He waited for her to betray him, expose him as an apostate and cast him down at the feet of the Templars. But she didn't.
"Why would I do that?" Hawke asked in bewilderment as she tore into the chicken stew he'd brought to her cot, paying no mind to table manners and shovelling food into her maw with her one good hand. The other lay in a splint across her lap. "We'd lose a great healer, Darktown would riot if their resident doctor went missing, and I'd miss the opportunity to educate you on making proper Fereldan broth; this one doesn't have enough dog piss in it."
The corners of his mouth quirked upwards, but he resisted the urge to smile. "For someone complaining there's not enough dog piss in her broth, you certainly look hungry enough."
"When a Fereldan's got to eat, she's got to eat," stated Hawke around mouthful of soaked bread. She stuffed three more spoonfuls of stew into her mouth before turning to him and shoving the empty bowl under his nose.
"Shum morh?"
He waited for her to laugh at him, ridicule him, tell him it was all a big joke and that she would never truly love someone like him. But she didn't.
She was mad. Mad for wanting this, for wanting him. But then again, mad suited Hawke very well.
He was running out of air, and he was sure she was too, but neither seemed willing to break the kiss. The calloused pads of her fingertips brushed against the grain of his stubble before tangling themselves in his hair, the hair tie somehow coming loose in the process and letting his fringe fall forward to tickle their chins. He circled his arms around her waist, pulling her toward him as his hands found the knotted sash holding her robe and pulled.
Maker help him, she drove him along with her madness too.
He waited for her to kill him, sink her dagger into his gut and end his miserable existence that had caused her so much suffering. But she didn't.
"I couldn't do it," she told him later, hot tears running down her face and wetting his feathered pauldrons. "I should have, but I couldn't. Not to you, not ever."
He remained silent, drawing her closer and hugging her tighter.
"Don't even think about asking it of me ever again."
He simply buried his face in her hair and they both cried harder.
He waited for her return, to come back to him as she always did with that cheery wave and her face sporting that bright grin he knew so well.
"Varric needs my help, I shouldn't be gone too long."
"Hawke, don't leave, please." He couldn't explain the foreboding dread settled deep in his bones, and would probably be called silly even if he gave it voice. But the determination in her eyes told him she would not be swayed.
"Anders, I get that you're afraid, but I promise you I will be back as soon as it's over. You'll be safe from the templars here—"
"At least let me go with—"
"Out of the question. I don't ever want Corypheus coming anywhere within ten miles of you again."
"But—"
She silenced him by smashing her lips on his, kissing him in that way that stole the breath from his lungs and drove all points of argument from his mind.
"I'll return before you know it," she assured, taking his face in both of her hands. "Promise."
But she didn't.
The letter fluttered from his shaking fingers and onto the floor, Varric's spidering handwriting lost in the filmy blur that stung his eyes.
She never did.
A/N: This was written a few days after finishing the Trespasser DLC and I was in literal pain over it. Pyrho told me to write something else to cheer up and suggested a Hawke x Anders.
I don't think this is what she meant. xD