Does it worry you to be alone? (Mordred)

[Tristian]

This was a bad idea. He should have sent a text or something in advance; he at least should have called, just turning up here, after everything that had happened, after everything that he had said. There was no telling how Mordred was going to react to him, none at all. Did he really want to find out how things were between them after all this? If he just stayed away he could continue to live in ignorance that everything might be fine, that there was still a chance that they could be friends? However, if he met him face to face, then he would know for sure.

Seeing him at mothers afternoon tea…it had been hard…no doubt for Mordred as it was for him albeit for very different reasons. Seeing the way his bruise had coloured, the bruise Tristian had given him, and then seeing the cut that he had not taken care of, in fact his whole general demeanour.

‘I should have been there’ he thought for the millionth time.

He raised his hand to knock on the door. He hesitated.

What if Mordred just slammed the door in his face? Or worse, what if he just did not answer at all?

Tristian decided he wasn’t prepared to take either of those chances. He had always just let himself in, why would now be any different? He looked down at the handle, pressing down on it, the door opened. He walked into the room with a lot more confidence than he felt and called out, “Mordred? Are you here? Get up! I’ll put the kettle on. I’ve brought muffins.”

[Mordred Le Fey]

Things had been... strange since his ambush at the tea rooms. After he had returned home his head had been spinning with everything that had happened - the encouraging looks and even smiles he had received from the people he had been so certain hated him, wanted him hurt, wanted horrible revenge on him for the things he'd done. The love and care he'd received from the woman he had been so sure hated him, resented his presence in her life, in her children's lives. The woman he had resented for most of his life simply for not being his mother. He was confused, he had a lot of thinking to do, and his mind was reeling.

And then there had been the lunch with Lorelei. That was a whole other thing he needed to get his head around.

Mordred was exhausted. His complete lack of self-care had taken it's toll, and he was thin and under-nourished, he was ill from the various substances he'd been pouring into his body, and he was starting to feel the effects of withdrawal. He wasn't sure he'd ever gone so long without a drink. He hadn't thrown it all away - there was a safety net bottle of scotch in the back of one of the kitchen cupboards, but he was trying harder than he'd ever tried in his life.

At this moment in time, he was lying on his bed, running over Lorelei's words and revelations in his head, trying to figure it all out and work out what the hell he was supposed to do. He had planned for a day of isolation, in his room, trying to work it out, trying to figure out some kind of plan to start fixing things, to getting better. There were so many people he needed to reach out to, and he didn't know where to start. He lay on his bed, his phone in his hand, scrolling between two numbers as he tried to work out what to say to each of them and who to contact first.

That decision was then taken out of his hands by a shout from downstairs. Mordred sat bolt upright in his bed and stared at his closed door.

What was it with Summers and just waltzing into his house?

Taking a deep breath, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, pulling a shirt over his head and bracing himself. He didn't know how this was going to go, he didn't know what he was going to say, or what was going to be said to him. He just hoped he wasn't going to get punched again - the bruise on his jaw had finally almost faded and he really didn't want another. He stood, glancing in the mirror and cringing at the sight of the finally healing wound on his cheek. It was going to leave one hell of a scar, but at least it looked a lot better than it had before Gwen had worked her magic.

He made his way downstairs, his hands shaking slightly - partly through nerves, partly through alcohol withdrawal. At the bottom of the stairs, he found himself face to face with Tristian standing at the front door. A thousand different openers raced through his head, each more pathetic sounding than the last.

"Why do people keep bringing me muffins?"

[Tristian]

He still looked awful. The concern was etched all over his face; he didn’t try to hide it, not right now. Were his hands shaking? Wasn’t that a sign of withdrawal, wait…was he…was he really trying? He didn’t know why he was surprised; mum had that kind of effect on people. Or was it mum? Was he maybe doing it for something else?...for…her?

“They’re the best. Obviously,” he said with a shrug and then held up a plastic bag, “I also brought breakfast, a proper one, you go sit down and I’ll get it made.”

Without waiting for an invitation he pushed past Mordred, handing him the box of muffins and headed straight for the kitchen.

[Mordred Le Fey]

He stood in the doorway, slightly stunned as Tristian thrust the box of muffins into his hand and went into the kitchen. "Obviously..." He muttered, as he pulled his phone out and checked it, wondering if he'd missed a text or a call. He kept being invaded by Summers who were supposed to hate him, and it was very confusing.

He followed Tristian into the kitchen, putting the muffins on the counter and leaning back against it. "Erm, as much as I'm pleased to see you - especially since you don't seem to want to punch me or cause me any other kind of physical harm - which you'd be completely justified in wanting to do, by the way," he rubbed the back of his neck nervously, "why are you bringing me muffins and making me breakfast? I thought you hated me."

[Tristian]

Once in the Kitchen he started busying himself with getting the breakfast started, of course, first of all he was going to have to start by tidying up the kitchen a little. He crossed over to the sink and started to run the tap whilst he gathered up the dishes that were dotted about the place. He might be a prince but Merlin had a hand in raising him as well and installed in him a rather ‘domestic’ side and an appreciation of the work that others do within the castle. It had sunk in and it had stuck. It meant that he was a fairly passable cook and actually enjoyed cleaning.

It also meant that he could busy himself with what he was doing and not have to look at the other boy, because if he did then the guilt would just come back and then he would breakdown and then maybe he would say something that he really, really shouldn’t. Mum had got into his head, it was getting harder to keep the mask in place. He snorted a little and said, “I’m not going to punch you.”

However the next statement made him stop in his tracks. He looked round at Mordred, a spatula in one hand, a frying pan in the other and said with a very serious expression, “Mordred…I don’t…I…I could never hate you.”

[Mordred Le Fey]

He wanted to stop Tristian as he started to clean up the kitchen, but he didn't know what to say. It was all so weird and surreal - the last time he'd seen Tristian, other than at the tea ambush, he had been holding his sister as she almost bled to death at Mordred's hand, and before that they'd woken up spooning after Tristian had punched him for sleeping with another of his sister's and treating her like dirt...

And now Tristian was cleaning his kitchen so he could make him breakfast. Mordred was, without doubt, the worst person in the world. He was relieved when Tristian said he wasn't going to punch him, although he still felt like he deserved it, and felt like he owed Tristian a couple shots.

As Tristian turned and spoke to him, Mordred felt that weight lift from his chest again, just as he had when Lorelei had said she didn't hate him at lunch. He held Tristian's gaze for a moment, before dropping his eyes to floor, shame overcoming him once again.

"You should. I... I'm..." Mordred didn't know what to say. There were too many things he needed to say, too many apologies he needed to make. Where did he start? "I'm so sorry, Tris." His voice was quiet, his arms folded across his chest and eyes still on the floor.

[Tristian]

Tristian was already shaking his head when Mordred said that he should hate him. “I can’t,” he said quietly, so quietly he wasn’t even sure Mordred would be able to hear him.

Then he said he was sorry and another piece of that mask chipped away as he winced. The Gods knew he should be, but that wasn’t what Tristian was thinking, it wasn’t Mordred that needed to apologise here, as far as Tristian was concerned he had done his time, the thought of possibly killing Lorelei, of seeing the hurt on Meredith’s face, of coming to that tea not knowing what was going to happen. Yes. Mordred had done his time, he had nothing left to apologise for.

“I know,” he said eventually, not realising he was echoing the same words his mother had said in response to that very same statement, “and…I’m sorry too.”

He looked up from the utensils in his hand and looked his friend in the eye and said, “I’m sorry for the things I said, I…I didn’t mean them, I was just…lashing out. And…I’m sorry I…I wasn’t here for you when you really need me to be…I…”

He could feel the cracks coming, he turned towards the sink, dunking the frying pan into it, turning his back on Mordred so he couldn’t see him wipe at his eyes. “I’m here now, if you’ll let me and…anything you need…I’m here for you,” he said.

[Mordred Le Fey]

Mordred didn't know what to say to Tristian. He couldn't understand how Tristian could forgive him, how he could feel that he needed to be sorry for anything. He simply shook his head as Tristian spoke, unable to articulate all the reasons why Tristian had nothing to be sorry for.

As Tristian turned away, Mordred moved forward, stepping alongside him and picking up a tea towel, drying things as Tristian washed them and setting them aside on the counter. He worked in silence for a for a few minutes, simply enjoying having his friend here with him, realising how much he had missed him and how much he had needed him. When Tristian had looked at him at the duel, the words he had said then - Mordred had thought he had finally done what he had always been scared he would do, that he had pushed Tristian too far and cut him off forever. Even at the tea, the words Gwen had said, the way she had mothered Mordred and told him that he was love, a part of him had still thought that Tristian would never come back to him. He had wanted to reach out, to call him, but he had been too scared of the reaction.

But here he was, Tristian had reached out, and Mordred didn't know how to articulate the gratefulness that was overwhelming him, or the love that he had for his friend.

"So I watched Star Wars." He said finally, looking at Tristian and giving him a small smile.

[Tristian]

He had expected Mordred to tell him to leave, to be angrier, to tell him that it couldn’t be fixed this time. Instead he just shook his head and came to stand beside him. It was strange, he didn’t want the other guy to see the tears but at same time that one action seemed to lift something off his shoulders, a worry, a weight that had been there ever since the duel. Maybe, everything would be ok.

The silence stretches of between them and for once, he really didn’t mind. It was comforting. He should tell him to sit down, to rest, gods knew he needed it, but maybe this simple activity was what Mordred needed too, something easy, something routine to take away from the hurt and the pain he must be feeling.

When Mordred did finally speak, just when they were almost finished the dishes, Tristian laughed, “really? What did you think?”

[Mordred Le Fey]

He almost considered lying, just to please Tristian, to walk on eggshells. But he couldn't do it - and he knew the truth would come out pretty quickly.

"Dude. What a load of crap." He laughed, shaking his head. "I honestly sat and watched all three, beginning to end, and I still don't get what the fuss is about." He grinned at his friend, finally feeling as if things might be able to get back to normal, that the ugliness of the past few weeks might actually fade. "That Skywalker kid is so pathetic. He needs to get laid, seriously."

He dried the last couple of things Tristian handed him, and set the tea towel on the counter, leaning back against it and crossing his arms again. "I can't believe I wasted what, 6 hours of my life on that?" He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. "I only watched it so I'd be able to talk to Mered-"

He stopped mid-word, glancing at Tristian. Could they talk about this? He wasn't sure if he'd strayed into a dangerous topic too soon, pushed the limits too early. That was what had started this whole thing, after all, and as he looked at Tristian there was panic in his eyes.

[Tristian]

Tristian laughed when Mordred came out with what he thought about the movies. He knew it wasn’t to everyone’s taste and if he was being honest he wasn’t surprised that Mordred didn’t like it. He nodded his agreement that Luke needed to get laid as he started getting things ready to make the breakfast now that the dishes had been cleaned. He had been about to confess that his own enjoyment had been less about the movie and more about who he used to watch it with...when Mordred cut himself off.

Ah. Of course.

Without missing a beat he responded, “I was just about to ask who was it that finally got you to watch it. Must be love.”

It stung, it really stung and he knew he had absolutely no right to feel that way. Of course he would sit down and watch it with her, because everyone always did whatever Meredith wanted, because everyone always preferred Meredith.

One more person who would rather watch Star Wars with Meredith than him. It stung, but it wasn’t anything new.

“Have you spoken to her since...well...since you and Mum spoke?”

[Mordred Le Fey]

He felt a sense of relief at Tristian's response - maybe it was going to be ok after all, maybe Tristian was ok with Mordred's feelings for his sister. Of course, he had to convince her to be ok with his feelings too, but as long as he had Tristian's blessing, he felt like a weight had been lifted. He looked nervously at Tristian and scoffed slightly. "That's what Lorelei said." He muttered, smoking nervously. "I don't know what made me watch it... I guess I figured maybe it would make her less angry? That's so stupid though." He rolled his eyes at himself, feeling irritated with his own stupidity.

And then he asked the key question. He shook his head, eyes down, smoking too fast. "Lorelei texted her when we had lunch yesterday, told her we were together and she approved or something. But I haven't contacted her. I don't know what to say."

He stubbed out his finished cigarette in the sink, immediately taking out another and lighting it. God, he wanted to drink. "How do I even start after everything I've done?"

[Tristian]

“It might work, she does love those films,” he said and then turning round to face him said, “sit down will you. You’re getting smoke everywhere.”

’And gods could I use one of them right now’ he thought.

However that was a little habit he has kept from his friend. Just one more secret to add to the pile.

He set the bacon frying and with his back to him so he couldn’t see the pained expression and said, “start with the truth. Just, put it all out there, how you feel about her, the bare, honest truth.”

[Mordred Le Fey]

He threw his friend an incredulous look - even Meredith didn’t like the films enough to forgive him for almost killing her best friend, just because he wasted six hours of his life watching them. He moved obediently when Tristian told him to sit down, but instead of moving to the other room he stood back in the doorway, leaning on the doorframe while he continued to smoke, blowing the smoke behind him away from the kitchen on each exhale.

“I don’t even know what the truth is anymore.” He muttered with a sigh. “That I’m a complete arsehole? That I have anger issues? That I was trying to protect her by being a total bastard? That I felt so guilty and worthless I tried to kill myself?”

Ah. Hadn’t meant to let that last one out. He cringed as he realised what he’d said, hoping that perhaps Tristian hadn’t caught it. He carried on speaking quickly, hoping to gloss over his little revelation.

“I mean how do I even ask her to talk to me? What do you say in a text like that?”

[Tristian]

There was a clatter as the spatula hit the frying pan. Tristian turned to look at his friend in shock.

“You...you what?” He said, struggling to get his head around what he just said.

He had tried to kill himself. That’s what he had said, he had tried to kill himself. He was at a loss for words, he tried to speak but nothing was coming out. Eventually he managed a quiet, “I...I should have been here...I...this is...”

’My fault’ he thought.

Dignity and pretending to be damned. He walked over to his friend and wrapped his arms around him. He didn’t care if Mordred through it was awkward, he didn’t care if he tried to fight him off. He needed to let him know that he was here now, that he would fix it, that it would be ok.

“Nothing...nothing is worth your life,” he said quietly, “I don’t know what i’d...what any of us would do without you.”

He let go of him but kept his hands on his shoulders, looking him in the eye, “if you ever feel like that again, ever, I don’t care how angry we are at each other at time you call me. But, I want you to know I’m going to do everything possible to make sure you never feel this way again. Whatever you need, I’m here for you. Always.”

He took a step back. Time to put the mask back up.

“And I’m going to start by getting a proper breakfast in you,” he said, before pointing at the chair at the dining table, “now sit down before you fall down. So firstly, you don’t say it in a text you tell her to her face. Secondly, the truth is whatever the hardest thing is to say.”

Like, I love you