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

See WARNINGS

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

With Donald having a green light to go home the following day, Tim felt less hesitant to discuss their financial situation and to encourage him to at least agree to legal representation so they could start receiving the treatment they deserved from the police. At the very least, Tim saw no reason for Donald to deplete his savings paying for private security when police protection could be provided by the department - - or an adequate settlement could be reached with the department that would cover the cost of security and replace Donald's missing income while he recovered. He'd used one of his brief breaks from the hospital to meet with Gabriel Temple, one of the area's leading attorneys, who agreed to take the case on a contingency basis, provided they were prepared to press for a settlement from the city of at least a million dollars.

"A million dollars? Timothy, if I ask for that, I won't be able to deal with the cops ever again, and by the time the lawyer gets his cut and we pay our bills, it's not going to be enough to replace my income indefinitely. I need to be able to revive my business." Don sighed, leaning back in the recliner, looking out the window of his hospital room. "I said I didn't want to turn this into a cause."

"It's not a cause. A cause would be a high-profile lawsuit with a huge multi-million dollar settlement and all kinds of national - - maybe even international - - media coverage. That's what we could do to them, Donald. But I don't want to make money off your suffering, and I don't want to pressure you and push you into a spotlight for what is an intensely private healing process. At the same time, I told you I'd take care of things, get us out of the financial jam we're in, and this is the only way to do it."

"Then let them foreclose on us, I'll close the PI business, and we'll start over."

"You deserve some compensation for how you were treated by the police. I realize you and Bailey have a good rapport, and it's not his fault - - I know he mobilized things and saved your life, and he's a good, decent cop. But Stenski isn't, and he's a city employee, and he abused his authority in a way that almost cost you your life. I understand you don't want a crusade, and I respect that. I would never suggest anything that would embarrass you or put pressure on you. This is a win-win solution for both sides. We get the money we need to stay afloat so you can recover without worrying every day that you can't pay your rent on the office, we don't have to worry about losing our home, and we can hire the security we need to feel safe until this is resolved."

"You think the cops are going to view this as a good thing?"

"We're not going to ask for a phenomenal sum. Temple said we could go as high as three million and still settle out of court, given what he could do to them in a civil trial. He said a jury verdict could give us much, much more than that. I'm sure he'll make that point clear to the department. I think we should ask for at least 1.5 million. Even with Temple's cut, we'd have close to a million dollars to pay off our debts, hire the security we need, keep your office open and operating, pay Kenny..." Tim paused. "The important thing is that you don't have to be dragged into a long, miserable legal process, and they get to pay us off at pennies on the dollar of what it could cost them and avoid a media circus that won't reflect well on the department."

"I was hoping we could handle this without lawyering up. It ceases to be a friendly agreement when you start bringing lawyers into it. The bottom line is, it's Stenski who did this, not the department as a whole."

"The department employed him; that makes them responsible. Furthermore, let's be realistic. Stenski isn't going to have the money to pay a settlement, even if we sue him. It might not be the department's fault you were injured in the first place, but they need to be held accountable for what happened to you in police custody. Truthfully, Donald, if we don't do something, even something low-profile like a settlement, we're telling them it's okay that they nearly killed you - - no hard feelings. Maybe you're that magnanimous with the cops, but frankly, I'm not. When I think about how close you came to dying, there are times I can't stop shaking. It's not okay with me that they almost took you away from me."

"Fox and his buddies did most of that damage, honey."

"Dr. Sharma said if you'd been brought to the ER right away, you still would have needed surgery, but the threat to your life would have been minimal, because the primary danger was the extensive blood loss and the fact they could barely stabilize your blood pressure. That wouldn't have happened if Stenski had taken you to the ER instead of the holding cell."

"What is it you want me to sign?" Don said, looking defeated. Tim sighed, rubbing his forehead. Winning the argument and wearing Don down wasn't his goal, nor was making Don feel more powerless that he already did.

"I'm sorry. I guess I'm pushing you, and I don't mean to do that."

"You said you'd take care of things, and that's what you're trying to do. I'm the one who canceled the insurance, so I guess I don't have the right to bitch about the way you came up with to fix that."

"If that's how you feel about this, honey, then forget about it." Tim pulled his chair closer and took both of Don's hands in his. "I love you. Not a house, not a settlement, not your business. I'll love you if we lose everything, just as much as I love you now."

"I canceled the insurance, and that's what's really putting us behind the eight ball. Then I got myself into this mess that's screwed me up so I can't work. It's my fault, Timothy, no matter how you spin it."

"None of this is your fault. You made a business decision that came back to bite you. You're not the only person who ever did that. I imagine a lot of people cut back on things like insurance when they're trying to come up with money to pay the bills. As for any other part of this being your fault, it isn't."

"I want to call Bailey first. I don't think he'll tip off the higher-ups, but I want him to know what's coming. I feel like I owe him that. He saved my life."

"Temple would probably advise against that, but I don't blame you. It feels kind of...wrong going behind his back."

"Temple really thinks we can get that much without going to court?"

"He thought I was nuts when I told him we didn't want to sue, and that you didn't want to have a bad relationship with the police department."

"I suppose when he looks at millions of dollars, he can't figure out why someone wouldn't want to collect that and then just live off it." Don squeezed Tim's hands a little. "I don't know how to explain it. It's so hard to...to put it into words."

"I'm with you no matter what you want to do about this, honey. You don't have to explain it."

"I want to. I know it's not fair to you to not go after the big prize. We could have millions of dollars if we won." Don swallowed, and a single tear made its way down his cheek. "It feels like getting paid for what they did to me. It feels like somehow I'm saying that millions of dollars makes it okay. It makes me feel like a well-paid whore," he said, the final word coming out so quietly that Tim had to strain to catch it.

"Oh, baby, there's no way you could ever be that, no matter what we do about this." Tim freed one of his hands to caress the side of Donald's face, brushing away the tear. "I'd give anything I have, or ever will have, to go back and undo this thing, make it not happen to you. I understand not wanting to profit from it. It feels like taking dirty money. And all the publicity and intrusion on your privacy going for the big payoff would involve? I'd never ask that of you, and never want to see you go through it. There isn't enough money out there that would make me want to watch you suffer any more than you have already."

"We could finally have the kind of lifestyle you deserve. I don't think we're going to get there on my income, even when things are back to normal."

"I love my life with you. Whatever 'lifestyle' we can have together is fine with me. Besides, whatever either one of us has is ours, and I haven't exactly skyrocketed us to millionaire status."

"Your grandmother's inheritance was the down payment on our house," Don said.

"So what? We've never had a 'yours' and 'mine' since we got married. Everything has always been 'ours.' If we hadn't used the money for that, it would have gone for something else we could both enjoy. That doesn't make me some kind of aristocrat, because my grandmother was comfortable and chose to share that with her grandchildren."

"Money's never been exactly free flowing, and now this happens... On top of that, you're stuck with somebody who might never be normal again."

"If I'd wanted normal, I wouldn't have married you in the first place," Tim quipped, and he was relieved to see Don laugh a little at that. "Don't agree with this because you feel guilty or think you should for my sake. Think about it, and agree with it if you feel it's the right thing to do and you feel comfortable with it."

"It's probably a good compromise. We get something to pay the bills, and it's expensive enough that the city takes it seriously and doesn't want another Stenski on the payroll. You did good, honey. I'm sorry I gave you a hard time about it."

"I'm not. We're in this together, and the only way we're going to do anything is if we both agree with it and are at peace with it."

"You think this is the right thing to do?" Don asked, looking into Tim's eyes with such sincerity and such utter...trust in his opinion that it moved Tim deeply.

"I think we're in an awful situation no matter how we look at it. I don't think any part of it is your fault or mine, but I do think we need to find the best way out of at least part of the mess. I think this is the best way."

"Then I'm on board," Don said, smiling faintly.

********

Don was never so glad to see anything as he was to see the wheelchair with Tim standing behind it, waiting to take him home. Even though he was still slower on his feet than usual, and any time he moved too quickly or stretched too far, he could feel the pain flare again, he felt more able than he had when he'd taken his first shaky steps after surgery. Dressed in jeans, a shirt, and his coat, he felt more like himself than he had for days. No more pajamas and slippers like a little old man in a rest home, even though he figured Tim would keep him on a short leash until the doctor okayed more normal activity. At least he was dressed and going home.

Most of the flowers were donated to other patients, so Don's things were condensed to a duffle bag and his stuffed gorilla, which, to Tim's amusement, Don happily carried on his lap as he rode in the wheelchair. Since it played "Fever" every time you pressed its red heart, Don couldn't resist activating it when they were in an elevator full of people. It was worth it for the look on Tim's face that began with a roll of the eyes and ended with one of those wide grins of amusement that Don would have turned cartwheels in the lobby to achieve.

Tim's car was pulled up near the main entrance, and he took Don in the wheelchair out to it, solicitously loading him into the passenger seat as though he was made of crystal. Truthfully, Don did feel a little like a mole pulled into the daylight, glad to put on his sunglasses against the bright afternoon sun. It was a crisp fall day, a beautiful day to be sprung from the hospital. Still, there was something intimidating about being out in the world again, outside the cocoon of the hospital, obnoxious though it could be at times.

"Ready to go?" Tim asked, sliding behind the wheel, wreathed in smiles.

"You have to ask? I see our security is on the job," he said, looking in the passenger-side rearview mirror. A black sedan was parked behind them.

"Pollack is going to follow us home and check out the house before we go in. That's what he's been doing whenever I've gone home for anything. He could have driven us home, but I thought you'd like this better."

"How'd you know?" Don asked, partially joking, but partly serious. He'd never liked their bodyguard, though he couldn't give a logical reason for it. Certainly no reason that was good enough to terminate the man's service. Tim had been kept perfectly safe and didn't seem to mind Pollack, so there was no reason to rock the boat.

"Because you don't like him, even though you don't seem to find anything wrong with what he does."

"You think it's just because he reminds me of Fox or one of his goons, huh?"

"I think that's possible, or you just don't like him as a person, which happens sometimes. In any event, he can just as easily follow us as drive us there." Tim started the car and headed for the road. "Now the doctor said you'd have to limit the stairs for the first couple weeks, so you can decide if you want to sleep upstairs or if you want me to make up the guest room downstairs for us. I'll sleep wherever you sleep."

"I want to sleep in our room, in our bed, with you. If I have to slide down the banister to do that, I'll handle it," he added, grinning.

"Hopefully, that won't be necessary," Tim replied, smiling back at him. "I could carry you."

"Sure you could. Then I'd be recovered and you'd be in traction."

"I've carried you before, Donald," Tim reminded him, still smiling.

"Once, about two feet, and then you dropped me."

"I did not drop you. I laid you on the bed."

"Bullshit. You dropped me on the bed too close to the edge because I was heavier than I looked and I almost landed on the floor."

"But you didn't, did you?"

"No, I guess I didn't," Don said, laughing.

"I recall making it up to you."

"That you did," Don confirmed, still smiling. "Still, I think I'll go up the steps under my own power, even if I have to do it slowly." He turned to look at Tim, whose expression had suddenly changed to one of worry. Then he saw him pump the brakes a couple times.

"Donald, we don't have brakes."

"Calm down, honey. Just pump them a few times."

"That's what I'm doing! There are no brakes!" he shot back in that panicked way of his when Don wasn't sure how he managed to articulate so many words in so short a time. "Oh, my God," he said, looking at the busy intersection ahead.

"Start laying on your horn and put on your emergency lights," Don said. He took hold of the gearshift and pulled the car from "drive" into first gear, and the car slowed only marginally. "Push down on the emergency brake - - slowly, Timmy."

"We're almost to the intersection!"

"Push down slowly or we're liable to be on the sidewalk."

Tim tried it, just as he was instructed, but the car didn't stop. "Oh, my God!" He kept pressing on the horn, and as they passed through the intersection, he grabbed Don's hand and held on tight.

"We're still okay, honey," Don said, squeezing back, relieved that they'd made it through the intersection with a lot of blaring horns, a couple close calls, but no collisions. "Put both hands on the wheel and turn right up here. It's a low-traffic street and we can look for a placed to stop." He put his hand on Tim's shoulder, trying to keep him calm.

"I can't slow it down."

"We're going downhill, that's why. Just stay calm and turn right up here."

Tim managed the turn, and they found themselves speeding down a quiet side street.

"See that hedge with the mailbox in the middle of it? Aim for the first bush in the hedge."

"You want me to run into it?"

"The car's heavier, we'll be okay, but it'll slow us down. Now do it, but don't jerk the wheel."

"Easy for you to say," Tim shot back, swerving just as Don directed him, impacting with the first shrub in the series with an unerring precision. The car destroyed three shrubs, the mailbox, and two more shrubs before coming to a stop at an angle on the unfortunate homeowner's front lawn.

"Nice job, honey," Don said, and Tim just flashed him a look before leaning back in the seat, his head on the headrest.

"I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Not in the car with me, you're not."

"I can't throw up on their lawn after what we did to it. That's just...too much," Tim managed, swallowing hard, laying a hand on his stomach.

"Let me borrow your cell," he said, holding out his hand. Tim withdrew it from his coat, his hand still shaking. "You did great, Timmy. We're fine, the car's not totaled, everything's okay. Couldn't have done better myself."

"Really? Are you okay? We had a rough stop."

"I could have done without the last bounce or two, but I'm all right," Don confirmed as he dialed Bailey's number.

"Bailey." The voice sounded harried and frustrated.

"Hey, Bub, it's Don. Timothy and I are sitting in his car in the middle of someone's hedge, on top of their mailbox. I see a woman in the front window of the house on the phone, pulling at her hair...she's probably calling 9-1-1."

"You had an accident on the way home from the hospital? Now that's what I call bad luck."

"Not exactly. The brakes failed."

"Shit. I take it you don't think this is a simple mechanical problem?"

"Tim's car is only a year old, and he keeps it well maintained."

"Gee, just like your car, huh?"

"Very funny."

"I'm on my way out, anyway. Where are you?" He paused to write down the address Don gave him. "Just sit tight there. If other cops show up on the scene, tell them I'm on my way, and not to move the car, no matter how riled up the homeowner gets. I'll have a couple lab people check it out before we move it."

"Right. Thanks." Don hung up, then his scalp tightened and he could feel his own nostrils flaring as Pollack pulled up to the curb behind them. "Stay here."

"Donald, what are you doing? You need to take it easy!" Tim protested as Don was out of the car faster than his healing body should have allowed, anger making the pain secondary.

As Pollack got out of his car, Don stalked around the hood until he was face to face with the bodyguard.

"Where the fuck were you?! What are we paying you for, anyway?" he demanded.

"You ran the light at a major intersection and you were going twenty miles an hour over the speed limit. It took me a while to catch up."

"That would be a big consolation if we crashed, or if someone got to one of us while you were screwing around in traffic! Did it ever fucking occur to you to follow us? To try to overtake us with your great big fucking V-8 muscle car and get in front of us so you could help us stop?"

"I'm assigned to protect the two of you, not die for you. If you're not happy with my services, take it up with the agency."

"Don't think I won't. All you've done for the last week is sit on your ass, eat cafeteria food, and follow Timothy around. We have one fucking crisis and you're too fucking scared to do your fucking job!" Don shouted, and by then Tim was at his side.

"Donald, calm down," he said, touching his shoulder, which only made Don angrier, and he jerked his shoulder to discourage the gesture.

"I'm not a goddamned invalid!" he shot back, and Tim blinked a time or two, unused to being on the receiving end of such a sharp retort from Don. "Get out of here," he said to Pollack. "You're fucking useless, and I won't pay you for another second of your piss-poor service!"

"Fine," Pollack said, putting on his sunglasses. "I've about had it with fairy-sitting anyway." As he walked away, Don started following him, but this time, Tim pounced on him, getting his arms around Don from behind and pulling back.

"Let me go!"

"Donald, just calm down. Let it go. You fired him, he was angry, let it go. You're just getting over surgery."

"Then get your hands off me!" he shouted, panicking at the restraint, a cold sweat popping out on his forehead. "Let go of me!" Without even thinking, he sent his elbow back sharply, and the moment he heard the grunt of pain and was released, he felt the bile rise in his throat. While Tim hadn't graced the lawn with the fruits of his nausea, Don did, vomiting in the mangled shrubs until all he had left were heaves, and he was on his knees in the grass, violent cramps making him hold onto his stomach.

"Try to breathe, honey. It's okay," Tim's soft voice was close to his ear, but he was only venturing a light touch to Don's hair, stroking a little. Fortunately, the only resident who seemed to be home in the immediate area was the woman who lived in that house, and she was on her porch, watching them, still talking on the phone, apparently not wanting to get involved in the whole mess until the police arrived. Don couldn't really spare her a thought. Between the clammy sweat making him feel sticky and shaky, and the horrible realization he'd lashed out at the one person he loved more than his own life, it was all he could do to keep the heaves from coming back up on him again.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, and he didn't even care if the baffled woman on the porch saw him sag against Tim's chest. "After they got done beating the crap out of me, that's how they got my pants off, holding me so I couldn't move my arms," he whispered, letting tears come as Tim took the chance to put gentle arms around him, so different from the brutal, crushing grip Fox and his asshole buddies had used to restrain him. "Timmy, I'm sorry."

"It's okay, honey. It's not your fault. I should have never grabbed you like that. I wasn't thinking. I just didn't want you to take on that idiot, Pollack, and hurt yourself."

"Did I hurt you?"

"You've got a mean flipper on you, but I think I'll live."

"I couldn't move, and they were pulling my clothes off and my arms were pinned so hard against me I couldn't do anything. I was so fucking scared."

"I know, baby. You're safe now."

"Why am I shaking so hard? I can't stop shaking."

"Shhh. I've got you. Just hang onto me and breathe. The shaking will get better if you can calm your breathing. Nice, deep breaths. That's it," Tim soothed, rubbing his back in long strokes. He could feel a little of the shaking getting better, his stomach settling a bit, as he focused on that warm, gentle hand on his back, on the reassurance of Tim's arms around him, and his heart beating close to Don's ear. There were sirens in the distance.

"I don't want to be on the ground when the cops get here," he said, embarrassed enough by the performance he'd put on for the woman on her porch.

"Okay. Just stand up with me, nice and easy. How's your pain, honey?" he asked as they stood.

"It hurts, but I don't want to go back to the hospital. I'll be okay."

"I'm sorry I grabbed you so hard. I never even thought about how that would feel to you."

"Are you sure you're all right? Sweetheart, I'd never hit you. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to."

"Donald, darling, just calm down. I'm fine, just a little winded."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Bailey's here," he said, and Don was glad the detective was the first to arrive.

"You two look rough," Bailey said. "Are you sure you don't need an ambulance?" he said, taking in Don's appearance and the fact that he looked like he was leaning on Tim.

"I think we just need a ride home more than anything else," Tim said.

"I can do that. Why don't you get what you need out of your car and go get in my car? As soon as I check things out here, I'll take you home. The lab will probably need to go over the car, so you may be without it a couple days."

"We'll rent something," Don said, feeling exhausted, hoping Bailey wasn't planning to spend too long at the scene.

When he and Tim were finally in the back of the sedan, he let his head rest against the seat, trying not to think too much about the last time he was in the back of a car like this, injured, begging for help and being driven to the drunk tank instead. He felt ridiculous, like a frightened child, clinging to the stuffed gorilla like it was his long-lost teddy bear. It was all that was keeping him from crawling over on top of Timmy, trying to sit on his lap and hide in his arms. Tim must have picked up on his thoughts, because he reached over and covered Don's hand with his own.

"I'm so sorry I hit you," Don said again, the thought of it making his heart heavy and his stomach turn.

"You didn't mean to, honey. It's okay."

"No, it's not. Timmy, I couldn't live with it if I hurt you."

"I know that, and I know you didn't mean it. I grabbed you without thinking, and you panicked. Neither one of us handled it too brilliantly."

"I guess not," Don agreed, smiling, pulling Tim's hand up so he could kiss the back of it.

"I'm more worried about your stitches. How much pain are you in?"

"I don't think I did any serious damage. Besides, when I get home, my boyfriend's going to put me to bed and spoil me. I'll be fine."

********

Don didn't realize he'd fallen asleep in the back of the car until Tim's soft voice and a gentle hand was urging him to wake up because they were home. He pulled himself out of the car, knowing that would probably frustrate Timmy since he'd be rushing around to help him. Still, he needed to feel able to do at least that much on his own, even if he was way overdue for a pain pill, and the overexertion of trying to confront Pollack and struggle with Tim had made the discomfort flare up more than he would admit.

He was surprised to see his car in the driveway.

"I thought you'd be holding it for evidence or something," he said to Bailey, finding the sight of the rickety old car oddly comforting and reassuringly normal. It was like having a piece of his old life back. He touched the side of it, the metal cool under his fingertips. Then he frowned. The largest dent was missing. He leaned over a little and ran his hand along the door.

"My brother owns a garage. I took a little detour with it when the lab was finished with it. John didn't do anything miraculous, but he bumped out a few dents, replaced a few things under the hood that were on their last legs - - like your starter - - put the interior through what he calls his 'new car special' - cleans everything until it's as close to perfect as he can get it."

"Let me know what I owe him," Don said. "Thanks for doing that."

"It's on the house. I'm not big on sending guys flowers, even if they are in the hospital, so this was the next best thing," he added, and Don had to chuckle at that, though when he wanted to thank Bailey, he found his throat tight and his emotions closer to the surface than he wanted. Maybe it was okay if Bailey knew the gesture moved him that much.

"Thank you," he said, knowing his eyes were filling, and determined not to let his emotions get the better of him. He held out his hand to shake, which Bailey did, smiling, patting Don's shoulder with his free hand.

"I guess it's a good thing, since you're down to one car for a while," he added. "Where's your bodyguard?"

"I fired his ass," Don shot back, still bristling about the whole situation. "We could have been killed, and he was worried about his own safety and watching the speed limit. And where was he when someone tampered with Timmy's brakes?"

"We don't know yet that someone did, but I'll let you know as soon as the lab's done checking things out. Meanwhile, I'll send a car over here tonight to keep an eye on you two."

"Thanks," Tim said, smiling, looking relieved.

"Any word on Stenski?"

"IAB is expected to make their decision anytime now. The DA is looking at it, too. I think you'll see criminal charges brought against him as well, given the severity of the outcome...and the fact that we have a state senator watching the process."

"I hope that, and our negotiating a settlement with the department, isn't putting undue pressure on you," Tim said. "You've done all you could for us through this whole situation."

"It's not causing me any problems. It's actually making it easier for me to focus on putting this case together and using whatever departmental resources I need to get the job done. I've got to get rolling, and I think the patient has had about all the excitement he needs for his first day out of the hospital. I'll keep a car here until you can hire new security."

"Thank you," Tim said, and Don could see the fatigue in his face and hear it in his voice.

"Get some rest. I'll call you tomorrow about what we need to deal with next."

"The lineups," Don said, rubbing his eyes. He couldn't remember being this tired.

"Everybody's been charged with something. Whoever you couldn't ID from the photos, Hanover placed at the scene. A few of them are trying to strike deals, but I've asked the DA to hold off on that, pending your final stab at identifying them. I don't want to let someone skate if they were guilty of doing some of the most serious damage."

"Just let me know what you need me to do."

"You want me to take a walk through the house before you get settled in?"

"We're okay," Don said, but Tim objected.

"Pollack usually did that before I went in alone," he spoke up, and Bailey nodded.

"It's a good idea since you don't have your gun on you," he said to Don. "Incidentally, we have your gun, your phone, and a couple clothing items in evidence. I'm working on getting the gun and the phone released to you," he said as they walked up to the front door and Tim unlocked it.

"What about my camera?"

"It's in evidence." Bailey paused. "There are photos on it that may be pertinent to the case."

"I know. I took photos of the cars, the men who arrived there, and... That's not what you're talking about, is it?"

They stepped into the foyer, and Tim shut the door behind them.

"It looks like one of Fox's guys took pictures. None of them show the faces of the men at that...party, if that's what they call it. They're pictures of the assault that he's claiming prove you were a willing participant."

"How could any picture prove that? I didn't willingly participate in anything."

"We know that, Don," Tim said softly, touching his back reassuringly, letting his hand linger there.

"Do you really want to get into this right now?" Bailey asked.

"I want to know how they could possibly prove that I wanted any part of what happened to me."

"They took photos of Maxwell...when he was forcing you to...respond," Bailey said, looking extremely uncomfortable with what he was saying. "I've worked with enough rape cases to know that's a crock of bullshit that doesn't prove anything, but it's probably better that you know what they're pulling."

"Oh, good, photos." Don sat on the bottom step. "I'm surprised they haven't set up their own porn site and started selling them. Fox is an enterprising son-of-a-bitch, after all."

"Apparently, he raked in a thousand bucks a piece from his guests on a typical night."

"At least I was an expensive whore. That's reassuring."

"Donald," Tim chided gently, sitting next to him on the step. "You're not any kind of a whore, and no one is going to believe you were there willingly."

"I'll take a look around," Bailey said, easing past them to go upstairs.

"I'm sorry, honey," Don said, hating what this was putting Tim through, that it just kept getting more sordid and more upsetting and more dangerous for him with each passing day.

"You're alive, here with me," Tim said, putting his arm around Don's shoulders, squeezing a little. "That's all I need. You don't have anything to apologize for. You didn't do anything wrong, and you didn't want any of the awful things they did to you. I know that, and I believe you, no matter what they do to twist the truth around to make their case."

"I don't know if I can do this. If they keep claiming I wanted it, that it was voluntary, and they push this to trial... Timothy, I can't picture all of this in open court."

"Then don't. Maybe it won't come to that. We'll face one thing at a time, and we'll face it together. And if there comes a time when you can't testify, or you can't go forward with this, I'll stand by you in that decision, just as I'll stand by you if we have to go through a trial and you do testify."

"Upstairs is clear," Bailey said, passing them to go through the first floor. A moment later, he was back in the foyer. "You're all set. Get some sleep and let the cops worry about the case for a while."

"Thanks for all your help," Don said, forcing a smile that ended up just tugging one corner of his mouth upward.

"Comes with the job," he said with a slight smile, heading out the door, closing it behind him.

"Are you more hungry or more tired?" Tim asked, and Don just smiled, letting his head droop on Tim's shoulder.

"I'm not really hungry, but I feel light-headed."

"Throwing up didn't help, and you should have something in your stomach to take the pain medication. Let's get you up to bed, and I'll bring us a tray. We can have something to eat together and then take a nap."

"You're so good to me."

"I like taking care of you. I wish you didn't need me to for this reason, but I like to do things for you." Tim kissed the top of his head. "Come on. Upstairs."

"I've been in bed so much. You think we could have lunch in the kitchen? I'd like to eat sitting up like a normal person for a change," he added.

"How about a compromise? You stretch out on the couch and rest a while, I'll make us lunch, and we'll eat it at the counter like we usually do?"

"Deal," Donald agreed, smiling. He knew he was tired, upset, and not thinking too clearly, but sometimes it felt like Timmy knew everything. At least, everything worthwhile about dealing with him, even at his crabbiest. The only good thing about being under the weather was being the focus of TLC from Timmy. Even his last bout with the flu hadn't seemed so bad, although now Timmy dragged him in for a flu shot every year, when he got his own. Apparently, he decided since the flu had the audacity to attack Donald in the first place, it was going to pay the price in all subsequent years by being vanquished pre-season.

He tossed his jacket on the back of the couch and curled up on the cushions, sticking a pillow under his head. Compared to the hospital bed, it felt like heaven. Though his eyes had drifted shut, he smiled when he felt the throw being carefully draped over him with gentle hands. He relaxed to the familiar, friendly sounds of Timmy puttering around in the kitchen, making them something good to eat. He was home, and he could see, smell, hear, and feel home all around him. He felt safe and loved, and like he could finally start healing the emotional wounds that just didn't seem to get any better in the sterile, noisy hospital where he had so little control over his schedule, himself, or who was coming and going. Home with Timmy was always his sanctuary, and this was no different.

The sound of breaking glass shook Don out of his light nap.

"Timmy?" Don was on his feet quickly, hurrying out to the kitchen where Tim was leaning on the counter, as if it were holding him up. A glass was shattered at his feet, where he'd apparently lost his grip on it. "Honey, what is it?" He put his arm around Tim's shoulders. Then he heard the news in the background and looked up at the screen in the kitchen.

"...charges include sexual assault and kidnapping. The identity of the victim is being withheld in keeping with this station's policy of protecting the names of rape victims. More information on this and other stories tonight at six," the news anchor concluded.

"I never saw Fox's picture before," Tim finally said, fine tremors still running through his body.

"It's okay, honey," Don said. "Seeing a picture can make things seem more real," he said, rubbing Tim's back gently. "Timmy, what's wrong?"

"You don't understand, Donald," Tim said miserably. "I...I know him."

"Who? Fox? How?"

"Please, Don, I can't... You'll never want anything to do with me again if I tell you."

"Oh, honey, there's nothing you could tell me that would make me feel that way," Don said, a smile in his voice, despite the seriousness of the conversation. How could Timmy think there was anything he could say or do that would ever make Don not love him?

"I dated him several years before I met you," he said. "It wasn't anything long-term. I broke it off with him after a month or so."

"That makes sense...why he was so interested in your picture in my wallet. Why he made so many remarks about you. I thought he was just needling me."

"I...I slept with him back then, Don," he said, his voice holding the same guilt as if he were confessing to a murder. Truth be told, the whole idea made Don's skin crawl, but it wasn't Timmy's fault, any more than the rape was his fault. If Tim dated Fox all those years ago, they were both adults; it made sense they would have had sex at some point.

"I don't understand...you didn't recognize his name?"

"He didn't go by 'Simon' then. He went by 'Jim'. I think his middle initial was 'S', so maybe he changed over to using his middle name for some reason. Fox isn't that unusual a last name, so I didn't think anything of it. I haven't thought about him in years."

"Come on, sit down with me."

"Don, I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was him."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Timmy. Come on, sit down, tell me about it." Once they were sitting on the couch, Tim ran a hand through his hair, then shook his head.

"It was years ago, and he didn't mean anything to me. At the time, it was kind of a hassle, but I never even think about him."

"The thought of that asshole touching you makes me want to hunt him down and kill him even more than I already do." Don touched Timmy's cheek lightly with the backs of his fingers.

"You've been so worried that I wouldn't want to touch you. How can you ever stand to touch me again knowing that I went out with him...that I slept with him?" The last words came out laden with more self-loathing than even Don had felt himself over his ordeal, as if Tim could have somehow known what kind of monster he'd been with all those years ago.

"Why don't you just tell me what happened, how you met him...how you broke it off? It's okay, Timmy. There's nothing you could tell me that would change how I feel about you. I love you. You're the one beautiful, amazing thing in my life that makes all of this bearable."

"After I broke up with Andrew, I was at loose ends. I didn't date much, never really got serious with anyone. My friends kept telling me it was because I was too busy looking for Mr. Right instead of Mr. Right Now. Yes, someone actually said that to me," he added, shaking his head. "They were right. It's never been easy for me to be casual about relationships. Maybe it's because I was a virgin until I was in college. I wasn't attracted to girls in high school, and once I was in the seminary, my sexuality was...excess baggage if I wanted to be a priest. Anyway, I've never been good at having sex with somebody just for fun and not...getting attached. Andrew told me I needed to work on that."

"Andrew was an asshole," Don said, sliding his arm around Timmy, resting his chin on Tim's shoulder. "Is that why you really broke it off with him?"

"Maybe he broke up with me more than I did with him."

"You said you ended things."

"I did, technically. I was the one who said let's end it. But it was a matter of time. Andrew was a couple years ahead of me at college, and he was putting in resumes all over the country." Tim sighed. "I knew he wasn't going to be around forever, that he didn't really love me. At least, not in the way you build a lifetime on."

"How did you meet Fox?"

"About five years after I broke it off with Andrew, I was at the commitment ceremony for a couple friends of mine, and they had a big reception...expensive hall, great food, live music. It was a terrific party. Fox was Angela's cousin - - Angela being one of the two who got married. She kept after me to meet him, to dance with him... I wasn't overly excited, even then."

"You must have liked him a little."

"That's a good description. I liked him a little. He was good looking, and he was really hung up on me. To a degree, that was a little unsettling, really. He called me every day, sent me gifts, wanted to be with me every night, go somewhere practically every night of the week."

"I called you every day, too. Did I creep you out?" Don asked, smiling. He wanted Timmy to smile, just a little. He hadn't done anything wrong, and he needed Tim to know that, to feel that he wasn't upset with him.

"You were different. With you, I felt all the things my friends told me I wouldn't feel the first time I looked at somebody. I knew you were the one, and I was so glad you felt the way I did. Every time my cell phone rang, I wanted it to be you."

"How did you know I was the one?"

"Do you remember the first time we danced together? At that club where we met?"

"Like it was yesterday."

"All these couples were out there...grinding on each other, even to the slow songs. It's not that I don't like grinding as much as the next person, but there was something about it - - "

"Like a meat market with music," Don said, snorting a laugh.

"I normally didn't even go to that place, but I went out with some people from work, and we ended up there. But you approached me, and you didn't care that we were in a regular club, not a gay club, and you braved it when I was sitting there with a bunch of other people, and just walked right up and asked me to dance. Like you knew I'd say yes."

"I didn't know for sure. But most of your friends were getting out and dancing with people, and you weren't... Women were giving you the eye, approaching you, and you were either ignoring them or turning them down. I hoped that meant you were gay and not just picky. And you were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, so I figured I'd only have myself to blame if I didn't give it a shot."

"You outed yourself to the people you were there with just to ask me to dance," Tim said, smiling.

"Yeah, well, they were just clients who wanted to thank me for solving their case, and going out to the club was their idea. They weren't people I was going to spend my life with. When I laid eyes on you, all bets were off. I'd have danced through a biker bar in a pink tutu if I thought that would get you to say yes."

"I could have done without that mental image, Donald," Tim replied, though he was laughing softly.

"Sorry," Don said, smiling broadly himself, completely unrepentant for saying something that eased a little of Timmy's distress.

"You asked me to dance, and then you danced with me like...a gentleman. In the middle of all the grinding and pickups and straight couples, you danced cheek to cheek with me, and you looked into my eyes like you wanted to be with me forever."

"I did. I still do. Always will."

Tim smiled, and they kissed, letting the ugly subject of Fox rest a few minutes while they lost themselves in each other, just kissing, reaffirming their love. Then Tim pulled back and went on with his story.

"About three weeks into our relationship, he talked me into letting him stay over. Sleeping together. I didn't feel ready. I didn't love him. I didn't even like him a lot. I don't know why I even slept with him. I suppose I was lonely, and I figured maybe I was just being too much of a prude, and too choosy...finding something wrong with every guy I met. It was obvious he was really...hung up on me. Let's just say the Earth didn't move."

"Did he hurt you?" Don asked, wondering if he could handle it if Tim said yes.

"Not exactly. It was consensual. He was just...rough and inconsiderate, I guess. He didn't know the meaning of the word foreplay, and the whole thing was just uncomfortable - - physically and in every other possible way. I felt used. I avoided his calls for a couple days, and then I broke up with him."

"Did he handle that well?"

"He kept sending me gifts, calling me all the time, showing up at my apartment. I finally told him if he didn't leave me alone, I was going to file stalking charges and get a restraining order against him. I never heard from him after that."

"When Fox and his buddy, Maxwell, found me outside the gym, he acted like he recognized my name, and he was kind of fixated on the wedding picture of us I have in my wallet."

"Oh, my God," Tim muttered, swallowing hard. "Oh, please, God, it can't be because of me," he said, covering his mouth.

"The guy he's dating now...I swear, Timmy, he could be your brother. It's part of the reason I wanted so much to help him, because he reminded me of you."

"What he did to you was so risky and...and...insane. And so brutal. There had to be something else driving him, and if it was because of me - - "

"If it was because of you, then it just means Fox is a deranged sadist who's also obsessed and unable to move on with his life. It doesn't make it your fault."

"Donald, if he hurt you this way because of me, because he was trying to hurt me by hurting you... I don't think I can live with that." He stood up and walked over to the fireplace. Don stood and moved up close behind him, wrapping his arms around Tim from behind, resting his head between Tim's shoulder blades.

"Honey, even if he had it in for me because I married you, it doesn't change how I feel about you. It's not your fault. The only reason it matters is because we know he's still obsessed enough with you to do something like that, to hook up with someone who looks like you, to commit a brutal crime against the person you're married to. It means this is as much about you now as it is about me."

"I don't want you to be repulsed when you think about the fact I...was with him."

"Repulsed? Timmy, you're the only person I want close to me right now. And you're the only one I ever want to make love to for the rest of my life. I don't know how I'm gonna handle all this, if I'll ever be okay again, but I know I love you, and there's nothing you could tell me that would ever make me feel repulsed."

"Donald, I'm so, so sorry," Tim said, his voice broken.

"Come here." Don urged him to turn around, wrapping him in a tight hug. "It's okay, honey."

"You almost died," he said miserably, his grip on Don tightening as he cried on Don's shoulder.

"I know, but I didn't, and none of this is your fault."

"I never told you about him. Maybe if I had, you would have put two and two together and known who he was - - "

"It was years before I told you about Kyle. I haven't told you about everyone I ever went out with, either. What's the point? It's not that it's a secret, it's just that it doesn't really mean anything. It's not your fault that you didn't think telling me about this idiot was important. You didn't love him, it was a bad experience, and it was in the past."

"I can't believe he's still obsessed with me. That he'd do something so...awful because of me."

"I can believe someone being obsessed with you, being unable to let you go," Don said, rubbing Tim's back, kissing his cheek. "If you hadn't wanted me, I don't know how long it would have taken you to get rid of me."

"How can you forgive me for this?"

"There's nothing to forgive, honey," Don said gently, more upset by how devastated Tim was than he was about the revelation itself.

"If you'd never met me - - "

"I'd have missed out on the best thing that ever happened to me. Nothing can change that." Don pulled back and took Tim's troubled face in both hands. "Not even this," he said, brushing at the wetness on Tim's cheeks with his thumbs. "I wouldn't trade you...us...for anything in the world. Honey, so many things came together to make this happen. The odds were so slim that we'd ever run into Fox, or that he'd be in a position to do anything like this to me. Nobody could have predicted this, and you couldn't have known that not telling me about him would matter. Did he keep harassing you over the years?"

"No, I never heard from him."

"See? How would you know that he'd ever be an issue to either one of us? Why would you ever think about it?"

"I know you're probably right. I just...can't stand the thought of what he did to you," Tim added, a couple more tears running down his cheeks. "I just want to fix it for you somehow, and now...I'm the reason it happened."

"No, Fox being a sadistic, twisted, violent asshole is the reason it happened. Not you. Not ever you. Got that?"

"I got it," Tim said, forcing a little smile.

"Good." Don kissed him, a soft contact that deepened into a more intense meeting of the mouths, even though the kiss was an end in itself, at least for Don. "Rumor has it you fixed me some lunch," Don joked, and Tim smiled.

"It's probably cold by now," he said, apologetic. "I'll heat it up."

They went to the kitchen, and Don insisted Tim sit at the counter first. "I'll stick this in the microwave," Don offered.

"You need to rest."

"Let me do something useful for a change. You made the lunch. I can reheat it," Don said, setting the first plate in the microwave, warming up the chicken and rice dish Tim had put together.

They ate their lunch, though neither had a huge appetite, especially after the revelation they'd both just confronted. Don was glad he'd insisted on eating downstairs. It felt good to be up and around, even if he was feeling more exhausted by the minute and was beginning to look forward to bed again. Timmy looked worn-out, so lounging in bed would do him some good, too. Still, sharing their lunch the way they shared so many meals in their kitchen felt like being home.

After convincing Tim that he was strong enough, wasn't dizzy, would use the railing, and was a big boy, after all, Don made his slow trek up the stairs on his own, while Tim rinsed their dishes and tidied up after their meal. He adored Timmy for his doting, but it felt good to do something on his own, in his own home, even if it was something as simple as walking upstairs.

He was tired when he reached the top, and he could feel some pain inside, like it probably aggravated the surgical repair a bit, but eating again was aggravating it, too, so he wasn't sure which thing was the culprit. The doctor assured him that would get better over the next several weeks, but the inevitable cramping and discomfort that followed eating made the whole thing a battle between his appetite struggling to regain its footing and his disinclination to deal with the food making its slow, inexorable journey to a part of his insides that felt ill-equipped to cope with it.

When he walked into the bedroom, it was as pristine and nicely kept as ever. When he'd lived alone, he was lucky to find the bed, since housekeeping wasn't at the top of his priority list, and he had a tendency to toss things wherever they wanted to land when he came home tired after a long day. Tim had a hamper for this, a basket for that, and it was a couple of years into their marriage before Don realized that Tim had equipped their home for a "tosser" like him. He could still toss things; Tim just had hampers, drawers, bins, or baskets available to catch them. If Tim tidied up his mistaken tosses, he never mentioned it.

Don went to the bottom drawer of the dresser and took out the locked box that held his spare gun. He put the clip in and slipped the box back in its drawer. There might be a cop car outside, but he wasn't about to chance not having a gun handy in case whoever tampered with the brakes decided on more direct, aggressive action. He tucked the gun under the pillows on his side of the bed.

Don paused there, by the side of the bed, and couldn't help thinking about the last time he'd been in it. A stolen lunchtime interlude with Timmy…urgent, intense, tender, beautiful lovemaking. Sharing their bodies without reservation, without pain, fear, bad memories...their sex life was so amazingly beautiful that Don had always felt he was the luckiest man in the world. If everyone's married sex life was like his, no one would cheat. Hell, most married people probably wouldn't leave home if their sex lives were that good.

And now, what did he have to offer Timmy in that department? While thinking of his partner's naked body flooded his insides with a warm, good feeling of love, it did nothing to stir his dick, which he felt like he could donate to charity and not miss it. He had no idea how many unwelcome hands had pawed between his legs, on his ass, pulled at his thighs. The thought of anyone's hands there made his stomach turn. Despite the doctor's assurances he could resume a normal sex life, including anal sex, once he was recovered, the mere thought of it made him break out in a cold sweat.

Who was he kidding? He'd fought so hard against letting those assholes take anything away from his life with Timmy, from what he could only think of as his passionate lifetime love affair with him, and yet here was such a vital part of what made them a couple, made them more than best friends, and it was destroyed, shattered, and he had no idea how to rebuild it, or how to make himself want to be touched that way. Part of him longed to feel Timmy's body against his, skin on skin, but it was some strange, neutered version that just longed for that intimacy, that closeness...without doing anything more about it. That was hardly fair to Tim, who still had a healthy sex drive and needs of his own.

Sure, honey, let's cuddle naked, but I don't want to have sex with you and don't touch my cock, my balls, or my ass.

Yeah, that was fair to Tim.

"I should have turned that back for you. The spread's probably heavier than what you should be pulling around just yet," Tim said, obviously interpreting Don's blank, idiotic stare at the bed to be a hesitance to turn it back on his own.

"I was just thinking about the last time we were in here together," he said honestly. There was no point in ignoring the six-hundred-pound gorilla in the corner that was their missing sex life. Tim paused, holding onto the bedspread, which he'd pulled off the pillows. "I remember how beautiful it used to be making love with you."

"Honey, you've only been out of the hospital a few hours, and with everything you've been through, don't rush it. Those feelings will come back eventually."

"But you have them now. There's nothing wrong with you."

"There's nothing wrong with you, either. You need to recover. Your body has to heal, and you need time to cope with what you've been through. I know that, Donald. I'm not timing you, or waiting in a building sexual frenzy to get satisfied. I've gone a long time between...encounters in my life, and nothing shriveled up and fell off. In case you forgot, I was prepared to take a vow of celibacy to go into the priesthood."

"Yeah, but I bet you never guessed you'd have to take one because your partner was all fucked up and couldn't do it." Don held up his hand. "I know you've told me it doesn't matter how long it takes, but it matters to me. I miss you. I miss holding you like that, feeling you against me, tasting you, smelling you...I miss that..."

"Intimacy?" Tim asked gently, making his way around the foot of the bed to stand next to Don.

"It's like they took that away from me."

"You had to cope with so many people touching you in a way you didn't want to be touched." Tim caressed his head gently, and he let himself be guided into Tim's arms. "You've made an amazing recovery so far, honey. We're going to take this journey together, and we'll go as fast or as slow as we have to. We've got our whole lives, and we'll rebuild our sex life the way we renovated our first house together. We just lived amidst the boxes and plastic and nails and paint until it was finished. We got leaked on, the furnace gave us problems, we went over budget...but eventually, it was finished, and it was beautiful. Our sex life will be again someday, baby." He kissed Don's temple.

"I know it's insane and that you don't feel that way, but there's this part of me that just feels like I'm too...dirty to be with you like that anymore. That you'll think about what happened and that I'm not clean and safe anymore..."

"They didn't find any signs of semen on you or in you, honey. The doctor said they used protection, and we'll make sure we follow up on getting you tested when we need to, just to be safe. All your tests were clean in the hospital. But even if the worst happened and you contracted something from this whole nightmare, we'd figure out how to be as safe and healthy as we could, and then we'd still be able to be together."

"All those assholes pawed at me and handled me and now I'm with you and I don't want you to touch me there." Though he was angry at them for coming, he couldn't fight the tears that came with that thought. With that awful confession to the man he loved so much, the one he'd trusted to bathe him, collect his piss in a bottle when he was too weak to get out of bed, put ointment prescribed by the doctor in the one place he wouldn't let another living soul touch...how ridiculous was this? To be afraid of Timothy making love with him? To not let him touch places in desire that he'd already touched since the attack with so much love and tenderness that sometimes Don felt that alone could heal the pain. I love you, and you can bathe me and wipe my ass and take care of me, but don't you dare enjoy touching me...

"I understand, honey. It's okay."

"You had to touch me all the time in the hospital, and I trusted you...I do trust you..."

"That's different. You needed someone to take care of you, and it was less scary for me to do it because you didn't have to be afraid of being hurt, or of having strangers do it. That doesn't mean you enjoyed not having control over your own body and not having your independence when you needed to feel it so much. I know you need to get your personal space back."

"I don't want a personal space from you," he sobbed into Tim's shoulder, knowing he was sending out a bunch of screwed-up mixed signals. He just clung to Timmy and prayed he'd sort them out.

"You're tired, and it's a lot to think through. You don't have to solve everything right now."

"Somebody tried to kill us. I need to have my head on straight, to be able to take care of us, figure out who wants us dead."

"That's why we have police protection, and Bailey will work hard on this case for us. I trust him, don't you?"

"It's what I do, Timmy. I need to figure this out and my mind...just won't settle down and focus."

"The pain medication has something to do with that, too, honey. Even if you won't let yourself off the hook for a while to heal emotionally from what you've been through, pain pills make your mind foggy. You're out of the hospital, but you have some physical recovery to get through before you can push yourself."

"I just hate feeling so fucking weak and stupid," he said, wishing he could crawl into Timmy's skin with him and just stay this warm and safe, with those strong arms around him in such a good way, so protective and comforting.

"You're not weak or stupid, Donald. If you were, you wouldn't be alive right now, and you wouldn't be so anxious to get back to your life. It's because you're strong and independent and brave that you're railing against this so hard. Your spirit is trying to drag your body along behind it, and it's not ready yet."

"They were so wrong to kick you out of the seminary," Don said, finally feeling a little peace of mind returning, thanks to Timmy's undying patience with him and his seemingly inexhaustible supply of love and compassion.

"If they hadn't, I wouldn't be here, holding you in my arms right now, so I'm glad they did." Tim's reply reminded him of an old conversation, how easy it was for Tim to turn his back on thoughts of any other path his life could have taken just for the sheer joy of loving Donald.

"You always know what to say to make me feel better. With that big heart of yours...you would have done so much good for so many people, and you would have been the kind of priest that priests ought to be."

Tim was quiet a moment, then his voice came out in a strained whisper. "That's a beautiful thing to say. Thank you."

Don didn't know where he was going with it, but he gave in to the urge to kiss Timmy, to take him in his arms like a lover, like he had hundreds of times before, when he could take for granted that the encounter would end in bed, making love. All he knew is that he needed to feel that closeness, and he needed to feel desired, wanted...even if stirring those feelings in Timmy was wrong when he couldn't follow through.

Tim's response left little doubt of his desire. He opened his mouth to Don's tongue, slid his own tongue into Don's mouth. Don's heart fluttered and soared, even if his body didn't respond in kind. Timmy wanted him, wanted his tongue in Don's mouth, Don's tongue in his mouth, even though someone else had violated his mouth, even though someone else's sour, unwanted dick had been shoved in there. Timmy still wanted the taste of him, still kissed him with a hunger and a desire only lovers shared.

His hands shook as he unbuttoned Tim's shirt, tugged it out of his pants and pushed it off his shoulders. He pulled Tim's t-shirt over his head, smiling when he realized his lover didn't want to stop kissing him, that his mouth was back on Don's as soon as the t-shirt was discarded. Tim's hands were a little more hesitant, but after looking in Don's eyes for a split second to be sure it was all right, Tim divested Don of his shirt and his undershirt just as quickly and deftly as he always did. They playfully competed for getting their mouths on each other's chests, kissing, nibbling, caressing.

"Oh, no," Don whispered, pausing, his forehead on Tim's chest.

"What's wrong, honey?" Tim asked, his voice a little breathless.

"I did this," he said, running his fingertips lightly over the darkening bruise under Tim's ribs, where he'd elbowed him to get out of his grasp earlier.

"It's just a bruise, Donald," Tim said gently, caressing his head, kissing his hair. "It doesn't matter."

"I'm so sorry, Timmy." He kissed the bruised area, trailing his lips over the discolored skin, wishing his kisses could erase the damage. "I did this to you. I said I'd always love you, protect you, touch you with love, and they made me break my promise to you."

"Oh, baby, you didn't break any promises. I panicked because I thought you might get hurt taking on Pollack and you panicked because I grabbed you like an idiot without even thinking I might freak you out by restraining you like that. It was an accident, that's all."

"Can you ever forgive me?"

"On one condition."

"Anything," Don said, ready to promise anything, give anything, to make it up to Tim.

"Kiss me again and pick up where we left off," he said, smiling.

"I'm not getting hard," Don said, feeling it was only fair to Timmy to let him know that, for as much as he wanted to touch him, press his body against his, he couldn't follow through with anything.

"It doesn't matter. Let's just be as close as we can be. I'm so tired, I don't know if I could do anything, anyway," he admitted, finally letting down his guard, letting Don see how exhausted he was. It was in his eyes, an almost imperceptible droop of his shoulders, and in his voice that held a huskiness that verged on tears, the way people sound when they're so tired their emotions start running haywire.

Don wrapped his arms around Timmy and just held him a moment. Then he stepped back and undid his own belt and opened his pants, pushing them down, stepping out of them. Tim did the same. Don stood there a moment, a little afraid of what he was doing, but feeling like he needed to do it at the same time. He looked into Timmy's eyes and then pushed down his boxers, stepping out of those, too. Tim did the same. Don got into his side of the bed, and Tim went around to his own side, and got in, too.

The comfort of the mattress held his body gently, but there was something softer about it and the way it enveloped his tired, achy body.

"I got us a featherbed for the top of the mattress. I thought it might be easier on you to have more softness under your body while you're still healing."

"It feels like heaven. God, Timmy, it feels so good." He moved closer to Timmy, who met him halfway, settling Don against his side, Don's head on his chest.

Don hooked his leg over Tim's, making sure they had as much skin on skin as they could. Even if Tim wasn't sure what he wanted, even exhausted, his body knew what it wanted. Don could feel Tim's semi-hard cock against his thigh. He started kissing his way down the middle of Tim's chest, down to his stomach. He rubbed his cheek over his lover's skin, wanting to absorb the very essence of him, to dispel any thoughts Tim might have that his past with Fox would make any difference in how Don felt about him. He kissed the soft skin below Timmy's navel, moving lower to the dark nest of curls under the growing erection.

"You don't have to do this, honey," Tim said, touching his hair gently.

"I know. That's why I want to," Don said honestly, nuzzling him, relishing the familiar scent and feel of the man he loved, of touching and tasting him, of doing something to make Timmy feel good, of reaffirming his claim on his husband. Fox may have been there first, but he was here now, and no one else ever would be again as long as Don had a breath left in his body.

Being with Tim was so many worlds away from the awful experiences that lurked in the dark corners of his mind. When he took Timmy in his mouth, it felt like it had the last time he'd done it, before...everything, when things were easy and uncomplicated. He heard Tim's gasps, the little moans of pleasure that were so sweetly familiar. He took his time, doing all the things with his mouth that he knew drove Timmy crazy in a good way, loving it when he felt that subtle shift that meant Timmy was going to come. When he did come, it was with a sound that was a cross between a shout and a sob.

Don released Tim's lax cock from his mouth, kissing it, happily crawling back up next to Tim to kiss him, too. He was enveloped in waiting arms.

"I love you," Timmy said, kissing him again. "I want to do something for you, if you want me to," he offered hesitantly.

"There's nothing there yet, honey, not even a spark."

"Can I just touch you, kiss you a little? I'll stop if you don't like it."

"I always like you kissing me," Don replied, smiling softly.

Timmy kissed his neck, his shoulders, took him in his arms and held him while he kissed and licked at Don's nipples. There was a little unexpected jolt there, a tiny spark of excitement as he felt the little nubs harden under Timmy's tongue. It was by no means the usual flare of arousal, and he wasn't getting hard...exactly. But there was a stirring in the right places.

"Can I kiss all of you?" Timmy asked, his voice hushed and a little breathless, leaving Don moved that he was getting excited again, just touching him. That he wanted his mouth in places all those assholes had pawed and stuck their filthy dicks.

"Anywhere you want," Don said, feeling a little like he was jumping off a cliff when he said it, not sure how he felt about someone touching those places. What had been done to him had nothing to do with love or tenderness or healing, and his heart was reaching out for that, needing to feel that even the used parts of him were loved, desired.

Timmy's lips traveled everywhere they could reach; his chest, his stomach, his thighs. Tim took his still-flaccid cock gently in his hand and kissed it, then used his lips and tongue to make love to his balls and all the warm places between his legs. Tim never urged him to turn over, but he did, and a moment later, Tim was carefully hovering over him, not putting weight on his healing body, kissing and nibbling at the back of his neck, nipping playfully at his earlobe, before moving down his back, unhurried, as if tasting Don was the most exquisite experience his mouth could ever imagine.

Gentle hands were stroking his hips, not holding onto them, not restraining him. Just caressing, leaving him every option to move, to turn over, to get away if that's what he needed. Tears were filling Don's eyes, but they weren't fear or pain. They were just love, the emotion of feeling so desired and so treasured, the way only Timmy could make him feel. The way he made him feel every day, in so many little ways...it was as if the power of all those little moments were woven into this one singular experience.

Soft lips brushed the skin of his buttocks, the occasional flick of a warm, moist tongue between the kisses. He was frustrated that his body wouldn't fully respond, that all the beautiful things Timmy was doing weren't enough to get him hard. Still, he felt that ghost of arousal, that stirring in his cock that wasn't an erection, but it was a promise for the future. It was hope for the revival of his sexuality, that he would again, someday, be the partner Timmy deserved in bed.

He thought it would terrify him to feel a touch between his cheeks, near his center, but instead it only made him feel a rush of love, and of...redemption. This part of him, too, was still Timmy's, and Timmy still wanted it, and him, as much as he had before. Even if it had been used by someone else, even if it was damaged, even if Don was afraid and uncertain about being touched there, it was all part of the package that Timmy loved and wanted, just as he was.

Tim kissed his tailbone, then moved back up next to him, encouraging Don back into his arms, holding him especially close, sheltering him with his arms and his body in a way that always made Don feel safe and secure, and sent the demons in the dark corners of his mind packing like the uninvited pests they were.

"You're mine, Donald. All mine. No one's ever going to hurt you like that again," he whispered in Don's ear. Don wasn't sure how his gentle, non-violent partner was going to protect him from all the ugliness out there in the world, but there was a quiet conviction in Tim's words that left no room for doubt, or fear. He was safe, and he was cherished, and Tim thought him no less worthy of such passionate love and affection now than he had been the last time they made love.

In moments, he was asleep, clinging to Tim and the hope that they would be okay, that he'd recover, that life would be as good as it once was.

And he had just a little of his power back. He might not be responding normally himself, and the demons would reappear in the shadowy corners of his psyche, but he could still make love to Timmy, make him feel good, make him come. Timmy still wanted him like that.

Maybe he'd be okay after all.

********

"Okay, Don, before we get started, I want you to remember that we have all these guys on something. Hanover's testimony puts them all at the scene, and none of them coming forward to report what was going on, or raise any objections. They're all guilty of accessory to kidnapping at least, and that's a felony," Bailey said as he, Don, and Tim stood on the other side of the two-way glass, before starting the lineup. Strachey looked nervous, pale, and he thought he could detect a slight sheen of sweat on his face. He was still physically recovering, which could account for his pallid appearance, but seeing assailants again in person was often traumatic for crime victims.

"Good lawyers will probably get around that," Strachey said, sounding more defeated than cynical. Bailey found himself wishing for the cynical tone.

"We're also working on getting a couple of the perps you IDd in the photo lineup to turn on the group. I think we've got a good shot with at least one of them. I'm trying to tell you to relax, do the best you can with the lineups, but it's not all riding on you. They're not walking, even if you can't ID them all."

"That's good to know," Tim said, his hand resting lightly on Don's back.

"Just show 'em to me. Let's get this over with," Don said, running his hand over his face, looking older than his years.

"Okay," Bailey said into the intercom, and the lights went on in the adjoining room, the suspects for the lineup filing in and standing against the wall. They were all men of average build, in their fifties, with sandy hair, some mixed with good amounts of gray.

Strachey stared at them a long time and then said quietly, "Ask them to say..." He swallowed, shaking his head. "I can't do this."

"Donald, look at me," Tim said, taking him by the shoulders. "You can do this, honey. Look at me and tell me what he said to you."

"I think it's number three, but if I hear his voice, I'll know."

"Can he say anything, or do you need him to say what he said that night?" Bailey asked.

"Ask him to say, 'This is what you like, isn't it, bitch?'," he shot out so quickly that Bailey barely caught the words. He was still turned toward his partner, but he didn't even look him in the eyes when he said it.

"You want us to start with number three, or you want them all to say it?"

"Just number three."

"Number three, step forward. Say, 'Good morning'," Bailey said. Don and Tim looked at each other, puzzled, then Don watched the suspect step forward and say "good morning." Don slipped his hand into Tim's, holding it tightly. "Okay, now say, 'This is what you like, isn't it, bitch?'" Bailey instructed. The man looked stunned for a split second, but then he repeated the phrase.

"That's him."

"What did he do?" Bailey clarified.

"What did they all do?" Strachey shot back. He walked away from the glass, sitting down in a chair, resting his elbows on his knees, dropping his head in his hands.

"Let me talk to him," Bailey said to Tim in a whisper. He sat in the chair next to Don. "I'm not trying to make this difficult for you, Don," he said. "At some point, we're going to need to hear everything that happened. The DA's leaning on me for a more detailed statement, since we're trying to prosecute multiple assailants. I know this is hard, and I wish there was an easier way, but I need you to tell me what these guys did, which one did what, from start to finish. And I need to know what you're identifying this guy for doing."

"I've told you the specifics I remember," Don said, his voice strained. "I was facedown, and they were all coming at me from behind. I tried to get a look at as many of them as I could, and I did get a look at this guy, and I remember him saying that to me."

"You know how this works, Don. You know the statement you gave me at the hospital wasn't specific enough, that the DA is going to want a step-by-step."

"Is there some reason you're badgering him?" Tim spoke up. "Can't you see he's upset? You think pushing him is going to make things better? Make him give you a better ID?" He was at Don's other side in a couple quick steps, his hand on Don's shoulder. "What do you need him to spell out? They raped him, one after the other. If he says that's one of them, what else do you need him to say?"

"Timmy, it's okay," Don spoke up. "That's one of the assholes who raped me. I don't remember which number he was, somewhere in the middle, I guess." He paused, taking a hold of Tim's hand where it rested on his shoulder. "He was really rough on me, and he kept saying that...like I was supposed to be enjoying what he was doing. I think he... I think it tore me... He did it like that's what he wanted to do. With the others, they were enjoying themselves, but with him, he wanted to hurt me. That's what he enjoyed."

"Good job, Don. I'm sorry to put you through that, but that's the kind of statement I need to charge these guys and help the DA go after them."

"I know that. It's just...hard."

"I know it is," Bailey said, squeezing Don's shoulder. "I've been involved in a lot of rape cases in the last twenty years, and no two of them have been exactly alike, other than the fact they were traumatic for the victim. I've worked on cases that involved a single assailant, a single...sexual encounter, and the victim wasn't seriously injured, and looked right at the bastard, face to face, and still couldn't identify him...or wouldn't...and was afraid to testify. And honestly, I didn't blame her. The cops couldn't protect her for the rest of her life, and she was scared. This case, your case, is probably the most brutal rape case I've handled. The most assailants, the most injury to the victim short of outright murder. I guess what I'm trying to say is that you're doing an incredible job of identifying these dirtbags, and being able to piece together what they did, and put it into words, into testimony we can use. Because you're able to do that, unfortunately, that means we end up putting more pressure on you because we have such a good chance of prosecuting this to the fullest extent of the law."

"I haven't identified all of them. I missed this guy in the photo lineup. I don't even remember seeing his picture."

"You remember him now. That's what counts."

"When do I have to give the statement?"

"I have your initial statement from the hospital, and I've been filling in the blanks with bits and pieces you've given me during the photo lineups and today. I'll have that all typed up, and we'll go over it together. You can fill in anything you remember that's not included. That way, we don't have to start you out at the beginning and make you go through the whole thing again."

"What's with the 'good morning' thing?" Don asked, blinking, brushing at his eyes, needing a distraction.

"When you give a guy in a lineup a charged statement like the one you remembered him making, some of them try to disguise their voices, change the inflections... Most of them are thrown by saying something as harmless as 'good morning', and we get their real, natural speaking style more often. Just a little trick of mine. Sometimes it even relaxes the witness a little. Hearing the voice that might bring back something traumatic, but saying something neutral, so it isn't such a shock all at once."

"Do you have another lineup for me to look at?" Don asked.

"One more."

"I thought you needed IDs on more of them than that," Tim asked.

"Two's enough for today," Bailey said. "We'll try a couple more tomorrow."

"Let's do it, then." Don straightened in the chair, then winced a little.

"Are you okay, Don?" Tim asked, concerned.

"Just my stomach. I'll be okay."

"We can take a break," Bailey said.

"I'm all right. Show me the lineup," he said, standing, still looking uncomfortable.

When he viewed the next lineup, Strachey looked crestfallen. He stared at the men standing there, all tall, slender men in their forties with brown hair.

"Take your time," Bailey said. "You need them to turn for a profile or say anything?"

"I don't recognize any of them," he said, shaking his head.

"Are you sure? There's no rush," Bailey added.

"I can stare at them as long as you want me to, but I don't recognize any of them. Shit."

"Don, it's okay. We knew there was a chance you couldn't recognize all of them."

"Did I see a photo of this guy before? I don't even recognize him from that."

"Did you recognize the other guy you identified from the photos I showed you?"

"No, I remembered him from that night." Don paused. "You think a defense lawyer will throw out my ID on him because he was part of that photo lineup? Because I couldn't ID him that way, or because he'll say I remembered him from the photos?"

"Even if you saw his photo, you didn't ID it, and I never suggested to you that he was one of the assailants. Besides, that's why I was pressuring you so hard to pinpoint what role he played, so your ID would hold up as being from that night, and not because you saw him in the photos."

"Nobody's going to believe my word over theirs," Don said, leaning back in the chair. "Let's face it, Bub, I can say whatever I want, be as sound a witness as possible, and their lawyers are going to rip me to shreds because I'm a gay man and they can all stick together and claim I was there because I wanted to be, and they can dig up every ugly thing from my past and use it to make me look like the kind of person who'd participate willingly. They're going to have top-notch defense lawyers and bottomless pockets to finance them."

"I'm not gonna lie to you and tell you were not in a sort of David and Goliath position with this case. At some point, you and I and the DA are going to have to have a long talk about your past, and anything they can dig up that would make you look bad to a jury. Even if it's not your fault, not illegal, or seems harmless on the surface. We're going to have to dig into your past and put it under a pretty relentless scrutiny so we're prepared. As far as your sexual history, they can't bring that up."

"Then you need to know the truth about Fox," Tim said. "I dated him about five years before I met Donald. It wasn't a very long...courtship. I broke it off with him, but he kept pursuing me, calling me, showing up at my apartment. I finally threatened him with a restraining order and stalking charges, and he backed off."

"You didn't know this until now? You didn't remember his name?" Bailey asked, irritated.

"He used to go by Jim, or James, when I knew him. Simon is probably his middle name."

"It is. A lot of his IDs have 'J. Simon Fox' on them, or 'James Simon Fox'. " Bailey ran a hand over his face. "So you think he did this to Don because of you?"

"His boyfriend looks just like Timothy. You saw that yourself when you talked to him."

"He bears more than a passing resemblance, I'll give you that. It actually does strengthen the case a little, because there's a logical motive for him doing something so brazen, brutal, and potentially self-destructive as to do what he did to you and just take a chance you'd keep quiet and not report it. If he's still obsessed enough with your partner to be dating guys who look like him, it makes sense that he might see red when he got hold of the person Tim married."

"I just feel so responsible for this," Tim said. "I never told Don about him. I wasn't with him very long and I didn't really care for him deeply at any point in our relationship, so it didn't seem important."

"Why'd you break it off with him?" Bailey asked. Tim paused, glancing at Don and swallowing.

"The first time we had sex, I knew it was a mistake, and he wasn't someone I wanted to be with. He was...rough and inconsiderate and I never wanted to be with him again."

"Personally, I know this is difficult, but from the perspective of our case, you could end up being one of our best witnesses." Bailey continued, "We got the results back on your car. There was a good-sized hole in the brake line. It's not something that would have happened naturally. You can get it out of impound and have it towed in for service. The lab's finished with it."

"I was hoping it was something less sinister," Tim said.

"You and me both," Bailey replied, sighing. "Tim, we'll need a statement from you about Fox."

"Whatever you need me to do, just say the word."

"You have any theories on which one of these upstanding citizens might be serious enough about shutting me up to want me dead? To want both Timothy and me dead? Fox is still in jail."

Just then, there was a tap at the door and another detective poked her head inside. "Excuse me, Detective Bailey? The captain wants to see you," she said.

"Right now?"

"He said ASAP," she replied, shrugging, before pulling the door shut.

"Can you two wait here a few minutes?"

"Sure," Don replied, though Tim looked a little concerned.

"You need anything? Coffee, water...?"

"Some water would be good," Tim replied. "He can't have caffeine yet."

"Ouch."

"No martinis yet, either, until I'm off the pain meds. They're trying to kill me, Bub," Don quipped, and Bailey had to laugh.

"I'll send somebody in with a couple bottled waters for you. I shouldn't be too long." Bailey left the room.

********

The captain was pacing in his office, talking on the phone, when Bailey tapped on the doorframe and entered.

"I know someone must have leaked it, goddammit. That doesn't mean it came outta my department," he added, the veins bulging just a bit in his forehead. "He doesn't have all that information, he's on paid leave. What about your ADAs? Are they all above suspicion?" He paused, his eyes bugging a bit. "We're about due to settle with these people, to keep this mess from blowing up into a national cause of some sort, and some fucking idiot blows it to the media? Do you have any idea how goddamned likely Strachey is to take a couple million when he's already exposed to the media, and he can get four or five times that in a lawsuit?" Bailey didn't think that vein in the captain's head could swell any more without a stroke, but somehow, it did, and his boss didn't keel over. "Fine. You can call the commissioner. You can call the president if you want to. My people didn't leak this." He slammed down the phone.

"I think I can gather why you called me in here," Bailey said, sitting down as his superior did.

"Motherfucking prick," the captain muttered, glaring at the phone as though it held the district attorney's spirit inside it like an evil genie in a lamp. "The story broke in the media. It's all over the noon news, the internet."

"That's not news. It was all over the news yesterday."

"All the defendants' names, Strachey's, his partner's, all of it. The whole fucking mess is out there. Even Stenski's name and the incident with Strachey before he was taken to the hospital. The whole goddamned thing is blown to hell. All the details of the sex party, you name it. All the shit we were trying to keep quiet."

"Shit," Bailey muttered. "Strachey's in the other room. He was in here to look at lineups. And we got the lab report back on the car. The brakes were tampered with, so someone did try to kill him and his partner."

"Probably just a matter of time before that hits the media, too. You think he's still going to be willing to settle this lawsuit even if the story's out?"

"I don't know. He's not vindictive at the department, that much I know. It's about Stenski, and about them surviving this financially since Strachey's self-employed and his business is about to go under while he's laid up. Let's face it, media attention like this isn't going to boost his clientele when he's recovered. I don't know what he'll do if he's in the media spotlight anyway, but my guess is that he'll honor whatever terms his lawyer proposed to begin with."

"This could blow some of the deals with our perps, too, since avoiding a public trial was figuring into them being willing to deal. Now they may just hit us with their overpriced lawyers and go for it. Public exoneration is all that's going to save their reputations now."

"Which means public crucifixion for Strachey, turning him into some kind of sicko who brought it on himself."

"It's what I'd do in their places. It's all that's left. You better tell your pal, Strachey, to get ready to have anything seedy in his past dug up and dragged out, because they're going to drag him through the mud pretty good trying to wriggle out of these charges. They probably won't stop with him, either. If his partner's got any skeletons, they'll be as far out of the closet as he is by the end of the week. Shit, probably by the end of the day."

"Yeah," Bailey said, snorting a humorless laugh. "Probably most of his competition in the private eye business are going to be making their money digging through his past. So I guess I need to go in there and tell him to get ready to get raped all over again, publicly this time."

"Only positive for him is that as high profile as this will be now, killing him is going to be a real attention-getter, so it may scare away our would-be assassin."

"I'm sure he'll take great comfort in that, Captain," Bailey said sarcastically.

********

"We could just go home and finish up whatever Bailey needs, later. You look pale, honey," Tim said, running his hand across the back of Don's shoulders as they sat together in the room adjoining the lineup area. Don took another small drink of the bottled water he was holding.

"I'd rather get it wrapped up now. I don't feel very good, and I want to take it easy when I get home."

"What's wrong?"

"Breakfast is introducing itself to last night's dinner, and they're not getting along."

"Solid foods are going to be a big adjustment for your body for a few days at least, until your system starts functioning more normally."

"Doesn't feel like that's ever gonna happen. I get hungry, but I feel like shit if I eat anything."

"Do you want to go to the emergency room? Do you feel like we should look into it?"

"The doctor said pretty much what you did. That cramping and discomfort and gas and a whole host of other charming side effects were possible with intestinal surgery and going back to solid foods. Between that and feeling like I have to piss twenty-four hours a day, I'm just tired of it."

"I know, honey. I don't blame you," Tim said, sliding his arm around Don, squeezing his shoulders, touching their heads together. "I'm tired of it for you."

"I don't mean to complain. You're doing everything you can for me. I just feel kind of lousy right now."

"You need to be at home, resting. We're pushing you too hard, Donald, and I'm worried about it. I know you don't like being off your feet and not on top of everything, but you almost died, and you had major surgery. You shouldn't even be here today. You should be at home, staying calm, sitting where you're comfortable and not on these god-awful metal chairs. I think we should go home."

"Maybe if I go use the john I'll feel better. I think there's one right around the corner," he said, standing.

"You're not going alone." Tim was on his feet in an instant.

"That'll be good. You and me together in a stall in the PD men's room. I can see how many years it'll take to live that down."

"I'll stand outside, with the stall closed, at a respectable distance. I just don't want you to pass out or feel sick and be in there by yourself. I know you have pain sometimes, and I just want to be around in case you need me. Besides, someone tried to kill us. Don't you think it might be good to stick together?"

"I don't think they'll kill me in the police department's john, or you in an interview room that's got video surveillance. Just wait here. I'll only be a couple minutes." Don headed for the door, his tone leaving little room for discussion.

********

Still feeling weak and a little crampy, Don turned on the water in the restroom sink and splashed cold water on his face, hoping it would energize him a little. Maybe it would at least get rid of that clammy sweat that seemed to be his constant companion. Timmy was right, he was overdoing it, and his body wasn't happy. He heard someone come in and was expecting to see Tim behind him when he stood.

Instead, Stenski's face joined his in the mirror.

"I hope you're happy, you son-of-a-bitch. I lost my badge because of you," he accused angrily.

"If you lost your badge, it's because you cared more about your hate than you did about doing your job," Don shot back, his anger flaring. "Now get away from me," he added, turning to try to move away from the sink. Considering the trouble Stenski was already in, Don never expected him to do something so self-destructive as to physically assault him, so he was taken off guard when Stenski gut-punched him and then finished the job with a solid right cross that knocked him to the floor.

Donald was trying to process the pain and impact on his still-recovering body and gather his equilibrium to defend himself, with Stenski looming over him. He was surprised when Stenski was pulled back abruptly and slugged hard in a gesture almost too quick to watch, sending him sprawling against the opposite wall.

"Don't you ever touch him again," Tim's voice bellowed, with a ferocity and volume Don had never heard come out of his gentle partner before. Beyond that, he was still stalking toward Stenski, looming over him as he started pushing his way back up on his feet. "You're no better than the killers and thugs you put away in this place," he accused. "Come on, tough guy, get up and take on somebody who isn't too injured to fight back. I'll wait while you try to find your balls, if you have any."

"What the hell's going on in here?" Bailey was standing in the doorway of the restroom, trying to figure out exactly who had hit whom, and why Don and Stenski were on the floor and Tim was the only one still standing, his nostrils flaring he was so incensed, looking like he was hoping Stenski would get up and make a move on him.

Bailey's entry seemed to snap Tim out of his rage, and he was at Don's side in an instant, helping him up, looking as if Don's wince of pain was his own.

"Where did he hit you, Donald?"

"Gut-punch," Don managed, leaning heavily on Tim.

"Stenski, what the hell is the matter with you?"

"IAB just took my badge," he snapped back, finally on his feet.

"Donald, ignore him and look at me," Tim said, as Don looked over toward Stenski. "How much pain are you in?"

"It's not too good right now," Don admitted, the jolt of landing hard on the tile floor, and the blow itself, conspiring to start every painful part of his body throbbing in unison.

"Stenski, turn around," Bailey said, pulling out his handcuffs.

"You're not fucking serious," Stenski shot back.

"I said turn around before I do it for you. You're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, which would be a hell of an idea right now," he said, slapping cuffs on him.

"He attacked me!" he protested, referring to Tim.

"He defended his injured partner, whom you attacked first. Don't hold your breath for anyone but you to be arrested here," Bailey said, escorting him out of the room, beginning to read him his rights.

"What the hell just happened?" Don asked, momentarily distracted from his pain by the shock of Tim swinging into action, literally, the way he just had.

"When I saw that bastard standing over you...I don't even know what happened. I just reacted."

"Just take me home, okay?"

"We should take you into the ER to get checked out."

"Timothy, they'll hold me up there for hours. I'm not spurting from a major artery or staggering around with a knife stuck out of me someplace, so I'll have to sit there all day."

"What if I can get you in to see Dr. Sharma? Will you do that if I can get us in quickly?"

"Okay, fine, if you think I need to go to the doctor, go ahead and set it up." Don smiled at him a little crookedly. "After all, I don't think I wanna talk back to you anytime soon."

"It's not funny," Tim protested, but he couldn't help the smile that tugged at his own mouth. "When you tried to teach me those self-defense moves, you thought it was just a lucky shot, huh?"

Tim referred to what had seemed at the time like a fruitless Sunday afternoon when their conversation had turned to the discussion of fisticuffs for some stupid reason, and Don had the bright idea that even if Tim was a lover, not a fighter, he might benefit from knowing a few basic self-defense moves. He was great with a shovel, but Don didn't have much confidence how he'd be with his fists if he had to defend himself hand-to-hand. He'd nagged Tim until he relented and let himself be shown some moves and countermoves. Don knew he had a good swing, because when they'd tried out one of the scenarios, he miscalculated the distance in faking it and gave Don an accidental fat lip. That had ended their one and only self-defense lesson and led to copious ice on the swelling lip, and then copious kissing, and before long, even more copious sex that lasted well into the night.

As they made their way slowly out of the restroom, Bailey was coming back down the hall.

"Don't tell me, let me guess. You need another statement from me about what Stenski did in there," Don said.

"Afraid so, unless you need to go to the ER," he said.

"Tim's going to call the doctor, see if he'll work me in so I don't have to put down roots in the ER waiting to be seen."

"There's something else we need to talk about," Bailey said. "I'm afraid I've got bad news."

"Worse than the fact that someone's trying to kill us, and Stenski just attacked Don again in the bathroom?" Tim asked, and Bailey shrugged.

"Let's go in here and have a seat," he said, steering them into an interview room, where the three of them sat around the table. Tim made a quick call to the doctor's office and secured Don an appointment for a couple hours later. Once he was finished, Bailey continued.

"Someone leaked the story to the media. They have it all - - including the names of all our perps, and your names, even the internal issues with Stenski. It's apparently hitting the noon news everywhere right now and starting to pop up on local websites. I don't imagine it'll be long before the AP or the national news networks pick up on it."

"Shit," Don said, rubbing his forehead. Tim thought he looked more tired and defeated than he ever remembered Donald looking in all the years he'd known him. "They know everything?"

"I haven't seen the reports myself," he said, checking his watch. "If you want to come to my office, we can go online and see what's already out there."

They reluctantly agreed to that, Don not anxious to make a public walk through the bullpen at the moment. Add that to the pain that was flaring up since the encounter with Stenski, and being dragged through a knothole backwards sounded more appealing to him.

If the other cops in the bullpen had something to say, they kept it to themselves. It wasn't that Don really feared confronting them - - he could take care of himself in a verbal sparring match, and he was flanked by Tim and Bailey, which calmed any of the jitters he felt about physical confrontations when he wasn't strong enough to handle them. Still, he could feel the eyes on him, and the knowledge that all those people knew his situation, what he'd been through, made him wish he could pull his jacket up over his head the way people do trying to avoid news cameras. He didn't have the usual speed and spring in his step, and he couldn't help feeling like an invalid as he pushed himself to walk faster than he felt able, to look stronger and healthier than he felt. Tim was right; he had a real problem with being under the weather.

Bailey insisted he sit in the more comfortable desk chair, while Tim looked over his shoulder, and Bailey worked the mouse on the computer, connecting them with one of the local news sites.

CHARGES BROUGHT AGAINST ELEVEN IN SEXUAL ASSAULT CASE

It was a bold headline splashed across the screen. As they skimmed the story, they noticed the article mentioned the station's policy of protecting the identity of sexual assault victims and didn't publish Don's name. Still, their description of him as a "local private investigator" and references to the fact that "sources indicated the victim is openly gay, and the accused have claimed he was a willing participant in a consensual group sex situation" didn't really leave much to the imagination in connecting the dots to his identity.

"The sleazier tabloids will probably publish my name, anyway," Don said, sighing. "These people might as well. What's the point of not publishing my name and then describing me so narrowly that anyone I know, and anyone who even knows who I am, can figure it out?"

"They're adhering to the letter of their policy, not the spirit and the purpose of it," Tim said, shaking his head. "I guess there is some consolation in the fact that the men who did it are essentially destroyed by this."

"Yeah, in order to defend themselves, they have to admit what they were up to. No wonder they were freaked out when Fox decided to bring me in there. I wonder if it had been up to a couple of them if they would have killed me to avoid getting caught."

"People have killed for lesser embarrassments than this," Bailey said. "This could work in your favor. With all their names out in the media, there's not much reason to kill you."

"I'm still the star witness if and when they go to trial. That's a good reason." Don was quiet a moment. "I still can't figure out how they thought they could get away with this. Did they really expect me to just go home and forget about it?"

"Rape cases are notoriously under-reported," Tim said. "Male rape cases are even less likely to be reported than cases involving female victims. The odds were in their favor that you wouldn't report it. It's hard to believe Fox would expect that he could do what he did and not injure you seriously enough to force you to report it."

"I think Fox is overimpressed with his own importance," Bailey said. "He's an arrogant asshole who thinks he can get away with anything. Plus, he's gotta be the top dog. He's got to take it to the next level, do something bolder and worse than anyone else did and assume there won't be any consequences."

"I know you've done all you can for us," Don said, his arm going around his mid section. "If you need a statement from me about Stenski, let's do it. I don't feel so hot." Don was grateful to feel Tim's hand rubbing across his shoulders. Just the little touch seemed to calm him, make things better.

"The captain's worried about the lawsuit, now that things are going public with the case," Bailey said, looking uneasy about bringing it up. "Stenski's behavior today didn't help matters. I hope you know he's not representative of all the cops around here."

"I'm not trying to get rich off the department. I'm not going to go back on the deal our lawyer's working out with the department's lawyers."

"I appreciate that, Don," Bailey said. "I'm sure the captain and the commissioner will, too."

********

"Fortunately, the blow was higher than the area we repaired, and unless you notice any unusual pain or bleeding, you should be fine," the doctor said, making a couple notes on his chart. "The tearing we sutured is healing nicely, and you haven't undone any of the internal repair we did," he added.

"He was in a lot of pain from the blow," Tim said, still worried, even though the doctor had just given Don a clean bill of health. He rested his hand on Don's shoulder as Don sat on the exam table in a gown. Part of him felt guilty for having dragged him into the doctor's office and subjected him to what had been a stressful and uncomfortable examination, and at the same time, even the doctor's good verdict didn't put his mind to rest.

"Honey, gut-punches hurt, and I'm still not feeling that great, so I just felt worse that I normally would have," Don said.

"Your blood pressure is elevated slightly. Are you getting enough rest?"

"We've had a lot of stress with the criminal case," Tim said.

"Well, I'd like to see you again in two weeks. If you notice any bleeding or you have any severe pain, go to the emergency room right away. In the meantime, take it easy and try to keep your stress at a minimum. Get plenty of sleep."

"I'll do my best." Don paused. "How long before I can get back to work?"

"Donald," Tim chided.

"We'll talk about it when you come in for your follow-up appointment."

"That's two weeks from now," Don protested.

"Exactly," the doctor replied, smiling. "If all's well on that check-up, you'll be ready to get back to work with some limitations on your physical exertion."

"What kind of limitations?"

"You're a detective, correct?" the doctor asked.

"Yes, that's right."

"Well, you do things at your desk, don't you? Background checks, other investigative work?"

"Actually, my assistant does most of that, and I do the field work."

"Think about reversing that for a couple weeks after you go back to work. Then slowly resume your usual activity level. Since you apparently are at risk for injury on the job, some potentially severe, we need to wait until your system is strong enough to endure some physical trauma. You have a ways to go to get there," the doctor concluded. "Now take some time off and relax, and we'll talk again in two weeks."

"I'll make sure he takes it easy," Tim spoke up, and Don just sighed, looking like most of the wind was knocked out of his sails.

After the doctor left the room, Tim wordlessly helped Don get dressed, doing the things that would require him to stoop or stretch, letting him do anything that didn't cause him exertion, himself. Finally, he decided to stop ignoring the elephant in the room that was the unpleasantness of the examination.

"Are you okay, honey?" Tim asked, not wanting to overdramatize things, since Donald seemed pretty reticent about the whole thing. But he knew that, since his partner had wanted him in the room and had kept a death grip on his hand throughout the exam, it had been difficult for him to get through.

"I just want to get out of here and go home," he said tightly.

"I'm sorry I pushed you into coming to the doctor. I was worried."

"I had a follow-up appointment in two days anyway, so at least now that's over with and I'm off the hook for two more weeks."

"I'm so proud of you," Tim said, and Don paused, shrugging into his coat.

"For what?"

"With everything you've been through, you're doing so well."

"You think I'm doing well?"

"I think you're amazing. I can't believe how far you've come in what, ten days? From almost dying to back on your feet and handling all this stress with the case? I don't know if I could do that."

"I think you can do most anything you put your mind to," Don said, smiling. "Just ask Stenski. If I live to be a hundred, I'll never forget the look on that fucker's face when you knocked him on his ass." Don chuckled a little evilly. "You're always there when I need you," he said, and the love and slight tinge of awe in his voice touched Tim deeply.

"I'd do anything for you," Tim said, and at that moment, he knew it was true. He wondered if he'd had a gun when Stenski attacked Donald, if he could have used it. It unsettled him to think that maybe he could have. Maybe his own anger and his protectiveness, which were on overdrive as he watched over something as precious as Don's recovery, would have propelled him with a weapon the way they carried him earlier, when he abandoned all form of thought and went with his basest, primal instinct to protect his mate from danger.

"I know," Don said, smiling, touching his face, then planting a little kiss on his lips.

"Honey, if you ever feel like you need to talk to somebody...I'll help you find someone, I'll go with you if you want, or keep completely out if it... I just don't want to make you go through this without as much support as you need."

"I need you...and I need time to pass. And I need this fucking case to be over with. As far as adding someone else into the mix that I have to dig all this up with all the time...no thanks. I know you're trying to help, but I don't want to see a shrink."

"Then I won't nag you about it," Tim said, taking Don's hand, squeezing it. "If you ever change your mind, just say the word and I'll do anything I can to help."

"You always do," Don replied, smiling.

********

Sitting in the study down the hall from the bedroom on the second floor, Tim tried to force himself to care about the e-mails piling up in his inbox. As he excavated the dozens of little issues Senator Platt sent his way on a daily basis, along with the many other contacts, appointment requests, and other messages, he kept one ear open to be sure Donald was resting peacefully in the master bedroom. He'd been asleep almost before his body hit the featherbed topper, and Tim felt maybe he'd sleep more soundly undisturbed by another body moving around in the bed. Besides, even if he was taking a couple weeks off, he felt the need to reconnect with his life and not let too many things slide while he was out of the office.

The phone on the desk rang, and he grabbed it before it completed its first ring tone.

"Hello?"

"Is Donald there?" A woman's voice came over the line.

"He can't come to the phone right now. May I take a message?" Tim located a notepad while he waited for a reply.

"Is this Timothy?" she asked.

"Yes it is," he said, frowning. Don never got business calls at their home number, and there were very few people one of them knew that the other didn't - - or at least that the other didn't know of.

"This is...Evelyn. Evelyn Strachey, Donald's mother," she said, her voice a bit hesitant. No one in Don's family had attended their wedding, and Tim had never met them. All he knew is that Don's father had disowned him when he found out he was gay, and apparently that was okay with the rest of the family, because the only Strachey Tim knew was Donald himself. It was a sore subject with Donald, so Tim didn't pressure him for every painful detail.

"He's been under the weather lately, and he's sleeping right now," Tim said, trying to be a bit friendlier with her now that he knew who she was, although the way she'd managed to accept ignoring Don all this time didn't really endear her to his heart. "Can I have him call you back when he wakes up?"

"So it was him," she said, her voice shaking a bit.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The news. There was a news story about a private investigator in Albany...who was... a homosexual. They said he was injured at some kind of...orgy."

"I don't know where you're getting your information, Mrs. Strachey, but Donald was brutally attacked by those men. He wasn't there voluntarily, he was held there against his will and...they raped him."

"Oh, my God," she muttered, and Tim regretted just a bit throwing the information at her that way. Her willingness to believe that Donald was injured while participating in some kind of orgy had turned his stomach.

"I didn't mean to blurt it out that way. He was attacked. None of it was consensual. He needed surgery to repair the damage, and he was just released from the hospital a couple days ago."

"Is he going to be all right?"

"As long as he takes care of himself, the doctor feels he'll make a full recovery."

"I'm glad."

"I can wake him so you can talk to him yourself. I know your call will mean a lot to him," Tim said.

"No, let him get some rest. I'm glad he's all right."

"Please, do call him back. I think it would mean a lot to him."

"My husband doesn't know I'm calling."

"I'll tell Don to wait to hear back from you, then. Is that easier?"

"Yes, that would be best. I'll call another time."

"Anytime. I can give you his cell number, and mine, if you like, so you can get a hold of us when you call back, in case we aren't home."

"All right," she said, and Tim gave her both numbers. "Thank you for being so helpful," she said. "I know we've never met."

"You're Donald's mother," he said, indicating that was reason enough for him to be helpful to her.

"We didn't come to the...ceremony," she said, as if she couldn't quite bring herself to call it a wedding. That stung a bit, but Tim overlooked it. "I'm...glad if things have worked out for the two of you."

"I love Donald with all my heart, and I'm so...blessed to have him in my life. We have a wonderful life together and a solid marriage. No matter what, you raised him, and you had to have done something to make him as wonderful as he is," he added. "I know this isn't what you would have chosen for Donald, but I just want to say to you what I would have said to you at our wedding... Thank you for him. He's the light of my life."

She was silent a moment, and Tim worried he'd said too much, that she really didn't want to hear anything about Donald's relationship with his same-sex partner.

"It's obvious you love him very much. Take good care of him...so he recovers."

"I will. Please, do call him back."

"Thank you for the numbers." With that, she hung up. It was kind of an odd and abrupt end to the conversation, but she seemed increasingly uneasy in the final moments of it, so it didn't surprise Tim she was looking for a quick escape. Hopefully, he'd handled it well enough that she'd try again. He'd thought of just disturbing Donald and urging her to talk to him, but he felt sure the call would upset him, and he'd been so tired and feeling so uncomfortable when they got home that Tim didn't want to rob him of his escape from all of it for a little while.

Going back to his work, he was frustrated when the doorbell rang. He hurried downstairs and carefully looked out the window before opening the door. Kenny stood on the other side.

"Hi, Kenny," Tim said, opening the door for him to come inside. "Donald's sleeping upstairs," he said, hoping to keep Kenny's voice down to avoid disturbing his partner.

"He asked me to run a check on your bodyguard, Pollack. Oh, and I brought this," he said, handing Tim a brown paper bag. "It's the chicken and mushrooms Don likes from the Chinese place near the office. It's really mild anyway, and I had them make it without any of the other vegetables, just the mushrooms. I wasn't sure what he can eat yet. There's rice and cream cheese rangoons in there, too."

"Thank you. He'll enjoy this a lot. I know he's going a little nuts on the bland diet, but he doesn't seem to be feeling good enough to throw in anything too exciting." Tim put the food on the counter. "What did you find out about Pollack?"

"The security company he's with is a good one - - Don recommends them to people all the time if they need protection. I didn't expect to find much. Then I was doing just a general web search on his name, and I found an article about a commendation he received for saving some kid's life when he stopped to help out at an accident scene." Kenny pulled a folded up piece of paper from his jacket pocket. "Check out the photo and the caption."

It was a print out of an online news article dated almost a year earlier, and Pollack was standing with the mayor, his mother, and another man, beaming and holding up his medal for the camera. The man was none other than Detective Michael Stenski of the Albany PD, Pollack's cousin.

"They're cousins. Stenski hadn't been charged with anything yet when they would have assigned him to your case, and even if he had, it's doubtful it would have shown up on his employer's radar, especially if he didn't name Stenski as a reference."

"So you think Pollack tampered with the brakes for his cousin?"

"He had lots of opportunities and access to your car. He knew where you were all the time and your schedule. He even knew when you were picking Don up from the hospital, and followed you there. And it depends on how close he is with his cousin, if he'd care enough to do it. Seeing as he's the only family except his mother that's in that photo, I'd say they're probably close."

"My car was often parked at the hospital when I was with Don, so you could argue anyone could have done it."

"Sure, and that's what Pollack's lawyer would probably argue. Even so, Pollack knew when it was safe to do it, because he knew when you were settled in for a while."

"Donald didn't like him from the first day he showed up on the job. I was never terribly fond of him, either, but it was different. It was as if Don's instincts were just set on edge by him."

"He's got pretty good instincts."

"That he does," Tim agreed, smiling.

"What happened with Stenski at the station earlier? He's all over the news, griping that he was sacrificed by the city to avoid a lawsuit and that Don's partner assaulted him on police property and nothing was done about it. I mean, that's obviously so much BS, but what's he talking about?"

"My partner saved the day. Knocked Stenski right on his ass. It was beautiful," Don said, making his way downstairs a little more slowly than usual.

"You should be resting," Tim said, moving toward the staircase. He felt a little flood of affection for his partner. He loved the way Donald looked when he crawled out of bed, when both he and his hair look bewildered as to which direction they should be going, and those beautiful big blue eyes of his still hadn't fully adjusted to being open.

"I smell Chan's Garden food. You expect me to sleep through that?"

"You've got a nose like a bloodhound," Tim said, laughing. He hugged Don when he reached the foot of the stairs, and got a nice squeeze back for his efforts.

"You slugged a cop?" Kenny asked Tim, his eyes bugging.

"He attacked Donald, and I just...reacted. I couldn't help it."

"Stenski hit you?" Kenny asked Don, looking stunned. "Like he's not in enough trouble?"

"I'm not handling gutpunches the way I usually do right now, so he had me down," Don said, opening the takeout bag and inhaling as if he were smelling a rare, sensual perfume. Tim was relieved to see that much enthusiasm over food. He hoped his partner's healing body would start cooperating with him a little better in handling his return to normal eating. "Before I knew what was happening, my boyfriend showed up and took care of it," he said, smiling at Tim with pure love and more than a little pride. Not to be distracted for too long from his bag of goodies, he took out one of the little white containers, opened the top and stuck a fork into it, then ate a large bite, chewing several extra times under Tim's watchful gaze.

"I'm still trying to picture you beating up Stenski. I wish I'd been there," Kenny said.

"I didn't beat him up. I swung at him once," Tim clarified.

"Yeah, once that was good enough to knock him on his ass on the floor," Don said through another mouthful. "God, it was almost worth getting gut-punched just to see the look on Stenski's face. Then Bailey showed up and arrested him."

"I guess there is some justice in the world, after all," Kenny said, laughing.

"What's this?" Don asked, picking up the article where Tim had laid it on the counter.

"The reason you probably didn't like Pollack. Kenny found it online."

"What the fuck?" Don set his fork down with a clatter, focusing on the article. "I don't believe this!"

"Donald, calm down," Tim said, resting a hand on his shoulder, which Don shrugged off angrily. It was a new tendency he had since the rape, to physically resist Tim touching him when he didn't want to be touched. Tim doubted that Don even consciously realized he was doing it, and he did his best not to take it personally. Donald certainly wasn't resisting being close to him or sharing intimate touches with him, so the least he could do was back off when his lover needed to reassert his personal space.

"Calm down? I hired this agency to protect us. They assigned a guy who's related to one of the key people we needed protection from! I'm calling Dan Stevens right now and ask him what kind of half-assed operation he's running over there. He could have gotten us fucking killed!"

"The doctor told you to take it easy, honey. Why don't you wait to call this guy until tomorrow? It's getting late...he's probably not even in - - "

"I've known the bastard for ten years. I have his goddamned cell number." Don grabbed the phone in the kitchen and angrily stabbed at the buttons. Standing there with the phone in one hand and the other on his hip, a vein bulging in his forehead, Donald looked angrier than Tim could ever remember him looking, unless it was when he went after Pollack at the accident scene.

"Yeah, this is Strachey. I just found out that half-wit Pollack you sent over here for our security job is Stenski's cousin. Do you even run background checks on these idiots you hire?" Don waited; obviously the other man was offering some reply, and Tim sincerely hoped it was a good one. "Yes, I'm fucking sure!" he shot back, picking up and waving the piece of paper, even though the man on the other end of the phone couldn't see it. "It wasn't too hard to find out, either. My assistant found out with a 'net search in an hour or so! Kind of makes sense why he didn't even try to help us when the brakes failed. He's probably the one who sabotaged them in the first place!" Don was looking more incensed by the moment. "The lab just confirmed that they were tampered with. When I think about all the clients I've referred to your company over the years, and the one time I count on you to provide me with decent services, you nearly get me and my partner killed!"

"Don, why don't you wrap this up?" Tim suggested quietly.

"You want me to wrap this up?" Don retorted angrily, gesturing at Tim with the telephone. "Fine." He threw the phone the length of the room so it smashed against the wall, making Tim and Kenny both jump a little. "Why don't you stop telling me what to do all the time?" he shouted at Tim, who was too stunned by the outburst to get his mouth open with a reply. "I'm not a goddamned two-year-old! I know what the hell I'm doing and I don't need you or anyone else sticking their noses in how I run my business!"

"Donald, I didn't mean to do that. I just didn't want you to get so upset," Tim replied, trying to keep his voice level and calm.

"Well guess what? I'm fucking upset!" He grabbed a plate that was sitting on the counter and hurled it in the same direction the ill-fated telephone had gone. Then he went for a glass, sending that shattering in the sink. "I'm upset! I'm sorry if that bothers you so much!"

"Hey, Don, take it easy," Kenny said, and Donald swung around, glaring at him.

"You mind your own fucking business! This is my house and I'll do whatever the hell I please!" He picked up another glass and sent it flying after the first, creating a starburst of glass shards on the floor this time.

"Kenny, just go," Tim said, steering him toward the door with a gentle hand.

"I better stay. He's freaking out," he said, and while he'd tried to say it quietly, it was loud enough that Don overheard it.

"Yeah, I'm freaking out! You wanna trade places with me and we'll see how well you handle it?!" He cleared the remaining items off the counter, food included, with a powerful sweep of his arm.

"Kenny, go on, go. I'll handle this," Tim said firmly, ushering Kenny out the door, hoping he'd made the right decision. If Donald needed to get his anger out, Tim wanted to help him do that, even if it was risky and a little scary. He had faith in Donald not to hurt him, and the willingness to take that chance if he did.

"Donald, it's okay. I understand that you're angry."

"Don't patronize me! Of course, I'm fucking angry!" he shouted back, looking around for something to break, seeming almost frantic when he couldn't locate something.

Tim calmly took a mug out of the cupboard and handed it to him. Don stared at him a moment, then at the mug, and then took it, smashing it on the floor. Tim took one himself and sent it flying next to Don's, the shards intermingling as it smashed on the floor. He handed another one to Don, who didn't hesitate this time, but threw it with all his strength, sending the shards flying up from the floor from the sheer force of it. When he turned to face Tim, his face was so transformed with anger that it was like looking into the face of a stranger.

"Do you need to hit somebody? Donald, if you need to get this out, come on, hit me," he goaded, knowing he was risking injury but not caring. Donald looked as if he were about to explode, and there was no one else who was going to offer him a safe way to vent that overpowering anger.

Donald hadn't said no, hadn't denied that he wanted...needed to do something violent to purge the anger from his system. He was still just staring at Tim like a man possessed. Tim had the unsettling feeling that if Donald were to speak, his voice would somehow be guttural and unearthly, evil and malevolent.

"Come on, Donald," Tim said, gently pushing his shoulder, purposely provoking him. "What's the matter? All show and no go?" He shoved him again, a little harder this time. "Too scared?" he added, and before he knew what was happening, Donald let out a cry that wasn't far from the demonic vocalization he'd imagined, and began to swing his fist, then stopped, mid-air, staring at Tim fleetingly, before adjusting the arc of his swing to hit the wall next to Tim, leaving a dent in the drywall. He leaned on that wall with both hands a moment, then slid down it, ending up on his knees, his whole body shaking, but not from tears.

Then he tilted his head back and aimed his forehead at the wall. Thinking fast, Tim got his hand between Don's head and the wall an instant before the impact. While the impact hurt his hand and probably still jarred Don's head a bit, it was far better than letting his head hit the wall.

"I want it to stop!" he shouted, trying to hit his head on the wall again, once again running into Tim's hand instead. "I want to see them all dead! I want to jam a knife in their guts and watch them bleed out on the floor, knowing they're dying and that it's me who's in control now! That they're all my bitches now! I want them to suffer, to hurt, to be afraid." He punctuated each phrase with a thump of his fist on the floor.

"Just let it all come out, honey. The anger has to come out along with everything else. It's okay." Tim knelt next to him and ventured a hand on his back, rubbing carefully, not sure if that would calm him or further enrage him. He sensed the outburst was de-escalating, though Donald didn't seem to be completely finished.

"They just held me down and laughed at me and did things to me," he said, still pounding on the floor with every few words. "They thought it was funny that they were tearing me up, torturing me like some...thing. They make it sound like it's my fault. They tortured me and they try to say I wanted it. I didn't want it! I don't want it! I want my life back!" he shouted, his voice rough and hoarse now from shouting. "For the rest of my life everybody's going to look at me and the first thing they're going to think about is a bunch of guys fucking my ass in a basement!" There were some tears in his voice now, but he still wasn't calm. "What if they get away with this? What if Fox is out there, free, and doesn't pay for this?"

"Fox'll pay for it, honey. Trust me."

"How do you know that?"

"Because it doesn't matter what the courts do to him. Someday, he's going to die, and when he does, he's going to have to pay for what he did in his life. Whether that's forty years from now, or next week. And that's going to be worse than anything we could think up to do to him. You could torture him, beat him, kill him, and it would all be over fast. But what lies on the other side...whatever you get there, lasts forever."

"You believe that?" Don asked, a little breathless, though there was still a challenge in his tone.

"The hardest thing for me to handle is the idea that I have to leave this to God to sort out. You aren't the only one who's angry, Donald. When I hit Stenski, it was pure rage. So help me God, if he'd gotten up sooner and Bailey hadn't shown up, I'd have hit him again. If I'd had a weapon...I don't know what I would have done. If I'd had a club or a bat, I think I probably would have bludgeoned him with it. For that moment, I was out of control. You aren't the only one having violent fantasies, feeling things and thinking things that make you feel like some kind of...deranged psychopath."

"You could never do something like that. You're too good."

"So are you," Tim replied simply, stroking Don's hair.

"I don't feel like I am," he objected, his voice breaking. "I feel like if I had the chance, I'd kill them all and not feel a moment of regret."

"You might beat them up, you might want to see them terrified, like you were, but I know you, Donald." He took Don's face in his hands. "You are not a murderer."

"Did I hurt your hand?" he asked, taking Tim's hand in his, frowning at the forming bruises from where Tim's hand had cushioned his impact with the wall.

"No more than you hurt your own, silly," he replied, lightly touching Don's bruised knuckles that had impacted with the wall.

"I wanted to bash my brains in. You're always there to save me."

"I'm just glad I got my hand between your head and the wall in time."

"You've been sticking your hand between my head and a wall for years now," he said, a ghost of a smile tugging one corner of his mouth. He kissed Tim's knuckles.

"I always will, whenever you need me to," Tim replied, kissing Don's forehead.

"There's this place in my head that's so...dark, and so...awful. It's like having a demon inside me, like in The Exorcist. Something that's pure evil and wants to take over and do the things I think about doing."

"That demon is in all of us. It's what makes us do awful things when we have to in order to survive or protect the people we love. No one could survive what you did and not feel like that dark place was taking over sometimes. Honey, your anger is okay. It's part of healing, part of what you went through, just as much as the fear or the pain, or even the physical pain."

"You could still love me, knowing what I think about doing to them? What I want to do to them?"

"I would love you no matter what you said or did. I'll always be right here by your side. Because I know your heart and your soul, and despite everything you've been through or that you're going through now, they're beautiful and good, and there's a light in you that drew me to you the very first time I saw you. Even if you think there's a crazed murderer inside you somewhere, there isn't. There's just unthinkable pain and anger that needs to come out somehow."

"I almost hit you."

"But you didn't, did you?"

"You were going to let me."

"If that's what you needed. You could hit me without consequences, if your anger was going to explode like that, but if you took on someone else, you might get hurt, or arrested. Donald, that demon you talk about was looking right at me in that instant when you drew back your fist. Ultimately, you have control over that rage, or I'd probably have a fat lip or a broken nose right now."

"I never would have forgiven myself if I hurt you."

"You didn't, because you wouldn't. Just like you wouldn't commit any of the murders you might fantasize about."

"You don't think I'm sick after what I told you I want to do to them?"

"I think you're angry and you need to get your power back. It's all going to come together as your body finishes healing, and you get back to work, and your life starts feeling more normal again."

"I think about when we used to make love, and you'd be inside me, and I loved how that felt, and now I'm so scared of that..."

"Those bastards tore up your insides, honey. You're not even physically healed from what they did to you. Of course, you're afraid of it. Don't worry about that now. We made love, and it was beautiful. We still have our love and our intimacy with each other."

"I really did a number on the kitchen," he said, looking around at the destruction.

"I helped," Tim replied, smiling. Don finally smiled fully at that.

"Yeah, you did, didn't you?" He reached up and touched Tim's face. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything wrong, baby," Tim said, pulling him into a hug.

"I trashed the kitchen," he said, his arms winding around Tim, holding on tightly.

"It's just things, honey. We can buy some new dishes."

"We'll need glasses, too," Don added, and Tim had to chuckle at that.

"I guess you're right," he agreed. "And mugs."

"You can find more of those big mugs, right? I liked those."

"Give me a computer and a credit card, and I'll have the kitchen restocked by bedtime tonight."

"That I don't doubt," Don replied, laughing a little. "I probably scared Kenny."

"He'll survive. Though I bet it'll be a while before he asks for another raise."

"Maybe something good came out of this after all," Don said with a little snort and a grin.

He'd taken up residence in Tim's arms, his head resting on Tim's shoulder. Despite the mess around them and the discomfort of kneeling on a wood floor, Tim treasured the moment, just relishing the warm weight of Donald's body against him, grateful all over again that he'd survived.

"I love you," he said, kissing Donald's temple.

"I know. I love you, too." Don reached up to guide Tim's face toward his, pressing his lips against Tim's, the soft contact becoming insistent until Tim opened his mouth and let Don's tongue inside. Don slid his hand into Tim's hair, holding him there. When he reluctantly released Tim, he smiled a soft, romantic smile Tim hadn't seen from him since before the attack.

"You should get some more rest, honey. You were only in bed an hour or so."

"How about you come upstairs and 'rest' with me?" Don kissed him again, then bumped his nose against Tim's, keeping their mouths close together. "I want to be close to you."

"I should clean up down here."

"I guarantee you it'll all be here in a few hours. I'll even help you, if you make it worth my while," Don joked, kissing him again.

It was raining, the soft patter of raindrops on the roof making it seem even cozier to be all wrapped around each other nestled in the softness of their bed. Tim buried his face in the warm spot between Don's neck and shoulder, kissing him there. Just being with Donald this way, touching each other, feeling his lover's heart beating against his own, was more than he'd hoped for so soon after what Donald had been through. He was stunned to feel Donald getting hard as they touched each other, and when he looked in Donald's eyes, they were bright with a mixture of tears and hope, and a little bit of fear.

"Let me touch you, baby," Tim whispered in his ear, and he felt a little nod in response. He moved down in the bed and touched Don's partial erection carefully, gently, as if he were holding something fragile. He guided it into his mouth, knowing that Donald's first arousal was fragile, and more than a little miraculous. The trust it symbolized brought tears to his eyes as he concentrated on bringing Don to full hardness. He felt Don's hand touching his hair lightly, shaking a little as it did.

He cupped Don's balls, rolling them gently in his hand, and he could feel the erection falter. A moment later, Don was trying to move away.

"Timmy, no, don't," he said, gently pushing at Tim's shoulder. Tim released him right away, moving back up to look into Don's eyes, concerned. "I can't."

"It's okay, honey. Did I do something?"

"When you used your hand, it just...reminded me. There were so many...hands on me. Touching me. Everywhere. Just...pawing at me, pulling on me...there. They just played with me like I was a...thing."

"I'm sorry, baby." Tim gathered him close, kissing his hair, patting his back.

"It's not your fault. I wanted to be able to do it, I want to be okay," Don said, his voice shaking.

"You will be okay. We already are okay, honey. I almost lost you. Holding you like this, being with you...it's like a miracle to me. You almost didn't survive, so every minute we have together is a gift." He pulled back a minute to look into those eyes he loved so much. "You are gift."

"You make me feel like I am, all the time. Even when I couldn't get out of bed on my own and I was peeing in a bottle. I always felt like you wanted me, that you were glad I was alive, even if I was a mess."

"Good. Because I'll always want you, any way I can have you."

"I'm sorry, Timmy," he said, shaking his head a little, a couple tears escaping.

"Oh, no, you don't have to be sorry." Tim closed his eyes, feeling tears burning behind his lids as he comforted Donald, stilling the shaking with his embrace. "Just relax and close your eyes. Get some rest, honey."

"Love you," Don muttered,

"And I love you," Tim replied, smiling as he dozed off to sleep.

********

Don could feel Timmy's warm body around him, spooned up behind him. It was light already, and he'd been asleep for hours. Hours without a nightmare, tucked safely in his husband's arms. He was a little too warm, and Timmy was, too, judging by the heat between their bodies, and the warmed up and intermingled scent of their colognes. He could feel Timmy's breath on the back of his neck, the rise and fall of his chest against his back. Unable to stifle a smile, he closed his eyes again, wanting nothing to interfere with this moment, with the utter peace and rightness of his world when Timmy held him like this.

The only thing better than sleeping with Timmy was being the object of his affections when he first woke up. Soft lips were kissing his ear, then his neck, and his shoulder. A loving hand was caressing his chest, a hair-dusted leg rubbing against his. These touches were all so good, like slices of heaven. It was bittersweet to feel them, because he wanted so badly to get excited, like he usually would, to start up a little early morning lovemaking.

"Good morning, beautiful," he said, reaching back to touch Timmy's face, to angle his head back for a kiss.

"Did you get a good rest?" Tim asked, still treating him to the little kisses and nibbles.

"Slept like a log," he said, taking Timmy's hand and kissing it, frowning at the bruising that had darkened overnight. "Does it hurt much?"

"Hm? My hand? No, not much. Better my hand than your head, honey," he said, a smile in his voice. "It's no big deal. How do you feel? How's your stomach?"

"I'm hungry," Don said, grinning.

"No cramps?"

"Not at the moment. I could have done without the gut-punch, but that just feels bruised."

"Things are going to keep getting better. When you're feeling good and the pain pills are out of the picture, it'll make a big difference."

"You think that's what's causing my limp dick, huh?"

"I think it's a whole lot of things. Even if you hadn't gone through what you did, recovering from surgery and being on pain meds has a nasty tendency to interfere with your sex life."

"I just want to be normal. It felt so good when I woke up this morning and you were wrapped around me, and then you were kissing me and touching me and I liked how it felt and I wanted to respond and I can't."

"You did respond. You kissed me, you touched my face, you smiled at me. I knew you liked it, and I like touching you."

"You always let me off the hook."

"Do you think an erection is the only reward I want for touching you?"

"No, I know you don't feel that way."

"But you need to feel that response come easily and naturally like it's supposed to, so you feel like they didn't take that away from you."

Don just nodded. The assessment was too accurate. He couldn't get any words out.

"They didn't take it away from you. It was there last night, and it'll be there again. You're very hard on yourself, Donald. You expect your body to bounce back fast from something that nearly killed you."

"Timmy..." Don paused, needing to tell Timmy what was really scaring him.

"What's the matter, honey?" Timmy prodded gently. "It's okay. You can tell me."

"I don't know if I can testify," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "What would you think of me if I didn't testify?"

"I'd think you were doing what you needed to do to survive this. You don't have to prove anything to me. I already know how strong and how brave you are." Timmy kissed Don's cheek again, squeezing him a little. "What bothers you the most about testifying?"

"There are things I can't even say out loud to you. Things...I haven't even told the cops. Things they said...did. Made me do. I just can't talk about this stuff in front of a courtroom full of strangers. And they're all going to make it seem like I was a willing participant. All their words against mine? Think about it, Timothy. Who's going to believe me?"

"I do. Bailey does. The DA does. Bailey never hesitated for an instant. He's believed you right from the start. And he was adamant enough about it that the DA got on board, too. You're a credible witness. The cops and the prosecutor wouldn't be on your side like they are if they thought you were some...party boy that just got roughed up more than he wanted. You're a respectable businessman and homeowner in the community, and you're in a long-term monogamous relationship. You have a state senator willing to support you as publicly or privately as you want. All of us can't be wrong about you. A jury is going to see that. Even Hanover, pig that he is, is testifying for our side."

"I know all that. I can think it through a thousand times, and what you're saying is true."

"None of that spares you the humiliation of talking about something so intensely painful and personal, though, does it?" Timmy asked gently, kissing Don's shoulder.

"I suppose it doesn't matter anymore. The media have splattered this story all over the country by now, and as soon as I get out of bed and face going online or watching the news, I'm probably going to see my name attached to it, too. There's going to be some scumbag journalist or reporter who's going to expose me. Locally, anyone who's ever had a passing contact with me knows. An openly gay private investigator?"

"It was wrong of them to pinpoint you that way. They might as well have released your name."

Don sat up in bed, feeling like he needed to see Timmy, to talk to him face-to-face, as much as he regretted losing that warm, comforting embrace.

"If I don't testify, most of those guys will walk."

"I'm more worried about what the stress of testifying is doing to you, Donald." Tim was sitting up now, too, and Don couldn't help just looking at him for a moment. Protecting him was worth anything, and that's what he had to hold onto. It didn't matter if it was painful or humiliating. If getting up there and convincing that jury was what it took to keep Timmy safe, he could do it.

"I won't let them walk away from this. They don't get to do that to me, and then just go back to their lives. More important, Fox doesn't get to threaten you and then be free to come after you. I know what I have to do..."

"It's just scary as hell when you think about doing it," Timmy said, moving close to him, sliding his arm around Don's shoulders.

"Something like that," Don agreed, settling in Tim's arms, liking the feel of his cheek against Tim's chest.

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you, but last night was kind of rough, and I didn't...."

"What is it?"

"Your mother called here yesterday, while you were sleeping. Maybe I should have gotten you up again, but you'd just settled down, and you weren't feeling very well, so I didn't wake you."

"What did she want?" He tried to keep his tone neutral. He wasn't sure if he was glad she called, or upset to dredge up the whole ugly mess with his family again.

"To talk to you. She heard the news, and she wondered if it was you."

"Not sure why she cares." His mother hadn't stood up for him at all, hadn't objected to his father's hurtful and complete severing of ties with him. Don took in a deep breath. He could still hear his father's words, right on top of dealing with Kyle's death and being outed amidst such tragedy. "As far as I'm concerned, my son is dead, too. The Griffins are better off." "For a while, I tried writing her letters, sending e-mails. I sent her a goddamned wedding invitation when we got married, and you can see how interested she ever was to even meet the person I'm spending my life with. She just went along with my father."

"I know you have issues with your mother - - "

Don sat up, moving away from the embrace.

"No, Timothy, Norman Bates had issues with his mother. I'm just finished with the whole drama."

"It's probably hard for her to challenge your father."

"Oh, bullshit. My mother isn't a helpless housewife, even if that's the role she played with you. She's a teacher, she works full-time, yet as far as I know, has a car to drive, a cell phone, money in her purse. She's as disgusted by me as my father is, but she likes to blame it on him."

"She sounded worried. She also sounded like she really was nervous about receiving a call from you at home."

"Timmy, I know you want to see something good here. You look at mothers through the lens of your own mother, but she's one of a kind, not typical. At least, she's nothing like my mother. Your mother would move mountains for you, and God help anyone who gets in her way. My mother probably only called here because she wanted to be able to figure out damage control when her friends got wind that her gay son was involved in some kinky group sex party."

"Honey, I know she's hurt you, but maybe if there's anything good that could come from this, it's breaking down that barrier with your mother. Maybe she realized how much she cared when she thought you were hurt."

"Yeah, maybe she did. Maybe Kenny'll take a vow of celibacy next Lent, too."

"Our parents don't live forever. Someday you might regret not at least trying."

"Not trying? Don't you remember us sending her the wedding invitation? I sent her a letter with a picture of us together, trying to encourage her to come, even if Dad wouldn't. She wouldn't even take a phone call from me or come here and meet you. I offered to pay for her fucking plane ticket, as if that had anything to do with anything. I offered for us to go there, stay in a hotel, and just meet her for dinner so she could meet you and we could see each other. She never answered my goddamned letter or responded to my voicemails."

"Maybe she'd need to just see you first. Not have to deal with me right away. With seeing you with a man."

"Oh, fuck that. You're my husband. The love of my life. If she doesn't want anything to do with you, to hell with her and the whole dysfunctional bunch."

"I think you still miss her sometimes. Maybe that's worth forgiving some unforgivable behavior and just trying one more time."

"Of course, I miss her, she's my mother. As much as I'd like to turn off my feelings for her, it doesn't work that way. I love that you want to fix this," Don said, taking one of Timmy's hands in both of his. "I just can't take the way she looks at me, and I really can't handle it right now." He paused. "I don't think I could stand having her look at me and see that disgust in her eyes."

"Don't you think there's any chance that if you talked to her, maybe she's ready to make amends? She seemed very concerned about you on the phone, and she was very polite to me, almost apologetic because they didn't come to the wedding."

"Just let it lie, Timothy."

"If I had disturbed you for the call, would you have talked to her?"

"I don't know," Don said, running his hand back through his hair, tiredly. "I'm glad you didn't wake me for it. She made her choice. I went on with my life. What's the point of digging up that old misery now?"

"Because you might like to have your mother back in your life, honey," Tim said gently, rubbing Don's shoulder, his hand lingering on the soft skin there. Moving his hand away, he kissed the spot. There was something very familiar in Timmy's eyes, and while there was some sympathy over the issues with his family, there was something else. Don smiled a little, then put his hand gently on the back of Timmy's head and guided him forward until their lips met. The responding kiss started gentle, then deepened until they were lying together again, kissing as if they'd never kissed before. "I'm sorry," Timmy said, their lips still touching when he spoke.

"For what?" Don asked, truly puzzled.

"That beautiful fair skin of yours is so soft and you smell so good," he said, kissing Don again. "I couldn't help it."

"Then don't help it. Don't stop trying with me."

"Never."

Don could feel himself responding, getting hard, the friction between their bodies exciting him. Timmy was right there with him, their semi-hard cocks brushing and rubbing against each other as they moved together. He let his hands slide down to caress and squeeze his partner's ass, feeling Timmy moan into their kisses.

Tim's hands didn't stray below Don's waist, but his lips traveled down to his chest, licking and sucking at his nipples, and in an explosive moment he barely realized was upon him, Don felt himself coming. Timmy's name came out in a gasp and a sob and a cry all mixed into one, tinged with the surprise and joy he felt at responding to his lover the way he wanted to. Not wanting to neglect Timmy's needs, Don paid special attention to his nipples, then trailed little flicks of his tongue down to his navel, where he darted his tongue inside just the way he knew Timmy liked it.

"Oh, God," Tim gasped, on the verge of coming. Don took him in his mouth, and it was only moments before Timmy was coming with a cry of Don's name.

They lay there quietly for a long time, just petting each other and sharing little kisses, their sated bodies pressed together in a warm embrace.

"Welcome back," Tim said, kissing him again.

"It's good to be back," he replied, smiling, squeezing Timmy a little tighter.

"It's been a while since we took a nice, relaxing bath together. What do you say?"

"I say you fill up the tub and I'll make the mimosas."

"Donald, you can't have alcohol while you're on pain medication."

"I didn't take it last night."

"How do you feel?"

"Right now? On top of the world."

"You must be in pain, honey."

"A little, but not enough to spoil my good time. We took it slow and easy."

"You're sure you don't want to take them this morning?"

"I feel a little clearer in the head, and the pain isn't that bad. I'll take some later if I need them. Now go fill up the tub while I get the drinks, okay?"

"Take it slow on the steps," Tim admonished, kissing him again.

"Yes, doctor," Don replied, kissing him back.

********

Kenny was on the phone when Don walked into the office, carrying a large bag of Chinese takeout from the same restaurant Kenny had visited to bring the ill-fated meal to the house the night Don had his meltdown. As soon as Kenny hung up, he sniffed the air.

"Smells like Szechuan," he said, smiling.

"The Szechuan chicken is your favorite, isn't it?" Don asked, setting the bag on Kenny's desk, pulling up a chair.

"Oh, yeah, absolutely," he said.

"Look, I'm sorry about the other night. Once in a while I just lose it, get mad for no reason. You didn't do anything - - it was all me. You just seem to have a knack of being there when I turn into an asshole."

"Hey, don't worry about it. Anger's part of the package, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is," Don said, opening the bag and setting the containers on the desk. It was on the tip of his tongue to squelch Kenny's attempt to talk about the aftermath of rape, since he knew nothing about it, and Don wasn't in the mood to fill in the blanks for him, and yet he knew it was his way of trying to show concern. And that maybe, like a lot of guys faced with a subject they thought had no relevance to them, he was uneasy thinking of it as being a male issue.

"Can you eat pretty much what you want now?" he asked, finding chopsticks in the back and digging into his container of food.

"I'm still avoiding the spicy and greasy stuff. My stomach gets upset more easily than it did. Timothy thinks that's more nerves than from my surgery. The doctor said it can take several weeks to really feel like yourself again. I'm inclined to think he's right." Don started poking around in his container of mushroom chicken, a much milder alternative to Kenny's meal.

"We got a bunch of background check work from that real estate company," Kenny said, his tone upbeat. "You want to look over the reports before I send them back?"

"Nah, I trust you," he said, chewing. "Anything come up?"

"The one guy had a misdemeanor conviction."

"Let me see that one, just in case," he said, wiping his hands before Kenny handed him the folder. "You made sure this was the right guy, triple-checked the soc number and the spelling and all that?"

"Yeah, I cross-referenced it with a couple other databases."

"Okey-dokey. We can't help it if he had sticky fingers when he was in college," Don said, handing him back the file. "Nice work."

"Thanks. That guy probably won't agree. Kind of sucks that a mistake you make twenty years ago keeps following you around."

"That's not our problem to worry about. We just find the information. What they do with it is up to the employer. If this guy wasn't up front about his history, that's his issue."

"Do you ever feel sorry for the people you get the goods on?"

"I used to, but I found that if I let myself think about it that way, it drove me nuts. What we find out may cause people some trouble, it may even ruin someone's life, but ultimately, they did the thing, we didn't. We just found out about it. We didn't make it happen in the first place."

"I suppose that's true."

"There are times I wish I did something a little more uplifting for a living, but there's good money in this when we're busy, and it's interesting. At least, more interesting than being tied to a desk and a bunch of paperwork all day."

"Yeah, like my job," Kenny added.

"Gotta pay your dues, kid," Don said, chuckling and shaking his head a little. "You'll get your PI license one of these days, and then you can hang out your shingle and use all my wisdom against me as the competition," he joked.

"I was serious about wanting to be partners. I think that would be really cool. I only have a year left before I can say I have my three years' experience in, and then I'm going to take the test. Of course, getting the license is expensive. Unless my employer wants to cover that for me," he added hopefully.

"We'll see."

"You'd rather have me using my powers against you than for you?" Kenny asked, grinning.

"I've been the Lone Ranger for a long time, Kenny. The Lone Ranger may have had Tonto, but he didn't have another Ranger working with him. Give me some time to adjust to the idea."

"You'll help me study for the test, though, right?"

"Sure. You know more of it already than you think you do." Don paused. "We'll need a bigger office if you make partner. Can't have you sitting out here with the new secretary."

"Can we hire some really hot eye candy? You know, like you did when you hired me?"

Don laughed, choking on his food.

"Thanks a lot," Kenny said, throwing his fortune cookie at Don.

"I'm not sure Timothy would appreciate me hiring hot eye candy."

"He knows you're not going to cheat on him. But me, I'm unattached."

"Why don't you get the license first, before we worry about hiring your replacement?"

********

As Don looked at his reflection in the mirror, he felt closer to normal than he had since that awful night in the gym. Without the pain meds holding him back, he'd been able to come with Timmy that first night, and a couple more times since. While he was feeling more pain without any medication, he felt like he had his senses back and some measure of control over his body's responses.

Having gotten lost in thought in front of the bathroom mirror, he raised his arm and stuck a finger in his armpit since he couldn't remember if he'd put on deodorant. Finding it too dry, he quickly added the deodorant and wandered naked into the bedroom to look for underwear and Timmy, not necessarily in that order. His partner was just fastening the belt on his khakis, the scent of a freshly bathed and cologned Timothy being almost enough to get him going again; definitely enough to distract him from the mission of getting dressed.

"If you want to go out for breakfast, you need to put something on. I just made the bed, and it's not going to stay made long with you wandering around like that," Tim said, kissing his cheek as he went to the dresser to put on his watch.

"What's the matter? My hot body too much for you to resist?"

"No, I think it's your humility that's your most attractive feature."

"That's not what you thought in the shower a few minutes ago," Don replied, grinning as he spritzed on cologne and located clean underwear in the drawer. He stepped into it, but he was moving a bit slower than usual.

"How's your pain? Be honest."

"I notice it a lot more without the pills, but I feel more like myself. Like I can think."

"Thinking's not the only thing you can do without the pain pills," Timmy said, sliding his arms around Don from behind, kissing his cheek.

"Yeah, there's that," Don said, grinning. "I wish it didn't hurt to move around more."

"I don't even want you to try moving around more. We don't really have clearance from the doctor for you to have sex at all, let alone...thrusting and bumping."

"Yeah, I guess that's true." He leaned back against Timmy, closing his eyes. "I want to be a good lover to you again."

"You never stopped being a good lover to me, honey. A lover is just one who loves, and I never doubted how much you loved me from the moment you didn't want me to take your wedding ring off before surgery, to that wonderful little kiss you gave me when you first woke up. The last couple days have been...pure joy," he said, his voice a little strained, his cheek pressed against Don's. "It could never be...less than any other time we've made love."

Don could feel a smile coming on that lit up his face from ear to ear. The ringing of the doorbell cut the moment short.

"I'll go see what that's about," Tim offered, releasing Don and kissing the back of his neck. "Why don't you finish getting dressed?"

"Just hang on a second." Don went to the front window and peeked between the slats of the Venetian blinds. "Shit."

"What is it?"

"Stay out of sight," Don said, stopping Tim from parting the slats to look out. "We've got reporters camped on our front lawn. I have to call a new security service. The cops can give us some help making sure we don't end up dead, but they aren't going to run interference with reporters for us."

"We should probably go online and check the TV news to see what's being said."

"I can save you the trouble. Someplace obviously used my name, and the media just can't pass up a heaping dose of sex and violence in time for the noon news."

"Maybe if I went out there and made a statement on your behalf, they'd back off."

"You're not going anywhere, sweetheart. All they'd do is pounce on you with a thousand questions, and if they get a hold of a snapshot of Fox's boyfriend, some enterprising soul is going to notice the resemblance."

"It's that striking, huh?"

"Striking enough." The doorbell rang again as Don was pulling a t-shirt over his head. "Assholes." He pulled on a pair of jeans and peered out the window again, careful not to disturb the blinds too much. "One of the cops is out there now. He just moved the guy away from the front door."

"We'll have to do something nice for Bailey when this is over. He must have sent us some good guys to watch the house. And the police aren't exactly overstaffed."

"That's true," Don agreed, sighing. "Looks like we're eating in again. Sorry, honey."

"We've got everything we need to make Belgian waffles. Sound good?"

"Yeah, sounds great," Don replied, smiling at Timmy. He personified the old cliché of "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade."

"What? You must really be hungry," he added, chuckling, heading for the bedroom door.

"I love you, that's all," Don said, shrugging. Timmy's face lit up at that.

"I love you, too," he responded, holding Don's gaze a moment before leaving the room and heading downstairs to get their supplies lined up for the waffle-making project.

Don was still smiling as he put on a shirt. The last time they'd made Belgian waffles, it had been a rainy Sunday morning and they'd done it together, creating some unusual combinations of toppings, intermittently feeding each other little pieces of fruit, right before squirting each other with the canned whipped topping. They weren't wearing anything but robes then, and since Timothy was neatly dressed for the day now, Don didn't really think he'd get the same kick out of a whipped topping fight. Still, any activity they could do together that included feeding each other, possibly getting one or more of each other's fingers in their mouths, and standing shoulder-to-shoulder at the counter was just fine by Don.

Belatedly, he remembered the state they'd left the kitchen in and figured Tim was probably furiously scooping up debris and trying to clean the worst of it up before Don came downstairs and put any strain on his healing body to do it himself. As if on cue, there was a crash, the sound of a breaking plate and something else heavy clattering to the floor. Don stood there a moment. Something didn't seem right, and all his instincts were on overdrive. The hair was standing up on the back of his neck.

Timmy just dropped something or tripped over the crap on the floor, that's all, he told himself. You're jittery and paranoid.

Ignoring the calmer voice in his head, he went to the bed and pulled the gun out from under the pillows where he'd stashed it, and carefully started moving out of the bedroom and into the upstairs hall. The ensuing silence didn't bode well. Normally, there would have been the sound of Timmy's voice, expressing his frustration in slightly less colorful language than Don would in his place. Or there'd be the sound of Timmy cleaning up after the mess, more clattering and banging and movement.

The house was as silent as a grave. He was acutely aware of the sound of his footsteps on the stairs, no matter how stealthily he stepped on each one.

He froze when he heard a sort of choked grunt. He'd know that voice anywhere, whether it was singing in the shower, or stifling an inelegant belch. He picked up his pace and made it to the foot of the stairs, aiming his gun toward the kitchen, fully prepared to shoot any intruder who might pop around the corner. He couldn't have imagined a worse situation than the one he discovered there.

Timmy was watching him with panicked, desperate eyes, held in a powerful grip by Simon Fox, who was behind him with a gun pointed at his head.

"Let him go, you son-of-a-bitch." Don released the safety on his gun, leveling it right at Fox's head. He knew he wasn't prepared to risk hitting Timmy, but Fox didn't need to know that.

"Are you that good a shot, Strachey? Are you positive you can hit me without at least grazing our beautiful Timothy, here?" He inhaled deeply, his nose near Tim's neck and then his cheek. "I'd almost forgotten how good he smells. The only time he smells better is when you're on top of him, fucking that perfect ass of his."

"This is between you and me, Fox. Leave Timothy out of it."

"Hear that, baby? He's jealous," Fox sneered, kissing Tim on the cheek as he tried desperately to angle his head away from Fox. "I suppose he told you we raped him. Truth is, he's insatiable. Ten cocks up his ass weren't enough. He wasn't satisfied until I filled his ass up the way he needs it filled. He's just trying to cover up the fact he's been out whoring around on you."

"You sick bastard. Do you seriously think I'd believe anything you said? You almost killed him," Tim managed, even though Fox's arm had tightened around him, putting pressure on his throat.

"That's not too polite, Timothy. I remember you being sweeter than that. Yeah, I remember you being real sweet in every way." He caressed Tim's cheek with the barrel of the gun.

"What do you want from me?" Don challenged, hoping to deflect Fox's sick pawing away from Timmy. Even if he had to take it on himself. Anything was better than watching the fear and revulsion in Tim's eyes while Fox sniffed and pawed at him.

"You're going to go out that front door, and you're going to make a statement to the media."

"Oh, really?" Don asked, raising his eyebrows. "What am I saying, exactly?"

"You'll do it, and you'll say what I tell you to, and how I tell you to say it. If you don't, I'll kill him. One neat shot to the temple, and you're single again. They say breaking up is hard to do. It really isn't, you know? Ask Justin."

"What did you do to him?" Don asked, feeling a sickness in the pit of his stomach. Poor Justin.

"Yeah, so you do know him. I figured as much. He wouldn't admit it, even when I had my hands around his throat, pounding his head on the floor, he wouldn't admit he hired you. I guess he thought I was going to let him up if he kept denying it." He grinned wickedly. "Your boyfriend's shaking like a leaf. Timmy never did have much of a stomach for violence. Don't worry, baby," Fox said in a sickening, syrupy tone. "I've been waiting all this time to get back together with you. Sommers was just a cheap, disposable imitation. You're the original. I told you we were meant for each other. You be nice to me, and I'll be real nice to you." Although he didn't loosen his hold on Tim, Don could tell he was rubbing against his partner's back. Pervert that he was, terrifying Timmy was probably getting him off.

"The only way I'll do what you want is if you stop pawing my husband. Otherwise, I'll just take my best shot at blowing your brains out. If you don't think I've got the nerve, just touch him the wrong way one more time and find out," Don added. He'd assessed a pretty safe shoulder shot, and he was more than prepared to try it if he had to. Even if he followed Fox's instructions, the bastard was likely to keep on pawing at Timmy if he didn't have some incentive to stop it. Still, it carried a risk Don preferred not to take if he could avoid it.

"You might hit him by mistake."

"And I might not." Don said the words with such a cold determination, coupled with such a malevolent stare, that Fox seemed almost uneasy. If that demon Don worried about residing in his soul had surfaced for this moment, then its presence was a dark blessing. He willed his hands not to shake, his eyes not to stray to Timmy. He had to focus on Fox, channel the hate and the rage he felt, and concentrate on making good on his threat if Fox didn't keep his end of the bargain.

"Your statement is on the counter," he said, with a jerk of his head.

Don moved carefully toward it, not looking away from Fox or moving his gun as he spared a hand to snatch the sheet of paper off the counter. He skim-read it while keeping his eyes on the intruder who had such a tight grip on Timmy.

"This is fantasy. No one's going to buy this, especially the cops."

"It's up to you to sell it, Strachey. You've got a lawn full of reporters out there. You know what to do. You might want to put your piece away before you open the front door. Otherwise, you might get shot by your own police protection. That would be ironic," he added, smiling.

"Timothy should be with me when I make the statement. Let him go."

"Oh, come on, Strachey. You've got to be joking."

"Just do what he says, Donald," Tim managed. "I'll be okay."

"You better be," he said, not looking at Tim, but focusing on Fox instead. He tucked his gun in the front of his belt and covered it with his shirt.

"Oh, no, not so fast. Drop the gun and kick it over here. You're not going to keep that."

"Forgive me if I don't take your word, considering our history."

"Drop the gun now, or I'll kill him." He pressed the barrel of the gun against Timmy's temple. His partner's terrified expression as he squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the fatal shot, broke Don's heart. He tossed the gun on the floor and prayed to any deity listening that he'd made the right decision. Truth be told, he hadn't been to the firing range in a while, and although he was a good shot, he didn't trust himself to shoot Fox when he was so close to Timothy. "Now, get out there and do what you're told."

Reluctantly, he turned his back on Fox and Tim and went to the front door. Opening it, he was greeted by a barrage of camera flashes and a surge of humanity bearing notepads, recorders, microphones, and TV cameras.

********

"What the hell does he think he's doing?" Bailey muttered, stunned as he saw the "Breaking News" alert on the TV he'd had droning in the background. He'd been at work until the wee hours of the morning and had just gotten out of bed from sleeping off that late-night shift. He was planning to go in at noon and figured he should have known better than to expect to enjoy his second cup of coffee without a calamity of some sort interrupting him. That the calamity's name was Donald Strachey didn't even surprise him, although seeing him about to make a statement from his front porch did.

"I would like to make a statement regarding the sexual assault case I am presently at the center of. I have accused a number of prominent citizens in Albany of forcing me to participate in a group sex encounter. I want to publicly recant that accusation and apologize to the people who have been harmed by my lies."

Bailey stared at the screen. He would have been less stunned to hear that aliens had landed in the courthouse parking lot.

"I was at the FBM Gym that night of my own free will and participated in consensual sexual activity with a group of gay men. I am in a committed relationship and felt making a rape accusation was the only way to explain to my partner what happened and why I needed medical attention, without ending our relationship."

Bailey picked up the phone. "Yeah, get some units to meet me over at the Strachey place, and patch me through to Fernandez and Collins who are already there. Something's going on."

"My injuries were not the fault of the other men involved in the encounter. It was just a game that went too far, and I was accidentally injured..."

Bailey didn't bother to pause to turn off his television before rushing out the door to meet the other units at Strachey's house.

********

Despite the maelstrom of questions, Don closed the door decisively and turned to look back where Fox had been standing, holding Timmy captive. His gun was gone from the floor, and there was no sign of Fox or his partner.

"Fox!" he bellowed, rushing through the first floor of the house, finding no one. "Timothy!" he shouted, running up the stairs, ignoring his body's protests to the exertion. "Timmy!" he yelled helplessly into the empty hall and silent rooms. As he was racing downstairs, he nearly ran head-on into Bailey, who burst in the front door. "He has Timothy. Fox took him," he blurted.

"Okay, just slow down and take a breath."

"You don't understand! Fox got in here somehow, and he had a gun on Timmy and - - "

"That's why you made that ridiculous statement, because Fox had your boyfriend."

"How did you know?" Don asked, even though he only marginally cared. All he cared about was finding Timmy.

"I knew something was wrong when you made that statement, because it was so absurd."

"Timmy was right," Don said, with an ironic and humorless laugh.

"About what?"

"He said you believed me, that you had faith in me, that I was telling the truth. We have to find him before he - -"

"We're gonna get him back, Don. Come with me," he said, leading the way back outside, uniformed cops clearing the property of reporters. Don followed him, sliding into the passenger seat of his sedan. Bailey radioed in Fox's car description and license number and reported that he had a hostage.

"He was already...touching him," Don said, not sure why he was telling Bailey, but the horror of what Fox could be doing to Timothy was too overwhelming to hold inside. And truth be told, being in the same room with Fox had been more traumatic than he realized when it was happening.

"He can't rape him and drive at the same time, and it's a good bet he's on the move right now," Bailey said. They were speeding down the road, and Don wondered how Bailey knew where he was going.

"Fox killed Justin Sommers."

"How do you know?"

"He described slamming his head on the floor, holding him by the throat."

"I'll send a unit and a bus over there right away. Did he say specifically he was dead?"

"He implied it. How did he get at Sommers, anyway?"

"We can't keep everyone under twenty-four hour guard. Sommers was warned when Fox was released. You know, a lot of these domestic violence situations are un-winnable, because the victims always think they're going to sweet-talk their way out, or they mistake the dysfunctional thing they have for a relationship. Sommers needed to get out of town, and if he didn't..."

"Then it's his tough luck he's dead, huh?"

"I didn't mean it that way. I just mean that people in dangerous relationships have to recognize the warning signs and get the hell out of town if their lunatic boyfriend just got out on bail after raping and nearly killing the private detective they hired. I'd say that was a good indicator that he wasn't going to bring Sommers candy and flowers when he got home."

The dispatcher announced a sighting of Fox's Hummer, heading for the expressway. Bailey activated his lights and sirens, letting the dispatcher know he was responding, along with several other units. It wasn't long before they had the vehicle in sight, careening down a rural road. Bailey's speedometer was straining toward ninety, and they hadn't caught up to Fox's SUV yet. A symphony of sirens made it impossible for Fox not to know that he was in the sights of at least six black-and-whites, plus Bailey's car.

"You need to back off. He's going too fast," Don said, watching as Fox barely kept his vehicle on the road on a particularly sharp curve.

"It'll be worse on the expressway. There isn't much traffic here. We need to catch up to him, overtake him," Bailey said. "Dispatch is calling in back-up from the state police. We'll nail him."

"He's got Timothy with him. Don't let some hot dog try a pit maneuver on him at these speeds."

"Dispatch, this is Bailey. Remind all units we've most likely got an innocent hostage on board, use caution with approaching or apprehending."

Bailey had no sooner issued that warning when state troopers appeared on the horizon, traveling toward the speeding Hummer. Fox swerved sharply at the sight of them, and the Hummer crashed through the guardrail, hurtling down a steep embankment. Bailey came to a screeching stop near the break in the rail, and Don was out of the car almost before it stopped.

"Timothy!" Don shouted, ignoring the pain that flared as he started running down the embankment toward the SUV that had come to a stop on its side at the bottom.

"Strachey, wait!" Bailey was standing on the road, stopping where the SUV had gone over the side. "Fire and rescue are on the way! It's on fire!" he shouted, but Don didn't pay attention to that. If there was a fire, there might not be time to wait to get Timmy out of there.

He was halfway down the hill when the explosion knocked him to the ground. He pushed up on one elbow, staring in horror at the inferno below. Bailey had made his way down to where Don was sitting in the damp, cold grass. He managed to catch Don around the waist before he could rush down toward the burning SUV.

"Timmy's down there!"

"You can't go near that fire. It could blow again, and nobody in there could survive that first blast and the fire. If he was in that car, he's gone, Donald."

"No! He's not gone! I have to get him out of there!"

"Settle down! You can't go down there. The whole thing's in flames."

"Timothy! Timmy!" Don shouted, still struggling violently against Bailey's attempt to restrain him. Finally, the horror of reality sank in, and he stopped fighting, watching the fire consume the SUV. "Timothy!" he shouted again, more a desperate cry of agony than a call to which he expected any response. His whole body lost its fight, and if Bailey hadn't been holding him up, he knew he'd have been lying prone on the hillside.

"He might not even be in there. We don't know for sure it was Fox behind the wheel. Just that it was his SUV and his license plate."

Don didn't care about anything Bailey was saying. All he could do was stare at the inferno and wish he was down there in it, with Timmy. And it was then he heard it. A faint, familiar sound carried on the wind. At first, he thought it was grief-induced insanity, an audio hallucination of gasps and groans that sounded like Timmy's voice. Then he saw movement near a cluster of bushes, and his fight was back again as he pulled free of Bailey's grasp and scrambled toward the motion. In a moment, a bewildered, scraped, slightly disheveled Timmy staggered from behind the brush.

"Donald!" he hollered, spotting Don on the hillside as he started running toward him. Don couldn't begin to describe how he felt at that moment, but he ran toward Timmy with a kind of desperation and urgency that exceeded even the frantic feeling he'd had racing toward the burning SUV. It didn't matter that he was in constant pain now, that he knew he shouldn't run and stumble down the hill and across the grass. He had to get Timmy in his arms, feel him, know he was real and not some hysterical invention of his imagination.

"Timmy!" he called back, not really able to think of anything more profound. As he crashed against his partner, he felt strong arms wrapping around him as he grabbed Timmy in a hug, burying his face against his partner's shoulder. He clung to Timmy fiercely, as if he were a ghost that would somehow slip through his arms if he dared loosen his grip. He sobbed helplessly, not able to pull back his emotions, even though Timmy was alive and safe and in his arms.

"It's over, Donald," Timmy said softly, that warm hand of his on the back of Don's head, arms still holding him close.

"I thought you were dead," Don said unnecessarily. Given the raging fire that was consuming the SUV, everyone thought Timothy was dead, along with Fox.

"Fox freaked out when we went off the road and kind of forgot about holding the gun on me, so I jumped out. I didn't want to be with him another second, and I didn't think landing down there would be any fun."

"Are you okay? Did he touch you?" Don asked, pulling back to frame Timmy's face in his hands. His glasses were missing, there was a nasty scrape on his forehead, his clean, tidy clothes were soiled and torn, and he looked pale and shaken. And beautiful. And alive.

"Just what he was doing at the house. My husband defended my honor, remember?" he asked, his eyes filling as he stroked Don's cheek. "He was holding the gun on me and getting us both to his car and then driving...he made some sick remarks, but he didn't do anything to me."

"Yeah, I did great. He kidnapped you and you almost died."

"But I didn't, and you did the best you could. You were careful not to risk my life, Donald. Shooting him or defying him more than you did...I could have been killed. You stood up to him for me. You were wonderful."

"Why don't you two come back up to the road so we can have the EMTs take a look at you?" Bailey suggested as he approached them.

"You shouldn't be running around the way you were," Tim said, already fussing over Don, not really noticing his own scrapes and bruises. "Are you in pain?"

"Not anymore," he replied honestly, taking time to hug Timmy again, not caring if he held up cops and emergency workers to do it. The feeling of Timmy's live body against his was a joy too sweet to delay, when only moments earlier he'd suffered the most bitter pain he could imagine, thinking he'd lost his lover to a fiery and horrific death.

********

Tim stood with his head directly under the spray of the shower. It didn't seem to matter how hot the water was or how long it poured down over him, he couldn't shake the feeling of Fox's hands on him or the awful thought that those same hands had pawed and violated Donald. That it was all his fault that Donald had to endure something so many times more awful than the unwanted touches he'd put up with from Fox. And he was here under hot water, unable to feel clean, wondering if he was trying to bathe or just punishing himself by nearly burning his skin with the uncomfortable temperature.

"Timothy, what are you doing?!"

He started and stepped back as Donald somehow appeared as if out of nowhere, quickly turning off the water.

"Timmy, look at me," he said, taking Tim's face in his hands. "Honey, your skin's turning red. That water was getting close to scalding," he added, wrapping Tim up in a big towel, urging him out of the shower. The bathroom felt like ice by contrast, and he shivered. The scrapes on his forehead, elbow, and legs felt like they were on fire now. He hadn't even noticed it before.

"I wanted to feel clean," he said honestly, ashamed that he was taking this so hard when what Donald had suffered was so much worse. He didn't resist Donald's efforts to put the thick terrycloth robe on him that would absorb the water.

"You are clean, honey," he said gently, leading Tim into the bedroom, encouraging him to sit on the foot of the bed. "I'm going to put something on your scrapes. They look sore."

"I guess pouring boiling water on them was kind of stupid," he said, trying for humor. "I can take care of that, Donald. You should be resting. I still think we should have taken you to the ER to be checked out. I know you were in pain."

"Timothy, relax. I'm fine. I'm not bleeding anywhere, and I'm a little sore from all the running around, but I'm okay. Let me take care of you."

He knelt on the floor by Tim's legs with his first-aid supplies and gently applied ointment to the raw areas that were the price Tim had paid to escape the doomed SUV with his life. His knees and shins had taken the worst of it, and he knew he was lucky not to have broken bones. The ointment Donald was using was easing the pain, and he was very carefully placing gauze bandages on each one. Tim couldn't help noticing the well-defined muscles beneath smooth, fair skin, the way the hair on his arms and legs seemed like spun gold. The way Donald was unintentionally beautiful, and more often than not, unaware of just how beautiful he was. Crouched there in his boxers and a tank shirt, he'd have probably thought Tim was crazy if he'd commented on him being beautiful, handsome, enchanting in his own very unique way.

"Fox was a sick bastard. It's normal that you feel crawly after he was pawing at you, making sick remarks. I'd have blown his fucking head off if I was sure enough of the shot not to miss and hit you." When Donald finished with Tim's legs, he kissed his knee. "It's okay if you're upset, Timothy. You're entitled." He sat next to Tim and put the same careful and loving attention on the scrapes on his arm and elbow.

"I hated him touching me," he said quietly, not sure if he felt worse about that, or worse about daring to complain about a little slap and tickle from Fox when Donald was still recovering from the horrific things that were done to him. All he'd had time to do was put his hand in a couple of unwanted places and press up against him fully clothed.

"C'mere," Donald said, setting his first-aid supplies aside. Tim was only too ready to wrap his arms around Donald and hold onto him, willing himself to let the feeling of his lover's arms and hands and body replace the ugly thoughts of Fox's touches, and the awful idea of what he would have done to Timothy at gunpoint had he actually gotten away in the SUV and reached whatever destination he was heading for. "I know you were scared, honey. It's okay."

"I'm sorry," he said, knowing he was shaking, knowing the brush with death and the brush with Fox was catching up with him, that weeks of fear and worry for Donald's safety and recovery was right behind it, all of it a little too much for him to handle at that moment.

"You've been so strong for me, for so long," Donald said, nailing his thoughts and emotions so precisely it unsettled him. "You don't have to hold it together all the time, sweetheart. I love you. I want to take care of you when you need me."

"What you went through was so much worse," Tim said, angry that his voice was broken, that he needed the embrace so badly, that he'd missed the strength he drew from this Donald, the tough, feisty one who would kill or die to defend him.

"So what? You're not allowed to be upset just because you didn't have comparable injuries?"

"I'm not allowed to be upset because it's all my fault any of this happened," Tim blurted, pulling away. The words stunned even him, but they were true. "If it weren't for me, you would have never been hurt the way you were." He stood up and walked away from the bed.

"You know what, you're partially right. Fox probably went as far off the deep end with me as he did because he was obsessed with you, and he finally got his hands on the person you loved. The one who was in the position he felt he should be in, with you, forever. He hated me for having what he wanted and couldn't get. So he subjected me to something awful enough to either screw me up for life, or kill me, whichever came first. That really, really sucks, Timmy, but it's no different than the times you've been hurt or in danger because of me."

"It's a little different, Donald. I've never been hurt as badly as you were. Never hurt that way."

"Yeah, well, there's no ironclad guarantee you never will be. A couple of times, it's only been dumb luck that you weren't. And I get upset, and you tell me it's the occupational hazard of being married to a PI, and you hug me and tell me it's okay, that it's not my fault, that you love me - - is that all just BS to make me feel better?"

"No, of course not!"

"Then let this go, Timmy. Yeah, maybe he did what he did because he was still hot for you after all this time, and maybe he would have done most of it anyway. I was prowling around his business and he caught me. I don't think he was going to throw me a tea party."

"I doubt he would have done something this brutal, this risky, because of that."

"Timothy, I don't blame you for any part of this, so just stop blaming yourself. I can handle the rest of this mess, but I can't handle you tearing yourself up inside over this. It's not your fault. Not one single moment of what I went through is your fault. Okay?"

"I want to feel that, I do." Tim turned and faced Donald again. "I've been on your back for years about how dangerous your work is, how much I worry about you, and then it's some old relationship of mine that causes you to be hurt like this."

"Yeah, I know, it's a sick irony, but that doesn't make it your fault, either. If I wasn't sneaking around Fox's gym, trying to figure out the security code on his door, I would have probably never met the SOB. If Justin Sommers hadn't hired me, I never would have had a reason to go there. So by your line of reasoning, it's could be Sommers' fault, or more likely, my own fault. I had a more active role in putting myself there than you did."

"None of it was your fault."

"And it wasn't yours, either. Just like it's not some innocent girl's fault if she's walking home at night and someone drags her into the bushes and rapes her. Was it her fault for walking down the street alone at night? Might not be the smartest thing to do, but it doesn't mean she deserves to be raped for it. Prowling around Fox's gym might not have been the smartest thing I ever did, but I didn't deserve to be raped for that, either, anymore than you deserve to be blamed for it because years ago, you made a bad choice in boyfriends. Blaming the victims is a game for the bad guys and their lawyers, not us."

"It's good to hear you saying that it wasn't your fault. To know that you realize that."

"Yeah, well, somebody I love made me see that. So let me return the favor, huh?"

"Okay," Tim said, nodding, and for the first time, he found some truth and comfort in being told it wasn't his fault. He would die before he'd hurt Donald, and Donald knew that. So maybe he really couldn't be blamed for something so far outside of his control as the actions of some nut he'd broken up with years ago.

"You didn't burn yourself anywhere with the hot water, did you?" Donald asked, looking concerned.

"Maybe you should check," he replied. He really wanted to feel Donald's hands on him, their bodies against each other, skin on skin, feeling all those good feelings, sending the ugly thoughts packing.

Donald smiled broadly, not losing any time in commencing a loving, and thorough, "examination" of his lover.

********

Both Don and Tim were relieved to learn that Justin Sommers hadn't died as a result of the beating he took from Fox. He suffered a concussion, along with a few other assorted fractures and bruises, but he was expected to make a full recovery. After a few meetings with the DA, it was decided to move forward with plea bargains with the defendants in Don's case, provided they would all do some time in prison. The thought of enduring not one, not two, but potentially several individual trials stretching over years was more than Don could face. Since the defendants didn't know that for sure and he was considered a credible witness against them, the plan proved successful in putting most of the men behind bars, albeit for abbreviated sentences. Fox was dead, having paid the ultimate price for his leading role in the assault.

When all was said and done, they were left with Evan Maxwell, who refused any sort of plea bargain. He was committed to holding onto a not-guilty plea and taking the case to trial, believing he could convince a jury that Donald was a willing participant, confident that his "photo evidence" would be enough to make Donald back down to avoid dealing with it, or would be compelling evidence that because he came, he was enjoying himself. The prosecutor did make a motion for the trial to be closed to the press and public, which was granted due to the sexually explicit nature of the anticipated testimony and the evidence, including the photographs.

The first day of the trial, Don stood in front of the mirror in the bedroom, trying unsuccessfully to knot his tie. His hands were shaking, and for some reason, he just couldn't remember the right order of how to do it. Tim appeared in the mirror behind him, already dressed, and rested his hands on Don's shirt-clad shoulders.

"How about some help?" he offered, trying to keep his tone light.

"I guess if we want to get there today, you'll have to handle it," Don said, defeated, turning to let Timmy tie the tie, which he did, with speed and precision.

"You look very handsome," Tim said, smiling.

"I feel like an undertaker," he said, referring to the dark navy suit coat he shrugged into, adding it to the white shirt and conservative tie. "I don't even look like me."

"I'm not so sure the DA was right about you needing to look so...uptight. You always look nice when you're dressed for work."

"If me showing up looking like this makes a jury think I'm more credible, I can stand the makeover for a few days." He tried to put on his watch, but it dropped on the floor. Tim picked it up and put it on for him. "My hands won't stop shaking."

"I know, honey," he said, the sympathy obvious in his voice. "I hate that you have to go through this."

"I couldn't do it without you."

"You don't have to," Tim said, kissing Don's forehead. "I know how hard this is for you." He looked into Don's eyes. "If you can't do this, I won't think any less of you. We can call the DA and tell him it's too much and that you aren't going to testify."

"Yeah, well, I'd think less of me. That son-of-a-bitch raped me, and he'd have no problem doing the same thing to you, or to some other poor bastard he got a hold of. You know as well as I do that if I don't testify, he'll skate. There are enough holes in the case without me that I can't back out."

"I'm very proud of you, Donald. I want you to remember that, no matter what sick, ridiculous thing some defense lawyer throws at you, or how graphic the testimony has to get. I am very, very proud to call you my husband, and nothing is going to change that."

"Love you," Don said tightly, hugging Tim as hard as he could without cutting off his oxygen, trying to keep his emotions in check. He wasn't even at the courthouse yet, let alone on the stand, and he already wanted to bury his face against Timmy and hide there. He felt Timmy's warm hand on the back of his head, so gentle and calming.

"You're going to do just fine, honey. I know you're scared, but it's going to be okay."

"I came," he said, needing to confess this one thing to Timmy. He couldn't hear it in court.

"I know, when Maxwell made you."

"No, it was later. I don't even know why it happened. I was in pain and I didn't want it to happen."

"If you work over someone's prostate long enough, it'll happen, honey. That's not your fault; it's biology."

"I didn't want you to think I was lying."

"Never, never would I think that."

"They're going to try to make it look like I was unfaithful to you."

"You know I don't buy into any of that, so don't be afraid of it. I believe you, Donald, and I believe in you. I know what kind of man you are, and I know what kind of husband you are. In all the late nights you've worked, I have never, once, ever, worried that you were being unfaithful to me. Let them twist things however they want. You're telling the truth, and I believe you."

"I just want to go on with my life," he said, pulling back, wishing he could just lean on Timmy a little longer, but it was getting late.

"We're almost there." Tim framed Don's face with his hands. "You can do this, Donald, and then it'll be over, however it turns out, and we can move on."

When they arrived at the courthouse, the press were swarming around, trying to catch a glimpse of the key players in the trial, jockeying into position for quotes, since they were barred from the courtroom itself. Don was surprised by the way Timothy used his slightly taller stature to shield him, and the way he managed to cut a human swathe through the crowd, one arm around Don, not exactly ruthless in the way he moved, but not unwilling to be a bit of a bully if he had to in order to get his partner safely inside with a minimum of harassment.

"I should have skipped hiring bodyguards and just let you take care of me," Don said, smiling, as they emerged from passing through the metal detector.

"Once in a while I've been with Senator Platt when she's been barraged by reporters and her security didn't catch it. I've had to learn how to move through them."

Tim smiled at him and held out his hand. That smile was contagious, even though he didn't feel like smiling. He slipped his hand into Timmy's, warmed by the way he wanted to be sure everyone who saw them knew they were a couple, the he was Don's significant other, that he was proud to be with him. He needed to feel that so badly at that moment. He was so afraid of what was coming, as much as he tried to be strong about it. He felt like he was being dragged into that courtroom so he could be raped all over again, only with a larger audience this time. He realized he had Tim's hand in a death grip that had to be almost painful, and tried to ease up a bit.

"Squeeze my hand as much as you need to, honey. I can take it," Tim whispered to him, smiling, squeezing back.

Maybe being blessed with Timothy is something so wonderful that you have to expect to pay some dues for it. Maybe there has to be something horrible you have to deal with to deserve something that good in your life.

"I love you, you know," Don whispered back.

"I know. I love you, too." He adjusted their grip so their fingers were laced.

"Good, you're here," Bailey said, approaching them.

"Was there some question I would be?" Don replied.

"No," Bailey replied, chuckling. "It's almost nine," he added. "Right this way," Bailey said, escorting them into the courtroom.

Sitting near the front, behind the prosecution's table, Donald wondered if the knot in his chest could get any tighter, or if he could feel anymore nauseous without puking. Watching Maxwell, who had been out on bail, stroll in, chatting with Adam Garner, his defense attorney, didn't make him feel much better. The hand that wasn't holding his was balled into a fist in Tim's lap, the knuckles nearly white.

"You look worse than I do," Don whispered in his ear, and Tim smiled faintly, squeezing his hand a little.

"I thought I got some of the anger out of my system on Stenski. I didn't," he concluded.

"You have to stay calm, Timothy. No matter how nasty it gets. The defense wants us to lose it, to make us look bad."

"Did you see the smug smirk on his face? I'd like to wipe that off for him."

"Relax, bruiser," Don teased gently, amazed that he could manage a little smile. "I love that you want to defend my honor. Just...don't do it. It'll help their side, not ours."

"I know. The DA already gave me the speech about keeping my mouth shut and staying in my seat no matter what happens."

"You're here with me. That's everything. You don't have to do anything."

"I just hate that he can still hurt you, put you through this."

"I know. I couldn't do this without you. Just being able to look over and see you here, that'll get me through."

"I wish I could spare you this somehow," Tim said, covering their joined hands with his other hand.

"I know you would if you could, but I have to do this. I won't let that son-of-a-bitch walk after what he did to me."

The prosecutor, a tall, slender middle aged man with a receding hairline and glasses, didn't at first glance inspire much confidence that he was a fiery speaker. He did prove to be an energetic orator, and he made a powerful opening statement. By the conclusion, the jury seemed to be paying close attention.

Bailey testified for the prosecution first, laying out the details of the case, answering questions about the collection of evidence and the male prostitution and drug parties Fox, Maxwell, and Benson hosted for wealthy clients who could afford to pay big price tags to sate their lusts. The prosecutor also called on him for his personal experience with Don's credibility. The defense spent a lot of time trying to smear the credibility of the police, including citing Stenski's behavior, which he tried to cast as being more deadly to Donald than Maxwell's.

By the time a recess was called for lunch, Don had no appetite and had to use all his powers of restraint not to grab Timmy, get in the car, and drive as fast and as far away from Albany and the case and the courthouse as humanly possible. Instead, they were herded into a conference room protected from the press and the defense's witnesses. Don was marginally aware that Tim gave Bailey some kind of lunch order for them, since he offered to get them something when he went out himself.

"You didn't need to bother ordering lunch. I don't want anything," he said, knowing his tone was a bit harsher than what Timmy had coming, but hoping he'd understand, the way he always did.

"You don't want to feel faint if you end up testifying today," Tim said, sitting at the conference table, watching Don as he stared out the window at a city that used to feel like home.

"I don't want to throw up on myself, either."

"Point taken. Maybe feeling faint is better," Tim agreed, trying to inject a little humor into a dire situation.

"It's not fair," he said, shaking his head. "It's not fair that he can make me do this."

"Who?"

"Maxwell."

"If you don't testify, they still have all the men who made plea deals, the evidence...they might be able to convict him without your testimony."

"If I don't testify, it looks like I have something to hide."

"I don't care. Donald, I don't want you to suffer. If the price we pay for that is Maxwell getting away with it, being exonerated, then so be it. I don't care about him. I care about you."

"It's bad enough I have to look at him sitting there, finding opportunities to look over at me with that smirk on his face. If I don't testify, he wins."

Tim didn't say anything else, but a moment later, Don felt the warmth of him behind him, strong arms encircling him, Timmy's cheek against his hair.

"I wish I could take you away from all this. Just leave here, grab our stuff, go away somewhere and put all this behind us." He could feel Timmy's smile when he chuckled himself. "What?"

"I was just wondering how far we could get from Albany before nightfall," he replied, grinning.

"When this is over, let's go away together."

"You've already missed a lot of work taking care of me."

"Maybe just for a long weekend. Once I get caught up and you get back on your feet with the business, we can plan a longer trip."

"I'd like to go away with my lover for the weekend." Don found himself sad at that thought, and he couldn't help the words that came next. "If I was still any good in bed, that is."

"Why would you say something like that, baby? Have you heard any complaints from me?"

"No, but I wouldn't hear any from you. You'd put up with whatever deficient version of a sex life I can have."

"There's nothing deficient about our lovemaking, Donald," Tim said, his tone gently scolding.

"I can't stand you inside me, and I can't bring myself to make love to you that way. I'm scared if you put your hands on me the wrong way. Don't tell me you don't miss us, the way we used to be," he said, closing his eyes against the tears that burned beneath his eyelids.

"I don't miss us, because we haven't gone anywhere. Do I miss you inside me? Of course, I do. I love you, you're the other half of my soul, and when we're together that way, it feels like two puzzle pieces falling into place. But so does this," he said, emphasizing the words with a little squeeze. "I don't have to insert tab A into slot B to feel that connection to you. I feel it every minute of our lives. We're already joined inside, in our hearts. Nothing can take that away from us."

"I want to be able to be whole again. I never wanted this to hurt you."

"Donald, when they hurt you, they hurt me, regardless of how things turned out. Could someone do something like that to me and not hurt you?"

"No," Don admitted, leaning more heavily against Timmy, resisting the urge to turn in his arms, hide his face against Timmy's chest, and bawl like a baby. And stay there in that warm safety, hide there in arms that would never let anything bad touch him. Tim must have picked up on his feelings, because he urged him to turn, hugging him close, rubbing his back. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop shaking.

"It might take them the rest of the day to deal with the witnesses before you. Maybe you won't have to testify today."

"It doesn't matter when."

"I know. That's probably harder, to wait and wonder when." Timmy must have been able to feel him shaking, because he held on tighter. "If you can't testify, we'll tell Bailey, and I'll take you home, and it'll be over."

"I have to do this. I'm just...scared."

"I know, honey. I am, too. I don't want to sit there and see you hurt again. You didn't deserve this, and you don't deserve to be put through it all over again."

"I'm sorry," he said, pulling back, wiping at his eyes. "I'm not holding up very well."

"Save that for the courtroom. You don't have to hold up with me, remember?" Tim brushed at a tear with his thumb. "Save the brave act for when you need it," he added with a little grin, kissing Don's forehead before giving him a big bear hug. When he stepped back, Don couldn't believe he was actually smiling, unable to resist his partner's sweet smile, and feeling much better after a little TLC. "You're going to do fine, baby. Your testimony is going to wipe the sick smirk off that bastard's face and put him away where he belongs. Just keep that in mind."

"I'm trying," Don said, nodding, smiling a little.

"Sorry it took so long," Bailey said as he entered the room, carrying bags containing the lunch he'd gone out to pick up. "Traffic was murder." He looked at Don and Tim, a little concerned. "Everything okay?"

"I'm not backing out on you, if that's what you mean," Don said, his tone friendlier than his words. "Though I thought about it."

"Having the jitters is pretty natural. Most crime victims who have to testify have a hard time, even the ones who think they won't. I think you'll be a good witness, and the jury will believe you."

"Why?"

"Because you're telling the truth, for one thing," he said, sitting at the table and looking through the bags for his own food. "Am I the only one eating?"

"We should have something, Don," Tim said, moving toward the table. "It could be a long afternoon, and you might not even be on the stand." They both sat at the table, and Don was quiet while Tim located their sandwiches and drinks and set his in front of him. "Thanks for bringing us something," Tim said to Bailey.

"No problem. I was going there anyway. They make the best sandwiches in town," he said of the sub sandwich restaurant where he'd gotten the food.

It may have been true that he was going to get himself something, but he wasn't obligated to deliver theirs, or to eat with them, and Don appreciated the fact that Timmy wasn't the only one who had to be strong, that all the moral support didn't ride on his shoulders. Bailey's presence actually gave them both a little added peace of mind, serving as a constant reminder that they were the good guys in this whole mess and that the State of New York was on their side, not Maxwell's.

********

Back to Part One

On to Part Three