[for a minute he thinks maybe he's driven the point home well enough - or maybe it's just been the right amount of time passed to let it go. plenty of the shit wrapped up in ash has gone unquestioned - even when his name spilled out of embry's goddamn mouth in the middle of one of the more tender moments he's had a body in his bed and actually managed to connect with someone. not just anyone, but embry, who should know by now what that means on some level. so yeah - it seems like maybe he'll get his one mean quip in and they can move on like fucking adults. maybe embry will take a hint and finally try and move on instead of suspending himself in this limbo where he keeps hoping for the thing he's already denied and pushing good things away all the same.
(he knows he's not exactly a good thing though, but - good enough?)
but the second it lands something in embry's face twists and he knows it's torn him up as easily as if he'd just knifed him in the ribs. christ. and just as quickly hawk knows it's gonna be a fight - but a screaming match that ends with them vicious and horizontal would be preferable to the way he looks utterly broken by it, wounded immeasurably and covering it with a layer anger instead of lashing out with the vitriol itself. this wasn't supposed to actually hurt him, wasn't supposed to draw tears to the corner of his hauntingly pretty blue eyes and make them narrow at him with the iciness of real pain. so sure, the next logical step is for him to lash out - perfectly raw in the near childish insistence of one simple sentence - enough that it stops hawk from the way he'd been about to laugh in disbelief when the opposite seems truer.
it doesn't wholly catch him by surprise to feel fists at his chest, to be uprighted and shoved across the room before tumbling against the couch and letting embry's blind rage and the fever burning him from the inside out work its way into a visceral, physical manifestation of it all. he doesn't fight back in the slightest, letting him dig that knee against his ribs, knowing the ash tray he'd been given for his five-years of service at the white house is cracked to pieces and there's filth he'll have to clean up later. but none of that matters as he watches embry come back to himself with realization, stumbling up onto his feet and making for the exit.
that's exactly what he was expecting, and hawk mimics his movements by sidestepping the mess for now with his face hardened into a firm but imploring expression as he reaches for embry's arm. not hard enough to stop him if he were to insist - but enough to bring his attention back.]
He didn't.
[so what if he doesn't know the details. all he knows is - ]
Timothy Laughlin. The boy with the charity pitch.
[hawk sucks in a breath, shaking his head slightly, because it feels like it was punched out of him - a story he never meant to share, but that's tumbled out anyway because empathy seems like the best option. his voice is rough with a tinge of bitterness, unable to bite it back even now, even if he's told himself a hundred times and more that what's done is done.]
It's the same thing. I wanted him. Wanted to be with him. But I guess I didn't want it bad enough, because if I had - that's where I'd be right now.
[his jaw tightens, lips twitching for a moment as he draws in closer to look embry in the eye.]
Ash is the President of the goddamn United States. He's got more power in a his pinky than you and I combined. And you're saying - you're here with me because he fought for you?
[his expression isn't cruel, and it's not that he's trying to rub it in. but he's tired of seeing embry blame himself and pick at the same scab over and over again, deepening the wound.]
[ timothy laughlin. so embry had been close to the cracks in hawk's seemingly unbreakable shell, though the consolation prize of the admission doesn't fill him with any sense of satisfaction. he hurts suddenly for tim, who maybe wanted hawk as badly as embry wanted ash, viciously and hopelessly, and lost in the end. because hawk didn't want him badly enough.
he doesn't know which is true: that ash didn't want him badly enough to just give a goddamn inch and keep sneaking around until their presidential years were over, or embry didn't want him enough to sacrifice all the good that ash could do in office, all the good he could do for everyone else. all he knows is that he played ash like a fucking fiddle and the cruelty of his lies hold up to this day.
his knee-jerk reaction to hawk's grasp is to punch him, but he finds he can't move, his limbs brittle and aching as badly as his heart. the truth of this threatens to open its serrated mouth and swallow him whole. ]
Everything worked out — [ a low, quiet rasp, like an animal wounded. ] Exactly the way I wanted it to.
[ he'll never marry. never fall in love. never bring anyone home for christmas, just like he hasn't for the last thirty-odd years, and he'll die with a bottle of gin in his hand overlooking the lake house, because eventually ash will go off and raise horses in fucking montana with someone else and embry won't have anymore excuses to follow. he's mature enough to lie in the grave of his own making, at least, even if it makes him sick with grief.
he recovers his equilibrium and snatches his arm away from hawk, but he puts down his coat and goes to the closet instead, fumbling around until he returns with a broom. glass tinkles as he begins sweeping up the ashtray, his chest hollow and his skull buzzing. ]
People love Ash. They won't if they know he fucked me for years. [ loved him, wanted to marry him, would have given up his entire fucking future if embry had only said yes. his voice hardens, bitter to be raked over these old, familiar coals again. ] Everything I've done is to keep him in office. You're here as an extension of that. Don't forget it.
[in a way, the violence is what he'd expect. that or embry lashing out with words that somehow cut deeper and make him wish for blood spotting his pristine white collar and leaking down his nose. part of him expected the spectacle around tim, the gotcha moment embry had been egging him towards weeks ago and he wouldn't indulge him with. he might now - or at the very least, he'd understand where it was coming from. if he was a better man there would be an apology so they could just move the fuck on, the polite pretending that ash isn't still tangled up somehow in embry's very dna and likely to crop back up at the most inopportune times of whatever this tenuous thing they've established is. or maybe that's his problem - this isn't a thing at all, and he's gone and let himself get fucking soft for the guy he's just supposed to work for. christ, he could have let tim keep his job and his dignity at that rate if he'd figured that out a few years sooner.
they have it in common though - being see-through when it comes to the lies. embry's more skilled than tim ever was in the delivery, but hawk's bullshit detector is too refined to believe a goddamn word out of his mouth right now. especially not one implying embry's where he wants to be. that he's somehow happy and it all worked it right. or maybe that's not quite it - it worked out the way he's convinced himself he wants it to, even if it's not what he really wants.]
Yeah. You seem fucking thrilled about how the chips have all fallen. Is that why you look at him like that when you think no one's watching? Pretend not to notice when he does the same, even with Greer in the same room?
[it's a wonder no one else has called them on it, for god's sake.
he lets embry pull away, thinking he'll start shrugging on his coat and get ready to bail now that things have gotten too real and too hard. now that someone has caught him, or more specifically hawk - who grates on his nerves and seems to piss him off as much as he pleases him when they aren't busy shooting barbed innuendos. he'd like to think he's done a fine job at his actual job, difficult as its been - and embry has always been his priority, even if that's starting to feel a bit like being taken for granted. his lips pull down into a frown, watching him clean and realizing the idea of embry doing manual labor is as foreign as the scotch sitting on his counter.
he grabs the dustpan, hidden behind a pile of boxes in the closet and comes back to kneel down in front of the mess, letting the broom find a destination in a team effort as he stares up the tortured look that's still unfairly gorgeous, the perfect picture of pain and bitterness and edges sharper than the shattered glass on the floor cutting him up from the inside.]
Maybe some of them won't. But the bigots in this country aren't exactly a secret. Not necessarily enough to ruin a re-election campaign either.
[that last bit - well, that stings more than he thought it might, even if he's always known that's the case. hawk pushes back onto his feet, taking the broom abruptly and finishing up on his own, partly so he can turn his back to embry as he carries it back to the closet and dumps out the tinker of crystal into the trash.]
Sure. All in a day's work.
[hawk turns, plastering on one of his practiced, pompous smiles that doesn't reach his eyes.]
Is that all I can help you with tonight, Mr. Moore?
[ he wants to lash out. wants to tell hawk to mind his goddamn business, that ash doesn't look at him the way he used to and hawk wouldn't know because he wasn't there when he did. but embry knows the acute difference in ash's eyes, how his adoration is reserved for the looks he gives greer now, and she actually deserves it on account of not being a piece of shit who dragged his heart through the mud for years like embry did. ]
Greer is sweet and loyal and giving. And Ash loves her. [ all the things embry is not. ] Ash only looks at me because he's waiting for the next bomb to drop.
[ he doesn't want to hear about ash's chances as an openly queer president. embry's already given up too much to keep this boat steady; the risk is too high to throw it all away now. ash is too good, and besides, merlin would probably slit his throat in his sleep.
hawk's sudden dismissal might as well be a slap in the face. embry teeters for a moment, almost disbelieving that he's actually getting kicked out, but — doesn't he deserve it? he showed up here with lipstick on his mouth and ash's ghost trailing after him. there's no better place for him to be than sitting alone in his condo with a bottle of gin. it seems like even a smarmy shit like hawkins fuller who doesn't even like to fuck the same man twice has standards, and embry can't even meet them.
he shrugs his coat on, feeling for his phone and his keys and only finding his phone. fuck. whatever, sven will let him into his own goddamn house. ]
Mr. Moore? Enjoy fucking yourself, Hawk. [ he pulls the door open. ] Sorry about your goddamn ashtray.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
(he knows he's not exactly a good thing though, but - good enough?)
but the second it lands something in embry's face twists and he knows it's torn him up as easily as if he'd just knifed him in the ribs. christ. and just as quickly hawk knows it's gonna be a fight - but a screaming match that ends with them vicious and horizontal would be preferable to the way he looks utterly broken by it, wounded immeasurably and covering it with a layer anger instead of lashing out with the vitriol itself. this wasn't supposed to actually hurt him, wasn't supposed to draw tears to the corner of his hauntingly pretty blue eyes and make them narrow at him with the iciness of real pain. so sure, the next logical step is for him to lash out - perfectly raw in the near childish insistence of one simple sentence - enough that it stops hawk from the way he'd been about to laugh in disbelief when the opposite seems truer.
it doesn't wholly catch him by surprise to feel fists at his chest, to be uprighted and shoved across the room before tumbling against the couch and letting embry's blind rage and the fever burning him from the inside out work its way into a visceral, physical manifestation of it all. he doesn't fight back in the slightest, letting him dig that knee against his ribs, knowing the ash tray he'd been given for his five-years of service at the white house is cracked to pieces and there's filth he'll have to clean up later. but none of that matters as he watches embry come back to himself with realization, stumbling up onto his feet and making for the exit.
that's exactly what he was expecting, and hawk mimics his movements by sidestepping the mess for now with his face hardened into a firm but imploring expression as he reaches for embry's arm. not hard enough to stop him if he were to insist - but enough to bring his attention back.]
He didn't.
[so what if he doesn't know the details. all he knows is - ]
Timothy Laughlin. The boy with the charity pitch.
[hawk sucks in a breath, shaking his head slightly, because it feels like it was punched out of him - a story he never meant to share, but that's tumbled out anyway because empathy seems like the best option. his voice is rough with a tinge of bitterness, unable to bite it back even now, even if he's told himself a hundred times and more that what's done is done.]
It's the same thing. I wanted him. Wanted to be with him. But I guess I didn't want it bad enough, because if I had - that's where I'd be right now.
[his jaw tightens, lips twitching for a moment as he draws in closer to look embry in the eye.]
Ash is the President of the goddamn United States. He's got more power in a his pinky than you and I combined. And you're saying - you're here with me because he fought for you?
[his expression isn't cruel, and it's not that he's trying to rub it in. but he's tired of seeing embry blame himself and pick at the same scab over and over again, deepening the wound.]
Don't believe it for a second.
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he doesn't know which is true: that ash didn't want him badly enough to just give a goddamn inch and keep sneaking around until their presidential years were over, or embry didn't want him enough to sacrifice all the good that ash could do in office, all the good he could do for everyone else. all he knows is that he played ash like a fucking fiddle and the cruelty of his lies hold up to this day.
his knee-jerk reaction to hawk's grasp is to punch him, but he finds he can't move, his limbs brittle and aching as badly as his heart. the truth of this threatens to open its serrated mouth and swallow him whole. ]
Everything worked out — [ a low, quiet rasp, like an animal wounded. ] Exactly the way I wanted it to.
[ he'll never marry. never fall in love. never bring anyone home for christmas, just like he hasn't for the last thirty-odd years, and he'll die with a bottle of gin in his hand overlooking the lake house, because eventually ash will go off and raise horses in fucking montana with someone else and embry won't have anymore excuses to follow. he's mature enough to lie in the grave of his own making, at least, even if it makes him sick with grief.
he recovers his equilibrium and snatches his arm away from hawk, but he puts down his coat and goes to the closet instead, fumbling around until he returns with a broom. glass tinkles as he begins sweeping up the ashtray, his chest hollow and his skull buzzing. ]
People love Ash. They won't if they know he fucked me for years. [ loved him, wanted to marry him, would have given up his entire fucking future if embry had only said yes. his voice hardens, bitter to be raked over these old, familiar coals again. ] Everything I've done is to keep him in office. You're here as an extension of that. Don't forget it.
no subject
they have it in common though - being see-through when it comes to the lies. embry's more skilled than tim ever was in the delivery, but hawk's bullshit detector is too refined to believe a goddamn word out of his mouth right now. especially not one implying embry's where he wants to be. that he's somehow happy and it all worked it right. or maybe that's not quite it - it worked out the way he's convinced himself he wants it to, even if it's not what he really wants.]
Yeah. You seem fucking thrilled about how the chips have all fallen. Is that why you look at him like that when you think no one's watching? Pretend not to notice when he does the same, even with Greer in the same room?
[it's a wonder no one else has called them on it, for god's sake.
he lets embry pull away, thinking he'll start shrugging on his coat and get ready to bail now that things have gotten too real and too hard. now that someone has caught him, or more specifically hawk - who grates on his nerves and seems to piss him off as much as he pleases him when they aren't busy shooting barbed innuendos. he'd like to think he's done a fine job at his actual job, difficult as its been - and embry has always been his priority, even if that's starting to feel a bit like being taken for granted. his lips pull down into a frown, watching him clean and realizing the idea of embry doing manual labor is as foreign as the scotch sitting on his counter.
he grabs the dustpan, hidden behind a pile of boxes in the closet and comes back to kneel down in front of the mess, letting the broom find a destination in a team effort as he stares up the tortured look that's still unfairly gorgeous, the perfect picture of pain and bitterness and edges sharper than the shattered glass on the floor cutting him up from the inside.]
Maybe some of them won't. But the bigots in this country aren't exactly a secret. Not necessarily enough to ruin a re-election campaign either.
[that last bit - well, that stings more than he thought it might, even if he's always known that's the case. hawk pushes back onto his feet, taking the broom abruptly and finishing up on his own, partly so he can turn his back to embry as he carries it back to the closet and dumps out the tinker of crystal into the trash.]
Sure. All in a day's work.
[hawk turns, plastering on one of his practiced, pompous smiles that doesn't reach his eyes.]
Is that all I can help you with tonight, Mr. Moore?
no subject
Greer is sweet and loyal and giving. And Ash loves her. [ all the things embry is not. ] Ash only looks at me because he's waiting for the next bomb to drop.
[ he doesn't want to hear about ash's chances as an openly queer president. embry's already given up too much to keep this boat steady; the risk is too high to throw it all away now. ash is too good, and besides, merlin would probably slit his throat in his sleep.
hawk's sudden dismissal might as well be a slap in the face. embry teeters for a moment, almost disbelieving that he's actually getting kicked out, but — doesn't he deserve it? he showed up here with lipstick on his mouth and ash's ghost trailing after him. there's no better place for him to be than sitting alone in his condo with a bottle of gin. it seems like even a smarmy shit like hawkins fuller who doesn't even like to fuck the same man twice has standards, and embry can't even meet them.
he shrugs his coat on, feeling for his phone and his keys and only finding his phone. fuck. whatever, sven will let him into his own goddamn house. ]
Mr. Moore? Enjoy fucking yourself, Hawk. [ he pulls the door open. ] Sorry about your goddamn ashtray.