Title: Long Distance
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)
Pairing: Donald and Timothy
Rating: NC-17 

Word Count: 6157
References/Spoilers: References to Timmy's employment, vague references to Donald's past.
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: Timothy goes on a business trip, and the guys have a rough time with their first separation. Sequel to the story, "Paradise" in the One Night Series.

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

LONG DISTANCE

by

Candy Apple

My first business trip with my new boss was exciting on a professional level, and a real revelation on a personal level. It was no surprise to me that Donald had very quickly become the center of my universe and the absolute favorite part of my life, but I guess I had underestimated just a bit how central he was to my everyday schedule.

How my day just didn't start out on a good note when I didn't wake up next to him. Even if he'd come in late, had sprawled in some ungainly position in his fitful pre-dawn sleep, and farted under the blankets. Okay, so most mornings were the stuff of romantic sonnets, waking up entwined in each other's arms, or comfortably close so some parts of our bodies were touching, or almost touching. And usually, seeing his sweet face, even if it was sleeping, and a little drool was leaking from the corner of its mouth, made me smile and remember how lucky I was as I got up to face a new day. But we're all human, and we all have our less than elegant moments, especially in the unguarded state of sleep.

The five star hotel where we were staying offered a bed that was definitely more luxurious than ours, every amenity even I could come up with that a good hotel should offer. I didn't sleep a wink. I flopped around like a beached fish, acknowledged how obscenely comfortable the bed was, and came to an unsettling realization at three in the morning.

I missed Donald's cold feet tucked in some insidious way under my feet or my legs, sucking the warmth from my flesh to his. I missed wrapping myself around him like he was a human body pillow, and dozing off to sleep to the rhythm of his breathing. I wondered why I didn't at least get a few hours' solid sleep before three in the morning, because he often slips in about then, and if I couldn't sleep alone, I'd be unemployed by now, because I'd never be able to get up for work day after day on a couple hours' sleep.

But even when he isn't there, I know he's coming. And if he's in trouble or hurt, I know I'm a phone call away, and I could go to him, or get to a hospital, God forbid, if he needed me.

All the way in Washington DC, if he was hurt, he could die before my flight could get me there, or worse yet, who would know he was missing if not for me? After that horrendous thought, I finally sat up in bed, turned on the light, and thought about calling him. And then it became an obsession. It was like some kind of plea was wafting across the miles from him. He'd never call me at three in the morning when I was away on business, but that didn't mean he wasn't awake and needing the contact as much as I was.

I dialed his cell phone, and a ragged voice answered. At first, I felt awful, thinking I had disturbed him on a rare night when he was sleeping normal hours. But I know the difference between sleepy Donald and distressed Donald, and this was distressed Donald, even though I knew he'd never admit it.

"I woke you up, didn't I?" I asked. He'd only said "Hello", so I knew he hadn't even looked at the caller ID.

"Hey, beautiful," he replied, and his voice already sounded lighter. "No, you didn't wake me up, and have you ever gotten any complaints when you do?" he added. That was true. On the few occasions I've felt just too...uh...passionate to wait until morning, I've never gotten turned down.

"I miss you," I admitted. I knew it sounded pathetic, but I couldn't sleep without him, and I thought he deserved to know it. "I'm in this amazing big cushy bed, and I can't sleep, and I hate it."

"Yeah, well, I'm not sleeping either," he admitted. "I did at first, but it didn't go so well, so now I'm up."

"Are you okay? I just...I had this feeling like something wasn't okay."

"You're not here, so no, it's not okay," he said. "But I'll survive, and I wanna know how your trip's going."

I filled him in on some of the highlights. The convention we were here for was going well. Some of it was interesting, some of it was mind-numbing, but the networking part had gone well, and I was fitting in with other professionals in my position. Most of them were older and more experienced, and I was learning a lot from them. In ways, I felt like a sponge just sucking up their war stories. Some of them I knew I'd get valuable guidance from, and others...well, I'd already mentally weeded out a handful that I really didn't want to learn from.

I'd run into Senator Glassman and Dave Bailey, and we'd all had lunch together. It wasn't bad, but it was odd. Very odd. I missed being on her staff, being part of her projects and initiatives, and yet I had plenty to do in my new position, and it felt great to have Congressman Donovan's confidence in me to handle his administrative needs, to supervise his staff, most of whom were older and had been at this longer than I had. Dave looked a bit wilted, and Senator Glassman was a bit unreadable as to what she really felt about the state of things. I think Dave felt a bit left out because Senator Glassman and I always have had a very easy rapport with each other, and our minds work in very similar ways. When it comes to politics and professional matters, we can speak in half-sentences and finish each other's thoughts. Most of the time, I can just do what needs to be done, because I know her preferences well enough to not need to be told.

Donald got an evil snicker out of that report - I thought he might.

He told me about his day, and it was pretty standard. He'd spent part of it interviewing a couple applicants for the secretary job, and he'd hired an older lady who had retired from a high-pressure job in a big company and was looking for something where she could use her skills but not have the same kind of fast-paced corporate atmosphere. Money wasn't a big deal for her, so she got the job. I wondered how long she'd last. Honestly, I wondered why he couldn't keep a secretary. Donald wasn't an ogre. He was just grumpy early in the morning, not inclined to pick up after himself in his office, and his mind went in twenty directions at once.

Okay, so maybe I can kind of understand it.

Oddly enough, with me, he was mostly sweet to me in the morning, picked up after himself (most of the time), and I couldn't think of anyone I'd rather be with. I guess love does weave a sort of magic on us all.

Our days should have been good, but they weren't. Our universes were just skewed and off, because we weren't where we were supposed to be. We'd become so much two halves of a whole that we didn't even realize the symbiotic relationship that was there. It just fed us and sustained us and made us happy. Divided, we were...just off.

"I think we should look for a Christmas tree this weekend," he said.

"There should be some good sales, since it's getting late." It was the second week of December, and we didn't have our decorations up in the apartment.

"Sales? I was talking about a real tree."

"Honey, we live in a third floor apartment."

"So? Does the building have some kind of no trees policy for the elevator?"

"You want to take a real tree up in the elevator?"

"Why not? Hasn't it been done before?"

"Well, I haven't seen anyone in the elevator with a Christmas tree."

"We don't have to get one the size you politicians have there in DC," he joked. "I'm not dragging it up three flights, so it has to fit in the elevator. They wrap 'em up anyway. Besides, I have to be able to strap it on the top of my car."

"Honey, your car will probably die in the street if you make it haul a tree."

"Then I'll just have to reduce the load on the car. You can take the bus while I drive the tree home, Mr. Smart Ass," he teased.

"Very funny."

"Your flight's still getting in about eight tomorrow night, right?"

"Unless there are delays, or we get the snow early. I just want to get out of here before that blizzard hits."

"It'd be a bitch if I had to drive a snowmobile all the way to DC to pick you up," he replied, and I laughed. Kind of. I wouldn't put anything past Don, and I hoped he was kidding. "I miss you, honey," he said quietly, and it pulled at my heart. I felt desperate that I couldn't reach through the phone somehow and hold him. He sounded so forlorn, and I knew he was having a bad bout of the blues without me there. I didn't know all of his history back then, or why he just felt so sad sometimes, but he did, and when he did, I was what pulled him out of it, raised him up, made him feel better. And I was falling down on the job, at some stupid convention, screwing around in DC when he needed me. I knew he'd be the first one to object to that, to say that he was fine, that I was right where I belonged... And he'd be right. We were grown men, and we both knew we were whining around at each other like pining teenage lovers. Still, that naked emotion is one of the things I treasure most in our relationship. Not censoring ourselves, not putting on airs, not caring if we sounded pathetic or whiny. If you can ever be that real with anyone, ever, in your life, it's an amazing gift.

"I know, baby. I miss you, too. This time tomorrow night - "

"We'll be sweaty, sore, exhausted, and asleep," he replied, and I had to laugh.

"I was going to say 'in each other's arms', but yes, that, too," I replied, still laughing. He's so good for me, so good for my soul. He makes me laugh when I don't feel like it's possible.

"Close your eyes," he said.

"Are you going to talk dirty to me?"

"Just close your eyes," he repeated, and I could hear him moving around, then becoming still. "You need to get some rest before all those meetings and seminars tomorrow, or you'll fall asleep when you don't want to."

"I can't sleep," I said.

"I bet you can. Get comfy and close your eyes."

I did as he said. He'd never steered me wrong yet. I was tired, and silly as it was, I felt like holding onto that cell phone where his voice was coming from was like holding a little piece of him with me, somehow.

"I've got that book with the meditations and stuff in it you like to read before bed. The one on the night stand?"

I did rely on that book to calm me down some nights when I found myself worrying about him, or just not able to doze off without him there.

"Yes?"

"Relax. I'm going to read to you until you fall asleep."

"How are you going to know - "

"Let me worry about that. Just relax and listen to my voice. And remember to charge your cell phone when you get up," he added, a smile in his voice.

"Donald?"

"What, sweetheart?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too," he replied, sounding much happier than he had when I called. Happy to stay up late into the night reading to me so I could fall asleep. I've never questioned again whether or not angels exist. His halo might be a little crooked, and God knows he's gotten his wings clipped by life more than once, but Donald is my angel. Slayer of my dragons, soother of sleepless nights...

I fell into a dead sleep and was grateful the hotel's wake up call system was persistent, since my subconscious registered ringing long before I woke up to answer it.

********

I was pacing around the airport like a caged panther. Timmy's flight was delayed because of the weather, which was getting increasingly shitty along the entire East Coast. My roses were wilted, but that was nothing new. I hadn't really ever presented him with a good bouquet yet - they were either half dead from lying on the passenger seat of my car for hours longer than I planned, or they were just plain cheap, out of a sale bin at the grocery store, whatever was left at some weird hour when I thought of buying them. The shock of these roses, fresh, might have killed him anyway.

I was about to look into renting a Humvee - not a suburbanized frilly dilly Hummer H-whatever, but a military ground vehicle, if necessary - to drive through the blizzard and get him myself - when they announced that his flight had left DC and was in the air.

I felt a little better, but now I had the weather to worry about. Ice on the wings. High winds. Blinding snow. I felt sick. I sat on the end of a row of chairs and held onto my dying bouquet. If anything happened to Timothy... I closed my eyes and fought the nausea. Now that he was airborne, I felt even more helpless. And I felt the cold, hard fear of being sentenced to more nights like the last two, fraught with sleeplessness and nightmares. The first night he was gone I stayed out all night. I worked in my office, and then I followed a client's husband around. The second night, I went home by ten or so, went to bed, because I was tired, and woke up screaming at the top of my lungs because Kyle decided to pay me a visit along about one in the morning.

I'd almost resigned myself to the gruesome nightmare I occasionally had about finding his body after he committed suicide. But this was worse. After that part, I sometimes dream about a funeral...I wasn't allowed at Kyle's funeral, so I don't really know how it went. His family blamed me for his death...like he blamed me for screwing up his life. But your subconscious can helpfully supply enough nightmarish images to replace anything you didn't actually experience. So sometimes I go to a nightmare funeral, too. Only this time, it wasn't Kyle in the casket. It was Timothy.

I spent a couple hours trying to reassure myself that it was a nightmare, that Timothy was still alive, just in DC. I finally found some information he'd printed off about his hotel reservations with the dates on it, and after turning on the TV and checking the date on the Weather Channel against the date on the reservations, I finally accepted that he was just on his trip, that I was just as batshit crazy as ever with my night terrors, that he wasn't dead. When he called me, I was lying in bed, trying to calm down, having no real luck. I thought it was some dumb-ass client calling me about his cheating wife. When I heard Timmy's voice, I felt like my world was turning normally again, like I'd stay sane.

Now he was thousands of feet in the air during a blizzard in a big tin can with wings. It was almost midnight. I wasn't sure we could get home through the snow even when his flight did arrive. My car was probably buried in the parking lot. None of that mattered. I just wanted him safe and there, in my arms, by my side, even if we slept on a couch in the corner of a waiting area.

And then I wanted the weather to let up, because we had to go pick out a tree, and I had to suffer through Christmas shopping with Mr. Organized Mall Ninja with his Christmas spreadsheet. That's right, spreadsheet. It wasn't a list. It was a fucking spreadsheet. Gift recipient, item, store, price. It was totaled. There was some other bizarre breakdown of the total into payment options. He must have started budgeting all this in the summer sometime, which made sense, because he wasn't swimming in money.

Then I came along and screwed up his budget. Sometimes it seemed incredible that when he started the Christmas Spreadsheet, we didn't even know each other. I think I was still with Jason. Sort of. He just hadn't broken it off yet, but we weren't doing well. I had a feeling most of Timmy's gift recipients had suffered for my presence - or, more accurately, their presents had suffered for my presence and my presents... Dear God, I hoped Timothy landed soon because I was starting to freak out.

I wondered what he was going to get me for Christmas. He didn't have to get me anything - it wasn't the thing I cared about. It was wondering what he picked out for me. How he decided on it. All I cared about was that he was with me, and we could curl up by our tree and drink some spiked egg nog and watch some version of A Christmas Carol on TV.

By the time his flight arrived at one in the morning, I was a nervous wreck, my roses were essentially dead, and I was almost desperate to see him. His plane landed, no stray blizzard gust of wind had blown it off course. I looked at the dead roses and figured at least he'd know I tried. We could pitch them in the trash later. So I bobbed and wove among the people waiting to greet the passengers from his flight.

********

I was never so glad to get off an airplane as I was to get off that one. Not only is flying coach hell if you have long legs, but it's even more unpleasant when you're stuck in that airplane seat for four hours because they load you all on the plane and then delay you, on the runway, waiting for the weather to clear up. That gives you just enough time to envision a fiery death by plane crash as they send you up into the wild blue yonder in a blizzard. Congressman Donovan had opted to take an extra day in DC to meet with some other politicians, both those who had been at the convention, and some folks at the national level. I was relieved when he said he could manage on his own, and I could go home as planned.

I made my way to the gate, my carry-on bag feeling heavy on my shoulder. I should have limited myself to just that, but it was my first big convention as a chief of staff, and I wanted good suits and ties. Sweetheart that he was, Donald hadn't given me a hard time about that on the way to the airport, and I knew he wouldn't even complain when we had to stand around baggage claim in the wee hours to grab it off the carousel. He'd grab it for me and haul it out to the car, which he'd probably insist on going out to get and bring up front because the weather was so bad.

All of a sudden, my carry-on bag didn't weigh anything and I felt like I was walking on air. I could see him through the crowd, holding a bouquet of dead roses, moving toward me at a speed that literally had a mother snatching her small child out of his path with a look of fear in her eyes.

I started moving toward him and the impact wasn't altogether pleasant since neither one of us thought to slow down. Still, I had him in my arms and I held on, hugging him as if we'd been parted for months, not just a couple nights. He had a death grip on me at first, and then he pulled back enough so he could kiss me, and what a kiss it was. Sweet, hot, hard, with lots of tongue, leaving me breathless and happy and turned on, and wishing we didn't have such a long ordeal to get home. Wishing I didn't have a bag to pick up, wishing the roads were clear...

"Welcome home, sweetheart," he said, when we finally stood on our own again. He handed me the flowers. "They were really nice about eight o'clock," he said, and I laughed, taking them and kissing him.

"It's the thought that counts," I said, and he gave me one of those big smiles.

"You look beautiful," he said, giving me a once over. I was dressed in one of my suits and a tie, my dark topcoat on, since it was chilly even in the walkway they'd connected to let us travel from the jet to the airport undercover.

"I feel like a few miles of bad road," I said, and he laughed.

"If this is what you look like dragged out, I'll take it," he said, slipping his hand in mine. It felt cold, and he was holding onto my hand like he thought I would get away if he let go. I pulled it up and kissed the back of it.

"I love you, and I missed you so much."

"Let's go get your bag and then I'll go get the car."

It was so dark outside, the snow was piling up, and I knew the car was probably buried under snow he'd be out there brushing off it while more poured down on him so he would be a cold wet mess. I squeezed his cold hand. I knew how he hated the cold and the snow. I couldn't send him out there. 

"We'll get the bag and take the shuttle to the Hilton and get a room for tonight. The snow should let up tomorrow, and we'll dig out the car together."

"I can get the car out - "

"Honey, it'll be buried in the snow, and it might not even start. You'll be soaked and frozen out there. Come on, my treat," I said lightly. I knew it was a good possibility he didn't have the cash on him, or that his credit card was close to being maxed out on business expenses, since he hadn't had great luck with retainers pouring in lately. Plus, he'd put a few wedding things on his credit card, too.

"You're sure you don't want me to get the car?"

He was weakening, the thought of a nice warm hotel room beckoning. I stopped us for a moment out of the traffic pattern of people heading for baggage claim and kissed him.

"I want you nice and warm and dry and with me. It's late, honey. Let's get some rest and worry about digging out the car when we can actually see it."

"Okay," he agreed, smiling.

It was chilly out there waiting for the shuttle, but before long, we were on the bus with a few other frozen souls enduring the bone-rattling wild ride on slick pavement to the hotel. Finally, we made it to the front desk, and Donald went through what he'd go through more than once in our life together - the "yes, one king bed" clarification as the desk clerk looked at us strangely before figuring out that, yes, we were a couple, and not just two traveling businessmen who liked to hold hands and kiss each other.

The room was comfortable and pleasant, and most important, warm and dry.

"Hot shower?" Don suggested, already out of his coat, toeing off his shoes.

"Sounds like heaven," I agreed, and since he was mostly naked before I got all the words out, he went in to turn on the water while I finished undressing.

I had some bath products in my luggage I like better than those microscopic hotel soaps that you're just as likely to lose up an orifice if you aren't careful. I was surprised to find some lube and condoms in there, too, and then I remembered I'd packed my toiletries and shaving supplies to go to the inn over Thanksgiving, and just left it packed since I knew I was going to the convention a couple weeks later. Obviously, I'd need certain items for a romantic getaway weekend, but not for a convention by myself.

"If you don't get in here, I'm gonna start without you."

"Start what?" I called back.

"Whatever," he replied, and I had to laugh. Suddenly the thought of Donald, naked, leaning against the tiles and pleasuring himself under a spray of hot water made me tempted to loiter a bit longer, just to let him get started. Lube, condoms, and shower gel in hand, I headed for the bathroom with a spring in my step.

He had stepped in the shower, and I got in right behind him, wrapping my arms around him, getting into the spray of water with him, letting it take the chill off the parts of me his warm wet skin wasn't taking the chill off. I turned him around toward me and pulled him into a tight hold, kissing him passionately, my hands wandering all over his back and down to the swell of his perfect ass, squeezing him and feeling him up. He was rubbing against me for all he was worth, and his response told me he liked the way I was going after him. My fingers were straying between his cheeks, seeking out his center.

"We don't have any stuff," he said, pulling back a bit.

"Yeah, we do," I said, grinning like the self-satisfied idiot I was at the moment.

"Why?" he asked, frowning. Suddenly, we weren't climbing all over each other, hands everywhere, wondering how we'd avoid slipping and killing ourselves while we had wild, out of control, shower sex. He was just standing there, looking at me. Not looking happy.

"Why what?"

"Why do you have lube and condoms with you to go to a convention by yourself?"

"I packed some of the stuff I took on this trip when I thought we were going away for the weekend after Thanksgiving, and I just left it packed because I knew I'd need it in a couple weeks anyway. What's the matter?"

"Nothing, that makes sense. I was just surprised you had them." He made a move to kiss me, but I held him back.

"You sounded like Donald Strachey, Private Investigator, when you asked me about it. You didn't seriously think I packed that stuff to go to DC, did you?"

"How was I supposed to know when or why you packed it? I just thought it was kinda funny you had it with you, that's all."

"You don't trust me," I said, and suddenly the water was loud as it rushed out of the shower head, against the silence of the room and Don's speechlessness.

For a moment, I wanted to curl up and die right there. He actually could think there would be anyone else in the world I'd have lube and condoms handy for? Did he think that little of me, even now...or was something inside him so utterly...fucked up that he couldn't trust me even when he wanted to?

"Of course I trust you. I just thought it was weird you'd have that with you when you were alone, and you thought we were coming straight home from the airport."

"You actually thought I would have sex with somebody while I was out of town?"

"No, Timothy...no, I didn't... I didn't really think that."

"Then what?" I knew I should be angry, and that I should storm out of the shower indignantly, put on my pajamas, and give him a dose of my fully dressed back for the night. For some reason I still don't understand, call it instinct, I guess... I very gently held his shoulders and made him look me in the eyes. "Tell me, honey," I urged, looking into those big blue eyes of his that sometimes looked nothing short of tortured, especially in those early days of our relationship. The worst of what he'd been through in his life was so fresh back then. I had no idea how fresh some of his wounds were, and how deep, but I knew enough to see his pain. I can't stand to see him in pain. Not then, not now...not ever.

"Just for a minute, I...I guess I was thinking about all those successful...power players you were with. Timmy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean...I know you wouldn't..."

"Shh." I pulled him into my arms and held him, and felt him wrap his arms around me and hold on tight. His breath was a little shaky. "It's okay, honey."

"No, it's not. It sounds like I don't trust you. I do. I'm sorry."

"I never want to make love to anyone else but you, for the rest of my life. Do you know what I see when I look at other guys? I see that they're not you. I don't care if they're richer, wear fancier suits, have big shot jobs, or what they look like. They're not you, and that's all that matters, because no matter where I go, or who I'm with, my heart is right here, with you."

"Can you forgive me?"

"Of course, I forgive you, my love. It's okay." I smiled as I pulled back to look at him, and I knew that little ghost of doubt wasn't some slam on my integrity or my fidelity. It was that lingering fear that he somehow wasn't going to measure up to the big shots I came in contact with, or that it was somehow unbelievable that I'd turn my back on every other potential partner to be with him. I didn't know how I could make him see what a treasure I thought he was, that I thought I was the luckiest man in the world to have him waiting at home for me while I slogged through all those dry meetings.

I was so lucky to have him at home, reading to me over the phone because I couldn't sleep. Ready to drag my oversize suitcase of fancy business clothes through a foot of snow in the dark to go dig out a car by himself at one in the morning so he could pull up to a curb and pick me up like I was royalty. And God love his bouquet of dead roses. Every time he looks at me the way he does, I know how lucky I am. I hoped someday he'd realize that I knew that, that he was everything, that even if I lost him, I doubt I'd ever be able to love someone else the way I loved him, probably not at all.

We finished up our shower and dried off, then crawled into the bed and cuddled together in the middle of it. We were tired and emotional and just happy to be together, so we dozed off, leaving the lube and condoms handy on the night stand.

Sometime after dawn, I awoke to the sounds of snow plows and shovels scraping cement. I was alone in bed, so I blinked a couple times to see Donald sitting in the easy chair a few feet away from the bed in my robe. He looked cold and miserable, and he was watching me with an odd expression, something between sadness and worry.

"Donald?" I pushed up on my elbow, rubbing my eyes. "What's wrong, honey? Are you okay?" I asked, wondering if he was sick.

"I feel like an asshole."

"I thought we settled all that last night."

"I made it sound like I thought you'd have some one-night stand at a convention... Timothy, I know you wouldn't do that. I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't know why you aren't pissed off at me. Why you don't...just dump me."

"Come here."

"Timmy, I - "

"Donald, get in bed with me. Do as you're told," I added, and he smiled faintly at that, shed the robe, and climbed under the covers I was holding up. "Aw, honey, you're freezing," I said, hugging him, rubbing his back briskly.

"You're so good, and so...decent. I know you'd never cheat on me."

"Let me tell you a little secret, my love," I said, doing my best to use my feet to warm up his cold ones. "Not cheating on you is so easy, I don't need to be good or decent. Someday, you're going to believe that I only want you. The thought of someone else's body up against mine, someone else's hands on me in the places I want yours touching me...I know we haven't said the vows yet, but you're the only man I ever want to be with, ever again. I don't want anybody else. I want your body, your touch, the way you look and the way you smell and the way you taste. The way you love me. It's you, baby. Nobody else."

"I had a nightmare last night...I lost you."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," he whispered against my neck, tightening his hold on me. "When you said you had that stuff with you, it was like...for a moment...a stupid, ridiculous moment...I can't explain it."

"You don't have to. Now will you let me forgive you, so we can enjoy being snowed in this morning?"

We smiled at each other, kissed, kissed some more, and re-ignited the spark that had been smoldering since the night before. It was chilly in the room but warm in the bed, so we kept our naked bodies under the covers, touching and rubbing and caressing. He turned over for me, and I got him ready and eased inside him, blanketing him with my body, kissing his back and neck, staying deep in him, thrusting gently. I started whispering in his ear, telling him all the little love words I could think of, until I finally just murmured, "only you, baby, just you, my one true love..." I don't know exactly what the words all were, but I never wanted him to doubt how treasured he was, ever again. I pressed my cheek against his; I don't know how I could have gotten closer.

It took us a while to come, but that was fine with me, and I didn't hear any complaints from Donald, either. We stayed joined, wrapped around each other, reconnecting. I couldn't wait to say wedding vows to him, to put a ring on his finger, to show him off to all my family and friends. Maybe that would make him rest easy that he was my everything. That there just wasn't anyone else out there any better.

I know there are richer guys, guys with fewer hangups, guys with more power... There is no truer, sweeter soul than my Donald, and no deeper love I could ever find than what I have with him. Looking back, I don't know why I didn't get angrier at him when logic said I should have, but maybe it was because I had the feeling he'd been hurt so much, so deeply, that he needed someone to love him enough to let him heal, let him make a misstep without making him pay, without hurting him some more. He needed to learn what it was like to be loved the way he deserved to be loved, to be wanted the way I wanted him. He needed to feel safe, and as I held him close in that airport hotel, I vowed to myself that he would always have a safe haven in my arms.

********