Tim still got jumpy sometimes, even though it had been a couple of months since the whole kidnapping and marked man situation. He couldn’t help thinking that someone was watching him and it sped him to his destination, whether it was the office, in the garage, or from the car to their front door at home. He did know that it was just delayed reaction to having been shot at and chased and frequently wondered how on earth Donald managed to do it for a living.

The garage was a source of anxiety for him, but Tim was determined not to give in to the shadows in his mind. He knew it was all in his head, that no one was lurking around, waiting to hurt him. Not that the knowing made it any easier, because it didn’t. Glancing at his watch, Tim cursed under his breath when he saw that he was running later than expected for dinner with Donald. Since he’d called to let Tim know that he was running on time and hadn’t forgotten their anniversary, it wouldn’t do at all for Tim to be the one who was tardy.

Tim climbed into his new car, the one Don had insisted he buy, and backed out of the spot. He felt better on the move and relaxed into the short trip to the restaurant where they had reservations. He cell rang and he answered with a cheerful, “Tim Callahan speaking.”

“Everything okay, honey?” Donald asked from the other end.

Smiling broadly, Tim assured, “Just fine, Donald. The Senator had an unexpected change to her schedule and I needed to make last minute arrangements.”

Donald let out a short breath and Tim realized that he wasn’t the only one who was still shaken by their encounter with thugs at home and elsewhere. It had been the first case to truly touch them at home. Before he could say anything else, though, Donald questioned, “How far out are you?”

“Just ten minutes now, maybe less.”

“Good. Okay, I’ll order some appetizers so they’re here when you get here. You must be starving.”

He was and replied warmly, “Thank you, Donald.”

“My pleasure, Timothy,” Donald teased. “See you when you get here, honey.”

Tim said, “Bye, Donald,” and disconnected.

The rest of the trip was short and uneventful, thankfully, and he pulled into a spot outside the restaurant. He took a moment glance in the mirror before smiling at his reflection and climbing out of the car. The place looked busy and he was glad that they’d made reservations. He reached for the handle only to stop short. Someone stood behind him, their reflection distorted in the glass of the door.

Tim whirled around, heart instantly racing, but there was no one there. He didn’t even hear the footsteps of someone running away. Shaking a little from the scare, he hurriedly opened the door and stepped inside. He was instantly surrounded by warmth and chatter and music, a veritable wealth of comfort and acceptance. Letting out an impatient breath at his continued weakness, Tim walked forward as he shrugged out of his coat and glanced around for Donald. He spotted him at a booth across the dance floor and walked over.

Donald took one look at him and frowned, getting to his feet and asking, “What happened? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Tim assured, kissing him gently on the mouth. “Just being foolish. Thought I saw someone standing behind me, but there was no one there.”

Donald’s frown deepened and he said, “Maybe I should go take a look.”

The tone had nothing ‘maybe’ about it, so Tim gripped his shoulder to stop him. “Don, it’s fine. I’m just jumping at shadows. Let’s have a nice evening, all right?”

Taking his coat, Donald nodded reluctantly and hung it on the stand on his side of the booth. He waited for Tim to sit before returning to his spot. Donald laced their hands together across the table and asked, “Did you notice anyone else hanging around lately that you didn’t know?”

“Donald, please. No shop talk tonight,” Tim ordered firmly. “I overreacted. End of discussion.”

Donald held up his free hand and grinned. “I know better than to argue with that. So. Martinis will be here momentarily, right along with food.”

Timothy smiled in return and brought his hand up to kiss, declaring, “You’re a Godsend, Donald, I don’t care what anyone else says.”

That caused Donald to laugh outright and squeeze his hand before letting go so the waitress could set down the drinks and appetizers. Conversation drifted between their respective days, both long, and in Don’s case, boring; and the new bathroom Tim wanted to install. Dinner was perfectly cooked and then, naturally, Donald asked him to dance.

Tim never grew tired of being in his lover’s arms. Not simply because they were strong and supportive, but because they fit him perfectly; just like every other part of Donald. Resting his head on Donald’s shoulder as they swayed to the slow rhythm of the music, Tim sighed deeply and knew he had a foolish, love-struck smile on his face but didn’t care.

Donald kissed his temple and murmured, “Love you so much, Timmy.”

The words caused his smile to grow and reply, “I love you too, Donald.”

The dancing was over far too soon, in his opinion, but there was dessert to be had and then the anticipation of an even better night at home. Donald fed him the chocolate covered strawberries and told him, “You grow more beautiful with every day. I don’t know why or how you put up with all my shit, but I have never been happier in my life. Not ever.”

Perhaps not the most eloquent declaration, but certainly the most heartfelt and more than enough to melt Tim right then and there. The love and hint of insecurity shining from Donald’s eyes made Tim want to just hold and promise that he was loved back just as much. Kissing each of Donald’s knuckles, Tim told him simply, “You complete me,” and meant it with all his heart.

The slow smile that curved Donald’s mouth was almost more than Tim could handle without pulling him in tight. There was an answering twinge in his groin and he knew that Donald was thinking the same thing when he looked away to signal for the check.

Tim blushed a little at the knowing grin on their waitress’ face, busying himself with putting used cutlery on plates.

Once she’d taken the credit card and their plates, Donald pulled out a small box and set it on the table with an awkward expression. “You’re impossible to shop for, so I hope you like it.”

“Oh honey, I’ll like whatever you get me,” Tim promised, picking it up eagerly. When he opened the box, he blinked at the contents in shock for a long minute. It was a simple gold chain with an equally simple cross, but both were a dark gold that spoke of quality and expense.

Donald rushed to say, “I know it’s not very romantic, well, not at all really, but I know how important your Faith is to you, and, well, I saw it and just thought of you, so I thought, hoped, you might like it. It’s stupid, right? I’ll take it back.”

Shaking off the shock, Timothy batted Donald’s hand from the box and exclaimed, “Don’t you dare! I love it. It’s perfect, Donald.”

Donald let out a sigh of relief and gave him a goofy grin. “Good. I’m glad.”

Tim immediately loosened his tie and put the chain on, the cross warming to his skin. It was heavier than it looked, which also spoke to expense. He had to bite his lip not to ask how Donald could afford it, not wanting to spoil the night. Meeting Donald’s gaze, he said, “Your present is at home. I forgot it there this morning, unfortunately, and just didn’t have a chance to dash home and get it.”

Donald chuckled and leered a little as he asked, “I see my present right in front of me.”

Tim rolled his eyes and informed him, “That’s not your present, so put your tongue back in your mouth.”

“I thought you liked my tongue,” Donald teased.

Tim groaned when the waitress joined them just in time to hear that. He apologized, “He’s usually much more housebroken than this.”

She winked and said, “No problem. I’ve heard way worse. Feel free to tip me extra for the psychological trauma though.”

Donald snorted. “I’ll be sure and do that.”

Tim did, in fact, make sure she got an excellent tip as she was very good at her job. He and Donald held hands on the way out of the restaurant and over to Donald’s decrepit car. Tim waited until it actually started, which wasn’t a given in the still-cold winter night, and then hurried over to his own car. Donald didn’t leave the parking lot, but waited until Tim had done so first and then trailed him back to the house.

It was a good half-hour to get home on their quiet little street and he shivered when he stepped into a puddle of slush that hadn’t been there that morning. Donald pulled in after Tim had walked around to the front of his car, out of the way. He was out of the car seconds later, although the engine seemed to die, more than be turned off.

Putting his arm around Tim’s waist, Donald said, “C’mon. It’s freezing and I want my presents.”

Tim chuckled and let himself be rushed over to the door. It would be good to get settled in front of the fireplace and even nicer directly thereafter, he was sure. Just inside, still at the door, he toed off his shoe and pulled off his wet sock before getting rid of the other halves of each.

Don grinned at him, clearly amused by the behavior, and said, “I’ll get the fire started.”

Making a face at his back, Tim brought the socks and shoes upstairs with him, changing into dry socks while he was there. He’d be cold otherwise, at least until the fire warmed everything up. When he got back downstairs, Donald had made two more martinis and held one out to him with a welcoming smile. Tim accepted the glass and said, “Thank you, Donald.”

“You’re welcome, Timothy,” Donald replied, blue eyes twinkling. “Shall we?”

Tim countered, “You sit, I’ll be right there.”

He gave the martini back and walked over to the closet door where he’d hidden Donald’s present. Returning with the large box, he smirked a little at Donald’s frown and pointed out, “It’s not like you ever go into the closet to put anything away. I knew you’d never see it.”

Wagging a finger at him, Donald said, “You’re a bad boy, Timmy Callahan.”

“Just open your present,” Timothy ordered.

Donald grinned broadly and tore open the wrapping paper with the enthusiasm of a boy who hadn’t gotten many presents in his life. It always gave Tim a pang to know that he was one of the few who’d ever loved Donald as he deserved to be. When he pulled out the leather jacket, Tim heard his breath catch and didn’t even need the stunned look that accompanied it to know he’d done well. He’d seen Donald eyeing the jacket covetously on their last sojourn to the mall and knew he would never spend that kind of money on himself.

Donald breathed, “Oh Timmy. It’s beautiful!”

Beaming, Tim asked needlessly, “So you like it?”

Donald set it aside and pulled Tim in close, kissing him ardently before breaking it off to rest their foreheads together. “I love it and you know it, Mr. Fishing for Compliments. Thank you.”

Sliding his hand up and down Donald’s back, Tim admitted, “I like to give you nice things, Donald, you should live in the lap of luxury.”

“I do, babe, believe me,” Donald murmured. “I have a home and you gave that to me. It’s beautiful because you make it that way. All I do is show up and pay the electric bill.”

Tim huffed in annoyance and said, “You do far more than that!”

“Let’s not argue. C’mon, I want my other present.”

Tim let Donald push him back on the sofa without anything more caustic than a wrinkle of the nose. He didn’t want to fight, either, not on their anniversary, and bringing up who did what was the surest way to get one. Mostly because Donald felt inadequate about his contributions no matter how much Tim tried to change that mindset.

Donald’s fingers were nimble as they unbuttoned Tim’s dress shirt. He pushed the undershirt up and pressed his mouth to Tim’s abs before kissing his way up between the ribs and then sucking lightly on the left nipple. Donald undulated against him, pressing their groins together and getting him hard in short order.

Groaning in pleasure, Tim slid his fingers through the short blond hair and said, “You should take it off.”

Donald released his nipple and agreed, “Among other things.”

They took a few minutes to get undressed and when Tim bent over to pull off his last sock, Donald tackled him. Tim went face first into the sofa with a grunt of surprise. Laughing, he squirmed, but Donald wouldn’t move. He pinned Tim there and bit playfully into his back.

“Stay put,” Donald ordered.

Grinning into the pillow, Tim nodded and shivered lightly when Donald moved down further and massaged Tm’s ass. It wasn’t a surprise when Donald licked a path across to his hole, but just as wickedly pleasurable as always. His lover’s oral fixation was just one of many benefits of being with Donald. His tongue slid inside Tim and he spent long minutes rimming and eating him out. After so long together, Tim had learned to enjoy such intimate contact, although he had been excruciatingly embarrassed at first.

Donald finally lifted enough for him to turn over and then they were kissing, long and slow and deep. Tim didn’t even think about where the tongue twining with his had just been, he was so engrossed in making out. Donald bit and sucked at his lower lip before shifting to nuzzle at the sensitive skin below his ear, making him shiver with the sensation.

“Got another present for you,” Donald whispered against his ear.

Tim protested wordlessly when Donald pulled away to sit up, straddling him. Rubbing his hands up and down Donald’s thighs, he asked roughly, “What present?”

Lifting onto his knees, Donald gave him a sly grin and reached behind. Biting his lip, Donald’s head fell back on a groan and Tim watched as Donald dropped a plug on the floor. His anticipation spiked, swiftly satisfied when Donald simply sat back, lining up Tim’s hard shaft and sat down on it.

Tim gasped, “Oh, oh God, Donald!” as his dick was enclosed within his lover’s body. He didn’t know when the plug had gone in, but it must have been a small one, given how tight Donald was.

Chuckling breathlessly, Donald said, “Love it when that’s all you can say.”

Pulling himself somewhat together, Tim focused on his lover and, getting a foothold in the cushions, thrust his hips up hard. Donald cried out in need, fingers digging into the underside of Tim’s thighs. Grinning fiercely, Tim repeated the motion, fucking Donald rapidly until the other man groaned and sagged forward, hands splayed over Tim’s chest. Sweat trickled down his chest, accentuating the solid muscles that always thrilled Tim. It amazed him that such a man was his and his alone.

Tim moved slowly then, before Donald could regroup. His hips pistoned up and down, driving his shaft in and out of Donald’s body, though never actually leaving it.

Donald’s fingers gripped him and he gasped, “Oh God, Timmy, oh yeah, please, harder. Christ, you feel so good, baby, make me come.”

Taking the words to heart, not having it in him to last very long, Tim shifted a hand from Donald’s hip to his shaft and began stroking it. Donald immediately thrust forward into his grip, arching forward and back with greater intensity. Tim’s balls drew tight, his body tensing, and he redoubled his efforts to make Donald come first, angling for his prostate again. A few more strokes and thrusts and Donald came with a loud cry of pleasure, spilling all over Tim’s chest and abs.

Tim shuddered and let himself go, coming moments later, burying himself in Donald and holding himself tight to his lover’s ass. He sagged back on the sofa as Donald lowered down onto him with a contented sigh. Smiling tenderly, Tim rubbed lightly over the small of his back and said, “Thank you, honey, I loved my present.”

“I thought it was my present?” Donald teased, kissing his cheek.

Tim kissed his temple and suggested, “Mutual present then.”

Donald sighed, “Mhmm.”

It was all too soon that Tim’s dick slid from Donald’s body, but by then, Donald breathed deeply, obviously almost asleep. Tim continued to rub his lower back, strangely awake as he listened to his lover’s soft breaths. It felt good, better than good, having Donald’s weight resting so trusting upon him. He was such a distrustful person now, his heart having been broken too many times to trust easily. Tim felt honored that Donald believed in him so much.

A flash of something…déjà vu…slammed into him only it wasn’t a man in his arms, but a woman. Tim tensed, the memory of something slithering around the edges of his mind, elusive and dark. Donald protested sleepily and Tim forced himself to relax, ordering quietly, “Go to sleep, baby.”

Donald heaved a short sigh and his breathing slowed even further. Tim took the opportunity to pull the thick blanket from the top of the sofa down onto them. Even with the fire it would get chilly after a while and then the fire would die altogether.

It was a given that the last couple of months had been stressful, especially knowing Zailian was still out there somewhere. Donald and Bailey both swore up and down that the man wouldn’t return for any kind of revenge, but Tim just couldn’t take that as fact. Something inside, some instinct, kept him on edge and looking sideways at shadows. It almost felt as if the whole affair had awoken something in him, something that chafed to get free but what, he couldn’t identify.

Tim forced himself to count backwards as a mental calming exercise, focusing on the numbers and the soothing feel of Donald lying atop him. It worked, his thoughts slowing until he knew that he could sleep…

…a woman with dark curly hair, laughing warmly…

…a picnic with the same woman…

…pure agony inside, his soul breaking, holding the woman’s dead body…

…Tim thrashed around, the name, “Hannah!” escaping him in a shout. The sudden movement sent him and Donald off the sofa to the floor and his head cracked into the corner of the coffee table. Pain danced behind his eyes and Tim groaned, holding his head.

“Timmy? You okay? Here, let me see,” Donald ordered, sounding worried.

Tim let his hand be moved and heard his lover’s hiss of displeasure. Not a surprise, since he could see blood on his own hand. A second later, Donald pressed something into the wound and Tim said weakly, “That better not be my dress shirt.”

Donald chuckled and told him, “Don’t worry, tiger, it’s just my t-shirt. You whacked yourself pretty good there, I think it needs stitches.”

Wincing, Tim looked up to find a very worried expression wrinkling Donald’s face. “Hospital?”

“Hospital,” Donald confirmed. “But we should clean up a little first. Stay put, I’ll get a wash cloth.”

Tim was sure he wouldn’t be going anywhere without assistance, his head hurt so badly. Not just from the impact to the coffee table, but also from the confusion roiling inside. Who was that woman? How had she died? Why had it hurt so badly that he still felt the echo of pain?

“Okay, Timmy, let’s get you decent.”

Looking up again, he found that Donald had dressed in jeans and a sweater and held sweats for Tim to wear. Donald helped him stand and then used the damp washcloth to give Tim a once-over before helping him get dressed. By the end of it, he was nauseas and dizzy which had to mean a concussion.

Donald’s arm felt reassuringly solid as Tim leaned on him to the car outside. The temperature had dropped dramatically to match the snow on the ground. It stole Tim’s breath and made him cough, the spasming of his lungs setting off a new round of pain in his head. He barely noticed the car until Donald gently lowered him into the passenger’s seat.

The drive to the hospital passed in the blink of an eye. It wasn’t until Donald’s urgent voice penetrated that Tim’s eyes opened to find him standing outside the door, the cold winter wind cutting through him. It woke him a little more and he blinked foggily. Holding out his hand, he let himself be brought to his feet and then leaning heavily on Donald on the walk inside the ER.

Next thing he knew, Tim was lying prone on a gurney being wheeled somewhere. Donald had hold of his hand and was saying, “He just hit his head on the coffee table, I don’t understand why…” and faded out again.

Faces flashed in the dark of his mind…an angry woman with red hair…a tall, thin man with earnest eyes…a black man…the first woman whose smiling face still caused pain as she whispered, “Cade…”

…and then darkness took him for real.

* * * *

Don had had plenty of bumps on, and knocks to, the head in his life and even though Timmy had cracked his noggin a good one, it had seemed superficial. There was certainly nothing in Tim’s history to suggest that getting knocked on the head would cause a sub-dermal hematoma that required instant surgery. The medical staff knew them both well enough that the medical durable power of attorney wasn’t questioned; they were just used to Tim holding the papers.

The nurses gave him sympathetic looks as he paced the waiting area, but that was all they could do. Don had a newfound respect for all the worry he’d put Tim through in the past and began to seriously consider leaving the PI business just to spare him the same in the future. It was a couple of hours later, around midnight, that he thought to call Tim’s mother to let her know what had happened. The Senator didn’t answer Don’s calls, never had, so he never bothered trying; mostly because he didn’t want to embarrass Tim by punching the older man out.

“Hello?” Mrs. Callahan’s voice answered sleepily.

Don let out a short breath before saying, “Mrs. Callahan? It’s Don. Something’s happened to Tim. He hit his head on the coffee table and, and it caused a, a sub-dermal hematoma. He’s in surgery right now to relieve the build-up of pressure.”

Sounding alert, Mrs. Callahan demanded, “Are you saying that my son is having brain surgery?”

“Ah, yes, ma’am,” Don confirmed. “We’re at St. Mary’s.”

“We’ll be there within the hour.”

He wasn’t surprised when she hung up without further words.

“Mr. Strachey?”

Turning, Don walked over to the doctor in scrubs and answered, “Yes? How is he?”

The doctor held out a hand. “I’m Dr. Thomas. I just wanted to let you know that everything went as well as could be expected. He’s in recovery under heavy anesthesia. Tell me, when did Mr. Callahan have brain surgery before?”

Alarm ran through Don and he replied, “He didn’t!”

“It’s just that we found some scarring above the pressure site,” Dr. Thomas told him, frowning. “I don’t know how else to explain it, except that he had surgery before. It would also explain why such a relatively insignificant blow caused such a rapid downturn. Not that brain injuries are the easiest to anticipate.”

Thoughts of all kinds ran through Don, but he only said, “No, I’ve heard that. Can I see him?”

Dr. Thomas nodded. “Of course. He is, as I said, heavily sedated and so might not recognize you if he regains consciousness. I wouldn’t hold anything he says right now against him.”

“Thanks, thank you, Dr. Thomas,” Don said, shaking his hand again.

The doctor motioned to a nurse and said, “Jamie, would you show Mr. Strachey to recovery?”

“Sure thing, Dr. Thomas,” the young girl agreed. “Right this way.”

Don followed her down the hall and through a set of swinging double doors. He paused at the room she indicated and said, “Look, his parents are going to storm in here in about twenty minutes. Can you let them know what’s going on?”

“No problem,” she promised. “Take your time. He’s not scheduled to be moved for another hour or so.”

He managed a brief smile and a muttered thanks before going inside. He stopped short just passed the door, the sight of Timmy in the hospital bed taking his breath like he’d been sucker punched. His head was wrapped in thick, bright white gauze and he looked far too pale and motionless.

Taking a breath, Don walked over to the bed and took a lax hand in his, kissing the back of it as he said, “Hey, Timmy, it’s me. You just gave me the scare of my life, honey. Mind opening those baby blues so I can see you’re in there? Please?”

There was no response, which caused Don’s heart to squeeze painfully in his chest. The only reassurance he had was the steady rise and fall of Tim’s chest without help from any machines. They’d never talked about what to do if the worst happened, if one of them was left a vegetable. Don had never been able to make himself look at Tim’s will even though the other had shown him exactly where it was two years ago…

“Because I don’t want my Father deciding that you meant nothing to me, even after four years of marriage,” Tim said emphatically. “I know you, Don. You’d just sit back and let him do whatever he wanted. So this is what I want. When you’re ready, you should read it.”

Don grimaced and said, “Yeah, but that’s like decades down the road. No need to even talk about it.

“I want your will done by the end of the week, or your privileges are cut off,” Tim informed him primly.

Heaving a sigh, Don caught Tim around the waist and pulled him in close. “All privileges? Really? What about an extension?”

It took all of ten seconds before Tim relented by relaxing against him. He did say, though, “I mean it, Donald. Even at our age things could go wrong. I want you to be taken care of when I’m gone.”

Don’s stomach clenched unpleasantly at the thought of life without Tim. He kissed Tim firmly and said, “Never happen. We’re gonna live forever.”

Tim laughed when Don began tickling him and, naturally, tickling led to other things and that was the end of that…

Only it wasn’t, because now he was faced with an unconscious and sedated husband after brain surgery and no guarantee that Tim would recover. Don wanted to crawl into the bed beside Tim, but knew he couldn’t. The door opened and he looked over, his free hand automatically moving to wipe the tears that had fallen. He snuffled a bit and gave the red-headed woman who looked in a frown. “Yeah? Can I help you?”

She gave him such a strange look, like a rival or an ex-girlfriend, that Don tensed, putting a protective hand on Tim’s chest. She was definitely not a nurse, not with her aggressive posture. Then she smiled, though it didn’t reach her cold eyes. “Sorry, wrong room. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

The door swung silently shut behind her and Don heard her argue with someone in the hall, a man. It was enough to make him wipe his face clean with his shirt, then get up and walk to the door. By the time he got there, the voices had stopped and the hall was empty. Shaking off the odd encounter, Don turned to go back to Tim, resuming his place at his lover’s side and lightly stroking a hand over his abs. Tim always found it soothing, when he was sick.

It seemed a long time before Tim’s mouth moved and he mumbled something. Relief flashed through Don and he urged, “Wake up, Timmy, come on back to me, honey.”

Bleary, unseeing blue eyes did finally open, but they stared at a point beyond Don. It took a few long moments before Tim’s head moved and he actually looked at Don, a confused frown wrinkling his forehead. His mouth opened again, but it was a few more seconds before Tim asked, “Who are you?”

Coldness ran through him at those three, simple words. Don kept calm, remembering the doctor’s warning, and answered, “Your one and only, Don Strachey.”

Tim cleared his throat and pulled his hand free. He shifted upright on the bed, his body one big ‘don’t touch me’ sign and suspicion clear in his gaze. “I don’t know you, buddy. Where’s the doctor? What happened? Is Eddie here?”

Don drew back as if struck, his gut whirling with emotions he refused to let reign. Standing, he explained calmly, “You hit your head on our coffee table, I’ll get the doctor, and I don’t know who Eddie is.”

Who the fuck is Eddie? he thought to himself, never having heard the name before. He walked from the room, stunned by the amnesia, but also by Tim’s entire demeanor. His gentle, loving husband was gone and Don had no idea who’d replaced him.

Just outside, he saw two nurses heading his way, one of them the girl from before.

“Mr. Strachey, it’s time to move Mr. Callahan,” Jamie said, smiling. “We’ve got a private room all picked out for him and Dr. Thomas has relaxed the visiting rules until Mr. Callahan comes around. You can stay as long as you like. Oh, and his parents are here.”

Don grimaced at that, but only told her, “Tim’s awake, but he ah, he doesn’t know me. I think he’s got amnesia?”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Strachey,” she said, gaze sympathetic. “It’s not uncommon, though, with a head injury. I wouldn’t worry just yet. I’ll page the doctor.”

Don followed them into the room and stood to the side when Tim gave him another suspicious look. It killed him to just watch as the nurses did their thing, efficiently getting Tim ready for transport to the other room.

Dr. Thomas came in just when the nurses seemed ready to go. He glanced at Don, but his attention was focused on Tim as he greeted, “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

“Like someone cracked my head open with a buzz saw,” Tim answered flatly.

Dr. Thomas nodded and said, “That’s because we pretty much did. You struck your head and a sub-dermal hematoma formed. We had to relieve the pressure, which we did. Can you tell me your name?”

Don stiffened at the expression that crossed Tim’s face. It was the same calculating one he’d seen on countless crooks over the years. It said that he was trying to figure out which answer would get him in the least trouble.

“I don’t remember,” Tim finally said.

“The year?”

“2001?”

Dr. Thomas’ lips pursed and then he asked, “Who’s the President?”

“George W. Bush…okay, that’s obviously wrong from the way you look. What year is it?” Tim asked.

“It’s 2009 and we have a new president, Barack Obama.”

Tim blinked in what looked like honest surprise. “Who the hell is that?”

During the mild interrogation, Dr. Thomas had been examining Tim. He paused then to take his pulse. A minute later, he announced, “You’re remarkably clear for just having had major surgery, aside from the amnesia.”

“I heal fast,” Tim replied.

Dr. Thomas arched an eyebrow at him. “Have you needed to?”

Don had to fight to answer that no, Tim rarely got injured, sensing he would be contradicted.

Shrugging, Tim said, “Usual bumps an’ bruises. Nothin’ major.”

Dr. Thomas motioned towards Don and questioned, “Do you know who that man is?”

Tim glanced at Don, but there was no hint of recognition in his eyes. Shaking his head, Tim answered, “Never seen him before. Says that he’s my “one and only,” whatever the hell that means. Sorry, man, but I’m not gay.”

Don’s knees nearly buckled at that easy, non-judgmental declaration. It was like the world had suddenly gone crazy. He leaned against the wall, not sure he could stand on his own.

“I see. Well, I think we’re going to run some tests and see what’s going on in that head of yours,” Dr. Thomas said. It sounded like he was being carefully not startled by Tim’s words. “Jamie, why don’t you and Michelle bring him to his new room and I’ll get the tests scheduled.”

She nodded soberly and Don didn’t move from his spot against the wall when she and the other nurse pushed the bed out of the recovery room. Once the door swung closed, Don looked at Dr. Thomas and demanded, “What the fuck was that? Does amnesia, does it change your orientation?”

Dr. Thomas shook his head. He looked faintly worried as he confirmed, “Something so fundamental shouldn’t be altered like that, no. That’s why I’m scheduling the tests. It’s possible he has a tumor that wasn’t revealed in the x-rays. An MRI and CAT scan will give us more to go on.”

“Sure, do whatever you need to do,” Don nodded. “I’ll sign whatever forms you want.”

Gripping him on the shoulder, Dr. Thomas promised, “We’ll find out what’s wrong, Mr. Strachey. Why don’t you get some rest? I won’t be able to get the tests done until morning shift at the earliest since he appears to be out of danger.”

Don was suddenly exhausted, but had to shake his head. “I have to update his folks. They got here a while ago and are probably ready to take someone’s head off.”

“Good luck,” Dr. Thomas said before leaving the room.

He took a few minutes just to recover from the body blow Tim had delivered so casually. Don stopped in the men’s room on the way down to the lobby, splashing cold water on his face and trying to regroup enough to face Tim’s parents. Assuming Senator Callahan didn’t just shoot him out of hand with one of the guns his NRA buddies had gifted, it would be a tense conversation. It would have been, even without the amnesia and sudden bout of straightness.

Both Senator and Mrs. Callahan looked far too put together for him to have gotten them out of bed, even though he knew he had. He nodded at the elder Callahan and gave Tim’s mother an awkward, one-armed embrace before greeting, “He’s being moved to a room now.

“How is he?” she asked.

Don let out an explosive sigh and answered, “Well, they relieved the pressure and he woke up and seems to be okay, physically. It’s just, he’s got amnesia.”

They both gave him blank stares and then the senator demanded, “What do you mean, he has amnesia?”

“Just what I said,” Don answered, testy. “He has no idea who I am, what the date is, or who’s president. Thinks that it’s 2001. Is there a reason he should think that? Did something momentous happen that year?”

From the look they exchanged, he knew it had, knew it in his gut with utter certainty. It was a couple of years before he’d met Tim, but he would’ve been told if something major had gone down. There was no way Tim was keeping secrets from him.

Mrs. Callahan sighed and told him, “We almost lost him, Don. Come, let’s sit down and I’ll explain. Honey, why don’t you get us all some coffee?”

Callahan Sr. didn’t look thrilled about being relegated to coffee boy, but he didn’t seem to have it in him to go against his wife either. He left and Don let her lead him to the chairs by the wall, a quiet area with no one nearby.

Sitting, she sighed again and explained, “When I say we almost lost him, I mean mentally. Tim had a…breakdown…and spent some time in an institution. He doesn’t remember any of it, so please, don’t blame him for not telling you. When he finally came around, when the delusions finally stopped, we were so relieved that we didn’t question that he came out gay. He’d never shown any sign of it to us, before or after entering the seminary. Not until the breakdown.”

‘Came out gay,’ took on an ominous overtone in Don’s head. He and Tim had discussed the struggle Tim had gone through many, many times. It wasn’t something that had just happened, even though it might have seemed that way to his parents. Forcing all that aside for the moment, Don asked, “What were the delusions? How and why did they stop?”

“I don’t know, Don, and that’s the truth. He was caught tearing up a store at the mall and they put him into the mental ward. He was there for a week before they found out who he was and called us. The doctors had a confidentiality issue, of course, because he was an adult. They never said and Timmy never remembered that he was even in there. It was for a month solid, although they told us that the break only lasted for a few days, that the rest of it was spent in therapy so he could come back to us. And he did. He was himself again, other than being gay, and life went on.”

It was a hell of a lot to take in and Don didn’t know where to even start. That they’d kept something so important from Tim…on the one hand, he could understand them wanting to protect him, but on the other, it could blow up so badly. Like it just had, apparently. “You need to tell Dr. Thomas about all of this. He’s setting Tim up for tests, but if it’s all mental, then those will be useless.”

She nodded and promised, “I will. How are you doing?”

The question took him by surprise and he repeated dumbly, “Me?”

Smiling a bit, she nodded again and said, “Your shirt’s inside out and you aren’t wearing socks, Donald. I realize that Tim despairs of ever making you into a fashion plate, but that’s below even your standards.”

The gentle teasing was almost his undoing. Don’s throat closed, hot and tight, and he had to clear it before answering, “I’ll be okay when Tim’s…when he’s back to normal.”

“We all will,” she sighed, taking his hand and squeezing it tight. “God will look after him, Donald. Timothy is his favorite son, after all.”

Staring at the wrinkled, fragile hand in his, Don prayed that she was right but knew in his gut that the shit was only just about to hit the fan.