A/N: This story is dedicated to WhatComesToMind, who requested a one-shot of her favorite OTP: Isabela and F!Hawke. I've taken a bit of liberty with the traditional Isabela storyline - this is a bit AU, but I hope you enjoy. :-)

A Pirate's Heart
Chapter 1

Isabela pounded on the mansion door, her face arranged in an ugly snarl. The moon cast its midnight radiance on her dusky skin, her normally warm brown eyes colder than death as she waited for entry to the Amell manor.

"Hawke!" she bellowed. "I know you're in there!"

The door cracked, and Bodahn, Hawke's manservant, peeped through the sliver of opening. "Messere, perhaps you should come back at another hour."

"Out of my way, little man," Isabela snapped, pushing him aside as she bulled through the door.

Bodahn scurried as Isabela stormed through the Amell manor. The pirate did not look happy, and Bodahn hastened after her as she took the stairs two at a time.

"Messere, perhaps you should come back at another hour-"

"She's here, Bodahn, and if you stand in my way, so help me I'll cut you into ribbons."

"Allow me to fetch her for you," the dwarf gasped, fleeing Isabela's wrath.

The pirate woman slowed, contenting herself with pacing the hallway as Bodahn disappeared into Hawke's bedchamber. From within, she could hear Hawke's low, pleasant alto, offset by the frantic tenor of her dwarven manservant. Isabela snickered to herself; evidently, she'd really scared him.

The door cracked, and she heard Hawke's voice. "Tell her I'll be out shortly, if she'll just calm down and-"

"Calm down!" Isabela raged. "Move, Bodahn!" She shoved past the poor dwarf, who'd gone white to the gills and looked as if he might faint at any moment. He stumbled back, one hand gripping the wooden door as Isabela stomped into Hawke's bedroom. The door shut with a soft click, closing Bodahn out of the room even as it closed the two women in.

Hawke perched on the bed, wearing the ridiculous mauve house robe she'd favored since gaining her noble status. She stretched, her pert breasts straining against the satin fabric, a smug smile on her delicate face. "Come to play, pet?"

"You." A lazy grin stretched the pirate woman's mouth, eyes flickering with mirth. "You are a wicked, wicked woman."

"And you love it," Hawke chuckled, rolling sinuously to her feet. Isabela grinned, one hip lazing to the side as she sidled forward, sighing with contentment to feel her lover's body press against her own at last.

"That ought to convince Bodahn not to interrupt us..." Isabela murmured, laying a soft kiss on Hawke's neck.

"I told you it was a good idea... Miss me?" Hawke purred, her hands settling at the juncture of Isabela's waist. Silken as a sigh, Hawke's lips glided the length of Isabela's jaw, drawing a guttering breath from the scantily-clad pirate.

"Heaps... it's been a day," Isabela sighed, melting into the woman she'd been spending more nights with than she cared to think about. No commitments, she'd told Hawke... just a bit of girly fun. What was wrong with that? People were unreliable, unpredictable, and Isabela herself was the greatest example of those things. She reveled in her own spontaneity. If you couldn't trust yourself, it just proved how little you could trust anyone. Either way, the world kept spinning, and in the end, the winners took all.

"Hungry?" Hawke murmured, her thumb tracing Isabela's lips.

"Famished."

Hawke led her to the attached bathing chamber, their fingers lacing. "I'll reassure Bodahn that you haven't murdered me, and we'll eat. You wash, and get comfortable." She brushed Isabela's mouth with a sensual kiss. "Wine, or mead?"

"Nothing stronger?" Isabela sat on the edge of the tub and toed out of her boots, wriggling her feet with a muted groan as they touched the cold tile floor. "Shades, Hawke, if you want to impress me you'll stock my favorites."

An amused smirk danced over Hawke's face as she sauntered from the bathing room, leaving Isabela to strip her clothes off and perch on the edge of the tub. Her bronzed skin shone against the white marble, and she took a moment to admire the contrast. Pressing one hand against the runestone Sandal had enchanted, she sighed with relief as water filled the tub, steaming hot and scented like Hawke's soap. Wincing, she lowered into the heat, her aching limbs crying out with relief...how she needed this! Considering what she'd been through today, she might have shown up on Hawke's doorstep even if she hadn't been expected. The Hanged Man's bathtubs were a joke compared to this... Settling back, Isabela allowed her eyes to drift shut.

"Mead," Hawke's voice announced, echoing in the bathing chamber and bringing her out of her doze. "Honeyed. Food after."

"Mmm," Isabela hummed, accepting the goblet that Hawke pressed into her fingers. "Join me?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Hawke let the robe slip to the ground. From ankle to wrist her skin was lily-white, unmarred by sun and wind, protected by the magical robes she wore while they explored the city. Hands kissed golden by the Kirkwall sun braced the edges as she lowered herself into the steaming water, settling back against Isabela.

Just being there together felt fantastic... there was almost no need for anything more, just this soft intimacy, the knowledge that the two of them were there, in each other's arms, safe and... not that word. Isabela curled her arms about Hawke's neck, guiding the woman's head to lay gently against her shoulder. Her lover's hair was honey-blonde, playfully curling - a bane, Hawke claimed, coveting Isabela's naturally straight hair, but Isabela thought it charming beyond belief.

She pressed a kiss to Hawke's brow, delighting to the sound of her happy sigh. From a basket near the back of the tub, she took a soft cloth and a bar of soap. Moments later she was stroking the sudsy cloth along Hawke's arms, lifting her shapely hands from the water to cleanse each long finger. Hawke had such beautiful hands, soft, and the things she could do with them...

Her shoulders came next, with Isabela lifting the blonde hair aside to soap Hawke's slender neck. Hawke tilted her head, allowing the pirate a better reach, then leaned further into her when Isabela's hands wandered.

Hawke's skin shone in the soft candlelight, gleaming with water. Her silken breasts slid beneath Isabela's touch, and Hawke shuddered as capable fingers caressed them.

What followed was slow, sensuous... two women skilled in what they did and who took pleasure in seeing their partners brought to completion. The water had cooled, toes and fingertips grown puckery when they settled against each other once more. The encounter had been utterly satisfying, moreso than either of them had suspected.

"Are you clean?" Hawke murmured, a lazy smile curving her lips.

"Squeaky," Isabela replied as she rose from the tub, slicking the water from her lithe body. She offered Hawke a hand up, and when they both stood on their feet, shin-deep in the water, Isabela leaned in to capture Hawke's lips with her own.

Isabela had wanted to bed Hawke the first moment she saw her. The woman was sassy, vibrant, with a sarcastic wit and a biting tongue. A few flirting lines, a smile - and before she'd quite realized it, months had passed. Months, and Isabela hadn't felt a bit trapped, even with her ship lying in pieces on the floor of the Waking Sea. Even with Castillon breathing down her neck, and the knowledge that she might need to run any day... she ignored it, spending the time instead in getting to know this fascinating woman. This mage who walked brazenly through the gallows, who championed freedom and laughed in the faces of the men who pursued her.

Poor Anders; the fellow had been quite put out when Hawke had waved him off. And Fenris - at first, the elf had worn a quiet smirk, certain that their leader had refused Anders because he was the one she preferred... but no. Varric had known, had claimed he'd known from the start. It was with no little amount of glee that he'd begged for the details.

"Come on, Rivaini..." he'd coaxed. "Hard in Hightown needs a scandal. All these years we've known each other, and suddenly you won't kiss and tell?"

"Bugger off, Varric," she'd said cheerfully, throwing back another finger of whiskey.

It had been worrisome when Hawke went into the Deep Roads... much to Isabela's displeasure, Hawke had not chosen her to go along on the quest for riches, but had dragged Anders and her idiot brother along for the ride. Never had Isabela had so much trouble sleeping, though she whooped it up in fine fashion, quashing her anxiety in the only way she knew how. The regulars at the Hanged Man still talked about those three weeks.

When Carver hadn't come back, Isabela had been almost relieved. Sad, certainly - Hawke and her brother were family, but at least Anders had been able to get him to the Wardens in time to save his life. The poor boy had been forever making moony eyes at her. How did one tell a man that she preferred his sister over himself?

One less problem, that's all it was to Isabela.

The first thing Hawke had done after the objects were sold was reinstate herself in Hightown, throwing money around like it was water, impressing all the right people at all the right parties with all the right things to say. Isabela had even talked her way into some of those parties, though they were usually dull as dishwater and she and Hawke snuck away after making the requisite appearances. Why stand around eating canapes when there were men at the Hanged Man who would practically hand you their money over the Wicked Grace table? Leandra Amell had eaten it up, however, enjoying her rediscovered riches, courtesy of her dungeon-delving daughter.

Of course, Isabela and Hawke had only been friends, then. It wasn't until later that the swaggering pirate had finally found the courage to suggest they... try something new.

Just why she'd been so nervous she had yet to figure out. It wasn't as if Isabela was a stranger to a woman's body; she'd had her share of men and women both. And as much as she enjoyed men, there was something about a woman... soft. Women were soft. Sweet, their skin like satin under her fingers, their lips so smooth. Men were rough, loud, their mouths scratchy and often tasting as foul as their body odor. What was it about men, that they didn't think they needed to wash?

Isabela could understand rough and loud. It was something she liked, herself - but when it came to the bedroom, she'd discovered she had a certain... preference. And it had nothing to do with the twit of a man she'd been married to. Some women simply liked women, and while Isabela hesitated to box herself in in any way, when it came to Hawke, she'd discovered she definitely liked women.

That darling quirk of a smile, those glittering hazel eyes, always full of life and ribald humor. The sensuous way she held her wine glass, her sweetly curling fingers cupped beneath the bowl as she watched them at cards, sipping and chatting. The way her unruly curls never quite stayed behind her ear, but forever fell into her eyes, brushed impatiently aside as she busied herself with something. The pure excitement that poured from her at the prospect of a new adventure - it mattered little what it was, taking out the newest group of bandits in Lowtown, or sneaking a copy of Hard in Hightown onto Mother Elthina's bookshelf - Hawke wanted to do it all.

And then, the sweet night, at last... was it month since then? It was, wasn't it? Isabela had actually been sweating, though she'd played it off with a coy smile, offering Hawke an evening without strings, a night she would never forget.

One night had become two. And then three. And now...

"You know, 'Bela, you could stay," Hawke murmured when Isabela's lips finally left hers. "You don't need to keep paying for that room at the Hanged Man. I've got more than enough home here."

Isabela froze, her muscles clenching. Stay? The scourge of two coastlines, four nations, and countless tavern floors? The reckless, restless pirate queen, quick with a joke and deadly with a blade? She'd escaped a husband who she hated, broken out of prison, slithered from more tight situations than an adder in a noblewoman's luggage. Fear - she hardly knew the meaning of the word, she'd boasted to Varric more than once, though usually while he was writing in his novel. And yet, stay... this one, small word, from that perfect, rose-petal mouth - this terrified her, to her core.

Isabela wasn't one who stayed. Not in one place, not in one relationship. Heart racing, she managed a tight smile, hoping she was reassuring Hawke. "But if I leave, Corff will lose the income," she said lightly. "And his only other regular tenant is Varric."

Hawke quirked a wry brow at her. "True. Corff does need the income. Because Maker knows we don't spend enough at his bar." Her lover's tone said clearly that she didn't believe Isabela in the least.

"I'm a humanitarian, that's me," Isabela said. "Um, look, Hawke, I've got to go." She stepped from the tub, grabbing a small towel and rubbing it briskly over her body before scooping up her clothing once more. Regretful - she'd had a lovely bath, and was about to pull reeking clothing on over her newly perfumed skin. But if she wanted to wash the outfit, she'd need to spend the night, and in her current state of panic that was out of the question. She tied the still sweat-damp kerchief over her hair, sitting on the lip of the tub to pull her boots on.

Hawke said nothing, simply climbed from the bath and retrieved the house robe from the floor, disappearing into her bedroom without a backward glance. Isabela tried not to think about the hurt that had crossed Hawke's face. Just fun, right? Just a pleasant distraction, and now it was more than time to move on. If the day's activities proved fruitful, she might make it out Kirkwall yet, and with her ass intact.

Passing through the bedroom on her way downstairs, Isabela hesitated when she saw Hawke curled within her bed, a book propped on her knees. She didn't look up, already absorbed. For some reason, a sudden bout of guilt descended upon her.

"Look, Hawke, I'm exhausted," Isabela said. "I spent the entire day chasing rumors. Castillon's getting more insistent - I need to find that relic. You understand, right?"

Hawke nodded, barely looking up from her tome. "Sure. Get some sleep - we're meeting with Aveline in the morning."

"Right, the Emeric thing, and the deaths of those women," Isabela muttered, fiddling with the dagger strapped to her hip. "I suppose lady man-hands wants us there after breakfast?"

"The earlier the better, I'd say," Hawke agreed, lifting her eyes at last. "Goodnight, Isabela."

Isabela... Hawke hadn't called her that in weeks. It was 'Bela now. For some reason, the lengthening of her name twisted the pirate woman's heart, but she merely nodded and strode from the room.

^v^v^v^v^v^

"Two days," Castillon said, his voice low and threatening. Isabela suppressed an involuntary shiver... it was the eyes. Had to be. Just why this man made her react this way... but his eyes were the same as her late husband's. I killed him, Isabela reminded herself. I could kill this one, too, easy as breathing... but the chance at profit's too high. That's the only reason I'm letting him live.

She tossed back the last few swallows of her ale, pealing a merry laugh from her lips. "Too easy. I'll have it."

"I like your confidence." Castillon drew a dagger from his belt, sliding the blade beneath his fingernails to remove the dirt. "You've been busy here in Kirkwall," he said. "Running around with Hawke."

Ice formed around Isabela's heart... something in his tone turned her stomach. "She pays me well," she said carelessly. "You know me, I go where the money is. Speaking of which, you'll have my cut?"

Pale eyes flicked up, spearing her with a cold glance. "Your cut? After your little stunt with those slaves? Isabela..." Castillon shook his head, sighing. "Your cut is your little girlfriend's life."

Sweat broke out over Isabela's palms. It had been a full week since she'd seen Hawke - after the night in the manor, she'd taken herself away, not even showing up to the meeting with Aveline. Hawke had other followers - let them handle things for once. She'd continued chasing her own leads, determined to finish her business with Castillon once and for all. But now, the rat bastard's mention of her favorite mage had her ready to run howling back to Hightown. "My little..." she chuckled, forcing an easy expression. "If you mean one of Madame Lusine's little flowers-"

"Anna... that's her name, right?" Castillon's voice had gone soft. "She's got such... pretty blonde hair. Tell me, what do you suppose Commander Meredith would say, if she knew such a talented mage was running loose in Kirkwall?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Isabela growled. "This meeting is over." She pushed to her feet, preparing to stalk out of the back-alley hole-in-the-wall. Not much could be said for the Hanged Man, but it was better than this place. If she hurried, she might catch Fenris for a round of Wicked Grace.

"Then it shouldn't distress you to hear that if you fail, she dies..." Castillon called after her. Isabela could practically feel the chilling grin that spread across his face when she slowed. Damn! She'd reacted. Now he had her. She turned, arranging her face in a relaxed smile.

"Look, Castillon, I'll have it." She sauntered back to the table, leaning down to give him what she knew was an impressive view. Her hands spread on the warped wooden surface as she jutted her chest forward, her eyes level with his. "And when I drop that book in your hands I fully expect you to disappear back into the hole you crawled out of. Our business concludes when I give you the relic - and whatever dirt you may think you have on me, it matters nothing in the face of what I'll do to you if you come screwing with my life ever again."

"Brave wench," Castillon sneered. "Two days."

Isabela stalked from the tavern, her heart sinking in her chest. She had to find Hawke, and warn her - her contacts were good, but supposing something happened, and she didn't get the relic. Better safe than sorry.

The sun had vanished over the lip of the horizon a few hours back, so if Hawke wasn't out running some kind of nasty errand, she was likely in one of two places - the Hanged Man, or her own estate. Expediency prompted her to try the manor first, and so Isabela jogged to Hightown, cutting several minutes from the journey by taking a few little-known shortcuts. She emerged from between two buildings to a shocking sight - a crowd, gathered in the central corridor, milling, talking, lingering. Blacks, whites and muted grays cloaked each body, the women wearing gaudy hats covered with a horror of colorless silk flowers and filmy gauze.

Isabela's brows drew down - who'd died? If this wasn't a wake then she'd wager black was the new pink. Someone important, she thought, then shrugged and cut across the square, making for Hawke's front door.

"It was nightmarish," she heard one woman moaning. "Poor Leandra was - mutilated-"

"Terrible," her male companion answered. "The guard certainly needs to answer for this. If there was a serial killer loose in Kirkwall, why wasn't he caught?"

Maker's breath! Isabela knew only one woman named Leandra. She sprinted through the crowd, drawing a few insulted gasps from the gentry as she shoved past their ridiculous finery. The press of bodies thickened as she approached Hawke's door, and once she'd managed to squeeze her way inside it was even worse. Well-wishers crowded everywhere, nibbling delicacies, chatting in low tones, looking around the opulent Hawke manor with shrewd eyes. As if their presence was helping anything.

"Rivaini," a familiar voice called.

"Varric! What happened?" A few quick steps brought her to the dwarf's spot near the desk where Hawke kept her correspondence. Varric shook his head, his beefy face grim.

"It was a mess. Leandra started getting lilies - just like the other women who were killed. We followed the clues to that foundry... but by the time we got there, she was gone." Varric sighed. "We got the piece of shit who killed her, though. He won't be hunting any more women. You don't know how glad I am to see you. Hawke's in her room. She won't come out, won't see anyone."

"Varric, I..." A lump rose in her throat, preventing further speech. "I should have been here."

"Yeah, you should've," the dwarf agreed, the edge of annoyance sharpening his words. "This was important, Isabela. She needed you."

"Look, I had things to do," Isabela snapped, the sour taste of her guilt turning her tongue shrewish. "I don't owe anything to Hawke."

"Decency, Rivaini, how about that? You think you might owe her that much?"

"Just... shut it, dwarf," Isabela muttered, and trudged up the stairs, heart heart pounding in her ears. Hawke's door loomed before she had time to properly formulate everything she wanted to say... what could one say in a situation like this?

She didn't bother knocking, just tried the handle, and wasn't surprised to find it locked. A few twirls of her lockpicks and she was through - it was almost stupid, how flimsy the locks in Hightown were.

A gentle fire glowed in the fireplace, the only light in the otherwise dim room. Hawke - no, Anna - curled into a tight ball atop the crimson coverlet, her knees tucked up to her chest. She didn't move when Isabela stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind her, locking it again to prevent disturbances.

"I... Hawke?"

No response.

Isabela tiptoed further into the room. A tiny sniffle came from the bed, and Isabela crawled across the mattress to curl herself around Anna's frame. At her touch, the mage began to shake, then turned herself over and folded herself into Isabela's embrace, choking breaths heaving from her slender frame.

Isabela swallowed, then wrapped her arms more securely around Hawke as her panting gasps turned to full-blown sobbing. Emotion... yes. Something Isabela did not handle with all the grace that was usually needed.

Fortunately, Hawke seemed content to simply be held, and the two of them lay in each other's arms for the rest of the night.

^v^v^v^v^v^

The softest of touches woke Isabela, and her agate eyes drifted open to see Hawke smoothing her hair back from her forehead.

"Morning luscious," Hawke whispered.

"Early," Isabela mumbled, and pulled the pillow over her head. "Time is it?"

"Seven," Hawke answered. "I need to get up... I have to get out of here for a little while. Do you want anything?"

"mmph." Isabela slipped back into the Fade.

She awoke several hours later to discover Hawke still gone, nothing remaining of her presence but the rumpled sheets. She stretched, languid, then threw back the covers and pulled her boots back on. A quick trip to Hawke's bathroom ensured her hair was brushed and covered with her customary kerchief, and she trooped downstairs. Bodahn was dusting, and Isabela grinned when the poor man jumped at her voice.

"Where's Hawke?"

"Ah! Oh, messere. She's..." he leaned in. "You wouldn't happen to be... angry with her, are you?"

"What? Oh!" She chuckled. "No, Bodahn. All is quite well between us. Where is she? I've got to speak with her."

"I'm afraid I don't know, messere. I'm sure she'll be back soon, though."

Isabela nodded, and left the mansion. She'd traced the relic to someone local - a man named Wall-Eyed Sam. If she could only arrange a meeting... she headed to the Hanged Man to speak with Corff. If anyone could get her a location, it was the bartender of Kirkwall's infamous watering hole.

"Isabela!" Corff said when she walked in. "Someone came by. Left this for you." Corff fished beneath the bar, coming up with a creamy scroll. Isabela muttered her thanks, tossing him a coin before she unrolled the vellum, revealing just six words.

Two days. After that, she dies.

A curl of golden hair, tied with a bit of black thread, fell into Isabela's fingers as the words brought her heart to a standstill.

They had Hawke.