[that's one of the many problems with god, he's always thought - punishing those who least deserve it, leaving them without an answer amidst a world that is already cruel enough. there's not a single thing about tim laughlin that's truly flawed or needs to turn around and walk some path of righteousness over one person's arbitrary idea of what's best. obviously he's never met the parents of any student, least of all tim's - but there's already a very distinct idea in hawk's mind that he wouldn't care for them at all, a combination of his least favorite things: small-minded, stifling, and sectarian. they've got a golden egg in their nest, and rather than let it shine they'd sooner rush to hide it away.
though, it's a wonder how tim ever even got into his - business venture in the first place. must have happened in college without any financial support from his family, and scholarships can only get one so far. no library or cafeteria job would even come close to paying what a pound of flesh could earn, and there's few jobs a boy his age could make an honest living working for that kind of need. yet another point in favor of him staying here, keeping the momentum going and working off the inertia of everything else. so many of his suspicions click neatly into place in this moment, and it occurs to hawk that it's probably sad in some ways that this is the closest and most intimately he's known someone else in the last several years save maybe marcus. he knows more about tim laughlin than any other student, any friend or acquaintance or even his own mother. the thought should be unnerving, a blaring warning sign to cut it off and recreate that distance between them - but strangely, it's easy to tune out for a change.
there's a week to fix this. a week of tim being kept in the dark while hawk pulls strings and he thinks he's getting back on that ferry. the thought of him wasting an entire summer - unable to catch up on his finances, limited in what he can study, toiling away in the dirt - and for what?
no. that's not in hawkins fuller's plan. forget about god.
hawk watches the graceful arc of his body flopping back into his bed, cocooning himself away from the rest of the world save for the tufts of messy hair and the glint from the lenses of his glasses. it takes more effort than he wants to admit not to reach out and try to smooth it down, to run a soothing hand through his scalp and tell him it's going to be alright.]
Well, you and your exams have always gotten along like a house on fire. I wouldn't worry about those.
[there's a bit of levity there mixed in with the praise, enough to try and distract him from the laundry list of preparation he must be running through. not good on an empty or exhausted stomach, and definitely not good when he's fighting sluggishness and the lingering effects of the drugs. hawk steps back to the side of the bed, dipping down to meet tim closer at eye level as he watches him try and relax into it once more. the breathing, the sudden stillness in the way he's laying there. good, let him get some more rest. he'll need it.]
I think your feet can take a break for awhile. Mine are going to the kitchen to get you something something small to try and eat. Then you'll sleep some more, and if you can handle it by then - a shower's definitely in order.
Get comfortable.
[there's not much room for protest. hawk stands back up, heading for the door and hesitating at the threshold for a moment, one hand gripping against the white molding along the doorframe. he makes a half glance over his shoulder, somehow unable to face tim head on for this.]
You know, considering all the circumstances you've pulled yourself out of - I'd say you're the goddamn miracle around here.
[the delivery is a little gruff, but it's meant to have a lasting impact. and before tim can object or answer or be the one to expose hawk's vulnerabilities in saying so - he's off to the kitchen as promised, hoping it'll sink in and be done by the time he gets back up the hall. enough time has passed when he returns with a fresh glass of cool ice water, a few slices of toasted bread, an array of crackers, and a banana on a large plate.]
It's no brunch at The Jefferson, but here. Let's see what you can keep down.
no subject
though, it's a wonder how tim ever even got into his - business venture in the first place. must have happened in college without any financial support from his family, and scholarships can only get one so far. no library or cafeteria job would even come close to paying what a pound of flesh could earn, and there's few jobs a boy his age could make an honest living working for that kind of need. yet another point in favor of him staying here, keeping the momentum going and working off the inertia of everything else. so many of his suspicions click neatly into place in this moment, and it occurs to hawk that it's probably sad in some ways that this is the closest and most intimately he's known someone else in the last several years save maybe marcus. he knows more about tim laughlin than any other student, any friend or acquaintance or even his own mother. the thought should be unnerving, a blaring warning sign to cut it off and recreate that distance between them - but strangely, it's easy to tune out for a change.
there's a week to fix this. a week of tim being kept in the dark while hawk pulls strings and he thinks he's getting back on that ferry. the thought of him wasting an entire summer - unable to catch up on his finances, limited in what he can study, toiling away in the dirt - and for what?
no. that's not in hawkins fuller's plan. forget about god.
hawk watches the graceful arc of his body flopping back into his bed, cocooning himself away from the rest of the world save for the tufts of messy hair and the glint from the lenses of his glasses. it takes more effort than he wants to admit not to reach out and try to smooth it down, to run a soothing hand through his scalp and tell him it's going to be alright.]
Well, you and your exams have always gotten along like a house on fire. I wouldn't worry about those.
[there's a bit of levity there mixed in with the praise, enough to try and distract him from the laundry list of preparation he must be running through. not good on an empty or exhausted stomach, and definitely not good when he's fighting sluggishness and the lingering effects of the drugs. hawk steps back to the side of the bed, dipping down to meet tim closer at eye level as he watches him try and relax into it once more. the breathing, the sudden stillness in the way he's laying there. good, let him get some more rest. he'll need it.]
I think your feet can take a break for awhile. Mine are going to the kitchen to get you something something small to try and eat. Then you'll sleep some more, and if you can handle it by then - a shower's definitely in order.
Get comfortable.
[there's not much room for protest. hawk stands back up, heading for the door and hesitating at the threshold for a moment, one hand gripping against the white molding along the doorframe. he makes a half glance over his shoulder, somehow unable to face tim head on for this.]
You know, considering all the circumstances you've pulled yourself out of - I'd say you're the goddamn miracle around here.
[the delivery is a little gruff, but it's meant to have a lasting impact. and before tim can object or answer or be the one to expose hawk's vulnerabilities in saying so - he's off to the kitchen as promised, hoping it'll sink in and be done by the time he gets back up the hall. enough time has passed when he returns with a fresh glass of cool ice water, a few slices of toasted bread, an array of crackers, and a banana on a large plate.]
It's no brunch at The Jefferson, but here. Let's see what you can keep down.