Title: Catharsis
Author: dealiberty
Pairing: Gawain/Galahad/Tristan
Rating: PG-13
Dedication: For eudaimon, for being you.
A/N: This fic is complete. A chapter will be posted twice a week, on Fridays and Tuesdays. Thanks to both eudaimon and trinityc for the endless support you've given me.

Infection.

He dips the cloth into water again, wiping it once more over Galahad's fevered brow.

"It's infected, Gawain; he's burning up."

"I'm sorry, Gawain. There's nothing we can do."

"He's strong. He'll be okay."

"He'll come back to you."

Encouragement. Reassurance. Everything they could offer him, they have. They do. Everyday.

But he hears the words they don't speak. He sees it in their stance, their eyes; he hears it in their voice.

"He's fading."

"He might not make it."

"We're going to lose him."

He runs a hand through Galahad's hair, smoothing it away from his forehead, replacing it with a kiss.

"Come on, Galahad," he whispers, desperation lacing his every word. "Come back to me."

It's been like this for days. Galahad burns. Nightmares constantly causing his body to convulse and shudder, sometimes making him scream and shout and beg and cry and sob. It tears Gawain up. Breaks his heart over and over again. And all he can do is hold him, whisper to him, offer any comfort he can - and still, Galahad doesn't know he's there.

Moments like this are becoming rarer. Moments where Galahad's still, only whimpering slightly. His breathing is more laboured now than it was a few days before, and his whole body burns.

Gawain feels like his soul is burning as well.

"If you don't leave me, I won't die."

"Do you remember, Galahad?" Gawain starts; not knowing what else to do, knowing that Galahad can't hear, but desperate - so desperate - to do something that's not just sit there. "Do you remember the first time you got a fever? You were so young. All fluffy hair and huge green eyes, staring up at me. Burning up. Just like this." His fingers, almost of their own accord, lightly trace Galahad's cheek. "You promised me you wouldn't die. You promised you wouldn't die if I didn't leave. I haven't left, Galahad - " He breaks off, choking back a sob. "I haven't left. You aren't allowed to die. Because I'm still here. I'm here, love. Right here."

His fingers are still caressing Galahad's cheek; like a child. Like the first time. Like every other time in between. And Galahad, instinctively it seems, leans into the touch. Gawain chokes back another sob.

"You were so young when you came. So innocent. So full of life. The youngest of us all. Bors was convinced you'd never make it. I was convinced you would. Lancelot was sure you'd never ride well. I was sure you would, and you're the probably the most stunning rider of us all now. Tristan was positive that you'd never shoot straight. It took a while, but I was positive that you would … Galahad. They think you aren't going to make it. You have to. Please. You have to. Because I can't … Galahad … I can't live without you. I don't want to."

Gawain soaks the cloth once more, trying to collect himself. He doesn't want to fall apart. Because falling apart would mean giving up hope. And there's always hope.

"Remember the first time I kissed you? And you were so afraid then, afraid of what we had. We both were. So scared of asking for what we want for fear of losing what we had. So afraid to take one another because we were afraid of letting go. But in the end, we took the risk. It was worth it. Always worth it. Worth everything and more." He smiles fondly, lovingly, anxiously, letting his fingers run through the curly strands again. "And our first time. You were so shy. Afraid of your own body. Afraid that I'd push you away, disgusted. So unsure. So insecure. But you were beautiful. Blind to your own beauty. Gods. You were perfect. You are perfect. That never changed. That never will. Not to me. Galahad…"

Gawain looks around, then looks up. Tempted. This once. Just this once. He's willing to try anything. Anything to have Galahad back. But, not to anyone in particular. To anyone - anything - that will listen.

"Please. He's too perfect, too pure. So young, so full of life. Don't take him. Not yet. Please. Please. I can't lose him. Not now. Not yet. I can't do this…can't survive if he's not here. Please. Don't be so cruel. Please."

Tears are flowing freely, now, but he doesn't care. He's not ashamed. Not ashamed to cry for Galahad. For his heart.

The door creaks open but he doesn't look up, eyes still fixed on Galahad's features.

Footsteps. Then a hand on his shoulder.

"Gawain, rest."

Dagonet.

He looks up, ready to protest, only to find that the hand isn't Dagonet's.

Tristan.

"Come, Gawain. Dagonet will watch him."

Gawain wants to resist, wants to stay by Galahad's side, but Tristan is adamant. And Gawain doesn't want to fight anymore. He brushes a kiss over Galahad's lips and stands, following Tristan out.

His room is the next door along. Next to Galahad's. The two had been fast friends and, on entering the fort, had shared a room. Then, as knights died and rooms grew empty, Gawain had only moved when the one next to Galahad's had been vacated. That's where Tristan leads him, knowing, as he usually does, that Gawain will not let him go too far. Within hearing distance. In case Galahad needs him.

There's fresh clothes laid out on the bed and a basin of water standing in the corner, food on the table. Tristan gives him a little push towards it all, before turning around, about to leave.

"Don't."

Tristan freezes at the door. "Don't what?"

"Don't go." Gawain takes a deep breath and turns around to meet Tristan's gaze. "Don't leave me alone."

"Alright." And he settles himself on a chair in the corner of the room. "Alright."

Gawain takes off his shirt slowly, washing away some of the sweat, his and Galahad's, that lingers on his skin.

Each touch reminds him of Galahad. Galahad's fevered brow, neck, arms, legs, torso - everything. And Galahad's hands on him. Washing away the blood and sweat and tears. Always there. Always beside him. But now…

Gawain falls to his knees, the basin clattering down with him, spilling water everywhere.

Tristan's by his side in a minute, arms going instinctively around him, holding him as sobs rack his body, pulling him closer, offering whatever comfort he can.

He's afraid. He doesn't want to think about it. Doesn't want to think about losing Galahad. Of never being able to hold him, kiss him, love him. Of not hearing his voice, seeing his smile, guiding his blade.

He doesn't want to think about the future.

Something. Anything to get his mind off it. Just for a while.

He turns his head slightly to the side, kissing Tristan's neck.

And Tristan freezes.

When Gawain falls, Tristan's there. He can't even remember how he got there, he can't remember the decision to move, but he's there. Holding Gawain, comforting him as best as he can, weathering out the storm.

He's glad Gawain asked him to stay. He's relieved that he did.

Catch Gawain when he falls. Hold him together - until Galahad puts the pieces back together again.

And then Gawain kisses him.

And he can feel himself ripping apart.

He wants Gawain. But he knows what Gawain's trying to do. He's aroused. Watching Gawain bathe himself…Tristan's only human. He knows what he wants. He knows what Gawain wants.

Resolutely he pulls Gawain away from his neck.

A hand creeps down to his crotch and it takes all of his willpower to not let himself go, drown in the passion, relieve his desire. To not take advantage.

"Gawain," he hisses. "Gawain. Stop."

And then Gawain's looking up at him, eyes bright, desperate, petrified, pleading. "Please, Tristan. Please."

He leans in, kissing Gawain's lips softly, chastely. "You know I would not hesitate. I would not deny you anything if I thought you needed it. I would let you. If I thought you needed this. But this isn't what you need, Gawain. This isn't what you need."

"Help me. Tristan, please. Help me."

He stands, pulling Gawain up with him, and moves them both onto the bed. He settles Gawain back against him, curling protectively around him.

"Tell me about him, Gawain. Tell me about Galahad." Gawain stiffens, making to move away, but he doesn't let go. "Trust me," he whispers. "Trust me."

"But…I want…I don't want…I…" With a sigh, Gawain gives up trying to argue, twisting around to face Tristan. "You already know him. You know him well."

There's a slight bitterness to the last sentence. Things still aren't resolved - not about that. Gawain still doesn't understand.

"Not like you do. No one knows him like you do."

Gawain takes a deep breath, letting it out in a rush. He shifts his position slightly, tucking himself neatly under Tristan's chin.

I trust you, the position says. I trust you.

"Galahad's…gods. I don't know where to start."

"From the beginning. There's nowhere to start other than the beginning."

"Alright." Gawain's voice is still shaky. Still trembling. But he trusts, and he obeys. "Galahad…he was so small. So angry. So upset. He…you know, he was the last we picked up. Found it the hardest to settle. But…" Gawain closes his eyes, lost in the memory. "There was something about him. His spirit…it was just so bright. I was drawn to him - like a moth to a flame. Hopeless, Kay once called me. Completely hopeless. I didn't know it then - didn't know I loved him. But I think Kay saw. I think…a lot of us saw. When it really came down to it, I don't think I ever thought about it. I just knew. The realisation came and it didn't surprise me. Natural. Like breathing. Loving Galahad was - is - like breathing. Never could stop it anymore than I can stop my heart beating."

The trembling in Gawain's voice increases slightly as he draws in a shaky breath and Tristan pulls him closer, dropping a kiss into his hair. Encouraging.

"I can't lose him, Tristan. I can't…I couldn't…I just…I can't."

"I know. And he knows." His turn to talk. He doesn't like talking - hates it, really. But he knows that Gawain needs to know. Needs to understand. "Gawain, I think you figured out what I did…to Galahad."

He's holding Gawain so he feels the tension work its way up Gawain's spine. "Wait. Listen." He holds on, not letting Gawain pull away. "Listen. And understand. I know that it was…ridiculous. But I was drunk. He was drunk. That first time. I watch, Gawain. I watch and I learn. I've always watched you. And when you and him became something, I knew. And I knew you loved him. But him, him I wasn't so sure of. You were always there, always protecting him, caring for him. And I didn't know if he was with you because he loved you, or because he…because of the wrong reasons."

Gawain opens his mouth to protest, and he lifts a finger to his lips, quieting him. "Listen. It's hard to explain. But listen and I'll try." Gawain nods and he goes on. "That first time…that was…testing Galahad. I riled him up. Teased him, taunted him to a point where he thought he has something to prove. Then…I challenged him - challenged him to prove his love." Tristan sighs, burying his head in Gawain's hair, drowning himself in the scent. "That was the first time. And then things got…complicated."

Gawain's still, taking all the information in. Tristan's a little afraid. Scared that Gawain will be disgusted. What he's done to Galahad, he's not proud. He's not glad. He's not pleased. But it's happened. And Gawain needs to know. Gawain has a right to know.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. "After that…I would somehow say something, and he would think he had something to prove. I never meant to, but I would. And he would prove it. Again and again. No matter that it hurt him. He wanted to make me understand. Again and again. I wanted…I didn't want…I…" He trails off, collecting his thoughts, wanting to tell the truth. But he wasn't good with words. The only words he had been good at…were words to hurt Galahad. To get a reaction.

"Go on, Tristan. I want to know," Gawain breathes. "I want to understand."

"I got tired of being alone. I…At first, Galahad…it was like…it was like he was part of you. Being with him…being with him…was like…if only for a few minutes, I was with you. At first. Then…he and you…blurred. And…I had him. A piece of you. And himself. And…I cared. Mostly, I left. Left you alone. Because I wanted you happy. Both of you. Because you love each other that much. Because I cared that much. But then…when the loneliness became too much…" He shook his head. "I'm not proud, Gawain. I'm so ashamed. I just…"

And Gawain kisses him, stopping him from thinking further, from apologising further.

"I understand," he whispers once they've parted. "I understand. I think…I think…I don't mind that you've been with him…What…What angered me most…was that you'd marked him. Marked what was mine."

"My marks may scar on his back, Gawain, but your marks. Your marks are not there - not physical, yet are more visible than any scar. Whose mark of possession, then, is more evident? Who does Galahad belong to?"

"No one. Galahad belongs to no one but himself."

"And he gave himself to you."

"I can share," Gawain whispers. "I can learn to share."

Tristan doesn't know what to say. It's the first they've spoken of this, the first offer Gawain has made to him. "Galahad…"

"Can learn too. If he wakes…" Gawain's thoughts have turned that way again, and Tristan kisses him, distracting him, pulling him back.

"When he wakes. He loves you, Gawain. More than anything. He'll come back to you."

He has to.