I wanna hold 'em like they do in Texas plays {OPEN}

[Tristian]

Tristian laughed and said, “Perfect the sleeve trick, then we can discuss becoming partners.”

‘If only’ he thought, ‘if only’.

As painful as it was to listen to Mordred sometimes when he said things like that, curiosity was getting the better of him. So when the drunkard asked for Tristian’s ‘particulars’ he said, “Alright, if you think you can. I’m looking for someone who knows how to be classy when it matters but doesn’t mind getting their hands dirty either. Someone strikingly h-beautiful but appears to put the least amount of effort into it. Someone who I can hold a decent and entertaining conversation with, which when necessary can descend into the gutter. Someone who thinks I’m wonderful but doesn’t let me get away with everything…just most things. And finally…someone whom my mother approves of.”

It was all true, and with the exception of the ‘mother approval and ‘thinks I’m wonderful’ thing, Mordred ticked most of the boxes. Hopefully that was enough to keep Mordred off the real scent though and hopefully would be enough requirements that it would be a long time before Mordred presented him with any ‘candidates’. After all, he had left off one crucial one; someone who was very, very decidedly male.

However the conversation swung back to Emma. Tristian fought to quell the panic rising within him and said quickly, “Whilst you almost certainly would embarrass me, because that seems to be your job in life, that isn’t the reason I haven’t allowed you to meet the fabulous Emma. This thing the two of us have is fooling around only, nothing more. Just someone to blow off a little steam with when things get dry or when neither of us can be bothered looking for company. Introducing her to you would make it seem like more than that.”

Hopefully that would be enough, although mentally he was going through his wardrobe thinking what would be…no this was stupid! He would just find an obliging random girl and pay her to be Emma…that was a much smarter idea…

He was drawn out of his thoughts when Mordred claimed he didn’t need any medical attention because he had Tristian and proceed to sling his arm around him. Tristian really tried not to enjoy the weight of that arm on his shoulders.

‘My ever faithful Tris’ Mordred had said.

“Always,” said Tristian dryly, rolling his eyes, whilst internally the word was repeated with a little more truth.

He would call a doctor in the morning and send them round to Mordred to take a look at the hand when he was still passed out from all the drink.

“Right, that’s you,” he said, putting the tweezers back in his bag and his phone in his pocket, “let’s get you home.”

He then proceeded to try and take as much of Mordred’s weight against him to help him stand and attempted to take a few steps forward keeping him upright. It was going to be a long walk home, but Tristian would make the walk a hundred times more, there was no way he was leaving Mordred to walk home on his own in this state.

Tristian glanced at him and said, “You finished them.”

Tristian reached into his pocket and whilst his hand was still in there flipped open the lid and dropping the contents into his pocket where Mordred couldn’t see. Snapping the lid shut with his thumb he pulled out the empty bottle, “see.”

[Mordred Le Fey]

Mordred listened to Tristian's list with a small smile on his face - a real smile, a smile that rarely appeared on Mordred's face. A smile that belonged to a certain person - or would have done, if he hadn't screwed everything up so royally. He rested his head back against the wall and sighed.

"That's Meredith." He said suddenly. He didn't even realise what he'd said, a sign of how much he'd had to drink, and so didn't attempt to backtrack or cover up his declaration.

Tristian had described everything he thought about Meredith. She was exactly what he'd said - she was classy, she was confident, she had an independent streak Mordred adored, she was beautiful... and she had thought he was wonderful. Until he had been a complete, heartless bastard. Now she was never going to speak to him again, he'd lost her. Maybe if he told Tris what he'd done - why he'd done it, maybe he could help... No, that was a stupid idea. Mordred didn't want to know what Tristian would do if he found out what Mordred had done to Meredith, but he didn't really want to find out.

He needed his pills. He really needed his pills. It was the only way he'd been able to keep these thoughts and feelings smothered enough that they didn't surface, that he didn't feel them, that he could forget what he'd done. The panicking was creeping up as Tristian pulled out the empty bottle and showed him.

"I need to find some more. We can go downtown, there's always a guy there - I need them Tris, I need to forget, they help me forget what I did, they help me forget her face when I -" He stopped speaking suddenly, looking at Tristian with fear in his face.

[Tristian]

That smile. How often had he dreamed about that smile? Too often. And there it was plastered on his face now as Tristian talked about his ideal date. No. As Tristian talked about Mordred. Which is what made what Mordred said next extremely confusing.

“Meredith?” said Tristian wrinkling his nose in confusion and disgust, “at what point did you hear ‘incest’?”

However, his brain was working faster than his mouth was. Why would he say Meredith? Why would he hear what Tristian said and think that all of that equalled his younger sister. And Why, WHY, would he say her name with that smile on his face. There was a bad feeling growing in his stomach, a very bad feeling as his mind continued to race with the possibilities. None of them good.

Possibilites that were only confirmed by the next thing that Mordred said.

Tristian stopped walking.

He let go of Mordred.

He turned round to face him and met his eye.

In a low quiet tone Tristian asked, “Mordred…what did you to Meredith?”

[Mordred Le Fey]

Shit.

As Tristian stopped and turned to face him, Mordred looked around shiftily, trying to avoid Tristian's eye. He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, laughing when Tristian asked what he'd done to Meredith.

"Meredith? What? I haven't seen her in ages, what are you talking about?" He couldn't meet Tristian's eye, and his laugh was cold and empty, the amusement not reaching his eyes, which looked panicked - like a rabbit caught in headlights.

"Come on, let's go find my dealer. If you're a good boy I'll buy you a present." Mordred tried to be nonchalant, reaching out to put his arm around Tristian's shoulders again, praying he would accept Mordred's feigned ignorance and carry on.

He was really beginning to wish he hadn't drunk all his whiskey.

[Tristian]

“You think after all this time I wouldn’t be able to tell when you’re lying?” said Tristian in the same low tone.

Tristian brushed off the arm that Mordred tried to sling around him and pushed him back against the wall, not hard, but enough to unsteady him and put him back where he was. He stepped in closer to try and block off Mordred if he tried to move away again.

The two of them had sparred often in the past, Tristian was fast, Mordred was stronger, on a good day, Tristian wouldn’t have been able to make him budge, however, he was hoping that the cocktail of whiskey and pills would be enough to slow him down, if not weaken him. At least Tristian knew there was one place he could definitely apply pressure, he had just spent the past five minutes bandaging it up.

“Look at me,” he commanded, in a voice that disgusted him as it sounded so terribly like his father’s, “what…what did you do to Meredith?”

‘Please. No. Not her.’ he thought, ‘anyone but her. There’s the entire female population…please don’t let it be her…’

[Mordred Le Fey]

He knew he couldn't convince him, knew his efforts to show ignorance would be futile, and this was confirmed at Tristian's response, at the tone of his voice and they way he pushed Mordred away. Mordred stumbled backwards again into the wall, wincing as he tried to steady himself with his bandaged hand.

He couldn't look Tristian in the face. It was bad enough to have seen the hurt in Meredith's eyes, he knew he couldn't bear to see the betrayal and fury in Tristian's.

And he was really not in any state for a fight.

"Nothing - Tris... I..." He couldn't say it. He couldn't tell him. He slowly raised his eyes to look at Tristian.

"Tristian... I can't. I can't say it."

[Tristian]

A million different scenarios were running through his head as he stood there, inches away from Mordred. What had he done? What had he done to his sister?

Anger as getting the better of him, it always did. He tried to be like his mother, he really did, he tried to be cold and calculating when he got angry, the same way she was, he tried to hold his anger inside until he could channel it to a better use later. He tried. But in this they were right. He was too much like his father. The anger started to spill out.

He quickly moved in closer grabbing the front of his shirt in two fists and pulling him forward a bit he then drove him back hard into the wall.

“Mordred Le Fey,” he said through gritted teeth, “you will tell me, what did you do to my sister?”

[Mordred Le Fey]

Curse his stupid mouth, curse the drink, curse the pills, curse everything that had made him speak out. He was an idiot, he was so bloody stupid - Meredith would never have said anything, he'd made sure she was too embarrassed, to ashamed to say anything, but here he was, letting it slip to Tristian himself.

He opened his mouth to try and lie his way out of it, but before he could speak Tristian had grabbed him. He grunted as the air was forced from his lungs as Tristian slammed him into the wall, and he held his hands up, palms forward in a gesture of surrender.

He wasn't sure he'd ever seen Tristian this angry, and he didn't even know what had happened yet. Mordred had never, ever been remotely intimidated by Tristian, but he could see his father in him now, and the power balance that had always existed in their friendship had suddenly shifted, throwing Mordred off balance and off his game.

"Tris, mate, come on..." Mordred knew he couldn't talk his way out of this. "It was nothing, alright, it was just one night... we were drunk..."

[Tristian]

And there it was.

One night.

They were drunk.

It did not take a genius to figure out what that meant.

He felt…numb.

Mordred and Meredith.

All of the girls in this place…and he picks her. His sister. He could have had anyone, anyone at all, and out of everyone it had to be her. Out of all the blasted girls that were throwing themselves at him it was the one person, the one person that Tristian could never forgive him for.

He let out a laugh. It was a short sharp bark of a laugh with no humour in it.

“Of course…of course…” he said, shaking his head, more nervous laughs threatening to escape.

It was the smile, it was the smile that bastard had on his face when he said her name, that’s what was doing it, that’s what was causing this feeling, this horrible empty feeling in his chest. He was saying it was just one night…but Tristian saw the smile…and it hurt…

The numbness started to fade away, the anger was coming back and with it the pain. Here it was, the reality of the situation, Mordred had chosen, he had picked someone…he had picked…Meredith. It didn’t matter if it had only been one night, he had seen that smile, and Tristian knew Mordred, he knew that smile. He let the anger bubble over, anything to stop the prickling behind his eyes from giving him away of the real hurt here…he can’t know…not now…not ever…

So Tristian let the anger burst forth, masking his real pain, by closing his fist over and punching Mordred in the jaw whilst still grasping the front of his shirt in the other.

“Out of everyone!” shouted Tristian, letting the full force of his anger out now, “out of everyone you could have f*ucked, you picked Meredith?! You picked my sister?! What was she?! Another fling?! Another idiot girl that you could use and abuse like you’ve done all the rest?! Did you do that to her Mordred?! Did you do that to my sister?!”

Underneath it all, the pain was growing in his chest, even he was struggling to breathe, he was having to fight to keep back the tears, and all the time he kept thinking ‘First dad, now Mordred…does she have to take everything from me? Don’t I get to keep anything for myself?’.

[Mordred Le Fey]

Mordred had never heard Tristian laugh like that before. It was so unlike him, and it shook Mordred more than anything else. He didn't say anything, not knowing what would come next, what Tristian was going to do, or say - it was safer to stay silent. He stood, waiting for the tirade to start, waiting for something - anything - he needed Tristian to react, he needed to hear Tristian's anger.

He didn't even flinch as Tristian pulled his fist back and hit him. He needed this, he deserved it. As Tristian's fist connected painfully with Mordred's jaw, his head snapped backwards and he tasted blood. As he stretched his jaw, he wiped the corner of his mouth and his hand came away with a trickle of blood.

Fine. He deserved it. He needed Tristian to be angry, to hit him. He wanted Tristian to hit him again.

He flinched as Tristian's anger was unleashed. As he listened to his words, Mordred's self-loathing increased - yes, he had done the things Tristian was yelling, he had done that to Meredith, he had hurt her, he had abused her and he was a bastard for it.

His emotions heightened, he straightened up and felt his own anger rising - not at Tristian, at himself, but Tristian was providing an outlet, a release.

"Yes, yes that's what I did, alright?!" He yelled back at Tristian, pushing him away, hard. "I f*cked Meredith, and then I told her to get out, in the middle of the night, I kicked her out onto the street. I got her drunk and I used her, is that what you want to hear, Tris?!" He pushed Tristian again, before getting too close, shouting in Tristian's face. "Just like every other girl, she's just another one of Mordred's sluts now, are you happy you know?!"

Hit me again... hit me... I deserve it...

[Tristian]

Tristian took a couple steps back when Mordred shoved him, letting go of his shirt. He may be drunk and high but he was still strong. Tristian lunged forward again as Mordred continued his diatribe. He raised his fist but he didn’t strike, instead he changed his mind and grabbed the front of the shirt again, pushing him against the wall.

‘Yes’ thought Tistian, ‘Yes, that is what I want to hear’

And he felt sick for thinking it.

Because he wanted it to mean nothing, he wanted it to be just another fling of Mordred’s he wanted it to mean nothing, because if it meant nothing then he hadn’t really picked her. And he felt awful, because this was his sister and for all that she annoyed him sometimes and for all that he couldn’t help but resent her for certain things in his life he did not want that for her. Not ever.

But it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter at all because none of it was true. He could want it all he wanted it didn’t change anything because of that damned smile.

“Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!” shouted Tristian over the top of him, shaking him.

Instead of punching him, he slapped him, hoping it would stall Mordred enough that Tristian could get a word in.

“Stop lying to me,” said Tristian and it pained him to say it because he wanted it to be true, “I know you, tell me the truth, what the f*ck happened Mordred!? What the f*ck did you do?!”

[Mordred Le Fey]

The slap stunned him into silence, and breathing hard, he looked Tristian in the eye. Damn Tristian and their history, damn him for knowing Mordred so well. Couldn't he just accept it? If Mordred was going to lose Tristian, then why was he still pressing him, why couldn't he just hit and walk away? Mordred couldn't handle this - not without more booze, more drugs, anything.

He stayed quiet for what felt like an age, Tristian pinning him to the wall, breathing hard. He couldn't do it, he couldn't tell him the truth. If he told him the truth, then what had any of it been for? If he told him the truth, then everything he'd said to Meredith, all the pain he'd caused her, would have been for nothing.

"She came to me." He said quietly, bringing his head forward so it was inches away from Tristian's face. "She came to me, Tris. She came to me, she flirted - she wanted it. I just gave her what she wanted." He forced himself to smirk - he had to make Tristian believe it was just another conquest. "She's just like any other girl I pick up in a bar. Who am I to say no to that?"

[Tristian]

How was it possible to feel this angry?

This was the kind of anger he only ever reserved for his father but never, never had he reached this level. The anger was still flowing but that wasn’t all, he was losing that other battle and he could feel his eyes threatening to betray him. He wiped a hand furiously across his face, hopefully wiping the offending moisture away, whilst grabbing Mordred’s shirt tighter with one hand, he slapped with the other, wanting to wipe that smirk of his face where it did not belong.

“You think I don’t know my sister either?!” hissed Tristian, “she’s not an idiot Mordred, whatever you were selling she bought it and she knows when she’s being handed a fake. I know she knows that because I taught her!”

Now that the tears were coming the anger was numbed a little, it was still there, still bubbling, but he felt weaker somehow. His grip wasn’t as tight, and whilst he thought about punching Mordred again he didn’t.

Instead he closed his eyes and said quietly, “please…please just…just tell me the truth.”

[Mordred Le Fey]

Mordred was too wrapped in his own misery to notice Tristian's turmoil. He just sensed the anger - that was what he needed, he needed Tristian to be furious at him.

His head jerked to the side as Tristian hit him again, and he brought his bandaged hand to his stinging cheek, the smirk fading as Tristian spoke again. He laughed in Tristian's face - his words were so ironic, because he was so wrong and he didn't realise it - she had bought it, she had bought his lies completely - but not the lies she thought, not the lies he was trying to convince Tristian of.

"You have no idea, Tris." He muttered, grabbing his wrist and pulling Tristian's hand off his shirt and sliding down the wall, ending up sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, knees up and face in his hands. "I'm telling you the truth, Tristian. I seduced her, I convinced her to sleep with me, and I kicked her out like she was nothing." His voice was getting quieter, as he got closer to revealing the truth, the thing that was eating him up inside, that he had been trying to drown in a bottle for the last couple of days.

"I was just trying to protect her." He muttered, almost inaudibly.

[Tristian]

Tristian kept his eyes closed at Mordred spoke.

When he pushed Tristian’s hand off him he let his hand fall away, allowing it to clench at his side, just like the other one was.

He listened to what Mordred had to say…but he didn’t want too. He had asked for the truth and now that he was hearing it he did not want it. This couldn’t be happening; this had to be some kind of nightmare. He rubbed his face with his hands and opened his eyes, seeing Mordred on the ground. Tristian looked down at him and saw the pain written all over Mordred’s face. He had always been a big drinker, a pill popper, but this…this ran deep. He could see it, and it tore him apart seeing him so much pain.

Tristian was angry, he was hurt, he was sick.

But his friend was hurting.

No.

The man he loved was hurting. He was drinking himself stupid and was doing what Tristian said only moments ago that he consistently did. Hurt himself.

Tristian wiped the tears again, forcing them back down, they weren’t going to help anyone, he tried to reign in the anger. He crossed over to the wall and slid down beside Mordred.

“Protect her from what?” he asked quietly.