A/N: This was written roughly... about a year ago? Maybe? It's not the super best, but I'm proud of it. Kind of. So yeah. Mostly unedited - it hasn't been re-read for at least 9 months so there's that, though it underwent heavy editing shortly after it was first written, so it shouldn't be too bad.

This is set in an AU where Morgan didn't die.

The island itself was dead, for the most part. Quiet. Empty. All the residents were in Club 41, leaving every other building and place on the island deserted. So, it wasn't dead, or empty, or even quiet in reality. But - to Morgan - it was silent, dead, and lonely, just like herself. Elaine and Guybrush, the heroes of the world, had decided to throw a party to celebrate the defeat of LeChuck and disappearance of the Pox. On top of throwing a party in a place so insignificant to both of their lives, they invited Morgan specifically.

Morgan. The one who'd caused Guybrush's untimely demise on the very island they were partying. The one who'd betrayed the pirate and cut off his hand, gotten him thrown into court, swallowed by a manatee, etc. They invited the person who had caused them both enough trouble to rival LeChuck himself. So why had they invited her? And why this island? This island had been nothing but hell for Guybrush, and she had been nothing but the same for him. So, again, why did he invite her?

Sighing softly, the pirate hunter kicked her legs, staring at the water below the dock. She couldn't go into Club 41 even if she really wanted to. No matter how long she were to sit there and think about why she couldn't go to the party, about why she had been invited in the first place, she couldn't find the answers. It was pointless. She had no answers and she'd never have the courage to walk into the probably crowded club and look at the pirate and his wife without feeling an immense amount of crippling guilt. So she rationalized instead.

It was crowded, she was tired, it was probably loud and hot in the club and most of the people were probably drinking and more likely than not drunk. It was far more comfortable on the dock, despite the breeze and the slight chill in the air. Quiet fit Morgan better than what was waiting in the club. Quiet, calm, and alone. Deserted. Abandoned.

That word had popped up quite a bit in her life. When she was a child, when she was growing up, even until her almost-death. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she could still hear LeChuck's threats, her own pleas and begging, her own sobbing, Guybrush shouting her name, and the sound of metal hitting metal. He had saved her after she had been abandoned by everyone she cared for - which, by that point, was only him - and had ended the seemingly endless cycle of abandonment.

And sometimes, when she did the same thing again, she could hear nothing more than her own, broken screams. Her own sobbing. Her own begging for it to be her and not him, her own self-deprecating shouting into the then-silent night, blaming herself for his death. She hadn't been there. She hadn't gotten there in time to even say goodbye, to try to help, to take the blade instead of him. And that was her greatest crime. Yes, he was alive now, against all odds, and LeChuck was dead, but Guybrush had once died, and it was still her fault, even if he told her otherwise on multiple occasions. She had been called his friend and she didn't even save him. She loved him, even now, and she hadn't even tried. It was her fault.

A breeze pulled her from her depressing thoughts and memories. The pirate hunter shivered, hugged herself, and regretted not bringing anything in the case of cold wind. It wasn't like she didn't have a thin blanket on her ship. Even the thinnest blanket would have helped block some of the cold. But, as always, she forgot the cold. She was once again lost in her thoughts when she stopped shivering. It was how she lived now - trapped in the past, never moving forward. But she wasn't lost for long. This time, when she was pulled out of them, it wasn't because of the temperature. It was because a certain person speaking to her.

"Mo?" Morgan had grown to hate that nickname, because it was the one he gave her. She really didn't deserve a nickname from him. She didn't deserve anything from him. A moment later, he sat down next to her. The pirate hunter scooted left to give him more room, but didn't glance up, and barely even acknowledged his existence. "What are you doing out here? The party's in Club 41."

Why did he sound so shocked? Was it because she'd actually come to Flotsam Island? Of course he probably only invited her out of pity and a sense of obligation. He'd never expected her to actually show up. Instead of wasting her breath on what would surely just be another pointless apology, Morgan shrugged. Well, partly because she didn't exactly know why she was out here too. Though, she had a pretty good theory on why she was out here.

"Were you planning on coming to the party?" Guybrush asked, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it before. He sounded kind of sad, maybe a little disappointed too. For a moment, he seemed more like a kid than ever before. She could feel him looking at her, which made her turn her head slightly away from him, looking down and towards the left just a little. She felt utterly pathetic.

Not only was she probably being one of the most unfriendly and least conversational people to ever live, but she was also acting like a shy girl talking to her crush. It was just pathetic. Why didn't he just leave her there?

Neither of them spoke for a couple of minutes, Morgan too busy watching the water move gently in the breeze, making small waves that crashed against the surface of the water a few inches away and then disappeared in the water again, and Guybrush apparently waiting for her answer. Time seemed to drag on, a never ending loop of silence between them. Finally, the pirate spoke again, apparently having grown bored of waiting for her to respond. "Are you okay?"

It was a question Morgan didn't have an answer to and probably never would again. How would someone like her even answer it? Truthfully or with a lie and a smile? Sighing internally, she turned her head to finally look at Guybrush, forcing a smile that was smaller than her real ones. "It's a little crowded. I was thinking about joining when less people were there." Lie with a smile.

Actually, she hadn't even answered the question. It was another way to escape, if the person who asked didn't notice. Sadly...he noticed. "You didn't answer the question." He was actually more serious that she'd really seen him before - excluding when she had betrayed him the first time. When he treated her like she was already dead in his eyes. When she had actually become everything she acted like.

Why did he even save her?

Finally, Morgan sighed, letting her smile disappear and her true feelings show on her face. There was no sense in lying now. Guybrush was much smarter than she credited him for. That was another reason she was a bad friend. "Why did you invite me?" It was one of the last things she wanted to ask or say...she didn't want to bother him when he was supposed to be happy and proud, but it slipped out before she could stop it.

"Because you're my friend, Morgan," he answered almost immediately, smiling warmly at her. It hurt her to look at him so she just looked back down at the water and hugged herself again. She wasn't cold in the slightest. Just guilty. "Are you cold?" It was clear in his voice that he'd stopped smiling. Before she could even think of a proper response, he had already stood up, taken off his jacket, draped it over her shoulders, and sat back down.

Morgan grabbed each side of the jacket with her hands and pulled it tighter around herself. It felt insulting to give it back to him, even though she didn't deserve it. That and it was really warm. He'd be lucky to ever get it back, honestly.

"You're welcome at the party, Mo. You helped defeat - "

"I'm sorry."

It felt like the first time again. Her voice had been so small, it had cracked and grown smaller with emotion, with pain, with regret. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry. She couldn't cry. She remembered the first time those words slipped past her lips, how broken she had felt inside, staring down at Guybrush's still faintly warm corpse, whispering apologies that he would never hear. Even now...her voice was small. Full of regret and guilt. Like it had been then, like it had been the first time she spoke to Guybrush after he came back, like it always would be.

Slowly, Morgan turned her head and looked at Guybrush, opening her eyes and staring at him. He looked sad again. Maybe he was uncomfortable with her apologizing again. That's all she ever did anymore - all she could do. But this time, it was a different kind of sadness. A sadness she herself felt every time she looked at him. A guilty kind of sadness. Full of regret. But what reason did he have to feel guilty? He had saved her, he had been the friend she had needed her whole life, and she couldn't even return that to him. Seeing him look back at her like this made it impossible for her to not cry.

"I'm so sorry, Guybrush. It's my fault. It's always been my fault. I betrayed you and got you killed, even though you saved me. I'm not your friend. I'm your burden at best," she said, pausing to take a small breath. Her voice was cracking and she wanted to stop talking, but she couldn't. It was impossible. "And your murderer at worst." The last part hadn't meant to be said, but it was the truth to her. It hadn't been LeChuck. It had been her. She had killed him.

"Morgan..."

"I don't deserve your forgiveness, your smiles, or your friendship. I don't deserve any of it. Guybrush, please. Just tell me the truth. Stop pitying me. It's my fault. I don't deserve to be your friend. I never did and never will. Leave me like you should have then."

It was quiet for a moment. Two moments. A minute. An endless stretch of time. Morgan felt more alone in that silence than she ever had before. She was bare. Finally, she had let him know exactly how she felt about herself and their friendship. And now all she needed was for him to agree and leave, finally rid of her and her traitorous ways.

But he didn't.

"It was LeChuck's fault," he said slowly, as if he were trying to get Morgan to understand it. Which she did understand it. She hadn't been the one to physically stab Guybrush and kill him. But she had still been the one that didn't get there in time and save him. It meant the same to her. "You can't blame yourself for what happened. I saved you because you're my friend. You would have done the same."

"But I didn't."

"You would have."

He was sure of her as a person. It was weird to have someone insisting that she was a good person, and that she wasn't the one at total fault. Not even she could do that for herself. She didn't do that. Because she didn't deserve it - she was a bad person, no matter how it was looked at. She didn't save him, or anybody. Ever.

"It's over. It happened. But I'm here now," the pirate said softly and slowly. Was he speaking to her or at her? He was looking straight ahead now, so there was no telling if he was even speaking to anybody. Maybe he was just speaking into the night. Morgan did that a lot too. "I've moved on. And if I can move on from my own death, so can you, Morgan."

There was a pause before she spoke. "Are you even real?" she whispered. It wouldn't be the first time she imagined someone she loved alive and next to her. Guilt made her imagine things like that a lot.

"I sure hope I'm real," he said lightheartedly, looking at Morgan and smiling. For as long as she had known him, he was always the one to make jokes or comments to lighten an overly serious mood. Maybe he had even tried making a joke while he was dying. Not that Morgan would ever know if he did. "I don't think it would be fun to be an illusion."

At that, Morgan smiled. She was still crying, her eyes burning from the tears, but she smiled. "I don't think it would be either."

"So we agree. Being and illusion wouldn't be fun," he said. She nodded her head just enough for him to notice. The mood felt serious for a moment again when he continued, all the joking tones and facial expressions disappearing immediately. "It's not your fault, Morgan. Really. I invited you because you're my friend, and you helped me and Elaine defeat LeChuck. So...are you coming to the party or not?"

It was now that he stood and stepped away from the end of the dock, holding out his hand and waiting to see if Morgan would take it. She could say no, and he would probably leave, and she would be free to go and never see or speak to him again. Because, in the end, it was still undeniably her fault, no matter how many times he tried to assure her it wasn't. She'd always live with the guilt of knowing that his death could have been avoided in the first place, if she had just been a little faster.

Despite this, despite everything she had told herself about the situation, all the excuses she had made up as to why she was sitting alone, as to why she wanted to say no and leave his life forever...despite it all, Morgan smiled and reached out for his hand, slowly rising to her own feet.

It wasn't her fault to him. It couldn't be her fault. Because he was right - she would have saved him. She would have done anything if it had meant he hadn't died then. They were friends. And he saw the good within her bad. He saw the real her. She just had to believe him and trust that he was being honest with her.

Guybrush smiled, taking his jacket back when she offered it to him, and turned away from her, beginning to walk back to Club 41. But Morgan paused. When he noticed she wasn't following, he turned and stared at her in question, opening his mouth to speak. That was when she hugged him, nearly knocking him over. He paused in shock for a moment, staring at her in silence, but it quickly faded. He then smiled, wrapping his arms around her in a hug that they both needed.

"Thank you," she whispered, eyes closed, a few tears falling out of the corners of her eyes and leaving little wet spots on his shirt. She could feel his chest move with each breath he took and she could hear his heartbeat - which had been racing when she first hugged him, but was even and calming now. Rhythmic. "Thank you for being my friend, Guybrush."

There was a pause and it was quiet. The pirate replied softly, his voice warm and friendly, genuinely grateful. "Thank you for being my friend, Morgan."