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It's raining when Gwen falls asleep and there's still a steady drumming on the roof when she opens her eyes. For a moment she's confused about why she's awake at this ungodly hour of the morning, and then the mattress shifts and Morgana's tumble of dark hair appears in her line of vision.
"Hi," Morgana murmurs, sliding under the blanket.
Gwen smiles, slow and heavy with sleep, and Morgana shifts closer. Morgana's skin is cold, slightly clammy, and she snuggles up against Gwen's legs and stomach as though Gwen is her personal hot water bottle.
"You're cold," Gwen mumbles, and Morgana presses an apologetic kiss to her cheek.
"It's miserable out there."
Morgana lays her head on Gwen's shoulder, cold nose pressed against Gwen's neck and their bodies touching from head to toe. It's nice, even if Morgana bears more than a passing resemblance to an icicle.
The reason Morgana feels like an icicle is obvious: she's spent the past three weeks living in a tent alongside several dozen other members of Occupy Camelot. At the start Morgana didn't know any of them, but by now she's running the place: making placards, writing press releases, and being interviewed by hapless journalists to explain the process of the human mic. What's not obvious is what she's doing here.
"Did the police raid the camp?" Gwen asks, moving her arm so that Morgana can nestle closer.
Morgana shakes her head and drops a kiss on Gwen's breastbone.
"Then how did you-" Gwen's attempt at a sentence is interrupted by a broad yawn "-get away?"
"The movement's bigger than one person," Morgana says, and Gwen can tell from her tone that it's a practiced line, probably one she's used on a dozen journalists. "And it's been raining for days and I was cold. And I missed you. "
"Oh," Gwen says, warmth spreading through her chest.
Morgana isn't the easiest person to date: she's opinionated, fiercely independent, and unwilling to compromise. Based on Morgana's history, Gwen hadn't expected her to leave the camp until she'd either toppled the government and undermined the system of global capitalism, or been arrested.
"And the bed," Morgana adds.
"What?"
"I missed the bed."
"Oh, so it's not about me at all. You're conducting a romantic relationship with my mattress."
"I'm generous with my affections," Morgana agrees and wraps her arms around Gwen's stomach.
Gwen kisses the top of her head, inhaling the smell of Morgana's damp hair. The bed has felt too big and quiet since Morgana's been away. It's good to have her back.
Morgana makes a quiet contented noise, shuffles her body slightly like a bird getting comfortable in its nest, and then lies still. Gwen can feel Morgana's body gradually relaxing against her, and even Morgana's toes are warming up.
It's stupid, really, that Morgana grew up in a castle but doesn't have decent winter clothes. Anyone would freeze sitting in a damp tent in November wearing jeans and a hoodie, even if she has a wool coat on top.
"Take my wellies and gran's jumper," Gwen mumbles, brain getting fuzzy again as she eases back towards sleep.
"Mmmn?"
"Keep you warm when you go back."
"Later," Morgana says, words huffing against Gwen's cheek. "I'm not about to go anywhere."
Gwen falls asleep with Morgana curled around her, solid and warm.