Big thanks to everyone who has read/reviewed/favorited/put this story on alert. I think you're all wonderful.
AN: Isabela might seem slightly out of character in this chapter, but I do feel it is justified within the context of the situation. Plus, she's back to normal by the end anyhow... So just stick with me on this one. I was dealing with a bit of writer's block in this chapter, but overcame it by the second half. Hope you like it : )
"Damnit, Hawke!" Isabela had to wonder how many times she'd uttered those exact words since she'd known Aya. To take the time to count would be a headache in itself; however, if she had to take an educated guess, she would say the answer was well in the hundreds. Had she the time to release her exasperation in this moment, she would've. As it were, her maker forsaken apostate was once again plunging headlong into a mess of coterie thugs, and the pirate would be damned if she wasn't at her side.
Bloody Hell… she thought, expelling a mental sigh her lips didn't have the time to dwell on. Mages weren't supposed to be this reckless – Merrill and Anders certainly weren't. When a fight broke out, they strategically remained on the fringes of battle, casting spells both defensive and offensive from a safe distance. Hawke used to have that kind of self-preservation; but since returning Isabela had noticed that the Champion had mustered up some sort of death wish (at least a tiny one).
When battles erupted, no matter who their adversaries were, Aya was one of the first to jump in among the fray, combating tempered steel and deft arrows with bursts of flame and ice. It was absolutely maddening to her companions – though she was not fighting brainlessly, she was fighting seemingly without tact. More importantly, she was fighting with a flagrant disregard to her own well-being. Aveline had castigated her on more than one occasion, wagging her finger at Hawke in the way a much, much sterner sibling might. Fenris and Anders had both turned their noses up at her after a few heated battles, agreeing (for once) that the way she'd taken to wielding her magic was foolish and dangerous.
Aya reacted to being chastised in different ways. She knew not to push Aveline. When the Guard Captain would lecture her, she would merely accept the rebuke, nodding her head and trying her best to reassure her friend. Isabela found this reaction strange, seeing as how the apostate would scoff at the likes of Anders or Fenris, quick to issue sarcastic remarks in their direction. Even when she herself tried to reprimand Hawke, her Champion would always reply with an annoyingly confident and gorgeous smirk. Aya never joked with Aveline though, at least not when it came to her own safety.
The Champion and the Guard Captain had a special bond that Isabela sometimes found aggravating. After all they'd been through together, they truly viewed each other as family – Aveline assuming the role of big sister while Hawke ceded to the role of little sister. Aya was truly happy to play the part of younger sibling after so many years of being the eldest. She'd made a lot of hard decisions in order to protect Bethany and Carver, and in many ways, felt that she had failed. For once, it was nice to feel that someone was looking over her, as opposed to the other way around.
Isabela was glad that Hawke had acquired some small amount of comfort in the way Aveline protected her. But Andraste, had it ever been hard on the rogue… since she'd returned her Big Girl had refused to cut her any slack when it came to Hawke. She was clear in that she disapproved of any relationship between the pirate and the apostate, and that she thought Isabela was an ungrateful tit for leaving after the Qunari debacle. What Aveline wasn't seeing though, through Isabela's sarcasm and easy-going demeanor, was the immense amount of guilt that she actually felt and the amount of care she had for Aya (more than she often liked to think about).
It seemed though, that in moments like this, moments where the fearless mage was just barely managing to avoid the adept slashing of daggers and the crippling blows of arrows, all with a fierce smile on her face, that the pirate's true concern and care was apt to rear its head. She was at Hawke's back in a moment, raising her blades to cut the throat of a rogue assassin who otherwise would've found his mark in the Champion's spine. Fenris was beside them, cleaving thugs in a blur of shining lyrium, and sweet Merrill, the only intelligent mage participating in this particular fight, was behind them, terrorizing grimy coterie bastards at a reasonable distance.
Hawke finished off the last of their opponents with a crackling burst of lightening. Isabela growled subtly, pulling one of her daggers out of the back of a corpse, and turned to face Aya. Fenris was, as usual, sneering, and Merrill approached them warily, bitterly anticipating some sort of argument. The tiny blood mage knew that Isabela and Hawke had done quite a bit of arguing since Isabela's return. However, the thing she found odd about this arguing, was that Isabela was always on the side of reproach and frustration, whereas Aya was calm and cool, her grin never wavering. The tables had truly turned in the past few years.
Silence burgeoned between the four companions as Hawke sheathed her staff. Fenris was the first to comment.
"You really do want the Templars to take you, don't you, Hawke? You-" Isabela turned up her palm at the elf quickly, cutting him off.
"Thanks, Fenris, but I'd like to handle this," the pirate interjected coldly. Aya bit down on her bottom lip, the corner of her mouth twitching with a smile that was just begging to split over her face. Isabela noticed this immediately, as attuned to the Champion's mannerisms as she was, and narrowed her eyes. "You know, you almost got stabbed in the back this time."
"Key word: 'almost'."
"You… you're an idiot, you know that?" Anger flared up quickly in Isabela. She wasn't necessarily an angry person, not at all. She was always so composed, so mellow; and when she wasn't, she had her sense of humor to quell any traces of negative emotions. However, in the month since she'd returned to Kirkwall, she'd found herself unable to maintain her composure rather often, all thanks to Aya's carelessness and unfounded confidence.
If she wasn't so concerned, she'd probably be quite amused and even turned on by the Champion's new attitude. But she was concerned… very. She was finally able to admit freely to herself that, yes, she did love Aya. She loved the blonde-haired, green-eyed woman in a way that she was not yet able to voice to anyone but herself, and it pained the pirate to see how she would throw herself so carelessly into battle. Deep down, the confident smirk the Champion now wore caused a secret pang of hurt in Isabela's heart, because only she knew the truth behind it.
Aya liked to pretend that she had everyone else's troubles figured out and taken care of, that she was infinitely strong and secure, but she wasn't. Her cocky smirks and ever-amused grins were always forced, at least partially. Her humor and sarcasm were nothing but devices that Hawke clung to in order to placate her own fear and sadness. Isabela knew this because she'd spent most of her adult life crafting the same exact façade – a façade she still leaned on from time to time, but that she had slowly and surely sacrificed for the sake of her relationship with Aya.
The rogue saw through the apostate's guise. During the day, while traipsing all over creation in the name of justice, or at night, cleansing the streets of Lowtown as they were now, Aya was amiable and happy. She was still good for a round of drinks or a game of Wicked Grace at the Hanged Man, much to everyone else's satisfaction. But Isabela knew that when Kirkwall's champion went home every night, she was alone. When she would finally retire to her cold estate after a hard day's work, there was no smiling, no laughter. There was only solemnity and quiet contemplation to accompany her aching and exhausted mind.
Isabela had tried to get Hawke to admit this in the past month, but the damned mage had kept her at a distance. They hadn't spent a single night together, hadn't had sex once since she returned. In fact, they'd only shared a few chaste kisses, despite how flirtatious Aya had been with her. It was maddening. The pirate truly desired to help Hawke, even if that only meant sleeping beside her or, so help her, talking about their emotions. Still, she was only human, and she did have urges.
She was getting tired of being kept at arm's length. At first, she'd acknowledged that she deserved such treatment, after the way she's betrayed Hawke, but now… it was getting a bit ridiculous. Aya had not done a thing to try and hide the way she still felt for Isabela. She'd been forgiving and alluring and all kinds of conflicted in the past month. She'd driven Isabela up a wall with her reckless behaviors in battle, and the pirate had to wonder if she'd done so on purpose.
Was the rogue being punished? Was she being manipulated? Was she being tested? She honestly had no idea, and Hawke's behavior had just about caused her naturally sparse patience to wear completely thin.
"You had my back, Isabela. I knew you would," Hawke said simply, her arrogant smile softening as she registered the strain passing over the pirate's features.
"And what if I hadn't? What if I'd been preoccupied or tied up?"
"Well, then I guess I would be dead." Isabela looked ready to slap the apostate, and Merrill appeared distressed by her comment, as well. Fenris was indifferent, as usual, if not slightly unsettled. "But that wouldn't happen," she quickly amended. "Contrary to popular belief, I actually do have some semblance of self-awareness when in a fight. Enough to keep myself from getting killed, at least. Not that any of you would let that happen, anyway." Fenris threw his hands in the air and stalked off quickly, muttering Tevinter curses and variations of the word "fool".
"Oh, no, that's fine Fenris – you can leave. We're done for the night, anyway. Thanks for asking," Aya called after him dryly, eliciting a brief giggle from Merrill. Isabela was undeterred from her annoyance, however.
"So, are we done for the night, or were you just being snide?" The apostate shrugged nonchalantly.
"We took down quite a few thugs tonight. I'm sure Aveline will be satisfied. So… sure. We're done."
"Good," Isabela said curtly, causing Aya to raise a brow.
"Good? Do you have somewhere to be, Isabela?"
"Yes." Hawke grinned as a mischievous twinkle gleamed in her emerald eyes. Isabela found this look positively irresistible, and she was sure the mage knew it.
"I hope you know that when I say 'somewhere to be' I mean somewhere other than the Hanged Man. Because, let's face it, you're presence there is pretty much a given." The rogue spat out a few mock chuckles before abruptly turning on her heel and grabbing Merrill's hand.
"You're so funny, Hawke… c'mon, Kitten. I'll buy you a drink." Merrill graciously accepted the pirate's hand, but shook her head, nonetheless.
"You know I love to drink with you, Isabela. It's one of my favorite things, even though I'm quite bad at it – compared to you. But I'm feeling so sleepy tonight. I was thinking I'd just go home. I wouldn't be any fun, anyhow." Isabela stopped and pouted, causing the delicate elf to flush with guilt. "Maybe you can buy Hawke a drink!"
Aya's grin softened when the pirate turned to her, her amber eyes full of subtle anticipation and remote expectancy. The Champion had been seemingly avoiding alone time with Isabela in the past few weeks, so it was no surprise when she turned to the elf and said, "I think you've got the right idea tonight, Merrill. I was just going to head home." She then presented Isabela with an apologetic and somewhat… guilty smile. "But if you'd like to buy me a drink tomorrow night, when Merrill and I aren't quite so tired, I'd gladly take you up on it."
"Sure you will, Hawke." Aya's smile quickly dissipated as the anticipation in her pirate's eyes was quelled. She hadn't consciously decided that she was going to avoid any one on one interactions with Isabela… it was just something that happened. The Champion wondered what caused her to so easily dismiss Isabela since she'd returned to Kirkwall. She didn't want to. In fact, what she really wanted to do was forgive the pirate entirely and pick up where they'd left off before the mess with the relic. But that was the problem, wasn't it?
Isabela had betrayed her, left her vulnerable and alone. For all intents and purposes she should hate the damn pirate – and Maker, had she tried. She'd spent three very long years trying to hate Isabela. Her motives for doing so, however, were of a curious nature. She did not want to hate the pirate for all the ways in which she had wronged Hawke. On the contrary, Aya longed to hate Isabela so that she may not care for her… so that she may stop loving her.
She'd failed miserably in this spiteful venture, though the continued efforts of trying in the past few years had left a bitter taste in her mouth. She was unwell before the pirate left – a fact she knew Isabela had been keenly aware of, as the flirtatious, dark-haired rogue had been the one tangible thing she'd been clinging to. Aya knew she never should've made Isabela – inconsistent, flippant, emotionally detached Isabela – her anchor, but she had, nonetheless. And when she'd fled after the incident with the Arishok, the Champion had been lost and alone for a long time. She still was, even now; the only difference was, Isabela was finally back.
Despite feelings she tried very hard to ignore and to eradicate, Hawke had to keep Isabela at a distance. It was the most punishment she could muster for the pirate, the most she herself could handle when all she longed to do was act as though they were as careless and unfettered as they were before the Qunari, before her mother's death, before… well, before she tried to confuse their casual relationship with compassionate emotions.
"I'll at least walk you home, Kitten." Tugging at the tiny elf's lithe frame, Isabela strode off without another look in Hawke's direction.
"Goodnight, Hawke," Merrill called out before she was swept away and out of sight completely. Aya was left standing there in the pirate's aggravated wake, letting out a heavy sigh.
"Maker, why does this have to be so complicated…"
Isabela wasn't the type for apologies. She wasn't the type for baring her emotions, or engaging in anything that even vaguely resembled begging. I especially do not go chasing after lovers like some petulant teenager, she reminded herself in a drunken haze. No, because I wait for them to come to me. I'm hard to get – that's the deal. Hawke… she is confusing our roles. I'm hard to get, and reckless, and flirtatious, and noncommittal, and cool-headed. She is stubborn, and sarcastic, and overly romantic, and idealistic. She should be coming after me.
Isabela huffed, balling her fists at her side, wavering slightly in her drunkenness. The pirate was correct in all of her convictions. So why had she broken into the Hawke estate at three in the morning, and why (Andraste's tits: WHY) was she standing awkwardly before Aya's bedroom door, debating whether or not to barge in?
Well, quite frankly, because she was pissed off. And because she'd consumed way too much alcohol in the past three hours, even for her impressive level of tolerance. So, without over thinking it, she threw open the door to Hawke's bedroom, shutting it tightly behind her. Aya, who had been hunched over her desk fervently reading, nearly jumped out of her skin before turning to face her intruder, flames flaring defensively in the palms of her hands. When she realized who she was facing, her green eyes widened with surprise, her brow knitting quizzically.
"Isa-"
"Oh, you must've been so tired, Aya, seeing how you're still awake." As far as the pirate could tell, her speech wasn't slurred. But what did she know? She was drunk, after all.
"What… why are you here?" Hawke stood, the flames quickly retreating from her palms as she walked over to Isabela, concern crawling subtly into her features. The rogue knew she'd made the Champion nervous, a fact she drew quiet satisfaction from. She wasn't so snarky and arrogant now, was she?
"I had some things I wanted to say to you." Aya drew her arms over her chest, fidgeting quite obviously. Her lips pursed as the pirate stood before her looking both smug and completely irked. She knew this wasn't going to be good.
"Okay…"
"Look, Hawke," Isabela lurched forward gracelessly, leaving less than an inch of space between herself and the apostate. Aya flinched, eyes rounding in surprise and anxiety as she felt the heat of the pirate's breath on her face. Despite the stale, unpleasant smell of liquor that permeated this heat, there was still something wholly enticing about it. "I have been very apologetic to you since returning. Very. And you know how I hate apologies. But it's the least I can do. I actually feel extremely guilty about ever leaving you and, yeah, I do regret this whole situation. I was the bad guy, and I've been trying to make up for that. I've been by your side ever since I returned, saving your ass from being flayed more times than I think even you realize. And… Andraste, you've been such a tit, you know that? Reckless and stupid and uncaring. I can't stand it, Hawke! But I put up with it, because I want you to… I don't know – forgive me?"
"I have forgiven you," Aya interjected quickly before the pirate scoffed. She was shrinking before Isabela's words, her gaze, the heat she was throwing off like a smoldering ember.
"Bullshit! You've been avoiding me, Aya. You refuse to even be alone with me for a few drinks in the Hanged Man!"
"That's not-" Aya assumed it might be impossible to get a word in edgewise, but decided she had to try. Still, the words left her lips sheepishly, not expecting to ever come to fruition.
"Not true? Oh, c'mon!" Hawke lowered her gaze, the shame growing as Isabela continued her verbal assault. "And you know what? That's not even the worst of it, Hawke. I've been spending almost every damn day trying to keep you out of trouble, and how do you repay me? You put up some cocky, self-righteous front and push me to my wits' end! So then I have to be the bigger person, and I have to scold you like… like Aveline! And what do you do? You make some infuriatingly smug remark and make me look like a twat. That's just… you're… it's supposed to be the other way around, damnit!" At this point the pirate was becoming so frustrated; fumbling so badly for her words, that she was afraid she might be turning blue in the face.
Aya raised her gleaming emerald eyes carefully, meeting Isabela's fiery, belligerent glare with an expression of unguarded distress. She should've told the rogue outright how miserable she had felt in the past three years. How rest and relaxation had become a far-off memory since she'd been named the Champion of Kirkwall – a comfort as derisively remote as the fairytales her parents used to read to her in her childhood. She should've let it all out to begin with: the loneliness; the cold fury that had taken residence in her bones; the dark, distant pangs of sorrow that haunted her like the faces of the loved ones she'd failed to save. But she'd been afraid to admit these things to Isabela. Because she knew Isabela didn't do emotions – her swift departure from the city had made that much clear. And she was truly afraid of driving the pirate off once more.
Hawke couldn't handle Isabela leaving again. This small truth was stringently clear to her – now more than ever – as lines of conflict and regret burned into her face, all words leaving her mind.
"I…" Isabela could see the grief scrawled over the apostate's face; however, it did very little to soften her. She was too drunk, too upset, too caught up in the flurry of bitter emotions that cascaded through her brain. These were exactly the type of emotions she'd fought her whole life to contain secretly within herself. But as she was releasing them now upon the only person she knew she would ever change for, the one person who could make her want to change, she couldn't help but to lose herself a little bit. It was uncanny, she would later realize, how the person who had made her feel the greatest amount of happiness in the past six years was also the only person she could unleash this emotional chaos upon.
This is why I didn't want to bring emotions into this… once you really start to feel for someone, you start to lose your footing. You lose sight of your barriers, your inhibitions. This is a low for me. I'm weak, vulnerable, completely intolerable… because of her. Or how she makes me feel. I'm not sure which. I just know that this thing – love – is sick. You read about in poems, hear about it in songs like it's this precious, beautiful entity. Like it's a field of daisies and puppies and all that cute shit. But that's a lie. Love is a heat-seeking cluster-fuck of two people's absolute worst qualities, all melted down and scalding hot and setting everything aflame.
Isabela swayed a little, her thoughts overwhelming her for a moment as she gazed intensely upon Aya. The silence was only angering her more, and it was no longer her turn to speak.
"What," she asked brusquely, causing the muscles in Hawke's neck and jaw to tense immediately. For a moment, she was sure that Aya was going to fire back at her, to yell and deny and defend her intentions the way any other person might have – the way she should have. Instead, the mage bridged the tiny gap between them rapidly, cupping the pirate's face in her hands and engulfing her with a ferociously sensual kiss. It was not happy, brought no relief between them – it was pained and desperate – yet somehow incited more passion than either woman had felt in over three years.
Aya pulled back suddenly, slightly, keeping her lips just a hair's-breadth from Isabela's as they ghosted over the heady whisper of an apology. "I'm sorry," the apostate breathed regretfully. "I didn't… I just-" Isabela found the pulsating warmth that scattered from Hawke's lips to be absolutely maddening. It distilled her only slightly less than the sharp pain she felt as she muddled through Aya's fumbling grief.
"Stop," the pirate demanded gently as she crushed her lips into the apostate's once more. She withdrew her kiss a moment later, her heart beating wildly as she pushed Aya atop the bed and drifted desirously over her body. Her mouth connected quickly with the nape of Hawke's neck, and the mage let out a soft, eager gasp. The pirate was not gentle, however. She'd been waiting for this moment entirely too long to be gentle. She was compassionate though, nonetheless.
She worked her way up Aya's neck, biting down wherever the flesh felt too enticingly soft, leaving a faint trail of bruises along the apostate's skin. She lingered over the Champion's lips, drinking in her scent and lusty panting like a fine liquor. Hawke closed her eyes briefly, tacitly asking for "more," and eliciting a delighted, predatory grin from the pirate. Isabela's hand deftly moved over Aya's chest and groped, willing a sense of yearning to break through the mask of sadness that had previously encased the mage's beautiful features.
"We've spent far too much time this past month apologizing," Isabela breathed sensually, her thumb rubbing over the nipple she felt beneath Hawke's nightshirt. "A waste, considering what else we could have been doing to occupy our time." Aya let out a low moan as her quivering hands drew clumsily over the strings of Isabela's corset.
"Yeah, no more apologizing. Especially not now," the apostate said impatiently, her voice hoarse as Isabela chuckled sultrily. Their lips collided once again, hands working fervently to grope, to strip, to embrace each other as they'd so been longing to do.
The lpirate and the apostate arched into each other, their flesh seeming to coalesce in an act of heat and passion. And for the first time in a long time, the only thing that existed between them, within them, was the present. The past was no shadow; the future no consequence. All they had was each other, and in that moment, it seemed just right.
The next morning, Isabela woke before Aya. This was a rare occurrence and amused her slightly. She instinctively made a move to get up, to get dressed and get lost, but stopped herself short of leaving the bed. Early morning light streamed in through the window at the far end of the room, stretching out over the floor and furniture in warm, bright tendrils. The sunshine skirted along the soft curve of Aya's left cheek, shoulder, and abdomen, all exposed as she lay facing the rogue. Propped up on her elbow, Isabela smiled, noticing how the light caught perfectly over Hawke's pale skin and seemed to glow in the same way it might when caught on the face of a diamond. The apostate really was gorgeous, with all her fine, alluring features. Even now, as she snored softly, her face obscured by thick wisps of mussed, blonde hair, Aya was more beautiful than Isabela would ever hope to be, inside and out.
Sighing quietly, she rolled onto her pillow once more, facing Hawke as she had when she'd fallen asleep the night before. She really should leave, before Aya woke up. She would've before… before everything they'd been through. And had she been sharing this bed with anyone else, she would've bolted without a second thought.
But Aya Hawke wasn't just anyone else, and that was the point, wasn't it? So, content, Isabela closed her eyes and drifted off once again into slumber.
As always, I would absolutely appreciate reviews. Especially since I've spent most of the night finishing this chapter instead of writing a speech that I have to present, er... tomorrow. Oh, well, I'm a procrastinator. And this was worth it : )
