The Hawkes' family home was not far from the elven alienage. Both were crammed in the back half of the city, west of the long stair that ran down to the docks. With the streets as empty as they were, Isabela was able to cover the distance in a matter of minutes.
A grey-faced Gamlen let her in the front door. He didn't say a word, and he hardly even paused to stare at her tits. Instead he turned back to his sister, who was collapsed at the small kitchen table, her face buried in her hands. Isabela paused, watching Hawke's mother tremble with tears, and had a moment of panic. Perhaps she should have waited. Maybe Aveline was right, and she was here too soon.
The thought grated her and she pushed it away. No, Hawke would want to see her. He would want her to comfort him, now more than ever.
"The boy's in the back room," Gamlen grunted, not looking at her.
"Thank you," she said.
He scoffed. "Good bloody luck."
Isabela ignored him, and pushed the door open just wide enough for her to slip through. She shut the door quietly before turning to look for her lover.
Hawke lay on the bottom bunk of what had been his and his brother's lofted beds. He lay on his back, his arms over his head. He was bare-chested, so she could see the lithe muscle of his torso, and also all of the bandages that wrapped various parts of his upper half.
That didn't make sense, she thought. Even if he'd been too wounded to perform the spells himself, Anders should have been able to heal him.
She took a deep breath to calm her apprehension. There had to be a reason. She would find it; she just needed to break this intense silence first.
Hawke had not moved in the slightest when she'd opened the door. He still wasn't looking at her, and had not uttered a single word.
Isabela sighed again, and tried to get him to acknowledge her. "You've looked better," she told him quietly.
Hawke took so long to respond that she wondered if he was actually sleeping. "I said—" she began.
"Go away."
Isabela paused. That was definitely Hawke's voice, but it was deeper, more serious, than she had ever heard it before. "Aveline told me what happened in the Deep Roads," Isabela tried again, taking another few steps closer. "Maybe I can… help…."
She trailed off. Hawke had lowered his arm as she drew near, turning his golden eyes to face her. Or… eye. One of his beautiful eyes glowed in the room's candlelight, but the other was swathed in bandages. They covered the whole right side of his head.
"I don't need help," he said, his tone cold.
Not fully listening, she sat next to him, and stretched out a hand to touch the damaged part of his face. "Did you lose your eye?" she wondered. The thought chilled her. There were few things in the world she'd miss more than the thrill of his strange gaze.
He caught her hand before she could touch him, and his grip was not at all kind. He pushed her hand away, and sat up, making to swing both legs onto the floor.
"What is this?" Isabela asked, stunned. "Why are you injured?"
"You just said Aveline told you what happened," Hawke snapped, not looking at her.
"She did, but I want to hear it from you." Isabela reached for his face again, determined to make him show her his injury. The moment her fingertips reached his face, his hand shot up, slapping her away. He twisted like a cat, and his other hand caught her round the throat, pushing her hard, down onto the bed.
Isabela gagged, her fingers tearing at the strength of his grip. Her body convulsed, and tears formed at the corners of her eyes. "W'-what are you doing?" she choked.
He said nothing. His single yellow eye watched her struggle, but his shadowed face showed no emotion at all. This wasn't him playing some sort of game. It wasn't even him being rough; it was like he actually wanted to kill her.
"S-stop!" she wailed.
He released her instantly, standing as she hacked and gasped to regain her breath. "I told you to leave." he reminded her. He crossed the room, and pulled a shirt from the trundle in the corner of the room.
"Have you lost your mind?" Isabela wheezed, holding her throat tenderly. "I understand that you're mourning your brother, but that—"
"You understand nothing!" Hawke bellowed. He whirled to face her, his shirt still balled in his fist. She cowered away from his hands, but her eyes stayed locked on his face.
She'd only seen it for a moment, but she was certain that when his temper had flared, she'd seen the eye socket beneath his bandage glow. "Hawke," she hissed. "What have you done?"
He frowned, and turned back to the wall. She watched him slip the shirt over his head. He didn't speak, and she rose to her feet, her own temper flashing up. She crossed the room in two quick strides, and grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her.
"You're like Anders now, is that it?" she demanded. "Did you make a deal with some demon?"
The man regarded her coolly. His visible eye glittered in the firelight, but he still didn't open his mouth.
"Is that why you're acting like this?" she pressed. "Talk to me, Hawke."
His gaze dropped to look at her hand, which was still holding his arm.
"Before we went underground," he said finally, "I thought I might be in love with you."
Her heart skipped a beat.
She'd known. He'd tried to be casual and lighthearted in their trysts, but she'd been able to tell. Of course she had; she thought she might be in love with him too. If someone like her were capable of such a thing.
Isabela panted out a laugh. She released his arm, and brought both hands to softly cup his cheeks. They weren't as smooth as they had been, dusted now in rough stubble the same ebony color as his hair. It was insensitive of her to think so, but the disheveled look suited him. Leaning her body closer into his chest, she teased, "You say it like that's changed."
She had to stand on her toes to bring her lips to his.
For a moment he let his mouth move with hers, and then she felt his posture stiffen beneath her hands. Hawke caught her wrists, and pushed her firmly away.
"Hawke?" she said, stumbling backwards.
He had already turned away again, this time reaching into his trundle for a large leather-bound book. "I see nothing in you now," he said, his voice matter of fact. "Nothing but lies."
"L-lies?" she stammered, "What are you talking about?"
He walked back over to his bed, and flopped down, one long leg hanging down onto the floor. Licking his thumb, he flipped the book open and began to read. "I don't want to look at you," he said.
Isabela's mouth worked, flabbergast. There was no way he meant that. There was no way he would be so cold. No way he could be so disinterested. And whatever secrets she maintained, she had never lied to him! Not directly anyway.
"I don't understand—" she started.
He cut her off. "Get out."
Her hand shook as she rested it on the door. He couldn't be thinking clearly, she told herself. He'd call her name in a moment and take it all back.
But several long seconds passed, and Hawke said nothing at all, totally engrossed by the pages of his tome.
Isabela threw the door open. She dashed across the main room, and out into the Lowtown alley before Gamlen or Leandra could see her tears.
