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See WARNINGS

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"Once you were downstairs, in the basement, did you have any opportunities to leave?" Carson, the prosecutor, asked Don.

"None that would have been successful. They had my gun, and I was always outnumbered three to one."

"You're a pretty fit, healthy guy. Ex-military. You must know some hand-to-hand combat moves."

"A few," Don said, not sure where the prosecutor was going with what seemed like questioning his credibility about his involuntary captivity.

"As part of that training, do they teach you how to assess your chances in a situation like the one you were in that night? Outnumbered, no weapon?"

"Yes, I learned how to anticipate negative outcomes of resisting or attempting to escape from captors."

"And you would have to weigh those against the chances for success?"

"Ordinarily, yes."

"And in this case?"

"At one point, they started talking about calling Timothy, that he'd probably come down there if they called him and said I was hurt or in trouble and needed him to pick me up."

"Is that when you stopped assessing escape options?"

"My escape options were slim to none anyway, but yes, after they made that threat, I was more inclined to just ride it out, whatever they were going to do to me."

"Otherwise, you were going to try to get away?"

"I would have fought harder. Realistically, being combat-trained doesn't make you Superman. There were three guys all larger than I was, at least a couple weapons in play...I wouldn't have made it out of there anyway, but I would have preferred that they just shoot me and get it over with rather than go through what I did."

"So without the threat to your partner, you would have made what you felt was a futile, and probably fatal, attempt to escape?"

"Probably. Fox was hung up on the idea of making sick remarks about Timmy, things he wanted to do to him... If they'd killed me, I wasn't even sure he wouldn't still go after him at some later time. They had Timothy's cell number, our home address, everything."

"Objection, your honor." Andrews, the defense attorney, was on his feet. "Mr. Fox isn't on trial here, and Mr. Strachey is speculating on what he may or may not have planned on doing, something we can't explore in fact, since Mr. Fox is deceased."

"It all goes to Mr. Strachey's state of mind and his reasons for not making even more aggressive attempts to escape. The defendant is claiming the victim was not held against his will, and it is incumbent on the people to prove the kidnapping charge."

"Overruled," the judge said calmly. She was an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair upswept and small glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

"You argued with Maxwell, Fox, and Benson, resisted them?"

"I kept struggling. I guess it was instinct. Fox told me to keep my mouth shut, and that's when Maxwell said, 'unless we have something to put in it,' or words to that effect. I told him outright that they better not stick anything in my mouth they wanted back."

"You made it clear you didn't want to have oral sex with anyone present?"

"I think implying I was going to bite it off was a pretty clear signal I wasn't into it."

"What happened next?"

"Fox started beating me. At first, Maxwell and Benson were holding me, but after they got a few blows in and I was easier to control, Maxwell started hitting me, too. I was a little dazed, because they were hitting me in the face, around my head, as well as gut-punches. The next thing I knew, I was on my knees, and Hanover's groin was in my face."

"Did you resist again? Object to Hanover's advances?"

"I spit on him. I said 'no,' and I tried to keep my teeth clenched together. Maxwell grabbed me by the hair and yanked my head back so hard I thought he was going to snap my neck. I guess it startled me, and my mouth opened and..." Don paused, reaching for the glass of water sitting there, his hand shaking badly enough to make it slosh a bit before he took a drink. He looked at Timmy, who had just finished wiping his eyes with a handkerchief and was replacing his glasses. He gave Don a look that conveyed as much love as he could without physically touching him.

"All of a sudden, I felt like I couldn't breathe, and this foul-tasting thing was jammed into my mouth, and Maxwell was still pulling on my hair, forcing my head back. Hanover said something like 'suck it, bitch'," Don said, covering his mouth, not sure if it was something he felt he needed to do, remembering how it felt being violated that way, or if it was to keep his lunch from coming back up uninvited. "I bit down as hard as I could," he said, his voice breaking. "I just wanted it out of my mouth, so I could breathe, to get that taste out of my mouth," he managed, crying now, but determined to finish. "I remember hearing Hanover screaming, shouting about me biting his dick off. I was struggling really hard, trying to get out of their grip. Fox came back and started beating me again. Then they started pulling my clothes off."

"What was Maxwell doing?"

"Still holding onto me, still keeping my neck bent back. I thought he was going to pull my hair out." Don took another drink of water, then grabbed a couple of tissues from the box Carson had set there when he started getting emotional. He sat there a moment until he felt calmer. "Some of the others were getting upset, talking about getting out of there, that it was a bad idea. Maxwell said it was no big deal. That they could just stick their dicks somewhere I didn't have teeth." Don swallowed, but fresh tears came anyway. "He was laughing, like it was a big joke. His hand was on me. He still had me by the hair, but I guess somebody else was helping him hold me still, because he was...pawing me. Making remarks about...my...."

"Take your time, Don," Carson said, and while part of Don knew he was doing it for dramatic effect for the jury's benefit, it bought him a few seconds to cope with what he had to say in front of a bunch of strangers. Things he hadn't even described to Timmy before. "Where was he touching you?"

"Everywhere," he said, hating that his voice almost sounded childlike, that his answer sounded even more childlike.

"I know this is difficult, Don, but I need you to be more specific."

"He was pulling at my genitals and trying to get me hard," he said, his voice strained until it was barely audible. "He was doing it hard, and it hurt. I don't know how I got hard because it was really uncomfortable. It's not like it felt good on any level." Don blinked rapidly, trying to clear his eyes, trying to calm himself down. "They yanked me around, dragged me where they wanted me, and the others were all arguing who was going to go first." He paused, feeling a wave of sickness, feeling the vomit rising in his throat. He felt desperate, cornered, the way he had in the basement.

"What was Maxwell doing?"

"He was always restraining me, holding me wherever it was they wanted me. He kept pawing me, pulling on my dick, trying to make me come, saying a bunch of sick sh - - sick things like telling me I really wanted it, that I was enjoying it."

"Were you?"

"Would you?" Don shot back, unable to contain himself, even if it was the prosecutor. "A bunch of guys grab you, beat the hell out of you, pull your clothes off, and spend the evening jamming their filthy dicks into you until your guts rip open. Would you enjoy that?"

"That's enough, Mr. Strachey," the judge said, tapping her gavel. "The court appreciates the difficult nature of your testimony, but you will confine yourself to answering the questions."

"I'm sorry, Your Honor. The last person who asked me if I enjoyed it was someone who was raping me. The question threw me coming from a rational person." Don looked at the prosecutor. "No, I wasn't enjoying it, and I didn't want it," he said, pinning Carson with an intent stare.

"Isn't it true you had an orgasm? Mr. Maxwell even thoughtfully provided us with photos."

"I know I came but I don't know why. All of it hurt and I just wanted them to get their goddamned hands off me." He rested his forehead on his hand, shielding his eyes. He could almost feel those hands on him, pawing and touching and violating him against his will. He knew he was crying and he couldn't help it. He grabbed another tissue and wiped his nose, hating most of all to give Maxwell the satisfaction of seeing what they had managed to do him.

"Was that the only time you climaxed?" he asked, and it was on the tip of Donald's tongue to ask him why he was doing this to him. He thought the prosecutor was supposed to be on his side.

"I think I came again. I don't remember which time or who was doing what. It felt like some kind of sick, out-of-body experience where you can't control anything. It turned into one big blur of pain and...I wanted to die but I couldn't."

"Was Mr. Maxwell present throughout your ordeal?"

"He was always holding me down, taunting me, touching me, doing something. He was always there. Through the whole thing."

"When it was over, who pushed you outdoors?"

"Maxwell. Fox was egging him on, but he dragged me upstairs. I couldn't have walked. I was kind of out of it from the pain, but I knew he was there. He never got enough of making fun of me, making sick jokes about the whole thing."

"Mr. Maxwell found your pain amusing?"

"Objection. Calls for speculation."

"Sustained. Please rephrase your question," the judge replied.

"When you expressed pain, how did Mr. Maxwell react?"

"He laughed. Or he masturbated, depending on the situation."

Don's testimony continued, while the prosecutor did his best to draw out of him every detail of Maxwell's abuse, restraint, and sexual assault. By the end of the day, the judge called a recess before the defense's cross examination could begin. Don felt drained, sickened, upset... Part of him wanted to run to Timmy, and another part didn't want anyone touching him, didn't want to face his partner, after he'd spent the afternoon recounting the depravity he'd been forced to endure at the hands of Fox, Maxwell, and their pals.

When he stood to leave the witness stand, the room spun a little, and he stayed there, trying to will it to slow down, to stay steady, so he could walk away from so much humiliation with at least a little dignity. Before he had time to think too much about it, Timmy was at his side, taking a gentle hold of his arm, steadying him as they walked out of the courtroom.

"I got dizzy," he said, raising a hand to his forehead.

"You're under a lot of stress, and you didn't eat anything since breakfast. Technically, you didn't actually eat that. Torturing it with your fork doesn't count," Tim said, trying to sound lighthearted. Don loved him for the attempt, but he didn't feel cheered up. He wondered if he'd ever feel cheered up again.

"You better hope the terrorists never recruit your partner here," Bailey said, joining them as they made their way down the hall toward the exit and the inevitable reporters hovering there.

"What are you talking about?" Don asked, frowning.

"Only one of the sneakiest, most persistent stunts I've ever seen to make a defendant in a felony case self destruct in front of a jury."

"All I did was look at him," Tim said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, looked at him long enough that he got pissed off and licked his lips and puckered at you in full view of the jury. At least half of them caught it." Bailey chuckled. "God, I'd give anything to have a snapshot of Garner's face," he added.

"What did you do?" Don asked Tim, stunned.

"You kept talking about how he was always laughing at you, making fun of your pain. I had to do something. It was either turn that smirk around on him, or wipe it off his face. I just kept staring at him, watching him. I could see it was making him nervous. Then he started getting irritated. Finally, he gave me this look, like he...well, it was creepy, like he wanted to do something to me. And he licked his lips and puckered at me."

"Have I mentioned lately just how much I love you?" Don asked, smiling.

"Get in line. I think Carson's going to propose to him on the courthouse steps," Bailey quipped, laughing. "The beauty of it is, the jury couldn't really see what Callahan was doing. But they saw Maxwell look right over at your partner, while you were testifying about his sick tendency to laugh at your pain, and blow a kiss to him. Of course, that was nothing without your partner's obvious distress over the gesture. This is going to be one of my favorite courtroom stories when I'm sitting with my buddies on that fishing boat I'm going buy when I retire."

"Ah, Timothy, just when I think I have you figured out," Don said, sliding his arm around his partner's waist and squeezing.

"I have to do something to hold your interest," he replied, his arm going around Don's shoulders, a big grin on his face.

********

Clad in his rattiest old robe, t-shirt, and socks, Don sat on the couch and sorted through the mail. Tim was on the phone with his mother, probably updating her on the trial. He was upstairs on his cell phone, and Don could only hear fragments of their conversation wafting down to the first floor.

He was surprised to find an envelope addressed to him in his mother's handwriting. He'd left her a voicemail a couple weeks earlier, all of Timothy's prodding and urging finally convincing him to at least make one more attempt to contact her. He opened the letter, not sure what to expect from it.

Dear Donald,

I hope this letter finds you feeling better. Several times I reached for the phone to call you, but I never knew what to say. I still don't. Then I got your voicemail message, and I knew I needed to get back in touch with you.

I saw your interview on the news after you made that false statement to save your partner. That must have been difficult to do. You handled it very well. It's obvious you've been through a lot in the last few of months.

Timothy seems very nice. He was more polite on the phone than I expected since we've never met, and I can tell he loves you very much. I'm glad you're happy together, that your relationship with him has been as lasting and good as you thought it would be.

I think about you often, and wonder how you're doing. I know you probably don't understand, but I'm not prepared to challenge your father, or tear our family apart. Welcoming you back into the family with your male partner would irreparably divide us, put us on either side of an issue for every family gathering, every holiday. I know I should be stronger, and accept that discord, but I don't want it to be the focus of every special moment in our family.

I wish you and Timothy every happiness, but I'm sorry I can't just welcome you two with open arms and deal with your father, your aunts and uncles on both sides of the family, and even your grandmother. She is very frail, and this would be very upsetting to her. She thinks you are a carefree bachelor in Albany and keeps asking when you're going to bring some nice girl home to meet the family. I know better than to ask you to play along with a charade that doesn't include Timothy. So here we are, back where we started.

I don't expect you to forgive me. I just wanted you to know that I do keep you in my thoughts and prayers, and I hope you are happy and doing well.

Love,

Mom

Don folded up the letter and stuffed it back in its envelope, honestly puzzled why she'd wasted a stamp. He'd gotten the message when she never returned his call; there was no need to hammer it into his head with something like this.

He could hear Timmy laughing now, and for a moment, he felt jealous of whatever inside joke he was sharing with his mother. They were always close, more like best friends than mother and son. Don found himself baffled by that kind of rapport with a parent. His parents had been good to him growing up, provided a loving home with all the normal experiences of childhood. And then soundly rejected him for being who and what he was. He couldn't picture Timmy's mother being able to turn her back on him for a whole week, let alone a lifetime. Nothing could break that bond, and no one better try. And yet he was so fucking disposable to his own mother that she had no problem writing him the mother-son equivalent of a "Dear John" letter right before the holidays.

Don was angry with himself for feeling bad, for the lump in his throat. He found himself feeling powerless all the time lately, whether it was his inability to protect himself from the assault he'd suffered, or being compelled to sit there and describe in detail things that he could barely face even thinking about and, finally, not being able to make himself not care about his mother or her ongoing desire to keep him out of her life. Discouraged, he stuck the envelope under the pillow on the couch and curled up there, exhausted from a draining day and too worn-out to cope with even one more unpleasant thought.

"Donald?" Timmy's voice startled him out of a half-doze. "My mother wants to talk to you, honey," he said, handing Don the cell phone. Not feeling very upbeat, Don forced himself to sound a little perkier than he felt.

"Hi, Mom," he said.

"How are you, sweetie? Timothy said you did very well with your testimony today."

"I guess I did all right. It's been a long day."

"I wanted to come for the trial, but then I thought maybe it would make you more uneasy to have more people there. I know it must be difficult to get through, talking about all of it in front of a bunch of strangers."

Don closed his eyes a moment, her words hitting home, and yet the fact that she mentioned the elephant in the corner put him oddly at ease.

"I think that's the worst part," he admitted. "It's a lot of ugly stuff you don't need to have to listen to. Thanks for even thinking about coming for it, though. That means a lot."

"I don't want any arguments on this. I want you and Timothy to come out to the country house for Christmas." Tim's parents kept a nice apartment in the city, but their "spread" was about ten very picturesque acres in Virginia, complete with a few horses and sleigh rides when the snow was deep enough. "I know you've both missed a lot of work, but you can miss the week between Christmas and New Year's. I already talked Timothy into it, so now it's up to you."

"Oh, wow, like I could stand up to both of you ganging up on me," Don joked, catching Timmy's eye from where he was working at the kitchen counter, making a salad for dinner. He just smiled at Don, probably knowing it wouldn't take much arm-twisting to get him to spend a week in the country, riding horses, eating his mother's cooking, and being swept up in the holiday cheer of the congenial Callahan clan.

"Good, then it's settled. Why don't you plan on getting here a few days before Christmas? Just take that whole week off."

"I'll have to talk to Timmy about his schedule. My business is already a disaster from all the time I couldn't work, so another week doesn't really matter for me at this point."

"You're very good at what you do. Everything will pick up again after the first of the year. People all get busy over the holidays. It's even more difficult to find time to cheat on each other or have each other followed when you're booked so solid," she added, and Don had to laugh. Timmy's mother was one of a kind.

"Can't argue with that logic."

"Donald, if you need anyone to talk to, you do know you can always call me? I know you have Timothy, but if you feel like you need a mom to lean on, I'm always here, sweetie."

He paused, the lump in his throat threatening to overtake his composure. He knew he couldn't answer her in a steady voice. Finally, he swallowed hard.

"Thanks, Mom," he said. She must have heard the strain in his voice.

"If you'd like me to come up for a visit, I can be there by tomorrow afternoon," she said. "I can't stand to think of either one of my boys needing me and not being there."

"It's just really good to hear your voice," he said. "The worst is almost over, and Timothy is my rock. He never lets me down," he said, catching Timmy's eyes, noticing they were a little on the moist side. "Christmas is only a few weeks away. I'm really looking forward to a visit for a happy reason."

"I understand, honey. You take care of yourself, and we'll have a good visit when you get here."

"It was good to talk to you," he said honestly, feeling like his own mother's behavior was a little less hurtful when he was so warmly accepted into Timmy's family, and so genuinely loved by his mother-in-law.

"You, too, sweetie. Remember, you call me if you need anything at all."

After he'd finished the phone call, he set the phone on the coffee table and looked over the back of the couch at Timmy, who was making something that smelled good.

"Your mom's one in a million."

"Yeah, she is," Timmy agreed, smiling. "Are you okay?"

"I'm all right. Just got a 'Dear John' letter from my mother. I guess she was afraid I'd show up there, or keep calling her if she didn't set me straight." He snorted a humorless laugh. "There's a sick play on words."

"Just today?" Tim asked, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel, coming to the couch to join Don.

"I don't want you to ruin whatever it is you're fixing. It smells good."

"It's just some garlic chicken," he said.

"Your garlic chicken," Don corrected. Timmy had a knack with the sauce that Don couldn't quite figure out, but it always tasted better than the stuff he found at any Chinese restaurant. Or maybe it was just because it was Timmy's, but one thing Don generally wasn't sentimental about was food. His partner's garlic chicken was, in his somewhat expert opinion from his years of eating out of Chinese takeout containers, the best in New York State.

"I thought you could use some cheering up," he said, sitting down and taking Don's stocking-clad feet in his lap. "You want to tell me about the letter?" he asked, starting a massage on Don's right foot.

"I'd give it to you to read, but then you'd stop what you're doing, and I'd rather walk in front of a bus than have that happen," he said, leaning back and closing his eyes. Timmy's soft chuckle soothed him almost as much as the rubbing motion on his foot. "She spent a couple paragraphs in a circular way of saying that she doesn't want to see me, doesn't want us to come there, and she doesn't want every holiday to be a fight in the family over an 'issue'... It was a subtle way of telling me to go to hell."

"I'm sure she didn't mean it that harshly, honey. When I talked to her on the phone that day - - "

"I know, she sounded concerned, and maybe she was. Maybe in her twisted way she loves me, but she's still disgusted by what and who I am." He sighed. "It just pisses me off that it still bothers me," he said, taking in a shaky breath. "If you were a serial killer, your mother would bake you cookies and visit you in prison every weekend. She'd never turn her back on you, she couldn't stand it. It's just so fucking easy for my mother to just...write me off. I just don't want her to be able to hurt me with it anymore."

"You love your mother, and she was a good mother to you growing up. You said yourself you were close when you were a kid. Those feelings don't just disappear."

"They do for her," he said, angry that his eyes were filling up again. "She just wants me to disappear. It would have been so much easier for her if I'd just died, and then she could have mourned with her church lady friends about how her gay son's evil lifestyle caught up with him and what a tragedy it was."

"Donald, no, don't say that," Tim said, looking horrified. "You know she wouldn't want you to die, or to be hurt, no matter how...incapable she is of dealing with the path your life has taken."

"Read that." He handed Timmy the letter, wondering if it was as awful as he thought it was. He waited while Timmy read it, and watched his face closely.

"She said you were in her thoughts - - "

"Yeah, as long as I don't call her, go home, or expect she might even care to meet the person I'm spending my life with. When I called her, I didn't ask her to have us there for Christmas. I just asked her if we could maybe get together, so I could see her, and she could meet you." He shook his head. "What a moron I am. I mean, she was right there when my father told me the Griffins were better off, and she never said a fucking word, never stood up for me, nothing."

"Oh, my God; he didn't really say that," Tim said, setting the letter aside. His hands rested on Don's feet again, but they weren't exactly massaging.

"Timothy, you see parents through the eyes of someone who's always been loved no matter what you did or didn't do. Even your father with all his political bullshit got over it. He got over you being gay, and while he may never get over you being a Democrat, the two of you take pieces out of each other every time you have a political discussion and somehow you move on. He even deals with me showing up every holiday, and actually makes me feel welcome in his home. Because you love me, and I come in the package with you. Your mother would walk through fire for you and not even blink. If your father rejected you, his marriage would have been over at the same time, and he knew it. You don't know what it's like to have your parents just...want to forget you exist. To have them feel like they'd be better off if you were dead because alive, you're too fucking awkward to explain and you're an 'issue' at the holidays. To show up on their doorstep so...broken and...and desperate and have them throw you out before you even take your luggage out of the car."

"I wish I could say something to make this easier," he said, rubbing Don's ankle a little.

"It's not like you haven't tried," he said, reaching out and taking Timmy's hand, squeezing. "You make me so happy every day, sweetheart. As long as I've got you, my life's just fine. And your mom makes me feel like part of your family, and I could never tell her how much that means to me."

"She's not faking it, you know. She really does love you and want you there. I've seen my mother be polite before. She gets this kind of glazed expression in her eyes that only someone who knows her like I do would spot beneath that perfect hostess veneer. She liked you from the first time she met you. She told me to stop looking, that I'd found the right one."

"You never told me that before. Were you still looking when you took me to meet the parents?" Don asked, grinning.

"I stopped looking after we met. I just didn't want to seem that easy to get," he added, still holding Don's hand, his smile radiant. "I don't know what I would have done if I couldn't have had you. If you weren't interested in me."

"Fat chance. What's not to be interested in?" He loved that the comment made Timmy duck his head just slightly and blush, that beautiful, faint pink he turned every now and then at just the right compliment. "If you hadn't wanted me, I would have never gotten over you," Don said, almost surprised at himself for saying it in so many words. He'd felt on top of the world the night he met Timmy, on cloud nine because he was in love after the first time he slid his arm around that warm body and looked into that beautiful, kind, wonderful face. It was fast, spontaneous, joyful, and would have been flamingly passionate if he hadn't respected Timmy way too much to try to screw him the same night they met. Truth be told, he'd toyed with making the proposition when his body was pressed against Timmy's and they were dancing, but he'd figured being a gentleman would turn Timmy on more than a quick pick-up, and his instincts had proven right.

"Something tells me you would have survived, met someone else."

"I know the difference between love and infatuation." He paused. "I didn't fall too easily after what happened with Kyle - - I didn't want to. With you, I couldn't help it. You just blew right past every barricade, right to my heart. I will never get over you, Timothy, and I never want to."

"I hope not," Timmy said, kissing the back of Don's hand. "I'd hate to be in one of the greatest loves of all time by myself," he added, grinning.

"Never. I wouldn't want to miss a minute with you."

"How about a rain check on the foot massage?" he asked, kissing Don's stocking foot. "I should really finish dinner before my sauce scorches."

"You do that, honey. As long as I get to scorch your sauce upstairs later."

********

Don looked at the clock, frustrated to see that it was already 2:00 in the morning, and he still wasn't asleep. Timmy was asleep, but he seemed restless, shifting and mumbling once in a while. He rubbed a hand tiredly over his face, his eyes feeling heavy, but the thought of another day in court weighing too heavily on his mind to let him rest. Even though he wasn't asleep, Timmy's scream and lurch to sitting bolt upright in bed made him jump, his heart pounding.

Timothy's eyes were wild, and he was breathing heavily. He finally looked at Don, and it was a draw which one of them looked more startled.

"It's okay, honey," Don said, regaining his equilibrium, wanting to calm Timmy's panic. "You must have had a bad dream," he said, reaching up to touch Timmy's face.

"It was awful," he said, still staring at Don, like he couldn't quite shake the nightmare's images.

"Do you want to talk about it, sweetheart?" Don asked, scooting a little closer.

"I can't...tell you about it."

"Of course, you can tell me. You can tell me anything, you know that."

"Not this."

"It was a dream, Timothy. You didn't do anything."

"I don't want to upset you."

"I'm not that fragile. Timothy, come on, whatever it is, it obviously upset you. Let me help." He rested his chin on Timmy's bare shoulder, giving him his best puppy eyes. That seemed to make Timmy look sadder somehow, and he kissed Don's forehead.

"I was in a basement. The basement. Although I don't know if it's accurate because I wasn't really there, so it's just how I picture it - - "

"Okay, honey, I get that you were in the basement. What happened?"

"They were making me watch. I could see what was happening. I could see what they were doing to you, but someone kept holding me back, not letting me go to you. And you were screaming," he added, looking away, brushing at his eyes. "I kept trying to reach you, to help you... I couldn't really see the faces of the men who were...around you, but it was Fox and Maxwell that were holding me back, laughing, like it was all a big joke," he said, his voice breaking.

"Aw, Timmy, that's just all the ugly stuff you had to listen to in court today," Don said gently, putting his arms around Timmy, pulling him close. "And the fact you couldn't make them stop questioning me, you couldn't help me. I know how hard that was. How hard it would be for me to watch you questioned like that and not be able to stop it."

"But I could see...it was like I was watching what happened to you, and it was so real."

"Unfortunately, our minds are real good at coming up with images, even when we don't really know what it looked like for real."

"I don't want to know what it looked like. I don't want to think of you that way...I'm not...I didn't want you to think that I wanted to see it."

"I never thought that, honey, not for a minute. It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong. You had a bad dream, that's all."

"I just can't get that image out of my mind of you in pain, and me not being able to do anything."

"That's how stupid dreams are. Timothy, you saved my life. You made me want to live, to hang on, and you took care of me around the clock until I was strong enough to start taking care of myself again. Every time I was hurting, you were there to take care of me, to make it bearable. I drew my...my life force from you. Like some kind of emotional life support system. You did everything, honey."

"I couldn't stop them from doing that to you."

"You didn't even know it was happening."

"I knew I couldn't sleep. I was restless. I wanted to call you. I should have called. Maybe it would have made a difference."

"Maybe, like getting you dragged into the middle of it. A phone call wouldn't have changed that."

"I was worried. I felt like something was wrong."

"You never told me that before."

"I guess it didn't seem important that I couldn't sleep that night, with everything else that happened."

"Don't ever feel like you were helpless, or like you didn't do anything. You saved my life in the hospital, you brought me back to life, you're my reason for wanting to be here and the reason I can get through this now. You defended me when Stenski came after me, you did your little head game on Maxwell in court. And the truth is, Timmy, you don't have to do anything. Just be with me and keep loving me, and that's everything."

"You know I'll always do that," Tim said, tightening his hold on Don.

Don knew what would really relax Timmy, ease his fears, make him feel loved and wanted and safe, send him into a deep sleep wrapped securely in images of love.

He pulled back and then guided Timmy's face toward his, kissing him passionately, pushing him back on the pillows, taking charge of their lovemaking in a way he hadn't since before the attack. He didn't need any words from Timmy. The way he threw himself into their kisses, the way his hands were skimming Don's back and sliding into his hair, the way his thighs parted and wrapped around him, bringing their growing erections into fevered contact with each other.

He lost himself in making love to that beautiful body beneath him, to lacing their fingers and tenderly pushing Timmy's arms over his head so he could kiss their soft skin, nuzzle those warm, hair-dusted armpits, lick and kiss that gorgeous chest that got him hard just looking at it. He sucked eagerly on the little pink nubs that were poorly concealed by Timmy's chest hair.

Finally relinquishing his hold on his lover's hands, he slid his hands down Tim's arms to his sides, then let them roam over the contours of his chest while he nipped and licked at the edges of Timmy's navel. He only paused long enough to discard his own underwear before pulling Timmy's down, freeing his erection, sending that jolt of desire through him he always felt when he finally got his beautiful partner naked.

Just as he was about to reach for the nightstand drawer, Timmy helpfully handed him the little tube he was after, laying his free hand on Don's heart, so much love in his eyes that it made Don's breath catch in his throat. How he could have ever seen sharing their bodies this way as anything but wonderful, seemed to escape him. All he could see was his Timothy, loving and willing and passionate as ever.

With the gel on his finger, he took Timmy's cock in his mouth, using his tongue the way he knew drove his partner crazy. He gently eased the slick finger inside the tight heat of Timmy's body, rotating it, stretching him, carefully moving up to two fingers, finding the little nub inside that made his partner cry out, shaking with the pleasure of it.

He knew Timmy well enough to know exactly when he was ready and he was through with preliminaries. With a little regret, he reached again for the nightstand. It wasn't that they never used condoms any other time, but there were times when they wanted the ultimate intimacy of no barriers, and years of fidelity had earned them that pleasure, until now.

"You don't have to do that," Timmy said, framing his face with both hands.

"Yeah, honey, I do. For a little while longer, anyway."

Refusing to let anything stem the flow of his desire, he rolled on the condom quickly and coated himself with the gel, always mindful of keeping Timmy comfortable. He eased inside, resisting the urge to thrust, giving Timmy that slow, easy stretch that let him adjust without pain. Timmy pulled him down for kisses, his thighs wrapping around Donald, encouraging him to sink deeper.

"Love you," Don managed, barely willing to take a break from Timmy's mouth long enough to speak. He was moving inside him now, gentle thrusts that would prolong their union, sinking as much into the sensations of kissing as the sensation of sex in a way he'd missed more than he realized.

Their shared moans and gasps occasionally interrupted their kisses, and while it felt liberating and wonderful to feel his climax building, to know that Timmy was close to coming, too, part of Don wanted it to last forever. Timothy felt tight and good around him the way he always did, sating all his physical desires the way he completely captivated and enchanted Donald in every other possible way. And then Timmy smiled at him, the way he sometimes did when it was this good and he was almost coming. Don felt his answering smile spread until he thought he couldn't smile any more.

He put a little more pressure on Timmy's prostate, loving the wanton cry that drew out of his lover, the spasms of that snug, warm passage his undoing, like it always was. The sights and sounds of Timmy's climax was all Don needed to fall into the abyss with him, to shout his name, to move inside him for the final moments until they were both spent and exhausted, lying there in a sweaty, exhausted tangle of limbs, hearts beating fast against each other.

"I've missed you," Timmy whispered, tears in his eyes.

"I'm right here, sweetheart," Don whispered back, kissing him, then smiling at him. "And I love you so much."

********

"All right, I'm coming," a female voice said, sounding a bit irritated. Their neighbor, Veronica Alden, had a greenhouse full of prize-winning roses behind her house. If it weren't for the locks and the rottweiler she perversely named "Muffin," he would have gone after one himself, so if she was disturbed this early in the morning, she only had her security measures to blame. "Donald?" she asked, looking stunned as she clutched her robe around herself, her hair the victim of a hasty taming before answering the door. "Is something wrong?"

He suspected he didn't look any better, wearing his robe, socks, shoes, and a coat over the top of all of it.

"Not exactly. I know it's early, and this sounds ridiculous, but I need a red rose."

"Excuse me?" she asked, widening her eyes a little. A pretty middle-aged woman with blonde hair and large green eyes, she enjoyed the house and grounds as part of a divorce settlement from her philandering husband - - whom Donald had helpfully photographed in flagrante delicto with his mistress, earning her half again what she would have gotten out of the deal without the photos.

"I need a red rose for Timothy. If I go all the way to the store, I have to get dressed, and then he'll be awake and it'll spoil everything."

"If he wakes up?"

"I want to have it when he wakes up." Don wondered belatedly if he smelled like sweat and sex, or if he was freeze-dried enough in the icy morning air to keep him from being too fragrant with the fruits of their passion.

"I should slam the door on you, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know, but you won't. Since you bought the new solid oak front door with the stained glass windows with your settlement money. Be kind of nasty to slam that on me, with the pictures, and all."

"You're an asshole, Donald," she said, laughing. "I have no idea why I like you. Come in. Any specific variety, or will any red rose do for Prince Charming to awaken his Sleeping Beauty?"

"Something beautiful. The most beautiful rose you've got. If there were a contest going on right now, the one you'd enter."

"Actually, there is a contest going on, and you can't have that one. But it's pink anyway, so I don't think you'll lose any sleep over that," she said, leading the way through the house toward the back door. She stuck her feet into a pair of old sneakers and led the way out to the greenhouse.

"You don't have any idea how important this is to me."

"I can see that." She smiled. "If it wasn't so romantic, I wouldn't do it. You know that, right?" The dog was awake now, barking from the back porch. "Muffin, Shhh!" She gestured angrily at the dog. "Enough!"

The rottweiler looked a little nonplused at the reaction, but he did stop barking and sat by the back door.

"You can't blame him for being cranky, with a name like 'Muffin'."

"He's such a big baby, he'd probably rather play with an intruder than bite him. So what did Mr. Wonderful do to deserve this? Or don't you kiss and tell?" She wandered among her prize plants, finally stopping by one with huge red blooms, selecting a rose that was in the first stages of opening. It would have made the finest florist proud.

"Last night was special, and...I'm just so in love with him this morning that I needed a rose."

"If I weren't bitter and divorced right now, I'd think that was really sweet." She handed him the rose.

"It's beautiful, thank you. And huge. It's a big rose."

"Well, Timothy's a big boy, isn't he?" she asked, letting the double entendre linger in the air. "Otherwise, he probably wouldn't be getting roses in the morning."

"Yeah, I guess he is," Don admitted, shaking his head.

"Go on, before he wakes up and this is all for nothing."

"Thanks for doing this. I'll make it up to you."

"Run another check on Larry's bank records? I want to be sure he isn't hiding anything for himself and his little cupcake. I'd like to add on to the greenhouse this spring."

"I can do that," he agreed, grinning. "For what it's worth, I always did think Larry was nuts. You're definitely hotter than his girlfriend's going to be when she's forty-five," he said.

"If you weren't gay and married, that would really make me feel good."

"Sorry about that," he said, laughing. "Better luck next time."

********

Tim felt something tickling his nose, accompanied by an exotic rose scent. Not really wanting to relinquish the peace of sleep, he opened his eyes and looked directly into Donald's big blue eyes and bright smile, as he tickled Tim's nose with the biggest red rose Tim had ever seen.

"Good morning, beautiful," Donald said, hooking his leg over Tim's, snuggling his naked body close.

"Where did you get a rose at this hour?" Tim asked, smelling it again, smiling at Donald, caressing his cheek. He just looked so cute leaning over Tim, up on one elbow, with his rumpled hair and his lovestruck expression. Kind of like a really hot, X-rated cupid without the diaper. Or the arrow.

"It should be a dozen, but the florists aren't open yet. I love you, Timothy." He leaned down for a kiss, and it was as soft and romantic as the gesture of presenting Tim with the rose.

"I love you, too, Donald," Tim replied, still smiling at his husband. "The rose is beautiful, darling. Just like you."

"I was going to make you breakfast in bed, but I figured you'd wake up before I got it done."

"This is much better than breakfast," Tim said, pulling Donald into his arms, hugging him close. "You feel cold."

"I was outside."

"You're naked."

"I had a robe on. And my coat."

"Where did you go for this rose?"

"Just over to Veronica's. Don't worry. I was covered. I didn't give her any cheap thrills."

"You woke up our neighbor to ask her to give you a rose to give to me at dawn? What did you tell her I did?"

"Just that we were playing schoolboy and headmaster again, and you let me be the headmaster this time."

"Donald!"

"I'm joking, Timothy," he said, laughing. It felt good to feel the rumble of Donald's laughter against him. He'd heard and felt far too little of it lately. "I just told her it was really important to me to give you a rose this morning when you woke up. Well, that, and that last night was really special."

"So the neighbor knows we had great sex last night."

"I'm sure she was appalled. She probably thought we were just buddies sharing expenses up 'til now."

"That's so romantic, that you'd go to all that trouble just to bring me a rose," Tim said, feeling more touched by the gesture than he could explain. It was so sweet, so gallant, and so completely Donald.

"Last night was beautiful," Don said, his voice hushed as he rubbed his cheek against Tim's chest, then kissed him there. "When I woke up this morning, I felt like...me again."

"You never stopped being you. My beautiful," kiss, "sweet," kiss, "strong," kiss, "handsome husband and love of my life," bigger kiss.

"I wish we didn't have to go to court today. We could just spend the day in bed and order a pizza when starvation took over."

"Tomorrow's Saturday, and my calendar is clear."

"What a coincidence. Mine is, too," Don added, grinning and squeezing Tim's middle.

"So what do you want on your pizza?" Tim asked, smiling as Don laughed again.

********

When they arrived at the courthouse, they were surprised to be met by Bailey and Carson, and led into a conference room.

"Maxwell's lawyer is willing to talk plea bargain," Carson said as they were all seated.

"Why now?" Don asked.

"I would say it was a bad day at the races for them yesterday," Bailey replied.

"The jury was definitely yours yesterday, Don," Carson replied. "Maxwell's little stunt with giving your partner that look didn't help. That's the kind of thing juries remember more clearly than thousands of pages of physical evidence and testimony. That one look at him acting like the sick asshole he is... You can't pay for better ammunition than that."

"What kind of plea bargain? Are you going to take it?" Tim asked.

"If we enter into the deal, he'll probably do about half the time he would if he's convicted on all the charges. The upside is we'd end all this today, and you wouldn't have to go through cross-examination."

"What do you think our chances are if we push it all the way? Go for it?" Don asked.

"I think we've got a very strong chance of nailing him on all the charges. If you believe one, you pretty much have to believe them all - - kidnapping, rape, aggravated assault...they all go together. Conversely, if you don't believe one...."

"You probably won't believe any of them," Don concluded, sighing. "You think the jury believed me?" 

"Yes. Juries are funny creatures, though. Sometimes acquittals happen that leave everyone in a state of shock. We run the risk of him walking out of here scot-free. I don't think that'll happen. I think we'll get a conviction."

"Then fuck him. Fuck him and his plea bargain. He's not going to call the shots anymore. He forced me to go through this, to testify to all the sick shit they did to me. Now he doesn't get to decide he's gonna get off easy. I say we go for it, take him to the mat. If they didn't think they were losing, they wouldn't be willing to talk plea deals."

"Donald, if we stop now, you wouldn't have to go through any more testimony. No one's going to think less of you if you don't want to do that," Tim said.

"Maybe not, but if you're game to go the distance," he said to Carson, "I want to do everything it takes to nail his ass."

"That's the spirit," Bailey said, chuckling. "Let's wipe that smirk off his face once and for all."

"Okay, I'll tell his lawyer we're not dealing anymore. The door is closed," Carson concluded, looking smug and satisfied with that thought.

"I suppose telling Maxwell I want his ass handed to me on a plate would be pushing it," Don said.

"It might be outside the boundaries of professional protocol, but I think he'll get that message," Carson replied, chuckling.

********

Carson had done a good job of being just rough enough with Donald during his testimony that it somewhat declawed the defense attorney. All he could do was go back over the same ground covered by the prosecutor, although he spent considerable time trying to confuse Donald about which attacker was which, trying to prove that he couldn't keep them straight. That seemed to only increase the jury's sympathy for a victim who had been abused by so many attackers that he literally would have needed a list and notes to remember one distinctly from another.

Donald found himself strangely calmer through this round of testimony. He didn't know if it was because he'd had to recall everything once already, because he felt like he was in the driver's seat now and Maxwell was his bitch this time, his fate resting on Donald's decision to refuse the plea deal and go for it, or simply because he'd made incredible love to his partner, and he felt more like a man, more like himself, than he had since the rape. And his dear, sweet, wonderful Timmy was wearing the rose in his lapel, looking a bit formal for court, but giving Don something beautiful to think about when things got ugly. Every now and then, he gave Don a look so smoldering that it made him feel on top of the world.

The defense's case was built on painting Donald as a willing participant in the assault, and even as they brought out their witnesses, it seemed to be falling flat with the jury. They were barred from dredging up anything from Donald's sexual history, since he was afforded the protection given to any rape victim. Even if they'd had carte blanche to bring up his past, he didn't have any hidden participation in group orgies for them to uncover. With Fox out of the picture, even Tim's history with him didn't really shed any negative light on Don as a victim. It was weakly implied that somehow Donald had it in for Fox because of that, that it figured into him "crying rape" instead of admitting it was a consensual encounter, that Fox's desperate attempt to compel him to make a public statement was his way of trying to clear his name.

Once the case was with the jury, there was a sense of relief that no more testimony was going to be needed, that it was finally over in a sense, even though no verdict had been rendered. Donald's ordeal on the witness stand was over, and the long days of sitting in court dredging up bad memories and dealing with Maxwell's presence was over, except for returning for the reading of the verdict itself.

As Don and Tim made their way down the courthouse steps, they were harassed by the usual contingent of reporters. They were surprised to see among them a well-known face, Madeleine VanSumeren, from one of the major news networks, jockeying into position among the other reporters.

"Mr. Strachey, I'd like the opportunity to interview you on my show," she said, falling into step with them.

"If I was interested in being interviewed, I'd have returned your calls," Don said, not looking at her. He didn't care that she was one of the best-known cable news network personalities, that she had her own popular show, or that she was chasing him down the courthouse steps just for the chance to interview him. Right then, he just wanted to get away, spend some quiet time with Timmy, put the trial out of his mind.

"The last thing the public saw was you making that false statement about the case."

"That statement didn't mean anything."

"Well, it was a lot more compelling viewing than the follow-up story that barely got airtime. This is your chance to tell your side of the story, to make sure people know the truth - - that the last thing they see of you isn't you telling that your whole testimony was a lie."

"Look, Ms. VanSumeren, I think my partner has been very clear that he's not interested," Tim said. "If you'll excuse us," he added, putting a protective arm around Don.

"I wouldn't ask you to do this if I didn't think there was some benefit in it for you. I'm not in the business of exploiting rape victims," she added. "This kind of positive exposure could be good for your business, and I won't lie, it'll be good for my ratings. We both win."

"Please, leave us alone," Tim said, stopping cold in his tracks, placing himself between Don and the woman.

"Timothy, it's okay. Look," he said to Ms. VanSumeren, "I've testified in court, and I don't really want to go through telling my story again. It was bad enough telling it in a courtroom."

"I'm not suggesting you tell all the salacious details of the rape itself. Frankly, we couldn't even broadcast all that. But the story of what you went through, your encounter with a corrupt cop, the fact you were forced to denounce your own credibility to save your partner's life, that you suffered what you did because one of the assailants had some sick obsession with your partner - - "

"Leave Timothy out of this. I won't go on the air and talk about his personal history. This is why I've avoided the media. I just want my life back. I want to move on from all this. If I go on a national news network, it's only going to make things worse."

"Right now, the media has a whole lot of supposition and half-truths. If you set the record straight, you can explain what really happened. And you could bring attention to a crime that is probably the most under-reported - - male rape."

"That's the whole point," Don shot back. "I don't want to bring attention to it! I don't want attention because I was raped. I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to think about it, and I don't want what happened to me to be entertainment for a bunch of true crime junkies to listen to with their evening snacks!"

"Donald, let's just go," Tim said, running his hand across Don's shoulders. "That's enough. We're finished here," he directed at Ms. VanSumeren.

"If you change your mind, this is my direct line," she said, holding out a business card. "My intention was never to offend you or upset you. I really would like to give you a tasteful outlet to tell your side of the story."

Don stared at her and the card a moment, then took it.

"I'm sorry I blew up at you," he said. "I'm very uncomfortable with the media attention. I just want to get through this and go on with my life."

"That's understandable," she said. "If I've made you uncomfortable, I'm sorry."

"I'll think about it," he said, tucking the card in his pocket. "Just...if I don't call you, please don't keep calling me, okay?"

"I'll leave it up to you to contact me," she agreed, nodding. She extended her hand to shake, and Don accepted it. "Before my television career, I was a prosecutor. I do realize how much courage it takes to handle testifying in a case like this, and how difficult it is when the media gets involved. I promise you, if you decide to consent to an interview, it won't be lurid or exploitive."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, withdrawing his hand. "We need to go," he said, and with that, he let Tim guide him the rest of the way toward their car. He didn't argue with Timmy when he took the keys and opened the passenger door for him.

"You okay, honey?" Timmy asked after he got in the car, reaching over to take Don's hand in his.

"I thought I had better control of myself than that. I shouldn't have blown up that way."

"We're both under a lot of stress, waiting for the verdict."

"I just wish they'd leave me alone."

"I know," he agreed, kissing the back of Don's hand.

"Do you think I should do her show?"

"I don't know," Tim said, still holding Don's hand. "I think we need to take a step back and take some pressure off you for a while. You did so well with your testimony, and we still haven't gotten through the verdict. That's going to be your vindication, honey. When Maxwell's found guilty on all charges and ends up doing solid time in prison. You don't have to defend yourself on television."

"I don't have to defend myself at all." Don looked over at Tim with all the love in the world. "My husband defends me whenever I need him," he said, reaching up and touching Timmy's face lightly.

"Your husband would like to take you out on a date tonight," Tim said, catching Don's hand in his. "Dinner and a movie, maybe?"

"I just happen to have a free evening," Don said, smiling, though he still felt that ever-present heaviness in his chest. It must have shown on his face, because Timmy tightened his hold on Don's hand.

"Whatever you decide about that news show, things will eventually get back to normal, Donald. It won't always be messed up like this."

For once, he was glad to have a small, cramped car. He could easily lay his head on Tim's shoulder for just a minute, and get the little caress to his cheek and the warm feeling of Timmy's head against his before they started the drive for home.

********

Soft music played in the background, candlelight danced on the table, and Tim found it nearly impossible to keep his eyes on the menu and choose something. Donald was studying the menu with characteristic intensity, and Tim was just enjoying sitting there, studying Donald. Whatever his partner ordered, he'd pick something else, so they could share. He didn't need to waste time on the menu when he had such an unguarded moment of Donald-watching to enjoy. The subject of his loving scrutiny looked at him over the menu, then grinned.

"What?"

"Just wondered what you decided on," Tim said, laying his own menu aside. He'd been there enough times to wing it.

"I'm between the shrimp scampi and the veal parmigiana."

"Why don't I get one and you get the other; we'll share, and then you don't have to choose?"

"What were you going to get?"

"The shrimp," Tim said, though he hadn't actually picked that out. Truthfully, he didn't care which entree he had. The food was all good, and he was there with Donald, and if shrimp and veal made Donald happy, they were fine with Tim.

"That's easy, then. I'll get the veal." He laid his menu on top of Tim's and picked up his wine glass. "I'd like to propose a toast," he said, and Tim smiled, picking up his glass. "To you, for making me so happy and just...being you." The words touched Tim deeply, and he tapped his glass to Don's.

"To finding time for more date nights," he added, and Don smiled a little slyly, since his schedule was usually the reason they couldn't find time for nights like these. He drank to it, anyway. "What did Kenny have to say when you called in? Business picking up a bit?"

"As much as it can with me tied up with the trial. He's doing a lot of routine background checks, some garden-variety surveillance he can handle without me. He's still determined he's going to make partner," he added, smiling.

"Would that be such a bad idea?" Tim asked.

"It's not Kenny. He's a great kid, and with some mentoring and a little maturity, he could be really good at this line of work."

"But...?" Tim prodded.

"I'm used to working alone. I do my own thing, on my own schedule, and make my own decisions. There's a big difference between my considering really hiring him on to do investigative work full-time and actually making him a partner in the business, with a share in the decision-making."

"Maybe he needs to learn to creep before he can walk," Tim suggested, smiling. "Kenny's young and he's impatient. He's anxious to become what he wants to be when he grows up. I remember having that enthusiasm, that impatience with the pace of life."

"Seems like a lifetime ago that I was that young and that anxious for much of anything," Donald said, and the sadness was back in his eyes. Then he looked up at Tim across the table and his whole expression changed. "Except for when I met you. I was impatient to cut through all the courtship and just have you," he said, smiling. Then he hastened to add, "I mean as a life partner, not just have you...you know, for the sex." He sat back in the chair looking disgusted with himself. "That wasn't exactly the romantic proclamation I was shooting for."

"Donald, darling, it was a beautiful thing to say," Tim said sincerely, feeling his eyes fill just a little. He didn't know if it was the lovely sentiment of the comment itself, or the ache he felt that Donald believed he'd somehow said something wrong, when he'd said something so beautiful.

"It's just that until I met you, I didn't get very excited about things. Not after...not with some of the stuff going on with me at the time." He looked up at Tim with that devilish glint back in his eyes. "Not that I didn't want you for the sex, too," he added.

"I got the message that was part of the package," Tim replied, laughing softly. "I know you're worried about that news program. Since the 600-pound gorilla is dining with us, we might as well include him in the conversation."

"Sorry," Don said, though he smiled at Tim's words. "You know, it was irritating enough having everyone tell me I was 'that gay detective' after that magazine article, but honestly, getting clients because they saw me on the news about the case...it makes me feel crawly. I wish...I wish no one knew anything about it. I can understand why people don't report rapes."

"Your situation isn't helped by all the publicity surrounding it. Bailey still hasn't found out who leaked all the extra information to the press?"

"What real difference does that make? Fox forced me into that bogus statement, and now that it's out there, I'd almost have to do something to counter it if I want to be taken seriously again." He took another drink of his wine, looking like he needed it.

"I'm so sorry about Fox, all the pain he's caused you. I never thought - -"

"This isn't your fault, honey. None of it. You just get to live with the fallout of it all the time."

"I don't feel that way about it, Donald. I love you. I care about what you're going through. I just wish I could do something to fix it."

"You jumped out of that SUV in time. That makes us even for the rest of our lives," he said, reaching for Tim's hand across the table. Tim was only too happy to clasp hands as he looked across the table at Donald in the golden glow of the candles. "If I didn't have you..." He took in a deep breath and expelled it slowly.

"But you do have me. You always will."

"I hope so," Don said, his voice strained, his grip on Tim's hand almost painful. His eyes sparkled just a bit too much in the candlelight.

"Honey, it's okay. I'm fine and we're together. We're going to grow old together. Do you honestly think I'd ever go anywhere and miss a minute I could have with you?"

"Promise?"

"I already did. In this world and the next. I take forever pretty seriously," he added, smiling, glad that Donald smiled, too.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to get so morose."

"There's something else bothering you. Do you want to talk about it?"

"I guess it's just that damn letter from my mother," he said, his thumb rubbing over Tim's knuckles lightly as he stared at their clasped hands. "She probably doesn't really believe I was raped," he said, shaking his head a little derisively. "She probably thinks I'm really that depraved, that I got myself into it...because of what I am."

"I'm not sticking up for her, Donald, but she doesn't act like she doesn't believe you."

"She probably thinks of me like people think of a hooker who cries rape. If you can believe someone deserves to burn in hell for being gay, it's not much of a stretch to assume she might think I got what I had coming, or that I brought it on myself. I just wish I didn't care anymore."

"I know it doesn't make up for what's happened with your mother, but you know my mother is just dying to have us home for Christmas."

"You think your dad would be equally enthused?"

"My father never had a problem with you. He might not have picked out the way my life turned out, but he copes with it. You two argue more about politics than you do about homosexuality. He'll take it to his deathbed and never admit it, but he likes you. Besides, it'll go like everything else in our family - - my mother will be ecstatic, and my father will be swept along for the ride," he added, smiling.

They enjoyed the rest of their meal, the conversation finally turning to lighter subjects. Tim knew that Donald walked around with a very heavy weight on his shoulders since the rape, not the least of which was the unsolved mystery of which perpetrator had tampered with their brakes. He'd investigated it, questioned the entire hospital staff on duty that day, and even hunted down a number of patients he'd been able to track by word of mouth, since the hospital wasn't willing to release their information to him. No one had seen the brake tampering, and if they did, they weren't talking.

As much as had happened in that time, it had only been a few months since the attack. Don was cleared to be back to work and back to his usual level of physical activity. He knew Don worried about their sex life, which Tim honestly didn't think had ever been more active, intimate, or loving than it was now. There was no denying that one thing was conspicuous by its absence, and though he'd only admit it to himself, he did miss that wonderful feeling of being inside Donald. He told himself it would all work itself out in time, but he longed to make things right for his partner, to let him off the hook and ease the angst that always seemed to be in his eyes, or just under the surface of his smiles.

He smiled as he watched Don eating a shrimp. His lips were a little shiny from the garlic butter, and he licked a little of it off his fingertip, blissfully unconcerned with the fanciness of the restaurant. Part of Tim longed to be that finger. Even the threat of lingering garlic breath didn't faze him. He ate another of the shrimp himself, figuring they could take care of it with a box of Junior Mints at the movie.

They chose a harmless, inane comedy and settled in with their treats in the back row of the theater, their favorite spot in case they lost interest in the movie and found each other more interesting. It was more for the lark of going on a date together than it was for the movie, anyway. Sitting shoulder to shoulder and sharing a big bucket of popcorn, the rest of the world was held at bay outside the darkened theater for at least a couple hours. Tim didn't even mind when Don dozed off two-thirds of the way through the movie, because Tim had his arm around him, and Don's head was resting on his shoulder. His breathing was soft and even, his hand hooked over the edge of the popcorn bucket. Something about that was very endearing to Tim, that he'd nodded off mid-reach. Don's sleep was still interrupted by nightmares sometimes, and his sleep pattern had been spotty at best most of that week.

Tim rested his cheek on the softness of his lover's hair, tightening his hold on him just a bit. Instinctively, Don shifted a little, tucking his head more completely underneath Tim's, as if he sought shelter in the warmth between Tim's neck and shoulder. Tim kissed his hair, feeling very protective of the man in his arms, and looking forward to taking him home, whether they just curled up on the couch and napped in front of another silly movie, or made love late into the night.

Either way, date night was a great success, and Tim Callahan considered himself one lucky man.

********

"The jury only deliberated about four hours, total," Bailey said, leaning over toward Don and Tim to speak quietly as they were waiting for the jury to file in and take their seats. A verdict was already in by mid-morning of the first full day of deliberations. The jury had the case for two hours the previous afternoon, and since eight o'clock in the morning on the day they reached a verdict, at about ten o'clock. "That's what we like to call a slam-dunk," he added.

"The trial ain't over 'til the fat lady sings," Don whispered back.

"I hate to be unchivalrous, but the jury forewoman is a bit on the plump side," Tim added, and Bailey chuckled.

"I always thought Strachey was the one with the twisted sense of humor," he said, sitting back in his seat as the jury entered. A moment later, the judge came in, and all rose until she called the court to order.

Donald knew there were a variety of legalities going on, but all he could focus on was the tightness in his chest, Tim's hand in his, and Maxwell's face, which didn't hold quite the same arrogant smirk it usually did. He knew his hand flexed in Tim's, and he couldn't help it. Every time he laid eyes on Maxwell, he felt like he was being dragged back into that basement, trying to hold onto the top step with bloody fingernails clutching at the floorboards.

He was distracted from that ugly mental image by the feeling of Tim's other hand covering their joined hands, and the soft sound of Timmy's voice and the warmth of his breath close to Don's ear. He didn't know what Tim said, but it didn't matter. He held onto his hand like a lifeline and let the solace of his voice, the feel of his breath, the scent of his cologne, and the sight of his beautiful and so beloved profile wrap around him like a protective blanket. He felt emotional, angry as it made him to feel so close to tears. One more awful phase of his ordeal was close to an end, and yet he didn't feel much freer of the memories and the fears and the emotions that lingered in the dark recesses of his mind.

One word penetrated all of it: Guilty. Over and over again, Guilty. To each and every charge, for every cruel, depraved, sadistic thing Maxwell had done to him, or participated in doing to him... Guilty.

Part of him wanted to jump up out of the seat and wave his arms, cheering, but he didn't move. It was all too much, too overwhelming. Finally, after all the questioning of his credibility, the nightmare of testifying, watching Maxwell prance into court day after day with that arrogant smirk on his face, wondering if the twelve strangers who listened to him talk about all the awful, grossly personal, and traumatic sexual indignities he'd suffered really believed that he was an innocent victim and not just some male whore crying rape when he got in over his head, like the defense wanted them to believe.

It was over, and twelve strangers who didn't know him, had no personal bias in his favor, and even a few who held biases against him because of his sexual orientation...those twelve people believed him. Took his pain and his suffering and his near death seriously, and held Maxwell accountable for it.

"Donald?" Tim's voice sounded strained, concerned, and Don was aware of gentle hands on his shoulders, of Tim's knees bumping his as he turned toward him. Don hadn't even realized he was leaning forward in his seat, head in his hands, not moving while the verdict was read. He didn't even notice that there were tears on his cheeks, or that he was crying, until Timothy noticed it and produced a handkerchief to dry his tears and then wrapped him up in a hug. "It's over, honey. The good guys won," he said, a little smile in his voice. Timmy understood what he was feeling, why he was crying instead of jumping for joy, why what he needed most was the shelter of that embrace, a hiding place from curious or prying eyes.

He forced himself to give up that warmth and shelter, knowing people were moving about, the courtroom was clearing, and aware of the voices of Bailey and Carson nearby. He wiped off his own face with the handkerchief and wiped his nose, stuffing the cloth in his pocket and giving Timmy the smile and the quick little kiss he deserved for always knowing exactly what Don needed, and always being there to give it to him.

"Carson," he said, shaking hands with the prosecutor, "thank you for taking this all the way."

"I'm just glad the jury made the right decision. You were a solid witness for us, Donald. I hope we can count on you for a statement at the sentencing hearing."

"I'll be there. I have a few things to say to Maxwell I'd like to get off my chest."

"We'll get together and discuss that before the hearing. Maybe right after the first of the year?"

"Okay. Just let me know. We'll be out of town over Christmas, but we should be back right after New Year's," Don said, looking at Tim, who nodded in agreement.

Tim also shook hands with Carson, thanking him for all he did to bring about the conviction. Don didn't really hear what they said, because he was focused on Maxwell being placed in handcuffs and led out of the courtroom. He glanced in Donald's direction, and this time, it was Donald's turn to wear the arrogant smirk.

********

A thick blanket of snow was covering Albany as December wore on, and Don was back to work at his private eye business, the settlement money from the city having paid the bills and Kenny's salary until he was able to get back on his feet again. He'd reluctantly agreed to the interview with Madeleine VanSumeren on the cable news channel, and she'd kept her word to stick to a tasteful set of questions. It wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't nearly as ugly as testifying. Since his forced, false statement had made national news, it seemed the only way to get similar attention for the truth, to salvage his reputation. Though he refused to talk about the actual assault in any detail, he discussed the stand-off with Fox, the threat to his partner, and his reasons for making the false statement. They'd blurred his face at his request, since appearing on national television would probably be the final nail in the coffin of him ever doing undercover work again.

Don found himself wishing all the issues from the rape were as easily dispensed with as bad publicity. He could tell himself life was back to normal, he had his physical well-being mostly back, though he had to admit, if only to himself, that there were still foods he avoided that he'd been able to eat before his surgery. He wasn't positive if his digestive system really was more sensitive, or if he had the lingering fear of bringing on painful symptoms by abusing it the way he generally did when his schedule was full.

His life with Timmy continued to be as sweet and content as ever, but there were dimensions still missing from their sex life, and Don couldn't honestly think of how or when he'd get them back. He was still afraid of being penetrated, and no matter how affectionate, patient, and gentle Timmy would be, and even though he trusted him more than he'd ever trusted anyone else, ever in his life, he couldn't force himself to deal with it. Intellectually, he knew their lovemaking would have nothing to do with any of that and that his body was healed and able to withstand it, but his mind couldn't convince his body of that fact. Timmy continued to have the undying patience of a saint, but he had to miss it. Had to be feeling deprived, at least on some level.

Trudging up the steps to his office, Don muttered some unsavory words about the weather that had left his coat damp with falling snow. He greeted Kenny as he went into his office, shutting the door. Kenny was engrossed in something on the computer, and Don really didn't know if it was work or play. Truthfully, he didn't care. Kenny kept the files filed, the phones answered, the bills paid, kept the office running while Don was recovering, and handled some surveillance work under Don's watchful eye.

He hung up his damp coat and pulled off his gloves, blowing on his cold fingers. He smiled briefly when he thought of Timmy's way of warming them up for him, taking Don's hands in his and blowing warm air on them, then kissing the cold fingers. He made a mental note to look miserable when he took his gloves off at home so he could prompt such welcome attention. Maybe winter in Albany wasn't so bad, after all.

As Don settled in with a pile of mail to sort, an envelope caught his eye. The return address was from the lab where he'd had his most recent HIV test. He had his results sent to his office because he didn't want Timothy to have to sit with the envelope and agonize over it until Don got home, if it came on a night he worked late. He knew Timmy wouldn't open his mail, but he also knew it would just upset him until he knew what was inside it. Surprised that his hands were shaking a little as he picked up the letter opener, he sliced the top of the envelope decisively and pulled out the sheet of paper, unfolding it. The word Negative jumped off the page at him, and he slumped back in his desk chair with a large expelled sigh of relief. It had been years since he'd even had to think about this, sweat out the arrival of the lab envelope, and he truthfully didn't miss it one bit. Life before monogamy didn't even cross his mind much anymore. He couldn't picture being intimate voluntarily with anyone but Timmy.

While he was still staring at the paper with a faint smile, the front door of the office opened, and Justin Sommers walked in, bearing an even more unsettling resemblance to Timothy in a long, dark topcoat over a suit and tie. He hadn't been wearing glasses the last time Don saw him, but now he had small, fashionable glasses not unlike Timothy's. Of course. He rose and went to the door of his office.

"Justin, come in," Don said, saving Kenny the painfully ridiculous task of buzzing him in his office to ask if he was available while the visitor watched him answer the call through the windows of his office.

"The snow's starting to mix with sleet out there," he said, shivering a little as he followed Don into the office and sat in one of the visitor chairs. Don sat in the other, not bothering with the formality of sitting behind the desk.

"Yeah, I think we're gonna pack it in early and go home before dark," Don said, loud enough for Kenny to overhear. His office manager was grinning visibly as he began to tidy up the items on his desk.

"I won't keep you long," Justin said.

"Don't worry about that. Take your time. What can I do for you?"

"I never really properly thanked you for what you did for me. Maybe 'thanked' isn't exactly the right word. More like apologized for what you went through."

"I never blame my clients if I get hurt on the job. It's my responsibility to watch my back, not theirs."

"Still, you never told on me to Simon. He figured it out, obviously, but I know you didn't tell him, even when it had to be very difficult to protect that confidence."

"Don't try to take this on yourself. I slipped up somehow, and they found me at the gym that night, and they would have done what they did no matter what I did or didn't tell them."

"I sued Simon's estate because of my head injury. I have headaches, mood swings, I can't seem to focus enough to stay in classes to get my degree. The doctor's not sure if it'll get better or not. I'm lucky to be walking, talking, and moderately sane, according to him."

"I hope you get what you deserve to help offset all that," Don said.

"His family settled out of court with me. Gave me his entire estate, anything that couldn't be proven as ill-gotten gains from his criminal activity, that is. With his life insurance, some investments and other assets, it was about half a million dollars. My lawyer got some of it, obviously, but I still got a few hundred thousand. It's not phenomenal, but it'll pay my extra medical expenses, put food on the table until I can figure out if I'm going to be on permanent disability, or if I can go back to school and get a degree in something a little less technical."

"I'm glad for you."

"You settled with the city. I don't want to know specifics or anything, but I hope they were fair."

"Fair enough. We could have pushed for more, but I just wanted enough to put my life back together, maybe make things more comfortable for Timothy and myself financially. Be sure he's taken care of if anything happens to me. I never had the luxury of a huge life insurance policy, but I do now, and it feels great. I know he'd never want for anything, that he'd be secure even through illness or old age if I wasn't there."

"I never paid you for your services, and that seems especially unjust considering what happened, so I just wanted to settle up now."

"Hang onto the money, Justin. You'll need it to take care of yourself."

"That's very kind of you," he said. "There's one other thing."

"What?"

He leaned forward and whispered, "Is your office manager gay?"

"Yes, why?" Don asked, smiling.

"You think he'd go out with me?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," Don replied, chuckling a little. "Is that why you came back here, to ask Kenny out?" He kept his voice low.

"I really did plan to pay you, but I could have mailed a check. I figured this way, I could have a reason to be here. What does he like to do?"

"I think he goes clubbing sometimes, but he's pretty flexible. If he likes you, he'll probably be game to do something you enjoy."

"I can be moody and kind of flaky since I got hurt, but he seems really nice, like he might be willing to overlook some of that."

"Just ask him out. If you hit it off, great. If you don't, well, nothing ventured, nothing gained."

"Okay, I will," he said, smiling.

"I want to show you something," he said. Standing, he reached for the framed photo of Timmy that was always on his desk, always in his line of vision while he worked. "This is my partner, Timothy."

"Oh, my God. I never saw his picture before now. I mean, I saw a couple blurry shots on the news where you guys were running in and out of the courthouse, but nothing up close. I look just like him."

"Very similar," Don said, refraining from saying that no one was quite like his Timothy, physically or in any other way.

"I can't believe that psycho was only with me because I looked like some guy who dumped him years ago. Everything that happened to both of us was the result of some stupid obsession with someone who never gave him a passing thought."

"That's the stalker mentality for you," Don said, taking back the picture. "To be honest with you, it was part of the reason I took your case in the first place. I was kind of backed up when you came in that day, and I almost referred you to a friend of mine who also does very good work. But I saw so much of Timothy in you that I took the case. Maybe I'm as crazy as Fox was."

"We put a lot of stock in looks in this culture. If we didn't, I'd have never dated Simon in the first place. He was my ideal 'type.' I always got turned on by the big muscles," he added. "Now, I'd just like to meet somebody nice who won't dump me when I'm in one of my depressions." He shrugged. "Of course, if they happen to be really cute, too, like Kenny out there, that's an added bonus."

"I'm glad you're doing at least okay, even if you've got some stuff to get through yet," Don said.

"Same to you," he replied, as they both stood. "Are you guys doing something over the holidays?"

"We're spending Christmas with Timothy's family. What about you?"

"That could depend on Kenny out there. I bought tickets on a Christmas cruise to the Caribbean. I know I shouldn't have blown the money, but now I just need someone to go with me."

"Why don't you start with dinner? If that goes well, I don't think you'll be traveling alone."

"Yeah? Man, I hope you're right."

"Hey, what's with the monkey suit, anyway?" Don asked, tugging on Justin's lapel.

"Oh, that. I had a meeting with the lawyer to get my settlement money, and some bank appointments. Thought I'd dress up a little so they'd take me more seriously."

"Go catch Kenny before he leaves. If I don't talk to you before, Merry Christmas."

"Same to you, and Timothy. I hope you have a nice visit with your family."

"We will."

Don went back to his desk, keeping one surreptitious eye on Justin as he talked with Kenny in the outer office. Kenny smiled even more widely at a point, and nodded, and then both of them were laughing about something and exchanging numbers. Not that Don really expected Kenny would turn down a date with a cute guy like Justin Sommers. And not that Kenny was so shallow when push came to shove that he'd pass up getting to know a nice guy he might really like just because that guy came with some baggage.

Smiling and suddenly lonely for his own better half, Don piled up the mail and checked his watch, wondering if it was too early to call Timmy and take him home. He'd driven Timmy to work that morning, since the weather was already ugly and getting worse, and he always liked it when he could personally make sure his partner got safely back and forth in severe weather. Tim was a good driver and more than competent to take care of himself, but Donald liked taking care of him anyway, being his hero, even for a little thing like slippery roads. He almost jumped in his chair when the phone rang and Tim's office number popped up on the caller ID.

"Hi, honey," Don said, not bothering with the pretense of a formal greeting, as if he didn't know who was on the other end of the call.

"Hello, handsome!" Timmy's voice came over the line, cheerful. "I was hoping there was a hot-looking guy in your office who might be free for dinner in front of the fireplace on a dark and stormy night."

"I think Kenny already has plans," he joked.

"Very funny," Tim replied, chuckling. "How about it? Come pick me up?"

"This is just weird. I was going to call you to see if I could come get you and go home early since the storm is getting kind of nasty out there."

"You know storms turn me on," Tim said, his voice dropping a bit in volume and tone. God, it was his bedroom voice. Don wondered if his dick was going to do the ninety-degree salute right there, or if it would behave itself until he got home. No such luck. The telltale sensations were all there.

"You always turn me on, so you've got a deal. Pick you up in half an hour?" Don asked.

"I'll be waiting out front."

"Stay indoors, sweetheart. It's really coming down. I'll come in and get you."

"It's just rain and snow, Donald," Tim replied, a smile in his voice. "I won't melt."

"You left your umbrella in the car and I can't always get very close to the entrance if it's busy over there. Let me dust off my chivalry once in a while, okay?"

"I'll wait for you in the lobby. I love you," he added. Don knew he sometimes took those three little words Tim so often said to him somewhat for granted when he was busy, in a hurry. Today, he focused on them, on the sweetness and love in Timmy's voice when he said them.

"Yeah, I know you do. I love you, too, beautiful. I'll see you in a little while." He hung up, smiling at the phone like the lovesick sap he was.

********

Tim stoked the fire, soaking up the warmth radiating from it before setting the poker aside and plugging in their Christmas tree. He dimmed the rest of the lights and lit some candles. Donald was busily mixing their martinis, and for a moment, Tim just stood there looking at him. They had both shed their wet coats and business clothes and changed into their favorite old cold weather clothes. Donald was wearing heavy socks, sweat pants, and an old sweatshirt from the martial arts school that was next door to his former office. Tim knew he was no more fashionable in his own sweat pants, SUNY Albany sweatshirt, and the ratty old blue cardigan that even his grandfather wouldn't have claimed.

This was the sweet part of being married, of having the love of your life all picked out and yours forever. The cozy domesticity and utter disregard for appearances. As if to underscore his thoughts, Donald unceremoniously scratched his butt and yawned loudly before shuffling to the refrigerator to look for the olives.

"We need to go to the store," he said, returning to the counter with the jar of olives.

"What are we out of now?" Tim asked, joining him in the kitchen, sliding his arms around him from behind, nuzzling his neck.

"The olives are running low, and we're almost out of beer."

"Well, that does it. I'll just go back out in the storm," he quipped.

"Okay, smart ass. Just wait 'til I make you a martini and have to put...I don't know...a mushroom in it or something. Have we ever run out of olives before?"

"I don't think so. Milk and orange juice, occasionally, but never olives that I remember."

"At least we've got our priorities straight," he replied, spearing the olives and adding them to their drinks. He smiled. "You want to let go of me so we can take these in the other room?"

"Not particularly." Tim tightened his hold a little, kissing Donald's ear.

"Okay," he replied, laughing.

"I like being married to you," Tim said, not sure he'd ever really said that to Donald in so many words. They exchanged a lot of "I love yous" and a lot of other romantic words here and there, but after coming so close to losing Donald, it was even more important to him that his partner...no, his husband...knew how much he really treasured what they had together.

"I like being married to you, too, sweetheart. I'm planning on sticking with it until I croak."

"I just wanted you to know that. How happy you make me, all the time."

"All the time?"

"Most of the time," Tim amended, smiling. "No, all the time," he repeated, rubbing his cheek against Donald's. "My knight in shining armor."

"My armor got tarnished a long time ago, Timothy," Don replied, a little tinge of sadness in his voice.

"To me, your armor will always be shiny. Even when we're old and gray."

"Is everything okay, honey?"

"I just thought you should know that. That you're not just my husband. You're the man of my dreams, the guy I used to fantasize about meeting."

"Me? You used to fantasize about meeting someone like me?"

"Oh, absolutely," Tim said, grinning, kissing Donald's cheek this time. "A gorgeous blue-eyed blond, action-hero type, who'd have this soft side no one else knew but me, who'd love me for who I was, be true to me forever, whom I would trust and depend on and love for the rest of my life. Sound like anyone you know?"

"Sounds like the guy I'd like to be for you."

"It's the guy you are, and always have been, and always will be to me, even when the most heroic thing you can do is toddle up to the counter at McDonald's to get me my senior discounted coffee."

"And a pie. I'll get you a pie, too, if you want it," he added, leaning into Tim with a big grin on his face.

"You always have spoiled me," Tim joked, kissing Donald's cheek again, looking oddly forward to every stage of their life together, even old age. "I guess I should let go of you so we can have our martinis, huh?"

"Between you and a martini, no contest."

"Our bucket of chicken is probably getting cold."

"It was probably getting that way when we got home, so who cares?"

They spread out their food on the coffee table by the fire and grazed on it for a while, the evening news droning on the television. The wind was picking up outside, blowing ice and snow against the windows, adding to the already treacherous roads.

"If this keeps up, we might be snowed in tomorrow," Tim said, chewing on a large bite of a drumstick.

"Gee, that'd be awful," Don replied, sarcastic, smiling. "Unless we're planning to skate to work in the morning, I think you're right." He was quiet a moment. "There's something I want to show you."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper that was tri-folded as if it had been in a business envelope, and then folded over in half to fit in the pocket of his sweat pants. He handed it to Tim, who wiped his hands on his napkin and then opened it. As he read the lab results, he felt his body almost go boneless with relief. They hadn't really thought Donald was at a high risk for HIV from the rape, since all his assailants claimed they used protection, Donald thought they did, at least to the best of his knowledge, and the rape kit hadn't turned up any biological evidence. Still, there was always a marginal risk that someone didn't play it safe, or that something was missed because of the haste and bleeding involved when the evidence was gathered.

"Oh, thank God," Tim said, pressing the paper against his heart. "I wish now we had some champagne on hand," he said, leaning over to kiss Donald.

"It's weird, but the verdict, and then this... I hate the cliché of 'closure,' but this helps, some."

"It's hard to put something behind you when there's still that fear in the back of your mind that you might be at risk for something like this."

"I know this probably doesn't make sense, but I don't feel as...dirty as I did. I finally know I'm physically clean, literally, and the jury believed me. They didn't buy into what the defense was trying to sell."

"I'm glad if the test results or the trial outcome made you feel better, honey, but you never deserved to feel bad about yourself, or dirty. You're still the same beautiful, good man you were before any of this happened."

"You're biased," Don said, snuggling against Tim.

"Yes, well, what's your point?" Tim joked, hugging Donald close, wondering if it was possible to be any happier than he was at that moment. He stroked Don's hair, cradling his head with a gentle hand. Don's eyes were closed, and he sighed, shifting a little, the telltale signs that a night of passion was going to have to wait until he'd had a nap.

"Haven't got one besides the one on top of my head," Donald joked back, stifling a yawn.

Tim chuckled softly, letting himself relax, his eyes drift shut, unconcerned about the weather outside, looking forward to a long evening and night, hopefully followed by a long day snowed in with the man he loved and nothing better to do than enjoy each other's company.

********

While the Callahan spread wasn't going to rival the Kennedy compound, it consisted of some lovely rolling acres of countryside and a large colonial style two-storey white house with black shutters that Anne Callahan had decorated and fashioned into an elegant but comfortable weekend and vacation home. When Tim and Don pulled up in the circle drive in front of the house, Winston was first on the porch to greet them, barking and wagging his tail, at least as much as he ever did. The aging bulldog didn't do a whole lot to strain himself, and the excitement of guests was no exception.

By the time they were unloading luggage from the trunk, Tim's mother had rushed out to the porch, braving the light snow and icy breeze in a heavy cardigan wrapped around her as she excitedly greeted them.

"Oh, hurry and get in here," she urged, motioning with her arm. "I have cocoa and fresh banana bread in the kitchen," she added. As soon as they had set their bags in the foyer, she commenced the requisite flurry of motherly hugs. "Look at you," she said to Donald, taking his face in her hands. "You look so healthy. A hundred percent better than the last time I saw you," she added. "And look at that handsome sweater someone made for you," she quipped, noticing that he had on one of her own creations under his coat, a burgundy sweater that he actually kind of liked, even though she still couldn't get it through her head that his arms were shorter than Tim's.

"Yeah, I've been wearing it a lot since the weather got so cold," he said, smiling. He'd probably had it on twice, although that was "a lot" compared to how often he'd worn some of her other sweaters.

"We'll worry about the bags later, Timmy," she said. "Right now, we're going to get you two warmed up." After taking off their coats and gloves and toeing off the snowy boots, they followed her back to the kitchen, the dog trotting along after them, apparently in hopes of handouts. Once they were seated at the big rectangular oak table, Winston took up residence at Don's feet, licking his considerable jowls and watching his human mark with an unsettling intensity.

"He wants your banana bread," Anne said, serving the hot chocolate to go with the thick, gooey slices of homemade bread. "One bite, no more. He's putting on weight."

"I thought bulldogs were supposed to be fat," Don said, breaking off a large chunk and feeding it to the dog. He liked the portly, jowly old dog, and he always felt sorry for him and shared treats with him, probably the dog's reason for immediately jockeying for position near him.

"Not that fat," she said. "He's getting older, so the vet is urging us to keep him on a healthy diet."

"So he'll live longer, but not really enjoy it," Don said, a note of sympathy in his voice for the aging dog as he stroked its head.

"Well, he can join the rest of us," she replied, laughing.

"Where's Dad?" Tim asked, sipping at the cocoa.

"He'll be here. He went into town for a meeting, but he promised after that, he's off for the holidays. We'll see how long that lasts," she added, rolling her eyes a bit. "Honestly, I don't have the Christmas decorations up, or the presents I need to ship out wrapped or packaged yet, and your father makes the Grinch look like Santa Claus, so I was hoping you two could help me."

"Sounds like fun," Don said.

"You haven't seen her list of out-of-state friends and relatives yet. You'll be qualified to work for UPS once that project's done."

"We'll put on the Christmas music and have snacks while we work. It won't be all that bad," she added.

"Just keep plenty of this banana bread on hand, and I'll do whatever you tell me," Don said, taking another bite. "Mom, I can't do this to him," he said, looking at the big dog at his feet. "One more?"

"One more bite. Not half the piece, Donald. One more bite," she added, laughing as Don broke off a smaller chunk than before and gave it to Winston. "You two should get another dog," she said, watching Don's playful interaction with the dog.

"We're gone so much," Tim said. "Watson was alone a lot, so after he was gone, we just didn't get another dog."

"Well, think about it," she said, giving Tim the eye, noting the fun Don seemed to be having interacting with Winston. "Your father was talking about going to get the tree tonight. You should go with him. He'd like that," she said to Tim.

"What about Donald?" Tim asked.

"Oh, no. You're not taking away my helper. I want to take at least the packages that have to go out to the West Coast in to the post office tomorrow, and you know as well as I do that's not going to be finished in an hour or so."

"Dear God, the entire West Coast branch of the O'Connor family," Tim said, joking about the large number of his mother's relatives who remained in the San Francisco area, where she was originally from.

"That's okay. I don't mind wrapping presents. Makes me feel festive," Don said, taking another swallow of his cocoa, then looking down at Winston, who was looking back at him hopefully.

"Don't even think about it," Anne said, not looking up from her own cup, making Don wonder how she had managed to catch the exchanged looks between dog and man.

********

"This trip was a great idea," Don said, sitting on the side of the double bed in the guest room. "I like this bed. You can't get away from me in it," he joked, and Tim laughed. The room was nicely appointed with heavy oak furniture and a cozy quilt on the bed. The two guest rooms in the house offered either a double bed, or twin beds, and Tim's mother never suggested the twin-bed room for them. The first time they stayed there, she had succeeded in drawing a deep blush out of Tim when she apologized for the cramped bed, saying she'd rather not hear the "thud" in the middle of the night when one of them fell between the beds they'd inevitably push together anyway in the other room.

"I usually don't get very far in the king sized bed at home, anyway," he replied, neatly stowing their clothing in drawers and on hangers. Even underwear and socks had a neat corner of a drawer, instead of residing in their overnight bags.

"We're only going to be here a week. We could just dig around in our bags. That way, we could fool around instead of unpacking and you wouldn't have to be embarrassed in front of your mother that you're having sex at two in the afternoon."

"Donald, 'freshening up' can mean a lot of things. So after we unpack, we'll 'freshen up'."

"Oh, so that's what that means," he replied, grinning.

"I hope you don't mind getting drafted into wrapping presents. I didn't know she was going to spring that on you."

"That's okay. You probably told her I could use some cheering up, and she's trying to give me some 'mom' time," he said, and Tim stared at him, his mouth opening a moment, then closing again. "It's okay, honey," Don said, chuckling. "This is just what I needed, to hang out with family. I know it's ridiculous to still let that situation with my mother bother me, but it does. Thanks for sharing yours with me."

"My mother loves you, and she loves having you here with me. You're family to her."

"That's enough," Don said, moving the nearly empty overnight bag off the bed, and then kneeling on the quilt so he could wrap his arms around Tim's neck. "It's time to freshen up a little." With that, he pulled Timmy on top of him as they both fell on the bed.

Tim took a moment to set his glasses on the nightstand before pouncing on Donald properly, kissing him, pulling at the bottom of his sweater until he raised up enough to take it off. Deciding to make it count, he pulled off his undershirt at the same time, sending them both flying. They dispensed with Timmy's clothes just as quickly, and before long, pants and socks and boxers had joined sweaters and shirts on the floor.

It wasn't that it was unusual for Don's hand to stray down to Tim's ass, even to caress him or squeeze him, but this time, his hand slid over Tim's tailbone and down to his crack, fingers straying between his cheeks.

"Did you bring stuff?" Don asked, and it took Tim's sex-fogged brain a moment to process that "stuff" meant lube.

"In the bag," he said, leaning off the bed to snag the items. While he was leaning in that precarious position, Don was moving over to kiss his back, his lips trailing down Tim's spine. Tim handed him the lube as he adjusted his position so he was comfortably lying on the bed instead of hanging off the side of it.

"I love you, sweetheart," Don whispered in Timmy's ear, kissing it. He rested his head near Tim's a moment, waiting until they were able to look into each other's eyes. "I want you so much."

"Then we're in luck, because I want you, too," Timmy said with a little grin.

"Sometimes...it feels wrong for me to do this when I don't let you do it to me."

"I love feeling you inside me. To hold back, to not make love to me that way when you want to... that would just be denying both of us something we enjoy."

"But I deny you all the time. I won't let you put your hands on me in certain places, and I don't want anything up inside me."

"You went through something very traumatic, and it did a lot of physical damage, too. You were in so much pain, Donald. It takes time to get over that. I don't feel denied. I feel loved, and I feel wanted, and I feel happy, but never denied. I could never feel like I was missing anything I need as long as I'm with you. Okay?" He kissed Donald long and deep, then he smiled. "I also feel cold and I'd like my lover on my back. Literally," he added.

"I can do that," Don agreed, blanketing Timmy's body with his, kissing his hair, his neck, his shoulders, slipping a lubricated finger inside him, lingering over the preparation, making love to Timmy with his lips and his hands, savoring the taste, the scent, and the feel of him.

He hadn't made love to Timothy from the back since his ordeal, since even in such a tender moment, the position could bring back awful memories, and suddenly he'd feel as if he were doing something demeaning and cruel to his partner, rather than something beautiful that he wanted. For some reason, the demons were on holiday, and all he could see and feel was the man he loved, who wanted him, who curved his back and spread his legs as Don moved to enter him.

He let himself enjoy the beauty of his partner's body, the expanse of his back, the swell of his buttocks, the strong, hair-dusted thighs that tapered into the sturdy legs that felt so good when they were wrapped around him. He rocked gently, giving Timmy a good motion but nothing rough. Timmy was moaning a little, quiet sounds coming with each thrust. Donald lost himself in watching Tim moving under him, arching his back and meeting Don's motions with little backward thrusts of his own. The bed was creaking beneath them, and some small part of Donald's mind hoped that wasn't audible downstairs, dismissing worrying about that to enjoy the rush of satisfaction that sound gave him.

Moving a little faster now, he concentrated on Timmy's prostate, making him stifle his cries of pleasure in a pillow. He slid his hands underneath him and rubbed his nipples until they were hard as little pebbles, slipping one hand down to stroke his cock. He was prepared when Timmy pulled his knees up under him, making it easier for Donald to stroke his erection in time with their thrusts. With a combination of a cry and a growl smothered in the pillow, Timmy came, and took Donald along for the ride.

Don barely remembered not to scream Tim's name, not to howl like a wolf at the full moon as he came.

They lay there a while, Tim letting his legs go flat again on the bed, Donald resting on top of him, both of them out of breath and needing time to recover. As Don recovered a few of his senses, he started kissing Timmy's neck, stroking his shoulder and arm, then nuzzling the side of his face until he turned toward Don for kisses. They were still joined, and neither seemed in a hurry to end the physical union.

"Love you, baby," Don mumbled, keeping his face so close to Timmy's that they shared breath. He stroked Timmy's soft hair, wishing there was some better way to express how much he loved him, how close he felt to him beyond their physical connection.

"And I love you, with all my heart," Timmy added, kissing him again, smiling. "And several other parts of me, too." They shared a laugh together at that, indulging in a few more stolen moments of total unity, closeness, and utter contentment.

********

"You're good at wrapping gifts," Anne commented, watching Donald adeptly tape a tidily folded and smoothed edge of a package. "Most men don't have the knack," she added. Tim and his father were on their way to a nearby Christmas tree farm, and Anne had her somewhat obviously engineered alone time with her son-in-law.

"When I was a kid, my family always volunteered to wrap presents for needy families. Our church collected a bunch of stuff. My mother was usually up to her neck in that project. Then one weekend in early December, people from the congregation would get together at the parish hall and box and wrap all the stuff, and we had live Christmas music and all kinds of food. It was fun. We all got really good at wrapping presents."

"Timothy told me about your mother's letter. I'm so sorry, Donald. I can't even picture being able to bear that kind of estrangement with Tim, or with Kelly. Even though we've had our differences with Kelly, we never wanted her to run away. To lose touch with her. We never would have turned her away if she'd come home. I don't know as I ever thanked you for finding her. I know you did it for Timothy, but not knowing where she was, if she was all right...it was one of the hardest periods of my life."

"I'm glad we could find her. I know it was a huge weight on Timothy's mind all those years, so I can only imagine what you felt like, being her mother."

"That tattoo seemed like the end of the world at the time," Anne said, a note of regret in her voice. "We thought she was lost to us, getting tattoos and protesting and running around with...whatever the modern equivalent of hippies is. When she was gone and we couldn't find her, that stupid tattoo seemed so insignificant."

"I keep telling Timmy that he can't judge all mothers based on you. It's so hard for him to see that there just isn't a point...that it's beating a dead horse where my parents are concerned."

"It wasn't easy when we found out Timothy was gay. I knew he was a sensitive, sweet, gentle child, but he was always smart and strong and brave. He just didn't seem to gravitate to the girls the way other boys did, but when he told me he was thinking of going into the seminary, I thought that was why. If he was going to take a vow of celibacy for the rest of his life, what was the point of tasting the forbidden fruit?" She smiled a little as she labeled another finished package and set it aside. "I thought he was saintly, not gay," she added, and Don had to laugh at that.

"I think he's both," Donald quipped. "After the last couple of months, he definitely should be in line for sainthood."

"His father was crushed at first, almost as if he were mourning a loss. I had to remind him that Timothy was gay, not dead. I can't pin everything on him. It took some adjusting on my part, too. All the years I thought he'd grow up and meet some nice girl and get married and father my grandchildren. Then I thought he would be a priest, and with Timmy's brains and ambition, maybe a bishop, or even beyond that...it's a lifetime of planning and dreaming to readjust."

"I can't help you out with the grandchild thing, but I bet I wrap presents as well as any daughter-in-law," Don joked, and Anne laughed.

"Timmy never brought home many young men for us to meet. We met Andrew." She leaned toward Don a bit. "I never liked him. I thought he was too slick."

"You have good instincts."

"When he brought you home, everything fell into place."

"Thanks, that's nice to hear."

"I love both my children dearly, but I was always especially close to Timothy. He's strong, but he has a very tender heart, and he loves so fully and generously when he loves, that my dream for him was always that he'd meet someone who wouldn't just love him, but who would be good to him and faithful to him, and not hurt him. On the eve of your wedding, I told him that my dream for him had come true, even though you definitely weren't the package I thought it would come in," she added.

"He's my whole life, you know that, right? I guess that's why the last couple months have been so hard, because he's been in danger, and he's had to put up with so much. And I don't feel like I can protect him anymore," he added, angry that his voice was shaking and tears were filling his eyes.

"Of course you can, sweetie," she said sympathetically, reaching over and taking his hand where it rested on the table near the box he'd stopped working on. "He told me how you handled that animal, Fox, when he had a gun at Timothy's head. He still thinks of you as his hero, Donald. That hasn't changed."

"Fox still managed to kidnap him and almost kill him. He had to save himself. I can't even take care of myself. I couldn't protect myself when it mattered...how could I defend Timothy from something like that?"

"You couldn't. Unless you were Superman, you couldn't hold off all those men. They took your gun, and there were just too many of them."

"People keep telling me that and in my head, I know it's true. I would have done anything to get out of that situation. I wasn't afraid of them killing me, not once I knew what they were going to do. I was more afraid they weren't going to kill me at a point... I was just outmatched and outnumbered, there was no way out."

"There are very few men walking around, if any, who could have realistically gotten themselves out of that situation. This is real life, not one of those silly action movies Timothy's father likes so well. One man can't beat up ten men at a time and run off to another adventure with barely a scratch on him."

"I kept thinking if I knew some other moves. Better ones. Maybe I could have gotten away. I kept thinking about signing up for a martial arts course. My office used to be right next door to a place that gave lessons. I never did it. Maybe if I had, I could have gotten out of there."

"Do you really believe that?" she asked, squeezing his hand a little.

"No," he said, not looking up at her, brushing at his eyes with his free hand.

"Martial arts experts aren't bulletproof. Do you have any idea how destroyed Timothy would have been if you'd been killed?"

"Probably as destroyed as I'd be if something happened to him."

"You didn't deserve this awful thing that happened to you, sweetie. It's not your fault," she added.

"I didn't want it to ruin Timmy's life. I don't want him to...to feel like he doesn't have me anymore, like I'm not the man he married, that he wanted to spend his life with. I don't want to be this messed up...piece of what I was before."

"Why don't you tell me what's bothering you the most? I know I'm not your real mother, but I do have a lot of mother experience," she said, smiling, patting his shoulder while he still kept a firm grip on her other hand. "And I'm very, very happy to have the chance to play mother to you, if you're looking for a stand-in."

"I'm so...afraid all the time." The words were choked, barely a whisper. It was so hard to say them, to face them, and then there they were, out there in the air. "I don't even know why sometimes. I'm just...afraid."

"That's not too strange considering what you've been through."

"Sometimes I'm afraid in the grocery store. Sometimes I'm afraid in the house, watching a movie with Timmy. Sometimes I'm afraid when I drive to my office in the morning. I just feel afraid and I don't know of what or why. I can understand why I'm afraid when I go out in the middle of the night to do surveillance work. That's what I was doing when...it happened. It's like being afraid of the dark and then someone turns the lights on and you're still just as afraid as you were, but you don't know of what. I feel like I'm losing my mind sometimes, like I'll never be okay again."

"It's okay, honey. That'll get better." She slid her chair closer and gave him a hug, and he didn't resist it. "Do you remember when you were a little boy, and you watched a scary movie, or someone told you a ghost story, and you knew the monsters weren't real, but you were afraid of them anyway?"

"Yes," he managed, nodding, pulling away, relieved when she handed him a tissue. Typical mother, always having something handy to wipe a runny nose on one of her kids, even if he was in his thirties. More so than that, he treasured being counted as one of them.

"Isn't that a little bit how this feels?"

"A lot," he admitted, wiping his eyes and his nose with the tissue, willing himself to settle down, to reel in his emotions. Her words made a lot of sense. "Sorry," he said, feeling more and more self-conscious about spilling his guts.

"Do you remember how, as the days went by, the fear faded and the monsters didn't seem like such a threat anymore? You had to try hard to even picture the thing you were so scared of?"

"I remember. I think any kid who found a way to watch The Exorcist remembers that feeling," he added, finally smiling a bit.

"In time, the fear is going to get better. But if you feel you need to talk to a counselor or a therapist, don't be too hard on yourself to do it. Or you pick up the phone or get in the car and come and see your adopted mom, because sometimes you just need your mother when you're scared and you can't figure things out. Sometimes, I still miss my mother when something bad happens and I wish I could talk to her again, or just blubber on her shoulder like a big baby without worrying about being tough or grown up like I'm supposed to be." She ran her hand across the back of Don's shoulders.

"Thanks, Mom," he said, reaching over to hug her again. When he broke the embrace and took a sip of the hot cider she'd served for them during their wrapping project, she surprised him with a question that seemed to come out of left field.

"Do you feel okay physically? Like you're back to a hundred percent?"

"No, not really," he said honestly.

"I didn't think you ate the way you usually do at dinner. Your portions were small, and you didn't seem to enjoy it very much."

"It was delicious. You're a great cook - - "

"Donald, I know my cooking hasn't changed since the last time you were here. That's not what I'm worried about. This might be more than you want to know, but when Timmy was little, I had surgery. Female surgery. Let's just say that my plumbing was out of whack, badly, and what should have been a fairly routine procedure, even then, turned into a major crisis. I nearly died, and I was in pain like you wouldn't believe. Well, you've had pain that's probably similar to what I went through. Obviously, I didn't die. Everything worked out, got repaired, and I went on with my life."

"I'm glad."

"But what does that have to do with anything?" she asked, seeming to read his thoughts. "After I'd had all my female parts scrambled around, some of them removed, and everything sort of patched back together, it was a long time before I wanted someone poking at them. Long after I wasn't in pain anymore, I just didn't want that whole area of my body poked, prodded, or otherwise bothered. In other words, my married sex life died and didn't really get resuscitated for probably a year or better. My insides didn't feel like they used to. I was afraid of that pain, even when it wasn't there."

"That's exactly how I feel. I thought I was nuts." Then he felt himself blushing, wondering what she made of all this, if she actually knew exactly what it was that he couldn't make himself do in the bedroom.

"Donald, I've had two children and been married for over forty years. I do know a few things about sex, and I didn't really think you and Timothy were living in a state of celibacy."

"So I'm blushing as much as I think I am?"

"More," she said, winking at him. "Give your body time, and it'll catch up. You're young and healthy. You're only a few years younger than I was when I had my surgery. I was young and healthy, too. Eventually, things did come back to normal, and I felt better. You will, too. And it wasn't fair that my husband wasn't enjoying our relationship the way he usually did, but he survived it. Timothy will, too. It's part of the mixed bag of stuff you sign up for when you get married."

"Thanks for telling me about that. It makes so many things seem more...logical. Like I'm not a hypochondriac."

"You are so nervous, sweetie. You're like a cat on a hot tin roof. You've always had nice solid muscles, but when I hugged you, it felt like I was hugging a marble statue. Try to calm down and let your body heal and quit worrying about Timmy. He's not going anywhere, and he's so happy you're alive and healthy and with him that he's on top of the world. You have a lifetime together, and things will work themselves out. Stop trying to pin yourself down to some arbitrary deadline for being fully healed."

"You think I'll stop being afraid of my own shadow and go back to eating greasy burgers on stakeouts?"

"I would stake my reputation as a mother on it," she said. "Now stop slacking off and get back to work. We've got a lot of presents to wrap before Timmy and his father get back with the tree."

"Sorry," he said, laughing.

"Why don't you take those martial arts lessons now?" she asked.

"Kind of like locking the barn door after the horse ran away, isn't it?"

"You've still got more horses in the barn, Donald. Maybe you'd feel more confident; maybe it would help you feel better physically to do something like that. You're back to working out again, aren't you?"

"Yeah, the doctor said I'm okay."

"Why don't you get Timothy to take them with you?"

"You think he'd do something like that?"

"I think he would. I think he'd have fun with it, and he loves doing things with you. What do you want to wager that he'll do it?" Anne asked, a devilish glint in her eye.

"He probably will if he thinks I want him to - - he's more generous about that stuff than I am. He wanted to take ballroom dancing lessons together a couple years ago, but I vetoed that."

"You're wriggling out of betting me."

"You're serious."

"Put your money where your mouth is," she said.

"What do you want?"

"I'm hosting a charity event next week at the children's hospital. My women's club is going to be handing out presents to the children. I need an elf."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I need an elf to hand out the gifts. Our Santa Claus is having bypass surgery, so I'm trying to find someone to dress up like an elf and say he's Santa's helper and hand out the presents."

"If Timothy agrees to martial arts lessons with me, you want me to dress up like an elf?"

"What do you say, Donald? Do you feel lucky?" she asked.

"Oh, come on, don't try to quote Dirty Harry and tell me you don't watch those action movies with Steven."

"I never said I didn't watch them - - or even like them. I only said they were silly. And after all, he is a Callahan, too."

"Okay, if Timmy says 'yes,' I'll do the elf thing. What do I get if I win?"

"What do you want?"

"If you lose, you dress up like an elf with me - - or Mrs. Claus, if you chicken out of wearing the elf get-up, and we'll both hand out presents."

"You're an evil man, Donald," she said, laughing. "It's a deal," she said, smiling affectionately, since he had committed either way to "losing" the bet and donning the elf suit.

********

Donald held the tree steady while the elder Callahan crawled beneath it, lighting into a litany of curses that would make a Marine blush as he wrestled with getting the tree trunk fastened into the stand. He looked under the tree at Tim's father, whose face was turning beet red under his white hair as he struggled with the tree stand.

"You need some help there, Steven?" Though Tim's father had ultimately accepted their relationship and Donald himself as part of their family, he hadn't been invited to call the old congressman "Dad." But then just getting him back on speaking terms with Tim after he took the job with Senator Platt had taken all of Anne's powers of persuasion (and probably a goodly amount of her less friendly pressure and coercion) to accomplish, so getting him to be "Dad" to Tim's male partner was probably going to take a bit longer.

"No, goddammit, I've almost got it."

"Steven, you sound like a longshoreman," Anne said as she stepped over him where he lay on the floor, cursing at the tree. "Let Donald do that before you throw your back out."

"I won't throw my back out," he shot back. A few minutes later, he crawled out from under the tree, satisfied that it was adequately fastened in the stand. It was a large, full, beautifully shaped scotch pine that was well over seven feet tall.

"I think it's a beautiful tree," Anne said, unruffled by her husband's grousing.

"Is the one at your house this big?" he asked Don.

"Actually it's bigger, but it's also fake, so we put it together in four pieces," he replied. "Where's Timmy, anyway?"

"I sent him out for more lights," Steven said. "Fake, huh? You hear that, Anne? Didn't I tell you we should just get one and keep it in the basement?"

"Then you don't have the fresh smell of pine in the air, the fun of picking it out - - "

"I'll make you a deal. Next year, we get a fake tree, and I'll buy you as many pine-scented candles as you want," he replied, accepting the coffee she handed him. After a drink, he smiled. "Irish coffee."

"When I saw the size of that tree, I figured you could use it," she said, holding the tray out to Donald, who, ever the detective, noticed she'd brought out a total of five mugs.

"Are we expecting more company?" he asked.

"Oh, that. I thought Mrs. Daniels from next door might be stopping in. She's part of the Christmas project I talked to you about earlier."

"Oh, yeah, the elf thing," he said, taking a drink of the coffee, his eyes bugging a little.

"It's more Irish than coffee," Steven said, looking much mellower as he sat in his easy chair, in no hurry to launch into trimming the obese tree that had caused him so much aggravation. Donald sat on the opposite end of the couch from where Anne sat, sipping her own drink. No wonder Timothy could hold his liquor with this beverage as a Callahan family tradition. If they didn't all have strong constitutions, they'd spend the holidays shit-faced on this stuff. Since he was in under cover and didn't have to drive anywhere, he took another good swallow himself. Shit-faced had its advantages.

There was commotion at the front door, and Don was on his feet in an instant, figuring that must be Timothy. He felt silly missing his partner like he did for just the few hours he'd been gone, but he was looking forward to getting a little tipsy around the fire with Timmy and his parents, wondering how much Irish coffee they could all drink and still get the lights on the tree.

He froze in his tracks when he saw that Timothy wasn't alone, but accompanied by a small white-haired lady whose coat he was taking to hang in the hall closet.

"Grandma?" he asked, his voice weak with surprise. Tim just stood behind her, grinning, as the elderly woman toddled determinedly toward Donald, arms outstretched.

"Donald!" She hugged him enthusiastically, surprising strength in her bony little arms. He hugged back, so thrilled to see her that he couldn't stop a few tears from escaping. He hadn't seen her in years, since his mother had convinced him that his homosexuality would be too horrifying for the elderly woman to cope with. At eighty-five years old, she was as feisty and cheerful as he remembered.

"Timothy, what did you do?" Donald asked as he pulled back from the hug.

"I thought your grandmother should have a chance to make up her own mind if she'd like to see you or not. So I called her. I told her about us. I know I shouldn't have gone behind your back, but I know how much you love her, and she always sends you cards for every birthday, and the whole thing just seemed utterly insane."

"Donald, why didn't you write to me? Or call me? Did you think I wouldn't want to see you because you were gay?"

"Mom thought you'd be devastated," he said, still in a state of shock.

"I've missed seeing you. I just thought you were too busy to visit your old granny. Now if you ever tell your brothers or any of your cousins I said this, I'll deny it, but you were always my favorite grandchild. Nothing can change that."

"It's so good to see you," he said, hugging her again, looking over her shoulder at Tim, who was smiling, blinking a little rapidly.

"Anne, Steven, this is my grandmother, Elizabeth Vicari," he said, as Tim's parents approached to meet her. There were handshakes and warm greetings all around as they ushered their newest guest into the living room. While his grandmother was momentarily distracted by Tim's parents, Donald turned to his partner. "I can't believe you did this," he said, hugging Timothy. He could feel his partner's sigh of relief.

"I thought you might be angry, but I know how much you love your grandmother, and you always say such nice things about her whenever you get a card from her. I just couldn't believe she'd turn her back on you if she knew you wanted to see her." Tim paused. "That's what the whole tree thing was about, leaving you alone with Mom. I had to go get her at the airport."

"Thank you," Don said sincerely.

"Merry Christmas, my love," Timmy said, kissing him and hugging him again.

The evening passed pleasantly, sipping Irish coffee and decorating the tree. Much to Donald's consternation, his grandmother had brought along a photo album including a veritable pictorial history of his life, from birth through high school. Tim was fascinated to finally get a look at a little Donald who, as a baby, was all big blue eyes and toothless grins.

********

Donald turned over again, bumping into Timmy's leg. He sighed as Tim's eyes opened to slits.

"Are you okay, honey?" he asked, shifting onto his side and taking Don's hand in his, kissing the back of it.

"Just can't sleep. Sorry I woke you."

"You want to talk about anything?"

"Not really."

"Anything special bothering you?" Tim persisted, letting go of Don's hand and stroking his hair gently.

"Just the usual not-so-great night." He sat up in bed, feeling tired, and yet too restless to sleep. "I'm just gonna go downstairs for a little while."

"You want company?"

"I'm okay, sweetheart," he said, leaning over and kissing Timmy. "Why don't you just get some rest?"

"Don't stay up too long, honey. Mom'll be making breakfast pretty early."

"I won't." Donald got up and put on his robe.

"I love you."

"I love you, too," Don replied, smiling affectionately at his partner before leaving the room.

The living room was as warm and inviting as something out of a holiday painting. The fire was still crackling in the fireplace, the lights still glowing on the Christmas tree. There were decorations sitting in festive disarray around the tree, where they had left them when everyone started getting tired and decided to head for bed.

He went on to the kitchen, thinking he might find some of Anne's banana bread left. He was surprised to find his grandmother sitting at the kitchen table in her robe and slippers, with a glass of milk and a thick slice of the bread, feeding a chunk to Winston.

"Don't let Timothy's mom catch you doing that," he said, smiling.

"How could you resist that face?" she asked, looking down at the portly dog with affection.

"I can't," he said, crouching by the dog and petting it. "Don't tell me insomnia is hereditary," he said, sitting at the table with her.

"I found myself a little hungry, after all, so I thought I'd slip downstairs and have a bite of something."

"I'm glad Timothy called you. I'm sorry I didn't myself, but I didn't want to upset you, and I didn't want to lie to you, either."

"Well, you never were a good liar, anyway," she said, sipping her milk. "I've missed you all this time. Timothy tells me you have a very successful private investigation business."

"I do all right," he said, smiling. "It's taking a while to get back on my feet after being off work for so long." He paused. "You know what happened?"

"I watch the news. I saw you on that news network, when you did that interview."

"So you already knew that I was gay, before Timmy called you?"

"It was an odd way to find out, but yes, I knew." She took another bite of her bread. "Timothy seems like a lovely young man."

"I'm so lucky to have him. He's amazing." Don couldn't help the giant smile that spread across his face at the mention of his partner. "I can't tell you how much it means to me that you accept our relationship, that you want to be part of our lives. I've missed you so much, Grandma."

"I've missed you, too, Donald. I can't condone what you're doing, but that doesn't change how much I love you."

"What do you mean, you can't condone it? You came here to see me, planned this visit with Timothy...but you don't approve of our relationship?"

"I learned a long time ago that disapproving of my grandchildren's choices doesn't change them. So why miss out on spending time with the people I love? Would it change your mind if I tried lecturing you?"

"I thought when you came here, you were in touch with Timothy...I thought you accepted us," he said, feeling a little like the character in the horror movie who trusts the monster when it appears in a harmless, deceptively appealing form, only to be devoured by it when his guard is down.

"I can't tell you that I wouldn't rather see you with some nice young lady, having a family, living a normal life, but I learned long ago that I can't control the choices my grandchildren make."

"So you wish Timothy was some nice young lady, instead of who and what he is? That I was something entirely different than what I am?"

"What I want doesn't matter, dear. It's your life, and your family can't tell you what to do with it. You're still my grandson, and I love you. I already said that I thought Timothy was a lovely young man and I can understand why you're fond of him."

"Fond of him? I love him, Grandma. He's my life partner, my soul mate, the other half of me," he said, not sure why he felt so compelled to defend his relationship with Timothy. Maybe it was the bitter disappointment of thinking that one member of his family accepted him fully, only to find out that his grandmother did indeed love him, but was only tolerating his orientation and his relationship with Timothy.

"Calm down, Donald. You always were so passionate about what you believed, and you always wanted everyone else to believe with you. Remember when you were convinced old Mr. Connors across the street had killed his wife and buried her in the garden?" She chuckled. "Come to find out, she was visiting their daughter in Florida, and he was just installing a small irrigation system for his roses," she concluded, still smiling. "It didn't surprise me when you became a private detective. You were always snooping around into things like that."

"This isn't a joke, Grandma. And it's not some childhood detective game-playing. It's my life, it's the man I'm sharing it with. It's who and what I am. When you showed up here tonight, I thought you accepted that."

"If you're waiting for me to say that I think it's good or it's right that you're living in sin with another man, I'm afraid you're going to have a long wait. I love you dearly, I have since the day you were born, and I always will. I will always be nothing but courteous to your young man, because he's been nothing but nice to me, and I have no animosity toward him. But I can't condone what you're doing."

"Why did you come here? Why do you want to see me if that's what you think of me?"

"Your brother is living with a woman and fathered a child with her, and they're talking about buying a house together and having another child, but they don't even talk about marriage. I guess there's some issue she has with it because she's divorced. I don't approve of that, either, but I still love your brother and my great-grandchild. I came here because I love you, and I want to see you. I'm not going to live forever, Donald. It's why I hold my tongue about the things my children and grandchildren do that I don't approve of. I would rather stay silent and pray for them to find their way, than to preach to them with a lot of unwanted and unheeded advice, and not have the chance to be in their lives."

"I'm sorry I disturbed your snack," he said, standing. "I'm going back to bed." Suddenly, he wanted to be in Timothy's arms, and he didn't want to go on with a conversation that would lead him to say something ugly to his grandmother, whom he loved in spite of the crushing disappointment he felt at her words.

"Donald, dear, I'm sorry if I upset you."

"You know what they did to me, what I went through, and yet you never even asked me if I was okay. But you made sure to let me know that you didn't approve of the one good, decent, right thing in my life - - Timothy."

"I thought you'd be uncomfortable talking to me about something like...your...incident."

"My incident? They almost killed me, Grandma."

"There's no need to upset yourself, dear. I'm sorry if I should have asked you how you were. You seemed fine."

"It's okay," he said, holding up his hand. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. I'm just...tired. I'll see you in the morning," he added, feeling awkward as he planted a little peck on her cheek before leaving the kitchen, trying to avoid running up the steps to get back to the sanctuary of the room he shared with Timmy.

He opened the bedroom door and eased inside, watching Timmy a moment, his heart sinking when he heard his lover's even breathing, indicating he'd fallen back into a good sleep. If he were a considerate partner, he'd sleep in the overstuffed chair by the window, and let Timmy rest. Dismissing that thought, he took off his robe and crawled into the double bed, relieved when Timmy moved, looking over his shoulder in the shadowy room.

"Hey, honey," he said. Turning over, he warmly accepted Donald into his arms, tucking the blankets around them. Donald clung to him, and soaked up the feeling of one of those gentle hands rubbing his back. "What's wrong?" he asked softly.

"I love you."

"I love you, too, baby," he replied, kissing Don's temple, cuddling him close, the tone of his voice letting Don know that he knew there was more to it than the usual little declaration of love as they were dozing off to sleep. "You want to talk?"

"Not now. I just wanted to be with you. Go back to sleep."

"Only if you join me. You'll be tired in the morning, honey."

"Just hold me, okay?"

"I suppose, if I have to," Timmy joked, tilting Don's chin up for a kiss. "Close your eyes and let go of whatever's hurting you, honey. I've got you." Timmy had grown used to Donald's sporadic insomnia since the rape, and his occasional need to just be held and reassured, without going into detail about which thing was eating at his psyche.

"Don't let go."

"I never plan on letting you go, my love." Timmy's arms tightened around him, and Donald let himself drift, let the ache in his heart be soothed the way only his Timothy could.

********

Tim had done as much as he could without rousting Donald out of bed. He'd showered, shaved, brushed his teeth, gone through all of his usual daily grooming rituals, and after pulling on a nice pair of jeans, a turtleneck, and a blue and white blend sweater his mother had knitted him for Christmas last year, he sat on his side of the bed and stroked Donald's hair gently. His partner was on his stomach, face mostly buried in Tim's pillow, where he'd seemed to seek out his partner's presence after Tim got up. Extricating himself from Donald had been a bit like peeling a warm, clinging octopus off his body.

"Donald, darling, it's time to get up," he said softly, moving his hand down to rub Donald's back. "Come on, honey," he coaxed. Neither one of them was opposed to hollering, poking, nudging, or otherwise disturbing his partner when they needed to get a move on, but for some reason this morning, Tim didn't have the heart to say or do anything harsh to his sleeping partner. He leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "I smell breakfast," he said in what he hoped was an enticing tone.

"So go eat it," Donald grumbled. Ah, yes, his sweet sleeping prince was awakening.

"I'm not going down there to eat it without my husband."

"It's too damned early," he retorted. Tim probably would have handled that grumpy reply if it hadn't been punctuated by a resounding incident of morning flatulence. Incensed, he grabbed a spare pillow and clobbered Donald soundly with it.

"It's almost eight, and my mother can only keep the food fresh and hot so long. My God, what did you eat yesterday, anyway?"

"You wouldn't be so mean to me if I didn't just fart at you," he aptly accused, blinking, finally rolling onto his side to look at Timothy. "Oh, yeah, that's bad, isn't it? Sorry, honey. I don't know. Must've been the Taco Bell we got at the drive-thru on the way here."

Well, he wanted Donald to regain his confidence and start eating normally again. Wrinkling his nose, he figured the return of the occasional toxic burrito meat fart was part of the price he paid for Donald's ongoing recovery.

"Stomach feel okay?" he asked, rubbing Donald's back, forgetting his momentary irritation. His partner had suffered so much discomfort recovering from the surgery and transitioning back into normal eating that he still worried about him sometimes, and whether or not his stomach was upset.

"Yeah, it feels fine," Donald replied, sitting up, flashing Timmy one of those big grins of his that completely dispelled any of Tim's lingering annoyance. "Man, I could have slept all day," he said through a huge yawn. "I'll get a move on."

"I love you, stinky," Tim said, catching him to plant a big kiss on his mouth. "Sorry about the pillow," he added, as they took a moment for a longer, more involved kiss.

"Yeah, well, sorry about, you know." He gestured at the acrid air he left in his wake. "You want to go downstairs and assuage your mother? I'll be down in a few minutes."

"You won't get back in bed after I leave, will you?"

"That's a hell of an idea. Wish I'd thought of it," Donald said as he started the shower.

"Donald!"

"Relax, sweetheart. I'll be down as soon as I get dressed."

********

Tim's mother did put on a spectacular breakfast spread with fresh fruits, meats, pancakes, warm cinnamon apple muffins, and a selection of fruit juices that would make any upscale buffet envious. By the time Donald made his way downstairs, even hurrying, eating was underway.

"Sorry I'm late, Mom," he said, kissing the hostess's cheek as she served a plate of bacon.

"Oh, you're fine, sweetie. We just got started," she replied, smiling when he pulled out her chair for her and waited until she was seated to join the group.

"It smells great," he added. "Morning, Grandma," he said, making a point of catching her eye and smiling at her. She was way too old, and he loved her too much, to let there be a lingering strain between them. The fact she didn't fully accept his relationship with Timothy was an ache in his gut that made even the incredible breakfast seem a little less appealing, but he still didn't want to spend Christmas at odds with her.

"Good morning, sleepyhead. You never were an early riser," she added.

"It's bad enough that you brought my baby pictures," he said, smiling. "You don't need to tell all my secrets."

"That's not a secret, honey," Timmy corrected, flashing him a look of love, letting his thigh press against Don's as they sat next to each other. He put half of his warm, buttered English muffin on Don's plate, and Don took the best pineapple chunks out of his mixed fruit and put them on Timmy's plate. It wasn't that there was a shortage of food, but Tim's mother had made the English muffin especially for him so it was the only one on the table, and he knew Donald liked them, too. Donald knew that Timmy would politely take a spoonful out of the bowl of mixed fruit without picking through it to get what he really was after - - the pineapple. Don hadn't even realized they were going through the little ritual until he noticed his grandmother was watching them.

"Your grandfather and I used to do that," she said, smiling nostalgically. "We were always dividing up our food."

"I guess that makes it official, then," Timmy said cheerfully. "We're an old married couple."

"Nah, we're still newlyweds," Don said, taking Timmy's hand and kissing the back of it. "It never gets old with you, beautiful," he added, and although Timmy blushed all the way to his ears, his eyes got a little misty, too. He squeezed Don's hand.

"Donald's agreed to be my Christmas elf for my women's club charity event at the children's hospital," Anne announced.

"I think you're forgetting something," Don added, laughing.

"We haven't seen the outcome of the bet yet," she said, sipping her orange juice, looking from Don to Tim, and back again.

"Oh, that's right." Don pulled the envelope from his back pocket and handed it to Tim. "If you agree to do this with me, your mother and I have a little wager going that she's going to have to make good on."

"What is this?" Timmy wiped his hands on his napkin and opened the envelope. Don smiled as he watched his partner's reaction to the paper inside. He'd gone online the evening before and registered them, and this was the printed confirmation. "I don't understand. You said you didn't want to do this," he added, looking at Don, confused.

"I was talking with your mom about taking martial arts lessons. I always meant to do that, and didn't, and she thought maybe you'd take them with me. So we have a little wager going on that. But I changed my mind. I hope you're still interested in learning how to tango with me."

"You signed us up for ballroom dancing lessons? Donald, I believe your exact words were 'I'd rather have a root canal without Novocain' when I suggested this last year."

"I can think of worse things than spending a couple hours, a couple nights a week, dancing with you. This place accepts same-sex couples in the same sessions with all their other couples. I thought that sounded kind of cool."

"I don't know what to say," he said, looking at Don with that sweet, sentimental expression of his when something Don did truly touched him deeply.

"Say yes."

"Oh, yes, of course, I want to take the lessons with you," he replied, beaming.

"Merry Christmas, honey," Don said, accepting the hug from his partner. "Does that still win me the bet, even though they're different lessons?" Don asked, and Tim's mother gave him one of those smiles that made him see so much of Timothy in her that it was uncanny.

"Donald, that's so romantic," she said, looking almost as moved as Tim did himself. "Of course, I'll let you win on those lessons."

"If I survive ballroom dancing, we'll think about martial arts next year," Don added, and the group laughed as they went back to eating their breakfast. "I guess that means we'll both have to get costumes today," he said, casting a knowing eye in Anne's direction.

"You're dressing up as an elf, Mom?" Tim asked, raising his eyebrows.

"He did give me the option of being Mrs. Claus, so I think that's the route I'll go. I think Donald is much more the elf type than I am."

"Gee, thanks, Mom," Don said, shaking his head, laughing.

********

The only thing that would make walking down a windswept path through the woods in the dead of winter remotely appealing was doing so hand in hand with Timmy, seeing the pure joy in his face at the beautiful scenery, stealing kisses under a tree while the snow blew down from the branches in swirls around them, and singing Christmas carols. Donald could barely believe it himself, but there was something about Christmas here that made singing Christmas carols a capella while he was freezing his ass off in the woods seem festive. He'd tried just walking along while Timothy sang, but he only got away with that for a few lines of the first song. Truthfully, he liked listening to Timmy sing anything. He had a good voice, and hearing it just filled Donald with this overwhelming sense of well-being.

"Isn't it weird how we live together, alone, as a couple, and then we come out here to spend the holidays with family, and then go to all this trouble to be alone?" Don asked, and Timmy laughed at that, sending little puffs of visible breath into the icy air.

"There's something incredibly romantic about visiting family and friends as a couple. It makes times like these seem more precious, because they're stolen moments. As a matter of fact, a friend of mine took his partner to visit his family after their commitment ceremony. He said they were so horny by the time they were finally alone and could make some noise, that it was the best sex they ever had," he added, laughing.

"I keep worrying that your mother can hear the springs creaking. I guess there's this evil little part of me that wants your father to hear them."

"You mean just to drive him nuts? He has that effect on people," Tim said, smiling. "I think it's because my mother is so good to us, so accepting, that it seems unthinkable to offend her. At least, that's how I always feel. She doesn't put any conditions on accepting me, and the man I love, so I want to make it as pleasant and easy for her as I can."

"She's an amazing lady. Who had an amazing son." Don squeezed Timmy's hand.

"Do you want to talk about what was keeping you awake last night?"

"Not really," Don answered honestly. Timothy never pushed him when he withdrew, refused to talk. It was one of the reasons he talked to Timmy as much as he did. He didn't feel pressured, probed, intruded upon. Just loved, cared for, worried about. "It was my grandmother."

"In what way?" Tim asked, confused.

"Well, it didn't start out as her. I was just having a restless night. Sometimes I get thinking about things...dwelling on them, I guess. I needed to get up and move around, find something to distract me for a while. When I got downstairs, she was in the kitchen having a snack, feeding Winston banana bread. Don't tell your mother."

"Winston's a lost cause, but my mother keeps trying."

"Anyhow, we got to talking, and I told her how much it meant to me that she accepted us, and our relationship, and wanted to be part of our lives."

"And...?"

"The upshot of it is that she'd prefer you were a woman."

"Well, honey, I'll do a lot to please your family, but that's where I draw the line," he said, that impish grin of his somehow making even that miserable conversation seem less world-ending.

"I'm 'living in sin' with a man. She would rather I married some nice woman and had a family, and a normal life. Even though she thinks you're a lovely young man."

"She's eighty-five, Donald. What did you really expect?"

"You don't see anything wrong with that?"

"I see something horribly wrong with the whole vile history of hatred, discrimination, and utter lack of fundamental human rights that homosexuals have suffered over the decades. I find it nothing short of grotesque that we're the only group of people this country actually enacts legislation to deny our rights. Do you know how I feel to think that you and I don't have a marriage license? Not because we need a piece of paper to make our marriage valid, but because we deserve to have one. Don't even get me started on the whole issue of gay rights. Of human rights. But as far as holding one little old woman who is a product of her time and her upbringing, responsible for all the horrors visited upon homosexuals over the years, I don't see a point to it. She loves you, so she overlooks the fact that she doesn't agree with what you're doing."

"And that's it?"

"Donald, do you think my father, a conservative Republican, is really okay with the path my life has taken? You know things were strained between us when you and I were dating, and then I got the job with Senator Platt, and it was like the straw that broke the camel's back. We had to work hard to rebuild a relationship. Do you know that he's either been absent, or abstained, from voting on the gay rights initiatives that have come up since he found out I was gay? He told me once that he wouldn't vote because if he votes his conscience, or for his constituency, he's voting against a better life for his own son. And if he votes for those initiatives, he's casting a vote he doesn't believe in, and betraying the trust of his constituency."

"So he really doesn't think any of those initiatives should pass?"

"Look, Donald, I love my father very much. I was close to my parents my whole life. For better or worse, they're my parents. The bottom line is, he doesn't agree with gay marriage, and he wouldn't have chosen having his son fall from grace and be kicked out of the seminary for being gay, marry another man, and turn into a Democrat. I still haven't figured which one freaked him out more. But he loves me enough that he overlooks everything he's stood for most of his life and wants me to stay part of this family. He accepts, even likes, my male partner. We fight more about other politics than gay issues, because those are just too close to home."

"You think I should just accept that she thinks our whole relationship is one big sin?"

"You can refuse to accept that and have nothing more to do with her. But I think you need to ask yourself one question first. How great does love have to be to overcome an entire lifetime of beliefs, principles, and in some cases, religious teachings? In your grandmother's time, homosexuality was mental illness at best, criminal depravity at worst. If you had a gay family member, you were disgraced. You hid that fact, you compelled them to hide. They were hellbound sinners if they acted on those impulses. And yet, she's here, having Christmas with us, comparing us at the breakfast table to her husband and herself, tickled to death to be here and see you. She treated me with respect and kindness, and at the first opportunity, she dumped the rest of your family for Christmas so she could travel here and be with us. Her gay grandson and his male partner, at his male partner's family's house."

"Is that your subtle way of telling me that I'm wrong?"

"No, honey, you're not wrong. It's up to you how you feel about her, how you react to what she says. All I'm saying is that it's easy to love people when they're doing what you approve of, but it gets trickier when they aren't. She loves you regardless of the fact that she doesn't agree with you. My grandmother loved me dearly until her dying day, but she prayed constantly for my soul, and lit enough candles for me to illuminate the Sistine Chapel once she knew I was gay. She was pushing ninety when she died - - she wasn't going to change her beliefs. I don't regret one minute I spent with her."

"It just would feel good to have one person from my family love me the way I am. Not love me in spite of who and what I am."

"I know. I honestly thought your grandmother was that person," he said, putting his arm around Donald's shoulders, pulling him close as they walked along the path together. "I'm sorry if bringing her here upset you more than made you happy."

"It was a beautiful thing to do. I love you for trying with my family, but not every family belongs in a Norman fucking Rockwell painting."

"Mine doesn't either, honey. They just have the house for it," he added, smiling. "My sister disappeared for years over a tattoo and some social justice protesting, my father and I didn't speak to each other for quite a while over which party's politics we supported, and my grandmother lit candles and prayed we didn't all go to hell in a handbasket."

"Your mom seems to make it all work."

"She doesn't have a hateful bone in her body. I don't think she could truly hate or shun anyone for who and what they are. Your grandmother isn't hating and shunning you either. She was honest with you, and that's worth something. The fact she loves you is worth a lot more. Why don't you just enjoy your time with her and enjoy that she wants to be with you, that she's nice to me, and you don't have to choose between spending time with her and being loyal to me?"

"It seemed so much worse last night."

"You were having a bad night, and any hurt was bound to hurt worse." Tim was quiet a moment. "Isn't the truth that it hurt so much more because she made you feel like you were somehow dirty or guilty in her eyes, and that's what you've had to work so hard to rise above after what happened?" he asked the question in a soft, gentle voice, and it hit Donald right in the heart. It was all he could do not to break down and bawl in Timmy's arms. Being rejected seemed to hurt him so much lately, even if it was a client who turned him down, or someone who didn't return a phone call... He kept looking at himself as somehow less worthy, that they were withdrawing from him because of what he'd been through, because they knew about the attack.

"You're too fucking smart for your own good," he muttered, letting his head droop on Timmy's shoulder as they walked.

"You know that's a load of baloney, right? That you're not worthy, or you're less somehow because of what happened?"

"I know. Kind of."

"Takes a while for it to make it into your heart and soul, even if it's in your mind." Timmy slowed his pace and looked around. "We're all alone out here," he said.

"That's because we're the only two morons who think taking a walk in sub-zero wind chills is fun," Don replied. Timmy was advancing toward him, encouraging him back until he was against the trunk of a large tree. After kissing him so thoroughly that Don was positive Timmy's tongue had swabbed his tonsils, he knelt in front of Don and began unbuckling his belt. "Oh, no. If I stick it out here, it'll freeze and break off," he protested.

"Trust me."

"With my life, yes, with my dick when it's twenty below, I don't think so."

"It's not twenty below," Tim replied, chuckling. "You're such a cold-weather drama queen," he chided affectionately, unzipping Don's jeans, then pulling off his gloves to seek out the cock that was hiding in the folds of fabric, seeming as reluctant as Donald himself was to be out in the cold.

"Timothy, this isn't funny. My dick is freezing and - - " his protest died when the shocking cold was replaced with the considerable warmth of Timmy's mouth. The changing sensations were electric, not to mention the enthusiasm Timothy was investing in his task. "I'll never complain about the cold again," Don gasped, glad the big tree was behind him for support, since Timmy was sucking all his bones out through his dick.

Timmy always made him feel like the taste of him was the most exotic in the world, as if there was nothing better. He did things with his tongue that Don couldn't remember anyone else doing to him. Whether they just weren't as good at it, didn't care enough to put that kind of effort into it, or if Timothy's mouth was just the most talented one on earth, he wasn't sure. He suspected some combination of the above. All that, and the fact that Timmy loved him so truly and completely that just thinking about it made him weak in the knees.

He indulged in moaning and carrying on with the intensity of the sensations, suddenly glad his partner had dragged him out in the middle of the woods so he could make as much noise as he wanted.

Then Timmy held out his hands toward Donald, and they pressed their palms together, twining their fingers. Timmy had no control over Don's movements now, taking him as deep into his throat as he could manage, trusting him not to get too rough. He knew Don didn't like hands on him there, didn't like having his hips held down or restrained.

Donald knew his grip on Timmy's hands was tightening to a kind of desperate clutch as he struggled to control his body, to keep from arching too fast or too hard as he came, while Timmy drank him down like his come was nectar, as if there was nothing he wanted more that to take in whatever his Donald had to offer. Don felt tears burning behind his lids as he closed his eyes and let himself go limp against the tree. Timothy really did love him that much, wanted him that much, and rejoiced in making love with him as if there could be nothing sweeter in this world.

He was vaguely aware that Timmy took care to tuck him back in his pants, zipping and buckling, making sure he wasn't chilled.

"Your knees are wet," Don observed, feeling almost drunk and a little giggly in the aftermath.

"Ever the detective," Tim replied, gathering Donald in his arms and kissing him again, then just holding him close, taking the task of holding him upright away from the tree. He could have melted into a puddle in the snow, and just frozen to death there with a sappy grin on his face.

"What do you think your mother is going to think when she sees your knees are wet and I look this happy?"

"My mother has a delightful knack of not thinking too much when the answer might freak her out," he replied, nuzzling Don's neck, making him start a little, since Timmy's nose was very cold. Don pulled his face near his and gave him a big, sloppy kiss on the end of his nose. "What's the matter, your aim off?"

"Your nose was cold. I thought I'd warm it up."

"I like that idea. If an appendage is cold, stick it in your partner's mouth until it warms up."

"Sounds like another chapter for the sex manual we're going to write together," Don joked, grinning.

"You want to write a sex manual?" Timmy asked, laughing.

"Nah. It'd be real short. 'Find your soul mate and you won't need this stupid book'."

"I love you, too," Timmy replied, his words and his tone of voice wrapping Don up in a blanket of good emotions. A light snow began to fall, sticking on their coats, hair, and even their eyelashes. Big fat snowflakes that looked like feathers wafting down from the sky.

"The old woman is plucking her goose," Donald said, looking up, so in love and so happy that he didn't even mind being cold, or being snowed on. "My grandmother used to say that when it snowed like this - - big, fat snowflakes."

"You did say plucking, right?" Timmy asked.

"And I thought that big cavity was for the stuffing," Don replied, and then they were laughing like a couple of naughty little boys at a dirty joke.

"We should probably get back. After all, you have to go out and get your elf suit," he teased, knowing that errand was on Don's agenda for that afternoon. "Can I come along? I'm dying to see you in that costume."

"Just watch it, or Santa won't fill your stockings full of joy this Christmas."

"I'd rather have one of his elves fill my boxers full of fun," he said, hugging Don a little closer, kissing him again.

"Your boxers are already full of fun, sweetheart. But if you're looking for a horny elf to jingle your bells, you found him."

"They're bigger than jingle bells," Timmy corrected, smiling as Don kissed him this time.

"Ring your bulbous, enormous, sleigh bells - - is that better?"

"Bulbous makes them sound inflamed," he complained, kissing Don, indulging in the goofiness they were sharing.

"They're beautiful, just like the rest of you. Perfect and beautiful," Donald said, and he meant it, and he said it like he meant it. "I'll never forget the first time I saw you naked."

"Donald," Timmy chided softly, laughing a bit self-consciously, ducking his head a little, even more color in his cheeks now.

"I wished I could paint or sculpt, or even write a decent song, because you deserved that. You take my breath away, Timothy. You always have, always will."

"I feel the same way about you, honey," he replied, resting his forehead against Don's. Donald heard sleigh bells.

"Am I hallucinating, or did you just hear sleigh bells?"

"It's not an hallucination," he replied, laughing. "Dad probably just has a guy at the stable getting things ready for the sleigh rides tonight. Remember last year, the bells on the horses' harnesses? Plus, we borrow a couple extra horses from one of the neighbors. Mom and Dad only actually own a couple of them."

"Yeah, yeah, I remember. But if we can hear sleigh bells from here, then the guys at the stable can hear - - "

"Screams of unrestrained sexual ecstasy?" Tim shrugged. "Maybe."

"I thought we were way out in the woods."

"Honey, to get way out in the woods, we'd have to really hike, and there wouldn't be a defined trail. I'm not ashamed of making love to you. Besides, chances are they're hearing the horses and the bells on the harnesses, not us screwing around in the woods."

"We should probably be getting back."

"Don't want to have to explain to Mom what we were doing out here for so long," Tim agreed, grinning, holding hands with Don while they walked back toward the house, the light snow still coming down, the partial sunshine reflecting in diamonds on the blanket of white around them. Then he began to sing, "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas," and Don joined him, swinging their hands a little as they walked, not remembering a time when he was any happier than he was right then.

"Just like the ones I used to know, where the treetops glisten, and children listen," their unified voices sang.

"To hear blow jobs in the snow," Don sang, breaking Timothy up into laughter as he tugged on Don's hand until he was closer, their arms going around each other as they continued their trek toward the house, subjecting Christmas carols to additional irreverent lyric changes.

********

"I'm wearing tights, Timothy," Don said, looking at the elf costume in utter dismay. "How could your mother do this to me?"

"I think you look great," Tim commented, standing in the doorway of the costume shop's small fitting room.

"Pull that closed," he grumbled, making sure the curtain was pulled far enough across the door so only Timmy's head was inside the booth, and no one else could see him. "I look like the star of an all-gay version of Peter Pan."

"Remind me to suggest that to the theater guild next year," he joked. "Honey, you look cute. Like an elf. Elves aren't big on dignity. They're fun. They wear goofy hats and pointed shoes."

"And tights. Fucking tights!"

"Did you think the elf would be wearing leather gauchos? Of course, you're wearing tights, Donald. It's part of the elf thing. Besides, you have great legs."

"I draw the line at the ears. She wanted me to get fake ears. Pointy ones."

"You have cute ears. You shouldn't cover them up."

"You should be doing this. You're her son," he replied, turning to see if the costume looked as ridiculous in the back as it did in the front.

"I'd look like some kind of mutant elf on steroids. I'm too big, and I'm not...impish."

"Impish? Now I'm impish? Why don't you just snip my dick off and call me a eunuch."

"Where's your sense of fun?"

"You have to ask? You can see it in my tights every time the front of the costume flaps up in the breeze."

"I'll see if they have one with pants instead of tights, how about that?" Tim asked, feeling sorry for his partner. While he thought Donald looked utterly adorable in his elf suit, Donald definitely wasn't getting the same thrill from it.

"That would be better."

"Okay. Take that one off, and I'll be right back." Tim found another elf costume that hopefully wouldn't put such a big dent in Donald's dignity. He had to laugh at the sight of his mother trying on white wigs and little granny glasses. Tights or not, Donald did exact a measure of festive revenge on his tormentor.

"What do you think, Timmy?" she asked when she caught sight of him holding the other elf costume.

"I think Mrs. Claus was substantially less glamorous."

"If anyone thinks I'm not wearing my makeup for this, they are sadly mistaken. I go to great lengths not to look this old," she said, gesturing with the glasses.

"Fair enough. Donald won't wear the tights, either. Or the pointy ears."

"He has to wear the ears, Timothy. I can understand the thing about the tights. Those would probably thrill the nurses and the other ladies in my club more than the children, so we can deal with pants instead of tights. But an elf without pointed ears?"

"Okay, I'll see if I can get him to do the ears if he doesn't have to do the tights."

"I knew there was a reason you were good at politics, dear." She patted his arm and carefully removed the white wig, pushing and primping her crushed hair.

********

Timothy thoroughly enjoyed the charity event at the children's hospital. He was more than happy to help with setting things up, and watching his mother and Donald in their festive costumes, handing out the presents, was enough to get anyone in the Christmas spirit. There was a small music group that sang Christmas carols and led a sing-along, and Tim's mother took over Santa's duty of reading The Night Before Christmas.

While the storytelling was going on, Tim noticed that Donald was deep in conversation with a little boy of about eight or nine, who had his arm in a sling and bruises on his face. They were sitting on a couch, a little removed from the group. At one point, Donald took off the elf ears and put them on the child, who smiled for the first time since Tim had been watching them. He couldn't believe anyone could resist one of Donald's big smiles, and apparently, this little boy wasn't immune, either. A moment later, he added the hat to the boy's head, and Tim overheard the phrase "honorary elf" as he did so.

Once the boy had rejoined the group of other children, Don wandered over toward Tim, who had poured them each a cup of punch and handed one to his partner.

"Congratulations. You finally found a way to get rid of the ears that my mother would approve of," Tim joked, and Donald laughed, maybe a little too readily.

"You saw that, huh?"

"It looked like he could use some cheering up."

"His father's a drunk who beat him up, and social services is placing him in foster care after Christmas."

"What about his mother?"

"Dead."

"That's horrible."

"A couple elf ears and a hat isn't worth much against all that," Don replied, watching the boy in question as he sat somewhat listlessly among the other children, staring blankly at Tim's mother while she read the story. "Maybe I shouldn't have said what I did."

"Which was what?"

"That sometimes you go through a period of life kicking you when you're down, but eventually, it gets better. If you're lucky, you meet someone that changes all that," he added, giving Tim a knowing smile. "I told him to keep the faith, that someday he'd look back on this and realize how lucky he is in a new life that's a world away from all this...crap he's dealing with now."

"Speaking from experience?" Tim asked, smiling.

"Yeah, just a little," he replied, smiling back. "I mean, I never had to endure what that kid has when I was his age. But after Kyle died and things fell apart with my family, I didn't have too many prospects for a good Christmas, either. I never would have pictured myself in an elf suit handing out presents for my mother-in-law. Or making love out in the woods with this incredibly sweet, beautiful man who decided to devote his life to me." He reached for Tim's hand, but didn't have to reach far as he was met halfway.

"I couldn't let a catch like you get away," Tim replied. "I know a good thing when I see it."

"Oh, you do, huh?" Don said, grinning, touching Tim's cheek as he planted a quick, chaste little kiss on his lips.  

"Good heavens, there are children present," a hushed female voice said in a scolding tone. It was attached to a tall, willowy elderly woman with carefully coiffed gray hair, a dressy red pantsuit, and obviously expensive jewelry.

"You're quite right, Mrs. Williams," Timothy said, surprising Donald and putting a self-righteous look on the old crone's angular features. "That's why I didn't slip him any tongue this time," he added.

"Your mother would be appalled!" she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest, not prepared to have been bested by Timothy.

"Timothy's mother is the kindest, most open-minded, classy lady I’ve ever met. The only thing she'd be appalled at is that someone was spreading hate and bigotry at a Christmas function for sick children," Donald said in a hushed tone. "You're in the middle of a room full of children who are seriously ill, some of them abuse victims, some of them terminal, bald from chemo and pushing IV stands around, and the thing you find upsetting is seeing two people express love for each other. I'm sorry, lady, but that's appalling."

"Evelyn, spreading the spirit of Christmas as always," Anne said, having concluded her story presentation and homed in on her women's club colleague, whom she knew only too well. "This isn't the time or place."

"Perhaps you should tell your son that about carrying on with his...his...."

"My son-in-law? They're both still dressed, so what did they do that was so shocking?"

"Kissing in front of the children."

Anne raised an eyebrow at Timmy. "What kind of kiss?"

"An old married couple kiss," he replied.

"Oh, for heaven's sake. We're wasting our time and bad spirits on that when we're supposed to be entertaining a room full of sick children? Evelyn, you never cease to amaze me. With all the horror in the world, you're worried about two people kissing each other? Come on, help me pass out the punch and cookies and quit being such an old sourpuss."

The other woman looked nonplused for a moment, but she allowed Anne to lead her away to help with the final stages of the party. They were still bickering a bit as they prepared the goodies, but by the time they were passing them out to the children, both of them had happy smiles on their faces, even if they were a bit forced.

"Does your mother ever not get her way?" Don asked, amused.

"So far? Her track record is flawless."

"Like mother, like son," Don teased, nudging Timmy with his elbow.

********

While they had passed Christmas Eve day entertaining the children, Steven had taken Donald's grandmother into DC to show her a few sights, and concluded the day by picking Kelly up at the airport. Anne was in her glory preparing a Christmas Eve feast for the family and a few couples who were close friends of Anne's and Steven's, also spending their Christmas a bit removed from the bustle of the Capitol. She enlisted the help from all her "kids" - - Kelly, Timothy, and Donald, each assigned their individual duties - - to put the spread on the table.

If the Callahans at Christmas didn't live up to Norman Rockwell's standards, Donald wasn't sure who would. The food was plentiful and delicious, the dining room table was crowded with family and friends, and the conversation was lively, and the laughter loud and cheerful. Dinner was followed by relaxed conversation around the Christmas tree and a trip to midnight Mass. It was after 2:00 in the morning when they finally returned to their room.

"Alone at last," Don said, taking Timmy by surprise with an enthusiastic hug that pushed him back on the bed, Don on top of him, their faces only inches apart. "Merry Christmas, my love," he said, before interrupting Tim's smile to kiss him.

"Merry Christmas, honey," Tim replied, pulling Donald down for more kisses.

"You know what I was thinking?"

"I have a pretty good idea, but if you want to give me details, I'm all ears," Timmy replied, laughing.

"You, me, hot shower in a cramped bathtub."

"Maybe we should make love in the guest bathroom at home more often."

"Remember the first time we did it in the shower stall in my apartment?" Don asked, grinning.

"There are some places that a hot faucet handle really doesn't feel good," Tim said, shaking his head. "We were so horny we almost killed each other."

"You started thrusting and I hit my head on the wall. You almost knocked me out. Literally."

"I wondered at the time how unethical it would be of me to finish if you were unconscious," Tim joked, and Donald laughed, flopping on his back next to his partner.

"Technically, it would have been consensual, if not a little necrophilic."

"Is that a word?" Tim asked, looking at Don.

"I dunno," Donald replied eloquently. "Does it matter?"

"I guess not," Tim said, yawning.

"There was something kind of sexy about being all wet and naked and not able to get away from each other."

"Thank God for the shower door with a strong latch on that stall. Remember when we were renovating the house, and we were taking a shower in that claw-foot tub?"

"Oh, the one you got that retrofitted shower kit for? Timmy, you're just not meant to take a shower in one of those things. It's like holding a hose over a bucket."

"You did warn me. At least you were nice enough not to bring that up when you were putting the ice pack on my head."

"Maybe it's more accurate to say you're not supposed to have shower sex in a claw-foot tub. I mean, if you lose your balance, there's nothing but a curtain to grab onto."

"Just promise me if I ever fall headfirst, naked, out of a tub again, you'll move me before the ambulance arrives."

"You actually looked kinda sexy with your ass in the air and your head on the floor. If you hadn't been moaning in pain, it could have been one of the best moments of my life."

"You're a sick man."

"No, a sick man would have screwed you and then gotten you an ice pack, before you had time to realize that hitting your head on the floor had given you a headache that throbbed too much when you got excited."

"Forgive me if my mild concussion interfered with our sexual acrobatics," Tim teased, snorting.

"You didn't have a concussion. Just a boo-boo on that beautiful noggin of yours." Donald rolled onto his side, leaning up on an elbow. "I felt so bad that you fell, I probably couldn't have gotten it up if my life depended on it. I just wanted to get rid of that egg on your forehead and be sure you were okay." He leaned over and kissed the spot where the egg had been years ago.

"This tub has shower doors and a non-slip surface," Tim said, mock seriousness to his tone.

"Those non-slip surfaces are a bitch to sit on," Don opined.

"Do I want to know how you know that?"

"Probably not," Don said, shaking his head, then grinning wickedly.

********

Despite their kidding around, the combination of the warm spray of water, close quarters, and wet, slick skin quickly laid joking to rest in favor of passion. Timothy seemed to be in the mood to take the lead, and that was fine with Don. Being wrapped in his lover's arms, feeling those gentle, inventive hands sliding across his shoulders, down his back...and up to his shoulders again. He knew Timmy was trying to respect his boundaries, to avoid putting his hands on places Don didn't like to be touched with hands. It seemed so insane at that moment to not want those wonderful hands on every part of his body, to not let them roam where they wanted, loving him the way only his Timothy could. There was no danger, no brutality, no degradation. Just the two of them, sealed in this steamy little refuge, sharing their bodies with each other.

"Touch me," he said, hoping Timmy would know what he meant, that he wouldn't have to explain himself.

While soft lips found his, a gentle hand slipped down to his hardening cock, stroking it a couple of times, making him gasp and arch into the touch. Timmy's mouth traveled from his lips to his cheeks, his nose, his chin, leaving little kisses in their path. He hid his face against Timmy's warm, wet chest, part of him afraid that all of a sudden, some horrible memory or flashback would intrude on this beautiful feeling, that the good feeling of Timothy's hand on his most intimate places would suddenly remind him of being pawed and handled and humiliated.

Timothy's hand cradled the back of his head, making him feel safe, treasured. The hand down lower found his balls, cupped them, made them feel good in a way he hadn't been able to feel good in months. He hoped he wasn't leaving bruises on Timmy, the way he was clinging to him in a mixture of passion and fear.

"I want to feel you inside me," he said, nearly unable to believe those words had come out of his mouth. No matter that he loved...no, adored...the man in his arms, the thought of having anything enter him struck fear so deep in his soul that he couldn't even express it. And yet part of him wanted it, felt like he needed it to heal, to exorcise the rest of the ghosts that were always lurking at the edges of his memory.

"I want to be inside you, baby," Timmy whispered, wrapping him up in a tight embrace, holding him, kissing him some more, letting his hands roam down Donald's back, ease gently down to caress his ass. Then he felt the gentle urging to turn in his lover's arms, and he did, reminding himself that he had to put himself literally and emotionally in Timothy's very loving hands, he had to trust him to lead him through this darkest part of his journey, to face what he feared most and wanted most at the same time.

Timmy was kissing the back of his neck, his hands sliding across Donald's chest, thumbs rubbing a bit harder over his nipples, bringing them to life. He could feel Timothy's erection against him, and he knew that wasn't by accident. Timmy was giving him a chance to feel it, to ease into what they were about to do. What they hadn't done since the before...IT happened. The great "IT" that had wreaked such a horrible, intimate type of havoc on their lives.

He knew Timmy was opening the tube, that he'd feel a slick finger entering him soon.

"It's okay, honey. It's just us. Just try to relax and let me make you feel good," he said against Don's ear, kissing it as he slipped his finger very gently inside Donald's body, his motions as careful and solicitous as if he were preparing a terrified virgin for his first time.

It didn't hurt. It wasn't awful. There was no tearing, no pain, and whatever had been done to repair the brutal damage that had been done to him, must have worked. All he felt was the slow, easy motion of that one careful finger, and he relaxed.

"I love you," he said, unable to stop himself from smiling, glad when he felt Timmy's answering smile from the point where their faces were pressed together, cheek to cheek.

"I love you, too," came the soft reply, as a second finger eased into him, relaxing him more, making him long for the intimate connection of making love with Timothy this way.

He leaned forward against the tiles, finding that he was looking forward to feeling Timmy enter him, be pressed up against him, nothing between them. It was slow, gentle, and languid, Timmy moving so carefully that he barely felt the stretch of his body to accommodate him. He felt full, and then surrounded in every possible way. Timmy was around him with a sheltering embrace, inside him, his body pressed close against Don's back, one hand gently rubbing across his chest, teasing his nipples, while the other slipped down to stroke his cock. His body was his own to give, to this one and only man he loved more than his own life, and it would only ever be this man who would make him feel this way. Who would hear him moan and cry out in pleasure, who could make him forget the pain and the fear with so much love and tenderness, reminding him how good this was when it was right, when it was done with love.

It never hurt with Timothy, not even once, not even when they played around or got a little wild. And it didn't hurt now. And it wouldn't hurt anymore. The closest thing to pain was the blinding and intense pleasure from the pressure on his prostate. He knew he was close to coming, and he let himself go, counting on the rush of the water to cover his cries of pleasure, counting on Timmy to catch him when his legs got weak.

They stayed curled together like that, on their knees in the tub, Tim still inside him, wrapped around him, protecting him from everything, even the cooling spray of the water.

"You feel good inside me," he finally said, needing to express to the man he loved just how wonderful it had been, how good it still felt, how...whole and healthy and good he felt. Like he had taken back the last part of himself that his attackers had been holding hostage since the rape.

"I love being inside you, honey. My beautiful man, you're all mine again." There was a hitch in Timmy's voice, but he still sounded happy, joyful, like what they had just shared was as vital to his recovery from Donald's ordeal as it was to Donald himself.

When they reluctantly parted, finally gave up the steamy haven of the shower, they dried each other with the big, fluffy towels provided there for their stay. Slipping naked between the sheets, they relished the close confines of the double bed, winding around each other in the middle, kissing, caressing, unable to stop making love to each other after what they had just shared.

Sleep finally overtook them, clinging to one another, the union of their bodies deepening the union in their hearts that outlasted any physical coupling.

********

Fortunately, no one in the Callahan household was stirring early on Christmas morning. There were no small children making a run for the tree and the gifts there, and everyone had been up late the night before. This gave Tim more time to savor lying there in bed, Donald tucked securely in his arms, looking utterly content, sated, and relaxed. He resisted the urge to caress the soft skin, to touch the arm that was around his middle, to feel the silky, golden hair on it, to feel Donald awaken, and enjoy waiting for him to sleepily seek out Tim's mouth for the first kiss of the day.

Donald was sleeping too peacefully, breathing evenly and deeply there against Tim's chest. Tim let his eyes drift shut again and thought about the night before, a smile curving the corners of his mouth. It wasn't just that he loved making love to Donald that way, and that he'd missed it so much. It was what it symbolized for Donald, breaking through that barrier of fear and bad memories. Although he was flooded with a warm feeling when he thought about how much trust Donald really placed in him, part of him felt his family had something to do with Donald's sense of happiness and well-being. Feeling so much a part of the Callahan family, being treated like one of his mother's own children, visiting with his grandmother...all of it had put his partner in a more content, relaxed frame of mind than he'd been in for months.

"Quit thinking so much and fool around with me," Donald mumbled, not opening his eyes.

"How did you know I was awake?"

"Trust me, Timothy, I'm just like Santa Claus. I know when you're sleeping, I know when you're awake...you know the rest. God, wearing that fucking elf suit must have rubbed off on me."

"I like the idea of rubbing off on you."

"Now you're talking," Donald agreed, grinning. "You just breathe differently when you're awake, that's all."

"I do?" Tim asked.

"Don't I?"

"I guess you do."

"You always know when I'm awake," Donald said.

"I didn't this morning."

"That's because you were too busy thinking about other stuff when you should have been paying attention to me," he joked.

"You have my undivided attention now. Does that count?" Tim asked, smiling

"Oh, yeah, it counts," Donald said, slipping under the covers, moving lower in the bed. A moment later, his mouth was around Tim's partial morning erection, his hand gently rolling and massaging his balls.

Tim moaned and shifted a little, flopping his arm up over his head on the pillow, his other hand wandering under the covers to find Donald, to touch and caress him while he lost himself in the wonderful sensations. When he came, he barely remembered to cover his face with the pillow, effectively stifling his response.

"Wow," he said ineloquently, drawing a big smile from Donald as his bed-rumpled head emerged from the covers.

"Good thing you're the PR guy in this partnership," he said, blowing a noisy raspberry on Tim's stomach, making him laugh.

"Donald, knock it off," he objected, still laughing. Donald knew just which parts of his belly were ticklish, and he was definitely not above exploiting that knowledge. Now he was alternating between serious kisses and nibbles to the occasional tickle, making out with Tim's belly as if he couldn't think of a more erotic part of him to play with.

"You suppose anyone would notice if we stayed in bed all day and just made out with each other?"

"The empty places at the table might be a dead giveaway. Besides, we have to open our presents, go on the sleigh rides. It's Christmas, Donald."

"You're cute, you know that?" he asked, twining his fingers and laying his hands on Tim's chest, resting his chin on them. "You make me love Christmas as much as you do," he added.

"You're the best present I could ever get," he said, running his hand along Don's arm. He loved feeling the firm curve of muscles under the soft skin, following the arm until it reached Don's hand, and he could hold hands with him.

"Hey, I'm all unwrapped and ready here," he joked, kissing Tim's hand, nibbling at his fingers.

Laughing, Tim saw no reason not to enjoy himself, so he rolled them over so Donald was on his back, and spent his sweet time kissing and licking at nipples that hardened in an instant. Don's hands were in his hair, trying to guide him where he wanted him to go. He offered no resistance as Tim moved lower to return the favor of a morning blow job that could only feel as good to Donald as it had to him.

He focused on his passionate task, using every trick he could think of to make his lover feel good. He licked and sucked at Donald's balls, indulged in leaving little passion marks on his inner thighs, smiled when he started squirming, but in a very familiar, good way. He took Donald as deep into his throat as he could manage, and a partial shout escaped before Donald stuck a fist in his mouth to keep himself quiet. After he came, he looked at Tim with a little regret.  

"Sorry. I got carried away," he said.

"Honey, you broke the skin on your knuckle," Tim said, taking the hand, kissing the sore area.

"I'd have bitten my hand off for that," he said, grinning, stroking Tim's hair. "God, you're beautiful. What are you doing with me, anyway?"

"I have a twisted fetish for blond PIs," he replied.

"Really? Do they have a name for that condition?"

"Yeah, they do." He pulled Donald close and kissed him for a long time. He caressed his cheek as he spoke. "It's called love," he added, cuddling and nuzzling Donald as they indulged in another little nap together before getting up to enjoy the day's festivities.

********

After a hearty brunch and a relaxed gathering around the tree to open gifts, the party moved outdoors for the sleigh ride, which took the group around the property and through the wooded area on the portion of the trail that was wide enough for the sleigh. The scenery was beautiful, and the mood festive.

Donald and Kelly had been teasing each other about something, and Tim and his mother watched them with some amusement as the sparring match turned into a snowball fight. Don had no reservations about going after Kelly because she was a woman, which was a good thing, since Kelly had no mercy on him because he was married to her brother. Glimpses of this playful side of Donald had been rare since his ordeal, and Tim sat on the porch with Winston at his feet, content to watch the mayhem, and secretly happy he wasn't in the line of fire.

"I haven't seen him carry on like that since he was a little boy," Donald's grandmother observed as she joined Tim and Anne on the porch. Tim's father just shook his head as he walked toward the front door.

"I thought by the time I was this age, my kids would be over playing in the snow," he grumbled, although his tone was more good-natured than his expression. Nonetheless, he'd had his fill of outdoor merriment, and seemed headed like a heat-seeking missile for his easy chair and the warmth of the indoors.

"It's just good to see him laughing like that again," Tim said. "He's gotten through everything so well, but I know there are times there's just...a lot on his mind."

"He didn't get through all that alone, Timothy," Anne said. "He relies on you a lot," she added.

"And I rely on him. I can't imagine living without him." Tim suddenly felt a bit uneasy, as Donald had him in his sights, as if he'd discovered Tim had escaped the cold, wet frolicking by hiding on the porch with the little old ladies.

"I'd duck if I were you, Timothy," Elizabeth stated calmly, just as a snowball flew with unerring precision right into the middle of Tim's chest with a wet splat. Donald and Kelly were standing out there in the snow, both a little out of breath, pointing fingers of blame at each other for the attack.

"That does it," Tim said, rising, tucking his glasses in his coat pocket, descending the porch steps and forming his own snowball, firing it at Donald, whom he knew perfectly well was the culprit. Within minutes, snow was flying in all directions again.

"How long has it been since you've seen Donald?" Anne asked Elizabeth.

"Oh, years. He was just out of the service when I saw him last. I didn't realize his mother was discouraging him from coming home. I thought he was just busy with his life, not interested in coming back home again. Then I saw him on the news, about that whole...situation."

"Your daughter never told you he was gay?"

"No, she didn't. I guess she was positive it would horrify me into an early grave. She doesn't give me credit for a whole lot of strength, my daughter."

"You and his parents must have done something right. Donald is just a delight, and he's so good to Timothy. I couldn't have hand-chosen a better partner for my son. Or a better son-in-law."

"Thank you for saying that. Donald was always a good boy. Oh, he was a bit on the devilish side when he was little, but nothing truly bad. Just enough to keep his parents and me on our toes. His brother was more of a handful than Donald was."

"I don't mean to speak ill of your daughter. I don't even know her. I just know how...crushed Donald was by that letter she sent him...by the fact she doesn't want anything to do with him. I'm not saying it was easy to find out that Timothy was gay, but he was always my son, my baby boy...I couldn't have stood being estranged from him."

"Evelyn is acting on the beliefs we raised her with."

"You're here, though," Anne said.

"Your son is very persuasive," Elizabeth said, smiling. "He told me how much Donald missed having any contact with us, that it wasn't his choice not to see me, that Evelyn was worried it would upset me too much to know the truth about him, and he was respecting her wishes." She shook her head. "They're not what I expected."

"Donald and Timothy?"

"My husband was the love of my life. After he died, I never even thought of remarrying. I was only sixty at the time. I still miss him every minute of every day, and I keep asking God what purpose there is in my life that makes it necessary for me to stay here so long without him," she said, smiling sadly. "I watch the two of them together," she said, nodding toward Don and Timmy, who were brushing the snow off each other, laughing, since they'd been responsible for inflicting most of the mess themselves. Kelly was saying something to them, shaking the snow off the hat she'd pulled off her head. "I see how I was with my Anthony, when we were young. They're so much in love, like we were. I see the look in Donald's eyes when he looks at your Timothy, and it's the way I used to look at my husband until the last day we had together. It's hard for me to see that as wrong."

"Hearing that from you would probably mean a lot to Donald."

"The first real conversation I had with him, I told him what a lovely young man I thought Timothy was, but that I wished he'd found some nice girl and had a normal family." She paused. "It's what I thought was right, but I know how much it hurt him, and hurting my grandson never feels right. Now I don't know what to think."

"Maybe we shouldn't think so much," Anne said, smiling. "We have a beautiful son and grandson who are healthy and happy and in love with each other. Maybe it's all the years I've been around politics, and all the corruption and infidelity and general...marital unhappiness I've seen among these good churchgoing people who would condemn them for being a faithful, happily married, decent, ethical couple...it all seems like so much nonsense."

"Sometimes I hear the...hate that comes out of my other grandson, Donald's brother. The slurs he uses about homosexuals. I feel responsible for that. That's what I taught my family - - to shun and hate one of their own, for this?" She gestured toward the snowy, frozen group who were worn-out from snowball fighting and were starting to head toward the house.

"You're the matriarch of that family, Elizabeth. Don't ever sell short the influence you still have over them. Or your purpose for being here so long after your husband. God might be giving you your answer. Because your grandson still needs you."

"Is Dad inside?" Kelly asked as she led the group back on the porch.

"I think he's probably in his easy chair watching TV by now," Anne said.

"That might mean he's put coffee on. I will if he hasn't. Anyone want any?" she asked.

"Let's make hot chocolate for everyone," Anne suggested, rising to follow Kelly into the house.

"Don't forget the marshmallows, Mom," Tim said, and Anne paused, looking at him. For a moment, she expected to see a ten-year-old Timothy scrambling up the steps instead of the grown man who was still as fond of melted marshmallow as he was then.

"I only forgot them once in the last twenty years, dear. It won't happen again, I promise," she teased, following Kelly into the house.

"You warm enough, Grandma? I can get you a blanket from inside," Don offered as he and Timmy sat on the wicker love seat near Elizabeth's chair.

"I'm fine, Donald. I didn't think I'd have another chance to watch my grandson playing the snow," she said, and both men laughed.

"We don't get as much time to play in the snow as we'd like," Tim replied, still smiling. "This vacation is just what we needed. We should go inside and get warmed up," he added, and Elizabeth stood as they did.

"I know that you don't need anyone's permission to be together, or anyone to approve of the two of you to make your lives complete. I can see how complete you are together, and I remember what it feels like to be with someone you love that much." She reached toward Donald, and he met her halfway quickly, holding her hand. "I just want you both to know that you have my blessing, and I hope you have all the love and happiness together that your grandfather and I had in our marriage."

Donald embraced her, and she could feel the little tremor of emotion running through him.

"Grandma..." he began, as if he didn't know what else to say.

"It's okay, honey. I know." She gave him a little squeeze and then pulled back, patting his cold cheek that was still pink from the wind, just like it used to be when he was little and would exhaust himself running and playing in the snow, snowball fighting and roughhousing with his brother and his cousins Christmas afternoon. Even though he was the youngest and smaller than the others, he usually won the snowball fights by sheer determination and a good amount of sneakiness.

"Thank you, Elizabeth," Tim said, stepping forward to hug her. "That means a lot to us." 

"I know how much you loved Grandpa," Donald said as Tim's arm went around his shoulders.

"Oh, I still do. When you find love like that, it's with you forever. Donald, I'm going to have a long talk with your mother when I get home. It's time we set some things right in this family."

"I'm sorry I didn't call you before, say something...I just thought - -"

"You respected your mother's wishes, and honestly, if I hadn't met your young man and seen the two of you together, I don't know what I would have thought about it. For what it's worth, I'm very happy for you."

"You don't still wish Timothy was a woman?" Donald asked, and the strangeness of the question and yet the sincerity of it made Elizabeth smile. He might be older, he might be taller, but Donald was still every bit her youngest grandson with all his wide-eyed earnestness.

"I think Timothy is just fine the way he is," she said, laughing softly.

"That's a relief," Tim replied, sharing the laugh with her, hugging Donald a little closer against him.

********

"Is my tie straight?" Don asked, waiting for Timothy, the human level, to inspect the bow tie on his tuxedo shirt. He wasn't sure if a black-tie New Year's Eve party in DC was a reward or a punishment for visiting a congressman's family over the holidays, but since the whole family seemed abuzz about going to it, he decided to be swept along with the enthusiasm.

"Perfect," Tim said, sliding his arms around Don, kissing him.

"You know it wouldn't take any arm-twisting for me to feel under the weather, and you could stay home and tend to me," he said, wrapping his arms around Timmy's neck, feeling a little guilty that he was ruffling his perfectly combed hair. But not too guilty.

"You look too handsome to stay home," Tim replied, flashing him a bright smile. "Besides, this is the first time my parents have brought us as a couple as their guests to something like this."

"You think your dad's okay with that?" Don stole another kiss and then released Timmy to finish getting ready.

"If he wasn't, we wouldn't be going. My mother does respect his feelings about interacting with the DC jet set. Although I have a feeling she exerted some influence on him."

"Oh, is that what you two call it when you get your way, and your father and I are just helpless pawns in your plans?" Donald asked, laughing.

"Yes," Tim replied with a smile, unrepentant.

"You're sure Kelly doesn't mind staying here with Grandma? She was really flattered that your parents included her in the invitation, but she wilts long before midnight these days," he said, laughing.

"Staying here with your grandmother is a nice, tidy way of getting out of going," Tim said. "If your grandmother wasn't here, she'd have to just outright ditch Dad's invitation, because she doesn't want to spend the evening with the very people she spends her time working against. Her words," he added.

"So your parents are bringing their son and his male partner to a New Year's Eve party for conservative Republicans? Don't tell me that's not your mother's doing. She's the only person I know, besides you, with that kind of nerve."

"My dad isn't the only Republican with a gay son or daughter."

"I'm going to kiss you at midnight, so if that's going to cause an incident, you better be sure we're in a dark corner when the ball drops."

"You better kiss me at midnight, preferably in the middle of the dance floor, with all the other kissing couples."

"Maybe we should practice," Tim joked, and before his lips could reach his lover's, Don's cell phone went off.

"Bailey?" he said, frowning, before answering it. "Happy New Year!" he greeted, flashing a grin at Timmy, who just shook his head.

"Some people are still working, Strachey," Bailey grumbled. "On your case, I might add."

"My case?"

"Guess who's spending New Year's Eve here in lock-up?"

"I really couldn't say," Don replied.

"Who would you really like to think of sitting in jail on New Year's Eve?"

"Either Pollack or Stenski. I included it in my letter to Santa, but I don't think he got it."

"Oh, he got it. Pollack's with us at the moment, but Stenski's being picked up as we speak."

"I don't understand. For what?"

"Pollack was arrested for a domestic violence incident with his girlfriend. He's looking to strike a deal with the DA, since he got a little carried away and put her in the hospital this time. For a reduced assault charge, he's willing to roll on his cousin for fixing your brakes."

"How badly hurt is the girl?"

"He rearranged her face pretty well. She'll be all right, but she'll need some work done to fix her nose at least."

"Don't give him the deal," Donald said.

"What? Donald, attempted murder trumps assault. It's not your call. The DA's on board and we're rolling."

"Who's going to protect that girl when Pollack gets out of the joint?"

"That's not our problem. It can't be."

"He's probably guilty of conspiracy. You know damn well he was probably in on it with Stenski to fix the brakes."

"You know what, he probably was, but we can't prove that. Pollack's already got legal troubles of his own, and we can get Stenski for attempted murder. Two counts. He knew your partner would be picking you up, and he purposely fixed the brakes when you both would be in the car. I thought this would be good news."

"It is. I just feel sorry for that poor girl with the bashed-in face who's somehow less important because Pollack has a bigger fish for the DA. Just because I'm the bigger fish doesn't make me feel good about it."

"You can't win 'em all. Overall, this is a good deal."

"For Pollack and for us," Don said, sitting on the foot of the bed.

"Look, the girl can sue Pollack for damages with his admission and conviction. Stenski won't see the light of day for a very long time. This means it's over, Donald. Don't fight it."

"I know. Thanks for everything you're doing to put this together. I don't mean to sound ungrateful."

"Yeah, well, there are no happy endings in a mess like this. Screwed up as she is, though, that girl was never in danger of dying, and you were. I don't like picking and choosing between victims, but at the end of the day, you suffered more damage than she did, and Stenski not only almost caused your death, he tried to kill you and your partner. Do I think Pollack was in on it? Absolutely, but we've got no proof. We might not get another chance to wrap this up in a neat package."

"I guess when Santa answers your letter, you shouldn't be ungracious about how he makes it happen," Don joked, and Bailey chuckled.

"Tell me that doesn't make me Santa Claus in this whole mess?"

"Well, with the right costume, it could work."

"Thanks a lot, Strachey. I gotta go. They're bringing Stenski in, and I wouldn't miss that for anything."

"Thanks, Bub. Happy New Year."

"Yeah, Happy New Year," he replied, breaking the connection.

"What's going on?" Timmy sat next to him on the bed, and Don sighed.

"Pollack beat up his girlfriend, and after he was arrested, he made a plea deal with the DA by rolling on Stenski for fixing our brakes."

"But you don't feel good about getting Stenski at the expense of reducing the charges against him for brutalizing his girlfriend."

"Plus the fact that Pollack probably conspired with him about the brakes, let him know our whereabouts."

"Do you think the cops are settling too easily, that they should hold out to get the two of them on conspiracy charges?"

"I think that in the old days, I could have solved this case. Put it together somehow."

"You don't know that. Besides, putting together your own case is a different story than putting together someone else's."

"I should feel happy about this," he said, letting his head droop on Timmy's shoulder. "Why don't I?"

"Because you don't feel like Pollack's paying enough for what he's done, and you think you should have done something more or better to make him pay. Donald, honey, it's over. Just let it be over, and let yourself be free of it. We're on the brink of a new year. A whole new beginning to our lives, with those...animals in cages where they belong."

"Every night since the rape, I woke up with this same nightmare still in my head. Always the feeling of these hands on me, all over, in places I only want your hands. Sometimes they hurt, sometimes they were just there..." He hadn't told Timothy this before, not in so many words, though he suspected Timmy knew intuitively when he had nightmares, when he was afraid, because he never woke upset or shaken that there weren't those strong, gentle arms there to hold him and remind him that he was home, safe, and loved. "After we made love Christmas Eve...I don't have that dream anymore."

"I knew you were sleeping more peacefully, not waking up so much," Timmy replied, rubbing his shoulder. "Some of the demons are trying to leave you. Let go of them. If they're done punishing you, isn't it time you quit second-guessing and punishing yourself?"

"Is that what I'm doing?"

"You're very hard on yourself, honey. I love that you care about this girl you don't even know, that you want justice for her, too, but you can't solve everything. She's getting a measure of justice, and so are we. And you deserve that justice, Donald. As much as she does, maybe more. You've suffered for it and paid for it horribly."

"My grandmother barely survived losing my grandfather. Sometimes she still looks so sad when she talks about him. I don't think I could do what she did. Make it through twenty-five years without the man I love. Don't you leave me, Timmy."

"My sweetest wish is to grow very, very old, by your side, and that whichever one of us has to go first, the other follows peacefully, when he's ready."

"If I get to pick when I'm ready, I'll just tag along when you go, okay?"

"There's nowhere I'll ever go that you're not welcome by my side," Timmy said, enclosing Donald in a gentle embrace, just holding him for a few seconds. "I don't think your grandfather is ever far away from your grandmother. Bodies may give out and die, but love never does."

"Yeah, we did promise forever, didn't we? We took that 'til death do us part thing out of there." He pulled back a little and took Timmy's hand that bore his wedding ring in both of his, and kissed it.

"We're not about to let a little inconvenience like death spoil a perfectly beautiful relationship," Timmy stated solemnly, and Donald couldn't believe he was laughing. "Besides, if I go first, you know I'll haunt you."

"Promise?"

"Oh, I promise. How could there be a Heaven for me if I couldn't be close to you?" Timmy stroked Don's hair and pressed their foreheads together. "Happy new year, my love. I can't wait to start another year of our life together."

********

"Hey, we got a postcard from Kenny," Don said, sorting through the mail, standing at the kitchen counter while Tim checked the household phone's voicemail. They'd just arrived home from Virginia, and he didn't really look forward to the ritual of unpacking and doing laundry. Still, it was good to be home, and even better that they still had the weekend before the routine work scheduled started up again. The thought of chilled martinis, a warm Timothy, and a fire in the fireplace put a smile on his face.

"So he went with Justin on the cruise?" Tim asked, jotting down a couple of phone numbers from the phone messages.

"Yeah. He said he's having a great time, that Justin's a lot of fun. He says he finally understands my thing for dark-haired guys with glasses," Donald paraphrased, laughing.

"At least he didn't mention older guys again."

"Justin's older than he is, so I notice when the shoe's on the other foot, he's not mentioning age anymore," Don said, smiling and shaking his head. "I hope he lets Justin down easy if he dumps him after this. He's been through a lot."

"Maybe he won't dump him. After all, he is extremely good-looking," Tim joked, grinning.

"No arguments there. He's a good consolation prize if you can't have the original," Don replied, kissing Timmy on the cheek and giving him a little pat on the butt. "I guess I just feel for the guy. Fox smashed his head in, and now he has issues with his memory and his moods... Fox left us both screwed up and fighting like hell to just to be...normal." He paused. "To have something worthwhile to offer, even though we're not what we used to be."

"Hey, you watch how you talk about my husband," Timmy teased gently, putting his arms loosely around Don's waist, kissing him. "You are every bit the strong, sexy, sweet, good man I married. Fox and Maxwell did everything they could to destroy you, to destroy us, and they failed, Donald. You won. We won. It's like any other war - - winning doesn't mean you aren't scarred, that you didn't suffer reaching victory, but we did win. Fox is dead and Maxwell and Stenski are heading for prison. And here we are, still together, still alive, in our home, living our life together."

Donald smiled, wrapping his arms around Timothy, holding on tight. As he felt Timmy's arms around him, felt the warmth of him, let his words sink in, he couldn't stop smiling. And then he was swaying, and his hand slipped into Timmy's. With no music, in the middle of the afternoon, in the kitchen, he was dancing with the love of his life.

We won. And this was worth every desperate, bloody moment of battle. The sweet taste of victory was the sweet taste of kisses and afternoon lovemaking while suitcases sat, still packed, forgotten by the front door.

********

THE END

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