Author's Note: A big "thank you" to those who have reviewed for their kind words. I will try to finish this story even if that means cutting out some of the historical tidbits I had planned inserting within. Lately I have been finding it difficult to separate my "historical-writing brain" from my "creative-writing brain" which makes it a bitch to finish something like this. With classes starting up soon and a little over 20 credit hours to deal with in writing-intensive courses, I won't promise updates will be swift, however.

CONTENT WARNING: This chapter will contain suggestive sexual sequences between two men. It will not be anything that is too explicit (as far as I'm concerned), but it will turn a bit raunchy so if that offends you or whatnot, I would suggest skimming over this chapter. And even though it's probably rather obvious by now, this story contains "strong language" periodically throughout.

Seven

West Downtown Tenements

October 26, 5:29 PM

Days had passed and still Garret had not left Anders's side—except for the few brief hours in which he had returned home to assuage him mother's worries before heading to the Hanged Man to inform Varric that he would need to take some leave in order to deal with some personal business. Varric hadn't been overly pleased—after all, he was counting on Garret to go back out with Zevran and transport the rest of his shipment—but had agreed in the end. They had plenty of stock thanks to the first transport and the Italian had assured him that the rest would remain secure.

Anders's bruise ointment worked magically as his face began to look more normal the second day of Garret's stay. By the third day, Anders was able to walk with only a little stiffness; today, he was almost back to his normal self and the pair were seated at Anders's little dining table playing a game of cards.

Garret had always enjoyed a casual game of Poker, but never really got the chance to play since Isabela always insisted that they play Strip Poker and Carver had never wanted to learn. Anders, though, knew the game well and he was more than happy to just sit and play a few hands with Garret during the long nights.

In a way, Garret felt as if he had never been more at peace in his life. He didn't want his time here to end, but knew that it would have to soon enough. Before, his insistence on staying had been wholly for Anders's benefit—disregarding the fact that the fairy's friends would have gladly stayed to watch over him. Anders had tried to get him to go home during the first couple of days only to relent under the young man's stubbornness. Now, though, there was really no reason for Garret to stay. Anders was well enough to take care of himself and surely any moment he would ask Garret to leave.

Perhaps it was better to walk away before that happened; maybe that would make the pain just a little less acute.

Anders laid his cards down on the table, smirking triumphantly over his heart flush. Garret cursed and threw his own hand down with its pathetic pair of Jacks. Laughing, Anders gathered the cards together and began shuffling.

Now or never, Garret told himself, wishing it could be never.

"I guess…I should go home now." He slowly levered himself out of his chair, not looking at Anders lest his resolve crumble. "I mean…I'm sure you want your house back to yourself."

"Oh." Anders stopped shuffling, staring down at the deck of cards in his hands. After a moment, he looked up at Garret with a forced smile. "Well, it'll certainly be quieter, I suppose."

Mistaking the try at humor, Garret felt his heart clench. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overstay my welcome." He quickly stepped away from the table; it was as if in that moment, the comfort he had become accustomed to in Anders's presence faded away. He felt like a nervous child again. "I'm…glad you're feeling better. …Bye."

Garret started for the door. Anders watched him go, completely baffled. One moment, they were laughing and joking and acting like good friends; the next, Garret turned into a nervous wall and spoke as if Anders were some kind of angry, authoritative figure.

He didn't want Garret to leave; having the young man here had been…fun. Relaxing. Comfortable. All things that Anders hadn't experienced in a long, long time. Garret's presence was like a soothing balm to his tattered soul and now more than ever, Anders desired him in a way that went beyond friendship. Perhaps it was time to push the young man and see where his feelings lay.

Garret found that he was experiencing a strong déjà vu as Anders walked up behind him and grasped his bicep, pressing the front of his lean body against the young man's side and effectively stopping Garret from leaving. It was all the same, and yet…there was something different this time.

"You don't have to leave, Garret," Anders murmured, gently resting his free hand on the small of the young man's back. "Please…stay."

Déjà vu, and yet this time…this time Garret turned back around. His heart pounded painfully beneath his collarbone as he looked down the few inches into Anders's hypnotic honey-colored eyes. The blonde was smiling at him, the hand on his back moving up to circle Garret's neck. There was still a part of Garret that rebelled against this, but it was losing power as Anders's hand began to apply pressure and his head began to crane forward. Closer and closer, the mixed smell of musk and herbs filling the young man's senses…

When their lips met, an involuntary moan escaped Garret's throat. Instinct led him to wrap his arms around Anders's back so that he could pull the fairy closer, melding their bodies together in a tantalizing embrace. Garret reveled in the warmth that emanated from the blonde's body; in the way that their frantic pulses seemed to be beating as one heart.

Anders pushed his tongue past Garret's slightly parted lips, plundering the younger man's mouth. Garret moaned again, crushing Anders even closer. His pants were uncomfortably tight: the friction of fabric on flesh was beginning to drive him insane. Growling, Garret nudged Anders backwards in the direction of the bed. The blonde smiled against his lips as he obeyed.

Eager hands worked to unbutton shirts and pants as they stumbled towards the bed, their lips only leaving one another long enough to draw a swift breath. Anders's hand on his chest forced Garret to pause, panting. The blonde smiled up at him—beautiful—and slowly ran his hands up and under the younger man's shirt. Silk-smooth fingers traced the taut muscles of Garret's chest, moving higher and higher. Biting his lip to suppress a groan, Garret lifted his arms to allow Anders to remove the shirt; once it was gone, the fairy took a step back to survey the uncovered ground. A low rumble rolled up from Anders's chest into his throat: a sound of abject appreciation that sent strong waves of tension straight to Garret's groin.

"Beautiful," Anders breathed, mirroring Garret's earlier thought. Honey eyes raked up the planes of Garret's chest to meet gold, arresting the younger man and sending chills down his spine.

Helpless—though willingly so—Garret watched as Anders's slim fingers moved to the waistband of his trousers. The minute those silken fingertips touched the tender flesh of his lower stomach, Garret moaned; his hands fisted at his sides, knuckles white from a lack of blood-flow, in an effort to resist crushing the fairy to himself once more. As much as he desired to hasten events—to feel those lips on him once more—Garret forced himself to stand still and watch.

Anders's fingers made short work of the clasps on Garret's trousers; before the younger man could even register what was happening, those fingers had then dipped inside, cupping Garret's ample manhood through the thin cloth of his underclothes. Growling, Garret surged forward suddenly, crushing Anders in his arms before throwing them both back on the bed.

Just as Garret moved to capture Anders's lips in another heated kiss, he noticed that something was wrong: the skin around the fairy's eyes and mouth was drawn taught; his skin tone had gone pallid. Leaning back a bit, Garret realized that Anders was trembling, cold sweat soaking through the fabric of his shirt and trousers. Noticing Garret's hesitation, Anders plastered on a weak smile and started to wrap his legs around the bigger man's waist—only to wince in pain as the motion pulled against something that was still oh-so painfully raw.

"A-Anders?" Garret breathed raggedly as he shifted his weight off of the slim man.

"I…I guess…" Anders began, his speech clipped with pain. "I guess…that my body…has not…fully healed." Meekly smiling up at Garret, he continued, "I'm…sorry."

"Don't apologize…" Garret rasped, mind racing in an attempt to cool the fire raging in his groin. His eyes swept over Anders's trembling body before resting on the junction of the fairy's legs where a red stain had begun to form.

It was then that the full impact of the attack on Anders hit him: a stone fist straight through his gut that ripped away everything and left behind an aching chasm. Heat began to build within him, filling and then overflowing until all that Garret could see was a haze of dark crimson. That anger—that deadly emotion his father had tried to tame—snapped at its chains like a wild beast caught deep within the young man's very being.

"Who?" Garret asked in a low, dangerous tone.

"It doesn't matter—"

Garret leaned over Anders's prone form, one rough hand turning the fairy's chin so that he was forced to look into the golden pools of broiling fury that were Garret's eyes.

"Who?" Garret asked again in a way that, while so quiet, left the taste of murder on Anders's suddenly dry tongue. When Anders shook his head, the young man leapt back and propelled himself across the room where, with an animalistic snarl, he buried his fist in the wall next to Anders's lone window. The cheap wood gave easily beneath the assault, revealing a hollow, bloody hole of rotten boards when Garret removed his fist and began pacing the length of the room, growling and seemingly oblivious to the mess of his knuckles.

It was in that moment Anders realized that the coldness gripping his chest was not mere fear, but outright terror. When Garret had defended him that night from the hoods in the alley, Anders had witnessed the young man's anger first-hand; but he had not realized how deep the disease ran. Where was the young man who had treated his wounds with such gentle hands? Where was the stammering, adorable fool who had refused to embrace his own feelings?

Levering himself off of the bed carefully, Anders moved towards Garret slowly, hands raised before him and his voice gentle as if he were approaching a skittish dog.

"Garret," he murmured, trying to touch the younger man's arm. "Garret, please…"

Garret whirled on him, eyes blazing. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"…What?" Anders stared at him, terror giving way to utter surprise.

"Why didn't you tell me what they did to you?" Garret demanded in a snarl.

Now it was Anders's turn to swell with anger. "Why didn't I tell you?" Surging forward—his pain momentarily forgotten—Anders slapped Garret across his right cheek before the younger man could react. Face aching, Garret looked at Anders askance. The unbridled fury had faded to the background as shock flooded his features.

"How dare you," Anders seethed, body now trembling with rage instead of agony. "I didn't tell you because it was none of your god-damned business! Besides, what did you want me to say? 'Oh, and by the way, after they beat me to a pulp, they fucked me!' Is that what you wanted to hear, Garret?"

The young man said nothing, just stared.

"I know the dangers of my occupation," Anders continued, honey-colored eyes livid. "I let my guard down and I paid the price, but no matter what that is my business! Is it not bad enough that it happened? I will carry the consequences of my carelessness to my grave, so don't you dare come into my home and behave as if you have some kind of control over my life!"

The pair stood in stony silence, staring into one another's eyes. After a few moments, there came an insistent pounding on Anders's front door, followed by the muffled voice of Jethann: "Anders? Is everything all right?"

Finally, Anders lowered his gaze, eyelids sliding shut as he sighed deeply. When he raised those honey-colored eyes to look at Garret once more, the young man noticed that the outrage had slipped into exhaustion. For the first time since they had met, Garret saw not the beautiful fairy that had bewitched him all those weeks ago; he saw only a man who had been beaten down one too many times by the weight of the world that seemed to have settled on his shoulders. Anders was worn; tired; small…

"I think you should leave," Anders said, voice barely above a whisper.

"Is that what you want?" Garret asked, surprised a bit by the deadness in his own voice.

For a brief second, those honey-colored eyes flickered with life. But it was not the normal kind of light that Garret had grown accustomed to; rather, it was a deep sorrow he saw glint in those ochre depths. Garret knew his answer before the word had hit the open air, but it didn't make it hurt any less.

"Yes."

Without another word, Garret fastened the clasp to his trousers, grabbed his discarded shirt, and made his way to the door. Jethann waited on the other side and looked as if he were about to start in on the young man—but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the look in Garret's eyes. He hadn't known the dark-haired young man long, but Jethann realized that there was nothing safe about the dead, glassy cast of Garret's gaze. The thought that this man could easily crush his skull in one large hand and probably not even blink ran through Jethann's mind and he shivered.

"Go home, Jethann," Anders said from within the room after Garret's footsteps had disappeared down the stairs.

"But, are you sure—"

Anders turned towards him, gaze flinty. "Go home. I have some business to take care of."

Jethann swallowed nervously as he eased the door shut. "Whatever you say, Anders. You know where to find me if you need anything."

But it was obvious the blonde man was beyond hearing. When the door clicked closed, Jethann found that a hollowness had begun to grow within his breast; the distance between him and his friend continued to grow, and he wondered if either of them would be able to clear the empty chasm between them before it was too late.