Disclaimer & A/N: Original story and concept of WWRY and it's characters belong to Brian May, Ben Elton and the wonderfully talented cast members who have helped to build upon them.

My deepest apologies for brief abandonment of this story, real-life and busy schedules killed any spare time or inspiration that I had to put towards this story. Many thanks however to the faithful reviewers for their encouragement.

A huge thank-you to BlueBohemian who is still hard at work beta-reading this fiction for me. I'd be rather lost without her help!

And of course, as always, on with the story...

"Th-that's one of ours," Galileo huffed, kicking the toe of his boot at the remains of a smashed amplifier. By 'ours' he actually meant that it belonged to Scaramouche, though the last time he had seen it had been in their room in the Heartbreak. It had sat in the corner, the one thing that hadn't been hidden by discarded clothes, with her Mighty Axe leaning proudly against it. As to how it had come to be outside of the Heartbreak, broken into pieces, its wires strewn messily across the scorch marked pavement, he wasn't entirely sure. He looked to the ex-Commander for an answer but found it difficult to read his face, for even though the weather was dull and the sky a dingy grey, Khashoggi still wore his usual pair of dark glasses that hid any reaction he might have had.

'Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.' Scaramouche’s boots echoed on the floor as she danced wildly from one foot to the other, her hands clasped inelegantly at her crotch and her faced screwed up into a in desperation. "As fascinating as that piece of kerb is, can we stop admiring the floor and get a bleedin' move on? I'm almost wetting myself here!" she exaggerated her dance and gave a low whine in a further attempt to prove her desperation to the other two.

Even from beneath the dark glasses it was easy to see an eyebrow arch. Khashoggi twisted his mouth to one side, "Delightful," he muttered in disgust.

"Well, it's all very well for you blokes," Scaramouche crossed one leg tightly across the other, "I mean, all you have to do is unzip your flies and-"

"Scaramouche!" Galileo cut over her, "N-n-now is not the time for f-f-feminist complaints, d-d-don't you care that someone has sm-smashed y-your amp'?"

Scaramouche executed her dance with a final heavy stamp to the floor. Storming over to where the two men stood she bent down low, her hand pulling at the back of her waistband to prevent her jeans from slipping down as she looked closer at the scattered remains on the floor. A small logo told her that it had been a 'Fender' amp, just like her own. But it wasn't possible that they were the same ones was it? After all, the Bohemians, however awful they had been upon their last encounter, weren't stupid enough to damage such a precious device as this.

Britney Spears had found it years before meeting Galileo and Scaramouche. He had entrusted it to Bob the Builder, asked him to take a closer look at it, see if it could be fixed. It had taken Scaramouche only a day to get it back up and running, much to Bob's annoyance. Scaramouche was the only one who could use it, the only one who understood how to work it so that it produced the best sound, much like the Axe itself, so therefore she had christened it as her own, cradled it in her arms like a young girl might with a new doll and then deposited it in her room with warnings to the others that if they touched it, there would be trouble.

"What makes you so sure it belongs to me?" she asked Galileo accusingly.

He thought it best not to speak to save having his head bitten off. Instead he flipped the black base with his foot so that it lay on its side and directed his gaze at the marks across it. Her eyes followed his and lay to rest on the words 'Scara's amp. PISS OFF!' etched in her own handwriting. Her fists clenched tightly, her nails digging into her palms. Was this payback for her argument with the Bohemian girls? Had they decided that in return for the bloody nose that she had given to Charlotte, they would take her amp and give it the same bashing?

"I'll bloody kill 'em!" she declared suddenly, "What part of 'piss off' did they not understand?" she began to march towards the entrance of the Heartbreak, her brow furrowed angrily and her lips pursed into a tight frown. Khashoggi pushed a hand out in front of her, his lower arm catching her across the chest and stopping her in her tracks.

"You think the Bohemians suddenly acquired lasers do you?" he growled, turning her to look at the scorched pavement. "Don't you think that's a little bit extreme payback for a little girly squabble?" All he received in return was a shooting glare from Scaramouche that suggested she was anything but girly.

"Yeah... well-" she pushed her arms out to get him away from her but he didn't seem to move. His body stayed robust and his head lowered, looking down at her as if she were merely a blue-bottle fly that had landed on his arm. "So, why don't we just go in and ask what happened?"

Khashoggi jabbed a finger in the direction of the scorch marks or the pavement. "You want to end up like that yourself, do you? For all we know, whoever did this could still be down there."

"I should bloody hope so as well," Scaramouche remarked foolishly, "Because when I find out who did it, it'll be their remains scattered across the pavement."

Galileo screwed up his face in a disgusted expression and gave a shudder, "Scaramouche, that's g-gross!" He shuffled his feet towards her, his teeth biting down hard on his bottom lip. He couldn't help but agree with Scaramouche on their need to go into the Heartbreak and find out what had happened. It seemed rather pointless just standing here poking about and if Khashoggi was right and the culprits were in the Heartbreak, they'd be sure to bump into them even if they stood about here for a while. After all, they were within metres of the entrance. "I th-think she's right," he turned to Khashoggi. "N-n-not about spl-splattering brains across the p-pavement, but about g-going into the h-Heartbreak."

Khashoggi removed his glasses swiftly and surveyed Galileo through squinted eyes. "Very well." He gestured for Galileo to enter first and placed a hand on the top of Scaramouche's back, encouraging her to go next and then following on himself, sandwiching her between the two of them in a subtle form of protection.

Angered shouts bounced from the walls of the Heartbreak Hotel. The Bohemians cried in outrage as they surveyed the handy work of the Killer Queen's workers. They had arrived without warning and for all the Heartbreak’s new security measures, it apparently just wasn't possible to keep a crowd of fifty strong people from getting to what they wanted. To the confusion of the Bohemians, the 'Yes things' as Meat always referred to them, hadn't made any attempts at harming anyone. They had defended themselves as the Bohemians had tried to attack them, but had only really caused damage to their possessions.

Much like the ruined amp' outside, everything that had been in the way of the Yes things had been smashed. They had charged through the once abandoned station and hurled everything in their sights to the concrete floor, not stopping until they had found what they'd come for. And then they had left, just as quickly as they had arrived. Their desirved object held high over their heads like a trophy, out of the Bohemian's reach.

"How do you propose we tell them?" Macca questioned.

"Tell them?" Meat huffed from a corner, her hands clasped tightly around the remains of what had once been a makeshift guitar. "You're worrying about telling them? For all we know, they might not even bother to come back at all. After all, it's the dream they care about, not us. That is-" she threw the pieces of wood to the floor, "if Killer Queen hasn't done to them what she did to Brit's guitar."

"Oh ye of little faith," Pop grumbled from his slouched position on a bar stool, "They'll be back. Those kids have far too much heart to leave us all here in danger."

"This whole optimist act does nothing for your Rock and Roll image, Pop." Meat snapped.

Her angered remark brought upon an awkward silence between the group, that nobody seemed keen to be the first one to break.

"Will you walk faster? If my bladder bursts, you're going to be the one scraping my guts from the walls, so if I were you, I'd get a move on!"

The irate voice of Scaramouche made the entire group of Bohemians swiftly turn their heads to the right. A smug smile crept across the face of Pop and a sheepish expression graced Meat’s.

"Scaramouche, m-m-must you always b-be so graphic?" Galileo's now hurried footsteps echoed from the concrete floor.

As the three turned the corner three jaws dropped simultaneously, though Khashoggi’s surprise was only briefly evident, as he quickly snapped his mouth shut. Aghast, they quietly surveyed the wreck of what they called their home. Scaramouche began to step further in, but then excused herself with an abrupt; "Back in a sec'," and ran through a doorway on the left.

Macca nudged Bob in the ribs and muttered, "That friend of Meat's doesn't half look seedy when he wears those glasses-"

"Yeah," Bob kept his voice low, "he reminds me a lot of the one who..." he trailed off, "you know, killed-" he stopped as Galileo spoke aloud.

"Wh-what ha-happened?" he stepped over to where Meat sat and crouched to her level, stroking a hand over the object that she embraced. "Brit's guitar as well? Scara's amp' has been bl-blasted t-to pieces outs-s-side."

Meat looked up into his kind, concerned eyes and made to speak, but all she could manage was a low sob. Galileo stretched out his arm and brought it around her shoulders, holding her to his chest as she shook with tears. He looked up from her, his eyes silently questioning each of the other Bohemians in turn.

"Those bloody workers of Killer Queen-" Madonna began. "They barged in here, a whole load of them, past all our defences and just... blasted everything in their way. We tried to fight, but they didn't seem interested, and besides, they had weapons."

"We stood no chance... they hadn't come for us. They just wanted one thing... and-" Charlotte shook her head apologetically, "Scaramouche will screw when she finds out... they-"

"WHERE IS IT?" Scaramouche's screams filled the room and the hurried stamping of her feet made the Bohemians look between each other awkwardly. "WHERE THE BLOODY HELL IS MY GUITAR?!"

"Something t-t-tells me, she j-j-just found out." Galileo scuttled out the door towards her shouts.