Hawke entered the clinic just as the first of the refugees started to arrive, and he and Anders were kept busy for the next several hours. Hawke had spoken to Walter again upon his arrival, asking the youngster to inform him when the Guard complement changed over. Although Hawke didn't doubt Varric's promise to keep Fenris company and escort him to the barracks, the thought of the slavers' presence in Kirkwall weighed heavily on his mind.

It was a huge relief to Hawke, therefore, when Walter informed him that the Guard had changed over at seven bells, and the new complement comprised Donnic, two others and a new guard who wore a helm, and had the build of an elf.

After that, Hawke, who had been a little quieter than was usual, relaxed and actually started to enjoy himself. Some of the more genial refugees helped Hawke and Anders out: one man, Drake, had served under General Loghain and had survived Ostagar. Having had some medical training, he set up a triage for the wounded, which took a huge load off the grateful mages. A number of the women kept the children, some of whom were orphans, occupied, and one of them, a former cook for a noble family named Mallory, had a whip-round and arranged for some cheap vegetables and flour to be purchased from the surface. She then made a huge pot of chunky soup for the refugees, and insisted that Hawke and Anders take regular breaks.

"This is what I love about doing this," Anders told Hawke during a lull. "All of these people from different backgrounds, none of whom knew each other before they left Ferelden, have all become friends on the way over and they're all pitching in together. Life down here can be grim sometimes, but this is the part I enjoy. Just look at them."

With an approving nod, Hawke watched the new refugees help each other set up makeshift beds for the night, aided by the 'regulars': the refugees that had been there for longer, or didn't yet have the means to move elsewhere.

"I can't wait to work down here with you, Anders," Hawke enthused. "We could make things so much better for them, you know. With a bit of money behind us, we could set up tutors for the kids – maybe even some of the adults - or have them learn a skill or trade of some kind. That way, they'd be able to stand on their own two feet instead of vegetating down here."

Anders grinned at Hawke, his eyes shining. "I see you've been thinking about this."

"I have. I mentioned it to Sebastian one time, and he said there'd be plenty of volunteers from the chantry to teach the kids their letters. Maybe we could get some of the local merchants and artisans to give a few pointers on starting up businesses, or to actually teach some of their skills? We'd probably have to pay them, but wouldn't it be great?"

Anders laughed. "You have some wonderful ideas, there, Hawke, but where's all this money coming from? I don't charge for my services, remember? The only reason I can keep the clinic going is because I do jobs with you. Lirene helped me out at first, but she's done enough for me."

"Well, I have a few ideas on the money front, as well," Hawke replied. "Varric reckons that we'll all be fabulously wealthy after the expedition, but I'm not relying on that: you know how he exaggerates. There was one thing I thought of, but…you probably won't like it."

"I'm not going to start charging people, Hawke," Anders said, shaking his head.

"No, wait, just hear me out," urged Hawke, holding a hand up. Anders rolled his eyes but nodded.

"I'm not suggesting we charge the refugees; I didn't have a pot to piss in when I came here, and I suspect that most of these people are no better off. No, what I propose is charging the people who can afford it. What about that Seneschal Bran? He was in here again today, all because he can't keep it in his pants. He must be rolling in it. Is it fair that he uses up your resources because of – let's be honest – a self-inflicted illness? What about the guards, the merchants? They're getting a regular wage. You're using your own money to treat these people, yet they could easily afford a few silvers, couldn't they?

Anders's brow creased as he considered Hawke's words.

"I know you love what you do," Hawke went on, "but do you want to be stuck down here forever? Don't you want a place of your own, a family, even? Don't you deserve that? You need to start saving some money for yourself."

A wistful look came into Anders's eyes, then, and he hung his head a little. "That's a nice thought, Hawke, but a family…" He shook his head and sighed.

"Well, even if that's not what you want, there are so many other things you could do. You could still work here, but you need to have a life of some kind outside the clinic. You spent half your life locked up in a Tower. Get yourself out there. Meet someone. Do something for Anders for a change."

"That would be nice, wouldn't it?" Anders considered with a forlorn note in his voice.

"You should listen to your friend," said a voice from behind them. They turned to see Mallory, the refugee who'd made the soup, beaming up at them, her blue eyes twinkling. "You don't want to be stuck down here all the time, Anders. I certainly have no intention of being here forever. I have plans," she added with a bright smile.

"Oh, yes?" grinned Anders. "What are these plans of yours, then?"

"Well, tomorrow I'm going up to the surface to look for work. I'm not fussy: I'll do anything. Well…almost anything," she added with a wink. "Some of the people that came with us on the ship are bemoaning their new lot in life. Not me: I had a decent job before, but fate has placed me on the bottom rung. Nothing to do but work my way back up; moaning's not going to get me anywhere, is it?"

"To be fair, Mallory, some of them have good reason to moan," Anders told her. "I've heard some very sad stories."

"Oh, I'm not arguing with you there, Anders. But have you noticed that the ones who are the most down on their luck are the ones who've helped out today? Some of them just walked in here, got treated by you or Hawke, and left without so much as a please, thank you or kiss my arse. They're the ones I'm talking about: they think they'll have everything handed to them on a plate. Well, they're in for a shock, I can tell you."

"I can't argue with that," said Hawke.

"No, I suppose not," replied Anders thoughtfully. "Well, Mallory, we really appreciate what you've done here, today." Hawke nodded his agreement.

"Call me Mal," she insisted. "And thank you. I think you're both Maker-sent, honestly, I do. Well, you don't want me in your hair; I expect you'll be wanting to get some rest."

"No, it's all right." Anders shrugged his shoulders. "Hawke and I were thinking of having some supper. Any of that soup left?"

"Plenty," she replied. "Shall I warm a bit up for you both?"

"Oh, that's very kind of you," Anders said warmly.

"I've brought some bread and cheese with me," said Hawke. "It's a shame there's not enough for everyone, but it'll go three ways."

"Well, for that, Hawke, you're getting a double helping!" she chirped, and, with another wink, she headed over to the pot to get a fire going.

"She's a spirited lass," commented Hawke. "And she's only a tiny little thing, as well!" He glanced askance at Anders and nudged him. "Pretty, too."

"Hm? Who's pretty?" mumbled Anders, his mind elsewhere.

"Well, if you can tear your eyes off her for a second, maybe you'll know what I'm on about," Hawke joshed.

"Don't know what you mean," Anders replied quickly. "Where's that bread and cheese you mentioned?"

"All right then, Anders; change the subject, by all means."

"Shut up, you," Anders shot back with a smirk. "Speaking of changing the subject, your idea about charging the ones who can afford it? Justice thinks that's fair."

"Well, it's nice to know I have Justice's vote, but I asked you. This is your clinic, Anders. I'm not going to just stroll in here and start laying down the law; I just have a few ideas, that's all. We will need to make some money, though."

Anders thought about this for a moment and nodded. "I do like your ideas. Tell you what, let's get the expedition out of the way first, and, if we're not fabulously wealthy by then, we'll talk seriously, yes?"

"You're on!" Hawke agreed, and, with a slap to Anders's back, the two healers went over to Mallory to see if she needed a hand.

A short time after supper, Mallory cleared away, assisted by Anders, while Hawke began to tidy the clinic. They seemed to be getting on well, and Hawke made a mental note to ask Mallory if she'd like to help out around the clinic more often. If Anders made more friends, Hawke reasoned, then maybe he wouldn't be so fixated on Hawke, or feel left out when he wasn't around. The fact she was a very pretty girl didn't hurt, either.

After bidding goodnight to Mallory, and treating a few more refugees that had wandered in, Anders extinguished the lantern, thus closing the clinic for the night, but left the doors open as he always did in case of an emergency.

Hawke had made some tea and they took a seat on a couple of crates while they drank it.

"Anders, do you think you'll be free tomorrow?" Hawke asked him.

"Why, is there a job?"

"Sort of." Hawke took a deep breath. "The thing is, I've had word that some slavers have arrived in Kirkwall and are hiding up in the mountains. Varric and I suspect that they may be here for Fenris. Now, I know that you and Fenris are not the best of friends, but I could really use you, Anders. There are fifteen of them, and I don't know if one healer will be enough."

"Who else is coming along?" asked Anders.

"Well, me and Fenris, obviously; Varric, and hopefully Beth will come, too. I'll pop into the chantry in the morning and see if Sebastian will help. Might try the alienage, as well, see if Merrill's up for it."

"That's not much against fifteen, Hawke. I'm assuming that some of them will be mages?"

"About half of them," answered Hawke. "And, if we're correct in assuming they've been sent on behalf of Danarius, there's a strong chance that some of them will be blood mages. I need you and I need Justice, Anders: that's the truth."

"All right, Hawke, I'll come for you. It's the least I can do after the help you've given me today."

Hawke released a relieved sigh. "Thanks, Anders; I really appreciate it."

"Actually, I'm surprised that Fenris is prepared to wait until tomorrow; I would have thought he'd be chomping at the bit."

"Erm…he doesn't actually know, yet."

"Eh? How come?" Anders asked.

"If I'd told him, he would have just taken off after them. Neither you nor I would have been able to go with him, and I wasn't about to abandon you after promising I'd help with the next lot of refugees. And Fenris's first shift is tonight. If he hadn't turned up for that, he might have been kicked out of the Guard: he's only on trial. He would then have to go back to the mansion, and I'm just not prepared to let that happen. And there are fifteen of them. We need time to get people together."

Anders nodded and raised his eyebrows. "I can see your point of view, Hawke, but I can't imagine he'll be pleased you kept it from him."

"Oh, he won't be, I'm certain of that. But it's better that he's pissed off with me than dead or captured. I doubt Fenris will see it that way, but I stand by my decision, and I'd do it again."

"Well, I'll stick up for you, Hawke, you know that."

"I don't need anyone to stick up for me, Anders; like I said, I stand by my decision. I'm going to let him finish his shift, and go back to the barracks and sleep, where he's safe. Then I'll tell him."

"Have you…told him…about the other thing?" Anders asked cautiously.

Hawke shook his head, his posture slumping. "I know I should, and I want to…just as much as I don't want to. I almost toldhim earlier today, but…the words just wouldn't come out. I don't know what to do for the best."

Anders shook his head disapprovingly. "I think you do know what's best; you just don't want to do it. Wouldn't it be better to come from you than from someone else, or for him to find out some other way?"

"Someone else?" Hawke asked accusingly.

"No, I'm not going to tell him!" protested Anders. "I know there was that one time when I was being an idiot, but…well, I know it'd kill you for him to find out like that. I won't do that to you, Hawke, I swear."

Hawke released a long breath and rolled his head against his shoulders. "Well, I don't see how else he would find out. I don't use it anymore: I don't need to."

"If you're so confident of him not finding out, then why do you look so worried, Hawke?"

"I just…I just hate lying to him. He's accepted me, as a mage, I mean. It took a lot for him to trust me, and if I were to tell him now, that trust would be destroyed. We'd be finished. But with every second that I don't tell him, I'm deceiving him. Oh, bollocks, Anders…what should I do? I…I don't want to lose him."

For several minutes, neither man spoke, and then Anders stood up, taking Hawke's empty mug. "If I were you, Hawke, I'd tell him. You said that he's accepted you, despite you being a mage. Maybe that means he's prepared to be a little more open-minded? I'm not saying he'll jump for joy, but maybe he'll see that a person who knows blood magic is not necessarily evil. And…" Anders sat back down next to Hawke. "I don't know if you two have…you know, but what if one night you talk in your sleep while he's next to you? Have a dream? Have a visit?"

Hawke stood up, clapping a hand over his mouth in horror. Anders also got to his feet and stood in front of him. "For him to find out like that, Hawke…all right, I'll admit: the thought of that doesn't bother me as much as the thought of how you'd feel. You have to tell, him, Hawke, before things start getting really serious between you."

"Shit," Hawke said shakily. "You-you're right. I have to tell him. This is weighing me down. I'm just…afraid of what he'll do."

Anders placed a comforting hand on Hawke's shoulder. "Look at it this way: he's got to know you, and likes you a lot. He's never met a blood mage who is actually a decent person. He knows that about you already. You just have to make him see that you've denounced your powers and don't use them anymore. It won't be easy, but it'll be a lot easier than him finding out some other way."

Hawke nodded and swallowed hard, feeling the sting of tears at the back of his throat. "Maybe…maybe tomorrow, when we go after Hadriana – if it is her. Maybe seeing her again will reinforce the differences between mages like her and mages like us?"

"Exactly," Anders replied. "And we'd better make sure we kill her. Hopefully then he'll see how much you want to protect him and how much you care about him."

"Maker…this is going to be one of the hardest things I've ever done," Hawke said in a hushed tone, looking at the ground. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Anders replied with a firm nod. His eyes wandered over to the doors, and he cleared his throat noisily. "Speak of the devil," he whispered, nodding over to the doors.

Seeing Fenris and Donnic enter the clinic, Hawke turned away, took a deep breath, plastered a smile across his face and turned around. "Ah…here come our brave defenders!" he said brightly. Donnic strode over and shook Hawke's hand, while Fenris, who had removed his helm upon entering, exchanged a perfunctory nod with Anders for Hawke's sake.

"I don't believe you've met Anders, have you, Donnic?" asked Hawke.

"No, I've not had the pleasure," replied Donnic, reaching for Anders's hand. "I've heard a lot about you, but I've been fortunate enough not to need your services, yet."

Anders shook his hand and smiled. "And I hope that doesn't change. Good to meet you."

"You've really got this place organised, haven't you?" Donnic complimented, looking at the meticulously-arranged array of potions, unguents and balms that sat at one end of the clinic, protected by a magical field, while Hawke grinned at Fenris, who smiled back with his eyes.

"Well, I'd be happy to show you around, if you you'd like?" offered Anders, and Donnic accepted enthusiastically, leaving Hawke and Fenris alone.

"Evening, guardsman," Hawke greeted, looking approvingly at Fenris's new armour.

"Good evening, Fletcher," Fenris replied, his smile moving to his lips.

"How's Bill?" asked Hawke.

"Rested, though I feel him stirring even as we speak," joked Fenris, and Hawke burst out laughing.

"How's your first shift going? Anything exciting happened?"

Fenris shook his head. "Not so far. It's funny," he said thoughtfully. "Donnic told me that most of the other guards abhor shifts in Darktown, but I am quite enjoying it. I…have you to thank for that, Fletcher. I know that you suggested this in order to protect my identity, but I also feel like…like I…" He shrugged his shoulders.

"Like you belong?" Hawke ventured.

"Yes," Fenris answered with a warm smile. "I want you to know how grateful I am. I…may not always show it, but…"

"I know." Hawke glanced over his shoulder, and, seeing that Anders and Donnic were deep in conversation, he reached for Fenris's hand and gave it a squeeze before releasing it. "You called me Fletcher."

"I did." Fenris cleared his throat and glanced down at his chest. "What do you think of my armour?" he asked.

"You're wearing your old breastplate," Hawke observed.

"The new one will not be ready for another few days. What do you think of the rest of it?"

"Give me a twirl," Hawke requested.

Fenris shook his head.

"Well, at least let me have a look at your weapon."

"I beg your pardon?" Fenris demanded with mock-severity.

"Your sword, you nitwit." Hawke moved behind Fenris, and then, remembering that Fenris disliked anyone standing behind him, moved to his side. "That's a lovely sword, Fenris. Very…shapely."

"Since when have you been interested in swords?" Fenris asked sceptically. "If I did not know better, I would suspect that you are looking at my posterior." Fenris turned to face Hawke and folded his arms. "The armour…?"

"Killjoy," Hawke tutted and took a step back, clasping his chin and eyeing Fenris appraisingly. "I like the colour of the tunic; it goes nicely with your eyes. Fawn and moss green: the colours of nature. Very nice."

Fenris pulled a face. "Colours? I was talking about the craftsmanship." He held up a polished steel vambrace for Hawke to inspect. "If you can appreciate the craftsmanship that goes into a wall, I'm certain you can appreciate the work that has gone into this."

"Oh, yeah," Hawke mumbled indifferently, holding back a snigger at Fenris's disapproving frown. "I'm not sure about combining fawn with steel, though; you see, fawn's a warm colour, and steel is cool. They sort of clash."

"…Clash? What are you…is that all you have to say?" Fenris, strongly suspecting that Hawke was teasing him, held back his own smile and deepened his frown.

"I like your tunic and greaves, though," Hawke added, lowering his voice, his eyes roaming down to Fenris's legs. "They're very…tight-fitting. I do appreciate that. A lot."

A quiet snicker escaped the elf's mouth, and he lowered his head, shaking it. "Stop it," he quietly remonstrated. "I am supposed to appear stern and authoritative."

"Oh, don't let me stop you," Hawke teased. "I like it when you look stern."

"I am going to walk over there, now," Fenris told him with laughter in his voice, moving to stand with Donnic and Anders.

"Hey, Fenris," Hawke called after him, and Fenris stopped, but didn't turn around. "You look even better from behind."

Fenris shook his head and continued walking, but, just before he reached Donnic, he turned back and shot Hawke an amused glance.

Hawke joined the other three, and, after a brief discussion, Donnic apologised that there would be no time for a card game tonight because of the influx of refugees, but promised that he and Fenris would have more time later in the week.

"Well, I'll walk out with you both," Hawke told the guards, "As I'm going home. I think we're finished here for the night, aren't we, Anders?"

"Oh yes, Hawke, and thanks again for everything that you've done. See you tomorrow." Anders shook Hawke's hand and bade them all goodnight, and Fenris replaced his helm before exiting the clinic.

"I will walk you home," Fenris said to Hawke as they made their way through Darktown.

"Oh, there's no need, Fenris, but I appreciate the offer," replied Hawke. "I don't live far from here."

"It was not an offer," Fenris said firmly. "Besides, I am still officially on my break, so I can go where I choose."

"Ha!" laughed Donnic. "You sound like one of us, all right. I wouldn't argue with him, Hawke. I'll go and see how Davy and Filbert are getting on; they'll be taking their breaks soon, so we'll relieve them when you get back, Fenners."

Fenris shook his head at the use of his nickname. "I will have to come up with a suitable monicker for you, Donnic. Donners, perhaps, or something similarly trite."

Donnic chuckled and slapped Fenris's shoulder. "I'd be honoured if you called me Donners! What a great name!"

Fenris groaned and shook his head again.

"I love this guy's sense of humour," Donnic said to Hawke.

"So do I," Hawke agreed with a discreet nudge to Fenris's arm. A helmed head turned towards him and Hawke knew that Bill had put in an appearance, but decided not to mention it, preferring to keep his own teasing of Fenris a private thing.

Saying goodnight to Donnic, Hawke and Fenris went up to the surface and took a slow walk to Lowtown. On the way, Hawke asked Fenris what time he would be available the following day.

"Oh, yes…for our reading lesson," Fenris said. Hawke nodded stiffly, not wanting to compound the lie by saying it out loud. "Well, my shift ends at four bells, and then there is an hour or so of paperwork at the barracks, which Donnic will assist me with. Then, I will sleep. I would envisage that I will be available from around midday…would that suit you?"

"Absolutely," Hawke answered, already planning a visit to the alienage and the chantry on the way. "Whenever's best for you. I'll meet you at the barracks, if you don't mind? I need to see Aveline about something, anyway."

"As you wish, Fletcher."

Hawke grinned. "Have you been practising, like I suggested?"

"If you mean, have I been walking around Darktown muttering under my breath, the answer is no," quipped Fenris.

"Then more credit to you for remembering!" Hawke chortled, with another nudge.

"Kindly refrain from nudging my armour," Fenris chided, dusting his arm down. "This is new, you know."

"All right, but I get double nudges when you're off-duty."

"You are incorrigible," laughed Fenris.

"Yes, but you wouldn't change me for the world…right? Right, Fenris?"

The silent helm once again turned towards him, and then faced straight ahead.

"I don't think I like that helmet of yours," pouted Hawke. "I can't tell what you're thinking."

"You can't, can you? Perhaps I will wear it more often."

"What, you mean when you're not on duty?" asked Hawke with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. "Can we play 'Guardsman and Criminal'?"

Fenris immediately quickened his pace and walked ahead to the slums, but the trembling of his arms and shoulders was unmistakable.

"You're laughing under there, aren't you?" Hawke called to him.

"No," replied Fenris, his voice wavering slightly. "Ah…we appear to have reached your home."

Hawke arrived beside him and looked up the steps leading to Gamlen's house, which was in darkness. "I wonder if Varric's cleared the mansion out, yet?" Hawke cogitated.

"I didn't hear that," Fenris claimed.

"I said-" Hawke stated loudly, but stopped and laughed when Fenris clamped his hands over his ears. Slowly, he removed them, and Hawke folded his arms, giving Fenris a stern look.

"Some bent guard you turned out to be."

"I apologise if I've proved a disappointment to you." Fenris glanced around, and, seeing nobody else about, removed his helm and smoothed his hair, taking a step nearer to Hawke. "Quickly," he whispered.

"Quickly, what?"

Hawke's question was answered decisively when Fenris pulled him close for a brief but sweet kiss.

"Is that all I get?" moaned Hawke as Fenris pulled away and replaced his helm.

"For now," replied Fenris playfully. "I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

Tomorrow. Hawke's gut lurched at the thought of what that would bring, but he kept his smile fixed in place. "Will you be all right going back on your own?"

"Of course; why would I not be?" answered Fenris confidently.

"Yes, of course you'll be fine." Hawke's heart rate quickened, and he hoped his doubts didn't reflect in his voice, even though Varric had assured him that the slavers were staying put for now. "Thanks for walking me home, Fen," he said softly.

Fenris removed a gauntlet and reached up, resting his hand against Hawke's cheek. "Sleep well, Fletcher. Goodnight."

Hawke clasped Fenris's hand and moved it to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. "Goodnight, Fen. Be safe on the way back."

"I will." Fenris squeezed Hawke's hand and then released it. "Until tomorrow." With a nod, he turned and headed out of the slums, turning back once he was almost out of sight and gesturing for Hawke to go up the steps. Hawke did so, and waved his hand in farewell. Fenris gave another nod before rounding a corner and disappearing.

Hawke slumped against the wall next to the front door and closed his eyes, taking in several lungfuls of the chill evening air. Tomorrow. Possibly the day when someone who had long tormented and humiliated Fenris would finally be out of his life.

Possibly the day that Fenris would walk out of Hawke's life.

He fumbled around for his key, and, upon entering, laughed mirthlessly at the fancy new furniture that Varric had 'liberated' from the mansion. Locking the door, he walked over to the dying fire and tossed a few pieces of wood onto it, careful not to wake anyone.

He forced himself to walk over to the settee - his and Fenris's settee – and sat down, immediately standing up again, and dragged his fingers through his hair as he paced next to the fireplace. He then glanced over at the spot on the settee where Fenris always sat, wondering if, after tomorrow, that spot would remain forever vacant.

With a heavy sigh, he trudged over and sat next to Fenris's spot, running his hand along the seat, feeling a connection with Fenris that gave him a sliver of comfort. He removed his boots and brought his legs up, knowing that he'd need a good rest in anticipation of what the coming day would bring, and did his best to clear his mind of all troubling thoughts.

He didn't sleep a wink that night.