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Entry tags:
TDIR: Look Before You Leap
Fandom: The Dark Is Rising
Pairing: Bran/Barney
Warnings: Alternate Universe
Rating: PG
Summary: Barney is a nurse, Bran is the handsome new doctor. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
feywood.
The new doctor is tall and handsome and completely striking, and working as he does among a lot of women, Barney thinks he'll never hear the last of it. The man's an albino, with such lovely eyes, and such nice skin -- Barney glances in a mirror as he passes it, and grimaces, wondering if he'll ever beat back the last lingering traces of acne. Someone calls to him as he's leaving the room to actually get work done. "Hey! Drew! You're working with Dr. Davies, next week."
There's a stir, immediately, people turning to look at him. Barney runs a hand through his white-blond hair and tries not to feel out of place. "How'd you get that luck?" one of the newest nurses asks, groaning. "It's going to be so wasted on you."
She's immediately nudged by someone next to her. Barney's grown out of flushing when people start whispering about him -- a nurse? Why's a young man like him a nurse? Is he...?
He rolls his eyes and turns to leave the room -- succeeding, this time, escaping into the hallway. He hugs the pile of files to him, scowling a little at the twittering and gossiping he can still hear through the door, and sets off down the corridor, shoes squeaking with every step.
He figures it's just his luck to collide with the new doctor just then. At least it's not quite literally something out of a romance novel -- the pile in his arms slips a bit, but there's no sudden click as Dr. Davies helps him steady the pile, no meeting and merging of gaze; there's no moment that feels like years where they just stare into each others' eyes and know. Actually, the doctor seems impatient, and doesn't even apologise: he's gone as soon as he came.
"Take that, romance," Barney mutters, under his breath, but he can't help watching the guy as he strides off, white and clean and professional. Barney feels clumsier than ever. He blushes when someone notices him just standing there, and pretends to be absorbed in reading the top file, steadying the pile in his arms once again.
He glances over his shoulder again to see if Dr. Davies is still there, and he can't help the way his heart skips a couple of beats when he sees him there, talking to one of the other nurses.
"I'm spending too much time around women," he says, shaking his head, and trying to ignore the nagging reminder in the back of his mind that despite all the women, he hasn't been on a single date with any of them -- and not for lack of interest on their part. He sets off to deliver the armful of files before he does something else to embarass himself even more.
---
"You're a good nurse," Dr. Davies says. He leans against the doorframe, watching as Barney finishes cleaning up some instruments, watching as he strips the thin rubbery gloves from his hands and drops them into the bin. Barney fights back the self-conscious flush, allowing himself just one glance at the doctor.
"Thank you," he says, simply, and then turns his attention to other things: things out of place, a stain here, an abandoned scalpel there. He does it to ignore Bran's eyes on him: he feels as if Bran has been watching him almost all week, at first critically and now -- well, what? Admiringly? Thoughtfully?
He rolls his eyes at his own thoughts.
"We work well together."
Barney shrugs. After a moment, there's nothing else he can do in the room, and so he turns into the stare and finds Bran looking a little amused, one corner of his mouth turned up. "Is there something I can do for you, Dr. Davies?"
"Bran."
"I'm sorry?"
"You can call me Bran," the doctor says, rolling his eyes. "Long 'a', like in barn. It's a Welsh name."
"You're Welsh?"
Bran nods. "A long way from home, I know."
"Do you miss it?" Barney asks, without quite meaning to. Bran smiles a little again, shrugging.
"All the time. Do you want to go for a coffee?"
"Huh?"
"I said," he says, smiling more, now, mocking a little, "do you want to go for a coffee?"
"Oh," Barney says, flustered, blushing again -- oh god, he's got to get some kind of grip on this already, he's making such a fool of himself -- and finds himself nodding. "Okay. That'd be nice."
---
"Thank you for the ride home," Barney says, awkwardly, his hand on the door handle. "I walked in today, and I didn't realise how late it's got... I wouldn't've liked to walk home in this, anyway."
"I knew about you walking in," Bran said, only a hint of a smile hovering round his lips. Barney is trying not to stare at him in the warm awkward half-darkness. "And it was no trouble. I wanted to talk to you, actually."
Barney wonders if he's blushing again. He can't help it. Ever since they got that coffee together he's felt more and more like -- well, he's felt more and more odd around Bran. Breathless. Sick with adrenaline. Butterflies in his stomach. A racing heart. All of that and a thousand other symptoms, and he hates it. He feels like a girl. "You wanted to talk to me?" he says, and feels stupid for just repeating what Bran said.
"Yeah," Bran says. "I was thinking..."
There's a long pause. Barney's hand is still on the door handle, and all of a sudden he has the crazy urge to get out and slam the door and run through the rain to his house. "You were thinking...?"
"You're pretty... enjoyable to be with," he says, slowly. "I was wondering if you want to come round to my house for dinner, sometime." He looks away, out of the window. "A proper cooked dinner. Just the two of us, I mean."
Barney wants to say yes. He wants to say no, louder and more insistently, and do something to get rid of the squirmy girly feelings that rise up whenever he looks at Bran. "I don't know," he says, opening the door and getting out. "I'll think about it."
He slams the door before Bran can say anything and runs for his front door, through the rain. He wants to look back, to catch Bran's expression, but he thinks it's better that he doesn't and so he lets himself in and leans against the other side of the door once it's closed behind him.
"I don't know what you think I am," he says, a little grimly, to nobody in particular.
---
"Maybe he's the one," Jane says, teasingly. Barney makes a face at her, gulping down his coffee.
"For the hundredth time, Janey, I'm not a gay boy," he says. "I don't like him that way."
"Well, there's got to be someone. Come on, Barney, spill the beans. Is it another nurse?"
"No!" he says, his cheeks burning with embarassment. "Come on, Jane, just drop it, okay?"
She rolls her eyes at him, picking at her salad. "Barney..."
"How're things going with James, anyway?" he says, in a desperate effort to change the subject. Jane tears apart a piece of lettuce, shaking her head at him.
"Fine. Wonderful. Honestly, Barney -- "
"I need to go," he says, suddenly, looking at his watch and getting up in such a hurry he knocks the empty plastic cup over. He feels Jane's eyes on him all the way out, and as he goes to his car he remembers that this next shift means he'll see Bran again, and he can't help smiling despite himself and his resolution to banish those butterflies once and for all. Before he starts the car, he sits for a moment, wondering.
Then he shakes his head as if to dislodge the thought, and turns the key in the ignition. "If I keep daydreaming like this I'll be late," he says to himself, reproachfully. But again his heart lightens when he thinks of seeing Bran.
---
"You've been avoiding me," Bran says, from the doorway. Barney spins round, startled, his heart suddenly thumping. He manages to smile, wondering whether he's blushing, thinking he must look silly, knowing he's given himself away.
"Oh, it's you," he says, and thankfully his voice is steady, at least. "Am I late for something?"
"No," Bran says, slowly, his eyes flicking to the clock. "Except perhaps to go home for dinner."
Barney's eyes follow Bran's and he curses quietly to himself. The doctor smirks a little.
"Maybe that will persuade you to finally take up my invitation," he says, softly. Barney looks up and finds himself caught by those eyes, and this is that moment, that stupid romance novel moment that feels like a year. His heart is in his mouth and feels as if Bran can see right through him, and he feels as if he can see right into Bran, too, past the arrogant smirk into the guarded hope behind. He's barely conscious of holding his hand out to Bran, but he feels it like a shock when Bran takes it, his skin warm, their fingers easily intertwining. He feels, for a moment, as if he could do anything -- knows that he can make this leap.
"Alright," he hears himself saying, above the sound of his heartbeat. Bran squeezes his hand.
Maybe Jane was right, after all.
Pairing: Bran/Barney
Warnings: Alternate Universe
Rating: PG
Summary: Barney is a nurse, Bran is the handsome new doctor. For
feywood.The new doctor is tall and handsome and completely striking, and working as he does among a lot of women, Barney thinks he'll never hear the last of it. The man's an albino, with such lovely eyes, and such nice skin -- Barney glances in a mirror as he passes it, and grimaces, wondering if he'll ever beat back the last lingering traces of acne. Someone calls to him as he's leaving the room to actually get work done. "Hey! Drew! You're working with Dr. Davies, next week."
There's a stir, immediately, people turning to look at him. Barney runs a hand through his white-blond hair and tries not to feel out of place. "How'd you get that luck?" one of the newest nurses asks, groaning. "It's going to be so wasted on you."
She's immediately nudged by someone next to her. Barney's grown out of flushing when people start whispering about him -- a nurse? Why's a young man like him a nurse? Is he...?
He rolls his eyes and turns to leave the room -- succeeding, this time, escaping into the hallway. He hugs the pile of files to him, scowling a little at the twittering and gossiping he can still hear through the door, and sets off down the corridor, shoes squeaking with every step.
He figures it's just his luck to collide with the new doctor just then. At least it's not quite literally something out of a romance novel -- the pile in his arms slips a bit, but there's no sudden click as Dr. Davies helps him steady the pile, no meeting and merging of gaze; there's no moment that feels like years where they just stare into each others' eyes and know. Actually, the doctor seems impatient, and doesn't even apologise: he's gone as soon as he came.
"Take that, romance," Barney mutters, under his breath, but he can't help watching the guy as he strides off, white and clean and professional. Barney feels clumsier than ever. He blushes when someone notices him just standing there, and pretends to be absorbed in reading the top file, steadying the pile in his arms once again.
He glances over his shoulder again to see if Dr. Davies is still there, and he can't help the way his heart skips a couple of beats when he sees him there, talking to one of the other nurses.
"I'm spending too much time around women," he says, shaking his head, and trying to ignore the nagging reminder in the back of his mind that despite all the women, he hasn't been on a single date with any of them -- and not for lack of interest on their part. He sets off to deliver the armful of files before he does something else to embarass himself even more.
"You're a good nurse," Dr. Davies says. He leans against the doorframe, watching as Barney finishes cleaning up some instruments, watching as he strips the thin rubbery gloves from his hands and drops them into the bin. Barney fights back the self-conscious flush, allowing himself just one glance at the doctor.
"Thank you," he says, simply, and then turns his attention to other things: things out of place, a stain here, an abandoned scalpel there. He does it to ignore Bran's eyes on him: he feels as if Bran has been watching him almost all week, at first critically and now -- well, what? Admiringly? Thoughtfully?
He rolls his eyes at his own thoughts.
"We work well together."
Barney shrugs. After a moment, there's nothing else he can do in the room, and so he turns into the stare and finds Bran looking a little amused, one corner of his mouth turned up. "Is there something I can do for you, Dr. Davies?"
"Bran."
"I'm sorry?"
"You can call me Bran," the doctor says, rolling his eyes. "Long 'a', like in barn. It's a Welsh name."
"You're Welsh?"
Bran nods. "A long way from home, I know."
"Do you miss it?" Barney asks, without quite meaning to. Bran smiles a little again, shrugging.
"All the time. Do you want to go for a coffee?"
"Huh?"
"I said," he says, smiling more, now, mocking a little, "do you want to go for a coffee?"
"Oh," Barney says, flustered, blushing again -- oh god, he's got to get some kind of grip on this already, he's making such a fool of himself -- and finds himself nodding. "Okay. That'd be nice."
"Thank you for the ride home," Barney says, awkwardly, his hand on the door handle. "I walked in today, and I didn't realise how late it's got... I wouldn't've liked to walk home in this, anyway."
"I knew about you walking in," Bran said, only a hint of a smile hovering round his lips. Barney is trying not to stare at him in the warm awkward half-darkness. "And it was no trouble. I wanted to talk to you, actually."
Barney wonders if he's blushing again. He can't help it. Ever since they got that coffee together he's felt more and more like -- well, he's felt more and more odd around Bran. Breathless. Sick with adrenaline. Butterflies in his stomach. A racing heart. All of that and a thousand other symptoms, and he hates it. He feels like a girl. "You wanted to talk to me?" he says, and feels stupid for just repeating what Bran said.
"Yeah," Bran says. "I was thinking..."
There's a long pause. Barney's hand is still on the door handle, and all of a sudden he has the crazy urge to get out and slam the door and run through the rain to his house. "You were thinking...?"
"You're pretty... enjoyable to be with," he says, slowly. "I was wondering if you want to come round to my house for dinner, sometime." He looks away, out of the window. "A proper cooked dinner. Just the two of us, I mean."
Barney wants to say yes. He wants to say no, louder and more insistently, and do something to get rid of the squirmy girly feelings that rise up whenever he looks at Bran. "I don't know," he says, opening the door and getting out. "I'll think about it."
He slams the door before Bran can say anything and runs for his front door, through the rain. He wants to look back, to catch Bran's expression, but he thinks it's better that he doesn't and so he lets himself in and leans against the other side of the door once it's closed behind him.
"I don't know what you think I am," he says, a little grimly, to nobody in particular.
"Maybe he's the one," Jane says, teasingly. Barney makes a face at her, gulping down his coffee.
"For the hundredth time, Janey, I'm not a gay boy," he says. "I don't like him that way."
"Well, there's got to be someone. Come on, Barney, spill the beans. Is it another nurse?"
"No!" he says, his cheeks burning with embarassment. "Come on, Jane, just drop it, okay?"
She rolls her eyes at him, picking at her salad. "Barney..."
"How're things going with James, anyway?" he says, in a desperate effort to change the subject. Jane tears apart a piece of lettuce, shaking her head at him.
"Fine. Wonderful. Honestly, Barney -- "
"I need to go," he says, suddenly, looking at his watch and getting up in such a hurry he knocks the empty plastic cup over. He feels Jane's eyes on him all the way out, and as he goes to his car he remembers that this next shift means he'll see Bran again, and he can't help smiling despite himself and his resolution to banish those butterflies once and for all. Before he starts the car, he sits for a moment, wondering.
Then he shakes his head as if to dislodge the thought, and turns the key in the ignition. "If I keep daydreaming like this I'll be late," he says to himself, reproachfully. But again his heart lightens when he thinks of seeing Bran.
"You've been avoiding me," Bran says, from the doorway. Barney spins round, startled, his heart suddenly thumping. He manages to smile, wondering whether he's blushing, thinking he must look silly, knowing he's given himself away.
"Oh, it's you," he says, and thankfully his voice is steady, at least. "Am I late for something?"
"No," Bran says, slowly, his eyes flicking to the clock. "Except perhaps to go home for dinner."
Barney's eyes follow Bran's and he curses quietly to himself. The doctor smirks a little.
"Maybe that will persuade you to finally take up my invitation," he says, softly. Barney looks up and finds himself caught by those eyes, and this is that moment, that stupid romance novel moment that feels like a year. His heart is in his mouth and feels as if Bran can see right through him, and he feels as if he can see right into Bran, too, past the arrogant smirk into the guarded hope behind. He's barely conscious of holding his hand out to Bran, but he feels it like a shock when Bran takes it, his skin warm, their fingers easily intertwining. He feels, for a moment, as if he could do anything -- knows that he can make this leap.
"Alright," he hears himself saying, above the sound of his heartbeat. Bran squeezes his hand.
Maybe Jane was right, after all.