Kyra clutched the strap of her bag as she saw the mass of journalists spreading before her. They were all queuing in front of the conference centre, chattering noisily, and boasting about their pass. There was no large poster announcing that Queen - or at least the remaining members - were holding a press conference that day. It was only by getting closer, if you were lucky enough to not be abruptly pushed aside, that you could spot two ordinary sheets of paper taped to the door. 'Queen - Press conference, 3pm.' That was the only thing that could be read, aside from the names of the members in tiny letters, as well as the name of the label.

Taking out her press pass out of her handbag, Kyra stood behind another journalist at the end of the queue. She stood on tiptoe and tried to see how far she was from the doors. Sighing in despair, she stood against the wall of the building, checking her notepad in which she had scribbled a few questions she intended to ask.

Minutes passed, and nobody had moved at all. Apart from the staff members, not even one journalist had entered the centre yet. Kyra was reading the label magazine again, trying to analyse all the mistakes she could notice that the other journalist had made.

In the middle of her reading, a strong masculine voice sounded from the doors.

"Is Miss Kyra Duke here?" it shouted. "Miss Kyra Duke?"

Kyra looked up and stepped out of the queue, holding her press pass in her right hand. She carefully ran up to the man. "I am Miss Kyra Duke, sir. Journalist for Musireviews, and for the label company today."

"Let me see your pass, Miss."

She handed it to him, and the man examined it thoroughly, nodding his head. "Alright, Miss Duke. Mr. May, Mr. Deacon, and Mr. Taylor are waiting for you. A staff member will take you to their personal room."

Kyra nodded and entered the building as the security guards stepped aside to let her in. When she found herself in the hall, she could not help but admire the size of it. Everything was elegantly decorated, but not too fancifully, as the centre usually welcomed managers and other members of some companies.

A tall and slim dark-haired woman who appeared to be a staff member came up to her, holding a list of guests against her chest. The corners of her red lips rose politely as the distance between her and Kyra decreased.

"I assume you are the new journalist for the label?"

Kyra nodded "My name is Kyra Duke. I must be on the list."

"You are, Miss. Could you please sign the list? You must sign in the square next to your name and your employer, right here."

The journalist took the pen the woman was handing her and did as she said. Then, the woman guided her through the hall, before crossing two corridors. They stopped at a closed white door, behind which voices echoed in what Kyra assumed was a quite large room.

The woman cleared her throat and lightly knocked on the door. She opened it slightly and Kyra could finally distinguish the voices clearly.

"Mr May?" her guide said in a monotonous voice. "Ms Duke has arrived. Shall I let her in?"

"Of course, Ms Campbell. Thank you very much."

The woman opened the door and gestured Kyra towards the room. The journalist thanked her and went in.

All the walls of the room had been recently painted brown. The smell of fresh paint was still so strong that it was the first thing which struck her. Her high heels tapped almost silently on the beige carpeted floor as she stepped forward, towards the three men sitting on red chairs around a circular table.

She obviously recognised Brian, who immediately stood up to walk up to her. He reached out his hand, and a wide smile appeared on his face.

"Good afternoon, Ms Duke, I'm glad you accepted to come."

"Good afternoon, Mr May" she answered politely while shaking his hand, "I'm happy to see you again. I hope I'm not too late."

"Actually, you're a bit early. The conference will start in fifteen minutes time. Anyway, let me introduce to you my two close friends."

Kyra turned her head and faced the two other men, who got up by turns. The first one to reach her was a bit taller than her, but still smaller than Brian. He had short brown hair, which started to turn grey, a long nose and pouty lips. When he smiled at her, a few wrinkles formed at the corner of his eyes, which suddenly looked tiny.

"Hello, Miss Duke, nice to meet you. I'm John Deacon."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Deacon, it's such a pleasure to meet you at last."

John chuckled quietly and got out of his other friend's way. The other man, who had a pair of sunglasses dangling at the collar of his shirt, shook her hand as well.

"Hello, nice to meet you! Roger Taylor. Brian mentioned you a lot recently, especially since you showed him the article and the interview you wrote for your magazine."

"The feeling is mutual, Mr. Taylor. Oh, really?"

"He told us you were a real professional. Professionalism is something we really need at the moment... I read your article too, and it's not rubbish at all, compared to what the other monkey's been writing so far."

Kyra nodded as she listened attentively. "So I assume that you all read his articles."

"We don't really have a choice, do we?" Brian sighed behind her. "How do you feel about the conference?"

"I must admit that I'm quite anxious. I'm afraid of asking stupid questions, or not asking good ones clearly."

"Don't worry about this, Miss Duke," John said, "None of those journalists are going to ask clever questions. They're going to focus on gossipy matters, only to feed their toxic tabloids."

The two other men nodded at this declaration. Brian put a hand on Kyra's shoulder and asked her if she fancied any hot beverage. She asked for a cup of tea, and Brian went up to the electric kettle that rested on a table against one of the walls. Roger found a clean cup and handed it to his bandmate.

John and Roger sat back at the table and started to chat about a random topic that crossed their minds. Meanwhile, Kyra and Brian were sipping their tea in a corner. The musician was trying to reassure the nervous journalist as much as he could, repeating her how much she had amazed him with her work.

Five minutes before the conference started, Jim Beach, the manager of the band, entered the room, followed by another man. The three musicians gathered around him, shaking the hand of the other man, whose face was not familiar to Kyra.

"So, gentlemen," Jim started, "how are you feeling? Not too nervous, I hope?"

"It's only a press conference, nothing too fancy for us," Roger chuckled, running a hand through his messy blond mane.

"Good. I heard that your journalist was here, Brian. Is it still the case?"

"Yes, she's right here."

Brian turned to Kyra, who had remained in the back. He smiled at her, reaching his hand towards her as she confidently stepped forward to shake Jim's hand.

"Let me introduce to you Miss Kyra Duke. Music critic for the independent magazine Musireviews. Miss Duke, this is Jim Beach, our long-time manager."

"Nice to meet you, sir. I have heard about you in the press. But maybe things that were told about you were not necessarily true."

Jim shrugged with a grin. "Bring me the articles, and I'll tell you!"

She chuckled and cleared her throat. As she did not know what to say, she naturally turned to Brian, who apparently had the same reaction. Suddenly, Jim's voice sounded again.

"How stupid can I be! I forgot to introduce to you Mr Angus Parry, right here. Mr Parry is the journalist for the label company who's been the author of our many articles since the magazine was launched."

Kyra looked up at the other man and controlled her urge to cringe at his appearance. The man must have been about Brian's age. He was shorter than her, and his trousers were obviously too large, whereas his shirt was much too small for him. He had long black hair on the sides of his head, and two of his locks looked glued over his bald scalp. His nose was large, and his eyes were ridiculously tiny compared to it. He was sweating profusely, and his skin looked so greasy that it was utterly repulsing.

When Angus reached out his big clammy hand, Kyra felt like running away from him. However, being someone despising rudeness, she shook his hand despite that.

"Nice to meet you, Mr Parry. I'm Miss Duke, from Musireviews."

"Musireviews, aye? Who picked that childish name? If 'twas you, then I mustn't worry about losing my function!"

From the corner of her eye, Kyra noticed Brian gritting his teeth. Obviously, the three remaining members of Queen hated that man. Roger had implied it very clearly when he had spoken to her earlier. Now, she was sure about that. Besides, she completely understood why.

Angus walked away with Jim, as they headed for the table to help themselves with the electric kettle. Kyra's eyes followed the obnoxious journalist, and she mentally threw a knife at him. Suddenly, she felt someone poking her arm. She turned her head and noticed John being closer to her, and staring straight before him. She looked down and noticed he was giving her a tissue.

"For your hand" he whispered, pursing his lips at the same time.

She thanked him and wiped her hand with the tissue, pretending she had just spilled tea over her fingers when Jim and Angus looked in her direction.

A staff member knocked on the door and opened it widely before he was even invited. He smiled at the whole group and checked his list.

"Mr Parry and Miss Duke, could you follow me, please? The conference starts in about two minutes time. You'll be seated in the middle row."

The two journalists nodded, and Angus stepped out first. Before leaving, Kyra looked over her shoulder and shared glances with the three remaining members of Queen. At that moment only, she realised Freddie was gone. His friends' eyes were full of pain, even if their expressions would not show it. Even when they laughed or when they were focused on something, this gleam would not leave their eyes.

Roger was sitting on the back of his chair, raising his thumbs up to cheer her up, happy to see that someone might finally get rid of Angus Parry. John was sitting in front of the blond drummer, also on the back of a chair, and he had his arms crossed against his chest. He nodded at her with the sincerest smile he could give. As for Brian, he was standing between the two, his hands buried in his back pockets. He frowned and went up to Kyra. His hands rested on her shoulders as she faced him.

"I know this is completely unprofessional, but I hope you'll forgive me."

Before Kyra could ask what he meant by that, Brian leant in and quickly pecked her cheek. She blushed and stared at him for a second, a wide grin lighting up her face. She nodded and eventually left the room.

As Brian joined his friends again, looking down and his cheeks flushing red, he heard the hoarse giggle coming from Roger's throat.

"Told ya. You're not going to resist very long."

_________________________________________

Kyra, Angus and the staff member entered the conference hall. Whereas Queen's room was incredibly quiet despite their chats, the hall was a burst of sounds. The journalists were even more noisy than they were outside in the queue. Some recognised her from earlier and threw death glares at her. But she could not care less. She lifted up her chin and joined her seat, crossing her legs as she sat and opened her notepad.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice sounded from the speakers, "please welcome Queen. Mr Brian May, Mr Roger Taylor, and Mr John Deacon."

All the journalists got up and applauded them as the three entered the hall, waving or not at the crowd. They bypassed the table that was prepared for them, and sat down. Brian and Roger were sitting at the edges, and John sat right in the middle.

The three musicians greeted the journalists as they all sat down again in a spontaneous silence, which almost seemed unrealistic compared to the noisy atmosphere that occupied the room a few seconds earlier.

Flashes immediately started to blind the members of the band, and John rolled his eyes. Jim came in front of them and explained the rules of the conference. If any journalist wanted to ask a question, they would raise their hand, and a staff member would write down their name, before handing them the microphone after the previous one asked the question.

As soon as Jim finished his quick speech, every hand on the assembly rose, except Kyra's. She smirked and focused on Brian.

The microphone was given to the first journalist. "Good afternoon, my name is Rudy Leigh, I am a reporter for New Musical Express. I have a question about your singer."

The musicians gulped at the same time. Then, the journalist carried on.

"Freddie Mercury died almost one year ago, and I found it curious that the announcement he made about his disease was made twenty-four hours before his death. Did he know he was going to die?"

Brian gritted his teeth and turned to his friends, who were doing the same thing. Roger reacted, feeling that Brian and John would not answer without being aggressive or without bursting into tears.

"Well, um... First of all, this question is quite inappropriate. We did not come here to be asked such questions. But if you really want to know, yes, he knew. It was written on his deathbed. I hope you're happy about this detail."

Another journalist stood up with the microphone in hand. "My name is Silvia Alves, for the Portuguese magazine Music Exclusive. There are many rumours concerning this song you sang at the Freddie Mercury Tribute Concert in April, Too Much Love Will Kill You. Is it true that it is a Queen song, whereas you released it on your own solo album, Mr May?"

"I've been asked this question recently by an interviewer, and I'm going to give you the same answer. Yes, it originally was a Queen song, which I wrote, and we recorded bits with the entire band during the Miracle sessions. Unfortunately it was put aside, and I recorded my own version with my guitar and piano, which you can hear in my album."

A third journalist rose and stared at Brian. Nobody even noticed how uncomfortable Roger and John seemed to be.

"Amalia Soares for Music Exclusive too. Will we ever have the chance to hear the Queen version? What does it sound like?"

"Isn't that two questions?" Brian chuckled, and the audience followed. "I don't know if we're going to release the Queen version of the song. Maybe one day, when we're ready to work with the unfinished materials we have with Freddie's voice on them. It sounds like a typical 80s song. But I recommend you to read the interview I recently gave to the independent magazine Musireviews. I've told everything I could tell about the song."

Brian caught Kyra's eyes, and both smiled at each other. Questions about particular songs and Queen's last album were frequently asked, but the most important topic on that day for journalists was Freddie. Even Angus asked a lot of things about him, whereas he had known him - professionally. Kyra covered her mouth with her hand and looked all around her in shock. How could so-called professional journalists disrespect the people they had in front of them that way? It was quite obvious to notice the pain in their expression. It was engraved in their wrinkles.

And nobody even mentioned the one thing they were there for: the future of the band.

Kyra immediately raised her hand, and gave her name to the staff member who went up to her. Three other questions about Freddie's passing were asked, and John looked down, hiding his face. Therefore, as soon as she got the microphone, she got up, and relief could appear on Brian and Roger's face.

"My name is Kyra Duke, I am a reporter for the independent magazine Musireviews, which you mentioned earlier, but today I'm here for the label magazine. I have one simple question that people here have completely forgotten to ask. What decision have you made about the band? Shall we consider Queen to be a band from the past?"

A sudden silence fell upon the audience. The flashes immediately stopped. It was as if everybody was holding their breath to hear the answer that would probably disappoint many people worldwide.

"We..." Brian started. "We decided to end Queen here."

Gasps thundered everywhere in the hall, and many journalists started to scribble on their notepads or whisper with each other. Roger cleared his throat and spoke in the microphone, forcing everyone to look up.

"The decision is momentary. We still own a lot of material featuring Freddie's voice, and the thing is, we're not ready to finish them off yet. We're still so much shaken about the passing of our friend - our brother - that we'd like to pause our activity for a while. As Queen, I mean."

"I know you'd all love to hear what we have left in store," John said in a low voice, "but for the moment, we need to pause. We'd love to hear the final versions of all those songs, but we can't even listen to our already released songs. Aside from those in which Freddie doesn't sing."

The pencil leads scratched the papers, and Kyra nodded at Brian, whose heart seemed to have suddenly shattered into thousands of pieces. As nobody else asked for the microphone despite this big scoop, Kyra asked another question.

"Do you think that you will collaborate again all together even after the release of the new materials?"

"I sincerely hope we will," Roger answered with a grin. "I've spent so many years with them two by my side, it'd be a shame to get rid of them just because the band as we knew it is broken."

"As for me, I currently have my own band now, this is what I found to take my mind off my dark thoughts about this sad event," Brian added. "However, that doesn't mean I won't want to work again with Roger and John. Even if Freddie's gone, the alchemy between us is still here, though it's a bit weakened. There was the four of us, now one is missing. The alchemy will never be the same again, but that doesn't mean it can't work, you know."

Kyra quickly wrote down their answers on her notepad and seeing that nobody else wanted to react about their declarations, and seeing the staff members ready to bring the conference to an end, she turned to them one last time.

"I hope you made the decision that relieves you in a certain way. I wish you all the best, and all my condolences to you and his family. May Freddie Mercury rest in peace."

After that, Kyra handed the microphone back to a staff member, leaving the three musicians speechless. After a minute or two of heavy silence, Jim took a microphone and went to the front.

"This press conference is over. Thank you for coming, we hope to see you very soon. There is a buffet in the main hall, and you are all invited. Thank you again."

Every journalist in the room applauded John, Roger and Brian as they walked out of the room, waving at the crowd with nervous grins. While Angus quickly joined Jim, Kyra followed the mass of reporters and photographers to the main hall.

As Jim had told them all, a large buffet had been prepared in the huge hall they had crossed earlier to get to the conference room. The sudden hubbub made Kyra winced as she made her way to a table to get a cup of champagne. She drank it down in one, and suddenly a burst of applause took hold of the assembly. Kyra craned her neck and caught a glimpse of Roger and John mixing with the crowd for a drink. Jim was walking right behind them, with his loyal Angus following him everywhere like a dog.

Her eyes met Roger's blue ones, and he immediately bypassed the groups of people on his way to reach her. When he finally did, he put a hand on her shoulder and got a bit closer.

"Brian's asking for you," he murmured, "he's in the room where we were earlier."

"Oh, is he mad at me because of what I said?"

Roger stared at her for a second. After that, he simply shook his head without looking away. "No, no, he isn't mad at you. John and I aren't mad at you either. Actually... Actually that felt good to have someone trying to understand what we could feel."

"I'm sorry, I must've embarrassed you in front of everyone... I bet Mr Beach went crazy."

"Not at all. You know, he liked Freddie a lot. By the way, before you go see Bri, thank you for asking the question we expected. All those journalists... They didn't give a fuck about what we would do. They only wanted to talk shit about Freddie. You reminded them of the reason we were here for."

Kyra smiled shyly and Roger patted her shoulder. Then, without a word, she sneaked to the corridor leading to the room in which she had met the other members earlier. She tried to remember which door was the right one, and when she eventually did, she knocked on the door hesitantly.

"Come in" a weak voice called from the inside. Kyra pushed the door and noticed Brian, alone, sitting on a chair, his arms and his head on the table facing him. She closed the door behind her and frowned.

"Mr May? A-Are you alright?"

Brian looked up, and Kyra gulped. His cheeks were drowning under the tears, and his eyes were turning red. With the palms of his hands, he quickly dried them, and he forced a smile on his lips.

"Yes, I am."

"No, Mr May, you're not. Do you need to talk to someone? Do you need a shoulder to cry on? It'll be more comfortable than this wooden table, I think. See my blouse? It's a very soft fabric. It'll hurt your skin less."

Brian allowed himself to chuckle, before sniffing loudly. Kyra grabbed a chair and sat next to him. As another sob came out of his throat, she wrapped her arms around him without thinking. She did not want to think at that moment. Only to comfort the poor soul she was with.

"Miss Duke? Can this someone be you? I need to get rid of a weight that's becoming too heavy for me."