sorry for the wait. i got kinda stuck on filler for this chapter.
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It was quiet in the office at this time of night, nothing but the scratching of Carver's pen on paper, the clacking of Garrett's keyboard, and the low hum of the lights making a sound. The ambience they created was a soothing, familiar lull. While Garrett had a love-hate relationship with his day job, the work he did with Carver after their regular nine to five when everyone had left the office was something so ingrained into his being that he found it the thing he looked most forward to in the day. He could roll up his sleeves, forget about whatever crime or murder was plaguing him that day, and lose himself in the mystery of Kirkwall's mafia.
Tonight, however, he found it nearly impossible to immerse himself. Rather than the mental sticky notes and pins connecting them with red thread, he thought of snowy white hair, of pretty green eyes and caramel skin and that deep, deep voice.
He could not focus on the timeline of deaths and drug deals and trafficking. Fenris plagued his thoughts, their meeting far too fresh in his mind, and if Garrett lost himself just enough in the memory he could still taste sweet chocolate on his tongue. Even when he could feel Carver's burning glare or heard him sigh pointedly, he could not stop himself from indulging in those thoughts.
This was bad. Very, very bad.
"Garrett," Carver finally said, voice sharp, and the elder Hawke flinched. He knew. Garrett knew exactly what was coming, and he was not ready. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
For a while, Garrett did not respond; if he did not take a moment to simmer, they would only devolve into fighting. As much as they had been through together, they had simply grown up too different, and it showed any time Carver showed disappointment in his actions. Garrett instead chose to stare at his computer screen and the report he was typing up. At some point, he had gone from describing the victim to typing random keys on his keyboard, and he held the backspace button before speaking.
"I've had flings before, Carver," he replied, trying hard to sound calm, when in reality he wanted to throttle someone. Probably himself, but Carver would do, too, what with that sour expression on his face. Garrett was beating himself up enough over this budding thing with Fenris, so why did Carver insist on minding business other than his own?
"Flings, Garrett. Sex." He flinched, and Carver continued, completely ruthless in his criticism. "Not this coffee date bullshit. So I'll ask you again: what the hell are you doing?"
"It wasn't a date." Garrett was immediately on the defensive. Carver gave him a signature look, one of both disappointment and pity, and Garrett knew he had lost. He sighed. "It's none of your business, anyways. I'm here and I'm working. It's barely been a day and you're already on my ass. I'm a grown man, Carver."
"First it's harmless lunch dates," Carver snorted, "and then it's forgoing our investigation to be with some guy who's just gonna ditch a workaholic like you anyways, just like every time."
That genuinely stung, and Garrett narrowed his eyes, staring at his screen rather than his brother. Carver let out another dramatic sigh, and he could see his brother pinching the bridge of his nose from the corner of his eye. When it was clear that Garrett would not grace him with a response, Carver spoke again, tone considerably gentler.
"Remember Sebastian?"
Garrett nearly cringed. Yes, he remembered Sebastian. He remembered a lot more about that man than he cared to. It did not hurt, exactly, not anymore, but the mere mention of him still made Garrett want to curl up and hide in shame. The sweet, sweet man that Garrett had invested so much time in, had even been willing to give up his life's goal for, had nearly ditched Carver over.
The man who left him for the church because he had decided not to partake in the sin of homosexuality. Okay, maybe it still hurt a little. Carver's words did nothing to help.
"You almost gave up everything for him. Him! Remember how dedicated you used to be?"
He did - barely any sleep, no time for himself and definitely not for anyone else. Work was not only top priority, but his only priority.
"Remember what you were like after that?"
Avoidant, disinterested, could not be bothered to go back to doing his work. At the end of the day, he would leave for home and sleep or go get drunk and take someone home. It took nearly everyone he knew to coax him back into continuing his life's work.
"I've only just recently got you working like you used to, and you're still too lenient. I'm not losing you again to some guy just because you think his butt is cute or something. You don't have time for another Sebastian, Garrett. We don't have time for another Sebastian."
Carver seemed to think that was the end of things, as he clicked his pen and began writing once more. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wished he could without infuriating his little brother. Of course their work was important to him. If anyone wanted a breakthrough, it was Garrett.
He just wished he could get across to Carver that he could be dedicated and take time to himself simultaneously. He wished his hardworking brother would live a little so he could see Garrett's side of things. The captain was rapidly approaching his forties, after all; he did not want to spend his days strict and vengeful when they were moving at a snail's pace.
"One of these days, you'll get in too deep with someone," Garrett grumbled, sipping his shitty workroom coffee. "And on that day, you'll finally understand."
Carver glared up at him, dead serious, and Garrett shrunk a little. Carver never did like his joking.
"I would never let anything get in the way of getting my sister back." It was barely above a whisper, but it was crystal clear in the quiet office. It was the tone Carver used to command fear and respect from new recruits, and Garrett found himself wondering how his little brother had not surpassed him on the chain of command yet. "I expect you not to, either."
Forget fear or respect. This was guilt, intense guilt, waves of it wracking Garrett's body as Carver looked down at his work for the final time. How the hell was he supposed to respond to that? That was the point, he supposed - he wasn't. Carver was right, even if it was infuriating, or if he was not completely so. Garrett needed to prioritize.
Which was more important? This little side fling, or finding his lost sisters?
It had been over three decades since then. Three decades of hard work, of loving and losing, of hope and despair in an endless cycle until Garrett learned not to expect anything. Three decades of raising himself and his brother under a neglectful mother and no father, trying not to be a leech to his grandparents, and working hard to get where he was, all because his mother married a mafioso.
Garrett remembered very little of his father, and knew Carver would not recognize the man even if he were to stare at him for hours. He was only perhaps days old when it happened - when Malcolm Hawke seemingly rose from the dead to claim his second daughter. The first had gone months before - Carver never knew her.
All Garrett knew on that day was that his mother came home with her second set of twins, and that after his father left for the final time, his mother was left with only sons. The memories were fuzzy. He only really remembered crying, both a woman and infant's.
His older sister, however, Garrett remembered well. Marian. Would she look the same now, he wondered? Would she still be stubborn and headstrong? Would he look at her after all these years and see himself as though reflected in a mirror? No, that was too romantic and ridiculous a thought. Garrett was far too husky to share a face with a woman, unless she was a very, very unlucky one.
What of Bethany, he wondered? Perhaps she and Carver would be more similar. Or maybe nature was too kind to curse a girl with a face like Carver's. Garrett almost snickered aloud.
He wondered what it was like for Carver. How could he be so dedicated when he never knew his sisters? Garrett knew Marian's face, met baby Bethany the day she was born and even held her, and he still allowed himself leniency. Perhaps it was because Carver never got to know that he was so determined, the unfairness of being stripped of his right to know his family before he could even support his own head.
Carver was a shithead and the biggest prick Garrett had or would ever meet in his life, but he could hardly fault his brother.
Speaking of Carver, his brother spoke up quietly, "We're not getting anywhere tonight. Let's head home."
"I'm sorry," Garrett said after a moment, and Carver shook his head.
"Don't apologize, you big sap. Let's just go."
Go home. Call it a night and go home. Think about what Carver said, which to Carver meant either do as he says or completely disrespect his wishes. There was never a medium with him. Was he really supposed to give up Fenris just because his brother was worried Garrett would leave the investigation? He wanted to call the idea preposterous, but he had nearly done it once before already.
Mute, guilty, and a little numb, Garrett nodded. Perhaps a sacrifice did need to be made.
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Fenris: Busy again today?
Garrett checked his phone the instant it chimed, and felt instant guilt and shame color his face. It was Fenris, of course, as it had been for the past week and a half. Nobody else texted him.
It had been such an easy concept when he had first decided on turning Fenris down. He would just continue to rain check the man until he inevitably gave up and moved on. It was a coward's approach, but when Fenris worked right across the street and had his number, it felt like the right way out. Sorry, yeah. Busy again. If he just said it enough times, Fenris would stop bothering.
Carver shot his brother a judgmental glare from the other side of the divider. It was very clear that he did not approve of Garrett's methods, and why should he? It was very obviously a ploy, an excuse to draw it out in case he caved and decided to return to Fenris. Not that he would. Priorities, and all that.
Garrett set his phone to silent and shoved it in his pocket, and Carver finally returned to his work.
It was then that Aveline rounded the corner from the hallway, making a beeline for Garrett and resting a hand on his shoulder. Her lips were pressed together into a thin line, eyes narrow, face grim. She glanced down at the file Garrett was typing out - the homicide case from before - and gestured for him to follow her with a wave of the hand.
"Forget the paperwork," she said, surprising him. "We found the father."
It was an effective way of clearing Garrett's mind of thoughts of Fenris, though he doubted that was Aveline's goal. He stood quickly, just remembering in time to push his chair in lest Carver scold him again, and followed his superior back down the hallway in a brisk walk. It was hardly rare that Aveline was so grave about a homicide case, but Garrett never stopped being on edge from it. The feeling was contagious.
Up the elevator they went, exiting on the third floor and making their way to the interrogation room. Outside stood Isabela, watching through the one-way glass in fascination, and the Chief of Police herself, Meredith. Garrett supposed he should not be surprised. The head of their branch had to sign off on pretty much everything that happened under her watch.
"Hawke," she greeted curtly, and he nodded politely.
Isabela glanced over them, grinning, clearly withholding a snort. She had always found Meredith's stiffness hilarious. Aveline shot her a glare, but thankfully, Meredith left the room soon after, entrusting the other two officers to their job. Garrett could feel tension in the room dissipate the moment she was gone.
"Terrifying, that one is," Isabela whispered as if in awe, and then let out a mischievous little giggle. Aveline ignored her.
"Any particular reason you're here, Isabela?" Garrett asked, peeking into the room. Inside were two men. One was Varric, the clear smooth-talker. It was not his case, of course; Varric was there to butter up suspects and make them ready to talk whenever an officer came in for interrogation. The other man was clearly the suspect - ragged-looking, dark circles under his eyes, looked like he had not showered in weeks. This would be a piece of cake.
Isabela's hand rested on her chest, and she gaped exaggeratedly at Garrett, looking offended. "Why, Hawke!" she sniffed. "I'm only the one who arrested him. Show a lady some well-earned respect!"
"You did?" He was genuinely surprised at that. Sometimes, he forgot Isabela was an undercover cop pretty much every waking hour, or that she was even a cop at all. "Good catch, then. How'd you get him?"
"I looked at the pictures in his ex-wife's house," Isabela replied, pulling a piece of paper from one of her back pockets. It was black and white, a little grainy from their useless copying machine, but the man in the photo was unmistakably the man in the interrogation room. "Been carrying this with me to keep an eye out. Looks like it came in handy, huh?"
Garrett nodded appreciatively. The door to the interrogation room opened then, and their short friend strolled out, looking satisfied with himself. He made his way to the counter against the wall and poured a cup of coffee. In a domino effect, both Garrett and Isabela followed suit. Coffee was a staple for the office.
"What've you got for us, Varric?" Aveline asked. When the man turned toward her, he was wearing the most smug grin Garrett had ever seen on his face.
"The guy's pathetic," he answered, sounding almost disappointed. Almost. "He's practically waiting for someone to go in there and ask him to tell them everything. He's falling apart, Hawke. You're not gonna have any problem with a confession."
Garrett nodded appreciatively, opting to sip his coffee rather than reply. It really was the good stuff. If anyone were to ask, Garrett would swear the blood that coursed through his veins was at least half caffeine. "Thanks, Varric."
Varric handed him the cup of coffee he had prepared, tilting his head towards the room. "Take this to him. Poor guy looked ready to pass out." Garrett accepted the mug, and Varric clapped him on the shoulder. "Go get 'em, tiger."
Garrett rolled his eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh before pushing the door open with his elbow. To be honest, interrogations were far from his favorite part of the job. They were usually easy, and, of course, a necessity, but he very much disliked performing them. They were always so tense, often uncomfortable, and extremely draining. Still, he did his best to put on a chipper front, and let the heavy door click shut behind him.
The man watched him with weary eyes as Garrett set the coffee Varric made in front of him. Garrett offered a friendly smile. "A little bird told me you'd need this."
Hesitantly, the man reached out and grasped the mug with shaking hands. "Thank you," he croaked before downing a large, rather audible gulp.
Garrett watched him drink, waiting patiently until the man set the mug back down. Their eyes met, and he took that as his cue to take a seat. He opened the manilla folder laid out on the steel table and glanced over the front page before speaking.
"Adam Knight," Garrett read aloud, then glanced back at the man across the table. He was just in time to see the suspect flinch. "You know why you're here, right?"
"Because some vixen bodyslammed me into a bar?" the man, Adam, said dryly, sipping his coffee once more. His voice was hoarse, that of a chain smoker. When he opened his mouth, Garrett could see rotted, yellow teeth. "I know what you want from me. No use hiding it. I'll get sentenced longer than I'll survive, anyways."
"Because you killed your ex-wife?" Garrett asked. Adam's eyes went wide, and then narrowed. He shook his head.
"I didn't kill her," he said, voice firm. Garrett raised an eyebrow. "I know what you're thinking, but I didn't. Those thugs did. May as well be my fault, though."
Thugs. Garrett wanted to sigh. So the rabbit hole went deeper than they thought. He leaned back in the rather uncomfortable chair and took a drink his coffee before speaking again. "Why did they kill her?"
"Cause the dumb bitch got in the way, I guess," Adam replied with a shrug. "They were there for Livvi."
"Your daughter?" Garrett interrupted for clarification, and Adam nodded. "Why did they want her?"
"Ransom," he replied. He gave an ironic smile, rotting teeth and all. "Look at me. You don't think I'm sober, do you, officer? I wanted drugs and I didn't have money, so they tried to take the kid."
"But your daughter is here and safe," Garrett pointed out. Adam snorted.
"I said 'tried.' Stepdad hid her away, so they took my wife instead." A look of pain crossed his features. "I couldn't take that, so I grabbed Liv and ran for it. They wanted her, so I'd trade for my wife."
A knot of disgust churned in Garrett's stomach, and it took strength to prevent it from showing on his face. His fingers still tightened around his mug and he took a deep breath to calm himself before he shattered it. What kind of disgusting human would put value on a life like that? Would trade the life of a little girl over literally anyone else?
"And?" he finally spoke up, lacing his fingers together on the table. "You took an awfully long time to get to that part. Two and a half weeks?"
"I spent days trying to hide from her step-fucker." Adam grimaced. "I mean, can't blame a guy for it, but it really ruined things. He caught up to me. I had to kill him in front of Livvi."
"Where did this happen?"
"The police already found the body," Adam said dismissively. "I had to hide out for a week or so to make sure they didn't find me. Blew his face off with a shotgun, though, so it's no wonder you didn't connect the dots."
Garrett made a disgusted mental note to check with Merrill for men in their thirties with their faces blasted off. He gulped down coffee as an excuse for silence. This was one of his far less pleasant interrogations, and it was hardly even that, as the man was telling him everything without a care in the world.
This time, the man continued without prompting. "I've been trying to get in contact with that gang. The night that whore arrested me was the night I was gonna talk to a middle man of mine. The sooner I could get rid of that kid and get my wife back, the better."
That was all there was to the story itself, it seemed. There were little details Garrett made sure to jot down - what time events happened, where he hid with his daughter - before he gave the man a forced thanks and finally escaped the interrogation room. By that time, Varric had already made his way back to forensics, but Aveline and Isabela had both stuck around. Garrett refilled his mug and tried to down it in one go, and would have succeeded if it were not so hot.
"Vixen," Isabela repeated distastefully, moving away from the window and leaning against the counter. "Whore! Men have no respect these days. Except for you, of course, Hawke."
"Maybe if you respected yourself more," Aveline grumbled, though her jibe was half-hearted. She took the file from Garrett's grasp, him hardly remembering grabbing it off of the table. "Isabela, go fetch the guard and have him escort Mr. Knight back to the holding cell, would you?"
"Ironic name," Isabela muttered, but did as she was told, disappearing down a hallway. Aveline turned her attention to Garrett.
"As for you, Hawke," she said, handing the file back to him, "Merrill is downstairs with the daughter, Olivia. I want you to ask her a few questions just to make sure the stories match up. Can you handle that?"
"Yes," Garrett replied simply, and finished off his coffee. Aveline smiled and patted his shoulder firmly.
He filled his mug a final time before heading for the elevator, noting that he likely would not sleep until late that night. Before the elevator doors closed, he could see Isabela re-enter the room with the guard.
Back on the second floor, Garrett wandered past the office area to another hall, one where the rooms had glass panes instead of walls. One was a small playroom, full of toys and colorful furniture, walls adorned with bright paints and vivid posters. Inside, he spotted Merrill kneeling at a small wooden table. A small girl sat in a chair on the other side, legs dangling in the air. Quietly, Garrett entered the room.
" - love this tea party, Princess Olivia!" he heard Merrill saying in a silly, low-pitched voice, and caught her with a purple teddy in one hand. The stuffie was sitting on her right at the table, and she moved him back in forth as she mimicked his voice.
She switched stuffed animals, now controlling the cat to her left. The voice was now high-pitched and soft. "Yes, what a splendid occasion! I'm impressed you thought of something like this!"
The girl seated opposite Merrill gave a soft little giggle. She was supposed to be six, Garrett knew, but she seemed quite small for her age. Golden blonde locks tumbled down her shoulders in a neat half ponytail, no doubt Merrill's doing. "I'm happy you're having fun," she said in a small voice.
Merrill smiled sweetly at that, eyes sparkling, and Garrett finally wandered over to join them. Olivia glanced up at him and her smile slipped off of her face. She slipped out of the chair and wandered over to a toybox, facing determinedly away from him.
"Livvi?" Merrill called out, worried. Olivia did not respond. She grabbed the stuffed cat and switched back to the high-pitched voice. "Princess Olivia!"
Merrill glanced between Garrett and the teddy bear pointedly, and he got the memo. With a sigh and more than one joint cracking, he took a seat cross-legged on the floor and held the teddy, moving it the same way Merrill did as he attempted something of a cutesy voice.
"Princess Olivia," he said, and internally winced. His throat was going to hate him after this. "Won't you come back?"
Olivia looked back at him through the corner of her eye, trying to be discreet. As discreet as a child could get, anyways. A small smile crossed her lips and, hesitantly, she made her way back to the table. Garrett could not help but smile at her.
"Livvi, this is officer Hawke," Merrill introduced, and Garrett offered a slightly awkward wave. He liked kids, but in all his years on the job still did not have quite so much ease working with them as Merrill.
"Hi, there, Livvi," Garrett greeted in the gentlest voice he could muster. She looked away from him, noticeably unsure of his presence, and started fiddling with her play teacup. "Can I join the tea party?"
Olivia was silent, but after a moment she nodded. "Sure," she answered, and both adults smiled as she poured air into a plastic cup and handed it to Garrett. He pretended to sip, and made a noise of contentment.
"This is fantastic!" he praised, and held his cup out for more. Olivia smiled giddily and poured more into it. Merrill was grinning widely next to him. "Can I ask you some questions, Olivia?"
Olivia nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah," she said.
Garrett smiled and nearly sipped his coffee, but remembered his tea just in time.