Wednesday Evening - Chemistry Lab

I've always hated this time of year. Not just the blistering cold and excessive snow, but all the… love in the air. It's in the wind or something. I only feel gusts of lust. I like it that way. Stick me in the middle of the Blooming Rose and you'll understand. I can smell the pheromones, somewhere behind the body odor and alcohol. The biological need to touch and be touched. The natural desire to get hot and sweaty with the nearest willing participant. I breathe it in; thrive on it. It's as delicious as the salty sea breeze. But that's not what Kirkwall smells like in early February. It smells like pine trees, car exhaust, and cherry cordials. Young men are buying flowers, looking to woo a potential mate and pass on their genes. Young women are deciding which suitors are worth their time and making space on their dressers for a sudden influx of stuffed animals. Couples are planning romantic evenings with dinners by candlelight, dancing, bubble baths, hotel rooms, lingerie, and the inevitable love-making.

Hawke will want the whole package. But I'll have none of it.

I decide not to bring it up. The 'holiday' will land on a Friday. Cassandra would normally be at my place. I could make an excuse, maybe even leave town. Or, I could feign ignorance. 'Oh, that's today? I had no idea.' But that wouldn't even slow her down. She'd just make plans without me and I'd stumble into a situation I have no will to be in. She hasn't said anything yet, however. Maybe she took my position on Christmas as a sign and won't try anything romantic.

Either way, I wander into the main science building, heading straight for one of the labs in the basement. I'm doing another round of experiments for a project. Well, it's more for business reasons, really. I own a brewery, a distillery, a cosmetics company, and the rights to an entire line of hair care products. If I can find a way to convert what is considered 'waste' for one into a usable ingredient for one or both of the other two, I could increase my profits almost twenty percent. That's worth a few hours stuck in a lab.

And I'm not alone. Lyna offered her services before I even thought to ask. I find her already in the lab, sitting by various samples of spent grain, makeup, and shampoo. We get straight to work, grinding the grains into powders and observing their properties under microscopes. It's tedious, of course, so we start talking. It starts off innocently enough. 'How was your vacation?' 'Good. Yours?' 'Good.' But then she begins telling me all about what she and her boyfriend did over the break. I don't have a response for that. Not even a witty repartee. Just 'that's nice.'

My phone vibrates in my purse. I quickly fetch it, read the message, stifle a chuckle, and tuck it away again. It's a reflex. "You usually turn off your phone in the lab. Must be someone important." Her microscope is obscuring her face, but I can tell she's smiling.

"It's Hawke." I answer, also as if by reflex.

"Hawke? … As in the girl from last semester?" Her voice goes up in pitch and her eyebrows lift into view. "That's unexpected." She mutters under her breath, still loud enough for me to hear. I sit up straight in my stool, crossing my arms.

"We have a mutual arrangement. It's all very complicated." I defend my reputation, dirty and trashed as it is.

Lyna chuckles. "I'm sure." She tilts back from her microscope, sifting through samples while nonchalantly watching my uneasiness. I think she's going to drop the subject, but I really should know better by now. "Are you happy?" She asks suddenly, looking at the ingredients list for my company's shampoo.

I'm busy grinding spent barley with a mortar and pestle. I take a moment to consider. "I've never been otherwise."

There's a passing silence and I can tell she catches my lie. She pushes a bit of hair behind her ear, still not looking at me. "Is she happy?"

"Yes." I answer without thinking. Hawke is always smiling, always laughing and hugging and singing and being a complete geek. She tells me how much she enjoys being with me. She compliments my clothes, my hair, my skin, my scent, the way I walk, the way I talk, the way I joke, and the way I never back down from a fight. She constantly praises my sexual prowess, relaying every detail as if it's the most fantastic thing she's ever experienced. I'd know if she was miserable, and she's not.

"Does she do things just to make you happy?" Lyna asks, now going about reading the label for each individual sample, as if she's busy and not at all poking about in my social life. No; poking isn't the right word. Harpooning. Yes, she's harpooning herself into my private sphere.

But she does raise interesting questions. "Yes." I reply again. Cassandra cleans, she cooks, she fixes things around my apartment, she does laundry, she organizes my closet by color… Ok, so that's mostly just her OCD, but she does go shopping with me. Hawke hates shopping, so that's obviously for my benefit. She definitely pushes her body to the limits in the bedroom, too. I've never met someone so determined to leave me an achy, sweaty, delirious heap of a woman. And, more often than not, she succeeds.

My lab partner is chuckling again as she prepares another slide for her microscope. "Then it's not complicated." She glances up at me momentarily, a cocky expression on her face. "She loves you." Then, as if she hadn't said anything at all, she goes right back to work.

I'm paralyzed. I sit in a stunned silence while my mind races. It could be true. The thought terrifies me to my very core. I feel the need to argue; another reflex. So I do. "We have a mutual arrangement." I repeat, as if it clarifies everything.

"So you've said." Lyna smiles, still staring into her microscope. "Are you doing anything for Valentine's Day? As a part of your mutual arrangement, I mean." She tacks the last part on, obviously to slight me. I sound like a broken record.

"No." I cross my arms under my breasts. This was supposed to be about science and future profits. Now it's an inquiry about why I'm still sleeping with the same person five months later. "Look, I know you mean well, and you're being nothing but polite, but I don't want to talk about Hawke and I." I think I've put an end to the discussion, so I return to my experiments, observing the electrostatic properties of different powdered post-processed grains. With a bit of luck and refining, one could become the main ingredient for certain shades of base. Something to that effect, at least. I groan, realizing I've completely lost focus.

"You're frustrated." I hear my partner say.

I scoff, pushing a set of samples off to the side. "You're intuitive." I joke.

The brunette finally pokes her head up above her microscope, green eyes watching me with unbridled curiosity. "Why are you frustrated?"

I pour a bunch of spent and dried hops into my mortar, grinding it furiously. I very much doubt it'll be of use, but it makes me feel better. "You wouldn't understand." I grunt, paying her no attention. But I can see her setting her things aside.

"Try me."

It's a challenge. I know it is. I told her about my relationship when it started, so now she feels entitled to updates. Or maybe she's really trying to help me understand. Either way, I start talking. "I don't do Valentine's Day. It's commercialized, over-romanticized, capitalist bullshit. You buy roses, diamonds, chocolates, and for what? Because society tells you to. It's stupid. It's complete and utter nonsense." I ramble as I continue to pulverize my sample. "But Cassandra is into that kind of shit. She'll be equal parts pissed and depressed if I refuse. But if I go along with it, I'll be miserable. And I am not going to be miserable for the sake of someone else." Again. I leave that part out. Hawke is the topic of the day, not anyone else.

"You seem to be forgetting you have a third option." Lyna says coolly, resting her chin on her palm as she watches me grind the hops into submission.

"Give her an orgasm so earth-shatteringly amazing that she forgets what day it is? I considered that." I had, really. But the woman has an impeccable memory.

My lab partner laughs and tosses my purse at me. I barely catch it in time for it not to smack me in the forehead. "Just pick up the phone and tell your girlfriend how you feel." She speaks to me like I'm daft.

I sigh, realizing that she's probably right. "I like my idea better. It's much more creative." I joke, pushing my dust-filled mortar aside. I retrieve my phone, staring blankly at the screen for a few seconds.

The brunette rounds the table then, placing a supportive hand on my shoulder. "If you tell her the truth, she'll understand." She says softly.

I clutch my phone tightly and I can already feel the sweat on my palms. "And if she doesn't?"

"Get creative."

Wednesday Evening - Debate Meeting

"Alright, Hawke, what's going on?"

I look up from my studies, blinking and shaking my head. "Huh?"

Anders is staring at me from across the table, obviously confused. He points to the piece of paper I've been eyeing for… I lost track of how long. It's dark outside. I don't remember it being dark when I showed up. "You read faster than anyone I know, but you've been stuck on that article for the last twenty minutes. Something isn't right."

Sebastian glances at me from behind his tablet. "Are you feeling ill?" He asks, sounding genuinely concerned. I'm half tempted to say yes. I haven't slept well, my neck is sore, and I just nearly drooled all over an article about arms agreements and the United Nations. I roll my neck and shoulders, trying to wake myself up and get comfortable.

"No. I'm fine. I've just got a lot on my mind." I give the boys a weak smile, hoping they'll ignore me and go back to bickering with each other. With Raj out of town for his sister's wedding and Sam at a conference in D.C., they really don't have much else to do. But I should know Anders better than that by now.

"Does this have anything to do with an upcoming holiday? You know, the kind couples tend to celebrate together in blissful romance?" He asks, a knowing look in his eye. I say nothing, at first, which allows my friendly neighborhood Scotsman a chance to distract the conversation away from me momentarily.

"I will be spending Saint Valentine's Day in the church, assisting in services." He informs us.

Anders groans, as he does any time gods or religions are mentioned. "That sounds dreadfully boring, even compared to spending the evening with my cats." He jests, organizing a stack of documents beside him. "I mean, with God watching and all, you think you'd put on a bit of a show instead of dusting crucifixes all day."

The brother slicks his hair back and takes a deep breath. "I find your lack of faith disturbing."

I have to cover my mouth to stop from laughing out loud. That only gets me two sets of raised eyebrows and an awkward silence. Once I realize they aren't going to get the joke, I calm down. "I find your ability to quote Darth Vader unknowingly really disturbing, Sebastian." Anders gives a tiny snort, while the man in question shrugs. They're about to get back to reading when I clear my throat. "But I would like to pose a question, if either of you are interested." They sit quietly, watching as I squirm in my seat. "How can you love someone who doesn't believe in love?" That's what's been keeping me up at night, leaving me tossing and turning for hours in a confused stupor. But this is a debate team. We discuss all sorts of things, trying to find reasonable solutions for any number of problems. Not that this is a problem. It simply… is.

"Easily." Sebastian admits coolly, which catches me completely off guard. He sets his tablet aside, leaning forward to speak to me more directly. "Anders does not believe in God, but I pray for him. His lack of belief does not make my belief any weaker. If anything, I find my faith is stronger now that it is tested by his smart mouth." I blink a few times.

"Wow… That was unusually insightful." And simple. As if my being in love is no different than my eyes being blue. Basic and unchanging. A fact of life, if you will.

Anders pulls something completely different out it. He tilts his head curiously at our teammate. "You pray for me? You don't even like me." He scoffs.

"I pray for all troubled souls." Our tan companion answers as if it is another matter of fact, crossing his arms. "Even if they smell of cat dander." He mutters under his breath, grinning slightly.

I roll my eyes, turning back to face my friend. "What about you, Anders? What do you think about all this?"

"I think you deserve better." He admits with a shrug. "But if, perchance, you really do care about this woman, then… Well, hearts are like cats; they do what they like when they like and there's no reasoning with them." I chuckle into my fist. Of course he would have a cat analogy. "Unless you have bits of fish. They'll do anything for that." He confesses, catching the flaw in his logic.

I raise an eyebrow. "So… tempt my girlfriend with tuna and hope it all works out?" He's about to reply when my back pocket starts buzzing. I raise a hand to silence him while I retrieve my phone. It's Isabela. "Let me know if you think of anything else. I'm gonna take this." The boys wave me off as I quickly leave the room. I walk down the hallway to get a little more privacy. "Hey babe, how are-"

"You can't come over Friday."

I shake my head, shocked at her almost angry tone. "Umm, may I ask why?"

Her voice wavers. "I… am having new tile installed in my bathroom. It'll be terribly messy and there'll be dust everywhere and I'd hate for you to breathe it in. So you can't come over." She explains quickly. I'm suddenly concerned for where she's staying during the renovation. Varric doesn't exactly host sleepovers. Teague might… but that's not a good idea. Other than them there's… Well, Ashley. But a cheesecake is hardly an invitation.

"You shouldn't be inhaling it either." I scold her playfully. We always spend weekends together, and I really want this weekend to be no different. So I start thinking out loud. "I know my dorm isn't much of an option, but we could go out, maybe even get a hotel room for the night. It doesn't have to be fancy or-" I talk excitedly, already thinking up scenarios in my head. But Isabela groans, so I shut up.

"You're going to make this difficult for me, aren't you?" She says dryly.

I blink a few times. She's clearly frustrated, but I don't know why. "I don't understand."

Isabela sighs loudly into her I know her (and I think I do), she's got one hand in her hair and is internally cursing at something. After a few seconds of silence, I say her name, wondering if she's still on the line. "I was lying about the tile." She replies.I'm growing more confused by the second. "Look, we've got a good thing here. There's no sense in ruining it in the name of some dead saint." It takes me a moment to process that. I haven't forgotten about Friday, but I wasn't planning to bring it up. Not on the phone, anyway.

"You don't want to spend Valentine's Day with me." I don't mean to sound insulted, but I probably do. I'm a bit deflated, at least. I enjoy spending time with my girlfriend, regardless of the day.

"No. I don't. You'll expect things. Romantic things. Things I refuse to do." She admits, her voice still a bit angry and distant. I think about all the 'romantic things' she might be referring to.

"Chocolates, candles, wine, roses-" I list under my breath.

She cuts me off. "Yes. All of that shit."

'Bela isn't good with emotional stuff. I don't claim to understand it, but I do try to respect it. And I might just be in love with her, so I won't risk losing her by pushing our relationship too far. I bite my lip, holding back a defeated sigh. I turn toward the wall; my free hand flattens against it and keeps me standing. As much as I respect her privacy and general outlook on people, I still feel like she's pushing me away. It feels like a punch to the gut. I try to think up a convincing argument. "It can be just another Friday night, Isabela. We can have-"

"Sex?" She interrupts me, sounding almost… stunned. I'm glad she isn't angry anymore.

"I was going to say 'dinner', but that works, too." I chuckle lightly. I almost swear I can hear her eyes rolling. But I know she's trying to stop me from talking about anything meaningful. I'm not an idiot. I know she plays me like a fiddle. All she has to do is mention sex or flash a boob or kiss my neck and I'm putty in her hands. But she's lost some of her advantage by calling me. "May I suggest something?" I ask the question so professionally that I'm not surprised when she doesn't say anything. She's wondering what I'm plotting. So I don't hesitate to inform her. "Let's skip our usual lunch date tomorrow. That should give you some time to think. Then, if you want, you can send me a text and let me know what you've decided. In fact, after this call, I won't touch my phone for the rest of the night. There'll be no pressure."

I'm not even sure I'm sincere. I mean, I really don't want to not see her or not text her for a whole day. But she seems amicable. "You're being very logical about this. It's a… welcome reaction." She sounds a bit surprised, which puzzles me.

"I told you at the beginning that all I wanted was to spend time with you and treat you properly. I stand by that."

She's smiling. I don't know how, but I can tell. "Rational, noble, and honest. You'll make a terrible politician." She jokes. After such an intense conversation, it's refreshing. I feel like I can breathe a little more freely and the high dragons in my stomach have shrunk down to dragonlings.

I lean further into the wall, pressing my forehead against it. "You'll text me tomorrow, right?"

"I think so, yes." It's a bit sarcastic, but it's not a 'no'. I'll take it. "Goodnight Hawke." Her farewell is less raspy than usual, but it still makes my chest thump.

I bite my lip again. "Goodnight Isabela."

I remain in the hallway, still pressed against the wall, minutes after my girlfriend hangs up. I was calm during the conversation, but my mind begins to reel from that emotional rollercoaster. Had Isabela really found it necessary to lie to me? What is it about Valentine's Day that scares her so much? She dislikes tons of holidays, but she's acting as if this one, specifically, is a root canal operation. It's strange, frightening, and a bit fascinating. If I were anyone else, I would expect her to tell me to fuck off. But she didn't. She tried to spare my feelings with an elaborate lie. She probably would have got new tile, just to make it believable. I'm flattered, insulted, and everything in between. My head aches. My knees are weak. My gut hurts. And for some reason, I'm still turned on by her voice. I'm just a big feminine mess. "That sounded promising." I don't need my eyes to identify the snoop. The accent is a dead giveaway.

"You really shouldn't eavesdrop on people, Your Holiness." I turn to face Sebastian, frowning in a somewhat irritated manner. I was having a private conversation and an even more private meltdown. Or so I thought.

He slicks his hair back and his hand quickly finds the back of his neck. He's got an awkward look on his face, both ashamed and intrigued. "Old habits die hard, I'm afraid." I'm tempted to give him a piece of my mind, or maybe threaten him. I'm hardly able to think, let alone forgive the intrusion. But he starts to look serious; his brow knits like he's thinking really hard and I don't know what to make of it. "She obviously cares for you, Cassandra. Whether or not she knows how… well, that's different, isn't it?" I'm not sure if he's trying to be profound or just talking out of his ass.

Either way, it's the truth. And I'll be damned if the truth isn't terrifying. The idea of Isabela breaking up with me, cheating on me, or simply avoiding me because she doesn't know how to love or be loved… is just too depressing to think about right now.

Instead of hitting the man, I take two steps toward him and throw my arms around his neck. "Say a prayer for me, Sebastian." I whimper into his ear. He probably thinks I'm being dramatic, but this embrace is all that's keeping me from becoming an emotional puddle in the middle of the hallway.

He pats me on the back, comforting me in my time of need. "Already done, my lady. Already done."

Author's Note: If you have two X chromosomes, you know what I mean when I refer to a 'big feminine mess'. For my male readers (I know you're out there, guys), this phenomena is when our hormones are sky high, our emotions are going ten different directions, and all we want is a gallon of Nutella and a nice shoulder to cry on. Confused? So are we. But when in doubt, hug it out.