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candy_aTitle: The Fourteen Days of Valentine's Day 2013: Day Seven
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)
Pairing: Donald and Timothy
Rating: R
Word Count: About 1690
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: Don gets a break in his case, but fears his secret will cost him everything.
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 SEVEN
by
Candy Apple
I sat slumped in the seat of my rental car, watching my client's husband cruising the wrong side of the tracks, looking for action. Sure enough, he got a nibble, but then he turned her down. This leggy blonde who looked like a hooker you'd see in a movie approached his car. She had the high heels, the short skirt, and was wearing a short white fur jacket. I swear to God, Starsky & Hutch called, and they want their 70's hooker back.
After she left, another girl came along. This one was short, slender...even from a distance she looked too damn young. When the streetlight illuminated her face, my suspicions were confirmed. There was no fucking way she was 18. I'd have been surprised if she was 16. My zoom lens engaged, I was snapping photos as fast as a professional photographer. Bingo, you motherfucker. Gotcha.
She got in his car, and I called Bailey. He's the only cop I knew that I could reach fast, and for an underage girl, I had a feeling he'd spare me the lecture that he was a homicide detective, not a vice cop. I was right. The cops intercepted the 45-year-old as he was driving his 15-year-old hooker date to a motel. I'm sure she'd done just about every trick in the book prior to that, but I was glad to know she wasn't doing something gross with that guy, that night. I would have felt guilty for not intervening if she had.
I drove home with my camera full of evidence. I'd not only saved my retainer, but earned a bit more in the bargain. I pulled into the driveway, glad it was only midnight. Maybe Timmy wouldn't mind fooling around a little. I didn't want to keep him up if he was sleeping, or wanted to just roll over and doze off again after I crawled into bed with him. But I felt like I needed him.
And yet I felt guilty about being with him, as if I didn't deserve it when I wasn't being honest. Then again, the car was a dead issue. Maybe it was time that it was.
It was probably in a junkyard by now. I wasn't sure why that caused such a stab of pain, but it did.
What if that guy had made that girl do something while I stayed out of it, got my photos, and waited for the cops? He was nothing special, I could have taken him on. Got her out of there myself, right away. Now I was lying to Timmy. Or lying by omission.
Fuck, I hated that rental car. I hated my job at that moment, felt dirty and sleazy. And guilty.
I sat in the car and cried. It should have been so simple to just go in the house, wake up Timmy, tell him about the car, and throw myself on his mercy.
What if he was so angry he left me? If Timmy ever left me, I'd die. Maybe not literally drop dead at the moment, but I'd find a way to get myself killed, or I'd just get drunk and eat my gun. The only reason I might not off myself is because even if Timmy left me, I wouldn't want him to have to live with the kind of pain I've lived with because of what Kyle did to himself.
I don't know how long I sat there, but I had a long enough bawling session to puff up my eyes and stuff up my nose. Maybe if I took a shower, it would clear my head. I could use the guest bathroom, and then maybe I wouldn't wake Timmy. If he saw me looking like this, he'd know I'd been crying and then he'd know something huge was wrong.
I dug around for some take out napkins that were stuck in the car's console from lunch and blew my nose and wiped off my face. Then I went inside, and Farley greeted me at the door, thrilled to see me. I sat on the bottom steps and hugged him, wondering if Timmy left me, if taking care of Farley would keep me from doing myself in. Maybe. But if I did, Timmy would take him, and he'd be fine.
He licked my face and then sat there and looked at me expectantly. He knew something was wrong with me, and he was worried. I felt bad all over again. I wasn't just lying to Timmy, I was making my dog feel bad. I figured there was a special corner of hell waiting for me on both counts.
"Donald?"
"Hey, honey," I said tiredly. I hoped the lighting was dim enough and he was sleepy enough that he wouldn't really see me clearly. He didn't have his glasses on, or his robe, so he'd just rolled out of bed and come out see what was going on. "Sorry I woke you."
"It's okay. Come up to bed. I'll give you a back rub."
"It's late."
"I know. Come on," he said, holding out his hand to me like he was coaxing a reluctant child up the steps. God, how I love him. How I'd die without him. So I got up and met him halfway on the shadowy stairs, taking his hand. Farley followed me. "Why don't you get his bed? Let him sleep with us tonight."
"Okay," I agreed, squeezing his hand. I went to my workout room and got Farley's dog bed and dragged it back to the bedroom. Within seconds, Farley was in it, happy as a clam, settling in for sleep. I went to use the bathroom and got undressed, and then flopped on the bed on my stomach. Timmy got into bed with me and covered us both up, but he lay close to me and rubbed my back, focusing on my neck and shoulders, where I tended to tense up when I was cooped up in the car for hours. I still had all my worries, but I couldn't fight the relaxing effect his hand was having on me.
Crying tires me out, and Timmy didn't seem to notice anything off about how I looked. I hadn't been in bright lights since I'd been home.
Oh great. More secrets. More lies of omission.
"Try to relax and get some sleep, honey." He kissed my cheek, and my shoulder. "Rough case?" he asked gently.
"Yeah. My client's husband picked up an underage hooker. I got pictures, and then I called the cops on him."
"They caught him? Is the girl okay?"
"She's fine. I don't know much about her, how long she's been on the streets before this, but he didn't do anything with her tonight before the cops got there."
"Oh, good. I should call Bailey tomorrow, see if we can connect her with Safe Zone so she doesn't end up back on the street."
"I'm sure they'll get her into foster car, or a juvenile facility."
"And we all know that a girl who is probably a runaway is going to stay in one of those places."
"True," I agreed, yawning. "I love you, Timmy. I don't deserve you."
"Of course, you do, baby. Where did that come from?"
"I should have just gotten her out of there and not worried about getting the goods on him."
"Donald, you did your job, and you saved the girl."
"What if he'd made her do something while I was waiting for the cops to stop him?"
"You reported him to the police. That's the right thing to do, and the safe thing to do. You're not a cop, Donald. Playing one could get you killed someday."
"You always make me feel better." I scooted over and he wrapped me up in his arms. I could hear his heartbeat and feel his breathing. I clung to him, hoping I didn't get emotional.
"Go to sleep, honey. Tomorrow is another day."
"Okay, Scarlett," I teased, since he'd put the same inflections in that last phrase as Scarlett O'Hara had in the final moments of Gone with the Wind. Somehow, he'd managed to make me laugh. I dozed off, cuddled up close to him, almost believing maybe tomorrow would be better.
********
Don slept well all night, and he got up with me in the morning. We had a nice breakfast together, and I almost forgot to worry about him. Maybe the sleazy case he'd been working on just took a toll on him, but I thought it was more than that. Don has seen enough of the seedy side of life that one slimy, unethical man picking up a teenage prostitute wouldn't taint his outlook on life.
When I picked up my breakfast plate to take it to the sink, there was a small envelope under it on the counter.
"Open it," he said, looking excited.
I did. Inside were two concert tickets, front row, to see Kansas later that month. We both like classic rock from the 70's and 80's, and I've always been partial to Kansas because of their use of the violin. And, Don and I do a pretty fair version of "Carry On, My Wayward Son" in the car if I do say so myself.
"How long have you had these? Front row?" I asked.
"A few months," he said, looking a bit self-satisfied. Mostly, he looked happy that I was happy. Who wouldn't be happy looking into that sweet face of his and seeing all that love there?
"I can't wait." I hugged and kissed him. "Every year, you surprise me."
"I hope I can always do that, for the rest of our lives. Timothy...I'm so glad you're mine," he said quietly, looking at the counter. The he looked at me. "I love you."
"I love you, too," I replied, taking him in my arms again, holding him close a moment before pulling back and kissing him again, long and slow. "And I can't wait for the concert." I paused. "Your head looks better," I said, checking his forehead. The swelling was gone and the bruising had faded. Just a little color and the healing cut marred his fair skin. I kissed the bruise.
"All better now," he joked, smiling at me.
"Think you'll be home tonight?"
"Yeah, I think so. I have a couple other cases going, but they're just routine background check stuff I can do during the day."
"Let's go out. Let me take you out on the town. Dinner and a movie. You get to pick the movie."
"Let's skip the movie and go out dancing."
"Even better. It's a date."
"A date with a beautiful, hot man. My day just got better."
"Likewise," I replied, cheered up by Don's bright smile. I hadn't seen much of it the last couple days.
I never like saying goodbye to him, but our plans for the evening kept me happy and singing along with the radio on my way to work. It was going to be a good day.
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)
Pairing: Donald and Timothy
Rating: R
Word Count: About 1690
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: Don gets a break in his case, but fears his secret will cost him everything.
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 SEVEN
by
Candy Apple
I sat slumped in the seat of my rental car, watching my client's husband cruising the wrong side of the tracks, looking for action. Sure enough, he got a nibble, but then he turned her down. This leggy blonde who looked like a hooker you'd see in a movie approached his car. She had the high heels, the short skirt, and was wearing a short white fur jacket. I swear to God, Starsky & Hutch called, and they want their 70's hooker back.
After she left, another girl came along. This one was short, slender...even from a distance she looked too damn young. When the streetlight illuminated her face, my suspicions were confirmed. There was no fucking way she was 18. I'd have been surprised if she was 16. My zoom lens engaged, I was snapping photos as fast as a professional photographer. Bingo, you motherfucker. Gotcha.
She got in his car, and I called Bailey. He's the only cop I knew that I could reach fast, and for an underage girl, I had a feeling he'd spare me the lecture that he was a homicide detective, not a vice cop. I was right. The cops intercepted the 45-year-old as he was driving his 15-year-old hooker date to a motel. I'm sure she'd done just about every trick in the book prior to that, but I was glad to know she wasn't doing something gross with that guy, that night. I would have felt guilty for not intervening if she had.
I drove home with my camera full of evidence. I'd not only saved my retainer, but earned a bit more in the bargain. I pulled into the driveway, glad it was only midnight. Maybe Timmy wouldn't mind fooling around a little. I didn't want to keep him up if he was sleeping, or wanted to just roll over and doze off again after I crawled into bed with him. But I felt like I needed him.
And yet I felt guilty about being with him, as if I didn't deserve it when I wasn't being honest. Then again, the car was a dead issue. Maybe it was time that it was.
It was probably in a junkyard by now. I wasn't sure why that caused such a stab of pain, but it did.
What if that guy had made that girl do something while I stayed out of it, got my photos, and waited for the cops? He was nothing special, I could have taken him on. Got her out of there myself, right away. Now I was lying to Timmy. Or lying by omission.
Fuck, I hated that rental car. I hated my job at that moment, felt dirty and sleazy. And guilty.
I sat in the car and cried. It should have been so simple to just go in the house, wake up Timmy, tell him about the car, and throw myself on his mercy.
What if he was so angry he left me? If Timmy ever left me, I'd die. Maybe not literally drop dead at the moment, but I'd find a way to get myself killed, or I'd just get drunk and eat my gun. The only reason I might not off myself is because even if Timmy left me, I wouldn't want him to have to live with the kind of pain I've lived with because of what Kyle did to himself.
I don't know how long I sat there, but I had a long enough bawling session to puff up my eyes and stuff up my nose. Maybe if I took a shower, it would clear my head. I could use the guest bathroom, and then maybe I wouldn't wake Timmy. If he saw me looking like this, he'd know I'd been crying and then he'd know something huge was wrong.
I dug around for some take out napkins that were stuck in the car's console from lunch and blew my nose and wiped off my face. Then I went inside, and Farley greeted me at the door, thrilled to see me. I sat on the bottom steps and hugged him, wondering if Timmy left me, if taking care of Farley would keep me from doing myself in. Maybe. But if I did, Timmy would take him, and he'd be fine.
He licked my face and then sat there and looked at me expectantly. He knew something was wrong with me, and he was worried. I felt bad all over again. I wasn't just lying to Timmy, I was making my dog feel bad. I figured there was a special corner of hell waiting for me on both counts.
"Donald?"
"Hey, honey," I said tiredly. I hoped the lighting was dim enough and he was sleepy enough that he wouldn't really see me clearly. He didn't have his glasses on, or his robe, so he'd just rolled out of bed and come out see what was going on. "Sorry I woke you."
"It's okay. Come up to bed. I'll give you a back rub."
"It's late."
"I know. Come on," he said, holding out his hand to me like he was coaxing a reluctant child up the steps. God, how I love him. How I'd die without him. So I got up and met him halfway on the shadowy stairs, taking his hand. Farley followed me. "Why don't you get his bed? Let him sleep with us tonight."
"Okay," I agreed, squeezing his hand. I went to my workout room and got Farley's dog bed and dragged it back to the bedroom. Within seconds, Farley was in it, happy as a clam, settling in for sleep. I went to use the bathroom and got undressed, and then flopped on the bed on my stomach. Timmy got into bed with me and covered us both up, but he lay close to me and rubbed my back, focusing on my neck and shoulders, where I tended to tense up when I was cooped up in the car for hours. I still had all my worries, but I couldn't fight the relaxing effect his hand was having on me.
Crying tires me out, and Timmy didn't seem to notice anything off about how I looked. I hadn't been in bright lights since I'd been home.
Oh great. More secrets. More lies of omission.
"Try to relax and get some sleep, honey." He kissed my cheek, and my shoulder. "Rough case?" he asked gently.
"Yeah. My client's husband picked up an underage hooker. I got pictures, and then I called the cops on him."
"They caught him? Is the girl okay?"
"She's fine. I don't know much about her, how long she's been on the streets before this, but he didn't do anything with her tonight before the cops got there."
"Oh, good. I should call Bailey tomorrow, see if we can connect her with Safe Zone so she doesn't end up back on the street."
"I'm sure they'll get her into foster car, or a juvenile facility."
"And we all know that a girl who is probably a runaway is going to stay in one of those places."
"True," I agreed, yawning. "I love you, Timmy. I don't deserve you."
"Of course, you do, baby. Where did that come from?"
"I should have just gotten her out of there and not worried about getting the goods on him."
"Donald, you did your job, and you saved the girl."
"What if he'd made her do something while I was waiting for the cops to stop him?"
"You reported him to the police. That's the right thing to do, and the safe thing to do. You're not a cop, Donald. Playing one could get you killed someday."
"You always make me feel better." I scooted over and he wrapped me up in his arms. I could hear his heartbeat and feel his breathing. I clung to him, hoping I didn't get emotional.
"Go to sleep, honey. Tomorrow is another day."
"Okay, Scarlett," I teased, since he'd put the same inflections in that last phrase as Scarlett O'Hara had in the final moments of Gone with the Wind. Somehow, he'd managed to make me laugh. I dozed off, cuddled up close to him, almost believing maybe tomorrow would be better.
********
Don slept well all night, and he got up with me in the morning. We had a nice breakfast together, and I almost forgot to worry about him. Maybe the sleazy case he'd been working on just took a toll on him, but I thought it was more than that. Don has seen enough of the seedy side of life that one slimy, unethical man picking up a teenage prostitute wouldn't taint his outlook on life.
When I picked up my breakfast plate to take it to the sink, there was a small envelope under it on the counter.
"Open it," he said, looking excited.
I did. Inside were two concert tickets, front row, to see Kansas later that month. We both like classic rock from the 70's and 80's, and I've always been partial to Kansas because of their use of the violin. And, Don and I do a pretty fair version of "Carry On, My Wayward Son" in the car if I do say so myself.
"How long have you had these? Front row?" I asked.
"A few months," he said, looking a bit self-satisfied. Mostly, he looked happy that I was happy. Who wouldn't be happy looking into that sweet face of his and seeing all that love there?
"I can't wait." I hugged and kissed him. "Every year, you surprise me."
"I hope I can always do that, for the rest of our lives. Timothy...I'm so glad you're mine," he said quietly, looking at the counter. The he looked at me. "I love you."
"I love you, too," I replied, taking him in my arms again, holding him close a moment before pulling back and kissing him again, long and slow. "And I can't wait for the concert." I paused. "Your head looks better," I said, checking his forehead. The swelling was gone and the bruising had faded. Just a little color and the healing cut marred his fair skin. I kissed the bruise.
"All better now," he joked, smiling at me.
"Think you'll be home tonight?"
"Yeah, I think so. I have a couple other cases going, but they're just routine background check stuff I can do during the day."
"Let's go out. Let me take you out on the town. Dinner and a movie. You get to pick the movie."
"Let's skip the movie and go out dancing."
"Even better. It's a date."
"A date with a beautiful, hot man. My day just got better."
"Likewise," I replied, cheered up by Don's bright smile. I hadn't seen much of it the last couple days.
I never like saying goodbye to him, but our plans for the evening kept me happy and singing along with the radio on my way to work. It was going to be a good day.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2013-02-09 01:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-09 02:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-09 04:02 pm (UTC)Farley is sooo cute...
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Date: 2013-02-11 03:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-10 11:34 am (UTC)Poor Donald is really struggling with this thing with the car. He needs to tell Timmy so he can let it go and move on.
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Date: 2013-02-11 03:24 am (UTC)