Author's Note: I apologize for the long delay in updates. My current circumstances are not very conducive to writing fanfiction, unfortunately. But I was sifting through my old, unfinished stories and found this gem. This is definitely one of the stories I am a little more proud of and I will try to finish it, though I am certain that the end result will not be as good as it might have been had I never stopped writing.

To answer a reviewer question: The term "drag" wouldn't quite apply to this time period, I believe. The fairies of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries were, for all intents and purposes, seen as a different breed of "woman." Anders (and the other fairies that will be introduced shortly) would have dressed in a feminine manner partly because he liked it but mostly because it was the attire that made his clients more comfortable in his company. This does not, of course, apply to all fairies of the era, I'm certain, but it's the way I am using the idea.

That being said, I wouldn't take my word as written gospel. This is how I understand the time period and this subculture based on my own limited research. (Honestly, my focus is in ancient historical studies, so this whole "modern" time period is quite a bit out of my comfort zone, but I wanted to write the story anyways. ) And I agree with you completely about AUs; I normally avoid reading or writing them, but this idea was too enticing.

Four

West Downtown Tenements

6:12 PM

"So did that big guy taste as delicious as he looked?"

"Mm, you should have invited us to join you, Anders. I think that one was too much man for you alone."

Anders smiled, shaking his head as he took a light draw from his cigarette. His friends were good people, but a bit more flamboyant than Anders thought necessary. Jethann—a slight little redhead—was currently wearing a tight-fitting white lace dress that swept down over his dainty feet. There was a light dusting of make-up over his face—a little color around the eyes, cheeks, and on the lips—and if it weren't for the slightly deeper tone of his voice, it would have been rather easy for Jethann to pass as a woman.

The other fairy was newer to the area, though he had managed to ingratiate himself in their small circle easily enough. He called himself "Serendipity" and normally wore a bit too much make-up to pass for a good-looking woman, but still he drew in his fair share of customers. Anders knew them both as good people and was normally glad to share any of his spoils with them. But Garret was different…the bartender was something Anders wanted for himself.

"Don't be a tease, Anders!" Jethann whined. "Tell us!"

"There's nothing to say."

"Oh, you beast! Always taunting me!"

Anders chuckled. "No, I mean there's nothing to say because nothing happened. He saved me from some hoodlums in an alley and I brought him here to tend the wound he incurred on my behalf. He slept for a few hours, I made him breakfast, and then he left. That's all that happened."

He straightened the folds of his coat, allowing that to sink in. Occasionally Anders would dress in the fairy fashion with frilly skirts and slender boots; today he was clad in a simple tunic and trousers with a long, dark brown overcoat to protect against the growing chill. He had no intention of working this day so it wasn't necessary to look the part.

"You had…that man in your house…" Jethann began, each word drawn out, "and you did nothing?"

"I thought I knew you!" Serendipity threw a hand across his brow in a sign of mock distress. Anders just smiled, though the gesture did not reach his eyes.

"Well, if you don't want him, I guess that makes him open game!" Jethann was beaming now, a devious light in his bright blue eyes.

Anders glared at the slighter man. "Don't even think about it. He's a good kid and I won't have you spoiling him."

"Oh? So now you're protecting him?" The redhead narrowed his eyes, regarding his blonde friend with careful precision. "What aren't you telling us, Anders?"

Rising to his feet, Anders dropped the butt of his cigarette, grinding it into the cement with the heel of his boot. "I suggest you let the matter drop. I'm going to go get a drink. If I see either of you two near him, trust that I'll skin you."

The fairies stared after him as Anders strode purposefully down the street. It wasn't like their friend to act in such a manner; it wasn't like him to get attached. Serendipity turned to Jethann, one narrow brow raised.

"Well, that was odd. I'm still tempted to try my own hand at the boy."

"That wouldn't be wise," Jethann warned, shaking his head. "I've only seen that look in Anders's eyes once before, and…well…let's just say that you don't want to end up like the last person who crossed him."

Serendipity sighed gustily. "You're no fun."

"Oh, cheer up, my friend! Let's go find our own tasty young men."

They shared a conspiratorial smile as they straightened their dresses and headed down the street. Behind them, Anders continued to walk away, and as Jethann spared a glance over his shoulder, he suddenly wondered why it was the space seemed so far.

The Hanged Man

6:49 PM

Fenris was sitting at the bar, glaring up at Garret who was laughing nervously. The young man had tried to tell the officer a joke, but apparently the fair-haired man was in no mood for laughter this night. Fenris had already thrown back at least three glasses of hard liquor and there was a glaze in his eyes that meant he could turn dangerous at any moment.

"You're a fool, Hawke."

"Not the worst thing I've been called, I suppose. You want another?"

"Of course I do, fool."

Garret never took Fenris's sour attitude personally; it was just the way the man was. Whatever had brought him to this point was none of the bartender's business; the only thing he had to do was try to keep everyone happy so that they continued to bring their business here. Keeping Fenris happy—though sometimes a practice in futility—was doubly important so that he would continue to keep the bar under the authorities' radar.

As he poured the officer another drink, Isabela made her way to the bar. She leaned up against the wood in just a way that instantly drew Fenris's eyes to her cleavage. Pretending to ignore him, she whispered conspiratorially to Garret:

"I have a surprise for you, my dear!"

Garret groaned. "I swear, Isabela, that every time you say that, I age a couple of years. What is it this time?"

"Well, if you're going to be like that, maybe I shouldn't tell you."

"Then don't."

She huffed at him, glancing over at Fenris who had still not torn his gaze away from her displayed chest. "Tell Hawke to stop being stubborn, Fen."

"He's a fool. Of course he's going to be stubborn."

"Face, Fen. Up here."

"I know."

Isabela giggled, which caused her breasts to jiggle slightly against the bar. Fenris took a sip from his drink, never once breaking his stare. Garret rolled his eyes at the pair.

"Do you need something to do, Izzie? I could use a waitress. Norah's out sick today."

The woman scoffed, straightening her spine as she held one hand to her chest as if he had just insulted her. "Me? A waitress? My dear, I think you've lost your mind! Lean forward, let mama Izzie feel your brow."

She tried to reach across the bar for his face and Garret playfully slapped her hand away. They wrestled like this for a few moments—Fenris scowling into his drink—before Garret realized that another customer had approached the bar. He quickly fought Isabela back, smiling widely as he turned to the familiar blonde man seated to his right. Anders smiled up at him; Garret's feet became tangled as he turned and in a matter of seconds, he found himself in a jumbled heap on the floor.

Isabela clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle her laughter; Fenris smirked into his drink. Anders stood up so he could lean over the bar, looking down at Garret in warm amusement.

"Are you all right?"

"Y-Yes! Ah…I…" Garret leapt to his feet, hands moving to straighten his clothes as he fought down the blush burning at his cheeks and neck. There was really no way to recover from this humiliation; Anders's face had been the last thing he expected to see. And yet…from the way his heartbeat had quickened, Garret realized that he was actually excited.

"Very smooth, Hawke," Isabela remarked, giggling. She turned to Fenris, threading her arm into his as she led him away from the bar. When they had gotten a few steps away, she stopped and looked over her shoulder with an impish glint in her eyes: "Oh, I almost forgot: surprise!"

Garret glared at the pair as they moved to a corner table, waiting until they were seated before he turned his attention back to Anders. He was nervous, just like he had been the first time. The only difference was that Anders was dressed in a rather plain fashion as opposed to his somewhat flamboyant attire from the night before. But he was no less captivating.

"So…um…what brings you here?"

"I wanted to apologize for my behavior this morning," Anders began.

"Oh, um, don't…worry."

"I also wanted to make sure that your arm is healing all right. I'm confident that my poultice will work its magic, but all the same it doesn't hurt to double-check." Anders motioned to the bartender's bandaged arm. "May I?"

Garret offered the limb in question across the bar, watching—enraptured—as Anders's slender fingers removed the stained bandages with careful, practiced movements. Inch by inch, the knife-wound was revealed. The puncture was rimmed by slightly upraised red skin, throbbing slightly as the open air hit it. Garret had nursed such injuries before and so he knew that it was healing, but still he waited for Anders to announce his own prognosis.

"It looks good. Keep it clean and wrapped for a couple of days more just to avoid infection."

The man then pulled a roll of fresh white bandages from his coat pocket and began to wrap the wound once more with just as much care he had used to unwrap the old bandage. Garret savored the feel of those elegant fingers brushing against his bare flesh.

"Are you…a healer?" he asked.

"In my spare time."

"I see." Anders tied the end of the bandage and Garret reluctantly drew his arm back across the bar. "You're very good."

Anders smiled. "Thank you."

"So, uh…can I get you a drink?"

"Brandy, please."

Most of their customers preferred to drown their sorrows in a glass of whiskey or scotch; the Hanged Man's brandy supply had hardly been touched. Garret made a mental note to make sure they kept the liquor stocked in case Anders started making these visits a routine thing. He would be a valuable customer, Garret told himself as he poured the requested drink. Anders thanked him and took a small sip, full lips hugging the rim of the glass in a way that made the bartender instantly hard. Garret tried to discreetly adjust his pants as Anders's gaze focused on him once more.

They chatted for a while, learning little bits and pieces about one another as the night wore on. Garret found himself relaxing in the man's company, even laughing and telling the repertoire of crude jokes he always kept at hand. Unlike Fenris, Anders found him amusing and the blonde's laugh was like a heady drug: Garret wanted more.

It was nearing nine 'o'clock when Anders finally decided it was time for him to leave. He thanked Garret for the drinks and the conversation and tried to pay for the three empty brandy glasses sitting on the bar in front of him, but Garret waved his money away.

"Tonight's on the house. It's the least I can do to repay you for breakfast and your healing."

Anders gifted him with another charming smile that instantly sent Garret's knees to quivering.

"Thank you, Garret. Have a good night."

"W-wait!" Anders turned, curious. Garret fought back a nervous blush. "I, um, are you going to be all right walking home alone?"

"I'll be careful. It helps that I'm not wearing an expensive coat tonight."

"Yes, but, well…I could walk you home if you wanted. The gangs are less likely to attack a pair."

"That's a sweet offer, but aren't you still working?"

Garret looked around the saloon: there were only a few patrons still drinking; the rest had either stumbled home or retreated to one of the back rooms with a prostitute. The only other "employee" still downstairs was Isabela, who was very tipsy and looking as if she might soon be giving Fenris a personal table dance. Anders had followed his gaze around the room and once their eyes met, he offered a lopsided grin.

"I'll be fine. Finish your shift and go home to your family. Perhaps we'll see one another again someday."

"Well, you know where to find me." Garret tried to make the remark sound witty, but it was still tinged with nervousness.

"Good night, Garret."

"Good night, Anders."

Upper East Apartments

September 30, 12:02 PM

Betrayal.

That was the only way to put it. Carver had betrayed him. The punk had deliberately set out to sabotage him and the only thing Garret wanted at that moment was to bloody the little bastard's smug face.

Carver stood in the hallway, a bag with his few belongings slung over one shoulder; Leandra was seated at the kitchen table, her face buried in her hands as she sobbed silently; Gamlen stood behind her, unsure of what to do and looking very uncomfortable with the whole situation; Garret was blocking the younger man's path to the front door, trying to control his mounting anger.

"Move, Garret," Carver demanded.

"Explain this to me again: I tell you to get a job, and you join a fucking detective agency? Do you even realize what they are?"

"They are some of the only people fighting against the injustices you perpetuate!"

"They're thugs, you fool! Thugs hired out to the highest bidder to subjugate the lower classes! You talk so high and mighty about how horrible a person I am only to turn around and join up with a band of even worse villains!"

"Get out of my way." Carver's eyes were narrowed dangerously.

"Look at what you're doing to your family!"

"I'm trying to help my family!"

"So this is what you do? Break your mother's heart? Betray your own brother?"

"It always has to be about you, doesn't it? This world is much bigger than you, brother, and it's time I found my place in it!"

"Not like this! Please, Carver, think this through. I'll help you find honest work, far away from this path and my own. We can—"

"NO!"

Garret barely had time to dodge the clumsy fist thrown at his face, ducking down beneath the swing as Carver threw all of his weight into that leading fist. From this position, it was easy for Garret to use the tension in his knees to shoot up and slam his head into his brother's chin, wincing only slightly at the painful impact. Leandra was screaming something from the kitchen, but the brothers were far past hearing her: blood pumping in their ears; adrenaline burning through their veins.

Carver staggered back a couple of steps—blood trickling over his lower lip—and Garret took the opening, launching himself forward with a quick jab to the younger man's chest. What Carver often forgot was that his brother was an ex-hood from a once-reputable gang. Whereas the younger Hawke had always remained under the protective wing of their mother, the older Hawke had fought and bled and honed his muscles as he defended gang territory and punished those who didn't pay their debts. Garret had been fighting for his life from a young age; Carver fought only when it suited him, and those times it was usually a verbal spar.

With the odds weighed against him, it was inevitable that the younger brother would wind up on his back in the hallway, Garret's weight pressing down on his torso as he pummeled the hapless young man senseless. Leandra was pulling at Garret's arms, screaming, but he could hear nothing beyond the roaring of his own anger and see nothing beyond the haze of red edging in around his eyes.

Carver wondered for a brief moment if he might die. It wasn't exactly what he wanted, but in a way even that would manage to damage his brother who would forever be on the run for manslaughter. But at the same time, he was terrified. Seventeen was too young; there was so much he had yet to see, to do, to know, to love…

As suddenly as it had begun, the one-sided fight ended. Garret's fists ceased their assault as he slumped forward, unconscious. Carver looked up through swollen eyes to where Leandra stood, a cast-iron frying pan held in her shaking hands. Tears streamed over her cheeks as she stared down at her sons. There was horror in her eyes as she looked between them, wondering if perhaps she had killed one to save the other.

Gamlen appeared then to move Garret's considerable weight off of Carver who sucked in a lungful of air through bloody teeth. The older man held his hand over Garret's mouth and nose, sighing in relief as warm breath washed over his fingers.

"He's alive." He looked over his shoulder. "Leandra, dear, put the pan away and grab some clean cloths."

She nodded numbly, stumbling into the kitchen. Gamlen turned back to Carver who was struggling to sit up. He sighed again, this time in disappointment.

"You know better, boy. You can hate your brother all you want, but you should know better than to provoke him."

"He desherved eht."

"Be that as it may, you'd best keep in mind that your brother sacrificed a lot to keep your family alive. He may not have the best methods, but he's still a good man and it wouldn't kill you to listen to him every now and again."

Carver started to snort in derision—only to gasp as pain shot through his broken nose. Gamlen just shook his head.

"Let your mother clean you up a bit, and then you are free to go wherever you want. I won't stop you. But make sure that you're doing the right thing, not just what you hope will best anger him."

When Garret finally awoke, Carver was gone. There was little he could do now, and he sorely regretted losing his temper. Had he been able to keep his cool, there might have been a chance Garret could have talked some sense into the impetuous youth. But now…now he wondered if this scar would ever heal between them. If there was anything Carver was good at, it was holding grudges.

And this time, Garret couldn't blame him.

While Leandra mourned the loss of her child and Garret wondered when the chains would be thrown about his wrists, the sky outside let forth a great belch of thunder before it began to pour.