Especially the all-natural kind that doesn't come out of a bottle.
Yeah, I know honey.
...Do you honestly think I don't want you back, Skippy? Thought my boy was smarter than that. Seems like he's having a hard time listening these days, though.
[ Well, that was a mistake. After about five minutes without a response, he starts to panic, stumbles to the bathroom to splash some water on his face to try to sober up, but it's no help, Tim is in Hell, awaiting with dread and excitement the same familiar, specific knock he used to wait for while he paced his studio apartment in Washington.
And there it is. He presses his forehead to the door and says a prayer before he opens it. ]
[ Well for now, Tim's gonna stare at him. He's visibly drunk, wobbly on his feet and squinting at him, glasses long left on the table at the bedside. He's...magnetically handsome, like he always is, while Tim is unshaven and ruffled and pink in the face from the bottle of wine he's finished. ]
Yeah, he's at Quentin's.
[ It looks like he's made himself at home here, things Hawk would recognize as his from their cohabitation casually littered around. Not messily, he's never messy, but comfortably. ]
[as long as he doesn't look at the way this place looks just as lived in as their suite, he'll be able to keep the endeared smile on his lips - to watch the flush on tim's face and the stubble he aches to rub his chin against. his gaze drops to watch every inch of tim from behind - fixing a little too long on his thighs and the ass he absolutely misses as it wobbles slightly before settling against the bed, leaving him standing there and looking downward at his boy.]
Yeah. 'Course.
[carefully he situates himself down, thigh brushing against tim's as he angles his body to turn his torso and face him directly.]
No sex.
[a low repetition of it, mildly amused as he reaches up to graze a thumb against the roughness on his chin.]
[ He hasn't been this close to Hawk since their fight, a month ago. It feels good having his warm, fond gaze on him again, keeping him safe with his presence and his own hands instead of vague promises. It feels terrible, knowing that it's temporary, that he's wrong and he's weak to let him get this close again. Weak and warm from the alcohol in his system, heightening all those feelings, good and bad.
Tim leans into him, not for a kiss, but into the touch as a dog would for another scratch. ]
Mmmiss you too.
[ Drawn out, not in a state where words are his strong suit. ]
[he's not about to push his luck, not yet - not wanting to take advantage even if he can feel the tension between them like it's about to burst, a dam of all the sleepless nights and yearning with no understanding for what resolution looks like.]
Yeah honey. I miss it every day. Morning, noon, and night.
[his thumb skirts along tim's jaw, nail lightly running against the stubble that's a new and not at all unwelcome addition. there's a heavy exhale, hawk leaning forward to press their foreheads together.]
You remember - what I was doing for Senator Smith?
[his voice is low, as tentative as hawk ever gets, because he's fucking terrified tim will latch onto this like a dog with a bone and keep chasing the answer.]
It's like that now with the Balfours. That's why I gotta keep my distance for now. Can't let you get wrapped up in this.
[ There's so much to push back on, that he might have if he weren't drunk. Hawk shouldn't be calling him honey anymore, he should just be with him if he misses him so damn much instead of putting him through this, a purgatory within a purgatory where he so desperately wants to be through with him while knowing in his heart that he never will be. But if Tim were in the combative mood to really let him have it, he wouldn't have let him in, he wouldn't be seeking the comfort of his head in Hawk's hands or wishing that he'd stay. ]
I'm sorry. [ Closing his eyes in some sort of relief with the press of their foreheads together, breathing through his nose so Hawk doesn't comment on the booze on his breath. As if it isn't exceedingly obvious. ] About Senator Smith. I shouldn't have told you like that.
[yeah, it's obvious. but he's not gonna say a damn word, knowing there's a chance he might knock tim out of it and get his ass kicked out prematurely. it's not even about sex or kisses anymore, which should be surprising to him. but can it really, when it's always been about more than that? it's about the intimacy and the trust he has here with another man - feelings he's refused to let himself have since kenny. it's why his lips brush tenderly against tim's temple instead of seeking out his mouth, not wanting to silence him or truly take advantage even though he doesn't think his lover would see it that way. not entirely, anyway.]
You don't have to apologize for that. There was never going to be a good time for it.
[there's a pause, realization sinking in that he hasn't really let himself have the opportunity to grieve over it yet, too wrapped up in everything else. if his arm slides down to drag tim a little closer and squeeze around his shoulders - it doesn't mean anything.]
I just wish I knew - what happened. Why. We were going to fix it all, we were gonna win.
[it sounds naive the moment it's fully articulated, a rare moment in which he wishes he could take it back.]
I do. I should have said something sooner. Didn’t wanna ruin it when we were happy, but at least then, I could have...
[ Could have been with him like this as he processed it? Hawk could be the one coping with too much to drink and Tim could be the one diligently at his side anyway, navigating through all his contradictions to offer him the tenderness he needs in a weak moment. Maybe that would have changed things, if he’d had the chance to prove that he can be a safe haven instead of another responsibility. How horribly selfish of him to even think, about someone else’s grief.
Tim matches the embrace, latching his arms around him tight. Hawk might wish he could take those words back, but he finds them endearing. A scrap of evidence that the one he loves isn’t all cynicism and disbelief, deep down somewhere lies a little morsel of faith. He pulls back just enough to look Hawk in the eye – beautiful, bright blue that makes his heart flutter, trying to ignore that – and cup his jaw gently, show him some sweetness before he breaks him a little more. ]
The papers said it was self-inflicted. In his office. [ Quietly, as if any more volume might add to the weight, make it unbearable. ] I don’t know why. A lot of rumors went around, but I don’t like that kind of gossip.
Nah - it's alright honey. You didn't wanna ruin it.
[instead hawk took it upon himself to do it. and the reality is: he'd do it again, no matter how much it's tearing him up inside to know he's hurting tim. hurting them both with the distance and the secrecy for a whole other set of powerful people, and this time he doesn't even know the end goal of the game, only that having favor here is surely better than not.
but that all melts away when tim lets him have this: a tight embrace, the intimacy he's craved and lacked for weeks now offered to him even amongst a somber backdrop of loss. he wishes they could stay like this forever, hawk dipping his chin against the space that always feels made for him at the juncture of tim's muscled shoulders and neck where he can inhale deeply and drink in everything that is his boy. but it can't last forever, and his eyes are already glassy when tim looks at him, jaw trembling for the briefest of moments at the tenderness he's offered before the revelation.
what does he even say? why? wesley smith - senator, mentor, father - he'd never have done this without reason. he must've been pushed into a corner. mccarthy and cohn getting away with goddamn murder, or maybe it was - lenny? frank was gonna come through, gonna get him the original arrest record, and then they'd be free and clear to tell senator bridges and welker to fuck off and shove their attempted blackmail up their asses without proof. is it his fault senator smith had to resort to this? his own voice sounds small, hand gripping at tim's wrist for something to latch onto as emotion threatens to overwhelm his normal stoicism.]
I couldn't stop it. He wouldn't, not unless he had no other choice.
[ Lets him have it, as if he hasn't been itching to be wrapped up in his arms again since the moment he left. Tim wouldn't have contacted him tonight in the first place if he wasn't so furious over how much he still needs it and the broken promise of I'm yours, which means this is his, he gets to hold Hawk against his neck and stroke the back of his head and not feel rotten about it. At least until reality sets in.
It doesn't take long. The look on Hawk's face, a rare moment of vulnerability, shatters him so that his own lip wobbles in response, before he tucks it into his mouth, sniffing and shaking his head. ]
Hawk, no. [ Squeezing his hand, stroking his hair back with the other. It's tender, but firm. Assured. ] He made his choice on his own. It had nothing to do with you. He was gonna let you marry his only daughter, he loved you. This isn't your fault.
[there's no response for a minute, hawk burying his face against tim once more and refusing to look up as he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to keep the glassiness threatening to spill over from turning into actual tears. his teeth are practically grinding against themselves, chin shaking with the restraint of it as he clutches tim impossibly tighter. it's not out of selfishness anymore, not of stealing these moments for the aching need in his chest to be with the man he wants when he's the reason for the imposed distance. this is a real need - not to shake apart right now with the realization that this could be his fault. that senator smith did the only thing he had left to save them all, a good man until the end.
where'd it leave lucy? lenny? what about - the senate? there's so many questions, and he can't articulate a single goddamn one right now. tim's hand is sweet, voice fond even though he doesn't feel like he deserves one bit of it.]
What if it's...because I was here?
[the thought strikes him suddenly, as he lifts a hand to subtly try and brush over his eyes and swallow thickly through the lump in his throat.]
[ He knows Hawk won’t want to, that he won’t want him to see the same vulnerability that he can hear in his voice, that he can feel in the tremble of his chin against his shoulder. Tim will allow him the dignity of not pointing it out, but he separates enough to look him in the eye, because Hawk needs to see him, sobered up and sure. The conflicting, confusing feelings, the heartache and the yearning, it’s all gone right now, irrelevant in the face of Hawk’s grief. In this moment, it’s all that matters, and Tim knows what he’s saying is true. ]
I saw you just a few hours before I woke up here, remember? I told you, we were saying goodbye before I left for Fort Dix. This was after he died, after the funeral. You were back home the whole time, it had nothing to do with this place.
[ Tim holds his head with both hands, keeping Hawk focused on him, praying that he can offer some comfort to him, no matter how small. ]
I understand the impulse to blame yourself, I do. [ Not for something this profoundly terrible, but he’s spent a lifetime catastrophizing about sending himself straight to Hell for other things, big and small and ugly and beautiful, the man in front of him perhaps chief among them. If he damns himself over Hawk, that’ll still be his choice to do so, not Hawk’s. ] So you can trust me. I know what I’m talking about. It was not your fault. You understand me?
[ Raising himself on his knees just a little, Tim presses a kiss to his forehead and starts fluffing up pillows, similar fussy nesting habits as when he was taking care of Hawk after the wolf attack. ]
I’m gonna tell Koby to give us some space, okay? [ Stay the night. ] Get comfortable.
[tim wouldn't lie to him about this. tim told him once before - about their goodbye, about fort dix and the army he never made it to. his relief had been palpable for different reasons then: not having to see his boy torn apart by the cruelties of war, wondering if it would harden and misshape him as much mentally as it may physically. but now he can lean on it for the reassurance, however mild, that it's all true. post-funeral, which he surely attended. lucy still on his arm, willing to stay engaged with him - that wouldn't have happened if this was somehow his fault, would it?
hawk exhales in a rush, eyes squeezing shut as tim pulls him in again. he can't help but clutch around him, breathing him in and letting some of the wetness gathering in the corners slip free in the safety of his lover's arms, in this space where it feels sometimes like no one can hurt them in their freedom to just be. there's a nuzzle against his shoulder, hawk nodding weakly in agreement to all of it. he understands it wasn't his fault. he can trust tim, always, implicitly. and maybe it's the crux of their issue now, but it's not because of a lack of it rather than his own stubbornness trying to protect him from getting dragged into this mess.
there's a soft sniff, hawk trying to clear the congestion in his nose and throat from the well of emotion as he feels soft lips against his temple, eyes opening with a watery smile.]
You're sure?
[you'd do that for me, despite everything? that's what he can't bring himself to ask, because he already knows the answer. his fingers slip to tim's wrist, thumb running lightly across his pulsepoint with an affection reflected in his gaze as he shuffles back up and onto the bed. there's only a moment more of hesitation, teeth biting down on his front lip before he asks in a raw voice:]
...Did he leave anything behind? A letter, instructions, explanation?
There were things - we were working on. I was taking care of.
[hawk lets himself lay back, shifting to the side to leave room for tim to crawl in implicitly the way they used to weeks before.]
[ It's a warped, awful version of what they had before. Holding each other in grief instead of joy, in Koby's room instead of his, dotted with tears instead of kisses. Either way, it's out of love, but the kind that fills him with dread, makes him fear what would happen if he weren't there to hold his head above the water. Tim holds him right there against his shoulder, noting the tiny specks of moisture against it that Hawk tries to blink away, running his hand through Hawk's hair until he settles. When he speaks again, it's with a sniff of his own, moved by Hawk's display of emotion into his own. ]
I'm sure.
[ Tim brings Hawk's hand to his mouth to press a tiny kiss onto a fingertip, and then he stands. He'll crawl in beside him soon, after flitting around for a moment to make sure Hawk is as comfortable as possible without leaving his side for more than a moment. A sweater from Tim's dresser, a trip to the bathroom to fill him a glass of water. Doting, worrying, bittersweet fondness in his eyes as he sits at the foot of the bed, untying Hawk's shoes for him and setting them down carefully by the footboard. ]
...I'm sorry, I don't know. That kind of information wasn't made public, and you and I weren't speaking. There must have been at least a letter, nobody ever suspected anyone but Smith himself.
[ Shoes off, good enough. Now he settles in beside him, one arm under his head and the other curled around Hawk's middle. ]
[what would he be doing if he weren't here right now, if tim hadn't welcomed him with open arms? probably shoved it down, drank half a bottle and stumbled into his own lonely bed. it's no small mercy the way tim makes it look so easy to care for him now, lips pressing against his fingertip and flitting around the room to get him water, clothes, to bend down and make him comfortable by half undressing him. it's muscle memory to roll onto his side, sliding down and pressing his face against the top of tim's chest so he can bury himself there like it's his favorite pillow. there's a soft noise of contentment, arms clutching around his middle and eyes squeezing shut for a moment just to relish it - knowing deep down this is what he's been missing, what he'll keep missing if he refuses to let tim in.
but the thought of losing him the way he's lost senator smith is equally terrifying, enough for his eyes to flutter open again and fingers to flex against his sides.]
It's alright. What you told me - it's enough. I can guess.
[he should leave it at that, keep himself awake as long as possible so he can prolong this stolen moment of bliss. but - ]
Thank you, Skippy.
[not just for the details, the reassurance. but for the physical too: inviting him in, letting him be here. holding him, keeping him safe and placated and putting aside the hurt even if he doesn't deserve it. his voice lowers into a pained murmur, almost a whisper as his lips drag absently against the seam between his pectorals.]
I - miss you somethin' terrible. Every day. I'm sorry.
[ Through toil and trouble, heartbreak and anger, there's still no world where he doesn't care for Hawk through his grief. The love will always be there, for the rest of his life, he's sure, and even if it's strained right now, Tim will always have a shoulder for him to lean on. If only Hawk could find it in him to actually use it, before something as dramatic as the death of someone close smacked some emotion into him.
He sighs, stroking the back of Hawk's head, pressing his nose to the crown and breathing him in. Cigarette smoke, the soft musk of the end of the day. It makes his eyes feel heavy, a Pavlovian response telling him to settle, to curl up and sleep in the safety of Hawk's arms. Tomorrow, he'll tell himself it's the wine he drank before texting him. It'll be a lie. ]
...I miss you too. And I think you know that.
[ Tim doesn't know how he can make it any clearer what he needs from him, and he keeps insisting that he can't give it. Are they not at an impasse, then? Hawk says that he's sorry, but nothing changes. It's not the time to call him out on it. ]
We don't have to talk about that right now. I'll be here all night. Get some sleep, okay?
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Nah, that's not it. If I were good, you wouldn't be texting me in the middle of the night. You'd be sitting pretty on my lap or curled up next to me.
Keep hoping you'll believe it soon.
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but you are horrible so im with other people
if you missed me you would want me back
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Especially the all-natural kind that doesn't come out of a bottle.
Yeah, I know honey.
...Do you honestly think I don't want you back, Skippy? Thought my boy was smarter than that. Seems like he's having a hard time listening these days, though.
What should be done about that?
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it's been a month. you haven't come after me. im only barely hiding. can't hear you from so far away
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knock knock, skippy.]
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And there it is. He presses his forehead to the door and says a prayer before he opens it. ]
We're not having sex.
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We're not having sex, got it. Loud and clear.
[hawk glances behind tim, towards the rest of the room that he knows is koby's.]
May I come in? We are alone, aren't we?
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Yeah, he's at Quentin's.
[ It looks like he's made himself at home here, things Hawk would recognize as his from their cohabitation casually littered around. Not messily, he's never messy, but comfortably. ]
Sit with me?
[ He'll be flopping down on the bed regardless. ]
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Yeah. 'Course.
[carefully he situates himself down, thigh brushing against tim's as he angles his body to turn his torso and face him directly.]
No sex.
[a low repetition of it, mildly amused as he reaches up to graze a thumb against the roughness on his chin.]
What about a kiss?
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Tim leans into him, not for a kiss, but into the touch as a dog would for another scratch. ]
Mmmiss you too.
[ Drawn out, not in a state where words are his strong suit. ]
Miss our room.
[ Not answering the question. ]
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Yeah honey. I miss it every day. Morning, noon, and night.
[his thumb skirts along tim's jaw, nail lightly running against the stubble that's a new and not at all unwelcome addition. there's a heavy exhale, hawk leaning forward to press their foreheads together.]
You remember - what I was doing for Senator Smith?
[his voice is low, as tentative as hawk ever gets, because he's fucking terrified tim will latch onto this like a dog with a bone and keep chasing the answer.]
It's like that now with the Balfours. That's why I gotta keep my distance for now. Can't let you get wrapped up in this.
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I'm sorry. [ Closing his eyes in some sort of relief with the press of their foreheads together, breathing through his nose so Hawk doesn't comment on the booze on his breath. As if it isn't exceedingly obvious. ] About Senator Smith. I shouldn't have told you like that.
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You don't have to apologize for that. There was never going to be a good time for it.
[there's a pause, realization sinking in that he hasn't really let himself have the opportunity to grieve over it yet, too wrapped up in everything else. if his arm slides down to drag tim a little closer and squeeze around his shoulders - it doesn't mean anything.]
I just wish I knew - what happened. Why. We were going to fix it all, we were gonna win.
[it sounds naive the moment it's fully articulated, a rare moment in which he wishes he could take it back.]
cw suicide talk
[ Could have been with him like this as he processed it? Hawk could be the one coping with too much to drink and Tim could be the one diligently at his side anyway, navigating through all his contradictions to offer him the tenderness he needs in a weak moment. Maybe that would have changed things, if he’d had the chance to prove that he can be a safe haven instead of another responsibility. How horribly selfish of him to even think, about someone else’s grief.
Tim matches the embrace, latching his arms around him tight. Hawk might wish he could take those words back, but he finds them endearing. A scrap of evidence that the one he loves isn’t all cynicism and disbelief, deep down somewhere lies a little morsel of faith. He pulls back just enough to look Hawk in the eye – beautiful, bright blue that makes his heart flutter, trying to ignore that – and cup his jaw gently, show him some sweetness before he breaks him a little more. ]
The papers said it was self-inflicted. In his office. [ Quietly, as if any more volume might add to the weight, make it unbearable. ] I don’t know why. A lot of rumors went around, but I don’t like that kind of gossip.
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[instead hawk took it upon himself to do it. and the reality is: he'd do it again, no matter how much it's tearing him up inside to know he's hurting tim. hurting them both with the distance and the secrecy for a whole other set of powerful people, and this time he doesn't even know the end goal of the game, only that having favor here is surely better than not.
but that all melts away when tim lets him have this: a tight embrace, the intimacy he's craved and lacked for weeks now offered to him even amongst a somber backdrop of loss. he wishes they could stay like this forever, hawk dipping his chin against the space that always feels made for him at the juncture of tim's muscled shoulders and neck where he can inhale deeply and drink in everything that is his boy. but it can't last forever, and his eyes are already glassy when tim looks at him, jaw trembling for the briefest of moments at the tenderness he's offered before the revelation.
what does he even say? why? wesley smith - senator, mentor, father - he'd never have done this without reason. he must've been pushed into a corner. mccarthy and cohn getting away with goddamn murder, or maybe it was - lenny? frank was gonna come through, gonna get him the original arrest record, and then they'd be free and clear to tell senator bridges and welker to fuck off and shove their attempted blackmail up their asses without proof. is it his fault senator smith had to resort to this? his own voice sounds small, hand gripping at tim's wrist for something to latch onto as emotion threatens to overwhelm his normal stoicism.]
I couldn't stop it. He wouldn't, not unless he had no other choice.
I must have...failed him. Christ.
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It doesn't take long. The look on Hawk's face, a rare moment of vulnerability, shatters him so that his own lip wobbles in response, before he tucks it into his mouth, sniffing and shaking his head. ]
Hawk, no. [ Squeezing his hand, stroking his hair back with the other. It's tender, but firm. Assured. ] He made his choice on his own. It had nothing to do with you. He was gonna let you marry his only daughter, he loved you. This isn't your fault.
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where'd it leave lucy? lenny? what about - the senate? there's so many questions, and he can't articulate a single goddamn one right now. tim's hand is sweet, voice fond even though he doesn't feel like he deserves one bit of it.]
What if it's...because I was here?
[the thought strikes him suddenly, as he lifts a hand to subtly try and brush over his eyes and swallow thickly through the lump in his throat.]
When did you see me last? What about - after?
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[ He knows Hawk won’t want to, that he won’t want him to see the same vulnerability that he can hear in his voice, that he can feel in the tremble of his chin against his shoulder. Tim will allow him the dignity of not pointing it out, but he separates enough to look him in the eye, because Hawk needs to see him, sobered up and sure. The conflicting, confusing feelings, the heartache and the yearning, it’s all gone right now, irrelevant in the face of Hawk’s grief. In this moment, it’s all that matters, and Tim knows what he’s saying is true. ]
I saw you just a few hours before I woke up here, remember? I told you, we were saying goodbye before I left for Fort Dix. This was after he died, after the funeral. You were back home the whole time, it had nothing to do with this place.
[ Tim holds his head with both hands, keeping Hawk focused on him, praying that he can offer some comfort to him, no matter how small. ]
I understand the impulse to blame yourself, I do. [ Not for something this profoundly terrible, but he’s spent a lifetime catastrophizing about sending himself straight to Hell for other things, big and small and ugly and beautiful, the man in front of him perhaps chief among them. If he damns himself over Hawk, that’ll still be his choice to do so, not Hawk’s. ] So you can trust me. I know what I’m talking about. It was not your fault. You understand me?
[ Raising himself on his knees just a little, Tim presses a kiss to his forehead and starts fluffing up pillows, similar fussy nesting habits as when he was taking care of Hawk after the wolf attack. ]
I’m gonna tell Koby to give us some space, okay? [ Stay the night. ] Get comfortable.
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hawk exhales in a rush, eyes squeezing shut as tim pulls him in again. he can't help but clutch around him, breathing him in and letting some of the wetness gathering in the corners slip free in the safety of his lover's arms, in this space where it feels sometimes like no one can hurt them in their freedom to just be. there's a nuzzle against his shoulder, hawk nodding weakly in agreement to all of it. he understands it wasn't his fault. he can trust tim, always, implicitly. and maybe it's the crux of their issue now, but it's not because of a lack of it rather than his own stubbornness trying to protect him from getting dragged into this mess.
there's a soft sniff, hawk trying to clear the congestion in his nose and throat from the well of emotion as he feels soft lips against his temple, eyes opening with a watery smile.]
You're sure?
[you'd do that for me, despite everything? that's what he can't bring himself to ask, because he already knows the answer. his fingers slip to tim's wrist, thumb running lightly across his pulsepoint with an affection reflected in his gaze as he shuffles back up and onto the bed. there's only a moment more of hesitation, teeth biting down on his front lip before he asks in a raw voice:]
...Did he leave anything behind? A letter, instructions, explanation?
There were things - we were working on. I was taking care of.
[hawk lets himself lay back, shifting to the side to leave room for tim to crawl in implicitly the way they used to weeks before.]
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I'm sure.
[ Tim brings Hawk's hand to his mouth to press a tiny kiss onto a fingertip, and then he stands. He'll crawl in beside him soon, after flitting around for a moment to make sure Hawk is as comfortable as possible without leaving his side for more than a moment. A sweater from Tim's dresser, a trip to the bathroom to fill him a glass of water. Doting, worrying, bittersweet fondness in his eyes as he sits at the foot of the bed, untying Hawk's shoes for him and setting them down carefully by the footboard. ]
...I'm sorry, I don't know. That kind of information wasn't made public, and you and I weren't speaking. There must have been at least a letter, nobody ever suspected anyone but Smith himself.
[ Shoes off, good enough. Now he settles in beside him, one arm under his head and the other curled around Hawk's middle. ]
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but the thought of losing him the way he's lost senator smith is equally terrifying, enough for his eyes to flutter open again and fingers to flex against his sides.]
It's alright. What you told me - it's enough. I can guess.
[he should leave it at that, keep himself awake as long as possible so he can prolong this stolen moment of bliss. but - ]
Thank you, Skippy.
[not just for the details, the reassurance. but for the physical too: inviting him in, letting him be here. holding him, keeping him safe and placated and putting aside the hurt even if he doesn't deserve it. his voice lowers into a pained murmur, almost a whisper as his lips drag absently against the seam between his pectorals.]
I - miss you somethin' terrible. Every day. I'm sorry.
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He sighs, stroking the back of Hawk's head, pressing his nose to the crown and breathing him in. Cigarette smoke, the soft musk of the end of the day. It makes his eyes feel heavy, a Pavlovian response telling him to settle, to curl up and sleep in the safety of Hawk's arms. Tomorrow, he'll tell himself it's the wine he drank before texting him. It'll be a lie. ]
...I miss you too. And I think you know that.
[ Tim doesn't know how he can make it any clearer what he needs from him, and he keeps insisting that he can't give it. Are they not at an impasse, then? Hawk says that he's sorry, but nothing changes. It's not the time to call him out on it. ]
We don't have to talk about that right now. I'll be here all night. Get some sleep, okay?