[hawk knows deflection when he sees it. which could mean nothing, or it could mean everything - like embry not wanting to make a stink and keep his good impression, not wanting to open up because he doesn't trust this lot and doesn't trust hawk - both of which mean something did happen. to what extent, he's not sure. the costume itself seems fine besides the few spatters of blood, most of which he thinks might not even be embry's. once the cops get here he'll personally see to it that it gets bagged up as evidence, even if he's probably broken a rule by letting embry get out of it. or - it could mean nothing at all, that embry is telling the truth, but even hawk isn't stupid enough to think it's that simple.
at least he lets him leave without a fuss, and spares them both the embarrassment of trying anything. would it be embarrassment, though? it's not that unreasonable that someone as attractive as embry who is, by the very definition, a sex symbol in his day and age - would be comfortable enough with his body to drop to his skivvies on a regular basis and think nothing of it. maybe hawk shouldn't flatter himself and assume anything untoward would have happened. and if it did - professionalism aside, would he be that bothered by the idea of it? god knows he has a type, and embry fits it to a t. but this is all business, and hawk never mixes it with pleasure. the medic is waiting in the lobby of his office, and hawk lets tim know they'll just be a few more minutes until they're back.
there's a sudden motion from the corner of his eye that catches his attention - the blinds moving, and before he realizes what it is, hawk steps in closer and glances up through the gap that's fallen askew from where they'd been partly bent in the earlier scuffle. for a minute he's not sure his eyes are seeing this correctly: embry, fully dressed again, holding something small to his nose and inhaling. or blowing his nose, maybe? jesus fucking christ, what is he supposed to make of that?
drugs are the last thing on his mind. frankly, so is the tiffany box as he turns his back and pulls out a pair of aviators himself to keep the beating la sun out of his eyes until the trailer door bangs open and embry practically catapults down the stairs with an odd enthusiasm. this doesn't seem like a man who just got assaulted - if anything he seems downright chipper, banged up, bloodied and all. embry can't see the way hawk's eyes narrow behind his glasses in consideration, nor can they see the way they drop for a minute to the way those jeans hug his thighs so nicely - which is better for them both.
because now he has caught him in a lie. two, if he's good - and hawk is never anything else. there's a flat smile that drags across his lips: the kind reserved for corporate assholes and the bankers that come by shaking their ledgers at smith when pictures don't exceed their production costs to the right percentage.
why is he trying to get out of something this simple?]
Doesn't matter how nice they truss them up inside - those walls are pretty thin. Awfully fast and quiet for a conversation with Mommy dearest, isn't it?
[yes, mom - not vivienne, not his manager. hawk takes a step closer, nudging down his glasses enough to look at embry over the rim of his glasses with something stern - a warning not to fuck with him and protocol right now.]
And speaking of fast, traffic around here is a goddamn nightmare. So unless you called your car telepathically while you were sitting in my office...
[hawk shrugs, not making an outright accusation.]
Give them ten minutes to look you over and patch you up, Embry.
I'm asking nicely - for both our sakes.
[for peace of mind, for safety, for guilt. do it for me, he almost wants to tack on after what he thinks he's seen in there, but instead he pushes up his glasses again and gestures back towards the direction of his office.]
no subject
at least he lets him leave without a fuss, and spares them both the embarrassment of trying anything. would it be embarrassment, though? it's not that unreasonable that someone as attractive as embry who is, by the very definition, a sex symbol in his day and age - would be comfortable enough with his body to drop to his skivvies on a regular basis and think nothing of it. maybe hawk shouldn't flatter himself and assume anything untoward would have happened. and if it did - professionalism aside, would he be that bothered by the idea of it? god knows he has a type, and embry fits it to a t. but this is all business, and hawk never mixes it with pleasure. the medic is waiting in the lobby of his office, and hawk lets tim know they'll just be a few more minutes until they're back.
there's a sudden motion from the corner of his eye that catches his attention - the blinds moving, and before he realizes what it is, hawk steps in closer and glances up through the gap that's fallen askew from where they'd been partly bent in the earlier scuffle. for a minute he's not sure his eyes are seeing this correctly: embry, fully dressed again, holding something small to his nose and inhaling. or blowing his nose, maybe? jesus fucking christ, what is he supposed to make of that?
drugs are the last thing on his mind. frankly, so is the tiffany box as he turns his back and pulls out a pair of aviators himself to keep the beating la sun out of his eyes until the trailer door bangs open and embry practically catapults down the stairs with an odd enthusiasm. this doesn't seem like a man who just got assaulted - if anything he seems downright chipper, banged up, bloodied and all. embry can't see the way hawk's eyes narrow behind his glasses in consideration, nor can they see the way they drop for a minute to the way those jeans hug his thighs so nicely - which is better for them both.
because now he has caught him in a lie. two, if he's good - and hawk is never anything else. there's a flat smile that drags across his lips: the kind reserved for corporate assholes and the bankers that come by shaking their ledgers at smith when pictures don't exceed their production costs to the right percentage.
why is he trying to get out of something this simple?]
Doesn't matter how nice they truss them up inside - those walls are pretty thin. Awfully fast and quiet for a conversation with Mommy dearest, isn't it?
[yes, mom - not vivienne, not his manager. hawk takes a step closer, nudging down his glasses enough to look at embry over the rim of his glasses with something stern - a warning not to fuck with him and protocol right now.]
And speaking of fast, traffic around here is a goddamn nightmare. So unless you called your car telepathically while you were sitting in my office...
[hawk shrugs, not making an outright accusation.]
Give them ten minutes to look you over and patch you up, Embry.
I'm asking nicely - for both our sakes.
[for peace of mind, for safety, for guilt. do it for me, he almost wants to tack on after what he thinks he's seen in there, but instead he pushes up his glasses again and gestures back towards the direction of his office.]