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Can't Let You Go	By : Ellynndaria Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 7632 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: We do not own Dragon Age, nor the characters from it. We do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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                Anders retrieved the large medical kit, plopping it down on the table. “Why does that sound familiar?” he mused before popping open the kit and rifling through the contents.
                Fellon shrugged, depositing his footwear by the kitchen door and following Anders, taking a seat at the table and watching him search. “Heard it in a movie once, maybe?”
                Anders examined the wound, “No, that’s not it,” to the comment that seemed more befitting Douglas than Fellon. Anders raised an eyebrow at the revelation. “Douglas said it, except he said knife instead of gun.” Anders turned back to the kit, pulling out the supplies he needed.
                Fellon arched an eyebrow before giving a sound that was something like a chuckle. “Yeah. He got me in the face that time, too. It seems to be a recurring theme.”
                Anders stopped mid-tear on the alcohol pad, “Wait… Douglas shot you…?” Anders seemed even more confused. “And that knife fight he was referring to was with you?” Amber eyes opened wide as they started trying to make connections between what appeared to have happened, then and now.”You didn’t succeed in actually killing him this time, did you?”
                Outright rage flared in Fellon’s bright blue eyes before being blinked away. Fellon took a deep breath. “… Just what exactly do you know about that?”
                “The only thing I know is the comment he made and the scar on his chest, and I can only guess after that,” Anders tore the packaging the rest of the way open, pulling out the pad and swiping it across the other man’s wound.
                “Well, to set the record str- GAH FUCK ME!” Fellon had noticed the alcohol pad but had become distracted by the current topic of conversation. When the pad was swiped across his cheek, he lunged back from the searing pain, unfortunately throwing his chair back onto two legs and far past its center.
                Anders couldn’t help himself and burst out laughing at the man now still seated in a chair completely on its back over a little alcohol burn. “What the hell?”
                Fellon blinked a few times, having had at least enough time to lift his head, so the brunt of falling to the floor was absorbed by his shoulders and the back of the chair. He slowly folded his arms behind his head and lay back and crossed one leg over the other, still “sitting” in his chair. “To set the record straight, the knife incident was a freak accident… Do you have any whisky?”
                “Oh, then I apologize,” Anders said, still trying to stifle his giggles and setting the stuff in his hands down before turning to his cabinets to get the requested drink. Once poured, he turned back to Fellon with the glass. “Do you intend to drink it like that?”
                “I don’t know… rather comfortable here… and the view is interesting.” Fellon glanced toward Anders briefly but ultimately rolled off the up-ended chair and got to his feet, somehow making the actions smooth and graceful.
                Anders handed over the glass quickly, trying to stifle any redness from popping into his cheeks from what had seemed like something of a flirt before righting the chair for Fellon. “Let me fix your cheek.”
                “Thank you,” Fellon murmured for the drink and the offer of aid. Then he smirked faintly. “Just…. warn me first.” He repositioned the chair so its back was against the table, before sitting once more.
                “Was planning on it, wouldn’t want to be picking broken glass out of your ass next.”
                “I’ve heard that’s decidedly uncomfortable, so no glass would be a good thing.” Fellon took a long drink of his whisky, grimacing just slightly at the burn. “Hm. Good stuff.”
                “So I’ve heard.” Anders picked up the alcohol pad again, saying with a tiny bit of sarcasm and mirth, “This may sting a little,” dabbing the wound more gingerly this time with Fellon hissing slightly before blowing on it to remove the sting.
                When Anders blew on the wound, Fellon blinked a few times, brows arching up toward his hairline. “I’ve never been blown like that before.”
                Anders chuckled, “Sorry. I thought we were going the ‘no glass in the ass’ route.”
                Fellon gave a small laugh, and then actually looked a bit surprised that he’d laughed. He regarded Anders for a long moment before a strange expression flitted over his face. “… I think I get it now.”
                Anders was looking back over the supplies he had laid out, raising an eyebrow, “Get what?”
                “You and Douglas.”
                Anders glanced at him for a split second before returning his eyes to the butterflies required. “Oh ya?”
                Fellon nodded, but didn’t say any more on the subject, instead sipping from his whisky at a more leisurely pace than before.
                Ander picked up the first butterfly and turned his gaze back to the wound, studying it closely to determine the best placement to minimize any more scaring. Attaching the bandage, he retrieved the second, “So, was this a freak accident too?” he asked, applying the second strip.
                The humor in Fellon’s expression faded away, leaving a deep, concerned frown furrowing his brow. “No.”
                Anders had turned back to retrieve the antiseptic ointment for the burns but paused. “He meant to shoot you?”
                Fellon regarded Anders for a moment, as if deciding just how much should be said. Finally, he gave a heavy sigh. “…Earlier today Douglas had a severe panic attack. Later on, I broke into his room and found him holding a gun to his head. I tackled him, we fought, the gun went off, and I got a new scar.”
                Anders went pale. “Wait… What?” He sank into chair, asking in shock, “Douglas… tried to kill himself? Why?”
                “I’m not going to pretend to know everything my brother is thinking, and I only got the story through a series of drunken ramblings. You want the details, ask him when you see him. Can’t guarantee he’ll be particularly lucid and up for conversation, but well… shit happens.”
                “Shit… happens…” There was a small pause at the crass words.”Once again your depth of compassion astounds me…” Anders almost snorted a hysterical giggle, “You don’t know everything he’s thinking? What, you can only partially read his mind?”
                “Something like that.” Fellon actually flashed a rare smile, and for a split second, it was like Douglas was looking up at Anders who after a stunned second out right laughed in a hysterical fit before snatching the glass from Fellon and finishing the rest of the drink. He needed an excuse to turn away from the man at his table. Anders walked back over to the cabinet, slowly retrieving the bottle and pouring another, all the while piecing together everything that now seemed so obvious. He debated about drinking it himself before deciding against it. Taking a deep breath, he returned to the table to hand the drink to Fellon.
                Fellon’s expression was caught somewhere between amusement and concern, particularly when his drink was snatched from his hand. He shook his head at the reoffered drink, “I don’t have Douglas’ head for it. I still have to drive back home.” So saying, Fellon collected his boots and socks, getting them back on his feet. “We’ve cracked down on security at the house significantly. When are you coming over?”
                Anders sighed, placing the drink on the table. “I don’t know. Douglas always picked me up and brought me home,” referring to his lack of a car. “Here, let me finish this really quick.”
                “Oh. That does present a problem.” Fellon returned to the “operating chair” to let Anders finish doctoring him up. “Hm… I could have the limo sent around for you. That could work…”
                “Saturday then, I guess.” Anders squeezed some ointment on to a swab, gingerly dabbing it to the gun injury and trying hard not to look at the man in front of him. “You know, I am surprised I didn’t exactly notice it before. Besides the scar, crooked nose and hair styles you two are practically photo negatives of each other.” Why hadn’t he realized this before? He could only guess due to the men’s natures, their expressions rarely were the same, nor did they tend to stand near each other, and everything about them was exactly opposite of the other. No wonder it was never put together.
                Fellon’s lips twisted in a sort-of smile, leaning back while Anders worked. “Douglas is a spitting image of Dad.”
                Anders smiled back before turning to prepare the gauze covering. “So I’ve heard. Although from what I also heard, with as hard as he had to work, I would assume he would most likely have been more tan and muscular.”
                Fellon shook his head. “Dad was brown as a nut with arms as big around as trees. Douglas has his hair. Would probably have the build, too, but… all he does these days is splash around in his pool, and avoid the sun like the plague.” Fellon scoffed faintly, “Used to call him Count Dougula…”
                Anders laughed at the name but near abruptly stopped at the reminder of Halloween. Anders swallowed, saying softly, “Well, I guess he isn’t the only one that looks like his father then, at least in some way.” He pulled off the last two piece of tape from the roll.
                “We were blessed, I suppose. Dad could literally stop traffic,” Fellon was being unusually chatty, likely left-over nerves and that slug of whisky on an empty stomach. “You know the old cliché, construction workers all making cat calls and shit when a good-looking woman walks past? Well, Dad was a construction worker that women walked past to make cat-calls at…”
                Anders laughed again before shaking his head with a smile. He inspected the wound one last time before covering it up with the gauze pad and taping it down. “All done.”
                “Thanks, Doc,” Fellon said with a smirk. He stood to his feet, very close to Anders, regarding his face for a long moment. Then, he leaned in and placed a light kiss on the corner of Anders’ mouth, pulling back before Anders could react. “Yeah, I definitely get it.” He cleared his throat and stepped away, heading from the kitchen to the front door, where his jacket and holster still lay on the floor. “I’ll send the car around, early Saturday, if that’s alright. If you can come any earlier…” He fished through the pockets in his jacket, and pulled out a card, “call this number.”
                Stunned, Anders blinked a couple times before following Fellon to the door, taking the card and his brow furrowed. “Do you think he’ll be okay? I need to think about some things before I talk to him.”
                “I really don’t know,” Fellon frowned, shrugging on his shoulder holster and automatically checking the guns it held with swift, sure movements. “I’ve seen him upset before but never like this. We had to drug him, Doc. Nothing was getting through to him, not even Bethany. We’re afraid he’ll hurt himself if he’s awake enough to do it.” Fellon shrugged his jacket on. “Why the hell else would I have come here, really?”
                Anders frowned, “Send the car in the morning, at least let him rest tonight.”
                Fellon nodded, “… Thank you, Anders.” He turned and put his hand on the doorknob before turning back, “Oh, and for the record…your and Douglas’ sex life is never a topic of discussion at home; I’d rather shove hot pokers through my ears.”
                Anders blushed, “Good to know.” The redness in his cheeks deepened, and he added, “And I’m sorry about all this. I can be pretty stubborn.”
                “Yeah, I noticed.” Fellon nodded. “The car should be around sometime about eight or so.” With that, he opened the door and stepped outside. His baby was right where he’d left it, blessedly unmolested. He dug his wallet out as he crossed the street, handed over the second half of the $100 to his little watchman and gave over an extra $100 for a job well done. Without looking back, he climbed onto his bike, revved the monster into roaring life and peeled off down the road.
                Anders watched Fellon ride away before shutting the door. Picking up the phone before he forgot by getting too wrapped up in his own thoughts, he called one of his practitioners, letting her know he was taking at least the rest of the week off. Having completed that task he went back to the kitchen, repacking the kit and putting it away, and then cleaning up the mess. Grabbing the glass of whisky, he took it back to living room, placing it on the end table before grabbing his notebook and pen, settling in for a long night in front of a now dark television.
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Can't Let You Go