Don't Drop It


Hawke didn't bother asking how I got into the estate. My late night visits had become an implied appointment on her ever-busy schedule. A part we both looked forward to. Usually because we'd end up missing clothes. As soon as I walked in, however, I could tell she wasn't in good spirits. Her head was rolled back in the bath, eyes shut, shoulders halfway between stressed and exhausted. It took a conscious effort not to shy away from someone in an emotional state, but Hawke had never bitten me for all my running and fumbling. She understood and that made me want to try, terrified as I was.

"Rough day?" I ventured, closing the door behind me. If she wanted to be alone, she would say so. It was asking for comfort she struggled with. We had that in common.

"Oh, you know, the usual. My presence requested here, my services demanded there, he lost his cat, she lost her lover. Turns out the lover ran away with the cat, the cat was really a desire demon, and the woman was secretly a blood mage. Then there was Anders preaching the entire time about mage rights, grumbling at why I'm not more sympathetic."

"You took Anders with you?"

She groaned. "I was in Lowtown and he followed me!"

"I thought he had patients to treat?"

"Apparently it was a slow day." Hawke rolled her eyes and huffed.

"Poor thing..."

I settled behind her on the wide ledge encompassing the polished stone tub, angling my thigh so she could rest her head on something soft instead. She hummed, shut her eyes again, and sank a little deeper into the water. Those same eyes cracked open when she heard the rustle of flipping pages.

"Don't drop it in." She was being very serious.

I chuckled. "I wouldn't dare! Especially not one of your books."

"One of mine?" Her neck craned to get a glimpse of the cover and her eyes widened on recognizing the simple navy background with an image of a large rock overlooking the countryside. She didn't need to read the ancient white font partially covered by my hand to be sure. For a split second her eyes flickered between excitement and concern. I'd seen her read this series several times, despite hardly having the time to read at all. Each book remained in pristine condition. "Isabela..."

I didn't bother hiding my grin. "Alright," I slowly raised my hands (not too high so she wouldn't get nervous), "I can put it away for now."

She hesitated, considered me, then the novel, and exhaled. "It's fine." She touched her cheek to my thigh. "What part are you at?"

"I could just read it to you," I offered, feeling quite pleased she'd let me get away with it.

"Mother read to us when we were children. It's... their anniversary today." Ah. There it was. Her gaze shifted to the wall behind me. She smiled at first. Then a small wrinkle formed between her eyebrows and her lips flattened as they pressed together. It wasn't often she talked about her mother anymore. Discomfort sealed my words, but touch, I could do. I reached down and brushed her cheek with my thumb, letting my hand curve under her jaw. She tilted her head toward the contact and breathed a small sigh. A second later, she turned, kissing my palm in appreciative dismissal, and had the back of her head on my thigh once more. "Now, are you going to read aloud, or are you going to give me blue balls like those poor sods at the Hanged Man?"

I snorted, thankful she'd kept the vulnerable moment brief, and found my page. Then I cleared my throat dramatically. "In ancient days, when only women were warriors..."


A/N: This is the first fic I've ever posted so I'm still figuring out how it all works (the writing and the uploading process). I'm very open to helpful suggestions on both fronts so feel free to leave comments!

Inspired by a conversation about not dropping books into the bathtub... I really miss this pairing. Bonus: If you know the novel referenced at the end, you should comment so we can be friends :D