they'll rip you apart, i swear that they will.

[vengeant]

[ by the time the shadows have lengthened across the ground outside the double doors, hanging open on their hinges from the last grateful family to leave, the clinic has all but been emptied out. it's a strange sight, only tempered by the image of people huddled in ragged clothes not far outside the dooryard. if darktown ever stopped harboring masses of refugees, or smelling of mildew and effluent, he'd have to — well, pick up and move shop elsewhere. it would be quieter, but no-one needs a clinic where there are no people.

anders doesn't nudge the doors shut when he walks back from leaning out of them. the lanterns are enough to write by, but the cast of the sunlight across the bare floors could almost make him believe that there isn't miles of rock situated threateningly above his head. maybe if he squints.

he can't forget where he is, or what it is he's doing. it's a stake stuck in the soft earth inside of him, in the heart of him. the heart is just another part of the body. physically, he knows what he is, who this flesh and blood and bone belong to. the rest, he's not so certain. but they share a common goal, one they might — must — achieve. a basin of lukewarm water is resting on the floor beside anders' desk. he kneels to heat it with his fingertips just breaking the surface, and scrubs his hands clean after with a stiff cloth. he leaves the cloth to dry over the rim and wipes his face with his damp, pink hands, rough stubble scraping his palms, before he pats them dry against his trousers. a message, an idea, can't be destroyed as easily as a body. nor can a spirit. but they've reconciled their differences.

tucked in the back is a clean cot, and he eyes it after he draws himself up from the floor, but somehow the chair tucked under the desk with its hard wooden back ends up presenting itself as the more inviting choice. so he sits, bent forward, and doesn't write, thumbing the pages of an unfinished manifesto, plucking at the feathered end of a worn, ink-stained quill. ]

Comments

[havik]

[ it's routine by now for hawke to get out of the house as much as possible. during the day, it's typical for him to be busy with any number of small tasks for his friends, but around dinner-time everyone seems to disappear. it's a little harder to fill his time. he used to use the evening to write letters, listening to bodahn and sandal in the other room while mother and orana went over the dinner menu.

now the house feels empty in a way that even the passing years hasn't managed to ease. he thought, some time ago when it first happened that he might be heading toward some kind of reconciliation with fenris, but he left after his own clumsy attempt at comfort. hawke doesn't hold it against him. they weren't good for each other in the way that he'd hoped. he hasn't thought about it in a long time, but anders bringing it up stirred all kinds of accompanying associations.

long walks through the city are hawke's new thing to clear his head. at times, he lingers around the blooming rose but never long enough for anyone to notice and beckon the champion. he has to admit that what they have there isn't what he's looking for.

he's beginning to suspect that what he's looking for isn't in kirkwall at all.

but he finds his way down to darktown anyway. it's strange the places his body takes him when his mind's wandering, homing toward safety like a bird finding its roost for the winter. it's a familiar path to anders's clinic; he even steps over the same beggars and unconscious bodies. he tosses a few coins here and there to those asking, then doesn't knock on anders's door before ducking in and crossing the threshold. he's not sure what he expects to find, only that it's not a surprise that he's working. hawke walks up behind him and sets a hand on the feathered pauldron covering anders's skinny shoulder. ]

Don't you ever rest?

[vengeant]

[ when hawke comes to the clinic, he isn't coming to be healed. on occasion he's limped in with isabela at his side, their arms bent under each other's shoulders to keep themselves both upright, or varric at his hip offering his shoulder to a bent hawke. otherwise — generally, usually — he's already there, whatever the trouble they're getting themselves into. he doesn't need to visit. he doesn't need to do anything. but he does it anyway.

it's taken on a different shape in these past few years. there are less invitations to the hanged man, and more hours where hawke drags over a second chair to sit beside him and speak while he writes, or doesn't write. sometimes he just listens.

he doesn't know what hawke comes looking for when he makes the walk down from hightown, but he knows what he wants it to be. for six years he's had the same thought. it's as ingrained as the spirit housing itself in his body.

anders half hears heavy boots crunching against the stone, but it takes hawke's hand on his shoulder and the sound of his voice for him to drop his quill and sit bolt upright, turning. his leaping heart settles itself with the weight, the pressure bearing through an overlapping pattern of feathers and layers of padded cloth. it settles itself when he sees the smile hawke is wearing for him as he looks up to find his eyes. ]

Hawke, I didn't expect you to be by so late.

[havik]

Sorry. You'd probably rather take advantage of the quiet while it lasts.

[ the apology comes easily enough. he knows he isn't a bother -- anders has made it clear on more than one occasion that hawke's welcome in his clinic -- but it's still difficult for him to push his presence on anyone. he knows his friends love him, but at the end of the day it's usually them who seek hawke out. not the other way around.

he squeezes anders's shoulder, in the hopes that it'll help his apology stick, then lets him go. he leans his hip against the side of the desk, glancing over the familiar manifesto. ]

Doing some proofreading?

[ it doesn't look like anything new, but hawke's not sure whether it ever really ends. maybe it's a cathartic experience, for anders. hawke would like to think he has something like that, a way of getting his feelings out when they've got nowhere else to go. he's been worried about anders, of late. little comments here and there have got his guard up, but it's hard to get a straight answer out of him when it comes to his own well-being. ]

[vengeant]

[ when the weight's gone, he misses it. that's easy to admit. other things are harder, like the way he has to suppress the urge to reach over, or that he hasn't been doing anything at all. tidying. staring at pages he wrote days ago and hasn't since revised. hawke moves and he straightens himself in his seat, eyes dropping back to the pages, a word misspelled in haste catching his eye. he doesn't pick up the quill to correct it, even though it would make it easy to pretend that that's exactly what he'd been doing.

proofreading.

will he have time to finish this copy? should he even try? he keeps struggling with the answer. ]

In a... Manner of speaking. But I think that I'm finished for the night.

[ there are copies slid between the covers of books, books that are sitting on shelves inside the hawke estate. copies hidden in dressers and drawers and one that was tucked between the mattresses of hawke's big bed in a burst of creativity. sheaves of unbound paper left lying on hawke's desk. copy number he-lost-count-five-years-ago.

anders breathes out through his mouth and curls the corner of the paper between his thumb and forefinger, bending it and then smoothing it out with the pad of his thumb. it doesn't flatten out under his fingers, but stays stubbornly deformed. everything he could say rises to the surface all at once and then sinks to the bottom again. he only knows for certain what he can't tell. ]

Actually, I meant to thank you for the other day.

[havik]

[ hawke watches anders fiddling with the paper, holding onto the urge to reach out and cover his restless hand with his own. it isn't right him being here for those reasons. he's already crossed that line with a friend once, and now he's stuck with the baggage from that encounter, a friendship that's awkwardly blurred the lines between friend and lover while never settling on either.

he doesn't want things to be like that with anders. and he rather assumed that anders wasn't thinking about it anymore, until that comment he made recently. about who hawke's with.

hawke isn't with anyone these days. that's what it feels like. he visits fenris's manor to teach him to read, then returns to an empty home night after night. it feels disloyal to be even thinking about it in anders's presence, though. even if anders brought it up, that's not why hawke's here. ]

Thank me?

[ hawke lifts his shoulder in a shrug, self-conscious. ]

You know all you have to do is ask, Anders.

[ there's an implication there, a twinkle in his eye and the hint of a smile that implies anders has him wrapped around his little finger. hawke's always had an inappropriate sense of humor and an even worse sense of timing, but he's trying to keep it under wraps. for anders. for now. things have been brittle with him lately, and hawke's trying to see what he can do to make it better, not worse. ]

[vengeant]

[ it falls unnoticed, the joke behind the earnestness in what hawke's offering, and anders' eyes stay fixed to the word he could have corrected. it's a long-standing offer. a long time ago he would have made light, but things aren't happening a long time ago. "things" have changed considerably. what, precisely, those things are, he can't know. whether it was them or their surroundings, whether it was beyond their control or something they failed to grasp, like one clutches to life only knowing that it's a temporary arrangement.

hawke's lost much. he still stands to lose more. that's something he's aware of. ]

Just because I can doesn't always mean that I should.

[ his throat works when he swallows and looks quickly away, head darting like a bird's. the deed done, he's confronted with the aftermath before the aftermath. the shockwaves that come rolling up through the earth prior to the ground being split wide.

but he lifts his head again before it can catch up with him, straightening out his spine and dropping his hands down to rest against his thighs. ]

Is there anything you need?

[havik]

[ when it comes time to express his own needs, hawke's aim always falters and lands somewhere clear of the mark. he's never been comfortable asking for anything for himself. he could blame that on his position in the household, but more than that he thinks it's just a personal characteristic. he's comfortable in the spotlight when it's a crowd, but one-on-one he tends to shrink back.

it's probably his fault, what happened with fenris. hawke isn't really thinking about that as much as he should. he crosses his arms then lets them drop, fingers laced together near his hip. ]

I don't need healing, if that's what you're asking. I've got an interest in the healer.

[ it's a deflection, that answer. it's not particularly fair, but he did come here to see anders. maybe that's what he needs, right now. it seems to be what he needs an increasing amount, when he looks back over the past few years. he's been shirking their games of wicked grace at the hanged man to seek anders's quiet company, sitting with him in companionable silence.

hawke swallows, feeling awkward that they're on different levels now that he chose his perch. he slides his boot along the ground until he can nudge his leg against anders's knee. ]

You can tell me if I'm keeping you up.

[vengeant]

[ anders smiles like that's an answer. hawke wouldn't be here if he didn't have an interest in him, but hearing it makes his spine tingle tight and warm between his shoulder blades. the other day — the same other day that he's thanking hawke for — he confronted him about his relationship with that elf and got an answer he didn't expect. it's more that it was no real answer that surprised him; the uncertainty there was obvious even to someone who wasn't looking for it. he knows, because he wasn't looking for it. the answer he was expecting was different, despite the fact that he asked it.

and hawke still helped him. he doesn't even know what he did. ]

That isn't what I was asking, no.

And you aren't.

[ a breath whistles in through his throat when hawke nudges him, fingers twitching against his thighs. he licks his lips like he's trying to keep himself from saying something. like he's trying to give hawke room to ask his own favors before another spills out of his mouth to land ungracefully at both their feet. ]

You can stay as long as you like.

[havik]

[ hawke's fairly certain that the man who walks all the way from hightown to darktown in the evening is the one who should have some explanation for why he's here. and he does, but it's not the kind of thing that lends itself easily to words. it's more of an impression, a feeling he gets, that being with anders is easier than being away from him.

that's the complicated stuff, the thoughts that rise to the surface first. his official reason for being here are anders. varric's hinted on more than one occasion that something's not quite right with their resident apostate renegade. and while varric has the same trend toward the dramatic that all their friends share, hawke listens when someone talks about anders. it's a trend.

he lifts a hand to rub his eye, settling where he's perched on the edge of the desk. ]

I was going to get charmingly pissed before I dropped by, but I'm starting to get looks from Corff.

[ judged by a man who came up with the concept of mystery meat. it boggles the mind, truly. hawke offers anders a conspiratorial smile, letting him in on all this, like they're in it together. when his little moment of humor's passed, he just watches anders for a beat, trying to screw up his courage. ]

Are you feeling all right?

[vengeant]

Just as well, I can't heal that.

[ hangovers are more his sort of thing. you can't combat spirits with... spirits.

if anders were in a different mood he might spin that into a joke, try to make hawke laugh, but instead he ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck when hawke asks his question. very subtle. he's already said too much about the things he's done, and plans on doing. he's already told hawke not to blame himself, as though that would absolve the guilt. the city isn't hawke's to own, and he hasn't stepped into the viscount's seat, but people look up to hawke and he answers to that. he made the decision with a firm mind, but he couldn't have done such a thing if he didn't consider the possibility of the worst-case scenario.

the whole thing is a worst-case scenario. no-one is going to save them. no-one cares that they're dying.

it passes over his face, the bitter bile-like taste that rises in the back of his throat, coats the back of his tongue before he tries again to swallow it down. stay in control, that's what he needs to do. he never imagined, when he decided to do this, that so much of his life would revolve around those three words.

anders forces a small smile and glances up. most of the time, hawke is inscrutable. he thinks that's something else that attracts people to him; it makes it easy to imagine that there's no condemnation behind those eyes. that a best-case scenario is even possible. his smile falters, haltingly. ]

And I'm as well as you might expect. Every day I hear the worst from the Gallows. And with the Underground gone... It's like they let us last this long just to show us they could crush us whenever the fancy suited them.

[ his palms are damp against his thighs. he presses down the heels of his hands and rubs them to his bony knees and back, friction warming his skin.

he was trying — ]

[havik]

[ the look on anders's face is enough to bring hawke down from the desk. he shifts to lean toward him instead, reaching to touch anders's slender hands and then cover them with his own. so much for resisting the urge. it's hard for him to see anders in pain and not do anything. strike that, it's impossible. ]

I'm sorry.

[ his throat feels dry. when he swallows, it isn't much better. things in kirkwall have been going steadily downhill ever since he arrived. it would be tempting to tie the two things together -- kirkwall's fall and hawke's arrival, but he isn't that solipsistic. he's responsible for a lot. there are a lot of people he hasn't saved. but he knows he's not dragging this place down on his own. it's done its share of tearing him apart back.

he rubs his thumbs over the backs of anders's hands, feeling over the delicate shape of his knuckles, his finer bones. there are times when he feels like there's nothing he can do for anders no matter what he offers, that he isn't the right kind of mage. he's never been in a circle, he can't help as well as he should. he's doing the best he can, but he has this sense that he lost his way a few years back and he hasn't really gotten it back since.

all he has are his apologies, and even those don't seem particularly weighted these days.

hawke shifts, lowering himself down onto one knee so he doesn't have to lean over. he can't tell anders it's getting better. he can't even tell him it isn't like this anywhere else. ]

Sometimes I think this city's going to the dogs. And... You know who I blame? It's that Varric. Teaching them card games. Letting them think they run the place.

[vengeant]

[ he can't imagine what hawke is apologizing for. he's the only good left in kirkwall — some things are lost causes. maybe kirkwall always was. they've both tried to change it. the time has come to admit it's beyond saving; that the only way to save it is to tear it down and start again.

but anders doesn't say any of these things. the warm weight of hawke's hands over his own breaks him out of his single-minded dedication to his anger, as much as it can ever be broken, and turns his attention back toward the other man in the room. he meant to lend hawke his support, not burden him with this. but that's his way, always aspiring to more without ever reaching such heights. he doesn't know how he stands to be around him sometimes.

his fingers bend under hawke's hands, and he smiles at his joke like he'd laugh if he thought that he could. ]

This city doesn't deserve you.

But, Hawke, really... What about you? If you need anything, you never say it. I wanted... I wanted to know if I could help.

[ what anders wanted, it has to do what he asked hawke before. maybe only he knows this, and maybe that would be for the best. whatever happened between him and fenris is unintelligible. he thought — he thought... something. and now? hawke's here. he could be spending his time at that dirty hightown mansion instead. the walk would be shorter.

his hands slip from beneath hawke's so he can hold his fingers in his own, cradle them against his palms. ]

There's nothing I wouldn't do.

[havik]

[ hawke tightens his hands around anders's at that comment, when he says it doesn't deserve him. maybe it doesn't. kirkwall was his mother's home, not his. but it took her from him anyway, and now he doesn't have anywhere to return. lothering burned down. by the looks of things, kirkwall is heading in the same direction.

maybe he should get out now. but it was always his father who had the instinct for when to leave. hawke makes the mistake of getting too comfortable in a place. he's still chasing down the illusion of home. eventually he's bound to clue into the fact that it doesn't exist. isn't he? ]

I...

[ he what. hawke rubs anders's right hand a little, shifting in place where he's crouched. he ducks his head, staring at the ground for a second while he thinks. ]

What you asked me -- about Fenris. Were you expecting a different answer?

[ hawke wants to know why he was asking. what he could possibly have been offering this late into the game, when he's all but burned every one of his bridges. it seems selfish to even wonder. even worse to ask. ]

[vengeant]

[ he watches hawke while he starts to speak, the word i hanging his unfinished sentence in the open air. anders squeezes hawke's fingers without thinking about the small, delicate movements, without wondering about the way that he's being touched like it's that easy. contact isn't what he fears, it was always the danger of being caught.

hawke usually meets his eyes when he's speaking to him, so when he looks down at the floor, at his knees, he finds himself tensed for something — something exactly like what hawke asks him. his adam's apple moves up and down fluidly when he swallows, cheeks warming under imaginary scrutiny. at least hawke doesn't sound angry. ]

I thought you were together.

That's what everyone thinks, you know. I never challenged the assumption.

[ at least hawke can't see the miserable frown that passes across his features, though it's replaced by a soft, serious expression that isn't much less dire. ]

Do you want to talk about it?

[havik]

[ he doesn't really want to talk about it, but he came here, didn't he? he came here because of what anders asked him. but he didn't consider what it would be like to talk to him. if he had, maybe he would've stopped off at the hanged man first. hawke sighs, breathing in deep then letting it go. ]

I thought we were too. But that was years ago, now.

[ he lifts his head to give anders a glance, smiling uncertainly, like he isn't altogether sure of what he's saying. he isn't proud of it, anyway. it amounts to the same thing in the end. ]

We don't really talk about it. That must shock you.

[ he knows how anders feels about fenris. and yet he's here talking to him anyway. it must seem disloyal. but anders asked, and hawke's desperate enough to latch onto any sign of kindness. if he's going to confess to anything he might as well tell the truth. it's not that hawke doesn't know what's going on between them. it's more that there's nothing going on between them. nothing to speak of. ]

Since that night... We've never.

[vengeant]

What did he do?

[ it's unambiguously a condemnation, as though there would be any question with those words coming from anders' mouth. he glances down at their hands clasped together, fingers folded against fingers, and rubs his thumb over the prominent center knuckle of hawke's right hand. whatever fenris did, he shouldn't have done it. there's no way for him to know the circumstances, but he doesn't feel any shame over passing judgement prematurely. he's already decided he's right. he decided that a long time ago. it isn't as though hawke is happy that things have been left this way.

for the longest time he attributed hawke's unrest to the death of his mother. it made him helpless. enough people have died despite his efforts, and this time he couldn't do even that much.

now...

anders presses his lips together, fighting a small frown. ]

Have you tried bringing it up? Or has he been avoiding the topic?

Not that you're likely to get so much as an apology out of him, but that's what he should be doing. He's lucky he ever had you.

[havik]

[ hawke runs his tongue over the inside of his teeth, thinking it over. he doesn't know whether it's exactly fair to hang all the responsibility for their break-up on fenris. in the sense that he wanted to leave and hawke didn't want him to -- then yes, he's responsible. but maybe it shouldn't have happened in the first place. hawke should've exercised his judgment better.

it's nothing he hasn't already told himself hundreds of times over the years. eventually, he's got tired of dissecting the problem. especially when it feels like he's the only one agonizing over it. ]

He hasn't done anything. Aside from making it perfectly clear that it wasn't... It wasn't what I thought it was, at the time.

[ and now it's been years. years of silence on that front, years of letting hawke think that was it. he still wears hawke's favor, but they've never talked about what that means, either. their lack of communication could easily be his fault. it's not as if he didn't know what fenris was like before he got into this. but if he's honest with himself, he does want something more than what he's got now. he knew it after his mother was taken from him. ]

I don't think we're...

[ he deflates, which is easier to do subtly when he's already crouched down. ]

I think I want what you said.

[vengeant]

[ they probably should talk about it, but he can't bring himself to reiterate the point. it's been three years, apparently, and it's none of his business anyway. not that it's stopped him from saying the things he's said up until now. hawke's problems are his problems. or is that just wishful thinking? ]

He probably isn't fit for that kind of relationship anyway.

[ it might be faint, but it still catches his eye when hawke wilts, kneeled at his feet. anders squeezes his hands like he's going to try to lift him, but they've got nowhere to go. he nudges the toe of his boot against hawke's knee, squashing the urge to let go of his hands and do something else with his own. there are so many things he could do. so many things he wants to do. and so many things he doesn't have the time for. ]

Then you should go talk to him. See what he has to say.

Unless you want me to do it.

[ anders smiles like it's a joke, something secret between the two of them. mostly it is. he would do it if hawke asked him to, but there's no chance he would ever pry an apology out of fenris, never mind whether he's capable of giving one. he's not stupid enough to think it's possible. ]

[havik]

[ hawke listens with his head bowed, snorting when anders brings up his suggestion. the last thing in the world he wants is for him to think that he has to go talk to fenris on his behalf. hawke can't imagine that conversation ending well. or that both participants would leave it intact. he can't be that selfish for the sake of his love life. it troubles him just to imagine asking. ]

Maybe you're right.

[ he's suspected for awhile what anders is saying, that fenris just might not be suited for the kind of relationship that hawke wants. and if he admits it deep down, that might be why he's been avoiding him all this time. he doesn't want to ask for something fenris can't give and make them both feel worse.

he catches anders's smile and it warms him somewhat. being around anders always makes hawke feel like a more settled version of himself, although he couldn't say why. it's not just finding another mage here in the city, an apostate from circumstances completely different from hawke's own. it was lonely, his upbringing, but he can see now that it protected him from something horrible. anders is the other side of that, but he's lonely too, now.

hawke sometimes feels called here, all the way across the city, but that's the kind of thing varric would write in one of his books. not hawke's style. and not the kind of thought he'd ever commit to paper, when he knows how private his private documents remain. he smiles a little at anders in return, sharing the humor of the moment. it is a little ridiculous of him to be here, now, talking to anders about this. but... ]

Honestly, I'd rather be with you.

[vengeant]

[ the sight of hawke on the floor has anders contemplating slipping from his chair to sit beside him instead of staying perched above him. or he could slip off of his seat and into his lap. his throat works with the thought while he traverses the soft surprise of hawke admitting that he might be right. chances are hawke doesn't mean it with the same bitterness as he does when he says it. fenris doesn't even deserve those things, as far as he cares about anything fenris does, but it isn't up to him. it's up to someone else, certainly.

it doesn't mean anything. not when hawke is speaking, smiling at him. ]

You're always welcome.

I don't get much company, aside from the refugees. Isabela and Varric only come around when they need someone to lose at cards against them.

[ not that he doesn't enjoy getting out of darktown, but he hasn't been accepting their invitations recently. the reasons aren't always the same; sometimes it's the vapid pointlessness of sitting in a tavern trying to win a stupid game, or the sure knowledge that if he spends any more time around the people who he calls friends he might not be able to continue calling them friends.

saying goodbye is supposed to be a one time thing, anyway. ]

[havik]

Well, I can't say I came with any entertainment in mind...

[ he doesn't have any cards to offer. it makes him sheepish, that he keeps coming down here without thinking about anders or any entertainment. he just shows up and expects anders to handle company at any hour of the day. it isn't very considerate of him. he just doesn't like to think about anders alone. maybe that's why he visits so often.

although if he's honest with himself he knows it's not that. not entirely anyway. ]

You shouldn't let them cheat you, anyway.

[ he knows isabela and varric don't mean anders any harm. they're probably his closest friends amidst their little group. and it's nice for him to be with people, and if it doesn't bother him to lose then it shouldn't bother hawke. but he still has stirrings of protective feelings toward anders. it's not as if he charges his patients.

he could stand to catch a break, that's all. ]

[vengeant]

I think we can manage on our own.

And don't you worry. They've learned the hard way that if they do that they'll have more than me to contend with. I've won a few hands that way.

[ isabela called it cheating, but he can't help it if justice is better at wicked grace than he is. all he has to do is listen to his good sense.

anders winks, smiling, feeling weightless in a surreal sort of way, like this conversation is happening somewhere else. how he feels in this moment is incongruent with what he's been experiencing in every other moment over the course of the past days, weeks, months. it's bled into years. he opens his mouth to invite hawke to their games — to say, at least, that he should attend them more often — but he hasn't been going. wouldn't it be strange for him to be the one to invite hawke when he isn't there? he can't pinpoint the moment when he began to detach like a limb deprived of blood flow, starved and rotten. hawke counts out the bright spots in what's left of his life.

anders' fingers unfasten from around hawke's and he lets him go, rubbing over the backs of his hands once, pressing his palms against his knees before he draws away. freeing him from his grip. if only it were that easy.

he's not very entertaining. maybe if they had something to drink... ]

[havik]

[ hawke grins when anders lets his little strategy slip. he would like to be there for that, just to see it. not that he hasn't seen enough of justice in the recent years. he's always relieved when it's another day and anders is still himself. ]

Good man.

[ he means anders and not justice of course, but the two are one and the same these days. or they have been since he's known him, anyway.

he's not sure what to do with his hands when anders lets go of them. he pulls away, sitting on the ground with his back to the desk, finally settling. he draws one knee up to his chest and stretches his other leg out along the floor, tipping his head back until it hits the wood. he watches anders out of the corner of his eye. ]

I'm glad you can take care of yourself with those vultures.

[ hawke can't help himself, so he reaches out again, settling the palm of his had around the back of anders's calf and giving him a little tug, like he'd pull him out of the seat if he could. he's hardly that rude, and anders is hardly the kind of man you roughhouse with -- it isn't a very magey trait -- but hawke grew up with younger siblings. some things are just ingrained. ]

I worry, you know.

[vengeant]

[ when hawke says things like that he could swear that he could be — be what he wants to be. be better. it's a running theme with them, that hawke elevates him to new heights, even if he himself is so heavy he weighs down any attempts at lightness he might try. anders isn't a defeatist, but he knows himself. he knows he was a coward and that when he stopped being coward it meant losing something else.

it's hard to believe there was a time when he didn't care what anyone thought of him. ]

It's nothing I'm not used to, trust me. You'd think nobody from Ferelden to the Free Marches knows how to play a straight hand of Wicked Grace.

[ he's held losing hands in taverns all across thedas. half of them he doesn't remember. it's the little things that made life interesting before he crossed the waking sea.

hawke's hand is warm through the leather of his boot when he reaches for him. leaned back with the chair digging into his spine, he watches hawke watch him peripherally, eyeing the line of his jaw, the delicate curve of his throat where his head's propped back against his rickety old desk, his broad chest rising and falling under his smartly-cut coat and tunic. the pressure on his ankle does nothing to keep him rooted. justice might like if it did. justice might like it if he didn't notice what a handsome figure hawke makes sitting on the floor of his clinic with one knee folded loosely to his chest, chin tipped up, the shadowed space beneath his jaw so inviting —

anders bends his knee to push back where hawke is pulling on him, hoping it's encouragement enough for him to continue. hoping it's enough encouragement to keep that warm, heavy hand on him.

when he opens his mouth it's like he's remembering a line he realized he'd forgotten. ]

You worry...?

[havik]

[ hawke grins when anders pushes back against him, responding to the tug by pulling a little harder, rubbing the sides of anders's heel under his hand. he's small enough that even with boots on, it's easy for hawke to hold him with one hand.

it's rare for them to have a quiet moment in the clinic. it seems like it's been crowded with people in pain the last few times he's visited, anders rushing around in a blur of feathers and bandages. it's something hawke enjoys watching, just standing back and enjoying the attention anders commands when he's in his element.

he's remarkable when he wants to be. and sometimes even when he doesn't.

hawke hesitates, breathing in before he settles into the moment, committing to the fact that he's here. he might as well not waste his time. he said he worried. anders has been on his mind a lot lately, for one reason or another. ]

I wish you'd come by the house more. Just for dinner, or... But I know you're busy.

[ he doesn't want anders to feel like he has additional constraints on his time. he's busy down here, and he has the plight of the mages to concern himself with. having dinner with hawke seems very unimportant when it comes right down to it. the loneliness of one man doesn't stack up to much against the welfare of kirkwall.

but maybe he could stand to be a little selfish for once. the hero thing sure isn't working out for him. saving the day doesn't do much for his emotional fulfillment. ]