Title: Nocturnal

Author: Candy Apple (candyjbshsc)

Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (Movieverse)

Pairing/Characters: Donald/Timothy

Rating/Category: R, slash

Prompt: Nocturnal

Summary: This time, it's Donald at home alone waiting for Timothy to get home from a late meeting.

Notes/Warnings: None I can think of.

NOCTURNAL

by

Candy Apple

I came home and set my briefcase and my coat on one of the kitchen chairs. The house was quiet and dim, just the kitchen light dispelling the darkness. I was hungry in the car, but somehow nothing in the refrigerator looked good. So I grabbed a beer and I turned on the TV and sat on the couch, pulling off my tie. My neck was stiff. I tried rubbing it myself, but it didn't really do much for me. I'm pretty spoiled from having Timmy's warm hands rubbing the knots out for me. I shifted around and finally stretched out and stuck a pillow under my head. I couldn't see the screen as well and it was a shitty position for drinking.

I sat up again and flipped the channels. I checked my watch. It was only seven, and Timmy was expecting to be tied up until at least ten. I exhaled and tried to focus on the television, but without my shoulder pressed up against Timmy's and his running commentary on it, it was boring. I turned off the TV and picked up the newspaper. Yes, I know all the news is online, but I still like to sit and read a newspaper. Call me a dinosaur.

Plowing through all the sections of the paper alone felt more like a homework assignment than pleasure. Usually Timothy decides to read me something I really am not all that interested in that he finds intriguing, and I couldn't care less about the story itself. I love to listen to the soft, smooth sound of his voice, and sometimes I put my head on his shoulder, and he gives me a little smile without missing a beat with his reading.

There's no Timothy, no soft voice, no warm shoulder. I tossed the paper aside and sighed. This was ridiculous. Timothy does this at least a couple nights a week, sometimes more, if I'm really wrapped up on a case. I'm an adult. I used to live alone. I should be able to entertain myself for a few hours.

I finally turned off the TV and went into the kitchen and made a pathetic looking sandwich. Timmy has the patience to stand there and arrange the meat and the cheese and the lettuce and somehow he gets the condiments distributed nicely over the whole thing. For me, I slap the stuff on the bread, squirt something on it, put another piece of bread on top and wander off eating it.

I finally settled for going into the garage and changing one of my headlights, which was out. Then I changed one of the light bulbs in the overhead fixtures in the garage. Proud of myself for killing an hour, I went back indoors, rubbing my hands together, shivering a bit. The warmth inside felt good, so I decided to build a fire. Timmy would probably be chilly when he came in, and maybe I could have the fire going and something warm for him to drink, like cocoa or something. He liked that on a cold winter night. I looked out the window. It was snowing lightly, and I hoped it didn't get heavier at least until he was under cover. I thought of calling him to see if he wanted me to pick him up, but he had his car, and he'd tell me he was fine. Plus, he was in a meeting, so I'd be interrupting. It was better than him waiting at bus stops, but I still didn't like him wandering around desolate parking garages at night.

Turning my attention to doing things for Timmy, I stopped watching the clock and started to get enthused about my project. I emptied the hampers and ran a couple loads of laundry. While that was going, I did the dishes and I made Timmy a sandwich, and for this one, I did try to make it look nice, even though I don't have his knack for making it picture perfect. I figured he'd be hungry when he got home.

I went upstairs and turned back the bed, hopped in the shower and got into my robe, then laid out Timmy's robe, pajamas and slippers. I smiled, thinking of the ten thousand times he does all sorts of little things to take care of me, to baby me if I'm tired, to make my crazy-ass schedule easier to take, even if I bring it on myself by doing what I do for a living.

I took the laundry out of the dryer and folded it. I even put it away, although I imagine I probably didn't stack it as neatly as he would have, and I probably put some stuff in the wrong place, but I meant well. I know Timothy has a love-hate relationship with me helping out with housework. He appreciates that I do it, but I rarely do it as well as he does.

When I heard the front door, I was on the stairs, and I hurried down to greet Timmy. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw him. His topcoat was soaking wet, his hair was glistening, and he was visibly shivering.

"Honey, what happened?" I asked, rushing up to him, taking his wet coat and hanging it over the banister.

"I had a flat tire."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"I can change a tire. I'm not helpless," he snapped, setting his briefcase on the kitchen chair next to the one where my briefcase sat.

"Yeah, well, next time you have to change a tire out by the side of the road at night, humor me and call me."

"Well, to tell the truth...I would have but my cell phone battery was dead. I got busy at the office and forgot to plug it into the charger. I wasn't in the greatest part of town, so I didn't want to go hunting for a pay phone. I figured I was better off just trying to get moving again." He headed for the warmth of the fire like a homing pigeon. "You started a fire."

I grabbed a clean kitchen towel I'd just hung up from the laundry, and started toweling his hair dry as he leaned close to the fireplace, holding his hands out toward it. He pulled off his glasses and stuck them in his suit coat pocket, and let me keep working on his hair.

"So did you get the tire changed okay?" I asked.

"Well, eventually, yes," he said, looking a little sheepish. "I'm not very fast at it."

"Next time you're at a late meeting, call me before you start out, and that way, I can come looking for you if you don't show up when you should."

"Okay," he said, sounding a little deflated. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. It's just been a lousy night."

"Fortunately, I'm here to make it better," I said, smiling at him. I was so glad he was home, and safe. I was the nocturnal creature in our household, and having him wandering out alone at night was just plain wrong. "Why don't you take a nice hot shower, and I'll get you something for your headache?"

"How'd you...?" He stopped, and smiled. I just raised my eyebrow and smiled back at him.

"You look squinty," I said, caressing his cheek. "Come on, honey. I'll start the shower for you while you get undressed."

Timmy got undressed, and I could see how tired he was by the slow, weary way he was moving. I've never seen Timothy naked and not gotten tingles in all the right places, but I made myself focus on testing the water temperature and once he was in the shower, hanging up his suit and tie and tossing his socks and underwear in the hamper. I got him a couple ibuprofen and some water and left it on the bathroom counter.

A few minutes later he came downstairs, and I had his sandwich and some cocoa waiting in the living room by the fire. He sat down on the couch with a tired sigh, but he smiled when I handed him the plate with the sandwich on it.

"I figured you were probably hungry by now," I said, covering us both with the throw we keep handy.

"Starving would be more accurate. Did you do the laundry? The bathroom hamper was empty."

"Yeah, I took care of it. I was missing my partner so much that even the laundry was a welcome diversion," I admitted, and he laughed softly. I snuggled against him and put my head on his shoulder. All was right with my world.

"I should have late meetings more often. This is really the royal treatment," he quipped, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"I think I like it better when I'm the one out late and you're here waiting for me."

"You do, huh?" He finished the sandwich and set the plate aside. Now things were getting good. He wrapped his arms around me and I slid my arms around him and with the news droning in the background, we were in full cuddle mode. "Honestly? I think I like it better, too. I'm just not the nocturnal type. But I have to say, I could get used to all this special treatment."

"Trust me, it's addictive. You do this for me all the time."

"I do?"

"Coming home to you is the best part of my day, whether it's at dinnertime or the middle of the night."

"Then we have something in common, because you coming home is my favorite part of the day, too," he said, grinning, kissing me. He was relaxed, and I knew his headache was better, because he had that glint in his eyes again. The Timmy glint.

"In case I haven't said thanks lately - "

"You just did," he said, hugging me close, rubbing noses with me. "And I like taking care of you."

"There's just one thing." 

"What?" he asked, kissing me again. I almost forgot my point as I kissed back, and got a little tongue this time.

"Charge your cell phone, so you can always call me."

"It's hooked up in the bedroom."

"Lucky cell phone. Any chance of us getting hooked up in the bedroom?"

"Hooking up with you sounds like the perfect end to a really nice homecoming," he said, stroking my hair in that sweet, gentle way of his.

Apparently, we can both be nocturnal creatures with the right incentive, as we made love late into the night.