Title: If These Walls Could Talk

Characters/Pairings: Bradley James, Colin Morgan

Rating: K

Summary: A series of one shots taking place at the hotel in Pierrefonds, France, where all our favorite Merlin actors resided. Oneshots will include Bradley, Colin, Katie, Angel, Eoin… who knows, maybe Richard and Anthony? Will be non-slash, but let your imagination go where it will.

A/N: We all know Colin was injured and emergency services were called out to the set while filming Series 2, and I had to explore that a bit. Poor Colin. He was probably fussed over way too much by the crew!

A Bruised Coccyx

He should have been there. The problem with filming the Fires of Idirsholas was that he and Colin had done too many scenes apart, so of course, the younger man would fall and get himself injured while Bradley was off with the second unit on the other side of the castle. Rumor reached Bradley shortly after lunch that his mate had taken a very Merlin-esque tumble and was currently nursing a genuinely sore, bony bottom. At the time, Bradley had bitten back a snicker and assumed an appropriately sympathetic face when he had heard the news, but there were no chuckles when he met up with his friend for the evening meal. Watching Colin limp through the meal queue, a frown had creased the blonde's forehead.

"Mate, you don't look so good," he had warned, taking a step back to check his friend over. "Maybe you'd better tell Jeremy you're done for today."

Colin had shaken his head vehemently. "Mmm, no, it's fine. Just a little sore. M'own fault."

Bradley's frown deepened. "Cols, really, you don't want to mess with a thing like your back… At least let the medic look at you."

But Colin had scowled at him (it was adorable, really, when Col got worked up), and he had shaken his head again, taking a step further away from his costar in a non-verbal warning. "It's fine," there had been unmistakable irritation in his voice. "I'm not going to stop today's shoot just because I'm clumsy."

Bradley had sighed in exasperation, recognizing when it was futile to continue, but he had taken Colin's salad laden tray from him without a word, his face brooking no opposition from his injured colleague. And after they had finished eating, he had slipped quietly away to have a word with the first AD, hoping someone would keep a watchful eye over his friend's stubborn persistence.

So he should have been prepared, and he absolutely wasn't, when word came over the second AD's mobile that Emergency Services had been called, and an ambulance was en route. His heart had stopped beating for a few moments, he was sure he had felt it cease, because of all people, he knew how easily Colin could hide any illness, and he internally began cursing a blue streak of self-remonstrances as his feet sped through the castle corridors.

He had arrived at Colin's and Katie's location as the ambulance pulled in. Bradley watched the emergency crew applying the neck brace, log-rolling his best mate onto the backboard, and the tall blonde's body had leaned forward as if to push through the sudden crowd of medical personnel to get to his friend.

Bradley had suddenly felt a firm hand on his shoulder, and it anchored him for the moment. "It's just spinal precautions, Bradley," Anthony had said in a low, reassuring voice, patting the chain-mail covered shoulder. "It's just standard procedure. He's alright."

But he didn't look alright. Nodding wordlessly, Bradley had watched the flurry of ministrations being performed, as the emergency crew began taking vital signs and shining bright lights into his friend's pain-dulled eyes, strange hands running firmly over scrawny limbs, searching for possible fractures. Anthony's voice had continued to soothe in the background, but the young English actor had not been able to discern a word, his whole world having narrowed down to the small body strapped onto the stretcher, and the white, pinched face partially visible above the stiff, plastic collar. The younger lad seemed to be struggling to breathe, but Bradley couldn't tell if it was a result of painful respirations, steadily growing fear, or something else even more alarming. He had watched as medics began to roll up BP cuffs and tuck away pulse oximeters, and he'd realized they were readying to leave.

Suddenly breaking free from Anthony's supportive hold, he had determinedly made his way through the crowd of onlooking crew and cast, walking purposefully toward the stretcher. Bradley heard Alice call out warningly to him, but he strode on without heeding, because this – this was Colin. And Colin was everything.

He had inserted a broad shoulder between two medics who had just finished taping down a peripheral IV lock in his friend's arm, and he had leaned forward slightly to place himself in his colleague's line of vision.

"Mate, what'd I tell you?" he growled comically, rolling his eyes. "If you wanted the evening off, we could have found easier ways to do it."

Colin had let out a soft puff of air, his pained version of a laugh, and a small, tight smile had appeared, but he didn't answer.

"You alright?" Bradley had grown serious, looking down into the dark blue, cringing at the fear and frustration he found there. Rubbish question… of course he wasn't alright.

"Yeah," Colin had replied, his voice low and pinched. "Jeremy just wanted to have everything checked." He had attempted an awkward shrug beneath the c-collar, then had stiffened at the sudden jolt of pain brought on by the movement.

"Well, listen, I'll come as soon as we wrap things up for the night," Bradley had promised, reaching a hand to gently squeeze the slight shoulder reassuringly, unable to do more with so many eyes watching them. He had backed away, his worried gaze following the stretcher until it had disappeared out of sight behind closed ambulance doors.

Later that evening, when the final scene for the day had been shot, the exhausted young man had headed (against Jeremy's and Richard's logical advice) to the local hospital where his friend was being kept overnight. Colin had been so drugged on pain-relieving medication that an intelligent conversation between the two had been impossible, but the genuine, if somewhat loopy, grin that had lit up the Irishman's face on seeing his costar, had stayed with Bradley all the way back to their hotel, reassuring him that his friend was going to be okay.

And the next morning, after Colin had been released from the hospital with a diagnosis of "Bruised Coccyx" (whatever the heck that was), the young man had returned on set, gamely insisting that he was fine, and that production could continue as usual.

Bradley and Richard (and really the entire crew) had kept a furtive watch over the injured actor, noting the limp that suddenly appeared when a scene ended and the cameras had stopped rolling, or the rigid way he uncomfortably fidgeted in the folding chairs set up off to the side, while waiting for a scene to be set up.

By the end of the day, Colin's pinched face had taken an ashen hue, and Bradley had picked up on his discomfort as soon as he slid next to his friend in the rear seat of the van. Calling out a cheery greeting, Bradley quickly guided the conversation towards aspects of the day's filming, knowing full well that his friend was most likely weary of all the scrutiny and well-meaning inquiries after his health. Even so, he glanced furtively over at his friend while Colin was conversing with Angel, and the blonde noted in concern the tiny, drawn lines of pain beneath the wide, blue eyes, and the occasional tightening of the pale lips, indications of the weariness and discomfort brought on by the full day's work.

Bradley watched as the youngest of their group called out smiling goodnights to the two girls, then turned to walk towards their own rooms, the limp more exaggerated now that they were alone, and the mask beginning to slip from his face. The blond shifted uncertainly on his feet as they neared Colin's hotel door. "You need anything, mate?" he asked nervously, unsure how to help his friend.

"No," the other boy smiled wanly, "I just need a good sleep." He looked over at his friend under the harsh glare of the outdoor corridor lights, gratitude reflected in his eyes. "Ta, I'm fine."

Bradley watched him enter his room and shut the door and continued on to the next door down the walkway. Entering the small hotel room that had become his home for the past few months, he kicked off his trainers and dropped wearily into a chair. Regretting his lack of personal fridge yet again, as milk and biscuits would be very much appreciated at the moment, the young man scowled at the floor for a moment, then bounced back out of his chair, unable to shake the uneasy feeling. The hooded, glazed look in Colin's normally cheery eyes haunted him, and he couldn't get past the growing urge that he needed to do something to make it better.

Abruptly, he stopped his pacing and turned to open the door again, slipping back out into the corridor in his bare feet. Not quite sure what he intended to do, the blonde boy hesitated outside Colin's door, looking uncertainly at the paneling, then knocked quickly before he could change his mind.

Hearing a faint "Come in", he tried the handle and was surprised to find the door still unlocked. Opening the door cautiously, he peered inside, then suddenly burst out laughing. Colin sat on the edge of his bed, blue plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a tee laying next to him on the duvet, and the dark haired boy was staring forlornly at his feet, slightly out of breath.

Quickly surmising the situation, Bradley couldn't hold back the wide grin. "Trouble there?" he asked, strangled laughter still lingering in his voice.

His colleague was not amused. Frustration etched across his features, the younger man attempted once again to lift one leg up and pull a foot out of his jeans, only to stop abruptly with a sharp intake of breath as his body stiffened in pain. Bradley's laughter faltered and he took pity on his friend, turning to close the door behind him.

"Here, let me help," he said softly, moving to stand in front of the injured boy. Colin turned his eyes upward to glare daggers at his friend, shaking his head in mute protest.

"C'mon, mate," the blonde ignored Colin's now very verbal protestations, reaching down to hold one thin arm in his grip, the other hand encircling the narrow waist to lift the Irish actor into a standing position. Ignoring how light – far too light – his friend's weight felt as he maneuvered him, Bradley steadily held onto his friend's elbows until the wave of muscle spasms began to ease.

"Sorry, Cols," he muttered, refusing to look at his friend's face as he leaned down to inch the denims over the hips and off the scrawny legs. Once he had worked then mostly down, he helped lower the scarlet-complexioned boy back to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, and he knelt to remove the jeans now piled at his feet. Braving a look at the other young man's inflamed face, he forgot all about the awkward situation, his attitude immediately preoccupied with his friend's distress. The simple act, coupled with the day's long exertion, had clearly been too much movement, and Colin sat limply, the exhaustion and pain obvious in his expression.

After a moment of shallow, too-rapid breaths, Colin became aware of his surroundings, and looked up. "I think I've got it from here, James," he said dryly, the sarcastic humor attempting to gloss over the awkward situation for both of them. Then, his face softened into a grateful smile. "Thanks, Bradley."

The older lad hesitated, not wanting to leave his friend in obvious discomfort. "What you need is a hot soak." Before Colin could protest, he had bounded from the room into the loo, and the sound of running water reached the other's ear. Returning into the bedroom, Bradley again helped his friend to stand, moving in small, steady steps towards the toilet. "You haven't taken any of those narcotics, right? I wouldn't want you falling asleep and drowning yourself, or anything…."

Colin shook his head. "No, only paracetamol."

"You're taking the other pills when you get out." Colin began to dissent again, but Bradley ignored him, pushing the slight young man gently through the toilet door. "Call if you need any help."

The Englishman wandered aimlessly about the room, shamelessly nosing around while he waited for his costar to finish his bath. Seeing official looking documentation laying on the bedside table, Bradley recognized the forms as hospital discharge paperwork, and unabashedly lifted the documents to read through the patient instructions. A moment later, an exasperated "Morgan!" escaped in a deafening bellow from the blonde. He heard a startled yelp, quickly followed by a loud crash and a muffled "Ow!", then an irritated and fearful "What?!" sounded from behind the loo door.

Bradley winced, regretting his thoughtless outburst. "Are you okay?"

The toilet door opened, and an angry Colin appeared in the doorway, dressed in boxers and an old tee, his dark hair damp and plastered against his forehead. "What?!" he repeated in annoyance.

Bradley stuttered for a moment, nonplussed simply because the Irish actor looked so ridiculously adorable and childish standing in the doorway. But Colin's annoyed scowl recalled him to the reason for his outburst, and he held up the medical papers. "Your discharge instructions say 'Bedrest'. For two days!" He waved the papers in the air, meeting the dark blue eyes accusingly. "And no strenuous activity for one week!" Colin's eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the papers in Bradley's hand. "I'm fairly sure what you did today was strenuous, and definitely not bedrest!"

Colin ignored the last statement. "You're reading my private papers," he answered in a flat voice.

"Yeah, well…" Bradley shrugged, feeling that his friend had missed the point entirely. He walked over to take Colin's arm, guiding him to the bed and using his weight to help the boy lower down to a sitting position. Silently, he picked up the flannels and knelt to shimmy the pajama bottoms over skinny feet and pasty legs. Standing, the older actor bent to wrap both arms around the thin back, locking hands behind his friend to lift him into a standing position, not failing to note how little his colleague was able to weight-bear this time around.

"It also says to ice and heat every two hours," he added gently. "How much of that did you get done today?"

Colin had the grace to look sheepish, guiltily tilting his head to one side. Again with the adorable. Bradley rolled his eyes. "Come on, Col." Bending to tug pillows from under the duvet, he tossed them at the foot of the bed, and then carefully assisted Colin to lie on his stomach across the bed, watching his friend's body clench tightly with sharp spasms, waiting with his hands still supporting his friend's arms until the muscles began to unclench, and the lines slowly began to ease on the young face.

Bradley walked back to the table and returned a moment later. "Here, take these," he said quietly, holding out two pills in his palm, handing Colin a cup of water. He then turned to flip on the telly, tucking the remote in the young man's hand. "Be right back," he promised, scurrying out of the room. Hurrying down to the front desk, Bradley managed to obtain ice from the hotel staff, shamelessly employing his courteous mannerisms and golden smile to full advantage.

Back in the Irishman's room, he filled the ice bag provided by the hospital, and approached the bed, noting with satisfaction that Colin already looked much more relaxed, his expression peaceful, and slightly sleepy.

Bradley settled the icebag on the boy's lower back, and the nearly-dozing lad jumped, his body jerking painfully. "Sorry, sorry," Bradley muttered, trying not to laugh. He waited quietly, watching as the slight body relaxed again, the dark head sinking back onto the pillows, eyes closed. Inexplicable affection flared up in his chest, and without thinking, Bradley placed a warm palm on the pasty forehead. The drowsy, sleep-laden eyes opened briefly at the touch and looked up, and the lad flashed his own unique Colin-brand of smile at his friend, before closing his eyes again wearily.

Bradley sighed in exasperation, having long ago given up trying to figure this whole thing out, and he sank down to sit beside his friend. The protective stance that always flared up when he was around Colin still puzzled him, but all he could sort out was that this was where he belonged – by this spectacular person's side, looking after him.

A soft snore reached his ears, and Bradley looked down with a smile at the resting young man. Carefully rising, he snatched a throw from off a chair to cover the long body, then moved around the room to turn off the telly and the table lamp. Reflecting that it was fortunate that tomorrow was their scheduled day off, Bradley added the "Do Not Disturb" sign to the front of his friend's door and noiselessly slipped out with one last backward glance at the dark lashes fanned out against pale cheekbones. Job well done.