Wow, reviewers. You are excellent! Thanks so much for the praise and suggestions. I am getting close to the ending (2 more chapters!) and appreciate your support and inspiration.
All song lyrics and inspiration for this chapter come from "Rocky Took a Lover" by Bell X1. It's a trippy, appropriate song for this fic.
Warnings: Smut, extreme drunkenness, language, angst in spades
She said "I don't believe in any old Jesus
if there was a God, then why is my ass
The perfect height for kicking?"
He said "I'll shine for you, I'll burn for you.
Yeah, I'll shine for you, that's what I'll do."
Fenris avoids Hawke at first, but finds himself dreaming of those memory flashes, seeing more and more with every dream. Fragments of his memory return at odd times- he goes to the market and sees a little girl in a green skirt and thinks of how his sister always wore that color, or he smells bread cooking while passing the bakery and recalls his mother passing him pieces of bread when his stomach ached from hunger in the night. An entire summer of fitful sleep shakes him as he resists seeking her out, a terrible summer of drought that makes tempers short and a combination of hunger and disease rage through the city.
The drought breaks with a terrible thunderstorm that slams in from the sea, heavy gusts of wind and sheets of water pounding the city. Fenris tries to sleep but awakens with a start when lightning flares through the sky and thunder crashes a second later. Heart pounding, he leaps from the bed before he realizes what's going on, expecting to hear the baying of dogs outside the door. His mother was terrified of the dogs, a fear she could justify with scars on her arms and legs.
Lightning flashes in jagged forks across the sky and he's reminded of the shape of those pale marks on her skin. He rubs his eyes and shoves his hand back through his hair, his curses drowned out by the crashing thunder.
He needs to leave this place. Crossing to the door with quick strides, he remembers the growling dogs and shudders, withdrawing his hand before he can touch the handle. Unable to open his door, Fenris hops out of his window in the loose shirt and leggings he wears to sleep, hauling himself onto the slick rooftop. The rain and wind make the tiles treacherous, but he scrambles around and slides down his roof, using the momentum to leap across the gap between their rooftops. Her roof is flatter than his, and he moves with careful steps until he can slip down and lower himself to her windowsill. Water pours down the roof in a steady shower, threatening his grasp on the eaves as he taps on the glass of her bedroom window.
She reclines on her bed, barefoot and in a new red robe, a book in her lap. At the sound of him knocking on her window she pulls a dagger so fast he doesn't see where it comes from. Though that might be the rain. He raps again with his knuckles, hunching to fit into the space and furious that he's soaked and she's staring at him, toying with her blade and twirling it in deft fingers as she takes her time walking to the window.
"Fenris," she says, opening the window and stepping back. The dagger disappears in a flash of silver and she crosses her arms as he climbs in. "What the hell are you doing here?" she asks him when he steps through the window, but there's no venom in her tone. He's furious that she can make it sound like a greeting.
Before speaking he shakes himself off, droplets flying from his sodden hair and skin and clothes to soak her, making her yelp and dart back toward the bed. "What have you done to me, woman?" he demands, advancing toward her. He pushes strands of hair away from his face and sends up a spray of water before the hair slides back in heavy, wet chunks to its original position. He snarls at her confused expression. "My memories are returning. I see my past in everything now."
"Isn't that a good thing?" she snaps, holding her ground with folded arms and a forlorn spark of viciousness that he can't place. He thinks of the knife and wonders how fast he can disarm her if he needs to.
As much as he wants to slump into her arms and beg for comfort, he can't. Some part of him knows she would give it without question, that the softness of her hands and lips and skin will turn tender the moment he asks, and he hates her for it. Why does she do this to him, why does she accept him hurting her and why does she hurt him in doing so? Is it not enough that he is so completely hers? It's cruel of her to be his, as well, cruel to both of them, and he hates her for it because he cannot fathom why she would do such a thing.
"You do not understand," he growls, peeling the drenched fabric of his shirt away from his skin so that she can see the water droplets clinging to his tattoos. She makes a strangled sound and steps to meet him as if drawn by a spell. "You will never understand," he sighs, staring at her bright, vicious eyes. His hands run through her hair, pushing pieces back from her face as he leans down to kiss her.
Her teeth graze his lips, her nails grasping at his arms as he pulls her closer still. His hands soak through the fabric of the robe and she shivers as he pulls it aside, his mouth seeking purchase on her neck and shoulder as she shoves his drenched pants over his hips. Fenris kicks them away and growls, lifting her against him so her warm body presses to his skin, still damp with cold water. He wants to move slowly, to spend the entire night undressing her and kissing her, memorizing her flesh so that he can survive his time without her. Because now he knows he will be back, that returning to her is inevitable.
They don't make it to the bed. Her legs wrap around his hips and he grips the bedpost, unable to lower her down as she sheathes his length in slick heat, her tongue tracing the water beading the brands on his neck and shoulders. He digs his other hand into her hip, guiding her over him as he thrusts to meet her with his lips pressed to her cheek, helpless moans issuing from him as she trails her hot mouth along his collarbone. Lightning flashes outside at the same time that his tattoos flash, as if nature itself bows to the force of their simultaneous climax.
This time the flashes are different, clearer: he sees his sister falling and scraping her knee and then his mother tending the cut after he carries the little girl inside, he sees pretty girls smiling as he practices with his sword, he feels the crack of a master's whip when he fumbles in his training and becomes better and better, the best of all the others so that he can escape that crack, so he can free his mother and sister from it, too.
His knees are too weak to support him and he pitches sideways onto the bed with her still wrapped around him.
Fenris stares into her eyes for a long moment, lifting his hand to brush the dampened hair aside. He studies the way it falls against her pale skin, framing her bright eyes and the delicacy of her features. Her beauty as she lies tangled with him across the red sheets, her cheeks flushed and her gaze momentarily softened, catches his breath in his throat. He leans forward and gives her a gentle kiss, stroking his thumb along her cheek. "Sleep," he murmurs against her lips. She blinks at him and rolls over to face away from him. Not yet ready to lose her, he moves to pull her back against his chest, wrapping her in his arms and holding her until they both fall asleep.
At the first light of dawn he wakes and slips from her bed, gathering his now-dry clothing and pulling it on before he steals out the window and returns to his stolen mansion the same way he came to her Estate.
Before he leaves, he brushes her hair away from her sleeping face and kisses her forehead.
Though he means to avoid her for the next several weeks, the storms pummel Kirkwall for almost a week. He returns night after night, sleeping until dawn and awakening before she can stir, slipping through the window only to return when dark falls. To be so weakened by his own remembered fears and fear of remembering, to be so weak to her pull, makes him ashamed and furious. As the nights go by he becomes sullen, and though he sleeps better than he's slept in many years with Hawke in his arms, he awakens resenting her for the feelings she evokes in him, for the confusion and desire and for that silent understanding she gives him, leaving her window open every time a thunderstorm strikes throughout the autumn.
As the winter sets in and storms freeze to snow from the mountains, he finds himself without excuses to visit her in the middle of the night. He spends hours alone in his mansion practicing with his sword, except when Aveline drags him to practice with her guards or Donnic comes to play Wicked Grace with him. Once a week he joins the others at the Hanged Man, walking to and from Hightown with Hawke and trying to think of something to say as they track through the snow.
Fenris doesn't dare think about his sister, afraid to hope for such good fortune. He's almost forgotten about finding her when Varric arrives at his mansion with a scrap of paper and passes it to him across the desk. Fenris stares at the dwarf and then at the page, lips moving to shape the words: Found the girl. A tailor in Minrathous. No family. Should I make contact?
"So, Elf?" Varric asks, spreading his wide hands. "I told him to make contact, but not to say who sent him."
In response, Fenris moves through the room, gathering together several coinpurses and dropping their contents into a larger pouch before he returns and sets it down in front of the dwarf's glittering eyes. "I have coin enough to buy her passage here," he announces, shoving the heavy pouch across the desk.
He said, "I wanna shine in the eye of Orion
but I drove my soul through the black hole."
She said, "What a wonderful way to wake me
You weren't so nice last night
You're such an asshole when you're drunk."
Hawke finds herself irritated throughout the winter, pacing around, drinking wine and glowering at the window. She wants to see him there, climbing in with rain-damp hair and skin, tattoos illuminated by lightning, green eyes angry and frightened as he advances toward her with vicious steps. As days pass into months with no more than the occasional lingering stare as they sit in a group of friends, she wonders which bothers her more: his absence, or that she wants him to return. It makes no sense that she should want him to be there when she knows he leaves every morning at dawn as she lies there careful not to stir, breathing with the rhythm of sleep.
This chaotic whirl of thoughts fills her brain as the winter goes on, leaving her in a dark mood that darkens every time she sees the elf. Her companions notice and they all try to help in their own ways, except, of course, for Fenris. Merrill and Aveline even attempt to have a "Ladies' Night" at the Amell Estate, arriving with bottles of wine and sweets, but it's not the same with Isabela off who-knows-where avoiding Kirkwall and Hawke. It smarts not to have her friend's bawdy humor and inappropriate reassurances ("I'll go kick his ass for you and take you to bed after if you want, sweet thing") and the pirate's lingering absence makes Hawke realize how much she's relied on that constancy. Some days it feels as if everyone is leaving her, one at a time, and there's nothing she can do about it. Father, Carver, Bethany, Mother, Isabela, and Fenris, who leaves her over and over again.
When the spring thaw allows for her to return to her mercenary work, Hawke throws herself back into things, helping every idiot with every possible task from Hightown to Lowtown. One by one, she visits her companions, but she waits to go to Fenris' mansion. She doesn't know what to say or what she'll even do once she's there. Far better to wait for him to come to her than to seek him out, to pursue him when he's made it clear time and again that he only wants one thing from her.
One day, out of the blue, she walks into the Hanged Man in search of Varric and finds Isabela at her usual spot at the bar, drinking and smirking as if she'd never left. Hawke walks up to the pirate with a scowl and after a momentary stare-down, she reaches out to give the other woman a brisk pat on the arm. Isabela grins and lunges forward, wrapping Hawke up in her arms and squeezing her until she can barely breathe. Of course the dwarf walks downstairs in time to witness this atrocity and Hawke sighs and lets them drag her to sit down for a tankard.
"So, you and Fenris?" Isabela prompts right off the bat. There's a shuffle under the table and the Rivaini woman winces and glares at Varric.
Hawke tips back in her chair, into that comfortable pose of false carelessness that she prefers. "It's nothing," she mutters. "I haven't even talked to him all winter." She scowls at the ale in her hands, as if doing so will somehow improve its quality, or at least put some hops in there. It doesn't help and finally she's forced to take a sip.
Varric snorts into his own mug. "That explains why you've been so pissed-off," he comments. He takes a loud slurp to prove his dwarven masculinity or to keep his chest hair lush (he always has some excuse for that vile slurping habit) and sets the mug down with a clatter, fixing Hawke with his astute stare. "You know, the two of you were almost acting like normal people during autumn. Never saw anyone look so smug wading through mud after a thunderstorm."
She chokes on her ale and coughs for a long minute without lowering the legs of the chair to the floor. Isabela looks between Hawke and Varric and a smirk crosses her lips just as one eyebrow arches. "I have missed a lot, haven't I?" the pirate muses. She knocks back her whiskey with a swift toss of her head and sighs contentedly. "I was sure that after your duel he was going to rush up and ravage you right there in the Keep."
This time Varric outright chuckles. "They made it back to her house. You can't hear what's happening in the Keep through all of Hightown."
"So then why haven't you spoken to him in so long?" Isabela asks, exchanging glances with Varric. Her amber eyes have a serious flicker to them that makes Hawke uncomfortable as she cups her brown palms around her empty snifter.
Hawke gives her an uncomfortable shrugs and glances at Varric. She hasn't even told Aveline about the way things have gone between her and Fenris. Her friends are well-aware that the two of them have something between them that frequently erupts into violence or sex, but she can't bring herself to confide the truth: that he comes back to her again and again to use her and that she lets him, that she welcomes his returns and prays he won't leave even though she knows he will, time and time again. It is too embarrassing, and worse, it will only encourage her enemies to know how weak she is.
The pirate slaps the surface of the table suddenly, her brows contracting and her expression turning dark. "He left you again," she growls. "I can't bloody believe him!" She sounds personally offended on Hawke's behalf, which serves to further humiliate her far more than to make her feel better. Isabela glares at Hawke, pointing her finger and jabbing the air as if to punctuate every word. "You have to move on."
"Maybe the sex is too good," Hawke mumbles into her ale, tipping further back. She certainly tells herself that when she wakes up to the sound of him sneaking out her window.
"If you were in it for the sex, you'd have slept with me years ago," Isabela answers frankly. She orders another round and Hawke spends the rest of her day with them there, drinking and complaining about Fenris.
As night falls, the subject of their conversation walks through the door. His green eyes fix on Hawke and he walks to their table with brisk strides, scowling down at her and ignoring the other two. He folds his arms and stands next to her chair with his vicious stare and she makes a point of finishing her drink before she swivels her head to stare up at him.
"What the hell are you doing, Hawke?" he demands in a harsh tone.
"Whaddoes it look like 'm doing?" she slurs, slamming her mug against the tabletop. She tries to tip back in her chair and his hand shoots out to snap it back into place, his glare growing more fierce. The ale makes her strangely aware of how hard she's trying to imitate his scowl and she bursts out laughing. Isabela and Varric join in, leaning against each other. Their epic tolerance has not helped them much; Hawke has spent the winter drinking like the mercenary she is and the day has been a long one. She leans forward, still laughing, her shoulders shaking with silent seizures of bitter mirth, and grasps his wrist, pulling him down nose-to-nose with her. "'m gonna bloody celebrate tha' my, my, my friend is back home," she announces in a loud conspiratorial whisper, looking pointedly at the pirate with her unsteady temple resting against his forehead. Isabela grins and waves and sets off another wave of giggles for the three drunk rogues.
Fenris widens his eyes and inhales a sharp breath when she pulls him close, staring at her lips as she talks. When she looks at him again after staring at the pirate, she sees his mouth turning down near hers and his green eyes narrowing once more. "Hawke," he says in a quiet voice that trembles in his effort to remain calm, "It's time to go."
"I don't wanna go," she snaps, swaying in her chair, "'n' you can't make me do anything." She utters a bitter, brewery-scented laugh in his face and gives him a sloppy, drunken shove that only prompts him to rock back to his heels, crouching at eye level. Spurred by the fury of her drunkenness, she turns to face Isabela and Varric, who no longer laugh, watching her with wide eyes. With a vicious, bloodthirsty grin, she waves down the harried waitress and points across her table. "More drinks! Bela's back to re-re- well, shit, now she's the best tits in Kirkwall again 'n' all the rest of us've gotta jus' give up on winning the, the, award."
Isabela smirks and Hawke sees her eyes flick to Fenris for a moment. "Well, you always hide yours under tunics and armor, sweet thing," she purrs. "Let them air out a bit and they'll grow. Like plants."
"Challenge accepted," Hawke cries, reaching to snatch her mug from the waitress. She downs it in one long draught and some ale dribbles down her chin to her neck. At her words, the patrons start looking around and she hiccups when she slams her mug down. In some dim corner of her mind, she knows that the pirate means for her to do this as much as she knows she shouldn't. But she's drunk and mad at Fenris and she wants to get him back for everything. For all those bloody mornings pretending to be asleep while he snuck out. Hawke stands, wobbling a bit, and scrabbles at the buckles and straps of her armor, which she wore because she was supposed to spend the day tracking down an assassin among the Dalish. Whistles and applause and shouts meet her, laughter from Varric and Isabela and encouragement from the other drunks as she manages to fumble the first strap on her shoulder free. Cold metal hands close over her arms and pull them to her sides with sudden force. In her current state, she moves and thinks too slow to fend off the attacker, who pulls her around to face him with her rump resting against the table.
Green eyes glare at her through silver-white hair and Fenris' lip curls into a sneer. "No," he says, that single syllable bringing an abrupt halt to the bawdy laughter and catcalls and scattered applause throughout the tavern.
"Uh, Hawke," Varric says, patting Isabela's back as she whispers something into his ear that he listens to with flicking eyes and a short nod. "I think you should just go with him."
"But-" she protests. It's too late. Fenris is tugging her through the whispers and stares and into the sudden cold of the night and her friends are shouting their goodbyes as she stumbles along, twisting to watch them as the door slams behind her. Icy rain pelts her when she steps outside and lightning flashes across the sky. Her heart pounds. She hasn't noticed the storm until now, nor the late hour. Her feet halt in spite of the vicious grip he has on her wrist and he whirls to face her with fury in his stare.
"Why did you go there, Hawke?" he demands, driving her back against the wall so the rain pours over them both, freezing her skin and slicking her hair to her face. "What were you thinking?"
For a long moment she can only stare at a drop of water on the lyrium lines over his chin, thinking about licking it off more than she thinks about the question. He gives her a shake and snaps her back to awareness, her eyes focusing on him with an effort. "I was thinking 'bout you sneaking out in the morning, 'n' how you just sneak around all the time like, like, I dunno, you're ashamed t'be seen with me 'n' I dunno." Her eyes burn and she grits her teeth. "So why can't you just leave me t' my drinking 'n' stop stringing me along?"
His hand moves from her shoulder to push the rain-soaked hair from her forehead, the cool metal of his thumb trailing down over her cheek. She can see, through the water sluicing over his bangs, that his eyes have softened from fury to confusion and pain. "Is that... true?" he whispers, voice barely audible over the rain.
Hawke stares back at him, her chest tight and her throat thick. She can't speak, so she nods, unable to conceal her miserable expression. In an effort to change the subject she sways against his chest and attempts a sloppy, drunken kiss. He dodges it too easily, moving to loop an arm around her waist and help her back to Hightown. His rejection burns her cheeks throughout the walk, but she can't escape his iron grip as he steers her into her estate and up the stairs without any care for the puddles they drip onto the carpets.
Fenris doesn't say another word to her for the rest of the night, leading her to sit in front of the fire after he strips her armor off and puts her weapons away. He walks away and she hears him mutter something in Arcanum, and an interminable amount of time later he returns with towels. She offers little resistance except her body's refusal to cooperate with her own wishes, but that doesn't gentle his touch as he dries her off with a scowl. At last he lifts her into the bed and wraps her in the blankets before he strips his own clothes off, toweling down as she stares with drunk eyes at the tattoos trailing over his bare skin. Her eyelids grow heavy and the last thing she perceives before sleep claims her is his weight settling beside her, his arm hooking around her shoulders to roll her over against his chest.
She wakes up alone in her bed to a pounding headache and a vague memory of Fenris being there. Wincing, she sits up, clutching her forehead and trying not to sway with the waves of dizziness and nausea. A glass of water sits beside her on the nightstand and she downs it in a gulp. Her door opens just as she flops back among the pillows, clenching her eyes shut against the glare of sunlight. "Can you shut the curtains, please, Orana?" she asks without opening her eyes.
"Take this," answers a deep voice that makes her jerk upright, her eyes snapping open. Fenris stares down at her with an exasperated expression and a steaming mug that smells like rich, exotic coffee. He's wearing all his armor and turns away to pull the drapes the moment she accepts the coffee.
"Thank you," she murmurs after taking a sip that scalds her tongue. Her eyebrows rise when he turns around to face her. Rather than ask the obvious question, she takes another sip of coffee.
He crosses his arms and snorts. "You really think so little of me?" he asks, his stare growing dark. "You believe that I am merely using you for your body?"
Her heart stops. What did she say to him? Small flashes return, of him dragging her from the Hanged Man and of people clapping for her. But she can't admit to him that he's hurt her. It will only serve to fuel his rage, to humiliate her further, and he will most likely flee from even that fleeting contact. The thought of him never coming back makes her stomach turn. "Seeing as how this is the first time you haven't snuck out at dawn, what else am I supposed to think?" she retorts.
His eyes narrow. "Have you never thought that I left to protect you? That I leave for your sake?" he snarls, his hands moving to claw at the air and he stalks toward her. "Has it never occurred to you that I despise myself every time I return to hurt you again?"
"Shut up," she snaps, her hands trembling around the heat of the coffee mug. The agony of arguing is doubled by the hangover and her control over her maelstrom of emotions is tenuous at best. Of course he would choose this morning to remain and confront her about things between them. She gestures toward the door with shaking fingers. "If you don't want to be here, then go."
"Do you not hear what I am saying?" he shouts, and the volume of his voice makes her flinch, but he presses on, now pacing alongside her bed. He whirls to face her as he reaches the foot of the bed. "I want to be here more than anything in the world. I hate every moment I waste thinking of you instead of coming over here, and I hate awakening without you. I hate leaving. Every time I am here with you, leaving tears me apart all over again."
"Then why do you do it? Why leave if you hate it so much?" she yells, sitting up. She realizes that she's naked when the sheet slips down and she snatches it up, sloshing coffee over her thigh and hissing at the pain. Tears prick her eyes and she sets her mug aside, wrapping the sheet around herself in a final effort at dignity.
Fenris looks away. "I... cannot stay," he whispers.
Rage fills her, fueled by the agony of her hangover and his announcement. "Why come back if you're only going to leave? And why leave if you're just going to come back?" she demands, gesturing with one furious hand as the other clutches her sheet over her skin. Against her will, a frustrated sob escapes her throat. "I can't do this anymore. I'm tired of your games and your indecision."
"My games?" he asks, a low note of fury entering his voice. He steps up and grasps her wrist in his hand, his gauntlet cold against her bare skin. "This is not a game, Hawke."
She shakes her head with growing vehemence, in spite of the waves of vertigo it causes, as if to ward away his announcement. But she knows how true his words are, as much as she wants to follow Isabela's advice. Hawke closes her eyes against the sight of his face and the plea embedded deep within his glare. "Just go, Fenris," she whispers. "If you want to leave, then go."
His hand tightens around her wrist. And then he crouches down in front of her and clasps both of her hands in his again, like that night he held them in a prayer pose as they slept. Her stomach warms at the memories. Green eyes bore into hers, sorrowful and hungry and lost. "I am yours. And you are mine." His lips scrape over her knuckles and he breaths against her hand for a moment before he speaks again. "It will take as long as it takes."
This time, before he leaves he kisses her goodbye. She bites his lip before she kisses him back and then watches as he shuts the door behind him. Her mouth tingles with the memory of his and she can't stop herself from reaching up to touch her lips with her fingers as she recalls their kiss throughout the day.