A/N: Biggest yet and wanted to be bigger. Bah, how this silly idea eats at my brain. This seems to fit best in a pre-romance area, early Act 2-ish. I hereby dedicate this story to my fellow cat lovers. My sincerest THANK YOU! to all readers, reviewers, and all related subtypes. You are the awesome in my sauce.

Description: Hawke gives Fenris that loan he needs for upkeep on the mansion. Sort of.

Warning: Uh, some implied nudity? Really, this a srsly fluffy bit o' fluff. You might be scarred for life.

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.

Unwanted

"Rats."

Fenris raised an eyebrow at Hawke's odd greeting and watched the woman cross the room to his desk. She gently set the wooden box in her arms down before turning to face his seat in front of the fire.

"You have rats," she clarified.

"Ah, yes," he agreed, pushing himself carefully out of the chair. His ribs gave a sharp twinge and he reminded himself to take slow breaths, but he masked the pain and padded on silent feet toward Hawke. "In the cellar."

"In more than the cellar," she rebuked with a lopsided smile and quick laugh. "I've seen a few prancing around the main hall these last few weeks, Fenris. Been teaching them to dance in your off hours?"

The elf let slip a low chuckle and shook his head. "Well," he swept one arm in an arc to indicate the drab interior of his home, "what else have I to do with my time?"

Hawke hummed thoughtfully and studied the extensive bandages wrapped around Fenris' chest and left shoulder. "Still that bad?"

When she looked at him like that, all soft eyes and compassion, Fenris always had a difficult time holding her gaze. "I'll survive," he assured her, then changed the subject by gesturing to the heavy pack she carried slung over her shoulder. "Are you leaving town?"

"Indeed we are," she said with a rueful shake of her head. "Isabela talked me into another treasure hunt. Shouldn't be more than a fortnight." She sighed and rubbed the center of her forehead with her fingers. "Maker, I hope this one ends better than the last. I suppose it can't be worse. Uh…" she made a face and laughed, "I shouldn't have said that, should I?"

Seeing no amusement in the notion of suffering a repeat of their last pirate-led fiasco, Fenris scowled and complained, "I should be going with you."

"Hah," Hawke scoffed, her smile still firmly in place, "and defy healer's orders? I think not. Abominations have terrible tempers, or so I'm told."

The elf wanted to strangle Anders for telling Hawke what were likely exaggerations of the extent of his wounds. "Then you should wait a few days," he tried again, tilting his chin in challenge and doing his best to sound perfectly reasonable. "If this is just another hunt and there's no rush, then I see no reason for—"

"Fenris." She had that soft look again and that infectious, crooked half-smile on her lips, the one that made the center of his chest coil and the room feel warmer. "Stop worrying. We'll be fine. I'm immortal, or haven't you figured that out by now?"

Despite his frustration with her decision, Fenris could not help but laugh sharply and shake his head at the cheeky wink she offered him. "It wouldn't surprise me," he admitted with a resigned sigh.

"Oh, don't do the puppy eyes," she groaned, blithely ignoring the sour look this earned her from the elf. "Besides, I brought you a gift! Or, well, more like a loan really. Sort of. Maybe just until we get back, or until your rats are dealt with?"

Hawke turned to the box she had carried in and began to carefully peel back the lid. Feeling awkward, Fenris started to say, "I'm fine, Hawke. I don't need—"

The box meowed.

"Oh, don't be scared, sweetie," Hawke cooed in a ridiculous baby voice. Fenris peered over the edge of the box to spy a fluffy ball of gray fur crouched in the bottom. "There're lots of yummy, yummy rats to eat here, oh yes there are."

"What is that?" Fenris asked flatly, then cut a sidelong glance at the woman who was now making kissy sounds at the creature.

"She's a cat, you daft elf," Hawke answered, and a soft meow of agreement echoed from the box. "And stop looking at me like I've gone mad. She's a great mouser." The woman's voice shifted again and she oozed, "Isn't that right, girl? You can keep poor Fenris company while Mum's out raiding for treasures."

The cat gazed up at Hawke with great, orange eyes and arched into the woman's hand as it passed along her furry spine. Then those eyes shifted to Fenris and went round as saucers. The animal cowered back into the farthest corner of the box, her ears pinned against her skull. Baring an impressive set of fangs, the cat hissed menacingly at the elf and growled long and low in her throat.

Hawke pulled her hand out of the box with a startled sound. "Well," the woman declared, "she's never done that before. You really have a knack for bringing out the best in everyone."

"It's a talent," Fenris droned. "Hawke, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but this isn't necessary."

"Of course it is," she insisted over the sound of the cat's continued growls.

"No," he impatiently assured her, "it really isn't."

"No, you don't understand," Hawke explained as she attempted to soothe the cat with gentle scratches around her ears, but the animal only scooted away from her touch to the other side of the box. Those orange eyes never left Fenris' face for a moment. "It actually is necessary. Several of your neighbors have filed complaints with the Viscount's office about the rats. Aveline's tearing her hair out trying to keep it quiet. She said to tell you that if you don't do something about it immediately, she'll have you tarred and feathered and dragged through the streets."

Fenris gave her a dubious stare. "She didn't really say that."

"Of course she did," Hawke grinned. "She's always going on about—"

The cat chose that moment to spring from the box in a noisy flail of limbs, dart across the room and disappear under Fenris' bed.

"Aww, look!" Hawke enthused in a false tone. "She's making herself at home. It's like fate."

"Hawke…" Fenris groaned, ready to demand that the woman dig her cat out from under his bed and please leave the way she had come.

"No, no, it'll be fine!" she argued, though the fake smile she had plastered across her face was anything but reassuring. "She'll warm up to you. Or…you'll warm up to each other. Because you're so good at the whole 'warming' bit." Her smile wobbled, but she added hastily, "And even if you hate each other that doesn't mean she can't take care of the rat problem. Right? Right."

Hawke seemed blind to the dark look she was receiving from the elf and continued talking without pause. "She'll come out to hunt when she's hungry, but don't forget to leave water out for her. By the time I haul back that mountain of treasure, you'll be rat free and she'll have doubled her weight. Wins all around!"

Fenris felt trapped and defenseless, if a little resentful, in the presence of Hawke's confidence. With a sigh, he mumbled a grudging, "Very well," and tried not to enjoy the gleeful grin this brought to the woman's face.

"Well, then." She cleared her throat and glanced toward the door. "I suppose I should get moving before Isabela comes looking for me. Aveline and Varric aren't coming with us, so if you need anything…"

There was an awkward moment when their eyes met and Hawke wet her lips with the tip of her tongue as if she had more to say. When she abruptly raised her arm, Fenris stiffened on reflex and eyed her warily, wondering why she would suddenly try to touch him. She let her hand hang in front of his face for a moment, her crooked smile in place, and assured him gently, "I don't bite."

She moved her hand forward and curled the forelock of his hair around her finger, giving it a little tug. Dropping her arm back to her side, she warmly said, "Take care of yourself, Fenris."

Hawke turned to leave but paused in the doorway. "Oh, by the way, the cat? Her name is Amell." She grinned and winked. "Drives Mother crazy."

And then she was gone.

For the first day, Fenris did little more than sleep and recover. Though he had received healing for his injuries, the bruising across his ribs and spine ached constantly, and the deep laceration that had cleaved into his shoulder made it impossible for him to raise his sword above chest height. Breathing was a struggle, and the hope of finding a comfortable position in which to rest was laughable. Frustrated and weak, the elf did his best to block out the boredom and spared only a random thought or two for the cat still holed up under his bed.

The second day passed much like the first, though Fenris forced himself to dress and buy food in the market. No matter how many years passed, this was always an awkward experience filled with stares and whispers and the occasional rude comment, though those were rarely made to his face. It was a comfort to step back into his dark home, the cool, dusty air bringing with it a strange sense of security.

The cat was sitting on his desk in his room when he stepped inside, and the elf paused in surprise to watch her lazily licking her paw and passing it over her face. Her eyes were shut and she wore an almost human smile. Fenris took a step and the cat froze, her paw still lifted to her mouth, and fixed the elf with an unwavering stare. After a long moment, Fenris tilted his head to one side with an annoyed sigh.

The cat bolted under the bed, a low growl trailing behind her.

Fenris sat down to eat his meal, musing under his breath that it did not surprise him that Anders preferred cats.

On the third day of Hawke's absence, Fenris caught himself thinking about the animal more and more. He did not want to care, but when he noticed that the water he had put out for her had gone untouched, he could not help but wonder if that was normal. He could not imagine Hawke would be pleased if she returned to find her borrowed gift was ill or dead on his watch. The idea of seeing her upset was…uncomfortable. So, against his better judgement, Fenris looked under the bed.

Nothing but cobwebs greeted him.

Favoring his mending side, the elf sat up on his knees to peer over his mattress at the rest of the room, then looked back under the bed again. There was not so much as a tuft of hair to indicate that the cat had been here. Fenris decided that she must have gone to another part of the mansion and pushed to his feet to look around the rest of his dilapidated home.

Three fruitless hours later, a sweating, swearing elf with aching ribs stormed up the stairs to his bedroom. He had heard the cat meowing a few times in the distance, but had not seen even a glimpse of her during his search. He had, however, found several fat, healthy rats building nests in piles of rubble that were too unstable for him to disturb. They stopped to watch him search for the feline, and he could swear the vermin were laughing at him.

And there in his room was the cat, curled on the foot of his bed and idly grooming her tail.

"You," Fenris growled before he had thought better of it. The animal shot to her feet, but stayed crouched on the bed, her orange eyes round and wary. Gritting his teeth, the elf bit out, "Get…off…my…bed," and took a slow step across the room.

The cat leapt from the bed and dashed past him into the dark corridor leading to the stairs. Feeling incredibly satisfied, Fenris crawled between his blankets and slipped off to weary slumber. Right before the Fade could claim him, he chuckled to himself as he realized that he had scared the cat so badly that she forgot her customary parting growl.

For all of the fourth day, Fenris neither saw nor heard from the cat, which was just fine in the elf's opinion, as he was absorbed in the removal of his bandages. It was a slow, awkward process without the aid of another person, but it was far from impossible and not the sort of thing he would bother anyone else with even had most of them not been away from the city.

Once he had freed himself from the bindings, he performed a slow, deep inspection of his wounds and was pleased with what he found. The ribs were tender but the bruises had faded to an ugly yellow-green, and though his shoulder would scar, he could at least lift his weapon without suffering crippling pain. He could not see his back, but it gave only the faintest twinge when he stretched and shrugged into his armor. He spent the rest of the afternoon sparring with imaginary opponents in the main entryway of the mansion.

The next morning, Fenris warmed water over the fire and filled one of the basins on the first floor that served as his bathing room. Easing into the wet heat, he groaned his pleasure into the empty room and relaxed in the shallow pool, letting his eyes fall shut for a few dozing moments.

Something tickled his fingers, and he lifted one eyelid to find the cat standing outside the basin, cautiously sniffing at his fingers. He shifted his head and opened his other eye to look at her fully, which caused the cat to shrink away and freeze, but she did not flee. She was not a very large animal, he noted, almost smaller than the rats themselves. Her round eyes did not strike him as particularly intelligent, and he felt justified with that conclusion when she mewed forlornly at him and scuttled from the room. Shaking his head, he began to scrub at his skin, wondering why anyone would want such an odd creature as a pet.

That night, he visited Varric for their weekly game of cards. The dwarf was particularly chatty, far more so than usual, and Fenris accepted this without comment on the unspoken understanding that they were both lonely from being left behind. To Fenris, friendship was still an odd and unsettling beast, but it was not an unpleasant one.

Varric was in the process of thoroughly trouncing the scowling elf when he glanced up with a calculating stare that Fenris had learned meant he was digging for information. "So. I heard Hawke's making you take care of her cat while she's gone."

Fenris raised an eyebrow but did not otherwise indicate his surprise. "Where did you hear this?"

"Oh, here and there," the dwarf shrugged. "And you've been working on your tells, elf. Looking good."

With a snort of dry amusement, Fenris wondered, "Now you're flattering me? You must really want something."

Varric shook his head and idly rummaged through his hand. "I already know Amell is at your mansion, after all. I was just wondering how she's adjusting."

"I…" Fenris gave the dwarf an incredulous look. "You speak of her as if she is a person."

"Hawke certainly thinks so," Varric answered with an amiable smile. "You know she sleeps with that cat every night? Calls it her baby. And she never lets it outside. She's scared it'll end up in Darktown and get eaten." He chuckled and shook his head. "I tell you what, I'd hate to be the guy who let anything happen to little Amell."

Fenris did not stay at the Hanged Man long after that, and his losses were far greater than usual. His distracted thoughts kept skipping away from the cards and small talk to ponder the possible breaches in his mansion. He knew at least two windows were missing, but could not for the life of him recall if they would be accessible to the cat. The longer he thought about it, the more likely it seemed, and no amount of wine seemed to take his mind off of the concern.

The mansion was as dark and silent as always when Fenris staggered drunkenly through the doors. He stood in the main hall, listening for the cat for a long moment, but he was greeted only by the mocking flash of a scurrying rat. He considered calling out for Amell, then cursed himself for being a fool and stumbled upstairs to his bed.

The sixth day dawned to a pounding hangover. Fenris's body told him on no uncertain terms that bed was where he belonged, but guilt nagged at him until he gave up and dragged himself upright to pull on a shirt. Hawke's cat might be an irritating and worthless burden, but Hawke's continued friendship was neither of those things. Clinging to that thought, the elf trudged off to board up the broken windows.

He neither heard from nor saw the cat that entire day. The water was gone from her bowl, however, so he refilled it and hoped that was a sign that she had not escaped. He spent the later hours sprawled across the rug in front of his fireplace, leafing through a few of the embarrassing children's picture books Hawke had gifted him. He nodded off in the soothing warmth there, and when he woke, he started to rise only to notice that Amell was asleep on his bed, curled on his pillow with her face tucked under her tail. With a sigh, the elf flopped back onto the rug and promptly drifted off to the Fade again.

Fenris woke the next morning before dawn to what he could only describe as a yowl from downstairs. He was on his feet and bounding down the stairs before he even realized what the noise was. Sitting in the center of the entry hall was Hawke's cat, staring at him as if he had lost his mind. Which, he considered as he ran a hand through his tousled hair, was not all that inaccurate.

Amell let out another loud, mournful cry, rose from her haunches and walked calmly into one of the downstairs bedroom. There, she sat down again. And yowled. When nothing but silence answered her, the cat stood up and, without so much as a glance at Fenris, moved on to the next room to repeat the process.

This ritual continued until well after midday. Fenris considered leaving the mansion for a while, but Varric had taken a deep bite out of his coinpurse and he did not want to be tempted to waste more coin. When the cat brought her noisy tour to the upstairs rooms, Fenris took his sword to the main hall and practiced a few older combat forms. He found himself missing the rush and heat of battle, and he hoped Hawke would return soon.

Sweating and breathing heavily, Fenris spun out of a series of swings, but his feet faltered when he realized the cat was watching him intently from the stairs. Shaking the hair from his eyes, the elf gave the animal a questioning look. Amell tilted her head and made a soft trilling sound in the back of her throat, then turned to head back up the stairs, her fluffy tail raised high. Fenris snorted at both her display and himself, then went back to his practice.

That night, Amell caught and ate a rat.

She left the mutilated head and spine on Fenris' pillow for him to find.

This lovely gift reminded Fenris of something he had not even considered. When the eighth day of Hawke's absence arrived, the elf set out on a thorough search of his home. He found what he was looking for when he slipped on a cold, wet puddle in a random closet downstairs. The stench of urine and feces assaulted his nose, but he was somewhat relieved to discover that the cat was mostly using a tattered basket as a feline chamber pot. As he grumbled to himself and cleaned the mess, Amell watched him from the hall while she cleaned one dainty paw.

Afterward, Fenris went upstairs to heat water for a bath. Amell followed him.

Fenris carried the boiling water downstairs and poured it into the basin. Amell followed him.

Fenris went back upstairs for cold water. Amell followed him.

Everywhere he turned, the cat was right on his heels, watching him carefully but never actually getting underfoot. When his bath was ready, Fenris felt incredibly awkward having the cat stare holes in his back as he undressed and slipped into the tub. Once he was settled and her orange eyes were still fixated on him, the elf demanded, "What do you want?"

Amell trilled at him the same way she had the day before and promptly trotted up to the edge of the bathtub, tail waving like a flag behind her. Balancing her little gray paws on the lip of the basin, she stood up on her hind legs and proceeded to lap at the water between Fenris' feet.

"That can't be healthy," he observed dryly. "I'm not exactly clean. And you have a perfectly serviceable dish just over there."

Amell twitched an ear but continued to sate her thirst uninterrupted. Fenris realized he was talking to a cat, and with an irritated sigh, he dunked his head beneath the water for several long seconds. When he surfaced, Amell had moved around the head of the tub and was sniffing at his sopping hair. His glare earned him a curious meow, but the cat obliged him and moved to one corner of the room to groom herself.

She caught two more rats that day, leaving little bits of them here and there for Fenris to find. When she was not hunting, she was always within sight. If he left her sight, she would loudly voice her disapproval and search for him. He could not so much as relieve himself without his audience of one in attendance. He supposed he should be grateful that she did not at least insist on eating her meals at his side.

That night as he sat at his desk making feeble attempts to practice his letters, something warm and soft brushed against his shin. Leaning back, he frowned at the cat staring up at him, then jerked in surprise when she sprang lightly into his lap.

She weighed hardly anything at all, but her long claws caught and pulled at the rough cloth of his pants as she turned around and around a few times. She sniffed at his legs, his chest, his arms, the desk, the paper, his quill, her long whiskers leaving little trails of sensation that made him want to scratch at his skin. Apparently satisfied with her inspection, she turned in a tight circle one last time, then curled her legs beneath her to lay across his thighs and closed her eyes contentedly.

Fenris sat still in surprise for some moments before setting aside his quill. His hesitation was obvious, probably to both of them he wagered, but he gently placed his fingers along the cat's back and stroked her fur. Her long hair was very soft beneath his callused touch, and when she did not seem bothered by the contact, he repeated the gesture with more confidence.

A loud, unbroken purr rumbled in the little animal's chest, and Fenris could not stop a smile from pulling at the corners of his mouth. Amell adjusted her position with little shifts of her feet a few times, then promptly placed her chin on her paws and fell asleep.

Fenris dozed off in the chair that night, unwilling to disturb his companion, his fingers curling and uncurling in the soft warmth of Amell's fur. When he woke at dawn, the cat was absent, probably off hunting, and his neck and back were on fire from the awkwardness of his sleeping position. He vowed not to be so foolish again, but when the cat climbed into his lap that night, it was not easy to lift and set her on the floor, especially when she mewed pitifully and looked up at him with sad eyes.

He would never admit how pleased he was when the cat followed him to his bed and jumped up on the foot before he had even sat down. It took him only moments to settle himself into a comfortable position.

It took Amell over an hour.

She circled him, sniffing the covers and occasionally stopping to knead a particularly soft part of the blanket with her paws.

She then walked on him – all of him. Across his legs, up his hip, onto his flank where she dug in deep with her claws to knead and work the blanket. Fenris hissed when her claws breached the material and scratched his skin, but the raucous purring from the feline stopped him from pushing her away.

Eventually, finally, she settled herself near his chest, stretching out to sleep pressed against him. Fenris slipped off to the Fade with the sound of her happy rumbles in his ears. This quickly became a nightly routine.

A few days later, nearly two weeks after Hawke had set out on her adventure, Fenris once again walked to the Hanged Man to play Diamondback with Varric. He was surprised and concerned to find the dwarf chatting with Anders.

"Didn't you leave with Hawke and Isabela?" the elf asked without preamble.

Anders pressed his lips into a thin line and muttered, "Yes, hello to you, too. No, I didn't go with them, obviously. I have a clinic to look after."

Fenris thought it strange that Hawke would not mention Anders had stayed behind along with Aveline and Varric, but he decided that she must have thought he would not care either way. Which was mostly true, aside from the notion that he would have liked the comfort of continuing to think Hawke was in the hands of a capable healer.

"I'm surprised you have time for cards," the mage added with an odd little smile. "What with your new friend keeping you busy and all."

"I don't see how that's any of your concern," the elf replied coldly.

"The kitty doesn't like you much, I take it?" Anders seemed decidedly smug about something, and Fenris was confused by the way Varric elbowed the mage in the ribs. "Cats are picky about the company they keep. Wisely so."

Fenris shrugged. "She's…warmed up to me," he admitted, a wry smile attempting to form on his lips. "And I to her, apparently."

Anders face fell as he heard these words, and Varric was staring in surprise at the elf. "Hah!" the dwarf crowed triumphantly, slapping Anders on the back in the process. "I knew it! That'll be two sovereigns, Blondie."

"I don't believe it for a second," the mage grumbled, but he counted the coins into Varric's palm all the same. "You've probably eaten her or tossed her to the neighbor's dogs or something."

"You had a wager?" the confused elf demanded of the two men. "About myself and Hawke's cat? Of all the fool nonsense…"

"Hawke's cat?" Anders echoed. "She got that cat for you, as a gift. Something about you needing company in that big empty home you're squatting in."

Fenris shook his head and turned his scowl on Varric. "But you said—"

"Hey, I say a lot of things, elf!" the dwarf cut him off hastily. "Some are completely true, some are less true. You know how it is." Varric the storyteller winked at Fenris so that Anders could not see. "So! We going to play cards, or gossip like fishwives all night?"

They played cards as they always did, and this time Fenris did not lose so badly. He also did not drink so much, and so the walk home in the deep dead of the cool night was pleasant. Or would have been had he not been so busy brooding over Hawke and the cat.

He felt almost…betrayed by Hawke's gift. Not so much the gift itself, but the way she had clearly spoken to other people about it and then used deception to fool him into accepting it. Fenris knew he was not the easiest man to approach, but did she really feel the need to trick him? He admitted to himself that had he not believed the animal was important to Hawke, he would likely not have tolerated as much as he had these past weeks. But it still did not sit right with him, and he felt he had to tell her that regardless of the consequences.

It was not until he walked through the door of the mansion that he stopped turning the conflict over and over in his head. Amell greeted him at the door, a freshly killed rat dangling between her forepaws from her mouth. She promptly dropped the creature and trotted to him, meowing happily as she wove her body between his legs in greeting, purring loudly. Her orange eyes gazed up at him, and she pawed softly at his shin in an obvious plea for attention.

At that moment, as he smiled at the cat, Fenris felt something ease in his chest. This was a good thing. Why complicate it?

"Come on, Amell," he murmured softly as he bent to scratch her chin for a moment. "Finish your dinner and come to bed."

Fenris promised himself that when Hawke returned, he would thank her for the gift.