Work Text:
Roger woke up with a headache. He still managed to get out of bed and carry on with his morning, greeting his band mates and pouring himself some coffee. Except as soon as the liquid went down his throat, it felt as if he was eating razor blades. He set his coffee aside with a grimace.
‘Of all times, I’ve got a cold now,’ Roger thought, huffing to himself. He wouldn’t mention it to the others though. He didn’t feel too bad.
Sure, he was mostly fine in the morning, but as the day progressed, he steadily got worse. His headache increased so much, it made it very hard for Roger to think properly. Especially as they were now rehearsing, and every time he hit a drum, it felt like someone was splitting his head in half. His sore throat wasn’t easing up, and even swallowing was aggravating it. With every hit, his body was protesting. He just wanted the rehearsal to finish so that he could just go home and sleep it off.
-----------------------------------
About half way through the rehearsal, Freddie was getting very annoyed. They were so behind on the album, they needed to get it done as soon as possible. But as this rate, it wouldn't be any time soon. Roger kept falling behind on his cues, and kept messing up he tempo of the songs, throwing everyone off.
“Again,” Freddie shouted, before belting out the next song.
Roger missed a beat again and something in Freddie snapped.
“Do you not want to be here Roger?” Freddie snapped, spinning round to face Roger dead on. In his fury, Freddie failed to notice that Roger was shaking sightly and he looked way too pale to be healthy.
“W-what yeah. O-of course I do,” Roger stammered, eyes cast down.
“Then act like it. Stop messing up. You’re throwing everyone off.”
Roger just silently nodded, his head throbbing with the movement.
Freddie sighed very heavily, his annoyance evident, before turning back to the mic and counting in the next song.
Roger tried. He really did. But it was all becoming too much. His thoughts were jumbling in his head as his body shook, nausea swirling in his stomach. But he wouldn’t say anything. The album was a bigger priority. He became so focused on trying to cover how sick he was feeling, that he missed his cue to come in. And Freddie wasn’t the only one that got annoyed.
Brian abruptly unplugged his guitar, before putting it away, then striding straight out of the studio with a huff. John rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, then also packed up and followed Brian out. Freddie turned to Roger, anger etched into his features.
“Y’know Roger, you really need to get out of that head of yours. Not everything is about you. I told you we needed to get this song finished today.”
Roger shifted uncomfortably under Freddie’s glare. Freddie then moved his mic out of the way, grumbling to himself, before stalking out, not even glancing back at Roger.
Roger’s head fell to his hands. He tried to think but his head was just too muddled. He shivered again, and decided to stand up from his seat. He did just that, and suddenly the world tilted on his axis, and was Roger was stumbling to the floor. This only increased his urge to vomit, and he threw up over the floor, before promptly passing out.
--------------------------------------
Freddie was tapping his fingers along the car door in annoyance as he finished his cigarette. Brian and John were stood next to him, all of them waiting for Roger to join them so they could go home. Two cigarette's later, there was still no sign of the blonde, and they were becoming increasingly irritated. He turned to the other two, who also looked just as exasperated.
“I’m going to go in. See what he’s doing.”
“Okay.”
When Freddie walked into the studio it was silent. His anger was slowly turning into confusion. As he approached the recording room, it was still just as silent. He pushed open the door and gasped.
“Oh fuck.”
--------------------------------------------------------
John and Brian were stood in silence when they heard Freddie shouting for them. They quickly ran in to see what had caused Freddie to shout in such a way that slightly scared them, only to see Roger unconscious on the floor, face down in his own vomit. The guilt hit them like a punch to the gut.
“Oh shit, what happened?” Brian asked, before kneeling down next to Roger.
“I don’t know. He looks ill.”
John came closer and touched Roger forehead. “He’s really hot. Like really, really hot. I think he’s got a fever.”
They sat Roger up, Brian tapping his cheek lightly, until unfocused blue eyes opened.
“Hey Rog,” Freddie said in a calming tone, quite the opposite to how he was talking to Roger earlier on that day. “You okay?”
“Cold,” came Roger’s whispered response.
“Darling you’ve got a fever.”
Roger grunted in response, tilting his head slightly, before his eyes widened.
They heard a quite “Gonna be sick,” before Roger was throwing up in the bin John quickly provided. Brian rubbed circles over his back, as Freddie brushed his sweaty hair out of his face. After the retching stopped, Roger slumped back, his eyes closing. The others then slowly helped Roger up off the floor, before half supporting, half carrying him to the car. He sat in the back, head in John’s lap as he returned to much needed sleep.
Brian carried him back in, as he was the strongest, and put him straight into the bed. They retrieved many wash cloths, soaking them in cold water, before dabbing Roger’s face and arms with them.
“How did we not see he was ill?” John asked.
“I think we were all so caught up in this album, that we forgot that health was a thing. I mean, not only did we fail to notice, but Roger also blatantly ignored his symptoms in order for us to record,” Freddie said quietly.
“Well he is an idiot,” Brian chuckled. They all quietly laughed together, before noticing blue eyes blinking at them.
“How are you darling?” Freddie asked.
“Okay,” Roger replied, suppressing a grimace as his stomach was deciding whether to keep the rest of his food down or not.
“Rog you’ve got the flu. Quite bad as well. Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Brian asked.
“Didn’t feel this bad this morning,” Roger grumbled.
Freddie smiled softly. “Get some sleep dear. You need it.” Roger only nodded before his eyes slipped shut.
The other three smiled. Even though they were not looking forward for the next few days as an ill Roger is a whiny, grumpy Roger, they didn’t mind. They were just happy to have such a good best friend, and they wouldn’t trade him for the world.