Title: The Best of Me, Part Two
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)
Pairing: Donald and Timothy
Rating: NC-17 (violence, language, m/m)
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Don drove up to the entrance of the senate building to let Tim out, but the moment the car was spotted, a group of reporters headed for it. Don turned around and hit the accelerator, barely missing them and getting Tim out of the line of focus before a single misguided photo could be snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

"Most rental cars have the GPS systems in them. I did go a little extra for the radio, but you did make me do a fourteen-hour stakeout so you could be home with hubby, remember? So, was it worth a Corvette rental?" Kenny asked, giving Don a "nudge-wink" look.

"Let's just say we can't put a price tag on that, but the rental company does and I still can't afford Corvettes every time we rent a car. Next time, mid-sized sedan. I mean it," he added, still grinning a little.

"Who'd'a thought married sex would be that hot," Kenny commented, shaking his head. Thinking of his conversation with Tim the night before, Don just smiled. "Doesn't it ever get...you know, boring? After I'm with somebody a few months, it gets old."

"You just haven't found the right somebody, then. I don't know, maybe Timmy and I are just unusually lucky." Don changed the subject back to business. "What'd our boy do last night?"

"Not much. He seems like your typical boring married guy," Kenny said. "Sorry," he hastened to add. "I mean, everything was pretty routine. He had dinner with the family, watched TV near as I could tell. They leave their drapes open in their family room, so I could see the light from the TV, and he was there. A couple guys showed up about nine - - looked like high school jocks. They went inside for about half an hour, and then left."

"Did you get a car description or license?"

"Of course," Kenny said, handing him a slip of paper. "He went to bed about eleven, and then came into work. I didn't notice him sneaking out, or anyone else sneaking in. Pretty dull night all in all."

"You caught a few Z's yourself while everything was quiet, right?" Don asked.

"I may have nodded off for an hour...or four," Kenny admitted, looking sheepish. "I haven't quite got the staying up all night thing mastered yet."

"Yeah, well, it takes some doing. I'll see if my contact at the DMV will run the plate number for me. Go home and get some sleep. Take my car."

"What?" Kenny asked, his eyes bugging.

"Hey, I like camping out in a nice car, too. You can have it back tonight, if we're still watching Fellows."

"I guess that's fair."

"Hey, could you do me a favor? Timmy's vase is still at the PI office. Would you pick it up, swing by the florist across the street from us and have them put some roses in it, and deliver it to his office? I don't want someone else to break it after we just got it fixed, so I'd rather you took it there. Just tell them to put it on my account," he added, handing Kenny a twenty. "That's your delivery fee."

"Thanks. You have an account at the florist? They, like, know you by name?"

"Timmy likes flowers, and I do stand him up a lot," Don said, shrugging. "If they give you any flack, just call me." He paused to write a message on the back of one of his business cards. "Just put this in one of their little card envelopes and stick it in with the flowers."

The message read, Thank you for saying yes. I love you, Don.

Kenny looked confused, but he didn't ask. Don volunteered.

"I gave Timmy the vase with a dozen roses in it for our first anniversary, and that's the message I wrote on the card back then."

"I never would've pegged Don Strachey as a sentimental romantic," he teased.

"Yeah, me neither. You know what they say - - love makes fools of us all. Oh, and if you see Tim while you're there, let me know if he seems okay."

"Sure," Kenny replied, getting out of the car and going to Don's car, driving away.

Don called the plate number in to his friend at the DMV, and soon had a name to go with the ten-year-old green Pontiac: Jason Biggins. Thinking that name sounded familiar, he pulled the case file on the Tanner gay bashing out of his briefcase and skimmed through it. Jason was one of the three football players to have provided Brian Fellows his alibi for the night of the assault. Interesting he would be visiting Fellows so close on the heels of Don's conversation with the football coach.

He dug through the file and located a photocopied pages from the high school yearbook, with pictures circled of Jason Biggins and the other two students involved in Fellows' alibi. Also included was a photo of Kevin Tanner, the son of the victim. There was a notation on the page that Tanner was back on the football team for the current season.

********

"I plan to issue a statement to the media this afternoon," Senator Platt said to Tim as they sat in her office, having a conversation more like their usual meetings, sitting on the couch and chairs in her sitting area, rather than Tim being called in front of her desk for such a formal encounter. "I wanted you to have the chance to read it first, so it wouldn't take you by surprise."

"Thank you," Tim said, taking the sheet of paper and reading it.

Yesterday, a sexually explicit video was posted on the internet involving a senior member of my staff and his spouse. The video was obtained illegally via a hidden camera. The person who should be held responsible for this is the person who violated the sanctuary of the bedroom of a married couple, where they had a reasonable expectation of privacy. I urge the members of the media, and my constituency, to avoid letting prejudice or bigotry of any kind reduce the outrage you feel at such a vile crime because the couple involved are a same-sex couple whose marriage is, unfortunately, not official under current New York State law. The couple featured in that video are crime victims, and should not be harassed or persecuted. Furthermore, while I strongly support equal rights for same-sex couples, I would never authorize nor encourage dissemination of sexually explicit material to express my views.

"Thank you for supporting us this way, Senator," Tim said, handing her back the paper. "Again, I'm so sorry it's caused you this kind of embarrassment."

"It's not your fault, or Don's. Do the police have any leads on the case?"

"Not really. Donald's following up a couple things. We have a suspect in a gay bashing case living two doors down from us, and Don had a fairly hostile encounter with him yesterday."

"Not a physical altercation, I hope?"

"No, no, thank God, nothing like that. But he told Don it might be me next time, instead of just the house. The way he said it made it sound like he'd had something to do with the house being vandalized."

"It's sad that our society is so far behind in at least respecting the basic rights to personal safety and peace of mind for gay and lesbian couples. I'm sorry you and Don are going through this."

"Your support means a lot to both of us."

"Well, if you need any help with the fund raiser, feel free to call on Adam," she said, referring to the youngest of her aides. "It would do him good to shadow you, anyway. He has a lot to learn."

"I might delegate a few things to him, thank you."

"The press conference is this afternoon at one o'clock in the lobby. I'd suggest you stay up here, out of sight, so you aren't put in the position of answering difficult questions."

"I was planning on having lunch in my office anyway. Donald's picking me up after work. He's concerned about that threat."

"And I think he's also pretty concerned about you after your little episode yesterday," she said, standing and walking over to her desk. Tim stood also, moving toward the door of the office.

"Donald's very good to me," he said, surprised at how much emotion that stirred in him.

As he made his way back to his office, he could see something sitting on his desk that wasn't there when he left - - roses. Smiling and thinking his partner had gone overboard since he'd just given him roses a few days ago, he froze in the doorway of his office when he saw it was the heavy, square glass vase with the two interlocking hearts etched into the glass. At first he thought maybe Donald had found a duplicate somewhere, but then he saw the hairline cracks in the glass where it had been glued back together. Still, it held the water that was keeping the red roses fresh.

Feeling tears in his eyes already at not only having the vase back that meant so much, but at Don recreating the anniversary gift with adding the roses, he plucked the little card from its plastic holder amidst the blooms and opened it. At first he laughed, since it was one of Don's business cards, thinking it was his partner's quirky sense of humor to put one of those in there instead of a florist card. Then he turned it over and read the note.

Thank you for saying yes. I love you, Don.

His breath caught in his throat when he read the same words he'd read almost five years ago when Don had written them to him for their first anniversary, when he'd given Tim the vase. Like they had the first time, the words took him back to slow dancing with Donald at one of their favorite clubs, when their love was brand new but no more intense than it was now. As they swayed to the music, Don had pulled back just enough to look in Tim's eyes, and simply said, "Marry me, Timothy."

And Tim had said, "Yes," and they'd kept right on dancing, but holding on just a little tighter than before.

When Tim read the card on their first anniversary, he'd had a reply for Don's note. He opened his cell phone and called his partner.

"Hi, honey," Don's voice came over the line.

"Thank you for asking," Tim said, repeating the words he'd said in response to the first card, though his emotions kept his voice to barely a whisper.

"Smartest move I ever made," Don said, the smile clear in his voice. "How's your day? Feeling okay?"

"How could my day not be perfect now? Donald, I don't know what to say. It's beautiful. You can barely see the cracks...but the thing I like best isn't the flowers or the vase. I will have this card with me until the last day of my life. I can't believe you remembered what you wrote."

"I told you I remembered everything about our first anniversary."

"Thank you," he managed, knowing it wasn't coming out very clearly.

"Aw, honey, smile. I wanted it to make you happy."

"Believe it or not, this is happy. Just...wet happy," Tim said, grabbing a couple Kleenex and taking his glasses off to wipe his eyes.

"How are you feeling? How's your headache?"

"It's gone. I took a couple Advil when I got to the office, and I'm fine. What are you doing?"

"I'm waiting for classes to change over at Albany Central. One of the kids who alibi'd Fellows the night of the gay bashing showed up at his house last night. I want to talk to him, and also Tanner's kid."

"Be careful."

"I will. What time do you want me to pick you up?"

"Why don't you cover things until seven, since you made Kenny stay so long on the first shift?"

"Are there other people still working there until that late?"

"Oh, yes. The senator's often here, and at least a few other staffers. Security's always here. I'll be fine."

"You're sure you're not overdoing it after yesterday? If you don't feel good, I can come and get you anytime."

"I'm fine, Donald, really. Just a little tired." Tim paused. "But I kind of like it when you worry about me."

"Okay," Don replied, the smile clear in his voice. "I'll come in and get you, so just stay put. Be thinking where you want to eat."

"I love you."

"Yeah, I know you do. I love you, too."

********

Don sat there for a moment with the cell phone in his hand, just smiling. Then, forcing himself to let go of all the warm, happy feelings thinking of Tim and love and dinner plans brought to the surface, he headed over to the school. He'd locked his gun in the car to avoid triggering any metal detectors, and carried his briefcase with him. As the classes changed and the halls filled with students and teachers alike, he looked like just another member of the faculty among the bustle of people.

Finding one of the kids he wanted to talk to was a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack, but they were varsity football players, and they tended to wear their letter jackets, separating them from the crowd. Just as he had that thought, he spotted Jason Biggins walking down the hall with none other than Kevin Tanner.

"Excuse me, are you Kevin Tanner?" He decided to focus on that boy, as if his primary goal was looking into his father's assault case. Both boys stopped in their tracks.

"We're on our way to class," Jason spoke up before Kevin could get his mouth all the way open to reply.

"This won't take long. I'm investigating your father's assault, Kevin. It would be a big help if I could ask you a few questions."

"I'll catch you later," Jason said to Kevin, but Don called after him.

"I actually need to talk to both of you."

"I thought the cops were done investigating since they couldn't figure out who did it," Kevin said.

"I'm a private investigator. Once in a while, I take on cases like these that really need to be solved. I think what your dad went through, is still going through, makes it a worthy cause."

"Nobody's in the chem lab right now. We can talk there," Jason said, moving against the flow of students. A few moments later, they were in the lab. "What's your name, anyway?" he asked as he closed the door.

"Donald Strachey, here's my card," he said, handing him a card. He saw the glimmer of name recognition in Jason, but didn't challenge him right away.

"What can we tell you that we didn't already tell the cops?" Kevin asked.

"Well, for one thing, Jason, you were a key piece of the puzzle with Coach Fellows' alibi. Can you tell me again when and where you saw him?"

"Coach Fellows meets with each one of us individually once a month if we've had any problems with grades or getting in trouble. I had detention a couple times that month, so I had to meet with him. I guess I was there about the time it happened. I don't remember all the details now. It's been a while."

"Is that why you were at his place last night?"

"Who says I was?" Jason shot back, and Kevin looked at him uneasily.

"You weren't alone then, either. Kevin, were you with him?"

"Look, you're not a cop, and we don't have to answer any questions," he responded.

"No, you're right, you don't. I thought you might be glad to know someone was looking into your dad's case."

"I don't really see my dad anymore."

"And you don't care that someone nearly killed him?"

"My father is a two-faced liar. He lied to me my whole life, lied to my mother, and then last year he decides he's going public with being a faggot because he's got some boyfriend he leaves my mother for."

"So you think he deserved what he got, because he's a faggot?" Don pulled a photo out of his briefcase and flashed it at Kevin, who looked away.

"I saw him in the hospital, so you can put the picture away."

"Sounds like there are other people pretty pissed off at your father besides Coach Fellows."

"Look, I don't know who beat him up. My whole family was pissed off at him. My uncles already beat him up when they found out, so I don't think they'd do it again."

"Your mom's brothers?"

"Yeah. They kicked his ass for what he did to her. My mom's still screwed up about it."

"And how about you, Kevin? Are you screwed up?" Don asked.

"I'm no queer, if that's what you mean."

"I just meant that it looks like you're doing all right now," he said, purposely touching the letter on Kevin's jacket. Jason knocked his hand away, too incensed by the completely innocent gesture not to know who Don was, and that he was gay himself. "Being back on the team - - grades must be up. Congratulations. It's not easy to turn your GPA around once it starts sliding."

"Yeah, well, it was hard, but it was worth it. I've got a shot at a football scholarship to NYU next year."

"Good for you. Before all this happened, did you have a pretty good relationship with your dad?"

"We were pretty tight before I found out he was lying to us," Kevin said, and Don noticed the first chink in Kevin's armor, the first slight decrease in hostility in his voice when he talked about his father.

"Is this going somewhere?" Jason asked, sounding annoyed.

"I can understand you being angry with your father, maybe thinking he got what he deserved for hurting you and your mother. Just keep in mind that it's partially because of crimes like these, that kind of hate and violence, that people like your father end up living a lie, afraid to be who they are. Regardless of what you think of your father, if you're condoning or covering for someone, or involved in this kind of crime in any way, you're just perpetuating the hate and prejudice that made your father live a lie rather than live his life honestly."

"We're already late for next period," Jason said.

"Just one last question. Where were you guys this past Saturday, between about noon and five o'clock?"

"You're kidding, right?" Jason asked, raising his eyebrows. "Homecoming? Hello, football team? Oh, I forgot, you people aren't big football fans, are you?"

"You have some real issues with homosexuality, don't you, Jason?" Don pinned the teenager with an intent gaze.

"This past Saturday afternoon was our big homecoming game," Kevin explained. "We were on the football field all afternoon, and then the dance was Saturday night."

"Kevin, you don't have to agree with what your father did, or even change your feelings about homosexuality. But if you support terrorizing, assaulting, or victimizing homosexuals, you're just helping this society stay the kind of place that forces people to hide and end up hurting innocent spouses and kids like you and your mom. Just think about that and the company you keep," he said, pointedly looking at Jason. "Tell me, Jason, how did you know I was gay?"

Jason Biggins just stared at him a moment.

"I don't think you were at Coach Fellows' house last night for academic counseling. I think you were there to help him figure out what to do about the faggots in his neighborhood."

"That's bullshit. I wasn't even there."

"Your car was."

"Coach Fellows asked us to find a couple other guys and beat up one of the gay guys that live up the street from him."

"Kevin, shut your fucking mouth," Jason said, his tone menacing.

"I've had enough," Kevin said. "I can't live with this anymore." He pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to Don. It was a grainy picture of Tim, obviously taken at a good distance, probably by a cell phone or some other low resolution camera. "We were supposed to beat him up, bad enough to convince him and his boyfriend to move out." He shook his head, looking distressed, tears filling his eyes. "Like we did with my dad."

"You're a dead man, Tanner," Jason said, storming out of the room.

"You did the right thing, Kevin," Don said, resting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Will you come with me downtown and tell the police what you've told me?"

"Jason's not kidding. He's the one who... I was there the night my dad was attacked. At the time, I wanted to make him pay. It was Jason, Coach Fellows, and me. I even hit him once or twice. They put a pillowcase over his head, so he couldn't see who we were. I was just so angry with him, and it felt good to make him pay for breaking up our family. But Jason...it was like just hitting him or beating him up wasn't enough. He destroyed my dad's face. I know that's what he would have done to this guy in the picture. I can't be part of that again."

"The guy in the picture is my partner," Don said. "Thank you for telling the truth."

"You better put Coach Fellows and Jason in jail, because if you don't, they'll do this."

"You'll help me? Go to the police?"

"Yeah, I will."

"Do you know of any connection Coach Fellows or Jason, or anyone else on the team, has to our house being vandalized?"

"Coach Fellows didn't have anything to do with that, at least not that I know about. He said someone had trashed the house, but he didn't say anything about being involved with that, and I don't know of anybody on the team who was. We were all involved with homecoming that day."

********

Kevin Tanner made a full statement to the police, with his mother and his lawyer present. Brian Fellows, Jason Biggins, and two other students were picked up for questioning. By the time Don was headed to the senate building to pick up Tim, he felt a mixture of relief and frustration. He'd managed to solve the gay bashing case, and head off the threat to Tim's safety - - that was an enormous weight off his mind. Still, he was back to square one in figuring out who had vandalized the house and posted the video on the 'net. Someone out there was still hell bent on making their lives miserable, and chances were, he or she wasn't finished yet.

He had to smile when he saw Timmy coming toward the car, a decided spring in his step. He slid into the passenger seat and closed the door. Then he leaned toward Don to collect a long overdue kiss.

"Thank you," he said.

"I'm glad they could fix the vase, sweetheart," Don replied, smiling at Tim before turning his attention to driving toward the parking garage exit.

"I loved the gift, and the card, but that's not what I meant. Donald, if you hadn't convinced that boy to talk to you, I would have been attacked."

"Maybe Fellows wouldn't have been planning to attack you if I hadn't gone over there and antagonized him. Bailey told me to leave it alone, you told me to leave it alone, but I did it anyway." Don sighed, pulling out into traffic. "I should be apologizing to you for putting you in danger."

"You solved the Tanner case, and thanks to you, that boy will probably get the counseling he needs, and maybe have a shot at a decent future. Just because you haven't solved our case - - yet - - doesn't mean something good didn't come from this."

"You didn't see the photos of what that psycho, Biggins, did to Tanner's face."

"And thanks to you, he's going to pay for that, and hopefully not do it to someone else. Honey, I'm so proud of you. Whatever you said to Kevin Tanner, you made him face what he was involved in, and have the courage to do the right thing."

"If they'd done that to you, hurt you like that, none of it would have been worth it."

"They didn't. You made sure I was safe, and you would have kept me safe until you figured this out."

"I just got so focused on nailing Fellows."

"You were that focused on bringing him down for one reason, and one reason only," Tim said, reaching over and stroking Don's cheek lightly.

"He was so damned hostile. The way he looked at you at that barbecue that day...just for a moment... He was right there, right up the street, and there are so many nights that I'm not home. I've never rested easy since we had that run-in with him."

"I didn't either. I didn't want to admit it, because if I let myself think about him, worry about him being there, then he had power over me without ever lifting a finger."

"Well, he won't be there anymore. Not for quite a while."

"Donald, where are we going for dinner?" Tim asked, and Don grinned, knowing his partner was recognizing the route.

"I'll give you three guesses," Don said, still smiling. "I hear they have good steaks and a decent band," he added, saying the same thing to Timmy tonight that he'd said to him the night he first took him to the upscale nightclub, the night he proposed.

After dining on the good steaks and toasting each other with an equally good bottle of wine, they took to the dance floor to enjoy a little slow dancing on the same spot where they'd gotten engaged several years earlier.

"You've set the bar pretty high for me to top for our actual anniversary in a few months," Tim said, smiling as they swayed to the music.

"And if you don't come up with something spectacular, you know I'll begin to seriously question your love for me," Don teased.

"I'm beginning to think that vase has some kind of magical powers," Tim joked. "The last few days have been like a second honeymoon, even with everything that's happened."

"See, I told you we didn't have to go to some faraway destination to rekindle the romance," Don said, grinning devilishly as he danced cheek to cheek with Timmy, who couldn't see his expression. "Love is alive and well right here in Albany."

"Don't even think about wriggling out of our vacation this winter. I don't care how romantic you get with me, we're going to get on a plane and go somewhere warm, and we're going to make love in the sand with the water rolling up on the beach - - "

"That's it. We're not renting those Dante's Cove DVD's again. I've heard more about that sex on the beach scene than I have about where you actually want to go. How is it sexy to end up with sand up your ass? Do you have any idea how uncomfortable an ass full of sand is?" Don concluded, though his griping was all done with a note of humor in his voice.

"Every time we watch something like that, you end up on top of me on the couch before the credits roll," Tim countered, pulling back enough to smile at Don, which led to them both laughing.

"Probably because I find myself wondering why I'm wasting time watching some other guy get some when I'm sitting there on the couch next to a guy ten times hotter than the one he's screwing." He loved that the comment flustered Tim a bit and made him look down a little, smiling. He wondered if his heart actually skipped a beat, or it just felt that way. "Okay, sex on the beach it is, even with the tide coming in. But either we do something I can keep my pants on for, or we lie on a blanket."

"I'll bring the blanket," Tim volunteered, and Don laughed, pulling Tim close to him again.

********

"I know we have to work on the inside of the house, but I was thinking maybe we could take a little time out to go get pumpkins this weekend," Tim said, yawning, his head on Don's shoulder. Their romantic evening had given way to a spontaneous and combustible encounter carried out without even taking time to turn back the bed. When Tim had shivered a bit in the cooling afterglow, they'd finally made the effort to get up and crawl under the covers together.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to decorate this year," Don said, looking down, watching Tim's dark lashes move as he blinked.

"I guess I just got busy."

"Yeah, busy," Don repeated, sighing. "So how much harassment were you putting up with from Fellows that you weren't telling me about?" he rubbed Timmy's back and kissed the top of his head. He didn't want the question to sound accusatory or as if he were scolding him.

"Why do you think there was harassment going on?"

"Honey, I love that you're a terrible liar. But you are."

"It just seemed like anytime I was home alone, if I was outside working on the something in the yard, he'd drive by and make some remark or whistle or something. I should have just had some snappy comeback to give him, but no matter how much I sort of expected it, it took me off guard and I could never think of a good way to deal with it."

"That explains why you had me watering the roses at midnight when I got home from work."

"When it's very hot, they shouldn't be watered during the peak heat of the day."

"And you didn't enjoy being out there working on the gardening when Fellows was lurking around, waiting to give you a hard time. Was it mostly just from his car, or did he come over here?"

"Usually if he was driving by, he'd yell something, or if he was walking his dog by the front of the house, he'd make some remark...or he'd say something like, 'boyfriend working late again?' It wasn't a threat, exactly, but it felt like one."

"You should have told me."

"And you'd have gone down there and gotten into it with him. Don, he's half again your size and the kind of hatred he has inside him, I didn't want you to get hurt. At the time, I didn't even know what he was suspected of doing in the Tanner case. I just got that feeling from him that he wasn't an idle threat."

"Size isn't everything," Don quipped, wanting to be sure Tim knew he wasn't angry, that he didn't blame him for being afraid of throwing gasoline on an already flammable situation.

"It's not that I don't know you can handle guys like him. But we have to live here, and nothing he was doing was physically aggressive, and the police wouldn't have been on your side if you went down to his house and assaulted him."

"That explains why you didn't want to get involved in the big Halloween block party thing."

"I figured you'd be working anyway, and I just didn't feel like it."

"You mean you didn't feel like going to it alone when you knew that asshole would show up there and give you a hard time."

"I suppose that was part of it," Tim admitted tiredly. In the three years they'd lived there, their neighbors had accepted them well. Don wasn't sure if it was Timmy's sweet personality that won them over, or his flawless taste in choosing paint colors and landscaping for the exterior of the house, or some combination of the two, but they were always invited to any neighborhood functions and spent as much time passing a friendly word or two with the neighbors as anyone else did in that area.

Then Fellows and his wife and daughter had moved in about a year ago. Being they were a couple doors down, and it was cold weather when they moved in, Don and Tim hadn't had much occasion to interact with the newest neighbor until the incident at the barbecue. Apparently, he'd been watching them enough to assess their living arrangements and become incensed at sharing the block with a gay couple.

A couple of the neighbors had gotten the ball rolling for a Halloween block party, with games, food, and even music and dancing with a retro rock band one of the neighbors performed with on weekends. It was their answer to their children roaming around door-to-door, or getting into pranks, and the grown-ups confined to their homes handing out candy.

Normally, by early October, the front of their house would have been festively adorned for the holiday, and Tim would have been up to his neck in helping put on the party - - he was a firm believer in community and supporting any activities that fostered friendship and good communication in the neighborhood. Don thought it odd when Tim made some polite excuse to the neighbors, and some equally lame excuse to Don that he just had too much going on at work, and withdrew. There wasn't even a stray pumpkin in their yard and Halloween was a week away. He'd known something was off, but was too wrapped up in some time-consuming cases, and the cadence of everyday life, to give it much thought.

"You need to talk to me about things like this, Timothy," Don said, concerned. "In this case, Fellows was a real threat, not just a pain in the ass."

"I should have been able to take care of it myself. Some social activist I am - - hiding from a caveman like Fellows."

"This may come as a big surprise, but I like taking care of you, protecting you." He nudged Tim's chin up to kiss his lips. "Besides, there are a lot of things I can take care of myself that I still come home and dump on you because you make me feel better or you have some idea I wouldn't have thought of for handling things." He sighed. "I should have known something was off when you didn't drag me out to the pumpkin farm two weeks ago."

"You were so grateful to be off the hook that you didn't want to rock the boat," Tim said, laughing. Don knew he was guilty as charged, but somehow, he was looking forward to trudging through the mud and hauling oversized gourds to load into his ailing car, which always acted more put-upon to carry Tim's extensive outdoor seasonal decorating supplies than Don did himself.

********

Tim had the painting contractor scheduled for early the following week, so it was important to finish the cleaning job on the rooms they'd procrastinated about tackling. Don hadn't managed to make quite as good as he'd hoped on his promise to either be home more or include Tim on more surveillance activities, since his most recent case had him hanging around seedy strip clubs, trying to blend in with the other customers, watching a cheating husband to find out if he was just enjoying the view or engaging the girls for other services rendered. The wronged wife had provided him with a fat retainer and the job required a copious number of hours, so it would go a long way in paying for a lot of the little accessories and extras destroyed in the vandalism that the insurance payout wouldn't fully cover.

He envisioned taking Timmy out to the various little eclectic shops where he'd found a number of unique items that accented their walls and shelves, and buying him what he wanted. There was still some of grandma's money in Tim's bank account, so Don knew he could replace some of those things on his own - - and probably already had through some diligent online shopping. Still, he wanted to be involved in restoring the house and enjoy the chance to make Tim happy by enduring the hunt to replace some of the key items they liked best.

Since his favorite philandering husband wasn't a morning person and generally masqueraded as a respectable family man on Saturday and Sunday, Don found himself with enough time on his hands to start digging in to cleaning up the rest of the house.

Upstairs, besides the master bedroom, was a guest bedroom, a study, a workout room, and another bathroom. The workout room really wasn't all that hard to tidy up - - after all, there's a limit to how much you can "throw around" a weight bench, barbells, or a treadmill. Putting the home gym in the other bedroom upstairs had been Tim's idea, and though their schedules rarely allowed them to work out together, it was a nice side benefit to get a post-workout massage from Tim if he was either home or still awake when Don was finished.

The guest bedroom wasn't all that hard to tidy up, since there wasn't much in it besides the furniture and a few room accents like a dried flower arrangement and some pictures on the walls. It was only used for guests, so none of their personal effects were in there anyway.

Don gathered up the broken pictures on the floor and cleaned up the glass, before vacuuming up the smaller fragments. Tim was working on the study, since it was mostly his books on the shelves and his notes and papers in the desk. All their household papers were also kept there in a file cabinet, and Don was planning to sit down with Tim and go through those and help him reorganize everything. They also needed to focus on what information might have been stolen or compromised, since there were account numbers, birth certificates, insurance policies, and other items kept there that might be a springboard for identity theft.

"That was quick," Tim commented when he poked his head in the door of the guest room, finding it mostly cleaned. Don was just taking the remains of the broken mirror off the wall.

"This was the easy one. This and the workout room. They didn't really bother much with that, except to spray paint some crap on the walls. How goes it with the study?"

"It's a mess. Papers everywhere. The only upside is that it's making me face how much of that stuff I don't need to keep."

"Thank God. Does that mean we can look forward to the Timothy Callahan Paper Reduction Act? I don't have to save or photocopy every receipt I get?"

"You like all the things our CPA can call a business expense for you, so you're still going to have to bring me all those receipts, unless you have Kenny keeping track of them. I just think it's safe to assume I can throw out the receipt for that desk fan I bought three years ago that we threw out last summer. Things like that."

"Kenny's a better 'associate investigator' than he is a bookkeeper."

"Don, I don't know if you already saw this or not, but it was in a folder with photos that someone salvaged off the floor in the bedroom - - probably Margaret, because she was gathering up a lot of the photos. Most of them weren't badly damaged, but," Tim hesitated, then opened the folder he'd been holding to show Don. "There are places that restore photos. I was going to tape it up, but then I thought if we take it somewhere to be restored, it'll look better and maybe they can fix the mark on it - -"

"Timmy, calm down, it's not the end of the world," Don said, stemming the flow of nervous words. The photo of himself with Kyle back in their army days had been torn down the middle, in almost a compulsively straight tear. Someone had drawn a large "X" over his image. It was the only photo they'd found so far that had suffered intentional damage that wasn't just a result of a frame being broken.

"I know it means a lot to you, and you probably don't have the negative - - "

"It's the only photo of Kyle I have, and you're right, I don't have the negative." Don wasn't sure how he felt about the destroyed picture. Part of him felt pain, as if whoever destroyed the picture had somehow taken Kyle away from him all over again. Another part of him wondered why he cared anymore. It was so long ago, and he loved Tim so very much.

"At least your faces aren't really marred. The 'X' is over your body, so maybe they can do something to restore it."

"I think we can figure whoever did this is sending me a message, that it's because of me this happened. None of our other pictures were destroyed this way."

"You think this is a threat?"

"That I'm crossed out? Well, it sure isn't a love note."

"How are you and Kenny doing with going through your old files?"

"We gave Bailey some names to run through the police databases, but so far, nothing interesting. I'm starting on less dramatic cases now. The first batch were people who really had a reason to want to get back at me. They either lost their shirts in divorce settlements, lost their jobs for phony worker's comp claims, things like that. A couple morphed into criminal cases based on what I found out they were into." Don stared at the pieces of the photo. "And why this photo? There are a bunch of the two of us together, but those weren't tampered with."

"Maybe they wanted to destroy something irreplaceable."

"But how would they know that? How would they know that Kyle was dead, for that matter, or that he was anything more to me than an army buddy?"

"Do you think it might be someone who knew you back then?"

"Or someone who knows my history. John Rutka had a file on me."

"You never told me that."

"If I had told you that, I would have had to tell you what was in it, and at the time, I didn't know what you'd think of me if you knew."

"Honey, you fell in love and you paid an awful price for it. How could I think less of you for that?"

"I told the truth. Kyle tried to deny it altogether, and when that didn’t work, he tried to tell them it was just the stress of combat, too long away from home without a woman. He gave them a pretty convincing line of bullshit. Then I started gushing that we were having a relationship, that I loved him. God, I was like some pathetic teenage girl with all these romantic notions about her first love." He hated that it had the power even now to upset him, to pick open a wound in his heart that never totally healed.

"Telling the truth isn't the wrong thing to do, Donald. It's what they did with the truth that was wrong. I know you loved Kyle, and his suicide was tragic, and I completely acknowledge that with what I'm about to say, but he lied about your relationship and then he turned on you when the two of you should have been able to cling to each other. You were losing everything because of your relationship, and you needed each other to get through that."

"I didn't think he'd lie about it," Don said, angry at the tears that were filling his eyes over something that was so long dead and buried. "I thought he loved me, wanted me...beyond the stolen moments, I thought he'd want a future with me. That was naive. Two guys in army intelligence being a gay couple? Yeah, that would have worked well."

"No one every said love was logical...or easy." Tim put his arm around Don's shoulders. "You did what you thought was right."

"I just took the discharge. I guess Rutka thought I should have turned it into a crusade, fought for my rights, for Kyle's rights. He thought I ratted Kyle out to get the discharge, but that's not how it was. I wouldn't have...sold him down the river for an easy out."

"I know that, honey. What's more important is that I know you. Whatever Rutka thought he knew, it wasn't the whole story."

Don tossed the photo on the guest room dresser and turned to accept the hug Tim had waiting for him. He still ached inside with regrets and the lingering guilt that he had put that gun in Kyle's hand by so grossly misreading his feelings and what he wanted from him.

"What happened after Kyle died?" Tim asked, his voice almost hesitant.

"His whole family was military. His father was a retired colonel." Don stepped back so he could look at Tim. "He contacted me and told me not to make the mistake of coming to the funeral, that if he had his way, he'd make me pay for destroying his son. You already know how supportive my family is," he added sarcastically.

"Do you think he could be behind this?" Tim asked, and Don could see the pain in his eyes, as if he felt every emotion Don was coping with himself.

"He retired because he was wounded during Vietnam - - I don't remember how it happened now, but it was something heroic...somehow he threw himself into the middle of the action to save some of his men. It was a back injury that kept degenerating, shrapnel or something like it. He was in a wheelchair by the time I met Kyle. I doubt it would be him - - he must be pushing seventy by now. I stayed away from Kyle's family, respected their wishes to stay away from the funeral. In all these years, I've never heard from them, so why now?"

"Where are they?"

"Mostly in Virginia, I guess. Kyle and I didn't talk about our families much. We had so little time to be together, I guess we didn't talk enough, period. If we had, maybe I wouldn't have been so far off the mark about handling it when we were caught."

"Being in love and standing up for it isn't being off the mark, Donald."

"Most of the pictures we have that I'm in are pictures of the two of us together. Maybe someone wanted to make it clear that this was only about me."

"Or maybe there's someone or something else in your past, from that long ago, that this is related to."

"Maybe the assholes who did this just figured this was a keepsake we probably didn't have a backup for."

"The photo album in the study wasn't destroyed, and there are some old photos I have of my trip to Rome when I was in the seminary, pictures my friends took and sent me copies of. The album was open on the floor along with a bunch of other books they'd knocked off shelves, but it wasn't tampered with."

"Maybe I'll run some background checks on Kyle, see if I can piece together a little more about his life, his family... I know his family saw me as having destroyed Kyle's life. In a way, I did, but I didn't mean to. I don't know what I really thought was going to happen. That CID would just say, 'well, since you told the truth, it's okay' and let us ride off into the sunset together?"

"I think you were willing to give all that up for love, for Kyle, and you thought you'd be with him, even if you had to start over."

"Yeah, you're right, I did," Don agreed, nodding.

"We could go over to your office and start running things through the database programs you subscribe to there," Tim suggested, seeming to sense Don badly needed to change the subject, or at least refocus his energy on the case instead of revisiting the past.

"What about pumpkins?"

"Tomorrow's Sunday. I'm sure there'll be a farmer's market somewhere in upstate New York with a couple pumpkins left."

"Thanks," Don said, kissing Tim on the lips. Though it was a chaste little kiss, the intimate contact felt good, soothing the old wounds like it always did.

********

Searching for Kyle's family history was depressing to say the least, and Don was more grateful than he could explain to have Tim sitting there in his office, reading a book while he worked on the lone computer on Kenny's desk. There really wasn't much two of them could do, but he had the uncanny feeling Kyle's ghost was lurking in the shadowy corners, and Timmy's presence dispelled that.

His best results weren't in any database - - they were in obituaries. He already knew Kyle's name, birth date, death date, military history, and so on. The obituary provided the names of several family members, including his parents and two brothers, one older and one younger. Don remembered that Kyle's younger brother was in the Army also - - Kyle was very proud of him, since he was already excelling in his training in electronic surveillance and had dreams of being part of military intelligence, just like his big brother. By contrast, he didn't recall Kyle saying too much about his older brother, Alan. The only other item of interest he found was that Kyle's mother had died not long after Kyle did. He searched the obituary databases for her, and when he found the listing, it only said she'd "died suddenly at home." He printed that off, unable to keep his eyes from lingering on the line, "She was predeceased by a son, Kyle R. Griffin..."

"The printer's going - - you must have found something," Tim said, looking up from his book.

"Kyle's mother died two years after he did. She was only in her fifties."

"Was she ill?"

"It says she died suddenly at home."

"That could be a heart attack, and accident - - "

"A murder, a suicide... It could be anything."

"Don, if it was a suicide, too... Maybe there was a history of depression in his family. It could partially explain why he took his own life."

"I know why he took his own life, Tim, but thanks for trying to spin it another way."

"There are one of a thousand different ways someone can react to a life-changing, traumatic event. A lot of factors contribute to which path they choose."

"Well, this explains why Kyle never said much about older brother, Alan."

"What do you mean?"

"He was doing time for manslaughter in connection with a bar fight," Don said, reading the information on the screen.

"What else does it say?"

"Not much. I'll need to get a hold of someone at the Richmond PD - - it was their case. Maybe Bailey can pull some strings and get the file and his rap sheet. He was released a little over five years ago."

"Was he arrested again for anything else?"

"No, doesn't look like it."

"Why would he wait five years if it were him?"

"Parole. He was paroled, which means he probably had restrictions on him about leaving the state, and had to check in with his parole officer on a regular basis."

"It seems like a lot of messing around for a guy who's got a manslaughter conviction for killing someone in a fight. Why not confront you directly?"

"I don't know. It's probably not him, anyway. It's a longshot. I have enough information to take to Bailey to get as much as we can on this guy from the Richmond PD."

"What's his younger brother doing?"

"He left the Army, graduated with honors with a degree in Electrical Engineering, and now he works for some big company in Illinois. Married, two kids, no record." Don rubbed his eyes. "God, it feels weird, poking around in Kyle's life like this. In what should have been his life. His brother getting out of prison, his mother dying, his other brother getting his life together and getting married and having kids. He missed all of that."

"Do you have what you need?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Don said, feeling depressed and oddly sickened by spending the afternoon in a very dark place in his past. "Too late to go pumpkin hunting, huh?"

"We can do that tomorrow."

"Let me give Bailey a quick call and see if he's working tonight," Don said, picking up his cell phone and calling the detective. When the other man answered, he greeted, "Hey, Bub, it's Don. Are you on the clock tonight?"

"Unfortunately, yes. We have a new homicide case, so quite a few of us are on the clock. What's going on?"

"I have a lead...well, I don't know if it's a lead, but it's someone who could be involved with what happened at the house."

"You have a name for me?"

"Alan Michael Griffin," he began, then proceeded to read the social security number and arrest and release dates from the information he found. "I was hoping you could pull some strings and get us the case file, his rap sheet, check your database to see if you can dig up anything I can't access."

"Why would this guy want to trash your house, Strachey?"

"It's a really personal situation. I knew his brother a long time ago, some things happened...his brother committed suicide. It would only be if he was holding a grudge against people he thought contributed to his brother's death..." Don sighed. "The only photo at the house that was purposely destroyed was one of me with this guy's brother, Kyle Griffin, in the Army."

"If you want my help, you need to be honest with me, and tell me what this is about."

"Maybe there's no connection."

"Look, I'm in the middle of a homicide investigation. I have a sixteen-year-old girl raped with her throat cut, left in a dumpster behind her high school. So if this isn't a really good lead, I don't have time to screw with it."

"I had an affair with his brother in the Army, and we were found out, interrogated by the CID, and I told the truth. We were both discharged. He was a lieutenant, on a fast track in military intelligence, just like I was - - I was a sergeant." Even in this quick, stripped down version of the story, Don found hard to tell. He was grateful for Timmy's presence, especially when he came around behind the desk and stood by where Don was seated, squeezing his shoulder. "Kyle committed suicide the day we were discharged. He blamed me for what happened, and given what was done to the photo, and his family's attitude at the time of Kyle's death...it's not unreasonable to suspect that his brother might want to settle the score - - especially since he's already got a violent rap sheet."

"I'll get the file, and anything else on this Griffin guy I can find," Bailey said. He didn't comment on the story, but there was a more sympathetic tone to his voice.

"Thanks," Don said, reaching up to hold onto Tim's hand. "This situation with Kyle...not many people know about it..."

"They won't hear it from me unless the case makes it absolutely necessary."

"Thank you." Don paused. "Kyle's mother died a couple years after he did - - all it says is 'suddenly at home' in the obituary."

"Give me her name."

"Marianne Griffin."

"Also in Richmond?"

"Yes. Married to Frederick Griffin - - he's still alive."

"I'll fax the information over to your office when I get it." With that, Bailey hung up, and so did Don.

"Let's go home. I'll make you dinner," Tim offered, squeezing Don's hand. Take-out was great, restaurants were good, but when the world had just gut-punched him, there was something about Tim making him something good to eat, just the way he liked it, that had an odd, healing effect on him. He stood up and hugged Timmy, holding on tightly.

"I love you." Don willed himself not to get emotional about all this old misery again. He squeezed his eyes shut against the world for a minute, just letting Timmy hug him the way only he could, or ever did. Like he was precious and treasured and the only thing that mattered in the world.

"I know, baby. I love you, too. We'll get this figured out, and then we'll lay these old ghosts to rest." Tim was quiet a few seconds, letting Don draw what he needed from their closeness. "Give me the keys. I'll drive home and you can relax and tell me all the things I'm doing wrong and which route I should have taken," he teased, kissing Don's cheek.

********

Don pounded on the door of Kyle's quarters again. This was such bullshit. Just a few days ago, he'd been in Kyle's arms, they were making love, and he'd been declaring his undying love for the man. Kyle wasn't as given to expressing his feelings in words, but they hadn't needed them...at least, Don didn't think they needed them. It never occurred to him that Kyle would lie about them when they did get caught. That he'd deny it altogether, and then try to pretend what they had was just some physical thing to scratch an itch because there were no women around. So now he was just a substitute for a woman? His first time moving beyond blow jobs or hand jobs to letting someone be inside him, to sharing his heart and not just his dick...that couldn't all be a lie. When Kyle did say a few sweet words to coax Don into wanting it, to wanting Kyle to take him that way, it was all about love. And it had to be real. The look in Kyle's eyes had been real, the tenderness in his touches...

"Damn it, Kyle, open the fucking door!" Don shouted, pounding on it hard this time, surprised when it drifted open. "Kyle?" Don walked a few steps into the room that served as a sitting area and kitchen. The bedroom door was open. "Kyle, come on, at least talk to me," he said, going to the open doorway and expecting to see Kyle lounging on the bed, or maybe to hear the shower running.

What he didn't expect was the unthinkable spray of red all over the wall behind the bed. Like a monstrous burst of fireworks, only of blood and brains. What was left of Kyle lay dead on the bed, clad in his dress uniform, gun still in his hand.

He felt his legs give way and he was on his knees at the foot of the bed, wondering where the horrific, animal-like screams were coming from...

********

"Donald, wake up!"

How in the hell was Tim here? There was some reason Tim couldn't be here, in this awful place with him. He didn't care about that.

"Timmy?" he asked, his voice broken with tears and hopeful that he wasn't insane. That somehow, Tim was here to take him home...

"I'm here, baby. I'm right here."

He could feel Tim's arms around him, and he let himself be pulled against that familiar body that his heart called home.

"It was a nightmare, honey," Tim said gently, rocking him a little, patting his back. "You're safe. It's okay."

"He shot himself," Don sobbed. Part of his rational mind was coming back, regaining consciousness and realizing that Tim already knew about Kyle. That he wasn't in that awful room where Kyle's blood and brains were on the wall. It was years later and he was in the arms of the man who loved him the way no one else in his life ever loved him - - unconditionally, completely, tenderly, and faithfully.

"You were dreaming about Kyle," Tim said, rubbing his back.

"I found him," Don managed, regaining a little of his voice and his composure as reality dawned fully, and he realized he was in the safety of their home, their bed, with Timmy. "I just wanted to talk to him one more time. I didn't think he could just walk away from what we had and not look back. I thought if he saw me, maybe he'd...maybe we...he might remember how he felt when he said he loved me."

"I think Kyle had more demons than you probably even knew about. How anyone could want to leave this world when you were here to love them is beyond me. How a job could mean more than you."

"I'm sorry if my screaming like that scared you," Don said, moving away, wanting to look at Tim, to see his worried look, and all the love he knew he'd see in his eyes. Love he never questioned, love he took for granted in the best possible way. Tim grabbed a couple tissues from the night stand and gently blotted the tears off Don's face.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's not much to talk about. The dream was so real, it was like I was right back there in that room. I couldn't figure out what you were doing there, how you could possibly be there, but I could hear your voice and then feel your arms around me...before I even realized I was dreaming."

"I didn't know you were the one who found him."

"I don't like to talk about any of it, but I've tried to put that moment out of my mind as much as I could. There was no point in dredging it up. It was awful and bloody, and unbelievable. Surreal. I never wanted to remember it again."

Tim rearranged their pillows so they were propped up, and settled them with Don in his arms, the covers tucked around them.

"I was really young, and really stupid," Don said, letting his eyes drift shut, though he had no desire to go to sleep right then. "I thought he loved me."

"He probably did, honey. It was just too much for him. Having your whole world turned upside down that way...some people can deal with it, and some people are destroyed by it. Just because Kyle couldn't stand up for what he felt for you, doesn't mean he didn't feel it."

"You really believe that?"

"I do. The Gospels tell a story about the night Jesus was arrested. Simon Peter, who was very close to Jesus, a leader among the disciples, told Jesus that he was prepared to lay down his life for him. But Jesus predicted that Peter would deny him three times before dawn. Peter couldn't believe that. After all, he was the one who got so angry when the guards came to arrest Jesus that he lopped off one of their ears with a sword." Tim rubbed Don's back gently and kissed his forehead. "Sure enough, after Jesus was arrested, a servant girl asked him if he was a follower of Jesus, and he said that he wasn't. A while later, he was asked again, and again he denied being one of Jesus' followers. Finally, he was asked a third time, and he still denied being one of the disciples. On his third denial, the cock crowed - - it was dawn. So the man who was...I guess you'd call him Jesus' second-in-command with the disciples...and very devoted to Jesus, didn't have the courage to stand up and acknowledge his association with Jesus, even though he thought he was ready to die for him. Eventually, this man was canonized a saint. He was a great man, and a holy man. But even he had a moment of fear and weakness - - three moments, if you want to get specific - - where he denied the man he'd devoted his life to following, a friend and leader he thought he was prepared to die for. Did that negate everything else good about him? All his courage, his faith, his goodness? Did it mean he didn't believe in Jesus and his teachings, suddenly didn't care about him as a friend? It just meant he was human, he was weak like we all are sometimes, and he was scared. Just like Kyle - - he had a moment of weakness, fear, confusion. Unfortunately, it ended in tragedy. But that doesn't mean that Kyle didn't love you, that he didn't mean it when he told you he loved you." He squeezed Don a little. "And it doesn't mean it was your fault, honey."

"He was a hero. He saved my life. He wasn't a coward."

"Maybe death in battle didn't scare him as much as life out of the closet, losing his family and his career... To him, that was probably a fate worse than death, and he just couldn't handle it. If he'd been able to move past that initial shock, all the turmoil...maybe he would have realized what you had together, and things would have been different."

"If it hadn't been for me, he would probably be in some high powered position in military intelligence, living the life he wanted."

"You don't know that for sure. Besides, there were two men making love there when you were caught, and two of you paid the price for it. As much as you loved Kyle, and as tragic as his death was, he was with you of his own free will, and his suicide was a choice he made that you couldn't control."

Don didn't say anything else. He just nestled against Timmy and soaked up the closeness. A few minutes later, Tim slipped out of bed, and before long, was back with a cool washcloth and a glass of cold water. Don drank some of the water; his throat felt dry. Tim held him again, bathing his face with the washcloth.

"Feeling a little sleepy?"

"You don't know any more of those stories, do you?" Don asked, and Tim smiled, patting his back a little.

"We learned a few in the seminary," Tim replied, amused. "I'm sure I can come up with a couple until you fall asleep," he said, kissing Don's cheek.

The next morning, Don didn't really remember much about whatever parable Timmy pulled out of his repertoire to lull him back to sleep, but he knew the reassuring sound of his partner's voice had held the demons of his past at bay until morning.

********

Tim felt little touches on his back, and it took him a moment to wake up fully and realize Don was kissing him there, gently urging him onto his stomach. It didn't take much urging, since Tim figured whatever Don had in mind next was probably going to feel really good. He settled into position, resting his head on his folded arms, content to sort of drift in the laziness of a Sunday morning, leaving the driving to Donald.

He smiled, releasing a contented sigh as Don kissed every inch of his back and shoulders, completely unhurried in his loving task. He expected that when Don reached his tail bone, he'd start concentrating on getting him ready to make love, but instead, he just continued on with the kisses, not missing an inch of Tim's bottom cheeks, his thighs, his calves, even the soles of his feet. By the time Tim felt him moving back up, blanketing him with his own body, he was so ready for more that he arched up eagerly to meet the slick finger that eased inside him.

"Good morning, sunshine," Don said, a smile in his voice. Despite Tim's restlessness to move things along, Don took his sweet time, relaxing his partner, teasing him a little, just focusing on the intimacy of what they were doing, kissing Tim's neck and his cheek, caressing his shoulder and up his arm with his free hand until Tim raised his fingers enough for Don's to slide between them, and their hands clasped together, Don's palm on the back of Tim's hand, their fingers entwined the way their bodies soon would be.

Don withdrew his fingers and gently entered him, the sensation of being filled and surrounded making him groan, angling his head back for the kiss he knew would be waiting there. Don's other hand now moved up Tim's other arm, joining those hands the same way, fingers entwined. Tim encouraged Don's thrusts, moving in a perfect counter-rhythm, their gasps and moans mingling as they made love.

Lips and tongue were on the back of his neck, then a sweet, intense suction. He smiled, knowing Don was leaving little passion marks on his skin, staking a sort of primal claim on him that turned him on even more. Between the pressure on his prostate and the friction of his erection on the sheets, he knew he couldn't hold out much longer, as much as he wanted to last until Don came.

Don released his hands and ran them down his arms and sides in a caress, then wrapped his arms around Tim and rolled them on their sides, still joined. He stroked Tim's cock, his hand feeling much better than mattress friction. Don's chin was on his shoulder, his cheek against Tim's, their morning stubble chafing a little in contrast to the softness of their kisses. Tim chanted Don's name in a breathless little cadence until he came, the shudders of his orgasm pulling Don over the edge with him.

"Good morning," Tim said, smiling over his shoulder at Don. He shifted onto his back, and Don rolled on top of him, framing his face with both hands and kissing him deeply, exploring his mouth with a hunger that made it seem as if they hadn't kissed in years.

"You're beautiful when you first wake up," he said, looking down at Tim with a huge, ear-to-ear smile. "You're always beautiful," he amended, kissing Tim again.

"So are you," Tim said, laying his hand on Don's cheek. "The first time I saw you, I couldn't believe this hot blond guy with the beautiful blue eyes was actually checking me out."

"Hot blond guy, huh? That's what you thought?"

"I always had a weak spot for blonds with muscles. It's just that none of them I ever met were anything like you."

"Uh-oh," Don said, still grinning. "Should I like where this is going?"

"Oh, yes," Tim said, pulling him down for another kiss. "You turned out to be as wonderful on the inside as you were on the outside. I knew you were different as soon as I looked into your eyes. And you weren't looking for a one-night screw."

"Yeah, well, you weren't the one-night screw type. You were the little gold nugget in a really, really, big pile of rocks - - takes forever to find, but makes the hunt worth it." He stroked Tim's chest with a feather light touch of his fingertips. "You were so...classy. I was scared to death I was going to screw things up and stick my foot in my mouth."

"You did that a few times, but your hot body made it worth overlooking the rough edges," Tim teased, and Don laughed, then attacked his sides with tickling fingers, knowing exactly where Tim was the most ticklish.

"I'll give you rough edges," he joked as Tim laughed, vainly trying to push the tickling fingers away.

"It's almost ten. We better get moving if we're going to get what we need for the Halloween decorations and do the yard."

"Do the yard? You want to put out the decorations together?"

"Yeah, I do. I'll even tie black and orange ribbons on the light fixtures if that's what you want." He tweaked Tim's nose and kissed him.

"You don't have to do all this. I can take care of it. Fellows was arrested - - "

"This isn't about that asshole. It's about doing something together for our home. The inside may look like shit, but by God, we're going to have the most festive fucking yard on the block, and you're going to make a giant-ass bowl of that pasta salad for the Halloween party, and we're both going to it, and we're going to dance to some god-awful garage band music played by a bunch of middle-aged wannabe musicians, and I'm not working on that night, no matter how good a case offer I might get."

Tim had to laugh at Donald's crude assessment. And fall in love with him all over again for wanting to spend the day on yard decorating and reserve a night to attend a neighborhood block party, just because he knew it was important to Tim.

********

If Tim could have fantasized about a perfect - - and unattainable - - Sunday to spend with Donald, this day would have qualified.

No day that starts out with romantic, gentle, and yet passionate morning lovemaking can be all bad, no matter what else happens. Still, he'd really only expected to make it to some nearby nursery with a good pumpkin selection and some Indian corn. He was stunned when Don actually was willing to drive out in the country to a farm that was known not only for its pumpkins, but also its myriad of other gourds, scarecrows, straw, and other Halloween decorating staples.

They wandered among the pumpkins until they found the ones Tim thought were worthy of their outdoor decorating project. They chose a multitude of colorful gourds, even though Tim had to admit he had no idea what he was going to do with them. He'd expected Don's good humor to run out when it came to buying hay and corn husk decorations that didn't have a prayer of fitting in the car. Surprisingly, he compromised with Tim to forego the bales of hay if he agreed to tie the corn husk decorations to the car and take the back roads home. They did buy a scarecrow, who kept a disconcerting eye on them from the back seat.

Tim had thought the outing was over, but Don spotted a little mom and pop restaurant along the way that boasted "World Famous Fried Turkey." While neither of them truly expected to see heads of state lined up to snag a red-and-white checkered cloth-covered table, it intrigued them enough to stop and enjoy a delicious meal, complete with homemade apple pie for dessert.

With the sun shining, the chill of fall in the air, and the colored leaves adorning both the trees and the ground in equal quantities, it was a perfect Fall day. Maybe that's why it took Tim a while to realize they weren't heading back home when they left the restaurant.

"We should have turned left back there," Tim said, not wanting to shorten their outing, but also wondering if Don had taken leave of his senses and somehow missed not one, but two, opportunities to turn the car around and head for home.

"Do you have some appointment or something I don't know about?" Don asked, smiling, keeping his eyes on the road.

"I thought you'd want to get started on the yard."

"We've got outside lights. We can finish up in the dark if we have to. You're always talking about that cemetery out here with all the historic figures. Halloween week is a great time to walk around old cemeteries."

"You're taking me to Albany Rural? Don, I've been asking you to go there with me for...years. I wanted to look at plots out there."

"I'm not doing this if you're going to make me pick out my own grave," Don said with a laugh and a roll of his eyes. "Besides, I thought you wanted to be buried in the Callahan plot."

"There's only one grave left there. No one planned for Grandma Elizabeth having two husbands and wanting them both buried with her. My spouse plot went to the second one. I told you this story when my grandmother died."

"Sorry. I guess I forgot about Granny's two husbands."

"Albany Rural is full of history, politics...and it's beautiful."

"Okay, okay. Another day, we'll come out here and look at available cemetery plots. I'm just not in the mood to plan our burials."

"It's not about that. It's about finding a beautiful place for us to spend eternity together." Tim thought maybe he really was twisted if he found something reassuring in buying burial plots with Donald, but it seemed like the ultimate commitment - - to not only pledge the rest of your life to someone, but to ensure you'd always be together, at least, that you're physical remains would rest together.

"We can buy one plot. I'll just hop right on in on top of you," Don quipped, grinning. "I'm not going to want to live without you, and I like the idea of spending eternity on top of you."

"God, you're a sick man, do you know that?" Tim chided, though he was laughing, and touched by the sentiment tucked into the joke. Laughing about burial plots. How he loved his life with this man.

Their walk through part of the historic cemetery was anything but morbid. The autumn breeze was swirling the leaves on the ground, sending the occasional shower of color down on them from the trees above. The sounds of a waterfall could be heard in the distance. Donald seemed genuinely interested in the historic monuments, markers, and buildings there, though Tim found himself wondering how much of that interest was for his benefit, so he could tell whatever stories he knew about the notable souls who'd left their mortal remains there.

Still, walking hand in hand and crunching the leaves under their feet, just talking and laughing and enjoying the friendship that was the cornerstone of their relationship, was a memory Tim knew he'd treasure, even if he never managed to trap Don into coming out here again.

It was late afternoon by the time they arrived home and began putting out the decorations. Festive decorations of corn husks and Indian corn were attached to the outside light fixtures, the scarecrow took his place in a chair under a tree where Don and Tim strung orange pumpkin lights on the lower branches. The big corn husk decorations went on the outside light post, and at the base of the tree with the scarecrow. They found various spots to add the colorful collection of gourds, and spent part of the evening carving faces in a couple of the pumpkins before putting those in their places.

By a little after ten, they'd settled in to watch TV and unwind for a while. With the clock approaching the witching hour of midnight, Tim knew he should move, wake Donald, who was sound asleep, his head in Tim's lap, get them both into bed. Instead, he carefully touched Don's hair, not wanting to disturb him, but wanting to feel the soft blond strands under his fingers.

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways," Tim began, his voice barely a whisper.

"I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday's

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

I love thee freely, as men strive for right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.

I love thee with a passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints; I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose," he paused, swallowing, leaning down to kiss Don's sleeping face. "I shall but love thee better after death."

He smiled, covering Don's hand, the one that bore his wedding ring, with his own right hand, so the two gold bands touched. The practical concerns of bedtimes and schedules and getting enough sleep melted away. Tim sat there a long time, just treasuring the serene moment, just loving his husband and best friend, silently thanking God for what they had together, and for sending Tim living proof that he hadn't fallen from grace in choosing to be the man he truly was. No one could displease God and be given a gift like Donald at the same time.

********

New developments in the homicide case had kept Bailey busy throughout the weekend, so it was Tuesday morning before the fax machine in Don's office sprang to life with the case files on Alan Griffin's manslaughter conviction and Marianne Griffin's death. Kenny organized the papers into a couple file folders and put them on Don's desk. By the time Don came in, he was back at work at the computer, running a background check on a new client.

"Morning, Kenny," Don greeted as he arrived near ten. He was in a good mood, even though their case was still unsolved. He'd taken Tim along on his surveillance work the night before, and thoroughly enjoyed eating cold Thai food, listening to Timmy prattle on about the big fund raiser dinner and all the last minute arrangements. His partner had taken notes about what they observed, and had made good on his promise to stay in the car, no arguments, when Don got out to do a little legwork. They hadn't gotten home until nearly midnight, and had gone right to bed in deference to Tim's schedule.

"How'd the surveillance go last night?" he asked.

"It went great. It wouldn't have been as easy if something major came up, but last night was garden-variety cheating husband coming and going."

"And coming again?"

"Yeah, more than likely," he replied, snorting.

"How long were you out there?"

"About four hours."

"Locked in a car with your significant other for four hours and you didn't spend any of that time having sex, but you're still speaking this morning?"

"Timmy liked having a captive audience to talk about his fund raiser, and we've got a lot of stuff to figure out about fixing up the house, so the time went by pretty fast."

"Wow. Four hours talking? You're sure there was no sex?"

"Yes, four hours talking, and I'd have remembered the sex, trust me," Don repeated, chuckling.

"I put a couple files on your desk that came through on the fax."

"Great, thanks," Don said, tossing his briefcase and coat on the couch in his office before picking up the files. He sat behind his desk and stared at the folders a moment. He opened Alan Griffin's file first. It didn't help that Alan bore a striking resemblance to Kyle, even though he was older and wore a scruffy beard in the photo.

As he flipped through the pages, something occurred to Don. He picked up the phone and called the DMV. After navigating their irritating automated answering system, he finally got through to Helen, his contact there. He gave her Griffin's name and social security number, and waited while she checked to see what type of car he drove. Unfortunately, it was not the black Dodge Charger that had been reported in their neighborhood the day of the break-in.

Disappointed, he read through the facts of the case. Alan Griffin had gotten involved in a drunken brawl in a bar and ended up snapping another guy's neck during the fight. He claimed it was self defense, but the charges were based on the prosecution's insistence it was overkill and more about winning the fight than defending life and limb. He'd served eight years for it, before being paroled. His mandatory meetings with his parole officer ended just a few months before the vandalism to the house.

Setting the file aside, he opened the folder containing the information on Kyle's mother. He was greeted by a death scene photo, but it was fairly benign - - she looked as if she were sleeping. Her suicide was an overdose of anti-depressants, which she had been on since Kyle committed suicide, according to the file.

He heard the front door of the office, but he blocked it out, setting the file aside and leaning back in his chair. Hopefully it was some kind of salesman or other irritant Kenny could handle and send packing. The intercom buzzed. Something about it annoyed Don when the people visiting him could see him, he could see them, and they all could see Kenny.

"Yes," he said, humoring Kenny as he pressed the little button.

"Richard Tanner and his partner are here to see you," Kenny announced.

"Thanks." Don got up and went out to greet them. Richard Tanner was a tall man in his mid-forties, with a nice head of dark hair. Before his attack, Don imagined he was probably handsome. Now, his features were obviously incongruous and damaged. The man with him was a bit younger, with long, sandy hair pulled back in a pony tail. Both were dressed casually, in jeans, shirts, and leather jackets.

"I wanted to see you and thank you personally for what you did to resolve the case," Richard said, shaking hands with Don. "This is my partner, Mark Freeman."

"Good to meet you both," Don said, shaking hands with Mark. "Please, come into my office and have a seat. Don sat on the edge of his desk while his visitors occupied the chairs.

"It's a big relief to know that jerk, Fellows, and Jason Biggins are going to pay for what they did to Rick," Mark said.

"I'm most grateful that Kevin talked you, told the truth," Richard said. "His lawyer is trying to get him off the hook with counseling. I'm going to testify in his defense."

"I'm glad I could be of help. You probably know that Fellows was threatening my partner, and he lives a couple doors down from us. Something had to be done about him."

"Yeah, but the cops didn't do it in months, and you did it in a couple days," Mark said. "That pretty much sums up the cops' efforts when it comes to crimes against gays."

"I just got lucky - - Kevin was with Jason Biggins when I showed up at the high school, and he was upset about the fact they were planning the assault on my partner. I don't think Kevin would have cracked so easily if he wasn't facing being involved in another crime."

"It's not much, but we'd like you to have this." Tanner handed him a check for a thousand dollars. "I know it's probably not nearly enough for your time and effort on the case, but money's a little tight for us right now - - Mark's band is between gigs and I've been out of work since the attack."

"Please keep this," Don said, holding the check out to him. "It's not that I'm not very pleased that I could help you realize some justice in this situation, but I honestly got involved because I was worried about my partner."

"I know that, but it means a lot to us to have some peace of mind, knowing that asshole is in jail," Mark said. "We can swing that. Please, take it. Maybe you can use it to fix up your house."

"You heard about that, huh?"

"Detective Bailey mentioned it when we were at the station," Richard said.

"How are you doing with your recovery?" Don asked.

"Mark sold his vintage guitars so I can get the last couple reconstructive procedures done that should repair a lot of the cosmetic damage," he explained, reaching over and taking Mark's hand. "The insurance won't pay for what they call 'elective surgery.' I guess getting my face back is optional in their eyes."

"Don't give us the check back again," Mark said, as Don started to open his mouth. "You can't put a price on Rick's safety."

"Or Tim's," he said, smiling and nodding. He took a small framed picture of Tim off his desk and handed it to Richard. "That's my partner."

"How long have you been together?" he asked, showing the picture to Mark.

"I've known him almost seven years. We've been married almost six of those. Our anniversary is coming up in February."

"Don't tell me you got married on Valentine's Day?" Mark said, handing him the photo.

"Guilty as charged. I think Timmy figured I'd be less likely to forget our anniversary that way," he said, smiling and looking at Tim's smiling face in the photo for a moment before setting it back on the desk.

The intercom buzzed. Frowning, he picked up the phone. "What's up?"

"It's Bailey on the phone. He said it was urgent," Kenny explained.

"Excuse me a minute, I need to take this." He pressed the button to take the call. "Morning, Bub," he greeted.

"It won't be such a good one when I tell you what I have to say."

"So say it."

"Fellows and Biggins are both out on bond pending a trial."

"What? You're shitting me."

"No, I'm afraid not. The judge felt Fellows wasn't a flight risk, and he has no criminal record. Jason Biggins' father is a city councilman. He comes from a really influential family. They assured the judge he'd stay and face the music, and he bought it. I'm sorry, Strachey. There's nothing I can do about it. I just thought you should know, maybe keep a closer eye on your boyfriend. I still have to get a hold of Tanner and warn him."

"That I can help you with. He's in my office right now."

"You want to be the bearer of bad news?"

"It wouldn't be the first time. I'll let him know. What about an order of protection?"

"The DA made sure it was part of the terms of both their releases that they stay at least 300 yards from either Tim or Richard Tanner pending trial, and they're not to contact or harass either of them. I'll fax you over a copy of the order. That should keep Fellows' ass in his own yard, since I don't think his house is much more than 900 feet from yours."

"Yeah, assuming he obeys it," Don said, shaking his head.

"I don't think I can get any protection for Tanner or for Tim. We're so fucking short-handed now that - - "

"I'll take care of Timmy. It's obvious the DA isn't going to."

"He did what he could. Judges are unpredictable. This one felt that since this wasn't a murder case, you have two men with clean records, both with ties to the community...he didn't feel it was fair to detain them. The court dockets are backed up, so they'd have been locked up for as long as a year without being convicted." Bailey sighed. "Look, you're preaching to the choir. But it's out of my hands. If either one of them violates the terms of the protection orders, he'll be back in jail until the trial - - assuming there isn't a plea bargain."

"I know. Thanks for the warning, and the files you sent over. I'm still looking through those, though they don't look too promising. Any chance we could get a DNA test between the evidence from our house and Griffin?"

"I can put in a request, but it's not going to shoot to the top of the lab's priority list, especially since we don't have anything else on the guy, except that he probably doesn't like you, and our homicide case had a shitload of forensic evidence to wade through."

"Do what you can, huh?" Don concluded, feeling as defeated as he sounded. When he hung up, he looked back at his guests. "Sorry about that. I'm afraid I have some bad news."

"Judging from your conversation, I think we can figure out what it is. They're letting Fellows out on bail, aren't they?" Tanner asked.

"Yeah, I'm afraid so. Fellows and Biggins both. They don't have previous records, and the judge bought the argument that they've got ties to the community and they're not flight risks. There's an order of protection that prevents either of them from getting within 300 yards of you or Timothy, and they'll be in jail for the duration if they violate it. It's not much, but it's better than nothing."

"Not a hell of a lot," Mark grumbled. "I don't know why this should surprise me."

"Well, it's an assault case, not a homicide, and they have clean records. There's a valid argument from the defense standpoint that they shouldn't be doing time before they're convicted. I don't agree with it," Don said, holding up his hands to forestall an onslaught of angry response, "but it's hard to keep people in overcrowded jails who don't have records and pose a low flight risk. Even if they are assholes who should be strung up by their nuts and left there to rot." He held out the check. "I'm serious this time. Take this and hire yourselves some protection. I don't do bodyguard work, and I need to focus on protecting Tim, but I'd like to do something to help you guys stay safe until this is over."

"Thanks," Mark said, finally taking the check after a long hesitation. "Any recommendations on a good security service?"

"Kenny can set you up with a couple of names and numbers before you leave. They're both good firms and I've dealt with both of them, so let them know I recommended them, and they'll give you a good deal."

"Thank you," Tanner said, standing. "We should go." He shook hands with Don, who also stood. "Thanks again for finding a way to reach Kevin. Out of all of this mess, that's what I'm most worried about. I don't want my son growing up into another Fellows."

"For what it's worth, I don't think he will," Don said.

"Thanks for what you did for Rick," Mark said, shaking hands with Don. "And for, you know," he said, gesturing with the check.

"Not a problem. If there's anything else I can do," he said, handing Mark one of his business cards, "don't hesitate to call."

After they left, Don flipped through the file on Alan Griffin again. Sitting and waiting had never been his strong suit, so, decision made, he grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

"Are you gone for the day?" Kenny asked.

"I don't know. I need to see Timmy about something. Check and see if you can find some cheap flights to Richmond, Virginia, huh?"

"Departing when and returning when?" Kenny asked, pen poised.

"In the next few days, and I'd probably be there a couple days. Just get me some rates on that, okay?"

"Will do. You want me to grab it if I find a really low fare?"

"Call me first."

"Okay." He paused. "That guy's face is still majorly messed up, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is," Don said quietly. "It got to me, too. Scary stuff."

"His boyfriend seems really nice. That part about him selling off his guitars...that's pretty awesome."

"Sure is. Sick to think he got his face smashed in for having a relationship like that," Don said. If he were honest with himself, the visit from Tanner and his partner had shaken him, and it was obvious the stark reality of the hate crime Tanner suffered had taken a toll on Kenny's normally bouncy spirits. "I'll talk to you later," Don added, heading out the door.

********

When Don arrived at Tim's office, his partner was painstakingly explaining the why's and how's of organizing a perfect seating chart for a political fund raiser to the young man who had been at the hospital with the senator. Don had to smile at the saintly patience Tim had in correcting the young man's wrong choices and breaking into one of those beautiful smiles of his when it seemed his apprentice was catching onto the ways of the wizard himself.

"Donald!" Tim said, the happy smile turning into one of pure, radiant delight as he looked up from the project that had kept him oblivious to Don's presence as he leaned on the doorframe, watching them.

"Sorry to interrupt. I need to talk to you for a few minutes."

"Donald, this is Adam Garner. I think you two might have met at the hospital," Tim added.

"Not officially," Adam said, standing to shake hands with Don. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise, under better circumstances this time," Don said, smiling.

"I can go work on those phone calls if you want," he said to Tim.

"That would be great. Be sure you get the person we invited on the phone, and remember, the senator noticed their names weren't on the RSVP list, not me."

"Got it."

Don closed the door, which made Tim frown a little. Don sat in one of the chairs across from Tim's desk.

"You didn't close the blinds, too, so apparently you aren't going to try to convince me to make out in here, so it must be bad news."

"Believe me, I wish I was here to make out." Don grinned lecherously. "Well, not that I'll fight you off if you can't control yourself."

"I'll do my best to keep my hands on the desk," Tim said, resting his folded hands there as if to emphasize the point. Taking in Don's somewhat discouraged expression, he frowned. "Honey, what's wrong?"

"A couple things. Fellows and Biggins are out on bail pending their trials. There's a protection order that requires neither one approach you or Richard Tanner any closer than 300 yards."

"There's barely that far between our houses."

"That's the point. I guess the judge agreed with the defense arguments that they weren't big flight risks and didn't have prior records, but apparently he wanted to be sure they couldn't harass you or Tanner, either."

"So we're back to the buddy system, huh?" Tim asked, smiling a little. It didn't appear as if he minded being protected by Don picking him up, dropping him off, and otherwise watching over him.

"Yeah, definitely. I wanted to be sure you didn't go out running around without me."

"I have some errands I need to run for the fund raiser. For one thing, I need to go to the banquet hall and go over some of the arrangements. I have an appointment there this afternoon."

"I'll take you, no problem."

"There's something else eating you."

"I need to go to Richmond and talk to the Griffins. I can't just sit around here and read files and beg the cops to check his DNA, which could take God-knows-how-long, the way the labs are backed up. I asked Kenny to look up flights." Don paused. "I don't really want to go there alone," he added, his voice barely audible.

Tim got up and walked around his desk, pulling the other visitor chair up closer to Don's, so they were almost knees-to-knees.

"I wouldn't let you go there alone," he said, taking Don's hand and squeezing it gently. "But I can't leave until after this fund raiser Saturday night."

"Shit. I forgot about that," Don said, rubbing his forehead. "I don't mean I forgot your event, honey," he corrected, not wanting Tim to think that the project that was occupying his every waking moment at work, that they'd spent two hours talking about the night before, slipped his mind. "I guess I forgot about the timing."

"It's okay. You're still coming with me, right? Getting all dolled up in your tux?" Tim playfully adjusted Don's loosened tie.

"Of course, I am," he said, smiling at Tim. He hoped it was expressing even half of how much he loved Timmy when he did little things like that. "Is everything okay here?"

"How do you mean?" Tim asked, though Don suspected he knew perfectly well what the question meant.

"Anybody giving you a hard time about that video?"

"It's been a little embarrassing, but fortunately, a lot of people on the staff didn't even see it. It was posted in the evening, and thanks to Bailey really getting on it fast, it was down by late morning. The senator called a staff meeting while I was out of the office the rest of that day, and made it clear she wouldn't tolerate any nonsense stemming from the video." Tim looked down a minute. "It's just strange thinking that your boss and a handful of your coworkers have seen you naked and...involved." He blinked a couple times. "I don't hold anything back with you...I don't censor myself. I was never that open with anyone else," he added, looking uneasy. "It was just so...personal. I don't know how many people I know saw it. That's the hardest part. Meeting with the people I usually deal with and wondering how many of them saw it. Even this party Saturday night. The senator's just going on like nothing happened, having me assist her in hosting duties. But the press got a hold of it, and even though Bailey had it offline before they could really make an issue of it...even if people didn't see it, they know it happened."

"I know, " Don said, trying to put as much sympathy into the two little words as he could. He didn't have the same issues to face as Tim did. Kenny probably would have slapped him on the back and said, "Way to go" had he seen it. And he worked for himself, so he didn't have a boss to contend with. If some prospective client saw it, and didn't hire him because of it, he'd never know it. But Tim had to face a boss and a staff of coworkers every day. "But what the senator said was true. We were the victims here," Don said, then pausing, he added, "I hope you won't think this is creepy. It's not like I kept a copy of the video or anything, but when I saw it? All I could do was think to myself how amazingly beautiful you were."

"Thanks for trying to make me feel better about it. I'll be okay. Nobody's given me a hard time about it. There's a rumor going around that my boyfriend wouldn't like that, and he's very protective." Tim touched Don's face briefly.

"There's truth in that rumor," Don confirmed, smiling.

"Can we still go to Richmond after the fund raiser?"

"Yeah, I'll call Kenny and tell him to start looking for fares on flights leaving next week."

"Tomorrow night's the big Halloween block party, remember? How do you think that'll work with Fellows out on bail?"

"He can't come to that if you're there, and I doubt anyone's going to encourage him. After all, the Sheridans and the Jensens are the driving forces behind that party, and we're friends with both of them, and have been, since before Fellows even moved into the neighborhood. I don't picture him being welcomed."

"Maybe we should just not go. I don't want you to have to get into another confrontation with him."

"We're not going to hide in our house. You're looking forward to that party, and we're going."

"If it isn't safe, we won't go."

"It'll be safe," Don replied, leaning forward to give Tim a quick, office-appropriate kiss on the lips before he stood and headed for the door. "You stay inside until I get here tonight, remember?"

"I remember. I'll call you when I'm wrapping things up here." Tim stood and before Don could get the door open, pinned him to it, kissing him thoroughly, pulling their bodies close, wrapping his arms around him. In that little corner of the office, they were out of the range of prying eyes. "You be careful, too," he said, then he kissed Don again, with just as much tongue as the first time.

"Remind me to stop in here more often," Don said, grinning, happy to stay in a loose embrace with Tim for a few more stolen moments.

"That would be fine with me," Tim said sincerely.

"Can't have me in here interfering with your busy schedule," Don teased, not sure why he was treasuring this little secret tryst behind the office door.

"Not having time to see you would be like not having time to open the blinds and let the sunshine in." Tim rested his forehead against Don's.

"I love you," Don said, kissing him again, less intensely this time. "I better go before the senator catches us hiding behind your door," he added, laughing.

"You're right," Tim agreed, and released him, opening the door. As Don started to walk through it, Tim took a gentle hold of his arm and stopped him. He touched Don's face and kissed him softly, briefly, no tongue, but in view of the rest of the office. "We don't need to hide behind doors."

"You made my day, Timothy," Don said, blowing him a little kiss before he turned to leave, with a spring in his step that had been missing when he arrived.

********

They planned their trip to Richmond for the following Tuesday. Tim felt he should be back in the office Monday for the follow-up and post-mortem on his big fund raiser that Saturday, and to get the staff rolling on the usual thank-you's and other correspondence such a huge event always left in its wake. They only planned to be gone Tuesday and Wednesday, taking a dawn flight Tuesday and a red-eye back Wednesday night so Tim would be back in the office Thursday.

Don occupied himself with devoting some time to a couple divorce cases he was working, handling some garden variety tailing activities. Meanwhile, the big Halloween block party was on the horizon, and even though Tim seemed overextended by his twelve-hour work days leading up to the fund raiser, he was thriving in his participation in the party plans. He even managed to get out of work at a sane hour that evening to help set up, recruiting Don and Kenny to join him, Mike Sheridan, and Stan Jensen in stringing the outdoor lanterns and getting the rented tables and other essentials in place.

As darkness fell on the neighborhood, the setup was complete, the lanterns glowing, a vast array of food and non-alcoholic beverages available to the party goers. The children played traditional games like bobbing for apples, and some of the neighborhood mothers organized a costume contest. The band actually wasn't half bad, as long as you didn't concentrate too hard on the fact they still looked like an accountant, an attorney, a psychiatrist, and a bank vice president. They were covering songs by everyone from The Doors to Bon Jovi with varying levels of success.

"You guys are lucky to have nice neighbors," Kenny said through a mouthful he'd just bitten off a barbecued chicken leg. "And they can really cook, too."

"No arguments there," Don said, barely willing to give up the affair he was having with a big gob of Tim's pasta salad to answer. Whatever the secret ingredient was that starred in the old family recipe, Don really didn't care. All he knew is that he usually ate most of what Tim made of it, forcing him to make at least twice what he'd normally need for whatever the occasion was.

"He's never told you what he puts in this stuff, huh?" Kenny asked, trying it himself. "That's really good."

"Told you," Don said, still chewing happily.

"Where is Tim, anyway?" Kenny asked, looking around.

"He's over there with the Sheridans - - " Don spotted Margaret with a group of the women, and Mike, alone, making another sojourn past the food table. "Shit." Don tossed his plate in the nearest trash can and hurried over to where Mike was just reloading his. "Where's Tim?" he asked, knowing he sounded a little desperate. After all, there were a lot of people milling around out there, and Tim was a social butterfly at any form of a party.

"He said he was going back to the house to get the other bowl of that salad since the first batch is almost gone."

"He just left?"

"About ten, fifteen minutes ago, I guess. Is something wrong?"

"Where is he?" Kenny asked as he caught up to Don.

"He went back to the house," Don said, the worry clear in his voice. "I'll go check on him."

"There's no sign of Fellows around here, if that's what you're worried about," Mike spoke up. "We're all keeping an eye out for him."

"Thanks," Don said before hurrying across the street and down a house to their place, which was just a bit removed from the action. Kenny was following him, but all he could concentrate on was reaching the kitchen and finding Tim there, safe and sound, pulling the other bowl of pasta salad out of the refrigerator.

He pushed open the front door and yelled Tim's name, knowing it sounded overly loud and panicked, and expecting, praying, that Tim would poke his head around the corner and ask what all the commotion was about.

But he didn't. The house was dimly lit and silent, the way they'd left it when they went to the party.

"Timothy!" Don bellowed, his voice a cross between a shout and a desperate plea. He ran upstairs, calling to Tim, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that he wasn't going to find him. When he got back downstairs, Mike Sheridan and Stan Jensen were standing in the foyer with Kenny. "He's not outside anywhere, at the party?" Don asked, out of breath.

"We already looked. He's not out there. He headed right back here toward the house," Mike said.

"Did you see if he got inside? There's no sign he's been here," Don said, going into the kitchen and finding the bowl of salad right where Tim left it, on the top shelf of the refrigerator.

"I just saw him start out this way. Margaret got talking to some of the ladies, and I went back for refills on the food," Mike explained.

Don pulled out his cell phone and dialed Tim's number, crushed and visibly upset when it went to voicemail.

"He probably couldn't hear it outside with the band," Kenny said, and that thought did console Don...marginally.

"I'm going to Fellows' place," he said, heading determinedly for the door. Stan, a burly man of over six feet tall with a mustache and beard, could swing from big, jolly, and lovable to pissed off and intimidating at a moment's notice. Don imagined it was a skill that came in handy in his job as head of security for one of the local event venues.

"I'll go with you," he volunteered.

"Count me in," Mike said, and Don knew Kenny was in on the posse.

"Okay, let's go," Don said, leading the group out the door and down the sidewalk. Margaret rushed up to them.

"What's happening?" she asked, worried.

"We can't find Timmy," Don said, his stomach clenching at that thought. Timmy, honey, I let you down. I didn't watch you. I stuffed my face and visited with the neighbors and I let you get out of my sight.

"Now maybe he's just wandered off to one of the other houses. We're running low on Coke, and that's over at the Millers' house. Maybe he went with Jenny to help her with that."

"Will you go check with Jenny?" Don asked.

"Of course. What are you all doing? You're not going to the Fellows house, are you?"

"Margaret, go find Jenny Miller and see if Tim's with her. If not, the two of you start asking around, see if anyone saw him," Mike said, taking hold of his wife's shoulders. "We're going to make sure nothing's wrong. That's all."

"Don't you confront him and get yourself hurt," she demanded.

"There are four of us and one of him," Don said. "I'm armed." he patted his gun under his jacket.

"Oh, that's so much better," she said, throwing her hands in the air, striding off to complete her assignment, as if she realized arguing with her husband or the other men was pointless.

Don pounded on Fellows' front door, then rested his hand on his gun. The door opened, and Fellows glowered at the group of men on his porch.

"What the hell do you want?" he asked.

"I'm only going to ask you this one time, Fellows, and I better like the answer. Where is Timothy?"

"How the hell should I know where he is? Probably at the party with the rest of the wives," he added, glaring at Don.

"If you know anything about this, Fellows, now would be the time to spill it," Stan said.

"What's the matter, Strachey? Need to bring a few men along to protect you?"

"Where is he? If you've laid a hand on him, I swear to God - - " Don began, but Fellows just shook his head and grinned, interrupting.

"All these men worried about your wife, Strachey. I always knew he had a cute little ass, but I didn't know he was servicing the whole block."

Don didn't even think. He swung as hard as he could, his fist connecting with Fellows' jaw, sending him staggering backwards into the wall of his foyer.

"You've had it, asshole," Fellows said, mopping the blood trickling from his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm calling the cops."

"Yeah, you would do that," Stan said, almost shoving Don out of the way to confront his neighbor. "You can only win fights when you have two or three kids with you to back you up. And while we're at it, just why do you have such an interest in Don's partner's ass? Something about you you're not telling?"

"You can't just walk into my house and assault me!" he shouted, still righteously indignant.

"If you know where Tim is, you better tell us," Mike said. "You're an asshole and a bully, but even you aren't going to win one against four."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about. I haven't left the house all night."

"Where are your wife and daughter?" Don asked.

"I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that they've left. I'm here myself."

"Then you won't mind if we look around, make sure Tim's not here?" Stan asked.

"Yeah, I fucking mind you going through my house. I haven't seen him and I haven't been out."

"If you won't let us have a look for ourselves, we'll call the cops," Mike said.

"You probably don't want to do that after Strachey here just slugged me."

"You swung at him first, I saw it," Kenny spoke up.

"That's right, Fellows," Stan said. "You made a crude remark about his partner and then you took a swing at him. It was self defense. We all saw it."

"That's what I saw," Mike said, crossing his arms.

"Fine, look for yourselves. There's nobody here." Fellows stepped aside, and the four men entered, going through the house quickly, not finding any sign of Tim or a struggle. Fellows was still standing in his foyer, arms crossed over his chest. "Satisfied?"

"Just that he's not here. Not that you didn't do something to him," Don said, leading the group out of the house and down the front steps. He turned back before Fellows got the door closed. "If I find out you're involved in this - - "

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'm not." He slammed the door.

Don's cell phone rang. "Yeah," he said, not recognizing the number and not really caring, unless it was Tim trying to call him from some unfamiliar phone number.

"It's Margaret. I can't find any sign of Tim. Jenny and I have talked to everyone. We're breaking up the party to start going door-to-door."

"Thank you," Don said. The thought crossed his mind that Tim would offer vehement objections to them ruining the party because of him. "I'm calling it in," Don said, calling Bailey on his cell phone.

********

Tim blinked, not really wanting to open his eyes or move his head, which was pounding mercilessly at the moment. The last thing he remembered was walking back to the house...at least, he thought that's where he'd been going. Nothing was very clear at the moment, except for the pounding in his head, and the hardness of the surface under him.

He pushed himself up a bit until he was sitting on the floor. It was cold, like a grave, and he shivered. His clothes were gone, and all he wore was his t-shirt and boxers.

"Donald?" he asked, feeling sure Donald wasn't there, but wishing that somehow he would be, that he was dreaming. The room he was in was concrete. It had to be a basement, because there were no windows, just a single grimy bulb in the middle of the ceiling, a pull cord hanging down from it. There was nothing in the room except Tim himself. "Is anyone here?" he called out. If anyone else was in this place, whatever it was, they were silent. "Please, if you're there, answer me," he said, knowing it was futile. Whoever had done this apparently wanted to play with his mind.

Then the light went out, and the room was in complete darkness. He heard the sound of a door opening and closing, footsteps coming closer. "Who's there?" He almost reached out, but he was afraid of what his hand would encounter. He could sense someone close by, feeling like he was being watched. That was nonsense, though, because the room was in utter blackness.

"Please, who's there?" he asked again, hating to give his captor the satisfaction of knowing how afraid he was.

"Open your mouth," the voice commanded. He lurched back, frightened at the loudness and proximity of the sound.

"Why?" Tim questioned, knowing it was probably futile, but whatever this maniac wanted to put in his mouth, it was a good bet he wouldn't want it there.

"Open your goddamned mouth or I'll open it for you."

Tim clenched his jaw, too afraid of what was coming to obey an order he knew he should. He wasn't even surprised by the flurry of blows to his face. He was expecting to suffer for not cooperating. It was like a nightmare version of Let's Make A Deal - - the mystery oral torture behind door number one, or the beating behind door number two.

"I'm not telling you again. Open your mouth," the other man said, grasping him by the jaw. "And don't try anything, because this gun might just go off."

Tim tried to keep his mouth closed, his jaws clenched, but a sharp blow to his stomach made him gasp, and he felt something cold and metallic force its way into his mouth, bruising the roof of it. He sent up a silent prayer that this wasn't the end, that he wasn't going to be killed this way. It would be quick for him, but it would be eternal Hell for Donald, and he'd never forgive himself, and never get over it. Not after what happened to Kyle, and not without Tim there to help him through it.

"Hey, Strachey, you remember the last time one of your boyfriends had a gun in his mouth? You put it there, asshole. You destroyed Kyle and you just moved on to somebody else. What's it worth to you for me not to blow this one's brains out, huh?" he added.

Tim felt the bile rising in the back of his throat. The gun was jabbing at the roof of his mouth, the back of his throat... He felt tears trickling down his cheeks.

"There's one bullet in this gun. Let's see who Lady Luck is favoring tonight." He spun the barrel of the revolver. Tim closed his eyes, praying. Waiting for the explosion and to be propelled into the next life.

All that followed was a loud click. And his assailant's laughter as he pulled the gun out of Tim's mouth and backhanded him again. Then he grabbed a handful of Tim's hair, yanking his head a bit to the left, presumably so they were facing each other, though Tim could still see nothing.

"The next time I tell you to do something, you're going to do it. Otherwise, I'll just blow your fucking head off and be done with it."

"Please..." His voice trailed off. He didn't know what he was hoping for, what he thought his captor would grant him in return for a simple plea for mercy. The painful grip on his hair loosened, but then he felt something cold and sharp lightly skimming up the skin of his leg to the edge of the fabric of his boxers.

"Do you think Strachey would still want you if you didn't have a dick? Or are you always on the bottom anyway?" The blade of the knife made its way under the leg opening of his shorts, the very tip brushing the skin of his balls. The pressure was enough to let him know it was there against him, but it didn't cut him.

"If I gave you a choice between your dick and your partner's, which one should I cut off?"

"Donald's here? Please, let me see him. I'll do whatever you want. Just let me see Don."

"I guess I'll cut his off instead." And then the blade was gone, the other man was moving, footsteps were retreating.

"Wait! Please don't hurt him. Do whatever you want to me, but please don't hurt Donald!" he shouted, standing, disoriented, dizzy, his hands extended, groping uselessly in the darkness.

"You had your chance," the voice said, and then a door slammed and a lock turned.

Tim rushed forward, slamming into the unforgiving cement wall. He slid his hands along the surface, trying to find the door. Finally, he encountered a wood surface that had to be the door. He began pounding on it. He pounded on it with all his strength, ignoring the pain in his hands, not caring how badly he bruised them.

********

"We've been through the entire neighborhood at least three times," Kenny said, his voice sounding weary. "Even the cops are wrapping up. Bailey said they were setting up at the house in case of any ransom calls," Kenny added.

"I should have watched him more carefully."

"We were at a party with dozens of people - - "

"The perfect diversion." Don trudged tiredly back toward the house. Only two unmarked sedans remained in the driveway, and most of the remnants of the block party had been disassembled. It was nearly midnight. Other people were in their homes, with their families. He was heading back for an empty shell, feeling as if the house was as gutted as he felt himself without Timmy there.

Inside, Bailey and a couple technicians were still there, the phone line tapped.

"You really think they're going to call the house phone instead of my cell?"

"We're monitoring that, too," Bailey said. "We've got all the bases covered." Bailey hesitated a moment. "One of my men found these in the shrubs near the house," he said, holding up a plastic evidence bag containing Tim's glasses.

"Oh, my God," Donald said, taking them from him. He fought to keep his composure. The only person he ever really opened up to was Timmy, and he wasn't there. Even Kenny's hand on his back did nothing to console him. There was no point in falling apart without Timmy there to catch the pieces and put them back together.

"I have to hang onto these until we make sure there aren't any other prints on them." Bailey took the glasses in their bag out of Don's hand with an uncharacteristic gentleness.

"What did the Richmond PD say about Griffin?"

"He's accounted for at his apartment. I just heard back from them a few minutes ago. I'm sorry, but it's not him, and we searched Fellows' place, and even Biggins' parents' house. We've done a house-to-house search of the neighborhood. Nothing."

"So what are you doing now?" Don asked.

"We're at a point of wait and see. We've got his description out to departments across the state, along with the photo you provided."

"We can't just sit here and wait around while he's out there somewhere, maybe injured...maybe worse..." He turned to Kenny. "We'll go back through all those case files, start at the beginning, maybe there's someone we overlooked. A relative, a friend, someone..."

"I'll go to the office and get to work. I'll run every name in every file from the stack you pulled."

"And be sure to check my notes, even if they're not listed on some tidy little form."

"I will." With that, Kenny hurried out the door.

"Did you ever get anything on that black Dodge Charger?" Don asked.

"Do you know how many people own black Dodge Chargers in New York State, even just here in Albany?" Bailey asked.

"I don't care. I'll check every one of them if I have to."

"I know you have a contact at the DMV, so you can probably take care of this one on your own," Bailey said, giving Don a feigned look of exasperation. Don knew he was trying to keep up the banter, keep the tone light.

"If she can't do it for me, will you authorize her giving me the list?"

"Just use my name and tell her to get you whatever it is you need."

There was a sharp knock at the door, and Don drew his gun, then opened it, in a movement so swift that Bailey hadn't drawn yet.

A group of about a dozen of their neighbors were outside.

"We talked it over and decided it might be a good idea to organize a search party," Mike Sheridan said.

"That's a nice gesture of you folks, but we generally wait until daylight to organize search teams," Bailey said.

"That's six hours from now," Margaret said. "If my husband was out there somewhere, I wouldn't want a search party to wait six hours because they were afraid of the dark," she said, hands on her hips.

"She has a point there, Bub," Don said, smiling a little, crossing his arms and looking at the cop.

"It's not about being afraid of the dark, Mrs. Sheridan. It's about trying to search for someone when the conditions aren't optimal to locate them."

"It's not going to be optimal for him to be with whoever took him another six hours while we all go to bed and forget about it," Stan spoke up. "You know as well as we do that the sooner we find him, the better chance we have of finding him alive."

"Strachey, if you want to organize this, it's up to you. We don't have any reason to believe we're looking for a body at this point, so where are you searching and what are you looking for?"

"What if someone did something to him and then let him out somewhere? He could be wandering around out there, hurt and confused, and not be able to get home on his own," Laura Jensen spoke up. "Paul here owns the True Value not far from here," she said, gesturing at one of the other neighbors. "He's going to open up and get us flashlights, high-powered lanterns, whatever we need. We're going to search the rural areas, and some of the rougher sections of the city. Some wooded areas. We'll start tonight, and we'll keep re-evaluating and finding new places to search until we find something - - or you do," she said to Bailey.

"Even if we don't find anything," Don said, "this is going to mean the world to Timmy when he gets home, that you all showed up to help."

"Tim helped Ryan bring up his grade in his political science class last year," Laura said. "He wouldn't have passed if Tim hadn't taken him job shadowing and spent time explaining so many things to him. He's got Ryan thinking about a career in politics now, and he was barely passing the class last Fall," she added, smiling. "We want to help. We'll do something different if our ideas aren't good ones in your opinion."

Don wondered if Tim had told him about that, if he'd tuned it out as just more nattering about politics, or if Tim had just quietly done it while Don was engrossed in a major case or spending his nights on surveillance activities. Tim valued community, and he obviously worked at it even more than Don realized. A dozen people were on their porch on a cold October night ready to take up flashlights and lanterns and scour the city to find him. He'd just chalked it up to this being a friendlier place to live as their neighbors waved and spoke as cheerfully to Don as they did to Tim, and waved back and gone on with his life. Meanwhile, Tim had been diligently working at making them a place in the community, in building friendships Don didn't even know they had.

********

Tim had no concept of time, of night or day, or where he was. He was in total blackness, feeling the pain in his battered hands from uselessly pounding on the door, and the rawness in his throat from screaming at his captor, a constant dull thobbing in his head, and his face felt bruised and there was blood in his mouth and a split in his lip. He wondered if it hurt Donald this much every time he got beaten up, or if he was just not strong enough to man up and take it.

He huddled there on the floor with his knees drawn up, trying to settle his nerves, trying to tell himself that he didn't know for sure that Donald was even there. He didn't know where he was, let alone where Donald was. He shivered from the cold, and he had to go to the bathroom. He'd had to go for a couple hours, but he couldn't bring himself to urinate on the floor like some kind of caged animal forced to wallow in its own waste in the dark.

Think, Timothy. Blind people live like this every day. Total darkness, no flashlights or lamps or diagrams to guide them. You are in a small square room, and you saw it once. You know where the door is. You're sitting next to it.

Encouraged by forcing his mind to work, and armed with a project, he decided to learn the layout of his little prison. Standing, he reached up to hold onto his head. He felt the back of his hair and found it matted with blood, a large lump beneath his hand. The pain made him nauseous, but he fought the wave of vomit that threatened to make its appearance. If he had to piss and puke on the floor, he was going to do it on his own terms, in a designated corner where he wouldn't wind up standing in it.

He pressed his back against the door, and then paced off the distance along the wall, his right hand on the cement for guidance. He went slowly so that when he did bump into the opposite wall, he didn't painfully impact the cement the way he had the first time he rushed foolishly across the room.

When he said he was going to castrate Donald because you didn't speak up fast enough...

Swallowing, Tim resolved not to think about that. He couldn't. This was going to be a battle of wits and wills with his captor, and his captor already had a number of obvious advantages. If Donald was there, and especially if he was hurt, it was even more urgent that he figure a way out of this.

He knew there was a cord dangling from the lightbulb in the middle of the room, but the light had gone out as if the power had been cut, not from someone pulling the cord. He made a mental note of that piece of information in case it might help later.

He reached the opposite wall in an estimate of about ten feet. At the corner, he turned and paced off the next wall, the feeling of the tangible cement surfaces keeping him sane in the blackness. He wasn't blind, he wasn't crazy, and he wasn't in Hell. He was in a small, windowless cement room with a light fixture with no power, and a single door. A ten by twelve room, he thought as he met the end of the current wall he was measuring.

He lost count of how many times he went around the perimeter of that room, but when he was finished, he was tired, but he could walk without clutching at the wall for guidance. He could judge the distance from the back wall of the room to the door, and from side to side. Next, he got on his hands and knees and started feeling his way across the floor, in a logical back and forth pattern from wall to wall. He encountered nothing sharp, uneven, or unusual in the floor surface, which meant he would be safe to walk on it blindly without injuring his feet or slipping on something.

Tim and his little cell were intimate friends now. He knew every inch of it the way a man knows every inch of his lover's body. He banished that thought, unable to stand to think about Donald, whether or not he was really here and maybe hurt, or worse, or the even more unthinkable possibility that he might never see him again. Disgusted with himself that he couldn't hold it any longer, he designated the back corner of the room as the place for it, and finally relieved his bladder before it took matters into its own hands and left him with wet shorts. He wondered if Don knew some trick for controlling your bladder in prolonged captivity. He almost smiled to himself as he thought about the conversation that would make over a shaker of martinis.

********

Donald had attempted to be buoyed by the optimism of the little neighborhood search party, but he knew most of their legwork and effort was probably for nothing. Whoever took Tim didn't want to be found, and probably didn't want Tim to be found that easily, either. Why go through an elaborate kidnaping plot to slap him around a little and let him out by the side of the road?

There was no ransom demand. He was just...gone.

Now, the police were interested in the services of the volunteers. Bailey was quietly organizing them and police personnel to start looking in wooded areas and other more outlying areas. The spots that were most conducive for dumping bodies.

It was almost twenty-four hours since the awful moment when he'd been gorging himself on Timmy's pasta salad with Kenny, and realized something was wrong. Kenny was slumped over the desk in the PI office, having spent most of that time sifting through files and running endless background checks on practically everyone Don had ever pissed off in his career. They were laboriously cross referencing list after list with the staggering list of black Dodge Charger owners in the Albany area.

Don was exhausted when he walked into their bedroom, determined to just shower, shave, change, and get back at it. Get back at all that busy work you're doing to make yourself feel like you're really covering some ground, progressing toward getting Timmy back. He realized then how little time they'd actually spent apart since they were married. Once in a great while something came up that took one of them out of town without the other, but it was rare. And it was even rarer that Don was home like this in the tastefully lit silence of their home, and Tim wasn't.

He took his shower, shaved, put on clean clothes, and ignored the little sway of dizziness from no sleep and no food. He felt nauseated by the thought of eating. It was all he could do not to burst into tears when he'd opened the refrigerator downstairs and the remaining bowl of Tim's pasta salad was sitting there on the top shelf, right where Timmy left it. He knew nothing would put Tim's mind at ease more, wherever he was, than to know Don was taking care of himself, eating something...something Timmy made that Don loved so much. Still, he couldn't get more than a glass of water past his turbulent stomach.

When he walked back into the bedroom, he tried not to look too hard at the bed, or even think about it. It was getting late. It was unseasonably cold outside, and it was raining. If Don was home, this would be a night they'd crawl into their big bed, Tim with an assortment of reading material and Don with the remote, and read, watch TV, talk, cuddle, make out, and just generally be together. Don would finally succumb to hunger and make a snack run, and Tim would bitch about him getting crumbs in the bed or Cheetos dust on the sheets. And then he might just lick the tips of Don's fingers, just to prevent any staining of the sheets.

Timmy might never come back. He might be dead already, his body carelessly discarded somewhere in the cold, rainy night.

Don sat on Tim's side of the bed, touching the cover of a paperback Tim left on the night stand, knowing tears were rolling down his cheeks and not caring. In a little glass trinket jar next to the book was Tim's rosary. It was a simple rosary with black beads and a silver crucifix. He'd had it as long as Don knew him, and it was usually in his night stand drawer, or in this little glass dish on the night stand.

Or wound around his hand on nights he fell asleep alone and Don was working.

It was something Don didn't really think about much...Tim's religion. He didn't preach, he wasn't flamboyant or overt about praying. He certainly wasn't a goody-two-shoes, uptight, guilt-riddled ex-seminarian who couldn't let go and have a good time. But his faith was strong, and even being rejected by the Church as a Hell-bound sinner for loving another man hadn't shaken it. Tim seemed comfortable in his relationship with his God, and leaned on it when there was nothing else to lean on...when Don wasn't there to lean on. They still went to Mass on Christmas Eve, and Easter Sunday. Don even made the effort to get time off to sit through Good Friday services with Tim, because his partner still considered the hours between noon and three on that day to be sacred, and it seemed to mean a lot to him that Don put his work on hold, too, to respect that.

And his rosary would be in the dish or in the drawer, unless Donald wasn't home, and then it was around his hand in his sleep, still there from prayers said in the dark and the quiet for Don's safety, to bring him home unhurt and alive. Timmy worried about him, and now it was occurring to Don that he also prayed for him. He wasn't just worried, he was scared. Scared like Don was now, knowing Tim was in real danger.

He almost hesitated to touch the beads. They seemed so intimately Timmy's, as if he were intruding on some private channel of communication between Tim and his Maker. They were just onyx and silver, just materials fashioned into beads and a cross with a little figure on it. Tim had mentioned once that it had been blessed when he was in Rome.

Not given to a lot of praying or calling on a God that he often thought looked the other way when he needed someone so badly, Don felt strange holding the rosary in his hands, like he might somehow ruin the holiness of it, as if the blessing Tim got for it in Rome was some kind of fairy dust that could be wiped off by the hands of someone less worthy to hold it.

He felt the sobs coming in a tidal wave, and he let them come, closed up here in their bedroom, the helpful neighbors and the one or two cops still at the house held at bay, downstairs, out of earshot, at least he hoped. He held onto the beads and lay on Tim's side of the bed, letting the fear of what might be have its way with him, if only for just a few moments. He didn't have any fancy words to use to negotiate with God and, after all, Timmy was the politician.

"Please just give him back to me. I love him so much," he sobbed, holding the rosary against his heart, as if he could somehow pull Tim closer to him that way.

There was a sharp knock at the door, and it opened before Don could get all the way up and wipe at his eyes. He kept his head down, not wanting to meet Bailey's eyes, at least not until he was in a less pathetic state.

"Sorry to wake you," he said, though they both knew that he knew Don was crying, not sleeping. He appreciated Bailey letting him have his dignity. "There's something you need to see."

"What?" Rescued by Timmy even in his absence, he was relieved to grab a couple Kleenex from the box on Tim's night stand and blow his nose. He put Tim's rosary around his neck and dropped it down his collar. When I find Tim, he'll be glad to see it. Maybe it'll comfort him to hold it if he's been afraid.

"Somebody slipped a DVD under the door of your PI office within the last hour. Kenny's downstairs. He's pretty upset. He was working on the computer and didn't hear anything. He found it about half an hour ago. I've got men all over the area, but he probably just walked in, slipped it under your door, and walked out."

"The son of a bitch was at my office?" Don said, following Bailey downstairs. "I thought you had your tech guy there watching the phone."

"Yes, I did, and that's what he was doing, watching the phone."

"There's a security camera in the parking lot."

"Someone spray-painted the lens black. You can't get a decent look at him from the angle he approached it."

"Shit, shit, shit!" Don shouted as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

"I'm so sorry," Kenny said, following him to the kitchen counter where Bailey had a laptop set up to view the disc. "I was working on the computer and I didn't hear anything - - "

"Just...don't say anything to me right now," Don said, holding up his hands.

"I want to warn you. The video is kind of...disturbing. The lab's going over the original with a fine-tooth comb."

"Is it Timothy?"

"Yes," Bailey said, nodding.

"Is he still alive?"

"He is in the video. He doesn't look like he's badly hurt...mostly scared."

"Just let me see it." Don braced his arms on the counter while Bailey clicked on the right spot to play the video.

The video was green and black, obviously shot by a camera with a night vision lens, the unsteadiness of the camera making it seem as if it were somehow attached to the person taunting Tim.

And there was Tim, in his t-shirt and shorts, trying to crawl into the wall to get away from his tormentor.

"Open your mouth," the voice commanded.

"Why?"

The fear in that question tore Don's heart in half.

"Open your goddamned mouth or I'll open it for you."

Don had to force himself to watch the terror in Tim's face, the frantic, wide-eyed, unseeing look that made him appear blind. The kidnapper could see him, but he couldn't see the kidnapper. The son of a bitch was keeping him in the dark, terrorizing him. He couldn't even see the blows coming that Don had to watch, feeling them on a visceral level as if they'd landed on him instead of Tim.

"I'm not telling you again. Open your mouth," the other man said, grasping him by the jaw. "And don't try anything, because this gun might just go off."

"Oh, sweet Jesus, Timmy, just open your mouth," Don said, clenching his fists, knowing that Bailey wouldn't have had him watch this if Tim ended up dead. But it was a good bet he was going to suffer more for not cooperating.

Tim was keeping his mouth closed, but a vicious gut punch changed that, and the gun was in his mouth.

"Hey, Strachey, you remember the last time one of your boyfriends had a gun in his mouth? You put it there, asshole. You destroyed Kyle and you just moved on to somebody else. What's it worth to you for me not to blow this one's brains out, huh?" he added.

"You motherfucking son of a bitch! I'll kill you!" Don shouted at the screen, knowing it was pointless, but unable to stop himself. Tim was shaking and crying and the asshole was just forcing the gun harder into his mouth.

"Take it easy, Don. He was okay at the end of the video," Bailey said, giving Don's shoulder a squeeze.

"There's one bullet in this gun. Let's see who Lady Luck is favoring tonight." He spun the barrel of the revolver. Tim closed his eyes, looking resigned to his fate.

All that followed was a loud click. And his assailant's laughter as he pulled the gun out of Tim's mouth and backhanded him again.

"The next time I tell you to do something, you're going to do it. Otherwise, I'll just blow your fucking head off and be done with it."

"Please..." Timmy didn't even seem to know what he was begging for. Then his captor took out a knife and skimmed up the skin of his leg to the edge of the fabric of his boxers.

"I need something to send to your boyfriend."

"Please..." Timmy pleaded, breathing hard, his eyes darting around in the darkness.

Don's arms physically ached to hold him, to protect him, to get between him and the monster who was hurting him like this.

"Do you think Strachey would still want you if you didn't have a dick? Or are you always on the bottom anyway?"

"No..." Don said, feeling his legs getting rubbery.

"He doesn't cut him," Bailey said, the calmness in his voice marginally reassuring. "He doesn't injure him, just scares him."

"Why are you doing this to me?" Tim was almost in tears again, he was so afraid, and still unable to focus on his tormentor. The son of a bitch was touching his leg with the knife, running it under the leg of his shorts, touching him with the knife.

"If I gave you a choice between your dick and your partner's, which one should I cut off?"

"Fuck," Don muttered, holding a hand up to his forehead, pacing without really moving from the spot, a sort of jitter more than a step.

"Donald's here? Please, let me see him. I'll do whatever you want. Just let me see Donald."

Tim was panicking now, and the look in his eyes was an impossible mixture of hope and horror at the thought Don was there, too.

"I guess I'll cut his off instead."

The picture became very shaky then as the kidnapper presumably started backing out of the room.

"Wait! Please don't hurt him. Do whatever you want to me, but please don't hurt Donald!" Tim was pleading, crying, panicking, groping in the darkness and almost touching his assailant more than once.

"You had your chance," the voice said, and then a door slammed between them.

The camera stayed focused on the door, and Timmy's desperate cries and screams and the pounding of his fists on the door echoed in Don's head.  

There was a transition, and the next scene was a man in his early thirties, sitting in a brown easy chair. He was tall and slender, with brown hair and glasses. There was an unmistakable family resemblance.

"John Griffin," Don muttered.

"Okay, Strachey, now you know I'm not screwing around here. Years ago, you made a decision to save your own ass and sell out my brother, and it killed him. Now I'm going to give you a chance to make that choice again. You can be the same yellow, spineless asshole you were back then and save your own skin, or you can come here, meet me face to face, and settle the score like a man. If you come here, alone, and play by the rules, I won't kill your boyfriend. When we're done, I'll let him go. If you don't come, or you bring any kind of cops, feds, or reinforcements with you, I'll stick that gun back in his mouth and blow his brains out. I'm going to give you an address, and if you come here, alone, by midnight, we'll settle this score like men. I'll even give you the advantage of telling you that I have this property under heavy electronic surveillance. So if you're too scared to come and face me alone, and you bring cops, I'll kill your partner as soon as the first one sets foot across the property line." After he gave the address, a road far outside of town among the farms of Albany County, Bailey stopped the video.

"John Griffin is an expert at electronic surveillance and he's an electrical engineer. Between that and the high-tech night vision camera, I think we can assume he's not lying," Don said. "I have to go out there alone or he'll kill Timothy."

"That's out of the question. We've already got one innocent victim to worry about - - "

"I know that! That innocent victim is my partner! And I'm going to get him out of there. I promised him once that I'd always protect him, always take care of him. I'm not breaking that promise."

"The FBI knows how to get around surveillance. I'm not saying that we don't need you to be involved in this, but I'm saying that I can't stand back and let you commit some kind of Romeo and Juliet-style suicide."

"Let me go in alone. Get him distracted. Play it his way. Then your people can try to get around his surveillance. But if we don't at least give him the illusion of cooperating, and one of your guys makes a mistake, Tim dies. I don't like those odds."

"I don't like this."

"I'm not crazy about it, either, but it's the only way to give Tim a fighting chance." Don paused, watching Bailey intently. "You know I'm right about this."

********

End of Part 2

On to Part 3