If the Fates Allow by kaly (2/2)
Title: If the Fates Allow
Author: kaly
Rating: PG
Word Count: 16,200
Characters/Pairing: Donald/Timothy, Bailey, Kelly
Category: angst, holiday, movieverse
Warnings: none
Spoilers: extremely minor for On the Other Hand, Death and Ice Blues
Summary: A close call at Christmas shakes Tim's world.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing, no money earned.
Notes: Thanks to bronwynferchdai for reading it over for me.
If The Fates Allow
( Part One ) |
When a stream of sunlight tempted Timothy awake, he stretched lazily. He wondered how he had managed to sleep so late - usually he woke long before sunlight filled the room. And on the rare occasion he did sleep in, Donald moving about would wake him.
Donald.
Gasping, Timothy bolted upright, frantic. "Donald?"
When there was no answer, he began to hurry out of bed, only to stop when he realized he was tangled in Donald's robe. Beyond that, he was still wearing his clothes from yesterday. Memories rushed back - not a nightmare then - and he sagged, breath coming in ragged bursts.
Timothy swallowed back the building emotions, knowing he needed to stay calm no matter how badly part of him wanted to fall apart. Grabbing the phone, he dialed the hospital's main number - and how much did he wish he didn't have that memorized?
An operator answered, and he requested transfer to ICU, only to be put on hold. Cheerful holiday music played, and Timothy chewed his lip in impatience. He wasn't feeling particularly cheerful, or festive, at the moment. After what felt like forever, another voice came onto the line.
"ICU."
"I was inquiring about Donald Strachey, please?"
There was a rustling on the other end, almost covering the muted beeping Timothy knew was there. "I'm sorry, we're not allowed to give information out over the phone."
"Please," Timothy said, sagging. Heart in his throat, he was willing to beg. It would take at least half an hour to reach the hospital, and he couldn't wait that long. "If you could just tell me if he's..."
Tim heard the nurse sigh apologetically. "He's holding his own. That's really all I can say."
Relief made Timothy light headed. At least his subconscious fears that Donald might slip away if he let him out of his sight had been unfounded. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," the nurse replied, before disconnecting the call.
Tim rolled his head on his shoulders, trying to work out the kinks in his neck. As he did so, he dialed the cab company and requested a pick-up in twenty minutes time. He knew he could be ready by then, if he hurried. And he was certainly motivated to hurry.
Call complete, he dropped the phone onto the bedside table and regretfully replaced Donald's robe on the bed. He didn't pause to straighten the covers he had mussed, and wouldn't Donald give him endless grief if he could see that.
Melancholy at the thought, Tim hurried through his morning rituals as quickly as he could. Within fifteen minutes he was downstairs - albeit with wet hair - once more shrugging into his coat and scarf. He picked up his keys, wallet and phone.
At a honking noise from out front, Timothy walked outside to find the snow had stopped falling, leaving behind a pristine white landscape. He shivered at the cold, his breath crystallizing in front of him as he locked the door.
Climbing into the cab, he was nearly taken aback at the heat radiating from inside. Grateful that giving his destination on the phone meant he didn't have to speak; Timothy tried to relax into the seat as they backed out of the drive.
He regretted having slept so late, still somewhat surprised to have slept at all. It was almost eleven, far later than he had planned to be back at the hospital. Apparently his body needed the rest more than Timothy realized.
Normally, the cab ride would have lulled him into a daze - it never seemed to fail - however, it was far from a normal day. As it were, Tim stared out the window, fidgeting with his wool scarf. Absently he wondered when the scarf had become his lifeline, but as it was a gift from his partner, Timothy didn't want to question too closely.
"Hey, buddy. We're here."
Startled from his musings, Tim looked blinked and found the hospital doors in front of him. "Ah, yes. Thank you." He waited for the fare, pulling out some cash and handing it over, before exiting the car quickly.
Timothy didn't watch as the cab pulled away, but instead stood in front of the building, looking upward. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, before walking inside. He bypassed the main desk, and headed directly toward ICU.
Reaching the ICU floor, Timothy noted that there were more visitors milling about, but that little else appeared different. He approached the ICU desk slowly, smiling faintly when a young man glanced up at him.
"I'm here for Donald Strachey?"
The man - whose nametag was labeled Elliot - nodded, and handed him a clipboard. "We have a rotation, five minutes at a time." The nurse also handed him a pen, and indicated the next empty line. "Just fill in your name."
"Will I have to do this every time?" Timothy asked, adding his name to the short list.
Elliot shook his head. "Probably not. Just helps us to keep track of who all is here."
"Ah." Tim nodded, and handed him the clipboard and pen. Prepared to offer the Power of Attorney, if needed, he asked, "How is he?"
The nurse clicked several keys on his computer. "His vitals are strong." He gave Timothy an apologetic look. "But past that, I'm sorry, you'll need to speak with the doctor."
"How long do you think it will be?" he asked, eyes drawn to the sliding doors. "For both, I mean."
The nurse was silent for a moment, skimming the list, and glancing into the glass-walled next room. "Probably fifteen minutes or so until you can go in. Doctor Silverman is in surgery at the moment, so it'll be a bit before he's free."
Although disappointed, Timothy nodded. "Thank you. I'll just be..." He gestured toward the waiting room.
"We'll call."
Frustrated but resigned, Tim retreated to the waiting room and found a threadbare chair in the corner. There was a television hanging from the ceiling, showing cartoons. Beneath it sat two small children, far too young to be spending Christmas sitting outside ICU. A subtle glance revealed what looked like their frazzled father sitting not far away.
"Mr. Greene?"
Tim looked up at the voice, seeing a different nurse standing in the doorway. The man he had presumed to be the children's father jumped up, and spoke wearily. "Boys. Let's go see your mother."
Watching them go, seeing the slump of the father's shoulders and recognizing it from his own, Timothy's chest felt tight. He couldn't comprehend how people could work surrounded by such despair, though he was grateful for those who could. After all, they were the only reason he would - and it was would, not might - be able to take Donald home.
It took some effort not to glance at his watch every thirty seconds. After the first few times - glance at his watch, glance at the doorway, start over - Tim had begun to seriously debate shoving it in his pocket, even if the clock on the wall would make it a moot point. The constant checks only served to make an already miserable wait even longer.
A little while later the father and his sons returned to the waiting room. The children once again settled under the television and the father in his chair. Timothy felt a kinship with the other man, the worrying and waiting a fragile bond between them.
He was lost in thought, when a voice said, "Mr. Callahan?" caused him to jump up from his chair.
"Yes?"
The same nurse - Tyler, according to her badge - who had come to guide the other family gestured toward the doors smiled at him. "This way."
Impatient and scared at the same time, Tim tried to speak but ended up merely nodding. His voice was caught on the lump that had settled in his throat. Before she could say a word, Timothy hurried to turn off his cell and wash his hands as he had the night before.
Once done, he moved to stand beside her, and accepted the offered mask. He put it on while she keyed in the code to open the doors, and stepped through as soon as they were wide enough to enter. She shadowed him the entire way, past the central nurses' station; however, she didn't speak until they reached Donald's cubical.
"Five minutes," she reminded him, pulling back the curtain.
Tim nodded, but only had eyes for Donald. Just as many machines surrounded him, and the ventilator was still there. But, unless he was imagining it, there was more color to his skin. Almost anything was an improvement on the pallor of the night before.
Skittishly, he stepped forward and laid his hand on Donald's cheek, careful not to press too hard. "I'm back," he whispered, choking out the words as he pressed his lips to Donald's forehead. "Sorry I was gone so long."
Although he knew Donald couldn't reply, it still hurt to be met by nothing but the hissing ventilator and steadily beeping monitors. He thought that one of them might have sped up, but was almost certain it was merely wishful thinking.
As he had the night before, Timothy moved around so he was able to reach Donald's free hand. Gently, he held it in both of his own, pressing it against his chest. He took a deep breath, opening his mouth, but was unable to find his voice. Shaking slightly, he freed one hand to brush Donald's hair away from his forehead.
"Anytime you're ready," he said, finally finding his voice, "I want to see those blue eyes of yours." He bit his lip, choking back a half-formed sob. "I'm waiting for you baby, whenever you're ready."
He jumped when the nurse reappeared. "I'm sorry, but time's up."
As he had the night before, Timothy leaned forward and kissed Donald's forehead. Tim longed for the chance to kiss his partner without a barrier between them. He mouthed a silent prayer over Donald, and tucked his hand back under the covers. And though the words were a painful lie, he replied, "I'm ready."
They had just exited the main ICU room when Nurse Tyler put a hand on his arm as he was pulling off the mask. "Doctor Silverman should be here in a few minutes." He could tell she was trying to encourage him, and Timothy was grateful for the attempt. "He'll come and find you."
"Thank you."
Timothy returned to his chair in the waiting room, turning his cell phone back on, and picking up a magazine when the urge to fidget became too strong. Not paying attention to the content, he flipped the pages back and forth just to keep his hands busy.
He jumped when a small voice said, "Mister?"
"Yes?" Timothy asked, glancing around for the small boy's father.
"Can you read upside down?"
Perplexed, Timothy looked at the magazine, only to find it was indeed upside down. Before he could reply, his companion-in-waiting appeared. "Daniel, leave the man alone, please." He took his son's hand, and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry."
"No," Timothy replied, shaking his head. "He was no bother."
As they were walking away, he heard the little boy - Daniel - whispered loudly, "But can he? I want to be able to read upside down!" However, Tim was unable to make out Daniel's father's reply.
Dropping the unread magazine on a table, Timothy sighed and slouched back in his chair. He had just tilted his head back to begin another ceiling inventory when movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Twisting in his seat, Timothy saw that it was Doctor Silverman walking toward him.
"Mr. Callahan."
Timothy stood, and offered his hand. "Doctor." He swallowed, suddenly a touch queasy. "Good news, I hope?"
The doctor glanced at the small family on the other side of the room, but nodded. Even having seen Donald not that long before, Timothy still felt a rush of relief so intense it left him light headed.
Silverman held out an arm, gesturing for Timothy to join him. "We have a small room set aside for consults. If you'll follow me?"
"Yes, yes. Of course."
The consult room - though calling it a room seemed like an overstatement for such a small space - was only a few steps away from the waiting area. Timothy waited until Doctor Silverman had pushed the door closed before asking, "What can you tell me? He's doing better?"
Taking one of the two seats, Silverman sat, and nodded. Timothy followed suit, clutching his scarf like a talisman. It seemed like the preferable option, to attempting to shake information out of the annoyingly calm doctor.
"Mr. Strachey is progressing about as I had expected. His vitals are strong; his O2 stats are excellent, considering the damage to his lung. We are keeping a close eye on his blood pressure." Timothy opened his mouth to question, but closed it when the doctor held out a hand. "I assure you, it's completely normal in a case where a large quantity of blood loss occurred."
Timothy relaxed back into the chair; however, the answer he most longed to hear remained conspicuously absent. "How much longer will he be unconscious?"
"Hard to say," Silverman replied, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. "Please understand Mr. Callahan, these are very serious injuries we're dealing with here." Timothy nodded, annoyed. Of course he understood that. "That said. We'll begin lightening his medication as the day progresses. And I still expect to be able to remove the vent later this evening. At that time, we'll just have to wait and see."
"That's good." Timothy winced, hating how the words sounded more like a question, than a fact.
Silverman smiled, nodding. "That's very good, considering."
"And he'll be moved to a regular room?" Tim asked, his second most important question. Only being able to visit for five minutes at a time was going to drive him mad, sooner rather than later. The thought of a regular room, with its easier access, was beginning to tantalize him.
Silverman stood. "Once we're certain he's stable off the vent, and breathing on his own with no issue. At that point we'll transfer him to another room. Probably late tonight, if I were a betting man."
"Thank you." Timothy stood, and held out his hand, shaking the doctors. "I appreciate everything you've done."
Pulling open the door, the doctor smiled and nodded. "All part of the service. Happy Holidays."
"Happy Holidays to you, too, Doctor."
He didn't watch as the doctor turned and walked away in the opposite direction. Instead, Timothy glanced hopefully at Nurse Tyler who was walking down the hallway.
"Your turn," she said, waving Tim toward her.
Timothy hadn't even realized he was holding his breath until it rushed out of him as he hurried forward. "Already?" he asked, glancing at his watch and stunned to see that an hour had passed.
Nurse Tyler waited until his pre-visitation ritual was complete, and punched in the key code, allowing the doors to slide open. "You know the way. I'll come get you when time's up."
"Thank you," he replied, glancing over his shoulder as he hurried inside. With only five minutes to him, each second was too precious to waste.
And so it continued. Five minutes that passed in the blink of an eye. Fifty-five that felt like years stretching onward.
Each time he was allowed inside, Donald looked a bit better, if not remotely well. Timothy was growing ever more impatient for the time he would visit and the ventilator tube would be gone, and perhaps Donald even awake.
Other visitors came and went, some lingered, some left immediately. However, as the day progressed it always seemed to come back to Timothy, and the small broken family huddled underneath the television. Part of him longed to ask how the boys' mother was doing, but it seemed too much of an imposition.
At some point, Timothy ventured down to the cafeteria, not hungry, but hearing Donald's voice inside his head lecturing him about keeping his strength up. He purchased a pastry and some fruit, along with a cup of something resembling coffee and collapsed at an empty table.
As he sat, timidly sipping the warm drink and picking apart the stale pastry, Timothy kept a close eye on the clock. He didn't want to miss his next appointed visitation time for any reason. He checked his cell phone almost as often, irrationally fearing he might miss something.
Somehow he forced himself to finish the fruit and coffee. Standing, he tossed the decimated pastry in the trash, followed quickly by his empty coffee cup. There were five minutes until he could visit again, but it was in Timothy's nature to be early, especially in matters of such import.
He was surprised then, when he approached the desk at his designated time, for the evening nurse - "Please, call me Susan" - to wave him away. Stomach fluttering, he stood up straighter, demanding, "What? Why?"
To his annoyance, Susan merely smiled. "The doctor's with him now. I promise you'll be able to go in soon."
"Soon?" Timothy asked, deflating and shoving his hands into his coat pockets.
Susan had just opened her mouth to reply, when her attention was sidetracked toward the ICU entry. Timothy followed her gaze, relieved to see Doctor Silverman and another doctor he didn't recognize.
Meeting them halfway, Tim pulled up short. "He's awake?"
Shaking his head, Silverman laughed quietly. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves just yet. However, you'll be relieved to know that he has been removed from the ventilator."
Timothy sucked in a breath, nearly shaking from relief. "That's wonderful!"
"Yes, it is very good news. And a bit earlier than I expected." The doctor gestured to the woman standing beside him. "This is Doctor Jackson. She'll be taking over Donald's care from this point on, unless he requires additional surgery."
"Thank you." Timothy shook his hand gratefully. "Merry Christmas."
He turned back to Doctor Jackson, eager to see Donald. It took all of his dignity not to bounce on the balls of his feet. "Can I see him now?"
"Sure," Doctor Jackson replied, waving Susan over. "Hopefully we'll have him a room tonight. Until then, you know the drill, I'm sure."
Timothy nodded, rushing to wash his hands. Done, he took the offered mask, placing it on his face. "Thank you, Susan."
Before entering the key code, the doctor said, "I'm on duty until midnight. I'll speak with you again before then."
"Yes, thank you."
And then the door was sliding open and Tim's only focus was Donald. His feet moved as of their own accord, and soon Timothy was standing beside his partner. Clutching Donald's hand with one of his own, Tim reached out and traced Donald's chapped lips with his fingertips.
Donald's breath ghosted over Timothy's hand, and Tim had to blink back sudden tears. He watched for several moments as Donald's chest rose and fell, with no machine making it possible. It seemed strange that something so mundane could feel so overwhelming.
"Oh, sweetheart." Timothy glanced at the clock and frowned. "You need to wake up. It's almost Christmas." Sniffing, Timothy pressed Donald's hand to his cheek and found a smile. "I know how much you'd hate to miss that."
He cursed silently when he heard the nurse approach. "I'll see you soon," Timothy whispered.
Petting Donald's hair, he kissed his forehead as was tradition. While never a superstitious man, Timothy found that he didn't want to take any chances. And if Donald laughed at him when he told him, Tim was okay with that. Mostly.
Sometime later, still camped out in the waiting room, Timothy realized that the other family had been gone for quite some time. He hoped everything was okay - Tim hadn't heard any commotion, but he wasn't sure that meant anything. Oddly, Timothy almost missed hearing the boys' whispered conversations, although the television being silent was a blessing.
Off in the distance, he could hear Christmas carols playing quietly and Timothy leaned back in his chair, resting his head against the wall. He focused on the hymn, letting the familiar melody wash over him. It was strangely peaceful, in a place that was anything but.
He was almost asleep, if only just, when he heard his name being called.
Timothy sat up quickly, shaking his head, trying to clear out the cobwebs, and blinked. His scarf had fallen off as he had dozed, and he paused only long enough to straighten it.
"Yes?"
Emily, the nurse from the previous night, had returned and was smiling. "Your turn."
With a glance at the clock, Timothy saw that it was almost midnight. Almost Christmas. The doctor had hoped Donald would have been awake by now, and Timothy found himself fighting to keep his optimism. "Thank you for waking me." He paused, realizing just how late it was. "I thought visiting hours were over?"
"No problem, sugar. And I know how badly you must want to see him, so I'm making an exception. Just don't tell on me." The last was said with a wink. She waited as Timothy washed his hands, handing him a mask once he was done. "Go on." Absently, Tim thought her she seemed a little too happy to be working Christmas Eve night, but dismissed it.
Tim crossed the room, waving at a nurse he recognized. Reaching Donald's cubicle, he pulled back the curtain and froze. Because staring at him, bleary eyed and half asleep, was the most welcome sight Timothy could have imagined.
A single tear breaking free, Tim rushed forward and oh-so-carefully clasped Donald's hand. With his other hand, he cupped his partner's cheek. "You're awake. Oh, baby. You're awake." Timothy kissed Donald's fingers. "You're awake." He knew he was babbling, but couldn't stop.
Donald blinked slowly, the corner of his mouth quirking in a smile. "Yeah." He paused, his whispered voice was rough and clearly painful. He took a cautious breath before trying to speak again. "Ruined Christmas."
Crying unabashedly, tears soaking his mask, Timothy shook his head and laughed. He was smiling so broadly his cheeks were beginning to hurt. "Are you kidding? You've given me the best gift, just by opening your eyes."
Donald smiled, just barely, and squeezed Tim's hand feebly. Too soon, his eyes drifting closed. "Love you."
"I love you, too." Smiling, his chest tight from sheer relief, Timothy carded his fingers through Donald's hair. "Sleep now, sweetheart. I'll be here when you wake up."
"Promise?" Donald asked, more asleep than awake.
Timothy sniffed, trying to blink back the tears that refused to stop. "I promise." He glanced up to see Emily standing there, her own eyes oddly bright. Kissing Donald's forehead, he whispered, "Sleep darling. Merry Christmas."
Outside of ICU, Timothy slumped against the wall, pulling the mask off. He paused to wipe his face, grimacing at the mess he had made of his glasses. Looking then at Emily, he tried to glare. "You knew."
"And ruin the surprise?" she replied, looking anything but innocent. Before he could find a retort, she shook her head. "Honest, he'd only been awake long enough for Doctor Jackson to take a look, and me to find you."
Somewhat mollified, Timothy nodded and straightened. "Did the doctor say when he would be in his own room?"
"Sometime in the next couple of hours." Emily returned to the desk, checking the computer briefly. "We're going to monitor him here a little while longer, and then he'll be transferred to room 623." She smiled at him. "You should go home, get some rest."
Timothy started to argue - he needed to be here - when realization dawned that he had the perfect excuse not to go. "I'm not sure I could get a taxi at this hour." He shrugged, doing his best to look innocent. "So I guess you're stuck with me."
It was obvious the innocent look failed, because Emily narrowed her eyes at him. "Only because I figure you're right, I'll let you get away with that." Timothy bounced on the balls of his feet. "But you don't have to look quite so smug about it."
For only the second time in well over twenty-four hours, Timothy laughed freely. "Sorry. I guess I'll just be in the waiting room."
"Oh no you don't," Emily said, stopping him in his tracks. "We have a couple of rooms set up, for family who don't have anywhere else to go." She paused long enough to pull a keychain out of a drawer. "Only one of them is taken tonight, I'll show you to the other one."
Humbled by the kind treatment, Tim merely nodded his thanks. They walked to the far end of the hall, before she paused and unlocked a nondescript door. With the flip of a light switch, the small, utilitarian room became clear. Bed with crisp, white sheets and a small table with a clock, and a and chair.
"Here you go." She leveled him with a stare, and Timothy felt strangely reminded of his mother. "Get some sleep."
Smiling despite himself - really, was he three? - Timothy stepped inside. Hand on the door to close it, he said, "Thank you. I seem to be saying that a lot."
"Yes, well, don't take this the wrong way, sugar - but hopefully I won't be seeing you again." And with that, she hurried back down the hall, leaving Timothy to his own devices.
He spared a moment to watch her leave, before shutting the door. Momentarily, he sagged against it. Glancing upward, Timothy closed his eyes and muttered a prayer in thanks. A glance at the clock confirmed it - just past midnight - his very own Christmas miracle.
Dragging his feet - exhaustion suddenly overwhelming him, even as his ignored stomach growled - Timothy pulled off his coat and scarf, and laid them across the chair. He paused to set the alarm clock for seven, and collapsed onto the bed.
He rested for a second before leaning forward and tugging off both shoes, not even bothering to unlace them. A moment later his sweater and shirt joined his coat on the chair.
Tim pulled the bed's covers loose, yawning hugely as he turned the lights off. Seconds later, he crawled under the covers and pulled his glasses off. It was surprisingly quiet in the small room, no noise from the hospital leaking in. And even though he wanted to be there when Donald was moved, Timothy felt himself slowly succumbing to sleep.
It felt as though he hadn't been asleep for any time at all when the alarm went off, nearly sending him tumbling to the floor. Tim looked around for a second, confused, before he realized where he was.
Willing his heart to stop racing, Timothy shut the alarm off and untangled himself from the covers. Yawning widely, he turned to sit on the edge of the bed and scrubbed a hand over his face before putting on his glasses.
As he got dressed, his stomach loudly protested the previous days neglect. It would appear that having spoken with Donald had woken his appetite with a vengeance. Timothy regretted the lack of a toothbrush, but settled for putting himself to rights as quickly as possible, and going in search of a men's room.
Finding one just down the hall, he took care of business and hurried to the elevator, pressing the button for the sixth floor. First he would stop and see Donald, who was likely sleeping, and then he would go in search of food - and more importantly, coffee.
A glance at the sign in the hallway directed Timothy to his left, and he watched the numbers on the doors as he passed them. Impatient to see his husband, Tim felt slightly annoyed that Donald's room would be at the far end of the hall.
He pushed the door open slowly, not wanting to wake Donald, and stepped into the room. The lights were dim, and Donald was indeed asleep, snoring softly. Tim pushed the door shut behind him, and took a seat in a chair next to the bed.
Hesitantly, he touched Donald's cheek. He didn't want to wake him, but Timothy couldn't resist the chance to touch without gloves. Tim smiled softly, his eyes burning, when Donald leaned into his touch, but didn't wake.
"Merry Christmas, darling," he whispered.
Donald sighed softly, twitching a bit before falling still. For a while, Timothy was content just to sit and watch him breathe. As it had the night before, such a mundane thing filled Tim with more joy than he would've thought possible. They had come too close this time, too close to the unthinkable.
He startled when the door swung open, an orderly carrying a tray into the room. "Good morning," the young man said, putting an oversized mug on the table. Tim glanced at Donald and back to the orderly, clearly skeptical. "Ice chips. In case he wakes up."
Timothy nodded, but didn't watch as the man retreated from the room. Instead, he was happy to stare at Donald, listening to the comforting - if annoying - beeping of the heart monitor. He wondered vaguely how long that would have to stay, even if it did offer its own reassurances.
A little while later, stomach rumbling to the point of threatening rebellion, Timothy managed to pull away from his partner. He kissed Donald's cheek before leaving the room, and heading to the cafeteria.
The dining area was much busier early in the morning, even with it being Christmas Day. Timothy waited in line, selecting his food and paying, before searching for an empty seat. He finally settled in a far corner, and placed a napkin across his lap before tucking into the eggs.
If he needed proof how hungry he was, it was hospital food being some of the best he could remember tasting. In fact, it didn't take him any time at all to finish both the eggs and bagel he had purchased. Relaxing back in the seat, Tim nursed his coffee for a long moment, relishing the thought of a new day - a day in which he wasn't taking every breath in fear for Donald's life.
Realizing he hadn't checked his phone since his last visit to the cafeteria, Timothy pulled it out of his pocket and was surprised to see it turned off. A second later, he vaguely remembered the nurse asking him to turn it off. Hoping he hadn't missed anything important - though he was definitely up to date on the most important thing - Tim turned the phone back on, only to grimace when he found three messages.
He dialed the extension for his voice mail and entered his code. Seconds later, the first message began to play.
"Tim? It's Kelly... I've called a couple of times now, just wanting to say Merry Christmas." There was a pause; distantly he could hear how she had been tapping her fingernails on something. "Is everything okay? I'm getting worried. Call me? I love you."
Feeling guilty, though he knew his sister would understand, Tim pressed the button to advance to the next message.
"Callahan, it's Bailey." An awkward sigh. "Just checking in."
Tim couldn't help smiling at that one. This entire incident - while one Timothy wished had never happened and would happily never repeat - had certainly shown him a new side to the surly detective. Shaking his head, he advanced to the next message.
"Hey, kiddo, it's Mom. We..." She paused, sighing. "I just wanted to wish you and Donald a Merry Christmas. I love you both. Please call whenever you have time. I'd love to see you soon."
Disconnecting the call, Timothy rubbed a hand over his eyes. He had thought he was out of tears, but hearing his mother's voice proved that wrong. Sniffing, Timothy straightened, and shoved his phone back into his pocket.
Picking up his dishes, Timothy deposited them at the receptacle. He debated momentarily if he should go back upstairs, or return phone calls first. Consoling himself that Donald would still be asleep, Timothy headed toward the lobby of the hospital and found an out of the way corner.
He flipped the phone open, only to realize he had no idea what Detective Bailey's number was, and since the phone had been off the number wasn't saved. Dialing into his voice mail once more, Timothy skipped his sister's message and listened carefully to the intro to Bailey's.
Disconnecting the call, he dialed the detective's number. Only after he pressed 'talk' did the reality of it being eight am on Christmas morning sink in. He was about to disconnect when the ringing stopped.
"Bailey."
"Hi, Bub. Tim Callahan."
"Callahan!" The detective sounded surprised, Tim noted, but not annoyed. "I'd wondered where you'd disappeared to."
Smiling, Timothy shrugged self-consciously. "Thought I'd get away for a bit, see the sights."
Bailey snorted. "Right. So. How's Strachey?"
"He's doing better." Tim took a seat in an oversized, plush chair. "Breathing on his own, out of ICU."
Silence greeted him from the other end for several seconds. "Good. That's good."
"I just thought I would let you know, and say thanks again for all your help." Timothy knew Donald might never believe him, but Bailey's solid presence had kept Tim sane that first night.
The detective growled. "Don't mention it." He paused, and Timothy could've sworn he heard the other man laugh. "Especially to that partner of yours."
"We'll see," Timothy replied, feeling a bit mischievous. "Anyway, I won't keep you. Merry Christmas."
"You, too. Bye."
Timothy disconnected the call and stared at his phone, sighing. He really didn't want to call his family, didn't want to deal with his family. He loved them, really he did, but the strain had become a bit much. However, he knew by the sound of Kelly's message if he didn't there would be hell to pay sooner rather than later.
He dialed, waiting as it rang, only to smile at Kelly's eager "Timmy!" It had pleased him, how quickly they had fallen back into old habits and nicknames. Timothy couldn't get a word in, however, before she was questioning him. "Where've you been? I called the house half a dozen times, I've been worried!"
Cringing, Timothy prepared himself. "There was an accident. Sorry, I didn't realize my phone was off until just a little bit ago."
A moment of silence, followed by a loud, "What?" She was quiet for a moment, before continuing in a much quieter, serious voice. "Are you okay? Is Donald okay? Do I need to come home?"
Tim smiled, buoyed by the concern in her voice. "No, stay there and enjoy yourself. I'm fine, and Donald..." Timothy's voice failed him, it was the first time he had been forced to speak the words aloud. "Donald's been hurt, but he's on the mend."
"What happened? Is he really okay?"
He cleared his throat, nodding out of habit. "He was in a car accident. They think it was black ice. It was..." Timothy swallowed, the words sticking in his throat. "It was bad, but he really is doing better."
In a small voice, she replied, "I want to help."
"I know you do," Tim replied, smiling at the love he could hear in her plea. "And I have no doubt, if Donald's on bed rest for long, I'll be taking you up on that." He laughed quietly. "He really is the world's worst patient."
Kelly's laughter joined his for a moment. "Why do I have no problem imagining that?"
"Because you've met him?" Timothy's laughter faded, and he ran a hand over his face. Even after sleeping several hours, he still hadn't quite escaped the exhaustion. "I should go, but I'll call. I promise."
"You better. I know where you live."
Smiling faintly, Tim said, "Merry Christmas. Tell Mom I said so, as well?"
"I'll tell them both," she replied, muttering. "This is beyond stupid, Timmy."
"I know." His chest felt tight at the indignation in his sister's voice on his behalf. "But don't let it come between you, okay?"
She sighed. "Tim. When I suggested a family Christmas, I meant all of us - you and Donald included. And that, that man..."
"Kelly." He waited until he was certain he had her attention. "We just got you back, and I don't want to be the reason..." Timothy's voice failed him, he couldn't finish - couldn't say the words leave again. Head aching, Tim rubbed at it absently. "Please, Kel. Just try. For me."
Although he could tell she wasn't happy, Kelly replied, "Okay. But it's my turn to take care of you once in a while, you know." Tim winced. How well he had taken care of her when they were younger was a debate best left for another time. She added, "I'm not a kid anymore." He refrained from mentioning how much she sounded like a little kid when she pouted.
Knowing she meant well, but worn, Timothy just said, "I need to get back upstairs. I will call you. I promise."
"You better. I was thinking about coming to see you both tomorrow, anyway. This is your warning." It was so quiet for a moment that Tim thought she had hung up. "I love you."
Warmed by the words, Timothy smiled. "I love you, too. Bye."
He hung up the phone, and took several deep breaths. Only once he was sure his emotions were under control did he stand, and head back to Donald's room. On second thought, he stopped by the cafeteria for another cup of coffee, such as it was, before taking the elevator to the sixth floor.
Timothy found Donald much as he had left him, fast asleep in the bed and snoring softly. Coffee in hand, Tim switched his cell phone to silent and dropped it on the table as he settled in his chair.
He had no intention of moving until that night, when he really did need to go home. At the thought, Tim sniffed quickly, relieved to note that he didn't smell like he had barely been home in two days, even if he knew he looked it.
The day passed slowly. Nurses and doctors came in every so often to check on Donald, and Tim fidgeted restlessly, but Donald slept through all of it. Timothy's coffee was long gone, and he was beginning to consider heading downstairs for lunch, when Donald began to stir.
Tim leaned forward in his chair, taking Donald's hand. "Donald?" Donald grumbled, a familiar, early-morning sound, and Timothy smiled. "Ready to wake up?"
"Tim?" Donald asked hoarsely, tilting his head in Timothy's direction, but not opening his eyes.
Nearly overwhelmed with happiness, Timothy nodded, squeezing his husband's hand. "One and only. How're you feeling?"
Donald seemed to consider this, before opening his eyes and squinting at Timothy. Tim's smile broadened at the sight. "Hey there, blue eyes."
"I'm sorry." The words made Donald cough softly, immediately wincing and grasping his chest. Once he could breathe again, he amended, "Ow."
Timothy reached for the rose-colored mug the orderlies had been refilling throughout the day. "Shh. Don't talk, okay?" Letting go of Donald's hand reluctantly, Timothy popped the mug open and scooped out a couple of slivers of ice. "Here. Try this."
Donald groaned, licking his lips eagerly. Wary of giving him too much, Timothy only allowed him a couple of more pieces before retuning the mug to the table. "Better?"
Nodding, Donald whispered, "Thanks."
"Want me to call the doctor?" Although, glancing at the monitors, Timothy wondered if a visit in the near future wasn't inevitable. Even he could tell a difference in how they sounded.
Donald shook his head, reaching out for Tim's hand until they were once more joined. "No. Just you."
Swallowing back emotion, Timothy blinked quickly. "Well. Me you've got."
"Good." Donald's eyes started to close, and he smiled softly. "Sleepy. Stay?"
Timothy leaned forward far enough to cup Donald's unbruised cheek in his hand. "Nowhere I'd rather be. Well. Places I'd rather be, but as you're not there, here I am." He knew he was rambling, but Tim could also tell Donald was asleep once more, and it didn't matter.
"Sleep well, sweetheart."
Donald slept then, and through the return visit of his doctor, who had indeed been called. She smiled at Timothy, placing her stethoscope around her neck. "Everything looks good."
Smiling, relaxed, Tim asked, "How long until you think he can go home?"
"A few days, at least. Maybe longer." She gave Timothy a serious look. "I'll be honest with you, he's very lucky to have survived." When Tim paled at the reminder of how close they had come - he had known, but still - she smiled. "But he's a fighter. Some time here, and more at home on bed rest, and he'll be good as new."
"Thank you, Doctor."
She shoved her hands into her coat pockets. "You're welcome. I like these days. Makes getting out of bed on the others worthwhile." She turned to leave, adding, "I'll be back later, to check on him before I go off shift."
"Merry Christmas," Timothy said, though he only had eyes for his husband.
Just before he heard the door close, she replied, "You, too."
A little while later, Tim forced himself to stand. It was well past noon, and hopefully past the lunch rush, and his stomach was once more making itself known. In a rare move, he pulled his coat and scarf off, and left them on his chair.
He shivered in the cool, dry air, but was determined that if Donald woke, he would see some sign of Tim having been there. And if it earned him an end to the security blanket teasing, he thought with a smile, all the better.
It was indeed less crowded in the cafeteria. However, this time Timothy only stayed long enough to package up a meal to go, and head back upstairs. The second bed in Donald's room was empty, and there was no reason he couldn't both eat and stay close by.
Arriving back on Donald's floor, Tim smiled and nodded at one of the nurses he recognized. A few moments later, he was back at Donald's side and the unease he felt whenever Donald was out of sight began to abate. He ate quietly, sipping on a bottle of water, alert for any changes, should Donald begin to wake.
But by the time he finished his lunch, Timothy was disappointed to note that Donald hadn't even stirred, much less woken. He knew it was to be expected, but he was impatient for Donald to reach the point where he was awake more than he was asleep. He groaned at the irony - once Donald was feeling better, but not well enough to be out and about, Timothy knew he would be willing to beg for Donald to just go to sleep.
However, that was then, and this was now, and for the time being he wanted little more than Donald aware and pain-free. Only allowing the latter tended to negate the former - Timothy figured he couldn't win them all. He wasn't so selfish as to wish pain on his partner, no badly how much he wanted him awake.
So Timothy sat, listening as the clock tick off the seconds, watching Donald sleep. Anytime Donald would stir, Timothy would soothe him back to sleep, banishing whatever nightmares could survive the medication. He was pleased when his voice worked, each time, and Donald settled.
He had dozed off - though not sure for how long - when he heard Donald ask, "Timmy?"
"Donald!" Tim bolted up in the chair, smiling. "How're you feeling?"
"I hurt all over," he replied, granting Timothy an honesty where his pain was concerned that only heavy drugs would allow. More lucid than previously, Donald groaned. "I think you might finally get that new car."
Timothy rolled his eyes, tugging the sheets up around his partner. "Yes, well, that was my first thought."
Donald looked away, refusing to meet Tim's gaze. "I'm sorry I scared you."
"It was an accident," Timothy replied, touching Donald's face until his partner looked at him once more. "You didn't do it on purpose."
Shrugging, Donald winced and gasped. Timothy was about to ring for the nurse when Donald shook his head. "Don't. It's okay."
"Donald, you're hardly..." At Donald's glare, he backed down but met it with a pointed look of his own. "Obviously perfectly fine. How silly of me."
"Snarkiness," Donald paused, gasping, "Does not become you, Timothy."
Smiling, Tim grasped Donald's hand. "Oh, I don't know. You've said otherwise in the past."
"I was wrong."
"Yes, dear," Timothy replied, grinning. Donald was certainly sounding more like his old self, and that was as much of a balm to his soul as anything could be. More seriously, he said, "I won't lie and say the past couple of days weren't hell." Tracing Donald's eyebrow, he smiled softly. "But I had faith in Christmas miracles." Mostly.
He could tell that Donald saw through the lie, and Timothy wished himself to be a better actor. Not wanting Donald to call him on it, Tim gave him a watery smile. "Just don't do it again, please."
"Don't make me laugh," Donald replied, clutching his side and his eyes watering. "And I wasn't planning on it this time."
Suddenly remembering something Doctor Silverman had told him, Timothy pulled back. "What were you thinking not wearing your seatbelt?"
Donald had the grace to wince. "I know, I know. I'm sorry." He paused, taking several shallow breaths. "Won't happen again, I promise. Lesson learned."
"I would hope so."
"Scout's honor."
Timothy snorted, though he would deny it as such. As though Donald had ever been a boy scout. "No comment."
Donald let that one slide with a snicker. A moment later, he did a double take, staring at Tim. "You're not wearing your coat." With a smile, he asked, "You hit your head, too?"
"Wondered how long it would take you to notice," Timothy muttered, rolling his eyes theatrically. He made a show of looking at his watch. "Took longer than I expected, actually."
"I'm injured!"
Timothy chucked. "No, you're incorrigible." Donald looked like he might argue, but kept quiet, in the end.
For several moments, Timothy was happy to just look at Donald - the silence between them was comfortable. Eventually it was Donald who broke it. "I'm sorry you had to deal with it alone."
"Not alone, exactly." At Donald's confused look, Tim clarified. "Bub was a lifesaver."
If anything, Donald looked even more confused and Timothy couldn't help but laugh. "Bub?" he finally sputtered. "Bub Bailey? As in Detective Bub Bailey?"
"Oh, don't look so shocked." Timothy didn't comment on his own shock at the development, it was too much fun messing with Donald.
"Wow."
Timothy nodded, squeezing Donald's hand. "He was a good friend. I owe him one."
Donald appeared to consider this for several moments. "Then I guess I do, too."
"We'll worry about that later, okay?" Tim stood, just enough to kiss Donald, nothing more than a brush of the lips. "First order of business is for you to get better."
Smiling, Donald nodded. "I can do that." He paused, breathing carefully. "And the second?"
"Well, that's obvious. Then I get to unwrap my present."
Donald winced. "About that... it was in the car and..."
"Honestly, Donald." Timothy rolled his eyes, wanting to shake his husband if it wouldn't inflict more damage than was already done. "I meant you."
Suddenly, Donald looked a lot more interested. "Now that sounds like a plan."
Feeling a bit evil, Timothy smiled. "Of course, first you have to behave long enough to get better, and not drive me insane in the process."
"Timmy," Donald whined, his face falling. "I hate being stuck in bed."
"Oh, believe me, dear. I know."
Donald pouted for several moments, but Timothy refused to be budged. Eventually Donald gave up, and smiled. "I love you."
Tim smiled in return, feeling truly and utterly at peace for the first time since Bailey's unfortunate phone call. "I love you, too. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas," Donald said with a yawn, falling back asleep quickly.
And as Timothy sat there, just able to hear Christmas music from down the hall, he noticed it was snowing once more. A white - and merry - Christmas, indeed.
end
Author: kaly
Rating: PG
Word Count: 16,200
Characters/Pairing: Donald/Timothy, Bailey, Kelly
Category: angst, holiday, movieverse
Warnings: none
Spoilers: extremely minor for On the Other Hand, Death and Ice Blues
Summary: A close call at Christmas shakes Tim's world.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing, no money earned.
Notes: Thanks to bronwynferchdai for reading it over for me.
If The Fates Allow
( Part One ) |
When a stream of sunlight tempted Timothy awake, he stretched lazily. He wondered how he had managed to sleep so late - usually he woke long before sunlight filled the room. And on the rare occasion he did sleep in, Donald moving about would wake him.
Donald.
Gasping, Timothy bolted upright, frantic. "Donald?"
When there was no answer, he began to hurry out of bed, only to stop when he realized he was tangled in Donald's robe. Beyond that, he was still wearing his clothes from yesterday. Memories rushed back - not a nightmare then - and he sagged, breath coming in ragged bursts.
Timothy swallowed back the building emotions, knowing he needed to stay calm no matter how badly part of him wanted to fall apart. Grabbing the phone, he dialed the hospital's main number - and how much did he wish he didn't have that memorized?
An operator answered, and he requested transfer to ICU, only to be put on hold. Cheerful holiday music played, and Timothy chewed his lip in impatience. He wasn't feeling particularly cheerful, or festive, at the moment. After what felt like forever, another voice came onto the line.
"ICU."
"I was inquiring about Donald Strachey, please?"
There was a rustling on the other end, almost covering the muted beeping Timothy knew was there. "I'm sorry, we're not allowed to give information out over the phone."
"Please," Timothy said, sagging. Heart in his throat, he was willing to beg. It would take at least half an hour to reach the hospital, and he couldn't wait that long. "If you could just tell me if he's..."
Tim heard the nurse sigh apologetically. "He's holding his own. That's really all I can say."
Relief made Timothy light headed. At least his subconscious fears that Donald might slip away if he let him out of his sight had been unfounded. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," the nurse replied, before disconnecting the call.
Tim rolled his head on his shoulders, trying to work out the kinks in his neck. As he did so, he dialed the cab company and requested a pick-up in twenty minutes time. He knew he could be ready by then, if he hurried. And he was certainly motivated to hurry.
Call complete, he dropped the phone onto the bedside table and regretfully replaced Donald's robe on the bed. He didn't pause to straighten the covers he had mussed, and wouldn't Donald give him endless grief if he could see that.
Melancholy at the thought, Tim hurried through his morning rituals as quickly as he could. Within fifteen minutes he was downstairs - albeit with wet hair - once more shrugging into his coat and scarf. He picked up his keys, wallet and phone.
At a honking noise from out front, Timothy walked outside to find the snow had stopped falling, leaving behind a pristine white landscape. He shivered at the cold, his breath crystallizing in front of him as he locked the door.
Climbing into the cab, he was nearly taken aback at the heat radiating from inside. Grateful that giving his destination on the phone meant he didn't have to speak; Timothy tried to relax into the seat as they backed out of the drive.
He regretted having slept so late, still somewhat surprised to have slept at all. It was almost eleven, far later than he had planned to be back at the hospital. Apparently his body needed the rest more than Timothy realized.
Normally, the cab ride would have lulled him into a daze - it never seemed to fail - however, it was far from a normal day. As it were, Tim stared out the window, fidgeting with his wool scarf. Absently he wondered when the scarf had become his lifeline, but as it was a gift from his partner, Timothy didn't want to question too closely.
"Hey, buddy. We're here."
Startled from his musings, Tim looked blinked and found the hospital doors in front of him. "Ah, yes. Thank you." He waited for the fare, pulling out some cash and handing it over, before exiting the car quickly.
Timothy didn't watch as the cab pulled away, but instead stood in front of the building, looking upward. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, before walking inside. He bypassed the main desk, and headed directly toward ICU.
Reaching the ICU floor, Timothy noted that there were more visitors milling about, but that little else appeared different. He approached the ICU desk slowly, smiling faintly when a young man glanced up at him.
"I'm here for Donald Strachey?"
The man - whose nametag was labeled Elliot - nodded, and handed him a clipboard. "We have a rotation, five minutes at a time." The nurse also handed him a pen, and indicated the next empty line. "Just fill in your name."
"Will I have to do this every time?" Timothy asked, adding his name to the short list.
Elliot shook his head. "Probably not. Just helps us to keep track of who all is here."
"Ah." Tim nodded, and handed him the clipboard and pen. Prepared to offer the Power of Attorney, if needed, he asked, "How is he?"
The nurse clicked several keys on his computer. "His vitals are strong." He gave Timothy an apologetic look. "But past that, I'm sorry, you'll need to speak with the doctor."
"How long do you think it will be?" he asked, eyes drawn to the sliding doors. "For both, I mean."
The nurse was silent for a moment, skimming the list, and glancing into the glass-walled next room. "Probably fifteen minutes or so until you can go in. Doctor Silverman is in surgery at the moment, so it'll be a bit before he's free."
Although disappointed, Timothy nodded. "Thank you. I'll just be..." He gestured toward the waiting room.
"We'll call."
Frustrated but resigned, Tim retreated to the waiting room and found a threadbare chair in the corner. There was a television hanging from the ceiling, showing cartoons. Beneath it sat two small children, far too young to be spending Christmas sitting outside ICU. A subtle glance revealed what looked like their frazzled father sitting not far away.
"Mr. Greene?"
Tim looked up at the voice, seeing a different nurse standing in the doorway. The man he had presumed to be the children's father jumped up, and spoke wearily. "Boys. Let's go see your mother."
Watching them go, seeing the slump of the father's shoulders and recognizing it from his own, Timothy's chest felt tight. He couldn't comprehend how people could work surrounded by such despair, though he was grateful for those who could. After all, they were the only reason he would - and it was would, not might - be able to take Donald home.
It took some effort not to glance at his watch every thirty seconds. After the first few times - glance at his watch, glance at the doorway, start over - Tim had begun to seriously debate shoving it in his pocket, even if the clock on the wall would make it a moot point. The constant checks only served to make an already miserable wait even longer.
A little while later the father and his sons returned to the waiting room. The children once again settled under the television and the father in his chair. Timothy felt a kinship with the other man, the worrying and waiting a fragile bond between them.
He was lost in thought, when a voice said, "Mr. Callahan?" caused him to jump up from his chair.
"Yes?"
The same nurse - Tyler, according to her badge - who had come to guide the other family gestured toward the doors smiled at him. "This way."
Impatient and scared at the same time, Tim tried to speak but ended up merely nodding. His voice was caught on the lump that had settled in his throat. Before she could say a word, Timothy hurried to turn off his cell and wash his hands as he had the night before.
Once done, he moved to stand beside her, and accepted the offered mask. He put it on while she keyed in the code to open the doors, and stepped through as soon as they were wide enough to enter. She shadowed him the entire way, past the central nurses' station; however, she didn't speak until they reached Donald's cubical.
"Five minutes," she reminded him, pulling back the curtain.
Tim nodded, but only had eyes for Donald. Just as many machines surrounded him, and the ventilator was still there. But, unless he was imagining it, there was more color to his skin. Almost anything was an improvement on the pallor of the night before.
Skittishly, he stepped forward and laid his hand on Donald's cheek, careful not to press too hard. "I'm back," he whispered, choking out the words as he pressed his lips to Donald's forehead. "Sorry I was gone so long."
Although he knew Donald couldn't reply, it still hurt to be met by nothing but the hissing ventilator and steadily beeping monitors. He thought that one of them might have sped up, but was almost certain it was merely wishful thinking.
As he had the night before, Timothy moved around so he was able to reach Donald's free hand. Gently, he held it in both of his own, pressing it against his chest. He took a deep breath, opening his mouth, but was unable to find his voice. Shaking slightly, he freed one hand to brush Donald's hair away from his forehead.
"Anytime you're ready," he said, finally finding his voice, "I want to see those blue eyes of yours." He bit his lip, choking back a half-formed sob. "I'm waiting for you baby, whenever you're ready."
He jumped when the nurse reappeared. "I'm sorry, but time's up."
As he had the night before, Timothy leaned forward and kissed Donald's forehead. Tim longed for the chance to kiss his partner without a barrier between them. He mouthed a silent prayer over Donald, and tucked his hand back under the covers. And though the words were a painful lie, he replied, "I'm ready."
They had just exited the main ICU room when Nurse Tyler put a hand on his arm as he was pulling off the mask. "Doctor Silverman should be here in a few minutes." He could tell she was trying to encourage him, and Timothy was grateful for the attempt. "He'll come and find you."
"Thank you."
Timothy returned to his chair in the waiting room, turning his cell phone back on, and picking up a magazine when the urge to fidget became too strong. Not paying attention to the content, he flipped the pages back and forth just to keep his hands busy.
He jumped when a small voice said, "Mister?"
"Yes?" Timothy asked, glancing around for the small boy's father.
"Can you read upside down?"
Perplexed, Timothy looked at the magazine, only to find it was indeed upside down. Before he could reply, his companion-in-waiting appeared. "Daniel, leave the man alone, please." He took his son's hand, and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry."
"No," Timothy replied, shaking his head. "He was no bother."
As they were walking away, he heard the little boy - Daniel - whispered loudly, "But can he? I want to be able to read upside down!" However, Tim was unable to make out Daniel's father's reply.
Dropping the unread magazine on a table, Timothy sighed and slouched back in his chair. He had just tilted his head back to begin another ceiling inventory when movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Twisting in his seat, Timothy saw that it was Doctor Silverman walking toward him.
"Mr. Callahan."
Timothy stood, and offered his hand. "Doctor." He swallowed, suddenly a touch queasy. "Good news, I hope?"
The doctor glanced at the small family on the other side of the room, but nodded. Even having seen Donald not that long before, Timothy still felt a rush of relief so intense it left him light headed.
Silverman held out an arm, gesturing for Timothy to join him. "We have a small room set aside for consults. If you'll follow me?"
"Yes, yes. Of course."
The consult room - though calling it a room seemed like an overstatement for such a small space - was only a few steps away from the waiting area. Timothy waited until Doctor Silverman had pushed the door closed before asking, "What can you tell me? He's doing better?"
Taking one of the two seats, Silverman sat, and nodded. Timothy followed suit, clutching his scarf like a talisman. It seemed like the preferable option, to attempting to shake information out of the annoyingly calm doctor.
"Mr. Strachey is progressing about as I had expected. His vitals are strong; his O2 stats are excellent, considering the damage to his lung. We are keeping a close eye on his blood pressure." Timothy opened his mouth to question, but closed it when the doctor held out a hand. "I assure you, it's completely normal in a case where a large quantity of blood loss occurred."
Timothy relaxed back into the chair; however, the answer he most longed to hear remained conspicuously absent. "How much longer will he be unconscious?"
"Hard to say," Silverman replied, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. "Please understand Mr. Callahan, these are very serious injuries we're dealing with here." Timothy nodded, annoyed. Of course he understood that. "That said. We'll begin lightening his medication as the day progresses. And I still expect to be able to remove the vent later this evening. At that time, we'll just have to wait and see."
"That's good." Timothy winced, hating how the words sounded more like a question, than a fact.
Silverman smiled, nodding. "That's very good, considering."
"And he'll be moved to a regular room?" Tim asked, his second most important question. Only being able to visit for five minutes at a time was going to drive him mad, sooner rather than later. The thought of a regular room, with its easier access, was beginning to tantalize him.
Silverman stood. "Once we're certain he's stable off the vent, and breathing on his own with no issue. At that point we'll transfer him to another room. Probably late tonight, if I were a betting man."
"Thank you." Timothy stood, and held out his hand, shaking the doctors. "I appreciate everything you've done."
Pulling open the door, the doctor smiled and nodded. "All part of the service. Happy Holidays."
"Happy Holidays to you, too, Doctor."
He didn't watch as the doctor turned and walked away in the opposite direction. Instead, Timothy glanced hopefully at Nurse Tyler who was walking down the hallway.
"Your turn," she said, waving Tim toward her.
Timothy hadn't even realized he was holding his breath until it rushed out of him as he hurried forward. "Already?" he asked, glancing at his watch and stunned to see that an hour had passed.
Nurse Tyler waited until his pre-visitation ritual was complete, and punched in the key code, allowing the doors to slide open. "You know the way. I'll come get you when time's up."
"Thank you," he replied, glancing over his shoulder as he hurried inside. With only five minutes to him, each second was too precious to waste.
And so it continued. Five minutes that passed in the blink of an eye. Fifty-five that felt like years stretching onward.
Each time he was allowed inside, Donald looked a bit better, if not remotely well. Timothy was growing ever more impatient for the time he would visit and the ventilator tube would be gone, and perhaps Donald even awake.
Other visitors came and went, some lingered, some left immediately. However, as the day progressed it always seemed to come back to Timothy, and the small broken family huddled underneath the television. Part of him longed to ask how the boys' mother was doing, but it seemed too much of an imposition.
At some point, Timothy ventured down to the cafeteria, not hungry, but hearing Donald's voice inside his head lecturing him about keeping his strength up. He purchased a pastry and some fruit, along with a cup of something resembling coffee and collapsed at an empty table.
As he sat, timidly sipping the warm drink and picking apart the stale pastry, Timothy kept a close eye on the clock. He didn't want to miss his next appointed visitation time for any reason. He checked his cell phone almost as often, irrationally fearing he might miss something.
Somehow he forced himself to finish the fruit and coffee. Standing, he tossed the decimated pastry in the trash, followed quickly by his empty coffee cup. There were five minutes until he could visit again, but it was in Timothy's nature to be early, especially in matters of such import.
He was surprised then, when he approached the desk at his designated time, for the evening nurse - "Please, call me Susan" - to wave him away. Stomach fluttering, he stood up straighter, demanding, "What? Why?"
To his annoyance, Susan merely smiled. "The doctor's with him now. I promise you'll be able to go in soon."
"Soon?" Timothy asked, deflating and shoving his hands into his coat pockets.
Susan had just opened her mouth to reply, when her attention was sidetracked toward the ICU entry. Timothy followed her gaze, relieved to see Doctor Silverman and another doctor he didn't recognize.
Meeting them halfway, Tim pulled up short. "He's awake?"
Shaking his head, Silverman laughed quietly. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves just yet. However, you'll be relieved to know that he has been removed from the ventilator."
Timothy sucked in a breath, nearly shaking from relief. "That's wonderful!"
"Yes, it is very good news. And a bit earlier than I expected." The doctor gestured to the woman standing beside him. "This is Doctor Jackson. She'll be taking over Donald's care from this point on, unless he requires additional surgery."
"Thank you." Timothy shook his hand gratefully. "Merry Christmas."
He turned back to Doctor Jackson, eager to see Donald. It took all of his dignity not to bounce on the balls of his feet. "Can I see him now?"
"Sure," Doctor Jackson replied, waving Susan over. "Hopefully we'll have him a room tonight. Until then, you know the drill, I'm sure."
Timothy nodded, rushing to wash his hands. Done, he took the offered mask, placing it on his face. "Thank you, Susan."
Before entering the key code, the doctor said, "I'm on duty until midnight. I'll speak with you again before then."
"Yes, thank you."
And then the door was sliding open and Tim's only focus was Donald. His feet moved as of their own accord, and soon Timothy was standing beside his partner. Clutching Donald's hand with one of his own, Tim reached out and traced Donald's chapped lips with his fingertips.
Donald's breath ghosted over Timothy's hand, and Tim had to blink back sudden tears. He watched for several moments as Donald's chest rose and fell, with no machine making it possible. It seemed strange that something so mundane could feel so overwhelming.
"Oh, sweetheart." Timothy glanced at the clock and frowned. "You need to wake up. It's almost Christmas." Sniffing, Timothy pressed Donald's hand to his cheek and found a smile. "I know how much you'd hate to miss that."
He cursed silently when he heard the nurse approach. "I'll see you soon," Timothy whispered.
Petting Donald's hair, he kissed his forehead as was tradition. While never a superstitious man, Timothy found that he didn't want to take any chances. And if Donald laughed at him when he told him, Tim was okay with that. Mostly.
Sometime later, still camped out in the waiting room, Timothy realized that the other family had been gone for quite some time. He hoped everything was okay - Tim hadn't heard any commotion, but he wasn't sure that meant anything. Oddly, Timothy almost missed hearing the boys' whispered conversations, although the television being silent was a blessing.
Off in the distance, he could hear Christmas carols playing quietly and Timothy leaned back in his chair, resting his head against the wall. He focused on the hymn, letting the familiar melody wash over him. It was strangely peaceful, in a place that was anything but.
He was almost asleep, if only just, when he heard his name being called.
Timothy sat up quickly, shaking his head, trying to clear out the cobwebs, and blinked. His scarf had fallen off as he had dozed, and he paused only long enough to straighten it.
"Yes?"
Emily, the nurse from the previous night, had returned and was smiling. "Your turn."
With a glance at the clock, Timothy saw that it was almost midnight. Almost Christmas. The doctor had hoped Donald would have been awake by now, and Timothy found himself fighting to keep his optimism. "Thank you for waking me." He paused, realizing just how late it was. "I thought visiting hours were over?"
"No problem, sugar. And I know how badly you must want to see him, so I'm making an exception. Just don't tell on me." The last was said with a wink. She waited as Timothy washed his hands, handing him a mask once he was done. "Go on." Absently, Tim thought her she seemed a little too happy to be working Christmas Eve night, but dismissed it.
Tim crossed the room, waving at a nurse he recognized. Reaching Donald's cubicle, he pulled back the curtain and froze. Because staring at him, bleary eyed and half asleep, was the most welcome sight Timothy could have imagined.
A single tear breaking free, Tim rushed forward and oh-so-carefully clasped Donald's hand. With his other hand, he cupped his partner's cheek. "You're awake. Oh, baby. You're awake." Timothy kissed Donald's fingers. "You're awake." He knew he was babbling, but couldn't stop.
Donald blinked slowly, the corner of his mouth quirking in a smile. "Yeah." He paused, his whispered voice was rough and clearly painful. He took a cautious breath before trying to speak again. "Ruined Christmas."
Crying unabashedly, tears soaking his mask, Timothy shook his head and laughed. He was smiling so broadly his cheeks were beginning to hurt. "Are you kidding? You've given me the best gift, just by opening your eyes."
Donald smiled, just barely, and squeezed Tim's hand feebly. Too soon, his eyes drifting closed. "Love you."
"I love you, too." Smiling, his chest tight from sheer relief, Timothy carded his fingers through Donald's hair. "Sleep now, sweetheart. I'll be here when you wake up."
"Promise?" Donald asked, more asleep than awake.
Timothy sniffed, trying to blink back the tears that refused to stop. "I promise." He glanced up to see Emily standing there, her own eyes oddly bright. Kissing Donald's forehead, he whispered, "Sleep darling. Merry Christmas."
Outside of ICU, Timothy slumped against the wall, pulling the mask off. He paused to wipe his face, grimacing at the mess he had made of his glasses. Looking then at Emily, he tried to glare. "You knew."
"And ruin the surprise?" she replied, looking anything but innocent. Before he could find a retort, she shook her head. "Honest, he'd only been awake long enough for Doctor Jackson to take a look, and me to find you."
Somewhat mollified, Timothy nodded and straightened. "Did the doctor say when he would be in his own room?"
"Sometime in the next couple of hours." Emily returned to the desk, checking the computer briefly. "We're going to monitor him here a little while longer, and then he'll be transferred to room 623." She smiled at him. "You should go home, get some rest."
Timothy started to argue - he needed to be here - when realization dawned that he had the perfect excuse not to go. "I'm not sure I could get a taxi at this hour." He shrugged, doing his best to look innocent. "So I guess you're stuck with me."
It was obvious the innocent look failed, because Emily narrowed her eyes at him. "Only because I figure you're right, I'll let you get away with that." Timothy bounced on the balls of his feet. "But you don't have to look quite so smug about it."
For only the second time in well over twenty-four hours, Timothy laughed freely. "Sorry. I guess I'll just be in the waiting room."
"Oh no you don't," Emily said, stopping him in his tracks. "We have a couple of rooms set up, for family who don't have anywhere else to go." She paused long enough to pull a keychain out of a drawer. "Only one of them is taken tonight, I'll show you to the other one."
Humbled by the kind treatment, Tim merely nodded his thanks. They walked to the far end of the hall, before she paused and unlocked a nondescript door. With the flip of a light switch, the small, utilitarian room became clear. Bed with crisp, white sheets and a small table with a clock, and a and chair.
"Here you go." She leveled him with a stare, and Timothy felt strangely reminded of his mother. "Get some sleep."
Smiling despite himself - really, was he three? - Timothy stepped inside. Hand on the door to close it, he said, "Thank you. I seem to be saying that a lot."
"Yes, well, don't take this the wrong way, sugar - but hopefully I won't be seeing you again." And with that, she hurried back down the hall, leaving Timothy to his own devices.
He spared a moment to watch her leave, before shutting the door. Momentarily, he sagged against it. Glancing upward, Timothy closed his eyes and muttered a prayer in thanks. A glance at the clock confirmed it - just past midnight - his very own Christmas miracle.
Dragging his feet - exhaustion suddenly overwhelming him, even as his ignored stomach growled - Timothy pulled off his coat and scarf, and laid them across the chair. He paused to set the alarm clock for seven, and collapsed onto the bed.
He rested for a second before leaning forward and tugging off both shoes, not even bothering to unlace them. A moment later his sweater and shirt joined his coat on the chair.
Tim pulled the bed's covers loose, yawning hugely as he turned the lights off. Seconds later, he crawled under the covers and pulled his glasses off. It was surprisingly quiet in the small room, no noise from the hospital leaking in. And even though he wanted to be there when Donald was moved, Timothy felt himself slowly succumbing to sleep.
It felt as though he hadn't been asleep for any time at all when the alarm went off, nearly sending him tumbling to the floor. Tim looked around for a second, confused, before he realized where he was.
Willing his heart to stop racing, Timothy shut the alarm off and untangled himself from the covers. Yawning widely, he turned to sit on the edge of the bed and scrubbed a hand over his face before putting on his glasses.
As he got dressed, his stomach loudly protested the previous days neglect. It would appear that having spoken with Donald had woken his appetite with a vengeance. Timothy regretted the lack of a toothbrush, but settled for putting himself to rights as quickly as possible, and going in search of a men's room.
Finding one just down the hall, he took care of business and hurried to the elevator, pressing the button for the sixth floor. First he would stop and see Donald, who was likely sleeping, and then he would go in search of food - and more importantly, coffee.
A glance at the sign in the hallway directed Timothy to his left, and he watched the numbers on the doors as he passed them. Impatient to see his husband, Tim felt slightly annoyed that Donald's room would be at the far end of the hall.
He pushed the door open slowly, not wanting to wake Donald, and stepped into the room. The lights were dim, and Donald was indeed asleep, snoring softly. Tim pushed the door shut behind him, and took a seat in a chair next to the bed.
Hesitantly, he touched Donald's cheek. He didn't want to wake him, but Timothy couldn't resist the chance to touch without gloves. Tim smiled softly, his eyes burning, when Donald leaned into his touch, but didn't wake.
"Merry Christmas, darling," he whispered.
Donald sighed softly, twitching a bit before falling still. For a while, Timothy was content just to sit and watch him breathe. As it had the night before, such a mundane thing filled Tim with more joy than he would've thought possible. They had come too close this time, too close to the unthinkable.
He startled when the door swung open, an orderly carrying a tray into the room. "Good morning," the young man said, putting an oversized mug on the table. Tim glanced at Donald and back to the orderly, clearly skeptical. "Ice chips. In case he wakes up."
Timothy nodded, but didn't watch as the man retreated from the room. Instead, he was happy to stare at Donald, listening to the comforting - if annoying - beeping of the heart monitor. He wondered vaguely how long that would have to stay, even if it did offer its own reassurances.
A little while later, stomach rumbling to the point of threatening rebellion, Timothy managed to pull away from his partner. He kissed Donald's cheek before leaving the room, and heading to the cafeteria.
The dining area was much busier early in the morning, even with it being Christmas Day. Timothy waited in line, selecting his food and paying, before searching for an empty seat. He finally settled in a far corner, and placed a napkin across his lap before tucking into the eggs.
If he needed proof how hungry he was, it was hospital food being some of the best he could remember tasting. In fact, it didn't take him any time at all to finish both the eggs and bagel he had purchased. Relaxing back in the seat, Tim nursed his coffee for a long moment, relishing the thought of a new day - a day in which he wasn't taking every breath in fear for Donald's life.
Realizing he hadn't checked his phone since his last visit to the cafeteria, Timothy pulled it out of his pocket and was surprised to see it turned off. A second later, he vaguely remembered the nurse asking him to turn it off. Hoping he hadn't missed anything important - though he was definitely up to date on the most important thing - Tim turned the phone back on, only to grimace when he found three messages.
He dialed the extension for his voice mail and entered his code. Seconds later, the first message began to play.
"Tim? It's Kelly... I've called a couple of times now, just wanting to say Merry Christmas." There was a pause; distantly he could hear how she had been tapping her fingernails on something. "Is everything okay? I'm getting worried. Call me? I love you."
Feeling guilty, though he knew his sister would understand, Tim pressed the button to advance to the next message.
"Callahan, it's Bailey." An awkward sigh. "Just checking in."
Tim couldn't help smiling at that one. This entire incident - while one Timothy wished had never happened and would happily never repeat - had certainly shown him a new side to the surly detective. Shaking his head, he advanced to the next message.
"Hey, kiddo, it's Mom. We..." She paused, sighing. "I just wanted to wish you and Donald a Merry Christmas. I love you both. Please call whenever you have time. I'd love to see you soon."
Disconnecting the call, Timothy rubbed a hand over his eyes. He had thought he was out of tears, but hearing his mother's voice proved that wrong. Sniffing, Timothy straightened, and shoved his phone back into his pocket.
Picking up his dishes, Timothy deposited them at the receptacle. He debated momentarily if he should go back upstairs, or return phone calls first. Consoling himself that Donald would still be asleep, Timothy headed toward the lobby of the hospital and found an out of the way corner.
He flipped the phone open, only to realize he had no idea what Detective Bailey's number was, and since the phone had been off the number wasn't saved. Dialing into his voice mail once more, Timothy skipped his sister's message and listened carefully to the intro to Bailey's.
Disconnecting the call, he dialed the detective's number. Only after he pressed 'talk' did the reality of it being eight am on Christmas morning sink in. He was about to disconnect when the ringing stopped.
"Bailey."
"Hi, Bub. Tim Callahan."
"Callahan!" The detective sounded surprised, Tim noted, but not annoyed. "I'd wondered where you'd disappeared to."
Smiling, Timothy shrugged self-consciously. "Thought I'd get away for a bit, see the sights."
Bailey snorted. "Right. So. How's Strachey?"
"He's doing better." Tim took a seat in an oversized, plush chair. "Breathing on his own, out of ICU."
Silence greeted him from the other end for several seconds. "Good. That's good."
"I just thought I would let you know, and say thanks again for all your help." Timothy knew Donald might never believe him, but Bailey's solid presence had kept Tim sane that first night.
The detective growled. "Don't mention it." He paused, and Timothy could've sworn he heard the other man laugh. "Especially to that partner of yours."
"We'll see," Timothy replied, feeling a bit mischievous. "Anyway, I won't keep you. Merry Christmas."
"You, too. Bye."
Timothy disconnected the call and stared at his phone, sighing. He really didn't want to call his family, didn't want to deal with his family. He loved them, really he did, but the strain had become a bit much. However, he knew by the sound of Kelly's message if he didn't there would be hell to pay sooner rather than later.
He dialed, waiting as it rang, only to smile at Kelly's eager "Timmy!" It had pleased him, how quickly they had fallen back into old habits and nicknames. Timothy couldn't get a word in, however, before she was questioning him. "Where've you been? I called the house half a dozen times, I've been worried!"
Cringing, Timothy prepared himself. "There was an accident. Sorry, I didn't realize my phone was off until just a little bit ago."
A moment of silence, followed by a loud, "What?" She was quiet for a moment, before continuing in a much quieter, serious voice. "Are you okay? Is Donald okay? Do I need to come home?"
Tim smiled, buoyed by the concern in her voice. "No, stay there and enjoy yourself. I'm fine, and Donald..." Timothy's voice failed him, it was the first time he had been forced to speak the words aloud. "Donald's been hurt, but he's on the mend."
"What happened? Is he really okay?"
He cleared his throat, nodding out of habit. "He was in a car accident. They think it was black ice. It was..." Timothy swallowed, the words sticking in his throat. "It was bad, but he really is doing better."
In a small voice, she replied, "I want to help."
"I know you do," Tim replied, smiling at the love he could hear in her plea. "And I have no doubt, if Donald's on bed rest for long, I'll be taking you up on that." He laughed quietly. "He really is the world's worst patient."
Kelly's laughter joined his for a moment. "Why do I have no problem imagining that?"
"Because you've met him?" Timothy's laughter faded, and he ran a hand over his face. Even after sleeping several hours, he still hadn't quite escaped the exhaustion. "I should go, but I'll call. I promise."
"You better. I know where you live."
Smiling faintly, Tim said, "Merry Christmas. Tell Mom I said so, as well?"
"I'll tell them both," she replied, muttering. "This is beyond stupid, Timmy."
"I know." His chest felt tight at the indignation in his sister's voice on his behalf. "But don't let it come between you, okay?"
She sighed. "Tim. When I suggested a family Christmas, I meant all of us - you and Donald included. And that, that man..."
"Kelly." He waited until he was certain he had her attention. "We just got you back, and I don't want to be the reason..." Timothy's voice failed him, he couldn't finish - couldn't say the words leave again. Head aching, Tim rubbed at it absently. "Please, Kel. Just try. For me."
Although he could tell she wasn't happy, Kelly replied, "Okay. But it's my turn to take care of you once in a while, you know." Tim winced. How well he had taken care of her when they were younger was a debate best left for another time. She added, "I'm not a kid anymore." He refrained from mentioning how much she sounded like a little kid when she pouted.
Knowing she meant well, but worn, Timothy just said, "I need to get back upstairs. I will call you. I promise."
"You better. I was thinking about coming to see you both tomorrow, anyway. This is your warning." It was so quiet for a moment that Tim thought she had hung up. "I love you."
Warmed by the words, Timothy smiled. "I love you, too. Bye."
He hung up the phone, and took several deep breaths. Only once he was sure his emotions were under control did he stand, and head back to Donald's room. On second thought, he stopped by the cafeteria for another cup of coffee, such as it was, before taking the elevator to the sixth floor.
Timothy found Donald much as he had left him, fast asleep in the bed and snoring softly. Coffee in hand, Tim switched his cell phone to silent and dropped it on the table as he settled in his chair.
He had no intention of moving until that night, when he really did need to go home. At the thought, Tim sniffed quickly, relieved to note that he didn't smell like he had barely been home in two days, even if he knew he looked it.
The day passed slowly. Nurses and doctors came in every so often to check on Donald, and Tim fidgeted restlessly, but Donald slept through all of it. Timothy's coffee was long gone, and he was beginning to consider heading downstairs for lunch, when Donald began to stir.
Tim leaned forward in his chair, taking Donald's hand. "Donald?" Donald grumbled, a familiar, early-morning sound, and Timothy smiled. "Ready to wake up?"
"Tim?" Donald asked hoarsely, tilting his head in Timothy's direction, but not opening his eyes.
Nearly overwhelmed with happiness, Timothy nodded, squeezing his husband's hand. "One and only. How're you feeling?"
Donald seemed to consider this, before opening his eyes and squinting at Timothy. Tim's smile broadened at the sight. "Hey there, blue eyes."
"I'm sorry." The words made Donald cough softly, immediately wincing and grasping his chest. Once he could breathe again, he amended, "Ow."
Timothy reached for the rose-colored mug the orderlies had been refilling throughout the day. "Shh. Don't talk, okay?" Letting go of Donald's hand reluctantly, Timothy popped the mug open and scooped out a couple of slivers of ice. "Here. Try this."
Donald groaned, licking his lips eagerly. Wary of giving him too much, Timothy only allowed him a couple of more pieces before retuning the mug to the table. "Better?"
Nodding, Donald whispered, "Thanks."
"Want me to call the doctor?" Although, glancing at the monitors, Timothy wondered if a visit in the near future wasn't inevitable. Even he could tell a difference in how they sounded.
Donald shook his head, reaching out for Tim's hand until they were once more joined. "No. Just you."
Swallowing back emotion, Timothy blinked quickly. "Well. Me you've got."
"Good." Donald's eyes started to close, and he smiled softly. "Sleepy. Stay?"
Timothy leaned forward far enough to cup Donald's unbruised cheek in his hand. "Nowhere I'd rather be. Well. Places I'd rather be, but as you're not there, here I am." He knew he was rambling, but Tim could also tell Donald was asleep once more, and it didn't matter.
"Sleep well, sweetheart."
Donald slept then, and through the return visit of his doctor, who had indeed been called. She smiled at Timothy, placing her stethoscope around her neck. "Everything looks good."
Smiling, relaxed, Tim asked, "How long until you think he can go home?"
"A few days, at least. Maybe longer." She gave Timothy a serious look. "I'll be honest with you, he's very lucky to have survived." When Tim paled at the reminder of how close they had come - he had known, but still - she smiled. "But he's a fighter. Some time here, and more at home on bed rest, and he'll be good as new."
"Thank you, Doctor."
She shoved her hands into her coat pockets. "You're welcome. I like these days. Makes getting out of bed on the others worthwhile." She turned to leave, adding, "I'll be back later, to check on him before I go off shift."
"Merry Christmas," Timothy said, though he only had eyes for his husband.
Just before he heard the door close, she replied, "You, too."
A little while later, Tim forced himself to stand. It was well past noon, and hopefully past the lunch rush, and his stomach was once more making itself known. In a rare move, he pulled his coat and scarf off, and left them on his chair.
He shivered in the cool, dry air, but was determined that if Donald woke, he would see some sign of Tim having been there. And if it earned him an end to the security blanket teasing, he thought with a smile, all the better.
It was indeed less crowded in the cafeteria. However, this time Timothy only stayed long enough to package up a meal to go, and head back upstairs. The second bed in Donald's room was empty, and there was no reason he couldn't both eat and stay close by.
Arriving back on Donald's floor, Tim smiled and nodded at one of the nurses he recognized. A few moments later, he was back at Donald's side and the unease he felt whenever Donald was out of sight began to abate. He ate quietly, sipping on a bottle of water, alert for any changes, should Donald begin to wake.
But by the time he finished his lunch, Timothy was disappointed to note that Donald hadn't even stirred, much less woken. He knew it was to be expected, but he was impatient for Donald to reach the point where he was awake more than he was asleep. He groaned at the irony - once Donald was feeling better, but not well enough to be out and about, Timothy knew he would be willing to beg for Donald to just go to sleep.
However, that was then, and this was now, and for the time being he wanted little more than Donald aware and pain-free. Only allowing the latter tended to negate the former - Timothy figured he couldn't win them all. He wasn't so selfish as to wish pain on his partner, no badly how much he wanted him awake.
So Timothy sat, listening as the clock tick off the seconds, watching Donald sleep. Anytime Donald would stir, Timothy would soothe him back to sleep, banishing whatever nightmares could survive the medication. He was pleased when his voice worked, each time, and Donald settled.
He had dozed off - though not sure for how long - when he heard Donald ask, "Timmy?"
"Donald!" Tim bolted up in the chair, smiling. "How're you feeling?"
"I hurt all over," he replied, granting Timothy an honesty where his pain was concerned that only heavy drugs would allow. More lucid than previously, Donald groaned. "I think you might finally get that new car."
Timothy rolled his eyes, tugging the sheets up around his partner. "Yes, well, that was my first thought."
Donald looked away, refusing to meet Tim's gaze. "I'm sorry I scared you."
"It was an accident," Timothy replied, touching Donald's face until his partner looked at him once more. "You didn't do it on purpose."
Shrugging, Donald winced and gasped. Timothy was about to ring for the nurse when Donald shook his head. "Don't. It's okay."
"Donald, you're hardly..." At Donald's glare, he backed down but met it with a pointed look of his own. "Obviously perfectly fine. How silly of me."
"Snarkiness," Donald paused, gasping, "Does not become you, Timothy."
Smiling, Tim grasped Donald's hand. "Oh, I don't know. You've said otherwise in the past."
"I was wrong."
"Yes, dear," Timothy replied, grinning. Donald was certainly sounding more like his old self, and that was as much of a balm to his soul as anything could be. More seriously, he said, "I won't lie and say the past couple of days weren't hell." Tracing Donald's eyebrow, he smiled softly. "But I had faith in Christmas miracles." Mostly.
He could tell that Donald saw through the lie, and Timothy wished himself to be a better actor. Not wanting Donald to call him on it, Tim gave him a watery smile. "Just don't do it again, please."
"Don't make me laugh," Donald replied, clutching his side and his eyes watering. "And I wasn't planning on it this time."
Suddenly remembering something Doctor Silverman had told him, Timothy pulled back. "What were you thinking not wearing your seatbelt?"
Donald had the grace to wince. "I know, I know. I'm sorry." He paused, taking several shallow breaths. "Won't happen again, I promise. Lesson learned."
"I would hope so."
"Scout's honor."
Timothy snorted, though he would deny it as such. As though Donald had ever been a boy scout. "No comment."
Donald let that one slide with a snicker. A moment later, he did a double take, staring at Tim. "You're not wearing your coat." With a smile, he asked, "You hit your head, too?"
"Wondered how long it would take you to notice," Timothy muttered, rolling his eyes theatrically. He made a show of looking at his watch. "Took longer than I expected, actually."
"I'm injured!"
Timothy chucked. "No, you're incorrigible." Donald looked like he might argue, but kept quiet, in the end.
For several moments, Timothy was happy to just look at Donald - the silence between them was comfortable. Eventually it was Donald who broke it. "I'm sorry you had to deal with it alone."
"Not alone, exactly." At Donald's confused look, Tim clarified. "Bub was a lifesaver."
If anything, Donald looked even more confused and Timothy couldn't help but laugh. "Bub?" he finally sputtered. "Bub Bailey? As in Detective Bub Bailey?"
"Oh, don't look so shocked." Timothy didn't comment on his own shock at the development, it was too much fun messing with Donald.
"Wow."
Timothy nodded, squeezing Donald's hand. "He was a good friend. I owe him one."
Donald appeared to consider this for several moments. "Then I guess I do, too."
"We'll worry about that later, okay?" Tim stood, just enough to kiss Donald, nothing more than a brush of the lips. "First order of business is for you to get better."
Smiling, Donald nodded. "I can do that." He paused, breathing carefully. "And the second?"
"Well, that's obvious. Then I get to unwrap my present."
Donald winced. "About that... it was in the car and..."
"Honestly, Donald." Timothy rolled his eyes, wanting to shake his husband if it wouldn't inflict more damage than was already done. "I meant you."
Suddenly, Donald looked a lot more interested. "Now that sounds like a plan."
Feeling a bit evil, Timothy smiled. "Of course, first you have to behave long enough to get better, and not drive me insane in the process."
"Timmy," Donald whined, his face falling. "I hate being stuck in bed."
"Oh, believe me, dear. I know."
Donald pouted for several moments, but Timothy refused to be budged. Eventually Donald gave up, and smiled. "I love you."
Tim smiled in return, feeling truly and utterly at peace for the first time since Bailey's unfortunate phone call. "I love you, too. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas," Donald said with a yawn, falling back asleep quickly.
And as Timothy sat there, just able to hear Christmas music from down the hall, he noticed it was snowing once more. A white - and merry - Christmas, indeed.
end