Do I have to keep putting a disclaimer up here? You all get the idea, right? None of these guys are mine.

You guys have very odd book choices - diverse, too. One wants Fenris to read a book about bunnies, another wants to hear a horror novel. I want to hear him read "The Haunted Vagina".

Chapter Four: Broody Babies

Anyone can be passionate, but it takes real lovers to be silly.

Rose Franken

"What happened to your hands?" he whispered in the dark, his fingers tracing the roughness on my knuckles where the blood had clotted.

"I punched a wall the other night," I explained, remembering the satisfying smack when my hand struck cement. "I was pretty pissed."

Fenris chuckled, continuing the path up my arm. "What did the wall do to make you so angry?"

"Oh, it wasn't the wall," I supplied. "It was this annoying, broody elf who never takes my advice…"

He groaned. "All right, all right." His fingers danced up my arms. "I get it: I'm an ass."

"Ladies and gentlemen, he can be taught."

His armor clanked as he laughed, and I wondered how uncomfortable it must be to sleep in it.

"Do you always sleep in your armor?" I asked.

"You are very curious, for a human."

"Humans know very little."

"How right you are."

I glared at him until he laughed quietly again. "I know I'm an ass. I may as well not pretend to be any different."

I laughed at him and his fingers flicked my skin on their way up to my neck.

"Most nights the armor stays," Fenris admitted, tracing my ear with the tip of his index finger. "I'm too vulnerable without it."

I pursed my lips. We would have to work on that, as well. I sighed inwardly, counting up the issues Fenris had: Touching, mages, wearing his armor every second of the day, feeling weak…

He was getting better, it was true; the real accomplishment wasn't that he was caressing me, it was that his hands and arms were naked. Still, we had come far and had even further to go before his mind was healed.

"You seem happier tonight," I whispered into the dark. "Why?"

"More questions." He sighed, dropping his hand to the mattress. "Hawke, I haven't laid on a mattress since I awoke in my Master's dungeon. There have been many 'firsts' for me tonight."

"Really?" I asked, surprised. "You've been here for four years and never just…went to sleep on the bed?"

The bed dipped as he shrugged nonchalantly. "It never made much of a difference to me. I also never touched someone for pleasure before tonight," he pointed out.

Don't remind me, I thought disparagingly. I'm not above tearing off your armor.

"Never felt the urge?" I raised my eyebrows suggestively.

"I wouldn't say that," he contradicted lightly. "Most people couldn't get by the scowl."

My mouth gaped. "Was that self-deprecating humor I heard?"

Mocking or not, it surprised me.

He groaned. "Go to sleep, Hawke."

"Or what?" I taunted, wanting to get another rise out of him. "You'll brood at me?"

"Your jokes are awful," he retorted. "If you spent more time working on your comebacks and less time punching walls-"

"Good night, Fenris," I laughed, finding his hand and pulling it into my soft shirt. I hoped he wouldn't mind me capturing it for one night; I held it close, snuggling my cheek into the firm flesh as I finally closed my eyes.

"Good night, Hawke," Fenris replied in a low voice.

I was gone.

Reality came too early the next morning.

Aveline had come calling to give Fenris a heads-up on a situation out on the Wounded Coast; she was also most likely going to suggest they go find me to lead their sorry asses out in the expedition.

She didn't find just Fenris, though.

She found Fenris and Hawke.

Alone.

In bed.

And strangely enough, wearing armor.

She didn't even ask. Her mouth just fell open as she stared at us.

That's when I awoke: the moment she began staring.

"Hi," I regarded her coolly.

She regained control of her lolling tongue and her jaw snapped back into place. "Slumber party?" she asked, shaking her head. "We have a word for this in the guard."

"Aveline, so help me-"

"Hot," she said, suppressing laughter. I sighed, leaning up. Fenris had awoken shortly after, disoriented and with quite a sharp blade in hand, and Aveline told us the story about some group causing trouble on the coast.

I wasn't surprised; everyone and their mother found a way to stir up trouble on the coast. It was ridiculous.

"Do we have to?" I complained, swatting Fenris's weapon away sleepily. He blinked at me, and then at Aveline, dumbfounded.

"How did you get in here?" he asked finally, apparently deciding we weren't assassins attempting to kill him.

She raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware you even tried to make this place private." Her hands reached up, pulling at the tassel tied around her head. "The window hangs wide open; I took it as an invitation." She eyed me, a twinkle in her eye. "Though it looks as if you already have company. Should I go?"

"You should," I groused.

She ignored me and crossed her arms. "Those raiders need to be dealt with before sundown, and I've got work to do here in town." Aveline glared at the both of us. "That leaves my trusty pal Hawke to smooth things over."

"Nosy redhead," I mumbled under my breath.

"Childish brat."

I groaned, wiping my face with my hand. "I'll get Anders. Fenris, go get Varric. We'll rendezvous in Hightown…somewhere." I waved my hand vaguely. "Take your time."

"Thatta girl," Aveline giggled at my ill-humor, and I promptly flipped her off before sliding out of bed.

"Why am I always the one to organize these things?" I complained, trudging through the sand and rocks of the Wounded Coast. The sand was thick, blowing into my face in a decidedly irritating manner. I scowled throughout the entire trek as we climbed to an increasingly higher altitude. "Any of you lazy assholes could do this; why did she come to me?"

"Technically, she came to me," Fenris said, carefully avoiding the edge of the cliff we were stepping around, and I grunted in frustration.

"There's a trap there," I snapped, causing everyone to roll their eyes. As a rogue, it was my duty to call out where a trap was, yes? We didn't want someone snapping their leg off, right?

Why did they all roll their eyes at me when I said something to them?

"We can see, Hawke," said Varric good-naturedly. Stupid dwarf. Everything about him was good-natured. "You don't have to point out the obvious ones."

I suddenly really, really hated him.

"Let her be, dwarf," Fenris warned. "She operates poorly when she doesn't sleep well."

"Keep her up last night, did you?" Varric joked.

He did, actually, I wanted to sneer, but held my tongue. I knew Fenris was right; I was behaving like rubbish.

"And Hawke," Fenris directed to me, ignoring Varric, "we do have eyes."

I glared at him, a snarl in my throat.

You are not an animal, Hawke. You are a Hightown noblewoman. Act like it.

I turned up my nose and trotted forward, completely disregarding the trap Fenris was about to step onto. His nice, shiny armor would protect him, anyways.

Fucking armor.

Snap.

The piercing cry of surprise echoed off of the unforgiving rocks, the sound bouncing back magnified in our ears. I flinched, whirling around in fear only to giggle at Fenris's face.

The claw was clamped around his armor in a painful manner, but I knew it wasn't anything horrible. The sinister jaws crunched dents into the finely-crafted surface, and little pinpricks of blood trickled down his ankle.

He looked very, very pissed.

"Why didn't you warn me?" he shouted. "If my armor had shifted, I could have lost my leg!"

I snorted. That was rich. "I thought you had eyes. You don't need my warnings."

Varric howled in laughter, shifting Bianca. "Would you look at that?" he said to his beloved crossbow. "Hawke has some spite in her."

I rolled my eyes at his antics and knelt down in front of Fenris. Anders quietly approached, his fingers twitching as he prepared to heal if necessary.

Varric joined me, and we both readied our hands on either side of the bear trap.

I counted to three, and we yanked it open, Anders pulling out Fenris's armor-clad foot. He applied healing magic, but it didn't require much of it.

"Thank you, Anders," I said politely, knowing Fenris wouldn't show gratitude towards a mage. Anders nodded at me with a smile and I helped Fenris stand. "Want to keep your eyes open, now?"

He grumbled and I turned around, laughing exuberantly. The sand was coarse, the sun was hot, but my day didn't seem so bad anymore. It wasn't my foot that had been caught in a trap.

Things were looking up. My legs weren't sore from all the walking yet, so I set off with renewed vigor, stomping up the coastline.

Snap.

My eyes widened.

"MOTHER FUC-"

"I'm not pouting," I pouted.

"Your lip is poking out," Anders observed. I stuck my tongue out at him, and he snickered, shaking his head. His blonde ponytail shuffled behind his neck, which made me want to pull back my own too-short hair. I missed my long hair. His was so pretty - how did he keep it that way? Why didn't it ever get tangled?

I was now jealous of Anders' ponytail.

He picked up a bag of mage-made ice, placing it atop my propped-up leg. I hissed.

"Sorry," he said, sounding genuine. "But you should have been paying attention."

I sighed as he chided me. "I know, I know. I should be more cautious."

"You should," he advised. "I wouldn't want to lose you." His smile was infectious. "Especially not to something like a trap."

"I'm a terrible rogue," I moped. I nearly lost my foot to a bear trap, of all things. That would have been embarrassing.

"No, you're not," he soothed. "You were only caught off guard." I heard the soft crackling of magic as he mended my leg, pulling the bones back together and sewing my wounds shut. "I want you to stay off of this tonight."

"I can do that." I leaned back in my chair, staring up at my high ceiling and forcing my thoughts away from what Anders was doing to my leg.

Magic could heal; Anders was the prime example of an empathic mage, healing before fighting. He volunteered to take me home and heal me instead of finding the raiders and the consequent bloodbath, something Fenris and Varric couldn't do.

Delicate as healing magic was, there was the other side of the spectrum within the art. Magic could taint, wound, and inflict massive amounts of pain; Fenris was the perfect example of that. The scarring of his flesh (however attractive it was) caused him daily agony and there were deep wounds in his psyche from the process of lacing the webs of lyrium across his body. Magic couldn't undo what had been done to him; magic couldn't cure his hate of mages.

I sighed. I couldn't understand why I was drawn to Fenris; he was taciturn and a perpetual grouch. I couldn't touch him the way I wanted without hurting him; I couldn't share emotions with him for fear of crumbling his sanity completely.

Teaching him how to be a person and not an angry ex-slave would be a long, grueling process, but I couldn't say it wouldn't be worth it.

"Hawke?" his voice filtered from nearby. "How's the leg?"

I didn't bother opening my eyelids. "Back so soon?"

He sat down in the chair next to mine, the sound amplified in the empty room. "They weren't so tough. Plus, Anders sent Merrill and Isabella to take your places."

I hadn't even noticed Anders left. Did that make me a bad person? "Did you tell Aveline?"

"Merrill did."

We sat in silence, the crackling fire the only sound in the room.

"I see you aren't bleeding anymore," Fenris noted.

"You'll see yourself bleeding if you don't direct your attention from my foot," I threatened.

He chuckled, and I heard a creak as he shifted his weight. "I have a feeling you didn't sleep well last night."

"I was trying not to stab myself on one of your spikes."

"Does my armor bother you so much?" he asked, voice low and quiet.

I exhaled through my nose. "I know why you wear it," I said wearily. "It's just…frustrating."

"Who am I to deny an injured woman?" he mused. There was a brief silence that was ended with a loud, muffled "thump". I opened my eyes briefly, slightly shocked when I saw Fenris in the clothes he wore underneath his armor - why didn't I ever notice he wore clothes under his armor? Lean and muscular, his body was fit and laced with white tattoos that were hidden underneath the green tunic and pants he wore.

He narrowed his eyes playfully when I was caught staring. "You're making me blush," he said, walking closer to me. He placed a hand on my shoulder, only appearing slightly unnerved by his lack of armor.

"How's the foot?" he asked.

I shrugged, unable to tear my gaze away from him.

"Good enough to move?"

I shrugged again. Hell if I know. In fact, the only thing I was positively sure of was that I didn't want any more distance between the two of us.

He seemed to agree. Strong arms encircled me, lifting me up gently so as to not stir my foot.

"Fenris, I can probably walk," I complained mildly. "You don't have to bear my weight."

"My sword weighs more than you," he countered. "And I don't want you to be in pain."

I bit my lip, thinking about that. He was in pain every minute because of the lyrium burned into his skin, and he bore the increased pain of carrying me for my comfort.

He was sacrificing himself for me. Tears filled my eyes, and I fought to keep them at bay as he ascended the staircase.

Fenris hummed as the bed came into view, setting me down gingerly and taking a set beside me. His eyes roved over my face when alarm flashed across his.

"What's wrong?" he asked, sounding ready to punch someone. "Are you hurt? Is it your leg?"

I shook my head, feeling foolish. "No, I…"

"You're crying." His mouth hung open slightly, half a smile twitching on his lips. "I didn't think you could cry."

"Shut up," I sobbed, barely remembering from where the tears had come. What the hell? "You didn't…have to…do this."

"Stop crying," he commanded. "There's no reason for you to cry." He seemed dumbfounded. "You've had worse injuries, and no one has died recently…" he trailed off, and I pressed my palms to my forehead.

He exhaled through his nose, a determined gleam in his eye. "This is ridiculous, Hawke." Leaning over me, he pressed my back into the bed, towering over my crying face with a serious expression. Pressing in further, I was a little astonished to feel the light pressure of his lips on my tear-streaked cheeks. "Do I need to distract you?"

I immediately stopped breathing to quell the sobs that tried to shake me, but they still welled up in my chest, a dam nearly bursting. I nodded my head slowly, hiccupping.

He dragged his lips across my eyes, down my cheeks, and to my lips, where he placed a soft kiss on the heart of my mouth. His hair brushed against my forehead as he backed away from me. "I'm afraid of heights," he confessed, smiling a little. "I hated being on the cliffs today, especially without you."

"You...you're afraid of heights?" I asked, biting my lip to hold back the tears.

"Deathly," he shared, rubbing my arms. "But I climb them for you. I would do anything for you, Hawke. You need only to ask."

My skin singed at his touch, and I turned my face into his neck, feeling him swallow thickly. His confession and pledge took my shortened breath away, and my tears leaked onto his shoulder.

"Why are you even crying, anyway?" his husky voice asked into my ear.

"It's stupid," I replied, shuddering.

"How stupid?"

"You'll think I'm stupid."

"Try me," he dared. "I'm afraid of heights, remember?"

I huffed. "It was because…well…you're sacrificing your pain to save my pain!" I blurted, feeling morose. "You carried me here, you discarded your armor...you're out of your comfort zone, and it's my fault!"

He stared at me for a moment, his green eyes wide and scrutinizing.

Then the mischief slowly crept back into them, along with a softer, lighter green tone.

"You're right. That is stupid."

The rest of the night passed quickly once I snuggled into Fenris; it was much easier to do now that he had shed his despicable armor. His body was warm, pliant, and strong as he wrapped himself around me, mindful of my leg.

I also stopped crying, feeling like a fool once the magic's side-effects had worn off - because that's what it had to be. A side-effect of the healing magic Anders worked on my leg.

Fenris assured me he would never let me live it down.

"A woman who didn't cry when her only home burned to the ground," Varric listed, "who didn't cry when she had to kill her sister. She doesn't even shed a tear when she gets a gaping wound, yet she cried because you spent the night with her?" He laughed. "Damn, elf boy, you must be terrible."

"It was the magic," I declared, fighting the urge to smack him. "I never get emotional."

"It sounds like 'never' already happened, sweetie," Varric retorted.

"I also said I'd never hit a person shorter than me, but if 'never' already happened…"

"I hear you, I hear you. Spreading the hate. You know, Hawke, you should work on your people skills. People like to hear stories about fierce, strong heroines, but you have to have a softer side for them to hang around for longer than…"

"I don't care about your damn stories!" I cried, interrupting him. "Get me a drink," I growled at the barmaid, who scampered away. "It's not like you don't lie through all of them."

"Now, now," he soothed, grinning like a hyena. "That's just the magic talking, eh?"

"I'm going to kill you."

I felt Fenris tense beside me, and turned to inspect his problem.

Ah. Anders had just walked in.

"Feeling better, Hawke?" he greeted, waving away the barmaid after she set my drink on the table.

"Now that the magic has worn off," Varric inserted.

Anders raised an eyebrow. "The magic?"

"Yes," I said in a hard tone. "The magic."

"She was very emotional last night."

"Shut up, Varric."

"Oh!" Anders snapped his fingers. "Sorry; the magic doesn't always affect people. I thought you would be immune to it." He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. I should have warned you."

I sighed. "I'm just glad it's the magic's fault and I'm not going bat shit."

"You're already bat shit," Varric offered, downing his drink.

"Do you want me to take another look at your leg?" Anders asked helpfully.

Fenris stood, shouldering his blade. He walked out, waving goodbye to us as he left.

It was a little weird; but then again, this was Fenris.

Women fell out of their seats to get a better look at him as he passed. Hell, I was falling out of my seat to watch him walk away.

Varric shook his head. "I bet they'd have his broody babies."

"You should lay off him," I suggested, taking a sip of my drink, beginning to feel a slight buzz. "He's had a rough time."

Varric chuckled. "All the more reason to barrage him with humor; trust me, Hawke. It's all good and fun - both of which he could use."

I sighed, recognizing how true the statement was. I scooted over, allowing Anders room into the booth.

"What brings you here?" I asked him. "We usually don't see you in the Hanged Man."

"You and your 'greater good'," Varric quipped. "I'm surprised you know how to deal with people outside of stitching them up. You staying in Darktown, and all. No wonder you're so pale. You should come with us to the Coast more often; it would do you some good."

"I'll be fine, thanks," Anders said dryly. "I actually came to pick up some alcohol for sterilization purposes."

"It's nice to see you, regardless," I offered with a smile. "And thank you for helping me."

He shook his head. "No need to thank me, Hawke." He gave me a short, one-armed hug and nodded at Varric before he took his leave.

"He's such a decent guy," I commented as he approached the bar for his alcohol.

"Yeah, decent," Varric huffed. "I can't get a decent joke out of him, he's so decent. Alcohol for sterilization purposes. Pheh."

I giggled at him. "Oh, Dwarf; you always know how to make me smile."

"You might want to leave," Varric warned.

I blinked my eyes at his sudden change in demeanor. "Why?"

"Isabela is coming over."

"Son of a bitch."

Isabela harassed me for a while until I finally let her off the hook for abandoning me; I really don't think she felt bad for it, and would do it again, should the opportunity arise. She didn't even get the damn boat she was promised.

Some company I keep.

"Hawke," Aveline called. I wondered when my named changed from "Marian" - I felt as if everyone called me by my maiden name. I also couldn't decide what I thought of that. "I have another job for you."

"Can this be done by someone else?" I asked, eyebrows already in an upright position and mouth ready to spit venom. "Because I'm kind of tired from the beating I took when doing the last errand you made me run." Well, technically it wasn't a beating, but I was hoping she didn't already know what transpired.

Although, with mouths and ears like Varric and Isabela around, the entire city-state of Kirkwall knew that the infallible rogue named Hawke nearly chopped her leg off because she wasn't paying attention.

"This one might not be as exciting," she hedged. "I need you to go check out this templar named Emeric."

"So, I shouldn't bring Anders," I commented.

"You'll do it?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Of course you do," she said helpfully. "But Emeric has been raving about this killer he claims has been murdering women within the past few years."

"People die all the time," I said. "It doesn't mean their deaths are related."

"Try telling that to him," said Aveline, her red ponytail swaying behind her. "Just stop by and see if you can talk to him. If you think he's stark raving mad and there isn't any merit to the story, I'll drop it."

I didn't like where this is going. "How about you come with me?"

"Me?" she asked, glancing at me like I was stark-raving mad. "He won't talk to me."

"You could be a buffer," I suggested. "In case I needed some backup in dealing with him."

She sighed. "Oh, all right."

That was the first step I took into the shitpile that was the rest of my life, and I did not even recognize it for what it was:

A bad idea.

What song would you dance to in Fenris's mansion?