[oh, that's going to stick with him for a long time. all of it - pretty half-lidded eyes with the same richness he'd find at the center of a dark chocolate truffle, the slight jump under his fingers, impossibly warm, flushed skin - the gentle promise and awe that somehow manifests itself in a simple i understand, sir. it's what skippy would have done, would have trusted him to ask. that's the thing that consumes him with a sudden, swooping realization - he'd spent so long reassuring tim to reconcile with the idea of skippy coexisting in the eager boy spending his afternoons in hawkins fuller's office and knowing that fundamentally nothing had changed, but had he taken a moment to reconcile himself with the patient man doling out orders and praising that same boy for putting said trust in him in the first place?

i'm glad it's you.

maybe he'll regret this. maybe tim won't even remember it in a few hours, let alone when he wakes up tomorrow. his fingertips press into the mark lightly, as if his might replace the feeling of whatever bastard dared lay an unwanted hand (or mouth) on him. as if tim can sink into this part instead if he can hold on - thumb shifting across his skin and into the hollow of his throat as both drag upwards, lingering on his jawline to hold his gaze there while hawk's pins him down. there is no denying the significance that settles between them, filling the air in a way that molds against them both and keeps them apart yet somehow connected through the sheer gravitas of what he murmurs, low and equal measures full of praise.]

Good boy.

[putting the words to a voice to a face. maybe now they're even. and then the moment passes, the electricity sliced apart as hawk's fingers pull away and tim adjusts back into the chair with a weariness that looks bone deep. poor kid, he really is shaking - and hawk lets his hand fall to the back of the chair just as tim lets out that soft sound - the precursor to tears falling, which he doesn't know if he can take right now. his chest rises and falls again with those stabilizing breaths, but he remembers what worked last time and doesn't need to be asked twice. he bends down, one arm slipping underneath his shoulders and down to his waist as the other finds the space behind his knees in as many hours, slowly lifting him up to try and mitigate any dizziness again.]

Put your arms around me - you're smart; you know the drill by now.

[and only when he feels the warmth of tim's arms around his shoulders, chin settling against the crook of his neck does he head out of the office and back to the bedroom. leave it to tim to feel like he owes something for it, and hawk can't help the soft chuckle.]

Mm, well consider this one on the house.

[his sheets have been rucked up from a sleep that didn't end as restful as he'd hoped, but he deposits tim against them once more and wonders if he'll detach as easily as this time. quite frankly, he's getting a little too easy with the realization of how light he feels in his arms.]

I'll be right back - don't move.

[to turn up the air and pull together a cool rag and a glass of water, because he's accepted the fate of dragging over the seat in the corner of his room near the small reading table he has set up to sit at tim's bedside like he's florence fucking nightingale. no more nightmares, no more stumbling around in the dark. no more shivering or sweating and trying to work it out on his own. here, he says, deciding against the ibuprofen for now and offering him the drink to clear out the dryness in his mouth. and when he's done his fingertips lightly graze tim's upon retrieval, setting it down on the nighstand with a soft clink before he's brushing back his hair with the same hand and enhancing the lingering sensation all over again. all so he might try and bring down the fire burning under his skin, bring him back down into the enticing lull of sleep. his palm presses across it, plastering the dampness to his forehead as he leans back with a soft smile and a rumbling whisper.]

That better?