BBC Merlin rpf: "Cutting Room"; NC17; part 2 of 5
Title: Cutting Room
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Colin/Bradley
Warnings: A little bit of sex; a lot of angst; they get there
Spoilers: None (near future fic)
Disclaimer: I wish 'Merlin' was mine, but it isn't. And though any resemblance to persons living is entirely intentional, what I have them doing is entirely fictional. Unless it comes to pass, in which case I am psychic.
Author's Note: Just in case you're wondering, from the look of the first few lines, this isn't a script.
Summary: It's 2013 and the cameras are about to roll on the Merlin Movie - but can its two stars put aside the pain of their past and recapture the magic?
"CUTTING ROOM" (Part 2)
5 EXT. BATTLEMENTS. CHATEAU DE PIERREFONDS. LATE JUNE 2013. NIGHT.
We are on a film location. Lights, cameras and sound equipment, and their operators, surround COLIN (dressed as Merlin) and BRADLEY (dressed as Arthur). Another YOUNG WOMAN is standing between them, eyeing BRADLEY’s face critically. She brushes powder across his nose and chin, and then retreats.
ASSISTANT DIRECTOR (V/O)
Quiet please. Rolling.
A MAN (CAMERA LOADER) enters, clapboard in hand. He stands directly in shot.
CAMERA LOADER
Scene 191, set three, take five. Mark.
CAMERA LOADER claps the board and exits the shot.
JOE WRIGHT (V/O)
And action.
COLIN drops to one knee in front of BRADLEY and bows his head.
COLIN (respectfully)
My liege.
“Oh do get up Merlin,” Bradley drawled in Arthur’s most sarcastic tones, “you look ridiculous down there.”
Colin rose to his feet, eyes downcast until the last moment, the hint of a barely-repressed smile playing around his lips. “Your majesty must become accustomed to it.” By the time Colin raised his eyes there was no trace of mirth to be heard in Merlin’s smooth English accent. “It’s your coronation tomorrow and after that there’s no hope. Deference is the order of the day.”
Bradley raised an imperious eyebrow. “From them, maybe,” he said, gesturing over the parapet at the crowd in the courtyard below, “and even, I suppose, when the occasion demands it, from you, Merlin.” His expression softened, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling. He laid the hand nearest the camera on Colin’s shoulder and squeezed. “But not here, not like this - never, when we’re alone. You must swear it.”
Colin raised the hand furthest from the camera to Bradley’s shoulder, mirroring his gesture as he looked into his eyes. “I so swear,” he said huskily, “Arthur.”
“Cut. Very nice. Everyone happy? Good. Re-set for close-ups, please.”
It took a second or two for Joe’s words to register and then they were flying apart, like two magnets whose polarity had become suddenly reversed. Bradley crossed to where wardrobe were standing, and gestured at his belt, while Colin drifted as close as he dared to the crenulations and looked gingerly down.
Now the cameras weren’t turning, the supporting artists had stopped their carefully choreographed milling and were just...milling. It still looked real.
It was typical of the arse-about-face world of film-making that one of the earliest scenes to be shot was one of the last in the movie. Camelot had grown daily more crowded as the ceremony approached and now, on the eve of Arthur’s ascension to the throne, it was full to bursting. And Arthur and Merlin, perched high above their mythical kingdom, were in perfect harmony - with the stars that wheeled overhead, with the stones of Camelot beneath their feet, and with each other.
The easy camaraderie of it astounded Colin - especially after those first, god-awful days of read through - but somehow old habits, new direction and possibly sheer bloody-minded determination were winning through. And as Merlin and Arthur fell into each other’s sentences, eyes, and personal space, as if they had never been away, it was easy to be seduced into hope - until the cameras stopped. Colin was growing to hate the word cut.
He hung on to the cold, smooth stone of the parapet and thought about what the future held for Arthur and Merlin. Tonight, they were at peace with the world and with each other but it had taken them many years to get to this point. And over the next few weeks and months all that would be unravelled, all the pain and betrayal and violence they had endured to reach this peaceful night would be exposed, lived through.
Maybe that had been his and Bradley’s problem. They had delayed so long that it was, perhaps, inevitable that they should begin almost at the end of their story; that they should find themselves playing out scenes of passion and intimacy without knowing who they really were, where their true insecurities lay. But life had no editing suite; no place to sift the love with the fear or the doubts with the deeds, before reassembling everything in the right order to give them their happy ending. Somehow the best times of his life...the best of him...had ended up on the cutting room floor.
“Colin?” Hearing Bradley say his name so softly made Colin’s heart lurch up into his throat and he spun around far too quickly for someone standing so close to a lethal drop. Several hands shot out to steady him - none of them Bradley’s, who was already standing back on his mark. “C’mon. They’re ready to go again and I’m knackered.”
Colin walked over and reassumed his position. While the crew made last minute adjustments around them, he studied Bradley’s face. The lines of strain around his mouth and the blue-black smudges under his eyes were clearly visible through his make-up. For today it didn’t matter. Arthur had been through a lot to get here and if it showed, so much the better. But as shooting continued and they turned back time for Arthur and Merlin, there would be no such escape for him and Bradley.
The awful thing was Colin had never wanted to escape, not really. He’d panicked and then he’d monumentally, catastrophically fucked up. And right now, standing on top of a French castle on a warm June night, opposite the man he’d thought he might never see again, he realised just how catastrophically. Because it was a pile of shite to say all he’d wanted was a chance to explain, to put the record straight. Because two years hadn’t erased an iota of the sheer bloody hopelessness he felt, and he had no reason to suppose that another twenty years would, either.
“I’m sorry,” he said, realising this was where they’d come in, this time around.
Bradley, at least, had the grace to vary his response. “What for this time?” he said wearily.
Colin shrugged. “For losing track?” he said, unconvinced, still looking into the tired, pale eyes of his...ex-lover...ex-friend...colleague? He didn’t even know what to call Bradley any more. He shook his head. “I don’t know, Bradley - for everything. I’m sorry...for everything.”
Bradley closed his eyes. “Don’t, Colin. Just ...don’t.”
“No,” Colin whispered, “no, of course.” Because Bradley was right - they were history and he couldn’t allow himself to ruin Bradley’s life again, either.
“Quiet please, rolling.”
“Scene 191, set four, take one. Mark.”
“Action.”
Colin dropped to one knee in front of Bradley and bowed his head.
6. EXT. ENGLISH WOODLAND, A CLEARING. JULY 2013. RAIN. DAY.
A thicket of waterproof-clad crew and tarpaulin-shrouded film equipment surrounds TONY (dressed as Uther), BRADLEY (as Arthur), and RUFUS (as Lord Swinburne). The men stand in an unnatural pool of light, conversing heatedly. A little off to one side, where the brightness fades into the gloom of the wood, COLIN (as Merlin) listens intently to their conversation. The constant dripping of rain onto foliage forms a backdrop to their voices.
TONY
You are sure, Swinburne, that this is where you observed my wa-...the witch, consorting with Arthur’s servant?
RUFUS
Yes, Your Majesty, quite certain. I remember the twisted bole of that tree. They stood beside it as they plotted against you, and that very evening-”
BRADLEY (interrupting)
Yes, yes, my Lord, we’re well aware of what happened that evening. But what were you doing out this far from Camelot, unescorted? And how on earth could Merlin have got here, on foot, and still been back in time to dress me for the feast?
RUFUS
As I explained before, Sire, I was pursuing a white hart - a magnificent beast - and in my enthusiasm to bring it back as a gift for the King your father, I had left the guards he so graciously provided far behind. As for your servant’s fleetness...
RUFUS raises a brow and turns towards TONY, his hands outspread.
RUFUS
...he is a warlock.
TONY (grimly)
Quite. But we cannot hope to track them. Even without magic, this infernal rain would have-
The light on TONY’s face suddenly dims.
TONY
-shorted out the pissing light?
There is general laughter and some audible swearing.
ASSISTANT DIRECTOR (V/O)
Cut. Sorry people...
They broke for lunch, tramping back through the sodden woodland to where the unit was parked and then disappearing off to trailers to change out of wet costumes.
The food wagon was crowded, and blissfully warm, by the time Colin arrived. It appeared he’d still beaten the others to it, though - one advantage of fewer layers, he supposed, though the flip side to that particular coin was that he’d shivered his nuts off all morning without being called upon to utter a word of dialogue.
Still, the only vacant table was near the heater and the ratatouille was piping hot. He bent over the plate, enjoying the steam on his face almost as much as the warmth in his belly, and was so intent on his food that he didn’t notice the others arrive until Rufus was sliding onto the bench beside him. Tony settled opposite, Bradley joining alongside, murmuring to himself as he plonked down his plate.
“What’re you muttering about son?” Tony cocked a quizzical eyebrow at Bradley, his eyes twinkling, before taking a mouthful of his casserole.
Bradley sighed into his mashed potato. “I was saying that the only thing I hate more than having to wear chain mail all day is having to wear wet chain mail all day.”
Rufus nodded. “Seconded. Although wearing armour in the height of summer comes close.”
Colin’s chest grew tight when he saw the grin Bradley threw Rufus. “Yep, been there, done that, got the helmet.”
Rufus laughed. “At least you’re the bloody hero. Slightest whiff of a sword in my life and you can pretty much guarantee I’m the villain. Must be the saturnine looks I suppose.” He turned to Colin. “So how come you get away with it?”
Colin lifted his head slowly, hitting Rufus with his best innocent gaze. “Get away with what?”
Tony thumped the table, laughing loudly. “Ha! And that is why Arthur never guessed Merlin was magic, and why Colin has half this crew wrapped around his little finger.”
“More like all of them,” Bradley muttered and the others laughed again.
Rufus waved a fork in his general direction, “It seems the world is your oyster, Colin. So what comes next?”
“I, er...I haven’t decided definitely. But I may be following in your footsteps a bit.”
Rufus looked surprised. “As a villain?”
“No,” Colin countered softly, “as Septimus Hodge.”
Rufus sighed with pleasure. “Arcadia. I love that play - we are talking theatre, I presume?” Colin nodded. “Where? Who’s directing?”
Colin swallowed his last mouthful hurriedly. “Donmar West End, for Rupert Goold,” he was suddenly, uncomfortably aware of everyone’s attention focused on him, “with a Broadway option.”
“And you haven’t decided yet?” Tony’s incredulous squeak was a million miles away from Uther’s menacing baritone. “Bite their bloody hands off, Colin,” he raised his glass of water. “Congratulations.”
“Absolutely,” Rufus echoed, “well done.”
Colin ducked his head, feeling his cheeks heat. “Thanks.”
“So what about you, Bradley,” Rufus asked, “going to cast off the golden LA shackles and do some proper acting?”
They all knew he was joking, of course. Rufus had been in his fair share of run of the mill stuff - and a couple of decidedly dodgy US TV series for that matter - but that didn’t stop Colin’s skin from crawling with embarrassment. He desperately wanted to say something - to tell them how mesmerising Bradley had been, on that tiny stage above a London pub, in the hiatus between series three and four, stripped bare of everything but his soul and his craft. He wanted to describe the thrall that had fallen over the place, the impact of Bradley’s voice trickling its longing into that void; how Bradley had twisted the collective heart of the audience and then ripped it right out. And how he’d come bursting into the bar afterwards with such joy, such exuberance, that the desire hit Colin like a tidal wave.
Instead, he sat in dumb acceptance that he was the last advocate Bradley would want. As far as Colin was aware, he and Ruth - and maybe Bradley’s Mum - were the only people who knew that, when Bradley fled across the Atlantic two years ago, he’d left more than a broken relationship and a breached BBC contract behind. Because Bradley was too proud to harp on a past performance, or to ever make mention of the National Theatre lead he’d been offered on the strength of it.
Colin didn’t need to look at Bradley to know his smile was shallow as the note of humour in his voice when he responded, “Oh, maybe, at some point. But for now, LA has its compensations.”
Rufus chuckled, “The women or the money?”
Colin couldn’t resist a peek at that.
“Both,” Bradley deadpanned. Or maybe he meant it. “And let’s face it,” he gestured at the rain-splattered window, “the climate’s a hell of a lot better.”
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Colin/Bradley
Warnings: A little bit of sex; a lot of angst; they get there
Spoilers: None (near future fic)
Disclaimer: I wish 'Merlin' was mine, but it isn't. And though any resemblance to persons living is entirely intentional, what I have them doing is entirely fictional. Unless it comes to pass, in which case I am psychic.
Author's Note: Just in case you're wondering, from the look of the first few lines, this isn't a script.
Summary: It's 2013 and the cameras are about to roll on the Merlin Movie - but can its two stars put aside the pain of their past and recapture the magic?
"CUTTING ROOM" (Part 2)
5 EXT. BATTLEMENTS. CHATEAU DE PIERREFONDS. LATE JUNE 2013. NIGHT.
We are on a film location. Lights, cameras and sound equipment, and their operators, surround COLIN (dressed as Merlin) and BRADLEY (dressed as Arthur). Another YOUNG WOMAN is standing between them, eyeing BRADLEY’s face critically. She brushes powder across his nose and chin, and then retreats.
ASSISTANT DIRECTOR (V/O)
Quiet please. Rolling.
A MAN (CAMERA LOADER) enters, clapboard in hand. He stands directly in shot.
CAMERA LOADER
Scene 191, set three, take five. Mark.
CAMERA LOADER claps the board and exits the shot.
JOE WRIGHT (V/O)
And action.
COLIN drops to one knee in front of BRADLEY and bows his head.
COLIN (respectfully)
My liege.
“Oh do get up Merlin,” Bradley drawled in Arthur’s most sarcastic tones, “you look ridiculous down there.”
Colin rose to his feet, eyes downcast until the last moment, the hint of a barely-repressed smile playing around his lips. “Your majesty must become accustomed to it.” By the time Colin raised his eyes there was no trace of mirth to be heard in Merlin’s smooth English accent. “It’s your coronation tomorrow and after that there’s no hope. Deference is the order of the day.”
Bradley raised an imperious eyebrow. “From them, maybe,” he said, gesturing over the parapet at the crowd in the courtyard below, “and even, I suppose, when the occasion demands it, from you, Merlin.” His expression softened, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling. He laid the hand nearest the camera on Colin’s shoulder and squeezed. “But not here, not like this - never, when we’re alone. You must swear it.”
Colin raised the hand furthest from the camera to Bradley’s shoulder, mirroring his gesture as he looked into his eyes. “I so swear,” he said huskily, “Arthur.”
“Cut. Very nice. Everyone happy? Good. Re-set for close-ups, please.”
It took a second or two for Joe’s words to register and then they were flying apart, like two magnets whose polarity had become suddenly reversed. Bradley crossed to where wardrobe were standing, and gestured at his belt, while Colin drifted as close as he dared to the crenulations and looked gingerly down.
Now the cameras weren’t turning, the supporting artists had stopped their carefully choreographed milling and were just...milling. It still looked real.
It was typical of the arse-about-face world of film-making that one of the earliest scenes to be shot was one of the last in the movie. Camelot had grown daily more crowded as the ceremony approached and now, on the eve of Arthur’s ascension to the throne, it was full to bursting. And Arthur and Merlin, perched high above their mythical kingdom, were in perfect harmony - with the stars that wheeled overhead, with the stones of Camelot beneath their feet, and with each other.
The easy camaraderie of it astounded Colin - especially after those first, god-awful days of read through - but somehow old habits, new direction and possibly sheer bloody-minded determination were winning through. And as Merlin and Arthur fell into each other’s sentences, eyes, and personal space, as if they had never been away, it was easy to be seduced into hope - until the cameras stopped. Colin was growing to hate the word cut.
He hung on to the cold, smooth stone of the parapet and thought about what the future held for Arthur and Merlin. Tonight, they were at peace with the world and with each other but it had taken them many years to get to this point. And over the next few weeks and months all that would be unravelled, all the pain and betrayal and violence they had endured to reach this peaceful night would be exposed, lived through.
Maybe that had been his and Bradley’s problem. They had delayed so long that it was, perhaps, inevitable that they should begin almost at the end of their story; that they should find themselves playing out scenes of passion and intimacy without knowing who they really were, where their true insecurities lay. But life had no editing suite; no place to sift the love with the fear or the doubts with the deeds, before reassembling everything in the right order to give them their happy ending. Somehow the best times of his life...the best of him...had ended up on the cutting room floor.
“Colin?” Hearing Bradley say his name so softly made Colin’s heart lurch up into his throat and he spun around far too quickly for someone standing so close to a lethal drop. Several hands shot out to steady him - none of them Bradley’s, who was already standing back on his mark. “C’mon. They’re ready to go again and I’m knackered.”
Colin walked over and reassumed his position. While the crew made last minute adjustments around them, he studied Bradley’s face. The lines of strain around his mouth and the blue-black smudges under his eyes were clearly visible through his make-up. For today it didn’t matter. Arthur had been through a lot to get here and if it showed, so much the better. But as shooting continued and they turned back time for Arthur and Merlin, there would be no such escape for him and Bradley.
The awful thing was Colin had never wanted to escape, not really. He’d panicked and then he’d monumentally, catastrophically fucked up. And right now, standing on top of a French castle on a warm June night, opposite the man he’d thought he might never see again, he realised just how catastrophically. Because it was a pile of shite to say all he’d wanted was a chance to explain, to put the record straight. Because two years hadn’t erased an iota of the sheer bloody hopelessness he felt, and he had no reason to suppose that another twenty years would, either.
“I’m sorry,” he said, realising this was where they’d come in, this time around.
Bradley, at least, had the grace to vary his response. “What for this time?” he said wearily.
Colin shrugged. “For losing track?” he said, unconvinced, still looking into the tired, pale eyes of his...ex-lover...ex-friend...colleague? He didn’t even know what to call Bradley any more. He shook his head. “I don’t know, Bradley - for everything. I’m sorry...for everything.”
Bradley closed his eyes. “Don’t, Colin. Just ...don’t.”
“No,” Colin whispered, “no, of course.” Because Bradley was right - they were history and he couldn’t allow himself to ruin Bradley’s life again, either.
“Quiet please, rolling.”
“Scene 191, set four, take one. Mark.”
“Action.”
Colin dropped to one knee in front of Bradley and bowed his head.
6. EXT. ENGLISH WOODLAND, A CLEARING. JULY 2013. RAIN. DAY.
A thicket of waterproof-clad crew and tarpaulin-shrouded film equipment surrounds TONY (dressed as Uther), BRADLEY (as Arthur), and RUFUS (as Lord Swinburne). The men stand in an unnatural pool of light, conversing heatedly. A little off to one side, where the brightness fades into the gloom of the wood, COLIN (as Merlin) listens intently to their conversation. The constant dripping of rain onto foliage forms a backdrop to their voices.
TONY
You are sure, Swinburne, that this is where you observed my wa-...the witch, consorting with Arthur’s servant?
RUFUS
Yes, Your Majesty, quite certain. I remember the twisted bole of that tree. They stood beside it as they plotted against you, and that very evening-”
BRADLEY (interrupting)
Yes, yes, my Lord, we’re well aware of what happened that evening. But what were you doing out this far from Camelot, unescorted? And how on earth could Merlin have got here, on foot, and still been back in time to dress me for the feast?
RUFUS
As I explained before, Sire, I was pursuing a white hart - a magnificent beast - and in my enthusiasm to bring it back as a gift for the King your father, I had left the guards he so graciously provided far behind. As for your servant’s fleetness...
RUFUS raises a brow and turns towards TONY, his hands outspread.
RUFUS
...he is a warlock.
TONY (grimly)
Quite. But we cannot hope to track them. Even without magic, this infernal rain would have-
The light on TONY’s face suddenly dims.
TONY
-shorted out the pissing light?
There is general laughter and some audible swearing.
ASSISTANT DIRECTOR (V/O)
Cut. Sorry people...
They broke for lunch, tramping back through the sodden woodland to where the unit was parked and then disappearing off to trailers to change out of wet costumes.
The food wagon was crowded, and blissfully warm, by the time Colin arrived. It appeared he’d still beaten the others to it, though - one advantage of fewer layers, he supposed, though the flip side to that particular coin was that he’d shivered his nuts off all morning without being called upon to utter a word of dialogue.
Still, the only vacant table was near the heater and the ratatouille was piping hot. He bent over the plate, enjoying the steam on his face almost as much as the warmth in his belly, and was so intent on his food that he didn’t notice the others arrive until Rufus was sliding onto the bench beside him. Tony settled opposite, Bradley joining alongside, murmuring to himself as he plonked down his plate.
“What’re you muttering about son?” Tony cocked a quizzical eyebrow at Bradley, his eyes twinkling, before taking a mouthful of his casserole.
Bradley sighed into his mashed potato. “I was saying that the only thing I hate more than having to wear chain mail all day is having to wear wet chain mail all day.”
Rufus nodded. “Seconded. Although wearing armour in the height of summer comes close.”
Colin’s chest grew tight when he saw the grin Bradley threw Rufus. “Yep, been there, done that, got the helmet.”
Rufus laughed. “At least you’re the bloody hero. Slightest whiff of a sword in my life and you can pretty much guarantee I’m the villain. Must be the saturnine looks I suppose.” He turned to Colin. “So how come you get away with it?”
Colin lifted his head slowly, hitting Rufus with his best innocent gaze. “Get away with what?”
Tony thumped the table, laughing loudly. “Ha! And that is why Arthur never guessed Merlin was magic, and why Colin has half this crew wrapped around his little finger.”
“More like all of them,” Bradley muttered and the others laughed again.
Rufus waved a fork in his general direction, “It seems the world is your oyster, Colin. So what comes next?”
“I, er...I haven’t decided definitely. But I may be following in your footsteps a bit.”
Rufus looked surprised. “As a villain?”
“No,” Colin countered softly, “as Septimus Hodge.”
Rufus sighed with pleasure. “Arcadia. I love that play - we are talking theatre, I presume?” Colin nodded. “Where? Who’s directing?”
Colin swallowed his last mouthful hurriedly. “Donmar West End, for Rupert Goold,” he was suddenly, uncomfortably aware of everyone’s attention focused on him, “with a Broadway option.”
“And you haven’t decided yet?” Tony’s incredulous squeak was a million miles away from Uther’s menacing baritone. “Bite their bloody hands off, Colin,” he raised his glass of water. “Congratulations.”
“Absolutely,” Rufus echoed, “well done.”
Colin ducked his head, feeling his cheeks heat. “Thanks.”
“So what about you, Bradley,” Rufus asked, “going to cast off the golden LA shackles and do some proper acting?”
They all knew he was joking, of course. Rufus had been in his fair share of run of the mill stuff - and a couple of decidedly dodgy US TV series for that matter - but that didn’t stop Colin’s skin from crawling with embarrassment. He desperately wanted to say something - to tell them how mesmerising Bradley had been, on that tiny stage above a London pub, in the hiatus between series three and four, stripped bare of everything but his soul and his craft. He wanted to describe the thrall that had fallen over the place, the impact of Bradley’s voice trickling its longing into that void; how Bradley had twisted the collective heart of the audience and then ripped it right out. And how he’d come bursting into the bar afterwards with such joy, such exuberance, that the desire hit Colin like a tidal wave.
Instead, he sat in dumb acceptance that he was the last advocate Bradley would want. As far as Colin was aware, he and Ruth - and maybe Bradley’s Mum - were the only people who knew that, when Bradley fled across the Atlantic two years ago, he’d left more than a broken relationship and a breached BBC contract behind. Because Bradley was too proud to harp on a past performance, or to ever make mention of the National Theatre lead he’d been offered on the strength of it.
Colin didn’t need to look at Bradley to know his smile was shallow as the note of humour in his voice when he responded, “Oh, maybe, at some point. But for now, LA has its compensations.”
Rufus chuckled, “The women or the money?”
Colin couldn’t resist a peek at that.
“Both,” Bradley deadpanned. Or maybe he meant it. “And let’s face it,” he gestured at the rain-splattered window, “the climate’s a hell of a lot better.”