[security is supposed to be tight around here. it's also supposed to be a safe set, and the fact that today it wasn't? well, that pisses hawk off more than worrying about blood on an expensive costume or fixing embry's hair and makeup, or even stalling on production for the rest of the day. he'd made a promise to someone - spotty history or not - and then his own people had broken it. there's going to be hell to pay, and the person to pay it is not the man in front of him looking terrified to be here, shaken and beat to shit. there are plenty of questions swirling in his mind - who was it, how did they get in, who on his team is responsible for it? how bad did they get embry? he must be getting better at this whole empathy thing, because normally his first questions would be how much this was going to cost in a delay, repairs, and set them back on filming.

it's not that he has a soft spot for embry as he watches him pacing and jittery and bleedy and justifying himself like he's waiting for the axe to swing and hawk to send him packing. it's that hawk knows what he saw in that box office bust - and he knows what he's seen these past few weeks. embry coming in clean, keeping his head down despite the cacophony of speculation both in and outside the gates on smith's lot, and doing his job with little complaint. especially considering he knows their director isn't really the kind of person to call a peach working under. he has respect for that. he has - sympathy, maybe, for watching the life embry's grown up in distantly, even though he suspects he barely knows the tip of that iceberg. but it doesn't take a genius to see that his overbearing mother only has dollar signs in her eyes, and the people around him are probably the kind of vultures to eat their own the second they smell weakness.

rather than command embry to sit again, hawk rises and walks over to the window near his desk, winding it open and before walking over to bar in the corner and tugging out a clean towel and tinkering around to wrap it around some ice. by then embry has tossed himself into the couch looking miserable as all get out, and hawk offers him the makeshift ice pack for his face until he can get a proper medic, sort out calling the police, and deal with all the paperwork. the priority right now is making sure his star doesn't walk off and quit on him. and more importantly: trying to maintain what he'd though was a tenuous thread of trust building between them.]

Put this on your cheek.

[when he does, hawk pulls out a kerchief from his breast pocket - deep maroon to match the subtle pinstriping on his suit. his initials are stitched into the corner in subtle black - hfz.]

And put this up your nose for now. We'll get the medic in here soon.

[he fires off a text to tim to get that to happen sooner rather than later. for now, he needs a goddamn cigarette. he's keenly aware this is a nonsmoking building - but he's mastered the art of disabling the fire alarm, which he does one-handed, before tugging it out of his breast pocket and sitting back down at his desk to light it. something tells him embry won't mind.]

First of all: I did tell you that. And I meant it, but that obviously didn't happen today. So I owe you an apology.

I'm sorry.

[he leans in, gaze level on embry with the kind of sincerity that should leave no question in his mind if he's bluffing.]

Second: did you get a look at the guy? Do you know him? Did security grab him? Any suspicious behavior before this?

[he takes another inhale, sighing before kicking his feet up.]

I want you to take the rest of the day after they look at you. I'll handle the rest of whatever this shitstorm is.