you're all a part of me 2/3

[somerdaye]

previous part
Bradley finally found Angel lounging on the deck, fast asleep. A book was open and lying on her steadily rising chest, a large glass of lemonade beside her chosen chaise. There was an assortment of odd objects lying about her vicinity, too: a crossword page from a local newspaper, an Italian-English dictionary, and a thin Sharpie marker.

He smiled at the familiar sight, brushing a stray curl behind her ear.

A few years ago, Angel had been determined to 'connect' with her onscreen brother. (No, Bradley, she wasn't going to sleep with him and no, Colin, she wasn't a good enough actress to be a loving sister to a complete stranger.) So she searched for something they had in common for weeks and came up with absolutely nothing.

Ade would talk to Bradley about footie or eighties power ballads, he and Colin could spend hours discussing character motivations, and he'd made a friend for life out of Katie when he asked if her purse was Burberry. Angel, depressingly enough, could find nothing.

Despite her claims of not being talented enough to portray love to a stranger, she managed well enough for the emotional scenes. It was the one, with Elyan and Guinevere discussing Arthur and their late father, that she had trouble with. "I don't have siblings," she'd wail to anybody listening. "I have no idea how I'm supposed to act!"

Eventually, she decided the best way to 'connect' with Adetomiwa was to just talk to him - which would have been obvious to anybody competent.

So she showed up at his hotel room with Chinese food, and they watched bad French television and made fun of Bradley. They were 'connecting' rather well, but Angel solidified the bond when she spotted the newspapers piled on Ade's bedside table.

"Why do you have so many?" she'd asked, laughing.

He'd given her a sheepish grin and said that he liked doing the crossword every morning with his breakfast and yes, he was basically a pensioner at heart.

That was the end of that. Angel very soon got just as addicted to crosswords, even going so far as to buy French newspapers while they were in Pierrefonds and badgering the tourists and extras around her until she found one that could help translate.

Now it seemed she'd cracked and grabbed herself an Italian newspaper. It was already filled in, too, of course. Angel wasn't one to do things half-way.

"Tu est un grande loser," Bradley said, chuckling.

The word sparked something in him, and when he glimpsed the Sharpie, lying on the deck floor, that spark turned into a lightning storm of brilliance.

He stooped to pick up the marker, wary of waking her. He uncapped it and, very gently, took Angel's face in his hand. Her skin was obscenely soft as always, and it took a great deal of willpower not to nuzzle her cheek like a housecat again. Breathing evenly, Bradley knew he had to be as quiet and careful as possible if he wanted to make this work.

He finished the R painstakingly before stepping back to admire his own genius.

Angel turned slightly in her sleep, mumbling nonsense.

There was a choked noise from behind Bradley, who spun to see Colin, smothering shocked laughter with both hands. The sight was so precious Bradley bit down on his knuckles to keep from laughing with pure glee and waking Angel up.

It was like season one all over again.

When Colin got a hold on himself, he brought his hands from his mouth and whispered, "Truly inspired."

"Yes, well," Bradley said with a cheeky grin, "not everyone appreciates true art."

He knew it was impossible, but he couldn't help hoping desperately that Colin could hear the words behind the words. The I don't want to leave you, any of you; the I'm not ready; the so I'm thinking we should totally buy BFF keychains; the you think you'd be cool with getting a flat together so I can postpone our goodbye for as long as possible?

The I think I need you.

Colin smiled. "Lucky I'm here or you'd have to be forced to admit you're not funny."

"Go get into your tranny costume," said Bradley, pointing to the French doors with a laugh. "And leave me to bask in my own awesome."

That wiped the smile off Colin's face quite effectively, and it was with the air of a five-year-old being coerced into schoolclothes that he said, "Do I have to?"

Bradley didn't answer, because it was obviously a rhetorical question. Sure enough, when he glanced away from Angel's sleeping form, Colin'd already disappeared into the house.

If you asked Bradley, later, how Angel's date went, he honestly couldn't tell you. All he knew was Angel's barista must have liked her quite a bit to never once mention the LOSER written across her forehead in black marker, and that Colin looked bloody hilarious in the Madonna costume, even if he did spend at least 98% of the date glaring daggers at Bradley's head.

Bradley'd had to leave early so as not to alert Angel to their presence via a crazy hyena laugh, but it was totally worth it.

Okay, so Colin was really starting to act strange.

At first Bradley just assumed his best mate was still grumpy about being coerced into a holiday to a beautiful country - the poor soul - but he'd seemed fine all day. Happy, even. Irritated that the sparkles weren't coming off his skin, yes, but besides that... Right up until the moment he walked into their shared room.

The lines of Colin's back were tense as he searched for a t-shirt that didn't smell too bad. Bradley was leaning against his headboard, bragging about Italy to his sister via multiple text messages saying variations of HAH and MUM STILL LIKES ME BETTER ANYWAY. He heard Colin cough, and he looked up, just then realising that Colin was about as stiff as a robot. Bradley frowned.

"All right?" he asked, and was answered by the way Colin twitched violently at the sound of his voice. Yet he still turned his head and grinned in a very unconvincing way at Bradley.

"Course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

His voice was airy, but Bradley had worked with this man for over six years now, and there was no way he wouldn't have noticed the of-course-I'm-not-a-sorcerer tone of his voice or the Morgana's-planning-something-again-and-I'm-the-only-one-who-can-stop-her set of his shoulders.

He hated seeing Colin like that, all strung out and jumpy. God knew what was causing it, but it made Bradley feel all helpless and anxious - which were not Good Feelings.

"You seem..." He gestured his hand vaguely as he searched for the word. "Tense."

Colin laughed. No, Colin forced a laugh. Did he really think that Bradley couldn't read him like a book? "I'm fine. Really, Bradley, keep seeing things and I'll be having you sectioned."

Stiff shoulders. Forced laughs. Bad jokes.

Something was definitely wrong.

"Want a massage or something?" offered Bradley. He knew sore muscles when he saw them, and though he wasn't entirely sure what Colin had been doing to pull one, he also didn't want to see the Irishman in pain.

Colin's posture tensed so suddenly that Bradley thought he might have convulsed.

"No. No. No, thank you. No."

With that, Colin decided to just leave his shirt off and got into bed, huddling under the blankets with his back to Bradley.

"Col?" Bradley asked in a cautious voice. He got a grunt in reply. He took that to mean he could continue talking. He set his phone down, ignoring his sister's spam of MUM THINKS YOUR A PRAT LOL. "You... are you sure you're feeling all right?" You've never done this to me before. You've never shut me out unless you wanted to do some method acting. You've never acted like nothing was wrong when something obviously is. You've never ignored me like this.

"Fine."

But Bradley wasn't going to let that stop him. He laid down on his side, watching Colin for reactions. Not that it was easy to see anything, but the redness of his ear gave quite a bit away. Now, if only Bradley knew what it was giving away...

"Morgan?"

"What do you want, Bradley?" Colin snapped, still facing the wall.

Bradley was taken aback.

Well, fine. If Colin didn't want to divulge his deep, dark secrets, or whatever, then Bradley wasn't going to keep asking. "Nothing," he said in a curt voice, rolling over to glare out the window. He didn't even see the stars or the far-off lights of another coast, he was too busy fuming.

Whatever. Bradley didn't care what Colin's deal was. If he didn't want to talk, then he didn't want to talk.

It's not like it mattered.

"Night," Colin's voice drifted to him in a much more gentle tone.

The side of his mouth lifted without permission, and just as suddenly as it came, the anger was gone. That's all it had ever took with Colin - they'd never needed I Was Wrong speeches or teary apologies. They just needed to stop being arses and start being friendly again.

"Goodnight, Col," Bradley said. His voice might have sounded overly warm to anyone but the man across the room.

Still. He was going to figure out what was wrong. He had to.

Colin definitely dreamt, and Bradley definitely featured pretty heavily in them, but the details were fuzzy at best. It didn't help that he couldn't stop thinking about the night before, the feel of Bradley's hands running all over his face and the blond's proximity.

He kept his eyes squeezed shut, trying to slip back into his dream. It had been so lovely, too, if only he could remember...

He'd been kissing along Bradley's skin, which was wet and tasted very salty though they most certainly weren't on the beach. The light was greenish and murky, though, like they were under the sea or something ridiculous.

This place was messing with Colin's head.

The location wasn't the important part, anyway. The point was, Colin could practically hear Bradley's laboured breathing, his gasps of Colin, oh fuck, fuck, Colin as he pulled Colin even closer. His hands were large and warm and fit perfectly in the small of Colin's back. (Which was mostly just wistful thinking - he'd no way of knowing where Bradley's hands would fit on his body, but he'd sure like to find out.)

This was so unhealthy, Colin bemoaned silently. He was acting like a teenager in heat. It was wrong, too - Bradley was his mate and Colin didn't like to think of what kind of expression he'd make if he ever found out about the dreams. That wasn't enough to stop Colin's imagination, though, and with a quick acknowledgement of his one-way ticket to hell, he wrapped a sweaty hand around his morning-stiff cock and pulled roughly.

He wasn't worried about making too much noise. Seven years of wanking whenever his parents happened to be out, shameful and quick against the tiled walls of the shower just in case they came home early had really taken a toll on him, and he'd often been asked by previous lovers if he was even enjoying himself.

Moving his hands in fast strokes, needing release as soon as possible, Colin pictured Bradley's lips wrapped around him, pupils blown wide, cheeks hollowed and flushed pink. It took an embarrassingly short amount of time after that, and before long Colin was coming over his hand with nothing more than a low hum escaping his lips.

He laid there, panting slightly, trying to come back to himself.

A low snore reminded Colin that he wasn't alone in the room, and he started so violently he fell off the bed with a yelp, tangled in his sheets.

Bradley slept on.

With the bitter thought that no human should be allowed to look so sexy with drool pooling on his pillow, Colin heaved himself up to find a shower and hoped he wouldn't run into anybody asking pointed questions about the incriminating stain on his sleep trousers.

Thank fuck, he thought in relief as he dashed into the bathroom and locked the door. His ex-co-stars were probably the nosiest people he'd ever met in his life, excluding his mother's side of the family, and he really wasn't in the mood to talk to anybody. (Least of all Angel, who would take one look at his disheveled appearance and crack the hell up.)

He gingerly pulled his clothes off, glaring at the trousers which would either have to be washed thoroughly or burned in the dead of night. He showered quickly, not daring to touch the hot water tap lest Santiago chop his hands off.

Upon stepping out of the shower and wrapping a giant beach towel around his waist, Colin realised he was a complete moron. He'd forgotten a change of clothes in his haste to get away from Bradley's stupid, naked back. He threw his pyjamas into the hamper, hoping that nobody would look too closely at them. It was a vain hope, he knew - if Angel or Rupert could stumble across any kind of personal item belonging to someone else and leave it be, Colin would happily dive in with the stingrays.

When he left the bathroom, Angel was walking towards it. She looked like she always did in the morning: curls piled onto her head in an attempt to keep them out of her face, thick woollen socks for her ever-freezing feet, and a blank look in her eyes that confessed she was more zombie than human.

The difference between this morning and any other one was very simple: the black lines forming the word LOSER were smudged all over her forehead.

She waved blearily at Colin as she passed him, closing the loo door behind her.

Eoin poked his head out of his bedroom door with a grin.

"She gone?" he asked, stepping out to join Colin in the hallway. "Thank God. I was trying to scrounge up some breakfast when she came out and I nearly busted up laughing. Bradley's mental, we all know that, but I'd reckon he's some kind of mad genius, too."

Colin made a non-committal noise, hoping Eoin wouldn't notice his reluctance on the subject of one Bradley James.

No such luck.

"Yeah, you've been kind of weird about him lately. You can't even deny it; Angel probably has it on tape."

"I won't," Colin sighed, adjusting his towel and hoping fervently that Santiago wouldn't murder him for dripping water everywhere. "It's just… it's a bit weird, yeah, to be staying in the same room as him. It's… hard, I guess."

Eoin gave him an unsettlingly knowing look. "Uncomfortable, like?"

"Very much so. I can hardly breathe at night, let alone sleep."

"I'll switch you rooms, if you'd like," Eoin offered. Rather gracious of him, too, in Colin's opinion, considering Bradley's ongoing fascination with Eoin's hair and whether or not it could be braided.

"You'd do that?" asked Colin, touched.

"In a heartbeat," Eoin said, "Merlin, my friend."

The familiar endearment made something burning prickle at the back of Colin's throat, almost as if he were about to burst into tears.

Ever since they'd arrived in Italy, Colin had been forced to accept that these people, who he'd worked and lived and laughed and cried with on and off for nearly seven years, might never come into his life again.

He might never kiss Angel at midnight on his birthday and exclaim to whatever pub they're in that he'd just stolen Queen Guinevere away but was perfectly willing to trade her for the right price. He might never see Ade and Rupert play ping-pong like they were paddling for England, so focused and determined that nothing but the call of Knights on set! could break their reverie. He might never get a chance to meet Anna Cabrera or even lay eyes on her and Santiago's hypothetical children.

With startling clarity, he understood why Bradley had been so insistent on this trip, and couldn't blame him in the slightest. If they were only to have a few last weeks together, they better be the best damn few weeks of their careers. It was always better to go out with a bang.

Before Colin could do something embarrassing like actually burst into tears or embrace Eoin while he was mostly naked, somebody coughed rather pointedly behind them.

Colin turned, and his heart dropped into his gut at the stony expression on Bradley's face.

"That's probably a good idea," Bradley said. Colin felt a chill run up his spine, like Bradley's frosty tone was physically affecting him.

His eyes flashed, and he looked so like Arthur for a split second, angry and hurt that he'd been lied to for years. His best friend was a sorcerer and nobody'd bothered telling him.

Only Colin wasn't practicing illegal magic, he was just -

Oh.

"Oh, Bradley, no, I didn't mean -"

"No, it's fine," Bradley said, sounding like it was anything but, "I wouldn't want you feeling uncomfortable or anything."

"Bradley, that isn't -"

Colin was cut off from whatever excuse his mouth was going to provide without first getting looked over by his brain when a loud scream penetrated the hallway. Not that he really knew what he was going to say, exactly.

It's not what you think, Bradley, I'm not abandoning you and you're my best mate and all, but I honestly just cannot wake up like that anymore without having some kind of panic attack and, oh, by the way, can I kiss your ear? And pretty much every other part of you, really.

Yeah, that would fly.

Angel barreled out of the bathroom door, unbalancing Colin, who fell into Eoin with an oof. She was practically spitting fire, and very suddenly the whole LOSER thing wasn't so funny.

"Bradley James Gregory," she said in a low, dangerous voice. Colin and Eoin both reflexively cringed away.

Bradley blanched, undoubtedly having flashbacks of his own mother, nostrils flared and eyes shooting lasers for some teenage mishap.

"Hey, Angel," he said, attempting a shaky smile. Angel turned her glare up to eleven.

"How long?" she snarled. "How long was that on me?"

"Since you, er, fell asleep on the deck yesterday, actually…"

"What?"

Eoin did the smartest thing available in such a situation - he grabbed Colin's hand and booked it for the farthest room, Santiago and Rupert's. They barged in and managed to get the door shut in time to muffle the first string of How dare you, Bradley James, how fucking dare you? I know you don't like Vito, but to pull such childish bullshit! You're a bloody sodding ADULT, you fucker!

Santiago was sitting in bed, staring at the door with a mix of astonishment and pure horror. Rupert simply laughed.

"Mouth of a trucker, that one," he said fondly, turning back to his laptop.

"Can I borrow some clothes, possibly?" asked Colin, who was holding the enormous towel up with one hand. "I'm not going back out there anytime soon and I'd rather not hang about naked."

Nodding absently, Santiago gestured to his open suitcase, which was placed neatly in the closet. Rupert's duffel bag was shoved under his bed, out of sight. (Colin and Bradley had just thrown their belongings akimbo, not even caring when they stubbed their toes on a stray suitcase for the fifth time.)

While Colin searched through Santiago's clothes and Katie's irritated voice joined the fray out in the hall, Eoin plopped down on Rupert's mattress, peering at the laptop screen with interest.

"Is that the Sims, mate?"

Rupert nodded, too absorbed in his sadistic playing-God game to give a proper response.

"And is that - Rupert, are those our characters?"

"Yeah," said Rupert, "Lancelot and Guinevere just ran away together. I think they're planning babies." Colin snorted, pulling on some of the looser-looking clothing with barely a self-conscious thought. If he could show his body off on stage, he could certainly do it in front of a few of his mates - who weren't even looking at him, really.

Eoin leaned closer to the laptop. "Why is Leon surrounded by women?"

"He's a boss, and they recognise that."

Dressed and intrigued, Colin practically sat in Rupert's lap to check out the impressive simulated castle. A Bradley-likeness was sobbing while a Sim that looked vaguely like Rupert if he were to be merged with Brad Pitt and the Hulk flexed his muscles for a crowd of adoring fans.

"Looks legit. Where am I?"

"Getting drunk with Gwaine," Rupert said in a duh voice.

"Sounds legit," Colin and Eoin chimed with matching grins. They'd been to enough pubs together that getting sloshed was practically an art between them.

Angel had reached her swearing-only stage of pissed-off, and was currently calling Bradley a cocksucking bloody fucking fuckwad.

The word cocksucking reminded Colin as to why he was up and about so early, anyway. "Are we really switching rooms?" he asked Eoin with a small frown.

Eoin shrugged. "If you want. Bradley seemed cool with it. We'll let Tom know and move our stuff around when the harpy's done her harping."

Bradley most certainly had not seemed 'cool', but Colin knew he couldn't spend one more night with the blond peacefully sleeping away so close to him, and agreed, watching Lancelot and Guinevere getting father and farther away from the castle.




At some point during the night, Colin supposed he must have rolled onto the floor. That seemed to be the only logical explanation for why Katie was suddenly so tall. She grinned down at him from her Amazonian height, enjoying his misfortune.

"You look like a man that could use a drink," she said, offerring a hand to help him stand up. Fuck standing.

Colin snorted. "Do I?" He ignored her hand, staring up at the ceiling instead. With a half-hearted kick at Colin's side, Katie dropped to the ground, sitting cross-legged by his head.

"Yep." She examined him closer and prodded one of his ears before declaring, "Vodka. Straight up. Maybe some whiskey afterwards if you can stomach it."

"You read me like a book."

They sat in companionable silence for what might have been a few minutes, but time was hard to keep track of in this house straight out of a fairytale. The sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs was prominent, and Katie brushed her hair out of her face just as a flock of gulls flew overhead. If they really strained their ears, they could hear faint traffic, a few streets away. But enclosed in Santiago's pine-laden home, with the walls alternating between a white sand and a robin blue depending on the room, the large windows thrown open so the whole place smelled of salt - the outside world seemed so very far away. It was easy to believe anything was possible in these walls.

Here, the idea of just grabbing Bradley and kissing him within an inch of their lives was less fanciful, less ridiculous - and that was what made this place so dangerous.

"May I ask what's causing you the urge to do irreversible damage to your liver?" Katie asked. Her voice was soft, as if she could feel the spell-like quality of the air and didn't wish to disturb it any more than necessary.

Colin counted the rafters above him. Twice. When he looked over, Katie still seemed to be waiting patiently for a response.

"Dunno," he said, not even attempting to make the word sound like the truth. What would be the point? "Where are you going? After this break thing, I mean?" He asked it just to deflect the conversation away from him and his own troubles. Katie saw right through him, of course. She always did. However, the tense way Colin was holding his neck spoke volumes, and she obliged him the change of subject.

"I hope," she said, leaning back against the couch, "I'll have some more work put to me. You know I still haven't auditioned for Doctor Who? I really need to get on that. Failing that, though..."

She talked and talked and talked some more, even when Colin thought she had to have been running out of breath or things to say. She talked about her modeling; the movie she was lined up to shoot with Robert Sheehan in April; her family and friends and flat and -

"I'm in love with a complete moron," Colin blurted. Katie didn't seem at all bothered to be interrupted during her tirade on the British schooling system. She gave him a twisted little smile of understanding and empathy.

"Been there. Many times. I'd say now's a spiffing time to go out and get tanked, don't you?" She slapped his stomach and stood, forcing him up with her.

"Thanks," Colin muttered, stretching to relieve his muscles of the ache from the wooden floor.

"And between you and me," said Katie, giving him a look that was teetering between mischievous and pity, "I'd keep that to yourself. There aren't too many people Colin Manners Morgan would go around calling a complete moron, now are there?"

Colin just stared at her. She sighed and patted his shoulder.

"Drunk," she said firmly. "Now."

After the fourth drink, Katie started wondering if anyone had ever informed Colin of his rather magnificent ability to babble while sad and intoxicated, or if they'd just found it as funny as she did and kept their mouths shut in hopes of a repeat performance.

She fought to keep a straight face as Colin glowered at the far wall of the pub, in full-swing about Bradley.

More specifically, Bradley's chest.

"I don't even - I don't understand why he, Arthur that is, has to take his bloody shirt off so often anyway. I me- I mean, do the writers, like, plan it or some shit, or does Johnny just go, 'oh no, we haven't tortured Colin enough in this, this, um, episode, so let's get Arthur - and by Arthur I mean Bradley to strip off and let's see how long it takes him to crack! It's shit, Katie, pure shit."

It was pointless to school her expression into sympathy, but Katie did so anyway. She squeezed the hand that wasn't clutching a pint of whiskey, and Colin didn't even break in his speech, stil glaring at the wall as though it was the reason Bradley was consistently without a shirt.

"And, and, and, Katie, have you ever tried Googling our names together? Not yours and mine, I mean, we're usually pretty safe, but when you go and you, you Google 'Colin Morgan and Bradley James', guess what shows up, huh? Huh? Guess!"

"What shows up?" asked Katie, as if she didn't already know.

"Sex!" Colin exclaimed, throwing his hands up and spilling whiskey on his shoulder. "Sex sex sex and then some more sex! It's all they do, all they wri-write about! It's all I see anytime I try to read one of our interviews, Katie - SEX."

Colin was starting to attract attention to himself. Katie grinned apologetically at the confused Italians in the pub, still holding in uproarious laughter.

Well, what did Colin expect to find? Well-written, constructive, interesting critique or well-written, constructive, interesting smut?

"No," she said. If Colin were sober, he'd pick up on the sarcasm immediately. As it was, he just said, "I know!" in a loud voice and went back to glaring at nothing.

"I mean -" he started, and suddenly he looked so vulnerable Katie wanted to hug him to her and shield him from the rest of the cruel world. "I mean... why do they write shit like that, Kate? Do they... do they know? Am I that obvious? Or do they just - just -"

"Have eyes?"

Colin finally looked at her, with his big puppy eyes, and Katie sighed, squeezing his hand again.

"Col, it's not that you're obvious," she said, choosing her words as carefully as she could. "I'm sure they wouldn't guess in a million years that it's true. But you and Bradley have this... connection, I suppose you'd say, and more chemistry on-screen than you've had with anyone else. Ever. The fans are going to pick up on that, you realise." He didn't look very reassured, so she added, "It's not just sex they write about, either."

"Yeah?" Colin scoffed, jerking his hand away from Katie's. "What else do they write about, then, huh, because sex is - it's pretty much all I've ever found."

Katie had a sneaking suspicion that Colin had purposefully clicked on links rated NC-17 only so he could later prove this particular argument, but she didn't voice this aloud in fear of a drunken outburst.

The first time she'd stumbled upon the Merlin fandom had been a complete accident, whatever Angel might say. She really had been looking for an interview, like Colin claimed to have been doing. Instead, after clicking on a couple of promising-looking links, she was suddenly in a corner of the internet where Colin, Bradley and the two characters they'd spent the past five years playing were unashamedly gay... and fucking... and these fans seemed to only get fuelled further when they heard anything to the contrary.

Since that accidental discovery, Katie had read quite a good share of the fans' stories, finally deciding to accept her non-negotiable ticket to hell and brave the 'Real Person Fic'.

And it was good. It was art.

What else was out there besides sex? Well, everything. She'd seen every kind of characterisation under the moon - shy, reserved Colin taking the lead, jumping headlong into love, even having a go at being the once and future king instead of his lowly manservant - loud, boisterous Bradley choosing footy instead of acting, turning into a quivering recluse in his unrequited love for the other, even losing every memory he'd ever had through a bad injury - and, yes, there'd been quite a lot of sex thrown in as well.

The one thing, though, that most of them could agree on, was that Colin-and-Bradley, Bradley-and-Colin, the dynamic duo, would be kind of fantastic together.

However, she couldn't really see Colin comprehending everything she'd been throwing at him for the past hour, having gained the status of Official Lightweight a long time ago, so when he demanded to know - for the second time that night - what, besides sex, had been written about them, she simply said, "They write about love."

Colin looked so helpless that she really had no choice but to take the bottle from him and down the rest in one.

Bradley woke up at seven in the morning, cursing Julian for screwing up his sleep patterns indefinitely. He turned to throw a pillow at Colin, wake him up, too, say something stupid like "Let's have you, lazy-daisy!" just to make him grin that stupid grin - but Colin wasn't the one sleeping soundly in the second bed.

He glowered at the lump of blankets concealing Eoin, like it was his fault Colin didn't want to be near him anymore.

It wasn't as if he was angry with Colin - a little hurt, yeah, but he'd never been able to stay mad at the Irishman for long. Something in the way Colin would either scoff and tell Bradley to get over it or keep his distance, giving Bradley wounded-puppy looks from across set, made the cracks in Bradley's anger split wide open to make way for a content smile.

Not fancying the option of lying in bed and wallowing, Bradley swung his legs out of bed and popped his shoulder back into place with an audible crack and a groan. He'd been sore for years, thanks to all the stupid chainmail, but he was really starting to feel all the aches and pains of a king.

His stomach rumbled, loud enough to make Eoin turn over in his sleep.

"Shut up," Bradley said, poking himself in the stomach. "I'll get you some food, keep your knickers on."

With that, he stood and exited the Colin-free room, stretching his arms above his head as he went. He didn't see anyone else on the way to the stairs, but he could hear Santiago talking quietly on the phone and the clacking of Rupert's keyboard.

Bradley bounded down the wooden stairs, wondering idly if Santiago would be all right with him cooking bacon and making a mess in the kitchen.

Probably not, he shrugged to himself as his feet hit the ground floor.

His eyes flickered to the living room area on his quest to conquer the roaring monster in his belly and he stopped in his tracks at the image presented to him.

Colin was stretched along the couch, facing the back cushions and curling around something. A second glance told Bradley that the something was Katie; her hair in complete disarray and her legs entwined with Colin's. They looked so sweet it made Bradley's throat hurt.

Maybe Colin just didn't want to be Bradley's friend anymore, but was too damn polite to say anything. Maybe that was why he was uncomfortable and withdrawn since the wrap party. Maybe that was why Bradley often caught Colin looking his way with a conflicted expression. Maybe that was why Bradley hadn't been informed of Colin's - rather obvious, now he thought on it - feelings for Katie.

As he watched, Colin smiled in his sleep and nuzzled into Katie's hair, blocking his face from Bradley's view quite effectively.

The domestic movement caused a jolt to go through Bradley's spine, startling him into action.

He turned his back on his cuddling co-stars (ex-co-stars, he scolded himself for the umpteenth time) and forced the glaring hurt from the front of his mind, focusing instead on getting to the bloody kitchen and making a very bacony mess.

It wasn't like he didn't expect something like this. Colin was free to do as he wished.

Bradley just sometimes forgot that he didn't actually have control over Colin's life; that Colin's didn't actually worship the ground he walked on. Sometimes it slipped his mind that they weren't Arthur and Merlin, and Katie wasn't someone to be feared and hated, no matter what a persistent part of his brain insisted.

He just... didn't understand.

When did Colin start fancying her? How long had they been together? Most importantly, why didn't he talk to Bradley about it all? They were supposed to be friends, right?

Maybe, a nasty voice in his head supplied, Colin was never really your friend. Maybe now that he doesn't have to work with you he's free to pretend you never existed.

Bradley wanted to argue with himself - as mad as that sounded - but any protest he thought of seemed weak.

He probably shouldn't ask Colin about the flat idea. It was a stupid idea, anyway, and if Colin couldn't be near him for a day in another country, how difficult would living together end up being? He wouldn't ask. He couldn't.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't realise he had company in the kitchen until Tom, who was standing by the stove, wave a hand and called his name.

"Brad, you there?"

"Yeah," said Bradley. He hoisted what felt like a smile on his face. Tom gave him a curious look in return. He opened his mouth, thought better of it, and gestured to the stove.

"I just threw on some bacon - want some?"

"How is that even a question?" Bradley hopped onto one of the island stools, glad he wouldn't be the one Santiago beat with a frying pan for messing up the gleaming kitchen with his failed attempts at cooking. "Why're you up so early, anyway?"

"I was worried about Colin," Tom replied, prodding at the barely-sizzling bacon with an orange plastic spatula. "He didn't come back last night, so I came down to see if he fell asleep watching the telly or - something."

"Or something," Bradley muttered.

"Yes, they did look pretty cozy," said Tom. He sounded so pragmatic that Bradley couldn't muster up a proper scowl.

"I was going to ask him if he wanted to live together," he blurted. Tom remained quiet, not looking Bradley's way. The latter pillowed his face in his arms and continued with a muffled, "But I guess he'll be returning to the motherland with McGrath."

"You should ask him anyway," Tom said. "The Katie thing is probably just a fling."

"Logic has no business interrupting my melodramatics," Bradley said, rolling his head to the side so he could glare at the tall man.

"Would you like some tea to drown your sorrows in?" Tom smiled, already searching the cupboards for the kettle Santiago swore on his mother's life was in there somewhere. Bradley grinned.

"You know, Hopper, you should move in with me instead. You'd make such a lovely wife."

"Piss off," Tom advised him, plugging the elusive kettle in beside the stove.

They stayed in companionable silence for a while. Tom brought Bradley his tea and bacon with a small smile before taking a seat to eat his own breakfast. The smell of bacon wafted all around them, and before he could stop himself Bradley wondered what Colin would say if he found them eating bacon.

"Want to go for a run?"

"Sounds good."

They left the dishes in the sink with only a small twinge of guilt for Santiago's reaction, changed quickly, and were out the door before anybody else came out to investigate the noise or the scent of sizzling pork meat.

As Bradley pounded down the unfamiliar, colourful streets with Tom, steady at his side, he didn't feel any better.

It hurt. It hurt to think that Colin didn't care as much as he let on - as much as Bradley did. He felt like a teenager whose best mate had found new, cooler friends who didn't play Zork and quote David Bowie at every opportunity.

Not that he'd know anything about that feeling, mind. It was just an - an example.

Katie was the first to wake up, but she didn't move in fear of kicking Colin straight onto the floor. She didn't really want to be pressed into the back of the couch all day either, though, so she tilted her head up and licked his nose.

"Eugh," he groaned, rolling over - and straight onto the floor. She half-crawled to the edge of the couch, looking down at him, flat on his back, confused as to how exactly he'd found himself there. He made a face at her. "Ow. Fuck. Head's killing me." He moaned wordlessly, bringing his arms up to block the sunlight. Katie nodded, stopping almost immediately at the rattling she could have sworn she heard coming from inside her head.

"We should..." she started, then trailed off. What exactly should they be doing? She couldn't remember what she'd been about to say. Odd.

"Sleep?" suggested Colin.

"No," she said. She shook her head for emphasis, but then the rattling started up again, and that was really starting to worry her. Heads were absolutely not supposed to rattle. She closed her eyes to think better without that blasted light burning into her eyelids. Last night she'd drank a bit too much, she remembered that. For some reason, she recalled a very drunken game of chess being played, and she thought she might have won. She snapped her fingers suddenly, causing Colin to start and jolt his knee against the coffee table. Over his cusses, she declared, "Ibuprofen. We need Ibuprofen. Now."

"Oh," said Colin. He looked surprised. "That's a good idea. Why didn't I think of that?"

"You're on the floor," said Katie sagely. "Wisdom is only granted to those who aren't so hungover they rolled off a couch. Now, come on, let's get up."

"Okay. Getting up."

It took them another ten or fifteen minutes to actually get up, stretching and moaning and clutching their heads all the while. Surely they hadn't actually gotten that drunk, had they?

Colin stopped dead, halfway to his feet with the support of the coffee table - which he'd apologised to for kicking - and bit his lip. "I think I'm - going to -"

She'd never moved quicker when hungover. Grabbing Colin's arm, she sprinted to the kitchen and shoved his head above the sink, nearly breaking his nose on the faucet. While he was sick into Santiago's sparkling sink - which they were going to dearly pay for, she could already tell - she stroked the back of his neck and murmured absolute gibberish that might have sounded comforting or just stupid.

"Mr Lightweight have a wee bit too much to drink?" an amused Irish voice asked from the island. Katie looked up at Eoin and shrugged.

"You could say that. Do you happen to know where the Ibuprofen is?" Priority Number One was getting rid of that unnatural rattling in her head as soon as she possibly could. Eoin nodded - like a normal person could - and got up to rifle through the drawer closest to the stove.

"Here," he said, tipping two into her open palm and placing the bottle on the counter beside her. "Once's he's done vomiting, give him a few. He looks like he needs them."

She swallowed both pills dry, breathing through her mouth. The smell of vomit always made her retch, and she was pretty certain that while a defiled sink was grounds for punishment, a sick-splattered floor would be grounds for execution or something. Eoin grinned as if he could read her mind - or possibly she'd said her thoughts aloud.

"What gave him reason to drink like that?" Eoin asked, genuinely curious. Colin didn't often drink, but when he did, he knew his limits. Certainly, Eoin had never seen his drinking buddy look like this the morning after.

Katie hesitated.

"Go on," gasped Colin. "You can say. Don't care." That was all he managed before he started retching again.

To Eoin, she said, "Some call it love. Some call it stupidity. Some call it homosexuality. Either way, he had definite reason to tell his liver to fuck off, trust me."

"Ah," said Eoin. He rubbed Colin's shoulder soothingly. "Bad luck, mate. And I'm guessing it's no coincidence that you can't look Stupidity himself in the eye anymore, is it?" Colin's silence was answer enough, and Eoin sighed, walking over to take a glass from the cupboard and fill it with water from the jug in the fridge. They'd been told not to drink too much of that, to just drink the tap water, but Eoin didn't really fancy the odds of running the water whilst Colin's head was stuck under it.

They managed to get Colin sitting on the couch again, weak and wrapped in a blanket, but sitting just fine. He held his drink so tightly his knuckles started turning white, and his eyes never left the telly screen, which was turned onto an Italian dub of Doctor Who.

"Think he's okay?" Katie muttered to Eoin as they scrubbed the sink and counters clean again. He grimaced.

"No, probably not. It explains why he's been so odd lately, but..."

There it was. The one thing Katie had tried not to think about the night before, because she'd been focused so much on Colin. But... Bradley was straight. But... Colin was avoiding Bradley. But... Bradley didn't know why. But... Bradley was hurt.

But... they weren't speaking to each other. At all.

It was just weird to think about, because when Katie thought of 'Bradley and Colin', she thought of the pranksters, the boys in mens' bodies who sung really bad pop songs at six in the morning, the actors who moved flawlessly around one another without even practicing any sort of blocking. Why would they need to? They knew each other's bodies and reactions so well, they could have played each other's characters with no trouble at all.

She certainly never thought they'd grow up. Sure, they still played immature pranks - come on, the 'je suis loser' thing wasn't funny to begin with, why'd they have to bring it back? - and she'd occasionally heard them singing softly in the early hours of the morning, when they thought no one was awake. That was before Colin had switched rooms, of course, and gotten Bradley all upset.

It just wasn't normal to see them so distant from each other. Katie didn't like it at all.

"Guys." Colin's voice was completely deadpan, but there was something in it that sounded more human than the monotone responses they'd gotten from him after pulling him from the sink. "Guys. Come and see this."

After exchanging a confused glance, Katie and Eoin tred through the hallway and into the living room, not sure what to expect.

What they found was Angel, dressed in her Queen Guinevere garb, on the telly. Speaking Italian.

They sat down immediately. The Italian was impossible to understand, but the three Irish mates didn't have a damn to give. They made up storylines, spoke English for the characters, and got Colin laughing again. His smile didn't falter even when Bradley came onscreen - shirtless, of course - he only scoffed, then laughed some more.

"I think one of the Js might fancy him," said Colin, snickering. "Did someone burn all his shirts or something?"

Katie and Eoin grinned at each other.

Colin really, really, really didn't want to be here.

He'd kicked and screamed and complained and sobbed and done everything he could to get out of it. (Well, more accurately, he just sort of whinged a bit.) Yet he still ended up dragged along on another 'field trip', this time with everyone else. "It'll be fun," wheedled Angel.

There was absolutely nothing fun about walking around in unbearable heat while watching your moron bound around like a puppy. Nothing at all.

Besides, Colin was trying to avoid Bradley. His night of destroying internal organs really made him think about this... whatever it was. Crush? He was too old for crushes. Obsession? Well, he wouldn't really go that far. Then he found himself glaring at the back of Bradley's kneecaps because even they were sexy, damn it, and decided that 'obsession' was a fine word to use. Still, he had to stop it. Bradley was straight and Colin was going completely nuts over every little interaction.

It just had to stop.

This had to stop.

Bradley glanced back at Colin for the upteenth time, frowning. He was kind of surprised Colin hadn't noticed yet, but the latter was busy scowling at Bradley's legs, which... well, okay.

Really, though, Colin had to stop this. It was like six years of friendship didn't even matter all of a sudden. Like Bradley hadn't spent the previous Christmas with Colin's family because his was in Miami. Like they'd never spent countless nights at the top of Pierrefonds, laughing all the way up the stairs and long into the night. Like Bradley wasn't the first person Colin called when his grandfather died.

Like they were strangers.

To be honest, Bradley was more hurt, and confused, than angry, but anger was just so much easier to pull off without looking like a horomonal teenage girl in a mansuit.

It just really, really, really had to stop.

"They're acting like children," Eoin said in a low voice. Katie snickered. They were walking quite a ways behind the rest of the group, uninterested in Santiago's tour guide act.

"Nothing new there, then. Trust me, they'll work it out. They're best friends." Katie wasn't entirely certain of her own words, but Eoin seemed reassured, even when Bradley glowered back yet again and Colin didn't notice. She paused. "I give it two days."

"Four," Eoin countered, and they shook hands with difficulty, not pausing in their strides.

Rupert just really wanted some chicken.

He'd been craving it since before they even arrived in Italy.

Everyone told him that it was easier to eat what was already in the house, then restock it on the last day.

How hard would it be to go and buy some damn chicken, for just one night?

His life was so hard.

Sometime during Santiago's makeshift tour of the tiny village, they came across a schoolyard with ridiculous amounts of foliage.

"Who keeps this many trees where children can climb and fall off them?" Tom asked, sounding amused. "I mean, I might, but I don't much like kids. This is a school, they're supposed to. Sort of."

"Right?" Colin and Bradley snickered in unison. After an uncomfortable moment in which they refused to look at each other, Eoin clapped his hands together and said, "Let's play a game - Hide and Seek! Not it!"

And he was off running into the small rainforest, Katie following within seconds. The others were a little late to respond, but none moreso than Rupert, who conceded to being It before everyone else finished calling Not It. He counted too loud and too fast, so Santiago yelled for him to stop at a hundred. Rupert grumbled a bit, but complied.

"Thirty-fiiiive," he called out, keeping his eyes covered like a good It. "Thirty-siiiiix."

Over in the jungle, Katie was standing with her hands on her hips, looking up into a tree. "You're in my spot," she said mildly. Eoin raised an eyebrow and held out his hand.

"You can share, I'm sure," he said. With his help, she managed to get up on the branch next to him, or, rather, practically on top of him. "Hello there."

"Hi," she grinned, making herself comfortable. Eoin wrapped his arms around her as a precaution. And, well, partly because he just wanted to. He was going to say something that might have lead to something, that maybe would have lead to another thing or two, but a flash of red caught his eye and he glanced down into the bushes a few feet off.

"Look at that," he snorted. Katie followed his gaze to see Bradley and Colin fighting over who had ownership rights to that particular hiding place.

"Oh dear," she said. She didn't sound overly concerned.

"What the hell is wrong with you lately?" Bradley's voice certainly carried. Eoin was quite sure he'd be the first one found, even if it was Rupert searching.

"I'm fucking fine, Bradley, now go find your own place to cower," Colin snarled.

Katie giggled. "I feel like I'm watching Hollywood Oaks," she said in Eoin's ear. He stifled his own laughter, watching as the bickering turned into physical shoving. Katie sighed, her breath blowing through the beard he'd yet to shave properly. "Poor Col. He's just trying to ignore Bradley's existence -"

"And wouldn't we all like to do that?"

"- and there the eejit is, all up in Col's business. It's simply not fair."

No, what wasn't fair was the way her hair literally wrapped around his shoulders, falling in tumbles of curls down his chest.

He twirled a lock between his fingers and smiled. "You still haven't cut it," he observed. In the odd light splayed by the leaves above their heads, Katie almost seemed to blush.

"I can't," she said in a soft voice. "Not... not yet. When I get home, sure, it's all coming off, just like I said, but... here? With all of you? It just doesn't feel right." She brushed the backs of her fingertips against his rough cheek. "I notice you haven't shaved yet, either."

"Same reason."

They were quiet for some time, but didn't take their eyes off one another - except to point and laugh as Rupert informed Colin and Bradley that they were playing the game wrong. Katie's eyes flickered all over his face, studying him, waiting for something, maybe. He met her gaze steadily, drumming a beat out on her bare knee. It was pure luck that they weren't found. Well, luck and Rupert's incompetence for childhood games.

(There had been one time where they tried playing musical chairs, and Rupert ended up with a broken arm. Costumes hated them all for months.)

"You know," started Katie, bringing her hand up to graze his cheek again, "I never mentioned, but you're quite pretty."

"You're pretty, too," Eoin grinned. "More than, really. Though I may have mentioned that once or twice when I'd had a bit too much to drink." Katie laughed, and he felt warmth spread from the places her body was in contact with his.

Still smiling, Katie inched forward - carefully, so as not to fall out of the tree - and bumped her nose against his. Eoin chuckled and closed his eyes, moving ever closer. They were sharing breath by this point, recycling it from one mouth to the other's, and it was warm. Her nose aligned with his, and her lips were a hairsbreadth away -

"Found you!" Rupert's very loud voice cut through, and Katie really did fall then. Luckily, Rupert was in a position to catch her, and did so, laughing. "Told you guys I'm not a complete failure at any and all fun."

"You did tell us," Eoin agreed, sliding down the tree himself. He glanced at Katie, then looked away quickly. "Are we the last to be found?"

"Yeah," said Rupert, already walking back to where the typical playground started. "And Angel has just grounded Bradley and Colin for fighting, and Santiago lectured them, and Tom laughed... it's like nothing's changed."

"Nothing," Katie smiled. She shared a look with Eoin, who winked.

"Nothing at all," he agreed.

onto the next part