New Fanfic: Across A Crowded Room
Title: Across A Crowded Room
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)
Pairing: Donald and Timothy
Rating: R, Language
Word Count: About 7260
References/Spoilers/Notes: Minor references to the guys' histories, though not all of it is canon.
Disclosure: I wish they were mine. Alas, they are not, so I'm just taking them out for a spin with thanks to the men who created them and the actors who brought them to life.
Author's Note: Written for the Fall 'thon for tim_don_a_thon .
Summary: While dancing with a dashing date at a fancy holiday fundraiser, Tim Callahan spots the man of his dreams across a crowded room.
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ACROSS A CROWDED ROOM
by
Candy Apple
I sipped my champagne and took in the opulence of the hotel's banquet room. The buffet was elegant and abundant, the guests dressed in their best black tie and formal wear, and a competent band was playing a mix of old standards and Christmas music. There were decorated trees strategically located in various corners, and pine with sparkling gold ribbons on the chandeliers. Thanksgiving was the coming Thursday, but as usual, it was lost in the shuffle somewhere between the pumpkins and the Christmas trees.
Politics is a strange business. So is fundraising. Blend the two together, and it can be downright bizarre. The point of all this was to raise money for the soup kitchens and food pantries of Albany. A lot of rich people getting together in an overpriced banquet facility eating an expensive array of delicious food in order to get them to write checks to feed the poor. Seemed like a ridiculous and circular path to the goal, but as my father often pointed out to me, I would lose some of that youthful idealism as I learned how things really work in the world. In a way, he was right. I learned a bit more about it that night. The event cost several thousand dollars to put on, but we raised $50,000 to buy food for people who were going hungry.
"You're deep in thought, Tim."
"Just thinking it's a bit ridiculous to buy all this food, half of which will be thrown out, when the cost of this stuff would feed so many of the people we're trying to help for weeks."
Palmer chuckled softly. He was as elegant as the banquet hall itself; tall, perfectly proportioned, beautifully mannered. He came from money, the son of one of my dad's friends. Maybe he appealed to me because my father knew we were going out, and he approved. To his credit, my father never made me feel like less his son, or like he was ashamed of me, even though I knew my being openly gay complicated his life as a conservative Republican. Palmer was from a connected political dynasty like the Callahans, and he was a suitable date for a Republican's gay son. I wondered how Dad was going to handle it when I told him about my new job with Senator Glassman...a Democrat. I was still working for Congressman Pruitt back then, one of my dad's Republican buddies in the New York legislature. I'm glad I didn't know then that it would cause a rift between us that would take years to heal.
"Tim?"
It was Palmer again, with humor in his smooth voice as he touched my shoulder. "You really are somewhere else tonight, aren't you?"
"Sorry," I replied, returning his smile. God, he was handsome. Six-foot-two, blue eyes, perfectly coiffed blond hair, nice muscles all wrapped up in a tux that cost almost as much at the reception itself. I wished I felt the passion I should for him, beyond just some physical heat and the comfort of being with someone who fit so perfectly in my world.
"Shall we dance?" he offered, and I took his extended hand, laughing at his slightly exaggerated gesture. We even had similar personalities, senses of humor.
We joined the other couples on the dance floor. Palmer was like me in that way, too. He believed in good taste, decorum, but he also believed in being who he was, and living openly. I should have been with the man of my dreams, so it took me by surprise when I found myself staring at another man, one who looked positively lost, and painfully bored, standing by the buffet table. He also looked tired and a little pale as he stood there nursing a glass of champagne.
He was a blond, too, and it looked like he had nice eyes, but I couldn't see him all that well from the dance floor. He looked like he was nicely built, though he was shorter than Palmer, shorter than me by a few inches, I guessed. He looked around the room, and then he caught me looking at him. He stared back at me a moment, and though Palmer was keeping us moving, I held his gaze a moment, and then he smiled at me. I smiled back. I also stepped squarely on Palmer's Louis Vuitton-shoed foot, threw him off rhythm, and we stumbled a bit before righting ourselves. I should have been spewing apologies at Palmer, but I couldn't take my eyes off the guy at the buffet, whose smile widened, even though he had the good manners to look like he was trying to stifle his little snicker at our mishap.
"Something's definitely bothering you tonight," Palmer said, though there was a bit of an edge in his voice now that I'd landed on one of his obscenely expensive shoes.
"I'm fine. I just got distracted. I noticed some potential donors I should probably speak to, since Congressman Pruitt is tied up right now."
"Okay. We can dance later," he added, whispering it in my ear. I was too busy thinking of a way to approach the man at the buffet, and how to give Palmer the slip, to be aroused by his sultry tone.
"Oh, there's Mrs. Harrison," I said. "She really likes you. I bet you could charm ten grand out of her."
"I'll take that bet. Who's your mark?" he joked.
"The man at the buffet. I think that's Michael Kensington III."
"Really? I thought he was older," Palmer said, frowning.
"No, I'm sure that's him. I should go strike up a conversation. He looks bored."
"Okay," he agreed, sighing. "I'll go relieve the old girl of some of her money. Then I think we should call it a night. It's late, and we could go back to my place before we're too tired to enjoy the rest of our night."
"Sure, okay," I agreed, smiling at him as he headed for the wealthy elderly widow who found him utterly charming. When I turned to look back at the buffet, my handsome stranger was gone. I looked around the room, but I didn't see him anywhere. Disappointed, I decided to slip out to the restroom.
"You could at least make an effort to mingle a little. I might as well have come alone," an angry male voice said. My handsome stranger was standing outside the men's room with another man. He was tall and nice-looking with brown hair. But he was pissed off, and the subject of his wrath was the cute guy I'd seed at the buffet.
"I've been up for 48 hours straight. I don't know any of these people and you dumped me at the buffet to go talk to your rich pals. What the fuck do you expect me to do?"
"I expect you to at least make an effort!" The angry man noticed me standing there. "Excuse us," he snapped, grabbing at his date's arm to pull him along. He angrily yanked his arm away.
"No, I don't believe I will," I said, surprising myself even more than I seemed to have surprised my handsome blond stranger and his irritated date. "This isn't the place for a physical altercation and it's obvious your...date doesn't want to go with you. So this might be the right time for you to leave."
"And who exactly are you to tell me to leave?"
"I'm Congressman Pruitt's chief aide, and as you must know, he is one of the co-hosts of this event. Now please, see yourself out. I'm sure you can find the coat room."
"Fine. Don't bother coming back to my place," he snapped at the blond man. "I'll send your two decent suits and your drawer full of crap to your office." With that, he stormed toward the exit.
"I'm sorry we disrupted your party."
"Look around. Nobody's disrupted. He just needed to be on his way," I said.
"You did that for me?" he asked, looking puzzled, one corner of his mouth going up a bit in a lopsided grin.
"Yes, I did. He was certainly no gentleman."
"He thinks he is. Mr. Fancy Pants," he added, shaking his head.
"Please forgive the question. I have no right to ask...but why are you with someone like him?"
"I've been asking myself that for a while now." He sighed, and after a long pause, added, "He kind of reminds me of someone I used to know. But only by his looks. That's where the similarity ends."
"I'm Tim Callahan," I said, extending my hand. He shook it, smiling that beautiful smile at me. And those eyes. They were stunning.
"Don Strachey. Hey, what do you know? I finally know somebody at this thing," he said, and I laughed.
"I should wrap things up in there," I said, gesturing toward the banquet room.
"The guy you were dancing with...is he your date?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
"Yeah." I hesitated. I'd stepped in and possibly hastened a split for him with the man he was with, and now I was going to go back to my date? "Do you have a ride home, or was he it?"
"We came by cab. I have kind of a crappy car and he didn't want to be seen pulling up in it, so..." He shrugged.
"Just ask the front desk clerk to call you a cab, tell him you're a guest at this event. Here, let me give you something toward your cab fare," I offered, pulling out my wallet.
"No, that's okay. I can cover it," he said, holding up his hand. After a brief, clumsy pause, he added, "Well, thanks, Tim. Nice meeting you. Kind of," he added, smiling.
"I shouldn't have interfered. I hope I didn't make things worse."
"Eh, they couldn't get much worse. It was a matter of time anyway."
"For what it's worth, if you were my date, I wouldn't have left you at the buffet." I usually wasn't that blunt, or that forward, with someone I barely knew. The truth was, if Don was my date, I'm not sure I could have focused on much else but him, let alone ever ignored him. He looked pleased by the comment, and was about to say something when Palmer found us.
"Tim, there you are!" Palmer said, joining us. "Mr. Kensington?" he asked, extending his hand toward Don, who looked confused.
"I think you have me confused with someone else," he said, shaking Palmer's hand.
"This is Don Strachey," I said. "I was mistaken," I added.
"I see. Well, Tim, things are winding down, so we should get going."
"Yes, of course." I took out one of my business cards and handed it to Don. "Please, give me a call Monday and we'll continue our conversation about your pledge."
"Sounds good," he said, taking it, playing along. "I'm looking forward to it," he added, and the sound of his voice made me feel warm in all the right places.
"Good night," I said, wishing I didn't have to let him walk out of there. I wanted to talk to him, get to know him, see more of his beautiful eyes and his smile...
"Well, at least he was still a good prospect," Palmer said.
"Huh?" I asked, eloquently, as I was still watching Don Strachey as he approached the front desk to check on getting a cab.
"Mr. Strachey. You were talking to him about a pledge?"
"Oh, yes, right. I have a feeling it will take a bit of cultivation," I replied.
"It usually does, unless you have my amazing technique, that is. Mrs. Harrison will be sending a check."
"Wonderful." I paused. "Would you mind dropping me off at my place? I'm sorry, but I'm very tired and I have a bit of a headache."
"Really? Sure, if you want. Are you sure it's not something a couple ibuprofen and a little distraction won't fix?"
"I'm sure. I'm sorry to conk out on you."
"It's been a busy week," he said. I felt like an ass. Palmer was a nice guy, and I didn't like lying to him. Of course, we weren't officially exclusive, and I did have a right to meet someone new and explore my feelings for him. Still, I knew if things were reversed, I'd think Palmer was a cheating cad. "Maybe a good night's sleep will do the trick. We could still do brunch tomorrow."
"That sounds great," I said, relieved not to have to mask my distraction all night. I couldn't wait until Monday.
********
I'd managed to catch a few hours' sleep on the couch in my office after the party. Evan was a man of his word, even if he was an asshole. My belongings were delivered by messenger first thing Monday morning in two tidy boxes. I didn't have a whole lot back in those days, so it didn't take much to cut me out of someone's life. I sat at my desk and unlocked the bottom drawer, taking out the wooden box I kept secured there. Souvenirs of a past life. I thought about that movie, Somewhere in Time. Looking at something from another time could take you there, cross decades in an instant, just by the power of your mind. When I opened that box, that's how it felt, like it dragged me back to the past, to heat and dust and gunfire, to stolen moments of passion in a war zone...to an unthinkable end to the only relationship that had ever really mattered to me. I looked at Kyle's smiling face in the photo and wondered what the hell I'd seen in Evan Drake that ever could have reminded me of him. He was tall and his hair was the same color. He had a nice smile.
And he was an asshole who treated me like crap. He was charming when we first met when I interviewed him for a case I was working. I should have known he was a stuck up prick, but somehow I'd gotten myself into a relationship with him, and found myself trying to live up to whatever it was he thought I should be.
Of course, I wasn't enough for Kyle, either. It seemed better to him to kill himself than to spend his life with me. Timmy spent a lot of years fixing what was wrong with my head and my heart, my whole perception of what love should feel like. Back then, I sat at my desk and looked at his card, wondering if I was insane to think about hooking up with another rich pretty boy. I was so tired of getting hurt, of things not ever seeming to work out for me. I was about done with relationships, period.
Then I thought about his smile, the way he stepped in to defend me...no one had ever done that before. I wasn't the kind of guy who inspired that in other guys. I guess that's good, in a way, that other guys don't think I need defending. I've spent a lot of time at the gym and the shooting range to make sure I don't give that impression. If you're not the biggest guy in the room, you have to be the toughest little fucker in the room...at least in my line of work. But it felt really nice to have someone think it was wrong for somebody to grab me or treat me badly.
Maybe Timothy J. Callahan, Chief Aide was different. Maybe I would give him a call sometime Monday. When I think back on all of it, it gives me chills to think that I ever considered not calling him back.
********
I shut down the computer and leaned back in my chair and sighed. It was after five, and no call from Don Strachey. I'd had a nice Sunday with Palmer; we'd had brunch and then gone to a movie. I knew he was getting suspicious when I put him off for the second time in a row with a lame story about a report I had to finish for the congressman. It's not that we were so hot and heavy that we did it constantly, but the physical aspect of our relationship was better than adequate, usually, and after wrapping up Saturday night without any, wrapping up a long Sunday together the same way was a bit odd. Apparently, it was also for nothing, since it seemed all the chemistry I thought I felt between Don and me was all on my side.
Feeling sorry for myself, I picked up some Thai takeout and headed home to my apartment. I sorted my mail, changed into jeans and an old sweater, ate dinner at the table while I read the issue of Newsweek that came that day, and then called my mother to talk about what time I'd be there for Thanksgiving dinner.
"Now are you going to tell me what's bothering you?" she asked when I was almost ready to hang up.
"Nothing's bothering me. I'm just tired. Getting everything done before the long weekend...it's always a hustle," I lied. I should have known better.
"Timmy," she said. That simple prod was enough. She knows me better than I know myself and never, not once in my life, have I been able to fool her. I still try, and always fail.
"I met this guy..."
"What about Palmer?" she asked immediately. My parents adored Palmer. He was me, only a little taller and with blond hair.
"We're not exclusive, Mom."
"You've been dating other men? Sweetie, I don't think Palmer is dating anyone but you. He seems very devoted."
"I didn't break up with him. I just met someone...I thought he was going to call and he didn't. I really thought I sensed some chemistry there."
"What was so wonderful about him? How did you meet him?"
"At the fundraiser Saturday night. I'm not sure what it was...he has this beautiful smile and these amazing blue eyes. He was interesting. And I felt something. At least, I thought I did. I thought he did."
"Maybe he'll still call."
"Maybe."
"What aren't you telling me?"
"Palmer is a great guy. I do care for him, it's just that - "
"He's not the one."
"I'm sorry, Mom. I know you and dad really like him."
"We do, but your father and I aren't dating him. You are. And if he's not right for you, you have to do what you feel is best."
"You haven't said anything to Dad about the job, have you?"
"You haven't heard an explosion all the way there in Albany yet, have you?"
"No," I replied, chuckling. She always makes me laugh.
"I will if you want me to, but I think you should tell him yourself. Just wait until after Thanksgiving dinner, all right?"
"Yes, all right."
"Palmer is still going to his family's for the holiday, right?"
"Yes, he is."
"Well, that's just as well then. You can have a little time away visiting with family to figure out what you want to do next."
"You're right."
"I usually am," she replied, a smile in her voice.
"Love you, Mom. See you Thursday."
"Good night, Timmy. Now hang up so your line is clear if Mr. Wonderful calls."
"Okay. Good night," I hung up, smiling.
Mr. Wonderful didn't call until after eleven. I was in bed, reading, about to turn out the light and go to sleep when the phone finally rang.
"Hello."
"Tim? This is Don Strachey. I'm sorry about the time...I hope I didn't wake you."
"No, I wasn't asleep yet," I responded. "I didn't think I'd hear from you today."
"I had something come up on a case, and I couldn't use my cell until I got out of the ER."
"The ER? What happened?"
"I was doing surveillance and I got caught."
"You're a cop?"
"Oh, I guess I never said what I did for a living, did I? I'm a PI."
"Are you all right?"
"Depends on your definition of all right," he replied, laughing softly. "I'll live. I was thinking maybe I could have a rain check for tomorrow?"
"Of course, but do you need a ride home or anything tonight? Are you all right to drive? What happened to you?" I realized I'd blurted out a string of questions at him as if he was my boyfriend and not just some cute guy I met at a party. There was a pause, and I felt sure I'd blown it. He was turned off by all the fussing. I didn't blame him. I was, too, and I was the one fussing. "I'm sorry. That must have sounded awful. I was just concerned if you were in the hospital..."
"No, no, it's fine. Kind of nice to have somebody worried about me," he added, though the words were fired out so quickly and quietly I had to strain to catch them. "The hospital isn't that far from my office, so I don't have a long drive."
"You're going to sleep at your office? After you just got out of the hospital?"
"I have a couch there. It's no big deal."
"What's wrong with you?"
"How long have you got?"
"I meant, how were you hurt?"
"Two guys threw me off a fire escape. I was out of it for a few minutes, and I thought my leg might be broken when I came to, but it wasn't. The doctor said I was lucky or had nine lives or something equally profound. Just bumps and bruises."
"Are you still at the ER?"
"Yes."
"Wait there. I'll pick you up and you can stay here. I have a spare bedroom."
"I have my car here."
"I'm sure it can stay parked there overnight and we'll get it in the morning." I was already up, gathering the clothes I'd just taken off a little while ago.
"Okay. Thanks, Tim. That's really nice of you."
When I arrived at Albany Memorial, it was raining, so I pulled up as close to the ER entrance as I could and got out of the car, reaching the slightly hunched, limping figure that was waiting for me before he could get too far out in the downpour. I had an umbrella, and I thought the last thing he needed was to hobble to the car and get soaked to the skin. He looked at me for a moment with an expression that conveyed something very deep, like I had moved him more than he could say, just in trying to keep him dry.
He got in the car without saying anything, and I hurried around to the driver's side, tossed my umbrella in the back seat, and got in. My car wasn't much, either, back then. It was well-used with plenty of miles on it. When the transmission went, I just didn't replace it because I was close to the bus route and already with Don, who drove me anywhere I couldn't easily reach by bus. That night, I'm glad I still had my own wheels.
"I'm really sorry to put you out like this. It's not what I had in mind for a first date," he said, smiling, though it was a bit sheepish. I could tell the clothing he wore was messed up to some extent, but in the dark it was hard to see just how badly he was hurt.
"At least it's not the usual boring dinner out," I quipped, and we both laughed. "How high up was the fire escape, anyway?"
"Only the second floor, thankfully, and there was some junk under it that broke my fall. I'm just banged up, nothing too serious. You really didn't have to do this."
"If you were knocked out at all, you shouldn't be alone this soon."
"You must like taking in strays," he said.
"Have you had your shots?" I joked. He laughed. I was glad to dispel a little of the darkness that seemed to lurk beneath his surface. I've spent years doing that, and it always makes me happy when I can make him smile.
"I'm crate-trained, too."
I parked as close as I could to the entrance, and guided Don to my second floor apartment. He was slow on the steps, his leg obviously still bothering him, but we made it, and it felt good to shut out the cold November night, to have reached our destination.
"You want to borrow some sweats or pajamas? I have some extra."
"Sweats would be great," he said, taking off his coat. I took it from him and hung it on the coat tree by my door. It was still wet and it was dirty from the fall. "Guess I'm down to one decent suit now," he added, taking off the suit coat and looking it over. There were some stains on it, too.
"It can probably be cleaned. I can drop it off at the dry cleaners in the morning. I have a few things to take there anyway."
"Why are you doing all this?" he asked. "You don't even know me."
"No, but I'd like to. Maybe that's why," I answered honestly. And maybe because I think you need a friend right now. I didn't voice that. I didn't want to embarrass him. Don has always been very self-sufficient and strong, and while he lets me see his vulnerable, unguarded side, I didn't know him that well yet, and stripping him of his defenses didn't seem the way to change that.
"I'd like to get to know you, too, Timothy. You seem like a good guy," he said.
"You sound surprised by that."
"I haven't had the best experience with Evan's crowd."
"Evan is your boyfriend?"
"EX-boyfriend," he corrected. "Yeah, that's him."
"I'm not part of his crowd," I objected. He looked at me quizzically, since we'd met at a fundraiser Evan had obviously dragged him to. "I might have been at the same party, but I'm not a stuck up asshole."
"That's refreshing," he said. He looked tired, his hair was matted on one side from falling in something, presumably whatever the dark stuff on his coat and suit was. I knew his leg hurt and the rest of him didn't look much better.
"The bathroom's right this way if you want to clean up. I'll get you something to wear, and some fresh towels."
"Thanks. I feel a little grubby," he said.
"Let me run the water for you, get it warm. I know you're probably thinking of a shower, but a hot bath would ease the aches and pains a bit. You want me to fill the tub for you?"
"I can take care of it."
"Let me be a good host," I said lightly, and he shrugged.
I filled up the tub with warm water and tossed in a couple oils that were good for aches and pains. He came into the bathroom and started stripping like I wasn't there. I guessed he wasn't the kind to be self-conscious, and why should he be? He had a perfectly sculpted body decorated with a couple of nicely done tattoos. Typically, I didn't care much for tattoos, but on him, they were perfect for some reason. I did my best not to stare. He still had his boxers on, so I mumbled something about getting the towels and fled. When I returned, the bathroom door was still open and he was stretched out in the tub, looking like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. He started a little when I set the sweats and towels on the corner of the counter.
"I'll check on you in a bit to make sure you don't doze off. Just take your time and relax."
"Thanks. This feels great. You were right."
"I usually am," I joked, thinking I sounded way too much like my mother.
********
I had fallen asleep in the warm water when Tim knocked on the door and poked his head in.
"I'm still alive," I said, and he laughed. He was beautiful when he smiled. Fuck, he was beautiful when he breathed. I still wondered what the hell he wanted with me and why I was lying there in his bathtub. I hurt all over and I didn't feel up to being charming. I felt like a hurt animal who just wants to lash out at anyone who probes its sore spots.
"I didn't want to intrude, but are you okay? Do you need any help?"
I knew I couldn't stay there all night, as good as it felt. The water was cooling and I was turning into a bruised prune.
"I think I can manage. I'm going to get out of the tub now. Thanks for checking on me."
"No problem. Take your time. Are you hungry?"
"I could eat a horse." The words were out before I thought of how bad it was to keep him up this late and then make him prepare food. Just because the guy was the perfect host didn't mean I should take advantage of it. But I was so hungry it hurt almost as much as my bruised up body. I hadn't eaten since lunch.
"I'll see if I have one I can toss on the stove," he responded with that impish little smile that lights up his face when he's joking - it still does, and it's one of the things I love most about him. "Would some beef stew work?"
"Anything would work. You don't have to fix me food, too. I've already kept you up way too late."
"It's no problem. I'm getting hungry, too. We can have something together when you're done in here."
After Tim left the room, I got out of the water, opened the drain, and dried off. I did feel dizzy and my head was as miserable as the rest of my body. I wasn't sure if I was just really hungry or my head injury was worse than I thought. Either way, I was glad to be where I was, with someone who, however inexplicably, cared if my brains fell out.
I got dressed in the sweats and the thick, warm, socks he'd left for me. The one time I'd gotten banged up on the job while I was with Evan, he ranted at me about finding a different line of work and told me to keep it down and sleep on the couch since he had a breakfast meeting the next day. Between my parents, Kyle, and Evan, I was used to bringing out the worst in people. For the first time, as I toweled off my hair and looked at my tired, banged up face in the mirror, it occurred to me that maybe it wasn't my fault I got hurt, or even if it was, maybe I wasn't a bad person for it.
When I left the bathroom, Tim had two steaming bowls of stew sitting on the coffee table in the living room.
"Make yourself at home," he said, bringing in a plate with some fat, soft rolls on it.
"I'm really sorry to put you to all this trouble."
"It's not your fault some...miscreant threw you off a balcony."
"Fire escape," I corrected. Miscreant?
"Whatever," he said. He handed me one of the bowls and I barely managed to get a "thank you" out before I dug in. The stew and the soft, gluey rolls were heaven. "Does this happen a lot?"
"More than it should, probably," I admitted. "I just started my own business a year or so ago, so I have to take whatever cases I can get, and I have to be pretty aggressive about getting results. Building a reputation and solve rate."
"I'm glad you called me."
"So I could drag you out late at night and make you stay up to take care of me?"
"Yes," he said simply. "I'd hate to think you were alone or sleeping at your office after being in the hospital."
"You're a nice guy, Timothy."
"I have a feeling you are, too, Don," he said, smiling at me, joining me in eating some of the stew.
"Why did you stick up for me at the party? You didn't even know me."
"Because I didn't like the way your date was talking to you, and when he grabbed you...well, no one has the right to do that. And if you'd been up 48 hours straight, you belonged home in bed, no matter what kind of party was going on." He paused. "You did get some sleep between now and then, right?"
"Some, yeah," I said. "What about the guy you were with? Are you two serious?"
"I guess you could say that. We've been together since January. My parents love him."
"But you don't, do you?"
"No, I don't. I should," he hastened to add. "Palmer is a great guy. He's smart, funny, romantic, we have a lot of the same tastes and interests. He should be the perfect match for me."
"Palmer?" I couldn't help it. It sounded so fucking pretentious.
"He didn't pick his name, Don," Tim chided, though there was humor in his tone.
"Sorry. I just have this image of him playing polo or something, with that name."
"He actually does play polo when he's visiting home in the Hamptons."
"Which brings me back to my question - what do you want with me? I have my car, my business which isn't making much money at the moment, and, as Evan pointed out, two decent suits. One of which may or may not come out all right when I take it into the cleaners. I'm not rich."
"Neither am I. My family is."
"Yeah, well, same thing."
"They don't support me. I mean, they would help me if I was in a jam and asked, but I have a job and I pay my own bills. I plan to continue doing that. Besides, that has nothing to do with anything."
"Evan said the same thing until we were together for a while. It didn't matter that I wasn't rich or didn't move in his circles."
"I don't know Evan personally, but judging by the other night, he's an asshole. Coming from money and being an asshole don't have to be synonymous."
"If you're any indication, they're not," I said, and he looked pleased at that. "I just want to be up front so you're not disappointed later."
"I don't think I'll be disappointed. That is, if you're up for taking a chance on dating another 'rich guy'," he added, making quote marks with his fingers.
"I'll risk it," I said, setting the empty bowl on the coffee table.
"Now that we have that settled, I'll get you some ibuprofen."
"Thanks," I said, but it was for more than the ibuprofen, or even the food. It was for that feeling of being cared for, of not being alone. I'd been alone a long time, even with Evan, I was alone in my own skin.
He got me some ibuprofen and I took it, and he showed me the spare bedroom. He turned back the bed and told me to help myself to anything I needed.
"Tomorrow night, we'll go on a real date," I said. "Any restaurant you want, maybe a movie."
"I'd like that. Get some sleep, and just call to me if you don't feel well. I'll check on you in a few hours, just to make sure everything's okay."
"You don't have to do that."
"With a head injury, someone should check on you during the night. I can go in a little late in the morning, so you can get some extra sleep before we go get your car."
"I'm sorry I'm messing up your schedule like this."
"It's okay, Don, really. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Tim. See you in the morning."
********
I was startled by something, my eyes suddenly wide open as the red glow of the digital clock read 3:02 a.m. I listened a moment, and heard moaning and agitated sounds from the guest room. I was used to being alone in the apartment, so it scared me at first until my brain sorted it all out and recalled that Don was in there, and figured out the sounds must be the result of a nightmare.
I got up and went to the guest room, opening the door slightly. Sure enough, Don was flopping around on the bed restlessly, and the distressed sounds were coming from him.
"Don, wake up, you're having a nightmare," I said softly, trying to be heard above the sounds he was making, but to avoid startling him too much. "Don, it's Tim. Come on, wake up," I insisted.
"Wha...?" He wasn't quite out of it yet, but he stilled a bit, and reached for his head. "Fuck, my head hurts." He blinked a couple times.
"Don, do you know where you are?"
"Huh?" He finally looked at me in the dim light that spilled in from the hall and squinted. "Tim? Yeah, we're at your place." He was coherent, but he was shaking.
"Would you like another blanket?" I asked. He nodded, but I had a feeling the shaking had nothing to do with temperature, and my leaving the room would give him a moment to gather himself and wipe his eyes. I returned with a glass of water and a blanket. He gulped some of the water, leaning up on one elbow.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome. This might help, too. " I added the extra blanket and he burrowed under the covers. "Maybe you were just restless, being in a strange place," I suggested.
"Sometimes I have nightmares," he admitted quietly. "I usually managed to have them on nights when Evan had to be up early. Another reason he wasn't thrilled with me after he talked me into moving in with him."
I sat on the empty side of the full size bed, not sure if he wanted company, but wanting to make him feel better.
"Having nightmares isn't a character flaw."
"Thanks for that," he said, almost smiling.
"Do you want to talk?" I asked carefully.
"Not about that," he said definitively.
"Let's talk about where to go to dinner tomorrow night. And we need to pick a movie," I said, stretching out on the empty side of the bed, covering myself with the extra material of the blanket I'd just put over him. It was all still very proper, plenty of bedding between our bodies. He looked at me for a moment as if I were insane.
"What kind of food do you like?" he asked, looking more relaxed now, as if the horror of the nightmare was leaving him a bit. Instinctively, I wanted to hold him, to tell him it would be okay, that he could trust me. But I couldn't do that, not yet. This seemed to be working just as well.
"I'm pretty flexible. Italian, Thai, Chinese..."
"I like East Wind. I know it's a buffet, but it's a good one."
"I've been there. It's great. Their crab rangoons are amazing."
"Huge," he added. "Like mutant size." He was right. They had twice the cream cheese most places put in theirs, and little flecks of crab and chives.
"Whenever I go there, I start out with a big plate of those, and some sweet and sour sauce."
"God, it's making me hungry," he said, laughing.
"I think we have our restaurant picked out." There was an extra pillow on my side, so I relaxed there. "What kind of movies do you like?"
"Anything but romantic comedies."
"They're my favorites," I said, feigning seriousness. He stared at me for a moment before we both burst out laughing. "I love old movies. The classics. But that doesn't help us for one in a theater. I suppose I'm flexible, too."
"Suspense?" he suggested.
"Suspense can be fun," I said. I was lying on my side, looking at him, and he turned on his side to face me.
"Yeah, it has its moments." He was looking into my eyes there in the shadows, and there was something so much more intimate in that moment than we could have ever achieved even if we'd made love right away. I couldn't help myself. I leaned forward, and so did he, and our lips met. It was a little hesitant at first, but soon we were kissing for real, passionately, and the only thing that slowed us down a little was the split in his lip. I licked it and kissed it, and he smiled at me like I was the best thing in the world.
We rearranged the bedding so I was in bed with him, under the covers. He had on sweats and I had on pajamas, and we cuddled up together. I could feel Don's muscles relaxing, and I held him close the way I wanted to when I first saw him in the throes of the nightmare.
"You're quite a guy, Timothy," he said through a yawn, settling in my arms.
"Relax and get some rest. We'll figure out the movie tomorrow."
"Among other things."
"Among other things," I confirmed, smiling, enjoying the feel of him in my arms and the way his soft blond hair tickled my nose a bit.
We had a great time on our first date, and we sat in the back of the theater so we could try out kissing a bit more. I was afraid at the time that when I asked him to go with me to my family's for Thanksgiving, he'd feel rushed, but he said yes right away, and that year, I didn't even have to think about what I had to be thankful for as we went around the family table giving our thanks for the best things in our lives. We made love, hushed and giggling, after I snuck into Don's guest room at my parents' house. And it was his turn to cheer me up and make me feel better after my father exploded at the news of my new job with Senator Glassman. By the next Thanksgiving, my father and I were still at odds, but Don and I had rings on each other's fingers - I was then, and am now, the luckiest man in the world.
I will always love the traditions of Thanksgiving and the gatherings of family and friends, but I don't need a day on the calendar to be thankful for that one moment, across a crowded room, when I spotted the man of my dreams. And while I've dragged him to our fair share of events he'd rather not attend, and there may be times he wishes I'd abandon him at the buffet table, I have never once forgotten how blessed I am to have him by my side, as my date, my partner, my best friend, and the love of my life.
********
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)
Pairing: Donald and Timothy
Rating: R, Language
Word Count: About 7260
References/Spoilers/Notes: Minor references to the guys' histories, though not all of it is canon.
Disclosure: I wish they were mine. Alas, they are not, so I'm just taking them out for a spin with thanks to the men who created them and the actors who brought them to life.
Author's Note: Written for the Fall 'thon for tim_don_a_thon .
Summary: While dancing with a dashing date at a fancy holiday fundraiser, Tim Callahan spots the man of his dreams across a crowded room.
*************************************************
ACROSS A CROWDED ROOM
by
Candy Apple
I sipped my champagne and took in the opulence of the hotel's banquet room. The buffet was elegant and abundant, the guests dressed in their best black tie and formal wear, and a competent band was playing a mix of old standards and Christmas music. There were decorated trees strategically located in various corners, and pine with sparkling gold ribbons on the chandeliers. Thanksgiving was the coming Thursday, but as usual, it was lost in the shuffle somewhere between the pumpkins and the Christmas trees.
Politics is a strange business. So is fundraising. Blend the two together, and it can be downright bizarre. The point of all this was to raise money for the soup kitchens and food pantries of Albany. A lot of rich people getting together in an overpriced banquet facility eating an expensive array of delicious food in order to get them to write checks to feed the poor. Seemed like a ridiculous and circular path to the goal, but as my father often pointed out to me, I would lose some of that youthful idealism as I learned how things really work in the world. In a way, he was right. I learned a bit more about it that night. The event cost several thousand dollars to put on, but we raised $50,000 to buy food for people who were going hungry.
"You're deep in thought, Tim."
"Just thinking it's a bit ridiculous to buy all this food, half of which will be thrown out, when the cost of this stuff would feed so many of the people we're trying to help for weeks."
Palmer chuckled softly. He was as elegant as the banquet hall itself; tall, perfectly proportioned, beautifully mannered. He came from money, the son of one of my dad's friends. Maybe he appealed to me because my father knew we were going out, and he approved. To his credit, my father never made me feel like less his son, or like he was ashamed of me, even though I knew my being openly gay complicated his life as a conservative Republican. Palmer was from a connected political dynasty like the Callahans, and he was a suitable date for a Republican's gay son. I wondered how Dad was going to handle it when I told him about my new job with Senator Glassman...a Democrat. I was still working for Congressman Pruitt back then, one of my dad's Republican buddies in the New York legislature. I'm glad I didn't know then that it would cause a rift between us that would take years to heal.
"Tim?"
It was Palmer again, with humor in his smooth voice as he touched my shoulder. "You really are somewhere else tonight, aren't you?"
"Sorry," I replied, returning his smile. God, he was handsome. Six-foot-two, blue eyes, perfectly coiffed blond hair, nice muscles all wrapped up in a tux that cost almost as much at the reception itself. I wished I felt the passion I should for him, beyond just some physical heat and the comfort of being with someone who fit so perfectly in my world.
"Shall we dance?" he offered, and I took his extended hand, laughing at his slightly exaggerated gesture. We even had similar personalities, senses of humor.
We joined the other couples on the dance floor. Palmer was like me in that way, too. He believed in good taste, decorum, but he also believed in being who he was, and living openly. I should have been with the man of my dreams, so it took me by surprise when I found myself staring at another man, one who looked positively lost, and painfully bored, standing by the buffet table. He also looked tired and a little pale as he stood there nursing a glass of champagne.
He was a blond, too, and it looked like he had nice eyes, but I couldn't see him all that well from the dance floor. He looked like he was nicely built, though he was shorter than Palmer, shorter than me by a few inches, I guessed. He looked around the room, and then he caught me looking at him. He stared back at me a moment, and though Palmer was keeping us moving, I held his gaze a moment, and then he smiled at me. I smiled back. I also stepped squarely on Palmer's Louis Vuitton-shoed foot, threw him off rhythm, and we stumbled a bit before righting ourselves. I should have been spewing apologies at Palmer, but I couldn't take my eyes off the guy at the buffet, whose smile widened, even though he had the good manners to look like he was trying to stifle his little snicker at our mishap.
"Something's definitely bothering you tonight," Palmer said, though there was a bit of an edge in his voice now that I'd landed on one of his obscenely expensive shoes.
"I'm fine. I just got distracted. I noticed some potential donors I should probably speak to, since Congressman Pruitt is tied up right now."
"Okay. We can dance later," he added, whispering it in my ear. I was too busy thinking of a way to approach the man at the buffet, and how to give Palmer the slip, to be aroused by his sultry tone.
"Oh, there's Mrs. Harrison," I said. "She really likes you. I bet you could charm ten grand out of her."
"I'll take that bet. Who's your mark?" he joked.
"The man at the buffet. I think that's Michael Kensington III."
"Really? I thought he was older," Palmer said, frowning.
"No, I'm sure that's him. I should go strike up a conversation. He looks bored."
"Okay," he agreed, sighing. "I'll go relieve the old girl of some of her money. Then I think we should call it a night. It's late, and we could go back to my place before we're too tired to enjoy the rest of our night."
"Sure, okay," I agreed, smiling at him as he headed for the wealthy elderly widow who found him utterly charming. When I turned to look back at the buffet, my handsome stranger was gone. I looked around the room, but I didn't see him anywhere. Disappointed, I decided to slip out to the restroom.
"You could at least make an effort to mingle a little. I might as well have come alone," an angry male voice said. My handsome stranger was standing outside the men's room with another man. He was tall and nice-looking with brown hair. But he was pissed off, and the subject of his wrath was the cute guy I'd seed at the buffet.
"I've been up for 48 hours straight. I don't know any of these people and you dumped me at the buffet to go talk to your rich pals. What the fuck do you expect me to do?"
"I expect you to at least make an effort!" The angry man noticed me standing there. "Excuse us," he snapped, grabbing at his date's arm to pull him along. He angrily yanked his arm away.
"No, I don't believe I will," I said, surprising myself even more than I seemed to have surprised my handsome blond stranger and his irritated date. "This isn't the place for a physical altercation and it's obvious your...date doesn't want to go with you. So this might be the right time for you to leave."
"And who exactly are you to tell me to leave?"
"I'm Congressman Pruitt's chief aide, and as you must know, he is one of the co-hosts of this event. Now please, see yourself out. I'm sure you can find the coat room."
"Fine. Don't bother coming back to my place," he snapped at the blond man. "I'll send your two decent suits and your drawer full of crap to your office." With that, he stormed toward the exit.
"I'm sorry we disrupted your party."
"Look around. Nobody's disrupted. He just needed to be on his way," I said.
"You did that for me?" he asked, looking puzzled, one corner of his mouth going up a bit in a lopsided grin.
"Yes, I did. He was certainly no gentleman."
"He thinks he is. Mr. Fancy Pants," he added, shaking his head.
"Please forgive the question. I have no right to ask...but why are you with someone like him?"
"I've been asking myself that for a while now." He sighed, and after a long pause, added, "He kind of reminds me of someone I used to know. But only by his looks. That's where the similarity ends."
"I'm Tim Callahan," I said, extending my hand. He shook it, smiling that beautiful smile at me. And those eyes. They were stunning.
"Don Strachey. Hey, what do you know? I finally know somebody at this thing," he said, and I laughed.
"I should wrap things up in there," I said, gesturing toward the banquet room.
"The guy you were dancing with...is he your date?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
"Yeah." I hesitated. I'd stepped in and possibly hastened a split for him with the man he was with, and now I was going to go back to my date? "Do you have a ride home, or was he it?"
"We came by cab. I have kind of a crappy car and he didn't want to be seen pulling up in it, so..." He shrugged.
"Just ask the front desk clerk to call you a cab, tell him you're a guest at this event. Here, let me give you something toward your cab fare," I offered, pulling out my wallet.
"No, that's okay. I can cover it," he said, holding up his hand. After a brief, clumsy pause, he added, "Well, thanks, Tim. Nice meeting you. Kind of," he added, smiling.
"I shouldn't have interfered. I hope I didn't make things worse."
"Eh, they couldn't get much worse. It was a matter of time anyway."
"For what it's worth, if you were my date, I wouldn't have left you at the buffet." I usually wasn't that blunt, or that forward, with someone I barely knew. The truth was, if Don was my date, I'm not sure I could have focused on much else but him, let alone ever ignored him. He looked pleased by the comment, and was about to say something when Palmer found us.
"Tim, there you are!" Palmer said, joining us. "Mr. Kensington?" he asked, extending his hand toward Don, who looked confused.
"I think you have me confused with someone else," he said, shaking Palmer's hand.
"This is Don Strachey," I said. "I was mistaken," I added.
"I see. Well, Tim, things are winding down, so we should get going."
"Yes, of course." I took out one of my business cards and handed it to Don. "Please, give me a call Monday and we'll continue our conversation about your pledge."
"Sounds good," he said, taking it, playing along. "I'm looking forward to it," he added, and the sound of his voice made me feel warm in all the right places.
"Good night," I said, wishing I didn't have to let him walk out of there. I wanted to talk to him, get to know him, see more of his beautiful eyes and his smile...
"Well, at least he was still a good prospect," Palmer said.
"Huh?" I asked, eloquently, as I was still watching Don Strachey as he approached the front desk to check on getting a cab.
"Mr. Strachey. You were talking to him about a pledge?"
"Oh, yes, right. I have a feeling it will take a bit of cultivation," I replied.
"It usually does, unless you have my amazing technique, that is. Mrs. Harrison will be sending a check."
"Wonderful." I paused. "Would you mind dropping me off at my place? I'm sorry, but I'm very tired and I have a bit of a headache."
"Really? Sure, if you want. Are you sure it's not something a couple ibuprofen and a little distraction won't fix?"
"I'm sure. I'm sorry to conk out on you."
"It's been a busy week," he said. I felt like an ass. Palmer was a nice guy, and I didn't like lying to him. Of course, we weren't officially exclusive, and I did have a right to meet someone new and explore my feelings for him. Still, I knew if things were reversed, I'd think Palmer was a cheating cad. "Maybe a good night's sleep will do the trick. We could still do brunch tomorrow."
"That sounds great," I said, relieved not to have to mask my distraction all night. I couldn't wait until Monday.
********
I'd managed to catch a few hours' sleep on the couch in my office after the party. Evan was a man of his word, even if he was an asshole. My belongings were delivered by messenger first thing Monday morning in two tidy boxes. I didn't have a whole lot back in those days, so it didn't take much to cut me out of someone's life. I sat at my desk and unlocked the bottom drawer, taking out the wooden box I kept secured there. Souvenirs of a past life. I thought about that movie, Somewhere in Time. Looking at something from another time could take you there, cross decades in an instant, just by the power of your mind. When I opened that box, that's how it felt, like it dragged me back to the past, to heat and dust and gunfire, to stolen moments of passion in a war zone...to an unthinkable end to the only relationship that had ever really mattered to me. I looked at Kyle's smiling face in the photo and wondered what the hell I'd seen in Evan Drake that ever could have reminded me of him. He was tall and his hair was the same color. He had a nice smile.
And he was an asshole who treated me like crap. He was charming when we first met when I interviewed him for a case I was working. I should have known he was a stuck up prick, but somehow I'd gotten myself into a relationship with him, and found myself trying to live up to whatever it was he thought I should be.
Of course, I wasn't enough for Kyle, either. It seemed better to him to kill himself than to spend his life with me. Timmy spent a lot of years fixing what was wrong with my head and my heart, my whole perception of what love should feel like. Back then, I sat at my desk and looked at his card, wondering if I was insane to think about hooking up with another rich pretty boy. I was so tired of getting hurt, of things not ever seeming to work out for me. I was about done with relationships, period.
Then I thought about his smile, the way he stepped in to defend me...no one had ever done that before. I wasn't the kind of guy who inspired that in other guys. I guess that's good, in a way, that other guys don't think I need defending. I've spent a lot of time at the gym and the shooting range to make sure I don't give that impression. If you're not the biggest guy in the room, you have to be the toughest little fucker in the room...at least in my line of work. But it felt really nice to have someone think it was wrong for somebody to grab me or treat me badly.
Maybe Timothy J. Callahan, Chief Aide was different. Maybe I would give him a call sometime Monday. When I think back on all of it, it gives me chills to think that I ever considered not calling him back.
********
I shut down the computer and leaned back in my chair and sighed. It was after five, and no call from Don Strachey. I'd had a nice Sunday with Palmer; we'd had brunch and then gone to a movie. I knew he was getting suspicious when I put him off for the second time in a row with a lame story about a report I had to finish for the congressman. It's not that we were so hot and heavy that we did it constantly, but the physical aspect of our relationship was better than adequate, usually, and after wrapping up Saturday night without any, wrapping up a long Sunday together the same way was a bit odd. Apparently, it was also for nothing, since it seemed all the chemistry I thought I felt between Don and me was all on my side.
Feeling sorry for myself, I picked up some Thai takeout and headed home to my apartment. I sorted my mail, changed into jeans and an old sweater, ate dinner at the table while I read the issue of Newsweek that came that day, and then called my mother to talk about what time I'd be there for Thanksgiving dinner.
"Now are you going to tell me what's bothering you?" she asked when I was almost ready to hang up.
"Nothing's bothering me. I'm just tired. Getting everything done before the long weekend...it's always a hustle," I lied. I should have known better.
"Timmy," she said. That simple prod was enough. She knows me better than I know myself and never, not once in my life, have I been able to fool her. I still try, and always fail.
"I met this guy..."
"What about Palmer?" she asked immediately. My parents adored Palmer. He was me, only a little taller and with blond hair.
"We're not exclusive, Mom."
"You've been dating other men? Sweetie, I don't think Palmer is dating anyone but you. He seems very devoted."
"I didn't break up with him. I just met someone...I thought he was going to call and he didn't. I really thought I sensed some chemistry there."
"What was so wonderful about him? How did you meet him?"
"At the fundraiser Saturday night. I'm not sure what it was...he has this beautiful smile and these amazing blue eyes. He was interesting. And I felt something. At least, I thought I did. I thought he did."
"Maybe he'll still call."
"Maybe."
"What aren't you telling me?"
"Palmer is a great guy. I do care for him, it's just that - "
"He's not the one."
"I'm sorry, Mom. I know you and dad really like him."
"We do, but your father and I aren't dating him. You are. And if he's not right for you, you have to do what you feel is best."
"You haven't said anything to Dad about the job, have you?"
"You haven't heard an explosion all the way there in Albany yet, have you?"
"No," I replied, chuckling. She always makes me laugh.
"I will if you want me to, but I think you should tell him yourself. Just wait until after Thanksgiving dinner, all right?"
"Yes, all right."
"Palmer is still going to his family's for the holiday, right?"
"Yes, he is."
"Well, that's just as well then. You can have a little time away visiting with family to figure out what you want to do next."
"You're right."
"I usually am," she replied, a smile in her voice.
"Love you, Mom. See you Thursday."
"Good night, Timmy. Now hang up so your line is clear if Mr. Wonderful calls."
"Okay. Good night," I hung up, smiling.
Mr. Wonderful didn't call until after eleven. I was in bed, reading, about to turn out the light and go to sleep when the phone finally rang.
"Hello."
"Tim? This is Don Strachey. I'm sorry about the time...I hope I didn't wake you."
"No, I wasn't asleep yet," I responded. "I didn't think I'd hear from you today."
"I had something come up on a case, and I couldn't use my cell until I got out of the ER."
"The ER? What happened?"
"I was doing surveillance and I got caught."
"You're a cop?"
"Oh, I guess I never said what I did for a living, did I? I'm a PI."
"Are you all right?"
"Depends on your definition of all right," he replied, laughing softly. "I'll live. I was thinking maybe I could have a rain check for tomorrow?"
"Of course, but do you need a ride home or anything tonight? Are you all right to drive? What happened to you?" I realized I'd blurted out a string of questions at him as if he was my boyfriend and not just some cute guy I met at a party. There was a pause, and I felt sure I'd blown it. He was turned off by all the fussing. I didn't blame him. I was, too, and I was the one fussing. "I'm sorry. That must have sounded awful. I was just concerned if you were in the hospital..."
"No, no, it's fine. Kind of nice to have somebody worried about me," he added, though the words were fired out so quickly and quietly I had to strain to catch them. "The hospital isn't that far from my office, so I don't have a long drive."
"You're going to sleep at your office? After you just got out of the hospital?"
"I have a couch there. It's no big deal."
"What's wrong with you?"
"How long have you got?"
"I meant, how were you hurt?"
"Two guys threw me off a fire escape. I was out of it for a few minutes, and I thought my leg might be broken when I came to, but it wasn't. The doctor said I was lucky or had nine lives or something equally profound. Just bumps and bruises."
"Are you still at the ER?"
"Yes."
"Wait there. I'll pick you up and you can stay here. I have a spare bedroom."
"I have my car here."
"I'm sure it can stay parked there overnight and we'll get it in the morning." I was already up, gathering the clothes I'd just taken off a little while ago.
"Okay. Thanks, Tim. That's really nice of you."
When I arrived at Albany Memorial, it was raining, so I pulled up as close to the ER entrance as I could and got out of the car, reaching the slightly hunched, limping figure that was waiting for me before he could get too far out in the downpour. I had an umbrella, and I thought the last thing he needed was to hobble to the car and get soaked to the skin. He looked at me for a moment with an expression that conveyed something very deep, like I had moved him more than he could say, just in trying to keep him dry.
He got in the car without saying anything, and I hurried around to the driver's side, tossed my umbrella in the back seat, and got in. My car wasn't much, either, back then. It was well-used with plenty of miles on it. When the transmission went, I just didn't replace it because I was close to the bus route and already with Don, who drove me anywhere I couldn't easily reach by bus. That night, I'm glad I still had my own wheels.
"I'm really sorry to put you out like this. It's not what I had in mind for a first date," he said, smiling, though it was a bit sheepish. I could tell the clothing he wore was messed up to some extent, but in the dark it was hard to see just how badly he was hurt.
"At least it's not the usual boring dinner out," I quipped, and we both laughed. "How high up was the fire escape, anyway?"
"Only the second floor, thankfully, and there was some junk under it that broke my fall. I'm just banged up, nothing too serious. You really didn't have to do this."
"If you were knocked out at all, you shouldn't be alone this soon."
"You must like taking in strays," he said.
"Have you had your shots?" I joked. He laughed. I was glad to dispel a little of the darkness that seemed to lurk beneath his surface. I've spent years doing that, and it always makes me happy when I can make him smile.
"I'm crate-trained, too."
I parked as close as I could to the entrance, and guided Don to my second floor apartment. He was slow on the steps, his leg obviously still bothering him, but we made it, and it felt good to shut out the cold November night, to have reached our destination.
"You want to borrow some sweats or pajamas? I have some extra."
"Sweats would be great," he said, taking off his coat. I took it from him and hung it on the coat tree by my door. It was still wet and it was dirty from the fall. "Guess I'm down to one decent suit now," he added, taking off the suit coat and looking it over. There were some stains on it, too.
"It can probably be cleaned. I can drop it off at the dry cleaners in the morning. I have a few things to take there anyway."
"Why are you doing all this?" he asked. "You don't even know me."
"No, but I'd like to. Maybe that's why," I answered honestly. And maybe because I think you need a friend right now. I didn't voice that. I didn't want to embarrass him. Don has always been very self-sufficient and strong, and while he lets me see his vulnerable, unguarded side, I didn't know him that well yet, and stripping him of his defenses didn't seem the way to change that.
"I'd like to get to know you, too, Timothy. You seem like a good guy," he said.
"You sound surprised by that."
"I haven't had the best experience with Evan's crowd."
"Evan is your boyfriend?"
"EX-boyfriend," he corrected. "Yeah, that's him."
"I'm not part of his crowd," I objected. He looked at me quizzically, since we'd met at a fundraiser Evan had obviously dragged him to. "I might have been at the same party, but I'm not a stuck up asshole."
"That's refreshing," he said. He looked tired, his hair was matted on one side from falling in something, presumably whatever the dark stuff on his coat and suit was. I knew his leg hurt and the rest of him didn't look much better.
"The bathroom's right this way if you want to clean up. I'll get you something to wear, and some fresh towels."
"Thanks. I feel a little grubby," he said.
"Let me run the water for you, get it warm. I know you're probably thinking of a shower, but a hot bath would ease the aches and pains a bit. You want me to fill the tub for you?"
"I can take care of it."
"Let me be a good host," I said lightly, and he shrugged.
I filled up the tub with warm water and tossed in a couple oils that were good for aches and pains. He came into the bathroom and started stripping like I wasn't there. I guessed he wasn't the kind to be self-conscious, and why should he be? He had a perfectly sculpted body decorated with a couple of nicely done tattoos. Typically, I didn't care much for tattoos, but on him, they were perfect for some reason. I did my best not to stare. He still had his boxers on, so I mumbled something about getting the towels and fled. When I returned, the bathroom door was still open and he was stretched out in the tub, looking like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. He started a little when I set the sweats and towels on the corner of the counter.
"I'll check on you in a bit to make sure you don't doze off. Just take your time and relax."
"Thanks. This feels great. You were right."
"I usually am," I joked, thinking I sounded way too much like my mother.
********
I had fallen asleep in the warm water when Tim knocked on the door and poked his head in.
"I'm still alive," I said, and he laughed. He was beautiful when he smiled. Fuck, he was beautiful when he breathed. I still wondered what the hell he wanted with me and why I was lying there in his bathtub. I hurt all over and I didn't feel up to being charming. I felt like a hurt animal who just wants to lash out at anyone who probes its sore spots.
"I didn't want to intrude, but are you okay? Do you need any help?"
I knew I couldn't stay there all night, as good as it felt. The water was cooling and I was turning into a bruised prune.
"I think I can manage. I'm going to get out of the tub now. Thanks for checking on me."
"No problem. Take your time. Are you hungry?"
"I could eat a horse." The words were out before I thought of how bad it was to keep him up this late and then make him prepare food. Just because the guy was the perfect host didn't mean I should take advantage of it. But I was so hungry it hurt almost as much as my bruised up body. I hadn't eaten since lunch.
"I'll see if I have one I can toss on the stove," he responded with that impish little smile that lights up his face when he's joking - it still does, and it's one of the things I love most about him. "Would some beef stew work?"
"Anything would work. You don't have to fix me food, too. I've already kept you up way too late."
"It's no problem. I'm getting hungry, too. We can have something together when you're done in here."
After Tim left the room, I got out of the water, opened the drain, and dried off. I did feel dizzy and my head was as miserable as the rest of my body. I wasn't sure if I was just really hungry or my head injury was worse than I thought. Either way, I was glad to be where I was, with someone who, however inexplicably, cared if my brains fell out.
I got dressed in the sweats and the thick, warm, socks he'd left for me. The one time I'd gotten banged up on the job while I was with Evan, he ranted at me about finding a different line of work and told me to keep it down and sleep on the couch since he had a breakfast meeting the next day. Between my parents, Kyle, and Evan, I was used to bringing out the worst in people. For the first time, as I toweled off my hair and looked at my tired, banged up face in the mirror, it occurred to me that maybe it wasn't my fault I got hurt, or even if it was, maybe I wasn't a bad person for it.
When I left the bathroom, Tim had two steaming bowls of stew sitting on the coffee table in the living room.
"Make yourself at home," he said, bringing in a plate with some fat, soft rolls on it.
"I'm really sorry to put you to all this trouble."
"It's not your fault some...miscreant threw you off a balcony."
"Fire escape," I corrected. Miscreant?
"Whatever," he said. He handed me one of the bowls and I barely managed to get a "thank you" out before I dug in. The stew and the soft, gluey rolls were heaven. "Does this happen a lot?"
"More than it should, probably," I admitted. "I just started my own business a year or so ago, so I have to take whatever cases I can get, and I have to be pretty aggressive about getting results. Building a reputation and solve rate."
"I'm glad you called me."
"So I could drag you out late at night and make you stay up to take care of me?"
"Yes," he said simply. "I'd hate to think you were alone or sleeping at your office after being in the hospital."
"You're a nice guy, Timothy."
"I have a feeling you are, too, Don," he said, smiling at me, joining me in eating some of the stew.
"Why did you stick up for me at the party? You didn't even know me."
"Because I didn't like the way your date was talking to you, and when he grabbed you...well, no one has the right to do that. And if you'd been up 48 hours straight, you belonged home in bed, no matter what kind of party was going on." He paused. "You did get some sleep between now and then, right?"
"Some, yeah," I said. "What about the guy you were with? Are you two serious?"
"I guess you could say that. We've been together since January. My parents love him."
"But you don't, do you?"
"No, I don't. I should," he hastened to add. "Palmer is a great guy. He's smart, funny, romantic, we have a lot of the same tastes and interests. He should be the perfect match for me."
"Palmer?" I couldn't help it. It sounded so fucking pretentious.
"He didn't pick his name, Don," Tim chided, though there was humor in his tone.
"Sorry. I just have this image of him playing polo or something, with that name."
"He actually does play polo when he's visiting home in the Hamptons."
"Which brings me back to my question - what do you want with me? I have my car, my business which isn't making much money at the moment, and, as Evan pointed out, two decent suits. One of which may or may not come out all right when I take it into the cleaners. I'm not rich."
"Neither am I. My family is."
"Yeah, well, same thing."
"They don't support me. I mean, they would help me if I was in a jam and asked, but I have a job and I pay my own bills. I plan to continue doing that. Besides, that has nothing to do with anything."
"Evan said the same thing until we were together for a while. It didn't matter that I wasn't rich or didn't move in his circles."
"I don't know Evan personally, but judging by the other night, he's an asshole. Coming from money and being an asshole don't have to be synonymous."
"If you're any indication, they're not," I said, and he looked pleased at that. "I just want to be up front so you're not disappointed later."
"I don't think I'll be disappointed. That is, if you're up for taking a chance on dating another 'rich guy'," he added, making quote marks with his fingers.
"I'll risk it," I said, setting the empty bowl on the coffee table.
"Now that we have that settled, I'll get you some ibuprofen."
"Thanks," I said, but it was for more than the ibuprofen, or even the food. It was for that feeling of being cared for, of not being alone. I'd been alone a long time, even with Evan, I was alone in my own skin.
He got me some ibuprofen and I took it, and he showed me the spare bedroom. He turned back the bed and told me to help myself to anything I needed.
"Tomorrow night, we'll go on a real date," I said. "Any restaurant you want, maybe a movie."
"I'd like that. Get some sleep, and just call to me if you don't feel well. I'll check on you in a few hours, just to make sure everything's okay."
"You don't have to do that."
"With a head injury, someone should check on you during the night. I can go in a little late in the morning, so you can get some extra sleep before we go get your car."
"I'm sorry I'm messing up your schedule like this."
"It's okay, Don, really. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Tim. See you in the morning."
********
I was startled by something, my eyes suddenly wide open as the red glow of the digital clock read 3:02 a.m. I listened a moment, and heard moaning and agitated sounds from the guest room. I was used to being alone in the apartment, so it scared me at first until my brain sorted it all out and recalled that Don was in there, and figured out the sounds must be the result of a nightmare.
I got up and went to the guest room, opening the door slightly. Sure enough, Don was flopping around on the bed restlessly, and the distressed sounds were coming from him.
"Don, wake up, you're having a nightmare," I said softly, trying to be heard above the sounds he was making, but to avoid startling him too much. "Don, it's Tim. Come on, wake up," I insisted.
"Wha...?" He wasn't quite out of it yet, but he stilled a bit, and reached for his head. "Fuck, my head hurts." He blinked a couple times.
"Don, do you know where you are?"
"Huh?" He finally looked at me in the dim light that spilled in from the hall and squinted. "Tim? Yeah, we're at your place." He was coherent, but he was shaking.
"Would you like another blanket?" I asked. He nodded, but I had a feeling the shaking had nothing to do with temperature, and my leaving the room would give him a moment to gather himself and wipe his eyes. I returned with a glass of water and a blanket. He gulped some of the water, leaning up on one elbow.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome. This might help, too. " I added the extra blanket and he burrowed under the covers. "Maybe you were just restless, being in a strange place," I suggested.
"Sometimes I have nightmares," he admitted quietly. "I usually managed to have them on nights when Evan had to be up early. Another reason he wasn't thrilled with me after he talked me into moving in with him."
I sat on the empty side of the full size bed, not sure if he wanted company, but wanting to make him feel better.
"Having nightmares isn't a character flaw."
"Thanks for that," he said, almost smiling.
"Do you want to talk?" I asked carefully.
"Not about that," he said definitively.
"Let's talk about where to go to dinner tomorrow night. And we need to pick a movie," I said, stretching out on the empty side of the bed, covering myself with the extra material of the blanket I'd just put over him. It was all still very proper, plenty of bedding between our bodies. He looked at me for a moment as if I were insane.
"What kind of food do you like?" he asked, looking more relaxed now, as if the horror of the nightmare was leaving him a bit. Instinctively, I wanted to hold him, to tell him it would be okay, that he could trust me. But I couldn't do that, not yet. This seemed to be working just as well.
"I'm pretty flexible. Italian, Thai, Chinese..."
"I like East Wind. I know it's a buffet, but it's a good one."
"I've been there. It's great. Their crab rangoons are amazing."
"Huge," he added. "Like mutant size." He was right. They had twice the cream cheese most places put in theirs, and little flecks of crab and chives.
"Whenever I go there, I start out with a big plate of those, and some sweet and sour sauce."
"God, it's making me hungry," he said, laughing.
"I think we have our restaurant picked out." There was an extra pillow on my side, so I relaxed there. "What kind of movies do you like?"
"Anything but romantic comedies."
"They're my favorites," I said, feigning seriousness. He stared at me for a moment before we both burst out laughing. "I love old movies. The classics. But that doesn't help us for one in a theater. I suppose I'm flexible, too."
"Suspense?" he suggested.
"Suspense can be fun," I said. I was lying on my side, looking at him, and he turned on his side to face me.
"Yeah, it has its moments." He was looking into my eyes there in the shadows, and there was something so much more intimate in that moment than we could have ever achieved even if we'd made love right away. I couldn't help myself. I leaned forward, and so did he, and our lips met. It was a little hesitant at first, but soon we were kissing for real, passionately, and the only thing that slowed us down a little was the split in his lip. I licked it and kissed it, and he smiled at me like I was the best thing in the world.
We rearranged the bedding so I was in bed with him, under the covers. He had on sweats and I had on pajamas, and we cuddled up together. I could feel Don's muscles relaxing, and I held him close the way I wanted to when I first saw him in the throes of the nightmare.
"You're quite a guy, Timothy," he said through a yawn, settling in my arms.
"Relax and get some rest. We'll figure out the movie tomorrow."
"Among other things."
"Among other things," I confirmed, smiling, enjoying the feel of him in my arms and the way his soft blond hair tickled my nose a bit.
We had a great time on our first date, and we sat in the back of the theater so we could try out kissing a bit more. I was afraid at the time that when I asked him to go with me to my family's for Thanksgiving, he'd feel rushed, but he said yes right away, and that year, I didn't even have to think about what I had to be thankful for as we went around the family table giving our thanks for the best things in our lives. We made love, hushed and giggling, after I snuck into Don's guest room at my parents' house. And it was his turn to cheer me up and make me feel better after my father exploded at the news of my new job with Senator Glassman. By the next Thanksgiving, my father and I were still at odds, but Don and I had rings on each other's fingers - I was then, and am now, the luckiest man in the world.
I will always love the traditions of Thanksgiving and the gatherings of family and friends, but I don't need a day on the calendar to be thankful for that one moment, across a crowded room, when I spotted the man of my dreams. And while I've dragged him to our fair share of events he'd rather not attend, and there may be times he wishes I'd abandon him at the buffet table, I have never once forgotten how blessed I am to have him by my side, as my date, my partner, my best friend, and the love of my life.
********