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Don opens his eyes and breathes in the gentle tropical breeze. He's sitting in a cabaña, the warmth and luxury of the wicker chair in which he's currently lounging seeping into him, adding to his overwhelming feeling of comfort. Looking to his left, he sees a perfect martini sitting on the table, and Timothy just beyond that. He smiles, staring at Timothy's sculpted bare chest, sheen of sweat covering it like morning dew.
He reaches for the martini, but stops moving halfway to the drink because something doesn't feel quite right. Cocking his head, he looks at Timothy, who doesn't seem to be moving. "Sweetheart?" he asks.
No response. Timothy just seems to be staring off into the distance, expressionless.
"Timothy?" Don calls. He reaches out to touch his partner, but something at his feet catches his eye. A scorpion, dark black exoskeleton shining in the sun so bright it's almost blinding, skitters out of the bushes and stops at Don's feet. It raises its stinger defensively as it comes to a rest next to Don's foot. Don looks for something to brush it away, but before he can, the scorpion reaches out and stings him on his ankle, Don hissing immediately at the pain.
Don tries to stand, but finds he can't, and Timothy's still lost, staring into the distance. He struggles, body thrashing, and suddenly feels his chest tighten and this throat swell, closing off his ability to breathe. After what feels like an eternity, he hears a voice off in the distance calling his name, and struggles to turn to find the faraway caller. "Donald? Donald!"
Don wakes up, startled at the room around him. Touching his face, then Timothy's, he realizes it was all just a dream.
"Darling, are you okay?" Timothy asks, eyes darting about, searching Don in obvious concern. Caressing Don's hair, Timothy asks, "Were you having a bad dream?"
Releasing a breath that he feels he's been holding in for forever, Don pulls Timothy to him and grabs a quick kiss. "Yeah... 's just a nightmare, I guess," he dismisses. Still coming to, he realizes he's not in the tropics at all. Rather, they're buried under half a dozen blankets, with the season's first massive winter storm blowing snow outside their windows, the wind howling, threatening to shake the whole house.
Timothy lays his head back down on his pillow and burrows under the blankets, stretching an arm across Don's chest. As Don takes in the realism of the nightmare, he realizes his ankle does indeed still hurt. Moving his leg gently, he feels the warm fur of Doctor Watson at his feet, and realizes the pup is dreaming (if the jagged movements of the animal's legs are any indication). They didn't usually let him sleep on the bed, but Timothy couldn't resist when the temps dropped down as cold as it was. Don makes a mental note to clip Doctor Watson's nails in the morning if the snowstorm continued to drag on.
Leaning over, Don drops one more kiss on Timothy's cheek, then snuggles up next to Timothy, and gives himself back to slumber once again.