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A few months ago, coming home to the sound of activity in his apartment would have made Hawk's blood run cold. He would have imagined the FBI making a surprise raid on his underwear drawer, or his mother come into town for an impromptu visit. Not so now. Now, Hawk felt himself relax. A tension he'd carried all day finally able to leave his body.
"Skippy?" Hawk called, closing the apartment door behind him.
Here, he was safe enough to risk it. After all, no one else had quite the same angelic, slightly off key voice. No one else but Tim would be playing Doris Day in his apartment.
"In the kitchen, Hawk!" Tim called back, muffled sounds of his pots following Tim's words.
Hawk stopped by the sideboard, pouring himself a generous measure of scotch. He'd earned it today. Mary was off for the day and Miss Addison had been more trying than usual. But, Hawk was home now and the outside world ended at his front door.
Hawk sipped at his scotch, letting the sound of Tim in the kitchen, of the record playing, ease away the lingering tensions of the day.
Padding through the apartment, Hawk came to a stop in the kitchen doorway. He hadn't intended to, had planned on waltzing in and kissing Tim the way he'd fantasized about all day.
Before his eyes there was such a vision of loveliness. Hawk didn't think anyone in the world could feel as happy as he was right now.
Tim - his lover, his beautiful, sweet Skippy - was cooking dinner. Not just heating up some soup (which was enough, always), but actually, properly cooking. Cooking the way Hawk did when he wanted to give Tim a treat.
Tim moved about his kitchen restlessly, not able to let things alone for a moment. It was so clear he was trying, wanting this to be perfect.
As if it wasn't already.
Hawk leaned his hip against the table, watching Tim stir something thick and delicious in one of Hawk's pots. He looked so beautiful, so right, Hawk knew he was being given a gift.
"What have I done to earn this?"
Tim glanced over his shoulder, cheeks flushed.
Hawk hoped that beautiful pinking of his skin was on Hawk's account, but Tim rarely got so flustered just by Hawk's mere presence anymore.
Still, Hawk got to watch as Tim smiled, soft and private and only for him.
"It's our anniversary."
Hawk drew his frazzled lover into his arms, kissing the tip of his nose. "That's November, Skip."
Tim's face flashed through a series of emotions - disbelief, surprise, happiness, awe - and settled on adoration.
It shone out of his beautiful brown eyes, warming a part of Hawk that grew cold away from him.
"Election night?"
Hawk hadn't quite meant to admit he considered that their anniversary, but he supposed he was allowed to be occasionally romantic and vulnerable.
For Skippy.
"Yeah."
"Oh, Hawk."
Tim stepped in close, kissing him as softly and sweetly as if it was their first time. Hawk cupped his cheek and settled in, letting Tim have his fill of him.
Tim kissed him as he always did - like there was nothing else in the world for them but this. Slow pulls at his lips, gentle rubs of their noses. Nothing but this. Nothing but each other. Nothing but time.
Hawk pulled away, already missing the sweetness of Tim's lips against his own. The slow blinking of Tim's eyes almost made him damn it all and pull him back in, but...
"Your sauce is going to burn."
Tim muttered a curse as severe as his Skippy could bring himself, spinning back to the stove.
It really was adorable, hearing his sweet boy mutter a wholehearted "oh fudge".
Any other moment and Hawk would tease him mercilessly. Earn himself that becoming blush that spurred Hawk to want wicked things.
But, this was the day Tim had chosen as their anniversary; the day Hawk had sat down at the bench beside him and spent picturing Tim kneeling in prayer. Tim wanted it to be special, not just any other night when Hawk could entice him into bed with the right smile and a crook of his finger.
And, Hawk would be lying if he said it didn't feel special to him too.
Nobody had gone through all this effort to cook for him, to celebrate with him... Ever.
He and Tim had shared many meals together, all sweet and domestic. But this- Hawk felt pampered.
It was a feeling Tim gave him often, but never before outside of their bedroom.
Hawk didn't know what he'd done to deserve it - this feeling, this night, his Skippy - but he wasn't going to waste it.
So, he settled down at his kitchen table, allowing himself the rare pleasure of watching Tim cook for him.
And the pleasure didn't stop there.
Tim's surprisingly muscled frame was almost swallowed by a sweater. Soft, green wool, worn in by years of comfortable use. Too large, even when Hawk bought it.
The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, tempting Hawk with the sight of his forearms.
A contradiction, his Tim. Soft but strong. Innocent but strangely worldly. Naive but seeing more than anyone else.
God's but Hawk's.
By choice. Always, Hawk's.
Possessiveness was in Hawk's nature. As far as he was concerned, Tim was never allowed not to be wearing Hawk's clothes. His boy, walking into McCarthy's office, subtly announcing he belonged to Hawk... What more could a man like Hawk ask for?
"What are you wearing?"
The words came out teasing, fond. For once he wasn't going to be sharp and scare Tim away. Not from this.
"Oh," Tim looked down at himself, blushing. "I spilled sauce on my shirt. It's soaking in the bathroom."
Hawk inclined his head, enraptured by the way his Skippy seemed so at home here and yet still unsure.
"I found this in the back of your closet," his angel continued, waving his free hand at the shirt he was wearing.
Hawk didn't even know he'd still had it. As far as he was concerned, he didn't. It would forever be Tim's - never to look as good on Hawk as it did on Tim.
"You don't mind?"
Hawk shook his head. "You look-" delicious, perfect, mine "- good."
Tim's eyes flashed to his, a small smile on his lips. He'd heard what Hawk hadn't said.
"I won't make a habit of it," Tim promised all the same.
"Now you're punishing me on our anniversary," Hawk tsked, faking a pout. "And I thought you liked me."
Hawk thought far more than that, but he wasn't about to say that. Not when he still wasn't strong enough to admit he felt the same way.
"Hawk," Tim groaned, abandoning their dinner once more.
And Tim had to know he was teasing, but Hawk let him kiss him to make up for it just the same.
Eventually, Hawk really did have to stop teasing Tim, tempting him to give him the kisses they both craved. He let Tim go back to finishing their meal, helping out by setting the table. Tim plated up, settling the plates on their mats, Hawk maneuvering around him to light candles and pour wine.
Tim caught him just before he could sit, pulling his chair out the way Hawk imagined Mama Laughlin had taught him to do.
Feeling his lips curve, Hawk let Tim see. Showed him how good Tim made him feel. He had never been the kind to need romancing. Oh, but it was so nice that Tim even thought him deserving of the effort.
Hawk was in such a good mood, he even let Tim say grace. It was no hardship; holding Tim's hands, staring into Tim's eyes over a flickering flame, hearing his reverent voice soft with prayer.
Tim's left hand slipped from Hawk's, an automatic sign of the cross following the end of grace. His free hand, however, lifted Hawk's to his lips.
Skippy's smile was all warmth and affection, his lips soft as they pressed against his knuckles.
"Happy anniversary, Hawk."
Hawk moved the candlestick between them aside, leaning across the table to press his lips against Tim's. Just for a second. Just enough to say the things he couldn't find a way to voice.
How perfect this night was. How sweet Tim was. How glad Hawk was that he'd walked over to him. That Tim had chosen to memorise his entry. Chosen to be enamoured with him too.
Only a year ago, yet Hawk could not imagine his life without him.
"Happy anniversary, Skippy."