Work Text:
September 1980
“Are you going to take me out tonight or not?” Joe asked, pillow covering his face.
Sighing, Freddie tilted his head back before responding, “If you just sit and watch Telly, I’ll let you do whatever you like to me.”
They’d been going out so often and, truth be told, Freddie was fucking exhausted from it. Every night, the two of them were out and then they’d come back, have sex (provided neither fell asleep first), and wake up only to repeat.
The clubs in NYC were losing their appeal and Freddie just wanted a quiet night with his boyfriend. Just the two of them for a change.
“I’m exhausted,” Joe said. “So if you’re not taking me out, I’m gonna sleep.”
“You could doze off on the sofa with me,” Freddie offered. “And I could play with your hair?”
“I’m gonna just stay here,” Joe said, muffling his voice as he turned his face into the pillow.
Trying to keep cool and collected, Freddie said, “Fine. Sleep then. I’m going to Phoebe’s room.”
And maybe, if the door slammed behind him, he didn’t feel too bad about it.
Staying still for a moment, Joe just breathed. He could feel his heart breaking, bit by bit, every argument they had. Even if that argument wasn't much of one and was more just two stubborn people exchanging passive-aggressions.
He sat up and sighed into the dark room, the bathroom door cracked with its light spilling across where Freddie had just been.
He rolled out of bed and headed for the door, bare feet padding over the carpeting with soft footfalls. He glanced sidelong into the mirror in the bathroom as he passed and stopped. He looked horrible. Scoffing at himself and refraining from self-destructive comments, Joe snatched his room key from beside the door and went to find Freddie.
When he knocked at his door, Peter “Phoebe” Freestone hesitantly opened it just a bit. “He isn't here,” the tall man lied.
Joe pushed past him and sighed. “Freddie please come back to the room,” he asked, a bit of irritation creeping out to lodge in his throat.
“I don’t want to go out and have to babysit you,” Freddie snapped, voice firm and sharp. “I don’t want to get snapped at for turning on Dynasty on my night off.”
Their spats had been getting worse and Freddie could feel the anger and frustration bubbling in his chest.
“And maybe you wouldn’t be so exhausted ,” he added an over-exaggerated pronunciation of “eggs-haw-stid” to add insult to injury, “if you didn’t insist on going out every night!”
God I wish I had a drink, Joe thought. Sighing, he relented and shook his head, putting his hands upon “Cmon. Let's go watch Dynasty ?”
Freddie regarded Joe with a squint before wordlessly getting up and breezing out of the room, shoulder brushing Joe's chest as he headed out.
24 July 1982
Of course he’d seen Joe before the show. Wearing the catering uniform and humming to himself while he did food prep as Freddie made a beeline directly for the green room, hoping not to be seen.
After the show, he debated waiting and saying hello but anxiety clutched at him, burning into his throat and chest. What would he say to Joe anyway?
Their last fight in Argentina in ‘81 burned into his mind, the way they couldn’t get past the partying, the clubbing, the way Joe wanted to be public about their relationship and Freddie didn’t…
Surely, Joe wouldn’t be particularly interested in talking to Freddie, anyway.
Glancing around, Freddie’s heart dropped when he found his daughter patting at Joe Fanelli’s cheeks and giggling.
“Roggie,” he murmured, voice low as he tugged on Roger’s dressing gown.
Roger turned around, pausing now as they walked toward the green room, “Yeah, Fred?”
“Could…could you get Sammy?”
Roger took in Freddie's tone and looked where he was looking, alarm bristling. Then he saw Joe. And the smile on both Samantha's and Joe's faces. He wondered if Joe figured it out.
“I'll grab her. Go ahead out, I'll meet you at the cars?” Roger nudged Freddie.
He waited until Fred was out of sight before going over and tapping Sammy on her shoulder and giving a smile to Joe. He didn't mind Joe at all. He was the type of man Roger thought Freddie would end up with- the calm, down-to-earth type of man who didn't lose himself in the limelight.
“Ah!” offered Sammy when she tilted her head and saw the familiar face of Roger Taylor. She threw her little chubby hands up towards him, asking to receive uppies. Roger happily obliged.
“Thanks for holding her, Joe,” Roger said, his smile tight. He shifted Sammy to his hip and offered a hand to get Joe up from the ridiculously low sofa.
Joe shrugged, taking that hand. “She was kinda just. Handed to me,” he laughed. He then looked at Samantha with a peculiar look, and then walked off to aid his crew with the clean up of the catering table.
Roger watched him go with a bit of an uneasy feeling in his stomach.
He found Freddie in the loading docks, where they usually usher the band out after the show is done. One inconspicuous silver car idled with a pacing Freddie near it.
Once Freddie saw Roger, he felt relief wash over him and leaned in to greet his daughter.
“Hello, my love,” he said, gently toying with her dark curls and kissing her cheek, “were you the best behaved tonight? I think you were.”
She giggled and leaned back into Roger.
“I know, you love Roggie, don’t you?” He said as he gently took her from him. “But we’re going to go back to the hotel and hopefully you’ll go right to sleep.” He adjusted her on his hip and looked at Roger, “Thank you, darling. For getting her for me.”
“Course,” Roger said, giving her a kiss on the temple. He paused and looked at Freddie, clearly thinking about what he ought to say, sighed, put his sunglasses on, and said, “See you tomorrow, Fred.”
“See you, Darling,” Freddie answered before turning and getting Samantha situated into her safety seat and then sitting next to her to head back to the hotel.
Once back at the hotel, Freddie got Samantha ready for bed, read to her, and then made sure she was fully asleep before putting her in the cot.
He stepped into the living room of his suite and found Phoebe fiddling with the telly.
“She’s asleep now. I’m going to shower and then lie down. If you don’t mind keeping an eye on her until I’m done?” he said, holding his dressing gown over his forearm.
Phoebe stood and shook his head. “Why don't you get a bath? I can make you some tea and-”
Freddie shook his head and just shut himself in the bathroom, the sound of the water covering up Phoebe's heavy sigh.
When Freddie got out of the shower, he sent Phoebe out and got to toweling the water out of his short hair.
There was a knock on the door, three sharp taps. Freddie sent a worried look to the door of the bedroom where his daughter slept and rushed to answer it before the knocks happened again.
There stood Joe in his doorway, the hair and the shoulders on his leather jacket damp with rain.
“Hi,” he greeted Freddie simply, the word heavy with all the words left unsaid between them.
With a glance over his shoulder, Freddie listened for a moment to make sure that Samantha didn’t wake up. Tugging his dressing gown around him, Freddie stepped out of the room and pulled the door almost shut behind him.
“Hello, dear,” he said, keeping his voice low to not cause a scene in the hotel.
Joe cast a strange look at Freddie, took in the omega’s state of undress and bit his lip to hold back a smile. “How tall is he?”
Blinking, Freddie tilted his head, “Pardon, dear?”
“The guy in your room,” Joe answered, nodding to the hurriedly-closed door. “The rush, the whispering, the… robe?” Joe gave him a once-over.
“There’s no…” Freddie trailed off as he realized what it looked like. “Oh. Oh, no. No, I just got out of the shower. I…” he hesitated.
The omega knew he needed to tell Joe the truth about his— their daughter. But if he woke her up now, she wouldn’t sleep through the night and her birthday would be an absolute disaster the day after.
“Did you want something, love?” he asked, hoping to distract Joe.
Scrutinizing Freddie with a lazy gaze, Joe smiled. “I was hoping to catch up. Thought maybe we could go out? Y'know… seeing as I'm joining your tour.”
Which was true. He gave Jim “Miami” Beach a call (collect of course, he's not made of money) and offered to tag along. Miami said yes immediately, knowing Joe's rapport with the band.
Anxiety clutched at Freddie’s throat when he remembered how the last few months of their relationship had deteriorated. The fights that only got worse as Freddie started letting Joe go out by himself and he shook his head, “I’m not up to go out, dear.”
He hadn’t really gone out since he’d found out he was pregnant. Occasionally, he’d go out with the whole band but he was home early.
A weight lifted from Joe's shoulders. “Me neither.”
Freddie smiled weakly. He wanted to offer Joe to stay in with him but…
Was he really up for explaining the situation to him tonight?
Joe shifted in his feet, leaning on his left one and tilting his right knee out a bit, putting his hands in his tight jean pockets. “Can I come in and make you some tea then?” He offered, nodding to the door. “You still take it with two sugars and some milk?”
“Yes. Well, three sugars now,” he said. He went to open the door and paused for a moment. Thinking of Samantha sleeping in the next room, he pulled his dressing gown tighter around himself and said, "But I do need you to be quiet, dearr.”
“So you DO have someone in there,” Joe teased jokingly, still grinning. He followed Freddie in, keeping his voice low. “I'll get the kettle on.”
He kept quiet as he bustled around the kitchenette, his movements fluid and silent, practiced.
Once tea was finished, Joe brought it out to Freddie, tray and all. He poured the tea, the steep on it a little stronger like he remembered Freddie liking it. Plopping three cubes in the cup, Joe waited for a minute, stirred, and then poured the milk while the tea was still moving.
Sitting beside him, Joe passed the cup and saucer to Freddie.
“Now. How are you?” Joe asked, body language relaxed.
Taking the tea, Freddie sipped at it for a moment, debating how to answer. Yes, he knew he needed a conversation with Joe and he knew that needed to happen soon but he didn’t know how to drop it on the poor beta.
“I’m alright, dear. Exhausted from the tour but you know how it is,” he said, keeping his voice low. “What about you?”
He’d been worried about Joe before they’d broken up. After, when Freddie hadn’t been able to get ahold of him, his worry had gone into overdrive.
Joe pulled off his leather jacket and folded it over the arm of the sofa behind him. He smiled. “Oh, just workin’,” he said. “Moved to Philly to get a fresh start. The scene here is kinda lacking but it's not like it really mattered anyways.”
Which was true. Joe had stopped all the partying and drinking and drugs after he split from Freddie and had a horrible meltdown in a club that landed him in the hospital for a few days. He didn't even remember what happened, only that his hands were all sliced up, he had a rocking headache, and a matching set of black eyes that made him look like a feral raccoon for a few weeks.
“Did you try to get ahold of my parents?” Joe asked suddenly, remembering that Freddie had their previous number.
“We’re sorry, the number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service,” the automated voice said.
Freddie had been calling the Fanellis’ numbers for two weeks now, never able to get through. Angry tears pricked at his eyes as he slammed the phone down on the receiver.
“Fuckssake!” he shouted.
Phoebe handed him a cup of tea, “Go sit down. We can talk about it?”
“I did,” Freddie said, nodding. “A few times, actually. I even tried from a few pay phones in case you’d blocked my number.”
Sighing, Joe shook his head. “Nah, I didn't stay with them long after we split,” he said, looking down a bit. “That's why I moved to Philly. The avoidance.” The move was mostly to get a fresh start and to not have to look at things and places that reminded him of his ex.
He paused for a moment, the tension back in the air. He wanted nothing more than to make up and just go back to some assemblance of together. Either romantically or just friends. He'd missed Freddie something feirce.
Clearing his throat, Joe shrugged. “As for my folks, they'd moved to the worst place on fuckin Earth-”
“New Jersey?” Freddie offered.
“New Jersey,” Joe confirmed before continuing, “-and left their number behind right before you and me split.” A soft laugh. “I didn't think it was important, that part. Y'know. When we were dealin’ with other stuff.”
“That…makes sense,” Freddie said, feeling relief from a tension he had been holding for over year now pass through him. “Are you sure about this…? Rejoining the tour, I mean?”
Joe went to answer but the sound of a baby crying stopped him short. His head swiveled to the closed bedroom door. “A baby?” he asked dumbly as Freddie got up and headed for the bedroom. He followed.
Pausing with his hand on the doorknob, Freddie closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to 10. Her crying didn’t ease up or pause so he pushed open the door and walked in.
“Oh, darling,” he said, voice gentle as he picked her up and bounced her a bit. He looked at Joe, “I’m so sorry, dear. She’s normally fine at night but she’s been teething and with touring…”
“A baby?” Joe said again, voice softer. He looked around Freddie and saw that it was the same little girl he had been tasked with watching earlier that night. “Oh. Samantha, was it?”
Nodding, Freddie stepped a little closer to Joe so he could see her better, “Yes, a baby. Samantha Meddows Mercury, to be precise.”
He brushed his hand over her hair and, feeling the light fever from the tears and inflammation, frowned.
“Joe, dear, in the freezer, there are some plastic pink elephants, could you grab one or two for me? And the green and red bag with the cute bear on it?”
Without question, Joe fetched the items, handing them to Freddie. The pink elephants were wrapped in a cloth teether and handed to Sammy immediately. Then, Freddie handed her to Joe and plopped a baby aspirin in a bottle filled with tepid water and powder formula, and then shook the bottle until it was dissolved. Sammy reached for the bottle and dropped the teether, obviously preferring the milk to the cold, now damp cloth.
Joe bounced her a bit as hiccups started, startling her from her half-asleep state every time one happened. She burped and Freddie smiled. “Atta girl,” Joe said softly, her hiccups easing. She closed her eyes.
He handed the dozing infant back to Freddie and the omega set her, the bottle, and the cool teether all in the cot. Joe turned the small white noise maker back on for an hour and stepped out the door and poured Freddie another cuppa.
Joe couldn't keep the smile from his lips as Freddie sat. “So… you had a kid,” he mused, handing Freddie his tea.
“I did, yes,” Freddie said, taking a sip as he avoided looking directly at the other man.
“AND you married Roger?”
“She isn't his,” Freddie said quickly, eyes darting to Joe.
“Isn't his?” Joe echoed.
“No, she isn't.”
The two sat quietly for a moment, Freddie looking into his tea like he was trying to predict what Joe would say next.
“How old is she?”
Freddie looked up and then to Joe, not expecting just how a question that seemed so mundane would be asked instead of asking who’s child she actually is.
“She's nearly one.” A realization hit Freddie hard. “Oh fuck. ”
Joe blinked. “Oh fuck?”
“Her cake!” Freddie set his cup in its saucer with a clatter. “I forgot about calling a baker!”
Joe laughed but Freddie didn't stop.
“I need two-” Freddie's hands went to his face and elbows on his knees. A muffled “Fuck me ” escaped those hands.
After a moment, Joe tapped Freddie on his shoulder. “How many cakes and for when?”
Freddie looked at him from the corner of his eye. “Two…” He sighed and leaned back into the sofa. “For her birthday. One for the guests and one for her to play in because my mum did that for me and the boys did that for their kids and I think it's cute, even though miss missy will get messy but-”
A hand squeezed his own and felt a calm fall over him. Joe had that effect. He turned his head fully and looked at the beta with a rueful smile. “Two, darling. I take it that you're offering…”
Joe gave Freddie a smile. “Of course I am. When do you need them?”
A sheepish blush of shame crept over Freddie's cheeks. “The 26th…”
That made Joe laugh. “Freddie, that's not the tightest timeline you've given me,” he said.
“That's true,” Freddie said, voice tilting up in octave a bit. “Remember when we got the entire eighth floor of that hotel for New Year's and I didn't ask you to make the dinner until the day of-”
“And I had to go to every market in London to gather the stuff for it all while you stalled the guests with drinks and hors d'oeuvres for two full hours?”
“Yes!” Freddie laughed quietly, curling up a bit as he did. “You were so mad at me.”
“I was not!” Joe countered, faux shock on his face as he pressed his hand to his chest. “I was just busy!”
“ ‘Fuck you very much’ ,” Freddie mimicked in a horrible Boston accent. “I believe that's what you said to me that night.”
“Yeah, when you came into the kitchen all cute and tipsy and said you were here to help!”
“Well, I was!” Freddie chirped indignant.
Joe laughed at that, things feeling good for a moment. That night was their first New Year's together. The kiss they shared was sloppy- he had been a bit drunk at that point too- but hé still loved that memory. The whole night.
They were quiet again, this time was far more at-ease than earlier.
“So, I'll start them tomorrow and finish them up the day of, okay?” Joe offered.
“Sounds good,” Freddie sighed, relaxing a bit more.
“I take it Dom is doing one for Roger?” Joe asked. He looked up at Freddie, who sat quiet for a minute, staring up at the ceiling. “She is, isn't she?”
“Fuck,” was all Freddie had to say.
“Alright, doing three cakes,” Joe laughed, reaching for the pad of paper and pen by the hotel phone. “What should I put on them?”
Freddie described what he wanted for each. A colourful cat on the smash cake, the simple “Happy Birthday Samantha” on the cake for the guests, and something kitschy and drumming related for Roger’s 33rd. All this got jotted down on the notepad.
Joe paused. “How many guests for Samantha's party?”
“About 50.” Freddie rolled his head and peeked at Joe. “Is that alright?”
Joe tapped the pen against his lips, lost in thought. “What if I do cupcakes for the guests?” He tilted his head and scribbled on the pad. “That way everyone can get a little cake and I can make them all similar to Samantha's?”
Freddie smiled widely. “Oh, darling, that's brilliant. Yes, do that.”
“Got it,” Joe said, scrawling a few more things on the page before he stabbed a period at the end, ripped off, and shoved the list into the pocket of his leather jacket.
“You're a saint,” Freddie said, head back and eyes closed. “Honestly, Joe, thank you.”
“Hey it's okay. I'll have my crew cater the concert tomorrow night and meet you in New York the next day?”
“Oh darling, I have a flat, I'll cut you a key tomorrow.”
Joe smiled. “Alright. We can go to get it together, have lunch, and then I'll drive out?”
“That sounds wonderful,” Freddie said, eyes still closed.
Joe cleared the tea away and tidied a bit, letting Freddie rest for a bit before coming back over and rousing him. “I'm gonna take off, yeah?”
“Oh, alright darling,” Freddie hummed, getting up to show Joe to the door.
They stood in the threshold for a quiet minute, just looking anywhere but at each other.
Eventually, Joe leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Freddie's stubbly cheek, lips warm and soft. “Goodnight, Freddie.”
Freddie flushed and let out a soft laugh. “Goodnight, Joe.”
---