What Were You Thinking? (part 1)
Title: What Were You Thinking?
Words: 13,950
Rating: PG-13
Summary: posted as a kmm prompt here: RPF, Bradley/Colin, Colin/Other, Fancy dress party, Colin and one of his mates flirt like hell. Bradley is jealous.
Disc: these people own themselves.
A/N: honestly i just had to de-anon this to fix the horrible typos. Lalaaa RPF.
It's 3pm and they are running late.
Bradley usually is, despite all appearances, on time - It's Colin who messes about, doing who knows what. Colin is the one who is always changing his clothing or going to brush his teeth an extra time, because he's forgotten to floss and everyone knows you can't floss without brushing your teeth, and you can't meet up with friends without flossing first. Bradley's spent enough time in Colin's room at their hotel in France to observe this, to witness the dawdling first-hand, and now, here in Bradley's own flat in London, it is no different.
They're going to an autograph signing. Not much is expected of them, they really just need to show up, dressed down, to greet their fans and scribble on glossy prints of themselves. Before events Bradley spends some time on his appearance, but it's all pretty easy, easy enough to put on his clothing and comb his hair and make sure that he smells alright, so he can never quite figure out what it is that keeps Colin in the bathroom for so long, the door cracked, or even when he wanders around Bradley's flat and Bradley tries to watch him, to figure out what it is that he spends so much time on.
In any case, Bradley just ends up on the couch, on the phone with Katie McGrath, while his co-star stands around in the bathroom, from the sound of it, just moving things from one side of the sink to the other.
"That mess is getting out of hand," Katie says.
Bradley clears a space on the coffee table and lifts a shirt from where it is pooled. No pen.
"You're not even here," he says into the receiver. "How could you possibly know that?"
Katie laughs. "Well, Colin's still there, isn't he?"
"Yeah, he is."
"You wouldn't expect it, but he wrecked my flat that time I had him over last year. Two days and it was food everywhere and socks in the fridge."
Even now, there are books with pages dog-eared scattered about the flat, a half-eaten orange with the skin peeled back just a bit, as if someone had planned to leave it unfinished, and bottle tops. Bradley finally finds a pen under the sofa. Colin casually appears in room, drying his hair with a towel the color of butter.
That's what it is, maybe: where Bradley's all quick to jump from one thing to the next, Colin is methodical, slow, detail-oriented, somehow leaving a trail of wreckage wherever he goes.
Bradley looks him over, from elbow to knee. He mutters into the phone: "Socks in the fridge, huh?"
"I'm just warning you." Katie's voice sounds far off and he watches as Colin drapes the towel over a chair back. "Anyway, I'll see the two of you at the bookshop. You've still got an hour. Get a move on."
"Nice shirt," Colin says as Bradley closes his mobile. He holds up a shirt with the image of an angry dog on it.
"I though it was yours," Bradley says to this. Colin gives him a skeptical look and then examines the t-shirt like it's the first time he's seen it. One can never tell if he is being serious.
~
They're on their way to the signing.
After ten more minutes of messing about, Bradley had taken Colin by the arm and said rather plainly, "You're slow, Morgan. We're leaving now." and dragged him from the flat and down the hall. They'd rough-housed down three flights of stairs and all the way to the tube. Colin swiped an Oyster card he'd finally bought after so many visits to the city as Bradley grinned at him from the opposite side of the turnstile.
Bradley doesn't even remember the journey, really, he's that distracted by Colin Morgan. They finally make it into daylight with twenty minutes to spare, and it's a miracle, it's a godsend, not being taxed to sprint the entire way to the bookshop. They use the extra time to walk to the signing rather than hailing a cab.
They make their way along the river. They stalk forward at a near jog and huddle in on themselves in the crisp breeze at intervals; Bradley's always surprised at the cold in the springtime, thrilled by it. He finds it invigorating.
They are having a running conversation about football, and also poker strategies although neither of them gamble, and Colin's mother is thrown in there quite a bit as well. Bradley thinks Colin should stay in London indefinitely, at least for a month, because he is Bradley's favourite person to heckle, more than Angel Coulby, more than his uni friends.
Colin is very seriously saying, "Liverpool, Bradley. I don't know if you're fully listening, Liver. Pool."
It's always like this with Colin. He is perhaps the most captivating person Bradley has ever met, however he hesitates to admit it. The change in pace when he arrives, for one, is quite frankly alarming - a conversation, a normal conversation, completely upends in a matter of moments when Colin Morgan enters the scene.
Bradley remembers chiding Angel in the arena one hot day at Pierrefonds, sweating in rivulets in full armor and looking up at her where she sat as Gwen in the grandstand. She mock waved her handkerchief at him, and Tony was grinning over at them, listening to the sun-warmed interplay, and then suddenly Colin was there, bowing his way up, offering Bradley Arthur's sword which he'd brought from the prop-woman. He was laughing with squinted eyes and making some Irish comment that Bradley couldn't quite catch but knew, just knew, that it had them all laughing against him, in a good-natured manner, but suddenly Bradley found himself playing catch-up.
Bradley thinks about this now, thinking he's never been more consistently confused and consistently pleased as when he's merely speed-walking with Colin Morgan, nearly late but not quite, cutting it close.
They cross at Blackfriar's bridge, the wind whipping at their combed hair, and Colin tries to take Bradley's scarf. Bradley gives it freely, but then takes it back after Colin nearly loses it off the side. They circle down to see the National Theatre. Colin's just auditioned for a play there, and Bradley's more proud than impressed, which is confusing, like Colin's his and he wants him to do well for himself.
All manner of people are in motion there, at least half of them doing some sort of exercise: walkers with their iPods, joggers with their iPods. The rest come forward in near solid walls so that Bradley and Colin have to wend their way sideways and diagonally to make any headway, and Bradley finds it disproportionately amusing when Colin is forced to trip around a small child who has emerged suddenly from behind her mother's legs.
Dogs are urging their people forward in throngs and small, knit groups of tourists are holding red umbrellas like poppies to the breeze. It's like a sight-seeing tour, Bradley taking in details he never would have noticed alone. He sees the Tate Modern up ahead and says, "We should go sometime. You like art, don't you Colin?"
"Are you implying I'm not cultured, is that it?" Colin counters, and bumps him with a shoulder.
Bradley thinks about going. They've got time, now that they're done shooting for the season. In museums he is never sure what to do with his hands, worried that he is either too fidgety or too affected, that his poor posture might become apparent when faced with so much art. They'll have to fit it in, whenever Colin visits the city next.
High on oxygen, they arrive at the bookshop. They peer in through the glass, they walk in through the front door.
The tinkling of the bell is lost in the murmur of a pretty decently-sized crowd which has already gathered near the long table at the back. Bradley can see it down the aisle of shelves. He sees that Angel and Katie are seated and speaking to one another, dressed in arty t-shirts. He and Colin are as well - it’s become something of a uniform, a safe middle-ground in which to greet the public. The show’s successful, but not enough to warrant blazers and nice shoes in public appearances. Tomorrow night, though, Saturday, that's when things will get fancy.
Bradley steps around the sale rack, and goes quickly along the wall, feeling too obvious or heavy in his trainers, trying not to smile too widely. Colin is trailing along behind him in chucks.
There are a few shrieks, a few gasps. Bradley cricks his neck; this is more or less his element, yeah.
There aren't enough people looking at them, yet, to fully appreciate the red shirt Colin has chosen to wear. RED shirt. It makes his skin near translucent, there is no word for it, really, and it makes his thin arms look muscled. Bradley turns to walk backwards for a few moments, long enough to say rather loudly, “Come Colin, must you keep Angel waiting?”
Colin smiles, guileless, as about ten more people jerk in their direction.
They are most of them fans but some bookshop goers are mixed into the mess. When he and Colin go to sit in their fold-up chairs and accept plastic water bottles from the woman who's in charge, most of the crowd is looking their way, even the accidental passerby who just came in to flip through the latest Vogue or Nicholas Sparks book.
Bradley waves to the crowd, to test the waters. There is a sound-reaction like a pebble has just been tossed into a lake. He is all at once flattered, overcome, and aware of the reality of where he is. He turns to say hello to the girls.
The table is between the four of them and their fans. Stacks of pictures are given to him and they make little welcome speeches. Angel does most of this. She has no stage fright whatsoever, and the public thinks she's a mixture of sweet and devious. This is true of course, but heavier on the devious, and she is genuinely the most eloquent of the four. And then they answer questions. So what if Bradley sometimes feels like the admiration is overblown? It's like he's on some sort of scientific panel, a board of chemists set to answer questions about some new medication, and that he is the one who had done the filing and the retrieving of coffee during the whole process. The sword fighting, the choreography. It's all good fun.
The only problem with answering questions is that Bradley is a really honest guy. It's never been a problem before, he just talks. He is sincere when he feels it and jokes as well, so the rise to semi-fame has been a lesson in tact. He's learning to ascribe more weight to his words than he normally would, to deflect questions about his personal life and he is considering maybe deleting his facebook account. One cannot, for example, tell an audience that he thinks Colin is as enticing as a mystery wrapped in a delicious piece of bacon. That would maybe work in casual, unrecorded conversation - maybe - but in the current situation the comment might be considered a little offensive, all dietary preferences considered, and would be blown massively out of proportion.
Saying something he will regret later is the last thing Bradley wants to do. It's something they are all warned about by their agents and co-workers. He knows that Katie finds answering questions nerve-wracking for just this reason.
Angel delivers a few prepared statements about the upcoming series, and a few people ask her questions about Gwen's growth as a character and her relationships with each of the main cast. She is so elegant, and Bradley wants to do something unruly, like push her in a swimming pool or take her out to lunch and then ignore her offers to pay. Too much energy, that's what his teachers had said about him.
Colin talks about Merlin's experience living with magic. Katie discusses Morgana's relationship with her half-sister.
When a fan asks about fashion sense in their version of Camelot, Bradley talks about Colin's Vivienne Westwood boots for just the right amount of time (three sentences) and then segues quite nicely to 'Yes, well, Arthur's got his own sense of fashion, hasn't he? Bangle bracelets and a pendant that he wears round his neck. They only let me keep Arthur's ring, although I'm not sure it's really in style.' Angel gives him a look like What is he talking about? He shuts up.
A girl in the back shouts: "Bradley, where did you get your shirt?" Bradley looks down at his top, the one with the dog on it.
"Well...Cols and I found it in the flat this morning..." Bradley says. "I'm not sure whose it is though."
There is a general snickering and Katie takes a question about her involvement in series three. Colin leans back in his chair.
The signing is nearly an hour and a half, but it's over quickly. Katie and Angel huddle together over framed pictures of themselves they're given, and a tin of home-made biscuits, and some flowers. As always, Bradley and Colin favor speaking with children, signing fake swords and calendar pages, Colin pretend-magicking a small girl's nose, but he has to apologise when she starts to cry.
Bradley takes a picture of he and Colin with someone's disposable camera, smooshing their faces together in an unattractive manner. Colin pushes him away just after, laughing and wiping at his cheek, like he's twelve-years-old and Bradley's got cooties. Bradley tries to pay attention to something else, looking anywhere but Colin and speaking with someone's mother. All and all, it's a fun event.
At four-thirty they wave goodbye and thank people again. It feels like dinnertime, Bradley is quite convinced of this. The four go into the staff room where they are offered tea by a pleased-looking woman, the type who's decided to sell books rather than lend them out at a library - a fine distinction - and Katie and Angel break open the tin. Colin accepts a biscuit and takes a small bite before setting it down in his napkin leaving a crumbly trail down his shirt. Bradley takes three biscuits, putting one fully in his mouth right away, because everyone knows that's the only non-messy way to eat these things.
They've all seen each other the past weekend for a similar signing event, which is the only reason they aren't spending this entire weekend with each other. Bradley has secretly reserved this for he and Colin, for showing him around London and introducing him to his friends.
But it is so good to see them again, these three whom he hadn't put much effort into getting to know, it just happened, like something organic. Working together as closely as they do is akin to summer camp, and afterward the filming is over each year all of them text each other and send ridiculous emails, even if they're all semi-embarrassed at the attachment.
"So, McGrath," Bradley says. He leans back against a shelf. "Bringing anyone to the screening tomorrow evening?"
In a way he is hoping the girls haven't invited dates, because then he won't feel odd not having thought of it until just this weekend while beating Colin at some old Playstation game instead of finishing his toast. In the past Angel has brought people, and Katie once, but he and Colin have both gone alone with minimal fuss, spending most of the evenings on quick banter, fetching drinks for Tony's beautiful girlfriend and, when a bit tips, discussing the play of lights off of Richard Wilson's very bald head.
The viewing of a new episode, especially something as impossible as the beginning of series three, seems personal somehow, like maybe Bradley doesn't want Angel's date to see a close-up of Bradley's teeth that Bradley himself hasn't been shown.
"Well I'm bringing Jonathon," Katie says. She shrugs on a designer jacket as Bradley huffs. "I'm not saying we're dating. Just friends of course, good friends. We've done some charity work together, if you remember."
"Rees," Bradley utters the name of the pasty actor, frowning deeply. "I've only seen him on telly or in that film where he plays tennis and sleeps with Scarlett Johansson, so I suppose I'll have to reserve judgment until I meet him."
"Just because he played a womanizer in the Tudors doesn't mean anything about him in real life," Katie chides.
"He's Irish," Bradley begins. "I don't trust-"
"Oi!" Colin elbows him, and Bradley takes it in stride, saying, "My point exactly...the Irish are a temperamental folk."
"So protective," Angel says, smiling at Katie. They both turn back to him. "I think it's sweet."
Bradley frowns and leans back, arms crossed. He turns his gaze on Angel who starts packing the pictures and other presents into her bag.
“If what the gossip columns say is true…you should be taking me.” He does his best to smile winningly.
Angel says, “Brad-lay,” in the admonishing tone of hers. “I'm bringing my cousin. I promised him. And if what the internet says is true, Colin should take you.”
“Colin should take me?" Bradley says, flicking a look to his right. Colin takes another nibble from his biscuit. "I should take Colin, is what I’m sure you meant to say. And further more-"
"Who's to say I haven't invited someone myself?" Colin says, bland, drinking down more of his tea and then chucking it. Bradley's stomach does a little wibble. He must be very hungry.
"Really, Colin?" Angel and Katie ask, turning on him. He at least looks a bit abashed, maybe, and says, "Just a mate from home, really."
Bradley observes the way Colin shoves his hands in his jean pockets and screws up his mouth, like No I'm not going to say anything more.
Katie giggles. "Come on, who is it? Anyone we know of?"
Colin laughs, his face rouging. "Haven't seen each other in a while but we met up last week by chance in the grocery and one thing sort of led to another, so. I thought I might as well ask, seeing as, you know, it could be fun."
"Am I the only one without a date to this thing?" Bradley asks then, spreading his hands out in some gesture of protest. The other three don't even have the decency to pretend guilt.
"It's not like we won't spend time together," Angel says. "Just because we've brought guests."
"Maybe I should invite my mother," Bradley mutters, and musses his own hair in disgust. The others laugh at him.
"Oh you baby," Katie says. She pulls out her phone.
Colin discards his half-eaten snack. He claps his hands together and says: "Right, well, are we off, Bradley?"
"Yeah, guess so," Bradley says, feeling sort of foolish.
"Do you girls want to join us for drinks and cheps?" Colin asks. "We're meeting some of Bradley's uni friends."
"No, that's fine, we're going to meet up with Katie's parents at a French restaurant," Angel says, waggling her eyebrows.
"How chic," Bradley says. They all laugh.
France is their personal thing, their own world of castles and sunsets and French stuntmen who sometimes take them out into town for authentic dining experiences with three courses and a whole lot of wine. On free evenings they sometimes sit and share a baguette and Desperados, pulling small wheels of cheese apart with their hands down by the river where there's no one there to judge such behaviour. They revel in feeling gauche. It is like the whole country was created just for them, even though they've only ever been to Paris and its environs.
The otherworldly feel lingers as they allow themselves to be drawn in close for hugs, and they part ways at the back door, Katie and Angel skipping off with an armful of blooms apiece, and Colin wandering off in the opposite direction, off of the sidewalk smiling secretive back at Bradley. It's that time of year where the soul of the world seems to be at one's fingertips and the sun doesn't set until nine. It feels like the end of something.
He's glad he's thought to invite a couple of mates round the pub. He is a tad ashamed to admit that he has been caught off guard by this date business, that maybe all he wants to do now is corner Colin back in his flat and kiss his neck slowly, maybe feed him tim tams and tea after or before this, so it's a good thing that they're meeting up with people.
Who IS she, Colin's 'mate from back home?' Bradley isn't known to pout, not seriously at least, but this time it's a close thing.
They wander down the road, and Colin brings him out, asking questions about who they're meeting up with, whether or not Bradley thinks Angel's cousin will be underage and should they give him alcohol anyways, etc.
Bradley knows his mates will not only get a kick out of Colin, but they will let Bradley make fun of him. This should be gratifying. They, as his nearest and dearest (although he rarely speaks with them when they're in other countries) will feel the blush of victory right along with him if he manages to render Colin Morgan speechless. Because what are friends for if not to share in the losses and successes? The major and the minor?
He's getting a bit ahead of himself. He and Colin make it to the pub by six, after taking a roundabout walk through a park for no reason at all really, it just sort of happened and wasn't mentioned. A quiet thing.
~
Turncoats! By round two, all three of his supposed friends are near face planting with laughter on the sticky bar table, allowing Colin to relate one embarrassing moment after the next.
"What I found so fonny," Colin says. "Was the dey Bradley misinterpreted the scrept, and he thought there was supposed to be some sort of tension between him and Keytie. The director came in finally and said, 'Ye know, Bradley, your character is a flert, but lay off the leering, will you? We can't have the young girls in the audience thinking you're a crazy pairson.' Yeah, we all had a good laugh."
His friends - dead to him - agree. They are obviously won over by the Irish brogue, thicker with drink, and although Bradley does not fault them, he has been insulted and it cannot stand.
"That pretty accurately describes Bradley's game face. He looks like a crazy person."
"So tell us," Josh asks. "Does James here actually do any work, or does he just mess about?"
Colin pretends to be thinking about this, but Bradley knows him too well to be fooled. He can sense the glee simmering under the surface.
Colin swigs his lager, and then says, apologetically: "To be honest, he plays a lot of video games, and generally picks on me. He's kind of a bully."
"Don't listen to a word of it," Bradley tells them. It is time to cut in.
Everyone just picks up their pints and believe every golden syllable that falls from Colin's lips.
"I spend my days, sparring, SWORD fighting -" Bradley says, narrowing his eyes at the group. "You've heard of one of those, have you Colin? A sword? Your character can't even manage to pick one up, let alone fight with it. The delicate art -"
"Oh yeah, whatever," Colin throws back. He is fighting a smile so hard that his lips pucker. "My guy drops branches and, like, kills everyone. With his eyes."
An old argument, but it feels fresh and untried in front of this audience.
"I've got an army, if you've forgotten," Bradley says, waving his hand aimlessly.
"Lightning," Colin says mildly.
Bradley leans in across the table, elbows velcroing to the sticky top. He says, meaningfully: "Uther. Pendragon."
"Oh come on, James," Scott says. Brett confides to Colin: "He never tells us specifics."
They have a really good time. These are good guys, and Bradley doesn't fault them for taking to Colin they way they have. They're explaining their attempts at landing acting jobs, how two need to work in a restaurant in the meantime, and Brett is currently doing his Masters.
"Be glad we don't have to take exams, or find real jobs," Colin says. "We might just end up like your friends here, actually doing something useful."
The way he says "friends" reminds Bradley of this elusive woman once more. A picture of her is beginning to form in his mind. She is some devilish cross of a handful of actresses. She'll have hair like Karen Gillan and a smile like Billie Piper, and a lovely Irish voice, like Cara Dillon. He imagines that Colin will treat her delicately, folding his arm around her like he'd folded the biscuit into the napkin earlier, suddenly transformed into some gentleman that he never is around Bradley. Bradley will probably hardly recognize him, and he will probably have to stave off the despair with glass after glass of Moet. He hates her already.
Bradley finds himself explaining at length the manner in which the women on set fawn over Colin. Perhaps he's had too much, because he could almost swear that Colin is leaning into him far more often than he usually does. When they're alone, Bradley has noticed, it is all shoving and hands on shoulders, but in public Colin tends to keep to himself. It's wishful thinking and this is the moment Bradley realizes he has never been such a sap about anyone. Good grief.
They head back to Bradley's when the pub closes at midnight, flagging down a cab at the corner. One of his friends, Josh, makes a joke about actors being able to afford cab fare and how everyone else has to walk home. Colin tells them sadly that Poor Bradley's received a few concussions in the process and probably doesn't remember where he lives well enough to walk. Colin is an excellent bullshitter and Bradley wants him with a guilty urgency, maybe just because he has perceived some sort of threat. He slaps his friends on the shoulder, wishing them good luck like he won't be seeing them again soon.
"Do you think they wanted to share the cab?" Colin asks, concerned. "Maybe we should ask them?"
Bradley snorts. "They live the next block over. They just enjoy taking the piss, seeing as they're all theatre actors and I'm just on telly."
The driver takes side streets, winding around a bit more than he needs to, but Bradley doesn't call him on it. When they arrive at the flat Bradley hasn't had time to gesture to the sofa before Colin is handing him a glass of water and is sitting down at the coffee table, telling him to 'sit down, you're going to fall asleep where you stand,' but Bradley just brings him a large blanket and says, "Well, goodnight." Colin smiles at him like they're sharing some joke between them, but maybe Bradley is just reading into things.
~
Bradley wakes up at 11am the next morning, but the quiet from the living room causes him to stay in his bedroom for a few hours and get work done. By 'work' he means doing some crunches to maintain his four pack and writing emails to his agent who wants him to do a Vodaphone ad, and by 'done' he means half-assing both while he watches 30 Rock on his laptop. Also musing about Colin, who is sleeping in his living room and whom he will never really comprehend, probably, which maybe means he will never tire of musing about him.
Finally, after kicking some clothing into the closet and putting on football shorts and an old shirt with a hole in the shoulder, he leaves his room to make himself some coffee. The thing about Colin, he's finally concluded, is that he just insinuates himself into situations, quietly, slyly, with his cotton t-shirts and his knit caps when it gets chilly. Bradley is not feeling benevolent, he is in a real what-if mood, realizing that anything could be more than it seems.
"Sneaky, Morgan," Bradley mutters as he enters the kitchen. "That's what you are."
Colin is there, and at the sound he pauses, caught in the middle of a motion that may-or-may-not have been the tossing of an empty yogurt cup into the rubbish bin from the wrong angle.
"Pardon?" he says. But then his mobile rings, and he answers it. "Hi, mum."
Another thing about Colin is that he is close to his parents. Bradley goes to the freezer to retrieve the coffee grounds. He pats Colin on the back as he wanders past and Colin laughs simultaneously, perhaps at something his mother's said, it's unclear. His hair is sticking up on one side, like he's only just gotten off the sofa.
"I'll be home Sunday evening," he explains, stepping out into the living room. As Bradley puts on the coffee pot and then peels a banana, he watches Colin move about the room, picking things up, running his fingertips over the edges of the television and photo frames distractedly. "Yes, that's tomorrow. I'll be flying into Cork and staying there for the week before visiting you all."
"Cork," Bradley repeats, like "Carrk" and Colin looks over briefly.
They have coffee over heady conversation, in which Colin prods slowly at Bradley's overnight resolve to distance himself. Bradley just doesn't want to be disappointed. He hates being disappointed.
"How do you feel about Rose, then?" Bradley asks, out of nowhere but it's a fair question.
"As in...?" Colin says.
"As in the Doctor's companion," Bradley says. "Blonde, you know, nice smile? You've been in the show, Colin, come on."
"Oh, she's alright, yeah," Colin says. He frowns. "Are we talking about girls, then?"
"And the new companion?" Bradley grills him. "Karen Gillan, ginger. You say you don't like gingers, but I think you protest a bit too much."
"Um," Colin says. "She's got good facial expressions, a real good actress as far as I can tell, but I'll always be a fan of Catherine Tate, of course."
Bradley remains unaccountably suspicious, which really isn't fair, but. Well.
"Run," Bradley says, surprising himself, maybe not surprising Colin.
"Alright."
He uselessly scans the room for his trainers. "I'm going for a run."
"Yeah, well you do that," Colin says. He goes to the sofa again, sits with his legs under him. "I'm not allowed to go out." He looks pointedly at the window, at the half-hearted sunlight that just manages to give an impression of Spring.
"You went out just yesterday," Bradley points out.
Colin shrugs, and then sends an angelic smile his way that seems to say "this is for you, Bradley Jeems."
"You're right, the pale jokes will never get old," Bradley informs him. "Never. I'll be back in an hour. We're meant to be there at six, yeah?"
He starts his run the moment he leaves his flat. He takes off before he has even realized and by the time he's passing the first street corner he can feel sweat beading, only to cool instantly at the back of his neck and behind his knees. His muscles unwind comfortably.
Daylight goes ambling by; Bradley isn't running too fast, treating it as more of a dedicated jog. At a few points he's going so slow that someone's gramma could walk faster than him. He's that guy.
He thinks about the showing tonight, and experiences that complex emotion that is a co-mingling of trepidation and tentative pride. Disaster: it could be impending. But it also might not be. There's no time better for total honesty than on a run. He runs nearly every day, now. It is like a self-imposed practice in honesty, daily. He is lusting and longing after Colin Morgan.
When Bradley gets back, he finds that Colin has done the dishes, which, true, had been piled before Colin had even arrived. He has also ordered Indian.
"The delivery guy recognized me," Colin tells him when he comes to let him in. "Well, first he asked if I'd been in his athletics class, and I said no, and he asked how he knew me, so I told him I was a warlock on a BBC show. If I leave off the BBC bit I just sound a bit foolish, I've found."
Colin seems irresistible waiting here for him, telling him this story. If he were around all the time, Bradley would be the audience for many more vignette-style updates. Also, Colin is the only one of his friends who really gets it, this being in Merlin. How it feels more like a game than work, and then later, when he considers the fact that this is what small-time fame feels like, the show becomes an abstraction. He is sitting there, looking up at Bradley through his dark fringe of eyelashes and Bradley ruffles his hair, just a bit.
Now is a good time for a shower. In fact, he really needs one.
Under the pounding of the water, he makes conjecture after uninformed conjecture about his future interactions with Colin's date whom he'll meet in just over four hours - he sees already how they will be put in some position which requires them to speak with each other for an extended period of time, when Colin has been dragged away to speak with someone or is off in the loo. Bradley will depend heavily on his default conversational style. He will graciously offer to introduce her to people, and ask after her family, never allowing for awkward silences but somehow also maintaining an aura of being calm and aloof. Maybe Colin will have talked to her about Bradley, perhaps she'll have watched the show. The more the better. He wants to think that he's the bigger person.
What Bradley really wants is for Colin to stay in London. He sees no reason why he shouldn't. Neither of them have anything tying them to any one place; they're not working aside from Merlin and they don't live near their families. And besides, everyone wants to live in London.
Bradley's feeling childish, and knows that he wouldn't know what to do with Colin if he did stay, but Bradley imagines how it would go anyways. Colin would live with him, of course, and they would just explore the city together, hitting up wine bars and museums, and sampling the underground music scene. More often than not they would stay in at night, watching every zombie movie ever created. It would be an exhausting lifestyle, but euphoric.
When he finally gets out of the shower he looks at himself in the mirror, wetted hair and set jaw. He is the very picture of resolve.
Colin is calmly finishing off the first carton by the time Bradley has cleaned up and put on clothing. There are at least four sauces, one of them yogurt, the best sauce, and Colin is dribbling them haphazardly all over his food from the looks of it. Bradley is similarly juvenile, his sauce habits bearing the signs of a novice. He briefly considers searching out a plate, but then Colin says, "If you don't hurry, I'm going to finish this off."
"Brutal, Morgan."
They have a minor scrabble for the last bit of naan, overly physical and ending only when Colin's hands are secure behind his back, color light across his cheeks - and no, the shower hasn't helped.
~
The party takes place in a lush hotel in downtown London. This is not a red carpet affair. There are no limos or paparazzi with flashbulb cameras, there aren't any actors that Bradley's going to be introduced to. The only people on the list are Merlin cast and crew, plus guests, so - comfortable. All of them are excited when they enter the lift that will take them to the top floor, like kids, like people who can't believe the things they're allowed to do because they work in television.
The lift opens up onto a good-sized ballroom which in turn has doors along its perimeter that open out onto balcony boxes, windows hung heavy with sumptuous cream and gold drapery. The entire room is gold and cream, in fact, and those guests who have already arrived are rendered exquisite by proximity. Bradley sees The Julians by the long hors d'oeuvres table, loading up miniature plates with prosciutto and crackers. The men are in fancy-casual, with unscuffed shoes and skinny ties painting stripes down their Armani shirts. Peoples' girl friends and wives, some of them known to him and some not, are standing in groups, complimenting each other on their evening gowns. In short, they all look radically transformed after tramping around Welsh forests in ripped jeans or faux medieval wear.
There is a lot of silk and chiffon in general, and Bradley notices this all, taking it in as secondary information, searching out Angel, because he has just had the most tense ride in the lift of his life.
They had waited for this mysterious person, this temptress, in the foyer, Colin and he greeting the few stragglers they knew going past them to the lifts, calling, 'We'll be up in a mo.' They were late themselves, of course, due to Colin's liberal treatment of time. Bradley had been dressed and talking to the driver of the car, telling him that yes they'd be down in a few minutes, yes they had said that five minutes ago, and no the driver was not to be faulted if they arrived late. He wasn't stressed about the time, not really, but this is why he was so taken aback when the Date, as Bradley had taken to calling her in his head, hadn't even arrived yet.
"You don't need to wait with me, Bradley," Colin had said, leaning against the front desk with his pointy elbows poking out from fashionably-rolled shirt sleeves. He looked expensive, artfully mussed hair and huge lips, and there was no way in hell Bradley was leaving him for one moment to this alleged girlfriend or otherwise. He pursed his lips and Colin just shrugged, so Bradley had continued flirting with the concierge.
Much to Bradley's chagrin, Colin's girlfriend looks nothing like a Doctor Who companion.
Instead, Colin's girlfriend looks strikingly similar to James McAvoy, which makes more sense than one would think because she is actually a guy Colin met in sixth form and ran into again, as he said, when he was back home.
His handshake is firm and his eyes kind, and he says, "It's nice to meet you, Bradley Jeems," sounding like Colin, but not, and he is far, far too attractive for Bradley's peace of mind.
It rankles.
part ii
Words: 13,950
Rating: PG-13
Summary: posted as a kmm prompt here: RPF, Bradley/Colin, Colin/Other, Fancy dress party, Colin and one of his mates flirt like hell. Bradley is jealous.
Disc: these people own themselves.
A/N: honestly i just had to de-anon this to fix the horrible typos. Lalaaa RPF.
It's 3pm and they are running late.
Bradley usually is, despite all appearances, on time - It's Colin who messes about, doing who knows what. Colin is the one who is always changing his clothing or going to brush his teeth an extra time, because he's forgotten to floss and everyone knows you can't floss without brushing your teeth, and you can't meet up with friends without flossing first. Bradley's spent enough time in Colin's room at their hotel in France to observe this, to witness the dawdling first-hand, and now, here in Bradley's own flat in London, it is no different.
They're going to an autograph signing. Not much is expected of them, they really just need to show up, dressed down, to greet their fans and scribble on glossy prints of themselves. Before events Bradley spends some time on his appearance, but it's all pretty easy, easy enough to put on his clothing and comb his hair and make sure that he smells alright, so he can never quite figure out what it is that keeps Colin in the bathroom for so long, the door cracked, or even when he wanders around Bradley's flat and Bradley tries to watch him, to figure out what it is that he spends so much time on.
In any case, Bradley just ends up on the couch, on the phone with Katie McGrath, while his co-star stands around in the bathroom, from the sound of it, just moving things from one side of the sink to the other.
"That mess is getting out of hand," Katie says.
Bradley clears a space on the coffee table and lifts a shirt from where it is pooled. No pen.
"You're not even here," he says into the receiver. "How could you possibly know that?"
Katie laughs. "Well, Colin's still there, isn't he?"
"Yeah, he is."
"You wouldn't expect it, but he wrecked my flat that time I had him over last year. Two days and it was food everywhere and socks in the fridge."
Even now, there are books with pages dog-eared scattered about the flat, a half-eaten orange with the skin peeled back just a bit, as if someone had planned to leave it unfinished, and bottle tops. Bradley finally finds a pen under the sofa. Colin casually appears in room, drying his hair with a towel the color of butter.
That's what it is, maybe: where Bradley's all quick to jump from one thing to the next, Colin is methodical, slow, detail-oriented, somehow leaving a trail of wreckage wherever he goes.
Bradley looks him over, from elbow to knee. He mutters into the phone: "Socks in the fridge, huh?"
"I'm just warning you." Katie's voice sounds far off and he watches as Colin drapes the towel over a chair back. "Anyway, I'll see the two of you at the bookshop. You've still got an hour. Get a move on."
"Nice shirt," Colin says as Bradley closes his mobile. He holds up a shirt with the image of an angry dog on it.
"I though it was yours," Bradley says to this. Colin gives him a skeptical look and then examines the t-shirt like it's the first time he's seen it. One can never tell if he is being serious.
~
They're on their way to the signing.
After ten more minutes of messing about, Bradley had taken Colin by the arm and said rather plainly, "You're slow, Morgan. We're leaving now." and dragged him from the flat and down the hall. They'd rough-housed down three flights of stairs and all the way to the tube. Colin swiped an Oyster card he'd finally bought after so many visits to the city as Bradley grinned at him from the opposite side of the turnstile.
Bradley doesn't even remember the journey, really, he's that distracted by Colin Morgan. They finally make it into daylight with twenty minutes to spare, and it's a miracle, it's a godsend, not being taxed to sprint the entire way to the bookshop. They use the extra time to walk to the signing rather than hailing a cab.
They make their way along the river. They stalk forward at a near jog and huddle in on themselves in the crisp breeze at intervals; Bradley's always surprised at the cold in the springtime, thrilled by it. He finds it invigorating.
They are having a running conversation about football, and also poker strategies although neither of them gamble, and Colin's mother is thrown in there quite a bit as well. Bradley thinks Colin should stay in London indefinitely, at least for a month, because he is Bradley's favourite person to heckle, more than Angel Coulby, more than his uni friends.
Colin is very seriously saying, "Liverpool, Bradley. I don't know if you're fully listening, Liver. Pool."
It's always like this with Colin. He is perhaps the most captivating person Bradley has ever met, however he hesitates to admit it. The change in pace when he arrives, for one, is quite frankly alarming - a conversation, a normal conversation, completely upends in a matter of moments when Colin Morgan enters the scene.
Bradley remembers chiding Angel in the arena one hot day at Pierrefonds, sweating in rivulets in full armor and looking up at her where she sat as Gwen in the grandstand. She mock waved her handkerchief at him, and Tony was grinning over at them, listening to the sun-warmed interplay, and then suddenly Colin was there, bowing his way up, offering Bradley Arthur's sword which he'd brought from the prop-woman. He was laughing with squinted eyes and making some Irish comment that Bradley couldn't quite catch but knew, just knew, that it had them all laughing against him, in a good-natured manner, but suddenly Bradley found himself playing catch-up.
Bradley thinks about this now, thinking he's never been more consistently confused and consistently pleased as when he's merely speed-walking with Colin Morgan, nearly late but not quite, cutting it close.
They cross at Blackfriar's bridge, the wind whipping at their combed hair, and Colin tries to take Bradley's scarf. Bradley gives it freely, but then takes it back after Colin nearly loses it off the side. They circle down to see the National Theatre. Colin's just auditioned for a play there, and Bradley's more proud than impressed, which is confusing, like Colin's his and he wants him to do well for himself.
All manner of people are in motion there, at least half of them doing some sort of exercise: walkers with their iPods, joggers with their iPods. The rest come forward in near solid walls so that Bradley and Colin have to wend their way sideways and diagonally to make any headway, and Bradley finds it disproportionately amusing when Colin is forced to trip around a small child who has emerged suddenly from behind her mother's legs.
Dogs are urging their people forward in throngs and small, knit groups of tourists are holding red umbrellas like poppies to the breeze. It's like a sight-seeing tour, Bradley taking in details he never would have noticed alone. He sees the Tate Modern up ahead and says, "We should go sometime. You like art, don't you Colin?"
"Are you implying I'm not cultured, is that it?" Colin counters, and bumps him with a shoulder.
Bradley thinks about going. They've got time, now that they're done shooting for the season. In museums he is never sure what to do with his hands, worried that he is either too fidgety or too affected, that his poor posture might become apparent when faced with so much art. They'll have to fit it in, whenever Colin visits the city next.
High on oxygen, they arrive at the bookshop. They peer in through the glass, they walk in through the front door.
The tinkling of the bell is lost in the murmur of a pretty decently-sized crowd which has already gathered near the long table at the back. Bradley can see it down the aisle of shelves. He sees that Angel and Katie are seated and speaking to one another, dressed in arty t-shirts. He and Colin are as well - it’s become something of a uniform, a safe middle-ground in which to greet the public. The show’s successful, but not enough to warrant blazers and nice shoes in public appearances. Tomorrow night, though, Saturday, that's when things will get fancy.
Bradley steps around the sale rack, and goes quickly along the wall, feeling too obvious or heavy in his trainers, trying not to smile too widely. Colin is trailing along behind him in chucks.
There are a few shrieks, a few gasps. Bradley cricks his neck; this is more or less his element, yeah.
There aren't enough people looking at them, yet, to fully appreciate the red shirt Colin has chosen to wear. RED shirt. It makes his skin near translucent, there is no word for it, really, and it makes his thin arms look muscled. Bradley turns to walk backwards for a few moments, long enough to say rather loudly, “Come Colin, must you keep Angel waiting?”
Colin smiles, guileless, as about ten more people jerk in their direction.
They are most of them fans but some bookshop goers are mixed into the mess. When he and Colin go to sit in their fold-up chairs and accept plastic water bottles from the woman who's in charge, most of the crowd is looking their way, even the accidental passerby who just came in to flip through the latest Vogue or Nicholas Sparks book.
Bradley waves to the crowd, to test the waters. There is a sound-reaction like a pebble has just been tossed into a lake. He is all at once flattered, overcome, and aware of the reality of where he is. He turns to say hello to the girls.
The table is between the four of them and their fans. Stacks of pictures are given to him and they make little welcome speeches. Angel does most of this. She has no stage fright whatsoever, and the public thinks she's a mixture of sweet and devious. This is true of course, but heavier on the devious, and she is genuinely the most eloquent of the four. And then they answer questions. So what if Bradley sometimes feels like the admiration is overblown? It's like he's on some sort of scientific panel, a board of chemists set to answer questions about some new medication, and that he is the one who had done the filing and the retrieving of coffee during the whole process. The sword fighting, the choreography. It's all good fun.
The only problem with answering questions is that Bradley is a really honest guy. It's never been a problem before, he just talks. He is sincere when he feels it and jokes as well, so the rise to semi-fame has been a lesson in tact. He's learning to ascribe more weight to his words than he normally would, to deflect questions about his personal life and he is considering maybe deleting his facebook account. One cannot, for example, tell an audience that he thinks Colin is as enticing as a mystery wrapped in a delicious piece of bacon. That would maybe work in casual, unrecorded conversation - maybe - but in the current situation the comment might be considered a little offensive, all dietary preferences considered, and would be blown massively out of proportion.
Saying something he will regret later is the last thing Bradley wants to do. It's something they are all warned about by their agents and co-workers. He knows that Katie finds answering questions nerve-wracking for just this reason.
Angel delivers a few prepared statements about the upcoming series, and a few people ask her questions about Gwen's growth as a character and her relationships with each of the main cast. She is so elegant, and Bradley wants to do something unruly, like push her in a swimming pool or take her out to lunch and then ignore her offers to pay. Too much energy, that's what his teachers had said about him.
Colin talks about Merlin's experience living with magic. Katie discusses Morgana's relationship with her half-sister.
When a fan asks about fashion sense in their version of Camelot, Bradley talks about Colin's Vivienne Westwood boots for just the right amount of time (three sentences) and then segues quite nicely to 'Yes, well, Arthur's got his own sense of fashion, hasn't he? Bangle bracelets and a pendant that he wears round his neck. They only let me keep Arthur's ring, although I'm not sure it's really in style.' Angel gives him a look like What is he talking about? He shuts up.
A girl in the back shouts: "Bradley, where did you get your shirt?" Bradley looks down at his top, the one with the dog on it.
"Well...Cols and I found it in the flat this morning..." Bradley says. "I'm not sure whose it is though."
There is a general snickering and Katie takes a question about her involvement in series three. Colin leans back in his chair.
The signing is nearly an hour and a half, but it's over quickly. Katie and Angel huddle together over framed pictures of themselves they're given, and a tin of home-made biscuits, and some flowers. As always, Bradley and Colin favor speaking with children, signing fake swords and calendar pages, Colin pretend-magicking a small girl's nose, but he has to apologise when she starts to cry.
Bradley takes a picture of he and Colin with someone's disposable camera, smooshing their faces together in an unattractive manner. Colin pushes him away just after, laughing and wiping at his cheek, like he's twelve-years-old and Bradley's got cooties. Bradley tries to pay attention to something else, looking anywhere but Colin and speaking with someone's mother. All and all, it's a fun event.
At four-thirty they wave goodbye and thank people again. It feels like dinnertime, Bradley is quite convinced of this. The four go into the staff room where they are offered tea by a pleased-looking woman, the type who's decided to sell books rather than lend them out at a library - a fine distinction - and Katie and Angel break open the tin. Colin accepts a biscuit and takes a small bite before setting it down in his napkin leaving a crumbly trail down his shirt. Bradley takes three biscuits, putting one fully in his mouth right away, because everyone knows that's the only non-messy way to eat these things.
They've all seen each other the past weekend for a similar signing event, which is the only reason they aren't spending this entire weekend with each other. Bradley has secretly reserved this for he and Colin, for showing him around London and introducing him to his friends.
But it is so good to see them again, these three whom he hadn't put much effort into getting to know, it just happened, like something organic. Working together as closely as they do is akin to summer camp, and afterward the filming is over each year all of them text each other and send ridiculous emails, even if they're all semi-embarrassed at the attachment.
"So, McGrath," Bradley says. He leans back against a shelf. "Bringing anyone to the screening tomorrow evening?"
In a way he is hoping the girls haven't invited dates, because then he won't feel odd not having thought of it until just this weekend while beating Colin at some old Playstation game instead of finishing his toast. In the past Angel has brought people, and Katie once, but he and Colin have both gone alone with minimal fuss, spending most of the evenings on quick banter, fetching drinks for Tony's beautiful girlfriend and, when a bit tips, discussing the play of lights off of Richard Wilson's very bald head.
The viewing of a new episode, especially something as impossible as the beginning of series three, seems personal somehow, like maybe Bradley doesn't want Angel's date to see a close-up of Bradley's teeth that Bradley himself hasn't been shown.
"Well I'm bringing Jonathon," Katie says. She shrugs on a designer jacket as Bradley huffs. "I'm not saying we're dating. Just friends of course, good friends. We've done some charity work together, if you remember."
"Rees," Bradley utters the name of the pasty actor, frowning deeply. "I've only seen him on telly or in that film where he plays tennis and sleeps with Scarlett Johansson, so I suppose I'll have to reserve judgment until I meet him."
"Just because he played a womanizer in the Tudors doesn't mean anything about him in real life," Katie chides.
"He's Irish," Bradley begins. "I don't trust-"
"Oi!" Colin elbows him, and Bradley takes it in stride, saying, "My point exactly...the Irish are a temperamental folk."
"So protective," Angel says, smiling at Katie. They both turn back to him. "I think it's sweet."
Bradley frowns and leans back, arms crossed. He turns his gaze on Angel who starts packing the pictures and other presents into her bag.
“If what the gossip columns say is true…you should be taking me.” He does his best to smile winningly.
Angel says, “Brad-lay,” in the admonishing tone of hers. “I'm bringing my cousin. I promised him. And if what the internet says is true, Colin should take you.”
“Colin should take me?" Bradley says, flicking a look to his right. Colin takes another nibble from his biscuit. "I should take Colin, is what I’m sure you meant to say. And further more-"
"Who's to say I haven't invited someone myself?" Colin says, bland, drinking down more of his tea and then chucking it. Bradley's stomach does a little wibble. He must be very hungry.
"Really, Colin?" Angel and Katie ask, turning on him. He at least looks a bit abashed, maybe, and says, "Just a mate from home, really."
Bradley observes the way Colin shoves his hands in his jean pockets and screws up his mouth, like No I'm not going to say anything more.
Katie giggles. "Come on, who is it? Anyone we know of?"
Colin laughs, his face rouging. "Haven't seen each other in a while but we met up last week by chance in the grocery and one thing sort of led to another, so. I thought I might as well ask, seeing as, you know, it could be fun."
"Am I the only one without a date to this thing?" Bradley asks then, spreading his hands out in some gesture of protest. The other three don't even have the decency to pretend guilt.
"It's not like we won't spend time together," Angel says. "Just because we've brought guests."
"Maybe I should invite my mother," Bradley mutters, and musses his own hair in disgust. The others laugh at him.
"Oh you baby," Katie says. She pulls out her phone.
Colin discards his half-eaten snack. He claps his hands together and says: "Right, well, are we off, Bradley?"
"Yeah, guess so," Bradley says, feeling sort of foolish.
"Do you girls want to join us for drinks and cheps?" Colin asks. "We're meeting some of Bradley's uni friends."
"No, that's fine, we're going to meet up with Katie's parents at a French restaurant," Angel says, waggling her eyebrows.
"How chic," Bradley says. They all laugh.
France is their personal thing, their own world of castles and sunsets and French stuntmen who sometimes take them out into town for authentic dining experiences with three courses and a whole lot of wine. On free evenings they sometimes sit and share a baguette and Desperados, pulling small wheels of cheese apart with their hands down by the river where there's no one there to judge such behaviour. They revel in feeling gauche. It is like the whole country was created just for them, even though they've only ever been to Paris and its environs.
The otherworldly feel lingers as they allow themselves to be drawn in close for hugs, and they part ways at the back door, Katie and Angel skipping off with an armful of blooms apiece, and Colin wandering off in the opposite direction, off of the sidewalk smiling secretive back at Bradley. It's that time of year where the soul of the world seems to be at one's fingertips and the sun doesn't set until nine. It feels like the end of something.
He's glad he's thought to invite a couple of mates round the pub. He is a tad ashamed to admit that he has been caught off guard by this date business, that maybe all he wants to do now is corner Colin back in his flat and kiss his neck slowly, maybe feed him tim tams and tea after or before this, so it's a good thing that they're meeting up with people.
Who IS she, Colin's 'mate from back home?' Bradley isn't known to pout, not seriously at least, but this time it's a close thing.
They wander down the road, and Colin brings him out, asking questions about who they're meeting up with, whether or not Bradley thinks Angel's cousin will be underage and should they give him alcohol anyways, etc.
Bradley knows his mates will not only get a kick out of Colin, but they will let Bradley make fun of him. This should be gratifying. They, as his nearest and dearest (although he rarely speaks with them when they're in other countries) will feel the blush of victory right along with him if he manages to render Colin Morgan speechless. Because what are friends for if not to share in the losses and successes? The major and the minor?
He's getting a bit ahead of himself. He and Colin make it to the pub by six, after taking a roundabout walk through a park for no reason at all really, it just sort of happened and wasn't mentioned. A quiet thing.
~
Turncoats! By round two, all three of his supposed friends are near face planting with laughter on the sticky bar table, allowing Colin to relate one embarrassing moment after the next.
"What I found so fonny," Colin says. "Was the dey Bradley misinterpreted the scrept, and he thought there was supposed to be some sort of tension between him and Keytie. The director came in finally and said, 'Ye know, Bradley, your character is a flert, but lay off the leering, will you? We can't have the young girls in the audience thinking you're a crazy pairson.' Yeah, we all had a good laugh."
His friends - dead to him - agree. They are obviously won over by the Irish brogue, thicker with drink, and although Bradley does not fault them, he has been insulted and it cannot stand.
"That pretty accurately describes Bradley's game face. He looks like a crazy person."
"So tell us," Josh asks. "Does James here actually do any work, or does he just mess about?"
Colin pretends to be thinking about this, but Bradley knows him too well to be fooled. He can sense the glee simmering under the surface.
Colin swigs his lager, and then says, apologetically: "To be honest, he plays a lot of video games, and generally picks on me. He's kind of a bully."
"Don't listen to a word of it," Bradley tells them. It is time to cut in.
Everyone just picks up their pints and believe every golden syllable that falls from Colin's lips.
"I spend my days, sparring, SWORD fighting -" Bradley says, narrowing his eyes at the group. "You've heard of one of those, have you Colin? A sword? Your character can't even manage to pick one up, let alone fight with it. The delicate art -"
"Oh yeah, whatever," Colin throws back. He is fighting a smile so hard that his lips pucker. "My guy drops branches and, like, kills everyone. With his eyes."
An old argument, but it feels fresh and untried in front of this audience.
"I've got an army, if you've forgotten," Bradley says, waving his hand aimlessly.
"Lightning," Colin says mildly.
Bradley leans in across the table, elbows velcroing to the sticky top. He says, meaningfully: "Uther. Pendragon."
"Oh come on, James," Scott says. Brett confides to Colin: "He never tells us specifics."
They have a really good time. These are good guys, and Bradley doesn't fault them for taking to Colin they way they have. They're explaining their attempts at landing acting jobs, how two need to work in a restaurant in the meantime, and Brett is currently doing his Masters.
"Be glad we don't have to take exams, or find real jobs," Colin says. "We might just end up like your friends here, actually doing something useful."
The way he says "friends" reminds Bradley of this elusive woman once more. A picture of her is beginning to form in his mind. She is some devilish cross of a handful of actresses. She'll have hair like Karen Gillan and a smile like Billie Piper, and a lovely Irish voice, like Cara Dillon. He imagines that Colin will treat her delicately, folding his arm around her like he'd folded the biscuit into the napkin earlier, suddenly transformed into some gentleman that he never is around Bradley. Bradley will probably hardly recognize him, and he will probably have to stave off the despair with glass after glass of Moet. He hates her already.
Bradley finds himself explaining at length the manner in which the women on set fawn over Colin. Perhaps he's had too much, because he could almost swear that Colin is leaning into him far more often than he usually does. When they're alone, Bradley has noticed, it is all shoving and hands on shoulders, but in public Colin tends to keep to himself. It's wishful thinking and this is the moment Bradley realizes he has never been such a sap about anyone. Good grief.
They head back to Bradley's when the pub closes at midnight, flagging down a cab at the corner. One of his friends, Josh, makes a joke about actors being able to afford cab fare and how everyone else has to walk home. Colin tells them sadly that Poor Bradley's received a few concussions in the process and probably doesn't remember where he lives well enough to walk. Colin is an excellent bullshitter and Bradley wants him with a guilty urgency, maybe just because he has perceived some sort of threat. He slaps his friends on the shoulder, wishing them good luck like he won't be seeing them again soon.
"Do you think they wanted to share the cab?" Colin asks, concerned. "Maybe we should ask them?"
Bradley snorts. "They live the next block over. They just enjoy taking the piss, seeing as they're all theatre actors and I'm just on telly."
The driver takes side streets, winding around a bit more than he needs to, but Bradley doesn't call him on it. When they arrive at the flat Bradley hasn't had time to gesture to the sofa before Colin is handing him a glass of water and is sitting down at the coffee table, telling him to 'sit down, you're going to fall asleep where you stand,' but Bradley just brings him a large blanket and says, "Well, goodnight." Colin smiles at him like they're sharing some joke between them, but maybe Bradley is just reading into things.
~
Bradley wakes up at 11am the next morning, but the quiet from the living room causes him to stay in his bedroom for a few hours and get work done. By 'work' he means doing some crunches to maintain his four pack and writing emails to his agent who wants him to do a Vodaphone ad, and by 'done' he means half-assing both while he watches 30 Rock on his laptop. Also musing about Colin, who is sleeping in his living room and whom he will never really comprehend, probably, which maybe means he will never tire of musing about him.
Finally, after kicking some clothing into the closet and putting on football shorts and an old shirt with a hole in the shoulder, he leaves his room to make himself some coffee. The thing about Colin, he's finally concluded, is that he just insinuates himself into situations, quietly, slyly, with his cotton t-shirts and his knit caps when it gets chilly. Bradley is not feeling benevolent, he is in a real what-if mood, realizing that anything could be more than it seems.
"Sneaky, Morgan," Bradley mutters as he enters the kitchen. "That's what you are."
Colin is there, and at the sound he pauses, caught in the middle of a motion that may-or-may-not have been the tossing of an empty yogurt cup into the rubbish bin from the wrong angle.
"Pardon?" he says. But then his mobile rings, and he answers it. "Hi, mum."
Another thing about Colin is that he is close to his parents. Bradley goes to the freezer to retrieve the coffee grounds. He pats Colin on the back as he wanders past and Colin laughs simultaneously, perhaps at something his mother's said, it's unclear. His hair is sticking up on one side, like he's only just gotten off the sofa.
"I'll be home Sunday evening," he explains, stepping out into the living room. As Bradley puts on the coffee pot and then peels a banana, he watches Colin move about the room, picking things up, running his fingertips over the edges of the television and photo frames distractedly. "Yes, that's tomorrow. I'll be flying into Cork and staying there for the week before visiting you all."
"Cork," Bradley repeats, like "Carrk" and Colin looks over briefly.
They have coffee over heady conversation, in which Colin prods slowly at Bradley's overnight resolve to distance himself. Bradley just doesn't want to be disappointed. He hates being disappointed.
"How do you feel about Rose, then?" Bradley asks, out of nowhere but it's a fair question.
"As in...?" Colin says.
"As in the Doctor's companion," Bradley says. "Blonde, you know, nice smile? You've been in the show, Colin, come on."
"Oh, she's alright, yeah," Colin says. He frowns. "Are we talking about girls, then?"
"And the new companion?" Bradley grills him. "Karen Gillan, ginger. You say you don't like gingers, but I think you protest a bit too much."
"Um," Colin says. "She's got good facial expressions, a real good actress as far as I can tell, but I'll always be a fan of Catherine Tate, of course."
Bradley remains unaccountably suspicious, which really isn't fair, but. Well.
"Run," Bradley says, surprising himself, maybe not surprising Colin.
"Alright."
He uselessly scans the room for his trainers. "I'm going for a run."
"Yeah, well you do that," Colin says. He goes to the sofa again, sits with his legs under him. "I'm not allowed to go out." He looks pointedly at the window, at the half-hearted sunlight that just manages to give an impression of Spring.
"You went out just yesterday," Bradley points out.
Colin shrugs, and then sends an angelic smile his way that seems to say "this is for you, Bradley Jeems."
"You're right, the pale jokes will never get old," Bradley informs him. "Never. I'll be back in an hour. We're meant to be there at six, yeah?"
He starts his run the moment he leaves his flat. He takes off before he has even realized and by the time he's passing the first street corner he can feel sweat beading, only to cool instantly at the back of his neck and behind his knees. His muscles unwind comfortably.
Daylight goes ambling by; Bradley isn't running too fast, treating it as more of a dedicated jog. At a few points he's going so slow that someone's gramma could walk faster than him. He's that guy.
He thinks about the showing tonight, and experiences that complex emotion that is a co-mingling of trepidation and tentative pride. Disaster: it could be impending. But it also might not be. There's no time better for total honesty than on a run. He runs nearly every day, now. It is like a self-imposed practice in honesty, daily. He is lusting and longing after Colin Morgan.
When Bradley gets back, he finds that Colin has done the dishes, which, true, had been piled before Colin had even arrived. He has also ordered Indian.
"The delivery guy recognized me," Colin tells him when he comes to let him in. "Well, first he asked if I'd been in his athletics class, and I said no, and he asked how he knew me, so I told him I was a warlock on a BBC show. If I leave off the BBC bit I just sound a bit foolish, I've found."
Colin seems irresistible waiting here for him, telling him this story. If he were around all the time, Bradley would be the audience for many more vignette-style updates. Also, Colin is the only one of his friends who really gets it, this being in Merlin. How it feels more like a game than work, and then later, when he considers the fact that this is what small-time fame feels like, the show becomes an abstraction. He is sitting there, looking up at Bradley through his dark fringe of eyelashes and Bradley ruffles his hair, just a bit.
Now is a good time for a shower. In fact, he really needs one.
Under the pounding of the water, he makes conjecture after uninformed conjecture about his future interactions with Colin's date whom he'll meet in just over four hours - he sees already how they will be put in some position which requires them to speak with each other for an extended period of time, when Colin has been dragged away to speak with someone or is off in the loo. Bradley will depend heavily on his default conversational style. He will graciously offer to introduce her to people, and ask after her family, never allowing for awkward silences but somehow also maintaining an aura of being calm and aloof. Maybe Colin will have talked to her about Bradley, perhaps she'll have watched the show. The more the better. He wants to think that he's the bigger person.
What Bradley really wants is for Colin to stay in London. He sees no reason why he shouldn't. Neither of them have anything tying them to any one place; they're not working aside from Merlin and they don't live near their families. And besides, everyone wants to live in London.
Bradley's feeling childish, and knows that he wouldn't know what to do with Colin if he did stay, but Bradley imagines how it would go anyways. Colin would live with him, of course, and they would just explore the city together, hitting up wine bars and museums, and sampling the underground music scene. More often than not they would stay in at night, watching every zombie movie ever created. It would be an exhausting lifestyle, but euphoric.
When he finally gets out of the shower he looks at himself in the mirror, wetted hair and set jaw. He is the very picture of resolve.
Colin is calmly finishing off the first carton by the time Bradley has cleaned up and put on clothing. There are at least four sauces, one of them yogurt, the best sauce, and Colin is dribbling them haphazardly all over his food from the looks of it. Bradley is similarly juvenile, his sauce habits bearing the signs of a novice. He briefly considers searching out a plate, but then Colin says, "If you don't hurry, I'm going to finish this off."
"Brutal, Morgan."
They have a minor scrabble for the last bit of naan, overly physical and ending only when Colin's hands are secure behind his back, color light across his cheeks - and no, the shower hasn't helped.
~
The party takes place in a lush hotel in downtown London. This is not a red carpet affair. There are no limos or paparazzi with flashbulb cameras, there aren't any actors that Bradley's going to be introduced to. The only people on the list are Merlin cast and crew, plus guests, so - comfortable. All of them are excited when they enter the lift that will take them to the top floor, like kids, like people who can't believe the things they're allowed to do because they work in television.
The lift opens up onto a good-sized ballroom which in turn has doors along its perimeter that open out onto balcony boxes, windows hung heavy with sumptuous cream and gold drapery. The entire room is gold and cream, in fact, and those guests who have already arrived are rendered exquisite by proximity. Bradley sees The Julians by the long hors d'oeuvres table, loading up miniature plates with prosciutto and crackers. The men are in fancy-casual, with unscuffed shoes and skinny ties painting stripes down their Armani shirts. Peoples' girl friends and wives, some of them known to him and some not, are standing in groups, complimenting each other on their evening gowns. In short, they all look radically transformed after tramping around Welsh forests in ripped jeans or faux medieval wear.
There is a lot of silk and chiffon in general, and Bradley notices this all, taking it in as secondary information, searching out Angel, because he has just had the most tense ride in the lift of his life.
They had waited for this mysterious person, this temptress, in the foyer, Colin and he greeting the few stragglers they knew going past them to the lifts, calling, 'We'll be up in a mo.' They were late themselves, of course, due to Colin's liberal treatment of time. Bradley had been dressed and talking to the driver of the car, telling him that yes they'd be down in a few minutes, yes they had said that five minutes ago, and no the driver was not to be faulted if they arrived late. He wasn't stressed about the time, not really, but this is why he was so taken aback when the Date, as Bradley had taken to calling her in his head, hadn't even arrived yet.
"You don't need to wait with me, Bradley," Colin had said, leaning against the front desk with his pointy elbows poking out from fashionably-rolled shirt sleeves. He looked expensive, artfully mussed hair and huge lips, and there was no way in hell Bradley was leaving him for one moment to this alleged girlfriend or otherwise. He pursed his lips and Colin just shrugged, so Bradley had continued flirting with the concierge.
Much to Bradley's chagrin, Colin's girlfriend looks nothing like a Doctor Who companion.
Instead, Colin's girlfriend looks strikingly similar to James McAvoy, which makes more sense than one would think because she is actually a guy Colin met in sixth form and ran into again, as he said, when he was back home.
His handshake is firm and his eyes kind, and he says, "It's nice to meet you, Bradley Jeems," sounding like Colin, but not, and he is far, far too attractive for Bradley's peace of mind.
It rankles.
part ii