Characters/Pairing: F!Hawke/Fenris
Rating: G
Word Count: 1160
Prompt: from thequeenofantiva: Fenris and Hawke biotic brain camp AU?

—

"Hawke," says Varric, and that's all she needs to hear to know she wants no part of this.

"Nope," Hawke says, shaking her head over the box of broken L1 implants, not even stopping her stride down the hallway. "Not a chance. I'm busy. I'm beyond busy."

"You haven't even heard what we want you to do yet."

"You want me to do something. I'm still healing from the last thing you wanted me to do."

"Hey, nobody knew those targets would be so, uh, flammable. This is different! I swear."

She's forced to stop at the elevator, jamming the button with her elbow as if that will somehow make it come faster—still not fast enough to keep the smirk from Varric's face as he corners her, arms crossed over his perpetually-unbuttoned uniform. "I'm not interested. Go pick on Aveline."

Varric purses his lips.

"You asked Aveline."

He glances at the ceiling.

"Aveline said no."

He hums something noncommittal.

"And Cullen?"

"'No' is a very strong way to put it, Hawke."

"Damn it," she sighs, and the elevator hisses open. "No promises."

"Fair enough." He follows her onto the elevator, pulling a glowing datapad from his pocket. "There's this guy they want to bring into the program. Human. Bit of a special case."

"They're all special cases. Put him with the other first-years."

"He's over thirty."

Hawke frowns, adjusting the box of implants against the wall. "How is that possible? We didn't even have human biotics until a decade ago. Not real ones, anyway."

"Like I said. Special case." Varric shrugs, and when she props the box against her hip he hands over the datapad.

The salient details are clear enough, written down like this in plain text, but it still takes Hawke two tries to understand what she's reading. "Is this right? This is—this can't be real. This says he's had eezo drilled into his skin. All through it."

"I've seen it myself."

Hawke winces, feeling the twinge of her own L2 at the base of her skull. Eezo tattooed into his body, some impossible tech in his head instead of a standard implant, no apparent memory before 2158, a history of at least three violent incidents, anger issues, authority issues, trust issues. And at the very bottom—

"Nope," Hawke says, and hands back the datapad.

"Come on," Varric wheedles. "This is exactly your kind of thing, Hawke. Another lost soul to add to your merry band."

"I don't have a merry band. I have friends. Most of whom don't have 'committed at least one homicide' in their case file."

"He killed the guy who experimented on him. After rescuing his sister, I should add."

"Varric…"

"Hawke." The elevator glides to a gentle halt, but neither of them moves when the doors hiss open. The long hallway to the interim holding quarters stretches out before them, walled with endless stars. Varric's eyes are very serious. "Just meet him, okay?"

Hawke huffs a frustrated breath, bangs fluttering out of her eyes and falling back again. "Fine," she says at last, and adjusts the weight of the box in her arms. "Fine, you interfering busybody. If he kills me before we shake hands, I'm blaming you."

They hear him before they see him. They've put him in a smaller room at the far end of a hall, and even from a dozen yards away Hawke can hear the shouting, the crash of furniture; she drops the box in a burst of steel and plastic to sprint forward and punch in the access code, and when the door slides open she throws up a stasis bubble as strong as she can make it.

Half a dozen BAaT employees in maroon jumpsuits scattered around the room, two on their backs behind an overturned table, one against the wall. One falling away from the new recruit—and is his hand inside—

"Fenris?" Hawke says, both hands held up in as much peace as she can offer, considering the circumstances. His eyes roll furious and mute towards her, held in place by her stasis bubble, his hand—yes, definitely inside Ruvena's chest, a weird biotic glow flickering from the lines that mark his wrist where it disappears into her uniform. Ruvena's mouth is open; her breath comes hard and quick under the shimmering white field. "It is Fenris, isn't it? You, uh, mind letting go of my friend there?"

His eyes narrow. His glare flicks from her to the guard he's holding by the heart; then, as much as the stasis allows, Hawke sees the lines of his arm soften with release.

Uncomfortable in closed spaces. So they've put him in a tin can with no escape.

"Thank you," she says, and as the bubble pops free of her mind's hold, the guards sag to the ground, groaning. His hand comes free, lit wrist to fingertip like a damn lightbulb; as it goes dark again, solid again, Ruvena puts both hands to her chest and gasps.

Fenris backs against the wall, head held low, eyes glittering as he watches her. Hunted, she thinks, defensive as a starving stray, made even more dangerous with a power he can't trust. White hair, eezo marks bright with power, dark skin, full lips curled in a sneer. "What do you want?" he asks, and Hawke startles again—somehow she had not expected that voice, expected less to like it—

Get a grip, idiot! Calm now, flirt later. "To say hello. Is that okay?"

He stiffens, then straightens. Not as tall as she expects, either—definitely not meant for maroon. "Your people brought me to this place, held me here against my will. It would seem my wishes carry little weight here."

Against—she glares at Varric, who shrugs, and at Ruvena, who has the grace to look embarrassed. "Sorry," Hawke says evenly, and when he makes no move to either speak or lunge she rights the plasteel table, rights two of the nicer green chairs as well. "Honestly. That wasn't supposed to happen. Here," she adds, gesturing at the other chair as she sits. "I'll go first. I'm Hawke. I'm a BAaT graduate, one of the first classes. I'm here because I nearly killed my brother when I was fourteen. I'm supposed to figure out a way to help you."

"Help me," he repeats flatly. The guards have begun to stand, to dust themselves off, silent, sheepish. Fenris ignores them. "Why should I believe you?"

She lifts her hand, letting biotic light flicker between her fingers. "I'll tell you. Show you too, if you want."

For a long moment, Fenris stands very still. His eyes are narrow slashes of green, almost hidden beneath his thick black brows; then, at last, he squares his shoulders, strides across the room, takes the other chair with a decisiveness bordering desperation.

"Fine," he says, short and sharp and holding her gaze so hard she can't help but smile. "Speak."

"You got it," Hawke says, grinning, and begins to talk.