fen proteccs his gorls
light chapter, really just character and world building
.
10:38 P.M.
Me: Im humw
Me: Home
Fenris: I'm glad. Now go get some sleep, dork.
10:52 P.M.
Me: Wht the hell
Fenris: ?
Me: Yuo paid for m y lift?
Fenris: We can talk about it when you're sober.
Me: Asssssssssss hol
Fenris: Good night to you, too, Hawke.
The clock read six forty-five in the morning. Garrett had been woken abruptly by its blaring screech fifteen minutes before, and now it blinked judgmentally at him. He should have been up and out of the shower by the time it showed, but his pounding headache and Aveline's words kept him bedridden.
Instead, he occupied himself by staring at the texts he had sent the night before. They were only a little incoherent, not nearly illegible enough to hide his shame, and Garrett wanted to hit his skull against the headboard as a suitable punishment. He even genuinely contemplated it for all of ten seconds, but in the end decided against it. It would be unproductive at best.
Should he apologize? Would that make things worse? Carver would want him to leave it in the hopes that it would chase Fenris off. With that in mind, Garrett fumbled quickly for a suitable apology through the fog of his headache.
Me: I am so sorry, please disregard everything I said last night
It was . . . something, at least.
He was, unfortunately, spared the anxiety-inducing wait for an answer - or even an acceptable time to expect one - by his brother practically howling for him from somewhere else in their home.
"Garrett, get your fucking dog!"
It did wonders to jerk him from that hazy middle-world between sleep and wakefulness. Heart pounding and blood rushing in his ears, Garrett scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over the legs of his sweats on the way to the door. Sprinting out of the open doorway, he half-ran, half-slid down the hardwood hall into the living room.
Before him was a sight nothing short of terrifying; to his left stood a giant brindle mutt, crouched low and growling, and in front of her was a fully uniformed Carver with a warning hand outstretched and his other hand hovering over the taser on his belt. On the nearby couch, Garrett could see his mother clutching her coffee to her chest with wide eyes.
Immediately, Garrett let out a high-pitched whistle, and the dog jerked her head around to look at him.
"Hey, baby girl."
He spoke in a careful, controlled murmur, holding his hand out placatingly. Rowan did not stop growling.
"Come on," he crooned. "You know me."
It felt like an eternity that the Hawke brothers stood there, waiting for something to happen. Finally, the low rumble faded, and, slowly, Rowan slunk forward. She nudged Garrett's hand with her snout. Smiling, he reached forward to pat her head gently.
"There you go," he praised her, kneeling and scratching at her ears with both hands. "Good girl. I knew you'd remember us."
"Garrett." Carver wasted no time interrupting the moment, and the moment their eyes met Garrett could feel hostility rise in the air, tension crackling.
"Don't," Garrett warned, narrowing his eyes, but Carver never had heeded his warnings.
"You have to do something about her." Carver's voice was gentle, sympathetic, but firm. "She's getting worse."
"How did she even get out here?" Garrett snapped back, irritation growing. "She can't open doors by herself."
It was a rare occasion that Carver did not feed off of his anger to power his own. Instead, he heaved a tired sigh, and tilted his head toward the couch where their mother sat. Leandra Hawke was already going on the defensive, crossing her arms after setting her mug on the coffee table.
"She won't stop scratching at your door in the morning," their mother sniffed. "She's going to ruin the wood."
"You let me worry about that," Garrett replied, and frustration seeped into his tone at how often he had to tell her that. "And then?"
"What do you mean, 'and then?'" She sounded scandalized. Carver raked an irate hand through his hair.
"Don't do it, Garrett," he started, but Leandra interrupted him.
"No, tell me," she cut across her son, voice rising. Garrett clenched his teeth, trying hard to keep calm.
"She has memory problems," he said slowly, "but even when she forgets, she doesn't get aggressive for no reason."
"It doesn't matter!" Carver burst in furiously before his mother and brother could go at each other yet again. It was a daily occurrence now, sometimes happening multiple times a day, and the youngest Hawke was nearly always caught in the middle. "Rowan is losing her mind more and more every day, and it's starting to get bad. You need to accept it, Garrett, and do something about it."
Garrett stood abruptly, pushing past his dog to tower over his brother. He was tired - tired of this conversation, tired of his pounding head, tired of his stupid brother arguing with him at every turn, tired of his god-awful mother antagonizing him. Carver glared defiantly up at him, unintimidated.
"She has a vet appointment coming up. Until then, would it kill you to show the tiniest amount of, oh, I don't know, humanity?"
"And what is that supposed to mean?!" Leandra gasped indignantly, looking as scandalized as ever. "Your brother does more for this family than you ever have! You're lucky he even gives you the time of day!"
"Mother, enough," Carver warned. "I'm running late for work, and I don't have the time to mediate you two much longer." But neither mother nor brother were having it.
"Running late cleaning up your mess," Leandra sniffed at Garrett. He clenched his fists, trying hard not to retort, but of course she just kept going. "If you'd just done your job and caught those criminals, maybe you'd actually be getting somewhere in your investigation!"
"You're the one that let that bastard take them in the first place!" Withheld rage burst forth from Garrett in the form of blame, and he took pride in the way his mother bristled. "And you have the nerve to blame me for not getting them back fast enough for your liking?!"
"Enough!"
Carver's voice was harsh, biting, but Garrett wasn't sticking around to listen. It was too early for this. Instead, he turned on his heel and stormed back down the hallway to his bedroom. Behind him, he could hear Rowan's claws clicking on the hardwood, panting as she followed him.
Carver called out irritably from the living room. Garrett ignored him. Was he being unreasonable? No more than his family, surely.
His phone was alight with new texts.
Fenris: We all have rough nights sometimes. How are you feeling?
Garrett had not realized how his anger made him tremble until he was struggling to type back.
Me: Are you busy?
The reply was nearly instantaneous.
Fenris: That good, huh?
Fenris: Kind of busy, but why don't we get breakfast? You'll feel better.
Oh, Carver would have his balls in a jar.
Me: tell me where
He could try, at least. Garrett hardly cared.
Rowan watched with a tilted head as he threw a flannel on over his tanktop and struggled into a pair of worn jeans. He could not get his shoes on fast enough. His phone buzzed with an address, and he swiped his keys and wallet from his nightstand and jammed them into his pockets. Garrett gave Rowan a small pat to the head before making his way back down the hall.
"And just where do you think you're going?"
Carver's voice was a grate on his nerves, and it took everything in Garrett's power not to snap at him. "Enjoying my day off," he said, voice still cold.
He moved to the elevator and hit the call button. He could feel Carver's glare on his back.
"You're going to see Fenris, aren't you."
It was not a question, but a statement dripping with disdain. He could hear the indignant little huffs that meant Leandra was bristling, prepared to scold him again. The elevator doors opened with a small ping and he stepped inside.
"We talked about this," Carver ground out. Garrett pressed the number for the first floor and turned to face him, raising a forced apathetic hand.
"Later."
Carver realized too late what was happening; the doors were nearly shut by the time he was spurred into motion, and he was too late in pressing the button. Garrett was moving downward without him, and despite the angry promise of vengeance written all over his baby brother's face, he took incredible pleasure in knowing his brother would be even later because of him.
It did not, however, sweeten the bitter taste on his tongue.
.
Garrett had to double and then triple check that he had the address right. The building was made of brick - not the charming red kind, but gray, cracked stone that looked like it barely upheld safety requirements. The windows that allowed a glimpse inside had the sun reflecting off of them, so Garrett had no way of seeing the inside unless he braved it himself.
Stalling, he shot a text to his friend.
Me: I'm here
Me: I think
Was this really the place Fenris had in mind?
Hesitantly, Garrett stepped out of his car - he had just retrieved it from the department lot - and moved to the front door. It was old-fashioned, wooden with a brass knob instead of a glass pull door. On the glass above it were painted words in a pretty script: The Good Egg. Preparing himself with a deep breath, Garrett swung the door open and stepped inside.
It . . . was not nearly as bad as he expected.
The black and white tiles under his feet looked newly done, and on either side of him were rows of booths that featured dark wood and pastel yellow cushions. In front of him sat a counter with a noticeably old cash register and a display case full of pies, and behind that a kitchen area that seemed to be the source of a pleasant aroma in the air.
One yellow-clad employee was cooking in the back, and two others were chatting with him, but Garrett's eyes fell nearly instantly on the man at the register. His elbows were braced on the counter, smiling at the employee he was speaking with. At the jingle from the bell above the door, he glanced up, and his smile faded slightly.
"You found the place alright, I see," Fenris greeted him. Was that apprehension in his tone? Garrett stared at him, blinking several times before he spoke.
"Hey," he settled on, because it was all he could think to say. Both Fenris and the girl next to him were staring, and he realized he was probably expected to say more. "I, uh, didn't expect you to be working here."
Fenris's smile was sheepish. "Surprise."
They were spared the awkwardness of Garrett's slow comprehension by one of the girls in back coming up to loop her arm with Fenris's. Something stirred in Garrett's stomach at the sight, but he pushed it down.
"Is this him?"
Her eyes were full of curiosity, and the other girl in back was not-so-subtly eyeing Garrett as well. He felt like he was being scrutinized when he realized that more than curiosity, there was apprehension in their gazes. When the first girl that Fenris had been speaking with leaned over to whisper something in his ear, Garrett found himself more and more uncomfortable, and somehow even embarrassed.
"Busy hands," called the chef in the back, and, with a few annoyed murmurs, the girls whisked away to find something to do, though Garrett knew they were still ready to listen in. "Fenris, help the customer already, will you?"
"Don't get your panties in a twist," Fenris called back, and suddenly he seemed so much more comfortable, more sure of himself. "I know him." He turned his eyes back on Garrett. "My shift ends soon. Have a seat."
Garrett obediently followed him to a nearby booth, though, out of habit, he chose the side facing the door - the opposite side from where Fenris gestured. Fenris cocked his head in question.
"I like to see the door," Garrett answered the question he knew would be asked. He did not expect Fenris to understand, but somehow, he seemed to get it.
"Coffee? We have normal roast, or a caramel special. Bottomless cups."
Now that was something Garrett could get behind after the exhaustion of dealing with his family. "Sign me the fuck up," he muttered, perhaps a bit too enthusiastic, but Fenris seemed pleased by the response.
"Normal, or - ?"
"Normal. And sugar, please?"
Fenris was only gone a moment, but Garrett still found time to check him out. The easter colors were not something he quite expected from Fenris, but they looked good on him. Especially the black slacks. Some of the girls had been wearing little hats, but that must have been optional, because Fenris did not have one.
Fenris returned with a rather sizeable coffee carafe, a cutely decorated mug with a spoon resting in a small carved hole in the handle, and a simple sugar dispenser. "I'm afraid if you prefer Splenda, you'll have to look elsewhere."
Garrett made a face. "Hard pass," he said, and Fenris chuckled, sliding into the booth across from him.
"I thought about waiting until I was off work to invite you," Fenris told him, pouring coffee into his mug and sliding it over to him, "but it's been slow all morning."
"I appreciate it," Garrett replied honestly, measuring out a few spoonfuls of sugar and stirring them into his drink. "I was more than ready to get out."
The bell at the door jingled, and a man strolled in, not really paying attention to his surroundings. Fenris frowned and started to stand, but one of the girls greeted the newcomer with a friendly chirp, and hesitantly Fenris sat back down. He propped his chin on one tattooed hand, staring intently as Garrett tried the coffee.
"Better than the stuff at the office," Garrett praised, pleasantly surprised. It felt shameful to admit to himself, but perhaps he had been judging the small diner too harshly by its cover.
"Is that a feat?"
"Not for my floor, but even forensics has nothing on this stuff." Garrett indulged in another long drink, and Fenris leaned back, looking quite pleased with himself.
"Good." They were quiet a moment, but they were far less tense now, enjoying the ambience of sizzling food and cars driving past the building. Fenris's voice was quieter when he spoke again. "Mind telling what had you so eager to leave?"
Garrett could not help the instant scowl that pulled at his features. He hid his face in his mug, composing himself before speaking. "Take a guess."
"Carver," Fenris muttered, looking just as irate as Garrett felt. It was almost amusing, how Carver managed to rub people he had not even met the wrong way. Almost.
"Now imagine him teaming up with someone even more judgmental," Garrett grumbled. Fenris raised a brow, waiting for the answer, and Garrett relented. "Our mother."
Fenris tilted his head. "I thought you said it was just you and Carver?"
"I wish it was just us," Garrett said, a sardonic smile replacing his frown. He went for a drink and realized it was empty. It seemed almost instinct that had Fenris reaching out to refill it for him. "But I'm not here to complain."
"It's alright," Fenris said, and he sounded honest enough.
He pushed Garrett's mug toward him, and the latter took a grateful sip before realizing he had not yet added sugar. Yet the coffee was not bitter; in fact, it was perfect, and Fenris chuckled at his confusion. Had Fenris observed how much sugar he put in and replicated it?
"Clever bastard," Garrett sniped at him, unable to help his smile. "What about your mother?"
Fenris paused then, and Garrett worried if he had misstepped, but then the man shrugged. He seemed unbothered when he said, "I never really knew her."
"Lucky," Garrett sighed wistfully, easily diffusing any tension that might have gathered. "Trade me mothers."
"No chance," Fenris denied, rolling his eyes.
It was then that someone approached their table, and Fenris rolled his eyes harder at their visitor, drawing a chuckle from Garrett.
"Really, Fenris," the newcomer said, shaking his head. It was the chef from before. "Look how busy we are. This is hardly the time to socialize."
Fenris snorted. "Absolutely swamped," he agreed, but stood anyway. "Too bad I'm clocking out soon. You'll all be terribly lost without me."
"I'm sure we'll manage." The man sounded amused, and turned to Garrett. The friendliness dropped for something more polite, more wary. "I'm Solas, owner of The Good Egg. It's nice to finally meet Officer Hawke."
He wanted to ask if Fenris had really been talking about him, but Garrett's eyes were drawn to Solas's hair . . . or lack thereof. He was completely bald, head shiny, very reminiscent of an -
"Egg," Garrett blurted, unthinking.
The restaurant was silent for all of half a second, in which Solas frowned deeply at him and he was sure he would spontaneously combust from shame. Following that was a loud hoot of laughter from one of the girls behind the counter, who had to grip the surface for support, and things only escalated from there. The rest of the girls dissolved into helpless giggling, and Fenris covered his mouth against a snicker.
Solas put his hands on his hips, corners of his mouth twitching. "Why is that the universal response to meeting me?" he demanded.
"Egg," one of the girls repeated between giggles, and they all fell into laughter once more, clutching onto each other and slapping their palms on the nearest surfaces.
Solas shook his marvelously shiny head and retreated to the kitchen. Fenris followed him with a quick nod to his guest, and disappeared behind a door that Garrett had not noticed in his previous analysis of the building. Nearly as soon as he had vanished from sight, one of the girls approached his table, a small notepad clutched in her hands.
"Fenris, uh," she stammered, not meeting Garrett's eyes, "he never asked you about food, did he?"
Fenris had completely glossed over food, hadn't he? Yet somehow that felt intentional. Fenris was, at this point, very obviously not the kind of person to forget things.
Her nervousness was hard to watch. Garrett took the opportunity to read her name tag before addressing her. "Orana, right? No, he didn't, but I think I'll wait for him. Don't worry about me."
He did not know when Fenris had snuck up on them, but when he spoke Orana jumped minutely. Was she scared of everything? "I've got our food covered, Orana. Could you brew me some tea, though?"
She nodded vigorously and swept past him into the kitchen.
"She new?" Garrett asked. To his surprise, Fenris shook his head.
"She's always been a nervous wreck," he replied, and for a moment he looked tired. It was gone so quickly Garrett wondered if he had imagined it. "But she has to be doing something or she'll lose her mind, so I try to keep her busy behind the scenes."
"Why work in customer service if it makes her anxious?"
It was made very evident in the way Fenris narrowed his pretty green eyes at him that he had asked the wrong question. He got his answer in the form of another question, dryly shot back:
"What makes you think we have a choice?"
"We?" Garrett should have kept his mouth shut, but the generalization did not sit right with him. "You already have a job at the Hanged Man. You could quit here."
Fenris stared at him for a long time, like he was judging if Garrett was joking, like he had to be joking. He looked a mix of genuinely baffled, somewhat pitying, and incredibly offended.
"Me?" he asked, finally, incredulously. "Me, an art student drowning in debt, supporting two cats? You think I only need one job? In this economy?"
"Well," Garrett mumbled, shrinking under Fenris's judgment, "I don't anymore."
Fenris stared at him even longer, and it was terrifying that Garrett could not read his facial expression. Finally, he said, "We can't all be police captains making six figures a year, Hawke. Some of us are a little thing called poor."
"Oh," Garrett said. It sounded just as dumb as he felt, and it was hard to meet Fenris's hard stare. "I'm sorry."
Fenris stared at him a moment longer before shaking his head and letting out a deep sigh.
"How do you like your eggs?"
"My eggs?" Garrett asked, not sounding any more intelligent.
"Yes, Hawke, your eggs." Usually Garrett liked when Fenris said his name, but right now, he sounded like a scolding adult. Absurd, considering Garrett was an adult, and probably older than him. "Today, please."
"Over medium," he said hurriedly, not wanting to frustrate the man further.
"Hash browns?"
"Please."
Fenris swept off into the kitchen and left Garrett stewing in his guilt alone. He could see now where his comments had been insensitive, and he wished he could take them back. He had never seen himself as that semi-rich person, but that conversation had proven it was the case.
Fenris returned with two plates of food not long after, and at the same time, Orana appeared with Fenris's tea. Fenris thanked her gently, and she hurried off to leave them be.
"I'm sorry," Garrett said again as Fenris took a seat across from him. Fenris set a plate of hash browns and eggs in front of him, rolling his eyes.
"I get it," he replied, sounding more tired than potentially annoyed. "Next time, keep in mind that not everyone has had the life you lived. Now shut up and eat, I've been starving for the last hour."
"Wait," Garrett suddenly burst out, in spite of Fenris's order of quiet. Fenris cocked an eyebrow at him. "This is really early to finish a shift."
Fenris, once again, studied him as if to check whether he was joking. "Hawke, graveyard shifts exist."
"I know that," Garrett grumbled, embarrassed. Did he really come off that slow? "But you mean to tell me you work past midnight at the bar, and then you're here til morning? When do you sleep?"
"Whenever I can," Fenris said.
His tone implied simplicity, but he was evasive in his lack of eye contact, and the way he stuffed a forkful of egg in his mouth deemed the case closed. Mildly concerned but unwilling to pry, Garrett followed suit, and they dug into their breakfast together. Or was it dinner for Fenris?
A bit in they spoke again, and to clear the air Fenris told him about this job. Aside from Orana, the other two girls there were Nessa and Lia. Their crew was small, though they had a few more members on board. Fenris was sure he'd meet them in time.
Garrett insisted on paying the bill; when Fenris started to bristle defensively, Garrett was quick to point out how he had paid for his ride home the night before, and that seemed to calm him.
He set down a five dollar bill and his card for Orana, who frowned at them in confusion before giving Garrett an uncertain smile and trotting over to the register to pester her coworkers. Moments later, Nessa spoke up, her words making Garrett feel unexpectedly guilty.
"Honey, sweetheart. That's a tip."
"Oh - oh!"
Fenris had his eyes glued on the scene, but they slid over to meet Garrett's after Nessa's outburst. His brows raised in a wordless question, one that Garrett understood clearly.
Do you get it now? What these girls go through?
"Do people really never tip?" Garrett nearly whispered, and the look Fenris gave him was pure fire, the green forest going up in flames.
"We consider it a good day if nobody gets felt up as a tip," he growled in response.
Orana thanked him profusely when she returned with his card, to which he really had no words - only a strong urge to hug her and apologize this woman he did not know.
Fenris and Garrett left The Good Egg side by side. The sun was high enough to see over the buildings, but it was still definitely morning. They halted next to Garrett's car. He had not even realized Fenris was following him there.
"Why show me this?" he asked. Your work, your friends, this part of yourself? It was everything and nothing at once. Fenris shoved his hands in his pockets, giving a half-assed half-smile.
"If we're going to be spending time together, I want you do know I'm not all hard liquor and grunge aesthetic," he answered, his voice light, but his eyes on the ground. Garrett found himself yearning for that eye contact.
"I liked them," Garrett told him truthfully. There were those pretty eyes, hesitating to meet his. "I'll have to bring the whole crew by sometime. They'd love this place."
"I think Solas would piss himself at having that many customers."
Garrett and Fenris both chuckled, and his chest was warm at that. Danger bells went off somewhere in the back of his head, some voice telling him this was a terrible idea, but he had no room to care. Garrett had left his place to ignore voices telling him to do anything but what he wanted.
Fenris had invited him out, and Garrett had wanted to come. Fenris had wanted Garrett to learn about him, and Garrett had been eager to do so. And now, Garrett felt he understood some things about Fenris more than he could if it was ever verbally explained, and he was only a few hours into his first day off.
A yawn from Fenris distracted him from his thoughts. The man looked more tired now than ever, and Garrett felt guilty for keeping him, even if he was not at fault.
"Sorry, but I need to head home," Fenris said wearily, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palm. "I'm free tonight. Text me?"
"Sure," Garrett agreed, far too elated at the idea. "Let me know when you get home safe."
"I will. Talk later, Hawke."
"Drive safe, Fen." The smile Fenris gave him in farewell made everything - taking the day off, fighting with his family, going out to eat with Fenris, trying a new diner - so worth it.
Garrett would have to thank Aveline later.
.
e g g