Chapter Text
Nigel laid still on the kitchen floor. His eyes were shut, but no matter what he tried sleep wouldn’t come. This past week had effectively shaken up his routine and things didn’t seem like they were returning to the status-quo anytime soon. Getting a play shut down so far into production was nothing new, but the continued string of failure had taken an effect on Nick that Nigel had never seen before.
A musical was not a bad idea; it was actually an amazing one. The inner longings of a character paired with the emotional sentiments of music was an amazing way to build a story. But a story all about eggs? That’s where the artistic agreement split.
If that wasn’t enough Nick seemed to be putting a lot of stock into this Nostradamus guy. Consideration of an outsiders opinion had been a point of discussion between the brothers for awhile, but this guy seemed a little off to Nigel. Not only did he look completely disheveled, but every other sentence out of his mouth didn’t hold any meaning, they were just words smashed together under the disguise of a sentence. And it certainly didn’t help that Nick seemed to be valuing Nostradamus’s ideas more than those of his own brother; Nigel couldn’t deny the sting that came from that.
But then there was her.
Nigel was full of love. He loved his brother, his sister in law. He loved the guys that brought his scripts to life. He loved the process of putting his quill to paper and sorting through the emotions he felt within his head and in doing so gaining a deeper understanding of the world he loved.
But lovely love? That was something he hadn’t put much thought into. He was always so busy with his writings and the theatre that it rarely crossed his mind. Not that he hadn’t tried, it’d just been awhile. In his past when he’d see a pretty lady in the town square or when Nick and Bea would try and set him up he would really try to make a connection. But talking was a lot harder than writing. When you write you don’t have to know everything from the start, you can take your time and figure it out. In a conversation if you stop talking for too long you offend the other person, prompting them to huff and leave, leaving you wondering what was wrong with you. So Nigel decided to stick with what he knew, and what he knew was how to write.
He’d never expect to find someone who loved writing as much as he did, let alone for that person to love his writing. Further let alone that person be a puritan.
That was part of the many reasons why Portia Brookes was so special, Nigel never thought there could be a person in the world like her. But from the moment he locked eyes with her he got this feeling in his chest, a joyous fluttering sensation that warmed his body, as if this was the universes way of presenting him the greatest gift it could ever bestow, a gift that Nigel wouldn’t believe himself deserving of in a million years.
He felt that way when he first saw her, and he felt that way now as he stayed restless on the kitchen floor. He had only known Portia a week but he had already done so much with her. He’d shared his works in progress, they both snuck out of their homes to meet each under the bridge, on their second occasion meeting they’d even gotten to see the Bard himself. But even in the presence of William Shakespeare, everyone staring at him as if the second coming had taken place right before their eyes, Nigel’s eyes were on Portia, and the part that blew Nigel away? Her eyes were right back on him.
A creak from the hallway prompted Nigel to sit upright. “Oh, I’m sorry Nigel,” started Bea, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Oh n-no you didn’t, I-I actually hadn’t been able to sleep,” replied Nigel, “But why are you up?”
“Early sicknesses,” said Bea, her hand moving to her stomach. Worry filled Nigel’s face, so Bea quickly stated “The doctor told me to expect them, it’s nothing to worry about.”
Another circumstance plaguing the Bottom Brothers consciences; Bea was pregnant. Nick had always been a worrier, that was the job “the man of the house always held” he’d always say, but this development had given Nigel his own share of anxiety. A pregnant woman deserved better living conditions than what they had, and if Bea were too have a healthy pregnancy than the Bottoms needed Omelette to be a smash hit.
“I’m just getting a glass of water for the symptoms, would you like one?”
“Sure! I-I can get them,” replied Nigel, rising up from his cot.
“Nope, you can sit at the table, I’ll get them,” Bea said as she gestured for Nigel to take a seat, “you must have a lot on your mind to still be awake, the least I can do is get you a glass of water.”
Nigel almost protested but caught himself just in time. Bea already got a lot of Nick saying she shouldn’t be doing certain things, and he didn’t want to mirror his brother in that regard. He sat at the table while Bea grabbed the glasses.
“So Nick is still at the theatre?” Asked Bea.
“Yeah, writing with his favorite ideas man Nostra-dumb-as,” stated Nigel.
Bea couldn’t help but chuckle, “Nigel, are you jealous?”
“N-no, I’m not!” Nigel said trying to hide his jealousy, “I- I just don’t understand why his ideas are so valuable to Nick.”
Bea hm’d in agreement as she poured the water, “I don’t really get it either, but I haven’t seen Nick this confident about a script in awhile, so maybe he knows something we don’t. Just give him the benefit of the doubt, huh?” Bea approached the table with two glasses in hand, giving one to Nigel and taking a seat.
“I guess…” Nigel mumbled as he took a sip of his water.
“So… are you going to tell me about her?” asked Bea grinning slyly.
Nigel choked on his water. He washed down the cough with more water, “Huh? T-tell you about who?”
“The puritan girl that Nick tells me your obsessed with,” replied Bea unwavering, eyes now matching the smirk.
Even though it was midnight Nigel’s face beamed a very prominent red as he stared down his glass, “Puritan girl? What p-puritan girl? I don’t know any girls, I mean puritans I mean puritan girls,” he word-vomited “ y-y’know Bea I’m very worried about this sickness thing I think you should see a doctor I mean I know you said you saw a doctor but maybe another doct…”
“Nigel,” Bea cut him off firmly, but when Nigel made eye contact he didn’t see the anger or annoyance that would be on anyone else’s face, instead he saw the loving, happy eyes that only Bea had, and he felt his whole body calm.
“You can tell me about her,” she said, “I’m not afraid of the church like your brother, I’m just excited you finally met someone.”
Nigel felt ridiculous for ever doubting Beas intention, but that feeling was replaced by warmth as he began to think of Portia.
“Well… her name is Portia, Portia Brookes, and she is amazing.”
Nigel talked about how they first met, he describe her pretty blonde hair and her gorgeous blue eyes. He mentioned that she wore the same black outfit that all puritans wore but while they looked like their lives were a 24/7 funeral she looked like the most stunning person he had ever laid his eyes on. He told her about how the first time he made her laugh he felt so light headed he thought he would pass out. He told Bea that Portia had this smile, a smile so perfect that every time he saw it he felt his heart swell. A smile that filled his brain with a million poems, none of which could capture even half the beauty of her but god knows he would still write them and try to capture it so that he could share with the world the amazing feeling that Portia Brookes emanated.
“And she loves poetry just as much as I do, if not even more!” He said, unaware of how long he had rambled, but fully aware of how much Bea was enjoying this. “Not only does she love poetry, she loves my poetry! She says I’m equal to Shakespeare, can you believe that?”
“That’s what I always thought, guess you got a new favorite fan though,” Bea said, practically beaming at Nigel.
Nigel chuckled as he sipped on his water, his mouth dry from his ramblings, “Mmmayybbeee…” he responded, really drawing out the mmm sound, prompting both to laugh, “you’ll always be my favorite sister in law though.”
“Aw, Nige, you don’t have to protect my feelings,” Bea said, reaching her hand across the table, resting it on Nigel’s, “I am just so happy that you have found someone who makes you feel this way. I always wanted you to have someone special.”
Nigel set down his glass and held Beas hand with both of his, “I never thought I’d get to experience this, but you were right, it is pretty great.”
“Let me give you some advice though,” Bea started catching Nigel off guard, “if you want to ‘sneak’ out, a window usually makes less noise than the front door.”
As the shock and mild embarrassment registered in Nigel, the pair both turned their attention to the front door opening.
“Nigel?” Nick said stepping inside, confused to see his brother awake before seeing his wife, “Bea?! Why are you up? You need to be resting”
“Oh, and you don’t?” Responded Bea quickly, “You don’t need to be out writing till 1 in the morning.”
Before Nick could respond, Bea moved across the foyer to greet him with a kiss, “Hi honey. How was work?”
Nick melted into her arms and kissed her back, “Tiresome.”
“Let’s get you to bed then,” Bea said, taking Nicks arm and leading him to the hall, but first stopping to ruffle Nigel’s head of hair, “g’night Romeo, thanks for the water and late night chat with me.”
“No problem,” Nigel chuckled, “Goodnight Bea, Goodnight Nick.”
“Goodnight Nigel,” mumbled Nick from the hallway. As they made their way to their room, Nigel heard faintly “why’d you call him Romeo?”
“What? I called him Nigel, y’know, his name,” said Bea, “you must be more tired than I thought.”
Nigel couldn’t help but laugh as he lay on his cot. Sleep very quickly took hold of the young Bottom, as the debriefing with Bea had provided him with some much needed comfort and a chance to sort out his thoughts of the past week. As he drifted off he began to think of Portia and the poems he’d show her, the poems he’d write her, what they might do when they hung out next.
But most of all he thought of her smile.