Title: Basket Cases

Sequel To: Nobody's Perfect
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)
Pairing: Donald and Timothy
Rating: R, for dialogue

Word Count: 2152
References/Spoilers: Can't think of any.
Disclosure: I wish they were mine. Alas, they are not, so I'm just taking them out for a spin with thanks to the men who created them and the actors who brought them to life.
Summary: Donald and Timothy make Easter baskets and some interesting conversation. This is a sequel to "Nobody's Perfect" but you can probably read this without reading that and still figure it out. :-)

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BASKET CASES

by

Candy Apple

There's nothing better than a long, monotonous project to foster some good conversation. I think every couple in need of couples therapy should just wrap a bunch of Christmas presents together, or sit at their dining room table and assemble Easter baskets together. Either one will put you in a reasonably festive mood, and yet bore you unconscious at the same time. So, if you share that project with someone, you'll end up talking to each other out of desperation, even if you don't particularly want to.

I love to just sit and talk with Donald. We don't have enough time to do that. Our schedules are usually at war with each other - he's out late at night and sleeps in some mornings while I'm up at the crack of dawn and home by about six on my wildest night. (Donald has some kind of delightfully filthy pun about the "crack of dawn," but I can't quite remember it at the moment.)

The gay rights group we belong to engages in different charity projects and fundraisers during the year - both because we like to do it, and because, let's face it, we need all the good public relations we can get if we're going to recover from the defeat of gay marriage in New York State. I hate to throw the jelly beans of cynicism into the Easter basket of life, but reality is reality.

Anyway, I found this particular project very rewarding. We were making Easter baskets for children in need, and were working with a homeless shelter and a couple of after school programs to distribute them. I realize needy kids don't have enough food, clothing, or appropriate shelter, but sometimes they should get impractical fun things just for being kids - toys, candy - things that really make kids' eyes light up.

So our dining room looked like the Easter candy aisle at Wal-Mart exploded there, and Donald was learning more about tying cellophane and properly affixing colorful bows to it in a pleasing manner than he felt any man should know. I had to take him off candy detail because he was eating more than he was packing. When I finally discovered the source of the Butterfinger egg shortage, he had moved on to the Peeps. I know I'm in love when even having to go out for more chocolate eggs when I started out with plenty doesn't aggravate me.

It's part and parcel of one of the things I love the most about Donald - the little kid that has somehow survived inside the man who has been through so much. The one who tears into presents with such earnest and unbridled excitement that it makes you wish Christmas came ten times a year, and the same one who gorges until he's nearly green on Easter candy if you make the mistake of leaving it unguarded in his presence. It's that sense of fun and wonder and joy that somehow hunkered down inside Donald through some horrible times, and survived to slowly re-emerge over the years we've been together. If I've had a hand in bringing that out in him, nothing could make me happier. Running low on candy is a small price to pay. Still, we had to have enough candy left to at least put the baskets together.

Having been busted and reassigned to cellophane and bows, he was a bit less excited about the project, but he was getting good at it, nonetheless, and we were still chattering on about some of the spring improvements we had planned for the yard, one of the thornier cases he was working on, and a whole lot of other miscellaneous subjects. The children who got the baskets he did when he was at the low end of the bow learning curve would just have to recognize their baskets' inner beauty - at least there would be candy inside! And what kid really lingers over the cellophane and bow anyway?

"I would have thought you'd had your fill of sweets from that big slab of cake Jennifer sent home with me," I said, referring to the birthday cake. Jennifer had cut a large square of it and sent it to Donald. The girls in the office all like him - he's always got a friendly word for them, or the occasional box of donuts when he comes to visit me. Donald sent Jennifer some goofy card for her birthday with a hunky looking guy on it. It's a bit of a love-hate relationship, though, since more than one of them have voiced objections to the cosmic injustice of my getting flowers for every occasion that warrants them, and I'm a man, and half their husbands or boyfriends miss the boat, leaving their desks barren on certain key holidays.

"I finished that off night before last. I took it with me on that stakeout," he said. I was concentrating on placing the candy in one of the baskets, but I heard him chewing. A live rabbit wouldn't have gone through as much of the food as he did.

"Donald," I said, a slight scold in my voice.

"What?" He looked up at me, all big blue eyes and innocence. I was preparing to do the Heimlich maneuver on him, because he must have swallowed whole, instantly, whatever he'd been chewing.

"You're eating something."

"No I'm not."

"You were eating something. Don't lie to me by semantics," I said, pinning him with an intent look. It was my best intent look. The closest I could come to making him think he was really in trouble with me.

"Okay, I stole a few jelly beans. Nobody'll miss 'em - it's just the white ones. I like the anus flavor best."

"Oh, dear God," I muttered, laughing, shaking my head. He was yanking my chain. "Anise-flavored, Donald."

"I say anus, you say anise," he joked with a dismissive flick of his hand. "Come on, Timothy. You won't go out to eat with me until we finish these things, and I'm starving."

"We had breakfast."

"Which got my metabolism going for lunch."

"It's only eleven. You'll live another hour or two until we're finished."

"You're a hard man, Timmy." He paused. "Are you? Because I could take care of that for you, and I bet you could still pack baskets while I did it. Give me something more worthwhile to put in my mouth besides the jelly beans."

"You really are going to drive me insane," I complained. "Now I know what to talk about the next time the office conversation turns to things about our spouses that irritate us."

"You talk about that in your office?"

"That was the topic of conversation at Jennifer's birthday party. Her boyfriend forgot her birthday, so the subject turned to all the faults of our significant others."

"Sounds like fun," Donald said, his tone holding more than a little sarcasm. But there was something else in his voice, too. Something I didn't like.

"No, actually, it wasn't. It felt a bit like a bashing session." I watched Donald, because he was still quiet. He perfected another bow and set the basket aside, moving on to the next one. They were starting to look really nice, and for some reason, that made me love him even more. We'd been joking and bantering, and he had to know I didn't really give a damn about the candy. But if I didn't catch him and scold him, it would take all the adventure out of stealing it and rob us of one of our favorite things to "fight" about.

"So what did you pick out about me?" he asked, finally, a bit more quietly that usual, almost as if he were inwardly cringing, waiting for the response.

"I couldn't think of anything that was significant enough to bring up," I said honestly. He looked at me for a moment or two, as if he were processing that.

"There's got to be things I do that annoy you. I know, because I see you annoyed from time to time."

"So? I annoy you, too. That's part of being married to another human being. What would you say about me, if someone asked you what I did that gets under your skin?"

"That might not be the right way to ask me. Just the sound of your voice gets under my skin, but in a good way. A very good way," he added, one corner of his mouth tugging up a little. But the subject still made him uneasy, that much was obvious.

"Nobody's perfect, honey. But you're perfect for me. That's what I told them."

"You really said that?"

"Of course, I really said that."

"I ate three of the Butterfinger eggs."

"Four, actually," I corrected. There was one emptied three pack, and one missing out of the second. I know, because I know how many I bought, and how many were in the baskets. Consequently, I knew how many were in Donald, too. I may not be the detective in the house, but there's nothing wrong with my math skills.

"I ate a bunch of those sticky chickens."

"The Peeps? Yeah, I know about those, too. Why do you think you're doing bows and cellophane now?"

"I've eaten a lot of these white anus beans, too."

"I used to like those before you started calling them 'anus' beans."

"You really didn't say anything bad about me?"

I sighed and got up from my chair and moved over to the chair closest to Donald's. I put my arm around him and touched my forehead to his.

"Honey, what did you think I would say?"

"I don't know." He tried to sound nonchalant about it, but he was tense. That broke my heart.

"I love you, Donald. Just the way you are. If you changed, even the things that I might think sometimes it'd be nice if you did, then you wouldn't be you anymore. And you're who I want."

"You really didn't think of anything to say?" He looked at me with such sincerity and such hopefulness, that I had to kiss him. Right then. So I did. It was long, but it was gentle and full of as much love as I could put into it.

"You remember last summer when we were lying around in the lounge chair, watching the grass grow?"

"And grow, and grow," he added, laughing. "Yeah, I remember."

"I know we were napping a little, too, so maybe you don't remember what I said. But the radio was playing, and Sunshine of My Life came on, and I told you that's what you were to me."

"I wouldn't forget that," he said, smiling at me. Funny I should mention sunshine, because that smile if his is just like the sun coming out on a cloudy day.

"Any more questions?" I teased, kissing him again.

"No, I think that covers it."

"Come on. I'll buy you lunch, and we'll stop and pick up the extra candy we need on the way home."

"I wouldn't have said anything, either," he volunteered, touching my cheek. "If anyone asks me about my partner, I just usually brag about how smart you are, and beautiful, and that you're too good for me."

"Start leaving that last part off." I still had my arms around him, and that wasn't the time to let go. I'm not too good for Donald. I'm blessed to have him. I told him so. One of my goals in life is to undo the damage some of the people who have hurt him so badly have done to him. "I never, ever, question your love for me, and you show me you love me in a thousand little ways all the time. You're the best thing that ever happened to me, baby, and whenever I think about you, it makes me smile. Don't you ever forget that."

"I ate two of the Cadbury eggs, too," he said bumping noses with me, blinking a little moisture out of his eyes.

"Now you're pushing your luck," I replied, kissing him, holding him tight in my arms, loving the taste of chocolate when it's wrapped around the taste of Donald.

Easter never seemed to be much of a romantic holiday to me, but it's about joy, life, celebration, rebirth. Being with Donald over the years has been, and continues to be, pretty much about the same things.

HAPPY EASTER!