1. danger and desire
Bethany was not hard to find.
Her armor was strewn about the floor, the metal carrying a dark, oily sheen that had not been there before. The room stank of smoke and old magic, the acidic tang of burnt lyrium harsh in the back of Nox's throat, making her shudder.
Bethany sat curled over her worktable, Nox she wanted to chide her it. When people ran, they needed to run, to lose as much of themselves as they could. Instead, Bethany sat in the center of her own space, fisted hands pulling at her hair, and tears dripping silent through every crack Nox could see.
"I know you're there."
Nox shrugged. "I was not trying to hide."
Silence. Bethany raised her head. "You shouldn't be here. I shouldn't—"
"—Mage."
"Abomination," Bethany snapped. "That's your word, isn't it?" She stood. Sat. Stood again, her movements jerky and fast, her eyes wide and bloodshot. "I almost killed that girl."
"Yes," Nox said.
"…yes?"
"If you're going to repeat useless facts," Nox muttered, looking down at her own feet as she walked towards her friend, letting a hand wrest on the scarred, stained table. "I'll simply hand them back to you."
When she looked up, Nox saw that Bethany was staring.
"Are you trying to reassure me?"
The world was too small and her skin was too tight. Bethany bit at her lower lip. A flash of teeth, a tiny tug and pull of skin. And a smile, slowly growing in the corner of her mouth.
Nox cleared her throat. "Is it working?"
Bethany hugged her. It felt like a piece of mage trickery: time speeding and slipping and her world turned into warmth and lingering drifts of ozone and ash and the other woman's heartbeat, too fast against Nox's cheek. She twitched. "Mage, I don't—"
"—I know, I'm sorry." Pressure. Release. Bethany stepped back, weary and rueful. "I didn't mean to accost you."
Nox struggled to hold her place. She should run. The need tightened her throat. Broke through her skin in sweat. And Nox did not recognise the part of herself that reached out and cupped Bethany's face. She brushed her thumb over the human's cheekbone, her own eyes widening at the motion even as Bethany's fluttered closed. "It's—"
Salt and leather polish, and a held breath. A creaking floor.
Someone else was in the room.
Nox spun, and Isabela stepped out of the shadowed doorway with a shrug and a wry smile.
"I'm interrupting something," she said, real apology in her voice. "Was it just about to get good?"
Bethany stepped away from Nox, face tightening back into wary lines, flickers of blue running over her skin. "Isabela?"
The pirate sighed. "I heard you weren't yourself, sweet."
Silence.
"I think," Nox muttered, "That was meant to be amusing."
Isabela's shoulders started to shake.
"Get it, Bethy? Not your—"
"—Maker." The words were choked. "That's poor form."
"I thought it was genius."
Bethany snorted. "You would."
"You're not always this repetitive. Please stop. It could get boring."
Watching the two of them, seeing Bethany's helpless grin and the warm, accomplished pleasure that shone through every line of Isabela's body as she watched and smiled and told her terrible jokes, Nox took a step back. "I should go."
"Oh, no!"
Bethany and Isabela made terrible unison. They both winced. Isabela stepped forward. "Don't you dare, Nox. I actually came here for help."
"Don't you always?" Bethany sighed. "I know I can't keep haring off with you to find that bloody relic. Ask my sister. She's good with spiders."
"Nox's scowl rivals Hawke's," Isabela said, blowing an escaped curl of hair off her face, wrinkling her noise when it immediately fell back over her eye. "And I need a good blade."
Nox considered this. "Don't you alw—"
"No, this time I'm actually serious. It's time to see a man about some gold." Isabela sighed, the curl dancing. "Don't make me ask Hawke, darlings. If I ask Hawke, then everything will get complicated."
Bethany bit her lip. "That's—"
"—not inaccurate," Nox conceded.
"See?"
"Oh, very well," Bethany said. "But only because you're impossible." She paused, looking about her at the mess of discarded armor. "Give me a minute to fix my things."
Isabela shrugged. "Whatever works, sweet thing. Besides, it'll distract you." A slow, sweet smile. "Though Nox seemed to be doing a good enough job of that before I got here."
Watching Bethany blush, Nox thought, was even more embarrassing than listening to Isabela's babble.
2. dreams of dailiness
Bless Aveline and her Guard errands.
Find Emeric. That was the brief. Simple, and probably tedious, and a welcome reprieve from demons and magic and the panic she felt, watching Bethany stand over that girl, someone else's voice tangling with her own. She should go to the clinic. She should tell their mother, who would straighten her spine and march through Darktown's labyrinth with fire in her eyes, and make Bethany come home. Right now. Right this instant.
Ther image of Leandra, chin lifted, eyes narrowed, telling Bethany that, "Justice will just have to mind his manners," was distracting enough that she nearly walked into a wall.
"Careful, killer." Warm hands gripped her above the elbow. "You'll ruin that carefully cultivated image."
Cù leaned in from her other side, letting out a quizzical whine as he pressed against her shins.
Hawke scowled.
"That's better," Varric said. "Mind sharing the story behind that smile?"
"Er…" Hawke shook her head. "It's nothing. It's silly."
"Silly," Varric opined, "Is the best sort of nothing." He released her slowly, leather gauntlets soft and worn where they brushed her skin. A bowman's gear. He smiled at her, eyes warm and concerned.
"I just—" she swallowed. "I worry about my family."
"Now that," Varric said, "Isn't silly at all."
I'm sorry the chapter took this long! And that's it's so short. The next one is an interlude (plot! There be plot!) and it felt right to give Bethany, Nox, and Hawke some time after the Dissent chapter. I didn't mean to have quite this much time in embetween/em chapters, mind, but I had a change of employment, amongst other things, and found it hard to get back into the AU headspace. Should be fixed now. Hope you enjoyed!