#holds hands with his husband is extremely rude and meant to make them ashamed and uncomfortable

[llycaons]

literally so many reconciliation fics are like. wwx goes and loiters near LP like a sad yet hopeful puppy. jc shows up and goes 'you stupid fucking asshole, you were responsible for the deaths of my entire family and I hate you. you're disgusting also. don't you dare think about showing any physical affection towards your husband, who I also hate, in front of me because I will literally vomit. of course I don't hate gay people. how could you say that. how dare you come here. okay come in and have some food. you asshole. shut up. I will break your legs' and then he physically shoves him or something and wwx is happy about this? he's almost crying he's like like 'aw man you really do love me I belong here' happy family times are assumed to commence end fic. I can't do this anymore

[hermannsthumb]

As per our convo, Newt getting set up with Hermann via Hermann’s father’s binder full of pre-approved suitors for his son...

(from @k-sci-janitor 👀) easily one of our funniest concepts yet. I was going to end on newt coming over for dinner scenario but I like the ominous open ending. I'm not actually sure when kaiju attacks fall in the PR timeline so excuse my handwaveyness, LOL

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Hermann’s relationship with his father is what one would call strenuous at best, but—Hermann must admit, to the man’s credit, and in spite of his many flaws—he took the news of Hermann’s sexual orientation as unflinchingly as if Hermann had told him the day’s weather. It was a bit annoying, in fact. Hermann had agonized over the proper way to breach the subject for months, certain it spoke to some sort of personal ruin (whether ostracization from the Gottliebs or being forbade following through on any attraction he may feel whilst still living under the family roof, he wasn't sure), before finally simply announcing it one day at the breakfast table on a whim.

It had been a long-standing tradition that Hermann’s parents compile a binder—effectively of dossiers—on all the most eligible bachelors (for their daughter) and bachelorettes (for their sons) to aid in the choice of the latest Gottlieb mate. It was easiest this way, or so Hermann and his siblings were told. Parental approval was already secured. The histories of each were already secured, which bypassed any nasty shocks that might emerge in the courtship stage. Most of them were children of his father's colleagues or bright minds in their own rights: surgeons, and dentists, and mathematicians. Poets were strictly forbidden.

The occasion of Hermann’s breakfast table announcement had also been the day Hermann’s father presented him with his very first binder of prospective mates—a few days after his eighteenth birthday, and shortly before he was to go off to begin work on his PhD. His father had slid him a hand-written binder of names, no more than a dozen, and all with accompanying photographs. “All are accomplished young women,” he assured Hermann. “We can arrange any meetings of your choice over your winter holidays.”

Hermann glared down at the row of frozen smiles. He stabbed his fork into his cooked tomato wedge. “I don’t want to marry any of these women,” he said, and turned his glare on his father. He still had a rebellious streak in him at that point, something nurtured by a charismatic young man he used to trail after in boarding school, who pierced Hermann’s ear with a sewing needle in the boys’ toilets and listened to songs about setting things on fire. In late this streak had manifested itself in Hermann in nicking packets of cigarettes from his father’s study, one of which was in his pocket now. The weight of it made Hermann feel bolder. “I don’t want to marry any woman,” he continued. “I like men.”

The binder was drawn away in silence, and Hermann was free to eat his toast and tomatoes. The next morning a binder of young men was in its place.

(In a way the acceptance infuriated Hermann. It meant he could not blame his father’s obvious dislike for him on an unfounded, homophobic prejudice; rather, it was a result of Hermann’s own personal failings.)

The binder was placed at Hermann’s breakfast plate every day until he left for his studies. It was placed at his plate when he returned from them five years later. Not even the emergence of the kaiju from the bottom of the ocean shortly after Hermann turned twenty-four dampened his father’s hopes, nor turning all their scientific efforts towards the new jaeger program: some names were removed from the binder (the reasoning Hermann shudders to think at), more still were added, though Hermann is expected only to consider it once a week now on account of his busy schedule. This was one of such days.

“Your brother is very happy with his wife,” Hermann’s father reminds him. “She was one of my first suggestions for him, in fact.”

Hermann is not fond of his sister-in-law. Too rude—too cold. Though perhaps that makes her perfect for Hermann’s brother. “Haven’t we got bigger things to worry about these days than whether or not I’m going to marry?” Hermann says. He adds milk to his tea. “I’m sure they’re all, er, marvelous selections, only—”

“Your sister, too, with her husband,” father says.

Hermann sighs. He hasn’t got much of the rebellious streak he used to in him anymore—too stressed. Not fancying a fight before they’ve even begun today’s coding work, he picks up the binder and begins flipping through it. Sons of engineers working on the jaeger program with them, prominent young chemists, many of whom Hermann has been presented with since he was eighteen. Plenty of them are even handsome. Half of Hermann wonders if he should just pick the least-unappealing one of the bunch and be done with it already. He turns the page over and freezes. “Oh,” he says. “This one is—new.”

“Hm?” father says.

Hermann holds up the binder, tapping at a new entry. “Newton Geiszler.”

“Dr. Geiszler,” father says, nodding. “A child prodigy from Berlin—he’s made tremendous strides in kaiju science in such little time. And,” he adds, “three PhDs. Two of them before he even turned twenty.” The unspoken implication was that Dr. Geiszler far surpassed Hermann in intelligence and Hermann should feel ashamed for not skipping as many grades as Dr. Geiszler.

Hermann feels he ought to resent Dr. Geiszler for it, but he's finding it difficult to summon up any animosity towards him. It's likely because Hermann finds Dr. Geiszler to be strikingly handsome in his photograph: cheeks which haven’t quite lost their baby fat (giving him the appearance of being a scruffy hamster), large, thick glasses, tousled hair, an easy grin. Three PhDs, and German at that. And a child prodigy? “I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned him to me before,” Hermann says. He seems precisely the sort father would. Geiszler’s photograph is black-and-white and a bit grainy, but Hermann swears he could make out the lightest bit of freckles across his cheeks.

“I’d not heard of him until he published an article last week on kaiju biology,” father says. ��Besides—he’s moved to America.”

Geiszler has three piercings up the side of his left ear. “I am going to write to him,” Hermann declares.

Father nods, and picks up his newspaper, clearly already disinterested. They speak no more of it that day.

It is not hard to find Dr. Geiszler online (his name is not the most common, and his field of study certainly isn’t), nor is it hard to match his photograph to his faculty page on MIT’s website. From there, Hermann retrieves Dr. Geiszler’s email address. He takes the evening to read over Geiszler’s publications spanning back to 2003 before he gathers up the courage to type out an actual email.

Dear Dr. Geiszler,

You do not know me, but I have recently been made acquaintance with your work and find it—Hermann pauses—scintillating. My father and I are—Hermann backspaces this—I am currently working on the development of the jaeger program…

There’s a response waiting for him the next morning. It’s as enthusiastic as it is brief. Dr. Gottlieb- That’s so awesome!! Believe it or not I’ve been following your work too. I have a million questions for you about the jaegers. If it’s classified info I promise I won’t tell. -Newt

It makes Hermann smile like nothing ever has before.

Hermann’s correspondence with Dr. Geiszler does not transgress beyond the professional until the following January. By that time, Hermann and his father have successfully completed the coding for their first jaeger prototype, and Hermann has been offered his fair share of tenured university positions to pick from as he likes. He finds himself oddly disappointed that none of them are in America with Dr. Geiezler. This, which leads to the realization that he’s grown rather fond of Dr. Geiszler, is perhaps what drives Hermann to uncharacteristic sentimental extremes on January 19th: he orders Dr. Geiszler a birthday present. The first email Dr. Geiszler sends him after that addresses him as Hermann. The first email Hermann sends Dr. Geiszler after that addresses him as Newton. Things move rapidly after that.

“Are you still writing to that young biologist?” Hermann’s father asks him in March. Hermann has spent the last two months devouring every bit of information Newton has seen fit to divulge about his personal life: his dexterity with no less than three different instruments, his favorite loud monster movies, how he’d love to get a kaiju tattooed on him one day. Hermann suspects he might be falling in love with Newton. In hardly five months! These are war times, Hermann supposes, so it would make sense. People are meant to do such extreme things.

“I am,” Hermann says.

“I’ve asked around about him,” Hermann’s father says. His expression is stern—unimpressed. “About his character. I’m not sure it’s wise to continue your correspondence.”

The reasons are this. Dr. Geiszler’s methods are unorthodox. Dr. Geiszler is loud and uncouth, and has little respect for his intellectual superiors. Dr. Geiszler was thrown out of a convention once for storming up on stage and stealing a microphone from an engineer to shout about the destruction coral reefs. Dr. Geiszler was in a distasteful band for several years. Dr. Geiszler was once arrested for egging a politician’s house. Dr. Geiszler has gone on record as describing the kaiju as “kinda cool”. Almost none of this is news to Hermann; in fact, that which is only causes Hermann’s affection for Newton to grow. “I will consider your advice,” Hermann says, knowing he won’t. Besides, it's not as if his father really has Hermann's interests at heart—Hermann knows he merely wishes to preempt any scandal Newton Geiszler could possibly bring upon the Gottlieb name.

In April Newton goes on television and declares that he’s sure the kaiju are extraterrestrial in origin, on account of their great size and his brief examination of a sample from the second kaiju to make landfall. He’s laughed off by his older peers before he can get another word out. The email he writes to Hermann afterwards is furious, capslock-heavy, and expresses that Hermann is the only one who takes him seriously in the whole world. It leaves Hermann certain that he is in love with Newton.

“Dr. Geiszler was interviewed on some American television program,” Hermann’s father says a few days later.

“I know,” Hermann says, proudly. Newton was on television. “I watched it.”

“He made some extraordinary claims,” Hermann’s father says.

But Hermann is thinking only of the outfit Newton wore (skinny jeans and an oversized leather jacket, so out of place compared to the suited other scientists sitting around him), the shade of his eyes (hazel), his short stature (hardly taller than Hermann), and the cadence of his voice (high, but not unappealing). He’d been so confident, and carried himself with a self-assurance that was foreign to Hermann. It was marvelously attractive. “I’m sure they're correct,” Hermann says. "Every single one. Newton is a terribly brilliant scientist." All bold claims are met with derision at first, are they not?

Newton’s theory is proven correct after the next kaiju attack, when experts other than him get their hands on kaiju samples and validate his claims. The general consensus after that is that the kaiju are not of this world. And Newton was the first to propose the theory! Hermann sends Newton an email full of congratulations, and Newton responds with a heart emoticon in his sign-off. Newton isn't just a brilliant scientist. “Newton is a genius,” Hermann tells his father, dreamily.

The binder reappears on Hermann’s work desk a few months later, Newton’s page torn conspicuously from it. Hermann tips the whole thing straight into his trash can. He has more important things to worry about—arranging a meeting with Newton, perhaps. Hermann ought to have him over for dinner.

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Bridging

Chapter 55 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3! 

In which Fenris and the crew wrap things up in the Frostback Basin with one last little mission. ~5500 words; read here on AO3 instead.

*******************

One week later... 

Dorian sighed happily. “Finally heading back to civilization today,” he said. “Now, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I for one–”

Hawke cut in with a terrible impression of his voice. “...am thrilled that we’ll be returning to the great indoors,” she said. “A hot bath, a soft bed, and proper wine. Kaffas, how thrilling.”

Bull chuckled, and Fenris smirked. Dorian shrugged, apparently unfazed by her imitation. “You stole the words from my mouth,” he said loftily. “I’m not even angry about it.”

“We’re not out of the woods just yet,” Fenris reminded him. In fact, they were on their way to find Sigrid, the augur’s possessed apprentice. Hawke had tried to coax him to let the issue go, but he was determined to meet this possessed mage and see what qualities she had that made Cole and the augur so confident that she was safe.

Dorian sighed. “I don’t quite see why I’m being forced to join you on this encounter. I’d be perfectly happy to remain with Kenric until you’re ready to go home.”

Bull raised an eyebrow. “Since when are you happy to be left behind?”

Dorian shot him an offended look. “Since being left behind means I needn’t get my boots filthy.” He let out a long-suffering sigh. “It’s fine. I shall bear the burden of this arduous task. I know you can’t stand to run errands without me, Fenris.”

“Vishante kaffas,” Fenris said good-naturedly.

“As long as it’s not bogfisher shit,” Dorian retorted. “Now that is a vile substance if ever I’ve smelled it.”

Hawke wrinkled her nose. “What are you talking about? All shit smells vile!”

“Not Orlesian noble shit,” Dorian said. Then he tapped his chin. “Oh wait, that’s just what they like to think.”

Hawke and Bull burst into laughter, and Fenris smiled at him. “It’s unfortunate that Blackwall and Sera already left,” he said. “They would have appreciated that.”

“Well, you know me,” Dorian said casually. “I live to please.”

They continued to chat light-heartedly as they made their way to the cabin where Sigrid had sequestered herself. In truth, however, Fenris did have a specific reason for dragging Dorian along on this errand: he genuinely wanted Dorian’s perspective on the situation at hand. As much as Fenris trusted Hawke, her judgment regarding spirits was favourably biased by her affection for Anders, Solas and Merrill. Dorian’s judgment wasn’t completely impartial given his necromancer background, but it was at least a little more impartial than Hawke’s. 

As the cabin came into view, Cole appeared beside them. “Still strong, but still sad,” he said. “I hope we can help.”

“So do I,” Hawke said. She squeezed Fenris’s hand. “Let’s hear her out, all right?”

He frowned at her. “I told you I would hear her out, and I meant it.”

“I know,” she said. “Just, you know. Making sure.”

He grunted, then ushered her toward the cabin with a hand at the small of her back. As they neared the cabin, the door opened, and a girl stepped out. 

She looked to be in her twenties, and her expression fell into surprise as she eyed them. “Lowlanders,” she said cautiously. “What brings you all the way out here?”

Fenris nodded just as cautiously. “We are friends of the augur at Stone-Bear Hold. He spoke to us of your… troubles.”

Her cheeks turned pink, and she scowled. “That chatterjay! What business is it of his to tell that to a lowlander?”

Fenris frowned slightly. “Why didn’t you finish the ritual to release your spirit?”

Her scowl deepened, and Hawke stepped forward. “So sorry, we’re being extremely rude,” she said with a sweet smile. “I’m Rynne Hawke, and this is my husband Fenris. These are our friends – Dorian, Bull, and Cole.”

The girl narrowed her eyes. “Sigrid Gulsdotten. What do you want? Did the augur send you here?”

“No, not at all,” Hawke said pleasantly. “We came on our own. We’re new here, and we’re curious. Nosy, even, if I’m honest, and we were wondering… well, where we’re from–”

“I’ve heard what things are like where you’re from,” Sigrid said in a hard tone. “You spurn the gods and ignore the wisdom they offer.” She glared at Dorian in particular. “And you. You’re a Vint. Your kind trap the gods and force them to work against their will. What do you know about our ways?”

Dorian frowned, but Hawke spoke up before he could retort. “You’re right,” she said quickly. “We don’t know anything. Well, we know a little bit from what your augur told us–”

Sigrid interrupted her again. “He’s not my augur anymore. I left the hold, as you already know.”

Her tone was belligerent, but that didn’t stop Cole from sharing her thoughts. “Ashamed, unsure, oaths sworn and spurned,” he said. “You didn’t want to be alone, but you didn’t want this either. Guilty and grateful that it’s still here, but it hurts more than you hoped.”

Sigrid’s petulant expression immediately melted into shock. “Who are–! But you’re a god! You…” She looked at Fenris and Hawke incredulously. “You walk with a god in human form? He walks with you?”

Dorian harrumphed quietly. “We’re not completely terrible,” he muttered.

Hawke laughed lightly and patted Cole’s shoulder. “I suppose you could say that,” she said to Sigrid. “He’s Compassion, actually, but he lets us call him Cole.”

“He is a friend,” Fenris said. “He has travelled with us for years.” 

Sigrid stared at them in silence for a moment. All of her belligerence seemed to have fled her with the discovery that a god – spirit – was their friend. 

Hawke spoke in a gentle voice. “The augur mentioned that all Avvar mages are, um, joined with a spirit when they’re young so the spirit can teach you how to control your magic.”

“They teach us much,” Sigrid said. “They teach us to not be afraid of who we are. And when they’ve taught us everything they know, we… we let them go to teach others.” She dropped her gaze. “But…” 

“You didn’t want to release your spirit?” Fenris said.

“I couldn’t!” she said. “I prepared my offering, began the spell to release the spirit, but I couldn’t do it.” She looked pleadingly at Hawke. “I have no close companions in the hold, no kin. I could not lose my only friend. It has taught me patience and kindness since I was a child, frightened of the fire I could suddenly call down.”

“It loves you, too,” Cole said. “It will stay if you want it.”

Fenris looked at Cole in surprise. The spirit loved Sigrid? Were spirits capable of love? But Solas had always said that spirits embodied emotions, not that they felt them.

“I know,” Sigrid said to Cole. “But I was oath-sworn to release it when the time came. I…” She sighed and twisted her fingers together. “I do not want to lose the one who loves me.”

Hawke twisted her lips sympathetically. “What makes you so sure your spirit would leave?”

“They cannot stay for long without a host. Usually, at least,” Sigrid said with a curious glance at Cole. “They can visit, called by the augur and the fire of the Fade, but they don’t remain. Not like… not like this.”

“And visits would not be enough for you?” Fenris asked.

She shot him a resentful look, then jerked her chin at Hawke. “She is your wife. Would brief visits with her be enough for you?”

Fenris raised his eyebrows, but didn’t reply. She wasn’t wrong. Brief moments of happiness would never be enough.

Then Dorian spoke. “Have you asked your spirit if it wants to stay?”

“I don’t have to,” Sigrid said. “I know it would stay if I asked. The gods that teach the spirit-touched are kind.” She sighed again and gave Hawke a pitiful look. “The augur knew, didn’t he? All this time, he knew I never cast the ritual.”

Hawke grimaced. “He, er, didn’t seem convinced that you tried, no.”

Sigrid bowed her head and kicked idly at the dirt, and they were all silent for another moment. Then she lifted her head. “It’s not right to stay in pity,” she said. “I will confess to the augur.”

Fenris eyed her in surprise. He genuinely had not expected her to capitulate. “Will he help you to release the spirit?” he asked.

“I do not need his help,” Sigrid retorted. “I would… I would ask for his advice.” She took a bracing breath, then turned to go back into her cabin.

Hawke took a step toward her. “Listen, for what it’s worth, if the spirit is staying with you because it loves you, that’s not pity. That’s just…” She shrugged. “That’s just love.”

For the first time, Sigrid gave her a tiny smile. “We will see what the augur says about it. Thank you, lowlander.”

They took their leave of Sigrid’s cabin. As they made their way to the treehouse camp for lunch, Fenris looked at Dorian. “Any thoughts?”

“Of course,” Dorian said. “Stunningly intelligent ones, as always, thank you for asking.”

Fenris gave him a flat look. “I am serious. What do you think of this? This… mage possession as a teaching tool?”

Hawke tapped his arm. “Can we really call it possession if it’s voluntary? I think we need a new word for it.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

“What about hosting?” Hawke suggested. “That’s like the word Sigrid used, right? She’s hosting a spirit.”

Bull gave her a skeptical look. “Like hosting a parasite, you mean?”

Hawke grimaced. “All right, fine, that is rather unflattering. What about… damn, I’ll have to think on it.”

She fell quiet with a thoughtful frown. Fenris turned back to Dorian and Bull. “What do you think of this? Tell me honestly.”

Bull rubbed his chin. “I can’t lie, boss, I don’t like it. Letting demons get that close…”

“Spirits, not demons,” Hawke said vaguely.

“Either way,” Bull said. “If you’re letting them in your body, you’re letting them in your head. No way of knowing if your thoughts are theirs or yours. Even Cole gets a little too close, and he has a body of his own.”

“I don’t mean to,” Cole said. “It’s very loud sometimes.”

“I know, kid,” Bull said. “You don’t mean any harm. But it’s still unnerving.”

Dorian stroked his chin as well. “It’s certainly an unusual arrangement. I can’t see Tevinter ever embracing it; even I can admit that we enjoy our control too much to share it with a spirit. But I can see the merit to the method.”

Fenris looked at him in genuine surprise. “You think this method of voluntary possession has merit?”

“At the very least, it sounds superior to the way the southerners do things with their ghastly Circles,” Dorian said. “And you said it yourself: it’s voluntary. The Avvar mages allow the spirits to inhabit them. There’s nothing voluntary about the southern Circles.” He glanced at Bull. “Or about how the qunari saarebas are treated, for that matter.”

“Hear hear,” Hawke said. 

Dorian smiled at her, then turned to Fenris again. “I also quite like that these Avvar mages are taught to not fear their abilities. Being afraid or ashamed of an ability or… or a trait you had no choice about – or worse yet, having those around you make you afraid or ashamed of who you are?” He raised his eyebrows sagely. “Now that’s dangerous.”

“More dangerous than an abomination?” Fenris asked. In truth, he could understand Dorian’s point; Fenris and Hawke had even spoken about this before – about the damaging stigma against mages, and how lucky Hawke felt that she’d been shielded from it by her apostate upbringing. Still, he was somewhat surprised by Dorian’s apparent acceptance of voluntary possession.

It was Hawke who replied, however. “I don’t know about you fellows, but I didn’t see an abomination back there,” she said. “I saw a girl who didn’t want to lose the spirit she loved.”

Fenris gave her a fondly chiding look. “Of course that is what you would see.”

She smiled, but her reply was serious. “Am I wrong, though? She loves the spirit, the spirit loves her…” She shrugged. “Let them live happily ever after, I say. Now that’s a romance novel I would read.”

Bull smirked. “You read too many romance novels, little Hawke.”

She snickered. “I think I read just the right number, thank you very much. The smuttier the better.”

“Who said the relationship between them was romantic?” Dorian said. “Perhaps it’s a parent-daughter sort of thing.”

Hawke shrugged. “True. But a girl can dream, right?” She elbowed him. “Come on, Dorian, just imagine it: ‘Sigrid and the Spirit’. It practically writes itself. Anyway, my point still stands.” She looked at Fenris. “Sigrid didn’t keep the spirit for power. She kept it for love.”

Fenris pursed his lips. Of course Hawke would focus on that, rather than the risk of a mage seeking power. But… if he was honest, Sigrid’s story did seem to be a tale of star-crossed lovers more than one of gaining power. Unusual lovers, certainly, but lovers nonetheless. 

He looked at each of his companions in turn. “So you think it’s safe? That this Sigrid woman is safe?”

Bull sighed and scratched one of his horns. “The qunari would hate this. It’s a good thing I don’t have to tell them about it.”

Dorian patted Bull’s arm, then looked at Fenris. “From what you said on our way here, the Avvar have been doing this for hundreds of years. I’ve never heard of a mage rebellion among the Avvar, have you?”

“Just because we didn’t hear of it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,” Fenris pointed out. “History is selective, as we all know.”

“Well,” Dorian said, “the Avvar don’t have Templars, and their society doesn’t seem to suffer the sort of magic-related power struggles that you hate so much. They must be doing something right.” 

His tone was a bit acidic. Fenris frowned at him. “Why are you getting sharp? I’m not criticizing you.”

Dorian sighed, then gave him a frank look. “Fenris, for all your wonderful qualities, you’re constantly suspicious of mages who are confident in their abilities.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “That is an unfair statement. I’m suspicious of anyone who wields their power like a weapon.”

“And how often does that overlap with that person being a confident mage?” Dorian retorted. “Me, Solas, Morrigan… even Hawke, from what you’ve told us before.”

Fenris scowled, both at Dorian’s accusation and at the apparent accuracy of it. After all, there were even more examples that Dorian hadn’t listed: Merrill, Anders, that Vivienne de Fer woman from Val Royeaux… 

Then Hawke spoke up. “In Fenris’s defense, he comes around eventually. Sometimes, at least. I mean, look at us. He loves us.” She smiled sweetly.

Fenris gave her a flat look. “I love you. I tolerate him.” He jerked his head at Dorian.

Dorian gasped dramatically and pressed a hand to his chest. “If you’re looking to wound me, I’ll have you know you’ve succeeded.”

Bull chuckled, and Fenris grunted. “I’m not only suspicious of mages,” he muttered. “I’m suspicious of many people.”

Hawke giggled. “Honestly, that’s true. You’re pretty suspicious of everyone you meet.”

“See?” Fenris said pointedly to Dorian. “Hawke agrees with me.”

Dorian tutted and flicked her arm. “Sycophant,” he accused.

“Shit on your shoes,” she retorted with a smirk.

Dorian flinched, bumping into Bull in the process. “What? I haven’t, have I? Bull, look for me–”

Hawke laughed brightly, and Bull chuckled and patted his shoulder. “It’s all right, kadan. Your precious feet are clean.”

Dorian tsked and gave Hawke a baleful look. “Festis bei umo canavarum.”

Fenris smirked. “I know the feeling,” he said drolly, and he pinched Hawke’s waist.

She squeaked in amusement and smacked his hand. “That’s me. Rynne Hawke, cause of death for handsome Tevinters everywhere.” 

Bull and Fenris chuckled, and Hawke grinned at them before sobering once more. “Listen, I don’t know why you’re even asking any of us whether we think Sigrid is safe,” she said to Fenris. “Only one person’s opinion really matters in all this.”

“Whose?” Fenris asked in surprise.

“Cole’s, of course,” she said. “Cole, you think she’s safe, right?”

“Safe and strong,” Cole said. “Sad but seeking solace. She’ll be all right.”

Hawke gave them all a matter-of-fact look. “If Cole says she’s fine, then she’s fine. Should we head home after lunch, then?”

“An excellent idea,” Dorian said. “I second it.”

Fenris hesitated, then shook his head. “I would like to speak to the augur one more time.”

Dorian groaned. “Fenris, must you?”

Fenris scowled at him. “No one is forcing you to come,” he said. “You and Bull can go back to Kenric’s office to wait.”

Dorian sighed. “No no, I won’t deprive you of my company. We’ll come along.”

“Oh good!” Hawke said cheerfully. “We can have a nice singalong as we stroll, then.” She linked her ams with Dorian and Cole as they approached the treehouse, and Fenris fondly shook his head as he followed them. 

A couple of hours later when they stepped into the augur’s cabin, it was to find the augur looking very content. “I had a visit from Sigrid Gulsdotten,” he said. “She had much to tell me.”

“Ooh, she came back quickly,” Hawke said. “Are you going to separate her from her spirit friend?” 

“Only she may fulfill that oath,” the augur said. “But together we will seek guidance from the other gods.”

Fenris frowned. “So Sigrid and the spirit might remain joined?”

“If it’s counseled by the gods, then perhaps.” He shrugged. “It’s rare, but not unheard of.”

“A healer inside the healer,” Cole said. “They helped Evangeline, and their purpose was fulfilled.” 

They all turned to look at him. “Evangeline?” Hawke said. “You mean your Templar friend?”

“Yes,” Cole said. 

 Dorian tilted his head curiously. “What are you saying, Cole? A healing spirit helped your friend?”

“She died,” Cole said. “The spirit saved her because the healer wanted it to. Then the healer died, but she was happy.” He smiled vaguely at them. “She did it for Evangeline, and for Rhys.”

Fenris and Hawke exchanged a nonplussed look. Then Fenris frowned at Cole. “So you have known another mage who hosted a spirit. That’s what you’re telling us?”

“Yes,” Cole confirmed.

“And the mage didn’t get corrupted?” Fenris asked. “She didn’t turn into an abomination?”

Cole shook his head. “She was a healer until she died.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows, unsure what else to say. This was unexpected.

Hawke twined her fingers with his, and the augur nodded his head in satisfaction. “Thank you, Compassion. This is helpful counsel indeed.”

Dorian turned to the augur. “This practice of yours – this possession by choice…?”

“We call it the bridging,” the augur said. “The god helps to bridge the gap between the mage and the Fade. It helps the mage to master the connection to their magic.”

“Bridging, yes,” Dorian said. “And you’ve been doing this for a long time without any problems? No rebellions, mages taking power and quashing the common folk, that sort of thing?”

The augur chuckled knowingly. “I’ve heard many a tale of this happening in your Imperium. We don’t suffer such problems here.” He raised his hands in an expansive gesture. “What better teacher than one woven from magic? Once a mage masters their powers, their teacher departs, duty ended. Unless the mage is weak.”

Fenris straightened. This was exactly what he’d been wondering about, since it was impossible for all mages to remain incorruptible. “What becomes of the weak mages?” he asked.

“Their teacher stays with them, and the other gods watch them both so neither soul turns sick,” the augur explained. “If one does sicken, or the mage stands at risk of harming the hold…” He lifted his shoulders. “One day, they do not wake in their bed. It is very sad. It is what must be done.”

Hawke gaped at him. “Are you saying you kill them?”

Cole replied. “You give them every chance,” he said approvingly to the augur. “Spirits watchful, wary, waiting until you’re both sure. It’s always cold in the hut then.”

Bull huffed. “I suppose he means there’s no demonfire this way, huh?”

Cole looked up at him. “It’s all right, The Iron Bull. They only touch what they need to teach.”

Bull grunted again. “If you say so.”

Fenris glanced at him. His tone was casual as ever, but he looked a little hunted. 

Dorian seemed to notice Bull’s discomfiture, too; he patted Bull’s arm. “Come with me to the trader’s hut, won’t you? I must find a gift for Maevaris. I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t bring her back a souvenir from my intrepid trek through the Avvar swamp.”

Bull smirked. “Bring her a sample of mud. It’s a more authentic souvenir.”

Dorian snorted as they left the augur’s cabin. Then Hawke looked up at the augur. “I was wondering – this process of letting go of a spirit. It’s… every mage is capable of letting go of their spirit, right? Every, er, every strong mage, at least?” she asked. “Does it ever happen that a mage literally can’t let go, even if they want to?”

The augur nodded slowly. “This is the sickening I spoke of. If one refuses to relinquish the other, then the bridging has gone bad. It must be cut.”

“But any mage can, in theory, let go of their spirit, right?” Hawke pressed. “They’re not… it’s not possible for a spirit to become entangled with a person so thoroughly that they can’t be separated, even if they wanted to?”

Fenris suddenly realized what – or rather, who – she was talking about: Anders, with his damned Vengeance demon that he’d insisted was a part of himself.  

He sighed. “Hawke…”

She shot him an apologetic look, but the augur was replying. “I haven’t heard nor seen that. Bridging is a choice, and it remains a choice for both the god and the mage.”

Hawke turned to Fenris with a hopeful smile. “So Anders could be free of Venjustice if he wanted to! It’s just a matter of a ritual to separate them.”

“He would never want to. That’s the problem,” Fenris said. He gestured at the augur. “Listen to what he is saying. The mage and the spirit need to agree to the bridging and to being freed. Anders refused to ever let go of Vengeance.”

“That’s not true,” she retorted. “He kept saying it was impossible to distinguish himself from Venjustice. He didn’t say he didn’t want to.”

“He didn’t need to say it,” Fenris said. “He was too fond of the power that the demon gave him.”

“He was not!” Hawke said defensively. “He didn’t like being out of control when Vengeance came out to play.”

“So you admit he was out of control,” Fenris said shrewdly. “And thus that he should have been put down, even by the Avvar’s rules.”

Hawke glared at him, but before she could speak, Cole cut in. “Hiding, hidden, hermitted so he won’t be harmful or harmed, but it burns inside of him like an unquenchable flame. ‘Only one way forward. Justice is not gentle. Justice is not kind.’” He turned to Hawke. “He just wishes he hadn’t hurt you along the way.”

Fenris gaped at him in alarm. “You know where Anders is?” he demanded.

“No,” Cole said. “His pain touches hers.”

Hawke inhaled sharply, and Fenris turned to her and grasped her arm. “Anders loved you, Hawke. That is no secret,” he said in a hard tone. “But it doesn’t excuse him. It doesn’t excuse anything he did!”

She pressed her lips together hard, then looked at the augur. “Are you sure it’s not… impossible for a mage and a spirit to be separated?”

“I am sorry,” the augur said softly. “But I have never known of such an intertwining.”

Hawke took a deep breath, then smiled at the augur. “Thanks for talking to us. I hope Sigrid and her spirit will be happy together.”

“They will find peace,” the augur said. “I am certain of it.” He looked at Fenris. “I understand you are departing soon. Lady see you safely home.”

Fenris nodded politely, despite his frustration with Hawke. “Thank you for all of your help,” he said.  

The augur nodded in return, then bowed to Cole. “Honour us again someday, Compassion. We would welcome your blessing.”

Cole smiled vaguely before following Fenris and Hawke back out into the afternoon sun. As soon as they were outside, Fenris turned to Hawke with a scowl. 

“Anders kept that demon by choice,” he said. “You know this, Hawke. He is the definition of an abomination! He’s–”

“Fenris, can you hug me?” she asked.

He paused, silenced by the fatigue in her voice. “I… yes, of course,” he said. 

She slid her arms around his waist, and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rested his cheek against her hair. He held her close, feeling the rise and fall of her chest against his as she breathed.

He inhaled the sandalwood scent of her hair. Her body was softening into his with every breath, and he could feel his own muscles relaxing in turn. 

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Cole smiling faintly at them before wandering away. A long, peaceful minute later, when Hawke pulled away, her expression was more happy than sad.

“This little errand has been very educational,” she said. “I actually can’t wait to go back to Skyhold and tell Fiona and the rest of the College about this.” She twined her fingers with his as they started down the path to the main part of the settlement. “Do you think Cassandra would be interested in knowing about it?”

“I’m certain she would,” he said. “In fact, I would have liked her perspective on all of this.”

Hawke elbowed him playfully. “Of course you would. You and Cass, two big strong peas in a pod.”

He eyed her shrewdly. “You’re not truly jealous of Cassandra, are you?”

“Of course I am,” Hawke said promptly. “She has the most enviable cheekbones I’ve ever seen in my life. And the way she wields a sword, Andraste save me…” She fanned herself playfully.

He smirked. “Are you jealous of her, or are you infatuated with her?”

“Why not both?” she said with a wink.

He pinched her waist, and she giggled and bumped him with her hip. “Seriously though. I think Cassandra will have her mind blown when we tell her about this. The Avvar way of teaching their mages is the complete opposite of what the Chantry does! Welcoming a spirit instead of inflicting it like a method of torture? Teaching mages to embrace their abilities instead of being ashamed of them? It’s… honestly, it’s kind of beautiful.” She perked up suddenly. “Maybe I should suggest a sort of exchange program to Fiona! The augur could come to Skyhold and teach the College of Enchanters how to–”

“No,” Fenris blurted. “Please don’t.”

She stopped short, then gave him a careful look. “You really don’t like this bridging business, do you?”

He rubbed his face. He hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but the thought of mages at Skyhold becoming possessed on purpose made his skin crawl. “I… I can’t help it,” he said. “Perhaps it’s not logical, but I don’t…” He ran a hand through his hair. “It goes against everything I have known or seen. It makes me uncomfortable, Hawke. I can’t help that.”

“I know,” she said gently. She stroked his arm. “But I personally would rather host a spirit for a few years than go through a Harrowing.”

“Stop,” he said. “I don’t want to think about this.”

She raised her eyebrows. “About what?”

“About my wife going through a Harrowing or being possessed,” he snapped.

 Her eyebrows rose even higher. “All right, fine,” she said cautiously. “I’ll go with a hypothetical, then. What if it was a child of ours?”

His heart jammed itself into his throat, but Hawke was still talking. “If we had a child who was a mage, would you rather they host a spirit like the Avvar, or go to a Circle?”

He swallowed hard to moisten his suddenly dry mouth. “Neither,” he said. “If we had a child, I would want you to teach them at home, like your father did.”

“That’s not the game,” Hawke said. “You have to pick. Bridging or Harrowing, which one–”

He took her arm and pulled her to a stop. “This is not a game to me,” he said seriously. “If we had a child, I would trust no one to teach them except for you.”

Hawke’s eyes darted up to his face. Her expression froze in a stunned sort of half-smile, and Fenris suddenly felt light-headed. Was this a game still? A hypothetical discussion with no grounding in reality? Or were they really talking about this, right here in the middle of the path in Stone-Bear Hold?

Hawke let out a nervous little laugh. “What makes you think I’d be a good teacher?”

He exhaled slowly to try and calm his thrumming heart. “You’re the co-leader of the Free Mages. That involves considerable teaching. I have heard no complaints about your performance.”

“Maybe I’m so scary that they don’t complain,” she said.

Jokes, he thought. She’s nervous. His heart rate ratcheted up even higher. “You were excellent with Kieran,” he said.

Her smile widened. “That’s because Kieran matched my mental age. He surpassed me, actually, with his Old God wisdom and all that–”

Fenris interrupted her nervous rambling. “You would be an exceptional teacher, Hawke. You…” He broke off and took a deep and careful breath. His heart was hammering so hard that it was making him dizzy, and even his fingertips were starting to feel numb from nerves. If he said this now, with the thick weight of tension between them, there would be no mistaking what he meant by it.

He licked his dry lips, then opened his mouth. “You would be an exceptional mother,” he told her.

For a split second, her face went slack – whether with shock or horror or plain old surprise, he couldn’t tell, because her expression lifted almost instantly into a smile. She laughed lightly and poked his belly. “Don’t be stupid,” she said cheerfully. “I’d be a terrible mother. Toby would make a better mum than me.” 

A jolt of disappointment twisted in his gut. Did that mean she didn’t want…? 

He cradled her neck in his palm. “That is not true. You would be–” He broke off with a hiss and grabbed his left hand. 

“Fenris?” Hawke said sharply. “What’s wrong?”

He rubbed his left palm with his other thumb. “Nothing,” he said blankly. “It… it’s nothing.” He stared hard at the verdant fissure on his palm. It looked the same as usual, but he could have sworn…

Hawke stroked his forearm. “Fenris, what was that? What happened?”

It felt like fire, he thought. For a split second – no, less than a second – it had felt like his palm was on fire. But the feeling was completely gone now, and the anchor looked like its usual self. 

Maybe it was nothing, then. Just a momentary ache. 

He shook his head dumbly. “A… a cramp, I think,” he said. “It’s nothing.”

“Like a muscle cramp?” she said. She took his left hand in hers and started massaging it with her thumbs.

“I think so,” he said, but his heart was buzzing anxiously now. He’d never had a muscle cramp like that before, like a lightning-quick flash of pain… 

She looked up at him, and he immediately regretted his reaction to the split-second twinge. Hawke’s face was twisted with worry, and the last thing he wanted was for her to worry.

He gently took his hand back and flexed his fingers. “Look, it’s fine,” he assured her. “It feels fine. No different than usual.”

“Are you sure?” she said anxiously. “Your face–”

“It was just a cramp, Hawke,” he said gently. “Now come, let’s gather the others. We should depart before it starts getting dark.”

She smiled. “True. Or else Dorian will complain even more.”

“A symphony of complaints, I fear,” Fenris drawled. 

Hawke chuckled, just as he’d hoped she would, and they made their way toward the trader’s cabin at a brisker pace. Just before they stepped inside, Fenris glanced at his left hand once more.

It looked the same as usual: a faintly flickering green glow that crossed the center of his palm. It was the same cursed mark that had been sitting beneath his skin for almost three years. It was fine.

It was fine. 

He stared at his palm for a moment longer, then closed his fist and stepped into the trader’s cabin to join Hawke and their companions.

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Caramel Skin Under A Purple Rain prt 23 full draft

Carrying a sleeping Lance from the bathroom, Miriam and Krolia were both sitting in his bed. His mother was frowning severely, as Miriam stared at him with a soft and warm smile. Sheepishly ducking his head, neither man was exactly descent. Lance was bundled up in his arms, pregnant stomach and budding breasts hidden from their parents, while Keith simply had a towel around his waist “Oops... I have no idea how I ended up here?” Rolling her eyes at him, Krolia let out a long sigh “You were in quarantine for a reason” “Yep. And now that I’ve talked with Lance, I promise I’ll go straight back after I’ve got him settled” Krolia eyed him with suspicion. Keith ignoring her as he limped towards the far side of the bed. He’d much rather be the one sharing his bed with his husband, but Lance didn’t need the stress. His husband’s soft smooth hands had washed his hair for him. The loving gentle touches intimate without being sexual. Insisting of returning the favour, Lance had fallen asleep as Keith massaged his scalp, his husband purring softly as his breath evened out “Lance asked me to go back until I’m given the all clear. I’ve got him calmed down and he fell asleep in the bath. He wants to leave Daibazaal for a bit so we’re thinking of taking a few quintants and going alone” “Then you’re not getting divorced?” Why was he sensing humour in his mother’s tone? His marriage wasn’t a joke. His husband shattered by neglect. Using his knee to keep Lance balanced, Keith pulled the blankets back enough to cover his husband. Miriam knew, but Krolia didn’t. And Keith wasn’t in the mood to share the news with his mother. If anything, he was feeling the need to drive his own spike of revenge in “Who knows? He was distraught to the point he threw up. He barely kept from having a panic attack. Convinced he needs to leave Daibazaal because no one was telling him what was going on. Convinced we meant everything we said, and scared he was going to be physically harmed because of it. So no, mum. I can’t say for sure we’re not getting a divorce because his heart’s too fucking broken to know down from up right now” The verbal jab didn’t feel as nice as he’d hoped it would it. Nor did it alleviate his anger at the situation. Him going back into quarantine wasn’t a game he was playing. His mother didn’t need to mock him for going along meekly. He was choosing to ease Lance’s fears. He making the choice for the health of their relationship “Keith...” Limp-striding across his room and to his wardrobe, Keith blindly snatched out half a dozen things before striding back to Lance. With their mother’s watching his move, Keith slowly started undoing the towel around his waist. Miriam’s cheeks reddening as she quickly looked away. Krolia didn’t turn away until Keith dropped the towel. Exposing himself to his mother was definitely not the highlight of his day, but for Lance he could endure the few moments of humiliation. Reaching over, he opened the third drawer of his bedside table, and snatched out a pair of boxer briefs. They’d been in their since his and Lance’s last stay on Daibazaal, on the off chance someone disturbed them while he was still buck naked. Stepping into his underwear, he started getting dressed with more force than was necessary “I’m leaving some clothes out for him. Tell him it’s ok for him to use whatever he wants. He’s paranoid it wouldn’t be... He’s calmed down a lot now that we were able to talk, but anxiety levels are sky high. Maybe get him to call Coran? He trusts him... With what happened before, and being attacked by Galra that were supposed to be his friends and colleagues, it’s brought up a lot of the past for him. Oh... I still have some chocolate I got him before too, it’s in the other bedside drawer. Tell him to help himself” Next came his shirt, then a pair of sweats. Being confined to bed almost all the time wasn’t exactly the best environment for jeans “And Kosmo. See if you can get Kosmo to stay with him. He’s great at picking up Lance’s moods. Lance blames himself for Kosmo being an idiot and getting stuck. Oh... He wants to go to the outpost, which we probably won’t do, but give Daehra a call. She was supposed to be hiring new staff, so let him work on that... What else... oh... I usually sleep on this side of the bed, so he’ll more than likely choose this side. If he wakes up screaming, he usually can’t calm down right away. Sometimes he comes too swinging, or in an episode that he won’t remember, usually he’ll try to hide in the corner. It’s better not to bring him out of those. And if he doesn’t want to leave the room, don’t force him. Like I said, his head’s a mess at the moment... Oh! Shiro! If he’s not talking or he’d starting to fall into a panic attack, put him on the comms with Shiro if you can’t get me. Shiro knows everything... Um... I think that’s about it...” Dropping down to sit on the edge of the bed, Keith nuzzled into Lance’s cheek, kissing his soft lips as brushed his hair back. Quietly he whispered to his sleeping husband “Babe, I’ve got to go back to quarantine now. I’m going to send Kosmo to stay with you. And I’m going to call you later. You just get some sleep for me. I love you and I’ll be back soon” Nuzzling and kissing Lance again, his husband gave a sleepy sigh “‘ love you” “I love you, too. I hope you think of places we’re we can go. Somewhere I can spoil you rotten, preferably” “Mmmm... ‘k” Laughing softly, Keith forced himself away from Lance. The temptation call of his bed was making it so hard to keep his word. Not bothering with his boots, Keith limped over to the bedroom door. His foot was tender, half redressed with whatever was in the first aid kit in his bathroom. Crossing his arms, he stared at both his mother’s until Krolia got her act together and stood, Miriam quick to stand and give her a brief hug... then for some reason his Mami felt the need to follow Krolia over to him. Before he knew what was happening, Miriam was hugging him, Keith awkwardly returning the gesture “I wish you hadn’t broken out to see him, yet I’m extremely grateful you did. He’s been beyond worried about you. We all have” “I’m ok. He had a huge scare. He didn’t think he deserved to be up and moving around while we were all in quarantine. He doesn’t see the work he did to get us out of there... He doesn’t want to talk about it. He blames himself deeply, so it’ll be best not to push him over it. He saved all of us, Mami. It’s not a lie or an exaggeration. Maybe don’t mention the divorce thing either... our marriage hasn’t been great for a while, so it’s not something he’s suddenly got into his head. And if Veronica slaps him again, I can’t guarantee I won’t end up yelling at her over it” “Lance isn’t the only one who was scared. Veronica was in tears when she rushed here. Shiro wanted to come too, but he’s only just gone back on patrol. Thank you for taking care of our boy” “He means the world to me Mami. If something happens and it’s bad, come talk to me” “I’m sure we’ll work something out” “For now it’s best if you just let him work when he wants. He gets even worse when he isn’t constantly doing anything” “There was a time I would have corrected you said “I think I know my own son”, now I feel like you’re the authority on him” Laughing lightly, the hug broke. Krolia taking the opportunity to pounce, grabbing him by the ear as her free hand hit the door panel. Whelp. There went his freedom. * Teased mercilessly by his team over his apprehension by Krolia, Keith spent the next three quintants behaving himself in quarantine, holding his temper even when he wanted to blow up at Veronica for slapping Lance. Acxa wasn’t pleased either by her actions, the pair not talking for a whole half varga before Acxa caved and they were back in their own little space bubble. Instead of “sulking” as he had been, he spent the time using his second comms device trying to find somewhere nice to take Lance. He really wanted to take his husband to a day spa or something equally uninteresting to him... uh... something incredibly interesting to his husband, yet knew that Lance would be too ashamed of his changing body and scars to really enjoy himself there. Plus, Krolia didn’t want them wandering around the galaxy due to there penchant of finding trouble by sheer accident. Settling mentally on their destination on his second day, all that had been left was to wait. Lance didn’t come to collect him when the forcefield finally dropped. Kosmo instead was sent in his husband’s stead... Their silly fur son armed with a sock as he flopped to his belly and wriggled his back, waiting for belly pats. After being stuck in closed quarters for so long, none of them considered the others rude as they all left to be anywhere that wasn’t with together... except for Zethrid and Ezor who were off to do the same thing that Veronica was tugging Acxa off to do. Crouching down and indulging Kosmo, Kosmo was going crazy in his blissed out state, attempting to give Keith as many licks as he could without abandoning his belly rubs or dirty sock. Itching to see Lance, he was barked at when he asked Kosmo to take him to Lance. It probably would have been quicker to walk back to his room, Kosmo insisted on a very long and thorough pat session before teleporting him with no warning back to his room. Sitting on their bed, Lance was throwing himself at him the moment his feet hit the ground “You’re late!” “Kosmo wanted extra pats” Burying his face against Lance’s neck, Keith laughed as Lance groped his arse. Pulling back, he pressed a kiss to Lance’s lips “Miss me?” Pressing half a dozen hard kisses to Keith’s lips, Lance’s leaned back in his hold as he sighed dramatically “You have nooooo idea. Please tell me we can go now. I don’t think I can take one more day with Mami. I love her. I swear I do. But... I’m starting to regret telling her I’m pregnant... How does she think a baby is made? Keith, she tried to give me the talk. It’s too late for the talk. I’ve been pregnant since April and it’s... June now... I think I’ve noticed” Sliding his hands down to Lance’s arse, his husband moved his arms up to loop over Keith’s shoulders. Jumping up, yelping and failing, Lance only got one leg wrapped around Keith’s waist before it all went to quiznak. Shaking with laughter, Keith carried Lance to their bed, pulling him down with him. Smiling as he rolled over to cage Lance, Lance pouted “You’re laughing at me” “Only a little. Have you packed?” “What kind of novice do you think I am. I have no idea how Mami is getting home, but we’re all packed” “Wow. You really want to get out of here, don’t you?” “Yep. So you can keep that in your pants for now. Mami was talking with Krolia again, so she’s bound to be back at any moment. Though... maybe if she walked in, she’d realise...” “I’m going to stop you before you finish that sentence. Mami knows how babies are made, she literally made you with Jorge” Lance pulled a face at him, sticking his tongue out “Dude! Parent sex is ewww” “You’re the one who started it. I know you want to go, but we can drop Mami back on home the way” “But the outpost isn’t on Earth...” “Nope. It’s not, but we’re not going there. I’ve got a better idea” “But I told Daehra...” “Then I’ll untell her. Or don’t you want to come on an adventure with me?” “No! No. I’ll go. Please don’t make me sit through another lecture... She wants Marco to come work at the outpost. Can you imagine him there? She was all like “you’re pregnant. You can’t work in a bar if you’re pregnant... You should have someone there that you trust. Um. Hello. I have my team. Daehra... Can you picture her slacking off? Because she hasn’t. Thanks for making Mami make me call her. The moment she saw the bruises...” Lance shuddered. Kissing his husband, Keith carefully lowered himself to lay half curled into Lance’s left side, leg looped securely around his lower waist “If it counts, I was lectured for being captured by Krolia so soon after breaking out. Ezor smacked me for ruining all their hard work to get me out” The vent covered had been replaced, metal gridding welded over the tops so no one could escape again “I was shocked to find you gone. Mami explained” “You fell asleep in the bath” “I figured as much... Sooo, where are we going?” “That’s a surprise” “Keeeeeith” Whining at him, Lance fluttered his eyelashes. His husband was so fucking adorable. He was also trying his hardest not to show Keith that he was scared. Keith could smell it on him. That fear and pain. Despite his affectionate touches, there was a particular stiffness in Lance’s limbs “Laaaaance. You’ll have to wait and see” “Have you got permission?” “Kind of. I told Krolia I’m not coming back until closer to the award ceremony, and not to call us unless she’s in labour” Lance’s pretty blue eyes widened “Really?” “Really, truly. She told me we’re not allowed to go wandering, so I had to check where our limits were” “Your foot’s better, isn’t it?” “Approved for light exercise. Your knee?” “Provided I don’t mess it up. I’ll get off the crutches the same week as the ceremony” “Then it’s a good thing what I’ve got planned isn’t that physical” “No sex?” “My tongue technique not good enough for you?” Lance blushed. His teasing tone had brought it upon himself “Your tongue technique is on point” Shifting to nuzzle his nose against Lance’s, he was getting drunk on the happiness he felt from having his husband to himself “And you’re not so bad yourself” Kissing him deeply, the events of what happened soon progressed into some very heavy petting. Both of them wanting to reassure themselves that their lover was indeed safe and sound. Clearing her throat as she answered, Lance pushed Keith off as stuttered “that it wasn’t how it looked”. Rubbing his nose, which Lance had decided was the best point to shove him back with a hand to, Keith didn’t know what to say. Thankfully, Miriam didn’t tease him “It’s nice to see you out of quarantine, again Mijo. Krolia said you’d be here by now” “Hi, Mami. Yep. Kosmo teleported me over. Thanks for taking care of Lance for me. I hope he wasn’t too much bother” Kosmo didn’t have time for his two idiot father’s, he was busy chewing up the sock he’d brought with him “He’s certainly high maintenance. Not quite as bad as his father. Rachel has been cooking... Let’s just say he’s happy the three of us will be home for dinner tonight” Lance stiffened completely, a whine bubbling up from the back of his throat. He wasn’t the only one having his plans ruined. Mami liked him well enough... and Lance said he was charming. Aiming for charm, he started “You’ve already spent a movement here...” And was promptly shot down. Putting her hands on her hips, Keith knew she was serious “You’re both coming to family dinner. It’s the least you can do for nearly dying on us. Jorge is already expecting us tonight. And you can take Marco when you when you leave. I’ve already told him you need help out there. Heaven knows he’s been drifting from job to job of late” Lance protested “Mami, we’re not heading to the outpost. We’re taking a holiday. The two of us... alone” Aaaand Mami wasn’t having it “How hard is it to get there? Have Coran open a wormhole for you all” Keith’s plans were going out the window. His soul dying a little inside. He’d thought hard about this, and made his decision with Lance in mind “Miriam, Lance and I plan to take a short holiday. We can pick Marco up, but it won’t be until we’re preparing to come back to Daibazaal for the award ceremony” “Award ceremony? Krolia didn’t mention that” “It’s kind of a big deal. Keith and his team are receiving awards from the coalition for their humanitarian work” “That sounds lovely. Then it’s settled, you’ll bring Marco back with you when you leave Earth. Now, Jorge is expecting us home soon. It’s best we leave sooner rather than later” Shooting Keith a pleading look, Keith could only shake his head in defeat. Mami definitely wore the pants in Lance’s family. * Rachel wasn’t home when they arrived. Kosmo had tried to help by teleporting Lance up to the house, Lance was throwing his guts up in the upstairs bathroom by the time Keith reached the house. Miriam expected them to stay for dinner, barely in the door before she was sweeping off to the kitchen to organise dinner. Marco was the one to point out Lance had ditched his crutches and bolted upstairs. Slipping into the bathroom, Lance was heaving wetly, Keith closing the door lightly and moving to sit on the the edge of the bathtub near his husband “Morning sickness?” “Telep-ortation sickness...” Throwing up a mouthful of drool, Lance clutched at his stomach. Sure, the first few times left one slightly off put, but it wasn’t a permanent thing. Reaching up, Lance flushed the toilet “Sorry. Every time he does that, I feel like I’ve left my stomach behind...” “Is your morning sickness any better?” “A bit... I’ve been trying to ignore it. I don’t know what’s stress and what’s baby anymore” Hissing with pain, Keith grabbed Lance’s arm to help him up. His husband pale and sweaty “You don’t look too well” “I flushed the pain meds Mami kept trying to make me take... I think my stomach appreciated it about as much as Kosmo trying to help” “Babe...” Lance held up his hands in surrender “Don’t. I know what you’re going to say. You don’t want me being in pain... but I started... I wanted more than I was prescribed and that scared me. That wanting feeling. I don’t want to go back to that, Keith” “I was going to say you should brush your teeth, then come lay down. You’re right though. I don’t want you in pain. I also... I know it’s hard, but you’re strong. You took your other pills... didn’t you?” Lance bit his lip. Keith growling “Babe. The doctors put you on them to help you!” “I couldn’t take them! I tried. I tired and I choked on them. I threw up. I couldn’t swallow them down... But I ate those bars. And it made... all my levels were better...” “How does that help with your seizures?” Lance stomped his foot, cringed as his foot hit the ground. Keith groaning mentally at his husband’s idiocy “I didn’t not just take them. I tried for you. It was a vitamin pill. I knew it was a vitamin pill and I still couldn’t swallow it. But give me a fucking pain killer and apparently I can swallow that right down” “Ok. Ok. I won’t push. You know where I’m coming from, don’t you?” “I know... I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you” “You didn’t tell me because you felt you couldn’t? That was why, wasn’t it?” “I... yes. You were already mad at me, so I didn’t... I didn’t want you break up with me because you thought I wasn’t trying” “Lance, babe. Half idiot to my half idiot, you are the most trying person I know. I don’t want to fight” “I don’t want to fight either. Especially not here. I’m so sorry Mami dragged you here” “I lost the fight the day I fell in love with you. Brush your teeth and I’ll help you back down the stairs. For someone with a busted knee, you’re terrible at resting” “This is nothing... I mean... it’s not so bad now... No... it doesn’t matter. Everything turned out alright” Lance turned to limp to the bathroom counter, opening the cabinet and digging around for a toothbrush. Keith knew he was going to say something else that would upset his husband, but he had to know “Babe, didn’t you say Kosmo teleported us out?” Lance paused as he broke open the toothbrush packaging, meeting Keith’s gaze in the mirror “Damn. You caught that one didn’t you? It wasn’t great... and I don’t want to talk about it. Mami bossed around everyone, then I was too fucking high to feel any of it... scared the quiznak out of her by having a seizure right in front of her... That wasn’t fun to explain” Grabbing the toothbrush, Keith let his husband brush his teeth in peace. He felt like the shittiest husband in the world for not being there when Lance was left to explain all of this to his mother. He would have had to go back to his first heat, his fear and shame when his body started changing, then all the way through to the seizures. He knew Mami didn’t know about the drugs. He wouldn’t have told her about the torture and rape. She knew he had brain damage, so that was what Lance must have said... What a quzinakking shit storm. Especially on the backs of being forced to tell all their friends he had seizures from his brain damage. All of this made Keith more certain of his plans. Setting down on the sofa, Keith had his arm slung around Lance who had his back up against Keith’s side. Covered in a blanket by Mami, there was a bag of frozen peas on Lance’s knees, his foot propped up on the couches arm. Laying on the floor across from them, Marco was flicking through some Spanish magazine. His brother in law had questioned them over what had happened, then given up pretty quick when Mami had appeared with the frozen peas. As nice as it was to be holding his husband, Keith felt as if he’d been idle too long. He felt he should be offering his held to Miriam or to Jorge. He had inconvenienced them by being hospitalised, the farm was their livelyhood, all of them playing their part to keep things running smoothly. Shifting his hand under the blanket, Keith splayed his fingers over Lance’s stomach, letting his fingertips drag across the bump there. It wouldn’t be long before it’d be impossible to hide the pregnancy. Snorting, Lance grabbed his hand “Don’t! That tickles” “I thought you were sleeping. You were being so quite” “Nah. Just enjoying this...” “Do you want anything? I feel like I should be doing something” “You are. You’re giving me cuddles. If Mami needed you in there destroying things, she would have asked for help. Plus, Marco’s over there, he’s not doing anything” Rolling from his stomach to his back, Marco waved his magazine above him “Marco is reading. More than you two are doing” “Keith only got out of hospital today. I’ve sprained my knee” Sounding bored, Marco dropped his magazine to the side “And yet, we’re all laying around here. Shouldn’t you two be worried about where Kosmo is?” “Nope. What happened to your job? Mami wants us to take you when we go” “Slept with the wrong girl. The usual. We’re both pushing 30. She’s not married. Not even dating but her Mami found out... She’s friend with our mother, and the aunts from church. Don’t worry, you don’t have to give your loser big brother a pity job. I’ll find something soon” Dropping his head back, Lance’s stared up at him “Babe, can you grab the cushion under your arse and throw it at Marco as hard as you can” “Hey! I’m right over here. I’m serious man. Don’t bother” Lance’s voice took on a sickly sweet tone “Well my dear brother, my dearest middle brother... It just so happens that we could use the help. But if you don’t think you can handle bar work, and some of the toughest customers you’ll ever meet, then I guess you’re destined to stay on Earth forever” Marco scoffed “Don’t be an obnoxious shit. No one likes a show off. Keep this up and Keith will...” Marco sentence was cut off as Keith threw the cushion at him as hard as he could. Lance cheering as it hit Marco in the head “Keith will what? It’s not an easy gig, Marco. If they don’t respect you, they’ll walk all over you. Plus, I’ll need to register your dumb arse as part of my team, or no one’s going to want to do trade” “How hard can it be? You ran the place” “I built the place up from nothing. I’ve run it for several phoebs already. But if you’re not up for handling bounty hunters that could snap your twig arse in two, I can hook you up with Th’al” Keith felt a twinge of sympathy for Marco. He didn’t particularly like Th’al. She’d shot Lance, and delivered him right into a boat load of trouble “Th’al would eat him for breakfast. He’s better off with Daehra” “Yeah, but Th’al runs the club. It’s a bit more mundane. He only has to worry about keeping his mouth shut during police busts and keeping the prostitutes safe. Plus, he wouldn’t have to worry about the time dilation fields on Erathus” “That’s true” Huffing, Marco channeled Lance so hard Keith almost thought it was him “Dios! Would you two shut up already! I’m older than both of you. Just because you’ve been doing this for nearly a decade doesn’t mean I can’t handle myself!” “Good. Pack your shit up and we’ll pick you up in a week. I’ll get you a new comms” “I don’t need a new comms” “If you’re working for me, then you need a secure comms. Also, you should probably know we trade in illegal goods. We buy everything from drugs to people” Marco rolled over again, revolt on his face “What the fuck!?” “We buy them out of slavery, and hand over the people trying to sell them. I thought it’d be polite to give you the heads up. It’s already been a phoeb since I was last home. I bet Daehra’s changed things around again. I’ll have to let her know to give Marco his own room... Maybe we can stick him in our wing? He’ll be handy on late nights” Keith wasn’t initially sure what he meant, then remembered babies cried. Babies cried a lot... He wanted to raise their children on Earth... Then again... Lance would need to come to terms with leaving the outpost in his own ways “You can both choke on a dick” As appealing as the thought was, Keith was saving his pent up desires for when they absolutely alone without the slightest chance of interruption. “Marco! Don’t talk to your brothers Ike that! Mijo, I need the peas back for dinner” Appearing from the kitchen, Mami walked over to there they were laying. Lance fishing out the peas and handing them over “Mami, Keith wants to know if there’s anything he can do to help. He won’t listen to me when I tell him to relax” Swapping the bag of defrosting peas from one hand to the other, Miriam wiped her hand on her apron “No, no. You’re our guest. You’ve just come out of hospital. Marco can go help Papi with the chores while you two rest” Clearing his throat, Keith spoke up “I don’t mind. I’ve been cleared for light duty” “Keith, dear, it’s fine. It’s all under control. You two lovebird wait right there on the sofa. Rachel called and she’s on her way home. She’s been in a mood again of late. She wants to quit her job and travel the globe now as a photographer. I told her she’s not to go on her own, but you can just imagine what she said to that. I swear. People these days think because they own a camera, their instant world photographers. I expect she’ll be at Lance’s throat the moment she steps through the door” Rushing back off towards the kitchen, Lance sighed “We should get up. It’ll be faster with everyone pitching in with the chores” Plucking his hand off his stomach, Keith interlaced their fingers before Lance moved further “You need to rest, babe” “I’m fine. I can still scoop chicken feed” “You’re on crutches” “I kind of want to see Kaltenecker” “Babe. You’re exhausted. I promise when we come Marco, you can spend quality time with her. Take a nap and I’ll help with the chores” “But you’re a guest” “You keep telling me I need to act more like part of the family. Let me help get the chores done faster...” Dropping to a whisper, he leaned closer to Lance’s ear “The sooner things are done, the sooner we can leave. The sooner we leave, the sooner we’re alone. The sooner we’re alone, the sooner we can continue from earlier” Lance choked on his own saliva, Keith knew that wasn’t really how it worked. He also knew he it’d continue to bug him if he didn’t lend a hand “Ok?” Nodding, Lance coughed as he tried to regain his breathing. Kissing his husband’s hair, the half-Galra slid out from under the Cuban “Come on, Marco. Let’s get things done before Rachel comes home” * The chores made a refreshing change from the boredom of the quarantine room. Kosmo has found Kaltenecker, the space wolf being ignored by the cow as she lazily flicked her tail and munched on her hay without enthusiasm. Jorge trying engage him in small talk, while Keith was starting to feel nervous each time he was alone with his father in law for longer than 30 seconds. He and Lance were having twins. He’d knocked up Jorge’s youngest son... Quiznak knew how he was going to explain that... He didn’t even know how to go about putting that sentence together. Jorge had spent 24 years thinking Lance was... well... male who could get people pregnant. Lance was still male... but he was also... Pregnant. With twins... and developing breasts... When that sunk in, chores with Jorge and Marco lost their appeal. Feigning pain from his foot, he flipped Marco off as his brother in law teased him for being weak. The chores were mostly done, all that was left was the pigs, so taking Kosmo he headed back to the house. In Keith’s absence, Rachel had arrived home. Walking into the living room, he found Rachel scrubbing the sofa, Miriam trying to set the table, and Lance suspiciously absent “Keith, be a dear. Pop up and check on Lance for me? He’s in the shower right now, and I’m worried how his knee is. He’s not supposed to be on it... but you know what he’s like” “Oh. What. Sure...?” For the second time that day, Keith was letting himself into the bathroom. The stench of vomit much more pungent than it’d been when Lance was vomiting before. Sitting in the bath, his husband had the over head shower cranked up nearly high enough to hide his crying. Sinking to kneel by the bathtub, Keith reached out and drew his husband close, noticing the way Lance was clutching his knee “What happened?” Rubbing Lance’s arm, he tried not to look at his husband’s bruising “Rachel thought I was hogging the sofa. She forgot about the fact I was injured as she dropped down to complain about her day. More like she didn’t know how bad the sprain is. For a change, she didn’t mean to actually hurt me. I shrieked, she panicked, Mami took one look at me clutching my knee and tried to dose me. I threw up. Rachel started gagging. Mami sent me up here and now you’re here” “How bad is it? Out of 5” “It’s been a steady 3, so not great but not awful, now it’s about a 6. I’ve got the cold running... but it doesn’t feel great” “Where’s your brace?” “In the pile of my clothes” “I know you don’t want to take anything... but if the pains making you cry...” Lance growled, rubbing Keith’s instincts the wrong way “No” “Liquid painkillers are a thing... I mean like liquid Panadol. Or Mami might have something else...” “Keith. No” “You’re crying from the pain” “And it’ll pass... I feel better already now that you’re here” Coming from Lance, the words sounded uncomfortably sincere. Keith blurting out “I nearly told Jorge we’re having twins” Placing his wet hand on Keith’s arm, Lance squeezed gently “That’s because you’re a good man... but I’m not ready yet. Mami was bad enough. Papi will probably... He takes everything in his stride, but I’m pretty sure he’ll think we’re fucking with him... I’m not ready... I can’t take another rejection” “He’s your father” “I know. It’s... I know you want to tell him for all the right reasons, but I don’t know how to tell him I’m pregnant. Not yet. We will. And we’ll tell Krolia. Can I ask you to wait a little longer. Until I’m stronger and everything that happened isn’t so fresh” “I don’t know how to face him” “Trust me. All us kids have our secrets. If papi knew, his eyebrows would perpetually stuck up in the middle of his forehead. Besides, I haven’t reached the “safe” mark yet. I could still... well, you know... But they’re survivors. They’ve survived a lot so far. They get that from their father” “I don’t know. Their other father is stubborn as all quiznak. And brave. And strong... I’m going to have my hands-full if they have even an ounce of your stubbornness” “Nuh uh. We’re going to have our hands full if they have your sense of direction. One’s going to be off one way, while the other off the other way” Keith groaned, remembering how often Lance vanished from his side as it was. Now he was going to have three to chase after. At least harnesses on children was more socially accepted... The closest thing to harness he had on Lance was his wedding ring “Don’t jinx us. How’s the knee feeling?” Changing the topic, Keith didn’t want to scare himself future over becoming a father “Hot. I think that continuation is going to have to wait” “I don’t mind... I don’t want to do anything that’s going to hurt you” “I know. Can I be a pain and ask you to grab me some clothes? Putting back on what I had on, is going to make all this effort null and void” “You’re not being a pain. Is there anything you want in particular?” “One of your shirts. Your scent helps with the fear... plus, my shirts are getting too tight. You can see my belly when I wear them now” Reminding himself that Lance was sensitive about it, Keith still would have paid good GAC to see that baby bump straining against Lance’s shirt. He’d popped enough for Keith to be able to hide his sideways hand under the bump. He was itching to touch that swell again... “That’s because you got bigger while I was in quarantine” Smacking him on the head, Lance scowled “Don’t you dare go there. If you so much as think I’m fat, I’m going to shoot you” “I didn’t say fat...” “You said “bigger” and that’d bad enough. Now go get me some clothes before everyone sees my fat” “I think it’s cute... our twins are growing in there” “Keeeeeeeith!” “Fine. I’m going. It’s still an adorable bump” A bump that he was going to thoroughly enjoy when they were finally alone.

[whifferdills]

could u write a fic where 12 has to marry nardole for some reason? asking for a friend thanks.

i would love nothing more than to do this for your friend, anon

12/Nardole, mostly gen, aliens tried to make them do it. ~1.6k words.

“The prophesies have spoken of this,” the woman said. “Two creatures, unified, descending from the stars.”

“The prophesies say these creatures will save us,” said the woman’s assistant.

“Through their love for each other,” the woman’s dog clarified.

The Doctor squinted. “Um.”

“We’re not - ” Nardole attempted, then bailed.

The Doctor looked at Nardole. Nardole shrugged.

“They have a lot of guns,” The Doctor whispered. “And this is a delicate area, temporally speaking. One mistake, the whole thing could unravel.”

“Might be better to just -”

“-Go with it, yes. For now.” The Doctor cleared his throat. “Love…saves all of us,” he said, a touch too theatrically.

The dog barked, and nudged Nardole’s leg, panting cheerfully. The wonan grinned with a great sense of relief, and led them to the city.

They were greeted at the gates with a mix of excitement and trepidation, which was apparently just how this culture reacted to tourists. The whole prophecy thing was kept hush-hush.

“You are beautiful, the two of you. We’ve waited so long.” The woman clasped them roughly on the shoulders and disappeared into a massive, gleaming skyscraper.

“Right-o,” Nardole said.

“I’m not ashamed to admit I have absolutely zero idea what’s happening,” the Doctor said. He shoved his sunglasses on, spinning around for a 360-degree scan.

“You probably are. Ashamed, I mean. Just a bit.”

“I’ve never even heard of this planet. And that’s rare, believe me. I’m assuming there’s a war, and the combination of technology and psychic woo is altogether too familiar, but the specifics…” He took the glasses off, and then immediately put them back on again. It was an awfully sunny day.

Nardole felt something push against his calves, and tried not to panic. Possibly he made a noise, but it was a reasonable, restrained one.

“You guys wanna party?” It was the dog from before.

“No,” the Doctor said distastefully.

“Absolutely yes,” Nardole said enthusiastically.

They turned away into a private huddle.

“Split up?”

“Makes sense.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“You realize,” Nardole said, savoring the moment right before being mildly but satisfyingly obnoxious. “That that means literally nothing at all?”

The Doctor made a rude gesture before hustling off after the woman. Not much of an athletic sort, that man. Not that Nardole could throw stones.

He turned back to the dog. “Let’s party hearty.”

They met up, afterwards, in a suitably public park. Nardole was possibly just a touch drunk, or high, or something. The Doctor looked excruciatingly sober.

“You find things?”

“I found things,” the Doctor confirmed. He frowned, like he was mad at himself for letting that phrase exit his mouth. “Did you - learn anything?”

“I took a pill and ate quite a lot of what I think was cake,” Nardole said. “Learn yes, learn relevant information: potentially no.”

A suitably public route to what was hopefully a somewhat more private penthouse suite. Nardole debated whether to take the Doctor’s hand, since they were apparently role-playing two people who would hold hands. The Doctor didn’t quite seem in the right place to be okay with physical contact, though, so he ultimately decided against it.

The elevator ride was mercifully swift. The Doctor jammed the keycard into the door like he meant it to hurt.

“I read the prophecies,” he said, trying to slam the automatic sliding door closed behind him. “They’re highly detailed. And I still can’t recall ever having heard about this planet but, oh, I can feel it. This place, this moment, us here now, it’s important.”

“D'you ever do anything that isn’t potentially universe-ending important?”

“Oh, shut it. Pay attention. You - ”

“Yes,” Nardole said, searching through his pockets for a handkerchief.

“Me.”

“Mmm,” Nardole grunted, and then blew his nose fiercely.

“Are meant to be in love,” the Doctor finished. Finger-quotes around ‘in love’. “In order for what’s meant to happen to happen.”

“Maybe it’s a platonic love,” Nardole said. He tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket and delicately removed his flower crown, setting it down on the kitchenette counter.

“The prophecies are highly detailed,” the Doctor said. He looked like he wanted to raise his eyebrows for emphasis but couldn’t quite muster the energy. He put his sunglasses on, to scan all the things that he could’ve just looked at normally if he wasn’t such a drama queen: a spacious, open-plan room with such highlights as ‘hopefully an electric kettle’ and ‘only one bed’.

“How detailed.”

“Explicitly so,” the Doctor replied tightly. He pulled a small grey rectangle out of his pocket and threw it in Nardole’s approximate direction.

Retrieved from the floor, with a disapproving look, the rectangle was a basic universal-standard (circa the 23rd century) data unit/entertainment provider/communicator/personal massage device. Nardole tapped on the icon labeled ‘PROPHECY’.

“It’s always up for interpretation,” Nardole said, scrolling down. “These things, there’s ambiguity and - oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh boy. Yeah. Wow. Okay. And you think this needs to happen, or 'happen’-” Finger-quotes. “In order for time and space to not become irrevocably fucked.”

“A significant chance, yes.” The Doctor stalked over to the kitchenette, attempting to make sense of the maybe-kettle.

Nardole turned the rectangle off, and put it on the counter, and considered those facts. Or guesses. Or whatever.

“We don’t actually have to do those things. You can find a way around it, surely. This is real life, not one of those novels you think I don’t notice you reading.” He wandered away from the Doctor’s increasingly angry water-boiling adventures, and dropped gracelessly onto the bed, bouncing up and down.

The Doctor unfurled his eyebrows, abandoned the maybe not-kettle, and began pacing. “Of course I’ll find a way. I always do. Always doing the heavy lifting while you sit around and - squeak.”

Nardole stopped bouncing. “I do other things. Important things.”

“Right. You make the tea, how awful of me to forget.”

“I offer excellent advice, whether you listen to it or not. And moral support. And companionship. And-”

The Doctor stopped pacing and glared.

“I’m a bit of a pin in the side of the hot-air balloon that is your ego and self-pity,” Nardole said. He pantomimed the pricking action, in case the Doctor needed a visual reference to understand the metaphor.

The Doctor was still glaring, but in a slightly kinder way now. “Sorry. Right. I’m - you’d make a fine husband, I’m sure.” He quirked an extremely half-hearted smile, and resumed pacing.

“I have, actually,” Nardole said, mostly to himself. “Three times. So there.”

Nipping the whole 'do we share a bed’ question in the bud, the Doctor elected to stand in the corner while thinking very hard and turning a lightbulb socket into a radio. Nardole slept alone, inexplicably disappointed.

The next morning, they met with the prophets, and some government people, and also some military people. Nardole wasn’t sure if he grabbed the Doctor’s hand for false Husband Evidence or to keep him from bristling overmuch. The Doctor’s hand was warm and slightly, mildly unpleasantly, moist. Still nice, though.

And it was also nice, if immediately afterwards a little concerning, when the Doctor called him 'sweetie’. He looked like he wished he could reverse-vomit that back down his throat. Understandable.

“Find a different word,” Nardole whispered, still clinging to the Doctor’s slippery hand. “For example. I like when you call me 'baby’.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes, but Nardole could tell his heart wasn’t in it. And he didn’t pull his hand away, either.

“This is the plan, by the way,” the Doctor yelled.

“You had that horrifying 'I have a plan’ look, so I figured this was it” Nardole yelled back.

Everything was just a bit on fire.

“If you have a better idea - ”

“No,” Nardole yelled, falling over an upturned desk. “No, this is fine.”

The TARDIS was not on fire and the TARDIS was uncharacteristically cool and it was home and safe and quiet.

“I can’t help but think that this would have been so much easier and less dangerous if you’d been willing to just kiss for a bit and fudge the rest,” Nardole said, patting out a small flame on his coat. Shame, he really loved this coat. Maybe the ship would be kind enough to shoot out a new one for him.

“I wasn’t willing?”

“Don’t pin this on me.” Nardole sent his ruined coat through the rubbish shoot, wishing it a fond farewell.

“You,” the Doctor said, and then stopped, like his brain hadn’t quite caught up with his mouth.

“Would have much rather done that than your catastrophe of a plan, yes.” Nardole paused, considered. “It’s more that I have an issue with being coerced to do things in front of people because the fabric of space/time is dissolving. In general, I think it’d be quite nice to kiss you, and additional activities. If you’re into that, I mean.”

The Doctor stared at him. “Okay,” he said. He rocked back and forth on his heels. “Right, okay.”

“Maybe later, that situation was a bit overwhelming and typically I prefer to take these things slowly.”

“Three times married, huh,” the Doctor said softly. He reached out and squeezed Nardole’s hand briefly before letting it drop. Louder: “I’ll go put the kettle on. Try not to break everything while I’m gone.”

Nardole closed his fist around the hopefully-just-sweat the Doctor had left on his skin. “I won’t do anything you wouldn’t do,” he said, and attempted a wink. It failed miserably but hopefully had the intended effect.

The Doctor made half a smile, like he wasn’t sure he should be doing it and in fact should probably shut it down as swiftly as possible, and wandered off towards where the kitchen might be.

Fourth time’s the charm. Nardole would make a good husband, fake or otherwise. He surreptitiously wiped his hand dry on his trousers and tried not to think too hard about it. Or him. Or them. Any of those.