Hawke stormed into Varric's suite at The Hanged Man, threw down her shortbow and slumped at the table, head on her arms.
Varric looked up from cleaning Bianca and tsked. 'You have got to treat your weapon with more care, Hawke.'
'Whatever,' she mumbled from the tabletop.
The dwarf dropped the soft cloth he was using to polish the stock of his beloved and leant over to retrieve Hawke's bow from the floor. He tsked again when he saw the scratches against the black walnut limbs of the exquisite weapon.
'And who has broken your heart this time?' he asked, turning the bow over in his hands.
Hawke looked up. 'Anders is such a single-minded, selfish, stubborn... wait, am I that obvious?'
'Only to those with eyes and ears,' he said. 'Look, why don't I get you a pint, and you can tell me all about it.'
Varric brought over her bow, a pot of wax, and a spare cloth. He gave her a pointed look before striding out of the door. Hawke watched him for a moment and sighed. Handsome, loyal, witty - if only he wasn't bound to the memory of some girl that haunted his blighted crossbow. She threw Bianca a dirty look. Then felt ridiculous.
With another sigh, she picked up the cloth and began to polish the grain of the wood.
'Thanks,' she said, when Varric returned and placed a tankard of yeasty ale next to her elbow.
'Think nothing of it, Hawke. Now, what has Blondie done this time?' He sat back at the opposite end of the table and resumed his loving ministrations of Bianca. Hawke found herself watching his hands. Large and strong yet they moved with precise delicate care over the complicated workings of the repeating crossbow. She blinked.
'Hmm? You know what? It doesn't seem so important any more,' she said, taking a swig from her drink.
'Good, I thought you just needed something else to occupy your mind. And your hands.'
Hawke choked slightly on the frothy ale. Varric held her eye a little longer than usual then turned his attention back to the crossbow.
Loading up her cloth with more wax, she rubbed along the length of her shortbow, now determined to make her weapon shine brighter than even Sebastian's armor. She rubbed up and down, then felt Varric's eyes on her again.
'What? Am I doing it wrong?' she asked, arching an eyebrow.
Without a word, he slipped from his chair and moved to her side. Taking her hand in his, he guided her up and down the dark wood.
'Shorter, firmer strokes,' he murmured, right next to her ear. He smelled like whisky and leather. Hawke swallowed as her face grew warm.
'Like this?' she asked, feeling slightly short of breath.
'Oh that's perfect. There's really nothing like watching a beautiful woman run her hands over-' his words were lost as Hawke turned and kissed him.
'I've wanted to do that for years,' she said when they broke apart.