Title: One Night
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)
Pairing: Donald and Timothy
Rating: R

Word Count: 4840
References/Spoilers: Can't think of any. This story takes place before the time line of the movies.
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: In the aftermath of a painful break-up, Tim Callahan finds himself alone in a club, where he meets someone who will change his life.

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ONE NIGHT

by

Candy Apple

Stupid and potentially self-destructive. I knew what I was doing fell into that category, but I couldn't seem to make myself care, and I couldn't think of a more palatable alternative. I knew if I called my mother, she'd listen to me pour out my misery and then give me a motherly pep talk about how I was too good for him, he just wasn't the right one - which she knew all along - and that if I was patient, the right person was out there. And, of course, she wouldn't say it in so many words, but when she met him, she'd know it.

Maybe she was right. My mother's radar was spot-on when it came to predicting a doomed relationship for me. She didn't like Andrew, never felt comfortable with him, and was relieved when I called her to say we'd parted company. He says I broke up with him, but I think it was mutual disintegration of the relationship, and a realization that we weren't forever material. It hurt when it happened, but not like this. I felt like my heart was broken in half, and if I'd stayed at my apartment, I'd have probably cried like a baby and then gotten drunk - which I don't do often, which makes me an even more pathetic and morose drunk - and then called my mother, about three in the morning, which would have freaked her out and probably had her on the first available flight to Albany, convinced I was going to kill myself if she didn't intervene.

Maybe Steve was right. Maybe I was just an uptight, anal-retentive, pain-in-the-ass mama's boy. And that's only on a good day, when I wasn't clingy, controlling, and emotionally needy. Which would all be tolerable if I didn't suck in bed. Leave it to me to phrase it that way. "Suck," in this context, was not a compliment.

I'd been with him several months. I thought we were going to make it a year, maybe even longer. I really loved him, but my mother never did, and I guess I should have listened to her. She said he was a self-absorbed narcissist. And that was on a good day for him, according to her. He was thoughtless, uncultured (which made me think of yogurt, not men), and didn't appreciate me for who I was. As much as it pained me to admit it, she was right.

Steve was pretty to look at. He was tall, even taller than me, with shaggy blond hair and blue eyes, rugged features, and an amazing body. He looked like he just trotted in off the beach - all that was missing was a surfboard under his arm and a little sand dusting him in strategic places. We never went anywhere that he didn't turn heads. I spent several months looking for the depth, insight, and intellect that should have been inside such a pretty head, but I have to admit, if only to myself, that I never found it. Even his degree in engineering and his upwardly mobile job in a manufacturing company didn't seem to add up to much substance. I don't mean to sound like an intellectual snob, like I think I'm somehow better than Steve. He accused me of that, thinking I was something special. Apparently, I'm not, and once the floodgates opened, he couldn't seem to resist telling me all the ways in which I fell short of satisfactory, let alone "something special."

I felt like a fool. Despite his slightly empty head and his superficial good looks, I got hooked on him. I fell in love...that tends to happen to me in relationships. He was only the third man I was with - ever. I spent my college years "in a relationship" with Andrew, though I don't think he saw it as anything monogamous the way I did. Then I met a guy through my work as a congressional aide, and we were together several months - but I think that was more an outcome of our schedules rarely aligning and our not really having a chance to figure out we weren't compatible when we were together for more than a night or two.

 I'm a late bloomer. Going into the seminary tends to slow down your sexual development a bit, and I admit I didn't adapt well to the idea of one-nighters with guys I don't know. Sex seemed like something intimate, and I don't feel intimate with strangers. So I knew going to a gay club and sitting by myself at the bar like a blob of fresh meat in a lion cage wasn't the smartest way to get over a painful break up. I was smart enough to know I was naive in the pick-up department, and could just as easily wind up with a psycho.

"Can I buy you another one of those?" A voice asked, just as I had decided to get the hell out of Dodge before I got more than I bargained for. He was a good looking guy, tall, dark-haired, a little older than I was. His clothes were okay and he had on some decent cologne, albeit too much of it. Everything in me screamed to say no, so I did.

"No, but thank you. This'll be it for me," I said, smiling. I was relieved to have made the decision not to get drunk, not to go home with some stranger, and not to call my mother. At least, not yet.

"Oh, come on, baby. I've been watching you sitting here all by yourself for a while now. Nobody comes into this place to drink alone. Or go home that way," he added. I was assessing the muscles under his close-fitting sweater, and not because I wanted him. I wanted to figure out if I could put up the necessary fight if I had to, if he followed me outside. I'm not exactly a street fighter, but I'm no lightweight, either. I grew up in a family with lots of feisty Irish cousins, being the only boy who preferred reading and introspection to football. That necessitated learning some survival skills at a young age if I wanted to get through big family gatherings alive.

"Really, I appreciate it, but this was a mistake, and I'm just going to head home," I added, trying to sound calm and casual, to keep it light and pleasant.

"The only mistake would be not giving me a chance. I've never had any complaints," he added, and I felt his hand snaking to the inside of my thigh, then he was touching me, and I was off that bar stool like I'd been scalded.

"I said no, thank you," I shot back, angry enough to glower at him even if he did have a good thirty pounds on me and definitely spent more time in the gym than I did.

"What are you, a prick tease?" he challenged.

"What he is, is not interested in you, pal," another voice came from behind me. "Honey, I've been looking all over town for you. Come on, let's go home," he said, and I stared at him blankly a moment. He was hot, beautiful in his own special way, perfectly muscled and compact, and exuded a sexy bravado and confidence that turned me on in ways I couldn't even describe. He didn't seem to notice that he was a good six inches shorter than the guy he was giving the brush off. I knew playing along with him could be getting out of the frying pan and into the fire, but for some reason, I trusted him. So I picked up where he left off and played the role he'd cast me in.

"I was just trying to tell this gentleman that this was a mistake. I'm sorry about our argument."

"Me, too. I didn't mean all that shit I said."

"Sorry, didn't know you were in a relationship," tall, dark, and pushy said, holding up his hands.

"Maybe you oughtta keep your hands to yourself until you find out, hot shot," my rescuer retorted, and I stared at him, dumbfounded. His larger adversary was already backing off, and he was antagonizing him.

"Yeah, my bad. Maybe you oughtta keep your boyfriend on a shorter leash," he replied, walking away. I could see my mystery man was ready to follow him and lay hands on him - there was a flare of something primal and angry in those amazing blue eyes of his. Did I mention his eyes? I could have looked into their depths forever. They were some combination of the ocean and the sky and everything that's beautiful about a clear summer day on the seashore. There was goodness and honesty and something I couldn't name in those eyes. But I tingled all over when he looked at me.

I grabbed his arm, wrapping my hand around solid muscle. I have a thing for muscles, so sue me. Between that and the eyes, I was glad he wasn't feeling me up right then. He'd have had a handful and I'd have died of embarrassment, getting hard just looking and so neutrally touching this man I didn't know. Maybe it's hard not to find someone just a bit attractive when they step in for you even though they don't know you at all.

"Let it go. Thanks for helping me out," I said. "So, how long have we been together?" I asked, and he looked at me for a moment. Then he relaxed, and he smiled. My knees went weak. I had never seen anything like that smile before. I wondered if the room really did light up, or if I was just losing my mind.

"Oh, I don't know, probably a couple years," he joked,

"I'm Tim Callahan," I said, sticking out my hand. I was ashamed to admit to myself that not only was I glad to be there now, but I would have done him in a restroom stall and loved every filthy, illicit moment of it. Andrew always said I had more potential locked up inside me somewhere and that I needed to let go, to get in touch with my sexual side and quit feeling guilty for feeling raunchy once in a while, to quit looking at every sexual encounter as having to mean something.

"Don Strachey. Since we're getting back together, apparently, you want to have a drink?"

"Yes, but let's go somewhere else," I said, and I was stunned at myself, and a little regretful, hoping he didn't feel pounced on. Or if he did, that he liked being pounced on by me. "I know a really nice club not too far from here. They have good jazz, and it's a little less hectic than this place."

"Okay, sure," he said, shrugging. And then there was another smile. He was blond, too, but it was a dark, undecided blond that waffled between strawberry blond, dark blond, and spun gold when the light hit it just right. He had on jeans and a green t-shirt - military green. I would have pegged him as off-duty military or maybe former. A barbed wire tattoo encircled the biceps on one arm, and he definitely wasn't afraid of a potential fight.

"Uh, I took the bus here."

"No problem. My car's out front," he said.

His car was old and rickety, but somehow I wouldn't have pictured him fretting over pretty cars and the false entrapments of appearances. There was something too genuine about him. As I went to get in, I was confronted by a three-ring binder, a couple take-out bags, and a gym bag.

"Sorry about that," he said as he got into the driver's seat, and quickly threw everything into the shadowy abyss that was the back seat. I didn't want to speculate on all that was probably back there. I got in the car and he started it up after a few attempts. "Which way?" he asked. I belatedly remembered that it was my idea to go to the jazz club, so I should probably point him in the right direction. I did, and he started out. "I thought that was the only gay club around here," he said of the place we'd just left.

"It is. Pulse isn't a gay club. It's just a nice jazz club."

"Oh," he said, not sounding too thrilled.

"I've been there before with someone. We didn't have any problems," I added. "It's a nice place."

"Sure, okay," he said, still watching the road.

"They have a little dance floor, too," I said. "Do you like to dance?"

"Sometimes," he said. "So what were you really doing hanging out at a gay bar if you didn't want to meet someone? Or was it just that jerk you didn't want to hook up with?"

"A little of both. I just went through a really bad break-up. At least, it was bad for me. Maybe I don't know what I want, exactly." I found myself tearing up, so I blinked a couple times and swallowed. I didn't want him to dump me before we even made it to the club. I knew it hurt, but sometimes I didn't know how bad until I let myself remember some of the awful things Steve said, the way he seemed to almost hate me, feel contempt for me...

"We can go somewhere and just talk if you want," he said, his voice very kind and soft. It felt like a cold compress on my emotional wounds. He could see I was hurting, and for some inexplicable reason, that didn't turn him off - instead, he cared.

"We can talk at Pulse - the music's not so loud you can't hear yourself think," I said, and then it occurred to me that maybe I'd just flattened a proposition.

"Okay. Sounds nice," he said, smiling.

We went into the club and were seated at a decent table, and ordered martinis, laughing a bit that we both chose the same drink. Don looked around a little furtively.

"I'm not really dressed for this place," he said.

"It's pretty casual here. You look great." I let that gush out just a little more enthusiastically than I planned, since all he was wearing were jeans and a t-shirt. I'd never thought of how we were dressed when I suggested it - Pulse isn't one of those stuff suit-and-tie clubs. It caters to a younger crowd and most of the patrons were dressed in what I'd call "business casual." I was wearing khakis and an Oxford shirt, but I was definitely less casual than he was. Still, I doubted Don would lose a lot of sleep over his outfit not being all it should be. He seemed less superficial than that, and a whole lot more...real. But then Steve had also informed me that I was usually overdressed and prissy, too. I wondered if there was anything not wrong with me, in his opinion.

"You want to talk about what's eating you?" he asked.

"Not really sparkling conversation over cocktails," I said, but the truth was that my insides hurt so bad that I needed to let some of it out to someone. I knew my eyes were filling up again. Why couldn't he have just broken it off with me? Did he have to hurt me that way? Make me feel so bad and so inadequate and so...undesirable?

"Yeah, well, I was never good at small talk, so it won't be any worse than what I'd come up with."

"I'm sorry," I said, wiping at my eyes.

"How long were you together?" he asked, pulling out a handkerchief and handing it to me.

"Almost a year," I said, using the handkerchief to dry my eyes under my glasses. Crying when you have glasses on is a clumsy experience at best. It definitely isn't chic, slick, or sexy. "I feel like an idiot."

"For staying with him that long or crying about it because you're finally rid of him?"

"Both," I replied. "I was in love with him, and he didn't even like me."

"Seriously? He's the idiot. Forget about him."

"Thanks, but it's not that simple."

"I know. If love was logical, we'd all be a lot less miserable most of the time." He sighed. "So what's not to like? You look good to me," he said, giving me a slightly crooked version of that smile.

"I'm uptight, I'm clingy, I'm controlling, I'm a mama's boy, I'm fussy, I'm prissy, and I suck in bed, and not in a good way," I concluded, wiping at fresh tears. "I don't know how to have a good time, I think I'm smarter than everyone else, and I always dress like I'm going to a polo match instead of out for a beer," I added, gesturing at my clothes. "I'm working at making the anger outweigh getting all misty-eyed about someone who obviously can't stand me but it hasn't kicked in yet."

"Sounds like you were dating an asshole," he said quietly. "A simple 'this isn't working out' would have sufficed. You didn't take any of that shit seriously, did you?"

I looked at Don a long moment, and fought hard not to break down and cry. He'd hit so precisely what hurt me so much about the whole mess. I can understand a relationship ending, but Steve had just...pummeled me emotionally. I would have preferred to have him hit me. At least an ice bag would have solved that pain, and I'd have been so outraged I'd have probably slugged him back, and then at least he'd be walking around in as much pain as I was.

"I pushed him for an explanation," I said, my voice coming out strained and tenuous. "He said he just didn't feel the same anymore and he wanted to see other people. I asked him why, if it was something I said, or did, and then he just...cut loose on me," I explained, barely keeping my emotions in check.

"Let's dance," he suggested, standing before I could come up with a reason to say no. There was a buzz and an energy about Don that didn't allow me to wallow in my self-pity or depression. So I stood up and smiled when he held out his hand to lead me to the dance floor. It was clear in his stance and his attitude that he planned to lead, and that was fine with me.

He held me close to him and we swayed to the music. There were a lot of couples on the dance floor then, so we didn't stand out, even though I couldn't see any other same sex couples out there. I was used to that. I won't be segregated into separate entertainment spots against my will just because I'm gay, but there are times it's tiresome to be the only couple of your kind on a dance floor, with many sets of eyes on you. I was glad there were a lot of people there, not because we were gay, but because a couple of the tears that were in my eyes before were on my face now, and despite feeling so good with Don right then, I still felt so bad about what happened that I didn't want to be the focus of a lot of attention.

Don gave me a little squeeze and ran his hand up and down my back. I guess Steve was right, I am clingy, because I clung to him and rested my head against his, savoring the feeling of being in the arms of someone who seemed to think there was something worthwhile about me. I knew I'd pull myself out of that pit eventually - my self-image isn't so fragile that one round of insults from an ex puts me under - but at that moment, everything felt raw and open and bleeding.

"You smell good," he whispered in my ear, nuzzling my neck. He smelled good, too. Like light, fresh-smelling cologne and a trace of our martinis. The arm I had around his shoulders tightened, almost before I could consciously think through what I was doing or saying.

"You feel good," I said honestly, loving the way his body felt against mine, the strength in his arms that was beneath the surface, but the infinitely gentle way he was treating me when he knew I felt so broken up.

"Remind me to send that asshole you were dating a fruit basket or something," he joked, pulling back to look at me, smiling.

"Why?" I asked, knowing I was fishing a little but feeling like I needed to be flattered a bit.

"If he wasn't such a dumb fuck, I wouldn't have such a beautiful man in my arms."

"I'm glad now I went to that club," I said, enjoying the chance to look into those gorgeous blue eyes again.

"Yeah, so am I," he said, reaching up and brushing a tear away with his thumb.

We danced through a few more numbers, and when the band took a break, so did we, ordering a couple more drinks and an appetizer, since we were throwing more and more alcohol on empty stomachs.

I found out I was right about his military background. He said he'd been discharged about five years before that, but he didn't say much else about it. Something told me not to press him. The only time I really saw a cloud pass over those clear perfect eyes was when he was talking about the military - in very stiff, uncomfortable, general terms, like he was giving me a canned story he'd prepared for people who asked about his past. That should have made me uneasy, that he was nervous talking about his past, but it didn't. I knew what I felt already in my gut - and in my heart - about this sweet, gentle, wonderful man I'd met so accidentally.

He did seem to like to talk about his PI business, and a couple of his cases. I enjoyed that. It was like listening to a true crime show. I talked about my past, about having been in the seminary. I thought maybe it would help him understand that I wasn't just some strange Puritan of some sort, that there was a reason I wasn't all that experienced, all that smooth with one-nighters, or all that good in bed. I didn't want him to be disappointed, and I already dreaded the thought of him dumping me or not wanting to see me again after that night. If I had to swing from a chandelier, tuck my legs behind my head, or do something involving livestock, I was going to have to be good enough to keep him interested. Not because he was the only man in the world, or because I thought I wasn't good enough. But because as unbelievable as it seemed, I felt like I was falling in love with him, and one night was not going to be enough.

When we finished our food and drinks, and danced a couple more times, we both decided to leave the club. I had no idea what was coming next, but I'd managed to pick up something wonderful, and I wasn't going to let him go because I was too uptight to enjoy him.

"Wh-where do you want to go?" Smooth, Timothy. The stutter was a nice touch, too. You should probably reassure him now that you're not actually wearing a chastity belt.

"Let's go for a walk," he said, holding out his hand. I didn't think they made men like Don anymore, and if they did, I sure hadn't met one before that night. I slipped my hand into his, and we walked hand in hand down the sidewalk, enjoying the mild night air, making our way into a nearby park, listening to the crickets.

"This is nice. Peaceful," I said. I loved holding his hand and just walking, just being with him.

"I'd like to see you again," he said, quietly, without really looking at me.

"I'd like that, too," I said, ecstatic.

"It's getting late. Do you have to get up early tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yes, unfortunately, I do," I replied.

"I'll take you home then," he said, starting to lead us back the way we came, toward his car.

I still wasn't sure what that meant, and I felt stupid asking. So I rode along in near silence, trying to figure out what to say, what to do, whether to invite him in or just assume he was coming in, and how to make a good enough impression on him sexually that he'd want to see me again, if he was planning on us having sex that night. He'd almost sounded like he wasn't, but he had to want something in return for picking me up and then putting up with my whining about my break up.

He pulled up in front of my apartment building and got out of the car when I did, walking me up to the entrance.

"Would you like to come up?" I finally asked, still not sure where this was headed.

"It's late, and you said you had to get up early, so I should get going."

"Thanks for everything, Don. Bailing me out with that guy, and...and a really nice evening. I know this is a little formal, but it's all I've got with my numbers on it," I said, handing him my card.

"Oh, yeah, hang on," he said, taking it, and digging in his pocket for his wallet. He pulled out one of his own business cards for me. "Look, break-ups can be messy sometimes. If your ex gives you any grief, call me, okay? I'd love to meet that fucker in person."

"Thanks, Don. I don't think I'll hear from him again, though. I hope I'll hear from you," I added, and he smiled, another one of those big, beautiful smiles.

"You busy Saturday night?" he asked, rocking back on his heels a bit.

"No, my social calendar suddenly seems pretty open," I joked, and he laughed.

"Dinner and a movie, maybe?" he suggested. "They're running some classic horror movies at the State Theater."

"That sounds great. I love old movies."

"I'll pick you up about seven," he said.

"Okay. I'll look forward to it."

"Me, too." He paused a moment, then touched my cheek and we leaned toward each other for a kiss. It was a sweet, slightly naughty with a little tongue, goodnight kiss.

"You could come up if you want," I invited again.

"It's not that I don't want to," he replied. "I'm the first guy you ran into when you felt lousy. I think I'd rather wait until you come to your senses and realize you could have anybody you want to see if you still want me."

"Thanks, but I'd still invite you up, no matter what my options are. If I can really have anybody I want, that is."

"You said you're not big on one-nighters. You shouldn't be. You deserve better." He kissed me again, this time with no tongue. "Some things are worth waiting for, beautiful. See you Saturday," he added, backing away a little, waiting until I unlocked the front door and was safely on the other side of it before leaving.

I stood there on the other side of the door watching him until he got in his car and drove away. I could taste him in my mouth, and feel him on my lips. My hand felt cold and empty without his in it. I leaned my forehead against the glass and smiled a sappy smile. A few hours earlier, I thought I was in love with Steve - for months, I'd thought that was love, and that night, I thought he'd broken my heart. I thought his insults and the lousy way he treated me when it ended meant something. Now I wondered if I'd ever felt anything like this for Steve, even when it was new and intense and I thought he was something wonderful.

Pausing by the wastebasket near the elevator, I pulled a photo of the two of us out of my wallet, and tore it up, smiling as I watched the little pieces flutter into the trash. Then I hurried upstairs and called my mother to admit that she was right about Steve, and to tell her that I'd just met the man I wanted to spend my life with.

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THE BEGINNING...