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[it's strange to be back in this same spot some mere hours later, everything somehow the same and so drastically different all at once. alia being guilty - locked up and declared a killer doesn't even register to hawk, not when he's clinging to tim like a child with its teddy, glancing up every so often to run his fingers gently along the edge of the angry red welt on tim's neck, to soothe along the bruises and nicks from his struggle.

there's a part of him he'll never reveal is wracked with guilt, knowing tim will insist it wasn't his fault for somehow falling asleep and not realizing what was taking place. all he can do is be grateful he got there when he did, that they have a solid case against who he suspects is the prime suspect in this vicious attack. with any luck? the second accusation will land true too. halfway there.

for now he looks up through half-lidded eyes, tipping up to press a soft kiss against tim's lips chastely and nestling in against his chest.]

Can I get you anything, Skippy?

[there's a quiet pause where it seems like maybe he's drifted off, but on the contrary: he's wide awake. vulnerable. scared, and for once? he's not afraid to voice it.]

...Christ - don't even want to close my eyes, you know?

[holyposition]

[ Of course he doesn’t blame Hawk. Not for a thing. Tim would be dead without him, and he’s got a hunch that the doctors won’t be able to prevent any and all harm even towards those they choose to save, if the true goal of this game is to sow chaos. It's good, in terms of strategy, in terms of the game, that Tim was strangled and dragged through the grounds, so it could be tied in with Danny’s methods.

In terms of everything else? Tim’s in pain, stress needling him to the bone, sitting in group huddles and at dinner tables with his back against the wall, and jumping at noises behind him when he can’t. Sudden touches make him flinch. But Hawk’s been slow and gentle with him, exactly what he needs right now to settle down. He makes a soft sound against the kiss and lays his head back on the pillow – there’s an ache where it contours against the back of his neck, but he’s getting used to it. Tim’s fingers comb through Hawk’s hair idly as he hums, thinking. ]

Another ice pack, maybe.

[ But he’s in no hurry to let go of Hawk’s weight on him, holding him safely against the bed where he can’t be hurt. ]

I know. But we need rest, so we can think clearly. Can’t get sloppy now.

[ The stakes are higher than ever. Not that Tim’s one to talk, waking in the middle of the night unable to breathe. ]