Chapter Text
Warm candlelight. Soft music. The lazy hum of easy conversation. Coming here was something Tim had always longed for. Every time he had passed by the restaurant on his way home, or overheard snatched conversations at work about who had a romantic evening there the night before, he wished it was him sitting here. It was always just supposed to be a fantasy, something reserved for those moments when he was alone in his shoebox apartment, dreaming of having something more than what surrounded him. So, when Maggie had cornered him after their bi-monthly family dinner and announced that the perfect man for him had just started working at her office, Tim had leapt at the opportunity. It was rare to find a man who was handsome, charming, available , and who got his overprotective sister's seal of approval.
(The key to doing so, apparently, involved remembering her coffee order, holding the elevator for her when she was running a few minutes late to work, and always ordering the nice sandwiches from the good deli - not the place that had soggy sandwiches with wilted, browning lettuce. Or, so Maggie had said.)
Which is all to say that when Maggie had asked for a public place where the two of them could meet, Tim had suggested here. It felt like fate: the perfect start to a relationship the incurable romantic inside of him had hoped might be the one for him. It was true he did hope every relationship would be the one that lasted, but Tim had a good feeling this time. It was already off to a better start than any of his other countless first dates that had gone nowhere. Maggie had made it well-known that she hated all of his other boyfriends, not that there had been many.
At twenty-five past seven on the dot, Tim offered a bright, slightly giddy smile to the maitre d’ (who smiled back warmly and introduced himself as Rafael, here for him if Tim needed anything at all), and settled in at the romantic, candlelit table. He spent a few seconds fussing with the book he'd brought along so Maggie's mysterious colleague would know he'd been escorted to the right date. And he definitely did not glance for more than a reasonable amount of time at the very handsome man that slipped himself onto a seat at the bar. Sadly, he wasn't here for Tim, but Tim undoubtedly had his own handsome man coming to meet him. Tim just had to be patient, which had never been his forte.
If he allowed himself the five minutes, between his arrival and the time Maggie had arranged for them to meet, to indulge in wistful fantasies of the life he and his blind date might enjoy, well, Tim had never pretended not to be a romantic. Wistful dreams of what might be were perfectly natural. And, it wasn't like he was doing anything bad , he was just imagining the normal things - whether they’d go to church together on Sundays, wake up early on a Saturday just to cuddle in bed together all morning, or go grocery shopping and playfully argue over peanut butter brands and how much milk they really could drink in a week. The easy, domestic things Tim was sure everybody dreamed about before their first date with a prospective life partner. Harmless musings, wishes no one could fault him for.
Unfortunately, Tim got exactly what he deserved for wishing.
Half past seven came and went with no sign of Tim's date. But that was okay. Washington, D.C. was a busy place, there was always traffic and so many people out and about. And Tim knew how many times he'd changed his own clothes that evening, so he wouldn't hold it against his mystery date if he'd been a little indecisive before such an important first meeting.
Tim's watch hit quarter to eight o'clock with nothing to show for it. He glanced at his watch again, in case he'd read it wrong and his date wasn't late after all. But, the time was now eight o'clock and Tim was still alone. A sad sigh left his lips as he fidgeted with his book, resignation sinking like a stone in his empty stomach.
No date. No handsome man sitting across from him telling Tim about his day, playfully bemoaning his sister's slightly tyrannical attitude about her workplace.
Nothing, but the sad understanding in the eyes of strangers with whom he shared the restaurant. Nothing, but the empathy softening Rafael's smile as he drifted past to see if Tim needed anything. Nothing, but the hunger gnawing at his stomach, and the heavy bitter realisation that he was once again not good enough.
The worst part wasn't even being stood up. Tim was, once upon a time, no stranger to that. No, the worst part was knowing he'd never be able to show his face here again. Never be able to associate this restaurant - the one he'd so longed to visit - with anything other than the embarrassment that stained his cheeks and made him sink deeper into his chair wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole.
But, still he waited. He couldn't bring himself to get up and leave. To abandon this chance without giving it enough time to truly begin. Tim would never forgive himself if he left and his date showed up just minutes later. After all, as Maggie and Grandma Laughlin said, God has a plan. Tim had to trust that this was just one small step in achieving the life he was meant for.
By the time Tim had been waiting for an hour, his optimism and last bit of hope was gone. Maggie’s apparently perfect co-worker wasn't coming. Maybe there was some perfectly reasonable explanation as to why he wasn't here. Or, maybe he'd taken one look at Tim and decided it wasn't worth trying. Either way, Tim was going to have to get up and walk out, and everyone - all the happy families and loving couples - would know he’d been stood up.
And yet, Tim still could not bring himself to get up. To end his own embarrassment and salvage what little dignity this evening had left him. Maggie and Luis - in fact, most people Tim knew - said it was his biggest flaw. He just couldn't give up on things. It was why he'd hung on so long with Bob, even though they had wanted very different things from a relationship.
So, when Tim heard footsteps stopping by his table, he found himself looking up with a familiar grimace of apology. “Just a few more-”
Tim had been approached, not by Rafael or one of his patient staff, but by the man Tim had seen arrive at the bar not long after he had sat down. Tim had thought he was handsome from a distance, but up close, Tim honestly had no words, he was awestruck.
Not that Tim needed proof, but this man was irrefutable proof that God existed.
There was a sparkle in his beautiful blue eyes as he looked down at Tim and said,“I'm sorry I'm late.”
Tim gasped, understanding what was happening but having difficulty believing it. Because, if he wasn't mistaken, this gorgeous man had come to rescue him. He just didn't understand why.
“Minor crisis at State,” his rescuer continued, loud enough for the other tables to hear. He lowered his voice and nodded slightly towards the empty chair in front of Tim. “May I?”
Tim looked around at the other tables, not a single one of them looking back at them. His rescuer’s smile was soft and patient, giving Tim the choice. Not pressuring him at all.
Tim awkwardly moved his foot, pushing the chair out for the benevolent stranger. “Please.”
He sat, giving Tim a smile that made his insides want to melt. “I'm Hawk.”
“Tim,” Tim replied, ducking his head a little to hide the blush he could feel warming his cheeks. “Tim Laughlin.”
Hawk smiled again, Tim's heart beating faster inside his chest with every second passing. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Tim Laughlin.”
Tim forced himself to meet Hawk's gaze, nearly getting lost in the intensity of that vibrant blue. “And to meet you too, Hawk.”
Hawk extended his hand across the table to shake, sparks shooting up Tim's arm the moment their hands touched.
“You don't have to do this,” Tim whispered, resisting the urge to duck his head again. His blush intensified, Hawk's eyes soft and sincere.
“Perhaps not,” Hawk conceded easily. “But I want to. I couldn't leave someone as handsome as you to the wolves.”
Tim lowered his head, wishing for a menu to hide behind. He didn't think he'd ever blushed so much in his entire life.
Out of the corner of his eye, Tim saw two men watching him from across the restaurant, Hawk giving them a narrow-eyed look Tim knew well. He gave it to Maggie every time she pried into his business.
“I hope I'm not keeping you from your friends,” Tim sighed, his heart sinking at the thought of being a burden to Hawk.
“Not at all,” Hawk chuckled, waving his hand. He looked like he belonged in an Old Hollywood movie, smoke circling around him; mysterious and handsome. “You're rescuing me.”
Tim's eyebrows jumped up his forehead, a question already forming on his lips. But he forced it down, it was hardly any of his business.
Fortunately, Hawk appeared as good at reading people as he did picking out suits that fit him like a glove.
“My friends are glad to be rid of me for the night,” Hawk announced, shaking his head fondly. “They can forgo the weekly pity dinner and have a date night without worrying about Hawkins ‘You're going to work yourself into an early grave’ Fuller.” Hawk smiled, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I might be something of a workaholic.”
Tim laughed, as he knew Hawk had intended him to, feeling some of the awkwardness fading away. He leaned forward, finding himself captivated by the sparkling of Hawk's eyes.
“You said you worked for the State Department?”
Hawk laughed, his eyes shining brightly. “I do.”
Tim couldn't help but to lean forward eagerly. “What's that like?”
“Classified,” Hawk smirked, easily and teasingly. “It pays the bills. Keeps me in good scotch and nice suits.”
That was all well and good, but good scotch and nice suits didn't ensure career fulfilment. “But, do you like it?”
Hawk hummed softly, Tim watching him sip at his glass of water. “Yes,” he eventually admitted. “It can be hard, frustrating, and sometimes, dirty work. But I like it.”
Tim nodded his understanding. He wished he could say that he felt the same way about his job, but he hadn't yet found the right place for himself.
“And what do you do, Mr. Laughlin?” Hawk asked, pinning him with an intimate gaze.
Before Tim could answer, one of the waitstaff came over and took their orders, promising to deliver the food quickly.
Once the waiter had left to go to the kitchen, Tim returned his attention back to Hawk and smiled. “Nothing quite so glamorous as working for the government,” he announced, Hawk giving a flash of a smile. “I’m finishing an internship at a local paper. I'm not sure it's what I want to do, but-”
“It pays the bills?”
“For now,” Tim agreed, finally giving in and snapping a breadstick. It wasn’t that he was hungry, so much as looking for something to do with his hands to keep himself from fidgeting. “My mother wanted me to be a priest.”
Tim bit his lip, uncertain how Hawk would react to such a confession. Fifty, sixty years ago such a career path wouldn't have been wholly unexpected, but unfortunately, Tim was used to people not understanding the vocation his mother had wanted him to pursue.
“Father Laughlin,” Hawk hummed, his flirtatious gaze roving over him slowly. There was a glint in his eyes, both teasing and interested. “Are you a good Catholic boy, Tim?”
Heat rose in Tim's cheeks, a muffled squeak leaving his lips. If he didn't literally squirm in his seat, it was because he was too stunned to do so.
Hawk smiled, slowly and wickedly, and Tim felt himself blush even harder.
“Catholic? Yes,” Tim replied, struck with an impishness he hadn't felt in a long time. “Good? Well, I guess, it depends on your definition, Mr. Fuller.”
Hawk laughed, a companionable silence falling between them as their appetisers arrived.
“Are you a good Catholic boy too, Hawk?” Tim teased, wondering if he'd somehow missed him at noon Mass at St. Joseph's.
“Bad Presbyterian, I'm afraid,” Hawk replied, his smile entirely unapologetic. “Non-practicing,” he clarified.
“Nobody's perfect,” Tim replied, smiling helplessly at the twinkle in Hawk's eyes. “You can always convert.”
Hawk's laughter burst out of him on a sharp bark, throat long and tempting as he threw his head back. “I rather think my mother would have something to say about that.”
“So would my sister, probably,” Tim agreed, feeling his lips pull down. “But she's already going to be saying plenty tomorrow morning.”
The teasing left Hawk's eyes, replaced with a soft empathy. “She set you up tonight?”
“Yeah,” Tim whispered, his shoulders slumping. “Apparently, he was perfect for me. Guess I'm not perfect for him.”
“That's ridiculous,” Hawk snapped, his eyes sparking with anger. “Anyone who wouldn’t want you is an idiot, Tim.”
“There's a lot of idiots in Staten Island, then,” Tim quipped, more sad than funny, but at least he'd tried. He shrugged apologetically, not wanting to bring the mood down. “My dance card has never exactly been full. I'm no stranger to being stood up, Hawk.”
Hawk abandoned his salad, reaching over the table to gently squeeze Tim's hand. “It might not be the same, but I know how you're feeling.”
“Somebody stood you up?” Tim asked, not believing it for a second. Men that looked like Hawk stood people up, they never got stood up themselves.
Hawk's mouth worked, a wry twist to his lips. “No,” he conceded, almost apologetic. “But I do know what it feels like to be alone while everyone else is… not.”
There was a story there, Tim sensed it; but if this was the only dinner he was going to have with Hawk, he wasn't going to ruin it by digging into his past.
“So, you come here often?”
Hawk nearly choked on his sip of wine, Tim's ears burning as he replayed in his mind what he'd just said. The worst pickup line he'd ever heard.
“I didn't-” Tim began, wanting to sink beneath the table. “I meant-”
“Easy, Skippy,” Hawk grinned, the nickname sending radiating warmth through Tim's chest like rays of sunshine. “I know what you meant. Yes, I do come here often. Mostly to the bar, but regularly to the restaurant, too.”
“It's my first time,” Tim admitted, fighting against the urge to blush again. “Maggie asked me to choose somewhere for her colleague to meet me and I suggested here.” He shrugged a little, not wanting to see pity in Hawk's eyes. “It seemed like the perfect spot to begin a romance.”
“It is,” Hawk agreed softly. So softly, Tim wasn't sure he was meant to hear it. “Is that why you brought that book? The Seven Storey Mountain? Any good?”
Tim felt his grin widen. “It's one of my favourites,” he eagerly admitted, launching into a lecture on all the themes and facets of the book and the man who wrote it.
Unlike everyone else Tim had talked with about this book, Hawk didn't appear bored or as if he regretted asking about it. He looked engaged and genuinely interested, like he really cared about what Tim had to say. He even asked Tim questions - good questions, like he really had been listening instead of just putting on the facade of it to appease Tim.
It was refreshing. More than refreshing. Unbelievable. Hawk was truly unbelievable.
If Hawk wasn’t sitting here in the flesh before his very own eyes, Tim would refuse to believe a man like Hawk existed.
Finding it inconceivable that someone actually cared what he thought, Tim told Hawk about the dog he had as a child on Staten Island, an Irish Setter that Maggie had called Fluffy. He regaled Hawk with the adventures they would get up to with his cousins, of how he and Maggie would surreptitiously slip pieces of their mother's meatloaf under the table to their faithful companion. There was no need to dwell on the end, of losing him before Tim started high school, and how he couldn't bear it when his mother replaced Fluffy as if he wasn't an integral part of the family.
Hawk, however, seemed to read that in his face anyway, changing the subject slightly.
“My colleague, Mary, insists on bringing this little… terror that she calls a cat into the office with her,” Hawk began, his pause showing a definite selection of words. “It hates me. Hisses every time it sees me. Nearly ruined my briefcase and a perfectly good pair of Italian shoes.”
Tim couldn't help but to laugh at Hawk's exaggerated pout, tapping their shoes together under the table. “I'm sure it loves you, Hawk,” Tim teased, endeared by Hawk's light scowl.
“No, I'm pretty sure Mary teaches it to hiss at me,” Hawk insisted, a little too over the top to be anything other than intended to make Tim smile. “Probably trains it using pictures of me that she flashes to the little beast and then takes away its Fancy Feast to really reinforce its hatred of me.”
Tim laughed, the mental image of Hawk's competent (scarily so) colleague spending her evenings flashing photos of Hawk to her cat and encouraging it to hate him bursting into vivid colour in his mind.
Every time Tim thought he had a handle on his laughter, Hawk would hiss and grin and Tim would lose it again.
“We'll get thrown out,” Tim giggled, trying to calm himself.
Hawk's eyes lit up, but he held his hands up in innocent surrender. “I know the manager,” he reassured, as Tim took small sips of his water. “And, this wouldn't even make the top 10 list of the worst things I’ve seen happen in this restaurant.”
“Really?” Tim knew better than to be interested in gossip, but he couldn't help himself. Everything about Hawk was so engaging, he just wanted to listen to him speak forever.
Hawk hummed, smiling at him over his wine glass. “One time, I was waiting for Frankie and Marcus to arrive for their pre-anniversary dinner and a couple were sitting at that table just behind you…”
Before Tim knew it, they were finishing up their desserts; Tim drawing out the final bites of his tiramisu, Hawk fiddling with his coffee more than drinking it. Time had flown by, tables filling and emptying and filling again all around them, but they paid it no mind. It was like they were in a bubble of their own creation. Nothing mattered except eliciting those rare laughs and far more common genuine smiles from Hawk's lips, then sharing little pieces of himself and his past and receiving some tidbits in return.
Hawk didn't like to talk about himself, Tim could tell that much. But he made an effort for Tim, telling him about meeting his friend Marcus in college and how as soon as Marcus had met his now-fiancee, he had known he was it for him. Of course, Hawk teased and called him “nauseatingly in love,” but Tim could hear it in his voice just how happy he was for him, and saw it in the twinkle of his blue eyes.
Tim shared some stories of his family, particularly Uncle Ronald who Hawk seemed just as fond of as Tim had always been.
“Poor Uncle Ron,” Hawk laughed, his posture loose and relaxed. Tim might even call him happy. “He reminds me of my Uncle Howard,” he added, shaking his head.
Tim cocked his head, intrigued. “The designated hopeless sinner of your family?”
“Oh, no, Skippy,” Hawk chuckled, Tim leaning helplessly closer. “That's me. But Uncle Howard has been known to indulge from time to time. And he has a stupidly big heart.” Hawk shook his head again, but there was no real annoyance in his sigh. “He’ll drive himself bankrupt helping people out one day.”
Tim suddenly saw the similarities between their favourite uncles. “He makes your mother worry?”
Hawk inclined his head, gracefully conceding, “Is there anything else for family to do but worry?”
In Tim's experience, there was very little else. His sister and mother certainly elevated it to an art form. Or, possibly an Olympic sport.
Hawk laughed when Tim told him that, throwing his head back with genuine mirth in a way that Tim thought only happened in the movies.
The maitre d’, Rafael, caught both of their gazes, tapping at his watch apologetically.
Hawk's eyes twinkled, though regret lined his words. “I think we're being gently hurried out, Skippy.”
Tim sighed disappointedly, watching Hawk signal for the bill. “It looks like it.”
The waiter quickly brought over the bill with Hawk reaching for it and slipping his card in the leather bill book before Tim could even think about moving.
“Hawk!”
“Let me do this?” Hawk asked, his voice unusually soft. “Please, Tim.”
What was Tim supposed to do but agree to it? He didn't imagine anyone could say no to Hawk when he asked like that.
“Fine,” he grumbled, feeling his lips twitch with his smile. “Why can't I say no to you?”
“Because I'm irresistible,” Hawk smiled, boyish and sweet.
Tim narrowed his eyes, but he couldn't deny it.
Hawk laughed, rising to his feet with a grace Tim knew he'd never have. “Can I walk you out?”
Tim stood, slipping his coat back on and smiling over at his knight in shining armour - or, in this case, a tailor made suit. “Lead the way, Mr. Fuller.”
As soon as the first breath of cold night air hit his lungs, Tim felt himself smile. Tonight had been wonderful, far better than he had ever expected. And that was all because of Hawk.
“Thank you for saving me.”
Hawk's eyes widened, honest surprise flashing in them. For a moment, he just stared, then he chuckled and smiled that disarming smile of his. “And thank you for saving me,” he replied softly. Those blue eyes pinned him in place, intense but almost uncertain. “I'd like to see you again, Tim,” Hawk said, a smile curling his lips up hopefully.
Tim looked down at the pavement, blushing for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. “I'd like that.”
Hawk unlocked his phone and handed it to Tim, unconcerned with the numerous unread texts that showed on the screen. Tim tried not to read them - he knew Hawk was a private man - but he couldn't quite help himself.
A short laugh escaped his lips at the fondly mocking texts. Variations on the theme of Hawk finally getting a life and how he’s probably not going to die alone at work surrounded by dust bunnies and Mary's cat.
Tim quickly entered his number, saving his contact as Tim/Skippy .
“I'm not the kind of girl who needs you to wait three days before calling, Mr. Fuller,” Tim teased and winked, handing back the phone.
Hawk laughed, one of the unexpected, bright ones Tim especially adored. “I'll call in the morning,” Hawk promised, his smile turning teasing. “If that meets with your approval?”
Tim hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose that will do.”
Hawk laughed again, raising his hand into the street. As if summoned by magic, a cab appeared, Hawk gallantly opening the door for Tim.
“I will call you tomorrow, then,” Hawk promised, pressing his lips to Tim's forehead.
When Tim sighed contentedly, Hawk stroked his cheek, then stepped back.
“Sleep well, Tim Laughlin.”
Tim blushed, feeling Hawk's lips still on his skin. “Goodnight, Hawk.”
Hawk stepped back further, waving to him once the cab took off. Tim turned around in his seat, watching Hawk stand outside the restaurant until he could no longer see him.
A few minutes after Tim had giddily closed his front door, his phone rang. A number he didn't recognise.
“Hawk?”
Hawk's chuckle drifted through the speaker, just as warm as it was in person. “Hi, Skippy.”
“It's not morning yet,” Tim heard himself say, teasingly.
“It is somewhere,” Hawk defended, a smile brightening his voice. “Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?”
Tim didn't even have to think, or pretend to check his calendar. “Yes,” he said a little breathless, his heart racing in his chest. “I'm free tomorrow night.” And all the nights after that.
“Good,” Hawk replied. “There's a new restaurant I've been meaning to try. I'll text you the details tomorrow, once the reservations are confirmed.”
“I can't wait.”
Tim would usually chide himself for being too eager, but he didn't care. He'd just had the best date of his life and was going to have another.
“Neither can I, Skippy,” Hawk murmured, his voice soft. “It's late. I'll let you get some sleep.”
Tim smiled, flopping onto his bed with a giddy sigh. “See you tomorrow, Hawk.”
“Counting down the minutes, Skippy.”