After playing DA2, the plot bunnies started hopping everywhere. Although this is my first fanfic in several years (what? seven years ago?) I hope it's passable. :)

Also, I love Fenris. Mmmm, broody.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I swear!

Hawke is a bit of a neat freak.

Fenris first noticed something was amiss when he'd returned to his Hightown mansion and the floor had been swept clean.

Over the next several weeks, he'd noticed small things changing every time he went out – the stacks of crates would be evenly aligned and pushed into a far corner, one of the accursed statues he so hated but couldn't bring himself to touch would be missing, the debris that had been remnants of his former master's life would simply disappear.

Even the fireplace was clean.

He paced from room to room, baffled by the sudden order in his home and annoyed that someone could come and go without his knowledge. At first, he might have blamed one of the hundreds of thieves that plagued Kirkwall, but they would have blundered in and ransacked the house. This clean precision was unusual.

For months, he would find something different about his home every time he returned. He wasn't sure whether to be insulted or grateful for the mysterious, invisible housekeeper he'd acquired.

Some days, he found food on his desk, tidbits or snacks that he was sure came from the Hightown market. He never ate them, instead throwing them out to feed the stray animals that wandered the streets. He could never be too careful.

As he returned one night from following up on a lead that he hoped would lead him to Danarius – or at least to another group of slavers for him to slaughter – he caught a glimpse of a shape lingering near his front door. Before he could heft his sword around from where he'd slung it on his back, Hawke's massive warhound stepped up and promptly plopped itself down on his foot.

The mabari looked up at him with bright eyes and a lolling tongue. Fenris relaxed, his grip on the hilt of his blade easing as the happy hound stared up at him expectantly.

Maker's breath, what was Hawke's faithful companion doing here? He'd never known the beast to wander far from his mistress's side. He nudged the dog until he was able to free his foot and carefully eased his front door open, ready for anything.

The pale, flickering light of the fire that flashed down into the foyer was not what he was expecting. Even less so was the sound of quiet humming, a gentle melody that seemed to fill the dim room with a cheeriness all its own. Ever cautious, he crept up the stairs, his footfalls silent on the cold (clean) stone.

"Hawke?" He jerked to a stop as he rounded the corner and found the woman bent over his desk, trying in vain to arrange the various bits and pieces of filth that littered the top. She yanked herself upright and twisted to face him in one motion, her hands tucked behind her back as though she could hide what she'd been doing. Red color stained her cheeks and her eyes darted around until they landed on the mabari that had followed him inside.

"Callum, you traitor!" She scolded and the hound cowered and whined in despair. "You were supposed to stand guard!"

Fenris cleared his throat and her eyes jerked up to his face.

"Fenris!" She called, as though they'd arranged to meet in his home in the dead of night. "How nice to see you!" She kept her hands firmly behind her back, where he couldn't see them.

"Hawke," he said, "What are you doing here?"

Her mabari whined and licked his hand before trotting forward to settle itself at his mistress's feet, looking back at her with imploring eyes. She scowled down at him, clearly unaffected by the wide, golden-eyed stare. "No more treats for you," she threatened in her best angry voice. He imagined she would have waggled her finger had she not been trying so hard to conceal her hands.

"Hawke."

She jumped and she finally brought her hands forward to fiddle with her leathers. "I just thought – since the house was so dirty, I thought I would just..."

Her shoulders lifted in a shrug and she looked up at him with wide eyes strangely reminiscent of her hounds pouting look. They were bright blue in the firelight, flashing cerulean and orange by the flickering flames. She raised her hands in a helpless gesture and continued to stare at him with pleading eyes.

He stared back at her, unimpressed with the display. He'd seen her use that look more than once to get her way with her other friends – he wasn't about to fall for the same trick. "You just what?" He didn't appreciate having his home invaded, for all that she seemed to have the best intentions in mind.

As a slave, he had not been allowed to own anything. The novelty of having a space to himself – despite it being stolen and in a state of disrepair – was heady. He wasn't ready to give it up, not even to please Hawke. He leaned his blade against the wall, well within arms reach, and waited for her answer.

Hawke scowled. "I thought I could make it feel like more of a home," she said finally, blowing out a breath that made the short, dark strands of hair that fell into her face scatter haphazardly. She reached out a hand and knocked over a tiny statuette on his desk, watching as it rolled and lolled about awkwardly on its carved side. "You know, if it was clean and such."

His frown deepened. "And the food?"

Callum perked up at the mention of food but, realizing that there was none to be had, promptly threw himself back to the floor where he could mope in peace at his owner's feet.

"I've never seen you eat. All you drink is wine," she muttered, refusing to look at him again. Instead, she stared down at the hound as though he were to blame for everything. "And you're sort of – thin. Maybe." She plucked at the hem of her leathers uneasily, the stiff hide creaking as she bent it this way and that.

There was a beat of silence, where he stared at her and she stared at the ground.

Fenris knew he should find himself insulted, but he was befuddled by her concern for him. Never before had someone cared enough to bring him meals. He wasn't certain how to react, so he waited for her to make the next move.

It didn't seem forthcoming. Hawke shuffled about a bit and looked like she was prepared to bolt for the door as soon as he moved out of the way. He crossed his arms over his (thin?) chest and made it clear he was going nowhere fast.

With an exaggerated groan, she threw her arms up in the air and took to pacing before him, nearly tripping over her dog who seemed more than content to lay on Fenris's floor and take up space. "Fine," she told him, and the admission sounded torn from between her unwilling lips. "I was worried about you. You live in squalor and you never eat decent food." She rounded on him with fists propped on the curve of her hips. "Is it such a stretch that I might be concerned?"

Hawke huffed, as though offended. Her usual cheeky sarcasm and witty charm seemed to have abandoned her in that instant, leaving her red-faced and irate with the awkward silence.

"And," she continued abruptly, her nose wrinkled in delicate distaste, "there were still bodies in your foyer, Fenris! Corpses from three years ago."

He had noticed a particular stench coming from the rotting corpses, but he couldn't be bothered to clean them. It seemed too much effort to expend for the sake of Danarius's men to even dump them to the streets beyond his home.

Besides, the few rooms he occupied were clean enough and usually smelled of burning wood – the smell of rot was contained to the entryway and he figured it would keep away curious passersby.

He gave her a shrug.

Hawke grunted and shook her head at him. "Aveline says that smell was drawing unnecessary attention. I had Merril dispose of them."

Of course. The Dalish had to be quite good of being rid of unwanted cadavers.

Seeming to catch sight of his expression, Hawke cast him an evil-eye that dared him to question her or her Dalish friend. Fenris was wise enough after so many years in her acquaintance to keep his mouth carefully closed.

He would have asked just how she'd been coming and going without his knowledge for so long but he knew better. Hawke was the most accomplished rogue he had yet to meet. There existed no lock she could not pick, no trap she couldn't sense and disarm. He had seen her fingers move across the mechanisms of a pressure pad with blinding speed, all while fireballs seared the air overhead, had seen her disengage locks even as blood poured from her wounds.

Breaking into his decaying Hightown mansion wouldn't even cause her to bat an eye.

"I would thank you," he rumbled, "But I don't like when people enter my home without my knowledge." He stalked forward to rearrange his desk back to the way he had it – which was admittedly disorganized. She made a sound of distress but didn't attempt to halt his destruction of her careful cleaning.

Hawke stepped into his personal space and he cast her a scowl. She knew he appreciated distance.

"Well," she said and eyed the newly created mess as though she could fix it with her gaze alone, "Now you know." Her fingers twitched.

Fenris kept himself purposefully between her and the contents of the desk, despite how close it placed their bodies. Part of it was out of spite. Part of it was because he found himself less and less opposed to touching her the longer he knew her.

She returned his scowl and didn't move. A high flush rose on her pale cheeks.

And suddenly it was one of those moments – the times where his eyes met hers and their skin brushed and Fenris felt like he might not mind if they took this further than friendship as she'd been hinting for months now...

It was the moment he noticed how she smelled, like fresh leather oil and the faint musk of her dog and the expensive soaps she used now that she lived in Hightown. The moment his fingers itched to touch her, despite the ache of the lyrium veining his palms.

He realized that not only had she not moved away from him, but that her eyes had taken on a heated spark, darkened to a sultry blue that flashed in the flames.

Hawke's hand moved. Her delicate fingers rose to hover just above the strong curve of his jaw. His breath caught. She touched him then, a faint brush of her hand across his skin. Fenris pushed away from her, away from her hold and the temptation she presented.

She made a noise and when he looked back, the fire had banked in her eyes and the warmth had fled her cheeks. She watched him for a moment more in guarded silence before turning on her heel and crossing the chipped floor with silent strides.

Callum scrambled after her, casting Fenris an unimpressed look with his large puppy eyes.

Unexpectedly, Hawke paused just before crossing the threshold of his front door. She didn't glance back, just stopped with her hand on the knob and her hair hiding the profile of her face from his view.

"I'll stop by with more food tomorrow," she muttered, then fled for the quiet of the night air.

Fenris was not accustomed to being cared for. He glanced around his clean home and suppressed the urge to shove everything from the strict order Hawke had arranged it into.

This would take getting used to.