Chapter Text

The house was enormous, and Tim’s room was small but comfortable. He hadn’t anticipated having his own room, if he was being honest. He thought it most likely that Hawk would try to get him to share a bed, or perhaps he’d set up camp on a couch or a renegade mattress in the corner but he had his own private room. Craig deposited him in the doorway with a huff, making sure to point out where he and Hawk slept.

Together.

“We’re here,” he said as they passed the bed. Tim only nodded and glanced at Hawk who had stopped near his dresser, leaning against the piece with a dazed look in his eyes. In truth, he was barely there after a long day of partying that would bleed into the next and the next.

“It’s a lovely house,” Tim said, looking only at Hawk. He wouldn’t acknowledge Craig, that was the new game. If Craig wanted to assert some kind of dominance, he could certainly try but he would never win this game. Hawk nodded, and Tim entered his room without another word, letting the door click closed in Craig’s face.

Throwing open the curtains to reveal a view of the entire ocean took his breath away. This could be paradise. It really could, except it felt more like a sort of purgatory. Hawk was here, in this beautiful place surrounded by every worldly delight he could ever want, and simply waiting to die. Providing himself with every way he could think for it to happen and just waiting for the moment his soul would be put to rest. He was living in paradise and his torment was the worst it ever had been.

Tim could see this place for what it was, and yet he longed for it. He was already out, living in San Fransisco, but he was afraid every day for his safety and the safety of his friends. Harvey Milk’s assassination had rocked them all to their cores and he hated to leave them in a time of need. Especially to come here, to choose the needs of one man over many. But how could anyone blame him? It wasn’t just any man, it was Hawkins Fuller and that name carried weight that Tim could never truly be free of.

Marcus had chastised him as hard as Frankie had. “He’s no good for you,” Marcus said. Marcus who knew Hawk better than most, who loved Hawk better than most. Marcus who understood Hawk’s pain, who understood that he could never be free of it because he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he allowed the world to see him. Marcus who had broken the news of Jackson’s death to Tim with tenderness because he knew that Tim had a fondness for the boy after his short time in the cabin, and more than that, because Tim still loved Hawk with every fiber of his being. Hawk’s pain would become his own, and Marcus didn’t want to see it destroy Tim. “He can’t ever be what you want him to be.”

“Right now, he needs me. I don’t want him to be anything but alive.”

Marcus offered to come with him, and Tim for one split second wondered if that might be a good idea. Marcus always had a way with Hawk that no one else could, but he was needed here. They couldn’t both go. One man might be Tim’s world, but their community was too important to lose both of them now. Of course what Marcus really meant was that he would go and Tim should stay, always trying to protect him and his gentle heart. Except he wasn’t so naive anymore, if anything it was Hawk that needed protecting now – he’d refused to grow up with the years, he’d insulated his true self so deeply that one false move and it would all shatter. It was all shattering now. Tim was free of that. His life was an open book and he’d lived it well so far. He’d let himself experience the world, real anger, real triumph, while Hawk closed himself off further and further to hide himself away.

Tim called Marcus to let him know he arrived safely, to make sure that Marcus didn’t feel like he needed to get on a plane immediately.

“How is he?” Marcus asked a little hesitantly. Tim shrugged and sighed, still staring out the window.

“Surrounded by a harem of beautiful young men with a lot of drugs. A couple of them seem nice enough, but he’s got this...boy toy...who is clearly just using him. And he hates that I came.”

“He likes it that way.”

Tim scoffed but couldn’t disagree. Especially now. After the loss of his son, Hawk sought out the company of a younger man who has unlimited access to drugs? Too on the nose, even for Hawk. He wondered whether Craig knew anything about Hawk, whether he knew about Jackson or Lucy or even Hawk’s last name. He thought not, and for that he was grateful and scared. He was here in Hawk’s anonymous paradise, and his very presence threatened to shatter the illusion.

But Hawk invited him. He begged him. It was a cry for help.

“I’m not sure when I’ll be home.”

“Stay as long as you need to, Tim, but not a minute longer than you’re comfortable. You are not responsible for him. You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.”

“I think he does. He wrote to me. The phone calls were one thing, but the postcard...”

“If you need me to come out, just let me know. I’ll be on the next plane.”

“Thanks Marcus.”

When Tim hung up, he noticed a shift of color, the reflection in the window moving and he turned around to find Hawk leaning in his doorway with a sentimental look on his face, a little smile playing at the corner of his lips. No Craig in sight. That was surprising, Craig allowing him to be alone for a second – what if Tim made a move? What would he do?

“How is Marcus?”

“Worried about you. We all are.”

“If he’s so worried, he should come. We could have a reunion. You, me, Marcus, Frankie...it could be just like the Cozy Corner, without the police raids. I’d give just about anything to hear Frankie sing.”

“You know we can’t ever go back, Hawk. Those days are gone. We’ve all grown up.”

Hawk looked saddened then because he knew that most of them had grown up, but perhaps not him. He might never be able to do what they’d done. His was a good show, though.

“Come in?” Tim asked, sitting on his bed and patting it. An invitation. He wanted to be close to Hawk, but he wanted Hawk to choose it, to come to him. And he did. He stepped into the room, his robe billowing out behind his mostly naked form as he walked and Tim watched like he’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life. Perhaps he hadn’t. His heart stopped beating for a split second when Hawk entered his orbit and flashed that charming if not terribly weary smile.

“I’m glad you came.”

“Well, you didn’t give me much of a choice.”

“No one put a gun to your head.”

“You wrote. What else could I do?” It was like invoking the power of a long buried, powerful spell. Hawk smiled and all Tim could see was sadness in it. This was not the man he’d fallen for so many years ago, not the confident man who owned every room he walked into, who beat lie detector tests because he refused to feel guilty and walked confidently into the baths right under the nose of watchful policemen. This was the ghost of that man, and still not his true self.

“No one here knows about…”

“Don’t.”

Tim stopped, pursing his lips angrily, cocking his head to the side. “Hawk. You’ve surrounded yourself with people who don’t know you and can’t help you. They want what you give them but what do they give you?”

Hawk shrugged and lay back on the bed, staring straight up at the ceiling. His head spun and he had to close his a moment before it made him sick. He needed a drink. “They help me forget. Please don’t take that away.”

“Then why am I here?”

Hawk felt his stomach twist and he sat bolt upright, hand flat against his chest, willing the sudden nausea to pass. When it didn’t, when it became urgent, he simply got up without a word and left, headed for the bathroom. Tim watched with wide eyes wondering what had happened, and whether he should just pack his bag and go. Perhaps this was a mistake.

It happened again, later that night, as they all sat around drinking and visiting. Putting Tim on the spot, asking him about Harvey Milk and San Fransisco and living out of the closet. To his surprise, few of them were able to live the way he did. Only a couple were out, the rest played pretend and retreated to this island paradise every chance they could. He was ever more glad he’d made the decision to move, to follow Frankie and Marcus out west. It was the hardest and best decision of his life. He might be afraid, but he could be himself.

When Hawk excused himself from that talk, Tim followed dutifully while the rest of the men simply watched like this was a common occurrence. Like it was par for the course. His curiosity, or his bleeding heart, he couldn’t be sure, but he couldn’t treat Hawk’s sudden departure like it was anything less than alarming. “Hawk?” he asked, listening to the sounds of the man getting sick behind the door. It broke his heart. “Hawk are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” came a desperate sound as he heaved up everything he’d eaten and drank into the toilet bowl along with plenty of bright pink blood. Tim thought about walking away, about giving him his privacy, but he had come with a purpose and if he walked away what good was he doing? What was the point in flying out? He jiggled the handle and found that the door opened with little hesitation, and there he found Hawk curled up on the floor, arms folded tight over his miserable revolting stomach. “Go away Skippy. Please.”

“No.”

Tim crouched beside him and touched his neck, let his hand rest there against the curve, his thumb trailing along Hawk’s earlobe. His skin was hot to the touch, covered in a sheen of sweat, and Tim felt his own stomach churn. He wondered whether Craig ever thought to open the damn door, or if he just let Hawk suffer alone. He thought that was what happened, everyone so wrapped up in their own good time that they didn’t pay any attention to the man who funded their partying and was slowly easing himself into the grave on their careless watch. He clamped down on that anger and turned it into love, turned it into a gentle touch, into pushing his face closer to Hawk’s and locking eyes with him.

“Hawk…”

“I’m fine. Been a little under the weather lately.”

A lie. Hawk’s comfort zone. Tim let him have this one, he didn’t need to point out the glaringly obvious point that Hawk’s illness had everything to do with substance abuse. He was no stranger to that, living in the Castro. Everyone he knew was suffering through something.

“Can I help you to your bed?”

Hawk smiled weakly, sliding along the wall until he was sitting upright. It was a precarious moment, a look of sick and pain flashed across his features but passed quickly. His chest burned. “We’re going to the club in an hour.”

“You need to rest.”

“I need another drink.”

Tim sighed and rocked back on his haunches, resting his elbows on his thighs, staring at the love of his life lying vulnerable on a bathroom floor and wondered how in the hell they’d gotten here. Where had they gone so wrong?

“I didn’t come here to party with your play toys. I came because you said you needed me. If you don’t…”

Hawk scrambled upright and leaned forward, landing in Tim’s lap and wrapping his arms around his waist, a desperate move that he tried to play off as casual. He was hot to the touch and shaking, and Tim realized then how bad it was: Hawk was right, he did need another drink. Not to dull the pain but to keep him alive, he’d broken his body so spectacularly that not drinking might just as easily kill him as drinking.

“Don’t go Skippy. I’m sorry. Please stay.”

“Then you need to talk to me.”

“Soon. Come party with us tonight, please?”

“No,” he said, a staunch refusal to join in the island good times. Not yet. If he let himself indulge tonight, he might not ever get through to Hawk, he would just join him and encourage his breakdown. He couldn’t carry that responsibility. “I’ll stay here. You go have fun. I need to make some phone calls and do some work for Frankie. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

He had plenty of doubts, but he was here so he may as well roll with it. He was under no obligation to stay, and he did not have to fix Hawk no matter how badly he wanted to. He could do plenty to help Frankie out long distance, he could call and be a listening ear for clients, and he could call Arthur. Maybe he would clean up around the house, poke around a bit, explore the life Hawk had built to insulate himself from his wife and daughter and the pain of losing his son.

When Hawk and Craig rolled back into the house sometime around 3am, Tim stirred awake. Hawk sounded upset, wild with anger, and Craig was defensive and hurling insults. They were laughable insults, Tim thought – the insults of a man who doesn’t know who one single thing about the man he’s talking to. Not for lack of trying, Tim supposed, but it was by design.

Tim slipped over to the door in his bare feet and listened to try and get a feel for the argument – something about Craig being jealous, Craig crossing a line, Hawk being an asshole. Sounded about right. Tim’s presence had caused a rift and he didn’t hate it. It was Hawk’s turn. He’d forgiven Hawk for betraying him as best he could, he could understand now what he didn’t then, but it didn’t mean he was above feeling a little glee when Hawk found himself in an uncomfortable spot.

He would have to pray about that one later.

When the argument reached a volume that Tim knew would be acceptable to interrupt, not so quiet that he’d be accused of eavesdropping, he poked his head out the door and padded down toward Hawk’s open bedroom.

“Is everything alright?”

Hawk was lying on the bed while Craig stomped around the landing in a fit, and Tim’s presence didn’t help.

“Go back to bed, Skippy,” Hawk said quietly, locking eyes with him. “Everything is fine.”

Tim glanced at Craig nervously, he looked about ready to explode right out of his skin. He didn’t know Craig well enough to know if he was violent, if Hawk was in any danger. They both looked drugged out of their minds and it could go just about any direction. “Is everything fine?”

“He took some uppers at the club,” Hawk explained. “He needs to come down. It’s fine. You should go back to bed, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Craig whipped around so fast Tim thought his head might spin right off his shoulders, and Tim retreated to his bedroom before he had to see whatever was about to happen. He supposed that if Craig did get violent, he could try to help, but Hawk wasn’t small. He could handle himself if he wanted to or perhaps he didn’t want to, perhaps he was baiting the other man. Whatever the case, this wasn’t his fight.

As it turned out, Craig took it out on Hawk in a different way. The anger turned to sex, to Craig degrading him loudly about never being able to get it up, for being old and pathetic and when Hawk woke with bruises and a thundering headache, he only hoped that Tim hadn’t heard everything.

He had. And it broke his heart.

(x)

Tim made himself a coffee after puttering around in the kitchen, hunting through cabinets, trying to get to know the place. The coffee was mellow and eased him into the day gently. The whole house was quiet. He’d found Craig still sleeping, passed out more like, but Hawk was not in the bed. He didn’t know where Hawk was.

Until he walked out the front door and down onto the beach, that was when he caught sight of Hawk way out in the water. Hardly more than a dot bobbing along on the surface. After the events of the night before, it made him uneasy. Tim couldn’t help it, every move Hawk made he questioned – is this it? Is this how he does it? Hawk’s body tumbled in the waves and he went under a moment too long and Tim was ready to go rushing in to get him.

But out he came on his own two feet, shaking out his curls like a wet dog. His smile was bright, huge, almost foolish. “Skippy!”

“Good morning Hawk,” he said, watching the man approaching and looking more alive than he had the day before. Tim offered him his cup of coffee, still piping hot, and watched curiously as Hawk sipped from the exact spot his lips had been moments prior. “That’s dangerous, you know.”

“I swim every morning. And run, too,” he added, like Tim should be patting him on the back. Tim quirked an eyebrow.

“Why?”

“To remind me,” he started, flopping down into the sand.

“Of what?” He knew. Of course he knew what Hawk was going to say, he’d known it before Hawk even began. He could predict just about everything the other man did.

“That I’m alive.” The first real thing out of Hawk’s mouth in the twenty four hours he’d been here. A truth. Tim nodded and decided that the truth was worth a moment of silence, it was worth not pressing him further. “I’m glad you came, Skippy.”

“You were pretty insistent.”

“Was I?”

“You were.”

Hawk smiled and leaned back on his elbows, taking in the sight of Tim. He looked so different, so much older, and Hawk almost felt small in his presence. He couldn’t place why it was, but there was something about him and in his very brief morning sobriety he almost felt like he wanted to try and be better to earn his way back into Tim’s good graces, back into his life. But he knew he couldn’t, he wasn’t strong enough. He couldn’t be part of that place that Tim lived, he couldn’t be like those people. He’d made his choices. He already wanted a drink.

“We need to talk,” Tim said, chancing a shut down. “Really talk. You said you needed me and I don’t think you meant you needed me to party with.” Hawk nodded.

“I know. We will. Tonight...I’ll cook you dinner. Everyone else is going out, we can stay in and catch up.”

“Catch up, huh?”

Hawk smiled and forced his aching body to stand up. If he didn’t he might pass out right there on the beach. He needed a drink and he needed it immediately, but he had to wear Tim down a little more first. Convince him of the lie that he was doing alright. “Race ya back!” Hawk said and Tim scrambled to his feet, sand spraying around his legs as he tried to catch up to Hawk while shouting something about doing aerobics that was lost in the wind along with their raucous laughter.

Hawk stopping and gasping for air startled him. He bent over, curled around himself, his chest heaving violently.

“Hawk?”

“I can’t...my breath…” he gasped, for a split second Tim’s veins ran with ice. He rushed back to Hawk in a panic only to be hoisted into the air and rushed out into the waves still fully clothed, laughing now to scare away the sheer panic of the moment. Was it real? Was this just Hawk covering up something really wrong? Maybe, but the cold water rushing against his body and Hawk’s warm skin and the sound of his laughter was so intoxicating he forgot about it momentarily. He wrapped his arms around Hawk’s waist and held his breath, letting the waves do what they would.

Wandering back up to the house together, Tim felt peaceful. He shivered beside Hawk and smiled at the thought of being so free. Once upon a time this was everything he’d wanted, everything he could ever need to be happy. Just he and Hawk and the wide open world, not a single fear of being known, nothing but them. He’d dreamed of running away together, of living somewhere just the two of them, he’d never need a single other thing in the entire world. Hawk’s love would sustain him.

And it was the wrong time, the wrong everything. Still, there was just something he couldn’t shake, he couldn’t close himself off to the possibility. He’d long ago realized he would never be over Hawk. Maybe he didn’t want to be, maybe he didn’t need to be. Maybe it was just part of him now, part of who he was, woven into the fabric of his being. “You’re cooking me dinner?”

“Just you and me.” He had no idea what he was going to cook, he didn’t really eat much these days. Most of his calories came in the form of alcohol, which helped immensely when he found himself writhing on the bathroom floor in agony, but tonight he would force himself to eat. For Skippy. It might be a mistake but he had to make the effort. “I’m glad you came.”

Tim wasn’t sure how to respond. He wasn’t sure yet he was glad he’d come, but he did smile. That part was easy. Being with Hawk was easy.

“Are you glad you’re here?”

“I’ve missed you.”

“That isn’t an answer to my question…” Hawk said quietly, taking the steps up to the house two at a time. Tim shrugged helplessly.

“I don’t know yet, Hawk. It depends. Don’t waste my time. I have a lot going on at home, and I put it all on hold because you said you needed me.”

Hawk stopped short, his stomach churning and cramping painfully. He was going to be sick, he needed to get inside before he lost it right there out in the open. That simply wouldn’t do. Before he made a break for the bathroom though, he turned around and locked eyes with Tim in one last fleeting moment of total clarity, total vulnerability. “I do.”