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merlinrpf2012-01-18 11:52 am
the look on your face, it's delicate
Title: the look on your face, it's delicate
Pairing: Bradley/Angel
Rating: PG
Word Count: 938
Summary: Bradley doesn't cope very well with the big Arthur/Gwen scene of 4x09. Angel fixes things.
A/N: Title taken from Damien Rice's Delicate. Written for longjackets and rubberglue :D
“Cut!”
Bradley can’t move.
His throat is dry and his head is pounding and his hands, once gripping Gwen’s shoulders, feel like lead. His eyesight is still blurred from unused tears. And his heart is racing. And he didn’t know what to do.
What if it stayed like this? What if he grew roots into this floor? What if she never forgave him? What if they were stuck like this forever and -
She slips so easily back into normality. Tugging at her belt and pulling at her hair and smiling quietly at the awed watchers as she waits for retouching.
It was just a scene.
They were just actors.
Why wouldn’t she smile?
Why wouldn’t she turn away?
None of it was real.
But Bradley can’t move.
He can’t move.
He just stood there in the middle of the packed hall, feet unsteady on the aging wood, staring after Angel. Watching the dress bunch within her fists; watching dark curls whisper over the lavender material; watching a crinkle run across her nose and between her eyebrows - like she was still the blacksmith’s daughter. Still Guinevere. Still breaking his heart. Still having her heart broken. Still fighting.
And what if he had hurt her?
He runs. Slides from the room and pelts through the castle. Away from the cameras and the applause and her.
**
The director’s stuck half-way between annoyed and understanding - how can I run it again with only one of you? - and he calls five and he’s about to send half of the room out to fetch him.
But Angel raises a hand, turns to the director, says she’ll do it.
“It’s okay. I know where he is…”
**
And he’s there.
Hidden in some dank, tiny corridor of the old castle - untouched by Merlin.
Cross-legged and macho and finding it hard to breathe.
“Are you okay?” she whispers, leaning her frizzed hair against the opposite wall, feet gently nudging his boots.
He clears his throat, doesn’t look at her, whispers of course.
She’s got tear tracks marking her face. And her mouth still has the remnants of a sad pout. But she’s fine. It was just pretend.
“It’s just a scene…”
Now Bradley looks at her. She knows it came out patronising.
“I know that, Angel!”
“S-sorry…”
For moments it’s silent. Bradley picks at the fabric on his knee. Angel bites her lip. They listen to each other’s harsh breathing.
Until Bradley cocks his head in faint apology and pats the dirty ground next to him.
Angel adjusts her dress, squirming down next to him and knocking his knees.
“What I meant is…”, she treads carefully, “It’s just pretend. It doesn’t mean anything - “
“I know”, he whispers.
“But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt…”
She takes the hand that rests on his knee. Pushes her fingers through the gaps in his and gently presses his hand.
She’s been acting longer than he has - appearance after appearance. And sometimes he looks at her like he has no idea what do to. No idea how to cope. No idea how to kiss her. Like he’s young and tired and lost and needs her.
“It was a big scene, Brads. Of course it’s gonna affect you.”
“But it shouldn’t!”
“Why not?”
It seems inadequate and stupid and foolish —-
“Because I’m Bradley!”
Angel lets go of his hand to rub her eyes in exasperation.
“You’re an idiot, is what you are…”
“Shuddup”
“But you are! It’s okay to get emotional. It’s okay to cry -“
He turns towards her with a warning look on his face, but grasps her hand back and entwines them, examining her fingers closely.
“I do not cry, Angel…” he mumbles.
“Not true…” she challenges.
And for a moment everything’s fine. She turns to him and smiles. Raises her eyebrows and flashes her teeth and whispers all the times he’s broken down in front of her in embarrasing, giggled detail.
But then he remembers. Again. The look on her face. Her lips on Lancelot. Santiago. Lancelot. The swing of her dress as he grabs her shoulders and shakes her small body.
And he can’t breathe.
He can’t breathe.
He rests his forehead on her shoulder and sighs shakily into her dress.
His voice will break. And he’ll cry. And Angel will tease him for weeks. But he needs to know.
“Did I hurt you?” he breathes anxiously into her sleeve.
Angel breathes in a half-gasp. Turns towards Bradley so her forehead rests against his. Lets her nose graze against his and stares at him, because she needs him to know.
“No…”
“Promise?”
His breath is warm against her lips and she nods, flinging an arm around his shoulders and curls her fingers into his blonde, sweaty hair.
And he just lets her comfort him. Lets her press a comforting kiss to his mouth. Lets his face fall into the curve of her shoulder. Lets their hands curl around each other’s bodies as she whispers you’re an idiot and you can cry and we have to run it again into his jacket. Lets her take his hand and pull him off the floor. Lets her pat the dirt off his clothes and tease him about the wardrobe department.
“Are we okay?” he asks, steadying his feet on the floor. “You and me, are we good?”
She just pouts. And nods. And turns to leave, whispering her you’reanidiot chant as she wanders down the small corridor. And he stumbles after her. Grasps her belt and brushes the dirt off her dress and repeats shuddupshuddupshuddup the whole way back.
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Lovely and sweet and plausible, Bradley being so affected by this scene and needing to know that he and Angel are okay.
Please do write more about this pairing, this has been a wonderful surprise and I'd love to read more. :)
Thank you for sharing this with us!
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