Title: A MARRIAGE IN ALBANY

Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)
Pairing: Donald and Timothy
Rating: R because of the f-bomb 

Word Count: 1220
References/Spoilers: Can't think of any.

Disclosure: I wish they were mine. Alas, they are not, so I'm just taking them out for a spin with thanks to the men who created them and the actors who brought them to life.

Summary: The legalization of same sex marriage in New York gets Timothy reflecting on what marriage really means, and his feelings for a certain PI in his life.

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A MARRIAGE IN ALBANY

by

Candy Apple

Tim stifled a yawn as he squeezed toothpaste on his toothbrush and then started to brush his teeth. It was almost four in the morning, but he didn't regret staying up and partying late into the night at the conference center where Senator Platt had organized a party for her staff and for her supporters who had worked so hard to lobby for the legislation legalizing gay marriage in New York. It was a risk of sorts, setting up a party like that, because it could have ended up like a wake. But when it was announced that the legislation passed, the banquet room full of a few hundred people erupted like New Year's Eve in Times Square.

And Donald was right by his side, the two of them shouting and cheering and sharing a kiss that Tim personally considered worthy of being the gay equivalent to the famous World War II-era photo of the returning soldier kissing a nurse. Donald, who had enough to drink to just about floor him while they were celebrating, and was now curled up on their bed, ostensibly waiting for wild, hot celebratory sex. After he rinsed out his mouth and turned off the water, he smiled when he heard soft snoring coming from the other room. Donald usually didn't snore, but tanked Donald did. Tanked Donald drooled a little, too. And he was too fucking cute for words.

He put his toothbrush in the holder next to Donald's. Then he paused a moment to look at their commingled toiletries and shaving supplies. Over the years, all the lines of "yours and mine" had blurred until it was all "ours." Two robes hanging on the back of the bathroom door, an eclectic assortment of soap, shampoo, body wash and other items in the shower.

Ten years of rubbing off on each other - in more ways than one - and there was no personal space anymore. He leaned on the door frame and watched Donald sleep, curled up, hugging one of Tim's pillows, his face buried in it, apparently having forgotten his best drunken intentions to wait for Tim to finish up in the bathroom so they could celebrate some more.

Over the years, he'd gotten used to Donald's freakish schedule, and even though it occasionally frustrated him, he realized the long hours were hard on Don, too. But they both worked hard to build a life together. Put everything they both had into joint accounts and shared investments. Struggled to make ends meet while Donald got established as a PI, as Timothy got promoted to the good job he had now, that he'd had for several years. They'd scrimped and saved to make a down payment on their first house, then turned a tidy profit on it before making the move to this house, which Tim thought of as their dream house. A house to spend a lifetime in.

They'd finally arrived at that place they'd been striving to reach when they were younger, when they'd met by chance in a night club, fallen in love, and committed their lives to each other a short time later. Their wedding had been beautiful, with family and friends there, tuxedos and flowers and romantic music, and a honeymoon in Hawaii that was the stuff of fantasies.

The early years were lean and a bit scary at times, but every moment they'd shared, Tim treasured, and he couldn't think of a moment of it he'd change, except the moments Don had been hurt on the job. He could never stand seeing his Donald hurt. Despite his toughness and his courage, his military past and his current line of work, Donald was the sweetest, gentlest soul Tim ever knew, and he was the last person Tim could think of who deserved to suffer violence or injury.

Still, all their hurts, physical and emotional, colds and flus or bruises and gunshots, professional setbacks and deaths in the family...they'd faced it all together, supported each other, and the love they shared had just grown stronger for it, until it seemed like there was nothing they couldn't handle as long as they had each other.

Tim turned out the bathroom light and then the lamp in the bedroom, and climbed onto the bed next to Donald, who snorted and blinked at him blearily, wiping a little drool off the corner of his mouth.

"Sorry, I guess I dozed off," he said, smiling at Tim like he was the best thing on earth. He'd been working some long hours before the vote, and between the fatigue and the celebrating, he looked worn out.

"It's okay, honey," Tim said, lying close to him, rubbing his back in long strokes, kissing his shoulder and then sharing a lazy kiss with lots of tongue. "I'm pretty tired, too."

"I guess we're old married people after all, huh?" he said, chuckling, kissing Tim again.

"Yeah, we are, baby." He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Donald's. "I figured out what kind of celebration I want when we get our marriage license."

"Big shindig with a few hundred of your closest friends?" he teased, yawning, smiling, giving Tim a big sloppy kiss on the cheek.

"We already did that over ten years ago when we made our vows to each other. We're already married, honey. I just want us to go get our legal license, to take advantage of having the right to finally do that, to have a quiet ceremony at city hall because we couldn't do that the first time, and then I think we should take a second honeymoon in Hawaii. I want to make love to my husband under that waterfall again. Like I made love to my husband there the first time."

"You've worked so hard for this, and waited so long for it," Don said, blinking, looking like he was trying to wake up to really interpret what Tim was saying.

"I know. I'm so happy that the movement's made it this far, that we've taken another step toward equality, and for us and everyone else who deserves to have their love and their union recognized by law... But no piece of paper could make you more my husband, or make me love you any more...because that's just not possible."

"I love you, too, sweetheart. And I love our life."

"You mean, our marriage. All ten years and four months, and two weeks of it."

"Yeah, our marriage," Don repeated, yawning, closing his eyes, snuggling against Tim, who closed his eyes and kissed his husband one more time before dozing off to sleep, to dreams of luaus and waterfalls.