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, Part One

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."

********

End of Part 1

On to Part 2