Healing Anders

Disclaimer: Anders does not belong to me, he belongs to Bioware.

The unthinkable happened: Anders was sick.

Well, it wasn't entirely unthinkable, really. He did have a habit of skipping meals because he was too absorbed in the patients in his clinic or helping out with the mage underground. This was exactly why Hawke spent most of her free time helping out around the clinic. When she wasn't being his assistant, she was sitting in a chair off to the side with her knitting. It was her duty as his friend to look out for him since he seemed to be allergic to looking out for himself.

Hawke's eyebrows furrowed and her bottom lip jutted out pitifully at the use of the word. Friend. Pffft. It bothered her greatly. She understood why he didn't want to pursue anything, but it still got to her. These feelings that swirled beneath the surface... that kept her eyes on him at all times... They consumed her. The more she fought it, the worse that it got. And since she had never experienced something like this before, she was reluctant to let go. Even if letting go was in her best interest.

As if I didn't have enough problems on my hands, she thought as she pushed open the tattered wooden door. There was a cough to her right and so she turned only to see the most pitiful thing she had ever laid eyes upon.

Anders was laying down on his cot with nearly every blanket that she had knit him since they met piled on top of him -- and that was a lot. She assumed he was laying there, since the giant mass of blankets twitched when he coughed. But who knew. A giant, sentient pile of knitted blankets wouldn't be the weirdest thing she had seen since she came to Kirkwall. Isabela praying at the Chantry immediately came to mind. Which she found out later had only happened because one of the sisters there had told her that if she could pray for an hour straight, she would give the pirate a prize. Dirty.

First she was filled to the brim with worry and---well, she didn't want to know what that other feeling was. She assumed it was the "L" word and no Isabela, the word was not Lesbians. But the more she looked at him, the more enraged she became by his lack of self preservation.

"Hawke?" he asked in a weak, scratchy voice from underneath the multicolored, knitted mountain.

She sighed, "Yes, it's me. I brought soup and tea to see if that would help your throat."

She set the containers on the table near his bed. They were wrapped up with cloths so that they wouldn't be too cool by the time she got there in case he was super hungry. Who wanted to wait for their food to get heated up when they were starved? Always overly-considerate of her lov--

Hawke's mind went silent at the nearly thought word, a comically shocked look on her face. All she needed to do was avoid her thoughts and focus on taking care of Anders rather than words that start with L.

There was more movement next to her. She was about to ask him if he wanted anything when she saw how he looked. Not only was he covered in a mountain of blankets, he was wearing multiple hats and scarves as well. She had yet to make him any mittens though and she figured that was why his hands were still safely tucked underneath the blankets. Now she felt guilty for not toughing out the awkward stitches so that his hands could stay warm.

"Oh, Anders," Hawke sighed his name before she burst into a fit of her awkward snorty giggles. "Did they attack you?"

He just blinked at her in sleepy confusion. "What?"

The giggles raised in volume. "You're wearing every thing I have ever made you in the past two years! Did the scarf try to strangle you in your sleep again?"

At the mention of the scarf strangling, his face went dark. "I thought we said we wouldn't speak of that incident ever again."

Hawke just shook her head and walked over to him. They had, but she never forgot that story. She reached out tentatively, her wrist resting on his scorching forehead. "Goodness. You're really sick, aren't you? Your forehead's as hot as a whore's t'aint!"

He looked equal parts amused and horrified at her dirty metaphor, a small chuckle escaping him as he nodded. "To the point that I can't even cast any spells. Maker, I'm freezing even with all of this on."

Her eyes softened as she unwrapped the ceramic container full of soup. "You need to rest! Here. I'll fix you some soup if you think you can manage to stomach it. Think you can?"

"What kind of soup? Scratch that -- I'm ravenous. I'll eat whatever it is regardless." He tried to push himself up, but nearly fell face first onto the cold ground below. His upper body trembled weakly as he collapsed, half on and half off of his cot. "Balls."

"Anders!" she said in a panic.

Hawke darted over to him, sloshing soup all over the place when she abandoned it. It was a little difficult for her to tell what was Anders and what was miles upon miles of blankets, but somehow she managed to pile him back up onto the cot with minimal injuries on both sides. She moved to the end of the rickety piece of furniture and pushed with all of her might so that the back of it was resting against the wall, that way he could prop himself up and eat.

"You smell like soup," he muttered absentmindedly as she tucked a blanket under his chin and pulled the topmost hat down over his ears.

"You daft bastard! Why would you flail about when you can barely move? Stay in one place!" she said in disgruntled worry.

She made sure that he was well-covered before she headed back to the table with the soup. Part of her felt horrible when she saw the 'barely there' look on his face. He looked as if he was half in the fade. "No wonder you're cold! Nearly all of the fires in here have gone out. The closest one is barely going," she mumbled grumpily as she poured the steaming vegetable soup into a mug.

"Hmm," Anders said as he managed to wrestle a blanket behind him to prop him up more. She could almost intuit his sarcasm before he even got the words out. "Stay warm and eventually catch myself on fire while I'm sleeping OR be slightly cold and flame free. What to choose..."

"I will pick you up and launch you like a javelin into that flaming bin over there," Hawke said as her eyes shot daggers at him.

"I'd honestly like to see that. Though I doubt you would," he shot back. He was right. She was all talk when it came to him. Anders was her weakness, though she would never tell him that.

It was actually amusing, the way he just blurted things out right now. Usually he would be silent and focused with the occasional snarky remark. Now he was just plain goofy. It was a side of Anders that she imagined was prominent back before Justice happened. She smiled sadly. This was exactly why she refused to leave him be. Justice was running him into the ground without a thought toward his well-being. Or she assumed it was Justice. Perhaps it was all Anders, masochistically wallowing in the guilt that formed when Justice became Vengeance. Maybe even a combination of both.

Regardless of what it was, she would be there to remind him that he was a worthwhile human being. He deserved to be taken care of and well fed too. Just like the people he sacrificed himself for daily. What happened with Justice was not an intentional thing, so he did not deserve to suffer day in and day out. Why wouldn't he deserve happiness?

Hawke shook herself out of her thoughts, blinking back unshed tears. It really did bother her. He was so kind, to the point of fragility -- though she doubted he would like to hear that. He didn't deserve to be mistreated by himself of all people.

She pushed a chair closer to his cot and sat down, the mug of warm soup outstretched toward him. "Here. It's still pretty warm, so make sure to blow on it."

Anders smiled, his eyes full of mirth as he took the warm soup from her. It caused his entire body to shiver at the warm contact. "Your usual charm and grace is now replaced with extreme bossiness."

"You probably neglect yourself on purpose just so I boss you around. Pervert," Hawke just shook her head, suddenly feeling better thanks to his goofy attitude. That didn't mean that he was completely off the hook though.

Anders just laughed. He did as he was told and blew lightly on the mug before taking a sip. His face scrunched up in pain at first, but Hawke could tell that the soup eased the raw ache in his throat.

"Any better?" she asked, suddenly self conscious of her cooking.

Anders nodded and curled deeper into the covers. "Mm. Thank you. Seriously, Hawke. I appreciate all of the trouble you're going through. I know there's a lot on your mind, thanks to the latest Qunari upset."

Warmth flooded from her heart and poured out all the way down to her toes. She smiled, her voice even more tender than usual, "I always have time for you. You know that."

A dark flicker of... something crossed Anders' face. It made Hawke's breath catch in her throat and her heart speed up. The damn mage was covered in snot and maker knows what all while wearing five different hats, yet he still managed to turn her to jelly with just a look. It baffled her.

"Hawke..." he started, but then he looked down at the steam that rose from the mug in his slightly less freezing fingers. "...I don't deserve this."

And then he managed to piss her off in less than two minutes. Her hands clenched and unclenched as she nearly shook at the fury in her.

Be quiet, Hawke. Let it go. He's sick. You can discuss all of this at a later date when he's feeling up to it, but not right now. Just breathe. Breathe, dammit! Her mind began to race as she tried to calm down. This was not the time.

But something in her just snapped. Images of Anders spending all hours of the night taking care of others poured through her head. She saw as the circles under his eyes managed to darken over time. He began to get thinner as he neglected himself further. It was too much. She had held her tongue for far too long.

"I can't believe you," she spat out, her shaking hands smoothing her wavy hair out of her face.

Anders just blinked, his eyes still cloudy with sickly confusion.

The image made her burst into awkward, frustrated tears. Years of pent up anger toward that part of him that abused himself came flooding out all at once. She flopped onto the floor in a pile of exhaustion.

"Hawke! Be careful!" Anders exclaimed fearfully. He was totally flabberghasted, worry etched on his worn face.

This was not something she ever did in front of anyone, so she was unsurprised by his reaction. When he started to get up to move over to her collapsed form, she scrambled up to the cot to push him back down.

"Don't you dare get up!" she said angrily. "You need to take care of yourself for once. Quit over doing it, dammit. I'm fine."

"But--" he started, but she didn't have the patience to let him finish.

"No. You are going to sit and listen for once," she stated as her eyes met his caramel ones. The healer sat back in stunned silence as Hawke began to berate him. "I come to this clinic day in and day out, not to look out for the refugees, sorry, but to look out for you. You spend so much time taking care of everyone else, yet you barely eat or give yourself enough time to sleep!

"I don't know why you do this, but it's not fair. It's not fair that I have to sit by and watch you dwindle away into nothingness and be expected to not say a peep. It's not fair that you do this to yourself! I know you don't like being prodded at, so I've tried to keep quiet, but I can't do it anymore. I am fed up!" Her finger poked his chest to make her point. "It's not your fault, Anders," Hawke pleaded with him. "You didn't intentionally change Justice. You just wanted to help him, so stop punishing yourself. Please."

Throughout her entire onslaught, Anders merely sat back with the look of a kicked puppy. Now all he did was stare at his soup as if it held the answer to eternal life.

Hawke didn't know if she was too harsh or if the past weeks of tireless working had finally done him in, but something finally broke through that impenetrable wall. There were no jokes or harsh words as Anders looked at her, his eyes full of unshed tears and his mouth set in a grim line. "I corrupted him. You don't understand what that's like. It is my fault, Hawke."

"I know it's not the same, but I couldn't protect my brother. I watched as he was killed and I did nothing," she spat bitterly. " I know what it's like to blame yourself for something that was out of your hands." This was the first time she admitted to the endless amount of guilt she bore fom the ordeal. For the entire year after Carver's death, she lived on autopilot, barely anything more than a machine. Something in her loosened at the admission. "It's not your fault. You don't have to punish yourself."

Anders fell silent. Hawke watched as he pressed shaky palms to his eyes to surpress the flow of tears. She could tell how angry he was. Flickers of blue raced across his skin for a moment, but he managed to get it under control.

"I don't know how to forgive myself," he admitted quietly, his voice unnaturally rough. "Part of me doesn't want to."

His words were like a punch to her gut. She didn't know how to forgive herself either. "You have to try. Please."

He merely nodded. "I'm sorry for worrying you. It was never my intention."

"I'm sorry for blowing up on you when you're sick," she banged her head against the side of the cot in frustration. "Ugh. I'm not helping at all. Here, I'll warm the soup up for you. It got cold."

As she reached for it, Anders' hand darted out and curled around her wrist. He gave her one of those looks that made her quiver and feel things that she never allowed herself to feel. It was as if he was looking right through her and could read her every thought. He exposed her completely.

"Thank you," the words were barely a whisper as he managed a feeble smile. He gave her hand a friendly squeeze, lingering for a few moments longer than was normal and then let go.

It broke her heart. This longing that she had for him was something that she had never felt before. She snapped out of her momentary revelry and dipped her head down, hiding her flushed face with her bangs as she took the cold soup from him and darted over to the remaining fire. The two remained relatively silent from then on out.


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The silence between them had been awkward for a few hours after Hawke's blow up of epic proportions, but it eased up after she started to read part of the novel she had brought with her. It had been her father's favorite. The pages were worn from years of use and it smelled oddly of pickles. She didn't quite understand that, but loved the book regardless of its odd smell, so she thought that Anders might feel better if he could focus on something else.

It was a work of fiction by a little known author, full of dragon-slaying and princess-saving. It was full of cliches, but she still loved it and Anders seemed to like it too, well for as long as he stayed awake. Eventually, after two full mugs of soup and a good-sized hunk of bread, he fell asleep.

Hawke put the book down as guilt overcame her. She didn't know if what she had said helped or only managed to make things worse. There was so much unsaid between the two of them and the last thing she wanted was for something else to be added to the pile. If she could just get into his head for a moment so she could see what he was thinking...

The mage shivered under the blankets as he curled onto his side. It was getting darker and therefore colder, which was the last thing that he needed right then. She added more logs to the flaming bin that was nearby in hopes of warming the room up some more, but it didn't seem to be enough.

Well, she didn't have magic, so she couldn't warm him that way. The only thing she could think of was body heat, but the idea made her feel like a letch. It would be great to use this as an excuse to curl up next to him... When Anders burrowed deeper into the blankets as he continued to shiver, it snapped her out of her thoughts. That sealed the deal.

"Anders," she whispered as she nudged him. He didn't budge an inch. Great.

The cot would be just big enough for her to slip next to him on her side. Hawke couldn't tell if it was the heat of the fire or her body reacting to his closeness, but there was definitely something going on with her face. The little voice in her head that told her she was nuts was pushed into the back of her mind as she slipped underneath the blankets right next to him.

He stirred. Damn his timing. "...Hawke? What are you doing?" his voice was scratchy from sleep, but she could hear the alarm in it.

"Oh shut up. Just pretend we're in the Deep Roads again or something," Hawke muttered as she pressed against the freezing cold mage.

"Dear Maker no!" A look of true horror crossed his face at the mention of the most wretched of all places. Well, he was awake now. "Anyways, you didn't wedge yourself in my bedroll then. You just sang and then we talked. There was none of this." He gestured to the minimal distance between them.

"Well, I would have if you were freezing cold even though you had every hat, scarf and blanket known to mankind wrapped around you," she curled closer to him, her face turning red at the proximity. She could feel his warm, sickly breath hitting her breastbone. For some reason, it calmed her. Made her feel like the tension from earlier was pushing them closer together rather than apart. Even if it was only in her head, she felt relieved.

Feeling brazen, Hawke took one of his hands between hers and rubbed it in an attempt to warm it up.

"Mm," he mumbled incoherently, obviously relaxed by the warm body next to him. "Sweet Andraste... I can feel my toes..."

"Good," she nearly purred the word, happy with herself. She cleared her throat, bothered by how easy it was for her to slip into flirt mode with him. So she deflected her awkwardness with humor as usual. "You owe me."

Anders just laughed as he lay there boneless and content. The relaxed sound was very welcome. "Not a day goes by where I don't owe you, Hawke."

"Point taken." She grinned.

Her hands kneaded at the cold flesh until it was warmed up again. She switched to his other hand and watched, an amused look on her face as Anders made more noises of approval. Goodness, he was loud. The sounds went straight to the apex of her thighs. Sickly or no, he still drove her mad with want.

His eyes opened, pupils dilated to the point that you could barely see the warm amber of his irises. Something about the intense look on his face made her squirm and flush. She felt particularly vulnerable all of a sudden.

"You're going to get sick if you stay this close," his voice was low, nearly a whisper. The warning was evident. Amber eyes darted to her lips.

Oh Maker.

"It's okay," she whispered back as she curled closer to him without realizing it. "Warmer?" she asked, nervous.

There was a nod and then a barely covered yawn as he -- regrettably -- closed his eyes. But she did catch the weird look in his eye before he did so. Maybe all of it was just in her head.

Her stomach was full of knots as she watched the way the flickers of firelight danced across his face. How his long, dusky eyeshadows rested on his cheeks. He looked healthier now. Maybe it was just the color of the fire making his skin look more vibrant, but she thought that maybe the soup and the body heat was actually working. How she hoped it was. Perhaps it was wishful thinking on her part, but he looked less... haunted. Like her proximity actually kept the demons at bay. Even if it was only for a few hours, she wanted him to be at peace.

Aching muscles relaxed as she watched him. She didn't know how long they stayed like that, but soon enough she drifted off as well, tucked safely underneath his chin.