Whatever I am taking, I need to stop. Right now.
Title: Discord In The Garden.
Pairing(s): Bradley/Colin.
Warnings: Angst, fighting, metaphors, fluff, some probably rather OOC behaviour. A little bit of everything.
Spoiler(s): Sigh. Sadly, no, as I highly doubt any of this will actually happen.
Word count: 3640.
Rating: PG-13, to be safe.
Summary: Colin and Bradley have a secret garden where they go to be alone in peace. Right now, however, it is anything but peaceful.
Author's Notes: Fangirl Hell, here I come. I'd say I was sorry but I've kind of given up on doing that now. With thanks as always to the lovely Muffin - aka woodsgal - for soothing my fears and poking and prodding me and just for being her. ILY, Muffin. Anywho, yes. This fic is a combination of many things, as the warnings suggest. The title comes from a song by The Hush Sound, called Wine Red. I got the entire idea for this fic from one lyric, which is esentially the title. Sadly, I do not own the song anymore than I own Bradley and Colin. Sad fact of life, that.
Bradley can’t help but wonder just when, exactly, it had all degenerated into this.
They were nearing the end of series three. About half way through series one, Colin and Bradley had happened across a field - their secret garden, they called it. Actually, they called it Roger so that no one knew what they were talking about. “Meet me at Roger,” they’d say, and get weird looks from the rest of the cast. But no one had followed them, or found it yet, so clearly it was working.
And now their peaceful oasis was full of shouting.
“What are you on about, Bradley?!” Colin’s brogue was thicker than ever in confusion, and it didn’t help that both of them were slightly tipsy from the champagne they’d consumed. The picnic had seemed like such a good idea at the time.
“I don’t think you are taking this relationship seriously!” Bradley cried, flinging his arms about like a mad man to try and prove his point.
“And why do you think that?” Colin asked, blue eyes blazing.
“Because you…just want sex! And you…never want to tell anyone!”
“And did you ever think that maybe this relationship started as just sex?! I thought that was what is was about! And as for telling people - that would be ridiculous, because then we’d have…y’know…publicity and stuff!”
“NO. IT’S ABOUT MORE THAN SEX! OR AT LEAST IT IS TO ME!” Bradley yelled.
Silence fell then, roaring in their ears after their raised voices. The remains of their picnic lay scattered on the grass in a perfect metaphor for Bradley’s mental state, and as Colin stared at him, mouth gaping, he realised what he’d said.
And he blushed. Hard.
“Bradley. Are you telling me that you want a relationship with me? A real one? Where we…hold hands in public and stuff?” Colin asked quietly. Suddenly, Bradley found his shoes very interesting, and he riveted his gaze on them.
“Maybe,” he mumbled.
“Bradley…I…and…”
“I love you, okay?! I’m in love with you, you stupid Irish twit! I love your daft ears and your ridiculous cheekbones and your criminally lovely mouth and your indecipherable accent and your weird sense of humour and the way you say my name and how you are allergic to everything! I love you, and you don’t love me, and it’s all complicated and insane and…and…”
Bradley took a deep, shuddering breath, only just managing to hold back that tears that clung desperately, perfect little glistening diamonds, to his golden lashes.
“Bradley, I…” Colin tried.
“Didn’t know? No, I didn’t either, until I really thought about it right now.”
“Bradley…” Colin started, but Bradley had turned and walked away.
----
Bradley went straight back to his room, put on a Do Not Disturb sign, locked the door, curled into a ball on his bed and cried.
He prided himself on not crying often. But right now, he felt that he deserved it. He lay on his side, curled into the foetal position, and stared at the spot where, just that morning, Colin’s dark head had rested. Bradley always woke a little before the alarm now, just so he could watch Colin while he slept. He stayed in Bradley’s room more often than not, it was nice to watch him sleep, to see him look so vulnerable and sweet, to see his face so clean and open. He always smiled softly and made little noises and made Bradley want to freeze time so that he could stay in that moment forever and never have to stop watching Colin sleep.
Everything blurred as a new wave of tears welled and started water falling down his cheeks, landing on his own pillow. He moved his head forward to bury it into Colin’s pillow and breath in that Colin-y smell - earthy and fruity and so utterly, uniquely Colin that Bradley had to move his head back to keep from getting it wet and washing the smell away.
Bradley lay there for a long time, crying and staring at Colin’s pillow. He ignored everyone who knocked - they had finished their filming for the day, so he wasn’t needed. He eventually called out to Angel that he had a migraine, and after that no one had bothered him.
It was dark outside when Bradley finally stopped crying. It happened once, then the colour of the sky had remained him of the colour of Colin’s hair, and that had started him off again. But eventually, he stopped, and a glance at the clock told him that it was three in the morning. A glance around the room told him what he was going to do.
He slowly uncurled himself, his muscles protesting after spending so long coiled and tensed in the same position. He stood slowly and walked to where his suitcase lay, still open and nearly empty. He threw all the clean clothes he had into it and packed a backpack with the essentials - passport, money, that kind of thing. As a last thought he threw his camera in there - maybe he’d film something, he wasn’t sure. He left the room only to hurry back in and collect the photo of him and Colin he’d had for months now - he couldn’t bring himself to leave it behind. After a moment of thought, he slid in from the frame that held it and dropped that onto the bed. He picked up a pen and wrote on the back of the photo.
I’m sorry.
He went to Colin’s room - he hadn’t used it for so long - and looked sadly at the photo for a long time. Then he bent down and slid is slowly underneath the door.
“Goodbye,” he whispered, and headed for the lift.
He left the keys at the reception - there was no one there, but someone would pick them up in the morning - putting them somewhere someone wouldn’t pick them up before the hotel staff arrived. Then he left the hotel, called a taxi, and told the driver to take him to the airport.
He paid completely on auto pilot and got out of the taxi, getting his suitcase and heading into the airport. Since it was so late - or early, as the case may be - there were very few people around, and Bradley walked straight over to the desk.
“When is the next flight out of here?” he asked the woman. She blinked at him.
“In two hours, at half six,” she said, after typing on her computer.
“Put me on it.”
“It’s to Bulgaria,” she said. Bradley shrugged.
“Great. Put me on it.”
And so it was that after two hours of sitting around staring forlornly at the floor, at his shoes, at the table, at his bag, at anything and everything he could stare it, Bradley found himself sitting on a plane that was barely half full, flying to Bulgaria. Well, he’d heard the alcohol was still cheap there, at least. That made just up and going like this seem much more worth it.
He stared out the window for the entire flight. He wasn’t sure if he slept or not, but if he did, it was only briefly and it was light. The sun was just starting to peer over the horizon, tentatively stretching out it’s fingers as it reached out, feeling it’s way upwards, warming the land and water below. Bradley watched it as it rose slowly, and when he finally turned away spots and splodges danced in front of his eyes when he blinked. He told the air stewardess he didn’t want anything, and turned back to the sun, the bright, beautiful sun, so slow, so careful in it’s rising. Bradley wished he had been half that cautious with his heart. If he had done, maybe it would be so broken right now, lying shattered at his feet, leaving Bradley with no idea where to even start putting all the tiny little fragments back together.
The landing was bumpy and turbulent, but Bradley was so out of by this time that he didn’t even notice. He hadn’t slept for so long, not any real sleep anyway, and he was exhausted from a combination of that and the emotional turmoil he was still going through. He got off the plane, collected his case and booked himself into a cheap hotel all entirely on auto pilot. He got into the room, collapsed onto the bed in a heap, and fell asleep before his head had even hit the pillow.
----
When Colin awoke the next morning, he sensed something was wrong. It didn’t take long to realise it was because there was someone banging loudly against his door. At half seven on a Sunday morning.
“Morgan! Morgan, get the hell up now!”
That would be the dulcet tones of Julian Murphy, he realised. Colin groaned, long and low.
“What? What do you want? It had better be something good, Julian, because it is half seven on a Sunday morning, and I should still be blissfully ignorant and asleep right now,” Colin complained, slithering from his bed and to the door.
As he reached it, he noticed something on the floor. He peered down at it, and his heart sank when he realised what it was. He bent down to pick it up, the photo of himself and Bradley. He was grinning, and he knew that Bradley was too, but someone - and Colin knew that someone was blonde and muscular and good looking - had scribbled Bradley’s face out with a biro. When turned it over and saw the words on the back, and they made Colin’s breath catch in his throat.
He opened the door slowly, eyes twin sapphires, huge and sparkling, his mouth a perfect “o” of horror and shock. Julian glanced down at the photo, saw what it was a nodded sadly.
“I got a call from the receptionist. Bradley’s keys were there when she got in this morning. He’s gone, Colin. Bradley’s gone.”
Colin stared at Julian for a long, long moment.
“Gone?” he croaked eventually, clutching the photo to his naked chest. Julian nodded.
“Gone. We now have no Prince Arthur.”
Julian turned and walked away, leaving Colin alone. He closed the door and sat on his bed, looking down at the photo held in his hands. He moved his fingers to brush them softly over Bradley’s ink obscured face.
“Oh, Bradley. I am so, so sorry. This is my fault,” he murmured.
He sat there for a while, stroking Bradley’s face, though it was no visible, and talking softly to a photo until he became sure he had finally lost the plot. He sighed and glanced upwards, and his suitcase, shut and leaning against the wall, empty. He looked at it, eyes wide, enlightenment spreading across his face.
A while ago, he and Bradley had had a conversation about what they’d do if they won the lottery. Bradley had said he’d go to the airport and tell them to put him on the first plane out of there. Colin wasn’t certain, but if he was right, it was what Bradley would have done now - he’d get out of there, get away, go somewhere. It wouldn’t matter where.
Colin stood and grabbed his phone, which had enough photos of Bradley on to make anyone understand who he was looking for. He dressed, hailed and taxi and went to the airport.
“Bonjour! I am looking for someone. Bradley James? Here, this is him. Did he come here at any point during the night?” Colin asked. The woman at the desk looked tired, but nodded.
“Qui. He told me he wanted to be on the first place out of here. It went to Bulgaria,” she explained. A wave of relief so powerful washed over Colin that he nearly fell over right there and then.
“When does the next plane to Bulgaria leave?” he asked her. She typed away on her computer, Colin watching, on the edge of his seat.
“Two days time, at midday.”
“Book me a ticket.”
----
Bradley hadn’t been sober for many days. He wasn’t sure how many days, because if he wasn’t drinking he was unconscious, and if he wasn’t unconscious he was hung over, and if he wasn’t hung over he was drinking. Actually, he usually was hung over when he was drinking, but why quibble?
Everything passed in a kind of blissful haze of throwing up, being drunk, sleeping and being hung over. He had no time to think about what he was feeling, because he didn’t want to. He wanted to be numb, and so he was. He numbed everything out with the alcohol that was as cheap as everyone said. It was perfect.
He was in his hotel room, staring at a piece of paper. It was the morning, he was incredibly hung over, and he had no memory at all of writing the two lists on the page in front of him.
One was entitled Reasons Why Bradley James Loves Colin Morgan, and the other Reasons Why Bradley James Hates Colin Morgan, but Hates had been crossed out and replaced by Does Not Love. It was wobbly and clearly written while wasted. The left hand list was far longer than the right.
There were some really choice ones, like the fact that the way Colin said his name, the accent and the affection he put into it, made Bradley feel special and wanted. The fact that his smile made his eyes vanish into little crescent moons, and it was impossible to fake a smile like that, so Bradley always knew he meant it. The fact that Colin made little kitten noises when he slept, and often wrapped all his limbs around Bradley like a monkey, and it should be annoying as hell because it made getting up in the middle of the night for a wee really awkward, but it wasn’t, it was impossibly adorable, and Bradley liked it.
The list on the right said only three things, and Bradley stared at them, long and hard. The first said Bradley didn’t love Colin because Colin didn’t love him, the second said that he didn’t love Colin because Colin was only interested in him for sex, and the third said that he didn’t love Colin because Colin made it impossible not to love him.
Good God, Bradley loved this man.
He groaned and slammed the sheet onto the pillow next to him. It was so strange, sleeping in a double bed with no one there. He was used to someone long and pale resting there, all long limbs and sharp angles, with dark hair and long lashes casting wondrous shadows and full lips slightly parted and cheekbones popping in the half light. That’s what Bradley was used to, and it made his chest ache to realise he no longer had that. Because he’d messed up.
He didn’t go out that day, but stayed in his room and cried himself unconscious.
----
Colin got to Bulgaria and stumbled off the plane, feeling slightly wobbly in the way that only flying could make him feel. He had only brought a backpack because he was so determined to bring Bradley back with him, so he got straight through the airport and started hitting the hotels.
It was nine at night when Colin finally found the hotel where Bradley was. He explained what had happened and after much convincing, the receptionist presented him with a spare key and Colin gushed his thanks, hurrying away up the stairs - because of course the lift was broken - to the floor Bradley was on.
He knocked first, just to warn Bradley, but gets no answer, so he slides the key into the lock and opens the door.
Bradley was lying on the bed, fully clothed. The smell of alcohol assaulted Colin’s nostrils and he wrinkled his nose, wondering just how much, precisely, Bradley had been drinking. Going by his sense of smell, it was enough to ruin his liver.
Bradley was lying on his side, back to the door, so Colin walked to the other side of the bed and sat down. It was clear that Bradley was dead to the world, and Colin took the chance and looked at him, really looked at him, and it was almost as if he is seeing Bradley for the first time.
He was ludicrous, this man, because he was so handsome. A crown of golden hair adorned his scalp, and it shone brightly in the light that struggled to get through the cheap curtains, but Colin could tell how greasy it was. His face seemed so damn perfect, so sculptured and angled. Nothing was as pronounced as it was on Colin - Bradley’s ears were normal and his cheekbones were not so sharp, but he was so much more to look at, this broad, blonde man. His eyes, when they are open, were a blue only a few shades away from Colin’s own. His golden eyelashes were flickering in his sleep, and Colin couldn’t help but wonder what his dreams were about. He reached out a hand to brush some hair off Bradley’s forehead. Bradley was warm, a little too warm, and Colin smiled softly.
It was then that he noticed a piece of paper next to Bradley’s hand on the spare pillow. Bradley’s scrawl covered it, and it was clear he had written it while sufficiently inebriated. Colin lifted it and his breath hitched when he saw the titles.
He spent a good few minutes reading, and re reading, the two lists. Slowly, he was seeing where had gone wrong, what he had done, and he stared down at Bradley.
“Oh, Bradley. I am so, so sorry,” he whispered, looking at the peaceful, sleeping man next to him. Bradley looked younger while he slept, somehow. Vulnerable, soft. It made Colin’s heart swell with affection, and an urge to protect Bradley fire up in his veins.
Bradley made a soft waking noise and his eyelids flickered, opening slowly. His eyes were red and Colin’s face softened - Bradley had been crying.
“Col? What are you doing here?” Bradley mumbled, his mind slow and hazy, still slightly hung over, still tired. And then it clicked, and he saw what Colin held in his hands.
“Bradley…”
“I was drunk.”
“Bradley…”
“I talk rubbish when I am drunk. Write it, too. I never mean a word of it.”
“Bradley…”
“I mean it, Colin. All lies, the lot of it.”
“Bradley!”
“Not that you’d really care, anyway, but none of it is true, so don’t worry.”
“Bradley, you are the biggest idiot I have ever had the misfortune to meet! I love you, you prat!”
Bradley stared at Colin, and Colin stared back, skinny chest heaving. Bradley blinked, his brain slowly catching up.
“Did you just say that you love me?”
“Yes, I did. I love you, you ludicrous, stupid prat. I love you. I love your hair and your eyes and your smile and your laugh, because when you laugh you laugh with your entire body and you really mean it. I love the way you look at me, and especially the way you look at me when you think I am not looking. I love the way you say my name, the way you emphasise parts of it when you want to prove a point. I love your mad schemes and the way I always go along with them, even before I know what they are. I love that you don’t swear, but instead use silly, made up words. I love that you are always up for anything, no matter what it is - you are willing to try anything once. I love your appalling taste in music, your rubbish dress sense, your man crush on Anthony Head. I love the way you film everything for the video diaries. I love you, Bradley James, all the little things about you that make you…you. I love you, and you are a prat, but you are my prat. And that is all that I need.”
“You love me,” Bradley breathed.
“Yes. Yes, I do, and I am probably too late, but I wanted to let you know that. I never was a good time keeper with these things.”
Bradley looked at him, this pale, fae man who had such a claim on his heart. It wasn’t Bradley’s anymore - it belonged entirely to one Colin Morgan. Bradley wondered if Colin knew that. Colin was worrying his lower lip, and Bradley sat up slowly - his head still hurt - and leant over to kiss him.
“I love you, too, you criminally pretty twit. But you are my twit. And that is all I need.”
They kissed again, wet and hot and messy, but neither of them cared. Colin bundled Bradley to the bathroom and they showered together, wet skin sliding against wet skin, groans muffled and swallowed by kisses, tongues dancing in an ever lasting fight for dominance that neither really wanted to win.
“I’m sorry,” Colin whispered. They were lying on the bed now, naked, spent, chests pressed against each other.
“So am I,” Bradley murmured. They fell asleep shortly afterwards.
----
Bradley woke in the middle of the night, and he found himself with his arms full of Colin Morgan, and all of Colin’s limbs were wrapped around him, like a monkey, his arms around Bradley’s neck and his legs around Bradley’s waist. Bradley kind of needed a wee, but Colin looked so sweet and besides, Bradley liked it where he was. He buried his face into Colin’s mop of dark hair, inhaled the scent deeply and slowly drifted off, Colin wrapped around him and his arms wrapped tightly around Colin.