Unlike Cats I don't Have Nine Lives

Dragon Age II

(Aggressive) Garrett HawkeXAnders

"Anders." Garrett Hawke had a nice timber to his voice when he was relaxed or in a good mood, but those instances where becoming rarer with each passing day. As a result his pleasant voice became a sharp, irritated bark. It was an order to snap to attention, which Anders followed unknowingly without thinking.

"Hawke," Anders answered, surprised. The mage had never been one to take commands, especially those that were barked at him, but he trusted Hawke. As long as Anders had known Hawke the man had been an unrelenting force, bowing to no one as he made the climb from Lothering peasant to Champion of Kirkwall. Anders had assumed he and Hawke would never see eye to eye, despite them both being apostates. Hawke should have understood the Circle mages' plight, he should have sympathized. But where Anders thought he would have found an ally he instead found a man more intent on digging his family out of poverty. The most Hawke did for Anders' cause was to point out misspellings in his manifesto.

There was no denying that for Hawke family had always come first. But due to recent events that was no longer the case. There was no longer a Hawke "family"; there was just Hawke.

Anders was distracted from Hawke's approaching form by Merrill behind him who was "oohing" over a rather nasty leg wound of one of the patient's. Hoping she didn't start poking it, Anders returned his gaze to Hawke's brutish form. Circle mages tended to be smaller and more slender, a result of life on the run and having their meals denied by the templars. But Hawke wasn't one to flee or retreat ever. He was a protector who no longer had anything to protect.

"Take this." Hawke interrupted his thoughts by abruptly shoving a squirming package into Anders' arms. "I cannot be rid of it soon enough."

"Wait...Is this a gift?" Anders couldn't hide his shock as he began carefully opening the small bundle of cloth and blankets that Hawke had thrust upon him.

Hawke snorted contemptuously. "It's a burden, more than anything."

There was a tiny, pitiful mewing sound and Anders silently removed a tiny, weak black kitten from the mess of blankets. "It's a kitten."

"Correct," Hawke answered and turned to leave. Anders grabbed at his arm, ignoring the glare Hawke shot him as he looked back over his shoulder. "Yes?"

"You're giving this to me?"

"I could always take it back and feed it to my dog. Which I will do if you keep trying to make a blighted big deal out of this." Hawke could have walked away then, but he faced Anders and tried to downplay his actions again. "I mean, I was just tired of it clawing at my door at night. And the bloody nobles in Hightown kept complaining about the damn cat." Hawke gave a piss poor imitation of an Orlesian accent. "Oh, that animal is so filthy. What diseases it must carry! Ser Hawke, you must rid us of this beast."

Anders knew Hawke was trying to make a joke but it was so out of character that he was too stunned to laugh. Hawke narrowed his eyes. "Oh, that's right. I forgot. According to Isabela and Varric I'm not funny." His dark eyes glanced down at the kitten Anders was now petting. "It was nothing, Anders. Do not think on it."

"Oh, Hawke, That's not true. Tell him how you chased that cat all around Hightown before you caught him on the Comte de Launcet's roof-"

"Merrill!" Hawke snapped at her and started leading Merrill and the rest of his team out of Anders' clinic. "This time your babbling is not appreciated."

Anders glanced down at the kitten, inspecting it for the first time. It was small, too small, and he saw how frantically its heart beat inside of its chest. The kitten was too everything...too fragile, too weak...It would not last long.

Hawke stopped by a few days later and found Anders outside the clinic sitting down with the deathly still kitten in his lap. He felt a twinge of guilt until Anders said quietly, "It's not your fault, Hawke."

Well, those were words that have never left Leandra's mouth. Hawke felt himself ready to snap at Anders, but he tried to be more sympathetic. "I knew it was in bad shape. I just thought you could fix it. That's what you do. You fix things."

"I appreciate the thought, Hawke. He-he almost made it..." Anders broke off in a sigh. There was already so much grief in him that the death of one kitten made little difference. Well, it made some difference.

Hawke knelt down on one knee next to him. "I am sorry." He watched Anders place the kitten inside of a small grave he had dug, judging from his dirtier than normal fingernails, with his own hands. "At least he was cared for instead of being kicked at by nobles. He died safe, full, and warm...He was loved when he passed which is more than I'll be able to say for myself when it's my turn."

"You won't die alone, Hawke." Why would the man come to that conclusion? He got their ragtag team to work together for his cause. How could he think they would all abandon him so quickly?

"Really? How likely is it that I'll die in you-someone's arms?"

Anders was silent, pondering his words while Hawke helped him cover the grave with soil. "How do you think you will die?"

"Face forward in the mud, with a sword in my back that was placed there by the young, desperate mercenary that I used to be. There will be another strutting around in my armor until it is their turn to be slain."

Hawke didn't flinch away when Anders gently touched his shoulder, but Anders could see that he wanted to. "I don't think Varric would appreciate you dreaming up such a dull ending for his Champion. According to him it will take no less than three ogres and a couple of arch-demons to take you down."

His attempt at humor bounced off Hawke like arrows off an ogre. "Varric talks far too much."

There was no argument there. "Hawke," Anders said slowly, pausing to try to read the Champion's eyes which for once were, not full of, but hinted at emotion. "The only way that bastard would get you is if he crawled over my dead body."

Hawke looked away, standing up and brushing his dark hair into a less messy shape. "I am sorry about the cat. I didn't want it to turn out like this."

"I know, Hawke."

"I just wanted..." Hawke had started to reveal something private and tender, but he found he couldn't find his voice. The rest he finished inside his head. I can't heal, like you can. Even the simplest of healing spells are beyond my skill. When you're fighting with us, the others are falling to pieces and I can't do a damn thing. I'm tired of killing being my only option. I wanted to save something for once.

Anders was trying to get his attention. Hawke reverted back to normal. He gave the tiny grave a glance and growled. "I thought they had nine lives."

"You climbed the Comte de Launcet's roof to get me a kitten. That's not a question. I had it confirmed by a few of Varric's sources. They said half the nobles in Kirkwall had gathered to watch."

"That's because they had nothing better to do than watch me fall off a roof twice."

Sensing a sudden change in Hawke's mood, Anders laughed quietly. "Twice? How did-"

Hawke wasn't a gentle kisser. He smashed his mouth against Anders' own and pulled away just as quickly. "You misspelled your own name on page forty-seven of your manifesto. I thought you should know."

Anders' eyes fluttered back open. "Hawke..."

"I suppose I'll see you later tonight, won't I?" Hawke was all business once more. "And don't bring your manifesto. It'll ruin the mood." He paused for a moment at the doorway, wanting to say just one last thing before he left. "And, thanks. Not for...I meant for your words. If I had nine lines, well, it wouldn't be so terrible if I had to spend them with you."

Anders realized he had been right before. He hadn't found a simple ally in Hawke; evidently there was something more there than an overly aggressive mercenar