5. The Promise

or, in which Anders angsts like no other, and Snarky!Hawke is wilier than anyone ever gives him/her credit for.

Disclaimer: Don't own DA2.

"Trash. Trash. Keep."

You're trash.

"Keep. Trash. … Keep."

Hear me? Trash, Anders. This isn't my fault. I'm a spirit of Justice. It would have been fine if not for your effing body. You're a corruption.

"Trash. Trash."

Say something. Don't be so quiet. You've always been too quiet—you would never speak up for the mages on your own.

"… Trash. Trash."

You need me. I've never needed you.

"Trash."

Garbage, Anders. You're trash. Do you hear me? Dammit, Anders, listen to me!

"Anders?"

He didn't expect to hear anyone else—it takes him a moment to realize this voice isn't in his head. Justice lets out a faint snarl, and then, like a cat too lazy to chase its prey, sinks back into the shadows in Anders's mind. They both watched her sidle up next to him. Her face is unreadable, but only to someone who doesn't know her. When she doesn't want people to know what she's thinking, she smiles. It's only when she's too worn down to pretend that she lets herself look this tired, this serious.

She surveys the table, covered with Anders's belongings, for a long, wordless moment, and then tries to grin. It's a painful attempt and hits Anders dully like a blow to the stomach.

"Yard sale?"

Desperately, he almost laughs, and then doesn't. "Hawke."

The smile slips. "Not Ariadne?"

"No."

"All right," she shrugs, like, whatever, I don't care, and he can't tell if he's upset her or not. She leans against the table next to him, crossing her arms. "So what is all this 'trash-keep' business, then?"

"Self-explanatory, isn't it?"

"So maybe I'm oblivious."

"I'm leaving," he snaps, slamming his hands down on the table. "There. Happy?"

"Is that a trick question?" she wonders, still as relaxed as ever. "Am I happy about it? Do you honestly expect me to say yes?"

"You don't want me gone?" he demands, turning to face her for the first time. For a moment he thinks he sees apology in her eyes, or maybe pity, but it's gone before he can be sure. "Ari—Hawke, you saw me! I would have murdered Ella. I'm a danger to everyone I've been trying to help." His knuckles whiten, hands knotted into fists. "I'm not putting myself in that situation again," he growls. "I have to go while I still can."

"You're giving up?" Delicately, she arches an eyebrow. "I suppose that's a new one. How long until this phase blows over?"

"This isn't a phase!" he snaps. "Hawke, do you understand what nearly happened in there? If you hadn't been there—"

"But I was there!" Her voice rises for the first time, growing louder and more brittle as it does. She hesitates a moment, getting herself under control, and then forges on. "I was there to stop you. And I'll be here for as long as I have to, unless you run away first."

He stops, looking at the table full of half-packed belongings without really seeing them. She looks so hurt, so angry, and she seems almost as startled by it as he is. Ariadne has no trouble saying what she thinks—if anything, she should learn to keep her mouth shut once in a while—but he's so used to her playing it off, making everything into a joke.

"You're a better friend than I deserve," he murmurs, not looking up from the table, choosing his words carefully. Friend, he says deliberately, and not anything else. She doesn't deserve to be stuck with him. "But you're putting too much faith in me. I can't do this." Maker, why is she making him say this? She must know—not just everything he's saying, but how he's tried to keep it from her. "I know I said I could control it, but I can't, Ariadne. Everything I do, I'm proving them right. I can't stand up for the mages when I'm an example of everything they hate most."

He doesn't see her move before her hand is on his shoulder, forcing him to look at her. He expected anger, but can't find any in her face. She looks a little bit scared by him, and something else. Shocked? No, sadder than that. She's looking at him as if she can't stand to see this.

"Then don't be," she says softly, earnestly, staring him straight in the eyes. "You're not an abomination. You're Anders. And I'm going to help you stay in control."

"And if you can't?"

She grins, wide and impossible to doubt. "Didn't you hear me? I will."

Justice stirs, raising his head. It's impossible to miss the venom in his voice. And I suppose that when she threatened to kill you, it was all in the name of protecting you too. Or was she just kidding? Got to love a girl with a sense of humor, eh, Anders?

It's a reasonable, if sarcastic point. He raises an eyebrow. "So… that thing about gutting me?"

"Disembowel," she corrects, and the grin hesitates and shrinks slightly. "Anders, I… look, right then I was—"

"Right," he interrupts. "Ariadne, you were right to be angry—"

"Oh, I know," she cuts back in, her eyes sparkling with humor for a moment. "And I was serious about that. But I said it wrong. It's not that I'm going to hurt you. I don't want to do that. But I won't watch you hurt yourself either." When she meets his eyes hers are more reassuring than any he's ever seen. They're warm and sincere, sure, and that's nice, but there's steel in them, and for a moment he feels safer than he ever has since he took on the spirit. "I'm going to make sure no one hurts you," Ariadne tells him, never taking her eyes off his. "Including yourself. Including Justice."

Anders blinks; Justice recoils. There's an edge to her voice in the last words, a hidden sharpness, like a knife wrapped in velvet. They drive home, incisive, and she sees the shock on Anders's face, the how-much-does-she-know followed by the dull shit-now-she-knows-for-sure.

"Don't leave, Anders. Not just yet." To his shock, she pats his cheek once, almost playfully, and turns to amble out of the clinic. The smile on her face is childish, cheeky. If Justice were a human, he would have stopped breathing.

Does she know?

No way to know who had asked first.

Shit, the spirit whispers. She's smart, Anders. She's smarter than anyone gives her credit for.

I gave her credit.

You could have let me know.

I was thinking it. You just don't like her.

Justice pauses, abruptly defensive. I'm not as enamored as you are, if that's what you mean. And by 'not as enamored', I mean I haven't wanted to do her for four years. There is a brief moment where Anders chokes a little bit and Justice seems to smirk, and then the spirit continues. One of us needs to be thinking rationally. I think she's a threat.

And she thinks you are.

The spirit is silent for a moment, but his presence is chilling, trickling down his spine like ice water. And what do you think? asks Justice finally, much too casually.

Anders wavers. I think you're both trying to do the right thing.

We can't both be right, Justice murmurs, almost too softly for Anders to hear, and then falls silent. The conversation, Anders senses, is over, even if he isn't quite sure what has changed. He watches the door a moment longer—hearing don't go, Anders, thinking despite himself that she seemed to really mean it—and then turns to unpack.

I've realized belatedly that the rivalry romance with Anders is so much better than the friendly one. Just me, or are they more fun in general than regular romance? Haven't seen Isabela or Merrill so I don't know about those...

Reviews are always appreciated!