[the look that meets tim in response is meant to be one that's gentle and without judgment, though he's a hot-blooded american and therefore shouldn't be judged that when tim's hands drop to tug up the pants slung low under slim hipbones in a somewhat futile attempt, in hawk's opinion, considering that impossibly slim waist that manages to house an outline of a perfect abdomen - he can't help but steal a look at the vanishing line of black and white that neatly spells out "calvin klein". he's not ogling his student, he's just taking stock of everything. the clothes on the floor, for example, including his blazer which will need to go to the dry cleaners. the missing shirt, which he must have ripped off in the middle of the night when the sweats settled in. but that doesn't tell a very convincing story to someone who's been through hell and back, and could easily be misconstrued between holes that must exist around a night of interrupted sleep and nightmares and hazy images, if he's even got that go off of.
but it's the way tim sounds that tugs at him more than anything else - afraid, crushed, ashamed. fuck, of course he knew it was coming - he'd just hoped it wouldn't come crashing down so suddenly on his shoulders. that maybe it would come back in small pieces in a way that was somehow easier to digest. but brushing with something that dangerous and seedy and getting fucking drugged by some stranger isn't something to just be swallowed down, not the kind of thing that's simple to just digest like a goddamn six-course meal.
hawk shakes his head even as tim looks away, and he knows from days of looking into his animated face and memorizing every enthusiastic expression, every manic glint in his eye before he strikes gold on some idea - this isn't his finest hour in terms of appearance. but it's not his fault, and he steps in again, hand rubbing lightly against his shoulder in reassurance.]
Betting you've got a lot on your mind right now. I can clear up some of it.
[lightly he shifts his grip, enough that it suggests they head somewhere else besides standing in the bathroom like this. the pile of clothing can wait, though he snags the ibuprofen with a rattle of pills.]
Let's get you some water and take a seat first. Or do you want to lie down again?
[dealer's choice, he almost says before he stops himself, remembering it was something he once said in the middle of that. shit. his hand lifts from tim's shoulder, scubbing over his face once more and trying to push all of that away even though it's very tangential to the situation they're in now. and then tim stops dead and bursts out with - something. hawk's head tilts in confusion, eyes narrowing underneath furrowed brows of disbelief as it takes a few moments to read between the halting spaces that cut off his questions that are both for hawk himself and probably his own recollection.
it's not that he means to be crass about it, but hawk can't help the laugh that bubbles up from his throat at the implication that somehow tim laughlin could force himself or somehow make an unwilling partner out of hawkins fuller. he's not laughing at tim, just the idea of being somehow overpowered or off-put by his admittedly favorite student and secret fantasy.]
Sorry. I'm not - at you. But you're asking if I'm alright after you've been through the ringer? Christ, Laughlin. You're something else.
[the fondness in his tone and the way his face stretches into a smile should sink in enough that that's a good thing, and he pats tim's bare back again lightly with his palm, feeling the ripple of gooseflesh underneath it and knowing he must be hovering between temperatures again.]
Come on, let's see how steady you are on your feet. Hold onto me if you need.
[he extends the crook of his arm again, another motion he'd repeated last night, wondering if tim will remember any of it. it occurs to him partway through tim's first steps that he never really answered any of his stuttered questions though.]
no subject
but it's the way tim sounds that tugs at him more than anything else - afraid, crushed, ashamed. fuck, of course he knew it was coming - he'd just hoped it wouldn't come crashing down so suddenly on his shoulders. that maybe it would come back in small pieces in a way that was somehow easier to digest. but brushing with something that dangerous and seedy and getting fucking drugged by some stranger isn't something to just be swallowed down, not the kind of thing that's simple to just digest like a goddamn six-course meal.
hawk shakes his head even as tim looks away, and he knows from days of looking into his animated face and memorizing every enthusiastic expression, every manic glint in his eye before he strikes gold on some idea - this isn't his finest hour in terms of appearance. but it's not his fault, and he steps in again, hand rubbing lightly against his shoulder in reassurance.]
Betting you've got a lot on your mind right now. I can clear up some of it.
[lightly he shifts his grip, enough that it suggests they head somewhere else besides standing in the bathroom like this. the pile of clothing can wait, though he snags the ibuprofen with a rattle of pills.]
Let's get you some water and take a seat first. Or do you want to lie down again?
[dealer's choice, he almost says before he stops himself, remembering it was something he once said in the middle of that. shit. his hand lifts from tim's shoulder, scubbing over his face once more and trying to push all of that away even though it's very tangential to the situation they're in now. and then tim stops dead and bursts out with - something. hawk's head tilts in confusion, eyes narrowing underneath furrowed brows of disbelief as it takes a few moments to read between the halting spaces that cut off his questions that are both for hawk himself and probably his own recollection.
it's not that he means to be crass about it, but hawk can't help the laugh that bubbles up from his throat at the implication that somehow tim laughlin could force himself or somehow make an unwilling partner out of hawkins fuller. he's not laughing at tim, just the idea of being somehow overpowered or off-put by his admittedly favorite student and secret fantasy.]
Sorry. I'm not - at you. But you're asking if I'm alright after you've been through the ringer? Christ, Laughlin. You're something else.
[the fondness in his tone and the way his face stretches into a smile should sink in enough that that's a good thing, and he pats tim's bare back again lightly with his palm, feeling the ripple of gooseflesh underneath it and knowing he must be hovering between temperatures again.]
Come on, let's see how steady you are on your feet. Hold onto me if you need.
[he extends the crook of his arm again, another motion he'd repeated last night, wondering if tim will remember any of it. it occurs to him partway through tim's first steps that he never really answered any of his stuttered questions though.]
And no, by the way, you didn't.