A/N: Eek! Sorry this update is a bit shorter than some of the other chapters have been. Today's been kind of hectic and I'm running on about two hours of sleep. So I tried to make this one short and (eventually) sweet. I really really appreciate all the wonderful reviews! You guys are so supportive and amazing. Thank you! 3

"Here." Fenris said, pressing a glass of wine into Hawke's hands. He prowled the room restlessly, thumb tapping out a quiet, irregular beat against one of his thighs as he glanced to the window and looked outside.

Hawke sipped at the drink automatically, hardly even tasting the wine as she watched the elf threaten to wear a trench into his floor from all his pacing. At first she thought he was worried they'd been followed, or something, but then she noticed him look at her and then quickly away, his expression distinctly uncomfortable. It dawned on the mage that he had no idea what to do in this situation. He didn't know how to help, though she knew in his own clumsy, Fenris way he genuinely was trying.

As soon as they'd gotten in the front door of the mansion and were safe from public view, Hawke had lost it completely, blubbering and crying senselessly, all the while trying to apologize for her behavior—though she'd been weeping so fiercely that she doubted he'd understood her garbled attempts at speech. Fenris had endured this with surprising patience, guiding her over to a much-disused couch and making her sit. He'd even given her a few awkward pats on the shoulder before retreating as the sobbing had turned to hiccupping. Not exactly her finest moment.

The mage winced at the thought as she clutched her wine glass to her chest. Fenris always saw her at her worst, her most vulnerable, it seemed. Once she'd gotten her tears out of her system and had calmed down, he'd just quietly gone to the kitchen and had come back with a glass of wine, likely hoping to help ease her nerves.

And now there she sat on the couch, red-eyed and ashamed, as Fenris shuffled from foot to foot, taking care to look at everything in the room but her.

"I'm really sorry." She whispered, surprising herself by how hoarse her voice was.

"Do not apologize. You… you have had a trying few days, it seems." His answer was cautious, quiet.

"It's got to be bothersome, though. I mean, you shouldn't have to put up with this."

He glanced to her out of the corners of his eyes, hesitating as if selecting his words carefully. "I… do not mind. You do not show your feelings to anyone else. I noticed that some time ago."

"Well, everyone looks up to me. They want me to be a leader."

"So you try not to burden them. You take care of everyone else, and you fuss over them like a mother hen." His words were not angry or accusatory, but she still felt embarrassed by them. The truth hurt.

"I'm not a mother hen-" she protested, but the words sounded weak even as she said them.

"You worry over everyone else. You give and give, and leave nothing for yourself."

Hawke looked away, taking a large gulp of wine as a means of avoiding having to respond.

He continued, that deep voice strong despite how quietly he spoke. "You follow the wishes of a mother who does not value you as a daughter the way she should. You take your brother's anger upon yourself because you want to protect him. You run yourself ragged doing things for your friends and never ask for anything in return. I'm starting to wonder if you have a selfish bone in your body, Hawke."

"I have plenty of selfish thoughts," she replied, managing to summon up enough emotional energy to be indignant. "I just don't act on them often."

"Why not?" he asked, shifting to face her fully, his arms crossing over his chest.

"I don't want to hurt anyone, or impose on anyone." She replied with a shrug. She was too tired for this talk, and she didn't want to be goaded into saying something she regretted. Like how her selfish thoughts ran wild for the very elf she was speaking to at that moment. How she craved his touch, his closeness, his breath on her neck…

"So you have selfish thoughts but don't act on them. Isn't that the general idea behind being selfless?" he asked, lofting a single dark brow.

Hawke opened her mouth with the intent of saying something to counter him, but she couldn't think of anything. And suddenly, she felt herself smiling instead, because there was something in the way he looked at her, in the tone of his voice—concern for her well-being coupled with a mild, gentle sort of amusement at her ridiculous behavior.

"Does that make me insufferable?" she asked, resting her elbows on her knees as she leaned forward, peeking up at the man from behind a curtain of auburn hair.

"Only a little. Sometimes. Like when you refuse to take care of yourself in favour of trying to avoid burdening those around you for once in your life."

"But I seem to be burdening you a great deal, lately." Hawke noted with a rueful chuckle, gently pinching at the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger.

"The word 'burden' implies something that is borne with difficulty. Something weighty and difficult. I am not burdened." He murmured, a brief smile tugging at the very corners of his lips before running away from his face. Then the moment was lost, and the elf removed himself from the situation once more. He drew the proverbial shutters and went back to staring out the window.

But this time, Hawke didn't feel as if she'd been isolated by his withdrawal. Because it was simply his way, and she didn't fault him for it. Because really, she was just the same—though instead of closing the shutters and pulling the drapes to hide one's feelings, she constructed a careful mask to cover them up and keep them secret.

That revelation struck her like lightning, and she knew then what she'd begun to expect he'd always known. That they were more similar than anyone else could have guessed in terms of hiding their feelings and their vulnerabilities from the world.

So when he looked back at her and she'd arranged her mask with renewed energy, she smiled at him, and he gave a subtle nod of his head in return. She wasn't afraid of troubling him anymore.

Somehow, things would be alright.