Chapter Text
Pretty. Confident. Talented. Funny. Ladies man. Friendly.
This is what people would say about Roger Meddows Taylor, the pretty man from Truro. And yes, he was always pretty, friendly or funny. But only few people, only few knew this man, really. And not just how he is.
It was quite a warm day, 26. July 1949. As for the first time, Winifred and Michael Taylors were clearly excited for upcoming child. That day Winifred was escorted to hospital and after long and exhausting months she gave birth. But when she get to see the child she was left in suprise.
The newborn baby she got to hold looked like a boy. It was a boy, but there was the thing. Her pretty son had both reproductive organs. Winifred Taylor was stunned. Doctors talked to her and of course they didn't find it normal, it wasn't something that happens every day.
The worst reaction came from Winifred's husband. Michael was ashamed and, well, angry, what Winifred couldn't understand. He didn't wanted nobody else to find out how his son was born.
"Michael, how can you be like that? First it's your son and he's healthy! Isn't that important?" Winifred tried to tell her husband.
But he couldn't.
They named their son Roger. Roger was the prettiest baby in town, not just from his mother's view. She loved and cared for him deeply, like every mother would. She sang him lullabies, feeded him (even if he threw it all up), she would play with him and stay all night up till her Roger fell asleep.
But then there was Michael. He couldn't change his son's diapers. He lied to everyone around about Roger, and even forced his wife to. Nobody knew, only Winifred, Michael and Roggie's doctor. When he talked to his friends, he said his son will be strong man for sure. That he's already strong. He was ashamed of his own son, of his own baby.
As Roger grew, he was everything but what Michael had hoped for.
He didn't wanted to play sports, no football. He was thin, and often bullied by other children. And then ran to his mother. At least he showed some interest in cars.
Later, Winifred was pregnant again. A girl was born, Clare. She was a little stronger than Roger was as baby. But Michael couldn't bear it.
He distanced himself from wife and children often stayed out late at night in bars and then came home drunk. He often yelled at Winifred, or even hit her. Roger found himself often in his room, cuddling his small sister, tears streaming down his face, listening yells from downstairs, fear of being hit too.
Time has passed and Roger grew older. He started to love music. Anything. From humming to singing like a madman. His mother was glad Roger found something he loved, and Clare always giggled when listened to older brother.
When he was twelve, Winifred convinced her husband to buy first drums for Roger. Even though the blonde boy learned first playing guitar, he started loving the drums, and soon, it became his passion. He played drums almost every day when he came from school.
When Roger turned fourteen, everything changed. Once he went to bathroom and pulled his pants down, he froze.
"CLARE, CALL MOM!"
"She is in garden, what do you need!?"
"CALL. MOM."
When Roger's sister called Winifred, she in second knew what's going on. She rushed upstairs to bathroom and found Roger crying and shaking with sobs.
"Oh Roggie..."
She hugged gently her son and looked at the dark stain on Roger's pants. She helped him out of it and and put it in washbasin. She made sure she washed the stain quickly rushed to Roger's bedroom, took out new clean pants and when walking back to bathroom grabbed a pad.
"Mom...I don't want to..."
"Shhh, shhh. It's fine, it's fine, I'll help you."
"Mom I'm not a girl, I don't want to be a freak..."
Winifred's heart broke at her son's words. She touched Roger's cheek as she dropped on the ground next to him.
"Oh, love...you are not a freak, Rog. You are just different. My boy...I know it sounds bad and weird, but don't worry, we'll handle it, we'll find a way, okay?"
Roger hiccuped and nodded. And so Winifred explained how to use pads during periods. She explained him everything, and Roger's sobs and hiccups turned to shaky breaths.
And that was the last drop. Michael Taylor divorced and left his family behind, not able to love his wife anymore, not able to look at his children.
"Is it because of me, mother?" Roger once asked.
"No."
Days passed, months passed, and Roger Taylor was older. Suddenly, the small fragile boy who was shivering after long days outside or playing football turned into attractive, pretty, young man. He learned how to mask his period so fellow collegues won't find out and formed a band. He was talented confident drummer, not attracting only women.
When he was about 18-19 years old, one friend saw an advert for a drummer on a noticeboard at Imperial College. And that's how Roger met Brian May. He remembered the look on the guitarist's face, how he impressed both him and the bassit Tim. Roger joined the band called Smile. There was bassist and lead singer Tim Staffel and guitarist Brian May.
He quickly found way with them and became friends.
Later, Tim introduced to Brian and Roger a funny guy who called himself Freddie, Freddie Bulsara. And Roger loved that person. Freddie played in other band, but they became great friends. He was funny, caring and kriffing brilliant.
Together, opened a stall in Kensington Market in London where they sold second-hand clothes and god, Roger found it brilliant. There was a time Roger and Freddie actually shared a flat, with Brian often joining them. Then, disappointed with Smile, Tim decided to leave the band.
Freddie was the first person Roger told about 'his' condition'. They way Freddie's eyes widened with shock and how he hugged the blonde, saying it's totally fine. "Now I know why you're sometimes more annoying and snappy than usual."
So, you can guess who joined the poodle and the blondie.
Brian after few years found out about Roger's secret. Roger never spoke to him about it, he figured out that Brian once saw pads or something.
They were perfect trio of three totally different young men. They renamed their band to Queen and of course Freddie chose it. Only thing they missed was a bassist. One night, in 1971, Roger and Brian met at bar, at disco, John Deacon, shy and quiet person who said just between talk that he can play bass guitar. After about four bassists now Queen tried, they knew this one just fit in.
Nothing really changed, until one time, somewhere in 1971, when the band were drunk as hell. Too much alcohol blinded their minds and Roger and Brian decided to make out from pure craziness in public men restrooms.
Next day, there was serious debate, words of promises, talks in style of 'This was a mistake' or 'Okay, it happened, we'll never do that again. Of course it happened, more often and without need to get drunk.
"It's just blowing out the steam, just stress relief." Brian once said when they were at the Ridge farm, sharing a bed. They started calling it 'friends with benefits'.
Their fourth album A Night At Opera dropped and the single Bohemian Rhapsody became a hit. Queen became now really famous band. The years passed and they were happy, not counting the fights, break-ups with girlfriends and stuff.
They had money. Now, they had families, John and Brian happily married and with children. Freddie started discovering further his sexuality, Munich giving him more offers and Roger, Roger fell in love with French woman Dominique Beyrand.
Everything seemed perferct. Until everything changed.
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October, 1979
"What do you mean 'Record it again'?"
"Well, I just think you should try again. It's not bad, just try again."
"You made me try again about fifteen times already, Fred!"
Roger let out tired groan and banged his head against the snare drum. Freddie and Brian were fighting for too long and the recording meeting started hours ago. It was getting nowhere. John was already on fourth can of beer, pressing a pillow a pillow to his head as he laid on nearby couch. Brian huffed again, and if glare could kill, Freddie would be already dead.
Roger had never felt more like leaving the studio and never coming back. He wanted nothing more than to just drive back home, climb into the bed and continue with Dominique what they did last night. Oh, and strangle Brian, definetely strangle Brian. And as if the fighting between the guitarist and singer wasn't enough, Roger was going crazy from stomach cramps. It wasn't like period cramps, and what worse, he didn't even had period for far too long. And just one damn shout from Brian or Freddie, and drummer's glass of patience will run out.
"You can do better!"
Brian scoffed at that crossing his arms on his chest and put Red Special down, meanwhile John just buried head deeper in the couch. Alright, that's it, Roger mumbled under his breath.
"I'm out, this is too fucking much. I'm going home." He stood up from his drums and walked towards small table next to couch where John was lying. Freddie turned to Roger with raised eyebrows, but Brian was still visibly frustrated with the singer to even register blonde's words.
"Already, darling? We haven't even properly started."
"Freddie we're here four and half hours and the biggest change that happened is that Deacy is fallong asleep." Roger snapped and took his sunglasses from the small table. John at that movement next to him turned to his back and groaned sleepily in his hands.
"Okay, okay, no need to scream at me." Freddie mumbled, raising his hands up in surrender. Roger scowled at that. Sure, but you had no problem shouting at each other with Brian, he thought.
Freddie, sensing Roger's room and the tension in the room decided just to say "Be careful on road," and Roger left the recording room, walking down the hall. He let out a long breath he didn't even know he was holding. He took his coat, put it on and opened the door.
It was already getting dark outside, bright moon visible behind the clouds on the dark sky. The air was cold so Roger quicked his pace passing the streets to his car. There weren't many people on streets, mostly probably people who are going from work lately. The drummer silently cursed his bandmate for making the useless meeting so long and he hoped that Brian or Freddie will drive John home.
Roger finally saw his car, hand tightened around the keys in his pocket as he reached the car. He sighed as he walked closed and finally get in with groan.
Started the car and turning the radio on, deep blue eyes heavy and tired as he drove. The traffic lights felt endless, stretching the what, thirty minutes drive into eternity. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, starting to feel slightly nauseous again and replaying the whole day in his head.
The streets were quiet, but his thoughts were loud, looping through every pointless thing they said or tried to say. He let out a sharp sigh as he stopped at a red light, wishing he was already on the couch with Dominique’s legs over his lap and a beer in hand.
Finally, what felt like forever, he stopped in front of their house and rubbed his face. With sigh, he took out the key and stood up from the car, walking to the front door of the house. He found the key to their house and pushed the right one in the door. The door closed with a creak. Stupid meeting. Roger took off his coat, kicked away his shoes and padded down the hallway.
The blonde could hear his girlfriend from kitchen, probably cleaning after dinner. Feeling slightly guilty, he walked towards the noise. There, in colourful sweater Roger's mom made her, was standing Dominique next to sink, cleaning the plate. Roger walked to her and hugged her lightly from behind.
"Heyyyyy, guess who..."
"I hope not Roger." Dominique continued with cleaning as nothing, not even taking the effort to turn back and the drummer chuckled nervously.
"It's Roger."
The dark haired woman finally turned to him, small smirk on her lips. She gently ran her hand in his blonde hair, ruffling it a little.
"What took you so long?"
"Didn't know they will make the meeting that long. And lot of cars on road." Roger smiled a little, grimacing when he felt sharp pain in his lower abdomen. That didn't go unnoticed by his girlfriend.
"Your stomach hurts?"
Another sharp jab and the blonde winced. He shifted uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact.
"Yeah, and what. Probably have just eaten something."
Dominique leaned against the kitchen counter, the uncleaned dish forgotten for now. She eyed him from up to down and suddenly the drummer felt small under her intent gaze. He grumbled under his breath.
"What?"
"When was the last time you had period?"
That caught him off-guard. He looked at the woman, eyes a little wide and found himself lost for words. "I don't count days?"
"Maybe you will get soon." she said casually and he scoffed and turned away. Roger didn't liked these talks. Who would?
"Maybe."
He opened their fridge and reached to take a can of beer, but then Dominique stopped him. "Don't. Take it easy. If you really ate something, then have a little diet. For now."
With a groan, he turned back to her and threw his hands up. "Oh, so what should I eat?"
"Well, you were about to take a beer, so I think you're not that hungry. Fruit?" She smirked at him and he rolled eyes.
"Great."
And that's how Roger found himself sitting in their bed, eating bowl of berries, his stomach still hurting. The frustrating day was almost forgotten and since he came home, he didn't even thought of that useless meeting. Dominique was lying next to him, reading a book next to dim lamp light. It was getting really late, and the blonde was already yawning. His girlfriend smiled at his yawns, closed her book and turned off the small lamp.
"Sleepy, aren't you?"
Stretching a little, Roger put the bowl on the shelf next to their bed, few strawberries and blueberries still in the bowl. He sank deep in the matress and blinked lazily. The idea of standing up again to brush his teeth made him tired even more, so he made mental note to do that in the morning properly. He turned to face Dominique and stifled a yawn.
"Maybe a little..."
Dominique laughed and pulled the covers up around both her and Roger. "Stomach still hurts."
"It's slightly better." He lied, his pride not letting him to admit that the stomach is troubling him.
"Ah, good then." The dark haired girl said and nodded. "If it would get worse, maybe visit your doctor?"
Roger scoffed and shook his head, allowing his eyes to close. "Noo. Definetely no. I won't go to a doctor with, hmph, a stomach ache."
She almost rolled her eyes at drummer's stubborness. "Alright, but don't you go whining around next day then."
Small smile tugged on his lips. "Don't worry, I'm not whining type."
Dominique just let out sarcastic laugh. "Sure, and I'm Queen of England."
Roger giggled a little and silence set over the house for a while. All the lights were turned off, outside world was silent and peaceful. Feeling that Dominique has turned to other side, preparing herself to sleep too, he wispered quietly.
"Goodnight, Domie."
"Night, Rog." she mumbled back and silence settled over the room again. Roger smiled to himself. This was a good life. He had perfect girlfriend, great job, making nice money, had good friends and bandmates. Then, another sharp jab in his lower abdomen and he winced slightly. And maybe visiting the doctor wasn't that bad idea either.