Title: PARTY LINES

Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)

Pairing: Donald and Timothy

Rating: R 

Word Count: 4565

References/Spoilers: Don't think so.

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: As the election looms, Tim faces another upheaval in his career. Sequel to "Love Is Blind" in the One Night Series.

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PARTY LINES

by

Candy Apple

The morning news was droning in the background while I dished up the pancakes. As the election was drawing closer, Timmy was in more and more of a funk. The Republican candidate was leading in the polls, which made his future even more uncertain. I hoped fixing breakfast would cheer him up a little. I could see he appreciated the gesture, but his attention was more focused on the local pundits than it was on my pancakes.

"If he's elected, does that mean he'd fire all of you because you worked for a Democrat?" I asked, figuring the elephant in the corner might as well join us for breakfast.

"No," he said, making a valiant attempt to look like he wanted the pancakes, adding syrup and then cutting into them. "Leslie worked for the guy who was in office before Sean, and he was a Republican. She is, too."

"See? Maybe there's not that much to get worked up about."

"Don, I'm his chief of staff. I doubt a conservative Republican is going to want to keep me on. Our ideologies aren't exactly compatible. That's probably why he invited me to lunch today."

"He what? Why?"

"He said he'd like to meet me, and talk to me. He knows my father. He lobbied for him and donated to his re-election campaigns."

"Why would he take you to lunch if he was planning to kick you to the curb? Besides, he hasn't been in office before, so he probably doesn't have a 'staff' all put together."

"No, possibly not," he said, sipping his coffee.

"If you're out of work a while, we'll make it. We always seem to land on our feet, somehow," I said, smiling. Quite honestly, if I had Timmy, that was enough. Timmy and a shelter that was safe and decent enough for him to be comfortable in. It's not that Timmy's a snob, even though his upbringing could have easily made him one - he didn't lack for much. But he was used to nice things, and he was used to being safe and warm and living in a nice setting. I didn't want him to ever experience anything less. If he'd been somewhat sheltered up to that point, I was determined he would remain as sheltered as I could keep him until I turned up my toes.

"I know. I suppose I shouldn't borrow trouble." He gave me a little smile, but I knew I wasn't having much luck lifting the clouds from his mood. I couldn't blame him. He'd been working worse hours than I did, he'd been through the wringer with the whole corruption mess, and now the Republican candidate was most likely to win, and his future was even shakier than it was when everyone thought the Democrat would succeed Sean. And, knowing Timothy as I did, he was more concerned for the fate of the programs and policies that Sean advanced, priorities they shared. "The pancakes are great, honey," he said, his smile warming as he looked at me. I enjoyed just looking at him for a moment, savoring the notion that he was mine, and wishing I could do something more than make pancakes to ease the tension that lay beneath that smile.

********

I paced around the lobby of the country club, checking my watch for the third time in ten minutes. Harrison Grant wasn't all that late, but I was that jumpy. I wasn't sure what I wanted from this meeting - to be assured of my job or relieved of it. Just as that thought crossed my mind, in walked Harrison, six feet tall, silver hair, dark suit...he had the bearing that could carry him to the White House. He looked like he should be on television, giving State of the Union Addresses. I wasn't easily intimidated by old guys in expensive suits. I grew up in the midst of them, taught the proper etiquette for greeting and impressing my father's political cronies. My father also taught me not to be a "empty-headed little nothing," which was how he described a lot of his friends' kids. In other words, they had a rehearsed line or two they could deliver, but they fizzled quickly if someone in power tried to engage them in conversation.

He said conversing with your elders, especially the powerful ones, wasn't disrespectful as long as you were courteous and didn't stick your foot in your mouth. So I was expected to not only greet those old codgers, but to have something worthwhile to say if they did more than pat me on the head (when I was short enough for them to do that) or nod in my direction.

I vaguely remember conversing effortlessly with a former president when I was six, at some fancy event that included legislators' families. It remains one of my father's proudest moments. I was still a Republican back then.

All that having been said, Harrison Grant was the type I never liked boldly conversing with when I was a child. He was an imposing sort, and looked like he had a metal rod up his ass. He'd spent most of his life running some branch of the conglomerate his wealthy family owned. They had interests in all areas of the banking and financial planning industries, and I wondered if it was my imagination that Grant smelled like a stack of new hundred dollar bills. In his spare time, he backed Republican political candidates, volunteered on all sorts of boards, and weighed in with his opinion, and his money, on practically every cause that had a financial aspect to it. Sadly, in the final analysis, almost all causes do, because publicity and visibility doesn't come cheaply.

"Mr. Grant," I said, holding out my hand.

"Harrison, please, Tim," he said, shaking it, smiling. "I hope you haven't been waiting long."

Twenty fucking minutes. Did I mention that tardiness is a pet peeve of mine? Except with Donald, and I'll let him get away with most anything.

"No, just a few minutes," I replied, returning his smile.

We walked into the club, and the hostess immediately brightened.

"Mr. Grant, Mr. Callahan, your table is ready," she said.

I inwardly snickered at her remembering me and calling me by name. I wasn't a member there - I hadn't reached that expensive milestone yet, and Sean thought country clubs were so much pretentious bullshit, in his words, so he didn't think I needed a membership there to do his work. He belonged there and only occasionally would swallow hard and attend some function there - usually one I chose for him and painstakingly convinced him why he should attend it. Still, I was at most every fundraising event, tons of community functions - I was as much a fixture at the country club as half the membership, even if I was still a poor relation of sorts who usually got in as someone else's guest.

"I'm glad you could make time to meet me for lunch," Harrison said as we sat down, and the hostess departed. "I'm sure you're very busy keeping things running in Donnelly's office."

"I appreciate the invitation," I replied.

"How's your father doing these days? I haven't seen him since we both attended a Republican re-election fundraiser in DC last year," he said, taking a drink of the ice water that was waiting at our places.

"He's doing well. He was just appointed to a joint commission on Medicare reform last month," I added.

"Difficult task. No one wants to jeopardize care for the elderly, but there's certainly some fat to be trimmed in how that program is managed."

We paused while the waitress took our orders.

"And you've made quite the meteoric rise in your career in the last year or so," he said, leaning back in his chair a bit. "From aide in Glassman's office to chief of staff for Donnelly."

"Sean was an outstanding mentor. I learned a lot working for him," I replied.

"Shame things ended the way they did. People tend to only remember the scandals," he added.

Yes, they do. Fuck you for mentioning it, you pompous windbag.

"Hopefully when that dies down, people will also remember some of the programs he championed, and his long history as a dedicated public servant."

"We can only hope," he said, smiling faintly. "And you're, how do you put it? In a relationship, now, I understand?"

"I got married last February," I said. "I realize we don't have the State of New York on board with gay marriage yet, but in all the ways that matter to us, we're married."

"How nice for you," he said, and I could hear the insincerity in the forced pleasantry. I wondered if he thought Donald and I should be put to death for sodomy, or just enrolled in the nearest straight camp. "And your, uh, friend? What does he do?"

"My partner is a private investigator," I said. I wondered if I'd get through this lunch without accidentally knocking my hot coffee in his lap.

"Those folks work some chaotic hours, don't they?"

"Yes, he definitely has a varied schedule." I forced myself to smile, to act as if I thought he was really trying to be nice...as if I believed he didn't consider Donald a scandalous shortcoming that he'd have to learn to live with if he kept me on.

"I'm sure it's no secret to someone as politically astute as yourself that I don't support gay marriage."

"I'm familiar with your stance on the major issues, from the current campaign, and from your support of other political candidates and causes. My marriage, or relationship, however you're most comfortable referring to it, is my personal business. Don is very supportive of my career, and I have no intention of hiding my orientation or how I live my life, but I also recognize that I'm not the Congressman here. Sean Donnelly was. If elected, you would be."

"That's a good attitude, son. I've certainly heard a lot of good things about you, especially recently, and you do a damn good press conference for someone your age."

I'm not your son, and what exactly does "for someone my age" mean? If there's one thing in this world I can't stand, it's a qualified compliment. Either I'm good at it or I'm not. My age is irrelevant.

"Thank you. I've always felt very comfortable dealing with the media."

"That's obvious, and given your family history, I'd be a fool to let a few little differences in our opinions get in the way of having someone like you in charge of my staff's daily operations. We all can see which way the polls are headed, and I'm sure you've had enough ambiguity regarding your future to last you a while. I'm prepared to offer you the opportunity to stay on as my chief of staff. Any son of Steven Callahan's would certainly be a fine addition to my team."

"I appreciate that, Harrison," I said, waiting, impatient, because that was the moment our food arrived. Once the server left, I weighed my next words carefully. I couldn't afford to stomp off in an idealistic huff. Even if I didn't like this guy - and I didn't - we needed my income. Don had been unable to work for nearly a month due to his injuries in the hit-and-run, and unless I wanted to see our nest egg dwindle to nothing, I had to stay employed. "I only feel it fair to point out that I'm not my father. I don't share his political views, which is largely why I'm not in more regular touch with him. In fact, it's probably why I'm not managing his staff."

"Well, Tim, I think most everyone who knows your family knows your generation made quite a departure from the priorities of your parents."

"Meaning what, exactly?"

"Most of your father's friends and colleagues were familiar with your sister's rather public and vocal rebellion and habit of showing up at protests with the rest of the love beads and tambourine crowd," he said, chuckling. "Did she grow out of that phase as well as you have?"

"I wouldn't know. My sister left home when she was 17, and we haven't seen her since. I don't know for sure that she's still alive, so I suppose she may have grown out of that phase one way or another," I shot back. I was pissed off, offended, and references to Kelly were always a sore spot. She was a rebel and a troublemaker and we didn't always see eye to eye, but she's my little sister and I love her, and such a painful chapter in my family's history wasn't something I took lightly. We still have our differences, but blood is thicker than a $5.00 glass of sparkling water.

"Forgive me if I offended you, Tim. I didn't realize she was unaccounted for. I'm sure that's a source of great worry for you and your parents, so I apologize for making light of it."

"I may not be wearing love beads and playing a tambourine, but I haven't grown out of being a Democrat, and I do support gay marriage. Vocally. As a matter of fact, I belong to more than one gay rights group. I've never inappropriately used my positions with legislators to advance my own agenda, but I also don't plan to change my personal politics. If that's an issue for you, we should discuss it now."

"I don't expect you to change your...lifestyle. However, I would expect you to be discreet about your public behavior."

"Meaning what, exactly?"

"Well, obviously, if you're going to invest time and energy into promoting political causes of your own, even on your own time, that could reflect negatively on my service to my constituents. And, I would certainly assume you would be tasteful in your public appearances with your...companion."

I sat there and took a deep breath. I momentarily asked myself if I could work for this prick to keep our nest egg intact. To keep our health insurance. To pay our bills if Don was injured again, or if one of us got sick. I hoped Don would understand my decision.

I laid my napkin on the table.

"I appreciate your job offer, Mr. Grant, but I respectfully decline it. There might be some instances in which I could work for a Republican legislator, but I am convinced this is not one of those instances." I stood.

"Ideology doesn't pay the bills, Tim."

"No, I suppose it doesn't, but I'm also not inclined to sell my integrity to pay them, either. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a tight schedule, and I should be getting back to the office," I said, and without waiting for an answer, I walked out of that place, stopping to retrieve my coat on the way out.

The chilly November wind hit me with an unwelcome blast of cold, and I wondered how the weather could possibly know it had just turned into November, and as if by design, instantly become colder, gloomier, and more miserable. It was raining lightly, and I trudged across the parking lot to Leslie's car, which she'd loaned me for this auspicious occasion, since the country club wasn't on the bus route. Surprise, surprise. I sat inside the relative comfort of the car, glad to have the rain off me, and started it up. I was going to just go back to the office, but I decided to go to Don's office instead. I needed to talk to him. Leslie didn't expect me back until later anyway, assuming I was going to have a meaningful lunch meeting with Grant.

I dialed his number and then started out.

"Strachey Investigations, this is Cora."

"Hi, Cora, it's Tim. Where's Don?" I asked, surprised that she answered his cell phone.

"He ran an errand and forgot his phone, so I answered it."

"Oh, okay. Is he due back soon?"

"Yes, he just went out to pick up lunch and get some gas."

"Good. I'm gonna stop by there on my way back to my office."

"I'm sure he'll be glad to see you. I think he's kind of taken with you," she joked, and I laughed. Now there was a stress reliever when I needed one.

"Yeah, I know the feeling. I'm kind of taken with him, too."

Don wasn't back yet when I arrived at his office, so Cora filled me in on the cruise she and Fred were taking over Thanksgiving. By some machination I really didn't need to know the details of, Don had found out Fred was going to pop the question on that trip. He kept it under his hat, but the wait was killing him. He'd made that match, and I know part of him was dying to know if it was going to end up in marriage.

"Cora, is my cell phone here?" Don asked, rushing in the door, carrying a large bag from Burger King. Now that I had dealt a staggering blow to my career, and hadn't eaten anything in the process, I was hungry and the food smelled wonderful. Still, I was sure half of it was for Cora, and the other half was for Don, and the last thing I wanted to do was blow in like the November wind and gobble up their lunch. "Hey, honey," he said, brightening up when he saw me sitting there.

"Yes, it's on your desk. If you'd remembered to take it with you, you'd have known Tim was coming over," she chided with a grin. Cora ragged on Don all the time, and he always laughed at it. I could never understand why other secretaries found him so difficult.

"No arguments there. But now I get a nice surprise instead," he said, setting the food bag on his desk. Then he sat next to me on the couch that was the extent of his waiting room furniture and gave me a big sloppy kiss on the mouth. "You're done early with Grant." Then he looked at me a moment, seeming to realize he'd kind of stuck his foot in his mouth and stated the obvious.

"I'm going to head out for lunch," Cora said, getting her purse out of the desk.

"I hope you're not leaving on my account," I said.

"You two enjoy your visit. I'm sure Fred'll meet me over at Subway for lunch."

"What about your food? Cora, please, stay. I won't hold things up long. I have to get back to the office anyway," I said.

"Hey, lunch is on me," Don said, handing her a twenty. "Tell Fred we said 'hi.'"

"You don't have to pay for lunch, Don," she said, holding the twenty back toward him.

"I know I don't have to. Think of it as combat pay for finishing the file re-organizing project."

"All right, thanks. I'll be back in about an hour." With that, she tossed her coat over her arm and left.

"I'm sorry I screwed up your lunch plans. I already ate," I said.

"Sure you did. You had a lettuce flake and cube of chicken off your salad before things went south. You're a great PR guy, but you'd really suck at poker. What happened?"

"I'm going to be unemployed in a few weeks," I said.

"That old asswipe. Doesn't that stupid motherfucker know what you can do? He invited you to lunch just to dump you?"

Don was ready to dismember Harrison Grant personally. My heart always flutters a little when he reacts that way.

"Actually, the stupid motherfucker offered me the chance to stay on."

He looked a little blank then. He stared at me, even blinked a time or two. Then he frowned.

"I don't get it."

"I declined his job offer," I said, and I waited for Don to lose it. He never had before, and honestly, in all the years we've been together, he never has really shouted at me or jumped down my throat. We've argued, and we've gotten vocal with each other, but he's never been mean to me, and I've never had a reason to cringe at telling him anything. Or him, me. But I thought that might be the exception.

"It's okay. You were looking for a job when you found that one, so you'll get another one."

"That's it?"

"What?"

"You're not angry?"

"Why would I be angry?"

"Because I turned down keeping my salary and benefits and threw our whole life into uncertainty again."

"Yeah, you did, and it's obvious you're more upset about that than I am, so why would I make things worse? Sweetheart, whatever made you turn down that job...I know you had a good reason." He took my hand in both of his. "What'd he do? Grope you under the table? 'Cause that's what I would've done." I laughed at that. "You're really beautiful when you laugh," he said, touching my cheek. He looked at me with so much love that it took my breath away. "It's just a job, honey. Relax and start breathing normally again."

I didn't realize my breathing was shallow and quick until he said that. I was so riled up. I think I probably would have exploded by now if I hadn't met Don. I'm not just a type A personality. I'm a triple A personality, probably with a "+" thrown in there for good measure. I took some deep breaths and looked into his eyes. He pressed his forehead to mine.

"He made it clear that I wouldn't be welcome to continue my own political activities. Especially with the gay rights groups I belong to, advocating for gay marriage, which he opposes. I can deal with people who oppose it, but he made it a point to refer to you as my 'friend' - and Don, I'm sorry, but I don't wear wedding rings for my friends, and I don't have sex with them, either, or make a life with them. And then when I referred to you as my partner, the next time he mentioned you, he called you my 'companion'." I knew I was blurting it all out in a blob, but he just listened. He didn't try to slow me down. He knows sometimes I just need to blurt out blobs and get them off my chest. "He didn't want me doing anything that would reflect negatively on him, and then he made this remark about how I'd behave in public with you, or some such nonsense. And he made some unpleasant remark about Kelly...Don, I know we need the money, but I just...couldn't work with him."

"We don't need the money that bad, and I couldn't work with that asshole, either. As a matter of fact, I'd have had a hard time not knocking him on his ass."

"I thought of spilling coffee on his lap," I admitted.

"Old scarecrow like him probably doesn't have anything worthwhile there to burn."

"You're really not angry?"

"At him, yes. At you, no. We'll be okay."

"Maybe Simmons will get elected," I offered hopefully. Dorothy Simmons was the Democratic candidate, a personal friend of Sean's. I liked her very much, and she'd already asked me to commit to staying on if she won. The polls didn't look good for that to happen.

"I wouldn't count on it," he said. Then he kissed my hand. "Forget it, Timothy. We knew when Sean died that we were going to deal with some turmoil, that you might lose your job. We'll manage. Two can live as cheaply as one and all that crap."

"But only for half as long."

"Yeah, but we can make the time count," he teased, pushing me back on the couch, his warm body wrinkling my neatly pressed suit. I kissed him long and hard, tossed my glasses in the general direction of the coffee table, and stuck my hands in his hair, messing it up, holding his head where I wanted it. One of his hands was in my hair, and the other made its way down to give me a squeeze.

"Now you're playing dirty," I accused, in a rare moment when our mouths parted.

"Cora locked the door on her way out."

"I can't come on my pants, Donald. I have to go back to work."

"Then take your pants off."

"Donald Strachey, are you propositioning me?"

"Apparently not too effectively if you have to ask," he said, laughing, unbuckling my belt.

We were naked in a surprisingly short time, and made do with a shared hand job. We'd managed to get excited, but we were more interested in making out, kissing, holding each other, than we were in doing anything exotic or acrobatic. I know how Don feels the cold, so I grabbed my topcoat and threw it over us - well, he was on top of me, so the coat was mostly over him and he was mostly keeping me warm with his body, which was just fine with me.

We lay there a while, just kissing and nuzzling each other, savoring the stolen moment of closeness.

"You want something to eat before you go back to the office?" he asked, though the way he settled himself on my chest and sighed, I wondered how he intended for me to get it. I could see his pale gold lashes moving as he blinked, so at least he wasn't dozing off on me.

"I love you," I said, kissing the top of his head.

"I love you, too, beautiful," he replied. He kissed me again and reluctantly got up, going to his desk where the bag of food was.

"Shouldn't you put some clothes on?" I asked as he dug through the bag.

"Cora will be a while," he responded.

I turned on my side and just watched him. He has the most beautiful body in the world. I always feel like I'm watching some perfect piece of sculpture come alive when I watch him move around naked. It seems impossible he could be so sweet, caring, smart, funny, and completely devoted to me at the same time. It seems like too much, like I'm too lucky sometimes.

He brought the bag over, and humoring my sense of decorum, pulled on his shorts. After a little more fooling around, we both got dressed, even though we left ties and suit coats aside while we dug into the food. We split his large chocolate shake, and devoured the two Whoppers and French fries. The bottom had dropped out of my career for the moment, but as I sat there sharing Whopper-flavored kisses with Donald, I couldn't think of a reason not to smile. He really did adore me unconditionally, for richer or for poorer, better or worse, no matter what.

Harrison Grant could have piles of money, he could win the election, he could even pour that money into trying to keep couples like Don and me from getting legally married. He could take away my job, leave my future uncertain and our financial well-being hanging in the balance, but when all was said and done, he'd never be even a fraction as rich as I was then, and am now, and will be as long as I have my love by my side.

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