Archive of Our Own ^beta

The Hawke twins did not grow up in Vancouver. 

Out through Burnaby, into New Westminster, over the Alex Fraser bridge, onto Highway 64 through North Delta and onwards into Surrey until the forest gives way to farmland, there is a place called Cloverdale, known to those inside and outside the area as "Cowtown."

(This is likely because most of the streets are named after cows.)

A patch of Alberta set in the British Columbia landscape, Cloverdale is an acquired taste. It's far enough from urban Surrey that it might as well not be part of Surrey at all, filled with quiet dusty streets and horse corrals in unlikely places. There's a flea market on Sundays and a rodeo once a year, where the cowboys of the area try very hard to act like Calgarians.

(Calgarians, in turn, often try very hard to act like Texans, but that's another matter altogether). 

Garrett loved Cloverdale as a child. Their backyard was large enough for a well-tended garden and a treehouse set under a rich plum tree, and his best friend Aveline lived just over the fence. When school was let out for the summer, Aveline, Garrett, and Marian would get on their bikes and cycle to the 7-11 nearby for Slurpees and candy in bulk, before dropping into the Roger's Video to rent movies and video games for their annual Summer Kick-Off sleepover. 

Marian thought Cloverdale was mind-numbingly boring, but her family liked it, and there were movies. Wonderful, gorgeous movies with heroes and villains and swords and adventures and not enough women in them but Marian felt that was likely to change, in the future. They were entering a new millennium, after all.  

Their father was sick for a long time, until a certain inevitability became part of daily life, a shadow cast over their childhood. He passed away only a few years after the second set of Hawke twins were born. 

The frustration and boredom of Cloverdale festered in Marian, coming to a head in her early teens as she went on her own adventures with temporary friends to Guildford, Walley, any place she could go where the grime and stale-smoke scent of dirty concrete matched the turmoil in her mind. Garrett covered for her, Aveline scolded her, and between the two of them they managed to keep her from more than a few near-disasters. Still, Leandra Hawke felt Cloverdale was no longer safe for them the way it once had been, and so they moved.

Back down 64th, then further west, to a sleepy community in the Tri-City Corporation of Delta, Ladner. The "downtown" area consisted of three or four streets only four or five blocks deep, and the transit system did not go anywhere useful. Instead of Aveline for a neighbour, they had their Uncle Gamlen, who tolerated Garrett and loathed Marian, who loathed him back in equal measure. Garrett looked after the twins, Marian learned to drive and started working as soon as she could talk her way into a job.

Once, at a party in North Delta thrown by a friend of a friend, sixteen-year-old Garrett found Marian sitting on the host's shed roof, drinking a beer and gazing out at the twinkling lights of the city in the distance with keen blue eyes.

Garrett sat next to her, following her gaze. Suburbs, a forest, a bridge, and a large river separated them from those lights, but in the clear night on top of the shed on top of a large hill overlooking the rest of Delta, they seemed only moments away.

"When was the last time we were in Vancouver?" Marian asked. "Was it when we went to the Aquarium?"

"Science World, Grade Seven," Garrett answered. "Four years ago?"

"Yeah," Marian said. "You know, apparently there's a bus down the hill that takes you to the Skytrain, and from there it's a straight shot downtown. It's maybe only half an hour, forty minutes tops. Lucky."

"You planning a trip downtown tonight, Riri?" Garrett asked.

Marian smiled and shook her head. "Not tonight, no. But I think I want to live there."

Garrett, Marian, and Aveline went to Europe when they graduated, then travelled from there to Thailand, then Australia. After that, Garrett and Aveline went to university, and Marian drifted. 

She took classes, she worked, she travelled a little, restless in heart, mind, soul, and feet. On a whim she picked up and moved to Victoria for a year, where she worked night jobs and slept through the days, meeting strange people in stranger places. 

One of these places was an apartment in Saanich, where she woke up to a large orange cat sitting on her chest and staring at her intently.

"Don't mind Ser Pounce-A-Lot, he just gets a little anxious when he thinks people are dead."

Marian didn't remember the night before, nor was she familiar with the man with shoulder-length blond hair and a sharp face handing her a green smoothie. "Why does your cat think I'm dead?"

She also noticed that the man had a black eye, and eyed her smoothie warily.

"You were kind of really beautifully moronically stupid last night and decided mixing weed, alcohol, MDMA, and an energy drink was a fantastic idea," the man said, pulling the cat off Marian's chest and into his lap. "I wanted to take you to a hospital, personally, but-"

"I punched you," Marian said, feeling a deep ache in her knuckles as she sat up. 

"Yeah."

"How do I know you're not a serial killer?" Marian asked.

The man pulled out a phone and passed it to her, a short video open and ready to be played. 

It was of herself, draped over the stranger's shoulder and pointing at the camera, red-eyed and slack-jawed.

"This douche thinks you're gonna die, but you're way too pretty and hot and like, hardcore for that," Marian heard herself slur. "So as a compromise he's taking you back to his apartment in a non-creepy, super not sexual or gross way. He's a med student or something? And he has a cat. And he says he knows Garrett's TA which is like, weird or whatever. Maybe check up on that if you live. Ciao babe."

Marian blinked, and looked up at the man. "You know my brother's TA? What's his name, then?"

"Varric Tethras," the man said. "He did a year at UVic when I first got there, and we've kept in touch. I'm Anders Smith. You should really drink that. You can call your brother first, if you like."

Marian didn't know who the fuck Varric Tethras was, but she did know that if she called her twin to tell him about a near-death experience he'd be on the first ferry over. So she drank.

"I don't know you, but you really don't seem the island type," Anders said slowly. "We get a lot of runaways from the mainland though."

Marian snorted. "I'm twenty, I'm too old to be a runaway."

"Sure," Anders said. "You're from Vancouver, then?"

Marian wanted to say no, she was from Cloverdale, or Surrey, or Ladner. But then she thought of those shimmering lights across the water, drinking cheap beer on a rickety shed in the middle of nowhere and thinking of the future.

"Yeah," she said simply, sipping at the smoothie.

"Do you miss it?"

"Yeah."

Within a few months Marian was back on the mainland, Anders and Ser Pounce in tow. Anders transferred to Simon Fraser University for school, where he met Garrett. 

Garrett was working on a degree in World Lit, if only so he could spend more time with his TA, Varric Tethras. Varric and Garrett had become fast friends over the course of their classes together; mostly because Garrett knew how to charm free booze from any bar he walked into. He liked Varric's wild stories, Varric liked having an audience, and both of them liked smoking weed after class and only occasionally before.

Marian, for her part, stopped partying with likeminded drifters and slowly inserted herself back into Garrett and Aveline's life. Aveline, who was completing a Bachelors in Criminology with an eye on the local police academy, was happy to see Marian cleaning herself up. Garrett, who missed his sister profusely and liked Anders immediately, was happy that Marian was only a bus ride away, as the ferry prices to and from the island had been starting to gouge his already near-empty wallet. 

In 2010, Aveline graduated, Garrett moved in with Anders and Marian, and Marian worked with a towing company and made more than both her roommates put together. In February they lined the streets with the rest of the crowd to watch the Olympic torch go past, they cringed during the opening ceremonies as the fourth arm of the cauldron meant to hold the Olympic flame refused to rise, and they walked along False Creek to the sound of Russian choirs in the streets and men from Miami trying to convince Marian to give them her number (because, they argued, "they were from Miami"). 

In 2011 Garrett still hadn't finished his degree, Aveline became a rookie cop, Varric published his first novel, Anders went to med school, and Marian got tired of driving a tow truck and moved on to security work instead. It sucked.

And they were all downtown for the hockey game when the riot started. 

They'd nearly made it to the Skytrain, pushed along by the massive crowd fleeing the rioters, when Marian looked behind and realized Garrett was not with them.

"Shit," she said, with feeling, and Anders and Varric (who was feeling a little trampled by this point) had to physically drag her onto the train to keep her from diving back into the chaos to find her brother.

Garrett, it turned out, wandered off when he saw a group of rioters beating a man who was trying to stop them from breaking into a glass storefront, and charged in to stop them. 

By the end of the scuffle, Garrett had a broken nose, the man he'd defended had a black eye, and the rioters were being scared off by a cop in riot gear with a shock of red hair escaping from under her helmet.

"You absolute idiot, Garrett Hawke," Aveline hissed, once the rioters were gone. "Do you need an ambulance, you stupid, complete- lemon of a human being?"

"I wad do'ig jus' fide before you cabe," Garrett said primly, clutching his bleeding nose. "I'b fide, Ander'll figs id."

Aveline rolled her eyes, lowered the shield of her helmet back down over her face, and took off into the fray again. Garrett nodded, swayed on the spot, and made it three steps before stumbling into an alley and passing out.

He woke up to a lot of pain, blood coppery and thick in his mouth, and a beautiful voice asking if he was alright. 

He opened his eyes and coughed. "I died, did'id I?"

The man looking down at him with such concern, and such pretty blue eyes and thick russet hair, and such a beautiful voice, said, "No?"

"I'b dead," Garrett said, before breaking into a bloody grin. "Becaud you're defididly ad angel."

He then proceeded to roll over and vomit, and that was how Garrett met Sebastian. 

In 2012 the world did not end. Garrett still didn't have his degree, Varric published another book, Anders dedicated himself to his medical studies (and Greenpeace), Aveline was married to her work, and Marian quit her security job to pick up contract work.

At least, that's what she would say at family dinners whenever the younger twins and her mother would ask.

What she actually did was quit her job and lie in bed wondering what the fuck she was doing with her life. This went on for four months.

One day as she was walking around downtown, she passed a line of trucks, a few tents, a boy a year or two younger than herself in a security vest looking bored past the point of death, and a man half-tearing his hair out and muttering fervently into his phone.

"How. How did we have two PAs not show up? We're one of the only productions still going in this fucking city right now, it's not like they had a better offer- yes. Alright, well, fuck. Alright."

He hung up, turning to see Marian standing there, watching him.

He sighed. "Look, kid, no, Jensen and Jared aren't around. This isn't Supernatural. No one is gonna give you their autograph and no, you can't be an extra. Unless you're a PA and free to work for the next thirteen hours, I'd appreciate it if you move along."

Marian tilted her head, and smiled. "I can be a PA."

The man blinked, and frowned. "What do you do?"

Marian shrugged. "Right now? I work for you, so you tell me."

She was hired on the spot. 

This was in August. By December, she was the show's van driver, and was respected by most factions of the crew, if not actively liked by all. Those who didn't like her were friends of a man she'd decked for grabbing her around the waist after repeated rejected advances. He was fired, she was promoted, and everyone seemed content to let her drive her van around, listen to music, and smoke (or else). For the first time in a very long while, she did not hate her job.

2013 was an eventful year. Garrett and Marian turned twenty-five, Sebastian moved in with them, Varric became a New York Times bestseller, and Aveline shocked the whole lot of them by getting married. 

His name was Wesley, they'd known each other since university. He was kind, if a little bigoted, and preferred Aveline's cop friends over her childhood friends, but Aveline was happy and that was what mattered. 

Marian looked around at the wedding and saw happy couples everywhere - Aveline with Wesley, Garrett with Sebastian, Varric with some pretty blonde woman from New York named Bianca, Anders with a rather fat cat that had wandered into the reception area - and she sipped her drink, thinking. Love wasn't exactly a necessity, in her mind, but it was hard to sit there and not feel a little left out. 

"You look lonely," a groomsman said as he sidled up to her, voice cracking a little on the finish, and he cleared his throat before continuing. "My name's Alistair-"

"No," Marian said, draining her glass.

"Okay," the groomsman said quickly, tripping a little as he fled. He later caught Aveline's thrown bouquet by accident and was promptly tackled by a guest named Solona, who'd executed a perfect mid-air flip to try to catch the flowers. She broke three of his ribs and was mildly concussed upon landing, but last Marian had heard, they'd been married within the year. 

In November, Marian was in the midst of wrapping a location for the night, doing one last sweep through background holding for all the items the extras tended to leave behind, when she met Isabela. 

She stepped through the door of the church recreation room where seventy extras had spent the afternoon running the wranglers ragged only to find that there was still someone there - a very gorgeous someone, with dark skin and thick waves of black hair held back by a bright blue bandana.

"Three umbrellas," the woman was saying to herself, sighing. "Hardly worth it, maybe I'll pass them along to Sera. She might have some friends who can make use of them. But these shoes are almost brand new-"

"What are you doing?" Marian asked dumbly.  

The woman didn't look up, examining a pair of expensive-looking runners closely. "What does it look like, dear? I'm collecting my bonus."

"You're stealing."

The woman sighed, and put the runners down, glancing at Marian over her shoulder. She raised her eyebrows. "Huh. Aren't you a pretty one. Look, darling, I've been working in this industry a year now, and let me tell you - the idiots in background? Never come back for their things. I just re-home them so you lovely little PAs can do your jobs without having to worry about cleaning up after us."

"We have to clean up after you anyway," Marian said, cutting a pointed look at a nearby table that had been liberally smeared with ketchup. "And I could lose my job if I let you take that shit."

"I doubt it," the woman said airily, slipping the shoes into a large backpack alongside two umbrellas, a jacket, and what looked like a very old book. "You seem like a girl capable of talking her way out of things. Maybe it's the eyes. If it makes you feel better, I'll leave behind the sweat socks so you have something for the costume department's lost and found. I'm sure they'll be ever so pleased."

They wouldn't be. In fact, Marian had been through this scenario enough times to know that objects left behind by background were usually passed back and forth between costumes and locations ad infinitum until someone eventually caved and threw everything out. 

Marian sighed, and raised her hands in defeat. "I'm going to go sweep the back hallway, because Lord knows Walt never does anything I ask him to. When I get back, you'll be gone?"

"Oh yes," the woman said, smiling. "I'll even sneak away too, if it makes you feel better. A thief in the night, and all that."

"Wonderful," Marian said, turning away. "If we ever run into each other again, I expect a cut of whatever you make off that shit."

The woman's laughter followed her out of the room, and Marian could feel her cheeks start to burn at the sound of it. Damn it. 

Marian didn't see Isabela again for a very long time. Just over a year, in fact.

In that time, the twins graduated, Garrett graduated and decided to get a Master's, Varric graduated with a Master's and was successful enough with his novels to write full-time, and Andy finally lived his dream and got himself arrested on top of Burnaby mountain protesting an oil pipeline. 

"I've never seen him so happy," Garrett murmured to Marian after they bailed him out, Kitty sniffing Andy's spray paint and grass-stained jeans with interest as he recounted his tale of "gross police brutality" (Aveline dragging him off to cop van by his ear) to the bartender, who listened politely as she poured him another IPA. "I'm genuinely worried he's gonna get addicted to petty crime."

"Maybe we should get him another cat," Marian suggested, sipping her Long Island thoughtfully. "Ser Pounce is pretty chill and low-maintenance. If we got a kitten..."

"We'd have four animals in the house, including Archie," Garrett said, naming the bearded dragon Varric had bought him as a graduation present (short for "Archdemon," for reasons unknown). 

"It'd be the perfect amount," Marian said.

"That's what I was thinking."

As a "congratulations on your arrest" present, the gang (save an unimpressed Aveline) presented Andy with an extremely angry-looking little grey rescue kitten that September. It immediately mauled Andy's hand, took a swipe at Ser Pounce, hairballed over Andy's pillow and fell asleep in Kitty's dogbed (Kitty saw this, whimpered in terror, and immediately fled the room).

Andy loved it, and named it Haunt. 

A few months later, Marian was hired on as TAD for a miniseries last-minute, leaving her scrambling to catch up on paperwork and get her bearings on only two hours of sleep. So it was that she found herself struggling to load her kit into the back of a transport vehicle as two cast members took their seats, one of whom had thick black hair pulled back with a blue bandana. 

Marian cursed under her breath and slammed the back doors, already hearing the 1st AD barking orders at her through her headset. "I'm travelling with cast right now, we're two minutes out."

Nothing, then the 2nd said quietly, "Sorry Marian, um, Bran's taken his headset off. I'll let him know."

Marian rolled her eyes and climbed into the van, itching for a smoke break. She missed the haven of the locations van already.

Then she looked up, and a familiar woman was smiling at her, eyebrow quirked.

Marian blinked, then said, "You've moved up a bit, then."

"As have you," the woman said, nodding to the painter's tape wrapped around the walkie at Marian's hip, "TAD" scrawled across it in hasty sharpie. 

"Not really," Marian said. "Don't suppose you remembered our agreement?"

Isabella laughed, and to the avid interest of Marian, the other cast member, and the transport driver whose eyes certainly weren't on the road, reached into her blouse and pulled out a crisp twenty-dollar bill. "It's a bit warm and might smell like sweat and jasmine perfume, but here you are, you pirate. Hope you don't mind."

Marian didn't mind. Marian didn't mind at all. 

The shoot was a nightmare, and by the end of it the 1st AD had nearly come to blows with the Director of Photography, one of the PAs set a tent on fire, and the entire crew was taken out by a slew of food poisoning from the sub-par catering that nearly halted production for a day, but Marian didn't give a shit. She would later remember it as being one of her favourite jobs. 

Even if a certain actor made a habit of asking for Marian specifically to bring her treats and coffees from crafty, as well as umbrellas and sweaters from costumes on cold days, and newspapers to read when she was bored. Usually Marian would have some very terse responses for actors who treated people like personal slaves.

But this time, Marian didn't mind. Marian didn't mind at all. 

"You've been very smiley lately."

Marian looked at Garrett across the table, nursing a beer as Sebastian slowly fell asleep on her brother's shoulder (he'd challenged Varric to a drinking contest - he lost). "Yeah?"

"And you've actually talked about work without using the phrase "I wanted to tear their face off and shoot myself in the head,"" Andy added, nodding. "Which, after over a year of hearing you say that every day you're on set, I find the sudden change... disturbing."

"In my defence, the best part of working in film is bitching about film," Marian said, shrugging. "What other job do you have where you can say, "Ugh, don't you hate it when the jaguar nearly gets loose and eats your principle cast?""

"There was a jaguar?" Andy said, eyes widening. 

"Yeah, I got to pet it."

"No."

"Ri, you're distracting Andy with cats, that's unfair and you know it," Garrett scolded, catching Sebastian as he slipped off Garret's shoulder and nearly face-planted into a plate of yam fries. "I've got to know why you're so happy."

Marian shrugged. "If anything comes of it, I'll let you know. All I'll say is - there's a girl, and she's hot."

"That's not important," Andy said, taking Marian by the shoulders and turning her to face him. "The jaguar is the priority. Tell me more."

The show ended, of course, and Marian was hired on as TAD for another project almost immediately. She never got the actress's number, formally, but she got a name: Isabela Rivaini. 

A show, another show, some fill-in days, and then Marian was hired for a TV movie as 3rd AD and saw a familiar name on the callsheet. Only this time, as 3rd, she would be stuck in a trailer at circus instead of on-set. 

I'll see her around, Marian thought to herself as she sorted through the week's revised schedule, making notes for her TAD and feeling a little sorry for herself. Besides, this is way better than being on set. No one likes being on set.

(She'd liked being on set when Isabela was there, winking at her over her costar's shoulder and mimicking the 1st AD's temper tantrums when he was out of earshot.)

There was a knock on the door of the AD trailer, and Marian frowned, looking at her phone. No one had texted her or called her for anything. Probably someone needs a callsheet.

"Door's unlocked," she grunted, getting back to her schedules.

A distinct scent of jasmine wafted through the trailer, and Marian sat up straight (a little too fast, a little too obvious), and turned her head. 

"Hello, you," Isabela said, leaning up against the doorway. 

"Your call time's not for another hour," Marian said stupidly. 

"No, it isn't," Isabela said, stepping inside and closing the door. "But I heard you were around. Thought I'd come early." She winked. "In a manner of speaking."

And that's how Marian and Isabela wound up hooking up for the first time in the AD trailer, Marian having to practically smother Isabela to keep her from saying anything career-destroying every time Marian answered the walkie throughout that wonderful hour. 

Marian got home that night, still grinning, with Isabela's number finally safe in her phone where it belonged.

Got home, to find a very quiet apartment with all the lights on, everyone gathered in the cramped living room - Varric, too. All the alcohol in the house was set on the table in front of them. 

Marian felt her good mood vanish, the memories of the afternoon fading as she saw her brother's face. 

"Who died?" she asked flatly. 

"Wesley's patrol car was T-boned by a drunk driver," Sebastian said hollowly, as Garrett scrubbed a hand over his face and said nothing. "They called it about twenty minutes ago."

"Okay," Marian said, and joined Kitty on the floor, reaching for a bottle. She didn't really care which one. 

She let herself call in to work for the funeral, knowing that Friday was going to be a short day anyway and they had someone who could fill in. It occurred to her only when she was face-to-face with Aveline that they'd barely seen each other since the wedding. It wasn't unusual for childhood friends to grow apart, she knew, but if only so she could have been there for her properly, Marian wished she'd tried a little harder to stay an active part of Aveline's life. 

"He really loved you," Marian said after hugging Aveline tightly. She winced a little as the words escaped her lips - cliché, and more likely to twist the knife than anything else, but what else could she say?

"I know," Aveline said softly. "It's just... not very fair, is it?"

The last funeral Marian had attended was her father's, over a decade ago. There would come a day, she realized, ten years from now, when she would be older than her father ever got a chance to be.

"It never is," she said. 

The next day there was a knock on the AD trailer door, and before Marian could decide whether to answer it or not, Isabela swept in. 

"I was a little worried they'd fired you for being so very good at cunnilingus all over those callsheets last week," Isabela purred. "You're just lucky I didn't- what's wrong?"

It was a little jarring, hearing the immediate change in tone from flirty to... well, not quite serious. Not quite concern. It was as if Isabela's voice was wearing lingerie one moment, then immediately switched to plain cotton panties the next.

Marian hadn't slept much. 

"Friend died," she said blandly, not seeing a need to sugarcoat nor overstate. "Well, husband of a friend. He was honestly kind of a prick. But not a bad guy."

"Shit," Isabela said lowly. 

They stayed like that for a few awkward moments, then Isabela said, "I'm... really not good at this kind of thing."

"Yeah," Marian said. "I'm not either."

Isabela tapped her foot for a moment, then said, "I've been told my breasts are very comforting. Would you like to rest your head on them a while?"

Marian thought about it, and said, "Yeah."

Isabela came over and hugged her, Marian settled her head against her chest, and it was comforting, actually. It helped. 

Marian and Isabela stayed in touch once the show was done, though their relationship consisted mostly of booty calls and hook-ups. Marian told herself she was too busy for anything else and anyway, Isabela didn't seem to want anything else. Scattered conversations late in the night gave Marian some idea of Isabela's past - a shitty marriage, a shittier husband, and now a complete lack of patience for love and all its trappings. 

Marian told Isabela, when asked, that love had never really been her area of expertise. She'd seen others in love, but had never experienced it for herself. She didn't know what it was like. 

(When she woke up the few mornings Isabela stayed the whole night, however, Isabela's thick black hair pouring over her pillow and her lips gently parted, she started to wonder if maybe this was how it started. The love thing, and all.)

Everyone had their own ways of dealing with what had happened. Varric dedicated his next book to Wesley ("I know you're up there pointing out all the factual errors in this police procedural. Like a true hero, you always provided assistance even when you expressly weren't asked. We miss you."), Hawke spearheaded a campaign against drunk-driving at his university, Marian worked constantly, taking no breaks. Time off was time to think - about her father, about Wesley, about Isabela. She didn't want it.

Aveline put a drunk driver in a headlock three months after Wesley's death after he'd laughed at her for giving him a ticket. No one blamed her for it, but she did, and took a short leave of absence. No one amongst their group of friends really knew how to help her, so instead they compensated as best they could by dragging her out for drinks and company every weekend. They were forced, awkward affairs, these dinners, but Marian could see it starting to work as Aveline slowly came back to life in increments, working from a half-smile to a grin, then a laugh. 

Sebastian started going to church. 

Marian was gone too often to notice the change much herself, but Garrett felt it - the growing distance since Wesley's death, the silences between them that were no longer comfortable. He thought it was the grief, at first, until...

Until one day Marian came home to find her brother singing "Kiss From a Rose" on the floor of the kitchen to a bemused audience of two cats, a large dog, and an uninterested bearded dragon. There was a near-empty bottle of red wine in his hand, and his face was red and swollen with tears. 

"There's so much a man can tell you, so much a man can say," Garrett warbled, reaching for Haunt. Haunt recoiled with a hiss and smacked his hand with his claws, leaving several deep scratches. "Yo-o-o-ou remain, my power, my pleasure, my pain!"

"What the fuck," Marian said.

"Bay-beh..."

"Thank God you're home," Andy said, coming into the kitchen with an ice pack on his head, deep circles under his eyes. Medical exams had not been kind to him, and he had two more to go before his term was over. "He's been like this for half an hour now."

"Garrett can usually handle his wine," Marian said, watching Garrett in a mix of fascination and slight disgust. 

"That's not his first bottle," Andy sighed.

"Shit."

"Yeah."

"O-o-oh, the more I get of you the stra-a-anger it fe-e-els, ye-a-a-a-ah..."

"What happened?" Marian asked, stepping over Kitty to the cupboard to get her twin a glass of water. 

"Fuckin'... I mean, we saw it coming from a mile away but I didn't think-" Andy bit his lip, and said, "Seb went straight for Jesus." 

"I'VE BEEN KISSED BY A ROSE ON THE GRA-A-AY..."

"Fuck," Marian said, taking advantage of Garrett's sudden sobbing interlude to switch the wine out for water.

"Vodka?" Garrett mumbled, choking a little on a hiccup.

"Sure," Marian said.

Garrett downed half the glass in one go, then continued. "And did you kno-o-ow, that when it sno-o-ows..."

"Well, you're here, and I've got a migraine, and it's past Archie's bedtime, so he's your problem now," Andy said, not without sympathy, frowning as he stooped to scoop up Garrett's bearded dragon. "We're gonna need to find another roommate."

"We don't have another room," Marian said, toppling a little as Garrett hugged her leg and wept into her kneecap. "This four-for-three business was working out great, rent-wise. Fuck."

"We could get a bigger place - there's some shitty houses on Hastings with low rent, more rooms though-"

"ASK BELA."

"Shh, Garrett," Marian said, patting Garrett's head a little absently. "You're not really in a good place to be having this conversation."

"Then why-y-y ar'we havin' it?" Garrett said, hiccupping again. "Th-the ashes of my heart aren' even, like, cold, an' yer... yer-"

"I'm out," Andy said, raising his palms in defeat. "Call me if he's dying, maybe I can tell my prof that I couldn't study because I was too busy getting practical experience keeping people not dead."

"Thanks, Andy," Marian said, attempting to disentangle herself from her twin. Garrett "Bear Trap" Hawke did not release her, and only hugged harder. "Sweet fuck. Okay Gare, come on, let's get you into bed-"

"I can't," Garrett groaned, burying his face in the denim of Marian's jeans again. "His ghos'n there. His sexy ghos'."

"And on the third day he'll rise again," Marian intoned sombrely. Garrett sobbed harder, and she sighed. "He's not dead, Gare, just a douche. As it turns out. Come on, you can sleep in my room tonight."

Garrett grabbed the fridge in one hand, Marian's arm in the other, and hauled himself up to his feet, draping himself over his sister immediately. "Thanks, sis."

"Garrett, you are 6'1 and built like the most offensive Canadian lumberjack stereotype out there, I'm not carrying you," Marian grunted, looping Garrett's arm around her shoulders. 

"You're wearin' plaid too," Garrett muttered, but he managed to drag his feet under him as Marian hauled him off to her bedroom. "You're an 'fensive... Canad'n... ugh."

"Are you going to hurl?" Marian asked wearily. 

"No," Garrett said. Marian would have to take his word for it. It wasn't a comforting thought.

As she bundled her drunk brother up in blankets and forced another glass of water down his throat, she mulled over Garrett's - admittedly blind-drunk - words. Isabela.

They'd been doing... whatever they'd been doing for only a few months. They were hooking up, that was all. Marian wasn't like Garrett - she didn't do love at first sight. She didn't do three, four year relationships. It didn't seem like Isabela did either. 

"Night, Gare," Marian said, getting to her feet, shaking her head. Even if they were officially dating, which they weren't, three months was not enough time to put between first fuck and moving in together. 

Garrett caught Marian's hand, and when she looked down, his gaze was... well, slightly cross-eyed, but there was intent there, at least.

"If you don't give yourself and Isabela a chance I won't ever forgive you," Garrett said quietly, only slurring a little. "You deserve a happy ending."

Marian snorted. "Your boyfriend of nearly four years just dumped you to run off and join a church choir, Bianca married a corporate exec over Varric to expand her and her parent's business empire, Aveline and Mom both lost their husbands young... what real life love stories do you know of that have had happy endings?"  

"Solona and Alistair are expecting a baby," Garrett said.

"Well, good for them," Marian said. "Look, Garrett, maybe some people just don't get happy endings. Maybe most people don't."

Garrett looked a little like Marian had just drop-kicked Kitty in front of him, and to Marian's horror, he started tearing up again. 

"Shit. Okay. Okay, buddy, I'm sorry," Marian said, looking around her room and finding a roll of paper towel rolled out across the floor. She ripped a few sheets off and handed them to Garrett as makeshift tissues. "Sorry. Look, don't listen to me, I'm bitter for a living. It's what I do. If anyone deserves a happy ending, it's you. And Seb is stupid not to see that, because some other guy is gonna come in and sweep you off your feet before you know it."

Garrett shoved his face in the paper towel and gave a shuddering sigh. It was quite something to see an enormous, bearded man in plaid wrapped up in a pink blanket covered in cute cartoon dogs flipping people off (a gift from Bethany the year after Marian adopted Kitty), crying gently into a wad of paper towels. Marian felt her heart break a little at the sight, and tried to soften the pain by imagining punching Sebastian in the face.

It didn't help. Everything considered, she knew Sebastian wasn't a bad guy. Far from. Just fucking dumb, apparently.

"Remember when we were little kids and we'd have twin sleepovers?" Marian said gently, crouching so she was eye-to-eye with Garrett. "We'd drive mom and dad nuts by chatting and playing make-believe until well past midnight. I thought they were going to start locking us into our rooms."

Garrett didn't say anything, and Marian couldn't read his expression (covered in paper towel as it was), but he seemed to be breathing a little steadier. 

"I knew you didn't want to piss them off but I didn't care. I hated sleeping on my own. I was afraid of the dark, and nightmares, and falling asleep in general, and you weren't afraid of shit," Marian said. "Course when mom asked me why I kept sleeping in your room I told her you were having nightmares about being kidnapped and murdered and begged me to stay."

The wall of paper towel was pulled away, revealing Garrett's accusing stare. "It was you."

"Yeah."

"They made me go to therapy!"

"I know." 

"You- fucking Christ, Ri, you always looked like you were gonna take on the world with a baseball bat and a cocksure grin. When you were eight."

"Fake it till you make it, I guess," Marian shrugged. "Look, I'm rambling at this point, but... loving the way you do is brave as fuck. Not everyone can do that. Not everyone's brave enough, or strong enough."

Garrett closed his eyes. "Loving Seb was easy."

"Maybe, but you've got to have an open heart to fall, first."

Garrett looked at Marian for a long moment, grinned, and gently shoved her. Crouching with her knees locked, Marian was pushed off-balance, and toppled onto her ass with a yelp. "You fucker, I was being deep."

"You were being depressing, and only one of us gets to be that right now," Garrett said, cuddling deeper into his blankets. "Your heart is big, Ri. And you're not as bitter as you think."

"You haven't seen me bring actors who call me "sweetheart" coffee."

"I've seen the look on your face when you talk about it, that's about as close to that kind of rage as I wanna get."

Marian grinned. "Fair enough."

She circled the bed to the other side and flopped down on the covers, shoving Garrett over to make more room. "Christ, you're a big fucker. Do you still kick in your sleep?"

"I'm a burrito right now, my legs aren't going anywhere."

"Good. Fart and I'll kill you."

"Night, sis."

"Night, bro."

-

Initially they started their hunt for a new place in small townhouse complexes and even smaller apartments, searching for housing and roommates on Craigslist until Bethany mentioned wanting to take some time off school to work (Carver lived on-campus in residence at SFU). At Leandra's suggestion they started looking for houses, given that four-bedroom apartments didn't seem to exist outside million-dollar penthouses. 

There was a place that caught Marian's eye. A house near Kitsilano, within walking distance of the ocean, a half-dozen grocery stores, and a thirty-second walk from a bus line - perfect for Bethany, who didn't drive, and Andy, who didn't drive "on principle." It was in a cheap, slightly grungy neighbourhood called Kirkwall, and featured a popular community pub called the Hanged Man, which had garnered the following glowing Yelp review: "The booze is cheap, if you live long enough after trying the stew to drink it. Five stars."

The rent for the Kirkwall house between the four of them was four hundred dollars over their maxed-out budget. Unless a miracle happened, they couldn't swing it. Marian asked Aveline if she wanted to join them, as she'd been living alone since Wesley's death, but Aveline shook her head.

"I love you all, really, but... I think I love my apartment overlooking the Fraser River that doesn't smell like cat, dog, and Anders Smith a little more."

It was said with a smile, but the sentiment was genuine, and Marian truthfully couldn't blame her. 

"Maybe you should ask Isabela?" Andy suggested, now three months after Garrett's breakup with Sebastian. 

Marian planted her face in her palms, muffling a little scream of frustration. "For fuck's sake, guys, can we not perpetuate the nesting lesbians stereotype? She doesn't want to move in with me. It's not like that."

Two days later, Isabela called. Marian frowned. Usually she texted.

So it was that Garrett and Andy were able to listen in as Isabela said, "Hello, dear. Listen, I have to move in with you."

Marian blinked. "Gimme a moment, babe."

Covering the phone speaker, she shot Garrett and Andy a glower. "She said she has to, not that she wants to. There's a difference and if either one of you bastards say "I told you so" I'm flushing your stashes down the toilet."

That wiped the grins off their faces, Anders muttering "Christ, it's medicinal," as Marian returned to the phone. "Permanently? We're looking at a pretty sweet place in Kirkwall."

"Ooh, I like Kirkwall. Had a very nice hookup who used to live there. Liked violet wands. I guess you could say things between us were... electric."

Marian smacked her head off the back of the couch, grimacing. "I'm hanging up on you."

"Alright, Miss Buzzkill - oh, I did it again. Get it? Because-"

"Bela, please."

"Alright, alright. Well, I sort of pissed off my landlord, you see. I might need a place to lay low for a while, as I have kind of a... record. A criminal one, to be exact."

Marian sat bolt upright. "A what?"

"Don't sound so surprised, sugar, when we met I was stealing things, remember? Things you let me steal, I might add."

"Yes, but also, what?"

"It was a long time ago, alright? Well, four years. No; three. Three years, I suppose. I was seeing a CEO of some big company, and I happened to be in his office for... well, sex. And he spent a very long time waving this flash drive around, saying it was essentially his company's Bible, or something, contained all their secrets, and how badly his competitors wanted it and how they'd probably pay millions. He was practically begging me to steal it."

"Bela-"

"Anyway, so I stole it, and put it up for auction between the company's biggest competitors. I mean, I did give it back - I just copied it over onto a hard drive, which I then sold for - well, quite a lot of money, actually. Which is part of why I'd be such a good roommate, I still have quite a lot of it left, even after all the court fees and bail-"

"Fuck me up the ass with Satan's rusty pitchfork, Bela, what is this? What is happening?"

"It's rude to interrupt, darling. Anyway, the original man hired a hitman to kill me before the trade could go down - I know, right? Wild. Anyway, didn't work, got the trade done and all, and then the cops show up! Because they were tracking the hitman, you see, he was wanted for murder. So sure, I look bad for corporate espionage, but the man I stole from looks worse for hiring a known killer, and the killer looks bad too because - well, that's fairly obvious. Anyway, provided testimony, got away from all that, came here with not as much money as I would have had - they froze my account and seized my assets, but I'd managed to squirrel half of it away into secret funds and cash and such and honestly, they didn't look that hard. Thought I'd play actress for a little while - seemed like fun, I'm good at it, and I thought well hey, if I ever became famous I'd have quite a backstory. Only my landlord just found out that I hid my criminal record from him when I moved in and you know, it's quite a big and interesting record. He's given me... well, essentially after explaining all of this, I now have thirty-eight minutes to leave with all my things before he starts getting very angry indeed, and I- I have nowhere else to go."

About halfway through Isabela's explanation Marian put the phone on speaker so Andy and Garrett could hear better. All three of them were staring at each other in various states of shock once Isabela was done. 

"Piss. I've scared you off, haven't I? Look, it's fine, I've got a friend in Yaletown who-"

"I don't want you to stay with a "friend" in Yaletown," Marian said, her voice rough. "I- look, the boys and I are on our way with the car, alright? Just keep packing up and we'll be there to help in ten minutes." 

The sigh of relief on Isabela's end was audible, and Marian felt an odd lump form in her throat at the sound of it. "I... thanks. I don't like being in anyone's debt, but... well, I'm glad it'll be yours."

"You're helping us out, if anything, though... fuck, we've got to talk about this kleptomania problem of yours," Marian said.

"I was afraid you'd say that."

"What company did you steal from?" Garrett asked. Marian and Andy both shot him incredulous looks, and Garrett shrugged. "Just curious."

"Oh, hello, Gare-Bear! Well, we might as well take this particular cock all the way up the ass. You know QunTech, right? Big corporation?"

Andy jumped to his feet, and sat back down, eyes enormous. "I read about that! You're the one who sold the Tome of Koslun-"

"To Imperium. Yes, that was me."

"But- but Imperium is so corrupt! They practically run on slave labour!"

"Sweetheart, I was stealing corporate secrets from a man I slept with so I could get rich quick. What makes you think I cared? Besides, did you miss the part where QunTech hired a man to kill me?"

"Well, every corporation is corrupt at its core, you're right, and at least Imperium is trying some environmental initiatives in-"

"Okay, alright, please," Marian said, gripping her temples. "Let's just- let's just go get Bela, and then we're going to drink, and then we're going to figure shit out. Okay?"

So that's what they did.

Later, after setting up an interview with the landlord of the Kirkwall house, Dumar, and after drinking quite a lot, Marian lay in bed with Isabela pillowed on her chest, carding her fingers through thick black hair and lost in thought.

"I've gone and fucked it all up, haven't I?"

Marian blinked. She didn't think Bela was still awake. 

Marian breathed, and said, "Knowing that my..." Girlfriend? Partner? Fuckbuddy? "...knowing that you're kind of a fugitive who was once on the run from hitmen shouldn't be hot."

Marian could feel Isabela grin against her collarbone. "It sort of is, though, isn't it?"

"I'm weak, what can I say," Marian said, kissing Isabela's hair. "I'm just glad you're alright."

"Don't get sentimental on me," Isabela said, lifting her head and raising her eyebrows. "You'll make it gay."

"We're both naked."

"So?"

Marian rolled her eyes, and kissed Isabela properly, groaning a little as Isabela shifted so her thigh slipped in between Marian's legs. "You're moving in with me, I feel like- look, maybe there are things we should- maybe talk about-"

"I don't want to talk," Isabela said, rocking forwards, her mouth settling over Marian's collarbone and fuck, Marian was already getting wet from this. "Not unless you're begging, sweetheart. Then I'm all ears."

"You're the worst," Marian complained, but she belied her words by pulling Isabela closer. In truth, she didn't want to talk about it either.

-

"You guys have to talk about it."

Marian looked up from her laptop where she was assembling maps for tomorrow's callsheets to raise an eyebrow at her sister. She was starting a new show tomorrow, her first as ALM, and already everything was a mess. Between the first location of the day (a high-end neighbourhood in West Van where the locals would call the city film liaison if a crew member so much as sneezed too loud), three PA drop-outs, and an office assistant who was worse than useless and never answered their phone, Marian could already feel her near-permanent stress headache building again. "Talk about what?"

Bethany waved her hands around emphatically, eyes wide. "We've been living here for half a year now, Marian. The waitstaff at the Hanged Man know us by name, order, and- hell, cup size, probably. You and Isabela have been sharing not only a house, but a bedroom for that long. And I still don't know what to tell mom when she asks if you're seeing anyone. I've never seen a more domestic couple in my life, and you both are still acting like it's all frills, no-strings-attached, shitty Ashton Kutcher movie. It's not, and you're both being dumb, and it's hurting my head watching you."

Marian rubbed her eyes, the maps of West Van suburbia swimming in her vision. "Isabela doesn't want anything else, and I don't want to push her. She's been through some shit, okay? I'm happy, she's happy."

"Tits McGee, Marian, have you asked her?"

No, she hadn't. Because she was a coward, and she didn't want Isabela to run. She didn't want her to leave.

Motherfucker. She was in love, wasn't she?

"Look," Bethany said, her voice soft. "If you don't want the same thing... it's not fair to either one of you if you don't speak up. You'll start resenting her and she won't know why. Can you honestly tell me if you got a text from Bela right now telling you she wasn't home because she was hooking up with some guy in Gastown, it wouldn't hurt?"

It would hurt like a son of a bitch. Specifically, a son of a bitch with a gun who'd decided to shoot Marian in the gut, so she could bleed to death slowly. Marian knew, because once or twice Isabela hadn't come home since they'd moved in together. She'd said it was because she was staying with friends, but knowing Isabela...

"I don't know how to bring it up," Marian said quietly. "And if I did, and things... she'd want to move out, wouldn't she? Or I should?"

"We've got that room where we've shoved all the shit we haven't unpacked yet," Bethany said. "One of you could take it as a bedroom. It'd be awkward, sure, but we all like Bela, and we all like you. Somehow she doesn't strike me as the type to cut ties with a friend because they've shared a bed."

Bethany, of course, was right. She usually was.

Marian put it off for a week. Then two. That turned into a month.

It was finally as they were stumbling home from a night at the Hanged Man, Marian quite well-trashed and Isabela equally trashed but handling it much better, that they stumbled into their bedroom and Marian said, "I'm not seeing anyone else."

That's what she'd meant to say. What came out was, "Im-na-seen-wansle," and she was forced to repeat herself twice before Isabela understood. 

"Oh," she said, raising her dark brows. "Alright? I didn't think you were, honestly. I haven't been."

"I jus' wanted to- wassat now?" Marian said, squinting.

Isabela frowned at Marian, then sat on the end of their bed, drumming her fingertips against the bedspread and looking squarely at Marian's navel. "Look, I don't like conversations. The big ones. I tend to find that they ruin everything, or- or place rules on things, or just... it's too easy to say the wrong thing, alright? But... I like where I am. I plan on staying. Do you?"

Marian stared at Isabela for a long time. Possibly without blinking. That had to be why her eyes were watering. 

Then, in an ungainly shamble, Marian closed the distance between her and Isabela and collapsed on her, squishing the other woman into the bed and curling up so her head rested on Isabela's considerable bosom. 

"Now I do," Marian said, wrapping an arm around Isabela's waist. "Bela... are you my girlfriend?"

"You tit," Isabela said, though she sounded fond. "Did you think I wasn't?"

"Ya-a-ay," Marian said, and promptly fell asleep. 

Yeah, he's got a thing about zombies. Not a fan. 

So it's with a vague sense of unease that he finds himself amidst a horde of zombies now, some closer to the grave than others - students in the midst of exam and final paper season, all staring at him dead-eyed as he wills his hungover ass to say something coherent and helpful. This is their second-to-last tutorial class, after all. Best make an impression, right?

He looks at his notes, blinks, and looks up again, squinting. "Can someone check Merrill's pulse?"

An exhausted second-year reaches over and picks up Merrill's slim wrist, her raven hair covering her face as she lies motionless in her seat, face-down on her desk. She does not stir. 

A moment passes, and the student - Tammy? Tim? TimTam? - looks up, utterly unaffected. "Alive."

"Well, that's something," Garrett mutters. He looks at his notes and wants to cry. "Alright, honesty hour here - are any of you sorry bastards absorbing a word of what I'm saying?"

The response is just tragic - a few scattered "Nos," some people shake their head, most just yawn and Garrett can't look at them because he'll either yawn too or throw up. Maybe both.

Ew. 

"Alright, get out," Garrett sighs, stuffing his notes into a binder that's bursting at the seams. "Everyone get some sleep, or- I don't know, get a coffee or something. Christ."

Almost everyone's left by the time Garrett finishes collecting his things. Everyone save Merrill, still fast asleep and snoring shockingly loudly for such a tiny girl.

Garrett winds his way through the desks, his heart soft and sad as he watches Merrill drool gently on the desk. She's been his favourite since day one, despite her preference for some of the most fucked-up world literature Garrett's ever read. A real Poe and Junji Ito fan, with a Gillian Flynn twist. She's around Bethany and Carver's age, give or take a year, and Garrett often finds his overprotective older brother side rearing up around her. 

"Merrill," he says gently, to no effect. A little louder he says, "Merrill." 

Nothing.

He takes her shoulder in hand and gives it a little shake. "Merr-"

Merrill sits bolt upright with a scream. Garrett leaps a full meter to the left and takes out two chairs and a desk on the way down, and also screams.

"Oh goodness," Merrill says, hands over her mouth, her voice small and prim and very Welsh. "Oh Christ, Mr Hawke, I'm so very sorry, I'm a bit antsy when I wake-"

"You don't say," Garrett says, sitting up with a wince. "No offence, Merrill, but were you murdered in your sleep in a past life?"

"I've never asked," Merrill says thoughtfully. "My Nain had a friend who claimed I was some kind of priestess, but she also said I summoned a demon. Which is exciting and all, but- oh, you were kidding, weren't you?"

"I was, but now I'm genuinely intrigued," Garrett says. A little softer, he says, "Are you alright? Marian says you did a great job on set this weekend, by the way." 

Merrill blushes at this, but she's obviously pleased.

"I felt like I was mucking everything up, to be perfectly honest," Merrill says. "It's so- busy. On set, I mean. Have you ever done it?"

"Marian used to drag me out whenever she was short a PA," Garrett says, shuddering. "Once she had me parking cars at five in the morning. In Squamish. In February. In the rain. And when the sun came out a few hours later it was still cold as all hell, and the wind started blowing, and the waterproof jacket I'd borrowed from her was too short so rain went all down the back of my jeans and my pants were damp for fifteen hours."

Merrill's mouth twitches as she asks, "Your pants, Canadian, or your pants, Welsh?"

"Both," Garrett says, and Merrill giggles.

There's a knock at the door, and they both look up to see a slightly dour-looking student standing there, decked out in SFU Athletics gear.

"Carver," says Garrett.

"Carver!" says Merrill.

"Merrill?" says Carver.

There's a pause, then all three of them say, "How do you know each other?"

"You two first," Merrill laughs, as she starts to pack up her bag.

"Carver is blessed with the good fortune of being my younger brother," Garrett says, smiling sunnily at Carver. Carver, who'd been looking at Merrill with - good Lord, something resembling a smile - quickly scowls.

"That's not what I would call it," Carver mutters.

"Oh, Garrett's lovely though," Merrill says, then says, "But not- not like that. I mean he's nice?"

Carver's scowl deepens, though it's very clearly not directed at Merrill. Oh dear.

"And how do you know my brother?" Garrett says to Merrill. To Carver, he adds, "It should be pretty obvious how I know Merrill, given that she's in a classroom and all."

"I try to forget that they actually let you teach here," Carver says. "Didn't know they taught classes on cheesy one-liners."

"Well, Carver, I'm afraid that if you're planning on entering that very popular third-year course "Witty Dialogue Options," "Cheesy One-Liners 101" is a pre-requisite," Garrett says. Merrill laughs. Carver doesn't.

"Carver and I both took Philosophy of Law this semester," Merrill says, standing. "Sat next to each other, too, which was grand, because I kept losing my books. I meant to ask, by the way - I don't suppose you know when the final is?"

"Next Tuesday, 10:30," Carver says. Looking suddenly awkward, he adds, "Would you like to... study together, sometime this week?"

Merrill smiles, and Garrett is pretty sure the sun comes out and worldwide peace is achieved in the same moment. "That would be wonderful! Text me tonight, yeah?"

"Sure," Carver says, straightening with a cough, his eyes fixed somewhere behind Garrett's left ear.

Merrill slings her book bag over her shoulder and makes for the door, turning back to wave at Garrett and even giving a clearly stunned Carver a quick hug before exiting the room.

The sudden silence in the room is deafening. Garrett clears his throat.

"So-"

"Shut up."

Garrett raises an eyebrow as Carver colours. "Oh, wow."

"It's not- we're friends," Carver says flatly, his eyes on the floor. "I know it's a lot to ask, but please just- don't be weird about it, okay?"

"I'm not the one who looked like he was about to propose while suggesting a study session," Garrett says, grinning. "You know you're living a common college romcom trope, right? "Big Man On Campus Jock falls for Cute Goth Girl?""

"Well, that tells me what movies you're watching," Carver mutters. "To think I came here to see how you were doing..."

Garrett feels his grin slip. "Eh?"

Carver sighs and crosses his arms, biceps bulging, and sweet Jesus, Garrett needs to work out more. No way is his little brother going to be more jacked than he is. "Look, Bethany texted me last night. I heard you ran into Douchecanoe."

Garrett winces. "I think it only counts as "running into" if we made awkward eye contact, or- spoke, God forbid. There was running involved, though."

"You, as you ran out the door?"

"Yeah."

Carver taps his foot, and says, "For the record, I never liked him."

"You've never liked anyone I've dated."

"I liked that girl you went to grad with."

Knowing he shouldn't poke the bear, but utterly unable to control himself, Garrett says, "You had a crush on the girl I went to grad with."

"Fuck off."

"It was really cute."

"Fuck it, you seem fine, I'm out," Carver says, throwing his hands up as he turns on his heel. "Say hi to Beth for me, don't date any more douches, and don't tell Ri about what you just saw."

"I can only guarantee one of those things," Garrett calls, as Carver stalks out the door. 

Interesting, Garrett thinks, shaking his head. He pulls out his phone.

To: RULE63ME

hey sis how's ur day want some power over carver

From: RULE63ME

I'd rather have power over the weather. It's fucking raining in Abbotsford. I fucking hate fucking Abbotsford. And you took my best PA away for what exactly?

To: RULE63ME

higher education? so she doesn't have to work all day in the rain for her entire life?

From: RULE63ME

>:[ don't go letting her think she has better options. I need at least one PA who isn't worthy of justifiable homicide. One of my new recruits left a propane tank open in video village this morning. We nearly blew up a Hallmark executive. 

To: RULE63ME

what a loss

From: RULE63ME

He's implemented a swear jar. Hasn't told us what he'll do with the money. Probably fund another TV Christmas movie set in WASPville, America. But anyway, what's the hot goss?

To: RULE63ME

carver's in luuuuv :)

From: RULE63ME

...

To: RULE63ME

with a giiiirrrrllll

From: RULE63ME

Unless you were about to drop a major plot twist just then I kind of figured. Anyone I know?

To: RULE63ME

;)))))

From: RULE63ME

Oh God.

To: RULE63ME

;)))))))))))

From: RULE63ME

It's not

To: RULE63ME

;))))))))))))))))))

From: RULE63ME

He does know she's gay right.

To: RULE63ME

..........???????

From: RULE63ME

I should have guessed I mean he looked like he wanted to kill her but that's also kind of his face.

To: RULE63ME

I am now confused

From: RULE63ME

Sera, right? Bela's friend? She got him with that bucket prank last time we all got together and he almost threw her out the window.

To: RULE63ME

NO, no, no?? no no ri it's merrill

From: RULE63ME

.....................*my* Merrill?

To: RULE63ME

...if anything she's my merrill

From: RULE63ME

Set family is the only family that matters. I'm her mentor. I'm training her. That's a bond a pleb like you could never understand.

To: RULE63ME

u trained me

From: RULE63ME

That's different, you're already my brother. And my twin. Cancels out. 

To: RULE63ME

:( well anyway yeah, that merrill, u should have seen it it was so cute

From: RULE63ME

Carver's always cute. A big cutie patootie. Since you're at his school I trust you take every chance available to tell him so. Esp in front of his jock friends.

To: RULE63ME

I try. but merrill!!!! and carver!!!!!!

From: RULE63ME

Hmmm.

To: RULE63ME

we'd get to have merrill as a sister in law

From: RULE63ME

You make a solid argument.

Garrett is halfway to the parkade, smirking as he texts Marian, when his phone goes off. He winces, and picks up. "Bela. You changed your ID name again."

"You don't like "BigBootyBitch?""

"Not when it's my sister's girlfriend calling, no."

"You're the antithesis of fun, Garrett. Anyway, you're free this afternoon? It's not really a question, I know your schedule."

Garrett frowns. "I was planning to grade some papers..."

"Sorry darling, you've got plans. Can you make it to Hightown Coffee on Water Street? Gastown? Say, in an hour?"

He should say no. He should absolutely say no.

He glances at the time, hates himself, and says. "Yeah. What's up?"

"You've got a date. Hope you picked something clean to wear this morning."

Garrett stops dead, and is promptly taken out by an overeager first year sprinting to class.

Once all the necessary apologies are made ("I'm sorry-" "No, I should have watched where I was going-" "I was in the way, don't worry about it-"), Garrett collects himself and puts the phone to his ear again. "I have a fucking what now?"

"I'm sorry, were you just hit by a car?"

"Worse than that, a very fast teenager. But excuse me, we were talking about how I apparently have a date?"

"I catfished on your behalf, like the good friend I am, and made a Tinder profile for you. You were very popular! I swiped some worthy candidates for you, then narrowed it down to people who weren't looking for a "big hairy bear to their cub." No offence to bears and cubs, of course, but if anyone's the cub-"

"Bela-"

"So get this, the man you're meeting today? Grad student, like you, only at UBC. And might I say, he is handsome. Kind of posh-hipster, but not in an annoying way. He actually pulls it off, and if you're lucky, he might pull it off, if you know what I-"

"You realize that UBC and SFU are rival schools, right?" Garrett says sourly, brushing grass stains from his jeans. "You know the joke, right? "What do UBC and SFU students have in common? They both applied to UBC!" Pretentious-"

"Now, see? You've turned it into Romeo and Juliet. All you have to do is show up. He knows what you look like, so I'd suggest getting there early so he has to find you. Things might get a bit awkward if it's the other way around."

"I never said I was going to do this," Garrett says, though in his mind he's already mapping out the fastest route to Gastown. Like a loser.

"We both know you will, though. Toodles, darling."

"Mother of God, Bela-"

Isabela hangs up, and Garrett is left staring at his phone, a little shellshocked. 

He's halfway down Hastings when he realizes he never got his date's name.

-

Hightown Coffee is exactly what you would expect from a coffee shop in Gastown. Only a few blocks away from one of the most troubled and impoverished places in the city, the Downtown East Side, Hightown rests just inside the bubble of gentrification surrounding the converted old Woodwards building, now owned by GoldCorp (in partnership with SFU). Garrett's only been to the downtown campus once or twice, and spent far more time at Harbour Centre than the university's Fine Arts building, but he's always thought the location is rather fitting. Pack a bunch of hipsters into a tower a block away from the BC Marijuana Party headquarters, conveniently close to half a dozen classy bistros and half a dozen trashy pubs, and you've pretty much got a burgeoning fine arts major's dream school. 

So he tosses Woodwards - now the "GoldCorp Centre for the Arts" - a brief nod as he passes, and continues on to Hightown.

It's almost a literal hole in the wall, easy to miss if one were to walk a little too fast, or blink. Inside, however, it's surprisingly roomy, all industrial chic with a distinctly expensive flavour. He guesses, without looking, that they have lavender lattes on the menu, and little pastel macarons delicately arranged on a Lazy Susan at the front counter.

He is correct on both counts, and rewards himself by buying both the latte and at least three macarons, both dine-in, half-afraid he'll grab the coffee and run if given the chance. The cashier is a friendly brunette named... Flissa? Did they fuck up her nametag?

"My shift's about done, but Fen'll get it to your table in a minute," Flissa says, handing Garrett his change, as well as a plate of macarons. "Sorry about the wait."

"No worries, I've barista'd before. Escape while you can," Garrett says, and Flissa laughs.

There's a recently-vacated table along a far wall, and Garrett scrambles to snatch it up before anyone else can. He sits, elbows on the table, and sends his seventh text to Isabela.

To: BigBootyBitch

What. Is. His. NAME. BELA. PLEASE.

Fuck it. Fuck everything. At least he gets lavender lattes out of this. And macarons. 

Gracefully shoving an entire vanilla bean macaron in his mouth, Garrett glances around the restaurant, taking in the patrons. The usual Vancouver crowd, a mix of dead-eyed students and forcibly grunged-up hipsters. A middle-aged couple chatting about American politics. The only guy who really stands out is the lucky bastard who snagged the window seat, though one glance tells him why - no one's going to argue with the enormous biker in a leather vest with patches, Chargers scrawled across the back in stark white letters. He's got a rough buzzcut, half a dozen scars, and- sweet fuck, an eyepatch. Garrett is simultaneously impressed and afraid, even more so as he takes in the reading glasses and the newspaper in his hand. He's delicately sipping at whatever the fuck he's drinking, it looks like hot chocolate with sprinkles, in a fine pink cup. 

Garrett's so busy staring that he doesn't notice the man approaching his table until he clears his throat, and says, "For you."

Garrett was knocked out by a wave in California once. He was fifteen, on a rare vacation with his family, the first time out of the country since the obligatory childhood Disneyland trip. He and Marian went bodyboarding while his mother watched the twins in the shallows, and it was going pretty well until he fell off his board halfway to shore, got his foot stuck in an old concrete post hole, and turned around to see a monstrous wave bearing down on him.

"Oh shit," he'd said, and instinctively raised his board to guard himself. Ironically, that's what knocked him out - the impact of the wave hitting the board, then hitting him square in the face. Marian ended up dragging him out of the shallows by the ankle, and he'd gone the rest of the trip with an impressive black eye that made it into all the family photos.

Garrett remembers the force of that wave smacking into him, if nothing else after that.

That's what it's like, hearing that voice. "For you." Deep, a little rough, and tired, but polite. Posh. Garrett has honest to fuck tingles from that voice. Could it be...?

He turns, and sweet fuck. 

If hearing his voice was like being hit by the wave, seeing the man attached to the voice is like being hit in the face with the board propelled by the wave. Knockout.

He's... stunning, would be the word, and there's a lot to take in at once. Big green eyes, is Garrett's starting point, because they're very fucking pretty and he's always had a weakness for pretty eyes. White hair, black brows, and Garrett's about to admire his dedication to the look until he notices a few black strands in the white and a few white strands in his brows, indicating that the colour is natural. Which is odd, because the guy can't be older than thirty, possibly younger. It looks good on him.

The tattoos. White tattoos spilling down his chin, his neck, disappearing under his black collared t-shirt and reappearing on his arms, his fingers, stark against the brown skin. 

"For you." The man's holding two coffees. One is lavender, the other is- Garrett doesn't care. Holy shit. Isabela, you horrible, beautiful bastard.

Garrett realizes, belatedly, that the man is staring at him. Likely because Garrett is staring back, mouth still full.

"Are you my date?" Garrett asks. Or rather, "Ufh-oogh-aigh-ayf?"

(In hindsight, he should have swallowed first.)

Those perfect, heavy brows shoot up into gorgeous, frosty bangs. And- God in Heaven, he blushes. Just a little, barely noticeable, but it's there, and Garrett's heart is about to burst inside his chest.

So taken by the blush, he misses the man's words, and says, "Hmm?"

"I'm wearing an apron," the man says, for the second time, now looking adorably wrong-footed.

It's okay honey, I love a man in an apron, is the first thing Garrett's traitor brain comes up with, a phrase that is very luckily stamped down by Garrett's slightly more reliable mouth. 

Apron. It's cute.

It's also got "Hightown Coffee" embossed across the front in gold lettering.

Gold looks great on him, his brain thinks, followed far, far too late with, Wait, what?

It takes a while, and when it finally hits him, it's pretty fucking similar to that bitch-ass wave that knocked him out over a decade ago. Complete with black eye.

"Oh God," he says faintly.

The man looks down at the latte, looks up, and says, "Lavender latte?"

"Yes, though if you could throw in the sweet embrace of death, I'll tip extra," Garrett says, very much considering bolting anyway, even if he ordered his coffee dine-in. Fuck the coffee. Fuck the macarons. Fuck the hot guy. Wait, fuck.

He expects the man to roll his eyes, or grimace, or have Garrett thrown out on the grounds of sexually harassing one of Hightown Coffee's employees.

Instead, he laughs. Very quietly, a low chuckle that's honestly more of a giggle, and Garrett feels that laugh like a fast-moving sunbeam working up from his toes all the way to the top of his head. 

"As much as I need the tips, I'm afraid the sweet embrace of death isn't on the menu, unless you order the quadruple shot macchiato," the man says, putting the coffee in front of Garrett, who can only stare.

Are you on the menu? screams his traitor brain. Aloud, he says, "Thanks, and- sorry, again."

The barista shrugs. "I'll take it as a compliment."

You should.

"I'm Fen, by the way."

Fen. It suits you. Is it short for something?

"Let me know if you need anything else."

You. I could probably pick you up. That's so cute. Your lips are amazing. You look like you could murder a man. Amazing.

"Will do, buckaroo," Garrett says, his mouth not managing to catch that one in time. Fucking traitor.

Fen snorts, only a little derisively, and makes his way to another table with the other drink in hand. Garrett watches him go.

Yeah. He watches him go, and though he's trying really hard to remember why he's here, all he can think about is how good those black skinny jeans look on the hot barista. He's lanky. Isn't he cold? It's starting to rain outside. Garrett could lend him his sweater-

Focus, Garrett. You're not here for him. 

He forces his attention on his coffee. Lavender. As it turns out, much tastier in theory than in practice.

A few minutes later, the man who is unmistakably His Date walks in, fitting every description Isabela gave him - incredibly good-looking, posh-hipster, and yes, he pulls it off, right down to the ridiculous moustache. His fashion is impeccable, and the way he carries himself is full of strength and confidence, the kind of presence that captures the entire room.

Garrett thinks of the cute barista in his apron, leaning up on his toes, what those lips might feel like against his own. He does this with no small amount of guilt, especially as the man's eyes land on him and light up in unmistakable recognition.

It's a short walk to Garrett's table, during which Garrett stands and tries to put the barista from his mind. The man is crazy handsome, after all. It shouldn't be hard.

It is hard. He's wondering at how unexpected Fen's voice is, deep and rough behind almost delicate features. No, not delicate, those muscles in his arms meant business, even on the leaner side of things...

"You must be-" starts Garrett's date, and Garrett cuts in with, "Garrett. Very nice to meet you."

Please please please please-

"Dorian," the man says, and Garrett breathes a sigh of relief. "Very nice place, this. I don't come to Gastown nearly enough. What are you drinking?"

It's not the words, so much as how he says them, but the man lives and breathes charm. Garrett's almost a little intimidated.

"Lavender latte," Garrett says. "Not really my thing, but I thought I'd try it."

"Adventurous! I like that," Dorian says, dark eyes twinkling. Damn. 

Garrett is nearly suckered in by Dorian, his easy charm and good looks, when a certain green-eyed barista appears at his table and he's utterly fucked all over again the second Fen says, "Good afternoon. Can I get you anything?"

Garrett doesn't know what to do with his face. If he stares at Dorian, Fen might think he's ignoring him, like an asshole. If he looks at Fen, Dorian will think he's in love with their barista, on their date, like an asshole. 

So he does what any man stuck in an impossible situation like this one would do. He smiles at Fen, and Dorian, then starts a little in his seat like he's just gotten a text.

"Sorry, I should get this," he says, and goes to pull out his phone from his pocket.

A fruitless endeavour, as his phone is on the table, and very silent.

Both Fen and Dorian are staring at him now.

"Do you ever feel like you've gotten a text and you haven't?" Garrett says. "Like, you feel a buzz in your pants, but nothing's there? Ghost-text. Weird, right?"

Dorian blinks. Fen does not. Both seem a little thrown, and considering Garrett just mentioned "feeling a buzz in your pants," he doesn't blame either one of them.

"Uh," says Dorian, the first to recover. Fen isn't quite there yet, and Garrett occupies himself with his coffee to escape that intense green stare. "Do you happen to do espresso con panna here?"

"Yeah," Fen says absently, still staring at Garrett. Then, with a little shake of his head, he finally breaks away and says, "Um, yes. Single or double?"

"Double, if you will, and thank you," Dorian says. 

Fen nods, and is gone, leaving Garrett feeling very extremely sorry for himself. I'm going to murder Isabela in her sleep.

"Well, we should start by addressing the elephant in the room," Dorian says gravely, clasping his hands.

Garrett's head snaps up, heart dropping. Oh God. He figured it out. I'm an asshole. "Oh?"

"I'm not sure I can see this going anywhere," Dorian says, then grinning, adds, "Given that you're from SFU."

There is a God.

"Ah, the arrogance of a UBC elitist," Garrett says, willing his heart to slow the fuck down. "I was waiting for that."

"We work for that arrogance, dear boy," Dorian says, affecting an aristocratic tone with a sniff. "You know what they say about SFU students-"

"I know," Garrett says flatly, and Dorian laughs. "I also happen to know one of your classier school chants, from the Engineering Department. How does it go again? "We are, we are, we are the engineers-?""

""We can, we can, demolish forty beers,"" Dorian finishes, smiling. "Technically, we stole that from MIT."

"Technically, that's plagiarism."

"Now who's being elitist?"

Garrett laughs.

Despite the rocky beginning, it goes far better than Garrett could have hoped. It's easy to keep the conversation rolling with Dorian, and the time passes quickly enough, and well.

Fen comes and goes, bringing coffee, checking on them. It could be Garrett's wistful imagination, but Fen seems far more guarded and crisp with Dorian than he is with Garrett, though as Garrett is making a conscious effort not to flirt with another man while on a date, he doesn't get to hear that laugh again. He's already certain Dorian's noticed his helpless glances, the way his head lifts a little when he hears Fen's voice, even across the café.

It's only an hour later that Garrett realizes Dorian hasn't noticed his interest in Fen, because he's sneaking some quick glances of his own.

As subtly as he can, he follows Dorian's gaze to- holy shit, the scary biker at the window seat. He's on his third hot chocolate and his second newspaper, now working on a crossword. He still looks like he could crush a man's skull in a single, enormous hand. 

Garrett looks back at Dorian, who looks like a wealthy prince from some millennia-old aristocracy, gracious and charming, quick-witted. Part of him can't begin to see it. The other part of him thinks it makes perfect sense.

And on the whole, he's a little relieved that Dorian isn't looking at him the same way he's looking at the biker.

"Listen," Garrett says quietly, leaning in. "You are one handsome son of a bitch, and God knows I want you to be my wingman at a party sometime, but I'm not getting the vibe that we'd work out together. You know?"

Dorian looks a little nonplussed, for a moment, then his face settles into something not too far removed from relief, which Garrett echoes in spades. "Yes, I believe you're correct. You're not too bad yourself, you know."

"Friends?" Garrett says, holding out his hand. "We could be the first step to bridging the gap between rival schools, you know."

"A lofty goal," Dorian says, and shakes Garrett's hand. "Friends, then."

"Great," Garrett says, sitting back. "As my first act as friend, then, I've got to ask- the biker guy?"

Dorian's eyes widen, his jaw dropping a little. Then he flushes, looking down at the table. "I- God. I thought I was being subtle."

"It took me a while," Garrett says, grinning. "Like what you see, there?"

"Intrigued, would be the word," Dorian says, frowning. "He's not my type."

"You never know until you try," Garrett says, shrugging, and gets to his feet.

Dorian grabs his wrist, and hisses, "What are you doing?"

"Just using the washroom," Garrett says, innocently as he can. Dorian eyes him suspiciously for a moment, then releases Garrett's wrist.

Garrett promptly makes a beeline for the biker, faintly hearing Dorian whisper "you motherfucker" under his breath. 

Truth be told, Garrett's slightly terrified of approaching the guy. Praying to whatever deity out there that his Gaydar is in functioning order and he isn't about to get curb-stomped by a bigoted titan twice his size, Garrett moves between the tables until he's at the biker's side.

"Hey man," the biker says, not looking up from his crossword. "If you're going to tell me to back off your boyfriend, let me save you the trouble - he's not into you."

Garrett blinks. Twice.

"Um," he says, and follows with, "Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to switch tables."

Now the biker looks up, eyebrows - eyebrow? - raised.

Garrett presses on. "This was just a get-to-know-you thing, and we decided that, you know, friendship is magic and all-" Well if he wasn't going to curb-stomp you before, he will now, genius, "-and I don't know, he seems into you. Thought I'd help him out a little and play wingman, you know?"

The biker looks at Dorian - face in his hands, the little skin that's showing behind them stained a bright red - and back to Garrett, and to Garrett's immense relief, he grins. "Well, now. I'm more than happy to take him off your hands, if he's alright with it."

"He said he's "intrigued," so make of that what you will," Garrett says. The biker laughs.

"Bull," he says, shaking Garrett's hand. "You're Garrett, I heard you introduce yourself earlier."

"You must have good hearing," Garrett says.

"It's okay," Bull shrugs. Lower, he says, "Listen, you seem like a real good guy. Can I offer some advice?"

"Sure," says Garrett, hoping it's body-building related because man, the guy is shredded.

Bull leans close and says, "The barista guy? Yeah, I saw you looking. I also saw the guy up close. He looks like someone who's been through some shit. He's a runner. He could hurt you real bad, and him? Well, you could hurt him back, is all I'm saying. I wouldn't recommend it."

Garrett stares at Bull, shocked by the words and the effortless honesty behind them. "How do you know?"

Bull shrugs again, something a little rueful tugging at his lips. "The life I've had, you either learn to look at people, or someone helps you disappear. Permanently. I've seen that look on people before - he's damaged."

"Isn't everyone?" Garrett says, before he can help himself. 

Bull quirks a wry smile, and says, "Some more than others, believe me."

He straightens to his full height - holy shit, I'm a fucking hobbit, thinks Garrett - and rolls his shoulders, grinning. "Alright, I think we've tortured your friend over there long enough. Dorian, right?"

"Yeah," says Garrett, still turning Bull's words over in his mind. Damaged.

"Sweet, thanks," Bull says, clapping him on the shoulder and shattering Garrett's kneecaps in the process. "Take it easy, yeah?"

"You too."

He watches for a moment as Bull goes to Dorian's table, taking a seat in Garrett's vacated chair. Given that Dorian is still hiding his face in his hands, Garrett's not entirely sure how this is going to go. 

Then Bull leans in and says something too quiet for Garrett to hear. Whatever it is, it startles a laugh out of Dorian, and coaxes him out from behind his fingers. 

So Garrett turns to leave, but not without risking one more glance at Fen.

Fen, as it turns out, is watching him, and for a moment Garrett can almost see what Bull is saying - there's an exhaustion around those pretty eyes that Garrett was too starstruck to notice earlier, a grim set to his mouth, his brows set low and stern. But he smiles a little, catching Garrett's eyes, and ducks his head in shyness or embarrassment, Garrett isn't sure, before turning to the espresso machine and getting back to work.

Outside, Garrett walks along the sidewalk, the rain turned to a fine spring mist, and he thinks.

Thinks back to an incident that happened- fuck, just over thirteen years ago now, back when he and Marian were fourteen. She'd run off to Guildford in the middle of the night with a few friends, and disappeared for almost a day. Leandra panicked, called Gamlen, called the school, called Aveline's parents, but not one seemed to know where she was. Finally at eleven o'clock the next night Marian was returned home in the back of a police car, high and more than a little drunk.

She'd sat there, quiet, arms crossed, as their mother shouted at her, then shouted at Gamlen for trying to shout at Marian. It was a mess. Marian wouldn't look at either of them, or Garrett, who stood silently aside, unsure of what to do.

"You will not tell me how to raise my daughter, Gamlen," Leandra had snapped, hair escaping her nighttime braid, hands on her hips. 

"I'm saying there's no point in just talking to her, Leandra," Gamlen said. "I say, let her get arrested. See what jail looks like. Maybe that'll straighten her out."

"How dare you-"

"You smothering her has done nothing but waste all our time, indulging her adolescent stupidity," Gamlen said. "Christ, it's not worth the effort. It's clear the girl is damaged goods."

The sound of Leandra's slap across Gamlen's face made Garrett jump. Even Marian looked up.

Then, eyes narrowing, she stood and stalked out of the room. Moments later, they heard her bedroom door slam down the hall.

Leandra watched her go, her eyes sad, then hardening as she turned back to her brother. "You do not talk like that about my daughter. Not ever. You will apologize to her tomorrow."

"I'll do no such thing-!"

"You will apologize, or I will cut you out of my children's lives so fast it will make your idiot head spin. Get out of my house."

Gamlen looked ready to argue, but after a long look at Leandra's furious expression, seemed to think better of it. Sullen, angry, and with Leandra's handprint reddening his cheek, he left.

Leandra waited for the front door to close, then sagged, looking exhausted. "Garrett-"

"I've got it," Garrett said quietly, and followed after Marian.

Marian was curled up on her bed, head buried in her knees, as Garrett carefully entered the room, closing the door behind him.

"Get the fuck out," Marian grunted, her voice muffled.

"Just me," Garrett said, picking his way across the room, nearly tripping on half a dozen books spread out across the floor, as well as a few sweaters and shirts.

"I don't care."

Garrett didn't answer. He sat on the edge of Marian's bed, and waited.

Eventually, Marian said, "I hate it that word."

"Which?"

"Damaged." Marian lifted her head, and Garrett felt his heart drop as he saw how red and watery her eyes were. She'd been crying. Marian never cried. "It's- I don't know. It's so dismissive, and final. Like if you crack a plate or something, it's over. Damaged goods wind up on the discount shelf, or in the trash."

Garrett didn't know what to say. So he listened, and he waited.

"I'm not a broken thing," Marian said, bitterly. "I heard a teacher tell another I was damaged, too, you know. "Oh, such a sad story, her father died, you remember Malcolm Hawke, don't you?" "Such a good man, such a shame about his daughter, I hear she used to be so bright-" They've already got it figured out in their heads who and what I am, you know? If I clean up, I'm their little inspiring success story that they get to claim a part of just for breathing around me. If I don't- well, they've already written me off anyway."

"Ri-" Garrett started, and Marian shook her head, shoving tears off her face with the palm of her hand.

"That's what you do with damaged goods, Gare," she said. "You write them off. Fuck, how did I get here?"

"In the back of a police car," Garrett said.

That startled a laugh out of Marian, and she relaxed out of her tight ball a little, letting her legs dangle off the bed.

Garrett reached over and grabbed a blanket, draping it over Marian's shoulders. She hugged it a little closer, sniffling.

"People don't get damaged, I don't think," Garrett said. "People get hurt, right? And they heal."

"Not always," Marian said quietly. "I know some people who were hurt... really bad. I don't think they're going to get better."

"But you don't know for sure," Garrett said. "You're right, damaged is a stupid word, because it's- permanent. And I think you can get hurt permanently, but... if you're hurt, there's always a chance. And there is always a chance. Anyone who writes you off is an idiot, Ri. Gamlen can go fuck himself."

"I think that's exactly what he's gonna go do," Marian snorted. Garrett made fake retching noises until Marian shoved him off the bed, laughing. 

No, Garrett rejected the idea of "damaged people" a long, long time ago.

Maybe it's naive, he thinks, as he finds his car in the parkade and unlocks the doors. Maybe I'm talking out my ass. I probably was back then, at any rate.

But I'm not writing anyone off. Not yet. And especially, not anyone who looks that good in skinny jeans.

His phone buzzes - actually buzzes, this time, shaking him from his thoughts. He pulls it out of his pocket, checks the text, and groans.

From: BigBootyBitch

I think it started with a D? Oh well. Doesn't matter, if you fucked it up don't worry about it. I've got another one set up for you on Friday. Aren't I a good friend?

Stage 1: Wild Enthusiasm

Stage 2: Total Confusion

Stage 3: Utter Despair

Stage 4: Search for the Guilty

Stage 5: Persecution of the Innocent

Stage 6: Promotion of the Incompetent

Stage 7: Distribution of T-Shirts

Marian is ninety percent sure they're still in Stage 4 by this point, so she holes herself up in an empty room three corridors down from set, and quietly works on drawing up tomorrow's maps and torturing as many siblings as she can manage by text in the space of five minutes.

To: M!Hawke

So I heard Bela's got a hot date lined up for you tomorrow, are you gonna hitch them up with a hot biker dude too?

To: BethyBoo

Please walk Kitty when you get home, and bring lots of plastic baggies with you - something's been making her a little "loose" if you catch my meaning. Love you <3

To: Turkey

How's the study DATE going? Learning lots? Have any questions? 

To: Turkey

Also if you pull any frat guy shit with her I'm going to tell her you were an extra on The Santa Clause 3 as a kid and I'll send her pictures of you in your little elf outfit. Get dunked on, kiddo. 

"Man-ny, who's covering that door? Is anyone covering that door? Is there a reason why that door is opening when it shouldn't be?"

Marian rolls her eyes at the massacre of Mahanon's name. No one has been able to convince Seggrit that "Manny" is not "basically the same," and by this point Mahanon seems like his spirit is far too broken for him to care.

"There is someone on that door. Will, go two please."

Marian switches channels, cutting off Seggrit's fourth rant of the afternoon. 

"Will, are you on two?"

A pause.

"Will?"

A slight plea in Mahanon's voice this time.

"I know half of you are on two right now, does anyone have eyes on Will?"

"I'm not close to him, but I see him. He's kind of wandered off from the door, I think he's talking to someone from BG."

That's Ritts, an incredibly crafty PA that Marian has her eyes on - both for potential recruitment into her pool of reliable hires, and in case she makes off with the silverware. 

(Literally. There's silverware in this scene.)

Sighing, Marian pulls out her phone, scrolls through the PA contact list, and dials Will's number. He picks up on the second ring.

"What's up, boss?" Will says smoothly, doubtless trying to impress whatever poor background actress he's lassoed into talking to him.

"Get back to your goddamn lock-up, and listen to your radio," Marian says. "Are you on channel one?"

A beat, then Will says very quietly, "I- I forgot to switch back from five."

"It happens. Walk away from your lock-up again and I will hold you personally responsible for whatever horrible thing happens next on this set whether it's your fault or not. A light malfunctions, an actor gets salmonella, I'll say it was you. Got it?"

"Y-yes, Marian."

"Wonderful. Check in with Mahanon and please pronounce his name right, very clearly, on channel one. Any chance you get."

"Will do."

Marian hangs up, and switches channels on her walkie again. A very sheepish voice comes on to call "MA-HA-NON" to channel two. For a moment, all is well with the world. 

"Knock knock," says a voice at the door, pairing it with two knocks.

"Who's there?" Marian mutters, her eyes back on her maps.

The door opens, revealing a striking woman in her early thirties with dark red lips, auburn hair, and a scarred face. She looks familiar, but not familiar enough for Marian to have any idea who the fuck she's looking at.

"I should have come with a good joke prepared," the woman says, smiling. "Alaine Rutherford. You're Marian Hawke?"

Marian frowns. The name sounds familiar too, though she doesn't have nearly enough caffeine in her system to connect it with anything coherent. "Last I checked, I was."

"Well, that's better than most on this set," Alaine says, stepping into the room. "I hear it's been a rough week for you guys."

Marian's eyes slip from Alaine's face to her left arm, which ends just below her elbow. When she catches Alaine's eyes again, she's grinning wryly.

"Lost track of it on the way here," Alaine says dryly, lifting the stump. 

"I hate it when that happens," Marian says. "I think I left my brain at home this morning."

Alaine chuckles, and takes a seat in a nearby chair. "With your job, that's probably a bonus. How exactly did they rope you into ALMing again?"

Marian frowns. "Sorry?"

"Last I heard, you've been production coordinator on a few minor shoots now. Production manager on that SyFy miniseries in January. It looked like an office trajectory to me."

Marian sighs, running a hand through her short hair. "I guess I needed a break? I don't know. I like problem solving more than I like paperwork. Not that this job doesn't have shit tons of paperwork."

"Or that office work doesn't have shit tons of problem solving," Alaine says.

"You're not wrong," Marian says. "The LM on this shoot - Athenril - I worked for her a lot when I was starting out. She kind of begged me to take the job."

"Favours for friends," Alaine says, nodding. "I get that."

"Cut! Manny, we're hearing noise by Video Village, people talking."

"It's the executive producer, sir."

"...Copy."

Marian turns down her walkie, as Alaine casts it a rueful look. "Poor kid."

"He's pretty tough, but a little too nice, honestly," Marian says. "He's a hair's width from letting people walk all over him."

"He's always been like that," Alaine says. "Ever since he was a kid."

Marian squints. "Eh?"

"I didn't see him very often, his side of the family was in England, but he's my cousin," Alaine says. "He didn't tell you?"

Marian blinks, utterly lost. "Why would he-?"

It comes to her in a flash. The scars, the missing arm, the name. Only when Marian last heard of Alaine, her surname was Lavellan.

Alaine Lavellan, a stunts actress who worked for several large film franchises and even starring in a short-lived sci-fi series of her own in the mid-2000s, whose career was cut short by an accident on set - explaining the scars, and the arm. Marian remembers hearing about it on the news, and later about Alaine's work with Ferelden Pictures as an associate, then executive producer on several successful projects. Recently married to fellow producer, Cullen Rutherford.

Hence the name change, and how Alaine was able to walk into set without anyone kicking her out. Also, I'm a moron.

"Mahanon is your cousin?" Marian says, stowing her slightly starstruck thoughts for later, when Alaine would be out of the room. She's been in the industry for a while - long enough not to be fazed by big names (though she did nearly break when she walked into Vanessa Hudgens on one of her first shows). 

"Yes, and a talented actor back home," Alaine sighs, propping her elbow up on Marian's desk and balancing her chin in her palm. "Theatre, mostly, but he did a few parts on some BBC shows. I'm still not sure why he hopped on a plane here to do PA work, of all things. I've been trying to get him to start auditioning again."

"I... huh," Marian says, now utterly thrown by both Alaine's presence and these unexpected revelations about Mahanon. Also, the fact that Alaine Lavellan seems to have memorized my IMDB page. "He never mentioned."

"You don't get by in this industry on merit, you do it on connections," Alaine says. "I didn't even know he was moving out here until his mother talked to my mother about it three weeks ago. I guess he's trying to "go his own way," but... it really doesn't make much sense." Alaine shakes her head. "Anyway, I'm not here to talk about my cousin, though if you're breaking for lunch soon I'd love a chance to harass him in person."

"Crew lunch is in an hour, so it'll be a bit of a wait," Marian says.

Alaine shrugs. "I've got some e-mails to see to anyway, might as well do it here. Look, Marian, I was wondering if you've signed on to any projects after this clusterfuck wraps up."

Marian blinks. "I... no, not yet."

Alaine grins. "Excellent. You worked with a good friend of mine, Cassandra Pentaghast, in October. She was executive producer on that Free Marches feature you coordinated. The way she tells it, you practically swooped in and saved the whole production."

Marian raises her eyebrows. "The Free Marches feature gave me at least six premature grey hairs."

"And it's been nominated for several Leo Awards, as well as a few more overseas and in the States," Alaine says. "When everyone bailed, you were the one who pulled everything back together. You knew who to call. A good reputation is everything, and love you or hate you, no one seems able to deny that you're good at what you do."

"I'm incredibly flattered," Marian says, leaning back in her chair. "And... wondering if this is a ramp up to a job offer?"

"You catch on fast," Alaine says, hazel eyes twinkling. "Have you heard anything about a book series called Inquisition?"

Marian fights a grin, thinking of last Hallowe'en, and Garrett's attempt to pull together a costume based off the Inquisitor. There was a lot of tinfoil involved. "Rings a bell."

"With the success of the whole Game of Thrones thing, there's a major cable company looking for a fantasy series to compete," Alaine says. "We've got writers working with the author to put together a pilot episode. It's on its... fuck, probably hundredth draft by now, but we're pretty much set to start getting the production rolling. I want to make sure that our office has innovative, competent people, and given how busy it is, it's getting difficult to snatch the right people up."

Marian feels a faint buzzing in the base of her skull she associates with impending big life decisions. Her instinct is very rarely wrong in this respect. 

"What would you like me to do?" she says.

"Production management," Alaine answers.

Marian half-expects her eyeballs to drop out of her head. As calmly as she can manage, she echoes, "Management?"

"This thing is going to be big, and it's going to be hell," Alaine says. "You're sharp, but more than that, you're creative. You have an innate sense of which rules to bend, which to break, and which to beat people over the head with. You're young, certainly, but I like to think I know talent when I see it. You could do amazing things for us."

No, Marian has not had enough coffee today. She's either asleep right now, or hallucinating. Either way it's unsettling, nerve-wracking.

Exciting. Stupidly so.

"I- huh," Marian says, clearing her throat. "I would have to be an idiot to say no."

"I'm certain you'll think differently when you see the mountain of work ahead of us," Alaine says dryly. "Something to think about before committing, though; if we get picked up, we'll likely be moving production to the UK. We've been told that's where the network wants us to wind up, but it's cheaper for now to film here, if the pilot doesn't pan out. If it does... we wouldn't want to have to hire another production manager, obviously, so we would want you to move with us."

Marian's head starts to spin. Moving to the UK? Moving away from Vancouver?

"I'll do it," Marian finds herself saying, her brain struggling to catch up. "The pilot, I mean. And... I'll have to talk things over with my family, but- yes."

I can always quit later, if the show gets picked up - tank my reputation, sure, but I'll find another job. I always do.

"Let us know how that goes," Alaine says, smiling. She reaches across the table and shakes Marian's hand, standing. "Well, I should get going. I'm certain I've taken up enough of your time already. Oh, I'll leave you my card - e-mail me your contact information as soon as you're able."

"I will," Marian says, still feeling a little dazed. "Thank you."

-

"You have to stop doing this!"

Garrett languishes along the kitchen counter, his face in his hands, as Isabela and Bethany pore over Isabela's phone, examining tomorrow's date. Garrett refuses. He refuses. 

(He can't stop thinking about a guy who happens to look fucking amazing in skinny jeans, who can probably beat Garrett up, because short people are always naturally angry. But he was also so calm and polite, with that voice... Garrett wants to buy that voice a fancy dinner and lead it up to a hotel suite over a path of rose petals. He wants to give that voice a financially secure future with 1.5 kids and a mortgage. He wonders how much the man attached to that voice likes cuddling.)

"I think you're being rather ungrateful, honestly," Bethany says, raising an eyebrow. "This guy has sort of a rugged handsomeness. And he's French."

"French or Quebecois?" Garrett grumbles, not raising his head. 

"Montreal," Isabela says, and Garrett groans. "Now, no judging before you meet him, there are many lovely people from Montreal."

"My favourite teacher was from Montreal," Bethany says.

"Two of my favourite students are from Montreal, and believe me, the language gap has been a little hard to breach at times," Garrett says.

"I thought you spoke French," Isabela says.

"I do," Garrett says. "They don't. They speak Quebecois."

"His name is Emile, and I'm sure the two of you are going to get along just fine," Bethany says. To Isabela, she says, "Where are you having them meet?"

"Same place as last time," Isabela says. "Hightown. It's not a place Garrett frequents, so the chance of awkward encounters outside of the dates themselves is kept minimal. Oh, look at that, Garrett's smiling."

Garrett immediately wipes the grin from his face, feeling his cheeks heat up. What are the chances I'll come in during Fen's shift, anyway? "Am not."

"You are, it's very cute to see you so excited."

"I'm not-"

"Dost my brother protest too much?" Marian says, entering the room and giving Isabela a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for babysitting him in his time of need, babe."

"Oh, I enjoy it, really," Isabela says, wrapping an arm around Marian's waist. "Anything exciting happen at work?"

"Not particularly," Marian says airily. "Who's the new date, then?"

Garrett blinks, and trades a look with Bethany. Judging by her narrowed eyes, she caught Marian's tone as well. Something is definitely up.

"Some Quebecois guy," Bethany says, looking back to Marian. Garrett nods, vowing to interrogate Marian later, when they have a moment to themselves. "A businessman, so hey, money."

"Oh, if Garrett's looking for a sugar daddy, I'm certain I could find much better options," Isabela says, grinning. Garrett groans. 

The air suddenly fills with the dulcet tones of Yakety Sax, and Marian pulls out her phone, answering it and promptly setting the call to speakerphone. "Hey, Carver. How'd the date go?"

"It wasn't a- shit, am I on speakerphone?"

"Yeah."

"Marian, if you could stop being the worst for like, thirty seconds, I'd really appreciate it. Who's all listening in?"

"Hey, Carvey-poo," Isabela says.

"Hey sibling," Bethany says.

"Let's go Wildcats!" Garrett shouts.

"Mother of God."

"It's fine, Carver, we're all friends here," Marian says, grinning. "What's up?"

"Can I please not do this over speakerphone?"

"Think of it as having a consensus, or something," Bethany says sympathetically. "We're all here for you."

"To humiliate you," Isabela says sweetly.

"To support you Isabela in her goal of humiliating you," Garrett says helpfully.

"I hate all of you. Marian, look, it's about- shit, if anyone says anything I'm driving over there and punching Garrett in the face, it's about Merrill."

"Why me specifically?" Garrett says.

"Because I'm not a douche, I don't hit girls."

"I'll shelve my feminist lecture on this particular topic for another time, and say: please punch Garrett instead of one of us," Bethany says. 

"What's wrong with Merrill?" Marian asks, frowning.

"Look, she really downplayed it, so don't take it like she was complaining or something, but- have the guys on set been giving her a hard time? She mentioned a guy from transport and she looked... nervous."

Garrett looks up at this, concerned, and sees Marian wince. "I've been keeping an eye on it. So far the guy hasn't crossed any boundaries that Merrill can use in a case against him, and I've told the transpo captain to get his shit together. Unfortunately that's just how girls are treated in film, but believe me, I'm not taking it lying down."

"That's stupid. That's so stupid."

"Yeah."

"Really sweet that you're concerned for her, though," Isabela says, smiling. 

"It's just so fucking dumb. She's just- nice, okay?" A pause, then Carver says, "She said this show is wrapping soon, but do you have any other projects happening this summer?"

Marian's face does an odd little jump at this, then she says, "Yeah, but I won't be ALM. I won't control the hiring process."

"But maybe you know someone who will. She needs the money because she's putting herself through school- fuck, maybe I shouldn't have said that. Look, is there any way you can get us hired on to the same show?"

Marian's eyebrows disappear into her hair, and she says, "You want to work on set?"

"Yeah, I need a job anyway-"

"Carver, the last time I brought you on set to work you said you'd rather be kicked in the face by a rabid horse than do it again. I remember because it was an oddly specific visual image."

"Yeah, well, there's free food, and that way I can make sure Merrill's safe."

"It's a sweet sentiment, but you're only adding to the problem if you're following her to work so you can hit on her."

"Jesus, Marian, I'm not a fucking asshole, I won't. I just- look, you and Bethany have beat this crap into me since I was five, I know assholes are more likely to listen to me than the girls they're being assholes to. Fuck, I'll run interference for all the girls. I'm just- worried."

Marian bites her lip, and looks around the kitchen. "Thoughts?"

"I trust him," Bethany says instantly. "Obviously, because he's my brother and all, but also because he's right, he does know this shit. I think we're a little hard on him sometimes because, you know, jock and all, but I think this is sweet. And probably good for Merrill, too."

"Merrill is a ray of oddly gothic sunshine in a world devoid of light and colour," Garrett says. "I've seen what film has done to you, Ri, and you're an iron lady to begin with. Merrill is too precious for that industry. I say, let Carver do the thing."

"It's adorable," Isabela says. "And anyway, we started off as an on-set romance, why deny the kids these days the chance for some good old on-set fuck-?"

"That seems like a yes all around," Marian cuts in quickly, as Garrett and Bethany wince. Isabela just smiles, catlike and self-satisfied. "Alright, Carve, I'll see what I can do. And... you're a good guy, for thinking of this."

"Yeah, well, don't all rush to compliment me at once," Carver grumbles. "Let me know how it goes, I'll be completely free a week or two from now. I'll text you. I'm going to bed now, so goodnight Bethany, and everyone else can fuck right off, essentially."

"Love you too," Garrett says. There's a beep, and the call ends.

Marian looks at the phone for a long moment, then stores it in her pocket with a shake of her head. "The next show I'm doing doesn't go into production for... fuck, a couple of months, probably. I'm sure I can talk to someone in the meantime."

"What's the show?" Bethany asks.

"Big pilot for a cable network," Marian says, a little too smoothly. "I'll... tell you guys more about it when I know more. Non-disclosure agreements, and all."

"Sure," Garrett says, his tone neutral. What the hell are you hiding, Marian?

"Well, I'm going to bed, too," Bethany says, stretching with a yawn. "Early morning tomorrow. Bela, could you pick out Garrett's outfit? He's just going to wear red plaid and boots if we let him choose it himself."

"There's nothing wrong with plaid!" Garrett protests, as Bethany waves goodnight and disappears from the kitchen. "Ri, you wear at least as much plaid as I do, back me up here."

"There is no possible way I could own as much plaid as you wear," Marian says dryly. "And anyway, I'm gay. It's kind of a uniform."

"I'm gay!"

"No one would know it by your fashion sense, dear," Isabela says, arching an eyebrow. "I mean, good for you, defying the stereotypes, but you really do look more like a lumberjack than a TA. Not to worry, I'll find something."

"Do not go in my room," Garrett pleads, as Isabela smacks Marian's ass on her way out of the room, cackling. 

Marian rolls her eyes with a smile, and is about to leave, when Garrett reaches over the counter and grabs her arm. "Ri... what's really going on?"

Marian's eyes widen a little, startled, then she looks away. "Like I said, it's... a big pilot for a cable network."

"And?"

"And I might have to move, afterwards. To, um- the UK."

Garrett's grip on Marian's arm slackens, his lips parting in shock. "Shit."

"Yeah." Leaning close, Marian says, "Please don't tell Isabela. Or- really, anyone yet. I haven't made any decisions, not really."

"You're going to have to tell her before you leave," Garrett says. "And mom, and- Ri, you're not- you aren't running away again, are you?"

"Of course I'm not running away," Marian hisses, eyes narrowing. "It's a career thing, Garrett. I just- I'm not ready to have this conversation with Bela. It's too soon. I don't know how long I'll be gone, or what I'll be doing- fuck I don't know anything. I don't want to start asking these questions yet, okay?"

"Like whether or not she'll be going with you," Garrett says.

Marian runs a hand through her short hair, frowning. "Yeah. Like that."

"Shit."

"Yeah. So please, just... don't tell anyone yet. I have to think."

Garrett bites his lip, and nods. "Alright. And- sorry, for um. Bringing up the runaway thing. Low blow."

Marian shakes her head. "It's fine. I get it, I haven't exactly been... not flaky. I just feel like I've finally settled into whatever kind of life this is, and now it's just..."

She waves a hand helplessly.

"Can I ask what this big pilot is, at least?" Garrett says. "I know you know, you're a good liar but I'm a better lie-detector."

Marian looks at him a long moment, and sighs. "Okay, promise you're not going to freak out on me?"

"I'm a very calm, unexcitable person. This is a no freak-out zone."

"Great." Marian folds her arms, and says, "So, you know Inquisition?"

(They later have to explain Garrett's loud squeal of excitement away as the result of a stubbed toe.)

"Sorry," Garrett says sheepishly, stepping back as Fen bends back down to retrieve the milk. "I didn't mean to, um, be creepy."

"You weren't," Fen says quickly, reappearing from behind the espresso machine, and bless, he's blushing a little again. "I- I suppose I'm a little clumsy today. One moment."

Garrett steps over to the cash register, still feeling like an enormous idiot as Fen does whatever he needs to do with the milk before joining Garrett at the front counter, his cheeks still a bit pink.

"Um," says Fen, poised to take Garrett's order, "is this to go, or-?"

Garrett winces. "Nope. Er. I've got a date."

Fen seems to abandon his embarrassment at this statement, raising an eyebrow. "The same one who took off on the back of an enormous biker's Harley?"

"Oh, did he? That's adorable!" Garrett says, only causing that eyebrow to lift a little higher. God, his eyes are pretty. "No, um, this is- someone else. A Quebec guy, Montreal."

"You speak French?" Fen asks, tilting his head.

"Ouais, mais c'est terrible," Garrett says, not at all offended by Fen's wince at his horrible accent. "You?"

"Yon sèl lang se janm ase," Fen says, and it sounds reflexive. He almost seems a little surprised by his own response.

Garrett blinks at the words, and says, "That's... French, but what dialect-?"

"Ah, Haitian," Fen says, frowning a little. "Créole. "One language is never enough." I knew someone who spoke it, once. Very long ago." He shakes his head, and says, "So, another date? I mean no offence by that, I'm just wondering if I should tell Flissa to start advertising on Tinder as a hot meet-up spot."

Garrett laughs, noting that Fen seems eager to change the subject from French. Odd. "I promise I'm not a serial dater, or- whatever this must look like, Lord help me. My friend is catfishing people on my behalf because she seems to think I need to get laid."

"Do you?" Fen asks, looking up.

There's an odd moment, as Garrett looks down into those enormous green eyes, and Fen looks up at him, and Garrett swears he can hear Careless Whisper playing somewhere.

No, he's not imagining it. This café's Spotify playlist just happens to have wicked fucking timing. It's all Garrett can do not to vault the counter and complete what is clearly the perfect opening to some kind of unholy gay coffeeshop porno. Bend me over that espresso machine and call me Verona Blend, baby. 

"I-" Fen says, his voice sounding a little strangled. He breaks away on a cough, his eyes wide, his cheeks flushed again. "Sorry, that- that was an incredibly- I'm sure you don't need- unless you want to. But I'm not-" Now Fen is glowering at the counter as if it, personally, is responsible for all the ills of the world. "I believe last we spoke you wondered if we served the sweet release of death."

"Still a no-go on that one, huh?" Garrett says sympathetically. It's okay baby, I'll get a blanket, wrap you up in it. Bring you hot chocolate. I'll add sprinkles! Just say the word.

"Unfortunately," Fen says, his gaze still fixed on the counter.

"I feel so unsure, as I take your hand and lead you to the dance floor..."

"Well-" says Garrett loudly, trying to drown out the music.

"So-" says Fen, likely with similar intent. 

They stare at each other for a long moment, both seeming stunned by how incredibly awkward the situation as become.

"Something in your eyes, calls to mind a silver screen and sad goodbyes..."

"You first," Fen says, a little weakly.

"That's not fair," says Garrett.

"You're the customer," says Fen.

"Shit," says Garrett, and continues with, "I was going to say, um- well, I guess it has been a while. Two years."

Fen blinks. "Since-?"

"Oh God," says Garrett. "Since I dated. Which actually, um, technically I guess is sort of the same as getting laid- I mean there was a night, last year, I think, but I don't think we-" Garrett wants to die. "Anyway, there's just cause for catfishing, as you can probably see why, because it's really best that there is someone else holding conversations for me at all times."

"I wouldn't-" Fen starts, and then shuts up, which is really very upsetting because Garrett would love to know where that was going to go. "I- well. I wish you very good luck, with the... date."

"Thanks," Garrett says, and still wants to die. He considers faking a heart attack so he at least has an excuse to stop talking, and hopefully attractive paramedics to carry him out and away from this fresh hell. And maybe Fen will try CPR, a little mouth-to-mouth... that man can break my ribs to try to restart my heart any time. "Um, so what were you gonna say, then?"

Fen blinks again, and says, "I... was going to ask for your drink order."

"Not my sexual history, then."

"No, I've moved past that, I think."

"Fuck. Okay. Um, I'll have-" Garrett has no fucking idea what he's going to have, "-something with cinnamon."

Fen purses his lips, and says, "Is a cinnamon latte alright, then?"

"A cinnamon latte would be fucking ace."

Fen snorts at that, and moves over to the espresso machine, leaving Garrett standing there with his wallet out. "Uh-"

"It's on the house," Fen says, his eyes fixed on his work. "And, sorry, I don't think I ever caught your name."

"Holy shit, really? Sorry. Um. Hawke. Well, Garrett Hawke."

Fen smirks at the milk steamer, and says, "Bond, James Bond?"

"You make it sound much more suave than I did. Have you thought about voicing movie trailers?"

"In a world... where actors generally make coffee for people more than they get work in their desired field? No, I have not," Fen says, and shit, Garrett is still considering vaulting the counter because when Fen dropped his voice to mock that movie trailer tone Garrett's pretty sure half his brain melted into a puddle of take me now. 

"The film industry doesn't know what it's missing," Garrett finds himself saying, maybe sounding a little too smitten but fuck, he can't help it.

Fen glances up at him, looking a little startled, then he smiles with a touch of shyness and laughs. "That's kind of you to say. You should find a table, Hawke. I'll bring this out to you in a moment."

Hawke. Garrett feels a tingle crawl up his spine at that. He likes it. 

If Marian heard anyone call him that, of course, she'd never stop making fun of him. But Marian isn't here. 

He sits down at the table he found last time, liking the location of it - he's able to see the door, the window, the other patrons, and at this angle he can see Fen working behind the counter. 

He's aware that he's ogling, of course, but he does it in sidelong glances, hoping the barista doesn't notice. He seems far too wrapped up in his work - biting his lip, a little frown over his eyes, those white tattoos stark against the brown skin of his arms as his shirtsleeves are rolled up to his elbows. He blows a little hair out of his eyes, and then - Lord, he's bending over to grab something, and Garrett's mouth goes dry-

"You are Garrett?"

Garrett snaps to attention to see a ginger man a year or two younger than himself looking down at him with a sort of befuddled look on his face. He has to squint to see the resemblance between this guy and the profile picture off of Tinder Isabela showed him last night - this man has significantly thinner hair, and a kind of keen desperation in his eyes that immediately makes Garrett want to flee. 

"Yep," says Garrett, and decides that he's not going to be a prick, at the very least.

"Great," says Emile, and sits, twiddling his thumbs a little nervously. "I am Emile. You're a TA? What's that like?"

"Pretty fun," Garrett says, trying not to eye Emile's thumb twiddling too obviously. First dates can be nerve-wracking, Lord knows, but this guy looks like he's about to try to assassinate the prime minister by the way his eyes keep skittering about the room. "Um, what do you do?"

"Ah, this and that," Emile says with a chuckle, and Christ, the wave of alcohol that comes off him is intense. "I work for a... non-profit business. Or, I did. Now I am a free man!"

Garrett is starting to wonder if this guy broke out of jail.

A latte is placed in front of Garrett, and he looks up to see Fen standing there, his face neutral as he looks down at Emile but with one eye... twitching, slightly. "Is there anything I can get for you, sir?"

"What? No, no," Emile says, waving Fen off without looking at him. "I'm fine, you can go."

The eye twitch becomes significantly more pronounced, and Fen casts Garrett a brief look before whisking himself away. Garrett fights the urge to beg him to stay. 

Garrett takes a long sip of his coffee, which- holy shit, it's delicious, and as he does so Emile stares at him a little too openly. 

"Okay, I gotta ask," Garrett says, putting his coffee back down. "Are you doing okay, man?"

"I'm fine!" Emile says, a little too quickly. "It's just- are you really gay?"

It sort of feels like the coffeeshop comes to a standstill, at this. Certainly out of the corner of his eye Garrett can see Fen freeze in place behind the counter, his eyes wide as he stares at a bag of coffee beans. 

"I'm- um, bi, technically," Garrett says, not entirely sure where this conversation went so incredibly wrong, exactly. 

"But you have sex with men?" Emile presses intently. 

Fen seems to give up the pretence of finding the bag of coffee beans shocking and appalling, and turns his head to stare at Emile instead. Emile doesn't notice.

"I- I mean not every day, um-" Garrett rubs his temple, utterly nonplussed. "I'm sorry, I'm confused, did you want a resumé of sexual experiences, or-?"

"No, no, it isn't necessary," Emile says, but given that the man seemed to think it was a genuine question rather than a rhetorical one, Garrett is hardly comforted. "I just- I've never had sex with a man before. Hell, until yesterday, I've never had sex! It's wonderful! Isn't it wonderful?"

Garrett does not know what to do with this information. So he stares.

"Look, I- I was a priest. I was going to be a priest! But I realized a month ago, I haven't really lived!" Emile puts his face in his hands. "I just- I sat down at a computer one day, went on the Youtube, and went through so many videos of people living... my old mentor used to describe this city in particular as a hotbed of crime and sin, and I realized- that's where I had to be! That maybe all this sin is just fun, and maybe God wouldn't care so much. So I want to try everything, all at once, as soon as I can!"

It's actually a very inspiring speech. Garrett is certainly moved.

As is, presumably, every other person in the café, now staring at the pair of them like this is a piece of public performance art rather than a Tinder date gone horribly awry. Given that this is Vancouver, it's an understandable mistake to make. 

"That's... awesome," Garrett says truthfully, more than a little stunned. "Um. Only, I'm not really looking for a one night stand..."

Emile blinks at him, then his face shifts to something akin to pity.

"Oh, I'm so sorry to have misled you," Emile says, reaching over and taking Garrett's hand. "I'm so sorry, I'm really very new to this. The lovely woman I was with last night said one could fall in love with me just by looking."

"No, wait-"

"Sadly, my friend, I do not think I can commit to anything at present," Emile says sombrely, his eyes shining - either from emotion, or abject drunkenness, Garrett can't tell. "I hope you can forgive me. I'm certain it will not be hard for you to find another man. Do not waste your tears on me."

"I... won't?"

Emile nods, and gets to his feet, wavering a little as he pulls out a ten dollar bill from his back pocket and puts it on the table. "For the coffee. I should leave before I break your heart any further."

"No, it's-" he sees Fen frantically shaking his head from behind the bar, and amends to say, "Thank you."

Emile nods again, and turns to the rest of the café. "Do not be afraid to live, friends! The future is today!"

With that, he strides out of the café and into the rain, spreading his arms wide as if receiving mana from heaven, rather than raindrops filled with pollution blown in from the Pacific. 

Everyone in the coffee shop is either staring out the windows, at Emile, or directly at Garrett, who wants to die. Again. 

"There is no God," he says, a little weakly. 

"I beg to differ," a low voice says at his side.

Garrett looks up to see Fen slipping the ten dollar bill into his apron pocket with a satisfied smirk. "Entertaining, and profitable. I'd say that worked out well."

"Good Lord, you and Isabela would get along way too well," Garrett groans, putting his head in his hands. "The coffee is amazing, by the way. It's been the highlight of today."

"Having multiple people ask after your sexual history wasn't the highlight of your day?" Fen asks delicately.

"Well, I didn't mind when you did it," Garrett says, and immediately winces. "I mean just- you weren't an asshole. And I guess that kid wasn't an asshole, just, um-"

"Enthusiastic?"

"Something like that."

Fen chuckles, and despite the awkwardness of the past quarter-hour, and the embarrassment of knowing that the furtive whispers echoing around the café are most definitely about him, Garrett feels a little better. A little warmer.

"So, are any other rendezvous set up for you that I should know about? I feel the need to prepare in advance."

Garrett groans. "Knowing Isabela, she probably has me booked for the next month."

Fen raises an eyebrow. "The two of you must be close, if she's become your very personal secretary."

"She's my sister's girlfriend, and she's terrible, and I love her," Garrett says. At Fen's further arching of his eyebrow, he adds quickly, "Not like that. I mean, she's gorgeous, but anyone my sister's attracted to automatically becomes unattractive to me. Less weird incesty love triangles that way."

"Certainly sounds useful," Fen says.

"Yeah."

Garrett looks at Fen, really looks, at the deep shadows under his eyes, his snowy hair, his gentle amusement at Garrett's expense, and decides, fuck it. If he doesn't at least try to make a move, he's going to be kicking himself all throughout the next hundred horrible Tinder dates. 

"So, do you do this kind of thing?" Garrett says casually, leaning back in his chair. "Not, you know, getting set up by friends who don't know what boundaries are for dates with people from the weird side of Tinder. But like. Dating."

Fen's lips part, like he's surprised by the question, and there's a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as his cheeks flush. For a wonderful, heart-stopping moment, Garrett thinks he's nailed it. He's already planning their first date, their first getaway up to Whistler, potentially their wedding-

Then Fen bites his lip, an odd shadow of an expression crossing his face, and he looks away. 

"No, I- I don't really-" Fen clears his throat, and frowns. "It's... not something I do."

Garrett's vision of a small gathering of close friends and family on the grassy knoll in Granville Island overlooking the docks as Varric officiates his marriage to this beautiful man shatters. It's sad, but he's more sad that Fen looks sad. Does wrapping someone in a Snuggie count as dating? I should ask Bethany. 

"Well, you'll probably get to live vicariously through me, at least for the next while," Garrett says brightly. "If today is any indication, at the very least I'm sure it will be entertaining for you."

Fen still looks a little regretful, but some of that smile comes back, and even if it's still pouring rain outside it feels like the sun has come out in Garrett's own private world, at least. "As long as your dates continue to leave large tips behind, I look forward to it."

A customer enters just then, and with a grimace Fen gives Garrett an apologetic shrug and retreats back behind the counter. Garrett watches him go, biting his lip, and trying not to sigh like a lovesick puppy. 

Don't do this, Garrett, he scolds himself, staring down at his coffee. Don't be that asshole who keeps pining after someone who's not interested. Or, you know, at the very least clearly emotionally unavailable. Move on.

He tries. He really does. He just seems to be exceptionally bad at it, is all.  

"I matched it all to your schedule," Isabela says unrepentantly, a little grin on her lips. "And keep it down, will you? You'll wake the only person actually making any money in this house."

"Nothing wakes Marian when she's really conked out," Beth says from across the room, a little distractedly, her eyes fixed on the TV screen as she and Andy battle for dominance in Smash Bros. Bethany plays as Lucina, Anders Rosalina. They all have their staples in the house - Isabela, of course, leapt on Bayonetta as soon as she became available. Marian always picks Bowser, Carver Donkey Kong, and Varric has never once deviated from his deep love for Zero Suit Samus.

Garrett? He's a Kirby man through and through. His siblings complain that "floating around and setting everything on fire then dropping on people's heads when they're distracted doesn't count as technique, Garrett," but he's won once or twice by simply being lucky enough not to fall off the platform or get caught up in anyone else's battles and that suits him just fine.

"It's about the principle of the thing," Isabela says, and returns her attention to Garrett. "Garrett, darling, you are the only man I know who's struck out on not one, but two hook-ups. Literally all that last man wanted was sex."

"He wanted me to take his dude virginity," Garrett says sourly, folding his arms. "It was weird. Besides, maybe I want more than just casual sex."

"That's gay," mutters Marian softly, her eyes shut. It's very likely that she's still asleep.

"Aw," says Isabela fondly. To Garrett, she says, "I'll admit, that was weird. Well, who knows? You might find your soulmate amongst this rogue's gallery of manflesh I've chosen for you, out of the goodness of my heart, I might add."

"And boredom," Andy throws in from across the room. "Goddammit!"

"Fell off the edge again?" Garrett asks sympathetically.

"Yeah."

"Why do all of you suck at this game?" Beth mutters, shaking her head. 

Garrett looks at Isabela, who gazes up at him over her merlot with a little smirk, and throws his hands in the air, defeated. "Fine. I'm not a complete dick, so I won't flake out on these poor bastards. But no more, alright?"

Isabela pouts, but Garrett holds firm. She sighs. "Well, at the very least after date number seven you'll have been properly bedded, and I can hold my oath to Varric fulfilled."

Garrett frowns. "You seem confident."

"Lucky Gentlemen Numero Sept is a dear friend of mine," Isabela says with a wink. "Believe me, he's very excited to meet you. Call it a gift."

Garrett isn't sure he likes the sound of that, and lets his face fall into his hands with a low groan.

-

"...and anyway, when I got back from Thailand it was just a revelation, you know? Like I could be anyone I wanted to be..."

Garrett is trying to listen. He is. He's sipping his coffee made by Flissa (not Fen, sadly, he's not here today) and he's nodding and adding the occasional "mhm" and "me too!" and "no fucking way," wherever vaguely appropriate, but he's distracted.

He's distracted because this guy - Keran, a bit younger than himself and some kind of cross between your average Vancouver yogi and your average Vancouver ski bum - looks familiar as fuck. He's nice, and all, but Garrett definitely knows him from somewhere and whatever the context is it casts a bizarre vibe on the whole situation that Garrett can't quite shake.

"...so I decided to go back to uni, but man, the switch was bizarre. I was kind of a mess last fall, probably gave my profs hell-"

"Introduction to Theme Analysis!" Garrett says suddenly, smacking the table in triumph. "You sat in the back row- you were Stoner Kid!"

Keran stares at him, wide-eyed.

"Holy shit," he says. "You were the asshole who graded my term paper."

"Yeah! Wait," Garrett says, his face falling. "Asshole?"

Keran rubs the back of his neck and winces. "Well, yeah, man. I really needed that grade."

Garrett bites his lip, thinking back, trying to remember- ah. 

"I think I e-mailed you about it," Garrett says. "Tried to offer some advice."

Keran frowns. "I don't remember..."

"You told me to use it as a dildo."

Keran blinks, and puts his face in his hands.

"I was living with some really toxic people back then, and- I did some stupid shit," Keran says, peeking up over his fingers. "Actually, they used to borrow my laptop all the time for whatever, so one of them might of sent it, or- no, it was probably me. Shit."

"Honestly, I laughed," Garrett says. "But things are better for you now?"

Keran puts his hands down, and nods. 

"Yeah, I... I guess a lot of it had to do with coming out? I'm a little more relaxed now. I moved out of that shitty place and like... I don't know, it was a good way to gauge who was an asshole in my life, and who wasn't." Keran smiles, a little sheepish. "Sorry for telling you to shove my essay up your ass."

"I think my sister said she wanted that e-mail framed," Garrett grins.

Keran laughs, and takes a sip of coffee. Then, a little shyly, he says, "So, um... did I complete blow it, or-?"

"Well, honestly, your writing was pretty decent," Garrett says. "The problem was that your thesis was completely off-topic, and if I remember correctly you had some major issues citing sources, and... you weren't talking about your paper, were you?"

Keran's a little red now, and says, "Nope."

"Keran, I would never not date a guy because he told a TA to shove it, even if that TA was me. That would essentially rule out most people who've gone to university. But you were my student, and it kind of makes it... weird."

Keran's face looks a little like he was kicked in the shins, and Garrett feels like a monumental jackass. 

"How is it weird?" Keran asks. "We're practically the same age."

"No, I know, it's just-" Garrett leans forward with a sigh, clasping his hands together. "I kind of see you all as my children."

Keran suddenly looks a lot less like he's been kicked in the shins.

Unfortunately, he also looks a lot more like Garrett's admitted a deep and undying love for Nickelback. 

-

"So, Bran?"

Fen isn't here today, again, and it makes Garrett want to cry a little even if he's positively completely over the idea of their Granville Island wedding (in September, when the leaves are just starting to turn and the light off the water will be that perfect shade of gold. Marian and Bethany will have to fight to the death to be his maid of honour. He can't wait.)

But this guy is... a redhead, a similar shade of red to Sebastian's actually, and the thought makes Garrett a little twitchy. Warm brown eyes instead of pretty blues, though. He's a little older, and he's got the look of someone who has his shit together and has very little time to spare. So far, Garrett's on board, as long as this guy is the kind of Type A personality who doesn't mind having a Type B around to lighten the mood. 

"You look familiar," Bran says, narrowing his eyes. "Have we met?"

"Please tell me you're not taking World Lit classes at SFU," Garrett says, his heart sinking.

Bran raises an eyebrow. "Not within the last ten years, no. Have I worked with you before? The industry is pretty small in this town."

"The industry-?" It clicks. "You work in film!"

If anything, Bran's eyebrow inches a little higher on his face. "Yes, I believe I mentioned that on my bio."

Fucking hell, Bela.

"Right," Garrett says, nodding. "My bad. I'm not a film guy myself - I mean, I like watching them, but that's about it. I did a few days to help pay bills a year or two back. Maybe you know my sister? Marian Hawke?"

Bran's eyebrows snap together, and while Garrett is certainly discouraged by this change in expression, all he can think is that Bran has really flexible eyebrow muscles.

"I- dear God, you're her brother?" Bran says, scowling. "I'm sorry, but- your sister is utterly incompetent. And rude."

It's Garrett's turn for eyebrow gymnastics, now. Blinking, he says, "I think you're thinking of someone else."

"No, it explains why you look familiar," Bran says, folding his arms. "I had the honour of working with her a year or two back on an MOW. She was my TAD. Couldn't get her to fall in line, and couldn't get her to stop ogling one of the actresses. Completely unprofessional."

Garrett blinks again, and it hits him. He didn't recognize the name because Marian only ever referred to him as "that douchebag," but-

"You're the guy who never picked up his walkie!" Garrett says, leaning forward. "Yeah, Ri told me about you. Apparently you bullied a PA to tears."

"He set a tent on fire!"

"After you bullied him. It was revenge, Bran. And apparently you almost punched the DOP in the face-" Garrett thinks for a moment. "Well, actually, Marian kind of liked you for that because he was also a dick. But you were a total douche about the walkies. And you were a douche to my sister. And you just shit-talked my sister to me, her brother, what's wrong with you?"

Bran is definitely pissed now, his lips a fine line. "I think I'll finish this coffee alone, thank you."

"Yeah, fucking enjoy it," Garrett says, gathering up his coat and downing the rest of his cinnamon latte in one go (which he's going to regret in approximately two minutes when the caffeine hits his system like a fucking bullet train) (also, it isn't as good as Fen's). 

He takes a step, then turns back and says, "And by the way, that actress my sister was "ogling?" They're together now. That's right. My sister scored the hottest damn woman in the Lower Mainland. They have a lot of sex and while it's horrible that I know that because she's my sister, I'm telling you so you can feel the burn."

With that, he tosses his jacket over his shoulder and stalks out.

Later when he recounts the story to Marian, she laughs so hard she cries, hugs him, and insists on paying for his next few rounds at the Hanged Man.

"Didn't you work on the same show as that guy?" Garrett asks Isabela later, as they all sit around their regular table and work through their third pitcher of the night.

"Maybe," Isabela says, yawning lazily. "Most of the people I meet on set who don't have the word "executive" in front of their title fall beneath my notice."

"Chug! Chug! Chug!"

Isabela and Garrett look over to see Marian clasping the pitcher with both hands, gulping down the last half of it with frightening speed as Varric and Bethany cheer her on, and Anders tries to wrestle it away from her with a look of growing panic, shouting something about stomach pumps. 

"With one notable exception," Garrett says, and Isabela's expression softens to something... fond. Far, far more than fond. 

"It was a worthy exception," Isabela says, over Andy's muffled screeching - Marian has switched to a one-handed grip on the pitcher to shove his face away, and one of her fingers is now shoved distressingly far up his nose.

Garrett takes a picture.  

-

When Garrett sees a familiar shock of white hair behind the espresso machine as he enters Hightown a few days later, he tries very hard not to go bounding up to the counter like an overexcited golden retriever. He keeps his pace calm, sedate, casual. He plays it very cool.

"You're back!" he exclaims once he's at the register, sounding like a six-year old trapped in a twenty-seven year old man's body (which, come to think of it, is a downright horrifying thought).

Fen looks over and smiles - a genuine, shy little smile, and Garrett's heart skips a beat. Actually skips a beat. Then proceeds to beat very fast as Fen follows this with a slight lift of his eyebrows at Garrett's enthusiasm. "I wasn't exactly gone."

"I know, I just- the last two times I've been here, you weren't here, and I missed-" Garrett pauses, realizing as he speaks how dumb and desperate he sounds. He clears his throat and finishes, "-your coffee."

Fen smirks, joining Garrett at the counter. "Was the coffee provided in my absence unsatisfactory, in some way?"

"Yes," Garrett says. "It was lacking your magic touch."

Fen laughs - no, not laughs, giggles, Garrett might cry from how sweet that is - and ducks his head. "Most of the process is heavily automated, you know."

"Clearly you speak to those machines in a language no others can comprehend."

Fen is starting to look a little pink again, and it's very hard not to lean over and kiss his face. 

"Well, I'm glad you enjoy my... coffee," Fen says, and the pause there is something Garrett is no doubt going to savour and obsess over later as he replays this conversation in his head, looking for some hidden meaning in Fen's words. "How have your, ah, conquests been progressing?"

Garrett groans. "Not mine, Isabela's. I want to be fully separated from the decision-making that went into this whole mess."

"Well, that answers my question, I suppose."

Garrett sighs, and waves his hands in a vaguely helpless gesture. "One turned out to be a student who once told me to use his essay for creative and unlikely purposes involving certain parts of my anatomy, after which I told him nothing could happen between us because he was my pseudo-child, and the other was an asshole who hates my sister and my parting words to him were "feel the burn.""

Fen blinks. "You were right. Clearly I have been gone for an unforgivable amount of time, to have missed so much." Then, quietly and a little incredulously, he adds, ""Feel the burn?""

"I am an exceptional smack-talker under pressure," Garrett says.

"No doubt." Fen rings up a cinnamon latte without Garrett having to ask, but at a significantly lower price than what Garrett's grown accustomed to here. At Garrett's questioning look, Fen says, "I rang it up as child-sized. But wouldn't you know it, we appear to have run out of child-sized cups, and I will unfortunately be forced to give you a large instead. I hope that's alright."

"Marry me," Garrett breathes.

Fen glances up, startled, and Garrett adds quickly, "I meant the coffee."

Shit.

"I..." Fen's face does several things at once, and eventually he says, "As progressive as this country is, I don't think they've made that sort of thing legal yet."

"Give it time," Garrett says, digging a five-dollar bill out of his pocket. "And- thank you. You're awesome. Like, just extremely amazing."

Fen can't seem to look him in the eye, but his mouth is twitching like he's trying very hard not to grin, or laugh, and Garrett takes it as a good sign. 

He takes his change and saunters off to his table, hands in his pockets, and very glad he chose to wear the jeans that, to hear Isabela describe them, "If you ever needed bus change while wearing those, just bend over in a public space and in seconds people will be bouncing toonies off that ass." A bit bizarre to hear from his sister's girlfriend, but he trusts Isabela's judgement in terms of ass quality. He makes a slight show of arranging his bag, bending a little more than necessary, and while no change comes flying his way he glances over his shoulder in time to see Fen very quickly looking away, his cheeks far more red than they were when Garrett was complimenting him. And the Hawke booty snares yet another victim. 

"Mm-hmm, now that is a fine sight to see."

Garrett jerks up to see a lean man in extraordinarily tight clothing, very openly ogling as he looks Garrett over. 

"Oh honey, please, don't straighten up on my account," the man practically purrs, and grins. "In every sense of the words. I'm Jeth."

Jeth? Not Jeff, Jeth? Fucking Vancouver.

"G-Garrett," Garrett responds, very quickly sitting. There's something in the way Jeth is checking him out that makes him feel less like a strong, confident guy in his prime, and a little more like a lobster in a tank at a grocery store, being sized up by someone with an intense craving for shellfish. 

"A little shy in person, then?" Jeth says, taking a seat and looking at Garrett with a serious case of bedroom eyes, and sweet fuck. He's a little worried Jeth's going to burst into flames in front of him. Fabulous, fabulous flames. "That's not the impression I got from your very... descriptive messages, but I like it. You know what they say - kitten in the streets, tiger in the sheets, you know what I mean?"

Garrett has never in his life been compared to either a kitten or a tiger, so he's not entirely sure what Jeth means, but he's very, very worried that he's going to find out.

(He is certain of one thing, though: he is absolutely going to murder Isabela.)

"Is there anything I can get you?"

It's Fen, of course. Poor, poor Fen, doing his job, bringing Garrett his coffee, coming to take Jeth's order. Garrett sees it coming like an oncoming train and has to physically grip the table to keep from leaping between Fen and Jeth to take the hit.

But he doesn't, and he can only watch helplessly as Jeth gives Fen that same hungry look and says, "Only if you're on the menu, sweetheart." 

(It doesn't matter that Garrett thought that exact same thing, nearly word-perfect, when he first met Fen. He never said it out loud, and that gives him just enough of an edge to want to throttle Jeth for... harassment, or something. Not just because he's hitting on the guy Garrett's trying very hard not to be in love with.) 

"I should come here more often - didn't know they were hiring models these days." Jeth bites his lip with a grin, and sure he can pull it off, but Jesus fucking Christ.

Fen looks a little like he's been hit over the head with a very large, very heavy object. Garrett can empathize.

"We have coffee," Fen says a moment later, his voice flat, and Garrett can't quite help but notice that Jeth's flirting does not elicit a smile, a blush, or a giggle out of Fen. Ten points to Gryffindor.

"An espresso will be fine, darling," Jeth says, throwing in a wink. 

Fen glances at Garrett. Garrett looks back at him and hopes that Fen sees both "I'm so fucking sorry" and "Please for the love of God save me" in his eyes.

Fen's brows lift very slightly, the message clear: "Good fucking luck, buddy."

He turns and walks away, leaving Garrett to his fate. 

"Ooh, I could do very naughty things to that boy," Jeth says, licking his lips. For a horrible moment, Garrett almost prays that Jeth will just give up on him entirely and follow Fen back to the counter. It would be heartbreaking to see Fen go down like that, but in every war there are casualties, and all.

Sadly for Garrett and likely to the great relief and amusement of Fen, Jeth turns his attention back on his current company.

"Don't worry, sugar, I know who I'm here for," Jeth says, reaching across the table and sliding his hand up Garrett's wrist. "Did I mention I'm a yoga instructor?"

Which explains the overabundance of Lululemon currently clinging to every angle of Jeth's slim shape. Garrett is about to attempt a response - something along the lines of "You don't say?" - and chokes off on a very unmanly squeak as Jeth's foot finds his inner thigh under the table.

Jeth smiles at him, and says, "Did I mention I teach hot yoga?"

Jeth is in the midst of describing his ability to fit both legs over his head while his foot makes sweet, passionate love to Hawke's thigh, when Fen returns with coffee and a glass of ice water in hand. Jeth winks at Fen again and goes into a little more detail, a little louder, and Fen's face is just a little too blank to be believed as he turns to Garrett.

Garrett is just wondering what the water is for when Fen trips.

He doesn't have much time to wonder what exactly Fen tripped on before he's doused in extremely cold water, all down his front and into his lap.

He wishes his shout of surprise were a little more macho, and a little less reminiscent of a toddler being hit with a water balloon.

"I really hope that's not what you sound like when you're in the bedroom, honey," Jeth says, and adds to Fen, "I wasn't aware this was a wet t-shirt contest. Make no mistake, I'm happy to see the show."

"My apologies," says Fen to Garrett, but in a customer service voice, not the softer, more genuine tone Garrett's become accustomed to. He's impressed that he's making this observation even while certain sensitive parts of his body are freezing off. "There's a washroom at the back, for you to dry off. Let me know if there is anything I can do."

Garrett suddenly realizes what this is. An escape.

Dear God, I have never in my life been more grateful to have ice water dumped on me. Bless this man. 

"No worries," Garrett says, straightening quickly and nearly getting taken down by the chair tangled up in his legs. "Um, thanks."

He doesn't sprint away, exactly, but he does speedwalk. He speedwalks very, very quickly.

It isn't even a matter of procrastination that keeps Garrett in the washroom for well over ten minutes - Fen got him good, and he refuses to walk back out there looking like he pissed himself. He positions himself awkwardly under the hand dryer and leans back a little, like he's trying to fuck the air current.

Like he's getting a blowjob.

Heh.

At any rate, he knows he has to face the music eventually, though he does quickly check the air vent on the off-chance he might fit through it if he were to get the grating off (he can't, and he can't). With a deep sense of trepidation and boxers that are still unpleasantly damp, he gives his hands one last wash to burn a few extra seconds, dries them, and opens the door.

His jaw physically drops. 

There stands Fen by his table with a mop, a (stupidly attractive) satisfied, smug smirk on his face. It's a look reminiscent of Anders' nightmare cat Haunt's little grins whenever he manages to destroy one of Kitty's dog toys. Jeth is nowhere to be seen.

Garrett approaches cautiously as Fen continues to mop up. Fen glances up, and his smirk widens at the look on Garrett's face.

"You didn't kill him, did you?" Garrett asks, and honestly, no matter what the answer is he still wants to sweep Fen up into his arms like a Disney prince and whisk him somewhere far, far away from here. 

"Didn't need to," Fen says with a shrug. "I simply explained to him that you would be an incredibly disappointing lover."

Of all the sentences in all the languages in all the countries in all the world, that is the last one Garrett expects to hear rolling smoothly off Fen's tongue. 

It takes a few seconds of questioning reality before he manages a strangled, "Pardon?"

"He seemed like a size queen, so I told him you had a very, very small package," Fen says, smiling up at Garrett as if he isn't casually crushing Garrett's hopes and dreams (also - size queen. Again, not something Garrett would have ever expected Fen to say, or know, or- what the fuck). "When that didn't work and I got a two-minute long lecture about body-shaming, which raised my esteem of the man ever so slightly, I told him that you cry afterwards."

"After... sex...?"

"Mhm. You cry about how the recent Hobbit movie trilogy was massively inferior to the original Lord of the Rings films. I told him unless he was prepared to wear a Legolas wig and memorize a little Elvish, he best run while he can." Fen places the mop back in the bucket and looks at Garrett, who is now relying on the table under his hands to support his weight as he stares at the man who has utterly captivated his heart and who is also very clearly either Lucifer incarnate or- sweet fuck, no, he's probably just Satan. "I hope that was alright."

There are a million things Garrett wants to say to this. He wants to defend his perfectly adequately-sized junk, for one thing. For another, he wants to know if by telling Jeth all this, Fen had implied that he'd slept with Garrett. 

He wants to know if that's a thing Fen thinks about.

He also wants to confirm that yes, while he will happily and gladly watch any and all Peter Jackson iterations of Middle-Earth, he acknowledges that the Hobbit movies were definitely not as good as The Lord of the Rings and he did once cry about it but not after sex, it was after quite an awful lot of peach schnapps - at any rate, he doesn't say any of this.

What he says is, "So... is Fen short for something?"

Fen tilts his head, and after a moment, answers, "Fenris."

Fenris. It's gorgeous. He's gorgeous. He's gorgeous and evil and standing like this Garrett can tell Fenris would fit just perfectly under his chin if he hugged him and it's all very incredibly unfair.

Garrett steps forward, about to say something like "That's a nice name" and hopefully not following it up with "do you think you'd fancy Hawke as a surname" when four things happen.

The first, is that his foot hits that freshly mopped floor and skates off faster than a Sedin twin at a Stanley Cup playoff, causing him to go down like a fucking fresh-chopped evergreen covered in plaid (Isabela didn't manage to catch him for a wardrobe change before he left this morning).

The second, is that Fenris tosses the mop aside to try to catch all six feet of falling Hawke, causing the bucket to tip over and spill more water onto the floor.

The third, is that as Fenris's back foot hits the water and skids, Garrett realizes there's a very real danger that he's about to crush a very small, very hot barista under him, and that absolutely cannot happen. In a heroic move, he twists them both around before they hit the ground so Fenris lands on him, rather than the other way around.

They lie there, tangled-up, more than a little shell-shocked, and both covered in mop water, trying to piece together what exactly just happened.

"Nice save," Fenris says after a moment, lifting his face from Garrett's shoulder.

Garrett swallows, because- well shit, he's absolutely had fantasies along these lines and although the mop water and the burgeoning knot on the back of his head were not part of them this is still Fenris, on him, and even jumbled together like this with Fenris's killer-sharp elbow digging into Garrett's solar plexus and Garrett's hand lodged somewhere in Fenris's armpit it's still clear how well they fit together.

Or at least, it's clear to Garrett.

"That was revenge for the ice water," he says, struggling to breathe for more than a few reasons.

Fenris lifts an eyebrow, and grins, and pressed up like this Garrett is pretty fucking sure Fenris can feel his heart racing-

"Oh, Garrett, I'm so proud of you! Good boy! Who's this, then?"

Ah yes.

The fourth thing, is that Isabela entered the café some time during the Great Fall of Garrett, and is now standing over them with a look of utter, devious glee lighting up her face.

"Fen, Isabela," Garrett says with a sigh, very aware that he has probably gone at least fifteen shades of red by now, and knowing that Isabela's predatory grin can't mean anything good for him. "Isabela, Fen."

"That explains quite a lot, actually," Fenris says, rubbing his head a little gingerly. 

Isabela tilts her head. "Fen. I thought Garrett's boytoy of today was supposed to be a very flexible yoga instructor with a filthy mind named Jeth."

"Bela, he looked like he was going to eat me."

"I hope so, he promised as much in his messages."

"You-" Garrett scrubbed a hand over his face. "Have you been... sexting, on my behalf, too?"

"I thought I should give things a little nudge," Isabela shrugs. "It only got that steamy with Jeth, I promise. You should read the messages sometime, Gare-Bear. It's earned a permanent spot in my own personal spank bank."

Fenris glances as Garrett, eyebrow raised. "She's your sister's girlfriend?"

"Yes, and we're all very happy for them both," Garrett says. "Bela, I love you, but please do not have phone sex with people pretending to be me. I didn't realize that was a parameter I had to set on all this, but there you have it. Hell, Fen had to tell the guy I cry about Lord of the Rings after sex to get him to leave."

Isabela looks at Fenris, her voice very convincingly genuine when she says, "Wow, he told you about that?"

"I do not cry about Lord of the Rings after sex!"

Both Fenris and Isabela snort, and Garrett starts to get a sinking feeling that them meeting is going to go exactly how he figured it would. Guess what, Ri? Looks like we Hawke losers have a goddamn type.

"Well, no loss if this is the consolation prize," Isabela says, looking Fenris over. "Very nice. Ooh, and he's got such big, pretty eyes. You like pretty eyes, don't you?"

If Garrett was red before, he's pretty fucking sure his face is about to burst into flames from how hard he's blushing. Fenris doesn't seem to be faring any better, looking a little startled by Isabela's words as his dark skin deepens into a gentle flush.

It's fucking adorable, how easily he blushes when he's being complimented. 

Still, it's Garrett's self-appointed duty to defend all innocent victims from his friends and family.

"I-" Garrett clears his throat, and says, "There was- a mopping mishap, that's all."

Isabela pouts. "Now, don't be like that, Garrett. You know you can trust me not to tell anyone how you and the hot barista were making sweet, passionate-"

"Can I get you anything?" Fenris says, his voice tight. 

"Nah, if you're done with our friendly neighbourhood lumberjack here, I'm dragging him off to a family dinner. We're all gathering at the Hanged Man in Kirkwall." Isabela grins. "You should join us some time. The booze is exceptionally awful and even more exceptionally cheap, and there's karaoke on Tuesdays."

"Bela-" Garrett starts, as Fenris says, "Maybe I will."

Garrett nearly snaps his neck whipping around to look at Fenris, feeling himself beaming before he can get a fucking hold of himself. "Really?"

Fenris shrugs with a soft smile. "According to a friend of mine, I... don't get out enough. I like cheap booze. I could be convinced."

"Garrett, I demand you text this man. You do have his number, do you not?"

Holy shit. Isabela is an evil, evil genius. 

"Um, if you're comfy with it," Garrett says, pulling out his phone.

For a moment, Fenris does not seem comfy with it, a brief frown passing over his face, lips thin. Then he closes his eyes, and his features relax a little when he opens them again, offering Garrett another small smile. "Of course, Hawke."

They exchange numbers, both of them still unpleasantly damp in places from their adventure on the floor (and Garrett can still feel it, a little, all of Fenris's weight and warmth resting on him like he was always meant to be there, and it's very distracting). Then Isabela has her arm looped in Garrett's, tossing Fenris a small wink, and is dragging him out the door.

"See you later?" Garrett says over his shoulder. Fenris nods and waves a little, watching him leave.

"Alright, new plan," Isabela murmurs, dragging Garrett down the street to the nearby parkade (and how she knew his car was there, Garrett does not want to know. Isabela usually transits or taxis to where she wants to go). "Garrett, you must bed that boy. My God, how long have you been keeping this from me? I'm hurt, darling, I really am."

"It's not like that," Garrett says, narrowly avoiding tripping over a busker's open guitar case. "Look, I... he's been there since day one, and I kind of already tried asking him out."

"And?"

"He said no."

Isabela cuts Garrett an extremely dubious expression, and says, "Really. What did he say exactly? For that matter, what did you say?" 

"I... asked if he was into dating, and he said no."

"Dating in general?"

"Yeah."

"Oh my God, Garrett, you're killing me."

"Look," Garrett says, pulling open the door to the parkade elevator for both of them. "He... I don't know. It seems like he's dealing with some shit. I don't want to press, especially if he's not interested. I made a move, it didn't work, ball's in his court now and it doesn't seem like it's going anywhere."

"But you like him."

Garrett thinks briefly of his Granville Island wedding fantasy again, and says, "A little, yeah."

They step into the elevator, Isabela's face just a little too innocent for Garrett's liking, her eyes narrowed in thought. 

"Well, there's only one thing to do then," Isabela says, and Garrett feels a little relief course through him.

"You're going to stop setting me up with random Tinder dates?"

"What? Oh darling, no." Isabela shakes her head. "No, you're going on those dates. I made a promise, after all. I swore to get you laid."

"But-"

"Look, he's not into you? Well, that's his loss. Doesn't mean you have to suffer."

"Bela, going on those dates is suffering."

"Only because you were hung up on the barista! But since you've talked it out and decided there's no hope for either of you, you're free to pursue others, correct?" Isabela smiles at him. "So, pursue. To the best of your abilities. I'm certain this... "Fen" will be more than happy to help."

Garrett blinks, and frowns. "I'm missing something here."

"It's for the best, really," Isabela says, patting Garrett's cheek. "Trust me."

Garrett doesn't. He really, really doesn't. 

-

"It's just so good to finally meet you!"

Garrett smiles over his cinnamon latte, his heart softening despite himself. "You too."

Today's date is a little younger, maybe around twenty-two, twenty-three. He is very cute though, and very sweet - hell, he showed up earlier than Garrett, and was very enthusiastic about waving him down. Black hair, blue eyes. Big eyes. Pretty eyes.

Fenris doesn't seem to like him much, however. He's been... well, brooding, actually. Occasionally peering at them both over the espresso machines when he thinks Garrett isn't looking. Maybe he's just having a bad day.

"I really love World Lit," the boy - Seamus - says, leaning forward with a smile. "And you're a TA. What's that like?"

He's Bethany and Carver's age. Is that too weird?

Garrett takes in that open, honest smile, those gorgeous eyes, and decides he can live with it. 

"It's... honestly, it's a lot of reading very bad essays and trying to figure out a reasonable curve to grade them on," Garrett says, and Seamus laughs lightly. "What do you do?"

"Still in school, so I work part-time for my dad," Seamus says, wrinkling his nose a little. Very cute. "He owns a few properties. Sort of a family business thing, but I kind of want to go my own way, you know? I want to teach too, I think. Maybe Religious Studies, or Philosophy."

"Very nice," Garrett says, smiling. "You'll need a Masters for that, likely. If not a PhD."

"I'm more than willing to do the work," Seamus says seriously, nodding a little. "But... well, my father- he's not exactly thrilled about me being in school for the next decade. Doesn't think Religious Studies or Philosophy are worth much."

"The same can easily be said about World Lit," Garrett says, taking a sip of his coffee and adding, "Hell, I only took world lit because my friend was a TA in the program and I wanted to hang out with him. It was just a coincidence that I didn't hate it."

"Well... maybe you can teach me a thing or two?" Seamus says, lowering his head a little and looking up at Garrett through thick, black lashes. 

Hot damn.

"Maybe I could," Garrett replies, grinning. 

There's the sound of someone aggressively clearing their throat next to them both, and Garrett looks up to see Fenris standing there, looking decidedly sour. 

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" Fenris says, the words polite but each one dripping with a quiet fuck you. 

"I think we're okay, but thanks, Fen," Garrett says, as nicely as he can. If Fenris is having a bad day, he's not going to make it worse by being an asshole to him just because he's in a bad mood.

Fenris gives him a look that seems equal parts frustrated and remorseful, then nods and turns on his heel, stalking away. 

"I feel like I pissed him off somehow," Seamus says, biting his lip. It's very sweet, and all of a sudden Garrett wants to be the one biting Seamus's lip. Seamus isn't Fenris, but he is very cute, by God. 

"I don't think so, he's a really nice guy," Garrett says quietly, wincing as Fenris slams the little swinging divider behind him as he disappears back behind the counter. "I think he's just having a rough day. It's not you."

Seamus sighs, and nods. "Thanks. Is he a friend of yours?"

Friend, and fantasy husband because Garrett's heart is a one-track and intensely stupid train barreling towards a canyon of despair and perpetual loneliness.

"Yeah," Garrett says. Eager to change the subject, Garrett says, "So what courses are you taking now?"

"Luckily my school offers a few AP courses for Religious Studies, so I'm in a World Religion class right now," Seamus says. "It's been very interesting, but not exactly immersive, you know? Really only covers the bare bones basics. I'm taking it for the advanced credit, more than for the actual content."

"Right," Garrett says, nodding. Something about Seamus's words eat at him a little, though.

Wait.

He blinks, then says, "AP?"

"Advanced Placement," Seamus supplies. 

"Oh, I know, I just- I thought they only, uh- I thought that was a high school thing."

Seamus's face contorts into a bit of a grimace, and all thoughts of taking Seamus to bed immediately vacate Garrett's mind, replaced instead with mute horror. 

"Did-" Garrett's voice breaks on the word, and he has to gather himself a little before saying, "I- you seem a little bright to have been held back a few years, but everyone- you know, everyone learns at a different pace-"

"It's not a big deal," Seamus says quickly, his big blue eyes imploring as he looks at Garrett. "I turn eighteen in August, it's not that weird-"

"You're seventeen?"

Alright, Garrett maybe could have said that a little quieter. 

Very luckily, there's not too many people in the café right now, but the couple by the window are not hiding their stares and look ready to call the police on Garrett. Hell, Garrett wants to call the police on Garrett. 

Garrett doesn't even want to look at Fenris. He doesn't think he can handle that right now.

"I'm sorry, I know you have to be eighteen to use the app, but- it's just so hard meeting gay guys, you know?" Seamus says, a little desperately. "Everyone's very "don't ask, don't tell" at school, and my dad- he means well, but he doesn't trust anyone. I think it's because he's a landlord, you know? Kirkwall's shady as fuck sometimes, and- ugh, I'm babbling. I'm sorry."

"Seamus, it's alright," Garrett says quickly, and the couple staring at him dial their judgmental stares up a few notches. "I mean, not- look, I should have asked, but-" Garrett blinks. "Wait, Kirkwall?"

"Yeah, it's where dad owns most of his property," Seamus says.

Oh God, no.

"Your last name... doesn't happen to be Dumar, does it?"

Seamus brightens a little. "Oh, do you know my dad?"

"He's my landlord," Garrett says weakly, feeling all the blood drain from his face. "Oh God."

There's an odd choking noise, and Garrett glances over to see Fenris bent over a counter, suffering from what looks like an aggressive coughing fit.

No, not a coughing fit. The bastard is laughing.

"Is it really a problem?" Seamus says, his voice small.

Garrett rips his gaze away from Fenris's shaking shoulders - and he's torn between thinking it's cute, how he laughs with his whole body, even when he's trying to cover it up and what a fucking asshole, but that's another problem entirely - and looks back to Seamus, who looks ever so sad.

Garrett must fix this. He must.

"Look," he says gently, really hoping he's not about to end this conversation with another declaration that he can't date someone because they're like a son to him. That surely can only happen to a man so many times in one's life. "You're... really mature for your age, and that's awesome. And when you're eighteen and super mature, it makes sense to want to date older people. Especially people like me, because I'm handsome and very mature and extremely awesome." Seamus smiles a little at that, and one of Fenris's coughs sounds suspiciously like a loud snort. Garrett ignores that and continues. "But honestly? Most of the time, you really don't want someone my age dating you, okay? Because if they say yes without hesitation, without taking into consideration what that age gap means, they're probably an asshole. And if they do mention the age difference and go for it anyway, they could be doing it because they get off on power imbalance, and that's really shitty. Not everyone is like that, but..." Garrett clasps his hands together. "Unfortunately, a lot of guys are. I'm not saying you're, like, a young innocent flower in the first blush of youth who's bound to be taken advantage of. You're smart, and you probably have your shit together way more than most guys out there. But trust me when I say, nine times out of ten, if a guy my age is okay with dating a teenager, they're not a good guy."

"You're a good guy," Seamus says quietly. 

"I try," Garrett says, shrugging. "But that's why I'm saying no. Which sucks, because you're really awesome and incredibly handsome, but you're going to have to trust me on this one, okay? Also," he adds, "your aforementioned over-protective dad is my landlord, and I really don't want to be kicked out of my house."

Seamus laughs at that.

They talk a little longer, finishing their coffees and Garrett giving Seamus as much school advice as he can pass along - where to go, who to talk to, how to get in. It's Seamus who packs up first, still looking a little disappointed, but Garrett thinks he's gotten through to him. He hopes. 

They say their goodbyes and Seamus leaves.

Garrett is lost in his thoughts for a few moments, wondering vaguely if it isn't too late and Dumar isn't already drafting up an eviction notice for taking his underage son out for coffee, when Fenris sweeps in, gathering up empty cups and seeming to be in a far better mood than he was earlier.

"Please, please don't say anything," Garrett says quietly.

"Of course," Fenris says, smirking. And fuck, does he ever look good when he's smirking. "You're a friend, Hawke. I wouldn't want to have to hand you over to the police for cradle-robbing."

"God, they should just slap me in handcuffs and have done with it," Garrett groans, putting his head in his hands. "I'm going to murder Isabela."

"Hmm." 

Garrett looks up to see Fenris eyeing him a little oddly, and says, "What?"

"It's just an interesting proposition, is all," Fenris says, wiping down the table.

"Murdering Isabela? I wouldn't be the first to try, and I mean that literally."

Fenris shakes his head, still smirking a little. "The other thing."

He gathers up his rag and dishes and walks away, leaving Garrett sitting there alone, utterly confused. He doesn't respond when Garrett calls after him, "What other thing?" though he's certain Fenris can still hear him. 

He's already in his car when it hits him. "They should just slap me in handcuffs and have done with it."

He does not stop, he does not pass "go." Garrett heads straight home and immediately beelines for the shower, where he jacks off to a very vivid mental image involving handcuffs and an evil, stupidly hot barista (apron included).

-

Garrett can't help it. He's staring. 

The other guy might be staring back. Garrett wouldn't know. 

He wouldn't know, because the massive, hulking beast of a human in front of him, has black sclera. He tattooed his eyeballs.

He tattooed his eyeballs.

Garrett only knows where the guy's pupils are, because he wears vivid yellow contact lenses to cover his irises.

He tattooed his goddamned eyeballs.

"So you're a wrestler?" Garrett tries, his voice barely above a whimper. He's pretty sure this guy could crush his head in one hand, and Fenris isn't here today to help him.

Although, what exactly could Fenris even do? He's not sure Fenris would even come up to this guy's navel. 

"Yes," the man says, and Garrett struggles to remember his question. "I am the Arishok."

"Is that, uh- is that like a title, or your name-?"

"I am the Arishok."

"Okay."

They look at each other for another long moment, then the guy - the Arishok, sweet fuck - breaks their stare with a short grunt.

"You are not worthy," he says dismissively.

"Probably not," Garrett squeaks. Squeaks.

Without another word, the Arishok drains the cup of black coffee in front of him - which was fresh, full, and quite obviously boiling hot - and stands, towering over Garrett in a way that makes him feel like he's ten years old again.

He was a really awkward kid in Grade Five. He's not pleased about being transported back to that time in his life, mentally. 

Everyone watches the Arishok leave. There's no not watching him. He's enormous and terrifying. Taking one's eyes off him would be utterly against natural lizard-brain instinct. The whole café seems to breathe a little sigh of relief when he maneuvers his way through the door that was clearly not built with giants in mind, letting it slam shut behind him.

"You okay, buddy?" a random customer asks, looking about as shaken as Garrett feels.

"Nope," Garrett answers, following the Arishok's example and taking a large swig of coffee.

He, unlike the Arishok, is not immune to such petty things as heat, and promptly burns his entire mouth and throat before spewing the rest of the coffee out over the table in full view of everyone in the café.

Thank God Fenris isn't here for this.

-

"I heard you had quite the date on Thursday."

Garrett grimaces and hands Fenris a five dollar bill. He's stopped having to tell Fenris his order - Fenris usually gets a cinnamon latte going the moment Garrett steps through the door, these days. "I was not worthy."

"I find that unlikely."

"I'm flattered, but seriously - this guy was way, way too much man for me. Never thought I would see the day, but there you are."

"Your friend has... interesting tastes, when it comes to choosing dates for you."

"Isabela is both a national treasure and the most terrifyingly amoral, sadistically-inclined human you will ever meet," Garrett says. "Hell, she was almost on the mark with Seamus, aside from the fact that he was still in high school."

"Such a shame," Fenris says, though his voice is a little flat. "Who is today's contender for Hawke's hand, then?"

I love that you call me Hawke.

"Isabela said he's a rich guy out of Yaletown," Garrett says, and Fenris gives him a look that Garrett's starting to find depressingly familiar - eyebrow slightly raised, as if politely questioning all of Garrett's life choices in one single quirk of a facial muscle. "She mentioned something about sugar daddies- honestly I didn't want to know."

"Did she decide on the time?" Fenris says, handing Garrett his change. "It's quite late."

It is late - nine o'clock, in fact. The café closes in half an hour. 

"Honestly, I'm kind of glad," Garrett says, pocketing the coins. "If it means a short date, I'm all for it."

"Given how your other dates have gone, I can hardly blame you," Fenris murmurs. "Please sit, I'll have this ready for you shortly."

Garrett steps away, and pauses, watching Fenris work for a moment.

"What nights are you off?" he asks, and Fenris glances up with a bemused expression.

"It varies from week to week, though I usually have Mondays and Tuesdays off for certain," Fenris says.

"I'm holding you to your word, you know," Garrett says, lifting his phone. "You should come hang out with us. Bela wasn't lying about the cheap booze."

Fenris smiles crookedly. "I don't recall giving my word that I would come."

"You said you could be convinced, and the most convincing thing I can think of is cheap booze."

"You make a strong argument," Fenris says. His smile broadens a little, and he looks down at his work. "Text me if you're headed that way, and I might just show up."

"I really, really hope you do," Garrett says, a little softer than he meant to.

Fenris glances up at him again, a bit of that shyness in his expression, but he's still smiling.

Garrett's barely taken a seat when the door bursts open and an older man strides in, looking vaguely distracted. He's wearing a business suit of some kind, his blond hair buzzed short, and there's an odd set to his face that immediately puts Garrett on edge.

The man's eyes light on Garrett, and he nods, closing the distance between them "You're Garrett, yes? I'm Cavril."

"Nice to meet you," Garrett says, noticing that the guy isn't sitting down, just standing there.

"Well, come on, then," Cavril says with a bit of a huff. "I've had a very long day, and there's a cab waiting outside."

"I- what, now?"

"Dear Lord," Cavril says, rolling his eyes. "I know what it is men like you want. This is how it works - you get in the car, I buy you all kinds of nice things, we have a nice evening together. Doesn't that sound good? That is why you're here, correct?"

"Not really," Garrett says, feeling entirely wrong-footed now. "Sorry, I was thinking- I kind of thought this was more of a coffee date?"

Cavril's not really listening, and with a short tsk he grabs Garrett's wrist, pulling at his arm. "The cab isn't going to wait forever, kid."

"Whoa, wait a sec-"

Whatever Garrett was going to do or say is immediately cut off by a small figure suddenly appearing between them, ripping Cavril's hand from Garrett's wrist and twisting him around, all but throwing him forward until the man's face is being squished against a café wall, his arm twisted up behind him.

Garrett's mouth has fallen open, he knows. He's never seen anyone move that fast.

But there's Fenris, nearly a full head shorter than Cavril but keeping him pinned painfully hard against that wall anyway, and even from this angle with Fenris's face mostly turned away from him, Garrett can tell that he's pissed.

"Leave," Fenris growls. "And do not come back."

"Jesus!" Cavril shouts, his voice high and trembling a little. Garrett almost feels bad for him. "You better watch your fucking back, kid, I've got- I've got lawyers that'll-"

"Then we will test to see who is faster," Fenris says, his voice clipped and low and seething. "Your lawyers, or my fist."

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Fenris releases Cavril, and the man bolts out of the café so fast Garrett's pretty fucking sure he left his shadow behind.

Fenris watches the door a moment, shaking with an anger that Garrett doesn't understand, before turning towards him. Fenris's eyes soften a little, but that rage is still there, following preset lines around his mouth and between his brows. 

"Are you alright?" Fenris asks quietly, concerned.

"I'm- yeah, I'm totally fine, thanks. Um. Holy shit?" Garrett rubs his wrist a little - it doesn't hurt, but he's still trying to wrap his head around the fact that some guy actually grabbed him with the full intention of dragging him off to some cab. Sure, Garrett's pretty fucking confident that he could have shut that whole thing down in an instant himself, being six foot and all, but it was still unsettling, to say the least. "That- all happened very fast."

"Does your friend not have any standards for these men beyond a willingness to have sex with someone they just met?" Fenris snarls. "You could have been hurt, he- men like that have no business getting involved in anybody's life."

"I'm sure she didn't know," Garrett says softly. "It's okay, Fen."

"It is not."

The vehemence of Fenris's anger startles Garrett a little, and for a moment, he doesn't know what to say. This is a side of Fenris he hasn't seen before, possibly a small hint at the reasons for the haunted look in his eyes, the premature lines in his face.

Fenris closes his eyes and turns away, his breathing slowing as he appears to try to collect himself.

"I apologize," he says eventually, his voice a little calmer but still strained with anger. "I'm... not myself, right now."

"It's okay," Garrett says gently, standing. Fenris is still shaking a little, but it doesn't seem like it's entirely from anger anymore. "Are you alright?"

"Am I-?" Fenris lets out a startled little laugh, though there's not a lot of humour in it. "I wasn't the one who was just assaulted by a stranger."

"Yeah, but I was rescued by a handsome knight in shining armour, and I mean that in the best way, so it evens out," Garrett says.

Fenris's laugh is a little gentler this time, but he still seems upset. He's walking away before Garrett can say anything else, though.

"I'll put your coffee in a to-go cup," Fenris says, disappearing behind the counter. "I- I imagine you'll be wanting to head home."

"I can stick around a little longer," Garrett says, joining Fenris at the counter and leaning his elbows on the vinyl surface. "Really, I should be buying you coffee. That was... well, that's the second time you've come to my rescue now, actually."

"Another time, maybe," Fenris says, his voice quiet and rueful as he pours Garrett's coffee into a travel cup and slides a cardboard sleeve around it. "I'm sorry, I'm just- truly not the best company, when I'm-" he bites his lip, sliding Garrett's coffee over the counter towards him. "I'm sorry."

"Fen, it's really, really okay," Garrett says, ignoring the screaming instinct to vault the counter and hug him, because whenever anyone's upset that's usually his first move. "Just- let me know if you need anything. And I'm still gonna text you about coming out with us next week."

"I'll be fine, and... please do," Fenris says. 

Garrett's almost at the door when Fenris calls his name.

He pauses, and looks back to see Fenris staring at the countertop, not him. 

"Be... safe," Fenris says. "Please."

"I will," Garrett says. "You too, yeah?"

Fenris nods, but doesn't look back up at him. It makes it very hard to force himself through the door, leaving Fenris there behind the counter, looking utterly lost in his own head and his face shadowed with some deep emotion that Garrett can't begin to comprehend.

-

"It's not much of a defence, but in my defence, his Tinder profile was just a screenshot of his bank account balance."

Garrett rolls his eyes and takes a long swig of his beer, everyone around the table giving Isabela mixed looks of fondness, utter lack of surprise, and in Beth's case, annoyance and no small amount of outrage. "What was it, then?"

"All you need to know is that it had seven figures. It was very impressive."

"Bela, the guy grabbed Garrett," Bethany says, looking ready to fight the guy herself. "That's really fucked up."

"I do feel bad about it, but- I mean, Garrett's a big boy, isn't he?"

"It's okay, Bethy," Garrett says, patting her shoulder. "He wouldn't have gotten far, I promise. I still remember that throw Ri insisted on teaching all of us."

"I can't believe they're doing another six-day," Anders says with a grimace and a quick glance to Marian's empty seat. "She's going to be dead when she comes home in the morning."

"I want to hear a little more about this ninja barista," Varric says, leaning across the table to grab the pitcher, filling up his glass with more beer. "Why haven't I heard about him yet? I've been back for four days, I would have thought you all would have caught me up by now."

"He's a recent discovery," Isabela shrugs. "Garrett's been holding out on us. He's completely in love with the guy."

"What?" say Beth and Anders, turning to look at Garrett with wide eyes.

"Jinx," Garrett mutters sourly. "Thanks, Bela."

"Anytime."

"Alright, one: who is this man, and two: if Garrett's in love with someone, why the fuck are you still pimping him out on Tinder dates?" Andy asks, staring incredulously at Bela.

"The man in question is a sinfully attractive and enticingly mysterious barista who's been in the front-row seat for many of Garrett's unsuccessful attempts at getting laid," Isabela explains. Garrett keeps drinking. "However, Garrett sort of, maybe, almost asked him out, and he said he wasn't looking to date anyone right now."

"Oh, bad luck, brother," Beth says sympathetically, patting Garrett's arm. Andy winces.

Varric looks thoughtful.

"So, Rivaini, you've been setting up these dates," Varric says. "And after finding out about Garrett's secret love-?"

"Dear God, guys-"

"I told him that the best cure for a broken heart is to move on," Isabela says. "So Garrett's continuing with his dates, and Fen - that's the man's name - has been a very helpful friend in all this. Front row seats, like I said."

Varric looks at her for a long moment, then his face lights up in a broad grin. "Oh, good girl, Rivaini."

"I'm missing something," Garrett says lamely, looking between the two of them. "What the fuck am I missing?"

"Absolutely nothing," Isabela says sweetly. "More beer?"

-

Fenris seems to be in a better mood when Garrett slips into the café a few days later for his eighth and hopefully final awkward, awful Tinder date. Still, after catching sight of Garrett's arrival, his gaze seems suddenly glued to the floor as Garrett approaches. 

Before Fenris can say anything, Garrett says quickly, "I got you something."

That seems to surprise Fenris into looking up at him, blinking. "Pardon?"

"For being awesome and stopping that guy from being a douche," Garrett says, holding up a brown paper bag. "My sister Bethany makes the best peanut butter cookies on the planet, and I thought- well, cookies, am I right?"

Fenris, predictably, goes a little red, but he smiles. It's a little rueful though, and the reason for this is very quickly revealed as he says quietly, "Ah, I'm- allergic, actually. To peanuts."

"Oh shit," Garrett says, stepping back with the bag. "How bad?"

Fenris's face tightens in an embarrassed wince, and it's all Garrett needs to see.

"I'll be right back," he says, and bolts out of the café. 

There's a homeless man about half a block away, and after Garrett is certain he's not about to kill the poor guy given that peanuts are a stupidly common allergy, he gives him the entire bag of cookies. The smile on the man's face definitely helps lessen the guilt a little, but there's still no escaping the fact that he just tried to thank the hot guy who saved him from a creep with attempted murder.

Back through the café, and zipping past Fenris to the washroom, where he scrubs his hands. Twice. With lots of soap.

He emerges panting a little, and approaches the counter, where Fenris has already finished making his coffee and slides it over to him with raised brows, still quite pink. "Hawke-"

"I didn't eat any earlier today, just last night, and I brushed my teeth twice- no, three times since then," Garrett says, not wanting to stand too close. "Is that okay, or-?"

"It's fine, Hawke," Fenris says, seeming more amused than annoyed. "Really, I swear I'm not about to drop dead from being within a few feet of the dreaded peanut. It was... very kind of you to think of me."

"I could have killed you," Garrett says, daring to shuffle forward enough to snatch up his coffee. "Do you carry an Epipen around with you? I know how to use one."

"No," Fenris says, shrugging. "It doesn't seem necessary."

"My roommate's a nurse, and he would go ballistic if he heard that," Garrett says, shaking his head. "So yeah, um, again, sorry for that. I give the worst gifts - I would say it's part of my charm, but-"

"I really don't mind," Fenris says quietly. "I... honestly, I'm just- glad to see you. I was afraid you might not want to, um, speak with me, after what happened."

Garrett blinks. "After you- why wouldn't I want to talk to you?"

"I was... angry," Fenris says, seeming to lose the ability to look Garrett in the eye again. "It's not- pleasant, to be around. I don't- I'm sorry you had to see that."

Garrett steps closer, needing to make this right, somehow. "Fen-"

"Ah, it seems dear Isabela did not exaggerate."

Garrett turns away from Fenris to see a lean blond man with dark skin behind him, smiling wickedly. His voice is accented with a Spanish lilt, and there's an easy sensuality in his posture that keeps Garrett's eyes lingering in certain places a little longer than strictly necessary. Damn.

"Zevran," the man says, extending a hand. Garrett shakes it, a little in awe. "You're Garrett."

"How could you tell?" Garrett finds himself asking.

Zevran looks him over, and says, "She warned me about the plaid."

Garrett laughs. "Isabela just doesn't understand a man's need to express his cultural identity."

"And yours is Canadian lumberjack," Zevran says with a very sexy smirk. "I can respect that. And who is our brooding friend, here?"

Garrett looks back at Fenris to find Zevran's description incredibly accurate - the embarrassment and remorse in Fenris's expression has fallen away, replaced with a sourness that Garrett recognizes from his "date" with Seamus.

"I am not brooding," Fenris mutters. "What can I get for you?"

"Oh, something sweet," Zevran says, placing a twenty on the counter. "That should cover Mr Hawke's drink as well, and please keep the change. Where shall we sit?"

"I've kind of got a regular table here," Garrett says, still puzzling over Fenris's bizarre mood swing.

"Then by all means, lead the way."

It only takes a few minutes of conversation for Garrett to decide that he likes Zevran. He really, really likes Zevran. He's flirty without being aggressive or pushy, and there's a quick wit and intelligence behind that handsome face that Garrett finds himself responding to easily. Zevran, Garrett discovers, is a lawyer.

"An independent, though it was not always so," Zevran says. "I once worked for a very large firm of very bad people."

"What happened?" Garrett asks, genuinely intrigued. 

"There comes a time in everyone's life where one must examine what it is, exactly, they are doing, and why they are doing it," Zevran says. "I do not mind punching up - occasionally taking advantage of the over-advantaged, showing no mercy where none was given in the first place. The Crows, however, had quite a bad habit of punching down. Really very lazy on their part, but easier to win cases that way, and all they seemed to care about was their near-spotless record. They were quite put-out when I left."

"It's pretty cool that you did," Garrett says. "A lot of people wouldn't have, if they were making serious money, you know?"

"There are always other ways to secure a comfortable income," Zevran says, with a bit of a catlike grin. "Now, I am known as one of the only independent lawyers who can go up against the Crows in a courtroom and win. This puts me in demand. It works out, see?"

"You must be very talented," Garrett says, allowing the innuendo some breathing room in his words. 

Zevran catches it, and his smile widens. "I have heard it said."

A coffee is placed before Zevran, a little less gently than a ceramic cup should probably be treated, and Fenris looks like he's spent the last five minutes watching a slug having sex with another slug on top of a urinal and is trying unsuccessfully to keep the horror and disgust of such an incident from impacting his customer service. Garrett's a little worried for him, in all honesty.

"Is everything alright for you, then?" Fenris asks, his voice forcibly bland.

"Wonderful, thank you," Zevran says with an honest smile, and Garrett likes that, too. "We will let you know if you need anything else."

Fenris grunts something that might have been polite if said aloud, and retreats to his spot behind the counter, glowering at the milk steamer.

"Huh," Zevran says absently, watching him go. "Very interesting."

"Hmm?" Garrett asks.

Zevran watches Fenris a moment longer, then looks to Garrett, eventually shrugging and saying, "Nothing. Now tell me, how has my dear Isabela been?"

They pass the time easily, swapping stories about Isabela and their different lines of work, and... Garrett's starting to think he can actually do this. Zevran is funny, and kind, and incredibly sexy. For once, it seems like Isabela's struck him a home run. 

Garrett's so wrapped up in the conversation that he barely notices the time passing, and soon it's nearly nine-thirty and the café is closing. They'd met at seven thirty, so it isn't entirely surprising, but Garrett is still amazed at how quickly the hours disappeared.

"Perhaps we should relocate," Zevran says, something decidedly wicked in his eyes, and man, is Garrett ever ready to find out where that leads. "Shall we?"

"Sure," Garrett says, standing with Zevran and gathering his things. "Any ideas?"

"A few," Zevran says, grinning. "None that are appropriate to voice in our current setting, however."

"Fair enough," laughs Garrett. He looks over his shoulder back to Fenris, who's wiping the counters with a disturbing amount of speed and force, like he's trying to strip the vinyl from the wood with his terry cloth, and... it just feels wrong, for a moment, doing this. Leaving with Zevran, when the man he really wants is here, and unhappy, and torturing the furniture with a healthy mix of Windex and brute force.

But that isn't fair, and he doesn't want to be one of those obsessive creeps who can't take a hint and move the fuck on. No, he needs to do this. He has to sleep with Zevran.

For Fenris's sake.

Wow, well done on the logical reasoning there, buddy.

"Bye, Fen," he calls.

Fenris looks up, his expression unreadable, but whatever he's feeling there's certainly a lot of it there. "Have a good night, Hawke."

Garrett smiles, and follows Zevran out the door.

They make it about five steps away from the café when Zevran turns to Garrett, arms crossed, and sighs. "Isabela is a darling woman, but one must never listen to her advice. How long have you had feelings for our cantankerous server back there?"

Garrett gapes a little, utterly thrown. "I- uh-"

"It's painfully obvious, my friend," Zevran says, though he's very kind about it. "And because it is painfully obvious, I imagine Isabela is aware. She told me to, and I quote, "bed Garrett come Hell or high water tonight," so I can only imagine you are here at her insistence."

"Not just at her insistence," Garrett says, managing to find his voice. "I've had- I've honestly had a really great time getting to know you, and- yes, you're right, I kind of have a thing for Fenris, and I'm sorry about that, but he said he didn't want to date anyone and Isabela said I should move on-"

"Ah," Zevran says. "These dates she's been setting up for you, then. She wanted you to keep going."

"Yeah, and honestly I'm not sure if it's fair to these poor guys, and I'm- really sorry, essentially. Isabela-"

"-is a force of nature," Zevran says with a knowing grin. "I believe you. My only criticism is that you are far too trusting of her intentions."

Garrett blinks. "Eh?"

"My dear man," Zevran says. "You told her that your barista was not interested, despite the fact that it is abundantly clear to anyone with eyes that this is not this case. She told you to continue seeing other men, at the same café where this man works. In front of him. Do you not see what she might have been planning?"

Garrett blinks again. And again. "No?"

"Oh dear," Zevran says. "And I thought you were clever. She wanted to make him jealous, Garrett. Wanted to give him a little nudge into making a move, before you get snatched up by one a little more daring."

Garrett's eyebrows make a break for the stratosphere, leaving Garrett to stare at Zevran, wide-eyed. "She- but she said she wanted me to move on!"

"Likely because you do not seem the type to purposefully use other people in the hopes you might make someone you wish to be close with uncomfortable," Zevran sighs, shaking her head. "Dear woman. Unfortunately, she was taught to use her heart as a weapon long ago. She seems much happier now, with your sister, but... it is a hard thing to unlearn."

Garrett crosses his arms, thinking, and feeling incredibly stupid for not catching wise to Isabela's plan earlier. Fuck, Varric clearly got the gist in seconds. 

"You really think I have a chance with Fen, then?" he says. 

"The man looked ready to drag me out by my hair for flirting with you," Zevran says dryly. "It seemed a good sign. Now he thinks I have taken you to my place to ravish you. I'm very, very saddened to say I cannot in good conscience do that, but you can use his assumption however you wish."

It doesn't take long for Garrett to make up his mind.

"I'll- talk to him, at least," he says. "He should be getting off in a few minutes. Are you okay to get home?"

"I think that is a very good choice, and I am wonderful," Zevran says, smiling. "And I wish you luck, Garrett Hawke. Any man would be lucky to have you."

He leans up and presses a very soft kiss to Garrett's cheek, then walks away.

Garrett watches him go, admiring the fit of his black pants and smart blazer. He's only human, after all.

He waits another ten minutes for Fenris to emerge from the café, locking the doors with a jingling set of keys. It's weird, seeing him without the apron. He's still wearing those blissfully tight skinny jeans, but he's thrown a large grey hoodie zip-up over the ensemble that falls halfway to his knees, a hole at the elbow and his slim hands and wrists almost drowning in the sleeves. It's... perfect on him, somehow.

Fenris doesn't notice Garrett right away, but he stops short when he finally sees him, his eyes wide and glinting a little in the light of the street lamp. 

"I thought you left," he says, a little flatly, staring at Garrett like he isn't entirely sure he's really there. 

"It... didn't feel right," Garrett says, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet and trying to shove his nerves to the back of his mind. "Listen, Fen, I- I kind of asked before, but not directly, and I really don't want to push anything, or- or make you uncomfortable-"

It's all very sudden, when it happens.

One moment, Fenris is in front of the door, staring at him, seeming utterly thrown by Garrett's very existence in this time and place.

Then, he's got his fists balled up in the fabric of Garrett's plaid shirt, leaning up on his toes a little and pulling Garrett down to kiss him. 

Garrett is a romantic guy. He knows this about himself, so he tries to be realistic as often as he can. He tries to tell himself not to expect fireworks when that touted "first kiss" with "someone special" happens, he tries to tell himself that descriptions of feeling whole in someone else's arms and just knowing when something is right - well, it's all bullshit peddled by romance novels and movies and Hallmark cards. It's not fair to himself, to anyone, to think that these things are real. To expect any of it. To hope for any of it.

But when Fenris kisses Garrett, he could swear there are fireworks going off somewhere - in his head, in his chest, rattling around, burning him in just the right way with light and colour. In the light of the Gastown street lamps he kisses Fenris back like he was born to this, wraps his arms around Fenris like there was never a time when the circle of Garrett's embrace wasn't meant for him. Fenris leans into him, melts into him, his breath ghosting over Garrett's lips as he pulls back a little, just to breathe, before closing the distance again, a single tattooed hand coming up to trace the line of Garrett's chin, coming to rest against Garrett's cheek.

Garrett could probably do this forever. He could, very probably, live his life kissing this man under the street lamps of Gastown in the very last minutes of late spring dusk, holding Fenris close in his arms.

Fenris pulls away again, this time for good, and Garrett wants to commit the dazed, heavy-lidded look on Fenris's face to memory, so much of the green of Fenris's eyes swallowed up by blown pupils.

"Fen..." Garrett says, barely a whisper.

Fenris stares up at him a moment longer, lips slightly parted and panting, a little. He's beautiful.

Then, his mouth closes and his lips thin, and before Garrett can ask if he's alright Fenris swallows and says, "I have to go."

Garrett's arms fall to his sides and Fenris quickly walks away, all but breaking into a sprint as he hurries down the sidewalk of Water Street, and turns the first corner he gets to, disappearing into the night.

Garrett stands alone in the light of the Gastown street lamps, his lips still tingling from Fenris's kiss, and wonders what the ever-loving fuck just happened.

-

Usually at the end of a shoot, this last day is so gratifying, that last second you have to work before going home, that release - it's almost better than sex. It definitely would be if the sex Marian's been having was with someone other than Isabela. Usually Marian has at least a day or two to sleep before moving on to the next thing - longer, if she's able to plan it right.

Not this time.

She's been working two jobs at once, essentially - fulfilling her ALM duties on this dumb fuckery of an MOW, and taking every spare moment to e-mail back and forth with the Inquisition people, to start shaping up their team. Her production coordinator is a frighteningly efficient woman named Josie who Marian is absolutely certain is more qualified to be doing her job than she is, but she's been grateful for Josie's experience and her helpful bits of advice along the way.

Every once in a while, she gets to see her family and friends, gets to hang out with them at the Hanged Man like nothing has changed. She drinks a little more than usual so she can fall asleep the moment she gets home, then wake up in four hours to start working again. 

She knows that's not an option tonight, however. It's one thing coming to work dead-eyed and a little hungover when you're working on set and everyone is dead-eyed and a little hungover, either from alcohol or lack of sleep. Tomorrow, however, she has a production meeting to attend, and if she has any hope of convincing her coworkers that she isn't entirely incompetent or inexperienced, she has to be on her best behaviour.

It's a bizarre feeling, caring this much what others think of her. It has a lot to do with the six-figure salary they've offered her. Images of new cars and Isabela draped in gold jewelry (and nothing else) drive her to this newfound mindfulness. 

It feels a lot like being a grown-up. Marian isn't sure she likes it.

Still, she goes to the Hanged Man after everything is finally wrapped and done to catch up with her roommates and various assorted friends and family, and to grab a quick coffee so she can stay up tonight to go over draft five hundred of the pilot script. Joy.

It's a full house tonight - Isabela, Bethany, Anders, Varric, even Carver and Aveline are all here.

And Garrett. Who's facedown on the table, which - given the sticky, stained, crunchy state of most of the tables in the Hanged Man - really speaks to his state of mind. Uh oh.

"Did someone order him a Long Island again?" Marian sighs, taking a seat. "You know he drinks that shit like juice. I'm not carrying him home."

Bethany shakes her head, patting Garrett gently on the back with a sympathetic expression. "He kissed a boy."

Marian blinks. "And he liked it?"

"Before the faceplant he was muttering something about Granville Island and wedding vows," Carver says, looking vaguely nauseated. "But because it's Garrett, something clearly got fucked up along the way. Probably scared him off."

"I didn't scare him off!" Garrett exclaims, rising abruptly from the table like a mummy being shot up from its coffin. Bethany jumps back with a little shriek. "He scared himself off! Who even does that?!"

Marian looks at Isabela, who looks back at her. Both of them clear their throats and return their focus to Garrett.

"Was he a good kisser, at least?" Marian asks, propping her elbows up on the table. "And was this one of Bela's hook-ups?"

"Bela's hook-up was hot," Garrett mutters, staring at his empty glass with a forlorn expression. "But nooo, no hooking up with hot Spaniards for me. I'm ruined. It's awful. He's got this sweater that's too big for him and it's so fucking cute and it's awful."

Marian looks accusingly at Varric, who shrugs. "We never said we didn't order him a Long Island."

"It's really too bad," Isabela muses, sipping her rum and Coke thoughtfully. "Zev's just the right kind of kinky for a one-night stand. You can't trust him with handcuffs, though - he'll lose the key and he's a terrible lock-pick. 

Aveline stares into her beer like it's her only tether to the physical world, and takes a sip. 

"So who is this mystery kisser, anyway?" Marian asks. "I've been out of the loop for too long, it seems."

"Hot barista," Isabela says, snaking her arm around Marian's waist. "I would have told you sooner, darling, but we don't have a lot of time at home together these days and, well. Orgasms come first. Oh! I made a pun!"

Bethany, Carver, Garrett, and Aveline all wince in tandem. Varric snorts, and Andy looks a little too intrigued for Marian's liking.

Then he shakes his head, and says, "Look, Garrett, he sounds like a dick to me, stringing you along like that. You don't just kiss someone and run away."

"He doesn't have this guy's phone number, does he?" Marian asks. "I love you, Gare, but you have a bad habit of worry-texting and it tends to make things worse."

"Carver and I managed to wrestle it away from him just before text number four," Aveline says grimly. "He was in the midst of writing something about leaving the guy alone forever or adopting him."

Marian winces. "Garrett, you can't just offer to adopt someone because you like them. That's creepy."

"I meant it as adopting him as part of our friend group!" Garrett says, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world. "You're all like family to me!"

"You and I drunkenly hooked up last year after your mom's birthday party," Anders says, lifting his brows a little.

"Which is why it's not meant incestuously!" Garrett says, waving a hand and nearly smacking Bethany in the face. "It makes perfect sense to normal people."

"Well, if we see any of those around, we'll let you know," Carver mutters.

"Look," says Aveline, soft and sincere. "Garrett, if I've learned anything, it's that no matter how much chemistry you have with a person, at the end of the day you want someone dependable. The best relationships grow out of mutual respect and understanding. It may not be flashy, or quite as romantic as Hollywood makes it out to be, but it's real. If it's meant to be, it will happen. But we all know you have a habit of falling very quickly, and it's not fair to you or the people you've fallen for."

"Though we know you're not one of those assholes who pursues someone who isn't interested," Bethany adds. "And we know you try not to put people up on pedestals - not intentionally, at least. You're a really good guy, Garrett. If this guy can't see that, it's his problem."

Garrett stares at the table, frowning slightly, rubbing his fingers over his beard. 

Eventually, he nods, and says, "I should call him."

A large groan from everyone present echoes around the table.

-

To: Fenris

hey just hoping you got home okay and sorry if I did something stupid not your fault still would love to see you at the hanged man sometime I think isabela would probably snap my neck if I didn't invite you

To: Fenris

I mean also I would want you there too obviously not because isabela wants you there it just happens to be a perk 

To: Fenris

sorry I know I'm texting too much you don't have to reply, hell I never reply half the time like if someone sends me a message that just says "hey" I'm like "buddy I need a little more to go on" but also if you ever sent me a message that just said "hey" I'd probably respond because you're a special case and I feel like you'd follow up with a little more than just "'sup" and have you ever had a long island iced tea because man that stuff tastes like nestea it's amazing you're really??? great???

To: Fenris (Draft)

sorry for that last bit its the tea talking the evil tea but the tea has a point you're really great and if you want me to leave you alone forever that's super cool and understandab;e and no worries but also if you like I kind of want to adopt you into my circle of freinalmd34=;/

-

The upside, is Isabela has stopped planning Tinder dates for Garrett. 

The downside, is that aside from grading exams and papers and teaching Kitty to count to ten while Archie sits on his head and Haunt glares down loftily from the top of the cat tree, Garrett has nothing to distract him from the crushing reality of his currently Fen-less existence. 

He replays that kiss in his mind on a loop, as hard as he tries not to. He thinks of how Fenris had to pull him down by his shirt to meet his lips, how those tapered fingers traced gently over his face like Fenris was almost afraid to touch, but so wanted to. He thinks of the frayed sleeves of Fenris's grey hoodie and his white hair stuffed under a black beanie and the way he'd looked at Garrett, stunned that he'd come back. Stunned that he didn't leave with Zevran.

He thinks of how Fenris's face had changed afterward, from that brief moment of heavy, dazed happiness to concern, that flicker of uncertainty before he'd become wary, guarded. Why?

But even beyond just the kiss, and the feelings Garrett has for Fenris (he imagines them curled up on the couch together a lot, Fenris tucked up against his chest and covered in at least fifteen blankets), Garrett... misses him. He misses his dry humour and his careful way of talking, like he's thought about each word at least fifteen times over before speaking aloud. He misses the way Fenris teased him about his general goofiness, the quirk of his eyebrows, that slight smirk that made Garrett want to pick him up and kiss him, then maybe dump him in a pool just to spite him.

He misses that shuffling shyness whenever the conversation turned personal, the way Fenris giggled at Garrett's flirting, how his dark skin flushed when he was embarrassed, or flustered. The way he tried not to smile, and couldn't quite succeed. 

Garrett realizes fairly quickly in his brooding that while somewhat tragic, it wouldn't be the end of the world if Fenris never returned his feelings. It's not the half-imagined wild romance that Garrett misses, after all.

He misses his friend.

-

To: Fenris

you don't have to reply to this it's all good I just think it's important you see this picture of my roommate's cat because a) he's cute as fuck even if he did just mistake my foot for a malicious intruder on his territory and tried to gore me to death (I'm bleeding a lot) and b) he kind of reminds me of you? look at him chewing on my little toe. small but mighty. I might need stitches.

-

"...ultimately with a show like this, our budget should be focused on the look - the quality of the sets, of our visual effects, etc. In terms of casting, we can afford maybe one or two big names, but a power cast of unknowns might be more worth our time and money than sacrificing visual quality so we can get Orlando Bloom on set."

There's a round of nodding following Alaine's words. Marian can only assume the people on the other end of the conference call are also nodding. Marian is staring at several spreadsheets full of very large numbers and taking notes, as well as all but shotgunning her fifth coffee of the day.

"Ideally we want a principal cast made up of actors from the UK," the scary redhead at the end of the table - Leliana - says, drumming her fingertips against the table. "Both to save costs if we're picked up and we move production overseas, and for the training most UK actors have. If we want a power cast, like you say, Shakespearean actors out of the UK acting academies are our best and most reliable assets."

"Travel and lodging costs are going to eat us alive," Marian says. "I'm not saying it's a bad idea, but Vancouver is expensive as shit. If I could get a list of recurring characters that are introduced in the pilot from the writers, I can guestimate a budget for casting, and see what we can afford."

"If we could have that budget by end of day tomorrow, that would be helpful," Alaine says.  

Another round of nodding. 

Marian's phone buzzes in her pocket. As Alaine starts to float suggestions for roles that can be offered to the potential big-name actors, Marian digs her phone at of her pocket and glances briefly at her notifications. 

The first is an e-mail from the production coordinator on the freshly-wrapped MOW, titled "Wrap Party Info." Marian stifles a groan. 

There's also a message from Garrett Marian hasn't checked yet. Curious, she taps the notification and opens her messages.

From: M!Hawke

your gf's been acting cagey should I be worried

Marian smirks. She has no idea what Isabela is up to, but she knows her girlfriend far, far too well.

To: M!Hawke

Yes.

From: M!Hawke

:(

-

Garrett comes home from work with both many things, and really not very many things at all on his mind.

The things that are on his mind barely count as things, is the thing. They're filler. Utter fluff. The thoughts milling in his head range from "I wonder if we still have beer left" to "I wonder if it's worth trying to put that little wizard's hat on Haunt's head again" to "I should probably wait for Andy to get home before doing that so he can stitch me up after."

It's a heap of nothing thoughts, of empty carbs to keep him from craving thoughts that will only make him sad.

Thoughts such as, "I miss Fen's cinnamon lattes."

Thoughts such as, "I hope he's okay."

Thoughts such as, "It's been over a week. Nearly two."

Garrett's had romantic disappointments before - Sebastian, of course, being chief among them. But there was also that gorgeous golden-eyed girl back in high school who ended up marrying a guy she met in Italy on a trip with her family right out of high school (as far as Garrett can tell by the Facebook photos, they're still together and have two kids). There was the jock back in first year who kissed Garrett at a party after months of odd tension between them, leaned back, and said, "Yep. Definitely straight."

But Fen... Fen is different. Maybe because he was never really friends with the girl in high school, and the boy in first year. 

Maybe. 

Shaking thoughts both mundane and morose from his mind, Garrett steps into his room.

Frowns.

Laid out on his bed is a clean flannel plaid shirt and white undershirt, with his nicest, most ass-hugging pair of jeans, a brown leather belt, and his favourite pair of Doc Martins. It's his favourite kind of dressed-up casual - Marian calls it his hipster lumberjack look, but as she has an outfit that's virtually the same, she really can't say shit.

Garrett glances at Archie, who basks on his sunning rock and blinks at him from behind the glass of his tank. "You didn't do this, did you?"

"I did, in fact."

Garrett swallows his aborted shriek of surprise and turns with as much casualness as he can muster to see Isabela in the doorway, eyes dancing in a very, very worrying way. 

"You have too much time on your hands with Marian at work all the time," Garrett says, folding his arms. "What do you even do all day?"

"In the interest of you maintaining plausible deniability, I'm going elect not to answer that," Isabela says. "Now come on, get dressed. Maybe give that bushman beard of yours a trim, splash on that "mountain man" cologne or whatever it is you dunk your head in when you want to pick up dudes. You've got a date."

Garrett gapes. "I do not."

"You do. I've set it up, and believe me, you're gonna thank me. It's been utterly depressing watching you mope around the place. I had to take desperate measures."

Garrett is going to kill her. He is. Marian is just going to have to either forgive him for it or enact vengeance upon the man who rightfully killed her girlfriend. At least Garrett will die satisfied.

"Tell them I have mono, whoever the poor bastard is," Garrett says shortly, turning away and tossing his laptop bag onto his desk. "If that doesn't work, tell them I died from the mono. I'm not doing this, Bela."

He can hear her huff in the doorway. "Garrett Percius Hawke-"

"That's not my middle name-"

"It is if I say it is. Do me this one favour, do me this one, small favour that I ask of you, and go on this date. It truly is in your best interest."

"Isabela-"

"Okay, how about this - you go on this date, or I tell Ri that you were the one who threw up on her laptop during the party in February."

Garrett straightens abruptly.

"You wouldn't."

"It's remained a mystery all this time."

"Bela, you wouldn't."

"She says when it heats up she can still smell nachos and Wildcat-"

"Okay!" Garrett turns with a scowl, and Isabela looks far too goddamned pleased with herself. "But I mean it - I really, really mean it. Last one. And if it's another creep, or another guy who just wants to jump me, or if it's in any way not a pleasant fucking experience, I'm going to..."

He blinks.

"Couldn't think of anything, could you?" Isabela says sympathetically.

"I will. And it will be creative and horrifying."

"I look forward to it." Isabela gives Garrett a little bow, and turns to walk away. Over her shoulder, she says, "You'll meet him in the parking lot outside Steamworks this time. Right up at the fence so you have a nice view of the water. It'll be very romantic."

"I hate you," Garrett says. He can hear Isabela cackle all the way down the hall to her room. 

-

According to Isabela, his "date" is supposed to show up at six. Garrett arrives at 5:55 sharp, beard trimmed and lightly cologned, because he hates Isabela. 

It's a Thursday, so parking is a little dodgy, but he manages to snag a spot as a Fiat pulls out of a far stall. He sits in the driver's seat for a moment longer as the engine cools, thinking.

"Last chance," he murmurs.

It doesn't feel right, the same way that leaving with Zevran didn't feel right. Anyone he meets right now would just be a rebound for Fenris, and he doesn't do that to people. He never wants to be a person who does that to someone else.

Rebound? After one kiss? Christ, are you in elementary school?

He shakes his head, and unbuckles his seatbelt. It was a good kiss, though.

The sunlight has a perfect early-evening gold cast to it, causing the waters of Vancouver Harbour to glitter under the shadows of passing ships. Garrett ambles slowly up to the fence at the top of the parking lot, propping his elbows up on the chain link and gazing out over the activity of the harbour, the Skytain tracks below him, taking in the sea-salt air and the mingled voices and sounds of the city all around him. There's a busker nearby playing guitar, some kind of ballad, and a seagull who just won't shut the fuck up perched on a roof not too far away-

"Hawke?"

(Once, when Garrett was fifteen and on a trip to California with his family, he was knocked out by a wave.)

Garrett turns, and there's Fenris, hands stuffed in the pockets of a grey hoodie that's far too large for him, hair hidden by a black beanie, slim legs wrapped in tight black denim, looking up at Garrett with eyes that are very green, very large, and very pretty.

Garrett swallows, and tries to think of something intelligent, comforting, maybe even charming, to say.

"Are you my date?" he croaks instead.

Fenris blinks, and quirks a crooked smirk. "I'm not wearing an apron."

Garrett steps forward to- hug Fenris, possibly. Maybe sink to one knee and propose. Hopefully just hugging, though. He stops short when Fenris steps back.

They both wince.

"Sorry-" Garrett starts, and Fenris shakes his head fervently, cutting him off.

"Please don't be," Fenris says. "I've- missed you. Very much so. I was wondering if we could... talk."

It isn't really a romantic reunion. It's maybe a little awkward, and maybe Garrett has to shove his hands in his own pockets to keep from pulling Fenris into a bear hug and possibly never letting go. 

He doesn't care. Fenris is here. That's all that really matters.

"I would love that," Garrett says, and Fenris smiles.

They leapt to order drinks when the server came by - Garrett got the first beer his eyes landed on when he glanced at the menu (Black Angel IPA), and Fenris just gritted out the words "cheap red" before falling into silence once more. 

Now they wait, and Garrett has a Weird Al stuck in his head as he alternates between watching seagulls play an odd game of chicken dive-bombing the Skytrain tracks, and glancing nervously at Fenris, occasionally catching him doing the exact same damn thing back at him.

And accompanying this little dance, is the dulcet tones of Weird Al, in his head:

He looked at me...

Garrett feels Fenris's eyes on him again, and looks over just in time to watch Fenris quickly return his attention back to the waves and the ocean.

...and I looked at him.

Garrett smiles awkwardly and pulls out his phone. There's a new text. 

From: BigBootyBitch

YOU'RE WELCOME NOW ENJOY

Garrett snorts, catching Fenris's attention.

He looked at me-

"Isabela," Garrett says, and Fenris echoes his snort. 

-and I looked at him.

Fenris seems ready to turn away again, but feeling bold, Garrett leans forward. "Fen-"

"Your drinks- oh, sorry."

Fenris and Garrett both perk up considerably, assuring the server that she did absolutely nothing wrong as they take hold of their drinks the way drowning men might take hold of a life raft. 

Garrett takes a healthy swig, and watches with interest as Fenris proceeds to drink the contents of his wineglass in one go.

He puts the empty glass down, reaching for the small carafe the server brought with her, and catches Garrett's gaze. He winces.

"I don't usually drink like that," Fenris says, pouring the rest of the wine from the carafe into his glass. "I'm... not very good at this sort of thing. In fact, I don't believe I've done this sort of thing. Ever."

What sort of thing? Drinking? Dating? Talking?

"It's okay," Garrett says, gently clinking his beer stein against Fenris's glass. "I'm just glad you're here."

Fenris looks at him for a long moment, that now familiar deer-in-the-headlights look on his face that always seems to follow close on the heels of a compliment, and proceeds to drain his glass again. 

"So how did Isabela get a hold of you anyway?" Garrett asks, as Fenris blinks a few times and casts the empty carafe at his elbow a slightly mournful look. "Did she steal my phone? She just told me she'd set me up with a-"

He looks like he's going to run again, do NOT say date!

"-friend," Garrett finishes lamely. "Like a... thing. With drinks."

Fenris seems to recover enough to raise an eyebrow at Garrett, then says, "She staked out the café."

"Of course she did. I'm so fucking sorry."

"It was a little unsettling, but... I thought she might have come to express anger on your behalf, which I would have understood."

"You didn't do anything wrong," Garrett says insistently.

Fenris frowns, and shakes his head. "I did, though. And I'm... sorry. I didn't mean to-" Fenris grimaces. "I was... at the very least, leaving like that was childish. And I- I didn't want to... I'm afraid I might have hurt you."

It's an awful mix of awkward, adorable, and utterly heart-melting, watching Fenris stumble through his words through gritted teeth and with desperate glances at his empty wine glass as if hoping it might magically refill itself, Harry Potter-style. At this point Garrett wouldn't care if Fenris set his entire collection of Inquisition books on fire and gave all his flannel shirts to Isabela to destroy - he just wants Fenris to stop apologizing and stop being so sad and uncertain. 

There are ways of expressing this, Garrett is sure, that are eloquent and appropriate and comforting. 

What Garrett says aloud, however, is, "I've had much worse first kisses."

Fucking smooth, asshole.

There's sort of a breathless, tense moment as Garrett reaches for his drink as nonchalantly as he can and waits for Fenris to react.

In reaching for his beer, he knocks his water glass, but manages to catch it before it topples completely. He does this while still staring a little too intently at Fenris's face. The part of him that isn't currently screaming in blind panic is impressed by his own reflexes. 

(It's a very small part of him, the part that isn't screaming.)

Fenris stares back at him, then slowly - very slowly - smiles. Just a little. 

Thank God.

"I'm intrigued," Fenris says, some of that awkward tension in his shoulders and expression relaxing a little. 

"Someone set me on fire, once, during a first kiss," Garrett says. Fenris's smile grows. 

"On purpose?"

"Never did find out. It was our high school's Hell Night, and we'd just finished burning our grad year into the school field..." 

By the time Garrett finishes the explaining how Marian had spilled lighter fluid all over his shirt, and the girl who stumbled into his arms to kiss him was smoking a lit cigarette at the time, Fenris has another half-empty carafe of wine before him, Garrett is nursing his second beer, and there's a plate of nachos coming for them. Fenris looks far more relaxed, and Garrett is trying very, very hard not to get his hopes up for a second kiss.

(Or a third, or fourth, or having Fenris back home and bundled up in his arms and possibly doing more than just kissing-)

"I'll keep in mind that you're very flammable," Fenris is saying with that little smirk that Garrett wants to press his lips to very fucking badly.

"Only when doused in lighter fluid, which doesn't happen too often in one's lifetime, I don't think," Garrett says. "I'm probably good for another ten years, probability-wise."

Fenris laughs a little, and Garrett's heart does a little skip at the sound. He also realizes that he's spent the last fifteen minutes talking about himself.

In fact, he's spent most of their interactions talking about... himself. 

Wow.

"I talk a lot," Garrett says a little apologetically, taking a sip of his beer. "As everything I say is both fascinating and informative, it's for the betterment of humanity that I do so."

"Naturally," Fenris says, grinning. "I don't mind."

"It just occurs to me that I don't really know anything about you," Garrett says. "I mean, I know what you're like as a person, I think. Kind of. You're awesome. I say that too much. Anyway. But I don't know like... I don't know, where you come from? What you do? What you like doing? What-" 

Garrett is about to say, "what your life story is," but Bull's warning from weeks ago echoes in his mind. 

"He looks like someone who's been through some shit."

So maybe asking for the dark and tragic backstory when he's trying very hard to not make Fenris run away again isn't the best course of action.

"-your hobbies are," Garrett says instead. "And it's probably because I talk a lot, which I'm doing right now. I'll shush."

Fenris still looks amused, but his eyes are a little guarded, and Garrett knows he's treading across very, very thin ice. 

"I like that you talk," Fenris says quietly. "As you said, everything you say is both fascinating and informative. For instance, I now know that it's dangerous to bring a lit cigarette near someone covered in lighter fluid."

"It's definitely not an intuitive reach of logic," Garrett says solemnly. 

"Exactly. I, um..." Fenris looks away, lips pressed tightly together. Garrett waits.

A few long moments pass, then Fenris huffs out a breath, and meets Garrett's eyes again. 

"There are... things about me that you're better off not knowing," Fenris says carefully. "Many, many things. And because of that it would be hard, I imagine, to become close. With me. I'm not used to having a friend, or friends, never mind-" 

Fenris winces, and reaches for his wine, taking a very long sip before speaking again. 

"I have a past that I'm trying very hard to keep in the past," Fenris says. He smiles a little. "You're very good at making that past seem a little further away. But it is there still. My natural inclination would be to make sure that no one knows anything of that past. However, I have been encouraged to... expand my social circles."

Garrett is listening as intently as he can, digesting Fenris's words. 

That last sentence, though. He blinks a little, and wonders if "expanding social circles" means dating. He hopes it does, but-

Fenris seems to notice Garrett's bemusement, and clarifies, "My one friend told me I need to get out more."

"Oh."

"Given all this..." Fenris looks at his tattooed hands, not at Garrett, and says, "It occurred to me that you likely have many better options for closeness. And that I do not know if I can give you what you're looking for. It wouldn't be fair. I just... want to be certain that you know I left that night not for lack of interest. It wasn't you, it was-"

Fenris stops short, and groans, putting his face in his hands.

"Were you about to say "it's not you, it's me?"" Garrett asks, fascinated. "For real? In real life?"

"It sounded much less cliché in my head," Fenris says from behind his fingers, sounding mortified. 

A server carrying a plate of nachos appears, glances at the two of them - Garrett snickering, Fenris still hiding behind his hands - and places the nachos on the table. "Is there anything else I can get you, or-?"

"No thanks," says Garrett, as Fenris mutters, "The sweet release of death."

The server looks as though she's about to say something, then thinks better of it, backing away slowly and disappearing back into the throng of the pub.

"Fen, I don't need to know anything you don't want me to know," Garrett says softly, trying to coax Fenris out from behind his palms. "If all I know of you is the "right now," that's okay. I'd really, really like to know your "what comes next," but if that's not something you want, that's okay too. If all you want is to be friends, I'm just happy we get to hang out."

Fenris drops his hands slowly as Garrett talks, his eyes fixed on the table. Quietly he says, "I don't want to be just friends, Hawke."

Garrett manages to fight his instinctual response - jumping to his feet and whooping in absolute fucking glee and triumph as if Fenris just said "yes" to a marriage proposal, and maybe hugging a bartender or two just because. He doesn't do that. But it's impossible to keep from smiling. 

Really broadly. He might break his face. He hopes Fenris still wants to be not just friends even if he breaks his face.

"I would need time," Fenris says, looking up. He seems a little startled by Garrett's beaming grin, but his solemn expression seems to soften a little at the sight of it, and Garrett takes that as a very good sign. "And... I cannot guarantee that I won't- well, essentially, be an enormous coward about things. As I said before, I've never done this before."

"Time is good," Garrett says, nodding, and trying not to look too eager. Or stupidly and ridiculously in love. He tries for gentle, casual affection. "Slow, time- it's okay. It's good. It's more than good. You're more than good. I'm going to eat a nacho, the nachos here are just fantastic."

That eyebrow is going again, as Fenris watches him grab a nacho without looking and shove most of it into his mouth, not realizing until it is far, far too late that the chip is cradling an enormous slice of jalapeño. 

"Are you going to be alright?" Fenris asks mildly, moments later, once Garrett has ridden out the worst of the burn and is now trying to stomach the nearly-full pint of beer he just chugged in a panic. 

"Probably not," Garrett rasps, dying a little. "Okay, I thought of a thing. If you're down for it."

Fenris takes a chip, also bearing a large amount of jalapeño, and crunches into it, his expression unchanging. "Mm?"

"What if I ask you questions, and if you want to answer you can, and if you don't, just say "pass,"" Garrett says. "Would that make things... easier, I guess? If you say pass, I drop it completely and move on."

Fenris tilts his head, and to Garrett's relief, the Sexy Eyebrow of Judgment stays put. "I... suppose it would. Alright."  

"Cool," Garrett says, and there's genuine excitement overtaking the pain and anguish of the last thirty seconds. He can almost forget the searing heat still scorching his tongue. "Okay, so... oh, here's a basic one. Last name?"

For a moment Fenris hesitates, then he says, "Awan." 

Fenris Awan. Garrett likes it. He likes it an awful lot.

He also notes that if in future they decide to hyphenate things, "Hawke-Awan" sounds like an amazing dance move, or a Jedi Master, or a Pokémon. This appeals to him greatly.

"I like it," is all he says aloud. "Uh, I know it's kind of an awkward question, but... how old are you, anyway?"

Fenris ducks his head, looking suddenly anxious. "I turn eighteen in December."

Garrett's world comes to a screeching halt for a full five seconds, which is about as long as Fenris is able to keep up the act before he breaks into (quite frankly, adorable) little snickers.

"You complete ass," Garrett says, a hand on his chest, and his heart is honest to fuck racing and not in a good way. "Jesus Christ. Holy fuck. You ass."

"It's really very sweet, how gullible you are," Fenris says, still smirking as he takes a quick sip of his wine. He refills his glass from the carafe, and says, "I turn twenty-seven in December."

"Aww," says Garrett, and at Fenris's confused glance, adds, "I turn twenty-eight in July."

"You're practically old enough to be my father, then," Fenris says dryly. "Another."

"Um, are you from Vancouver?"

"No."

"Canada?"

"...No."

Hesitation. Garrett pauses for a moment, then says, "Can I ask... where you're from?"

"Yes."

Garrett blinks. 

Fenris smirks. 

Ass.

"Okay, where are you from, then?"

"To my knowledge, I was born in Pakistan, in the province of Sindh," Fenris says. "We immigrated to America when I was young."

Which explains Fenris's very slight accent. As nearly everyone in Vancouver is an immigrant or a child of an immigrant, most people Garrett knows has a slight accent. He probably has a slight accent. One that screams "Cowtown."

"Does your family still live in the States?"

Fenris looks away. "Pass."

Okay. Good to know.

"Was English your second language?" Stupid question, really, but Garrett's curious, and ready to admit that he knows shit all about Pakistan.

Fenris shakes his head. "It was my fourth."

Garrett feels his jaw drop, and struggles not to sound as incredibly dumb as he feels as he echoes numbly, "Fourth?"

"Urdu and Sindhi, I think, were my first languages. Probably a little Punjabi, too. English is well-spoken in Pakistan, and I likely would have learned it in school. I think I knew it passably well before coming here."

The way Fenris talks about all this is oddly detached, almost as if he's describing someone else's childhood. It's subtle, but a little strange to hear nonetheless. 

"How many languages do you speak?" Garrett asks, deciding to move on from the potentially dicey questions of Fenris's past. 

Fenris shrugs. "A few. I learned Spanish at some point. A little Italian? The Latin languages are all fairly easy - they're basically the same from one to another."

"And Haitian," Garrett says, remembering their conversation a few weeks ago. 

Fenris nods. 

"What language do you think in?"

Fenris seems a little thrown by the question, but he smiles. "Mostly English. But... most of my dreams are in Urdu or Sindhi, I think."

It's an oddly intimate thing to know about Fenris. The stupidly sentimental, utterly smitten part of Garrett that moves Way Too Fast can only think of Fenris sleeping in his arms, and knowing something of the words and scenes that might be taking place in his head as he dreams. 

Garrett wishes he had something like that he could share with Fenris in return. Some way of letting Fenris in the way Fenris was slowly letting him in. 

Or at least, letting know that Fenris was already in. All the way in. Because Garrett is, as mentioned, stupidly sentimental and utterly smitten.

"I really only speak English," Garrett finds himself saying. "Um, bit of French, like I said. That's about it."

"I figured," Fenris says, shrugging.

Garrett hangs his head a little. "Because I'm white."

"Yeah."

"Fair enough."

They talk through the next hour and a half as the nachos disappear between them, and the conversation eases from direct questions and answers to a more natural flow. Garrett learns that Fenris hates fish, likes apples, does not want to be a barista forever, and is not in university. He watches Game of Thrones, he's never seen Scrubs, and he's never been to Whistler, which is a crime. He's never seen a moose, a beaver, or a caribou, and feels slightly cheated of the Canadian experience for it. He understands the hype about Tim Horton's Iced Capps and Roll Up the Rim, but prefers Starbucks overall. He moved to Vancouver last year, started working at Hightown in January, and has never visited the Aquarium. Or Science World. Or the Planetarium. Or the Art Gallery.

"I haven't really toured the area," Fenris says eventually, cutting off Garrett's "But have you been to Granville Island-?" "But... perhaps you can show me some of these places."

Garrett's already compiling a list of places he plans to take Fenris, and wonders a little anxiously if Fenris's hatred of fish will doom their Aquarium date from the start.  

Garrett is careful with his questions, but he still hits a few walls, which he's happy to move around, though they paint a confusing picture. "When did you move to Canada" is answered with a "pass," as are questions about his "one friend" ("He's a better man than me." "How did you meet?" "Pass."), what he did before working at Hightown, what high school was like in the States, and if Vancouver is the only place in Canada he's lived.

The worst one, oddly, is when Garrett gestures to his tattoos and says, "Those are fucking awesome, by the way. What made you decide to get them? Are the patterns symbolic, or-?"

"Pass."

Garrett looks up from Fenris's tattooed hand to see him paling, his lips pressed tight together, something shuttered and haunted in his expression. 

"I'm sorry-" Garrett says, alarmed, but Fenris shakes his head.

"It's alright. It's just- not a good memory."

Garrett finds himself looking at those beautiful tattoos with fresh eyes, after that, as they cascade down Fenris's throat, along his fingers, disappearing into his shirt to suggest they covered his chest and shoulders too, at the very least. Not a good memory.

Fuck, what does that mean?

It's a little like looking at some kind of flower, or a painting, only to know that the flower is toxic, or that the painting killed the artist through lead poisoning. He makes a note not to comment on them again. 

Fenris likes dogs, thinks cats are evil but appreciates their honesty, and has never met a bearded dragon. He is willing to change that.

Eventually things wind down, and Fenris seems happy to keep talking, but tired. They pay up and move out of the bar, back up to the fence overlooking the harbour as the sun sets on the mountains, the waves painted pink, blue, and gold. They chat a little longer, leaning up against the fence, close enough that Garrett can feel Fenris's warmth in the scarce inches between them.

Close enough that Garrett can imagine putting his arms around Fenris, holding him close. But he doesn't. Baby steps.

"I should head home," Fenris says eventually, sounding genuinely regretful. "I had... a very good time, Hawke. Thank you. I'll admit I was nervous coming here, but- I'm glad I did. I would thank Isabela but despite not knowing her very well, some part of me seems to not want to give her the satisfaction."

"She has that effect on people," Garrett says, grinning. "I can drive you home, if you like. Where do you live?"

"Up Hastings. Very much up Hastings. And thank you, but it's alright. I should stop by the corner store on the way home to pick up supplies if I'm planning to eat anytime soon."

Garrett can feel the goodbye approaching, and he doesn't want it to. He wants this, their quiet parking lot date in the warm sunset with the sea stretched out towards the mountains before them, the sounds of the city accompanying it all - he wants this to last forever. 

"Tuesday is karaoke night at the Hanged Man," Garrett says. "You should come. It's really easy to get to, or I could pick you up. I mean, you'll have to deal with meeting my friends who will definitely try to drive you off somehow for the sole purpose of ruining my life, and you shouldn't eat the stew there or drink the two-dollar pints unless you're willing and eager to die before your time, but... it would be really great to have you there. Really, really great."

Fenris lifts his brows, his eyes crinkling in a little smile. "Do I want to come to karaoke night at the Hanged Man?"

Garrett grins. "You absolutely want to come to karaoke night at the Hanged Man. You haven't lived until you've heard my friend Varric's incredibly soulful rendition of The Gambler."

"I'll look forward to it," Fenris says, turning to face Garrett directly, looking up at him. Very close.

Garrett swallows, and he's about to ask if he could maybe, if Fenris wouldn't mind if he-

But then Fenris answers without ever having to hear the question, leaning up on his toes, his lips softly brushing Garrett's for a hesitant moment, before pressing firmly against his mouth. His hands are on Garrett's face, fingers sliding around the back of his head, pulling him closer.

Garrett's arms are already around Fenris's slim waist, feeling how much smaller Fenris is under his overlarge sweater, and if all of his mind weren't utterly occupied by this moment, if all of him wasn't completely present for this, Fenris in his arms and kissing him under a goddamn sunset, he would wonder what Fenris would look like in one of his shirts. One of his plaid ones that Isabella keeps threatening to burn.

(Only in one of those plaid shirts, and nothing else. That's a thought for later.)

Unlike last time, there's no sense of urgency in this kiss, far less of that fierce energy that swept them both away under the streetlights of Gastown. They take their time. 

But too soon, Fenris pulls away - not very far, and not out of Garrett's arms. He lowers himself back down, his eyes heavily-lidded, pupils blown.

Garrett feels a slight shiver run through him under that enormous sweater, and holds him a little tighter. "Are you alright?"

Fenris nods, and leans forward to rest his forehead against Garrett's chest, closing his eyes. Just for a moment. "Thank you."

"For what?"

Fenris looks up, and smiles. "Just... thank you."

He leans up again for one more kiss, little more than a quick brush against Garrett's lips, and then he's stepping away. It's still hard to watch him go, but it's far easier knowing that he's not running away. That this isn't over.

It's the opposite of over, actually. 

Garrett goes to his car, slides into his front seat, and waits until Fenris is out of the parking lot. 

Then he lets out a loud whoop, punching the air, and allowing himself a few seconds of stupid dancing to celebrate before hooking up his iPod and blasting 90s pop music all the way home.

Probably not. Though she's well aware that most people in her position - with a steady, well-paying career and nearing the end of their twenties - probably wouldn't still be living in a rundown house in Kirkwall with most of her siblings and various roommates, it's not just for financial reasons that she does so. 

At work, she's an Adult; she manages the people under her command, she pulls strings, says the right things, gets the shit done. She looks in a mirror and sees a woman who is "going places" - actual places, not undesignated points on the map to fall off of when things get rough. 

At home... well, at home she goofs off with her twin brother, trades nail polish with Bethany, has dumb pillow fights with her girlfriend and gets drunk listening to Anders' stupid protest music. She takes off the "production manager" like a second skin and puts it aside until she has to pick it up again.

(Well, not entirely aside. Her phone's been ringing almost constantly since she's taken the job, day and night, pinging with e-mails and panicked texts and why the fuck has technology cursed her with so many ways for people to contact her?)

She can imagine, a little, what it might be like to have her own place - an adult place, with possibly a home office and whatever the fuck else an adult apartment has. She can imagine living abroad, making this job her life, being that adult she pretends to be during the day full-time.

It's going to crack eventually though, won't it? 

Because she's not that adult. She's still an angry, scared kid, doing things as a means to an end. Surviving. Happy to cut and run when things go south. 

She snorts a little and takes another drag of her cigarette. It'd be a lot easier if I could blame something or someone for making me like this.

Malcolm Hawke's death was a catalyst, certainly, but that burning itch of restlessness was always there, somewhere deep in her chest. It's been quieter lately, easier to ignore. She's been happy.

Why the fuck would I leave something, somewhere, that makes me happy?

Movement from the door catches her eye, and she sees a slight figure exit the bar, a shock of white hair revealing the person's identity even as he moves through the shadows.

"Fenris, right?" Marian says, not missing the way he freezes and tenses as she says his name. Interesting. "You heading out?"

He turns to her, his eyes lighting on her cigarette. He smiles a little ruefully. "Not exactly."

Marian tilts her head, and he pulls his own pack from his jean pocket. She nods, and squints. "Sweet fuck, those aren't Number Sevens, are they?"

Fenris shrugs, and Marian shudders, holding out her own pack. "Belmont. Um, they've got a pretty heavy filter on them, but I can guarantee they'll be better than what you're smoking."

Fenris looks ready to object, then seems to change his mind, shrugging and stowing his cigarettes and taking one of Marian's. "Thank you."

"No, thank you. I'm trying to quit. I've cut it down to a pack a week, so one less cigarette in there is probably a good thing."

Fenris nods, lighting his cigarette with a practiced hand. "To be honest, I haven't smoked in a while. My friend disapproves."

And yet, you had a pack on you, Marian thinks. Well, if I were in your position and meeting the friends and family for the first time, so would I.

"My little sister hates it, and Lord knows Andy has shown me enough pictures of rotting lungs to last a lifetime," Marian says. At Fenris's scowl, she laughs. "You and he've gotten off to a bit of a rocky start, huh?"

"He is an... interesting individual," Fenris says flatly. 

"No one could argue with you there," Marian says. "He's just very protective. Especially when it comes to Garrett - which, given that he was my friend first, you'd think he'd be like that with me. But no, he just offered to give Isabela a free pelvic exam and asked her not to steal any of his expensive medical textbooks, and that was that."

Fenris snorts, but still looks a little sour, so Marian adds, "He's not in love with Garrett by the way."

Fenris chokes a little on his smoke and coughs, looking at Marian with a watery scowl. "I wasn't-" Marian just looks at him, and he sighs. "I- thank you. I am of course now dying to know why he's being... the way he's being."

Marian bites her lip. "Well. Um. Could be a bit early to be bringing up the ex, but... Garrett's last relationship ended pretty badly. In a kind of, "I know what you're thinking, so please stop explaining, don't tell me cause it hurts" kind of way. He has a habit of singing his emotions when he's drunk FYI, you'll figure that out pretty quickly. Possibly tonight. Anyway, it was a bad couple of months for all of us."

Fenris listens to this with a guarded expression, and nods carefully afterwards. "I see."

Marian recognizes the look. Knows a runner when she sees one. 

"I imagine we're quite a lot to handle all at once," she says, wondering how close she can get to the heart of the issue without scaring Fenris away. Better now than later, though bless my idiot brother, he's already gone and fallen hard for this guy, hasn't he? 

"It is... very different from what I'm used to," Fenris says, still sounding very careful. "You all seem to care a great deal for one another."

"Well, we're all idiots, so we get along," Marian says, and Fenris smiles a little. "There's always room at the table for more idiots though."

"We are all half in each other's laps at that table, any more idiots and we'll start breaking furniture," Fenris says dryly, and Marian laughs. Then, quietly, he says, "Garrett is... not quite like anyone I've ever known."

"He's sweet," Marian says, watching Fenris closely. "Make no mistake, he's also a colossal idiot. Like, a huge moronic doof of a human being. And he's got a bit of a plaid fetish, but... he's a good person."

"I know," Fenris says, very quietly. "Like I said, he's not quite like anyone I've ever known."

Ah.

"You've got baggage," Marian says.

Fenris snorts. "You might say that." He looks down. "It's nothing I would ever want Garrett involved with."

Marian nods, and smokes. Eventually, she says, "After our dad died, our mom was too emotionally wrecked to really look after the twins - Carver and Bethy, they were just little at the time. Instead of helping, I was off getting high or drunk - both, a lot of the time - in some really seedy places. So when Garrett was thirteen, fourteen, he was looking after two little kids and running around trying to keep his sister from dying in a back alley in Whalley from sheer teenage angst and stupidity, all while making sure his mother was getting out of bed in the morning and going to work so we had money for silly things like groceries."

She looks to Fenris, who watches her, expressionless but utterly still. Ash collects on the end of his forgotten cigarette as he listens. 

"I don't know what you've been through, and fuck knows I'm not trying to compare," Marian says. "I just want you to know that if you've got shit, it's not going to like... taint some pure and happy life devoid of shit. Garrett can take it. More than that, he'll want to, if you let him." Marian flicks her cigarette and adds, "But if you let him take too much, then you'll have me to answer to. And believe me, I'm a lot scarier than Andy is."

Fenris examines her for a good long while after she says this, then finally nods and says, "I believe you."

Marian grins, taking one last pull on her cigarette, then drops the butt and stamps it out. "See you back inside?"

Fenris nods again, and Marian heads back for the door, passing Razzy as he curses and mutters "motherfucking never-ending Magikarp motherfucker" under his breath and taps furiously at his phone.

-

Fenris seems a little quieter when he returns from outside, and though Garrett's pretty smashed by this point his keen detective skills alert him to the fact that both he and Marian smell like the same kind of cigarette.

He thinks. It all smells like death to him. But it smells good on Fenris.

Not that he wants Fenris to smoke. Smoking is bad. 

But there's something about the image of Fenris with that smirk, and a little curl of smoke escaping between his lips-

"Do you smoke weed sometimes maybe?" Garrett says to Fenris, and he's impressed by how articulate he is with this much cheap beer in him. 

(He's not hammered, of course, because that would not be classy and because he wants to enjoy this night with Fenris. He's just a little tipsy, is all.)

Fenris raises an eyebrow at him, a slight smile on his lips, and says, "Sometimes, maybe."

It occurs to Garrett in this moment that Fenris is the perfect size for carrying over thresholds. In a post-matrimony kind of way. 

Aloud, he says, "Good shit," and reaches for a very large glass of water. 

(He isn't sure, but he thinks Fenris might be laughing at him a little.)

"Oh, before I forget," says Marian suddenly, leaning forward and nearly planting her elbow in a bowl of guacamole. "Ah, shit. Anyway. That MOW I did finally got its shit together and they're having a wrap party next weekend. Everyone gets a plus-one but given that I almost single-handedly saved the production at least three times I don't think they'll mind if I bring a few extras."

"Is it Saturday?" Bethany says, biting her lip. Marian nods, and Bethany sighs. "Can't. Late-night shift and I'm already covering for one of the other servers. Damn."

"I've been to your film parties," Aveline says wearily. "I think I'll pass on that, thank you. Last time I spent the whole night threatening to arrest drunk assholes for harassing young women."

"I got to punch that one guy," Isabela says, sounding a little dreamy. "It was wonderful. I'll be coming, of course."

"Are you going?" Carver asks Merrill quietly. Garrett can see the furrow in his brow, etched there by Aveline's "drunk assholes" comment. 

"Well, it sounds like a grand time, physical violence and harassment aside," Merrill says. "Oh! I worked on the show, maybe I could bring you as a plus-one?"

"If you're going then I'll go, for sure," Carver says, a little fiercely. Merrill giggles, and Carver blushes. 

Garrett turns to Fenris, who has been listening passively and leaning in against him a little and smelling very nice despite the smokiness, and says, "Would you like to come?"

Fenris startles a little, blinking at Garrett (up at Garrett, a little, and if Garrett were standing he'd be weak in the knees). "I- uh. I've... never been to a film party before."

"Oh, it's nothing to worry about, darling," Isabela says, smilingly wolfishly from across the table. "The first hour of the night is spent socializing with the people you've been itching to murder for the past few months while accepting all sorts of business cards that you'll never use, then the rest of the night is just about getting blind drunk and waiting to see who becomes the subject of gossip and scrutiny for the next few months."

"One actor ordered a limo and a bottle of Don Perignon and drove us all up to the mountains, once," Marian says, sipping her beer. "And no, I won't say who, but he was an A-lister, is all I'm saying."

"For the study of humanity and the sake of my next novel, I will be attending," Varric says. "Don't worry Shortstop, it's not as scary as it sounds. You might even have a little fun."

"Am I "Shortstop" now?" Fenris murmurs to Garrett.

"You might be," Garrett whispers back. "Sometimes it takes a little while for him to settle on a name."

"How did you become "Waffles," then?"

Varric, listening in, snorts and says, "Well, that's a story that-"

"-will never be told to you ever," Garrett says, covering Fenris's ears. "If any of my family and friends have even a passing affection for me, please do this one thing. No waffles."

Garrett is surrounded by a sea of smirks, proving that he is also surrounded by a sea of evil jackasses.

Fenris gently removes Garrett's hands from his ears, also smirking. "I'm certain it is a story worth hearing, now, but I can wait. And I... might come to this party. If that's alright."

"That is exactly the definitely of "alright," but like, super alright? More enthusiasm," Garrett says, waving his hands. "Good! I'm not drunk."

"Right, well, I've got a night shift on Saturday, so I'm out," Anders says. "Try to make sure no one winds up in my hospital, yeah?"

"Anyone special working with you that night, Andy?" Isabela says, propping her chin on her hands and grinning at him.

"No," Anders says firmly, his face turning a delicate shade of pink. "Alright, well, I'm ready for bed, I think. Right now. I'm going to go pay up, shut up Bela, see you all outside."

-

Fenris and Garrett don't really talk, as they pay for their dinners and drinks. Garrett tries to pay for Fenris, who looks utterly stunned by this gesture before batting his hand away and pulling out his own wallet, and somehow between the two of them both of their bills are settled. There's a kind of understanding in the quiet, though. The kind of silent communication and matched-up steps of two people who are aware of each other in a way that can't really be described.

Either that, or Garrett is a lot more tipsy than he thinks he is.

Outside, everyone gathers in the parking lot. Carver and Merrill say their goodbyes and head over to the bus stop, Aveline and Varric wait for a taxi to come pick them up. The others prepare for the twenty-minute walk back to the house, as Garrett and Fenris drift away to find a little privacy under the shadow of a nearby tree that the parking lot seems to have been paved around, the concrete buckling over its roots.

"Would you like to come back to my place?" Garrett blurts out, as Fenris zips up his sweater. His tattooed hands stutter a little on the zipper, and he looks up sharply, his eyes wide. "No, no, not- I mean, unless you want- I was just thinking it's late, and Hastings is Hastings, and we have a couch! Well, I'd probably lend you my bed, but things are a little disastrous in there right now because of finals-"

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm alright," Fenris says firmly, and there's enough of that wry playfulness in his voice that Garrett is reassured that he hasn't scared him off for good. "It's not too far, and despite the area the bus past my place is usually... tame."

"Just- stay safe," Garrett says, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around Fenris and possibly never let him go. "And maybe let me know when you get home? Just so I know you're okay- what?"

Fenris is laughing - a low, throaty chuckle, not quite his shy giggles that Garrett has heard before. It's still a beautiful sound. 

"I'm sorry," Fenris says, shaking his head. "It's just- no, I can't really explain. Your concern for my safety is very sweet, but I promise, wholly unnecessary."

"I'm sure it is," Garrett says with a grin. "You're a badass, I can tell. Hell, you've already come to my rescue once."

"I would do it again," Fenris says, and though he's still smiling there's a surprisingly serious undercurrent in his voice. 

"Please feel free, not just because it's insanely hot," Garrett says, and winces. "I mean- oh, fuck it, I'm not sober enough to pretend I didn't mean that. It was. You are."

Now Fenris is laughing again, and before Garrett can dig himself a deeper hole verbally, his mouth is thoroughly occupied by Fenris's. 

He tastes like wine, and cigarettes, and his hand is around the back of his neck, pulling him in. Garrett lets himself wrap his arms around Fenris the way he wants to, holding him close. Safe.

Fenris kisses, Garrett thinks, like he's trying to say something. There's something so desperate to be understood, in how he presses his lips to Garrett's mouth, hesitant and daring and giving and taking all at once. He kisses, too, like he's trying to learn - like there's something in the circle of Garrett's arms that he can't quite wrap his mind around, something he has to explore and grow to understand through touch, and taste.  

Or maybe Garrett is just really that drunk.

Predictably, there's a raucous whoop from a handful of metres away, and Garrett looks up to see Isabela waving cheerily with the world's most shit-eating grin plastered across her perfect face. Marian, unhelpfully, just gives Garrett a thumbs-up and puts an arm around her girlfriend's shoulders, planting a kiss on her cheek for good measure. 

"I hope they haven't scared you off," Garrett says with a wince, as Fenris buries his face in Garrett's chest with a short groan. "Were you and my sister talking earlier? How did that go?"

"Well," Fenris says, lifting his face, and he's frowning a little thoughtfully. "It was... good to speak to her. She said some things that I think I needed to hear."

"That can't be good," Garrett says. "No one gives tough love speeches like Riri does."

Fenris smiles. "You could say that."

Fenris steals another kiss, just a gentle one, and heads off towards the bus stop, looking back over his shoulder to smile and wave.

"Text me when you get home!" Garrett calls after him, and Fenris rolls his eyes before turning away, shaking his head, still smiling.

Garrett joins the others, a little bounce in his step, and waits approximately five seconds after they start walking together before asking, "So? What did you think?"

"He's either going to be the kinkiest lay you will ever have, or the most vanilla, I haven't quite pinpointed which," Isabela says.

"He's very polite," Bethany says. "In a genuine sort of way, though. He was kind to me, even if we didn't speak much. So far he seems wonderful."

Marian is quiet for a few moments, and Garrett wonders again what the fuck she and Fenris were talking about outside. Eventually, she shrugs and says, "You could do worse. Fuck, you have done worse."

"Can a man not live his life and make his mistakes free from judgment and persecution?" Garrett laments, letting himself collapse onto an unsuspecting Anders' shoulder, who yelps and only just manages to catch his weight in time. "Speak to me, dear friend, some comfort!"

Anders shoves Garrett back onto his feet with a huff and says, "I don't like him."

Marian, Bethany, and Isabela all groan, as Garrett pouts at Anders.

"Andy, you haven't liked the last three guys who've looked Garrett's way since Seb," Bethany says. "We didn't even get past the nickname stage with them!"

"I liked Sock-Crotch, myself," Marian says, sighing. "He had nice hair."

"You've been naming them?" Garrett says. "Who was Sock-Crotch? When was this?"

"Last year, that guy at the Hanged Man who kept buying you drinks and saying like, weirdly prophetic and kind of meta things when he got drunk? He was totally into you," Bethany says. "But no, Andy thought he was- oh, it was something elaborate and eloquent-"

"I thought he was a douche," says Anders flatly.

"Right! That's it!"

"And in case you were questioning the name, he had a gym sock peaking out of his pants nearly all the time," Isabela says. "Trying to make himself look a little grander. All respect to him for it, it was just a little much."

"He was stuffing?" Garrett says. "Wow, that guy had my self-esteem shot for weeks. Good to know. Not that I'm not perfectly adequate- slightly above average-"

Marian and Bethany trade a look, make twin retching noises, and cut Garrett off by shoving him into a bush.

-

Isabela is uncharacteristically quiet when they get home; quiet as she and Marian clean the makeup off their faces, brush their teeth, the nightly dance perfected after over a year, almost two years of practice. Usually after some drinks Isabela's first move once in the bedroom is to jump Marian - almost always literally - and have her wicked way with her.

There is no jumping tonight. She slips out of her shirt and bra and pulls on a pair of boxer shorts - her preferred sleeping attire - and frowns thoughtfully as Marian finds a ragged old t-shirt hanging over the side of her dresser and quickly sniffs-checks it before pulling it on over her head. 

"Everything okay, babe?" Marian asks, plugging her phone - five new e-mails, one missed call, eleven text messages - into its charger and setting it to silent mode for the night.

"Oh, I don't know," Isabela says, climbing into bed and propping her elbows up on her pillow, her chin in her hand. "I suppose seeing the fresh bloom of young love has me a little sentimental."

Marian snorts, and switches off the light, sliding under the covers. "They're not teenagers, and since when do you get sentimental?"

"They might as well be, for how they act around each other. All that mincing of words and lovesick, longing glances-"

"Are you talking about Garrett and the barista, or Merrill and Carver?"

"Both," Isabela says. "Your brothers are hilarious to watch when they've got their hearts set on someone. And Merrill's a darling girl, really. That Fenris though..."

"You got that vibe too, huh?" Marian says quietly. "I talked to him, and... I think I trust him. I trust that he doesn't want to hurt Garrett, at least. I don't entirely trust that he won't, though."

"He seems like a man who is very keen on keeping his private life private," Isabela says. "But if he has any experience of the world at all, he'll know it's no use. Everything always comes out in the end, doesn't it?"

Marian is grateful for the dark, hiding her wince. "You're not wrong."

"Anyway," Isabela says, her hand finding Marian's overtop the covers. "I just... wanted to be certain we're on the same page, I suppose. We don't really talk about feelings, but- fuck, I'm remembering why we don't talk about feelings, this is horrendously awkward."

"It wasn't until you pointed it out," Marian says, shuffling close enough to lean in and kiss the tip of Isabela's nose. "I love you, Bela."

"I know," Isabela says softly. "And I... well, I-"

"I know," says Marian. "I also know you're not a fan of the "L" word."

""Lesbians?"" Isabela says, grinning, pushing Marian over and sliding on top of her. "You're quite wrong, darling, I happen to like lesbians. Quite a lot, in fact."

"Oh, shush," Marian says, sitting up and pulling Isabela's hips in closer, until she's straddling her lap. "You know what I mean. And I know what you mean."

"I believe this is what the love gurus call "communication,"" Isabela says, rolling her hips. Marian bites her lip, reaching up to trail her fingers over Isabela's bare ribs, just to watch her shiver. "I've heard it's very important in committed relationships."

"Good for us, then," Marian says, flipping them over until Isabela is under her, laughing and rising up to meet Marian's kiss.

Later, once neither of them are wearing much in the way of clothing and they lie tangled up together, sweat cooling as Isabela rests her head on Marian's chest, black hair spilled across Marian's skin... lying there, holding Isabela in her arms, Marian says, "There's... a thing. A decision I have to make, kind of a big one. It could change things."

"Am I allowed to know what it is?"

If Isabela is worried, or annoyed, or... anything at all, really, Marian can't tell. There's nothing in her voice to suggest she's anything other than well-sated, a little tipsy, and drifting off to sleep.

"I don't want to worry you, and I don't... I honestly don't want to think about it until I absolutely have to," Marian says. "But I promise that if and when I do actually have to think about it, you'll know. You'll know everything."

Isabela lifts her head, blinking at Marian a little sleepily, then lies back down again.

"I trust you, Marian," Isabela says, her voice soft. "Don't make me regret it, darling. Not ever."

I will.

"I won't."

-

From: Fen (<3)

Am home alive and well. Goodnight, Hawke.

To: Fen (<3)

now see was that so hard?? glad to know you have not been kidnapped by aliens!! it happens more than you think!!

From: Fen (<3)

...There is a bright light at the door now that you mention it...

To: Fen (<3)

??

From: Fen (<3)

...Some low rumbling... such strange noises...

To: Fen (<3)

??!!

From: Fen (<3)

You really are far too easy. Have a good sleep.

To: Fen (<3)

>:[ ALIENS ARE NO LAUGHING MATTER

To: Fen (<3)

WE ARE NOT ALONE IN THE UNIVERSE

To: Fen (<3)

DON'T YOU WATCH THE HISTORY CHANNEL

To: Fen (<3)

...you're probably asleep now aren't you

From: Fen (<3)

zz

To: Fen (<3)

...if that wasn't so adorable I'd probably be at least somewhat annoyed by your lack of consideration for the *very real threat* of alien abduction but as it stands

To: Fen (<3)

you got me

To: Fen (<3)

have a good sleep!!!!

To: Fen (<3) (Draft)

it's wayyy to early to say this but I kind of love y

[Draft Deleted]

The MOW that Marian's name is now attached to forevermore is not one of these productions, and the Cambie is not one of these venues.

Not to say that it doesn't do very well for itself as it is. Situated next to the Woodwards Building in Gastown, the Cambie Bar & Grill is nestled under a popular hostel for adventurers of all kinds. The floor is sticky, the food is bland, and the washrooms smell like a back alley off East Pender. Yet because of its location, and because of the travellers living directly above it, the Cambie is never empty. Many nights, there is a line-up out the door to get in.

This is largely because the drinks are dirt cheap (and taste like it too). 

The production does not rent out the bar - they can't afford it, and the Cambie would never give up precious Saturday night revenue to host the cast and crew of a Hallmark Channel made-for-TV movie. Instead, they inform the Cambie that a large group of people will be arriving, and pay for skip-the-line privileges.

The Cambie herds them out onto the patio, which is where Marian finds herself an hour into the party, squashed up against the iron fencing and on her third pint of cheap beer, courtesy of the jugs floating around balanced precariously on the hands of young tattooed servers. 

"Why did I think this would be a good idea?" Marian grouses, moodily staring into the foamy head of her beer.

"Sweetheart, it's free drinks, loud music, and people we know finding delightful new ways to embarrass themselves," Isabela says, leaning into Marian's side with a grin. "It's a beautiful night, and we have a lovely hotel room at the Delta booked for our own afterparty. Relax."

"I'm never relaxed," Marian says, but she smiles despite herself, and kisses Isabela on the cheek. "But I guess there are worse ways to spend a Saturday night."

"That's the spirit," Isabela says. "Now, where did Varric get to? I keep telling him to invest in stilts, but he never takes me seriously."

Marian nods to a crowd gathered furthest from the doors and the booming music echoing from inside the bar. "My guess is he's telling stories over there."

"Oh, good eyes. I'm hoping to get a round of poker started - it's been a while since I've taken money from intoxicated people."

"If you steal over a hundred, you better buy me something pretty," Marian says.

Isabela smirks, turning to crowd Marian up against the fence, her hands resting on either side of her and pinning her there. "I've got some ideas. Not suitable for polite company, however."

At that moment, a beefy, red-faced grip climbs atop a bench, cries "I'm the king!" and rips off his shirt, flinging it into the crowd. 

Marian watches the sweaty shirt land on 2nd AD's head, whose only reaction is to roll her eyes and toss it away, and says, "I think we're okay."

Isabela kisses her, winks, and takes off into the crowd as another grip grabs the shirtless man by his arm and hauls him off the bench with a grimace.

Marian scans the gathering again, brow furrowed. She's yet to spot her brother - either of her brothers, actually - but she doubts either of them will get here before eight, anyway. Still, she is on a mission for the evening, and while this is hardly the place for a heart-to-heart-

Aha.

Being nearly six-foot and having a distinct "don't fuck with me" resting face has its advantages, and the crowd parts obligingly before Marian as she beelines for a slight figure hiding in the shadows near the open Cambie doors, face down and eyes obscured by a nest of wild dark hair. 

"Hey, kid," Marian says, nudging Mahanon's trainers with the toe of her boot, grinning as he looks up with a startled expression. "Enjoying the party?"

"Just got here," Mahanon says, stowing his phone and offering Marian a wide grin. "I'm surprised you came out. Thought you would've been done with the lot of us by now, yeah?"

"I am, but my girlfriend wanted free drinks," Marian shrugs. "What are you up to now that this trash heap of a show is done with, anyway?"

Mahanon wrinkles his nose. "I'm OPA on a pilot that goes to camera next week. Comedy of some kind. There's a puppet involved and the art department keeps leaving it lying around the office. Scared the pants off me last time I went to go print something. After that, I dunno. Kind of playing it by ear, I guess." Marian nods, sipping her beer, and Mahanon sighs, casting Marian a weary look. "And... you're working on that project with my cousin. Did she ask you to come talk to me?"

Marian chokes, and spends the next few seconds trying to get her breath back while expelling cheap beer from her lungs as Mahanon watches with mild sympathy. Eventually, she says, "What gives you that idea?"

"Shit," Mahanon says, rubbing his temple. "She shouldn't have asked you to get involved. God damn it, Alaine. No, I- I know she means well. It's too late for casting though, isn't it?"

"We went with some B-lister who, quite honestly, looks like he's gonna be a pain in the ass. Pheus."

"Corey?" Mahanon rolls his eyes and mutters, "An utter gobshite if ever there was one, honest." 

"Kinda figured," Marian says. "Anyway, I'm not really here on Alaine's behalf. Well, kind of. But more for my own sake, given that I don't know what manner of family drama I've stepped into, I'm more just... curious, as to why you didn't take the role. Hell, I didn't even know you were an actor until she told me."

"It's the family business," Mahanon says, waving a hand. "My grandfather was an enormously famous stage actor in the London West End. Even the Irish side's got a history of film and theatre involvement. I guess it was just lucky I liked acting - don't really know how the family would have felt if I was really passionate about plumbing, or something."

"So why stop?"

Mahanon bites his lip and folds his arms, tapping a nervous fingertip against the side of his beer glass. "I did a miniseries back in the UK, and it looked like things were taking off, but- it made me realize something. Look, I'm- I'm gay."

Marian blinks. "Working on a miniseries made you realize you were gay?"

"No," Mahanon says. "I've known practically all my life, luckily, I was never exactly confused about it. And we've got marriage equality here, there, and wherever now, hooray and all. But this miniseries was kind of a teen slice-of-life program, and suddenly all these magazines and radio shows were asking me if I've got a girlfriend or something, and-" Mahanon shakes his head. "What was I supposed to say?"

"Half the people in Hollywood aren't straight," Marian says. "If you're worried about coming out-"

"I'm not," Mahanon says fiercely. "I don't give a damn what people think about it, it's none of their business. But that's the whole problem - it's none of their damn business. My job should be about acting, shouldn't it? But even on that small show, everyone wanted to dig their fingers in. If I don't say anything and some paparazzi dickhead takes a photo of me with another man, I'm suddenly "closeted actor, found out, what a scandal," you know? But if I do, then it's this whole thing - this big coming-out story, and suddenly I have to act as a perfect figurehead for the community. I know it's getting better, I've seen all the same campaigns you have I'm sure, but- fuck, I never had to think about it before, you know? Never had to think of any kind of political implications for being who I am. I love acting, but I also just want to live, and fuck up, and say and do stupid shit without it all being written down and distributed for public scrutiny. I made a choice as to what's more important to me, and right now, this is it."

Marian takes all this in as Mahanon looks away from her, dark cheeks flushed as he takes a long swig of his beer. 

"Okay," she says.

Mahanon blinks, lowering his beer. "Beg pardon?"

"I literally can't argue with any of that," Marian says. "And I don't want to. It makes complete sense to me. Fuck knows I wouldn't want that kind of attention. If this is your way of compromising, then I think it's fine. Just... why PA work? With your family connections-"

Mahanon winces, and his eyes fall to his shoes again. 

"Well, I... I guess that's another part of it," Mahanon says quietly. "Look, I only got on that miniseries because the producer is friends with my mum. I hate that about this industry. Got nominated for some kind of award once it was finished and a costar told me I only got the nomination because of my family, and I knew they weren't entirely wrong. I honestly just wanted to see if I could do something for myself, you know? That way if I succeed, I'll know it's because of what I can do, not who I know."

Marian tilts her head. "Huh." 

"What?"

"So you left acting because you want privacy, but... are you sure it's not because of what that asshat said? That you didn't deserve what you got?"

Mahanon grimaces. "Let's call it a mix of both. Does it matter?"

"A little," Marian says. "It's not just the film industry that relies on connections, you know. If you're giving up your dream because it's not what you really want, that's one thing. But if you're giving it up because of something some jealous fuck said to you..."

"Now you're starting to sound like Alaine," Mahanon says.

"Heaven forbid," Marian says, and Mahanon snorts. "Hey, if you're not picked up by anyone before we go to camera, wanna work for us? It's not my decision, but I could use a little influence in the Locations department."

"I think most of Locations in Vancouver is either in love with you or afraid of you, to be honest," Mahanon says, seeming grateful for the change of subject. "Why, what do you need?"

"Merrill needs a job for the summer, and my little brother is in love with her and wants to work by her side to protect her from creepy grips," Marian says. "It's kind of a long story, but I'll definitely need someone sending me updates on the whole drama if just for the pure entertainment value. If you feel like making my summer."

Mahanon laughs, and says, "I'll think about it."

"Good man."

-

By the time Garrett gets to the Cambie, he and Fenris have had a lovely dinner, a nice little walk, and honestly he'd be perfectly fine if they both decided to head home right now and spend the evening cuddling on the couch with Anders' cats for a Kitchen Nightmares marathon (Anders has not let up in his moody obsession with the Food Network, and it's given Garrett a whole new addiction to American reality TV).

But he promised Marian he'd go, and he and Fenris are both attracted to the idea of free drinks, so they make their way through Gastown and up to the front door of the Cambie when-

"Oi! Garrett!"

Garrett turns to see Isabela hanging over the iron fencing around the patio, nearly squished by the throng of people gathered behind her. He and Fenris share a look and a shrug, then walk over to her. 

"It's a complete madhouse in there, quicker if you hop the fence, I think," Isabela says, elbowing a man out of the way to make room. "Come on, then."

"If I get kicked out for skipping the ID check at the front door, I'm dragging you with me," Garrett says, casting an eye to the bouncer at the front of the building, who watches him with narrowed eyes.

"He knows me, and I'm wearing a very low shirt tonight, I'm sure he'll be okay with it," Isabela says with a grin. "Don't be afraid to live a little, Garrett."

Garrett looks at Fenris, who just smirks at him. He sighs, and carefully maneuvers himself over the fence, squawking a little as it creaks and sways beneath his bulk and half-afraid he's going to slip and impale himself on a spike. He lands safely on the other side, and a quick glance at the bouncer reveals a man who looks very disappointed that he didn't maim himself in the process.

Garrett straightens, planning to offer to help Fenris over (and maybe entertaining some ideas of lifting Fenris into his arms, bridal-style, and carrying him over the fence in a show of manly strength and chivalry), only to see Fenris lightly jump the fence with one hand on the bar, exhibiting an easy strength and the flexibility of a gymnast. 

Garrett's mouth goes a little dry, and Isabela whistles. "Nice, barista boy. Do that kind of thing often?"

"Perhaps," Fenris says with a shrug, straightening the sleeves of his shirt down over his tattooed arms. "I heard there were free drinks?"

"Right this way," Isabela says with a little bow. "Oh, Gare, your sister wanted a word. Last I saw her she was brooding by the entrance to the bar. I'll try not to run off with your date while you're gone, but-" she lets her gaze wander up and down Fenris' slim frame, "-no promises."

"Please don't run off with my sister's girlfriend," Garrett says to Fenris. "No matter how low her shirt is."

"No promises," Fenris says with an arched brow and a slight grin, and Isabela laughs delightedly.

"Both of you are menaces," Garrett says, pointing at them as he steps into the crowd. "Both of you."

Neither Isabela nor Fenris seem too ashamed of themselves, much to Garrett's dismay. 

It takes a little searching and a lot of dodging overflowing cups of cheap beer being sloshed about by drunken film crew, but Garrett eventually spots Marian on the other side of the patio, frowning pensively about something. He passes in front of the doors to the main bar-

-and stifles a small scream as he's caught up in a massive bear hug by a man a foot taller and far broader than he is, who clearly intends to murder him boa-constrictor style. 

"Hawke!" the man booms, and releases him, much to Garrett's shock. "Good to see you, kid. Looks like you landed the barista after all, huh?"

Garrett looks up, wheezing a little, and- "Bull?"

"In the flesh," says Bull, folding his muscled arms over his chest with a broad grin. "I take it you're with the party, yeah? I was just inside catching a drink with Dorian and wondering what the fuck was going on out here."

"Dorian's here?" Garrett says, catching his breath and feeling his face light up. "You two are together, still! Fuck, that's cute."

"Turns out we're actually pretty good for each other," Bull says. "I've got to thank you for pulling me in that day - I mean, I would have gone for it anyway, but it was a decent thing to do. How're things with short, dark, and handsome, then?"

"Good," Garrett says, and finding himself smiling. "Really, really good. Um, your advice was- well, it was pretty spot on, in a lot of ways, I promise I didn't ignore it entirely."

"I'm kind of glad you did," Bull says with a shrug. "Just because something's a risk doesn't mean it's not worth taking, you know? And you seem happy, he seems happy- uh, who's the lady copping a feel of your man right now though, out of curiosity?" 

"My sister's girlfriend," Garrett says, not even turning to look. "Please don't ask."

"I'm in no place to judge," Bull says. "Actually, maybe you can help me out. Dorian and I've got our eyes on someone here, I'm wondering if you know him."

Garret blinks. "Got your eyes on someone- what for-?" Bull raises his eyebrow, and Garrett gapes a little, then says. "Oh. Oh! Oh, um, okay, which one?" 

"The cute one under the tree, there, close to the scary girl," Bull says, pointing to a small man with wild hair leaning up against the fence, about a foot away from Marian. Garrett snorts at the description. "He's wandered past a few times, and Dorian's quiet and all, but I could see him checking him out. Call it a month-and-a-half anniversary present. Know him?"

"I think he's one of my sister's PAs," Garrett says, with a nod to Marian. She catches sight of him and waves, with a bemused glance between him and Bull, a question in her sharp blue eyes. "I'd say she's less scary when you get to know her, but that's not true."

"Ah, fuck, I see it now. You two twins?" Garrett nods, and Bull says, "I thought so. I don't know how far into this little gathering I can get without gatecrashing, but if you wanna send him over here, I'd owe you- well, more, I guess."

"I can try," Garrett says, patting Bull on the arm. "Good to see you again, big guy. Say hi to Dorian for me, eh?"

"Sure thing. And if you're ever unattached and looking for a fun night-" Bull winks, "-you've got his number."

"I'm both aroused and intimidated by the very notion," Garrett says, and Bull laughs. 

Garrett navigates his way around a group of actors exchanging business cards and arrives in front of Marian, who hands him a beer. "Thanks. Um, this guy is your PA, right?"

Marian glances at the man next to her, who doesn't look up from his phone, and says, "He was. Why, what's up?"

"Thought so. Um- sorry, what's his name?"

"Mahanon." 

At the sound of his name, the man looks up, and- well, he's really quite young, actually. And Bull was right, he is very cute. Good eye.

"Everything okay?" Mahanon asks.

"Yeah, um-" Garrett rubs the back of his neck, and says, "Big guy at the front door there, kind of a friend of mine? He and his boyfriend think you're cute and they're wondering if you want to- hang out. So to speak."

Mahanon's mouth drops open, eyes widening. They only get wider when he glances over Garrett's shoulder and actually sees Bull, which is fair enough, really. 

Marian looks from Mahanon, to Garrett, and back, then says, "What?"

"He's kind of direct about these kinds of things," Garrett says with a shrug. "He definitely won't take it personally if you don't go over there by the way, he's not the type to-"

Mahanon is gone before Garrett finishes speaking, quickly making his way through the crowds until he's in front of Bull, looking impossibly tiny next to the massive man. Bull grins down at him and tosses a big thumbs up in Garrett's direction before placing a large hand on Mahanon's slim shoulders and guiding him back into the pub.

Marian gapes at Garrett for a moment, then shakes her head and says, "Did you- did you just draft my Key PA into a kinky gay threesome?"

"I think I just did," Garrett says. "Consider it revenge for having to watch your girlfriend hit on my hot date."

"I don't want to know," says Marian. "Okay, well, aside from the fact that that image is now seared in my brain forever and I'm not even sure if I'm that mad about it, I take it Bela sent you over here?"

"She did," Garrett says, taking Mahanon's place beside Marian and leaning back against the fence. "What's the hippity hap?"

"Never say that again, and I thought I'd let you know that Bela and I are staying downtown tonight. We've booked a hotel room."

"Okay."

"And Anders is working the night shift tonight."

"Yeah."

"And Bethany's going to a friend's after her shift at the restaurant is done."

"Cool."

Marian stares at Garrett, who stares back. "What?"

"Oh, God, Garrett, you're my brother, please don't make me spell it out," Marian says, cringing. "I'm saying you've got the house to yourself tonight, idiot."

Garrett blinks. "And?"

Marian makes an exasperated noise, drains her mug of beer, and nods pointedly to something over Garrett's shoulder.

Garrett turns to follow her gaze and sees Fenris with a mug in hand, already half a beer down, and listening with arched brows and Isabela pillowing her head on his shoulder as Varric tells him some kind of story. All Garrett hears is "Montreal," "seven redheads," and "proper appreciation of erotic literature," and he decides he doesn't really want to know. 

Fenris catches him looking, and his expression softens as their eyes meet, his lips curving into a gentle smile. 

"Do you get it now?" Marian asks quietly. 

It clicks. Garrett promptly drops his beer.

The mug doesn't shatter, but he and Marian are instantly soaked to the shins with cheap beer. Marian smacks his arm with a scowl. "I just cleaned these, dude."

"Sorry," Garrett says, feeling Fenris's eyes on him as he picks up the mug and brushes himself off, blushing. "I- I'm- thank you? Thank you, I'm not sure if we're- I mean I want- I'm sure he- there's just- but thanks?"

"Oh my God, Gare, calm down," Marian says softly. "I'm not throwing you two in bed together, I'm not Bela- who, by the way, is probably going to mention the empty house situation to Fen and might actually throw you two in bed together, physically."

"Your girlfriend is a menace."

"I'm okay with it. I just want things to work out for you two, okay? So if you need something - like, say, an empty house from time to time - just let me know."

Despite the fact that he is still probably red as a tomato and struggling not to drop his mug again, Garrett can't help but smile. "Marian, you're a sweetheart."

"Shut up."

"An absolute daisy of a human."

"I've thrown a man before and I will do it again- do not-"

Marian screeches a little as Garrett wraps his arms tight around her torso and lifts her into the air for a hug, and it's worth the sudden slosh of shitty beer down his back to hear his sister laughing.

"Playing cards with Varric," Isabela says, patting Garrett's arm. "Also, I made sure he was aware of the possibilities an empty house might provide. Just for you!"

"I'm pretty sure at this point the entire party is aware of that, thanks," Garrett says with a groan. "Did I mention we were taking things slow? I think I've mentioned before that we're taking things slow."

"Garrett, my dear, it's your third date. Given how long you two have been giving each other bedroom eyes, I'd say you've taken it slow enough. Mmm. He does smoulder quite well, doesn't he? I bet he's a growler."

"Oh my God, Bela-"

"Mr Garrett!"

Predictably, Merrill hugs Garrett the way she seems to hug anyone she holds affection for - a little like she's trying to tackle them into the ground and break their ribs on the way down. Luckily, because she is quite small, neither of these fates befall Garrett, though he's winded for the second time tonight as Merrill releases him and steps back. 

"Merrill, Carver," Garrett says, aiming for a helpful and jovial tone as he catches sight of his brother - beet red and looking ready for the Earth to swallow him whole. "How has the night been for you both?"

"Oh, well it's been quite lovely, actually! Very exciting. I think Carver's got some kind of a cold though. He's been having some trouble talking."

Garrett is not able to hold back his grin as he looks at Carver and says, "Has he, now?"

"He keeps tripping over words and coughing quite a lot," Merrill says, biting her lip, as Carver glares at Garrett behind her back and draws a finger across his throat. Garrett grins wider. "I'm actually very worried. I'll have to make him some tea when we get back to the dorms."

"Good to see Carver's got someone looking after him," Garrett says, as Carver buries his face in his hands. "He's got a bit of a weak constitution. Gets sick a lot."

"Does he?" says Merrill, as Carver grits out, "I do not."

"Someone's sick?" says Isabela, appearing at Garrett's elbow with two pints in hand. "Best cure for that's a little drink. Alcohol kills bacteria, you know."

"Ooh, are these for us?" Merrill says, as Isabela presses a beer into her hands. "Thanks ever so- oh dear, it's got a bit of an odd smell to it, hasn't it?"

"You get used to it," say Isabela and Garrett in tandem.

Carver does not say a word as he receives his drink - instead, he chugs it back like a man dying of thirst and finishes the whole pint in one go. 

"You've been hanging out with the frat boys too much," Garrett says, shaking his head and trying very hard not to be visibly impressed.

"Jealous," says Carver, putting the empty glass aside (though his eyes do seem to lose focus for a brief moment, and he sways a little on his feet). "Um, Merrill, you were talking about- uh-"

"Wales?" supplies Garrett.

"Oh, probably," says Merrill, with a little laugh. "I must sound terribly homesick, but I'm not, really. It's very exciting being on the other side of the world - and you've got such incredible scenery here! Those mountains just loom over this city, don't they? Not in a bad way or anything. And everyone seems so relaxed here. Could do without the smell, though."

"Well, we're about a block away from Victory Square, so that'll be the greenery you're smelling, sweetheart," Isabela says. "That is one stereotype about the West Coast that holds true. Couple of our fine film friends lit up around the corner not to long ago."

"Lit what?" Merrill says, blinking.

"Nothing," says Carver. "Anyway, you don't have mountains in Wales?"

Merrill laughs and starts enthusiastically describing the "decently-sized" mountains of Wales, at which point Isabela nudges Garrett's elbow and disappears back into the crowd with a wink. Taking it as a cue, Garrett ambles away, leaving his brother behind to fend for himself.

It only takes a quick wander through the crowd - passing a group of Teamsters playing a mystifying drinking game that seems to involve a deck of cards, incredible hand-eye coordination, and no small amount of balance - to find Varric, Fenris, and a few film crew sitting around the end of a sticky table with cards in hand, a pile of loonies and toonies on the table between them all. 

"In Montréal, they call this game 'Divine diaboliques,'" Varric is saying, as the other partygoers listen with avid interest. Fenris's lips tighten like he's trying not to laugh, but he says nothing. "Still, I think it might be European in origin. I've also heard it called-"

"Bullshit," says a stout woman with short hair and more piercings than Garrett can count, slapping her cards down on the table. "You made it up, didn't you? Just so you could win."

"If that were the case," says Fenris quietly, laying his cards down in front of the stacks of change, "I would not be winning."

A groan echoes around the table and Varric laughs as Fenris scoops the money towards his end of the table, his lips curving into his catlike smirk.

"Well, I'm tapped," says one man, lifting his empty beer glass with a sad sigh. "Come on Nelle, I think they've got a jug at the other end. Good game, gents."

"Still say it was a hustle," grumbles the woman with a sharp glare at Varric, before getting to her feet and following her friend into the crowd. 

"And I thought Bela would be the one to watch tonight, yet here you two are grifting these wonderful, innocent lambs," Garrett says in mock disapproval, nearly drowned out by an irate director shouting "Michael Bay can suck my cock, the talentless motherfucker" less than three feet away from him. "How much was in the pot, anyway?"

"I got the first round, a measly twenty bucks or so," Varric says, shaking his head. "No one wanted to bet anything higher than a toonie. Apparently some enterprising gambler cleaned them out at their last wrap party. But Little League here made a pretty decent chunk of change. That's gotta be bus money for you for at least a month, eh?"

"'Little League' is my newest moniker, apparently," says Fenris, carefully funnelling the change into his pockets. "I'm not sure it quite fits."

"My first New York Times Bestseller went through sixteen rounds of editing before I got it right," Varric says with a shrug. "You can't rush genius, kid."

"Evidently not."

"So you're enjoying the party?" Garrett asks, coming around to Fenris's side of the table and taking a seat on the bench next to him. 

"It has been nothing if not entertaining," Fenris says.

"Speaking of entertaining, this guy? I can't crack him," Varric says, pointing an accusing finger at Fenris. "I collect stories for a living, I'm good at getting things out of people, but man. Starting to think you're Jason Bourne or some shit."

"Or James Bond," Garrett says, covering his quick look to Fenris's expression with a smile. Knowing how Varric is about getting life stories from people, and knowing how Fenris is about his past...

But Fenris seems perfectly at ease, shrugging indifferently and saying, "Perhaps I just lead an incredibly boring life not worthy of any stories."

"Nah, it's a Jason Bourne case for sure," Varric says, leaning forward with a keen glance. "On the run from the FBI, government secrets in your head- an amnesia twist just to keep things interesting. Am I close?"

To anyone who doesn't spend a likely inordinate amount of time staring at Fenris's face, it would have been virtually unnoticeable. 

But Garrett, even with his head a little foggy from three tall glasses of shitty Cambie brew, sees it. The way Fenris freezes for the slightest fraction of a second, like time has stopped for him and no one else. Like a single frame caught in a film reel.

Then he adopts a playfully serious tone, a little deadpan, and says, "If I were to tell you, Varric, I would have to kill you."

"Me? The guy who just helped you win thirty-two bucks and seventy-five cents? Perish the thought." Varric stands, salutes Garrett, and says, "My glass is a little dry too. You two behave yourselves."

"Unlikely," Fenris murmurs, very close to Garrett's ear.

Garrett turns his head to see Fenris gazing up at him, something mischievous and a little dangerous and incredibly heated in his eyes. As Garrett stares at him, completely at a loss for words and utterly trapped by that look, he feels Fenris's hand come to rest on his thigh under the table. 

There's a bit of a question in Fenris's expression, one that Garrett is hoping the answer to might be "Yes, we can make sweet, passionate love on this grimy pub table in front of Marian's coworkers," and he's a breath away from voicing this thought aloud when he hears a familiar voice bark "Garrett!"

Garrett closes his eyes, curses under his breath, and looks around to see Marian leaning over the iron fence, looking vaguely pissed-off and utterly unconcerned with Garrett's love life, contrary to her statements earlier. Next to him, Fenris huffs an odd little mix of a sigh and a laugh, and moves his hand off Garrett's thigh. 

"I need someone with a beard and topping over six feet," Marian says, scowling. "Congrats, you've got the role."

"What are you talking about?" Garrett says, giving Fenris's shoulder a quick squeeze as he gets up from the table, closing the distance between himself and Marian.

"We've got a situation, and the people involved are too fucking wasted to know that they should be afraid of me because all they can see is a pair of tits," Marian says, eyes hard. "Care to help a sister out?"

"Who's doing what?" Garrett says, all irritation with his twin evaporating. 

Marian offers a hand and helps him back over the fence, gesturing towards the cabs. "We've been getting the first wave of girls heading home into the cabs, but I've got a group of utter shitbags from our crew and from the bar trying to pick off the drunkest ones. We've been managing, but it'd be easier if someone could step in and deescalate the situation. Someone who isn't... well, a woman." Marian grunts in clear frustration, and says, "I hate asking for this, but I'm about to break someone's nose."

"I know," Garrett says, striding forward. "Ri, you know you're the badass of the two of us."

"I know that, and you know that," Marian says bitterly. "But you're the one they're actually going to listen to."

Garrett winces.

At the curb where cabs have been stopping by to pick people up, there's a small crowd formed - a group of girls teetering a little on their heels, one of them supported by a friend of hers. Behind them, several men smoking and chatting, phones out. One man in particular seems to be getting aggressive with one of Marian's coworkers, who stands between him and another girl who shifts from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable. 

"She said she'd be coming home with me tonight, okay?" the guy is saying, shrugging with a slick smile. "I'm a gentleman, I'm not gonna do anything. We were just gonna hang out."

"She just told me she wants to go home," Marian's coworker says, hands on her hips and clearly refusing to budge. "So she's going home."

"It's okay, Ritts," the girl says, biting her lip. "I don't want to- to make a big deal, or anything-"

"See? It's all just a misunderstanding-"

"Alright!" says Garrett with false cheer, clapping his hands together as he approaches. "This is all looking very tense, so let's all take a few steps back, shall we? And by "we" I mean "you," buddy."

The man in question blinks at him, distracted from his target just long enough for Marian to quietly swoop in and put an arm around the girl's shoulders, murmuring quietly to her as she guides her away to a nearby taxi. "Hey, nothing's happening here, man."

"Kinda looks like it," Garrett says. "You getting all up in some girl's space - anyone else think that's a little gross, or just me?"

"Not just you," Ritts mutters, folding her arms and shooting the man a poisonous glare. 

He scoffs. "Come on, Ritts, I get enough of the angry lesbian act from Marian, I don't need you starting."

Garrett doesn't get angry easily, and he's never too happy about confrontational situations. That's what Marian is for - kicking ass, taking names and all. 

But fuck if he doesn't see red at that. 

"So, fun fact," Garrett says, a brittle grin in place as he takes the man by the arm and drags him away from Ritts a few steps, ignoring his sputtering protests. "That's my sister you were just talking shit about. I'm not gonna bother asking you to take it back, but I will tell you that you're gonna want to leave pretty much immediately, yeah?"

The man snorts and tries to shove Garrett off, scowling as Garrett's grip on his arm stays firm. "Alright, big guy, I get you wanna look tough, but those guys over there are all buddies of mine."

"Are they?" Garrett says. He hauls the man over to the group in question, who've been watching the situation unfold with some amusement. "So, does this guy speak for all of you, then? You all have a habit of hanging around women like desperate vultures and insulting people's sisters?"

One man rolls his eyes and flicks his cigarette, looking embarrassed. "That's just Eddy when he's drunk, man. He gets fucking stupid."

"Hey, fuck you, man," Eddy whines, squirming in Garrett's grip.

"Well, sorry to say it, but he makes you all look like assholes," Garrett says, shoving his cargo towards the group. "If you were hoping to pick up some girls hanging around out here, he's blown it for you. I suggest you take out your trash and try not to come off like such creepy dipshits next time you're out. Leave these women alone, okay? They just want to go home."

"We weren't-" one man tries to say, but at Garrett's look, shakes his head and drops his cigarette, grinding it to ashes under his heel. "Fair enough. Eddy, get a fucking cab home. I'm going back in."

Garrett considers telling the guy that no, he's not going back in, because quite frankly he's pissed with everyone in front of him right now and he happens to care about some of the people back at the party, but... he can only extend his privilege so far.

So instead he puts on his best glower and keeps his arms folded, watching Eddy stumble off to a cab alone doing an incredibly convincing impression of a sulking toddler as the others file back into the Cambie, looking annoyed but not the faintest bit ashamed or apologetic. 

"I hope you're not looking for a "thank you" for being a decent human being."

Garrett turns to see Ritts glaring up at him, tense with embarrassment and irritation. He scrubs his hands over his face with a sigh, feeling like he's got a lot more in common with the dirt under his shoes right now than he did a few minutes ago. 

"I'm really, really not," Garrett says quietly. "If anything I'm sorry for white-knighting it. It was all I could think to do to help."

Ritts scowls. "We didn't need your-"

"Yes we did, Ritts, don't be an ass," says Marian, sounding exhausted as she steps into the conversation. "I asked him over here, he's not trying to get into anyone's pants. Well. Not ours, anyway, his boyfriend's another matter entirely."

Garrett throws his hands in the air, staring up at the sky. "Everyone. Everyone at this party, I swear to God. You and Bela are gonna take out a billboard next, aren't you?"

"Nah, wouldn't get it up in time- oh, fuck, I wish Bela were here for that one, she would have thought of something funny to say. Anyway." Marian turns to Ritts and says, "Ella's headed home, she's gonna text you when she gets in. I'm gonna have a word with the bouncer at the door to keep an eye on those fuckers, but I'll stay to make sure all the girls get home okay anyway."

"I'll stay with you," Ritts says fiercely. "But I'm gonna need a few more drinks first." 

She slips away and back towards the doors of the Cambie, leaving Marian and Garrett alone.

"I know it doesn't help, at all, but... I'm sorry?" Garrett tries, turning to his twin. 

She snorts. "It's not the first time I've been called an angry lesbian, Gare, given that I am both a lesbian and often angry. I'm cool with it. You did a good job looking threatening."

Garrett winces. "It's stupid."

"Yeah."

"Like, fuck, if you need me to punch someone-"

Marian snorts, and shoves Garrett's shoulder. "I'm the one who throws the punches, kid."

"I'm one minute younger than you!"

"Makes all the difference. Anyway, you save that punch you've got somewhere in that Care Bear, touchy-feely brain for someone who really deserves it, okay? I'm good for now."

"Care Bears don't have beards." 

"There's a first for everything." Marian glances towards the doors, and sighs. "And I've gotta go see a man about a douche patrol. Fantastic."

Garrett bites his lip. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay? I can look scary. Scarier! I'll work on it. I've been told I can be very intimidating."

"Says the man whose voice climbs two octaves when faced with a How to Train Your Dragon plushie. Thanks, but I'm good. And anyway," Marian grins suddenly, nodding at something over Garrett's shoulder. "You've got an empty house to get back to, yeah?"

Garrett turns to see Fenris climbing back over the iron fencing, a little less gracefully than before. Marian snorts as one of Fenris's shoes catch at the top, and Garrett dives forward to keep Fenris from face-planting into the concrete.

It takes a little maneuvering to free Fenris's foot from the fence, and he looks distinctly ruffled by the time Garrett's managed to get him upright again. Garrett's sympathetic, but also far too enchanted by the little wrinkle of annoyance above Fenris's nose to keep from grinning a little. "That was smooth."

"The fence is taller than it was earlier," Fenris mutters. 

"Someone should look into that," Garrett says seriously, rubbing his thumbs over Fenris's shoulders as comfortingly as he can even as he struggles to stifle his giggles. "How're you doing?"

"Phenomenally," Fenris says. "But I think I've had enough, ah, film experience for one night."

"Fair and understandable," Garrett says. He glances over his shoulder at Marian. "Um, you gonna be okay if-?"

"Don't make me sic Bela on you," Marian says, pointing to the cabs. "You go. We're fine here, I promise. Try to keep your boyfriend from eating the concrete between here and the taxi, yeah?"

"Will do," says Garrett, as Fenris grumbles, "The fence grew."

Marian salutes them both, then turns to the bouncer, who seems to quail a little as she approaches. Scary girl indeed.

"So I've got the voucher from Riri, and it covers twenty-five bucks," Garrett says to Fenris, putting an arm around Fenris's shoulders and steering him towards the cabs. Fenris leans into his side, even smiling a little, Garrett can't keep from smiling like an idiot as he continues. "That gets us back to Kirkwall, and I've got cash on me for the tip. Um," Garrett pauses, realizing that he's making assumptions despite his words to Isabela earlier, and that he's quite possibly being a douche because of it. "Unless you want to get home, which- I can totally score another voucher off of my sister, she's probably got like fifty-"

"Hawke," says Fenris firmly, stopping in his tracks and pulling Garrett around by the front of his shirt to face him. His eyes are enormous in the dim light, and earnest, his voice quiet as he says, "I don't want to go home."

Garrett swallows. 

There's an abrupt beep of a car horn behind them that causes Garrett to jump with only a small squawk, worth it for the little laugh it draws from Fenris. Garrett glances over his shoulder to see a cab driver peering at them through an open window. "You getting in, or what?"

"Yep," says Garrett, nodding, taking Fenris by the hand and half-dragging him over to the taxi, while Fenris snorts and trips along behind him. "We are absolutely doing that, yessir."

-

The ride back to Kirkwall is... strange. 

It's a bizarre kind of quiet anticipatory limbo, and the semi-public space of the taxi cab makes the silence impossible to break. If they were a straight couple, Garrett thinks, they might have flirted. They might have been bolder in touches and whispers, in making the driver blush. Surely it's nothing the poor guy hasn't seen before - and hell, given how goddamn gay Vancouver is, Garrett's sure they would have been safe to do so even given the current circumstances. Garrett bites back a laugh, thinking of the torment Bull and Dorian probably put their driver through, with sweet little Mahanon sandwiched in the middle. 

But he's not quite so bold, and while the mood is there, it's still a little... new. Still not quite right. Not quite something he's confident about sharing with others, yet. 

The radio plays quietly in the cab, tinny and unremarkable, canned 90s ballads with an inordinate amount of Spanish guitar thrown in to embellish drum loops and synth strings. Garrett glances over at Fenris.

It's hard to read his expression in the dim strobe flashes of passing streetlights, but he catches glimpses - lips pressed thin, a slightly furrowed brow. There's something about his eyes that's... it's different. Garrett feels like he should know why it's different. Like there's something he's not reading from the details, a bigger picture that he's missing-

Fenris catches him looking. In the next flash of illumination, he's smiling. Just gently.

He stretches out a hand to the middle of the seat between them. Garrett takes it in his own. 

If the driver notices, he doesn't say a damn word about it.

-

Fenris bails out of the taxi the moment it rolls to a stop, leaving Garrett to settle up. Luckily between the voucher and the cash he's got on him it doesn't take very long, but Fenris is already waiting at the front door by the time Garrett manages to unfold himself from the cab's backseat. 

Fenris is frowning at the door like it's personally offended him as Garrett approaches, pulling his house keys from his back pocket. That odd tension from the cab is back in Fenris's face, in the set of his shoulders. 

Garrett doesn't want to curse anything, doesn't want to pry, but as he unlocks the door he adopts as casual a tone as he can and asks, "Hey, you okay?"

Fenris nods, not looking up, still frowning.

Garrett opens the door and ushers Fenris through, still a little concerned. "You just seem a little tense, is all. Sorry in advance for the mess- and the cats, actually, and the dog, she sometimes has a habit of-"

"Jumping people," is how Garrett was going to end that sentence, but he doesn't get the chance, as the moment the door closes behind him his arms are full with and his mouth thoroughly stolen by Fenris. 

He stumbles back with the force of Fenris's (extremely fucking welcome) onslaught, his back hitting the door with a solid thud as Fenris hauls him down by the front of his shirt to kiss him more thoroughly, a hand coming up to secure a grip on Garrett's hair, his teeth grazing Garrett's lower lip. He's up on his toes and pressing all of himself against Garrett like any space between them is too much, like they're both made up of magnets and the force of the pull between them is too strong to deny.

The shock of it wears off quickly, and once Garrett's brain catches up he wraps his arms tight around Fenris's slim frame, groaning as Fenris pushes up in Garrett's embrace to grind against him, his lips hungry and warm on Garrett's mouth. He leans back a little, releasing Garrett's hair as his quick fingers start making work of Garrett's jacket, trailing biting kisses down Garrett's neck that wring gasps from his throat as he lets his head fall back against the door. There's a perfect amount of pressure, a perfect sharpness to Fenris's attentions and hell, he might be a vampire or something but Garrett doesn't care. He's more than willing to go full Twilight for this beautiful man currently ripping his jacket off and tossing it to the side.

Fenris breaks away from Garrett's neck long enough to mutter "so much fucking plaid" as he moves on to Garrett's shirt, fumbling with the buttons. Garrett laughs and steals his hands back to help Fenris out, starting at the top as Fenris works his way up from the bottom. 

"You're a little clumsy today," Garrett teases, watching Fenris struggle with the buttons and thinking of how smoothly he works those coffee machines, the easy grace with which he hopped the fence at the Cambie when they'd first arrived. 

Fenris gives him a look, and takes care of the rest of the shirt with a sharp tug, popping the rest of the buttons. It's a testament to the hardiness of the fabric that only one button comes flying off, smacking against a far wall and rolling off to God knows where. 

"Okay," says Garrett stupidly, and it's honestly all he can do to get the words out because fuck if that wasn't one of the hottest things he's ever seen. 

Fenris smirks, and then he's on his toes again, taking Garrett's lip between his teeth as his hands start to roam over the bare skin of his chest and back. Garrett leans down to deepen the kiss, cupping Fenris's chin in his palm and finding the hem of Fenris's shirt with his other hand.

"Can I?" he murmurs against Fenris's lips.

Fenris snorts, as if the question is hardly worth asking, and steps away with a slight stumble, slipping out of his shirt and-

And Garrett's staring, which is rude, but he can't not stare. Those tattoos, the ones that are part of a past Fenris can't talk about, they cascade over his chest and back, hardly an inch of smooth brown skin left unmarked. They're beautiful.

Beautiful, and unsettling, because by the way the lines of ink cascade down over Fenris's sharp hips and disappear into his black jeans, Garrett's guessing that all of Fenris is similarly marked. And Garrett can't wrap his head around the idea of being covered head-to-toe in what Fenris has only ever referred to as a "bad memory."

He glances up, and Fenris is staring at him head-on, chin lifted in a slight challenge while his eyes speak of something far more vulnerable. 

"You're fucking gorgeous," is all Garrett can think to say, before closing the gap between them and pressing his lips to Fenris's mouth again, kissing him deep and sweet. 

It's overwhelming, feeling so much of Fenris's bare skin pressed against his own, the taste of Fenris's gasp and laugh as Garrett's hand wanders down to his beautifully tight ass, giving it a little squeeze. He runs his hand through Fenris's snowy hair, trails his lips down Fenris's neck, finds a place along Fenris's collarbone that makes him groan and nearly go limp in Garrett's arms.

Fenris's hands return to Garrett's chest, stroking over his ribs and stomach, and with a little laugh Fenris says, "You're a very hairy man, Hawke."

"It's a lumberjack thing," Garrett murmurs into Fenris's neck, grinning as this causes Fenris to squirm a little. "Hope it's alright."

"I like a man with texture," Fenris faux-purrs, and Garrett laughs outright. 

They manage to stumble back through the house, tripping out of shoes and over dogs and cats and cushions (Kitty and Pounce come to say hello, then retreat when they pick up on what's going on. Haunt watches with mild disgust from the top perch of a nearby cat tree, and does not approach.) The rest of Garrett's shirt comes off, and Fenris wastes no time in adding a few interesting marks to Garrett's chest with his lips and teeth, laughing at the surprised squawk that escapes Garrett's mouth as he slips his hands down the back of Garrett's pants, pulling him closer. 

"Fen," Garrett moans, breaking into a sharp gasp as Fenris's tongue laves over his nipple. "Fuck, Fen-"

Fenris leans up for another kiss, and Garrett gladly gives it to him, would happily stand here in the living room kissing Fenris until the end of time.

(Or at least until Anders comes home and starts yelling at them for making out in the living room.)

"Should we-?" asks Garrett breathlessly, and Fenris cuts him off with a kiss, and a nod.

He guides Fenris down the back hall, taking quick breaks for kisses - Fenris half-climbing him in the kitchen doorway, Garrett pressing Fenris against the corridor wall and tracing his tongue over the pulse point under Fenris's chin - until they stumble into Garrett's room and thank God he did the laundry yesterday, because there's actually floor space and the bed is somewhat made.

Even with the clean floor, Fenris manages to stumble a little on his way to the bed, and Garrett catches his arm with a laugh as he flicks the lights on. "You doing alright there?"

"Ugh, better without the spotlight," Fenris says, taking a seat on the edge of Garrett's bed and squinting up at him. 

"Not the best mood-lighting, huh?" Garrett says, dropping his keys on his desk and crossing over to his bed. He balances a knee on the mattress and slides a hand around the nape of Fenris's neck, kissing him, far from willing to break away too soon. 

When he does, he pulls back only a little, just enough to really look at Fenris - his full lips swollen with kisses, his hair in disarray...

His eyes glassy and dazed, and while Garrett's confident that he's pretty good at this whole necking business... he's not that good. 

He thinks of Fenris's uncustomary clumsiness, his stumbling, and says, "On a scale of one to alcohol poisoning, how drunk are you?"

Fenris blinks at him, looking utterly thrown, then snorts. "Does it matter?"

He leans forward for a kiss, and Garrett allows it, feeling uneasy. 

But when Fenris breaks away, Garrett says, "A little."

Fenris frowns at him, and Garrett hastily adds, "Not cause I'm a teetotaller or anything, I mean- you've seen me. And it's adorable. You're adorable. But this- we shouldn't be doing this if you're drunk."

"Garrett," Fenris says, and hearing his first name on Fenris's lips... fuck, it does things to him. "I want this. I do. And this can work, like this." He laughs a little, but it's a bitter sound, and adds, "You should really take advantage while you have the chance."

Garrett freezes, full-stop. "What?"

Fenris blinks, and it seems to take a moment for his mind to catch up with what he just said. He grimaces and shakes his head. "Ignore that. I'm drunk. Ignore it."

Fenris tries for another kiss, but though it breaks Garrett into at least five pieces to do so, he pulls away.

The look on Fenris's face at this is devastating, hurt and confusion and humiliation rolled into an expression that tears at Garrett's heart.

Then he watches as this look is carefully tucked away behind a blank expression, neutral and guarded, until finally Fenris looks away. 

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, getting to his feet. 

Garrett's hand is still on Fenris's arm, so he's able to catch him as he starts walking towards the door.

"No, I don't- please stay," Garrett says, standing and gently pulling Fenris back towards him. Fenris allows it limply, though he doesn't look at Garrett as he's turned to face him. "Please. It's late, and Transit is bullshit, and I just... really want you to stay. If that's okay."

Fenris looks up at Garrett, some of that guardedness falling away and replaced with honest confusion. "Why would you want me to stay if you won't-?"

Fenris bites back the rest of the question, his eyes dropping again, but Garrett can fill in the blanks. Why would you want me to stay if you won't have sex with me?

The question lands a little like a slap - not so much the words, but the genuine sentiment behind them. The idea that this is all Garrett wants from Fenris, all Fenris has to offer. 

You should really take advantage while you have the chance.

Garrett wraps his arms around Fenris's bare shoulders and hugs him close, pressing his lips to the top of Fenris's head. Fenris stiffens in his arms, then relaxes, but he's still tense with confusion and it fucking hurts to feel it. 

"I'm tipsy as shit, and you're drunk," Garrett says eventually, as Fenris tucks his face into the crook of Garrett's neck and breathes deep like he's looking for an anchor. Something to ground him. "Honestly neither of us are probably in the best shape for any kind of serious conversation, yeah? Or any conversation. Case in point, I'm rambling."

Fenris huffs a little laugh at that, but the tension is still there, and he doesn't lift his face from Garrett's shoulder. 

"I propose we both drink enormous glasses of water, then find some piles of blankets to roll up in and then let's not move for like, a hundred years. Does that sound good?"

Fenris doesn't respond for a while, a worrying while. Then, very slightly, he nods.

He doesn't say much else as Garrett gathers the water for them both and pulls out all the blankets he can find from the pile under his bed. Fenris sips his water carefully and is awfully pliable as Garrett ushers him into bed and pulls the covers up over him. 

Then, very quietly, Fenris says, "Your lizard is judging us."

Garrett glances over at Archie's tank to see the bearded dragon pressed up against the glass, staring out from the darkness of his terrarium with narrowed, beady eyes.

"It's past his bedtime," Garrett says with a scowl. "Archie, you're being a creep."

Archie blinks, and does not seem to care. 

Garrett looks back at Fenris, who's smiling a little, now. 

"Archie is a strange name for a lizard," Fenris says.

"Short for Archdemon," Garrett says, taking the glass of water from Fenris's hands and placing it on the bedside table. "There was this videogame that was hard as all hell to beat, but there were dragons involved so obviously I couldn't give up on it..."

Two minutes into the story of Marian, Carver, Anders, Bethany, and Aveline grouped around on the couch drinking beer and watching Garrett die multiple times over a three-hour stretch of gaming before realizing he'd accidentally switched the game to the Nightmare difficulty setting, Fenris's eyes drift close. Soon his breathing evens out into long, gentle sounds. 

Smiling, but still troubled, Garrett whispers "goodnight" to Fenris and gathers up the spare blankets. 

He'll be sleeping on the couch tonight. 

To: RULE63ME

is that a zombie sound are u a zombie now

From: RULE63ME

It's the sound of a woman with a migraine, is what it is.

To:  RULE63ME

is it because of douchecanoe

To:  RULE63ME

good ol what's his nuts

From:  RULE63ME

If you mean Corypheus then yes.

From:  RULE63ME

*Corey Pheus what a weird fucking name. 

To:  RULE63ME

what is it this time?

From:  RULE63ME

Just an overall douchiness. And he's still picking on Mahanon. The kid's couching it in smiles and happy texts but Carver's been keeping me in the loop.

To:  RULE63ME

I thought mahanon was keeping u in the loop about carver?

From:  RULE63ME

It's called strategy. I'm very strategic. 

To:  RULE63ME

uh huh. anyway isn't mahanon still seeing dorian and bull like all bull has to do is show up to set and squint at the guy and the guy will be like "holy fuck" and idk probably cry. I would cry.

From:  RULE63ME

I'd pay to see that tbh. I don't know, Mahanon's got that "stiff upper lip" stoic suffering British thing. Not even Alaine knows.

To:  RULE63ME

he's also adorable and has the eyes of a bushbaby how could anyone ever be mean to him is my question like even haunt would probably give him a pass.

To:  RULE63ME

speaking of HAUNT IS SITTING IN FEN'S LAP RIGHT NOW THEY'RE DOING SOME KIND OF WEIRD SILENT MUTUAL RESPECT BONDING THING

From:  RULE63ME

Pics or it didn't happen. So Fen's over rn then?

To:  RULE63ME

yeah we're hanging out. I'm gonna make dinner soon, want me to save you some?

From:  RULE63ME

Nah, I'm gonna be home pretty late. Like really late. It's a night shoot tonight and while I shouldn't have anything to do with that I'm going down to set to... supervise. See how our diva is doing. There's still leftovers of that Thai takeout from last night, right?

To:  RULE63ME

yep unless bethany takes it or anders or bela

To:  RULE63ME

but I won't take it

To:  RULE63ME

because I'm a good brother

From: Officer Coppertop

GARRETT CALL ME NOW PLEASE VERY URGENT

From:  RULE63ME

Uh huh. Say hi to Fen for me and take pictures of the supposed bonding or I'm chalking it up to the lies of a smitten man.

From: Officer Coppertop

EXTREMELY VERY URGENT

To:  RULE63ME

will do and is there any reason why aveline is sending me all caps texts??? she's freaking the fuck out.

From:  RULE63ME

None that I'm aware of...?

From: Officer Coppertop

I KNOW YOU CAN SEE THESE GARRETT PLEASE CALL RIGHT AWAY

Garrett frowns at his phone as he walks into the living room, passing Fenris a glass of red wine and carefully maneuvering his beer bottle out from the crook of his elbow as he takes a seat in his beaten-up armchair. Fenris watches passively, taking a small sip of wine and softly stroking Haunt's fur - Haunt, who has cat-loafed regally in Fenris's lap, and seems content to stay there for the time being.

"Everything alright?" Fenris asks.

"I dunno," Garrett says, tilting his head. He glances up at Fenris and Haunt and says, "That's a straight-up Disney miracle right there, by the way."

"We've reached an understanding," Fenris says, giving Haunt a little scratch behind the ears. "I do not approach him. He does not bite me. We enjoy each other's company in certain conditions, but we do not actively seek it of one another. He is a noble creature, and unlikely to lick my face."

"That's Kitty's way of saying she likes you," Garrett says. "Or your aftershave. For a while it was definitely the aftershave, for me."

"There are far better ways of showing affection," Fenris says.

"Oh?" Garrett grins at Fenris, smile broadening as Fenris catches his eye and flushes a little. "Care to elaborate?"

Fenris looks away, but he's clearly biting back a smile. "Perhaps."

Bzz bzz.

From: Officer Coppertop

GARRETT. NOW.

"Damn it," Garrett mutters, putting down his beer. "Sorry, babe. I gotta make a quick call."

"Haunt and I will amuse ourselves, then," Fenris says, and Haunt has the damn nerve to chirp in agreement, and butts his little head into Fenris's palm. 

Aveline picks up halfway through the first ring.

"What took you so long? Didn't you see my texts? I said urgent!"

"I saw," Garrett says, settling back in his chair. "I figured if something were on fire, you'd call me. Is something on fire?"

"This is not the time for Hawke humour, damn it, there's a reason I called you instead of Marian. You... have a slightly better handle on this sort of thing."

Without a mirror handy Garrett can't see what his face is doing, but if he had to hazard a guess he'd probably describe it as "utterly nonplussed." Fenris, who's not doing a very good job of pretending not to listen in, seems to echo the sentiment. "What kind of thing? Police work? Fires? You still haven't answered my question about the fire."

"There is no fire, Garrett. It's just- I might have made a mistake, alright? And I don't quite know how to fix it, or- or if it can be fixed. Or if I should fix it. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"...No?"

"For heaven's sake- alright, I guess I'm not being very clear. That might be the whole damn problem, actually. God, what a mess. What was I thinking?"

"Aveline, I love you, but you're rambling. Like, a worrying amount."

"I'm sorry, Garrett, I- alright, out with it then, there's... a man."

Garrett's mouth falls open, and Fenris's head lifts at that, clearly intrigued. "Aveline-"

"He's a good man, Garrett, he's an officer under my command-"

"Aveline-"

"Shut up and listen to me. I- I tried to make it... apparent, how I felt. Without harassing him or making him uncomfortable. There are strict guidelines for behaviour between officers - as there should be! - so I had to get creative."

Garrett winces. "Creativity isn't your strong suit."

"I'm aware."

"Remember in third grade when you tried to make a recipe for homemade cookies and-"

"I'm aware, Garrett-"

"-there was more salt than flour and it was inexplicably pink-?"

"This wasn't like that, it was actually a good idea, I swear! I picked up a lapel pin I saw in a thrift store that I thought conveyed the message perfectly."

"Did the pin say, 'Hey, you're cute, we should do lunch?' Because otherwise I'm not sure I'm going to agree with your assessment."

"It was a flower. A marigold, or something. Made of copper. Get it?"

Garrett looks to Fenris for help, at a complete loss. Fenris shrugs and shakes his head, seeming equally bemused. "Nope."

"Copper, Garrett! I'm the only redhead in the office, and flowers are a sign of affection. It should have been obvious."

"Maybe she should try licking his face," Fenris says in an undertone. Garrett fakes a cough to cover his laugh. 

"I hope you're not getting that cold that's going around, Garrett, it's a nasty one. Anyway, he just seemed... confused by it. So I tried again, changed his shifts around so he had some easier cases, which was very difficult by the way! But for some reason he thought it was a punishment of some kind, and now he won't speak to me. I can't tell if he's angry, or if he thinks I'm angry with him, but I'm clearly going about this the wrong way, and- and I need help."

Garrett feels his heart soften a little at that, and he says, "I'm glad you feel you can come to me with these things, Aveline."

"What are best friends for, right? And... well, to be quite honest, Bethany's phone is turned off. I think she's at work. But you were a very close second!"

Garrett winces. "Fair enough."

It takes a few minutes to get Aveline calmed down, but by the end of the phone call they have standing plans to drag her new crush ("Don't call it that, Garrett, it's so... juvenile sounding. Ugh.") out to the Hanged Man on Saturday. Garrett hangs up with a shake of his head. 

"She seemed very nervous," Fenris says. "It's not very like her, is it? Has she done this kind of thing before?"

"Kind of," Garrett says, picking up his beer. "But it was a long time ago. She got married right out of university to someone she met when she was eighteen- damn, that was almost ten years ago." At Fenris's questioning look, Garrett adds, "He, um. Died. Just over two years ago now."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Fenris says quietly. "Were you close?"

"With her husband? Not really. He was kind of conservative, and- well, he loved Aveline so we had to love him, but he was kind of a dick. Sorry, Wes, if you're listening in. It's nice to see Aveline getting on with her life, though."

"It's wise of her to do so," Fenris says. "Though... it sounds as if she'll need some help. Copper marigolds?"

Garrett winces. "You know that kid who always has to explain their Hallowe'en costume? Aveline was that kid. And she never made it easy by choosing a red-haired character! Like, if you're gonna wear a Gryffindor Hogwarts costume, we're obviously going to assume Ginny, not Hermione, you know?"

Fenris laughs, disturbing Haunt, who casts Fenris a caustic look. "Apologies, friend. You know, I've never seen those movies."

"You've never seen Harry Potter?"

"I only started reading the books last year," Fenris says with a shrug. "I thought they were quite good. I'm halfway through the third one."

"The movies don't hold a candle to the books, but they're still pretty great," Garrett says. "I think we have the first one lying around here somewhere- we could watch it with dinner?"

"I'm amenable," Fenris says with a smile. "And speaking of dinner, you had a secret recipe you wished to show me?"

"Spicy garlic shrimp pasta... thing. I kind of made it up. But I promise it's delicious. You sure you want to risk the wrath of Haunt by moving, though?"

"As I said, we have an understanding," Fenris says. He taps Haunt on the rump and says, "Up now, if you please."

Haunt makes a low grumbling sound, but rises from Fenris's lap, taking a long moment to stretch before stalking away to the other end of the couch. 

"You're like Jackson Galaxy," Garrett says, awestruck. At Fenris's bemused look Garrett adds, "He's the cat version of the Dog Whisperer. The Cat Whisperer! He'll not only fix your cat, he'll fix your relationships. He's saved an impressive amount of marriages for a cat behaviouralist."

"'Cat behaviouralist' is not a job," Fenris says, getting to his feet and crossing over to Garrett's armchair, taking a sip of wine. "It is, at best, an overly ambitious attempt to justify a dangerous obsession with felines."

"Don't tell Anders that," Garrett says, grinning as Fenris perches on the armrest. "He loves My Cat From Hell. I've watched him cry over it."

"Colour me unsurprised," Fenris mutters. "Anyway, you still have yet to show me anything, Hawke."

Garrett grins and slips his arm around Fenris's waist. "What, are you getting hungry?"

"More impatient than anything," Fenris says, sliding off the armrest and into Garrett's lap. It's cute and hot and utterly devastating, and Garrett's pretty sure his heartbeat becomes easily audible as Fenris looks up at him with those fucking eyes of his. "I was promised some action." 

Garrett swallows. "Um, sadly our kitchen doesn't get that exciting- well, unless you count the time Marian set the oven on fire-"

Fenris kisses him, slipping his hand around the back of Garrett's head to pull him in closer. It's all Garrett can do not to toss his beer away so he can wrap both arms around Fenris and haul him in tight, cradle him close against his chest, maybe let his lips travel a little lower down that long, lean throat-

"Mrrow."

Fenris and Garrett break away from one another to see Haunt on the edge of the couch, tail thwapping the cushions as he glares at the two of them. 

"Look, you got your time with Fen, now it's my turn," Garrett says reasonably, as Fenris tucks his face into Garrett's shoulder and laughs. "If you're lonely, go track Pounce or Kitty down. They're probably curled up together somewhere."

Haunt bares his teeth, and without warning or cause, launches himself at Garrett's chest.

In the ensuing scuffle, Garrett winds up with three cat scratches down his arm, half a glass of wine in his lap, and pretty much all of his beer on his shirt. Fenris, somehow, gets out of things mostly unscathed, save for possible a scratch or two as Haunt uses him as a convenient shield from Garrett's wrath before taking off down the hall, yowling all the way.

"Little psycho ball of asshole," Garrett mutters, pulling at his beer-soaked shirt. Fenris, tragically but understandably, is no longer sitting in his lap, and is instead standing a few paces away looking as though he's trying very hard to be sympathetic, and trying significantly less hard not to laugh. "I thought you two had an understanding!"

"You shouldn't have told him to approach the dog for affection," Fenris says straight-faced, though there's a muscle twitching in the corner of his mouth. "I'm sure he took offence to it."

"Oh, my bad, then," Garrett mutters, getting to his feet and wincing as beer trickles down his front. "Sorry, I'll be back- gonna change my shirt so I don't smell like a brewery."

Fenris is kind enough to wait until Garrett is out of the room before he starts laughing outright, his low chuckles following Garrett down the hall and into his room. 

Garrett doesn't bother closing the door as he peels off his shirt with a wince, using the driest part of it to dab at the wine on his jeans before tossing it into his overflowing laundry hamper. He still smells like beer, so he takes a moment to spray on some nice pine-smelling shit Bethany got him last Christmas to cover the scent. 

He's in the process of digging through his drawers, trying to find a clean shirt appropriate for a casual date night (and preferably one that doesn't have superheroes or funny captions on it, which rules out at least 50% of his wardrobe), when he hears his bedroom door close. 

He looks over his shoulder to see Fenris leaning back against the door, his eyes heated as his gaze travels over Garrett's bare back and shoulders, his lips parted very slightly. 

Garrett slides his drawer shut and straightens, closing the distance between them. Fenris lifts his chin a little - a challenge and an invitation. 

"Fen?" Garrett asks quietly, resting his hands on Fenris's narrow hips. 

"I'm getting on with my life," Fenris says, lifting his hands to loop them around the back of Garrett's neck, pressing forward to close the distance between them.

The first kiss is gentle. The second, less so. 

By the third Fenris is on his toes to kiss Garrett deeper, a hand nesting in Garrett's hair as the other slides down over his bare back. Garrett slips his hands under Fenris's thighs and lifts, smiling against Fenris's lips as Fenris squawks a little in surprise and quickly scrambles for a firmer grip, wrapping his legs around Garrett's waist as Garrett balances him back against the door. From this angle he can press kisses against Fenris's throat, drag his lips over the line of tattoos tumbling down Fenris's neck and over his collarbones, disappearing into his shirt. He bites, very gently, and is rewarded with a soft groan from Fenris, his grip around Garrett's shoulders tightening. 

Garrett kisses a particularly sensitive spot under Fenris's ear, and Fenris curls forward with a shudder, hips hitching in Garrett's hold. He rakes his fingers down Garrett's back, and they both groan as Garrett presses up between Fenris's legs, feeling a growing need for friction as he hardens in the confines of his jeans. 

He secures his grip on Fenris and turns, taking a few steps and lowering him down on the edge of the bed. Fenris keeps his arms around Garrett, gazing up at him, his pupils blown wide. 

"How far do you want this to go?" Garrett murmurs, running his palms up Fenris's thighs, over his hips, up his sides and grinning as Fenris squirms a little under his hands.

"I, um-" Fenris bites his lip, still pulling Garrett in close as he tries to find his words. "I- I don't think I can do anything... penetrative, just yet."

Garrett nods, and kisses Fenris, hoping he's being reassuring. "Okay."

"But I want to make you- see you finish," Fenris says a little more confidently, effectively stealing Garrett's breath away. "And..."

He seems to struggle for a moment, and Garrett waits, until finally Fenris curses a little and snatches up one of Garrett's hands, pressing it between his legs.

Garrett's mouth drops a little. Fenris raises his eyebrows, staring at him. 

Then Garrett cups his palm against the bulge in Fenris's black jeans, giving it a slow, firm stroke, and Fenris lets out a pitched whine that makes Garrett want to put his mouth all over him, to see what other sounds he can tease out. 

Garrett finds Fenris's lips again, kissing him as he keeps a firm hand between Fenris's legs. Fenris's breath is panted out against Garrett's mouth, hitched and gasping. He takes his hands off Garrett just long enough to pull his shirt off over his head. Garrett makes a low noise of appreciation at this, quickly turning to a short laugh as Fenris growls a little and flips them both over, nearly sending them tumbling off the bed.

Garrett scoots up the mattress a little and Fenris follows, straddling Garrett's lap and cupping his face with both hands to kiss him. The kiss ends with a bite, teeth closing over Garrett's bottom lip with a sweet sharpness that drags a low groan from his throat. His hands roam over Fenris's bare back, down to his wickedly tight ass, which Garrett can't help but give a little squeeze. Fenris breaks away with a sharp intake of breath, but the look in his eyes is heated and wanting.

He takes Garrett by his shoulders and pushes him down against the mattress. Garrett goes easily, a little blown away by Fenris's manhandling and utterly, utterly okay with it. Fenris nips at Garrett's earlobe before trailing his mouth down Garrett's neck, pausing to suck a mark just aside his Adam's apple. Garrett arches up into Fenris with a groan, his hands tightening on Fenris's ass. 

"That's gonna be impossible to cover up, you know," Garrett says when he has his breath back, more a conversational aside than a complaint.

"Good," Fenris says lowly, a kind of savage satisfaction in his voice that makes Garrett want to shout "Take me, I'm yours." Despite how strong the urge may be, it doesn't quite seem appropriate for the situation.

Fenris proceeds to pepper Garrett's collarbone with similar marks, lingering in the hollow of Garrett's throat, his lips and teeth causing Garrett's toes to curl. Then he sits up, his deft, scarred hands making quick work of Garrett's belt, and fuck if that isn't something Garrett's storing in his mind for nights when Fenris isn't around to rip his clothes off in a manly fashion. 

It takes two of them to get the job done - Fenris impatiently fumbling with the zipper, Garrett lifting his hips and nearly sending Fenris tumbling down on top of him - but soon Garrett is out of his jeans, and lying mostly naked under Fenris in nothing but his-

"Are those Transformers?" Fenris says, sounding vaguely dismayed as he stares down at Garrett's choice of boxers. 

"From the 80s cartoon, not the Michael Bay movies, if that helps," Garrett says. 

"It does not," Fenris says, but to Garrett's immense relief he leans back down and presses himself along Garrett's front, lifting his head just enough to catch Garrett's lips with his own. He even rolls his hips, grinding the front of his jeans down against Garrett's aching hard-on, which punches a sharp gasp out of Garrett's chest because fuck, fuck, he wants this. Wants Fenris tangled up with him and moving like this, breath warm and panting across Garrett's skin as he rubs himself against him. The sounds Fenris is making, soft moans and gasps punctuating his breaths, are slowly driving Garrett insane.

"You're- fuck, shit, Fen, you're still wearing pants," Garrett says. "Can I change that?"

Fenris pauses for a moment, and Garrett worries he's hit a roadblock, crossed one of those invisible lines. Then Fenris smiles, kisses Garrett's nose, and says, "Okay."

Garrett grins and rolls them back over again, Fenris looking faintly amused and positively debauched beneath him; his white hair is more than a little tousled, his skin flushed and parted lips red and full and fuck, Garrett wants a picture of this. Five hundred pictures of Fenris looking up at him like there's nothing he wants more than Garrett between his legs, hungry for Garrett's touch. It's enough to make him almost dizzy with want. 

But as gorgeous as shirtless-Fenris is, Garrett's still eager to see shirtless- and pantless-Fenris. He steals a quick kiss from Fenris's lips, eagerly returned, and sits up to help Fenris out of his sinfully tight black jeans.

He shouldn't have been surprised by the tattoos. He'd even guessed so much after seeing how the curving white lines disappeared past the hem of Fenris's jeans.

But it was one thing to theorize, and quite another to see them, slowly revealed as he pulls the fabric down over Fenris's lean thighs and calves. His faded black boxer-briefs cut the lines between his hips and thighs, but they continue down over his legs in intricate swirls and whorls, right down to his feet and even lining each toe.

He can't hide the look on his face, he knows- equal parts struck by the beauty of them, and reminded that something about these tattoos hurt Fenris. Not a single patch of skin has been left untouched by them, so it would seem. Garrett's even come to notice three small dots of white ink on Fenris's forehead, hidden under side-swept bangs for the most part.

He glances up, and Fenris isn't looking at him, but his self-consciousness is written clearly in the slump of his shoulders, the way he grips the sheets beneath his hands.

Garrett tosses Fenris's jeans aside and loops his arm under Fenris's calf, lifting it just enough so he can press a kiss to the side of Fenris's knee. Fenris's head snaps up at this, his expression confused and maybe a little alarmed, but not unwanting. 

He watches Garrett, breathing heavily as Garrett leaves a trail of kisses up Fenris's inner thigh, close enough that he catches the heady scent of Fenris's arousal. He skips up to Fenris's hips, laying open-mouthed kisses on each hipbone and trailing his tongue over the thin skin stretched tight between them, eliciting a full-body shudder from Fenris, who's still gripping the sheets tightly but now for an entirely different reason. 

Garrett hooks a finger into the waistband of Fenris's briefs, and looks up. "Can I...?"

Fenris swallows, looking very conflicted, but eventually shakes his head. "Not- not yet. Sorry."

"Don't be," Garrett says, releasing the fabric. He leans up to give Fenris a gentle kiss. "Don't ever be sorry about that, okay? Thank you for telling me."

If Fenris was confused before, he looks heartbreakingly bewildered now, but he just nods and leans in for another kiss.

Garrett presses his lips to Fenris's mouth, then his chin, before lowering himself back down between Fenris's legs. "I won't take anything off, but... I was wondering if I could put my mouth on you."

Fenris's eyes flare very, very wide at that. "Through the-?" Garrett nods. Fenris heaves a very large breath, and says, "I haven't- no one has ever-"

He winces, and Garrett manages to keep his expression very neutral, but if Fenris is saying what Garrett thinks he was going to say... well, it's just another bit of fuel to feed the burning hatred Garrett holds for Fenris's shadowy, abusive ex. 

Garrett waits, and maybe cheats a little by drawing the tip of his finger down over Fenris's clothed erection. Fenris whimpers at this, keen desperation in his voice, and nods. 

Garrett wastes absolutely no time and wraps his arms around Fenris's thighs, ducking his head down to mouth at the bulge in Fenris's briefs. Fenris gasps and collapses back onto his elbows, thrusting up into Garrett's mouth. The reaction seems utterly involuntary, but it's a damn good sign, and just to make things a little easier for both of them Garrett bars his arm across Fenris's hips to keep him still, quickly petting Fenris's bare thigh reassuringly with his other hand.

It's something to savour, the way Fenris squirms beneath him as he licks at the fabric over the tip of his cock, how he seems to have trouble breathing as Garrett huffs warm air over him, how his hands finds Garrett's hair and tug, hard, as Garrett takes as much of him into his mouth as he can, bound up in cloth as he is. Soon Fenris's chest is heaving, breath leaving him in gasps and whimpers and curses and whispers of Garrett's name- Garrett, not "Hawke," and the difference adds to the pool of warmth building in the pit of Garrett's stomach. He finds himself starting to grind into the mattress to relieve a little of the pressure, the pressing need between his own legs, because fuck but Fenris is beautiful, and he can start to taste him a little on his tongue and it's so fucking good.

He licks a long strip up the cloth, from where he can feel Fenris's balls up to the tip of his shaft, then back down, taking a moment to tease his tongue into the crease of Fenris's inner thigh. Fenris writhes a little at this, gasping, and says, "Garrett, fuck, I'm-"

He breaks off into a pitched, almost helpless-sounding little moan, and tries to tug Garrett up and away from himself by his hair. Garrett, having some idea of what Fenris is trying to say, places his hand over Fenris's on the back of his head and twines their fingers together, lowering himself back down to mouth at Fenris's erection some more, moaning against him to show that he wants this, wants to taste him, wants to give him this, see him come apart with pleasure under the touch of his lips.

Fenris squirms, arches back against the mattress, and releases with a strangled cry, shivering as his cum seeps through the fabric of his briefs and into Garrett's mouth. Garrett licks up as much as he can, causing Fenris to jerk and shudder under him through the aftershocks and the continuing attention to now-oversensitive skin. When Garrett raises his head, Fenris is just staring at him, eyes heavy-lidded and his lips parted, one hand still gripping Garrett's tightly (as well as a chunk of Garrett's hair, which is a little painful but Garrett is so very, very far from minding at the moment). 

Garrett plants one more kiss against the damp patch in Fenris's briefs, right over the tip of his softening cock, and moves up the bed until he's face-to-face with Fenris, who's still staring and honestly looks a little concussed. 

"Was that alright?" Garrett asks, lifting a hand to smooth a little of Fenris's hair away from his eyes.

Fenris chokes a little. "'Was that-?' Fuck, Garrett-"

He crashes their mouths together, answering Garrett's question of whether or not Fenris is opposed to kissing someone with a case of cum-mouth. He presses himself close to Garrett, pushing him a little until he rolls onto his back, Fenris stretched out along his side and kissing him, still. 

Fenris hooks a leg over Garrett's, trailing the tips of his fingers down Garrett's chest, pausing to tease a nipple. Garrett groans at this and reaches down to palm at himself through his boxers, only to have Fenris smack his hand away from himself - dangerously close to his balls, which is momentarily nerve-wracking, but luckily it's a very precise and carefully-angled strike.

"Fen-" Garrett starts to say, planning to follow up with something along the lines of "I can take care of myself if you're not comfortable with it, also you're very pretty," only to break into a sharp gasp and a moan as Fenris slips his hand under Garrett's waistband and into his boxers, wrapping his long fingers around Garrett's cock. 

"I've woken up from dreams of doing this since meeting you," Fenris murmurs in Garrett's ear, slowly working his hand over Garrett's erection, his strokes smooth and fucking unbearably inflaming. It's Garrett's turn to squirm, now, breathing heavily as Fenris continues. "It's been more than a little maddening, having to bring myself off alone, imagining my hand on you, your face as I make you cum-"

Well, fuck, Garrett's only human. 

Sure, it's embarrassing how quickly he cums, curling up into Fenris's hand and gasping out his name, but Fenris is hardly playing fair. Garrett has absolutely no defence against that voice, and the image of Fenris touching himself, thinking of him... it's enough to make his mind stop working entirely for a few blindingly awesome seconds.

He comes back to himself slowly, turning his head and seeking Fenris's lips. It takes barely half a second, then Fenris is there, and kissing him slowly, deeply, with the lazy tempo of satisfaction that comes from a good orgasm. 

Fenris slips his hand out of Garrett's boxers, wet with cum, and lifts it to his mouth. Garrett watches with what he's sure are bulging eyes as Fenris licks his hand clean. 

"Holy shit," says Garrett weakly. Then, "I think I just came on Optimus Prime."

Fenris blinks at him, and with a slow, positively impish smile, carefully and firmly shoves Garrett right off the bed.

-

To: Nurse Andy

ur cat got me laid <3

From: Nurse Andy

I cannot, with the width and breadth of the English language available to me, describe how badly I didn't want to know that.

Varric Tethras, Aveline Vallen, Bethany Hawke, Garrett Hawke, Marian Hawke, Anders Smith, Isabela Rivaini

Marian: Yes

Anders: yes

Bethany: sorry yes

Garrett: <3 yeah

[Group name changed to: HELP AVELINE GET STICK OUT OF ASS AND PUT HOT COP THERE INST]

Aveline: ISABELA

Isabela: ran out of words :(  

[Group name changed to: Evening with friends.]

Garrett: that's just boring

Aveline: It's called subtlety. Subtlety!

Varric: Now look here, I try to make a mature and reasonable plan of action and all of you seem set against it. Must I be the adult in the room, *again*?

Bethany: You *are* the oldest of all of us.

Varric: Sunshine, you wound me. You truly do.

[Group name changed to: wont u take me 2 *bootytown*]

Aveline: Garrett please.