[ the tiniest little roots of hope begin to snake their way back round his heart, threatening to seep into the hole left by one hawkins fuller. it's better if he ignores it - if he swallows down anything from this moment and stores it away for safety where it can't be touched.
where it can't hurt him. ]
The Library of Congress might laugh me to the curb. But I'll think of something.
[ just for you, he might have echoed in another time, another life, really. it's been two years and still tim knows he is under this man's wicked spell. what would it be like to be loved and held and wanted and cherished again the way hawk had for him?
he'll never know.
but the fondness in hawk's voice, drowned out by the listless fatigue, starts the very beginning of the fissure in his chest. a splinter, waiting for pressure. damn him. ]
No promises. I guess you'll have to take a shot and see.
[ what does he look like now, stretched out in bed, exhausted and sleepy, eyes heavy and smile slow and lazy. a great love, of course. isn't that what ash had alluded to once? is that what hawk is to him? ]
Goodnight, Hawk. Get some rest. [ a small pause, and then, tentative: ] I'll see you tomorrow.
[ damn those little roots - the little taste of hope, to dare him to try and feel something real and true and painful all over again. ]
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where it can't hurt him. ]
The Library of Congress might laugh me to the curb. But I'll think of something.
[ just for you, he might have echoed in another time, another life, really. it's been two years and still tim knows he is under this man's wicked spell. what would it be like to be loved and held and wanted and cherished again the way hawk had for him?
he'll never know.
but the fondness in hawk's voice, drowned out by the listless fatigue, starts the very beginning of the fissure in his chest. a splinter, waiting for pressure. damn him. ]
No promises. I guess you'll have to take a shot and see.
[ what does he look like now, stretched out in bed, exhausted and sleepy, eyes heavy and smile slow and lazy. a great love, of course. isn't that what ash had alluded to once? is that what hawk is to him? ]
Goodnight, Hawk. Get some rest. [ a small pause, and then, tentative: ] I'll see you tomorrow.
[ damn those little roots - the little taste of hope, to dare him to try and feel something real and true and painful all over again. ]