Title: Yours, Mine, and Ours
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)
Pairing: Donald and Timothy
Rating: R 

Word Count: 5166
References/Spoilers: Can't think of any specific spoilers.
Disclosure: I wish they were mine. Alas, they are not, so I'm just taking them out for a spin with thanks to the men who created them and the actors who brought them to life.
Summary: Donald and Timothy "merge" a little more as a couple. Sequel to the story "High Enough"

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YOURS, MINE, AND OURS

by

Candy Apple

"We can always get a storage unit," I suggested. Don sighed and shrugged.

"Seems like renting an apartment for our stuff. Why don't we just get a bigger place?" He scrolled down the list of apartment complexes I had up on my laptop as we sat at the kitchen table in my apartment.

"I thought we decided to make a go of it here and put the extra rent away toward our house fund, and into the business account," I said, watching him stare intently at the screen.

"That sounds great, honey, but this place isn't that big, and if we end up putting all our stuff in storage, we'll be paying another monthly payment and driving across town every time we need something."

"What'd you find?" I asked, leaning toward him. He looked away from the screen and grinned at me, stealing a kiss.

"The most beautiful man in the world," he said.

"I mean apartments," I said, laughing, kissing him back.

"Look at this. It's not much more than your place, and it has a balcony."

"It's pretty far from the nearest bus stop, which could be a pain in the winter," I said, sorry to shoot down his idea, but not excited about hiking that far to get the bus for work.

"You need a car."

"No, actually, I don't, as long as I'm reasonably close to the bus stops and I plan what I'm doing. Besides, my boyfriend can give me a ride when I really need it. Oh, that reminds me," I said, grabbing my digital camera from where it was sitting on the table and aiming it.

"You're not serious about that," he whined, looking at me like I was suggesting he do a straw-hat-and-cane routine for my mother, rather than just sit there and let me take his picture.

"Smile," I said, aiming it at him.

"Timothy, come on," he protested.

"What are you worried about? I already know you're not a vampire who won't show up on camera, because I can see you on the preview screen," I teased, and I was glad to see a quick flash of grin at the joke. "You're dashing and handsome, and my mother is going to flip when she sees what a gorgeous man I've snagged. Now unless you're one of the Ten Most Wanted, smile, damn it."

Something about that made him really smile, and I got the picture.

"Let me see it," he said, and I showed him the screen. "I guess it's okay. I look kind of dorky."

"You do not look dorky," I replied, shaking my head.

"Give me that." He commandeered the camera, and I was afraid he was going to delete the picture I'd finally gotten. Then he pulled me close to him and held the camera out where he figured it would capture both of us. We were laughing by the time he got the picture, and then we were kissing, and he took one of that, too. Both photos actually caught us both in the frame, and the one of us kissing made me feel all warm and mushy inside. "I dare ya to send that one to your mother," he teased, grinning.

"Maybe I will," I said, looking at it again. My mother is a romantic, and she'd probably gush how "cute" it was, like I'd sent her a picture of two puppies or something.

"I was joking," he said, going back to looking for apartments.

"Honey, we're fine here. It's kind of cramped, but I can get rid of some things. All I care about is that there's room for you here. The stuff is just...stuff."

"I guess you're right. I was thinking it would be nice to have a place that was ours, rather than moving into one of the apartments."

"We made love the first time here, and you took care of me here after Steve beat me up. And I patched you up after you beat him up for doing it," I added, smiling. "We had our first lazy Sunday together here...and I wanted you to move in after the first night you spent here because I hated this place without you."

"Really?" he asked, looking pleased.

"Yes, really." I held his hand. "We have a lot of memories here, Donald. Just because it started out as my place doesn't mean it should stay that way, with you just kind of fitting in like a houseguest. We'll change things around together so it feels like our place."

"It's pretty nice like you've got it. You're definitely better at decorating that I am."

"I know," I said, waiting for him to look at me before I chuckled. "Sorry, that was just too easy."

"Who am I kidding? Most of my stuff is junk anyway. I've got a handful of clothes and a couple sets of towels that are fit to share shelf space with yours, and that's about it. It's not like I've got a bunch of high-end stuff to bring to the table."

I knew he was right, but there was something about it that bothered me. I wasn't exactly wallowing in luxury. I didn't have much either, but I grew up with nice things, and back then, I couldn't afford tons of beautiful things, but when I bought something, it was usually good quality, possibly with some type of designer label on it. My mother liked to buy me things for my apartment, and she liked to buy clothes for me like I was her own personal Ken doll. That was an advantage that Don didn't have. I knew he was estranged from his family, so there was no one showering him with gifts at Christmas and for his birthday, and no one fretting if his towels weren't up to the standards of a wealthy congressman's linen closets.

"My mother likes to spoil me, or I wouldn't have all that much either. Ever since my sister left, my mother kind of goes overboard with me. She worries like crazy, and she's convinced I won't survive unless my linens and household goods are up to her standards," I said, smiling. "Besides, it's not like I was hoping for a dowry from you," I added, and he laughed.

"Good thing. All I have to offer is my car," he said, still laughing.

"I'm not saying a word."

"Smart as you are beautiful," he joked, kissing me. "Being with you makes me want to make it big. Just so I can give you the kind of life you deserve."

"I made it big the night I met you, honey." I scooted my chair closer and wrapped my arms around him, holding onto him tightly, savoring the feeling of his arms going around me. "Having you makes me the richest man in the world. In case I haven't told you today, I love you," I said, slipping my hand into his hair, closing my eyes and focusing on the soft strands between my fingers. I loved him so much that my heart fluttered.

"I love you, too," he said, his voice muffled against my shoulder. I probably wasn't letting him breathe, I was holding onto him so fiercely. I just wanted him to realize how precious he was to me, how little I cared about what he had or what he made, or how rich we ever got.

We spent a long time there just kissing, holding each other, swapping little love words. I couldn't remember ever being happier in my life.

"Okay, you win, we'll skip apartment hunting. Besides," he said, turning the laptop back toward me. "I know you're about to develop a twitch if you can't e-mail those pictures to your mom."

"I am not developing a twitch," I protested. He gave me a look. "It's more of a tick," I added, and he laughed.

********

I was anxious to hear back from my mother, and she didn't disappoint. About a half hour after I sent her the photos - all three - she replied.

Timmy,

He's so handsome! Those eyes, that smile! I can see why you fell for him. He has a kind face, and there's something about him that just seems...good. I've never seen you smile like that in any family photos. As a matter of fact, I don't think I've ever seen a smile on your face as big as the one in that little picture of the two of you together. I can see how much you love him. Judging by the way he's looking at you in that picture, he loves you just as much.

I'm so excited for you, sweetie. And I can't wait to meet him. He sounded very nice on the phone.

Call me when you can. We need to start planning the wedding! Don't worry about your father. I'll deal with him. Can I forward this to Grandma? Between you and me, she has your weakness for blue-eyed blonds, but don't tell her I told you that! ;-)

Love you!

Mom

I couldn't stop smiling after reading her response, and I e-mailed her back to go ahead and send Grandma the pictures. I uploaded the photo of us smiling at each other as my laptop wallpaper. Don had left when he got a call about the case he was working on, and I sat at the table looking around the apartment. It was undeniably me, my taste, my choices, my stuff.

I got up and walked around a bit, looking in the bedroom, then in the spare bedroom. Obviously, we were going to share the master bedroom. The spare room had a futon in it, a desk, and a small armchair. I didn't really need a home office - I usually used my laptop, and that was mobile. I mainly used the desk to pay bills, stay organized. Occasionally I used the laptop there, usually when I needed to print something since I kept my printer there, but not often. Smiling, I wondered how I was going to pull off my idea, but I knew if I had a shot at finishing before Don got home, I'd have to get a move on.

Before Don got home. That thought filled me with happiness.

********

It was almost midnight, but I'd gotten the money shot of a wealthy socialite doing the deed with one of her landscaping guys while her husband was out of town. My client's plane hadn't even touched down at his destination and his wife was on the phone with her boyfriend.

I smiled when I realized that I didn't have to figure out whether or not I should got to Timmy's place. It was our place now, and going to be with him was going home. And he wanted to see me and wanted me crawling into bed with him at some stupid late hour.

And he thought he was lucky because he had me. My beautiful, brilliant, amazing Timothy thought he was lucky to have me. And he was my Timothy. He was going to marry me. Spend his life with me. By the time I made it to the apartment, I was practically bouncing. I was tired and stiff from sitting cooped up in a tree with a really big zoom lens (yes, a tree), but nothing could dampen my spirits.

When I walked in, I was surprised all the lights were on, and Tim was still up, sitting on the couch in his robe, watching TV.

"Hey, honey. I thought you'd be in bed."

"I'm going in late tomorrow," he said. I looked around, and realized what was wrong. There were things missing from the walls. A couple framed prints, a mirror, I think, and a couple other wall decorations.

"What's going on?"

"I thought we could pick a few things out together that we both like."

"I liked what you had up there. Honey, you have great taste. You don't have to take anything down."

"I want this place to feel like our place. Not like it's my apartment that you're moving into."

"If you're sure, because I don't really feel that way."

"You'll see. It'll feel more like our place if we pick some things out together. Come on, I want to show you something else," he said, getting up, holding out his hand. I took his hand, and I pulled him toward me to steal a kiss. I'd been thinking about those soft, wonderful lips of his the whole time I'd been stuck outside like a monkey in a tree, watching other people making out. I took my time, kissing him, nipping at those sweet lips, playing with him, making him smile. I was addicted to his mouth in every way - watching it curve into a smile, the taste and the feel of it, the sound of his voice, the warmth of his breath on my neck as it escaped his parted lips while we made love.

He led me back to the spare bedroom. For an insane moment, I thought he'd fixed it up for me, that he was going to have me sleep in another room. It was crazy - why would we move in together so we could sleep apart? What I did see left me speechless.

The futon was gone, the chair was gone, and in their place was my weight bench and my weights. The desk was cleared off, except for the printer he used with his laptop.

"Earlier, you mentioned selling this stuff and just going to the gym, but I don't want you to do that. With your schedule, it'll be so much more convenient to work out at home, and I'd rather have you here, with me, than at a gym."

"What about your futon and the chair and your stuff?"

"It's downstairs in my storage space. I don't need a home office, I can't remember the last time I had overnight guests...well, except for you, and we don't need an extra bed for that," he said, grinning a little wickedly. "If you're in trouble, you can sleep on the couch," he added, kissing my cheek.

"I can't take up all this space myself - "

"It's our place now, Donald. That means your stuff and your interests are just as important as mine. I use my laptop when I work at home, and I can do that at the table, in the bedroom, on the couch, pretty much anywhere. I really only use the desk to organize my bills and papers, so I've still got all those files in the big file drawer on the right," he explained. "Maybe you can work at home sometimes in the evening if you're just doing computer checks on people. Or we can move the desk and you can put something else in here you want to bring from your place."

"I don't have a laptop," I said. There was one sickly old computer, and it was on the secretary's desk in my office.

"Maybe not, but we do. I don't work at home unless I'm on a tight deadline or there's some huge event coming up and I need to get research or a speech put together. I'm sure we can share the laptop until we can afford another one."

"I don't know what to say," I muttered, and that was the truth. I'd crashed at a boyfriend's apartment before, or had him in mine (rarely), but I never was welcomed into someone's life this wholeheartedly, this completely. I just didn't seem to be a guy who was ever destined to be half of an "ours." I thought this was what love was supposed to be like, but it wasn't like this for me. How could it be that I was never enough for anyone else, and yet, when I met the most amazing, beautiful, giving, special man I'd ever known, I was enough for him? He didn't just want a commitment and a future, he wanted to merge with me. Mingle our stuff. Share what we had. Take the love we felt that made us one and turn it into a life together where we were one. Our life.

"Just say you like it. I had to call in a few favors to get it moved in here on a Sunday afternoon."

"Yeah, how did you manage that?"

"There's a couple downstairs I'm friends with. They're both really into fitness - and they're both guys who can bench press more than my weight," he added, laughing. "There was a building barbecue last summer, and one of them got a little drunk and decided to show off. It's a unique sensation being lifted over someone's head," he said.

"One of them lifted you over his head?"

"It was all in fun. They've been together five or six years, so Frank was just playing. He'd never cheat on Kevin."

"Most likely a wise choice, given the size they probably both are," I said, shaking my head.

"Frank's the big one. He can bench press about 350 pounds. Kevin's only up to about 200."

"Oh, a scrawny guy," I remarked. I looked at my weights. "He probably just picked them all up at once and carried them up here," I said, and Tim laughed.

"He had a little help," he replied. "I hope you're not mad that I moved your things like that. I didn't move anything else in the apartment. Just the weights."

"Of course, I'm not mad, sweetheart. This is even nicer than how I had it set up at my place, in the middle of my living room. Thank you," I said, kissing him. Then he gave me one of those big smiles.

"You're welcome. I'm glad you like it." He frowned and inspected my left hand. "What did you do to yourself?" he asked, noticing a bloody-looking scrape on the back of my hand. I imagined I had more than a few of those from climbing that fucking tree. He pulled a strange looking leafy-seedy thing out of my hair.

"I had to get up in a tree to get some photos - "

"You had to do what in what to get your photos?" he asked, his eyes widening.

"I had to climb a tree and use a big zoom lens. But I got the money shots, and if there's one thing this guy has, it's money," I added, smiling, thinking of how much we could stash in our house fund from this one.

"Are you banged up anywhere else?" he said, kissing my hand near the scrape.

"I could have assorted wounds all over my body," I said, keeping my face deadly straight. He arched an eyebrow at me. I knew there was one big branch that had scraped my ass. If he was going to kiss it, that was fine. If he was planning to torture me with antiseptic, I could do without that. I grinned at him, and he smiled back.

"Wanna play doctor?" he asked, kissing me.

"I think I might need a thorough prostate exam."

"From climbing a tree?" he asked, laughing, keeping his arms loosely around my waist.

"You wouldn't believe where those branches can go if you're not careful."

"Can't say as I blame the tree," he said. "I'd do the same thing with your beautiful ass sitting on me." He patted my butt. "Hungry?" he asked.

"Starving, actually, but I'm thinking a full body examination is probably more urgent."

"Before I snap on the rubber gloves, how about a sandwich?"

He had one of his beautiful and delicious sandwiches already made for me, and he served me a little lunch at the table. If Timothy had a dollar for every one of those sandwiches he's made for me and either sent with me or left in the fridge for me over our years together, he'd be a rich man. It's one of his many ways of taking care of me, protecting me from myself, since there's no way I'd come in at two in the morning exhausted from a long stint of surveillance, and throw together a pretty sandwich made of healthy things. I'd probably eat a piece of cold pizza, if we had any left, wash it down with some beer, belch a couple times and go to bed. I'd done that more than once before I met him.

When I sit down to a meal, I try to make it something good - lean meats and vegetables, seafood, salads, fruits, all the things you need to stay healthy. It's when my schedule goes crazy that Timmy takes care of me, makes me sandwiches or sometimes some tasty pasta salad I can eat from for a few days out of a big bowl in the refrigerator. He may not always be able to wait up for me, or get up when I come home, but he never lets me down - in so many ways beyond leaving late night snacks for me.

I took a shower, and when I came out, he was sitting on the bed, in his shorts, a first aid kit handy. I did find quite a few scrapes and bruises from crawling around in that stupid tree, so I didn't mind letting him fuss over me for a while. I eyed his supplies, though. I can stand a gunshot wound if I have to, but I don't like stuff that burns on my sore spots. My mother thought every cut needed to be cleaned with antiseptic. Maybe that's where I get my aversion to it. The only thing worse than pouring salt in a wound is rubbing it with some kind of...cleanser.

We kissed and made out for a while on the bed, but I could tell he was taking inventory of the damage. I tossed my towel aside and lay on my belly, sleepier than I wanted to be, and yet so serene and happy there with him. That's what Timothy is for me - my peace and my serenity. Just being with him calms me. He doesn't have to touch me or even look at me. I'm just happy in his presence, and my world feels right.

He rubbed my back and my shoulders, loosening up the kinks. He kissed my ear and my cheek, and my shoulder. I shouldn't have been surprised that he had a little bottle of Bactine handy, and he managed to clean up the scrapes with cooling, soothing stuff that felt good. I fell asleep while he was tending to my assorted boo-boos, and when I woke up, it was dark, silent, and I was tucked against his side, cuddled up close to him. I let myself drift back off, glad to be with him, glad to be home.

********

I underestimated how much I was going to hate going back into work after losing that promotion. It's one thing to not get the job you want, that you feel you deserve, but it's another to have to train the guy who did get it. Don't get me wrong, Fred did his part orienting Dave - yes, David Bradley was "Dave" to his friends - but so much of the day by day routine would fall to me to explain. I admit, I choked on it a bit. But it was my job, and I kept focusing on the thought that if Don and I wanted to save for a house, get married, have a nice honeymoon, we'd need money.

When I walked past Fred's big office, where he was meeting with Dave, to my cramped little office that I'd already been mentally saying goodbye to before I lost the promotion, I needed something to cheer me up. Sitting on my desk in a tall glass vase was a single sunflower. The big, gaudy flower was, in itself, enough to cheer me up a bit. Then I read the card.

You are the sunshine of my life. Just remember, this is only a temporary setback. I'm picking you up there after work, and we're going out. Love, Don

I sat at the desk, smiling and looking at the little card. He'd written it himself, which meant he'd made a trip into a florist at some point the day before, apparently before he'd ended up in a tree with a camera. And he understood, maybe better than I did, just how crappy it was going to feel when reality set in. I picked up the phone and called him.

"Sherlock Holmes," he answered, and I laughed.

"Thanks," I said, finding myself almost choked up when I did say something.

"You're destined for big things, honey. When the right opportunity comes along, you're going to breeze right past that jerk on they way to something better."

"I needed to hear that this morning."

"Sucks, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, more than I thought," I admitted. I felt pretty bad, and I couldn't help it. Over the weekend, I could focus on my personal happiness, and just push aside the thought of what work was going to be like, watching someone else do the job I had worked so hard for. Before I had Donald in my life, my career had been my main focus. Steve was never more than a diversion, someone to go out with so I could say I had a boyfriend and didn't have to spend my weekends alone. I didn't realize that was all it was at the time, but by contrast, Don was my...everything. Even so, when I was trapped there eight hours or more out of every day, my job remained a huge part of my life, and that part just hurt at the moment.

"You wanna go to lunch?" he asked. It was already ten in the morning, since I'd come in late.

"Yes, but I need to get some things done if I want to leave on time tonight, which I really, really do. I have a hot date," I added, and it was his turn to chuckle.

"Call me if you change your mind. You know, it's okay for you to be disappointed or feel bad about this. You got screwed over, and that never feels good."

"I know. I'm trying to be mature about it."

"You're very mature, honey, but you're also human. How about if I bring lunch and stop by there around noon or so?"

"I'd love that."

"Then it's settled. I'll pick us up a couple sandwiches and we can eat in your office."

"My cramped, cluttered, tiny little office," I whined, and he chuckled.

"Yes, that's the one. Just remember, the fact it has no windows could be an advantage in this situation," he added, and I laughed. "I love you," he said, the smile still clear in his voice.

"I love you, too. Thanks again." I was looking forward to lunch, and I felt better already.

It was amazing how the thought of a couple of sub sandwiches and a little make-out session with Donald could do to make everything seem bearable. By the time he arrived at noon, I already had a half dozen assignments to help Dave adjust to his new role.

"Fred should do all this crap himself," Don said, after hearing my to-do list.

"He always has dumped the idiot jobs on me. That's why I didn't get the promotion. I haven't had enough experience doing the higher level things. So, I guess it's just going to keep up with this new guy."

"What about getting a job for another senator? Even if we had to move, it's not like a PI can't work anyplace."

"You'd move for me to change jobs? But you've worked so hard to build up a business here," I said. He shrugged.

"What does that mean if you're miserable? Honey, if you can find a better job someplace else that you'd like better, we're not tied down here. We could move to D.C. There have to be jobs there you could get, and maybe more chance to move up." He chuckled. "And we all know how much infidelity is going on in the nation's capitol. I'd probably be busy 24-7."

"I'm glad you came here. I was having a bad day," I admitted.

"I thought maybe you would," he said, taking my hand. Our fingers laced together. "Why don't you look around, see what else is open out there? Send out a few resumes. If something clicks, we'll pack up our stuff and move. You're getting a screw job here, and I don't want you to have to take that any longer than you want to stick with it."

"Maybe I will," I said, suddenly liking the idea that I wasn't stuck there. I didn't have to stay and put up with a situation that made me feel negative and unhappy about my job.

"If you get too sick of this, just quit. We might not have much, but we'll have groceries and a place to live. I promise you that. If you need to get out of here, I'll take care of you until you get another job, honey. You don't have to stay here and take this crap."

"We're better off with two incomes than one. I just need to get over it and move on. But you'll never know what it means to me, what you're offering."

"Yeah, well, it's part of that 'for richer or poorer' thing," he said, pulling my hand up and kissing the back of it. "As long as one of us has food and a roof, we both have it. Even if I have to sell my car. That ought to buy groceries for a week or two," he added, smiling, and I had to laugh.

I hugged him, and he held onto me and rubbed my back a little, tucking my head under his protectively, as if he could shield me from anything negative. In a way, he could. I knew I could suck it up and deal with my work situation long enough to either tough it out there, or find another job, but knowing he loved me that much, that he didn't want me to feel bad, or put down, or hurt in any way, that he'd take care of me if I had no job...it made me feel invincible, like I could handle anything.

No, not I...we.

********