Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It wasn't much, but she finally had her own office. The custom, newly-hung nameplate – complete with its Lowtown-quality gold lettering – made it real, announcing her existence to the world of Kirkwall and beyond.

Hawke Investigations, it read. Simple and to the point. Why mess with perfection?

Marian Hawke ran a finger over the letters on the door, and huffed a quiet sigh. Keeping the name was the least of her concerns. For one, with the way her finances sat currently, even Lowtown-quality was more expensive than she could rightly afford, and that was saying something.

It had been different before, back in Lothering. When she had been an assistant private investigator, working alongside her father.

Back when he was still alive, she mused bitterly.

Even though Malcolm Hawke's death had happened several years ago, the grief still rose up unchecked from time to time, still just as fresh as when she'd first been told about his 'accident'. Hawke tried not to let the twins – or anyone else, really – see her moments of weakness, but every so often she'd let herself indulge in a good shower cry or drunken solo sobfest if things felt particularly bleak. But this was not going to be one of those times, she decided, forcing the grief down deep, somewhere past her stomach.

Shutting the front door behind her, Hawke surveyed the room itself. Or rather, rooms. Exactly three of them; it felt downright luxurious compared to the small two-room office space she and her father had shared.

In the main room, there was a second-hand desk and chair for a theoretical future secretary, a metal filing cabinet that had definitely seen better days, and a used mini-fridge with coffee maker on top that took up most of the floor space. Then, there was the smaller inner office behind frosted glass walls, with another slightly-less battered desk and chair. Hawke had set up her laptop on the desk, and a half-finished can of cheap beer sat beside it. At least the place had its own working bathroom – the third of the aforementioned rooms – which was more than could be said for several of the other rental spaces she'd initially looked at. The office was cozy and more than a little rundown, but there was some room to grow. At least, hypothetically.

Over the years, Hawke had gotten used to flying solo, whether she liked it or not. For one, she held out little hope of either of her siblings joining the practice. She and Carver were better when not confined together in close quarters for any length of time, and Bethany had her heart set on graduating from med school. In typical Hawke fashion, the three siblings had never really discussed the arrangement, per se, but they all knew that it was probably for the best that they didn't work and live together. And aside from the twins, the only other person Hawke really knew in Kirkwall was --

As if on cue, Aveline Vallen pushed through the door, sporting a pair of aviator glasses and a brand-new, freshly-pressed police uniform, complete with hat and Kevlar vest. Even without the uniform adding extra bulk and presence, the six foot tall redhead would stand out in most crowds.

“You made the force?!” Hawke swept up her taller friend in a bone-crushing hug. The two women had become unlikely but close confidantes on the two week long journey by boat from Ferelden to Kirkwall; since arriving in the city, it was rare for them to go more than a day or two without texting each other, and they usually got together in person at least once a week. Recently, it had been a lot fewer hangouts, and more of Hawke texting Aveline than the latter initiating conversation. By sending silly puns or cute animal photos, as she often did, Hawke knew she could at least count on a facepalm or heart emoji in reply.

“You're looking at Kirkwall's newest beat cop!” Aveline beamed enthusiastically, while skilfully extricating herself from Hawke's limbs. “I wanted to come tell you in person, especially since they're assigning me to patrol Lowtown.”

“Told you that you'd ace the exam. And that uniform makes you look extra-hot, by the way.” Hawke grinned back, throwing in a wink for good measure. Aveline's happiness was contagious, and Hawke couldn't help but be thrilled for her success. Privately, Hawke was just as thrilled for the professional help that could come with having a cop as a friend, but Aveline probably didn't need to know that particular fact.

Aveline sighed deeply, and rolled her eyes in response to Hawke's shameless flirting. Knowing she didn't really mean anything by it didn't mean it was any less ridiculously over the top.

“Wanna get a drink somewhere to celebrate?” While it may have been only noonish in Kirkwall, surely it was five o'clock somewhere, Hawke reasoned.

“Maybe tonight? I'm on shift until seven, but should be free by eight-ish.” Aveline gestured vaguely to her uniform, her movements half-apology and half-explanation.

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Hawke's easy grin faltered, just for a split second. “No worries!” Knowing that Aveline would likely abandon her altogether, sooner or later, was in fact somewhere on Hawke's list of worries, but it wasn't a subject that was open for discussion with anyone else, least of all Aveline herself. Besides, like many things in life, Hawke preferred to only deal with potential problems when they became too big of an issue to ignore.

Thankfully, Aveline had missed Hawke's very temporary moment of distress. “The office looks good, Hawke. I think your father would be proud of you.”

Hawke smiled again, while pushing down the hot tears that suddenly threatened the corners of her eyes. Malcolm was another subject that was largely off-limits for discussion, at least if she had her way about it; Bethany had been the one to tell Aveline about their father's death and how it had disrupted their already-tenuous family dynamics. “He'd better be singing my praises from the afterlife, especially after how long I've spent scrubbing this place. You want the grand tour?”

Aveline cocked an eyebrow, which translated to Hawke as 'go ahead and do the thing.' So Hawke launched into her best game show host persona as she gestured to each area. “To the right is my mini-fridge and coffee maker, which are full of booze and coffee respectively! In the middle is a spare desk. Behind that is my private office, and to the left here, my brand new used filing cabinet. And finally, le piece du resistance,” Hawke put on a terrible Orlesian accent as she opened the smaller interior door to demonstrate, “a proper bathroom, with sink AND toilet!”

Aveline nodded her approval. “Well done, Hawke. I'm glad you finally found a place to set up shop.”

Hawke tilted her head. “Thanks. Though I'm sensing a but here.” There was always a 'but' with Aveline. She might die of shock if there ever wasn't a 'but'.

“But.” Aveline popped the last consonant, apparently annoyed at needing to state the obvious. “Did you remember to get things like pens? Office supplies? Toilet paper? And do you really need to be drinking during the day at work?”

“Serrah, you wound me! Mortally! Alas, I am dead!” Hawke feigned being stabbed with an imaginary sword, partially to cover her embarrassment at realizing she had forgotten to buy office supplies and toilet paper. A small detail to worry about later, really. “People expect PIs to be day-drinking. It's part of our mysterious charm. And I can't let the good people of Kirkwall down!”

“You know that excuse wouldn't fly if you were on the force.”

“And there's a very good reason why you applied for Kirkwall PD and I didn't. Besides, there's a huge difference between having a drink now and then, and being too drunk to get work done.”

While Hawke didn't quite understand her friend's love of following and/or enforcing stupid rules, the two at least shared a penchant for giving violent assholes a taste of their own medicine. Their methodologies varied wildly, but the end result tended to be more or less the same.

“I suppose we'll agree to disagree, then.”

While Aveline did her best to sound dour and perhaps the tiniest bit judgmental, Hawke couldn't help but notice her small smirk. “I suppose so. But you know you love me and my rogueish charms. Now, how about a selfie to commemorate this momentous occasion?”

Not giving Aveline the chance to say no, Hawke pulled out her phone. Aiming the camera with one hand, she flashed a peace sign with the other, snapping a bunch of photos in a burst.

Hawke didn't really take photos with the intention of posting them publicly on social media. It wasn't like she had a ton of friends to keep up with, or a great life to show off to the rest of the world. Plus, it was better if she kept a low profile, in case clients' targets somehow recognized her, which was always a distinct possibility. Instead, she'd taken to keeping all her favourite photos saved in a specific folder on her phone.

The two women reviewed the current batch together, with Hawke navigating. Flick, flick, flick, until -- “This one?”

“Yeah, that one's good” Aveline nodded, her phone pinging a few quick seconds later as Hawke texted her a copy of the photo.

“Awesome. I'm making it your new caller ID! And next time, I'm totally stealing your hat. I just let you keep it coz it's your first day.” Hawke's fingers flew across her screen as she made the change to Aveline's contact card and starred the photo as a favourite, before returning her phone to her back pocket.

“Really? You're admitting a pre-meditated theft to an officer of the law? Of that officer's own property?” Aveline's eyebrows raised again, together this time. Practically all the way into her hairline.

Hawke was roughly 99.9% sure Aveline was joking. But, just in case, she amended her previous claim “Did I say steal? I meant borrow. Temporarily. Yeah. Borrow your hat. Just for the photo.”

“I heard what you said, Hawke.”

“Two words, Aveline, darling: plausible deniability.” Hawke clapped her on the shoulder, and nudged her toward the door. “Don't you have a patrol to be on?”

“Trying to get rid of me already?” Aveline laughed, but turned obediently toward the door. Mostly out of a sense of duty – she really shouldn't be wasting time with a friend while on the clock at work. Even if that friend was Hawke, and she admittedly felt a little guilty for neglecting their friendship over the last couple of months while preparing for the police entrance exam.

“I'll buy you a coffee from the cafe down the street? I, uh, only have one mug here, and I actually need to run some errands this afternoon.” Hawke gathered up her purse, laptop, and a few other items as they bantered. She still wasn't sure if leaving her computer alone in the office was a good idea, even though she didn't relish the idea of having to carry it while running errands. In this case, she couldn't afford to replace it if it got stolen, so it was better safe than sorry if she just carried it around.

“Actually, I could probably get you a free coffee,” Aveline offered. “Most places will give a free cup or two to anyone on the force.”

“See, if you'd led with that fun tidibt, you would've had a better chance of getting me to apply with you!”

Hawke hung a 'back in an hour' sign on the exterior door, as she shut it behind them. After turning her key in the lock and rattling the doorknob for a moment, she decided she was satisfied that the lock would hold. It was definitely on her mental list of upgrades, but she'd need to get at least the deposit from a decent-paying job or two to be able to cover the cost of a good locksmith.

Turning from the door, Hawke followed Aveline down the steps and onto the Lowtown street below.

Chapter Text

With more shopping bags than arms to carry them, Hawke wove her way back through Lowtown, towards her office.

Her trip had been a little too successful – the jumbo pack of toilet paper now wedged under one arm was on sale at the first store she stopped at, and there had been a significant discount on external hard drives at another shop, so she'd given in and put the unplanned expense on her credit card. One could never have too many secret hidden backup copies of evidence, after all, and her older hard drives that she'd brought from Ferelden were slow and getting close to full. And then, on top of the electronics, there was also the frankly stupid amount of money she'd spent on an array of pens, paper, file folders, and other banal office necessities.

Not to mention the bottle of sparkling wine that she'd bought on impulse. It was a high enough percentage to get her nicely tipsy, and it had been dirt cheap, which was the best part. She'd wanted something to properly celebrate the grand opening of her new office space, even if there was a distinct possibility that she would be toasting alone. If Aveline actually followed through on drinks later that evening, by the time they met, Hawke would have a good buzz on and could be a cheap drunk at the bar. And if Aveline forgot to text her back, between the wine and her cheap beer at the office, Hawke would be pleasantly warm enough to forget that any of it bothered her.

As Hawke turned a corner, the combined, precariously-balanced weight of her purchases was almost enough to distract her from the young boy that bumped into her. Almost. But with the collision – and her precariously-balanced bags spilling in every direction – Hawke's focus came snapping back to the present moment. She had seen this particular play before; hell, she'd even run it on a mark or two when she needed to acquire some key item in a less-than-legal way.

The kid was good, she'd give him that – as she'd scrambled to gather up her various purchases, she almost didn't notice the change in weight as he tried to swipe her laptop from her messenger bag. But he was still just a kid, and she was in a whole other league when it came to liberating items from other people's bags and pockets.

Growling, Hawke gave up on her scattered packages, grabbing him by the wrist with a scowl – mostly for dramatic impact. The kid froze, a look of sheer terror flickering in his wide eyes. “Please don't hurt me!” he yelped, doing his best to shield his face with his hands.

A few people were starting to stop and stare. Not a great way to make a first impression in a new city.

“I'm not gonna hurt ya, kid,” Hawke grinned cockily, switching tone suddenly, before leaning right in toward the kid's face and ruffling his hair. The next part, she announced loudly, mostly so the staring people around them would hear it and ideally fuck right off with their nosiness. “But since I caught you trying to steal my laptop, how about you at least help me pick up all my bags that you spilled as a way to make it up to me?”

Behind his hands, the kid nodded, not daring to look Hawke in the eye again.

She admired the kid's tenacity, to try and go for a mark in the middle of a shopping district, in broad daylight, in a crowd. But he needed to be scared straight or scared smarter if he didn't want to end up behind bars sooner rather than later. She leaned in as if to hug him, but then whispered quietly in his ear. “You try to run from me before I say you can leave? I will Hunt. You. Down.”

The kid squeaked some sort of assent, and then Hawke announced again – loudly for the now-dispersing crowd – that she would also require his services to carry her parcels for her, all the way back to her office.

From across the market, a lone dwarf in an alleyway watched the boy gather up the woman's parcels, then follow obediently behind her as they walked off. The dwarf stepped back into shadow, as the woman and the kid disappeared from sight.

***

Hawke thumbed through the bags, taking inventory. She had laid them out methodically on the topmost step of her entryway. Shockingly, nothing at all was missing; the kid hadn't tried to take anything. Nor had he tried to run off after she'd commanded him to help her. She would've put money on having to chase him down at least one more time between the market and her office, if someone had asked her to bet on the odds ahead of time. Hawke was starting to wonder if the kid was even suited for a life of petty crime.

She thumbed through her wallet – pretending to make sure he hadn't stolen any cash – as the boy stood meekly, still looking the ground. As much as it pained her to do so, she took out a full silver, which she palmed subtly before slipping her wallet back in her purse. Either she was a sucker losing her edge, or the desperation in the kid was genuine. And if it were the latter, she would feel at least a little bad about letting him starve after the labour she'd just inflicted. Even if he had just carried all her purchases all the way back to her office only because he had tried to steal her laptop.

“Carry everything inside for me, and then I'll let you go home. But I'll be checking your pockets on the way out, so don't get any ideas.”

Hawke stood on the steps, just above the Lowtown street, and watched him work.

As the kid turned to carry the last of the bags inside, Hawke stepped in behind him, pulling the front door shut behind her. Or at least she started to pull, before the door got yanked violently back in the other direction and a large hand clamped down on top of her hand, the one that was also holding the silver coin.

“Cal!” A deep voice yelled behind her.

“Mr. Varric!” the kid – apparently named Cal – hollered, before dropping the bags in his hands and sprinting back across the room toward the... the dwarf, Hawke realized, blinking.

Having lived mostly around humans her whole life, she wasn't quite sure what to say to this Mr. Varric. She didn't want to come across as racist, but also this jerk was practically holding her hand and not letting go, and that was a definite problem. More accurately, said jerk's hand was completely wrapped around hers and she couldn't move it at all, at least not without somehow dropping the silver first.

A tense moment passed between Hawke and this Mr. Varric, whoever he was. The juncture where her hand touched his hand tingled a bit; it felt almost like the air did in the moments before a thunderstorm. And if that weren't distracting enough, Hawke watched the dwarf make micro-movements as he tried to size her up.

Even though he was at least a good foot shorter than she was, it was clear from the expression on his face that he was equally aware of her micro-movements, as she sized him up. They both waited a few tense moments, watching to see if other would try to throw a punch, pull a weapon, or do something else unexpected or life-threatening. When neither did, they slowly relaxed, and the dwarf finally let go of her hand. For a split second, Hawke almost missed the warmth of it.

“I see you two are friends,” Hawke quipped, tilting her head towards Cal.

The dwarf chuckled, warm and low. “You could say that. I had to make sure you weren't going to hurt him, away from prying eyes.”

“That certainly wasn't my plan.” Hawke narrowed her eyes and snorted derisively, feeling more than a little offended. How dare he automatically assume the worst of her when she hadn't been the one to do anything even remotely illegal – at least, this time, anyway. “Care to tell me why you and Cal here wanted to steal my laptop, Mister Varric?”

“It's Varric Tethras, actually. Just Varric, to my friends.” Varric's face slid into an easy grin, as he threw in a wink for good measure. Hawke felt herself starting to hate the level of charm this dwarf oozed. Especially when it was combined with the scandalously low neckline on the v-neck shirt he was wearing, and the clear outlines of his shoulder and chest muscles underneath the t-shirt. And the damn chest hair peeking through that deep v. Him walking around like that was borderline pornographic, really.

“Well,” Hawke started, being careful not to name him at all.

“Well, you can call me Varric, for starters.” Something brief flashed in his eyes, and Hawke was sure it was nothing good, as goddamn charming as he made it seem.

“Alright, Varric. Why so interested in my laptop? Just a random mark, or something more?”

“I'm not interested in your laptop.”

Hawke watched his face as he spoke. The dwarf had some serious game – he was almost as good as she was at smooth-talking her way out of sticky situations – and there were no tells to indicate that he was lying. “But there is some specific reason you're interested in me?”

She tried to keep her eye movements as subtle as she could while scanning the room, just in case her initial read was wrong and he decided to try and make this a physical fight. It wouldn't be the first time that a surprise meeting turned violent, but in most cases, she usually had at least a few seconds' warning beforehand. The nearest thing to her that might work as a weapon was the coffee cup. Or maybe the stapler. Yeah, stapler should have more longevity. But if she smashed the mug, she'd have sharp --

“I want to hire you, actually. But can we let the kid go for the day? He's definitely out of his depth here, and he doesn't need to hear all the boring details.” Without waiting for her assent, Varric procured not one but three silvers – seemingly out of nowhere – that he slipped into the kid's hands, one by one. “You did good, Cal. I'm sure Miss Hawke here will agree with me. But no more trying to steal from her, got it? Think of this as one silver from her, one from me, and an extra so you can get some dinner for your sisters on your way home.”

Cal nodded, then flung himself at Varric for a moment. His little arms hugged ferociously, though they didn't even manage to make it halfway around the dwarf. Under other circumstances, the whole situation could be construed as charming, but Hawke found herself feeling unsettled. Maybe because it all seemed so wholesome.

“It's just Hawke, first of all. And secondly. Cal. This is for you, from me directly. I was going to give it to you for your good work, but then your friend had to go and upstage me.” Hawke tossed the silver across the room to the kid, who fumbled the catch and had to scramble to retrieve it from under the desk.

“That's very generous of you, just Hawke.” Varric smiled again, and Hawke couldn't help but feel like he was still sizing her up. The feeling of having his eyes locked with hers definitely made her uncomfortable, though she wasn't quite sure why. Maintaining eye contact wasn't usually a problem for her, as it was the best way to read micro-expressions on someone else's face.

“Only Mister Varric gets to call me Cal!” The little brat stuck his tongue out at Hawke as he beelined past her and out through the front door, all four silvers now clenched firmly in his grimy little hand. Hawke noted with a huff that she hadn't actually given the kid permission to leave. At least it was clear where his loyalties lay, and she really should have known that being soft with the kid was a rookie mistake.

“Cal's short for Calamity,” Varric offered by way of explanation. “I gave him the nickname, but now I can't remember the kid's real name.” At that supposed fact, he looked the slightest bit embarrassed, which Hawke was sure was some sort of ploy or angle. Which she absolutely wasn't falling for.

“You get an innocent kid to try and steal from me, and you don't even know his name? That's cold. Even if the kid is an ungrateful brat,” Hawke muttered the last bit, almost as an afterthought.

Varric chuckled, not unkindly. “Cut him some slack. His mom went missing a year or so back, and he's got four little sisters that he looks after. He's too young to get proper work, so I hire him for the odd job whenever I can.”

“If you're the one training him to pick pockets, I suggest you both find a new line of work.” This time, Varric laughed outright at Hawke's bluntness, and she couldn't help but grin in return.

“Oh, I know. He's terrible at it. It's part of the reason for his nickname.”

Hawke still didn't have a great read on Varric, or what he wanted from her, and the uncertainty was making her skin itch. The one thing she was sure of was that this handsome stranger would talk for hours if she let him - all while saying exactly nothing of actual substance. Her easy grin turned wolfish as she straightened up to her full height, making it clear that her momentary stupid softness for the kid was a one-time deal that was now firmly over. “While I appreciate you so generously sharing the kid's backstory, exactly none of that explains why he tried to steal my laptop, or whatever it is you think you want to hire me for.” She was definitely more than a foot taller than the dwarf, but he didn't seem at all bothered – or threatened – by the height difference between them.

“Right to the point, huh? I like that.” Varric nodded and mirrored her body language, also standing a little taller. He looked almost nervous for a second, Hawke thought, before his demeanor shifted firmly into suave businessman. “Well, Hawke... I'd like to hire you to find my fiancee.”

Chapter Text

“You want me to find your fiancee?” Hawke weighed the words on her tongue, trying to decide how they felt in her mouth. She wasn't sure if they tasted more like the truth or a lie. To help her get a better read, she squinted slightly at the dwarf, watching his eyes and mouth, looking for any nervous tics or an anxious shifting of his Adam's apple.

“Yeah.” Varric's expression suddenly turned serious, though his way of keeping eye contact with her – especially with those warm honey eyes that gave him entirely too much depth – was downright annoying, Hawke decided. But he somehow was still confident about the whole thing, it seemed. Not exactly the stereotype of a man pining for a lost lover.

“How did you lose her in the first place?” She gave a slight smirk, keeping it casual. A little gallows humour often made things better, she had found.

"You know, I ask myself that every day.”

For just the tiniest second, something about the dwarf looked utterly... broken... Hawke realized, her brain lagging just far enough behind the clues his body was giving her to be a little slow in processing it all. So, it was likely the truth, then. But was it murder, and he was trying to cover it up? Was he a crazy stalker ex? Had this woman left him for some other legitimate reason? Was it even a woman? Instead of probing further, Hawke uttered a brief “hmm” and rolled her hand at the wrist, indicating that he should fill her in on more details.

“I know this is a strange request, especially for someone you didn't exactly meet in the most up-and-up way...” Now the dwarf looked apologetic, almost remorseful. “The stuff with the kid and the laptop... well, it was a test. I'm sorry.”

“A test?” Hawke raised an eyebrow. There were still no obvious tells that he was being anything but truthful, as strange as this was all turning out to be.

“Yeah.” Varric nodded again, slowly, as if he was weighing what to say next. “I needed to know you had street smarts, that you weren't just moving into Lowtown to take advantage of our exceptional real estate deals.” His eyes twinkled, clearly pleased with being able to show off his sharp wit. But two could play at that game.

“Well, I certainly didn't rent this space for its spectacular views.” At her retort, Varric chuckled, and Hawke found the sound starting to grow on her.

“I'd be worried for you if you had. Do you mind if we sit down to talk about all this? It's kind of a long story.”

“Sure.” Hawke took the lead, gesturing toward the chairs in her small inner office. “Step into my – shit!” Her foot had landed in a large puddle. A puddle that was precisely the volume of her bottle of wine that she'd bought, give or take a few drops. Shit, indeed. She had been right all along; being soft with that little brat had caused her nothing but trouble. Hawke fought back the urge to swear openly; later on, in private, she was going to have a few choice words about the Maker to scream at the top of her lungs. “Ugh, I'm sorry about this,” she muttered, scrambling around for anything that might be useful in mopping up the mess.

Somehow, Varric beat her to scooping up a couple of threadbare tea towels that were resting near the mini-fridge, and he dropped to the floor in front of her to start mopping it up. “No, I'm sorry. I'll replace anything that Cal broke,” he offered. “Just let me know what wine to buy, and if anything else you bought got damaged.”

“Here, let me do that.” Hawke, feeling vaguely mortified, crouched down on her heels while trying to take the towels from Varric. There was no way a client of hers – potential client? Had she already decided to take his case? – should be cleaning up her office, even if it was his little accomplice that had caused the spill in the first place.

But when she tried to pull the towels from Varric's hand with a gentle but firm tug, he held on to them just as tightly for a moment, before letting go of one suddenly. Hawke found herself falling backward, landing squarely on her butt; at the same time, her momentum pulled Varric forward from his crouch, and he landed on his knees. Neither of the two managed to soak their pants completely, nor did they have a far way to fall, but they both could feel dark, damp spots forming in the places where their bodies met the ground.

Hawke wasn't quite sure who started laughing first, or even why the situation was suddenly so funny. But it was apparently hilarious for both of them, which was probably a good thing. Definitely better than the alternative. Varric's shoulders shook as he guffawed, and Hawke cackled until she choked, each of them somehow egging each other on with their laughter. Finally, they settled and Hawke caught her breath. “This – this isn't normally how things go around here,” she apologized.

“That's too bad. I'd be inclined to hang around here more often if it were.” Varric grinned at her again as he stood, and offered her a hand to help her to her feet.

Reflexively, Hawke allowed herself to be helped up, taking his hand before she realized what she was doing. Varric's hands still held the same unsettling spark, the same heat as before. It must be a dwarf thing, she figured. Clearly there was a simple logical reason for it, and she had only noticed because of her astute, nearly-superhuman powers of observation. “I'll take the towels now. And, uh, thank you,” she offered, as Varric finally surrendered the remainder of the soaked rags and she tossed them in her bathroom sink.

Once they were seated on opposite sides of her desk without further incident, Hawke opened a new notepad and package of pens – a few of the items that had somehow managed to stay dry, despite the chaos that Cal had wrought. “So, tell me more about this fiancee.”

“Her name's Bianca. Bianca Davri. We met back in university, through the archery club at first. Admittedly, it was awhile ago... well over a decade, at this point.”

“Okay. And when's the last time you saw her?”

“... a year and a half ago, give or take.” At this, Varric looked down toward the floor.

Even without the eye contact, Hawke could see the inner turmoil behind his eyes. Either this dwarf was the world's singular best liar, or – Occam's Razor – this missing woman was actually the love of his life and she had disappeared on him. Still, it was unsettling for several reasons that he may have waited this long to try and find her, so Hawke continued to dig.

“And what happened a year and a half ago?”

“The week before she disappeared? I had just proposed to her. She said yes, and she was excited to tell her folks the good news. Trust me, I wasn't dreaming her up. Even pinched myself and everything.”

Hawke could tell that he was working just a little too hard to sell the joke. “I see. And no contact from her since then? Have you tried to find her?”

“Of course I bloody well have! I called her, sent emails, scoured social media, went to her apartment, tried to go through the school to see if she left forwarding information. I even tried to find her parents, just to make sure she was alright. Nothing. She deleted everything. Accounts gone, phone dead, emails bounced back, apartment empty. It was like she never existed.”

Something in what Varric had said signalled to Hawke a whole parade of red flags, but she wasn't quite sure what exactly. There was definitely something shady about the whole situation – which was exactly the kind of complicated and maybe a little dangeous knot that she usually loved to untangle. “Do you have any pictures of you two together?”

“Yeah, here.” Varric pulled out his phone and scrolled back until he found their engagement selfies. Hawke gestured for the phone, and he passed it to her.

Slowly, she took in the blonde dwarf on the screen. She was definitely pretty, this Bianca, with her golden hair and wide smile. She and Varric definitely looked close, comfortable, and happy together. Hawke tried not to stare for too long at how huge the diamond ring on her finger was. Either Varric had saved up for a long time, or he came from family money. Maybe both.

“You're wondering about the ring.” Damn it. If the dwarf really was this astute, he had also probably realized how hard-up for money she was. It's not like people opened businesses in Lowtown because it was prime real estate or a world-class destination. “Not that I care about the cost of it, but yeah, she did take the ring with her when she left.”

“Did you ever file a missing persons report? Or tried to report stolen property?”

“I tried.”

“Tried how?”

Hawke, ever the thorough investigator, spent the next hour sketching out a detailed timeline and case file with Varric, covering every potential angle and learning every detail about Bianca, right down to her favourite wine and bra size.

By the time their conversation was winding down, the last rays of sunset dragged through the bars on her front windows and she found herself switching on the overhead lights so that she could read her scrawled notes. For the comparably short time they had spent together, Hawke somehow felt like she had known Varric for months. Maybe even years. It was strange, but it was the kind of strange that she was happy to shelve forgotten somewhere in her mind until she absolutely had to think about it.

Either way there was definitely a case here, she had decided. Something in this situation that had gone sideways. And as far as she could tell, the dwarf had been entirely truthful. Still, something about it all didn't quite add up. “Look, Varric. You seem like a nice guy, and you've been very thorough in everything you've told me.”

“I'm sensing a but here, just Hawke.” He gave her a casual grin, but she could tell that a barely-perceptible wall had suddenly gone up between them. Was this his guilty tell?

“Not a but. Not exactly. It's just that, in cases like these, there's usually a good reason why the woman doesn't want to be found.” Hawke watched his face closely again, trying to get a sense of if her words perhaps made him angry. Instead, he looked defeated, just for a fraction of a second, before slipping back into glibness.

“Well, it's a good thing you're a PI and not a psychic, because I could've saved us both an hour by me telling you that.” Varric chuckled, but Hawke noticed that this time it sounded just the tiniest bit hollow.

“I want to help you. I do.” Hawke genuinely did want to help him, for what it was worth. And not just for the paycheck, which was going to be sizeable given the amount of hours she figured it would take. Inexplicably, she found herself starting to really like the damn dwarf. "For what it's worth, I think you are telling me the truth about everything. Which is exactly what I need from you, because it will give me the best chance of finding her. But...”

Hawke took a brief moment to pause, figuring out how she wanted to phrase the next part. Instead, Varric took her silence as an opportunity to interject. “I knew there was a but!” he teased. He didn't look displeased, though, which Hawke figured was another point in her favour.

“But, you need to know two things upfront. One. I can't absolutely guarantee that I will be able to find her, and until I do some digging, I can't give you a realistic time estimate of how long it might take. Especially if she skipped the country to somewhere like Orlais or Tevinter. And two, it's our – my policy that even if I find her, she has to be the one to agree that it's okay to tell you her whereabouts. Same thing with re-initiating contact. It's a one-way street unless she says otherwise. That fair?”

More than one man – usually assholes who abused their wives and got surprised when they left – had balked at these terms. Hawke was used to it by now, though she usually didn't spend as much time in conversation with potential clients before bringing them up. But as much as being poor sucked – and there was the fact that she often had questionable ethics at best – one of the few things she would never do was intentionally put an innocent woman in potential jeopardy. It had been one of her dad's few rules, too, and it had never steered them wrong.

“That's more than fair. Is this enough to cover a retainer for you to start?” Varric pulled out a large stack of sovereigns from his wallet. Even without counting, Hawke knew that what was in front of her would be enough to cover her home and office rent for a few months, seriously upgrade the locks on her front door, and fill her office fridge with some high-end craft beer. In short, it seemed almost too good to be true. She made a mental note later to make doubly sure that the money wasn't fake. Couldn't be too careful, after all.

“Yes, fair enough. Glad to be working with you.” Externally, Hawke did her best to keep her composure and present herself as a suave professional, despite the butterflies she suddenly felt. She knew luck and danger went hand in hand, and this particular investigation was going to bring one of the two if not both. “We have a deal, Messere. I just need to collect a bit more information from you, and then I'll get a contract drawn up and emailed over to you to sign.”

As Hawke ran down her official intake form and jotted notes based on Varric's replies, a small revelation hit her. There was a reason his name had struck her as familiar when they met. “I'm sorry to bring this up. But, by any chance, are you the same Varric Tethras that wrote The Viper's Nest?”

“One and the same. I didn't know you were a fan. You should've said something before now!” Varric threw her a showy wink before grinning at her expectantly. “So tell me, what's your favourite part in the book?”

Well, shit. This was not the first time Hawke had inadvertently talked herself into a corner. And, while she could bullshit a lot of things, somehow she found herself unable to remember a single thing Bethany had mentioned about this specific book. “My little sister's a way bigger fan,” she admitted, carefully deflecting his questions like the professional that she was.

“Oh? What's her name?”

“Bethany.”

“Little siblings are a gift from the Maker, you know. And it sounds like this Bethany Hawke has exceptional taste in literature.” This time, Hawke was sure that Varric was teasing, if not bullshitting outright.

“Our brother Carver – yes, he's also a Hawke, shocking I know – would prove you wrong on at least one of those points. He's Beth's twin, and a pain in my ass.”

“Oh, I have one of those! Older brother, though. Bartrand. Does this mean that you are the eldest Hawke?” Now he was being a deliberate jerk – again – Hawke thought, as she watched Varric shift his eyebrows suggestively.

It was a weird point to find camaraderie on – and even weirder to Hawke that she found herself talking openly about personal details like siblings with a new client – but somehow, it felt easy and comfortable nonetheless.“I hear older siblings are the Maker's favourite,” she teased back, throwing in a wink. Two could certainly play at that game, and Varric had been charming enough with her.

“Funny, no direct answer to my question. Or any of them, really, if we're keeping score,” Varric winked back.

Game set, and easily matched. Oh, this was going to be fun , Hawke thought. For a first client – and maybe, if she were really lucky, a second friend in Kirkwall – Marian Hawke realized that she could do a lot worse than keeping the company of this Varric Tethras.

Chapter Text

As luck would have it, the cheap coffee maker Hawke had bought second-hand – from a pawn shop that hadn't seemed that shady – very quickly became a glorified paper weight. Well, if one wanted a paper weight that leaked water everywhere and didn't actually do the job it was designed to do.

“I only used you twice!” Hawke shouted at the useless lump of plastic, yanking the plug out of the wall and throwing the entire thing in the garbage. At least the deposit from Varric meant that she could afford a replacement sooner rather than later. But that didn't solve her current dilemma – namely, that she was hung over now and needed a serious energy boost before starting to search for this mysterious Bianca.

Drinks with Aveline had turned into Hawke staying at the bar by herself long after Aveline went home, then quietly sneaking home well past the time Bethany and Carver were asleep. Because Hawke hadn't bought curtains for her room yet, the 7 AM sunrise had meant that she was awake at least four hours earlier than any reasonable person would want to be conscious.

Once again gathering her things and double-locking the front door, Hawke headed down the street for what she had affectionately dubbed 'magic potion'.

Hair of the Dog, the ironically named coffee house was just at the end of the next block down the street from her office. While begrudgingly enlisting Carver's help to carry office furniture, he had snidely pointed out the place, noting that the name would have been far better for a bar. Though she had passed by several times, Hawke hadn't yet been in. All she knew was that there was a mabari on the sign, and that it was a coffee joint. And even if their coffee was pure swill, at that particular moment any coffee was better than no coffee.

A large bell on the door made a tinkling sound as Hawke stepped inside. It was cozy and welcoming, with brightly-coloured walls and a bunch of wooden booths around the shop edges. A handful of patrons sat at said booths, with a few sitting at the open tables in the middle of the room. At the counter was a large glass case full of various baked goods, which served to remind Hawke that she hadn't actually had anything to eat since her shopping trip yesterday. A familiar smell in the air caught Hawke's attention. It couldn't be...

“Wut can I get ye, love?” A smiling middle-aged woman shouted in greeting to Hawke.

It was a Ferelden coffee shop. Of course it was, given the mabari-branding. Now the name made so much more sense. Hawke almost wept in joy. Though she had only been in Kirkwall a month or so, there were certain comforts from home that she dearly missed.

“Ah, thank you!” Hawke grinned in reply, striding to the counter as her accent slid toward distinctly Ferelden. “Are ye making lamb stew?”

“Aye, but it wilnae be ready 'til noon or so, love. Ye new here?”

“Aye. Jus' moved here a month ago. M' little sister came over for school at Kirkwall U, and I came with her.”

“Wut's she into?”

“Medicine, actually.” Hawke beamed in pride. “Firs' year nursing.” Since she was a little girl, Bethany had always talked about wanting to be able to heal people. While altruism was a trait generally shared by at least three out of five Hawkes, optimism had been something that was unique to Bethany, especially after their father had died.

“Maker bless that angel! Name's Lissa, by the by. Good to have ye here.”

“Glad I found ye.” Hawke spent a good half-hour chatting with the older woman – even as she served other customers – finding out that Lissa had left Ferelden several years ago after her wife had died unexpectedly. Her extended backstory included spending time travelling all around Thedas, before settling in Kirkwall and opening her cafe. As they talked, Lissa even introduced her to Big Spoon, her silver-brindled mabari, who signalled his approval of Hawke by leaving a large drool stain on her jeans as she rubbed his massive head.

Finally, Hawke was sent on her way with a massive takeaway cup of coffee, a sausage breakfast sandwich that was “on the house, love!” and a promise to return for stew at lunch.

On her way out, a gorgeous woman with dark hair, multiple piercings, and an extremely low-cut, ripped tank top caught Hawke's eye. The woman sat bent over a laptop adorned with a ton of stickers, a few of which Hawke recognized as the logos for various hacker groups.

The woman on the laptop typed furiously for a few moments, then slumped her shoulders and buried her face in her hands. Her head shot back up a moment later as she caught Hawke looking at her, and her demeanour changed instantly. “See something you like?” she smirked.

“I was, uh, just admiring your stickers.”

“Oh? Why don't you come sit for a minute, sweetness?” She gestured to the other side of the booth, leaning forward to show off her low-cut top.

Hawke hesitated for a moment. She really should get back to the office, especially now that she actually had a case to work on. But she found herself very interested in this mystery woman, perhaps in more ways than one.

“I promise I only bite when asked nicely. Name's Isabela, sweetness.”

“Really? Biting in public, even?” With a grin, Hawke accepted the offer and sat down in the booth. A few minutes more at the cafe couldn't hurt. She was definitely being flirted with, and she definitely did not mind it. “I'm Hawke.” She extended her hand in greeting, and was met with Isabela's warm but firm handshake in reply.

“Nice to meet you Hawke. So what brings you to this fine establishment so early in the day?”

“My interior decorator forgot to buy me curtains, and the sun rises far earlier than it should. Remind me to fire her.” When her snark earned a hearty laugh from Isabela, Hawke continued. “But seriously. I just opened an office down the street, and apparently Mac's isn't a reputable place to buy a coffee maker.”

“Oh, sweetness. Mac is a grade A scammer. Anything he sells will fall apart in a week, and the gold jewellery isn't anywhere close to real. You really must be new in town.” Isabela threw her a sympathetic look. “You're from Ferelden, right? I overheard you and Lissa talking.”

“Yeah. Me and my siblings. And you?”

“Rivain, originally. But I couch-surfed for awhile before ending up here.”

“And what keeps you here now?” Hawke hoped she didn't seem too desperate. While she was a natural at flirting casually when there were no real stakes, when she was actually interested in a person she was far less smooth, especially when she had to try. It had been far too long since she'd felt interested in anyone, or more accurately, it had been far too long since anyone else had been able to keep up with her or hold her attention. Not since Ella, and the way that particular situation had ended was one that she was not interested in revisiting any time soon.

“A few things that hold my attention,” Isabela grinned coyly. “You mentioned an office? Does that mean you're a career woman?”

“Nothing so glamorous. I'm a PI, actually. Usually get hired to find out who's cheating on who. Lots of digging through people's trash, that kind of stuff.”

“Oooh.” Isabela perked up at this. “Ever need help on the digital side of things?”

“I... might actually.” If Bianca had been as elusive as Varric had claimed, having someone who could better access information not readily available to the public might be very useful indeed. “Black hat, white hat, or somewhere in between?” Hawke watched Isabela's face as she posed the question. There was nothing wrong with white hats, per se, but they were less morally flexible than many of the situations Hawke often found herself in.

“Definitely shades of grey.” Isabela winked in reply, and Hawke could feel a new level of approval radiating from her. “So you do know your stuff.”

“Only a little, and most of it was pure luck. All of this two-factor authentication bullshit makes it a lot harder to be nosy without leaving a trail.”

“Then you do need me. Promise I'll make it worth your while. Text me your details?” Isabela pulled out her phone expectantly. Yep, she was extremely smooth when it came to flirting. But this meant that Hawke was getting this gorgeous woman's cell phone number, which was definitely a good sign. Even if it just turned out to be for professional reasons.

“Sure. Just a sec.” Hawke unlocked her phone and navigated to the 'Add New Contact' option. “What's your full name? I'll save you in my contacts too.”

“Oh, just put me in there as Pirate Queen. Or Nice Rack, if you prefer.” Isabela leaned farther over the table to accentuate her point. Not that Hawke would have disagreed with her, even without the extra eyeful.

“Pirate Queen it is.” Hawke and Isabela traded their contact info, each subtly appraising the other when the other woman's focus was on her phone. “So, what was the mad typing earlier all about?”

“Oh, that.” Isabela laughed casually, as if to brush off the question. “Would you believe I lost an online auction?”

“Oh? What was it for?”

“A book, actually.” Hawke watched intently as Isabela looked away momentarily. Either the 'Pirate Queen' was lying, or she was ashamed of this book for some reason.

“Is it smutty?”

“Oh darling, you have no idea,” Isabela purred. “Hey, I have a great idea! You should come out with me tonight. A friend and I are going out to the Hanged Man later to do shots. Have you been there yet?”

“Never heard of it.” It was Hawke's turn to lean in closer. “But I'd be happy to have someone show me the best places in town.”

“Then it's a date, sweetness. Meet us there at 7. I'll text you the address.” Isabela closed her laptop. “I hate to cut this short, but I've been awake all night to catch the end of this stupid auction, and I need to get some sleep before I crash out on the table.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” Hawke wondered if asking about the book had been the cause of this sudden shift in tone. Either way, it was better not to push too hard, especially if she wanted Isabela to follow through on the unexpected but very welcome promise of a date.

Andraste bless this coffee shop and bless the hunk of junk machine she'd bought for dying on her at such a convenient time. “I really should get back to the office too,” Hawke added, already mentally thinking of what to wear this evening. “Get some sleep, and I'll see you tonight. Looking forward to it!”

***

As she strolled back to her office, Hawke spotted someone sitting on her doorstep. Shit, it was Varric. Hawke hoped he hadn't changed his mind about hiring her, but she had been very clear in the contract that the deposit he'd paid was non-refundable. It wouldn't be the first time she'd had that argument with a client, but hey, she needed to eat and pay rent, and she wasn't about to give that money back.

Moving closer, she noticed that Varric had a couple of parcels resting on the lower stair, by his feet. “Morning, Hawke,” he waved, grinning widely. “Or should I say good afternoon? Here I was starting to worry that you'd fleeced me and skipped town.”

Shit, was it after noon? Hawke had apparently spent far longer than she planned at Hair of the Dog. “Sorry about that. My coffee maker broke, so I went down the block.”

“Ah, the Ferelden place. Good call. She makes the best coffee in all of Lowtown, and trust me, I have extensive experience when it comes to research in that area.” Varric stood and moved aside as Hawke unlocked the door. He dutifully followed her inside.

Hawke snuck a glance at her phone as she put her messenger bag away in her office. It was only a bit after 11 AM. So Varric had been exaggerating. Phew. “So what brings you by this morning ?” She smirked pointedly, sipping her now-lukewarm coffee.

“Oh, I figured I'd stand helplessly on my PI's doorstep for an hour, looking like a chump.” Hawke must have looked more concerned at his reply than she thought she did, because Varric changed his tone quickly. “Just kidding. I've only been here ten minutes, maybe. I, uh, have a couple of things for you, actually.”

“That's great. The more info you can give me to help your case, the better.”

“Well, it's not for the case. Not exactly.”

“Uh, okay?” Blinking, Hawke felt suddenly a little off balance. Clients didn't just show up with unexpected gifts for her, unless they were trying to ask her out on a date, which was against her policy for so many reasons. And considering that Varric had just hired her to find his fiancee, she was quite certain that wasn't the case.

“Here,” Varric offered, presenting her with a bottle of sparkling wine. “I, uh, brought you a replacement for what Cal broke.” It was an expensive bottle, too, and it was the real stuff. Actual champagne. Far pricier than what she had bought yesterday, probably by several sovereigns at least. The label proudly boasted that it was imported from Tevinter; it even had a rosé base, which was definitely not a feature in the cheap bottles of wine Hawke usually bought.

“Varric, I can't accept this.” The words came out before Hawke could stop them, and shame tinged her cheeks. Normally, she was never one to turn down alcohol of any sort, but the cost of the bottle was probably at least a month's worth of rent for her; never mind the giant deposit he had already given her yesterday. It was all too much. How did he even have money to afford this all?!

“Hawke, I insist. Enjoy it with your siblings, or in the bathtub, or whatever you fancy. I promised you a replacement bottle, and it's no big deal. Really.”

Something in the dwarf's eyes felt so sincere and warm enough that Hawke conceded defeat. “I... Thank you, Varric. Really. But you shouldn't have.” Hawke smiled weakly. Aside from Bethany and her father, most people didn't just randomly do good things for someone else, at least not without wanting something in return. The dwarf's grand gesture had caught her more than a little off-guard.

“You're welcome,” Varric smiled back, and Hawke couldn't help but notice the way the corner of his eyes scrunched up softly, a detail she had somehow missed before. “I also have something else for you.” With a flourish, Varric produced a stack of books from the other bag. “My complete works. All hardcover first editions, and I've taken the liberty of signing them all. Makes them more valuable, and lets me keep track of who pawns off my books to make a few quick bucks.”

Another not-inexpensive gift. Shit. What did it mean? Several titles were books that Hawke had never even heard of. Bethany was going to lose her mind when Hawke brought these home.

Hawke flipped to the cover page of the book at the top of the stack, and found an inscription scrawled in a neat, looping hand.

To Bethany Hawke,

I hear you're a big fan, so here's a little something to say thanks for reading. Tell your big sister that little siblings are a gift from the Maker, and make sure to share these with her if she actually ever asks to borrow them.

Take care of each other in this crazy city. I'm sure you'll all do great things in Kirkwall.

Varric Tethras

Damn, the dwarf had seen right through her after all. “She – we will cherish these forever.” Hawke smiled widely, feeling a strange warmth in her chest. It wasn't every day she had semi-famous clients – friends? – after all.

“Oh, I know. And I figured I'd give you a chance to actually read my books if you wanted to, instead of just pretending that you had.”

With that, Varric's cocky grin was suddenly back in full force. This time, Hawke found that she didn't mind it at all.

Chapter Text

At 6 PM, just when Hawke was ready to give up hope on her tenuously-scheduled date, a text finally came through from Isabela.

The Pirate Queen had sent a map link to where the bar was. Good. It was fairly close to Hawke's apartment, though it was in a part of Lowtown she was still somewhat unfamiliar with.

A second text popped in a few moments later. Can we say closer to 8:30? Sorry. Just waking up now and I really need a shower.

I could always come help with that shower first ;p Hawke typed out, then quickly erased it before sending. Instead, she went with a much more casual and reasonable NP. Gives me more time to get ready too. See you then.

While Hawke had expected to hear from Isabela much sooner, she hadn't minded the extra time to work on Varric's case. Not that she was able to make much progress in locating the mysterious Bianca anyway. It was like Varric had said – the woman had seemingly disappeared without a trace.

Still, she had put in a good six hours of work. Or maybe closer to four and a half, by the time Varric had left her office earlier that afternoon and she had ducked back out to Hair of the Dog to pick up some of Lissa's stew, which turned out to be more than worth the trip back. It had been so good, in fact, that she had bought a gallon extra with the intention of sharing with her siblings.

Gathering her heavy load of books, food, booze, and laptop, Hawke locked up her office for the night and headed home. It was time to dig out a low-cut top of her own, get sexy, and cut loose.

***

“Bethy! You'll never guess what I have for you!” Hawke announced loudly as she flung open the front door to their apartment. It wasn't much, but they'd been able to find a three bedroom place in Lowtown that was only kind of run down and was still mostly affordable on their meagre incomes.

Bethany was usually home from her classes by now, and could usually be found milling about in the kitchen, putting together something at least vaguely edible for the three of them to eat. Instead, the only sound came from Carver's room – muffled shouts and gunshots that told Hawke he was playing some stupid war video game.

After hiding the bottle of bubbly from Varric deep in her closet and stashing the stew in the fridge, Hawke knocked on Bethany's door. No answer. Rolling her eyes, Hawke pushed open Carver's half-open door. “Where's Beth?” she asked, trying to keep her annoyance to herself.

“Ever hear of knocking?” Carver snapped back.

“It's not like you're busy in here,” Hawke rolled her eyes. Why did literally everything have to be a battle with her younger brother? Not to mention that he was clearly not putting in an effort to look for work, like he had promised he would. “I have a gift for her and wanted to give it to her before my date tonight.”

“Gross. Who'd be stupid enough to want to date you?”

“Oh like you're one to talk.”

“At least I'm capable of having a girlfriend who isn't a complete psycho bitch!”

“Then maybe you should have stayed with her in Ferelden if she was such a catch!” Hawke could feel the blood boiling in her veins, and she took a step further into Carver's room. Bringing up her ex had been a low blow, even for him, but if he wanted a fight -

“Would you two fucking stop for five goddamn minutes?!” Bethany stormed in suddenly, slamming the front door on her way.

Hawke felt vaguely guilty. For once, she hadn't intended to pick a fight with Carver. It just sort of... happened, and then got out of hand, as it so often did. “I'm sorry, Bethy.” She gave her best sheepish grin, hoping it would be enough to assuage her.

“Did either of you bother to make any dinner? Or is that up to me yet again too?”

Hawke could practically see the storm clouds forming around Bethany's head, and decided to do her best to diffuse them. Partly because she had been hoping Bethany would do her makeup for her before she went out tonight, but mostly because she didn't like seeing her little sister upset. “I brought home Ferelden stew, just for you. And you'll never guess what else I have.”

“Mari...” Bethany sighed deeply. She was the only person that Hawke let get away with calling her by her first name, though only in private. “I'm really not in the mood for bullshit.”

“You'll like this surprise, I promise.” Hawke hadn't failed to notice that Bethany had sworn at least twice in the last few minutes, which was never a good sign. It was clear that she'd had a bad day for some other reason – Bethany wasn't usually this angry when her siblings fought.

“Yeah sure, it's cool to leave me out yet again. I'll be sure to let Mom know all about it when she calls this weekend.”

“Shut up Carver!” Both sisters replied in unison, a synchronized front.

“Get out of my room if you're just going to be bitches!”

This time, it was Bethany who looked like she wanted to slap Carver into next week, but Hawke dragged her into her bedroom instead, slamming Carver's door behind them for good measure. He's one to talk about being a little bitch, she grumped silently to herself.

“So, uh, remember that dwarven author you loved?” Hawke dug around in her messenger bag, trying to gather all the books into a neat stack. Shit. She was pretty sure that there had been one more book – maybe she'd left it at the office by mistake?

“I'm really not in the mood for guessing games, Marian. I failed a test today and I need to go study.”

“Here.” Hawke handed Bethany the bundle, watching as her little sister's mood shifted, her eyes widening with excitement. She'd figure out later what book was missing, if any.

“These are all first editions! And signed by the author?! You shouldn'tve spent your money on these!” Bethany's voice was loud enough that Hawke was sure Carver could hear every word, despite being two rooms away.

“I didn't buy them.” Another sheepish grin from Hawke.

“Just because you have a friend in the police department now doesn't mean you can start shoplifting again!”

“Beth!” Hawke rolled her eyes affectionately. Just because she'd been caught once with sticky fingers... well, long story short, she had learned her lesson and was much careful the next time. “These were given to me, firsthand. I promise.”

“Given to you?” It took a second, then realization dawned on Bethany's face. “Holy crap! You... you met him? He gave you his books?! For free?!” Another moment of processing, then Bethany's eyes lit up again. “Oh my god, you have to tell me everything about whatever case you're working on for him. With him? Is it gonna be like that TV show where the author and the detective fall in love? I can't believe you met Varric Tethras in person!”

“Sssh!” Hawke quieted her sister, though she couldn't help but laugh at her enthusiasm. “It's not like that! I have it on good authority that he is taken, first of all. And second of all, the only way I could officially share case details with you is if you were working on the case with me.”

A pained look crossed Bethany's face. This wasn't the first time they had broached the subject of having more than one Hawke carry on their father's legacy, but Bethany had always been more interested in healing people physically, rather than solving a myriad of mysterious problems that often boiled down to emotional issues. As much as the younger Hawke sister missed her father, and for as guilty as she felt leaving all the work to Marian, PI work was often tedious and stressful for her rather than anything she found at all enjoyable.

“Forget I said that? I will tell you what I can when I can, ok? But in the meantime, you need to go study and I have a date tonight that I need to get ready for.” Hawke would figure out some way to balance a minimum amount of information while maintaining client confidentiality. She was fairly confident that it could become a tomorrow-Hawke problem instead of a now-Hawke problem, which would also give her more time to think about what to say. And it's not like her little sister was ever likely to meet Varric in person...

“A date? You mean hanging out and drinking with Aveline?” Bethany still looked skeptical, but at least she let the other subject drop for the time being.

“No... Someone new. I met her at that Ferelden coffee shop this morning, Hair of the Dog. Same place I got your stew. She's pretty cute.”

Bethany smiled, though the tiredness in her eyes shone through more than the excitement she'd shown moments ago for Varric's books. “Promise me you'll be careful? You've been staying out late a lot lately, and the streets aren't all that safe late at night. What if she turns out to be a murderer or something?”

Hawke grinned. “I'll keep my phone data turned on so you can track my location, if that will make you feel better. But seriously. We're just going to a bar. Some place called the Hanged Man. How dangerous could it be?”

***

On first glance, the Hanged Man didn't seem any worse than Chainz, the basement hole in the wall with questionably sticky floors that Hawke had been frequenting with Aveline. For better or worse, one thing it seemed to have going for it was that it was a low-rent hotel along with being a bar. Probably a love hotel, Hawke figured. Rooms that could be rented by the hour for drunken debauchery. Was that why Isabela had picked the place?

Hawke felt her face flush as she considered that option, but before her brain could venture too far down that particular line of inquiry she caught sight of Isabela waving from a booth across the bar. A man with gorgeous, full-body tattoos sat across from her. Had she misread the signals, and this was just a friendly hangout? Or was Isabela looking for a threesome? Something else?

Hawke crossed the bar, eager to find out where the night would lead.

Chapter Text

“Hey there, Pirate Queen,” Hawke grinned, giving her hips a slight extra sway as she approached the booth. After spending far too long agonizing over her potential wardrobe choices, she had finally gone with one of her favourite tank tops that showed more skin than it covered, a mesh sports bra underneath, and a pair of jeans with a couple of strategic rips in them. Her cherry-red knockoff Docs and vintage leather jacket completed the outfit.

Despite her insistence that her little sister go study, Bethany took over Hawke's primping with an absolutely terrifying level of delight. Bethany had worked her usual magic on Hawke's hair and makeup: using some sort of product that gave her hair amazing volume, drawing on a thick, slightly-winged eyeliner with kohl that any self-respecting punk would kill for, and painting Hawke's lips in a shade of red that very nearly matched her boots. Lucky for Hawke, it was a matte lipstick, and had stopped smudging on her teeth and face after only the second blot.

The look was partly to impress Isabela, but mostly to give herself some much-needed confidence. Fake it til you make it, right? It had been at least a handful of years since Hawke had been on a first date with anyone new, and the way her last couple of relationships had ended didn't exactly make her eager to get back into the dating pool.

As she strutted up to the booth, Hawke watched Isabela's face take her in. The slight widening of her eyes and hint of tongue at her bottom lip were both good signs. “Hey there, gorgeous,” Isabela purred, jumping up to give Hawke a hug that lingered just a little longer than one that was strictly platonic. Another very good sign. “I'm glad you could make it. This is Fenris, by the way,” she added, gesturing at the man who sat across the table.

“Hey, I'm Hawke. Love your ink, by the way.” Hawke tried to send out her best 'casual, yet fun, and totally competent at life' vibes, hoping to make a good first impression. Idly, she wondered if his tattoos were some sort of tribal thing. She admittedly knew less about elven culture than she probably should, though it didn't take much to recognize the mastery and countless hours that must have gone into the detailed work on his skin.

In reply to her greeting, Fenris nodded slightly and grunted a “Hmm.” Joy, he was the brooding type. He wasn't going to be an easy read for her, that was for damn sure.

“Don't mind him,” Isabela soothed. “He acts like a grump, but he's a big softie on the inside.” There was another grunt from Fenris, but Hawke still couldn't quite tell if he was agreeing or disagreeing with the brief character sketch that had been provided. “I just need to run to the bathroom, so grab a seat. I'll pick up a round on the way back!” Isabela blew a kiss and slipped away from the table before Hawke could reply.

Hawke slid into the booth, sitting across from Fenris. A couple of pint glasses already rested on the table; she would obviously have some catching up to do, as the pair had been there for at least one round prior to her arrival. “I know Isabela said she'd get drinks, but I'm happy to grab a pitcher to get us started. Any favourites?”

“Don't worry about it. She's got it covered.” Wow, a sentence with over ten syllables. Was this Fenris opening up to her? What was next – his full life story?

“If you're sure. The next round's on me though.” Hawke offered another easy grin, but only received a short nod in reply. Damn, not even a grunt this time. She stewed in the silence for a moment, running through the very short list of possible topics they could potentially discuss. Tattoos were one, she supposed. He didn't seem inclined to talk about his own though, nor had he answered her question about potential favourite beers. The other best course was likely inquiring after their mutual acquaintance. “So, how do you know-”

“She has a girlfriend already,” Fenris growled, cutting off Hawke's question.

“Oh.” Oh, indeed. Hawke felt that small bubble of confidence that had been slowly building inside her pop entirely. “Thanks for letting me know.” She tried to keep her face as neutral as possible, but internally, her mind raced. In the wider scope of things, it was a relatively minor disappointment – despite the fact that Isabela had definitely called it a date, and had been giving off all manner of flirty signals, both at the coffee shop and when Hawke had arrived at the bar.

The tone Fenris had taken was one that clearly implied that it was not an open relationship. And unlike some people, Hawke had no intention of encouraging other people's girlfriends to cheat. “I'm actually pretty new in town, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to make some new friends.” The lie felt surprisingly easy on Hawke's tongue, likely made all the easier by the sprinkling of truth that she had added in.

“Is that what you normally wear when making new friends?” A flicker of something appeared in Fenris' eyes, but it disappeared just as quickly. It was too fast of a micro-expression for Hawke to read accurately, especially in someone who seemed absolutely determined to be as closed-off as possible.

“Really depends on the day of the week,” Hawke grinned, her words taking on a tone that could easily be interpreted as flirty. If nothing else, it was a way to measure his possible reactions. He definitely wasn't her type, though. She preferred someone who could at least keep up their half of a conversation.

Her banter earned her another “hmm” from the stoic elf, but there was a very slight pitch up at the end. Amusement, maybe? Luckily, any further verbal attempts to pull teeth were interrupted by Isabela's timely return.

“Miss me?” Isabela slid in next to Hawke, ever so casually bumping hips with her as she set down the pitchers – plural – that she double-fisted. “Picked up a cider and a beer, wasn't sure what you'd prefer. Both are Corff's special house-brews.”

“Corff?”

“Yeah, Corff's the owner here. He does small batch craft brewing. And 'Bela, I told her about Merrill.” Man, Fenris was just full of helpful information all of a sudden, Hawke mused with only the tiniest dash of bitterness. Not to mention that he had now approximately doubled the amount of syllables that she'd heard him speak all night.

“Fenris!” 'Bela huffed. “First you tell me that you hate Kitten and I should dump her, and now you clam-slam me for her sake when I meet someone new and cute?”

The deep resonance of laughter from across the table caught Hawke more than a little off-guard. What was even more surprising was that she found herself laughing along, genuinely amused by the absurdity of it all. “Clam-slam?” she finally choked out. Maker, she hadn't laughed that long in... well, she couldn't quite remember when.

Isabela rolled her eyes, with more than a hint of fondness. “Well, you know... lady parts and all. Like our own version of cock-blocking.”

“Oh, I know,” Hawke answered back with what she hoped was some level of smoothness. “I've just never heard it phrased quite that way before.”

“Feel free to steal the expression, if you want. Though I think Fenris here is just jealous because he hasn't gotten any in quite awhile.” With that, Isabela stuck her tongue out at the elf, adding a raspberry for good measure. “Anyway, you never did answer me on drink selection. Beer or cider?”

“Cider to start, thanks. And I'm cute, huh?” Hawke grinned, nudging Isabela with her elbow. Somehow, the knowledge that the evening was not going to end in intimacy made it much easier to enjoy the other woman's over-the-top flirtations. She couldn't help but notice that Isabela hadn't mentioned anything else about her girlfriend; the smart move for a variety of reasons was letting the other two provide more information about this Merrill without her prompting.

“If I were single, I would take you to bed and make a very dishonest woman out of you.” Isabela nudged back, before pouring a round of cider, more or less emptying the first pitcher. “But in lieu of that sort of good time, can I make your cider more fun, sweetness?”

Hawke watched in fascination as Isabela procured a small flask from somewhere in her ample cleavage. “I always like fun, so long as other people enjoy fun too.”

“Oh, I like fun,” Isabela promised. “And so does he, even if he pretends otherwise. It's vodka, if you're wondering,” she added, pouring first into Fenris' drink and then her own, before adding to Hawke's pint glass upon her affirmation. Then, the flask disappeared as quickly as it had been procured, back into the cleavage. It was an impressive trick on several levels, really.

“I like the way you think.” Hawke raised her glass to match Isabela's gesture, and the three clinked glasses. “Also, damn. You gotta teach me that flask trick at some point.” Oh yeah, cider and vodka combined was a really good time, Hawke decided, taking a generous sip from her glass.

“Giving me a reason to stare at those gorgeous tits? I knew I was going to like you.”

“You're not so bad yourself,” Hawke smirked, adding another elbow nudge for good measure. Thus far, this night out was turning out to be even more fun than she had anticipated. Perhaps her earlier lie to Fenris had contained more truth than she'd first realized.

“So, how does this fine establishment match up to your other Kirkwall experiences so far?” Hawke found herself wondering if that was amusement – sarcasm, even?! – that coloured Fenris' voice. She was vaguely impressed at his attempts to make conversation. Maybe he was friendlier drunk than he was sober? Or had just wanted to protect his friend and her existing relationship? Neither were things Hawke could fault him for, even if he was just pumping her for information, which was another distinct possibility. Game recognizes game, and all. “'Bela mentioned that you were new in town.”

“Yeah. The only other bar I've been to thus far is Chainz, but I'm happy for other recommendations.” In this case, the truth was fairly innocuous, all things considered, so Hawke shared it.

“Oh nooo,” 'Bela grumbled. “Chainz is only good on the weekends. They do a passable retro night every Friday, and twice a month on Saturdays they do alternative. A bit of industrial, more on the heavy side. Something tells me you'd enjoy it, if you haven't discovered those nights already. And if you ever want company...”

Hawke tried to think back, but couldn't remember with any accuracy the last time she had been dancing. Chainz had mostly been a weeknight thing, as often as she could get Aveline out, anyway. Which meant that a real night out was long overdue; something told her that her present company would be more interested in that sort of atmosphere than either Aveline or her siblings. “Yeah, I'd like that. It's a date, as you say.”

Having more friends in Kirkwall definitely would not be a bad thing, she decided.

***

Somewhere around the fifth round, Hawke excused herself to the washroom. She'd held out for as long as she could, but it was long past time to break the seal.

Sitting in the stall, an elaborately-doodled graffiti heart to her right caught her eye, somehow standing out despite the criss-crossed scribbles that covered pretty much every surface in the washroom with the exception of the floors and the toilets themselves. The inscription inside was simple enough – two sets of initials, and a date from somewhere around two years ago. Hawke scoffed to herself as she wondered if and when BD and VT had broken up, and how long after...

Well, shit. Even in her slightly less than sober state, Hawke recognized the potential clue literally staring her in the face. She squinted more closely at the graffiti, the vodka-enhanced ciders suddenly seeming like a slightly less brilliant idea. She was willing to bet that relatively few people in Kirkwall had the initials VT. At the very least, she could ask him about it the next time she saw him. Whenever he next swung by the office. Not that she maybe enjoyed his random visits just the tiniest bit, and maybe kind of looked forward to them?

Pulling out her phone to take a photo of the graffiti for future reference, she noticed a couple of missed texts in her notifications, from Aveline and Bethany respectively. Several hours ago, Aveline had sent a Sorry, this week's been nuts. Miss you! with a photo of a nug and a mabari puppy snuggling. The Having fun? from Bethany had come in under an hour ago, and Hawke felt a slight pang of guilt when she saw the timestamp. So much for an early night. Oops.

But, right. The graffiti. She could deal with Bethany in the morning too. Hawke snapped a burst of photos, satisfied that at least a couple were not blurry or under-lit, and headed back to the bar, after double-checking that she had, in fact, done up her fly. One could never be too careful, after all.

Exiting the bathroom, Hawke suddenly felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Quickly, she scanned the room, mentally cursing herself for not paying more attention to the various patrons upon her arrival. At first, nothing seemed out of place; the usual assortment of blue-collar folks around the room seemed to be nothing more than the usual lifeblood of every good dive bar slash cheap hotel. A second pass still revealed nothing, and Hawke was almost ready to write off her reaction as being overly paranoid. Tequila could be a great cure for that, as it had been on several other occasions. But her instincts were seldom wrong, when they came through this strongly, so she held off on her instinct to make a detour to the bar before returning to their booth.

On her third scan of the room, Hawke noticed an older, bearded man – who seemed to be paying a little too much attention to her newfound friends – sitting at a table in one of the darkest corners of the bar. The man had positioned himself so that he was directly facing Fenris' back, and would be hard to see even by Isabela or herself while sitting at the booth. And it wasn't even his seating arrangement or intense stare that was particularly concerning. Nope, it was definitely the way he stood up suddenly while pulling out a pocket knife, and the obvious direct line he was making toward Fenris' back.

Reflexively, Hawke sprung to action before her brain could catch up with her body's questionable decisions. Running at full speed, she slammed her clasped hands hard in a downward direction at the nape of the man's neck, which served to send him stumbling while knocking the knife from his grip. “'Bela! Fenris!” Hawke shouted at the top of her lungs, hoping that she was loud and visible enough across the din of the bar.

Thankfully, they heard her and they seemed to be able to hold their liquor – both sprung to their feet within record time. Fenris immediately spotted the man on the floor, shouting something in another language as he dove on top of the older man. At the same time, Isabela scooped up the knife and was running toward Hawke, with her breasts – slam. Hawke's previous train of thought was very rudely interrupted by whoever had just introduced their fist to her cheek.

Spinning around, Hawke was rewarded by another fist crunching squarely into her nose. She spat out the metallic tang of blood as she centred herself, one hand instinctively coming up to guard her face. Late was better than never; she felt her body shift into a more useful fighting stance. Of course that asshole would have friends, and of fucking course her nose was probably broken. Again. Bethany would be absolutely furious with her for getting into yet another fight, even if she technically hadn't started it this time around. But that was a future Hawke problem.

Much more immediate was Hawke's need to (mostly) block the next few punches. She was vaguely aware of Isabela behind her, holding her own against another creep who was presumably yet another crony of Mister Stabby. What Hawke didn't expect was the goddamn arrow that suddenly embedded itself in her current opponent's shoulder, just as she had been ready to smash him with the now-vacant chair she had just hefted.

At the top of the landing that led toward the hotel area of the Hanged Man stood none other than Varric. As if her night couldn't get any more fucked up. An archery bow in his hand, Hawke watched as he notched another arrow and pointed it in her general direction.

Varric let the arrow fly as Hawke side-stepped for good measure, still hanging on to the chair just in case. Varric's arrow landed squarely in the right asscheek of the man Isabela had been fighting with. The man howled in pain and whirled around. When he saw the dwarf with the bow, he ran, following in the footsteps of Hawke's former opponent who was also running for the door. Smart.

It took Hawke a couple of seconds to realize that Fenris was now missing, as was the man that had attacked him. Apparently, Isabela had come to the same realization in roughly the same amount of time. “I've gotta find him. I'll call you! I promise!” she yelled, following the two men out of the door.

After confirming that there was nobody else waiting to attack her, Hawke set the chair back down on the ground. The bar had mostly cleared out in a record amount of time, aside from a surly man behind the bar who was now glaring directly at her.

“I've got this, Corff!” A voice – too close to her side – made Hawke whirl around again. Bow still in one hand, Varric waved to the surly man, who waved back. The dwarf turned a too-brilliant grin to Hawke. “Fancy meeting you here, stranger.”

Chapter Text

“Fancy meeting you here, stranger.”

Hawke blinked in confusion as she stared down at the dwarf. The dwarf that was holding, of all things, a bow. Like he was some kind of goddamn medieval reenactor or something. And this was the one very specific dwarf, as a matter of fact, that she had been maybe kind of hoping to see sometime in the not so distant future.

Wait. She had been in the bathroom, where she had definitely thought about said specific dwarf... and then there had been the bar fight. Featuring Mister Stabby, who she was reasonably sure she had stopped from actually stabbing Fenris. The trickle of blood running down the back of her throat, combined with the aching in her face – yep, that nose was broken yet again – reminded her of exactly how recent that fight had been.

Hawke found herself regretting the 'extra' vodka even more now, for a handful of reasons. One being that people tended to bleed a little more when drunk. Two, she currently had little idea exactly how much time had passed or in what precise fashion. Plus, her friends had suddenly disappeared – wait, friends, plural? Should she be worried? Either about them and/or for her own sanity? Quickly checking her pockets, at least her phone was still intact. Phew. And her jacket was still in the booth, with her keys in the pockets.

Wow. The table was hard, the world was suddenly kind of slanty, and the adrenaline from fighting was starting to wear off very suddenly. Between the utter absurdity of it all and the unshakable taste of blood, Hawke found herself doing the most rational thing that came to mind: she turned away from Varric, who had been following dutifully behind her – and vomited the entirety of her stomach contents on the floor.

***

Hawke found herself painfully aware of two things: the cold sensation on her face and the warm hand resting on her shoulder. Plus, a third thing – the literal pain that was still in her face, though the cold admittedly made it a bit better.

A soft, honeyed “Hi” came from somewhere above her. Oh wait, she was noticing a fourth thing: she was laying on her side, on a bed. And it was a bed that was just the right amount of squishy. “How're you doing?” the voice continued. A voice that she was willing to bet was attached to the person sitting behind her, the one with their hand on her shoulder.

Ungluing her top eyelids from the bottoms, Hawke rolled over to her back and squinted up at the voice. Adding to her peripheral awareness was a burgeoning headache. And even worse than that... shit. Shit shit shit. Varric was the owner of said voice. And presumably, the very comfortable bed and the warm hands. And presumably also the cold thing, which meant that she had probably bled her stupid nose-blood all over the pillows her head was resting on. Yep, there was a warm patch of fresh blood below her cheek, sinking in to the linens. Perfect.

This was really not the time that Hawke wanted to have the 'I don't give refunds, it's in your contract, bye!' speech... but maybe she should make an exception on the no refunds rule this one time. Mostly because she didn't exactly have her insurance up to date... and with what Varric had paid her, he was likely the type of guy who could afford a good lawyer... and there was no way on earth that he would see her as a professional or want to work with her, after seeing her like this.

“Hey, Hawke. You alright?” Making another stunning realization, Hawke noticed that the hand that had been on her shoulder was now stroking her cheek with a feather-light touch. His face looked far more worried than judgmental.

“I didn't puke on you, did I?”

Somehow, this earned her a soft chuckle. “Nope. You've got almost as good of aim as I do.”

“Oh. Good. How'd I end up here?” Hawke scanned the room, but it wasn't anywhere that she recognized.

“I carried you.”

“You carried me?”

“Yeah, you're not that heavy.” Varric threw in a wink for good measure, just to show that he was joking.

Hawke found herself feeling only a lot embarrassed, all things considered. “But... the sheets?”

“That's what laundry service is for. They can get blood out.”

Dimly, Hawke wondered exactly how much experience Varric had with getting blood out of fabric, and why. Again, that was something that should probably be a future-Hawke problem. Unless he was a murderer, but he really didn't seem the type. Those arrows had been strategically placed into fleshy bits, after all, far away from crucial organs.

“What time is it?” The room was dark, but the curtains were tightly drawn. It could be any hour. Shit. Bethany -

“Just after 2 AM. You were only out for an hour or so, and I would've woken you up soon anyway to check on you.”

“Where am I, exactly?”

“Geez, for a PI, you ask a lot of dumb questions.” Hawke became aware that the warm hand had left her cheek. How long – oh wait, it was still moving away, now tucking an invisible strand of hair between one of his ears. That ponytail kind of worked for him – how come she had never really noticed that before? “You're in my room at the Hanged Man.”

Hawke blinked again. The confusion must have been evident on her face, because Varric added “this is my current address. I've been living here since... well, you know. It's pretty cozy, really.” She tried thinking back to what address he had written on his contract, just to be sure, but her memory wasn't quite that good at the moment.

“My -”

“Phone's beside you on the nightstand, and I hung your jacket on one of my chairs. House keys are still in your pocket, and intact as best as I can tell.” Hawke couldn't remember another time when she had felt so... so taken care of . It made her skin itch a little – what did he want from her? And how had he managed to be there at just the right time?

“I...” Hawke began sitting up, ready to head home and accept whatever fate Bethany decided would make up for getting injured and staying out all night. Shifting her weight slightly, Hawke determined that at least her jeans were still on her lower half. She wiggled her toes and promptly realized that her boots had been taken off; lacing them up was always a pain in the butt, even at the best of times.

Sliding out from under the covers, Hawke realized that she was somehow now in just her sports bra, up top anyway. She yelped, reacting ever-so gracefully, yanking the blankets back up to her neck in a futile effort to preserve modesty for at least one of them.

“I... I shouldn't be here...” Hawke managed to stutter, a poor show of thanks considering how much he'd already done for her. And yet, despite the mortification she felt at a very deep level, some part of her didn't terribly want to move from his bed. Maybe it was because of how comfortable the bed was, or maybe it was because of her impending hangover. It could even be another reason, theoretically, but in her current state Hawke had trouble deducing what that elusive other justification might be.

“From what Corff tells me, you stopped a murder from happening tonight. I'd say that at least deserves a soft place to rest for a few hours.” Varric studiously avoided looking at her as he stood to retrieve her tank top, which had also been draped on a chair. “It's not perfect, but I gave it a scrub. Sorry I couldn't get all the blood out.” He crinkled his nose in disgust as he touched the fabric. “It's still pretty wet actually. If you need to get home right now, I could lend you a shirt so you don't catch cold out there.”

“Um...” Hawke slumped over in the bed, resting her head between her knees as she all of a sudden felt a little dizzy. The hangover had apparently picked a hell of a time to kick in, though this didn't quite feel like her normal hangovers. Then again, she had never mixed cider and vodka, and what other rational explanation could there be?

“You're also welcome to just crash out here tonight, if you want. My palatial suite is your palatial suite, if you like.” Varric grinned with a small shrug, gesturing ironically to the rundown state of the room.“And it would save me the walk back here after making sure you get home safe.”

“You really don't have to do that.” Hawke sat up a little straighter, still holding the blanket over her chest for the sake of decorum. “I can always call a rideshare or something. A walk by myself would probably do me some good, too.”

The space between Varric's eyebrows creased suddenly at her reply, in a heavy sort of way that Hawke had never noticed before that exact moment. “I know you haven't been in Kirkwall long, Hawke, but it's not a great idea for anyone to be out walking alone, late at night in Lowtown.”

“I'm pretty sure I can handle myself in a fight,” Hawke grinned in reply, adding an extra bit of flippancy for good measure. “I already won one tonight, what's one more?”

Varric chuckled again, his eyes lingering on her face in a way that made Hawke aware of just how closely he was studying her. “You're tenacious, I'll give you that.” He still hovered by the chair that her shirt rested on.

“Isn't that why you hired me?” It was Hawke's turn to study his face. It felt like there was something subtle that she was missing, but she wasn't quite sure what.

“Something like that, yeah.” Varric shifted his weight where he stood, almost like he was playing chicken with her, at least when it came to whether she would leave or stay.

Something about the whole situation felt almost cloying to Hawke, and she impatiently reached out her hand for her shirt. “I appreciate... well, all of this, Varric. Your impeccable timing, your mad archery skills, and the offer to let me crash here. But my sister will freak out if I'm not at home when she wakes up.” Hawke pulled her tank top over her head – he hadn't exaggerated the dampness, and it was kind of gross. At least it had been a fairly warm night, on the way over at least.

“Am I walking you home, then?”

Hawke began lacing her boots, which had been carefully placed near the end of the bed. She sped through the process in record time. “I'll call a rideshare, no worries. It's all good”

“You sure?” Varric's forehead crease was back again, Hawke noted, as she rounded up her phone, jacket, and keys.

She waved her hand dismissively, as if to push away his particular level of caring that somehow felt more and more irritating to her, though she couldn't quite pinpoint why. “Tell ya what, swing by the office tomorrow morning, if you want to check up on me.” As an afterthought, she added “Only if you bring some good coffee, though.”

“Deal,” Varric chuckled. “And I'll make it afternoon, just to be safe. You can tell me you've been working hard since 9 am, and I'll have to believe you.”

“It's a deal,” Hawke put on her best casual grin. “And, uh, sorry about all the blood.”

Varric chuckled again, following her to the door. “Why do I feel like that's not the first time you've had to say that?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that statement.” It was Hawke's turn to throw in a casual wink. Ow – even winking hurt. Tomorrow was going to be a special level of hell.

“Get home safe, Hawke.”

“Thanks, Varric. 'Night.”

Hawke almost wanted to pick another fight on the way home, just to spite Varric's needless hen-pecking; for better or worse, the walk passed entirely without incident.

Chapter Text

Despite sneaking in almost-soundlessly, Hawke's peaceful arrival back home took a sharp left turn, somewhere between locking the front door behind her and a slight detour to the kitchen to find something cold for her swollen face.

As Hawke closed the freezer door – bag of frozen peas in hand – she turned to find Bethany leaning on the kitchen doorframe. Maybe letting her have the bedroom closest to the front door hadn't been such a good idea after all.

“Again, Hawke?” Without waiting for an answer, Bethany flipped on the light, her face turning to pure ice. The youngest Hawke somehow managed to look disappointed and enraged, all at once. “I am NOT patching you up every time you come home like this.”

“Bethy, I –”

“Save it,” Bethany snapped. “What happens if you get arrested for fighting again, huh? I don’t have the money to bail you out and Dad isn’t…oh!” Wiping at her eyes, Bethany stormed back to her room, slamming the door behind her for good measure.

Seeing her little sister’s eyes well up with tears was the number one way to make the elder Hawke feel like utter shit, on top of the myriad of other ways she also happened to feel like shit at that particular moment. Following Bethany down the hall, Hawke tapped on her door lightly and tried the knob, only to find it locked.

She didn’t need to be a detective to read this particular situation – it was obvious that Bethany didn’t want to speak to her further that night. “Bethy, I’m sorry,” Hawke said softly, to the silent doorframe. What made it worse was that she could hear the faintest sounds of Bethany crying from the other side of the door. Her heart sank to her stomach – this was not how she’d wanted the night to go at all.

“Bittie?” Her childhood nickname for her sister couldn’t hurt to try; that’s why she saved it for special occasions, after all. Usually after she had royally fucked something up.

“Just go to bed, Hawke,” came the muffled reply.

“I – I didn’t mean to get into a fight this time. It just kind of happened…” Technically, that was all true. And considering the other option would have meant someone getting stabbed, she had done the right thing by intervening – hadn’t she?

Hawke waited long enough until the silence on the other side of the door gave her a final answer. This wasn’t getting solved tonight, and Bethany was too upset or pissed off or whatever to engage with her any further. That almost never happened. Well, shit.

Crying wasn’t really a thing Hawke did. Sometimes she cried in the shower when nobody else was home, or sometimes – glass usually still in hand – she would cry after she was beyond sloppy-drunk on red wine, but that was about it. Nights like tonight… well, she wished she could cry as easily Bethany did. Her face hurt and her sister was mad at her and her ‘date’ had somehow been the cause of both of those things, and she hadn’t even gotten a goodnight kiss from anyone after all of it. It was almost like the universe actively didn’t want her to be happy.

Taking the frozen peas with her to bed, Hawke draped the bag over her face and fell into an uneasy sleep.

***

Merrill’s Flowers &c. the unassuming sign in front of the store announced. Its numerous happy patrons had emphasized both that it was the most affordable flower shop in Kirkwall, along with also being the hands-down best overall. Tales of saved marriages, grannies that recovered from mysterious illnesses, and everything in between had been littered amongst the reviews Hawke had found online. As a bonus, the equally-unassuming shop was also rather close to her office.

“Kitten, have you seen my pants?” A vaguely familiar voice shouted from somewhere behind a distant curtain. The bell above the door tinkled pleasantly as Hawke stepped fully inside.

“Shh, look under the bed, I have a customer!” A second voice, not entirely unlike the bell itself, answered back pleasantly to the first. A moment later, a petite, tattooed elvhen woman stepped through those same curtains. “Hello! How can I help you this morning?” she chirped brightly.

“Hi, uh, I’m looking for something for my sister.” Hawke suddenly found herself feeling the tiniest bit self-conscious, though she couldn’t quite place why. Maybe it was the sheer earnestness in the smaller woman’s face. At the very least, she hoped the makeup she was wearing would hold up for the day, and that she wasn’t already looking swollen and hideous. Her nose really was a sight without the layers of cover-up on top.

“Is your sister getting married? Having a baby? Get dumped by her boyfriend or girlfriend?”

“Oh, uh, none of those things. She’s mad at me.”

“I see. So you want something that says ‘I’m sorry?’” The elvhen woman began to fuss behind the counter, pulling out various pots and ribbons.

“Yeah. If possible, something that says ‘I’m an idiot who got into a bar fight and it won’t happen again, and I don’t want you to worry about taking care of me, so I’m sorry for all of that and whatever else I’ve fucked up too.’” Hawke grinned as casually as she could manage. If this Merrill was even half as good as the reviews had said, she would procure some magical combination of plants that would make Bethany feel much better and forgive Hawke entirely, all while earning Hawke a few additional passes for future mistakes, just for good measure.

“Never say never again! And it sounds like someone had a good night,” that same familiar voice purred from behind the curtain. A moment later, Isabela stepped out; to her credit, if she was surprised to see Hawke standing there, her face didn’t show it in the slightest. “Oh, Hawke!” she squealed delightedly. “I figured you’d be asleep until at least noon!”

“Hey, Bela,” Hawke said evenly. A part of her wanted to be mad about how the night had gone – especially considering how it had ended – but if she were being honest, knocking a knife out of someone’s hand and then getting punched in the face was the most alive Hawke had felt in ages. At the same time, her brain put together a snippet of conversation she’d had with Fenris – while Merrill wasn’t an entirely-uncommon name, she really should have put two and two together. “I’m glad to see you’re okay.”

“Ooh, is this the girl?” Merrill squeaked excitedly, matching Isabela’s tone. “She’s even cuter than you said! Hawke, is it? Thank you for saving my girlfriend’s life. And Fenris’ too.”

A second later, Hawke found herself shaking Merrill’s hand, then being pulled into a tight hug as the smaller woman gazed up at her, looking more than a tiny bit starstruck. “Ah, it was nothing,” she grinned, feeling more than a little helpless.

“And you’re modest, too! Okay, okay, you two talk. I know just the plants you need, Hawke. I’ll have it ready in a jiffy!” Just as quickly as Merrill had swept up Hawke, she was bustling around the shop, stopping to talk to certain plants and picking up others as she made cuttings here and there.

“I hope you’re okay,” Isabela purred, leaning in to stroke Hawke’s face. “And I’m honestly sorry about your nose, sweets. More than happy to make it up to you, however you like. And I was going to text you at a respectable time this afternoon, I swear.”

Hawke caught Isabela’s hand, bringing it back down by her side. She still didn’t hate the flirting, even after the course of last night’s events, but it was pretty clear it wasn’t going beyond that. “Your girlfriend’s cute.”

Watching Merrill move around the shop, Isabela sighed contentedly. “Isn’t she? Some days, we’re ready to murder each other - I know, her and I are the whole opposites attracting thing.I hope you’re not mad that I didn’t tell you about her?”

“Nah, s’all good.” The strangest part was, Hawke mostly, actually meant it, even as she was saying the words. “So who was that guy after your friend?”

“Oh. That.” Isabela sighed. She hesitated for a moment, as if deciding what or how much to say. “You had our backs, even after just meeting us, so at the very least I’d say you deserve some truth. Now, I did NOT tell you this, but Fenris is ex-Black Ops. Like, above top secret army shit. And that was a former commander of his.”

“Oh.” Hawke blinked, using her admittedly-limited knowledge of Isabela to gauge what she was saying. At the very least, she seemed to be telling the truth. “Let me guess, some unfinished mission-type business?”

“I don’t actually know,” Isabela admitted. “But he won’t be trying again. And Fenris is fine, just some minor scrapes. No getting stabbed, largely thanks to you.”

“Glad to hear it. And good to know who to call when I have to deal with dead bodies,” Hawke grinned, doing her best to make the idea of murder as casual as she needed it to be. “Tell ya what, it’s either that, or you can keep buying me drinks until the night doesn’t end in a bar fight. Sounds good?”

Isabela winked back. “How about both options together? I’d say you’ve more than earned it, sweets.”

Nudging Bela with her elbow. Hawke smirked. “Remind me to use whatever negotiating tactic that just worked on you with my future paying clients.”

“It’s a deal. And thanks for being so cool, Hawke. Really.” Isabela nudged back with her hip. “And next time we’re out late, just come crash here with me and Merrill. You can even sleep in the middle if you want.”

“Bela always wakes me up when she comes in, and I’m always happy to snuggle,” Merrill added happily.  “You’re seriously even cooler than how she described you.” Setting down a comically-large vase of flowers, Merrill added “And you’re all set! For your sister, on the house!”

“I couldn’t possibly –“ The idea of somehow being a charity case grated at Hawke, almost as much as Varric's fussing the night before had irked her.

“Don’t be silly. I insist. It's on the house” Something deeply resolute, almost terrifyingly so, crossed Merrill’s face as she presented the bouquet to Hawke for a second time.

 “I- thank you.” Something told Hawke that despite Merrill’s size, she could be quite forceful and intimidating, if so pressed. So Hawke accepted the flowers, gratis, without further complaint. Unless Bethany chose to focus on ‘how much they must have cost’, Hawke had at least a reasonable chance of making a mostly-honest apology with them.

It was starting to seem like making more friends in Kirkwall could be a very good thing, after all.

Chapter Text

Her first mission of the day complete – successfully sneaking in to her sister’s room and leaving the apology bouquet on Bethany’s dresser, without waking her already-frazzled sister on her one day off from classes –  Hawke meandered over to her office. From a block away, she noticed Varric pacing back and forth outside the locked front door, holding a tray containing two large takeaway cups of coffee. As she approached, she noticed The Hair of the Dog logo gracing the cups.

Shit.

It was barely ten thirty, and Hawke could’ve sworn that Varric had said they’d meet up in the afternoon. Or… maybe he’d changed his mind and was upset about the casual violence and bloodstains on his expensive sheets, enough that he was coming to fire her for being so unsavory? It wouldn’t be the first time that her ability to hold her own in a physical fight got twisted into a reason to vilify her, after a well-to-do client saw what kind of violence she could withstand – or deal. But that wouldn’t explain the coffee. Never mind how him showing up with coffee, waiting for her, was quickly becoming a too-comfortable norm in her world.

“Hey Varric! Long time no see!” Hawke raised an arm in greeting. She hoped her feigned ease covered for the nervousness she was feeling. Was he going to fire her from the case? That would certainly explain the tension she felt resonating from him, and his apparent determination to wear a hole clean through the centre of the world from Kirkwall to Tevinter with his relentless pacing. 

Varric stared up at Hawke, his face suddenly frozen in an unreadable expression. It didn’t suit him at all, Hawke realized, and she disliked how unlike his usual self he seemed. And since when, exactly, had she started having opinions about his face or what was usual for him?!

“You didn’t text when you got home. Presuming you did, in fact, go home after we parted ways last night?” Varric spoke quietly, his pensive tone matching his expression.

“I – what?” Hawke’s mind raced, thrown for a loop. This was definitely not the conversation starter she had expected. Nor was this a level of seemingly sincere concern that was normal or expected from someone who she definitely only had a business relationship with.

“After you left the ‘Man. You said you were getting a rideshare so you’d be safe and you’d text me when you got home so I know you made it okay.”

Hawke blinked. She didn’t remember them discussing anything of the sort; only the awkwardness of how not-uncomfortable it felt to wake up in Varric’s bed. “Obviously I got home safe, otherwise I wouldn’t be here now.”

“Yeah, I’ll give you that one Hawke, but…” There was still none of the usual musicality in Varric’s voice as he trailed off mid-sentence. “Eh. Nevermind. Shall we take our coffee chat inside?” His tone came with a lightness that sounded forced.

Hawke found herself feeling more than a little unnerved by this whole exchange, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why he was so agitated. Or, why him being agitated - instead of moving through the world with his usual smooth charm - felt so jarringly wrong to her. He didn’t seem like the type of person to push for an inappropriate client/PI relationship, and the energy he was radiating didn’t feel like he was trying to be possessive or controlling in any way… but something was definitely off.

Stepping extra-casually around the dwarf, Hawke unlocked her office door and held it open. “Please. Come in. We can go over the case so far.”

“Ladies first,” Varric rumbled.

They both stood in the entryway for an awkward moment, until Hawke gave in and stepped through the doorway first. “Uh, Thanks.” A quip about how he must be blind to think she was ladylike died somewhere in the back of her throat. It sat there unpleasantly, a lingering lump she couldn’t quite manage to swallow.

Suddenly desperate for any sort of distraction or distance between them, Hawke pounced on the red light flashing on the answering machine. “Seven new messages,” the robotic answering machine voice announced as she pressed the button. “Message one. Three fourty three AM.”

Varric’s voice echoed out eerily from her analogue answering machine. “Hey Hawke, just checking in. Figured I’d call this time since I haven’t heard back from you and– ” Suddenly, the message cut off as the real Varric flew across the room, frantically diving for the stop button. “You really don’t have to listen to all those. At least a few of those are gonna be from me. Feel free to just erase ‘em without listening.”

“You left me seven messages?” Shit. So he probably did think she was horridly unprofessional. He’d been trying to reach her and she hadn’t returned his calls. When was the last time she’d checked the answering machine? Yesterday morning? Days ago? Hawke steeled herself for what she was sure was coming: her losing the case; yet another failure to add to her unending list. “Look, Varric, if you’re disappointed that I don’t have a lead on Bianca yet, I’m sorry. But these things take time. I thought you understood I don’t normally check in with clients every day unless -”

“Oh Hawke, no!” Varric stepped forward, putting a hand reassuringly on Hawke’s own. “You’ve been great so far with the case! No problems there, I love your approach. I get it, I …” Varric pulled his arm back; suddenly self-conscious. Maybe he felt that weird tingle too? “Sorry. I uh-” He glanced down at the archaic answering device, an inscrutable look on his face.

Hawke found herself missing the warmth of Varric’s hand as it fled back to his side. It was frankly rude how his mere presence seemed to uncontrollably alter her better judgment; making her feel far more relaxed and comfortable than she should be in the presence of a paying client she barely knew. “Uh… All good?” She wasn’t sure why Varric seemed so uncharacteristically flustered, but reassuring him seemed like the right thing to do so she went with her instincts. For whatever her version of ‘comforting’ counted for, anyway.

Suddenly, Varric started to guffaw loudly. “Andraste’s tits. I should’ve known.”

“Known what? What’s so funny?” Hawke didn’t understand what he suddenly found so hilarious, but Varric’s amusement didn’t seem mean-spirited or like it was at her expense. Plus, whatever was happening at that exact moment was far better than a well-paying client being seriously pissed at her. Hawke found herself laughing along as Varric began to laugh so hard he couldn’t get any words out. The two fed off each other’s laugher until they were both wheezing. “Oww,” Hawke moaned between snorts, pointing to her face. “It hurts to laugh.”

Varric shook his head, grinning up at her when he managed to catch his breath again. “Only you, Trouble. Here I was losing sleep, worrying you’d gotten jumped by a gang and were dead in a Lowtown ditch somewhere because you didn’t text back. But of course, you didn’t even get my damn messages checking in on you in the first place, because you have a Maker-damned landline. Like any proper noir detective would. Man, we should find you a rotary phone to complete the aesthetic.”

Hawke felt the murky clouds between them start to dissipate She’d been called far worse than Trouble by people who were far more unsavory than Varric seemed to be. She scoffed lightly, her tender face hurting all more because of all the laughing – though she somehow felt better, despite the pain. “I know, I know. I’m a walking stereotype. But I’ll bet you a sovereign that any gangs around here dump their bodies off the Docks instead of in ditches.” Then – something else clicked. “Wait. You were worried? About me? Why?!”

“I’ll take that bet.” Varric smirked, completely ignoring her questions. “Hawke, nobody our age has a landline anymore. What are you, ninety-five years old?” Cheerful, casual deflection suited him far better than the stormy tension he had been carrying moments ago.

“Yeah. I’m secretly a vampire and I look damn good for my age. Don’t tell anyone or I’ll have to kill you.” Hawke shrugged back as she returned Varric’s easy camaraderie; her brain whirring away behind a wry grin. Had she promised to text him? She honestly couldn’t remember, but it’s not like she had his number memorized or saved in her cell phone. The business card she’d given him only had the office line – for a reason. Several reasons over the years, specifically. Now, one of Hawke’s rules was that she no longer gave clients her personal cell phone number. Ever. If anything, she used a burner phone if clients absolutely needed to reach her while she was on the go. Again, for a myriad of reasons. “Lowtown’s sketchy in parts, sure, but nothing I can’t handle. As you saw firsthand last night.”

Varric raised an eyebrow and hummed noncommittally in reply. Hawke found his non-reply more than a little infuriating.

“Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated the assist. But I had that guy. He was gonna get my special finishing move, I call it chair to the face.”

At that, Varric chuckled, and the resonance of it hit Hawke somewhere low in the chest. Had he really waited up another two – or more – hours just to make sure she got home safely? Why? Counting back, she recalled leaving the Hanged Man sometime around two o’clock in the morning. The timestamp on Varric’s answering machine message had been nearly four AM. “Dare I ask how much sleep you did end up getting?”

“Eh, some. Enough.”  Varric studied her face for a moment, still dancing away from any sort of clear answer to her direct questions. “How’s the nose?”

Hawke caught the twinge of concern that flickered across his face. Judging by the slight squint in his eye, she guessed that her face physically looked about as awful as it felt, pain-wise. “Eh. Probably broken, but you should’ve seen the other guy.”

Varric chuckled. “Oh trust me. Someone in my next book is going to be running out of a sketchy tavern with an arrow in his butt cheek. That kind of stranger than fiction material is far too good to waste.”

“Yeah, that was some damn good aim you have.” Briefly, Hawke thought of the slingshot currently resting in her desk drawer some number of feet away; the one her dad had given her when she was a kid. She hadn’t been able to even look at it for more than a few seconds since her father’s death, let alone use it regularly for fun like she used to. And yet, there was something about Varric’s confidence and ease with his own bow that suddenly made her want to pick it up again.

“Have you seen anyone yet? To get it reset, I mean?”

“Huh? Reset what?” Hawke focused back in on what Varric was saying, suddenly aware that she’d gotten caught up in bittersweet memories instead of continuing to entertain the charming pain-in-the-ass dwarf in front of her.

“Your nose, Trouble.” Varric tapped the bridge of his own as he spoke. “When you don’t get your cartilage properly set back in place before it starts healing, this is what can happen. Or worse. And you wouldn’t want to mess up that gorgeous face like I did with mine.”

Hawke studied his face while choosing to let his latter comment pass unanswered . There was a faint bump mid-bridge on his nose from where his various bits hadn’t fully re-aligned properly, but it looked like a much older injury. If anything, the crookedness was probably less noticeable or jarring to others than he thought it was, like any self-criticized or self-perceived flaw; she wondered if he was self-conscious about it like she was with some of her scars. “Eh, it’s not my first rodeo with a broken schnozz."

“Can I see?” Varric peered up at her, lifting his hands expectantly to beckon her closer. “C’mere. I promise I won’t move anything around or press too hard. I just want to know what kind of damage you’re running around with and how urgently we should get you to urgent care.”

“We?” Hawke’s mouth suddenly felt a little dry. She hoped Bethany would be in better mood when she returned home later that day, otherwise she’d have to find a local clinic to take care of her little problem, if it really needed medical attention. Ideally, a clinic that didn’t ask too many questions, but that was never a guarantee – and the lower profile she kept overall, the better. Admittedly, a little gentle local anesthetic might be nice for once, instead of their usual routine of Hawke downing shots and a handful of edibles and gripping a couch cushion to get through Bethany’s ministrations.

Even with limited medical training, Bethany had always been good at mending all sorts of wounds – setting sprains, cleaning and suturing some light stabbings, even fishing out bullets and closing up a gunshot graze once or twice. The intense short-term pain that came from raw-dogging home surgery was the trade-off for Hawke staying off the system’s radar; she had made far worse trades, comparatively. Thankfully, she didn’t find herself badly injured too often.

“Please? Let me look?” Varric’s voice was full of concern; far warmer and sweeter than it had any right to be. He was damn good at pretending to worry about her, Hawke had to give him credit for that.

“Ugh, fine. But only if you promise to kiss my boo boos all better.” Hawke found herself obligingly sitting down in her desk chair with an exaggerated sigh, allowing Varric easier access to her face given their respective height differences.

Varric chuckled at her overly sarcastic tone. As he stepped toward her, Hawke noted that in their respective positions, he had at least full head of height over her. She could even see the fine stubble on his chin, a detail she had missed before. Or maybe he was less clean-shaven than normal, given their tumultuous night and the admitted lack of sleep?

Hawke watched Varric’s eyes dart back and forth as he focused in on assessing her injuries. True to his word, Varric was exceedingly gentle as he ran his fingers over her swollen face, one palm gently cupping her cheek. He gently probed at the bridge of her nose before slowly tracing parallel paths down her orbital bones. “Hmm. Not too bad. I think you might need a splint, but you might be okay. Lemme see…”

Just as Varric tilted her chin toward him and leaned in to have a closer look at her septum, the bell on the door sounded. Moments later, a familiar voice called out. “Hey, Hawke! You busy?”