A full month passed. Fenris couldn't believe it. These heavenly weeks where absolutely nothing of note really happened. Regulars came in, regulars left. Varric played Bianca, and Friday soup was always popular. The men from the Carta showed up on the first business day of each month, Hawke had explained. He promised Fenris he would never have to deal with them.
At Fenris' request Hawke had sent him out to the nearest large grocery store. It was a bit of a treck, actually, and Fenris got an idea why Hawke's store was popular in the neighborhood. The goal of the trip was to buy a feather duster. Fenris had suggested dusting, and Hawke had agreed.
Somehow it felt glorious. He had what Hawke had dubbed a "Swiffer Duster" in his hands now and the thing was like a magic wand. He was doing something small but meaningful. He could see with his own two eyes that once he passed over an area, it was clean, if only for a little while. Knowing he would do this most days sounded, honestly, delightful.
"I'm glad you're at least enjoying yourself. It's not the most glamorous of work." Hawke had observed. Fenris found dusting addicting. Cleaning, tidying. Everything he touched remained changed. Things were better after he attended to them. He cleaned every surface he could reach. His eager duster brushed the surface of two pictures on the wall. These were the only pictures on the wall that were not advertisements, new or old, but framed photos. On the narrow part just over the counter. Fenris studied them. It wasn't hard to miss Hawke, towering over the rest of-
"My family." Hawke said, and it was the first time in days where there was no humour in his voice. A smile, but no humour. He stretched and picked the top picture off the hook. It was a family of five, standing outside of a farm. The photo was water damaged and one corner had crinkled into whiteness. Hawke pointed to the oldest man. Hawke of today looked remarkably like him, although the Hawke in the picture did less so- the lack of a beard, perhaps. It was strange seeing his face without the scar across the nose.
"That's my father." His eyes were soft, "He was killed there. It was what prompted us to leave, really. My mom," he pointed, "Was a badass. She took a teen and twin kids and ran. That's a badass thing to do. She's dead now. That's Carver," he pointed at a young boy, not older than ten, standing beside a girl who looked a lot like him, "He was a little shit-eater, he was. He's dead, too. Died of illness on the way here."
Fenris silently pointed at the girl, almost fearful at this point that she was dead, too. He had no idea this jovial man bore such grief. The casual tone, and the information itself, stunned him.
"Bethany." Hawke said, "You'll meet her soon enough when she's on leave. She's in the military, being a wizard."
"A wizard?"
"She works on this system called M.A.G.E., Mathematical Algorithms Generated Exponentially, or something. It's a complicated thing I don't quite follow."
"But she's alive."
"She better be!" Here his smile returned and he hung the picture back on its peg.
The second photo was of Bethany and Hawke, much more recent. Just the two of them. She was in military fatigues, and it looked like they were at a restaurant and snapped a picture themselves.
The brief introduction to Hawke's grief shook Fenris to his core. He had to look away from those warm, sincere brown eyes and went back to dusting.
A very wet man stumbled into the store, then, looking stressed and hurried. He had dusky skin and a twirled mustache.
"Please, do you have a phone? My car broke down a block away and I'll be late for an interview. I can't just leave it parked there because I don't have enough money for the meter but I have to call a tow truck and my phone ran out of power and I need to get to that interview!" he was gasping by the end. The slump of his shoulders was all too familiar to Fenris- it was the slump of a man expecting a rejection, the set of the legs ready to sprint to the next possible oasis.
Hawke blinked at him twice, grabbed a paper cup and conjured a teabag in seconds, flat. He raced over to the anxious man and gave him the tea. In two swift motions he grabbed first at a granola bar, which he offered to the man, and with the other hand he grabbed an umbrella.
"Let's go see if we can't get your car going. I have a phone on me and we can call the tow truck quickly if we need." Using his height to protect them both, Hawke and the incredibly grateful man rushed out into the rain. "Hold the fort!" he called to Fenris.
Thankfully no one had come while Hawke was gone since Fenris wasn't entirely sure how to operate the till yet. Had seen enough to use it in an emergency, but didn't want to risk it. He did take a quick look at the ledger and he nearly went blind from the poor record-keeping.
Hawke returned drenched and empty handed.
"Where did the umbrella go?" Fenris asked, though the moment he finished speaking he knew the answer,
"I gave it to the guy. He was having a rough day." Hawke was shivering, still smiling like an idiot. "I daresay he'll make it to his interview, after all."
Fenris made a face.
"Go take a shower. You'll catch a cold."
"Sure, mom." he laughed and turned to head to the door that lead to his apartment on the second floor, but the store door opened and a local group of coworkers wanted to buy a lottery ticket together. Hawke stayed to "just finish this" and then of course more things came up.
When Fenris entered the store the next morning to find it empty, his stomach filled with dread. Climbing the stairs, he knocked on the door. There was no answer. He entered. The apartment was much like it always was, whenever he came in to do laundry or take a shower.
There was not a sound. Stealthily, he crept towards the partially open door to Hawke's room. While the house was sparsely furnished, like he hadn't ever bothered to put any personality in it, Fenris secretly hoped Hawke's room would be different. It wasn't. It was much smaller than Fenris thought it'd be, smaller than Fenris' own apartment. There was a bed, a desk and a nightstand. The blanket had fallen down and Hawke was curled into a shivering ball on top of the sheets, a frown on his sleeping face. A sheen of sweat on his body. He also, Fenris learned today, slept naked. He was curled into a ball. Nothing much could be seen, but Fenris caught himself drinking in the musculature, strong arms, curved buttocks, lines on the neck and an unbelievable sculpted clavicle…
Shaking his head and shuddering, Fenris toed his way towards him. It felt very odd and invasive to reach out and touch a naked man, even if all he wanted to do was touch the forehead, but he forced himself to do so anyway to check his temperature. As he suspected, his employer was burning up. He grabbed the blanket from the floor and hesitated only a moment before draping it on him. This stirred Hawke awake.
"Bwa? Mom…?" Was the muffled whine with eyes still closed.
"I am definitely not your mother." Fenris said quietly. Hawke's eyes flew open. First they met Fenris' green ones, locking on them for what felt like a long time. The pupils were pin pricks on the maple of his eyes. Then they darted to digital alarm clock to check the time.
"Shit!" Hawke tried to bolt to a sitting position, throwing off the blanket in an attempt to get out of bed.
"Shit!" he swore again, in an octave higher, as he grabbed the blanket to cover himself. Then he grabbed his head with both hands, trying to make the room stop spinning.
"Shit." he groaned. "I feel like shit."
Fenris licked his lips, uncertain what to do..
"I'll get you some medicine. You should stay in bed."
"No…" Hawke moaned miserably, sniffling and sneezing three consecutive times before speaking again, "I refuse to not open the store!" he whined.
Fenris ignored him, going to the bathroom where he knew Hawke kept medicines. He picked up a no-name acetaminophen bottle and shook two pills into his hands, then went to kitchen to fill get a cup of water. The whole while Hawke was trying to whine and protest, though he hadn't yet the strength to leave bed.
He gave Hawke the medicine and the water and stepped back to let him swallow one, leaving the other on the bedside table.
"The store hasn't been closed since my mother died." he protested weakly, plopping back down against the pillows. "I don't want you in there alone."
"I understand you have no reason to trust me, but-"
"It's not about that!" he sat bolt upright again, though he immediately had to reach for his head. After a long moment of him just grunting and sniffing, he said, "I trust you, Fenris. I don't want you to be lonely."
Fenris raised a brow at this,
"You'd work while sick just to keep me company?"
Hawke nodded, adding,
"I also don't want the store to be closed. I haven't taught you how to use the till yet."
"I've seen you do it, I think I can manage." he turned around to leave, but Hawke's hand reached out and grabbed the hem of his shirt. Certainly a new feeling for Fenris, fingers grazing his spine through the shirt.
"Come and check on me, ok?!" there was a strange edge of desperation, and Fenris glanced over his shoulder to nod once. He left.
As expected, the day was slow, and Fenris allowed himself to leave the store unattended for a few minutes at a time to fulfill the promise to check on Hawke. The man was a terrible baby while sick. Even though all Fenris did was refill the water or get him the medicine bottle, the smile that spread on the man's face each time Fenris arrived was disproportionate to the kindness provided. It made him uncomfortable. Still, he felt better at those times he walked in to see the man texting. At least he wasn't alone all the time.
"I'll make this up to you." Hawke promised, despite Fenris' protests that it wasn't needed. "I'll put aside some money and get you that apron. You'll see."
He rolled his eyes in response. "That apron is pointless and I don't need one."
During the dull hours in between treks upstairs, Fenris cleaned, or sat at the counter. It was strange sitting in Hawke's usual spot, and Fenris couldn't help a small moment of comfort and pride that this was his job. That he had a job. That there was a whole bustling city out there but he got to sit here, out of the rain, having a job like a normal person.
A man came in to buy cookies, but then realized that they had nuts in them and sought to return them. This was a bit more complicated than Fenris expected and it took him a bit of time. Remembering Hawke's methods, he offered the man a cup of tea while he sorted this out. Receipts issued and cash given back, Fenris scratched his head as the man left. He opened the ledger to see if there were any prior instances of this and how Hawke had handled it.
The ledger was a mess. Things were assigned to the wrong accounts, transactions written down as "the blue thing" or "he came back" or "money for that stuff yesterday". Numbers were guesstimated, receipts were missing. It made him want to pick up a pen and start from day 1, but resisted. As Fenris leafed further and further back, he found a certain day, three years ago, where the writing changed. Suddenly it was all very tidy and correct and clear and written with a feminine, elegant hand. Hawke must have inherited the store from his mother. Here and there the perfect writing was interspersed with Hawke's messy scrawl, often crossed out and corrected with that fine penmanship. Learning.
With that thought, Fenris closed the ledger, made a cup of tea, and visited Hawke again, this time for a bit longer than before.
When he came back, with permission from Hawke, he picked up the pen and started to fix the ledger, starting from last week. Another handwriting invading what felt vaguely private. Fenris' handwriting was blocky, big shaky letters of a man not used to holding a pen, but he knew numbers, and, guided by him, the numbers started to make sense. The store was hemorrhaging money, the only days that made a profit were Fridays. If one thing was certain, it was that Hawke really shouldn't have taken an employee.
Fenris had to tolerate the next day on his own, still visiting. He didn't mind the solitude. There was a peace and quiet that was certainly not there when Hawke was around. He visited as often as he could tolerate to.
At one point he brought Hawke a bowl of soup (prepared in the microwave from a can) and Hawke said, "This is souper!" thanking him. Fenris rolled his eyes, turning to leave the man to his rubbed-raw nose and sneezes. He noted that he was using toilet paper to blow his nose, tossing the soiled ones into a plastic bag by the foot of the bed.
"I was thinking I should get your phone number," Hawke said mildly, blowing on the soup in his lap to cool it, "So that I can text you if I need anything, and you'll have my number for future reference." Fenris nodded and they exchanged numbers.
"Souperb." Hawke grinned and Fenris turned on his heel and left. Hawke laughed and coughed.
He got a text a few moments after he sat down, back in the store.
"This soup is souperior to all others I've had."
Fenris hit his head on the counter. Now there was absolutely no escaping the puns.
"Don't make me block this number." he was suddenly nervous, typing. His other contacts on the phone knew he wasn't a fast typer. They knew he wasn't a fast reader, either. Only two years experience under his belt, after all. Thank god for predictive text and audio-to-text.
"I'm sorry. I'm being insouperable."
"That's not even close."
"I souppose it wasn't."
Despite his better judgement, he decided to go back and visit later. He pulled out a few dollars from his pocket, and made a purchase. When he climbed up the stairs, it was with a box of tissues. He deposited them determinately besides Hawke. The sick man stared at them like he had just deposited a holy artefact at his side.
"I shouldn't spend money on-"
"I bought these."
"For me?"
"For you." he rolled his eyes at the large, over dramatic eyes staring up at him. Hawke had the decency to put on pajamas, knowing that Fenris would be visiting.
Hawke opened his mouth to speak, but Fenris preempted him with a raised finger,
"If you make a soup pun I'm taking these away."
"Is asking for more soup a soup pun?"
Fenris made him another bowl. He returned and the tissues had been opened.
"I'll cherish these forever." the sick man sniffled pitifully. His nose was already rubbed raw, it would be saved further pain by using those.
"I'll keep each used one in a glass jar for posterity, as a monument to your kindness."
"That's a… frankly disgusting idea."
Hawke settled to drink his soup, smiling up at Fenris. He felt his face flush at the trust there.
"I'll use the tissues to make you that apron. That way you shall wear your kindness wherever you go."
"And your snot. Charming."
"...You always shoot down my plans."
"I'm surprised you didn't say that I soup down your plans."
"That's just silly."
Fenris, rather than smack the guy, just turned and left.
By the time he made it downstairs he already had a text from the man.
"Bowlasoup sounds like a name of a place in Africa or something."
"You're very strange."
There were no further texts that day.
Hawke had deemed himself well enough to return the next day. Fenris suspected he couldn't bare to be away from the store for longer. Couldn't bare to be away from his community. The man was going insane up there with only his phone for company and Fenris' irregular visits.
Hawke's puns... I write a very purple Hawke. It's not necessarily the Hawke I imagined, but I really like this version of him. I also love puns and every excuse to use them is a win for me. :) Hope you're enjoying!
Ever yours,
~LunarBlade.
