Title: The Best of Me
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)
Pairing: Donald and Timothy
Rating: NC-17 (violence, language, m/m)
Word Count: about 82,000
References/Spoilers: Primary references to Shock to the System. Includes some references from all of the movies.

Disclosure: I wish they were mine. Alas, they are not, so I'm just taking them out for a spin. The song lyrics aren't mine, either, or I could quit my day job and write fan fiction full-time. Finally, the poetry isn't mine, either. I've written some, but I'm no Elizabeth Barrett Browning, so I left the driving to her.

Summary: When Donald and Timmy are the victims escalating harassment, they must figure out who is behind the ugly actions before it's too late. Meanwhile, the ordeal brings the two lovers even closer to each other.

Author's Notes: Sweetest Day is a holiday celebrated in parts of the Midwest and Northeast US on the third Saturday of October. It was invented in 1922 by a candymaker who donated candy to orphans on that day. It's kind of similar to Valentine's Day, as it can be a day to give small gifts, candy or cards to friends/associates/loved ones, or to celebrate romantically with that special someone. I'll give you three guesses how it's used in the story...

The additional rooms and floor plan features of the house are my own invention. I don't think they contradict anything in the movies, but there has to be more to that very large, elegant home than what we're seeing!

I'm using "Senator Platt" as the name for Tim's boss, as that is the name used in the most recent movie, Ice Blues. Since it's the same actress, I'm assuming the character got married (or divorced), hence the name change?
******************************************************************************

THE BEST OF ME

by

Candy Apple

So many years gone

With love that was so wrong

I can't forget the way it used to be

And how you've changed the taste of love for me

You were my one more chance

I never thought I'd find

You were the one romance

I've always known in my mind

No one will ever touch me more

And I only hope that in return

I might have saved the best of me

For you

******************************

Don had a love-hate relationship with gift shopping for Tim. He hated shopping malls with a passion, and hated trying to pick out something for a guy who had such impeccable taste and at the same time was way too kind to be anything but politely pleased with any gift he received.

He loved Timmy, that part was easy. He loved that look in his eyes when the gift moved him, surprised him, made him happy...and making his Timmy happy was one of Don's great passions. So that's what sent him to the mall, what prompted him to joyfully fall prey to an invented greeting card holiday, and the reason he was standing with a blank expression on his face at the men's fragrance counter of a pricey, high-end department store.

Tim always smelled good, and thanks to Tim's good taste in expensive colognes and his tendency to buy them for his lover, Don always smelled good, too. It's not that Don never picked out and wore his own cologne before, but he apparently picked out cologne the way he picked out ties, which was, according to Tim's boss at least, badly. His ties and his cologne were certainly cheaper than Tim's, and his partner had the good grace to only work at changing one of those character flaws at a time.

Timmy had some complex formula for deciding which scents were right for Don, some blend of body chemistry and personality. As Don waved one tester after another under his nose, he only had a growing headache and confused sinuses. Some smelled good, some not so good, but he imagined most of them would smell wonderful on a warm, naked Tim all wrapped around him under the covers on a brisk fall night. Still, he wanted a romantic gift for the man he loved, and he was determined to find something worthy of him.

"Can I help you?"

"I hope so," he said, smiling, relieved. The young blonde woman behind the counter smiled back. "I need a Sweetest Day present for my partner. He's really good at picking out the right scents. Me, I'm not so hot at it."

"The fact you're remembering Sweetest Day is going to make you some major points right there," she said. "Tell me about your partner. What kinds of scents does he like?"

"Nice ones. I guess that's not much help."

"Does he like the lighter, citrus scents, or something heavier, more spicy?"

"Citrus? Like lemons and oranges? No, he doesn't smell like that. He always smells good, but he's not one of these guys that leaves a toxic cloud of cologne behind him."

"Citrus notes are part of some fragrances. Most of the time, they don't smell like lemons and oranges exactly. Here, sniff this one," she spritzed a cotton ball with one of the testers and handed it to him.

"Smells like what I wear. Yeah, that's it," he said, looking at the bottle.

"Then you like the citrus notes in yours. Nice choice - - it suits you."

"Timmy picked it out for me."

"But his doesn't smell like this one?"

"No. He has more than one of them. They're...woodsier, a little sweeter, maybe? Not sweet exactly..." Don knew Tim had gone to great pains to explain some of the different notes in men's colognes, but he'd listened to that about as attentively as he listened to some of Tim's political rants.

"Okay. Let's try this one." She spritzed another cotton ball.

"Oh, that's nice." He sniffed it again, trying to imagine it blending with Tim's natural scent. It was a nice olfactory image. "Is it really expensive?"

"It's one of the higher end brands, but it's so worth it. It stays on well, and it sounds like he's into tasteful, good quality scents - - and this definitely fits the bill."

"Oh, that's fine. I want it to be something he'd hesitate to buy for himself. I know he doesn't have that one. I've never seen it on the dresser, and I'd remember smelling that on him."

"I have a gift set that includes the aftershave balm and soap. It's actually a good buy, when you add up the value - - "

"I'll take it. Do you guys gift wrap here?"

"Sure. Right upstairs in customer service."

"You don't have a florist in this mall, do you? I'm kind of running late."

"No, but there's one right across the street."

"I've been there before, but they close at five," he said, checking his watch. "I'll just have to hurry," he said, digging out his credit card.

"Your partner is a very lucky man. I wish my boyfriend would put this much effort into my Christmas present! He won't even remember Sweetest Day exists."

"I'm the lucky one. I still can't figure out how I got that lucky." He opened his wallet to show her a picture of Tim. He wasn't sure why, but he was in a bragging mood.

"He's pretty hot," she said, smiling. "I don't think it's luck. I bet you make him feel special, and anybody loves that."

"We've been together about six years now. It never gets old," he said, more to Timmy's picture than to the saleswoman. "Thanks for the advice," he said, taking the small shopping bag.

"Happy Sweetest Day," she said, smiling as he hurried away from the counter.

********

Tim turned his key in the lock and pushed the door open, then picked up the groceries he'd brought with him to fix the romantic dinner for two he had planned. Don usually came up with some flowers or a card or some little gift for Sweetest Day, and Tim always tried to have something special planned for the evening. It must be love when you actually enjoy the excuse of

 a "greeting card" holiday to do something romantic for your lover.

Still smiling, he walked into the foyer and froze there. His mind could barely register what he was seeing. It was too incongruous, nonsensical. Impossible.

All the rails in the banister were broken. There were splintered rails everywhere. And spray painted obscenities and swirls of color on the once-pristine walls. He felt the bags drop from his arms and somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard them hit the floor, absently noting that the strawberries were scattered on the floor, with a broken bottle of champagne spilling its contents among them. It was as if the scattering of the two most romantic items was mocking him, mocking him in the horror of the destruction that surrounded him.

He pulled out his cell phone, but his hands were shaking so badly it clattered to the floor amidst the champagne and strawberries.

"Donald!" he shouted, knowing that wasn't very smart in case whoever had done this...thing was still in the house. Don's car wasn't in the driveway, and he wasn't due until after six. It wasn't even five yet. It was very unlikely his partner was home or in any danger.

He forced himself to walk further into the house, feeling his stomach churn with each step. Glass crunched under his shoes, and he didn't really know what he was stepping on, since it seemed everything was broken. He knew the pictures weren't on the shelves or tables anymore, but he couldn't bear to look for them, to see if they were destroyed or just in broken frames. Finding all the little things that accented their home was the result of literally years of picking up items here and there that appealed to Tim, or to both of them on the rare occasions Tim had Donald with him when he was looking at nick knacks. In one afternoon, so many of those things were shattered into countless shards and pieces.

Even the slats in the blinds on the windows were damaged in multiple places, as if someone had just hacked at them with some implement...maybe the fireplace poker that was on the floor. Donald said they'd be a bitch to clean, so maybe it's for the best... Tim found himself laughing almost insanely at that thought. He touched his own face in distress, and found his hand came back wet with a mixture of cold sweat and tears.

Not bothering to hold them back anymore, he let the tears roll down his cheeks as he approached the once-elegant staircase and started the long climb to the top, as if compelled to experience all the atrocity that had been perpetrated on the house, like a murder victim's next of kin in the morgue, staring at the grim reality of their loved one's fate. He didn't need to be married to a PI to know he should leave, call the police, call Don, not potentially destroy evidence. Still, he couldn't help following the awful trail of destruction to the second floor. All the doors to all the rooms were standing open, and objects spilled into the hall from all directions. Someone had actually done something to put a hole in the wall near the top of the stairs.

Don and he had renovated two houses now, but this was the place Tim had really been able to make into his dream house. The money from the Rutka case had helped them finish their first house, but after Watson disappeared, Tim had never felt comfortable there. Don was so willing to sell and move again, Tim always wondered if he knew more about their little dog's fate than he was telling. It was almost as if something had soured him on the house, and despite the fact he never said much about it, Tim suspected Don felt Watson's absence even more acutely than he did.

They were lucky to have accepting family and friends, Don was self-employed and the senator was completely supportive and treated them with all the respect she would any other married couple. It was easy to live in a little cocoon where hate and prejudice were kept outside the gates, but they were out there.

Neighbors around their first house had mixed reactions. No one really stopped by to welcome them, but most were polite and exchanged the occasional wave if they passed on the sidewalk or happened to be outside at the same time. They had experienced no hostility or harassment, but despite how much he liked the house and was enjoying restoring it to its full potential, he hadn't felt any sense of community there.

Then Dr. Watson disappeared one day, on a rare occasion when he let the little dog spend most of his afternoon enjoying the sunshine and fresh air and all the little things in nature dogs find to enjoy in a fenced back yard. And then, just like that, he wasn't there anymore and the gate was open. A gate Tim knew he'd closed, and that Watson couldn't open or get over on his own, despite his superior jumping skills. There were no signs of foul play, and Don searched high and low for him, and assured Tim he had no idea what happened to him. At a point, Tim chose to believe that, though he suspected his lover of protecting him, and was even more suspicious when Don was not only willing to move again, but overly indulgent of his every whim when it came to choosing where they lived and what kind of house. He didn't even argue with Tim using an inheritance from his grandmother to help pay for the house he truly wanted. Don was very independent when it came to finances, and he generally wanted no part of Tim's family money underwriting their lives.

And he'd felt safe, happy, and accepted here among nice neighbors in an upscale subdivision of professionals. He even had colleagues living not far from him. For the most part, this was an almost perfect place to live.

He pushed open the door to the bedroom, and covered his nose and mouth, unable to believe what he was seeing and smelling. That anyone could seethe with such hate as to do a thing like this.

********

Don sniffed the large bouquet of roses as he hurried up to the front door, ready to struggle for his keys. The shopping bag and flowers were left forgotten on the porch when he saw the door standing open, and spilled groceries on the floor in the foyer. Drawing his gun, he stepped inside, his heart beating faster when he took in the destruction all around him, and Tim's cell phone lying open on the floor.

It was all he could do not to scream out Tim's name, forget everything he knew about protecting himself and possibly sneaking up on the perps, but that wouldn't do either one of them any good. He quickly checked the downstairs, not allowing himself to think about the damage to their home and their belongings, or what the devastation would do to Tim, who loved this house with a passion. And Don loved it because Tim loved it, because every color, piece of furniture, and decorative accessory expressed Timmy's personality and taste, and Don could think of nothing better than to be so surrounded by his partner.

Satisfied the first floor held no immediate threats, he started carefully ascending the steps, dreading at every turn what he might find. It was easy to let go of his reaction to all the vandalism because all he really cared about now was finding Timmy and knowing he was all right. That he wasn't here when this happened.

He froze in the open door of the bedroom, a foul stench reaching his nostrils at the same time he heard a sound that held both relief and new fear. At least Tim was alive, but the soft sound of crying left Don fearful of finding him injured when he rounded the bed, relaxing his stance and holstering his gun.

Tim was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, holding the two pieces of a broken vase, looking uninjured, but heartbroken.

"Timmy, honey," Don said gently, kneeling next to him on the floor. "Hey, look at me," he said, touching Tim's hair.

"It's broken," he said, still not looking at Don. When Don looked at the vase, he understood why Tim was so upset. He'd given Tim the vase for their first anniversary. It was a very simple, clean design - - a heavy glass square - - with two abstract interlocking hearts etched into the glass. He'd known the moment he saw it that it was the perfect gift for his partner. It was simple, elegant and classy, and Tim loved it. Long after the roses Don had a florist arrange in the vase had died, the vase remained close to Tim always, usually on his night stand or on the dresser. He remembered how they'd laughed when Tim actually spilled water out of the vase onto both of them when he wanted to get a closer look at the design on it, despite the full bouquet of roses.

He put his arms around Tim, pulling him against his chest. "Are you hurt anywhere, sweetheart?" he asked.

"I found everything this way when I got home. No one was here."

"Thank God." Don hugged him tighter. "Let's get out of here. The smell's not too great."

"Someone left urine and feces on our bed. How could someone do a thing like that? Why? We haven't done anything to anyone. We're quiet. We mind our own business. Why would they do this to us?" Tim asked, looking at Don with pleading eyes. Don knew that his partner probably didn't expect an answer, that he was savvy enough about the hate and prejudice that lay just beyond the sanctuary of their home, and that the agonized questions were probably all rhetorical, but he still longed to find something to say to make it hurt less. Something wise to explain the inexplicable.

Reluctantly releasing Tim from his arms, he reached out to take the two halves of the vase.

"If you don't mind a crack or two, I'll figure out a way to glue this back together, okay?"

"It'll never hold water that way," Tim said, not quick to release the broken vase from his hands, even to Don.

"You don't usually put water in it anymore anyway, honey. I'll fix it for you. I'll fix all this for you, I promise," he added, feeling tears in his eyes for the first time. All that was truly precious to him in that house was just fine and not physically harmed. But Timmy was heartbroken, and he couldn't bear that even if he could handle all the destruction.

"I should have called the police. I tried to call you. I think I dropped the phone downstairs."

"Let me take the vase so you don't cut yourself."

Tim handed him the two pieces of the vase, and Don set them carefully on the dresser. He reached down to Tim and gave him a pull up to his feet.

"Don't leave it here."

"I won't." Don took the two heavy pieces of glass with him. Whoever broke it had to do it intentionally, because it was such a thick piece. Hitting the floor might crack it, but to split it in half, someone had to smash it on the floor. Even then, it probably gave them less of a thrill than they expected, breaking into two pieces instead of shattering.

Once they were downstairs, Don put the vase on the kitchen counter and went to close the front door. He retrieved the roses and the wrapped gift in its shopping bag off the porch, setting them on the counter with the vase. Tim had found a spot on the couch, and was sitting there staring at the cold, empty fireplace while Don called the police. He began taking pictures with his cell phone, snapping shots of all the significant areas of destruction, especially the floors, since the cops had a great knack for trampling more evidence than any civilian on his worst day.

"Donald, what are you doing?" Tim asked, looking over his shoulder to where Don was busily snapping photos.

"I want pictures before the cops get here and start trampling all over everything." He hadn't wanted to upset Tim with clicking into PI mode, but now that he'd had to explain himself anyway, he moved into the room where Tim sat and snapped pictures of all the broken items on the floor.

"Are the pictures ruined? I didn't really want to look."

"I don't think so. Looks like a lot of broken glass. I don't want to touch them until the crime lab has a chance to go over everything, but I think they'll be okay when we put them in new frames. I called Bub personally, and he said he'd come and supervise things himself. I'll ask him if he'll make sure they take it easy with walking on our stuff, or what's left of it." Don looked at Tim, sighing. "I'm going to run upstairs and take a few pictures up there, too."

"So you can work the case, too?"

"If you think I'm leaving this entirely up to the cops - - "

"No, I would have been shocked if you had. God knows you'll care more about it than they will."

"We've always gotten a fair shake from the cops, at least since I've built kind of a rapport with Bailey."

"I wasn't talking about homophobia, though that's a valid point, too. I was talking about the fact that it's just property damage - - no one died, and the cops usually have their dance card filled just dealing with homicide or rape cases."

"Can't argue with that logic. I'll be right back." He hurried upstairs, took as many pictures as he could before the doorbell rang, followed by an aggressive, pounding knock.

By the time he made it downstairs, Tim had let in Bailey and the first of the police personnel who would swarm the house analyzing the scene. Invading what little privacy or dignity they might have had left. It's hard to feel dignified when your underwear was scattered all over the bedroom floor, and your favorite flavored body oils and a few other intimate items were spilled out of overturned drawers. Still, there was a limit to how much more evidence he felt he could move without totally contaminating every part of the crime scene.

"Son of a bitch," Bailey muttered as he walked into the house. "Who'd you piss off this time, Strachey?"

"Take it easy, okay?" Don said, catching Bub's eye. The detective glanced at Tim, then looked a bit sheepish for the remark. Tim was composed and calm now - - or, at least, he'd forced himself to put on the brave front he thought was appropriate for dealing with Bailey and the cops - - but there was no disguising his puffy, red-rimmed eyes, even behind his glasses.

"Sorry. That was a lousy thing to say," he said.

"I'm married to Don, remember? I'm used to a bizarre sense of humor," Tim replied, and Don couldn't believe he was already back to being the ever-gracious host, even as upset as he was.

"So tell me what happened?"

"I was here first," Tim explained. "I was catching up on some paperwork at the office - - Saturday's a good day to do that, especially if Don's working anyway. I got home about four-thirty. The groceries in the foyer are mine. I don't exactly remember very clearly what happened, but I think I dropped everything when I saw the inside of the house."

"Oh, here's your cell phone, honey," Don said, handing it to him.

"I dropped that, too," Tim explained, taking it from Don. "I know I should have called the police right away, but I guess I was in shock. I don't remember a whole lot before I got upstairs and then there was that odor - - "

"Some asshole left shit and piss on our bed. I guess breaking up the whole fucking house wasn't good enough without shitting on it for good measure," Don said, surprised at how his anger was building and tumbling out, now that he knew Tim was okay, and he'd had time for the extent of the vandalism to really sink in from taking all those pictures. He was angry for himself, but he was mainly angry that Tim was upset, that someone had so quickly destroyed what he'd invested so much of his time and himself into creating. Into creating a beautiful, pleasing, calming home for them. "The stuff on the counter I brought in with me, so don't let your guys bag it and tag it, okay? And if you could ask them to watch where they're walking, I'd appreciate it. Most of our photos and belongings are on the floor."

"Okay, just take a couple breaths," Bailey replied. "Seriously, any thoughts on who might have done this? And don't hold out on me. I'm gonna work this case for you, but I'm not going to waste time on it if you're not going to tell me everything you know."

"I don't suspect anyone particular. I'm not in the middle of anything controversial right now." Don curled his lip a bit as Bub gave him a disbelieving look. "Just check my bank records if you don't believe me. I'm not involved in much of anything lucrative right now, let alone something someone would do this over."

"Tim, you were upstairs in which rooms?"

"Just the master bedroom. I found the vase and I kind of lost it."

"They broke a vase that had a lot of sentimental value," Don explained at Bub's blank expression. "It's on the counter. I promised Tim I'd repair it for him."

"We should dust it for prints. I'll bag it myself and bring it back to you personally when we can release it from evidence," he said, looking at the broken vase as they stood near the counter. "That's heavy glass, by the looks of it. Whoever broke it had to pick it up and smash it, which means it's a good place for prints, if there are any."

"Wouldn't they wear gloves to do something like this?" Tim asked, not looking pleased that his vase was going into evidence.

"Bub'll get the vase back to us as soon as he can, and I'll do my magic with the Krazy Glue." Don patted Tim's back. Knowing Tim didn't like having a valid observation dismissed, he added, "I'd be surprised if they find any prints. The perps would have to be nuts not to wear gloves."

"What time did you both leave this morning?"

"I left about eight-thirty. I was working - - a garden variety divorce case, following the cheating husband around. Fortunately he and his mistress aren't morning people, so as long as I'm there by ten or so, I can usually catch up with them. Tim was still sleeping when I left."

"I left about noon. I picked up lunch and went into the office, worked until about three-thirty, stopped at the store, and came home."

"So all this happened sometime between noon and about four-thirty when you got here?"

"That's right," Tim said, nodding.

"I'm going to take a walk through, and I'll tell the techs to take it easy on the items on the floors."

"We're getting out of here for tonight," Don said, surprising Tim. "I'll keep my cell on, so call me if anything develops."

"You're going to let me handle this without looking over my shoulder?" Bailey asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I've been through it, taken my own crime scene photos. I've got what I need for now, and I have a date to keep." Don smiled at the little blush that brought to Timmy's cheeks. He was even happier to see that it made his lips curve slightly into a smile.

"Probably a good idea for you to stay somewhere else for a couple nights anyhow. I'll call you later."

"We don't have anything," Tim said to Don as Bailey headed for the stairs.

"We're going to a fancy hotel where they'll provide us with the basics and robes. Add room service to that, and what else do we need?"

"Is that for me?" Tim asked, taking an interest in the gift tucked in the shopping bag sitting on the kitchen counter.

"So are these," Don said, presenting him with the roses. They hadn't quite wilted yet, but they were well overdue for water.

"They're beautiful. There must be two dozen here." He buried his face in the flowers a moment and inhaled, cradling the big bouquet with a graceful hand. Don smiled, holding up his cell phone and capturing the image in a picture.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" Don said, feeling a little catch in his throat. Tim was always beautiful, inside and out, but sometimes it just overwhelmed him a little.

"All I had for you was dinner, and the champagne and strawberries you stepped in on the floor in the foyer. I was going to do the whole thing with candles in the bathroom and the bedroom, and make it really special. Now I don't have any gift for you at all."

"Hey," Don took Tim's face in his hands. "Don't look now, but I have my gift." Tim's smile quivered a little before he pulled Don into a tight hug. "Come on," he said, stepping back. "Your roses are going to croak if we don't put them in water."

Digging around in the cabinets amidst the mess, he pulled out a plastic pitcher, filled it with water, and stuck the roses in it to keep them fresh while they traveled to the hotel.

********

The clerk at the front desk of the hotel had taken pity on them and sent housekeeping up with a vase, so Tim's roses didn't have to spend the night in the plastic pitcher. He supposed they were a slightly pathetic looking pair when they arrived in the upscale hotel with their plastic pitcher of roses, no luggage, bloodshot eyes, and dour expressions. Refugees from a war zone.

They didn't really talk much about the destruction at the house on the way there. Don was afraid of giving vent to the anger that was bubbling under the surface, and how horribly it would erupt if he spent much time talking or even thinking about it too much. It wasn't the house or the possessions or even the hate that lurked behind the destruction. Whoever did this had hurt Tim so deeply, upset him so profoundly, and taken from him something that he loved. That was where Don's anger lay, and the last thing he wanted to do was take it out on Tim himself.

Tim had spent an inordinate amount of time arranging and rearranging the roses in their new vase. He was compulsively shuffling them around, not allowing a single flower to fall where it wanted. They all were going to conform to his wishes, or they were going to suffer the consequences. Someone had destroyed the security of his home and the orderliness of his existence and, somehow, putting the bouquet in the order he wanted it was apparently going to help him regain a little of that control.

"If I'd known I'd have to share you with those roses all night, I wouldn't have bought them," Don joked, hoping it would snap Tim out of his unending flower arranging.

"Sorry. I guess they look fine, don't they?" he said, withdrawing his hands, looking as if keeping them off the flowers was a physical effort.

"Don't be sorry, sweetheart. Just come over here and keep me company for a while." He patted the bedspread next to where he had stretched out in his underwear. "By the way, you're overdressed."

"It would appear that way, wouldn't it?" Tim was trying for humor, and almost making it. He toed off his shoes, and stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers. He took off his glasses and climbed onto the bed and ducked under the arm Don raised to put around him. Don closed his eyes for a few minutes and just soaked up the feeling of Tim's warm body against him, Tim's head on his shoulder, his dark hair so close that it tickled Don's nose when he turned his head toward him.

"Everything's going to be okay, I promise," Don said, rubbing Tim's shoulder, kissing the top of his head. "We've got insurance, and we'll get everything fixed up so you'll never know it happened."

"I'll always know it happened," Tim said. There was no trace of argument in his tone, just sad resolution. "Some things you can't fix with insurance."

"You know, we don't need that vase to remind us of our first anniversary. I remember every detail of that night."

"You do?"

"I do." Don smiled, tilting Tim's face up for a kiss. "We went out for dinner, ate chateaubriand and toasted each other with champagne. I remember you had on a blue shirt that brought out the color of your eyes, because I couldn't stop looking into them. We went dancing, and then we went home, took this nice, long bath together where you wouldn't let me do anything because you said we were building anticipation."

"You remember all that?"

"Don't you?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"You didn't think I would?" Don chuckled, giving Tim a little squeeze so he'd relax and take the challenge as the good-natured teasing it was. "I remember going into the bedroom in our towels, and you had candles everywhere. I looked at you in that candlelight, and all over again, I couldn't believe you were mine. Sometimes, I still can't. So I took you by the hands and repeated my vows, and made you cry. You repeated your vows, and we made love off and on all night. I remember how good you smelled and how right your body felt under me when I was inside you. A couple hours later, it felt just as good when you were inside me. I know we slept a little, but I remember feeling like I couldn't get enough of you."

"You woke me up in a really good way, though."

"You remember that part, huh?"

"You think I'd forget something like that? Your tongue should be registered as a lethal weapon."

"I remember holding your beautiful naked body in my arms and loving you so much I couldn't think of enough good things to do to you to show you." Don smiled at Tim. "I'll glue the vase back together, but I don't need it to remember anything about that night, or the first year we were married, or all the other nights after that. Nobody can break that or take that away from us."

"I know you're right." Don could feel Tim's breath hitching as he struggled to hold in tears.

"Let it go, honey. It's okay." While he let Tim have the good cry he seemed to need, he kept talking. "Last time, I kind of dumped it all on you, picking everything out - - for both houses. This time, we'll do it together. Don't be scared - - I'll still give you the final vote," he hastened to add, and that earned him a watery laugh. "I'll actually listen to you when you're talking about paint colors and window trimmings, and we'll spend Saturday in Home Depot like any other couple instead of me working and you picking out light fixtures by yourself. We'll do some of the work we can do ourselves, together." He curled his fingers around Tim's hand where it rested on his chest. "It won't be the same, but we'll make it better. And if you don't want to live there anymore, we'll put it on the market and move."

"You'd move again if I wanted to?"

"I'd give my life for you. Moving doesn't seem like such a big deal by comparison."

"We'd probably lose money."

"Yeah, and that would be rough for me to get used to after the opulence of my privileged past."

"I'm sorry I overreacted like this." Tim reached up to wipe at his eyes. Don caught his hand and leaned down, kissing the tears away instead.

"Think we should order some room service? I'm starved."

"I could eat," Tim agreed, seeming much more relaxed and content now. Mission accomplished, Don thought to himself, smiling.

With room service ordered, they shared a shower, doing their best to keep to the task of washing each other to avoid being caught in the middle of something interesting when dinner arrived. Don kept his part of the resolution until they were toweling off. Watching Tim standing there, arms up to dry off his hair, allowing that beautiful, semi-erect cock to go untended was just too much. He knelt in front of his lover and took him in his mouth, his hands caressing Tim's hips gently, straying around to cup his ass.

Tim's hand was on his head, stroking his hair, his other hand on Don's shoulder. He was moaning, close to coming. His Timmy wasn't a screamer, but the final gasps and little sounds of pleasure he made when he came were the sexiest things Don had ever heard. He stood and gathered his lover in his arms, disappointed when he heard the inevitable sharp knock of room service.

"If you take in dinner, I'll make it up to you," Tim said, kissing him.

"If we leave it covered, it'll stay warm for a while."

"Are we still talking about the food?" Tim joked, and Don shot him a grin as he put on his robe and went to the door.

Once the tray had been left and they were alone again, the food waited under its lids while Don succumbed to the sight of a naked Tim waiting for him on the freshly turned back bed. Taking his lover in his arms, he lingered over kissing him, not willing to give up the feeling of those soft lips on his, or seeing the love and passion in those deep blue eyes framed by long, dark lashes.

Rolling them over, Tim kissed his way down Don's chest, lovingly making his way down to his erection, engulfing it in his mouth as Don's body arched on the bed, and he let out a cry of pleasure, gripping the sheets, since he feared if he slid his hand into Tim's hair, he'd be grabbing it a little too hard. They'd been busy the last few days with long hours and too many separate commitments, so they'd shared more cuddling than sex when they finally did fall into bed at night. Or more accurately, when Don crawled in next to Tim at some ungodly hour and Tim had to be up before seven.

All that pent up sexual energy was there to let loose, and Don relished the feeling of Tim's talented mouth on him, his lover's hands caressing his body at the same time. The only thing that would have rivaled this was being inside Tim, but it was hard to decide what was better. It was all Tim, and it was all wonderful. He came with a shout of Timmy's name, feeling deliciously spent and finally relaxed, the stress of the last few days, and more specifically, the last few hours, melting into nothing but a memory as Tim moved up beside him and gathered him in his arms, kissing and cuddling him in the sleepy afterglow.

"The food's probably getting cold," Don said, not wanting to move.

"It won't be that much colder ten minutes from now," Tim said softly, his arms wrapping Don up nice and tight against him, his lips leaving little kisses on Don's forehead, on his cheek. "I love you, baby," he whispered.

"I love you, too," Don replied, lying there in Tim's arms, savoring that safe, loved feeling he always had when Tim held him like this. Like nothing bad could touch him. It was true that Tim looked to Don to be his protector, to take care of him in the face of any great threat to their safety. But Don drew so much of his strength from moments like these, from this man, that he could never begin to explain it or put it into words.

After a little time to rest and cuddle, they got up and slipped back into their robes. Tim poured the champagne they ordered while Don uncovered the dinners and lit the candles he'd requested from room service. Sitting on either side of the small table, they clinked their glasses together.

"To the sweetest thing that ever happened to me," Tim began. "Meeting you."

"Meeting you was great, don't get me wrong," Don said. "The fact you agreed to go out with me was even better, so I'll drink to that," he added, grinning.

Once they'd toasted and tried the first of the champagne, Don began carving the steak in front of him. It was a little on the cool side of room temperature, but he was starving and it was tender and tasted good.

"I've been thinking about something," Tim said, poking at his food with his fork. "Something about the house."

"What?" Don frowned, sorry that all the lovemaking and romance hadn't distracted Tim a little more effectively.

"When you took the pictures, did you take pictures of the walls...what was written on them?"

"Yeah, I was in every room."

"Did you see the word 'faggot' anywhere?"

"Don't do this to yourself, sweetheart."

"No, I'm asking you for a reason."

"I don't think so." Don paused, looking at Tim, who raised his eyebrows a bit. "Why go to the trouble of breaking up a gay couple's house and spray painting the walls with graffiti if you're not going to make an issue of their orientation?"

"Exactly," Tim said, sighing. "I know there were all kinds of obscenities on the walls, but no gay slurs. Donald, think about it. If the cops treat this like a gay hate crime, or harassment, they're probably missing the mark. It's either personal at one of us, or it's something entirely different, but it's not a gay hate crime if you don't even bother to let the gay victims know why they're being targeted. Or punished. Or whatever people like that think they're accomplishing."

"Maybe they're assuming we'll know that's why," Don said, shrugging.

"People who do things like that aren't going to assume we know anything - - they're going to want to make the point. They leave excrement on our bed but they don't mention that we're gay?"

"You think it's just vandalism? Robbery and vandalism? I couldn't tell if anything was missing, the house was so trashed."

"Well, that would be kind of a stroke of luck in the bad guys' favor, wouldn't it?" Tim asked.

"More time to fence the goods while the owners try to figure out if anything's even missing."

"They don't take the big things. They smashed the screens on the TV's, they didn't take them."

"But why the destruction? To do all they did, they had to have worked most of the time you were gone," Don said.

"Not if there are more than one of them. A large gang."

"In broad daylight, a large gang of...what? Munchkins? Gremlins someone fed after midnight? How could a large gang of presumably good-sized kids or adults just break into the house and trash it in the middle of a Saturday afternoon?"

"I don't know all that, but what I do know is that any gay hate crime I've ever heard of was easily identifiable as just that."

"You don't swear as much as I do, as a rule. You don't use a lot of foul language."

"No, I suppose not. I was raised not to, and they kind of frowned on you telling people to 'fuck off' in the seminary. What's your point?"

"Maybe the person writing the obscenities wasn't that used to using them. Doesn't mean they still don't hate gays."

"Most people know at least one or two gay slurs even if they don't know or use the more obscene ones - - faggot, queer, fairy, the usuals."

"I suppose."

"If it were religiously driven gay hate, there'd be something in there about Hell and sinning, about perversion and evil. But there isn't. It doesn't add up as a hate crime." Tim laid down his fork. "Or maybe I just don't want to think that's what it is."

"No, I think you're onto something." Don went to his discarded clothes and pulled out his cell phone. He looked up the pictures and started scrolling through them.

"Can I see them? I only saw the downstairs and our room."

"Do you really want to?"

"I feel like I need to. It's our home, Don. I want to see what happened to it."

"Okay." Don handed him the phone, and then scooted his chair over so he could sit with him while he looked through the pictures.

"My God, it's every part of every room. There's so much anger in this, so much hate. It's not necessarily gay hate, but it's hate of some kind."

"Give me the phone back, honey. This isn't doing any good."

"I appreciate that you want to protect me, but I need to know what happened." He handed Don his phone back. Then he said, "Just the way I need to know what really happened to Watson."

"What?" Don felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. Maybe it had been foolish to think that a man as intelligent - - no, brilliant - - as Tim wouldn't figure out that Watson didn't just evaporate, and that Don knew more than he was telling. But it had been years since their little dog disappeared, and Tim bringing it up now threw him a real curve ball.

"You know what happened to Watson, don't you?"

"Timmy, don't do this. If you ask me, you know I won't lie to you, and there's no point in dredging this up tonight."

"You lied to me then."

"You were devastated! Okay, I lied. What was the point of you knowing the truth? Would it have made you feel better to know something awful happened rather than to think maybe he wandered off and was picked up by some other family who kept him?"

"With his collar and tags on? I believed what I wanted to believe, and what you wanted me to believe because you didn't want me to be hurt any more than I already was."

"Why now? Don't we have enough on our plate without bringing this up now?"

"What happened to him?" Tim asked, his voice steady and level.

"I honestly don't know, and that's the truth. I know that he's dead, and the cause of death, but I don't know how it happened, or if it was anything more than just a...dog thing."

"A dog thing?" Tim asked, drawing his brows together in confusion.

"I found him the night after he disappeared. He was in a vacant lot not far from the house." Don hated doing this to Tim, even this long after the fact. He could see Tim's eyes filling, but he'd asked for the truth, and Don wasn't about to lie to him again. It had always bothered him that he'd lied at all. It was the only thing he'd ever intentionally lied to Tim about in their entire marriage.

"How did he die?"

"It looked like a larger dog got him. I took him to a veterinary hospital, just to make sure. I wanted to know if he'd been killed by anything else - - like a weapon."

"Was he alive when you found him?" Tim asked, lifting his glasses to wipe away a couple tears. Still, he was composed. And determined.

"No."

"Do you think he suffered a lot? That he was out there dying all the time we were looking for him?"

"The vet said his neck was broken, and her best guess was that he'd been dead most of the time he was missing. You know how little dogs are. They don't get it that they shouldn't take on bigger dogs. They yap and bark and stand their ground. There were some big dogs in that neighborhood. It could have been any one of them. Or a stray."

"Or fighting dogs," Tim added quietly. "Sometimes they use little dogs like Watson for bait. To teach the dogs to have a taste for...blood and killing," Tim concluded, barely able to get the awful words out.

"Don't do that to yourself, honey. We don't know it was anything more than a confrontation with a big dog that went bad."

"Why didn't you tell me the truth?"

"I couldn't do it. When I came home that night, you were so worried, and I couldn't confirm all your worst fears. I couldn't hurt you that way. I didn't see a point in it. So I just let you go on thinking he was a lost dog."

"I looked for him around every corner of the city. Whenever I was walking down the street, or on my way to work...I was always looking for him and he was always dead."

"I'm sorry," Don said, turning his chair so he could sit close in front of Tim. "I did it because I love you, and I realize now I didn't do you any favors by prolonging it." He took Tim's hands in his. "Can you forgive me?"

"Of course, I forgive you," Tim said readily, freeing one hand to touch Don's face. Don turned into the touch, kissing Tim's palm, leaning into his hand.

"I swear, it's the only time I've ever lied to you in our marriage."

"I believe you," Tim said, smiling. "One lie to protect my feelings doesn't negate our whole life together and all the trust I have in you. I know why you did it, and while I wish you'd told me the truth, I can't be angry at you for not having the heart to do it."

"I promise you, I'll never keep something like that from you again." Don kissed both Tim's hands, then leaned forward to kiss him.

"I had a feeling when you were so willing to move after we'd sunk all that money into the renovation...I figured something was going on that I didn't know about. I guess I should share some of the responsibility because I didn't press you. Truthfully, I didn't want to know, and it was easier to hide behind whatever secret you were keeping than to hear the truth." Tim swallowed. "You know I still remember what it was like to hold him and play with him, the way he'd go nuts when one of us got home from work... I miss that. I still miss him."

"I miss him, too. Maybe you're changing your mind about wanting another dog?" Don asked, smiling, still holding onto Tim's hands. Despite Don's efforts in taking Tim to a couple adopt-a-dog weekends put on by the local shelters shortly after losing Watson, he'd never succeeded in convincing Tim that another dog was the answer to the emptiness he felt from the loss of their pet.

"Another dog isn't going to be Watson," Tim said, a couple more tears rolling down his cheeks. "I know he was a dog, a pet, and pets die and you have to move on. I just...another dog would just remind me all the time what happened to Watson."

"Maybe at first, but maybe eventually, it wouldn't be that way." Don brushed the tears of Tim's cheeks. "I'm so sorry."

"You loved him, too. It must have been hard for you to not say anything, to keep that inside."

"Yeah, I cried like a baby when I found him," Don admitted, smiling sadly. "I don't know if it was for him, for me, or because I knew how bad you'd feel when you found out."

"What did you do with him?"

"I left him with the vet. I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want to bury him in the yard because you didn't know about it, and I still wasn't thinking too clearly. I sat in the exam room there and held him for about a half hour before I left."

"You did the best you could with all of it, what you thought was right at the time." Tim paused. "It probably would have been easier on both of us to face it together. You had to hold it all inside when you got home, and I had to make peace with the fact he was probably dead and I wasn't going to know how he died...just that he was gone."

"Part of me was worried it was some pissed off client that had come back after me and did something to Watson to get back at me. You had already been hurt because of the Rutka case. I know it was wrong to keep it from you, but I didn't want you to ever feel that being married to me wasn't worth the risks."

"There's nothing that could happen to me that would make me feel that way," Tim said with a certainty that made Don believe what he said, and that Timmy truly meant he'd endure anything to stay by Don's side for a lifetime. "Do you think it was just a natural thing...that the gate wasn't latched tightly as I thought, that he got out and confronted the wrong big dog?"

"I don't know, Timmy. You were always pretty careful about the gate if Watson was outside, but latches sometimes don't catch. Watson was a cute little guy...kids liked him. Maybe one of the neighborhood kids opened it to play with him, or someone did it on purpose...that's part of why I didn't say anything, because we were never going to know the whole truth anyway."

"Something tells me you didn't accept it that easily."

"No, I didn't. I scouted around the neighborhood a bit, looking at houses that had dogs in their yards, stopping anywhere I heard barking. They all had good fences or pens. Most of the dogs were more goofy big dogs than killers. Not one snapped at me when I went up to the fences or approached them. But dogs are different sometimes when they're facing off with another dog. I just couldn't find a likely suspect, and I seriously doubted the owners were going to admit it."

"It was the only time I left him outside so long, but it was such a nice day, and he spent so many hours cooped up in the house when we weren't home... He was having fun, running around, any time I checked on him."

"He was in a fenced yard having a good time just being a dog. You didn't do anything wrong, sweetheart."

"I guess I feel like the overprotective parent that lets his guard down just one time, and regrets it forever."

"If someone else let him out, that's not your fault. If the latch wasn't fastened tightly, that wasn't your fault, either. It would be a mistake, or maybe it was me. Maybe I went out of the yard when I was cleaning up back there and didn't fasten it properly. Or some kid wanted to play with Watson and opened it and he took off. Or it was someone playing a mean joke on us by letting our dog out and he got himself into trouble. There are still more questions that answers. Maybe I didn't tell you because all there was to tell was that Watson was dead and I had no fucking clue why or how."

"I just don't want to think it was intentional," Tim admitted.

"I honestly think the most criminal thing involved was someone leaving his body in that lot instead of bringing him back to us, or not calling animal control. If he was in another yard when it happened, they could have left him in the vacant lot to avoid blame for their own dog's actions, or having their dog put down."

"I can't say I feel better, exactly, but at least I know as much as you do. I suppose I've known for a long time that he didn't end up with some other nice family. If they were that nice, they would have returned him to the address on his tag," Tim said, using his napkin to wipe his eyes and nose. "I knew he was gone. It just didn't seem as real when I didn't know for sure."

"That's what I was hoping for, that it would be easier somehow if you just didn't know."

"It's been years," Tim said, shaking his head. "You'd think it wouldn't bother me anymore."

"We both loved him, honey. I still remember him, think about him sometimes."

Tim was quiet a few moments, then he took another drink of his champagne, looking as if he'd made the decision to stuff his lingering sadness over Watson's demise back in its box, wherever he hid painful things like that, deep inside his psyche.

"How long are you going to make me wait to open my present?"

"It's yours anytime," Don said, smiling, glad to shift their focus onto something pleasant. He retrieved the shopping bag from where he'd left it in one of the room's overstuffed chairs and delivered it to Tim.

"I'm really sorry I didn't get you something."

"If plans hadn't changed, you'd have put together one of those amazing, romantic evenings you're so good at. I'll take an IOU."

Tim took the wrapped package out of the bag, and set it on his lap, tearing into the paper. The box that held the expensive fragrance gift set had a black velvet-like cover with gold lettering. It looked as rich and elegant as the cologne inside smelled.

"Donald, this is beautiful stuff...really, really nice." He carefully lifted the lid and ran his fingertips over the bottles secured inside. "This is very expensive. It's too much - - "

"I wanted to spoil you a little. I stood you up at that reception last week, missed our movie night, and generally haven't seen you in the light for days," he added, referring to the fact that he'd been most often seeing Timmy when he crawled into bed with him at two in the morning.           

"Two dozen roses and this? That's more than a little."

"You're worth it," Don said simply, smiling. He was seeing that look in Tim's eyes that he'd hoped for - - the one when he was deeply moved by the meaning behind the gift, and equally excited by the item itself.

"Thank you," Tim said, setting the gift aside to hug and kiss his lover. "You didn't have to get me something so expensive. I know how much you love me." He took out the bottle of cologne and sprayed a light mist of it at the base of his throat, then waved the bottle under his nose. "Oh, my God, that smells better than I remember," he said with a big grin. He held the bottle toward Don.

"Just a second. I'd rather smell it on you than in the bottle." Don went to the stereo system in the room and tinkered with it a while until he found some slow, instrumental music that would do in a pinch for dancing. "Dance with me," he said, extending his hand toward Tim, who set the cologne aside and happily took Don's hand, moving into his arms. As they swayed to the music, holding each other close, Don said, "You smell incredible."

"Thank you. It was a gift from the love of my life," he quipped, smiling.

"I said you smell incredible. All I could think of when I smelled it in the store was how much better it was going to smell on you." Don had to smile at the little flush of color in Tim's cheeks. He kissed one, pulling Tim even closer.

********

Tim stirred and opened his eyes. It took him a moment to realize where he was, for all the ugly reality of the previous day to flood back in with a vengeance. He could sense Don's body next to his, even before he looked at him. That brought a smile to his face. Such an awful day and such a beautiful night. Making love before dinner, slow dancing in robes and bare feet, lying in bed letting the hours go by just kissing, holding each other, making love when the spirit moved them.

He shifted carefully onto his side so he could watch Don in a rare moment of complete stillness. No one ever looked at him quite the way his Donald did, and he knew that no one had ever, or ever would, love him that much. Don was such a surprise, so unexpectedly wonderful in so many ways. He was tough, brave, ex-military, able to take care of himself in a dangerous situation...and more than able to take care of Tim and protect him. His strength and his bravery turned Tim on in ways he couldn't even count. But he'd never expected to find such a gentle, caring, sensitive soul inside that package. He didn't expect to find the strong, brave, heroic type that starred in his fantasies who would also bring him flowers for no reason, slow dance with him, romance him, and touch him with such gentleness. Donald was one in a million, and he was Tim's.

Warmed by that thought, Tim eased closer, resting his head on Don's pillow, so close that Don's breath was warm against his face. Life hadn't always been kind to his partner, and that bothered Tim. Don had such a kind heart, and when he loved, he loved with all he was worth, with joy and generosity and enthusiasm. He deserved the best, and he was glad Don thought Tim Callahan was just that.

While he was pondering all these deep thoughts, two crystal blue eyes opened and held his gaze, the broad smile he loved so much spreading over Don's face.

"Good morning, beautiful," Don said, only having to pucker his lips to reach Tim's. "Penny for your thoughts. You were concentrating pretty hard when I woke up."

"I was just enjoying looking at you."

"I need a shave," he joked, rubbing at his jaw. "Shower would probably be good, too," he added, sniffing his own armpit.

Yes, that's my Donald...and how I love him.

"After we figure out what happened with the house, let's go on a second honeymoon." Tim slid his arms around Don, thinking he smelled just fine and liking the contrast between the softness of his lips and the roughness of whisker stubble. He loved everything about their life together, but their daily routines tended to leave them with way too little time to just lie around like this, cuddling and kissing and enjoying each other. Sometimes it all went by so fast that Tim wanted to stop it, make it slow down, so life wouldn't go by too quickly.

"You're right. We should. Where do you want to go, sweetheart?"

"Somewhere tropical, where we can be alone, stay in some resort where we have total privacy."

"Privacy, seclusion, beaches, water, making love in the sunshine, maybe under the stars at night...I could deal with that."

"We should go home, take a look at the damage if the cops are done with it as a crime scene."

"You feel up to going back there today?" Don asked, stroking Tim's face with the backs of his fingers.

"No, but I think we should. It's our home, and we need to face up to it. And you probably should look it over again, when we're both calmer and less emotional, if you're going to work on the case, too."

"You're right, I should. But you don't have to."

"I want to be with you. I know it upset you more than you're letting on, and there's no reason for you to face it alone. This is part of the 'worse' category of the 'for better or for worse' vow. It doesn't say 'for better and for not-so-hot.'"

"No, that it doesn't," Don agreed, laughing. "Okay. I'll call Bailey and find out what's going on, and then we'll go over to the house and have a look around. What time is it, anyway?"

"Nine."

"We need to start setting aside part of our Sundays for this again."

"The first year we were married, we were never out of bed before about noon on Sunday."

"Does that mean we're old married people now?" Don asked, sitting up in bed and reaching for the phone on the night stand.

"Well, not old. Maybe established," Tim corrected, sitting up and staying close to Don while he dialed the number.

"Morning, Bub," Don said into the receiver. "What'd you find? Tim's with me, so I'm putting you on speaker," he said, hitting the right button.

"The lab's got a couple boxes of bagged items to process. The only upside of our perp leaving his calling card in the bedroom was that we have a whole slew of DNA evidence to work with. Of course, the lab's backed up all the time, so that's not an immediate fix."

"Tim and I were talking over the graffiti, and unless we missed something, there were no gay slurs anywhere. Kind of makes it an odd gay hate crime, doesn't it?"

"Lots of four-letter words and nonsense, but you're right, nothing specifically referring to homosexuality. I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing, since it's a safe bet whoever did it still doesn't like you too much."

"Maybe it's not personal," Tim spoke up. "Are there any other cases like this?"

"I've got a couple guys going through recent cases to see if there's anything similar. We have vandalism complaints fairly regularly, but this is vandalism on steroids. We usually get this kind of damage in home invasion situations, when the owners are home."

"Did anyone in the neighborhood see anything?" Don asked.

"The neighbors right around you - - on either side, directly behind, and across the street, weren't home most of the day. The neighbor across the street and one house on the left - -"

"The Sheridans?" Tim asked.

"Yeah. They were home, and Mrs. Sheridan said she saw a car she didn't recognize cruising by a few times. It was a black Dodge Charger - - one of the new ones. She said it had tinted glass, so she couldn't see anyone inside, but it wasn't one of the cars she recognizes from around there."

"Doesn't ring any bells with us, either," Don said, after getting a confirming head shake from Tim. "It didn't stop at our place, though?"

"No. You know they had to walk there, probably between the houses."

"What about all the fences?" Tim asked.

"If they're young, physically fit, they could probably climb a couple fences," Bub replied. "The house was empty a little more than four hours, so we really don't need to have a big gang of vandals. They had plenty of time. Of course, that begs the question what their motive was to work that hard, that long, at trashing a house for no apparent reason other than malicious mischief."

"Maybe that's all it is. When I was growing up, I knew a few losers who would have probably done something like that for the hell of it, if they weren't too lazy to do it," Don said.

"Tim, you're in politics. Anything there that could be a motive? Ticked off any conservatives lately?"

"I think the Senator would be more of a target that I would be. It might be my words that tick them off, but she's the one saying them."

"How about neighborhood teenagers? Any run-ins with them?"

"There aren't a lot of kids right around us," Don replied. "The few that are in the immediate area, we haven't had much contact with. The kid across the street mows a bunch of lawns in the neighborhood, including ours. But there's no dispute there. He's a good kid, we pay him, and as long as he doesn't run over any of Tim's plants, there's no tension there." Don smiled as Tim whacked him with a pillow.

"Is that the Jensen kid?" Bailey asked.

"Yes, Ryan," Tim responded.

"Okay. Overall, how's your neighborhood when it comes to accepting your relationship? We didn't run into any overt hostility during the interviews, but how do you feel about your neighbors and their reaction to you two as a couple?"

"Everyone there has been very nice to us," Don said. "Actually, they're a lot friendlier than our last neighborhood. No one there was hostile, but they weren't exactly dropping off baked goods and welcoming us to the neighborhood, either."

"These folks did?"

"Actually, yes, a couple people did," Tim said. "The Sheridans and the Jensens both invite us to their neighborhood barbecues in the summer, and when we're there, the majority of the other neighbors are very friendly."

"Some weren't?"

"I had to have a little conversation with one asshole, but that's it," Don said.

"What kind of conversation?"

"He was making some rude remarks to Tim at one of the barbecues. It was a potluck, and Timmy makes the best pasta salad on Earth," he explained, shooting a little grin at Tim. "A couple of the women were asking him for the recipe, and they were talking about whatever it is he puts in it that makes it so good, and this jerk made some remark about the ladies' recipe club or something. I overheard it - - I was a few feet away talking to someone else. I let the first comment go. Sometimes people's humor is just stupid and politically incorrect, and they don't mean anything by it. He kept at it. They laughed it off the first time, too, and then he said something to Tim about how he always pegged him as the little woman of the pair and made some remark about how he walked."

"He said I was 'swishy'," Tim clarified, irritated.

"You're not swishy," Don said, pausing to pacify his partner, whose feathers were still ruffled by the whole encounter. He kissed Tim's cheek. "I told him to knock it off, " he said, returning to the conversation with Bub. "We went back and forth verbally a few more times, and Stan Jensen, the host, told him to leave. His name is Brian Fellows, and he lives two houses down from us, on our side of the street. I think he's just a beer-guzzling bigoted asshole with a big mouth."

"You're sure he wouldn't hold a grudge over that incident?"

"Sure, he might. I ran a background check on him after that, and he doesn't have a criminal record. He's ex-military, football coach at one of the high schools. Big, muscle-bound jerk with a buzz cut. If he hadn't also been physically intimidating toward Tim, I'd have let it go, but he was too much in his face for my tastes, and he was doing it purposely to make him uneasy."

"Any troubles with him since then?" Bailey asked, the sound of papers shuffling on his desk.

"A couple looks that would kill, but fortunately, we don't see each other that much. It's not some ongoing vendetta. We don't wave at each other or neighbor, but we don't seek each other out for fights, either. That was back in July," Don added.

"Not so far fetched the coach might round up a few of his boys and decide to teach you a lesson, or try to get you out of the neighborhood, since he obviously has issues with gays. Summertime wouldn't be the best time to rally the troops, but now that we're into October and football season, who knows? I know one of my guys talked to someone at that address, but it might have been Mrs. Fellows. Yeah, that's who it was," he said, obviously locating the notes. "Just said she didn't see or hear anything unusual. She was the only one home. I think I'll drop by when the man of the house is in."

"I'd like to have a go at that jerk myself," Don said.

"Leave him to me. No point in you going down there and having him say something snippy about your boyfriend and then you end up in jail for kicking his ass on his own property."

"He's right, Donald," Tim agreed. "You already defended my honor with this guy once. You don't need to start something up again."

"Okay, I'll steer clear of him. Unless I find out he's the one who did this."

"Then you're still going to steer clear of him. If he did this, I'll deal with him."

"I'm still going to work this case."

"I'd expect nothing different. Look, I'll share any information we have with you, but you have to promise to let me handle confrontations with suspects. You're the homeowner in this case, and you're emotionally involved, and it would be understandable that you'd want to inflict a little street justice on whoever did this. But that's not how it's gonna work if we're gonna work together. Is that clear?"

"You made your point. Both of you," he added, sparing a moment to give Tim a chaste little kiss on the lips.

"I can get you the name of a good cleaning service," Bub offered.

"Thanks. We're going to evaluate things today and figure out how much of it we can tackle ourselves. We need to salvage what we can of our stuff before we have a service come in and start scrubbing and bagging things. What about Timmy's vase? I'd like to have that back." Don felt Tim link their arms and rest his head on Don's shoulder.

"I'll check with the lab. If they're done with it, I'll drop it by later."

"Thanks. It means a lot to us, so I want to get it back before it gets chipped or broken any more than it already is."

********

Tim couldn't believe how normal the house looked from the outside as they pulled into the driveway. They'd picked up some extra cleaning supplies and a few boxes of trash bags, and brought Tim's roses and the meager assortment of items they'd had at the hotel. For now, just sifting the salvageable from the destroyed would take most of their efforts.

Don put the key in the lock and turned it, opening the door. He was surprised that the spilled groceries, including the champagne and the mashed strawberries, had been cleared away and the foyer floor was dry and clean.

"I expected to step in last night's groceries," he said, frowning. "Someone's here." Don pulled his gun and stepped in front of Tim. A moment later, Kenny walked out into view. Don let out a sigh of relief and put his gun away. "How did you get in?"

"Your spare key. I brought some case files over for you last night and the cops were here. Bailey told me what happened. I wanted to help so I came back this morning and got started," he said shrugging. "They wanted to help, too," he added, as an older couple emerged from the family room, dressed in jeans and old shirts, wearing rubber gloves. It was their neighbors, the Sheridans.

"We're so sorry about what happened," Margaret Sheridan said, approaching Tim and hugging him. Don shook hands with Mike Sheridan, finding he had a lump in his throat at seeing their neighbors there wading through the destruction with them. The hug had broken Tim's resolve, and a couple tears escaped while she patted his back. "We'll get it cleaned up, honey. It's just a big mess."

"Thank you," Don said to Mike, who just nodded.

"We got started in the family room - - your friend said that's where you spend most of your time. I'll show you where we're putting the salvageable stuff," she said, linking her arm through Tim's and leading him into the other room.

"Margaret never forgot the way Tim was there for her after David died," he said to Don, referring to their son who had been killed in a motorcycle accident a year earlier. Don remembered going with Tim to the house, delivering a deli tray to the family, and going to the funeral a couple days later. "She said he often stopped by to visit with her, even took her out to dinner and a movie when I was out of town on business. My schedule is pretty demanding...I know she was alone a lot when she probably shouldn't have been."

"Tim's pretty amazing that way," Don said affectionately. "He's got a big heart. I know this means everything to him - - that friends came forward to help. It means a lot to me, too. Just not stepping in rotting strawberries when we got here was worth a lot," he added, smiling. "And you," he said to Kenny, giving him a quick hug. "Thanks for digging into this mess."

"This really sucks. There isn't an inch of this place that isn't trashed. So what do we do first? About the investigation, I mean?"

"I think I'll go back to cleaning duty - - whatever job your partner and my wife figure I'm capable of doing," Mike joked, heading toward the other room to join the cleaning effort.

"Keep your eyes open for anything unusual, that doesn't belong here."

"Like I'd know?"

"The cops don't know for sure, either, that's the point. You know us better than they do. If whoever did this left evidence behind, one of us is more likely to notice it than the cops."

"Okay, I'll keep my eyes open."

"And put your thinking cap on. Look at the damage and try to think what could be the motive behind it."

"The cops don't think it's a gay harassment thing?"

"Do you see any gay slurs anywhere? There's a lot of hate and aggression behind this, but they didn't make a point of connecting it to our orientation."

"I didn't get upstairs yet, so I wasn't sure what was up there. I guess I just assumed it was a hate crime. I mean, who'd need to ransack a house like this, even if they were looking for something?"

"That's the big question. I'm going to take a look out back, climb over some fences, surprise the neighbors," Don joked. "I doubt the cops field tested the theory of how the perps might have scaled the fences to travel through the back yards. Fences can be great for snagging evidence."

********

With some sense of organization to the clean-up effort, Tim began to feel a bit less hopeless. Margaret had already salvaged any photographs from the floor and tucked them into a file folder on the kitchen counter. Anything that wasn't broken was also given refuge on the counter. Kenny had cleaned the kitchen first, giving them a spot to stash any unbroken items to make way for the wholesale scooping up and hauling away of glass, splintered wood, and other debris. Not one to dawdle through a job, Mike used a large push broom to bring all the trash together in one place, and a shovel to get it in the trash bags.

Their formal living room was a war zone, and the vandals had apparently taken great delight in slashing the upholstery of the obviously expensive furniture. Tim hadn't seen the dining room table until that morning, and all he could do was sit on the slashed cushion of one of the heavy wooden chairs and just stare at it, letting his fingers travel over the horrible gouges in the polished cherry wood surface. That was almost nothing compared to the broken glass and shattered dishes strewn around the matching china cabinet.

"There you are," Margaret said, entering the room, her face falling when she saw the china cabinet.

"My mother gave us my grandmother's dining room set as a housewarming present when we moved in here. She even gave me china and crystal that had been in our family for generations. My sister isn't showing any signs of getting married and settling down, and if she did, she really isn't the big dining room, fancy china kind of girl. I guess I am," he added, though the humor fell flat. "I don't know how to tell her about this. It'll break her heart."

"Let me tell you something about mothers, Timothy," Margaret said, sitting down next to him at the damaged table. "We love our things. Our heirloom china, the fancy china cabinets, all that," she said, gesturing with her hand at the room around them. "But that's nothing compared to how we love our children. Yes, your mother's going to be crushed to know that all these pretty things are broken or damaged, but you know what's going to matter most to her? That you weren't."

"I know you're right. I feel like she entrusted them to me and now they're destroyed."

"All of this stuff ends up either in an antique store someday or a junkyard. It's not the real legacy of a family. You and your sister are her real treasures. She'll get over some broken china she probably never used because she was saving it for some future special occasion. We can get new glass in the cabinet doors, and I'm sure someone can restore the table. If not, I'll buy you a really amazing tablecloth for Christmas."

"I know I can't just go from room to room and fall apart every time I see something else they destroyed."

"For what it's worth, if someone did this to our house, I'd probably be sedated with an ice bag on my head. You're doing fine. Why don't you get started cleaning this up? I have some nice throws and accent pillows in storage from when I redecorated a couple years ago. The colors are similar, and they'll cover up the damage to the furniture until you figure out what you want to do to replace it. I'm going to run over and get them out of our storage locker."

"I don't know how to thank you and Mike for what you're doing."

"Do you remember all the times you stopped by and asked me how I was doing after David died? I know there were times you came in for coffee when you didn't have time, but you never turned me down. And you took me out on a date, remember?" she quipped, grinning.

"I enjoyed spending time with you, Margaret. It was no chore," he said, returning the smile.

"It's a nice feeling, when Mike's away on business, to know I can call you or Don if I need something. I remember Don coming over at two in the morning and looking all around the house for me that night I thought I heard something. It was a little embarrassing when he found my cat had tipped over a floor lamp. He was so gracious to me about it," she recalled, chuckling.

"Those are some of the things I love most about Donald - - his kindness and his patience. At least, his patience with me, anyway," he added, smiling. "Okay, I'll get back to work. Thank you for the loan on the things for the living room."

"I have a little ulterior motive. It's a lot easier to arrange throws and accent pillows than to sweep floors," she said, patting Tim's shoulder as she headed out to her car.

Tim started on his assignment, pulling on a pair of work gloves Margaret had brought along for handling all the sharp pieces of broken objects. There was nothing to be salvaged of the shattered dishes, so he started scooping it all up in handfuls into a trash bag. He was startled when he looked out the window and noticed Don appear over the top of the fence and then jump down into the yard and run toward the house. He half expected to see some gang of thugs chasing him, but Don stopped in the middle of the yard, panting, pulled out a notepad, looked at his watch, and wrote something down. Then he looked up and noticed Tim crouched on the floor, watching him through the French doors that led out to the patio. He jogged toward the house, and Tim rose from his spot on the floor to unlock the back door.

"What were you doing?" Tim asked.

"Checking the possible routes they could have taken through the yards. Everything went smoothly until I ran into the German Shepherd three doors down."

"You didn't get bitten, did you?"

"Fortunately, the neighbors were home and called him off." Don winced at the damage to the table and the cabinet. "I'm sorry about your grandmother's stuff, honey," he said, touching the back of Tim's neck and ruffling his hair a little.

"Margaret seems to think we can restore the table and the cabinet. The dishes are a loss."

"Maybe it's time we had our own china and fancy glasses in there anyway," Don said, and Tim stared at him, speechless. "Most couples pick out a china pattern. We didn't do that."

"Because you thought it was stupid when we were practically living together anyway and I already had dishes that matched, remember?"

"I know, but now that you've got an empty china cabinet, maybe this is the right time to fill it with something we pick out together, that we both like. You can't tell me the little blue and pink flowers were really your thing."

"No, not really," Tim admitted, smiling and shaking his head. "You'd really pick out a china pattern and crystal with me? You hate doing things like that."

"If I get to spend time with you, and it makes you happy, it can't be all bad." Don was going to steal a quick kiss, but Tim caught him in his arms and turned it into a real kiss. When they parted, Don gave Tim a blinding smile. "I love you, too." He took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair, and rolled up his sleeves. "Where do you want me to start?"

"I was hoping you could give me a hand," he said, handing Don the trash bag. Together, they loaded all the broken items into the trash.

"Hey, guys, I found this upstairs," Kenny said, entering the room. He handed Don a brass button.

"Looks like it came off jeans. Doesn't look like one of mine," Don said, frowning. "I'll have to compare it to be sure. Is this yours?" He handed it to Tim.

"Do you even own jeans?" Kenny asked, a devilish grin on his face. Tim didn't know why the question hit him wrong, but he felt insulted somehow. "I just mean you're always dressed really nicely," he hastened to add.

"I have a couple pair, believe it or not," Tim replied, forcing a smile and trying to make his tone sound light and cheery. He wasn't sure he made it. "This isn't mine." He handed it back to Don.

"I'll check my stuff upstairs, if I can find it, to make sure. Meantime, we'll bag it for Bailey. Good work," Don said to Kenny, heading toward the stairs.

"I was just kidding about the jeans," Kenny said to Tim.

"I know, no harm done," Tim said, mustering his best friendly smile. For all Kenny was doing to help them, it was immature and a bit asinine to get ruffled over a harmless joke, but for some reason, it had gotten under his skin.

"You want some help?" he offered.

"Sure."

They finished cleaning the debris in the dining room, and then moved on to picking up any broken objects and stuffing pulled from furniture in the living room. By late afternoon, most of the garbage had been cleared out of the first floor, and Margaret was busily arranging the accent pillows and throws to cover the damaged spots on the furniture. She had also thought to bring a few lamps she had replaced during her redecorating, since most of theirs were broken or damaged. Stan Jensen had stopped by with an older TV set from their basement rec room, since Margaret had told them all the TV's in the house had been damaged or destroyed.

Tim steeled himself for the chaos of the second floor, and headed upstairs, feeling he should join Don in tackling the bedroom. If they at least had a clean place to sleep, and a few rooms that weren't solid debris and destruction, perhaps they could stay in their own home tonight.

The master bedroom wasn't as horrible as he expected. The soiled bedding was gone and Don had lain quite a few pieces of clothing on the bed that didn't appear to be soiled or torn. The drawers were back in the dresser and the night stands, and any intimate items returned to them.

"You've been busy," Tim said, finding his partner on his hands and knees on the floor, picking through the rubble like an archaeologist, carefully extracting a few photographs from destroyed frames.

"I was thinking we might want to stay here tonight if I could get this cleaned up. I was looking around for a match to that button at first, but then I started working on the floor."

"I would have helped with cleaning up the bed," Tim said.

"I think the cops bagged the soiled stuff and took it for evidence."

"They're welcome to it," Tim replied, sitting on the bare mattress. "Maybe I'll go start a load of laundry. I don't think we want to wear these after they've been stepped on by Albany's finest," he said, holding up a pair of boxer shorts from a pile Don had assembled on the bed.

"Yeah, I've always fantasized about Bailey rifling through my underwear and knowing what flavored lube is my favorite," he quipped.

Tim started gathering any other underwear items he saw on the floor, checking them carefully for any trace of soil that wasn't theirs. When he was satisfied he had them all, he checked the hamper, one of the few things that wasn't overturned, and returned with a large clothes basket to carry it all down to the washer.

Don was out jumping fences this afternoon, and you're doing the laundry and fretting over broken china.

********

Don sat back on his heels, feeling encouraged that the floor in the master bedroom was very close to being clean. He still needed to vacuum, but the debris was gone. The pile of clothes on the bed was another matter. Tim had taken all the underwear down to wash it, but there was still a big pile of shirts and pants and ties that made it seem like their closet had thrown up, effectively mingling - - and at times, mangling - - all their clothes.

Most of the ties were unharmed, and it was pretty simple to sort those into two piles. Some of his shirts he was willing to shake off, sniff, and if they passed that test, hang up again. He knew Tim would never wear a shirt if its cleanliness or utter absence of wrinkles had been compromised, so he sorted through Tim's things with a different eye. Most of them ended up in a clean carton he'd brought upstairs for the dry cleaning items. A few things were still on the hangers in the closet, and he was relieved that they'd either had no interest in, or hadn't taken time, to tamper with most of Tim's suits. The majority of his own sport coats and dress clothes were also unharmed and still on the hangers. Some shoes were thrown around, but it took him just a few minutes to tidy up the floor of the closet, matching the pairs and checking the shoes for any nasty surprises.

He vacuumed and retrieved fresh sheets from the one stack in the linen closet that hadn't been pulled out onto the hall floor. When Tim returned to the bedroom, he was pleased to have the bed made, and to be hauling the last of the trash out of the room.

"We'll take the dry cleaning in tomorrow morning, and run a few more loads of laundry tonight, and that should get the rest of our clothes and the sheets and stuff that were on the floor cleaned up. The button didn't match anything, so I bagged it for the cops. You want to stay here tonight?"

"I'd like to. I didn't think I would, but it kind of feels like reclaiming our home."

"Yeah, to me, too," Don agreed. "I'll get started on the bathroom."

"I'll help. It looked like a slippery mess with all that liquid soap and bath oil all over the place."

"Maybe we'll just lock the doors, take off all our clothes, and roll around in it for a while, huh?" Don joked, wrapping his arms around Tim's waist, kissing him.

"You're terrible," Tim replied, initiating the next kiss himself. "Last night was really special."

"Tonight could be, too," Don said, patting Tim's behind lightly before pulling away to start on the bathroom.

It did turn out to be a slimy mess, and while they didn't strip naked to work on it, they soon decided to try it in undershirts and boxer shorts, since it was easier to wash their arms and legs off in the tub than to avoid rubbing their clothing in spilled bath products. The mirror was smashed, little objects all over the floor, and the towels down in the midst of all of it.

"There are clean towels in the linen closet," Don said. "They must have been getting tired or bored by the time they got there, because I could find clean sheets and clean towels."

"Do I even want to know what you guys are doing in here?" Kenny asked, standing in the doorway.

"We're just cleaning, Kenny. If it had been something exciting, the door would have been locked," Don said, looking at his hands with a disgusted expression. He felt like he was in some kind of male strip club, performing a bizarre shower gel wrestling routine.

"Shouldn't you scrub that or something?"

"Kenny, when you add water to liquid soap products, what happens?" Tim asked, pushing his glasses up on his nose with the back of his hand.

"Oh, right, suds."

"Yeah, lots and lots of suds," Tim confirmed, nodding. "We need to clean most of it off the floor dry, and then go after it with some kind of detergent to cut this stuff. Don't ask me what that is, yet, but we'll need to figure it out by tonight."

"You're staying here?"

"Enough of the house is cleaned up. We'll just have to go to the store and get a few things. Living out of a hotel isn't all its cracked up to be," Don said, sighing.

"I was getting ready to head out anyway. You want to give me a list and I'll run over to the store and get the stuff? That way you can finish up with this."

"It's getting late. You've paid your dues, Kenny," Tim said, smiling, touched by the offer.

"Seriously, it'll take me what, an hour? This is going to take you longer than that."

"Take a break and get him the list, sweetheart," Don said, patting Tim's back. They'd been on their knees on the unforgiving floor longer than he wanted to think about, and he could tell Tim was starting to feel it. "Kenny, grab him his robe off the bed, huh? The blue one."

"Sure," Kenny replied, grabbing the robe while Don threw a towel on the floor in Tim's path so he could wipe his feet before walking onto the clean carpeting in the bedroom.

"I'll be right back," Tim said, though his slightly labored gait made Don resolve that he wouldn't be on his hands and knees again that night...unless, of course, the mattress was under him at the time and he was doing something a lot more enjoyable than this.

********

When Kenny and Tim arrived downstairs, Margaret had finished her touch-up work on the family room and kitchen, and if it hadn't been for the spray paint on the walls, the rooms would have looked almost normal. She had even loaned them martini glasses, liquor, and a few miscellaneous plates, bowls, and drinking glasses, since most of the breakable dinnerware had been smashed during the vandalism.

"Oh, I'm glad you're taking a rest," she said when she saw Tim in his robe.

"Not quite. Donald and I are cleaning the bathroom in our underwear so we don't get all the goup on our clothes." He smiled at the dishes neatly stacked next to the martini glasses on the counter. "You really are a Godsend, Margaret. I didn't even think about the fact we don't have any dishes left."

"If you need anything to tide you over, you can raid our refrigerator," she said, putting on her jacket to leave. "Mike left a little while ago, so I'm going to head home," she added.

"Thank you," Tim said, hugging her. "Your help really means a lot to us."

"That's what friends are for, right? Now it's my turn to tell you to call us if you two need anything at all. If you change your minds about staying here, we have a guest room, so just come on over. We usually have ice cream and watch Cold Case on Sunday nights, and I have Mackinaw Island Fudge tonight."

"We'll keep it in mind. Just...thank you," he repeated.

"No more thank you's. Just get some rest. You look tired, sweetie." She patted his cheek and headed out the door.

"She did a good job on the living room," Kenny said, walking into the room that looked tidy, if not a bit eclectic, with a mixture of accent pillows, throws, and a few other little accessories making the area look like it was just oddly decorated, not necessarily destroyed.

"It looks a lot better," Tim agreed. He looked at the spray paint. "Except for that."

"Once everything's cleaned up, and the walls are repainted, it won't be so bad."

"I know. If you and the Sheridans hadn't come over and helped us today..." Tim felt a lump in his throat, and it must have shown, because Kenny changed the subject.

"You want to give me that list?"

"Oh, right, the list," Tim said, going to the kitchen and finding a notepad on the counter near the folder of recovered photographs. He tore off a piece of paper and hastily scrawled a list of basic grocery items, and a couple extra cleaning supply items.

"Do you have any soap, shampoo, or shaving stuff left?" Kenny asked once he had the list.

"Probably not. I don't know if that's everything we had, or just most of it, all over the floor up there."

"I'll grab some basic stuff. I'm guessing you probably don't want to stock up on grocery store bath products."

"At this point, if it'll get me clean and then I can go to bed, I don't care where it comes from."

"Copy that," Kenny quipped, taking the list and heading for the door. "Be back in an hour or so."

"I need to get you some money," Tim said.

"I have Don's business credit card, so I can put it on there."

"Thanks, Kenny," Tim said, just standing in the kitchen a moment after Kenny left. His legs ached from the long stint of kneeling on the floor, and his arms and shoulders were tired from scrubbing. Still, Don was upstairs, wrestling the slimy mess on his own. One thing he wouldn't do is abandon his partner.

He dug through the carton of cleaning supplies they'd brought and found the one that claimed it would cut through grease and grime. He also grabbed a couple fresh pairs of rubber gloves, a sponge mop and a pail, and trudged tiredly upstairs to the bathroom. Don was sitting on the foot of the bed, looking thoroughly spent.

"We can go to a hotel again tonight if you want to call it quits on the bathroom," Tim said, running his hand lightly over Donald's hair. "Margaret offered us their guest room if we changed our minds."

"Those people are amazing. I knew we had some decent neighbors, but I really didn't expect any of them to turn up and get their hands dirty helping out."

"You look exhausted," Tim said, sitting next to him on the bed.

"I am, but we're only a mop job away from staying in our own house. I really appreciate all they've done for us, but I don't want to be sociable tonight. I want fall asleep on the couch with you, and drool on your shoulder like usual."

"I'm not sure that's a big incentive to get this finished, but I guess it'll have to do," Tim joked, putting his arm around Don and kissing his temple.

"Why don't you take it easy while I finish up in the bathroom?"

"We're in this mess together. It's almost done."

"Let's get to it then," Don said, standing and heading into the bathroom. Together, they mopped the floor with the powerful floor cleaner that seemed effective in cutting through the slimy residue of the bath products. While Don finished the mop job, Tim put another load of towels and linens in the washer and piled the bags of trash from the bathroom in the garage with the other bags of debris.

Kenny arrived with a few bags of groceries and supplies, and to Tim's surprise, a bag of Chinese take-out. By the time Tim had some semblance of order and sanity restored in the kitchen, and martinis sitting on the counter, Don came downstairs, pulling his robe on.

"Bathroom's done," he said, sounding more tired than victorious. "Something smells good. Besides you," he added, kissing Tim's cheek. "Martini glasses survived all this?" Donald asked.

"No, Margaret brought us loaners. Kenny brought us some take-out. I'm glad, because I wasn't looking forward to cooking."

"You wouldn't have been. We'd have just ordered whatever we could get delivered. Hey, looks like most of our pictures survived," Donald said, looking through the folder of photos on the counter. "I think we have either negatives or digital files of most of these anyway."

"Probably," Tim said, dishing up the Chinese food on plates he set on the counter.

"I'm starving," Don said, sitting down at the counter. After he'd dug into the first couple bites, he noticed that Tim was just standing there. "Aren't you gonna eat?"

"Do I ever...embarrass you?"

"What? You know I don't keep track of all the political mumbo-jumbo, so if I end up looking stupid at one of those fancy parties, it's my own fault, not yours."

"I didn't mean it that way. Do I ever embarrass you?"

"How could you? Honey, you're the most polite, charming man I ever met. How could you possibly embarrass me? What is this about?"

"Maybe it was what Kenny said earlier, all this talk about what Fellows said..."

"Sit down." Don patted the chair next to him. Tim did, and he took one of Tim's hands in both of his. "You aren't still worrying about what some beer-soaked moron said at a barbecue three months later, are you?"

"Not worrying about it exactly."

"Kenny's a great kid, but he has a knack of sticking his foot in his mouth, and he looks at the world through the eyes of about a sixteen-year-old at times."

"I know." Tim sighed. "Today, you were out jumping fences while I was getting misty-eyed over broken china. When we went to that barbecue, you were standing around talking with the guys, and I was talking about pasta salad with the ladies."

"First of all, you were getting misty-eyed over family heirlooms being destroyed for no good reason, and I'm willing to bet you were more worried about how your mother's going to feel when she finds out than you were about losing a bunch of frilly china we never used except for one dinner with your mother after we moved in here."

"I know she'll be upset. That china meant a lot to her, and her giving it to us, for our home...it was symbolic of more than just the china."

"I know that. As for hanging out with the women...they're drawn to you like flies. You're tall, dark, handsome and unattainable - - women go for that." Don had a little grin on his face, but Tim knew the compliment was genuine. "When I picked out that new cologne, I actually showed the girl behind the counter your picture. Just because I felt like bragging." He kissed Tim's hand.

"I just wondered if you ever wished I was...I don't know...tougher, maybe."

"Timothy, there is not one thing I would change about you." Don kissed him. "So I jumped over a couple fences trying to figure out how these assholes managed to break in here in broad daylight. It's what I do. I'm trained to do things like that - - handle guns, cope with hand-to-hand combat situations, climb obstacles...if that makes me 'tough', okay, I'm tough. But I'd hate to see what would happen to Senator Platt if it were up to me to write her speeches or arrange her photo ops, or make a charming excuse when she wants to ditch some time-waster social function that leaves the people she dumped feeling as good as if she'd been there. I think your boss is an honest, decent legislator who wants to make a difference. I also know who does the diligent research and all the paper and speech writing and scheduling that makes that happen. I've heard you on the phone in your office, and I can't believe what you know, and what you can accomplish without even breaking a sweat. That's not something I'm trained to do, and I'm so proud of you and what you do for a living, and how well you do it."

Tim felt tears burning in his eyes, and he couldn't quite get past the lump in his throat. So he settled for just putting his arms around Don and holding on tightly.

"You are a strong, beautiful, gentle, intelligent man and I love you very, very much. And I still get a little rush every time I get to introduce you as my partner," Don added, a smile in his voice.

"I feel the same way about you," Tim said, still holding on. "I don't know what got into me," he said, smiling a little sheepishly as he released Don. "I'm sorry I brought all this up."

"Sometimes a couple thoughtless remarks can get under your skin and dig up a whole bunch of crap you'd rather keep buried. Kind of like how I feel every time somebody says, 'oh, you're that gay detective.' Shit, I hate that. And it does bother me even though it shouldn't. I'm gay and I'm a private investigator, so they're not really wrong. It just reminds me of things I don't like to think about...things I've lost...and makes me feel like a joke, not a professional."

"You are a professional. There's no one I'd trust more with my life, or anything else."

"And that's why at the end of the day, it isn't important what anyone else thinks. I know you believe in me, and that's what sustains me. No matter how banged up I get out there, you're always here for me to come home to. The biggest part of what makes me 'tough' is the way you fix me when I'm broken." There was a softness and depth of emotion in Don's voice and in his eyes that connected right with Tim's heart.

"That's good, because you manage to get broken a lot," Tim joked gently, and Don laughed, that big smile of his that always stole Tim's heart spreading across what had been way too serious a face a moment or two earlier.

"You want me to stick the food in the microwave?" Don offered.

"No. Let's just eat it as it is and go to bed."

"If that's a proposition, I could be talked into eating this cold for breakfast."

"It's a proposition, but we need to build our strength up first."

"I like where this is going."

Once they began eating, both men realized how hungry they were, and how long it had been since breakfast at the hotel. With the dinner dishes in the sink, they made their way upstairs and ignored the destruction in the other areas except for the relative tidiness of their bedroom and bathroom.

Tim started the water in the shower, and they both tossed their robes and underwear aside and climbed in, enjoying as they always did the warm spray from the two showerheads that let them share without vying for the water. By unspoken agreement, they saved their lovemaking for bed, but washed each other's backs and shampooed each other's hair, and stole kisses while they were toweling off.

Don lit a few candles and turned off the lights in the room. Happy the CD player on the dresser had survived the destruction, he popped in a CD of romantic music, turning the volume low and setting it to repeat. Tim got into bed and held up the covers until Don slipped under them and took Tim in his arms.

"Are the locks still okay?" Tim asked, not wanting to break the mood, but now that the house was shrouded in shadows and it was time to let their vigilance down and focus on each other, he was nervous. Part of him wished they'd gone back to the hotel.

"I checked every window and door, and everything's secure."

"Where did they break in?"

"Do you really want to talk about this right now?"

"I want to know."

"Through a basement window. It's boarded up. I'm going to look into that alarm system first thing tomorrow."

"You said we couldn't afford that." Tim paused. "Well, actually, you said we couldn't have the tile floors in the family room and the renovation in the bathroom and the alarm system."

"I'm glad we have the tile floors and the renovated bathroom," Don replied, smiling. "You love those things, and I have no arguments with that two-headed shower or the oversized tub." Don kissed Tim, prolonging the contact this time. "I've got room on a credit card. We can't afford it, but I'm out too many nights not to have one. I don't want to take any more chances with your safety," Donald said, kissing the end of Tim's nose.

"I don't like the idea of staying here alone. I know it's stupid, but after this, I just feel...not safe."

"I'm not leaving you alone here until we both feel safe about it. Why don't you come into the office with me tomorrow and make your calls to the insurance company from there?"

"Maybe we should have stayed at the hotel," Tim said.

"Honey, if you can't sleep here tonight, we'll grab a few things and go to a hotel. It's only ten. We could still go across the street to the Sheridans if you want. Margaret would probably love to mother you some more."

"Do you think it's safe here?"

"If I didn't think we were safe, I wouldn't be here. The doors and windows are all locked, my holster is hanging on the headboard, and I locked the bedroom door."

"You're nervous, too, or you wouldn't have done all that."

"Just extra precautions," Don said, then smiled as he caressed Tim's cheek. "Whoever did this had ample opportunity to confront us when we were home, and they didn't. They waited until we were out of the house and then broke in. So whatever point they're trying to make, they wanted to make it with property damage."

"That makes sense."

"Sure it does. I bet I can come up with something to take your mind off all this," Don said, covering Tim's mouth with his. He loved the first kiss of lovemaking with Timmy. It was always a little sweet and hesitant, and he found himself "courting" Tim's lips to part for him, to let his tongue inside, to encourage Tim's tongue to move against his. But once Tim joined him, it was as if he'd found the key that unlocked all the passion that lurked beneath that calm, charming, placid surface.

Don could lose himself in kissing Timmy for hours. In feeling his body moving against his own, skin on skin, lost in their own intimate corner of the world, while the little flames of the candles cast dancing patterns on the walls.

Tim's hand slipped into Don's hair, cradling his head, rolling them over until Don was under him, his legs moving apart to wrap around Tim's hips while his hands caressed the smooth expanse of Tim's back. All the while, neither was willing to give up the taste of each other's mouths.

Don's hand moved down Tim's back to the swell of his ass, caressing him, moving against him. He could tell Tim wanted him, wanted to be inside him. It was in the way he was blanketing Don, very subtly and gently taking the lead in their kisses, and in the smouldering look in his dark blue eyes when he paused to look into Don's eyes.

He knew where the little tube would be, and he let his hand stray under the pillow to get it and put it in Tim's hand.

Tim moved down, kissing and licking at Don's chest, tasting and teasing his nipples, his lips and tongue traveling over Don's skin, each light, moist touch sending shivers through Don's body, making him hard, building the desire while he relaxed into letting Timmy gently prepare him, those careful, graceful fingers opening him, easing the tension.

He closed his eyes and just let himself feel when Tim entered him, slowly, gradually slipping inside him until they were fully joined. Then Timmy kissed him again, their arms wrapping around each other, the motion of their bodies slow and easy. They had all night to savor the closeness and each other. When they couldn't fight the crescendo of their lovemaking any more, when their climax came, it was shared, and their gasps and cries mingled, until they fell silent again, still joined, wrapped around each other, unwilling to let go and accept the conclusion. Tim finally eased out of Don, but didn't surrender their embrace.

Once again, Don was left wondering if you truly could love someone too much. If you could, he had smashed through every limit and barrier in the love he felt for Timmy, whether he was watching him shake martinis, describe some cause of his with that light in his eyes, or just lie here in Don's arms, gazing at him as if he were the most amazing thing in the universe.

"I love you," he said, not feeling it even scratched the surface, but then he'd never been much of a poet. Maybe it was how he said it, or maybe those simple words were enough, because Timmy looked like he'd just won the lottery.

"I love you, too, baby."

"I'm not sure how I'm going to pull it off exactly, but I'm going to spend more evenings with you," he said, and the promise was easy. Tim wasn't nagging him, wasn't asking him for it. But he was coming to the realization that the hours he was away from Tim were hours they wouldn't get back. Life wasn't going to stand still for anyone, not even Donald Strachey, Private Investigator.

"I know you love what you do. You know I'll always be here when you get home."

"Maybe that's the point. None of us are here forever, and I don't want to miss my life while I'm taking pictures of someone else's."

"You mean that?" Timmy asked, his voice hushed, as if he didn't dare hope that Don was going to spend less time on the job and more time with him, in their home, just being his husband.

"When I came in the house yesterday, and saw the groceries and your cell phone on the floor, I couldn't have given a shit less if they'd blown the whole fucking house off the lot. All I cared about was finding you, that you weren't hurt. I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost you."

"I could come with you."

"What?"

"For the low-risk cases. If you're just sitting in the car watching someone. I could come with you. We could eat take-out and talk. Or something. I promise I'd stay in the car and out of your way if you had to go do some...private detective thing that was too dangerous."

"You'd want to sit in a cold car and eat crummy food late at night when you have to get up in the morning just to be with me?"

"I'd rather be in a cold car with you than here by myself," Tim said, smiling. "I'll even take notes for you."

"Probably be neater than mine are," Don said, chuckling.

"I don't doubt it," Tim replied, running his hand lightly over Don's hair. "I just love you, and being part of your world like that would be fine with me."

"You're not part of my world, honey. You are my world."

"So do I get to ride along a couple nights a week?"

"Absolutely. And I'll do my best to get an extra night or two at home."

"Which means we could be spending most of our evenings together, cases permitting."

"That'd be nice, wouldn't it?" Don agreed, smiling and sighing contentedly. Tim actually wanted to sit with his long legs cramped up in Don's little old car in the dark and the cold and even take notes on cheating spouses and other unsavory characters just to be with him. And he was excited about the prospect.

"If you get done at two or three in the morning, will you promise to come home instead of sleeping in your office? I promise I won't nag you about the time, and you don't even have to shower first or talk to me. Just crawl into bed with me so I feel you next to me."

"I can do that," Don said, kissing him again. "I'll disturb your sleep on work nights."

"I can go back to sleep, and I'll sleep better with you here, whenever that is."

"Okay," Don agreed, smiling. He looked into Tim's eyes a moment, and their lips met in a deep, passionate kiss. It was going to be a long night...a very long night, in a very good way.

********

"I thought you people were supposed to be like good neighbors," Tim said, his anger bubbling to the surface as he talked to their insurance agent. "My house is trashed and I need someone out there to look at the damage today," he added emphatically.

Don felt just a bit sorry for the agent. If Tim wanted someone out there to look at the damage that day, chances were good he would prevail. He wouldn't have to raise his voice, use profanity, or threaten the man with bodily injury, but he'd get the job done. Don smiled a little as he went back to looking through the case files, and the conversation continued, finally ending in a manner that seemed to be acceptable to his partner. His Timmy...he could tell someone to go to hell and make them look forward to the trip.

"He informed me that they weren't good neighbors, but that we were still in good hands," Tim said, breaking the connection on his cell phone. "The adjuster will be out to the house late this afternoon."

"At least he didn't tell you it was so easy, a caveman could do it."

"I think I would have lost it," Tim replied, though he smiled. His cell phone rang again, and he frowned a little when he looked at the caller ID.

"Who is it?"

"Senator Platt," he said, looking concerned. "Good morning, Senator," he greeted in an upbeat tone. "I don't understand. What happened?" He waited, and then added, "I'll be right there." He closed his phone and looked at Don. "She sounded really upset. She said I needed to get to the office right now."

"She didn't say why?" Don asked. He was planning a trip to the police station anyway to find out what the cops were up to on the case, so dropping Tim off wouldn't be any big deal. He stood and slid into his sport coat, grabbing his keys.

"Just that it was urgent. She sounded...irritated. She was fine with my taking the day off...she's the one who said I should take tomorrow, too, and get things going with the house. We have that big fund raising dinner a week from Saturday, so there's a lot to organize for that. I don't know...unless I made a mistake with that..."

"You didn't make any mistakes with her thousand-dollar-a-plate shindig. You never make mistakes with that stuff."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I must have done something wrong."

"Just calm down. I'll drop you at your office, and go see what the cops are up to. I've got a few names out of the files I want to have Bub put through his database anyway."

********

Tim had the odd feeling he was being called into the principal's office as he approached the senator's private office and tapped on the closed door.

"Come in," she replied, and he entered, hesitating a moment by the door. Their contacts were rarely so formal and stilted, but her terse phone call had put him on guard.

"I got here as soon as I could," he said, unable to think of a more meaningful conversation starter.

"Close the door," she said. "Have a seat, Tim."

"Is there a problem with the dinner?" he asked.

"Well, this could definitely impact that, but it isn't directly related." She had a laptop on her desk, which she turned so the screen faced Tim. "You'll see I have it on MyTube," she said.

Tim leaned forward to read the small write up next to the black rectangle that would spring to life with the video as soon as he clicked it.

"Senator Platt supports gay marriage, as demonstrated by her appointment of Timothy Callahan as her chief aide," he read aloud. "I don't understand. You've never had a problem with my being open about my relationship with Don, about my orientation. You support gay marriage."

"Is this your idea of a joke? Or did you think this was somehow going to affect that 'sweeping, sudden change' you're always advocating? Using my name in this manner is inexcusable, Tim."

"I don't know what this is, but I didn't post anything to MyTube. I don't even know how."

"Play it," she said, leaning back in her chair. He looked back at the screen and clicked on the button to play it. He was stunned when he saw the image spring to life of himself with Don, naked in their bed, making love. The video was almost three minutes long according to the time display on the screen.

"I didn't do this," he said, his voice weak with shock, and the fact he couldn't seem to breathe. He ran his finger between his neck and the collar of his dress shirt, coughing a little. It startled him when the next breath came out as a wheeze.

"Tim?" The senator was out of her chair quickly and at his side, but he couldn't focus on her. He could only see the image on the screen, and focus on the fact he couldn't breathe, that his throat was closing, the room was fading, and all he could hear was a sickly wheeze coming out where a breath should be.

********

"You've brought me quite a bit of homework, Strachey," Bub groused, looking at the list of at least fifteen names Don had copied from his files.

"I've got Kenny running them through the databases I subscribe to, but I was hoping you'd put them through yours, too. I'm not sure any of them would be pissed off enough to come back after me, but most of these people either lost everything in divorce settlements, and in a couple cases, did some jail time...maybe a year or two. A few of them threatened me at the time, but then a lot of people do when you've caught them with their pants down, literally, and it's going to cost them."

"I'll check 'em out. Oh, by the way, you can give this back to Tim," Bailey said, retrieving the vase from the bottom drawer of his desk. It had been glued back together. "They had some kind of waterproof super glue in the lab, and a couple of the techs wanted to fix it when I told them to handle it carefully because of the sentimental value."

"Wow, it's just a couple cracks now. Tell them thanks. Tim'll be thrilled. I couldn't have done this good a job on it."

"As for related cases, we found a few. There have been a couple unsolved home invasions in the last couple years, but in both instances, the residents were home."

"Maybe we were supposed to be. It was Saturday afternoon."

"Could be, but the homeowners got pretty banged up in these, so I think they probably would have just skipped it if they wanted to work you two over and you weren't home. Recognize the names of any of those suspects?"

"No, not right off hand."

"Your friend, Fellows, was questioned last year in connection with a gay-bashing incident."

"And he'd still working at a school?"

"He was just questioned. No charges were brought, and the victim couldn't identify his attackers. Apparently Fellows had an alibi, so he was eliminated as a suspect. That's why he didn't show up on your background check as having a record."

"Why was he suspected in the first place?"

"The victim was the parent of one of his students, a guy named Richard Tanner. He came out, and he was married with two kids. His marriage broke up, and one of the kids was on Fellows' team. I guess the boy's grades slipped, he was cut from the team based on the school's policies, and Fellows was very vocal in a very politically incorrect manner about the kid not being held responsible for his father's behavior, that he shouldn't suffer because his father was some kind of 'faggot with a mid-life crisis' - - I think that was the quote from the school board meeting."

"That SOB," Don said, shaking his head. "He's probably guilty."

"If he is, three of his players lied for him." Bailey shrugged when Don pinned him with an intent glare. "The DA told us to move on. The victim couldn't ID him, and the boys' stories were credible and consistent. If they lied, we can't prove it."

"How badly hurt was the victim?"

"Concussion, lots of bruises, some broken ribs, missing teeth. They beat the shit out of him. He's still having reconstructive surgery on his face, last I heard."

"You said 'they' - - there was more than one suspect?"

"The victim said there were at least two attackers, maybe three, but we never had a viable suspect other than Fellows. The victim's wife and her family were upset, but they already had some kind of run-in with him before this happened."

Don's cell phone rang, and it was Tim's number on the ID. "It's Tim," he said by way of explanation as he took the call. "Hi, honey. Everything okay?"

"Don, it's Monica Platt. I'm at the hospital with Tim."

"What? What happened?" Don was on his feet, trying not to shake. The senator was always friendly, and they had their little jokes back and forth, but he always called her by her title, and she'd never told him to do otherwise. The use of her first name sent an ice cold chill through his body. "Which hospital?"

"Memorial. He became very upset in my office and he was having trouble breathing. He passed out and he was brought here by ambulance. The doctor is with him now."

"I'm on my way." Don stuck the phone in his pocket and headed for the door.

"We'll take my car. Lights and siren," Bailey said, not stopping Don to ask for details.

"He couldn't breathe," Don said as Bailey drove at nearly twice the speed limit, making use of the plain sedan's powerful V8 engine and its lights and siren. "Oh, my God, I didn't even ask her if he was breathing when they got him there."

"Just calm down. We're almost there."

"You hang on, Timmy. Don't you think about dying on me," Don muttered to himself, twisting his wedding ring around on his finger, feeling his breakfast threatening to make a reappearance. Chunks of fresh fruit he retrieved from the kitchen and brought back up to bed so they could feed each other after a little beautiful, tender, drowsy early morning sex.

Bailey pulled up to the emergency entrance, and Don was out of the car like a shot, racing toward the nurses' station. Before he got there, he spotted the senator and rushed to where she was standing with a few of her staff members.

"Is he breathing?" Don asked, barely able to do so himself.

"Yes, the paramedics had him on oxygen in my office before they moved him," she said, squeezing Don's arm. "I should have never confronted him the way I did. I was angry and I jumped to conclusions, and I feel just terrible."

"Has the doctor been out yet?"

"Not yet," she said.

"What happened?"

"Someone posted a sexually explicit video of the two of you on MyTube, and used my name - - something about Tim being my chief aide and my stance on gay marriage. The username on it was strachey's_boy. A colleague brought it to my attention. I was so embarrassed and angry that I'm afraid I jumped to conclusions and took it out on Tim. I should have known he wouldn't do such a thing."

"Yeah, you should have," Don shot back, knowing it wasn't the gracious reply Tim would want him to give her. "You should have called both of us in."

Before she could reply, a middle-aged woman in blue scrubs approached them.

"You're here for Timothy Callahan?" she asked.

"Yes," Don said immediately. "How is he?"

"Are you Donald?" she asked.

"Yes, is he okay?"

"He's going to be fine, but he's very agitated and he won't calm down until he sees you. I'm Dr. Winters. Come with me, please."

As they walked briskly down the hall, Don said, "I thought he wasn't able to breathe."

"He had a serious anxiety attack, but he's doing much better now. They can look a lot worse than they are - - even seem like heart attacks. We're going to keep him for a few hours and run some additional tests to be sure there's no issue with his heart, but I've treated a lot of anxiety and panic attacks in my career, and I'm confident that's what this is."

"What kind of tests?"

"Nothing invasive or painful for him. Just an EKG, a chest x-ray, and I'd like to see his vitals stabilize for a while before we release him. Does he have these often?"

"No, I never saw him have a panic attack before, but it's been a bad couple of days."

"Severe, sudden stressors can trigger something like this. He should see his own doctor in the next few days, and consider some anti-anxiety medication if this happens again."

She led Don into an exam room where Tim was lying on a gurney in a hospital gown with a light blanket over the lower half of his body. The head of the table was elevated a bit, and a long-suffering nurse was trying to reassure him that the doctor had gone to find Donald.

"Timmy, I'm here, honey," Don said, rushing to his partner's side, gathering a way too pale and shaky Tim in his arms. He could feel Tim's heart pounding, the raggedness of his breathing, as if he'd been running for miles.

"Donald...there's a video...it's on the Internet..."

"I know, sweetheart. It doesn't matter. Everything's going to be okay."

"I didn't put it there. I wouldn't do that!"

"I know you wouldn't, honey. Just relax. The senator knows you wouldn't, either. She's very sorry she upset you," he said, sliding his hand under the hospital gown and rubbing Tim's back. He could feel some of the tension easing in Tim's body, and his breathing leveling out a little.

"His heart rate is already dropping," the doctor said with a little smile. "I'll try to get him scheduled for those tests as soon as we can so we can get him discharged."

"Thank God you're okay," Don said, clinging to Tim as much for his own fears as to calm Tim's.

"Somebody recorded us in bed," Tim said, his voice calmer but no less agonized.

"It doesn't matter, sweetheart. You're okay, that's all that matters to me. The senator knows you didn't do it. She's here at the hospital with some other people from your office. She feels terrible about confronting you like she did," Don said, less for the senator's sake than for Tim's. Senator Platt respected Tim immensely and treated him accordingly, and Tim valued that respect. He'd worked damn hard to earn it.

"It does matter," Tim countered. "They took something from us...something private and beautiful and..."

"We'll get it taken down right now. Lie back a minute, honey," Don said, extricating himself from Tim's embrace for a moment. "Let me tell Bailey what happened so he can help me get it off the 'net."

"I don't want him to see it."

"The cops can get it taken down faster than I can. I doubt he really wants to see us naked anyway," Don quipped, kissing Tim's furrowed brow, smiling at him, relieved when there was a little return smile. "That's my beautiful man," Don said, stroking his cheek, taking one of Tim's hands. "Bub brought me here with lights and siren. He'll help us. Just take it easy and take nice, slow, deep breaths. Everything's going to be all right."

"You'll come back?"

"In just a few minutes, honey. I'll only be a few feet away in the hall." He looked at Tim for a minute, then leaned in and kissed his lips, though he didn't let himself linger, since Tim needed all the breath he could get. "I love you."

"I'm so sorry," Tim said, his eyes filling.

"It's not your fault, Timmy." Don kissed him again. "I'll be right back."

When he walked out in the hall, Bailey was waiting there. "How is he?"

"The doctor said he had an anxiety attack. Somebody planted a camera in our bedroom and they posted this video of us on the 'net, and somehow tied in the senator's name, and she confronted Tim with it. Can you get it taken down?"

"Do you have a URL?"

"Senator Platt's here with a few of her staff. They probably have it. I promised Tim I'd get it taken down."

"We'll get it. It's part of an ongoing police investigation and was obviously obtained illegally. They'll take it down, and hopefully the ISP of the asshole who posted it will be a good lead for us. Meanwhile, I'll get a tech crew out to your place to sweep it for listening devices or cameras. You have a key I can use?"

"Sure." Don took his house key off the ring and gave it to Bailey.

When they approached the senator and her staff, all rose to their feet from where they'd been sitting.

"Tim's doing better. He had an anxiety attack, and the doctor wants to run a couple precautionary tests on him and monitor his vital signs for a while just to be safe. He can probably go home in a few hours." Don paused. "I told him what you said," he said to the senator. "It helped calm him down. Your respect means a lot to him, and he's really embarrassed about this whole mess."

"We need the URL for that video, if you have it," Bailey said to the small group, which consisted of the senator, two administrative assistants, and one of her junior aides, a young man in his twenties.

"I have it," one of the women replied, handing Bailey a slip of paper with the information written on it.

"Great. Don, are you staying here with Tim until they release him?"

"Yeah, I don't want to leave him right now."

"Call me when they release him, and I'll pick you both up and take you back to the station so you can get your car."

"Thanks again for getting me here so fast."

"I like a chance to use my siren once in a while," he joked, giving Don a quick pat on the shoulder before heading for the door.

"I don't suppose it would be possible for me to speak to Tim for a moment?" the senator asked.

"I think he'd be very pleased by that," Don said, escorting her down the hall toward the room where Tim was resting.

When they stepped into the room, Tim looked momentarily mortified to see his boss, as if he would have preferred to pull the covers over his head and avoid looking her in the eyes.

"Are you feeling better, Tim?" she asked, approaching the side of the bed.

"I'm so sorry, Senator. You know I'd never use your name that way, and I'm so sorry you were embarrassed by this. I - - "

"Tim, slow down," she said, smiling, resting a hand on his wrist. "I just came to apologize. I've known you, and relied on you for years, and I should have known better than to ever assume you'd have any willing part in something like this. I've been on edge with this fund raiser coming up, and I was embarrassed by this whole mess, and I took that out on you before I knew all the facts. I hope you can forgive me."

"Of course. I'm just sorry you had to be dragged into whatever this...vendetta is someone has for Donald and me."

"I'm sure the police will get to the bottom of it."

"After several thousand more people watch us online," he responded. Don moved closer to the other side of the bed and lightly touched Tim's hair in a gentle caress.

"Bailey's getting it offline right now."

"Tim, you know I support gay marriage, and the reason I do is because of couples like you and Don. Having something that personal exploited is very embarrassing. I can only imagine how violated you both feel. But when all is said and done, you have nothing to be ashamed of. The person who recorded it and posted it should be ashamed. It was obviously an intimate moment between two married people in the privacy of their own bedroom. There's nothing dirty or wrong about that. Just in exploiting it."

"Thank you," Tim said quietly, and Don understood the strain in his voice. He was very moved himself by the senator's summation of the whole situation. Her respect for their relationship and his role as Tim's spouse, not just his boyfriend, had always impressed him.

"I have to get back to the office. You rest up, don't worry about the fund raiser. Everything's on schedule, as it always is with your projects. We'll see you back at work in a few days."

"I'll walk you out," Don said, squeezing Tim's hand before walking out of the room with the senator. "I'm sorry for the way I talked to you when I first got here. I freaked out a little on the way here...I thought he had a heart attack or something."

"It's all right, Don. He gave us all a pretty good scare. And you weren't altogether wrong. Tim was a victim of this, and I treated him badly. I'm not proud of that. I was just so taken off-guard, and I've been having some mud-slinging issues with a couple people across the aisle, and this kind of incident is something they relish making a mountain of."

"Would you like me to walk out to your car with you? I hate to say this, but junior over there isn't going to be any good at fending off aggressive reporters, if any of them are out there by now," Don said, referring to the lone male in her group, the very junior aide who barely looked as if he'd graduated from high school, even though Don suspected he was a college graduate.

"I appreciate that, Don. My driver is bringing the car up to the entrance, and hospital security is going to walk us out."

"Rent-a-cops? O-kay. If you're sure."

"I'm sure. But thank you."

"Thanks for what you said to Tim in there. I know it'll go a lot farther than anything I say in convincing him we shouldn't change our names and join the witness protection program."

"You can't tell me it didn't bother you a little, too?"

"Truthfully? Yeah, it bothers me that someone invaded our privacy, and it bothers me most that it hurt Tim this way, but there's nothing about any part of being with Timothy that could honestly embarrass me."

"I think if you tell him that, in those words, he'll get over it faster than you think."

Don walked back into Tim's room. Even though he wasn't as jittery as he was before, and his heart rate and blood pressure were leveling off a bit according to his monitor, Tim still looked miserable. Nonetheless, he'd taken the oxygen off himself and hung the tubing on the bed rail and seemed to be breathing just fine. When Don approached the side of the bed, he didn't turn his head to look him in the eyes.

"Everything's going to be okay, honey," Don said, taking his hand and leaning down to kiss him. "Look at me, Timmy," he coaxed. Tim finally did. "I am so proud to be with you. I wish some asshole hadn't spied on us and upset you like this, but there isn't one single part of loving you that I'm ashamed of, that could possibly embarrass me, or make me feel anything but proud." He leaned down and wrapped Tim in a tight hug, and Tim's arms came around him with their usual strength, reassuring Don that his partner was truly healthy and okay, just badly shaken. "Can I be honest about something?" As they separated, Tim nodded, looking confused. "There's this part of me that kind of wants to walk down the street and say, 'Yeah, man, that's me and my boyfriend in that video. I'm hittin' that every night,'" he concluded with a little pump of his fist.

Don was relieved when Tim laughed out loud, flopping back on the pillow.

********

All Tim's follow up tests revealed nothing of concern, so he was released by early afternoon. Though it had taken some fancy convincing, Don had gotten Tim to agree to spend the rest of the day at Margaret's, being doted on and mothered while he followed up a few leads. Mrs. Sheridan had received them with open arms and enthusiasm, and already had some tasty-smelling food on the stove to prepare Tim and herself a late lunch. While he didn't feel his partner was in any imminent danger, he didn't want him alone, and definitely didn't want him having to deal with the police technicians who were still searching the house for any other listening or recording devices.

He pulled away from the neighbors' driveway and out of sight of their house, but didn't leave the neighborhood. He'd never had a chance to talk to their neighbors personally, and while he figured the police had gotten the basics, he wouldn't feel the base was covered until he went door to door himself. Despite all of Bub's advice, and the nagging voice in his head that told him he should leave well enough alone, he couldn't resist stopping by the Fellows house. Especially when he saw Brian Fellows outside raking leaves in his front yard. Sometimes, temptation is just too much for a man to be expected to resist.

He pulled up to the curb, in front of the house, and got out of his car. Fellows spotted him and Don could see his stance stiffen immediately, as if he was fixing for a fight. At six-four and close to 250 pounds by Don's estimate, Fellows had little to fear in most confrontations, and was the type of man who used his physical stature to bully and intimidate others, much the way he had tried unsettling Tim at the barbecue that day. He was a big, overgrown homophobe who probably assumed most gay men wouldn't be his match in a fight. The primal part of Don's nature longed to disabuse him of that notion.

"Mr. Fellows," Don greeted, approaching where the man stood on his lawn, rake in hand. "You've probably heard by now we had some trouble down at our place on Saturday."

"The cops already talked to my wife," he said. "I wasn't home, and I got an alibi, so you can just get the hell off my property."

"Well, that's not very neighborly," Don needled, sticking his hands in his pockets and smiling at the other man. "Who asked you for an alibi? I'm a private investigator, so when someone trashes my own house, I'm not going to leave the investigation to the cops. I'm just going door-to-door, talking to my neighbors, in case there's anything the cops missed."

"This is a respectable neighborhood - - a good place to raise kids. You people think you can just carry on anywhere you please."

"Carry on? Damn, I must have been working when Tim hosted the last gay orgy on our front lawn."

"Are you here to start something? Because I can finish it, with you and your wife."

"Is that a threat, Mr. Fellows? Do you really hate gays that much that you want to keep this vendetta going with your neighbors? Timothy and I were here first, and we aren't moving, so save yourself the stress of trying to intimidate me."

"You come over here and start accusing me of vandalism - - "

"I didn't accuse you of anything," Don objected, almost laughing. "I stopped by to ask you if you saw anything. I also figured since you have ties to the high school, you might know if there are any kids living around here who would be likely to do something like this."

"So you think I put kids up to it?"

"Did you?" Don shot back.

"No, I didn't. If I was gonna kick some fairy's ass, I wouldn't need help doing it."

"Like you kicked Richard Tanner's ass last year?" Don asked, referring to the gay man Fellows was suspected of assaulting.

"I had nothing to do with that."

"Really? It didn't get under your skin that some fairy was interfering with the performance of one of your star players?"

"Not half as much as it gets under my skin to have to live two houses down from a pair of them," he said, moving a bit closer.

"All I did was stop over here to ask you if you'd seen or heard anything, or had any information that might help in the investigation of a crime. And all you've done is spout gay hate at me from the moment I set foot on your property. It must be tough to get much done in a day, when you're spending so much energy on hating everyone you don't approve of."

"You get off my property! You and your faggot boyfriend stay the hell away from me and my family."

"Because you're so fucking irresistible that we faggots wouldn't be able to control ourselves around you, right?" As the other man moved forward a bit more, Don put both hands up. "I'm leaving. Your cooperative attitude has really reassured me you had nothing to do with trashing the house." He started to walk away.

"Maybe next time it won't just be your house. Maybe it'll be that pretty girlfriend of yours."

Don froze in his tracks, telling himself to keep walking, but he couldn't. He spun on his heel and moved back toward Fellows, getting as far in the other man's face as his five-foot-seven frame allowed.

"If you even look at Timothy the wrong way, I promise you, it'll be the last thing you do."

"Yeah, I'm scared."

"I know you aren't," Don replied, smiling a cold, evil smile. "That'll just make it that much easier to take you down - - you'll have your head too far up your ass to see it coming."

Don turned then and did walk away, half expecting to be spun around and attacked, his mind working through the scenario to be ready with the best countermoves if that happened. Oddly, it didn't, and when he got into his car, Fellows was still standing there in the yard with his rake, glaring after him.

He drove away, still planning to talk to the neighbors, but figuring it was best to get away from Fellows' place. He took out his cell phone and called Bailey.

"I had an interesting conversation with my neighbor, Brian Fellows," Don began as soon as Bailey answered the phone.

"I thought I told you to stay away from that psycho."

"All I did was ask him a few questions, honest."

"Just a few questions. You probably baited him."

"Not at first. He was nervous, and he was defensive from the very first word. He ordered me off his property and told me he had an alibi. All I did was greet him and mention that we'd had some trouble at the house. We argued a bit, and he threatened Timothy. He said it might not be just the house next time, that it might be Tim."

"Interesting way to phrase it, if he's got nothing to do with the house."

"That's what I thought. Man, that guy, I'll tell you, he's just...boiling with hate. I can't believe he's not involved. He was even blaming us for ruining the neighborhood as a good place to raise kids."

"This can't be the first you've ever heard this kind of stuff," Bailey said.

"No, it's not the first time, and it won't be the last. But this asshole's a thug and a bully, and we're on his turf. I chalked up the incident at the barbecue to him being semi shit-faced on beer."

"We already questioned the neighbors," Bailey added, sounding a little irked that Don was retracing his steps.

"It's my house, Bub. I want to talk to them myself. No offense, but I like to do my own questioning, not rely on someone else's notes."

"Just stay away from Fellows. If you take the first swing at him, this'll get a whole lot uglier for you, and my hands are gonna be tied to do anything about it. By the way, we didn't find any other electronic devices in the house except for the hidden camera in the dresser drawer."

"The dresser drawer? I should have suspected something when a couple of those drawers weren't open and everything else was."

"It's not odd you wouldn't be hunting for hidden cameras. It was inside the one drawer that has the keyhole in it. The video's down, but we're not having much luck tracing the perp via the ISP. It was posted from the Wired Monk coffee house, using one of their computers. I spoke with the manager and a couple employees personally, and I have descriptions on some of the customers who were using the computers about that time, but none of them were regulars or anyone the staff recognized. I guess the majority of their customers have laptops and are using the wireless network, not the actual computers."

"Any big hulking guys or high school kids?"

"Sorry, nobody who fits Fellows' description, no high school kids. Besides, they all have laptops and those Blueberries, remember?"

"Yeah, so I hear," Don replied, chuckling and not correcting him about the BlackBerries. "I'm the only caveman who doesn't have a laptop and doesn't have a keyboard on my telephone so I can type messages while I'm driving."

"Not the only one. But we're in a shrinking class, you and me."

"Thanks for taking care of the video so fast. Tim'll be relieved." He paused. "Say, you wouldn't object to me taking a look at the case file on Richard Tanner's assault, would you?"

"Are you nuts?"

"Depends on who you ask. Look, nobody else is doing anything with that case, are they?"

"It's a cold case at the moment. The investigation's still officially open, but we don't have enough evidence to bring anyone in. Even so, the last thing I need is you playing caped crusader, trying to nail Fellows. You've got enough trouble in your own backyard right now."

"You still didn't answer my question. Can I have a copy of the case file or not?"

"Strachey, I swear, if you turn this into a mess for me - - "

"Who knows? I might just screw around and solve your case."

"Fine. You can have a copy of the case file. You can pick up your boyfriend's vase while you're at it. It's nice and everything, but it doesn't quite fit the decor in my office."

"Sorry about that. I forgot to pick it up when we left for the hospital. I'll be over in a little while. I'm just going door-to-door right now."

"Isn't everyone at work?"

"Fellows wasn't. Besides, more housewives are home alone now, and they really dig us gay guys, remember?" Don was greeted by a click that ended the phone call. He had to chuckle as he tucked his phone back into his pocket.

After spending the afternoon talking to the neighbors and not really picking up on anything new that the police didn't already have, Don went to get the case file and the vase from Bailey and then went back to his office. Kenny was diligently typing on his computer.

"Find anything?" Don greeted as he came in.

"Hey, how's Tim?"

"He's out of the hospital. He's at the Sheridans' taking it easy. Doc said he's fine, just needs a little rest and less stress," Don concluded, rolling his eyes. "Like that's gonna happen."

"You shouldn't have," Kenny said when Don set the vase on his desk momentarily while he sorted through the mail.

"I didn't. A couple of the lab techs fixed it for Timmy," he said, tossing the mail back on Kenny's desk. "Are we current on all those?" he asked in reference to the numerous bills.

"I have it all on a spreadsheet, no problem. We're not overdue on anything."

"Good. You find anything on any of those names I gave you earlier?"

"Most of them are still around with current addresses. A few have relocated, a couple got arrested again...I printed out what I found, but it didn't amount to much."

"I've got a little tailing job for you. Kenny, I'm serious when I say you cannot get spotted by this guy."

"Your prime suspect, huh?"

"He's also the prime suspect in a very violent gay bashing incident about a year ago. The victim's face still isn't put back together right. I don't want you taking any dumb chances. I just want to know where he goes and what he's up to. Don't risk anything by trying to get too close to him. Just get what you can from a safe distance."

"Should I wear a garlic necklace and carry a crucifix, too?" Kenny joked.

"I'm serious," Don responded. "I don't want you to end up like this," he said, opening the case file and showing Kenny a copy of one of the photos of the damage to the victim's face.

"Oh, my God. One guy did that?"

"The victim said there were two or maybe three attackers, and he couldn't identify them, but the guy you'll be following is the prime suspect. He has an alibi the cops haven't been able to shake."

"Why do I have the impression this is our next case, even if it's got nothing to do with the house?"

"This guy lives two doors down from us, and he's already threatened Tim. It's in our best interest to take him down, whether he trashed the house or not. Besides, I think this guy deserves some justice," he added, tapping the gruesome photo. "Keep your distance, and don't follow him into any secluded situations. That's an old trick if you figure out you're being tailed - - lure the person tailing you into a secluded spot and deal with them."

"Okay, I'll keep my distance."

"Good. Just keep notes on his comings and goings and write down whatever you can find out about anybody he hangs around with. If he spots you, or you feel uncomfortable, like you think he might know you're following him, get the hell away from him and give me a call, okay?"

"Okay, Dad," Kenny quipped, taking the information on Fellows' home and work addresses.

"I'm serious."

"I can see that," he said. "I promise I won't get spotted and I'll call you if anything develops. How long do you want me on him?"

"Let's do a twenty-four-hour surveillance on him. You take the first twelve hours, and I'll relieve you. I'm going to try to convince Tim to stay at the Sheridans so I don't have to worry about him. Even this moron isn't going to bust in where there are witnesses."

"Good luck with that," Kenny said, heading for the door.

"Yeah, I'll need it," Don said, smiling fondly at the thought of his partner, even if talking him into doing what he wanted him to do was going to take all his best efforts. He decided to enlist an accomplice, and called Margaret Sheridan's number.

"Hello," she answered.

"Margaret, it's Don. How's Tim doing?"

"Oh, he seems much better. We had lunch and he slept on the couch a while. He's over at your house right now with the insurance adjuster. He was a little drowsy from napping, but he seemed fine."

"He's at the house now?" Don clarified, hurrying for the door.

"Yes. He left about half an hour ago when the insurance man called him."

"Is the insurance guy still there?" Don asked, rushing downstairs to his car.

"Let me look," she said, and Don heard the sound of her footsteps through the phone as she went to her window. "I don't see the car. He had a little red car but it's gone now."

"Thanks, Margaret." Don was about to hang up.

"Is something wrong? I can go across the street and check on him if you're worried he's not okay on his own there."

"No, I'm on my way home. Just keep an eye on the house if you would. If you see anyone going to the door, call me, okay?"

"Well, yes, I will, but - - "

"Thanks." Don broke the connection and dialed the home telephone number. It rang and went to voicemail. Frustrated, he tried Tim's cell number, all the while racing toward the house. He hoped it was just paranoia from Fellows' threat. Still, he wasn't about to take any chances with Timmy's safety. Finally, on the third call to Tim's cell, when he was only a few blocks away anyway, he got an answer.

"Hi, handsome," Tim answered, sounding upbeat.

"Honey, where are you?"

"I'm at home. I met with the insurance adjuster, and the cops were just finishing up. They told me they found the camera and that the house was clear. So after the insurance guy left, I took a shower just to get the hospital...crud off me. I hate the sticky stuff on those little probes they had stuck on me for the heart monitor. I'm afraid I've got a couple odd-looking hairless spots - - "

"Okay, I'm almost home anyway. Just stay inside."

"Donald, I'm naked and dripping on the carpeting. Where am I going to go?"

"Shit, don't say something like that while I'm driving," Don quipped, the relief of Tim being okay enough to make him finally laugh a little and relax. "I'll check out your hairless spots as soon as I get home."

"I'll mix the martinis."

"You do that, beautiful. I'll be right there. I love you."

"I love you, too. Hurry home."

Don called Margaret and apologized for panicking her, and asked her if Tim could stay with them overnight. He hoped to romance his partner a little and then go relieve Kenny in watching Fellows. He couldn't be certain the neighbor was their culprit, but he was the best suspect they had, and this stakeout qualified as one too dangerous to risk having Tim with him.

There was soft music playing, and a fire going in the fireplace when Don got home. Tim was in his blue robe and slippers, shaking the martinis when he entered the kitchen. Suddenly, he hated himself for setting up the surveillance on Fellows, and wondered how much overtime he'd have to pay Kenny to take a few more hours on the end of his shift.

"I missed you," he said as Tim set down the martini shaker and turned his attention to collecting his hello kiss from Don. Tim was wearing a trace of his new cologne, and judging by the low "V" of chest hair he was seeing in the front of the robe, he wasn't wearing much else. "Mm, you smell good," Don said, changing their position so he could slow dance with Timmy, in the kitchen, without taking time to take his jacket off.

"You want your martini?" Tim asked, a smile in his voice.

"In a minute," he said, just savoring the moment of swaying to the music, Tim alive and healthy in his arms. He pulled back and looked into the face he loved so much, still handsome as ever, not marred by some awful bludgeoning injuries, those loving eyes looking at him through the glasses that suited them so well. "We need to talk."

"It sounds like at least I'm going to need my martini for this conversation," Tim quipped, pouring both drinks and carrying them into the living room as Don took off his jacket and his holster before joining him on the couch. He took a drink of the martini, but it wasn't really calming his frayed nerves.

"I had a little...discussion with our neighbor, Fellows."

"Well, you're in one piece, so it apparently went all right. Why did you go antagonize him?"

"I didn't," Don protested vehemently, then sighed. "Well, not at first, anyway. I visited a few of the neighbors, just to ask my own questions. He came out swinging - - figuratively speaking. Right away, he was going on about how he had an alibi, spouting off all this hateful shit about us living in the neighborhood, and the next thing I know, he's threatening you."

"And you're going to tell me now where you hid the body," Tim quipped.

"Timmy, sweetheart, this isn't a joke." Don covered Tim's hand where it rested on the back of the couch. "Last year, the father of one of Fellows' team members came out. I guess it really freaked the kid out, and his grades tanked, and the school cut him from the team. Fellows went ballistic, ranting at everyone who'd listen about how this kid's fairy father shouldn't destroy his son's football career. It's all in a very long, grisly case file. The long and short is, the father ended up the victim of a horrible gay bashing incident. The police file photos of his injuries took care of my appetite for dinner. The guy's still having reconstructive surgery to fix his face."

"Fellows is the prime suspect?"

"Yeah. He has an alibi provided by three of his football players. I'm sorry, but that doesn't inspire me. He told me today that maybe the next time it wouldn't be the house, maybe it would be you." Don squeezed Tim's hand gently. "You know, I don't even care about the house right now. Even if he didn't do this, to us, I don't want him two doors down from you."

"I know, and I love you for the way you want to protect me." Tim touched Don's face briefly. "We just happen to know about Fellows and how he feels, and what he might be capable of. Unfortunately, there are hateful, dangerous bigots like him all over our society. You can't protect me from being anywhere near any of them. You and I choose to live openly, to be married to each other and make a home together...and just take the life we want, whether society wants to give it to us or not. There are risks inherent in that, and we both know it. Any one of dozens of homophobes like Fellows could find either one of us and decide to victimize us or make examples of us as part of their little terror campaigns. That's a reality we live with every day."

"I know I can't protect you from everything bad in the world, as much as I want to. But I do know about this asshole, and I do know he's threatened you, and I've got a pretty strong feeling he's already nearly killed someone. He's a threat that's got to be neutralized, somehow."

"If you can't prove he's connected to this gay bashing, and he doesn't make a move on me, or you, what are you going to do? You can't make him move. We could move, but we'll never know for sure if we're moving in next door to another Fellows. That's a roll of the dice anytime we decide to go somewhere new."

"You're not exactly the fount of encouragement I'd hoped for." Don took another drink of his martini, hoping it would make him feel better than Tim's words were.

"All I'm saying is that we could destroy our lives looking over our shoulders, trying to nail Fellows for something he may or may not have done, and turn him into this boogeyman that keeps us from enjoying a moment of our time here in this house. That's what he wants. He doesn't have to lift a finger. He's already got you scared to death to leave me alone for five minutes, and ready to occupy all your time going after him."

"I know he's got me by the balls, you don't have to remind me." Don stood up and started pacing.

"That wasn't what I was trying to say."

"Maybe not, but that's what it amounts to. He knows threatening you is the way to get me. I have a feeling I could threaten his whole family, and it wouldn't phase him."

"Love makes you strong in ways, but it makes you vulnerable in others. Either one of us are susceptible to a threat to each other. People kill and die to protect the people they love. They run into burning buildings and risk all kinds of awful things to save someone they love. If you want to target anyone, find the person they love most and hurt or threaten them. That's not a new concept."

"I've got Kenny tailing him," Don said, sitting down closer to Tim this time, picking up his drink again, fiddling with the olive on its little plastic pick. He finally put it out of its misery and ate it.

"Kenny's pretty new at this to put him at risk like that."

"I told him to keep his distance and just give it up if he thinks Fellows spots him. I'm going to relieve him after twelve hours, which puts me out of here about five in the morning. That's why I want you to stay with the Sheridans tonight. Fellows isn't going to go marauding through the neighborhood after you, so you'll be safe there."

"He also isn't going to sneak over here and kill me at five in the morning, and I want to spend the night in bed with you. What about letting me come along and stake him out with you?"

"Absolutely not."

"Can't blame me for trying," Tim said, shrugging, taking another drink.

"I really meant that you could come with me on some of my stakeout work, and I'm looking forward to it. But not this one."

"You know I'm not going to make you live to regret agreeing to that in the heat of the moment. If you say 'no,' I'll back off."

"I don't regret anything that happened between us in bed last night. It was magic. Making love with you never gets old," Don said honestly, smiling at the little flush of color in Tim's cheeks.

"Just don't do anything rash or dangerous over this. Please, promise me you'll be careful. You're not immune to being hurt. That...sasquatch is half again your size."

"I promise I'll be careful. I'll see if I can get Kenny to stay on until seven. Fellows'll have to head into work by then." Don paused. "You feel good enough to go into work tomorrow? I know you're safe there, as long as you stay in the building. I could pick you up and maybe go grab some dinner?"

"Ooh, throwing in dinner out to sweeten the deal."

"What do you say?"

"Truthfully, I love Margaret dearly, but I can't face another day of having her soap opera plots explained to me - - she knows how to run the DVR, so she pauses them, and tells me who everyone is and who they're sleeping with. I wanted to blow my brains out by three o'clock," he quipped, and then stopped short. "Don...I'm sorry."

"For what, honey?" Don asked, still amused at the thought of Tim patiently listening to synopses of all the leading soap opera characters' lives.

"I didn't mean to say it that way."

It took Don a moment to realize what Tim was talking about.

"I've heard that phrase said lightly more than a few times since Kyle died," he said. "It's okay."

"It was insensitive of me."

"No, it wasn't. You weren't even thinking about that, and neither was I."

"Until now. I'm just sticking my foot in my mouth left and right tonight."

"Timmy, it's fine," Don said, smiling. "It's not like I don't remember what happened to Kyle until you bring it up. But I don't dwell on it every day, and it's an old wound you helped me clean and close." Don paused, acknowledging one reality that made it possible to move on from the horror of Kyle's rejection and suicide. "If I hadn't lost Kyle, I would have never found you." He opened his arms and Tim happily moved into them, laying his head on Don's shoulder. "My one true love," he added, smiling, savoring the truth in that.

"I understand that you loved him, Donald. I don't feel threatened by that."

"Good. You never need to feel threatened by any other man in my past, present, or future." Don ran his finger under the edge of Tim's robe. "Now, what was this you were telling me about these hairless spots?"

"I didn't want them to shave my chest to put those probes on, but the glue was murder to get out."

"Ouch," Don said, spotting the two little patches of partially exposed skin on Tim's otherwise perfectly hairy chest.

"I didn't rip it out. I just snipped it out with scissors. How bad does it look?"

"Oh, it's terrible. I probably won't be able to stand to have sex with you until these two-inch patches of hair grow back."

"I'm serious," Tim said, though he was already laughing. "They look stupid."

"Yeah, well, I'd rather have the rest of your beautiful chest hairy," he said, punctuating the remark with a kiss in the middle of Tim's chest. "You know I love your chest."

"I didn't think you'd like it smooth."

"I'd like it with little purple polka dots painted on it, but I prefer it just the way it is. You want to order from that Thai place that delivers?" Don continued kissing his way across Tim's chest, pushing the robe back out of the way. "A little later?"

"A lot later," Tim agreed, not resisting Don pushing him back onto the sofa cushions. He reached up and loosened Don's tie, pulling it off and going to work on the buttons on his shirt.

Don paused to undo his belt and dispense with his shoes and pants. He lowered himself again to cover Tim's body with his own, sharing martini-flavored kisses until he reluctantly gave up Tim's mouth to lick and suck at his nipples, then to kiss the little bare patches, which seemed to amuse and arouse Tim at the same time, as he was grinning broadly when Don looked up at him. He kissed his way down to the waistband of Tim's boxers, easing them down, following them with his mouth.

Tim grasped the bottom of Don's undershirt and pulled it up and off. Don paused a moment to just look at the man he loved so much. Tim was lying there mostly naked with his robe open but still on his shoulders, and his glasses still in place, looking at Don with what could only be called open adoration mixed with passion. Don slid out of his boxers and tossed them aside, lying skin on skin with Tim, kissing him, helping him slip his arms out of the confines of the robe so they could wrap around Don while Don's arms went around Tim's body.

Forcing himself to sacrifice their kisses, Don slid down Tim's body, caressing him, trailing kisses down to his growing erection before taking Tim in his mouth.

"Oh, God, Donald," Timmy gasped, pressing his palm against Don's, their fingers lacing together. Tim's fingers flexed as his body arched, another gasp escaping his parted lips. Don stroked Tim's hip and urged his leg up, releasing his cock from the wet suction to kiss and nuzzle the underside of Tim's thigh. "It's in my robe," Timmy gasped, and Don paused, momentarily puzzled. "The KY."

"Oh, right. Sorry, honey. You're kind of distracting right now," Don said, stopping for a kiss before locating the tube in the discarded robe.

Laying it aside a moment, he went back to using his mouth on Timmy, not ready to give up making him moan and writhe with pleasure before the main event. He knew right where to put his tongue, and just how to move it to bring his lover to the edge. As his tongue made teasing little swirls on the tender, sensitive skin of Tim's perineum, he heard a cry of pleasure just before his tongue moved lower, circling Timmy's center, gently probing the little opening.

"Don...please...I want you inside me," he said, his hand shaking a bit as it caressed Don's head.

"I'm on my way, beautiful," Don whispered, grabbing the gel and carefully lubricating Tim before slowly entering him, moving inside him gradually until they were fully joined.

Their movements were relaxed and unhurried, Don perfectly content to take his time enjoying the sensations, the motion gentle enough to allow them to share kisses and hold each other close. As the hunger and urgency of their kisses and caresses built, Don angled his strokes to put more pressure on Tim's prostate. He felt the warmth of his lover's thighs around him, encouraging him.

"That's the spot," Timmy gasped, his hands rubbing over Don's shoulders and down his back, his moans and cries letting Don know he was getting closer, that he was loving it, that it was as good for him as it was for Don as he felt his own climax sweeping over him.

Don regretfully eased out of Timmy's body, always hating the moment of losing that complete connection with him.

"Are you cold, sweetheart?" Don asked, stealing a kiss.

"I might be when I cool down a little," he said, smiling, shifting a little on the couch so they could lie there together a little more comfortably. They started kissing again, and Don bumped into Tim's glasses. He carefully eased them off Tim's face and leaned over to set them to safety on the coffee table. "I was so anxious I forgot to take those off," Timmy said, chuckling.

"It's was kind of sexy, doing it with your glasses on. Means we were too hot to think clearly enough to get ready."

"We were that," Tim agreed, settling happily into cuddling. "How's that song go again, the one you like? In heat, in love, and something?"

"I like it because it's us. It's so hot and so good, and I love you so much. Married sex shouldn't be this good," Don added, grinning. "If it was for most people, I'd be out of business."

"Nobody'd be cheating," Tim said, laughing.

"They'd be too busy at home having sex with their spouses to meet anyone else."

"A day doesn't go by that I don't feel blessed by what we have," Tim said softly, a trace of a smile still on his face.

"When I got the call you were in the hospital, and it sounded pretty bad..." Don paused, resting his head on Tim's shoulder. "The bottom dropped out of my world." He held Tim's hand close to his face, lacing their fingers. He kissed the finger that wore the gold wedding band. "I was twisting my ring around on my finger like it was some kind of magic charm that was going to save the day. All I could think of was how handsome you looked when you put it on my finger, and that I didn't want to lose any of the years we could have together."

"Oh, baby, I'm sorry I gave you such a scare. I haven't had an anxiety attack since I was in the seminary - - I didn't realize myself that's what I was having."

"You had them there?"

"I was coming to terms with a lot of things, trying to make a decision if I should just keep quiet about how I felt, try to stick to the vow of celibacy and go on to being a priest. In a way, it didn't seem like it made much difference, since I wouldn't be having sex anyway, so what difference did it make who I wanted to have it with?" He was quiet a few seconds. "I just didn't feel secrecy was the right path in making a vow to dedicate my life to God. All those are big decisions to face when you're that young and you don't really know that much about sex and love and how the world works."

"Are you glad you came out, were honest?"

"Yes. The anxiety attacks were happening because living the lie was tearing me up inside. Once I made the decision to be honest, painful as it was, I was at peace with myself."

"I never knew you had anxiety attacks."

"I don't really think about them anymore, because they're so much a part of the past." Tim caressed Don's cheek. "And my life with you is so good that I never feel that conflicted anymore."

Don's stomach growled, making them both laugh. "I'll order dinner."

********

Don drove up to the entrance of the senate building to let Tim out, but the moment the car was spotted, a group of reporters headed for it. Don turned around and hit the accelerator, barely missing them and getting Tim out of the line of focus before a single misguided photo could be snapped.

"I was naive to think this would just go away," Tim said, rubbing his forehead.

"Do you feel okay?" Don asked, concerned.

"It's just a headache. Nothing a little ibuprofen won't get rid of. Try the parking garage. We'll have to show ID to get in there, so maybe that'll be clear."

"If you don't feel well enough to be at work today, we'll figure something out."

"No, I should be there to help Senator Platt with damage control. It's my job, after all, even if I'm the subject of the damage this time. Besides, it'll be easier for you to do what you need to do if you're not worrying about me."

"Okay. But if you don't feel well or you need to get out of here, call my cell and I'll come get you, whatever I'm doing."

"Thanks." Tim held out his hand, and Don took it, squeezing it.

After showing their ID to the security guard and being assured there were no reporters hanging around in the garage, Don drove Tim as close to the elevator as he could.

"Remember, stay here until I call you to say I'm here. I don't want you wandering around alone."

"I'll stay inside until I know you're out here." They shared a quick goodbye kiss. "Be careful."

"Always," Don replied, smiling impishly at Tim's raised eyebrows. "Hey," he said, catching Tim's hand as he started to get out of the car. "Last night was beautiful. I love you."

"I love you, too," Tim said, flashing him a radiant smile.

"Don't let anything about that mess with the video get you down, okay? We didn't do anything wrong."

"I know. I'll try to remember that."

"I'll call you in a little while."

"I'd like that." With that, Tim got out of the car, lingering by the door a little as if the parting was more difficult than usual. Don felt that same pull, but he steeled himself against it, and blowing Timmy a kiss, waved him off and waited until he was safely in the elevator before heading out to relieve Kenny from his stakeout duties.

********

Kenny was parked a discreet distance from Albany Central High, but he was able to verify that Fellows car was in the lot since he'd pulled in a little after seven that morning.

"This is the last time I want to see the bill for a Corvette rental show up at the office," Don grumbled as he slid into the passenger seat.

"I couldn't sit outside on my bike all night."

"You could have survived without XM Satellite Radio and a GPS. You're following someone, for God's sake. You don't need directions."

"Most rental cars have the GPS systems in them. I did go a little extra for the radio, but you did make me do a fourteen-hour stakeout so you could be home with hubby, remember? So, was it worth a Corvette rental?" Kenny asked, giving Don a "nudge-wink" look.

"Let's just say we can't put a price tag on that, but the rental company does and I still can't afford Corvettes every time we rent a car. Next time, mid-sized sedan. I mean it," he added, still grinning a little.

"Who'd'a thought married sex would be that hot," Kenny commented, shaking his head. Thinking of his conversation with Tim the night before, Don just smiled. "Doesn't it ever get...you know, boring? After I'm with somebody a few months, it gets old."

"You just haven't found the right somebody, then. I don't know, maybe Timmy and I are just unusually lucky." Don changed the subject back to business. "What'd our boy do last night?"

"Not much. He seems like your typical boring married guy," Kenny said. "Sorry," he hastened to add. "I mean, everything was pretty routine. He had dinner with the family, watched TV near as I could tell. They leave their drapes open in their family room, so I could see the light from the TV, and he was there. A couple guys showed up about nine - - looked like high school jocks. They went inside for about half an hour, and then left."

"Did you get a car description or license?"

"Of course," Kenny said, handing him a slip of paper. "He went to bed about eleven, and then came into work. I didn't notice him sneaking out, or anyone else sneaking in. Pretty dull night all in all."

"You caught a few Z's yourself while everything was quiet, right?" Don asked.

"I may have nodded off for an hour...or four," Kenny admitted, looking sheepish. "I haven't quite got the staying up all night thing mastered yet."

"Yeah, well, it takes some doing. I'll see if my contact at the DMV will run the plate number for me. Go home and get some sleep. Take my car."

"What?" Kenny asked, his eyes bugging.

"Hey, I like camping out in a nice car, too. You can have it back tonight, if we're still watching Fellows."

"I guess that's fair."

"Hey, could you do me a favor? Timmy's vase is still at the PI office. Would you pick it up, swing by the florist across the street from us and have them put some roses in it, and deliver it to his office? I don't want someone else to break it after we just got it fixed, so I'd rather you took it there. Just tell them to put it on my account," he added, handing Kenny a twenty. "That's your delivery fee."

"Thanks. You have an account at the florist? They, like, know you by name?"

"Timmy likes flowers, and I do stand him up a lot," Don said, shrugging. "If they give you any flack, just call me." He paused to write a message on the back of one of his business cards. "Just put this in one of their little card envelopes and stick it in with the flowers."

The message read, Thank you for saying yes. I love you, Don.

Kenny looked confused, but he didn't ask. Don volunteered.

"I gave Timmy the vase with a dozen roses in it for our first anniversary, and that's the message I wrote on the card back then."

"I never would've pegged Don Strachey as a sentimental romantic," he teased.

"Yeah, me neither. You know what they say - - love makes fools of us all. Oh, and if you see Tim while you're there, let me know if he seems okay."

"Sure," Kenny replied, getting out of the car and going to Don's car, driving away.

Don called the plate number in to his friend at the DMV, and soon had a name to go with the ten-year-old green Pontiac: Jason Biggins. Thinking that name sounded familiar, he pulled the case file on the Tanner gay bashing out of his briefcase and skimmed through it. Jason was one of the three football players to have provided Brian Fellows his alibi for the night of the assault. Interesting he would be visiting Fellows so close on the heels of Don's conversation with the football coach.

He dug through the file and located a photocopied pages from the high school yearbook, with pictures circled of Jason Biggins and the other two students involved in Fellows' alibi. Also included was a photo of Kevin Tanner, the son of the victim. There was a notation on the page that Tanner was back on the football team for the current season.

********

"I plan to issue a statement to the media this afternoon," Senator Platt said to Tim as they sat in her office, having a conversation more like their usual meetings, sitting on the couch and chairs in her sitting area, rather than Tim being called in front of her desk for such a formal encounter. "I wanted you to have the chance to read it first, so it wouldn't take you by surprise."

"Thank you," Tim said, taking the sheet of paper and reading it.

Yesterday, a sexually explicit video was posted on the internet involving a senior member of my staff and his spouse. The video was obtained illegally via a hidden camera. The person who should be held responsible for this is the person who violated the sanctuary of the bedroom of a married couple, where they had a reasonable expectation of privacy. I urge the members of the media, and my constituency, to avoid letting prejudice or bigotry of any kind reduce the outrage you feel at such a vile crime because the couple involved are a same-sex couple whose marriage is, unfortunately, not official under current New York State law. The couple featured in that video are crime victims, and should not be harassed or persecuted. Furthermore, while I strongly support equal rights for same-sex couples, I would never authorize nor encourage dissemination of sexually explicit material to express my views.

"Thank you for supporting us this way, Senator," Tim said, handing her back the paper. "Again, I'm so sorry it's caused you this kind of embarrassment."

"It's not your fault, or Don's. Do the police have any leads on the case?"

"Not really. Donald's following up a couple things. We have a suspect in a gay bashing case living two doors down from us, and Don had a fairly hostile encounter with him yesterday."

"Not a physical altercation, I hope?"

"No, no, thank God, nothing like that. But he told Don it might be me next time, instead of just the house. The way he said it made it sound like he'd had something to do with the house being vandalized."

"It's sad that our society is so far behind in at least respecting the basic rights to personal safety and peace of mind for gay and lesbian couples. I'm sorry you and Don are going through this."

"Your support means a lot to both of us."

"Well, if you need any help with the fund raiser, feel free to call on Adam," she said, referring to the youngest of her aides. "It would do him good to shadow you, anyway. He has a lot to learn."

"I might delegate a few things to him, thank you."

"The press conference is this afternoon at one o'clock in the lobby. I'd suggest you stay up here, out of sight, so you aren't put in the position of answering difficult questions."

"I was planning on having lunch in my office anyway. Donald's picking me up after work. He's concerned about that threat."

"And I think he's also pretty concerned about you after your little episode yesterday," she said, standing and walking over to her desk. Tim stood also, moving toward the door of the office.

"Donald's very good to me," he said, surprised at how much emotion that stirred in him.

As he made his way back to his office, he could see something sitting on his desk that wasn't there when he left - - roses. Smiling and thinking his partner had gone overboard since he'd just given him roses a few days ago, he froze in the doorway of his office when he saw it was the heavy, square glass vase with the two interlocking hearts etched into the glass. At first he thought maybe Donald had found a duplicate somewhere, but then he saw the hairline cracks in the glass where it had been glued back together. Still, it held the water that was keeping the red roses fresh.

Feeling tears in his eyes already at not only having the vase back that meant so much, but at Don recreating the anniversary gift with adding the roses, he plucked the little card from its plastic holder amidst the blooms and opened it. At first he laughed, since it was one of Don's business cards, thinking it was his partner's quirky sense of humor to put one of those in there instead of a florist card. Then he turned it over and read the note.

Thank you for saying yes. I love you, Don.

His breath caught in his throat when he read the same words he'd read almost five years ago when Don had written them to him for their first anniversary, when he'd given Tim the vase. Like they had the first time, the words took him back to slow dancing with Donald at one of their favorite clubs, when their love was brand new but no more intense than it was now. As they swayed to the music, Don had pulled back just enough to look in Tim's eyes, and simply said, "Marry me, Timothy."

And Tim had said, "Yes," and they'd kept right on dancing, but holding on just a little tighter than before.

When Tim read the card on their first anniversary, he'd had a reply for Don's note. He opened his cell phone and called his partner.

"Hi, honey," Don's voice came over the line.

"Thank you for asking," Tim said, repeating the words he'd said in response to the first card, though his emotions kept his voice to barely a whisper.

"Smartest move I ever made," Don said, the smile clear in his voice. "How's your day? Feeling okay?"

"How could my day not be perfect now? Donald, I don't know what to say. It's beautiful. You can barely see the cracks...but the thing I like best isn't the flowers or the vase. I will have this card with me until the last day of my life. I can't believe you remembered what you wrote."

"I told you I remembered everything about our first anniversary."

"Thank you," he managed, knowing it wasn't coming out very clearly.

"Aw, honey, smile. I wanted it to make you happy."

"Believe it or not, this is happy. Just...wet happy," Tim said, grabbing a couple Kleenex and taking his glasses off to wipe his eyes.

"How are you feeling? How's your headache?"

"It's gone. I took a couple Advil when I got to the office, and I'm fine. What are you doing?"

"I'm waiting for classes to change over at Albany Central. One of the kids who alibi'd Fellows the night of the gay bashing showed up at his house last night. I want to talk to him, and also Tanner's kid."

"Be careful."

"I will. What time do you want me to pick you up?"

"Why don't you cover things until seven, since you made Kenny stay so long on the first shift?"

"Are there other people still working there until that late?"

"Oh, yes. The senator's often here, and at least a few other staffers. Security's always here. I'll be fine."

"You're sure you're not overdoing it after yesterday? If you don't feel good, I can come and get you anytime."

"I'm fine, Donald, really. Just a little tired." Tim paused. "But I kind of like it when you worry about me."

"Okay," Don replied, the smile clear in his voice. "I'll come in and get you, so just stay put. Be thinking where you want to eat."

"I love you."

"Yeah, I know you do. I love you, too."

********

Don sat there for a moment with the cell phone in his hand, just smiling. Then, forcing himself to let go of all the warm, happy feelings thinking of Tim and love and dinner plans brought to the surface, he headed over to the school. He'd locked his gun in the car to avoid triggering any metal detectors, and carried his briefcase with him. As the classes changed and the halls filled with students and teachers alike, he looked like just another member of the faculty among the bustle of people.

Finding one of the kids he wanted to talk to was a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack, but they were varsity football players, and they tended to wear their letter jackets, separating them from the crowd. Just as he had that thought, he spotted Jason Biggins walking down the hall with none other than Kevin Tanner.

"Excuse me, are you Kevin Tanner?" He decided to focus on that boy, as if his primary goal was looking into his father's assault case. Both boys stopped in their tracks.

"We're on our way to class," Jason spoke up before Kevin could get his mouth all the way open to reply.

"This won't take long. I'm investigating your father's assault, Kevin. It would be a big help if I could ask you a few questions."

"I'll catch you later," Jason said to Kevin, but Don called after him.

"I actually need to talk to both of you."

"I thought the cops were done investigating since they couldn't figure out who did it," Kevin said.

"I'm a private investigator. Once in a while, I take on cases like these that really need to be solved. I think what your dad went through, is still going through, makes it a worthy cause."

"Nobody's in the chem lab right now. We can talk there," Jason said, moving against the flow of students. A few moments later, they were in the lab. "What's your name, anyway?" he asked as he closed the door.

"Donald Strachey, here's my card," he said, handing him a card. He saw the glimmer of name recognition in Jason, but didn't challenge him right away.

"What can we tell you that we didn't already tell the cops?" Kevin asked.

"Well, for one thing, Jason, you were a key piece of the puzzle with Coach Fellows' alibi. Can you tell me again when and where you saw him?"

"Coach Fellows meets with each one of us individually once a month if we've had any problems with grades or getting in trouble. I had detention a couple times that month, so I had to meet with him. I guess I was there about the time it happened. I don't remember all the details now. It's been a while."

"Is that why you were at his place last night?"

"Who says I was?" Jason shot back, and Kevin looked at him uneasily.

"You weren't alone then, either. Kevin, were you with him?"

"Look, you're not a cop, and we don't have to answer any questions," he responded.

"No, you're right, you don't. I thought you might be glad to know someone was looking into your dad's case."

"I don't really see my dad anymore."

"And you don't care that someone nearly killed him?"

"My father is a two-faced liar. He lied to me my whole life, lied to my mother, and then last year he decides he's going public with being a faggot because he's got some boyfriend he leaves my mother for."

"So you think he deserved what he got, because he's a faggot?" Don pulled a photo out of his briefcase and flashed it at Kevin, who looked away.

"I saw him in the hospital, so you can put the picture away."

"Sounds like there are other people pretty pissed off at your father besides Coach Fellows."

"Look, I don't know who beat him up. My whole family was pissed off at him. My uncles already beat him up when they found out, so I don't think they'd do it again."

"Your mom's brothers?"

"Yeah. They kicked his ass for what he did to her. My mom's still screwed up about it."

"And how about you, Kevin? Are you screwed up?" Don asked.

"I'm no queer, if that's what you mean."

"I just meant that it looks like you're doing all right now," he said, purposely touching the letter on Kevin's jacket. Jason knocked his hand away, too incensed by the completely innocent gesture not to know who Don was, and that he was gay himself. "Being back on the team - - grades must be up. Congratulations. It's not easy to turn your GPA around once it starts sliding."

"Yeah, well, it was hard, but it was worth it. I've got a shot at a football scholarship to NYU next year."

"Good for you. Before all this happened, did you have a pretty good relationship with your dad?"

"We were pretty tight before I found out he was lying to us," Kevin said, and Don noticed the first chink in Kevin's armor, the first slight decrease in hostility in his voice when he talked about his father.

"Is this going somewhere?" Jason asked, sounding annoyed.

"I can understand you being angry with your father, maybe thinking he got what he deserved for hurting you and your mother. Just keep in mind that it's partially because of crimes like these, that kind of hate and violence, that people like your father end up living a lie, afraid to be who they are. Regardless of what you think of your father, if you're condoning or covering for someone, or involved in this kind of crime in any way, you're just perpetuating the hate and prejudice that made your father live a lie rather than live his life honestly."

"We're already late for next period," Jason said.

"Just one last question. Where were you guys this past Saturday, between about noon and five o'clock?"

"You're kidding, right?" Jason asked, raising his eyebrows. "Homecoming? Hello, football team? Oh, I forgot, you people aren't big football fans, are you?"

"You have some real issues with homosexuality, don't you, Jason?" Don pinned the teenager with an intent gaze.

"This past Saturday afternoon was our big homecoming game," Kevin explained. "We were on the football field all afternoon, and then the dance was Saturday night."

"Kevin, you don't have to agree with what your father did, or even change your feelings about homosexuality. But if you support terrorizing, assaulting, or victimizing homosexuals, you're just helping this society stay the kind of place that forces people to hide and end up hurting innocent spouses and kids like you and your mom. Just think about that and the company you keep," he said, pointedly looking at Jason. "Tell me, Jason, how did you know I was gay?"

Jason Biggins just stared at him a moment.

"I don't think you were at Coach Fellows' house last night for academic counseling. I think you were there to help him figure out what to do about the faggots in his neighborhood."

"That's bullshit. I wasn't even there."

"Your car was."

"Coach Fellows asked us to find a couple other guys and beat up one of the gay guys that live up the street from him."

"Kevin, shut your fucking mouth," Jason said, his tone menacing.

"I've had enough," Kevin said. "I can't live with this anymore." He pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to Don. It was a grainy picture of Tim, obviously taken at a good distance, probably by a cell phone or some other low resolution camera. "We were supposed to beat him up, bad enough to convince him and his boyfriend to move out." He shook his head, looking distressed, tears filling his eyes. "Like we did with my dad."

"You're a dead man, Tanner," Jason said, storming out of the room.

"You did the right thing, Kevin," Don said, resting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Will you come with me downtown and tell the police what you've told me?"

"Jason's not kidding. He's the one who... I was there the night my dad was attacked. At the time, I wanted to make him pay. It was Jason, Coach Fellows, and me. I even hit him once or twice. They put a pillowcase over his head, so he couldn't see who we were. I was just so angry with him, and it felt good to make him pay for breaking up our family. But Jason...it was like just hitting him or beating him up wasn't enough. He destroyed my dad's face. I know that's what he would have done to this guy in the picture. I can't be part of that again."

"The guy in the picture is my partner," Don said. "Thank you for telling the truth."

"You better put Coach Fellows and Jason in jail, because if you don't, they'll do this."

"You'll help me? Go to the police?"

"Yeah, I will."

"Do you know of any connection Coach Fellows or Jason, or anyone else on the team, has to our house being vandalized?"

"Coach Fellows didn't have anything to do with that, at least not that I know about. He said someone had trashed the house, but he didn't say anything about being involved with that, and I don't know of anybody on the team who was. We were all involved with homecoming that day."

********

Kevin Tanner made a full statement to the police, with his mother and his lawyer present. Brian Fellows, Jason Biggins, and two other students were picked up for questioning. By the time Don was headed to the senate building to pick up Tim, he felt a mixture of relief and frustration. He'd managed to solve the gay bashing case, and head off the threat to Tim's safety - - that was an enormous weight off his mind. Still, he was back to square one in figuring out who had vandalized the house and posted the video on the 'net. Someone out there was still hell bent on making their lives miserable, and chances were, he or she wasn't finished yet.

He had to smile when he saw Timmy coming toward the car, a decided spring in his step. He slid into the passenger seat and closed the door. Then he leaned toward Don to collect a long overdue kiss.

"Thank you," he said.

"I'm glad they could fix the vase, sweetheart," Don replied, smiling at Tim before turning his attention to driving toward the parking garage exit.

"I loved the gift, and the card, but that's not what I meant. Donald, if you hadn't convinced that boy to talk to you, I would have been attacked."

"Maybe Fellows wouldn't have been planning to attack you if I hadn't gone over there and antagonized him. Bailey told me to leave it alone, you told me to leave it alone, but I did it anyway." Don sighed, pulling out into traffic. "I should be apologizing to you for putting you in danger."

"You solved the Tanner case, and thanks to you, that boy will probably get the counseling he needs, and maybe have a shot at a decent future. Just because you haven't solved our case - - yet - - doesn't mean something good didn't come from this."

"You didn't see the photos of what that psycho, Biggins, did to Tanner's face."

"And thanks to you, he's going to pay for that, and hopefully not do it to someone else. Honey, I'm so proud of you. Whatever you said to Kevin Tanner, you made him face what he was involved in, and have the courage to do the right thing."

"If they'd done that to you, hurt you like that, none of it would have been worth it."

"They didn't. You made sure I was safe, and you would have kept me safe until you figured this out."

"I just got so focused on nailing Fellows."

"You were that focused on bringing him down for one reason, and one reason only," Tim said, reaching over and stroking Don's cheek lightly.

"He was so damned hostile. The way he looked at you at that barbecue that day...just for a moment... He was right there, right up the street, and there are so many nights that I'm not home. I've never rested easy since we had that run-in with him."

"I didn't either. I didn't want to admit it, because if I let myself think about him, worry about him being there, then he had power over me without ever lifting a finger."

"Well, he won't be there anymore. Not for quite a while."

"Donald, where are we going for dinner?" Tim asked, and Don grinned, knowing his partner was recognizing the route.

"I'll give you three guesses," Don said, still smiling. "I hear they have good steaks and a decent band," he added, saying the same thing to Timmy tonight that he'd said to him the night he first took him to the upscale nightclub, the night he proposed.

After dining on the good steaks and toasting each other with an equally good bottle of wine, they took to the dance floor to enjoy a little slow dancing on the same spot where they'd gotten engaged several years earlier.

"You've set the bar pretty high for me to top for our actual anniversary in a few months," Tim said, smiling as they swayed to the music.

"And if you don't come up with something spectacular, you know I'll begin to seriously question your love for me," Don teased.

"I'm beginning to think that vase has some kind of magical powers," Tim joked. "The last few days have been like a second honeymoon, even with everything that's happened."

"See, I told you we didn't have to go to some faraway destination to rekindle the romance," Don said, grinning devilishly as he danced cheek to cheek with Timmy, who couldn't see his expression. "Love is alive and well right here in Albany."

"Don't even think about wriggling out of our vacation this winter. I don't care how romantic you get with me, we're going to get on a plane and go somewhere warm, and we're going to make love in the sand with the water rolling up on the beach - - "

"That's it. We're not renting those Dante's Cove DVD's again. I've heard more about that sex on the beach scene than I have about where you actually want to go. How is it sexy to end up with sand up your ass? Do you have any idea how uncomfortable an ass full of sand is?" Don concluded, though his griping was all done with a note of humor in his voice.

"Every time we watch something like that, you end up on top of me on the couch before the credits roll," Tim countered, pulling back enough to smile at Don, which led to them both laughing.

"Probably because I find myself wondering why I'm wasting time watching some other guy get some when I'm sitting there on the couch next to a guy ten times hotter than the one he's screwing." He loved that the comment flustered Tim a bit and made him look down a little, smiling. He wondered if his heart actually skipped a beat, or it just felt that way. "Okay, sex on the beach it is, even with the tide coming in. But either we do something I can keep my pants on for, or we lie on a blanket."

"I'll bring the blanket," Tim volunteered, and Don laughed, pulling Tim close to him again.

********

"I know we have to work on the inside of the house, but I was thinking maybe we could take a little time out to go get pumpkins this weekend," Tim said, yawning, his head on Don's shoulder. Their romantic evening had given way to a spontaneous and combustible encounter carried out without even taking time to turn back the bed. When Tim had shivered a bit in the cooling afterglow, they'd finally made the effort to get up and crawl under the covers together.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to decorate this year," Don said, looking down, watching Tim's dark lashes move as he blinked.

"I guess I just got busy."

"Yeah, busy," Don repeated, sighing. "So how much harassment were you putting up with from Fellows that you weren't telling me about?" he rubbed Timmy's back and kissed the top of his head. He didn't want the question to sound accusatory or as if he were scolding him.

"Why do you think there was harassment going on?"

"Honey, I love that you're a terrible liar. But you are."

"It just seemed like anytime I was home alone, if I was outside working on the something in the yard, he'd drive by and make some remark or whistle or something. I should have just had some snappy comeback to give him, but no matter how much I sort of expected it, it took me off guard and I could never think of a good way to deal with it."

"That explains why you had me watering the roses at midnight when I got home from work."

"When it's very hot, they shouldn't be watered during the peak heat of the day."

"And you didn't enjoy being out there working on the gardening when Fellows was lurking around, waiting to give you a hard time. Was it mostly just from his car, or did he come over here?"

"Usually if he was driving by, he'd yell something, or if he was walking his dog by the front of the house, he'd make some remark...or he'd say something like, 'boyfriend working late again?' It wasn't a threat, exactly, but it felt like one."

"You should have told me."

"And you'd have gone down there and gotten into it with him. Don, he's half again your size and the kind of hatred he has inside him, I didn't want you to get hurt. At the time, I didn't even know what he was suspected of doing in the Tanner case. I just got that feeling from him that he wasn't an idle threat."

"Size isn't everything," Don quipped, wanting to be sure Tim knew he wasn't angry, that he didn't blame him for being afraid of throwing gasoline on an already flammable situation.

"It's not that I don't know you can handle guys like him. But we have to live here, and nothing he was doing was physically aggressive, and the police wouldn't have been on your side if you went down to his house and assaulted him."

"That explains why you didn't want to get involved in the big Halloween block party thing."

"I figured you'd be working anyway, and I just didn't feel like it."

"You mean you didn't feel like going to it alone when you knew that asshole would show up there and give you a hard time."

"I suppose that was part of it," Tim admitted tiredly. In the three years they'd lived there, their neighbors had accepted them well. Don wasn't sure if it was Timmy's sweet personality that won them over, or his flawless taste in choosing paint colors and landscaping for the exterior of the house, or some combination of the two, but they were always invited to any neighborhood functions and spent as much time passing a friendly word or two with the neighbors as anyone else did in that area.

Then Fellows and his wife and daughter had moved in about a year ago. Being they were a couple doors down, and it was cold weather when they moved in, Don and Tim hadn't had much occasion to interact with the newest neighbor until the incident at the barbecue. Apparently, he'd been watching them enough to assess their living arrangements and become incensed at sharing the block with a gay couple.

A couple of the neighbors had gotten the ball rolling for a Halloween block party, with games, food, and even music and dancing with a retro rock band one of the neighbors performed with on weekends. It was their answer to their children roaming around door-to-door, or getting into pranks, and the grown-ups confined to their homes handing out candy.

Normally, by early October, the front of their house would have been festively adorned for the holiday, and Tim would have been up to his neck in helping put on the party - - he was a firm believer in community and supporting any activities that fostered friendship and good communication in the neighborhood. Don thought it odd when Tim made some polite excuse to the neighbors, and some equally lame excuse to Don that he just had too much going on at work, and withdrew. There wasn't even a stray pumpkin in their yard and Halloween was a week away. He'd known something was off, but was too wrapped up in some time-consuming cases, and the cadence of everyday life, to give it much thought.

"You need to talk to me about things like this, Timothy," Don said, concerned. "In this case, Fellows was a real threat, not just a pain in the ass."

"I should have been able to take care of it myself. Some social activist I am - - hiding from a caveman like Fellows."

"This may come as a big surprise, but I like taking care of you, protecting you." He nudged Tim's chin up to kiss his lips. "Besides, there are a lot of things I can take care of myself that I still come home and dump on you because you make me feel better or you have some idea I wouldn't have thought of for handling things." He sighed. "I should have known something was off when you didn't drag me out to the pumpkin farm two weeks ago."

"You were so grateful to be off the hook that you didn't want to rock the boat," Tim said, laughing. Don knew he was guilty as charged, but somehow, he was looking forward to trudging through the mud and hauling oversized gourds to load into his ailing car, which always acted more put-upon to carry Tim's extensive outdoor seasonal decorating supplies than Don did himself.

********

Tim had the painting contractor scheduled for early the following week, so it was important to finish the cleaning job on the rooms they'd procrastinated about tackling. Don hadn't managed to make quite as good as he'd hoped on his promise to either be home more or include Tim on more surveillance activities, since his most recent case had him hanging around seedy strip clubs, trying to blend in with the other customers, watching a cheating husband to find out if he was just enjoying the view or engaging the girls for other services rendered. The wronged wife had provided him with a fat retainer and the job required a copious number of hours, so it would go a long way in paying for a lot of the little accessories and extras destroyed in the vandalism that the insurance payout wouldn't fully cover.

He envisioned taking Timmy out to the various little eclectic shops where he'd found a number of unique items that accented their walls and shelves, and buying him what he wanted. There was still some of grandma's money in Tim's bank account, so Don knew he could replace some of those things on his own - - and probably already had through some diligent online shopping. Still, he wanted to be involved in restoring the house and enjoy the chance to make Tim happy by enduring the hunt to replace some of the key items they liked best.

Since his favorite philandering husband wasn't a morning person and generally masqueraded as a respectable family man on Saturday and Sunday, Don found himself with enough time on his hands to start digging in to cleaning up the rest of the house.

Upstairs, besides the master bedroom, was a guest bedroom, a study, a workout room, and another bathroom. The workout room really wasn't all that hard to tidy up - - after all, there's a limit to how much you can "throw around" a weight bench, barbells, or a treadmill. Putting the home gym in the other bedroom upstairs had been Tim's idea, and though their schedules rarely allowed them to work out together, it was a nice side benefit to get a post-workout massage from Tim if he was either home or still awake when Don was finished.

The guest bedroom wasn't all that hard to tidy up, since there wasn't much in it besides the furniture and a few room accents like a dried flower arrangement and some pictures on the walls. It was only used for guests, so none of their personal effects were in there anyway.

Don gathered up the broken pictures on the floor and cleaned up the glass, before vacuuming up the smaller fragments. Tim was working on the study, since it was mostly his books on the shelves and his notes and papers in the desk. All their household papers were also kept there in a file cabinet, and Don was planning to sit down with Tim and go through those and help him reorganize everything. They also needed to focus on what information might have been stolen or compromised, since there were account numbers, birth certificates, insurance policies, and other items kept there that might be a springboard for identity theft.

"That was quick," Tim commented when he poked his head in the door of the guest room, finding it mostly cleaned. Don was just taking the remains of the broken mirror off the wall.

"This was the easy one. This and the workout room. They didn't really bother much with that, except to spray paint some crap on the walls. How goes it with the study?"

"It's a mess. Papers everywhere. The only upside is that it's making me face how much of that stuff I don't need to keep."

"Thank God. Does that mean we can look forward to the Timothy Callahan Paper Reduction Act? I don't have to save or photocopy every receipt I get?"

"You like all the things our CPA can call a business expense for you, so you're still going to have to bring me all those receipts, unless you have Kenny keeping track of them. I just think it's safe to assume I can throw out the receipt for that desk fan I bought three years ago that we threw out last summer. Things like that."

"Kenny's a better 'associate investigator' than he is a bookkeeper."

"Don, I don't know if you already saw this or not, but it was in a folder with photos that someone salvaged off the floor in the bedroom - - probably Margaret, because she was gathering up a lot of the photos. Most of them weren't badly damaged, but," Tim hesitated, then opened the folder he'd been holding to show Don. "There are places that restore photos. I was going to tape it up, but then I thought if we take it somewhere to be restored, it'll look better and maybe they can fix the mark on it - -"

"Timmy, calm down, it's not the end of the world," Don said, stemming the flow of nervous words. The photo of himself with Kyle back in their army days had been torn down the middle, in almost a compulsively straight tear. Someone had drawn a large "X" over his image. It was the only photo they'd found so far that had suffered intentional damage that wasn't just a result of a frame being broken.

"I know it means a lot to you, and you probably don't have the negative - - "

"It's the only photo of Kyle I have, and you're right, I don't have the negative." Don wasn't sure how he felt about the destroyed picture. Part of him felt pain, as if whoever destroyed the picture had somehow taken Kyle away from him all over again. Another part of him wondered why he cared anymore. It was so long ago, and he loved Tim so very much.

"At least your faces aren't really marred. The 'X' is over your body, so maybe they can do something to restore it."

"I think we can figure whoever did this is sending me a message, that it's because of me this happened. None of our other pictures were destroyed this way."

"You think this is a threat?"

"That I'm crossed out? Well, it sure isn't a love note."

"How are you and Kenny doing with going through your old files?"

"We gave Bailey some names to run through the police databases, but so far, nothing interesting. I'm starting on less dramatic cases now. The first batch were people who really had a reason to want to get back at me. They either lost their shirts in divorce settlements, lost their jobs for phony worker's comp claims, things like that. A couple morphed into criminal cases based on what I found out they were into." Don stared at the pieces of the photo. "And why this photo? There are a bunch of the two of us together, but those weren't tampered with."

"Maybe they wanted to destroy something irreplaceable."

"But how would they know that? How would they know that Kyle was dead, for that matter, or that he was anything more to me than an army buddy?"

"Do you think it might be someone who knew you back then?"

"Or someone who knows my history. John Rutka had a file on me."

"You never told me that."

"If I had told you that, I would have had to tell you what was in it, and at the time, I didn't know what you'd think of me if you knew."

"Honey, you fell in love and you paid an awful price for it. How could I think less of you for that?"

"I told the truth. Kyle tried to deny it altogether, and when that didn’t work, he tried to tell them it was just the stress of combat, too long away from home without a woman. He gave them a pretty convincing line of bullshit. Then I started gushing that we were having a relationship, that I loved him. God, I was like some pathetic teenage girl with all these romantic notions about her first love." He hated that it had the power even now to upset him, to pick open a wound in his heart that never totally healed.

"Telling the truth isn't the wrong thing to do, Donald. It's what they did with the truth that was wrong. I know you loved Kyle, and his suicide was tragic, and I completely acknowledge that with what I'm about to say, but he lied about your relationship and then he turned on you when the two of you should have been able to cling to each other. You were losing everything because of your relationship, and you needed each other to get through that."

"I didn't think he'd lie about it," Don said, angry at the tears that were filling his eyes over something that was so long dead and buried. "I thought he loved me, wanted me...beyond the stolen moments, I thought he'd want a future with me. That was naive. Two guys in army intelligence being a gay couple? Yeah, that would have worked well."

"No one every said love was logical...or easy." Tim put his arm around Don's shoulders. "You did what you thought was right."

"I just took the discharge. I guess Rutka thought I should have turned it into a crusade, fought for my rights, for Kyle's rights. He thought I ratted Kyle out to get the discharge, but that's not how it was. I wouldn't have...sold him down the river for an easy out."

"I know that, honey. What's more important is that I know you. Whatever Rutka thought he knew, it wasn't the whole story."

Don tossed the photo on the guest room dresser and turned to accept the hug Tim had waiting for him. He still ached inside with regrets and the lingering guilt that he had put that gun in Kyle's hand by so grossly misreading his feelings and what he wanted from him.

"What happened after Kyle died?" Tim asked, his voice almost hesitant.

"His whole family was military. His father was a retired colonel." Don stepped back so he could look at Tim. "He contacted me and told me not to make the mistake of coming to the funeral, that if he had his way, he'd make me pay for destroying his son. You already know how supportive my family is," he added sarcastically.

"Do you think he could be behind this?" Tim asked, and Don could see the pain in his eyes, as if he felt every emotion Don was coping with himself.

"He retired because he was wounded during Vietnam - - I don't remember how it happened now, but it was something heroic...somehow he threw himself into the middle of the action to save some of his men. It was a back injury that kept degenerating, shrapnel or something like it. He was in a wheelchair by the time I met Kyle. I doubt it would be him - - he must be pushing seventy by now. I stayed away from Kyle's family, respected their wishes to stay away from the funeral. In all these years, I've never heard from them, so why now?"

"Where are they?"

"Mostly in Virginia, I guess. Kyle and I didn't talk about our families much. We had so little time to be together, I guess we didn't talk enough, period. If we had, maybe I wouldn't have been so far off the mark about handling it when we were caught."

"Being in love and standing up for it isn't being off the mark, Donald."

"Most of the pictures we have that I'm in are pictures of the two of us together. Maybe someone wanted to make it clear that this was only about me."

"Or maybe there's someone or something else in your past, from that long ago, that this is related to."

"Maybe the assholes who did this just figured this was a keepsake we probably didn't have a backup for."

"The photo album in the study wasn't destroyed, and there are some old photos I have of my trip to Rome when I was in the seminary, pictures my friends took and sent me copies of. The album was open on the floor along with a bunch of other books they'd knocked off shelves, but it wasn't tampered with."

"Maybe I'll run some background checks on Kyle, see if I can piece together a little more about his life, his family... I know his family saw me as having destroyed Kyle's life. In a way, I did, but I didn't mean to. I don't know what I really thought was going to happen. That CID would just say, 'well, since you told the truth, it's okay' and let us ride off into the sunset together?"

"I think you were willing to give all that up for love, for Kyle, and you thought you'd be with him, even if you had to start over."

"Yeah, you're right, I did," Don agreed, nodding.

"We could go over to your office and start running things through the database programs you subscribe to there," Tim suggested, seeming to sense Don badly needed to change the subject, or at least refocus his energy on the case instead of revisiting the past.

"What about pumpkins?"

"Tomorrow's Sunday. I'm sure there'll be a farmer's market somewhere in upstate New York with a couple pumpkins left."

"Thanks," Don said, kissing Tim on the lips. Though it was a chaste little kiss, the intimate contact felt good, soothing the old wounds like it always did.

********

Searching for Kyle's family history was depressing to say the least, and Don was more grateful than he could explain to have Tim sitting there in his office, reading a book while he worked on the lone computer on Kenny's desk. There really wasn't much two of them could do, but he had the uncanny feeling Kyle's ghost was lurking in the shadowy corners, and Timmy's presence dispelled that.

His best results weren't in any database - - they were in obituaries. He already knew Kyle's name, birth date, death date, military history, and so on. The obituary provided the names of several family members, including his parents and two brothers, one older and one younger. Don remembered that Kyle's younger brother was in the Army also - - Kyle was very proud of him, since he was already excelling in his training in electronic surveillance and had dreams of being part of military intelligence, just like his big brother. By contrast, he didn't recall Kyle saying too much about his older brother, Alan. The only other item of interest he found was that Kyle's mother had died not long after Kyle did. He searched the obituary databases for her, and when he found the listing, it only said she'd "died suddenly at home." He printed that off, unable to keep his eyes from lingering on the line, "She was predeceased by a son, Kyle R. Griffin..."

"The printer's going - - you must have found something," Tim said, looking up from his book.

"Kyle's mother died two years after he did. She was only in her fifties."

"Was she ill?"

"It says she died suddenly at home."

"That could be a heart attack, and accident - - "

"A murder, a suicide... It could be anything."

"Don, if it was a suicide, too... Maybe there was a history of depression in his family. It could partially explain why he took his own life."

"I know why he took his own life, Tim, but thanks for trying to spin it another way."

"There are one of a thousand different ways someone can react to a life-changing, traumatic event. A lot of factors contribute to which path they choose."

"Well, this explains why Kyle never said much about older brother, Alan."

"What do you mean?"

"He was doing time for manslaughter in connection with a bar fight," Don said, reading the information on the screen.

"What else does it say?"

"Not much. I'll need to get a hold of someone at the Richmond PD - - it was their case. Maybe Bailey can pull some strings and get the file and his rap sheet. He was released a little over five years ago."

"Was he arrested again for anything else?"

"No, doesn't look like it."

"Why would he wait five years if it were him?"

"Parole. He was paroled, which means he probably had restrictions on him about leaving the state, and had to check in with his parole officer on a regular basis."

"It seems like a lot of messing around for a guy who's got a manslaughter conviction for killing someone in a fight. Why not confront you directly?"

"I don't know. It's probably not him, anyway. It's a longshot. I have enough information to take to Bailey to get as much as we can on this guy from the Richmond PD."

"What's his younger brother doing?"

"He left the Army, graduated with honors with a degree in Electrical Engineering, and now he works for some big company in Illinois. Married, two kids, no record." Don rubbed his eyes. "God, it feels weird, poking around in Kyle's life like this. In what should have been his life. His brother getting out of prison, his mother dying, his other brother getting his life together and getting married and having kids. He missed all of that."

"Do you have what you need?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Don said, feeling depressed and oddly sickened by spending the afternoon in a very dark place in his past. "Too late to go pumpkin hunting, huh?"

"We can do that tomorrow."

"Let me give Bailey a quick call and see if he's working tonight," Don said, picking up his cell phone and calling the detective. When the other man answered, he greeted, "Hey, Bub, it's Don. Are you on the clock tonight?"

"Unfortunately, yes. We have a new homicide case, so quite a few of us are on the clock. What's going on?"

"I have a lead...well, I don't know if it's a lead, but it's someone who could be involved with what happened at the house."

"You have a name for me?"

"Alan Michael Griffin," he began, then proceeded to read the social security number and arrest and release dates from the information he found. "I was hoping you could pull some strings and get us the case file, his rap sheet, check your database to see if you can dig up anything I can't access."

"Why would this guy want to trash your house, Strachey?"

"It's a really personal situation. I knew his brother a long time ago, some things happened...his brother committed suicide. It would only be if he was holding a grudge against people he thought contributed to his brother's death..." Don sighed. "The only photo at the house that was purposely destroyed was one of me with this guy's brother, Kyle Griffin, in the Army."

"If you want my help, you need to be honest with me, and tell me what this is about."

"Maybe there's no connection."

"Look, I'm in the middle of a homicide investigation. I have a sixteen-year-old girl raped with her throat cut, left in a dumpster behind her high school. So if this isn't a really good lead, I don't have time to screw with it."

"I had an affair with his brother in the Army, and we were found out, interrogated by the CID, and I told the truth. We were both discharged. He was a lieutenant, on a fast track in military intelligence, just like I was - - I was a sergeant." Even in this quick, stripped down version of the story, Don found hard to tell. He was grateful for Timmy's presence, especially when he came around behind the desk and stood by where Don was seated, squeezing his shoulder. "Kyle committed suicide the day we were discharged. He blamed me for what happened, and given what was done to the photo, and his family's attitude at the time of Kyle's death...it's not unreasonable to suspect that his brother might want to settle the score - - especially since he's already got a violent rap sheet."

"I'll get the file, and anything else on this Griffin guy I can find," Bailey said. He didn't comment on the story, but there was a more sympathetic tone to his voice.

"Thanks," Don said, reaching up to hold onto Tim's hand. "This situation with Kyle...not many people know about it..."

"They won't hear it from me unless the case makes it absolutely necessary."

"Thank you." Don paused. "Kyle's mother died a couple years after he did - - all it says is 'suddenly at home' in the obituary."

"Give me her name."

"Marianne Griffin."

"Also in Richmond?"

"Yes. Married to Frederick Griffin - - he's still alive."

"I'll fax the information over to your office when I get it." With that, Bailey hung up, and so did Don.

"Let's go home. I'll make you dinner," Tim offered, squeezing Don's hand. Take-out was great, restaurants were good, but when the world had just gut-punched him, there was something about Tim making him something good to eat, just the way he liked it, that had an odd, healing effect on him. He stood up and hugged Timmy, holding on tightly.

"I love you." Don willed himself not to get emotional about all this old misery again. He squeezed his eyes shut against the world for a minute, just letting Timmy hug him the way only he could, or ever did. Like he was precious and treasured and the only thing that mattered in the world.

"I know, baby. I love you, too. We'll get this figured out, and then we'll lay these old ghosts to rest." Tim was quiet a few seconds, letting Don draw what he needed from their closeness. "Give me the keys. I'll drive home and you can relax and tell me all the things I'm doing wrong and which route I should have taken," he teased, kissing Don's cheek.

********

Don pounded on the door of Kyle's quarters again. This was such bullshit. Just a few days ago, he'd been in Kyle's arms, they were making love, and he'd been declaring his undying love for the man. Kyle wasn't as given to expressing his feelings in words, but they hadn't needed them...at least, Don didn't think they needed them. It never occurred to him that Kyle would lie about them when they did get caught. That he'd deny it altogether, and then try to pretend what they had was just some physical thing to scratch an itch because there were no women around. So now he was just a substitute for a woman? His first time moving beyond blow jobs or hand jobs to letting someone be inside him, to sharing his heart and not just his dick...that couldn't all be a lie. When Kyle did say a few sweet words to coax Don into wanting it, to wanting Kyle to take him that way, it was all about love. And it had to be real. The look in Kyle's eyes had been real, the tenderness in his touches...

"Damn it, Kyle, open the fucking door!" Don shouted, pounding on it hard this time, surprised when it drifted open. "Kyle?" Don walked a few steps into the room that served as a sitting area and kitchen. The bedroom door was open. "Kyle, come on, at least talk to me," he said, going to the open doorway and expecting to see Kyle lounging on the bed, or maybe to hear the shower running.

What he didn't expect was the unthinkable spray of red all over the wall behind the bed. Like a monstrous burst of fireworks, only of blood and brains. What was left of Kyle lay dead on the bed, clad in his dress uniform, gun still in his hand.

He felt his legs give way and he was on his knees at the foot of the bed, wondering where the horrific, animal-like screams were coming from...

********

"Donald, wake up!"

How in the hell was Tim here? There was some reason Tim couldn't be here, in this awful place with him. He didn't care about that.

"Timmy?" he asked, his voice broken with tears and hopeful that he wasn't insane. That somehow, Tim was here to take him home...

"I'm here, baby. I'm right here."

He could feel Tim's arms around him, and he let himself be pulled against that familiar body that his heart called home.

"It was a nightmare, honey," Tim said gently, rocking him a little, patting his back. "You're safe. It's okay."

"He shot himself," Don sobbed. Part of his rational mind was coming back, regaining consciousness and realizing that Tim already knew about Kyle. That he wasn't in that awful room where Kyle's blood and brains were on the wall. It was years later and he was in the arms of the man who loved him the way no one else in his life ever loved him - - unconditionally, completely, tenderly, and faithfully.

"You were dreaming about Kyle," Tim said, rubbing his back.

"I found him," Don managed, regaining a little of his voice and his composure as reality dawned fully, and he realized he was in the safety of their home, their bed, with Timmy. "I just wanted to talk to him one more time. I didn't think he could just walk away from what we had and not look back. I thought if he saw me, maybe he'd...maybe we...he might remember how he felt when he said he loved me."

"I think Kyle had more demons than you probably even knew about. How anyone could want to leave this world when you were here to love them is beyond me. How a job could mean more than you."

"I'm sorry if my screaming like that scared you," Don said, moving away, wanting to look at Tim, to see his worried look, and all the love he knew he'd see in his eyes. Love he never questioned, love he took for granted in the best possible way. Tim grabbed a couple tissues from the night stand and gently blotted the tears off Don's face.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's not much to talk about. The dream was so real, it was like I was right back there in that room. I couldn't figure out what you were doing there, how you could possibly be there, but I could hear your voice and then feel your arms around me...before I even realized I was dreaming."

"I didn't know you were the one who found him."

"I don't like to talk about any of it, but I've tried to put that moment out of my mind as much as I could. There was no point in dredging it up. It was awful and bloody, and unbelievable. Surreal. I never wanted to remember it again."

Tim rearranged their pillows so they were propped up, and settled them with Don in his arms, the covers tucked around them.

"I was really young, and really stupid," Don said, letting his eyes drift shut, though he had no desire to go to sleep right then. "I thought he loved me."

"He probably did, honey. It was just too much for him. Having your whole world turned upside down that way...some people can deal with it, and some people are destroyed by it. Just because Kyle couldn't stand up for what he felt for you, doesn't mean he didn't feel it."

"You really believe that?"

"I do. The Gospels tell a story about the night Jesus was arrested. Simon Peter, who was very close to Jesus, a leader among the disciples, told Jesus that he was prepared to lay down his life for him. But Jesus predicted that Peter would deny him three times before dawn. Peter couldn't believe that. After all, he was the one who got so angry when the guards came to arrest Jesus that he lopped off one of their ears with a sword." Tim rubbed Don's back gently and kissed his forehead. "Sure enough, after Jesus was arrested, a servant girl asked him if he was a follower of Jesus, and he said that he wasn't. A while later, he was asked again, and again he denied being one of Jesus' followers. Finally, he was asked a third time, and he still denied being one of the disciples. On his third denial, the cock crowed - - it was dawn. So the man who was...I guess you'd call him Jesus' second-in-command with the disciples...and very devoted to Jesus, didn't have the courage to stand up and acknowledge his association with Jesus, even though he thought he was ready to die for him. Eventually, this man was canonized a saint. He was a great man, and a holy man. But even he had a moment of fear and weakness - - three moments, if you want to get specific - - where he denied the man he'd devoted his life to following, a friend and leader he thought he was prepared to die for. Did that negate everything else good about him? All his courage, his faith, his goodness? Did it mean he didn't believe in Jesus and his teachings, suddenly didn't care about him as a friend? It just meant he was human, he was weak like we all are sometimes, and he was scared. Just like Kyle - - he had a moment of weakness, fear, confusion. Unfortunately, it ended in tragedy. But that doesn't mean that Kyle didn't love you, that he didn't mean it when he told you he loved you." He squeezed Don a little. "And it doesn't mean it was your fault, honey."

"He was a hero. He saved my life. He wasn't a coward."

"Maybe death in battle didn't scare him as much as life out of the closet, losing his family and his career... To him, that was probably a fate worse than death, and he just couldn't handle it. If he'd been able to move past that initial shock, all the turmoil...maybe he would have realized what you had together, and things would have been different."

"If it hadn't been for me, he would probably be in some high powered position in military intelligence, living the life he wanted."

"You don't know that for sure. Besides, there were two men making love there when you were caught, and two of you paid the price for it. As much as you loved Kyle, and as tragic as his death was, he was with you of his own free will, and his suicide was a choice he made that you couldn't control."

Don didn't say anything else. He just nestled against Timmy and soaked up the closeness. A few minutes later, Tim slipped out of bed, and before long, was back with a cool washcloth and a glass of cold water. Don drank some of the water; his throat felt dry. Tim held him again, bathing his face with the washcloth.

"Feeling a little sleepy?"

"You don't know any more of those stories, do you?" Don asked, and Tim smiled, patting his back a little.

"We learned a few in the seminary," Tim replied, amused. "I'm sure I can come up with a couple until you fall asleep," he said, kissing Don's cheek.

The next morning, Don didn't really remember much about whatever parable Timmy pulled out of his repertoire to lull him back to sleep, but he knew the reassuring sound of his partner's voice had held the demons of his past at bay until morning.

********

Tim felt little touches on his back, and it took him a moment to wake up fully and realize Don was kissing him there, gently urging him onto his stomach. It didn't take much urging, since Tim figured whatever Don had in mind next was probably going to feel really good. He settled into position, resting his head on his folded arms, content to sort of drift in the laziness of a Sunday morning, leaving the driving to Donald.

He smiled, releasing a contented sigh as Don kissed every inch of his back and shoulders, completely unhurried in his loving task. He expected that when Don reached his tail bone, he'd start concentrating on getting him ready to make love, but instead, he just continued on with the kisses, not missing an inch of Tim's bottom cheeks, his thighs, his calves, even the soles of his feet. By the time Tim felt him moving back up, blanketing him with his own body, he was so ready for more that he arched up eagerly to meet the slick finger that eased inside him.

"Good morning, sunshine," Don said, a smile in his voice. Despite Tim's restlessness to move things along, Don took his sweet time, relaxing his partner, teasing him a little, just focusing on the intimacy of what they were doing, kissing Tim's neck and his cheek, caressing his shoulder and up his arm with his free hand until Tim raised his fingers enough for Don's to slide between them, and their hands clasped together, Don's palm on the back of Tim's hand, their fingers entwined the way their bodies soon would be.

Don withdrew his fingers and gently entered him, the sensation of being filled and surrounded making him groan, angling his head back for the kiss he knew would be waiting there. Don's other hand now moved up Tim's other arm, joining those hands the same way, fingers entwined. Tim encouraged Don's thrusts, moving in a perfect counter-rhythm, their gasps and moans mingling as they made love.

Lips and tongue were on the back of his neck, then a sweet, intense suction. He smiled, knowing Don was leaving little passion marks on his skin, staking a sort of primal claim on him that turned him on even more. Between the pressure on his prostate and the friction of his erection on the sheets, he knew he couldn't hold out much longer, as much as he wanted to last until Don came.

Don released his hands and ran them down his arms and sides in a caress, then wrapped his arms around Tim and rolled them on their sides, still joined. He stroked Tim's cock, his hand feeling much better than mattress friction. Don's chin was on his shoulder, his cheek against Tim's, their morning stubble chafing a little in contrast to the softness of their kisses. Tim chanted Don's name in a breathless little cadence until he came, the shudders of his orgasm pulling Don over the edge with him.

"Good morning," Tim said, smiling over his shoulder at Don. He shifted onto his back, and Don rolled on top of him, framing his face with both hands and kissing him deeply, exploring his mouth with a hunger that made it seem as if they hadn't kissed in years.

"You're beautiful when you first wake up," he said, looking down at Tim with a huge, ear-to-ear smile. "You're always beautiful," he amended, kissing Tim again.

"So are you," Tim said, laying his hand on Don's cheek. "The first time I saw you, I couldn't believe this hot blond guy with the beautiful blue eyes was actually checking me out."

"Hot blond guy, huh? That's what you thought?"

"I always had a weak spot for blonds with muscles. It's just that none of them I ever met were anything like you."

"Uh-oh," Don said, still grinning. "Should I like where this is going?"

"Oh, yes," Tim said, pulling him down for another kiss. "You turned out to be as wonderful on the inside as you were on the outside. I knew you were different as soon as I looked into your eyes. And you weren't looking for a one-night screw."

"Yeah, well, you weren't the one-night screw type. You were the little gold nugget in a really, really, big pile of rocks - - takes forever to find, but makes the hunt worth it." He stroked Tim's chest with a feather light touch of his fingertips. "You were so...classy. I was scared to death I was going to screw things up and stick my foot in my mouth."

"You did that a few times, but your hot body made it worth overlooking the rough edges," Tim teased, and Don laughed, then attacked his sides with tickling fingers, knowing exactly where Tim was the most ticklish.

"I'll give you rough edges," he joked as Tim laughed, vainly trying to push the tickling fingers away.

"It's almost ten. We better get moving if we're going to get what we need for the Halloween decorations and do the yard."

"Do the yard? You want to put out the decorations together?"

"Yeah, I do. I'll even tie black and orange ribbons on the light fixtures if that's what you want." He tweaked Tim's nose and kissed him.

"You don't have to do all this. I can take care of it. Fellows was arrested - - "

"This isn't about that asshole. It's about doing something together for our home. The inside may look like shit, but by God, we're going to have the most festive fucking yard on the block, and you're going to make a giant-ass bowl of that pasta salad for the Halloween party, and we're both going to it, and we're going to dance to some god-awful garage band music played by a bunch of middle-aged wannabe musicians, and I'm not working on that night, no matter how good a case offer I might get."

Tim had to laugh at Donald's crude assessment. And fall in love with him all over again for wanting to spend the day on yard decorating and reserve a night to attend a neighborhood block party, just because he knew it was important to Tim.

********

If Tim could have fantasized about a perfect - - and unattainable - - Sunday to spend with Donald, this day would have qualified.

No day that starts out with romantic, gentle, and yet passionate morning lovemaking can be all bad, no matter what else happens. Still, he'd really only expected to make it to some nearby nursery with a good pumpkin selection and some Indian corn. He was stunned when Don actually was willing to drive out in the country to a farm that was known not only for its pumpkins, but also its myriad of other gourds, scarecrows, straw, and other Halloween decorating staples.

They wandered among the pumpkins until they found the ones Tim thought were worthy of their outdoor decorating project. They chose a multitude of colorful gourds, even though Tim had to admit he had no idea what he was going to do with them. He'd expected Don's good humor to run out when it came to buying hay and corn husk decorations that didn't have a prayer of fitting in the car. Surprisingly, he compromised with Tim to forego the bales of hay if he agreed to tie the corn husk decorations to the car and take the back roads home. They did buy a scarecrow, who kept a disconcerting eye on them from the back seat.

Tim had thought the outing was over, but Don spotted a little mom and pop restaurant along the way that boasted "World Famous Fried Turkey." While neither of them truly expected to see heads of state lined up to snag a red-and-white checkered cloth-covered table, it intrigued them enough to stop and enjoy a delicious meal, complete with homemade apple pie for dessert.

With the sun shining, the chill of fall in the air, and the colored leaves adorning both the trees and the ground in equal quantities, it was a perfect Fall day. Maybe that's why it took Tim a while to realize they weren't heading back home when they left the restaurant.

"We should have turned left back there," Tim said, not wanting to shorten their outing, but also wondering if Don had taken leave of his senses and somehow missed not one, but two, opportunities to turn the car around and head for home.

"Do you have some appointment or something I don't know about?" Don asked, smiling, keeping his eyes on the road.

"I thought you'd want to get started on the yard."

"We've got outside lights. We can finish up in the dark if we have to. You're always talking about that cemetery out here with all the historic figures. Halloween week is a great time to walk around old cemeteries."

"You're taking me to Albany Rural? Don, I've been asking you to go there with me for...years. I wanted to look at plots out there."

"I'm not doing this if you're going to make me pick out my own grave," Don said with a laugh and a roll of his eyes. "Besides, I thought you wanted to be buried in the Callahan plot."

"There's only one grave left there. No one planned for Grandma Elizabeth having two husbands and wanting them both buried with her. My spouse plot went to the second one. I told you this story when my grandmother died."

"Sorry. I guess I forgot about Granny's two husbands."

"Albany Rural is full of history, politics...and it's beautiful."

"Okay, okay. Another day, we'll come out here and look at available cemetery plots. I'm just not in the mood to plan our burials."

"It's not about that. It's about finding a beautiful place for us to spend eternity together." Tim thought maybe he really was twisted if he found something reassuring in buying burial plots with Donald, but it seemed like the ultimate commitment - - to not only pledge the rest of your life to someone, but to ensure you'd always be together, at least, that you're physical remains would rest together.

"We can buy one plot. I'll just hop right on in on top of you," Don quipped, grinning. "I'm not going to want to live without you, and I like the idea of spending eternity on top of you."

"God, you're a sick man, do you know that?" Tim chided, though he was laughing, and touched by the sentiment tucked into the joke. Laughing about burial plots. How he loved his life with this man.

Their walk through part of the historic cemetery was anything but morbid. The autumn breeze was swirling the leaves on the ground, sending the occasional shower of color down on them from the trees above. The sounds of a waterfall could be heard in the distance. Donald seemed genuinely interested in the historic monuments, markers, and buildings there, though Tim found himself wondering how much of that interest was for his benefit, so he could tell whatever stories he knew about the notable souls who'd left their mortal remains there.

Still, walking hand in hand and crunching the leaves under their feet, just talking and laughing and enjoying the friendship that was the cornerstone of their relationship, was a memory Tim knew he'd treasure, even if he never managed to trap Don into coming out here again.

It was late afternoon by the time they arrived home and began putting out the decorations. Festive decorations of corn husks and Indian corn were attached to the outside light fixtures, the scarecrow took his place in a chair under a tree where Don and Tim strung orange pumpkin lights on the lower branches. The big corn husk decorations went on the outside light post, and at the base of the tree with the scarecrow. They found various spots to add the colorful collection of gourds, and spent part of the evening carving faces in a couple of the pumpkins before putting those in their places.

By a little after ten, they'd settled in to watch TV and unwind for a while. With the clock approaching the witching hour of midnight, Tim knew he should move, wake Donald, who was sound asleep, his head in Tim's lap, get them both into bed. Instead, he carefully touched Don's hair, not wanting to disturb him, but wanting to feel the soft blond strands under his fingers.

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways," Tim began, his voice barely a whisper.

"I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday's

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

I love thee freely, as men strive for right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.

I love thee with a passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints; I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose," he paused, swallowing, leaning down to kiss Don's sleeping face. "I shall but love thee better after death."

He smiled, covering Don's hand, the one that bore his wedding ring, with his own right hand, so the two gold bands touched. The practical concerns of bedtimes and schedules and getting enough sleep melted away. Tim sat there a long time, just treasuring the serene moment, just loving his husband and best friend, silently thanking God for what they had together, and for sending Tim living proof that he hadn't fallen from grace in choosing to be the man he truly was. No one could displease God and be given a gift like Donald at the same time.

********

New developments in the homicide case had kept Bailey busy throughout the weekend, so it was Tuesday morning before the fax machine in Don's office sprang to life with the case files on Alan Griffin's manslaughter conviction and Marianne Griffin's death. Kenny organized the papers into a couple file folders and put them on Don's desk. By the time Don came in, he was back at work at the computer, running a background check on a new client.

"Morning, Kenny," Don greeted as he arrived near ten. He was in a good mood, even though their case was still unsolved. He'd taken Tim along on his surveillance work the night before, and thoroughly enjoyed eating cold Thai food, listening to Timmy prattle on about the big fund raiser dinner and all the last minute arrangements. His partner had taken notes about what they observed, and had made good on his promise to stay in the car, no arguments, when Don got out to do a little legwork. They hadn't gotten home until nearly midnight, and had gone right to bed in deference to Tim's schedule.

"How'd the surveillance go last night?" he asked.

"It went great. It wouldn't have been as easy if something major came up, but last night was garden-variety cheating husband coming and going."

"And coming again?"

"Yeah, more than likely," he replied, snorting.

"How long were you out there?"

"About four hours."

"Locked in a car with your significant other for four hours and you didn't spend any of that time having sex, but you're still speaking this morning?"

"Timmy liked having a captive audience to talk about his fund raiser, and we've got a lot of stuff to figure out about fixing up the house, so the time went by pretty fast."

"Wow. Four hours talking? You're sure there was no sex?"

"Yes, four hours talking, and I'd have remembered the sex, trust me," Don repeated, chuckling.

"I put a couple files on your desk that came through on the fax."

"Great, thanks," Don said, tossing his briefcase and coat on the couch in his office before picking up the files. He sat behind his desk and stared at the folders a moment. He opened Alan Griffin's file first. It didn't help that Alan bore a striking resemblance to Kyle, even though he was older and wore a scruffy beard in the photo.

As he flipped through the pages, something occurred to Don. He picked up the phone and called the DMV. After navigating their irritating automated answering system, he finally got through to Helen, his contact there. He gave her Griffin's name and social security number, and waited while she checked to see what type of car he drove. Unfortunately, it was not the black Dodge Charger that had been reported in their neighborhood the day of the break-in.

Disappointed, he read through the facts of the case. Alan Griffin had gotten involved in a drunken brawl in a bar and ended up snapping another guy's neck during the fight. He claimed it was self defense, but the charges were based on the prosecution's insistence it was overkill and more about winning the fight than defending life and limb. He'd served eight years for it, before being paroled. His mandatory meetings with his parole officer ended just a few months before the vandalism to the house.

Setting the file aside, he opened the folder containing the information on Kyle's mother. He was greeted by a death scene photo, but it was fairly benign - - she looked as if she were sleeping. Her suicide was an overdose of anti-depressants, which she had been on since Kyle committed suicide, according to the file.

He heard the front door of the office, but he blocked it out, setting the file aside and leaning back in his chair. Hopefully it was some kind of salesman or other irritant Kenny could handle and send packing. The intercom buzzed. Something about it annoyed Don when the people visiting him could see him, he could see them, and they all could see Kenny.

"Yes," he said, humoring Kenny as he pressed the little button.

"Richard Tanner and his partner are here to see you," Kenny announced.

"Thanks." Don got up and went out to greet them. Richard Tanner was a tall man in his mid-forties, with a nice head of dark hair. Before his attack, Don imagined he was probably handsome. Now, his features were obviously incongruous and damaged. The man with him was a bit younger, with long, sandy hair pulled back in a pony tail. Both were dressed casually, in jeans, shirts, and leather jackets.

"I wanted to see you and thank you personally for what you did to resolve the case," Richard said, shaking hands with Don. "This is my partner, Mark Freeman."

"Good to meet you both," Don said, shaking hands with Mark. "Please, come into my office and have a seat. Don sat on the edge of his desk while his visitors occupied the chairs.

"It's a big relief to know that jerk, Fellows, and Jason Biggins are going to pay for what they did to Rick," Mark said.

"I'm most grateful that Kevin talked you, told the truth," Richard said. "His lawyer is trying to get him off the hook with counseling. I'm going to testify in his defense."

"I'm glad I could be of help. You probably know that Fellows was threatening my partner, and he lives a couple doors down from us. Something had to be done about him."

"Yeah, but the cops didn't do it in months, and you did it in a couple days," Mark said. "That pretty much sums up the cops' efforts when it comes to crimes against gays."

"I just got lucky - - Kevin was with Jason Biggins when I showed up at the high school, and he was upset about the fact they were planning the assault on my partner. I don't think Kevin would have cracked so easily if he wasn't facing being involved in another crime."

"It's not much, but we'd like you to have this." Tanner handed him a check for a thousand dollars. "I know it's probably not nearly enough for your time and effort on the case, but money's a little tight for us right now - - Mark's band is between gigs and I've been out of work since the attack."

"Please keep this," Don said, holding the check out to him. "It's not that I'm not very pleased that I could help you realize some justice in this situation, but I honestly got involved because I was worried about my partner."

"I know that, but it means a lot to us to have some peace of mind, knowing that asshole is in jail," Mark said. "We can swing that. Please, take it. Maybe you can use it to fix up your house."

"You heard about that, huh?"

"Detective Bailey mentioned it when we were at the station," Richard said.

"How are you doing with your recovery?" Don asked.

"Mark sold his vintage guitars so I can get the last couple reconstructive procedures done that should repair a lot of the cosmetic damage," he explained, reaching over and taking Mark's hand. "The insurance won't pay for what they call 'elective surgery.' I guess getting my face back is optional in their eyes."

"Don't give us the check back again," Mark said, as Don started to open his mouth. "You can't put a price on Rick's safety."

"Or Tim's," he said, smiling and nodding. He took a small framed picture of Tim off his desk and handed it to Richard. "That's my partner."

"How long have you been together?" he asked, showing the picture to Mark.

"I've known him almost seven years. We've been married almost six of those. Our anniversary is coming up in February."

"Don't tell me you got married on Valentine's Day?" Mark said, handing him the photo.

"Guilty as charged. I think Timmy figured I'd be less likely to forget our anniversary that way," he said, smiling and looking at Tim's smiling face in the photo for a moment before setting it back on the desk.

The intercom buzzed. Frowning, he picked up the phone. "What's up?"

"It's Bailey on the phone. He said it was urgent," Kenny explained.

"Excuse me a minute, I need to take this." He pressed the button to take the call. "Morning, Bub," he greeted.

"It won't be such a good one when I tell you what I have to say."

"So say it."

"Fellows and Biggins are both out on bond pending a trial."

"What? You're shitting me."

"No, I'm afraid not. The judge felt Fellows wasn't a flight risk, and he has no criminal record. Jason Biggins' father is a city councilman. He comes from a really influential family. They assured the judge he'd stay and face the music, and he bought it. I'm sorry, Strachey. There's nothing I can do about it. I just thought you should know, maybe keep a closer eye on your boyfriend. I still have to get a hold of Tanner and warn him."

"That I can help you with. He's in my office right now."

"You want to be the bearer of bad news?"

"It wouldn't be the first time. I'll let him know. What about an order of protection?"

"The DA made sure it was part of the terms of both their releases that they stay at least 300 yards from either Tim or Richard Tanner pending trial, and they're not to contact or harass either of them. I'll fax you over a copy of the order. That should keep Fellows' ass in his own yard, since I don't think his house is much more than 900 feet from yours."

"Yeah, assuming he obeys it," Don said, shaking his head.

"I don't think I can get any protection for Tanner or for Tim. We're so fucking short-handed now that - - "

"I'll take care of Timmy. It's obvious the DA isn't going to."

"He did what he could. Judges are unpredictable. This one felt that since this wasn't a murder case, you have two men with clean records, both with ties to the community...he didn't feel it was fair to detain them. The court dockets are backed up, so they'd have been locked up for as long as a year without being convicted." Bailey sighed. "Look, you're preaching to the choir. But it's out of my hands. If either one of them violates the terms of the protection orders, he'll be back in jail until the trial - - assuming there isn't a plea bargain."

"I know. Thanks for the warning, and the files you sent over. I'm still looking through those, though they don't look too promising. Any chance we could get a DNA test between the evidence from our house and Griffin?"

"I can put in a request, but it's not going to shoot to the top of the lab's priority list, especially since we don't have anything else on the guy, except that he probably doesn't like you, and our homicide case had a shitload of forensic evidence to wade through."

"Do what you can, huh?" Don concluded, feeling as defeated as he sounded. When he hung up, he looked back at his guests. "Sorry about that. I'm afraid I have some bad news."

"Judging from your conversation, I think we can figure out what it is. They're letting Fellows out on bail, aren't they?" Tanner asked.

"Yeah, I'm afraid so. Fellows and Biggins both. They don't have previous records, and the judge bought the argument that they've got ties to the community and they're not flight risks. There's an order of protection that prevents either of them from getting within 300 yards of you or Timothy, and they'll be in jail for the duration if they violate it. It's not much, but it's better than nothing."

"Not a hell of a lot," Mark grumbled. "I don't know why this should surprise me."

"Well, it's an assault case, not a homicide, and they have clean records. There's a valid argument from the defense standpoint that they shouldn't be doing time before they're convicted. I don't agree with it," Don said, holding up his hands to forestall an onslaught of angry response, "but it's hard to keep people in overcrowded jails who don't have records and pose a low flight risk. Even if they are assholes who should be strung up by their nuts and left there to rot." He held out the check. "I'm serious this time. Take this and hire yourselves some protection. I don't do bodyguard work, and I need to focus on protecting Tim, but I'd like to do something to help you guys stay safe until this is over."

"Thanks," Mark said, finally taking the check after a long hesitation. "Any recommendations on a good security service?"

"Kenny can set you up with a couple of names and numbers before you leave. They're both good firms and I've dealt with both of them, so let them know I recommended them, and they'll give you a good deal."

"Thank you," Tanner said, standing. "We should go." He shook hands with Don, who also stood. "Thanks again for finding a way to reach Kevin. Out of all of this mess, that's what I'm most worried about. I don't want my son growing up into another Fellows."

"For what it's worth, I don't think he will," Don said.

"Thanks for what you did for Rick," Mark said, shaking hands with Don. "And for, you know," he said, gesturing with the check.

"Not a problem. If there's anything else I can do," he said, handing Mark one of his business cards, "don't hesitate to call."

After they left, Don flipped through the file on Alan Griffin again. Sitting and waiting had never been his strong suit, so, decision made, he grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

"Are you gone for the day?" Kenny asked.

"I don't know. I need to see Timmy about something. Check and see if you can find some cheap flights to Richmond, Virginia, huh?"

"Departing when and returning when?" Kenny asked, pen poised.

"In the next few days, and I'd probably be there a couple days. Just get me some rates on that, okay?"

"Will do. You want me to grab it if I find a really low fare?"

"Call me first."

"Okay." He paused. "That guy's face is still majorly messed up, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is," Don said quietly. "It got to me, too. Scary stuff."

"His boyfriend seems really nice. That part about him selling off his guitars...that's pretty awesome."

"Sure is. Sick to think he got his face smashed in for having a relationship like that," Don said. If he were honest with himself, the visit from Tanner and his partner had shaken him, and it was obvious the stark reality of the hate crime Tanner suffered had taken a toll on Kenny's normally bouncy spirits. "I'll talk to you later," Don added, heading out the door.

********

When Don arrived at Tim's office, his partner was painstakingly explaining the why's and how's of organizing a perfect seating chart for a political fund raiser to the young man who had been at the hospital with the senator. Don had to smile at the saintly patience Tim had in correcting the young man's wrong choices and breaking into one of those beautiful smiles of his when it seemed his apprentice was catching onto the ways of the wizard himself.

"Donald!" Tim said, the happy smile turning into one of pure, radiant delight as he looked up from the project that had kept him oblivious to Don's presence as he leaned on the doorframe, watching them.

"Sorry to interrupt. I need to talk to you for a few minutes."

"Donald, this is Adam Garner. I think you two might have met at the hospital," Tim added.

"Not officially," Adam said, standing to shake hands with Don. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise, under better circumstances this time," Don said, smiling.

"I can go work on those phone calls if you want," he said to Tim.

"That would be great. Be sure you get the person we invited on the phone, and remember, the senator noticed their names weren't on the RSVP list, not me."

"Got it."

Don closed the door, which made Tim frown a little. Don sat in one of the chairs across from Tim's desk.

"You didn't close the blinds, too, so apparently you aren't going to try to convince me to make out in here, so it must be bad news."

"Believe me, I wish I was here to make out." Don grinned lecherously. "Well, not that I'll fight you off if you can't control yourself."

"I'll do my best to keep my hands on the desk," Tim said, resting his folded hands there as if to emphasize the point. Taking in Don's somewhat discouraged expression, he frowned. "Honey, what's wrong?"

"A couple things. Fellows and Biggins are out on bail pending their trials. There's a protection order that requires neither one approach you or Richard Tanner any closer than 300 yards."

"There's barely that far between our houses."

"That's the point. I guess the judge agreed with the defense arguments that they weren't big flight risks and didn't have prior records, but apparently he wanted to be sure they couldn't harass you or Tanner, either."

"So we're back to the buddy system, huh?" Tim asked, smiling a little. It didn't appear as if he minded being protected by Don picking him up, dropping him off, and otherwise watching over him.

"Yeah, definitely. I wanted to be sure you didn't go out running around without me."

"I have some errands I need to run for the fund raiser. For one thing, I need to go to the banquet hall and go over some of the arrangements. I have an appointment there this afternoon."

"I'll take you, no problem."

"There's something else eating you."

"I need to go to Richmond and talk to the Griffins. I can't just sit around here and read files and beg the cops to check his DNA, which could take God-knows-how-long, the way the labs are backed up. I asked Kenny to look up flights." Don paused. "I don't really want to go there alone," he added, his voice barely audible.

Tim got up and walked around his desk, pulling the other visitor chair up closer to Don's, so they were almost knees-to-knees.

"I wouldn't let you go there alone," he said, taking Don's hand and squeezing it gently. "But I can't leave until after this fund raiser Saturday night."

"Shit. I forgot about that," Don said, rubbing his forehead. "I don't mean I forgot your event, honey," he corrected, not wanting Tim to think that the project that was occupying his every waking moment at work, that they'd spent two hours talking about the night before, slipped his mind. "I guess I forgot about the timing."

"It's okay. You're still coming with me, right? Getting all dolled up in your tux?" Tim playfully adjusted Don's loosened tie.

"Of course, I am," he said, smiling at Tim. He hoped it was expressing even half of how much he loved Timmy when he did little things like that. "Is everything okay here?"

"How do you mean?" Tim asked, though Don suspected he knew perfectly well what the question meant.

"Anybody giving you a hard time about that video?"

"It's been a little embarrassing, but fortunately, a lot of people on the staff didn't even see it. It was posted in the evening, and thanks to Bailey really getting on it fast, it was down by late morning. The senator called a staff meeting while I was out of the office the rest of that day, and made it clear she wouldn't tolerate any nonsense stemming from the video." Tim looked down a minute. "It's just strange thinking that your boss and a handful of your coworkers have seen you naked and...involved." He blinked a couple times. "I don't hold anything back with you...I don't censor myself. I was never that open with anyone else," he added, looking uneasy. "It was just so...personal. I don't know how many people I know saw it. That's the hardest part. Meeting with the people I usually deal with and wondering how many of them saw it. Even this party Saturday night. The senator's just going on like nothing happened, having me assist her in hosting duties. But the press got a hold of it, and even though Bailey had it offline before they could really make an issue of it...even if people didn't see it, they know it happened."

"I know, " Don said, trying to put as much sympathy into the two little words as he could. He didn't have the same issues to face as Tim did. Kenny probably would have slapped him on the back and said, "Way to go" had he seen it. And he worked for himself, so he didn't have a boss to contend with. If some prospective client saw it, and didn't hire him because of it, he'd never know it. But Tim had to face a boss and a staff of coworkers every day. "But what the senator said was true. We were the victims here," Don said, then pausing, he added, "I hope you won't think this is creepy. It's not like I kept a copy of the video or anything, but when I saw it? All I could do was think to myself how amazingly beautiful you were."

"Thanks for trying to make me feel better about it. I'll be okay. Nobody's given me a hard time about it. There's a rumor going around that my boyfriend wouldn't like that, and he's very protective." Tim touched Don's face briefly.

"There's truth in that rumor," Don confirmed, smiling.

"Can we still go to Richmond after the fund raiser?"

"Yeah, I'll call Kenny and tell him to start looking for fares on flights leaving next week."

"Tomorrow night's the big Halloween block party, remember? How do you think that'll work with Fellows out on bail?"

"He can't come to that if you're there, and I doubt anyone's going to encourage him. After all, the Sheridans and the Jensens are the driving forces behind that party, and we're friends with both of them, and have been, since before Fellows even moved into the neighborhood. I don't picture him being welcomed."

"Maybe we should just not go. I don't want you to have to get into another confrontation with him."

"We're not going to hide in our house. You're looking forward to that party, and we're going."

"If it isn't safe, we won't go."

"It'll be safe," Don replied, leaning forward to give Tim a quick, office-appropriate kiss on the lips before he stood and headed for the door. "You stay inside until I get here tonight, remember?"

"I remember. I'll call you when I'm wrapping things up here." Tim stood and before Don could get the door open, pinned him to it, kissing him thoroughly, pulling their bodies close, wrapping his arms around him. In that little corner of the office, they were out of the range of prying eyes. "You be careful, too," he said, then he kissed Don again, with just as much tongue as the first time.

"Remind me to stop in here more often," Don said, grinning, happy to stay in a loose embrace with Tim for a few more stolen moments.

"That would be fine with me," Tim said sincerely.

"Can't have me in here interfering with your busy schedule," Don teased, not sure why he was treasuring this little secret tryst behind the office door.

"Not having time to see you would be like not having time to open the blinds and let the sunshine in." Tim rested his forehead against Don's.

"I love you," Don said, kissing him again, less intensely this time. "I better go before the senator catches us hiding behind your door," he added, laughing.

"You're right," Tim agreed, and released him, opening the door. As Don started to walk through it, Tim took a gentle hold of his arm and stopped him. He touched Don's face and kissed him softly, briefly, no tongue, but in view of the rest of the office. "We don't need to hide behind doors."

"You made my day, Timothy," Don said, blowing him a little kiss before he turned to leave, with a spring in his step that had been missing when he arrived.

********

They planned their trip to Richmond for the following Tuesday. Tim felt he should be back in the office Monday for the follow-up and post-mortem on his big fund raiser that Saturday, and to get the staff rolling on the usual thank-you's and other correspondence such a huge event always left in its wake. They only planned to be gone Tuesday and Wednesday, taking a dawn flight Tuesday and a red-eye back Wednesday night so Tim would be back in the office Thursday.

Don occupied himself with devoting some time to a couple divorce cases he was working, handling some garden variety tailing activities. Meanwhile, the big Halloween block party was on the horizon, and even though Tim seemed overextended by his twelve-hour work days leading up to the fund raiser, he was thriving in his participation in the party plans. He even managed to get out of work at a sane hour that evening to help set up, recruiting Don and Kenny to join him, Mike Sheridan, and Stan Jensen in stringing the outdoor lanterns and getting the rented tables and other essentials in place.

As darkness fell on the neighborhood, the setup was complete, the lanterns glowing, a vast array of food and non-alcoholic beverages available to the party goers. The children played traditional games like bobbing for apples, and some of the neighborhood mothers organized a costume contest. The band actually wasn't half bad, as long as you didn't concentrate too hard on the fact they still looked like an accountant, an attorney, a psychiatrist, and a bank vice president. They were covering songs by everyone from The Doors to Bon Jovi with varying levels of success.

"You guys are lucky to have nice neighbors," Kenny said through a mouthful he'd just bitten off a barbecued chicken leg. "And they can really cook, too."

"No arguments there," Don said, barely willing to give up the affair he was having with a big gob of Tim's pasta salad to answer. Whatever the secret ingredient was that starred in the old family recipe, Don really didn't care. All he knew is that he usually ate most of what Tim made of it, forcing him to make at least twice what he'd normally need for whatever the occasion was.

"He's never told you what he puts in this stuff, huh?" Kenny asked, trying it himself. "That's really good."

"Told you," Don said, still chewing happily.

"Where is Tim, anyway?" Kenny asked, looking around.

"He's over there with the Sheridans - - " Don spotted Margaret with a group of the women, and Mike, alone, making another sojourn past the food table. "Shit." Don tossed his plate in the nearest trash can and hurried over to where Mike was just reloading his. "Where's Tim?" he asked, knowing he sounded a little desperate. After all, there were a lot of people milling around out there, and Tim was a social butterfly at any form of a party.

"He said he was going back to the house to get the other bowl of that salad since the first batch is almost gone."

"He just left?"

"About ten, fifteen minutes ago, I guess. Is something wrong?"

"Where is he?" Kenny asked as he caught up to Don.

"He went back to the house," Don said, the worry clear in his voice. "I'll go check on him."

"There's no sign of Fellows around here, if that's what you're worried about," Mike spoke up. "We're all keeping an eye out for him."

"Thanks," Don said before hurrying across the street and down a house to their place, which was just a bit removed from the action. Kenny was following him, but all he could concentrate on was reaching the kitchen and finding Tim there, safe and sound, pulling the other bowl of pasta salad out of the refrigerator.

He pushed open the front door and yelled Tim's name, knowing it sounded overly loud and panicked, and expecting, praying, that Tim would poke his head around the corner and ask what all the commotion was about.

But he didn't. The house was dimly lit and silent, the way they'd left it when they went to the party.

"Timothy!" Don bellowed, his voice a cross between a shout and a desperate plea. He ran upstairs, calling to Tim, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that he wasn't going to find him. When he got back downstairs, Mike Sheridan and Stan Jensen were standing in the foyer with Kenny. "He's not outside anywhere, at the party?" Don asked, out of breath.

"We already looked. He's not out there. He headed right back here toward the house," Mike said.

"Did you see if he got inside? There's no sign he's been here," Don said, going into the kitchen and finding the bowl of salad right where Tim left it, on the top shelf of the refrigerator.

"I just saw him start out this way. Margaret got talking to some of the ladies, and I went back for refills on the food," Mike explained.

Don pulled out his cell phone and dialed Tim's number, crushed and visibly upset when it went to voicemail.

"He probably couldn't hear it outside with the band," Kenny said, and that thought did console Don...marginally.

"I'm going to Fellows' place," he said, heading determinedly for the door. Stan, a burly man of over six feet tall with a mustache and beard, could swing from big, jolly, and lovable to pissed off and intimidating at a moment's notice. Don imagined it was a skill that came in handy in his job as head of security for one of the local event venues.

"I'll go with you," he volunteered.

"Count me in," Mike said, and Don knew Kenny was in on the posse.

"Okay, let's go," Don said, leading the group out the door and down the sidewalk. Margaret rushed up to them.

"What's happening?" she asked, worried.

"We can't find Timmy," Don said, his stomach clenching at that thought. Timmy, honey, I let you down. I didn't watch you. I stuffed my face and visited with the neighbors and I let you get out of my sight.

"Now maybe he's just wandered off to one of the other houses. We're running low on Coke, and that's over at the Millers' house. Maybe he went with Jenny to help her with that."

"Will you go check with Jenny?" Don asked.

"Of course. What are you all doing? You're not going to the Fellows house, are you?"

"Margaret, go find Jenny Miller and see if Tim's with her. If not, the two of you start asking around, see if anyone saw him," Mike said, taking hold of his wife's shoulders. "We're going to make sure nothing's wrong. That's all."

"Don't you confront him and get yourself hurt," she demanded.

"There are four of us and one of him," Don said. "I'm armed." he patted his gun under his jacket.

"Oh, that's so much better," she said, throwing her hands in the air, striding off to complete her assignment, as if she realized arguing with her husband or the other men was pointless.

Don pounded on Fellows' front door, then rested his hand on his gun. The door opened, and Fellows glowered at the group of men on his porch.

"What the hell do you want?" he asked.

"I'm only going to ask you this one time, Fellows, and I better like the answer. Where is Timothy?"

"How the hell should I know where he is? Probably at the party with the rest of the wives," he added, glaring at Don.

"If you know anything about this, Fellows, now would be the time to spill it," Stan said.

"What's the matter, Strachey? Need to bring a few men along to protect you?"

"Where is he? If you've laid a hand on him, I swear to God - - " Don began, but Fellows just shook his head and grinned, interrupting.

"All these men worried about your wife, Strachey. I always knew he had a cute little ass, but I didn't know he was servicing the whole block."

Don didn't even think. He swung as hard as he could, his fist connecting with Fellows' jaw, sending him staggering backwards into the wall of his foyer.

"You've had it, asshole," Fellows said, mopping the blood trickling from his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm calling the cops."

"Yeah, you would do that," Stan said, almost shoving Don out of the way to confront his neighbor. "You can only win fights when you have two or three kids with you to back you up. And while we're at it, just why do you have such an interest in Don's partner's ass? Something about you you're not telling?"

"You can't just walk into my house and assault me!" he shouted, still righteously indignant.

"If you know where Tim is, you better tell us," Mike said. "You're an asshole and a bully, but even you aren't going to win one against four."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about. I haven't left the house all night."

"Where are your wife and daughter?" Don asked.

"I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that they've left. I'm here myself."

"Then you won't mind if we look around, make sure Tim's not here?" Stan asked.

"Yeah, I fucking mind you going through my house. I haven't seen him and I haven't been out."

"If you won't let us have a look for ourselves, we'll call the cops," Mike said.

"You probably don't want to do that after Strachey here just slugged me."

"You swung at him first, I saw it," Kenny spoke up.

"That's right, Fellows," Stan said. "You made a crude remark about his partner and then you took a swing at him. It was self defense. We all saw it."

"That's what I saw," Mike said, crossing his arms.

"Fine, look for yourselves. There's nobody here." Fellows stepped aside, and the four men entered, going through the house quickly, not finding any sign of Tim or a struggle. Fellows was still standing in his foyer, arms crossed over his chest. "Satisfied?"

"Just that he's not here. Not that you didn't do something to him," Don said, leading the group out of the house and down the front steps. He turned back before Fellows got the door closed. "If I find out you're involved in this - - "

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'm not." He slammed the door.

Don's cell phone rang. "Yeah," he said, not recognizing the number and not really caring, unless it was Tim trying to call him from some unfamiliar phone number.

"It's Margaret. I can't find any sign of Tim. Jenny and I have talked to everyone. We're breaking up the party to start going door-to-door."

"Thank you," Don said. The thought crossed his mind that Tim would offer vehement objections to them ruining the party because of him. "I'm calling it in," Don said, calling Bailey on his cell phone.

********

Tim blinked, not really wanting to open his eyes or move his head, which was pounding mercilessly at the moment. The last thing he remembered was walking back to the house...at least, he thought that's where he'd been going. Nothing was very clear at the moment, except for the pounding in his head, and the hardness of the surface under him.

He pushed himself up a bit until he was sitting on the floor. It was cold, like a grave, and he shivered. His clothes were gone, and all he wore was his t-shirt and boxers.

"Donald?" he asked, feeling sure Donald wasn't there, but wishing that somehow he would be, that he was dreaming. The room he was in was concrete. It had to be a basement, because there were no windows, just a single grimy bulb in the middle of the ceiling, a pull cord hanging down from it. There was nothing in the room except Tim himself. "Is anyone here?" he called out. If anyone else was in this place, whatever it was, they were silent. "Please, if you're there, answer me," he said, knowing it was futile. Whoever had done this apparently wanted to play with his mind.

Then the light went out, and the room was in complete darkness. He heard the sound of a door opening and closing, footsteps coming closer. "Who's there?" He almost reached out, but he was afraid of what his hand would encounter. He could sense someone close by, feeling like he was being watched. That was nonsense, though, because the room was in utter blackness.

"Please, who's there?" he asked again, hating to give his captor the satisfaction of knowing how afraid he was.

"Open your mouth," the voice commanded. He lurched back, frightened at the loudness and proximity of the sound.

"Why?" Tim questioned, knowing it was probably futile, but whatever this maniac wanted to put in his mouth, it was a good bet he wouldn't want it there.

"Open your goddamned mouth or I'll open it for you."

Tim clenched his jaw, too afraid of what was coming to obey an order he knew he should. He wasn't even surprised by the flurry of blows to his face. He was expecting to suffer for not cooperating. It was like a nightmare version of Let's Make A Deal - - the mystery oral torture behind door number one, or the beating behind door number two.

"I'm not telling you again. Open your mouth," the other man said, grasping him by the jaw. "And don't try anything, because this gun might just go off."

Tim tried to keep his mouth closed, his jaws clenched, but a sharp blow to his stomach made him gasp, and he felt something cold and metallic force its way into his mouth, bruising the roof of it. He sent up a silent prayer that this wasn't the end, that he wasn't going to be killed this way. It would be quick for him, but it would be eternal Hell for Donald, and he'd never forgive himself, and never get over it. Not after what happened to Kyle, and not without Tim there to help him through it.

"Hey, Strachey, you remember the last time one of your boyfriends had a gun in his mouth? You put it there, asshole. You destroyed Kyle and you just moved on to somebody else. What's it worth to you for me not to blow this one's brains out, huh?" he added.

Tim felt the bile rising in the back of his throat. The gun was jabbing at the roof of his mouth, the back of his throat... He felt tears trickling down his cheeks.

"There's one bullet in this gun. Let's see who Lady Luck is favoring tonight." He spun the barrel of the revolver. Tim closed his eyes, praying. Waiting for the explosion and to be propelled into the next life.

All that followed was a loud click. And his assailant's laughter as he pulled the gun out of Tim's mouth and backhanded him again. Then he grabbed a handful of Tim's hair, yanking his head a bit to the left, presumably so they were facing each other, though Tim could still see nothing.

"The next time I tell you to do something, you're going to do it. Otherwise, I'll just blow your fucking head off and be done with it."

"Please..." His voice trailed off. He didn't know what he was hoping for, what he thought his captor would grant him in return for a simple plea for mercy. The painful grip on his hair loosened, but then he felt something cold and sharp lightly skimming up the skin of his leg to the edge of the fabric of his boxers.

"Do you think Strachey would still want you if you didn't have a dick? Or are you always on the bottom anyway?" The blade of the knife made its way under the leg opening of his shorts, the very tip brushing the skin of his balls. The pressure was enough to let him know it was there against him, but it didn't cut him.

"If I gave you a choice between your dick and your partner's, which one should I cut off?"

"Donald's here? Please, let me see him. I'll do whatever you want. Just let me see Don."

"I guess I'll cut his off instead." And then the blade was gone, the other man was moving, footsteps were retreating.

"Wait! Please don't hurt him. Do whatever you want to me, but please don't hurt Donald!" he shouted, standing, disoriented, dizzy, his hands extended, groping uselessly in the darkness.

"You had your chance," the voice said, and then a door slammed and a lock turned.

Tim rushed forward, slamming into the unforgiving cement wall. He slid his hands along the surface, trying to find the door. Finally, he encountered a wood surface that had to be the door. He began pounding on it. He pounded on it with all his strength, ignoring the pain in his hands, not caring how badly he bruised them.

********

"We've been through the entire neighborhood at least three times," Kenny said, his voice sounding weary. "Even the cops are wrapping up. Bailey said they were setting up at the house in case of any ransom calls," Kenny added.

"I should have watched him more carefully."

"We were at a party with dozens of people - - "

"The perfect diversion." Don trudged tiredly back toward the house. Only two unmarked sedans remained in the driveway, and most of the remnants of the block party had been disassembled. It was nearly midnight. Other people were in their homes, with their families. He was heading back for an empty shell, feeling as if the house was as gutted as he felt himself without Timmy there.

Inside, Bailey and a couple technicians were still there, the phone line tapped.

"You really think they're going to call the house phone instead of my cell?"

"We're monitoring that, too," Bailey said. "We've got all the bases covered." Bailey hesitated a moment. "One of my men found these in the shrubs near the house," he said, holding up a plastic evidence bag containing Tim's glasses.

"Oh, my God," Donald said, taking them from him. He fought to keep his composure. The only person he ever really opened up to was Timmy, and he wasn't there. Even Kenny's hand on his back did nothing to console him. There was no point in falling apart without Timmy there to catch the pieces and put them back together.

"I have to hang onto these until we make sure there aren't any other prints on them." Bailey took the glasses in their bag out of Don's hand with an uncharacteristic gentleness.

"What did the Richmond PD say about Griffin?"

"He's accounted for at his apartment. I just heard back from them a few minutes ago. I'm sorry, but it's not him, and we searched Fellows' place, and even Biggins' parents' house. We've done a house-to-house search of the neighborhood. Nothing."

"So what are you doing now?" Don asked.

"We're at a point of wait and see. We've got his description out to departments across the state, along with the photo you provided."

"We can't just sit here and wait around while he's out there somewhere, maybe injured...maybe worse..." He turned to Kenny. "We'll go back through all those case files, start at the beginning, maybe there's someone we overlooked. A relative, a friend, someone..."

"I'll go to the office and get to work. I'll run every name in every file from the stack you pulled."

"And be sure to check my notes, even if they're not listed on some tidy little form."

"I will." With that, Kenny hurried out the door.

"Did you ever get anything on that black Dodge Charger?" Don asked.

"Do you know how many people own black Dodge Chargers in New York State, even just here in Albany?" Bailey asked.

"I don't care. I'll check every one of them if I have to."

"I know you have a contact at the DMV, so you can probably take care of this one on your own," Bailey said, giving Don a feigned look of exasperation. Don knew he was trying to keep up the banter, keep the tone light.

"If she can't do it for me, will you authorize her giving me the list?"

"Just use my name and tell her to get you whatever it is you need."

There was a sharp knock at the door, and Don drew his gun, then opened it, in a movement so swift that Bailey hadn't drawn yet.

A group of about a dozen of their neighbors were outside.

"We talked it over and decided it might be a good idea to organize a search party," Mike Sheridan said.

"That's a nice gesture of you folks, but we generally wait until daylight to organize search teams," Bailey said.

"That's six hours from now," Margaret said. "If my husband was out there somewhere, I wouldn't want a search party to wait six hours because they were afraid of the dark," she said, hands on her hips.

"She has a point there, Bub," Don said, smiling a little, crossing his arms and looking at the cop.

"It's not about being afraid of the dark, Mrs. Sheridan. It's about trying to search for someone when the conditions aren't optimal to locate them."

"It's not going to be optimal for him to be with whoever took him another six hours while we all go to bed and forget about it," Stan spoke up. "You know as well as we do that the sooner we find him, the better chance we have of finding him alive."

"Strachey, if you want to organize this, it's up to you. We don't have any reason to believe we're looking for a body at this point, so where are you searching and what are you looking for?"

"What if someone did something to him and then let him out somewhere? He could be wandering around out there, hurt and confused, and not be able to get home on his own," Laura Jensen spoke up. "Paul here owns the True Value not far from here," she said, gesturing at one of the other neighbors. "He's going to open up and get us flashlights, high-powered lanterns, whatever we need. We're going to search the rural areas, and some of the rougher sections of the city. Some wooded areas. We'll start tonight, and we'll keep re-evaluating and finding new places to search until we find something - - or you do," she said to Bailey.

"Even if we don't find anything," Don said, "this is going to mean the world to Timmy when he gets home, that you all showed up to help."

"Tim helped Ryan bring up his grade in his political science class last year," Laura said. "He wouldn't have passed if Tim hadn't taken him job shadowing and spent time explaining so many things to him. He's got Ryan thinking about a career in politics now, and he was barely passing the class last Fall," she added, smiling. "We want to help. We'll do something different if our ideas aren't good ones in your opinion."

Don wondered if Tim had told him about that, if he'd tuned it out as just more nattering about politics, or if Tim had just quietly done it while Don was engrossed in a major case or spending his nights on surveillance activities. Tim valued community, and he obviously worked at it even more than Don realized. A dozen people were on their porch on a cold October night ready to take up flashlights and lanterns and scour the city to find him. He'd just chalked it up to this being a friendlier place to live as their neighbors waved and spoke as cheerfully to Don as they did to Tim, and waved back and gone on with his life. Meanwhile, Tim had been diligently working at making them a place in the community, in building friendships Don didn't even know they had.

********

Tim had no concept of time, of night or day, or where he was. He was in total blackness, feeling the pain in his battered hands from uselessly pounding on the door, and the rawness in his throat from screaming at his captor, a constant dull thobbing in his head, and his face felt bruised and there was blood in his mouth and a split in his lip. He wondered if it hurt Donald this much every time he got beaten up, or if he was just not strong enough to man up and take it.

He huddled there on the floor with his knees drawn up, trying to settle his nerves, trying to tell himself that he didn't know for sure that Donald was even there. He didn't know where he was, let alone where Donald was. He shivered from the cold, and he had to go to the bathroom. He'd had to go for a couple hours, but he couldn't bring himself to urinate on the floor like some kind of caged animal forced to wallow in its own waste in the dark.

Think, Timothy. Blind people live like this every day. Total darkness, no flashlights or lamps or diagrams to guide them. You are in a small square room, and you saw it once. You know where the door is. You're sitting next to it.

Encouraged by forcing his mind to work, and armed with a project, he decided to learn the layout of his little prison. Standing, he reached up to hold onto his head. He felt the back of his hair and found it matted with blood, a large lump beneath his hand. The pain made him nauseous, but he fought the wave of vomit that threatened to make its appearance. If he had to piss and puke on the floor, he was going to do it on his own terms, in a designated corner where he wouldn't wind up standing in it.

He pressed his back against the door, and then paced off the distance along the wall, his right hand on the cement for guidance. He went slowly so that when he did bump into the opposite wall, he didn't painfully impact the cement the way he had the first time he rushed foolishly across the room.

When he said he was going to castrate Donald because you didn't speak up fast enough...

Swallowing, Tim resolved not to think about that. He couldn't. This was going to be a battle of wits and wills with his captor, and his captor already had a number of obvious advantages. If Donald was there, and especially if he was hurt, it was even more urgent that he figure a way out of this.

He knew there was a cord dangling from the lightbulb in the middle of the room, but the light had gone out as if the power had been cut, not from someone pulling the cord. He made a mental note of that piece of information in case it might help later.

He reached the opposite wall in an estimate of about ten feet. At the corner, he turned and paced off the next wall, the feeling of the tangible cement surfaces keeping him sane in the blackness. He wasn't blind, he wasn't crazy, and he wasn't in Hell. He was in a small, windowless cement room with a light fixture with no power, and a single door. A ten by twelve room, he thought as he met the end of the current wall he was measuring.

He lost count of how many times he went around the perimeter of that room, but when he was finished, he was tired, but he could walk without clutching at the wall for guidance. He could judge the distance from the back wall of the room to the door, and from side to side. Next, he got on his hands and knees and started feeling his way across the floor, in a logical back and forth pattern from wall to wall. He encountered nothing sharp, uneven, or unusual in the floor surface, which meant he would be safe to walk on it blindly without injuring his feet or slipping on something.

Tim and his little cell were intimate friends now. He knew every inch of it the way a man knows every inch of his lover's body. He banished that thought, unable to stand to think about Donald, whether or not he was really here and maybe hurt, or worse, or the even more unthinkable possibility that he might never see him again. Disgusted with himself that he couldn't hold it any longer, he designated the back corner of the room as the place for it, and finally relieved his bladder before it took matters into its own hands and left him with wet shorts. He wondered if Don knew some trick for controlling your bladder in prolonged captivity. He almost smiled to himself as he thought about the conversation that would make over a shaker of martinis.

********

Donald had attempted to be buoyed by the optimism of the little neighborhood search party, but he knew most of their legwork and effort was probably for nothing. Whoever took Tim didn't want to be found, and probably didn't want Tim to be found that easily, either. Why go through an elaborate kidnaping plot to slap him around a little and let him out by the side of the road?

There was no ransom demand. He was just...gone.

Now, the police were interested in the services of the volunteers. Bailey was quietly organizing them and police personnel to start looking in wooded areas and other more outlying areas. The spots that were most conducive for dumping bodies.

It was almost twenty-four hours since the awful moment when he'd been gorging himself on Timmy's pasta salad with Kenny, and realized something was wrong. Kenny was slumped over the desk in the PI office, having spent most of that time sifting through files and running endless background checks on practically everyone Don had ever pissed off in his career. They were laboriously cross referencing list after list with the staggering list of black Dodge Charger owners in the Albany area.

Don was exhausted when he walked into their bedroom, determined to just shower, shave, change, and get back at it. Get back at all that busy work you're doing to make yourself feel like you're really covering some ground, progressing toward getting Timmy back. He realized then how little time they'd actually spent apart since they were married. Once in a great while something came up that took one of them out of town without the other, but it was rare. And it was even rarer that Don was home like this in the tastefully lit silence of their home, and Tim wasn't.

He took his shower, shaved, put on clean clothes, and ignored the little sway of dizziness from no sleep and no food. He felt nauseated by the thought of eating. It was all he could do not to burst into tears when he'd opened the refrigerator downstairs and the remaining bowl of Tim's pasta salad was sitting there on the top shelf, right where Timmy left it. He knew nothing would put Tim's mind at ease more, wherever he was, than to know Don was taking care of himself, eating something...something Timmy made that Don loved so much. Still, he couldn't get more than a glass of water past his turbulent stomach.

When he walked back into the bedroom, he tried not to look too hard at the bed, or even think about it. It was getting late. It was unseasonably cold outside, and it was raining. If Don was home, this would be a night they'd crawl into their big bed, Tim with an assortment of reading material and Don with the remote, and read, watch TV, talk, cuddle, make out, and just generally be together. Don would finally succumb to hunger and make a snack run, and Tim would bitch about him getting crumbs in the bed or Cheetos dust on the sheets. And then he might just lick the tips of Don's fingers, just to prevent any staining of the sheets.

Timmy might never come back. He might be dead already, his body carelessly discarded somewhere in the cold, rainy night.

Don sat on Tim's side of the bed, touching the cover of a paperback Tim left on the night stand, knowing tears were rolling down his cheeks and not caring. In a little glass trinket jar next to the book was Tim's rosary. It was a simple rosary with black beads and a silver crucifix. He'd had it as long as Don knew him, and it was usually in his night stand drawer, or in this little glass dish on the night stand.

Or wound around his hand on nights he fell asleep alone and Don was working.

It was something Don didn't really think about much...Tim's religion. He didn't preach, he wasn't flamboyant or overt about praying. He certainly wasn't a goody-two-shoes, uptight, guilt-riddled ex-seminarian who couldn't let go and have a good time. But his faith was strong, and even being rejected by the Church as a Hell-bound sinner for loving another man hadn't shaken it. Tim seemed comfortable in his relationship with his God, and leaned on it when there was nothing else to lean on...when Don wasn't there to lean on. They still went to Mass on Christmas Eve, and Easter Sunday. Don even made the effort to get time off to sit through Good Friday services with Tim, because his partner still considered the hours between noon and three on that day to be sacred, and it seemed to mean a lot to him that Don put his work on hold, too, to respect that.

And his rosary would be in the dish or in the drawer, unless Donald wasn't home, and then it was around his hand in his sleep, still there from prayers said in the dark and the quiet for Don's safety, to bring him home unhurt and alive. Timmy worried about him, and now it was occurring to Don that he also prayed for him. He wasn't just worried, he was scared. Scared like Don was now, knowing Tim was in real danger.

He almost hesitated to touch the beads. They seemed so intimately Timmy's, as if he were intruding on some private channel of communication between Tim and his Maker. They were just onyx and silver, just materials fashioned into beads and a cross with a little figure on it. Tim had mentioned once that it had been blessed when he was in Rome.

Not given to a lot of praying or calling on a God that he often thought looked the other way when he needed someone so badly, Don felt strange holding the rosary in his hands, like he might somehow ruin the holiness of it, as if the blessing Tim got for it in Rome was some kind of fairy dust that could be wiped off by the hands of someone less worthy to hold it.

He felt the sobs coming in a tidal wave, and he let them come, closed up here in their bedroom, the helpful neighbors and the one or two cops still at the house held at bay, downstairs, out of earshot, at least he hoped. He held onto the beads and lay on Tim's side of the bed, letting the fear of what might be have its way with him, if only for just a few moments. He didn't have any fancy words to use to negotiate with God and, after all, Timmy was the politician.

"Please just give him back to me. I love him so much," he sobbed, holding the rosary against his heart, as if he could somehow pull Tim closer to him that way.

There was a sharp knock at the door, and it opened before Don could get all the way up and wipe at his eyes. He kept his head down, not wanting to meet Bailey's eyes, at least not until he was in a less pathetic state.

"Sorry to wake you," he said, though they both knew that he knew Don was crying, not sleeping. He appreciated Bailey letting him have his dignity. "There's something you need to see."

"What?" Rescued by Timmy even in his absence, he was relieved to grab a couple Kleenex from the box on Tim's night stand and blow his nose. He put Tim's rosary around his neck and dropped it down his collar. When I find Tim, he'll be glad to see it. Maybe it'll comfort him to hold it if he's been afraid.

"Somebody slipped a DVD under the door of your PI office within the last hour. Kenny's downstairs. He's pretty upset. He was working on the computer and didn't hear anything. He found it about half an hour ago. I've got men all over the area, but he probably just walked in, slipped it under your door, and walked out."

"The son of a bitch was at my office?" Don said, following Bailey downstairs. "I thought you had your tech guy there watching the phone."

"Yes, I did, and that's what he was doing, watching the phone."

"There's a security camera in the parking lot."

"Someone spray-painted the lens black. You can't get a decent look at him from the angle he approached it."

"Shit, shit, shit!" Don shouted as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

"I'm so sorry," Kenny said, following him to the kitchen counter where Bailey had a laptop set up to view the disc. "I was working on the computer and I didn't hear anything - - "

"Just...don't say anything to me right now," Don said, holding up his hands.

"I want to warn you. The video is kind of...disturbing. The lab's going over the original with a fine-tooth comb."

"Is it Timothy?"

"Yes," Bailey said, nodding.

"Is he still alive?"

"He is in the video. He doesn't look like he's badly hurt...mostly scared."

"Just let me see it." Don braced his arms on the counter while Bailey clicked on the right spot to play the video.

The video was green and black, obviously shot by a camera with a night vision lens, the unsteadiness of the camera making it seem as if it were somehow attached to the person taunting Tim.

And there was Tim, in his t-shirt and shorts, trying to crawl into the wall to get away from his tormentor.

"Open your mouth," the voice commanded.

"Why?"

The fear in that question tore Don's heart in half.

"Open your goddamned mouth or I'll open it for you."

Don had to force himself to watch the terror in Tim's face, the frantic, wide-eyed, unseeing look that made him appear blind. The kidnapper could see him, but he couldn't see the kidnapper. The son of a bitch was keeping him in the dark, terrorizing him. He couldn't even see the blows coming that Don had to watch, feeling them on a visceral level as if they'd landed on him instead of Tim.

"I'm not telling you again. Open your mouth," the other man said, grasping him by the jaw. "And don't try anything, because this gun might just go off."

"Oh, sweet Jesus, Timmy, just open your mouth," Don said, clenching his fists, knowing that Bailey wouldn't have had him watch this if Tim ended up dead. But it was a good bet he was going to suffer more for not cooperating.

Tim was keeping his mouth closed, but a vicious gut punch changed that, and the gun was in his mouth.

"Hey, Strachey, you remember the last time one of your boyfriends had a gun in his mouth? You put it there, asshole. You destroyed Kyle and you just moved on to somebody else. What's it worth to you for me not to blow this one's brains out, huh?" he added.

"You motherfucking son of a bitch! I'll kill you!" Don shouted at the screen, knowing it was pointless, but unable to stop himself. Tim was shaking and crying and the asshole was just forcing the gun harder into his mouth.

"Take it easy, Don. He was okay at the end of the video," Bailey said, giving Don's shoulder a squeeze.

"There's one bullet in this gun. Let's see who Lady Luck is favoring tonight." He spun the barrel of the revolver. Tim closed his eyes, looking resigned to his fate.

All that followed was a loud click. And his assailant's laughter as he pulled the gun out of Tim's mouth and backhanded him again.

"The next time I tell you to do something, you're going to do it. Otherwise, I'll just blow your fucking head off and be done with it."

"Please..." Timmy didn't even seem to know what he was begging for. Then his captor took out a knife and skimmed up the skin of his leg to the edge of the fabric of his boxers.

"I need something to send to your boyfriend."

"Please..." Timmy pleaded, breathing hard, his eyes darting around in the darkness.

Don's arms physically ached to hold him, to protect him, to get between him and the monster who was hurting him like this.

"Do you think Strachey would still want you if you didn't have a dick? Or are you always on the bottom anyway?"

"No..." Don said, feeling his legs getting rubbery.

"He doesn't cut him," Bailey said, the calmness in his voice marginally reassuring. "He doesn't injure him, just scares him."

"Why are you doing this to me?" Tim was almost in tears again, he was so afraid, and still unable to focus on his tormentor. The son of a bitch was touching his leg with the knife, running it under the leg of his shorts, touching him with the knife.

"If I gave you a choice between your dick and your partner's, which one should I cut off?"

"Fuck," Don muttered, holding a hand up to his forehead, pacing without really moving from the spot, a sort of jitter more than a step.

"Donald's here? Please, let me see him. I'll do whatever you want. Just let me see Donald."

Tim was panicking now, and the look in his eyes was an impossible mixture of hope and horror at the thought Don was there, too.

"I guess I'll cut his off instead."

The picture became very shaky then as the kidnapper presumably started backing out of the room.

"Wait! Please don't hurt him. Do whatever you want to me, but please don't hurt Donald!" Tim was pleading, crying, panicking, groping in the darkness and almost touching his assailant more than once.

"You had your chance," the voice said, and then a door slammed between them.

The camera stayed focused on the door, and Timmy's desperate cries and screams and the pounding of his fists on the door echoed in Don's head.  

There was a transition, and the next scene was a man in his early thirties, sitting in a brown easy chair. He was tall and slender, with brown hair and glasses. There was an unmistakable family resemblance.

"John Griffin," Don muttered.

"Okay, Strachey, now you know I'm not screwing around here. Years ago, you made a decision to save your own ass and sell out my brother, and it killed him. Now I'm going to give you a chance to make that choice again. You can be the same yellow, spineless asshole you were back then and save your own skin, or you can come here, meet me face to face, and settle the score like a man. If you come here, alone, and play by the rules, I won't kill your boyfriend. When we're done, I'll let him go. If you don't come, or you bring any kind of cops, feds, or reinforcements with you, I'll stick that gun back in his mouth and blow his brains out. I'm going to give you an address, and if you come here, alone, by midnight, we'll settle this score like men. I'll even give you the advantage of telling you that I have this property under heavy electronic surveillance. So if you're too scared to come and face me alone, and you bring cops, I'll kill your partner as soon as the first one sets foot across the property line." After he gave the address, a road far outside of town among the farms of Albany County, Bailey stopped the video.

"John Griffin is an expert at electronic surveillance and he's an electrical engineer. Between that and the high-tech night vision camera, I think we can assume he's not lying," Don said. "I have to go out there alone or he'll kill Timothy."

"That's out of the question. We've already got one innocent victim to worry about - - "

"I know that! That innocent victim is my partner! And I'm going to get him out of there. I promised him once that I'd always protect him, always take care of him. I'm not breaking that promise."

"The FBI knows how to get around surveillance. I'm not saying that we don't need you to be involved in this, but I'm saying that I can't stand back and let you commit some kind of Romeo and Juliet-style suicide."

"Let me go in alone. Get him distracted. Play it his way. Then your people can try to get around his surveillance. But if we don't at least give him the illusion of cooperating, and one of your guys makes a mistake, Tim dies. I don't like those odds."

"I don't like this."

"I'm not crazy about it, either, but it's the only way to give Tim a fighting chance." Don paused, watching Bailey intently. "You know I'm right about this."

********

Tim tried to keep his time occupied by a mixture of movement and rest. He kept mapping the little room, wanting to be confident of where he was going and which way he was moving the next time his captor showed up. He was cold without his t-shirt, but he figured it would suit a better purpose this way.

So many things could go wrong with trying to escape, not the least of which would be his ultimate inability to try to kill another human being. He was not a fighter. He wasn't used to violence and he wasn't good at it. But he was healthy, he was strong, and he was big enough to hold his own if he just came out swinging. Even when he play-wrestled with Donald, who worked out more than he did and had combat training, he could hold his own. Of course, Don wasn't exactly worried about winning those wrestling matches anyway, so maybe he shouldn't draw confidence from that.

Whoever this is might have Donald here, too, and may have injured him. If he made good on his threat, he may have tortured and permanently maimed him in one of the most horrible ways imaginable. If he's done that, he doesn't deserve mercy as much as Donald deserves help and medical attention. If it's Donald's life or his, there's no contest.

He clutched the t-shirt in his hands, hoping he could get it over the other man's head, surprise him when he didn't expect his captive to put up any worthwhile struggle. He'd pulled the cord on the light fixture, so if the other man thought there would be light in the room, if he flipped the breaker back on thinking he was going to burst into a lit room, he'd be sadly mistaken.

A chill flooded his insides, making his gut feel as cold as his skin. This was it. There were footsteps approaching. He stood, pressing himself as close to the wall as he could behind the door. He rolled up the hem of the t-shirt in his hands, trying to position it in the best possible way to get it over the other man's head. His whole body shook, but he willed it to stop. His life depended on him being able to follow through. More importantly, Donald's life might depend on it, too.

The door swung open, and there was a momentary sliver of light from whatever lay beyond the darkened room. Tim saw his captor's head and shoulders outlined in the light. He forced himself to move, and before he realized he'd actually sprung his trap, the t-shirt was over the other man's head, and he was lying on his captor's back on the floor, just as he'd planned. He seemed to have a slight weight advantage, and the element of surprise. It was now or never. He put both hands on the back of the other man's head and smacked it on the cement floor, stunned when he went still beneath him.

Not pausing to evaluate his victory, he got up, stepped over the fallen man, and rushed into the dimly lit basement on the other side of the door. The light burned his eyes, but he ignored that, rushing through the basement until he found the stairs, squinting against the brighter light at the top.

"Donald!" he shouted, rushing into the kitchen of what appeared to be an old farmhouse. "Donald, are you here?" he called out, hurrying through the kitchen and into the living room of the house. He looked at the front door, and stood there a moment, torn between running for help and going up the stairs to the second floor, reassuring himself that Donald wasn't up there in a room somewhere, horribly injured.

He couldn't bring himself to go out the door if there was any danger of leaving Donald behind. Their captor wasn't dead, at least, Tim doubted that he was. If Tim left Don there and the kidnapper came to, he might take it out on him. He raced up the stairs and started going room to room, finding three bedrooms empty except for some plain, well-worn furnishings. In the third room, he saw a sweater lying on the bed, along with some other personal effects that looked like it must be the room the kidnapper was using. Tim took time to pull the bulky gray cardigan around himself, not wanting to escape from captivity just to die of exposure on a back country road.

Reconciled to the idea his captor had lied, that Donald wasn't in the house, he ran back downstairs and opened the front door, ignoring the blast of cold air, the roughness of the wood porch and steps under his feet, the slippery wetness of the grass and the darkness of night. He'd survived darkness deeper than this, and at least now he had a fighting chance.

Or maybe not. The property was surrounded by trees. There had to be a road on the other side of those trees somewhere, but he had no idea which way to go, and without his glasses, things were just too blurry in the rainy darkness. He had no shoes, no clothes except the sweater and his boxers, and there was no point in denying that he was afraid. He looked back at the house, chewing his lower lip a minute, deciding whether or not to risk another confrontation with his captor or to risk getting lost in the woods.

He moved slowly back toward the house. If he could use the telephone, open the line, hopefully they could trace it. In the absence of a phone, maybe he could at least find shoes, pants and a flashlight.

The inside of the house was silent. He went to the basement door, his heart pounding, expecting his captor to pop out at him, wielding his gun. No one moved, there was no confrontation, no sound. He shut the door, then looked around frantically for something heavy enough to push in front of the door. Spotting an old wood china cabinet nearby, he started pushing it, wincing at the noise as old cups and dishes slid off the open shelves, shattering on the floor. But when he was done, it was in front of the basement door, and should at least buy him enough time to look for a phone or some clothes and supplies for his escape.

"I'm impressed," a familiar voice said from behind. Tim didn't want to turn around and look. He knew that voice, and in that moment, he knew the reason it was so silent in the house, that no one popped out at him, was because his captor was just playing with him. "I thought you were the easy one to handle, but you turned out to be a pretty worthy adversary. Of course, that doesn't mean you don't have to pay for knocking me out."

********

Donald spotted the mailbox bearing the right house number. "I'm there," he said into the cell phone, talking to Bailey. "I doubt he's going to let me keep the cell or my gun. I've got the ankle holster on, but that probably won't fool him."

"All you do is play along with him and keep him distracted. The SWAT Team and FBI surveillance experts are waiting for my signal. They have a plan for getting in there."

"I know. Just make sure they're not going to stumble in and get Timmy killed. He said he'd let him go - - "

"You don't believe that, do you? Look, Strachey, you're not objective about this, which is why sending you in there is akin to a suicide mission."

"I'm hanging up now. All I'm asking is that if there's a way to get Timmy out of there alive, don't worry about me. This is all about me, about my past, and he doesn't deserve to suffer or die for that. If you can only get one of us out, do it for him." With that, Don broke the connection and tucked the phone in his pocket, driving through the trees along a rough, dirt drive to the house.

It was a plain, nondescript white farmhouse with a slightly sagging front porch. Lights burned in the downstairs windows. It was such a benign looking sight...definitely not the high-tech lair of a crazed kidnapper. He stopped the car and turned off the engine. As soon as he got out of the car, John Griffin opened the front door and stood there, watching Don approach the porch.

"Throw out your gun and your phone."

Don took the gun out of his shoulder holster and threw it down, then sent his cell phone to follow it.

"If I find any other weapon on you, I'll use it on your partner. And he's had a rough enough evening so far," he added, smiling, leaning against the door, aiming a gun toward Don. It was then that Don noticed a large, colorful lump in the middle of Griffin's forehead.

Good for you, Timmy - - you got in one good shot sometime since that video was filmed...

He stared at Griffin for a long moment, and then removed the gun from the ankle holster, tossing it on the ground with the other items. He couldn't be sure Griffin didn't have some kind of high-tech detection equipment inside the house, and it was too big a risk of Tim's life to gamble with it.

"I'm playing your game, Griffin. Now let me see Timothy."

"You're going to see him." He gestured to Don with his gun to come in the house.

Don entered the house and immediately spotted Tim, clad only in his shorts, tied to a straight chair in the middle of the house's living room. His head was hanging forward, but as soon as Don walked in the room, he looked up, an expression of hope crossing his bruised features, before it was wiped away by a look of defeat.

"You shouldn't have come for me," he said, his eyes filling. "I'm sorry. I screwed things up."

Don crossed the room and knelt next to Tim's chair, wrapping his arms around him.

"I love you, honey. As long as I'm alive, wherever you are, I'll always come to get you," he whispered in Timmy's ear. It twisted Don's gut just how cold his skin felt. "You didn't screw anything up, sweetheart. It's gonna be okay."

"That's enough," Griffin said. "Get over here," he added.

"I'm here," Don said, kissing Tim's swollen mouth carefully. "I won't let him hurt you anymore." When he stood, he glared at Griffin. "You didn't need to beat the hell out of him. It's hard to believe you even share DNA with Kyle. He was a hero - - not a sick piece of shit who'd abuse a helpless captive." He took off his jacket and put it around Tim's shoulders, kissing the top of his head.

"He's not exactly helpless," Griffin objected, gesturing at the lump on his head.

"You kidnapped him, tortured him, and you're pissed because he got in one good shot?" Don was still buying time to stay near Timmy and comfort him a little, his hand stroking lightly over his hair. "Can I give him something?"

"I don't think so," Griffin snapped back.

"It's not a weapon." Don pulled the rosary out of his collar, and then took it off.

"Fine, whatever," Griffin said.

Don put the rosary over Timmy's head, and looked into his eyes. A couple tears rolled down Tim's cheeks. "Thank you," he whispered.

"I thought maybe we might need a little extra help," Don said, kissing away one of the tears, drying the other with his thumb.

"Okay, now move, or I'll just shoot you now."

"And miss all the fun?" Don retorted, straightening up and moving toward Griffin.

"Your chair's right there." He gestured at another straight chair about ten feet from Tim's. Behind the chair was as computer with several monitors lined up around it. All of them showed some part of the property. Don sincerely hoped Bailey's people either knew what they were doing, or waited a while to make their move.

"You gonna tie me up so you can beat me, too? Obviously all you learned to do in the army is how to tie a fancy knot and play with a bunch of high tech toys." Don sat down in the chair. "Kyle was so proud of you. We didn't have much time to talk about our families, but when we did, he'd always tell me where you were stationed, what you were doing, how you were such a natural with anything electronic. What you're doing...what you've done...insults his memory and all the pride he took in you."

"You have a hell of a lot of nerve talking to me about Kyle's memory! And don't talk to me about my family. You destroyed my family!"

"I destroyed your family?"

"You ratted out my brother to save your own ass."

"How do you figure that? I know it's real convenient to make me a scapegoat, but Kyle and I were seen together. Even if I'd lied, what would you think I could have said that would have made a difference? Do you think the Army was going to propel Kyle higher and higher up the ranks of military intelligence when he'd been seen having sex with one of his subordinates?"

"Shut up."

"I loved your brother. I wanted a future with Kyle. I thought if I told the truth...I thought the shit would hit the fan with the Army, but I thought it would free us. With nothing left to lose, we'd have nothing holding us back anymore. The civilian world isn't perfect, God knows, but at least there'd be a fighting chance we could be together. I was young, and I was stupid, and I thought he loved me the same way."

"My brother wasn't gay!" Griffin paced, fidgeting with the gun. "He had a girlfriend. He was a hero!"

"And you think that means he wasn't gay? You think I put a spell on him or something?"

"I think he'd been away from women too long and you were there. And you couldn't handle that and you ruined his career."

"Sounds like you and Kyle compared notes on his story. Is that what he told you and your family? That he was just using me to scratch and itch until he could be with women again?"

"He said you were gay and you wanted him and he'd been away from home so long and there were no willing women. Even the women in your unit...most of them were enlisted soldiers, not officers, and he couldn't risk getting caught with them. He said that he thought it was safe to have sex with you because you had as much to lose as he did, that you wouldn't rat him out...that you wouldn't turn around and cry rape if you got caught and were in trouble with the brass."

"At least he was honest about that," Don replied.

"He was honest, all right. He said you wouldn't leave him alone, that you kept pursuing him, that you told the brass the two of you were in love."

"Because we were. At least, I thought we were."

"Yeah, well, he probably said what he said to get what he needed."

"And you think it's worse for him to be gay than for him to use someone and lie to them and then toss them aside like garbage? Kyle wasn't like that, and for you to say he was is a worse smear on his memory than him being something you didn't want to accept that he was."

"Your lies about my brother killed my mother. She never got over Kyle's suicide. He couldn't face life branded as some kind of queer, disgraced, thrown out of the Army. I talked to him a few hours before he died," Griffin said, distressed. "He said he'd lost everything. And that's how my mother felt. Alan was in jail, Kyle was dead... They discharged me not long after. It wasn't fair what you did to the Griffin family name. My father started drinking, and my mother ended up so hooked on prescription anti-depressants that we were never sure if she killed herself or just got mixed up on how many pills she'd taken."

"John, you have a wife, and children," Tim said. "You rose above all the...terrible things that happened to your family, and you have a career and a family and a life. Do you think your children deserve to suffer for all this?"

"Maybe not, but it's a little too late to worry about that now," he said.

"You haven't killed anyone yet," Tim replied.

"Yeah, well, it's still early," Griffin replied. "And I thought I told you to shut up and sit still!" he bellowed at Tim, making a sudden lurch toward him, causing him jerk back as much as he could in the chair.

"Leave him alone, you son of a bitch," Don said. "Why don't you just let him go? You've got me here now. Timothy served his purpose."

"You know, you're right. I could just kill him and I'd still have you here."

"Or you could listen to what he said about your wife and your kids. You keep whining about how I destroyed your family when you're the one who's really destroying it. You think being gay would make Kyle less of a man, but what kind of man leaves his wife to raise two kids alone while he runs off to settle some imaginary score by kidnapping and torturing an innocent man?" Don demanded.

"You were a vindictive little bitch who destroyed my brother because you couldn't have him!" Griffin shouted at Don. "Kyle is six feet under, and you think you can just go on with your life, like nothing ever happened. Find yourself a rich boyfriend and live a nice, cushy life, while my whole fucking family falls apart. Kyle deserves justice."

"Family was important to your brother, wasn't it?" Tim ventured, and Don held his breath. He knew if Griffin hit Timmy again, he'd be unable to sit still for it, gun or no gun, and a fast, stupid move would get them both killed. "Family means everything to you, that's obvious. But you've got to start looking at 'family' being your wife, and your children. They're the future. Do you have boys or girls?"

Griffin seemed nonplused at the question. He stared at Tim a moment, as if he were deciding whether or not to answer. "I have son and a daughter."

"How old are they?"

"My boy is four and my daughter is eighteen months."

"I bet Kyle would have loved his niece and nephew, and your mother would have adored her grandchildren. They might not have had the strength to deal with the pain in their lives, but don't you think they'd want you to have a life, to be there for your children? Even if everything you said about Donald was true, what would killing one of us solve except taking you away from your kids?"

"I made that decision before I left home. Before I trashed your house," he added, then he smiled. "Before I made that video for the Internet. If you're so open about being gay, you shouldn't mind a little...exposure."

"None of that carries the kind of sentences that murder does. If you let us go, you still have a chance to be part of your children's lives. If you do whatever it is you're planning, and you're a murderer, you'll never be able to be with your family. And you do have one who needs you," Tim added.

"I'm not going to tell you again to shut your mouth," he said, aiming the gun at Tim. Don slid to the edge of his chair, but was afraid to pounce on Griffin, even though he was momentarily distracted. His aim was too direct, and if he missed, Tim would probably be shot and maybe killed.

"I think underneath all this anger and pain, you're a good man who loves his family. I'm just trying to get you to think about the family you still have, and how much pain you're going to cause them."

"I called you out here for a reason," he said, turning toward Don. "I'm going to give you a chance to make a choice." He moved around behind Tim's chair, pressing the barrel of the gun against Tim's temple. "Go outside and get your gun. Bring it back in here and sit down in your chair. If you try anything, I'll kill him."

"Just take it easy. Timmy, it's gonna be okay, just don't make any sudden moves." Don went outside and found his gun on the ground, returning to the room and sitting in the chair as instructed. The way Griffin was standing, Tim's body shielded most of him from any shot Don might have.

"Okay, Strachey, take the safety off," he said. Don followed the instruction. "Now put it in your mouth."

"Donald, don't do this. I won't let you do this," Tim pleaded.

"Kyle was a good man, John," Don said. "He was decent, caring, and...and good. It was Tim who made me see that he was just scared, that he didn't know how to handle everything that was coming at him. But he would have never killed innocent civilians."

"Put it in your mouth, now!"

"No!" Tim shouted, and in a move that shocked Don as much as it shocked Griffin, Tim tipped himself backward in the chair, knocking Griffin to the floor, his legs partially pinned under Tim and the chair. Recovering quickly, he raised up and aimed the gun at Don, who was ready for him. Holding his gun in both hands, he fired three times, all three shots hitting Griffin, dropping him before he could squeeze his own trigger.

He rushed over to the fallen man, kicked the gun out of his reach, and checked his pulse.

"Donald!" Tim was frantically pulling at his restraints now, and Don could see some of Griffin's blood had spattered on his partner.

"He's dead, Timmy. It's gonna be okay."

He stuck his gun back in his holster and dug out a pocketknife, carefully cutting the ropes that held Tim to the chair. In a moment or two, he was free. He grabbed onto Don, wrapping his arms around him as he knelt on the floor next to Tim.

"I've got you now, honey. It's okay." Don held him close, stroking his hair, unable to stop a few tears of his own from escaping. "You saved our lives," he said, his voice shakier than he expected it to be.

"You never made a move on him because you were afraid of him shooting me."

"You made a move on him because you decided to give your life for me," he said, his lips against Timmy's temple, where he kissed him, as if he wanted to erase the spot where Griffin's gun had been pressed.

Sirens were drawing closer, and Don could see the monitors coming alive with police personnel approaching the house.

"There's no life I want without you in it," Timmy replied, burying his face against Don's neck.

********

Tim steeled himself for a long, tiring visit to the hospital where they checked his vital signs, and took x-rays to see if he had any broken bones from the beating he'd taken from Griffin when his escape attempt failed. Donald never left his side, and Tim never felt quite so adored as he did every time Don looked at him, smiling at him with all the love in the world, touching him and reassuring him everything was okay, gently holding his bruised hands and kissing the knuckles as if he could make the pain go away. While he couldn't do that, he certainly made it feel less unbearable.

He hated that Don looked so...guilty. As if any of this were his fault. Donald, who'd die to protect him, and never laid a hand on him with anything but love...it figures he would place the blame on himself for failing to protect Tim, or because the whole nightmare was about his past.

While they waited in an ER exam room for the green light to go home, Tim couldn't stand it anymore.

"This isn't your fault," he said, finally. Donald was sitting next to the gurney on which Tim lay, covered by a warm blanket, holding his hand, kissing the bruises on his knuckles, looking like each mark hurt him physically.

"I don't know how you figure that," Don said, looking tired and...devastated. John Griffin might be lying on a slab in the morgue, but before he went, he had very accurately identified the best way to torture Donald. His partner could have withstood gunshots, beatings, or other more exotic forms of torture inflicted on himself, but inflicting pain on Tim hurt him on a level that was far deeper, down somewhere in the depths of his soul.

"Whatever was tormenting John Griffin about his brother, his family...that's not your fault. He decided to make it your fault because that apparently helped him cope with it. But you didn't kill Kyle, and you didn't get his mother hooked on prescription drugs. You didn't make his brother a criminal." He gently extricated his hand from Don's grip and stroked Don's cheek with the back of it. "All you did was fall in love and then try to stand up for that love in probably the most hostile possible environment. Because you're honest and you stand up for the people who are lucky enough to be loved by you."

"Yeah, you've been real lucky the last couple weeks. Being with me hasn't exactly been good to you lately."

"Don't you ever say a thing like that again," Tim said, his tone coming across a bit harsher than he anticipated, but anyone, even Donald, putting down their relationship was something he couldn't stand. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me. I felt that way when we first started dating, I feel that way now, and I'll go to my grave feeling that way - - no matter how I get there. I wouldn't change, or trade, one minute of my life with you. Even the hard times. Those test a love, and it either crumbles under the pressure or it deepens and intensifies. I'll give you three guesses which way I think it's going for us," he added, relieved to see Donald finally smile a little, standing so he could kiss Tim's forehead, and very gingerly kiss his lips, careful not to press too hard.

"I wish I could take this for you, so you weren't in pain."

"I'll be okay in a little while. It hurts me more to see you look so sad. We're together, and it's going to be all right." Tim managed a smile, even though the bruising and swelling protested it. "As long as we're together, we can handle anything, right?"

"Right," Don confirmed, smiling widely, keeping his face close to Tim's, their foreheads just barely touching.

Bailey walked in then, carrying a duffle bag. He looked a little uneasy, as if he felt he'd intruded on something very intimate. Don moved away a bit, but not far. He still held Tim's hand and hovered very near him.

"Kenny packed some clothes for you," Bailey said.

"Thanks for bringing them. Where's Kenny?" Tim asked.

"I think I need to mend a fence or two with Kenny," Don admitted. "It's a long story," he said, resting his hand gently on Tim's head, kissing his forehead. "I'll be right back, honey." He looked at Bailey. "Are you going to be here a minute?"

"How long before you get sprung?" Bailey asked. "I'll drive you home."

"What about my car?" Don asked.

"It's still at the scene. I can have one of my guys bring it over to your house later."

"Thanks," Don said, handing Bailey his keys. Tim couldn't remember ever seeing Don look so tired. It was as if sticking his hand in his pocket and retrieving the keys was a major effort.

"I can wait here if you want to talk to Kenny. He's in the waiting room."

"I'll be back in a few minutes." Don left the room.

********

"Hey, Kenny," Don said, taking a seat next to Kenny's.

"I hope what I brought was okay. I don't know which things he wears a lot, so I had to guess."

"I'm sure the clothes are fine. Look, I'm sorry about earlier. I was upset."

"I didn't notice when that DVD was slipped under the door. If Tim had died because I missed that, I - - "

"He didn't, that's the important thing. I could just as easily blame myself because I took a break to go home and shower and change. There's no telling I would have noticed it, either, even if I'd been there." Don sighed. "If Timothy hadn't made it through this..." He ran a hand back through his hair, finding it surprisingly hard to even put that thought in words.

"He did," Kenny said, resting his hand on Don's shoulder.

"Yeah, he did," Don repeated, managing a little smile. "I better get back to him. We're waiting for the doctor to give us the all clear to get out of here. Do you need a ride?"

"No, I've got my bike. I think I'll head for home. Call me if you need anything."

"Thanks. Get some sleep. I'm taking a few days off to be with Timmy. Think of it as a little paid vacation."

"They're the best kind," Kenny replied as he headed for the exit. Don returned to where Bailey seemed to have distracted Tim with some story about a traffic stop he'd made when he was in uniform, and Tim was actually smiling, seeming cheered up by it. It was obvious Don had missed the punch line, but he didn't care. Timmy's little smile was more contagious than any humor would have been.

"Mr. Callahan, I'm getting tired of seeing you here," Dr. Winters said, smiling, as she entered the room. She was the same doctor who had treated Tim a few days earlier, when he'd suffered the anxiety attack.

"Nothing personal, but I'm just as tired of being here," he replied, smiling as much as the swelling around his mouth permitted.

"Then I have good news. You have a lot of bruises, and you have one hairline fracture of one of your left ribs, but we don't need to keep you here any longer. He's a little dehydrated, so try to get some liquids in him tonight," she said to Don. "If he has any dizziness, disorientation, blurred vision, be sure to bring him back into the ER. Some rest, pain medication, and a follow up visit with your own doctor in a few days should take care of it." She handed Don the prescription. "See if you can keep him out of trouble," she kidded Don, who smiled.

"I'll do my best," Don said, smiling.

Bailey drove them home, and Tim was grateful that Don was coming home with him, instead of hanging out with the cops and tying up the loose ends of the case. Tim was sure he'd snap back into action soon enough to put the missing pieces of the puzzle together, but for now, it felt good to know that Don wanted to be with him and take care of him instead.

"We'll need full formal statements from both of you, but we can handle that tomorrow. We've got the basics," Bailey added as he pulled into the driveway.

"Thanks for the lift," Tim said to Bailey, as Don opened the passenger door and helped him get out. Tim didn't complain much, but he was bruised up pretty well and the crack in his rib was making him wince a little with each movement.

"Get some rest. I won't be calling you before lunch time," he added.

As soon as they walked into the house, Tim paused, resting his hand on the banister. He put his hand up to his mouth and his whole body started shaking. He didn't expect the experience to hit him so hard, and he was grateful that Don was quick to gather him in his arms, just holding him quietly and letting him get some of the fear and the trauma out of his system.

"I didn't think I'd ever see home again," he admitted, his hands clutching at the fabric of Don's jacket. "It was awful," he whispered brokenly.

"It's all over now. You're home and you're safe. It's all over, baby." Don rubbed his back in long strokes. "I'm so proud of you, Timmy."

"Proud of me? Why?"

"You kept your head together, you made an attempt at getting away that damn near worked, and you saved our lives." He pulled back a little, gently touching Tim's bruised cheek. "My hero," he said, and while he was smiling, he wasn't kidding, and the sincerity was clear in his voice.

"I'm no hero," Tim objected, getting control of himself again.

"Oh, yes, you are," Don argued. "When I talked to Griffin about his family, I was doing it to distract him and freak him out, to get the best of him. But when you did it, you really cared. The son of a bitch terrorized you and beat you, and you actually cared what happened to his family."

"It just seems like he was the last hope for that family, and he destroyed himself. He just sentenced his children to growing up under the same kind of awful shadow of tragedy that plagued his family after Kyle's suicide."

"Come on, let's sit down," Don said gently, guiding him over to the couch by the fireplace. "I'll get a fire going.

"Just sit with me a while, okay? I'm warm enough," Tim added. He was wearing a pair of khakis, a shirt, and a jacket, but he still felt cold if he were being honest. Still, he far preferred warming up with Donald than with a fire in the fireplace.

"Okay," Don replied, smiling. He grabbed a throw and sat down, opening his arms so Tim would settle against him. When he had, he wrapped the throw around Tim's shoulders. "What's the last thing you remember?" Don prodded. Tim knew he wasn't trying push him for case details. He was trying to give him the opening to talk, to get the whole thing off his chest.

"We were running low on some food at the party, and I was coming back here to get the extra salad." Tim remembered the feeling of foreboding he'd had walking down the shadowy sidewalk. "As soon as I started toward the house, I felt like I was taking a chance, that I shouldn't be doing it. I should have turned back, but I didn't. I thought I was just having a case of the jitters about Fellows. The next thing I remember, I woke up in this...place. A cement room. Now I know it was the basement of that house. When I first came to, I was in my underwear, and it was cold in there... The worst part of it was the darkness." Tim swallowed hard, not sure he could put it all in words, and yet part of him needed to get it out, to talk about it. To feel Donald holding him and reassuring him it was over. "The lights went out," he said, finding it hard to get the words out. "It was total blackness. It was like being blind. I couldn't see anything...and then someone was just...there. I could hear them moving, but I couldn't see anything. All he did was tell me to open my mouth," Tim managed.

"It's okay, honey. You don't have to talk about it if you're not ready." Don rubbed his back.

"I didn't know what he was going to do to me. I thought maybe he was going to...rape my mouth." Feeling the terror sweep over him that he'd felt in that darkened room, he hid his face against Don's shoulder. "I knew he was going to get what he wanted eventually, but I couldn't make myself do it. He started hitting me, and I couldn't see him. I didn't know when the next blow was coming or where he was going to hit me. And when he shoved that gun in my mouth, I thought it was over. I thought I was gonna die and never see you again."

"You're home now, sweetheart." Don tilted Tim's head up gently so he could kiss him, keeping the contact soft to avoid hurting the bruising around Tim's mouth. He moved from Tim's mouth to his cheek, then to the bruising near his eye. "In a little while, I'll get you some ice."

"He had a knife. He didn't cut me, but he was touching me with the knife, threatening to...asking me if...if you'd still want me without... He asked me to choose if I wanted mine cut off or yours. I thought he had you there...he acted like he was going to do that to you."

"He didn't...touch you after that, did he?" Don's subtly phrased question took him a moment to process.

"No. His interest in me wasn't sexual, thank God." Tim paused. "I was so glad to see you when you got there...and so sorry you'd put yourself into that situation just to get me out of it."

"Just to get you out of it?" Don squeezed him tighter. "Timothy, getting you out of there was worth anything it took. I'm just sorry you had to go through what you did before we found you."

"He called you?" Tim asked.

"He sent us a DVD." The words were spoken softly, as if just mentioning what he saw on that DVD shook him to the core of his soul.

"Of what?"

"What he did to you in the dark. He had some kind of night vision camera."

"Then you already knew what happened." Tim wondered why Donald was sitting there easing the story out of him if he'd seen it for himself.

"Just because I already knew the facts doesn't mean that you didn't need to tell me." He stroked Tim's hair and kissed his temple. "What I want to know is how you managed to give him that nice egg in the middle of his forehead." Don had a smile in his voice, and a little thread of pride in it, too.

"I spent the rest of the time I was alone in that room learning the dimensions of it, trying to get a sense of orientation, to know how to move around in there without being able to see. I finally hid behind the door, took off my t-shirt, and figured when he came back, I'd put the t-shirt over his head and then try to overpower him. It worked...I just didn't follow up the way I should have. The way you would have."

"How do you mean?"

"I smacked his head on the cement floor. I was on his back, and I seemed to have a weight advantage on him, and the element of surprise. But I know I pulled my punch. I was afraid of killing him...cracking his skull open. I didn't want to do that. And then I just ran. I should have locked him down there, taken his gun, something."

"How far did you get before he caught up with you?" Don asked, sounding as if he almost didn't want to hear the answer, or what the consequences of the failed escape attempt had been.

"I went upstairs first, because I had to know if you were there, if you were hurt, if you needed me... I was so glad when you weren't. I thought he might be lying just to mess with my head, and I was so relieved when I didn't find you. I guess I wasn't thinking very clearly. I grabbed an old sweater off the bed upstairs and ran outside. I was standing there in the cold, wet grass with bare feet, wearing a sweater and boxer shorts. I had no flashlight, no provisions, and it was dark. I couldn't even see the drive, the way we left the property? I think the switching between dark and light and dark again was hard on my eyes, and without my glasses, they're not the sharpest anyway."

"You went back inside?"

"I had to. I would have never found my way out of there without light, and I needed shoes, something to wear. When I got back inside, I couldn't hear anything, so I assumed he was still out. I pushed a china cabinet in front of the basement door, but he wasn't down there. He was right behind me, and he had the gun..."

"That's when he really lit into you, huh?" Don prodded gently.

"He was so angry. I thought he was going to beat me to death, or just take out his anger on me and then shoot me." Tim closed his eyes, soaking up the gentleness in Don's touch, the hand that was caressing his back in soothing little swirls. "How do you handle getting worked over, and just getting back up and going on?"

"You took a pretty good beating, sweetheart. Nobody bounces back from that like nothing happened." Don slipped his hand under Tim's jacket, touching carefully the area around his cracked rib. "Training, experience...those things help you overcome some of that. But when you're not used to being hit, it's a whole new, awful experience to cope with, and the pain is...scary, for lack of a better word."

"Now I really hate the idea of you getting beaten up," Tim said, cringing at the number of black eyes, swollen jaws, bloody noses, and achy ribs he'd seen on Donald over the years - - and that didn't even include the bullet grazings. He'd always sympathized with him nearly to the point of feeling the pain physically, but now that he was nursing a healthy batch of his own bruises, it was all too real. And he didn't want to think of Donald ever feeling that way again.

"I know, honey," Don said, chuckling a little as he kissed Tim's cheek. "I'll do my best to avoid it from now on, okay?"

"Even if you don't really mean that, thanks for saying it, anyway," Tim replied, smiling. "What made you think to bring me the rosary?"

"I saw it there on your night stand, and it got me thinking...how sometimes when I don't come home until three in the morning, and you're sleeping, it's wrapped around your hand." Don pressed his palm against Tim's and they laced their fingers. "I know it's something you hold onto when you're worried or afraid. That you believe in it."

"It calmed me down a lot when you put it around my neck. I know it's not a magic charm. I know it can look that way, like Catholics who place a lot of faith in it, who hold onto blessed rosaries, are attaching too much importance to beads and words."

"I never thought that," Don said, kissing the back of the hand he was holding. "I wasn't sure I should touch it. I guess I thought I was going to rub off the blessing or something," he added, giving Tim a big grin. "How's that for superstitious?"

Tim sat up, moving away from Don a moment. He pulled the rosary out of his collar and over his head. Then, he put it over Don's head.

"I want you to have it."

"Timothy...this rosary means a lot to you...your grandmother gave it to you when you went into the seminary."

"I know. It's very, very precious to me. Just like you are." He touched Donald's face. "I'm not suggesting you start saying the rosary or wearing it all the time. Just keep it handy, and when you're doing something dangerous, take it with you. It'll make me feel like I can do something to protect you."

"What about you?"

"Honey, I was a seminarian. Do you have any idea how many rosaries I have tucked in the bottom drawer of the dresser? Every relative I had seemed to think it was the perfect gift for every significant occasion. A rosary, or a statue, a prayer book, a cross, a picture of something holy. If your PI business tanks, we can always open our own religious supply shop."

"This one is special," Don said, and he was still smiling that wonderful, broad smile that made all the pain and fear of the last day or so seem minor.

"It is. It made me feel closer to God, like He was nearby, watching out for us, when I decided to rock back into Griffin like that. Honestly, I'm beginning to think it was God's idea, because I sure wouldn't have thought of it on my own."

"I promise I'll take good care of it, and treasure it, Timmy. Thank you." Don leaned forward and initiated a very gentle kiss. Tim deepened it, even though it did hurt his mouth. He wanted to feel Don's tongue inside his mouth, to kiss him like a lover. "There are a few things you should know about what went on while you were missing."

"Like what?" Tim frowned, wondering what Don could possibly think was so important. He was getting tired now, relieved from talking things out, from all the loving touches and reassurances that were starting to make him feel secure again.

"When I went down to confront Fellows, Kenny went with me, which I wasn't too surprised about. But Mike and Stan went with us, too, and they really backed me up. When it became apparent you definitely were missing, we had a twelve-person search party on our front doorstep, awaiting instructions."

"What? Who?"

"Sheridans, Jensens, Millers, those people who live in the house with the pea soup-colored siding - -"

"Burzynskis," Tim supplied.

"Yeah, them, and a couple other people. I'm sure Margaret can tell you who everyone was. She organized it. They went out and combed the neighborhood, the city, even started on rural back roads before the cops officially directed them to some rural areas."

"I don't know what to say," Tim replied, tears filling his eyes, but for a good reason. He knew they had nice neighbors, and he'd worked hard at making himself and Donald a part of the neighborhood community. Still, he had no idea his neighbors would care on such a personal level if something happened to him.

"Bailey tried to tell them to wait until morning, but Margaret wouldn't accept waiting six more hours to search because Bailey and his men were afraid of the dark," Don recalled, laughing.

"I can hear her saying that," Tim responded, laughing, holding onto his side.

"I didn't know you tutored Ryan and let him job shadow you."

"You didn't? I thought I mentioned it. Maybe you were just wrapped up with a case or something."

"And you gave Margaret all that moral support when their son died. I didn't even know that you knew all those people who showed up to search."

"I wanted friends in this neighborhood. I wanted us to be accepted, be part of the community - - not just to have them...tolerate us."

"Well, you did that. All while I was skulking around dark alleys," Don added, touching Tim's face carefully, not putting pressure on his bruises.

"There were twelve people here at midnight to look for me?" he asked again.

"There were," Don confirmed. "I called Margaret from the hospital, while you were in X-ray. She was so relieved she was crying. I think she's adopted you."

"I'll have to thank everyone tomorrow." Tim paused. "Wait. Tomorrow is Saturday."

"Technically, it's Saturday morning now," Don replied, looking at the clock, which was now passing the four a.m. mark.

"The fund raiser is tonight," Tim said. "Would you still go with me?"

"Honey, you were kidnapped, held hostage, beaten up - - you heard the doctor tell you to get some rest."

"I'll get some sleep. Please, Donald. I've worked on this event for months. I could still get over to the convention center this afternoon and make sure everything's the way it should be, and meet with the staff, and make sure Senator Platt has what she needs - - " he paused. "How bad do I look? I haven't even seen myself in a mirror since... Maybe she won't want me there."

"You look like you've taken a pretty nasty beating. You're bruised up, but you're still beautiful," Don concluded, smiling.

"You're biased."

"You bet I am, but I know beautiful when I see it."

"You think with my glasses on, and my tux, I wouldn't look too horrible?"

"This is going to sound really morose, but a friend of mine who used to work at the morgue downtown works at the Ambrose Funeral Home, doing makeup on the bodies."

"You're not serious," Tim said, thinking this was one of Don's more bizarre ideas.

"Hear me out. She's really gotten a lot of recognition for the amazing job she does on some of the bodies that no one thinks could ever be open casket funerals. But she makes them look really good. She's an artist with bruises and messed up faces."

"Donald, you just got done telling me how beautiful I am and now you're comparing me to mangled corpses?"

"No, no, sweetheart, I don't mean that. But she can cover up a lot of the bruising and make it look natural."

"I'm not going to get ready for this event in an embalming room."

"Of course, you're not. I'll get her to come over here. It'll be just like having makeup done before going on a talk show or something."

"Corpse makeup."

"It's just makeup, Timothy. It's not corpse makeup until it's on the corpse. It's not like it's cursed."

"I guess I just came too close to having to have that done for real to want some...cryptkeeper over here touching up my bruises."

"Is that what's freaking you out about this?" Don asked, and Tim realized how stupid it really was to make such an issue of this. Donald had practically pulled a rabbit out of a hat to get him in shape to go to a party that Donald himself would prefer being beaten to attending. His partner was also focusing on something so inanely superficial as covering up Tim's bruises so he'd look nice for a party when Don had just been forced to shoot and kill the younger brother of the first man he'd fallen in love with.

"I'm just tired and cranky, and ungrateful. If you can get her to do that for me, I'll appreciate it."

"O-kay," Don said, looking at Tim as if he thought he was suffering a worse head injury than they at first suspected.

"I haven't even asked you how you're doing," he said, resting his hand on Don's shoulder, rubbing a little. "I'm sorry you had to shoot Kyle's brother. I know that had to be very difficult."

"He was aiming at me, and I have no question he would have pulled the trigger. If he hadn't then, he would have killed you, or injured you more if I didn't follow through with his sick game and blow my own head off. There was no good ending to that." Don sighed. "Kyle thought the world of John, that he was this whiz kid with electronics. He wanted to see him promoted to Army Intelligence, too, doing surveillance work, things like that. Whatever there was left of John's mind, it wasn't functioning rationally. He'd let this thing eat at him until all that was there was hate, and this irrational need for revenge - - like destroying my life, using you to get back at me, was somehow going to set anything right."

"Still, he looked like Kyle, at least, from what I saw of his picture."

"Kyle had a good, kind heart. He'd have never done to an innocent person what John did to you. That was sadistic, and that wasn't Kyle, even in dealing with th enemy. He was ethical, decent... I know he would have understood what I had to do."

"You seem more at peace with his memory," Tim said.

"Yeah, well, someone very wise and very patient helped me figure some things out," Don responded, smiling.

********

Though he'd have given anything to undo what Tim had to go through, Don enjoyed pampering him, seeing the relief in his face soaking in the hot bath, or as Don carefully washed the dried blood out of his hair. Pain medication made him even sleepier, and he lay in bed dozing while Don gently applied ice to the swelling around his eye and his mouth, and also prepared an ice pack for the area around his cracked rib, protecting the skin with a thin towel before applying the pack. He couldn't count how many times Tim pulled out a first aid kit, or sat up late into a night before he had an early call in the morning to fix one of Don's many work-related mishaps. He deserved a little special TLC in return.

"I wish you'd rethink this party thing tonight," he said quietly. Tim was in a lot more pain than he let on, and Don felt the best thing for him was to be at home, doted on and cared for, getting a nice long stretch of bed rest.

"We don't have to stay long. I just want to see it. It's a very important event for the senator." Tim closed his eyes. "Get into bed, Donald. You can stop fussing over me for a while."

"I'll drive you over to the convention center this afternoon, but if everything's on schedule and okay, we're coming right back home. Got it? By now, the senator's sure to have assigned someone else to do the dirty work."

"It's my event. How much we raise at it could determine what kind of re-election campaign we can launch."

"Okay. Shhh. Go to sleep, sweetheart. I'll make sure you're awake in time."

"I have to call Senator Platt around nine - - "

"I'll call her. You sleep."

"She has to feel free to tell me not to come to the party, if she doesn't want me there looking like I do."

"You'll look fine. Now go to sleep." Don removed the ice packs and covered him up.

"Don't turn out the lights," Tim said, his eyes opening a little. "I don't think I'm gonna be okay with the dark for a while."

"We'll just leave 'em on. It'll be getting light out soon, anyway." Don climbed into bed, shifting so he was facing Tim, close enough to share a pillow with him. "I'm right here, honey. Just relax and go to sleep." Don smiled when Tim slipped his hand into Don's, holding on tightly.

"It hurts," he said in barely a whisper. The two words twisted Don's heart, even though he knew perfectly well how much Tim had to be hurting. He was bruised almost everywhere, and he wasn't used to being mistreated in such a horrible way. Don scooted impossibly closer, without putting pressure on any bruised places, and put his arm lightly around Timmy.

"I know it does, baby. It'll get better. Don't fight the pain pill. I'm here to watch over you." He kissed the end of Tim's nose, glad to see that drew a faint smile as Tim let go and drifted off to sleep.

********

Very little about dealing with Donald Strachey surprised Detective Bailey. Strachey himself was a bizarre mixture of characteristics - - no, of opposites. He was tough, brave to the point of foolishness at times, and more than able to hold his own with any homophobic cop who might shoot an insult his way when he was around the station. He definitely wasn't the mental image that Bailey had always associated with "gay"- - limp wrists, an exaggerated sense of fashion, and a flair for decorating. No one would ever accuse Strachey of even one of those traits. Bailey liked to think he could tell if a man was gay or straight, but if Strachey didn't constantly function under the moniker of "the gay detective," pinned on him by some magazine article a few years back, Bailey would have never pegged it.

At the same time, there was an odd vulnerability in the guy that seemed to come from something he was carrying around inside, and now Bailey had another piece to the puzzle. The way Strachey had shot out the explanation of his connection to the Griffin family was indicative of someone who just wanted to get the words out fast because they either humiliated or saddened him to a point that he couldn't bear to linger over them.

Timothy Callahan was a lighter soul than his partner. He was friendly, polite, and cultured in a way that spoke of old money, but without the nose-in-the-air arrogance. Bailey could easily see him as a parish priest, or maybe ultimately some high-ranking Vatican officer of some sort. Smart, dedicated guys like Callahan could go far in the Church, especially as the number of new priests dwindled and the contingent of old priests were dying. Callahan did have the flair for decorating and the sense of style Bailey's admittedly archaic old notions demanded from a gay man, and he was definitely...softer somehow than his more abrasive spouse, but nobody could accuse the guy of being dainty. His gutsy escape attempt and participation in bringing down John Griffin laid any such thoughts to rest for Bailey. Mistaking Callahan's inclination toward non-violence for weakness was apparently a serious miscalculation.

Bailey still didn't know what he thought of gay marriage - - two guys exchanging rings and setting up housekeeping - - but he couldn't question the devotion between these two, and he couldn't think of too many couples he'd met - - of either gender - - who loved each other so openly and unreservedly as Strachey and Callahan.

Speaking of the devil himself, Don was outside when he arrived at the house to take their statements. Unshaven and his hair ragged, clad in his robe and a pair of well-worn socks, he was talking to one of the couples from the search party, smiling and chatting, but looking frayed around the edges, as if he just wanted to get back inside. He held the mail in one hand, apparently having been waylaid when he stepped outside to retrieve it. He actually looked relieved to see Bailey approaching.

"Afternoon, folks," Bailey greeted, unable to remember the older couple's name off the top of his head.

"Detective Bailey," the man greeted, shaking hands. "Mike Sheridan."

"Yes, of course, from the search party," Bailey said, smiling. "Mrs. Sheridan," he said.

"Detective, nice to see you again. We were just asking Don how Timmy was doing."

"I hate to interrupt your visit, but I have another meeting downtown on that homicide case, and I need to get statements from you and Tim," he said to Don.

"We're ready for you," he replied. "Mike, Margaret, I'll tell Tim you were here to see him as soon as he wakes up. I know he'll appreciate it."

"Give him a big hug for me," Margaret said. "I'm sure you won't mind," she added, grinning impishly.

"I'll force myself," Don quipped, smiling, looking relieved as they headed across the street.

"Did you get any sleep? You look like shit warmed over," Bailey observed.

"Thanks, Bub. You're looking particularly handsome yourself this morning. I'm putting coffee on if you want some." He led the way back into the house. "Timmy's hell-bent he's going to that fund raiser dinner tonight, so I had to be up at nine to call the senator and make sure she didn't mind him coming with all his bruises, and to make sure she didn't delegate his final trip to the convention center to torment the catering staff to someone else. I thought that would mean he'd get some extra sleep." Callahan's animated voice could be heard wafting down the stairs.

"Sounds like somebody's getting it," Bailey said, sitting at the kitchen counter.

"They were going to use gold linen napkins. Apparently that will somehow offend the gods, or at least clash with the centerpieces," Don said, yawning, slapping the coffee maker, as if that would make it produce faster.

"How's he doing?" Bailey asked.

"He's in a lot of pain, and he won't take any more pain pills until after the party because he doesn't want to be groggy or say the wrong thing. I wish he'd stay home and get some rest."

"Might be good for him to get out and do his thing, you know, do something he's comfortable doing. He went through a lot."

"I suppose you're right." Annoyed, he finally moved the pot out of the way and let the brewing coffee drip directly into the mugs, one after the other. He spilled coffee that sizzled on the burner. Bailey wondered if Callahan knew how abused his pristine kitchenware was when he wasn't watching.

"You want to get this over with?" Don asked, sitting at the counter. "The Jensens dropped off donuts, God bless them." Don bit into a chocolate frosted one, pushing the bakery box toward Bailey. He licked frosting off his thumb while Bailey selected a big donut with a hard, crusty glaze on it. "This is my third," he said, stifling an inelegant belch.

"Guess I need to catch up then, huh?"

"Go for it. Timmy'll eat that raspberry bismark and then bitch about the powdered sugar getting on his shirt, and that'll be it. He's not a big donut eater."

So Bailey sat there and ate two donuts, drank two cups of coffee, and took Strachey's statement.

"What else do you know about Griffin? How long's he been planning this thing?" Don asked.

"Well, among other things, he drives a black Dodge Charger. It was parked behind the farmhouse."

"Shit. I checked Alan Griffin for that. Never even thought about John."

"I would have put a pretty hefty bet on Alan Griffin, myself. No reason to suspect John. Anyhow, the preliminary information we're getting in on his credit card transactions, and his ATM activity indicate he arrived here a few days before your house was vandalized. He rented the house about a month ago. He probably spent the extra days wiring it, putting up his cameras. He had quite a few of them out, but not nearly the electronic dragnet he was claiming." Bailey took another drink of coffee. "We also found a denim jacket missing a button - - the one Kenny found here matches it."

A scream from upstairs startled them both, and Don rushed for the stairs, Bailey close behind him. The next shout was Don's name, panicked, a little broken. Tim was sitting up in bed, breathing heavily, holding onto his side, shaking.

"I'll be downstairs," Bailey said, since it was apparent Tim had dozed off and had a nightmare.

"I'm here, Timmy," Don said right away, climbing onto the bed, gathering Tim in his arms. "You must have dozed off, had a bad dream." He patted Tim's back, rocking him a little. "It's okay, honey. You're home. You're safe."

"My side hurts," he managed.

"Is it worse than before?" Don asked, concerned to be sure there were no internal injuries lurking under the surface. Tim still hadn't given him a blow-by-blow account of the beating, but judging by the bruising and the cracked rib, Don was convinced he'd been kicked at least once or twice. Tim didn't answer him, but he did start to cry. Don wasn't sure if that was the nightmare or the pain, or some miserable combination of the two. "Try to calm down, Timmy. The more even your breathing is, the less your side is gonna hurt you."

"I was back in that room. He had the gun in my mouth and he kept spinning the chamber and clicking it. I could feel it again, in the back of my throat, pushing at the roof of my mouth."

"Your mouth's pretty sore inside, huh?" Don asked, stroking Tim's cheek. Thankfully, his partner wasn't missing any teeth, but he'd taken a couple of nasty blows that had made the area swollen and tender, and caused his teeth to break the skin in a few places.

"I don't know if I can go to this party tonight," Timmy admitted, sounding more than a little discouraged.

"No one's going to think less of you if you don't. Senator Platt thought you were nuts when I told her you were insisting on coming. Nuts in a good way," he hastened to add. "She knows how devoted you are to your job. You don't have to prove anything."

"I just put so much work into this. But everything hurts so bad and if I take those pain pills, I won't even know who I'm talking to."

"What about ibuprofen? It'll take the edge off. You can't do this with nothing. If you're determined to try to go to this party, you're going to need some pain relief."

"Okay. We can try the ibuprofen. You'll be with me at the party? Donald, you have to stay with me, and pay attention to what's going on, in case I say something wrong because I'm tired or have too many pills in me."

"I won't leave your side, I promise, and I'll even pay attention to what's being said." He kissed the top of Timmy's head. "Have I told you lately how much I love you?"

"It's always good to hear," Tim said, seeming calmer now.

"Thank you for saying yes," Don whispered in his ear. "I love you." He loved seeing the big grin spread across Tim's face.

"Thank you for asking," he whispered back.

Don slipped his hand under Tim's t-shirt, pressing gently on his belly to be sure nothing felt hard or swollen. Though he was no doctor, he'd felt the distended abdomen of a man with internal injuries when he was in the Army, and he didn't detect anything like that in Timmy.

"Your hand feels good there," Tim admitted softly, and Don rubbed his belly a little, not sure if he was relaxing sore muscles, or had just found one of the few spots on Timmy's body that wasn't bruised.

"Just relax, honey. Everything's going to be okay."

"Did I see Bailey here?"

"He's downstairs. When you hollered, we both came up, in case something was wrong." Don was surprised when he felt something hard brushing his wrist as he was giving Tim the little belly rub he was enjoying. "If we do something about that, it's going to make you breathe harder."

"If it doesn't, you've lost your touch," Tim kidded. "Touch me," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Sliding down on the bed, Don pushed the covers back and pushed down Tim's shorts, freeing his erection. He kissed his way up the underside of it, then engulfed it in his mouth, sucking gently, one hand fondling Tim's balls. Tim moaned a little, but it was a good moan, and his hand lightly caressed Don's hair. Don was glad Tim was enjoying himself, that he could do something to make him feel some good sensations amidst all the aches and pains. Mostly, he savored touching and tasting his lover, something that, just twelve hours ago, he'd feared he'd never be able to do again. He found himself smiling around his project, putting as much effort and imagination into the movements of his lips and tongue as he could, wanting to make this one of the best blow jobs Tim ever got.

When Timmy came, he couldn't stifle the little cry of pleasure that escaped his parted lips. A moment later, Don was by his side again, softly kissing those irresistible lips.

"Let me take care of you," Tim offered, his hand straying inside Don's robe, cupping his balls.

"Bailey's downstairs," Don objected weakly.

"He can have another cup of coffee."

"And a donut. There are donuts down there."

"How many have you had so far?" Tim asked, his tongue flicking out to lick a little chocolate icing out of the corner of Don's mouth.

"Three downstairs. Then I came up here and sucked the cream out of your longjohn," he teased, sharing more gentle little kisses with Tim.

"You're awful," Tim replied, smiling broadly.

Don relaxed and let himself enjoy the work Tim's hand was doing on his cock, and the closeness he was sharing with his partner, swapping kisses and little love words. He didn't realize how much he needed to reconnect with Tim this way, this intimately, until they were stealing the moment. He nuzzled Timmy's neck, stifling the sounds of his orgasm in that warm, wonderful spot where all he could breathe in was the scent of his partner. He didn't move when it was over, even though he knew he had to, that Bailey was probably pacing around downstairs, irritated, checking his watch.

Tim's gentle hand was caressing the back of his head, his other arm coming around to pull their bodies close. Don didn't know why he felt tears burning behind his closed eyelids. Maybe it was fatigue, maybe it was relief...mostly it was the feeling of Timmy holding him, something he'd physically ached for when his partner was missing. He'd been facing the greatest potential loss of his life, and the only person he'd wanted to cling to for sustenance was the very person he was at risk of losing. Now those familiar arms were around him, and even though Tim was tired and in pain, nothing could diminish the love and the strength Don drew from the contact.

"Everything's okay, now, baby. I'm home, we're together," Timmy whispered, and Don allowed himself a few tears, the stress of the last couple days catching up with him. After a minute or two of just lying there quietly with Tim, he sat up and rubbed at his face tiredly. "I've been so focused on whether or not I could manage to get to this party tonight," Tim said, looking at him with real concern. "You look exhausted. If it's too much, we can skip it."

"I'll be fine," Don said, smiling at his lover, finding it agonizingly hard to resist just curling up with him in the bed and forgetting the world for the day. "I'm just tired. We'll spend tomorrow in bed," he added, flexing his eyebrows.

"I better give Bailey my statement before he comes up here after it," Tim said.

"You can stay right where you are. He can come up here." Don straightened up the bed sheets and his disheveled robe and underwear, and helped Timmy get re-situated in the bed, wearing his blue robe, with the covers neatly arranged so no one would never know their little tryst happened.

"It's not that I don't love your essence, Donald, but I'm never going to be able to shake hands with Bailey if you don't bring me a wet-wipe."

"Oops," Don acknowledged, laughing as he brought Tim the requested item and slipped into the bathroom to use a little mouthwash. He returned with a comb and touched up Tim's hair a bit, handing him his glasses and even squirting him with a spritz of his new cologne. Timmy wasn't fond of receiving guests when he looked like he'd just crawled out of bed - - or just finished making love. "You look really sweet and innocent now," he quipped heading for the door.

"Donald?"

"What, honey?"

"You'll sit with me while I give him the statement?"

"Try and get rid of me," Don replied, grinning.

"Never," Tim said, with a sincerity that warmed Don's heart.

********

Bailey was mostly through his third donut when Don came back downstairs, looking a bit more ragged than when he'd gone up there. His eyes were bloodshot enough to look painful. Part of him wondered if Callahan had died last night, what would have been left of Strachey. He suspected very little, given the exhaustion and emotional toll the whole situation had inflicted on the usually resilient, often irritating soul he'd gotten used to as a fixture of his life at the PD.

"Timmy's ready for you, if you want to come up. I want him to take it easy until we go over to the convention center."

So he followed Don upstairs and sat in a chair across from the bed where Callahan was propped up amidst a mountain of pillows, his hair neatly combed, already shaven, in his robe, glasses in place. There was a bed tray on the floor with the remains of breakfast, and Callahan's briefcase and a few assorted papers had been neatly set aside by the breakfast tray. Don sat next to him, sheltering Tim's hand in both of his. With the exception of the occasional old-time movie star playing royalty, Bailey couldn't remember anyone looking more pampered, spoiled, tended-to, and genuinely adored.

Callahan told most of his story with characteristic composure, but a few parts of his account, when he talked about being terrorized in the darkened room, or the violent beating he'd taken when his escape attempt failed, were obviously hard for him to describe. Strachey looked devastated and angry at the same time, sliding his arm behind his partner and pulling him closer, still keeping a hold on his hand.

When he'd told his story, Bailey stood to leave. "Strachey tells me you're going to your fund raiser tonight."

"It's a very important event for the senator. I don't want to miss it."

"Well, I hope you have a nice evening out of it. You two have earned a break."

"Thanks, Bub. If Timmy put it together, I'm sure it'll be something special," Don said, giving his partner a look of pure love.

********

"Oh, shit," Don said as he stood in the open front door. The woman on the other side looked unnaturally pale, her black lipstick and black nail polish perfectly coordinating with her black leather corset and long black skirt. A few silver chains accented the whole ensemble, coordinating nicely with her nose and lip rings.

"Nice to see you, too," Lindsey said, shaking her head as she walked past him into the house. "You moonlighting as a waiter at the country club now?" she asked, gesturing at his tux.

"Very funny."

 "What the hell happened to your railing?" she asked, and Don realized that he'd almost become used to living in their maimed house.

"It's a long story. Sorry about the greeting. But did you have to wear the whole goth look? Timothy's freaked out enough that we're patching him up like a rough-looking corpse."

"This may surprise you, but I do have a life outside spackling dead people back together and making your partner pretty for his party. I have a date tonight. Where's the body, anyhow?"

"Shhh. And don't tell him this is corpse makeup."

"Well it's not my cosmetic bag," she retorted, looking down at the large black case full of makeup she was carrying.

"Just tell him it's the same as stage makeup."

"Fine. Where is our delicate flower so I can get started on him?"

"He's upstairs. Seriously, Lin, he's been through a lot, so take it easy on him with the corpse humor."

"I got the picture. So what happened, you two have a lover's spat and you hit him somewhere it shows?" she joked.

"He was abducted and beaten. I'd never hurt Timothy, so don't even joke about that."

"You're strung really tightly, Donny. You need to relax. I'm just teasing you."

"Sorry. It's been a rough couple of weeks," he added.

Tim was sitting on the bed, fully dressed except for his jacket and tie.

"Tim, this is Lindsey. Lin, this is my partner, Tim Callahan," Don introduced. Tim recovered much more quickly than Don had from the woman's black-dominated outfit and gave her the best smile he could.

"Thanks for doing this on such short notice," he said.

"Well, your partner here is so charming and persuasive, how could a girl say no?" She took a hold of Tim's chin, carefully turning his face side to side. "Piece'a cake," she said, putting her case on the bed. "Donny, make yourself useful and get me a towel so I don't get any on his shirt."

"Donny?" Tim asked, and Lindsey just smiled, winking at him.

"He hates it," she whispered.

"I won't look...orange, will I?"

"Not unless you want to. I think half the reason I do this for a living was being traumatized by all those overly made up, phony-looking dead people when I was a kid." She waited while Don solicitously tucked a towel around Tim's neck. "A chair would be nice," she said, raising an eyebrow at Don.

"Right." He returned with a straight chair for her to sit in while she worked on Tim's face.

"How did you two meet?" Tim asked.

"On a murder case. There was this serial killer who was - - "

"I don't think Tim needs all that detail, Lin," Don said, smiling, but giving her a look.

"You were working a serial killer case? When?"

"Before I met you, sweetheart. One of the victim's families hired me because they didn't think the cops were doing enough. They ended up solving it before I did. Lindsey worked in the morgue downtown, and we got to talking..."

"Then I found out I'd been wasting my time and he was gay. That would have been a nice piece of information to share with me up front," she added. "So, is he good in the sack? Should I be really disappointed?"

"Crushed. You should be crushed," Tim said, casting an affectionate look at Don.

"Figures. Bet he's got a cute ass, too."

"The cutest."

"Will you two give it a rest? Geez."

"I'll try not to hurt you, but I might not have the lightest touch. Most of my clients could take an ice pick to the eye and not know the difference."

"Just fix me up so I don't look like someone ran over my face."

"Trust me, you don't look that bad. I actually had to patch one of those up. Ugh."

"Lin," Don admonished.

"He's fine," she retorted. "I think I even saw a smile a second ago."

"That was probably just the distortion of my mouth from the swelling."

"It's not all that noticeable. Now, if you want to talk about distorted mouths - - "

"We don't," Tim and Don replied in unison.

"Sorry."

Lindsey worked quickly and efficiently, making more benign conversation with Tim that kept him fairly relaxed while she finished the makeup job.

"Okay, check yourself out," she said, handing him a mirror.

"Wow. I look so...lifelike," he quipped, and Lindsey laughed at a corpse makeup joke coming from Tim himself. "Seriously, it really does look natural. I was kind of afraid I'd look like a drag queen with a full face of makeup."

"You look great, honey," Don said. "It doesn't look like you're wearing makeup, either."

"Another satisfied customer. Of course, if mine aren't satisfied, there's not much they can do about it."

"What can we do to thank you?" Tim asked.

"Oh, I'll think of something. It's always handy to have a few friends owing you favors," she replied. "Have fun at your party," she said, gathering up the last of her supplies. "Oh, and I'm leaving a jar of the cleansing cream you'll want to use to take this stuff off," she said, setting it on the night stand.

Don walked her downstairs, and when he came back, Tim was fastening his bow tie, glasses in place. He picked up Tim's jacket and held it for him, trying to minimize how much reaching and twisting he had to do.

"Lindsey did a great job on you," Don said, taking in the full effect.

"Thank you for calling her and setting this up for me." Tim smiled, looking at Don with all the love in the world. "This evening means a lot to me."

"I know it does, honey." Don returned the smile, happy beyond words to see Timmy so happy. And excited to spring his final surprise of the evening.

"The party's important, but...you've done so much to make this happen for me tonight," he said, taking both of Don's hands in his. "I know you hate these things, and I know you're tired and this is the last thing you want to be doing."

"You're here, alive, with me, and I'll be with you all evening, and I get to be the envy of most of the women and more than a few of the men when they see who I'm with. I don't hate that."

Tim cocked his head a bit and just looked at Don, his eyes filling.

"Come on, we should get going. You want to get there in time to make sure everything is up to par," he added, grinning.

They went downstairs, and Don opened the front door, letting Tim out and locking it behind them. He smiled as he watched Tim frozen to the spot on the front walk, looking at the black stretch limo parked in the driveway.

"I don't understand," he said, confused. "Is that for us?"

"I figured you should arrive there in the style you deserve, instead of folded up in the passenger seat of my car with your topcoat shut in the door."

"I'd rather be in that car with you than in one of these with anyone else."

"I know that, too. But tonight, you get both, so enjoy it."

He'd no sooner said that than the driver got out of the car, clad in a dark suit and tie, and came around to open the door for them. Once inside, Don handed Tim a glass, took one himself, and poured them both some champagne from the bottle chilling there.

"To us," Donald toasted.

"To us," Tim echoed, smiling as their glasses clinked together before they each took a sip.

"How's your side, honey?"

"It hurts. If we can make it through cocktails and dinner, I won't object to going home early."

"You sure you're up to this?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Tim said, leaning over for a kiss, making it clear that being on a date with Don was the part of the evening that meant the most to him.

********

A ride in a limo was on par with the elegance and opulence of the fund raiser. As he finished off a martini he hoped would make the stuffed shirts a little easier to bear, Don wondered if the banking, law, and commerce in New York State would survive the roof falling in on this crowd. And that wasn't even taking into account the politicians; of course, Don was of the opinion the world could survive nicely without most of them. Except for Timothy, of course. But then Don didn't think of him as a politician in the negative sense of the word.

Tim was in his element, working the room, greeting some of the most prestigious bigwigs in the state, seamlessly blending his roles as host, party guest, or head of the senator's staff, depending on whose hand he happened to be shaking at the moment. No matter who it was, he proudly introduced Don as his partner, the tasteful little touch to his arm or loving look in his eyes making it clear that didn't mean they were in business together.

The kidnapping and assault had made the local news, even though neither of them had talked to the press or given them any lurid details. Several people asked Tim how he was and expressed concern that he'd been through such an ordeal. Don was impressed all over again, but not entirely surprised, that some of the most powerful people in the state not only knew Tim by name and obviously respected him, but some actually knew him well enough to care that he'd had a bad experience in his personal life.

"This is a beautiful event, Timothy. You outdid yourself," Don said as they were eating dinner, in a rare moment when the conversation at their round table for eight didn't include Tim.

"Thanks," Tim said, smiling, obviously pleased by the compliment. "I had a lot of help."

"But you were in charge."

"Guilty," he replied, still smiling.

"Which means no detail went through to completion that you didn't review."

"Okay, okay," Tim said, holding up his hand slightly, laughing.

"Incidentally, the ivory napkins were definitely the way to go," Don said, his tone very serious, and Tim looked at him as if he'd sprouted a third eye in the middle of his forehead. "You were enlightening the caterer this morning on the phone about the evils of gold linen napkins," he added.

"He was the beneficiary of the pain pills wearing off," Tim admitted, taking a drink of water. "And gold would have been ridiculous."

"This is about the biggest shindig you've put together, isn't it?" Don whispered, leaning close to Tim.

"Yes, it is," Tim admitted. "I guess I just had to be here to make sure it all hung together the way I hoped."

"Are you happy?" Don asked, resting his hand on Tim's knee, under the table. He let it stray up his thigh just a little.

"Oh, yes, I'm happy, but that's got nothing to do with this event." He caught Don's wandering hand with his, lacing their fingers together.

********

After Senator Platt made her post-dinner keynote address, and a number of other politicians got up and supported the cause of raising money for her re-election, the guests were finally free to dance to the music of a small orchestra playing old standards. Though his aches and pains were starting to infringe on his good time, Tim wouldn't have missed dancing with Donald for the world.

The evening had been something out of one of his fantasies. The limousine picking them up, sipping champagne on the way to the event, sending the driver around the block a few extra times... Being so in love that it was tempting to just skip the event and spend the evening in the back of the limo with Don and the champagne. Realizing again just how much Donald was his knight in shining armor, with those beautiful blue eyes and that wonderfully quirky hair that couldn't decide if it was strawberry blond or sandy blond depending on the light. Losing himself in that smile that melted his heart, and seeing the whole package all dolled up in a tuxedo. More than all that, just seeing so much love directed his way made him feel almost unworthy of it. He wasn't sure anyone was worthy of being loved and desired that much.

For now, he didn't even care if he deserved it. He had it, and he treasured it, and he clung to Donald happily as they swayed to the music, his heart swelling when Don put his head on Tim's shoulder the way he usually did when they slow danced. There was something so endearing in that little habit from this man who was so strong, so self-assured, so tough, so brave, never one to back down from a fight and always ready to face anyone or anything and take on any challenge... and yet he surrendered so gently in Tim's embrace, so in love with him that he didn't even care about pretenses. That kind of love and trust was awe-inspiring, and with a little touch to the back of Don's head, Tim resolved to spend the rest of his life living up to it.

They stayed later than Tim planned, but he was enjoying it so much, he didn't want it to end, even if he was increasingly unable to keep the signs of pain out of his expressions and words. It was Don who finally took a gentle hold of his hand and whispered that it was time to go home.

The limousine took them back to the house, and Tim couldn't help empathizing with Cinderella's feelings when her coach turned back into a pumpkin. In the end, though, he still had his Prince Charming, whether he was in a tux or a t-shirt, so the coach was low on his list of priorities.

Don took care of him like he was made of delicate crystal, and he didn't resist any of the doting. He was tired and in pain, and it felt good to be babied a little. Don even painstakingly cleaned the makeup off that had covered up the bruising on his face with an impossibly light touch that barely caused him any discomfort at all. After giving him some pain medication, lighting the candles the way Tim liked them, and filling up a warm tub, Don relaxed in the bath with him, knowing he hurt too much to really do anything more than just let the warm water loosen up his muscles a little.

As they lay in bed, finally looking forward to a day of sleeping in and restoring their worn out bodies and spirits, Tim spooned around Donald. Lying against him, holding onto him, gave Tim's achy body support in a much warmer and more wonderful way than any pillows could have. Don reached back and stroked Tim's cheek lightly, grinning.

"What?"

"I know you were glad to have the bruises covered up for the party, and you looked great. I was just glad to touch your face and feel just you there."

Tim caught Don's hand and held it there, kissing the palm.

"Tonight was one of the most amazing nights of my life. Thank you."

"Congratulations, sweetheart. It was a beautiful event, and everybody had a good time. The food was incredible, and normally, I can't stand the dinners at those things. I'll bet the senator gets a shitload of money out of it." Donald yawned widely. Tim had to laugh at his rather crass summation, but he hoped it was accurate.

"That was the plan."

"Comfortable there?" Don asked, reaching back and affectionately patting Tim's hip.

"Oh, yes. It's perfect," Tim said, nuzzling the back of Don's neck. He let his eyes drift shut, reassured by Donald's body against him, and the dim lamp he'd left lit on the dresser. "Thanks for remembering to leave a light on," he said quietly.

"It's okay, honey." Don laid his arm on top of Tim's, where it encircled his waist from behind. "Get some good sleep. We're home and we're safe."

********

In Don's opinion, this was what Sunday was all about. Sleeping in until noon, still being in their robes at two before finally pulling on some old sweats. Spending an inordinate amount of time goofing around trying to make breakfast. Entertaining Timmy by doing a god-awful little dance, complete with hip action, while flipping pancakes, seeing his partner hold onto his sore side for a good reason, because he was laughing.

Cold November rain was pounding on the roof, but there was a fire in the fireplace, and they had the Sunday paper scattered all over the coffee table, picking their way through it, reading things to each other, or just sitting there, quietly reading items they found interesting. They even tackled the crossword together.

Tim spent some time on the phone with Margaret and Mike Sheridan, telling them as much of his ordeal as he felt up to reliving, though it was a considerably abridged version. Then he called the Jensens, the Millers, and the other neighbors who had participated in the search party, thanking them for their concern and for helping look for him while he was missing. While he did that, Don cleaned up the breakfast dishes, determined that Timmy was going to do nothing more than rest and be treated like a king until his bruises faded and he felt better.

Don finally popped a DVD in the player, Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte. Since both of them enjoyed a good dose of an old, psychotic Bette Davis character, it seemed like the perfect choice. Their late brunch sustained them for main meals for a while, so the batch of popcorn Don made for them was the perfect companion for the movie. If he had his way, it would be the first of a few movies, since snuggling on the couch with Timmy, popcorn, and assorted junk food was probably the closest thing to heaven anyone could aspire to on earth.

Alternating between putting popcorn in his mouth and kissing Timmy, he looked forward to taking a few days off with him, so they could do more of this. Just be together. It had been an awful couple of weeks, and he couldn't think of anything that would restore them both faster than a little down time together, with the rest of the world locked on the other side of the door. It would also give them a chance to make appointments with contractors and start firming up plans to completely repair the house. It was clean and habitable, but the banister needed repair, the hole in the upstairs wall needed patching, and most of the rooms needed paint. Thankfully, most of the carpeting was okay.

For some odd reason, their leather furniture in the family room was spared, so it was relatively easy to live in a state of denial that all the living room furniture still had to be replaced. Don also wanted to find someone to fix the dining room furniture for Timmy. He knew Tim would get on researching it and looking for someone who could restore it, but Don had to admit that he wanted to be Tim's hero, to fix it for him, to be the one who made one of the big wrongs right again.

"Do you want to go furniture shopping tomorrow?" Don asked while he switched DVD's.

"Are you feeling all right?" Tim asked, pausing midway between the bowl and his mouth with a couple kernels of popcorn.

"Yes, I'm fine," Don replied, chuckling. "We need new living room furniture. I thought we could look around a little, maybe grab a bite to eat somewhere. No more than what you feel up to. I want you to take it easy for a few days."

"I'd love to go look at new furniture," Tim said, looking pleased. "Since we have to paint the living room and replace the blinds, that gives us a wider range of color choices. We could do something totally different."

"Take the opportunity to do something fun that you like, honey. Whatever color scheme you want."

"Who are you and what have you done with Donald?"

Don sat down next to him, linking their arms. "You've had a really bad time of it over this whole mess, and I just want you to be happy, to have a little fun out of all the...crap we've been through."

"I didn't think it was possible, but all of this has brought us closer together. That makes me happy on a level I can't even put into words."

"I know. Me, too. But don't try to tell me that the new furniture and free reign with the color scheme won't make you kind of happy, too."

"I never said that," Tim amended, smiling.

********

The doorbell rang a second time, accompanied by a knock.

"All right, I'm coming!" Don hollered, trying to keep the irritation out of his tone, since Tim didn't like it when he snapped at visitors for repeat doorbell ringing. It was late morning, and Don was dressed and ready for their furniture shopping excursion. Tim was still finishing up his morning routine, since Don had encouraged him to give in to the urge to sleep in late.

He swung the door open and for just an instant, his heart felt as if it had stopped beating. It was a long moment before he realized who and what he was really seeing. Alan Griffin was standing on the doorstep, a manilla envelope in his hand. He was clean shaven, with his dark hair neatly trimmed in a style not unlike the way Kyle used to wear his. Pairing that with a stunning family resemblance, he felt as if he were seeing an older Kyle standing there.

"I probably should have called first," he said. "I was going to introduce myself, but it looks like you recognize me," he said, his voice even holding the same timbre and inflections as Kyle's.

"You look exactly like him," Don said, knowing it wasn't an eloquent response. "Uh, come in," he said, stepping aside so Alan could enter. Seeing this man dug hard at the old wound. He just looked and sounded too much like his brother.

"I wanted to apologize, on behalf of our family, for what John did to you and your partner." He looked at the banister and a few of the more obvious remaining signs of the vandalism, like the spray paint on the walls. "He did all this?"

"It's mostly cleaned up now, but the house was pretty well trashed. We need to replace furniture, window trimmings, paint, get the banister rebuilt... But the house is nothing to me compared to what he put my partner through."

"Detective Bailey at the police department walked me through the facts of the case, what happened to you both. Look, I know it probably doesn't mean much and it doesn't undo anything, but I know how upset Kyle would be that John did this because of him. Kyle didn't have a mean bone in his body - - I guess you'd say he was the best of the lot of us," Alan added.

"You want to sit down?" Don asked, gesturing toward the family room.

"Yeah, that'd be nice," he said, smiling slightly as he followed Don into the room and they sat on opposite ends of the couch.

"I appreciate the apology. I know you aren't responsible for what your brother did."

"John idolized Kyle, and he never would accept that he was gay. I knew it before he ever went into the Army, and when all the shit hit the fan, it didn't even surprise me. I should have been there for him more. I guess I was too busy riding motorcycles and being an overgrown rebel. The way we were raised...our father was very strict. John and Kyle thrived, clicked with him, wanted to please him. For me, it wasn't much different than living in the Army, and I couldn't think of a single reason I wanted to enlist and prolong being under someone's thumb. The minute I was eighteen, I was out of there, doing everything I could to freak out my dad."

"Including doing time in prison?"

"I killed that guy in self-defense. But by the time that happened, I had so much petty shit on my record that nobody was interested in my side of the story. It's probably for the best. At least I got my head back on straight in prison, got a degree in Social Work while I was at it. I do counseling with parolees and ex-cons now. But none of that helped Kyle. I keep thinking if I'd been less of a fuck up, I could have helped him - - the one person in my life it really mattered to counsel, I wasn't there for."

"How did you know about Kyle? He said he wasn't out to anyone, not even his family."

"Kyle and I were real close growing up. There were just signs. Girls loved him, but he never seemed too interested in them. He preferred to hang out with his buddies. There was this one friend of his...they'd been tight since they were little. All of a sudden one day when they were fifteen, they had this big blowout and Todd beat Kyle up and then never spoke to him again. Kyle didn't even fight back. He was a little bigger and our dad made sure we all knew how to fight...after all, he was hoping we'd all be Army men. He could have wiped Todd out in a couple punches. He just let him beat the shit out of him. I was already living in my own place then. He came over all banged up and cried like a jilted lover. He'd never admit it, but I figure the only thing that would have done it was him making a move on Todd. It was obvious from his reaction that it wasn't just an argument between buddies."

"Great way to be treated by the first person you come out to, someone you love and think you can trust."

"Kind of like the way Kyle treated you."

Don blinked a time or two, realizing Alan was right. Kyle had been so devastated as a teenager by the rejection he'd experienced with his friend, and yet he'd turned on Don and blamed everything on him. Don could still remember how afraid he was to admit that part of his nature, to let Kyle in, to fall in love with him. How shattered he was when Kyle rejected him. When their love wasn't enough to make it all right.

"It took me a long time to come to terms with that, but Timothy talked it through with me, helped me understand a little better why Kyle did what he did. I probably won't ever totally understand it, but I don't hold it against him. Not anymore."

"I'm glad. I know my family treated you like shit when Kyle died, telling you to stay away from the funeral. I was locked up...didn't even get to go to it myself, so I guess were kind of in the same boat in a strange sort of way there."

"I'm so sorry that things had to end with John the way they did. I had no other choice than to do what I did. He had the gun aimed right at me, and before that, he'd had it pointed at Tim's head."

"He never got over Kyle's suicide. He and my dad just stewed on it, blamed you for it, made you this devil of some sort that ruined Kyle's life. Then when our mother died, and Dad started drinking heavily, he saw all of that as your fault."

"I have to admit that I thought it was you, not John," Don admitted. "It seemed like John had it together - - a career, a family, clean record. Just goes to show how far off you can be when you take things at face value and don't dig deeper. I'm a private investigator, I should have known better than to assume anything."

"There's more to it than that." He paused. "John was schizophrenic. He's been on meds since he got out of the Army. That's why he left. It wasn't because of Kyle's situation, it was because he was starting to fall apart mentally. The Army let him go with just a discharge, out of respect for my dad. He got on a couple prescriptions, and he was doing really well, got married, had the kids. But meds or not, he still held onto that grudge, and if he stopped taking them, that would explain a lot, including the sick things he did to your partner."

"Thanks for telling me that. I wondered why he was so intent on torturing Timothy. He had nothing to do with any of it."

"Sure he did. If you want to hit the enemy in their weakest point, you hit the people they love, not them. Plus, I think John just wanted to hurt whoever it was you loved, that he figured was Kyle's replacement in your life."

"How are his wife and kids handling all of it?"

"Gina's been on a real roller coaster ride with him the last few months. She's suspected he wasn't taking his meds, she even called me about it a month or so ago, but he insisted he was, and everything was fine. She's got a good family, so they'll take care of her. I'll do what I can, so they at least grow up remembering their dad in a good way." He let out a long breath. "I brought you a few things." He opened the envelope. "I don't know how much you want to remember Kyle, but I thought you might like to have a couple pictures." He handed Don a snapshot and a five-by-seven. The snapshot was a smiling Kyle in uniform, and the larger photo was a picture of him in civilian clothes, jeans and a blue sweater, arms around a big German Shepherd, smiling brightly. "That picture with the dog was taken on his last leave. He loved that stupid dog," Alan said, the first sign of emotion in his voice. "Well, the other one you can figure out."

"Thanks. I only had the one photo, and John partially destroyed it when he was here."

"Kyle wrote me this letter, but I think you should have it. Prison mail isn't the speediest, so I didn't get it until the day after he...died. I think you deserve to know what it says."

"Are you sure you don't want to keep this?"

"I'm sure. If he had a second chance, I think Kyle would want to say that to you." He stood up. "I'm gonna go. My flight leaves in a couple hours."

Don stood also, reaching out to shake hands with him. "Thank you for coming, bringing these things. Again, please tell John's wife how sorry I am that things turned out this way."

"I will."

"Congratulations on getting your degree, making a new start. I know from experience, starting over is a bitch," Don said.

"Well, in prison, you can either spend your time getting into more trouble or figuring out some way to make a living with a record when you get out - - something that won't send you right back in, that is," he added, smiling. The uncanny resemblance to Kyle was even more noticeable then.

"Take care," he concluded, heading for the door.

"Yeah, you, too." With that, Kyle's brother was out the door and back in his rental car, heading for the airport.

"Donald? Who was it?" Tim called as he started downstairs.

"Alan Griffin," Don said, still a little surprised by the visit, still staring at the letter tucked inside its previously opened envelope.

"Are you okay?" Tim asked as he reached the bottom of the stairs, still moving a little more slowly than his usual pace, favoring his side.

"I'm fine," Don said, smiling at his partner. "He brought me a couple photos of Kyle, and a letter Kyle wrote him after...after we were found out, but before..." He handed Tim the photos.

"It's nice for you to have these, especially with that happened to the other photo. He had a real...light in him when he smiled," Tim observed, looking at the photo of Kyle with his dog, and Don was amazed by the perceptiveness of Tim's comment, and his generosity in making it about his lover's ex. "I can go back upstairs if you want some time to read that."

"I'd really like you to be with me when I read it. I have no clue what it says. Just that Alan seemed to think Kyle would want me to read it." Don led the way to the couch by the fireplace and sat down, Tim sitting next to him. "It's weird to look at Kyle's writing, to read something he wrote. It's been so long."

"Take your time, honey," Timmy said, running his arm behind Don on the couch.

Don finally opened the letter, unfolding the two sheets, the impact of seeing Kyle's writing there poking at the old wound a little more acutely than he'd expected. He wanted to read it aloud because he needed Timmy to take this journey with him. Reading it to himself felt too much like traveling down a dark, shadowy road without a light.

Dear Al,

I don't know where to start. Last time I wrote you, I told you about Don and me. That was one of the hardest letters I ever wrote. Leave it to you to have known about me all along, to not be surprised when I thought you'd probably disown me. If I couldn't write to you about this stuff, I think I'd go apeshit crazy.

Somebody saw us and reported it. I thought we could probably tough it out, get around it. It was his word against ours. He was telling the truth, but as long as we denied everything, there was a chance. I didn't break. They questioned me for hours, tried to imply they knew something more than they did, tried to make it sound like they had more evidence than just one guy's story. I told them Don was the second highest-ranking officer in my unit, and that's why we spent a lot of time together. We were the closest to each other in rank. It was less complicated than striking up friendships with enlisted men in your command.

I don't know what happened to Don, what they asked him or how, why he snapped like he did. But he told them everything. Admitted the whole thing. I don't know if he was afraid for his own skin, or if he really thought they knew more than they did. He says he did it because he loved me and he couldn't make himself lie about it. Don's a bad liar anyway, so maybe it wouldn't have mattered. I knew it was over when Don admitted everything, but I still thought maybe if they thought it was just an absence of women, two guys working off a little excess energy, maybe they'd let it go. That didn't work either.

I was so fucking angry at him that I told him it was over. I guess I wanted to punish him for ruining everything for us, for admitting to the Army that we were a couple, destroying our careers. I know I succeeded because when I walked out on him, he was begging me not to go, and he had tears in his eyes. He didn't even cry when he got shot, but I almost made him cry when I left him.

Don paused, wiping at his eyes. Tim kissed his cheek, and gave his shoulders a little squeeze.

I don't know what to do. It doesn't matter what I say or do, my career is over. We've been discharged. I don't know if it's because he broke and talked, or if it's out of respect for Dad and his rank and record, but it's just an honorable discharge, no mention of the real reason why. All I ever wanted was to follow in Dad's footsteps, make him proud. I was a decorated hero, and there was no reason to think I wouldn't just keep moving up. Maybe even surpass Dad's rank someday. I just hope this doesn't fuck things up for John.

Now I'm nothing. I'm some ex-Army guy that's suddenly a civilian again where nobody really gives a shit what you did in the Army. Even if they say they do. When I show up with my boyfriend, it won't take long to figure out why I got kicked out of the Army. Hiding and screwing around when nobody knew was one thing, but I don't know if I can live like that, out in the open, letting the world know I'm gay. Letting Mom and Dad and John know.

I still love him and I don't know what to do about it. It was all I could do to walk out on him and not turn around and...

Don handed the letter to Tim, taking in a few sharp breaths. Timmy started reading where Don left off.

It was all I could do to walk out on him and not turn around and take him in my arms and promise him we'd figure something out, that everything would be okay, that I forgave him for telling the truth. That I love him, too. Because I do. If things were different, there wouldn't even be a question, we'd be together. But they aren't. Life sucks when you're gay, and I don't think I can live that way, even for Don. And I know he doesn't want to be in the closet anymore. So I guess it's better to let him go so he can find someone who can handle being out.

It's unrealistic to think Dad won't find out the truth, and when he does, I'll lose the family, too. There's nothing left to go home to, and I can't stay here. Maybe I'll just go somewhere new, start over, leave all of it behind.

Maybe I'll come up there and visit my big brother. I really miss you, bud.

Kyle.

Tim set the letter aside and closed the embrace, holding Don close against him.

"Does that help or make it worse?" he asked softly, his hand gently cradling the back of Don's head, his other hand lighting skimming over his back.

"I just wish he'd talked to me instead of shutting me out. Even if we couldn't stay together, maybe he wouldn't have felt like there was no other way out."

"I'm sorry, baby," Timmy whispered. "At least you know he wasn't really angry at you at the end, that he really loved you, like he said he did."

Don took in a deep breath and pulled away from Tim, wiping at his eyes.

"I loved Kyle, and I guess it's good to know he couldn't turn on me that easily and really not care anything about me. That the first man I loved, that I let...the first one that was ever inside me, that he didn't lie to me just to get what he wanted."

"Maybe someday, when all of this is a little less raw, you can look back on that brief time you shared, before circumstances tore you apart, and the memory of your first love can be a sweet one, like it should be. I'm just glad the first man you gave yourself to realized what a special gift that was, and even though he couldn't deal with everything that went with being out, he still loved you."

"I know it sounds stupid, but just knowing he told someone he loved and trusted in his family about us...that makes it easier." Don put the letter in the envelope and laid it on the coffee table. "You ready to go pick out some furniture?"

"We don't have to do that now, after all this with the letter and Alan - - "

"That's all the past," Don said, looking into Timmy's eyes, touching his cheek. "This is the present, and the future. I think it's time we fixed up our house, and took our lives back from the past. I loved Kyle back then, but I can't picture my future with anyone but you, and I can't imagine loving anyone but you for the rest of my life. You are my future, Timothy, and my past has already hurt you enough. It's time for me to put it back in its box and rejoin the living."

"I won't be angry if you look at his pictures, or want to read the letter sometimes. You never made me question your love for me. I know where I stand, and I'm not threatened by a ghost."

"Good. Because there's nothing and no one anywhere in this world or the next that could take your place, or change how much I love you."

"Then let's go get some new things for our house," Tim suggested, grinning.

********

Don soon learned that furniture shopping with Timmy didn't mean going to any places with giant sale signs in the windows or catchy slogans he recognized from late night TV. It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest they take it easy on the furniture and use some of the extra insurance money to pay off a few other bills. He gave up on that idea as he watched his partner stalk through that showroom like a panther sizing up its prey. Despite the classy displays and the tasteful layouts, Don's head was swimming a few feet into the showroom. It seemed like miles of fabric, cushions, tables, and lamps that all swirled together like the hallucination brought on by a bad drug trip.

And yet Timothy was homing in on exactly what he wanted with an unerring precision that was a little unsettling. Don always knew Tim could power-shop like a champion, usually coming out of the mall in the heat of the Christmas rush barely having broken a sweat with all the gifts for everyone they knew neatly tucked in a few tidy shopping bags. His only requirements were that Don drop him off and pick him up so he didn't have to fight for a parking space, and buy him dinner when he was done.

Now his Timmy was caressing the back of a sofa in a manner Don felt should be reserved only for him.

"Tell it your married and move along," he joked, and Tim laughed, a big smile lingering on his face. "You like this one?"

"The color is great, and it actually looks comfortable." Tim sat on it, and the smile lingered. He patted the cushion next to him. Don sat down, and he had to admit that it was comfortable. But then, the old plaid couch in his office was comfortable, too, and even in its heyday, it was probably about five percent of the price of this one. The dream couch was a pale green color with nice, clean lines the way Timmy liked his furniture.

"So what do you call this color?" Don asked, knowing that "pale green" probably wasn't the right term.

"It's a pale sage," Tim said, and Don was happy to know he had it at least half right. "Do you like it?" he asked hopefully.

"I told you, sweetheart. Whatever you like is okay with me. You have great taste."

"God, what I wouldn't give to hear that," a woman's voice came from behind them, and they looked back to see a middle aged couple looking at another living room ensemble. The man looked irritated, and then he stared at Tim's bruised face a moment.

"Yeah, well, at least I don't beat the shit out of you and then buy you a couch to shut you up."

"Watch your mouth, asshole," Don shot back, standing and turning to face the other man. "I've never laid a hand on him, but you could be another story."

"Donald, let it go," Tim was on his feet in an instant, taking a hold of Don's arm.

"I'm sorry," the woman said, shooting her husband a look.

"Who are you calling an asshole?" the man challenged.

"We're just going to walk away," Tim said, still holding onto Don's arm. "This isn't worth it."

"We're gonna walk away as soon as big mouth over here apologizes for that remark."

"Donald, please, don't." Tim's voice held a note of pleading to it, and that cut through all the macho posturing for Don. If it was really upsetting Timmy that much for him to have it out with this asshole, then it wasn't worth it. He covered Tim's hand with his own.

"You're right, it's not worth it," he said, glowering at the other man.

"Greg, let's go," his wife said, pulling him by the arm. He finally relented, giving up his glaring contest with Don, following his wife out of the store.

"I didn't mean to upset you, honey," Don said, taking both of Timmy's hands in his for a moment. "It just gets to me when people assume that I'd ever do something like...that to you. I'd cut my hand off before I'd hit you."

"I know that, and that's what matters. I know you'd never do a thing like that. There's nothing we can do if some jerk wants to draw the wrong conclusions. I'm going to look like this for a little while until the bruises fade, so we might as well make peace with it."

"Okay. I'll do my best not to beat the crap out of anybody until your face heals up."

"There's one way you could make it up to me," Tim said, grinning and looking over at the couch.

"It's a great couch, Timmy. If that's what you want, go for it."

"Do you like it? I don't want it unless you really like it, too." Timmy was insistent, though Don wasn't sure why it mattered so much. He hadn't even been there when the last furniture was chosen.

"You have beautiful taste," he said honestly, smiling at Timmy and hoping even half the love he felt was coming through. "Of course, I like it. I also like that chair," he said, stunning Tim by making an active choice of his own instead of just wandering around looking clueless or disinterested. The chair was a subtle blend of greens, including the color of the couch Tim wanted, but it was huge, and it had an equally obese ottoman that matched. It wasn't really a love seat, but it was definitely larger than a normal chair.

"I always kind of wanted one of those big chairs," Tim admitted, moving over to take a closer look at it.

"I'm thinking cold winter night, martinis, that chair, you and me..."

"Sold," Timmy said, touching Don's cheek briefly with the backs of his fingers.

"Can I help you?" An impeccably dressed young woman in a dark business suit approached them. "That's a great chair, isn't it?" she asked, smiling.

"It will be," Tim said, positively beaming at Don.

********

After spending more time, and considerably more money, completing the living room ensemble, they made a trip to the mall to the same store where Tim had picked out their bedspread in hopes of finding the same one, or something similar. Don was enjoying the chance to really do something tangible to start undoing the damage to the house. He knew the insurance money would be coming through any day, and if he had to dig into his pocket to buy some paint and get the banister fixed because Timmy was finding some joy in redoing the furniture or the accents the way he wanted them and went a little over budget, that was okay with him.

Having found a replica of the bedspread, they were on their way to the food court for dinner, since Tim knew the one saving grace of the mall for Don was the Chinese food window there.

"The stripes on those dishes matches the couch," Don said, pausing by the window of a china and dinnerware store. He wasn't sure if having your dishes match your couch was a good thing, but he had promised Timmy they'd pick something out for the china cabinet together, and he was going to do his damnedest to keep that promise, even if he sucked at dish shopping.

"I love you," Timmy said, taking his hand.

"What about the dishes?" Don teased, squeezing his hand.

"They might not be china cabinet material," Tim said, wincing a little. "Kitchen, definitely, but not dining room."

"Tomorrow's another day," Don said, smiling. "You look like you're getting tired."

"I am, but I don't want today to end," Timmy said honestly, smiling back at Don.

"The offer doesn't expire at the end of the day. Whatever we don't do today, we can do tomorrow. The doctor told you to get some rest."

"You were really serious about taking a few days off."

"Yes, I was really serious. Now, buy me dinner at the Chinese place?"

"Deal," Tim replied.

"I want cream cheese rangoons, too. No deal without those."

"Next you'll be wanting egg rolls."

"Those are a given," Don replied, thinking maybe the mall wasn't so bad after all, as he walked down the hall toward the promise of a big tray of Chinese food, hand in hand with Timmy.

********

It took a while for the sounds to register with Don as he buried his face in his pillow and tried to ignore whatever was disturbing the peaceful sleep he'd been enjoying. Then Tim's voice cut through, and he was awake, rolling over to see his partner's head turning back and forth on his pillow restlessly, his face a mask of distress, broken little mumbles, pleas, and finally whimpers making up the sounds that had disturbed Don. Even the dim light on the dresser wasn't enough to keep the night terrors at bay.

Not wanting to startle Timmy but being unable to bear another minute of the heartbreaking sounds of distress, Don eased over carefully and lightly caressed Timmy's hair, pressing little kisses to his cheek and temple.

"I'm here, honey. You're home, safe. It's okay," he said quietly, close to Timmy's ear. Slowly, Tim quieted, and for a moment Don thought he was going to slip back into a peaceful sleep. Then he rolled over and wrapped his arms around Don, holding on as if his life depended on it.

"Donald." It was a single, whispered, word, more like a breath, broken by a sob.

"I know, sweetheart." He returned the intensity of the embrace, wanting Timmy to feel secure, sheltered, safe. "Everything's gonna be okay, honey. We're together now."

"I just want the nightmares to stop," Tim admitted in a small voice.

"They will, Timmy. It'll get better."

"What about when you're not here? You have to work at night, I know...but I....I don't want to be alone here," he said in a broken voice, keeping his face hidden against Don's shoulder. "I know there's nothing to be afraid of, but...I am."

So that's what Timmy was so afraid of. That Don was going to just go back to working late into the night and leave him there with his night terrors and his fears to handle them on his own. Tim had been so strong and so brave through what had been an awful ordeal, and he'd pushed himself to attend the fund raiser, and he'd barely let what he'd been through dampen his usual upbeat, energetic nature.

Despite all those valiant efforts, he was afraid of the darkness, and dreaded the sunset almost the way a vampire dreads the sunrise. His sleep was broken with nightmares, and his need to feel and see Don next to him in bed, to be held when he was afraid like this, was intense and urgent. Don couldn't picture leaving him alone like that, nor could he picture Tim feeling any solace from anyone else who might come over to "keep him company." Tim would host and entertain them, not lean on them and cling to them in the dark of night to feel safe.

"You thought I was going work nights and leave you here alone as soon as I go back to work?" Don asked gently, giving Timmy a gentle squeeze, always mindful to favor his sore side. "The fear and the nightmares are going to get better. Until they do, you can come with me on the safe surveillance stuff, and I'll delegate more to Kenny. I promise you, I won't leave you alone until you feel okay with it."

"That'll cost you cases. I know you need to be able to work nights."

"Timothy," Don pulled back a little so they were nose to nose, and he could look in Tim's eyes. "I almost lost you. Adjusting my schedule for a little while is no price at all to pay for having you with me. Don't be afraid, honey. I'm not leaving you alone here at night until you're ready."

"Thank you," Timmy whispered, hugging him close. Feeling those arms around him was worth anything. It certainly was worth a few schedule adjustments. "I'll try to do better."

"Shhh. It'll all work itself out in time. Don't worry about it. I don't want you to ever worry about anything alone."

"I've never really been alone since I fell in love with you."

"You never will be, either, so hold onto me and go back to sleep. I'm right here to protect you."

Don knew there was no imminent threat Tim needed protecting from, and he suspected Tim knew that, too. But nightmares and fears aren't always rational, and as he felt Tim's breathing even out and deepen against him, he smiled, knowing those were the magic words he'd needed to hear.

********

Don found the relative quiet in his office to be a relief from the buzz of saws and pounding of nails at the house. Thanksgiving would be upon them in less than ten days, and he had promised Timmy in a weak moment that everything would be done in time for the holiday. It was an even weaker moment when he'd agreed they should host a Thanksgiving dinner party. God, that wasn't a weak moment, that was temporary insanity, Don thought to himself, taking a drink of coffee that had long gone cold.

Of course, Timmy was wearing that cologne he liked, and was about three-fourths undressed and on top of him when he proposed the whole party idea, so maybe Don could excuse himself for not thinking rationally. Plus, he was kind of asking for it by going along with every single thing Tim picked out for the redecorating process - - you can't expect a social creature like Tim to redo the house and then not have anyone over to see it. And when he enlisted Margaret's help to find that guy who did the antique restoration to fix the dining room table and the china cabinet, he had to know a dinner party would be in his future.

What ultimately sealed the deal was when he made good on his word about picking out china of their own. He had to give Timothy credit - - somehow, he found dishes Don didn't feel stupid admitting he'd helped pick out. They were substantial pieces with a beige center, a circle of pale gold, and some sort of black, marble-like pattern around the edge.

They were sitting in an overpriced, overly snooty china store at the time, and Don still snickered when he thought of the look on the elderly saleswoman's face when he shared his primary observation about the plates with his partner. It had taken her a good half hour to recover from helping a male couple choose a china pattern - - the first round of designs she'd suggested were all designed by one or two notable gay male designers. Just when she thought it was safe to go back in the water, and that maybe Tim and Don were not any different than any other couple except for their gender, Tim found the pattern he liked, Don concurred, and couldn't resist sharing his reason for liking them.

"They're elegant, classy, timeless," he said, and Tim and the saleswoman were still smiling. "Sweetheart, if you were a plate, that's the one you'd be."

The saleswoman looked a bit baffled, and Tim looked stunned for a moment while he processed the bizarreness of the comment. Then, recognizing the compliment as the Strachey-style declaration of love it was, he gave Don this blinding smile, complete with a little moisture in the eyes, and kissed him on the mouth, right there, in front of the saleswoman, God, and everyone. It was a good day.

So Timmy had his plates in the china cabinet, his table restored, his new paint, window dressings, and furniture in the living room, and he was ready to party. Don wouldn't have dampened that enthusiasm for anything, even if the thought of a dinner party made his toenails curl.

Delighted at the thought of sitting around the table with both her children present and accounted for, Tim's mother had engaged in whatever rituals of cajoling, badgering, guilt-tripping, and otherwise tormenting her husband until he agreed to attend. Hopefully the potential fireworks of putting Tim's social activist sister, Kelly, Tim the Democrat and his male spouse, and their conservative Republican father all at one table wouldn't extend to throwing any of their new plates or re-damaging the china cabinet.

The last time they'd seen Tim's father, at Tim's grandmother's funeral, he'd countered Tim's attempt at an embrace with a handshake, and barely squeezed out Don's first name as a greeting before striding past them into the church. Don had hated the old bastard ever since, being convinced that Timmy breaking down as badly as he did during his grandmother's funeral had much more to do with the way his father treated him in the vestibule of the church than it did with his grief, which he'd had under fairly good control until then.

Margaret and Mike Sheridan would be there, as would Kenny, so the friendly troops would hopefully outnumber the unfriendly ones.

The front door of the detective office opened, and Bailey walked in. Kenny pressed the intercom button. Don's door was open, and he was looking right out at Bailey.

"I'm looking at him, Kenny. No need to announce him. Come on in," he motioned to Bailey, who entered Don's office, closed the door, and sat down on the couch.

"I thought I should deliver this news in person."

"That's never a good way to start a conversation," Don said, picking up his coffee cup and then wrinkling his nose, remembering how cold and disgusting it had been on the last swallow. "You want some coffee?"

"I don't think so, thanks," he said, having watched Don's reaction to his own.

"Kenny made a fresh pot. I just haven't bothered to get myself a refill."

"I really can't stay anyway. I wanted to let you know what was happening with Fellows and Biggins."

"I can tell by the look on your face you don't like it, and I won't either. How'd they plead out?"

"Fellows is pleading guilty to aggravated assault, in return for the minimum sentence of two years. He'll probably be out in a year or so. Biggins is being tried as an adult and is getting the same deal."

"So stomping someone's face isn't brutal enough to put you away a little longer? I hate to make this about gay and straight, but I just wonder if the perps weren't all-American football hero types, and the victim wasn't a gay man, how this would play out."

"You know, Donald, I honestly don't know. I'd like to think the DA is going for the best chance to get them at least doing some time while unclogging the court dockets, rather than assume he doesn't take hate crimes seriously."

"I don't believe that fucker is going to be back out on the streets in a year. I don't even want to tell Timothy about this."

"He's going to find out sooner or later."

"Yeah, I know. I wouldn't keep it from him anyway. He's just been through so much, and things are starting to get back to normal."

"How's he feeling? Ribs healing up all right?"

"Better. He's still a little sore there, but the bruises on his face are gone, and he's feeling pretty good. Some of the stuff Griffin did to mess with his head is taking a little longer to work through. Shooting was too good for that asshole, even if he was Kyle's brother." Don paused. "What are you doing Thanksgiving?"

"Probably just taking my mother out for dinner. She's in an assisted living place not too far from me. I'm the only family in town, so I go over there quite a bit, especially since my divorce."

"You want to bring her over to our place? Timmy's throwing a little soiree, or so he calls it, to christen the redecorating job."

"We don't want to intrude on your party," he said.

"I wouldn't have invited you if you'd be intruding. I'm not as nice as Timmy is about those things," he added, leaning back in his desk chair. "He's a fantastic cook, so think hard before you turn me down. The Sheridans are coming, and Tim's family, and Kenny."

"What about the Strachey clan?"

"Timmy and I are the Strachey clan. I haven't seen my family since I got out of the Army."

"The whole Griffin situation?" Bailey ventured.

"In a way. They didn't know I was gay before I enlisted, so once they found that out...and then with what happened...I was scratched off the family Christmas card list and I haven't heard from them since." Don was quiet a minute, not sure he even wanted to mention the next thing, but it seemed to roll out of its own volition. "I was stupid enough to go back there after Kyle died. I didn't even get my suitcase out of the trunk before my father met me in the driveway and told me not to bother unpacking."

"Janet and I didn't have kids, but I'd hope I wouldn't be that big a jerk if I did, and one of them did something I didn't like."

"Timmy's lucky to have a good relationship with his mother. The only downside is that she keeps knitting me these horrendous sweaters for every Christmas," he added, smiling and shaking his head. "I dread having to wear the damn things, but I'd sort of miss it if she didn't make them for me."

"Yeah, mothers tend to do things like that," Bailey said, chuckling. "We won't talk about the scarves and hats my mother used to knit for us when we were kids." He stood up. "Look, I'm sorry about Fellows and Biggins. It wasn't the outcome I'd hoped for either, but it's something."

"I s'pose," Don replied.

"We'd like to join you guys for dinner. Anything we can bring?"

"I think Tim's got it under control, and Margaret's volunteered to bring a whole bunch of stuff, so we're good."

"Thanks for the invite," Bailey added.

"No problem. Your mom'll have fun. Timmy's great with little old ladies. They swarm around him like flies."

"Nice mental image for Thanksgiving dinner. Thanks again, Strachey," he joked, heading out the door.

********

"How do you know these people?" Bailey's petite, eighty-year-old mother, Marie, was fidgeting with the fringe on the new red scarf with the green Christmas tree on it that her son had bought her to wear with her winter coat during the holidays. "They aren't criminals, are they? People you arrested?"

"No, Ma, they're not criminals. I wouldn't take you to dinner with criminals." He offered up a silent prayer for patience, and smiled. "Don's a private investigator, and his friend, Tim, works for Senator Platt."

"I didn't know they let gay people be detectives nowadays," she replied.

"He's a private investigator, Ma. He has his own business." He decided to forego discussing the policies and politics of the police department.

"Which one is the girl in the pair?" she asked. Bailey found himself blushing at that question, and then realized his mother was probably asking which one cooked, kept house, and "sashayed" around - - not asking him which one was bottoming. Reminding himself that people his mother's age had a whole different perspective on homosexuality, he decided to give her a noncommital answer that would satisfy her. Otherwise, she was just as likely to ask Don and Tim herself.

"I don't think there is one. Tim's doing the cooking, if that qualifies."

"Is he any good at it?"

"I'm told he's excellent."

"That answers that, then. Your father couldn't even boil water the right way."

"Some of the world's greatest chefs are men, Ma."

"That's the answer all the gay men who love to cook will give you." With that, she looked through her small purse for a tissue. Bailey sighed, praying Don and Tim had a sense of humor and thick skins. His mother didn't have a mean thought for anyone, and despite being a good Irish Catholic lady, she didn't hold any ill will for gay couples, but she didn't know very many, either, and her image of them was a little...stereotypical, to say the least.

The house had been decorated for Christmas, with pine and red bows on all the wrought iron accents, the yard light wrapped with pine and a big red bow, and a large wreath on the door. Bailey could only feel some twinge of sympathy for Strachey, whom he envisioned having been assigned most of the outdoor decorating work, and probably well-supervised and managed throughout the process, at that.

"Fancy house they've got, but then most of them are good decorators," Mother Bailey observed.

"I don't think anyone'll ever accuse Strachey of being a good decorator."

"I bet the one who cooks is," she asserted.

"I can't argue with you there, Ma." He rang the doorbell, and a moment later, Tim opened the door, wreathed in smiles, ushering them inside.

"You must be Mrs. Bailey," he said before Bub introduced her.

"This is my mother, Marie," Bailey added.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Marie. I'm Tim," he said, and she shook hands with him. "You look so festive," he said, commenting on her Christmas scarf. "Did you make this yourself?"

"No, Bradley bought it for me. You have a lovely home," she added.

"Thank you," Tim replied, looking pleased with the compliment. Bailey knew only too well how much effort had gone into restoring the house to its present form. "Let me take your coats," he offered, and a moment later, Don came down the stairs to greet them.

"Glad you could both make it," he said, and Tim introduced him to Marie.

"Thank you for inviting me," she said.

"Our pleasure, Marie." He offered her his arm, which she linked hers through with a grin. "My mother couldn't make it this year, so maybe you won't mind if I share you with good old Bradley here," he said.

"These two are such charmers, and handsome," she said. "It figures they're gay," she added, and Bailey froze for that awful moment before both Don and Tim laughed out loud at the comment.

It wasn't long before the Sheridans arrived, both carrying cartons of casserole dishes of various foods. The house was filled with wonderful smells, and Bailey found himself remembering holidays from years ago, when his mother's cooking and gathering relatives defined holidays like these. Never one to sit idle, his mother wasn't happy until she had an assignment in the kitchen, and Tim had put her to work arranging the vegetables around the dip on a small tray. Kenny arrived shortly thereafter, accompanied by a nice-looking, tall young man with blond hair and a picture-perfect smile.

Don took over the door duty, since Tim seemed to have his hands full managing his kitchen crew, Margaret and Marie, who were jabbering away together happily, and probably hindering the poor guy more than they were helping him. Strachey was right. Little old ladies did love Callahan, and Bailey found himself pitying him just a bit.

********

Wishing it wasn't too early for a stiff martini, Don went to the door to let Tim's parents in. Tim's mother always greeted him warmly, like he was another one of her own kids, but the old man was another story. Don still called him "Congressman" and he never corrected him, even though Tim's mother insisted on being called, "Mom." She knew Don was estranged from his own family, and that seemed to bring out her maternal instincts full force. Hence, the sweaters, and calling her "Mom."

"Happy Thanksgiving," he greeted both of them, before being enveloped in a motherly hug. "Good to see you, Mom," he said, hugging back, warmed as he always was by being able to call someone by that name at the holidays. He extended a hand to the tall, imposing figure with the silver hair and glasses that was Tim's father. "Congressman, welcome," he said.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Steven. How long are you going to make him call you 'Congressman'? He's your son-in-law," Anne Callahan chided her husband. "Call him Steven. He'll get used to it," she said.

"Donald." Don imagined that word must have hurt coming out, since the old man looked like he was passing gas when he said it. It was amazing how a man who looked so friendly and affable in the pictures Tim had could look so austere and off-putting when you were the subject of his disapproval.

"Timmy, honey, how are you?" Anne gushed, hugging Tim as if she hadn't seen him in years. "Oh, no, did I squeeze to hard, sweetie?" she said, stepping back a little.

"I'm fine, Mom, really," he said, though Don had caught the moment of pain flashing across his face when his healing rib was subjected to such an enthusiastic greeting. "Happy Thanksgiving, Dad," Tim said, seeming to accept all he was going to get was a handshake, and extended his hand for it. His mother looked unhappy, but said nothing. Apparently she could only cajole the old guy so much at a time. At least she had him there.

Bailey and Mike Sheridan, who were visiting in the living room with a couple beers and the cheese tray between them, seemed to be watching the whole exchange with some interest, and Timmy looked self-conscious about it, turning the subject to taking their coats and showing them where the hors d'eouvres were.

"Timmy, the house looks wonderful," Anne said, a glass of wine in her hand as she toured the living room and went into the dining room, where the table was set very elegantly with the new china and a large cornucopia centerpiece spilling fresh fall colored flowers. Don didn't know the first thing about centerpieces, but he put himself at the florist's mercy and surprised Tim with it the night before. "These are the new dishes?" she asked.

"Donald helped me pick them out," he said, sounding thrilled and proud.

"Tim did most of the work. I just confirmed his good taste," Don said, joining them, running his hand lightly across Tim's back.

"Don said that if I were a plate, this is the one I'd be," he repeated, looking at Don as if he were telling the story of how his lover proposed, not some odd-sounding compliment comparing him to a plate. "And then he shows up last night with the centerpiece," he added.

"I knew he was a good catch," Anne said, and Tim's responding smile was radiant.

"The best," he confirmed, kissing Don on the cheek.

"I'm sorry about your father. We were arguing in the car all the way over here about Kelly and her boyfriend. Your father found out he doesn't have a college degree or a very good income."

"Maybe the fact Kelly's working on hers will inspire him," Tim said. "Of course, she'd be making faster progress if she didn't have to work and Dad would pay her tuition."

"You know that won't happen," Anne said, crossing her arms. "She gave most of her inheritance from your grandmother to one of those social action groups she belongs to. If it were biologically possible, your father would have lain an egg when he found out." She shook her head. "This boyfriend of hers works in a health food store. That seems to be his career choice," she added. "You know I just want you and your sister to be happy, but your father is livid," she said in a whisper.

When Kelly arrived, Don sized up the boyfriend, deciding he looked like he should be working the counter in a health food store. He was a pleasant enough sort, but his shaggy brown hair and his sweater that looked like he'd made it out of burlap made Don think of a modern-day hippie. The discomfort it was causing the old congressman was worth everything, though. Seeing how his coldness was a constant source of hurt to Tim made him dislike the man with a blinding passion, and seeing him squirm a bit made Don's turkey go down just a little easier.

All in all, their dinner conversation was light and lively, the food was excellent, and their first social event in their newly redecorated and repaired home seemed to be a success. Despite Steven Callahan's overall grumpiness, Tim's mother was in her glory with both of her children at the same table. With a grace and sensitivity that was clearly the source of Timmy's own caring nature, she showed no less warmth and enthusiasm in interacting with Don than she did with her own children, and she extended that kind of friendliness to Kelly's boyfriend, Dillon, even though she seemed a bit wary of him.

Bailey and Mike seemed to hit it off well, finding a lot of common ground talking about their golf game and sports in general, while Margaret and Marie, despite their age difference, chatted and joked together about everything from cooking to their favorite soaps like a couple of long lost buddies. Kenny's boyfriend, Josh, was outgoing and friendly with a good sense of humor, and Kenny seemed to like him quite a bit. Don wondered if Josh might have what it took to reel in his fickle associate investigator.

********

While their guests finished nibbling at their pumpkin pie and sipped coffee, with the football on the TV in the family room, Don helped Tim with the initial clean up, though he suspected they'd just stack everything up and do the big wash up job in the morning.

"God, the food was great," Don said, eating a piece of cold turkey off the serving platter.

"I couldn't have put this together if you hadn't done all the decorations."

"You told me what to do. I just followed my marching orders," he replied, deciding a forkload of Timmy's dressing would go well with that cold turkey he was eating, even if it was cold, too.

"Are you planning to put food in the containers for the refrigerator, or did you figure on just eating whatever was left so we didn't have to bother?" Tim teased, surreptitiously patting Don's butt as he eased past him to start putting the gravy in one of the containers.

"A little of both," Don said honestly through a mouthful. "I can't help it if you're a good cook. If you don't want me to eat so much, don't make it so good."

"Thank you for putting up with my father," Tim whispered, after casting a careful eye around to be sure he wouldn't be overheard. "I know he's not exactly great company today."

"If you can put up with him, I can." Don smiled. He knew Timmy wanted to say more, that his father's behavior bothered him more than his light comment let on, but this wasn't the time or place with their guests so nearby. "Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart," he said, pulling Tim into a hug, glad he had when he felt the return embrace.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Donald," Timmy said softly. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Don replied, smiling at him as he stepped back. "You love me enough to let me have that leftover drumstick?"

"You can nibble on my drumstick anytime you want," Tim responded.

"I'll bring my turkey baster," he added.

"It's a date," Tim agreed, laughing.

********

"That's quite a son you've got," Mike Sheridan said as he found himself in the kitchen at the same time as the elder Callahan, both of them looking for a refill on their beer. Mike opened his bottle and handed the opener to Tim's father, who did the same. "You must be very proud," he added.

"Thank you," Steven replied, not elaborating more on the subject. "Do you and Margaret have children?"

"One son, David. He was killed in a motorcycle accident about a year ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Y'know, the last conversation I had with David, I told him it was time to grow up and sell that motorcycle. I was worried about him because he used to ride it like a bat out of hell, but it came across sounding like I didn't approve of him. I've lived to regret that," he added taking a drink of his beer. "Tim had a pretty rough experience a few weeks ago. Close call."

"So I hear. He seems to be fine, though," he concluded.

"He was a lot of company and support for Margaret after David died. I travel quite a bit with my job, and she's alone a lot. Don's even come over and looked for imaginary prowlers for her in the middle of the night when she thought she heard something. They're a nice couple. We're glad to have them for neighbors."

"I'm sure the feeling's mutual," Steven said cordially with a little smile.

"I'm just going to say what I have to say, because you strike me as a man who appreciates directness. Whatever's between you and your boy, don't wait until it's too late to straighten it out. David and I were never really at odds, but we didn't spend much time together, and we didn't see eye to eye on some things that in retrospect aren't all that important. I'll tell you, none of it seems important when you look down at your son laid out in his casket," he gulped a little more beer. "I don't know why you're giving him the cold shoulder, but Tim's a good man, and you're damn lucky to have a son like him. Trust me, in an instant, one of your kids can be gone so fast you don't even know what hit you." With that, Mike left the kitchen with his drink and rejoined the other guests.

Steven Callahan took another drink of his beer and let the words sink in, the image of a father looking down at his dead son unsettling him more than he cared to admit.

********

"Thanks for a great time," Bailey said, shaking hands with Don. "You guys put on a good party," he added.

"We're glad you came - - both of you," he said, gladly accepting a hug from Marie.

"I like a man with muscles," she teased, squeezing Don's arm, and while Bailey seemed slightly mortified by the comment coming out of his sweet little mother, he also didn't appear very surprised. Don, for his part, laughed.

"Thank you. Timmy does, too," he added in a loud whisper, and she giggled.

"I'm beginning to think putting you two together was a mistake," Bailey said, shaking his head, smiling, as he guided his mother toward the car.

The Sheridans were on their way back across the street, Tim and Margaret having devised some method for divvying up the leftovers. Kenny and Josh had left earlier, and Don suspected they were impatient for a little alone time. Though no one expected them to refrain from acting like a couple, they took their cue from Don and Tim and kept their interactions very G-rated for the duration of the party.

Kelly and Dillon had said their goodnights shortly thereafter, and a little of the tension with Tim's parents had gone with them. Though Steven Callahan hadn't been exactly a fount of conversation throughout the party, he'd been even more reticent in the later hours of it. As they donned their coats and headed for the door, Don and Tim both hugged Tim's mother.

"Steven, glad you could make it," Don said, forcing a pleasantness into his voice and a smile on his face that he didn't feel. He shook hands with Tim's father. The older man paused, turning toward Tim, who extended his hand, not even attempting to move any closer to his father. It pierced Don's heart to see the defeat in Timmy's posture, to know how much his father's behavior hurt him.

It was a draw who was more stunned when Steven moved forward and embraced Tim. When the initial shock wore off, Tim returned the hug, clinging to his father for a moment like he'd never get another hug from him the rest of his life. When they parted, Steven just clapped Tim on the shoulder and then ushered his smiling wife out the door.

********

Tim sat on the side of the bed toeing off his slippers. He smiled when he felt the mattress not only dip once, like usual, but multiple times as Donald made his way over to sit back on his heels behind Tim, sliding his arms around him and hooking his chin on Tim's shoulder. Yet another reason not to buy a memory foam mattress. When he could no longer feel the vibrations of Don's movements in their bed, something very precious would be lost. God bless springs if they transferred that jostling to him.

"I just had my second Alka-Seltzer. You're the best cook on earth."

"Let me sort that out. I gave you indigestion that was bad enough for two doses of stomach medicine, and you think I'm a good cook?"

"I ate enough for a small third-world country. It was the volume, not the food."

"Are you going to be sick?"

"There was a while there where I figured it had to go one way or the other, but it hasn't come back up, so I guess it's going down. I'm fine."

"It was a nice party," Tim said, smiling at the memory of their gathering. He stroked Don's arms where they wrapped around him. "The house looks really good, and the decorations looked beautiful outside. You did a nice job on the lights."

"Someone told me that last year's looked like I threw the cords at the shrubs and just hoped they caught."

"Isn't that what you did?" Tim teased, and he felt the laugh rumble in Don's stomach, against his back. He hoped it was his laugh, and not his dinner changing directions.

"Throw might have been a little harsh of a word, but let's say I didn't agonize over their symmetry."

"This year you did."

"I was trying to impress my boyfriend. Did it work?"

"Yeah, it worked," Tim said, angling his head so they could kiss. He leaned back into Donald, just enjoying the closeness.

"You must be tired, honey. You want a back rub?"

"That'd be nice," Tim replied, sighing contentedly. He took off his glasses and pulled his pajama shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Don started with his neck and shoulders, massaging the muscles gently, his touch just firm enough to be relaxing and soft enough not to poke or hurt. Mostly, just feeling Don's hands on him relaxed him.

"Your dad thawed out a little."

"I don't know what changed his mind, but I'm glad if he's coming around. I wish he was nicer to you. We're a couple. He can't just pick one of us and ignore the other."

"You have to creep before you walk, Timothy," Don said calmly. "Your mom got him to come here, and something made him pull his head out of his ass and stop being such a dick where you're concerned. And at least I'm not calling him 'Congressman' anymore. That's progress."

It wasn't the most poetic assessment in the world, but typical of Donald, it was spot-on.

"Ah, the holidays," Tim joked, smiling. Don had finished his back rub and changed over to kisses now. After almost four weeks, Tim's side was still mildly sensitive, but generally any activity less dangerous than overzealous maternal hugs didn't cause him intense pain anymore. Don had progressed down to the top of the waistband of Tim's pajamas, and tugged at it with his teeth.

"I've gone as far as I can go here, Timothy. Give me something to work with."

Tim turned to look over his shoulder.

"Oh, my God, Donald!" Tim exclaimed, not having realized that Don was naked behind him, and obviously...enthused, judging by the ample erection that was aiming toward him.

"What? Did I grow a second one or something? It's nothing you haven't seen before," Don replied, laughing, though Tim knew he was anything but innocent in sneaking up on him.

"If you grow a second one, I probably won't live to see our golden wedding anniversary."

"If you're not in the mood, I can just go...you know...try to take care of it myself...all alone," Don said, giving him one of the most pathetic puppy dog faces he'd managed yet. He hadn't whined yet, but that was probably coming next.

"I've always believed in that old saying," Tim said, pouncing on Don and pushing him back on the mattress. "A hard man is good to find," he concluded.

"Is your side okay?" Don asked, looking momentarily concerned as Tim landed on top of him with a little grunt.

"My side of what?" Tim teased, kissing him.

"I guess that's a yes," Don said, laughing.

Tim smothered Donald in eager kisses, alternating between long, passionate joining of mouths to loving little pecks to his cheeks and chin, the end of his nose, finally into the warmth of his neck. Not wanting to delay things much longer for his aroused partner, he moved down a bit, licking and then sucking on a rapidly hardening nipple.

"Oh, fuck," Don muttered, his back arching a bit.

"I'm getting there, darling," Tim replied, moving to the other nipple as Don laughed at his comeback, stroking Tim's hair. Tim's hand slipped down to gently cup Don's balls, his other hand sliding up Don's side, stroking the sensitive area under the arm that was resting above his head on the pillows. He kept up the multiple sensations a while, the little broken moans and gasps coming from Donald, the feel of him under his hands, the taste of him in his mouth, stirring his own passion in a way nothing else could.

He raised his head and paused a moment to look into Donald's eyes, sharing a feeling that needed no words. He reached under the pillow and discovered that Don had planted the lube in their usual spot, meaning he'd been planning the sneak attack on his partner while Tim was in the shower. The thought made Tim smile, and it didn't take Don long to figure out why.

"Busted," he admitted, grinning.

Tim used the gel to prepare himself, and then lubricated Donald's erection. It moved him that Donald didn't seem to care which way things went tonight as long as someone was inside someone pretty soon. His partner had been that way from the start of their relationship - - he just loved Timmy with every part of him, and while they both were in the mood for different things at different times, he'd found Donald to be generous and loving and flexible.

He loved the feeling of Donald entering him, knowing their bodies were joining in a physical expression of the way their hearts and souls always were entwined. Face to face, he could watch the sensations playing out in Don's expressions. For someone who had been hurt so much in love, he didn't hold anything back with Tim, didn't hide from him. The love, the desire, the passion, the trust...they were all there in those big blue eyes, and that expressive face that Tim loved so much.

Tim's injuries had forced them to be careful for so long, and now all that remained was a little tenderness in his side. He felt good, and Donald felt good inside him, and they moved together in a faster rhythm, feeling some of the heaviness, sadness, and darkness of the last several weeks lifting. They shifted positions a bit so Don was sitting up, still inside Tim, who wrapped his arms around Don's body, his legs around his hips, their mouths coming together again.

Don clung to Timmy, caressing his back, leaving bright passion marks on his chest. It was as if they couldn't touch each other in enough places, like they needed more hands and more mouths. Every now and then when they sacrificed a moment from their kisses, they shared loving smiles with each other, as if they were together in a secret no one else knew.

Unable to delay the inevitable climax any longer, they came within moments of each other, still holding on as their bodies were sated. Donald lay back on the pillows and eased carefully out of Timmy, who lay next to him, head on Don's shoulder, arms still firmly around him. They were pleasantly tired, thoroughly and bonelessly relaxed.

"Timmy?"

"Yes?"

"Marry me."

"I already did that, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, that's right." Don was smiling; Tim could hear it in his voice. He was quiet a minute. "I'm glad."

"Me, too." Tim smiled, taking Don's hand and kissing the back of it.

"I love you."

"I know. I love you, too." Tim reached up and turned out the lamp on his night stand, leaving the room in darkness.

"I'll get the light on the dresser," Don said, but Tim stopped him, tugging on the covers, which Don helped put over them both. They settled together again, and Don put his arm around Tim to pull him close.

"I don't think I need you to leave the light on. I'm okay like this."

"I'm glad, sweetheart," Don said, kissing the top of his head, rubbing his shoulder gently.

"I'll handle it when you need to start working more nights again."

"I know you will." Don closed his eyes, sighing. "I'm just not sure I'll handle it."

Tim chuckled and closed his eyes, letting himself drift. His victory over Don's nocturnal prowlings was probably temporary, but that was all right. It was just the price of being married to a private investigator. As Tim relished the feeling of Donald's warm body held close to him, his breath stirring a few mussed hairs on top of Tim's head, he decided that no price was too high for moments like these.

********

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