Strachey Mysteries Fic - Small Favors (1/1)
Title: Small Favors
Author: kaly
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2125
Characters/Pairing: Donald/Timothy
Category: movieverse
Warnings: none
Spoilers: none
Summary: The things done for love are not always grand gestures.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing, no money earned.
Note: Written for smallfandomfest, prompt "sacrifice".
Thank you to geminigrl11 for the beta.
Timothy bit back a sigh as he hung up the phone. Up until a few minutes before, he had hoped that this week - for the first time in over a month - they might actually manage movie night together. Things had looked so optimistic, in fact, that he had gone so far as to stop at the video store on his way home. Donald had mentioned hearing about a new release he thought Tim might like, so Tim took a chance on renting it ahead of time.
Instead, Donald had called to let him know he had found a lead on his current case and not to wait up. Oh, he had apologized for spoiling movie night again, of course, and Timothy knew it wasn't on purpose. And while Tim couldn't lie and say he wasn't disappointed, neither could he lie and say he was shocked, either.
Honestly, he understood - most of the time. This particular case had been running his partner into the ground for days, and Tim hoped for Donald's sake that the new information was what he needed to break it.
Timothy hated standing on the sidelines, watching as Donald wore himself out on cases like this one. There was little he could do but be there when Donald did finally drag in at night and wrap his arms around him as they slept. At the same time, he would thank God that Donald had come home safe, and pray they both would manage to get enough sleep to function the next day.
Watching a movie alone - and this time he was indeed going to watch the movie even if Donald couldn't make it - wasn't a huge issue, compared to what Donald was facing. Safe, warm and well-fed, Timothy's own evening was no doubt a far sight better than Donald's. In fact, he almost felt guilty for it.
He settled into the couch, pressing play on the remote and taking a drink from his martini. Maybe they would be lucky and Donald would get home early enough Tim would still be awake. Maybe even in time for the end credits. And Tim grinned as the thought occurred to him that if he was feeling particularly charitable, he wouldn't even spoil the end for Donald just because he could.
Before he became completely engrossed in the movie, Timothy said a silent prayer, for Donald to be careful and come home in one piece. It was his habit, his superstition, and one he could never give up, as it had seen them through many late nights and frightening situations.
Movie nights were a dime a dozen. Donald wasn't remotely so.
~<>~<>~
Although he knew they were a necessary evil to live with Timothy, Donald still hated political functions. They were long, and even worse, long-winded. He would end up dressed in a tuxedo that never fit quite right, surrounded by people he never fit quite right among.
He and Timothy had had the same argument countless times over the years, and would no doubt continue to do so. And countless times Donald had given in without much fight, though only after ample distraction. Because if there was one thing that made suffering through the interminable boredom worth it, it was the opportunity it gave him to watch Timothy shine.
Standing beside Tim, who in turn stood next to Senator Glassman, Donald hid behind his glass and not-so-subtly participated in one of his favorite activities - Timmy watching. Bored out of his mind or not, Donald wasn't one to pass up getting to stare at Tim's ass in a tux, or his face alight with interest.
Having long since lost track of the conversation - something to do with an upcoming election the Senator wasn't directly involved in - Donald was appeased just to watch the fire in Tim's eyes as he debated his position on whatever it was. Occasionally, Tim would give Donald a glance that told him Timothy knew exactly what he was doing, and was less than impressed but used to it.
It wasn't as though their arguments about going were the only ones they had often. Just as common were their debates about the fascination - or lack there of - politics held for each of them. In fact, both tended to happen each and every time there was an event scheduled and when he was feeling particularly mischievous, Donald played them up to the hilt.
But Donald knew his husband, and he knew Timothy enjoyed the debate as much as Donald himself did. They both knew they would never agree, but it was something familiar and comforting when most other things in their lives tended to be anything but.
Politics might bore Donald to no end - and he wasn't ashamed to remind Timothy of that from time to time - but Donald knew how much his partner loved it, even without being told, and Donald loved seeing Timothy so happy. Even wanting to be almost anywhere else seemed a small price to pay for that.
The prospect of an open bar didn't hurt, either.
~<>~<>~
If there was one thing Timothy seemed incapable of saying no to, it was Donald's puppy dog eyes. Time and again, he had every intention of standing his ground, and time and again, he folded like a cheap house of cards. It was pathetic, really.
On the occasions they were both home in the evenings, he and Donald took turns taking care of dinner. However, actual cooking seemed to be involved far more often on Tim's part than Donald's. Donald, invariably, found a reason to pick up take out for their dinner and the trend showed no signs of changing, after so long.
In particular, Donald was fond of showing up with pizza. Over time, it had driven Timothy crazy to the point that one night he had threatened to cut Donald off from it entirely. The threat had, as expected, been laughed at, but Donald had acquiesced to the point that at least they didn't have it nearly so often.
However, on this particular evening, Donald lay on the couch with an icepack on his forehead and a cast on his arm, looking particularly pitiful. Though the cast was several days old, the hit to the head was new and Timothy was nearing his wits' end for injuries in a single week.
So when Donald looked up at him, somehow managing to squint in pain and give him the puppy dog eyes, Timothy knew he was doomed. Stress and worry and nearly overwhelming relief that Donald was really going to be okay led him to cave even more quickly than usual.
"How about pizza?" he asked, without any actual prompting. When Donald was lucid and not on painkillers Timothy knew he would catch grief for it. Though if he were lucky, Donald might not remember it happening at all.
He was rewarded by Donald's eyes brightening, though the answering nod caused Donald to pale and wince. Timothy waited while Donald caught his breath, his lips pursed tightly together, and frowned in pity. Tim knew Donald was going to be fine - the doctor had assured them both - but it was still hard to watch Donald suffer in the meantime.
Crossing the room to Donald's side, Tim kissed his lips softly. Straightening, he spared Donald the sigh of the martyr he might normally have given him, and said, "I'll call Luigi's and get your regular."
"You're the best." Donald's voice was a whisper, and he kept his eyes closed even as he spoke.
Smirking, Timothy went in search of the phone, replying, "I bet you say that to all the guys who offer you pizza."
Donald grinned, but Tim was grateful to see he remembered not to nod his head. "Just don't tell 'em - you're my favorite."
Phone in hand, Timothy laughed as he dialed the far-too-familiar number. "I'd better be."
Soon enough, the much-loved Hawaiian with pepperoni was ordered, and Tim collected his keys and jacket. Leave it to Donald to become devoted to a pizzeria that didn't deliver. Cupping Donald's cheek, Tim asked, "Are you going to be okay while I'm gone?"
"I'll be fine." Donald paused, managing to open his eyes and smile fondly at Timothy. "Thank you."
Tim returned his smile and nodded. "You're welcome. But if I catch you scratching under that cast again, I'm hiding every butter knife, pencil, and ruler in this house and your office. Got me?"
Donald gave him a sheepish look, although he shrugged defiantly. "It itches."
Sighing and glancing skyward, Timothy prayed for patience. Instead of replying he merely arched an eyebrow, and glared at his partner who at least had the grace to look somewhat abashed. Honestly, Tim loved the man beyond words, but sometimes it was like living with a twelve-year-old, especially if he was hurt or medicated - or both.
Tim supposed he could live with pizza one more time if it made Donald happy while he was suffering. But it was the last time this week, Timothy decided - come hell or high water.
~<>~<>~
It seemed the least that Donald could do, since it was his fault Timothy was covered in mud in the first place, to let him have the first shower. Not that Donald wasn't also covered in mud - which was starting to itch now that it was drying - but it only seemed fair. Wiping a hand over his face and through his hair, Donald grimaced at the mess.
Donald longed to sit down, but the withering look Timothy cut him earlier at Donald's suggestion along those lines stopped him cold. No words had been spoken, but it was clear all the same that if even a speck of mud or dirt ended up on the bed, Donald was on laundry duty until the end of time.
Donald sighed and continued to stand as still as possible. He hated laundry duty.
Deciding to take his life into his own hands, he went into the bathroom while the shower was still running. Timothy hadn't let Donald within five feet unless absolutely necessary since they had finally managed to dislodge the Toyota from the muddy ditch, and he had made it expressly clear that Donald wasn't even to think about joining him in the shower.
Not for the first time, Donald cursed the never-ending renovations that plagued their home. Any other time, he could be enjoying his own shower by now, blessedly clean and mud free. However, just two days prior, the spare bathroom had been half torn out and was currently off limits. There are days, Donald thought, if I didn't have bad luck I would have no luck at all.
Quickly, he pulled his clothes off and dropped them on top of Tim's own pile; they could figure out later what was salvageable. Donald grabbed a washcloth from the cabinet, and ran it under the tap for several seconds before trying to scrub his face and neck as best he could without making a mess.
He wasn't quite done when the water cut off in the shower, and the door swung open. Tim paused in the middle of grabbing his towel when he saw Donald standing there, but didn't speak. Holding his breath, Donald waited several seconds before Tim's face softened and Donald exhaled. It looked as though Hurricane Timothy had passed, finally, with the aid of a long shower. Thank the heavens for small favors.
"Hey," Timothy said, wrapping the towel around his waist.
Risking a smile, Donald nodded. "Better?"
"Much." Tim gave him a look from head to toe, his gaze lingering on the dirtier spots, nose scrunching in distaste. Donald wasn't imagining the playful smirk on Timothy's face when he added, "I even left you some hot water."
Chuckling, Donald resisted the urge to get Tim dirty again and kept his hands to himself. "How very nice of you."
"I do try." Timothy stepped around him, grabbing a smaller towel for his hair. "I appreciate the first shower, but you look miserable. Go get cleaned up." Tim yawned, and Donald had to fight the urge to mirror him. "It's late."
Not even wanting to think about how long they had been out in the rain fighting the car, Donald didn't argue. "I'll be out in a bit," he said, climbing into the shower and adjusting the water. Timothy hadn't been kidding, the water was still scalding hot and he sighed in relief.
"I'll be waiting," Tim called over the sound of the water and Donald smiled.
Even cold and covered in mud, all was right with his world.
end
Author: kaly
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2125
Characters/Pairing: Donald/Timothy
Category: movieverse
Warnings: none
Spoilers: none
Summary: The things done for love are not always grand gestures.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing, no money earned.
Note: Written for smallfandomfest, prompt "sacrifice".
Thank you to geminigrl11 for the beta.
Timothy bit back a sigh as he hung up the phone. Up until a few minutes before, he had hoped that this week - for the first time in over a month - they might actually manage movie night together. Things had looked so optimistic, in fact, that he had gone so far as to stop at the video store on his way home. Donald had mentioned hearing about a new release he thought Tim might like, so Tim took a chance on renting it ahead of time.
Instead, Donald had called to let him know he had found a lead on his current case and not to wait up. Oh, he had apologized for spoiling movie night again, of course, and Timothy knew it wasn't on purpose. And while Tim couldn't lie and say he wasn't disappointed, neither could he lie and say he was shocked, either.
Honestly, he understood - most of the time. This particular case had been running his partner into the ground for days, and Tim hoped for Donald's sake that the new information was what he needed to break it.
Timothy hated standing on the sidelines, watching as Donald wore himself out on cases like this one. There was little he could do but be there when Donald did finally drag in at night and wrap his arms around him as they slept. At the same time, he would thank God that Donald had come home safe, and pray they both would manage to get enough sleep to function the next day.
Watching a movie alone - and this time he was indeed going to watch the movie even if Donald couldn't make it - wasn't a huge issue, compared to what Donald was facing. Safe, warm and well-fed, Timothy's own evening was no doubt a far sight better than Donald's. In fact, he almost felt guilty for it.
He settled into the couch, pressing play on the remote and taking a drink from his martini. Maybe they would be lucky and Donald would get home early enough Tim would still be awake. Maybe even in time for the end credits. And Tim grinned as the thought occurred to him that if he was feeling particularly charitable, he wouldn't even spoil the end for Donald just because he could.
Before he became completely engrossed in the movie, Timothy said a silent prayer, for Donald to be careful and come home in one piece. It was his habit, his superstition, and one he could never give up, as it had seen them through many late nights and frightening situations.
Movie nights were a dime a dozen. Donald wasn't remotely so.
~<>~<>~
Although he knew they were a necessary evil to live with Timothy, Donald still hated political functions. They were long, and even worse, long-winded. He would end up dressed in a tuxedo that never fit quite right, surrounded by people he never fit quite right among.
He and Timothy had had the same argument countless times over the years, and would no doubt continue to do so. And countless times Donald had given in without much fight, though only after ample distraction. Because if there was one thing that made suffering through the interminable boredom worth it, it was the opportunity it gave him to watch Timothy shine.
Standing beside Tim, who in turn stood next to Senator Glassman, Donald hid behind his glass and not-so-subtly participated in one of his favorite activities - Timmy watching. Bored out of his mind or not, Donald wasn't one to pass up getting to stare at Tim's ass in a tux, or his face alight with interest.
Having long since lost track of the conversation - something to do with an upcoming election the Senator wasn't directly involved in - Donald was appeased just to watch the fire in Tim's eyes as he debated his position on whatever it was. Occasionally, Tim would give Donald a glance that told him Timothy knew exactly what he was doing, and was less than impressed but used to it.
It wasn't as though their arguments about going were the only ones they had often. Just as common were their debates about the fascination - or lack there of - politics held for each of them. In fact, both tended to happen each and every time there was an event scheduled and when he was feeling particularly mischievous, Donald played them up to the hilt.
But Donald knew his husband, and he knew Timothy enjoyed the debate as much as Donald himself did. They both knew they would never agree, but it was something familiar and comforting when most other things in their lives tended to be anything but.
Politics might bore Donald to no end - and he wasn't ashamed to remind Timothy of that from time to time - but Donald knew how much his partner loved it, even without being told, and Donald loved seeing Timothy so happy. Even wanting to be almost anywhere else seemed a small price to pay for that.
The prospect of an open bar didn't hurt, either.
~<>~<>~
If there was one thing Timothy seemed incapable of saying no to, it was Donald's puppy dog eyes. Time and again, he had every intention of standing his ground, and time and again, he folded like a cheap house of cards. It was pathetic, really.
On the occasions they were both home in the evenings, he and Donald took turns taking care of dinner. However, actual cooking seemed to be involved far more often on Tim's part than Donald's. Donald, invariably, found a reason to pick up take out for their dinner and the trend showed no signs of changing, after so long.
In particular, Donald was fond of showing up with pizza. Over time, it had driven Timothy crazy to the point that one night he had threatened to cut Donald off from it entirely. The threat had, as expected, been laughed at, but Donald had acquiesced to the point that at least they didn't have it nearly so often.
However, on this particular evening, Donald lay on the couch with an icepack on his forehead and a cast on his arm, looking particularly pitiful. Though the cast was several days old, the hit to the head was new and Timothy was nearing his wits' end for injuries in a single week.
So when Donald looked up at him, somehow managing to squint in pain and give him the puppy dog eyes, Timothy knew he was doomed. Stress and worry and nearly overwhelming relief that Donald was really going to be okay led him to cave even more quickly than usual.
"How about pizza?" he asked, without any actual prompting. When Donald was lucid and not on painkillers Timothy knew he would catch grief for it. Though if he were lucky, Donald might not remember it happening at all.
He was rewarded by Donald's eyes brightening, though the answering nod caused Donald to pale and wince. Timothy waited while Donald caught his breath, his lips pursed tightly together, and frowned in pity. Tim knew Donald was going to be fine - the doctor had assured them both - but it was still hard to watch Donald suffer in the meantime.
Crossing the room to Donald's side, Tim kissed his lips softly. Straightening, he spared Donald the sigh of the martyr he might normally have given him, and said, "I'll call Luigi's and get your regular."
"You're the best." Donald's voice was a whisper, and he kept his eyes closed even as he spoke.
Smirking, Timothy went in search of the phone, replying, "I bet you say that to all the guys who offer you pizza."
Donald grinned, but Tim was grateful to see he remembered not to nod his head. "Just don't tell 'em - you're my favorite."
Phone in hand, Timothy laughed as he dialed the far-too-familiar number. "I'd better be."
Soon enough, the much-loved Hawaiian with pepperoni was ordered, and Tim collected his keys and jacket. Leave it to Donald to become devoted to a pizzeria that didn't deliver. Cupping Donald's cheek, Tim asked, "Are you going to be okay while I'm gone?"
"I'll be fine." Donald paused, managing to open his eyes and smile fondly at Timothy. "Thank you."
Tim returned his smile and nodded. "You're welcome. But if I catch you scratching under that cast again, I'm hiding every butter knife, pencil, and ruler in this house and your office. Got me?"
Donald gave him a sheepish look, although he shrugged defiantly. "It itches."
Sighing and glancing skyward, Timothy prayed for patience. Instead of replying he merely arched an eyebrow, and glared at his partner who at least had the grace to look somewhat abashed. Honestly, Tim loved the man beyond words, but sometimes it was like living with a twelve-year-old, especially if he was hurt or medicated - or both.
Tim supposed he could live with pizza one more time if it made Donald happy while he was suffering. But it was the last time this week, Timothy decided - come hell or high water.
~<>~<>~
It seemed the least that Donald could do, since it was his fault Timothy was covered in mud in the first place, to let him have the first shower. Not that Donald wasn't also covered in mud - which was starting to itch now that it was drying - but it only seemed fair. Wiping a hand over his face and through his hair, Donald grimaced at the mess.
Donald longed to sit down, but the withering look Timothy cut him earlier at Donald's suggestion along those lines stopped him cold. No words had been spoken, but it was clear all the same that if even a speck of mud or dirt ended up on the bed, Donald was on laundry duty until the end of time.
Donald sighed and continued to stand as still as possible. He hated laundry duty.
Deciding to take his life into his own hands, he went into the bathroom while the shower was still running. Timothy hadn't let Donald within five feet unless absolutely necessary since they had finally managed to dislodge the Toyota from the muddy ditch, and he had made it expressly clear that Donald wasn't even to think about joining him in the shower.
Not for the first time, Donald cursed the never-ending renovations that plagued their home. Any other time, he could be enjoying his own shower by now, blessedly clean and mud free. However, just two days prior, the spare bathroom had been half torn out and was currently off limits. There are days, Donald thought, if I didn't have bad luck I would have no luck at all.
Quickly, he pulled his clothes off and dropped them on top of Tim's own pile; they could figure out later what was salvageable. Donald grabbed a washcloth from the cabinet, and ran it under the tap for several seconds before trying to scrub his face and neck as best he could without making a mess.
He wasn't quite done when the water cut off in the shower, and the door swung open. Tim paused in the middle of grabbing his towel when he saw Donald standing there, but didn't speak. Holding his breath, Donald waited several seconds before Tim's face softened and Donald exhaled. It looked as though Hurricane Timothy had passed, finally, with the aid of a long shower. Thank the heavens for small favors.
"Hey," Timothy said, wrapping the towel around his waist.
Risking a smile, Donald nodded. "Better?"
"Much." Tim gave him a look from head to toe, his gaze lingering on the dirtier spots, nose scrunching in distaste. Donald wasn't imagining the playful smirk on Timothy's face when he added, "I even left you some hot water."
Chuckling, Donald resisted the urge to get Tim dirty again and kept his hands to himself. "How very nice of you."
"I do try." Timothy stepped around him, grabbing a smaller towel for his hair. "I appreciate the first shower, but you look miserable. Go get cleaned up." Tim yawned, and Donald had to fight the urge to mirror him. "It's late."
Not even wanting to think about how long they had been out in the rain fighting the car, Donald didn't argue. "I'll be out in a bit," he said, climbing into the shower and adjusting the water. Timothy hadn't been kidding, the water was still scalding hot and he sighed in relief.
"I'll be waiting," Tim called over the sound of the water and Donald smiled.
Even cold and covered in mud, all was right with his world.
end