Who:Lovers Wisdom & Hawke (Isabela and little Amelia make cameos) What: Discussing Pete's most recent kill over breakfast dinner and screw drivers When: Recently Where: Hawke Flat above The Hanged Man Rating/Warning: Mentions of murder, serial killers, and language Status: Complete!
Wisdom didn’t like to kill people, to take the life of another human being (though granted, when he was pushed that far, you could probably argue how human these fuckers were - and the argument leaned toward ‘not very.’). But he was used to it - he’d been used to it in his dreams, losing friends and even having to kill a lover of his to prevent an otherworldly invasion (he faced quite a few of those, as head of M13), and that was probably why he’d taken Lina’s trip up to the abyss so horribly. Now he’d done it again, he’d done it before, and he would again no doubt - in England for the most recent time, this settled the score - and finally buried his mother’s remains. There in Highgate Cemetery, one of London’s most beautiful and most eerie - take the Dickens tour and you’d see the grave of the author’s wife, Catherine. Pete’s mum had always liked Dickens.
Harold had been there too, but Romany wasn’t - she was back at her Orange County shoppe, and Pete could tell that she’d rather just let everything sink in from over yonder. Meaning, the fact that their mother had been dragged from her car and murdered, after she likely broke down on the motorway. Imagining her last moments weren’t very pleasant, and made Pete’s stomach turn. The only thing that made it somewhat better was that Michael’s last moments hadn’t been all that great either. Not with his intestines hanging out, and a slashed throat.
The body had sunk to the bottom of the Thames by now, a watery and murky grave. Good riddance.
Pete returned to the States, with the knowledge that his father would be joining soon - Harold agreed to move across the pond, selling the small house in Totteridge and leaving behind the sprawling pastures and the babbling brooks, all which made up the very epitome of English countryside living. He got a lot of money for it, so he’d be fine as a retired detective in Orange County. And living with Lina’s parents. It’d be interesting, but Pete was somewhat glad for this change. Maybe one day he’d want to return to England, buy a summer home that looked like a castle to make Lina happy and bring Amelia to see part of where her roots were, but for now this was fine.
Wanting some semblance of normalcy (as normal as it ever got in the OC), he brought Amelia to see her godfather at the flat above The Hanged Man. A surprise visit, but one bearing gifts - if he was going to go to England then he was going to return with plenty of Hobnobs and Jaffa cakes, also Frazzles which were crisps that were shaped and tasted like bacon. He’d managed to wrestle a bag or two away from his bacon-loving wife, and brought some treats to the Hawke abode.
“And you want one of these someday?” Isabela was asking her spouse, referring to the baby she held - the baby which grabbed at her face and cooed, because noses were fun. “Oh, alright, it’s kind of cute.” She went through the same thing everytime, it was kind of a game by now - but she got more and more comfortable with Amelia the more she held the sprog, so that was a positive.
It was a very spacious, very trendy flat, if he’d say so himself - it had high ceilings, brick wall accents, industrial lighting and large, large windows with a view of downtown Anaheim and its bustling sidewalks. A fireplace was built in, emptying out into the roof of the building that had been furnished with patio fixings and lanterns zig-zagged high above. It was a good place to be after his ‘office’ (Varric’s suite, often times offered for nightly lodging for that extra revenue) had a semi-permanent residence in it, but right now it was a bit too warm to be outdoors (it was California but to say global warming wasn’t playing a factor in this ridiculous February weather was fucking ridiculous), so inside was the best place to spend with his bestest mate in the whole wide world.
And the goddaughter that his wife was currently hogging, wasn’t she the rudest?
“Don’t make me take you into the bedroom and put one in you this very minute,” he retorted, and then went back to making all sorts of unmanly, high-pitched noises at the wee on in her arms so she’d look at him - look at Uncle Hawke, Amelia, he had facial hair to pull, pay attention to meeee. But, no, the mini-firestarter probably sensed something she couldn’t have in Isabela and focused on her instead.
Bugger.
Meanwhile, the equivalent of a child between the pirate and mage (Dog, of course) had his mouth open, tongue rolled out, and panting so excitedly at all the treats Wisdom had brought - under the assumption some were for him too, of course, they were always telling him how much of a good boy he was!
Anyway, let it be known as well he was currently wearing an apron and, oh, the home carried the scent of pancakes and eggs. Breakfast for dinner, you couldn’t tell him otherwise. Garrett turned to his friend, wiping his hands clean with a kitchen towel. “Want a screwdriver, Wisdom? It’s breakfast themed. I’d offer you a mimosa but you don’t seem you’d want weak champagne.”
“I would like one. It’s more a screwdriver kind of existence right now anyway,” Pete chuckled dryly, crinkling the Hobnobs package and reaching inside to pull out a delicious biscuit (it was mostly made of oats, it wouldn’t harm the furball). Alright, Dog, fuck it all - this warhound was a bit more advanced than your standard pup, since he seemed to understand everything. But when it came time to beg for a treat, he was just as desperate as any canine. “You’re supposed to dunk these in tea, I don’t suppose you want a cuppa?” That was directed to Dog, who barked and chased his tail in a circle, and barked again. Probably no to the cuppa.
The treat was given to the beast, and there went the grateful chomping. “And you think you’re that virile, do you? To just blow your load and have it be lucky?” Isabela teased, reaching around Hawke to test the pancakes on the griddle with the spatula in one hand. Ooh, that looked good. Still, she’d leave the boys to their own devices since they probably needed to catch up. “Save me some eggs, at least - I’ll go and have girl time with the little one.” There were toys and things, so Bela was confident she could keep Amelia occupied. If not, then she’d tell her a story, which she’d done countless times before - Bela’s stories, starring her as Queen of the Eastern Seas, were most exciting! With that, she scooted off into the other room, to give her husband and best mate some alone time - hopefully without the influence of mistletoe they wouldn’t be snogging again, at least not when she had her phone so far away and was unable to snap photos of it.
T’was no longer the season of forceful snogging for Orange County’s kinky humor, and as much as he enjoyed Wisdom’s company he enjoyed his mate more when they weren’t locking lips and exchanging saliva. Hawke was assured he preferred the same. “I’ll make you a plate,” he promised his wife, ever the domestic husband in the relationship - probably the best stay-at-home-father that had yet to father, but no rush. Even if Leandra was probably pouting in the afterlife.
Before serving the food, however, those screwdrivers were to be mixed - as promised. Plain vodka with pulpless orange juice, coming right up. “Glad you’re back to the states despite our spray-tanned political turmoil,” he smirked, handing him a glass. “You look…”
Ah, how to not be a dick?
“Like you’ve had better days.” A bit worn around the edges, he noticed. Hawke knew that look. He had it once. “How was it?”
Wisdom was aware he looked like the circles beneath his cobalt eyes were going to swallow him whole - but recent events had caused such a thing, and he would work through it. Somehow. “It was - “ He took the glass when the screwdriver was ready, taking a generous sip of spiked orange juice. Bless the wonders of vodka, and all its medicinal properties.
“Well, I went for closure. To lay bones to rest, literally, to give my mum the burial she deserved and,” Pete lifted one shoulder, reaching up to rub at the tense muscle there. “I knew she was dead, even before it was confirmed. I just had this...feeling. But I got justice for her. It doesn’t really fix what happened after she was gone, but it’s what I went to do, so, that counts for something.”
He didn’t exactly come out and say that he’d murdered his mother’s killer, but surely Hawke could infer that.
Well, he didn’t think Wisdom would take a special trip overseas to have tea with the fucker. They had the ‘talk’ about it sometime before about finding out what happened - and he knew they were never particularly close but it was still his mother, and sore spot for anyone despite everything. Craving closure was natural.
“Justice, vengeance,” he sighed, the words bringing him back to someone he’d known in his dreams once - before Garrett was forced to put him down like a rabid dog. “A fine line, I suppose, but you know the facts. And the one held responsible for it was held responsible.”
Sometimes it was the only thing that could be done to shut that kind of chapter and move on. No more room for regrets even if they could still nag sometimes. “Your father? Romany? How did they - what do they know?”
“Justice, vengeance, necessary, I don’t really know what to classify it as - besides something that I needed to do. And what kind of person that makes me, I don’t know that either. Perhaps not a good one,” Pete mused darkly, and he knew it was true. He’d always been the person who was tasked with making those godawful decisions, those burdens always rested on his shoulders - he had to get used to just erasing lines of right and wrong, and embracing pragmatism. Wisdom lived in a world awash with grey - nothing was ever so obviously black or white with him.
Sometimes he worried about how his daughter would turn out. If she would be as hardened and world weary as he was - but then again, he hoped Amelia never had to make the kinds of decisions Pete did, in his line of work. She was such a happy baby now, as it was, he didn’t want that to change much, the more she learned about all that was depressing in the universe.
He took a breath, smelling pancakes and eggs and his hands warming the glass he held. The screwdriver was knocked back fully before it could turn too warm. “My father knows everything by now. Romany does too. She processes things in her own way, I suppose. Harold’s moving here though, I think he just wants to be rid of it all finally.” The whole family was in Orange County anyway - maybe he just realised he didn’t want to live out the rest of his days alone, or something.
“People aren’t so bloody simple that putting them under one term defines them,” Hawke reminded, tone uncharacteristically stern but when he sounded serious, best to realize that he wasn’t all quips and games right now. Pete did what he needed to do for his family - because the alternative was to let the culprit live his life, smug with what he’d done. “The law failed in this case, my friend.”
And as for Harold making the move, well. Good for him. He hoped he could rest in his old age, knowing what finally happened to his wife, and perhaps he could make more efforts to apologize for being the complete asshat he’d been to his son.
Bacon was plated for them to pick at. It was an impressive pile of meat strips, too, for the entire household - Dog included - and he threw one in the air for the hound to catch into those massive jaws. “Wisdom Senior is officially retired, then? Will be present for all those heartwarming family gatherings? I trust I won’t see him at the Rear End.”
Unlike his in-laws. Maker.
The idea of Harold at the Rear End almost made Wisdom lose his appetite. Almost. But he was quite looking forward to bacon, so he took a piece to distract himself. And fed another piece to Dog, because he couldn’t resist - the mabari got a scratch behind his ears too, scritching the short fur. What an adorable, massive beast.
“No, I doubt he’ll want to frequent strip clubs,” Pete wheezed a laugh. “But he’ll probably show up here a few times, so you’ll see him - he always did like a good pub. He’s a cranky old bastard, definitely retired though. He got a good price for the cottage back in England.” It was Pete’s childhood residence, and yet he didn’t particularly feel much of an attachment to it. Some rich fucker who wanted a holiday home in the countryside would like the ‘quaint’ feel to it instead, with a direct line into the hustle and bustle of the busier parts of London.
Mostly Pete was just worried that Harold would drive Lina’s parents batty; it would work out, however, perhaps he’d be optimistic for once. “I’m sort of....glad to have him on this side of the pond. Now’s not a good time for him to be alone.” Better for them to all be together, to work out their issues together too instead of letting shit fester again. “And things are going well here?”
It wasn’t an image Garrett liked to picture, either, and he doubted the Ifraimovs had high enough charisma points to persuade the Wisdom Patriarch into their shenanigans - thankfully. He did look forward to seeing him, in a way. Maybe hear a couple of interesting childhood stories that were utterly embarrassing about his surly children?
“The old man will get that family discount,” the mage’s mouth pulled a grin. He didn’t want to drain him of his retirement funds and all that. “We’re well, though. Busy as usual with what we’ve got below, we’ve a temporary tenant -” Hawke didn’t mind renting it out on a more long-term basis, but he did have it ready in the spirit of Varric showing up. One day. In a perfect world. “And our anniversary is in May but if there’s one thing I learned from my father, it is never too early to plan for that sort of thing. Especially if it’s the first wedding anniversary.”
Trevelyan had offered Skyhold, but Vegas was an option too. So was the beach. His pirate yearned for the ocean and he knew she missed living by it. “I think I do have a gift in mind, though?”
“Christ, is it nearly your anniversary already? Time flies,” Pete could scarcely believe that it had been a year since all those shenanigans. Sometimes, during wedding planning (though he and Lina had a pretty low-key wedding as it was), he just wanted to say to hell with it and elope but it wouldn’t have worked out. Every couple was different, however, and he was glad that things went how Hawke and Isabela wanted them - Vegas elopement was so very them.
He motioned toward the other room, where Bela had the wee firestarter. “Amelia was born when you were on your sort of honeymoon, so it’s going to be a busy month in May.” They’d have a party for her first birthday, no doubt, something where they could put the baby in a little outfit and take photos that would clearly embarrass her later.
Cake smashing, there’d be that as well. “What have you got planned for an anniversary gift?”
Andraste’s tits and ass, that was true, wasn’t it? Hawke boggled at the time passed when he put Amelia’s upcoming age into perspective - soon she’d be a walking terror trying to stick her fingers through an electrical socket. Perhaps he should make an effort to do his own baby-proofing in preparation for any future babysitting.
It’d be a busy month indeed. “Well,” he started, stroking that glorious, glorious thing on his face called a beard in contemplation. And, oh, he checked to make sure that Bela wasn’t listening by the doorway or anything - the next words were a couple notches quieter. “Not that I can get my blasted hands on some kind of functional antique pirate ship -” Unless he was Killian Jones but he doubted the bastard with the luscious arse wouldn’t want to sell him the Jolly Roger, would he. “But I think the lady could use a boat of her own. Something sporty but sizeable enough for lounging long hours at sea, and something fast. Bela likes her speed.”
He’d done some pricing and they weren’t through the roof, surprisingly. It would involve a hefty down payment and the rest would be installments but after crunching numbers it was very doable.
Getting a lady pirate her own ship? That was adorable, and no doubt something Isabela wanted. “She’ll love it, I’m sure,” Pete actually smiled a little, because the idea was so heartwarming. “And if you want any help wheeling and dealing, when it comes to the perfect boat, I’ll be glad to join you.”
He could be intimidating when he wanted to be - well, fuck, he was so surly and broody he just gave off that vibe even without trying very hard at all.
“You could always get her a Lego model one, or like a brooch or something, to throw her off at first,” he chuckled.
Garrett tried not to laugh with a mouthful of bacon. “Isabela has knives, Wisdom. Knives. And she’ll sharpen them while glaring at my balls if I gave her a decoy gift,” he pointed out. “I know someone who gave his now fiancee jewelry made of feces before he gave her the real present - an engagement ring - and I think his own jewels went unloved for days before that.”
But the sex after the fact must have been mind blowing. Celebratory and somewhat angry makeup shagging? Tempting.
“Or I could be an arse and pretend not to remember,” he mused out loud. He was a troll, after all, so pranking wasn’t above him. He’d feel so awful. Maybe he could make it seem like it was a busy day between strippers and old-fashioned medieval beer and it snuck up on him? “I am going to need a companion to browse around so feel free to join. We can even get our nails done together. Tope is a lovely shade on you.”
“What the fuck? Clearly that’s more your colour - “ Wait, Wisdom didn’t even know what taupe was. He assumed it was the shade coffee turned after you added a shit ton of cream. Right? Wasn’t it? Don’t ask him. “But hmm, alright. Sounds like a delightful man-date to me,” he said, going for another sliver of bacon.
He wasn’t much of a troll, though Hawke was. A decoy or gag gift first was definitely more his friend’s style. Pete was too serious for such things, though sometimes he had bits of humour poking through here and there. Like errantly thinking of British candy during a meteor shower.
Here they were, so domestic (making pancakes, for shit’s sakes, did it get more domestic than that?) and talking about families and wedding anniversaries. Felt like everything had evolved since Wisdom brought over Shepherd’s pie to the crummy flat Garrett shared with the rest of his family. Some good, some bad, a mix of both. “Just prepared to get stabbed if you forget the anniversary,” he smirked. “Take photos of her reaction.”
Hawke didn’t mind the domestic life. It made him think of his mother, and really, everything he learned was from her - and he’d taken more of a fatherly role over the twins, making sure they were well (and also making sure Bethany was never in the vicinity of a fucking ogre with how awful this place could be, that could not happen). Normalcy was a rarity he’d never take for granted as long as hit bum was here.
“Either option will get daggers thrown at me in retrospect,” he snorted, but grinned. “I trust her not to let me bleed out completely. And I trust you know that if you need anything after…” An ambiguous hand motion was made, to you know what. “All that happened? I’m here. I know the feeling all too well.”
Ah, yes, the aftermath of you know what. Pete rubbed his hand over his eyes for a moment, feeling the tiredness there in him - in his head, in his bones. But he’d get through it, with the love and support of friends and family. He knew that, no doubts whatsoever.
“I appreciate it,” he said gruffly. “Not like it was...easy. Or that I enjoyed it. And I know my mum wasn’t really suited for the job, but she was still family. I couldn’t keep having these open-ended questions remain unanswered.” It seemed disrespectful, and wrong - finding closure was the best way to move on from the traumas of his youth, for the sake of his own mental health. For the sake of his family. He wanted to be the best father he could be, the best husband. Not haunted by ghosts of the past.
Laughing tiredly, a wry sound, he shrugged again. “One of these days, I’ll go back to London for an actual holiday and it won’t be for something horrible.”
Perhaps she wasn’t - becoming a parent wasn’t always an instinct to some people. Sometimes it took time to learn to fill that role. Hawke hoped that the woman, deep down, really did love her children. Maybe she would have been better as the years passed, but the chance was robbed, and all they had left after her disappearance (now confirmed death) were possibilities.
“The calls of blood are powerful,” were the words of, funny enough, a blood mage. He swished his glass from side to side, making sure the last swallow of juice and vodka were mixed well before he took that last gulp. “You’ve a beautiful family, with things to look forward to. Trips back home without macabre purposes, your daughter’s first birthday. Best way to work through it is to focus on that, I think. It’ll make you scowl less. I don’t think wrinkles this age on you are particularly flattering.”
He meant it with love. Cross his heart.
Pete’s mother didn’t have the best way of showing her affections, no, but her son believed that too - that deep in her soul, she did love him and Romany. She probably had those moments where she looked back on things and thought that she didn’t want to be a wife, didn’t want to be a mother - however, she still helped to create life, and that was something important. He’d keep the advice about wrinkles in mind, too.
“Grey hair, maybe, but we’ll avoid the wrinkles,” Wisdom rolled his eyes. Then narrowed him in the general direction of his very best chum. “Alright, mate. Don’t tease me any longer. Can we have flapjacks or not?”
Because, really, he’d come over here and had been promised fluffy, delicious breakfast-for-supper-foods. Hawke, how could you play games with his heart.
There was such a dramatic sigh from the once Champion of Kirkwall. “You could say please. Wanker.” That was a yes, of course, and he made a note to call forth his wife and the godchild she’d been entertaining. He was interested to see what bodily secretion landed on her this time.
“Make yourself useful, will you? The syrup’s from the pantry, and get Dog’s bowl out…”