Title: Treats
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)
Pairing: Donald and Timothy
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: about 1600
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.
Summary: Donald spends Halloween with an ailing Timothy.

Author's Note: Just a little piece of sweet fluff for Halloween. I'm working on a demanding story and I needed a break - so did the guys!

TREATS

by

Candy Apple

"Why don't you come in here and keep me company?" Tim's voice carried from the couch, where he was curled up under a quilt, emitting the occasional loud sneeze. Don couldn't believe how unerringly Timmy could choose the exact moment when he had shoved a caramel-filled candy into his mouth to start chatting again.

"I thought you were gonna take a nap," he replied, trying to clear his mouth enough to answer. He was stationed at the front door, sitting in a chair next to the candy bowl, waiting for trick-or-treaters.

"I only bought two hundred pieces of candy. Try not to eat a hundred fifty of them before the trick-or-treaters are done, okay?" Another sneeze. Even annoyed by the censure of his serial candy-eating behavior, Don had to feel sorry for Timmy. He really was sick, and he had gone to a lot of trouble, like he always did, to have a nice selection of candy on hand for the kids. Usually, he dressed up to answer the door. Last year, he'd been a vampire. And what a sexy vampire he'd been - - tall, dark hair, that perfect posture with the swirling black cape with its red satin lining. He didn't know how much the kids enjoyed it, but their mothers seemed to appreciate the view more than they did. The minute trick-or-treat hours were over, Don had doused the porch light, locked the door, and had his way with Dracula right there on the staircase. And again in the bedroom. And once in the shower. They'd played around with that red-lined cape half the night.

Tonight, the only thing red was the end of his nose, he was wearing some ungodly ensemble of robe, socks, sweat pants and quilt, and he hadn't moved from the couch most of the day. He was a walking hazmat crisis, with his piles of tissues and his toxic sneezes. Nonetheless, Don refused to forego sleeping in the same bed with him, and had spent the day at home alternately cuddling him on the couch, bathing his face, checking his temperature, and coaxing fluids down him.

In spite of all that, while Don agreed to handle the candy distribution, he refused to wear the costume. Even if Timothy got into this Halloween thing enough to put on green makeup and glue bolts to his neck, it was one of the few things Don had no interest in sharing with him. He might even be willing to share his bacteria, but not the Frankenstein outfit.

"We've only got about another half hour or so and there's plenty of candy left, honey. I won't shortchange the kids, I promise," he added, a smile in his voice.

"Sorry to stick you with door duty. I know you like watching horror movies better than answering the door on Halloween."

"It's okay. Some of the kids' costumes have been pretty funny this year. And you bought good candy," he said through another mouthful. There was just a tired chuckle from the couch, as if Tim had decided that keeping Donald out of the Halloween candy was as likely as keeping the horror movie heroine from taking that ill-advised walk through the woods at night.

Once the last little group of trick-or-treaters had made their way to the door and were scurrying for cover across the darkened, leaf-scattered street, Don turned out the porch light and locked the door, looking forward to joining Timmy on the couch for a marathon of bad horror movies that would probably last into the wee hours since Timmy was too congested to get much sleep lying down, and the movies would give them both a better diversion than flopping around through a sleepless night upstairs.

"How's my baby doin', huh?" Don asked, giving in to the inclination to be sappy, kissing Timmy's warm forehead.

"I can't breed."

Don stood there a moment, letting that register. He was about to reply that wasn't really an issue in their relationship, when he realized Timmy couldn't enunciate the word "breathe," he was so congested.

"You want a little more of that vaporub stuff on your chest? Might clear you up for a little while."

"You just want an excuse to feel me up," Timmy said, forcing a smile. His eyes were bloodshot and watery-looking. He hadn't even bothered putting on his glasses.

"Yeah, that's me. Nothing but sex, sex, sex, all the time," Don replied, refilling the vaporizer on the coffee table and turning it on, sitting on the edge of the couch facing Timmy, little jar of smelly ointment in hand. "Let me see that gorgeous chest of yours," he quipped, and Timmy reluctantly pushed down the quilt, and opened his robe, exposing a little patch of chest for the mentholated rub that only provided him a brief respite from the choking congestion.

As Don watched his sore eyes drift shut a few moments, he figured it was more the gentle rubbing motion and the TLC that his partner wanted than the ointment itself. He put a little towel over the greasy spot so it wouldn't get on Tim's robe, then bundled him back up again. In the few moments he could breathe, Don checked his temperature again.

"You're gonna get this," Timmy said, barely catching in a tissue a sinus-rattling sneeze that seemed to hurt his nose and eyes, judging by the scrunching of his face.

"I don't remember you worrying about that when I got the flu and threw up on you last year."

"The things we do for love," Timmy said, smiling at Don, an equal amount of love and water in his puffed, pinkish eyes.

"Your temperature's down to 99.6."

"I have a good nurse."

"Just let me grab the bowl of candy and refill your ice water pitcher and we'll check out that movie marathon."

Don ran upstairs and took time out to get in his own robe and some comfy old socks, then refilled Timmy's water and grabbed the candy bowl as well as a few bags of snacks he might want to dig into as the night progressed. They situated themselves on the couch so Don had Timmy tucked cozily in his arms, congested head on his shoulder, urging him through a few more swallows of ice water before letting him rest. The Blob was just getting underway, and Don figured that was occasion for another peanut butter cup.

"Thanks for taking care of me all day," Tim said, snorkeling grotesquely. Don knew it was true love when that sound didn't gross him out, but just made him feel sorry for his partner's misery. Timmy felt so rotten, and he just wanted to make that go away. "I know you had stuff to do."

"I love you, sweetheart. You're more important than anything else." He stroked Timmy's cheek gently, then kissed it. "I didn't want you by yourself here with a fever."

"When you get sick, I'll stay home and take care of you."

"You always have. Almost worth getting sick for that," Don joked, not really caring if he got sick or not. If he did, Timmy would fuss over him and dote on him, and it would be okay.

"I don't feel good," Timmy said, just a little whiny now.

"I know, baby." He rubbed Timmy's back the way he liked it when he wasn't feeling good. Just firmly enough to feel good, but lightly enough that he could almost fall asleep from it.

Somewhere between The Blob and Night of the Living Dead, Don dozed off to sleep. When he came to, a zombie was eating something he didn't want to speculate about, and Timmy was sleeping on his shoulder, his breathing sounding like a tractor with a laboring engine as his respiratory system tried to make sense of all that snot.

Don checked Timmy's temperature by kissing his forehead, glad it seemed relatively normal to the touch. He mumbled a little and shifted in Don's arms.

"Donald?" he croaked. Don grabbed a tissue and dabbed gently at Timmy's sensitive, runny nose.

"Shh. Just go back to sleep, honey."

"Happy Halloween," he said, his voice still thick and congested. He tucked his forehead in the crook of Don's neck, letting himself drift.

"Happy Halloween, honey. I love you."

"Love you, too," Timmy mumbled.

Don rested his head lightly against Timmy's, not really caring what the zombie was eating, what time it was, or anything but that moment in time and his partner's warm body snuggled against him. He took Timmy's hand, not caring if it was germy or not, and held on, finding himself looking forward to another day of bad daytime TV and devoting himself to making his partner feel better.

Love really does make strange things seem like treats, Don decided, grinning as he took in the scents of vaporub, cough drops, and a blanket-warmed Timothy, deciding the scent was better than the best cologne. He dozed off to sleep as yet another unfortunate soul fell prey to the zombies and resigned himself to his own fate as a victim of love.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!