[hawk doesn't text again. what he does instead is wait another thirty minutes to type up a fucking summary for the inane meeting and the themes embry is going to veto anyway with impunity. and he is going to very distinctly note the suggestion - that did not actually originate with him - that everyone be allowed a plus one. besides, the more money the merrier, or something like that. it'd be a win/win, except of course embry decides to be a prick and keep this routine going with whoever this woman is just to spite him. or maybe he really has found something in her, god knows it's not like hawk isn't exactly winning any awards for - whatever the fuck he's been to embry outside of their professional relationship. not a boyfriend, definitely not a partner - just a fuck, at the end of the day, he supposes.
except it hadn't felt like just another fuck - not when embry came the night of senator smith's passing. not when they'd snuck kisses between meetings at the fucking office like a pair of horny teenagers who couldn't pass a broom closet without giving it more use than it'd probably seen in decades. and not when hawk had been about to get on his knees and give him something he's only ever given the two people in his life that made him want to be a better man.
that doesn't mean he's still not pissed off beyond belief, figuring after a solid fourty-five that embry is sulking at home or he's stuck in bad traffic, but google confirms it can't be the latter.
fine. hawk emails the staff that he's taking a long lunch to run some errands for embry - grabbing his dry cleaning and getting into his black jag and slamming the door. there's a moment to suck in a breath, realizing he's probably gonna have to be the bigger person and hate every minute of it if he wants to get to the bottom of whatever the hell is going on with this woman. it's not jealousy - not in the same way it had gnawed at him with ash and embry mooning over a man that would probably take him back in a second anyway. he's still not sure whether that makes embry the world's most dedicated masochist or if there's just more to the story he'll have to uncover at the worst possible time. and that's only if they can both stop being immature fuck-ups for a minute and needling one another.
he pulls out a cigarette and starts the engine, making it over to the condo in just about the time it takes him to smoke it. good old sven is outside on a smoke break himself when he pulls up just past the secret service in another car, and tempting as it is to ask him if anything was amiss last night or with embry in general, he's not going to cause worry if there isn't any to be had. besides - they should know by now when he's in real distress.
shouldn't they?
hawk nods in greeting and heads inside, up the elevator to the place that's become a near home away from home by the way he could turn up blindfolded and find his way inside. the key is given more force than usual, alerting embry to his presence if he's in the expansive living room wallowing or near the formal dining room. but when hawk steps inside, he's not there. just two empty glasses on his coffee table, exactly like embry said. and a half empty bottle of gin. his eyes narrow at the ghastly shade of too orange red lipstick thats left its mark one too many times for his liking. but there's nothing really amiss otherwise - and it prompts him to set the key down on embry's kitchen island either temporarily or permanently depending on how this goes and drape the dry cleaning bags over one shoulder.
maybe he did fall asleep. but he'd better check, and he needs to get to the closet anyway, so...
so he's not expecting to hear gagging when he gets closer to the bedroom and adjacent master bathroom, and he unceremoniously dumps the clothes onto his bed and rushes past to see embry on his knees in a particularly devastating shade of teal that definitely doesn't belong in the same context as vomit. christ - he looks terrible.]
Hey, hey - you're alright.
[hawk reaches for one of his stupidly expensive hand towels, running it under cool water and placing it at the nape of his neck. his fingers push back the damp strands of his hair, out of the way even if they're too short to be a casualty before he drops it and squeezes one of embry's shoulders.
none of this is normal. not if all they drank was half that goddamn bottle.]
Just get it all out.
[embry can't see the way his brows are knitted together in worry, finger itching to call a doctor to come take a blood sample or just - test him for whatever the fuck is in his stomach. it's hard not to feel responsible, even if embry wouldn't have let him close anyway. probably. maybe.]
[ he's been stupid before, snorted too much, swallowed down too many pills, chased it all with gin, the works. he's seasoned when it comes to numbing himself. he stopped, mostly, when he was with ash, and dabbled again each time he became untethered from his side. but it's been a long time since he's felt this.
no, he doesn't ever think he's felt this particular side of shitty, not to this level, where his heartbeat alternates between too fast and too slow, his skin clammy, shivers dancing along his nerve endings. in the thirty minutes he stops looking at his phone, he plummets from bad to wondering if he should call the secret service bad. everything in him fights against the word roofied. it's comical, and impossible that it could happen to him at fucking thirty-six years old while being the goddamn vice president of the united states.
jesus fuck, how his mother would look at him right now, puking his guts out in the toilet at one in the afternoon on a workday. he's so focused on the task at hand that he doesn't hear hawk come in, doesn't hear the water running, and doesn't hear anything he says. but he does feel the cool brush of his fingers, and embry nearly brains himself on the crown molding with how hard he jerks back against the wall, his eyes wide and glassy. ]
Fuck. [ he snatches the damp towel from his neck and drags it across his mouth, his eyes falling shut as his shoulders droop in sudden relief. ] It's you.
[ the relief doesn't last long. he's aware hawk will want answers that embry can't provide on account of him not remembering fucking anything. but he can cobble together a story, the most likely one, which involves embry being both careless and a fuck-up. and a whore.
there can't be any foul play. sven would have intervened if embry looked like he needed help. he drank too much, snorted too much, and fucked someone while he was drunk and high and probably thinking about hawk. honestly, he's glad he doesn't remember that part. he should probably text erin and ask if she's all right, if she made it home safely, if she's also having as sexy a day as he is. ]
Don't start with me. [ through sheer spite alone, he manages to stand, shaky as he belts his robe and drops the towel on the edge of the sink. ] It's just a hangover.
[ he ambles past hawk as if to prove he can walk straight, wanting nothing more than to tumble back into bed and fall asleep, but when he sees the rumpled, sex-stained sheets, a chill creaks through him as if he's made of broken windows and splintered door frames, barely holding himself together. he swallows, pushing down against the panic that threatens to crack him open. ]
Did you send me the brief?
[ escaping out to the living room seems like the next best move, his coffee still sitting on the breakfast table. he opens up his laptop, looking queasily at the security login staring him in the face and abruptly blanking on every detail of his entire life. ]
[yeah, embry's seasoned at this. which is why it's so goddamn alarming to see him in this state. the fact that he didn't even hear hawk come in and offer some smarmy greeting or immediately try and send him away after this standoff they've been in is a red flag in and of itself - the rest of it, well, they all stack up like they're ready for a goddamn matador in the middle of bullfighting season. he's never seen embry look this unwell, and he's never seen him nearly jump out of his fucking skin like hawk was some intruder standing over him in a moment of vulnerability. of course he's gonna want fucking answers. but the main thing is getting him tucked back into bed to at least rest, seeing if he can discreetly call in a doctor or convince him to get this looked into. maybe he will step outside and talk to sven after this, if only because he knows this will be an uphill battle.
hawk stays where he is, ready to help steady embry as he pushes himself to his feet even as his body language screams that he's trying to look self-sufficient, brush it off and assure him that he's doing fine, when he's so clearly not.]
Yeah, it's me. And it's too late for that - because I fucking know what hungover you looks like, and it isn't this.
[hawk stalks after him, following close because he's not unconvinced that embry won't topple over from one wrong step or even a harsh exhale from hawk in his direction. frankly he should be in bed, resting - sleeping this off, if that's possible, and waking only for a few tests that he can be hazy through until they've got answers. like who the fuck the woman here was last night, even if embry knew her. what was her agenda, where did she come from? does he even remember? he's about to try and grab his wrist and dragging him over back to the bedroom - but one glance over there answers his question why that part was bypassed. jesus, catching sight of his charge and the man looks white as a ghost. that's not the reaction from someone satisfied with their late night activities, acquaintance or otherwise.
god fucking damnit.]
Yeah, I sent it to you. Didn't waste any paper on it.
[he doesn't try to sit down next to him or even across from him, instead looming over him and bending over to unceremoniously shut his laptop with a hand and cut off this line of conversation.]
I know you don't want to hear this. [he sucks in a breath, preparing for the inevitable bitchfest that will follow.]
But you need to get some fucking rest and let me call someone. Whatever this...bug is you've got, you look terrible. You're damn sure not in any shape to be reading briefs and signing off on anything.
[bug sounds better than what everything in him is screaming it really is.]
Your room is a mess. Why don't you take the guest bed and I'll get it ready for cleaning tomorrow?
[tomorrow, when his housekeeper will come by. tomorrow, after hawk has had a chance to collect any evidence on this bitch and try to piece together what the hell hit him. god, he's furious. but he doesn't let it show, remaining calm and collected like he's good at, compartmentalizing and hiding it all - extending a hand and nodding at him like it might convince him to do the right thing for himself for a change.]
[ jesus christ. he should have kicked hawk out the second he came in. or at least the second he realized he was here, which was clearly several minutes after he'd come in. he's making assumptions that ring loud and clear, and embry has to kill this story before it gets out of hand. there's no way. there's just no fucking way.
embry lurches to his feet again. puking helped, because he feels a little more alive as he returns to the bedroom, aware of hawk following him around like he's his goddamn lover who's started keeping secrets from him. the bottle is still sitting on the nightstand, and he picks it up now as if it's a mystical item that will somehow return his memories of the night to him. no such luck. ]
I missed you. That's why I called her.
[ there's no evidence that he actually called anyone, but he had to have invited her over. sven would have stopped her if he hadn't let her in. embry takes the bottle to the sink and dumps it out, watching the clear liquid go swishing down the drain. ]
That's why I fucked her. [ he tosses the bottle into the trash, then goes back for the glasses, dumping them into the dishwasher, then strips his bed, flinging sheets and blankets and pillows to the floor until the mattress is bare. ] That's why I started drinking at four in the afternoon and didn't stop until midnight after we were done. Because I missed you, and I hate feeling like that. I hate thinking about you.
[ he sits heavily on the bed, pulling open the drawer of his nightstand to pluck out an orange bottle stuffed with pills of all shapes and colors, and a razor to cut them with. he presses it into hawk's hand. the truth is he hasn't been irresponsibly high in a long time, but it's a convincing, believable lie. of course embry has a stash, and of course he'd be stupid enough to use it. and he had to at least have taken something last night, even though a cursory glance tells him nothing's missing. ]
If you want to take care of anything, then get rid of that. [ he swallows, finally looking up at hawk as he fights to keep the regret from bleeding into his gaze. ] I fucked up, okay? That's what I do. I did it with Ash, and now I'm doing it with you. If you have any questions about what it feels like to be rejected by me, you can ask him. Now leave the goddamn key and get the fuck out of my house.
[christ, that'd be the fucking day. hawk would wholly resent the implication that he's a) anyone's lover and b) following embry around like some kicked puppy. wouldn't that be ironic after everything he put tim through? but his focus is drawn sharply to the bottle on the nightstand - another one opened, and still nowhere near enough to put embry in such terrible shape this morning or afternoon. it takes everything in him not to lunge forward and tear it from his hands, to whisk it away as evidence for what he knows his gut is telling him this might be. even more restraint not to nudge him away, to take over every action that destroys his case so he can get embry's ass into a clean bed that much sooner and preserve whatever is left of this shitshow.
hawk lets him talk, not saying a fucking word and just watching him for any signs of physical weakness - shaky hands, unsteady legs, trembling shoulders. he wishes he'd take a second to sit his ass down and stop trying to convince him nothing is wrong, only proving further that it actually is. and frankly, he's looking for the other points of weakness too - the speed of his verbiage, the explanations he's good at weaving together.
it's funny: he knows what his eyes see - he hear the words coming out of embry's mouth, and he feels the press of plastic into his hand with a vibrant array of substances shoved inside - but he doesn't believe a minute of any of it. it sounds right on the surface, sure, and god knows he's heard enough about embry's past to get an idea of what the result of every single one of these ticking time bombs might bring out in him - but there's a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach that this all just for show. which is exactly what he puts on when he lifts the bottle in a salute, heading to the bathroom and dumping them unceremoniously in the toilet to flush. he tosses the razor, ripping off the inaccurate label on the bottle and pocketing it to shred later, knowing his paranoia is at an all time high, but also considering the fact that there's probably someone out there willing to dig through trash for a story about embry moore and whatever psychosis they can assign him.
on the way back to the bedroom, there's a pointed brush past him as he pulls out the drawer where he knows all the sheets are neatly folded. it should be embarrassing on some level that it's a fact that even exists in his mind, but here he is, playing maid anyway. he heard everything that was said - including the i missed you and the get the fuck out of my house. hawk doesn't let it cut deep that the former is more likely to be the lie. his back is kept to embry as he starts maneuvering the fitted sheet, diehard military habits making him pull it perfectly taut before smoothing it out.]
Fine, you fucked her. You fucked up. You're not the only one who got your rocks off - and neither of us are fucking obligated to do anything otherwise, let's make that clear.
[because they're not in a fucking relationship, and that's perfectly fine with hawk. it's the way it should be. he yanks off the pillow cases with more force than really needed, tugging up the new ones and throwing them unceremoniously onto the bed.]
Two weeks from now you're going to be up my ass about forgetting the right tie, or needing some project you've pulled out of a hat dropped off.
[there go the regular sheets, tight enough to bounce a quarter from. hawk finally turns around, slowly pushing himself further into embry's space than he probably should.]
I'm not giving you back your goddamn key. You want to get rid of me? You hate thinking about me?
[of course he's bluffing. of fucking course he missed embry too. and up this close, even green around the gills he still has the audacity to look achingly gorgeous in the way that makes hawk want to scoop him up and carry him out of this place altogether from whatever did this to him.]
There's an easy way to fix it. I told you months ago. So go on.
[he tips his jaw with an arrogance that's usually never reserved for the man who signs his checks, glancing down the narrow bridge of his nose before leaning in and murmuring it near his ear.]
Make me.
[fire him.]
Otherwise - you get in that bed and you take the day to sleep this shit off.
[ his first thought is that hawk isn't listening to a goddamn thing he's saying. his second is that he shouldn't look that unfairly hot while he's making his bed with cutting precision. embry feels like an oaf as he watches hawk's nimble fingers tuck the sheets and smooth out the wrinkles, making his linens look artful, a perfect canvas for another round of sex if embry was sure it wouldn't kill him. his mind is desperate for a distraction — screaming for it, really, in the way that he used to get when he needed ash to hold him down and shut him up.
it doesn't help when hawk crowds his space, embry maintaining both his balance and composure by summoning some hidden reservoir of his waning fortitude. the wash of hawk's smoky breath against his skin sends a shudder rattling through him, his fingers curling weakly around the fabric of hawk's blazer, right by his hip, while he struggles momentarily to breathe. thick, liquid desire pools at his core while static fills his chest, anxious fear warring with his want.
he's not going to fire hawk, though in this moment he really fucking desperately wants to. he wants to not need him, because he wants to not need anybody. needing ash has ruined him, left him wandering out in the cold like a kicked dog on a short chain, and he realizes that he's fallen into the same trap here, that he's allowed hawk to somehow seep into the brittle cracks of his heart.
it would be a relief to submit to a command, and still everything in him struggles against it even knowing that he's going to lose. he's already lost, because he can't let go of hawk. not like this. ]
Bring me some aspirin.
[ even an order sounds like a defeat, and for a moment he's pressed too close — they're pressed too close, heat and breath mingling, and the rush of it all has him unsteady, his palms pressing to hawk's ribs through the fabric of his clothes. eyes shuttering, his damp temple tips against hawk's cheek, and he lingers, wanting to go limp against him and simply forget. forget this night, and all the things he already can't remember. forget all the tumult that lies between them. forget all the reasons that he shouldn't just let their lips touch, despite barely being able to stand.
his senses, or what little is left of them, return to him, and he slowly pulls away, unbelting his robe and shrugging it off as he turns his back, exposing his lean muscles and the scar tissue where a carpathian bullet slammed into his shoulder. there's a matching one in his leg, along with the unseen three months of rehab it had taken to gain his mobility back. he burrows into the fresh sheets and tries not to think about what might have happened the last time he was here, his cheek pressed miserably to a pillow while his dark hair sweeps into his eyes.
shifting horizontally drains all the blood from his brain, apparently, because he's dizzy in seconds, his eyes squeezed shut and his fingers gripping the clean sheets until the room stops swaying. he can't tell if it's hours or seconds before he can manage to make his mouth form words again. ]
Hawk. [ a pathetic rasp. he half hopes he's already gone. ] Don't go yet.
[for a moment, hawk thinks maybe this is it. he's finally pushed too far and it's the day he's worn out his welcome here, even if there wasn't really one to begin with. the strange thing is he actually wants it now, even if he hadn't ever needed it before. there's also the funny thought that getting fired would give him carte blanche to be even more of a pain in embry's ass - pick him up and throw him into bed if he has to. sex is the last thing on his mind though, not out of anger that he'd fucked someone else, but because he's worried it wasn't what embry signed up for. he hasn't trusted red-lipstick since the get-go, and he can't shake the feeling something is seriously wrong here, even if embry will never admit it and make his job three times as hard.
he'll tell himself later that he wasn't holding his breath on the decision, but it won't be true.]
Yeah, I got you. Go on and lie down.
[he's seen embry act like a goddamn princess in this bed, commanding from it like some while getting simultaneously pampered and chewing out foreign dignitaries on the side. so it's strange to see him look so small as he slips out of the rug, letting hawk's eyes catch on the scar that eerily mirrors his own underneath his shoulder blade. he remembers telling embry about it, regretting that he hadn't been more clear-headed to exchange stories instead of spilling his guts in a moment of real vulnerability. even stranger to see him curled up in the bed looking like he'd rather be swallowed by it in this moment instead of fixing himself into the embodiment of enticement.
hawk drags his gaze away and quickly heads to the bathroom, grabbing two aspirin and a clean glass of water. and while he's got the opportunity - he fishes out the glass without the appalling shade of red on its rim with his handkerchief, putting it into a small plastic bag and setting it on the counter to swipe later, hoping enough has been preserved to get someone to discreetly run a few tests or save it for evidence. he makes it happen fast, back at embry's bedside and hesitating before holding his hand flat out with the pills and curled around the glass for him to take before he sets it back down on the dresser.
he's expecting to be dismissed, or for embry to doze off right away. instead - he gets surrender, immediately softening and wondering when he got so goddamn pliable. fuck.
but of course he sits gingerly on the edge of the bed, reaching out to push embry's damp hair back and stroke soothingly over his forehead the way a mother might a sick child. somehow he can't picture vivienne moore doing anything other than commanding them to get better so he can make it to a dinner party on time.]
I'm right here. Not a chance I'm going anywhere else.
[not unless embry pushes him to - and even then, he's already stood his ground once.]
Keep your eyes closed and roll back onto your side - might help.
[his hand slides down to gently nudge at embry's upper arm, to help him do it if he's too weak or nauseous to do it on his own. it gives him a much better view of his face - somehow still perfectly enticing despite dark circles and the washed out coloring of his skin. it makes hawk want to dip down and press his lips to his temple, or kick off his oxfords and crawl up behind him until he dozes off again. all things he never fucking does for anyone - or at least, hasn't since tim, and never thought he'd want to do again.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[now hawk's got a goddamn headache over all of this. embry wants to play nasty, fine. hawk is convincing himself he just doesn't give a fuck anymore.]
Congratulations, when are you two getting the white picket fence? I'll pencil her in for your plus one to Ash's big night.
That lipstick's gotta go though - I'd hate to see your ratings tank because it's too abrasive for the suburban housewives.
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fuck you. and for the record, neither of us get plus ones to the fundraiser. we're working.
just email me the goddamn details.
[ if he texts him again he's getting left on read. ]
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except it hadn't felt like just another fuck - not when embry came the night of senator smith's passing. not when they'd snuck kisses between meetings at the fucking office like a pair of horny teenagers who couldn't pass a broom closet without giving it more use than it'd probably seen in decades. and not when hawk had been about to get on his knees and give him something he's only ever given the two people in his life that made him want to be a better man.
that doesn't mean he's still not pissed off beyond belief, figuring after a solid fourty-five that embry is sulking at home or he's stuck in bad traffic, but google confirms it can't be the latter.
fine. hawk emails the staff that he's taking a long lunch to run some errands for embry - grabbing his dry cleaning and getting into his black jag and slamming the door. there's a moment to suck in a breath, realizing he's probably gonna have to be the bigger person and hate every minute of it if he wants to get to the bottom of whatever the hell is going on with this woman. it's not jealousy - not in the same way it had gnawed at him with ash and embry mooning over a man that would probably take him back in a second anyway. he's still not sure whether that makes embry the world's most dedicated masochist or if there's just more to the story he'll have to uncover at the worst possible time. and that's only if they can both stop being immature fuck-ups for a minute and needling one another.
he pulls out a cigarette and starts the engine, making it over to the condo in just about the time it takes him to smoke it. good old sven is outside on a smoke break himself when he pulls up just past the secret service in another car, and tempting as it is to ask him if anything was amiss last night or with embry in general, he's not going to cause worry if there isn't any to be had. besides - they should know by now when he's in real distress.
shouldn't they?
hawk nods in greeting and heads inside, up the elevator to the place that's become a near home away from home by the way he could turn up blindfolded and find his way inside. the key is given more force than usual, alerting embry to his presence if he's in the expansive living room wallowing or near the formal dining room. but when hawk steps inside, he's not there. just two empty glasses on his coffee table, exactly like embry said. and a half empty bottle of gin. his eyes narrow at the ghastly shade of too orange red lipstick thats left its mark one too many times for his liking. but there's nothing really amiss otherwise - and it prompts him to set the key down on embry's kitchen island either temporarily or permanently depending on how this goes and drape the dry cleaning bags over one shoulder.
maybe he did fall asleep. but he'd better check, and he needs to get to the closet anyway, so...
so he's not expecting to hear gagging when he gets closer to the bedroom and adjacent master bathroom, and he unceremoniously dumps the clothes onto his bed and rushes past to see embry on his knees in a particularly devastating shade of teal that definitely doesn't belong in the same context as vomit. christ - he looks terrible.]
Hey, hey - you're alright.
[hawk reaches for one of his stupidly expensive hand towels, running it under cool water and placing it at the nape of his neck. his fingers push back the damp strands of his hair, out of the way even if they're too short to be a casualty before he drops it and squeezes one of embry's shoulders.
none of this is normal. not if all they drank was half that goddamn bottle.]
Just get it all out.
[embry can't see the way his brows are knitted together in worry, finger itching to call a doctor to come take a blood sample or just - test him for whatever the fuck is in his stomach. it's hard not to feel responsible, even if embry wouldn't have let him close anyway. probably. maybe.]
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no, he doesn't ever think he's felt this particular side of shitty, not to this level, where his heartbeat alternates between too fast and too slow, his skin clammy, shivers dancing along his nerve endings. in the thirty minutes he stops looking at his phone, he plummets from bad to wondering if he should call the secret service bad. everything in him fights against the word roofied. it's comical, and impossible that it could happen to him at fucking thirty-six years old while being the goddamn vice president of the united states.
jesus fuck, how his mother would look at him right now, puking his guts out in the toilet at one in the afternoon on a workday. he's so focused on the task at hand that he doesn't hear hawk come in, doesn't hear the water running, and doesn't hear anything he says. but he does feel the cool brush of his fingers, and embry nearly brains himself on the crown molding with how hard he jerks back against the wall, his eyes wide and glassy. ]
Fuck. [ he snatches the damp towel from his neck and drags it across his mouth, his eyes falling shut as his shoulders droop in sudden relief. ] It's you.
[ the relief doesn't last long. he's aware hawk will want answers that embry can't provide on account of him not remembering fucking anything. but he can cobble together a story, the most likely one, which involves embry being both careless and a fuck-up. and a whore.
there can't be any foul play. sven would have intervened if embry looked like he needed help. he drank too much, snorted too much, and fucked someone while he was drunk and high and probably thinking about hawk. honestly, he's glad he doesn't remember that part. he should probably text erin and ask if she's all right, if she made it home safely, if she's also having as sexy a day as he is. ]
Don't start with me. [ through sheer spite alone, he manages to stand, shaky as he belts his robe and drops the towel on the edge of the sink. ] It's just a hangover.
[ he ambles past hawk as if to prove he can walk straight, wanting nothing more than to tumble back into bed and fall asleep, but when he sees the rumpled, sex-stained sheets, a chill creaks through him as if he's made of broken windows and splintered door frames, barely holding himself together. he swallows, pushing down against the panic that threatens to crack him open. ]
Did you send me the brief?
[ escaping out to the living room seems like the next best move, his coffee still sitting on the breakfast table. he opens up his laptop, looking queasily at the security login staring him in the face and abruptly blanking on every detail of his entire life. ]
You printed a copy, right?
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hawk stays where he is, ready to help steady embry as he pushes himself to his feet even as his body language screams that he's trying to look self-sufficient, brush it off and assure him that he's doing fine, when he's so clearly not.]
Yeah, it's me. And it's too late for that - because I fucking know what hungover you looks like, and it isn't this.
[hawk stalks after him, following close because he's not unconvinced that embry won't topple over from one wrong step or even a harsh exhale from hawk in his direction. frankly he should be in bed, resting - sleeping this off, if that's possible, and waking only for a few tests that he can be hazy through until they've got answers. like who the fuck the woman here was last night, even if embry knew her. what was her agenda, where did she come from? does he even remember? he's about to try and grab his wrist and dragging him over back to the bedroom - but one glance over there answers his question why that part was bypassed. jesus, catching sight of his charge and the man looks white as a ghost. that's not the reaction from someone satisfied with their late night activities, acquaintance or otherwise.
god fucking damnit.]
Yeah, I sent it to you. Didn't waste any paper on it.
[he doesn't try to sit down next to him or even across from him, instead looming over him and bending over to unceremoniously shut his laptop with a hand and cut off this line of conversation.]
I know you don't want to hear this. [he sucks in a breath, preparing for the inevitable bitchfest that will follow.]
But you need to get some fucking rest and let me call someone. Whatever this...bug is you've got, you look terrible. You're damn sure not in any shape to be reading briefs and signing off on anything.
[bug sounds better than what everything in him is screaming it really is.]
Your room is a mess. Why don't you take the guest bed and I'll get it ready for cleaning tomorrow?
[tomorrow, when his housekeeper will come by. tomorrow, after hawk has had a chance to collect any evidence on this bitch and try to piece together what the hell hit him. god, he's furious. but he doesn't let it show, remaining calm and collected like he's good at, compartmentalizing and hiding it all - extending a hand and nodding at him like it might convince him to do the right thing for himself for a change.]
C'mon. I'll take care of everything.
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embry lurches to his feet again. puking helped, because he feels a little more alive as he returns to the bedroom, aware of hawk following him around like he's his goddamn lover who's started keeping secrets from him. the bottle is still sitting on the nightstand, and he picks it up now as if it's a mystical item that will somehow return his memories of the night to him. no such luck. ]
I missed you. That's why I called her.
[ there's no evidence that he actually called anyone, but he had to have invited her over. sven would have stopped her if he hadn't let her in. embry takes the bottle to the sink and dumps it out, watching the clear liquid go swishing down the drain. ]
That's why I fucked her. [ he tosses the bottle into the trash, then goes back for the glasses, dumping them into the dishwasher, then strips his bed, flinging sheets and blankets and pillows to the floor until the mattress is bare. ] That's why I started drinking at four in the afternoon and didn't stop until midnight after we were done. Because I missed you, and I hate feeling like that. I hate thinking about you.
[ he sits heavily on the bed, pulling open the drawer of his nightstand to pluck out an orange bottle stuffed with pills of all shapes and colors, and a razor to cut them with. he presses it into hawk's hand. the truth is he hasn't been irresponsibly high in a long time, but it's a convincing, believable lie. of course embry has a stash, and of course he'd be stupid enough to use it. and he had to at least have taken something last night, even though a cursory glance tells him nothing's missing. ]
If you want to take care of anything, then get rid of that. [ he swallows, finally looking up at hawk as he fights to keep the regret from bleeding into his gaze. ] I fucked up, okay? That's what I do. I did it with Ash, and now I'm doing it with you. If you have any questions about what it feels like to be rejected by me, you can ask him. Now leave the goddamn key and get the fuck out of my house.
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hawk lets him talk, not saying a fucking word and just watching him for any signs of physical weakness - shaky hands, unsteady legs, trembling shoulders. he wishes he'd take a second to sit his ass down and stop trying to convince him nothing is wrong, only proving further that it actually is. and frankly, he's looking for the other points of weakness too - the speed of his verbiage, the explanations he's good at weaving together.
it's funny: he knows what his eyes see - he hear the words coming out of embry's mouth, and he feels the press of plastic into his hand with a vibrant array of substances shoved inside - but he doesn't believe a minute of any of it. it sounds right on the surface, sure, and god knows he's heard enough about embry's past to get an idea of what the result of every single one of these ticking time bombs might bring out in him - but there's a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach that this all just for show. which is exactly what he puts on when he lifts the bottle in a salute, heading to the bathroom and dumping them unceremoniously in the toilet to flush. he tosses the razor, ripping off the inaccurate label on the bottle and pocketing it to shred later, knowing his paranoia is at an all time high, but also considering the fact that there's probably someone out there willing to dig through trash for a story about embry moore and whatever psychosis they can assign him.
on the way back to the bedroom, there's a pointed brush past him as he pulls out the drawer where he knows all the sheets are neatly folded. it should be embarrassing on some level that it's a fact that even exists in his mind, but here he is, playing maid anyway. he heard everything that was said - including the i missed you and the get the fuck out of my house. hawk doesn't let it cut deep that the former is more likely to be the lie. his back is kept to embry as he starts maneuvering the fitted sheet, diehard military habits making him pull it perfectly taut before smoothing it out.]
Fine, you fucked her. You fucked up. You're not the only one who got your rocks off - and neither of us are fucking obligated to do anything otherwise, let's make that clear.
[because they're not in a fucking relationship, and that's perfectly fine with hawk. it's the way it should be. he yanks off the pillow cases with more force than really needed, tugging up the new ones and throwing them unceremoniously onto the bed.]
Two weeks from now you're going to be up my ass about forgetting the right tie, or needing some project you've pulled out of a hat dropped off.
[there go the regular sheets, tight enough to bounce a quarter from. hawk finally turns around, slowly pushing himself further into embry's space than he probably should.]
I'm not giving you back your goddamn key. You want to get rid of me? You hate thinking about me?
[of course he's bluffing. of fucking course he missed embry too. and up this close, even green around the gills he still has the audacity to look achingly gorgeous in the way that makes hawk want to scoop him up and carry him out of this place altogether from whatever did this to him.]
There's an easy way to fix it. I told you months ago. So go on.
[he tips his jaw with an arrogance that's usually never reserved for the man who signs his checks, glancing down the narrow bridge of his nose before leaning in and murmuring it near his ear.]
Make me.
[fire him.]
Otherwise - you get in that bed and you take the day to sleep this shit off.
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it doesn't help when hawk crowds his space, embry maintaining both his balance and composure by summoning some hidden reservoir of his waning fortitude. the wash of hawk's smoky breath against his skin sends a shudder rattling through him, his fingers curling weakly around the fabric of hawk's blazer, right by his hip, while he struggles momentarily to breathe. thick, liquid desire pools at his core while static fills his chest, anxious fear warring with his want.
he's not going to fire hawk, though in this moment he really fucking desperately wants to. he wants to not need him, because he wants to not need anybody. needing ash has ruined him, left him wandering out in the cold like a kicked dog on a short chain, and he realizes that he's fallen into the same trap here, that he's allowed hawk to somehow seep into the brittle cracks of his heart.
it would be a relief to submit to a command, and still everything in him struggles against it even knowing that he's going to lose. he's already lost, because he can't let go of hawk. not like this. ]
Bring me some aspirin.
[ even an order sounds like a defeat, and for a moment he's pressed too close — they're pressed too close, heat and breath mingling, and the rush of it all has him unsteady, his palms pressing to hawk's ribs through the fabric of his clothes. eyes shuttering, his damp temple tips against hawk's cheek, and he lingers, wanting to go limp against him and simply forget. forget this night, and all the things he already can't remember. forget all the tumult that lies between them. forget all the reasons that he shouldn't just let their lips touch, despite barely being able to stand.
his senses, or what little is left of them, return to him, and he slowly pulls away, unbelting his robe and shrugging it off as he turns his back, exposing his lean muscles and the scar tissue where a carpathian bullet slammed into his shoulder. there's a matching one in his leg, along with the unseen three months of rehab it had taken to gain his mobility back. he burrows into the fresh sheets and tries not to think about what might have happened the last time he was here, his cheek pressed miserably to a pillow while his dark hair sweeps into his eyes.
shifting horizontally drains all the blood from his brain, apparently, because he's dizzy in seconds, his eyes squeezed shut and his fingers gripping the clean sheets until the room stops swaying. he can't tell if it's hours or seconds before he can manage to make his mouth form words again. ]
Hawk. [ a pathetic rasp. he half hopes he's already gone. ] Don't go yet.
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he'll tell himself later that he wasn't holding his breath on the decision, but it won't be true.]
Yeah, I got you. Go on and lie down.
[he's seen embry act like a goddamn princess in this bed, commanding from it like some while getting simultaneously pampered and chewing out foreign dignitaries on the side. so it's strange to see him look so small as he slips out of the rug, letting hawk's eyes catch on the scar that eerily mirrors his own underneath his shoulder blade. he remembers telling embry about it, regretting that he hadn't been more clear-headed to exchange stories instead of spilling his guts in a moment of real vulnerability. even stranger to see him curled up in the bed looking like he'd rather be swallowed by it in this moment instead of fixing himself into the embodiment of enticement.
hawk drags his gaze away and quickly heads to the bathroom, grabbing two aspirin and a clean glass of water. and while he's got the opportunity - he fishes out the glass without the appalling shade of red on its rim with his handkerchief, putting it into a small plastic bag and setting it on the counter to swipe later, hoping enough has been preserved to get someone to discreetly run a few tests or save it for evidence. he makes it happen fast, back at embry's bedside and hesitating before holding his hand flat out with the pills and curled around the glass for him to take before he sets it back down on the dresser.
he's expecting to be dismissed, or for embry to doze off right away. instead - he gets surrender, immediately softening and wondering when he got so goddamn pliable. fuck.
but of course he sits gingerly on the edge of the bed, reaching out to push embry's damp hair back and stroke soothingly over his forehead the way a mother might a sick child. somehow he can't picture vivienne moore doing anything other than commanding them to get better so he can make it to a dinner party on time.]
I'm right here. Not a chance I'm going anywhere else.
[not unless embry pushes him to - and even then, he's already stood his ground once.]
Keep your eyes closed and roll back onto your side - might help.
[his hand slides down to gently nudge at embry's upper arm, to help him do it if he's too weak or nauseous to do it on his own. it gives him a much better view of his face - somehow still perfectly enticing despite dark circles and the washed out coloring of his skin. it makes hawk want to dip down and press his lips to his temple, or kick off his oxfords and crawl up behind him until he dozes off again. all things he never fucking does for anyone - or at least, hasn't since tim, and never thought he'd want to do again.]