fic: Call It Love (1/3)

[saramir]

Title: Call It Love
Author: saramir, archived @AO3
Fandom/Pairing: Merlin RPF; Bradley/Colin
Word Count: 29,000
Warnings: Explicit sex.
Summary: As filming wraps up for the final series, Bradley tries to sort out where his friendship with Colin stands and where it could progress. Pining, nostalgia, texting, and the banter of weirdos in love ensues.
Disclaimer: None of this has/is/will happen in (our) reality. All characters belong to the RL people they're based on, and anything related to Merlin belongs to BBC, Shine, and the stuff of legend.
Author’s Notes: Writing this fic has been a long journey of giggles and doubts and working/re-working characterizations that ate my mind for a good half of 2011, but overall it has been a joy, because the struggles always led to something better, I think. So, if you've stumbled across this, I hope you enjoy reading it even half as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Love letters to my brilliant betas, thismuchmore & gleeful_t:

K, I never would have gotten anywhere with this fic if you hadn't been so enthusiastic and encouraging about the early drafts. Your thoughtful feedback, as well as your invaluable insights into filming logistics and the Irish language, really helped me to organize my ideas early on, and your final beta and Britpick made this all a lot less scary. I cannot thank you enough for all your love and support.

J, I always appreciate your spectacular editing skills, but it was even more of a comfort to have my usual beta there for me outside of a mutual fandom. I cannot thank you enough for believing in this fic about two British dudes you barely even knew before I sent you 20k+ and a bunch of ~reference photos & videos of them. I could not have finished this without your love and encouragement, bb. And thank you for always referring to Bradders as "Mr. Bradley James," because it never does fail to make me laugh.

________________________________________________________________

”We are all a little weird and life’s a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love.” - Dr. Seuss

________________________________________________________________



Three days before the end of filming the fifth and final series of Merlin, Bradley dreams that he's Arthur. Not acting as Arthur; is Arthur.

At first, it is as though he is watching himself from above: His body lies asleep on the dirt floor of a cave, and his chainmail and armour have rusted so thoroughly around him in the damp that he's nearly rusted shut, as if he could be caught in the same position for all eternity. All he knows is that Merlin will save him, somehow.

When Bradley wakes within the dream, as Arthur, in the same position but without rusted armor, there is Colin, crouched above him. Except, to Arthur he is Merlin, tipping Arthur's throat back for a drink of water, his gaze reverent, as if amazed that Arthur has lived at all.

"I knew you'd come for me," Arthur says, lifting a weakened arm to cup one side of Merlin's face.

"Erm. That's not your line," Colin says, cracking a smile and starting to stand as if to leave.

"I've waited for you all these years," Arthur says earnestly, making a desperate grab for Colin's tunic. "Allow me no more waiting! Let us be together as the stars have writ us."

"Okay, that's really not in the script," Colin says, laughing now, but his brow furrows a bit as he stares down at Arthur's whitened knuckles.

"Why will you not kiss me, Merlin?”

Colin's eyes widen. “Wait. Did you think it’d be funny if we added a love potion to the script?”

"Come closer,” Arthur demands, tugging harder on Colin’s tunic.

"Bradley," Colin says slowly, "you need to wake up now."

"I am awake, Merlin," Bradley mumbles. "I've never been more awake."

Colin chuckles. "You really aren't, Bradley. C'mon, you wanna get told off by Clarisse for being late for make-up again?"

Bradley feels a tickle at the back of his neck. He swats at it blindly and makes contact with a wrist, which he grabs, and blinks open his eyes. His other hand is clutched tightly in the fluff of his pillow where he’s lying face-first.

"Col?" he mutters, mucking about the sleep taste in his mouth.

"Oh good, at least you remember who I am now," Colin teases, and Bradley realises he's still holding onto Colin's wrist. He lets go and rubs at his own eyes instead, giving a great yawn and flopping onto his back to squint up at Colin, who's nursing a mug of tea and gazing bleary-eyed down at him. Jesus, he's never seen Colin so tired; he’s usually a morning natural.

Colin gestures at a mug set on the bedside table. “Brought you some tea. Wake up for real now, c’mon.”

"Was having a weird dream," Bradley says, more vulnerable to rambling truths immediately after waking than during any other sober time of day. He picks up the tea and takes a long, warm gulp. "I was Arthur, and I thought you were Merlin but really you were just you."

"Mm," Colin hums, sipping his tea, as if that made any sense. Bradley tries (and fails) not to stare as his throat bobs on the swallow. "Anything interesting happen?"

"I think Merlin- er, you- well, Merlin? Anyways, you saved me- well, Arthur- from a not-so-eternal sleep and then-" He stutters, remembering himself all of a sudden.

"And then?" Colin says.

"And- and then I don't really remember what happened," he lies, then adds to compensate, "but I don't think you were very happy with me."

"Well, no difference here - if we don't get going soon we'll be late." All Bradley can think is that makeup's going to give Colin hell for the dark circles beneath his eyes. Not even Merlin at this point in the series is supposed to appear so thoroughly unrested.

"Are you having nightmares as well? Looks like you barely slept a wink, mate."

"It's-" He shrugs, a painfully slow shift of his shoulders, and doesn't continue, just stares blankly down at his tea.

"Buck up, only three more days and then you can sleep all you want," Bradley says in the cheeriest voice he can muster this soon after waking.

If anything though, it makes Colin look even more miserable. "Ay, three days." His voice sounds hollow and it breaks Bradley's heart a little, drenched in the vulnerable emotions of post-dreamtime.

He levers himself out of bed and gives Colin what he hopes is a heartening pat on the shoulder but it’s a little more Arthur than he’d intended, knocking Colin forward on his toes. "We'll make the most of it, yeah?"

Colin summons a weak smile. “Go nip in the shower, and I'll meet you downstairs in ten, you great goon."

Bradley smiles for real and nods, but when Colin moves to leave him to it, Bradley's can't quite make the hand on his shoulder move yet. Colin hesitates for a moment, looking at Bradley with something like a question on his face.

"All right?" he checks after a moment, but Bradley's suddenly been hit with how it felt to be Arthur in his dream just moments ago: utterly certain that Merlin would be there for him, even if he had to wait for an age.

He snatches his hand away from Colin and gives a quick nod and his best smile, knowing Colin can see right through it but not knowing what else to do right now. “Cheers. Down in ten." And he flees to the shower.

________________________________________________________________

Scheduling is even more of a whirlwind than usual this year, which finds them scrabbling together their final month at Pierrefonds, instead of back in the Cardiff studios.

Is it mad that I already sort of miss shouting at a green screen? Colin texts him that evening.

Bradley snorts a laugh at his mobile where he’s lounging against his favourite pillar in a shadowy nook off the steps of the castle. He should be emotionally preparing for his next scene, but since when does he ever deny himself any sort of interaction with Colin?

Cheer up, mate, he texts back. Maybe you’ll get loads of offers from people typecasting you as a top class master of green screen work.

He immediately updates his Twitter: Hello Merlin fans! Have you a green screen & a challenging script? Contact Colin Morgan’s agent ASAP #lifeaftermerlin

You’d better not be tweeting about that, Colin texts a moment later, like he’s a bloody psychic. Bradley would assume he’s noticed the tweet already, except for the fact that Colin avoids Twitter like a very unpleasant rash.

Ah... oops

I hate you

Your thumbs say you hate me but I bet that wherever you are in the castle you’re laughing your arse off at my usual wit.

A few extra seconds later, Bradley receives a picture message of Colin’s face looking distinctly Not Amused. He can tell that Colin had been laughing just a moment before, though, in the way his eyes are crinkled at the corners.

“Ten more minutes, Bradley!” Gareth calls, and Bradley gives a thumbs up over his head as he grins distractedly at Colin’s photo.

“Bradley,” says a very familiar voice above him.

He looks up at Tony, who’s standing there in full Uther regalia, blowing gently on a cup of tea. Seriously, it’s a delicate porcelain teacup and saucer with little flower patterns rung around them. One of the new people in the crew this series got a bit too enthusiastic about bringing tea to Anthony Stewart Head and she thought it needed a posh presentation. Of course, Tony didn’t give a damn how his tea got delivered so long as it did, but he was so fond of the cup and saucer treatment that he never bothered correcting it, just graciously accepted his tea periodically throughout the day.

“Anthony!” Bradley stands up and grins at him. The set has felt even more like their original little Merlin family ever since Tony’s returned for a guest spot as the spirit of the late king, come to reassure Arthur in a time of need.

“Are you prepared for our final scene together, my son?” Tony says in his best forbidding Uther voice.

“Can’t be as tough as when we shot the scene where you actually all but died in the arms of your only son,” Bradley says, then with a thoughtful tilt of his head adds, “although we will be walking down those cloisters of doom.”

“Ah, yes.” Tony giggles a little, and god, Bradley never quite got used to how lucky he is to know this warm, wise man as something more than just a national treasure and, you know, Giles. “Isn’t that where your back almost gave out whilst trying to drag me through there a few years back?”

“It did not almost give out, old man,” Bradley teases.

“Oh, I’ll ‘old man’ you,” Tony says, aiming a punch in the shoulder, carefully balancing his tea saucer in one hand, and Bradley dances to the side out of range, laughing. Calmly, still smiling, Tony goes back to sipping his tea, then abruptly changes the subject. “Is it true you’ve earned a part in Romeo and Juliet at The Globe this upcoming spring?”

The question startles Bradley; he hadn’t told many people yet, really only his family and Colin and Eoin. “I have, yes,” he says. Then, brightening, adds, “I’ve finally got Mercutio! I am well excited to get back on the stage - at the bloody Globe no less.”

Tony turns a full smile on him. “You’ll do just fine there, Bradley.” He takes another sip of his tea, as Bradley tries to work past the embarrassing flush of emotion that praise from Tony has ignited, which gets even worse when Tony adds, “Sarah and I would love to stop by for one of your performances. Perhaps even opening night?”

“Tony, that’s.” Bradley feels his mouth move up and down like a fish for a second, his gratitude getting stuck in his throat. “That’ll mean a lot to me,” he finally finishes.

Patting him on the arm, Tony gives him a stern Utherly look. “Merlin is but the beginning, son,” he says, then smiles in that full, eye-crinkling joyful way of his and wanders off without waiting for Bradley to regain control of his usual talkative self.

Why is Tony STILL able to turn me into an awestruck fanboy sometimes? he texts Colin, leaning back against the pillar and coughing out his embarrassed laughter.

His phone vibrates with a response seconds later: Because he’ll always be a little bit Giles in your head?

Bradley sighs. true

A moment later: I think it’s good, that occasional reaction to Tony and Richard, like we’re still fans and students, not colleagues. Means we’ve not let this thing get to our heads too badly.

What a perfectly, endearingly Colin thing to say, Bradley thinks. Always one to remind them to be grateful for this career, that fame doesn’t mean a thing if they’re not still working in some meaningful way.

“Bradley! One minute!” Gareth shouts from several yards away, and Bradley looks up to give him a nod.

Gotta get back on set. Destiny calls, Merlin, he texts, then spontaneously snaps a picture of the Pendragon crest on his tunic and attaches it before he hits send and joins Tony in the dreaded cloisters.

Much later, after he’s finished his scene with Tony and they’ve shook hands (laughingly doing a Camelot handshake in place of a contemporary one, grips firm on each other’s forearms), he checks his phone and grins at a message from Colin: a photo of the Pendragon crest on Colin’s own courtly tunic, with the cheeky caption Two sides of the same text message, Arthur.

________________________________________________________________

It wasn’t until shooting series three that Bradley realised what he felt for Colin was much bigger and wilder than friendship.

Honestly, until then he’d figured all he had was a friend-crush, like he’d harbored for one of the neighborhood boys when he was a kid; the sort of thing where you think about your friend all the time and he makes you feel almost giddily excited when you do something that impresses him and you never, ever tire of his company, but you certainly don’t fantasise about snogging him or anything. Bradley had just chalked up his infatuation to the fact that Colin was so different from most of Bradley’s mates, all loud drama school classmates or even louder footie blokes. But it wasn’t until he was in bloody Paris of all places that it hit him what was actually there, at least on his side, and it was so simple: one of those moments where all the information was something he’d already known but, suddenly, really knew.

It had been one of their last weekends off while filming in France that series when he, Colin, Angel, and Katie had gone down to Paris for the day. After a bit of mid-day wine at a wobbly sidewalk table, Katie and Angel had disappeared into the narrow winding streets for dress-shopping, and Colin had dragged him along the Seine to Shakespeare & Company.

“C’mon, I’ve never gotten the chance to spend some time in here before,” Colin said when Bradley acts put-upon for the sake of appearances; he secretly would take part in anything that makes Colin as nerdily excited as a good bookshop does.

Bradley browsed the theatre section for a bit, but when he found Colin engrossed in about five different books, somehow at the same time, it became clear that they’d be there for a good long while. So, he decided there was no other way he’d rather experience a bookshop than through the curious eyes of Colin Morgan. Cramped together in dusty sunlight and dim corners, he started bothering Colin, casually leaning against shelves and nagging him about everything he was reading. It reminded him a bit of those long afternoons at school with his first girlfriend, who he used to distract from studying by pressing her up against the stacks and snogging her until a librarian turned them shame-facedly out of there.

He watched as Colin’s fingers fluttered over the illustrated pages of the only book about Arthurian legend they could find in the shop, and wondered why being with Colin of all people made him think of snogging in the stacks.

Quickly looking away, he spotted the stairs leading to the next floor and said, “Hey, let’s check out the upstairs.”

Bradley was already making his way up the creaky, worn steps before he could hear Colin follow him.

Upstairs was almost unsettlingly quiet but for a fan humming at the entryway between a rare books reading room and a separate room lined with shelves and, inexplicably, a typewriter, a small bed, and a piano.

“Oh, I love this,” Colin said softly, taking it all in, the big Arthurian book still clutched in his arms.

Bradley laughed. “Check out the toy dinosaurs outside the window.” He slouched onto the bed and made a tiny-armed t-rex rawr motion with his hands.

Colin huffed one of those quiet laughs of his, just air through his nostrils, and leaned over the bed to drag his fingers tenderly over the spines of old books. His body was so warm and close to Bradley’s, it felt more intimate than he’d expected in public, this section of the shop all their own at the moment.

“Think we could figure out how to play the Merlin theme?” Bradley said, breathing deeply into his quickened heartbeat, and pointed at the piano.

“I bet we could figure out how to get kicked out of here just in the attempt,” Colin said with a tilt of his head as he sat carefully on the bed beside Bradley. He bounced a little, as if testing that it was actually a bed.

Bradley laughed and pushed off it. “You’re on, Morgan.”

“That wasn’t an actual dare!” Colin protested, but he followed, laughing along with Bradley as they settled onto the bench and started tapping away at the piano keys.

“No, no, no, that is not the opening credits,” Colin said.

“Well, whatever rubbish you’re playing isn’t it either.” Bradley elbowed Colin away from his side of the keys. “I thought you knew how to play this thing!”

“Not with you mucking about in the upper octaves,” Colin said, elbowing him back.

Their shared laughter overlapping with the failing notes they hit might’ve been the best thing Bradley’d heard in a long, long time.

“I do still wish we’d’ve had time to see that Arthurian library in Wales,” Colin said, abruptly lifting his fingers from the keys and picking up the book again.

“Not again, Morgan,” Bradley said, rolling his eyes and tink-tinking a couple more high notes. It was not the first time Colin had bemoaned the fact that they’d missed out on that library during their road trip. “If it’ll make you shut up about it, I’ll take you to the bloody library sometime.”

Colin gave him a startled look. “I wouldn’t want to put you through that. I’d end up spending the entire day in Mold, just reading in a small dusty room.”

“Yes, I figured as much. Not like there’s a whole lot else to do with a library.”

“But you’d be bored out of your skull, whinging every ten minutes that you’re missing a match or something.”

Bradley shrugged. “If you say so.”

Honestly, if spending the day in a library with Colin would be anything like spending an afternoon in this bookshop with him, then Bradley didn’t think he’d be bored at all. He’d never really been bored when it was just him and Colin, reacting to whatever came their way.

Colin lowered his head, then lifted his gaze back to Bradley’s. “You really want to go with me sometime?”

“Sure I do,” Bradley said, swallowing, embarrassed to meet Colin’s gaze, realising he’d just offered to take them on a road trip all on their own - no BBC, no one else as a buffer between them - just so he and Colin could sit in a library in Wales. Trying not to think of why that thought made him nervous, he pretended to be engrossed in a new pattern of notes and added, “Obviously you’d need someone to drive you there, you lazy license-less lug.”

“Oi,” Colin said indignantly, leaning closer to elbow him. But when Bradley stopped playing and looked up at him, Colin was smiling - a small hesitant thing, where his front teeth peeked out in a hint of shiny white - and their faces were much closer than Bradley had expected.

I want to kiss you, he thought, looking into Colin’s fond eyes, as his own pulse thrummed faster all of a sudden. Only it was not as crystalline a thought as that; it was more like a split-second whoosh of recognition, like he was finally recognising every feeling from the previous few years for what they truly were - that tug in his chest when he’d make Colin laugh, those lingering looks at Colin’s lips, throat, eyelashes, hands - and it all focused into the feeling of I want to kiss you. It was a sense of home mingled with want so dizzying Bradley couldn’t look at Colin that closely anymore without doing something he was sure he’d regret right then.

He turned away and stood up from the bench.

“So, are you buying that book or what?” he said sharply, running a hand would-be casually through his hair and pretending to examine the shelves in front of him.

Colin didn’t say or do anything in his periphery for a moment, but then: “Erm, I think I will, yeah.”

“Great, I’m famished, let’s get out of here,” Bradley said, and it was all Arthur, the brusque way he said it, and he immediately wanted to kick himself for the character bleed, for acting like a prat all of a sudden for no good reason except that he wanted what he was too much of a coward to try to take. He had never wanted a man this way before. Hell, forget that sexual epiphany - he had never so badly wanted his best friend, his colleague, his partner in crime, his-

There was more at stake than there ever had been when Bradley’d fancied someone, and oh god, he was pretty sure he’d fancied Colin for quite awhile without fully recognising that feeling for what it was.

“You ate not two hours ago,” Colin said with a snort, taking the Arthur-ness in stride.

“Yes, well,” Bradley said, feeling like an arse. He rubbed at the back of his neck and locked his gaze on the dinosaurs outside the window, trying to quell the panic in his chest. None of this was convenient, but god it felt true. It was true in the way that he felt true things deep in his muscles, how everything tensed and relaxed all at once: relaxed, because it was a relief to sort out what that buzzing under his skin had been all that time, and tensed, because what on earth could he even do with that revelation?

Colin, certainly not aware of Bradley’s sudden realisation about how stupid he was for him, simply trailed back downstairs, and instead of leaving like Bradley had suggested, he lingered in the science fiction and fantasy section.

“Aha!” he said, brandishing The Once and Future King. “I knew we had to find something else Arthurian here.”

Bradley took the battered paperback from him and made a show of scanning the blurb on the back. “You know,” he said, relieved at how normal his voice sounded, “obviously I know the story of The Sword in the Stone, but I really should read the rest of this after being Arthur for this long.”

When he looked up, Colin was giving him a vaguely horrified look. “Honestly. How could you’ve been Arthur for this long and still not actually have read everything you can get your hands on?”

“How could you have known me for this long and still not actually get the fact that I hardly ever read entire books for fun?” Bradley shot back.

“That’s it,” Colin said with finality, snatching the book from Bradley’s hands. “I’m going to start reading it to you. Quite a lot of it is good fun, I promise.”

“You’re going to read it to me? Colin,” he said, laughing, “I’m not actually illiterate, you do realise.”

Colin rolled his eyes. “If I don’t read it to you, you’ll never get around to reading it yourself.”

“Fair point,” Bradley said with a tilt of his head, and followed Colin to the cashier.

So, Colin had bought the book, and he’d come back to Bradley’s room that same night and started to read it to him.

Bradley had stretched out on the bed, propped up on a couple pillows, while Colin perched in a chair beside him, legs kicked onto the bed. The soles of his feet pressed into the side of Bradley’s thigh, bare feet against worn denim  -  it was such a casual touch, but it drew all of Bradley’s attention until Colin began to read in a low, steady voice. Soon enough, he was picking up on different characters’ ways of speaking, taking on their roles, and becoming so absorbed in it all that Bradley couldn’t help but be absorbed in him. Bradley’s focus on the actual story shifted in and out, split between his genuine interest in the book and his genuine interest in Colin.

He did find himself laughing along with Colin at the book’s humour enough, though, especially once dotty old Merlyn appeared, so when Colin left that night, he picked the book right back up and re-read what Colin had read to him, going over the things he’d missed while he’d been paying more attention to the way Colin’s lips moved, or the warmth of Colin’s feet against his thigh.

The Wart found that, although he was frightened of the danger of the forest before it happened, once he was in it he was not frightened any more, Bradley read, Colin’s voice in his head as he turned another page, half inside the story and half trying to figure out what to do with this newfound knowledge about himself and Colin.

________________________________________________________________

It’s been, roughly, two years since Bradley realised he wanted Colin, one year and three-hundred sixty-four days since he figured from the way it makes his stomach ache that it’s probably something like love, and one year and three-hundred sixty-three days since he decided not to share any of that with Colin.

Well, “decided” is probably the wrong word for it. More like “the very thought of talking about his Feelings for Colin makes his stomach ache even more.”

So, he didn’t, and he doesn’t, but he knows he should. Because Bradley shares an awful lot of himself with Colin, and whatever this is Bradley feels for him has grown to be as much a part of Bradley as anything else, as if loving Colin is little more than a fact that cannot be denied about himself. If he were to stand up at a meeting for Lovesick Sods Anonymous, he might say, “Hullo, my name is Bradley. I’m a mediocre actor, an even more-iocre footballer, and I am properly mad about my best mate.”

Since no such support group exists, to his knowledge, all Bradley has done is accepted it like anything else about himself. Mostly, this means occasionally making an enormous fool of himself, but when it comes to fancying people, Bradley's been making a fool of himself since his balls dropped. Honestly, once at drama school he tried to chat up a girl at a costume party whilst dressed as Jareth the Goblin King because he’d hoped the prominent bulge in his tight trousers would make her amorous, when really it just made her laugh uproariously and point out that the paired-socks he’d stuffed down there had somehow shifted down to his right knee.

Fortunately, he has not done anything quite as ridiculous as that in an attempt to impress Colin, but Bradley has been at his side for the better part of five years, and Colin has witnessed, taken part in, or heard tell of most any embarrassing thing Bradley has done. The funny thing is, he still looks at Bradley sometimes like- god, like Bradley’s important somehow. Bradley knows that Colin puts one-hundred percent into everything he does professionally, but he holds his inner life so close to his chest, it feels like a gift each time he offers a new piece of himself to Bradley, and each one of those looks feels like another piece of puzzling him out.

Even after the cast expanded in the fourth series, the pair of them remained closer than ever - their chemistry specific and unique to any other - and Bradley remained just as hopelessly fond, without a clue if Colin could or would feel anything of the sort in return.

It’s like the dream he used to have as a kid, the one about the World Cup. He’d daydream for hours - during class, in his bed late at night, while bicycling to the shops - an elaborate fantasy that built and built each time he dreamt it: who his team members would be, how he’d score the winning goal for England, and how he’d get to trade shirts with an utterly defeated (somehow time-traveled) Pelé. He was fourteen when he finally accepted that playing in the Cup wasn’t terribly realistic, nor was playing in any sort of professional club, but that was okay, because by then, he’d turned to another unrealistic dream that somehow seemed more within reach: acting. And ever since he’s been content to play footie any chance he can get without doing it as a career.

Bradley’s always figured he could hold off on trying something more with Colin, as long as he had Colin in his life at all. Trouble is, with the series ending now, he’s not sure how much longer he can live without making a move or moving on.

________________________________________________________________

Tonight, sore and knackered from a long day of filming - he’d had plenty of sword-fighting and one more knock-out for old times’ sake early on in the day - Bradley’s kicked back on his bed to read one of the last chapters of that old copy of The Once and Future King when there’s a quick knock on his door.

Colin peers in. He looks a bit peaky, truth be told, but his face cracks into a grin when he notices what Bradley’s doing.

“You’re almost done then? I can’t believe it’s taken you more than two  years to finish that.” He steps into the room and closes the door, leaning against it with his arms and script folded tightly across his chest.

“I can’t believe you convinced me to read anything in the first place. I was perfectly happy only having Harry Potter and little else under my belt.”

Colin’s lips tighten in the attempt to hold back laughter. His eyes dart down Bradley’s body then back up to his eyes. “Really, Bradley? Little else under your belt?”

“Oh, shut your-” Bradley says, voice edging into a higher pitch, as he chucks the book at Colin, who dodges it neatly, laughing.

“Well,” Colin says, sitting down on the bed, “to be fair, I did read about half that book to you, so it almost doesn’t count.”

“Almost,” Bradley says, rolling his eyes.

“Reckon you can pull yourself away for a bit to run lines with me one more time?” Colin holds up his script, then glances over at the book now lying on the floor and adds dryly, “Or do you want to stop throwing that book and finish it?”

Bradley tries to ignore the way his chest clenches at one more time. Tomorrow, he’s filming mostly with Angel and Colin. The day after tomorrow, he’s got his final scenes with his knights and Colin. And then- well, then he’s not sure when he’ll be able to end his workday with “and Colin” ever again.

“Nah, c’mon, mate.” He grabs his own copy of the script off his bedside table and shifts on the bed so he’s sitting cross-legged in the middle.

Colin turns partway toward him where he’s perched on the edge of the bed.

They sit in silence for a moment.

Bradley clears his throat.

“Merlin,” Bradley-as-Arthur orders, ignoring the actual script in favor of getting into character their usual way: bantering and bullying. “Go dust my medieval telly.”

Without missing a beat, Colin-as-Merlin gamely walks over and mimes just that, with a cheeky grin. “Technically, I’m your Court Advisor now, sire. You are going to have to hire a new manservant.”

“Well, in that case,” Bradley says, affecting his old David Bowie impersonation, “why don’t you use that secret voodoo of yours and conjure me a turkey sandwich.”

Colin loses his composure at that. “You haven’t read in your Bowie voice in ages,” he says, laughing, and perches back on the edge of the bed. His hand lands close to Bradley’s ankle. “It’s even more awful than I remember.”

Bradley grins and nudges Colin’s arm with his ankle. “Remember that time, last series, when I-”

“When you wouldn’t stop crooning to Angel that falsetto part of ‘Golden Years’?”

“’Don’t let me hear you say life’s taking you nooowhere, Annnngellll,’” Bradley sings, and they start laughing again.

God, Bradley loves watching Colin laugh: all that contained energy and glee radiating from him as his shoulders curl inward, as if it’s too much to laugh it all loose into the world. It complements Bradley’s laughter, how he splays outward, throwing his head back (knocking against the headboard this time), his body an explosion of sound and joy.

“And then,” Colin says after a moment, scooting up a bit closer on the bed, “we realised that our ‘You’re the Voice’ choreography sort of matched up with ‘Modern Love.’”

“‘Church on time,’” Bradley sings, then both of them slap their palms over their eyes and sing, “‘Terrifies me!’”

“‘Church on time,’” Colin laughs more than sings, and both of them take their hands away from their eyes and do jazz hands to “‘Makes me par-tay!’”

“And- and then,” Bradley says, starting to feel a bit sick from nostalgia and laughter, “Tony was so pleased that I wasn’t singing anything from the Buffy musical to him on set anymore-”

Colin snorts. “Yeah, finally, after over three years.”

“You know my love of that musical has been matched by little else,” Bradley says, only half-serious.

“I know that my own tastes in music have done little to help yours,” Colin says with a melodramatic sigh.

Bradley rolls his eyes. “Well, at least we agree on David Bowie.”

Colin smirks. “And the time Tony put ‘Heroes’ on our iPods?”

“Precisely.”

“I still don’t get why you wouldn’t stop singing to me ‘I will be king and you, you will be queen,’ even though it would’ve made far more sense for you to sing that to Angel, as I’m sure Tony intended.”

“Well,” Bradley waggles his eyebrows. “Merlin has always been loyal to Arthur.”

“What, you finally think all those fans have a point about that homoerotic tension they’ve been going on about since series one?”

Bradley laughs, but it’s a little forced this time, and he looks back down at the script. “Come on, let’s be Arthur and Merlin while we still can.”

Colin is quiet. When Bradley looks up, it’s to see Colin staring back at him, head cocked a little and a sad expression on his face. He quickly looks down at his script when Bradley catches his eye.

“Yeah, let’s,” Colin murmurs, and when he looks back up a moment later, he’s Merlin and Bradley is his King Arthur, all laughter gone out of the room.

________________________________________________________________

Earlier this year, during the muggy peak of August in France, the air conditioning in their hotel had broken. Of course it happened right as Bradley had been enjoying a lie-in on one of their precious days off from filming. Instead of going out somewhere cooler, Bradley had been too exhausted and weighed down by the heat to do anything but roll out of bed, pull on a pair of trousers, and shuffle over to Colin’s room to see if he was any more motivated to do something fun.

Colin greeted him in a similar state of dress, sections of his hair sticking to his forehead and the nape of his neck, a couple of books and scripts tossed open across his bed.

“Makes you wish we were back in Cardiff, doesn’t it?” Colin says, stepping aside to let him in.

“I like Cardiff. I miss Cardiff,” Bradley said, walking past him and ignoring the familiar pang of lust that jolted through him at the sight of Colin all rumpled and flushed like that. “At least soggy Welsh weather doesn’t make me feel like I can’t even move without dying. How do entire parts of the world actually do things with their lives in this sort of heat?”

He flopped dramatically onto the floor by the open balcony door and stretched out on his back in hopes of catching a breeze.

“Great mystery of the twenty-first century,” Colin said, joining Bradley on the floor, close enough to feel his body heat without actually touching.

Bradley laughed, and they’d just lain there in a pleasant, albeit sweaty, silence.

“I wish we had some ice cream,” Bradley said after a while.

“Don’t really like ice cream,” Colin said.

“Oh right! Did you have a traumatic experience with it or something?”

“Yeah,” Colin said dryly, “this madman named Bradley tried to force-feed it to me and I almost died from an ice cream headache.”

“Events that have happened in an alternate timeline do not affect this one, Colin. How many times does Katie have to remind you?”

Colin laughed. “No, honestly, I just don’t like it. Sort of like how you just don’t like peas.”

“They’re peas,” Bradley said, horrified. “Nothing healthy for you should be allowed to be that downright weird. They’re these slimy little pebbles that squish in strange places, and when you mash them it ruins the whole plate because I still know they used to be slimy little squish pebbles.”

“Right,” Colin said, mock-seriously. “Can’t un-know that.”

“I can’t,” Bradley insists, but he can tell they’re both holding back laughter.

“So, did your mum force-feed you mushy peas as a child one time too often?”

“Yes, and it ruined them forever,” Bradley said, then a moment later adds, “By all rights though, I should have an aversion to ice cream like you.”

“How’s that?”

“When I was a kid - maybe seven or eight? - I used to share ice cream cones with my dog out in the garden, and one time my sisters caught me. They’re still not through taking the mickey.”

“What, were you and the dog both, like-” Colin mimed holding an ice cream cone and poked out his tongue to lap at the top of it. “-licking at the same cone? At the same time?”

Bradley coughed and took a moment to answer, because it certainly just looked like Colin was miming and licking something distinctly not a cone, and Bradley felt even warmer all of a sudden. “Er, maybe? Ludo might have been my best mate that summer.”

Colin grinned at him like Bradley was his favourite loser. “My dog and I used to share a plate of mushy peas.”

“You d- you did not.”

“I did not,” Colin admitted, laughing, but he brushed his knuckles across Bradley’s as if to say, Your weird childhood secret is safe with me. Or maybe his hand just moved and Bradley’s was there. Whichever.

That was about when Angel and Katie popped in with a few chilled bottles of wine and glasses and suggested they all get sloshed.

Actually, what Katie said was, “Woohoo, just in time for shirtless blokes!”

Colin huffed an embarrassed laugh beside him, and Bradley couldn’t stop himself from watching the deepening flush that crept up Colin’s chest at that. He wanted Colin to touch him again, even just that light, fleeting brush of hands.

“Why are you two weirdos just lying about with your tops off?” Angel asked, as she and Katie sat down at their feet and lounged against the foot of the bed.

“I don’t know, why are you two sitting there in too many clothes?” Bradley shot back, rising up on his elbows to avoid looking at Colin.

“If that’s your method of attempting to seduce women, it’s no wonder you’re still single,” Angel said dryly. She and Katie were wearing rather low-cut sun dresses, which Bradley appreciated even if he never really saw Katie as anything more than, well, Katie, and Angel as anything more than a good mate who he sometimes kissed for money.

Wait, that didn’t sound quite right, even in his head.

“I’ll have you know,” Bradley said, glaring at Angel, “I am excellent at wooing women.”

“By ‘excellent’ do you mean you humiliate yourself in the hopes they’ll find you charming and shag you out of pity?” Katie said with a leer, uncorking a bottle.

Colin started laughing beside him.

Bradley poked him in the shoulder. “Hey! Women find me revoltingly attractive, I’ve been told,” he protested.

Angel giggled and rolled her eyes. “Women find you endearing, like an overenthusiastic puppy.”

“A golden retriever,” Katie stage-whispered to Angel.

Bradley mock-huffed. “I have never bullied either of you even half as much as you do about my love life."

Katie and Angel exchanged incredulous looks then turned them on Bradley.

"Oh bugger off," he said and reached for the open bottle of wine. “Aren’t you even going to back me up on this, Col?” he said over his shoulder.

Colin pulled a considering face. “Nah, you are pretty terrible.”

Bradley nearly spluttered his swig of wine. “Where is this even coming from? When was the last time any of you even saw me with a woman?”

“Last weekend,” Katie said immediately.

“At that club you dragged me to,” put in Colin, waving a hand in front of him from where he was still lying on his back. “That leggy ginger girl in the little green dress. Looked like Amy Pond.”

“That was just-” Bradley waved a hand about. “Flirting. I wasn’t actually trying to get a leg over. Believe me, if I were-”

Angel interrupted him with a groan. “Oh god, please, you’re not going to start telling us more stories about all the women you’ve wronged, are you?”

Bradley turned an indignant look on her. “I have not wronged-”

“It’s like," Colin cut in, sitting up at Bradley’s level, "you meet a pretty girl and your brain flatlines.”

“That doesn’t even make medical sense!” Bradley said.

“Your face doesn’t even make medical sense,” Colin shot back, grinning crookedly at him.

“Wait, what are we even talking about?” Bradley said, trying not to grin back at him and failing.

“Oh just the fact that you’re not the most sensitive bloke when it comes to relationships,” Katie said, snatching the bottle from him.

“Oi!”

“You are a bit oblivious at times,” Colin said.

“Oi.” Bradley glared. “Like you’re any better?”

Colin shrugged and dropped his gaze. “I usually keep myself too busy to have time for a relationship.”

“See! That!” Bradley said to Katie and Angel, pointing at Colin. “He hasn’t really dated a single person since we’ve known him and I’ve dated loads, even dated Georgia for months, and I’m the one you’re criticising?”

“Oh, Bradley,” Angel said, half fond, half amazed at how thick he can be. “Everyone could tell you and Georgia were going to end up better as mates, so that barely even counts.”

“So true,” Katie said, neatly topping off her glass, then turning back to Bradley and Colin. “Frankly, the pair of you are rather awful at this in your own ways, so it’s not really a competition.”

“Hey!” he and Colin said at the same time.

“It’s okay,” Angel said, patting them each on the knee. “You’re both lovely. I’m sure you’ll figure things out.”

Bradley could feel his face warm in a way that had nothing to do with the weather and avoided looking at Colin.

The last few girls he’d tried going out with had been fun but ultimately a reminder of what he didn’t have with Colin - or, rather, what he did have with Colin but wasn’t going in the direction he wished it would go. The only relationship that had come even close had been his months with Georgia. She had been so easy to be with, by all rights they should have made a perfect relationship, but they truly had ended up far better off as long-distance mates who reunited in bursts of good times. Funny how Bradley and Colin should’ve been nothing more than colleagues, but they’ve always been so much more than that to Bradley. Becoming friends with someone usually makes sense; falling for someone, on the other hand, rarely makes enough of it.

Angel passed him the wine bottle with an apologetic look, and Bradley had decided right then and there that it was long past time: He either had to get over Colin or make a move.

Right. He’d wait until they’d finished working together, and then one way or another, he would move on.

________________________________________________________________

It’s their second-to-last day of filming Merlin, and hopefully the last time they’ll ever have to wait for the crew to set up all over again so the scene appears to have taken place in dry weather.

Bradley seriously starts to consider looking for work somewhere that rarely ever rains.

“You say that every time this happens,” Colin replies when Bradley tells him as much, then in the same breath adds, “Here, listen to this song with me,” and hands Bradley one of his earbuds, the other secured in his own ear.

Bradley scowls but accepts the offering. Colin has gotten better at showing Bradley when he needs to tone it down a bit and let Colin just focus on preparing for the next scene. Even if he’s still too polite to tell Bradley outright.

The two of them are huddled side by side in their fold-out chairs with an enormous umbrella sheltering them. It’s their last scene together for the day and- what on earth, Colin’s tunes are depressing. The song they’re sharing is some of Colin’s favourite atmospheric stuff, low on the lyrics and high on the bizarre twists of musical landscapes.

He turns to ask if Colin thought this would put them into a moody mindset for the scene or what, but he quiets when sees Colin’s eyes are closed, his lips pursed slightly, most likely focusing on preparing for the rather pivotal scene ahead of them. But, now, all Bradley can focus on is Colin, and how strange the thought is that soon Colin will no longer be a constant in his day. For years now, they’ve found each other when they’re bored, when they’re excited, or tired, or just because they can; because laughing with Colin has somehow always been one of the top aspects of Bradley’s job. Okay, the sword-fighting might beat falling in love: At least with the sword-fighting, he knows all the moves are choreographed; nobody’s charging at his chest with a sharp, painful thing, blindly aiming for all the places in Bradley that can hurt him the most.

Uh. That metaphor sort of got away from him.

It’s just that the simple fact of Colin’s presence makes Bradley feel rooted and right, positive that things will be okay just by nature of Colin being there with him, and it worries him that Colin won’t simply be there anymore. He brings out more of Bradley than most anyone else.

Quite suddenly Colin slumps down onto Bradley’s shoulder, his breathing evening and deepening, the hand on his iPod going limp against Bradley’s knee where it’s pressed against Colin’s.

In all five years Bradley has worked with him, he’s never before seen Colin fall asleep on set. Bradley’s torn between wanting to tease him mercilessly for this and worrying over Colin’s health. Oh, bollocks: no man or woman is safe from the urge to take care of Colin Morgan, no matter how much Bradley complains about it.

Consummate professionals that they are, Bradley knows he should wake him - Colin’s hair is probably flattening to one side in this position, and Make-up will fuss over him for it and probably blame Bradley somehow. Plus, if Bradley knows Post-Nap Colin - which he does, quite well, albeit off-set - the rejuvenation he’ll feel will be overshadowed by how disoriented he’ll be, waking up only to be thrown into an intense scene, and it’ll take him those extra few takes to fall back into Merlin’s skin.

But bugger it all. Colin needs all the rest he can get these days, and Bradley selfishly wants to hold onto this moment of Colin dozing softly against him for as long as he can.

________________________________________________________________

Long after it’s stopped raining (which of course happened almost as soon as Bradley did not need to film outside), he and Angel have just finished up their final scenes together as Arthur and Guinevere when she suggests they climb to the top of the castle.

“One more climb for luck, Bradders?” she says with a playful nudge to his ribs.

Bradley shoots her a sidelong look. “If by ‘climb’ you mean ‘race,’ then-” He takes off toward the nearest staircase, keeping an ear out for her giggling breaths at his heels.

When they reach the top, it’s as magnificent a view as the first time.

“We never really got tired of all the perks of this job, did we?” Angel says, reading his mind. She steps up to the edge and leans on her forearms, her curls rustling in the wind.

“Naw, we were a lucky bunch,” Bradley says in one of his silly voices, sidling up beside her.

Angel laughs easily, pressing her face into his shoulder for a moment, her breath a welcome warmth against the wind this high up above the world, and Bradley smiles. She shivers a bit, pulls up the hood of her jacket, and Bradley drapes his arm around her shoulders and pulls her alongside him for warmth, the two of them huddled together like conspirators.

“You know,” Angel says after a long companionable silence, nothing but them and the wind and the setting horizon all the way up here, “Katie and I have been thinking about splitting a flat together when we get back to London.”

“Are you mad? Don’t you two want some space from each other after we’ve lived in each other’s laps for the better part of the past five years?”

“Oh come on, you live with Eoin, how is that any different?”

He tips his head to the side. “Point.”

“And it’s not like you and Colin won’t be at each other’s doorstep every week, doing god knows what.”

Bradley snorts.

“Will Katie and I have to issue a restraining order so you boys won’t play pranks on us in our own home?” she half-jokes.

Bradley pulls an indignant face. “Pranks? The nerve! I am appalled you would think us so low to play pranks on our dear friends like that.”

Angel rolls her eyes. “Right, innocent, that’s you and Colin in a nutshell.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

“Seriously though,” Angel continues, lightly nudging him in the ribs. “Just ‘cos our characters stopped getting on, didn’t change the fact that Katie had already become one of my best friends. It only makes sense. Won’t you and Colin ever consider living together?”

“Living together?” Bradley’s eyes go so wide he’s sure it must look comical to her from this angle as he pulls apart just enough to meet her eyes. “Myself and Colin would never survive being flatmates. He’d kill me within the week just to get some peace and quiet.”

Angel studies him for a moment, her brow furrowed. “Bradley, you must know that’s not true.”

“No, you’re right. Colin’s much too polite to kill me that quickly.” Bradley turns toward the horizon for a moment, feeling anxious and impossibly wrong all of a sudden. “He’d wait at least a month.”

“Bradley.” She’s using her voice that he secretly refers to as her schoolmarm voice. It doesn’t come out very often but when it does, Governess Coulby means business.

He looks back at her. “Angel.”

“You’re not joking, are you.”

“‘Course I’m joking.”

“Well, I mean, you are, but you really aren’t.”

“Oh now that’s clear, thank you.”

“You and Colin get on like-” She looks out at the horizon, shaking her head. “It’s a rare sort of friendship, Bradley. Don’t sell yourself short - it’s out of character.”

“Your arse is out of character,” he mutters, which earns him a good smack on the back of his head.

“Ow,” he emphasizes, elongating the sound into two syllables and rubbing at the spot.

“Are you even listening to me?” She sounds genuinely exasperated, which isn’t a tone he hears from Angel very often. It must be that, the thing that makes him sober.

He squints out at the sun that’s almost set, thankful the view is there as an excuse not to look Angel in the eye when he admits, “It won’t be the same. Colin and I, we’re not obligated to be, well, anything to each other anymore.”

“Colin’s never felt obligated to be friends with you.” She sounds appalled. “I know you two don’t have all that much in common, on the surface of things, but it never struck me as a- I don’t know, a situational friendship.”

“Okay, no, I’m not saying-” He takes a breath. “Of course Col and I will still be friends. But he’s going to need space. Colin’s always wanted more space than I can give him.”

“Don’t sell him short either, Bradley.”

“I’m not, Angel. I’m just saying.” He shrugs. “Colin likes his space and quiet.”

“But Colin also likes you.” She pokes him hard in the bicep, and he spares a thought for bruises; how they’re one thing he certainly will not miss about this job, whether they’re inflicted by his friends or fencing practice.

But then what Angel’s actually said sinks in, and he can’t think of a single retort. All he can think is: One more day of this, of bruises and Camelot and castmates who’ve been at the center of his life for half a bloody decade. Only one more day, and then he’ll be back in London, stepping back into a life that’s both the same and completely different from how he left it before Merlin.

Only one more day, and then he needs to keep his promise to himself and figure out how to tell Colin.

________________________________________________________________

Bradley remembers the first time he and Colin ventured to the top of Pierrefonds together, how Bradley had leaned over the edge and gestured enthusiastically at various recognizable points he’d found on his first trip up here, when it was just him and his camera for the video diaries meant for fans he’d not yet wooed. But Colin had stood back a bit, taking it all in: that beautiful illusion of the whole wide world before them, their bodies that much closer to the sky.

“It’s amazing, innit,” Colin had said when he’d finally joined Bradley at the ledge, “that this is our job - coming to France, filming knights and wizards in a castle-” He’d peered over his shoulder at Bradley, his smile glorious. “-this.”

Bradley had beamed at him, utterly unafraid, because what was there to be afraid of back then? He had brilliant, steady work and fun-if sometimes baffling-colleagues. He had not yet fallen in love with his best friend who was not yet his best friend.

“Amazing is definitely what it is,” Bradley had said, pressing his shoulder against Colin’s in the fresh spring air. They’d stayed like that for a long while, simply looking out across what Bradley had secretly been referring to as his kingdom, but only to Angel and only because it made her laugh.

More than once Bradley'd had the absurd urge to lean his head against Colin’s, as if their fledgling bond even allowed for that, as if a part of him was already drawn to Colin without even knowing what that meant yet. He just knew that he was glad they hadn't brought their camcorders up here for this; it could be a moment shared by them alone.

When they finally moved to return to the lower world, Bradley backed away from the mossy stone ledge first. In the brief moment before Colin turned to follow him, he caught a glimpse of Colin’s tiny silhouette hunched against the overcast French sky, turrets and crenelations and countryside before him.

And the thing is, he's never forgotten that one quiet moment early on in their friendship: the look of nervous excitement on Colin’s face, the surge of nervous affection in his own chest.

________________________________________________________________

At lunch on their last day of filming, Bradley picks up the camcorder with which he’s actually been allowed to gallivant around set again (“fine, yes, only because it’s the last series”) and aims it across the table at Colin.

“In a bowl of salad,” Bradley says, putting on his poor impression of John Hurt’s Great Dragon voice, “and a time of lunch-”

Colin puts on a mischievous Merlin face for the camera and holds up his fork.

“-the destiny of a great meal rests in the hands of a young actor. His name? Colin.”

Colin points the fork at his salad and screws up his face into a determined Merlin-doing-magic expression.

“What’d you do to the salad, mate?” Bradley says in his Bradley voice.

“Set it on fire,” Colin says casually, shrugging. “They’ll add it in post-production.”

Bradley laughs, the camera shaking with him. “What’d that salad ever do to you?”

Colin scrunches his nose and says a bit sheepishly. “I didn’t notice ‘til I sat down that the dressing’s got bits of bacon in.”

“Right.” Bradley pushes his bowl across the table. “Take mine, it’s not got any meaty dressing.”

Colin gives him an unexpectedly soft smile. “Cheers.”

Bradley coughs and refocuses the camera as he’d let it drift down to Colin’s hand where it rests on the table. “So, Colin. Inquiring Merlin fans want to know: What was your favourite thing about working on the show over the past five years?”

Colin takes a bite of Bradley’s salad and chews thoughtfully for a moment. “Oh definitely the people.”

“Yeah? Any people in particular?” Bradley asks, swinging the camera around to himself for a moment, gesturing his thumb at his chest and nodding conspiratorially into the lens.

“Richard, definitely,” Colin says after he swallows a bite of salad and Bradley’s turned the camera back on him. Colin takes another thoughtful bite, adds, “And Eoin is a blast. Never dull, that one.”

“Richard and Eoin?” Bradley says incredulously. “No one else? Such as, perhaps, your dashing co-star?”

“Nah.” Another bite from Bradley’s salad, then he pauses the fork mid-air. “Wait. Co-star? You mean Katie, right?” He squints and purses his lips in a considering look. “Who’re you again?”

“Oh, I work with, uh . . . catering.”

“Right.” Colin pushes his rejected bowl of salad across the table and says, not unkindly, “Could you not put bacon in all the dressing next time, please?”

“Sure thing, Monsieur Morgan.”

Colin smiles crookedly at him and ducks back to his salad.

________________________________________________________________

After they’ve been dressed and made-up for their final scene together as Arthur and Merlin, Bradley steps up alongside Colin, who’s been staring out at the Pierrefonds courtyard where their stand-ins are waiting for the crew to finish setting up the scene.

“Right, then.” He claps a hand on Colin’s shoulder and turns to him with his best brave smile, memorising the feel of the old Merlin tunic beneath his fingers. “Once more unto the breach?”

Colin quirks a grin and reaches up to pat Bradley’s hand a bit condescendingly. “Or close the wall up with your English mead,” he says in all earnestness.

Bradley throws back his head in a laugh and slings his arm around Colin’s shoulders, feeling Arthur’s chainmail weighing down his own shoulders one last time.

________________________________________________________________

Part Two