A/N: Written for a prompt on the Dragon Age kink meme which asked 'what if skilled healers could see the way a wound was cause when they heal someone'. Who better for a fill than everyone's favorite apostate healer?
P/S: There needs to be more aggressive f!Hawke :P
Maker, not him!
The cry reverberates through Anders like a punch to the gut, stealing what little breath he has left. He reels back in shock, hands stilling as the magic fizzles out from between his fingers. He stares, glassy-eyed, at the gaping wounds at Hawke's side while the cry makes itself longer, louder, and more desperate inside his head.
Maker, not him!
Aveline drops to her knees beside him, grips his shoulder in a crushing hold and asks, "Anders, what's wrong? You can heal her, can't you?"
The sharpness of her no-nonsense voice and the restrained alarm is such a contrast to the echo of desperation bouncing around his head that Anders snaps free of his reverie. He shakes his head, hones in on the steady weight of Aveline's grip and summons the magic to his hands once more.
"Of course, I- yes- of course," he babbles, trying to keep himself grounded in the present instead of swept up in the tides of Hawke's memories. And the memories do seem like a tide, Maker help him, flooding all his senses.
While Hawke's flesh starts knitting itself back together beneath the thrum of his magic, he closes his eyes and sees. As Hawke must have seen mere moments ago.
Anders sees himself stumbling from a stray blow from a shade, disoriented. He sees the ground behind him glow warm and crack, the tell-tale signs of a rage demon emerging. He feels Hawke's rising panic, raw and powerful- for him.
Shit, shit, fuck no, Anders!
"Anders move!"
He doesn't hear. He hadn't heard.
And then Hawke is running towards him, heavy sword dropping to the floor. Her heart- his heart- it might as well be all the same in this memory- is racing, the adrenaline choking the air out of their lungs.
Don't be too late, can't be too late, please no- Maker, not him!
Anders lets the spell die just as the Hawke in the memory manages to bodily shove him aside and take the demon's blow. A phantom pain laces his side but it is nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the mess of emotions running amok through his head. All at once he feels light-headed and boneless. As though the world has turned itself upside down. But his heart feels heavy with the weight of Hawke's relief. Relief while she lies burned and bleeding. Relief for him.
"Blondie?" Varric's low voice comes from somewhere to his left. The voice turns sharper when he doesn't immediately respond. "Hey, Anders! Don't you pass out on me too!"
He opens his eyes and finds himself unable to look anywhere but the hard lines of Hawke's exposed stomach, still pink and raw from a healing not fully complete. "Sorry. Out of mana," he offers weakly and shakes his head when Varric reaches into his bag to find a lyrium potion. Healing Hawke with magic now means going back into that memory and he just- he cannot do that. Not right now. He needs time to understand what he has just witnessed.
"Just- bandages?" He asks hopefully. Maker bless Aveline and her cautious preparedness. He unrolls the bandages and sets upon the task of meticulously wrapping them around Hawke's middle. He is dimly aware of Varric and Aveline making plans to set up camp for the night- it is sunset already and Hawke is in no condition to be moved.
Eventually they scout the area and buckle down. Aveline insists on taking first watch and while Anders knows he's in no condition to argue, he knows he won't be sleeping anytime soon either. Instead he settles himself beside Hawke, leaning his weight against an outcropping boulder.
He needs to think. He needs- It doesn't make any sense.
Her actions make no blighted sense. Marian Hawke is a brute, Anders had known that from the start. Their alliance is a tentative one, born of need rather than want. Hawke needs a healer for her misadventures and Anders, no matter how much the spirit within him disapproves, needs the coin. Beyond that there is nothing. There should be nothing.
Hawke cares for little but her family and that would be admirable if it didn't lead her to doing anything and everything to lift them from poverty with no moral compunctions whatsoever. She extorts, threatens and aside from keeping Bethany from the Circle, doesn't care at all for the plight of the mages. Doesn't care for Anders at all beyond what he can accomplish for her.
Except apparently she does. Fervently. And he doubts he had ever been meant to know.
The old familiar guilt of prying into someone's personal thoughts, of being witness to their private pain without their consent trickles through him once more and this time Justice seems to share his consternation. Had they…had they judged Marian too quickly? Too harshly?
Beside him, there's the sound of rustling and a sharp inhale. "Easy," Anders places his hand on her shoulder. Her eyes find his and he is surprised by how bright they seem. Blue like lyrium. "Easy, Hawke," he swallows. "I've got you."
Hawke blinks owlishly up at him, clearly disoriented before her mouth curves into a familiar disdainful smile. "Why, Anders," she snorts. "Didn't know you cared."
On another day Anders might have snapped back. Today is not any other day. "That makes two of us," he says simply instead.
Hawke drops her gaze immediately, mouth twisting into a grimace. "Yeah, well…don't expect me to save your hide again. That's what I pay you for-"
"Hawke," he interrupts softly. His tone almost surprises himself. More importantly, it surprises Hawke into silence. He moves his hand from her shoulder to gently cup her face. Watches, as her pupils dilate. Feels the warmth of her breath as her lips part when his thumb moves below them. Hawke looks stunned.
Maker he feels like such a fool.
"Sleep, Hawke. I'll be here in the morning."
For once she doesn't argue.