Chapter Text
September, London, 2017
“Come alive, come alive. Go and ride your light, let it burn so bright. Reaching up to the sky, and it's open wide, you're electrified.” -Come Alive, The Greatest Showman
History lessons had made Rami so desperately glad that he’d been born when he had. Born in 1981, a lot of outdated laws concerning Omegas hadn’t applied to him in his childhood and by his teen years they’d all been abolished.
He was entitled to equal pay; if he suspected someone of denying him a job because of his dynamic he was entitled to sue; hitting him, sexually assaulting him, that was all illegal now. He could vote, he could drive, he could take birth control or get an abortion, he could attend college...But that hadn’t always been the case. Those history books had sent shivers down his spine.
Maybe that was why this role meant so much to him.
He’d arrived in London only yesterday; in two days, after he was “settled in” he’d head to the set and meet his cast mates. He was just glad Joe was one of them.
He still couldn’t believe he was here. He was here, in London and he was going to play Freddie Mercury, one of the most famous Omegas in the world, the first singer to refuse to take suppressants. Rami had only a casual knowledge of Queen before the casting call, but now...Now he was overwhelmed. Now he had a face to apply those out-dated laws to. Now, after watching countless interviews, he just couldn’t believe that Freddie had kept going.
The night before his audition he hadn’t been able to sleep; Sami had come over and they’d stayed up for most of the night, going over interviews and concert footage. Rami tried to absorb it all, Sami pointed out any little details in Freddie’s demeanor he could spot (“He leans forward when he’s annoyed, Rams, see?”) and at first it was nothing he felt he couldn’t handle...Not until they got into the interviews from the 70s. Then the discrimination became horribly, sickening obvious.
They found the first 70s interview on YouTube; it wasn’t the whole thing, Rami later learned, and it was titled “Freddie Mercury ‘I Was Near Tears’ BBC 1976 Interview.” A mouthful of a title, but it immediately caught their attention: what could drive the force of nature that was Freddie Mercury to tears?
Sexual harassment, that’s what.
Rami and his twin had watched as the female interviewer said “But EMI had some good ideas!” and black-and-white photos- nude photos, of the band showed up on screen. Most of them were of Freddie and some of the photos were familiar, but Rami’s eyes zeroed in on Brian May’s snarl; he immediately saw how pale Freddie went, how he quickly rotated from upset, to dead-eyed, to angry.
“Actually, I hate that photo,” Freddie said, stone cold. “I hate that whole shoot. I was near tears when that photo was taken.”
The interviewers looked as taken aback as Rami felt; but not for long. As Freddie and Brian explained how that photoshoot came into being the interviewers steadily looked more and more horrified.
And Rami? He was struggling to keep his dinner down. Sami swore next to him as Freddie told it all; “Well, you know we worked under Ray Foster and his boss, Norman Sheffield. One day during a meeting they called John a ‘stupid little boy’ and when I told them to watch it, to not talk to him like that. Sheffield told me to shut up and keep my eyes on the floor like a good little Omega.” (Sami snarled.) “I told him to fuck off and not talk to me like that; I said I was sick of them acting like I was brainless...And three days later they called me into Foster’s office to tell me they’d arranged that photoshoot. They told Mick I’d agreed before they even told me about it.”
“They can’t do that!” Rami cried, as if that would change things; it had happened so long ago.
“They could,” Sami said, despondent. “It was legal.”
“They did that just because he talked back.” Rami was horrified and for once he was sure he wasn’t over-reacting. It was the most blatant case of sexual harassment he’d ever heard, and for what? Because Freddie had stood up for himself and John Deacon?
He was suddenly very, very glad that any photoshoot he’d attended so far had only been for his films or shows; the most skin he’d ever shown was on The Pacific during his shirtless scenes- and even then he wasn’t alone, most of the guys had been shirtless. The thought of being shoved naked into a room full of strangers made him feel sick; it made him want to go throw a bigger hoodie on.
“I went to John Reid, our manager, and persuaded him it would be a good idea to let us join Freddie at the shoot,” Brian said; the fire in his eyes gave the lie to his calm tone of voice. “I persuaded him that it would boost sales with our Beta and Omega fans as well, so he agreed and called Mick.”
“Well...That’s good, surely?” the female presenter asked timidly.
“It protected me from the worst of it,” Freddie said. “But that didn’t scare everyone into shutting up or keeping their hands to themselves.”
“I don’t like where this is going,” Sami mumbled.
Freddie looked vicious as he told the whole world what had been said and done to him; “Let’s see...Just before that photo was taken an Alpha assistant pinched my ass...Every time Mick asked us to change poses someone would try and grab me. I heard one assistant dare another to ‘check if he’s wet.’ And that was with Roger there. A...certain someone tried to follow me into the dressing room as well.” He let out another mirthless laugh. “Of bloody course I was terrified! If that was what they pulled with my boyfriend there, what would they have done if I’d been alone?”
The video ended there and Rami was left staring at the screen in shock. Sure, he’d faced problems before; racism and sexism were still rampant, even if Omega discrimination was now illegal...But he’d never had anything like that done to him. When he got annoyed, when he talked back, the worst he’d had was “Shut up, you stupid Omega,” and the occassional “All Omegas are sluts,” comment.
He clicked on the next video he saw, only titled “First Killer Queen interview!!” with a few crown emojis at the end.
Rami was grinding his teeth nearly right away. Sami was quickly huffing in annoyance.
He watched as the interviewer (a tall, handsome blond man with a bright smile), who introduced himself as Jeremy Granger, explained how Killer Queen had quickly climbed the charts and finally brought Queen to the public’s attention once and for all.
“So, now let’s have a round of applause for the members of Queen! Brian May on guitar, John Deacon on bass and Roger Taylor on drums with his boyfriend, Freddie Mercury!”
There was applause from the audience, but Rami narrowed his eyes; Sami said what he was thinking, “The idiot didn’t even say Freddie’s the singer!”
It seemed Roger agreed with Sami, because he cut off the applause with a sharp, annoyed, “I think you’re forgetting something- he’s the lead singer.”
Jeremy chuckled indulgently; there were a few similar laughs from the audience, but no one from Queen was laughing. The four of them were crowded together on a red sofa; Brian sat straight and tall, John slouched next to him; Roger lounged casually, an arm around Freddie’s shoulders. The frontman leaned against him, resting his head on Roger’s shoulder. Honestly, if Rami didn’t know they were faking it he’d have cooed.
“So… ‘Killer Queen’s’ finally getting you the attention you deserve, hm boys? What exactly is the song about?” Jeremy asked, looked at Brian.
“You’d have to ask Freddie,” Brian said, folding his arms. “Seeing as he’s the one who wrote it.” There was a brief pause; Rami could feel the tension through the screen, through the decades.
But then Jeremy gave that annoying chuckle again and turned to John.
“I think we can all agree the snapping at the start is a nice touch, am I right? What made you think of that?”
John, still slouching, raised an eyebrow. Rami had never seen anyone convey so much sass through facial expression alone; he was a little jealous.
“Well, like Bri said, you’ll have to ask Freddie. It was his idea,” John said with a lazy shrug. Freddie tilted his head with a sharp little smile; Roger was grinning maniacally at Jeremy’s obvious discomfort.
Jeremy coughed, finally uncomfortable, squirming slightly in his seat. The audience was dead silent.
“Oh come now, boys, be reasonable,” he said with a forced smile. “He can’t have-”
“I did,” Freddie cut him off. “Is that a problem, darling?”
“Well, it’s just- you’re...well..”
“I’m what?”
“An Ome-”
Rami closed the page. His jaw was clenched, he was resisting the urge to throw his laptop against the wall.
“You okay, man?” Sami asked quietly.
“...I’m getting this role,” Rami said, determined, quiet, fierce. “I’m getting this role and I’m going to kill it; I’m going to prove them all wrong too.”
And he had gotten the role. All that was left now was to kill it.
Queen were acting as music consultants on the film; the idea of meeting them filled him with terror and glee. He already didn’t want to disappoint them.
And he wanted to thank Freddie; the frontman had put his foot down and said he’d only agree to the movie if an Omega played him. It had been his one condition, the one thing he refused to budge on.
If he could handle Mr Robot, if he could own that role, he was determined to do it here too; he’d own it, he’d kill it and laugh in the face of any old fashioned Alpha that got in his way.
All the same, he felt nervous when he arrived on set. Bryan Singer made him uncomfortable; the Alpha director had an intimidating aura about him and spoke to his Omega assistant slowly and loudly, like she was particularly dumb. He always raised his eyebrows when he caught sight of Rami, like he’d forgotten why Rami was there.
One thing that made everything instantly better was when Joe walked in; their eyes locked, they let out identical excited shrieks and ran to each other. Joe caught him, lifted him right up and spun him around, laughing.
“Fuck, did you get shorter?” he laughed.
“Fuck off, Mazzello!”
As luck would have it, that was when Gwilym Lee and Ben Hardy arrived. For a moment, Rami expected teasing. He expected raised eyebrows and laughs.
Instead, Ben clapped a hand over his heart and said, “Oh, what, there’s cuddles going on and I’m not invited? I’m heartbroken.”
“Down boy,” Gwilym said with a smirk. He held a hand out. “I’m Gwil.”
“Joe,” said Joe with a bright grin. He lifted Rami higher. “This literal pixie is Rami.”
“You can put me down now,” Rami said.
“Hm, no, I really can’t,” Joe said, shaking his head. If anything his grip tightened.
“Joey.”
“Rams.”
“Benny,” Ben cut in with a grin. He looked around at them all and let out an amused huff. “This is nuts, huh?”
“Completely insane,” Gwil agreed. “My manager mentioned Brian and Roger will be popping in today and all.”
“Oh fuck, ” came the automatic response from Ben, Joe and Rami. There was a moment’s pause before they all burst out laughing.
So. He was in London, thousands of miles away from home; he was playing Freddie Mercury. He was more nervous than he cared to admit.
But as Joe set him down, as Ben showed off pictures on his phone, as Gwil tattled on Ben for not knowing how to play the drums, Rami felt certain it would all work out.