[and he does - feels the weight of the knowledge that there might be a part of timothy david laughlin's heart that can't fully be repaired, that he's permanently damaged and scarred - never to be the same. once upon a time there were warnings hawk used to try and issue, sometimes buried in between those tender post-coital moments but no less sharp: you can't always be this soft. honesty isn't the best policy in washington. and selfishly, it was meant to absolve him of any responsibility at times: skippy had to know what kind of man hawkins fuller was to have risen the ranks the way he did? the capital of ulterior motives, he'd declared it - and it was his stomping ground of half a decade. that didn't mean he thought tim was so naive he couldn't manage his way at all, or that he'd be easily deceived when bold-faced wrong was looking him in the eye. but maybe there was a part of him that was always going to bruise and he should have known anything with his handprint on it would be the deepest.
it doesn't escape his notice when tim tenses at first, the spooked animal he'd assumed hawk would be playing the part of - and yeah, he deserves that when the last thing he'd done was wound him near irreparably. when the first thing he'd expected was for hawk to run again and plaster on the role of concerned aide and distant caregiver to a mere acquaintance. for god's sake, he wouldn't be shocked if the doctors needed to add whiplash to tim's laundry list of injuries at this rate.
but eventually he settles into hawk's grip, and something in him feels as if it's released all the tension he's been holding in his shoulders ever since he walked away - the thing tim always soothes in him whether it's by voice or smile or all the little ways he's still showed his patience and open door over these past years. and if tim said forever? one look at him - brown eyes wide and glassy and his impossibly sweet face even in its current battered state - hawk would be hopeless to say anything but yes. he leans down for another soft kiss to his forehead, feeling the way his body trembles before the new onslaught of tears overtakes him and has hawk feeling another twinge of heartache himself.
he's careful not to squeeze him too hard, not wanting to exacerbate any of his physical injuries. there's another soft murmur against his skin as he feels wetness accumulating, the flex of tim's fingers against his by now wrinkled, maybe even bloodied shirt. it's alright, let it all out. i'm here, honey. it does carry on, but it's the least he's owed - hawk holding him through every second of it, hand shifting to rub soothingly at his back and tuck his chin against the top of tim's head without any pressure. eventually he can feel it subside, tim's breathing evening out and his body's trembling slowing. his hand moves to cup his chin, turn it up ever so slightly so he can meet tim's gaze once more. there's more wetness in the corners of his eyes, lips pulled tightly like he's keeping it at bay.]
I know, Skippy.
[anyone would be exhausted with what he's been through - before and after tonight's ordeal.]
None of that is who you are - even if it's what I deserved.
[i love you still, tim says, like it's the easiest thing in the world. the words catch in his own throat, the closest he's ever come to feeling them to be true - but it's not the right time.]
But you - you deserve the world. Someone you can trust. Not to have to pretend or hide like me.
Right now I just want you to get better. We can figure the rest out later - however long it takes.
[he sucks in a breath, voice going soft as he gently strokes an errant piece of tim's hair back from his forehead. sometimes hawk doesn't need to say a goddamn word to express how ardent he is - at least, if this boy knows where to look for it.]
I'll be here, Skippy. You got me locked in for the whole ride.
[he blinks away his own tears, chuckling and trying to lighten the mood by teasing - to get tim to crack even a slight smile. something he used to be good at.]
[ he'll question how weak he is later for letting hawkins fuller climb into his bed and wrap himself around him. how he cried against his shoulder, the way he fell apart in the arms of a familiar embrace. he hadn't crumbled when he'd been taken from the party - he hadn't crumbled much beyond the scared tremble of his voice or the burn of tears after a sharp kick to his gut by melwas' men.
but now, he's nothing but soft and damaged and bruised.
hawk's arms around him, the chin atop his head, feels like homecoming still, even if he doesn't want it to. it's the comfort and safety he's needed, and finally he lets his body lean into hawk's, one arm reaching to drape around hawk's side and hold, so his own body can pull closer. he's warm, he's familiar, and he remembers the way hawk's arms had felt around him, the whispering in his ear as he was carried out of the hellhole he'd been in.
i've got you. i'm here ]
I know, Hawk.
[ because even if the man pretended, acted like they were no less than strangers? well. hawk is still here at his side, pulled him out of all of it, and seems willing to stay.
maybe it's just temporary. tim knows it likely is. so he doesn't hang his hope on those hooks - not yet. (well, maybe a little. a tiny thread). he huffs a little at hawk's joke, lips pulling into something tired and worn. his fingers flex against hawk's side, eyes fluttering shut when he feels the soft hand at his forehead.
it's unfair that he knows hawkins fuller well enough even now to know what even the smallest gestures mean. he sees the glisten in the man's eyes from this angle and he sighs softly, cheek against the strong curve of hawk's bicep. ]
Mm. I couldn't run away right now if I tried. Lucky for you.
[ the hand leaves his side and his fingers brush against one corner of hawk's eye, thumb gentle in the way it collects the little droplet, the way it traces his cheek bone, cheek, then falls back to his side. ]
Can you pull the blankets up? [ he doesn't acknowledge the tear out loud - he knows better. he doesn't even acknowledge that hawk is promising to stay through everything, but his voice has a familiar little whine to it. the blanket - a peace offering, acceptance in the form of comfort. ]
[that he got there in time, for starters. it's bad enough it wasn't sooner, and even if he'd like to blame ash and railed at him enough to nearly tear him a new asshole - he knows they all moved as fast as they possibly could with as little red tape as possible. he can't let himself spiral out, and he's absolutely not going to leave tim playing the game of what if when his psyche will plague him with that later. there's an absent thought he files away: to find out who the best resident therapist is here in the med wing with some discretion during downtime tomorrow. tim's going to need it, and if anyone is well adjusted enough to actually respond well and believe in the merits of therapy, tim would be the only one out of the remaining three of their collectively sorry asses.
but now? now there's nothing that could get him to move from the heaven that is tim laughlin in his arms - even bruised and battered as he is. it's selfish to wish this won't be the last of it, to think about all the ways he can ensure they get to keep doing this in the future when there isn't the beep of machines and tim wearing a heart monitor and and bandaged up and tender all over from abuse suffered at the hands of brutes.
the relief that floods through him is a raw rush that's enough to finally make him realize the adrenaline that's been keeping the edge off this whole time has absolutely worn down and he's finally feeling the toll of physical exhaustion, even if his mind is too wired to think about sleep. he'll surely be awake for hours monitoring tim's condition, ensuring he gets enough sleep and there's no lingering physical effects, most especially from the concussion. he's distracted enough that tim's thumb brushing against his eye makes his lashes flutter shut briefly, depositing the rest against his soft fingertip with a gentle pull of his lips. leave it to his boy - always so goddamn sweet for his own good.
hawk can't help himself - he grabs it before tim can set it back down at his side, kissing over his knuckles lightly before letting it go again. just in time to hear that tone - music to his ears, really. it reminds him of so many nights spent together, tim eventually comfortable enough to take some of the power he didn't even realize he wielded over hawk's smitten heart. bratty tim - now that was really a sight to behold. fuck, he's missed this. missed him, and he complies near instantly, careful not to jostle where tim is nestled in his arms too much. instead he reaches down with the hand closest, drawing the cover up and over tim's shoulders first before situating it for himself too.]
'Course.
There - that better?
[his hand drops to tim's back, rubbing absent circles the way he used to without even realizing he's fallen into an old, familiar habit himself.]
[ the small brush of lips to his hand makes the corner of his mouth pull up in a smile. it's not much, but the gesture makes him believe for just a minute that things could go back to how they were. that they could somehow mend whatever it is that has broken between them.
maybe.
but hawk pulls the covers up and even with how careful he is, it doesn't change the fact that his head aches, his body hurts at every turn. nothing has felt worse than this in all his life, not even boot camp, and yet here he is, in the arms of his former lover, trying desperately to feel comfort and peace knowing that he is safe now.
he's not sure he'll feel safe again, truly, for a very, very long time.
the blanket comes up over his shoulder and he finds himself gravitating to the warmth of hawk, pressing closer to his chest and sighing, his voice coming out in a low grumble the very moment that hawk checks in. it'd be almost sultry if he felt better, but the crying, the fear, the injuries - all of it makes it hard to feel anything other than complete exhaustion. ]
Much better.
[ another little wiggle and tim's face has all but pushed in against hawk's shoulder, the crook of his neck. he curls and tucks himself close, unashamed for his need to feel coddled and held, warm and protected. if hawk pays any attention, he can feel the way he jumps a little when a sound echoes loud from outside - something dropped in the hallway, maybe. the hand on his back does wonders to soothe him back into calm, though, and finally, tim's shoulders sag and relax, his eyes flutter closed. ]
Stay. Until I wake up at least.
[ it's a question, even if it sounds as much a statement. there's hesitancy in the way he whispers it, sleepy and wary, afraid and sad. what would their life have looked like if hawk hadn't told him to leave two years ago?
[they can - god, hawk hopes they will after this. if there's one thing he'd grasped more than anything after picking up tim's broken figure from that hellhole and carrying him to safety it was that he never wanted to let him go again. frankly, he'd deserve it if tim said no - but he's prepared to spend a lifetime trying anyway to get back what he'd stupidly tossed away almost three years ago.
tim doesn't know how many nights he spent alone, staring at the ceiling and reminiscing on the times when his boy was nuzzled into his side just like this. remembering the warmth of his soft breath against the juncture of his neck and shoulder, the way tim's fingers would flex in his sleep cat-like on hawk's bare shoulders. sleepy morning mumbles before hawk brought him his morning tea or coffee, eyes still closed even as he nosed in for expectant kisses. god, it makes his chest ache just thinking about it now - wondering if he'll ever have the exquisite privilege of those things again. but even if he doesn't, the way tim clings to him is more than enough for now - dire circumstances aside. his body has always fit like it belonged there, curled up smaller somehow even if the rational part of his brain knows that tim is the same height as he is.
if it weren't for the adrenaline crash maybe he'd be able to stay up and just watch him for a bit - categorize all the wounds, pester the nurses tomorrow about the ones most likely to scar. but instead he knows it won't be long after tim finally dozes off that he'll be following, and that stings too because it means he doesn't get to savor the opportunity with his eyes closed and mind drifting into dreams instead of basking in every minute they're pressed together like lovers.
but the skittishness, the nerves - the way tim gets startled at the echo of someone dropping a clipboard louder than any of the mechanical beeping and background noise must sound closer to a gunshot than mere clumsiness. his hold tightens instinctively, though he manages to bite back his own tongue from doing something stupid like murmuring out a soft shhh in case he takes it dismissively when it's anything but. thank god it doesn't seem to stick, and when tim nestles in and his body sags once more, hawk finally lets his own eyes slip closed as he presses another soft kiss against his temple.]
I'm not going anywhere, Skippy. Don't you worry.
[another kiss, because he can't get enough of it, and it ends with hawk nuzzling them against his forehead and up into his hair with a soft inhale. his own voice is a hazy rumble, trying to keep his own lightness so it lifts and assures all at once. frankly, because he can't bear hearing tim even remotely close to the way it had been heartbroken so long ago.]
I'll be here in the morning. All day tomorrow. When you get out of the hospital. Back at your place - if you don't kick me out, anyway.
[there's a pause, hawk swallowing against something thick in his throat and realizing his eyes are wet again even as they're squeezed shut tighter.]
[ it's a weak argument, really, and the way he lacks any real conviction in his tone alone proves that tim laughlin is making some sad attempt at a joke. but they both have work to do, don't they? on so many, many levels. so tim nestles in, soaking up the warmth of hawk, even though every squeeze, every breath, every moment, sends pain in waves rippling through him. he'd rather be here and in pain than anywhere else, even if the thought makes him question his own sanity.
after everything hawk could do to him...
but here they are. tim wrapped up in the man, the whirring of machines, the sounds outside - the whole world feels different to him now with hawk in his bed than it had moments before, when he'd woken up disoriented and sick. hawk says he'll be there when he wakes, tomorrow, and all the times after. it sounds like a fairy tale, a promise made by someone who can't keep it. he knows hawk far, far too well for that.
life will call, they'll get busy, and they will easily re-enter the world of cold shoulders and distance. it's only a matter of time.
tim closes his eyes when he hears the watery tone of the other man's voice, deciding this time to allow him the moment in private. tim's arm loops around hawk's middle though as he settles in, palm pressing flat against the low of his back like he always used to when they slept. they fit together like this, perfectly imperfect, with their jagged edges and old wounds. ]
Hawkins Fuller, you do nothing in half measures.
[ he sounds sleepy, words starting to slur a little as he nuzzles in, nose tipping faintly against his jaw. ]
And again - I couldn't kick you out if I tried. [ it's an admission - not just about this bed, this hospital. his apartment. ] I've tried over and over again. I haven't figured it out yet, so you're in luck.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[and he does - feels the weight of the knowledge that there might be a part of timothy david laughlin's heart that can't fully be repaired, that he's permanently damaged and scarred - never to be the same. once upon a time there were warnings hawk used to try and issue, sometimes buried in between those tender post-coital moments but no less sharp: you can't always be this soft. honesty isn't the best policy in washington. and selfishly, it was meant to absolve him of any responsibility at times: skippy had to know what kind of man hawkins fuller was to have risen the ranks the way he did? the capital of ulterior motives, he'd declared it - and it was his stomping ground of half a decade. that didn't mean he thought tim was so naive he couldn't manage his way at all, or that he'd be easily deceived when bold-faced wrong was looking him in the eye. but maybe there was a part of him that was always going to bruise and he should have known anything with his handprint on it would be the deepest.
it doesn't escape his notice when tim tenses at first, the spooked animal he'd assumed hawk would be playing the part of - and yeah, he deserves that when the last thing he'd done was wound him near irreparably. when the first thing he'd expected was for hawk to run again and plaster on the role of concerned aide and distant caregiver to a mere acquaintance. for god's sake, he wouldn't be shocked if the doctors needed to add whiplash to tim's laundry list of injuries at this rate.
but eventually he settles into hawk's grip, and something in him feels as if it's released all the tension he's been holding in his shoulders ever since he walked away - the thing tim always soothes in him whether it's by voice or smile or all the little ways he's still showed his patience and open door over these past years. and if tim said forever? one look at him - brown eyes wide and glassy and his impossibly sweet face even in its current battered state - hawk would be hopeless to say anything but yes. he leans down for another soft kiss to his forehead, feeling the way his body trembles before the new onslaught of tears overtakes him and has hawk feeling another twinge of heartache himself.
he's careful not to squeeze him too hard, not wanting to exacerbate any of his physical injuries. there's another soft murmur against his skin as he feels wetness accumulating, the flex of tim's fingers against his by now wrinkled, maybe even bloodied shirt. it's alright, let it all out. i'm here, honey. it does carry on, but it's the least he's owed - hawk holding him through every second of it, hand shifting to rub soothingly at his back and tuck his chin against the top of tim's head without any pressure. eventually he can feel it subside, tim's breathing evening out and his body's trembling slowing. his hand moves to cup his chin, turn it up ever so slightly so he can meet tim's gaze once more. there's more wetness in the corners of his eyes, lips pulled tightly like he's keeping it at bay.]
I know, Skippy.
[anyone would be exhausted with what he's been through - before and after tonight's ordeal.]
None of that is who you are - even if it's what I deserved.
[i love you still, tim says, like it's the easiest thing in the world. the words catch in his own throat, the closest he's ever come to feeling them to be true - but it's not the right time.]
But you - you deserve the world. Someone you can trust. Not to have to pretend or hide like me.
Right now I just want you to get better. We can figure the rest out later - however long it takes.
[he sucks in a breath, voice going soft as he gently strokes an errant piece of tim's hair back from his forehead. sometimes hawk doesn't need to say a goddamn word to express how ardent he is - at least, if this boy knows where to look for it.]
I'll be here, Skippy. You got me locked in for the whole ride.
[he blinks away his own tears, chuckling and trying to lighten the mood by teasing - to get tim to crack even a slight smile. something he used to be good at.]
Last chance to get out while you can.
no subject
but now, he's nothing but soft and damaged and bruised.
hawk's arms around him, the chin atop his head, feels like homecoming still, even if he doesn't want it to. it's the comfort and safety he's needed, and finally he lets his body lean into hawk's, one arm reaching to drape around hawk's side and hold, so his own body can pull closer. he's warm, he's familiar, and he remembers the way hawk's arms had felt around him, the whispering in his ear as he was carried out of the hellhole he'd been in.
i've got you. i'm here ]
I know, Hawk.
[ because even if the man pretended, acted like they were no less than strangers? well. hawk is still here at his side, pulled him out of all of it, and seems willing to stay.
maybe it's just temporary. tim knows it likely is. so he doesn't hang his hope on those hooks - not yet. (well, maybe a little. a tiny thread). he huffs a little at hawk's joke, lips pulling into something tired and worn. his fingers flex against hawk's side, eyes fluttering shut when he feels the soft hand at his forehead.
it's unfair that he knows hawkins fuller well enough even now to know what even the smallest gestures mean. he sees the glisten in the man's eyes from this angle and he sighs softly, cheek against the strong curve of hawk's bicep. ]
Mm. I couldn't run away right now if I tried. Lucky for you.
[ the hand leaves his side and his fingers brush against one corner of hawk's eye, thumb gentle in the way it collects the little droplet, the way it traces his cheek bone, cheek, then falls back to his side. ]
Can you pull the blankets up? [ he doesn't acknowledge the tear out loud - he knows better. he doesn't even acknowledge that hawk is promising to stay through everything, but his voice has a familiar little whine to it. the blanket - a peace offering, acceptance in the form of comfort. ]
Around both of us.
no subject
[that he got there in time, for starters. it's bad enough it wasn't sooner, and even if he'd like to blame ash and railed at him enough to nearly tear him a new asshole - he knows they all moved as fast as they possibly could with as little red tape as possible. he can't let himself spiral out, and he's absolutely not going to leave tim playing the game of what if when his psyche will plague him with that later. there's an absent thought he files away: to find out who the best resident therapist is here in the med wing with some discretion during downtime tomorrow. tim's going to need it, and if anyone is well adjusted enough to actually respond well and believe in the merits of therapy, tim would be the only one out of the remaining three of their collectively sorry asses.
but now? now there's nothing that could get him to move from the heaven that is tim laughlin in his arms - even bruised and battered as he is. it's selfish to wish this won't be the last of it, to think about all the ways he can ensure they get to keep doing this in the future when there isn't the beep of machines and tim wearing a heart monitor and and bandaged up and tender all over from abuse suffered at the hands of brutes.
the relief that floods through him is a raw rush that's enough to finally make him realize the adrenaline that's been keeping the edge off this whole time has absolutely worn down and he's finally feeling the toll of physical exhaustion, even if his mind is too wired to think about sleep. he'll surely be awake for hours monitoring tim's condition, ensuring he gets enough sleep and there's no lingering physical effects, most especially from the concussion. he's distracted enough that tim's thumb brushing against his eye makes his lashes flutter shut briefly, depositing the rest against his soft fingertip with a gentle pull of his lips. leave it to his boy - always so goddamn sweet for his own good.
hawk can't help himself - he grabs it before tim can set it back down at his side, kissing over his knuckles lightly before letting it go again. just in time to hear that tone - music to his ears, really. it reminds him of so many nights spent together, tim eventually comfortable enough to take some of the power he didn't even realize he wielded over hawk's smitten heart. bratty tim - now that was really a sight to behold. fuck, he's missed this. missed him, and he complies near instantly, careful not to jostle where tim is nestled in his arms too much. instead he reaches down with the hand closest, drawing the cover up and over tim's shoulders first before situating it for himself too.]
'Course.
There - that better?
[his hand drops to tim's back, rubbing absent circles the way he used to without even realizing he's fallen into an old, familiar habit himself.]
no subject
maybe.
but hawk pulls the covers up and even with how careful he is, it doesn't change the fact that his head aches, his body hurts at every turn. nothing has felt worse than this in all his life, not even boot camp, and yet here he is, in the arms of his former lover, trying desperately to feel comfort and peace knowing that he is safe now.
he's not sure he'll feel safe again, truly, for a very, very long time.
the blanket comes up over his shoulder and he finds himself gravitating to the warmth of hawk, pressing closer to his chest and sighing, his voice coming out in a low grumble the very moment that hawk checks in. it'd be almost sultry if he felt better, but the crying, the fear, the injuries - all of it makes it hard to feel anything other than complete exhaustion. ]
Much better.
[ another little wiggle and tim's face has all but pushed in against hawk's shoulder, the crook of his neck. he curls and tucks himself close, unashamed for his need to feel coddled and held, warm and protected. if hawk pays any attention, he can feel the way he jumps a little when a sound echoes loud from outside - something dropped in the hallway, maybe. the hand on his back does wonders to soothe him back into calm, though, and finally, tim's shoulders sag and relax, his eyes flutter closed. ]
Stay. Until I wake up at least.
[ it's a question, even if it sounds as much a statement. there's hesitancy in the way he whispers it, sleepy and wary, afraid and sad. what would their life have looked like if hawk hadn't told him to leave two years ago?
would it still be this? ]
no subject
tim doesn't know how many nights he spent alone, staring at the ceiling and reminiscing on the times when his boy was nuzzled into his side just like this. remembering the warmth of his soft breath against the juncture of his neck and shoulder, the way tim's fingers would flex in his sleep cat-like on hawk's bare shoulders. sleepy morning mumbles before hawk brought him his morning tea or coffee, eyes still closed even as he nosed in for expectant kisses. god, it makes his chest ache just thinking about it now - wondering if he'll ever have the exquisite privilege of those things again. but even if he doesn't, the way tim clings to him is more than enough for now - dire circumstances aside. his body has always fit like it belonged there, curled up smaller somehow even if the rational part of his brain knows that tim is the same height as he is.
if it weren't for the adrenaline crash maybe he'd be able to stay up and just watch him for a bit - categorize all the wounds, pester the nurses tomorrow about the ones most likely to scar. but instead he knows it won't be long after tim finally dozes off that he'll be following, and that stings too because it means he doesn't get to savor the opportunity with his eyes closed and mind drifting into dreams instead of basking in every minute they're pressed together like lovers.
but the skittishness, the nerves - the way tim gets startled at the echo of someone dropping a clipboard louder than any of the mechanical beeping and background noise must sound closer to a gunshot than mere clumsiness. his hold tightens instinctively, though he manages to bite back his own tongue from doing something stupid like murmuring out a soft shhh in case he takes it dismissively when it's anything but. thank god it doesn't seem to stick, and when tim nestles in and his body sags once more, hawk finally lets his own eyes slip closed as he presses another soft kiss against his temple.]
I'm not going anywhere, Skippy. Don't you worry.
[another kiss, because he can't get enough of it, and it ends with hawk nuzzling them against his forehead and up into his hair with a soft inhale. his own voice is a hazy rumble, trying to keep his own lightness so it lifts and assures all at once. frankly, because he can't bear hearing tim even remotely close to the way it had been heartbroken so long ago.]
I'll be here in the morning. All day tomorrow. When you get out of the hospital. Back at your place - if you don't kick me out, anyway.
[there's a pause, hawk swallowing against something thick in his throat and realizing his eyes are wet again even as they're squeezed shut tighter.]
I told you. I'm in this for the long haul.
no subject
[ it's a weak argument, really, and the way he lacks any real conviction in his tone alone proves that tim laughlin is making some sad attempt at a joke. but they both have work to do, don't they? on so many, many levels. so tim nestles in, soaking up the warmth of hawk, even though every squeeze, every breath, every moment, sends pain in waves rippling through him. he'd rather be here and in pain than anywhere else, even if the thought makes him question his own sanity.
after everything hawk could do to him...
but here they are. tim wrapped up in the man, the whirring of machines, the sounds outside - the whole world feels different to him now with hawk in his bed than it had moments before, when he'd woken up disoriented and sick. hawk says he'll be there when he wakes, tomorrow, and all the times after. it sounds like a fairy tale, a promise made by someone who can't keep it. he knows hawk far, far too well for that.
life will call, they'll get busy, and they will easily re-enter the world of cold shoulders and distance. it's only a matter of time.
tim closes his eyes when he hears the watery tone of the other man's voice, deciding this time to allow him the moment in private. tim's arm loops around hawk's middle though as he settles in, palm pressing flat against the low of his back like he always used to when they slept. they fit together like this, perfectly imperfect, with their jagged edges and old wounds. ]
Hawkins Fuller, you do nothing in half measures.
[ he sounds sleepy, words starting to slur a little as he nuzzles in, nose tipping faintly against his jaw. ]
And again - I couldn't kick you out if I tried. [ it's an admission - not just about this bed, this hospital. his apartment. ] I've tried over and over again. I haven't figured it out yet, so you're in luck.