#tempers flared

The door to Lily’s quarters closed in his face with an ominous thud and Raphael found himself at a loss for words. If he knew his cousin as well as he did, she would stubbornly refuse to speak to him until he did what she had told him to do. That thought alone made him bristle and want to buckle down in opposition, his pride dictating that he go against her wishes. On the other hand, he knew the longer he avoided the issue at hand, the more difficult it would be to face. He sighed from the bottom of his soul and chose to be reasonable.

With slow, heavy steps, Raphael went down the stairs to his own quarters, opened the door and stopped, his eyes quickly finding the hefty black box that sat on his table on the opposite side of the room. It had arrived while he was at the Winter Palace with Lily, but even after his return, he hadn’t had the courage to give it to Hannah. He felt depleted in every way and the thought of facing her scrutiny made him drag his feet.

Which meant he needed to get it over with.

Before his traitor mind could convince him to not do it, Raphael strolled up to the box, tucked it under his arm and left, determination hardening his steps. In all honesty, he took the longest path possible to walk towards the library and up the spiraling flight of stairs. His mind was a jumble of conflicting, confusing thoughts; it didn’t help that the Winter Palace had been more of an endeavor than anticipated and continued to weigh heavily on his heart; his hands still hurt, knuckles bruised and cracked from how much he had punched his father. The gloomy cloud continued to hover over his head as he turned a corner to what he assumed had to be Hannah’s office.

Once his eyes fell on Hannah sitting at her desk, Raphael realized he had been hoping she wouldn’t be there to begin with. It was midday - most people were in the mess hall for a meal. Still, she sat at a large desk, her face scrunched up in concentration and her hands busy sketching on a large piece of parchment, completely oblivious to being observed.

Raphael cleared his throat.

Hannah looked up at once and he watched as her expressions went from blank curiosity to surprised delight  to guarded confusion in a matter of seconds.

“Raphael?” she asked. She put down her pencil and stood up. “Wha-- what are you doing here?”

There was a weird kind of energy that surrounded her, complete with restless hands and shifting eyes that did nothing to calm or encourage Raphael on his little ‘errand’.

“Well,” he started and found himself needing to clear his throat again. “I hope this isn’t a bad time? I wasn’t expecting you to be here at this time - everybody seems to be in the mess hall.”

Hannah frowned and briefly looked out the nearest window as if checking the positioning of the sun in the sky, then around the empty room she was in.

“Did I miss the bell again?” she distractedly asked no one in particular and sighed. She turned back to Raphael and shrugged. “I do that a lot.”

Something was wrong, Raphael could tell just by how guarded and dispirited she was.

“Hannah?” he asked and moved to stand by her side. “Is everything alright? You seem… off.”

A smile that didn’t reach her eyes briefly lit up her face.

“I’m fine, if a little tired,” she said, while her smile slipped even more. “I’m piled under a lot of work at the moment.”

This was it, this was the opening Raphael needed, so he took a deep breath and went for it.

“Would this be a good time to give you something to help combat that?” he asked and placed the box on her desk.

Hannah looked at the plain box, uncertain and clearly suspicious, then glanced back at him.

“What is this?” she asked.

“A present?” he said and tried to give her a friendly smile. “You should open it; I wasn’t sure if I got you the right thing - it’s not my expertise, after all.”

A frown marred her face again, but she still reached for the box and carefully unlatched it. Once the lid fell open, a gasp dropped out of Hannah’s mouth and she looked at Raphael again, shocked.

“What the fuck?” she whispered. Her fingers automatically went to touch all of the instruments held within - Raphael recognized measuring tools, a caliper, and some items that were clearly enchanted with magic.

“I overheard you saying how you lost your tools in Haven and I thought I could help get you new ones?” he said sheepishly. “The merchant assured me they’re high quality and very useful to an engineer. There’s an entire booklet in there explaining what the enchanted ones do, because I spaced out when the man started talking about rock density and methods of finding structural weaknesses inside a wall.”

Hannah kept touching the tools, picking them up one by one with a lot more expertise than Raphael had when he had first saw them. She was still mostly silent, focused on her inspection, though Raphael had an impression she was trying to gather her thoughts. When she looked up again, her face still reflected disbelief and confusion.

“That’s-- that’s a really expensive gift,” she finally said. “Why would you give me something so… extravagant? It’s too much.”

She was staring at him, searching his face for whatever signs of deception she expected. For once in his life, Raphael forced himself to keep eye contact under scrutiny, to show her that he meant nothing nefarious by the gift, even if he could already feel heat climbing up his neck.

“I know you’ve had to deal with a lot of shit here, so when I had the opportunity to do something nice for you, I took it.” He paused and frowned. “Did I misstep? I’m sorry I didn’t mean to offend--”

“No, you’re fine,” Hannah interrupted him and finally smiled like she meant it. “I’m just not used to receiving such lavish gifts from men; usually it’s because they want something else from me.” She paused and gave him a shrewd, calculating look. “Unless, you do want something from me.”

The implication was blatant and it felt like a slap to Raphael’s face. His already short temper roared back to life and he replied without thinking.

“I don’t have a habit of buying my way into a woman’s bed, if that’s what you’re insinuating,” he said flatly. “I’m not that kind of a man.”

Hannah’s face first went really pale before turning a brilliant shade of red. It looked - and felt - like Raphael had slapped her in turn and she rubbed hands over her cheeks where the blush was the deepest. She took a few deep steadying breaths and looked him in the eye again, clearly contrite.

“Maker, you’re right, I’m sorry,” she said and stepped a little closer. “I didn’t mean to offend you, truly.” She paused. “I can see you’re a good man, which is not something I’ve seen often before and I’m not sure how to behave around you. Can you forgive me yet another misstep?”

Anger that had so easily lept to the forefront of his mind seemed to slowly dissipate the longer Hannah spoke. Raphael sighed and nodded, recognizing how easily he let his temper get the better of him

“Of course,” he said. “And I’m sorry for snapping at you. It was uncalled for.”

She shrugged and grimaced. “Considering I was being an asshole, I feel like I deserved that.”

“You did not,” he told her.

Without thinking, Raphael took one of her hands in his, gently raised it to his mouth, and placed one tender kiss onto her knuckles. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it, but there he was, his lips on her skin, reveling in the way her breath hitched in her throat. When he looked up, Hannah was staring at him with a slightly unfocused gaze and he wondered if he would ever get tired of being looked at like that.

Unfortunately for him, Hannah noticed his bruises and her eyes narrowed at once.

“What happened to your hands?” she asked sharply, staring at his battered knuckles.

Exhaustion and anger returned at once and Raphael quickly pulled away, hoping to conceal what he didn’t want to be seen. It had been bad enough that Lily’s Inner Circle bore witness to a moment of weakness on his part; he didn’t need Hannah to know as well.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “It’s fine.”

“Raphael, please,” Hannah pressed further and tried to reach for his hand again.

“Don’t touch me!”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them, tainted with fear and colored with embarrassment, growled like a caged animal he had been at the Winter Palace. He could still remember the soft give of cartilage beneath his knuckles as warm blood burst forth between his fingers. It had been both satisfying and disappointing to find out just how doughy his father had become.

For her part, Hannah immediately stepped back and made sure to keep her hands down and out of the way.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, once again repentant. “I didn’t mean to.”

This was all wrong, Raphael realized. He somehow went from having a tender moment with Hannah to watching her stare at him with hurt and beginnings of fear, just because he couldn’t keep his cool. He looked down at his knuckles, flexed them once or twice to make sure the wounds were still closed and healing, and went to card fingers through his hair. It only calmed him a little.

“It’s not your fault,” he said and huffed. “Winter Palace was rougher than I anticipated.”

Hannah continued to stand where she was, clearly not trusting him to not have another outburst. Raphael wanted to reassure her, to tell her that he would never actually hurt her, but no matter how hard he tried, the words wouldn’t come. All he could think of was what had happened back then. So he raised his hands and showed Hannah the full scope of his injuries.

“My Maker-forsaken father decided to show up on day two of the ball to try to gain influence with the Inquisition,” he said, sounding tired even to his own ears. “He had the gall to directly order me to return to Ostwick to reclaim my title and take my ‘rightful place’ as his heir. He made me so angry I blacked out for a moment and it wasn’t until Dorian and Bull were pulling me off that scum that I realized what I had done. That’s what happened to my hands.”

A part of him was horrified that he chose to share this much personal information with a woman who could use it all to her own benefit, but a larger part seemed to understand that if he truly wished to make Hannah trust him, he would have to open up - even if a little. So he stood there, hands in front of him, and watched as she absorbed it all and came to her own conclusion.

“You really hate your father, hmm?” she asked quietly.

“With a passion,” Raphael spat out. “He’s the most vile creature in the whole world.”

With a little tilt of her head and a slight nod, Hannah seemed to accept his reply. She continued to stare at his hands, clearly mesmerized by the bruises and lacerations there.

“May I touch your hands?” she asked.

The request caught him off-guard and Raphael wasn’t sure what to say. He opened his mouth several times, uncertain if it was appropriate to allow Hannah to touch places that had been defiled by his father’s blood, before he decided he was being silly. He nodded, “yes.”

What Raphael hadn’t expected was for Hannah to slowly step closer to him, wrap her soft fingers around his rough ones and gently graze a thumb over his messed up knuckles. The sensation of her skin on his made anger and discomfort melt away as if by magic, leaving him short of breath and slightly dizzy. He watched, amazed, as she brought lips to each hand and softly kissed them.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” she told him with a tender, sad smile. “You deserve better.”

Speechless, Raphael watched as Hannah continued to gently trace her fingers over every single bruise, cut, and welt, taking great care to not cause him further pain. The soft touch brought back memories long forgotten, of another pair of hands that took care of him anytime he’d scrape a knee as a child. His aunt was an amazing woman and the fact that Hannah evoked similar feelings inside of him, made his chest hurt with longing.

“Thank you,” he said softly. He slowly shifted his hands so he was holding Hannah’s hands in turn. “You deserve better, too.”

Maker, he didn’t want to ask her out. He wanted to beg Hannah to let him court her, to worship the ground she walked upon, to speak words that brought her happiness, to protect her against anything that wished her ill. And above everything else, he wanted to always see her face look up at him with that same gentle expression he was seeing right now.

“Hannah. I was wondering--”

“I’m telling you! That was Orlesian cheese in our quiche and not Fereldan. Get your facts straight.”

Raphael closed his eyes and pressed his mouth closed, hoping to stop the string of expletives he was prepared to shout at the group of researchers that chose to loudly talk while walking up the stairs outside. Potential presence of other people made Hannah move back at once, her hands detangling from his; he felt almost cold without her close to him. Thankfully, the small group passed by and moved onto another part of the library.

An awkward sort of silence fell between them and Raphael racked his brain for something to say, for something to do. For her part, Hannah stood just a pace away, a soft blush still tinting her cheeks. It somehow reminded him of something Lily had said earlier.

“I was wondering if you were planning on coming to the tavern tonight?” he asked. It wasn’t the question he had had in mind, it was the only viable one anymore. “A whole lot of us are getting together for games and drinking and I’d love for you to be there.”

Hannah frowned, then glanced at her schematics, finally settling her eyes on the brand new box of tools. She smirked as she looked back at Raphael.

“How could I refuse?” she asked, then nodded. “I’ll come. I might be a little late, but I’ll be there.”

The grin that spread on Raphael’s face could probably rival the sun in how bright it was.

“Great! I’m glad,” he said. There were more people walking up the staircase, so he decided it was high time to leave Hannah to her work. “I’ll see you later, then?”

She chuckled. “Yes."