chrisisofaith | IC Contact

I do
But I'm not going to argue with you about it
I'd not insist you lean on me when you're not yet ready, but the rest of it? Someone had to.

[ That much he needs Chris to know. None of it was a hardship or even required much thought as to if he should. Healing beyond what he was called for (he's still sorry he's not better at it, then maybe it wouldn't scar. He knows Chris is as vain as he is and he finds it endearing), trying to put Chris in a position to be vulnerable somewhere safe (Hawke had failed that, but he would try a thousand times to get it right), cold blooded murder (torture, really, but he couldn't let it be quick, not for what they'd done), he'd revisit all of it and walk the same steps because Chris is worth all of it. The heartache, the risk of getting caught, and the plaguing far away voice of his father telling him over and again magic is not for that which is base, like murder. Like revenge.

Doesn't matter. His friends are everything. Chris is everything. ]

I'd do again in a heartbeat.

I don't need to lean on you

[It's out of him before he thinks twice and he winces for it. Hawke deserved better than his sharp edges. He shouldn't be having sharp edges.]

I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I'm alright.
I appreciate what you did for me, I just wish it hadn't come with cost to you and, more so, that I hadn't upset you and Amelia.

I'm glad you were there for each other.

[ Hawke nearly tells Chris off for that but instead just sighs and gives himself a moment before responding. He doesn't normally have to think so hard to just talk to someone, let alone Chris, but where they'd have an easy time of it normally he's very conscious of what's happened. It's barely been a day, of course Chris is going to be a bit rough. He's terrible at leaning on people even at the best of times, a trait they have in common and probably what made it so easy to be able to do that before.

This is different. ]

I know.
You're strong as anything, Chris. I know you don't need to.
But if you want to, I'm here.
There's been no cost to me. I don't know what you think's been paid, but it's nothing I wouldn't gladly do without for your safety and peace of mind.

[Hawke telling him he’s strong shouldn’t feel like sandpaper. It should be proof he’s managing to keep himself together.

Except he’s not, is he? He’s trying too hard…or simply failing. Chris stares out at the trees before he even tries to answer. If only he didn’t feel so small.

For now, he can focus on the easier part.]

your mana, your peace of mind, your safety.

Most importantly, I upset you and Amelia when I showed up. She shut down again and you made that face you make when you’re weathering someone you have little patience for.

Of course it was upsetting.
Maker's balls, Chris, if I'd been out and about again so soon after the same you'd have Gated me back without my say so.

[ He types without thinking, words coming easily now even if they're not exactly what he maybe should be saying, but at least it's real. Honest. He couldn't just sit here and give platitudes. Not to Chris. ]

I appreciate you want me safe and at peace but I seem to recall you being the one to tell me it's unkind to assume someone's not willing to pay a price for what they care about.
You're what.
Not just for me, but for Amelia too, so maybe accept you're loved and that seeing you struggle isn't something I can stand idly by and watch.
Flames, I know you're going to be alright but you can't just jump to that part without seeing to the way there.

[He can taste how he would have been angry before. Indignant. Defensive. It’s a ghost of a flavor on his tongue now as he stares down at his phone.

Hawke is right. Of course he is. If this were reversed, he’d be just as frustrated and probably less patient over all. Hawke’s trying to be respectful, but all people have their limits.

He looks back to the trees.

He can’t wallow in self-pity. That makes him a hypocrite. He can’t bolster himself with the armor of his own expectations, or he’s called a fraud or avoidant, even in more kindly terms.

If he feels nothing, then that’s what he is, like a yawning chasm under his feet.

He types mechanically.]

I was talking about your relationship with Amelia. I made her feel insecure and doubtful. I made her shut down.

You’re right, I shouldn’t have left the house.

I’ve already spoken with her, but you’re owed your own apology.

[ You're right. He can hear it instead of reading it, Chris' flat tone coming across as he uses when he's not sure what else to say. He'd used it maybe once before with him though he can't place where and it puts a knot of fear in the pit of his stomach.

He starts walking. ]

You don't owe me a bloody thing.
My relationship with Amelia is fine. You appearing suddenly isn't going to throw us into chaos and I don't know how you came to that conclusion.
You were worried, of course you'd come to find us.
I'm just trying to understand now what wrong you think you've actually committed because I don't think we're talking about the same thing.

Edited (Typo) 2023-02-21 06:45 (UTC)

[You don’t owe me a bloody thing.
I don’t know how you came to that conclusion.
I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing

It was t just his mouth that was useless for words.

It’s always the same spot his eyes go to when he looks at the trees. There’s a small knot in one of the closer ones. It looks like an eye.

He lets out a sigh and something cold filters through him.]

Amelia told me I threw her off and surprised her when I kissed you in thanks.

It doesn’t matter, as I said, I talked with her. I simply wished to offer the same apology, but if that’s presumptuous, then forget I mentioned it.

I don’t know what else you’re expecting to hear from me, but my words seem to be jumbled or misconstrued, so perhaps now isn’t the time to answer anything. Thank you for checking in with me, Wolfe

[ He can't leave it like that. Chris withdrawing and himself causing it and no Amelia this time to keep the peace. When had he lost that ability? When had he not been able to reach out and have Chris understand and meet him halfway?

But that's unfair. Chris is not alright. He wants to be, he's trying to be, but there's no clear path from something like this to being better. Maybe it's that he didn't go through it too this time. The Pit - because this feels like after the Pit - was a shared misery and this is Chris' alone.

Fuck that.

He's not thinking of what Chris texted last when he comes up on the Hollow. He's not stopping to think of why Amelia would be surprised when she knows full well he has a physical relationship with Chris. He's thinking of how he said it. Long formal words with more letters to put distance between them. ]

That's not how this works.

[ He's running now, maybe trying to outrun his frustration, maybe running to Chris before it feels like it's too late, or maybe just running to get there that much faster but he doesn't send another text until he's outside the front door, skipping the bell and giving the door three heavy raps with the side of his fist.

If he's not answered within a few minutes, that's when he sends another message. ]

Open the door.

[He sees ‘That’s not how this works’ and in one, brief, searing, flash of emotion, anger tears through him.

He types out “Tell me how this fucking works, then, since you have all the answers” but he doesn’t press send.

He grits his teeth and lets the flash fire calm before deleting the words. He doesn’t have time to consider new ones before the vague sound of footfalls in the cold silence and distant knocking bring him up short. Was that the front door?

His phone pings and he sighs, the tiredness falling heavy around his shoulders once more.]

I’m on the back porch

It's not long before Hawke appears around the corner of the house. His hair is tousled and he's dressed in muted colors, though more appropriately for the weather than the night before. Black jeans and a green Henley, unbuttoned at the top, with his fur-collared anorak over it. He strides over and climbs the short steps up to Chris. Or intends to, anyway. He stops short with his foot on the porch but the other still on the step below, looking up at his friend with deep-seated worry and not a zero sum of undirected frustration.

"'Presumptuous'? Really? 'Misconstrued'?" His expression turns wry and he leans against the short rail, folding his arms. He keeps himself that step below Chris, looking up at him and not crowding because if he does now he might not ever let go.

It occurred to him, in a handful of seconds it took him to get here and around the back of the house, that Chris still called him Wolfe in that message. It's a silly thing to notice, maybe sillier to hang meaning on, but if Chris is still willing to call him Wolfe then nothing feels unsalvageable.

He lets out a long breath, visible in the afternoon air not because of his stress but simply for the ambiant cold this time.

"You didn't do anything wrong. Not besides trying to clam up." He examines Chris' expression, trying to see past the turmoil and the tiredness into what he can do to actually help. What does Chris need that he's not saying? Denying himself out of a sense of Maker knows what. Pride? Shame?

Frowning, he walks the rest of the way onto the porch and goes to wrap his arms around the cleric, telegraphing the movement obviously not so Chris can escape, though he does run that risk, but so he knows it's coming. "I don't know why you think a kiss is going to get between Amelia and I, but I need you to drop that notion. She and I have our own things to work through, but affection for and from other people isn't one of them. Stop borrowing worries, Heart. You've enough of your own."

If allowed, he kisses the side of Chris' head. He doesn't know if he should but right in this moment he does not care.

Chris has his leather jacket back on, at least, and his own black jeans and loose shirt, a small comfort compared to borrowing Jacob's clothing and feeling a bit like a child in things meant for a broader form than his. The jumper had been nice, it had reminded him of when Jacob had taken his off his own back and put it on Chris' shivering form after being fished from the wreckage of the Tempest.

Gods, was this even as bad as questioning his own place in life and if he was truly alive? Was it as bad as the pit? He really did need to pull himself together, he's been through worse, this shouldn't shake him. Wasn't letting it shake him exactly what he'd told himself he wouldn't do just so they couldn't win over him?

The thoughts swirl vaguely in his mind with Hawke now climbing up to him and pausing. Chris meets his rhetorical questions of word choice with political neutrality and quiet, though the hug and following words threaten to break it. Is that what he needed? Wouldn't it have been nice to have simply laid around in Hawke's arms a bit as he had Jacob's yesterday? Now it feels like the time for that has passed with everything else. Amelia's words sift through everything else and he finds himself torn. If he explains what she said, maybe he'll feel less like Hawke thinks he's crazy, maybe he can point out why he can't just let himself curl into the mage's hold as he'd like. But, if he does, he'll have to process it all and that sounds like...too much.

That was the answer. Not the guise of a king no one believed of him, not some weepy victim he refused to be, he should have fought to just be aggressively himself. Normal. He just needed to find that feeling again and turn it into a coat he could put on until it felt like a proper fit once more.

He doesn't lean away from the affection, but his eyes close for a moment, letting it wash through him before he bothers an attempt at words. "Consider it dropped, then. I obviously misunderstood her concerns. You didn't have to run here, I wasn't going anywhere." He pulls back to look up and offer a smile that feels like the right fit and it's...not as hard to manage as he'd feared. Yes, he can do this.

"I've had you more worried than you've need to be. I just need more sleep, I think, but I'll be alright."

Not really a lie on any front. That was how he was going to be able to shape this around him.

"Yes I did." This feels like it should be more right but there are little things still amiss. Chris doesn't pull away but he doesn't lean into him like he had yesterday either. He smiles and it's not fake but it still seems forced. Not so hard as to be obvious, but something in it is practiced rather than felt. His tone is careful, not in the way Hawke would expect given he's seen to Chris after some terrible things. Careful to hold it in, careful to avoid the perceived failure of not keeping everyone from knowing that you're not alright and don't know how to get there. How can you be lost when you have so many people who care for you? Who are counting on you to be okay?

Maybe that's projecting, but he's not a stranger to those feelings himself. Far from it, they're more like an old ugly blanket you can't bring yourself to throw out because it must have been useful once and might still be despite the holes and torn edges.

"I'm going to worry anyway. You know me, big worrier." It's gentle, a rumble in his chest vibrating around the grip on his heart that has only loosened marginally from the night before. He has his arms around Chris but there's still a distance. He should let go, Chris probably just doesn't want the contact, but that kiss last night...

That wasn't someone who didn't want contact. That was someone who wanted to bury himself in it against the world and denied himself.

"Can't help it. Not when it's you. Which is silly, I know. You'll be alright, you've told me more than even just now, but I can't get past the feeling that you're retreating anyway." It's raw, maybe unfair to point it out, but he can't see any other way to push through it than to talk about it directly. Selfish of him, but that distant look on Chris' face makes his blood cold and he can't leave it.

He just can't.

Retreating. Clam up. Hawke felt like he'd been pulling away and his eyes falling on that knot in the tree past his friend sends a jolt through him. Like watching Jon crumble in on himself while Chris tries to clutch at the pieces so he can put his Archivist back together. Like that leaden fear in his core each time he sees Jon pulling away from him, that this time Chris won't be able to pull him back. That he'll lose him.

His eyes close tight a moment to stave off the burning. Maybe Amelia wasn't entirely wrong.

Slowly, his hand comes up to wrap around Hawke's arm before he can pull it away. He needed to give him something. Beyond anything else, Hawke was his best friend...his party member. He'd spent more time without those supports than with them, they were still relatively recent in comparison, but it was like night and day. Did he really want to go back to those times when he only really had himself? That had been a very lonely time.

His fingers dig a little tighter in Hawke's arm. "You aren't going to lose me, Wolfe. I'm just...I'm still not sure what I need. Or how I should go about this. What everyone else needs of me to make this easy to get past. To not let them win something, even with them gone."

There's an eddy of guilt in the wash of relief that runs through Hawke at that slow grip of Chris' hand. The dig of his friend's fingers into his arm is welcome and Hawke can't help but hold him tighter in an encompassing hug not unlike the same he'd given the night before. "I know... I'm sorry, I know."

There's a stinging at the corners of his eyes but he staunchly ignores it, swallowing down what he's feeling before it drowns him. "We can figure it out. And until then, don't worry about anyone else getting past this. You're not king here, your concern doesn't have to be your subjects. We'll sort ourselves out, and if we can help you do the, or at least show you we're here to catch you as you try, then that's enough."

He tucks Chris in against his chest, mostly so he can wrap around him in a bulwark against the ghosts of men who no longer can touch Chris but try still, but a little so his friend doesn't see the few tears that escape his tightly closed eyes. He takes a deep breath, putting that away for now. It's not helpful. It's not useful. And it's not easy, either, for the tremble he can't help behind the breath as he forces himself to be still.

"We'll figure it out. You don't have to do it alone." His voice, at least, is certain. Asserting reality into the shape it should be where Chris can heal.

Hawke wraps around him like a shield and he can feel the urge to crumble into it, but he can't. Or maybe he simply doesn't want to, not because it's Hawke, but because he doesn't want to fall apart. He's better than that. Maybe he isn't king, but that doesn't make him less the person who's meant to be. Once upon a time, he'd been in this city, wondering if he could truly be the person who lead a city. He's not sure he ever got the answer to that question, but maybe it was time he did.

It's the deeper breaths and the soft tone and the tightness of Hawke's hold mixed with the realization he's already had that confirms for him what his friend needs right now and that's a direction to work in.

He pushes lightly at Hawke, expecting him to pull back enough for Chris to stand and take Wolfe's wrist. "Come inside with me. I'll lay out on the couch and you'll lay beside me so your head is against my chest while I hold you." He offers a small smile, the tiredness still at his eyes, but less forced this time. "Perhaps I'm not a king, but I'm a cleric. I'm the healer for those I know and love and I'll not lose that place while I have it. So-" His smile ticks up higher at one corner. "-healer's orders, Hawke."

There's a nagging sensation at the back of Hawke's mind that this isn't how this is backwards. He should be the one holding Chris. He should be the protector, the stalwart, the breakwater. He also should be able to do that with a smile and a steady hand but somewhere along the way his dynamic with Chris became different. Or maybe it always has been.

It's not a matter of him always giving, of only taking satisfaction in the care he offers and feeling weak for needing it back. He and Chris have near always been shoulder to shoulder from the beginning, leaning on one another in give and take alike. Friends. Comrades. Companions in a way that even some of his closest back home couldn't manage. He's what he chooses to be; reliable, helpful, a solid foundation there. Even Varric, even Anders, who arguably know him best, he can't crumble to. He'd only managed it outside of Thedas, and even then he'd hated how it made him feel when Anders looked at him and saw the cracks no matter how much he loved his healer reached to sooth them.

It feels similar here. Chris, who has so much of his own healing to do, reaching out and making room for him in a way that doesn't feel like a pittance but still makes his stomach twist unkindly that he's somehow forced this. But it's different than Anders, isn't it? He doesn't like that he's making the comparison at all, really. They're entirely different people.

He doesn't need to protect Chris. He wants to, but he doesn't need to. What protection and care Chris accepts he offers back in kind because he wants to, not because it's his calling or because he's terrified he'll lose what little care he's gathered for himself. There was always a fear in Anders, that even as he pushed Hawke away he never did so with force. He would tell him he should leave and hold him tightly in the same motion. Maybe it was starting to abate when Hawke had vanished, maybe he'd stood on his feet without Hawke and been better for it.

Maybe it's his fear, then. And not Anders' at all. A fear that he'll be a burden instead of a savior. Just another thing to worry about among hundreds.

He looks at Chris, having stepped back and allowed his wrist to be taken. Chris is not Anders. Chris is...

Not more. Not less, either. Chris is Chris. He's different. His needs are not Anders' needs and he doesn't have to protect him in order to prove that he will. That he wants to. He doesn't have to because Chris already knows and accepts that and isn't going to push him away out of a deluded idea of it being for his own good.

A soft sigh escapes him, some of the tension leaving him even if there's plenty more working it's way through him. That's for later consideration. Now he will nod, he will put his arm over Chris' shoulders and walk with him from the cold into the warm house, and arrange them perhaps not exactly as Chris laid them out. Not his head on Chris' chest, but on his shoulder, and the cleric's head on his too. Comfortable and able to see eye to eye.

"Better?"

So long as he can curl his arms about the other man, it's what he's after. Hawke made himself into a shield and Chris aims to be something softer, something for comfort to support the waver he picked up on in his friend.

He gives a small nod to the question while he lets his thoughts drift over to whatever he needed next. Maybe the obvious was the best place to start. "I know you're upset too. I'm not pointing it out to pull away from me or what I'm feeling, more pointing out that...if it were me, I'd be upset for the person I cared for. It'll help me to feel I'm doing something more than being...doted upon if I can help those carrying their own pain." Like the pit, in a way. Even if they weren't there, they hurt for his hurting just as they'd be happy for his happiness.

And maybe, on a selfish level, he can feel like he can take his pieces apart and shake them out if it didn't feel like those supporting him were holding onto themselves too tightly. Maybe.

"Alright," he replied in a soft rumble. That eases more in him too, the understanding that he's just worried for Chris and so Chris worries for him and it becomes a cycle they have to consciously break. A knot they've found the ends to. "I know the feeling."

He reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair from Chris' face. "I told Martin similar, after the Pit. There's something healing in caring for others, even if their focus is on you. It's alright for it to be, so long as it's for help and not to bury things under the needs of someone else."

There's nothing accusing in his explaination, just a quiet acknowledgement that he understands and he'll help in that way if that's what Chris needs. "I'm alright. Or rather, I will be. I've already done what I can apart from anything you want of me."

There's a steely edge that comes over him at the mention of having done what he can do, but it passes quickly and he has no need to dredge it back again unless Chris wants to know the particulars.

Chris' fingers find Hawke's hair as well and trace down along his cheek to his jaw as green eyes follow the path. There's some guilt in him for the familiar action now. He should talk to Hawke about that too, clear the air if Amelia's wrong or let him know Chris knows if she's right. She shouldn't have spoken for him, he stands by that, but it's done now. If she was right, Hawke had his reasons for not telling Chris himself.

"Right now...I...I think I just need time. It's been a day. I can't sort my head that quickly without other things factoring in, asking me what I need now's..." he bites his lip and looks down to Hawke's beard instead. "It's too much. I might not know for a long while or ever...but if I do, I'll come to you. I promise." So maybe just patience.

"I'm worried for you and Amelia and your safety, but that'll pass with time and no consequences. I'd not have asked you to do that...but I'm selfishly glad you did." He looks back to Wolfe's ice-blue gaze as his hand moves back to run through the mage's hair again. "I do feel safer knowing I'll not happen across them."

He watches Chris watching him, a little furrow between fair eyebrows, that searching look that he'd expect to be turned inward right now but instead is searching him for something he's not finding. The words don't match that look either, but he's not sure if he should ask.

"We'll be fine, we were very careful. Masks and cloaks, silent as cats, and cleaned up after. No evidence." He snags Chris' fingers in his and brings his knuckles against his lips, barely kissing so much as just putting a bit of familiar pressure there. "Even if something comes of it, it will have been worth it."

His free hand he puts around Chris' back, shifting to be nearer, still thinking on that searching look and the emotion under it. Familiar, though not on Chris' face.

Guilt.

With a soft breath, he reaches to smooth the crease between Chris' brows. "None of that. You've nothing to be sorry for."

He's too kind to him. Too soft. But that's just Hawke. It's always been true. Soft enough to cut. His eyes close as Hawke's fingers trace over his skin. He can't know what was in Chris' thoughts, but there's an easy answer for that absurd assertion regardless.

His expression is more gentle resignation than reprimand as he shakes his head. "That's patently not true. I started the fight that turned off-hand words to actions. Their decisions were their own, but so were mine."

"Don't you dare," Hawke frowns, his voice a soft but firm warning. "If Jon's words that sparked this entire thing aren't something to be sorry for then neither are yours."

He takes a heavy breath, moving his hands to the sides of Chris's face, not forcing him to make eye contact but at least guiding his gaze in that direction. "It isn't your fault. You've done nothing wrong. We're all of us in a place that needs fought and you're at it tooth and nail. I hate that this happened to you but I am proud of you for not giving up."

He kisses him then, a fierce press to Chris' forehead because he can't kiss his mouth. He'd say something meant to be kind that would be so cruel in this moment. He won't put his feelings before Chris' right now, he won't let him worry over the mess of himself when there's plenty of other mess that can't be ignored.

He wants to argue, even as Hawke's words make sense, there's still a seed of doubt and guilt in him, even if it quiets under that firm voice. Under the word proud. His eyes are closed tight before those lips even press to his forehead and the creases return to his brow as he squeezes them tighter.

He can't do this. Now it feels unfair. Like a lie he's keeping for no reason.

"Stop..." It comes out soft and more exposed than he'd been hoping, but his fingers fall to Hawke's shirt to curl tight in the fabric at his shoulder. "I...earlier, I said I made Amelia uncomfortable. I wasn't making it up or misunderstanding. She told me she was surprised." He takes a more thick breath and looks up again to meet Hawke's gaze.

"She told me something, I think, expecting I already knew. An assumption she had about-" the words catch and die in his throat and annoyance at himself has him look down once more. This is still too much...but unless Hawke was willing to leave and not come around for a few days, it wasn't going away easily either.

Fingers in his shirt and a plea to stop that sounds so achingly vulnerable has Hawke going still, thinking he's gone too far. This isn't new for him, his care being too much. A light so bright he's blinding, something Anders had maybe not said outright but hinted at. He'd overwhelmed Alaric more than once too, his empathic abilities ratcheting it all up to the point that Hawke had started attempting to pull it back just to keep from making his boyfriend uncomfortable. But how do you pull back on feeling something that you don't want to put aside? That's supposed to be good?

He's still asking that question even now, and thanking the Maker, Andraste, even the Raven Queen that Chris is no empath no matter how good he is at making Wolfe feel that he's transparent as glass.

At Amelia's name Hawke shifts a little in concern. He'd been addled last night, certainly, but he doesn't regret what they'd done and he doesn't think she does either unless she's suddenly a lot better at hiding her emotions. They'd parted this morning with a kiss and a promise to meet again later, her going off to bring Chris his things and Hawke... Well, he'd fallen back asleep for another hour before rushing out to send Jon a statement. As far as he knows nothing was wrong. She would tell him, wouldn't she? He'd want her to tell him if something was amiss.

"About what?" He urges softly, a gentle push. If he can't say then Hawke can always corner Amelia later.

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