My body had other ideas. The room tilted sideways. I sank back onto the couch with a pained hiss.
"Alright, fine." I sighed. Ran fingers through my filthy hair. "Turns out my dashing heroics have consequences. If you could just help me to the bathroom, I'll take it from there. Consider it your good deed for the year. Saving Toronto's most attractive detective from his own stubbornness."
Something in his face eased. Close enough to count as a victory. He stepped forward again, offering his arm.
"Your modesty is truly inspiring."
I gripped his forearm. Surprised by the solid warmth beneath my touch. "I save modesty for special occasions. Like funerals and tax audits."
He helped me to my feet with deliberate strength. Adjusted his stance to take my weight when I swayed. We stood close. Closer than we'd ever been. I became acutely aware of the differencesbetween us. The several centimeters he had on me in height. The breadth of his shoulders. The faint scent of coffee and warmth under the lingering traces of rain.
"Ready?"
I nodded. Not trusting myself to speak. We began our slow procession down the hallway. My arm draped over his shoulders. His palm steady at my waist. Each step sent dull throbs of discomfort through my ribs. But I was more distracted by the strange flutter in my chest that had nothing to do with my injuries. Everything to do with the deliberate way Hawley's grip supported me.
The bathroom's fluorescent light exposed every smudge of dirt. Every trace of garbage clinging to my clothes. I leaned into the sink. Tried to ignore how the mirror reflected my disheveled state back at me. Hair matted with something I didn't want to identify. Shirt stained beyond salvation.
I tried to unbutton my shirt. My fingers turned clumsy with ache. My injured wrist refusing to cooperate. Each time I tried to work a button free, a sharp throb shot up my arm. Made me hiss through clenched teeth.
"I can't..." Embarrassment colored my tone. The admission tasted bitter. I wasn't used to needing help for something so basic. So intimate.
"Let me." Hawley stepped forward quietly.
He operated with that same clinical, detached efficiency. Yet somehow it didn't diminish the strange intimacy of the moment as his hands worked my buttons free one by one. His knuckles occasionally brushed my chest. Warm through the thin fabric of my undershirt.
I studied Hawley's profile as he worked. The focused gaze. The slight furrow between his brows. This close, I could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. The tiny scar near his right eyebrow.
What did this to you.
Who was the man who could be so distant yet so attentive? Who reached out to help even now?
His palms moved down my shirt. I wondered if he'd done this before. Helped someone undress when they couldn't manage alone. Had he cared for that "partner" this way? The thought came unbidden. Surprised me with a twinge of something that felt uncomfortable.
"I can manage the rest." Pride forced the words out even as my body betrayed me when Hawley reached for my belt. I shifted my weight. A sharp sting lanced through my side. Drew a soft grunt from my lips.
Hawley raised an eyebrow. His expression clearly conveying:You were saying?
"Fine," I conceded. Leaned back into the sink. "But just so we're clear, this isn't how I typically get undressed in front of attractive men."
I'd meant it as a joke. My usual deflection. But the words hung in the steamy air between us. Hawley's hands paused for a fraction of a second before continuing their work. Unfastening my belt with efficient actions.
"Is that something you do often?" The question came carefully neutral as he helped me out of my pants.
"What, get undressed in front of men?" I laughed. Then winced at the ache it caused. "No. I've only ever undressed in front of ladies."
"Ah." Just that single syllable. Impossible to read.
The shower ran hot. Filled the small bathroom with steam that beaded on the mirror and clung to Hawley's dark hair. He helped me out of my remaining clothes. That same matter-of-fact efficiency somehow making the vulnerability easier to bear. I stood naked before him. Bruises blooming purple across my ribs. The silver chain at my neck the only thing I hadn't taken off.Feeling strangely exposed in ways that had nothing to do with my lack of clothing.
"I won't look." Hawley rolled up his sleeves and reached for the soap. Helped me into the shower. His actions remained practical and impersonal even as the situation itself felt profoundly personal.
The hot water cascaded over my shoulders. Washed away the grime and eased the throb in my muscles. Hawley's grip steadied me, firm against my upper arm. His other palm lathered soap across my back. His contact was deliberate around the bruises. Almost gentle.
"You didn't have to do this."
"Would you prefer I let you fall and crack your head open?" His breath warmed my ear as he helped me rinse.
"No, but..." I turned slightly. Met his stare through the steam. "Thank you."
