Like Water, Like Breath, Like Rain by Candy Apple (Rating: NC-17)

[nyteflyer.livejournal.com]

Fandom: DONALD STRACHEY MYSTERIES
Pairing: Donald Strachey/Timothy Callahan
Length: 116,000 words
Author on LJ: candyjbshsc
Author’s website/masterlist: squidge

Why this must be read:  Ever wish you could read a juicy, novel-length story about the movieverse characters you know and love?  This may just be the fanfic you've been searching for.  Angst and H/C abound in this tale of a brutal crime and its aftermath.  Though the writer deals with difficult subject matter some readers may find unsettling (see author's warning) she provides a first-rate, multi-dimensional plot interlaced with plenty of Don/Tim moments both tender and hot.  These guys can get through anything as long as they have each other to lean on, and Candy gives us a meaty drama that underscores the point. 

Tim knew he must have fallen asleep with the book open, since it slid to the floor when he jolted upright in the bed. The doorbell rang, and there was a loud, assertive knock following it. He could see red and blue flashing lights reflecting against the bedroom window. In that horrible moment, the bottom dropped out of his stomach, and he knew this was the scenario that haunted his worst nightmares. Only he was awake, and this was real, and Donald wasn't home, it was nearly dawn, and there were cops banging on his door.

Throwing on his robe, he rushed downstairs and opened the door. Two uniformed officers stood on the doorstep.

"Are you Timothy Callahan?"

"Yes," he responded, dreading the words that would come out of their mouths next. Donald was dead. There was no other reason for cops to show up like this.

"Detective Bailey sent us to bring you over to Memorial Hospital for Donald Strachey."

"Is he alive?"

"As far as we know," one of the officers said. "They were taking him by ambulance to Memorial, and Bailey told us to come and get you, lights and sirens."

"I'll be right back." Tim ran upstairs, yanked on a pair of khakis and a shirt, stuck his bare feet in shoes, put his wallet in his pocket, and pulled on a jacket as he was hurrying back down the steps.

"What happened to him?" he asked as the car was speeding toward the hospital. And it was truly speeding, cutting through the sparse dawn traffic, ripping through intersections as if they were on a high-speed pursuit.

"Not sure. He was in the drunk tank and all of a sudden there was this big commotion and EMTs were there and Bailey was sending us to get you."

"The drunk tank? But he never goes out and gets drunk like that. What was he doing there?"

"Look, you know as much as we do right now. I'm sure Bailey'll be at the hospital, and you can ask him yourself," the cop driving said, apparently losing his patience with Tim's questions.

Ambulance, EMTs...you don't need that for a dead man, and there's certainly no hurry about it, either. Tim closed his eyes and held onto that thought.

Like Water, Like Breath, Like Rain