Good Company

~December 1975~ 

Brian felt lonely. His cell mates had finished their time, Matt by October and Ben only a week ago. No letters from Roger, no visits, no friendly folks to spend his time with except for the limited hours he got with his music mentor and the Japanese teacher. He'd done a few more performances, but eventually the spark went away, a couple days after he received Paul's letter. He'd shown it to the guards and they investigated the house, but they didn't find anything that looked suspicious so they left it at that. He wrote one more song before putting the pen down and sticking to covers: Who Wants To Live Forever. 

There's no time for us
There's no place for us
What is this thing that builds our dreams
Yet slips away from us?

Who wants to live forever?
Who wants to live forever?

There's no chance for us
It's all decided for us
This world has only one
Sweet moment set aside for us

Who wants to live forever?
Who wants to live forever?

Who dares to love forever
Oh, when love must die?

But touch my tears with your lips
Touch my world with your fingertips
And we can have forever
And we can love forever
Forever is our today

Who wants to live forever?
Who wants to live forever?

Forever is our today
Who waits forever anyway?

It described his mood from then on with the greatest accuracy. The world had done him harm, taken away his children and the man he loved, and he'd reached the point where death seemed like a better world than that of the living. In death, he might be able to find Roger, a thought that both hurt and gave him strength. 

Someone knocked on the door, only to open it immediately. Jeez, where's the privacy? I could have been changing!  Brian rolled his eyes and got up from his bed. Two guards took their places on either side of the door and a guy in a white shirt and a haircut that said, Look at me I'm a clean and righteous man!, came in. He looked around for a while, checking out the photograohs and posters Brian had put up over the past one and a half year. 

'You are Brian Harold May, born on the 19th of July in 1947, correct?' 

You tell me, I'm sure you know perfectly well who I am. 'Yes, that's me.' Brian thought it best to only speak when answering questions, for he knew his way around the block after watching guys get beaten up for not being polite enough. The man reached for Brian's hand and shook it firmly, smiling.

'I am Dennis Clayton, director of this place. I have checked out your file on recommendation of Mr. Heighly, our music instructor. You have a spotless behaviour pattern, Mr. May, and that's remarkable. Due to your contribution to our evening programme and excellent behaviour, we have decided to reduce your time. You have one hour to pack your stuff and then you'll be escorted to the front gate with enough money to get a taxi home. Any questions?'

Brian was flabbergasted. No words would form, though he tried his best. The director patted his shoulder and left, leaving him alone in his cell. 

I'm free. I can go home, see John and Freddie. Get them back. Help Roger. I wonder how he is, my adorable princess. I can't believe it. I guess I didn't have to wait forever after all. 

He shook his head, smiling, and started to pack his belongings in the backpack that was put in a locker when he checked in well over a year ago. An hour later, three guys took him to the outside world. Brian enjoyed the view of London as they drove to his home. He felt like a child looking at everything for the first time, and that was only partly untrue. London had changed, although he couldn't quite put his finger to it. The streets were packed with people, but that had been the case earlier. There were new buildings, taller buildings. People rushed more, but as they got to the edge of the city, that rush was replaced by a relaxed pace. 

The taxi stopped at Brian's house, but it did not look the way Brian had left it. Several windows were broken, the door was forced open and the garden was a mess. As he made his way through the house, picking up trash and noting stuff to go to the dry cleaner, his eyes shifted to the cupboard Roger used to get into whenever he felt he was disadvantaged. Poor Roggie.Oh fuck, I should go now. Renovation can be handled later, I want my princess to be safe in my arms! 

He headed to the shed and was surprised to find his bike still there. Guess they didn't want this piece of junk any more than I do. He nevertheless gave it a go and about thirty minutes later he parked it in front of the address he was given by the nice phone lady. Fuck, what am I going to do now? I'm here, alright. But what's next? Do I ask to be let in, do I break in, do I come back with the police? Eventually he gave in to his inner Englishman and he rung the doorbell. Footsteps approached. Faded again. A faint yell. Came back to unlock the door, they seemed to be in a hurry. Wait, two pairs of footsteps? The door opened and Brian was tackled to the ground. At first he thought it best to give the person a knock on the head, but he didn't weigh as much as Prenter would, nor did he look like him and the other one was joining in, so unless Prenter had split his soul into two children, these were... 

'Dad, I've missed you so much!' 

'Are you out already?' 

Hearing his childrens' voices was soothing, it almost felt like he was right at home. One element was missing though. 

More footsteps approached, heavier this time. They stopped right in front of the reunited family on the lawn. Brian looked up and saw Prenter hovering over them, furious. Brian stood up, towering well over 15 cm over Paul. He scrambled back a bit, intimidated by the taller man. 

'Heya, Brian, long time no see! How have you be- ' Brian interrupted him by punching him in the face. Prenter fainted after seeing his own nose bleed, and now it was Brian's turn. 

'I'm here to pick up the man you will never deserve in a thousand lifetimes. No if you will excuse me.' He hit Prenter in the stomach with his foot and left to find Roger. 

A/N: DAMN you guys were super enthousiast for Paul's death! Even signed a petition and stuff, and petitions can hardly be ignored.... I'll see what I can do though, for we don't want Brian to serve more time in jail right (or maybe I'm wrong, that's possible too)? Anyways, another chapter. Finally. Byeeee