5 Things - A Donald Strachey Mysteries fic thingie
I've written five shorties for a Donald Strachey Mysteries prompt fill over at smallfandomfest. They're rated PG-13 at most, primarily for Donald's potty mouth.
Disclaimer: I do not own these lovely characters. Richard Stevenson is their daddy.
5 Things Donald Wished Timmy Knew
1. That punch to the jaw was one of the worst I’d ever suffered, but I’d take it on the chin again just for the satisfaction of seeing that sonofabitch sprawled on his ass, the blood from his busted lip oozing down his chin and staining his once-immaculate white dress shirt.
I wiped my bloody nose with the handkerchief Timmy always made sure I carried and threw it on the man’s chest. “Don’t,” I said, “don’t ever talk about Timothy Callahan that way, ever again.”
“I’m a lawyer,” he said as he tried to sit up. “I’ll-”
I put my foot on his chest, forcing him onto his back. “Then you know better than anyone about the penalties for slander.” I applied a little pressure, making him gasp. “You ruin Tim’s reputation and I’ll ruin you. And I won’t bother going through legal channels to do it.”
“What’ll you do Strachey? Call his daddy?” He drew in a breath and grimaced. “You’ll sic the congressman on me?”
“Nobody’s daddy fights my battles, asshole.” I took my foot off his chest and squatted down beside him. Taking hold of his hair, I grinned like a madman at the sudden fright on his face. “If you ever so much as say Tim’s name while you’re alone and taking a shit, I will find you before you have a chance to wipe your ass.”
I let his head drop back on the cold, wet pavement. “Have a nice evening, Mr. Rand.”
I left him there, got in my car and drove home. It was movie night, and I wasn’t about to miss it.
Timmy met me at the door, martini and movie in hand. “I’m so glad you’re home. I just want to relax tonight and forget everything else. I’ve got ‘The Birdcage. I know you’re not fond of Robin Williams, but I’m telling you you’ll love this one. He’s absolutely …”
I must have looked worse than I thought. Tim’s gaze widened in horror once he got a good look at me in the hallway light.
“What happened? I thought you were just on your way home.” He handed me the movie and led me into the living room. “Sit down while I get the first-aid kit.”
I sat down on the couch and tossed the movie on the coffee table. I leaned back and closed my eyes, deciding that I wouldn’t tell him what I’d done. Timmy had wanted to deal with James Rand’s threats with the help of a lawyer, but that would have taken too long. The strain of the situation already had put purple shadows under Timmy’s eyes and stolen pounds Timmy couldn’t spare. The problem had required an immediate solution, one only I could provide.
Timmy returned with the first-aid kit, and, like so many times before, he cleaned me up and patched the sore places. He let me finish my martini before he spoke.
“I suppose you’re not going to tell me anything,” he said.
“Not this time.”
“Any special reason?”
I didn’t answer; I just took his hand in mine and raised his fingers to my lips. I kissed each one and smiled when he closed his eyes and sighed.
The caveman part of me wished I could tell him how I’d defended his honor and how he didn’t have to worry anymore, but really, it went with the territory. Timmy was mine to protect and defend. How I went about protecting and defending him was my prerogative.
And anyway, I had all the reward I needed once I was tucked up under an afghan with Timmy’s arm around my shoulders, watching a movie I couldn’t stand while he discussed whether or not we should go and see a drag show in South Beach.
******
2. “Mr. Strachey, I will pay you a considerable sum if you will simply do the right thing and remove yourself from my son’s life.”
I leaned across my desk and looked into the congressman’s eyes, deep and blue and so like Timmy’s.
“I’ll leave Timmy when he tells me to go,” I said. “And I won’t even do that without a fight. You’re wasting my time and your breath.” I indicated the door. “Now, unless you want to hire me to expose a government conspiracy, I suggest you leave. I’m a busy man.”
“If you change your mind, Mr. Strachey, you know how to get in touch with me.”
I nodded and watched him leave.
My cell phone rang. I checked the caller ID and smiled when I saw it was Timmy.
“Hey, Beautiful,” I said. “How’s your day?”
“Busy,” he said. “But I thought I’d call and see how yours was going. Any interesting visitors today?”
“Not a one,” I said. “In fact, business is so slow, I have time to take you to lunch.”
“One o’clock?”
“I’ll be there.”
I would have liked to tell Timmy what his father had just done. It would have helped to have Tim reassure me that yes, I was good enough to be with him, because sometimes I thought Mr. Callahan was right. I should get out of Timmy’s life and let him look for something better.
But to get Timmy’s reassurance I’d have to tell him about his father’s bribe, and that I would never do.
******
3. If Timmy only knew how hard he was to shop for he’d have pity on me and buy his own Christmas gifts. I can’t buy him clothes (wrong size, color, style), jewelry (too gaudy, too nondescript), electronics (what’s an Apple?) or stuff for the house (our couch is brown? I thought it was black). Timmy doesn’t think he’s picky about this stuff, but he’s been deluding himself on that score for years.
I would love nothing more than to give him a wad of money and send him off to the nearest mall to get his own gifts, but that would hurt his feelings. He spends a lot of time choosing gifts for me, and he’d be disappointed if I didn’t do the same. So that’s why I usually find myself in overheated, overcrowded malls two days before Christmas, desperately searching for something, anything that will make him happy.
Not this year, though. This year I’ve found the perfect gift, one that could never be the wrong size or the wrong color. But if the gift doesn’t stop barking, he’ll spoil the surprise.
*******
4. One of these days I’m going to put my foot down and make Timmy take a self-defense course. He’s pretty good with a shovel, but he could stand to learn a few tricks that have nothing to do with garden implements.
*******
5. When I saw him sitting in that examining room, holding ice against his swollen eye, it was the first time that I wished Timmy were different - more street-smart and less trusting.
I wished Timmy could tell the difference between a real down-and-out person and someone whose only goal in life was to hurt good men like him, but that was never going to happen. Timmy saw everyone as intrinsically good unless they proved themselves otherwise. And really, that was one of the thousands of reasons why I loved him. So for now, I’d take him home, tuck him in bed and try once again to tell him how dangerous it was to talk to strangers.
Disclaimer: I do not own these lovely characters. Richard Stevenson is their daddy.
5 Things Donald Wished Timmy Knew
1. That punch to the jaw was one of the worst I’d ever suffered, but I’d take it on the chin again just for the satisfaction of seeing that sonofabitch sprawled on his ass, the blood from his busted lip oozing down his chin and staining his once-immaculate white dress shirt.
I wiped my bloody nose with the handkerchief Timmy always made sure I carried and threw it on the man’s chest. “Don’t,” I said, “don’t ever talk about Timothy Callahan that way, ever again.”
“I’m a lawyer,” he said as he tried to sit up. “I’ll-”
I put my foot on his chest, forcing him onto his back. “Then you know better than anyone about the penalties for slander.” I applied a little pressure, making him gasp. “You ruin Tim’s reputation and I’ll ruin you. And I won’t bother going through legal channels to do it.”
“What’ll you do Strachey? Call his daddy?” He drew in a breath and grimaced. “You’ll sic the congressman on me?”
“Nobody’s daddy fights my battles, asshole.” I took my foot off his chest and squatted down beside him. Taking hold of his hair, I grinned like a madman at the sudden fright on his face. “If you ever so much as say Tim’s name while you’re alone and taking a shit, I will find you before you have a chance to wipe your ass.”
I let his head drop back on the cold, wet pavement. “Have a nice evening, Mr. Rand.”
I left him there, got in my car and drove home. It was movie night, and I wasn’t about to miss it.
Timmy met me at the door, martini and movie in hand. “I’m so glad you’re home. I just want to relax tonight and forget everything else. I’ve got ‘The Birdcage. I know you’re not fond of Robin Williams, but I’m telling you you’ll love this one. He’s absolutely …”
I must have looked worse than I thought. Tim’s gaze widened in horror once he got a good look at me in the hallway light.
“What happened? I thought you were just on your way home.” He handed me the movie and led me into the living room. “Sit down while I get the first-aid kit.”
I sat down on the couch and tossed the movie on the coffee table. I leaned back and closed my eyes, deciding that I wouldn’t tell him what I’d done. Timmy had wanted to deal with James Rand’s threats with the help of a lawyer, but that would have taken too long. The strain of the situation already had put purple shadows under Timmy’s eyes and stolen pounds Timmy couldn’t spare. The problem had required an immediate solution, one only I could provide.
Timmy returned with the first-aid kit, and, like so many times before, he cleaned me up and patched the sore places. He let me finish my martini before he spoke.
“I suppose you’re not going to tell me anything,” he said.
“Not this time.”
“Any special reason?”
I didn’t answer; I just took his hand in mine and raised his fingers to my lips. I kissed each one and smiled when he closed his eyes and sighed.
The caveman part of me wished I could tell him how I’d defended his honor and how he didn’t have to worry anymore, but really, it went with the territory. Timmy was mine to protect and defend. How I went about protecting and defending him was my prerogative.
And anyway, I had all the reward I needed once I was tucked up under an afghan with Timmy’s arm around my shoulders, watching a movie I couldn’t stand while he discussed whether or not we should go and see a drag show in South Beach.
******
2. “Mr. Strachey, I will pay you a considerable sum if you will simply do the right thing and remove yourself from my son’s life.”
I leaned across my desk and looked into the congressman’s eyes, deep and blue and so like Timmy’s.
“I’ll leave Timmy when he tells me to go,” I said. “And I won’t even do that without a fight. You’re wasting my time and your breath.” I indicated the door. “Now, unless you want to hire me to expose a government conspiracy, I suggest you leave. I’m a busy man.”
“If you change your mind, Mr. Strachey, you know how to get in touch with me.”
I nodded and watched him leave.
My cell phone rang. I checked the caller ID and smiled when I saw it was Timmy.
“Hey, Beautiful,” I said. “How’s your day?”
“Busy,” he said. “But I thought I’d call and see how yours was going. Any interesting visitors today?”
“Not a one,” I said. “In fact, business is so slow, I have time to take you to lunch.”
“One o’clock?”
“I’ll be there.”
I would have liked to tell Timmy what his father had just done. It would have helped to have Tim reassure me that yes, I was good enough to be with him, because sometimes I thought Mr. Callahan was right. I should get out of Timmy’s life and let him look for something better.
But to get Timmy’s reassurance I’d have to tell him about his father’s bribe, and that I would never do.
******
3. If Timmy only knew how hard he was to shop for he’d have pity on me and buy his own Christmas gifts. I can’t buy him clothes (wrong size, color, style), jewelry (too gaudy, too nondescript), electronics (what’s an Apple?) or stuff for the house (our couch is brown? I thought it was black). Timmy doesn’t think he’s picky about this stuff, but he’s been deluding himself on that score for years.
I would love nothing more than to give him a wad of money and send him off to the nearest mall to get his own gifts, but that would hurt his feelings. He spends a lot of time choosing gifts for me, and he’d be disappointed if I didn’t do the same. So that’s why I usually find myself in overheated, overcrowded malls two days before Christmas, desperately searching for something, anything that will make him happy.
Not this year, though. This year I’ve found the perfect gift, one that could never be the wrong size or the wrong color. But if the gift doesn’t stop barking, he’ll spoil the surprise.
*******
4. One of these days I’m going to put my foot down and make Timmy take a self-defense course. He’s pretty good with a shovel, but he could stand to learn a few tricks that have nothing to do with garden implements.
*******
5. When I saw him sitting in that examining room, holding ice against his swollen eye, it was the first time that I wished Timmy were different - more street-smart and less trusting.
I wished Timmy could tell the difference between a real down-and-out person and someone whose only goal in life was to hurt good men like him, but that was never going to happen. Timmy saw everyone as intrinsically good unless they proved themselves otherwise. And really, that was one of the thousands of reasons why I loved him. So for now, I’d take him home, tuck him in bed and try once again to tell him how dangerous it was to talk to strangers.