Dragon Age Fic: Stranger Things Have Happened 2/2
Title: Stranger Things Have Happened 2/2 (AO3)
Pairing: F!Hawke/Isabela
Rating: Soft R for references to sexytimes
Warnings: Reference/discussion of abortion, f!preg, girlpeen. Spoilers through Act II of Dragon Age II.
Word Count: ~13600
Disclaimer: If Thedas and all accompanying lore and characters were mine, all of the promo material would feature female protagonists. Just saying. But seriously, they're sadly not mine. That honor goes to BioWare and a whole score of developers and writers and fancy people like that. I did come up with the idea of Tevinter sex magic, though (at least this incarnation of it, and at least as far as I know).
Summary: Isabela returns to Kirkwall to find things...very different than she left them.
Bodahn, naturally, was nowhere to be found. It figured. He had somehow always managed to be inconveniently present whenever she and Hawke were getting naked and sweaty, but the one time she actually wanted his company, he found someplace else to be.
Well, she'd have to make her own entertainment then. She looked around the front hall, considering her options. Little had changed, save for the small couch that sat before the fireplace now and a couple of bookshelves lining the walls. Sandal's enchantment station thankfully lay dormant-Isabela may be the curious sort, but even she wasn't about to go poking around that thing. There wasn't much else out here, except for the little writing desk against the wall, covered as always in letters.
Now that had promise. Isabela sidled over, picking up a handful of papers and skimming over them. There were, of course, the usual plaintive requests for assistance with everything from a lost scarf to a suspected den of escaped blood mages. Boring. Isabela quickly set those aside. The seemingly countless thank-you notes soon followed, though she shook those first to check for coin (she wasn't going to take anything, it was just the principle of the thing). A shady offer from someone claiming to be a Nevarran prince was an interesting read, at least, but clearly a scam.
Which left more than a few messages from fellow Kirkwall nobles, most containing less-than-subtle suggestions that Hawke's child would really do well to have a father, and wouldn't so-and-so's son/nephew/cousin be just perfect for the job? Isabela shuddered; the idea of Hawke being married off to some stuck-up rich boy was unpleasant at best.
With a disappointed sigh, she returned the last of the letters to the desk. It was no fun snooping through Hawke's mail when all it did was remind her of the very thing she was trying to avoid thinking about.
Damn it, Isabela didn't do consequences. It was one of her favorite things about being a woman-she had complete control over what happened to her body. She could have as much sex as she wanted, and any complications were dealt with as easily as a visit to the neighborhood apostate healer-they were far more common than the templars would like to admit-or a simple, albeit foul-tasting, concoction brewed up from common herbs. She'd known a lot of ignorant, self-absorbed sailors over the years, going around leaving bastards in every port; it had been a source of constant relief that she didn't have to worry about such things.
Until now, it seemed. And of course it would happen with someone Isabela actually cared about, loath as she was to admit it. This would be so much easier if Hawke were just some pretty thing she'd picked up in a tavern. She was fairly sure she wouldn't feel this ridiculous need to somehow take care of the child, to be there for her. For her daughter.
Andraste's dimpled ass, what do I know about being a parent? It wasn't as though she'd had much of an example growing up. Her father hadn't even stuck around long enough for the sheets to get cold, and her mother had sold her to the first sleazy merchant who'd looked twice.
She hadn't realized she'd been pacing, but the sudden wrench of her ankle certainly brought it to her attention. Cursing softly, she looked down to see a small wooden griffon lying forgotten on the carpet, miraculously undamaged. Which was more than she could say for her ankle; it throbbed painfully as she leaned down to pick up the toy, looking around the room for a clue as to where to put the blasted thing.
Her eyes fell on a large chest pushed into a far corner; she'd somehow missed it in her earlier assessment of the room. Balls, Isabela, you're slipping, she thought as she made her way over to it. When she nearly tripped on no less than three more toys along the way, she decided enough was enough. She had time to kill anyway, and this at least was something that didn't require active thought.
Unfortunately, it didn't take very long to collect the majority of the scattered toys and deposit them in the chest. In almost no time at all, she found herself kneeling next to a side table, snatching up what she thought was the last of them, only to spot another figure farther back, just under the edge of the couch. With a frustrated huff, she set aside the wooden ogre she was holding and braced herself on the carpet as she reached for it. Her fingers closed around a tiny head, and she pulled it closer, examining her prize. It looked to be a small wooden replica of the Hero of Ferelden, if the twin griffons carved into the figure's breastplate were any indication.
"You're still here."
Isabela jumped at the softly spoken words, nearly smacking her head on the edge of the side table. She sat back on her heels, looking up to see Hawke leaning against the pillar at the top of the stairs, a fragile smile on her lips. She looked almost surprised; but then, Isabela supposed it was rather surprising for her not to have run off at the first opportunity. Truth be told, she still wasn't sure why she hadn't.
An eyebrow quirked as Hawke's gaze landed on the wooden figure in Isabela's hand. "And you're tidying," she added, her smile growing more solid-and more amused-at the sight.
Suddenly self-conscious-a foreign sensation to say the least-Isabela frowned, glaring down at the toy as though it was to blame for her being so off-balance. "I just didn't want someone to trip over them and bash their heads open," she said defensively, grabbing the discarded ogre before rising to her feet. She could feel Hawke's eyes following her as she turned to put the last of the toys in their chest. "Wouldn't want to get blood all over your lovely carpet."
Hawke chuckled softly, and even without looking Isabela knew that she hadn't bought the feeble excuse. The stairs creaked as Hawke descended, and Isabela tensed as she felt the other woman grow nearer. "Well, I'm sure my carpet appreciates the consideration."
She was only a few paces away now, and Isabela could feel every bit of that distance as she turned back and slowly raised her eyes to Hawke's. Blast it, this was why she avoided emotional stuff; it inevitably involved talking, and Isabela was so much better at simply doing. She didn't know how she was supposed to deal with this.
"Hawke, I..." she started, then stopped again, cursing again her lack of proper words. She sighed. "I didn't know."
"I know you didn't," Hawke replied gently.
Whether knowing would have changed anything, made her stay or just made her run sooner, Isabela couldn't say; she could hardly figure out how she felt about it now. Maker, I need a drink.
As though reading her thoughts, Hawke moved over to one of the bookcases, reaching up to pull a bottle from the top shelf. She held it out to Isabela with a knowing smile.
Isabela took it gratefully, sinking down onto the couch as she worked the cork free and took a healthy swig. The alcohol burned its way down her throat, eating away at the edges of the tense knot in her stomach. She didn't know where to start, what to say; and it didn't look like Hawke was going to take pity on her.
"You kept her," Isabela finally managed, staring at the amber liquid sloshing gently in the bottle. "Even after everything I did. You must have hated me, but you still..." she trailed off, chuckling bitterly. "I'd have gotten rid of it the first chance I got." She'd done it before, countless times, and never given it a second thought. Now, with a face to go along with the idea of a child, the words seemed so callous. Isabela cringed and took another swig.
Hawke sat down on the other side of the small couch, leaning forward on her elbows as she fixed her gaze on the fire. "I thought about it," she said softly, guilt tinging her voice. "There were days I couldn't leave my bed, I was so sick, and all I did was cry. Blighted hormones." She laughed dryly, turning to pluck the bottle from Isabela's grasp. She took a long drink, grimacing at the taste. "Sometimes it seemed like it would be the best option. Then it was too late to stop it from happening. It started to show, and I had nobles from every direction offering to take her, or urging me to give her to the Chantry." She paused, lowering her gaze to the floor. "I came very close to doing it."
Isabela swallowed, looked sideways at Hawke; she was almost afraid to ask. "What changed your mind?"
The sadness fell from Hawke's face for a moment, a warm smile stealing over her lips. "I saw her." Happiness glittered in her eyes as she looked back at Isabela. "Maker, the pain was like nothing I'd ever felt before, but when they put her in my arms it all disappeared. All I could think of was how beautiful she was."
The smile dimmed, turned wistful, and Hawke looked away. "She has your eyes," she continued, her voice shaking. "You were long gone, and it occurred to me that this was the only way I'd ever see those eyes. She was all I had left of you. I couldn't give that up." She lowered her head, shaking it slightly. "It probably wasn't very fair to her, not at first, but I guess even a Champion can be selfish sometimes."
Isabela wanted to laugh at the very thought; Hawke was easily the most selfless person she'd ever known. The raw emotion weighed heavy on her, though, and any possibility of amusement was buried beneath the guilt that threatened to overwhelm her. She reached for the bottle in Hawke's hands, taking a large gulp to try to loosen the tightened muscles of her throat. She shut her eyes, trying to contain the feeling that pressed against her eyelids.
She had done this. Granted, she hadn't been completely aware of it at the time, but that didn't change the fact that she had caused this pain. She'd tried so hard to avoid emotional entanglements, intent on never again letting anyone close enough to her to get their heart broken, and in the end her efforts hadn't mattered. Hawke had been right, all those years ago; love was persistent.
The couch shifted under Isabela, and then a warm hand fell on her forearm. Her eyes slid back open to see Hawke looking at her with far more gentleness and understanding than she deserved.
"And Isabela?" Hawke said with a small smile. "I could never hate you."
You should. "Hawke..."
"I'm not asking you for anything," Hawke assured her. "I know you didn't ask for this. I just," she paused, shrugging slightly. "thought you had a right to know."
At this rate, the bottle would be empty in no time. Sadly, Isabela's tolerance for alcohol was so high that she wasn't anywhere near as drunk as she'd like to be. Still, Hawke was going out of her way to make this easy for her; the least she could do was try to form some sort of coherent response.
"She seems happy," Isabela said, offering Hawke a sideways glance before turning her gaze to the fire. "You've done good by her."
Hawke smiled. "It hasn't been easy," she said wryly. "She's a handful sometimes. And she's so much like you, it's scary."
Isabela scoffed. "She doesn't even know me."
"She could. If...if you wanted to know her."
Hawke's voice was barely audible, but Isabela could feel the pressure of expectation hanging from every word. She took another swig of whiskey to put off having to respond, cursing the way her hand shook as it raised the bottle to her lips.
"I meant what I said," Hawke said before Isabela could reply. "I won't ask you to stay, to suddenly be a parent to a child you didn't know existed. But I won't pretend that I don't want you to. You will always have a place in her life, Isabela. And in mine."
It felt like all the air had been sucked from the room. Isabela drew a shaky breath, willing her pulse to slow down, her heart to stop pounding in her ears. Hawke's hand was still resting on her arm, the heat of it burning into her skin. "Andraste's tits, Hawke, you shouldn't say things like that." Closing her eyes, Isabela drained the last of the alcohol; there wasn't nearly enough to do what she needed it to. When she opened her eyes again, Hawke was just looking at her with that patient look on her face. "How are you so bloody calm about all this anyway? Coming back here, I half expected you to kick my ass, and that was before I knew about...everything."
Hawke smiled. "I've had a lot of time to get used to the idea," she said with a shrug. "Trust me, I did my share of screaming and crying and hitting things after you left. Aveline would have locked me up a time or two, if it hadn't been for the baby."
"That would have been a sight." Isabela chuckled, trying to ignore the guilt that stabbed at her chest. "The mighty Champion of Kirkwall, thrown in the brig like a common criminal. I'll bet there would have been riots in the streets. Not that I think that would have stopped her from doing it."
"No." Hawke grinned. "She'd have done it in a heartbeat. But she couldn't bring herself to put a pregnant woman behind bars. Then there was a baby, and separating us for the sake of teaching me a lesson wasn't something she was willing to do. Which she told me, repeatedly. I got plenty of motherly lectures over the years."
"That's my Big Girl," Isabela said with a fond smile. Oh, shit. The smile faded as she realized she hadn't seen Aveline yet; and even if Hawke hadn't held a grudge, Aveline would gladly have held it for her. Forget lectures; Isabela would be lucky if she could stand after the guard captain was done with her.
The hand on Isabela's arm squeezed gently, drawing her attention back to the issue at hand. Hawke had that nervous look on her face again, like she wasn't sure how Isabela would respond to what she was about to say.
"I don't expect you to give me an answer tonight. It's a lot to take in, I know." She drew her hand back, looking down at her lap. "Just...do me one favor? Whatever you decide, tell me. Face to face." She looked up, blue eyes peering through her lashes to lock onto Isabela's. "I need you to give me the chance to say goodbye."
Isabela frowned. "You say that like I've already decided." Granted, the choice should have been clear. Isabela didn't belong anywhere near children. And then there was Hawke, and things with Hawke were guaranteed to be unnecessarily complicated. She'd damn near perfected the art of running away, and if ever there were a time for it, this was it. So why was she even considering anything else?
Balls. Because it was Hawke, that's why.
"I've always known who you are, Bela," Hawke said with a bittersweet smile. The old nickname seemed to fall from her lips; she didn't seem to even realize she'd said it. "I don't fault you for it. Maker, it's you that I fell in love with, not some dashing rogue from one of Varric's tales."
"Are you saying I'm not dashing?" Isabela asked, narrowing her eyes as she tried to ignore the other part of what Hawke had said. She wasn't an idiot; she knew how Hawke felt about her, had known for longer than she cared to admit, but it had always gone unsaid. To hear the words aloud hit her in a way she wasn't prepared for; it made her pulse quicken, and her cheeks flush with heat. Shifting uncomfortably, she donned her best affronted expression. "I think I should be offended."
Hawke smiled, nudging Isabela's knee with her own. "You know what I meant." She released a shaky breath as she looked back down at her hands. "I know this isn't what you planned for your life. If it's too much for you, I understand."
"You do, don't you?" Isabela let out a frustrated sigh, turning her gaze back to the fire. "You're always so bloody understanding. It's infuriating."
The cushions of the couch shifted again, and then a solid warmth was pressing into Isabela's side, a warm hand resting on her thigh, and Hawke's face was scant inches from her own. Now this, this Isabela could handle. It could be just what she needed; some mind-blowing sex-it always was, with Hawke-to clear her mind of all of these blasted thoughts.
But when Hawke leaned closer, it was Isabela's cheek that her lips fell on, pressing a lingering-but chaste-kiss there. "Just think it over. Take whatever time you need. We'll be here."
Then Hawke was gone, back on the other end of the couch like she'd never bloody moved. "Wait-that's it?" Isabela protested. "No sex?"
That got a laugh, which would have been fine had it been a joke. Isabela hadn't counted on sex tonight, necessarily; she hadn't known if Hawke would be angry with her, or uninterested, or what. But Hawke wasn't angry, at least not anymore; and if the way those blue eyes darkened at the suggestion was any indication, she was definitely interested.
"I can't," Hawke said, smiling regretfully. "I'm not built for casual anymore. To be honest, I'm not sure I ever was. When-if we do, it'll have to mean something."
Balls. She should have known it would come to that. Well, if she wasn't going to get lucky tonight, she could at least have a bit of fun. Putting on a sultry pout, she shifted over on the couch, leaning over Hawke in a way that she knew would display her cleavage most enticingly.
"You don't play fair," she purred, delighting in the way Hawke's breath caught in her throat, blue eyes flickering down to what Isabela proudly thought of as two of her best assets. Definitely still interested.
"Well," Hawke said shakily, her trembling hands settling on Isabela's hips, "you cheat." With a grin, Hawke applied firm pressure, forcing Isabela out of teasing range.
Isabela sighed, at least temporarily accepting defeat. "Can't blame a girl for trying," she said, smirking as she rose to her feet. She hadn't really thought it would work, but Maker, was it ever fun. The only problem was that it left Isabela with a throbbing ache between her own legs that was decidedly not going to be relieved here. "Well if we're not going to get naked, I should probably let you get some sleep."
Hawke nodded, pushing herself to her feet. "I'll show you out."
"I do remember where the door is," Isabela said with a roll of her eyes, heading toward the foyer to prove her point.
"Well, you never used it before," Hawke teased, following close behind. "I couldn't be sure."
They stopped in front of said door, silence falling between them. Maker's breath, this was why Isabela preferred to duck out a window; there was never any awkward fumbling over a goodbye. She cleared her throat, closing her hand around the doorknob. "See? Found it."
"So you did."
"I, uh..." Isabela trailed off, wanting to say a thousand different things but lacking the nerve. "I'll see you soon, Hawke."
She slipped out the door before Hawke could reply, not stopping until she reached the stairs that led to Lowtown. She looked back, then; she couldn't actually see the estate anymore, but years of walking the same route meant that she knew exactly where it was. I'll think about it, she promised silently.
***
For the next week, Isabela could hardly think of anything else. Not for lack of trying, either; she drank herself to oblivion every night, and came very close to distracting herself with a few different promising candidates. When she got them alone, though, all she could see was that tiny face, plump lips curled into a crooked smile she'd know anywhere. Maker, she thought she'd been haunted before, seeing Hawke's face everywhere she went.
When she found herself voluntarily walking out of the Blooming Rose-after she'd already paid, no less-she knew she had a serious problem. After that, it got so that Corff was offering her free drinks if she'd only quit pacing a groove into his bloody floor.
She saw Varric a few times, in passing; he'd hurry off to his suite, making some excuse about Merchant's Guild business or something, but Isabela was no fool. The dwarf was avoiding her; and after yet another night of alternately drinking and pacing, she'd had enough.
Varric glanced up from his papers-no doubt another riveting installment of Hard in Hightown or whatever he had moved on to now-as Isabela casually flung open the door to his suite.
"You know, I'm surprised at you," she began, sauntering over to perch on the edge of the table. Her movements were dulled by the copious amounts of alcohol she'd imbibed, but she was still maddeningly clear-headed. "It used to be impossible to keep you out of everyone else's business."
For a moment, it looked as though he was going to try to dismiss her again, but then he sighed, putting down his pen and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Look, Rivaini. This isn't something I can help you with. It's a big decision. And it's one you'll have to make for yourself."
"So, no sage advice from everyone's favorite streetwise dwarf?" Isabela pouted. "Varric, I'm disappointed. I thought we were friends."
Varric met her gaze, his expression hardening. "My advice? Think long and hard about it, and be damn sure of what you want, because this is the last chance you're going to get."
Isabela tilted her head, eyeing him curiously. "Is it now?"
Slipping off of his chair, Varric moved to stand in front of Isabela, somehow managing to look menacing even while eye-level with her breasts. Probably something to do with that dangerous glint in his eyes. Shivery. "Hawke's a big girl. She makes her own decisions." He shrugged, reaching past her to close his hand around the stock of his crossbow. "But the kid's another story. If you break that little girl's heart? Let's just say you'll be getting to know Bianca a lot better than you ever wanted."
Well, that was bracing. Isabela had always admired the fierce protectiveness Varric displayed for his friends, but that was before she'd been on the receiving end of that threatening glare. "Thanks, Varric," she said with an uneasy shudder. "No pressure or anything."
"Oh, there's a lot of pressure," Varric said with a chuckle. Now that his point had been made, his demeanor lightened considerably, and he drew his hand back from Bianca, returning to his seat. "I wouldn't want to be in your shoes, Rivaini. And not just because they're taller than me."
When he picked up his pen again, Isabela gave up on any hope of further discussion. She sighed, hopping off of the table and heading for the door. Varric's friendly chats weren't nearly as helpful as they used to be.
"You really want my opinion?" Varric called after her as she closed her hand around the doorknob. She turned, canting her hip as she waited for him to finish. He offered her a knowing smile. "It's been a week, and you're still here. I'd say you've already made up your mind."
Balls. She hated when he was right.
***
For the second time in a week, Isabela stood staring at the door to the Hawke Estate, trying to summon the courage to knock. She knew what to expect this time, but somehow that didn't make it any easier; if anything, it only made her question all the more what the bloody flames she thought she was doing. Being responsible and doing the right thing was all well and good in theory, but how could she make any sort of commitment when she never thought further into the future than next week?
This was a mistake. She shouldn't have come; she needed to think more about this, needed more time-
Without warning, the door swung open, and Isabela found herself looking down at a dwarf, but not the one she'd expected.
"Rivaini." Varric didn't even have the decency to look surprised that she showed up. He just stood there with that shit-eating grin on his face, Void take him.
"Varric," Isabela said with a nervous smile. "Were you on your way out?"
He cocked his head, seeming to ponder his answer. "Well, I was going to go check up on Blondie, but I think maybe I'll stick around for a bit."
Damn him. She could practically see him taking notes in his head, deciding how he would tell this story. This was bound to be hard enough without a blighted audience. She couldn't leave now, either; he'd never let her hear the end of it.
"Bela!" Bethany came barreling across the foyer, colliding with one of Isabela's legs.
Isabela reached down to tousle the girl's already-messy hair, unable to help the smile that tugged at her lips. "Hello to you too, sweetness."
Bethany just grinned up at her, with that guileless wonder in her eyes. Isabela felt something tighten in her chest. It would be so easy to screw this up, to hurt this innocent child without even trying. Maybe she should change her mind; just leave, now, before the girl had a chance to get any more attached than she already seemed to be. What could Isabela possibly offer, anyway?
Glancing away, Isabela's gaze fell on Varric; his smile had thinned, taking on a grim edge, and his eyes glinted dangerously. She could see his fingers twitching as though any second he would reach up for Bianca. His earlier warnings echoed in her head. Maker's balls, he wasn't going to make this easy for her.
Isabela swallowed hard, turning her attention back to the child. My child, she corrected mentally. That was going to take some getting used to. "Why don't we get inside, before your mother catches you sneaking out of the house to greet visitors?"
The toddler nodded, still grinning. Her hold on Isabela's leg didn't loosen. Isabela sighed, and somehow found herself half-limping rather awkwardly through the front door, Bethany giggling in delight as she went along for the ride.
"Isabela." The softly-spoken word stopped Isabela in her tracks. There was Hawke, arms crossed over her ribs, leaning against the doorway to the front hall with a look on her face that Isabela could only describe as complicated. How the woman could pack so much feeling into one expression was a bloody mystery: the corners of her lips curled up in the barest hint of a smile; her nostrils flared slightly, giving away the quickness of her breathing; and her eyes held a delicate combination of hope and fear, shadowed by a heartbreaking sadness that told Isabela exactly what Hawke expected her to say.
"Hawke." Isabela's throat tightened around the name, and she was suddenly all too aware of the pounding of her pulse in her ears. She barely noticed Varric closing the door behind her, vaguely felt Bethany's grip on her leg loosen as the dwarf pulled the child into the front hall-far enough to give them the illusion of privacy, but not so far that he wouldn't be able to catch the gist of the conversation.
For that, however, there would have to be a conversation. All of Isabela's carefully practiced words abandoned her as Hawke stepped closer to her, shoulders tensed as if in preparation for a blow. She thought she'd known what to say, but the weight of her decision was almost suffocating now that she was faced with giving voice to it. If she did this now, said the words, there would be no going back. For a woman who always had a convenient escape route or clever backup plan, the prospect was terrifying.
The hope slowly faded from Hawke's eyes as the silence stretched on; she was taking Isabela's hesitance to speak as an answer in itself, and coming to all the wrong conclusions. Finally she nodded, tears glistening in her eyes as she drew a shaky breath and opened her mouth to speak; no doubt ready to make leaving as easy as possible.
Fuck it. Isabela was always better with actions than words, anyway. Before Hawke could say a word, Isabela swept forward, her hands sliding up to tangle in messy black hair as she claimed Hawke's lips in a bruising kiss.
It didn't take long for Hawke to overcome her initial surprise, and soon she was returning the kiss with equal fervor. Her hands clutched at Isabela's waist, pulling her impossibly closer; her lips parted, her tongue tangling desperately with Isabela's own. It was everything that had been missing from Isabela's countless casual dalliances over the past few years-the fire, the passion, the dangerous undercurrent of feeling that laced all of their encounters.
Maker, she had missed this. Moaning hungrily into Hawke's mouth, Isabela pushed forward with her body, trapping Hawke against the wall next to the door. Without breaking the kiss, Isabela tugged one hand free, sliding it down Hawke's body to settle on her hip. She lost herself in the feel of Hawke against her, desire infusing her movements with an urgency she hadn't felt for ages.
Then Isabela's hand slid back to grip Hawke's ass, a leather-clad knee slipping between Hawke's legs; Hawke tensed, and the hands on Isabela's hips shot up to push insistently at her shoulders. Isabela reluctantly pulled away, panting.
"Bela," Hawke groaned, arousal darkening her eyes even as regret filled her voice, "I told you, I can't..."
Isabela closed her eyes, resting her forehead against Hawke's. It was too much to hope for that she could get around saying the words. "I know what you said," she breathed, her voice still shaking with want and something else too terrifying to name. "And it does mean something. I don't know what, but it's always bloody meant something with you." Pulling back, Isabela forced her eyes open. Hawke was watching her with a guarded hope blossoming on her features, and Isabela had to remind herself to breathe. "Maker, Hawke, I'm no good at any of this," she admitted with a soft shake of her head. "But I tried to stay away from you, and it didn't work. It never works."
The expression that dawned on Hawke's face was almost blinding in its intensity, a brief moment of pure happiness untainted by the darkness of her past. Isabela felt her chest swell with pride at being the cause of it. Maybe she could do this after all.
After a moment, though, Hawke's eyes clouded again, and she lowered her gaze, watching her fingers toy with the edge of Isabela's shirt. "And Bethany?" she asked in a small voice. She raised her eyes again, her crooked smile failing to hide the tremor in her voice. "We're kind of a set, I'm afraid."
She'd thought of little else over the past week, but Isabela was no closer to even knowing where to start. She wasn't the sort of person anyone sane would want around their children; what could possibly make her think she could raise a child of her own?
"Balls," Isabela cursed. Her eyes shot to the doorway, where she was certain Varric would be watching her with that flinty gaze. He was, of course, but so was Bethany. Isabela groaned. The girl's eyes had lit up with interest when the word left Isabela's lips, and nothing good could come from that look. She turned her eyes back to Hawke, her brow creased in apology. "Sorry. Clearly that's going to take more work."
Hawke smiled again, as though Isabela hadn't just taught her daughter a naughty word. One hand slid up from Isabela's shoulder, thumb stroking gently along the line of her jaw. "If that means you're willing to try, then I think I can be patient with you."
Isabela chuckled, the shaking of her breath betraying how unsteady she still felt. "If you were any more patient, Hawke, the Maker himself would have to give you his bloody throne."
"Right," Hawke laughed softly, rolling her eyes.
Her gaze fell to Isabela's lips, and Isabela was suddenly aware how close they were still standing; how her hands were still resting comfortably against Hawke's neck and the curve of her hip; how their chests pushed against one another with every breath. Isabela swallowed roughly, willing herself to let Hawke make the first move.
Thankfully, Hawke seemed to be just as aware of the situation; her lips curled into a seductive smirk. "Well," she murmured, curling her fingers around the top of Isabela's shirt, "my patience does have its limits."
Warmth pooled in Isabela's stomach, and she hummed her approval as Hawke pulled her closer. "That sounds like a challenge," she purred, tilting her head so that her lips barely grazed Hawke's. The faint catch of Hawke's breath was more satisfying than any casual encounter Isabela had engaged in over the last three years.
A needy groan was quickly swallowed as Hawke dragged her into a feverish embrace. Teeth scraped over Isabela's lips as Hawke arched away from the wall, demanding more-more passion, more contact, just more.
Isabela was happy to oblige, any thought of testing the boundaries of Hawke's patience dissipating with the slide of Hawke's tongue against her own. She pressed forward, her hand sliding down over Hawke's ass to grasp the back of a muscled thigh and dragging it up to hook over her hip.
There was nothing but the two of them, and the delectable sounds she was drawing from Hawke's throat, until the sound of a throat clearing shattered the illusion. Tearing her lips away from Hawke's, Isabela shot Varric a dirty look. He just raised an eyebrow, nodding pointedly toward the child at his side who was watching them with wide-eyed curiosity.
Groaning, Isabela turned her gaze back to Hawke. She never thought these words would fall from her lips. "Maybe we should take this somewhere more private?"
Hawke whimpered, rocking against Isabela's thigh. A hint of guilt flashed through her eyes as she glanced sideways at their unwitting audience, but when she looked back at Isabela, there was nothing but burning need in her dark gaze. "Three years, Bela. I don't think I can wait any longer."
Well, honestly, who could expect Isabela to resist that? She was only human, after all. And with Hawke looking at her with those kiss-swollen lips, cheeks flushed deep red with arousal, it was all Isabela could do to tear her eyes away long enough to give Varric a very pointed glance.
Varric cleared his throat again, and reached down to grab Bethany's hand. "Come on, Little Hawke. Let's go check out that new book Auntie Aveline gave you."
"What's Mama doing?"
"I'll tell you when you're older."
There was a delighted squeal, and Isabela assumed Varric had swept the child up into his arms; she couldn't say for sure, because her attention was once again firmly focused on those lips that were just begging to be kissed again. Never one to deny such delicious urges, Isabela leaned in to resume their earlier activity.
"Balls!" Bethany's voice was more distant now, but close enough to carry to the two lovers.
Hawke groaned, pulling back far enough to pin Isabela with her best attempt at a stern glare. "You'll pay for that."
Isabela smirked, sliding her hand under the hem of Hawke's skirt. "Looking forward to it."
***
Much later, Isabela sighed, collapsing back onto Hawke's bed, bare legs tangled in a mess of sheets and blankets. She reached up to curl her arms around the pillow under her head, savoring the fading throb between her legs.
"Was it as good as you remembered?" Hawke teased. She had propped herself up one one elbow, and her free hand moved to trace meandering circles across the sweat-slick skin of Isabela's chest.
The touch of Hawke's fingers and the stupidly tender smile on Hawke's lips had Isabela's skin tingling, her heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with sex. It was the kind of thing that she never would have allowed before; a warning sign that she'd let things go too far, that it was time to pack up and run before things got impossibly complicated. Now that she'd decided to give this thing with Hawke a chance, it was no less terrifying, but she couldn't deny how good it felt.
Isabela's lips spread lazily into a sated grin as she turned to meet her lover's gaze. "Better."
A thorough exploration had confirmed that Hawke's breasts were indeed a bit larger than they had been, and the curves of her body were softer than before. Isabela had catalogued the differences extensively with fingers and tongue, tracing the faded pink lines around her breasts and abdomen, taking note of every new scar (of which there were thankfully few) that testified to the fact that even with a new child, Hawke was still the Champion of Kirkwall, and as the letters downstairs had suggested, she was still very much in demand. It was different from learning a new lover's body, somehow more exciting; rediscovering all of the places that made Hawke gasp and shiver, even finding one or two new ones.
When she caught herself thinking like that, Isabela knew she was a lost cause. If there had been any doubt before, she knew for certain now: she was completely smitten.
Hawke's soft, deliberate intake of breath shattered the stillness of the moment, pulling Isabela from her thoughts. "I know it's not going to be easy for you," she said gently, flattening her palm over the center of Isabela's chest. "Whatever you need from me-"
The faint knock at the bedroom door flooded Isabela with relief. She could feel her heart pounding against Hawke's hand, her own fingers clenched tightly in the pillow behind her head. She wasn't sure she was ready to put words to the doubts that plagued her mind, and knowing Hawke, the other woman would manage to drag every last uneasy thought into light with little to no effort at all. She had agreed to try; that didn't mean she would be any good at it, or that she had any idea at all what she was doing.
"What is it?" Hawke called, frustrated at the interruption.
"I'm so sorry to interrupt, Mistress," Orana's voice was just barely loud enough to hear, muffled by the door that remained firmly shut. "The little one has been fed and bathed, but she's waiting for you to put her to bed."
"I'll be right there," Hawke replied with a sigh, turning back to Isabela. "She'll want a story," she said apologetically.
Suddenly, Isabela felt unbearably awkward. If she was looking for a cue to leave, this would clearly be it, but she wasn't so sure she wanted to. She wasn't certain what Hawke would expect from her, either. Maybe it was too soon for her to even consider staying the night; it wasn't like Isabela had much experience with this sort of thing, and Maker knew there was still a lot for the two of them to work through, hours of incredible sex notwithstanding.
Hawke seemed to notice her uncertainty, and smiled. "You can come along, if you like," she said casually. "I've been taking lessons from Varric. I'm getting pretty good at it."
Isabela quirked an eyebrow at that; Hawke, a storyteller? It was an amusing thought, but not enough to distract her from the thundering of her pulse in her ears. Was she ready for this? "Hawke, I...I don't know," she said, looking nervously away; she was afraid to see the disappointment on Hawke's face.
The hand resting on her chest moved up to cradle her cheek, and Isabela reluctantly slid her gaze back up to see Hawke smiling that gentle, patient smile at her; she really didn't know how the woman did it. She felt like an idiot for being so flaming bad at this, and Hawke just understood.
"You don't have to," Hawke said gently. She drew her hand back, sitting up at the edge of the bed with her back to Isabela. An impish smirk adorned her lips as she peered back over her shoulder. "She'll probably want a pirate tale, though; those are her favorite."
Isabela groaned, flinging a hand over her eyes. "Maker knows what ridiculous things that dwarf has been filling both of your heads with." She let out an aggrieved sigh and let her hand drop down to her side. "That settles it then. It's my duty on behalf of pirates everywhere to make sure you're telling it right."
When she dared to look back up, Hawke was beaming down at her. If it meant seeing that look of utter happiness on Hawke's face, Isabela thought, this may not be so hard after all.
end.
Pairing: F!Hawke/Isabela
Rating: Soft R for references to sexytimes
Warnings: Reference/discussion of abortion, f!preg, girlpeen. Spoilers through Act II of Dragon Age II.
Word Count: ~13600
Disclaimer: If Thedas and all accompanying lore and characters were mine, all of the promo material would feature female protagonists. Just saying. But seriously, they're sadly not mine. That honor goes to BioWare and a whole score of developers and writers and fancy people like that. I did come up with the idea of Tevinter sex magic, though (at least this incarnation of it, and at least as far as I know).
Summary: Isabela returns to Kirkwall to find things...very different than she left them.
Bodahn, naturally, was nowhere to be found. It figured. He had somehow always managed to be inconveniently present whenever she and Hawke were getting naked and sweaty, but the one time she actually wanted his company, he found someplace else to be.
Well, she'd have to make her own entertainment then. She looked around the front hall, considering her options. Little had changed, save for the small couch that sat before the fireplace now and a couple of bookshelves lining the walls. Sandal's enchantment station thankfully lay dormant-Isabela may be the curious sort, but even she wasn't about to go poking around that thing. There wasn't much else out here, except for the little writing desk against the wall, covered as always in letters.
Now that had promise. Isabela sidled over, picking up a handful of papers and skimming over them. There were, of course, the usual plaintive requests for assistance with everything from a lost scarf to a suspected den of escaped blood mages. Boring. Isabela quickly set those aside. The seemingly countless thank-you notes soon followed, though she shook those first to check for coin (she wasn't going to take anything, it was just the principle of the thing). A shady offer from someone claiming to be a Nevarran prince was an interesting read, at least, but clearly a scam.
Which left more than a few messages from fellow Kirkwall nobles, most containing less-than-subtle suggestions that Hawke's child would really do well to have a father, and wouldn't so-and-so's son/nephew/cousin be just perfect for the job? Isabela shuddered; the idea of Hawke being married off to some stuck-up rich boy was unpleasant at best.
With a disappointed sigh, she returned the last of the letters to the desk. It was no fun snooping through Hawke's mail when all it did was remind her of the very thing she was trying to avoid thinking about.
Damn it, Isabela didn't do consequences. It was one of her favorite things about being a woman-she had complete control over what happened to her body. She could have as much sex as she wanted, and any complications were dealt with as easily as a visit to the neighborhood apostate healer-they were far more common than the templars would like to admit-or a simple, albeit foul-tasting, concoction brewed up from common herbs. She'd known a lot of ignorant, self-absorbed sailors over the years, going around leaving bastards in every port; it had been a source of constant relief that she didn't have to worry about such things.
Until now, it seemed. And of course it would happen with someone Isabela actually cared about, loath as she was to admit it. This would be so much easier if Hawke were just some pretty thing she'd picked up in a tavern. She was fairly sure she wouldn't feel this ridiculous need to somehow take care of the child, to be there for her. For her daughter.
Andraste's dimpled ass, what do I know about being a parent? It wasn't as though she'd had much of an example growing up. Her father hadn't even stuck around long enough for the sheets to get cold, and her mother had sold her to the first sleazy merchant who'd looked twice.
She hadn't realized she'd been pacing, but the sudden wrench of her ankle certainly brought it to her attention. Cursing softly, she looked down to see a small wooden griffon lying forgotten on the carpet, miraculously undamaged. Which was more than she could say for her ankle; it throbbed painfully as she leaned down to pick up the toy, looking around the room for a clue as to where to put the blasted thing.
Her eyes fell on a large chest pushed into a far corner; she'd somehow missed it in her earlier assessment of the room. Balls, Isabela, you're slipping, she thought as she made her way over to it. When she nearly tripped on no less than three more toys along the way, she decided enough was enough. She had time to kill anyway, and this at least was something that didn't require active thought.
Unfortunately, it didn't take very long to collect the majority of the scattered toys and deposit them in the chest. In almost no time at all, she found herself kneeling next to a side table, snatching up what she thought was the last of them, only to spot another figure farther back, just under the edge of the couch. With a frustrated huff, she set aside the wooden ogre she was holding and braced herself on the carpet as she reached for it. Her fingers closed around a tiny head, and she pulled it closer, examining her prize. It looked to be a small wooden replica of the Hero of Ferelden, if the twin griffons carved into the figure's breastplate were any indication.
"You're still here."
Isabela jumped at the softly spoken words, nearly smacking her head on the edge of the side table. She sat back on her heels, looking up to see Hawke leaning against the pillar at the top of the stairs, a fragile smile on her lips. She looked almost surprised; but then, Isabela supposed it was rather surprising for her not to have run off at the first opportunity. Truth be told, she still wasn't sure why she hadn't.
An eyebrow quirked as Hawke's gaze landed on the wooden figure in Isabela's hand. "And you're tidying," she added, her smile growing more solid-and more amused-at the sight.
Suddenly self-conscious-a foreign sensation to say the least-Isabela frowned, glaring down at the toy as though it was to blame for her being so off-balance. "I just didn't want someone to trip over them and bash their heads open," she said defensively, grabbing the discarded ogre before rising to her feet. She could feel Hawke's eyes following her as she turned to put the last of the toys in their chest. "Wouldn't want to get blood all over your lovely carpet."
Hawke chuckled softly, and even without looking Isabela knew that she hadn't bought the feeble excuse. The stairs creaked as Hawke descended, and Isabela tensed as she felt the other woman grow nearer. "Well, I'm sure my carpet appreciates the consideration."
She was only a few paces away now, and Isabela could feel every bit of that distance as she turned back and slowly raised her eyes to Hawke's. Blast it, this was why she avoided emotional stuff; it inevitably involved talking, and Isabela was so much better at simply doing. She didn't know how she was supposed to deal with this.
"Hawke, I..." she started, then stopped again, cursing again her lack of proper words. She sighed. "I didn't know."
"I know you didn't," Hawke replied gently.
Whether knowing would have changed anything, made her stay or just made her run sooner, Isabela couldn't say; she could hardly figure out how she felt about it now. Maker, I need a drink.
As though reading her thoughts, Hawke moved over to one of the bookcases, reaching up to pull a bottle from the top shelf. She held it out to Isabela with a knowing smile.
Isabela took it gratefully, sinking down onto the couch as she worked the cork free and took a healthy swig. The alcohol burned its way down her throat, eating away at the edges of the tense knot in her stomach. She didn't know where to start, what to say; and it didn't look like Hawke was going to take pity on her.
"You kept her," Isabela finally managed, staring at the amber liquid sloshing gently in the bottle. "Even after everything I did. You must have hated me, but you still..." she trailed off, chuckling bitterly. "I'd have gotten rid of it the first chance I got." She'd done it before, countless times, and never given it a second thought. Now, with a face to go along with the idea of a child, the words seemed so callous. Isabela cringed and took another swig.
Hawke sat down on the other side of the small couch, leaning forward on her elbows as she fixed her gaze on the fire. "I thought about it," she said softly, guilt tinging her voice. "There were days I couldn't leave my bed, I was so sick, and all I did was cry. Blighted hormones." She laughed dryly, turning to pluck the bottle from Isabela's grasp. She took a long drink, grimacing at the taste. "Sometimes it seemed like it would be the best option. Then it was too late to stop it from happening. It started to show, and I had nobles from every direction offering to take her, or urging me to give her to the Chantry." She paused, lowering her gaze to the floor. "I came very close to doing it."
Isabela swallowed, looked sideways at Hawke; she was almost afraid to ask. "What changed your mind?"
The sadness fell from Hawke's face for a moment, a warm smile stealing over her lips. "I saw her." Happiness glittered in her eyes as she looked back at Isabela. "Maker, the pain was like nothing I'd ever felt before, but when they put her in my arms it all disappeared. All I could think of was how beautiful she was."
The smile dimmed, turned wistful, and Hawke looked away. "She has your eyes," she continued, her voice shaking. "You were long gone, and it occurred to me that this was the only way I'd ever see those eyes. She was all I had left of you. I couldn't give that up." She lowered her head, shaking it slightly. "It probably wasn't very fair to her, not at first, but I guess even a Champion can be selfish sometimes."
Isabela wanted to laugh at the very thought; Hawke was easily the most selfless person she'd ever known. The raw emotion weighed heavy on her, though, and any possibility of amusement was buried beneath the guilt that threatened to overwhelm her. She reached for the bottle in Hawke's hands, taking a large gulp to try to loosen the tightened muscles of her throat. She shut her eyes, trying to contain the feeling that pressed against her eyelids.
She had done this. Granted, she hadn't been completely aware of it at the time, but that didn't change the fact that she had caused this pain. She'd tried so hard to avoid emotional entanglements, intent on never again letting anyone close enough to her to get their heart broken, and in the end her efforts hadn't mattered. Hawke had been right, all those years ago; love was persistent.
The couch shifted under Isabela, and then a warm hand fell on her forearm. Her eyes slid back open to see Hawke looking at her with far more gentleness and understanding than she deserved.
"And Isabela?" Hawke said with a small smile. "I could never hate you."
You should. "Hawke..."
"I'm not asking you for anything," Hawke assured her. "I know you didn't ask for this. I just," she paused, shrugging slightly. "thought you had a right to know."
At this rate, the bottle would be empty in no time. Sadly, Isabela's tolerance for alcohol was so high that she wasn't anywhere near as drunk as she'd like to be. Still, Hawke was going out of her way to make this easy for her; the least she could do was try to form some sort of coherent response.
"She seems happy," Isabela said, offering Hawke a sideways glance before turning her gaze to the fire. "You've done good by her."
Hawke smiled. "It hasn't been easy," she said wryly. "She's a handful sometimes. And she's so much like you, it's scary."
Isabela scoffed. "She doesn't even know me."
"She could. If...if you wanted to know her."
Hawke's voice was barely audible, but Isabela could feel the pressure of expectation hanging from every word. She took another swig of whiskey to put off having to respond, cursing the way her hand shook as it raised the bottle to her lips.
"I meant what I said," Hawke said before Isabela could reply. "I won't ask you to stay, to suddenly be a parent to a child you didn't know existed. But I won't pretend that I don't want you to. You will always have a place in her life, Isabela. And in mine."
It felt like all the air had been sucked from the room. Isabela drew a shaky breath, willing her pulse to slow down, her heart to stop pounding in her ears. Hawke's hand was still resting on her arm, the heat of it burning into her skin. "Andraste's tits, Hawke, you shouldn't say things like that." Closing her eyes, Isabela drained the last of the alcohol; there wasn't nearly enough to do what she needed it to. When she opened her eyes again, Hawke was just looking at her with that patient look on her face. "How are you so bloody calm about all this anyway? Coming back here, I half expected you to kick my ass, and that was before I knew about...everything."
Hawke smiled. "I've had a lot of time to get used to the idea," she said with a shrug. "Trust me, I did my share of screaming and crying and hitting things after you left. Aveline would have locked me up a time or two, if it hadn't been for the baby."
"That would have been a sight." Isabela chuckled, trying to ignore the guilt that stabbed at her chest. "The mighty Champion of Kirkwall, thrown in the brig like a common criminal. I'll bet there would have been riots in the streets. Not that I think that would have stopped her from doing it."
"No." Hawke grinned. "She'd have done it in a heartbeat. But she couldn't bring herself to put a pregnant woman behind bars. Then there was a baby, and separating us for the sake of teaching me a lesson wasn't something she was willing to do. Which she told me, repeatedly. I got plenty of motherly lectures over the years."
"That's my Big Girl," Isabela said with a fond smile. Oh, shit. The smile faded as she realized she hadn't seen Aveline yet; and even if Hawke hadn't held a grudge, Aveline would gladly have held it for her. Forget lectures; Isabela would be lucky if she could stand after the guard captain was done with her.
The hand on Isabela's arm squeezed gently, drawing her attention back to the issue at hand. Hawke had that nervous look on her face again, like she wasn't sure how Isabela would respond to what she was about to say.
"I don't expect you to give me an answer tonight. It's a lot to take in, I know." She drew her hand back, looking down at her lap. "Just...do me one favor? Whatever you decide, tell me. Face to face." She looked up, blue eyes peering through her lashes to lock onto Isabela's. "I need you to give me the chance to say goodbye."
Isabela frowned. "You say that like I've already decided." Granted, the choice should have been clear. Isabela didn't belong anywhere near children. And then there was Hawke, and things with Hawke were guaranteed to be unnecessarily complicated. She'd damn near perfected the art of running away, and if ever there were a time for it, this was it. So why was she even considering anything else?
Balls. Because it was Hawke, that's why.
"I've always known who you are, Bela," Hawke said with a bittersweet smile. The old nickname seemed to fall from her lips; she didn't seem to even realize she'd said it. "I don't fault you for it. Maker, it's you that I fell in love with, not some dashing rogue from one of Varric's tales."
"Are you saying I'm not dashing?" Isabela asked, narrowing her eyes as she tried to ignore the other part of what Hawke had said. She wasn't an idiot; she knew how Hawke felt about her, had known for longer than she cared to admit, but it had always gone unsaid. To hear the words aloud hit her in a way she wasn't prepared for; it made her pulse quicken, and her cheeks flush with heat. Shifting uncomfortably, she donned her best affronted expression. "I think I should be offended."
Hawke smiled, nudging Isabela's knee with her own. "You know what I meant." She released a shaky breath as she looked back down at her hands. "I know this isn't what you planned for your life. If it's too much for you, I understand."
"You do, don't you?" Isabela let out a frustrated sigh, turning her gaze back to the fire. "You're always so bloody understanding. It's infuriating."
The cushions of the couch shifted again, and then a solid warmth was pressing into Isabela's side, a warm hand resting on her thigh, and Hawke's face was scant inches from her own. Now this, this Isabela could handle. It could be just what she needed; some mind-blowing sex-it always was, with Hawke-to clear her mind of all of these blasted thoughts.
But when Hawke leaned closer, it was Isabela's cheek that her lips fell on, pressing a lingering-but chaste-kiss there. "Just think it over. Take whatever time you need. We'll be here."
Then Hawke was gone, back on the other end of the couch like she'd never bloody moved. "Wait-that's it?" Isabela protested. "No sex?"
That got a laugh, which would have been fine had it been a joke. Isabela hadn't counted on sex tonight, necessarily; she hadn't known if Hawke would be angry with her, or uninterested, or what. But Hawke wasn't angry, at least not anymore; and if the way those blue eyes darkened at the suggestion was any indication, she was definitely interested.
"I can't," Hawke said, smiling regretfully. "I'm not built for casual anymore. To be honest, I'm not sure I ever was. When-if we do, it'll have to mean something."
Balls. She should have known it would come to that. Well, if she wasn't going to get lucky tonight, she could at least have a bit of fun. Putting on a sultry pout, she shifted over on the couch, leaning over Hawke in a way that she knew would display her cleavage most enticingly.
"You don't play fair," she purred, delighting in the way Hawke's breath caught in her throat, blue eyes flickering down to what Isabela proudly thought of as two of her best assets. Definitely still interested.
"Well," Hawke said shakily, her trembling hands settling on Isabela's hips, "you cheat." With a grin, Hawke applied firm pressure, forcing Isabela out of teasing range.
Isabela sighed, at least temporarily accepting defeat. "Can't blame a girl for trying," she said, smirking as she rose to her feet. She hadn't really thought it would work, but Maker, was it ever fun. The only problem was that it left Isabela with a throbbing ache between her own legs that was decidedly not going to be relieved here. "Well if we're not going to get naked, I should probably let you get some sleep."
Hawke nodded, pushing herself to her feet. "I'll show you out."
"I do remember where the door is," Isabela said with a roll of her eyes, heading toward the foyer to prove her point.
"Well, you never used it before," Hawke teased, following close behind. "I couldn't be sure."
They stopped in front of said door, silence falling between them. Maker's breath, this was why Isabela preferred to duck out a window; there was never any awkward fumbling over a goodbye. She cleared her throat, closing her hand around the doorknob. "See? Found it."
"So you did."
"I, uh..." Isabela trailed off, wanting to say a thousand different things but lacking the nerve. "I'll see you soon, Hawke."
She slipped out the door before Hawke could reply, not stopping until she reached the stairs that led to Lowtown. She looked back, then; she couldn't actually see the estate anymore, but years of walking the same route meant that she knew exactly where it was. I'll think about it, she promised silently.
***
For the next week, Isabela could hardly think of anything else. Not for lack of trying, either; she drank herself to oblivion every night, and came very close to distracting herself with a few different promising candidates. When she got them alone, though, all she could see was that tiny face, plump lips curled into a crooked smile she'd know anywhere. Maker, she thought she'd been haunted before, seeing Hawke's face everywhere she went.
When she found herself voluntarily walking out of the Blooming Rose-after she'd already paid, no less-she knew she had a serious problem. After that, it got so that Corff was offering her free drinks if she'd only quit pacing a groove into his bloody floor.
She saw Varric a few times, in passing; he'd hurry off to his suite, making some excuse about Merchant's Guild business or something, but Isabela was no fool. The dwarf was avoiding her; and after yet another night of alternately drinking and pacing, she'd had enough.
Varric glanced up from his papers-no doubt another riveting installment of Hard in Hightown or whatever he had moved on to now-as Isabela casually flung open the door to his suite.
"You know, I'm surprised at you," she began, sauntering over to perch on the edge of the table. Her movements were dulled by the copious amounts of alcohol she'd imbibed, but she was still maddeningly clear-headed. "It used to be impossible to keep you out of everyone else's business."
For a moment, it looked as though he was going to try to dismiss her again, but then he sighed, putting down his pen and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Look, Rivaini. This isn't something I can help you with. It's a big decision. And it's one you'll have to make for yourself."
"So, no sage advice from everyone's favorite streetwise dwarf?" Isabela pouted. "Varric, I'm disappointed. I thought we were friends."
Varric met her gaze, his expression hardening. "My advice? Think long and hard about it, and be damn sure of what you want, because this is the last chance you're going to get."
Isabela tilted her head, eyeing him curiously. "Is it now?"
Slipping off of his chair, Varric moved to stand in front of Isabela, somehow managing to look menacing even while eye-level with her breasts. Probably something to do with that dangerous glint in his eyes. Shivery. "Hawke's a big girl. She makes her own decisions." He shrugged, reaching past her to close his hand around the stock of his crossbow. "But the kid's another story. If you break that little girl's heart? Let's just say you'll be getting to know Bianca a lot better than you ever wanted."
Well, that was bracing. Isabela had always admired the fierce protectiveness Varric displayed for his friends, but that was before she'd been on the receiving end of that threatening glare. "Thanks, Varric," she said with an uneasy shudder. "No pressure or anything."
"Oh, there's a lot of pressure," Varric said with a chuckle. Now that his point had been made, his demeanor lightened considerably, and he drew his hand back from Bianca, returning to his seat. "I wouldn't want to be in your shoes, Rivaini. And not just because they're taller than me."
When he picked up his pen again, Isabela gave up on any hope of further discussion. She sighed, hopping off of the table and heading for the door. Varric's friendly chats weren't nearly as helpful as they used to be.
"You really want my opinion?" Varric called after her as she closed her hand around the doorknob. She turned, canting her hip as she waited for him to finish. He offered her a knowing smile. "It's been a week, and you're still here. I'd say you've already made up your mind."
Balls. She hated when he was right.
***
For the second time in a week, Isabela stood staring at the door to the Hawke Estate, trying to summon the courage to knock. She knew what to expect this time, but somehow that didn't make it any easier; if anything, it only made her question all the more what the bloody flames she thought she was doing. Being responsible and doing the right thing was all well and good in theory, but how could she make any sort of commitment when she never thought further into the future than next week?
This was a mistake. She shouldn't have come; she needed to think more about this, needed more time-
Without warning, the door swung open, and Isabela found herself looking down at a dwarf, but not the one she'd expected.
"Rivaini." Varric didn't even have the decency to look surprised that she showed up. He just stood there with that shit-eating grin on his face, Void take him.
"Varric," Isabela said with a nervous smile. "Were you on your way out?"
He cocked his head, seeming to ponder his answer. "Well, I was going to go check up on Blondie, but I think maybe I'll stick around for a bit."
Damn him. She could practically see him taking notes in his head, deciding how he would tell this story. This was bound to be hard enough without a blighted audience. She couldn't leave now, either; he'd never let her hear the end of it.
"Bela!" Bethany came barreling across the foyer, colliding with one of Isabela's legs.
Isabela reached down to tousle the girl's already-messy hair, unable to help the smile that tugged at her lips. "Hello to you too, sweetness."
Bethany just grinned up at her, with that guileless wonder in her eyes. Isabela felt something tighten in her chest. It would be so easy to screw this up, to hurt this innocent child without even trying. Maybe she should change her mind; just leave, now, before the girl had a chance to get any more attached than she already seemed to be. What could Isabela possibly offer, anyway?
Glancing away, Isabela's gaze fell on Varric; his smile had thinned, taking on a grim edge, and his eyes glinted dangerously. She could see his fingers twitching as though any second he would reach up for Bianca. His earlier warnings echoed in her head. Maker's balls, he wasn't going to make this easy for her.
Isabela swallowed hard, turning her attention back to the child. My child, she corrected mentally. That was going to take some getting used to. "Why don't we get inside, before your mother catches you sneaking out of the house to greet visitors?"
The toddler nodded, still grinning. Her hold on Isabela's leg didn't loosen. Isabela sighed, and somehow found herself half-limping rather awkwardly through the front door, Bethany giggling in delight as she went along for the ride.
"Isabela." The softly-spoken word stopped Isabela in her tracks. There was Hawke, arms crossed over her ribs, leaning against the doorway to the front hall with a look on her face that Isabela could only describe as complicated. How the woman could pack so much feeling into one expression was a bloody mystery: the corners of her lips curled up in the barest hint of a smile; her nostrils flared slightly, giving away the quickness of her breathing; and her eyes held a delicate combination of hope and fear, shadowed by a heartbreaking sadness that told Isabela exactly what Hawke expected her to say.
"Hawke." Isabela's throat tightened around the name, and she was suddenly all too aware of the pounding of her pulse in her ears. She barely noticed Varric closing the door behind her, vaguely felt Bethany's grip on her leg loosen as the dwarf pulled the child into the front hall-far enough to give them the illusion of privacy, but not so far that he wouldn't be able to catch the gist of the conversation.
For that, however, there would have to be a conversation. All of Isabela's carefully practiced words abandoned her as Hawke stepped closer to her, shoulders tensed as if in preparation for a blow. She thought she'd known what to say, but the weight of her decision was almost suffocating now that she was faced with giving voice to it. If she did this now, said the words, there would be no going back. For a woman who always had a convenient escape route or clever backup plan, the prospect was terrifying.
The hope slowly faded from Hawke's eyes as the silence stretched on; she was taking Isabela's hesitance to speak as an answer in itself, and coming to all the wrong conclusions. Finally she nodded, tears glistening in her eyes as she drew a shaky breath and opened her mouth to speak; no doubt ready to make leaving as easy as possible.
Fuck it. Isabela was always better with actions than words, anyway. Before Hawke could say a word, Isabela swept forward, her hands sliding up to tangle in messy black hair as she claimed Hawke's lips in a bruising kiss.
It didn't take long for Hawke to overcome her initial surprise, and soon she was returning the kiss with equal fervor. Her hands clutched at Isabela's waist, pulling her impossibly closer; her lips parted, her tongue tangling desperately with Isabela's own. It was everything that had been missing from Isabela's countless casual dalliances over the past few years-the fire, the passion, the dangerous undercurrent of feeling that laced all of their encounters.
Maker, she had missed this. Moaning hungrily into Hawke's mouth, Isabela pushed forward with her body, trapping Hawke against the wall next to the door. Without breaking the kiss, Isabela tugged one hand free, sliding it down Hawke's body to settle on her hip. She lost herself in the feel of Hawke against her, desire infusing her movements with an urgency she hadn't felt for ages.
Then Isabela's hand slid back to grip Hawke's ass, a leather-clad knee slipping between Hawke's legs; Hawke tensed, and the hands on Isabela's hips shot up to push insistently at her shoulders. Isabela reluctantly pulled away, panting.
"Bela," Hawke groaned, arousal darkening her eyes even as regret filled her voice, "I told you, I can't..."
Isabela closed her eyes, resting her forehead against Hawke's. It was too much to hope for that she could get around saying the words. "I know what you said," she breathed, her voice still shaking with want and something else too terrifying to name. "And it does mean something. I don't know what, but it's always bloody meant something with you." Pulling back, Isabela forced her eyes open. Hawke was watching her with a guarded hope blossoming on her features, and Isabela had to remind herself to breathe. "Maker, Hawke, I'm no good at any of this," she admitted with a soft shake of her head. "But I tried to stay away from you, and it didn't work. It never works."
The expression that dawned on Hawke's face was almost blinding in its intensity, a brief moment of pure happiness untainted by the darkness of her past. Isabela felt her chest swell with pride at being the cause of it. Maybe she could do this after all.
After a moment, though, Hawke's eyes clouded again, and she lowered her gaze, watching her fingers toy with the edge of Isabela's shirt. "And Bethany?" she asked in a small voice. She raised her eyes again, her crooked smile failing to hide the tremor in her voice. "We're kind of a set, I'm afraid."
She'd thought of little else over the past week, but Isabela was no closer to even knowing where to start. She wasn't the sort of person anyone sane would want around their children; what could possibly make her think she could raise a child of her own?
"Balls," Isabela cursed. Her eyes shot to the doorway, where she was certain Varric would be watching her with that flinty gaze. He was, of course, but so was Bethany. Isabela groaned. The girl's eyes had lit up with interest when the word left Isabela's lips, and nothing good could come from that look. She turned her eyes back to Hawke, her brow creased in apology. "Sorry. Clearly that's going to take more work."
Hawke smiled again, as though Isabela hadn't just taught her daughter a naughty word. One hand slid up from Isabela's shoulder, thumb stroking gently along the line of her jaw. "If that means you're willing to try, then I think I can be patient with you."
Isabela chuckled, the shaking of her breath betraying how unsteady she still felt. "If you were any more patient, Hawke, the Maker himself would have to give you his bloody throne."
"Right," Hawke laughed softly, rolling her eyes.
Her gaze fell to Isabela's lips, and Isabela was suddenly aware how close they were still standing; how her hands were still resting comfortably against Hawke's neck and the curve of her hip; how their chests pushed against one another with every breath. Isabela swallowed roughly, willing herself to let Hawke make the first move.
Thankfully, Hawke seemed to be just as aware of the situation; her lips curled into a seductive smirk. "Well," she murmured, curling her fingers around the top of Isabela's shirt, "my patience does have its limits."
Warmth pooled in Isabela's stomach, and she hummed her approval as Hawke pulled her closer. "That sounds like a challenge," she purred, tilting her head so that her lips barely grazed Hawke's. The faint catch of Hawke's breath was more satisfying than any casual encounter Isabela had engaged in over the last three years.
A needy groan was quickly swallowed as Hawke dragged her into a feverish embrace. Teeth scraped over Isabela's lips as Hawke arched away from the wall, demanding more-more passion, more contact, just more.
Isabela was happy to oblige, any thought of testing the boundaries of Hawke's patience dissipating with the slide of Hawke's tongue against her own. She pressed forward, her hand sliding down over Hawke's ass to grasp the back of a muscled thigh and dragging it up to hook over her hip.
There was nothing but the two of them, and the delectable sounds she was drawing from Hawke's throat, until the sound of a throat clearing shattered the illusion. Tearing her lips away from Hawke's, Isabela shot Varric a dirty look. He just raised an eyebrow, nodding pointedly toward the child at his side who was watching them with wide-eyed curiosity.
Groaning, Isabela turned her gaze back to Hawke. She never thought these words would fall from her lips. "Maybe we should take this somewhere more private?"
Hawke whimpered, rocking against Isabela's thigh. A hint of guilt flashed through her eyes as she glanced sideways at their unwitting audience, but when she looked back at Isabela, there was nothing but burning need in her dark gaze. "Three years, Bela. I don't think I can wait any longer."
Well, honestly, who could expect Isabela to resist that? She was only human, after all. And with Hawke looking at her with those kiss-swollen lips, cheeks flushed deep red with arousal, it was all Isabela could do to tear her eyes away long enough to give Varric a very pointed glance.
Varric cleared his throat again, and reached down to grab Bethany's hand. "Come on, Little Hawke. Let's go check out that new book Auntie Aveline gave you."
"What's Mama doing?"
"I'll tell you when you're older."
There was a delighted squeal, and Isabela assumed Varric had swept the child up into his arms; she couldn't say for sure, because her attention was once again firmly focused on those lips that were just begging to be kissed again. Never one to deny such delicious urges, Isabela leaned in to resume their earlier activity.
"Balls!" Bethany's voice was more distant now, but close enough to carry to the two lovers.
Hawke groaned, pulling back far enough to pin Isabela with her best attempt at a stern glare. "You'll pay for that."
Isabela smirked, sliding her hand under the hem of Hawke's skirt. "Looking forward to it."
***
Much later, Isabela sighed, collapsing back onto Hawke's bed, bare legs tangled in a mess of sheets and blankets. She reached up to curl her arms around the pillow under her head, savoring the fading throb between her legs.
"Was it as good as you remembered?" Hawke teased. She had propped herself up one one elbow, and her free hand moved to trace meandering circles across the sweat-slick skin of Isabela's chest.
The touch of Hawke's fingers and the stupidly tender smile on Hawke's lips had Isabela's skin tingling, her heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with sex. It was the kind of thing that she never would have allowed before; a warning sign that she'd let things go too far, that it was time to pack up and run before things got impossibly complicated. Now that she'd decided to give this thing with Hawke a chance, it was no less terrifying, but she couldn't deny how good it felt.
Isabela's lips spread lazily into a sated grin as she turned to meet her lover's gaze. "Better."
A thorough exploration had confirmed that Hawke's breasts were indeed a bit larger than they had been, and the curves of her body were softer than before. Isabela had catalogued the differences extensively with fingers and tongue, tracing the faded pink lines around her breasts and abdomen, taking note of every new scar (of which there were thankfully few) that testified to the fact that even with a new child, Hawke was still the Champion of Kirkwall, and as the letters downstairs had suggested, she was still very much in demand. It was different from learning a new lover's body, somehow more exciting; rediscovering all of the places that made Hawke gasp and shiver, even finding one or two new ones.
When she caught herself thinking like that, Isabela knew she was a lost cause. If there had been any doubt before, she knew for certain now: she was completely smitten.
Hawke's soft, deliberate intake of breath shattered the stillness of the moment, pulling Isabela from her thoughts. "I know it's not going to be easy for you," she said gently, flattening her palm over the center of Isabela's chest. "Whatever you need from me-"
The faint knock at the bedroom door flooded Isabela with relief. She could feel her heart pounding against Hawke's hand, her own fingers clenched tightly in the pillow behind her head. She wasn't sure she was ready to put words to the doubts that plagued her mind, and knowing Hawke, the other woman would manage to drag every last uneasy thought into light with little to no effort at all. She had agreed to try; that didn't mean she would be any good at it, or that she had any idea at all what she was doing.
"What is it?" Hawke called, frustrated at the interruption.
"I'm so sorry to interrupt, Mistress," Orana's voice was just barely loud enough to hear, muffled by the door that remained firmly shut. "The little one has been fed and bathed, but she's waiting for you to put her to bed."
"I'll be right there," Hawke replied with a sigh, turning back to Isabela. "She'll want a story," she said apologetically.
Suddenly, Isabela felt unbearably awkward. If she was looking for a cue to leave, this would clearly be it, but she wasn't so sure she wanted to. She wasn't certain what Hawke would expect from her, either. Maybe it was too soon for her to even consider staying the night; it wasn't like Isabela had much experience with this sort of thing, and Maker knew there was still a lot for the two of them to work through, hours of incredible sex notwithstanding.
Hawke seemed to notice her uncertainty, and smiled. "You can come along, if you like," she said casually. "I've been taking lessons from Varric. I'm getting pretty good at it."
Isabela quirked an eyebrow at that; Hawke, a storyteller? It was an amusing thought, but not enough to distract her from the thundering of her pulse in her ears. Was she ready for this? "Hawke, I...I don't know," she said, looking nervously away; she was afraid to see the disappointment on Hawke's face.
The hand resting on her chest moved up to cradle her cheek, and Isabela reluctantly slid her gaze back up to see Hawke smiling that gentle, patient smile at her; she really didn't know how the woman did it. She felt like an idiot for being so flaming bad at this, and Hawke just understood.
"You don't have to," Hawke said gently. She drew her hand back, sitting up at the edge of the bed with her back to Isabela. An impish smirk adorned her lips as she peered back over her shoulder. "She'll probably want a pirate tale, though; those are her favorite."
Isabela groaned, flinging a hand over her eyes. "Maker knows what ridiculous things that dwarf has been filling both of your heads with." She let out an aggrieved sigh and let her hand drop down to her side. "That settles it then. It's my duty on behalf of pirates everywhere to make sure you're telling it right."
When she dared to look back up, Hawke was beaming down at her. If it meant seeing that look of utter happiness on Hawke's face, Isabela thought, this may not be so hard after all.
end.