Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

With the world around him in chaos and his job—now, in his last remaining days before retirement—becoming something he could hardly stand anymore, Hawk looked forward to his nights at home with his family more than ever.

His mood was already sour, but today, of all days, he had been forced to work overtime. It was supposed to be ‘Jenny and the Grandads’ time while Kimberley enjoyed an evening out with her friends.

With a heavy heart, Hawk had texted Tim to let him know he couldn’t make it. Tim had sent a selfie back—him and little Jenny both pouting. That picture was now Hawk’s lock screen.

It was past nine when he finally unlocked the door to his and Tim’s apartment—only to feel a tap on his shoulder. Startled, he turned to see Kim grinning at him, then giggling because, for once, she had actually caught him off guard.

“I’m too old for that,” he said in mock offense. “Might die of a heart attack if you do that again.”

“Don’t even joke about that, Dad,” Kim said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Working late again?”

“Unfortunately.”

“I’m sure Tim had everything under control.”

“Let’s find out.”

Hawk pushed open the door, and they were met with absolute silence. Usually, Jenny was bursting with energy by the time Kimberley picked her up. She was always allowed to stay up late, making a big show of how grown-up she was.

Hawk shrugged off his coat and toed off his shoes before tiptoeing into the living room, Kimberley close behind. He paused in the doorway, taking in the sight before him. It was a beautiful scene—one for the ages.

“Aww,” Kimberley cooed. “I have to take a picture of this.”

Jenny and Tim were curled up together in Tim’s favorite armchair, both fast asleep. Jenny’s head rested against Tim’s chest, her nose buried in his soft sweater, one tiny fist clutching his sleeve as if to make sure he wouldn’t slip away. Her little legs were tucked up on his lap, one sock slightly askew, her other hand still resting on the open picture book sprawled across Tim’s knee—hanging on by a thread, one wrong shift away from tumbling to the floor.

Even in sleep, Tim held Jenny protectively, his arms securely around her, as if keeping her safe even in dreams. His graying hair—badly in need of a trim—was tousled, his silver-framed glasses slightly askew on his nose. His face was relaxed, peaceful, and so young like this that Hawk’s heart ached.

Jenny let out a tiny sigh, nuzzling closer, and Tim responded instinctively, shifting just enough to tighten his embrace.

In the end, it was the book slipping from Tim’s lap that woke them—because neither Hawk nor Kimberley had the heart to.

Tim blinked slowly, sleepily—the same way he always did in the mornings when Hawk tugged him close against his chest.

“I don’t want to go yet,” Jenny mumbled, still clinging to Tim, her voice thick with sleep.

Hawk understood her perfectly. He never wanted to let go of Tim either.

“Honey, it’s late. We need to go home now,” Kimberley said gently. “You’ll see your granddads real soon, I promise.”

“No!” Jenny declared, with the unshakable determination of a six-year-old. Her little fingers curled tighter into Tim’s sweater, as if holding on could somehow keep time from moving forward.

Hawk chuckled softly. It was refreshing to hear that kind of stubbornness from an actual child rather than grown-up politicians.

Tim smiled tiredly, his arms tightening around Jenny as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. His voice was soft, warm, and edged with sleep. “What’s the matter, sweetie?” His patience, as always, was endless.

Jenny sniffled against his chest. “I want to stay with you.”

“With me?” Tim asked, rubbing soothing circles on her back.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “You’re my favorite grandpa.”

Hawk let out an exaggerated gasp. “Ouch.” He pressed a hand over his heart. “Betrayed in my own home.”

Tim chuckled, shaking his head.

“Jenny, we really need to go home now,” Kimberley said gently.

But tired children had their own logic, and by the time Jenny finally let go of Tim to put on her shoes, thick tears were rolling down her cheeks. Tim didn’t leave her side, helping her get dressed, brushing away some of her tears, and promising they’d see each other again soon.

Jenny was halfway out the door when her exhausted brain suddenly registered Hawk’s presence. No one could have stopped her as she ran full force into his arms.

Hawk knew her well enough to be ready, opening his arms and lifting her up as she latched onto him.

“Hello, princess,” he whispered into her hair.

“I missed you, Grandpa.”

“I know. I’m so sorry I missed our evening together. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Grandpa Tim and I read books.”

“That sounds like quite the party,” Hawk said with a smile. “And I missed it.”

She snuggled close, just as she always did, her head resting on his shoulder, eyes drifting shut. She would be asleep again soon.

"Alright, Jenny, time to go to your bed. I bet Mr. Teddy is missing you already."

"Okay," Jenny mumbled, defeated.

They waved their goodbyes, and when the door finally closed, Hawk wrapped his arms around Tim, resting his head against Tim’s shoulder and clasping his hands together in front of Tim’s stomach. Tim melted into the embrace, leaning back against Hawk and tilting his head to rest against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry I missed tonight," Hawk whispered against Tim’s skin before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"I'm sorry too," Tim murmured.

"You know I wanted to be here more than anything, right?" Hawk asked.

"I know," Tim said softly, then added, "How was your day?"

Hawk sighed. "Long. Too long. Left me with a headache and enough frustration to last a year. How was yours?"

"Exhausting and lovely. Six-year-olds have way too much energy."

"She tired you out?"

"She did."

Hawk chuckled. "She should get an award for that. Draining you of your never-ending energy is no small feat."

"Very funny."

Hawk kissed Tim’s cheek again. "Bed?"

"Yes, please."

They moved through their nightly routine with the practiced ease of a couple who had spent years together. When they finally slipped under the covers, Hawk pulled Tim close against his chest, breathing him in before pressing a lingering kiss to his lips.

"Jackson is bringing his kids over tomorrow," Tim mumbled, already half-asleep.

"He is?"

"Hm. He's looking for a job closer by."

"Jackson wants to move back?" Hawk's stomach flipped with happiness. "That’s really good news."

"Yeah… but we have to babysit the twins."

"We’ll twin-proof the apartment tomorrow," Hawk murmured, smiling.

Tim hummed sleepily in response, his breathing already slowing. Hawk pressed one last kiss to Tim’s forehead, letting the warmth of Tim in his arms lull him into comfort.

As the quiet settled around them, the weight of the day melted away. Tomorrow would come with its own chaos, but for now, in the soft glow of the night, everything was exactly as it should be.

And with that thought, Hawk let himself drift off to sleep.

Chapter Text

“No, Skippy. Don’t look at me like that.”

Hawk actually made a show of covering his eyes with both hands.

“Like what?” Tim asked, laughing.

“Like Bambi when they shot the mom.”

Tim snorted. “Like—Hawk.” His laughter grew louder. “Would you please look at me?”

“Absolutely not.”

Tim let out an exasperated sigh. “All I asked was if we should have a movie night with the little monsters. You act like I’m trying to persuade you to join a cult.”

Hawk peeked between his fingers. “If I open my eyes, I won’t be able to say no to this madness.”

“Well, we could always tell Kim and Jackson that we’d rather help move Jackson and Daniel’s stuff into their new apartment.” Tim shrugged. “Maybe one of their way younger friends can do the babysitting while we lift furniture.”

Hawk groaned.

Tim grinned. “Come on, Hawk. They can be a lot, but we love them, remember?”

Finally, Hawk dropped his hands.

And that was his mistake.

One look at Tim and he was screwed.

Tim’s warm, dark brown eyes shone with so much love, so much fondness. As always, when he had his mind set on something, they were wide, impossibly earnest, the prescription of his glasses making them seem even bigger. So damn beautiful. The fine lines at the corners—crows' feet from a lifetime of smiling—only made him look better.

Hawk exhaled. “Damn you.”

Tim’s lips twitched. “Is that what they say instead of yes these days?”

“Damn you.”

Tim beamed, and just like that, Hawk was a goner all over again.

“Alright then,” Tim said, triumphant. “We just have to pick a movie beforehand to avoid war.”

Hawk shook his head, but he reached for Tim anyway, tugging him in, needing to feel the warmth of him. He cradled Tim’s cheek in his palm, thumb brushing against the stubble there, and leaned in.

The kiss was soft. Deep. Lingered a little longer than it should have.

Tim pulled back, looking slightly dazed. “What was that for?”

Hawk smirked. “So you’ll remember what I’d rather be doing tonight.”

Tim’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips. Tempting. Hawk leaned in again, kissing him properly this time—slow, unhurried, the kind of kiss that said I want you, right now, but I’ll still want you tomorrow too.

And—God help him—Tim blushed.

Still. After all these years.

His gaze flickered from Hawk’s mouth to his eyes and back again, like he was considering something.

“We don’t have time for this, Hawk.” His voice was breathy.

Hawk groaned. “I know. That’s what kills me.” He brushed his lips against Tim’s temple. “We need to make more time for us.”

Tim nodded, sighing as he leaned in close, resting his forehead against Hawk’s shoulder, his voice muffled against the fabric of Hawk’s sweater. “We do. I just love the time we have with the kids. Makes me think of when Kim and Jax were little. Remember that first trip we took them on?”

Hawk smiled. “The beach?”

Tim hummed in agreement.

Hawk could still picture it—Kim and Jax, wide-eyed with excitement, their first real vacation after the divorce. He remembered how nervous he’d been, worried about them spending so much time with Tim.

He needn’t have been.

They’d adored Tim.

Sometimes—just sometimes—Hawk suspected they loved Tim more than they loved him.

But that was just an old man’s foolish jealousy.

And honestly?

He wouldn’t have had it any other way.

They had twin-proofed the apartment.

Four years ago, Jackson and his husband Daniel had taken in four-year-old twins, Mia and Fynn, through foster care. At first, nothing was certain—whether they could stay, whether it would work—but after two years, it became clear. The kids loved their home. The adoption was finalized just last year.

Mia was a whirlwind of energy and boldness—outgoing, curious, always eager to explore. Fynn was quieter, often lost in his own little world. Naturally, Jenny and Mia got along splendidly. Jenny idolized her cousin, wanting to be just like her. But Fynn was never left out. Somehow, the trio just worked.

That didn’t mean they weren’t a lot.

Last time, they had decided—completely on their own—that it would be a brilliant idea to wake up in the middle of the night and bake surprise cookies.

A loud crash had jolted Hawk and Tim awake.

By the time they reached the kitchen, there was flour everywhere.

"I've got the key to the kitchen door." Hawk held it up like a trophy.

"Brilliant. No surprises this time." Tim nodded, satisfied. "The couch is all set up for Mia and Jenny, and I put fresh covers on the guest bed in the office for Fynn."

"All set, then?"

"I think so."

On cue, the doorbell buzzed.

Hawk could hear loud chatter echoing up the staircase, and within seconds, he was met with a blur of dark-brown curls as Mia and Fynn tumbled inside, Jenny close behind.

"Grandpa!" Mia shrieked, launching herself forward and wrapping her arms around Hawk’s middle.

"Hey, sweetheart." He sank to his knees, hugging her properly.

Jenny was next, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, her wide smile lighting up her face.

Fynn, meanwhile, hesitated at the doorway, half-hidden behind Jackson’s legs, clutching his stuffed wolf tightly to his chest. He had always been obsessed with wolves.

Then, his gaze landed on Tim.

Something in his posture shifted—his grip on the stuffed animal loosened just slightly. Slowly, cautiously, he stepped forward, blinking up at Tim with wide, shy eyes.

"Hi," he whispered, voice barely above a breath.

It had always been this way between them. From the very first moment, there had been something unspoken, a quiet understanding. Hawk had long suspected it was Tim’s steady, reassuring presence that made Fynn feel safe.

Tim smiled—that smile. The one Hawk had covered his eyes for earlier. The one no one could resist.

He opened his arms, and Fynn immediately sank into them, burying his nose in the crook of Tim’s neck.

"Are you tired, love?" Tim whispered into Fynn’s curls.

Fynn nodded.

"He’s not sleeping well," Jackson explained. "New home and all."

"Well, everything here is just the same as always," Tim reassured him gently. "You have your own room, your own space, and Grandpa Hawk and I are right next door if you need anything. Does that work for you?"

Fynn nodded again, curling even closer to Tim.

"I want to hug Grandpa Tim too!" Mia complained, already preparing to push her brother aside.

"Mia," Jackson warned.

She pouted instantly, crossing her arms.

"I want a hug too!" Jenny, of course, decided to chime in, imitating her cousin.

"Everyone will get a hug," Tim chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of Fynn’s head. He opened one arm, and Jenny and Mia tumbled inside, wrapping themselves around him.

Jackson shook his head with a fond smile before turning to Hawk. "I’ll pick the trio up tomorrow around noon if that works for you?"

"Of course. Take your time." Hawk patted his son's shoulder. "Make sure you two have everything settled before picking them up."

Jackson nodded. "Thanks, Dad."

"Anytime." Hawk gave his shoulder one last squeeze before stepping back. "As you can see, Tim has everything under control."

Jackson chuckled. "Makes me jealous, that one. He’s like a magician with kids."

"Good God, I finally found a parking spot," Kimberley complained as she made her way up the stairs.

She took in the scene—three kids wrapped tightly around Tim—and laughed, shaking her head fondly. "I see I’m not needed anymore."

"Bye, Mom!" Jenny waved, twisting her head to smile at Kimberley.

"Come on, Jax," she elbowed her brother. "Makes me wonder why I even parked the car. Next time, we should just drop them off at the door. Apparently, we’re completely irrelevant when Tim is around."

"Stop it," Tim chimed in, amusement in his voice. "I can hear all of you just fine."

Gently untangling himself from six little arms, he stood up and briefly hugged Jackson and Kimberley.

"But we should really be going," Jackson said. "The sooner we get it over with, the better."

"Well, happy moving," Hawk said with a grin, remembering all too well just how chaotic and exhausting a move could be.

Once Jackson and Kimberley had said their final goodbyes and the front door clicked shut behind them, chaos unfolded.

Hawk clapped his hands together, the sharp sound cutting through the excited chatter. "Alright, we’re making our own pizza tonight. Dough and everything. Who wants to help?"

Three little hands shot up instantly—followed, to Hawk’s great pleasure, by Tim’s.

Hawk narrowed his eyes. "Everyone can help—except your Grandpa Skippy."

Tim let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest. "What? Why not?"

The kids giggled, even Fynn, who usually took a little longer to warm up.

Hawk folded his arms, adopting a mock-serious expression. "Because—how do I put this delicately—you can’t cook."

Tim pouted, sticking out his bottom lip. "I feel very left out."

The reaction was immediate. All three kids abandoned their spots and swarmed him, wrapping their little arms around him and showering him with declarations of love.

"We love you, Grandpa Tim!" Jenny insisted.

"You’re the best!" Mia chimed in.

Fynn, ever soft-spoken, simply clung to Tim’s side, nodding in agreement.

It was a familiar game—one they played every single time. And yet, somehow, the kids never got tired of it.

Hawk watched the scene unfold with a fond shake of his head, knowing exactly how this night would go: a mess in the kitchen, flour everywhere, and little tornadoes of energy spinning in circles.

It took them hours to make the pizza, but by five in the afternoon, they finally had it ready. They all snuggled up in front of the TV, pizza plates on their laps, and started the movie.

Mia let out a small protest when she found out she couldn’t choose the movie, but it faded quickly when Hawk placed a slice of pizza on her plate.

Mia and Jenny giggled through every scene, making comments, while Fynn sat quietly beside Tim, still clutching his wolf. He absent-mindedly munched on his pizza, his eyes flickering between the screen and Tim. Of course, he sat closest to Tim—Hawk knew his grandson by now. Fynn was relaxed, speaking a little during their pizza-making session, and it was clear he was starting to feel at home.

When the credits finally rolled, Fynn was half asleep against Tim’s side. Mia and Jenny were blinking slowly, their eyelids heavy with sleep.

"I think it’s time for bed," Hawk said gently, smiling at Tim before turning to his grandchildren.

It was a bit of a mess getting them to bed. Jenny could barely keep her eyes open while brushing her teeth, Mia nearly tripped over herself, tangled in her pajamas, and Fynn needed a little extra encouragement to settle into his room. Hawk suspected that, before the night was over, Fynn would be standing next to their bed asking if he could sleep with them.

When it was finally Hawk’s and Tim’s turn to brush their teeth, Tim was barely hanging on. He leaned heavily against the sink, brushing his teeth lazily, his worn dark green T-shirt and soft black sweatpants rumpled, his feet bare.

"Don’t fall asleep over there, Skippy," Hawk teased, his voice light with affection.

"Trying my best," Tim mumbled, his toothbrush wedged between his lips.

Hawk chuckled, stretching his back and rolling his shoulders. "I feel like I ran a marathon."

"Hm," Tim hummed, too tired to do more than grunt in response.

"Skippy," Hawk laughed. "No sleeping while brushing your teeth." He stepped behind Tim, gently taking the toothbrush out of Tim’s mouth. "I think you’re good. Time for sleep."

Tim grumbled something incoherent, clearly struggling to stay awake.

"I’m tired," he mumbled, slurring the words.

"I see that," Hawk said softly, his voice full of affection.

"I wanna sleep," Tim added, his eyes already starting to close.

"Don’t go all toddler on me now," Hawk teased, kissing Tim’s forehead gently. "We already have an apartment full of children."

"Just tired," Tim murmured, his voice barely audible.

"If you’re good, I’ll give you a nice back massage," Hawk said, the offer hanging in the air.

Tim’s eyes flicked up, surprised. "Really?"

Hawk chuckled softly. "Sure. Come on, now, Skippy."

They settled into bed together, the quiet of the night enveloping them. But before Hawk could start the much-anticipated back massage, Tim was already fast asleep, his breathing steady and deep.

Chapter Text

Tim was asleep, and Hawk watched him like a creep.

He sat in his armchair, thick white socks on his feet, legs crossed at the ankles. A book lay in his lap, his finger tucked between the pages to mark his place. He had been reading for the last two hours. It was a lazy, quiet Sunday afternoon.

Tim had caught a mild cold—courtesy of Jenny, who had picked it up at school and promptly infected half the family. He was always a tired patient, more exhausted than anything else. Hawk suspected it was his body forcing him to rest. Otherwise, Tim, with his relentless activism and endless energy, would never stop.

Gently, Hawk picked up a woolen blanket draped over the back of the couch and spread it over Tim. A soft sound escaped from Tim’s lips—a little hum of contentment. Hawk smiled and let the back of his index finger trail lightly across Tim’s cheek before he finally turned toward the kitchen to start dinner.

Halfway through chopping vegetables, his phone buzzed. Kimberley’s name flashed across the screen.

“That’s a nice surprise,” Hawk said, picking up. “How’s our little patient?”

Kimberley huffed a laugh. “Oh, she’s milking it. All pouts and big eyes, demanding ice cream like it’s her birthright. How’s Tim?”

“He’s fine. Still asleep in his chair.”

“Tired?”

“Yeah. But he’s alright.”

Kim sighed, a note of relief in her voice. “Good.”

Hawk frowned slightly. “Why did you call, sweetheart? Everything okay?”

“I have news, and I don’t want to wait any longer to tell you.”

Hawk stilled. “Good news?” he asked, a bit wary.

Kimberley let out a small, breathy laugh. “Yes, Dad. Mom already knows. She kept quiet, I see. Usually, you two discuss everything concerning Jax and me.”

“She didn’t tell me anything.”

“Alright then.” A pause. “I really wanted to tell you and Tim together, in person, but I just can’t wait any longer.”

“You’re killing me, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, Dad.” She cleared her throat. “I’m pregnant.”

Hawk nearly dropped the phone. A wide grin stretched across his face, and his chest tightened with emotion. A suspicious burning sensation welled behind his eyes.

“Kimmy,” he whispered, his voice raw. “That’s wonderful.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

He ran a hand over his face, shaking his head in amazement. “Wait a second. I need to wake Tim—you have to tell him yourself. He wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t.”

Hawk crossed the room and crouched beside Tim, who was still curled up under the blanket. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the crown of Tim’s head.

“Tim,” he murmured.

Tim stirred, blinking blearily up at him. His hair was tousled, his expression soft with sleep. “Mm?”

Hawk smiled. “Kim’s on the phone.”

Tim reached for the phone with a questioning look. “Hi, Kim. Everything alright?”

Then he listened. Hawk watched as the moment of realization dawned on Tim’s face. His expression melted into something impossibly tender.

“Congratulations,” Tim whispered in awe. “I’m so happy for you.”

Hawk sat on the armrest of the chair as they put the call on speaker, listening as Kimberley filled them in on dates and plans, her excitement spilling through the line.

When the call ended, a quiet settled between them.

Tim exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “A baby, Hawk.”

Hawk nodded, still grinning. “Yeah.”

Tim pushed himself up and wrapped his arms around Hawk’s neck, burying his face in the crook of his shoulder.

“We’re so lucky,” Hawk whispered, pressing a kiss to Tim’s temple.

“We are,” Tim agreed, his voice thick. “I am even more. The way your kids just accepted me into their lives… it’s a blessing.”

“No one could ever turn away from you, Skippy.”

Tim hummed in response, snuggling closer. Hawk felt the dampness against his skin before he heard the tiny sniffle.

“Love… are you crying?”

“Of course I am,” Tim sniffed. “I can’t bear being this happy.”

Hawk held him tighter, one hand cradling the back of Tim’s head, the other rubbing slow circles against his back. He couldn’t resist the words forming in his mouth.

“My sweet boy.”

Tim choked out a laugh. “Hawk, I’m fifty-six years old.”

“You’ll always be my sweet boy. There’s no expiration date.”

Tim laughed again, shaking his head, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he clung to Hawk a little tighter, breathing in the warmth of the moment.

And Hawk just held him.

Because some happiness was too big to hold alone.

Chapter Text

It was a lovely day—sunny but not hot. Just the comforting warmth of spring, when you could go out without a jacket and still be comfortable in a sweater. Still, it had taken some effort to pull Tim away from work.

“I can’t just leave, Hawk,” he had said, his voice laced with determination and disbelief.

“It’s just an extended lunch, Skippy. You’ll work overtime anyway.”

Tim had sighed, flipping through his planner with exaggerated dramatics, searching for an excuse. He didn’t have any. When Frankie stepped in and flatly told him to get lost for at least two hours, Tim finally gave in.

He grumbled the entire way to the surprise. But Hawk could never really be annoyed by it—Tim’s protests always reminded him of a puppy throwing a tantrum.

“Do you know how much work I have right now? With everything going on? So many scared kids looking for guidance and support, especially trans kids. I need to be at work. And on top of that, we don’t even know if we can keep going—our funding is on the line.”

Hawk wrapped an arm around Tim’s shoulders, pulling him in close. “I know, love. You’re doing really important work, and I love how passionate you are. But sometimes, you need to take a breath—take a break—so you can go back with fresh energy.”

Tim softened against him, resting his head on Hawk’s shoulder, right on the strap of his backpack.

“What’s that for?” Tim asked, lifting his head slightly. “I’ve never seen you with a backpack unless we have a horde of tiny humans to babysit.”

“Just wait and see.”

They turned a corner, and Hawk paused, his fingers tightening slightly around the strap of his backpack. His heart thudded a little harder now, the weight of the moment settling in. He set the bag down carefully, taking out a thin scarf and smoothing it between his fingers.

“I’m going to blindfold you now.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” his suspicion deepened, his lips pressing together in a skeptical frown. “Hawk, come on. Is that really necessary? What are you up to?”

“Please, Skippy, just trust me.” Hawk’s voice softened, coaxing.

Tim let out an exaggerated sigh, crossing his arms. “Alright,” he muttered, though his posture remained stiff, reluctant.

Hawk smiled to himself, gently taking Tim’s glasses and hooking them onto the front of his sweater. His fingers lingered just for a moment before he carefully tied the scarf over Tim’s eyes.

Tim huffed. “I can’t believe I’m letting you do this.”

Hawk chuckled, placing a reassuring hand at the small of Tim’s back as he guided him forward—around two more corners and through the park entrance. The fresh scent of early spring filled the air, a mix of damp earth, budding leaves, and the faint, sweet fragrance of flowers.

Tim grumbled under his breath, arms still folded tightly across his chest. Hawk had to bite back a laugh.

“You look adorable when you pout, you know that?” he teased.

Tim scoffed. “I am not pouting. I am simply expressing valid concern for my well-being.”

Hawk squeezed his shoulder. “You’re perfectly safe.”

“I better be.”

“Alright,” Hawk said, slowing to a stop. “Wait right here. Don’t move.”

Tim tensed. “You’re not seriously abandoning me blindfolded?”

“Trust me.” Hawk leaned in and brushed a soft kiss over Tim’s lips. The tension in Tim’s shoulders eased slightly.

“You better not be gone long.”

“I’ll be fast, and I won’t be far. You can talk to me the whole time if you want.”

Another dramatic sigh, but Tim nodded.

Hawk hurried over to the bench, kneeling as he unzipped his backpack. His hands worked quickly—two neatly wrapped sandwiches, a small bottle of milk, a piece of cake. He smoothed a napkin over the wooden bench like a makeshift tablecloth and, finally, he pulled out a single red rose. He exhaled in relief—it had survived the journey intact.

Hawk turned back to Tim. His heart squeezed at the sight of him standing there, arms still crossed, head tilted slightly as if listening for clues. This man, this stubborn, passionate, brilliant man. 

“I’m taking the blindfold off now,” Hawk murmured, reaching out.

Tim blinked against the light, his vision adjusting as Hawk carefully placed his glasses back on his face.

Tim looked up at him, brows furrowed as if about to scold him—but then his eyes drifted past Hawk, landing on the bench. He froze, his entire expression shifting.

“Hawk, what—?” Then, suddenly, his breath caught. His face crumpled slightly, eyes squeezing shut. “Oh no. I forgot—how could I forget?”

Hawk’s chest ached at the quiet devastation in his voice. He reached out, letting his fingers slip into Tim’s hair, cradling the back of his head. His voice was gentle, steady.

“You’re very busy. And that’s okay.”

Tim swallowed hard, his gaze flickering between Hawk and the bench. “It’s…” He sucked in a breath, voice barely above a whisper. “We met today. Thirty years ago.”

Hawk nodded. “We did.”

Tim let out a shaky laugh. “I was protesting the government.”

Hawk chuckled, tightening his grip just slightly, grounding him. “You sure were. And you thought it was a brilliant idea to harass government employees on their lunch break.”

Tim huffed, a bit of life returning to his voice. “You called me a naïve young activist wasting my energy.”

Hawk pressed a lingering kiss to Tim’s temple, then nudged him toward the bench. “We had a good argument. You were fiery and relentless, and I was impressed. And I knew—right then—that I was in trouble.”

Tim sat down slowly, eyes sweeping over the setup, his fingers brushing over the small bottle of milk. A soft smile tugged at his lips. “Milk?”

“It’s tradition,” Hawk said simply. “And you still love it. Don’t even try to deny it.”

Tim shook his head, lips quirking. “I’m hopeless in that department.”

Hawk reached for the single red rose and held it out to him. His throat felt tight, but he didn’t fight it.

“I’m glad we’re here. I’m glad we made it through everything—the trouble, the fights, the moments where we almost didn’t. I’m glad we found our way.”

Tim took the rose carefully, holding it as if it were something fragile, something precious. His lips parted, but for a moment, no words came. His eyes shimmered, his fingers tightening around the stem.

Finally, he exhaled. “Me too,” he whispered. Then, with a soft, self-deprecating chuckle, he added, “I remember back then, when I found out you were married—” He shook his head. “I’d never felt such instant attraction to anyone, and you were already taken. Of course, I also immediately assumed you were straight.”

Hawk smirked. “We found our way. Because of you. You were always braver than me.”

Tim gave him a knowing look. “You’re brave too, Hawk. I’m just more persistent.”

Hawk laughed, letting his eyes trace over Tim’s face—the creases at the corners of his eyes, the soft streaks of silver in his hair. 

“Did you make these sandwiches?” Tim asked suddenly, eyeing them with amusement.

“Of course I did,” Hawk said, feigning offense. “It’s one of our anniversaries—I couldn’t just pick up some cheap sandwiches. It had to be special.”

Tim shook his head, biting back a smile. He lifted the milk bottle to his lips and took the first sip, never breaking eye contact with Hawk.

It nearly made Hawk drop his own sandwich.

Tim smirked, lowering the bottle just slightly. “Something wrong?”

Hawk cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus. “Nope.” He took a deliberate bite of his sandwich, but the way Tim was watching him, amused and just a little smug, sent warmth curling through his chest.

Damn it. Thirty years, and Tim still had that effect on him.

Chapter Text

“Does this shirt look okay?”

Tim stood in the hallway, adjusting the cuffs of his crisp white button-up. He’d paired it with black jeans—simple, classic. His hair was freshly trimmed, the style modern and sharp. It suited him.

“Of course, Skippy. You look really nice.”

Tim smoothed a hand down the front of his shirt, his movements just shy of self-conscious. “I’m just… are you sure it’s okay for me to be there?”

Hawk sighed. “Skip, of course, it’s okay. It’s expected. Why are you so nervous?”

“It’s Lucy,” Tim admitted. “She has every reason not to want me there, and—”

Hawk shushed him with a look. “Lucy loves you. You’ve met her plenty of times—at family gatherings, birthdays. Because you are family to her.”

“I’m just saying, I’d understand if—”

Hawk leaned in and kissed him, cupping his face gently, a last resort to quiet his spiraling thoughts. “She’d never do that to you. She was never angry with you. Maybe jealous for a bit, sure, but never angry. That—she saved for me. And she had every reason to hate me. But she doesn’t.”

Tim let out a breath, gaze flickering downward. “She’s just… intimidating.”

Hawk chuckled. “She’s been a lawyer her whole life.”

“It shows.”

Hawk tilted his head. “Skippy, what’s this really about, huh? Lucy’s been at every single birthday party for Kim, Jackson, and the grandkids. You’re not nervous then.”

Tim swallowed. “It’s different. This is the first time we’re invited to her and Marcello’s house. And the first time she’s celebrating her birthday.”

Hawk started to argue, but then he hesitated. Tim was right. Lucy hadn’t celebrated her birthday in years. When they were married, she’d always brushed it off—too much fuss, too much trouble. She put the kids first. Later, birthdays just… stopped mattering. But this year was different. Her 65th. Something had changed her mind.

“Why does that make a difference?” Hawk asked.

“Because it’s hers. And I’m never really sure if she actually likes me or if she just tolerates me for the kids’ sake.”

Hawk stilled. He hadn’t heard Tim sound this unsure in years. Not since his twenties. Back when he was an activist—loud and fearless for a cause but quiet and hesitant when it came to love, to intimacy. He used to doubt his place, question his worth in relationships. Hawk thought that voice had been buried with time.

“Skippy,” Hawk murmured, pulling him into a hug. “She invited both of us. She doesn’t just tolerate you.”

Tim’s voice was small. “How can you be so sure?”

It was then Hawk realized—he and Lucy talked all the time. Phone calls, catching up about the kids, the grandkids. But Tim? Tim and Lucy didn’t share that.

“Because I know how she talks about you when we’re on the phone,” Hawk said. “She always asks about you—how you are, what you’re up to. She compliments you. She admires how you are with the little ones—especially Fynn.”

Tim exhaled, shoulders loosening just a little. “Okay.”

But he still didn’t sound convinced.

Hawk remembered the arguments from thirty years ago, the way Tim had stormed out of his life. Six months. That was all it had taken—six months of stolen moments, of Hawk convincing himself it was just sex, while Tim had so clearly been in love.

And then Tim had confessed. Tears in his eyes, voice shaking, he had told Hawk how much he loved him. Had begged him to choose him.

And Hawk had said no.

Tim had left that night—vanished from his life for nearly two years.

Losing him had been unbearable. But even before that, the weight of lying to Lucy—one of his closest friends—had already been suffocating him. The guilt had seeped into everything, robbing even the happiest moments with his family of their joy.

It had taken years to mend things with Lucy. Five years of fighting, another five of silent tolerance. She never forbade him from seeing Kim and Jackson—she wasn’t that kind of person. But trust? That had been harder to rebuild. A decade after everything fell apart, they finally sat down, just the two of them, talking it all out over more than one bottle of wine. Lucy had listened, had tried to understand the fear that had kept him silent. And Hawk had apologized—not just for the affair, but for all the things he should have told her before they ever got married.

Their friendship had begun anew that night. And Hawk had never stopped being grateful for it.

He kissed Tim on the tip of his nose, then pushed up his glasses with a finger. “Let’s go, yeah? And stop worrying.”

Lucy and Marcello’s house was a cozy little place in the suburbs, complete with a porch and a neatly kept garden. Tonight, the entrance was decorated with balloons, cheerful and bright—almost like a six-year-old’s birthday party. Hawk had no doubt Jenny had helped with the decorations.

Tim carried an enormous bouquet of flowers, so big it nearly swallowed him whole, while Hawk held a bottle of Lucy’s favorite wine, wrapped neatly. When they rang the bell, Lucy opened almost instantly, her smile warm and welcoming.

“I’m so glad you came,” she said, pulling Hawk into a hug and kissing his cheek.

She laughed when Tim peeked out from behind the flowers. “Are there any flowers left in the wider D.C. area?”

Tim flushed, the color creeping up to the tips of his ears. “It’s a special day. I couldn’t decide, so I picked one of everything.”

Lucy took the bouquet, grinning as it overwhelmed her small frame even more than it had Tim’s. “That’s very sweet of you, Tim. Thank you. Now, come in—you’re both longingly awaited.”

“You mean Tim is longingly awaited,” Hawk corrected.

Lucy smiled knowingly. “You’re right. Jenny, Fynn, and Mia have been asking for their grandpa for an hour.”

Tim blushed deeper, and Hawk wrapped an arm around his shoulders, guiding him inside.

The moment they stepped in, Jenny and Mia came sliding across the wooden floor in their socks, crashing straight into them—Mia latching onto Hawk’s legs, Jenny wrapping herself around Tim. Hawk picked Mia up, even though his back protested at lifting an eight-year-old. Tim, ever the smarter one, simply dropped to his knees and pulled Jenny into a hug.

A small figure peeked around the corner, half-hidden behind the wall, smiling wide.

Fynn.

There was something different about him.

It took Hawk a second to spot it—black-rimmed, round glasses perched on his nose, making him look even more endearing.

Tim saw them at the same moment. His face lit up. “Well, look at you—someone’s got a new pair of glasses.”

Fynn grinned and trotted forward. “I got them yesterday,” he announced proudly.

Jackson appeared behind him, mussing his son’s hair as he walked past to greet Hawk. “Turns out that’s where the headaches were coming from,” he explained. “He’s been over the moon since yesterday.”

Of course, Fynn went straight to Tim first. He leaned in close, voice dropping to a whisper-shout—the kind only kids think is subtle. “I picked them ‘cause they look like the ones you had in that old photo.”

Tim placed his hands on Fynn’s shoulders, studying his face. “They look exactly like my favorite frames from when I was in my twenties. They suit you so well.”

“We match now,” Fynn said, beaming.

“That’s right. Finally, someone else with glasses in this family full of people with perfect eyesight.”

Hawk could feel the enormous grin on his own face, watching his shy little grandson so happy over something so simple—the joy of matching with Tim.

The party truly came to life when Marcello called everyone to the dining room. He was a brilliant cook—Italian cuisine at its finest. Hawk had always been more than grateful for Marcello. Ever since he had come into Lucy’s life, she had been lighter, happier.

They had met when Lucy took a solo vacation to Italy—a trip just for herself. Kim and Jax had still been young then, staying with Hawk and Tim while she was away.

“It was love at first sight,” Lucy had told him later.

They had met in Marcello’s Nonna’s restaurant, where Lucy had gone for dinner one evening. Marcello had been helping out with both service and cooking that night. They spent the rest of Lucy’s vacation together, and what started as a whirlwind romance soon became a long-distance relationship.

When they finally married, Marcello moved to D.C., understanding that Lucy needed to be close to her children. Still, they spent a few weeks—sometimes even months—back in Italy every year. They were an easy kind of couple, rarely fighting, always understanding and respecting each other in a way that felt effortless.

Hawk couldn’t have wished for a better man for Lucy.

Marcello navigated chaotic dinners like a master conductor, effortlessly keeping the evening from derailing. When Jenny and Mia started arguing not long after dinner began—pasta flying through the air and landing right on Fynn’s new glasses—Marcello didn’t miss a beat.

Fynn burst into tears, scrubbing at his face with clumsy hands, and Tim immediately whisked him off to the kitchen, murmuring reassurances as he grabbed a napkin. Meanwhile, Marcello handled the chaos with his usual humor, striking just the right tone to settle the girls’ argument before it escalated any further.

He crouched to their level, lifting an eyebrow in exaggerated disapproval as he plucked a stray noodle from his sleeve. “Ladies, if I wanted to wear dinner, I’d have asked for a fashion show,” he quipped, making Jenny stifle a giggle.

Mia, arms crossed in defiance, hesitated before mumbling a reluctant apology. Marcello softened, ruffling her hair. “That’s my girl,” he said, then winked at Jenny. “And you, mia stella, maybe next time aim for the plate instead of your cousin’s face, eh?” Within seconds, the tension melted, and the two girls were giggling again, their disagreement forgotten.

By the time Tim and Fynn returned, Fynn’s face was clean, his glasses smudge-free, and the whole table had moved on—Marcello, as always, making sure that laughter was what lingered.

Hawk leaned in, taking in the chaos as he whispered into Kim’s ear, watching Mia and Jenny argue over the last piece of garlic bread while Fynn clung to Tim’s side. “And you’re having number two.”

Kim smirked, elbowing him playfully. “I’ve got good babysitters. I expect full family support.”

“You got it.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple.

Across the table, Jackson snorted, balancing his fork between two fingers. “Full family support, huh? Does that include late-night diaper duty? Because last time I checked, Grandpa Hawk here needed a full eight hours to function.”

Kim shot her brother a look. “That’s why we have three grandpas. We’ll rotate them.”

Jackson grinned. “Great plan.” He turned to Hawk with a smirk. “You hear that? You're on the schedule.”

Hawk huffed, feigning offense. “I raised two kids, you know.”

Kim nodded knowingly. “Yeah, remember how ‘because I said so’ was considered a full explanation?”

Hawk raised a brow. “It was a full explanation. You turned out fine.”

Jackson laughed. “Sure, but now you’re the guy who lets the grandkids eat cake before dinner.”

Hawk shrugged. “I evolved.”

The night went on like that—laughter, light bickering, and more laughter—until it was time for presents. Mia, Fynn, and Jenny surprised Lucy with a handmade photo album, filled with pictures, drawings, and little keepsakes like ticket stubs from their outings together. Lucy gasped as she flipped through the pages, her fingers tracing over each memory with a tenderness that made Hawk’s chest ache. The kids crowded around her, excitedly pointing out their favorite moments, while Marcello rested a hand on her shoulder, smiling as she blinked back tears.

Later, Hawk found Lucy outside, sneaking a cigarette. He eyed it longingly.

“Tim is going to kill you,” she teased.

“That’s why I quit.” He hesitated, then added, “Speaking of Tim… he’s worried.”

Lucy frowned, instantly concerned. “About what?”

“That you don’t want him here. I told him that’s not true.”

“Of course it’s not true. Why would I not want him here?”

Hawk gave her a look. “Because of our history?”

Lucy exhaled a slow stream of smoke. “Goodness, that was ages ago. I’ll talk to him. I need his advice anyway—on how to be the ultimate grandma. As the only female grandparent, I fully intend to claim that crown.”

“He’s the best to ask for advice.” Hawk smirked. “He’ll love that.”

“We’re both lucky, aren’t we?”

“Very.”

“Come on then, let’s get back inside.” Lucy stumped out the cigarette. “I want my birthday cake.”

As they stepped back into the house, the sounds of laughter and conversation wrapped around them. Tim was in the middle of it all, balancing a plate of cake in one hand while Fynn tugged at his sleeve, talking a mile a minute.

Lucy watched for a second, then nudged Hawk. “I really don’t get what he’s so worried about. He’s always been a part of this.”

Hawk just smiled. “He’s always been the last one to see it.”

Lucy sighed, shaking her head fondly, then raised her voice. “Alright, where’s my cake?”

“Coming right up, birthday girl.” Marcello called from the kitchen, balancing a huge piece of cake on a plate.

“Thank you, darling.” Lucy accepted the plate, but before she could take a bite, Jenny gasped dramatically.

“You have to make a wish first!”

Lucy arched a brow. “I thought you only do that when blowing out candles?”

Jenny put her hands on her hips, unwavering. “Doesn’t matter. Wishes work all the time.”

“Alright then” Lucy said, closing her eyes.

“Lucy asked me for advice,” Tim said, beaming as he settled into bed later that night.

Hawk smirked. “Is that so?”

“You know it is.”

Hawk laughed. “Yeah, alright. But I had no part in it, I promise. She wanted to ask you anyway.”

“She was really nice,” Tim said quietly. “I feel bad for thinking she wouldn’t want me there.”

Hawk slid in next to him, gently taking Tim’s glasses off and placing them on the nightstand. “Don’t beat yourself up, Skippy.”

Tim sighed. “I just—”

“You always need something to overthink, I know,” Hawk interrupted, grinning at Tim’s annoyed look.

“Just turn off the lights.”

Hawk gasped dramatically. “Are you upset, my dear Skippy?”

“You’re teasing me, and I’m tired.”

Hawk turned off the lights and immediately scooted closer, resting his head on Tim’s shoulder. “I’m just happy. Today was good.”

Tim hummed. “It was.”

“Fynn looks cute with his new accessory. He was obsessed with that picture I showed him.”

“I was wondering what picture he was talking about.”

Hawk smiled against Tim’s shirt. “You—Christmas—wearing that iconic red jumper, hands folded behind your head and grinning. My favorite one.”

“Our first Christmas as a couple.”

“Yeah. In that tiny apartment that always smelled like the Indian restaurant downstairs.”

Tim let out an appreciative noise. “The food was amazing. I think we ate there once a week or grabbed takeout.”

“We did.” Hawk snuggled closer, breathing him in. “Anyway, I had to make a copy of that picture for Fynn.”

“And he picked those glasses.”

“He did.” Hawk smiled, then added, “You looked so cute with that frame.”

Tim laughed. “Remember how it broke?”

Hawk groaned. “I do.”

That night had been... passionate. They hadn’t even made it to the bedroom. The living room carpet had seemed good enough. Clothes had been scattered everywhere, and Tim’s glasses had ended up on his shirt—right where Hawk had stepped on them, breaking the frame completely.

“Well, it’s back on the market,” Tim said. “I saw it last week in the display window of an optician.”

“Really?”

“Ridiculously expensive. But it’s the exact frame I had back then.”

And just like that, Hawk knew exactly what he was getting Tim for his 57th birthday.

Chapter Text

Something pulled Hawk from deep sleep. He grumbled, shifting slightly—it was so warm, so comfortable.

Tim stirred behind him, his voice thick with sleep. “Hawk… phone.”

“What?”

“Phone. Your phone is buzzing.”

Hawk groaned and forced himself upright, blinking against the sudden light as he turned on the lamp. Kim’s name flashed across the screen.

“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice came out rough with sleep. “Everything alright?”

“Sorry for calling in the middle of the night,” Kim said. “But we have a situation. I’m in labor and—”

“You’re…” He swallowed thickly as a rush of emotions hit him—joy, nerves, something deeper he couldn’t quite name. “Honey, are you okay? What do you need?”

Kim laughed softly. “For you to stay calm, Dad. Everything is fine, exactly as it’s supposed to be. It’ll be a while, but could you pick up Jenny now? I really want Mom and Sam with me at the hospital when it happens, and I’d be so grateful if she could stay with you and Tim.”

“Of course. I’ll be right there.” Hawk ran a hand through his hair, his pulse still racing. “Is there anything else you need? Should I grab anything on the way?”

“No, Dad. I’m good.” She sounded so relaxed—he could hear her smile through the phone. “Just drive safe. Or better, take Tim and have him drive.”

“I… yeah, I’ll do that. See you soon.”

Hanging up, Hawk exhaled slowly. It was the same feeling he’d had when Jackson and Kimberley were born, only intensified with Jenny. Excitement, anticipation, a quiet fear threading through it all. The what-ifs flooded his mind. Kim was his little girl—would always be his little girl. And though she was strong and grown, that didn’t stop him from worrying. Just like he did with Jackson. Only, with childbirth, the fear dug deeper.

Behind him, Tim shifted, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and resting his head there. “Everything alright?”

“We need to pick up Jenny—now.”

“Kim’s in labor?” Tim’s voice was calm.

“Yeah.”

“Come on, then.” Tim pressed a kiss to Hawk’s temple. “Let’s go.”

But Hawk didn’t move.

Tim climbed out of bed, slipping into jeans, socks, and a sweatshirt before turning back to see Hawk still sitting on the edge of the mattress, staring down at his phone.

“Hey,” Tim said gently. “What’s wrong?”

Hawk shook his head. “Just worried.”

Tim knelt in front of him, taking both of Hawk’s hands in his own. “She’s going to be fine. She’s done this before, she has a great doctor, and everything’s been smooth so far.”

“I know.” Hawk exhaled, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I know, I know.”

“The best thing we can do for her right now is take care of Jenny,” Tim reminded him. “Make sure she knows her daughter is safe and happy so she can focus on bringing that little one into the world.”

Hawk nodded, exhaling slowly. “You’re right.”

Kim’s husband, Sam, opened the door for them. He looked both exhausted and wide awake at the same time—a panicked state of alertness that Hawk remembered all too well from when Lucy went into labor.

“Thanks for coming,” Sam said, his voice strained, like he’d had way too much coffee.

He ushered them inside and into the living room. Jenny sat on the couch, bleary-eyed and sleepy, clutching her stuffed bear, Mr. Teddy, close to her chest. When she spotted Hawk and Tim, she gave them a small, drowsy smile.

“Looks like we’ve got a surprise sleepover,” Tim said as he sat beside her. Jenny immediately snuggled against him, resting her head against his side, just like she always did.

In the kitchen, Kim paced slowly, one hand pressed to her lower back, looking focused and put together. She turned when she saw Hawk and smiled.

“Hey, Dad.”

He felt like an idiot, just standing there, taking her in. “Hey, princess.” It was an old nickname—one he hadn’t used in years except for Jenny.

Kim squeezed his arm. “Dad, I’m fine. Everything is fine. Be excited. In a few hours, you’ll have another grandkid to spoil.”

He tried to smile. “I am.”

“So convincing,” Kim teased.

“Wait till it’s your turn to be a grandma,” he said, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. “Drives you out of your skin a bit.”

“Mom seems fine.”

“She’s just better at hiding it.” He knew that for a fact.

Kim exhaled softly. “It’ll be fine, Dad. I promise.”

He had to take her word for it.

Tim reappeared beside them, Jenny curled up in his arms. “I think we’re ready for takeoff.”

Kim laughed, leaning in to kiss Tim’s cheek. “Take care of both of them, please.” She nodded toward Jenny and Hawk.

“I will,” Tim said. “And you take care of yourself.”

“Mom is a superhero,” Jenny said matter-of-factly. “She can do everything.”

Kim gently cupped her daughter’s face, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Be good. I’ll see you soon.”

Tim had Jenny’s overnight bag slung across his shoulder. She held his hand as they walked toward the car, chattering excitedly about becoming a big sister.

Hawk took a deep breath, forcing himself to get it together. Everything would be fine—just like Kim, Jenny, and Tim had told him. It would. Of course, it would. It had to.

Once Jenny was safely buckled into her car seat, Tim climbed behind the wheel. Hawk felt the look Tim shot him but chose to ignore it. They drove home with one of Jenny’s audiobooks playing softly in the background.

By the time they got back, it was 4 a.m., but no one felt like sleeping. Quite the opposite, in fact—Jenny was positively buzzing with excitement, claiming the couch the moment she kicked off her shoes and bouncing on it with boundless energy.

“Coffee?” Tim asked, his voice warm, that soft smile of his never failing to soothe Hawk.

“Please.”

Tim brushed his thumb across Hawk’s cheek, still smiling. “Everything will be fine, Hawk.”

“She’s my little girl.”

“I know. And I understand, Hawk—I do. There’s always a little risk, always worry. She might not be biologically mine, but I’ve always felt strongly about both your kids.”

Hawk pulled him into his arms, letting Tim’s scent ground him. He took a deep breath, his nose tucked against the exposed skin at the hem of Tim’s sweatshirt. Let it all go. Tried to relax. Focus on the good, he told himself. The joy, the excitement—because that was there too.

Jenny finally flopped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. The old thing groaned under her weight, but Hawk was too tired to remind her—again—that the couch wasn’t for jumping. Right now, he didn’t care.

Tim pressed a quick kiss to his hair before peeling himself away to make the promised coffee. Hawk, in turn, made his way over to the couch and sat beside Jenny.

“Alright, kiddo, what do you wanna do?”

She perked up immediately. “Can we watch a movie? Or can you tell me a story?” Then, as if she’d just had the best idea, she beamed at him. “Oh! Can we look at the pictures of you and Grandpa Tim when you were young?”

“You want to look at that album again?”

“Please.” She whined a little, as if she had to convince him. She didn’t. He’d gladly look at the pictures and tell her the stories again. It would be a welcome distraction.

“Alright.”

He got up and pulled the old, oversized album from the shelf. It was battered, torn in places, its pages worn from years of being flipped through—because it told a story Hawk once never thought possible.

Tim returned, balancing two mugs of coffee and a smaller one of hot chocolate for Jenny. His grin widened when he saw what Hawk was holding. He settled beside them on the couch—Hawk in the middle, Jenny and Tim on either side.

Hawk opened the cover. The first page didn’t hold a photograph but a scrap of paper, a phone number scribbled in pencil, worn at the edges. Tim’s number from thirty years ago. The one Hawk could never bring himself to throw away, even when it stopped working, even after he hadn’t heard from Tim in two years. He had clung to that piece of paper in the cheap room he rented after breaking up with Lucy—his family gone, his friend lost, Tim out of reach.

To this day, he couldn’t believe his luck. That one evening, after work, craving Indian takeout, he had stopped by that little restaurant—the one that smelled so damn good every time he walked past it. And there, waiting for his own food, was Tim.

Hawk smoothed his thumb over the paper, absently tracing its edges. He had given this album to Tim on their first Christmas together—just the book, empty, with only that piece of paper on the first page. A blank slate. For them to fill together.

He could still remember the look of sheer disbelief on Tim’s face when he saw it—the hurried scribble, kept safe for almost three years. Of course, Tim’s bottom lip had wobbled, and of course, he had looked at Hawk with those big, tearful eyes.

Jenny already knew this story. She had asked, ages ago, why the first thing in the album wasn’t a picture but a scrap of paper. It was one of her favorites. She had once told Hawk it was better than any fairy tale—because it was real.

“Can you tell me how you got back together with Grandpa Tim again?” Jenny asked, peering up at him with wide, eager eyes.

“Yes, please,” Tim chimed in, copying Jenny’s tone.

Hawk stifled a laugh, glancing at Tim—who, coffee cup in hand, was smiling at him, all dimples and laugh lines, his head resting on Hawk’s shoulder.

“Alright,” Hawk sighed, flipping through a few pages until he landed on a photograph of their old apartment building, the one with the restaurant downstairs. “It was the year 1997, and I was coming home from work…”

September 1997

It had gotten late again, and Hawk hadn’t even realized it. These days, he started early and finished late, only to come home, drink scotch, and fall asleep. Nothing else. Just the routine. Just the quiet. Until the weekends, when he could pick up Kim and Jackson for two hours.

His life felt too empty.

Lucy wasn’t speaking to him. Marcus tried, but Hawk wasn’t in the mood for a lecture—even if he deserved it. Worst of all was the automated voice on the other end of the line every time he dialed that number.

The number you have dialed has not been recognized.

Tim was gone. Completely.

Hawk had always held onto that tiny lifeline—the knowledge that, if he really wanted to, he could call. Could reach out. Could apologize for being an asshole.

But now? Now there was nothing. Just the memory of Tim’s face when he’d confessed his love. Hopeful eyes, desperate, pleading.

"Please, give us a chance," Tim had asked in that quiet, gentle voice of his. "I love you."

And Hawk had gotten dressed. Had felt the anger churn inside him. He didn’t want feelings. He already had a family—a wife. He had made a promise, and he intended to keep it. No matter how much he liked Tim.

Tim had sniffed, his face crumbling. "Please," he had whispered again.

"No," Hawk had said, and he had watched as Tim’s face shattered, watched as the tears spilled over. But Tim hadn’t asked again. He had just silently gotten dressed, his hands trembling, his breath hitching on every little hiccup.

They had always met at that one motel, tucked away from the city, from prying eyes. Hawk used to be paranoid. Even now, he could still feel his father breathing down his neck.

Tim had left that night, and Hawk had never seen him again.

Until now.

He shook his head as he walked past the small Indian restaurant that always smelled so damn good at this hour. Maybe a little comfort food would help his mood.

He stepped inside.

And froze.

Leaning against the counter, scanning the menu with a concentrated frown—Tim. His hair was a little longer, his face slightly different, older maybe. But it was him.

"Skippy," Hawk whispered.

Tim’s head snapped up, and their eyes locked.

They stared at each other, neither speaking, until the young man behind the counter cleared his throat. “Would you like your orders to go, or would you like to take a seat?”

Tim opened his mouth to answer, but Hawk blurted, “Take a seat.” And then, softer, pleading, “Please.”

Tim’s gentle, forgiving heart was Hawk’s luck, because after a beat, he nodded.

They sat.

“I tried to call you,” Hawk blurted.

“I moved,” Tim said simply. “New number.”

“Finally found a bigger apartment?”

Tim smiled and pointed toward the ceiling. “Right upstairs, actually.”

Hawk felt it then—all the things he wanted to say burning inside him. The weight of everything that had happened. Everything that had changed. But what came out was silence.

He just stared at Tim—his Skippy. The soft, honest, good man he never deserved.

Their food arrived. They ate in awkward silence. Hawk felt the moment slipping through his fingers. He clenched his jaw, then—clatter—his fork fell against the plate.

“Skip… Tim, I’m sorry.”

Tim looked up, weary. “For what? There’s a lot.”

Hawk nodded. “I know. All of it. Mostly how we left things. How I treated you when you told me—” He swallowed. He couldn’t even say it in a retelling.

“That I loved you,” Tim finished.

“Yeah.” Hawk cleared his throat. “Lucy and I are getting a divorce. I told her everything, and she kicked me out.”

Tim’s gaze softened. “How are your kids?” Always so damn thoughtful.

“Confused. But adjusting. I see them every weekend.”

The conversation flowed from there—little bits and pieces of their lives falling into place. Tim had finally landed his dream social work job. Hawk shared that he was living in a cheap motel.

When it came time to pay, they settled their bills separately. Hawk wanted to say, It’s on me, but he didn’t dare. Not yet.

Outside, the night was warm, the lingering August heat still thick in the air.

Hawk didn’t want to say goodbye.

He felt his body tense, his pulse hammering. He needed to do something. To say something. But he couldn’t.

Then, Tim stretched out his hand—elegant fingers reaching for him.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s have a coffee upstairs.”

Hawk exhaled hard, then reached out, wrapping his fingers around Tim’s.

Finally. Finally, he could feel him again.

They had talked through the night, and then—just like always—their old, never-ending chemistry had taken over, leading them straight to bed. But Hawk wouldn’t tell that part. Just like he left out plenty of details for Jenny’s sake. Instead, he kept those memories with a knowing smile aimed at Tim, who had curled closer as the story unfolded.

“And then you lived happily ever after,” Jenny chimed in.

Tim snorted. “Something like that.”

Hawk wrapped an arm around Tim’s waist, pulling him closer before pressing a kiss to the top of his hair.

Jenny clapped her hands. “Can you tell me another story? One about Mom—something embarrassing.”

Hawk gave his granddaughter a pointed look. “Not gonna happen.”

Jenny pouted. “You know all the embarrassing stories about me, and so does she.”

Hawk tapped her nose with his finger. “Ask her yourself.”

Tim, his voice thick with exhaustion, murmured, “How about a movie?”

Hawk smirked. Tim was one of those strange people who could drink coffee and then fall asleep five minutes later.

“I’ll pick one!” Jenny announced, scrambling off the couch.

And Hawk knew, without a doubt, that they were about to watch How to Train Your Dragon for the millionth time.

Jenny wasn’t going to school that day. As soon as he could, Hawk called to excuse her absence. He also called Frankie to let him know Tim wouldn’t be coming in and notified his own work as well. He was met with nothing but understanding and cheerful voices.

Jenny kept them occupied with all the How to Train Your Dragon movies. At some point, Tim fell asleep against Hawk’s side, and Hawk carefully covered him with a blanket. It was nice, having Jenny on one side and Tim on the other. He felt relaxed, at ease—his worries momentarily forgotten.

Until his phone rang.

With a jolt, he sat up, waking Tim and startling Jenny. Sam’s name flashed on the screen.

“Sam!” he answered immediately. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” came Sam’s tired but happy voice. He sounded teary. “Everything’s perfect. We have a little baby girl.”

Hawk exhaled sharply, feeling the sting of tears in his own eyes. “Congratulations.”

“You can come over if you want. We’re ready for visitors. Kim’s tired but fine, and she wants you all here.”

“We’re on our way.”

When Hawk turned, he was met with two sets of wide, eager eyes—one brown, one blue. He smiled at Tim, then scooped Jenny up into a tight hug.

“You’re a big sister now.”

Jenny squealed. “Can we go see?”

“Yes.”

The drive felt endless, though it was maybe twenty minutes. Parking the car felt like an unnecessary obstacle. Hawk just wanted to see—to see Kim, to see the baby, to see for himself that everything was alright.

Tim handled the driving. Tim handled the parking. Tim handled him and Jenny.

By the time they reached Kim’s hospital room, Hawk’s hands were clammy, his emotions a swirling mess.

Lucy opened the door, smiling, though she looked just as exhausted. “Come on in,” she said.

And then Hawk’s heart melted.

Kim sat propped up in bed, cradling a tiny bundle to her chest, her smile soft and full of love. Small fingers reached out slowly, and the soft, delicate sounds of a newborn filled the room.

Jenny ran forward, and Sam scooped her up effortlessly, letting her get a closer look at her little sister. Hawk stayed back, pressing himself against the wall, hands trembling.

Lucy touched his arm gently, a knowing gesture. She understood. She always had.

One by one, everyone took turns greeting the baby. Tim’s eyes shone with unshed tears as the tiny girl wrapped her fingers around his own and refused to let go.

Of course. Smart girl, Hawk thought.

After a while, Kim looked up. “Hey, Dad,” she said softly. “Come here.”

There was no point in hiding the tears as he stepped closer. He looked down at the tiny baby in his daughter’s arms.

“Meet Mathilda,” Kim whispered. “Mathilda, this is your Grandpa Hawk.”

Hawk couldn’t speak. He reached out, letting his index finger trace over Mathilda’s impossibly small hand. Warm, soft skin. And then, just like with Tim, her tiny fingers wrapped around his own.

“Hey there,” he croaked.

Chapter Text

Hawk’s stomach twisted as he watched Tim sleeping beside him. He was curled into a ball, blanket wrapped tightly around himself, lying near the edge of the bed—like he was trying to take up as little space as possible. And it was all Hawk’s fault.

Over something as stupid as a loose lid on a peanut butter jar.

Yesterday had been a disaster from start to finish.

Hawk’s workday had been miserable. Then, after work, he’d watched Mathilda and Jenny for an hour because Kim had a doctor’s appointment. Little baby Mathilda wouldn’t stop wailing, no matter what he did, and Jenny had been jealous, upset that her grandpa was completely focused on her fussy little sister.

By the time he finally got home, Tim was still at work—caught up in some crisis at the center.

And then, when Hawk had opened the fridge to grab the peanut butter, the jar slipped and shattered on the floor. Because Tim had a habit of never closing the damn lid. He just loosely placed it on top and maybe gave it a single turn.

So, with a pounding headache the size of Mount Everest, Hawk had cleaned up the mess and let his frustration simmer. It wasn’t his day. Nothing had gone right.

When Tim finally made it home, exhausted and drawn, Hawk had snapped at him the second he stepped inside. Tim had just stood there, wide-eyed behind his glasses, swallowing hard, clearly too drained to even form a response. He’d probably had a horrible day too—worked himself to exhaustion—only to come home to Hawk in a mood.

Hawk wished he could take back every word.

All those little, meaningless things that somehow seem so big when sharing a life with someone. The tiny annoyances that go unnoticed—until they disappear, leaving an unexpected absence. Loose lids. Nearly empty milk cartons left in the fridge.

Tim hadn’t said a word, but his eyes had gone glassy with unshed tears, and he’d gone straight to bed. When Hawk had tried to reach for him an hour later, he’d flinched away.

Now, in the quiet of the early morning, guilt settled deep in Hawk’s chest as he watched Tim sleep—curled up like he had to protect himself even in his dreams. He’d known it the moment the words left his mouth—how stupid it was, how lucky he was to have Tim. Lucky that they were both here, healthy, sharing a life together. Nothing was guaranteed at their age. He should be grateful for every shared second.

Tentatively, Hawk reached for Tim’s shoulder. His fingers hovered for a second before making contact, pressing the warmth of his palm against Tim’s sleep-warmed skin.

It was his birthday today and he deserved better than this. Hawk wanted to start it right. Kiss him, hold him. Bring him breakfast in bed and spoil him the way he deserved.

“Skippy,” he whispered into the quiet. His voice felt rough in his throat, thick with everything unsaid. “Love, I’m sorry.”

Tim didn’t flinch this time, but Hawk felt the way his body tensed. The way his breathing shifted, the subtle stiffness that told him he was awake now.

Hawk swallowed and softened his touch, rubbing slow, careful circles against Tim’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t have said those things,” he murmured. “I was stupid and moody. None of that was your fault, and I took it out on you.”

A beat of silence. Then another.

Finally, Tim turned, slow and deliberate, his face still stiff, lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes met Hawk’s, guarded, tired. “I had a really bad day, Hawk.” The words were quiet but carried weight, heavy with exhaustion, with hurt.

Hawk nodded immediately. “Me too,” he admitted, voice low. “And I made yours worse. I’m sorry.”

Tim took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, nodding against the pillow. “Okay.”

Gently, Hawk reached for his face, fingers brushing along the familiar angles, the soft lines time had carved into Tim’s skin. His thumb stroked slowly over the curve of his cheekbone, a silent apology in every careful touch.

“Happy birthday, Skippy,” he murmured, voice thick with everything he couldn’t quite put into words.

A small, tired smile tugged at Tim’s lips. “Thank you.”

Hawk opened his arms. “Come here.” His voice was thick with emotion. “I’m so damn sorry. This isn’t how I wanted today to go.”

And finally, finally, Tim shifted forward, curling into him.

Hawk wrapped him up, holding him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead, breathing him in. Warm sleep-soft skin and that uniquely Skippy scent.

“Love you,” he murmured.

Tim’s fingers curled into his shirt. “Love you too.”

"57 today," Hawk murmured into Tim’s hair, his voice warm with affection. "How does that feel?"

Tim huffed a quiet laugh, tucking himself closer. "Not different than 56. Or 55, for that matter."

Hawk chuckled. "You feel it at 65. I can promise you that much."

"I’ll worry about that when I get there." Tim’s voice was soft, drowsy, like he could drift right back into sleep in Hawk’s arms.

"Good choice."

Hawk couldn’t stop kissing him. His hair, his forehead, the bridge of his nose—slow, deliberate. Then, finally, his lips. A lingering brush, a quiet tease before Hawk sank in deeper, his tongue slipping between Tim’s lips, coaxing a soft, contented moan from his throat.

Tim’s fingers curled tighter into Hawk’s shirt, anchoring himself there. They hadn’t kissed like this in a while. Not for any particular reason—just life, creeping in, busy and demanding.

But Hawk wouldn’t let this moment slip away. Not today.

In one swift move, he rolled himself on top of Tim, grinning as Tim let out a surprised sound—a soft, breathy noise that hadn’t changed in all these years. God, he loved that sound.

Hawk leaned in again, pressing his body flush against Tim’s, warmth meeting warmth. He kissed him slow, deep, like an unspoken promise. He would make sure Tim’s birthday morning started exactly right.

“And here comes your breakfast,” Hawk announced as Tim stepped into the kitchen, hair still damp from the shower. He was wearing one of Hawk’s old t-shirts, soft and slightly oversized on him.

Hawk shook his head, already pointing back toward the bedroom. “Nope. Back to bed. It’s birthday breakfast in bed.”

Tim laughed, shaking his head. “Let’s just eat here. Come on.”

“Skippy,” Hawk whined, giving his best put-upon look.

“No,” Tim said firmly, though his grin softened the refusal. “If I get back in bed, I won’t get up at all today, and family will be over in—” He checked his watch and groaned. “Three hours. It’s already late.”

Hawk sighed dramatically. “Fine.”

He set the tray down on the table with a theatrical flourish. Freshly cut fruit, golden waffles, steaming coffee, and bright orange juice. Everything plated just right, arranged with the care.

Tim’s smile was wide, eyes warm as he met Hawk’s gaze. “This looks amazing. Thank you.”

Hawk leaned in, stealing a quick kiss. “Only the best for the birthday boy.”

Then Hawk placed a small, neatly wrapped box next to Tim’s plate. He was immediately rewarded with that smile—soft, adoring brown eyes and deep dimples. The kind of smile that made his heart stutter.

“Go on, open it,” Hawk urged, already feeling a rush of excitement.

Tim picked up the box carefully, peeling back the wrapping with gentle fingers. Inside sat another box—black, sleek. A case.

Hawk saw the exact moment Tim realized what it was. His eyes widened before he even opened it, looking up at Hawk with something close to disbelief. Then, with quiet reverence, he lifted the lid.

Inside lay a pair of brand-new glasses, the frame Tim used to wear years ago—the one he had when Hawk first met him.

Tim’s breath hitched. “Hawk—” His voice came out rough. “Are you crazy? This must have cost a fortune.”

Hawk just shrugged. “I broke them once. It’s only fair I replace them.”

Tim picked up the frame carefully, tracing the smooth, elegant lines. Dark brown, just like his eyes.

Then, after a pause, he took off his current silver-wire glasses and slipped on the new ones.

For a moment, Hawk forgot how to breathe.

Tim looked beautiful no matter what, but this—the dark frames sitting on his nose, the way they framed those warm brown eyes—this made something deep in Hawk’s chest ache. Nostalgia, bittersweet and unexpected. He remembered Tim then, younger pushing those same frames up the bridge of his nose with a careless knuckle. He saw the way he had smiled—soft, a little shy, utterly breathtaking.

Tim adjusted the fit, pushing the glasses up with his knuckle like he always did, then smiled. “How do they look?”

Hawk swallowed. “Perfect.”

Tim stood up, rounding the table, and Hawk instinctively opened his arms. Without hesitation, Tim settled into his lap, wrapping his arms around Hawk’s neck.

“Hawk, it’s… thank you.” His voice was quiet, full of warmth.

“The optician told me it’s a classic. Been on the market for ages,” Hawk said, pressing a kiss to Tim’s temple. “And I remember a certain husband telling me, back then, that it wasn’t replaceable when I broke it.”

Tim sighed, a soft blush creeping up his cheeks. “Because they were too expensive,” he admitted. “I got my old frame second-hand and just replaced the lenses. It was pure luck that someone with money to spare got bored of them and sold them to me for a good price. I never wanted you to buy me a new pair.”

Hawk hummed, running his fingers along Tim’s spine. “And yet, did you or did you not casually mention that frame to me a while ago?”

Tim chuckled, shaking his head. “I really just saw them in a display window and remembered them. I didn’t think you’d actually get them.”

He pulled back slightly, meeting Hawk’s gaze. “But, thinking about it now, I should have guessed.” His smile was soft, affectionate. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

Chapter Text

"They're asleep," Tim exhaled, weariness lacing his voice as he stepped into the kitchen.

Hawk paused mid-load of the dishwasher, arching a brow. "Still scared?"

"They were," Tim confirmed, running a hand through his hair. "But they're curled up together in the guest room now. I told them that even at eight years old, it's perfectly okay to cuddle with your twin when a thunderstorm feels too big to handle."

"Smart move," Hawk murmured with a small chuckle.

"It's the sweetest sight, Hawk. Mia's all protective, even when she's scared herself. She keeps Fynn steady, like she’s his anchor."

Hawk slid the last dish into the machine and straightened, a familiar twinge shooting up his spine. He winced but didn’t complain. It could be worse. Every time he heard Marcus grumble about his chronic back pain, he felt almost lucky—his own discomfort was just a minor nuisance by comparison.

"Our Mia takes care of everyone," Hawk mused, admiration threading his tone.

Tim hesitated before speaking, his fingers drumming lightly against the countertop. "It worries me sometimes," he admitted. "That she's growing up too fast because of it."

"I think that's just who she is." Hawk stepped closer, wrapping his arms around Tim and pulling him into his warmth. "She’s a force of nature, like Lucy. One day, she’ll take on the world."

Tim hummed, letting his head rest against Hawk’s shoulder. "I can’t wait to see it."

"You will." Hawk pressed a kiss to his temple.

"So will you," Tim countered, nudging him lightly.

Hawk huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah, but odds are on your side. You're a young grandpa because you married an old man." His tone was teasing, but the words carried an unspoken truth—one he was deeply aware of. Time was unyielding, and one day, it would take him first. That was how it was supposed to be. Because the thought of it happening the other way around? Unbearable.

"You're bulletproof," Tim said, his voice firmer now, as if willing it to be true. "We’ll celebrate your hundredth birthday, just you wait. You’re too stubborn for any illness, and your heart wouldn’t dare disobey you."

Hawk smiled, but he heard the faint waver in Tim’s voice—the unease that always crept in when they talked about things like this. Tim never liked when he joked about it. And truth be told, neither did he.

Thunder rumbled outside, a low growl rolling through the night, and the rain resumed its rhythmic drumming against the windows. Hawk tightened his hold on Tim, pulling him a little closer to his chest. The storm was a welcome distraction—pulling them away from uncertain tomorrows and grounding them in the here and now.

"You know," Hawk murmured into Tim’s hair, his breath warm against his scalp, "when I was a kid, I loved thunderstorms. I used to crawl out of bed in the dark, sit on the windowsill, and just watch."

He would trace the jagged streaks of lightning as they tore across the sky, their brilliance cutting through the blackness. He had been captivated by the way thunder rumbled deep in his chest, a sound too vast to be contained.

Tim hummed, nestled comfortably in Hawk’s arms. "Maybe you can tell Mia and Fynn tomorrow?"

"You think that’ll help?"

"Probably. You’re their hero. They hang on your every word. If you tell them how exciting it can be, maybe they won’t be so scared next time."

Hawk smiled, pressing his cheek against Tim’s head. "I want to argue with you on that, you know. They love you the most."

Tim huffed. "Not true."

Hawk chuckled and began to sway them gently. "Whatever you say, my sweet Skippy."

Tim lifted his head, suspicion creeping into his tone. "What are you up to?"

Hawk grinned. "Isn’t it obvious? I’m in the mood for a little kitchen dancing. I’ve got the grandpa of the year in my arms, and—"

Tim groaned, dropping his forehead against Hawk’s shoulder. "Oh my god, will you stop it."

Hawk would never stop. Not when Tim got that flustered, not when he looked at him like that. He relished every second of it. So, he kept swaying them, slow and steady, before stealing a kiss—quick, teasing—then another, this time lingering, savoring the warmth, the taste of him.

Tim sighed softly against Hawk’s lips, melting just a little. When Hawk finally pulled away, he was met with a sleep-heavy gaze, Tim blinking slow and drowsy. His long lashes cast delicate shadows over his cheekbones, and through the lenses of the glasses Hawk had given him for his birthday, his eyes looked even bigger, darker.

Hawk could fall in love with that view a thousand times over. Just like he had the first time they talked.

"Let’s go to bed," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the tip of Tim’s nose.

The thunderstorm ebbed and swelled through the night, sometimes retreating into the distance, only to roll back in, loud and insistent. The air drifting through the cracked bedroom window was thick and humid, clinging to Hawk’s skin like a second layer. The night was too warm for his liking, but even so, he kept his arms wrapped around Tim.

Their blanket lay forgotten at their feet, kicked away in sleep.

A sharp, roaring thunderclap tore through the silence, jolting Hawk awake. Tim flinched beside him, his body tensing before he stirred, blinking sluggishly.

"That was close," he mumbled, still caught between dreams and wakefulness.

"I just hope—"

Hawk never got to finish. The bedroom door creaked open, and soft, hurried footsteps pattered across the floor. Fynn tucked himself close behind Mia, both of them looking sheepish yet undeniably frightened.

Hawk couldn’t help but smile.

"Everything alright?" he asked gently, pushing himself upright. Tim followed suit, rubbing a hand over his face.

"That was loud," Mia said, her voice firm, as if she were personally offended by the storm’s lack of consideration for their sleep.

"Yeah, it was," Tim agreed, his tone soothing.

"Can we stay with you until it’s over?" Fynn whispered, wide-eyed, his grip tightening around the little stuffed wolf clutched against his chest.

Could anyone say no to that? Hawk certainly couldn’t.

"Of course you can."

Hawk shifted slightly, making room as Mia got comfortable beside him, her little body warm against his side. Fynn curled up close to Tim, his stuffed wolf tucked securely under his chin. The thunder outside grumbled again, softer this time, like the sky itself was settling.

"You know," Hawk began, his voice low and steady, "when I was a kid, I used to love thunderstorms."

Mia tilted her head up at him, skeptical. "Really?"

"Really," Hawk confirmed with a small smile. "I used to crawl out of bed, sit right on the windowsill, and watch. The lightning would streak across the sky like a giant cracking it open, and the thunder? You don’t just hear it—you feel it. Right here." He pressed a hand over his chest. "Like a drum, deep and powerful."

Fynn peeked up from where he was nestled against Tim. "Weren’t you scared?"

"Not at all," Hawk said, shaking his head. "I thought it was fascinating. The day would start out calm and warm, the sun shining, barely any wind. Then, out of nowhere, the air would shift, and everything changed. Like the sky was waking up. You know how, on really hot days, the air feels heavy and sticky?"

Mia nodded. "Like today."

"Exactly. That’s because warm air holds a lot of moisture. When it rises high into the sky, it meets colder air way up there." He pointed toward the ceiling. "And cold air doesn’t like to hold onto moisture. So, when the two mix, the warm air has to let go. That’s what makes clouds—big, towering ones called cumulonimbus. Ever seen those huge, puffy clouds before a storm?"

Fynn nodded sleepily. "The ones that look like mountains?"

"Yep, those are the ones," Hawk confirmed. "And inside those clouds, the air is moving like crazy—some parts shooting up, others rushing down. The raindrops and tiny pieces of ice inside bump into each other, kind of like when you rub your socks on a carpet."

"Electricity!" Mia blurted out, suddenly excited.

Hawk grinned. "That’s right. All that movement builds up electricity, and when the charge gets strong enough, boom! Lightning."

Fynn’s eyes widened. "And the thunder?"

"Thunder happens because lightning is super hot—it heats up the air really fast, and that air expands so quickly that it makes a shockwave. That’s the big boom you hear."

Mia made a thoughtful noise. "So, the sky isn’t mad. It’s just... science."

"Exactly," Hawk said, brushing a hand over her hair. "It’s just the way nature works. The rain cools everything down, and by morning, the world feels fresh and new."

Fynn yawned, his grip loosening around his stuffed wolf. "It still sounds scary..."

"It does," Hawk admitted. "Next time a storm comes, instead of hiding, try watching. You might see how beautiful it is."

Fynn yawned, the weight of sleep tugging at him, but he kept his eyes on Hawk. "Will you watch with us?"

"Of course," Hawk murmured. "We can sit by the window, count the seconds between the lightning and the thunder.”

Mia let out a slow breath, curling closer. "That sounds exciting."

Her words were softer now, her eyelids drooping. Fynn was already half-asleep, his breathing slow and steady.

Silence settled over the room, the storm still murmuring outside, but softer now, gentler. Fynn’s breaths evened out first, his small frame rising and falling steadily against Tim’s side. Mia lasted a little longer, her fingers slowing, her blinks stretching until she, too, slipped into sleep.

Hawk glanced over at Tim, who was watching him with a small, sleepy smile.

"You really do have a way with bedtime stories," Tim murmured.

Hawk smirked. "What can I say? I make good science sound magical."

Tim chuckled, reaching for Hawk’s hand. As the thunder faded into the distance and the rain softened against the windows, Hawk let his eyes close, content in the quiet, in the warmth of his family curled up beside him.

Chapter Text

"Thank God you're here!" was the first thing Hawk and Tim heard when Kim opened the door, a wailing baby Mathilda in her arms.

She bounced the baby gently, making soothing noises, but nothing seemed to help. Hawk recognized that exhausted look—the kind that came from sheer fatigue, from patience stretched so thin it was fraying at the edges.

"Is everything alright?" Hawk asked, concern etched into his voice.

Kim let out a long, weary sigh. "Yes. I took her to the doctor—she's fine. They said she’s probably picking up on my stress and reacting to it. I don’t know. But Jenny is in a mood too. You have no idea how jealous that kid gets. She was over the moon to be a big sister, and now that she has to share the spotlight…" Kim shook her head. "And Sam is on a work trip. He didn’t want to go, but they told him he’d be fired if he didn’t, and—"

"Alright, alright," Tim interrupted gently. "We’re here now. What can we do?"

Kim hesitated, her face twisting with guilt. "Can you take her?"

"Of course," Tim said, his voice soft and reassuring.

With practiced ease, he gathered Mathilda into his arms. "Shh," he murmured, his tone a steady lull. "It’s alright, little one. You’re safe. All is well."

Mathilda fussed for a moment longer, her tiny hands gripping Tim’s shirt—then, as if sensing his calm, she melted against him, her cries fading into quiet whimpers before she drifted into sleep.

Kim let out a shaky laugh. "Of course," she sniffed. "Of course, she stops with you."

"Kim," Tim whispered, his voice filled with quiet understanding. "You’ve been dealing with two little humans in full meltdown mode for days. You’re exhausted and overwhelmed, and you’re doing an amazing job. Me? The most stressful thing I dealt with today was running out of peanut butter."

Kim laughed again, but this time, tears slipped down her cheeks.

Hawk didn’t hesitate. He reached for her, pulling her into a firm, steady embrace. "Go get some rest," he murmured against her hair. "We’ll take care of everything."

"Thank you, Dad," Kim whispered, her voice thick as she clung to him.

"Anytime, Kimmy."

She squeezed him tighter before stepping back, wiping her face. "Tilda has special formula—it’s in the kitchen with instructions in case she gets hungry. She’ll probably want a bottle in about an hour. And I was supposed to make dinner for Jenny, but I forgot to do the shopping. Also, she needs to be picked up from her friend’s house in two hours. The address is by the phone."

"Got it," Hawk assured her. "We’ll take care of everything. Just sleep. We’ll wake you if we need to."

Kim nodded, already looking relieved. "Mom will be here by evening. She promised."

"Good," Hawk said, giving her a gentle smile. "Now, really—go rest, sweetheart."

With one last glance back, Kim disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her.

Hawk turned to Tim, who stood cradling Mathilda against his chest, a soft smile on his face—completely and utterly in love. Hawk couldn’t help himself. He stepped up behind Tim, slipping his arms around his waist, fitting his chin on Tim’s shoulder so they could both look down at their sleeping granddaughter.

For a long moment, they just stood there together, wrapped in quiet, breathing in the soft, steady rhythm of Mathilda’s sleep. Hawk could feel the rise and fall of Tim’s chest beneath his arms, the warmth of him, the way he swayed just the tiniest bit, instinctively keeping the baby soothed.

“She’s so tiny,” Tim murmured, barely above a whisper, as if anything louder might break the spell.

Hawk hummed in agreement, pressing a slow kiss to Tim’s shoulder before finally loosening his hold. “Go sit down,” he murmured. “Get comfortable.”

Tim hesitated for half a second, just long enough to let Hawk know he didn’t want to step away from the moment, but then he nodded and made his way to the couch. He moved carefully, easing himself down so Mathilda wouldn’t stir, shifting her just enough to tuck her against his chest. One of his hands rested on her tiny back, the other curled protectively around her legs.

Hawk took a moment just to look.

Tim, settled into the cushions, looking as if he was exactly where he was meant to be. Mathilda, tucked close, her little hand curled into the fabric of Tim’s shirt, her breath soft and even. The sight of them like that, so peaceful, so safe—it did something to Hawk’s heart.

But there was work to be done.

With one last glance at them, he turned and started tidying up, keeping his movements quiet, careful. The kitchen was a mess of bottles, dishes, and scattered burp cloths, evidence of long, tiring days and even longer nights. Hawk rolled up his sleeves and got to work, rinsing bottles, wiping down counters, setting things back in order one piece at a time.

It was a rhythm, a familiar one—taking care of the people he loved in the simplest, quietest ways. And as he worked, the soft sounds of the apartment settled around him. The gentle hush of Tim’s voice every now and then, murmuring nonsense to Mathilda. The occasional tiny sigh from the baby herself. The rain-soft quiet of an afternoon.

When Hawk finally stepped back, satisfied, he turned to find Tim watching him from the couch, eyes warm and full of something quiet and steady.

“Kitchen’s back to normal,” Hawk murmured, drying his hands on a towel. “I should get going—pick up Jenny and run to the store. Will you be alright?”

Tim smiled, his voice soft. “Yeah. Go. She’s sleeping so peacefully… I think she’ll be out for a while. She must have been just as exhausted as her mom.”

Jenny launched herself into Hawk’s arms with full force, nearly knocking him off balance. It wouldn’t be long before he’d need to have the talk with her about jumping on him like that. She wasn’t so little anymore. He felt the solid weight of her clinging to his back, arms and knees wrapped tightly around him as he carried her to the car—because she refused to let go. Something was up. Kim had already warned him, but now he could feel it in the way Jenny held on.

Once she was safely buckled into her seat and he had started driving toward the grocery store, he heard a soft sniff. Glancing into the rearview mirror, he saw her—arms crossed, lips pressed together, a stubborn little frown etched into her face.

“What’s up, princess?” Hawk asked.

She didn’t answer. He didn’t push. He’d seen enough children grow up to know that feelings could be messy, tangled things, and sometimes, trying to put them into words only made it worse.

When he parked at the store and opened the back door, she was still sitting there just the same. A soft sigh escaped him as he crouched down, ignoring the protest in his knees. He simply looked at his granddaughter, patient and quiet, until she finally met his gaze, her expression softening just a little.

“Is Mom with her?” she asked.

“You mean your sister?”

Jenny nodded.

“Your mom is actually asleep right now,” Hawk explained gently. “She’s really tired, you know? She called me and Grandpa Tim to help her. That’s why I’m here, and Tim is with your little sister.”

Jenny hesitated, her fingers gripping the hem of her jacket. Then, in a small, uncertain voice, she asked, “Does he like her better too?”

Hawk’s heart clenched.

“No, sweetheart,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “No one likes anyone better.”

He reached out, offering his hand—not taking hers, just waiting. Letting her decide if she wanted comfort through touch.

Jenny looked down at his hand, then slowly slipped her small fingers into his.

“Mom is always with her,” she whispered. “Always taking care of her. She doesn’t care about me anymore.”

And just like that, the big, aching tears that only children could cry welled up and spilled over.

Hawk didn’t hesitate. He unbuckled her seatbelt and scooped her into his arms, standing up even as his body protested. The rain had picked up, but he didn’t care. He started walking, carrying her around the parking lot, holding her close as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, sobbing.

“Your mom loves you,” he murmured, voice soft and soothing. “Your baby sister just needs a lot of care because she’s so tiny. You can do so much by yourself already because you’re so grown up—such a smart, capable girl.”

Jenny didn’t reply. She just held on, shaking in his arms.

Hawk knew better than to argue with child logic. Her feelings were real, no matter how much sense they made.

“Your sister will grow up too, just like you,” he went on, his voice calm and steady. “But for now, she needs a lot of attention—especially when she’s crying. You can tell me when you’re sad, or when you’re hungry, but all little Tilda can do is cry or scream.”

They had made a full loop around the parking lot now. Hawk’s muscles were protesting the weight, and the rain had fully soaked through his clothes. He needed to get them inside before they both caught a cold.

“Tell you what,” he said, adjusting his grip on her. “We’re going to help your mom now. We’ll do the shopping together, and you can tell me what you need. And…” He lowered his voice like he was sharing a big secret. “You can pick out a sweet treat for yourself.”

Jenny hesitated, then nodded against his shoulder. “Okay.”

“And we should hurry,” Hawk added, nudging her playfully. “Before we both turn into icicles.”

That earned him the smallest giggle. It was enough.

With one last reassuring squeeze, he set her down, took her hand in his, and led her inside.

Together, they wandered the aisles of the supermarket, with Jenny fully embracing her role as shopping cart supervisor. She took her job seriously, directing Hawk on every purchase—oat milk, the organic one, and apples, but only the red ones because the green ones didn’t taste nice.

When her eyes lingered a little too long on a small, soft dinosaur plush, Hawk didn’t even hesitate. He dropped it into the cart without a second thought. He had a reputation to uphold, after all—spoiling grandpa of the year.

By the time they returned to the apartment, Jenny seemed calm again. Hawk sent her off to change into dry clothes while he put away the groceries.

In the living room, Tim was walking in slow, steady circles with Mathilda cradled against his chest. She was wide awake now, babbling happily as Tim narrated their little tour of the room—pointing out the lamp, the window, the framed pictures on the wall. At the sound of the front door closing, he glanced over with a warm smile before his expression shifted to a frown.

“What happened?”

Before Hawk could answer, Mathilda let out an excited little coo, as if she had a story of her own to tell.

“Just a minor rainy-day emergency walk-and-talk,” Hawk said casually, brushing it off. He’d tell Tim later, when there weren’t little ears hanging on to every word.

Jenny came racing back into the room in fresh, cozy clothes—only to skid to a sudden stop right in front of Tim. Her face twisted with anger, her fists clenched at her sides, and then—she stomped her foot.

Hawk exhaled, pressing his forehead lightly against the kitchen cupboard with quiet frustration.

And Kim had been dealing with this alone for days. No wonder she was so worn down.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Hawk asked gently, stepping out of the kitchen.

Jenny didn’t answer. Instead, her face crumpled, tears welling up all over again before she spun on her heel and stormed off to her room.

Tim blinked after her, baffled, still gently bouncing Mathilda up and down. “Well,” he murmured, “that was something.”

“She’s completely overwhelmed with jealousy,” Hawk said with a sigh, abandoning the idea of waiting to explain.

Tim nodded, thoughtful. “I see. Should I try?”

“Please.”

Mathilda stirred at the shift, a small frown appearing between her brows as she reached toward Tim with a near-cry. But before she could decide whether to fuss about it, Hawk scooped her up, lifting her high in the air.

She squealed in delight, her earlier distress forgotten as he flew her around like an airplane, giggles bubbling up from her tiny chest.

So instead of changing out of his own damp clothes, Hawk kept going—lifting, swooping, spinning just enough to keep her laughing.

And that was how Kim found them, appearing in the doorway with sleep-heavy eyes, rubbing them tiredly but smiling all the same.

As soon as Mathilda spotted her mom, she wiggled excitedly in Hawk’s arms. With a reluctant sigh, he passed her over, watching as she instantly snuggled close to Kim, her tiny fingers grasping at her mother’s shirt.

Kim cradled Mathilda’s head, her fingers gently stroking the fine, soft hair as she swayed slightly, instinctively soothing.

“Where’s Jenny?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“In her room with Tim,” Hawk said. “I managed to calm her down long enough for a grocery run, but the second she saw Tilda in Tim’s arms, it was the end of the world all over again.”

Kim let out a tired sigh. “I really hope Tim gets through to her.”

“He will,” Hawk assured her. “He’s a social worker—he knows exactly what to say.”

It took longer than expected for Tim and Jenny to return. By then, Hawk had already finished cooking dinner, Mathilda was sleeping peacefully in her crib, and Lucy had arrived.

Jenny finally reappeared, peeking out from behind Tim’s legs, her small hand clutching his tightly. Her face was red, but the storm in her expression had passed, replaced by something softer.

Kim crouched down, opening her arms, and Jenny rushed into them without hesitation. They whispered to each other, quiet words that didn’t reach Hawk’s ears—but he didn’t need to hear them. He knew the sound of hushed apologies when he saw them.

The rest of the evening was peaceful, the family gathered around the dining table. Jenny proudly showed off her new dinosaur plush, and Kim shot Hawk a pointed look. He only shrugged, entirely unapologetic. He would never be able to resist his grandchildren.

By the time Hawk and Tim finally made it home, it was late. Hawk barely had a chance to take off his coat before a loud sneeze tore through him.

Tim sighed, crossing his arms. “I knew it.”

Hawk sniffled. “At least we helped restore a bit of peace.”

“Which is easy for us because we only watch the chaos unfold from a distance,” Tim reminded him. “Maybe we should offer to help Kim more regularly. But I don’t want to overstep.”

Hawk nodded. “We’ll ask—make sure she has enough space to turn us down if she wants to.”

Another sneeze shook him, and Tim gave him a pointed look.

“Off to the shower and then straight to bed,” he ordered.

Hawk waggled his eyebrows. “To bed?”

“Yes. And it’s going to be hot—because you’re going to be bundled up in blankets while I bring you herbal tea.”

Hawk’s face twisted into exaggerated horror. “Skippy, come on.”

“No arguments. Otherwise, you’ll get sick, and I am not dealing with that.”

There was no use arguing when Tim had that stubborn look on his face. Hawk sighed, already accepting his fate.

Chapter Text

The rain tapped a steady rhythm against the windows, a gentle, unhurried cadence that blurred the edges of the world outside. It softened the day, turning the apartment into a cocoon of warmth and quiet—a perfect lazy Sunday soundtrack.

Hawk had started the morning with the best intentions—tidying up the apartment, folding laundry, wiping down the kitchen counters. But the moment he spotted Tim, fast asleep on the couch, all sense of purpose slipped away. The sight of him, curled up, his breathing slow and steady, made the idea of chores feel unimportant.

Hawk lingered in the doorway, taking in the scene. One arm tucked under his head, glasses abandoned on the coffee table, Tim looked so peaceful. His breathing was deep and even, his hair a messy halo against the pillow, soft with sleep. He’d been running on fumes all week—up early, home late, giving too much of himself as always. And now, exhaustion had finally caught up to him.

Hawk let his gaze trace over him, something warm settling low in his stomach, something light fluttering in his chest. Love. The kind that never faded, never dulled, even after all these years. Even after everything. He would never stop marveling at the fact that they got this—an entire lifetime together. He’d broken Tim’s heart once, nearly lost him for good, but somehow, they had made it. And now, here Tim was, stretched out on their couch in a pair of old jeans and that worn tie-dye T-shirt he’d had forever, looking so damn cute it made Hawk’s breath catch.

He knew Tim had put those clothes on with the intention of tending to the balcony plants, only for the weather to thwart his plans. And that was a good thing. The plants could wait. Hawk wanted Tim to rest. To let go of the weight he carried, the pain he never spoke about but still held from his years as a social worker. For once, Tim didn’t have to be the one taking care of everyone else. Today, he could just be here, safe and warm, wrapped up in the quiet comfort of their home.

And God, Hawk loved him. Loved him so much he could barely stand it sometimes.

Hawk shook his head fondly as he stepped closer, plucking the throw blanket from the armrest and draping it carefully over Tim’s sleeping form. But, of course, the soft weight of it stirred him. Just as Hawk leaned down, Tim blinked awake, dark eyes wide and unfocused, still heavy with sleep.

Hawk melted. How could he not? He bent lower, pressing a kiss to Tim’s forehead, lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“What time is it?” Tim mumbled, voice thick and drowsy.

“Just around noon,” Hawk whispered.

Tim let out a small, surprised hum. “Noon? Damn, I wanted to—”

“Shh.” Hawk hushed him before he could finish, brushing a hand through his hair. “It’s still raining. You need sleep. Just stay right here.”

Tim sighed, sinking further into the cushions, his body warm beneath Hawk’s touch. “Stay with me?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“Course.”

Carefully, Hawk lifted the blanket and slid in beside him, drawing Tim against his chest. He buried his nose in Tim’s hair, breathing him in—comfort, familiarity, home. His arms tightened just slightly, holding him closer.

Tim shifted, tilting his head up, and Hawk knew exactly what he was after. A soft smile tugged at his lips as he looked down at Tim’s face—eyes closed, lips barely parted, waiting. Searching.

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Hawk leaned in, his lips meeting Tim’s in a quiet, unhurried press—no urgency, no demand, just the soft, steady reassurance of touch. He lingered, feeling the faint, sleepy curve of a smile before he finally pulled back, resting his forehead against Tim’s.

Tim fell asleep again, his breath deep and steady, the slow rise and fall of his chest against Hawk’s own. Outside, the rain kept falling in a soft, rhythmic patter against the windowpane, steady but never harsh. Now and then, a car rolled through the street below, tires slicing through puddles with a low, watery hiss. From somewhere in the distance—maybe the street corner—came the faint, joyful shrieks of children playing in the rain, their laughter carried upward on the damp air.

Familiar sounds of home surrounded him—the low hum of the refrigerator, the occasional creak of the old wooden floorboards as the building settled, the muffled voices from the television, where some cheerful show played unnoticed in the background. All of it blended into a quiet symphony of comfort, grounding him in the here and now.

Hawk ran his fingers idly over the soft cotton of Tim’s tie-dye shirt, tracing lazy patterns, feeling the steady warmth of him, the way his body fit so naturally against his own. He let his eyes slip shut for a moment, breathing in the scent of rain-dampened air drifting through the crooked window, the faint traces of coffee lingering from the morning, and underneath it all, Tim—safe, close, exactly where he was meant to be.

Like this, Hawk drifted to sleep as well, wrapped in warmth, in love, in the quiet peace of a rainy Sunday.

Chapter Text

“What were you thinking, Skippy?”

Hawk eyed him warily. Tim, sitting on the couch with his leg propped up, an ice pack resting on his knee, looked like the picture of innocence. Big brown eyes blinking slowly behind his glasses, lashes fanning over his cheekbones, mouth pressed into that small, familiar pout. Damn him, Hawk thought. Tim knew exactly how to look at him when Hawk was upset—how to melt his heart and defuse his arguments with one well-placed glance.

“It was an accident,” Tim murmured, voice so achingly soft that it tugged at something deep in Hawk’s chest. Like it had all those years ago when they met.

“You should know better,” Hawk grumbled. “You’re not twenty anymore.”

Tim’s nose twitched stubbornly.

“Dad, it’s fine,” Jackson said from behind Hawk.

For a moment, Hawk had forgotten they weren’t alone. Jackson, Daniel, Mia, and Fynn were all still there, standing in the living room. Jackson was grinning, obviously amused that his old man was spiraling into full worry mode.

“It’s not fine!” Hawk shot back.

Tim huffed, shifting slightly. “I stepped on the ball instead of kicking it and twisted my knee. I didn’t go parachuting. You make it sound like I was reckless, when I was just kicking a ball around the park with my grandkids.”

Hawk heard the frustration in Tim’s voice, saw it in the tension in his shoulders.

“And at your age, that’s all it takes to screw up your knee,” Hawk argued. “What if you’d needed surgery? What if you’d done permanent damage?”

“Dad!” Jackson chided.

Fynn and Mia both gasped, then immediately started giggling. “Grandpa said a curse word,” Fynn whispered loudly, like he was reporting breaking news.

Hawk sighed and rubbed his face. Great. Just what he needed.

Daniel, ever the responsible one, gave them a pointed look. “And you’re not gonna use it,” he said firmly.

Mia looked thoughtful. “But what if I need to? Like in an emergency?”

“There is no emergency where you need to say—” Jackson started, but Fynn cut him off.

“What if my knee gets all twisted up like Grandpa Tim’s? Can I say it then?”

Tim, despite everything, grinned. “It’s a valid question.”

“No, it’s not,” Hawk groaned. “And you—” he pointed at Tim “—stop encouraging them.”

This wasn’t how today was supposed to go. He should have been sitting in a booth by now, eating pizza with his grandkids, listening to them chatter about their day. Instead, his long, draining workday had been interrupted by a phone call that had started with Dad, don’t freak out and ended with Tim needs to get his knee checked. We’re at the ER.

The words Tim and ER in the same sentence—ones he never wanted to hear again.

And yet, he’d heard them too many times before.

A broken nose after stepping between a kid at the center and a raging parent. A fractured arm from a bike accident. A mild concussion from slipping in the shower. Tim was a dangerous mix of brave, reckless, and clumsy. And somehow, injuries always found him.

“Hawk.” Tim’s voice was firmer now, tugging him back. “It’s a twisted knee. A couple of days taking it easy, some ice, and I’ll be fine. These things happen. That’s life.”

Hawk shook his head.

Tim narrowed his eyes. “What? Am I not allowed to play with my grandkids anymore just because I could get hurt? Then you’re not allowed to either.”

“I’m not—” Hawk exhaled sharply, cutting himself off. Not in front of the grandkids. He wouldn’t fight with Tim here.

Jackson and Daniel exchanged a glance.

“I think we should leave you two to it,” Daniel said softly.

“Yeah, think so too,” Jackson agreed. “C’mon, let’s stop for pizza on the way home.”

“Not fair!” Tim whined, pouting dramatically.

Jackson laughed; Daniel shook his head fondly.

Mia and Fynn climbed onto the couch, careful not to jostle Tim’s leg as they each kissed his cheek. Fynn even leaned down, blowing softly on Tim’s knee.

“There,” he declared. “All better soon.”

Hawk’s chest tightened, his frustration melting just a little as he watched his grandkids with Tim—so gentle. And damn it, of course Tim was right. These things did happen. But that didn’t mean Hawk had to like it.

It was the usual little chaos before they were finally alone. The door had barely clicked shut when Tim folded his arms over his chest, leveling Hawk with a look.

“You were saying?” he challenged, eyebrows raised.

Hawk sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Something stupid, probably.”

“Saved by the grandkids,” Tim grumbled.

“Skippy.” Hawk exhaled, long and slow. “Let’s stop this, okay? Look, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to overreact like that. It’s just…” His throat felt tight. “I hate it when you’re hurt. And I hate getting those calls telling me to meet you at the hospital.”

Tim tilted his head, expression softening. “You didn’t have to pick me up this time.”

“Not the point.” A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Hawk’s lips. “You have a superpower for getting yourself in trouble.”

“Not true.”

“You’re clumsy, Skippy.”

Tim’s mouth opened, protest ready—but then he hesitated. His nose scrunched up, lips twisting like he was searching for an argument before settling into an adorably stubborn pout.

Hawk knew every single one of his expressions by heart. Loved them all.

A chuckle slipped out before he could stop it. “Just… don’t try to get yourself killed, please.”

“I try,” Tim muttered.

“Good.” Hawk finally sat down beside him, resting a hand lightly on Tim’s leg. “How’s your knee?”

Tim sighed, sinking further into the pillows propped behind his back. “It hurts, but it’s fine.”

“If it’s not better after the weekend—”

“I know, I know.” Tim rolled his eyes. “I’ll go back if it isn’t. They did x-rays, Hawk. There was nothing on them.”

Hawk frowned. “An MRI would be better.”

“You don’t just get an MRI that easily, and you know that.”

Hawk reached out, brushing a stray bit of hair from Tim’s forehead. “I know. I just… I want you running around for a long time, that’s all. You love to move.”

Tim hummed softly. “I’m fine.”

“I know.”

A beat of quiet. Then—

“Hawk?” Tim’s voice was softer now, his wide brown eyes full of something warm and knowing. The way he said his name—gentle, familiar—made Hawk’s chest go a little tight.

Hawk smirked, already catching on. “You want to order pizza?”

Tim’s lips twitched before spreading into a slow, innocent grin. “Please?”

Hawk shook his head with a fond sigh. “You’re unbelievable.”

Tim shrugged, adjusting the ice pack on his knee. “It’s been a very long day. I deserve a reward.”

Hawk arched an eyebrow. “A reward? For what, exactly?”

“For surviving my near-fatal injury,” Tim deadpanned.

Hawk chuckled, pressing a kiss to Tim’s temple. “You’re so full of it.”

Tim hummed, satisfied, and snuggled further into the couch. “But you are going to order the pizza, right?”

Hawk sighed, already reaching for his phone. “Yeah, yeah. Anything else, your highness?”

Tim considered it for a moment, then grinned mischievously. “Well… maybe some garlic bread?”

Hawk rolled his eyes, but he was already adding it to the order.

Because, of course, he’d get Tim that damn garlic bread. Anything for his Skippy.

Chapter Text

“Skippy, wake up.” Hawk nosed along Tim’s cheekbone.

All he got in return was a huff and a protesting grumble.

“Wake up,” Hawk whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of Tim’s mouth.

“Why?” Tim mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“Because we want to be on the road in an hour.”

Tim exhaled sharply, clearly unimpressed. “Holidays are supposed to be restful. I don’t feel rested.”

Hawk smiled. Fair enough. Dragging himself out of bed at four in the morning wasn’t exactly anyone’s idea of relaxation. But the reward? Worth it. Because in a few hours, they’d be having breakfast by the beach—Rehoboth Beach. Revisiting a memory. Celebrating nothing in particular. Just being with each other.

“Come on. Sun and sea.”

“Sleep,” Tim groaned.

“You can sleep in the car. I’ll drive.” Hawk promised.

He could barely wait to get going—he had a surprise. The hotel they’d stayed at their first weekend away as a couple still existed, and he’d booked the exact same room.

Hawk remembered how excited Tim had been back then, how he’d found any excuse to call Hawk his boyfriend or partner, like a joyous little puppy. It had been a freeing weekend—no fear of being discovered, no carefully measured distance between them. For the first time, Hawk had started to find pride in himself. And in his relationship. Because Tim was someone to be proud of—with his infectious passion, his unstoppable drive to change the world.

“Come on, Skippy.” Hawk leaned in again, brushing his nose along the line of Tim’s jaw, pressing a lingering kiss to the sensitive skin of his throat.

Finally, Tim turned, throwing Hawk an accusing look. “I want coffee.”

Hawk muffled a laugh against Tim’s skin. “It’s in the kitchen. Already in a thermos for the car.”

Tim fell silent. When Hawk looked up, of course Tim was pouting, scandalized.

“You woke me up at 4 a.m. just to tell me I can’t have my coffee in bed?”

“You’re so habitual.”

“It’s my time off. I deserve that cup of coffee.”

Hawk sighed. “You’re like a toddler when you’re tired. You know how I handled these situations with Kim and Jax when they were little?”

Tim grumbled something into the pillow, already curling in on himself again, yanking the blanket up to his chin.

“They usually got a visit from the tickle monster,” Hawk said innocently—then launched himself at Tim.

He knew exactly where to attack, knew Tim’s body better than his own. And Tim shrieked, twisting and thrashing in the sheets.

“Hawk!” he growled, exasperated—but there was laughter tangled in it too.

Hawk grinned and went for the kill, finding one of Tim’s nipples under his thin T-shirt. A quick thumb and a squeeze—

Tim shot upright.

“I can’t believe you did that,” he accused, rubbing a hand over his chest.

Hawk smirked. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Tim stared at him, exasperated—jaw clenching, nose wrinkling—before finally huffing out a breath. He rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath as he dragged himself out of bed.

Hawk should have been impatient. He’d already loaded their bags into the car, and they were supposed to be on the road. But instead, he just laughed. Because Tim was too damn cute.

And of course, Tim didn’t just brush his teeth and get in the car like a normal person. No. He had chores.

Specifically, his plants.

Hawk watched, both entertained and resigned, as Tim fussed over every single one—watering them again, rotating them for optimal sunlight exposure, inspecting leaves like an overprotective dad sending his kids off to summer camp.

“Skippy, come on now. They’ll be fine. It’s just five days.”

“You have no idea what five days means to a plant,” Tim muttered, frowning at a particularly dramatic-looking pothos. “They can’t just get up and get water themselves. It’s important they’re prepared.”

Hawk sighed. “You do know they’re plants, right? Not an endangered species?”

Tim ignored him, carefully adjusting the position of a succulent.

It took another fifteen minutes before he finally, reluctantly, parted with his leafy children and got in the car. Hawk just shook his head, biting back a grin. God, he loved this man.

They’d barely made it onto the highway before Tim was adjusting every setting in the car.

“Why is it so cold in here?” he muttered, cranking the heat up two degrees.

Hawk, who ran warm on a good day, immediately turned it back down. “Because I don’t want to drive in a sauna.”

Tim scowled, but a minute later, he was fiddling with something else.

“Are you seriously adjusting your seat position again?” Hawk asked, glancing over.

“It’s too upright,” Tim grumbled, shifting the seat back half an inch. “I feel like I’m in a dentist’s chair.”

Hawk exhaled sharply, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “Are you done?”

Tim hummed, then clicked the radio on.

“You can dance, you can ji-iiive—”

Hawk groaned. “Oh my God.”

“What?” Tim smirked, cranking up Dancing Queen. “It’s a road trip classic.”

“Road trip classics are Springsteen, not Swedish disco anthems from the seventies.”

Tim gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. “Excuse me? ABBA is eternal.”

Hawk didn’t argue. He just let Tim belt out the chorus dramatically until he was laughing too hard to sing.

As soon as the song ended, Tim immediately leaned over into the backseat, rustling through their bags.

“What the hell are you doing now?” Hawk asked.

“Setting up breakfast,” Tim said, like it was obvious.

Hawk sighed, already knowing where this was going. “We wanted to get breakfast when we arrive, remember?”

“Yes, and now it’s car breakfast.” Tim pulled out a bag of pastries and his thermos of coffee. “It’s different. You packed all the snacks anyways. Why not eat them?”

“You are a grown man and you eat like a child on a field trip.”

Tim unscrewed the lid of his thermos, taking a blissful sip. “Mmm. Oh, this is perfect.”

Hawk shook his head but didn’t argue. He just reached over, snatched a croissant from Tim’s stash, and took a bite.

“Hey! That’s mine.”

Hawk just hummed, taking another bite.

Tim lasted an hour before he started to nod off. He grumbled something about the seat being too stiff, then grabbed Hawk’s jacket from the backseat, shoving it against the window as a makeshift pillow. His glasses smushed awkwardly against his face.

“You’re impossible,” Hawk murmured, but Tim was already out, breathing slow and steady.

The car settled into a quiet rhythm. The radio hummed low, some oldies station playing soft, familiar tunes. Hawk sipped his coffee, one hand on the wheel. The road stretched out ahead of them, the early morning light painting everything in gold.

An hour later, the first glimmer of blue appeared on the horizon. The ocean.

Hawk reached over, squeezing Tim’s thigh gently. “Skippy,” he said softly. “Wake up.”

Tim stirred, scrunching his nose before cracking one eye open. “Mmm?”

“Look.” Hawk nodded toward the windshield.

Tim turned, blinking as he took in the sight of the water meeting the sky. “Beautiful,” he murmured.

They followed the navigation through town, the streets growing more familiar with every turn. Tim straightened slightly, his brows knitting together in recognition.

“Hawk?” he asked softly.

“Yes, Skippy?”

Tim glanced at him, his voice quieter now. “Are we going to our hotel? The one?”

Hawk smiled. “Just wait and see.”

When he finally pulled into the small parking lot, Tim’s face lit up, his grin so wide it looked like it might split his face in two. Hawk barely had time to put the car in park before Tim turned to him, eyes shining.

“You didn’t.”

Hawk shrugged, fighting back a smirk. “I did.”

They grabbed their bags from the car, and Hawk headed inside to check them in. When the receptionist handed him the key, he peeked down at the number and exhaled in quiet relief. It had worked. They’d given them the exact same room. Their room.

Number 26.

He led Tim up the stairs and down the narrow corridor, the wooden floor creaking under their steps. As soon as Hawk stopped in front of the door, Tim let out a soft, fond sound.

“You thought of everything.”

Hawk glanced at him, a little sheepish. “I called and made sure of it.”

Tim’s smile was pure sunshine.

Hawk unlocked the door, and they stepped inside. The room had been renovated since their first visit, but it still had that same blend of white and wooden furniture, the same crisp scent of fresh laundry mixed with salty sea air. It felt both new and familiar.

“Oh, I remember this very well,” Tim said with a grin. “I think the first thing you did was push me up against that door. And then the bed.”

“You’re irresistible.”

“Hm,” Tim hummed. “It was quite the vacation. Such a long time ago. Sometimes it feels like yesterday.”

Hawk set his bag down beside the dresser. “I know.” He took Tim’s bag too, placing it gently next to his own.

When he turned back, he walked slowly, his grin turning softer, more sheepish. He didn’t stop until Tim was exactly where he wanted him—back against the door, blinking up at him in quiet surprise.

“There are a lot of things I’d love to revisit,” Hawk murmured, voice low and warm as he leaned in, brushing his lips over Tim’s in an unhurried kiss.

Tim let out a breathy laugh against his mouth as he pulled back, eyes crinkling. “Not to state the obvious, but if you try putting my feet over your shoulders, I will break a hip.”

Hawk chuckled, resting his forehead against Tim’s. “Then we’ll improvise.”

Another kiss, this one slower, deeper. Hawk’s fingers threaded into Tim’s hair, cradling the back of his head as their lips moved together in a familiar, effortless rhythm.

Tim sighed, not pulling away but tilting his head just enough to whisper, “Let’s unpack and get outside.”

Hawk smiled, brushing his thumb against Tim’s jaw. “Good idea. But we’ll continue this later, hmm?”

Tim grinned. “Absolutely.”

It took approximately five minutes before Tim, mid-rummage through his bag, let out a scandalized gasp.

“Oh my God, are you serious?”

Hawk looked up from unpacking his T-shirts. “What?”

Tim held up the shorts. The shortest pair of jean shorts in the history of mankind—so aggressively cut off that even the pockets were spilling out from the frayed hem.

“Hawk,” Tim said slowly, turning the offending item in his hands. “Why. Are. These. Here.”

“They’re perfect for the beach,” Hawk said, completely unrepentant.

“They are perfect for a public indecency charge,” Tim countered.

Hawk crossed his arms. “They still fit, don’t they?”

“That’s not the point!” Tim groaned. “I should have thrown them out years ago. It’s like a curse. They follow me to every beach trip.”

“No, come on. They’re sexy.”

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hawk. These shorts are so short, if I sneeze too hard, they might disappear.”

Hawk smirked. “Sounds like a win for everyone involved.”

Tim threw the shorts at his head.

Tim did not wear the shorts. Instead, he pulled on a perfectly respectable pair of linen pants before heading for the door.

Hawk, naturally, had thoughts about this.

“Coward,” he muttered as they stepped outside.

Tim adjusted his sunglasses. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Tim sighed. “Oh, I’m sorry, would you prefer I prance around looking like an extra from a questionable 80s aerobics video?”

“Yes.” Hawk didn’t even hesitate.

Tim huffed, stepping onto the boardwalk. The beach stretched before them, the late morning sun casting a golden glow over the sand and waves. It was beautiful . Peaceful.

“You know ,” Hawk mused, hands in his pockets, “it’s not too late to go back and change.”

“I am not putting on the shorts.”

Hawk sighed dramatically. “Such a shame.”

Tim groaned again, yanking his sunglasses off to rub his face. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you still love me.”

Tim shot him a flat look. “I’m questioning it.”

Hawk just laughed, sliding an arm around Tim’s waist as they made their way toward the waves. “You’ll forgive me.”

Tim sighed. “Unfortunately… probably.”

Hawk grinned. “That’s my boy.”

Chapter Text

Hawk had honestly tried to read. His intentions were good—he’d even made it through the first few pages. But the story kept slipping through his fingers like dry sand, and eventually, so did his focus. His mind drifted, slow and lazy like the waves in front of them—and then, inevitably, so did his eyes.

To Tim. His Skippy.

Stretched out beside him in the dappled shade of their beach umbrella, Tim lay on his back, fast asleep. He wore one of Hawk’s soft white T-shirts and a pair of sun-faded swim trunks that rode just a little high on his thighs. A book—some detective mystery he’d been working through all week—rested open on his chest, forgotten. His breathing was steady, slow. Peaceful.

Even out of the sun, his skin held the gentle warmth of the day—golden along the curve of his arm, catching in the hollow of his throat where the collar of his shirt hung loose. Hawk watched the rise and fall of his chest, the way a breeze occasionally stirred the ends of his hair, the way his fingers twitched now and then, like he might be dreaming something small and pleasant.

Hawk shifted onto his side, propped up on one elbow, book long forgotten in the sand. He let his eyes roam—unashamed, unhurried—savoring the view he’d committed to memory a hundred times before and would still never get enough of. The slope of Tim’s nose. The faint laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.

Moments like this—quiet, soft, undemanding—filled Hawk’s chest with a kind of love that wasn’t loud, but so deep it almost hurt. Not the kind that burned hot and fast, but the kind that warmed every corner of his soul.

He felt lucky. Lucky they’d made it here. Lucky they were still them. The kind of couple other people looked at and thought, That’s what I want someday.

Tim stirred, nose wrinkling in his sleep. He inhaled deeply, then let out a soft, contented sigh that made Hawk’s heart clench.

Adorable. Absolutely adorable.

Tomorrow, the vacation would be over—back to work, back to chaos. Of course, Hawk already missed his family, especially his grandkids. But right now, in this perfect little pocket of time, he wasn’t ready to let go of this quiet.

“It’s creepy,” Tim mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

Hawk smiled. “What is?”

“You’re staring.”

“I am.”

Tim groaned, soft and halfhearted. “Stop it.”

“Nope.” Hawk chuckled.

With a sigh Tim blinked slowly. His eyes were still unfocused, searching, until he found his glasses and slipped them on.

“I can’t believe how much I slept these last few days,” Tim said, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “Like I was trying to catch up on a year’s worth.”

Hawk opened his arms without a word, and Tim, with a soft smile, shifted closer and curled into him, resting his head on Hawk’s shoulder.

“Remember when we came here the first time?” Hawk asked, his voice quiet against the sound of the ocean.

Tim hummed. “Yeah. I was so excited. Like… can’t-stop-smiling excited.”

June 1998

“Do we go up together, or should I follow you later?” Tim asked, bouncing on his heels, eyes wide with joy. Even the prospect of sneaking in after Hawk didn’t seem to rattle him.

“Together,” Hawk said, reaching for Tim’s hand.

And the smile that bloomed on Tim’s face that day would stay with Hawk for the rest of his life. It would become his power source in every moment of doubt or hesitation. Tim was here. With him. Happy.

It had started heated in September with Hawk’s apology and went through highs and lows from there—until, around Christmas, Hawk moved in with Tim. The apartment was barely big enough for two, but Hawk didn’t need space. Not from Tim. Not ever. He cherished every morning he woke with Tim in his arms, his hair tickling Hawk’s nose.

They checked in, got the key to room number 26, and went upstairs. The receptionist didn’t even blink at two men sharing a room—just wished them a nice stay.

And as soon as Hawk had Tim in their beautiful hotel room, he couldn’t stop touching, couldn’t stop kissing, couldn’t get their clothes off fast enough.

By evening, they finally came out for air—sated, relaxed, and a little dazed from spending the day in each other’s arms.

Tim giggled at little nothings, and Hawk slipped an arm around his shoulder, earning a surprised but happy look from his man.

Hawk would marry him in an instant if it were allowed. No doubt. No hesitation.

Love, he’d come to understand over the past few months, was precious and beautiful. And there was no way he’d ever go back into hiding. Not now. Not ever.

“Let’s have some ice cream,” Tim suggested. “Do you think there’s still a place open?”

“Sure,” Hawk said, pressing a kiss to Tim’s hair.

They passed a couple on the sidewalk—a man and a woman—and Hawk felt the man’s stare linger a little too long. But for once, he didn’t care. They would never understand what it meant to be told your love was wrong, to be made into something shameful.

So Hawk just smiled politely.

The woman smiled back. Softly, but it was there.

Eventually, they found a small stand still open, tucked between a souvenir shop and a faded arcade. Its neon sign flickered with a tired hum, but the smell of waffle cones and syrupy sweetness drifted out like a promise. Tim stepped up, brows furrowed in the serious concentration of a man making a critical life decision—then ordered two scoops for each of them, one rich and nutty, the other tart and fruity, handed over with sticky napkins and a pleased grin.

They walked just far enough to find a quiet patch of boardwalk where they could sit side by side, legs stretched out, backs against the railing. The horizon stretched wide and endless in front of them, the sky spilling into streaks of orange, rose, and violet. The sun was low now, dipping into the edge of the water like it, too, wanted to be wrapped in the tide.

Tim licked his cone with a soft, contented sound, the corners of his mouth sticky with sugar. “This is obscenely good,” he mumbled.

Hawk just nodded, eyes half on his ice cream, half on Tim. The golden light caught the curve of Tim’s nose, the familiar lines of his face softened now, more open. Peaceful. Every so often, Tim's foot bumped against Hawk’s, a quiet touch that didn’t ask for attention but offered comfort just the same.

Around them, the beach quieted into the lull of evening. Seagulls wheeled overhead, their cries sharp in the distance, while the ocean whispered and retreated against the shore. The sand below the boardwalk had turned a burnished gold, catching every bit of fading light like treasure. A breeze came in off the water, gentle but cool, sliding under shirts and ruffling hair. They both shivered a little, leaned closer without thinking.

Hawk shifted his cone to his other hand and reached over to wipe a smudge of ice cream from the corner of Tim’s mouth with his thumb. Tim turned his head and kissed his knuckle, just once.

Neither of them said much.

They didn’t need to.

The quiet spoke for them: We’re here. We’ve made it.

“And then, on day two, you threw me into the ocean,” Tim said, smirking with a perfectly measured undertone of accusation.

“You make it sound like I tossed you off a bridge or something,” Hawk replied. “May I remind you, my dear Skippy, that we both wanted to go for a swim, and you were the one complaining the water was too cold?”

“It was cold.”

Hawk paused, then broke into a wide grin. “You know we’ve done everything we did back then—just with slight adjustments.”

Because Tim had been very right about the feet-over-the-shoulder thing. They’d ended up breathless with laughter about how inflexible they’d become, sprawled out and wheezing, the mood thoroughly ruined—in the best possible way.

“We have,” Tim agreed, smiling at the memory.

“Except one thing.”

Tim furrowed his brows, giving Hawk a suspicious, slightly confused look. “What thing?”

“A very important thing.”

Hawk stood up and reached out for Tim’s hands. “Come on.”

Tim groaned, dragging his feet even as he let himself be pulled upright. “Why do I feel like I’m about to regret this?”

Hawk just grinned. And then, in one swift motion, he dropped to his knees, grabbed the back of Tim’s thighs, and heavedhim up and over his shoulder.

Tim shrieked. “What on earth are you doing?!”

“Last tradition!” Hawk declared proudly, already stumbling a bit under the weight.

“Hawk—no! Come on!” But Tim was laughing, the sound echoing out toward the waves.

It definitely wasn’t as easy as it used to be—Hawk’s back twinged in protest and his knees issued an immediate complaint—but damn it, he still had it in him. Just this once more.

He carried Tim through a sea of sun-warmed bodies and shrieking children, the sand hot beneath his feet and the weight of his husband both familiar and exhilarating. People parted for them with amused glances—some laughing outright.

Tim bounced slightly against his shoulder, half-protesting, half-laughing, his fingers gripping the back of Hawk’s shirt. The scent of sunscreen and boardwalk fries clung to the breeze, mingling with the salty tang of the ocean air.

By the time they reached the water’s edge, the surf was rushing around Hawk’s ankles, cool and bracing. A small wave splashed up against his calves as he waded deeper, grit shifting beneath his feet. His knees ached just a little under Tim’s weight, but he didn’t care. This moment was worth every complaining muscle.

Once the water reached his knees, he set Tim down carefully, his hands lingering just a second longer at his waist. No dramatic toss. Just enough movement to send a spray of water up around them, catching the sunlight in tiny arcs.

Tim shook the wet hair from his forehead and looked up at him, grinning. “Are you happy now?” His voice was breathless, a little hoarse from laughing, and completely full of affection.

Hawk didn’t answer right away. He just stepped closer, wrapping one hand gently around the back of Tim’s neck, the other resting on his hip. The wind tugged at Tim’s white T-shirt, damp now, clinging to his chest. His skin was sun-warmed and soft beneath Hawk’s fingers.

Then Hawk kissed him—firm and warm and entirely unhurried. A grounding kind of kiss, the kind that said you, always you, without ever needing to speak it aloud. The ocean pulled gently at their legs, a rhythm as steady as a heartbeat.

“Now I am,” Hawk whispered, his forehead resting against Tim’s, their breaths mingling in the salt-kissed air.

Around them, the beach hummed on—children shrieking with delight, waves crashing, gulls wheeling above. But for a second, Hawk heard none of it. Just the sound of Tim’s breath.

Chapter Text

“Why is it raining?” Mia pouted as she stared out onto the street, elbows resting dramatically on the windowsill.

“Because rain is important for the trees,” Fynn chimed in, frowning in deep concentration over his latest artistic masterpiece. “Makes them all pretty.”

“But I wanna go to the park and kick the ball.” She let her head fall onto her arms with the weight of the world.

Hawk leaned against the kitchen doorframe, watching the little storm unfold. Mia was pouting. Fynn was painting. Jenny was snoring softly on the couch. And Tim—Tim was attempting to fix the coffeemaker with actual tools. Hawk already feared he might poke an eye out with the screwdriver.

“Grandpa Hawk, can we go to the park with our raincoats on?” Mia asked, looking at him with all the power of big, hopeful eyes.

At the same moment, Tim muttered a whispered, “Rats.”

“No, sweetie. Not in this downpour,” Hawk said gently.

Mia stomped her foot, and Hawk turned just in time to see Tim standing at the sink, running cold water over his hand.

“What did you do now?” Hawk asked, sighing like a man watching four children instead of three.

“Just scratched my finger. Barely,” Tim muttered.

“Can I please try now?” Hawk asked, exasperation clear in his voice.

“No!” Tim shot back like a stubborn child. “I can do it. I’m perfectly capable of fixing things.”

Hawk took a deep breath and looked toward the living room again. He needed coffee. Soon.

Mia had slumped to the carpet in the center of the living room, sighing theatrically.

“How will I become a football star if I can’t go outside and practice?”

“It’s called soccer,” Fynn said calmly, dipping his brush into the blue paint.

“No!” Mia pointed at him like a tiny general. “Grandpa Marcello said it’s football. And he’s from Italy. That’s in Europe, Fynn!”

Fynn blinked, clearly debating whether the fight was worth it.

“But we live in America, and it’s called soccer here—because there’s already a sport called football. It’s confusing.”

From the couch, Jenny let out a sleepy little groan, stretching like a kitten before rolling over.

“It’s the same thing,” Hawk said from the kitchen doorway, trying to stay neutral. “You can use both words.”

“But words matter,” Mia insisted, arms crossed with deep conviction.

“I agree,” Tim chimed in unhelpfully from the kitchen.

“Do concentrate on your coffee machine surgery!” Hawk shot back.

“It’s nearly done. I just need to—”

Silence.

“Skippy?!”

A soft poof, followed by the unmistakable smell of something burned.

Tim emerged sheepishly from the kitchen. “I think we need to buy a new one.”

Hawk groaned. “I need my coffee.”

“We could all go down to the coffee shop,” Tim offered. “Get you coffee, and we can have some pie and hot chocolate.”

Hot chocolate —the magical words. Jenny sat up instantly. Mia stopped pouting. Fynn carefully put down his brush.

“Can we, please, Grandpa Hawk?” Fynn asked in that sweet, innocent tone, looking up with eyes too big behind glasses slightly askew, paint smudged on both cheeks.

They all knew how to undo him fast—but Fynn, quiet and gentle Fynn, always hit hardest. He rarely asked for things. And now, looking like the world’s most angelic little artist, he was impossible to resist.

Hawk sighed. “Sure.”

Getting the devilish three into their raincoats proved surprisingly easy with the promise of hot chocolate on the horizon.

They hurried through the downpour and ducked into the warm café at the end of the block where Hawk and Tim lived.

Inside, they found a table while Tim headed to the counter to order. Hawk couldn’t help but let his eyes linger on his husband a little longer.

Sure, he’d just murdered their coffee machine—but he still looked so darn handsome in those blue jeans.

Apparently, another man—about Tim’s age—thought so too. He was approaching.

Hawk’s frown deepened.

Behind him, three kids started snickering.

“Grandpa Hawk looooves Grandpa Tim,” Mia sing-songed.

He smirked at her. “Of course I do.”

“Did Grandpa Tim make a new friend?” Jenny asked, eyes locked on the scene at the counter.

“Maybe,” Hawk muttered, not feeling particularly generous.

“Why is that man holding out his phone to Grandpa Tim?” Fynn asked with a frown. “Did he forget his own at home?”

Hawk turned around—and sure enough, there it was. A phone being shoved in Tim’s direction. Tim, ever polite, kept his hands in his pockets and shook his head.

“Sweetheart, we’re over here!” Hawk called—loud enough for half the café to hear.

He didn’t care.

The man glanced over, saw Hawk and the three curious kids, and bolted in an almost cartoonish fashion.

Tim turned back with an epic eye-roll.

“He rolled his eyes at you,” Fynn giggled.

Tim returned with a tray, carefully setting down hot chocolate and cookies for the kids, black coffee for Hawk, and something that looked suspiciously like a latte macchiato for himself. There was also a single slice of apple strudel on a small white plate. Hawk eyed it with interest.

“I thought about sharing it with you,” Tim said, sliding the strudel closer to his side of the table. “But then you had to go and play jealous husband.”

“You didn’t look comfortable,” Hawk said—stretching the truth just a bit.

“Ah-ha. Sure.”

“Skippy.” Hawk leaned his head on Tim’s shoulder, clearly unrepentant. “I’m sorry.”

“You look cute,” Jenny offered from across the table, grinning.

Tim looked down at Hawk and, predictably, his stern expression cracked into a smile. “Alright,” he sighed. “But you’re only getting a third of the strudel.”

Hawk kissed his shoulder, already reaching for a fork.

Later that night, after the grandkids had been picked up by their parents, Hawk climbed into bed. Tim was already curled up in the blankets, half asleep. The soft scent of fresh shower soap and flowery shampoo clung to his skin.

Hawk slid under the covers and wrapped an arm around Tim’s middle, shifting closer, pressing the length of his body against his husband’s. There it was again, that possessive streak, the one that always flared up on days like today. It wasn’t as sharp as it used to be. He didn’t feel threatened anymore because he knew, without a doubt, that Tim was his—completely and utterly his. But still, sometimes, the urge to show the world that this beautiful human belonged with him never really went away.

Tim sighed softly beside him and turned in his embrace, slipping his knee over Hawk’s hip, inching closer.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Tim murmured, his voice low and steady, as if sensing the lingering tension in Hawk.

Hawk smiled. “I know.” He did. Truly. “I just wanted him to know too.”

Tim chuckled, his breath warm against Hawk’s skin. “Wanna know what he said?”

“Do I?”

“You do.” Tim’s voice was teasing now. “He said I had this old hippy vibe going that really turned him on.”

Hawk’s jaw went slack in disbelief. “Old hippy vibe?”

Tim tried to stifle his laughter, but it escaped anyway. “I didn’t even wear my tie-dye shirt. And I’ve been to the hairdresser… well, a while ago. Not that long.”

Hawk raised an eyebrow, still processing. “Again, old hippy vibe?”

Tim broke into full laughter. “He wanted my number. I told him that it was against old hippy honor to own a phone.”

Hawk couldn’t help it. He burst into laughter too, the absurdity of it all making his chest feel light.

“And then you had your big moment,” Tim smirked. “And I think he panicked more because of the kids than you looking all murderous.”

“What an idiot,” Hawk muttered, still grinning.

“Not the smartest person I’ve met recently, no,” Tim agreed, his voice full of fond amusement.

Hawk leaned in, unable to resist the pull. He kissed Tim, his lips brushing against Tim’s just a little firmer than usual. It lingered, and for a moment, the world outside of their little bubble disappeared.

“Well, your old hippy vibe definitely does it for me too,” Hawk murmured.

Tim’s grin spread wider, mischief dancing in his eyes. “I see.”

Hawk shifted even closer, letting his hand wander up Tim’s thigh, still resting on his hip. “Wear that tie-dye shirt, and I might just forget how to breathe.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, his voice teasing. “Are you going all possessive now? Remember, not as flexible as I was twenty years ago.”

Hawk was already lost in sensation. Tim’s scent, the feel of his soft skin, the warmth and familiarity of it all. This. This was home. He wanted to bottle it up, to make sure it never stopped feeling this good—never stopped existing. No matter how old they got, no matter the changes, he would keep worshipping Tim’s soft skin with kisses, making him feel cherished.

“I’m definitely going all possessive now,” he rumbled low, feeling Tim shiver beneath him. There was no teasing in his voice now, just the raw certainty of his emotions.

Chapter Text

The dishwasher rumbled softly in the kitchen, a comforting hum beneath the quiet of the late afternoon. Tim sat on the couch, a laundry basket beside him, methodically folding a huge amount of cloth and towels. Next to him, Hawk squinted at a letter, holding it inches from his face.

“You need reading glasses,” Tim remarked, lifting two nearly identical black socks up to the light to see if they matched.

“I do not,” Hawk grumbled, pulling the paper closer, then farther away. It didn’t help.

“You do,” Tim said again, patient but amused. “You squint at everything now. You practically crawled into the price tags at the grocery store.”

“It’s just really small font,” Hawk muttered defensively.

“Ah-ha. Sure it is.” Tim found another pair of socks and rolled them together with practiced ease.

Hawk thrust the paper at him. “Here. You read it.”

Tim took the page and began, “Dear Mr. Fuller, attached you’ll find—”

Hawk snatched it back with a huff. “It’s a tiny font.”

Tim leaned back with a grin, tossing a folded shirt into the basket. “Hawk, my eyesight’s terrible, and even I can read it. My glasses work. The font’s normal. You need glasses.”

Hawk didn’t respond right away. He simply folded the letter in half with precise irritation and dropped it onto the coffee table like it had personally offended him.

Tim watched him, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You’ll be very handsome in reading glasses.”

“I’m already very handsome,” Hawk muttered, arms crossing like a drawbridge slamming shut.

“True,” Tim agreed with a grin. “But with reading glasses, you’d be devastatingly handsome. And able to read nutritional labels.”

Hawk shot him a glare, eyes narrowed. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Immensely.”

Silence settled between them, easy and familiar. The afternoon sun spilled through the windows, casting long golden stripes across the hardwood and stretching over the couch. It warmed Hawk’s bare forearms and lit up the silver threaded through Tim’s hair like starlight.

With a sigh that was half-defeat, half-theatrics, Hawk sank deeper into the cushions. “Fine. Maybe I’ll get my eyes checked.”

Tim didn’t gloat—well, not much. He simply patted Hawk’s thigh and said warmly, “I’m proud of you.”

“I’ll pick the most stylish frames. You won’t be able to keep your hands off me.”

Tim leaned in and kissed his cheek, letting the moment linger. “Already can’t.”

Hawk huffed, but the grin tugging at his mouth gave him away.

Tim folded a towel with practiced care, tucking in the corners, then casually tossed a pair of socks at Hawk’s head. “Contribute.”

“I’m contributing emotionally,” Hawk said, catching the socks and pretending to be wounded.

There was something about watching Tim—even if it was admittedly a little blurry—fold laundry. The way his fingers moved, long and elegant, brushing across fabric with quiet precision.

“What?” Tim asked, catching the look.

“Nothing.” Hawk shrugged. God, he loved this. Loved these late afternoons slipping into evening, filled with quiet, ordinary nothings.

“You’re staring.”

“I think I’ve got a thing for your hands,” Hawk admitted.

Tim stopped folding and turned toward him, one brow raised. “You noticing that now, or was it always a thing?”

“Always. You just have beautiful hands, Skippy.”

“Are you trying to get out of folding laundry?”

“What? No.” Hawk picked up a shirt and dutifully began folding.

“Very convincing.”

“I still have a thing for your hands.”

“Well, you can admire them all you want once we’re done. But the baking show you’re not obsessed with comes on later. I think your eyes will be otherwise occupied.”

“I’m not into that show.”

“Last week you yelled at the TV.”

“I did not.”

“It was—and I quote—‘Don’t over-whip the cream!’” Tim grinned. “Said in a very dramatic manner.”

“Hearsay, your honor.”

Tim snorted. “Motion denied.”

Pouting but dutiful, Hawk resumed folding and sorting clothes into neat piles. The faster he finished, the sooner he could launch his petty revenge—which would definitely involve tickling.

“Wait,” Tim said suddenly, squinting at the laundry basket. “Is that my shirt mixed in with your stuff?”

Hawk blinked. “…Possibly.”

“That’s my favorite T-shirt.”

“I was doing a test run,” Hawk said smoothly. “To make sure it folds properly.”

“It’s been my shirt for twelve years.”

“What’s yours is mine, right?”

Tim threw another rolled pair of socks at Hawk’s head. “Admit it! You like wearing my clothes too. Always making a big deal when I wear yours—getting all possessive. Not about the actual shirt, but about how I look in it.”

He did. Oh, Hawk loved wearing Tim’s clothes. Especially when Tim wasn’t around.

It had started during a rainy week years ago, when Tim had gone to a training for social workers in San Francisco. Hawk had missed him—ache-in-the-chest missed him—but had been too embarrassed to call every night, afraid of seeming clingy. So, he’d gone rummaging through their closet until he found one of Tim’s soft, worn white T-shirts. It still smelled like him. He’d pulled it on—it was snug across the shoulders, but worth it—and wore it the entire week. When Tim came back, every piece he’d borrowed had already been washed and folded, tucked back neatly where it belonged. A quiet, secret kind of comfort.

Of course he kept doing it. Slipping Tim’s shirts under his own button-ups, grinning smugly at work, especially when he had to shake hands with some politician who barely tolerated his existence. I’m wearing my Tim’s clothes, he’d think. He loves me. That’s enough.

“Yes, Skippy,” Hawk said at last, sighing theatrically. “I like wearing your clothes.”

“Brilliant. You’re definitely not getting out of wearing one of my festive sweaters this year.”

“Whatever you want, my dearest,” Hawk mocked gently.

“And for that, you get the one with reindeers and snowflakes.”

Hawk grinned. It would be a very comfortable Christmas, wrapped up in one of Tim’s sweaters all night. The best thing about them—besides their ridiculous patterns—was how they clung to Tim’s scent like a vice, never letting go.

“Okay, done,” Tim announced, tossing the last pair of socks into the basket with a satisfied flick of his wrist.

“Good,” Hawk replied calmly.

He picked up the basket and carried it into the bedroom—but he wasn’t going to start putting things away just yet. He had other plans.

Back on the couch, Tim had stretched out like a lazy cat on a rainy Sunday, shifting into a comfortable sprawl. He was all limbs—still lean, not quite as muscular as when they first met, but strong in the way of someone who kept moving, needed motion to balance out all the bright-eyed activism buzzing in his brain.

Hawk paused in the doorway, watching the way Tim crossed his bony ankles, the shape of his knees visible even through his jeans. He still carried so much boyish charm in his aging body—it clung to him, irrepressible.

“You’re staring again,” Tim mumbled, not even turning around.

“I just can’t resist you.”

Tim hummed in acknowledgment. Hawk grinned and stepped quietly closer, hovering beside the couch. Tim looked up, those familiar big eyes behind his old glasses—lenses slightly smudged—and Hawk took in the entire vision: a tie-dye T-shirt under a dark brown reindeer cardigan. Only he could pull that off.

“What?” Tim squinted, instantly suspicious.

Hawk didn’t answer. He dropped down fast, pouncing, fingers digging into Tim’s sides.

Tim shrieked in laughter, already writhing. “No—no—stop!”

But Hawk didn’t. Not right away. He kept going until he’d wriggled in behind Tim, tucking his chin over his shoulder and locking his arms around his middle. One hand snuck beneath Tim’s shirt, aiming for that one ridiculous ticklish spot.

“Stop,” Tim wheezed between giggles, still wriggling lazily in Hawk’s hold. He wasn’t really trying to get away.

And Hawk did stop. Because honestly? This was perfect. Too comfortable to ruin.

He pressed a slow kiss to Tim’s shoulder and nestled in close, arms wrapped tight around him, their breaths falling into a quiet, easy rhythm. Safe. Steady.

“I love you,” Hawk murmured.

Tim hummed, pleased and soft. “I love you too.”

A beat passed, warm and golden.

“I’m gonna turn on that baking show now,” Hawk said, his voice low against Tim’s neck. “And I’m absolutely going to yell at the TV when they butcher those cakes.”

Tim laughed, the sound bubbling out of him, familiar and beloved. “Please do. It’s incredibly entertaining.”

Chapter Text

“Skippy, I’m home! And I’ve got my glasses. Ready to be dazzled? I promised they’d look so good you wouldn’t be able to—”

Hawk froze in the doorway.

The words caught in his throat at the sight of the blanket mountain on the couch—undeniably Tim-shaped. And it sniffled.

Hawk’s heart twisted.

Tim had texted him around noon, unexpectedly home early and excited for their evening with the grandkids. Spaghetti night. Hawk had brought everything they needed, including meatballs made from peas. He’d planned to make the sauce from scratch—fresh tomatoes, onions, garlic. A full basket of comfort.

He’d texted Tim to relax, maybe take a bath before their little tornadoes arrived. No reply. Not unusual. He’d pictured Tim finally taking a breath, shaking off some of the crushing overtime that had been building up like a mountain too steep to climb.

But now… the mountain had collapsed into a heap of blankets.

As he approached, the sniffles grew clearer. Hawk knelt beside the couch and gently peeled back a corner of the soft pile. Tim’s face emerged, blotchy and red, glasses askew. Tears streaked his cheeks. His eyes, glassy and full, met Hawk’s with such raw sadness it cracked something inside him.

“Skippy, my love…” Hawk whispered, brushing back a damp curl. “What happened?”

Tim looked up, his lashes clumped with tears. His body trembled as sobs rolled through him.

“Baby,” Hawk said again, voice barely above a breath. “Talk to me. What can I do?”

Tim inhaled shakily. “It’s work,” he croaked, voice hoarse and frayed.

“Work?” Hawk asked gently. “Did something happen… were there more layoffs?”

Tim shook his head. “No,” he managed, his voice catching on the word.

Since the youth center lost part of its funding, Tim and Frankie had been operating in crisis mode—too few staff for too many kids, each one clinging to the edge of something fragile. More than just a job, it was a lifeline. And lately, that lifeline had frayed.

Tim had taken on case after case, because of course he had. So had Frankie. But it wasn’t enough. It never felt like enough.

“All the empty desks…” Tim sniffled, voice quivering. “I miss my people. And then Elaine called in—her little one’s got a fever—and I looked at her appointments, tried to fit them in with mine.” His voice cracked again. “I couldn’t do it, Hawk.”

“That’s completely understandable,” Hawk said, reaching to touch his hand.

“No.” Tim shook his head, and a fresh wave of tears spilled down. “You don’t understand. For some of these kids, it’s life or death. We’re their safety net. They need us.”

His breathing hitched. “Today I had to choose. Four more appointments—or dinner with the grandkids. And choosing somehow broke me.”

He sucked in a sob. “And then Josh—with the anger issues—he came in complaining about everything. I just… I went to the restroom and cried.”

Hawk blinked hard to keep his own tears at bay. “Love… no one could fault you for this. You carry so much. Most people couldn’t keep your pace for a week, let alone months. Hitting a wall—that’s not weakness. That’s your body saying it’s too much.”

At that, something inside Tim cracked wide open. His sobs turned full-body, wrenching and raw, his frame shaking uncontrollably.

Hawk didn’t hesitate. He climbed behind him onto the couch and wrapped his arms around him, pulling Tim into his chest. He felt it all—the trembling, the exhaustion, the sheer weight of it.

“Damn, Skippy,” he murmured, “what do you need? Should I cancel with the kids? Do you want quiet? Space?”

“No!” Tim’s voice was loud, sharp, panicked. “Please don’t. I can get it together, Hawk.” He hiccuped. “I can—”

“Shhh,” Hawk soothed, hand cradling the back of his neck. “You want them here. Message received. But, Skippy… you always tell the kids it’s okay to not be okay. The same goes for you. Don’t hide. They can handle it. Let them see that Grandpa’s human, too.”

Tim didn’t answer with words. Instead, he curled tighter into Hawk’s arms, burying his face in his shirt. His glasses were still on, slightly smudged.

Hawk held him through every wave of grief until the sobs softened, the shaking stilled, and at last, Tim fell asleep. Only then did Hawk gently slip away to start on the kitchen prep. Three kids were coming to cook, and his beautiful, aching Skippy needed the kind of love that came with sauce-stained aprons.

Every so often, Hawk peeked at the couch. Tim lay still under the blanket mountain, finally at rest. That beautiful heart of his—too big for its own good—was finally getting a moment of peace.

By 6 p.m., right on time, Jenny, Mia, and Fynn came tumbling in, laughter trailing behind them as Jackson waved from the hall before heading off. Shoes kicked off, coats halfway hung, they were already buzzing with the energy of a promised spaghetti night.

And of course, it was darling Fynn who noticed first.

“Where’s Grandpa Tim?” he asked, eyes wide as they scanned the hallway. There was already a trace of worry in his voice.

Hawk knelt down, arms open to gather them close. “Okay, kiddos—circle up. I need to tell you something important.”

The three of them leaned in, sensing the shift in his tone.

“Do you know those days when something at school makes you really sad? Maybe someone says something mean or your feelings get hurt, and you just need your parents… or your Grandpa Tim… to hold you and tell you it’s going to be okay?”

They nodded, serious now.

“Well, Grandpa’s having one of those days. Work was really tough today. He’s sad, and he’s very tired. But he still wanted you here, because being with you helps his heart feel better. Kind of like when you're crying and you just want to cuddle up next to someone who loves you.”

Jenny pressed her bottom lip between her teeth. “Did someone bully Grandpa Tim at work? Because if they did, I can protect him. I protect Fynn all the time.”

“That’s true,” Fynn nodded, utterly sincere. “She’s the best at it.”

Hawk smiled. “No bullies, sweet pea. Just too much work, and Grandpa doesn’t like letting anyone down. He always wants to help, even when he’s really tired.”

“Does he need cuddles?” Jenny asked.

“Lots and lots of cuddles,” Hawk said softly.

“I’ve never seen Grandpa Tim cry,” Fynn whispered, brow furrowed with concern.

“It happens to all of us, sweetie,” Hawk replied gently. “Even the bravest grandpas.”

He stood and motioned them toward the living room, guiding them quietly into the warm, low-lit space. Tim was still asleep on the couch, his chest rising in a steady rhythm beneath the blanket mountain. He looked peaceful—but worn.

The usually boisterous trio fell into a hush, watching him with wide, solemn eyes.

“Should we start cooking?” Hawk whispered. “I bet he’d love some really good spaghetti to cheer him up.”

Mia gave a quick, determined nod, already rolling up her sleeves. “I’m ready!”

But Jenny and Fynn didn’t move. Their eyes remained on the couch.

“Can I cuddle him?” Fynn asked softly, his small voice threading the quiet.

“Yes, go ahead,” Hawk said, his chest tightening with love.

Fynn moved with a care that felt beyond his years, gently climbing onto the couch. He nestled himself next to Tim and, with the sweetest tenderness, brushed a lock of hair from Tim’s face. The motion was achingly familiar—something Hawk had seen Tim do to Fynn a hundred times. Fynn must have picked it up, and now returned it like a little mirror of comfort.

Hawk swallowed against the lump in his throat.

“I’m helping with the cooking,” Mia announced from the kitchen doorway, her hands already hunting for aprons. “Let’s make the best spaghetti ever!”

“I’m going to get my plushie,” Jenny declared with sudden resolve. “It can stay with Grandpa while I help with the cooking.”

And soon enough, a well-loved teddy bear—ears a little floppy, one eye sewn back on with mismatched thread—was tucked gently under Tim’s arm. Even in sleep, his fingers curled around it like a quiet thank you.

Cooking with the kids was always a joy. A little chaotic, a little messy—but always full of love.

Jenny carefully sliced cherry tomatoes in halves, tongue poking out with concentration. Mia stirred the sauce with dramatic flair, pretending she was on a cooking show. They giggled, and Hawk laughed with them. For a little while, the world outside their kitchen didn’t exist. And usually—on any other night—Tim would be right in the thick of it, cracking jokes, telling stories, sneaking extra spoonfuls of sauce for “taste-testing.”

When the pasta boiled and the sauce simmered just right, Hawk took a moment to peek into the living room. What he found tugged at his heart.

Tim was awake. His eyes were red-rimmed, cheeks still damp. He looked completely worn down—but not alone. Fynn was still curled up against him, tiny fingers tracing patterns over Tim’s arm as he whispered softly. It was impossible to hear what he was saying from the doorway, but whatever it was, it made Tim smile.

Even through the tears, he smiled.

By the time dinner was served, Tim had made his way to the table, wrapped in a cozy sweater Jenny had insisted he wear. His face was dry, though still flushed from crying, and he moved quietly, gently. But something in his posture had shifted—his shoulders a little lower, his breaths a little easier.

Jenny made him laugh with a ridiculous spaghetti slurp. Mia demanded an official review of her “secret-recipe” sauce.

Tim cleared his throat, sat up straighter, and declared, “It’s the best spaghetti I’ve had all year.” Dutiful and affectionate, just as expected. Mia beamed like she’d won a trophy.

It wasn’t their usual spaghetti night. It was quieter. Softer. But it had a special kind of charm—like the hush after a storm, when you realize the house is still standing.

“Okay, cleaning time!” Hawk announced, clapping his hands.

Predictably, all three grandkids bolted toward the couch with wide eyes and dramatic groans.

“Nooo, Grandpa needs more cuddles!”

“He needs healing hugs!”

“I have to give him my special spaghetti-strength power!”

Hawk put on a mock-offended face. “So I just clean this whole kitchen alone, huh?”

Mia threw a wink over her shoulder. “You’re a grown-up. You’ve got this.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he turned toward the mess. Truth was, he wouldn’t have traded it for anything. He would clean this kitchen a hundred times over if it meant his Skippy was wrapped up in the arms of three fiercely devoted little humans.

And fiercely devoted they were.

When Hawk emerged from the kitchen—tea towel slung over one shoulder, ready to offer hot chocolate—he paused, eyebrows raised at the curious scene before him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, tilting his head as he watched Mia drape a blanket over the TV.

“We’re building a blanket fort for Grandpa,” she explained matter-of-factly. “We do it all the time at home. It always cheers us up.”

Hawk glanced over at Tim. His husband’s mouth twitched at the corner, the tiniest smile threatening to break through.

“We need to put one over the shelf,” Fynn pointed helpfully toward the bookcase beside the couch.

“And we need fairy lights,” Jenny added, practically bouncing. “The pretty ones from Christmas!”

Hawk took one look at the three determined faces staring up at him and sighed with dramatic resignation. “Alright. I’ll get the fairy lights. But it might take a minute. And no climbing on the shelves—none of you. And keep an eye on your Grandpa over there.”

“He’s protected,” Mia said solemnly, nodding like a sworn knight. It made Hawk chuckle as he retreated toward the broom closet.

The fairy lights were buried, as always, in the farthest reaches of the storage. Naturally, the lights were tangled—a yearly tradition. None of them ever wrapped them properly, and every December brought the same argument over who left the mess and who had to untangle it.

Some traditions just stuck, Hawk thought with a fond smile as he worked the knots free.

“Alright,” he called, re-entering the living room, lights in hand. “Let’s build a fort.”

Cheers erupted like confetti, and the construction began in earnest.

It was a beautiful chaos. Chairs were repositioned, blankets layered like shingles across the couch and pulled-out bed. Hawk strung the fairy lights along the ceiling of the makeshift hideaway, draping them like stars over soft fabric skies. Jenny declared that everyone needed to be in pajamas, so off the kids went, racing to change into fuzzy pants and mismatched tops.

The temporary lull gave Hawk a moment to kneel beside the couch, where Tim still sat bundled, quiet. Too quiet.

“Okay over here?” Hawk asked gently. “Give me a sign if it’s all too much.”

Tim reached out with a trembling hand, and Hawk took it without hesitation, squeezing tight.

“It’s not too much,” Tim said softly. “I just… I can’t shake this feeling. Or the crying. It just keeps coming. I don’t even know why.”

Hawk’s voice was quiet, steady. “It’s stress Skippy. You’re overworked.”

Tim winced a little.

“Skippy,” Hawk continued, brushing his thumb across Tim’s knuckles, “you’ve been carrying too much for too long. I know how deeply you care about your work. And it is important. But we’re not twenty anymore. We’re at the age where stress doesn’t just knock—we can’t afford to ignore it. It can actually take us down.”

“I know,” Tim whispered. His voice was raw, fragile.

“I don’t want a hospital call,” Hawk said, voice cracking at the edges. “Not one of the bad ones. I couldn’t survive that.”

“I don’t want that either,” Tim murmured. He stared past Hawk for a moment, eyes distant. “But I feel like I’m fighting a losing battle. Watching lives unravel because of hate and fear. And we’ve been here before, haven’t we? We saw it start to get better. We saw change. And now, it’s like we’re being dragged back.”

His voice hitched. “I’m not going back. I won’t.”

Hawk kissed his hand, gentle and firm. “Neither will I. But we need you here to fight. And that means protecting your heart, your health. That means stepping back when you need to. Just for a moment.”

Tim looked at him, eyes glassy but focused. “And what now?”

“Now,” Hawk said, rising slowly to his feet and reaching out, “we change into our softest pajamas and climb into the most magnificent blanket fort ever constructed. And we let the world fall away for a little while.”

Tim gave a shaky, teary laugh and took his hand.

The blanket fort proved to be surprisingly comfortable.

Hawk had Tim tucked against his chest, a soft quilt wrapped snugly around them. Jenny’s beloved stuffed teddy rested in the crook of Tim’s arm, and on his other side, Fynn had curled up like a little guardian, eyes darting occasionally to his grandpa’s face, ready to spring into action should he need anything.

Mia, always the reader, had pulled out a storybook and begun reading aloud—her voice quiet and soothing. Jenny leaned against Hawk’s shoulder, her breath slow and steady, her hand idly gripping the hem of his sleeve like an anchor.

The world outside dimmed. Wrapped in fairy lights and fabric, within the soft hum of the children's voices and the rustle of blankets, the blanket fort became a cocoon of comfort. Hawk could feel Tim’s body slowly begin to let go, breath evening out, tension unspooling bit by bit.

And then—Tim fell asleep.

One by one, the others followed. Mia slumped sideways, her book slipping from her lap. Jenny’s breathing deepened against Hawk’s shoulder. Fynn stayed alert the longest, eyes heavy but determined, until even his small form relaxed with soft snores barely audible.

Hawk, still holding Tim, watched over them all for a while. He made sure every one of them had a blanket pulled up to their chin, adjusting the layers with care.

Only when they were all safely tucked in, only when he was sure Tim was resting, did Hawk allow himself to relax. He pressed a final kiss to Tim’s forehead, lips lingering for a moment as if to pass along a wish.

A wish for tomorrow to bring peace. For energy. For something lighter.

But most of all, he was grateful. That Tim hadn’t buried it all. That he’d let the tears come. That he hadn’t hidden the weight of his pain. Because showing it—that was strength too.

Wrapped in love and soft warmth, Hawk finally let sleep take him.

Chapter Text

“This is nice,” Frankie hummed. “Why haven’t we done this in so long?”

“Life?” Hawk offered dryly, raising his whiskey glass for a slow sip, the amber liquid catching the light.

“Obligations. Family. Kids. Grandkids,” Marcus added with a chuckle, before leaning over to press a gentle kiss to Frankie’s forehead. “But yeah—it is nice.”

Tim sat curled close to Hawk, a soft smile touching his face. “It’s been a lot of life lately.”

Frankie raised his glass in quiet agreement, nodding toward Tim. “We definitely deserve a break.”

“Rules for tonight,” Marcus declared, lifting a finger like a general giving orders. “No work talk. No politics. Just us—alive, old, and still kicking.”

Hawk snorted. “Hear, hear.”

“I need to say something right now,” Frankie said, straightening with exaggerated seriousness. “Nice glasses, Fuller. Finally seeing reason?” He grinned. “Pun intended.”

Hawk winked, lowering his voice to a husky drawl. “I did—and still do. Worth it, especially since someone seems to like the glasses I picked… very much.”

“Hawk,” Tim murmured, cheeks flushing as he gently nudged him.

The frames were simple—round, black-rimmed, the kind his Skippy owns. Hawk hadn’t been able to resist. Something about that shape made him choose them without hesitation. And when Tim finally noticed—after recovering from his long, overworked haze—he’d been all over Hawk. That kind of attention was always welcome.

“You do look smarter with glasses,” Marcus remarked, smirking over the rim of his drink.

Hawk raised a brow. “So I look dumb without them?”

“I said smarter, not smart,” Marcus shot back with a laugh, shaking his head.

Hawk chuckled. He had missed this—the four of them together at the Cozy Corner, their favorite queer bar. Familiar walls, low lighting and the comforting din of laughter.

More than anything, he’d missed the ease of it. Tim was relaxed, nestled into his side, his head resting against Hawk’s shoulder. He looked exhausted but happy, sipping his whiskey a little too quickly. A faint blush had already crept into his cheeks, whether from the alcohol or the atmosphere—or both. Either way, he looked outright adorable.

“Come on,” Hawk said, nudging Marcus. “Tell us about Jerome. How’s he doing?”

“Fine, of course. Damn smart, that boy,” Marcus said, pride warming his voice. “The photos he sends from San Francisco? Gorgeous. Looks like a whole dream.”

“We’re so proud,” Frankie added with a smile, glancing at Marcus. “He’s going to be an incredible journalist. And it sounds like he’s already met someone special.”

“San Francisco...” Tim sighed, his voice soft and wistful. “I always thought I’d end up there someday.”

Hawk tightened his arm around Tim’s shoulders, pulling him a little closer. “You stay right here.”

“Living around the Castro?” Frankie asked with a wink toward Tim. “Being part of that community? Who hasn’t dreamed of it.”

“I think we’ve got a pretty good community right here,” Hawk replied, holding Tim just a little tighter.

Tim leaned in and pressed a kiss to Hawk’s shoulder—lips meeting the soft fabric of his shirt. “I’m not planning on leaving you,” he murmured. “Relax.”

“Oh! I love this song!” Frankie suddenly clutched his hands to his chest as the first smooth, dreamy notes of Billie Holiday’s You Go To My Head floated through the bar.

That was one of the things Hawk loved most about the Cozy Corner—the music. It never failed to surprise. A seamless blend of old and new, jazz and pop, soul and indie, pulling from all over the world. It felt curated just for them.

From the corner of his eye, Hawk watched Marcus rise and extend a hand to Frankie with an inviting smile. Around them, couples had already begun to sway together under the warm, moody lighting. Frankie took his husband’s hand with a grin and followed him onto the floor.

“I love this song too,” Tim whispered, still nestled against Hawk’s shoulder. He tilted his face up, eyes wide, searching.

And that was it—that look. That look always undid him. Every time Tim gazed at him like that, Hawk forgot the world. It was just Tim—his beautiful husband with the ageless eyes. Eyes that still held wonder, trust, and a hint of mischief.

“May I have this dance?” Hawk asked softly, his smile tender.

“Yes.”

Hawk took his hand and led him to the dance floor, drawing him close. Tim fit perfectly against him, his body relaxed, warm. They began to sway, slow and quiet, as Billie Holiday’s voice wrapped around them—low, aching, full of longing.

Hawk wanted to freeze time, just like this. Cheek pressed to the side of Tim’s head, breathing him in. That warm, familiar scent that was impossible to describe—just Tim.

He could feel the brush of Tim’s breath across his cheek, the way he leaned in, weight surrendered completely, whispering the lyrics softly in his ear. Just whispering. The delightfully off-key singing—that was reserved for home. A private joy.

They kept dancing through a few more songs, swaying in time until Tim grew heavier in Hawk’s arms—sleepy, content, and soft with whiskey warmth. Eventually, they made their way back to the table, though more than once Hawk leaned in to ask, “Should we head home?”

Tim refused each time, stubbornly clinging to the moment, his fingers tangled with Hawk’s under the table. Not ready to let go of the night just yet.

It was nearing 1 a.m.—a daringly late hour in Hawk’s opinion—when they finally stumbled through the front door of their apartment. Tim giggled as he tried to toe off his shoes, hopelessly entangled in the laces, wobbling like a baby deer.

A beautiful, tipsy chaos.

Hawk steadied him with one hand and gently laced the other through Tim’s hair, shaking his head with quiet affection. “How many times do I have to tell you? You don’t gulp scotch, you sip it.”

“I think… at least ten more times,” Tim replied, followed by a hiccup and another cascade of laughter.

“Okay, bed.”

“Nooo,” Tim whined, dragging the word out. “Couch.”

“Skippy, you’ll pass out the second your head hits any surface. Let’s go to bed.”

“No, I need… couch magic.”

Hawk raised a brow. “What’s couch magic?”

Tim gasped like he’d just been mortally offended. “We’ve been together for—” He paused, eyes rolling upward as he visibly did the math, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. It took everything in Hawk not to break into laughter.

“—A long, long time,” Tim concluded dramatically. “And you don’t know about couch magic?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Falling asleep on the couch is easier,” Tim declared, as if revealing a universal truth. “That’s it. That’s couch magic.”

Hawk waited a beat. “That’s the whole secret?”

“That’s the whole secret,” Tim confirmed solemnly.

“You might be drunker than I thought.”

“I’m not drunk.”

Hawk chuckled, already reaching to guide him toward the couch anyway.

It was an awkward, endearing tumble—Tim lost his footing and collapsed onto the couch, pulling Hawk down with him in a fresh burst of laughter. They landed in a heap: legs tangled, arms wrapped around each other, faces just inches apart.

Still grinning, Tim reached up and nudged Hawk’s glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You look so good with them,” he murmured. “So, so good. Adorable, even.”

Hawk gasped, feigning offense. “Did you just call me adorable?”

“Yeah,” Tim giggled, utterly unrepentant. “I know you’re super tough. But you look adorable anyway.”

Hawk chuckled, the sound low and soft. He brushed his nose against Tim’s in reply. “That’s your thing. You’re my adorable boy from Staten Island.”

Tim’s grin lit up the room. It was radiant, unguarded. “You make me feel thirty years younger,” he whispered.

No force on Earth could have stopped Hawk from kissing him then. It wasn’t just desire—it was need, like air in his lungs. He kissed Tim slowly, deliberately, savoring the shape of his mouth, the quiet hums and little sounds he made as their lips moved together.

When they finally parted, Tim’s eyes blinked open, slow and heavy with sleep. “I’m so glad we found each other again after the breakup,” he murmured. “Sometimes I can’t stop thinking… What if I hadn’t gone to that restaurant that day? What if I’d craved pizza instead of curry?”

Hawk swallowed hard, brushing a loose curl behind Tim’s ear. “Then we would’ve met somewhere else,” he said softly. “It was always going to happen, Skippy. I don’t believe in much, but I believe in that.”

“Love you,” Tim whispered, kissing him again before curling up tight against Hawk’s chest—and just like that, he was asleep.

“I love you too,” Hawk whispered into his hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of Tim’s head as he let his own eyes drift shut.

They’d definitely regret sleeping on the couch tomorrow.

But right now? He wouldn’t trade this moment for anything in the world.

Chapter Text

“Hide your glasses,” Tim said with a mischievous grin just as the doorbell rang.

“What?” Hawk blinked at him.

“Hide them! Fynn didn’t notice them last time—we all match now with our frames. Let’s surprise him. He’ll love it.” Tim nudged him, eyes sparkling. “Come on.”

With a dramatic sigh, Hawk took off his glasses and immediately squinted. “It’s frustrating how much I rely on these now. I barely noticed it before.”

“Ah, the magic of opticians,” Tim said, smirking. “Now go open the door to our poor Fynn. I’m in full-on spoil mode.”

Hawk pressed a quick kiss to Tim’s cheek before heading to the door.

Standing in the hallway was Fynn, arms tightly crossed over his well-worn wolf plushie, eyes red-rimmed, jaw clenched. Hawk’s heart sank at the sight.

“Delivery for you,” Jackson whispered into Hawk’s ear with a wry smile as Hawk leaned in for a quick hug.

Tim was already kneeling. “Hey there,” he said softly.

Fynn said nothing, clutching the plushie like a life raft, gaze glued to the floor.

“I think I owe you something,” Tim murmured, arms open. “You hugged me last time when I was feeling bad. Want a hug now?”

Fynn’s lower lip trembled. He blinked rapidly, then stumbled forward, burying himself in Tim’s waiting arms.

Tim wrapped him up gently, his hand coming to rest on the back of Fynn’s head.

“Tim magic,” Jackson said with a fond laugh, shaking his head. “Got me the same way when I was a teenager.”

“Believe me,” Hawk added, watching Fynn melt into Tim’s shoulder, “it still gets me every day.”

Jackson handed over a small backpack, navy blue with constellation patterns stitched across the fabric. “I’m pretty sure he’ll want to stay the night. Everything’s packed. If not, just give me a call.”

Hawk nodded, taking the bag. “We’ve got him.”

Jackson crouched beside them and gently touched Fynn’s shoulder. “Alright, buddy. I’m heading out now.”

Fynn turned his face further into Tim, refusing to look.

With a quiet sigh, Jackson stood. “I really hope you can cheer him up.”

“We’ll try,” Hawk promised, stepping aside so Jackson could leave.

It was only as Jackson turned toward the door that Fynn stirred from Tim’s arms. He glanced after his dad, then—suddenly deciding now was the right moment—launched himself forward, practically leaping into Jackson’s arms.

“Oof,” Jackson grunted with a laugh, catching him. “You’re getting heavy, kiddo.”

After a tight goodbye, Fynn followed Hawk and Tim inside, trailing behind them into the living room with his wolf plush clutched under one arm. Hawk figured it was the perfect moment to pull out the small surprise.

“You need to see something,” Hawk said, grinning as he turned toward Fynn.

Fynn rubbed at his eyes with a fist, smudging his glasses in the process. “What?”

Tim was already grinning as Hawk fished in the front pocket of his shirt. He pulled out his glasses and slipped them on with a dramatic flair.

Fynn stared for a second, blinking—then his mouth dropped open.

“We match! All of us match now!” he exclaimed, a grin breaking across his face like the sun through storm clouds.

“Yeah, we do,” Hawk said, feeling a weight lift from his chest. That smile—genuine and full of light—was all he’d wanted.

“Your Grandpa Hawk finally saw reason,” Tim added, hands on his hips. “I had to read everything for him lately—even the labels in the supermarket aisles.”

Fynn giggled, then looked up at Hawk with curiosity. “Did you get headaches too? I used to before I got my glasses.”

“I did,” Hawk admitted, shooting a glance at Tim, who was glaring at him with mock betrayal. “But I think your Grandpa Tim still wins the Worst Eyesight Ever contest.”

That got another round of giggles out of Fynn.

“And for that,” Tim declared, raising an eyebrow, “you two owe me a spectacular dinner tonight.”

Fynn clapped his hands, dropping his wolf plush to the carpet. “Can we cook together, Grandpa Hawk? Please?”

“Of course we can,” Hawk said warmly. He was determined to get all his grandkids comfortable with cooking. It was a valuable life skill.

“Sweety,” Tim said softly, lowering himself to the floor and picking up the fallen wolf, “come here for a second.”

Fynn sat down beside him without hesitation, instantly reaching for his plushie and hugging it tight to his chest. Hawk, watching from the side, felt a familiar gratitude swell inside him—gratitude for the way Tim made space for feelings.

“Want to tell me what happened with that birthday party?” Tim asked gently.

Fynn shifted, eyes on the floor. He tucked his legs under himself, squeezing the plush a little tighter. “Toby invited Mia to his party, but not me,” he said, voice small. “He said I’m boring and uncool. He only wanted the fun kids.”

“He said that to your face?” Tim asked, eyebrows rising. “That’s really rude. He owes you an apology.”

“Mia stepped on his foot when he said it,” Fynn mumbled.

Hawk barely managed to stifle a laugh behind his hand.

“Well,” Tim said evenly, “violence is never the answer... but I get the sentiment.”

Fynn’s mouth twisted. “She still wanted to go. Without me. It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not,” Tim agreed. “And I bet your dads said the same thing. But the truth is, not everyone’s going to like us in life. And that’s okay—because we don’t like everyone either, do we?”

Fynn’s brow furrowed. “Toby is stupid. He always tells jokes about other kids and he’s mean. And he doesn’t even like to read books. That’s really stupid.”

“So... you don’t like him after all?”

“No,” Fynn sighed. “But I wanted to be with Mia at the party.”

“Ah,” Tim said, a slow smile forming. “So it’s about your sister.”

Fynn nodded, the plush tucked under his chin now.

Hawk watched them quietly from the doorway. Sometimes he forgot that Mia and Fynn hadn’t always been part of their family. Just four years ago, they’d arrived as two shy, wide-eyed little kids that Jackson and Daniel had taken in.

He’d never fully understand the bond between them. For a while, too early in life, they had only each other. Maybe they hadn’t fully known what that meant back then... but it had made them inseparable.

“Can we do something nice today?” Fynn asked, his voice soft and hopeful, eyes peeking up from behind the plush wolf.

“Of course,” Hawk said, crouching to his level. “What would you like to do?”

Fynn hesitated a moment, then bit his lip. “Could we go to the park? And maybe… maybe get my favorite ice cream?”

Hawk tapped his chin dramatically, eyes squinting in mock concentration. “Hmm. That’s a pretty serious request. Park and ice cream?”

Fynn’s eyebrows lifted slightly, a flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I think that could be arranged,” Hawk said with a wink. He turned toward Tim. “What do you say, Skippy?”

Tim stretched with a groan, then stood with exaggerated effort. “Oh, I definitely want ice cream too. Let’s go!”

Fynn giggled and leapt to his feet, the weight of the day already softening in his expression.

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In the end, retiring wasn’t that hard at all. Hawk thought he’d mind it more, but once he stepped out of the building for good, all he felt was relief. It was done. This chapter of his life—one that brought more stress than good days, more worry than joy, and enough workplace discrimination to fill a book—was finally closed.

He hadn’t told Tim it would be today. For some reason, he didn’t want it to be a big deal.

God, the things that happened in that building. He paused at the exit, turning back to glance at the entryway he’d walked through so many times. From being terrified that someone at work might find out about him, to being accidentally outed in the breakroom, to eventually being openly married. What a damn journey.

He wished he could tell his younger self that it would all work out. Might’ve saved him some grief—and a lot of long talks with Tim.

When he got home, he dropped his bag and keys by the door. Soft sounds drifted in from the bathroom. Hawk smiled. Tim was home early.

He knocked before easing the door open. Tim was stretched out in the tub, hair wet and dark, his sun-kissed skin gleaming with water droplets.

“This is my favorite view today,” Hawk said, settling onto the closed toilet lid.

Tim smiled softly. “Is it?”

“Definitely.”

“You could join me,” he offered.

Hawk hummed. “Why not.”

“Really?”

“Why so surprised, Skippy?”

Tim hesitated. “You just usually don’t, that’s all.”

Hawk undressed, fully aware of Tim’s eyes on him. It still amazed him—how Tim looked at him with that same intensity after all these years. How he still loved this aging body.

Then he looked at Tim, and maybe the answer was right there. Tim would always be beautiful to him. Whether he was twenty-seven or fifty-seven, whether his skin was tight or soft with time—he loved every part of him.

Tim made room, draining some water, and Hawk eased in behind him.

The tub was narrow, barely enough for both of them, but that just meant he got to hold his Skippy close. Arms wrapped around his chest, Hawk rested his head on Tim’s shoulder.

That old, quiet pleasure stirred under his skin—crawling up his spine, settling warm and low.

His lips traced a slow path along the top of Tim’s shoulder, before rubbing his cheek against the damp skin.

“This is good,” Tim murmured, content.

“Is it?”

“Hm.”

Hawk kissed the skin over his throat, just above his pulse. “We need to celebrate something today.”

“What?” Tim asked, voice drifting, relaxed and close.

“I’m retired.”

There was a beat of silence. Hawk felt Tim tense slightly, just enough to notice, before he turned his head.

“You’re retired?” Tim blinked, confused.

“We talked about it.”

“Yeah, but… I don’t know, I thought there’d be—like parties? Something official?”

“I didn’t want one,” Hawk whispered against his skin, letting his mouth trail down to Tim’s collarbone. He sucked lightly, nibbled.

“Hawk?”

“Hm?” He kept kissing, tasting.

“This feels huge.”

“It doesn’t to me.” Another kiss to Tim’s throat, then up to his ear.

“You loved that job,” Tim said, quiet.

“Once, maybe. Not so much anymore.”

Silence wrapped around them. Only the drip of the faucet and the soft slosh of water against the tub broke the quiet. Tim’s hair brushed against Hawk’s chin.

Hawk let his fingertips wander gently down Tim’s arms—featherlight strokes that disappeared under the water.

He’d always loved this. Touching Tim’s skin. Holding him close. Still making up, in small ways, for that painful time he lost it all. When he ruined it. When he lay awake night after night clutching a pillow, pretending it was Tim.

He pressed another kiss to Tim’s cheek, feeling the soft grit of stubble under his lips.

“You’re sweet today,” Tim hummed.

“I’m always sweet. Or am I not?”

“Extra sweet, then.”

“Gonna be a full-time husband and grandpa now. I need to practice.”

Tim chuckled, slow and sleepy. “Who would’ve thought the day would come.”

“I’ll come for you too,” Hawk teased, gently nipping at Tim’s earlobe. “Or maybe not—since I can absolutely picture you still working as a social worker at eighty-five.”

“Volunteer,” Tim corrected. “When I’m eighty, I’m going to be a volunteer and tell the kids all about the time when I was young.”

“Adorable,” Hawk murmured, kissing his cheek.

“So how do we celebrate?”

Hawk chuckled. “Oh, I have ideas.”

Tim gasped. “What are you insinuating?”

“I don’t know.”

Hawk let his hands drift lower, down Tim’s thighs, up the soft inside. Slow. Teasing.

“I feel like it should be something special,” Tim said.

Hawk snorted. “Oh, so being in bed with me isn’t special anymore?”

“I didn’t say that. But it’s… I mean, we do that all the time.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“When was the last time?”

Tim wrinkled his nose in that way Hawk loved. “Last week, I think… oh no, wait… the week before?”

Hawk raised his eyebrows. “All the time, huh?”

“Life happens,” Tim tried weakly. Then paused. “I can’t believe it’s come to this.”

“Nothing has come in a while,” Hawk deadpanned.

“Hawkins!”

Hawk snickered.

Tim grumbled something under his breath, folding his arms across his chest.

“Well,” Hawk said after a beat, “how about I cook, we open a bottle of wine, and just enjoy the evening? I know we do that all the time too, but honestly—that’s all the celebration I want. I’m just happy I get to be with you and the kids. And the grandkids. From now on.”

Tim rested his head on Hawk’s shoulder, looking up at him. “I wish I could be home more often too.”

“I’ll come annoy you at work, I promise. I told you—I’m going to volunteer.”

Tim grinned. “We could use someone who yells at idiots.”

“Intriguing,” Hawk smirked. “And I can’t get fired for it. So basically, what I trained for my entire career.”

Finally, Tim laughed. God, Hawk loved that sound.

“I love it,” Tim said. “We’ll set you up right by the entrance in an armchair with coffee. And whenever someone says something stupid, you can unleash.”

“I’ll need a T-shirt.”

“Oh, you’ll get a T-shirt. And a cap.”

“Perfect,” Hawk sighed, closing his eyes with a content smile.

Tim kept giggling.

“What?” Hawk asked, cracking one eye open.

“If someone’s really nasty, we can pair you with Frankie.”

“Yes. That’s gonna be so much fun.”

“You know…” Tim shifted, skin gliding against skin.

Hawk groaned softly. “Hm?”

“I think we should start the celebration in bed after all.”

Hawk’s eyes snapped open. “Okay, we need to get out of the tub right now.”

Chapter Text

The moment Tim opened the door on Saturday night, Hawk knew it had been a hard day.

He’d fussed over his coffee all morning, fidgeted his way through breakfast — all because of the event he’d organized at the youth center that afternoon. A family conversations gathering. The goal: to bring people together, get the kids supported, let confident, active parents talk to the unsure ones… or the ones who weren’t even trying.

And Tim in the middle of it all. The guardian angel — protecting, listening, advising.

“How was your day?” Hawk asked, stepping into the hallway.

Tim looked tired. Dark circles under wide-awake eyes. Never a good combination. It was the look that meant his mind would keep spinning until morning.

“My day was long,” Tim sighed. “A lot of people talking and… some of them really made me angry, Hawk.”

Hawk reached for the heavy bag slung over Tim’s shoulder, folders poking out one side.

“Let me guess — people who showed up just to prove what they really think?”

“It’s a mystery to me,” Tim muttered.

Hawk clapped his hands. “Then it is my sacred duty to distract you tonight.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Distract me from my own head? Good luck with that.”

“I made a vegetable stir fry to start.”

Tim’s mouth twitched tiredly at the corners. “I love all your cooking.”

“That’s just to feed you before the main event,” Hawk announced, grinning.

“Main event?” Tim asked, already wary. “Hawk, I’m exhausted. And it’s raining.”

“Movie night,” Hawk declared, smile widening. “Something to take your mind off the world. A classic.”

Tim sighed, shaking his head. “Hawk—”

“Yes, Skippy! Come on. Change into something cozy. I’ll get the wine. We’ll eat, we’ll cuddle, we’ll watch.”

“Okay, okay,” Tim relented. “I’ll change.”

“Good.” Hawk smiled. “But come here first.”

He opened his arms, and Tim came willingly, melting into him with a deep, weary breath.

“There you go,” Hawk whispered, pressing a kiss to Tim’s hair. “No work tonight. Just us.”

Tim nodded, resting there a moment longer. Hawk held on — not just for comfort, but out of worry. Every day he worried. All this fighting Tim still did for everyone. The fear that had crept back into his bones — the fear Hawk thought had settled years ago — was resurfacing.

Tim felt thinner in his arms lately. His hair looked a little grayer. And that old look was back — the one he’d worn like armor through the ’90s and early 2000s. Hawk had hoped he’d never see it again. Not after everything Tim had done. Not after all the years he’d spent fighting for the community — for stability, for basic human rights.

Eventually, Tim pulled away and shuffled toward the bedroom. Hawk watched him go, then turned to set up dinner on the couch.

Hawk opened a bottle of Tim’s favorite red wine, plated the vegetables and rice, and set everything on a tray he could balance on the couch.

He fluffed Tim’s favorite pillows and made sure the snacks for later were within reach. Movie night. A quiet escape from reality. They’d always done this — ever since the early days. Whenever life got too loud, they found relief in two hours of fictional chaos.

Tim returned in soft shorts and his beloved blue sweatshirt. Hawk couldn’t help but smile at the sight — Tim barefoot, knees showing, hair a little tousled. He looked warm and touchable, all softness and comfort and home. Hawk could look at him like that for hours.

Tim spotted the setup and smiled, immediately curling into his usual spot and nestling back into his pillow.

“All right,” Hawk said, handing him a plate. “Let’s start.”

“What are we even watching?”

“Oh, an old-time beloved classic. Dinosaurs, Skippy.”

Tim furrowed his brow. “Dinosaurs?”

“What’s better to forget reality than watching people be dumb enough to recreate them?”

“Oh—it’s that Jurassic something, right?”

Hawk paused, turned his head slowly, and watched Tim take a bite of veggies. “That Jurassic something?”

Tim chewed and shrugged. “I’ve heard about it.”

“Skippy? Are you serious right now? You? The man who owns that giant dinosaur encyclopedia on the shelf behind us?”

Tim’s eyes widened with fake innocence behind his glasses. “What?”

“It’s a Spielberg classic. It’s thirty-two years old. There are multiple movies. It’s an entire franchise. How have you not seen it?”

“That makes it ’93,” Tim said softly. “That was the year one of my best friends tested positive for HIV. He got sick fast. I wasn’t exactly in the mood for dinosaurs.”

Hawk reached over and squeezed Tim’s thigh. “Sorry, baby. I sometimes don’t think.”

Tim took a breath and let it out slow. “Okay. Come on. Start the dinos.”

Hawk grinned and hit play. “Yes! Skippy, you’re gonna love this.”

In all honesty, Hawk was now even more excited to watch the movie — and maybe just a little concerned for Tim’s sensitive soul.

The movie started, and Hawk knew exactly what was coming. On-screen, men in helmets shouted and gestured toward a massive cage. A guttural snarl echoed through the speakers.

Tim stiffened. “That doesn’t sound friendly.”

“No, really not,” Hawk said, watching both the movie and Tim.

“What are they even doing?” Tim instinctively leaned closer to the screen, squinting.

“You’ll see.”

He did. “Jesus Christ, Hawk! What on earth? Did that guy just get eaten?”

“Opening scene classic,” Hawk said, reaching for his wine. “Sets the stakes.”

Tim stared at him, scandalized. “What are you making me watch?”

“It’s a really good movie. Don’t worry — I’ll protect you.”

What Hawk hadn’t expected was that this would become one of the funniest movie-watching experiences he could remember. Because Tim, his beloved Skippy, was one of a kind.

Tim squinted at the screen. “Wow. That’s some state-of-the-art early ’90s nonsense right there.”

“Look at the resolution,” Hawk said, mock dreamy. “So many pixels. Maybe... four.”

Tim laughed and took another bite. “But it’s scary. I mean, shouldn’t they be suspicious of some guy just offering them three years of funding? Where’s the catch?”

“Oh, there’s a massive catch.”

Not a minute later, Tim pointed at the TV. “Look at this island — that’s so beautiful.”

“Sure is.”

Hawk loved this night more and more.

“Okay,” Tim said slowly, watching the first Brachiosaurus appear on screen. “I’ll give them this one. That’s... impressive. But shouldn’t the scientists be worried? They hear ‘T. rex’ and cry happy tears? I think they should run.”

Hawk chuckled. “You might be onto something, Skippy.”

“And that man with the white hair… I don’t have a good feeling about this, Hawk—”

A beat of silence, then: “Oh my god, the poor cow. And now they just go for lunch?”

Hawk reached over and gently ran his hand through Tim’s hair.

“Are those…?” Tim’s eyes went wide. “Did that man bring his grandkids to an island full of dinosaurs? Are you joking? Is he sending them out like an experiment?”

“He might have lost it a little. I mean, he recreated dinosaurs,” Hawk said.

“HAWK!” Tim pointed at the screen, scandalized. “That man sends his grandkids on a test run! Would you just put Mia and Fynn in a car like that and say, ‘Good luck and have fun’?”

“Of course not,” Hawk said, barely able to contain his laugh.

“And now… oh no. What’s with the electrical system?”

“Skippy, relax,” Hawk chuckled. “It’s a movie.”

“Someone should call CPS because—oh great, now they’re getting out of the car.” Tim turned toward him, eyebrows raised. “Why are they getting out of the car? And—oh, isn’t this brilliant. There’s a very sick dinosaur, and they just touch her without permission.”

“They help her too,” Hawk offered.

“I need more wine for this, please.”

Hawk grinned as Tim held out his glass, wide brown eyes full of theatrical panic. Of course Hawk refilled it, then cleared the dishes out of harm’s way. Tim curled into him as soon as he returned to the couch.

“This is bad,” Tim whispered as the park went dark. “It’s too quiet.”

“We all know what’s coming,” Hawk whispered back.

“No we don’t!”

“The big one,” Hawk said softly.

And just on cue, the goat leg landed.

Tim jumped. “I hate you so much right now.”

Hawk laughed. “Here comes the star of the movie.”

The water in the cup began to tremble. Tim immediately curled tighter into Hawk’s side. Eyes half-lidded, he followed the scene—and flinched exactly when Hawk knew he would.

“The T. rex just ate the guy on the toilet,” Tim whispered, horrified. “Like… a snack.”

Hawk grinned. “Like a snack?”

“Shut up!”

“Want me to take your glasses off?”

“No,” Tim grumbled, and curled in even closer.

“We’re only getting started.”

“Hate you.”

“No, you don’t. You’re enjoying this.”

Tim grumbled again, but Hawk knew him too well. When his Skippy got this invested, he was hooked.

And sure enough, not a beat later: “Why would anyone shut down the entire system on purpose?”

Hawk sipped his wine. “He’s trying to fix it.”

“Oh yeah, because turning off the security fences always fixes things.”

Then came the iconic line from the screen: “Hold onto your butts.”

Tim stared, deadpan. “Seriously?”

“Iconic,” Hawk said smugly.

“It’s a threat,” Tim muttered. “And I feel personally targeted.”

“Your butt’s fine. I’ll protect it,” Hawk said with a wink.

Tim jabbed him with an elbow.

But there wasn’t time to settle. “No. No no no. Hawk, little Timmy! What if they bring the electricity back?”

“Holy fu—” Tim didn’t finish. He clutched a pillow to his chest. “Little Tim just got launched across a dinosaur park! Again — what did you make me watch?”

“And big Tim can relax,” Hawk laughed. “Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this.”

“I’m scared for what’s next.”

“Only one word,” Hawk whispered darkly. “Velociraptor.”

“The mean ones, right?”

Hawk grinned. “The clever ones.”

“Okay, this is officially a horror movie,” Tim groaned, ducking into Hawk’s side. “And why is it always the kids? That’s not character growth — that’s therapy bills for life.”

“We’re not done yet.” Hawk kissed the top of his head, fingers gently threading through Tim’s hair.

Tim’s eyes went wide. “I’m sorry — raptors open doors now?”

“Yep.”

“Hawk. They. Open. Doors.”

A raptor screamed. Tim jumped so hard he nearly spilled his wine. Hawk couldn't stop laughing.

The chaos unfolded — flinches, outbursts, Tim shouting at the screen and sipping wine between scenes. Hawk barely watched the movie anymore. Having Tim curled up close, eyes wide and nowhere else to be — that was the best part. Mission accomplished.

On screen, the raptors cornered the kids and the scientists.

“This is it,” Tim muttered. “This is where they die.”

“Shh,” Hawk whispered.

And then — out of nowhere — magnificently waltzing in: the T. rex.

Tim blinked. Stared. Slowly exhaled.

“I never thought I’d say this,” he said, voice low and stunned, “but I’m glad to see the T. rex.”

Hawk beamed.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Tim added. “We will be having a conversation about you insisting we watched this.”

“So… you liked it?” Hawk asked, nudging him with his knee.

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Aww, Skippy…” Hawk leaned in, grinning.

Tim sighed, dramatic and long-suffering. “Just... start the next one already.”

Hawk’s grin exploded into full triumph.

“And refill the wine,” Tim added, pointing. “If I’m surviving raptors again, I’m doing it properly drunk.”

Hawk laughed. “Just remember — when you hear noises tonight, it’s not a raptor in the shower.”

Tim looked scandalized. “Don’t give my imagination ideas.”

“I’ll protect you.”

Tim gave him a flat look. “You didn’t protect me from the first one.”

Hawk reached for the remote. “That’s because I was too busy enjoying the show.”

Tim groaned. “I’m filing a complaint with management.”

“Management is making more popcorn.”

Chapter Text

“Skippy, we need to pack for the weekend,” Hawk called from the bedroom.

No answer.

The silence stretched.

Hawk sighed. Something wasn’t right. He knew it—felt it.

Just a week ago, the usual movie night distraction had still worked. But with every passing day since, Tim had gotten quieter. More withdrawn. Hawk was pretty sure that—for once—he wasn’t the problem.

But Tim wouldn’t talk.

On Monday, he’d come home looking hollow and pale. He only picked at dinner, then smiled apologetically and said he wasn’t hungry—blamed it on the unusually warm D.C. weather.

Tuesday, he didn’t appear until 10 p.m., mumbling something about an emergency he couldn’t explain. Instead of eating, he curled next to Hawk on the couch and fell asleep within minutes.

Yesterday, he got so irritated about them being out of peanut butter that he refused to talk to Hawk for a few hours. So Hawk went out and got more peanut butter, but of course, that didn’t fix anything.

And today, Tim had woken up quiet. Left the house after a single cup of coffee and forgot his lunch in the fridge.

Hawk sighed again and started picking out clothes for him—well-worn t-shirts, a pair of jeans, a dress shirt with a calmer pattern that didn’t scream 80s fashion. He placed each piece gently into their shared suitcase, smoothing out the fabric, touching more of Tim’s clothes than his own.

He worried—about the workload, the silence, the loss of appetite. He missed Tim, even when they were in the same room. He missed that radiant smile, the fire, the compassion.

When he finished packing, Hawk returned to the living room. One glance at the couch told him why Tim hadn’t answered.

He was curled in on himself, headphones on, staring out the window.

How on earth were they going to make it to Mary’s 60th birthday party in Annapolis like this? Tim couldn’t keep up the mask all weekend. It would drain him even more. And the worst part was—Hawk knew Tim would try. He always did.

Carefully, Hawk sat down next to him, not touching until Tim turned and acknowledged his presence. He blinked a few times, then slipped the headphones off.

“I packed the suitcase. I hope I made good choices,” Hawk said calmly, with a smile.

Tim nodded. “Thanks.”

“You okay?”

“Tired,” he shrugged.

“Skippy—”

But Tim held up a hand before Hawk could go on. “Just don’t,” he said, swallowing. “Please.”

“Okay,” Hawk sighed. “But it would be okay to cancel with Mary. You know that, right?”

“It’s her sixtieth. I’m not going to cancel on one of my oldest friends,” he said, looking genuinely scandalized.

“If you need—”

Tim stood, slipping his headphones back on.

Hawk watched him go, aching to pull him into his arms, carry him to bed, wrap him in blankets.

There was a quiet fear nestled in his chest. Tim was a fighter—an activist. He felt everything. His empathy and outrage burned bright. And Tim wasn’t twenty anymore. Hawk felt a sharp, stabbing pain every time he thought of a world without Tim in it.

Heart attacks were more likely at their age. Stress could destroy a body. Hawk needed Tim to see that his own health mattered—that it was priority number one.

But Hawk knew his husband too well. So he did what he could. He made sure the apartment was ready for the weekend while Tim fussed silently over his plants, headphones on.

That night, when it was time for bed, Tim was still quiet. Curled on his side. Awake. Hawk could feel it.

He moved closer slowly, resting his hand lightly on Tim’s shoulder—an offering, in case Tim wanted closeness.

He felt the steady rise and fall of Tim’s breath for a few minutes before Tim finally turned and tucked himself into Hawk’s arms, like he did every night.

Hawk instinctively tightened his hold around him, exhaled deeply, and pressed a kiss to Tim’s temple.

He didn’t say anything.

Tim didn’t need advice. Or worry.

He just needed a hug.

The drive to Annapolis was a short one. Hawk waited for Tim to change the radio station and complain like he usually did—but nothing.

Instead, Hawk worried. More.

“I just don’t like the idea of Frankie and me being away at the same time,” Tim said, staring out the window. “What if something happens at the center?”

“Then someone else will take care of it,” Hawk answered calmly.

“There’s barely anyone left. What if Elaine’s kids get sick again? What if she can’t cover?”

“Then they’ll call, and we’ll go back.”

“What if a kid is in serious danger of harming themselves and I’m not there?”

“Tim,” Hawk sighed, “it’s going to be okay. You have a lot of volunteers helping—you trained them.”

Silence settled—for a moment.

“I’m scared something illegal will happen while I’m away,” Tim whispered.

And Hawk understood. The fear, the pressure. The weight Tim carried all the time.

“We’re not far away,” Hawk said gently. “We’ll drive back as fast as we can. But until we get a call, everything’s fine. You have permission to be on vacation.”

Tim didn’t respond.

He stayed quiet for the rest of the drive, and Hawk let his hand rest on Tim’s thigh whenever traffic allowed, rubbing slow, steady circles with his thumb until they pulled into the quiet, beautiful town with its historical buildings.

Mary and Caroline had moved here a while back and bought a charming little townhouse. They ran Caroline’s parents’ bookstore now, and as far as Hawk knew, they were happy with their quieter life.

Their house only had one guest room—and it was reserved for Angela and her wife—so Hawk had booked a room at a historic inn. He planned to make the most of the weekend. The birthday celebration was Saturday. Friday was just for them.

He’d made a dinner reservation at a nice restaurant. Maybe they could walk a bit, browse shop windows, talk. He hoped—honestly hoped—that by Sunday Tim might feel a little lighter. One real smile would be enough.

The inn was beautiful. A proud red brick building with a wooden porch and warm light pouring from the windows. It felt lived in, cared for.

Hawk got their room key and carried the suitcase upstairs while Tim trailed behind, stopping to read every little information board on the walls. One small victory, Hawk figured.

The room was cozy. A huge bed sat in the center, piled with fluffy white pillows that practically begged for a nap.

Hawk dropped the suitcase and let himself fall backward onto the mattress, closing his eyes and opening his arms.

“Come here, Skippy,” he said with a sleepy smile.

A moment later, he felt the mattress dip—and then Tim was there, resting his head on Hawk’s shoulder, one arm draped across his chest.

“’M sorry,” Tim mumbled into his neck.

“What for?”

“Being like this right now.”

Hawk hugged him tighter. “Don’t be sorry. It’s okay. I just worry about you.”

“Don’t worry,” Tim whispered.

“Try and stop me.”

Tim hummed and curled in closer, their legs tangling.

“I’ve got a few ideas for today,” Hawk said gently. “Just suggestions. We can absolutely sleep the day away, get dinner, and then sleep some more.”

And there it was. A soft chuckle. Brief—but real.

“What do you suggest?”

“We could explore the town a bit. Walk through some shops, see the marina, stroll along the seaside. I made a dinner reservation—they’ve got a great menu. Some seasonal dishes, but you can also just order a really good pizza, according to the internet.”

“Perfect,” Tim murmured sleepily against his skin.

Hawk smiled. “Good. Dinner’s locked in. How about a little town exploration? We’ll get some coffee.”

“Okay.”

“Are you falling asleep on me now?”

Another hum. “Possibly.”

“Go on then.” Hawk kissed Tim’s head. “Exploring can wait.”

But Tim grumbled. “No, no. I want to explore.”

“You’re tired.”

“But we’re here now. Come on.”

Stubborn as always, Tim got up first. Hawk sighed but followed—like he always did. Someone had to keep an eye on his Skippy, just in case he needed to be carried home from total exhaustion.

The weather outside was perfect—not too hot, not too cold. Tim put on his sunglasses, and Hawk melted on the spot.

He had no idea where Tim had found that pair—hexagonal lenses tinted a warm brown, set in a simple, slender silver frame. Paired with his favorite tie-dye T-shirt and light blue jeans, he looked like he’d time-traveled in from another decade and accidentally landed in this one.

They grabbed coffee to go and wandered through the historic part of town, pausing to window shop. For a while, the rest of the world faded. It was nice.

Then Tim’s phone rang.

The center’s number lit up the display.

Tim answered quickly and stepped away to talk.

And in that moment, Hawk wished—just once—that their relationship could come first.

He loved Tim’s passion. Always had. But now that he was retired, Hawk was starting to notice just how much space work took up in their lives. There were days he barely saw Tim. Barely heard from him.

He watched Tim for a moment—calm on the phone, so the emergency probably wasn’t too serious—then let his eyes wander across the street.

There was a mother with two kids, probably Jenny and Mathilda’s age. The younger one was fussing; the older held an ice cream cone that was melting all over her small hand.

Couples strolled by hand in hand. Someone speed-walked past like they were trying to break a record.

And then a group of young men passed, one of them wearing jeans so tight Hawk couldn't help but notice.

His eyes lingered. Just for a second.

He didn’t even realize Tim had finished the call.

“Seriously?”

Hawk spun around to see his husband’s very unhappy face.

“What?” he asked, trying to play it cool. It wasn’t like he meant to look. It just—happened. People looked. That was normal. He didn’t usually gawk. He wasn’t that guy.

“You just checked out that young man over there.” Tim crossed his arms.

Oh no.

No screwing things up on this trip. That had been the plan. No upsetting Tim. Priority number one. And of course, he’d already blown it.

“My eyes were just wandering,” Hawk said weakly. “Looking at people.”

“Hawk,” Tim hissed.

“Okay, fine.” Hawk raised his hands in surrender. “I looked at the guy. I mean, did you see the—”

“Are you seriously doing this right now?”

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. It was just a glance.”

“You gawked.”

“What? No I didn’t.”

“It was ridiculous. Embarrassing to watch.”

“Tim, come on. I said I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight. I won’t do it again. Can we just forget it, okay?”

Tim didn’t respond.

And Hawk knew—he knew—he wouldn’t forget it.

He’d stew. Hold it in. Let it simmer and build until he snapped. He was practically a professional at eating his own feelings.

“Why did the center call?” Hawk tried to save it.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters.”

They made it around the next street corner before Tim stopped, hands fidgeting at his sides.

“I’m going back to the inn.”

“What? Why?” Hawk asked. This was an intense reaction—even for his sometimes short-tempered, impulsive Skippy.

“I need a moment.”

“Skippy—”

But Tim turned and walked away.

Hawk stared after him, baffled. Not quite believing what had just happened. It took him a few moments to shake off the daze before he followed.

This couldn’t just be about one quick, stupid glance at another man’s ass. There had to be more.

He hurried through the streets and into the inn. The receptionist gave him a mildly concerned look—probably saw Tim storm in, mood first. Hawk offered his most charming smile and took the stairs two at a time.

Tim was in their room. Pacing.

He looked up at Hawk, furious.

“I said I need some time alone!” he snapped.

“Not a chance. Not when you’re like this,” Hawk shot back.

“You don’t get to decide whether I have the right to space or not.”

“What’s this really about, Skippy?” Hawk asked, lowering his voice.

“You wanting to fuck someone else.”

“What?” Hawk felt like he’d said that word too many times in the past five minutes. “I don’t want to fuck him. I never said that. I admired his ass—and I’m sorry.”

“I get it,” Tim said, shrugging with that passive-aggressive sharpness he’d perfected over the years. “Young. In shape. Not so much trouble.”

“What are you even talking about?” Hawk felt like he’d stumbled into the wrong movie.

“My hair is all gray. I keep losing weight. I definitely don’t have an ass like that guy. I’m not muscular. I’m old.”

“I’m older than you, love,” Hawk said carefully, his gut twisting.

“I only make you worry. There’s no fun anymore. Just—” he gestured to himself, “this.”

“Skippy,” Hawk whispered. “I love you. Only you. I worry because of that—because I want you with me for the rest of my life. I don’t want to lose you to a heart attack, or a stroke, or whatever horrible thing might happen at our age.

“And I also don’t want to watch you burn out.”

Tim’s lower lip wobbled.

Hawk swallowed. “You are beautiful, Tim. I only want you. And I’m so sorry that me looking at someone else made you feel like this.”

There they were—Tim’s big, brown eyes shimmering with tears.

Hawk had done it again. Hurt the man he loved. That seemed to be his curse.

“Skippy,” he said again, even softer. “Only you, for the rest of my life. Even when my eyes misbehave—I only want you.”

Tim looked away, hands still fidgeting at his sides.

“Baby,” Hawk tried again.

Tim took a deep breath—Hawk saw his chest rise, then fall slowly as he exhaled.

And then—there it was. That look. A spark of determination behind Tim’s eyes. He tilted his head in that familiar way.

Come and get it.

Hawk swallowed hard.

The air between them shifted—charged. And even after all these years, as he stepped closer to his husband, Hawk still felt like he was walking on eggshells.

He framed Tim’s face with both hands once he was close, then leaned in for a kiss.

The way Tim responded made his intentions perfectly clear—greedy, demanding, all teeth and tongue.

Hawk felt lightheaded as he pressed Tim back against the wall, their bodies flush. Like he was moving through a trance, his hands slid up and down Tim’s narrow frame, mapping him, feeling him. All of him. The way he pressed close, breathing into Hawk’s mouth. The way he whimpered, soft and needy.

It had always been easy between them. Their love language was touch—and a lot of desire.

But they hadn’t done this in a while. Not like this.

Usually it was slower, planned. Soft and familiar. Hawk was completely happy with their love life. This kind of wild making out had been more common in the early years—and on their wedding night. God, what a night.

With age, things changed. Hawk knew that. It took him longer to get hard. It became more about touch, about connection. Sometimes the high wasn’t as intense as it used to be. But it was still perfect—because it was Tim. Because they could laugh in bed, joke, feel, and cherish.

But now—now Hawk was undressing Tim in a hurry, kissing whatever skin he could reach, letting his hands roam.

He maneuvered them to the bed and pressed their bodies together, Tim beneath him, all warm, naked skin.

His hand trailed down over Tim’s hipbone, lower—

Until Tim stiffened.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” Hawk asked, breathless.

Tim’s eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed. But this wasn’t arousal—it was panic.

“It’s not working,” he whispered.

Hawk blinked. “What do you mean?”

But it clicked almost immediately. He hadn’t noticed sooner. Tim wasn’t hard.

“I—” Tim stammered. “Why isn’t it working?”

His body shifted, already starting to turn away, to hide.

“My guess?” Hawk said softly. “You’re stressed.”

Tim’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “This never happened before. I want to, Hawk. I want you.”

“I know, Skippy. It’s okay.”

“No,” Tim whimpered. “Another thing I can’t do or control.”

“Hey.” Hawk’s voice dropped. “Calm down. Everything’s okay. Just tell me what you want. Do you want to keep going? Do you want to stop?”

Tim closed his eyes. “What’s there to continue?”

“Maybe you just need a little more stimulation, hm? I can try, if you want. We can still be close. This can still be intimate—and hot.”

“Hawk—” Tim sighed.

But Hawk wasn’t going to let him shut down. Not now. “We’re getting older. This happens.”

“It didn’t happen to you, and you’re older than me.”

“Wanna know why?” Hawk said, brushing a thumb along Tim’s cheek. “Because I have an ability to just ignore everything. Not always a great quality—we’ve seen that in 1995 and, well, a lot of other years.

“But you—you care. You feel. You can’t shut that part off. And it’s one of my favorite things about you. Your compassion is special.”

“But—” Tim looked away. “Doesn’t it kill the mood?”

“No.” Hawk kissed the tip of Tim’s nose, then his lips. “Not unless you want it to.”

“Okay,” Tim whispered. “You can try.”

Hawk kissed him again—slow, tender—until he felt Tim begin to relax. Then he got up to grab the lube.

When he returned, Tim was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. Hawk paused at the edge of the bed to take him in—his beautiful, sexy-as-hell husband who just worried too much.

Tim caught him staring and locked eyes. “What?”

“You’re just so damn sexy,” Hawk said, voice low.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

“Oh? Giving me attitude now?”

“Hawk!” Tim groaned.

Okay, Hawk thought. Not the day for games. Time to relax him. Time to take care of him.

Hawk lay down on his side next to Tim and drizzled a little lube into his palm. He warmed it with his skin, then gently reached down, wrapping his hand around Tim.

Slow and careful, he began to move, to touch, to coax. His eyes stayed on Tim’s face.

“Look at me,” Hawk said softly. “Don’t look down. Just look at me. Just feel.”

Tim did—wide-eyed and tense. “It should be working by now.”

“Shh,” Hawk hummed. “Give it time. Does it feel good?”

“Yes,” Tim whispered.

“Alright.”

Hawk leaned in and kissed him again—slow, lingering—until Tim made those little kiss hums he could never quite suppress. Those quiet, content sounds.

When Hawk pulled back, Tim’s eyes stayed closed, his head resting on the pillow. His breathing started to even out.

Honestly, Hawk didn’t care whether his touch put Tim to sleep or turned him on. At this point, either outcome felt like a win.

And then—Tim’s breath hitched.

His eyes snapped open.

He stared at Hawk.

Hawk felt it—the way Tim’s cock slowly began to harden in his hand. He kept his movements gentle, teasing, and when that first moan slipped from Tim’s throat, it was music.

“You’re such a good boy,” Hawk murmured, grinning.

“I’m—” Tim took a shaky breath. “I’m too old for that.”

“It still turns you on.”

“It does,” Tim whispered, glancing down at Hawk’s hand.

Hawk shifted, settling his weight gently on top of him, skin against skin. His own tired cock twitched with interest as he took them both in hand.

Their lips met again. They kissed, slow and deep, as Hawk rocked gently into Tim, their bodies sliding together, touching, holding.

It wasn’t about a big finish. It was about closeness. About love.

When Tim gasped softly into Hawk’s mouth and shuddered, Hawk followed.

They stayed like that—wrapped in each other, fingers moving slowly over skin, exploring in quiet reverence.

“How are you feeling?” Hawk asked gently.

Tim’s breath was steady now. “Good,” he said. “Now.”

“I’m glad,” Hawk whispered into his ear.

“Hawk?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know how to handle everything that’s happening right now,” Tim confessed quietly. “The world’s changing—and not in a good way. I don’t feel safe anymore. I can’t stop thinking about all the things that could happen. What if we wake up one morning and our marriage is illegal?”

Hawk took a long breath. “I don’t think it’ll happen, Skippy.”

“I wish I had your confidence.”

“And even if it did,” Hawk said, softer now, “they can’t take away our love. Whatever they try, they’ll never succeed. And our community is strong—we will fight back.”

“I’m not as strong as I used to be.”

“Of course not, Skippy. You’ve earned the right to step back. There are plenty of bright-eyed, fierce young activists out there now. Let them carry it for a while. Take care of yourself.”

“I feel like I’m failing.”

“You’re not.”

Tim’s breath wavered. “I thought by now I’d just get to see it all finally get better. I’ve fought so hard since the late '80s. And yeah—it did improve. Slowly, but it did. But right now? I feel like we’re one ruling away from going straight back to the '50s.”

“Skippy,” Hawk whispered, kissing the side of his head and pulling him closer against his chest. “We’ll get through this. I know we will.”

“I wish I could believe that too.”

“Can you promise me something?”

“What?”

“That you’ll take a step back? Because I’m a selfish old man and I want you around for the rest of my life.”

“I think I should go back to therapy,” Tim whispered.

Hawk nodded. “I like that idea.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being here. Even when it’s hard.”

“Always.”

In the end, they still made it to their dinner reservation. Tim left his phone in the room. They drank wine and giggled the whole walk back to the inn. And for the first night in a while—they both fell asleep right away.

“Happy Birthday!” Tim and Hawk said in unison when Mary opened the door.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” she clapped her hands in excitement before wrapping her arms around both of them.

“Sixty now,” Hawk grinned. “How does it feel?”

“Honestly? Not different than fifty-nine.”

Hawk chuckled.

The house was already full of people. Some familiar faces—Marcus, Frankie, Caroline, Angela, and Angela’s wife, Lucía—as well as a few new ones.

Hawk watched Tim greet his friends, laughing when Angela lifted him clear off the ground in a hug. She’d always done that. Hawk remembered her from back in the '90s, fiercely protective of Tim and thoroughly unimpressed with him. She’d given him every threatening talk in the book.

Suddenly, someone rolled in a cake with far too many candles, and everyone broke into song. Hawk found Tim in the happy chaos and wrapped his arms around him from behind, pulling him close and resting his head on Tim’s shoulder.

The whole day, Hawk stayed close—barely letting go of Tim unless absolutely necessary. Their friends joked that even after all these years they were still annoyingly inseparable, and Hawk couldn’t agree more.

No force on earth could ever separate him from his Skippy.

By night, the living room had turned into a makeshift dance floor. Hawk watched Caroline and Mary swaying together, wrapped in each other, smiling. They looked happy out here, living in a quieter place than D.C.

Maybe that was something he and Tim should consider too—moving just a bit further out. Not too far, not away from the kids and grandkids, but maybe somewhere closer to the water.

Tim sat in his lap, wine glass in hand, smiling as he watched his friends dance. He looked relaxed.

Hawk wouldn’t say everything was perfect yet. It would take time. But Tim was smart—always had been. Through the years, he’d learned how to reflect, how to read himself. He knew when it was time to ask for help.

And Hawk was so proud of him.

He loved him—quietly, fiercely, endlessly.

Beyond measure.

Chapter Text

Hawk could never say no to his daughter. It was a phenomenon. Kim had perfected a look to wrap him around her finger when she was just four years old. She still used it. Shamelessly.

That was how Hawk found himself in the middle of a mall with Jenny, Mia, and Fynn.

They just need some new T-shirts, she had innocently told him. No doubt Jackson was in on it.

Hawk hated shopping. He hated malls. Especially on weekends—but honestly, every day.

It was a Monday afternoon, and currently Hawk was looking for a very specific T-shirt for Jenny in another size while she was trying it on. He got a weird look from the shop assistant and had promptly snapped that he was shopping for his grandkids.

He was in a mood.

He was stressed.

Because at the same time as he fought through shirts and sweaters and trousers and socks, Tim was at the doctor’s for a check-up.

Ever since Annapolis, Hawk had asked Tim to make an appointment. Just get everything checked. Make sure the stress hadn’t affected his health.

And Hawk was anxious for him to be okay.

He knew Tim probably was. That the doctor would tell him to gain some weight, take it easy—maybe even order him to take a break. But Hawk also knew people who went in for innocent check-ups and came out with a life-changing diagnosis.

“I think that’s the shirt,” Fynn said, holding up the blue-and-red striped T-shirt Jenny was in love with.

“You’re my hero,” Hawk said, reaching for it.

“Where is Grandpa Tim?” Fynn asked quietly, following Hawk along to the dressing room.

They went slalom around clothing racks, children playing catch, and someone yelling into their phone.

“He’s getting his health checked,” Hawk explained. “You see a doctor too every once in a while, right?”

Fynn nodded. “He’s not sick, right?”

“I don’t think so, buddy.”

“But you don’t know?” Fynn asked, voice already anxious.

“You’re right. I don’t know.” Hawk sighed. “Your Grandpa Tim is a bit stressed and worried at the moment.”

“Is he sad?”

“Yes. And angry too. It’s a mix.”

“Daddy and Dad are sad and angry too sometimes.”

“It’s a little difficult at the moment. But we’ll make it through.”

“How can we help Grandpa Tim feel better?”

Finally, they arrived at the changing room, and Hawk gently knocked on the door. Jenny’s head peeked out and she reached for the T-shirt with a big smile on her face.

Once the door closed, Hawk turned back to Fynn. “By being there and doing some silly things.”

“Like the blanket fort we built once?”

“Exactly.” Hawk ruffled Fynn’s hair. “We make sure he feels very loved, even when he’s in a bad mood or exhausted.”

“Does he have a plushie?” Fynn asked.

Hawk crooked his head. “No, he doesn’t.” Then, with a grin, he added, “But he has me to cuddle. And all of you.”

“But a plushie is so nice to cuddle. It always makes me happy when I want to be alone but still cuddle.”

How was that boy so smart for his age? Hawk looked at him in awe. His big eyes behind the glasses, his compassion showing clearly on his face. One day he would be just like Tim—making sure everyone was always okay.

“Do you think it would make him happy?” Hawk asked.

Fynn nodded strongly. “Yes. It absolutely would.”

“Tell you what. Once we’re done with the clothes, we’ll all go to the toy section to pick one.”

Fynn beamed at him just as Mia shot around the corner.

“I thought you were in there?” Hawk pointed at another cabine.

“I picked new things to try on,” Mia explained with an eyeroll.

“You can’t just leave,” Hawk said sternly. “What if something happens? I need to know where you are at all times.”

“Fine,” Mia grumbled, then held up a bright green shirt. “Isn’t that cool?”

Hawk sighed. “Very. Go try it on.”

By the time all three kids had picked what they needed, Hawk was tired and wearing a purple bracelet around his wrist—because all three grandkids had told him it looked so cute and now they all had friendship bracelets. There was one for Tim too, safely stored away in the bags.

The toy section was loud. Two kids were throwing tantrums at the same time while their parents tried to calm them down.

Mia, Jenny, and Fynn seemed unbothered. They navigated through people and straight toward the corner with the plushies.

Hawk felt a little overwhelmed, staring at all those different faces. Some had enormous eyes and neon colors, others were more lifelike. Some had soft fur and gave in easily, others looked like plastic through and through.

“It has to be soft like Grandpa,” Fynn declared.

Soft like Grandpa , Hawk smiled. That was true. The softest human being deserved the softest plushie.

“I like that one,” Mia pointed at a giraffe with a friendly face.

“No, that one is cute,” Jenny said, picking up a whale and waving it through the air like it was swimming.

“This one,” Fynn said with surprising authority, holding up a green dinosaur.

“A dino?” Jenny asked, scandalized. “Why? I think Grandpa Tim needs a water animal. They’re so elegant.”

“Or a lion,” Mia added. “So he can roar at mean people.”

“Dinos roar too,” Fynn argued. “And I know Grandpa Tim has a book about dinos.”

Hawk nodded. “He does.”

“See?” Fynn grinned triumphantly. “It has to be the dino. It’s perfect for cuddling. The snout will rest on the shoulder, like this.”

Fynn hugged the plushie to his chest and let the big, friendly snout settle on his shoulder. Hawk couldn’t help but laugh.

“It looks good,” Hawk said. “And I just watched a dinosaur movie with your Grandpa a while ago.”

“Can we watch?” Mia asked excitedly.

“In a few years,” Hawk said. “You need to be a little older.”

“Is it scary?” Jenny looked even more excited. “Like, big dinos chasing things?”

Hawk shook his head. “I’m not telling you.”

“I don’t like scary movies,” Fynn piped up, still hugging the dino.

“You have that in common with your Grandpa Tim,” Hawk said, smiling. “But he still enjoyed the movie. We can all watch it in a few years, alright?”

“Can we take the dino plushie now?” Fynn asked, looking almost desperate.

“The dino it is,” Hawk declared. “Everyone okay with this?”

“It’s cute,” Mia said. “And dinos are strong—but this one looks gentle too, so I think it’s good.”

“Fine,” Jenny sighed. “But only if we watch that movie soon.”

Hawk ruffled her hair, laughing. “In a few years.”

To no one’s surprise, Tim got home so late that Jackson and Kim had already picked up the kids before they even got to see him. Hawk ended up handing out extra cuddles and soft-spoken promises for the upcoming weekend, assuring them Tim would hold them all just a little longer next time.

Little Fynn cried the hardest. Eventually, Hawk rummaged through the dresser and pulled out one of Tim’s well-worn sweaters, dressing Fynn in it instead of his jacket. The sweater swallowed him whole, but wrapped in the familiar scent and warmth of Tim’s clothes, Fynn seemed to settle just a bit.

By 9 p.m., Tim finally came through the door.

Hawk rose from the couch the moment he heard the keys, meeting a very tired-looking Tim in the hallway.

“Hey, Skippy,” Hawk said gently.

“Hi,” Tim whispered.

“You worked this late?”

To Hawk’s surprise, Tim shook his head. “No. I’m sorry I left you alone with the kids. I just... needed a moment.”

Dread surged through Hawk’s chest. “Skippy, what happened at the doctor’s? Did they find something? Are you sick?”

“No, no, Hawk. Not like that,” Tim said quickly, reaching for Hawk’s hands.

Hawk laced their fingers together, grounding them both.

“No surprises. She said I’m stressed. That I’ve lost too much weight. My blood pressure’s off, and... other stuff.”

Hawk narrowed his eyes. “And other stuff?”

“We talked a lot. She asked a lot of questions.”

“And?”

Tim let out a long, weary breath. “She signed me off for four weeks of medical leave.”

“Four weeks?” Hawk echoed, alarm creeping into his voice.

“I’m heading straight into burnout. Physically. Mentally. That’s what she said.”

Hawk exhaled slowly and pulled Tim into his chest, wrapping his arms around him tightly. He rested his head against Tim’s, breathing in his familiar scent, feeling the softness of his hair against his cheek.

“After I left, I just... wandered around. Then I called Frankie,” Tim murmured, leaning into Hawk more fully. “I told him everything. He told me to take the leave. Said he’d kick my ass if I so much as checked my email.”

“I love that stubborn man,” Hawk said with a faint smile.

Tim seemed to melt a little more into him, like his bones had finally given out.

“I feel so guilty.”

“No, baby,” Hawk said, brushing a hand along Tim’s back. “You have nothing to feel guilty about. You’ve carried so much for so long. You’ve always shown up for everyone. Now it’s your turn. And it’s not your fault the system’s broken.”

Tim was quiet for a moment. “You’ll have me home for four weeks.”

Hawk tightened his embrace. “Then I’ll hide all the work from you. I want you to be bored out of your mind.”

Tim gave a soft, tired chuckle. “Okay.”

“And I’m going to cook for you. Proper food. Keep you healthy. And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“She gave me some nutrition advice,” Tim whispered.

“Good,” Hawk said, then added with a grin, “though tonight, I just want to order us some pizza.”

“Please,” Tim said, almost a sigh.

Hawk guided him into the living room and onto the couch, keeping him wrapped close while he placed the order.

“What’s that?” Tim asked suddenly, pointing at something.

Hawk looked up and spotted the dino plushie sitting on Tim’s armchair, looking right at them.

With a wide grin, Hawk got up from the couch and picked the dino up from the chair. “This cute dino is for you. Fynn decided you need an emotional support plushie for when you want time alone but still need some cuddles.”

Tim stared at him, then at the dino, and back at Hawk. Eyes wide and unblinking—until they filled with tears and blinked rapidly.

“Skippy,” Hawk said softly, bringing the dino over to the couch.

But Tim reached out for it, pressing it to his chest.

“We picked it out together,” Hawk continued softly.

“It’s soft,” Tim whispered.

“Like a certain sweet Skippy.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’ll have to thank the kids. They insisted. It was a whole discussion. Giraffes, whales, lions—and then this little guy turned up and stole our hearts. Fynn insisted.”

“Isn’t it strange that as soon as we’re adults, we make ourselves believe we can’t have plushies anymore?” Tim asked softly, petting the dino’s head.

Hawk watched him for a moment—the way he was already so engrossed, the way his slender fingers ran through the fur.

“A lot of things about being an adult are stupid,” Hawk said, smiling.

“You have cuddle competition now.”

Hawk gasped. “What? No! Don’t say such horrible things.”

“It’s so soft.”

“I’m soft too.” He paused. “It sounded better in my head.”

Tim laughed, and it was music to Hawk’s ears.

“I’ll just have to cuddle both of you.”

“Alright. I’m willing to share a little.”

“How generous.”

Hawk gently rested his arm around Tim’s shoulders, pulling him close again. “Don’t hate me, but I kind of love the idea of having you home for a few weeks.”

“I don’t hate you. I couldn’t.”

“I’m proud of you. For taking that break even if it’s hard.”

Tim hummed, fingers playing with the dino’s paws.

“You’re not convinced yet, are you?” Hawk smiled and kissed Tim’s head.

“No. But I know it’s the right thing to do.”

Hawk kissed him again and held him close.

Chapter Text

“Say that again, please?”

Tim looked completely and utterly shocked. Hawk had known this was going to be a tough one.

“Your nutrition plan explicitly cuts caffeine. I’m sorry, Skippy. But I bought decaf.” He held up the bag like a peace offering.

“Decaf isn’t coffee.”

“Of course it is.”

Tim folded his arms across his chest. “Absolutely not. I’ll stick to everything else on that list, but I’m not giving up coffee. I thought this was about keeping me happy? Do you really want to spend weeks with me at home—without caffeine?”

Hawk sighed. This debate was already lost. Tim’s eyes were lit with that particular fire that meant you either ran or came armed with bulletproof arguments.

Hawk had a few. But Tim wasn’t wrong either. Was coffee really the issue here? Of course not.

“I just want you to be healthy,” Hawk tried.

“Coffee isn’t the problem.”

“Skippy…” Hawk rubbed his forehead.

“Can I have my coffee now, please?”

“Don’t you want to at least try the decaf? It’s supposed to taste great. I looked up some reviews—”

“Hawk.” Tim’s voice was edged with exasperation.

“Caffeine stresses your body.”

“And not having coffee stresses me. Can I please just drink my coffee?”

“Sure.” Hawk raised his hands and stepped aside, watching Tim head into the kitchen with a shake of his head.

It had barely been five days, and Hawk would be lying if he said having Tim home was all sunshine and peace. It wasn’t. And he felt guilty for even thinking it—for wishing, more than once, that Tim could just go back to work instead of pacing around the apartment like a caged tiger.

Hawk knew Tim wasn’t well. He needed rest. But so far, rest looked like frustration in motion.

In his helplessness, Hawk had started listening to audiobooks about burnout. How to help. How to support. None of it prepared him for this version of Tim: tightly wound, restless, and more irritable than he let on.

He dropped onto the couch and picked up the dino plushie—Snugglesaurus, or Snuggle for short. Tim had named it two days ago. Hawk hugged the little guy to his chest. It really was the perfect emotional support saurus—soft, solid, and oddly grounding. Especially when the ground felt like it could crack beneath him any second.

Tim returned from the kitchen with a mug in hand. His brow was still furrowed, but something complicated flickered across his face. Hawk could see it—the slow slide from irritation to guilt. And god, he hated that look. Like Tim was already sorry for standing his ground, for daring to have needs if it meant someone else might feel a little uncomfortable.

“Do you want some coffee?” Tim asked quietly.

Hawk hugged the dino a little tighter and nodded. “Please.”

A moment later, Tim came back with two mugs, setting them down on the coffee table before sinking into the couch beside him.

“Please ignore me,” Tim whispered. “I’m behaving like an idiot.”

“No, you’re not,” Hawk said softly.

“I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never just… rested. Not unless we were on vacation.”

“And the moment your head hit the pillow—or the beach towel—you were out cold,” Hawk said, lips twitching. “Every time. Very predictable, actually.”

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“Skippy, we had several nice dinner reservations that you slept through—until we eventually stopped making plans on the first day.”

For a moment, Tim looked genuinely taken aback. “I don’t remember it like that.”

“It didn’t start that way. But I think around the time you turned forty-five, or so…”

Tim sighed. “I’m a lost cause.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I just make you worry about me, and I hate that.”

Hawk bumped Tim’s nose gently with the paw of the Snugglesaurus. “I’m going to worry about you. Like it or not.”

“And then I worry about you.”

Tim had that look again—the one that said don’t tempt me into arguing this.

“We both need to stop worrying,” Hawk said. “How do we do that? Change into our sleepwear and stay on the couch all day?”

Tim shrugged. “Doesn’t sound too bad. It’s raining anyway. Not like we can do much outside.”

Hawk hummed. “So we really just do nothing all day?”

“We can try.”

“Alright. We’ll need to change clothes, grab the pillows from our bed and the big blanket.”

And there it was—that joyful smile that only showed up when Tim was genuinely excited about something. Hawk hadn’t seen it in weeks. He reached out, cupped Tim’s cheek, and brushed his thumb along the line of his cheekbone.

“Do I really get my Skippy all to myself today? No distractions?”

“We could leave the phones out of reach, so we’d have to get up to check them.”

“We could mute them,” Hawk said with a wink.

“But what if the kids need us? Or something happens with our friends?” Tim frowned, just slightly. “I think I’d feel better if we were still reachable.”

“Alright. Emergencies only.”

“Emergencies only,” Tim repeated, smiling wide and leaning into Hawk’s hand.

Hawk leaned in, brushing his nose against Tim’s before kissing him—slow, warm, and familiar. Their breath mingled. Their lips pressed gently together, comforting and unhurried.

Once they parted, Hawk got to work making the couch a proper nest. Pillows, their huge shared blanket, Tim already changed into his cozy sweatpants and soft, washed-out T-shirt. They dimmed the room just a little—enough to make it feel calm, not enough to tempt Tim into fussing over his plants.

Finally, Hawk opened his arms, and Tim curled against him. Head on his shoulder. Hair brushing Hawk’s cheek, tickling his nose.

“This is nice,” Tim mumbled, already sounding sleepy.

“Yeah,” Hawk murmured.

“’M going to sleep.”

“Please do,” Hawk whispered. “Just rest.”

“You too.”

“I am resting, Skip.”

“You’re tense.”

“Skippy,” Hawk chuckled. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You’re doing everything lately. Household, kids… me.”

“That’s not trouble. I like doing all those things,” Hawk grinned. “Doing you, however…”

“Hawk!”

“You basically laid that one in my lap.”

“I’m serious. Don’t distract me with dirty jokes.”

“We could make the dirty joke a reality…”

Tim sighed.

“Or not?” Hawk asked carefully.

“What if it’s not working again?”

“Not working?”

Tim curled closer, voice barely audible now. “You know… what if I can’t…”

“Might I remind you that it did work?” Hawk said gently. “You just needed a little extra attention.”

Tim pressed his forehead to Hawk’s collarbone. His next words came out muffled. “’M embarrassed.”

“Why? It was a first. We still have firsts. That’s a good thing. It means it never gets boring with us.”

Tim groaned. “Not a good first.”

“I thought it was really good. Very loving. Very gentle. I always love us like that.”

There was another muffled complaint Hawk couldn’t make out.

“Wanna try?”

Tim’s head popped up immediately. “We decided to rest.”

“We can rest afterwards.”

Tim tried not to laugh. Failed. “Not now.”

Hawk gasped. “My husband turned me down.”

“We can’t traumatize the Snugglesaurus,” Tim whispered.

“I could just—”

“No,” Tim laughed. “Not now, Hawk.”

“Fine,” Hawk huffed. “Message received.”

Tim cuddled close again, resting a knee across Hawk’s thigh, one arm tucked around his chest. Hawk wrapped him up, holding him securely.

He waited until Tim’s breathing evened out, then let himself relax. There was nothing more comforting than Tim asleep beside him. Nothing more reassuring than knowing he was safe. That he was healing.

Still, Hawk’s thoughts drifted. Back to Annapolis. Back to that idea that had first crept into his mind during Mary’s birthday party—moving a little farther out of the city. Somewhere quieter. Maybe near the water.

He loved their life here. He wasn’t restless. But maybe…

He fell asleep thinking of a small house. A garden for his Skippy. A winding path for long walks. A room where the grandkids could sleep over. Maybe even a dog.