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“What was that for?”
“So you’ll remember me…”
The scene, the kiss, it all played on a loop in Tim’s mind as they drove, leaving the city lights behind for a seemingly endless stretch of highway. He fingered the cuff links, twisted the H between his thumb and forefinger nervously while Mary got her bearings behind the wheel of the car. What did it mean? He didn’t know about the polygraph at the time, and now that he did...what had Hawk been planning? What was he thinking? Tim felt sick.
“Where exactly are we headed, Mary?” Tim asked as Mary’s car slipped a little too fast over the crowded highway, a parade of people going the same direction they were: away from the city, toward family. Better late than never, this great migration. The D.C. area had just been blanketed in the white stuff the day before, and he wasn’t sure any Christmas party could be worth such a long travel but Mary insisted it was. After the week they’d all been through, perhaps it was. Perhaps anywhere they could get a good stiff drink was worth the trouble.
“My family doesn’t live close, so I come up here each year for a beautiful Christmas Eve party. You’ll love it. They go all out.”
“My family isn’t too happy with me. I should be on my way to see them.”
Mary smiled and gripped the steering wheel tight. She’d never driven this stretch of highway before, and in a borrowed car it seemed that maybe Tim was right. This might be stupid. She normally left early and took the bus, but she couldn’t stand the thought of sitting on a bus with Tim for so long and trying to keep the secret of their destination. She also couldn’t stand the thought of leaving the office early, knowing where Hawk was, just in case he needed her. Besides, when it really came down to it, she was a capable modern woman, and she had a plan that did not involve backing down or cowering in defeat. Her standing invitation to the Fuller family Christmas party seemed the perfect way to work Tim further into Hawk’s life without either of them being able to fight it. Not at Christmas.
Hawk avoided his family most of the year, but he usually made an exception at Christmas. The prodigal son returns once a year, he would say. It was easier now that his father was gone, but just barely. He still couldn’t really consider it home, it was just a place he went to see his mother.
“You’ll be rubbing elbows with some very important people, Timothy. It could provide you some new opportunities outside of McCarthy’s office.”
“You and Hawk think about work far too often. It’s Christmas.”
She narrowed her eyes and punched the gas pedal a little harder than strictly necessary, speeding through the drifting snow. The car felt heavy and slow, but it handled easily enough even if the tires complained at the sudden loss of traction. It was only momentary and she found it kind of a thrill.
Arriving at the house several hours after leaving, they were both exhausted from the trip. “We’ll find a room nearby to stay the night in,” she said, reaching into the backseat for her handbag and a bottle of wine. “My treat. I could drive you up to New York in the morning even, if you’d like.”
“You would do that?”
“Of course. You’re saving me the embarrassment of yet another year alone at a lovely party, the least I can do is make sure you get to have Christmas dinner with your family.”
Tim beamed with sheer delight. He didn’t know how he’d managed to get such a wonderful friend in Mary, but he was grateful. He adjusted the lay of his bow tie and fingered the cuff links again, preparing himself to walk into a party where he assumed he would know one person in total.
“Who’s house is this?” he asked, and before she could answer the question his eyes caught on a plaque that gave him his answer. He felt his heart come to a full stop. “Mary. No.”
“They are well connected, lovely people.”
“Mary.”
“Don’t worry, Tim. It’s Christmas.”
“This is Hawk’s house.” He was still adjusting to the sight of it, the looming brick house that was made of every dream he’d ever had.
“This is Hawk’s mother’s house, yes. But he may not even be here, he had his polygraph in the M-Unit today. He may have decided he’d rather stay in the city.”
“He grew up here. He was...a child here.” Tim couldn’t quite get past being in such an almost holy place and he didn’t seem to really hear what she was saying.
“He was. That’s generally how it works. Can we go in now? It’s awfully chilly out here.”
“I really don’t think I should. What if he’s mad that I’m here? What if he’s got a date? I couldn’t bear it.”
“He doesn’t have a date. If he’s even here, he won’t bring a date. Not here.”
“Did you tell him you were bringing me?”
“I may have mentioned that I was thinking about it. Between the polygraph and his not feeling well earlier today...like I said, he may not even have come. You might be stuck with me.”
“Hawk is sick?” Tim asked and Mary laughed at how sincere and worried he sounded.
“Perhaps on his deathbed. You won’t know until you go inside, Laughlin.”
“Very funny.”
Entering the house was about as formal as Tim had ever experienced – there was a door man who took their coats and a waiter who immediately served them glasses of champagne before showing them in to the main gathering room. The house looked even bigger from the inside, decked out in tinsel and jewel tones, a towering tree in the main room lit up as bright as anything Tim had ever seen. It looked almost exactly like Eisenhower’s own tree, from the photos he’d seen in the papers. He stared a little too long and missed the sight of Hawk coming from the kitchen. Tim couldn’t believe Hawk grew up here while he spent most of his childhood in a meager apartment that smelled like cabbage and incense. Why would Hawk choose him? What could he possibly offer to a man who came from...this?
“There he is,” Mary whispered, nudging Tim. He glanced in the direction she pointed and his heart stopped for the second time that night. Hawk was wearing a new suit, he didn’t recognize it, but he was wearing the tie Tim had bought him. He flushed and looked away, slipping around the side of the tree so Hawk wouldn’t see him. How silly of him to wear the cuff links.
“I shouldn’t be here. This feels wrong.”
“Why?”
“It feels as if I’m spying on him. He didn’t invite me, Mary. He wouldn’t have invited me. He didn’t even mention this party to me.”
“I told him I was going to bring a date. I am fairly sure he knows exactly who I would bring. You needn’t worry. Come on, come meet his mother. Tell her what a lovely party she throws.”
Mary hooked her arm inside of Tim’s and gulped the last of her champagne, ready for a refill. She dragged him around the room, threading a delicate needle, and approached Hawk’s mother who was standing beside the front window gazing out at the party. Surveying the smiling faces and tapping her toe to the beat of the music.
“Mrs. Fuller,” Mary said, coming up beside her with Tim on her arm. He looked so unbelievably shy she could hardly stand it – she’d hoped he would gather some courage somewhere between the tree and Hawk’s mother but he seemed worse than ever. She would have to be the courage for him. “Merry Christmas! Beautiful party as usual. This is my date, Timothy Laughlin. He works with Senator McCarthy’s office.”
“Mary dear, call me Estelle, please,” she replied with a soft smile, allowing Tim to take her hand and kiss her softly. The look she was giving him filled him with a sense of dread, and when her eyes drifted over the cuff links, he thought he might just die on the spot. “Senator McCarthy you say?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“My son Hawkins is quite close with Senator Smith. Not exactly friends, those two. Won’t you excuse me? It seems I’m needed in the kitchen.”
Tim gaped at Mary, unable to put into words immediately what thoughts ran through his mind. He finally found the only thing that mattered. “She knows.”
“Of course she does. You’re wearing Hawk’s initials on your wrists, you may as well have it tattooed on your forehead.”
“Mary.”
Mary shrugged and shook her head, looking for a tray of champagne. She needed a bit more before continuing the rounds. Before speaking with Hawkins. “I’m willing to bet he’s mentioned you, he doesn’t keep much from his mother. We need to find Hawk to say hello.”
“No. Absolutely not. This is mortifying. This feels so invasive.”
“All the better reason to go say hello, don’t you think?”
“Or to leave,” Tim added in a huff. She found his discomfort almost adorable. By the time she located Hawk, Tim had vanished into the crowd, insisting that he wasn’t going to be welcome. She couldn’t seem to assuage his fears, so she let him go and made a beeline for Hawk anyway, noting as she gained on him how bad he looked.
“Merry Christmas,” she said, keeping her distance. He seemed to be doing a fine job of that himself.
“Is it?” he asked. His voice was rough and low, and she noted that he was drinking hot water from a mug instead of anything alcoholic. Quite unlike him even when sick. She’d never known him to forego a whiskey. “I thought you said you were bringing a date tonight. I had assumed…”
“He’s concerned that he isn’t welcome. When I saw him last, he was trying to find a hiding place with a good view.”
That made Hawk smile softly. “I can’t blame him.”
“It’s your fault. If you were nicer to him, Hawk, perhaps he wouldn’t be hiding from you.”
“I’m always nice.”
“Oh please.”
Tim watched from around the curve of the tree as Mary and Hawk spoke, and he felt somewhat easier once he saw Hawk smile though he did look terribly sick. From the pallor of his skin to the exhaustion in his posture, Tim could tell he really wasn’t feeling well. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Hawk so subdued in a party situation. Normally he would be out in the middle smiling and laughing, using all of his natural charisma to make connections that would benefit him but he seemed to be keeping mostly to himself. Tim almost worked up the courage to go say hello when Mary came back to him.
“Tim, I think I’m going to leave,” Mary said quietly. “You should stay. I don’t know where Hawk went, he disappeared after I spoke with him but I think his mother has been trying to get you alone for the last hour or so. She’s keeping her eye on me.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t be so coy. You’ve noticed her looking too.”
“Please don’t leave. Take me with you.”
“I’ll send word to you when I get to the hotel. I can send a cab for you...should you need it. Goodnight Timothy.” She gave him a peck on the cheek and the look she gave him told him she didn’t entirely expect that he would be sharing the hotel room with her that evening. She clearly thought there were other plans afoot.
Tim felt absolutely naked without her. He stood alone in the middle of the Fuller house with a death grip on his empty champagne flute, staring at the space she’d been occupying moments before. What the hell was he doing? He was stranded in Hawk’s family’s house on Christmas Eve, knowing no one but a man who seemed to be currently absent from the festivities. He really did know how to get himself into situations.
“I know who you are,” Estelle whispered, sliding up beside him silently. He glanced over at her with wide eyes, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. He’d broken out in a nervous sweat the moment Mary said she was leaving.
“Yes,” he replied in a gaspy stutter. “We met earlier.” She didn’t bother to grace that with any thought, only continued gazing out at the party as if the two of them weren’t speaking at all. Perhaps this was where Hawk learned everything he knew about hiding in plain sight.
“My son has retired to his bedroom. Second floor, third door on the right.”
“What would I do with that information?”
Glancing around, she hooked her arm in Tim’s and pulled him into the servant’s hallway that ran behind the length of the front room. Tim could still faintly hear the party but things were quiet and dark here, he could breathe again. She kept her voice low, hardly more than a melodic hum. “He isn’t feeling well.”
“And?”
“Don’t play games with me, Mr. Laughlin. He told me months ago, when his father passed away, that there was someone, and the way he looked at you tonight...a mother knows. His cuff links are a nice touch, he always has liked to make his mark.”
Tim, emboldened by the sudden privacy, leaned close as if he meant to say something, but he couldn’t seem to muster it at first. She smelled of honey and jasmine, sweet and fragrant and he longed to hug her, to have her scent on him, to share it with Hawk. After a moment of revelry, a moment of indulgence, he whispered to her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. He won’t want me there.”
“Fortune favors the bold, young man. The night is coming to a close. You can leave the party now, or you can go to him. Take this stairway here, it’s the servant’s stairwell. None of the guests will be upstairs.”
Tim looked back into the party, at the guests laughing and dancing to Christmas music, and back at Estelle. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I love my son very much and want nothing more than to see him happy. He’s been through quite enough in his young life and you seem...sweet. Genuine, even.”
“I love him, ma’am.”
She let out a small burst of laughter and touched his arm. “Well, don’t go telling him so...keep that to yourself if you don’t want to see him run off scared. He’s a wonderful man but his flaws are plenty, you’ll need to be patient with him. Just between you and I, though...I suspect he feels the same.”
That was all Tim needed to bolster his courage. She took the flute from his hand and directed him toward the stairs with a smile, watching him disappear into the shadows. There were few lights to guide him, only a few small sconces set into the walls as he wound his way up through the unfinished brick and concrete staircase. It was cold and his footsteps echoed. He fancied that he was a young prince winding his way up the turret of an ancient castle, ready to save his love. He wasn’t drunk, exactly, but the few glasses of champagne had certainly gone to his head.
At the top of the stairs, he stepped out into the long hallway on the second floor. It seemed to stretch endlessly as he blinked focus into his eyes. There were more lavish lights here, still dim but not so difficult to see by. The sheer number of doors was concerning. If he walked into the wrong door, he could be thrown out, done for. He counted quickly – third door on the right. Did she mean her right as she stood there, or his? Did she mean the right as you came up the main staircase or the servant’s? He wished he hadn’t indulged that last glass of champagne, it was confounding his senses.
All of the doors looked the same, of course, and the only thing that made him feel confident that he’d chosen the right one on the last try was the small pool of golden light coming from beneath the door. The rest were black.
He didn’t knock, just pushed the door open a crack and peered inside cautiously. To his relief, there was Hawk lying curled up on top of the bed, the lamp on his nightstand the only light in the whole room. He looked like he was sleeping but Tim thought he might not be, not yet. Tim crept inside and shut the door behind him before toeing off his shoes and making his way toward the bed curiously.
“Skippy,” came Hawk’s groggy, hoarse whisper. Tim stopped and smiled, waiting for an invitation to proceed. He could just as easily leave.
“Hi Hawk.”
“I had a feeling my mother would send you up. She does like to meddle.”
“Did you tell her about me?”
“Not as such, but she knows me fairly well. Better than most I would say.” That was an understatement. He never had been able to hide anything from his mother.
Tim simply nodded and crept closer, noticing with some chagrin that Hawk had put himself to bed still in his full suit. He still had his shoes on, he’d just curled right up on the bed miserably and lay there. Had he been waiting for Tim to come up? What would he have done if Tim hadn’t found the courage?
“She said you weren’t feeling well.”
“I’m a little under the weather, I admit. Mary said she suspected it was the stress of my investigation. Sounds like an old wives tale to me.”
“Here,” Tim said, reaching out with nimble fingers to slip the knot from Hawk’s new tie. He undid the buttons on his shirt next and could feel the fevered heat radiating off of him. “You’re burning up.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
“Oh hush, you. Lets get you out of these clothes before you melt them.”
Hawk allowed Tim to undress him, giving in easily to every command. Shoes off, then socks, finally pants. His body was plagued with aches, joints stiff, every muscle fatigued. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, having done very little over the last few days. Maybe it was the investigation catching up to him.
“How long can you stay?” Hawk asked with a yawn, curling up beneath the blankets Tim had draped over him. He couldn’t decide if he was hot or cold, he was simply uncomfortable in every way.
“Mary’s left for the night. I suppose I don’t exactly have a ride home.”
“That’s an awfully long drive to leave up to chance.”
“We had plans to rent a hotel room and stay the night in the area. I’m sure I can get a taxi easily enough.”
“Or,” Hawk whispered, yawning again. “You could stay the night with me.”
“Your mother wouldn’t…” Tim held his breath, brimming with anticipation. He could scarcely believe this night was real already, and the idea that he could just sleep here...in Hawk’s bed...in his childhood home...well it just didn’t seem like anything more than fantasy.
“She sent you up here Skippy. I’m pretty sure she expects you to stay the night. In fact, she may be inclined to take offense if you don't.”
In truth, she was already working on sending all of the guests away with a Merry Christmas and a good night. It was all she could do to keep Hawkins’ secret safe, and the moment she knew Tim had taken her invitation to go see her son, it was easy to send everyone on their way. She didn’t entirely approve of his orientation, though she’d made some kind of peace with the knowledge that some things just couldn’t change and she hadn’t been lying when she said plainly that he’d been through enough. He’d suffered enough, through pain and loss alike, and if this was what it took to make him happy...she could push aside her own feelings on the matter in order to see to it that her boy had the gift he wanted on Christmas morning.
“Skippy,” Hawk whispered when Tim finally shut off the light, getting himself completely undressed and crawling into the bed in the new dark. Hawk was too hot, his fever was almost overwhelming but Tim pulled him close and held him tight. “Isn’t your family going to miss you on Christmas morning?”
“They’ll survive.” He would miss his grandmother, miss his whole family really, but he couldn’t imagine being in a better place. The anticipation of falling asleep on Christmas Eve with Hawk breathing heavily against his beating heart was overwhelming. He thought for sure God would strike him down, this was it, the culmination of everything, his purpose.
But he woke on Christmas morning still breathing, heart still ticking, and Hawk’s sweaty form beside him breathing heavily. His fever had broken sometime in the night, the sheets now soaked, his skin pale after a night of flush. Tim leaned forward and kissed his forehead, noting with some chagrin that though one fever had broken in the night, another seemed to be taking hold.
“Mmm...Skippy,” Hawk whispered when Tim slipped out of the bed to stretch the sleep from his limbs. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas Hawk.”
“Thank you for staying with me.”
Tim nodded and smiled sheepishly, getting himself dressed quickly. He didn’t have a change of clothes, and was a little embarrassed to wear the same outfit he’d been wearing the night before, sans cuff links. He left those on the dresser beside his bow tie. He poked his head out of the room, peering down the hallway in both directions, intending to make for the bathroom without being seen. He wasn’t so lucky.
“You must be him.”
“Tim, actually,” he said, as if she’d mispronounced his name. The young woman sneered at him.
“Cheryl.”
“Hawkins’ cousin, on his mother’s side. I heard someone mention last night that you were in town from Boston?”
“You look sweet, so I’m going to help you out a little okay?” she stepped close to him, whispering like the walls had ears. “They never last. Everyone loves Hawk, he’s handsome and rich and his lies sound so pretty...but he’ll dump you at the first sign of any real commitment. He’s nothing but a coward.”
“So I’ve been told,” Tim said a little indignantly. “Everyone seems to want to tell me that. What makes you think I can’t do the same to him? What makes everyone think I’m…”
“Like I said. You look sweet. I would love to have someone like you around at holidays, to be friends with, but I know my cousin better than most. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She smiled sweetly and turned around to make for the stairs, her Christmas dress swirling behind her. “Breakfast is in an hour, and we’ll open the gifts under the tree shortly after.”
“I’ll be gone before then.”
“And miss whatever it is that Hawkins stuffed under there with your name on it? I wouldn’t if I were you.”
He was beginning to see where it was that Hawk got his personality. Everyone in his family was cut from the same cloth. Well spoken, a little cold, difficult to read. Did Cheryl like him or hate him?
Back in Hawk’s room, he found the man slowly ambling his way into pajamas, buttoning the silk top with shaking fingers. He had grand plans of joining his family in his pajamas and robe, thus completing the look of an ill man on Christmas. Perhaps they would leave him alone, spare him their own investigation into his life. He’d had just about enough of sharing his private life. A man could dream.
“Here, let me help,” Tim said, jumping into action. Helping Hawk dress allowed him moments of closeness that he might not otherwise be allowed. Being useful was a good excuse. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Terrible.”
“You really should stay in bed.”
“My mother would be furious. I can manage. And I’ve got a very competent nurse to put me in my place if I can’t.”
Tim blushed and smiled a little sheepishly, nudging his glasses back up his nose. “I wouldn’t go so far as to call me…”
“You’re exactly the nurse I need Skippy.”
“You won’t call me that in front of your family, will you?”
“Would you hate it if I did?” The devilish twinkle in his eye frightened Tim some, but he didn’t answer, only went about helping Hawk finish buttoning his pajamas in silence.
Hawk and Tim made their way down the stairs for breakfast together, Tim a few steps behind Hawk, watching him carefully. He moved like his whole body hurt, and Tim thought again about urging him back to bed. Hawk would never go, though. The closer he got to the bottom of the stairs, the more he seemed to rise from the dead. Putting on airs.
The house smelled like cinnamon and bacon, and as they approached the dining room the chatter seemed cheerful and bright.
“Good morning dear. Did you sleep well?” Estelle asked, standing and welcoming the two men to the table. She kissed Tim on the cheek, but only air kissed her son who was standing tall but looked ashen and pale. He wasn’t going to make it far into the morning, Tim thought. His valiant effort would be duly rewarded, though.
“Like the dead,” Hawk returned in his grim, raw voice as he took his seat. Tim remained standing, unsure where he was supposed to be seated. Everything was so formal and he felt more lower class and out of place than he ever had. “Tim,” Hawk said, startling him by using his real name. “Right here is fine.”
“Coffee?”
They ate to the cheerful murmur of holiday conversation, music on the radio in the background. It was the kind of talk that you didn’t have the rest of the year – no politics, no news, nothing but funny stories and laughter. That was the morning, anyway. Tim imagined that by lunch time they would be singing a different tune, at least his family would. Everything started lovely and ended with harsh words and near blows, religious arguments and political ammunition enough to sour the festivity.
Hawk ate next to nothing, and Tim urged him more than once to at least drink his orange juice. In the end, he managed half of his juice and half of his water, picking only a little at his toast mostly to do something with his hands, not because he wanted to eat. “You really should go back to bed,” Tim whispered when the table was being cleared. Hawk shook his head.
“Presents first.”
Tim froze. “I didn’t bring any gifts.”
Hawk’s smile was soft and weary, tired eyes blinking so slowly Tim thought they might just stay shut one of these times. “It’s alright Skip. You being here is the gift.”
“Alright now I know you must be sick, saying such sweet things to me.”
Hawk let out a series of low coughs, pressing his palm against his chest as he did so before clearing his throat. The coughs were dry, followed up by soft moans, and Tim could tell his throat was sore. That explained why he didn’t want to eat. “We’d better hop to it.”
In the front room, the party cleaned up and nothing but a distant memory now, the gifts were spilling out from beneath the tree in a decadent display of reds and greens and golds. Tinsel draped over tree branches and gifts, a delicate web of silver catching the shafts of light bursting through the open window. Where all of those gifts had come from was a mystery to Tim, they hadn’t been there the night before, there was nothing beneath the tree but roaming lights to catch the tinsel in its clutches and spin the room in decadent rays of mirth.
Hawk made his way for the couch and indicated for Tim to follow, to sit beside him. He didn’t say so out loud, just indicated the space and waited expectantly. They settled in and watched as everyone passed gifts around, one by one opening them and exclaiming about the contents. Most of it seemed genuine enough, at least Tim thought. No real acting there that he could detect.
By the time the gift from Hawk came around, Tim held it in his hands reverently. Hawk had already given him the cuff links, what more could he have to give him? And why? He’d barely scraped enough together to buy Hawk the tie, his meager salary didn’t allow for much extra spending and that tie had meant he was eating less food for two weeks to make up for the expenditure. Money well spent. But the cuff links hadn’t been planned, he was smart enough to know Hawk never intended to give them to him, he just did on a whim and it was perfect. He picked at the corner of the paper, but glanced to where Hawk was sitting first and noted with some chagrin that he’d fallen asleep sitting up, his chin tucked into his chest, arms folded over. He pressed the corner back down and looked sheepishly at Estelle.
“I think I’ll open it later,” he said with an embarrassed smile. “I don’t want to do it if he’s asleep.”
“Of course dear. Why don’t you get him upstairs? We’ll call you down when it’s time for supper.”
Getting Hawk up the stairs proved to be a challenge, the man didn’t want to move from his perch on the couch. He insisted multiple times that he was awake – just resting his eyes – until finally his mother stepped in with the full force of her matronly voice.
“Hawkins Zebediah Fuller, you will let this gentleman take you up to bed immediately. Not another word to the contrary.”
She knew, instinctively, that her husband was rolling over in his grave at those words being said in the walls of his home. The thought of it almost made her smile. It did make Hawk smile, she noted with satisfaction.
“Yes mother,” he croaked, standing and shuffling toward the stairs on protesting joints and aching muscles. As they moved up the stairs, Tim dared to put one hand out, softly resting it at the small of Hawk’s back. “My mother has never told me to take a man to bed before. That’s new.”
“I’m not sure that’s what she meant,” Tim hissed, but they were both smiling like giddy children now.
Hawk slept through most of the morning in fitful bursts, intermittent coughing and moaning during the waking moments. His fever had returned and with it came some delirium that Tim almost found endearing if not a little frightening. In his waking dreams, he mused and spouted poetry, spoke in riddles, told Tim things he’d never say under normal circumstances. After one particularly painful coughing fit he curled into Tim and told him about a lung infection he got in the infirmary between surgeries, how he’d been laid up for weeks and thought he would die of suffocation. Tim did his best to help, laying cool rags on his forehead and making him sip water every chance he could through Hawk’s feeble protests that it burned his throat.
Hawk’s condition deteriorated through the afternoon, his fever’s stubborn refusal to break finally worrying Estelle enough that she had them served supper in the bedroom. On the tray was a card with a doctor’s number and Estelle’s swooping, elegant handwriting. “Just in case,” it said. Tim wasn’t an alarmist, and this seemed like an easy enough virus to kick, but he propped the card against the telephone anyway before going to the bathroom to run the rag under cool water once again.
Hawk’s fever broke sometime before midnight, leaving them both in a puddle of sweat and wide awake. He was lucid for the first time since breakfast, miserable but clear.
“Skippy,” Hawk mumbled, sliding his legs off the edge of the bed. He needed to use the bathroom but he didn’t think he could stand on his own. His legs felt weak and his head spun dangerously. “Would you help me to the bathroom?”
Tim didn’t say a word, just got out of bed and helped Hawk up, taking the other man’s weight against him and moving them slowly out of the room and down the hall. He waited outside the door for Hawk to do what he needed, insisting on being respectful of Hawk’s family. It wasn’t appropriate for them to be in the bathroom together, he insisted, though Hawk’s protests nearly wore him down. It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to be in there, after all.
But back in Hawk’s room, where he was asked and expected to be, that was different. He helped Hawk back into bed and curled up beside him happily. “You didn’t open your gift,” Hawk whispered. Tim blinked sleepily at him. “It’s still Christmas for three more minutes.”
“Are you sure? It can wait.”
Hawk pressed his forehead against Tim’s, closing his eyes. “I am.”
Tim slipped out of bed and padded over to the dresser to grab the gift. The room was chilly and he shivered as he made his way back, a little concerned he was developing a fever of his own though that was probably just him being silly and tired. He sat on the edge of the bed carefully, waiting for Hawk to move, to curl around him, cradling his head on his arm and watching with sleepy doe eyes.
It was a shirt, a crisp white dress shirt with mother of pearl buttons and it smelled just like Hawk. “Hawk,” Tim whispered, running his fingers over the decadent fabric. “This has to cost more than my month’s wages.”
“At least,” Hawk replied with a sleepy smirk. “You need something nicer to put those cuff links in, Skippy.”
“I don’t think Mary cares what I wear.”
Hawk hummed and let his eyes slip shut. “No. But I do. I want to see my Skippy catching everyone’s eye.”
“Oh you do?”
Hawk made a low humming sound, his features slipping into a lazy smile as he floated away for a moment on pure exhaustion. He hadn’t done a thing all day and he felt like hell for it.
“I wore your tie to my polygraph. What do you think about that?”
Tim’s stomach twisted and he couldn’t help blushing. Hawk hadn’t mentioned the interview to him, hadn’t mentioned the investigation at all. He’d kept it under wraps, probably rightly so. It was Mary that told him Hawk was being investigated, Mary that told him that he would have to go back for a polygraph. In truth, the minute he’d heard he had been terrified. What would Hawk do if he’d been labeled a deviant? If he’d been forced to resign amid such scandalous circumstances? Tim had heard stories about men committing suicide, stepping in front of cars, putting guns in their mouths, swallowing pills – he wasn’t sure Hawk would go so far, but it would be awful and Tim knew he would be to blame. Hawk could hide the affairs, the baths, the meaningless sex but could he hide his heart? Tim couldn’t bear the thought. “I think...that was reckless of you.”
“Have you ever given or received presents of a romantic nature to or from another man?” in his raw, gravelly voice Tim thought he sounded like a different person entirely as he mindlessly quoted the question. It made Tim sick to think Hawk had been put through that over him, over his note – Mary had shared when she found out who reported him. No secrets, not between the two of them. You’re wonderful, he’d said and look where that landed Hawk. But this voice, this raspy vulnerable voice didn’t belong to his Hawk. His Hawk was far too smart to be so stupid, to be so brash. He glanced down, as if to make sure Hawk was still there, that this wasn’t his own fever dream.
“Hawk. You really should be more careful.”
“Why should I?”
“What if you get caught?”
“I won’t. Skippy, don’t you see? I’m bulletproof.” He said it with a jarring finality, completely done with the conversation. Tim wasn’t sure what to make of it. The words were at odds with his voice, the tone, his sudden sweetness. Allowing him to be in his childhood home, sharing all of this, his mother’s kindness and insistence that he stay. It all added up to something that frightened Tim when he looked at it not as single pieces but as a whole. This all coming on the tail end of his investigation...the thought of all of those men committing suicide jumped into his mind again and he was afraid. No one was bulletproof, not even the wonderful Hawkins Fuller, and Tim thought he knew that.
For now, though, he had Hawk here. They were safe and they were together. It had to be enough. And with that thought, he mustered a smile and looked around.
“Not entirely bulletproof,” Tim muttered in response, indicating the state of the sick room they were holed up in. Hawk had no argument for that, but he did think it was a little unfair to bring it up amid his suffering.
“Close enough. Now forget the shirt and come here, I’m exhausted and I want my Christmas gift. I think I’ve more than earned it.”
“I told you I didn’t…”
“You, silly. I meant you. Lay down. Merry Christmas Skippy.”
“Merry Christmas Hawk.” I love you, he thought as he ran his finger along the sharp line of Hawk’s jaw, as he leaned down and kissed the place his jaw met his ear, as he breathed in the scent of his lover. The words, never said aloud, settled comfortably between them and that was enough. For heaven’s sake he thought, don’t say it, but mean it with all your heart. Who could take it from them now?