A/N: Hey guys! Shorter chapter here, and it's almost 100% Gwen/Morgana interaction because I'm a sucker for female friendship development. Thank you to everyone who has favourited, reviewed and followed since the last chapter, it's been very much appreciated and a huuuuuge thanks to everyone who gave my new story, Burn Brighter, a go even though it's clear I have a bit of a problem when it comes to updating my stories.

Gwen:

"Ok, 5 things you hate most in the world, go."

"Ignorance, running, traffic, lack of justice and unflavoured rice." Morgana answered promptly, bent over a textbook on the floor of my bedroom.

"I really hope that wasn't in order of importance," I answered, smiling at her response.

"Unflavoured rice is the Judas Iscariot-level betrayal of the culinary world." she insisted, adding in a faux-snooty voice, "only those of us with true nutritional expertise understand, you see."

"Um, yesterday you congratulated yourself on meeting your 5-a day because you had 5 blueberry flavoured ice lollies."

"That's neither here nor there." She waved a dismissive hand at me. "Why are we even playing this game, anyway? It's meant to be something you do when you don't know someone, not when you've been living on each other's laps for three months."

"Because if I have to look at these quadratic graphs for even a second longer I may gorge my own eyes out with a spoon." I groaned, vaguely registering that somewhere along the way I had picked up Morgana's habit of over-the-top statements. "And as my friend, it is your job to allow me to be nosy about you to protect my eyes from their impending doom. Life is hard without vision, you know."

"I thought you were finding Maths easier since Arthur started helping you out?" I steadfastly ignored the teasing way she rolled her tongue around Arthur's name. It had been nearly two months since I had stood in this kitchen, trying not to hyperventilate as he flirted and teased at me. I had been on the verge of gathering up enough courage to flirt back when I'd suddenly seen a figure appear in the garden through his window, bringing with it that same feeling of apprehension and being watched that had been plaguing me for weeks. I'd blinked, terrified, and the figure had disappeared, leaving me to wonder if I had again been imagining things, but the damage had already been done. I'd been too shaken to stay in the house any longer and had burst out of the kitchen, demanding Merlin take me home, heedless of Arthur's bewildered expression. Since then he'd cooled down on the flirting, presumably because he thought me uninterested- or maybe he'd just lost interest, I thought, feeling a sharp pang at the idea- and had treated me as nothing more than a friend and Maths student.

"I have," I admitted. "But I gave him the week off last week when the Knights drew with Northumbria."

"Say no more," Morgana replied, probably also remembering the level of intensity Arthur had been vibrating with at the end of the game, as though it was his fault and his alone that the team hadn't won. "In that case, I shall humour you because I too will cause myself irreparable harm if I have to study any more for these end of term tests."

"You're a true friend."

"Hmm, what to ask, what to ask," Morgana hesitated, looking at me nervously. "Why are you still wearing a bandanna if you're out of chemo?"

My hands instinctively went to the fabric on my head, feeling vulnerable. I wanted to laugh the question off or avoid the topic- we barely ever spoke about the cancer, and I liked it that way. I liked being around someone who didn't see me as nothing more than a terrible illness. But Morgana was my friend- my best friend, really- and it hadn't escaped my notice how secretive she was about her own life.

In the last few days, it had finally hit me, the something about her that was strange, that I couldn't put my finger on. Morgana was smart, beautiful, popular- a recipe for success and the perfect lifestyle but there was an inexplicable dullness in her eyes sometimes that was overwhelming, an energy about her that was broken and unapproachable. When everyone spoke about the future, she never seemed to have any input or ideas about what she wanted from it. She clammed up whenever her family was mentioned in anything more than passing and she was always quick to turn conversations away from herself in a way that was too charming to notice unless you really looked for it. And while I respected that she was entitled to her privacy, and God knows there were some parts of my life that I never wanted to discuss in a million years, I resented the unhappiness it brought her. Over the last few months, Morgana had quickly become an important fixture in my life, and so with a deep breath I decided to answer her question, hoping it would, in turn, stimulate some opening up from her end.

"With the kind of leukaemia I have," I swallowed, struggling against the discomfort threatening to choke me. "It's pretty unlikely to relapse after five years of remission. Doctors consider you pretty much 'cured'."

"How long have you been in remission?" Morgana asked softly.

"Coming up to two years now," I said, relaxing minutely. "But I've...relapsed before. I never want...to get my hopes up and then crushed like that again." I stopped, unable to continue suddenly from the memory of being 12 and being told that they were very, very sorry but I had to leave school again, I had to come back to hospital and repeat the whole process again because they'd tried, they'd really tried but sometimes these things just can't be helped. "Call it superstition or whatever but even though my hair's grown back a little, I can't take the bandanna off again unless I know-unless I completely and utterly know for sure- that I'll never have to put it back on."

I looked at the ceiling, breathing hard, not wanting to look over and see confusion, amusement- or worse, pity- on the face of someone whose opinion I'd come to care about.

The bed dipped under her weight as she came to sit next me, crossing her legs. "I get it Gwen," she said, uncharacteristically serious.

"My turn!" I exclaimed abruptly, desperately wanting to change subject. "Who do you love most in the world? And if you say my brother, I'll walk out of this house and never come back."

"Oh, shut up you old hag," She grumbled, ducking to hide the redness spreading across her cheeks. She was silent for a long time, making me wish I hadn't asked the question and struck whatever nerve was keeping her still beside me. Finally, she replied quietly, "my Dad."

I started, momentarily silenced by the fact that she had mentioned a family member she was normally so tight-lipped about. "You, um, never really talk about him," I said, treading carefully.

She paused again, looking unseeingly at the large dressing table on the other side of my room. "We're all each other has left."

I wanted to question her further, ask her about her mother but I stuffed the curiosity away, already feeling like I'd pried too much. "Your turn."

A cheeky smile pulled at her mouth and I sighed inwardly, relieved that the melancholy expression had been wiped from her face. "Will you be my date to the Christmas formal?"

"I would be honoured," I answered solemnly. "But you should know I need dinner and flowers before I'll even think about getting my kit off for you."

"Oh you should be so lucky," Morgana groused, flipping me off just as a knock on my door sounded.

"Come in," I called out, laughing. My dad poked his head around the door, smiling at the two of us.

"That's a whole lot of laughter for two students who have tests to revise for, don't you think?"

"We've been studying for aaaaages," I whined, flopping back on my bed. "I need a break, and preferably a sandwich too." I cracked one eye open, peering at him hopefully.

"Food is the greatest stimulant for brain activity, Mr Ambrose," Morgana added, like the treasure she was.

"One day I'll learn to say no to you like your mother can," Dad shook his head fondly.

"But today is not that day, thankfully." I replied, dragging Morgana down the stairs with us to the kitchen.

I woke up on Saturday feeling excited enough to dance and nervous enough to throw up. Tonight was the Christmas formal, my first school dance (I'd felt too tired to attend the Halloween one) and the only thing keeping me from bolting was the idea that Morgana and Merlin would be there to make sure I didn't make a complete fool of myself. Going towards the delicious smell wafting up from downstairs, despite not even being that hungry, I smiled as I saw my parents together in the kitchen, making breakfast. When I'd first been diagnosed, my mum had instantly given up her job as a literature professor to take care of me. It wasn't until I was much older that I'd realised how close it came to destroying the vibrant, larger-than-life person she was when she'd had to give up everything that made her her and dedicated all her time and strength to making sure I didn't die. She was ruthless, my mum. There had been one point when the chemotherapy had gone disastrously wrong and all my organ systems had started to fail, plunging me into a deep coma and leaving me nothing but a shell of a human being, kept alive only through machinery and life support. The doctors had been baffled when I'd opened my eyes two weeks later, completely confused as to how my brain had recovered enough for consciousness by itself. But I knew, I knew deep in my bones that it had been nothing more than my mum's pure strength of will that had brought me back, that continued to bring me back from the brink again and again.

There had been a strain and tension in my parents' relationship when the leukaemia had been at its worst. I'd never understood the reasoning behind it-and to my shame hadn't even cared that much when all I could feel was pain and sickness and this startling surety that I was going to die- but it had been there, night after night while we all silently sat together in my hospital room. Seeing them together now, smiling at each other and laughing, acting like they had before this goddamn disease had torn our lives apart, filled me with a joy so deep I practically floated to the kitchen table to sit between them.

"Hi, honey," Mum peered at me intently and asked the same question she had every morning for the last 5 and a half years. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, Mum."

"Ready for your big dance?" Dad asked, as he plonked a large plate of bacon and sausage and eggs down in front of me. I pushed it away, stomach churning.

"A little," I admitted.

"Don't be," he said. "I've chaperoned Merlin's dances before. They're not what they used to be, these things, I can tell you that. In my day they'd be drug fuelled nights of rebellion, with no rules and no limitations. Now they're all so prim and proper and the kids are too scared to even sneak in alcohol half the time." He rolled his eyes at the thought, exasperated.

"Thomas!" Mum reached over to push him off his stool. "Don't give our daughter any ideas, you idiot!"

"I'm not," my dad laughed from where he was sprawled out on the floor. "I'm just saying that school dances used to be a lot wilder back in the day and that Gwen has nothing to worry about." He turned to face me, leaning in conspiratorially. "Let me tell you, Gwen, I used to have this girlfriend called Ella who would wear the most pleasing dresses, and-"

"Yes, dearest husband? Please do continue."

He wisely back-peddled after seeing the glint in Mum's eye. That woman could be scary as fuck when she wanted to be. "Aw, don't be jealous Lis. You'll always be the best girl that ever came my way."

"And don't you forget it, " Mum grumbled, unable to keep the frown off her face as my dad started to kiss her all over her face.

"Gross," I stated, waiting for them to finish. Instead, they graduated to full on snogging in front of me. "I'm still here guys!"

No response.

"You guys are the absolute worst," I bitched, getting off my stool and wandering off to annoy Merlin, mumbling about being scarred for the rest of my life.

"Ok, no, real talk," Morgana said, staring wide eyed at my walk-in wardrobe. "How many clothes does one person need?"

"Artistry doesn't have a limit," I explained patiently.

"Gwen I can move in this thing," she opened her arms out and glided through the space, trailing her fingers through the various articles of clothing I had meticulously organised and hung up. "How are you going to decide what to wear tonight? You've got more choice in here than the whole of H&M."

"I've already picked my outfit out," I gestured towards a long, golden dress with a high neckline. It was perhaps a little glitzier than I usually had the courage to wear but it covered my frail-looking shoulders and hid my disgusting, spindle-like legs from the world, making me look almost healthy. "We're in here because I have a gift for you."

I tried for a casual tone, but my heart thundered as I handed the garment over to Morgana. I'd gathered over the months that Morgana didn't have much money to her name, but Arthur had once accidentally informed me that she was extremely proud, extremely stubborn and would not take help from anyone, growing defensive when the subject was even brought up.

"I know you don't like gifts," I immediately blathered when she didn't say anything, staring resolutely at the dark blue fabric in her hand. "But I saw this while I was out shopping and it was gorgeous, but completely wrong for my skin tone so I thought 'why not buy it anyway and give it to more a suitable and loving home?' because I couldn't just leave a glorious artefact like that around for any old hag to wear when I knew you would look sublime in it, so really, Morgana, this is for me, not you and-"

"Gwen," she interrupted, smiling slightly. "Shut up."

I promptly did as asked.

"It's beautiful," Morgana said, quietly, looking me steadily in the eye but giving nothing away in her carefully blank expression. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I answered automatically, still feeling unsure.

"Good thing I shaved my legs," she remarked, rising her eyebrows at the long slit spreading out over her hands. "Seriously, Gwen, what kind of impression are you trying to make me give off?"

"As my grandma always says, if you've got it, work it."

"Your grandma says that?"

"That's one of her tamer 'life lessons,'" I shuddered. "Trust me."

"Not to go against my elders, but do you have some kind cardigan? The school hall gets really drafty."

"Sure, I'll get you a wrap." I disappeared into the wardrobe, mind already conjuring up the image of the silver glittery material that would pair gorgeously with the detail on the side of her dress.

"What the fuck is a wrap?"

"Okay, no," I retreated out of the wardrobe, crossing my arms, determined to solve another piece of the puzzle. "No, no, I need an explanation."

"Elaborate, Gwenny," Morgana answered, observing my red lipstick container like a Maths problem.

"You don't get fashion, right?"

"Correct," she opened the lid, sniffing it with trepidation.

"Yet literally the first time we met, you were advocating a fashion column, and gushing over my boots?"

She placed the lid back on the lipstick, put it carefully on the desk and then turned to me. My mouth shut of its own accord at the barely concealed emotion simmering in her eyes, disappearing in a heartbeat into the calm expression I was seeing more and more frequently.

"My Mum was into fashion," she offered simply, voice carefully controlled. I floundered, unable to formulate a response. Arthur had told me Morgana's mum had died while giving birth to her, that the topic should be avoided at all cost, making me hesitant to continue the conversation.

"Regardless," she said, smiling at me softly. "I really do know jack all about this crap, so can you please help?"

"I thought you'd never ask," I replied, relieved, already brandishing the red lipstick like a knife.

A/N: I know it's short and a little chopped- edged-y but I feel like that's where the characters are at now that they've surpassed the small-talk phase and are really getting to know each other's flaws and secrets. Feel free to leave a review with your thoughts.

Next up: party time, baby, 'cos we got ourselves a Christmas Daaaaaaaance.

(Real talk, I can't tell you how excited I am, I love me a good dance).