That feels wrong. His whole life he's been asked to make decisions or told what he's for. Looked to by his family and lost them one by one when his actions or decisions weren't good enough. His sister dead, his brother a mess, his mother-. Maker take him, it's too much just for them but his friends too. His companions. They ask and ask and he can't but lead.
Only that's what Chris is trying to say, what Anders had been telling him all along. It's on him to know his limits, to know when to step back and ask for patience instead of burying himself under the piling weight of expectation. No one will do that for him, especially not with the skillful way he's always fine, always will be fine. Stalwart and supportive Hawke, never complained a moment even when things were at their worst. Reliable Hawke, giving until there's nothing left but this and feeling, knowing, it's still not enough.
If it were anyone else he'd have told them to stop a long time ago, but because it's himself...
"I'm better than I was. I know I am, but I don't know when that stops feeling like I'm transgressing if I step away." When he stops hearing his mother shouting that he should have prevented Carver's leaving, prevented Bethany's death. Looking to him brokenly when they'd buried Father under a tree in the woods somewhere in the Bannorn, as if it was all up to him then. And it was. It has been for decades. All up to him.
Hawke looks up to Chris, fervently wishing his love was wholley right, but he didn't know Leandra Hawke. He didn't know the size of the hole Malcolm Hawke had left for his eldest to fill. "Some day, I'll tell you about my parents, then maybe you'll understand. But I don't think-" Pause, rephrase. "I want to believe you're right."
He brings one hand away to wipe at his face, running the back of one over his eyes and sighing in a small huff that's far too warm for how he's feeling. The other remains, though with fingers only loosely hooked on Chris' own. There's a hesitant quality to it, like he's ready to let go the second Chris changes his mind but hopes - knows, perhaps - he won't. "Thank you, Love. I'm sorry you seem to have to put my head back on so often. I never set out to be so much trouble."
no subject
That feels wrong. His whole life he's been asked to make decisions or told what he's for. Looked to by his family and lost them one by one when his actions or decisions weren't good enough. His sister dead, his brother a mess, his mother-. Maker take him, it's too much just for them but his friends too. His companions. They ask and ask and he can't but lead.
Only that's what Chris is trying to say, what Anders had been telling him all along. It's on him to know his limits, to know when to step back and ask for patience instead of burying himself under the piling weight of expectation. No one will do that for him, especially not with the skillful way he's always fine, always will be fine. Stalwart and supportive Hawke, never complained a moment even when things were at their worst. Reliable Hawke, giving until there's nothing left but this and feeling, knowing, it's still not enough.
If it were anyone else he'd have told them to stop a long time ago, but because it's himself...
"I'm better than I was. I know I am, but I don't know when that stops feeling like I'm transgressing if I step away." When he stops hearing his mother shouting that he should have prevented Carver's leaving, prevented Bethany's death. Looking to him brokenly when they'd buried Father under a tree in the woods somewhere in the Bannorn, as if it was all up to him then. And it was. It has been for decades. All up to him.
Hawke looks up to Chris, fervently wishing his love was wholley right, but he didn't know Leandra Hawke. He didn't know the size of the hole Malcolm Hawke had left for his eldest to fill. "Some day, I'll tell you about my parents, then maybe you'll understand. But I don't think-" Pause, rephrase. "I want to believe you're right."
He brings one hand away to wipe at his face, running the back of one over his eyes and sighing in a small huff that's far too warm for how he's feeling. The other remains, though with fingers only loosely hooked on Chris' own. There's a hesitant quality to it, like he's ready to let go the second Chris changes his mind but hopes - knows, perhaps - he won't. "Thank you, Love. I'm sorry you seem to have to put my head back on so often. I never set out to be so much trouble."