undwarfy | Open post

"Once again, I am falsely accused of whatever it is that I'm accused of," he said instantly, the words coming out like a reflex. "Falsely."

He meets her gaze right back, eyes wrapped in his usual blanket of smartass warmth.

"Can I really be blamed if the elves can't hold their liquor?" Varric gave her a long-suffering look, much like one beleaguered parent might give to another.

She had to smile, if ruefully. "In this case? Yes."

Maker blight it. The smartass warmth got to her every time. It actually made her feel gooey.

She was in so much trouble.

Hawke groaned and covered her face with one hand. "All right, let's have it. Fire away." He had to want to ask her what the fuck was going on, or he wouldn't have deliberately gotten rid of her backups. And she could just go, but it'd just mean the conversation happened later. It might as well happen now while she was drunk enough that it wouldn't hurt too much. Hopefully.

Rather than pop off, Varric took a leisurely pull from his tankard. "Can't. Bianca's tucked away upstairs. She was a little too tired for socializing tonight."

After his leisurely drink, he put the tankard down slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, and buffed one of his nails nonchalantly. "Besides, I'm confident enough in our friendship to trust that if something were going on with you, you'd tell me."

A quick glance. Just enough to say what the fuck, Hawke, if there's something wrong, why wouldn't you tell me? Never let it be said that one can't be both a manly man and a dramatic kween.

Hawke managed not to scowl. She was jealous of a blighted crossbow. A crossbow. And whatever ghost rode with it, admittedly. Now she knew why she'd never quite dared to ask: she didn't want to know. Hearing Varric treat his crossbow like a lover was bad enough without actually knowing the story that went with it.

The nail-buffing and glance earned him a brief glare. "That was a low blow," she muttered. Deserved. But still a low blow.

His message thoroughly delivered, Varric returned his attention to his nails, looking for all the world like the sassiest queen on reality TV. The truth about Bianca was simply that keeping a crossbow at a card game made people uncomfortable, and coin didn't flow well when people were uncomfortable. Hawke knew that, everybody in his close circle knew that, and Varric was comfortable enough in this general knowledge that it never occurred to him that someone might forget or overlook it.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Hawke," he snarked, then immediately regretted it. Come on, Tethras, you're better than that. Varric sighed heavily and sat up, leaned his elbows on the table, and looked at her properly. "Shit, fine. Then I'll ask- what's going on with you, Hawke? You've been acting a... a little weird. Everything alright?"

His own princess feelings aside, Hawke visiting (and then storming out of) a brothel, changing up her routine, and avoiding her best friend were all signs that something was wrong or seriously bothering her. People didn't just suddenly act different without a reason. Something was wrong- maybe something at home, maybe news about Bethany. Maybe love life trouble. Who knew?

The only thing worse than Varric being a smartass was Varric not being a smartass. "It's not--" Hawke groaned and covered her face with one hand, which meant the rest of what she said came out a bit muffled. "It's no big deal. Just a...a minor, embarassing personal problem. I'll handle it."

And if you believe that, Varric, you should also know that she's the Black Divine. Her body language just screams that she's lying through her teeth, even if she wants it to be true. She's been less tense while dealing with a horde of Templars.

The giant flaming lie hits him right in the teeth, and he sighs heavily. "Look, Hawke, if you're embarrassed that I know about.." His voice drops lower, so only she can hear. "That thing at the Rose- don't be. I made damn sure nobody else knew, and the little twerp who told me decided to start minding his own business."

Said in a way that suggested that aforementioned twerp's decision was decidedly not a freely made one. He runs a hand through his hair and rubs his chin thoughtfully. The nervous energy is- well, much less than Hawke's, but more than he's used to. It's weird as shit having Hawke be weird at him.

"I'm not judging- we all deal with our shit somehow. I'm just worried that you're acting... off. Not to mention, avoiding me. I might cry."

Narrator: he will not, in fact, cry.

"No you won't. You wouldn't dare damage both our reputations by doing something like crying at me. And no, it's not the thing at the Rose. Though, thanks for that." It's not like going to a brothel would really do much to damage her, except maybe in a few people's eyes. Half the city goes to the Rose. If her mother were still alive that might be another matter, but as it is, anyone else who wants to judge can go to the Void for all she cares. So long as Varric himself doesn't.

She looks up at Varric briefly, then grimaces, resigned. Clearly, he's not going to let this go. She takes a deep breath. "There's this...person. Who I fell for. But they're not available, so I'm stuck. That's it. Shit happens, and all that."

The fact that this doesn't really explain much, particularly not why she's been avoiding him specifically, is something she's really hoping he'll overlook. Though she doubts it.

Varric wasn't sure if it was the Rose thing, but it was the first thing that popped into his head. Her actual answer is... a surprise, to say the least. In fact, it's so banal that he almost laughs.

He doesn't. There's a ghost of a smile as he says, "That's why you've been avoiding everybody? Well shit, Hawke, I'm exactly the person to talk to about that."

With that, Varric thumps a hand on the table and orders another round of drinks from Corff. "Sounds like we should talk to some ale about this."

"Not everybody," she mumbles, then regrets it. If he hasn't noticed that the only person she's been actively avoiding is him, good. She might yet get out of this with some semblance of dignity intact.

To say nothing of their friendship. Hawke really, really doesn't know what she'd do without that. It's such a cliche that it's laughable, but she doesn't. Otherwise she'd have tried her luck and to hell with the consequences. But what would she do without Varric to quip with and snark at and talk to? Whatever other stuff her heart (or the rest of her anatomy) wants isn't as important as that. At least, she hopes not.

But she takes another ale, because why not, what could go wrong, don't answer that.

Another person might not have caught that; the distraction of ordering ale and the noise of the tavern may well have easily carried that mumble away. Varric is a professional listener, and it gives him pause.

So. She isn't avoiding everybody. He'd tossed that comment out as a way of giving her cover, and possibly as a fishing line: seeing what he could reel in from her in response. He hadn't expected something quite so revealing.

Time to be an asshole. Okay, no, but it's time to be his usual nosy hilarious (in his opinion) self, with only a slight ulterior motive.

"So, I gotta ask- what did Denier do? Did he have bad breath?" He leans in, an amused glint in his eyes. "Did he ask you to call him Daddy?"

The drinks come and he slides it over to her, letting their fingers brush just a little.

Hawke looks briefly disgusted at the call him Daddy line. Ugh. No, no, no, ugh. The slight brush of fingers makes her pause enough for that look to fade, though. Her mind goes very briefly blank.

Then she shrugs. Nothing happened. Moving along. "Too much beard. It itched. Should've asked for Jethann."

What? That reveals nothing. The idea of her not liking beards is an old joke between them. They've spent lots of time making fun of outrageous Dwarven beards. Especially Bartrand's, of course.

Varric kept taking in information and evaluating even as he carried on the conversation. Typical disgust at the daddy line (as was intended): check. Typical reaction to an accidental touch: ...not check. The pause was brief but there; a flickering, hitching thing almost buried.

Interesting.

He wanted to do it again, just to see what she'd do. The fact that he spent most of his time wanting to touch her had... only a little to do with it, really. Probably.

"I guess he wasn't working that night," Varric shrugged. He happened to know for a fact that Jethann WAS working that night. "You probably made poor Beardy cry."

If Denier had ever had tear ducts, you wouldn't know it. He was the kind of guy who probably cried rocks.

"Why? He still got paid, and it's not like he had any more interest in me than I had in him." Hawke knocked back a long swig of her ale. "That's why I left. It wasn't what I wanted, and I knew it, and I couldn't pretend it was even if I wanted to." She shrugged. "So I left. Nothing more to tell."

Partial truth. It'd mostly been the beard. She didn't actually have anything against them in general, but it was impossible to close her eyes and pretend for even a second that it was Varric she was with if there was that blighted beard around. Also he'd smelled wrong. And talked wrong. And wasn't Varric.

...damn.

"Hmph," Varric grumped good-naturedly. "I hate a boring story. But I suppose I'll just have to cope, since this one isn't getting spread around."

He knocked his tankard against hers and took a long pull before changing the subject slightly.

"So! Unrequited love, torments of the heart, star-crossed whatever," he began, rubbing his hands together in apparent delight at such excellent literary fodder. "Tell me, who's the lucky person? Or should I be saying oblivious moron?"

Because that was the only way someone who rejected Hawke could be described. Obviously.

Hawke shot him a glare. Oblivious moron definitely was nearer the mark, and his amusement at her expense wasn't helping. "Knight-Commander Meredith, obviously," she drawled. "I'm just desperate for her affections, but she's too in love with that sword she's got stuck up her ass."

She took another drink and leaned back in her chair. "You were going to tell me a story."

"Was I?" he shot back, noticing that glare with some satisfaction. "I recall saying no such thing."

He put his feet up on the table and leaned back, settling in. It was Hawke's play now, Varric had no intention of dropping this. "Out with it, Hawke. I can't imagine anyone refusing you anything."

Shit, maybe he was overplaying his hand here.

It was an unsubtle hint, but Hawke was annoyed and frustrated and a little drunk. Subtlety was more wasted on her than usual. "Oh? So that means if I asked, you'd drop this and let me get drunk in peace, hmm?"

"Nope," he smirked. "Not a chance. You've been avoiding me, so I'm gonna keep prying until you tell me why. Also, torturing you as revenge."

Driiiink.

"So no one can refuse me anything, except for you? Figures."

She downed the rest of her drink and pointed at him. "You wouldn't be being so smug if you hadn't put it together. Fine, your ego is stoked, how nice for you. Enjoy that."

She was actually pissed at him, for once. First time for everything. But blight it, he didn't have to rub it in her face like this. She'd leave if she thought she could do it without looking ridiculous. More ridiculous.

"I- what?" Now Varric was actually off-balance. No, he hadn't put it together. He put together that she was lying off her ass, and using her crush on someone unavailable as a cover for the real reason she was avoiding him. He also figured that while her unrequited love was probably part of her problem, it probably wasn't the reason she'd been avoiding him, and that there was something she wasn't telling him.

Now, though, he gave her a very strange look. Hawke was clearly genuinely angry, and under the impression that he'd had some grand revelation. "Are we not still talking about the fact that your crush on someone is 80% likely to be a lie you pulled out of your ass?"

Varric didn't usually just lay his underlying assumptions out on the table like a hand of cards. It showed how confused he was. The truth had occurred to him once, a few days ago, but he was dead-ass convinced that it was impossible. His touching a few minutes ago was just to test a reaction, and he'd thought the reaction was based on still being weird about something, or their friendship being on the rocks somehow.

The odd look he gave her painted a different picture from what she'd assumed. The anger drained out of her. Hawke groaned, then folded her arms on the table and rested her head on them, muttering various curses under her breath.

After a minute of that, she sat up enough to rest her chin on her crossed arms. "No, I'm afraid that wasn't bullshit, it was entirely true. And you were going to tell me why you're exactly the best person to talk to about being smitten stupid with someone you can't have. At least, that was implied. Feel free to make some shit up. Bonus points if you were as much of an idiot about it as I feel right now."

By the time Hawke met his eyes again, Varric look downright alarmed. Well, alarmed might be the wrong word. There was a wary intensity in his eyes, like he was about to jump into a fire, or possibly was handling live bees. Or like he actually was starting to come to a realization.

"That remains to be seen," he said softly, wondering how much of an idiot he'd actually been. "Hawke, who is it?"

She chose a dwarf. She'd been avoiding him- only him. She thought he realized something, something that would puff up his ego. Would- no. No way, never.

All the same, he had to know. Just in case. Hopefully she could hear him over the pounding of his heart- which he was convinced was loud enough to drown out the room.

He gets The Look.

That's it. Just The Look. The patented, trademarked, I'll just wait here while you think about how the answer to what you just asked is blitheringly obvious, take your time, I have all day Hawke look. It gets used a lot, though this might be the first time it's been turned directly on Varric.

Funny thing had happened during the card game: Merrill had sat here, and Fenris there, and then Fenris complained about being next to the witch, and between it all somehow Hawke and Varric wound up next to each other.

So he didn't have to go around the table when he got up. It only took him two steps to get close enough to kiss her.

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past tense god damn it

whoops sorry

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