Title: High Enough
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)
Pairing: Donald and Timothy
Rating: NC-17 

Word Count: 5848
References/Spoilers: I don't think there are specific spoilers, except for references to Tim's relationship with his father briefly mentioned in TMO. This story takes place before the time line of the movies. The song lyrics aren't mine, either. They belong to Damn Yankees, from their song "High Enough."
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 survives Timothy's "event" and the guys enjoy some quality time together afterwards. Mother Callahan gets the big news. Sequel to the story "Cherry Tomatoes"

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HIGH ENOUGH

by

Candy Apple

Can you take me high enough

to fly me over yesterday?

Can you take me high enough?

It's never over and yesterday's just a memory,

Yesterday's just a memory.

And I don't want to live without you anymore.

Can't you see I'm in misery?

And you know for sure

I would live and die for you

And I'd know just what to do when you call me baby.

I'm not sure what Donald thought "my world" was like, but I think he expected to be surrounded by heads of state, captains of industry, and a guest list on which everyone was at least sixty and had seven or eight figures in the bank.

It was a fund raising dinner, so there were plenty of people who fit into one of the above groups, but there were plenty who didn't. For instance, the rest of the senator's staff, my colleagues. There were three administrative assistants, two of whom were there with their husbands, the third there by herself, an older lady who was not married and didn't feel compelled to pull a date out of a hat just to attend a dinner. The two younger couples were hardly wealthy, anymore than I was. One of the couples were expecting their first child, and the others were a bit older and weren't on the baby track, since they both worked long hours and loved to travel in their off time. Our budget manager at the time was into restoring classic cars for a hobby, and he and Don got going on this elaborate conversation about carburetors or something, and before I knew it, I was watching Don having a good time at the very event that had sent him into some sort of tailspin that almost destroyed our relationship.

I know the things he'd said to me were cruel and hurtful, and when I left his office that day, I went home and sat in my living room and cried like a baby for I don't know how long. I just know that when I was done, my head was pounding, I was nauseous, I was so congested I couldn't breathe, and I was so exhausted from it that I lay on the couch until morning. It wasn't just what he said, it was the thought that he not only didn't love me, but didn't even like me...that he wanted to be rid of me. That we might both grow old, but not together, and that thought was so bitter that it felt like it would destroy me because I knew I'd always be in love with him no matter who I might end up with, or the path my life might take. It would never be complete or right without him by my side. Without his love.

When he showed up at that party, carrying that scraggly green tomato plant, dropping to one knee and laying his cards on the table in front of me and a whole room full of strangers at an event that obviously intimidated him for reasons of his own, I didn't have to question how he felt about me, or if he really meant it, or if he was really sorry. Trying to drag him to this event was akin to pulling a mole out in the sunlight, and yet he'd snuck in past security, asked the senator herself where I was, and then woven his way through the crowd of Albany's elite, carrying a tomato plant, so he could propose to me in a way that he knew would have a special meaning to me.

I knew he did all that for me, and when I looked into his eyes as he knelt there in front of me, I couldn't even sort out all the emotions there. Mostly, I saw naked, honest, almost desperate love, mixed with a nearly paralyzing fear that I would say no, that I'd be angry...fear of losing me had put all his other fears to shame, and brought him to his knees on the floor in the middle of one of the most elegant banquet halls in Albany. I never felt so loved or wanted in my life, and I never felt myself snatched from the jaws of a lifetime of regret and loneliness the way I did when I just held onto him and squashed his apologies and signed up for a lifelong journey into Stracheyland. I had the feeling it would be an adventure, but it was one that I embarked on with all the excitement of a tourist in paradise. I wanted to experience all the joys, twists, turns, landmarks, and attractions, and was fully prepared to deal with the ill effects of drinking the water, if necessary.

Honestly, I'm not sure what Don was worried about. He was handsome in his tux, charming, perfectly mannered, and turned the heads of quite a few of the women there, and more than a couple of the men. It's true that he almost clung to me like a bashful child clings to a parent's leg when dinner and speeches ended, and the whole mixing thing picked up pace again. I didn't put him through much torture doing that. We danced several times, and while we were briefly mingling with a few of the senator's primary benefactors, Don found himself chatting with Eleanor Carrington, an unimposing looking elderly woman in a subtle blue evening dress with a few threads of sparkle accented by a diamond necklace that was worth more than our entire fundraising goal. Eleanor Carrington who just had the new burn unit of the hospital named after her, who had countless funds and facilities bearing her family name.

Eleanor was a true crime buff and a mystery fan. She read every Agatha Christie book ever written, along with a slew of other classic detective series. She watched almost every old whodunit flick ever made, every version of CSI, every true crime show, and positively devoured the news of any grisly, salacious, high-profile murder case. When she found out Don was a private investigator, he suddenly soared in status above every lawyer, doctor, and CEO in the room, as far as Eleanor was concerned. She glommed onto him with a bony, arthritic, diamond encrusted hand, and proceeded to drag details out of him of every interesting case he'd ever been involved with. She asked all kinds of questions about investigative procedures, and how he managed to find out the goods on people that other people couldn't find out.

Apparently, at nearly 85 years old, Eleanor was beginning a new career as a mystery writer. I didn't find out until we got home that she'd hired him to be her technical consultant for her novel. Chances were she was just playing around with this writing hobby to fill her golden years, but she could afford to drop a few thousand on consulting services for something she fancied. And she seemed to fancy Donald plenty. I hated to break it to him, but it wasn't just his professional expertise she was fond of, and she laid claim to him for more than one turn around the dance floor, leaving me wondering how I became the wallflower and Don was out dancing with our top prospect.

The next day, she wrote a $100,000 check to the campaign fund and dropped it in the mail, like most of us might send $50 to the Humane Society. I teased Don ruthlessly that she was paying us 50-grand per dance for his services. He laughed all the way to the bank with the $10,000 he earned having tea and cookies with her twice a week for the next couple months, answering her questions and giving her ideas for her novel's lead character, a hard-boiled, womanizing private eye. A major publisher never jumped at the opportunity to publish it, but not surprisingly, she paid to have a small number of books printed at her own expense. All her wealthy friends were lucky enough to get a copy, and Don got one for his involvement in it.

The mystery story wasn't half bad, the technical details were pretty good, and I actually learned something about Don's line of work by reading it. She credited him for his consulting work, which didn't hurt his chances to get business from Albany's high society crowd. If Eleanor thought he was trustworthy enough to work closely with him, that spoke volumes to her friends. He got a few big ticket divorce case jobs out of it as the years went by. And the drawing of the detective on the cover looked suspiciously like Don. The more Don and I talked about the story, it became obvious that half the plot was his idea, too, and she'd offered to credit him as a co-author. He'd gracefully declined that, preferring the consultant credit. That book was her dream, and he had no intention of stealing her thunder.

All of that was good for his business, and obviously good for the fund raiser, but what made me happiest about it was that Don had a decent time at one of "my" events, and that he discovered that those people, for all their money and their power and their insured diamond necklaces, were just people. Rich people, influential people - some of them are stuck-up and difficult to deal with, but so many of them are good, genuine, decent people who just happen to have money or be in positions of power. If you can relate to the person and not the title or the bank balance, you might just be in for a nice experience.

We held hands on the way out to his car, not unlike the way we had on our first date, leaving the movie theater and going out for ice cream. I suggested we go back to that restaurant and do that again, and he laughed, but he still drove there without objection, seeming to like the romance of the whole thing. We ordered a banana split, and sat in a back booth and fed each other, glad the place was nearly empty that late, just us and a few stragglers from the movie theater nearby.

We had some privacy, like we did the first time we were there, so we were kissing a lot, and it was getting a little hotter and more intense than it had then. I finally pulled back and stuck a piece of banana in his mouth.

"Behave yourself," I joked, swiping a spot of whipped cream on the end of his nose. He took my hand and sucked on the finger that bore the whipped cream. "Don," I chided, laughing, not really upset that he was licking my finger. I doubted anyone saw it, or cared.

He grinned, and then he did the sweetest thing. My arm was behind him on the back of the booth, and he just relaxed next to me and put his head on my shoulder. Again, I found myself feeling forever in that little gesture, thinking of when we were old and gray, and that was the most energetic physical contact we could manage. How sweet it would be and how I would treasure him until the end of our lives and beyond.

I stroked his hair a little, the way I knew he liked, that relaxed him. Then I felt a little hitch in his breathing, and he surreptitiously raised his napkin briefly to his eyes, vainly hoping, I guess, that I wouldn't notice.

"What's wrong, honey?" I asked him quietly, kissing his forehead.

"You could have said no," he managed, his voice a faint whisper. "I really fucked up this time, and you could have just told me to go to hell."

"Oh, baby, don't even think that way." I held him close to me, and I didn't care that we were in a restaurant or that someone else might see us. This couldn't wait until we got in the car or went home. The last couple days had been painful and stressful and just plain awful for both of us, and it was hitting him now, full force. I didn't doubt there was a meltdown in my future. I hadn't slept more than a few hours since we broke up, and I'd been in constant emotional pain the entire time.

"I don't deserve you and I didn't deserve to get you back," he mumbled.

"All my life, I hoped I'd meet a beautiful, good, sweet man who would love me like crazy and want to be with me forever," I said, feeling tears burning my own eyes as I held onto him, so grateful he was there, that we'd met, that Steve chose the night he did to dump me, that I'd gone to that club in a move that was so not me...that so many random acts and choices had put us in the right place at the right time. He was my treasure and my hero and my love, and I didn't know how to make him stop thinking he didn't deserve me. "I kind of hoped he'd be a blue-eyed blond with nice muscles," I admitted, and he chortled at that.

"Could we just go home now?" he asked, smiling at me.

"Yeah, I'd like that, too," I said, smiling back at him, hoping he could see in my eyes even a little of the love I felt for him, and the excitement I felt at knowing he was mine, that he wanted me forever, that he loved me like he did. I couldn't wait to live the rest of my life with him, to be his husband, for him to be mine.

We went back to my place, and as soon as I turned on the lamp in the living room, I spotted the flowers. This bouquet was different. Anyone who doesn't think Don is creative and imaginative doesn't know him very well. There were some miniature white carnations, but in the middle of the bouquet was a single, long-stemmed red rose. It was a huge flower, towering above the other flowers. Don came up behind me, and slid his arms around my waist, hugging me.

"The carnations are all the other guys out there on the dating scene, and that rose is you."

"Don, I don't know what to say," I responded, and it was true. It was such a beautiful symbol, and I was moved so deeply by it.

"I said such awful things to you...I wasn't much better than that asshole you were with before me."

"You apologized...and you and Steve aren't even of the same species, honey. I'd never think of you that way."

"We both insulted you, made you feel bad, said stupid, wrong things about you. I just want you to know how I see you. And you're that rose in a whole sea of scraggly little flowers. One of a kind, tall, beautiful, special. I love you, Timothy, and I think you're amazing, and I still can't believe you said yes."

"I still can't believe you asked," I said, turning and looking into his eyes. He looked so handsome, and so tired. I felt worn out, too. All I wanted was to cuddle up in bed with him and go to sleep. "We've got a lifetime to celebrate. What do you say tonight, we just go to bed together and get some rest? Maybe we can wake up and make love when we can keep our eyes open," I added, kissing him, smiling at him, glad I triggered one of his beautiful smiles.

"I was afraid if I suggested that you'd start to think I was narcoleptic," he joked, his arms still around my waist. "Seems like I'm always sleeping here," he added, kissing me.

"If you didn't just propose and bring me flowers, I might get a complex from that."

"Nah, don't do that. I can tell you why," he said, looking more down at my chest than at me, as if he couldn't quite meet my eyes while he told me. "Being with you feels like home. It feels right, and it feels...safe. I don't have nightmares when I sleep with you."

"You have nightmares, honey?" I asked, pulling him into my arms. I wanted him to talk to me, and I thought maybe if I was holding him, and he didn't have to look me in the eyes, he'd tell me what it was that bothered him and gave him bad dreams.

"Sometimes," he said, and I could tell he was already backing off from telling me what they were about or why he had them. "Probably when the crazy hours mix with the weird food," he said, shrugging as he pulled away a little. "You relax me and if I'm lucky, you feed me, too," he quipped, kissing me. I knew there was more to it than that, but I also knew that I was only going to get a peek under all those layers that are Donald a little at a time. I'm pretty confident I was the only person in his life who knew he had nightmares.

"This place doesn't feel like home anymore without you. I really hated being apart the last few days."

"I think it was the worst three days of my life," he admitted, laughing softly. "I'm sorry I was such an ass."

"It's okay. It's a cute ass," I teased him, not wanting him to be unhappy anymore. It was clear he'd inflicted at least as much pain on himself as he'd inflicted on me. Love seemed hard and painful for him, but for some reason, he was ready to suffer through it for me. Because he fell in love with me, even though love seemed to be a dark, scary place in his life. I trusted him enough to take the leap of faith with him, even not knowing why he had the hangups he did. Besides, untangling him was going to take a lifetime, and I preferred to spend that lifetime with him than apart from him, trying to figure him out before I let myself enjoy the most amazing feelings I've ever experienced - or the beautiful, sweet soul I knew was hiding under the armor.

"You're too good to me. You're too good for me."

"You're the man I want, and I love you, and the only thing that matters is that I think you're good enough. Your opinion doesn't count on that point."

"Oh it doesn't, huh?" he asked, looking a little emotional, but smiling and amused at the same time.

"Nope. We're getting married, remember? Get used to it."

"You're really sexy when you take charge of things," he said, unbuttoning the top few buttons of my shirt, kissing my neck, then dipping down to kiss a little of my chest that he'd bared.

"Getting your second wind?"

"Oh, yeah," he said, unbuttoning more of my shirt, kissing each little bit of skin as he went.

Tuxedos went flying, shirts and underwear were close behind, as we invented new ways to pull our clothes off and keep kissing and touching each other at the same time. Somehow I managed to yank the throw off the back of the couch so it covered the seat right before my butt landed on it, and for some reason, that amused Don to no end.

"What?" I asked, skillfully avoiding his very determined mouth before it covered mine again.

"We're making mind-blowing love here, and you're worried about the couch?" he asked, laughing.

"My couch is nicer than yours, and it may have to last us a few more years," I said, and that seemed to make him laugh harder.

"God, I do love you, Timothy," he replied, climbing on top of me, straddling me, so he was sitting on my lap, our chests and our cocks rubbing together in a maddening friction as we went back to kissing and groping and holding and thrusting.

The phone rang.

"Oh no," I said.

"Ignore it," he said, grinding his pelvis against mine.

"It's my mother," I said, reaching for the phone on the end table. "I promised I'd call her when I knew about the job."

"You're not talking to your mother while I'm on top of you - naked."

"Yeah, you're right. My mother is a virgin who doesn't know I have sex with my boyfriend. Now move." I undulated and he flopped on the other couch cushion. "Hello?" I said, trying to catch my breath. I sounded like I'd been running a marathon.

"Did you just get in?" she asked, sounding excited. I'd almost forgotten about the job. With Donald naked, on top of me, I'd just about forgotten my own name.

"Uh, yes, the elevator wasn't working, so we had to walk up."

"Don't keep me in suspense, Mr. Chief Aide," she gushed. I almost laughed into the phone as Don threw my tuxedo jacket over the front of me and pulled on his boxers.

"Sorry, Mom. I didn't get the job."

"What? Why? Who got it? Is she insane?"

"I didn't get the job. I don't have enough experience. David Bradley from Congressman Fielding's office. And no, I don't think so."

"Fielding is an idiot," she said indignantly. I burst out laughing. Don was never going to believe this. "You're awfully happy for someone who just lost a promotion," she said. I think she thought I was drunk, and even though my mother's brothers, and even my somewhat straight-laced father, could throw down quite a few when they got going, she didn't approve of drunkenness.

"Those were Don's exact words, about Fielding," I said. "Sorry, Mom. I was a little distracted." I shot Don a look, since he'd been nibbling on the earlobe that wasn't pressed against the phone.

"Is Don still there?"

"Yes, he's here. You want to talk to him?" I asked, and Don shot me a look that would have flattened me where I sat, if looks could kill.

"I'd love to!"

"I've got something to tell you first," I said.

"Here, give me the phone," he said, reaching for it. I looked at him, stunned. He couldn't have freaked me out more if he'd sprouted wings or a second penis. In a state of shock, I handed him the phone.

"Mrs. Callahan?" he asked. He paused for her to reply. "It's nice to talk to you, too. Tim talks about you all the time," he said. Another pause. "Okay, not all the time, but a lot." She said something else, and he laughed. "No, that didn't scare me off." She spoke again and he raised an eyebrow. "Tim's told you all about me, huh?" he asked, reaching over and tweaking the end of my nose. "And you still wanted to talk to me?" he added, and I could hear that she was laughing. I was really relaxing now. I had a feeling my mother was going to love Don, and he was going to get along with her just fine. He listened to her for a couple minutes, and then he said, "You have a brilliant, beautiful, kind, patient, amazing son, and I know I'm never gonna be good enough for him, but I love him more than I thought I could love anyone." He paused again, and a huge smile spread over his face. "Yeah, that's what he's doing," he said. "She wondered if you were looking all nervous and jittery because I took the phone away from you," he said to me, smiling at me with all the love in the world. Then he took my hand and kissed it. "I just wanted to tell you that, and now I'll give him the phone back," he said to my mother, and handed me the phone.

"Tim, what's going on?" she asked. Don lifted my arm and snuggled himself under it, his head on my shoulder, his hand caressing my chest.

"Mom, Don asked me to marry him," I said, resting my head against his. I couldn't have been happier.

"What?" she asked, the shock plain in her voice. "You've only gone out with him a few times!"

And in that time, he helped me through a messy break up, we weathered a financial setback with his business, wrestled a gruesome flu, broke up and reconciled, got engaged, and then faced my career dip as a couple. I could have dated him for six months and not gone through all that with him. And come out in love, feeling like two halves of a whole.

"I know it's sudden, but I also know it's right," I said, looking into those beautiful eyes of his. "I love him so much, Mom," I said, and I knew I was sounding mushy and emotional. I couldn't help it. "And I know he loves me. We don't have to do anything special when we're together. Just being with each other makes anything good." I slipped my fingers over the speaker long enough to kiss him.

"I can hear that in your voice, sweetie," she said, and I could hear the smile in hers. "I've been hoping you'd find someone to love, who loved you. I know that's what you want, someone to settle down with."

"That's true, I do. But he's everything I ever hoped for, and then some," I added, smiling at him, lacing the fingers of my free hand with his.

"I was going to ask you if you had thought this through and were sure, but I think I'd be wasting my breath."

"You just asked, Mom," I replied, laughing. "Yes, and yes. I've never been happier in my life."

"I'll let you two celebrate," she said, and I could feel myself blushing from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, and being I was naked except for a strategically placed suit jacket, I was pretty sure Don could feel the heat.

"I'll call you tomorrow," I said.

"I'm happy for you, Timmy. Congratulations to you both. Now I expect you to e-mail me a picture. Tomorrow. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Mom. I'll take a picture of Don and send it to you right away. Well, not right away, but tomorrow."

"Okay. I'm sorry about the job," she said.

"Yeah, so am I, but comparing the two, it doesn't really matter all that much."

"Your father is going to be furious."

"He already can't stand me because I'm working for Democrats."

"That's not true. He's just too stubborn to give up on upholding his principles," she said, and from the change in her voice, I could almost see her doing her best impersonation of my father when he stiffens his spine and puffs out his chest, thumbs in his belt, to start pontificating. There are times I think my mother is a saint. Of course, there are other times I think that title goes to my father - no one manages to make people dance to her tune quite like my mother does. "Your father loves you and he thinks you're very bright and capable, and he's going to use this as one more reason to justify his opinion that the Democrats don't know what they're doing. And don't be surprised if you get an e-mail from him offering to get you a nice job with one of his Republican cronies."

"He's not speaking to me, Mom."

"Maybe not, but e-mailing isn't speaking," she said.

"Goodnight, Mom," I said, chuckling.

"Tell Don it was nice meeting him. Sort of," she added.

"I will."

"I love you," she said.

"I love you, too, Mom. Talk to you soon." I hung up the phone. "You're insane, do you know that?"

"I would've thought you'd have figured that out already. I wanted to ask for her permission to marry you, but I figured you'd kill me if I blew it before you told her."

"That's such a sweet thought," I said, kissing him. "But you're right, I would have killed you if you'd told her before I had the chance to," I added, laughing. "She said it was nice meeting you."

"She sounds like a pretty cool lady."

"She's the best."

"You think we need some lube?" he asked.

"If you're volunteering to go get it, I'll wait," I said, and he laughed, standing and hurrying into the bedroom. I heard the drawer open and close, and he was back a moment later with supplies. I had tossed my jacket aside and was waiting for him in all my naked glory. I've never seen anyone take off a pair of boxers as fast as he did. He was already semi-erect, and I knew it wouldn't take long to get all the way there.

He knelt at my feet and nudged my legs apart, making room for himself there, taking me in his mouth. I slid down a little on the cushion so he had better access. I wanted one of those talented hands on my balls, and I wasn't disappointed. I stroked his hair, leaning back on the cushions, moaning at the wonderful feelings. When I was almost painfully hard, he carefully rolled the condom on the length of my cock, and lubed it. I thought I'd come from him handling me, I was so close to the edge. Being inside him was well worth controlling myself, and I tried to think of everything under the sun to not get more excited.

Then he prepared himself, and I was suffering trying to figure out how not to come while he straddled my thighs and fingered himself, spreading some lube inside. He moved up close, and started lowering himself on me. There was nothing like the feeling of that tight passage fitting itself around me, drawing me in, his little gasps and shifts as he adjusted, the press of his chest against mine, our mouths locked together in a kiss that took what was left of our breath away.

Our lovemaking was tender and emotional, desperate and eager, passionate and heated, all at the same time. It was as if we needed this physical coupling to seal our new commitment to each other, to reassure ourselves that we were really together, that we were going to stay that way.

I reached between us and stroked him, wanting to drive him crazy from both directions, until he was riding my lap and thrusting into my hand, his forehead on my shoulder, like he was too overloaded to do anything but just experience it. I wrapped my other arm around him and held him close, kissing any skin I could reach, nipping at his ear, whispering hot little words of love there, loving the feeling of his thighs and ass on my thighs, his legs gripping the sides of my lap, his body vibrating with our movements.

He was kissing my shoulder now, holding onto me, one hand slipping into my hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. He used his other hand to rub and pinch at my nipples. Before I knew it, I was coming, shouting his name, gasping, feeling his passage squeezing me as he came, too.

For what seemed like a long time, he lay against me, our bodies joined, our hearts beating rapidly against each other. I found my jacket within reach and covered his back. It was a little chilly in the room, and I wanted to take care of him, make sure he was comfortable, wrap him up close to me and try to figure out how to love away the fear I knew still lurked deep inside him. Fear that he wouldn't be good enough, that I'd leave him. The only thing that made me sad on such a beautiful, magical night was that I didn't know how to calm that fear, what to say to express to him that he was safe, that I'd never leave him, never hurt him. Maybe time would have to tell him that.

When we reluctantly parted, we lay on the couch together, all wrapped around each other, warm and naked and intimate, the throw over us as we touched each other, caressed each other, kissed and licked and nipped at each other's mouths. I could smell a trace of champagne on his breath, and I breathed his breath into me, knowing he was breathing mine into him.

"Do you think we stained the couch?" he asked, smiling.

"Who cares?"

"I thought you were worried about it lasting us a few years."

"Febreze," I said, kissing him.

"That works on come stains?"

"I don't know. I never let anyone leave any on my couch before," I said.

"We could always use my couch," he said. I thought of the brown plaid...thing he was talking about.

"Don't threaten me," I replied, and he gave me an expression of mock anger, though it was kind of messed up by the fact he was laughing. He smacked my rear end lightly.

"Are you insulting my taste in decorating?" he challenged.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am," I responded, kissing him. "But I'll overcome that, because you've got such a beautiful ass," I said, squeezing one of his cheeks.

"I thought it was my great taste in flowers," he joked, and I laughed, but then I became dead serious. I wanted him to know I wasn't kidding.

"Any flowers I get from you are beautiful to me. The bouquet you brought me tonight, with the rose...the symbolism is probably the most beautiful thing anyone's ever done for me."

"Finding you was like finding the one perfect rose in a whole pile of weeds," he said, kissing me.

"You know what I think of when I look at that bouquet?"

"What?"

"Our love is like that rose, rising above everything else. Beautiful, perfect, sweet, and amazing. Don't ever forget how glad I am to have you," I said, kissing him again. And again. And a couple more times just in case he didn't get the message the first few times.

Whatever was down deep inside Donald, torturing him and hurting his heart...I was going to pound it down, kill it with love and loyalty and reassurance until it disappeared. Anyone who knows me knows that when I make my mind up, there's no point in resisting me. Just ask Donald.

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