[ there's little time for any rebuttal when hawk scoops him up, cradles him against his chest and carries him. it reminds him of warmer, happier times - when hawk would laugh against his neck and tim would be bright-eyed and pink-cheeked as he laughed and laughed and laughed at being picked up so delicately.
it's no different here, except that tim is tired and strung out, and wants to dive back into the conversation from a moment before - it feels like i just stood still. he wants to tell hawk that he's learning even now about a differing side of him. this soft, kind, sweet man, who still has some of the bite and sass he remembers, but who seems to hold back his anger, frustration. it's turned into patience that carried with it a hint of sorrow.
but lifted into the man's arms, tim laugh all the same, quiet and surprised even as he wraps his arms around the man's neck, forwhead resting against his jaw like he might have once upon a time. he's almost sad to be placed in bed and tim sits up, carefully gathering and smoothing the blankets himself. ]
I'm afraid I don't have any money for a tip. Next time.
[ he smiles a little, though even his expression grows a little heavy and tired now that he's back against the soft, plush mattress. there's no denying the soft pinch at his brows when hawk goes for a chair to pull up. of course he would - they're not together, there are no expectations, and yet it feels irrevocably sad that he would be in this bed after calling this man so late, and hawk would be there, across from him.
he considers the chair - it is thrifted, from a queer furniture consignment shop just in the heart of downtown. hawk would never have gone with him then to get it. he sighs a little - hawk keeping vigil at his bedside feels too much like the hospital all over again and its with a blink of big, brown eyes that he reaches out his hand and rests it over hawk's atop the chair. he means to only squeeze it and yet the longer he touches him, the more he realizes he's already yearning for his nearness again.
again, damn him.
he presses, slides his fingers between the man's and gives a soft tug. ]
I'm cold. [ and maybe that will be the first lie he tells, his lips pulling to one side a little bit, a one-shouldered shrug rising up and making him look almost smaller than the hard lines of his muscle like to discount. ]
Stay? I mean. With me here. In bed. [ he shrugs a little. he should send him away. shuld turn his back and tell him to go, all over and over and over again. he can't. ]
If you want. I - [ he sighs a little, hand pulling at hawk's hand to hold it a little better. ] I want you close. Please.
Nah, don't you worry your pretty head. This one's on me.
[the soft tickle of tim's laugh pressed against his neck is more than enough of a reward anyway, something he can feel lingering on his skin like the faintest whisper of progress between them instead of the haunting of memories past. tim called him tonight. not a therapist, not secret service, and not ash. hawkins fuller - still allowed past the threshold and now into the sanctuary of his cozy bedroom.
but he refuses to assume anything as he watches tim nestle into the pillows, pulling up the covers as his eyelids start to look a little droopy and no doubt the exhaustion settles in. there are dark circles hawk hadn't noticed before, too distracted by his beauty for starters, but definitely the anxiety that seemed to be roiling off his shoulders. absently it makes him reach out, brushing a hand against tim's forehead and through the still slightly damp hair to get it off his skin and curving against the rest of the chestnut locks. hawk's expression is fond, and it takes everything in him not to bend down and press a soft kiss to his temple, or lift his hand and brush his lips against the back of it the way he's desperate to in the moment.
it's funny how the absence of these little treasures were put out of his mind, but have only served to make him crave them all the more.
it's why he immediately stiffens at the way tim's brows quirk with seeming disappointment, the sigh that sounds equal measures exhausted and unhappy with the situation. hawk's mouth opens to suggest he can go, if tim has decided he'd like to be alone, even as the thought makes his heart squeeze and plummet seemingly to the bottom of his chest. until those doe eyes fix on him like a needy puppy wanting its way, hand softly sliding against his own and forcing hawk to look down with mild surprise. it makes him flood with warmth, only to tim's advantage as a soft smile spreads across his lips in clear fondness and gratitude. his fingers squeeze against tim's briefly before he drops the grip, clearly not needing to be told twice.]
I didn't want to assume. But you should know - I'll always want to be close to you like this.
[hawk pauses, toeing out of his shoes and slipping out of his jacket and draping it where his hand lingered moments before to let the chair find its usefulness in the end anyway. he slips off the covers from the other side of tim's bed, closing the space between them and pressing up against tim's back gently. he can't help the way muscle memory makes him nestle in close, chin slotting against the juncture of tim's neck and shoulder with a satisfied hum against his ear.]
Never did sleep right after everything.
[and just so there's no confusion, he tacks on softly:]
Without you.
[he wiggles in, making sure there's no space between them and wraps an arm around skippy's waist.]
[ the fear that wells up into his chest at the thought that hawk might reject his plea feels surreal, strange. he doesn't know how one person can be both simultaneously infuriating and charming all at once and yet here he is, hawkins fuller, in the flesh. he wants to be mad at him, wants to chase away the warmth blooming anew in his heart, but he can't. he knows he can't.
so their fingers link, hawk smiles, and all the fear washes away. he'd called this man in the thirteenth hour just to beg him to be at his side, despite the hurt and fear all intermingled together. there's so much to mend, but the one thing that never quite cracked was the deep rooted love for the man molding himself against his back now, nuzzling in like he was always meant to be there (wasn't he?), and the heavy weight of the arm around his waist feels so much like home tim could weep.
he's done enough of that tonight.
he pulls his glasses off, tosses them on the bedside table haphazardly, and even reaches to turn out the light. ]
I didn't want to assume either.
[ but he'd demanded, really, hadn't he? all softly quiet and bratty in a way he never means to be. hawk's warm against his back and he leans his head back, turning his head slightly into each nuzzle, humming contentedly as he settles, letting one arm drop, fingers falling against hawk's forearm.
it's not like facing him, where he can tangle up around him, breathe him in, soaking up the warmth of him, but something about all of this is so perfect. he feels safe, protected, held. they fit together now as they had over two years ago and tim's eyes drift shut. ]
I couldn't sleep without you.
[ a quiet admission, sad, and his fingers find hawk's, lacing them together to squeeze them softly. ]
I wish things hadn't changed.
[ whatever changed, whatever turned sour between them. tim still doesn't know. he can just remember the stoic, sure way hawk had told him it had to be that way. that he would be happier, that he would understand.
he isn't happier. he doesn't understand. he's left in limbo even now.
but with a soft sigh, he allows his body to relax, his fingers to hold hawk's arm there like he would. his eyes shut fully now and he hums in agreement. ] But they did. This is... better than that, at least. You're warm.
[ he's so, so tired. and for a few moments, it might even seem like he's fallen asleep, until he whispers, in the dark: ]
Thank you for coming, Hawk. I'm... I'm glad you're here.
[as if hawk was ever anything other than bewitched by the moments his skippy would take their power dynamic and flip it on its head, relinquish it gladly for his good boy with the bratty bite that made his lips quirk and his dick twitch at the demands. he's too tired and too precariously in this place for the latter to happen right now, but the smirk it brings to his lips is fleeting and all too fond against his shoulder with another agreeable hum.
and god, the moment tim settles in properly makes it feel like the world has finally shifted on its axis, off-kilter since the day he walked out and now inched it back in place like a badly dislocated shoulder in stark relief. hawk's grip tightens unconsciously, nose inhaling and drinking this moment up as much as he's allowed tonight - just like he did back at the hospital all those weeks ago. maybe he should be ashamed for taking what is essentially advantage of one of tim's most needy moments and selfishly holding him close for his own satisfaction and his own guilt too.
except - that's just it. this isn't meant to be a temporary salve or a bandaid to all his bad behavior in the past. it's not a fleeting apology and the offer for a friendship ahead and something civil where hawk doesn't look past tim and ignore him like he's just some intern with little more importance than the statues in the white house hallways. this is supposed to be the start of something new, something better. something hawk desperately wants to make work. even if the cracks that have been scarred over and ripped open seeing tim among carpathian filth twinge at tim's soft admissions - it means there's truth between them. progress. the best thing he can do is share his own, something he'd denied his former lover all those years ago when he closed the door on their future together.]
I dream about you, you know. And on the nights when it was bad - that's why I'd call.
[he knows how cruel it must have been - playing his heartstrings like a yo-yo, getting his hopes up that maybe he'd be let in again, that some bridge had been crossed - and then have hawk dash it to pieces with one quick stride or a curt nod of unfamiliarity. it makes his own heart tighten, knowing his reasons and the secrets he buried down deep - the way they want to burst out now, to explain and maybe even beg for forgiveness he knows he doesn't deserve. hawk's not happier either.]
I wish that too. But -
[there's a hesitation, that fear still thick in his throat and his lungs, burning like the time he fell off a canoe in the middle of summer in his early teens and the rushing current kept him under longer than he was used to. the sensation of drowning in all of the emotions he's never let anyone but tim even get a hint of. fuck. his voice drops to a whisper, murmured soft by the shell of tim's ear like a confession.]
But they can change again. This time...they can change for the better, for both of us. I can be warm in all the ways you wanted - your own personal furnace, for starters.
[but he means it deeper than the physical, letting his fingers lace easily with tim's and thumb slide across the back of his hand in a soft stroke.]
I wouldn't be anywhere else right now, Skippy. I promise.
[ tim's eyes remain closed, his fingers flexing against hawk's arm. he's glad that hawk has chosen a place at his back, pressed tight and close, wrapping him up in the safety of him. it's better that he doesn't have to try to face him right now. ]
It's why I stayed on the phone with you even if you were cruel to me the next day. It's why I kept answering when I shouldn't have.
[ he knew better than to egg hawk on - to encourage the bad behavior when their break and split had been orchestrated by the man himself. even now, wrapped up in hawkins fuller, he doesn't understand why things changed the way they had. and so swiftly. tim had envisioned a world in which their lives were permanently bound - but not like this. not this broken, ugly mess.
he still wants answers.
he knows he'll never get them. ]
You should get some sleep, too.
[ he mumbles the words, wiggling a little and pressing back closer against hawk, molding their bodies together into the perfect fit. ]
God knows you haven't slept much the last month, by the way you kept me up.
[ his hand moves slightly, petting hawk's forearm like he might have years ago, like they are closer and more intertwined than two former lovers on the precipice of something. sleep pulls at him, exhaustion a familiar friend these days, but it's warded off by the warmth at his back and the whisper at his ear.
things could change of course. things can be different. tim knows there's truth in it, but he also knows the truth of the man behind him. he knows the reality of their shared sickness. ]
Get some sleep, Hawk. You're losing me.
[ the words are a rumbled, sleepy hum, head tilting a little to better accommodate hawk, to nose faintly at him before his body stills into the heavy lull of sleep.
he stays that way for some time, really - a couple of hours where tim rests soft and easy in the arms of hawkins fuller like he used to all those years ago. but somewhere in the dark of his dreams, he finds himself in that tiny room again, surrounded by carpathian henchmen demanding information. the kicks to his sides are real, the shouts in his face, the way water pours over him and it feels as though he cannot catch his breath -
in the real world, tim stirs in hawk's arms. it's subtle at first, until the arms around his waist suddenly feel like a snare and the dreamy, lost boy scrambles with fear both in his mind and in the real world, peeling hawk's arms from him desperately and trying to free himself from the warm, sticky hold of another.
he cries out, too - loud and sharp and desperate. he's a mass of thrashing limbs and panic, pushing at hawk violently until he's tumbled out of bed, breathing heavy and wheezing, scrambling across the carpet in a way that's sure to give him rug burn on his knees. ]
Let... Let me go, please. Please, let me go. I don't know anything.
[there's no reason tim wouldn't think hawk was just whispering sweet nothings - trying to appease him in a moment of weakness, or doing another push and pull that he'll wake up and immediately dash away. hawk hasn't been a boy for a long time, even when his age still slotted him in that category solidly - but he imagines it must feel a lot like the boy who cried wolf. only this time hawk is both the boy and the wolf, and his teeth cut a hell of a lot deeper around the soft, pulpy bits of timothy laughlin's heart. what he doesn't know is that hawk was the one who got bitten back this time, seeing tim looking so painfully small and wounded in that room no matter how much time has passed. his heart has torn itself to ribbons and mended back to do it all over again thinking about all the what ifs - what if he'd been there, what if they hadn't realized soon enough, what if they hadn't been able to follow where he was, what if he lost tim for good, what if what if what if.
it makes him squeeze a little tighter, the arm around his middle and the fingers laced between the long, nimble ones that he's remembered tracing against his back and the scar at his shoulderblade as sure as he knows his own name and crooked sense of right and wrong. he feels the line of tim's nose against his jawline, aching with the want to lean forward and steal his lips like would have once upon a time, and instead settles for a soft kiss to his temple before murmuring his own goodnight, wondering if tim will even hear it. maybe all of it will land better in the daytime - the more sobering hours when fears recede with the wash of light through his cozy windows against a smorgasbord of greenery and the realities of the world that are right out in the open of their hallowed halls in the white house instead of lurking in safehouses and terrorist black ops sites.
maybe he'll be given the grace to prove he means it this time - to earn back his affection. to once again possess the privilege to hold him like this every night, even if he hadn't regarded it as one back then - yet another tally on the long list of fuck-ups.
hawk knows he won't drift off right away, even if he's feeling tiredness start to pull at him from old habits. not when he's got open access to drink in every moment with the boy in his arms, to inhale deeply against his neck once more, to nose in and feel the weight of him and the way his chiseled figure has always fit like it was made to be pressed against his own in perfect combination. christ, he's missed this. no matter how many nights of random hookups and warm bodies had been there to distract him, none could ever come close to this feeling of completion. his free hand strokes lightly against tim's bicep, knowing by the way his breathing eventually evens out that he's finally fallen into a deep sleep. considering the dark circles and the exhaustion clear on his face - he suspects this hasn't been happening lately for him. there's a mental note to reach out to his doctor, knowing he'll be shooed away or told they can't discuss confidential medical records, even if hawk thinks sleeping aids might do him some good.
but eventually it overtakes him too, and at some point in the night tim does what he always used to by rolling onto his other side and nuzzling in, face buried against his neck and limbs twined together under the covers. hawk's dead to the world, even if his body responds absently by keeping the strong arm around his waist to pull him in.
and then it all goes to shit, first the jolting cry that sounds near pained, and then the scramble of limbs that were an endearment of lovers instead darkened with a feeling of suffocation, entanglement and a lack of freedom. a reminder of where he was not so long ago - pushing at hawk who has bolted upright and never abandoned years of being combat-ready, at unpleasant times despite his best efforts. at first he thinks someone is in the room with them, and he yanks on the light while tearing off the rest of the covers and sliding across the bed to stand between tim and the door. but of course, there's no one - not with secret service still posted outside, and the only obvious answer is a nightmare.
hawk sinks down to his knees, hands up in a non-threatening motion as he slowly moves to scoot closer to tim on the floor.]
Whoa, hey, hey - Tim, Tim.
[his voice is soft but firm, trying to be as grounding as possible and knock him out of any lingering tricks his brain has done to convince him he's on the cold hard ground in carpathian land.]
It's just me, it's Hawk - I'm here. I gotcha, remember?
[one hand lowers to his knee, stroking in soothing circles.]
You're at home and you're safe. It was just a dream - it isn't real.
[ there's no rhyme or reason to these spells, these visions that visit him when night falls. there's no answer to why, even wrapped up in the warm and strong arms of his former lover, the ghosts of that night on carpathian soil utterly haunt him.
his therapist would tell him it's normal, that it's fine, that these things happen because he still has so much to process. well, frankly, he's tired of processing. he can't quite make sense of the world as he skids across the carpet, his bare knees burning and sweat carving rivulets into the dips of his collar bone, down the nape of his neck, prying at his temples and the careful curve over his pecs.
tim can see nothing but the dark room, the men hovering over him, the sounds of their lilting accents, and god - the fear. to the point that when hawk's hand falls to his knee he jumps, yelps and presses harder back against the wall, heels digging into the floor. but the carpathian's hadn't called him tim. they'd taunted him, timothy, mr. laughlin, the president's bitch, the american wind-up toy, expendable.
he breathes heavily, air coming in tight wheezes at first, his hands trembling furiously as he holds them out like a fence between them. do not pass, do not enter; danger: man at war with himself. his body seems to remember the warm, easy sound of hawk's voice though, remember that he is the one that wrapped him up and saved him before, and when he looks up with eyes widened in fear, he sees that same face. tears pour down his cheeks, but they have been since he woke - he doesn't entirely notice them now. ]
Sorry.
[ his voice is a hoarse whisper and at first he stays curled up against the wall, making himself small as though that might save him, even here exposed in the light of the room. he feels foolish, childish suddenly, but when his heart rate ticks down a tiny bit, he rolls forward, launching into hawk's harms and burying his face against his shoulder, breathing him in and clinging to him in a way that's likely a bit, bit too rough. ]
I was - I thought we were -
[ he swallows hard, breathing deeply and trying to center himself a little, but he just finds himself nuzzling into hawk's jaw instead, fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt. ]
[christ, tim's been holding it together in front of them - back to work and everything, but is this what's been plaguing him when he's all alone locked safely behind the fortress of his front door? sure that seems stable, but it doesn't beat the confines of one's mind and the irrational trickle of memories flooding back like the slow, maddening drip of water or the worse torrent like a damp cloth slapped against his face and rushing against his nose and mouth while he struggled to breathe. hawk had never asked him about his military experience, but he's read over his record enough to know there was nothing even close to what he faced in those few hours with carpathian scum. not much actual time on the frontlines, no real injuries sustained, mostly desk work. definitely not the torture almost guaranteed as a prisoner of war, except this time there wasn't even a goddamn battlefield for him to navigate.
the thought of tim losing sleep, waking not just in a drenched and disoriented terror but seemingly reliving those moments in vivid detail has his chest aching to watch the clear trauma he's been through. he hadn't even thought to ask earlier, though tim's clammed up enough about most of this that he almost thinks he wouldn't have gotten a straight answer anyway. but right now he looks like a cornered animal, trapped in a cage and this close to gnawing off its own leg to get out. arms up in the defensive, body covered in a glistening sheen of feverish sweat and feet scrambling at the floor to push himself back, back, back into some semblance of comfort or safety, small enough that specters haunting him can no longer grab with grubby hands and reach him.
this isn't hawk's first rodeo. and maybe his manifested differently when he'd recovered from his own brush with carpathian separatists, but he's seen other men go through it. it's usually best to give them their own space, find the best rhythm for recovery and either come out on the other end as clear as they can manage or watch the rest of their life unceremoniously fucked for a few years of service, never to be the same.
he won't let tim go through this alone. he can't see that light snuffed out.]
Shhh, you're alright. You're at home, you're safe in your room in Washington. See?
[hawk holds his hands up too, gesturing around - enough emptiness around them and no clear threat so that tim can see the hopeful coaxing in his face, in his body language. what hawk sees are the tears streaming down his face that tim hasn't registered yet - and then it's a blur of motion as his body catapults forward and into his waiting arms. they wrap tight around his shoulders on instinct, one hand cupping the back of his neck tenderly and the other squeezing around his bicep in reassurance. the tickle of breath against his jaw is rushed, panicked and heaving, and there's wetness from the tears he can feel too. god, his poor boy.]
C'mere, you're okay.
[it's a desperate murmur buried into tim's shoulder, head turning so he can press an insistent kiss against his temple.]
I'm not gonna let anything happen to you again. You hear me?
[he sighs out an exhale, realizing his own heart is a rabbiting thump against his chest, but it's nothing compared to what he imagines tim pulse must be.]
[ realistically, tim laughlin has been holding himself together in the presence of hawkins fuller long enough now that he doesn't even realize how tired he is of pressing his fingers in all the cracks, keeping every shattered piece carefully pieced together. the moment he stepped into ash's office on the first day and came face to face with hawkins fuller, he'd had to dig deep and find somewhere to put all the hurt and confusion.
it became easier as time went on, a callus forming to protect him against the initial sting of seeing the blue of his eyes, the faint scrunch of his nose when he was pretending to like something, the color of his laugh when he was faking it at some joke, or the gentle smile he'd see, genuine, pressed in embry moore's direction.
it's hard not to think about it now, even with carpathian ghosts at his back, the barrels of invisible guns pressed to the soft place at his nape. laying on the floor of that dark, small room had been no different, really, from standing, dumbfounded in the kitchen doorway of hawk's home, listening to the only directive he can remember - leave.
so he'd packed up the ghosts and fears and anxieties of the carpathian torture into neat little cardboard boxes just like he had the pieces of his heart that day, hidden between shirts, books, sweaters and one photograph that hawk insisted he keep.
tim can't cry anymore, even with hawk's gentle urgings, and so he just breathes heavy against his shoulder, fingers digging into the hard line of his back and clinging. it's everything he'd wanted to do that day when hawk told him to leave. how he wanted to cling to him, pressure him into his arms until they became nothing but diamonds, unable to be touched by whatever it was that struck him, that brought them to all of this.
he'll never understand it.
tim can't come to terms with that. ]
I'm safe in my room in Washington.
[ tim repeats it because all words have left him, replaced instead with a cold emptiness swaddled in abject fear. those men will find him, he can feel it. they will find him, hunt him, use him as pretty bait all over again. next time, tim knows it won't just be hawk and embry there, rushing to his aid, even if ash is told not to.
he nuzzles into his chest and shifts a little, curling closer, swinging his legs so that he is all but straddling his lap, legs on either side of his hips, arms around his middle, like he used to once upon a time. ]
Maybe they won't come for me again, but they got what they wanted. They got to me.
[ his voice comes out nothing but a tired, sleepy whisper, voice cracking. he's exhausted, exhausted, exhausted. two years apart. two years of trying to tell himself that hawkins fuller was just Another Guy, that he would find a way around the ache in his heart, the potholes made by a man he'd foolishly considered forever. another full year of service now and he's sitting in hawk's lap, tears dried up, fingers trembling, and there are no more resources for the shattered muscle in his chest. ]
I can't... I can't sleep. I can't think. I walk out of every room and check both ways like I'm crossing the highway or something. It's...
[ tim's body slumps a little, chest going heavy against hawk's chest, and he takes in a slow, shaking breath. ]
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no subject
it's no different here, except that tim is tired and strung out, and wants to dive back into the conversation from a moment before - it feels like i just stood still. he wants to tell hawk that he's learning even now about a differing side of him. this soft, kind, sweet man, who still has some of the bite and sass he remembers, but who seems to hold back his anger, frustration. it's turned into patience that carried with it a hint of sorrow.
but lifted into the man's arms, tim laugh all the same, quiet and surprised even as he wraps his arms around the man's neck, forwhead resting against his jaw like he might have once upon a time. he's almost sad to be placed in bed and tim sits up, carefully gathering and smoothing the blankets himself. ]
I'm afraid I don't have any money for a tip. Next time.
[ he smiles a little, though even his expression grows a little heavy and tired now that he's back against the soft, plush mattress. there's no denying the soft pinch at his brows when hawk goes for a chair to pull up. of course he would - they're not together, there are no expectations, and yet it feels irrevocably sad that he would be in this bed after calling this man so late, and hawk would be there, across from him.
he considers the chair - it is thrifted, from a queer furniture consignment shop just in the heart of downtown. hawk would never have gone with him then to get it. he sighs a little - hawk keeping vigil at his bedside feels too much like the hospital all over again and its with a blink of big, brown eyes that he reaches out his hand and rests it over hawk's atop the chair. he means to only squeeze it and yet the longer he touches him, the more he realizes he's already yearning for his nearness again.
again, damn him.
he presses, slides his fingers between the man's and gives a soft tug. ]
I'm cold. [ and maybe that will be the first lie he tells, his lips pulling to one side a little bit, a one-shouldered shrug rising up and making him look almost smaller than the hard lines of his muscle like to discount. ]
Stay? I mean. With me here. In bed. [ he shrugs a little. he should send him away. shuld turn his back and tell him to go, all over and over and over again. he can't. ]
If you want. I - [ he sighs a little, hand pulling at hawk's hand to hold it a little better. ] I want you close. Please.
no subject
[the soft tickle of tim's laugh pressed against his neck is more than enough of a reward anyway, something he can feel lingering on his skin like the faintest whisper of progress between them instead of the haunting of memories past. tim called him tonight. not a therapist, not secret service, and not ash. hawkins fuller - still allowed past the threshold and now into the sanctuary of his cozy bedroom.
but he refuses to assume anything as he watches tim nestle into the pillows, pulling up the covers as his eyelids start to look a little droopy and no doubt the exhaustion settles in. there are dark circles hawk hadn't noticed before, too distracted by his beauty for starters, but definitely the anxiety that seemed to be roiling off his shoulders. absently it makes him reach out, brushing a hand against tim's forehead and through the still slightly damp hair to get it off his skin and curving against the rest of the chestnut locks. hawk's expression is fond, and it takes everything in him not to bend down and press a soft kiss to his temple, or lift his hand and brush his lips against the back of it the way he's desperate to in the moment.
it's funny how the absence of these little treasures were put out of his mind, but have only served to make him crave them all the more.
it's why he immediately stiffens at the way tim's brows quirk with seeming disappointment, the sigh that sounds equal measures exhausted and unhappy with the situation. hawk's mouth opens to suggest he can go, if tim has decided he'd like to be alone, even as the thought makes his heart squeeze and plummet seemingly to the bottom of his chest. until those doe eyes fix on him like a needy puppy wanting its way, hand softly sliding against his own and forcing hawk to look down with mild surprise. it makes him flood with warmth, only to tim's advantage as a soft smile spreads across his lips in clear fondness and gratitude. his fingers squeeze against tim's briefly before he drops the grip, clearly not needing to be told twice.]
I didn't want to assume. But you should know - I'll always want to be close to you like this.
[hawk pauses, toeing out of his shoes and slipping out of his jacket and draping it where his hand lingered moments before to let the chair find its usefulness in the end anyway. he slips off the covers from the other side of tim's bed, closing the space between them and pressing up against tim's back gently. he can't help the way muscle memory makes him nestle in close, chin slotting against the juncture of tim's neck and shoulder with a satisfied hum against his ear.]
Never did sleep right after everything.
[and just so there's no confusion, he tacks on softly:]
Without you.
[he wiggles in, making sure there's no space between them and wraps an arm around skippy's waist.]
That better?
no subject
so their fingers link, hawk smiles, and all the fear washes away. he'd called this man in the thirteenth hour just to beg him to be at his side, despite the hurt and fear all intermingled together. there's so much to mend, but the one thing that never quite cracked was the deep rooted love for the man molding himself against his back now, nuzzling in like he was always meant to be there (wasn't he?), and the heavy weight of the arm around his waist feels so much like home tim could weep.
he's done enough of that tonight.
he pulls his glasses off, tosses them on the bedside table haphazardly, and even reaches to turn out the light. ]
I didn't want to assume either.
[ but he'd demanded, really, hadn't he? all softly quiet and bratty in a way he never means to be. hawk's warm against his back and he leans his head back, turning his head slightly into each nuzzle, humming contentedly as he settles, letting one arm drop, fingers falling against hawk's forearm.
it's not like facing him, where he can tangle up around him, breathe him in, soaking up the warmth of him, but something about all of this is so perfect. he feels safe, protected, held. they fit together now as they had over two years ago and tim's eyes drift shut. ]
I couldn't sleep without you.
[ a quiet admission, sad, and his fingers find hawk's, lacing them together to squeeze them softly. ]
I wish things hadn't changed.
[ whatever changed, whatever turned sour between them. tim still doesn't know. he can just remember the stoic, sure way hawk had told him it had to be that way. that he would be happier, that he would understand.
he isn't happier. he doesn't understand. he's left in limbo even now.
but with a soft sigh, he allows his body to relax, his fingers to hold hawk's arm there like he would. his eyes shut fully now and he hums in agreement. ] But they did. This is... better than that, at least. You're warm.
[ he's so, so tired. and for a few moments, it might even seem like he's fallen asleep, until he whispers, in the dark: ]
Thank you for coming, Hawk. I'm... I'm glad you're here.
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and god, the moment tim settles in properly makes it feel like the world has finally shifted on its axis, off-kilter since the day he walked out and now inched it back in place like a badly dislocated shoulder in stark relief. hawk's grip tightens unconsciously, nose inhaling and drinking this moment up as much as he's allowed tonight - just like he did back at the hospital all those weeks ago. maybe he should be ashamed for taking what is essentially advantage of one of tim's most needy moments and selfishly holding him close for his own satisfaction and his own guilt too.
except - that's just it. this isn't meant to be a temporary salve or a bandaid to all his bad behavior in the past. it's not a fleeting apology and the offer for a friendship ahead and something civil where hawk doesn't look past tim and ignore him like he's just some intern with little more importance than the statues in the white house hallways. this is supposed to be the start of something new, something better. something hawk desperately wants to make work. even if the cracks that have been scarred over and ripped open seeing tim among carpathian filth twinge at tim's soft admissions - it means there's truth between them. progress. the best thing he can do is share his own, something he'd denied his former lover all those years ago when he closed the door on their future together.]
I dream about you, you know. And on the nights when it was bad - that's why I'd call.
[he knows how cruel it must have been - playing his heartstrings like a yo-yo, getting his hopes up that maybe he'd be let in again, that some bridge had been crossed - and then have hawk dash it to pieces with one quick stride or a curt nod of unfamiliarity. it makes his own heart tighten, knowing his reasons and the secrets he buried down deep - the way they want to burst out now, to explain and maybe even beg for forgiveness he knows he doesn't deserve. hawk's not happier either.]
I wish that too. But -
[there's a hesitation, that fear still thick in his throat and his lungs, burning like the time he fell off a canoe in the middle of summer in his early teens and the rushing current kept him under longer than he was used to. the sensation of drowning in all of the emotions he's never let anyone but tim even get a hint of. fuck. his voice drops to a whisper, murmured soft by the shell of tim's ear like a confession.]
But they can change again. This time...they can change for the better, for both of us. I can be warm in all the ways you wanted - your own personal furnace, for starters.
[but he means it deeper than the physical, letting his fingers lace easily with tim's and thumb slide across the back of his hand in a soft stroke.]
I wouldn't be anywhere else right now, Skippy. I promise.
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[ tim's eyes remain closed, his fingers flexing against hawk's arm. he's glad that hawk has chosen a place at his back, pressed tight and close, wrapping him up in the safety of him. it's better that he doesn't have to try to face him right now. ]
It's why I stayed on the phone with you even if you were cruel to me the next day. It's why I kept answering when I shouldn't have.
[ he knew better than to egg hawk on - to encourage the bad behavior when their break and split had been orchestrated by the man himself. even now, wrapped up in hawkins fuller, he doesn't understand why things changed the way they had. and so swiftly. tim had envisioned a world in which their lives were permanently bound - but not like this. not this broken, ugly mess.
he still wants answers.
he knows he'll never get them. ]
You should get some sleep, too.
[ he mumbles the words, wiggling a little and pressing back closer against hawk, molding their bodies together into the perfect fit. ]
God knows you haven't slept much the last month, by the way you kept me up.
[ his hand moves slightly, petting hawk's forearm like he might have years ago, like they are closer and more intertwined than two former lovers on the precipice of something. sleep pulls at him, exhaustion a familiar friend these days, but it's warded off by the warmth at his back and the whisper at his ear.
things could change of course. things can be different. tim knows there's truth in it, but he also knows the truth of the man behind him. he knows the reality of their shared sickness. ]
Get some sleep, Hawk. You're losing me.
[ the words are a rumbled, sleepy hum, head tilting a little to better accommodate hawk, to nose faintly at him before his body stills into the heavy lull of sleep.
he stays that way for some time, really - a couple of hours where tim rests soft and easy in the arms of hawkins fuller like he used to all those years ago. but somewhere in the dark of his dreams, he finds himself in that tiny room again, surrounded by carpathian henchmen demanding information. the kicks to his sides are real, the shouts in his face, the way water pours over him and it feels as though he cannot catch his breath -
in the real world, tim stirs in hawk's arms. it's subtle at first, until the arms around his waist suddenly feel like a snare and the dreamy, lost boy scrambles with fear both in his mind and in the real world, peeling hawk's arms from him desperately and trying to free himself from the warm, sticky hold of another.
he cries out, too - loud and sharp and desperate. he's a mass of thrashing limbs and panic, pushing at hawk violently until he's tumbled out of bed, breathing heavy and wheezing, scrambling across the carpet in a way that's sure to give him rug burn on his knees. ]
Let... Let me go, please. Please, let me go. I don't know anything.
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it makes him squeeze a little tighter, the arm around his middle and the fingers laced between the long, nimble ones that he's remembered tracing against his back and the scar at his shoulderblade as sure as he knows his own name and crooked sense of right and wrong. he feels the line of tim's nose against his jawline, aching with the want to lean forward and steal his lips like would have once upon a time, and instead settles for a soft kiss to his temple before murmuring his own goodnight, wondering if tim will even hear it. maybe all of it will land better in the daytime - the more sobering hours when fears recede with the wash of light through his cozy windows against a smorgasbord of greenery and the realities of the world that are right out in the open of their hallowed halls in the white house instead of lurking in safehouses and terrorist black ops sites.
maybe he'll be given the grace to prove he means it this time - to earn back his affection. to once again possess the privilege to hold him like this every night, even if he hadn't regarded it as one back then - yet another tally on the long list of fuck-ups.
hawk knows he won't drift off right away, even if he's feeling tiredness start to pull at him from old habits. not when he's got open access to drink in every moment with the boy in his arms, to inhale deeply against his neck once more, to nose in and feel the weight of him and the way his chiseled figure has always fit like it was made to be pressed against his own in perfect combination. christ, he's missed this. no matter how many nights of random hookups and warm bodies had been there to distract him, none could ever come close to this feeling of completion. his free hand strokes lightly against tim's bicep, knowing by the way his breathing eventually evens out that he's finally fallen into a deep sleep. considering the dark circles and the exhaustion clear on his face - he suspects this hasn't been happening lately for him. there's a mental note to reach out to his doctor, knowing he'll be shooed away or told they can't discuss confidential medical records, even if hawk thinks sleeping aids might do him some good.
but eventually it overtakes him too, and at some point in the night tim does what he always used to by rolling onto his other side and nuzzling in, face buried against his neck and limbs twined together under the covers. hawk's dead to the world, even if his body responds absently by keeping the strong arm around his waist to pull him in.
and then it all goes to shit, first the jolting cry that sounds near pained, and then the scramble of limbs that were an endearment of lovers instead darkened with a feeling of suffocation, entanglement and a lack of freedom. a reminder of where he was not so long ago - pushing at hawk who has bolted upright and never abandoned years of being combat-ready, at unpleasant times despite his best efforts. at first he thinks someone is in the room with them, and he yanks on the light while tearing off the rest of the covers and sliding across the bed to stand between tim and the door. but of course, there's no one - not with secret service still posted outside, and the only obvious answer is a nightmare.
hawk sinks down to his knees, hands up in a non-threatening motion as he slowly moves to scoot closer to tim on the floor.]
Whoa, hey, hey - Tim, Tim.
[his voice is soft but firm, trying to be as grounding as possible and knock him out of any lingering tricks his brain has done to convince him he's on the cold hard ground in carpathian land.]
It's just me, it's Hawk - I'm here. I gotcha, remember?
[one hand lowers to his knee, stroking in soothing circles.]
You're at home and you're safe. It was just a dream - it isn't real.
Come back to me.
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his therapist would tell him it's normal, that it's fine, that these things happen because he still has so much to process. well, frankly, he's tired of processing. he can't quite make sense of the world as he skids across the carpet, his bare knees burning and sweat carving rivulets into the dips of his collar bone, down the nape of his neck, prying at his temples and the careful curve over his pecs.
tim can see nothing but the dark room, the men hovering over him, the sounds of their lilting accents, and god - the fear. to the point that when hawk's hand falls to his knee he jumps, yelps and presses harder back against the wall, heels digging into the floor. but the carpathian's hadn't called him tim. they'd taunted him, timothy, mr. laughlin, the president's bitch, the american wind-up toy, expendable.
he breathes heavily, air coming in tight wheezes at first, his hands trembling furiously as he holds them out like a fence between them. do not pass, do not enter; danger: man at war with himself. his body seems to remember the warm, easy sound of hawk's voice though, remember that he is the one that wrapped him up and saved him before, and when he looks up with eyes widened in fear, he sees that same face. tears pour down his cheeks, but they have been since he woke - he doesn't entirely notice them now. ]
Sorry.
[ his voice is a hoarse whisper and at first he stays curled up against the wall, making himself small as though that might save him, even here exposed in the light of the room. he feels foolish, childish suddenly, but when his heart rate ticks down a tiny bit, he rolls forward, launching into hawk's harms and burying his face against his shoulder, breathing him in and clinging to him in a way that's likely a bit, bit too rough. ]
I was - I thought we were -
[ he swallows hard, breathing deeply and trying to center himself a little, but he just finds himself nuzzling into hawk's jaw instead, fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt. ]
Fuck.
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the thought of tim losing sleep, waking not just in a drenched and disoriented terror but seemingly reliving those moments in vivid detail has his chest aching to watch the clear trauma he's been through. he hadn't even thought to ask earlier, though tim's clammed up enough about most of this that he almost thinks he wouldn't have gotten a straight answer anyway. but right now he looks like a cornered animal, trapped in a cage and this close to gnawing off its own leg to get out. arms up in the defensive, body covered in a glistening sheen of feverish sweat and feet scrambling at the floor to push himself back, back, back into some semblance of comfort or safety, small enough that specters haunting him can no longer grab with grubby hands and reach him.
this isn't hawk's first rodeo. and maybe his manifested differently when he'd recovered from his own brush with carpathian separatists, but he's seen other men go through it. it's usually best to give them their own space, find the best rhythm for recovery and either come out on the other end as clear as they can manage or watch the rest of their life unceremoniously fucked for a few years of service, never to be the same.
he won't let tim go through this alone. he can't see that light snuffed out.]
Shhh, you're alright. You're at home, you're safe in your room in Washington. See?
[hawk holds his hands up too, gesturing around - enough emptiness around them and no clear threat so that tim can see the hopeful coaxing in his face, in his body language. what hawk sees are the tears streaming down his face that tim hasn't registered yet - and then it's a blur of motion as his body catapults forward and into his waiting arms. they wrap tight around his shoulders on instinct, one hand cupping the back of his neck tenderly and the other squeezing around his bicep in reassurance. the tickle of breath against his jaw is rushed, panicked and heaving, and there's wetness from the tears he can feel too. god, his poor boy.]
C'mere, you're okay.
[it's a desperate murmur buried into tim's shoulder, head turning so he can press an insistent kiss against his temple.]
I'm not gonna let anything happen to you again. You hear me?
[he sighs out an exhale, realizing his own heart is a rabbiting thump against his chest, but it's nothing compared to what he imagines tim pulse must be.]
Just go on and let it all out, honey.
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it became easier as time went on, a callus forming to protect him against the initial sting of seeing the blue of his eyes, the faint scrunch of his nose when he was pretending to like something, the color of his laugh when he was faking it at some joke, or the gentle smile he'd see, genuine, pressed in embry moore's direction.
it's hard not to think about it now, even with carpathian ghosts at his back, the barrels of invisible guns pressed to the soft place at his nape. laying on the floor of that dark, small room had been no different, really, from standing, dumbfounded in the kitchen doorway of hawk's home, listening to the only directive he can remember - leave.
so he'd packed up the ghosts and fears and anxieties of the carpathian torture into neat little cardboard boxes just like he had the pieces of his heart that day, hidden between shirts, books, sweaters and one photograph that hawk insisted he keep.
tim can't cry anymore, even with hawk's gentle urgings, and so he just breathes heavy against his shoulder, fingers digging into the hard line of his back and clinging. it's everything he'd wanted to do that day when hawk told him to leave. how he wanted to cling to him, pressure him into his arms until they became nothing but diamonds, unable to be touched by whatever it was that struck him, that brought them to all of this.
he'll never understand it.
tim can't come to terms with that. ]
I'm safe in my room in Washington.
[ tim repeats it because all words have left him, replaced instead with a cold emptiness swaddled in abject fear. those men will find him, he can feel it. they will find him, hunt him, use him as pretty bait all over again. next time, tim knows it won't just be hawk and embry there, rushing to his aid, even if ash is told not to.
he nuzzles into his chest and shifts a little, curling closer, swinging his legs so that he is all but straddling his lap, legs on either side of his hips, arms around his middle, like he used to once upon a time. ]
Maybe they won't come for me again, but they got what they wanted. They got to me.
[ his voice comes out nothing but a tired, sleepy whisper, voice cracking. he's exhausted, exhausted, exhausted. two years apart. two years of trying to tell himself that hawkins fuller was just Another Guy, that he would find a way around the ache in his heart, the potholes made by a man he'd foolishly considered forever. another full year of service now and he's sitting in hawk's lap, tears dried up, fingers trembling, and there are no more resources for the shattered muscle in his chest. ]
I can't... I can't sleep. I can't think. I walk out of every room and check both ways like I'm crossing the highway or something. It's...
[ tim's body slumps a little, chest going heavy against hawk's chest, and he takes in a slow, shaking breath. ]
It's not fair.