A/N: Thanks for the lovely comments you guys left last go-around. I'm always interested in what you have to say, so if you loved it, or thought it was terrible and want to strangle me, speak up! I want to hear it all.

This one's a little more angsty and a little less delicious, so apologies in advance.

Quick Desc: Hawke and Anders are forced to face one another.

Hawke was so consumed with her guilt that she couldn't concentrate. In and out, in and out, the man pressed into her, their bodies meeting again and again in a passionate dance conceived at the dawn of man.

What sickened her most was that her body still wanted him. Every touch sent heat flooding to her core, every delicious contour of their bodies joining made her gasp softly and grasp the sheets. She wanted to pull him close to her, look into his eyes and feel the love that she felt for him years ago. But she couldn't. She was sick inside; sick with guilt and self-hatred, sick with the fact that she did not know this man any longer. Sick that one Tevinter elf's name wanted so desperately to slide from her lips in wanton ecstasy.

Anders groaned as he neared his climax, and reached out to caress Hawke's cheek. She bit her lip as his pace became frenzied, finding that her head turned away from his touch rather than instinctively into it as it had before.

It was too late for him to stop. His brows furrowed in question as he roughly turned her head back to face him, his eyes burning fiery holes straight though her. His fingers gripped her hip roughly as he came, and Hawke could do naught but close her eyes in mortification and unresolved tension. As Anders fell beside her, spent, she still quivered and shook, her body begging for its own release.

As the seconds crept by, the only sounds in the room became the soft crackles of the dying fire and the breaths of the two individuals. Hawke inwardly cringed, expecting a harsh confrontation from Anders about why she had pulled away from him. About why she'd been so distant, so quiet. Her heart pounded in her chest, her nerves pricking at her, telling her to get up and run.

Hawke never ran. She always met challenges head on. But she didn't think she could stand up to his anger if she had to tell him she'd spent the night with Fenris. She didn't know how to handle a crumbling relationship, how to sooth her lover when he wouldn't open up to her. Anders may even be well aware of her relations with the elf; his marks still remained imprinted on her hips and neck, albeit faded.

He moved then, tiredly. She could tell from his body language that he wanted nothing more than to curl up and fall asleep; the dark circles hugging his eyes attested to that fact as well. But he moved his body over hers, supporting his weight on his forearms as he touched his forehead to hers, the position forcing her to look him directly in the eyes. His fingers threaded loosely into her hair, playing with the ends as he let forth a deep sigh. "We need to talk."

Hawke was immediately surged with both immeasurable guilt and anger. She released a defensive scoff, knowing very well that 'talk' was only going to go as far as he would allow. "About what, Anders?" she said, her tone making the innocuous question sound completely venomous.

His anger likely would have flared up earlier, but his weariness was clearly and overwhelmingly dominant in his narrowed eyes. "We can start simple." He began. His hand rose to caress her cheek as he had done previously. She tensed, her eyes averting from his. "Why do you pull away?"

A thousand answers sat perched and ready on the tip of her tongue. Some truth, some lies; some agonizingly painful to one or the other, or to both of them. Her words were caught in her throat, however, so she remained silent. Her eyes must have portrayed defiance, because Anders's face twisted into an angry snarl.

"Perhaps, then" he growled, grabbing her jaw with one hand and twisting it up and to the side, "it'd be easier to explain these."

His eyes roved over her neck, taking in every discolored mark and bite; some of them faded, purple, and bruise-like, some a spattering of red blemishes. Hawke swallowed, the action much more difficult with her head forcibly tipped backward.

He did notice. Hawke's chest sank with shame, her eyes drifting shut as Anders released her and moved to sit at the edge of the bed. The expanse of his back seemed to curl forwards and shrink as he covered his face with a palm, his depression visible to her even without looking at him face-to-face.

"I think it's fair to say…that neither of us can trust one another. My…wariness…has stemmed from back when mother was killed." Hawke sat as well, wrapping the sheet around her naked form. "And that wariness has turned into disdain. Have we not aided mages in need? Have we not freed them, told them to run when we could have taken them forcibly back to the circle? And after aiding them, they prove themselves time and time again villains and maleficarum…" Hawke paused as her voice threatened to crack. Anders' back was as rigid as a board.

"And you…" she began, trying to keep her tone as far from accusatory as she could, "With all this suspicion mages are being thrown under, you're running around at all hours of the night, doing things that you can't―no, won't speak to me about. You ask me to blindly aid you in tasks that you refuse to fully explain to me, knowing that I care so deeply for you. You..used me. And have been using me from the start." The words fell from her lips in bitter understanding. Finally, without the immaculate facade of love, she could see the depraved reality she had once been easily able to overlook.

Anders was silent for several long moments before his voice finally cut the silence.

"I thought you wanted to aid the mages as well."

"I did! I still do. But the ways in which we decide to aid them matter, Anders. In case you haven't realized, I'm having a crisis of conscience here."

"Ah, I see. I'm sure your crisis of conscience helped you to mutilate the side of your neck there, too."

Hawke's heart clenched.

"I could say I'm sorry, Anders, because I am. But I don't think it'd help you at this point."

Anders sighed, the sound pressing like a vice grip around Hawke's chest. "You would be correct…Damnit, Hawke. I told you I would only break your heart." Anders turned and crawled back across the bed to sit in front of the sullen woman, her eyes glassy and threatening to shatter at a moment's notice. He took her hand in his, his thumbs rubbing soft circles into her palm.

"I want to apologize as well. For all I've done…all I haven't done…for what I haven't told you. And for what may soon come to pass."

His obscurity gained him a look of unabashed resentment. Her hand suddenly felt very uncomfortable in his grasp. "Of what may soon come to pass?"

Anders smiled sadly. "Don't worry, I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to. Not because I refuse, but because even I am unsure. I just know that…soon, the dam will break. And I want you to know…I still do, and always will, love you."

His words caused the hot tears to finally spill over her cheeks, but it was a silent display of emotion. Her eyes were vacant pools of desolation; why had she let her walls down? Is this how it would always be, letting someone in? They would always break you in the end…?

I love you. How did three words contain so much underlying meaning?

I love you. How could such a small phrase cause so much pain?

Liar.

You never loved me.

"Get out, Anders."

Hawke's voice wavered as she struggled to keep her face and emotions in check. Anders withdrew and clothed himself without another word, gathering his pack and any of his things that had found a home within her estate. As he stood at the door, he gave her one last sidelong glance before shutting the door behind him.

As soon as the door thudded shut, Hawke's misery broke through, coming from her in agonizing waves as she was forced to curl herself into a ball. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and it was the sound of her own despair that sent her off into a fitful sleep.