Four days.

Only four days.

Roger slumped alone in the rear of their private jet. The last couple days had been the longest he'd endured in years and they had all been done completely sober. Until now. He rationed that leaving the country as they were forced off to begin rehearsals for their forthcoming tour in the States truly marked the end of hoping she'd return. She would no longer know where he was even if she wanted to. Granted, he didn't know where she was. He didn't know if she was okay. He didn't know if he was okay.

The puffy lipped stewardess too kindly asked him if he needed anything else and he was ripped back to reality, coldly realizing he'd lost her. Lena was gone.

Roger had woken up that morning to an empty bed, cold sheets and a crackling of paper when his arm had reached out to feel for her. He could hear it still, crackling like his heart had as he read the words written there. Unbelief had stunted his walk down to the kitchen where he found her coffee cup, lipstick on the brim. And nothing else. Not her, just a whisper, left behind, but untouchable, graceless as it fleeted away. A ghost.

In the following days packing to leave, and not ever return to this house, he even had pondered, he had run through dozens upon dozens of memories that played through at little reminders of her scattered throughout the house. The lipstick stained coffee cup remained on the counter, an old Led Zeppelin shirt pulled out from under the bed, the ashtray on the balcony. All little reminders. Reminders that fluttered past like a broken record, over and over again as he fell into a fitful sleep.

He remembered when he had first met her. It was back before Queen had even played that first set on a U.S. stage. He remembered the day well, too well. If he disregarded that she had ever been there, the memory could be held with only excitement. But remembering that she had been there made the memory all the more sweet. Bittersweet.

That night during their set he could not stop thinking about her soft hazel eyes as they had judged him, intaking initial impressions and all the things she had probably heard about him. All of those things she had thought were probably true, but he remembered wanting them desperately not to be. Because this girl, this woman, she was someone who would not be willing to fall for someone like that. Like him.

But later that night she fell into the circle of friendship the four shared, fitting in like the piece of the puzzle he had not known had been missing. Perhaps, he had thought, it was just her uncanny beauty, for she was beautiful in a way that was classic, old fashioned, not of this age. That was for certain a factor when he had danced with her that night. He had wanted so badly to hold her closer, but a seemingly meaningless dance would have to do. He remembered dancing to the sound of his one of his best friend's voice, spinning around the most gorgeous girl he thought he had ever seen, and had been content. Not just by the gratification of being a rockstar or because she was a pretty girl, but that he had liked the way she grinned with the side of her mouth and the way her smile would fully reach her eyes each every time. Or the way she would constantly allow her fingers to move, as if she was letting them drift through a viscous fluid. Or the way the lights of the bar and the orange of her shirt made her blonde hair appear almost the color of fresh honey.

It had been to Roger's immense surprise that Lena had agreed to come back to London with the band, but he could not have been more relieved. He had been trying to configure up some way of not losing this gorgeous woman whom he so liked. But her agreement to come overseas with them left him with a nervous excitement in his stomach. This could potentially mean something. She was leaving what she knew to be with them.

Roger regretted that he did not see her every day, but for the most part he would talk to her every day. He would call and hope she picked up. When she didn't he would take the roundabout way to wherever it was he was going just to be able to slip a note through her letterbox or flowers on her steps. Only the notes he signed, but he hoped that she knew the flowers were from him. When their schedules matched up he would take her on adventures in the city, to all his favorite places and to the places he thought she might like. And he still could not quite determine if he was bold enough to ask her out. Because if he did so, he was afraid he would lose her.

With an internal dialogue raging inside his head, one side arguing for her, the other telling him she would never love someone like him, he threw back a couple shots and ran on to the Rainbow's stage, but not before pausing to squeeze her hand in acknowledgement of where she stood stage side. The whole of the performance he could just see her figure in the shadows, only visible to someone who knew she was there. It was a good night, a good show, something that was likely to be a performance fans remembered for many decades, but he could not focus on that. She was just there, so careless of the fact that he was in love with her. And it was by no means her fault. She was not obligated to love him, he had given her no explicit reasoning to. Because he was still afraid of losing her.

This fixation on whether to tell her he was in love with her or not distracted him the rest of the night, leaving him not caring how he destroyed his drums and even blinded him to the fact that he was treating everyone in vicinity with little respect. He stalked away from the band and her as soon as he could, ignoring Brian's attempts at convincing him that this was ridiculous and absolutely absurd. But despite his general annoyance at the world, he could not help but feel responsible when Lena lost herself in the sea of groupies as they exited the Rainbow.

Upon arrival at Freddie's party Roger's mood had not improved and he made a point to disappear from existence as soon as possible in order to further mull his thoughts under the influence of some stronger drink. He stood on the balcony that overlooked Freddie's immaculate yard and searched for her within the throng of people below. He wasn't sure what he hoped he would see, perhaps her in the arms of someone else so he could validly convince himself to forget about her? Just hanging at Deaky's side because she knew few people at this party? In either case, his thoughts were interrupted when a figure stepped out onto the balcony. He whirled violently, but found that it was only her. God, he wanted to kiss her. Even more so when she contentedly ignored the mood that he knew he was displaying. And to his annoyance she weaned out of him the words she had been looking for and he had been so reluctant to say. And then somehow he was kissing her, after so long of hoping such an occurrence might take place. Even the appearance of Deaky and then the rest of the band couldn't wipe the smile off his face, for she was suddenly his girl.

When he found her cleaning up broken glass and shared a glance with John he had known something was seriously wrong. And when he'd found her later that night on the couch with a nearly full bottle of vodka, he felt a twist of fear. He had never seen her like this before, so seemingly broken. He knew it was the alcohol that had caused this state, but what state had she been in to so necessitate drinking so much?

And when she'd drunkenly confessed her fears to him, he found that it wasn't that he was afraid for himself, he was afraid for her, that she'd lost herself in trying to be all that was expected of her. It was his fault. His fault his fault his fault, pounded through his head as he'd taken her home that night. And he didn't know what he could do to make it better. He just knew that he didn't want it to end in losing her.

Roger jolted awake, those words running spirals in his brain.

Lose her lose her losing her lost her

He had lost her. Through it all, he'd lost her and she was gone.