Author's Note: This is a one-shot based on a writing challenge. Start out small, make the sentences longer and longer, then bring it back shorter and shorter again, mixing point of views, and somehow have it all make sense. You tell me if it does! Beta credit to Wintryone, thanks for sharing in the fun.

I cried as we made love.

I stopped immediately, but she begged me to continue.

I didn't want him to stop. There was no pain, only the overwhelming feeling of need.

After the broken and battered condition she was in, I thought for sure she would've die in my arms.

I don't know how I got to him. He says I made it to the clinic door after hours but I do not remember.

I assumed it was a cat scratching at the wooden frame; once a pleasant sound that now haunts my thoughts and dreams.

If I close my eyes and concentrate, I can see flashes, moments in time when he stood over me, healing my wounds, binding my torn flesh.

For hours as I worked on broken ribs, punctured lungs, infected slashes and singed gashes, I didn't even know it was her, didn't want it to be. Her face…

I know one eye was swollen shut; with my head turned I could barely make out his belt and could see nothing above it. My nose was broken, lips chapped and burning…

It wasn't until a few hours later, when my mana replenished itself after I stopped the bleeding and fused skin back together, that I was able to focus on her jaw and cheekbones.

Suddenly I could breath with ease. My chest no longer felt crushed, and exhaling did not cause me to black out from the pain. Upon waking, I could feel the soft caress of his thumb on my brow.

How had she survived? What unknown strength did this woman possess to find her way to me? That she had literally dragged herself through the sewers of Darktown to reach me, Maker, how? And why her?

I pushed my luck for years; my involvement with the Carta, the Coterie, the gangs who roamed Kirkwall's nights, the Red Iron, the mage rebellion, defying Templars and Meredith… Yes, this punishment was long overdue.

When I realized it was her under the yellow and purple bruises, I admit my weakness that I gave in to Justice. I allowed him to take over, because seeing her like that… Had I known, had I been there, kept my promise to never leave her…

After days of darkness, the flash of Justice's light was blinding. I sensed him surface, the energy of the Fade filling the room, and again I felt a hand on my forehead. This one was not soft, loving and intimate… It pulsed, searched, and extracted that which I could not recall.

Those that committed this crime will be brought to justice! I have seen their faces, smelled the blood on the metal tools they used to carve her body, and heard the sizzle of flesh as they branded her skin! I am Justice, but I am also Vengeance, and this malicious act will not go unpunished!

I knew he had retreated, but I wanted him, needed him, and so I called to him. Using my voice for the first time, after days of screaming, a whisper escaped my lips as I struggled to say his name. It was as if I forgot how to speak after biting my tongue during the hateful lashes. After several failed attempts, I was successful.

I fought my way back to her. The sound of her calling to me was worth the internal struggle that causes me such pain whenever I attempt to regain control. I would do it a thousand times over, should she need me. I'd failed her by not being with her then, when she was taken, and I was not about to do the same to her again now.

Guilt clouded his familiar, loving gaze. I brought my hand to his face, needing to prove to myself he was real. He covered my hand with his, turned his head to kiss my palm, and closed his eyes, shunning away from me. I moved to get on my knees, he protested, but my lips pressed to his ended the argument.

Undeserving of her forgiveness, and painfully aware of her recent ordeal thanks to Justice's probing, I hesitated, but she's always been one to get whatever she wants from me. In that moment she owned me, and I could deny her nothing. The warmth of her mouth on mine was always my undoing.

When you've been in death's grip, you only want life to sing in your blood again. Being with him always gave me that feeling, and I had to have him now more than was imaginable. I needed his hands on my body, his tongue tangled with mine, to feel his warmth on my skin…

We had been intimate before, but never like this. There was love, there was passion, but beneath the surface there was a clear feeling of desperation. Clothes fell to the floor quickly, without care, and she pressed herself tightly against me.

There couldn't be any distance between us. I wished I could've merged with him, become one with his body, like Justice, that's how close I needed to be with him. I wanted to feel him everywhere, have all of him.

She could still offer no more than a whisper, but hearing my name repeated over and over again while her hands spread over my flesh, had me needing her beyond bearing. I could've lost this, her…

I pulled him down onto the bed with me, wrapped my arms and legs around him, and he pushed into me, completing our connection. I kissed him again, held him tightly…

Her hold on me was stronger than ever before. Clinging, as if letting go would bring her back to the dark place she had so recently escaped.

I knew just being with him would be enough to fight the demons, make the images go away. He is my world, my savior, my life.

Knowing how bad it was for her, feeling her whole being grip me for dear life, desperate, fearful…

Flooded with all of the emotions of being alive, protected and safe, I shattered in his arms.

I felt her let go, road the wave with her, until I too shattered, though undeserved.

This moment with him was the only thing that got me through the pain.

I did not deserve her forgiveness, or her unwavering love.

When it was over, it all came crashing down.

I saw it hit her, felt her tremble.

I cried in his arms.

I cried too.