Whatever she'd been expecting this was certainly not it. Templars, raiders, brigands, slavers, there was a rather comprehensive laundry list of threats she braced herself to encounter on a regular basis but this was not on it. Though it may not have been completely accurate to say she'd have preferred to find herself in one of those situations rather than the present one, it wouldn't have been completely inaccurate either. Being a woman of action, Hawke was always ready to charge in and deal with a situation head first, but this particular surprise was not one a swing of a staff and some well-aimed offensive spells could solve. There wasn't a spell in the world for this.

Unable to magic herself out of the predicament, she would have to deal with it – it being her first time seeing a naked man that wasn't five year old Carver in the bathtub with her and Bethany, seeing a naked man she was actually attracted to – the way an ordinary human dealt with things. Some good old fashioned stammering and great deals of backing away like a frightened animal. The way mature adults deal with things. Anders' embarrassment was blessedly on par with hers, a fact that made the whole debacle marginally more tolerable. It was still nowhere near tolerable enough to save her from wanting to crawl into the nearest hole and die, just enough to ward off the risk of melting into the floor here and now.

Fumbling over her words as the pair of them spewed fragmented apologies at one another, she wished she was more eloquent, someone like Varric would know just what to say. But she was alone in mustering anything halfway sensible in this distracted state.

She wanted to say she didn't look, but that wouldn't have been entirely true. Call it a morbid curiosity but masochistic would be more accurate. An image of Anders so unguarded would provide the perfect ammunition for her mind to torment her with. Not that it needed a proper image to go by, it seemed her brain had no problem coming up with visions of Anders to haunt her with all on its own. The waking hours in the dead of night when the rest of the mansion had long since fallen asleep were peppered with thoughts of the apostate as it was. Left alone in her room with a bed three sizes too large for her alone, she would watch the fire flicker and dance, conjuring the face of someone she could never have to peer back at her. Some nights she could even imagine his voice, whispering her name in the hush of wind fluttering her balcony curtains. For all her desire to push those thoughts down, file them away under nonessentials, she knew this was one that would give her many restless nights to come.

She tried to keep her eyes on the ground, she really did, but when Anders turned away from her to lace up his breeches, what else could she do? Not look at the way beads of water trailed from his hair, running the indented path between his broad shoulders? Ignore the way his muscles shifted beneath the skin as his hands worked in front of him? Pretend she couldn't see the slight swell of his cute bu– Shit, he was turning around.

Hawke flew from the desk to the doorway so fast a Wyvern couldn't have caught her, not wanting to be caught ogling the resident healer. There, she rapidly busied herself with finding something fascinating to observe at the clinic's exterior. The view may have suffered greatly for it, but at least provided her and Anders to maintain some shred of dignity. After interrupting the poor man's moment of solace, the least she could do was pretend she wasn't eyeing him up and down like a well-prepared steak.

When the commotion began to settle, leaving the two mages standing awkwardly staring at one another, a nervous energy bubbled up inside of Hawke. Sure, Anders' pants may have been on the hilarious side, but she might have contained herself ordinarily. Instead, the giddiness welled up inside her bubbled over in a fit of giggles. Very, very mature, she scolded herself. Anders didn't seem too troubled though, breezing right past the event as his eyes fell to her wound.

There was a visible shift in his demeanor then, in mere seconds he was at her side, his hand clasped over hers and she was left staring dumbstruck. Attempts to play the situation off as unimportant fell flat in the wake of his intense gaze locked on her own.

"Please, stay, let me take care of it."

For all the times she'd imagined this situation, the one in which he asked her to stay instead of running her off, it was never like this. Of course, she was confident he meant it in the most professional of capacities, but that didn't stop the blood from rushing to her face. Pink as a petal, she dropped her gaze to his hand, a silent nod of reassurance was all it took. Before she knew it, Anders had his fingers twined gently in hers, leading her to the cot she knew to be his, pushed back in the far corner of the room.

With a complete disregard she'd never seen from him, Anders pushed his robe and feathered pauldrons from the bed to the floor, clearing a space for her to sit, which she accepted. Almost immediately, he began to fuss with a tray of salves and dressings sitting by the adjacent bed. Unsure of what to do next, Hawke perched herself on the edge of the bed, her posture was rigid, speaking volumes of her discomfort.

If he had asked her, she couldn't have said why this time was different. How many times had she been down here? Sitting on patiently on a cot while Anders worked his magic, quite literally. This time was different though. He was different. Instead of the Justice haunted Anders she'd come to know, she seemed to have intruded on a rare moment of a pure and simple Anders she found herself quite taken by.

Her thoughts were interrupted by his voice breaking through the relative silence. Apparently he'd said something and she had completely missed it. Brilliant.

"Sorry, what?" She asked, grabbing at her side with a fake wince for a bit of show, feigning that the injury was the reason for her distraction and hoping he'd be none the wiser.

Anders, quite red in the face himself, cleared his throat and tried again, "The wound, um…I need to…"

"You need?" Hawke started, staring stupidly until her brain caught up with her. The little gesture he made at the hem of her tunic admittedly helped to jog her train of thought a bit. "Oh, yeah, of course, yes."

With shaking fingers, she pushed the tunic up just enough to expose the bulk of the wound to him. Not high enough and she knew it, but she'd be hard pressed to go the extra mile and lift it all the way to reveal the wound extending from just beneath her breast band and beyond.

Leaning forward to study the injury closer, Anders began cleaning the area, methodically dipping a small cloth into warm water to sponge away some of the blood around the wound. He was just doing his job as a healer, a damn good one in Hawke's experience, but that didn't stop Hawke from holding her breath when he reached the place where her tunic still hung over the wound. "May I?" he asked softly, his fingers playing at the edge of her shirt. At a loss for words herself, Hawke simply nodded.