The thing about developing a tolerance for loneliness was that it was easily lost, and once lost, it took a long time to build the tolerance back up again.

At least, that's how Anders was feeling a couple of days after Fenris had recovered enough to go back to his manor. Even though the elf had only stayed in the clinic for two days, the healer seemed to have grown used to him in that short time. Although Fenris didn't say much, he had given Anders someone to talk to and when he did speak he could be surprisingly insightful.

Except when it came to the subject of mages, of course. Fenris stubbornly insisted that that mages in general had too much power and too little self control not to need someone watching over them. But Anders found he couldn't hate him for that reason alone anymore. Fenris at least had some justification for thinking that way. Hawke had always supported the templars, to the point of letting his sister be dragged off to the gallows without a protest, and Anders had still fancied himself in love with the man.

Thoughts of Hawke still brought about a little pang in his chest, although these days it was less heartache and more…generalized yearning. Sexual frustration seemed to work the same as loneliness, as far as building up a tolerance and then losing it.

For three years he had lain awake aching for Hawke, but it was as much longing for the kind of partnership he had with Karl as it was about sex. But although it hadn't seemed to satisfy the warrior, the night he had spent with Hawke had awakened his urges to a level he hadn't felt since he was a much younger man. Lately he had been having wild, sensual dreams and waking up with his sheets stained. Surprisingly, those dreams had featured a certain lyrium-enhanced elf just as often as Hawke. Maybe not so surprisingly, he thought bitterly, since he seemed to have no sense at all when it came to these things.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a man and woman carrying a blanket-wrapped child into the clinic. They were dressed as poorly as most Darktown residents, and by the man's look of grim resignation and the woman's tear streaked face, Anders could guess that there was something very wrong with the child.

The man introduced himself as Viktor, his wife as Meera and his son as Jerrick. He explained that their son had always been sickly since birth and no healer had ever been able to do anything about it. But now he had picked up one of the illnesses that lurked in the damp of the undercity, and he was failing rapidly.

Anders motioned them to set the boy on the exam table while he washed his hands, and then he carefully unwrapped the blanket so he could get his first look at his patient. Once he did it felt as if his heart was being squeezed in his chest and he just knew that this was going to be a very bad day.

The enormous eyes sunken deep in that wizened little face could have belonged to a child of five, or a man of eighty. The muscles in his arms and legs were so atrophied they could have never borne his weight. His lips and fingertips were blue, and he was breathing in wheezing gulps, the struggle to take in air making his chest so concave it looked like it must be hitting against his back. Anders could tell just from the sound that his lungs were filled with fluid.

While he was examining him, Jerrick looked up at him with a calm, patient gaze that was completely devoid of hope. The healer found himself blinking rapidly, and he had to take a few steadying breaths before he tentatively reached out with his magic.

If Anders had to explain how his healing worked, he would say that it was as if the magic reached out to the healthy parts of the body in order to draw upon it and even copy it over the broken parts. That was how he knit flesh back together, healed bones, cleansed wounds. Now, his magic reached into the boy and there was nothing healthy to draw on. Whatever sickness he had been born with had spread throughout his vital organs and into the depths of his bones.

Anders set his shoulders and threw himself into the act of healing anyway. He was nothing if not stubborn, and he knew he had to at least try. The hours passed as he drained himself of mana over and over, applying poultices to the boys chest each time that he waited to regain some energy. The entire time the man sat nearby comforting hi wife, who cried and prayed until she was hoarse. It was no use, his magic had nothing to grasp at and the most it did was make the boy's breathing a little easier.

Sometime during late afternoon he was applying another poultice when Jerrick coughed weakly a few times and then grew still. Anders had nothing left in him to magically start his breathing again and he stood over the little body, trying to think of something he could say. He felt a strong hand on his shoulder and when he looked at Viktor the man gave him a weak smile.

"I know you did your best, we had hoped…but we knew he wasn't strong."

Anders wanted to say he was sorry, but before he could speak he was cut off by a shriek and a flurry of hands batting at his face.

"You monster! You killed my son! I knew we couldn't trust you, I knew it…"

Viktor grabbed her arms and gave her a little shake, pulling her back away from Anders. He sounded like he was struggling for control but his voice was still patient,

"Meera! We discussed this before we came; we knew how unlikely it was that he would…live."

The woman pulled away and launched herself at her son's body, scooping him up in her arms and wailing senselessly. Viktor looked as if he were going to say more, but then just gave the healer a little nod. He put his arms around his wife and steered her out of the clinic. Anders could hear her crying all the way down the stairs, growing fainter and fainter until it was lost in the sounds of the undercity.

He staggered backwards into a chair, sagging forward with his elbows on his knees. Hot drops of water splashed onto his hands, but he didn't realize he was crying until he blinked and felt the wetness on his face. His magic so rarely ever failed him when he was healing, but when it did it left him devastated.

Anders reached into his head for consolation from his passenger spirit, but Justice had retreated into the recesses of his mind. There were certain things about the mortal world that Justice couldn't reconcile, things that seemed to deny whether justice could really exist in this realm. A child who had begun dying the moment he was born was one of them.

Anders rubbed his hand across his face and tried to gather himself, finally standing up on shaky feet. No matter what the spirit thought, tonight he needed a drink.