tampered | log; ongoing

log; ongoing

When; ~~super backdated~~ Friday, August 28th
Rating; PG-13? Should be pretty tame.
Characters;

dr_conscience
Summary; Now that Wilson's back, it's time he and Morgana had a Talk.
Log; Sometimes, Morgana was glad she had moved out of Arthur's apartments. While she did not mind hard work, going from essentially a life of leisure to full-time work was a bit of an adjustment, and when she came home, she was glad that Arthur was not around to see her in this state. Of course, if she hadn't moved out, she wouldn't have needed to get a job, but being able to avoid Arthur was useful in other respects as well.

She still didn't know what to do -- or even think -- about their kiss. Or the knowledge, unconfirmed as it was, that he had feelings for her.

She had never had to think about her feelings towards Arthur before. He was her friend, her childhood playmate, her future king and likely future spouse. There was no reason to dread marrying him, but she had never considered whether she looked forward to marrying him. It was just the way things were. Being in the City changed all that. They had both tried that modern "dating" thing, and now everything was complicated. She almost missed Camelot and its complete lack of eligible men. Life was so much simpler there.

She chided herself for her morbid thoughts as she undressed, still missing Gwen's nimble fingers and easy conversation.

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From Wilson's perspective, it had been a considerable amount of time since he had been in the City and, thus, since he had seen Morgana. Of course, it hardly seemed fair, given that it was just a couple of weeks for her, to make any decision without speaking to her. Aside from that, he did still care about her. The fact was that, at this point, he wasn't sure how far those feelings extended and, really, what the exact nature of them was.

Things had progressed for him; he'd moved on from his last marriage, the one that was just ending when he'd first arrived. He'd had his rebound relationship, back home; with a dying patient, no less. Truly, it rendered any of the issues in his relationship with Morgana completely unimpressive.

He didn't know what he was going to do, or what he was going to say to her; he wasn't sure what the point of this conversation was, other than to tell her what was going on. That if things seemed different, it wasn't because of anything she had done; it wasn't any offense that she had caused.

But what did he want? That he didn't know, not yet.

So, he decided, they would talk. Maybe getting some of this out in the open, maybe seeing what she had to say about it, would help him figure his own feelings out.

He looked at the door for a long moment, and then he knocked.

Morgana didn't want to answer the door. She briefly contemplated pretending to not be at home. But what if Elle had forgotten her keys? She couldn't leave her roommate locked out.

Sighing heavily, Morgana fumbled with the last few buttons of her dressing gown and went to answer the door.

"James." She smiled, hiding an unsettling mixture of happiness, pain, dread, and uncertainty. Despite her exhaustion, she stepped aside to let him in. "Please. Come in."

He smiled back as he entered, genuinely happy, despite the multitude of concerns and doubt on his mind.

"I'm sorry, I--" He paused a moment, tightening his smile apologetically, "I didn't mean to come by unannounced, really, I just... wanted to see you."

Any other way he could put it sounded far too ominous for what he had to say. He wasn't going in with the intention of ending a relationship, just... evaluating where it stood. Where he stood.

It wasn't exactly as if he'd had experience with this before, randomly being plucked in and out of realities at the whims of some mysterious, deranged beings.

"It's fine." Morgana closed and locked the door, then gestured for Wilson to take a seat. "I'm always happy to see you." Which was true, more or less.

She stood uncertainly for a moment, in unfamiliar territory, before remembering her manners. "Can I get you anything to drink?" she asked. She wasn't delaying the conversation...maybe. For all she knew, there was no conversation to delay. Though really, she knew things had changed. Things had happened to her while Wilson was gone, and she had the feeling that things had happened to him as well. They couldn't just carry on and pretend that things were the same as before.

He sat down, letting out a slight breath as he did so.

"Oh, no, please..." He smiled, reassuringly, "I'm fine, don't worry."

Of course, after he had declined the offer, not wanting to inconvenience her, he regretted doing so. As accustomed as he was to conversations that were deep, personal, emotional -- not all of this nature, but that required the same sort of careful navigation, tact... even strategy -- this wasn't one he particularly relished getting into. Nor one which he had figured out a good way to bring it up. Of course, it was the same as any other time you had to have a capital-T Talk. You had to just get right into it.

"Actually, I was just hoping we could talk," The tone was calculated; not too ominous, not too gloomy. On the other hand, it still held some weight about the significance of the conversation.

Morgana sat carefully in a chair on the far side of the couch. The arms closed around her protectively.

"I rather thought you would say that," she said, her voice deceptively light, but without brushing off the significance in his voice.

How much should she tell him? How much of what happened between her and Arthur was his right to know, and how much of it would simply ruin things? She was no stranger to keeping secrets -- she had not yet told Arthur about her visions, and she would never, ever tell anyone about her plan to kill Uther Pendragon -- but she wanted to do right by Wilson, not just herself. It was an ethical dilemma she had not yet resolved.

"I think there are things we both need to say," she continued, and stopped, hoping that he would go first. Stalling for time to figure out what she should admit to.

He nodded at that, a motion accompanied by a short, soft sound under his breath not unlike a humorless laugh, "I get the feeling there might be..."

Looking over at her as reassuringly as he could, he was more than happy to start. He was more than accustomed to being the one to navigate delicate or difficult conversations.

"I know I was only gone for a couple of weeks here, but..." he pursed his lips a moment, raising his eyebrows as he continued, "I was at home for a year. I didn't remember anything of the City when I was there, and... well... it was a year. Life went on. A lot happens in a stretch of time that long."

He paused for a moment, glancing up at her to gauge her reaction, to give her a chance to respond to that if she would.

"A year." There was some surprise in her face and voice -- she had known, after all, that such a thing was possible, but she had never known anyone to be gone for that long. So much could change in a year. So much had changed in only a few weeks.

She looked at him steadily, her eyes inviting him to elaborate further without demanding anything. He had not chosen to leave, after all; to forget about her and his life here. He didn't owe her any explanation of what happened in that year. And perhaps she didn't really want to hear about it, both because it was a life where she didn't even exist, and because it might obligate her to reciprocate the sharing.

He gave a slight nod, deciding to press on, "I-- well, it's a lot to cover. And... I can, if you want to know any of it, but... well, it would be quite the time investment. And, really, it's another world entirely."

A small smile, as comforting as he could manage it without overdoing it, graced his face, "It does matter. I can't say it doesn't, when... obviously it does. The things that happen to us shape who we are; they change us, in ways we don't really perceive. In that sense, I'm not exactly the same person I was when I left here. But... I do remember, now, and... I still care. I don't think I could ever not, entirely."

Pausing, he drew in a slow breath, putting his words together as he explained and summarized, "I just... thought you should know that. If things don't seem the same, it's because they're not the same. But it's not because of you, or anything you've done. I want to make sure you know that."

"That's not true." Morgana looked away, collecting her thoughts. "You're not the only one who has changed. Things happen in a few weeks, especially here." She took a deep breath. "Things have happened, while you were gone. I don't know what they've changed, but they have changed something."

She looked back at him with a small, wistful grin. "So no, you cannot take everything upon yourself. As much as you may wish to."

Wilson drew in a breath, "I didn't mean to imply that things didn't happen here, just... that if I'm acting differently, it's not because of you."

He took a moment, looking away, thinking about what she'd said and, truth be told, about the fact that Arthur was drawn to her as a result of the curse.

"I think... maybe we should figure things out as we go?" He glanced back up, slowly, "If you want to. I meant that, you know; that I couldn't ever not care. So whatever you need to do to be happy... I want you to do it, without worrying about anything else."

Morgana let out a short, bitter laugh -- hardly more than a breath of air.

"I don't think it's that simple," she said.

How could she do whatever made her happy if she didn't know what would make her happy? Wilson made her happy. What she felt for him wasn't the burning fire sung of in ballads, but it was warm and sweet. Arthur...Arthur was her oldest friend. He drove her to the brink of madness, but there was no one she cared about more in the world. That they would most likely be married, she had made her peace with long ago. She knew she could marry him. But she wasn't sure she could be in love with him. What would be left when the fire had consumed everything else?

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should not tag while sleepy, but oh well