"Hold on, hold on," Angel taps his shoulder as she falls in step with him. "I got a message for you."
"Better hurry it up, Coulby," Bradley replies. "The lunch queue waits for no man."
"I had to get some help from Chantal with this one." Angel uncrumples the note in her hand. "Tu," she reads aloud, and jabs his chest. "That's you. Tu es un perdant. Le perdant, c'est toi!"
"What's that mean?"
She grins and says, "Guess."
When they're shooting the series one finale, Angel lounges on Arthur's bed next to Bradley as they watch the crew hem and haw over camera three's various malfunctions. He leans against her a little, just enough so that it doesn't quite seem like his head is on her shoulder, and when Angel turns her head to whisper a joke to him, her mouth is almost close enough to kiss.
"-and then you save me by shoving your breasts in my face," Bradley says.
Angel laughs, brightly and openly, and touches his arm. She has missed Bradley over the break and it feels good to be with him again, and to laugh with him (and sometimes at him). "That's ridiculous."
"I'm completely serious. Check page twenty-seven of the script."
"Oh my god. You're such a liar."
"I'm not a liar. Check it!"
She does, and her jaw drops and she breaks into new peals of laughter. "I can't believe it. Oh, it has truly begun!"
"So," Bradley says. "Wanna practice?"
When the four of them are drinking in Katie's room, Bradley almost kisses Angel. It's a coincidence of awkward angles and drunken affection, and the moment freezes them both. He can feel the tension in her arms, and she is looking at him with something akin to wonderment.
He grapples for words, something to lighten the situation, but none come to mind. The silence becomes oppressive, and Bradley is relieved when the wonder twins come to the rescue, sort of.
"Do you two need a minute?" Colin asks.
"Yeah, we can leave if you like," Katie adds.
"We'll find a violinist to play in the background."
"And light some scented candles. Pink ones. Maybe bring some massage oil."
"Oy, you two," Angel says, pulling away from Bradley. "Grow up."
"What she said," Bradley says.
Katie tops off both Angel and Bradley's drinks, and she and Colin exchange glances, looking smug.
While they wait for the crew to set up a night-shot, a brisk wind blows and Angel shivers. Bradley wraps his cloak around them both and she leans back against him. When their hands brush, she laces their fingers together.
"Your hands are cold," she says.
"So are yours," Bradley replies, and squeezes them.
Angel closes her eyes and feels the tickle of his hair against her cheek.
"You think they have?" Katie muses as she and Colin watch Angel and Bradley eyefuck for the camera.
"It's hard to tell," Colin says. He looks over at Katie, who is all Morgana'd up from head to (cleavage to) toe. "Katie?"
"Do you think you and I could ever…? Would we ever…?" He resorts to making vague hand gestures.
Katie rolls her eyes and shoves him lightly. "Oh honestly, Col, what do you think?"
In the shadows behind the sets, Angel can only see Bradley's silhouette, the curve of his smile.
"What do you think you're doing?" Angel asks, though she knows perfectly well. Her hands come to rest on his hips as he backs her against painted plaster, and she giggles softly when he kisses her nose.
"Practicing," Bradley murmurs, and kisses her mouth.
Colin and Katie pretend they don't hear Bradley and Angel sneaking to each other's rooms every night, but sometimes it's like Bradley and Angel insist on having the noisiest affair known to man. Some nights are so bad that Katie ends up staying in Colin's room, or he in hers, depending on whose room Bradley and Angel are hanging out in. Colin lets her monopolize the blankets and Katie lets him hog the bed, and they make fun of the future king and queen of Camelot until someone falls asleep.
Katie emerges bleary-eyed from Colin's room one morning as Anthony walks down the corridor. He leers at her, saying, "Ah, Katie, had a good night, did you?" before Katie realizes what it looks like.
"Oh, no no!" she sputters. "It's not what you think!"
"It's not any of my business what you think," Anthony says airily, and continues down the corridor. "Just as what I think is not any of yours. I'm just surprised you aren't hoarser this morning."
"Did you hear that?" Katie demands of Colin, who just snores in reply.
"That's right, you better run," Bradley yells, shaking a fist at Santiago after David yells cut. "You better run far! No respect, taking my woman. I should have left you to the widderen!"
"I don't know if you were paying attention, but I didn't actually take your woman," Santiago points out.
"I don't know if you were paying attention," Angel cuts in, hands on her hips, "but Gwen has had quite enough of you noble types toying with her heart, and she's going to run off with Morgana to live in an anarcho-feminist commune."
"Can't," David says. "Feminism's not in the budget."
The night after they shoot their final scene, Bradley ends up in Angel's bed again, and she rides him with a slowly-rising heat. His hands on her hips and his breath ragged, Angel takes her time and doesn't stifle her moan when Bradley tugs her to him with a sudden force, grinding his hips and groaning deep in his throat. She rocks against him and reminds herself go slow go slow go slow, but it's difficult to want to.
Afterward, Bradley asks, "Will you miss Camelot?" He's lying on his side, his head propped up on his hand as he strokes her belly.
Angel smiles faintly and asks, "Will Camelot miss me?"
"Camelot needs a queen," Bradley shrugs.
"I'm not a queen. I just play one on television."
"I'm just some wanker who pretends to be a prince," he says, and kisses her shoulder. "We're not perfect."
She opens her arms to him and he fits into her embrace as easy as anything.
Somewhere in Wales, one man turns to another and says, "I wish Angel and Katie were with us."
The other man says, "Yeah. Me too."
Bradley calls Angel after he returns from Wales, and the first thing she says is, "Have you shaved the beard?"
"Have I what? Of course not. Why would I want to?"
"Because, James, it's terrible."
"It makes me look rugged."
"It makes you look like you're fighting guerrillas in the jungle."
"Look, why don't you abuse my beard over drinks tonight? Maybe I can be convinced to shave it off after I've had a few shots in me."
"Then I'll definitely be there!"
"It's for your own good."
"You always say that, but I never believe you."
"Then why do you let me come round?"
"Angel Coulby, I will not even dignify that with an answer."
"Your majesty," Angel says when she sees him. She is smiling, and he has forgotten how much he has missed her smile.
"Your highness." Bradley kisses the top of her head and slides into the seat beside her. "What are you drinking tonight?"
"Get me a rum and coke," Angel says, her hand on his lap, "and let's see where we go from there."