Chapter Text
Tim’s head rests against the cool glass, the vibration of the road humming faintly through his temple. Outside, I-95 stretches on in a long gray ribbon, everything sliding past faster than he can hold onto it.
A line of trees blurs together, trunks flickering like frames in a film. Sunlight breaks through in flashes, bright, gone, bright again, as overpasses cut across the sky and fall away behind them. For a moment, a billboard comes into focus, something about a lawyer in bold red letters, then it’s already shrinking in the side mirror, unread and forgotten.
Hawk is driving. An audiobook plays, but Tim has lost the thread, no matter how excited he’d been to follow the next clue in the murder mystery. He couldn’t stay with it if he tried.
They’re on their way to Staten Island for the baptism of Maggie’s daughter, Ruby.
Ever since Maggie had her last September, the Laughlin family has been relentless, insisting the baby needs to be baptized, needs to be raised Catholic. Around Christmas, Maggie finally gave in and promised she’d set a date.
She chose May, which Tim suspects was deliberate. Far enough out, well past Easter, so she could put it off a little longer, not have to deal with it just yet.
Now it’s here, which means Tim can’t avoid the whole family anymore.
They pass an exit, gas stations and fast-food signs stacked on a single pole, their colors too bright against the afternoon sun. Tim watches them slip away, replaced by more highway, more trees, more sky that barely seems to move at all.
Suddenly, Hawk’s hand settles on his thigh, giving a gentle squeeze.
Tim blinks and turns his head. Hawk’s gaze stays fixed on the road, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. The audiobook has gone quiet.
“Sorry,” Tim says.
“What for?”
“I’m not a good travel companion.”
A smile pulls at Hawk’s mouth. “That’s okay. But I figured you were somewhere else entirely. They just revealed the clue we’ve been waiting for.”
“Oh.” Tim exhales. “I missed it.”
“We’ll just listen again. Don’t worry.”
“It’s okay. You can tell me.”
“Absolutely not,” Hawk says, mock-offended. “And I think we need a break. There’s a station coming up. Looks like it has a Starbucks.”
Tim glances ahead and spots the sign. A break sounds wonderful, like putting off the inevitable.
He doesn’t have to say yes. Hawk knows him well enough to take the next exit and find a parking spot. It’s also Hawk who pulls him out of the car, literally, taking his hands and tugging him off the seat and into the fresh air.
“Here we go,” Hawk laughs, holding on until Tim is steady on his feet.
Tim stretches, loosening his limbs, then tilts his head back to the sky. It’s warm, one of those spring days that feels like a softer version of summer.
“Coffee?” Hawk asks.
“The answer is always yes.” Tim smiles.
“Iced and sweet?”
“Yes and yes.” He nods.
“I’ll be right back. Walk around a little. Take a breath. It’s all going to be fine,” Hawk says.
“You keep saying that, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re about to meet my entire family. And we’ll be the only gay couple at a very Catholic event. And let’s not forget that me being a little different doesn’t exactly help.”
Hawk sighs lightly. “Well, I’m more than happy to protect you and unleash my very stern boss voice on anyone who dares to annoy my Skippy.”
Heat rises to Tim’s cheeks. He doesn’t want to need protecting, and still, it’s nice to know the offer is there if he needs it.
“It’s only a few hours.” Hawk steps in close again, arms looping around Tim’s waist. “We’ve got our hotel room. You can show me around Staten Island. And occasionally, we’ll run into your family. Think of it as a small vacation with a little exposure to the wild family life.”
“Fine,” Tim sighs. “I’ll try.”
“Good.” Hawk kisses him, soft and quick. “I’ll get your coffee.”
With a gigantic iced coffee in hand, the world doesn’t look quite so grim. Tim takes a sip through the straw, ice clinking softly, and lets his gaze drift over the dull sprawl of the rest stop.
The parking lot stretches wide under the sun, cars idling in loose rows. Sedans, minivans, long-haul trucks. Engines rumble, the air thick with exhaust. He can’t imagine working here all day. It feels like a place where dreams quietly stall out, though that might just be every TV show he’s ever seen talking.
Hawk, who got Tim his coffee only to disappear back inside, finally comes into view again. He looks as good as always, sunglasses, simple blue jeans, a white button-up left open just enough for the undershirt beneath to show. A breeze lifts his curls, and for a second Tim swears he looks like a movie star, the kind people turn to watch without meaning to.
“I got us sandwiches. They looked good.”
Tim perks up. “Oh?”
“One with pesto and mozzarella for you. Grilled chicken for me.”
“You know me so well.”
Hawk smirks. “We’ve got at least two or three hours ahead of us. Traffic’s going to be a nightmare soon. I can’t have you hungry and grumpy.”
“I’m not that bad.”
“Do you want me to remind you of the time we got stuck in traffic coming back from Rehoboth Beach?” Hawk raises an eyebrow. “If I remember correctly, we had to pull over at some cheap fast food place and get burgers because you were practically vibrating out of your seat.”
“Well,” Tim sighs, “my body gets stressed when I’m hungry, and then I start overthinking every possible food option. And when I do have options, it’s even worse, because then I have to choose, and what if it’s the wrong one, so…”
Hawk cuts him off with a kiss, pressing him lightly back against the passenger side door.
“Shh,” he murmurs against Tim’s lips. “No overthinking. You have a sandwich. Everything’s good.”
“We should probably get going, right?” Tim asks, even though he’s hoping Hawk will say no.
Hawk hands him the paperback with the sandwiches inside, then checks his watch. “Yeah. We should, if we want to make it to Staten Island in time for dinner with your family.”
“I can’t say I want to.”
“We agreed,” Hawk says. “So unless we get a really good excuse, like the interstate shutting down, we show up, we’re polite, and I’ll handle the talking.”
Tim groans, letting his head fall back. “Fine. If we have to be grown-ups.”
“I think we do.”
The car feels too hot when they climb back inside. Tim reaches for the AC before Hawk can, turning it all the way down.
“We’re going to freeze,” Hawk says, clicking his seatbelt into place.
“Just for a few minutes,” Tim promises. “It feels like my brain is being cooked.”
They merge back onto the interstate, the car slipping into the current of traffic. Tim keeps sipping his coffee, letting it linger too long on his tongue before swallowing.
A green sign rushes toward them and disappears just as fast. Staten Island: 2 hours. Bright, certain, and gone again. It feels like a lie at this time of day.
The lanes are filling up now. Cars press closer, edging into gaps that barely exist, brake lights flickering in uneven waves. Even the air outside seems heavier, the sky cut through with wires, everything tightening the farther north they go.
“Yeah, go ahead,” Hawk mutters as a car cuts in with inches to spare. “Plenty of room. Why not.”
Tim drains the last of his coffee, the straw making a loud, hollow slurp.
“Skippy,” Hawk warns.
Tim stops immediately. Nothing good comes from distracting Hawk when he’s driving. And Tim is too grateful for it. He would’ve taken the train and the ferry rather than deal with this himself. Driving is fine when the roads are wide and empty, but this? Not for him. He doesn’t even own a car, which makes the whole thing kind of a requirement.
“Of course,” Hawk says, tapping the brakes. “Left lane doing sixty-five. That’s great. Exactly what we need.”
Tim presses his lips together. Laughing won’t help, but it’s hard not to. There’s something endearing about the way Hawk gets worked up over traffic.
“Did you see that?” Hawk points at a sedan drifting across two lanes without signaling. “Pick a lane!”
Despite all the drivers who, according to Hawk, should retake their test or have their licenses revoked, they make it to Staten Island in almost surprisingly good time.
The Goethals Bridge rises out of the traffic with little warning, the road lifting into open sky. Tim shifts against the window, blinking as the light sharpens. The city spreads out below in fragments, water flat and glaring, metal and concrete catching the sun, everything edged in hard light. Staten Island comes into view ahead, low and familiar in a way that feels both immediate and far away. Rooftops, signs, the curve of the shoreline.
“Almost there,” Hawk says, reaching over to give Tim’s thigh a familiar squeeze.
Tim watches the island draw closer, sunlight flashing across the Arthur Kill below. He’s seen this a thousand times. It feels like coming home, in a way. A pull of fondness tangled up with something heavier, the weight of growing up here.
Hawk follows the directions on his phone to the hotel, guiding them down into the garage beneath it. The moment the engine cuts, the quiet settles in, and with it the realization Tim can’t push off any longer.
He’s here. Staten Island. New York.
And in less than two hours, he’s going to have dinner with his family.
The hotel room is nice in a generic sort of way. A queen-size bed sits in a wood-paneled frame that stretches outward into two built-in nightstands, all of it one continuous piece. Above it hangs a black-and-white photograph of the New York skyline, sharp, distant, impersonal.
The carpet is blue, or maybe a tired gray-blue, worn thin in places, dented where the furniture has pressed into it for years. There’s a desk, a chair, a TV, a kettle. Everything you’d expect. A wall closet stocked with spare blankets and those hangers that don’t quite come off the rail.
Tim drops his bag onto what looks like a bench. It’s made from the same paneling, flowing into the desk like the whole room was carved from a single block. One idea, shaped into everything it needed to be.
“Looks okay,” Hawk says, nodding, pushing his trolley neatly against the wall before toeing off his shoes.
“I want to nap,” Tim sighs.
Hawk turns his wrist, glancing at his watch with a small shrug. “I think you’ve got a solid half hour, if you’re quick getting ready.”
Tim reaches for Hawk’s hand, squeezing it. “If I sleep, I won’t get up again. I’m going to find some coffee. Want one?”
“You won’t sleep at all if you drink too much of it.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Tim is already heading for the door when he hears Hawk call after him, “Bring me one too, please.”
In truth, Tim just needs to move. To walk off the restless energy, the anxiety already building under his skin. Dinner tonight will be small, just Maggie, Hawk, and his parents. They already know Hawk, and Tim thinks they like him.
Still, he can almost hear his mother. Telling him to keep his hands still. Asking when he last set foot in a church.
He hasn’t. Not in ages.
Without thinking, his hand rises to his necklace, brushing over the cross, then the small golden rainbow charm beside it. Hawk’s Christmas gift from two years ago, when Tim moved in with him.
He finds a café close to the hotel and orders an Americano for Hawk and a cappuccino for himself. It doesn’t really help. Time keeps ticking by, almost like a threat, and all he can do is watch it move forward.
When he gets back to the room, Hawk has already unpacked both their bags. Tim’s pleated brown pants are laid out on the bed, wrinkled despite the fact that he ironed them yesterday, getting them ready for all the occasions this weekend that call for something nice.
“I thought you might want to wear them,” Hawk says. “I’d appreciate it. They look really cute on you.”
Tim shakes his head, smiling faintly. “You just want to get me out of them.”
“Maybe that too,” Hawk admits with a smirk. “But I want to look at you first. You kind of look like you time-traveled from the fifties in those. The high waist suits you.”
“I might need something nice to look forward to,” Tim sighs.
“It’s going to be fine, Skippy. Just wait. Maggie will be so happy to see you. And Ruby will too.”
“I don’t think Ruby likes me that much.” Tim shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee, his eyes lingering on the pants.
“She’s a baby. Why wouldn’t she like you?”
“She’s always fussy when I hold her.”
“Babies pick up on stress,” Hawk says. “She just feels that you’re uncomfortable. That’s all.”
“Great,” Tim mutters. “My own niece gets uncomfortable when I hold her. That’s how I know I don’t want to be a dad. I wouldn’t be good at it.”
“We’ve been over this,” Hawk says with a quiet sigh. “You would be a good dad. You’re a good uncle. It’s just new, holding a tiny human. You’d get used to it. Especially if it were your own.”
“I’m too sensitive.”
“Okay, I’m stopping you there.” Hawk reaches for him, steady and warm. “You’re going to work yourself up over something that isn’t even a real conversation right now. One step at a time. This is Maggie and Ruby’s weekend. We’re here to support them.”
Tim nods. Of course Hawk is right. The thought lands heavy and immediate, and he feels a flicker of guilt for turning it back on himself. This is Maggie’s weekend, and she needs them, especially when it comes to holding the line against the rest of the Laughlin family.
There’s a restaurant Tim’s parents always choose when they go out to dinner. By now, they’re friends with the owners, another Catholic couple their age. Tim went to school with their son. A bully, if he’s ever known one. Always pushing him around, always making comments. Just one of many reasons he doesn’t like the place.
When Hawk pulls into the parking lot, the first thing Tim sees is Maggie.
She looks tired. Dressed up for the occasion, while Ruby squirms in her arms, tiny fingers pointing toward a tree, completely absorbed in something only a toddler could find fascinating.
When Maggie spots them, her face lights up. She leans in, whispering something to Ruby.
“There she is,” Hawk coos as soon as they’re close enough.
Ruby giggles.
“Already charming her, I see,” Maggie says with a soft laugh, passing Ruby over.
“Hello, princess.” Hawk smiles, settling her easily. “It’s your big weekend, and you don’t even care, do you?”
More giggles.
“She loves you,” Maggie says, a little breathless. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
She hugs Tim first, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and pulling him close. She smells floral and warm, something that is simply Maggie.
“Are you okay?” Tim murmurs against her ear.
“Not really,” she whispers back.
He holds on a second longer, even if it feels a little awkward, even if he’s not sure he’s doing it right. Maggie likes hugs. She likes being held by people she loves.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” she says as she pulls back. “This would be a disaster without you.”
Tim has so much he wants to say, something comforting, something useful, but his thoughts snag the moment he spots his parents.
They look the same as always.
His mom is small, like Maggie, with a round face, warm brown eyes, and honey-colored curls that have mostly turned gray. She’s wearing her Sunday clothes, the ones Tim has seen a hundred times for church.
His father hasn’t changed much either. Not particularly tall, about Tim’s height, his hair fully gray now but still thick, a little unruly. Nice pants, dress shirt, jacket.
“There you are,” his mom says, her smile just a little too tight. Tim can’t tell if it’s nerves or if she’s still not used to Hawk.
“Hi, Mom,” Tim says, letting go of Maggie.
“Come here.” She opens her arms. “Let me hug you. I barely see you anymore.”
Tim wants to tell her he has a life in D.C., that he’s busy, but it’s only partly true. He does have a life there. A job, friends. He loves it. But he also has time to call.
He just doesn’t want to call her.
His family never really understood him. He was the weird one as a child, and he still is now. He has words for himself these days, words that help him make sense of who he is, but that hasn’t changed much for them. They still don’t quite get him.
So he lets it happen. Lets his mom hug him while he counts to ten, because that’s about the right amount of time before you pull away.
The tiredness settles into his bones, heavy and immediate, and dinner hasn’t even started. All he wants is to go home. And by home, he means home. Back to D.C., to his bed, to everything that feels familiar and easy.
“Tim?” his mother says.
“Sorry.” He shakes his head, blinking back into place.
“Always with your head in the clouds.” She sighs, shaking hers.
And that’s that.
His father shakes his hand, then claps him on the back in that awkward, practiced way. Then the attention shifts, as it always does, to Ruby in Hawk’s arms. His parents coo over her, all soft voices and smiles, while Hawk gets greeted politely, formally, like even now he’s still not quite part of the family.
Lewis was.
The thought turns in Tim’s stomach. Maggie’s idiot ex-boyfriend had a place here without question.
After a greeting that drags on too long in the parking lot, they finally head inside. The restaurant is modern, bright, with a menu that tries to cover everything for everyone, which means it’s always crowded.
They’re shown to a table, greeted by the owner, who leans into a polished Irish accent that Tim’s mother always seems to love.
Tim hates this place with a quiet, steady intensity. He doesn’t say it. He swallows it down, sits, and curls his fingers into the fabric of his pants.
“Let’s talk about the weekend,” his mom says as soon as they’ve ordered drinks.
“Can I at least get my cocktail first?” Maggie sighs.
“I thought you weren’t drinking right now?” Tim asks, surprised.
“I’m not. It’s a mocktail. But I need something to hold on to before Mom starts.”
“I can hear you just fine, Margaret,” their mother says, sharp and precise.
“Of course she can,” Maggie mutters under her breath.
Tim hides his smile behind his hand.
“Uncle Ronald and Aunt Beatrice are coming tomorrow,” his mom continues, opening an actual notebook.
“Oh, I like Auntie Bee and Uncle Ron,” Maggie says with a nod. “They’re fun.”
Their mother gives her a look. “That’s certainly one way to describe them.”
“Uncle Ronald drinks a little too much at parties,” Tim murmurs, leaning into Hawk’s side.
Hawk’s mouth curves. “I thought it was a baptism.”
Tim shrugs. “They can turn anything into a party.”
“Sounds like my kind of people.”
“And Bridget will arrive tomorrow as well,” their mom reads on.
At the mention of Bridget, Tim’s dad closes his eyes for a brief second.
“Oh no,” Maggie groans. “Not her.”
“She’s family,” their mother shoots back.
“She’s a nun,” Tim adds quietly to Hawk.
Hawk’s eyebrows lift. “Seriously?”
“Very.”
“She’s going to be in my face the whole time about being a single mom,” Maggie says, dragging a hand over her face.
“Well,” their mother begins, “all I can say is that I miss Lewis. He was such a nice young man.”
“He was a dickhead!” Maggie snaps.
“Language,” their father mutters.
“And now you’re alone with a baby,” their mother goes on. “That’s not exactly ideal, is it?”
“Seriously, Mom. Stop,” Maggie says, her voice tightening.
“I think she made the right decision,” Tim says quietly. “I didn’t like Lewis.”
“Thank you, Timmy.” Maggie reaches for his hand and squeezes it.
“Your cousin Catherine is coming with her husband and the kids,” their mother continues. “And…”
A waiter appears, apologetic, setting down their drinks. A beer for Tim’s dad, wine for his mom and for Tim, a bright mocktail for Maggie, and water for Hawk.
Hawk, Tim notices, looks faintly amused, like he’s watching a play unfold in front of him.
“And,” their mother says after a sharp inhale, “we’re going to speak with Father Lawrence tomorrow. About the baptism.”
“What is there to talk about?” Maggie asks, taking a long sip of her mocktail.
“We’ve made some suggestions for hymns,” their mother continues, “and you should decide on godparents.”
Maggie gestures to her side. “Tim and Hawk.”
“Well, Hawk can’t be one,” their mother says. “He’s not Catholic.”
“Then screw it.” Maggie shrugs. “He’s going to be one. Tim’s Catholic. That should be enough.”
“If you really only want one godparent, that’s fine,” their mother says with a small, tight sniff. “Hawk could be a Christian witness, I suppose. Hawk, are you baptized?”
Hawk sets his water down before he can take the sip he was clearly about to take. “I am. Presbyterian. But honestly, I’m not really…”
“Presbyterian is fine.” She nods, already moving on. “That should work. You can be a witness.”
“If you want to,” Maggie adds, glancing at him.
“Sure.” Hawk nods.
“So that’s settled. Tim and Hawk, then. Although, I must say…” their mother begins.
Tim lifts a hand, cutting in. “Don’t make a comment about me being gay.”
“I just don’t know if Father Lawrence…”
“He doesn’t need to…” their father tries.
Tim turns to him, sharper now. “If I’m not welcome as myself in your church…”
“Then I won’t baptize Ruby and blow the whole thing up,” Maggie finishes for him.
“Maggie, don’t be difficult.” Their mother exhales, impatient.
“Difficult? You’re being homophobic!” Maggie fires back, her voice rising.
Tim feels the urge to disappear, to fold in on himself, crawl under the table and vanish.
“You young people always throw that word around,” their mother says. “I’m not being homophobic.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” Maggie snaps, pointing at her. “Tim, do you feel welcome?”
“Not particularly,” Tim says, quiet but steady.
“Margaret, don’t point your finger at your mother like that!”
“Oh, you mean the person who pressured me into this after I said I didn’t want to baptize Ruby? Because I want my daughter to choose for herself one day?”
Tim takes a sip of his wine. It’s strong and fruity, probably Italian. For a moment, he can almost taste Sicily. A warm evening in Taormina, the Mediterranean stretching out under the sun. Hawk in a white linen shirt, his eyes as blue as the water.
If he closed his eyes, he could almost be there.
Anywhere but here.
Maggie and their mother keep going, back and forth, even as they start choosing dinner. The tension doesn’t ease until Ruby gets fussy, her small sounds cutting through the table. Conversation stalls for a moment.
Then Hawk offers to take her outside for some fresh air.
Of course he does.
Ruby loves him. And really, who wouldn’t. Tonight he’s all soft smiles and easy calm.
Dinner stretches on forever, or at least that’s how it feels to Tim. When he checks his watch, it’s barely been two hours.
Two hours of arguments. His jaw aches from clenching it, his skin prickling from the constant noise around him. And yes, to his own shame, Ruby belongs on that list too. Her wailing sets his nerves on edge every time. It makes him want to cover his ears, and the guilt that follows is just as sharp.
Back in the car, his head drops against the window with a dull thud.
“Battle number one is over,” Hawk says, settling into the driver’s seat and fastening his belt.
“I feel wounded,” Tim murmurs.
Hawk reaches over, patting his thigh. “Yeah, I know. That wasn’t exactly easy. I didn’t realize your parents could be that difficult.”
“They can be,” Tim says. “Especially when it comes to religion. It’s… a lot.”
“But you’re going to be Ruby’s godfather,” Hawk says, lighter now. “That’s kind of amazing.”
“Maggie should’ve picked someone better,” Tim mutters.
“Hey.” Hawk cuts in, firm but gentle. “Stop that, okay? You’re perfect.”
Tim exhales. “Sorry. This day just brings out the worst in me.”
“Let’s get back to the hotel,” Hawk says. “We’ll have some tea and just go to bed, okay?”
Tim nods.
There’s a tightness in his chest that feels close to tears, but he keeps it in. It isn’t even something he can clearly name, just a restless, churning feeling in his stomach.