Title: this is surely not what you thought it would be
Author: brickroad16/inafadinglight
Rating: PG/K+
Characters/Pairing: Merlin/Morgana, Gwen, Arthur (briefly) , OC
Spoilers: None. Modern AU.
Summary: Time is running out as Morgana comes to terms with the fact that she may have let the one person she's loved slip away forever.
Disclaimer: Merlin and its characters belong to the lovely people at BBC/Shine. Taylor belongs to Taylor.
A/N: Title and inspiration come from the Taylor Swift song "Speak Now." I listened to too much Taylor today. Be glad you didn't get a whole series of these. :P

She's not this kind of girl.

Her heart thumps wildly as she slips into the back of the church, takes a seat in the very last pew next to a middle-aged couple she doesn't recognize. She's in a plain black dress, feeling out of place in the crowd of pastel and bright colors. Colors of joy.

She can't take her eyes off him, standing at the front, looking more striking than she's ever seen him in a black tuxedo. And he's tamed his hair, for once. He holds himself stiffly, as if resisting the urge to pace. She wonders what's going through his mind, if he's thinking of her five minutes before he's supposed to be married to another woman. Her brother's right beside him, a strong hand on his shoulder, muttering best-man reassurances to him. She sinks down in her seat a bit so neither of them will notice her, the girl who crashes the wedding she's been uninvited to.

She couldn't stay away, though, not when it meant the day would begin with him as the prince of her heart and end with him as another woman's husband.

She's running out of time.

But what has she come here to do exactly? Pretend that the ache inside her doesn't grow deeper with each moment that passes by? Profess her love and expect him to meet her at the back door of the church to run off with her?

She wants nothing more than to be brave, to be strong enough to just let him be happy.

Just then, Gwen appears at her side, squeezing into the end of the pew. She looks radiant in a purple dress. Her friend slides a hand over hers.

"I thought you weren't coming," says Gwen, concern heavy in her voice.

Morgana bites her bottom lip. "I couldn't stay away."

"Morgana . . ."

"I know, I know," she grumbles, shaking her head. "He's happy now. I should leave him be." She pulls her hand out of Gwen's, turns to look her friend straight in the eye. "What if it were Arthur?"

"That's too complicated a question," Gwen demurs.

"No, it isn't," she hisses back. "It's the simplest thing in the world. What is there left to this world if you don't fight like hell for the love of your life?"

She sees all the arguments in Gwen's eyes – that Taylor can give him a calmer, more contented life, that she was the one to push him away in the first place, that she could have prevented all this heartache if she'd only been a bit braver.

Before either can say a word, convince the other of their position, the processional music begins, the organ notes wafting through the church, smothering her.

Gwen tears her gaze away. "I should go. Morgana, I'm sorry."

And for a moment, she believes it. But then Gwen is gone, hurrying to her seat near the front of the church, sitting with her brother, all their friends. Morgana was friends with them once, too.

But then she lifts her eyes to Merlin, standing up there so nervously (regretfully?), and maybe it's the music overwhelming her or the bride herself as she walks down the aisle on her proud father's arm, and she knows she isn't this kind of girl.

She will not be the one to selfishly destroy his grasp at happiness. Whatever business they've left unfinished, that's the way it will stay. From this moment on, though she may think of him and pine for him in miserable silence, she will never see him again.

Taylor, resplendent in an ornate gown adorned with lace and shimmering sequins, is nearly to the altar when Morgana stands up and sidles out of the pew, doing her best to not draw attention away from the bride.

Then, just as she's about to turn and walk out, never to see him again, his gaze meets hers. Her knees go weak, and she has to grasp the side of the pew for balance. There's no anger in his eyes, only desperation and sadness.

Gwen is right, though. Everyone is right.

She's not this kind of girl.

It's a quarter to midnight, the clock is glaring at her, and her duffel bag is only half-full. She's tossed two pairs of jeans, some sweaters, and a handful of books into it, but hasn't been able to bring herself to fill it up. For the past hour, she's been lying on her bed, watching late-night TV and gorging herself on junk food. Candy wrappers litter the duvet, and she's just started on a bowl of chocolate chip ice cream.

A spoonful is halfway to her mouth when a knock sounds on the door.

Frowning, she scrambles off the bed, sets the bowl down, and trudges through her flat to answer it.

"Arthur, I really don't want –"

But it's not Arthur.

It's Merlin, standing there in jeans and tenners, hands jammed into his pockets, his old Tron t-shirt peeking out from beneath his zipped hoodie. His dark hair is messy, much messier than it was this afternoon. And his eyes, blue eyes she's loved for so long, are full of confusion and uncertainty and fear.

She wants to throw herself at him, wrap her arms around him and never let him go.

"What are you doing here? You should be at . . ." But she trails off, because where he should be is at the reception for his wedding, not standing outside the front door of her flat.

"I know," he nods, voice husky. He swallows thickly, takes a deep breath. Just as she's about to ask him in, he says, "I don't really know what to do here. I tried so hard to forget you. Deep down, I think, I knew I was fooling myself. But then you showed up today, and . . ." He lifts his eyes to hers, his gaze piercing through her. "I can't let you go, Morgana. I don't want to."

Her brain barely has time to comprehend his words before he's gathered her up, wiry arms encircling her waist, mouth desperately smashed against hers like he never wants to let her go again.

"I'm sorry," she breathes. "I'm so, so sorry. For everything."

"Do you love me?" he asks, all earnestness and open heart.

"Yes. So much."

"Then no looking back. The only one I want to share my future with is you." He slides a hand to her neck, pulls her against him so that their foreheads are touching. "And I'm not saying we have to rush, or make decisions right now. All I know is that I want to be with you."

He kisses her again, gently this time. His lips feel familiar, the touch setting off a spark within her chest.

She threads her fingers into his hair, murmurs, "We have all the time in the world."

She may not be that kind of girl, but he's not the kind of boy who can marry one when his heart belongs, always did and always will, to another.