Title: Just Him

Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)
Pairing: Donald and Timothy
Rating: NC-17 

Word Count: 7072
References/Spoilers: References to Tim's career, vague references to Don's past.
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: Tim faces and ending and a new beginning, the guys spend their first Thanksgiving together, and Don wonders what a red velvet cake is made of. Sequel to the story, "Be My Valentine".

************************************

JUST HIM

by

Candy Apple

I piled the last of my things in a carton and sighed. It took more boxes than I planned to package up the last five years of my life. From the cubbyhole I'd occupied as a lowly young aide at the bottom of the totem pole to the small but livable office I now occupied as the second-in-command to the chief aide, I'd managed to accumulate plenty of stuff. The farewell lunch at the country club was nice; I was flattered that Senator Glassman had taken time out of her schedule to go with the whole staff. I had a nice gold picture frame to show for it. They all knew Don and I were planning a wedding in February, so it was a thoughtful gift that would be great for a wedding photo.

I refused to call it a commitment ceremony, and poor Donald had been abruptly trained not to call it that either when he made the mistake of using the phrase when we were looking for a venue. To me, calling it a "commitment ceremony" somehow meant it wasn't a wedding, and therefore, wasn't a marriage, and while I knew it was an acceptable term to dozens of other gay couples out there, it bugged me. And so, like he did with all things that bugged me, Donald did his utmost not to violate it, or at least, not to get caught.

The four cartons would take at least a couple of trips, and I was a little embarrassed that I had that much stuff squirreled away in such a small space. Just when I was trying to figure out how to get it all down to Don's car, the man himself appeared in the doorway, as if summoned by my thoughts.

"Don!" I said, even happier than usual to see him there, since I was not only fretting over the cartons, but also feeling more than a little blue about walking out for the last time.

"Hey, beautiful," he greeted, coming into the office and giving me a kiss, and then a big hug, as if he just knew that's what I needed. "Tell me, when you travel, do you pack like this, too?" he teased, looking at all the neatly packed cartons.

"Afraid so," I admitted. "Having second thoughts?"

"Nah," he replied, smiling. Then he took my hand in his and kissed it. "Looking like you do takes more than a couple of rolled up t-shirts in a duffle bag." Sometimes I wonder how I managed to find him. Again and again, it surprises me that guys like him exist.

"Thanks for coming up. I was going to just make a couple trips down - "

"I thought you could use a little company when you walk the last mile," he joked, patting my rear end playfully, since we were out of view of the few people still finishing up their work for the day in the office.

"The whole staff chipped in and got us this," I said, showing Don the frame.

"Nice. When we get our wedding pictures back, we should put one in there and get it engraved with the date or something."

"I'd like that."

"Kind of sucks leaving, huh?"

"I really wanted this to be the place where I moved into a long-term job. It's a great staff, and Senator Glassman is doing a lot of interesting things I wish I could be a part of." I shrugged. "But the new job is an exceptional opportunity. The truth is, Don, I'm really young for a chief of staff position, and this is a fantastic move up."

"Honey, you don't have to convince me. First of all, you're brilliant, and anyone who doesn't hire you is an idiot - "

"Shh! Senator Glassman's still in her office," I whispered, waving a forestalling hand at him.

"Sorry. Secondly, it's okay if you feel bad about leaving here. I know you liked your job here, and you've been here longer than...well, longer than I've been anywhere," he added, smiling. "I guess I just never fit in to this kind of setting all that well." He gestured around the office.

"It would stifle your spirit," I said honestly, and Don looked at me a moment.

"I was thinking more that I wouldn't be good at the politics and all the details."

"You'd be good at whatever you set your very amazing mind to. But if you don't like something, you probably wouldn't take to it very well, and you have a restless, free spirit that needs to do its own thing. Me, I'm comfortable in a regime, focusing on details, playing politics. I like it."

"I love you." He looked like he appreciated my words even more than I could have expected. Donald is brilliant and clever and just plain quick-minded. But he's also restless, and caging him behind a desk would be right up there with cutting the feathers off a peacock. You might as well kill it, because you would have destroyed everything about it that was lively and beautiful.

"I know. Otherwise, you wouldn't come up here and haul all my junk downstairs."

"I'll take these down now, and I'll be right back up for the others." He piled two cartons in his arms and started for the door.

"I can help."

"Let me exercise my chivalry a little, and take your time if you want to say goodbye to anybody."

********

I knew I should have known better than to give Timothy free reign to start chatting, because reeling him back in would take a lot longer. Once the cartons were strategically arranged to fit in the back of the car, I went back upstairs, and Timmy was visiting with a couple girls from the office, and before long, the senator herself wandered out to join in the fun, and say her final goodbye.

I hung back a bit and watched, enjoying Tim's beautiful smile, the smooth, rich sound of his voice, and the way he related to people. He made them smile so easily, and warmth just seemed to radiate from him. He was definitely a flame, and people fluttered toward him like moths. Underneath all of it was that sweet sincerity, that slightly snappy sense of humor, spiced up with a little flash of Irish temper. Well, maybe not such a little flash of that...

"Don, there you are!" Tim spotted me and made the inevitable motion toward me to join the group.

"We're going to miss seeing you around here, too, Don," Senator Glassman said, and I felt almost guilty to have implied she was an idiot. Then I thought of how Timothy felt that night at the fundraiser when he didn't get the job, and I didn't feel sorry for her at all. Even I wasn't a big enough idiot to let Timmy walk out of my life, and worse yet, not to make it right when I'd been guilty of hurting him just as badly, probably worse.

"Thank you," I said with a smile. "I can see why Tim's going to miss this place. It seems like a great team."

"Congratulations!" one of the girls said enthusiastically, touching my arm. "Tim said you were getting married in February - on Valentine's Day. Oh, that's so romantic!" she gushed. She was cute, blonde, looked like she was about 22, and sounded more like 16. For some reason, her dark business suit made me think of "Business Suit Barbie." I hoped they weren't hanging their dreams on her to move up into Timothy's position.

"Thanks, we think so," I replied, touching Timmy's back. "Personally, any day I could con him into marrying me would be romantic," I added, and it earned me one of those looks from Timmy that told me I'd said the most perfect thing I could have to go straight to his heart. Barbie sighed dramatically.

"Are you having a large ceremony?" Senator Glassman asked.

"We're expecting about a hundred and fifty guests, nothing too big," Tim said. I tried not to gape at him. What was his idea of big? Yankee Stadium at capacity? I'd be lucky to come up with ten people for his list in progress, and then that would require me tipping about five of them off before they got the invitation that they were supposed to know me well enough to care if I got married. "We'd love to have you there, if your schedule permits," Tim added. Fan-fucking-tastic. Now we had at least one senator on the guest list. I wondered how many more politicians he knew well enough to invite to watch him marry a nobody no one recognized.

"I can't think of a more romantic way to spend Valentine's Day than attending a wedding," she replied. So we all stood around exchanging a few jokes and niceties until the senator excused herself after a final handshake with Tim where she covered their joined hands briefly with her other hand and wished him well. When the little chat was over, I could tell he felt bad, and this was going to be a bit harder for him than I thought.

"Guess we should get going," he said, smiling faintly. "Do you have to work tonight?" he asked, trying to keep his voice upbeat. But I always knew when it mattered most to him for me to not have to work. Whenever I could, I tried to be there for those times. I still do. The truth was, I was juggling two cases, one of which should have kept me at the computer running background checks since I hadn't replaced my secretary yet, and the other would have had me lurking around a local hotel trying to catch a shot of a doctor's wife meeting up with her lover, who was the same age as her college-bound son. All of the sordid goings on would still be going on tomorrow.

"Nope, I'm all yours," I said, grinning at him.

"I sure hope so." The way he looked at me, and the feeling of his hand around mine, I would have walked over ten miles of broken glass for him.

"Anywhere you want to go, you get to pick."

"Carnevale? I don't know if we can get a table, but it's where we had our first date, and I'd love to go back there."

"We'll get a table if I have to yell 'fire' to clear the place out." He laughed, and I was glad I could make him do that, lift a little of the sadness from his beautiful face.

We had a great evening. We got a table after sitting in the lobby for about an hour, but it was okay. There were a lot of people waiting and I had to sit jammed really close to him on a long seat. I could smell his cologne and feel the warmth of his breath every time he leaned over to talk to me, and we held hands while we sat there. I don't care if people stare because we're gay or if they stare because he's so damn beautiful. I don't care what they do. He likes being open, he likes being touched and treated like my lover instead of my buddy when we're out on a date. Any excuse to touch him or show him off is dandy with me.

I don't remember what it was that struck us funny while we were talking about nothing, passing the time, but we got on a laughing jag that we had trouble stifling. It had been a long time since I had a friend to laugh with, confide in, count on... Sometimes that's as sweet as having him for my life partner. I've had drinking buddies, casual acquaintances, but not all that many close friends. He's my best friend in a way I've never had a best friend before.

Our table was kind of crappy, stuck out in the middle of the floor with lots of other tables crowded all around us, but the food was good, and Tim seemed to be coming out of his funk pretty quickly. I resisted the temptation to order us another bottle of wine, since I didn't want to be too tipsy when I took him out dancing. I've been told by more people than just Timothy that I don't make a very good dancer when I'm drunk. I'm no Fred Astaire sober, but when I'm drunk? I apparently think I'm MC Hammer, and I don't have his timing or coordination or harem pants.

We went dancing at a nice gay club. We both agreed we were in the mood to blend in with the crowd and just focus on spending a little time together on the dance floor. Plus, I wanted to rub up against him, do a little sexy dancing, or the closest I can come to that, and it would really be tiresome if I had to knock some fucker on his ass for making a remark.

The gods smiled on me, and they played that old classic that was made for crawling all over your date, "Kiss You All Over." That song is like a mating call for anyone who plans on getting laid later, and I definitely had plans. Besides, it's one of the few "let's screw our brains out" songs that actually delivers a gem like, "you're not just another lover, no, you're everything to me." Anything that lets me tell Timmy I love him that way and also lets me tell him I want to jump his bones the minute we walk through the apartment door at the same time is a classic in my book.

I knew I'd subjected him to a nearly traumatic dancing experience on our second date, but I think I lived it down pretty well. We got our hips moving in unison, our bodies pressed together, hands occasionally straying a little lower than they should. It was warm in there, and we'd abandoned suit coats and ties at the table, and I got the chance to kiss and lick a little at that warm, moist spot at the base of his throat that barely peeked out of his open collar, thanks to the t-shirt that was underneath the shirt. We were pretty into it by the time the song ended, and we didn't need to debate long that it was time to go home.

He had to reach behind him blindly and lock the front door, because I already had him pinned against it with my tongue about as far into his mouth as I could get it. I wasn't getting any complaints, and he grabbed my ass with both hands and squeezed, going after my mouth in a way that made me question if I was going to get my tongue back.

I pulled at his shirt, belatedly realizing that only cheap ones tore easily, sending buttons everywhere. This one was a Ralph Lauren or a Hugo Boss, or some other equally pricey thing, and the fucking buttons were attached with some kind of suspension bridge wire. I gave it a yank, and all it did was piss him off.

"That's a $200 shirt, Donald," he fussed, brushing my hands away.

"Yeah, well, it's a ten million dollar chest under it, and it's your own fucking fault for wearing that damn t-shirt so I haven't been able to feel you up all evening." That made him laugh, and he unbuttoned it quickly and threw it aside. "Sure you don't want to press it and have it dry cleaned before we go on?" I needled.

"Oh, shut up," he snapped, pulling my open shirt off, then we fought for first chance at yanking each other's undershirts off.

"How much did this cost?" I asked, unbuckling his belt.

"Who cares?" he replied, hands busy on my belt.

We got naked without having any further arguments, and kissed and pawed at each other all the way to the bedroom. I was eyeing the floor, but Timmy started guiding us toward the bed, so I let him have his way. At least, about that. I planned on having my way with him, after I'd gotten my hands and my mouth on every part of him I could reach.

He was as excited as I was, mostly hard, and shamelessly willing and eager to get on with things. I cut right to the chase and sucked him, goaded by his moans and shouts. I fingered him with lube while I worked him over with my mouth. By the time I was inside him, I'm not sure which one of us was hotter for it. I loved doing it that way, face to face, so I could watch him and kiss him and touch him and even hold him in my arms. There's nothing better than making love to Timmy with him all pressed against me and wrapped around me. When I can show him how much I love him at the same time my body is showing him how much I want him.

I felt like I came for hours, and I know he was coming just as hard as I felt it on my chest and belly. He was sweaty, his hair was all messed up, and he was breathing like a tractor. I wished my body could have gotten as turned on by that as I was, because he looked so damned beautiful there I could have made love to him forever if it was physically possible.

We didn't say anything, we just got comfortable and I tugged the sheet up over us, with him in my arms, his head on my shoulder. He wound his leg around mine and snuggled against me, like he often does after we make love. I kissed his forehead, rested my head against his hair, breathed in the scent of his shampoo and him. And I treasured the feeling of his heart beating against my chest, finally slowing down as we relaxed until I didn't feel it thumping rapidly anymore. I rubbed his shoulder, and his arms tightened around me. As I dozed off, I mumbled "I love you" into his hair, and he babbled something with three syllables, since he was already nearly asleep.

********

I woke up and looked at the clock. It was four in the morning, and Timmy wasn't in bed with me. I got up and pulled on a robe, the apartment a little too chilly to wander around naked in the middle of the night. It was almost Thanksgiving, and snow was in the forecast. On that thought, I stuck my feet in slippers, too. Then I made my way out to the living room and found Timmy sitting there in his robe and slippers, staring into the darkness.

"Hey, honey," I said, and he looked up at me, a little startled to see me there.

"Sorry if I woke you. I couldn't sleep."

"I must be losing my touch, " I joked, sitting close to him on the couch. "You regained consciousness in less than four hours."

"It's not you," he replied, laughing softly.

"So what is it, then?" I took his hand in mine, laced our fingers, and hooked my chin on his shoulder. That seemed to cheer him up a bit more, and he smiled at me.

"I guess you'd call it jitters. Cold feet... Panic," he added.

"You do know you're going to do great at the new job?"

"What if Senator Glassman was right? What if I don't have enough experience for this?"

"What if your new boss is right? Think about it, Timothy. There had to have been a lot of applicants for that job, and probably quite a few of them who were older and had more experience than you. But Donovan wanted you. He hand-picked you."

"I have a good resume, and some good references. It's not that I don't think I'm good at what I do, it's just - "

"You're scared," I said quietly, putting my arms around him. He settled against me with a sigh. He didn't need to hear all the reasons he was good enough to do the new job, or to talk about his resume or his credentials.

"Yeah," he whispered against my neck.

"You know I think you're amazing and brilliant and talented, right?"

"I know," he replied, the smile back in his voice.

"And you've got a week's reprieve since you don't have to start until after Thanksgiving weekend."

"Yeah, I know that, too," he said, laughing again.

"Being new at things is scary, and you don't accept anything from yourself but perfection. That's a hell of a lot of pressure, sweetheart."

"I like to get things right."

"You do. And you will. Just look at the sandwiches you make for me."

"What?" he asked, chuckling. 

"They look as beautiful as they taste. They're perfect. They look like you if you were a sandwich."

"You picture me as food?"

"That's another conversation," I replied, laughing myself now.

"I guess I wouldn't have pictured you spending much time looking at the sandwiches."

"I look at everything you do," I said honestly, kissing his hand. "Even if I don't always get around to telling you."

"How did I get so lucky to find you?"

"You must have done something really, really good," I joked. But he touched his forehead to mine and touched my cheek, and his voice was very serious.

"I think you're right."

"Come back to bed with me?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Before we got up to go back to bed, he hugged me, a big bear hug.

We cuddled under the blankets and he dozed off easily with the hint of a smile on his face. I wished I could always make things better for him that way.

********

It snowed on Thanksgiving, and suddenly not traveling didn't seem so bad. I knew Timothy felt bad about not being with his family, but he didn't seem to mind being shut in the apartment with me, looking out at the snow piling up outside. The only drawback was that our trip to the bed and breakfast over the weekend was probably not going to happen. There was no way my car was going to make it over rural roads during a blizzard.

Timmy didn't get all that upset with that. He said it was probably for the best, because we could put the money aside toward the wedding. Part of me was tempted to suggest we take a nice vacation together and just exchange our vows some moonlit night on a beach someplace, but I knew how much it meant to Timmy to have the trappings of a wedding even if we couldn't have the license. Actually, I know that was why the trappings were so important. He wasn't superficial and he wasn't pretentious, but if we didn't have the ceremony and the pomp and circumstance, we didn't have anything. At least, we didn't have something big and significant to mark our commitment.

The Thanksgiving Day parades were on TV, and we had a chubby little turkey in the oven. Timothy looked beautiful in a pair of brown corduroy pants and a tweed sweater in shades of brown and orange and green. It sounds weird, but it was perfect for Thanksgiving. Sitting on the couch in my rattiest old robe and some thick socks, I couldn't think of a more perfect way to spend the holiday. I'd get dressed eventually, but I was so comfortable, the apartment was cozy with the scents of food cooking, and I was with someone I loved who loved me. I hadn't experienced any of that in such a long time that I wanted to savor every second. I tried not to think too much about the previous Thanksgiving. I purposely went out and tried to tell myself I was doing surveillance for a client, even when I knew perfectly well his wife wasn't going to chance leaving their home on Thanksgiving to meet up with her boyfriend.

I couldn't bear sitting in my apartment alone eating the microwave turkey dinner I had in the freezer. And even my pointless surveillance backfired. I ended up sitting out in the cold watching a large family gathering. Plus, all their neighbors were having family gatherings. I went home and got drunk, but it was really just a waste of booze. There's nothing like the holidays to make you want to slit your fucking wrists if you don't happen to have a couple dozen relatives on hand. Shit, I didn't even have a worthwhile friend I could intrude on. I know that was my own fault. I'm a loner. I've never been big on hanging around the smoothie bar at the health club waiting to make friends. I work weird hours and I'm not...chatty. My tendency to keep "boyfriends" at arm's length usually precluded me being on the guest list for holidays with their families.

"Oh, dear," Timmy said, sitting next to me on the couch.

"What's wrong?" I asked, smiling as he handed me a steaming cup of cocoa. Have I mentioned how good he always smells? God, I just couldn't love that guy more than I do.

"When I left you in here a few minutes ago to check on the turkey, the corners were going up. Now you look like you just lost the bet on the football games and they haven't even started yet."

"Sorry, honey. Guess I just got thinking about some not-too-festive stuff."

"Talk to me, Donald," he said softly, setting his cocoa on the coffee table. I set mine down, too, since it was pretty hot to drink. He pulled me into his arms and cuddled me. "What's got you feeling so blue, my love?" He didn't often directly challenge me to talk about myself, about painful things in my past. Tucked there in his arms, that other life seemed miles away, and yet there were times I was so bitterly afraid I'd lose him and find myself back there.

I didn't notice I was crying until he started rocking me a little, kissing my forehead. I clung to him and cried like a baby. Sometimes the old pain felt bottomless, like an abyss waiting to swallow me up if he ever let go of me...if, God forbid, he ever stopped loving me.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it," he whispered. I wondered again why he loved me, how he could just take me at face value with my strange bouts of sadness, and my inexplicable dislike for harmless love songs...how he could accept I had all this crap in my past, still eating at my soul, and not need explanations.

"Last Thanksgiving really sucked," I finally mumbled against his shoulder. Truthfully, the last several sucked. Christmas wasn't any better.

"The holidays are a pretty painful time to be alone," he replied, his arms tightening around me. "All that's in the past, baby. You're not alone anymore. We have a whole lifetime ahead of us to make good memories on the holidays."

"I know you miss your family."

"I miss my parents, and my sister, that's true. But I'm spending today with the most important part of my family. If you weren't here with me, this wouldn't be a holiday."

"Just me?" I asked, unable to fathom that Timothy would be miserable sitting around the Callahan Thanksgiving table if only I was missing.

"Oh, yes, just you. Just the man I love, the one I'm going to spend my life with. If you weren't here with me on a holiday, it would break my heart."

"I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me."

"You have to get used to being loved. Fortunately, I am the right man to make that happen," he added, the lightness and affection in his voice warming me, making me smile. Suddenly it seemed insane to waste a moment of our first Thanksgiving together feeling so bad.

"You sure are," I agreed. I laughed a little when he stuck some tissues under my nose. I took them and blew my nose and wiped my eyes. Adding that to being unshaven in my robe, I can only imagine how appealing I looked. He kissed me, a nice, slow, sweet kiss, and kept me close in his arms.  

We sat there on the couch and talked about the parades and joked about the floats. We kept checking our turkey, and I finally shaved, showered, got dressed, and helped Timmy put together the side dishes for our little feast, and set the table. The snow piled up outside, and we were warm and comfy inside as we filled ourselves with tasty food, occasionally fed each other, and stole kisses in between bites of pumpkin pie.

Timothy called his mother that evening, and it was then that it hit me just how honest he'd been with me when he told me I was the one who mattered most to him on the holidays now. He chatted cheerfully with her about our inaccurate estimate on the turkey cooking time, which meant we ate at five instead of three, like we'd planned. He listened to what she had to say about the fancy party they'd been to for Thanksgiving, and made the right polite comments and asked her some questions, but it was obvious he was happy. Even though his Thanksgiving wasn't what he was used to, even though he hadn't been with his parents, he was in a good mood, and he was busy playing footsy with me on the couch as we sat at opposite ends of it while he was on the phone.

And he was smiling at me through most of the conversation - one of those big beautiful smiles of his that are so full of love that it's almost as good as one of his kisses. Almost.

The roads were too treacherous for us to drive out in the country to the inn where we'd planned on spending the weekend, so we just hung out together. Timmy was thrilled that I was still taking the time off to spend with him even though we weren't going out of town, and we spent plenty of time looking at wedding plans. He has such good taste and so much more experience planning and attending upscale events, that I felt a little ridiculous trying to help plan our wedding. Still, it meant a lot to him that I was participating, so I did my best.

So far, he had two possible locations in mind. They were both banquet rooms in fancy hotels, so it was down to deciding which one fit our needs better. Either one looked okay to me, but I suggested we go look at them together the next week, and he loved that idea. He had all kinds of ideas for playing up the Valentine theme, right down to something called a red velvet cake. I had never heard of a red velvet cake, and part of me wanted to ask if that meant there was velvet on it someplace. I was trying to picture how you'd eat that. Since I didn't want to look completely retarded, I played along.

"I was thinking of white linens and red accents. Roses, candles, napkins."

"Where are we putting the cupids?" I asked, and he laughed. Purposely, I didn't, even though I was yanking his chain. We were sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by all kinds of flyers and meticulous notes Timothy had taken.

"Uh...I hadn't figured on cupids literally," he finally said, carefully. "Where do you think we should put them?"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I couldn't resist. I'm kidding."

"Thank God," he said, laughing. "Oh, you have to see this ice sculpture." He pushed a picture he'd printed off the computer toward me. It was an elaborate ice sculpture of two swans nose to nose, their heads and necks forming a heart. "Swans mate for life, and the heart..."

"It's perfect," I agreed. "How much is it?"

"It's pricey," he said, looking at me a little nervously.

"How pricey?" Who was I kidding? If he wanted real swans for a centerpiece, I'd be out in a lake somewhere in hip waders trying to catch them for him.

"It's...$2500," he said quickly."

"Couldn't we just buy two swans cheaper than that?"

"It's a lot, isn't it?" He sighed. "If we make the cake a little more spectacular and boost the flowers a bit, we could do without it."

"How far ahead do you have to order it?"

"A couple months."

"If we diverted some of the money we're saving - "

"We're already diverting some of that for the banquet room and the caterer." He slumped back in his chair. "I need to adjust my thinking."

"I think we should use red linens with white accents."

"What?"

"Everybody uses white. We're not everybody. Let's have red tablecloths and white flowers and candles. Can you get those chair covers in red with white bows on them?" I asked, and I would have given my next three retainers to have a camera handy to capture Timothy's expression.

"I imagine we can..." He was still staring at me. "I'm going now to look for the pod," he said finally. I had to laugh at that.

"You hate the idea?"

"No, no...actually, I love it. But I know the only reason you're sitting through hours of event planning discussions is because you love me, and I have to admit, I didn't really expect a lot of input."

"This isn't an event, it's our wedding," I said, taking his hand. I stroked his ring finger. "We need to set a little aside for rings."

"That brings us back to money. Donald, we can't afford any of this. Ice sculptures, fancy banquet rooms...when my mother was on board, I knew she'd want us to have the top of the line in everything, and that she'd insist on some things, that she and my dad would pay for some of it. I need to lower my sights here."

"Let's not shoot anything down yet. You're getting a bigger salary, and if I can get some good retainers between now and then..." I leaned my chin on my fist and started sorting through his flyers again. "We'll figure something out, honey. How important is the honeymoon? I mean, we were supposed to be at an inn this weekend, and so far, I've been just as happy right here with you. When we're a little more solid, we could take a nice trip. Maybe for an anniversary. That would free up a few grand."

"Well, yes, I suppose it would," he said, looking at the travel brochure for the Hawaiian trip we had planned. "I haven't committed to anything with the travel agency yet."

"It's not like we couldn't go anywhere. We could afford a nice weekend at the inn we were planning to go to this weekend. Or we could afford our wedding night in a really amazing honeymoon suite. But we could put the rest of the money into the wedding."

"You'd probably enjoy Hawaii more than all this stuff," he said, gesturing at the wedding planning brochures.

"I'm kinda getting hooked on this whole wedding thing. You in a tux," I said, flexing my eyebrows at him. He smiled then, and kissed my hand.

"You were right all along. If you're there, everything else is negotiable."

"Negotiable, maybe, but that doesn't mean we aren't going to have a nice wedding. And if you want big swans made out of ice, we'll find a way to have them. Let's make a negotiable list. Put all the expensive stuff we want on it, and if we can swing it, we'll do that stuff. What's the stuff we absolutely need to have a nice party?"

"A banquet room, catering, linens, flowers, a cake - "

"Let's pick a good location and a good menu. We need to sign up for that right away."

"I can do a bare bones budget."

"And a wish list. As we get closer to the time, we can upgrade whatever we can afford."

"I like that idea. And I like the red linen idea. And I love you so much for all of it."

********

While I was in the shower Monday morning, Don got up and made breakfast. I figured he'd probably get up to wish me luck before I went to work at the new job for the first time, but I didn't think he'd make breakfast. I shaved and got dressed, and by the time I went out to the kitchen, he was pouring coffee in the two cups on the table, and getting ready to serve scrambled eggs and toast. He looked so cute puttering around in the kitchen with my chef's apron on over his clothes. He wasn't dressed in his professional clothes yet, but he'd thrown on jeans and a sweater.

"I thought I'd drive you to work, being the first day and all," he said, pulling out my chair at the table.

"You didn't have to do all this, honey. But I'm glad you did," I added honestly. I was still jittery about the first day on the job, and it felt good to have Don's support and attention. I'd never had a friend quite as loyal and true as he was. Besides being in love with him, I counted on him so much and he never let me down. He never has. For all the ups and downs of his schedule, he's always there for me when it matters most. Then I spotted a little burgundy gift bag with a pouf of gold tissue paper sticking out of the top. "What's this?"

"Oh, just a little something to commemorate your first day, Chief of Staff Callahan," he said, smiling as he served the eggs and then sat down across from me.

I removed the little pouf of tissue and reached into the bag. I pulled out a small gold paperweight in the shape of a shooting star. That day's date was engraved on it.

"Every shooting star has to start somewhere," he said. "You're a star, sweetheart, and today is the beginning of your upward shot," he said, looking at me with all the love and admiration in the world. He always makes me feel ten feet tall, and he believes in me even when I'm not so sure of myself. I had a huge lump in my throat, and I could barely speak past it.

"Donald, it's beautiful," I said, still holding it, a tear escaping.

"Oh, honey, I didn't want to make you cry," he said, scooting over close to me with his chair and putting his arm around me.

"I will treasure this the rest of my life," I said, holding the little weight in my hand.

"I'm gonna treasure you the rest of my life," he said, kissing my cheek. "I thought maybe when you get a case of jitters over something, you could look at that, and remember that this is just the beginning, and that you can handle it because this is just the start of all the great things you're going to do in your career."

"You make me feel like I can do anything," I said, and it was true. For all the confidence I have, and the rest that I can usually fake pretty convincingly, Donald sees all my little fears and insecurities, and from the start, I've always let him. I trusted him as soon as I met him, and the faith he has in me bolsters me when I don't have enough faith in myself. I'm not sure he'll ever know what his support means to me, or how many times it's sustained me through something personal or professional that, quite honestly, had me scared silly.

"You're going to do great, honey, and a few months from now, you'll be so into this new job that you'll forget all about wondering if you can handle it."

Don was right. I did take to the new job like a fish to water, and before long, I was juggling tasks that were higher level than I'd ever been entrusted with in Senator Glassman's office, and they were coming together. I wasn't perfect - I made some missteps - but they weren't huge, and most things progressed pretty smoothly.

There are days when I still pick up the little star paperweight and hold onto it, when I'm having a bad day, and it makes me feel better. It reminds me of all that faith and confidence that Donald has in me, and it lifts me up, and makes me smile. I remember that morning in our kitchen when everything was so new and we weren't even sure how we'd pay for half the things we had planned for our wedding. Even then, my Donald had that serenity about him that everything would be okay. Donald isn't serene about a whole lot, but I came to realize that his ability to be confident, to not panic, was all rooted in one thing - he loves me so much that as long as we're together, nothing truly scares him. The only thing that he'd really find insurmountable is losing me. Everything else, to him, is doable.

It's awesome and amazing to be loved like that. And back then, it surprised him that I could be happy on a holiday with just him. For the rest of my life, all I will ever need to be truly happy is just him.