A/N: And this definitely isn't the last of these. It's looking like three or four more at this point. Stupid overactive imagination. Anyway! Not a depressing one, I don't think. This one is Act 2, after Hadriana but before sexy time. I'm so grateful for the feedback you've all given me. For everyone reading - I hope you enjoy/are enjoying the stories. It's pretty unbelievable for me to see it get this much attention, but I'm certainly not complaining. Updates will probably be slower since real life is giving me dirty looks right about now.
Description: Hawke gets a good scare and needs some reassurance that only Fenris can provide. (Sounds like the start of a bad porno...)
Warning: Language, blood, mild adult situations and humor, and Isabela's bum. Briefly.
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.
Fear
It was dark here, and heavy, so hard to feel, to think…to remember.
The pain came back to him first, a constant, cold ache that started small but spread and stretched and tore at his insides with angry clawed fingers. Instinct screamed at him to escape, to flee the agony at any cost, but he was held down, pinned, chained. He fought harder, but terror and anguish sliced through him, harder and deeper the more he struggled.
"Get his other leg!"
"Ow! Shit, he broke my fingers…"
"Just hold him!"
The voices came muffled and distorted, scattered and tripping over one another and adding to his panic. The chaos grew louder and louder, rushing down on him in a flood until he was convinced that the yelling was coming from inside his own head, trying to tear its way out through the back of his skull.
"Damn it, Anders! Heal him!"
That voice – he knew that voice. It meant soft eyes and callused hands and compassion, even in those bleak moments when he was ruled by the dark pit of bitterness and hate in his heart. That voice was safety, and it calmed his thrashing, if only briefly.
"I'm doing the best I can!"
"Your best isn't good enough!"
"Let him do his job, Hawke!"
Cold hands slid over his flesh, hands that were crawling with the insidious buzz of magic. He railed against the touch, head now swimming in screams that must have been coming from him, but the tainted fingers chased him, refusing to let him escape. He wanted to plead and beg for release, for mercy, for death, anything but more of magic's cruel embrace.
"Fenris…please…"
Then heat flooded him, pouring like liquid metal from those wicked hands, driving out the cold that had nearly swallowed him whole. Fire licked through his veins, both searing and soothing, bringing relief and an ecstasy that bordered on agony through every part of him. The brands on his flesh felt alive, moving and flowing under his skin like rippling rivers that traced the lines of his body in intimate caresses.
The world spun and blurred as his eyes flew open, every sense aflame with the flood of magic tearing through him. A strangled cry ripped from his throat, and he felt his back arch off of the hard wood beneath him. His arms and legs were still bound, and the instinct to fight until his last breath was the only thing he had left. A layer of dark energy spread across the surface of his skin, then blasted outward in a violent wave. And…Maker, finally he was free.
Amid the sound of splintering wood and cries of pain, Fenris came back to himself. Digging his heels in, he tried to roll himself over, but every part of him felt numb and asleep. Someone groaned his name, and he forced his eyes open, struggling to make sense of the foggy shapes moving somewhere nearby.
"Well…uhhhnn…balls…I'd say he's going to survive."
Isabela, Fenris decided, that was Isabela. The pirate's crumpled form swam into focus somewhere near the foot of the table on which he was curled. She rolled to her knees then staggered upright, one hand clutched protectively against her stomach as she picked her way out of the remains of what appeared to have once been a chair.
Casting a forced smile in the elf's direction while shaking splinters from her hair, Isabela ground out a pained, "Welcome back, handsome."
Warm hands touched his face then, guiding his gaze away from the Rivaini to the eyes of the woman leaning over him. Fear and concern were etched across her features as she murmured soft questions that he did not care to answer. Fenris mouthed her name, but no sound emerged. Gentle fingers pushed sticky hairs back from his forehead and traced the line of his brow, the angle of his cheek, then slipped down his throat to his bare chest, feeling for something as she turned those comforting eyes away from him.
"Maker's breath, Anders," Hawke gasped, her fingers sweeping down the center of Fenris' sternum, a gesture the elf could barely feel, "there's not even a scar."
"I…that was…" Anders' voice trembled, and Fenris tilted his head to find the mage. He was braced against a nearby wall, pale and staring down at his own hands in disbelief. When he met the prone elf's gaze, Anders shook his head and blew out a long, unsteady breath. "That was…unexpected."
Isabela snorted. "You mean your healing making him explode? Yes, I imagine that's rare."
"I didn't do that," the mage retorted, pushing off the wall to cautiously approach Fenris. "That was all him. But the way it felt…Andraste's ass, it was…"
"He can barely move, Anders," Hawke interrupted with a sharp note of impatience.
"Oh! Right." The apostate moved away to rifle through a cabinet on the other side of his clinic. Hawke's fingers threaded through Fenris' hair in idle, soothing sweeps as they waited for Anders to return with a murky potion.
After he managed to choke down the foul brew, Fenris felt strength slowly flow through his limbs. He sighed in relief and let his eyes slide shut for a moment, and he was disappointed when Hawke's hands pulled away from him.
"What happened?" Fenris whispered.
"You took a longsword through the back," Hawke told him in a voice that was tightly controlled. "We got you here as fast as we could."
Images flashed behind his closed lids, glimpses of a battle and shouting and the sudden enormous pressure crushing through his ribs from behind. Fenris swallowed a wave of nausea and decided he did not need to recall all of the details.
"How do you feel?" Anders asked, and even though the elf's eyes were still closed, he could feel the mage's analytical gaze dragging over him.
Fenris croaked, "I've been better."
"You and me both," Isabela snorted, and the elf cracked one eye open to see the pirate woman holding one shaking hand out toward Anders expectantly. Fenris cringed to see that the two first fingers were bloody and mangled at odd directions.
Grinding his teeth, Fenris pushed himself upright, shrugging off all attempts of assistance. He wobbled to one side as the world swam with dark spots for a moment, but there was no pain to speak of even when he kicked his bare feet off one side and sat on the edge of the table. He felt frustratingly helpless and stifled the urge to scowl.
With a weak gesture in the pirate's direction, Fenris offered a quiet, "If I'm responsible for that, then I apologize."
"What, this?" she scoffed with a flippant facial shrug at her hand, though she could not hide the pain behind her eyes. "Nothing a bottle of whiskey can't fix. I doubt I'll be so eager to save your life again, though. Nothing personal."
Fenris chuckled and mumbled his thanks to her, then flickered his eyes in the direction of Anders. "I owe you my life," he managed without choking on the words. He was not ungrateful – quite the opposite in fact, as he was in no hurry to see his life end – but they both knew that there would never come a day when they fully trusted each other.
"Yes, an abomination saved your life," the mage shot back with a roll of his eyes, though Fenris noticed his words lacked their usual heat. "I'm sure you must be heartbroken. Do us both a favor and don't let this happen again."
Fenris nodded at him, then realized Anders was frowning at a point somewhere over the elf's shoulder. He turned his head just in time to see Hawke vanish out the clinic doors. When he looked back, he caught Anders and Isabela exchanging a weighted glance, one Fenris decided it would be prudent to ignore.
As the apostate fussed over the grumbling pirate's broken fingers, Fenris slipped off the table and tested his balance before straightening up and taking a few steps. Aside from some residual dizziness and weakness, he felt close to normal. Under the shocking amount of blood covering every inch of the front of him, Fenris' skin felt as hale as it had before the injury.
"There," Anders was saying to Isabela, "your fingers are good as new."
The woman hummed her approval, then added, "I think I have a splinter in my ass, though. Don't look at me like that! It bloody well hurts."
With an indulgent sigh, the mage muttered, "Fine, then. Bend over and let's have a look."
"Ah," the pirate chuckled, "if I had a silver for every time I've heard that."
Fenris found himself glancing frequently toward the door Hawke had passed through as he cleaned himself with a handful of rags Anders had tossed his direction. There was no sign of her in all the time it took him to get back into his torn, bloodstained armor. He discovered her gloves trapped under his breastplate, the thick leather soaked in blood – his blood.
"She thought you were dead, you know." Fenris stared at the gloves in his hand while Anders spoke. "I think she might have killed me if I hadn't been able to save you."
Silence fell for a moment before Isabela huffed out an impatient sigh. "If you don't go to her," she informed him matter-of-factly, "you'll be wearing my boot in your ass, Fenris."
"And we can't have that, can we?" he murmured with a faint smile in the direction of his two companions. "Once again, you have my thanks. Both of you."
When he left the Darktown clinic, the last thing Fenris expected was to find Hawke right outside the front doors. But there she stood at the railing, gazing up at the patches of night sky peeking through the woodwork overhead. He could see her stark white knuckles as she gripped the rail in both hands, and her hard, uneven breathing reached him long before he came up beside her.
She startled when he appeared, her eyes wild and shining in the dim light, then she let out a sharp sigh and looked away from him. Tension wracked her entire body, and he could see the tremble in her limbs. Fenris felt the inexplicable urge to apologize to her, though he was not sure how one might go about apologizing for nearly dying, but she broke the silence first.
"She was right," Hawke whispered with a shake of her head, turning her face up again toward the slivers of stars above them. "I hate it when she's right."
"Who?" Fenris asked.
"Aveline," she sighed and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Fear and loss and…it's just never really hit me like this. Until now."
Frowning, Fenris moved closer to her, trying to read her expression. "What are you talking about?"
She turned her face toward him, eyes downcast. "Forgive me, Fenris," she whispered. "I just can't…"
He wanted to ask her what she could possibly have done to need his forgiveness, but she twisted then, the quick, lethal movements of a hunter. One hand caught the front of his breastplate, dragging the surprised elf to stumble against her. His lyrium brands flared reflexively, lighting up Hawke's eyes and making her gasp. Warm fingers threaded through the hair on the back of his head, sending a shiver through him. Her face was but a hairsbreadth from his, lips parted and panting against his own in a way that shot an unfamiliar stab of anticipation and curiosity through him.
"Tell me," she breathed, her voice demanding and edged with desperation. He could feel the fear trembling through every part of her. "Tell me you're alive, Fenris."
His hands found their way to the base of her spine, gauntlets digging into her leathers to hold her against him. "I'm here, Hawke," he murmured, brushing his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to adjust to the strangeness of this new intimacy. After so many years of training himself to keep everyone at a distance, the feeling of this woman in his arms was…confusing, if vaguely pleasant. "For as long as you have need of me."
The small, breathless whimper Hawke made upon hearing his words brought the elf's eyes open as the confusion gave way to longing. Her lips touched his once gently, briefly, a tender question that he could easily refuse. Then her mouth was on him hard and demanding and sending desire crashing through all of his hesitation. She pushed against him, both of her hands in his hair, fingers tugging and scraping at his scalp. When her tongue slid between his lips, Fenris gave up any semblance of resistance and growled into her mouth as he viciously returned the heated kiss.
He did not even realize she was pushing him backward until he hit the side of the clinic with a soft grunt. Twisting, the elf shoved Hawke against the wall instead, pinning her with his weight despite the discomfort of their armor. One of her thighs came up to curl around his waist and Fenris loosed a ragged groan into the soft flesh of Hawke's neck. The needy sounds rasping from low in her throat were maddening and it was no small effort to keep from tearing her leathers off right there in the middle of Darktown.
"I thought I lost you," she sighed breathlessly, and Fenris pulled back to frame her face with his palms. A single tear slipped from her lashes and trailed down her flushed cheek.
She was cry for him. Had anyone ever wept with concern for him? If they had, Fenris could not remember it, and this discovery of just how deep Hawke's feelings for him ran was both liberating and terrifying. Fenris found himself unable to do more than press soft, trembling kisses against her bruised lips, memorizing each sigh and touch.
The moment was shattered when the clinic door creaked open. Fenris and Hawke, still tangled together against the wall, blinked blankly at an equally surprised Anders and Isabela. It was, predictably, the pirate woman who broke the silence first, thrusting her palm out toward the apostate mage with a wide grin on her face.
"You owe me a sovereign," she chortled.
Anders scowled as he dug for his coinpurse. "This isn't a brothel, you know," he grumbled, watching Fenris ease away from Hawke to let her stand on her own feet. "There's enough bodily fluids around here as is."
Isabela snickered and sauntered off with her payment, calling loudly over her shoulder, "You'd better bed him quick, Hawke. Before someone else takes advantage of that impressive bulge in his pants."
Heat crawled up the back of Fenris' neck as he sneered after the infuriating woman, and his embarrassment compounded when Hawke choked on a laugh. Anders slunk back into his clinic with a disgusted grunt, leaving the couple alone once more.
Hawke's fingers traced the line of his jaw, turning his attention back to her. She seemed calmer, her hands no longer shaking, and the faint smile on her lips was reflected in her eyes. Whatever reassurance she had sought in him, it seemed she had found it, and it was now Fenris' turn to feel like his world had been tilted on its side.
Despite the new fear blossoming in his chest, Fenris returned the tentative kiss Hawke pressed to his lips. When she whispered an invitation and he responded with a promise, he knew he was lost, wrapped up so tightly in Hawke's life that he doubted he could ever be free of her. He wondered idly if that should worry him more than it did, but when she smiled at him like that, he decided it was something he would just have to worry about another day.
Random Aside: I'd love to explore the notion of Janders' healing reacting unexpectedly to Fenris' brands in a situation like this, but my mind always goes in...non-Hawke/Fenris directions...ahem.