He'd been about to murmur his acceptance to Amelia, sketch a picture of slow freedom from evidence of the night's exertions into more pleasant solace when a hand suddenly captures Amelia's and brings her around for a tight embrace.

"Chris, what are you-" He's too slow to start speaking and isn't through his question by the time his friend's hands are on his collar and pulling him into a kiss he hadn't expected. He goes rigid for a moment. He'd not been ready to let go of the frigid grip on his chest yet, tried and emptied of power as he is, and Amelia had not seemed to ask it of him. He'd been prepared to let the enmity stay as long as it would, fuel that joint experience and come down from it slowly with Amelia in the privacy of her shower and her bed, but that kiss cracks something in him. Thaws it forcefully and with too much ease, and Hawke brings his arms up around Chris without thinking, melting a kiss back into him. When Chris pulls away, he's panting steam again, his shaking fingers having left three red streaks against Chris' jaw.

"No," he responds, voice thick with emotion and exhaustion both. "And neither will you be, never again at those hands."