Blood from Stone [AU]

[Varric]

Varric frowns a little. "Loving you isn't based on you getting better," he says firmly. "That's yours. And you are amazing for having survived what you did. For fighting back and coming back. But..." He sighs, then squares his shoulders. "Maybe she should look at you that way sometimes. Maybe she should be sad about what was done to you, what it cost you." And to be honest, I think she does look at you with worry and disappointment. She's just very, very good a lying and is willing to do so. "Wanting more for you isn't a bad thing, apprentice mine."

[Marian Hawke]

"I don't want more. I'm tired of fighting, Varric. Just getting here was an ordeal. Why can't I take a few years to just enjoy being alive? Why do I have to push? You're longer-lived than I, what's the hurry?"

[Varric]

"It's like setting a bone. If you leave it, let it rest, then it'll fuse wrong. And then you have to rebreak it," Varric replies evenly. "You've had two years after coming back. And you haven't done anything more, pushed more, in the last year that I or your siblings can see. Tell me I'm wrong, if you have. Tell me you've been making new friends, learning new things. Tell me you've come up with new coping strategies, conquered a fear, learned a new good habit, forgotten an old bad one. Tell me that you're less afraid today to walk in the street than you were a year ago. Please, tell me."

[Marian Hawke]

"I met Vig," she says quietly. "I've been helping Cindy. We've been doing good works, in secret, alone. I've learned how to make bread. How to disguise myself."

[Varric]

"Alright... one new friend- who, admittedly is probably a good one for you, even if he's only been around for a couple of weeks so far. And yes, your vigilante work is... more good than bad for you. The work itself is great, but... it's not you. It's who you wish to be. It's hiding from your problems, not dealing with them." Varric rubs at his forehead tiredly. "You can't hide from yourself anymore than you can lift yourself up by the scruff of your own neck. It might work for a while, or seem too, but what you're hiding from is just hiding back. Still there. Still poisoning your heart, your life. Just... quieter about it." A pause. "The baking thing is good to hear."

[Marian Hawke]

"It's always going to be there, Varric," she says quietly. "Hiding in my dreams. Waiting for a bad moment to overwhelm me. This is my life now. You can't ask me to be what I was. You can't take back what was done to me. Bright Gods, your standards are--! Look at me, Varric! I could have been like Mother, worse, having to be locked up for ever, but now I'm a vigilante. I have a girlfriend, I have cats, I bake pies and bread and tarts. I have a family and a family-electi. Isn't that enough? Can't that just be enough?"

[Varric]

"If that was all you could do, then yes, I could accept that. But it's not," Varric says in a weary voice, lowering his hand so there's nothing between them. "But it's not. You have more inside. Maybe you'll always be wary of the open sky and crowds. Fine. Maybe you'll always need to have someone you can lean on when you're overwhelmed. Cindy and I clash a bit, but that's just because we're stubborn and independent sorts that are used to being the most prepared, cleverest and most cunning in the room. Too similar to fit in the same place without a little friction." 

He shrugs, a faint smile. "Honestly, I kind of like it. Refreshing in a way. But she's a good pick for you." Though I'm damn glad the Smiths decided (agreed) to stay. If she didn't have them to support her, she'd have crumbled, I fear. "But there's more you can be than you are now. You still haven't done anything, as far as I know, about figuring out your gender for one."  I keep my word to family (even fractal aspects of them).

[Marian Hawke]

She stills, then, unable to fill her lungs for a moment. She closes her eyes, blotting out his face, the look in his eyes, and the air comes, letting her take a deep breath. Her body is unnaturally still, the only motion the rising of her chest as she focuses on breathing. Air in. Hold. Air out. Air in. Hold. Air out.

Something about that stillness nags at Varric, but surely it's a coincidence, surely there's not... He's learned a lot about trauma response in the last two years, more than he knew when he delved. He's learned how panic attacks work, how severe Battle Fatigue can sometimes mimic the symptoms of being dream-touched without having the same underlying causes. But while panic can cause a freeze response, like a deer in the woods might behave when startled with nowhere to run, this is... different. There's a tension in her muscles, a slight quiver, as if she's forcing herself to hold still more than frozen in pure fear. 

[Varric]

Varric stills as well, for a moment, his eyes fluttering shut. Just for a second. "Move, Liz. It helps. I'm sure you have a pattern you like. It's okay," he says in a bare whisper, gaze slipping to her left ear automatically. "Go ahead and move."

[Marian Hawke]

If Liz was home, she'd have protested, argued. She'd insist there's nothing wrong, that she's not holding back anything, that she just needs a moment to recover from the sucker-punch he just delivered. But Liz isn't home right now; there's only Marian, terrified, broken Marian, and Marian has learned to obey orders.

She moves, but there's no real rhythm to it; she rocks back and forth, with a bit of sideways tilt, and her hands twitch, jerk, her wrists rolling small circles. Her breathing grows more natural, more irregular, as she stops counting breaths, as the pressure on her chest relieves. 

[Varric]

"There we go," he croons softly, allowing himself to rock a little as well, though he doesn't try to mimic her irregular pattern. He normally settles himself with fidgeting, mental math or tapping his fingers and toes. Rocking isn't something he often needs. "You're safe here. I promise. You're safe, it's okay."

[Marian Hawke]

"It's not okay," she whispers, passionately. "it's not okay, it's not okay, it's not okay. I'm wrong. Bad. Why did I say that, stupid, stupid, why did I say that?"

[Varric]

"You're not bad. You're hurt. That's different," he says bluntly. "Rocking is okay. Hand movements, okay. Stimulation movements, helps you relax by giving your mind something it can control to focus on." At least, that's the current theory. 

[Marian Hawke]

"I--"

that seems to jar her out of her thoughts, and the rocking slows. "...Movements?" she asks, blankly, as her hand settles itself on the ground beside her. 

[Varric]

Varric nods slightly, eyes dipping to his hand, where his fingers are tapping rapidly against his leg. "Stimulation movements. Tapping. Waving. Twisting wrists, wringing or flicking fingers. All sorts. I tap mostly," he adds. "Patterns. Circular circumference." Specifically, he's tapping out that number, with the forefinger being six through zero and the bottom of the knuckle being five through one. The additional mental effort of something so complex helps distract more of his focus. The Doctor adored studying Varric's habits and data. Also hated it, as the dwarf is both bad at revealing things to others and insists on being part of his own researching, even if that is bad science.