[ hawk has shared too much with embry and yet nothing at all. his body, sure. embry gets drunk and hawk gets mean and it works for them, because embry wants to be punished, and hawk seems to want something just as bad, even if embry hasn't been able to define it. but embry has years of history with ash, years of love and heartbreak and running and wishing, so it hadn't taken him long to put a few jagged puzzle pieces together.
he's not going to take it out on tim. he's not even going to air out his suspicions any further. it seems unbalanced anyway, when tim's actually nice, and hawk's actually a fucking absent asshole. ]
It was no big deal. It was hardly a crusade. [ he shrugs it off, just as bad of a decision because it pulls at his ribs. they both should just stop moving. ] It was like being back in the army. Piece of cake.
[ tim drinks, and that's satisfying. tim's funny when he drinks, and embry has never minded babysitting him to make sure he doesn't end up flat on his ass, because tim makes a much better dance partner than dead weight in the backseat. he takes back the flask for his own swig as he listens to tim read, and — yeah. no fucking discretion at all.
but it's sweet, in a way, the way tim wears his heart on his sleeve. he can see why hawk likes him. he can definitely see why ash gravitates toward him, because tim is leaps and bounds sweeter than embry, and probably takes orders way better too, and overall just deserves ash's love on a much grander scale than he does. ]
I can't believe you're pitting Sappho fragments against each other. [ he caps his flask with a laugh, ignoring the pang in his chest. ] There's something real fucked up and decidedly unfeminist about that.
[ is there a need for discretion with a man like embry? maybe. the landscape of american politics is a slippery slope, booby-trapped for even the most careful of travelers. it's not any different simply because they work in the same office. he'd be naive to think so.
but he knows a little himself - to know the poem coupled with the gin-tailored silence shows a card or two close to embry's chest. or maybe it is only that tim knows ash so well that he has also started knowing embry, in a way. ]
It's a big deal to me. I know the rest of you are better built for it all, but I served for two years. I'm not a decorated war hero by any means, but I know that it wasn't all cake and tea parties. Maybe you should accept that I'm allowed to be grateful for you. Well, and for the gin.
[ all seriousness, but topped with a biting little joke at the end. he knows better than to be all business with a man like embry moore. he looks back to the sappho again, flipping a few more wavy pages, stopping on a piece titled: to an army wife, in Sardis.
he hears the cap on the flask, and he shouldn't even consider drinking another, but he holds his hand out, jaw tipped in something defiant and stubborn - the sweetfaced angel that is tim laughlin has wings made to be razor sharp when needed. a silent demand of you take a second, and not offer me the same? ]
I'm not sending Sappho to war with herself here. If anyone is real fucked up and decidedly unfeminist about Sappho's work, it's you. You read this in the shower, Em. It even smells like your body wash. That stupid, expensive stuff. It's soap.
[ tim, a collector of details. it makes him very good at his job. anyone else hearing this might question their relationship, considering it's a shower he's talking about. but oversleeping after a drunken night out, cleaning up in your friend's shower using their stuff, and running into the office with said friend's tie does need a lot of data entry.
tim snorts a little. the gin's beginning to creep beneath his skin, warming him. ]
You're in politics now, Embry. You really have to look at the big picture before you point fingers.
You've conveyed your gratitude. You can buy me a shot the next time we go out, once you're all better.
[ he glances down at the page, reading it upside down. there are old pencil marks, underlines and scribbles in the margins, and there's no telling which ones were there when he bought the book and which ones embry himself might have added. he's not sharing, either. ash was his finest sight, and now he has to watch him move on without him. it's what he wanted. it's what he chose. he forced ash's hand, after all, so he doesn't even deserve to be bitter about it. he still is, though.
his brow ticks up, handing over the flask. ] It's not like it matters if you get drunk, right? You're already in bed. Impeccable logic, if I say so myself.
[ early afternoon drinking makes for the best naps, after all. he would know. ]
I'm very pro-feminism, Mr. Laughlin. I've had plenty of women in my shower.
[ he's had tim in his shower too, though it was completely innocent and he'd been half-asleep in bed listening to the water run while tim was in his bathroom. embry has always liked having company. solitude doesn't suit him, even though he's spent years trying to force it upon himself. ]
Giving me lessons now? You sound like my mother. She's terrifying.
It does matter if I get drunk - but I won't rat you out. I'll tell them it was Hawk. He deserves it.
[ he shouldn't drink, considering he's still in hospital, and still injured, but it relaxes his mouth, too. oh well, one more sip won't hurt, no matter how dangerous that thought is. but sleeping soundly is something he hasn't come by in the near week of being here - and while he shouldn't chase away the demons with this? well. there's a time and a place. he takes a brief drink from the flask, caps it, and hands it back on a wince. ]
But that is awful. God. [ he coughs a little, unashamedly wiping at his mouth when he's passed the flask over. he lets himself fall back against the raised bed, head sinking into the pillow. he huffs a little laugh. ] Both that gin, and that you think women in your shower means you're a feminist.
[ he closes the sappho, smoothing the warped cover between his palms before he uses it to playfully swat at embry's arm, then extending it to him as a peace offering. ]
I'd like to get you to put that I'm terrifying in writing, though. That's a good one. But no promises on teaching you any lessons, mister Vice President. Only one I'll give you is that instead of sitting in your apartment with this bad gin by yourself, you can always call me. Or come here. I'm in this place another week for "security purposes" so trust me, I'll be desperate for any kind of company.
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no subject
he's not going to take it out on tim. he's not even going to air out his suspicions any further. it seems unbalanced anyway, when tim's actually nice, and hawk's actually a fucking absent asshole. ]
It was no big deal. It was hardly a crusade. [ he shrugs it off, just as bad of a decision because it pulls at his ribs. they both should just stop moving. ] It was like being back in the army. Piece of cake.
[ tim drinks, and that's satisfying. tim's funny when he drinks, and embry has never minded babysitting him to make sure he doesn't end up flat on his ass, because tim makes a much better dance partner than dead weight in the backseat. he takes back the flask for his own swig as he listens to tim read, and — yeah. no fucking discretion at all.
but it's sweet, in a way, the way tim wears his heart on his sleeve. he can see why hawk likes him. he can definitely see why ash gravitates toward him, because tim is leaps and bounds sweeter than embry, and probably takes orders way better too, and overall just deserves ash's love on a much grander scale than he does. ]
I can't believe you're pitting Sappho fragments against each other. [ he caps his flask with a laugh, ignoring the pang in his chest. ] There's something real fucked up and decidedly unfeminist about that.
no subject
but he knows a little himself - to know the poem coupled with the gin-tailored silence shows a card or two close to embry's chest. or maybe it is only that tim knows ash so well that he has also started knowing embry, in a way. ]
It's a big deal to me. I know the rest of you are better built for it all, but I served for two years. I'm not a decorated war hero by any means, but I know that it wasn't all cake and tea parties. Maybe you should accept that I'm allowed to be grateful for you. Well, and for the gin.
[ all seriousness, but topped with a biting little joke at the end. he knows better than to be all business with a man like embry moore. he looks back to the sappho again, flipping a few more wavy pages, stopping on a piece titled: to an army wife, in Sardis.
he hears the cap on the flask, and he shouldn't even consider drinking another, but he holds his hand out, jaw tipped in something defiant and stubborn - the sweetfaced angel that is tim laughlin has wings made to be razor sharp when needed. a silent demand of you take a second, and not offer me the same? ]
I'm not sending Sappho to war with herself here. If anyone is real fucked up and decidedly unfeminist about Sappho's work, it's you. You read this in the shower, Em. It even smells like your body wash. That stupid, expensive stuff. It's soap.
[ tim, a collector of details. it makes him very good at his job. anyone else hearing this might question their relationship, considering it's a shower he's talking about. but oversleeping after a drunken night out, cleaning up in your friend's shower using their stuff, and running into the office with said friend's tie does need a lot of data entry.
tim snorts a little. the gin's beginning to creep beneath his skin, warming him. ]
You're in politics now, Embry. You really have to look at the big picture before you point fingers.
no subject
[ he glances down at the page, reading it upside down. there are old pencil marks, underlines and scribbles in the margins, and there's no telling which ones were there when he bought the book and which ones embry himself might have added. he's not sharing, either. ash was his finest sight, and now he has to watch him move on without him. it's what he wanted. it's what he chose. he forced ash's hand, after all, so he doesn't even deserve to be bitter about it. he still is, though.
his brow ticks up, handing over the flask. ] It's not like it matters if you get drunk, right? You're already in bed. Impeccable logic, if I say so myself.
[ early afternoon drinking makes for the best naps, after all. he would know. ]
I'm very pro-feminism, Mr. Laughlin. I've had plenty of women in my shower.
[ he's had tim in his shower too, though it was completely innocent and he'd been half-asleep in bed listening to the water run while tim was in his bathroom. embry has always liked having company. solitude doesn't suit him, even though he's spent years trying to force it upon himself. ]
Giving me lessons now? You sound like my mother. She's terrifying.
no subject
[ he shouldn't drink, considering he's still in hospital, and still injured, but it relaxes his mouth, too. oh well, one more sip won't hurt, no matter how dangerous that thought is. but sleeping soundly is something he hasn't come by in the near week of being here - and while he shouldn't chase away the demons with this? well. there's a time and a place. he takes a brief drink from the flask, caps it, and hands it back on a wince. ]
But that is awful. God. [ he coughs a little, unashamedly wiping at his mouth when he's passed the flask over. he lets himself fall back against the raised bed, head sinking into the pillow. he huffs a little laugh. ] Both that gin, and that you think women in your shower means you're a feminist.
[ he closes the sappho, smoothing the warped cover between his palms before he uses it to playfully swat at embry's arm, then extending it to him as a peace offering. ]
I'd like to get you to put that I'm terrifying in writing, though. That's a good one. But no promises on teaching you any lessons, mister Vice President. Only one I'll give you is that instead of sitting in your apartment with this bad gin by yourself, you can always call me. Or come here. I'm in this place another week for "security purposes" so trust me, I'll be desperate for any kind of company.