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"Have you ever considered yourself to be in love with another male?"
And that was the question, wasn't it?
Giving gifts, receiving gifts, walking like a gay man - like that could even be quantified; sex and sodomy. Those things were nothing, a mere drop in the ocean compared to that one question.
Had he ever been in love with another man?
For a moment, he almost expected to think of Kenny. That sweet boy who loved beautiful things, who'd followed Hawk into a war none of them had any place being.
But Kenny was the furthest thing from his mind. No, his mind was alive with memories of his Skippy. The way he blushed with Hawk gently teased him, how adorable he'd looked in his Christmas jumper; how beautiful he'd looked standing on that beach when Hawk had no choice but to photograph him, to keep that moment preserved for all eternity.
How his eyes flashed when he was angry at Hawk, the taste of his skin when Hawk was laying in his arms, how he'd memorised Hawk's entire entry after one brief meeting, his naive belief that doing the right thing meant that everything would work out the way it should.
How playful Skippy could be in bed, when they were just lying together in the afterglow; his insistent, honest defence that they didn't lie about who they slept with, they lied about who they loved.
Skippy's sweet dream of going to New York together, of seeing the Rockettes. A dream they both knew could never come true. Not as long as they both worked for the federal government. Not as long as the world was the way it had always been, would probably always be.
Skippy's guileless smile, that innocence that Hawk and the world hadn't yet torn from him. His fathomless belief in God even though his own experiences directly contrasted with the words of the church. His passionate belief in the causes he championed, never faltering even though they seemed impossible.
Tim holding him in bed, kissing his hair, cherishing him though Hawk had done so little to ever truly deserve it.
The way Tim's dark eyes burned as he fought to understand why they couldn't just be like everyone else. Tim's fight, his passion, his sweetness, his love.
How right Tim had looked in his bed, caressed by the glow of the rising sun; how innocent and perfect. The way Hawk's heart had lightened, warmed, at the simple fact of getting to wake next to the man he had shared himself with.
Had he ever been in love with another man?
There was no guilt inside Hawk for the truth. Not a single spark of it ever dredged up inside him for being the way he was - fucking who he wanted... Loving who he wanted.
But there was that truth he saw shadowed in Tim's eyes. No guilt for their acts, for their sins, but there was a shame in it. Not ever in the choice to be with Tim, or Tim with Hawk - or even Marcus with Frankie or poor Mary with Caroline. No, the shame was in denying it. In ever admitting, even by omission, that the way they felt about each other was ever any less real, less valid than the way 'normal' couples felt about each other.
Had he ever been in love with another man?
Hawk could say no so easily. He could pass this test with flying colours, never so much as blipping on the scale. He could walk out of this room and go back to fighting McCarthy and Cohn, could be ever more resolved to marry Lucy Smith and live the life he had always known he'd have to force himself to.
But what would that make him, deep inside? Would it mean finally killing that part of him Tim always searched his eyes for, the part he always lit up to see. The part that - so very, very deep down, hidden in the deepest recesses of the armour he'd made himself - still longed for all the things Tim did. To be able to walk into a restaurant and share a meal with the man he was sweet on; to be able to share an apartment with him without public scrutiny and disgust; to be able to dance with him in public, holding him close and for everyone in the world to see.
Hawk hadn't wanted those things in so long, but for Tim - with Tim - he did.
To hold Tim, to love Tim, to stand in front of Tim's God and pledge forever to him. A stupid, naive, impossible dream. One far more dangerous than Tim's sweet hope of a Christmas in New York. But, damned if Hawk didn't want it.
Couldn't stop himself imagining it late at night when Tim was holding him so right, even more so during the nights they were apart, his heart crying out for the man he loved. His one unbreakable weakness.
Hawk looked down at the tie he was wearing. The tie Tim had given him. The one that he had chosen today as a subtle but emphatic fuck you to his examiners. The tie that proclaimed him, as boldly as Hawk had known how, as belonging to Timothy David Laughlin.
Because when it came down to it, for all their power plays and Hawk's intentional keeping Tim at arm's length, that was the truth. Whatever he still was beneath all these layers of facade, whatever was left of the truest part of himself that he'd battled so long to kill - he did, irrecoverably and completely, belong to Tim.
Considering all that, there was only one question that really mattered any more. Which did Hawk love more, the perfect facade of a life of lies, or that adorable Catholic boy from Staten Island?
"Answer the question, Mr Fuller."
Hawk blinked once, hiding his contempt at this whole examination. "What was the question?" His tone was light, almost bored, the polygraph not even twitching.
The examiner, Traband, scowled at him, visibly irritated with Hawk. And, not that Hawk was wanting to help these people, but he would have thought that if someone was actively trying to root out gay men, they would at least try and do so with someone halfway attractive. Which, Hawk was increasingly aware, the examiner was not.
He certainly had nothing on Hawk's Skippy.
"Have you ever considered yourself to be in love with another male?"
Tim's face shone in Hawk's mind again. Not his brilliant smile as he shyly said he couldn't bear the happiness Hawk was giving him, but the agony as he realised in the restaurant that they could never be like other couples.
Tim was so sweet, so pure, so loving - and all Hawk was ever capable of was hurting him. And yet...
"Have you ever considered yourself to be in love with another male?" Traband demanded, scenting blood.
Hawk stared Traband dead in the eye, finding it impossible to lie - not about who he loved.
"Yes."
Time passed like eons and mere breaths since Hawk made his defiant pronouncement. He found himself, as hundreds of nights before, sitting in a booth in the Cozy Corner, sampling the strongest alcohol the bartender would give him.
Marcus slid into the booth across the table from him, managing little more than a nod to Hawk before his attention was caught by the evening's performance. Frankie was on top form, serenading them all with the season's new Christmas song.
Though he was still reeling from his defiance, Hawk didn't fail to notice how happy Marcus looked watching Frankie sing. It was as if there was no one else in the world for him but Frankie; a moment of such unguarded adoration Hawk had never felt happier for his friend. Nor had he ever felt sadder for him.
Marcus was fighting battles on multiple fronts - prejudiced against because of something as stupid the colour of his skin as well as who he loved. At least Hawk was 'out' now, he couldn't hide it any more. Marcus still had to. They both did.
But, this moment wasn't about him. It was about Marcus and Frankie and the palpable love shining between them.
"I think you're sweet on him," Hawk teased, light briefly bursting through the clouds hanging above him.
"Fuck you," Marcus said easily, but he didn't lose his smile.
It was a good day to be Marcus Gaines.
"Congratulations on your job at The Post," Hawk offered, choosing not to be bitter at Marcus gaining his dreams just as Hawk had lost what he'd always thought his own were.
Marcus sighed, leaning back in the booth. "Still auditioning," he qualified. "Until they feel comfortable with the idea that I could pass as one of them."
As if Marcus wasn't more qualified and a better writer than half those idiots that staffed the place.
"Or use the same restroom," Marcus continued, accepting his drink from a passing server.
"Christ," Hawk swore, stabbing his cigarette out in the ashtray. "To your success," he toasted, lifting his glass.
"Just mine?" Marcus repeated, a frown pulling at his eyebrows. "How did your examination go?"
Hawk chuckled, surprising even himself at how little amusement was in the sound. "I was politely invited to resign."
Marcus's eyebrows jumped up his forehead, eyes widening in genuine surprise. "You failed the polygraph?"
"I told the truth." Hawk smiled bitterly, draining the first of several scotches he had lined up in front of him. "Aren't you proud of me?"
"I'm surprised," Marcus bluntly admitted, and Hawk supposed he had the right to be. "I thought you'd planned how to beat it."
Hawk inclined his head, he had told Marcus that much the last time they'd spoken. "I was passing, clean as a whistle," Hawk shook his head, bemused at how close he'd truly come. "But then, he asked me that question."
Marcus made a soft noise of realisation. "If you've ever been in love with another man."
Hawk raised his glass, toasting Marcus. "That's the one."
"And you said-"
"Yes."
"Well, shit," Marcus cursed, regarding Hawk with a look he hadn't seen in a long time. It might almost have been pride, respect.
"Yeah," Hawk agreed, swallowing another scalding mouthful of alcohol.
"I'm curious," Marcus began, in the way that usually meant he was about to steamroll over the usual boundaries Hawk liked to maintain. "Did you mean Tim?"
"Of course I meant Tim!" Hawk raised his scotch to his lips, valiantly ignoring the way his hand shook. "I'm sorry," he said quieter, Marcus had every right to be sceptical of him. "It's been a difficult evening."
"What you did was very brave."
"No, it wasn't," Hawk laughed bitterly. "It was reckless and stupid and I singlehandedly destroyed my career in one swift move. But I'd do it all again."
"Does Tim know?"
Hawk regarded Marcus with a flat look. One that silently demanded to know why Marcus thought Hawk would be here of all places if Tim knew.
He received a familiarly judgemental glare in return. "You didn't tell him?"
"Because walking into McCarthy's office after admitting to deviant behaviour would be a safe thing to do. For either of us."
Marcus nodded once, conceding Hawk's point. "What are you going to do?"
"What can I do?" Hawk pressed the cool glass of his tumbler against his temple, willing away his headache. "I can't ask Tim to give up his dreams and run away with me."
"Why not?"
Hawk blinked, Marcus's insistence on being reasonable about the impossible catching him off guard. "What?"
"You can't think that he wouldn't."
Hawk inclined his head, not saying a word.
"Oh," Marcus breathed, that irritating sound that said he'd figured Hawk out. "You don't think you're worth it."
Of course Hawk didn't think he was worth it. "Do you think I'm worth it?"
Marcus gave him the fond yet serious look only someone who'd known him as long as they had could pull off.
"No."
Hawk opened his mouth, that fond and instinctive fuck you on his lips.
"But I'm not in love with you."
"And I wouldn't have given up my career for you," Hawk snarked right back.
"And thank fuck for that," Marcus retorted, granting him a brief but no less true grin. "What are you really going to do?"
Hawk shrugged, as if he hadn't been planning for something like this ever since he'd received that dreaded blue envelope. "Sell my apartment, leave DC, find some way of making a living that doesn't require polygraph tests or anyone giving a fuck who I sleep with."
"And what about Tim?" Marcus asked, as ever speaking for that brief echo of his conscience still existing after nearly five years in Washington.
"What I should have done in the beginning; leave him alone."
"I somehow don't think that's going to be an option for you," Marcus replied, and damn him if he didn't sound amused. "I think he's found out."
Marcus pointed his cigarette towards the bar, where Frankie was talking down a slightly disheveled Tim.
Hawk couldn't tell anyone how long it had been since he'd last seen his lover. Mere hours or eternity and it wouldn't have made the slightest difference. All he knew was how his heart skipped at the sight of him, banishing the storm clouds from his horizon. His Skippy was there; everything was worth it.
"I think you're sweet on him," Marcus teased, smirk glittering wickedly in his voice. Probably on his face too, but Hawk couldn't be bothered to look.
Even clear across the room, Hawk could see the way Tim's eyes lit up at the sight of him, his beautiful, kissable lips forming the shape of his name.
"Definitely sweet," Marcus proclaimed, gleeful. "Maybe even bordering on smitten."
"Fuck you," Hawk replied pleasantly, unable to keep himself from smiling at Tim (and Frankie's) approach.
Frankie slid into the booth beside Marcus, bestowing a tender kiss to his lips.
"Hey, Skippy." Hawk stood, cupping Tim's cheeks before his love could say anything at all. He kissed him. Kissed him like he wished he could anywhere and everywhere.
Tim melted against him, offering a sound of annoyance when they were forced to separate.
"Hawk," he sighed, letting Hawk tug him into the booth beside him. "Are you okay?"
"Better now you're here," he smiled, ignoring the fact that Frankie and Marcus were watching them like they were free entertainment. Hawk supposed they were; certainly better than the movies and McCarthy's televised witch-hunts.
Tim smiled back, that sweet, sweet smile he always gave Hawk so freely. Still, his soulful eyes couldn't hide his emotions. The sadness, the confusion. Marcus was right, Tim had heard the news.
"Skippy," Hawk began, side eyeing Marcus until he got the hint and drew Frankie into a whispered conversation of their own. "It's okay. I'm okay."
"You resigned," Tim cried, concern filling every beloved feature of his face. "Hawk, why?"
Hawk caught Tim's hand, pressing an absent kiss to his knuckles. There were a hundred different ways to explain, to choose how and what to tell the man he loved. Only one was the right one.
"They asked me to lie about who I love."
The concern shining so bright in Tim's eyes dimmed, replaced by a sunrise of dawning wonder. Tim had recognised the callback to their weekend getaway, his own words given a more hopeful meaning.
"Hawk..."
Hawk could do nothing but kiss Tim, drinking the sweetness and the wonder from his lips. In this moment, everything was gloriously possible. Their lives were a blank canvas, and Hawk was fairly certain Tim was the one holding the brush.
Outside, the realities of Hawk's defiance awaited him. No job, a city now hostile to everything he was. And at Christmas no less.
But, right now, he had Tim - for a little while, he even still had Marcus's friendship and a fragile understanding with Frankie. It was still Christmas Eve, he still had Tim, and he was the richest man in the world.
Hawk pulled back, scattering kisses all over Tim's cheeks, his nose, his lips. He wanted to run away with this beautiful creature in front of him, to keep him with him forever and a day. But Tim deserved so much more, so Hawk contented himself with another lingering kiss.
"Ask me," Tim whispered, insistent and so, so soft. His fingers played idly with the hair at the back of his neck, as content as if they were sharing one of their beds.
"Ask you what, Skippy?" Hawk murmured back, their lips barely a hairsbreadth apart.
Tim breathed a soft laugh, eyes seeming to caress him. "What you stopped yourself from asking when you kissed me."
Hawk shook his head, refusing. "I'll ruin you."
"No," Tim disagreed, tapping his nose so sweetly. "You'll love me. And I'll love you."
The way Tim said it was like it was so simple. So obvious. Maybe for Tim it was. Maybe, it could be for Hawk too. Tim was the stronger of the two of them, after all.
Hawk had given up his career for him, letting Tim do things his way from time to time might not be so bad. Besides, he'd always been terrible at denying himself the things he'd really wanted.
Hawk leaned impossibly closer, watching Tim's beautiful eyes twinkle. He was the only man in the world, the only person Hawk could ever wish to see.
"Run away with me?"
Tim's smile spread over his lips, more radiant than any star in the sky. "Anywhere."
There was nothing he had ever done to deserve Tim's devotion and he dreaded the day Tim would stop loving him so consumingly.
"I don't have I figured out yet, Tim. What I'm going to do, what I even can do, but I'll try not to make you regret-"
"No."
Tim stopped him with a finger at his lips, replacing it with his own lips when Hawk could do nothing but blink at him in surprise.
"You don't have to have it all figured out, Hawk," Tim smiled, certain, believing enough for the both of them. "That's what I'm there for. We'll work it out. Together."