Chapter Text
Silence. Roger couldn't even look at Brian's face. He kept his eyes closed tightly, bitting his lip. Still nothing. A little frustrated with the lack of answer, he opened his eyes. Brian just sat there. looked like he hadn’t heard him. Or like his brain had chosen not to register it. No reaction. Nothing, not even a blink, as if the time stopped in the room.
The guitarist finally opened his mouth, voice filled with disbelief. "No..."
"Yes." Roger said bitterly.
"No." Brian stood up, pale in face and Roger had this feelint that the guitarist will collapse. He watched as the tall man started pacing around, eyes wide.
"No, I don't believe you. I just- no. You have no proof-"
"I visited doctor, like hour ago." Roger cut him off and Brian's face could now match white walls at the polyclinic. The guitarist tugged at his curls, and the drummer was almost sure Brian's eyes will fall off how wide they were.
"Oh lord, no, no, no..." Brian muttered, his voice strained. "What have we done, lord, my mother would be so ashamed of me..."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Roger quickly stepped closer, eyes dangerously flashing. "Don't you dare tell someone, do you understand? I swear, I'll shave your head if you'll tell someone."
Brian nodded and swalloved back. Roger glared at Brian for a while. The tall man rocked on his heels from pure anxiety, still tugging at his dark curls. After while of Roger angrily glaring at Brian and Brian dropping his gaze on ground, the guitarist finally muttered.
"What are we going to do...?"
"Are you actually asking me what are we going to do?!" Roger snappedd for no actual reason, and now, he started pacing around the room for a change. "I have no idea! I can't even take an abortion! I...we'll give it up on adoption. I thoight that will be the most...smart decision about this."
"You want to put them on adoption?" Brian almost whined, mix confusion and another emotion Roger quite couldn't put on finger.
"Of course!"
"Yeah, yeah, alright, I didn't say anything!" Brian said defensively and avoided eye contact again.
Once again, silence settled over them like a dark cloud. Roger took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He never felt so much emotions before, shock, disbelief, anger, anxiety. He wasn't sure why he felt angry, maybe it was on himself for being reckless and not using protection that time in summer, angry on himself that he shot Brian cheeky smirk and leaded him to his hotel room. Anyways, he felt like being angry on Brian.
"This is your fault, you know." He grumbled, his gaze so sharp that could shot daggers at the guitarist.
"Well, it takes two to tango..."
"Oh, shut the fuck up." He hissed, but somehow, he felt a weird pang of affection. No. Not these feelings. In the middle of his negative emotions, affection? From Brian saying something, hmph, stupid and pathetic and...he coughed to clear his throat.
Brian watched him for a while, and slowly sat down on the couch again, suddenly feeling the weight of the situation sink in. He looked up at Roger and muttered.
"Now really. What now?"
The drummer turned his gaze on Brian and closed his eyes again for a a while. "I feel like shit. Ugh...why right before a tour...month and something or what..."
"What here about tour, Roger? I have a wife, for god's sake, and a child!" Brian threw his hands in the air helplessly. "You have Dominique, and god, we are not so small band in the world now..."
"Don't you think that I don't know?" Roger retorted and rubbed his eyes. "Imagine the news, imagine the scandal! 'Roger Taylor, drummer of Queen is actually a freak! The guitarist, Brian May got him pregnant, what a drama!'"
He let out a shaky breath, lump forming in his throat and tears welled up in his eyes. He stubbornly blinked them away, almost like he was forcing himself to be angry, not scared. This situation is so fucked up, so fucked up.
Brian noticed Roger's expression and his hazel eyes softened. He slowly stood up and awkwardly walked to Roger. His hand reached out, reaching to touch the blonde, to comfort his friend. But he didn't dp anything. His hand fell helplessly down to his side.
"Rog...look, I know. But we can't keep this to ourselves. You can't really think people won't find out. We need to tell boys and..." he finally nudged gently Roger a little with his shoulde, "You need to tell Dominique."
Roger looked up at Brian, eyes filled with horror and fear. "Are you joking? Tell her? She will leave me!"
Brian shook his head, his eyes sad. "She deserves to know. I need to tell Chrissie too. You can't seriously think that you can keep this secret for what, next eight-seven months. Sorry, I don't know how far you are..."
"Then remember the last time we fucked and count you nerd." Roger snapped but in moment regretted when he saw flash of hurt crossing Brian's face. He sighed. "Sorry...I shouldn't-"
"No, that's alright. I understand."
As far as Roger wanted to argue more, he kept his mouth shut. Silence settled over them once more, both awkwardly standing next to each other, looking anywhere, just not each others face.
"We fucked up, didn't we?" The drummer said after while, looking up at Brian.
The other man smiled weakly and ran his hand through his curly hair. "Tell me about it..."
"You know, I'll tell Dom about it. But not now. I'm not ready yet."
Brian nodded and crossed his arms on his chest. "Yeah...that's maybe for the best. I can't tell Chrissie now too, I need to somehow, erm, accept the reality myself first."
"Yeah..."
"...Yeah."
Again, silence. And how Roger hated it. He opened his mouth to say something but Brian was faster. He watched how the taller man stepped back, avoiding eye contact. He knew that this whole situation can change everything, their relationships, Brian's marriage can fall, their careers can be destroyed, public will be totally disgusted by them if someone would find out and-
"I think I should go." Brian's voice turned him to reality again and watched as the man slowly backed away to the front door. All he could do was a small nod and to say strained "Alright."
He watched as Brian walked to the front door, shot one more nervous glance Roger's direction and walking past the door. Roger closed his eyes when the door shut close with loud noise, and he collapsed on the couch, right where Brian was sitting here before. He opened his eyes and they began to fill with tears. This time he didn't stopped him. The streaked down his face, slowly torturing his skin by the sensation. He hated crying. His father always told him only girls cry. If he wants to prove he's a man, he can't cry. He could almost hear those words, even when the room was dead quiet.
First sobs escaped his lips and he wiped away the tears with the back of his hand. The lump in his throat was making it hard for him to breath, and it felt almost painful. No abortion. No way out. He will actually need to carry the child. The poor unwanted child. Roger's chest was furiously shaking from how much he tried to hold back the sobs, but he couldn't help it. His broken sobs echoed around the empty house. The time passed and his sobs turned to full crying as he was desparately gripping the cushion to his chest, rocking back and forth. Just like his mother used to comfort him when he was a little boy.
But nothing. No answer, no comfort.
🌼🌼🌼…………🌼…………🌼🌼🌼
After several hours, he managed to stop crying and calmed himsepf down. At some point, he became paranoid, so he changed all the clothes, in case Dominique would somehow smell the sterile scent of polyclinic. After long long time, he finally sat down to armchair and ran a hand through his hair. He did so many things he would never do normally. The kitchen had been scrubbed down, cushions on the sofa fluffed and repositioned, even watered the plants (plants in his studio died four months ago), things he usually forgot to do, or just simply didn't wanted to do. For Dominique, he knew it will make her happy. For him, all meaningless busywork. It was just noise to fill the silence. To keep him entertained, to keep him engrossed.
The moment he heard the door click open, Roger inhaled sharply through his nose, sat up straighter and wiped his palms against his jeans. His face ached from how tight he kept his jaw, from lack of usual talking. He stood up before she reached the living room, and in second he turned the radio on, quickly combed his hair and pretended to read a magazine about cars.
As soon as she walked in, his head snapped her direction and smiled. At least he hoped it was a smile.
“Hey,” he said as casually as he could manage.
Dominique smiled at him like she always did, soft and unsuspecting (thanks god for that),setting her shoulder bag down, unwrapping her scarf. She didn’t notice anything strange. Or at least, if she did, she didn’t say it.
"Hi, honey. How was your day?" She asked, her voice gentle and familiar. She didn't even wait, already ruuning to kitchen. He followed her into the kitchen, heart still pounding rapidly in his chest. He was barely holding it together not to freak out. He had no idea how it will look like when he'll tell her. No. Not yet. Don't think about it.
Roger smiled a little walking after her. "It was...rather shocking."
"Well, what is shocking is that how I can tell, you cleaned the kitchen." Dominique laughed and observed the it around.
He chuckled as well. He knew it will make her, that she will appreciate it and it will make her happy. He leaned against the kitchen counter.
"The dinner is ready too. Well, something similiar to a dinner."
Dominique laughed in disbelief and walked to place where dinner table was, right between the kitchen and the living room. Roger was right behind her and felt touch of satisfaction when she gasped. She walked to the table when she saw two plates, with spaghetti on it.
"Oh, Rog..." she turned to him, suddenly serious. "What did you burn?"
"What? Nothing! Everything is fine..."
"But you were cooking..."
"Dom! Not everytime I show up in the kitchen end up with disaster!" Roger chuckled, pretended to be offended.
She laughed and sat down on the chair. "I know, I was just messing with you." she took the fork and began to eat. Roger slowly sat on the opposite chair.
The pair ate and talked. He made sure he prepared water for both of them, so it wouldn't look suspicious. Rger watched as Dominique ate, and he would too if his stomach wouldn't feel so tight. So he just listened. He laughed at the right moments. Asked the right questions. Nodded when she talked about work, about new persom who is annoying, about how exhausted she was.
They both moved onto the couch after the dinner, leaning back against each other and watching Star Wars in the dim light. He smiled as she leaned against his shoulder, playing with edge of the cushion. The same cushion he was gripping to calm himself down earlier. He could feel her body relax against his, her breathing slow. Her voice faded to silence as the television filled the room with empty noise. Roger stared ahead.
He didn’t even realize she’d fallen asleep until she shifted slightly, her head heavier against his arm. He didn't move. Didn't blink. Just sat there, staring at the screen, as a single bead of sweat trickled down the side of his neck. He knew this won't last long.
Eventually, it would come out, either because the symptoms would grow or because he’d no longer be able to keep up the act. But for now, he was safe. For now, Dominique believed the act. He lowered his gaze to her hand resting lightly against his knee. She looked peaceful, content, and his heart ached.
But Roger felt like the floor had opened under him and he was falling, drowning. And Roger feared drowning. He feared feeling lost, helpless, like a child. Like when he was a little boy, in his room, crying and rocking his baby sister Clare, when parents were fighting. But this felt like a bad dream.
He gently shifted, careful not to wake her, and reached for the blanket on the back of the sofa. Draped it over her, tucked it under her chin, once more gently caressing her smooth, soft dark hair. Then, slowly, he stood up and moved back into the kitchen.
He braced his hands on the counter. The same counter he had scrubbed earlier to pass the time. The same surface that had nothing on it but a flickering candle and a bowl of untouched fruit. His reflection in the dark window looked like a stranger to him. And beside the new reality, he was still the same.
He could imagine it all vividly in his head. The scandal, shock, disgust from the public. How they would dismiss and reject him. Queen would fall and everything people would think of would be 'what a gay group, all messed up'. And what worse, he feared he will get this reaction from his dearest, from family, from friends, from Dominique.
A father of Brian's child? He choked on that words in his mind. His lips never dared to form it out loud. Roger pressed his palms harder against the wood, grounding himself. No. Not now. Not yet. He swallowed it all down again. The bile, the tears, the truth. Everything.
And when he finally turned back toward the living room, Dominique was still asleep. Peaceful, unaware. He walked past her silently, moving down the hall to the bathroom, locked the door. Sat on the closed lid of the toilet with his head in his hands, trying to breathe, feeling all his emotions he put on tonight breaking down.
He could lie to her, for now. But he couldn’t lie forever.