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Hank woke up at precisely six-fifteen in the morning. Old habits die hard, yes? Especially when he was excited--exhilarated, even.
And sometimes he forced himself to sleep in--more like lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, noticing that Barry Berkman was already awake, probably out for a run or something. But today was a special day.
Because today was his boyfriend's birthday.
Hank only knew this because he'd...er, worked with him before. Yeah, that's what he'd call it now. Barry never mentioned it in person before. But Hank still wanted to do something special for him this year. They hadn't been together at this time last year so that made it special too. Now all Hank had to do was figure out what to do for Barry...
Strong arms wrapped around Barry Berkman's middle, and he winced slightly. He needed to work out more, he was slacking, It stressed him out. A lot of things still stressed him out. But he was finally fucking out of the business. He had a little apartment, was working on his directing actually, and he...he was in a hesitant, comfortable relationship. With someone who didn't abuse him.
(He didn't want to think about Sally anymore
Sally raising her voice or putting her hands on him, her raw disdain for everything he seemed to do)
Hank was different. Hank, for one thing, was a guy. He was also part of that whole mess Barry had been involved in before--killing people, the Chechin mob. Hank was covered in prison tattoos, bald, rippling muscles...and despite his terrifying appearance, he was so soft. A gentle, lilting voice, quick to laugh--good at grounding him when he needed it. Hank wasn't afraid of him when PTSD and pretty severe depression reared their ugly heads. Hank just seemed to know what to do.
"Happy birthday," Hank whispered, settling his chin on Barry's shoulder. He could hear his smile in his voice.
"Don't remind me." Barry said without thinking. "I'm forty-one. I don't think that's something to be celebrated."
"I am older than you!" Hank's eyes were huge. Barry smiled.
"By two months." He turned around, still letting Hank's arms around him and not pulling away. Hank smelled like strawberry cheesecake body wash. "And that's different. But I don't need to celebrate today. Just another day. We both have work to do."
Hank frowned.
"Don't pout at me, Hank."
"I want to do something special! Make you a cake. Throw you a party with friends."
With what friends? Barry thought wryly to himself, but that might upset Hank, so he didn't say it out loud. "I don't need anything," he said instead. "I just want a quiet day."
Hank took his cheeks in his hands and kissed him gently. But when he pulled away Barry saw the mischievous look on his face. He was planning something and Barry would just have to wait to see what it was.
In retrospect calling Monroe Fuches was probably a very very bad idea.
Hank was pure of heart, dumb of ass. It seemed like something good in the moment. And it was too late anyway: he was already dialing the number to the Cleveland State Prison, to talk to Fuches.
Out of everyone Barry knew, it was Fuches Hank thought of first. Yeah, they'd had a very unhealthy relationship in the end--good thing he was in prison, and good thing for Barry he hadn't actually ended up killing him, Hank thought, solely for Barry's mental health. But he wasn't about to be released anytime soon.
Anyway, he was connected through and soon Fuches was on the phone.
"Hi!" Hank said brightly. "So if you are remembering, keeping track of days, today is Barry's birthday!"
"Huh." Fuches said. He sounded the same. His voice was gravelly. "He's getting to be an old man. You two still fucking?"
Hank felt a little uncomfortable. "I was wondering what was the best party you threw for him?"
"Party?" Fuches echoed, sounding blank.
"Birthday party."
He barked out a laugh. "I never threw him a birthday party. You think we had time for that? God, he was a mess from the army for a couple years, and then we were always busy with hits. Probably should've given him therapy."
Hank's face fell. No birthday party? Nothing to let him know someone cared?
"I have to go," Fuches continued. "See ya later, Hank. Tell Barry I'm thinking about him today."
Hank hung up. That was useless. And creepy.
Next he called Sally Reed. Sally was a girl, an American girl who liked girl things and partying. She and Barry had been together for awhile so she'd probably celebrated his birthday with him, right? She'd have some good advice.
"Hi, Sally Reed," Sally said when she picked up the phone.
Hank froze. He'd never actually...met Sally before, so just saying "this is Hank" without context might freak her out. "This is Hank," he said anyway, and then added, "I am...a friend of your ex. Barry Berkman?"
"Oh." Her voice immediately sounded colder. "What do you want? I'm actually really busy so if you could make this quick that'd be great."
Jesus. Hank wrinkled his nose. "It is his birthday today and I want to do something for him. What did you do while you two were together?"
Silence.
"Hello? Did you not hear me, or--?"
"It never really came up," she said. "He was always just--really focused on me. He never even mentioned his birthday. So nothing, I guess. I have to go."
Click.
Wow.
So neither of those helped. Hank wasn't sure what was worse, actually--Fuches, who was just as unsettling as he ever was, or Sally Reed, who just almost immediately rubbed him the wrong way with her cold insensitivity. How self-centered could a person be? And Barry never talked about her anymore these days. Seemed like for a good reason.
But what could he do for him? To show him that he wasn't like the rest of these people Barry had known? Time was running out too--it was already almost five o'clock in the afternoon.
Hank went to the grocery store to at least buy a cake, but there weren't any birthday cakes left, so he had to settle for a few small cupcakes. He already had bought him a few presents (a soft black cashmere sweater, a beautiful notebook to write in, some very nice tight-fitting t-shirts that were just as much for his benefit of watching Barry get all sweaty in) so at least that was done.
He came back to the house, still feeling a little defeated.
Barry was at his computer engrossed in whatever he was working on. Hank took that opportunity to put candles on the cupcakes. And Barry did in fact look up when he turned off the lights, bringing over the plate with them.
"С днем рождения!" Hank said brightly.
And Barry looked pale, and tired, but he smiled. "Did you do all this?"
"Yes! It is not much. I wanted to do more." Hank set it the table in front of him gently.
"It's good," he promised. "It's more than I'd ever have expected."
After talking to those other two, Hank knew why, and it broke his heart.
"You deserve this." He said. "Good things."
He bent, and kissed his forehead. Solidified it.