FIC - The Old Familiar Carols Play (Part 10)
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries
Title: The Old Familiar Carols Play
Pairings: Donald/Timmy
Rating: various, with one NC-17 chapter
Spoilers: minor ones for most of the movies
Summary: Some Christmases are more memorable than others.
Warning: A crazy rainbow of emotions.
Author’s Note: I covered as many of the prompts as I could when writing this. If I left yours out, either thematically or musically, I do apologize. I could only fit in twelve chapters. Thanks guys! As always, thanks to my wonderful betas mjmcca and nyteflyer .
The Night Wind
A star, a star, burning in the night . . .
*ring, click*
“Hello?”
“May I speak to Donald Strachey, please?”
“You got him.”
“Papers, papers, papers, where are the goddamned papers?” Donald muttered as he crammed one foot into a shoe. He yanked open the drawer of Timmy's desk. It came all the way out in his hand and crashed to the floor. “SHIT!” Donald shoved his other foot in its shoe and dropped to his knees. He clawed through the pile. Nothing. Slamming a hand down on the floor, Donald sat back on his heels and breathed. He could do this. Just breathe. Don't think about the phone call. Just find the papers.
“Mr. Strachey, this is Albany Memorial Hospital calling. You're listed as next of kin for a Timothy Callahan.”
“Oh God. I am, yes. Oh God.”
Donald dragged shaking hands over his face and sighed. Okay. Calmer, he shifted through the papers again until he found the worn manila envelope labeled “Legal and Medical Forms” in Timmy's neat, precise handwriting. He opened the flap and flipped through the papers inside, murmuring aloud to himself.
“Power of attorney, next of kin, insurance, DNR forms,” Donald's voice stuttered. “Stop it. You're not gonna need it. Just take the envelope and get moving, you stupid bastard.” Donald shoved to his feet and headed for the stairs, leaving Timmy's papers scattered across the carpet.
“There's been an accident, sir -”
“Is he dead? Just tell me! Jesus Christ, is he dead?”
Thundering down the stairs, Donald grabbed his coat off the back of the couch, dropped the papers, shoved his arms in the coat and snatched the papers back up. He patted the pocket to make sure his keys were still there and ran for the door. Halfway there, he skidded to a stop and reversed into the kitchen. Yanking open the pantry, he grabbed out the dog food bin and filled Watson's bowl. Dumped out the water bowl in the sink and refilled it too. Watson came pattering into the kitchen at the clink of kibble on metal and wagged happily up at him. Donald crouched.
“Hey Wats,” Donald sighed. He cupped the dog's furry face and scrubbed a hand over Watson's ears. “I gotta go check something out. I'll be back soon, so you be a good boy, okay? I left you lots of food.” Watson licked his chin and pulled away to investigate the contents of the bowl. Sighing, Donald stood again and headed for the door.
“As I was saying, Mr. Strachey, Mr. Callahan was brought into the ER earlier this evening with injuries due to an automobile accident.”
“Oh. Oh my God. I'm gonna be sick.”
Donald hardly noticed the biting wind seeping around the car windows as he drove through the darkness. The roads were so icy. So icy. God, it would be so easy to hit someone. His gut clenched at the thought. Someone had hit Timmy. In this God-forsaken weather, someone hadn't been paying enough attention and had hit his Timmy. Unless he'd been in a cab. Or the bus.
Selfishly, Donald hoped for the latter. Better chance that Timmy was fine. A better chance that he wouldn't need that fucking DNR. He flicked on his blinker, checked the streets carefully, and turned left.
“We need you to come down and fill out some paperwork.”
“Is Timmy dead? Fucking tell me!”
The hospital lights gleamed, bright and garish as Donald pulled into the parking lot. He parked in the handicapped space next to the door and rummaged through the glove compartment for his placard. Hung it on the mirror. He leaned his head on the steering wheel for a long moment after he turned off the car, letting the thing shudder and bang to a stop.
Finally, he opened the door and climbed out. His foot caught the ice and nearly slid out from under him. Clinging to the top of the car, Donald managed to find his feet. He closed the car door and half-stumbled, half-skated to the salted part of the sidewalk. Heedless of his own safety, he ran the rest of the way to the door and burst into the waiting room.
Donald headed for the registration desk and leaned heavily on it. The woman behind it looked up in surprise.
“Timothy Callahan. My husband. I got a call that he was brought in. Where the Hell is he?”
“Mr. Strachey, please. Mr. Callahan was admitted with multiple injuries. This is a standard notification call.”
“All right, sir,” the receptionist started typing immediately. “I've pulled up Mr. Callahan's information. If you'd please step over to the counseling area, someone will meet you. You'll need any legal documentation and your driver's license.”
“Thanks,” Donald said, nodding. He stepped away and over to the small windows with chairs on either side. He sank down in the nearest one and waited. A few minutes later, the same woman came and sat down on the other side of the window.
“Really?” Donald asked. “Why couldn't we have done this over there?” The woman shot him a censorious look.
“Hospital policy clearly states,” she began, but Donald waved her silent.
“Sorry, I'm sorry. I'm just a bit frantic. The woman who called wouldn't tell me anything,” Donald explained. The receptionist's face softened minutely.
“Well sir, if you'll hand me your next of kin and medical power of attorney papers and I'll get you started,” she said. Donald shoved the entire envelope through the slot.
“It's all there,” he said, pointing. Nodding, the receptionist opened the envelope and shook the contents out onto her desk. She immediately began flipping and typing. Donald leaned back in his seat and waited.
**clattering sound and heavy breathing**
“Mr. Strachey? Mr. Strachey?”
**more clattering**
“Yeah, yeah, I'm here. I'll be there.”
After a small eternity, the receptionist set the last of the papers aside and looked to Donald.
“I'll need your driver's license to make a copy and then I can let you go back and speak to the doctor,” she said. Donald dug his wallet out of his pocket and handed her his license. She took it and the entire stack of papers and vanished around the corner. A moment later, she reappeared with copies of everything, which she promptly sorted into various files.
“All right, sir,” she said. “Here's your paperwork back.” She handed him the envelope again. Donald took it and tucked it back into his coat. Her printer beeped and without missing a beat, she reached out and snagged the oddly-sized paper that slid out. Scooping up Donald's license, she glanced over both of them. With a nod, she offered both to Donald.
“Here's your visitor's badge and your driver's license,” she continued. Donald shoved the license in his pocket and stuck the badge to his shirt. “If you'll go through the doors to your far right and follow the blue line to the ER, someone there will be able to direct you to Mr. Callahan.”
Donald sprang to his feet and bolted away from the desk.
“Thank you,” he hollered over his shoulder as he hit the far doors at a dead run.
“Thank you, sir. Please bring copies of your next of kin forms, power of attorney, insurance, driver's license and any other pertinent documentation.”
Donald had just skidded up to the ER desk when a portly man in nurse's scrubs stepped around the corner.
“Callahan?” he called. “Anyone for Callahan?” Donald whipped around so fast his neck cracked.
“Me! That's me!” Donald exclaimed. The nurse gave him a curt nod and turned away.
“Follow me please, the doctor will see you,” he said. Donald hurried after him through a set of doors to yet another reception desk. The nurse stumped up to the desk and jerked a thumb back at Donald as he handed the clipboard to the doctor.
“Callahan,” the nurse grunted. The doctor glanced at Donald, nodded and shooed the nurse away.
“You'll have to forgive John,” the doctor said. “He was supposed to be off two hours ago, but we're short-handed at the moment.” Donald nodded.
“Timmy?” he asked. “How's Timmy?”
“Ah yes, straight to it. I'm Doctor McMannis, I've been working on your - brother?” McMannis asked.
“Husband,” Donald correctly, waving the question away. McMannis raised an eyebrow.
“Your husband. He was brought in after he was hit by a car. It appears he was crossing the street to a bus stop and a small car skidded through the intersection. The driver called it in,” McMannis said. Donald sucked in a horrified breath. “The impact was extremely low-velocity. Mr. Callahan's looking at a sprained knee and ankle on the right hand side, a number of bruises and contusions and a small laceration along his right palm that required stitches.”
“He's gonna be okay, right?” Donald asked, heart thundering.
“Oh yes. He should be right as rain. The stitches will come out in ten days and he'll be on crutches for a couple of weeks, but he'll be fine,” McMannis assured him. Donald swayed alarmingly as the relief hit him, leaving him light-headed. McMannis caught his elbow.
“Would you like to see him? We'd like to keep him for a couple of hours for observation, but barring complications, he should be home before Christmas,” McMannis said.
“Please,” Donald managed. McMannis tipped his head toward a set of doors.
“This way, then,” he said. Donald followed him down the hall.
“Yeah. I can - I can do that. Is he okay? Is Timmy okay?”
**deep sigh**
“I really don't know, sir. I'm just the switchboard.”
“God. I'm on my way.”
“Will you please just let me call Donald? He'll be wondering where I am. I'm late,” Timmy's voice floated from an open exam room and Donald had to pause and take a deep breath as the last knot of tension unraveled.
“The hospital has already notified Mr. Strachey,” another voice said.
“What?” Timmy yelped. “Oh God, now you have to let me call him. He'll be frantic! You don't know Donald!” The was a rustling sound.
“Mr. Callahan, please stay seated!” the voice sounded alarmed. “You need to wait for the crutches!”
“I need a phone!” Timmy retorted. McMannis raised an eyebrow at Donald and pushed the door open.
“I'm going to agree with the nurse and tell you to remain seated, Mr. Callahan. Mr. Strachey is here to see you,” McMannis said to the room at large. Timmy froze in the process of swinging his legs to the floor. Donald pushed his way past McMannis and into the room.
“Donald!” Timmy said. “Sweetheart, I'm fine.” Donald vaguely heard McMannis beckon the nurse out of the room, but he ignored it in favor of coming to stand in front of Timmy. Apple-green bruises bloomed across Timmy's cheekbone and his glasses frames were bent, but serviceable.
“Oh, Timmy, baby,” Donald murmured, hand hovering inches from Timmy's cheek. Timmy leaned his face against Donald's palm.
“I'm fine,” Timmy murmured again. He hooked the fingers of his left hand in Donald's belt and pulled him closer. “The driver hit a patch of ice and skidded out. He couldn't have been going more than a few miles an hour. I've been hurt worse falling down the stairs.” Donald leaned against the edge of the bed and gingerly pulled Timmy into a hug. Timmy settled his head on Donald's shoulder.
“They wouldn't tell me what happened over the phone,” Donald said. “I've never been so scared in my life.” Timmy kissed Donald's jaw.
“I'm fine, sweetheart, I promise. Bumps and bruises. Well, and stitches and crutches and won't that be a charming combination, but I swear, I'm okay,” Timmy said again. His breath huffed hot and damp against Donald's throat and Donald shivered.
“I know,” Donald replied. “Just, give me a few minutes to get over the shakes, okay?” Timmy smiled against Donald's skin.
“Okay,” Timmy said. He fell silent, leaning heavily on Donald. Donald swayed slowly, rubbing gentle hands across Timmy's back and sides and making note of every twitch or wince. There were more than he liked. Finally, Timmy pushed back far enough to press a chaste kiss to Donald's lips.
“I'm okay. I love you, and I'm okay,” Timmy murmured. Donald kissed him back urgently, needed to feel Timmy strain and move against him. Timmy met him halfway. When he ran out of air, Donald pulled back with a sucking pop.
“I love you too,” Donald sighed. Timmy licked his lips and tugged Donald in to rest their foreheads together.
“Take me home, Donald. It's almost Christmas, and Mattie's coming over for breakfast,” Timmy said. Donald's mouth twitched into a smile.
“Okay,” Donald replied. “I'll take you home.”
=+++=
1980 (A Baby Just Like You)
1982 (White Christmas Makes Me Blue)
1992 (Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas)
1998 (God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen)
1999 (I Wonder as I Wander)
2000 (Frosty the Snowman)
2002 (Coventry Carol)
2004 (Walking in a Winter Wonderland)
2005 (Holly, Jolly Christmas)
2006 (Do You Hear What I Hear?)
2009 (All I Want for Christmas is You)
2047 (Aspenglow)
Title: The Old Familiar Carols Play
Pairings: Donald/Timmy
Rating: various, with one NC-17 chapter
Spoilers: minor ones for most of the movies
Summary: Some Christmases are more memorable than others.
Warning: A crazy rainbow of emotions.
Author’s Note: I covered as many of the prompts as I could when writing this. If I left yours out, either thematically or musically, I do apologize. I could only fit in twelve chapters. Thanks guys! As always, thanks to my wonderful betas mjmcca and nyteflyer .
The Night Wind
A star, a star, burning in the night . . .
*ring, click*
“Hello?”
“May I speak to Donald Strachey, please?”
“You got him.”
“Papers, papers, papers, where are the goddamned papers?” Donald muttered as he crammed one foot into a shoe. He yanked open the drawer of Timmy's desk. It came all the way out in his hand and crashed to the floor. “SHIT!” Donald shoved his other foot in its shoe and dropped to his knees. He clawed through the pile. Nothing. Slamming a hand down on the floor, Donald sat back on his heels and breathed. He could do this. Just breathe. Don't think about the phone call. Just find the papers.
“Mr. Strachey, this is Albany Memorial Hospital calling. You're listed as next of kin for a Timothy Callahan.”
“Oh God. I am, yes. Oh God.”
Donald dragged shaking hands over his face and sighed. Okay. Calmer, he shifted through the papers again until he found the worn manila envelope labeled “Legal and Medical Forms” in Timmy's neat, precise handwriting. He opened the flap and flipped through the papers inside, murmuring aloud to himself.
“Power of attorney, next of kin, insurance, DNR forms,” Donald's voice stuttered. “Stop it. You're not gonna need it. Just take the envelope and get moving, you stupid bastard.” Donald shoved to his feet and headed for the stairs, leaving Timmy's papers scattered across the carpet.
“There's been an accident, sir -”
“Is he dead? Just tell me! Jesus Christ, is he dead?”
Thundering down the stairs, Donald grabbed his coat off the back of the couch, dropped the papers, shoved his arms in the coat and snatched the papers back up. He patted the pocket to make sure his keys were still there and ran for the door. Halfway there, he skidded to a stop and reversed into the kitchen. Yanking open the pantry, he grabbed out the dog food bin and filled Watson's bowl. Dumped out the water bowl in the sink and refilled it too. Watson came pattering into the kitchen at the clink of kibble on metal and wagged happily up at him. Donald crouched.
“Hey Wats,” Donald sighed. He cupped the dog's furry face and scrubbed a hand over Watson's ears. “I gotta go check something out. I'll be back soon, so you be a good boy, okay? I left you lots of food.” Watson licked his chin and pulled away to investigate the contents of the bowl. Sighing, Donald stood again and headed for the door.
“As I was saying, Mr. Strachey, Mr. Callahan was brought into the ER earlier this evening with injuries due to an automobile accident.”
“Oh. Oh my God. I'm gonna be sick.”
Donald hardly noticed the biting wind seeping around the car windows as he drove through the darkness. The roads were so icy. So icy. God, it would be so easy to hit someone. His gut clenched at the thought. Someone had hit Timmy. In this God-forsaken weather, someone hadn't been paying enough attention and had hit his Timmy. Unless he'd been in a cab. Or the bus.
Selfishly, Donald hoped for the latter. Better chance that Timmy was fine. A better chance that he wouldn't need that fucking DNR. He flicked on his blinker, checked the streets carefully, and turned left.
“We need you to come down and fill out some paperwork.”
“Is Timmy dead? Fucking tell me!”
The hospital lights gleamed, bright and garish as Donald pulled into the parking lot. He parked in the handicapped space next to the door and rummaged through the glove compartment for his placard. Hung it on the mirror. He leaned his head on the steering wheel for a long moment after he turned off the car, letting the thing shudder and bang to a stop.
Finally, he opened the door and climbed out. His foot caught the ice and nearly slid out from under him. Clinging to the top of the car, Donald managed to find his feet. He closed the car door and half-stumbled, half-skated to the salted part of the sidewalk. Heedless of his own safety, he ran the rest of the way to the door and burst into the waiting room.
Donald headed for the registration desk and leaned heavily on it. The woman behind it looked up in surprise.
“Timothy Callahan. My husband. I got a call that he was brought in. Where the Hell is he?”
“Mr. Strachey, please. Mr. Callahan was admitted with multiple injuries. This is a standard notification call.”
“All right, sir,” the receptionist started typing immediately. “I've pulled up Mr. Callahan's information. If you'd please step over to the counseling area, someone will meet you. You'll need any legal documentation and your driver's license.”
“Thanks,” Donald said, nodding. He stepped away and over to the small windows with chairs on either side. He sank down in the nearest one and waited. A few minutes later, the same woman came and sat down on the other side of the window.
“Really?” Donald asked. “Why couldn't we have done this over there?” The woman shot him a censorious look.
“Hospital policy clearly states,” she began, but Donald waved her silent.
“Sorry, I'm sorry. I'm just a bit frantic. The woman who called wouldn't tell me anything,” Donald explained. The receptionist's face softened minutely.
“Well sir, if you'll hand me your next of kin and medical power of attorney papers and I'll get you started,” she said. Donald shoved the entire envelope through the slot.
“It's all there,” he said, pointing. Nodding, the receptionist opened the envelope and shook the contents out onto her desk. She immediately began flipping and typing. Donald leaned back in his seat and waited.
**clattering sound and heavy breathing**
“Mr. Strachey? Mr. Strachey?”
**more clattering**
“Yeah, yeah, I'm here. I'll be there.”
After a small eternity, the receptionist set the last of the papers aside and looked to Donald.
“I'll need your driver's license to make a copy and then I can let you go back and speak to the doctor,” she said. Donald dug his wallet out of his pocket and handed her his license. She took it and the entire stack of papers and vanished around the corner. A moment later, she reappeared with copies of everything, which she promptly sorted into various files.
“All right, sir,” she said. “Here's your paperwork back.” She handed him the envelope again. Donald took it and tucked it back into his coat. Her printer beeped and without missing a beat, she reached out and snagged the oddly-sized paper that slid out. Scooping up Donald's license, she glanced over both of them. With a nod, she offered both to Donald.
“Here's your visitor's badge and your driver's license,” she continued. Donald shoved the license in his pocket and stuck the badge to his shirt. “If you'll go through the doors to your far right and follow the blue line to the ER, someone there will be able to direct you to Mr. Callahan.”
Donald sprang to his feet and bolted away from the desk.
“Thank you,” he hollered over his shoulder as he hit the far doors at a dead run.
“Thank you, sir. Please bring copies of your next of kin forms, power of attorney, insurance, driver's license and any other pertinent documentation.”
Donald had just skidded up to the ER desk when a portly man in nurse's scrubs stepped around the corner.
“Callahan?” he called. “Anyone for Callahan?” Donald whipped around so fast his neck cracked.
“Me! That's me!” Donald exclaimed. The nurse gave him a curt nod and turned away.
“Follow me please, the doctor will see you,” he said. Donald hurried after him through a set of doors to yet another reception desk. The nurse stumped up to the desk and jerked a thumb back at Donald as he handed the clipboard to the doctor.
“Callahan,” the nurse grunted. The doctor glanced at Donald, nodded and shooed the nurse away.
“You'll have to forgive John,” the doctor said. “He was supposed to be off two hours ago, but we're short-handed at the moment.” Donald nodded.
“Timmy?” he asked. “How's Timmy?”
“Ah yes, straight to it. I'm Doctor McMannis, I've been working on your - brother?” McMannis asked.
“Husband,” Donald correctly, waving the question away. McMannis raised an eyebrow.
“Your husband. He was brought in after he was hit by a car. It appears he was crossing the street to a bus stop and a small car skidded through the intersection. The driver called it in,” McMannis said. Donald sucked in a horrified breath. “The impact was extremely low-velocity. Mr. Callahan's looking at a sprained knee and ankle on the right hand side, a number of bruises and contusions and a small laceration along his right palm that required stitches.”
“He's gonna be okay, right?” Donald asked, heart thundering.
“Oh yes. He should be right as rain. The stitches will come out in ten days and he'll be on crutches for a couple of weeks, but he'll be fine,” McMannis assured him. Donald swayed alarmingly as the relief hit him, leaving him light-headed. McMannis caught his elbow.
“Would you like to see him? We'd like to keep him for a couple of hours for observation, but barring complications, he should be home before Christmas,” McMannis said.
“Please,” Donald managed. McMannis tipped his head toward a set of doors.
“This way, then,” he said. Donald followed him down the hall.
“Yeah. I can - I can do that. Is he okay? Is Timmy okay?”
**deep sigh**
“I really don't know, sir. I'm just the switchboard.”
“God. I'm on my way.”
“Will you please just let me call Donald? He'll be wondering where I am. I'm late,” Timmy's voice floated from an open exam room and Donald had to pause and take a deep breath as the last knot of tension unraveled.
“The hospital has already notified Mr. Strachey,” another voice said.
“What?” Timmy yelped. “Oh God, now you have to let me call him. He'll be frantic! You don't know Donald!” The was a rustling sound.
“Mr. Callahan, please stay seated!” the voice sounded alarmed. “You need to wait for the crutches!”
“I need a phone!” Timmy retorted. McMannis raised an eyebrow at Donald and pushed the door open.
“I'm going to agree with the nurse and tell you to remain seated, Mr. Callahan. Mr. Strachey is here to see you,” McMannis said to the room at large. Timmy froze in the process of swinging his legs to the floor. Donald pushed his way past McMannis and into the room.
“Donald!” Timmy said. “Sweetheart, I'm fine.” Donald vaguely heard McMannis beckon the nurse out of the room, but he ignored it in favor of coming to stand in front of Timmy. Apple-green bruises bloomed across Timmy's cheekbone and his glasses frames were bent, but serviceable.
“Oh, Timmy, baby,” Donald murmured, hand hovering inches from Timmy's cheek. Timmy leaned his face against Donald's palm.
“I'm fine,” Timmy murmured again. He hooked the fingers of his left hand in Donald's belt and pulled him closer. “The driver hit a patch of ice and skidded out. He couldn't have been going more than a few miles an hour. I've been hurt worse falling down the stairs.” Donald leaned against the edge of the bed and gingerly pulled Timmy into a hug. Timmy settled his head on Donald's shoulder.
“They wouldn't tell me what happened over the phone,” Donald said. “I've never been so scared in my life.” Timmy kissed Donald's jaw.
“I'm fine, sweetheart, I promise. Bumps and bruises. Well, and stitches and crutches and won't that be a charming combination, but I swear, I'm okay,” Timmy said again. His breath huffed hot and damp against Donald's throat and Donald shivered.
“I know,” Donald replied. “Just, give me a few minutes to get over the shakes, okay?” Timmy smiled against Donald's skin.
“Okay,” Timmy said. He fell silent, leaning heavily on Donald. Donald swayed slowly, rubbing gentle hands across Timmy's back and sides and making note of every twitch or wince. There were more than he liked. Finally, Timmy pushed back far enough to press a chaste kiss to Donald's lips.
“I'm okay. I love you, and I'm okay,” Timmy murmured. Donald kissed him back urgently, needed to feel Timmy strain and move against him. Timmy met him halfway. When he ran out of air, Donald pulled back with a sucking pop.
“I love you too,” Donald sighed. Timmy licked his lips and tugged Donald in to rest their foreheads together.
“Take me home, Donald. It's almost Christmas, and Mattie's coming over for breakfast,” Timmy said. Donald's mouth twitched into a smile.
“Okay,” Donald replied. “I'll take you home.”
=+++=
1980 (A Baby Just Like You)
1982 (White Christmas Makes Me Blue)
1992 (Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas)
1998 (God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen)
1999 (I Wonder as I Wander)
2000 (Frosty the Snowman)
2002 (Coventry Carol)
2004 (Walking in a Winter Wonderland)
2005 (Holly, Jolly Christmas)
2006 (Do You Hear What I Hear?)
2009 (All I Want for Christmas is You)
2047 (Aspenglow)