
Stalling.
The blonde looked down at the floor as John poured himself a second drink.
"How's tour?" Roger asked.
"Good." John nodded, giving a closed smile.
"Freddie told me you've been working on a new song."
"Yeah," John confirmed.
"Spread your wings and fly away," Roger said. "Told me those were some of the lyrics but you weren't sure. I think it works, though. Sounds a bit cheesy, but so did 'I'm happy at home.' Course, everyone loves it..." Roger smiled before realizing just who the song was for. "Including her."
You.
John understood.
"I'm not... I'm not here to talk about tour. Your music or anything-"
"I know," John said.
"Right." Roger inhaled the cig for a few seconds before letting it out, then scratched his head. "She told me, you know? Everything."
John remained silent, the two looking at each other.
Roger couldn't read John's stoic face.
"She told me you two..." his voice faltered, letting out a breath of air before poking his tongue against his cheek at the thought.
Slept together.
"But she also told me how you felt about her." He paused. "How she felt about you."
John poured another drink before walking a few steps closer to the blonde.
"She told me how much you cared for her. Always did. How much she cared - cares for you. Said she hadn't found that in me for a while."
Silence.
"Six years old," Roger continued. "Since six years old you always had a love for her." He paused. "So why'd you let me have her? That one day in the studio I asked you if I could continue with her. She was your best friend and I didn't want to ruin anything. And then you said she was all mine. But you loved her even then." Roger thought for a moment. "I never would've pursued her if I had known. So why did you tell me I could?"
"You know the answer to that," John replied. "Already said it."
Roger was confused.
"I said she was yours because I loved her." John paused. "I was able to let go because I loved her. Even if that meant I had to let her love someone else. And I had seen the way she looked at you. Had looked at me that way a few times, perhaps... before the fame and all. I don't know why I never did anything about it. I was confused, I think. After being friends for so long. But eventually she stopped looking at me that way when she found you. So I let her move on. Just like I am now." John thought for a moment before quietly mumbling to himself, "Love is selfless."
"Why didn't you say anything before? When she arrived. Before then."
"I was going to tell her a few days after she came back from uni... But she saw you. And you saw her."
Roger clenched his jaw, nodding as he understood.
"I did some things I shouldn't have: kissed her, told her things you should have. My love became selfish at times. And those times were never good. Hurt my relationship with her and hurt my relationship with you." John paused. "I apologize."
"We've all done things we wish we hadn't," Roger said. "Done things to hurt one another. None of us innocent."
John nodded with agreement.
"I know you tried being a good friend for her through it all. I do. Did it in times when I wasn't exactly a good partner to her," Roger confessed. "I did some things to hurt her..." He gritted his teeth at the thought, his nose flaring to keep the tears in his eyes from falling. "Slept with other women when it should have been her. Bringing my ex..." his voice wavered. Unable to speak. "So I understand what you mean. I had my selfish moments with love. Hurt people I cared about. I apologize, as well."
"Guess we both learned something through all of this," John suggested.
Roger nodded.
"But I can't... I can't be like that anymore. Can't have my rages or fits like I do when in the studio. Can't have my selfish moments anymore." Roger paused at the thought, a small smile creeping on his face as he quickly wiped away a fallen tear. "Not when I'm going to be a dad... I'm going to be a dad," he repeated.
John gave a small smile. It was sincere.
"And I'm honestly terrified, but (Y/N) has no idea. I don't want her to know either. Don't want to stress her out or anything like that. Make her doubt that I don't..."
John understood.
"But I do. I want to be there for her and the baby. I usually love touring, I still do. But ever since I found out about the baby I just..." He paused. "I want to be with them."
"I'm sure she gets excited to see you when you come home," John said.
"Yeah..." Roger lowly spoke, smiling at the thought. How good things have been. Well, how things were progressing for the better. "Yeah, yeah she does." The blonde took another puff of smoke before looking at John then at the floor and back to the brunette.
Hesitant.
"I was going to ask her to marry me," Roger nervously spoke.
John's jaw clenched at the words. What they meant. An entire future. You and Roger. To commit to one another.
But John still felt bitterness. Still that selfish love. Wanted to say it wasn't a good idea. Wouldn't last. Not when you loved John and not Roger. Not when Roger wasn't a faithful man.
"I'm not too keen on marriage, but I thought about it. I was going to ask her around Christmas. Well, I was going to mention it to her. Talk about the possibility of it. Made her a scrapbook along with it to convince her things would be okay between us if we worked at it. Because I did want to work at it. I still do. It's why I still want to ask her to marry me. Now that we have a kid-"
"A kid shouldn't be the reason you marry. You marry for love. For commitment. That's what marriage is." John's words came out harsh, but he meant them. How he felt.
But John remembered that it wasn't up to him in the end. That things were different now.
You weren't with John, you were with Roger.
There was nothing to fight for anymore.
John had to let go.
"If you want to ask her to marry you, do it because you mean it. Because you love her and the child..." John paused, hesitant to say the words he really meant to say. "Just don't hurt her. Don't keep hurting her," his voice broke, licking his lips and looking away for a moment. Remembering all the times Roger had hurt you. How it broke you. "Either of them. Take care of them, please. Because I can't anymore. I know she can be a bit hectic to handle sometimes, but she has a good heart. When she's happy, she's a good person."
"I never deserved her," Roger answered. "I know I didn't. And I know that now. You were always better than me in that sense. Always cared for her when I couldn't. Always there for her when I wasn't. I took her love for granted, but we both want to try. Want to try as a family."
John nodded, biting his cheek. At what could have been if Roger knew that from the start. Hadn't pursued you. Kept fighting for you. If you had never run back to Roger. But you always did.
"If you want to marry her, ask her when both of you are ready."
Roger nodded.
"I promise. I promise to take care of them," Roger assured.
Silence.
"Always thought you'd have a kid first," Roger let out a small laugh.
"Yeah, me too," John said. But it sounded sad. As if he had seen that future too. Only with a specific person in mind. He had to let go of that thought.
Roger noticed before asking, "You still..."
"Yeah," John interrupted. "I do"
"She does too," Roger admitted.
Still loved John.
"We're alright," John said, changing the subject. "You and me. I don't hate you or anything. Still accepting what's happened. Where we're at. But I have to become at peace with it. We're best mates." He paused. "We're family. And pretty soon, you'll have a family of your own."
Roger smiled at the thought.
Having his own family.
It was only the beginning of the healing process between you, Roger, and John.
***March 16 - April 24, 1977***
Roger still tried to call you when away, but it became less frequent. And he had visited on his off days, but they were just a few days. His time became more consumed by work.
Shows. Rehearsals. Interviews. Photoshoots. Music video shoots. Recording at a studio. Writing music. Practicing. Attending events.
Things you used to join him with, but couldn't anymore.
Because things had changed.
Specifically, your body. Six months now. Your stomach was starting to show.
Your relationship with Roger hadn't changed a lot. Still worked on getting better. Things were better.
Your relationship had drastically changed with John. Sometimes a call a week if you were lucky, but only a few minutes. Saw him a few times when you went out with Roger and the others.
You could see him and Roger were okay. They'd laugh together. Smoke outside together. They were friends.
You weren't sure if you could say the same for you and John.
***April 25, 1977***
It was Roger's first night back at home in a while. A full two weeks off that he could spend with you. He intended to.
He had arrived earlier that morning but you were out and returned around the afternoon.
So he took you out for ice cream. And you wore a fur coat of his to hide your stomach. And didn't take it off in the ice cream shop.
Your pregnancy remained a secret to the public.
But even though he took you out for ice cream, you found yourself sitting in the kitchen late at night on a chair eating another bowl of chocolate ice cream mixed with banana.
You hadn't craved many foods.
But chocolate ice cream was always there.
So you sat there, savoring the flavor of the ice cream. Made you happy. Made the baby happy.
It began to move a few weeks ago. Something you hadn't told Roger.
Something you thought he might want to know. Be excited to know.
And sitting there, eating your ice cream alone in silence. You realized you missed talking to him. Missed being with him. Even if you had shared a bowl of ice cream with him earlier.
The tour had taken a lot of those days away.
But Roger went slow. Still made the effort
More than you did.
You set the bowl down in the sink, soaking it with water and leaving it there before making your way up the stairs, your hand resting on your swollen stomach.
A light peeked out from Roger's room, indicating he was still up. Usually up late.
You made your way over to his room, peeking through the small crack. He sat against the headboard, legs resting out with a pen and journal in his hands. His diary that contained short sentences about his days and lyrics to songs.
He had no shirt on - usually slept that way. A few gold chains around his neck. And his blonde rays were a bit messy. Looked tired.
"Hi," you whispered, slowly pushing the door open. Drew Roger's attention to you.
"Hi," he greeted with a soft smile, his pen halting.
"Hi," you said again, taking a step in.
"How's the baby?" Roger asked, looking at your stomach.
"Good," you nervously answered, caressing your stomach.
Roger noticed your uneasiness. Something off.
"And you? How are you?" he asked. Concerned for you.
"A bit scared," you admitted.
"That makes two of us," Roger admitted, returning to look at his paper as he wrote. It wasn't to ignore you. He always wrote and listened to you speak. He got good at it after three years.
"Is it alright if I sit?" you asked, glaring at the open spot of his bed.
"Sure," Roger said with a warm smile, scooting over a bit.
"I hope you don't mind..." you said as you sat down, glancing down at the shirt you wore. "I just... I don't fit into all of my pajamas. And I thought this was more comfortable."
One of Roger's oversized shirts. It was a bit big on him. Bigger on you.
"Oh, no. It's alright. I don't really wear it anymore."
Roger didn't want to admit it out loud, but he liked seeing you wear his light blue t-shirt. Pregnant. The bump was clearly shown.
"I'm just getting big all over," you chuckled. "My stomach. My thighs." You paused. "My boobs."
"Don't see anything wrong with that," Roger smirked, glancing up at you then down at the paper.
"What are you working on?" you asked.
"Oh, just the song I told you about in the dressing room. I've been stuck on it for a while. Don't know where to go with it. You can read it if you'd like," he said, handing it to you.
"Sure," you smiled, taking it before reading. "'Let's hope you never leave old friend. Like all good things on you we depend.'"
"I don't know." Roger shrugged. "Two bloody lines down in a few months. Haven't made much progress. Feels like I'm missing something but I don't know what."
"Does it have a title?" you asked.
Roger shook his head.
"You'll get there," you giggled, looking down at the paper before flipping the page. And your smile fell. A skip in your heart. Silence in the room as Roger watched you stare at the paper. Nervous as to what you'd think.
"Roger..." you whispered, glancing between him in the paper.
"Just some ideas," Roger nervously admitted, scratching the back of his neck.
One half said "Boys" with a list of names and the other half said "Girls" with a list of names.
A list of names for the babies.
"Also why I haven't gotten done with that song. Got other things on my mind."
"You wrote a list?" you asked, showing him.
Roger nodded, unsure if you were upset with his action. But you smiled widely, indicating you were happy. Made him smile. The two of you sharing a moment.
"You got some interesting names on here," you beamed, scanning down the list.
"Yeah, Freddie helped me with some. He also put his own name on there. Freddie if it's a boy and Frederica if it's a girl."
"Frederica?" you giggled. "Never heard that name before."
"Exactly why Freddie wants you to name the baby that if it's a girl. Says she'll 'stand out,'" Roger rolled his eyes. "As if being a child of Queen's drummer and a painter won't make it stand out already."
"If not, her name will," you giggled louder, making Roger smile. Liked hearing you laugh. See you smile. None of it seemed forced. Only genuine.
"You have any names in mind?" he asked.
"I've been thinking. But I don't know. I got other things on my mind. The project and all. Finally coming together."
"How has that been? While I was away."
"Fine," you admitted. "A bit stressful, but I need it. I don't mind."
Roger nodded. More silence.
"How were you while I was away?" Roger asked, his eyes intently looking at yours.
"Lonely," you admitted. "At first it was lonely. Just me and the baby. The pets. Romeo likes to sleep with me. Stand right by my feet. I think he knows." You softly smiled, rubbing a small circle around your stomach. "It was hard at first. Nobody knowing about it. But it got better once I did. Had a lot of support. And I hope you don't mind that I let people stay over while you-"
"No," Roger said. "I'm glad they did. You know I don't like leaving you here alone in case something happens to you or the baby. Even when you weren't pregnant I still worried."
You nodded.
"Annie stayed over for a few days. We made up... kind of. Chrissie and Mary, too. They went out and bought some clothes for the baby as a gift. They know I'm not ready to yet with all the public eye. Your mum and sister stayed with me for a week. Helped me decorate the nursery."
"Sorry about that," Roger apologized. "With the nursery. I tried," Roger shamefully spoke.
"You may be good with your hands, Roger Taylor, but not when it comes to building a crib," you giggled.
"Bloody thing kept falling apart. Instructions made no sense," he defended.
You giggled louder.
"Mark also came to visit me as well. He stayed one night. He built a crib. And it works," you playfully snarked. "Friends from New York came to visit. Just a few of them. They stayed for a week. I showed them all around. It's nice to go out instead of staying cooped up here. They met Brian one day when Chrissie came over."
"Oh, yeah. Brian told me. Said you looked happy."
"I was," you confessed. But something in Roger's eyes told him you were hiding something.
"What is it?" he whispered.
"My parents visited me as well," you shakily confessed.
Roger's jaw clenched, uneasy as to how they felt. He hadn't spoken to them in a while. Didn't know they knew. All of this was news to him. He hadn't known much about you or the baby. Only what he saw.
"They were angry at first," you began, tears forming in your eyes. Roger could see the pain. How you wanted your parents to be there. "They didn't speak to me for a while. I had invited them over for dinner one night. I told them it was here. They were confused at first. Thought we had broken up. But they agreed to come. So I wore a dress that hid my stomach. And when we sat down for dinner, I told them about the pregnancy. What you and I wanted to do. They listened to everything I said. It made me happy. Made me believe that they accepted it. That things were going to be okay because they hadn't said anything. That's when I realized I had been wrong. They hadn't said anything for a while. Minutes. My dad stood up from the table and said you and I wouldn't work. Our type of family wouldn't work. And they left. I cried. I felt alone that night. Really alone. But I walked by the nursery and saw that stupid crib you failed to build. Remembered how frustrated you were building it. And I laughed. Because I realized I wasn't alone. I had a family, even if my parents didn't want to be part of that."
"We are a family," Roger said, his hand reaching for yours. "I'll never leave you. Hurt you. Or the child."
"I know." You nodded. "But after I saw the crib. Realized I had a family and that I wasn't alone..." You paused, scooting closer as to tell a secret. You whispered, "I ate some bloody good chocolate ice cream with bananas and potato crisps."
Roger laughed at your words, surprised you'd even say them.
"But they came around a week or two later. And we talked. For hours. They said they were happy for us. For the baby. That they knew it'd have loving parents. And that we had their support. They want to be in their grandchild's life, even if that means you are part of it." You paused, remembering the moments you shared with them when they visited. "They stayed with me for a week. And visited a lot other days. My mother called me almost everyday asking how I felt. How the baby felt. This and that. Giving me tips. Then she got too personal." You blushed. "Asked about us. If we were... sleeping together. She said it was good for the baby. That the baby knows. Feels the love. Said it's also different between parents. More intimate." You paused, your body heat rising at the thought. Roger's lips parted open. Thought about it himself.
"She said it's a different experience," you nervously whispered. "But then she asked me how I felt. Said that pregnant women tend to crave other things besides food. They crave that intimacy. That love. A lot of it," you rambled, not sure if Roger understood.
But you were trying to hint that you did.
It wasn't just odd foods you craved.
You craved for that intimacy.
Especially with that child's father.
"Then she began talking about her and my father when she was pregnant with me. Got into details I didn't want to hear. So I hung up," you laughed. "She didn't bring it up again."
"Bet that was a bit terrifying," Roger chuckled.
"It was." The both of you smiled. "But Roger, they are so happy for us. Both my mum and dad. Your mum and sister. Everyone is."
"John is too," Roger chimed in.
"What?" you asked. Confused.
"I talked to him last month. We're okay now," he confirmed.
"You talked?"
"Mhm."
You paused, your eyes staring right at his. Questioning. Before softening.
"How are you and John?" he asked.
"We haven't talked," you quietly admitted. "I don't know where we stand. And I just..." you broke. "He calls me sometimes. And I answer but I don't know what to say. It's not the same anymore. It isn't." You paused, afraid to confess. "I haven't called him. Haven't tried talking to him... That's on me."
"I'm sure he'll want to talk to you. He's your best friend-"
"Roger," you interrupted, your voice a bit harsh before calming down. "No," your voice broke, shaking your head.
The blonde understood.
It became more than best friends at one point. And had completely clashed.
Leaving you and John confused.
"I don't want to talk about that," you rushed out, forcing a smile and quickly wiping away your tears.
You really didn't. You were in Roger's room to talk about you, Roger, and the baby.
You had left him in the dust about a lot of it. But you wanted him to know because he cared.
"Of course everyone likes to talk about the baby around a pregnant woman. Baby names. Clothing. How a baby should sleep. If they think it's a boy or girl," you rambled, removing yourself and Roger from the serious conversation of John.
"What gender?" Roger smiled. "What does everyone think the baby is."
"Well," you began. "It's mixed. My parents think it's a boy. Chrissie and Brian think it's a girl. Freddie and Mark think it's a boy. Annie says it's a boy. Your mum and sister think it's a girl. My friends from uni are split, but most of them thought it was a boy. Elton thinks it's a boy. Bernie and Ray think it's a girl." You paused for a moment, thinking you may have mixed something up. "Sorry, Elton also thinks it's a girl."
"The boys didn't want me to say anything, but they put money on it. Brian and Freddie to see what gender it is."
"My baby's a pawn for money?" you teasingly gawked. Neither you nor Roger noticed, but you had been playing with his hand. Your small hands tugging at his fingers, your thumb gliding over his palm. His hand moved in sync with yours.
"What do you think it is?" Roger asked. "Boy or girl."
"I don't know." You shrugged. "At first I was so sure it was a boy. Something told me it was. Then one day I woke up and looked at my stomach. Thought about the possibility of it being a girl. And then I became so sure it was a girl. But I really have no idea. Some days I believe it's a boy, other days I believe it's a girl."
"You want to bet on it?" Roger joked.
"No!" you giggled, pushing his hand away before he caught it again.
"What do you think it is?"
"Oh, I'm not concerned whether it's a boy or girl. I just want to know whether it's a drummer or a painter."
"Really?" you gawked. "And if it's not a drummer?"
"I'll still love it, just a little less," he joked.
"The baby can hear you," you sassed.
"Nah, I'm just kidding," Roger chuckled. "I'll love it even if it's a painter like their mum." He looked at your stomach and whispered, "Maybe."
You rolled your eyes, trying to hide a smile.
"It's beginning to move. Especially at night. When I lay down I feel it. Some nights it's calm and other nights it's as if the child can't find a comfortable spot to sleep in," you giggled at the thought, looking down at your stomach. "It rarely kicks. But it's starting to. Sometimes I can see my stomach move."
"How does it feel?" Roger asked. "When it moves. Does it hurt?"
"Not really. Sometimes it feels like there's all these butterflies flying around. Bumping into each other. But I don't mind the feeling. Let's me know it's okay. Healthy. That I'm not alone. But it does feel odd sometimes. Makes me smile."
"Kind of a weird concept, isn't it? A person inside of a person." He stared at your stomach.
"Yes," you chuckled. "Very weird. But it's also quite beautiful. And I don't know what it is, but this baby loves Abba. It was the first time I felt it move. I was cleaning the kitchen one night and decided to play it."
"What song?" Roger asked.
"'My Love, My Life.' I was obsessed with that song when it first came out. I think the baby drew me back to my love for it."
"That's what you were humming, wasn't it?" Roger asked.
You made a face - confused.
"About a week or two ago, I walked by your room. I heard you humming to that tune."
"Oh, yeah." You blushed. "It's a good lullaby song. I like humming it to the baby. Sometimes sing. But I don't do it often, I think it prefers Abba. Not my voice."
"What about Queen? You play it Queen? I'm sure it'd like to hear it's dad sing."
"Yeah." You softly smiled.
"So what was the first song you played?" he pressed, a grin on his face. Because he already had a thought as to what song you played. "Kid's gonna love cars like its dad. First birthday and I'll buy it a car."
"No, Roger," you giggled. "'I'm in Love with My Car' was not the first song I played."
"Then what did you play?" he asked, truly confused. You could see it in his face. Part of him really thought that would have been the first song.
You remained silent. Unsure of how to tell him.
Roger understood.
"It's a good song, too," he spoke. Sad present in his voice.
It was John's song to you. "You're My Best Friend."
"I did play 'I'm in Love with My Car' eventually. Played some other songs, too," you urged. "'Somebody to Love.' I pointed your voice out to it."
"Yeah?" Roger gave a half grin.
"Yeah," you softly spoke.
Roger hadn't touched your stomach much through the pregnancy. Only at the few appointments.
But he craved to see what it felt like. The kicking. The moving around. Wondered what it felt like for the baby to hear Roger's voice the way the child heard your voice.
Something a father couldn't feel, only a mother.
And what he could feel, just your stomach. A small way of feeling his child. You also deprived him of that.
But he never asked. Didn't want to push you or make you feel uncomfortable.
"It likes your voice," you whispered. "I can feel it moving a little bit right now." You gently placed your palm on a lower part of your stomach. Smiled at the feeling.
An intimate moment between a mother and a child.
And you were completely oblivious to the fact of Roger staring at you and your hand placement. Wanting to feel.
Oblivious to, in some ways, depriving him of his child.
"And I've always likes ham sandwiches, but I could do without. This child cannot. It loves them. I haven't craved many foods, but ham sandwiches. I could eat them any time of the day. I do! Middle of the night!"
"Course the baby loves them. Got that from its dad," Roger boasted.
"Yeah." You nodded. But left out the fact that there was something you craved more than ham sandwiches.
Cheese toast. And sometimes, just the cheese.
"And your morning sickness. How's that been?"
"Better. I'm still tired but not as much. Always hungry, though. And constantly having to go to the loo. But it's been alright."
"That's good," he said.
"Mhm," you hummed.
Silence.
"They keep asking me, you know? About us. Fans and reporters. Journalists at interviews. I don't really know what to say anymore."
"I know," you confessed.
"I know you don't want to say anything. Keep it a secret while we can. But the magazines know. I mean, you wore a fur coat - a heavy fur coat a few weeks ago when we went out for lunch. And it was quite warm for a coat like that. In a few days I have an interview coming - one of the bigger ones about tour. How it's been. They're all going to hound-"
"Tell them," you softly spoke. "This baby is going to come out in a few months. And I can't hide it any longer. My body won't let me. I don't think we should hide it anymore. I don't care about the public eye anymore. What they have to say. I know this child is going to be loved by me and by the father. That's all I care about. That's all I want."
"Are you sure?" Roger asked. "Because they aren't going to ask just about the pregnancy. They'll ask about you. About us-"
"Just be honest. That's all you can be. And we'll work from that."
Roger smiled widely.
"Can finally brag about our baby. Having Queen's first baby," he boasted.
"Well, I'm having the baby," you corrected. "You just helped me make it."
"Even more props to you. You get to have Roger Taylor's baby. I think I'm quite jealous of you," he cheekily teased.
"Ha ha," you fake laughed, letting his hand go and returning the diary to him.
"I know it's not just mine. It's ours," he spoke with seriousness.
You didn't say anything. Remained silent.
Roger looked back down at the paper, scanning over the words and thinking.
But you needed that reminder. That the baby wasn't just yours. As much as it had felt that way sometimes when he was gone. That it only belonged to you.
But it was Roger's. And he wanted the child as much as you had grown attached to it.
"I don't..." you began. "I don't like sleeping alone," you whispered. "Every night I slept alone and I just... I didn't like it. I thought I would. To finally sleep in a bed with nobody else. But I don't like it. The baby doesn't like it."
Roger understood. He had been sleeping that way for a while. And even when he slept next to a woman or women, he still felt alone. A numbness to it.
"I know the feeling," Roger said, looking up at you before looking down at the paper.
"Roger..." you whispered, beckoning for him to look at you. He did, his eyes meeting with yours. Asking him for a conversation. He dropped his pen and paper.
"I'm sorry about that night," you apologized. "I know we were trying..." your voice broke. "And then I freaked out a bit. I just, I thought I could. But I couldn't. I wasn't ready for it. It's hard for me to be with you in that way when I..."
Loved John.
"I know," Roger said. "I should have been more patient, that's all. We'll get there," he encouraged.
"When?" you scoffed with a breath. "After the baby's born? When things get rough? When we don't agree on something? And we never get there."
"It's nothing we have to rush."
"Roger, I don't feel like there's anything between us anymore. But you do and I see it. When you come home and you bring me a carton of the wrong ice cream but I still eat it anyways. When you bring back a shirt for the baby from a state you visited. Writing a list of names you have in mind," you said, raising up the paper before harshly throwing it back down. "You're trying for us more than I am. And you don't see a problem to it?"
"It's more than just John, isn't it?" Roger quietly asked, his jaw clenching before tightening. "Why we don't sleep together. Stay in separate rooms." He paused.
Waiting for you to finish your own confession.
"I'm afraid it's just going to go back to sex. That if I sleep with you, that's all we'll ever be. The sex and the fighting. The cheating. And that's not healthy for us or the baby. And I don't want you to want me intimately just because of a baby. There's no love in that." You paused. Roger looked at you. Waited for you to finish. You were hiding something.
"But I fear that all we have left to be is just friends. It's not a bad relationship, but I always wanted a loving relationship with the father of my kid. I'm confused as to where you and I stand, Roger. I know you're the father of my child, but what about us? What are you to me? Because I can't see us being just friends. Or whatever the bloody hell we are."
"And that's what we're working on. You and me. Us. As a family. You know I love you-"
"Roger, we're going to be parents and we don't even sleep in the same room. We haven't decided on a name. We don't know what hospital I'm going to give birth in-"
"If it's a boy - Adonis. If it's a girl - Willow. And we'll go to the Franklin Hospital. Alright? Twenty minutes away if I speed." Roger had sat up straight, frantically speaking to convince you he had thought about these things. That you two weren't lost.
And you laughed, tears rushing out of your eyes.
"What?" Roger asked.
"Those are horrible names."
"Don't like them? Adonis is what you called me years ago when you drew me. Said I reminded you of him. I thought if we had a son, he'd reflect me. Have an Adonis. And Willow for the girl because that's where we always have our good days. Under the willow tree." He paused. "For Christ's sake, (Y/N). You are my good days. It's why I've loved you for three years. Why I want both of you. And I'm terrified for what could happen to you or the child. Or what comes after. But I'm here. And I'm trying. You're pregnant and we're not married. We already aren't a typical family. But we don't need to be typical to be a family. I just need you to trust me. To not give up on us before even trying." He paused, using his fingers to clean your tears. "I don't want my kid growing up without a father. I want to be there for them if you'd just let me." He paused. "I want this baby because I want you."
He continued to hastily thumb away your tears, sitting closer to you now.
"It won't be just sex. We'll still fight, but we'll get better on it. Work on it. And no women. Just you - my girl. And our baby. A gift."
His last words sparked something in your heart.
The baby being a small gift.
How small gifts are given to those you love.
The baby was love itself. Love built from you and Roger.
Proof it was possible to love Roger as you once had.
You nodded, your words stuck in your throat as you finished wiping away your tears. Roger didn't say anything, only returned to crossing out a word and writing something above it.
The blonde could feel your eyes on him but didn't say anything. He said everything he had to. Did everything to prove it.
It was up to you now.
And hearing his words. Watching him write.
Thinking about the days he had spent with you while pregnant.
The baby appointments. Ice cream dates. Talks about tour or just life. Looking through catalogs of baby clothes and toys. Setting up a nursery. Expanding the house. Working on the project. Visiting family and friends together.
It had turned into a friendship. Because there was a lack of intimacy between you and Roger. Between the child and Roger.
And you were okay with taking things slow. But knew if it was kept this way, it would stay this way. You'd get lost in being friends. There was too much of a history between you and him.
And you couldn't do that when Roger was right there. Loving you without touching you.
And that's why you wanted him.
To be intimate with him. With you and the child.
Wanted to know if it was possible to return to the way things once were.
And part of it just came from the pregnancy hormones. The yearn to be touched.
"Do you want to touch it?" you whispered.
Roger's hand came to a halt.
"What?" his voice broke.
"The baby." You caressed your stomach. "You can even feel it move. Just have to be patient."
"Sure," Roger whispered, gently placing the materials on the nightstand and scooted closer to you.
"Just give me your hand." You smiled.
You gently grabbed his wrist, looking down at your stomach before placing Roger's palm on it. His hand was delicate but tender. Though, large and consumed part of your stomach.
But it was warm. Your hand atop of his. Waiting.
Roger stared at your stomach, anxious for something to happen. But he couldn't feel anything, all the movement was happening inside. You could feel all of it. Made you smile.
"It knows," you quietly beamed.
Friend and family had intimately touched your stomach. A connection with the baby.
Except Roger.
He had only done it intimately once at his first appointment with you.
But it wasn't intimate like that after that. The few times he touched it at the other appointments. Just for a few seconds. And certainly didn't feel any movement.
But now he was. You allowed him too.
The child could tell. You noticed from the way it moved around quickly. Created more butterflies in your stomach than the ones that were already there just by sitting next to Roger.
It had only been like this with one other person.
Chrissie.
"Just have to wait. But it knows."
"Does it know with you?" he asked, his eyes still glued on his hand and the baby.
"Mhm," you hummed. "I read somewhere that a baby recognizes its parents' voice the moment they are born. If you sing it a song in the womb when it can start to hear things that are outside, you can sing to it when it's born and it'll know it's you. It's why I like to sing to it. Or play your songs when you're away. Point out your voice. I'll even put on your live shows on the telly. Say, 'That's dad and Uncle Freddie.' Even though it can't see you." You chuckled at the thought, dragging yours and Roger's hand a little lower, patiently waiting for even the smallest kick.
"There," you beamed, yours and Roger's eyes lighting up at the feeling. "A soft kick."
Roger's lips parted, letting out a small gasp as he moved his hand down to follow the movement. Another soft kick.
A gloss in Roger's eyes, staring directly at his hands.
Touching his child.
"You always feel that?" Roger asked, slowly glancing up at you.
"Sometimes. I hope to feel more as the weeks go on."
"Feels a bit weird," Roger admitted, a goofy grin on his face.
"I know," you agreed with a smile, his hands stripping away from your body. But his eyes never left you. He was purely fascinated.
Infatuated.
"Do you want to see it?" you hesitantly whispered. "You can see it if you'd like."
Roger nodded, his eyes looking at you then at the swollen stomach.
You gave him a weak smile before standing up. And stripped yourself of the shirt entirely.
Leaving you only in your panties.
Roger's jaw clenched at the sight of you. How your body had changed into a home.
For his kid.
He saw a beauty in it. A beauty he craved to touch.
You stood there. Watched him look at you. His eyes taking in every inch of you.
Your heart began to race. Standing there in front of him openly. When you wanted to see him in the same way.
"Roger," you whispered, his eyes following up to yours. He remained silent, his chest rising heavily up and down. He was nervous himself.
It had been a while for him. For you.
And you swiftly moved to straddle his waist, his mouth opening instantly to object.
"We don't have to. You weren't ready last-"
"I need to know," you sternly spoke, your hands resting on his chest. "I need to know, Roger. For us."
Needed to know if it could work romantically again. Because you did. Wanted a loving relationship with the father. Intimately. Not just friends.
As it had felt of just being friends.
Roger nodded, allowing you to remove your panties before positioning yourself to be more comfortable atop of him.
His eyes fell to your breasts. Down to your stomach. And back to your eyes.
He watched your lips part as you let out a shaky breath, your hand moving down his chest before your fingertips landed at the hemline of his underwear.
Your hand snaked their way underneath the material to stroke him a few times. His lips fell open immediately, a deep moan leaving his throat as his palms gripped your knees. A twitch at your touch.
You brushed your thumb over his vein. His favorite one, his hand gripping your knee tightly as he let out a grunted moan, his eyes still looking at yours as his eyebrows crinkled.
They were soft strokes to get him ready before removing his underwear completely.
Your hands went to reach for it before he pulled away. Hesitant.
"I don't... I don't want to hurt you," he quietly said, his eyes peering at your stomach then at you. "Either of you."
"You won't," you whispered. "Just go slow."
(( netflix or starz "outlander" season 2 episode 4 @ 24:25-26:42 *nudity*))
((but play this for when u read https://youtu.be/v5SkY9WHekg ))
"Slow," you whispered, guiding his hands with your fingertips and placing them both on your stomach.
A soft touch, both his palms resting on the child.
You placed one hand on his torso, your other hand stroking him a few more times before aligning yourselves, and slinking down slowly.
It was a foreign feeling. Five months of not being with Roger. Feeling him in this way. It felt odd.
But you liked it. Missed it.
Roger's jaw clenched at the sight of you, your soft bobs up and down. Wasn't sure if you enjoyed it until he heard your soft moans, your lips parting open slightly.
Both your hands grasped onto his to keep your bobs steady, Roger's eyes fluttering as he watched you ride him. Fluttered at the feeling.
You felt a slight twitch against your walls from him, his chest rising and falling quickly as the veins in his neck and arms began to appear.
His touch was still soft on your stomach. Tender.
You let out a loud gasp, your hands traveling down to grip his chest, followed by long grinds up and down his length.
Your mouth fell agap with shut eyes, breathing heavily from the pleasure you felt. Something about it felt more special.
More intimate.
Loving.
Roger's hand caressed your cheek, making your eyes open slowly. Looked at one another. And he looked at your lips, his thumb brushing over them before falling to your chin. Resting it there as he sat up to kiss you.
It was soft.
Small pecks as the two of you sat up together, your legs spread apart around his thighs with your hands resting on his chest. His hands returned to your stomach, thumbing sensitive circles around it to show love in that way. As he continued to kiss you softly and gently before you leaned back a little, allowing him to make the same small pecks across your stomach. One hand caressing your stomach matched with his pecks, while his other hand slipped its way up to softly grope your breast.
Your hands squeezed onto his, letting out loud shaky breaths and whimpers as you continued your bobs. His touches tender and sweet.
Loving deeply.
You and the child.
Your fingers caught in his strands, tugging to pull him in closer. As close as possible.
Your entire body felt nimble and warm.
But with a jolt of euphoria. An ache of wanting more.
Roger trailed kisses up your stomach, a few in a line over your belly button before kissing the crease between your cleavage, his mouth parting over the breast he wasn't caressing, his tongue meeting with the skin and sucking gently.
A high-pitched wince left your mouth at the feeling of Roger's tongue swirling around your tip, kissing and sucking before crossing wet kisses against your neck.
His hips began to move in sync with yours, rising and falling as one hand rested on your back to keep steady, his other hand resting on your stomach.
To hold you and the baby.
Your hands rested on his shoulders, his lips meeting with yours. No longer small pecks, but deeper kisses. Lingering kisses, his tongue meeting with yours before pulling away.
The two of you looking at one another heavily breathing, a small grin on his face as he watched you. Saw in your eyes how much you had wanted this. Him.
Your mother had been right.
It was intimate. More intimate than anytime you had been with Roger.
It was purely love. Connected him to you and the child.
You weren't alone.
Felt loved and protected by him. It wasn't just words.
Roger brought you closer to him, his arm wrapped around you, still in sync with the bobs before moving you onto your back.
There was a mutual sharing of love between you two. The both of you giving as his thrusts matched with your bobs.
But he wanted to only give in this moment.
You looked up at him, out of breath as your fingertips rested on his abdomen, his chest tight as he searched around for a suitable pillow. And placed it under your back and bum.
Make you and the baby comfortable.
Make it easier for him to position himself.
Roger leaned down to kiss your lips, one hand on the bed to stay hoisted while his other hand caressed your stomach.
Soft kisses down your neck and down your chest to leave wet kisses against your breasts. His eyes taking in the sight of them as he rose up and down to kiss them, his tongue swiveling around the tips as your fingers played with his hair. A weak smile on your face from the feeling. And from the scent of his hair.
Still used the lavender shampoo.
He pampered your stomach in kisses, both hair strands and fingertips slightly tickling you as they moved. His lips hopping all over, gentle kisses.
Roger couldn't feel it, but you could.
The swarm of butterflies that fluttered all over in your stomach. Came from the feeling of Roger's doting. And from the baby moving around in your stomach.
Made you smile wider.
The blonde made his way back up, burying his lips between your neck. The ends of his hair tickled your skin, the charms on his necklaces dragging gently across your skin.
You spread your legs slightly apart, moving your hips from side to side to make sure you were completely comfortable.
Roger's hand rested on the bed as he hooked his other hand under your knee to position himself, resting on his knees. He looked down as his hand moved swiftly to align himself with you before returning to hook around your leg.
He leaned down once more to peck your neck, sliding in at the same time and your body reacting by letting out a small wince, your fingers scrunching into his hair and around his neck.
Could feel his warm breaths hit against your skin, his warm body making you melt at his touch. Soothed the aches in your body caused by pregnancy aches. Wished it had always been like that. As if he served as a large heating pad that completely engulfed you.
His thrusts were soft. To not hurt you or the baby.
And his one hand was placed on your stomach, soothingly rubbing it in a pace with his thrusts. To comfort the baby.
He didn't rest atop of you as he usually did or left only a sliver of space, he kept an inch or two between. Made sure his body was high enough. to not crush you or the child.
But it all felt nice. Nothing was taken away.
Moments were spent like that. Roger kissing your neck or his plump lips meeting with yours, doting all over you and the baby softly.
You could feel the slow pace. His soft thrusts gliding in and out gently but still applied a pleasing pressure between your legs. Thicker. And you felt his aches. The twitches as he let out small huffs against your neck, small breaths and whimpers leaving your lips.
The soft buildup it created.
But you needed more of it.
You spread your legs further, your fingertips lingering down Roger's soft back that made his body tighten for a moment. And your hands met with his bum, bucking your hips up lightly to tell him it was okay to go a bit faster. Just enough to help you both release.
Roger picked up his pace. Made deeper thrusts.
Your knees bent and slightly moved at the changed friction, your fingers gripping his bum tighter to bring him deeper as you let out a small wince followed by a loud moan.
It was happening fast, the feeling in your core weakening then tightening as the buildup rose.
Your head fell back, your mouth falling slightly open to let out a groggy whimper before biting your lip. Your hand slid over Roger's hand that was on your stomach, grasping it tightly.
Roger shut his eyes as he let out a loud moan against your neck that made it vibrate, his sweaty forehead gently resting on yours as he felt his body tighten up. The veins in his arm and forehead straining out at the warm, wet feeling he felt around him. The feeling that encompassed him.
"It's okay," you whispered out of breath, making Roger open his eyes and look at yours. "It's okay," you repeated, resting your hand atop of his back. Telling him it was okay to rest. That you wanted him to.
"Just be gentle," you whispered, Roger's body lowering at your words. Soothed him.
You felt his tainted wet chest rest gently against yours, just skimming over it. The friction felt nice. His skin against yours. The closeness.
He continued with his thrusts.
Before sliding one hand down between you two, thumbing circles around your bud for the extra boost.
It made you buck your hips up as you let out a loud gasp.
Everything you needed for the buildup in your core to maximize. Roger's body against yours. Filling you. His hand atop of your stomach and between your legs, your hand grasping onto his as the other one clenched tightly onto his necklaces, his forehead switching between resting on yours or buried in your neck to kiss you.
"Rog," you winced, shutting your eyes tightly as your knees began to bend and unbend, your legs moving around as you felt the weak part of your pit tighten up. Your hand began to shake around Roger's gold necklaces from your tight grip, your fingernails digging into your skin before going back to grip Roger's hand. He gripped your hand back tightly instead of your stomach. His other hand gripped the pillow that you rested on.
And it wasn't long after that when you felt it.
The release.
A soft wince as you yanked on Roger's necklaces and tightened your body up as it slightly moved up and down, his lips peppering kisses all of your neck and cheek. Then looking at one another as your entire body became nimble.
Becoming vulnerable with Roger. And the child.
As a family.
A reconnection.
***
"Baby's due in July, right?" Roger asked, looking down at you as he was hoisted on his side, your head resting on the pillow below him. Your hands played with one of his, dragging your fingertips across it or bringing it up to your lips every so often to linger a kiss.
Roger drew patterns with his index fingertip over your chest as he spoke.
Intimate touches.
"Mhm," you hummed, watching your hands play with each other. "Why?"
"Same birthday month as me," he boasted.
"The child is not going to be born on your birthday."
"Doesn't matter. Freddie wants to throw it - us a birthday party."
"What?" you questioned, your eyes staring at his. "A birthday party? But it's not even the child's birthday. It's just born."
"Freddie thinks we should celebrate it anyways. First child of Queen. He thinks it would be perfect to celebrate it with mine. He wants to throw it at his house."
"Fred wants to throw our newborn baby a party? Freddie's parties are never kid friendly."
"It's not going to be one of those parties," Roger laughed. "You can invite your friends and family. My mum and sister are coming. Brian will be there. John. Miami and Reid. Elton. Freddie always makes new friends along the way. You might get a few strangers wanting to hold the baby."
"It's only April."
"Freddie likes to plan for parties in advance. 'Specially for this young one." Roger grinned, pushing down the blanket that kept you warm and placed his hand over your stomach, returned a warmth to it.
He paused for a moment before looking up at you.
"Do you think I hurt it?" he awkwardly asked.
You let out a soft giggle. "No, Roger. It's fine."
"A bit weird," he admitted, dragging his fingertips up and down your stomach.
"Yeah," you agreed.
You looked up at him, his eyes fixated on your stomach.
Then met with your breasts. He blinked before looking at you.
A blush on your cheeks.
"What?" you whispered.
"Nothing." He smiled. "I could really go for a ham sandwich, though."
***May 1, 1977***
"Those were my best maracas!" Roger exclaimed, slipping on his shoes.
You, Freddie, and Roger were talking in Roger's dressing room before the big press interview.
Freddie wanted to see you. And your growing bump.
"Oh, darling. That was months ago," Freddie argued.
"Quality maracas. New, too. Only able to spend a few shows with them until you threw them into the audience."
"It was fun! They loved it. I'm not sure who caught it, they were tossed around after I threw it."
"What if I threw your microphone into the audience?"
You rolled your eyes at the boys bickering.
"Darling, someday I may just might do it myself."
Roger let out a scoff.
"How's baby Romeo?" Freddie asked.
"Romeo is good. Likes being with me," you confessed. "Got a bit more protective since the pregnancy."
"God knows Roger can't. Can barely build a crib."
"You told him that?" Roger asked, surprised.
You and Freddie let out a small laugh.
"Five minutes," a voice spoke through the door, followed by a knock.
"Right," Freddie said. "I'll meet you upstairs." The singer glanced at you two.
"Bye, Fred." You waved.
"Bye, love," he cooed before looking at Roger. "Take care of Queen's mummy."
"Always do," Roger retorted, giving him a wave to tell him to leave.
Freddie winked at you with a friendly smile before exiting.
"You nervous?" you asked, looking through the hanging clothes on the rack.
"A bit, but I think it'll be alright," he replied, standing in front of the vanity and fixing his collar.
"Yeah," you agreed with a forced smile. Roger noticed.
"They are going to ask about us. You. Me. The 'addition,'" he whispered, giving a soft smile as he gently placed his palm on your stomach and glanced at it. "I'll just be honest. Like you said." He removed his hand.
You gave him a small nod, forcing a fake smile as you fixed his tie for him before flattening it out with your palm.
Roger noticed the look in your eyes. Worry.
"Talk to me," he whispered, catching your attention. "Please, (Y/N)."
"I looked through some of the tabloids..." you admitted. Something Roger told you to never look through. He let out a breath of air. Slight frustration as he took a step back.
"There's stuff in there. Not just about the rumors of my pregnancy. They know... They know about the cheating. I don't know how. Or who..." you rambled, playing with your fingers.
Roger clenched his jaw, realizing that there wouldn't be questions just about a baby.
"And I don't..." your voice broke, looking down at the floor. "I don't want them to think... I just want what's best for our baby. It was hard enough with my parents and now the whole world-"
"(Y/N)," Roger gently spoke, both his calloused palms scooping your cheeks into his touch. "Look at me," he pleaded, your glossed eyes slowly looking up at his.
((this photo inspired me um https://www.instagram.com/p/B1RRE_IltFb/?igshid=1o0x7f1knn0ij ))
"F*ck these people. All of them." He stepped in closer. "F*ck them. I need you to be okay. Both of you." He paused. "I need you, (Y/N). Doesn't matter what they say. We know our situation. They don't-"
"They think they do," you scoffed, pushing out more tears.
"That's exactly why you shouldn't listen to 'em. They think they do. But they don't know. For years now I've been dealing with it. All the comments and rumors. It got to me at first. Still does sometimes. But I have Queen. I have you. I have my family. The rest doesn't matter. Alright?"
"Roger," a voice called through the door. Followed by another knock.
"Alright?" he whispered. "Not leaving till you trust me."
"Think it's going to take a while for that." You managed to lightly laugh. "But I know."
"There's a room down the hall from where the interview is. Paul will take you there. You can see the interview on the telly. Some privacy." He gave a quick smile before glancing down at your stomach.
"Last time I have to wear this coat to hide," you nervously laughed, looking down at your growing bump.
"Yeah," Roger agreed, a soft smile creeping on his face.
You returned the smile before grabbing his wrist, placing it on your stomach before resting both of your hands atop of his.
"It's starting to kick more," Roger quietly said, staring at his hand placement and feeling your stomach intently. All his focus on your swollen stomach.
"Yeah. Especially at night or when someone touches my stomach as if it knows. A bit of a show off. Like you," you teased.
"Nothing wrong with that." Roger smirked.
Another knock at the door.
"You better go, Rog," you encouraged.
"Right, right. Paul will take you-"
"I know." You smiled. "Go."
Roger removed his hand from your stomach as he gave you a small nod before heading for the door.
Not prepared for what awaited.
***
((for the vibes borhap interview https://youtu.be/wSj81L3g0qY ))
Cameras and flashes everywhere. Flashing at the four men as they made their way to the front of the room, taking a seat.
Brian, Freddie, Roger, and John.
The four of them familiar to the loud chatter of journalists and reporters.
But it still made them a bit uneasy.
You watched them in the private room on the tv screen, the four of them sitting back in their chairs. They looked left and right as the interview began.
Questions thrown at them.
Roger had his sunglasses on - usually did for interviews. Him and Freddie with a cigarette in their hands.
Brian looked calm.
And John was always patient.
"How many shows have you done so far on this tour?"
"Have you started the next album?"
"Are you glad to be home?"
Those were just a few of the icebreaker questions. To make the boys feel calm. Before asking the serious questions.
The questions the reporters and journalists were there for.
"Roger," a petite girl spoke through the loud noise. Her voice was relaxing. But sounded intelligent. Her face was stern but soft. A face you told secrets to. And she knew it.
It brought everyone to a silence.
Everyone looked at her.
"I assume you're a very busy man with tour and the recording," she continued, her eyes locked on Roger's. Despite the dark shades covering his eyes.
"And other activities." Roger smirked, toying with his cig in his hand. He didn't know what else to say. Didn't know what the girl was getting at. But knew it was bad.
"Do you read magazines?" she asked.
Roger's smirk faded, tapping his cig on the ashtray.
Realized he wasn't prepared to tell the truth. Lost his confidence.
He understood where it was leading to.
"I don't see what that has to do with anything," Roger cockily scoffed, leaning back in his chair and bringing the cig back up to his lips.
"Magazines are boring. Filled with lies. Written by all of you," Freddie said, nervously smashing his cigarette in the ashtray and taking a drink of his water. It was to defend Roger's situation.
"Those lies," the girl continued on. "Is it a lie?"
Roger clenched his jaw before clearing his throat.
"Sometimes I read them," Roger confessed. "But, like I said, I get busy with other activities."
"Have you seen the speculations in the tabloids? They are just about in every magazine and newspaper you read."
"I don't understand," Roger clarified.
"Speculations of a pregnancy. Your ex girlfriend. An artist. Speculations of getting back together. And speculations of you cheating. Are they true?"
Blatant questions. She didn't hold back. She was there for the cold truth. And she put Roger on the spot.
"Something of a past lover, so I've seen. Fans as well. The cheating."
"I..." Roger stuttered, unsure how to answer.
And he looked at a camera. The one that showed him on the tv. As if he was looking at you. Asking for your help how to answer.
"Mr. Taylor," the girl pressed, her pen clicking as she prepared to write his words down.
"What about her? (Y/N). Is it true? There are photos of you together out in public, though you said you broke up months ago."
"She's a friend of ours," John cut in. "Always goes out with us."
John wanted to defend you and Roger. The child.
"Speculations of (Y/N) moving back in with you," the girl said. Killed John's defense.
Silence.
"The speculations. Rumors. Are they true, Mr. Taylor? (Y/N)'s pregnancy has caused for you two to rekindle? The interview a while ago when you said you hurt her - was that the infidelity?"
"Bit of a personal question," Roger scoffed. "Thought I was going to be asked about tour. Not my love life."
The crowd of people let out a small laugh.
"Mr. Taylor," the girl pressed. Impatience in her voice. "A photo was seen of you last week with a female at a pub. A pretty girl-"
You felt your heart sink. Watching Roger shift uncomfortably in his shirt. He hid his eyes. But you felt they had guilt in them.
"No," Roger rushed out. "I..."
"Just a simple question, Roger. The speculations. We'd like to hear from you. Your words. No lies this time." She shot a glance at Freddie.
Freddie backed down.
Roger was on his own.
A return of silence.
You felt your heart thudding. Nauseous.
"Yes," Roger quietly spoke. "(Y/N)'s pregnant." He paused. Smiling to himself. "We're not together... but we're not exactly separated. We're working on it. Working on being a family. I still love her, said I was at the same interview I said we had broken up. My love hasn't changed for her since that time. Not sure if I can say the same for her, but she's okay. She's healthy. Our baby is healthy. And we're both excited to be parents. We just want to be good parents. I want to be there as a dad and to make sure (Y/N)'s safe and comfortable. Thought it best we live together if we want to try."
"And the pretty girl in the photo?"
"The girl at the pub? She's a close friend of mine. I went to uni with her. I ran into her at the pub. I was actually telling her about (Y/N)'s pregnancy. How I was excited. Both are."
Roger watched the woman take notes, her eyebrows moving up and down as she wrote.
"And the infidelity? Your words on that."
Roger's gleeful smile had faded at the question.
Excited to talk about you. The child.
"I had a cold last week, if anyone cares," John chimed in. Another distraction.
Made you let out a small giggle.
But he was ignored again.
"Yes," Roger guiltily spoke. "I did. I hurt her."
"That's the reason you two broke up?"
"That and other sorts."
"If it wasn't for this child, would you say you two would still be together?"
The question stumped Roger.
And pricked at John's heart. His thoughts.
Because they both knew the truth.
Roger and you wouldn't be.
"I don't understand what you're trying to get at."
"I'm just trying to understand, Roger. We all are."
"About my personal life?" He defended.
"About what it's like in the life of a Queen member. Of course I'm interested in your tour. Your album. But I'm intrigued beyond that. What your life is like."
"I don't know," Roger confessed. "But I know (Y/N) have love for each other. I know we want to try. Raise our child together. And I think that's what matters. Queen is my family. And I'm just adding onto it. Soon Brian will. John and Freddie, perhaps. Course my situation isn't ideal, but it's what it is. And I'm just lucky that it's with a woman I have love and respect for, not every man gets that. And yes, I hurt her. Did something I shouldn't have. It's part of why we're not together. But we both did things we shouldn't have. We acknowledge that. I think - I know it's why we are able to move on. To be a family."
The girl smiled brightly, clicking her pen.
"Thank you, Roger," the girl sincerely spoke.
Roger wanted to speak more. Defend himself. Take back some of his words that may have been too much. But he was heated in the moment and let it all out.
All the questions came flooding out before he was able to argue.
"How far along is she?"
"Do you know the gender?"
"Any baby names you have in mind?"
"Will you bring the baby on tour?"
"What's it like being the first man of Queen to have a kid?"
Too many questions for Roger to answer.
Questions he didn't want to answer.
At least, not after confessing months he had to hide.
"I have another question," the girl said, cutting everyone off. They let her speak.
"Back again, are you?" Freddie scoffed, crossing his legs with annoyance.
"The question is for John," she continued, glaring at Fred before focusing on the bassist.
"Alright." John smiled. Questions made him nervous, but he liked good questions. Liked to answer them. Because he did like to speak. Just tended to be shy.
"I'm a big fan of your song 'You're My Best Friend.' A popular song of Queen."
"Thank you." John lightly blushed.
"It seems you boys always bring lots of emotion to the stage when performing. The audience adores it. Especially Freddie's interactions."
"We love interacting with the fans. Playing our music for them. I think carrying our emotions on stage helps with that. Connects us with the audience better."
"Fans certainly do. Makes for a good show." The woman smiled. "But the question I have for you is important. It was sometime in January, I think at the end of the month. A live show on the telly. Just a few days earlier Roger had destroyed his drums in front of the crowd. Left many confused. But you. There was one night you were performing that song."
John's soft smile faded, his blush hiding away. He knew what she was leading to.
Something he didn't want to answer.
And the thought of it made you sad. Remembering the look on his face. How he had looked at you.
John scratched the back of his neck as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"And you seemed sad. You played your guitar, but everything was off. And then you dropped it to the floor before fleeing the stage. Had tears in your eyes. Now, I'm interested in Roger's fits on stage with the drums. Freddie's vulgar words at his fans. Your dancing on stage. Brian's guitar solos. All the emotions in that. But I don't recall any of us seeing you, John Deacon, the bassist really show emotion like that. You're always smiling. That night you weren't. What happened?"
"Just had a bad night, that's all." John gave a fake closed smile, clasping his hands over the table.
"John," the girl persisted. "What made you upset that night? Did something happen on tour?" She paused. "Was it a girl?"
"This isn't a bloody therapy session," Roger interrupted.
"We'd like to talk about the tour. I mean, that is what we're here for," Brian added.
"John," the girl pressed. Wouldn't let it go.
John subtly nodded.
But it made the girl laugh.
"Asked many questions. I don't know which one you are nodding to."
"Oh, sorry," John apologized with another blush. "Yes, a girl."
"A girl made you upset?" she questioned, perking an eyebrow up. Everyone was invested.
"Well, no. She didn't make me upset. Just the situation we were in at the time. Are in."
"Was it the girl you mentioned at the interview before the tour began. Said she was important to you. You knew her for a while. Is it her?"
"Yes, it was her."
"And now? You seem happier now. Are you and her together? Can finally reveal to us who she is."
"Just trying to be happy." He paused. "She made me happy, too. But no, we aren't together."
"Alright." She nodded. "And finding out about (Y/N)'s pregnancy. We all know how close she is with this band. Close friends with you. How do you feel about it?"
John paused for a moment. Thinking.
"I wish her and Roger the best," he truthfully spoke.
***May 2 -July 7, 1977***
Roger and you had grown closer with the baby coming soon.
He still called and visited when he could.
And was excited when tour had officially ended. Could spend more time with you.
Friends, family, and fans were supportive.
You openly wore outfits that showed your bump. Roger always holding your hand through rowdy crowds that asked about the pregnancy.
Or made comments that you were worried about.
But Roger was always there, his hand guiding you as you hid your face down behind him.
Into restaurants. Cinemas. Baby stores. Everywhere.
And the nursery was completely done. The project was almost done.
A closer friendship sprouted between you and Roger. i
There had been no intimacy except for that night in April. There was no kissing. No sex.
Only hand holding at times of being out in public when he didn't want to lose you. Didn't want anyone getting in your way or the baby's.
But he doted on you every minute he could. Supported you. Always brought back home silly outfits and gifts for the baby. For you. Ice cream dates became a frequent thing. And he enjoyed talking openly about you and the child as he appeared in more interviews. Freddie proudly boasting about being an uncle and Roger proudly boasting about being a father. Brian would chime in.
John did the least.
He continued talking with you, but it still wasn't the same. There was distance.
But the friendship between the Queen members was strong again. Acted like true family. No sides.
And they all came together the day it happened.
The day Roger had to be most supportive of you and take on the role of being a father.
A few weeks before your due date.
When your water broke on July 7, 1977.
***
End note: happy birthday john deacon(: