fic: Reverse Karma and Soggy Converse
Feb. 9th, 2010 04:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
calligladTitle: Reverse Karma and Soggy Converse
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language, infrequent
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, Colin Morgan, Bradley James or indeed anything of value. This is for entertainment purposes with no wish to offend
Author's Notes (A/N): written for RPS challenge #3. Prompt #10 (the one with the red umbrella). It’s inspired by the unprecedented snowstorm that hit Southern Britain at the start of February. Mega thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
captains_girl
-
Bradley only actually realises how bad this snow thing might be on Sunday night, when the bus skids on a corner and very nearly acquaints itself with the shopfront of United Colours of Benetton.
The bus driver seems only remotely disturbed and carries on regardless. It expels Bradley on schedule at the Barbican, leaving him to attempt the decidedly dodgy path to his flat alone.
There's not a lot of snow yet and whatever the Met Office says, it's never going to settle in London, but it's cold enough that he wishes he'd worn a hat and things have turned icy underfoot. He nearly breaks his neck climbing the steps to the front door and vows to wear better shoes tomorrow. The radio's still on in the kitchen, bleating weather warnings. Bradley turns it off and goes to bed, sure that they've blown it all out of proportion.
-
On the following morning, he gets up and makes a cup of tea (marvelling because it appears that it may actually be warmer inside the fridge than out), tries to take the rubbish out to the wheely bin, but finds his way blocked by two foot of snow.
"Oh," he says, gazing first at the expanse of white and then at the bin bag in his hand. A couple of doors down, some kids are gambolling around and there are several businessmen standing in their doorways, looking about as perplexed as Bradley feels.
He goes back inside and turns the thermostat up by two degrees.
-
He gets a call an hour or so later from one of the producers' perky secretaries.
"Yeah, don't bother coming in," she says. "You live somewhere up near Islington, don't you?"
"Barbican," says Bradley. "I could get the Circle Line--"
"Yeah, it's not worth it. You leave the house now, you'll be there hours. You've seen the news, right?"
Bradley has. There are lots of headlines featuring 'Ground to a Standstill' and the like. He thinks there must be people who live at the BBC to keep it running in the event of natural disasters.
The secretary carries on, "The platform at Shepherd's Bush is impassable. You're not going to get to the BBC centre with anything less than a tank. It's all right, we'll move the meeting to later in the week when things have calmed down."
"But what about Colin?" Bradley asks, suddenly thinking of it. "He's meant to be getting the train down tomorrow. We've got a read-through on Wednesday."
"That'll have to be moved anyway; Katie will have trouble getting a flight out of Ireland. He'll get here sometime. It's all right, we probably won't have to push back shooting. Things will die down in a few days, it's not the end of the world."
She hangs up. Bradley stares at News 24 disconsolately and tries not to associate the cancellation of all train services south of Luton with the end of the world.
-
The text from Angel reads:
I'm staying with some mates near you. Meet up in Finsbury Square?
Bradley thinks about it for all of four seconds, because it's either make snowmen in Finsbury Square or stay at home and watch The Teletubbies.
He texts back: Yeah, all right, and goes to find his wellingtons.
-
Before he leaves, he checks up on old Mrs Patterson from downstairs. She's wearing four beige cardigans and watching Antiques Roadshow, so Bradley reckons she's all right. He feels a right Good Samaritan until he slips on the front steps (again) and concludes that karma is complete bollocks.
There are snowmen in the streets that have clearly been made by drunken students, dressed in newspaper hats and surrounded by Strongbow cans. Angel is in the middle of constructing her own when Bradley arrives. He stomps up and pushes her over.
"Bradley!"
"I'm just helping you make a snow angel," he replies, innocent as a convict.
"Like I haven't had that joke all morning," she says, struggling to get up. "You could help, you know!"
Bradley is now extremely wary of helping people in case of reverse-karma, but it appears that, if he doesn't, Angel will never get up and will just have to wait until the snow melts. He ponders this, then informs her of his conclusion.
"I don't know why I bother," she says, before one of her friends pulls her up. The friend doesn't seem to know what to make of Bradley, because her face goes all scrunchy in that way people's faces do when they compare you to what they've seen on screen. Bradley knows the cold is doing nothing for his complexion and that his hat is perhaps not the most dignified of garments, but right now he doesn't fucking care.
Angel notices. "Are you all right?"
Bradley sighs and says, "Yeah," in a way that means not really, no.
She makes him sit down on a bench and pats his knee. It's not very reassuring.
"Come on," she says. "Why so glum? Bradley's never glum."
"I'm not glum," he says, a little insulted.
"Well, what are you, then? Pre-menstrual?"
"Angel!" says Bradley, shocked. "You have been keeping in too close contact with Katie McGrath."
"So what? You don't talk to Colin?"
"Yeah, I do. I mean, we text and stuff. Email. Sometimes a phone call."
"Hmm," says Angel meditively. "I sense the reason for your state of glum."
"I am not glum!"
"But I certainly don't understand why you're getting in a state about Colin."
"I'm not getting in a state!"
"Is this about the read-through on Wednesday? Colin's going to be there-- Don't you want to see him?"
"No!" Bradley says, and then corrects, "I mean, yes, I do want to see him. It's just this weather. The news said all the trains have been cancelled, and--"
"Bradley," she interrupts. "He'll get here. You know what the weather's like. In a few days, it'll be sunny skies and this'll all have melted."
Bradley watches a particularly violent snowball fight for a moment before saying, "He was meant to be staying with me."
"And he still will," Angel replies, looking at him a bit funny, like he's something to be patted and crooned at. "You've got yourself all worked up. Look, forget this. Whatever happens, the snow will melt and then we will start filming next week. If they have to de-ice the floor of the set with hairdryers, they will. Now, come back with me and Gemma and have some lunch."
"I have food at home."
"Food that isn't baked beans?"
"Maybe. Somewhere."
-
The next morning, the telly tells him that only two underground lines are delayed and ninety-five percent of buses are running. He feels a little better, then puts Mrs Patterson's recycling in the bin outside and slips on the steps. He wonders if it's not reverse karma and instead, someone's buried under there and spiritually kicking his feet out from under him.
When he goes back inside, there's a message on his phone from Colin.
I'm still coming down today. Might be delayed. Meet me where we said before?
Bradley replies in the affirmative and feels much better.
-
-
It's bitterly cold on the platform and Colin really wishes he'd dressed more with the weather in mind. Everybody else around him is wearing wellingtons or sturdy boots. Colin's only in his converse and he dearly wishes the train would come so that he can sit down and rub some life back into his feet.
There's not a lot of snow here, but the news says the weather front will travel up the country in the next few days, so Colin supposes he'd better make a run for the capital or be stuck in Liverpool indeterminably. He wonders how Bradley's holding up. He's never seen where Bradley lives, but he's had a flat near the Barbican since his Drama Centre days and Colin's familiar with the kind of student hovel it's likely to be. He suspects Bradley's probably at the wearing-coats-indoors stage.
The train hisses into the station. Colin blesses Virgin Trains and their continued service despite the weather, and hops on. When he's seated, he sends a text to Bradley.
On train. Will be approx 3 hours. Maybe a bit later. See you then.
Bradley replies a few minutes later with:
All right. See you by the boating lake.
-
Colin's absently reading through the script of series two, trying to ignore the way the train tilts alarmingly on the bends, when he slowly realises that more people are looking out at the scenery than anywhere else.
"Where are we?" he asks his neighbour, a stern businessman who either can't recognise Colin through his beard or has never watched television beyond the news and Countdown.
"Buckinghamshire," replies the man. "Coming up to London, soon. Won't be long now."
Colin's glad. The scenery is pretty and everything, white rolling hills scattered with people on toboggans, but he wants nothing more than to coast into Marylebone station and see Bradley again, because maybe then the idea of filming another series of Merlin and the two of them working together again will seem a bit more real. His stomach goes a bit giggly at the thought, but he swallows it down and then attempts to stifle it with a Mars bar. The carriage rolls sickeningly again.
"It's meant to do that," reassures his neighbour.
-
In the end, the train's only delayed by twenty minutes, though by the amazed looks on everybody else's faces, Colin can tell this must be close to an act of God. It is even colder on this platform than the last and the ground is crunchy with grit. He hurries out of the station with all the other passengers and is extremely embarrassed when he has to go back inside to ask a ticket attendant the way to Regent’s Park.
Ten minutes later, he asks a policewoman who squints at him before escorting him to within sight of it and asking for his autograph. He scrawls it out for her and then crosses the road, nearly getting mown down by a bus.
It's snowing lightly and Regent’s Park is beautiful with it. There are kids dotted all over the place, having fierce snowball fights or building snowmen. People are walking their dogs or sitting on benches, their breath misting in the air. None of them are Bradley.
Colin feels disappointed for a moment, before assuring himself that he's just not looking hard enough. He pulls out his phone and calls Bradley.
"Hey," he says, he hopes nonchalantly. "I'm here. Where are you?"
"Where I said," replies Bradley. "By the boating lake. In Regent’s Park. By Baker Street tube station. Where are you?"
"I'm there too," says Colin. "I can't see you."
"You sure? You didn't take a wrong turn and end up in Hyde Park, did you?"
"No. I asked for directions. From a police officer. A female one."
"That makes a difference? Okay, I can see the Sherlock Holmes museum from here. Can you?"
"Yeah," says Colin. "I passed it on my way here."
It's really very cold and his suitcase is getting heavier with every step and that feeling in his stomach is settling into resolute despair. He can't see Bradley anywhere. There are only old people or dog-walkers or horde upon horde of kids. None of them are blond or tallish or broad-shouldered like Bradley James. Colin feels miserable.
"Seriously, Colin. Like, wave or something. There can't be any other curiously skinny Irish blokes here--"
And then Colin notices it. There's someone by the railings with their back to him, carrying a bright red umbrella. Colin's not sure why, but something about it has to be Bradley. He starts dragging his suitcase over, suddenly not really cold at all.
"It’s all right," he says. "I think I see you."
"What? Where?"
And then Bradley turns around and sees him. And smiles a big, gorgeous smile.
"There you are," he says, putting away his phone. "Thought I'd lost you."
Colin drops the suitcase and hugs him tight. Bradley hugs back, still awkwardly holding the umbrella. When they part, Bradley keeps his free arm around him and says, chokingly,
"God, I've missed you."
Colin's smiling so hard he thinks his face might break. He can't take his eyes off the way Bradley's nose and cheeks are pink from the cold and his eyes are wide and honest.
"I missed you too," he says, feeling a bit of a sappy idiot, and Bradley kisses him.
It's wonderful. Bradley is warm and inviting and Colin can't believe it's taken them this long to get to this stage, can't believe that if Merlin hadn't been recommissioned, this might never have happened. He tangles a hand in Bradley's parka and cups his face with the other. Bradley jerks away, gasping.
"Christ, your hands are freezing!" he says, taking Colin's hand in his. "You're not wearing gloves. In February!"
"It wasn't this cold up north," says Colin sheepishly.
Bradley rolls his eyes, gives him one of his gloves and holds his other hand in his pocket.
"Come on," he says, picking up the discarded suitcase. "Tube’s working again, so we don't have to walk all the way home."
"Oh," says Colin. "That's good."
"And you'll have to hold my hand up the front steps," says Bradley.
"Oh," says Colin again. "Why?"
"Because one day I'll die on those steps and I don't want it to be when I'm with you, because I know you’ll only blame yourself for it."
"Ah," says Colin. "Of course."
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language, infrequent
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, Colin Morgan, Bradley James or indeed anything of value. This is for entertainment purposes with no wish to offend
Author's Notes (A/N): written for RPS challenge #3. Prompt #10 (the one with the red umbrella). It’s inspired by the unprecedented snowstorm that hit Southern Britain at the start of February. Mega thanks to
captains_girl-
Bradley only actually realises how bad this snow thing might be on Sunday night, when the bus skids on a corner and very nearly acquaints itself with the shopfront of United Colours of Benetton.
The bus driver seems only remotely disturbed and carries on regardless. It expels Bradley on schedule at the Barbican, leaving him to attempt the decidedly dodgy path to his flat alone.
There's not a lot of snow yet and whatever the Met Office says, it's never going to settle in London, but it's cold enough that he wishes he'd worn a hat and things have turned icy underfoot. He nearly breaks his neck climbing the steps to the front door and vows to wear better shoes tomorrow. The radio's still on in the kitchen, bleating weather warnings. Bradley turns it off and goes to bed, sure that they've blown it all out of proportion.
-
On the following morning, he gets up and makes a cup of tea (marvelling because it appears that it may actually be warmer inside the fridge than out), tries to take the rubbish out to the wheely bin, but finds his way blocked by two foot of snow.
"Oh," he says, gazing first at the expanse of white and then at the bin bag in his hand. A couple of doors down, some kids are gambolling around and there are several businessmen standing in their doorways, looking about as perplexed as Bradley feels.
He goes back inside and turns the thermostat up by two degrees.
-
He gets a call an hour or so later from one of the producers' perky secretaries.
"Yeah, don't bother coming in," she says. "You live somewhere up near Islington, don't you?"
"Barbican," says Bradley. "I could get the Circle Line--"
"Yeah, it's not worth it. You leave the house now, you'll be there hours. You've seen the news, right?"
Bradley has. There are lots of headlines featuring 'Ground to a Standstill' and the like. He thinks there must be people who live at the BBC to keep it running in the event of natural disasters.
The secretary carries on, "The platform at Shepherd's Bush is impassable. You're not going to get to the BBC centre with anything less than a tank. It's all right, we'll move the meeting to later in the week when things have calmed down."
"But what about Colin?" Bradley asks, suddenly thinking of it. "He's meant to be getting the train down tomorrow. We've got a read-through on Wednesday."
"That'll have to be moved anyway; Katie will have trouble getting a flight out of Ireland. He'll get here sometime. It's all right, we probably won't have to push back shooting. Things will die down in a few days, it's not the end of the world."
She hangs up. Bradley stares at News 24 disconsolately and tries not to associate the cancellation of all train services south of Luton with the end of the world.
-
The text from Angel reads:
I'm staying with some mates near you. Meet up in Finsbury Square?
Bradley thinks about it for all of four seconds, because it's either make snowmen in Finsbury Square or stay at home and watch The Teletubbies.
He texts back: Yeah, all right, and goes to find his wellingtons.
-
Before he leaves, he checks up on old Mrs Patterson from downstairs. She's wearing four beige cardigans and watching Antiques Roadshow, so Bradley reckons she's all right. He feels a right Good Samaritan until he slips on the front steps (again) and concludes that karma is complete bollocks.
There are snowmen in the streets that have clearly been made by drunken students, dressed in newspaper hats and surrounded by Strongbow cans. Angel is in the middle of constructing her own when Bradley arrives. He stomps up and pushes her over.
"Bradley!"
"I'm just helping you make a snow angel," he replies, innocent as a convict.
"Like I haven't had that joke all morning," she says, struggling to get up. "You could help, you know!"
Bradley is now extremely wary of helping people in case of reverse-karma, but it appears that, if he doesn't, Angel will never get up and will just have to wait until the snow melts. He ponders this, then informs her of his conclusion.
"I don't know why I bother," she says, before one of her friends pulls her up. The friend doesn't seem to know what to make of Bradley, because her face goes all scrunchy in that way people's faces do when they compare you to what they've seen on screen. Bradley knows the cold is doing nothing for his complexion and that his hat is perhaps not the most dignified of garments, but right now he doesn't fucking care.
Angel notices. "Are you all right?"
Bradley sighs and says, "Yeah," in a way that means not really, no.
She makes him sit down on a bench and pats his knee. It's not very reassuring.
"Come on," she says. "Why so glum? Bradley's never glum."
"I'm not glum," he says, a little insulted.
"Well, what are you, then? Pre-menstrual?"
"Angel!" says Bradley, shocked. "You have been keeping in too close contact with Katie McGrath."
"So what? You don't talk to Colin?"
"Yeah, I do. I mean, we text and stuff. Email. Sometimes a phone call."
"Hmm," says Angel meditively. "I sense the reason for your state of glum."
"I am not glum!"
"But I certainly don't understand why you're getting in a state about Colin."
"I'm not getting in a state!"
"Is this about the read-through on Wednesday? Colin's going to be there-- Don't you want to see him?"
"No!" Bradley says, and then corrects, "I mean, yes, I do want to see him. It's just this weather. The news said all the trains have been cancelled, and--"
"Bradley," she interrupts. "He'll get here. You know what the weather's like. In a few days, it'll be sunny skies and this'll all have melted."
Bradley watches a particularly violent snowball fight for a moment before saying, "He was meant to be staying with me."
"And he still will," Angel replies, looking at him a bit funny, like he's something to be patted and crooned at. "You've got yourself all worked up. Look, forget this. Whatever happens, the snow will melt and then we will start filming next week. If they have to de-ice the floor of the set with hairdryers, they will. Now, come back with me and Gemma and have some lunch."
"I have food at home."
"Food that isn't baked beans?"
"Maybe. Somewhere."
-
The next morning, the telly tells him that only two underground lines are delayed and ninety-five percent of buses are running. He feels a little better, then puts Mrs Patterson's recycling in the bin outside and slips on the steps. He wonders if it's not reverse karma and instead, someone's buried under there and spiritually kicking his feet out from under him.
When he goes back inside, there's a message on his phone from Colin.
I'm still coming down today. Might be delayed. Meet me where we said before?
Bradley replies in the affirmative and feels much better.
-
-
It's bitterly cold on the platform and Colin really wishes he'd dressed more with the weather in mind. Everybody else around him is wearing wellingtons or sturdy boots. Colin's only in his converse and he dearly wishes the train would come so that he can sit down and rub some life back into his feet.
There's not a lot of snow here, but the news says the weather front will travel up the country in the next few days, so Colin supposes he'd better make a run for the capital or be stuck in Liverpool indeterminably. He wonders how Bradley's holding up. He's never seen where Bradley lives, but he's had a flat near the Barbican since his Drama Centre days and Colin's familiar with the kind of student hovel it's likely to be. He suspects Bradley's probably at the wearing-coats-indoors stage.
The train hisses into the station. Colin blesses Virgin Trains and their continued service despite the weather, and hops on. When he's seated, he sends a text to Bradley.
On train. Will be approx 3 hours. Maybe a bit later. See you then.
Bradley replies a few minutes later with:
All right. See you by the boating lake.
-
Colin's absently reading through the script of series two, trying to ignore the way the train tilts alarmingly on the bends, when he slowly realises that more people are looking out at the scenery than anywhere else.
"Where are we?" he asks his neighbour, a stern businessman who either can't recognise Colin through his beard or has never watched television beyond the news and Countdown.
"Buckinghamshire," replies the man. "Coming up to London, soon. Won't be long now."
Colin's glad. The scenery is pretty and everything, white rolling hills scattered with people on toboggans, but he wants nothing more than to coast into Marylebone station and see Bradley again, because maybe then the idea of filming another series of Merlin and the two of them working together again will seem a bit more real. His stomach goes a bit giggly at the thought, but he swallows it down and then attempts to stifle it with a Mars bar. The carriage rolls sickeningly again.
"It's meant to do that," reassures his neighbour.
-
In the end, the train's only delayed by twenty minutes, though by the amazed looks on everybody else's faces, Colin can tell this must be close to an act of God. It is even colder on this platform than the last and the ground is crunchy with grit. He hurries out of the station with all the other passengers and is extremely embarrassed when he has to go back inside to ask a ticket attendant the way to Regent’s Park.
Ten minutes later, he asks a policewoman who squints at him before escorting him to within sight of it and asking for his autograph. He scrawls it out for her and then crosses the road, nearly getting mown down by a bus.
It's snowing lightly and Regent’s Park is beautiful with it. There are kids dotted all over the place, having fierce snowball fights or building snowmen. People are walking their dogs or sitting on benches, their breath misting in the air. None of them are Bradley.
Colin feels disappointed for a moment, before assuring himself that he's just not looking hard enough. He pulls out his phone and calls Bradley.
"Hey," he says, he hopes nonchalantly. "I'm here. Where are you?"
"Where I said," replies Bradley. "By the boating lake. In Regent’s Park. By Baker Street tube station. Where are you?"
"I'm there too," says Colin. "I can't see you."
"You sure? You didn't take a wrong turn and end up in Hyde Park, did you?"
"No. I asked for directions. From a police officer. A female one."
"That makes a difference? Okay, I can see the Sherlock Holmes museum from here. Can you?"
"Yeah," says Colin. "I passed it on my way here."
It's really very cold and his suitcase is getting heavier with every step and that feeling in his stomach is settling into resolute despair. He can't see Bradley anywhere. There are only old people or dog-walkers or horde upon horde of kids. None of them are blond or tallish or broad-shouldered like Bradley James. Colin feels miserable.
"Seriously, Colin. Like, wave or something. There can't be any other curiously skinny Irish blokes here--"
And then Colin notices it. There's someone by the railings with their back to him, carrying a bright red umbrella. Colin's not sure why, but something about it has to be Bradley. He starts dragging his suitcase over, suddenly not really cold at all.
"It’s all right," he says. "I think I see you."
"What? Where?"
And then Bradley turns around and sees him. And smiles a big, gorgeous smile.
"There you are," he says, putting away his phone. "Thought I'd lost you."
Colin drops the suitcase and hugs him tight. Bradley hugs back, still awkwardly holding the umbrella. When they part, Bradley keeps his free arm around him and says, chokingly,
"God, I've missed you."
Colin's smiling so hard he thinks his face might break. He can't take his eyes off the way Bradley's nose and cheeks are pink from the cold and his eyes are wide and honest.
"I missed you too," he says, feeling a bit of a sappy idiot, and Bradley kisses him.
It's wonderful. Bradley is warm and inviting and Colin can't believe it's taken them this long to get to this stage, can't believe that if Merlin hadn't been recommissioned, this might never have happened. He tangles a hand in Bradley's parka and cups his face with the other. Bradley jerks away, gasping.
"Christ, your hands are freezing!" he says, taking Colin's hand in his. "You're not wearing gloves. In February!"
"It wasn't this cold up north," says Colin sheepishly.
Bradley rolls his eyes, gives him one of his gloves and holds his other hand in his pocket.
"Come on," he says, picking up the discarded suitcase. "Tube’s working again, so we don't have to walk all the way home."
"Oh," says Colin. "That's good."
"And you'll have to hold my hand up the front steps," says Bradley.
"Oh," says Colin again. "Why?"
"Because one day I'll die on those steps and I don't want it to be when I'm with you, because I know you’ll only blame yourself for it."
"Ah," says Colin. "Of course."
