Sometimes Hawke just wished she was a cat. It would have made things ever so much easier.

She'd watched how he acted with strays in Darktown before, how his features became ever gentler, how sweetly he would pet them and talk to them in a soft, tender tones. More than once it had caused her heartache just wondering how it might feel to have those same fingers just lightly brush the hair across her cheek, to have him look at her with the same adoration.

You are terribly pathetic, you realize,Hawke told herself as she sat on the rickety steps just outside of Anders' clinic. She couldn't even manage to walk through the door before her legs went all wobbly beneath her and forced her to abandon the visit. For the past half hour she had done nothing but sit and mope at how painfully bashful she was around Kirkwall's healer.

Oh, but she'd been a loss from the beginning, barely able to even look him in the eye after he'd called her beautiful. And when he'd teased that she must have made a deal with some demons to be so wonderful she'd just rambled about how she'd never do such a thing and, no, no, never, that would be terrible. That had earned her an expression that made her just want to die on the spot. Why couldn't she just be as smooth as Isabela and come up with some witty and sensuous response?

She felt like an idiot in how she always babbled and left in a hurry whenever he showed up at the Hanged Man, or purposefully avoided eye contact with him on missions. She didn't suppose this could be making him feel very welcome but, Maker, if he only knew what he was doing to her!

That little hopeful smile he'd given her, as if he were afraid she'd rebuke him for complimenting her...

"Hawke?"

Hawke felt her body shoot up so fast she about tumbled off the steps as she whirled around when Anders said her name. He was standing in the doorway of the clinic, the lantern is his hand. He had come to retrieve it for the night as the oil burned low. Hawke fumbled with her hands a moment, eyes finding anything to look at but him at first. When she finally made eye contact, he smiled.

Oh, Andraste, that smile again...

"Have you been out here long?"

"What? Oh... Oh, no. I just...was...passing through," she said, ducking her head again and praying that the heat rising in her cheeks would be hidden by the shadows.

"Oh," he replied simply. She could hear something in his voice; disappointment? Maybe she was mistaken. "Well. Ah.. Since you're here, would you like to come in? I can make some tea."

"Mmmf," was the only noise Hawke could muster. The rustle of Ander's boots across the dirt headed towards her made her look up and she clumsily stepped backward, almost missing the step below entirely. Seeing her back away, Anders stopped just a foot from the top of the stairs and tilted his head.

"Are you alright?" he asked with genuine concern.

"Mm'fine..," she said, wringing her fingers in her hand so hard it began to hurt. "I... I need to go...G'night." She turned and took the steps in twos and didn't stop running until she was well out of Darktown. When her pace began to slow she clenched her fists and screamed in frustration, startling anyone still wandering the streets.

The sun had just dipped below the horizon when she made it home and headed upstairs, giving Bodahn and her mother polite but brief greetings. The moment she'd entered her room she closed the door and went straight for a specific book on the shelves in the corner.

Don't you even think about it, her mind warned her, but her hands were already flying through the pages, desperate to find the spell that she was certain would fix everything...or at the very least make them a great deal more bearable. It would be horribly deceptive of her, but maybe...just maybe...it could help her build up the courage to speak to him for real. She could confess how she wanted nothing more than to be near him.

And then there it was, splayed out before her. She hadn't practiced the spell in ages, so it would take some time to perfect it, but it would be worth it.

"Anders, forgive me," she quietly pleaded, holding the book to her chest. Thoughts of being wrapped warmly in the mage's arms kept her reading through the evening until morning's first light.

"I do believe you're about to break Fenris' record for perpetual brooding, Blondie," Varric prompted as Anders sat wordlessly at their usual table in the Hanged Man. He threw the dwarf a slightly disgruntled look at the remark. "But, really, anything we can help with?"

Anders shrugged up his shoulders and leaned back into the chair, resting his hands on his knees. "I don't think so."

"Aw, come on now. We're all friends here," Isabela said, sidling up to him with a tankard of ale in one hand as she ruffled his hair with the other. He ducked to the side and smoothed it down the best he could and straightened the tie in the back. As much as he appreciated their concern, Anders wasn't sure that sharing this particular problem was the best idea. As good as their intentions tended to be, he preferred to avoid the meddling, and, oh, would there ever be meddling.

He found himself in a difficult place. It seemed to be something that happened to him a lot these days, unfortunately. Here he had found himself in the company of a lovely, intelligent and selfless mage with whom all he wanted to do was become closer, and he couldn't even speak to her. He tried, but it was as though he repulsed her just by being in the room. When they had first met it hadn't been so bad, but it got increasingly worse. The already sparse words that they had once exchanged became little more than one word responses – if that.

Maybe she had taken his advice and decided that he was much too dangerous to affiliate with. He wouldn't have blamed her if she saw him as a lost cause for her attentions; a one-way road to heartache. He'd told her that himself, in fact. Now, as she avoided him like the Blight, he was sorely regretting having said anything at all.

What troubled him, though, was that she never seemed to judge anyone so harshly. He wasn't the only one of them that had done something questionable in their lives. Merrill was a blood-mage, Isabela's morals were a bit skewed at times, and Fenris was a mage-hater who had downright murdered hundreds at the whim of his former master. Still, she welcomed them all in with open arms – why was he so different?

"Good to see you could make it, Daisy!" He heard Varric call out across the bar. Turning in his chair and seeing Merrill, he had an idea. Rising from the table he intercepted the elf on her path to join the others.

"Merrill, can I speak to you a moment?" he asked quietly. Merrill tilted her head and regarded him with her large, innocent looking eyes. It reminded him vaguely of the kittens he often saw in Darktown.

"Certainly." Anders immediately appreciated that Merrill was so willing to be helpful. It was just too bad that she took all the wrong routes to do it most of the time.

"You speak to Hawke a lot, right?"

"Oh, yes. All the time," she smiled and he couldn't help but envy her a little bit.

"Has she... Has she said anything about me?" Merrill's brows raised at the question, but thankfully she didn't pry as some of the others might have.

"Oh, she's said a great deal."

"Really?" He felt his stomach twist anxiously. "Like what?"

"Lots of things. It would take me quite some time to remember it all."

"Well, what was the last thing she said?"

"Oh, um... 'He's so sad all the time. We should get him a new cat'...or was it a hat? I'm not sure. I think you'd look delightful in a hat. A nice, jaunty one with a feather in it, I think," she added, folding her hands in front of herself. Anders wondered if his sanity had left him entirely when he actually considered that for a moment.

"But she's not mad at me?"

"No, I don't think so? Why? Have you done something?"

"I don't think so... She just keeps avoiding me and I don't know why."

"Perhaps she's just feeling shy," Merrill offered. Anders stared at the elf before him a moment until he saw her eyes dart past him. Glancing to see what had caught her eye, he noticed Hawke had entered the Hanged Man and proceeded straight past them and slumped into a chair at the table.

"Ooo. Someone's had a rough night. Who was the lucky man?" Isabela asked.

"I was just reading...," Hawke sighed, rubbing her eyes as half the sentence came out in a yawn.

"Anything good?" Varric asked, interest piqued.

"Just studying up on my magic," Hawke replied and offered him a tired smile. "Sorry I'm not more interesting."

"No worries," Varric chuckled. "I can make anything interesting."

Anders hadn't noticed that Merrill had slipped by him until she went to sit by Hawke at the table. He'd been far too distracted by the ease with which the woman of his dreams conversed with everyone else, and how she didn't seem to mind at all that her friends gathered so close. He vaguely heard her speaking of studying magic and wanted so much to offer to study with her or tutor her should she be studying in a field he knew. At this point, however, he was too afraid to say or do anything lest she fly away like a frightened bird.

"So, are we still going to the Wounded Coast?" Isabela asked after finishing off the last of her ale. "I'm in the mood for plundering."

"First thing tomorrow. If I try to cast anything today I'll probably set my own hair on fire or something," Hawke joked.

"I've seen that happen," Merrill said with a sage nod. "It looked quite painful. I don't recommend it at all."

"I'm sure Blondie would put you right as rain if that happened," Varric added, eyes flickering just briefly to the mage as he stood silently at the bar, looking perfectly and pitifully outcast. On one hand, Anders wanted to strangle the dwarf, but on the other he was curious to know how Hawke might react to mention of him since she hadn't seemed to notice he was there.

"Oh," she hummed, settling further down in her chair. "I'm sure he could. That reminds me, though. I was thinking it might be good to have him along tomorrow. I haven't quite gotten my healing spell down yet... Could one of you stop by his clinic and ask him if he's up to it?"

"He could answer for himself," Fenris said, voice a little scathing as usual. No doubt he thought the mage a coward for skulking in the corner, but Anders didn't particularly care. Fenris had no place to accuse someone of being anti-social or to look at their problems and tell them to 'just get over it'. But Anders' less than stellar opinions of the elf aside, he realized he'd just been pointed out. He watched the back of Hawke's head turn as she glanced about, obviously looking for him. When she finally turned to survey the bar, her eyes instantly locked on him and he did his best not to let the heat rise to his cheeks in embarrassment.

Maybe part of his old self kicked in at that point, or maybe Justice was tired of his host being taken for an idiot, but somehow he managed to look as if he wasn't bothered at all. He walked right over, greeting Hawke with a wave and a smile – just like any of the others might have, just like one of the crew.

"I'll be happy to come if you like," he said and watched as Hawke bowed her head slightly.

"S...Sh...," she said, barely above a whisper. Anders stuffed the feeling of insecurity away as best he could and crouched down by her chair in an attempt to make eye contact without being looming and intimidating. He'd learned with Ser Pounce a Lot that cats often reacted poorly to being towered over, but felt more at ease with someone at their level. Not that...not that Hawke was an animal of course, but...

Be silent! I can not stand this incessant rambling!

Sorry, Justice...

"There's no need to be shy. You can ask me any time. I am always ready to help," he said and gave her the most genuinely helpful expression he could muster.

"Sh...Sh...Shy?" Hawke sputtered. "I am...NOT!" He watched her face go redder than he could ever recall before before she jolted up from her seat and about fell over Merrill in an attempt to vacate the table. She managed to keep her balance enough to not fall face first into the floor before scrambling in a frenzy up the steps to the rooms in the back. Her companions sat in a stupor at the table before they all turned their attention to Anders, who was still crouched, dumbfounded, by Hawke's empty chair.

"I...think I better go check on her," Varric said, breaking the silence and excusing him from the table.

Anders slowly rose to stand, barely containing the pout rising to his lips.

"She hates me," he said under his breath.

"He hates me," Hawke muffled into her pillow. She couldn't believe how poorly she had treated Anders back at the Hanged Man that afternoon. In all truth, she had begun to hate herself so much she thought it was only logical to believe that he did, too. As if being a an ex-warden apostate mage wasn't bad enough, but his fellow mage wouldn't even speak to him – couldn'teven!

The idea that her awkward bashfulness may have led him to believe she didn't like him was the hardest thing to bear. Nothing could have been farther from the truth! In all reality, Hawke had always been rather withdrawn. Back before the Blight had wiped out Lothering, she had taken to shape-shifting often to avoid the crowds and templars alike. No one paid any attention to one more bird or mouse or cat. Lothering had been full of them all and it made it that much easier to blend in.

She had to know. She had to know whether she still had a chance or if it had been the last straw for him. What if he never talked to her again? Even worse...what if he began avoiding her, too?

Any doubt that had been lingering in her mind up to that point was completely smothered by complete certainty. She would do it... She recited the spell over in her mind to make sure she would truly have it under her control. Just this once...she promised herself. Just tonight.

The clinic had been more quiet than usual that night, or perhaps it wasn't as quiet and lonesome as he felt it was. Anders supposed he should be thankful when his days were slow. It meant that the people of Lowtown were doing well and they didn't need him. Still, he had to admit to himself that it was nice to feel needed, welcome and wanted. If only he could be wanted by herthen he wouldn't need anything else. He rested his hands on the table at the center of his clinic, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

Cease this self-pity. You have done well without anyone thus far. You will continue to do just that.

"Even if that was true, it doesn't mean I want to be alone the rest of my life," Anders argued with the spirit aloud. "This may escape you, Justice, but humans sometimes need someone other than themselves to talk to. You are not going to judge me for wanting some real blasted companionship!" He slammed his fist with finality on the makeshift table so hard it rattled.

"Mew!" Anders startled and blinked at the meek little noise coming from beneath the cloth on the table. Slowly, he crouched down and lifted the edge and the sight he beheld made something in his chest tighten and then swell with warmth almost simultaneously.

A small cat was crouched, eyes wide and bewildered from the loud and violent noise that had come abruptly above it. Immediately, Anders forgot his current woes and felt guilty for having frightened it.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," he spoke softly. "I didn't mean to scare you." The little cat, a tabby it seemed, striped with golds and deep browns, peered up at him with cautious and wide green eyes. Anders just looked at it a moment, marveling at how healthy and well-kept it looked for a stray. Perhaps it had belonged to someone in Hightown and gotten lost? Whatever the reason, he couldn't contain his childish excitement that this lovely little cat had come to visit. Usually the cats in Darktown wouldn't wander much closer than the milk dish he put out for them by the door. "Are you hungry? Just...give me a second... Stay right there."

Keeping his motions slow, he went to retrieve the untouched milk from the clinic door to bring it over and slid it beneath the table towards the feline. It seemed to have calmed a bit in the last few minutes and sniffed at the milk only briefly before beginning to lap it up. Anders smiled at this and got up again to go see if he had anything left from his lunch that he might share.

He waited patiently while the cat enjoyed the milk, planting himself cross-legged a small distance from the table with his lunch pack in his lap. He idly began to eat a bit of fish sandwich he had neglected to touch earlier that day, making sure to set some of the best parts aside for his guest. When the cat had drank its fill, it promptly began to give its face a good, proper cleaning. Anders grinned at the sheer cuteness of it.

"Feel better?" he asked and the large green eyes turned to him again as a tiny pink tongue stretched over its mouth one last time. "By the gods, you're adorable," Anders chuckled. This earned him a squinted, contented expression from the tabby. Reaching to pluck up a little tidbit of fish he'd set aside, he held it out and tilted his head to see better under the table. "Care for some fish?"

He watched with hope as the little pink nose lifted and caught the scent of the meat between his fingers. Gradually, the forepaws slipped closer, followed by the haunches and a wary, swaying tail. In an attempt to draw the cat out further he pulled his hand back little by little until the cloth fluttered back down behind it. He then set the fish down and was happy to see it gobbled up quite appreciatively with a twitch of charmingly long whiskers that splayed out from the feline's face and brow.

"Where did you come from, I wonder...," he thought aloud, resting his chin in a hand. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you... I could use some company."

The cat blinked once, tail curling at the end inquisitively.

"I don't get a lot of visitors... Or... Well, I get visitors... but they're usually patients. It's nice to see a new face."

Another swipe of the tongue over tiny teeth, accompanied by a purr.

"Hm," he chuckled. "Glad to see someone so content in Darktown." Absently, he lifted his hand and then rested it on the edge of his boot, fingers flexing a bit. He wanted to try to pet the little cat, for its fur looked quite soft and plush, but he didn't want to drive it away. He'd already done that enough with Hawke.

Oh, damn, he thought, closing his eyes now. Why did he have to think of that mess again? He'd almost forgotten it entirely, having been distracted by the cat, but now that it was on his mind again he felt the heaviness return to his chest. Why did he have to dwell on these things so much? He knew why. He never wanted to admit it, but he knew. For all his angst and insistence that everyone would be better of without him, despite the fact he hardly considered himself a human anymore...he was lonely.

A cold, wet sensation on his fingers caused him to lift his head just a bit and open his eyes. Down by his hand, the little cat touched its nose to his skin, then gave the tiniest lick of its tongue. Anders would have notched it up to the smell of fish on his fingers, except that the cat also tilted it's head and brushed its cheek over the same spot. Mine, it purred, and padded about on its toes.

Anders swallowed the choke that rose in his throat, lifting his hand now to brush his palm over the cat's back. It was just as soft as he supposed. A smile quirked at one corner of his mouth as the paws padded back and forth, round and round, repeating the brushes to his hand.

"A girl...," he noted briefly on one of her turns. "And such a sweet one, too."

She turned her eyes to him then and he offered a warm smile, scratching under her chin lightly.

"What should I call you, lovely lady?" He chuckled deeply as she rounded his leg and peeked over his knee at the pile of fish tidbits and quickly snagging one before he could stop her. "Hmm... What about Mischief? That seems to suit you."

"Mew!" she cried with a quick blink.

"You don't need to by shy, you know," he said. "All you have to do is ask and I'll be happy to help you." He watched as Mischief ducked her head a little, almost as though he'd reprimanded her. "Now, now, don't make that face..." Lightly brushing his hand up under her belly he carefully lifted her into his lap so she could reach the rest of the fish. "I'm not mad..." He brushed his hand over her her head and back again soothingly, amused at how she still looked at him as if to ask permission. He smiled softly and nodded. Mischief proceeded to eat the rest of the treat he had saved for her, purring the whole while.

Anders had forgotten how comforting having a cat curled up in his lap could be. He didn't know how long he sat there with her as she kneaded at his robe with her pin-like claws. She nicked him through the cloth once or twice, but he kept his flinching to a minimum and was still so as not to disturb her. The oil in the forgotten lantern burned out long before he finally just fell asleep like that.

When Hawke awoke curled tightly into a ball amongst her sheets with her face pressed into her pillow, she felt a tinge of sadness and happiness all at once.

Her bed, though perfectly comfortable and warm, did nothing to compare with what it was like to be snuggled up in the arms of a certain mage. His gentle caresses and the warmth in his voice was all that was needed to lull her to sleep in his lap. She had only just made it home a couple of hours ago, thankful to have woken before he did so she could take her leave unnoticed. During the evening, Anders had opted to lay down on the ground, tugging her sleepily along into the crook of his arm. It seemed a shame to leave him like that, and she was far too timid to attempt to change back to a human in his presence. So she did all a little cat could do and gave him the gentlest of apologetic head-bumps, delighted at his contented expression, and scampered away.

The bright side to all of it, and what had her smiling like a fool into her pillow, was that she'd gotten to experience being close to him. A wish that she was certain would never come true had suddenly become possible, and all it took was one little spell. Hawke could barely contain the thrill in her heart. It was likely she looked like the love-struck fool with that extra skip in her step while humming a tune as she got ready for the day ahead.

She didn't think too much about the plans for the Wounded Coast that day as it felt like standard fare. Wander the coast, knock some heads, set some people on fire and reap the benefits for making the world a better place to live in. Hawke felt a wry grin cross her lips, seemingly of it's own will. She was in such a good mood, she hardly believed it could get any better. Another hum picked up in her throat as she trotted down a set of steps and rounded a corner, heading to the Hanged Man to meet her companions.

And, Maker, she really should have been watching where she was going.

Hawke felt herself stumble backward, only saved from falling flat on her rear by the helpful hands of whoever she'd bumped into. And when she saw who it was – all those lovely winsome feelings quickly fled and hid in the deepest parts of her heart – leaving her feeling like she just wanted to nothing but die.

Hawke had assumed that her little shape-shifting experiment was the key to helping her on the road to finally confessing her feelings for the man she loved. It had seemed promising as she found her courage easily in the guise of a tiny feline, but she had never expected that that might be where it stopped. For as she stood, half of her body crushed into Anders as he attempted to stop them both from toppling, she still felt utterly and completely mortified.

Even worse was that he looked right into her flushed face and embarrassed eyes and still had the wondrous courtesy of granting her an awkward smile. He was saying something, apologizing or something like that, as his hands tried to right her without being too intimate. Hawke could do little more than act as a boneless doll, barely hearing anything he spoke, and just staring at him in disbelief.

"Hawke?" Yes, she heard that. "Are you...whoa, now!" He closed the gap between them and caught her shoulders when she appeared to waver in her balance. "Are you okay?"

"What...Wha...What are you doing here?" Holy Andraste, she'd managed to form a sentence!

"We're going to the Wounded Coast today, right? I.. You wanted me to come, I thought."

Hawke's mouth clamped shut, apparently having spent all it's vigor forming her prior response. She willed her heart to stop trying to escape her chest and for her tongue to stop folding in knots. At a loss for all this and seeing his expression start to fall, she just nodded. And when she realized she could actually do that, boy, did she nod like there was no tomorrow.

"Mmmhmm," she managed around her parched mouth. Anders perked up again, apparently glad he actually got a response, or perhaps it was because she wasn't running from him as though he was a holy terror. Whatever it was, Hawke silently thanked all the good forces of Thedas for allowing her not to faint or make an entire fool of herself like usual.

"Alright. We shouldn't keep the others waiting, I suppose." Hawke could tell by the way he talked that he was feeling cautious about how he acted around her. She wanted nothing more than to apologize for the entire misunderstanding, but alas, he had already put distance between them as he headed for the Hanged Man. It wasn't as though her words had suddenly decided to untangle themselves, anyway, so she simply resigned herself to watching him go and following quietly behind.

The morning had gone so delightfully well that Hawke could not believe her strain of bad luck the rest of the day. Aside from inadvertently falling into Anders' arms, which she would have loved under any other circumstances, the trip to the coast had pretty much been a bust. It was like all the criminals were on holiday or else committing crimes anywhere that they weren't. Never in her life had Hawke wished to pummel someone with her staff more than on that day. At least it would have distracted her from the fact Anders kept throwing glances in her direction. She purposely avoided looking back, feeling lost and frustrated for what to do.

It came as a great relief when Varric finally voiced what they were all probably thinking, and suggested they head back to town. There was obviously no fun to be had today. Hawke agreed, but made it a point to hang back, wedging her boot into the sand of the shoreline and out again while waiting for her companions to go. Merrill's chatter with Varric gradually became distant and Hawke allowed herself to enjoy the view off the coast. The sky had just begun to show sprinkles of gold amidst the dimming blue, promising that nightfall was not far behind.

"Hawke?"

Her fingers curled tighter into her sleeves as she had her arms crossed. Would this day just not cease its attempt to turn her into an anxious mess?

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you looked at it, Anders did not draw any closer.

"I do not know what I've done to cause you so much distress," he said, needlessly apologizing for something that really wasn't his fault. "But I hope, whatever it was, you can forgive me." She just barely heard his boots trudge away in the sand.

No, you've done nothing, she wanted to say. Her heart willed her to turn and run after him, to throw herself at his back and wrap her arms about him. You've done all the right things.. She couldn't leave it like this, no. It would drive her mad all night. She knew she'd promised herself only to use the spell once, but...

"Coming, kitten?"

"What? What do you mean! I am not! Oh..." Hawke sputtered at Isabela's call, and then remembered that it was a nickname she'd given to herself and Merrill. Isabela had not suddenly learned how to read minds – Maker knows what mischief that would bring upon the world if it were so!

Mischief, Hawke thought. He had named her Mischief.