"Come on, Big Girl," Isabela called out as she strode into Aveline's office. "We've got bigger things to do than figure out next week's roster."
The irritation on the Guard-Captain's face faded quickly when she saw the pirate's expression. "What is it?" she asked, rising from her chair and reaching for her sword. "Is she -"
"Likely halfway to the Gallows by now," Isabela finished for her, "and Brennan's nursing a goose-egg and a headache. You should have let me use my people."
Aveline glared at her, but she was already halfway to the door as she replied heatedly, "My guards are more than capable -"
"Of dealing with Lowtown rabble and rowdy sailors," Isabela shot back, falling into step beside the warrior as she took the stairs two at a time. "This is Hawke we're talking about! She knows your guards! Brennan wasn't even trying to hide! She was standing on the steps outside the bloody house! Hawke probably didn't even have to wake up to sneak up on her and sap her."
"All right, all right," Aveline growled, then slowed, giving the other woman a worried look. "She's not hurt badly, is she? Hawke didn't hit her too hard?"
"She'll be fine," the pirate shot back, picking up the pace again. Another time, she might have been annoyed at the question, but there was no denying that Hawke was in a dangerous mood, and she'd finally regained enough strength to give vent to it.
It had been a little more than a week since she, Varric and Anders had staggered out of the Deep Roads, all three of them closer to dead than alive, hauling an assortment of gems and baubles that had made the most optimistic forecasts for the expedition seem cautious, and bearing a tale too incredible for even Varric to have fabricated. Their struggle to survive after Bartrand had trapped them in the ancient thaig they had found had led them to an equally ancient Grey Warden prison whose flagging magical wards had been reinforced by none other than Papa Hawke, shortly before he and Leandra had fled to Ferelden.
The details were still sketchy; even the normally loquacious dwarf clammed up and grew grim when pressed too hard, but they had evidently managed to kill the thing that had been imprisoned there, though not before it had killed Fenris, adding his death to those of the rest of the expedition, whom Bartrand had evidently disposed of after betraying Varric and the other three. Discovering that Bethany was now a resident of the Gallows had done nothing for Devon's temper, and only the fact that she couldn't even stand unaided had kept her from charging off in search of Bartrand, who had gained nearly a month's head start on Hawke and his beyond-pissed younger brother by skipping town after getting Bethany taken to the Gallows, evading Isabela's vengeance by what the pirate figured couldn't be more than minutes, damn it.
Hawke's recuperation had been marked by a decided lack of speech. She accepted Leandra's maternal fussing, wouldn't let Gamlen even come into the room, and responded to the presence of anyone else with stony silence, her eyes focused on some point in the mid-distance.
They'd all known that she was going to do something; it was only a matter of how long until she had the strength to act. While it wouldn't have been permitted for the Guard-Captain to assign subordinates to guard her friend during their duty hours, Man-hands had no shortage of volunteers during off time; quite a few had their asses pulled out of one fire or another by Hawke and Aveline over the years. There had been no lack of offers on Isabela's side of the street, either, but she had let Aveline take charge, electing to utilize her own forces in a continuing search for the whereabouts of Bartrand.
All of it had been a colossal waste of time; the nug-humping dwarf's trail vanished at the Antivan border, and now if they didn't catch up to Devon in time, they would be explaining to Leandra that she had lost all of her children.
Dammit, Hawke, you fucking idiot!
The run from Hightown to the Gallows was almost as long as the sprint from Lowtown to Hightown had been, and the pirate had a definite stitch in her side by the time the always-uplifting statues of the tormented slaves from the Tevinter era came into sight. She clenched her teeth against it; she was damned if she was going to show any weakness to Aveline, who didn't even seem winded, despite the weight of her armor.
"Where do you think she'll be?" Aveline asked, scanning the courtyard from their position in the shadows near the entrance.
"That depends on whether she's planning on killing templars or springing Bethany," Isabela replied, her own eyes quickly selecting the spots that she would have chosen for concealment if she were in Hawke's place. It took time: the contorted shapes of the statues created a virtual forest of irregular shadows that shifted as clouds drifted across the face of the moon overhead. She was confident that Devon would try for her sister first, but if she found herself stymied, she might settle for murder as a consolation prize.
"Anything?" the warrior demanded tersely for the third time in as many minutes.
"If you think it's so damned easy, you try looking for her," Isabela retorted without looking around, her gaze skating from one concealing pool of darkness to the next, searching for something that shouldn't be there.
Wait...was that? She returned her scrutiny to the spot it had just passed over, going as motionless as the statues that towered around her, her eyes locked upon the shadows until she could just barely make out the shadow within them, its movements as subtle and controlled as a cat stalking a particularly skittish mouse.
"She's there," she whispered, nodding in the direction of the statue where Hawke had concealed herself. Her eyes shifted to the pair of templars who stood guard at the foot of the stairs that led from the courtyard to the hall, the templars' barracks and the mages' quarters. It looked as though she had been right in her supposition: the angle of Hawke's approach suggested that she would attempt to bypass the sentries and enter the main building. Now they just had to figure out how to intercept her without alerting the -
"Devon!" Avaline's cheerful - and loud - hail nearly launched the pirate out of her skin.
Son of a -
She could only gape, then glare as the Guard-Captain strode past her and across the courtyard, waving as though she were greeting her friend in the Hightown market. She saw the shadow waver, then vanish as the templars' heads turned, but before she could release the set of curses she'd assembled, Hawke appeared at the far side of the courtyard, sauntering out casually to meet Aveline. Shaking her head, Isabela followed the warrior.
"Are you out of your fucking mind?" she demanded under her breath, watching as the templars began to move toward them.
"Did you have a better idea?" Man-hands returned calmly, though she plainly couldn't resist a smirk at having caught the pirate off guard. "Sometimes the best way to be sneaky is not to be."
"So if I were to grab your ass -"
"You'd lose your hand," Aveline finished for her, turning her eyes to Hawke as the rogue approached. "Good to see you up and around," she said warmly.
"I'm harder to kill than some might think." Hawke's tone was casual, even bantering, but the look in her eyes was deadly, though it shuttered quickly at the approach of the two templars.
"Guard-Captain," the taller of the pair offered courteously as they drew close enough to recognize Aveline. "What brings you to the Gallows?" At this time of night? his questioning glance finished for him as his eyes shifted between Isabela and Hawke.
"Templar Perrin, Templar Ivar," Aveline replied with equal courtesy, nodding at each man in turn as she spoke. "You know Lady Hawke, I am sure." They'd damn well better; she'd been keeping the order's collective ass wiped long enough that they all should be calling her 'Mama'. "We wanted to see if it would be possible for her to visit her sister, Bethany."
A nervous glance passed between Perrin and Ivar. The templars owed Hawke for ferreting out the blood mages who had attempted to infiltrate the order through their recruits, but -
"Lady Hawke," Perrin began with a nod of acknowledgment to the rogue.
"Ladies don't gut blood mages," Hawke reminded him pointedly, "and I doubt they survive being double-crossed and stranded in the Deep Roads."
"Indeed." Perrin shifted uncomfortably, glancing sideways at his companion. "We have heard of the dwarf's treachery and your most fortunate survival -"
"Rather obvious, that last, since I'm standing right here," Devon drawled, her expression, flat; she knew what was coming.
"However," the templar went on, flushing slightly at the interruption, "mages newly admitted to the Circle are not permitted to see their families for a year, at least, and since your sister was living as an apostate," he broke off, actually looking genuinely regretful, "it will likely be longer. I am sorry. The order remains in your debt for your aid in neutralizing the blood mages -"
"I killed them, Perrin," Hawke cut him off again, her lip curled in disdain at the euphemism. "At the request of your Knight-Captain."
"That is the only reason that you and your family escaped any punishment for harboring an apostate," Ivar replied with the aloof arrogance that too damn many of the Kirkwall templars wore like a second skin. "The Knight-Commander would be viewed as remiss if further exceptions were made."
"Of course." There was no reading Hawke's tone, and Isabela tensed, though at this point, she wasn't certain if she would interfere if Hawke attacked the pair, or assist.
Fucking holy pricks.
"How is she? Can you tell me that, at least?" Devon wanted to know.
"She is well, L - Hawke," Perrin spoke up, looking almost comically relieved that no hostilities seemed to be forthcoming. Even without Varric's help, rumors of the lost expedition and how the three survivors had managed to escape the Deep Roads were rampant in Kirkwall, gaining ever more jaw-dropping detail with each telling. The last version that Isabela had heard involved them killing a new archdemon...or selling their souls to it, depending on who you listened to.
"She passed her Harrowing without trouble," Perrin went on, ignoring the warning glare from Ivar, "and she's settled in well. She has a gift for calming the younger children."
"She always did have," Hawke muttered, more to herself than Perrin, "not that she'll ever have any of her own now." Eyes the color of the seas lifted to regard the two templars, and the cold anger in them had Isabela's hands drifting carefully toward her daggers.
"Tell her I was here." The words were not delivered in the manner of a request, the tone just shy of an open threat. "Tell her that her sister is alive and tried to see her."
Ivar bristled visibly. "If you think that you can just order us -"
Perrin put a restraining hand on the other's arm; evidently, he held at least some degree of rank over Ivar. Enough to make the shorter man shut up, anyway. "I'll tell her, Hawke, though she has already received word of your return."
"Thank you," Hawke replied, her eyes locked on Ivar, "and I'd suggest making certain that the less honorable members of your order don't take advantage of her in any way."
Ivar's eyes widened in outrage. "If that is meant to be a threat -"
"Threat? No." Hawke shook her head. "Consider it a promise. I'll kill the one that hurts her." Without bothering to wait for a response from either, she turned and walked away, leaving Perrin to calm his sputtering colleague.
Aveline strode after her, Isabela right behind, hating the fact that she had to walk quickly to keep pace with the big girl's long legs. "That could have gone more tactfully, Devon," the guard said quietly as they entered the Docks.
Hawke stopped, spinning to face her, no longer keeping her emotions masked. The weight she'd lost in the Deep Roads showed on her face: eyes sunken, cheeks hollow, and a scar slicing across her forehead to her left temple; the top third of that ear was missing, the absence and the scar tissue hidden beneath the unkempt tumble of blonde hair. None of that detracted from the fury in her expression, the betrayed rage storming in her eyes.
"It didn't have to happen at all!" she snarled, glaring between them. "I ought to kill you both. If anything happens to her, I still might." She whirled again, stalking away from them. "I could have had her out of there with none the wiser."
"Damn it, Hawke!" Aveline followed, grabbing her by the shoulder and spinning her back around, not flinching when the gleam of a dagger hissed through the darkness between them.
"Let. Me. Go." Hawke's voice, low and flat, the tip of her blade pointed at Aveline's throat.
"No." Aveline stood firm, her eyes never leaving Hawke's. "I'm damned if I go back to your mother to tell her that you got both you and Bethany killed, or have you forgotten about the phylacteries? Even if they didn't catch you leaving, they could track her."
"I could stay ahead of them!" Hawke persisted. "I've got enough coin to book passage on a ship to anywhere in Thedas. I could buy a damn ship, if I knew how to sail it." She flashed a reckless grin at Isabela. "Interested?"
Tempting...oh, so tempting, but - "She's right, Hawke." She couldn't believe she was saying that! "They'll never stop looking, so you'll never be able to stop running. Is that what you want for Bethany? Or your mother?" The memory of Leandra's face when the news first came about the expedition, and then later, when she and Man-hands had slunk back to Lowtown to tell of Bethany's capture...that had been the worst part of all of it. What would her own life have been like if her mother had cared for her even a fraction as much as Leandra Hawke loved her children?
"Leave my mother out of this!" Hawke shot back, fresh betrayal etching across her features at the refusal. "I wanted Bethany to be safe! That's why I asked you two to look after her!"
That one hit home: Isabela could see it in the brief tightening of Aveline's eyes, but the big girl didn't crumble.
"And that was going just fine until Bartrand showed up claiming you were dead!" she informed Hawke in an icy voice. "Bethany blew her cover trying to find out what had happened to you!" Her voice rose on the last word, and she swatted the dagger aside, leaning in until she was nose to nose with the rogue. "You were the one who left her to go chasing fortune and glory, and you were the one who let that sawed off piece of shit get the drop on you, when you knew damn good and well that he couldn't be trusted any further than you could throw him! Your choices shaped this, Devon, so don't you dare try pushing all the blame onto us!"
A nicely fiery speech, and it made Hawke wilt like a blade of grass in the summer's sun, but it was a lie. Isabela had watched Aveline wallowing in guilt ever since Bethany had been taken, and now they'd both be wallowing, if she didn't do something.
"That's enough, you two," she said, stepping forward and putting a hand on Hawke's wrist, keeping the steady pressure on until the rogue returned her blade to its sheath. "In case you've forgotten, the fucker who really caused all of this is Bartrand? He's the one that you need to be cutting into ribbons, not each other."
"We have to be able to find him to do that," Hawke spat bitterly, but the fire had left her eyes, and she wouldn't look at either of them. "I just wanted her to be safe," she muttered, "and Mother to be happy, and I've screwed it up again." She took a step back, her hands dropping to the hilts of her daggers, hovering over them before falling away as she turned a slow circle, her eyes searching the night for answers, or an outlet for her leashed frustrations, and finding neither.
Isabela exchanged a glance with Aveline. They'd both dealt with Hawke in such moods, though never so dark as this. Normally, a bit of mischief with the pirate smoothed her out, but Isabela didn't think that propping a bucket of piss atop the Knight-Commander's door was going to be enough to bring her around this time. And starting a brawl at the Hanged Man could get some unsuspecting sod killed.
"Captain!"
Hawke spun, blades half drawn and eyes hungry, but the young guardsman who ran up to Aveline was known to them, and she relaxed, watching impassively as the Guard-Captain moved into the guttering light from a tavern window to unroll and read the parchment that had been delivered.
She huffed a sigh, glancing dubiously in Hawke's direction as she sent the puppy on his way with a few terse words. "We've received reliable intelligence that the Carta will be trying to hijack a lyrium shipment scheduled to arrive at the western docks tonight," she told them.
"The Carta?" A blind man could not have missed the sudden intensity in Hawke's face. They had been involved somewhere in the Deep Roads clusterfuck, though Isabela still wasn't sure just how. She was going to have to get Varric drunk someday soon.
Aveline knew no more than the pirate, but she was plainly aware of the effect that her words would have. She nodded. "We've been trying to get a handle on who is leading them here in Kirkwall, but no luck so far." She hesitated, then took the plunge. "Your help would be welcome; as long as they can answer questions, I'm not going to worry about what shape they're arrested in."
She didn't need the help; Isabela knew that much. In the months since taking office, she had whipped the city guard from a bunch of demoralized sellswords into a reasonably cohesive fighting unit whose members would walk through fire for her. She was offering Hawke the outlet that she needed, and the only olive branch she could come up with.
"My help?" Hawke asked, seeming ready to offer some cynical retort, then visibly reconsidering. "All right," she said with an odd little grin. "Let's go."
Isabela stepped to Aveline's side as Hawke led the way. "You do realize that you're going to regret not wording that more carefully, don't you?" she offered helpfully.
"I suspect that I will," Aveline replied in a resigned tone.
"Told you," Isabela murmured two hours later as she and Aveline watched Hawke moving among the captured dwarves of the Carta. She would bend, whispering a question into the ear of each, and when her words were met with violent shakes of heads and savage oaths, she would drive a short stiletto blade into the center of the back, low on the spine, a sharp twist of her wrist ensuring that any who were released from prison would be joining the legions of crippled beggars who crowded the tunnels of Darktown.
Aveline's jaw clenched, conflicting imperatives rippling across her features. "I can't let this continue," she muttered after Hawke had worked her way through half of the prisoners. The rest of the guard stood by with wide eyes that occasionally shifted to their Captain.
Hawke didn't look surprised when Aveline approached, straightening to look up at the taller woman with a mirthless smile. "What? They can all still talk."
"Hawke..." Aveline shook her head. "This has gone on long enough. I'm sorry, but I can't -"
Hawke shrugged. "They don't know where Bartrand's at anyway. Long shot, but it was worth a try." She stepped around the writhing and groaning dwarves on the boards of the pier and walked away without looking back. Aveline watched her go, her green eyes shadowed with worry as they lifted to meet Isabela's. The pirate gave her a slight nod.
I'll take it from here. Hawke was still smiling, but her eyes were ice cold, the storm swirling just beneath the surface. "Come on." She caught the rogue's hand in her own, drawing her away, and Hawke followed without complaint. The spring left her step as soon as they moved out of the light of the torches, and she plodded in silence behind Isabela all the way back to the Hanged Man.
"I should get home," Hawke said, glancing around as though surprised at finding herself there and trying in a halfhearted way to pull her hand out of Isabela's.
"Not yet." The pirate refused to relinquish her hold. "Get cleaned up first," she said, nodding at the bloodstains on Hawke's armor and skin. "Your mother doesn't need to see that."
"Even if it's from trying to track down the bastard who cost us Bethany?" Hawke asked, but she let Isabela draw her inside and upstairs.
"Get out of those and I'll get some water." Leaving Hawke in her room, the pirate went back down to round up a jug of water and a bottle of whiskey from Corff. So far as she knew, Hawke hadn't had a drink since the night of the farewell party.
"I can't vouch for the exact number of rat droppings in it, but -" she swung into the room and stopped short, staring. "Shit, Hawke."
"What?" Hawke looked at her in puzzlement, then down at the scars that crisscrossed her skin: angry, red lines of puckered and twisted flesh, some obviously the work of blades, others just as plainly made by teeth or claws. "Those?" Her fingers came up to trace one gnarled scar that ran from just beneath her ribcage on one side to just above the hip on the other, the too prominent bones jutting beneath the too pale skin further testimony of just how much she had endured in the weeks below. "They don't hurt."
"Is that what that bastard calls keeping you healed?" Isabela demanded heatedly. She was going to kill that arrogant son of a bitch. "I could have done a better job with a needle and thread!"
"Anders kept us alive, Bela," Hawke replied quietly, "and damn near killed himself doing it. He didn't have enough to spare to make it pretty. He said he'd finish the job once we were topside, but he's got to get his strength back, too."
"Shit," Isabela repeated, for lack of anything better to say. I should have gone? No, she wasn't even remotely thinking that...quite the opposite, in fact. You shouldn't have gone? Closer to the truth, but not likely to be well received by present company. Setting the whiskey aside, she took up a rag and wet it with water, stepping closer and brushing the hair away from Hawke's face, her fingers trailing over the scarred top of her ear. "Hold still."
Hawke pushed her hand away irritably. "I'm not an invalid, damn it," she growled, snatching the cloth away and beginning to wipe the half dried blood from her face and neck. "And you're not my mother."
"I should hope not," Isabela smirked, watching Hawke move to the table where she'd set the whiskey, pull the cork and take three long pulls from the bottle. Setting it down, she leaned against the table for a long moment, her eyes closed, swaying slightly.
"Needed that," she muttered, returning to her attempts to clean off the blood, with limited success. Isabela watched her for several moments before stepping in to reclaim the cloth.
"No, I'm not your mother," she said briskly, swatting Hawke's hands away, "but I am the person who's not going to let you anywhere near my bed until you're cleaned up."
Devon grumbled a bit, but submitted to the pirate's ministrations, letting her wipe the blood away, then leaning in to kiss her. The kiss wasn't lacking in passion, but the effect was a bit spoiled when Hawke swayed again , then staggered, falling against her with a muffled oath.
"You need to rest," Isabela told her, slipping a supporting arm around the rogue and guiding her toward the bed.
"Do not," Hawke protested, but the words were ever so slightly slurred, and the hands that fumbled at the laces of her corset lacked their usual deft skill. "Mebbe I do," she mumbled as the pirate helped her settle onto the bed.
"Darling, if three shots of whiskey can do this to you, you definitely do," Isabela informed her, guiding her to the pillow and drawing the light blanket up to her shoulders. "I'll send word to your mother," she added, seeing another protest start to form. Hawke nodded her assent, but when Isabela bent to the oil lamp that burned on the bedside table, she stiffened again, her hand reaching out to catch the other's wrist.
"Don't." Her voice was suddenly sharp, a flush tinting her cheeks at the pirate's questioning glance. "Just...leave it burning, all right?" she muttered, dropping her eyes in shame.
Isabela nodded slowly. "Sure, Hawke." The rogue accepted this without comment, sagging back to the bed, her eyes closing immediately. She was asleep in less than a minute, her breathing steady and slow. The pirate watched her for a bit, feeling the anger burning in her gut. Damn Bartrand to the Void and back. She hated seeing her friend so...reduced. Devon had been fearless; if what she had endured below had affected her so drastically, what might it have done to Isabela, had she been fool enough to go?
How about we don't think about that?
Agreeing with herself, as usual – no point in arguing with someone who was always right, was there? - she turned her attention to the armor and clothes that Hawke had left on the floor. The leather jerkin and leggings were Hawke's older set; the armor she'd bought for the expedition had been beyond repair by the time they had emerged from the Deep Roads, and she'd not yet had the chance to have a new set made. Worn, but obviously well cared for, the armor had been liberally festooned with Carta blood. The pirate considered just pitching it – the price of replacing it certainly wasn't going to be an issue for Hawke - but her eyes fell on the only ornamental feature of either piece: a tiny hawk, wings spread and talons outstretched, embossed onto the neck of the jerkin and the waistband of the leggings. One of the few things that Hawke had mentioned about her father was that he had been a leatherworker, 'apostate' being a trade that made for awkward advertising.
Gathering armor, boots, gloves and clothes into a bundle, Isabela paused long enough to scribble a note on a scrap of parchment, dipped into Hawke's belt pouch for a few sovereigns and eased out the door.
"Norah, be a gem and get these cleaned, will you?" she called out, holding up the bundle in one hand and the note in the other, "And see that this gets delivered to Leandra Hawke at Gamlen Amell's home."
The waitress shot Isabela a sour look. "And do I look like your personal maid, m'lady?" she demanded sarcastically.
"You look like a woman who's about to lose a couple of easy sovereigns," the pirate replied, twirling one of the coins between her fingers. Norah's expression didn't get any more friendly, but she hustled over to snatch the bundle, the note and the two sovereigns, . "Just leave them outside my door and knock," Isabela called after her.
"Rivaini." Varric's voice was more gravelly than usual, but still recognizable. Climbing the stairs, she found him lounging in the alcove in front of the suite that he rented, Bianca leaning against his chair. He'd lost weight, as well, and while his complexion was not as sallow as Hawke's had been, he bore his share of scars, including three parallel grooves across his chest that really should have been a crime. Even Bianca sported a few new scratches.
"You look like shit," she told him bluntly, though he had improved from when she'd first seen him the previous week. Then, he'd looked like a corpse that hadn't gotten around to falling over yet; all three of them had.
"Amazing," he muttered. "Since that's exactly how I feel." The penetrating eyes fixed on her. "How's Hawke? Norah said she came in with you."
"She's fine," the pirate asserted.
"You and Aveline kept her from breaking into the Gallows?" Despite his skill at storytelling, information was Varric's true profession, and he had obviously wasted no time in getting back to work.
Isabela hesitated, then nodded. "What happened to you down there, Varric? I've never seen her like this...or you, for that matter."
He cocked his head, regarding her for a long moment. "I could give you the story that'll be offered up as the truth to my adoring public," he said at last, "but it's for Hawke to tell you what she wants to. Suffice it to say, it was a good deal less entertaining than knocking back a pint downstairs, if slightly less hazardous to the health than Corff's hooch."
His thin smile, and the wall that went up just past the surface of his eyes, made it clear that she'd get no more than that from him. "I'd better get back," she told him. "She's sleeping."
"That won't last," the dwarf predicted. "You left a light burning, didn't you?" At her nod, he continued, his expression bleak. "It's easier to shake off if you can see when you wake up."
There didn't seem to be much that she could say to that, so she just nodded. "See you later, Varric."
His voice followed her up the stairs. "Take care of her, Rivaini."
Back in the room, she locked the door behind her, stripped down and crawled into bed beside Hawke. The blonde shifted slightly, her features tightening briefly before she relaxed, settling back into slumber with an unintelligible mumble. Isabela stretched out cautiously, deciding to keep a bit of space between herself and the Fereldan, and lay on her side, her head pillowed on one arm as she watched Devon.
At some point, she slipped into a light doze, so she had no idea how much time had passed when Hawke exploded from sleep with a hoarse shout, hands groping at her sides for daggers that were not there.
"Hawke!" Without thinking, she sat up, reaching out to the rogue. "Hawke, it's all -" No sooner had she touched Devon's shoulder than the rest of her words were cut off by a pair of hands locking around her throat. Fuck, she'd never seen anyone move so damn fast! Hawke's face was set in a mask of fear and rage, but her eyes were still caught in whatever dream had brought her up so violently, staring at Isabela without seeing her as her hands tightened inexorably. The pirate brought her own hands up, trying to break Devon's grip, but the woman who had been almost unable to stand a few hours earlier had the strength of desperation now, and white spots began dancing merrily in Isabela's vision.
"Hak-" She choked out the mangled syllable, tried again. "Hawke!"
The iron grip slackened, the deep-ocean eyes blinking, hazed with confusion, then bright with abrupt awareness and alarm, and the hands flew from her neck as swiftly as if they'd been burned.
"Bela?" Hawke's voice, sick with horror, wide eyes going from her hands to the pirate's throat, which was no doubt sporting the beginnings of what would be a spectacular set of bruises. "Shit, Bela, I'm sor-"
She got no further before Isabela grabbed her shoulders and yanked her down into a kiss. Almost getting killed invariably had that effect on her, though she was rarely in a position to take such immediate advantage of the impulse.
Hawke matched her hunger briefly, then pulled back. "Isabela, what -"
"It's called sex, Hawke, remember?" Isabela rolled her eyes, keeping her arms looped around the blonde's neck. "You weren't underground that long, were you?"
Irritation and arousal warred in Hawke's eyes, along with the fear that she'd carried out of the dream. "No, but I almost killed you!"
"But you didn't! Let's celebrate!"
"You're crazy!"
"Then we both are; don't tell me you don't want it, too."
"But -"
"Hawke!"
"What?"
"Shut up!"
"Now, wasn't that much more fun than you spending the whole night apologizing to me?" Isabela asked, stretching with lazy satisfaction, feeling pleasantly sated. Gods, but she'd missed...this. Missed the luxury of a lover who knew every inch of her, knew just where and how to touch to make her forget everything but the heady siren's song of lust.
"Yes." A hint of the old Hawke in the amusement that danced in the other's eyes, the gleam pushing the shadows back. "More fun than I've had in a while, in fact."
"Oh?" the pirate cocked an eyebrow at her. "So, no 'Lust In The Deep Roads', then?" Hawke remained silent, but a glance at her face told Isabela all she needed to know. "Ha! You did do one of them! Or was it both?" Freeing herself from the tangle of sheets and sweaty limbs, she sat up, watching her bedmate expectantly. "I'm waiting for details!"
Hawke chuckled, rolling onto her back and propping herself up on her elbows.
"Fenris. Once," she said, "but 'fun' isn't really the word I'd use."
"Then you weren't doing it right," Isabela advised her. "What's the point of having sex if it's not fun?"
Hawke shrugged, her expression growing distant. "At that point, it was just taking our minds off the fact that neither of us thought we were going to make it out alive." She shrugged again. "As it turned out, we were half right."
Isabela sighed. Things were going to get serious whether she wanted them to or not, it seemed. "I'm sorry," she offered awkwardly. "Did you want to talk about it? Not the sex, I mean," though she wouldn't mind finding out if those tattoos really had covered his whole body, "the rest of it." She really wasn't any good at this sort of thing, but Hawke was...a friend. "What happened."
"No." The Fereldan shook her head, the desire flaring in her eyes again as she reached for the pirate not quite strong enough to conceal the shadows that she sought to escape. "I don't want to talk at all."
"That's fine, too," Isabela murmured, letting the rogue draw her back down.
The knock at the door roused her, but she didn't open her eyes until she felt Hawke climbing out of the bed. She watched her pad to the door, opening it a bit and retrieving the bundle that Norah had left in the hall outside.
"Leaving so soon?" she asked as Hawke began pulling on the clean clothes. Not that she had ever stayed the night before, but Isabela hadn't been planning on kicking her out. Not that she wanted Hawke to stay, exactly; she just wasn't in any particular hurry for her to go, that was all.
"Need to get home," Hawke replied, dressing with swift efficiency. Her expression was calm, the weariness faded, the shadows banished to a safe distance for the time being. "Mother will worry no matter what you told her." She stood, buckling her belt at her waist and settling her daggers into position at each hip. Her eyes remained on the floor for a long minute, then lifted to meet those of the pirate. "Thanks, Bela," she said quietly. "For...for everything."
It was as close to an apology for her angry words earlier that night as Isabela was likely to get, as close as Devon was likely to come to admitting that her plan to break Bethany out of the Gallows had been a disaster in waiting. "Any time, Hawke," she replied, yawning and reaching out to claim the pillow that Hawke had abandoned. "Just remember this when Castillon shows up."
The rogue quirked a grin at her – not quite as cocky as the old Hawke, but getting there. "He'll be dead before he leaves the docks," she promised as she left. Isabela chuckled and closed her eyes, hearing the door lock engage. A good night's work, all in all, and she planned to reward herself by sleeping until noon.