![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
candy_aTitle: The Fourteen Days of Valentine's Day 2013: Day Four
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)
Pairing: Donald and Timothy
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: About 2230
References/Spoilers: Can't think of any.
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.
Summary: An old ghost haunts Don as he contemplates the fate of his car.
Author's Note: I'll be posting one a day until Donald and Timothy make it to Valentine's Day.
*************************************************
THE FOURTEEN DAYS OF VALENTINE'S DAY 2013: DAY FOUR
by
Candy Apple
"Is it salvageable or not?" I asked, getting impatient at the amount of time Ron, the manager of the body shop I always go to, was spending inspecting the damage to the car.
"Most anything is salvageable if you've got enough money." The stocky older man rubbed his gray beard and stared at the damaged car. "It's just fair to tell you it's gonna be expensive, and it's more than the car's worth. I mean, the Blue Book value is - "
"Yeah, I know. Tim's giving me the car repairs for Valentine's Day."
"Whoa, nice present," he said, chuckling.
"I don't want him to get screwed."
"Not by me, anyway," Ron joked, elbowing me. I'd know him for years, and he'd met Timmy on a few occasions when he came with me to pick up the car. It was all in good fun. I laughed.
"Important distinction there," I agreed. "Seriously, just because he feels sorry for my mangle car, I don't want him paying a ridiculous tab either. Come on, Ron, how long have I been coming here?"
"I've changed cars four times since."
"Well, okay, so a while," I retorted, still smiling. "There have to be scrap parts out there. There must be a door in a junkyard someplace."
"Hey, like they said about the Six Million Dollar Man...we have the technology."
"I don't think Timmy's gonna spring for six mil," I said.
"Let me see what I can find for scrap parts. The labor's what's gonna kill you."
"I can do some of it myself. I'd just have you guys do the big stuff. Honestly, that driver's door hasn't worked worth shit for the last several years anyway, so this could be a blessing in disguise."
"I'll get you a written estimate, then you tell me what work you want us to do."
"Sounds good. Thanks, Ron." I shook hands with him and left the car lot in my rented gray sedan. I knew getting the Toyota repaired was sort of ridiculous. It was trying hard to die, but I kept re-animating it. I sat at the stop light, trying to figure out the satellite radio in the rental and, not for the first time, thought about the car's history. It was the only secret left between Timmy and me, and I wondered how he'd take it. In a way, I felt wrong about letting him pay to have it fixed, considering where it came from.
I still remember as plain as if it was yesterday when I got a call in my ratty apartment I'd landed in after leaving the Army and being turned away in the driveway from my parents' house. It was Kyle's younger sister, Emily. She asked if I would come downstairs to the parking lot. Of course, I did. She was the only member of Kyle's family who ever did anything but condemn me or make sure I was excluded from the funeral. I suspect she knew Kyle better than anyone else in his family. They were close, she looked just like him, and in the limited contact I had with her, I could see him in her gestures, her smile, the tone of her voice.
When I got downstairs and went outside on a chilly November day, she was standing there next to the Tercel. It was nothing special even back then, but it ran, and it was in a hell of a lot better shape than it is now.
"Don, I'm so sorry about how my family's acted towards you. They're all a bunch of ignorant bigots. It's because of them that Kyle did what he did, not you," she said. I felt weak and stunned at those words. I blamed myself every waking moment, and woke up screaming with nightmares, so apparently I blamed myself in my sleep, too. I love him, and I killed him. And now his sister was giving me absolution. It didn't really heal the wounds...those festered for years until Timmy helped me get past them. But it made it possible for me to get on with my life. I didn't have a car yet since I'd gotten discharged, and though I had some money socked away, I wanted to start my own business, not buy a fancy-ass car.
"That means a lot to me, Emily. I loved your brother very much. I never wanted to hurt him."
"I know." She held the car keys in her hand a moment, then handed them to me. "The car belonged to Kyle. He was driving it before he went into the Army, and he'd use it once in a while on leaves. I know you don't have a car, so..."
"I can't take this."
"Yes, you can. Kyle was confused, had a lot to deal with...but I feel confident he'd want you to have this. Even though he couldn't face the world being gay, that doesn't mean he didn't love you. He told me he did."
"He said that?"
"I was the only one in our family who knew the truth about him. We talked about pretty much everything."
"I really don't feel right about this. Don't you need the car?"
"I have a car," she said, smiling. "He left this to me, so it's up to me what to do with it, and I want you to have it."
The blare of a car horn startled me, and I resisted the urge to flip the driver off. He was right, I was asleep at the switch, holding up traffic. Wondering how my husband who doesn't deserve to have anything held back from him would feel about that final secret. If he'd think that meant I was holding onto Kyle, still pining for him, because I kept the car. It didn't mean that exactly. I've been happy with Timothy from the day we met. I love him with all of my heart, soul, body and mind. If Kyle were magically brought back to life and appeared at my door, I would be happy for him to have a second chance, and I can't lie that I'd still care for him, but I would never choose him over Timothy. Or be sorry I was married and want to be with him. I am where I want to be until I turn up my toes.
That got me thinking about Timmy's day four present, which I still didn't have. I had a couple other ones. I got him a nice gold ring that would look nice with his watch - now that his wedding ring was on his left hand. It was very sharp and tailored, like Timmy, not overly large or clunky, with this square, dark, multi-colored stone in it the saleslady told me was a "mystic fire topaz". The way the colors changed when you tilted it back and forth had me staring into it for quite a while. I didn't know if he'd like it, but I hope he'll say if he doesn't. I wouldn't be hurt, but I think he'd probably worry I would be. As long as he let me go with him to pick out something else he'd like, I'd be okay about it. But it does make me really happy when he likes what I give him. I suspect he knows that. The ring was kind of the finale gift. The rest of it was smaller stuff.
The whole issue with the car was nagging me, and I knew that's why I was having a mental block about what to get Timmy. I hadn't gotten him anything sweet and fattening yet, so I figured I'd stop by the patisserie (no, not a bakery, but a patisserie, where they do the really fancy stuff) and get us some romantic heart-shaped, rose-laden thing for dessert, and maybe throw in a few roses. Inspired now that I had a plan, I headed for the upscale place Timmy often relied on for some of the Senator's most elite social gathering menus.
********
It wasn't a feast fit for a king, but I had a nice dinner going for a cold February night. Some homemade chili I knew Don loved, along with some warm homemade - well, bakery made - bread that was nice and soft and gluey. Martinis were chilling and I had a little classical music on in the background. Don never minded that much if it was background music.
"Hey, honey! Smells good in here," Don said by way of greeting as he came into the kitchen carrying a little box from LeBeau's Patisserie. I'd know one of their pale pink boxes with the silver mesh gift ribbon on it a mile away. "Happy Valentine's Day, beautiful." He kissed me and handed me the box. I set the box down and pulled him into my arms and kissed him properly. Then I inspected the knot on his forehead. It didn't need bandaging anymore, but it was a colorful lump with a healing cut over it. I kissed the edge of it.
"How are you feeling?"
"Real good right now," he said, grinning at me.
"What did you bring me?" I asked, carefully undoing the ribbon on the box.
"I was gonna get a little cake or something, but then the lady in there showed me these..."
I opened the box and inside were six cookies. Each one was two hearts joined, with pink icing and a red border, and our names in frilly script, one on each heart.
"They're beautiful. And I bet they taste even better."
"She let me have some samples while I was deciding. The cookies are good."
"We know we have wonderful dessert, then. Dinner's almost ready."
"Okay. Be right back," he said before depositing his coat on the banister and hurrying upstairs. He seemed to be moving around all right and not in any serious pain from the accident, so I let myself off the hook for worrying about it. I made a mental note to ask him about his car and what they had to do to it to fix it.
Once we were seated at the table and working our way through the chili and fresh bread, I asked him.
"How much is it going to be for the car?"
"Don't know yet," he said, and there was something off in his tone. "I can do some of the little touch up stuff myself, and Ron's looking for junk parts."
"But he can fix it?"
"He said you can fix anything if you have enough money. But I don't want you getting screwed over, just because you're generous enough to pay for it. So we'll see what he comes up with." Don wasn't looking at me. He was digging around in his bowl of chili, but not eating much.
"Do you feel all right?" I finally asked.
"Fine, why?" He looked up at me, but he wasn't really surprised I'd asked. So that meant something was eating him, and he knew I noticed.
"You just seem a little preoccupied, that's all." I covered his hand with mine. He looked a little fearful, like he does when he thinks I've caught him at something. I squeezed his hand because I didn't want him to feel cornered. I just wanted him to talk if he needed to.
"I've just got a lot on my mind. I'm probably gonna lose a good retainer while I'm 'taking it easy'. The doctors don't get that I don't have paid vacation and sick leave. If I don't work, I don't get paid."
"You probably don't want to hear this, but your head is more important than any retainer. At least, it is to me."
"You're the best husband anybody could ask for," he said, and he intertwined his fingers with mine. His voice sounded strained and his eyes were a little bright. Now I knew something was bothering him, but I also knew if I pushed him, he'd shut down on me. We've been doing this dance for years, and I know when to back off.
"It's a tie," I said, kissing his hand and squeezing it before I let go and went back to dinner. When he was ready, he'd tell me what was troubling him.
We finished dinner and ate a couple of those delicious cookies for dessert. I know he was worried about work, but we weren't so tightly budgeted that he couldn't afford to recover. As we sat on the couch together and watched some TV, his head on my shoulder, he was very quiet and deep in thought. But he was warm and safe, tucked against my side, and Farley had lumbered into the room and staked out his favorite spot by the fireplace. Life was good. Whatever was wrong, he wouldn't have to face it alone. As long as I'm alive, he'll never have to face anything alone, ever again.
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)
Pairing: Donald and Timothy
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: About 2230
References/Spoilers: Can't think of any.
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.
Summary: An old ghost haunts Don as he contemplates the fate of his car.
Author's Note: I'll be posting one a day until Donald and Timothy make it to Valentine's Day.
*************************************************
THE FOURTEEN DAYS OF VALENTINE'S DAY 2013: DAY FOUR
by
Candy Apple
"Is it salvageable or not?" I asked, getting impatient at the amount of time Ron, the manager of the body shop I always go to, was spending inspecting the damage to the car.
"Most anything is salvageable if you've got enough money." The stocky older man rubbed his gray beard and stared at the damaged car. "It's just fair to tell you it's gonna be expensive, and it's more than the car's worth. I mean, the Blue Book value is - "
"Yeah, I know. Tim's giving me the car repairs for Valentine's Day."
"Whoa, nice present," he said, chuckling.
"I don't want him to get screwed."
"Not by me, anyway," Ron joked, elbowing me. I'd know him for years, and he'd met Timmy on a few occasions when he came with me to pick up the car. It was all in good fun. I laughed.
"Important distinction there," I agreed. "Seriously, just because he feels sorry for my mangle car, I don't want him paying a ridiculous tab either. Come on, Ron, how long have I been coming here?"
"I've changed cars four times since."
"Well, okay, so a while," I retorted, still smiling. "There have to be scrap parts out there. There must be a door in a junkyard someplace."
"Hey, like they said about the Six Million Dollar Man...we have the technology."
"I don't think Timmy's gonna spring for six mil," I said.
"Let me see what I can find for scrap parts. The labor's what's gonna kill you."
"I can do some of it myself. I'd just have you guys do the big stuff. Honestly, that driver's door hasn't worked worth shit for the last several years anyway, so this could be a blessing in disguise."
"I'll get you a written estimate, then you tell me what work you want us to do."
"Sounds good. Thanks, Ron." I shook hands with him and left the car lot in my rented gray sedan. I knew getting the Toyota repaired was sort of ridiculous. It was trying hard to die, but I kept re-animating it. I sat at the stop light, trying to figure out the satellite radio in the rental and, not for the first time, thought about the car's history. It was the only secret left between Timmy and me, and I wondered how he'd take it. In a way, I felt wrong about letting him pay to have it fixed, considering where it came from.
I still remember as plain as if it was yesterday when I got a call in my ratty apartment I'd landed in after leaving the Army and being turned away in the driveway from my parents' house. It was Kyle's younger sister, Emily. She asked if I would come downstairs to the parking lot. Of course, I did. She was the only member of Kyle's family who ever did anything but condemn me or make sure I was excluded from the funeral. I suspect she knew Kyle better than anyone else in his family. They were close, she looked just like him, and in the limited contact I had with her, I could see him in her gestures, her smile, the tone of her voice.
When I got downstairs and went outside on a chilly November day, she was standing there next to the Tercel. It was nothing special even back then, but it ran, and it was in a hell of a lot better shape than it is now.
"Don, I'm so sorry about how my family's acted towards you. They're all a bunch of ignorant bigots. It's because of them that Kyle did what he did, not you," she said. I felt weak and stunned at those words. I blamed myself every waking moment, and woke up screaming with nightmares, so apparently I blamed myself in my sleep, too. I love him, and I killed him. And now his sister was giving me absolution. It didn't really heal the wounds...those festered for years until Timmy helped me get past them. But it made it possible for me to get on with my life. I didn't have a car yet since I'd gotten discharged, and though I had some money socked away, I wanted to start my own business, not buy a fancy-ass car.
"That means a lot to me, Emily. I loved your brother very much. I never wanted to hurt him."
"I know." She held the car keys in her hand a moment, then handed them to me. "The car belonged to Kyle. He was driving it before he went into the Army, and he'd use it once in a while on leaves. I know you don't have a car, so..."
"I can't take this."
"Yes, you can. Kyle was confused, had a lot to deal with...but I feel confident he'd want you to have this. Even though he couldn't face the world being gay, that doesn't mean he didn't love you. He told me he did."
"He said that?"
"I was the only one in our family who knew the truth about him. We talked about pretty much everything."
"I really don't feel right about this. Don't you need the car?"
"I have a car," she said, smiling. "He left this to me, so it's up to me what to do with it, and I want you to have it."
The blare of a car horn startled me, and I resisted the urge to flip the driver off. He was right, I was asleep at the switch, holding up traffic. Wondering how my husband who doesn't deserve to have anything held back from him would feel about that final secret. If he'd think that meant I was holding onto Kyle, still pining for him, because I kept the car. It didn't mean that exactly. I've been happy with Timothy from the day we met. I love him with all of my heart, soul, body and mind. If Kyle were magically brought back to life and appeared at my door, I would be happy for him to have a second chance, and I can't lie that I'd still care for him, but I would never choose him over Timothy. Or be sorry I was married and want to be with him. I am where I want to be until I turn up my toes.
That got me thinking about Timmy's day four present, which I still didn't have. I had a couple other ones. I got him a nice gold ring that would look nice with his watch - now that his wedding ring was on his left hand. It was very sharp and tailored, like Timmy, not overly large or clunky, with this square, dark, multi-colored stone in it the saleslady told me was a "mystic fire topaz". The way the colors changed when you tilted it back and forth had me staring into it for quite a while. I didn't know if he'd like it, but I hope he'll say if he doesn't. I wouldn't be hurt, but I think he'd probably worry I would be. As long as he let me go with him to pick out something else he'd like, I'd be okay about it. But it does make me really happy when he likes what I give him. I suspect he knows that. The ring was kind of the finale gift. The rest of it was smaller stuff.
The whole issue with the car was nagging me, and I knew that's why I was having a mental block about what to get Timmy. I hadn't gotten him anything sweet and fattening yet, so I figured I'd stop by the patisserie (no, not a bakery, but a patisserie, where they do the really fancy stuff) and get us some romantic heart-shaped, rose-laden thing for dessert, and maybe throw in a few roses. Inspired now that I had a plan, I headed for the upscale place Timmy often relied on for some of the Senator's most elite social gathering menus.
********
It wasn't a feast fit for a king, but I had a nice dinner going for a cold February night. Some homemade chili I knew Don loved, along with some warm homemade - well, bakery made - bread that was nice and soft and gluey. Martinis were chilling and I had a little classical music on in the background. Don never minded that much if it was background music.
"Hey, honey! Smells good in here," Don said by way of greeting as he came into the kitchen carrying a little box from LeBeau's Patisserie. I'd know one of their pale pink boxes with the silver mesh gift ribbon on it a mile away. "Happy Valentine's Day, beautiful." He kissed me and handed me the box. I set the box down and pulled him into my arms and kissed him properly. Then I inspected the knot on his forehead. It didn't need bandaging anymore, but it was a colorful lump with a healing cut over it. I kissed the edge of it.
"How are you feeling?"
"Real good right now," he said, grinning at me.
"What did you bring me?" I asked, carefully undoing the ribbon on the box.
"I was gonna get a little cake or something, but then the lady in there showed me these..."
I opened the box and inside were six cookies. Each one was two hearts joined, with pink icing and a red border, and our names in frilly script, one on each heart.
"They're beautiful. And I bet they taste even better."
"She let me have some samples while I was deciding. The cookies are good."
"We know we have wonderful dessert, then. Dinner's almost ready."
"Okay. Be right back," he said before depositing his coat on the banister and hurrying upstairs. He seemed to be moving around all right and not in any serious pain from the accident, so I let myself off the hook for worrying about it. I made a mental note to ask him about his car and what they had to do to it to fix it.
Once we were seated at the table and working our way through the chili and fresh bread, I asked him.
"How much is it going to be for the car?"
"Don't know yet," he said, and there was something off in his tone. "I can do some of the little touch up stuff myself, and Ron's looking for junk parts."
"But he can fix it?"
"He said you can fix anything if you have enough money. But I don't want you getting screwed over, just because you're generous enough to pay for it. So we'll see what he comes up with." Don wasn't looking at me. He was digging around in his bowl of chili, but not eating much.
"Do you feel all right?" I finally asked.
"Fine, why?" He looked up at me, but he wasn't really surprised I'd asked. So that meant something was eating him, and he knew I noticed.
"You just seem a little preoccupied, that's all." I covered his hand with mine. He looked a little fearful, like he does when he thinks I've caught him at something. I squeezed his hand because I didn't want him to feel cornered. I just wanted him to talk if he needed to.
"I've just got a lot on my mind. I'm probably gonna lose a good retainer while I'm 'taking it easy'. The doctors don't get that I don't have paid vacation and sick leave. If I don't work, I don't get paid."
"You probably don't want to hear this, but your head is more important than any retainer. At least, it is to me."
"You're the best husband anybody could ask for," he said, and he intertwined his fingers with mine. His voice sounded strained and his eyes were a little bright. Now I knew something was bothering him, but I also knew if I pushed him, he'd shut down on me. We've been doing this dance for years, and I know when to back off.
"It's a tie," I said, kissing his hand and squeezing it before I let go and went back to dinner. When he was ready, he'd tell me what was troubling him.
We finished dinner and ate a couple of those delicious cookies for dessert. I know he was worried about work, but we weren't so tightly budgeted that he couldn't afford to recover. As we sat on the couch together and watched some TV, his head on my shoulder, he was very quiet and deep in thought. But he was warm and safe, tucked against my side, and Farley had lumbered into the room and staked out his favorite spot by the fireplace. Life was good. Whatever was wrong, he wouldn't have to face it alone. As long as I'm alive, he'll never have to face anything alone, ever again.
