Archive of Our Own ^beta

The evening is going perfectly.

All of Morgana’s friends are at the bowling alley. Half of them are still dressed up from a Pride event they’d been to earlier in the day. There’s rainbow hearts painted on faces, pride flags sticking out of pockets and ponytails, tight clothes that show off the most amount of skin possible, and, in the middle of it all, Morgana.

It’s her birthday, and it’s an important one. The big 3-0. The gay death—not that she puts any stock in that idea.

Morgana’s lifelong best friend Gwen, who bleached and then dyed her hair bi pride colours for the occasions, bowls a strike. Morgana jumps up to cheer, spilling most of her drink in the process. She does a celebratory dance, not really in time with the blaring music, and Gwen shakes her head and laughs.

Despite the smile on her face, Morgana can see that Gwen isn’t as happy as she’s pretending. The delight of the strike and Morgana’s silly dance doesn’t reach her eyes, and her laugh is short-lived. She’s doing a good job of hiding it, but Morgana has known her far too long not to see the truth.

She’s still hurting from her recent breakup. It happened right at the beginning of the month—a frankly homophobic way to start off Pride. Morgana still hasn’t gotten the full story of what happened. All Gwen has shared is that she was dumped and doesn’t want to talk about it.

Morgana gives Gwen a quick hug before grabbing a ball and stepping up to their lane. She slips her fingers in the holes, trying not to think about how they’ve likely never been cleaned properly, and visualises herself getting a strike.

She throws the ball and it veers towards the left gutter.

“Gutter ball!” Gwaine calls from behind her.

Morgana holds her hand out and wills the ball back to the centre of the lane. It hits the first pin squarely, and all the rest of the pins fall with it.

“Cheater!” Gwaine shouts.

Morgana turns to face him and the rest of her friends. “Oh, who invited you?”

Gwaine cocks an eyebrow. “Some witch.”

“Watch it.”

Gwaine just grins and grabs a ball for his turn. Morgana rejoins the group, sitting next to Gwen and slinging an arm over her shoulders. Gwen leans into her, and they sit there cosily until the game ends. Morgana doesn’t win, but she doesn’t care. She’s terrible at bowling and knows it, but she loves the atmosphere of the alley and the excuse to be with friends.

Everyone collects their things and goes to swap their shoes, and the night threatens to end.

“I brought some goods,” Gwaine says as they leave the alley. “We could, I don’t know, go on your roof and keep up the party?”

Of course Gwaine would bring weed with him. And of course Morgana isn’t going to turn him down.

She spreads the word, and a few of her friends call it a night, but most of the group follows her to the Tube and back to her flat.

Morgana lives on the top floor of a charming old house with less-than-charming old house problems. But there’s easy access to the mansard roof, and it’s a great place to smoke.

Gwaine passes out two joints, and the group sits precariously on the gentle slope.

“What time were you born?” Leon, Gwaine’s boyfriend, asks after he takes a hit.

Morgana checks the time on her mobile. “About an hour from now.”

“Late night baby? You nearly had a completely different birthday.”

“One day is not ‘completely different’,” Morgana points out.

“I’m high, leave me alone.”

“You just started smoking.” Morgana steals the joint from him and takes her first hit. It’s smooth—Gwaine always gets the best stuff—and she blows out the smoke into the night.

Arthur, her brother, takes the joint next. He’s sitting next to Gwen, who’s looking out over the city with a melancholy that makes Morgana ache. She just wants Gwen to be happy again. She knows that only time will help, but she wishes there were something more she could do to help speed things along.

Gwaine’s weed is strong, and Morgana is already feeling the effects when the joint makes its way back to her. She takes another hit and then lies back to look at the sky. There’s no stars to speak of, but she can pretend.

When she was little, she and Gwen used to lie out in the garden of Morgana’s family’s country manor and make up their own constellations. Those stars were Gwen dancing, and these stars were Morgana conjuring fire, and the others stars were the two of them doing their secret handshake, immortalising their friendship across space and time.

Morgana misses the stars. She misses nights like that, just her and Gwen and endless hours of nonsense. It’s been harder to find time for that as they’ve got older. And lately it’s felt like Gwen is growing distant somehow. She isn’t acting any different, doing anything strange, saying anything wrong. But something feels off, and Morgana doesn’t know what to do about it.

Arthur passes the joint back, and Morgana sits up to take a hit. She glances around to see Leon lying with his head in Gwaine’s lap, other friends sprawled out across the roof, Arthur looking stoned and content, and Gwen still watching the city with an obvious sadness.

If only Gwen knew how amazing she is, how wonderful, how beautiful. If only she knew how much she means to Morgana, how much Morgana wants to erase all her troubles, how much Morgana treasures her and her kindness and her laugh.

Morgana knows that someday, Gwen will find a partner who sees all that, who sees Gwen’s worth, and the wait will be worth it.

Morgana takes another hit before passing off the joint. There’s not much of it left, and by the time it makes another round there’s barely anything at all. Rather than taking another hit and burning her lips, Morgana stubs it out.

Leon’s mobile beeps and he sits up to say, “Happy birthday!”

Morgana laughs. “You didn’t set an alarm to do that.”

“I did, and it was worth it.” He stretches out his arms, rolling his neck. “Could I use your toilet?”

That seems to signify the end of the party, and everyone makes their way back inside Morgana’s flat. There’s hugs all around as various friends start to head out, and after a few minutes the crowd has dwindled to just Gwen.

Morgana pulls her in close, wrapping her arms around her back and closing her eyes as Gwen does the same. The rest of the flat falls away until it’s just them, just their embrace, just their warmth and a lingering scent of weed.

“Stay,” Morgana whispers. She wants to keep this—this closeness, this moment. She wants to believe that nothing has changed, that nothing is changing, that she and Gwen will always be friends. She needs that. She needs Gwen.

Gwen murmurs her agreement, and Morgana gives her a squeeze before letting go.

“I’ll get you some pyjamas,” she says and goes into her room. She changes first and then pulls out something soft for Gwen to sleep in.

When she comes back out, Gwen is on the sofa, staring at nothing in particular. Morgana gives her the pyjamas and takes her place on the sofa while she changes in Morgana’s room.

Morgana is tired, and everything feels warm and slow, but she doesn’t want the night to end yet. She wants it to stretch out into eternity, into nothingness, into everythingness. She wants to experience that—and experience it with Gwen.

Gwen returns and plops back down on the sofa. She leans against Morgana, and Morgana pulls her close. It’s rare these days that Gwen is this physically affectionate with her. One or both of them is usually in a relationship, and it hasn’t always felt right, although Morgana realises that makes no sense. They’re only friends, best friends, and it’s perfectly correct for best friends to snuggle sometimes.

“Did you have a good birthday?” Gwen asks.

“I did. Did you?”

Gwen laughs tiredly. “Not my birthday.”

“Yes, but did you have a good my birthday?”

“Of course.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not still hung up on what’s-her-face?”

Gwen sighs. “No.”

Morgana thinks that might be a lie, but she doesn’t push. “Good.” She turns her head, burying her nose in Gwen’s colourful hair and tries to breathe in Gwen’s scent through the smell of smoke. “I love you, you know,” she says.

Gwen doesn’t respond, but after a minute she sniffs loudly, and Morgana glances over to see her crying. She pulls Gwen closer, rubbing her arm. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I know breakups fucking suck. One day you’ll find someone who loves you as much as I do.”

That seems to make Gwen cry harder.

Morgana wants to envelop Gwen in the world’s biggest, most comforting hug. She wants to become a blanket and wrap Gwen up like some precious baby burrito. She wants—wow, she is high.

She gets up and goes to the kitchen for water, bringing two glasses back. She presses one into Gwen’s hands, and Gwen takes it and then shifts to one side of the sofa, pressing herself into the corner.

Morgana sits down close to her, but Gwen just turns away and sips at her water.

“How can I help?” Morgana asks.

Gwen shakes her head. “We should go to bed.”

“Do you want to sleep in mine?”

Gwen sniffs and shakes her head again.

Morgana finishes her water before going to find a blanket for Gwen. Gwen takes it silently and curls up on the sofa, facing the cushions. There are still tear streaks on her cheeks.

It pains Morgana to see her friend this way, hurts more that in years past Gwen might have let her in more, told her the problem, cuddled for hours, gone to sleep in Morgana’s bed so they could keep cuddling and whispering their woes to each other.

Now there is some wedge between them, and Morgana doesn’t even know when it started to grow.

She turns the lights off and retreats to her room. Her bed is cosy but lonely, and she tosses and turns for what feels like hours before sleep finally comes.

A rudely bright light awakens Morgana well before dawn. She reaches for her nightstand, assuming her mobile must be going off, but when her sleepy eyes adjust, she sees that the light is coming from the corner. It’s growing, seemingly floating in mid-air, emanating all around until the room is engulfed.

“Morgana,” the light says.

Morgana freezes, trying to think what weapons she might have within reach. Belatedly, she remembers she has magic. She holds a hand out, but no spells come to mind.

“I’m a witch,” she says, and the light chuckles in response.

“I know.”

Slowly, the light fades, dying down until it reveals a man standing in the corner. Morgana startles and sends a bolt of lightning out from her hand, but it dissolves as soon as it reaches him.

“There’s no need for that.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

The man smiles kindly. “I’m Merlin.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Not really. I’m not here to harm you, though. You can put that down.”

Morgana doesn’t lower her hand. “Who are you?” she asks again.

Merlin shrugs. “Call me your fairy godmother, if you like.”

“What?”

“I’m here to help.”

“Help with what?” Morgana asked warily.

“With love.”

“Excuse me?” She’s tempted to throw another lightning bolt his way, but she knows there’s no point.

“Look, we really don’t have time to go through all this,” Merlin says, looking at his wrist even though he’s not wearing a watch.

“What the fuck is happening? Who are you?”

Ignoring Morgana’s spluttered protests, Merlin strides across the room and comes to sit on the edge of Morgana’s bed. She does send another bolt his way, but it’s just as ineffective as the first one. She can’t think of anything else to do. Her mind is still slow from sleep and Gwaine’s stupid weed.

“You have a very sad young lady on your sofa,” Merlin says. “And if I’m not mistaken, she means a great deal to you.”

“If you hurt her—”

“I have no intentions of hurting anyone. I’m here to help.”

“Help with what?” Morgana asks again.

Merlin considers her and then reaches out, touching his hand to hers. Immediately, Morgana feels almost weightless. She tries to pull her hand back, but it’s stuck to Merlin’s, and then the room shifts around them. The walls fall away, the bed disappears, the building turns into nothing. The world zooms around them, running forwards and backwards and sideways, and Morgana thinks she might be sick. It’s too much, much too much, and she closes her eyes, trying to ground herself to whatever reality even is.

“We’re here,” Merlin says.

Morgana opens one eye to check, but the world has stopped spinning. She opens her other eye and looks around. She’s standing in the garden of her childhood home, still dressed in pyjamas even though it appears to be the middle of the day. There are children running around, playing and screaming and acting as if a random woman hasn’t just appeared in their midst out of nowhere.

“How did we get here?” Morgana asks. Merlin is standing beside her, surveying the children.

“Magic,” he says.

Morgana sighs and looks around again, stomach flipping when she sees herself coming out of the house. She’s a much younger version of Morgana, maybe 8 or so, but unmistakably her.

“What is this?” Morgana hisses to Merlin.

“You don’t have to whisper,” he says, apparently unconcerned with the time travel they just did. “They can’t see or hear us. Or feel us. Or smell us. What’s the fifth sense? Oh, they can’t taste us, either.”

“Well, I’d hope not,” Morgana mutters.

“We’re in the past,” Merlin says unhelpfully. “Your past.”

“I can see that. Should I bother asking why?”

Merlin just gestures out at the scene of playing children as if it should be obvious. Morgana rolls her eyes and looks back at her younger self. It’s strange to see her, stranger still to slowly remember this day. It’s another birthday, which means…

She looks around, and it doesn’t take long to spot her—Gwen. Gwen is on the swings with Arthur, laughing as her hair bounces with each swing. Her laugh is loud, unabashed, and it sings in Morgana’s chest even as it gets drowned out by the other children’s shouting.

Present time is announced.

The kids gather around the younger Morgana as she starts ripping into boxes and bags of gifts. There’s so much, so many things, so many toys and trinkets and books. Morgana is slightly embarrassed to see the greed on her own face, especially knowing now that so many of these presents languished untouched as the years went by. Still, they had brought her joy in this moment, and she supposes that is enough.

Gwen’s little voice pipes up with, “That’s from me!”

Morgana watches herself open a book, the final book in a series she’d been obsessed with at this age. Her younger self gives Gwen a hug, beaming, and then swiftly sets the book down and moves onto the next box.

It’s some kind of remote-controlled helicopter, and little Morgana runs off with it, the rest of her presents forgotten in favour of more immediate fun. The boy who’d given it to her runs after to show her how to work the control, and the rest of the party guests watch. Some get up to join, some go back to their own games, some go to the little table of treats and stuff their faces with sugary snacks.

Gwen stays near the presents, poking at the book she’d given with a pout.

If only she knew that Arthur would break the helicopter in less than a week, and Morgana would re-read Gwen’s book over and over and over, hiding under her covers with a flashlight so she could stay up past her bedtime to revel in the world of the book, the book given to her by her best friend.

Morgana wishes she’d been more grateful to Gwen in the moment, less selfish with the other gifts. But she’d only been a child—who could blame her for getting distracted by a fun new toy?

She glances back at Merlin, who is also watching Gwen’s pity party.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“I thought it might be illuminating.”

“How, exactly?” Merlin shrugs and holds out his hand. “If I touch you, are we going to do that horrible spinning thing again?”

“I’ll try to control it better this time.”

“Are you taking me home?”

“Only one way to find out.”

With a sinking feeling, Morgana reaches out and holds Merlin’s hand.

The transition from one moment to the next is easier this time, with less spinning and more vague drifting through colourful blurs. It’s like one of those sci-fi films that tries to imagine the consequences of getting too close to a black hole, but instead of outer space, it’s time that is being traversed.

When the drifting comes to a stop and the world solidifies again, Morgana sees herself sitting on her bed. Not her bed now, but her bed from when she was a teenager. She’s in her room, and the walls are absolutely plastered with magazine pages and computer print-outs of various celebrities. There’s a sea of faces watching—athletes, actors, musicians—and Morgana can’t help but remember how awkward it had been to try to touch herself in front of such an audience.

The bedroom door opens, and Gwen comes in with two glasses, one filled with water and the other empty.

“Oh,” Morgana breathes as the memory forms. This is another birthday, one she has thought about often in the years since.

Gwen closes the door and sits on the side of the bed where the teenage Morgana is scrolling on her laptop. She has a journal open in her lap, and she’s comparing what’s written there with what’s on the screen.

The journal is filled with an assortment of spells, ones collected from books or blogs or ones Morgana made up along her journey in understanding her magic. It’s a newer discovery, one she hasn’t told many people about. But she’d told Gwen, and now they are experimenting.

“Right,” the Morgana on the bed says as she closes the laptop. “Are you ready to attract your true love?”

Gwen’s smile is nervous, but she nods. She looks so young and innocent, sitting on Morgana’s bed holding spell components in her hands. Her hair is long and plaited, but there are so many curls escaping from the plait. Morgana knows that Gwen’s hair was a source of endless frustration at this age, but she has always loved it. Her own is dreadfully straight and boring, so she couldn’t help but envy her best friend’s endearing curls.

At the moment, younger Morgana is sporting an ill-advised bob. It’s a style mistake she made only once. She takes the glasses so Gwen can situation herself at the foot of the bed, facing Morgana.

“So.” Morgana checks the instructions in her journal. “We both spit in the empty cup, then I’ll say the spell and pour the water in with the spit. Then we light a candle and put it out in the spit-water.” She nods towards the nightstand, and Gwen leans over to get the tea candle and lighter. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Young Morgana smiles. “Don’t worry. We’ll attract the hottest guys after this. We’ll be simply irresistible.”

Merlin lets out a quiet chuckle, and Morgana can’t help but smile as she watches the scene. If only they knew then how queer they’d turn out to be. Morgana had had no idea until she was a bit older, but judging by the look on Gwen’s face at the prospect of attracting a slew of hot guys, it’s very likely she’d had an inkling even then.

On the bed, Morgana closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Gwen just watches her, worrying her lower lip. When she’s ready, Morgana opens her eyes, gives Gwen a smile, and spits in the cup. She holds it out and Gwen does the same, still watching Morgana.

Morgana isn’t watching back, though. She’s looking down at her journal, oblivious.

“You could cut this tension with a knife,” Merlin says.

He’s right. The Morgana on the bed has no idea, but from the side of the room, the older Morgana can’t not see it. Gwen is looking at her friend like she hangs the moon, like she’s all there is in the world.

Morgana doesn’t understand. How could she have missed all the signs that Gwen used to fancy her? How long had her crush lasted? Why hadn’t she ever confessed her feelings? And what is the point of her learning this information now, when there’s nothing she can do about it?

Younger Morgana clears her throat and straightens up to say her spell. She chants it quietly, eyes on the spit in the cup, still self-conscious doing magic in front of other people, even her closest friend.

Gwen looks like she might die of longing.

Morgana’s eyes flash gold, making Gwen’s breath catch, and then she pours the water in with the spit.

“Light the candle.”

Gwen does so, her hands nearly shaking. She looks up at Morgana, and their eyes lock as she drops the candle and it sizzles out in the water. Morgana smiles and puts the cups on the nightstand before leaning across the bed and pulling Gwen in for a hug.

Gwen looks surprised for a second, but then she relaxes into it, closing her eyes with a smile.

“Happy birthday,” Gwen whispers.

Morgan has to look away. She turns to Merlin, who is watching the scene with a strange fondness.

“Can we go?”

Merlin holds out his hand, and Morgana takes it without hesitation.

The world tips and dips around Morgana as she and Merlin float through time again, and they get dumped back out of the void in the pub near her university. Morgana spots herself immediately. She’s the centre of attention, all her friends gathered around her as she stinks up the place with her horrible birthday karaoke.

“Oh god,” Morgana groans at her own voice. “Really?” she asks Merlin.

“What am I supposed to do about it?” Merlin asks before covering his ears.

Thankfully, the song ends after a few more off-key notes, and then Arthur steps up to take his turn. Morgana, blissfully ignorant of her tone-deafness, goes to get a drink from the bar. She ends up getting two, and unsurprisingly she gives the second drink to Gwen.

Gwen drinks most of it one go, pulling a sour face when she finally stops chugging.

“Will you go next?” Morgana asks.

“You know I don’t sing.”

“But it’s my birthday.” Morgana puts an arm around Gwen’s shoulders and turns them towards Arthur’s lively performance. “And you’ll feel better. Pick something screamy.”

“I don’t need to scream,” Gwen says quickly. “I just need…” She shakes her head.

Morgana sips at her drink before saying, so low that the eavesdropping Morgana barely catches it, “You need to dump his sorry arse.”

Gwen rolls her eyes. “I know you don’t like him, but—”

“But what? Does he even like you? This is the third time he’s ditched our plans. How many times are you going to let him do this to you?”

Gwen shrugs off Morgana’s arm. “That’s my decision and my business.”

“You could do so much better than him.”

Gwen knocks back the rest of her drink. “With who?” she rasps.

“Anyone? Surely there’s someone out there who will actually give a shit about you. Will be there for you when you want to see them. Will take you out for dinners. Give you little gifts when you’re not expecting it. Treat you nicely. Value you for the fucking amazing woman you are.”

“Are you just describing yourself?” Merlin asks, elbowing Morgana as she watches herself and Gwen.

She ignores him. She remembers how much she’d hated Gwen’s boyfriend at this time, although now she can barely remember the guy. He hadn’t lasted all that long in the end.

“Well, let me know if you ever see this person out there in the world,” Gwen says. She hands her empty glass to Morgana and pushes into the karaoke crowd.

Morgana sighs and goes back to sipping her drink. She watches mournfully as Arthur takes a bow and passes the mic off to Leon.

“How many more of these do I have to see?” Morgana asks Merlin.

“Hm? Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over the singing,” Merlin says with a smirk.

“I want to go back to bed,” Morgana says, practically shouting.

Merlin holds out his hand, and Morgana takes it, hoping for the best.

Time loops its way around Morgana, moving like some kind of sentient Möbius strip. It spills her out into her first flat. It was a small thing, with barely enough room for the furniture, but she’d loved it because it gave her so much freedom. She’d had no flatmates, no one to answer to but herself. She could stay up as late as she wanted and leave dirty dishes in the sink as long as she wanted.

Gwen is sitting sideways on the sofa with her legs crossed, facing Morgana who is mirroring her.

It’s another of Morgana’s birthdays, and they’re doing each other’s makeup before heading out to celebrate for the night.

They’re silent, taking turns without saying anything, working in sync because they’ve done this a hundred million times since they were young. Despite the routine, there’s an air of uncertainty. Something is hanging between them, unsaid and unacknowledged.

Morgana tries to remember what year this is and why they’d be acting this way.

“Can I ask you something?” her sofa-self asks.

“Mhm,” Gwen murmurs as she leans back to check Morgana’s blush.

“How did you know?”

Morgana closes her eyes. Oh, it was this birthday. Gwen had come out as bi just a few days before, spurred on by the start of Pride month. She’d done it casually, confidently, and it had absolutely wrecked Morgana.

How could Morgana not have known such an important thing about her very best friend?

How could Gwen have kept this from her for so long?

What did this mean for their friendship? Did it mean anything? Did Gwen fancy Morgana, had she ever fancied Morgana, would she ever fancy Morgana in the future? Would this change things forever?

And—if Gwen could be bi, what did that mean for Morgana? They used to talk about girls together, about how nice and pretty and superior they were. They used to joke that being gay would have been preferable to being straight because women were obviously better than men. They used to admire the women plastered all over Morgana’s old walls.

Morgana had always assumed it was all in good fun, that everything they were saying, everything they were feeling, was just par for the course. The fact that she had Gwen to share these things with reinforced the idea that it was all just… normal.

Then Gwen had come out, and Morgana’s world had come crashing down.

If Gwen was bi, what did that make Morgana?

“How did I know what?” Gwen asks, even though Morgana is sure she already knows the answer.

“That you’re bi,” Morgana whispers.

Gwen looks at her for a long moment, her jaw set and her eyes fierce and something unknowable warring in her thoughts. Morgana remembers vividly how desperately she’d needed to know, to understand.

“It’s hard not to know,” Gwen finally says. She takes Morgana’s face in one hand and uses the other to do her eyeshadow. Morgana closes her eyes to let her work.

“But when—”

“I’ve always known,” Gwen says. “At least a little. Ever since I started liking boys, I… girls always felt like an option, too.”

The Morgana on the sofa says nothing. The Morgana watching turns to Merlin and asks, “Do you have to keep showing me this shit?”

Merlin’s eyebrows rise. “It’s your life.”

“It’s--” Morgana huffs and turns back to the sofa, wishing the memory would end.

“Was I ever an option?” Morgana asks Gwen, and Merlin chuckles.

“Shut up,” Morgana hisses.

A painfully long moment passes, and Morgana can feel the truth hanging between them, so obvious.

“Don’t ask me that,” Gwen finally says. She lets go of Morgana’s face.

Morgana opens her eyes. “Why not?”

“Because if I say yes, things get weird. And if I say no, you get offended. So just don’t ask.”

Morgana pokes a big brush at a blush palette, pouting.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Gwen says.

“Why not?”

“You’re straight. How I may or may not feel is irrelevant.”

Morgana looks up, meeting Gwen’s gaze. “You’re not irrelevant.”

Gwen just looks back at her, clear longing written across her face. Morgana cups her cheek, and Gwen’s breath hitches. Then Morgana starts applying blush, and Gwen exhales and closes her eyes.

“I can’t fucking watch this,” Morgana mutters.

Merlin’s hand comes to rest on her shoulder, and Morgana covers it with her own.

Morgana squeezes her eyes shut as time and space ripple around her, praying that she’ll land back in her room, her current room, with her current bed, in her current flat.

When she peeks, there’s no such luck. She’s at a club, music thudding unpleasantly loud.

Morgana looks around and spots herself immediately. She’s fully decked out in rainbows and the colours of the lesbian pride flag. She looks absolutely absurd, and she’s clearly having the time of her life.

Morgana remembers this birthday party, her first as an openly gay woman. It’d been a hard year of self-discovery, one she’s glad she only had to go through once. Now she’s surrounded by her friends, most of whom are also queer, as if that shouldn’t have clued her in to her own identity much earlier.

Gwen is there, dancing close by and wearing significantly fewer rainbows. She looks happy, but Morgana can’t help but wonder what this past year had been like for her.

Then the excessively rainbowed Morgana pulls her in close so they can dance together, and Gwen laughs, moving against Morgana easily. They carry on, lost in their own little world and oblivious to the rest of the club around them.

Until the song changes and someone knocks into Morgana, who knocks into Gwen, who knocks into her brother, who spills his drink on himself.

Luckily he just laughs it off and goes to get a new drink. Gwen turns back to Morgana, and Morgana leans in and kisses her cheek, whispers something private.

Gwen’s face goes stony for a moment, all the enjoyment of the night gone in an instant.

Then Morgana pulls back, and Gwen snaps back into the moment and is all smiles. She excuses herself, and Morgana goes back to dancing by herself, completely unaware.

Rolling her eyes at past herself, Morgana follows Gwen to the bar. Merlin is close behind, but she ignores him. It’s strange to be able to move around a memory like this and see things she couldn’t have known about at the time.

Gwen orders a drink, and while she’s waiting, another young woman comes up to the bar. She’s got long dark hair and the palest skin, and she smiles at Gwen in a way that makes Morgana instantly annoyed.

She moves closer to Gwen and says something that makes Gwen laugh. They chat easily as they wait for their drinks, and once they have them in hand, they move away from the bar but stick together. They find an empty corner and continue talking, drinking, flirting.

Morgana doesn’t want to see this, doesn’t need to see this to learn whatever lesson Merlin is trying to teach her with this blasted exercise.

The other woman leans in at some point, and Morgana holds her breath.

She doesn’t kiss Gwen, though. She just says something in Gwen’s ear, and Gwen nods, and then their drinks are left behind as they move into the crowd of dancers.

“She looks like you,” Merlin says.

Morgana looks over her shoulder. “What?”

“The one dancing with your friend. She looks like you.”

Morgana glances back and can’t help but see it. She does looks like Morgana, as much as she can without actually being Morgana. And she’s currently grinding her arse back against Gwen, and Gwen’s hands are on her sides, creeping towards her breasts, and Morgana looks away again.

“How much more of this?” she asks.

“Nearly there, I think,” Merlin says pleasantly. He holds out his hand, and Morgana presses her palm to his.

The grossly wiggling universe does what Morgana can only assume is an attempt at the Macarena before it launches her into yet another episode of birthdays past.

This one is a fancy-dress party in Morgana’s flat, and Morgana is dressed as Sue Perkins. She has her hair tied up under a very bad wig, having learned her lesson with cutting her own hair short.

Her girlfriend from this time, Elena, is, of course, going as Mel Giedroyc. They’ve both been making intolerable baking puns all night, and it’s only because it’s Morgana’s birthday that anyone is humouring them.

At first, Morgana just enjoys watching the scene. Everyone at the party looks ridiculous, and they all seem to be having a perfectly good time.

Then her eyes catch on Gwen. She’s dressed as Zelda, pointy ears and all. At first glance, she’s enjoying the party, chatting with friends, showing off her sewing skills because she’d made the costume herself.

But Morgana can see how often Gwen’s eyes drift to Morgana and Elena. Her smile always slips when she watches them, her brow tense and her hand tight around her drink.

“Why doesn’t she just say something?” Morgana asks, exasperated. “She’s clearly jealous.”

“What should she have said?” Merlin asks. “She knew perfectly well her feelings were not reciprocated.”

Morgana opens her mouth to argue, but he’s right. If Gwen had told Morgana how she felt, nothing good would have come out of it.

At least, not back then.

“She knows her place in your life,” Merlin says, and Morgana waves her hand to shush him.

Gwen’s place in her life isn’t some trivial thing. She’s not just Morgana’s best friend. She’s... she’s everything. She’s everything to Morgana, and Morgana has never quite seen it.

Until now.

“Fuck,” Morgana mutters. She’s an idiot. Gwen has been pining all this time, and she’s just been so ignorant.

But she can fix this. She can make this right.

She turns to Merlin. “I’m ready to go home.”

This time, he smiles when he holds out his hand, and Morgana takes it with confidence.

Morgana lands in her bedroom and blinks at the darkness. It’s still the middle of the night somehow, even though she’s been with Merlin for hours.

She turns to him to ask how that’s possible, but he’s nowhere to be found.

“Some fairy godmother,” she mutters. She sits on the edge of her bed and scrubs her hands over her face.

What the fuck was all that?

Had it really happened?

Was it just a trick of the weed?

Was it some strange trick of her magic?

Morgana grabs her mobile to check the time, and it’s just after 4am.

She can wait. She should wait. There’s no sense in waking up Gwen now, she’ll just be grumpy and groggy.

She sets her mobile down and sits on the edge of her bed, all the memories Merlin had shown her whirling about in her mind.

How close is she to losing Gwen? What might a future birthday look like? What if this is somehow the last birthday they spend together? Maybe Gwen will finally get sick of the unrequited thing and distance herself. Maybe by the next time Morgana’s birthday rolls around, she’ll have a girlfriend and spend the night with her instead.

Morgana tries to imagine Gwen being happy with someone else, and it’s difficult and unpleasant. Which she supposes shouldn’t be surprising, given what she’s learned from her jaunt down memory lane.

In every moment, she would choose Gwen. In every timeline, it’s always been Gwen. Again and again and again, it will always be Gwen.

Morgana manages to wait until 5:30, and then she sneaks out to see if Gwen is still asleep.

She’s not. She’s already dressed and putting on her shoes, clearly about to leave without saying goodbye.

“Gwen,” Morgana whispers.

Gwen’s head snaps up, and she looks at Morgana for a long moment, caught.

“What are you doing?” Morgana asks, stepping up next to the sofa.

Gwen says nothing, just finishes tying her shoes before standing.

“Don’t go,” Morgana says.

Gwen lets out a broken-sounding laugh. Morgana comes over to her, and Gwen tenses and steps back.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she says, not looking at Morgana. “I was just… having a moment.”

“It’s alright,” Morgana says. “I understand.”

“You don’t, actually,” Gwen mutters.

“I do. At least… I hope I do.”

Gwen looks at her, sceptical and guarded. Morgana knows this might be her only chance.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she says. “I was kept up all night with this—this feeling that something is wrong. Between us. Something shifting. Like I might lose you.”

Gwen just shrugs. Morgana steps closer, and Gwen lets her.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Morgana says.

Gwen shakes her head, looking down at the space between them. Morgana reaches for her hands.

“Morgana,” Gwen murmurs, but she doesn’t pull away.

“Look at me,” Morgana says. “Please.”

Gwen sighs and, after a difficult moment, looks up. She looks like she’s wearing a mask, her features perfectly neutral.

“Last night,” Morgana says, not entirely sure what she’s going to say, “you cried when I said I loved you.”

Gwen’s fingers twitch in Morgana’s hand, and Morgana holds her tighter.

“You know you’re the most important person in my life, right?”

“Morgana—“

“Just—let me try to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Tell you how I feel.”

Gwen’s mask slips for a moment, hope bubbling underneath. Morgana steels herself.

“I don’t want to jump the gun, but I do—I do have feelings for you.”

She pauses to let that sink in, but it doesn’t seem to. Gwen is just staring at her blankly.

“Fuck it,” Morgana says, and she laughs nervously as she pulls Gwen in close.

“Morgana,” Gwen says urgently.

“Let me,” Morgana pleads, and she waits for Gwen to close her eyes, to nod, before kissing her.

It starts off slow, stilted, strange. In all their years, they’ve never crossed this line. It should be momentous, joyous, but mostly it’s just new.

Then Gwen pulls her hands out of Morgana’s and cups her face instead, and now they’re really kissing. Warmth sparks through Morgana’s limbs as they crowd together, as they come together, as they move together through the newness and into something more wonderful than Morgana was prepared for.

She thought she knew what this would be like. Like puzzle pieces falling into place. Like everything clicking together after a lifetime of misalignment. Like finding perfection after a long search.

It’s not not like those things. But mostly it’s real. Gwen is real, her feelings are real, and for the first time, they are laid bare for Morgana to see.

Morgana wraps her arms around Gwen, pulling her as close as she can, relishing in this moment of honesty and naked desire. She licks across Gwen’s lips, and Gwen gasps, and their tongues brush, and Morgana pulls Gwen down onto the sofa.

She could do this for an age.

She could pull Gwen’s clothes off and ravish her right here and now.

She could live in this moment for the rest of her life.

She eases back, tucking Gwen’s hair behind her ear, and smiles up at her best friend, her world.

Gwen gazes down at her, the mask gone, the facade destroyed, the truth finally bare.

“Not to be a cliche, but you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” she says.

Morgana smiles. “I think I do, actually.”

“Oh? How’s that?”

“Let’s just say my fairy godmother intervened.”

Gwen laughs. “Oh, sure. That makes perfect sense.”

Morgana goes in for a kiss. “This shit never makes any sense.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Gwen sits up, and Morgana follows suit, settling next to her and holding her hand. “I was…” Gwen licks her lips, tries again. “I was about to give up.”

“I know.”

“How could you possibly—”

“‘Know’ is a strong word,” Morgana says. “But… I told you, I had this feeling.”

“And your fairy godmother intervened.”

“Something like that.”

Gwen leans her head on Morgana’s shoulder. “You’re sure this isn’t just the weed?”

“Definitely.” Morgana pulls Gwen’s hand up and kisses the back of it.

Gwen sighs contentedly. “Well then.”

Morgana murmurs her agreement.

They sit for a while, basking in what they’ve done, what they’ve saved.

“Do you want breakfast?” Morgana finally asks.

“Desperately,” Gwen says, laughing. “Do you want to go out? My treat?”

Morgana presses a kiss to Gwen’s hair. “Just let me get dressed.”

She hurries to her room and dresses in the first clean clothes she can find, and when she returns, Gwen is standing by the door, fixing her hair in the mirror Morgana has hung on the back of it.

Morgana slips into sandals and hooks her chin over Gwen’s shoulder. “Ready?”

Gwen looks at the both of them in the mirror, grinning in a way that makes Morgana’s heart feel impossibly full.

“Ready.”

Morgana grabs her keys, takes Gwen’s hand, and leads the way.