Chapter Text
Brian sets the kettle on the stove and ventures to the kitchen table to turn on his laptop and check his email while he waits.
It's another quiet, lonely morning without Anita to wake up with. He's incredibly happy that she's working on a new series, but he misses her terribly as she's been on location for most of the month.
The timing could have been better since she started work just as Brian returned from another tour with Roger and Adam. Now, he'll have to recuperate while continuing to miss his wife.
After taking a moment to sigh while looking at Anita's favorite chair, Brian finally clicks open his inbox and scans the contents. He's gotten better about learning to use the filter options available so that he's not immediately faced with hundreds of messages from various sources, but there are inevitably still dozens of emails that he gets daily, varying in importance or interest, that Brian feels compelled to address.
Brian ignores the pull of various news alerts, knowing that will be an hour or so of deep thought and intense frustration. Instead, he looks for anything that would need a timely response. The subject "Brian May Casting Candidate" leaps out at him, and he clicks without hesitation.
The filmmakers of the yet-to-be-named Queen movie have been gracious with Brian's input on many of the aspects of the movie. Casting of all four band members has been the most tumultuous part and has led to a few stumbles, especially Freddie's role. Finding someone to capture the charm and complexity of his late friend was to be expected. However, what was surprising was how difficult it's been to find the right person to play himself.
Brian has received a few of these emails over the past couple months concerning his role. The candidates so far have been somewhat strong in some aspects but never felt quite right. Whether it was their less-than-stellar CV or just not really looking much like Brian. Sure, there's only so close of a resemblance that will ever be possible with anyone not related to him, but this film needs to be convincing in terms of the band members' looks. Freddie was often the focus of attention, yet the rest were quite often recognized in their own right. Brian's not being haughty when he acknowledges that, after Freddie, he's the most recognizable member of Queen given his height and enduring crown of curls.
Brian skims the email's introduction and gets straight to the name of the latest candidate to play Brian May. "Gwilym Lee," he quietly reads aloud.
He can't help but take note right away of the actor's height, which matches his own. Brian is no giant, but he's taller than average, and it seems to be one of his traits that complicates his casting. That's one box checked off, at least.
Mr. Lee's most notable recent work has been on television, a good indicator of his acting abilities since he's managed to get work steadily for many years. Brian doesn't think playing himself will be such an acting challenge, but he wants to be represented as best as possible. He mentally checks off the talent box.
Before opening the attachment with his photograph, Brian looks for the last bit of information that's vital to being able to play himself: guitar ability. Of course, Brian doesn't expect an actor to have his level of skill with a guitar, but some knowledge and interest in the instrument is a must. Audiences can tell when someone holding a guitar is genuinely capable. Despite the fact that the music in the movie will mostly be from Queen's live performances, and therefore people will be hearing his very own performance, the visual is going to have to match. Simply, the actor is going to have to effortlessly recreate Brian's style of performance to be in any way convincing. And Brian is relieved to see that, yes, Mr. Lee does have a foundational knowledge of the guitar.
As Brian is about to open the photo attachment, he notices some papers on his table flutter. He looks at his windows to check that they are closed, which they are, but before he can solve the source of the wind, it picks up ferociously. Brian swivels his head frantically to try to figure out what the hell is happening. He spots an anomaly in the middle of the kitchen a couple meters from him. It's like a dark spot in the air. He observes how it steadily elongates and realizes that it's no actual thing but a hole or tear of some sort ... and someone's coming out of it!
As soon as the person fully emerges, the black opening seals up in a blink and the wind stops. The person looks about trying to get situated, seemingly unaware of where he is. The person is tall, skinny, has dark curly hair, objectively male, shirt's not quite buttoned, he's wearing a familiar watch, has good taste in clogs-
"Uh, excuse me," the person interrupts Brian's internal cataloging of him.
Brian can't quite get his mouth to work and only blinks in acknowledgement.
"Are you who I think you are?" the person asks.
Brian does one more quick inspection of the person before looking down at himself, looking at his hands and touching his face and hair. "Well, I'll believe who I think you are if you tell me correctly who you think I am." Brian repeats his words to himself, and sure, that made sense, he thinks.
The person ponders the proposal for a moment before slowly nodding his head. "You're Brian May. You're my older self. Me in the future." He says the last bit with a faint smile, revealing how in awe and enamored the prospect makes him.
Seeing the emotion on his younger face jars Brian out of his shock and disbelief over the situation, and he finds himself returning the smile.
Then the kettle screams.
"Jesus Christ!" both Brians practically jump out of their skins. They look wide-eyed at the stove and then back at each other.
When Brian's heart rate finally starts to settle, he gets up to remove the kettle. He prepares two cups with no need to ask his unexpected guest how he takes his tea. Once done, he walks back to the table, handing one of the cups to his awkwardly standing younger self. "Have a seat, Brian."
||
"A time machine?" older Brian repeats the two key words from younger Brian's explanation of how he arrived here. "I invented a time machine? I don't remember inventing a time machine in 1987."
"You know, I was curious about that when I chose to come to the future," younger Brian says. "Whether such knowledge would already be with you when I arrived since I am you from the past. Our meeting could answer so much about the nature of time and history. You have no recollection at all?"
Older Brian takes a moment to really think back and is astonished to realize that suddenly he does recall having created the device with Deacy one drunken night using a vacuum and old guitar pickups.
"I remember the time machine now. Honestly, I didn't have any of those memories before you were here."
"Yeah?" younger Brian bounces in his seat excitedly. "Anything else?"
Older Brian closes his eyes to better focus inwardly. "I can remember now finding the device after it was forgotten in the back of the wardrobe and then deciding to test it by coming here."
Younger Brian smiles broadly. "And?"
"That's it," older Brian answers. "It's like I'm steadily forming the memories of anything that had to do with you traveling to my time as you experience them."
"Amazing," younger Brian says in awe.
"I suppose that means that despite you being me from the past, in a purely chronological sense, I won't know what happens with you here in 2017 until it's all done and you return to your time."
"Brilliant! There's so much I want to know. Like," younger Brian looks at the laptop on the table, "is that a computer?"
Older Brian smiles. "Yes, computers these days are as small as books. And even smaller," he holds up his rose-gold iPhone.
Younger Brian's jaw drops. "That's a computer too?!"
"Well, a mobile and a computer."
Younger Brian makes grabby hands. Older Brian happily hands over the device.
"You can access all kinds of information instantly these days and communicate through video almost as regularly as making phone calls."
Younger Brian puzzles over the device. "Okay, I see the one button, but how do you do things with it? Voice commands?"
"Yes, you actually do have that ability, but you'll be ashamed to know that I'm a bit of a stereotypical old fart when it comes to some aspects of technology, and I hardly know how to get that option to work. I stick with the touchscreen."
Younger Brian gets the hang of tapping and swiping about fairly quickly. "You said it does video? So, there's a lens? Can you take pictures?"
Older Brian smiles even wider, amused by the reminder of his lifelong fascination with photography. "It takes the highest quality and with no need for film. Everything these days is entirely digital."
"Can I take a picture?"
Older Brian shows him how to open the camera and where to tap to take photos. Younger Brian immediately chooses his older self as the subject of his first photo. The elder rolls his eyes but indulges him, putting an elbow on the table and placing his head in his hand to pose.
While younger Brian inspects his picture, he gets a wild idea. "Could we take a picture together?"
Older Brian hesitates at the notion. "Umm, should we? It seems dangerous to have evidence that you were here." They haven't discussed it, but there's an unspoken agreement that his past self should cause as little disturbance as possible while here.
"You can erase it, right?"
"Well, yes, I suppose."
"I just think it would be, uh, I don't quite know the right word," younger Brian looks down at the iPhone again, "satisfying, I guess, to have proof that we met. Even if the proof exists for a short period of time."
Older Brian stares hard at his younger self. He's about 40, and it's probably just the advantage of hindsight and having aged out of some self-esteem issues, but he thinks he looked really quite good at that age. He knows appearances were deceiving, however, because life was turning into a shitshow back around that time. This adventure to the future might be exactly what he needed (needs? Brian is having a hard time working out the proper grammatical tenses for the situation.).
Older Brian scoots his chair closer and takes the iPhone only to change the camera to the front before handing it back to his younger self to do the honors. He can see the huge smile on younger Brian's face in the screen and tries to match it.
When the deed is done, they both can't help but stare at the photo in fascination for a long moment. Older Brian dwells on how he's changed so much in 30 years. Aging has been mostly kind to him in terms of his health with no serious diagnoses. He certainly doesn't feel his age, still able to gallop around a stage relatively well.
But, my God, his looks have changed. The most noticeable being the white hair. Then there are the sunken eyes, the wrinkles, the loose skin. He has to turn the phone over in dismay.
"What's wrong?" younger Brian asks.
Older Brian can't look at him. "Um, I'm sorry if you're disappointed in what you're seeing."
His younger self tilts his head in question.
Brian simply waves his hand over his face and body in explanation.
"What? That you're old?"
Brian huffs at his younger self's bluntness.
Younger Brian brings a hand under his older self's chin and lifts it so that they're facing each other. "You know what my first thought was when I realized that you were really me 30 years into the future?"
Older Brian shakes his head.
"I thought, 'I still have my hair!' "
Brian gives a surprised snort. "Seriously?"
"Do you find it hard to believe I was so relieved that I wasn't bald?"
No, that's understandable, Brian mentally concedes. He's often found himself mourning the loss of the dark brown hue but thankful that he at least has hair, and coming to accept the white cloud of hair has given him a different sort of confidence over the years.
"I had no illusions about what I'd look like at this age," younger Brian continues. "Honestly, I'm really a very handsome 70-year-old man, if I do say so myself."
Older Brian huffs and chuckles lightly. "Despite how sullen I could get, I forgot how arrogant I could get too."
"It's not arrogance, you know better," his younger self chastises. "It's much needed confidence."
"All right, that's true enough," Brian concedes. "I hope seeing how you end up helps you gain even more of that confidence."
Younger Brian looks thoughtfully around them and then studies older Brian's face for a bit. "Are you happy?" he quietly asks.
"I am," Brian easily answers.
"How'd you end up that way?"
Older Brian doesn't immediately answer, pondering the right response. "Don't think I should tell you everything about this time."
"Give me something," younger Brian pleads. "You gotta remember how it was for me. For us."
Brian sighs. He worries that revealing one thing could reveal another and another and continue to snowball. But, yes, he certainly does remember how difficult things were during younger Brian's time. "All right," he looks through his phone for just the right photo and unceremoniously holds it right in his younger self's face.
Younger Brian gasps, "Anita." It's a more recent selfie of the two of them that Brian insisted on taking. No special occasion or unique setting. Brian was feeling particularly giddy that day and just thought Anita looked lovely.
"You'll be fine, Brian," the elder says reassuringly. "Things seem really bleak now, I know. And I hate to say this, but there will be some other tough periods ahead. But I hope you can take comfort knowing you have much more good than bad to look forward to."
The younger man cradles the phone with the photo on-screen in his hands and allows a small smile to form. When he feels ready, he hands the device back. "Thank you."
Brian glances once more at the photo and smiles as well over the memory before turning off the screen and tucking the phone away. "You'll also be relieved to learn that Queen's success continues to grow and endure."
Younger Brian is honestly shocked. "How much bigger could we possibly get? The Magic Tour was the most massive undertaking ever. Are we still touring?"
"In a way, yes," Brian says as cryptically as possible. "But that's not the only evidence of success. There's a Hollywood picture being made about us."
"You're joking?"
"No, it's been in the works for quite a while. Finally seems to be truly happening now."
"My God, who could possibly play Freddie?"
Brian laughs. "That indeed has been a major source of headaches. But apparently you are not so easy to cast as well."
"Me?"
Brian nods. "In fact, would you like to see the latest candidate for the role of Brian May?"
The younger man's face lights up like a Christmas tree.
"Mr. Gwilym Lee." Older Brian wakes up his laptop once more. "I've gone over his basic information and he seems to be the strongest candidate yet. I was just about to see his picture when you rudely interrupted."
His younger self rolls his eyes.
Brian clicks open the image file revealing a young man with short, neatly styled hair and stubbled jaw.
"Handsome bloke," younger Brian says immediately.
Older Brian agrees, of course. "Though I wish the casting director would send me color photos instead of the usual headshots. Oh, well. Easy enough to Google him."
"Do what to him?"
Brian waves off the question. "Don't worry about it."
Once the search results return, the Brians get lost in a small sea of photos, mostly of Mr. Lee's work in "Midsomer Murders" and "Jamestown," which leads down the rabbit hole of watching video clips of the series.
"He certainly has acting talent and presence," older Brian remarks.
"My God, the clarity of the screen is amazing," younger Brian's distracted from the scene, still awed by the leaps in technology in this time. Then Gwilym re-enters the scene shirtless, and Brian is no longer distracted. "Oh, he's quite fit."
Brian snorts. "Possibly too fit to play you."
"Oi, what's that supposed to mean?"
Older Brian pointedly stares at the younger man's slim limbs. "You might want to start doing some push-ups. You have quite a few tank tops in your future."
"What?"
"Nevermind, I've said too much." Brian closes the browser window and pulls up the black-and-white photo of Gwilym from his email. "So, what do you think?"
"I'm still not quite sure," younger Brian admits. "He's talented, no doubt. I still can't quite see him portraying me."
Older Brian stares at the photo like it's a puzzle. "I've got it!" he exclaims suddenly. He leaves the kitchen and after some sounds of rummaging and a drawer slam, he return with a magazine and a pair of scissors.
"What are you doing?" younger Brian asks.
Older Brian doesn't answer, just flips through the magazine until he finds the page he wants and immediately starts cutting. Younger Brian looks at the page and notices it's a picture of himself.
And Brian's cutting his hair out.
Older Brian places the piece over the screen on the picture of Gwilym Lee.
The Brians study the altered image. "He's perfect," they say in unison.
||
"We have to help him get the part."
Younger Brian looks questioningly at his older counterpart. "Aren't you going to tell the filmmakers that you approve of the choice?"
"Yes, of course, but that won't be enough. I amazingly am not the final say on who will portray me."
"And what more could we do to ensure he's chosen?"
"Well, while I make my emails and phonecalls, you need to do your part."
"What could I possibly do?"
"Since you're here, you could pay Mr. Lee a visit," older Brian says, somehow making the suggestion sound like nothing extraordinary.
"You want me, Brian Harold May circa 1987, to show up at Gwilym Lee's doorstep to help him get the role of me?"
"Uh, yeah," older Brian says coolly. "Get to know him, see for yourself that he's right for the role, and give him some insight into us."
Younger Brian looks at his older counterpart like he'd grown a second head. "Are you mad? I've probably caused enough trouble by being here and talking to the future me. I wanted to glimpse the future, not manipulate it."
"Oh, please. It's just a movie," older Brian easily dismisses. "You're in the future! Don't waste it simply hanging around an old man."
The younger man's still unsure. "How, uh, would I even start that conversation? 'Pardon me, but I believe you're vying for the role of me in a big-budget picture. Fancy a chat?"
Older Brian winces. "I forgot how anal I was."
"What?!" Younger Brian squawks out an indignant huff.
"Loosen the hell up, Brian." The older man picks up the time travel device and places it in his counterpart's hand. "No more excuses. You've come this far. There's no turning back."
The younger man looks at his older self fondly. "Getting rid of me so soon? There's so much more I want to learn from you."
"And that's why you have to go," Brian answers with a panged expression. "Because I could easily tell you all the bad shit that's still to come. Or even the good shit." He pauses to take a deep, calming breath. "But you have to really live your life, Brian. Not wait for it to happen."
His counterpart looks somberly at the ground like a lost puppy, and the older man hugs him, unable to resist giving him some final support. "Stay as close as you can, as long as you can, to the mates. To John, Roger, and Freddie," Brian says, as if there'd be confusion over which mates he could possibly be talking about. "Especially to Freddie."
The younger Brian looks back up suddenly at the last part. Realization quickly dawns on his face, and he nods in acknowledgement. "Thank you, Brian, for everything. I'm glad we met. I hope you remember how much this experience has meant to me."
The older man chuckles and lets him go with a playful shove. "I'm sure I'll treasure it, Doctor May."
The younger Brian sucks in a breath. "Doctor?!"
The older Brian couldn't help but impart some good news after alluding to some bad stuff. He hits the button on the time machine, and with a final wave, the younger Brian disappears.
Brian yet again faces an empty kitchen, an empty house. He goes back to his seat at the table in front of his laptop. The picture of Gwilym is still open on the screen and he fondly stares at it as the new memories form in his mind of his first encounter with the young actor who most certainly will be portraying him on the big screen.