Title: Even Now
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)
Pairing: Donald and Timothy
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: About 2000 words

References/Spoilers: Shock to the System
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. I don't own the song lyrics, they just inspired me!
Summary: Even now, Donald still thinks about a painful part of his past.

Author's Note: It's all Barry Manilow's fault. I was listening to "Even Now" on the way to work the other day, and this story was born.

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EVEN NOW

by

Candy Apple

Even now

When I know it wasn't right

And I've found a better life than what we had

Even now I wake up crying in the middle of the night

And I can't believe it still could hurt so bad...

Tim opened his eyes, trying to comprehend what woke him, what he was hearing. It was the wee hours, one of the few nights Donald and he had both been home during the evening, and then turned in about eleven, falling asleep together as the evening news droned on the TV in the corner of the bedroom.

Donald was crying. It was a soft, mournful sound, and it pierced Tim's heart. He rolled over and looked at his partner in the shadows. He could make out the moisture on his face, but it was obvious he was sleeping. Tim wondered what was happening in his dream that was making him cry, and hoped waking him would dispel it.

"Donald," he said softly, not wanting to startle him. "Honey, wake up," he urged, brushing away a couple of tears with his thumb. Donald stirred, then opened his eyes. "You were dreaming, honey," he said, touching Donald's shoulder.

"Yeah," he said, rubbing at his eyes. "I was."

"You want to talk about it?"

"No," he said, but he turned and burrowed into Tim's embrace. Tim could feel tremors still moving through Donald's body.

"It's okay, baby." Tim held him close, kissing his cheek, patting his back gently. Donald was relaxing, slipping off to sleep, peacefully this time. Tim wanted to spend more time thinking about it, trying to figure out what was bothering his partner, but he was too sleepy, and Donald's peaceful breathing was hypnotic in its evenness.

********

When the alarm went off in the morning, Tim got up and Donald rolled over to snooze a while longer. Tim kissed a bare shoulder and covered it with the blanket, wishing he had more time to linger. He showered, shaved, and returned to the bedroom. By then, Donald was getting up, scratching himself and yawning, wandering into the bathroom like a zombie.

"Good morning," he called after him. A moment later, Donald came back out of the bathroom and hugged him, planting a big sloppy kiss on his mouth.

"Good morning, sweetheart."

"Everything okay?" Tim asked, touching his face, kissing his cheek.

"Yeah, sorry about waking you last night. Just a bad dream," he added, then he retreated into the bathroom.

Still concerned, Tim got dressed and went downstairs, glad there was time to make coffee and a decent breakfast. He scrambled a few eggs, and tossed in a little shredded cheddar and some ham, which he knew Donald liked.

"Something smells good," Donald said, breezing into the kitchen, seeming more like his old self. He wrapped his arms around Tim from behind, sniffing him. "Oh, and you made breakfast, too," he joked.

"You're in a good mood," he said, turning to kiss Donald, lingering over that activity, one kiss blending into another.

"I guess I was just remembering how lucky I am," Donald replied, pausing to look into Tim's eyes a moment. "I love you."

"I know," Tim said, warmth filling him the way it always did when Donald said those three little words. "I love you, too," he replied. "Oops, the eggs are getting overdone," he said, grabbing the spatula and moving them around in the pan to avoid them burning and sticking there. "Grab a couple plates, huh?"

"Sure." Donald brought plates over, and Tim rescued the eggs from the pan.

They sat at the counter and sipped their coffee, then dug into their eggs. Only Donald didn't really dig in. He picked a bit with his fork.

"Yesterday was the anniversary of Kyle's death," he told the eggs, not looking at Tim.

"I knew he died in the early spring, but I didn't know exactly when," Tim replied, laying down his fork. He wanted to grab Donald and hold him, do something to erase the sadness in his voice, but he didn't want to overreact and drive him into silence again. At least he was talking. "I know that for as much as you hate the cold weather, you always seem sad in the spring."

"I do?"

"A little," he replied honestly. "Nobody else would probably notice." That comment made Donald smile, fleetingly.

"Last night, I was dreaming about him. It was pretty garbled up, not too logical. Like dreams are," he said, sighing, still having the conversation more so with his plate than with Tim.

"Would you like to talk about him?" Tim asked, touching Donald's arm. He looked up at Tim, visibly confused. "All those years, you kept that grief stuffed down inside of you until you told me about him. In all this time, you haven't had anyone to talk to about him. He was your first love, the man who saved your life. For better or worse, he's part of you, part of your past. It's not unusual that you think about him sometimes."

"You want to hear about my former lover?" Donald asked, looking at Tim as if he'd sprouted a third eye in the middle of his forehead.

"If you want to talk about him, I'm here to listen."

"I never want you to feel...that I...that he's...that I think about him all that much, because I don't, anymore."

"You make me feel like the most loved man on the planet, honey," Tim said, stroking Donald's hair lightly. "I know how you feel about me. I'm not threatened by a memory, or by the fact you once loved someone else. Grief is a strange, fluid creature with no statute of limitations. I don't want pain eating at your insides that you feel you can't talk to me about."

Donald looked at him with a strange mixture of love, sadness, and relief. He put his arms around Tim's neck and held on, and Tim was glad to put his arms around Donald and hold him, just sitting there like that a couple minutes before Donald pulled back.

"I haven't talked about him in years," he said, shaking his head. "He liked country music. I used to tease him and call him a hillbilly. I told him he was supposed to like show tunes," he added, smiling. "I thought he was gonna deck me for that. He was never real comfortable joking about his sexuality. I figured between us, you know, it was funny...it's not like I wasn't gay, too. But he'd get irritated, pissed off." Donald smiled. "But when he laughed, he had this great, contagious laugh. All the guys under him loved him. Shit, that didn't sound right. I mean, all the men in his command."

"I know what you meant," Tim replied, chuckling. "You think he would have decked you for that double entendre?"

"I know he would have," Donald responded, laughing a bit himself. "He had a good sense of humor, though, even though he was touchy about that. There were times he could seem real serious, straight-faced, but he loved to laugh. He was a goofy drunk. I used to like to get him half smashed just to get him going. He was crazy about his family, talked about them all the time. I think that's a big part of why he didn't want anyone finding out about him...about us."

"He sounds like a good guy," Tim said.

"He was. Before we had sex, we were friends, you know? Sometimes, I know it sounds insane, but I miss my friend more than my old lover."

"Friendship is a powerful part of love. Any two reasonably mobile bodies can have sex, but the connection you have with another person runs deeper. And it becomes the difference between having sex and making love, that soul connection, the love that's behind it."

"You wouldn't be talking about any two people we know, would you?" Donald quipped, grinning, touching Tim's face lightly.

"Guilty as charged," Tim replied, leaning into the touch.

"Kyle didn't say a whole lot about his feelings. Even after he died, I wondered sometimes if he ever loved me."

"He risked his life to save yours."

"He might have done that for any man in his command," Donald said. "I used to like to think it was because it was me that he did that - I romanticized it, looking back. I was pretty young, and he was the first... It felt like he loved me when we were together, but the way things ended... Maybe I read too much into it, thinking that I'd be worth losing his career, his future... Sometimes I get to thinking that if he hadn't met me, he'd still be alive, probably some military hot-shot, who knows?" Donald pushed the eggs around again.

"Do you really think he would have abstained from having any kind of relationships with men if he'd never met you? He was gay, Donald, and that's what he couldn't come to terms with. Maybe he could have stayed closeted all those years, but he'd have always only been one step ahead of being found out."

"I s'pose."

"Do you want to know what I think?" Tim asked, taking Donald's hand, lacing their fingers.

"Yeah," he replied, almost soundlessly, but he looked Tim right in the eyes.

"You were a beautiful opportunity that Kyle, for his own reasons, and his own demons, wasn't able to take. I can only feel sorry for him, for the pain he was in, and for the life he missed out on." He kissed the back of Donald's hand. "And grateful to him for saving your life so I have you now."

Donald stared at him a moment before his chin quivered a bit and he moved into Tim's arms, holding on tight. Tim returned the embrace, matching Donald's intensity, resting his cheek against Donald's hair.

"Thank you," Donald mumbled against Tim's shoulder. Tim kissed his hair and patted his back.

"It's okay if you miss him, honey. And it's okay if it still hurts. You know what helps me sometimes, when I miss someone who's gone?"

"What?" Donald asked, pulling back to face him.

"I say a little prayer for that person, that they're with God, and at peace, and that somehow, they can know that I'm thinking about them."

"I'm not much on praying. I was never very good at it."

"Honey, God doesn't expect you to be good at it. You just talk to Him. Something like, 'Please, Lord, grant Kyle the peace he couldn't find in life, and keep him close to you, and let him know that he's still missed and loved and thought about.'"

"Amen," Donald said quietly, one corner of his mouth tugging upward a little.

"Amen," Tim repeated, smiling. "You want me to warm up your eggs?" he asked, sensing that Donald needed to change the subject, to move on to something less charged and emotional.

"You'll be late," he said, checking his watch.

"It's okay. I don't get a lot of chances to have breakfast with you. The world will wait another half hour for us."

So Tim microwaved the two plates of eggs, Donald poured them some fresh coffee, and they shared their meal in a comfortable silence, their shoulders touching as they sat at the counter together.

Donald didn't mention Kyle again for a long time, but on the rare occasions he did, it seemed to lift a heavy burden off his shoulders. And even though it didn't seem as if their bond could deepen, or their love be any stronger than it already was, Tim couldn't help feeling they'd grown just a little closer for it.