Strachey Mysteries Fic - But For the Grace
Title: But For the Grace
Author: kaly
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1950
Characters/Pairing: Donald/Timothy
Category: angst, movieverse
Warnings: none
Spoilers: none
Summary: Unhappy news for Tim news rattles Donald.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing, no money earned.
Note: Thank you to geminigrl11 for the beta.
Timothy was pulling out the covers for bed as Donald went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He had barely put the brush in his mouth when he heard Tim say, "Oh, I forgot to tell you..."
Donald stuck his head through the doorway, gesturing for Tim to continue before moving back to the sink. He had just turned the water on, leaning forward to rinse and spit, when Timothy leaned against the doorframe.
"Do you remember James Spencer?"
"Who?" Donald dropped his toothbrush into its holder and wiped his face dry. He glanced briefly at Tim in the mirror. "I don't think so." Then again, he met any number of people on cases, so there was no telling. Donald had long ago given up on being able to remember them all. "Should I?"
Tim thought for a moment, before going back into their bedroom without meeting Donald's eyes. "Actually, I'm not sure if you would've met."
He could hear the familiar sounds of Timothy getting into bed, the room darkening a bit when a lamp was turned off. Only then did Tim continue. "I knew him when we were younger. But, come to think of it, I think he left not long after you would've moved here."
Donald paused to use the bathroom and flushing the toilet before asking, "You were friends?"
"When we were boys, yes."
Shutting off the bathroom light, Donald moved into the bedroom and climbed into bed beside Timothy. Up close, Donald couldn't help but think Tim's eyes looked weary. It was one of his least favorite expressions on Tim's face.
Donald leaned up on one elbow, so he could see his partner better. Taking took one of Tim's hands in his own he rested them over Timothy's heart. "So what's up? Did you run into him today or something?"
"No." Tim shook his head, staring at their hands where they laid on his chest. "I saw his mother. Apparently, James died recently." He took a deep breath, and gave Donald a half-hearted smile. "Silly to be upset, really. I hadn't even thought about him in years."
Freeing his hand, Donald slid over until he was pressed against Tim's side. He wrapped his arms around Timothy's shoulders and kissed his hair. "It's not silly. I'm sorry."
"Thank you," Tim said, resting his head on Donald's shoulder. "It's frightening, though."
Donald ran his hand up and down Tim's side, hoping to offer comfort. "Why's that?"
"He died of AIDS." Timothy sucked in a ragged breath as though the words brought physical pain, and Donald felt his own throat constrict a bit. "Part of me wants to be naïve and forget it exists, and then..." Tim shrugged. "It just seems like such a waste, in this day and age."
Donald couldn't disagree in principle, but it hadn't been that long since sex had been a means to an end. In the months after the Army, after Kyle, with his world falling apart, Donald hadn't thought much beyond any given night - much less his future. It had been stupid and reckless, and even knowing that hadn't put a dent in the self-loathing Donald had felt.
His blood ran cold whenever he remembered the things he had done. Dirty, meaningless acts in clubs and gas station bathrooms. Anything to forget. And once or twice, anything for information that might break a case.
Until Tim. Until someone walked into his dark, singular world and thrown open the curtains and refused to be ignored - refused to let Donald ignore himself. At the time, Donald hadn't even realized what a lifeline he had been thrown, just being introduced to Timothy Callahan.
He had fought against it, believing he didn't deserve it, never believing Tim would stick around; why should he when no one else had? But Timothy had dug in his heels, one of his most endearing and frustrating traits, and refused to leave. And Donald had done his best to bury the dark parts of his past, and the shame it brought, along with so much else.
How could he face Timothy, and admit that he maybe understood where James had been? That it's far easier than one might think, to be careless. Tim's world was much more black and white. Although Timothy wasn't naïve - far from it - there were places, horrible places, that he had never had to face, and Donald was eternally grateful for that.
Donald shuddered, what might've beens causing his stomach to roll and he clutched Timothy more tightly. That he might have lost this - lost Tim - to his own demons was something that had kept him up at night on more than one occasion.
The quiet must have dragged on too long, because Tim pulled away and looked at him with concern. "Donald?"
Cursing himself - he was supposed to be comforting Tim, not the other way around - Donald shook his head. He cleared his throat, fear and guilt and even relief having tightened it.
When he thought he could speak and manage to sound remotely normal, Donald replied, "Nothing." He traced the lines of Timothy's lips with a fingertip, digging up a smile from somewhere. "I'm so sorry about James, honey."
"Thank you." Tim was silent for a long moment, a considering look on his face. "It's funny. I've not thought about him in years, but think you would've gotten along well." He chuckled, though Donald's heart ached at how sad it sounded. "James never seemed to meet a challenge he wouldn't run into face first, no matter the odds."
Donald smiled, his eyes burning for a moment. "I might vaguely resemble that remark. A little." Curious as to what had happened, he asked, "So why did you stop speaking?"
"We ended up in different schools," Tim said with a half-shrug. "We both made new friends, and just drifted apart." Donald wasn't surprised that he sounded regretful, but at the same time, practically resigned. "I would see him occasionally after that, but it wasn't quite the same. All the games of childhood were best left ignored by teenagers, you know."
The idea of a childlike Timothy, given how proper his partner had grown to be, was an intriguing one. Donald had always listened, rapt, whenever Timothy's mother would regale them with stories of Tim's misbegotten youth - much to Tim's utter embarrassment. For the briefest moment, Donald was jealous of James and his first hand knowledge, but it was quickly tempered.
"I felt horrible for his mother," Timothy said, startling Donald from his thoughts. Wrapping his arms around Donald's waist and resting his head once more, Timothy sighed. "She looked horrible. So very, very old."
"Aww, Timmy."
Donald couldn't imagine his own mother caring, had the positions been reversed. However, the mental image of Timothy's mother - heartbroken and worn with loss - came to mind far too easily. If things had been different, he might have been the cause of that pain. And mere words would never be able to say how indebted Donald was to God or fate or whoever watched over stupid, hurting people, that things had worked out otherwise.
His last tryst had come not long after he and Tim had started dating. Things hadn't had time to get serious - but only just. And perhaps because he thought they never would, Donald had ended up on his knees in the back room of some club. Through the haze of smoke and alcohol and thrumming music, he had looked up at a stranger's face and felt sick.
Repulsed, Donald hadn't said a word when the other man yelled angrily. He had just run, not stopping until he was pounding on Timothy's apartment door, oblivious to the late hour. Overcome with shame when a sleep-rumpled Tim stood in front of him, Donald felt bitter tears burn his eyes, but refused to let them fall. Timothy hadn't said a word, just held out his hand and guided Donald inside.
It was that night that 'not serious' had become anything but, Tim cradling Donald as he shook helplessly. Donald could only feel grateful that Timothy didn't press when he had apologized, though he thought Tim might have guessed, given how Donald smelled.
That night, tangled together on the couch, Donald decided to stop running. The next day, he found a doctor and scheduled every test they could think of, for as soon as they could work him into the calendar. Six months later he was declared completely clear, and in a moment of overwhelming relief, he had asked Timothy about moving in together.
Holding Tim, listening to his slow, even breathing, Donald was amazed at how much someone could pretend never happened. And yet, it still seemed to rear its ugly head when he least expected it. But even after so many years, he was too embarrassed to admit that part of his past to Timothy, even though he knew that he wouldn't be judged for being lost.
"You're not him," Tim said drowsily, breaking Donald away from his dark thoughts.
Donald wasn't sure what surprised him more - that Tim was awake, or the words themselves. "What?"
"You're not James," Tim clarified somewhat, kissing Donald's chest. "He was shortsighted and unfortunate..." Timothy was silent for a long moment, drawing nonsensical patterns on Donald's stomach. "And his luck ran out."
Struggling to breathe, his chest tight, Donald stared at the ceiling. "It could've been..." Donald swallowed nervously, unable to look at Timothy as years-old shame spilled out. "You don't know what I was like, back then. It could've been me." He shook as he confessed in a whisper, "Worse, it could've been you."
"Donald." When he refused to look at Tim, the other man leaned back so that he could grasp Donald's chin until he complied. "Do you think I didn't know what I was getting into?"
Blinking, not comprehending, Donald asked, "What?"
Timothy smiled softly, just a quirk at the corners of his lips. "I can't even count the amount of friendly advice I was given about you."
"What?" Donald winced, hating that he was reduced to just that one word, but unable to grasp anything else.
"People talk. Nosy, well-meaning people... who don't always understand." He traced a fingertip along Donald's eyebrow. "I knew you were hurting, and although I hated that you felt like you couldn't talk to me, I also knew the end would be worth the wait."
"Timmy..." Touched by the faith Tim had apparently found, even so early on, when Donald had felt anything but, Donald shook his head helplessly. "We barely knew one another then. How could you...?"
He was caught off guard when Tim laughed quietly. "Sometimes, Donald, you just know."
Unable to smother an answering smile, Donald replied, "You, my dear, are a hopeless romantic."
Tim arched an eyebrow, his eyes glittering. "Yes, well, that's why you love me."
The reasons he loved him? Donald found he couldn't even begin to count those. He had given up trying, long before.
"It's late," he finally said after glancing at the clock. "You should get some sleep."
Hiding a yawn behind his hand, Timothy nodded. "So should you." He paused, suddenly nervous and looking away. "But, if you ever did want to talk..."
Heart full, and chest tight, Donald nodded. Roughly, he replied, "That goes both ways, you know. You could tell me about James."
"I'd like that."
Donald turned off his bedside lamp, and kissed Timothy on top of the head. Maybe, just maybe, he would find some of the strength Tim so gracefully possessed, and share a story or two of his own.
end
Author: kaly
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1950
Characters/Pairing: Donald/Timothy
Category: angst, movieverse
Warnings: none
Spoilers: none
Summary: Unhappy news for Tim news rattles Donald.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing, no money earned.
Note: Thank you to geminigrl11 for the beta.
Timothy was pulling out the covers for bed as Donald went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He had barely put the brush in his mouth when he heard Tim say, "Oh, I forgot to tell you..."
Donald stuck his head through the doorway, gesturing for Tim to continue before moving back to the sink. He had just turned the water on, leaning forward to rinse and spit, when Timothy leaned against the doorframe.
"Do you remember James Spencer?"
"Who?" Donald dropped his toothbrush into its holder and wiped his face dry. He glanced briefly at Tim in the mirror. "I don't think so." Then again, he met any number of people on cases, so there was no telling. Donald had long ago given up on being able to remember them all. "Should I?"
Tim thought for a moment, before going back into their bedroom without meeting Donald's eyes. "Actually, I'm not sure if you would've met."
He could hear the familiar sounds of Timothy getting into bed, the room darkening a bit when a lamp was turned off. Only then did Tim continue. "I knew him when we were younger. But, come to think of it, I think he left not long after you would've moved here."
Donald paused to use the bathroom and flushing the toilet before asking, "You were friends?"
"When we were boys, yes."
Shutting off the bathroom light, Donald moved into the bedroom and climbed into bed beside Timothy. Up close, Donald couldn't help but think Tim's eyes looked weary. It was one of his least favorite expressions on Tim's face.
Donald leaned up on one elbow, so he could see his partner better. Taking took one of Tim's hands in his own he rested them over Timothy's heart. "So what's up? Did you run into him today or something?"
"No." Tim shook his head, staring at their hands where they laid on his chest. "I saw his mother. Apparently, James died recently." He took a deep breath, and gave Donald a half-hearted smile. "Silly to be upset, really. I hadn't even thought about him in years."
Freeing his hand, Donald slid over until he was pressed against Tim's side. He wrapped his arms around Timothy's shoulders and kissed his hair. "It's not silly. I'm sorry."
"Thank you," Tim said, resting his head on Donald's shoulder. "It's frightening, though."
Donald ran his hand up and down Tim's side, hoping to offer comfort. "Why's that?"
"He died of AIDS." Timothy sucked in a ragged breath as though the words brought physical pain, and Donald felt his own throat constrict a bit. "Part of me wants to be naïve and forget it exists, and then..." Tim shrugged. "It just seems like such a waste, in this day and age."
Donald couldn't disagree in principle, but it hadn't been that long since sex had been a means to an end. In the months after the Army, after Kyle, with his world falling apart, Donald hadn't thought much beyond any given night - much less his future. It had been stupid and reckless, and even knowing that hadn't put a dent in the self-loathing Donald had felt.
His blood ran cold whenever he remembered the things he had done. Dirty, meaningless acts in clubs and gas station bathrooms. Anything to forget. And once or twice, anything for information that might break a case.
Until Tim. Until someone walked into his dark, singular world and thrown open the curtains and refused to be ignored - refused to let Donald ignore himself. At the time, Donald hadn't even realized what a lifeline he had been thrown, just being introduced to Timothy Callahan.
He had fought against it, believing he didn't deserve it, never believing Tim would stick around; why should he when no one else had? But Timothy had dug in his heels, one of his most endearing and frustrating traits, and refused to leave. And Donald had done his best to bury the dark parts of his past, and the shame it brought, along with so much else.
How could he face Timothy, and admit that he maybe understood where James had been? That it's far easier than one might think, to be careless. Tim's world was much more black and white. Although Timothy wasn't naïve - far from it - there were places, horrible places, that he had never had to face, and Donald was eternally grateful for that.
Donald shuddered, what might've beens causing his stomach to roll and he clutched Timothy more tightly. That he might have lost this - lost Tim - to his own demons was something that had kept him up at night on more than one occasion.
The quiet must have dragged on too long, because Tim pulled away and looked at him with concern. "Donald?"
Cursing himself - he was supposed to be comforting Tim, not the other way around - Donald shook his head. He cleared his throat, fear and guilt and even relief having tightened it.
When he thought he could speak and manage to sound remotely normal, Donald replied, "Nothing." He traced the lines of Timothy's lips with a fingertip, digging up a smile from somewhere. "I'm so sorry about James, honey."
"Thank you." Tim was silent for a long moment, a considering look on his face. "It's funny. I've not thought about him in years, but think you would've gotten along well." He chuckled, though Donald's heart ached at how sad it sounded. "James never seemed to meet a challenge he wouldn't run into face first, no matter the odds."
Donald smiled, his eyes burning for a moment. "I might vaguely resemble that remark. A little." Curious as to what had happened, he asked, "So why did you stop speaking?"
"We ended up in different schools," Tim said with a half-shrug. "We both made new friends, and just drifted apart." Donald wasn't surprised that he sounded regretful, but at the same time, practically resigned. "I would see him occasionally after that, but it wasn't quite the same. All the games of childhood were best left ignored by teenagers, you know."
The idea of a childlike Timothy, given how proper his partner had grown to be, was an intriguing one. Donald had always listened, rapt, whenever Timothy's mother would regale them with stories of Tim's misbegotten youth - much to Tim's utter embarrassment. For the briefest moment, Donald was jealous of James and his first hand knowledge, but it was quickly tempered.
"I felt horrible for his mother," Timothy said, startling Donald from his thoughts. Wrapping his arms around Donald's waist and resting his head once more, Timothy sighed. "She looked horrible. So very, very old."
"Aww, Timmy."
Donald couldn't imagine his own mother caring, had the positions been reversed. However, the mental image of Timothy's mother - heartbroken and worn with loss - came to mind far too easily. If things had been different, he might have been the cause of that pain. And mere words would never be able to say how indebted Donald was to God or fate or whoever watched over stupid, hurting people, that things had worked out otherwise.
His last tryst had come not long after he and Tim had started dating. Things hadn't had time to get serious - but only just. And perhaps because he thought they never would, Donald had ended up on his knees in the back room of some club. Through the haze of smoke and alcohol and thrumming music, he had looked up at a stranger's face and felt sick.
Repulsed, Donald hadn't said a word when the other man yelled angrily. He had just run, not stopping until he was pounding on Timothy's apartment door, oblivious to the late hour. Overcome with shame when a sleep-rumpled Tim stood in front of him, Donald felt bitter tears burn his eyes, but refused to let them fall. Timothy hadn't said a word, just held out his hand and guided Donald inside.
It was that night that 'not serious' had become anything but, Tim cradling Donald as he shook helplessly. Donald could only feel grateful that Timothy didn't press when he had apologized, though he thought Tim might have guessed, given how Donald smelled.
That night, tangled together on the couch, Donald decided to stop running. The next day, he found a doctor and scheduled every test they could think of, for as soon as they could work him into the calendar. Six months later he was declared completely clear, and in a moment of overwhelming relief, he had asked Timothy about moving in together.
Holding Tim, listening to his slow, even breathing, Donald was amazed at how much someone could pretend never happened. And yet, it still seemed to rear its ugly head when he least expected it. But even after so many years, he was too embarrassed to admit that part of his past to Timothy, even though he knew that he wouldn't be judged for being lost.
"You're not him," Tim said drowsily, breaking Donald away from his dark thoughts.
Donald wasn't sure what surprised him more - that Tim was awake, or the words themselves. "What?"
"You're not James," Tim clarified somewhat, kissing Donald's chest. "He was shortsighted and unfortunate..." Timothy was silent for a long moment, drawing nonsensical patterns on Donald's stomach. "And his luck ran out."
Struggling to breathe, his chest tight, Donald stared at the ceiling. "It could've been..." Donald swallowed nervously, unable to look at Timothy as years-old shame spilled out. "You don't know what I was like, back then. It could've been me." He shook as he confessed in a whisper, "Worse, it could've been you."
"Donald." When he refused to look at Tim, the other man leaned back so that he could grasp Donald's chin until he complied. "Do you think I didn't know what I was getting into?"
Blinking, not comprehending, Donald asked, "What?"
Timothy smiled softly, just a quirk at the corners of his lips. "I can't even count the amount of friendly advice I was given about you."
"What?" Donald winced, hating that he was reduced to just that one word, but unable to grasp anything else.
"People talk. Nosy, well-meaning people... who don't always understand." He traced a fingertip along Donald's eyebrow. "I knew you were hurting, and although I hated that you felt like you couldn't talk to me, I also knew the end would be worth the wait."
"Timmy..." Touched by the faith Tim had apparently found, even so early on, when Donald had felt anything but, Donald shook his head helplessly. "We barely knew one another then. How could you...?"
He was caught off guard when Tim laughed quietly. "Sometimes, Donald, you just know."
Unable to smother an answering smile, Donald replied, "You, my dear, are a hopeless romantic."
Tim arched an eyebrow, his eyes glittering. "Yes, well, that's why you love me."
The reasons he loved him? Donald found he couldn't even begin to count those. He had given up trying, long before.
"It's late," he finally said after glancing at the clock. "You should get some sleep."
Hiding a yawn behind his hand, Timothy nodded. "So should you." He paused, suddenly nervous and looking away. "But, if you ever did want to talk..."
Heart full, and chest tight, Donald nodded. Roughly, he replied, "That goes both ways, you know. You could tell me about James."
"I'd like that."
Donald turned off his bedside lamp, and kissed Timothy on top of the head. Maybe, just maybe, he would find some of the strength Tim so gracefully possessed, and share a story or two of his own.
end