When To Walk Away

Lesson Learned

Hawke snipped off the end of the suture with a tiny pair of scissors instead of her teeth. Leaning upon his elbows, Fenris watched through bleary eyes the entire time she tended to his wound. Her movements were more methodical than he anticipated, or remembered, as if a small voice in her head was reminding her of every step needed. Was it experience or...?

Shaking off the thought, when Hawke picked up the bag, Fenris moved to slide his feet to the ground. Her smile faded a moment, before snapping back brighter than ever, "What in Andraste's name do you think you're doing?"

"Leaving," he grunted, then flinched at his callow answer.

If Hawke cared about the barb, she didn't let on. Her hand landed upon his shoulder, the full might of the Champion pinning him down. "By Mafarath's infected toe you are. I ain't even bandaged you up. Look, there's still blood and pus oozing out of the hole." She jabbed towards the wound but didn't touch it. Fenris swung his head up from watching the macabre display and found himself a breath away from those stormy grey eyes.

His entire body went rigid, all the heat draining from his limbs to pipe awake the cheeks for a bright burn. Hawke blinked a moment, her lips settling open as if a million thoughts were about to tumble free. But she clung to silence instead, her hand lifting off of his shoulder so she could yank out yards of muslin.

"This isn't necessary," Fenris continued, even while sitting up and extending his arms. Able to act as if there was nothing strange at all about it, Hawke wrapped his torso in the cloth, her cheek almost glancing across the tattoo dipping down his third rib. He watched transfixed at how the warm brown skin kept bobbing close and far, Fenris realizing he was gritting his teeth in anticipation. But was it out of fear of her touching him, or because he hoped for it?

The thought shook him from his stupor, "Thank you for your help, but I don't...I have disturbed you long enough."

"Disturbed? You didn't even bring an accordion with you. Now, get a trio of barking nugs and a harmonica then I might have to toss you out on your ear."

Her smile didn't waver, cracked lips lifted wide. There were new scars to match the old, what looked like a partially fresh one undulating with her bottom lip. Another long since healed scar was gashed over her forehead. Why was Hawke not properly healed? She should have been taken care of, at least by him.

"I don't wish to bother you or..." Fenris' eyes burned through the air, "anyone else here."

"Anyone...?" Hawke's smile climbed in uncertainty when it fell like a rock, "Oh. That anyone. Well, you're in luck 'cause he ain't here. Be right damn stupid to let him anywhere near Kirkwall, in fact."

"With the rebellion over, I thought," Fenris tried to look around the house anew. It was plainer than the Amell mansion she'd lived in prior, but homier than Gamlen's hovel. Swords hung upon the mantle, not the kind formed from precious metals and jewels, but a favored one leftover from an old battle in a place close by should the inevitable happen. Paintings not of famous faces he couldn't recognize but familiar ones out of Hawke's past graced the walls. All were known to him save a small dark skinned woman in mage robes. He assumed at first it was Bethany, but the woman's face was more rounded, with a fire in her eyes the painter captured that must be terrifying to see in real life. A few tables filled the empty spaces beside walls. There was even a fruit bowl, though being Hawke's it was stuffed with daggers and what looked like uncut jewels. The place was lived in, cosy without being claustrophobic.

Hawke snatched up a handful of pins off a cushion and jammed two in her mouth. Carefully binding together the bandages, she said through the pricks, "Yeah, you'd think lots of stuff woulda changed with that finished. But, people are still people, ya know. Once a right bastard, always a right bastard. Anyway, I ain't letting you leave, not in this condition, and not with that condition out there."