Notes: Not too long today, but at least it's mostly sort of on time. Thank you all for the comments and the faves and the alerts and just generally for reading. You make my day :) Peach

X 15 X

Once, after their first big fight, Morgana cheated on him.

It was their first year of university, back when the three of them were actually close, before Arthur started to cut himself off from them, before Morgana started hating him for having all the parts of Merlin's heart she never managed to make an impact on. It was once, and it was years ago, and there hasn't been a moment since then that she hasn't regretted it, hasn't wished she could undo it.

She's never told him, though. She didn't tell him the morning she staggered back to her room without her underwear and found him waiting outside with a box of the stupidly expensive truffles Uther buys her for Christmas every year. She didn't tell him when they bumped into the guy and his girlfriend a few weeks later at the student union, when the guy winked at her and the girl mentioned how nice it was to see her again, when Merlin looked increasingly confused as the conversation he witnessed between the three of them got more and more suggestive without ever being explicit about what happened. She didn't tell him the next time they fought, when she was flinging all the poison she could think of at him, or any of the times after that.

She didn't tell him when she should have done, when she could have done, and she didn't tell him when Merlin came clean about Arthur, either.

She never told him, and now she never will.

X

"He's beautiful," Merlin says, and he hasn't looked at her since the midwife placed their son in his arms. "He has your ears. I was worried."

Morgana smiles, although, if she's totally honest, that hadn't even really appeared on her list of concerns. "He does," she says, looking at the love of her life, her child in his arms. "Beautiful," she echoes, and when Merlin looks up at her, the smile on his face powerful enough to melt galaxies, her decision is finalised, and it is now or never.

She holds out her hands, and Merlin walks from the crib at the foot of the bed to sit in the chair beside her, cradling their child like he's the most precious thing in the world; he is, of course, but it is good to know that Merlin knows that too.

"Here," he says, his arms lingering around hers so long that Morgana isn't sure if it is reluctance to hand over their baby or if he's just worried that her grip isn't secure enough.

Still, he does hand him over, and Morgana gazes down into the tiny, red, scrunched up face before her, the tiny, red, scrunched up face that needs her to be strong.

"Thank you," she says, catching just a glimpse of blue through eyelids almost entirely closed, a flailing fist and a tuft of dark hair sticking out the top of the blanket. This is hers, this beautiful, perfect new life, hers and Merlin's, and it is the last thing they will ever do together.

"I need you to go," she says, meeting Merlin's eyes, and, even if she knows this is the right thing to do, she still isn't entirely comfortable with how quickly he leaps to his feet.

"Of course," he says, without a second's pause. "What can I get you?"

Ah, Morgana thinks, since that rather explains his eagerness. "No, Merlin," she says. "Merlin, I need you to leave, actually leave. I need you to not be in our house when I get out of here."

"I don't understand," he says, as if his expression wasn't clear enough evidence of that.

"I know, love," she tells him, looking back down at their child; strength, give me strength. He does, somehow, because even if, months ago, she told herself it would be better for their son if they stayed together, she knows now that it won't. If Merlin stays with her, he will be forever torn in two, torn between her and Arthur, living half a life with her and their son, half a life in his mind with Arthur. Merlin will never be whole if she makes him stay with her, and none of them will be better for it.

"This isn't working," she says. "I love you, but this isn't right. This isn't how I want our son to be raised."

"By his parents?" Merlin asks, borderline incredulous. "By his mother and father?"

"By his parents, together."

X

This isn't how Merlin was expecting today to turn out. It's how he was expecting things to work out a few months ago, when he told Morgana the truth, because he couldn't see any other way it could work out; Morgana, he would have said, is too proud to forgive the betrayal he and Arthur have acted out against her.

But she did, and for a time Merlin could see the rest of their lives playing out together, this first child followed by a second, maybe a third. It wouldn't be perfect, wouldn't be the life Merlin had pictured the day he asked her to marry him, but it would be a life, and they would be happy. Morgana would stay with him, they would raise their son together, and in time Merlin would learn how to love her more than anyone, would learn how to love her as he should, would forget why he ever wanted to leave.

This is not the day he thought they would have.

"But why?" he asks. "Everything's been...I thought we were okay. And- just look at him. He's tiny and perfect and he deserves to have us together. He deserves to have a family."

"He'll have a family, Merlin. What he deserves is a home that isn't broken beyond repair."

"He has that," Merlin argues, because doesn't he? Isn't that what 'til death us do part means? "That's what we're giving him. Do you really want to throw that away?"

Morgana looks at him, expression flat as a canvas, blank as a fresh page. "Do you want to throw Arthur away, Merlin? If I made you choose, here and now, between me and him, could you do it?"

"I married you, didn't I?" Merlin points out; surely that has to be all the evidence she needs. "I married you, and that's my child you're holding, and I know I messed up, I do, but I'm here."

"I love you," she says again, and it is wrong that they should be talking about this when she can't stand up and face him, when she is pale and tired, her hair a bird's nest and an ugly hospital gown her only clothing. It's wrong that they should be talking about this at all, but it is worse that it is with her, this worn-out shadow of the woman he married. "I will probably love you forever, Merlin, but that's not always going to be enough. One day my brother will pull his head far enough out of his arse to tell you that he loves you as well, and you will choose him."

Her certainty leaves him silent for a second, and it is a second too long; she sighs, and Merlin knows that whatever words he comes up with to follow his silence, they will not be enough to fix this.

"You'll choose him," she repeats, softer but no less sure. "Even if you stay with me, you'll have chosen him, and you'll hate me for it as much as I'll hate you. That isn't the life I want my son to have."

"Our," Merlin corrects, the only argument he can still give, because she's right, at least in part. He will choose Arthur – he already has, if he's honest, if he accepts the existence of the morning he saw Gwaine leaving Arthur's bedroom, undressed to kill, proving the lie of everything he said to Merlin the evening before – and it hardly matters that Arthur doesn't choose him in return. But even if Merlin is willing to break his promises, throwing away his marriage vows and all the years he's been with Morgana, he will not give her this. He will walk out on their life together, if she wants it, but he will not turn his back on their child. "He isn't yours, he's ours."

She smiles, letting him win that one, which is not what he expected, not really. "Ours," she answers, agrees. "He's ours, and this won't change that. He will always be ours, and he deserves the best parts of us."

"And you think we have to be apart for that," Merlin states, flat, not a question, comprehending but only halfway to accepting.

"I'm not telling you this because I want you and Arthur to be happy together," she tells him, an edge to it that is enough for Merlin to know she means it. "You know I'm nowhere near that selfless."

You are, Merlin thinks, looking at her face, at the gentleness that up until today he'd thought was for him alone. It may not be for him and Arthur that she does this, that she makes or maybe lets him go, but it is a long way from selfish.

"I love you," he says, and it's not an argument. It's just a statement, a fact that no amount of time or distance between them will change, a truth entirely independent of the hole that was torn in his heart when he thought Arthur loved him and then made bigger by realising that he does not.

"I know you do," she says. "Now, off you go. You can give us a lift home tomorrow."

X

He stares at her for a long moment after that, and Morgana can almost feel his confusion, but that doesn't change anything. She will have Merlin in her life, as will their son; he won't be her husband, but he will be whole, as will their family, and one day Merlin will understand that is what matters most.

"Okay," he agrees eventually, taking a step away from her bed, then one forwards again, looking not at her but at the well-blanketed bundle in her arms. "He needs a name."

"Mordred," she answers, then has to laugh at his expression. "What? Like you thought I'd choose something boring?"

"If he's bullied at school, I'm blaming you."

She laughs again at that, and if there's an edge of a sob to it, only she and Merlin will ever know. "Go," she says, and she knows he'll hear the go to him that follows it, even though she cannot make herself say it; feel it, yes, and mean it, but never say it.

"Okay," he says again, and the step he takes into her space surprises her, almost as much as the kiss he presses to her lips, lightning quick and heartbeat slow. Her last kiss from him, over in a second. "I'll see you both tomorrow."

He's at the door before her words come back, and for a second she thinks of holding them in a little longer, letting him go entirely, but the break will not be any cleaner for her silence now.

"Merlin," she says, waiting until he turns to look at her, and it's not hope on his face. She doesn't know what it is, but it's not that. "I don't regret it."

"Good to know," he says, the barest hint of a laugh to it, as heartbroken as her own. "Until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," she agrees, waiting until the door closes behind him before letting the first tear fall.

"Hush," she says softly, as Mordred fusses in her arms. "Hush, love. It'll all be okay."