~*~*~*~*~

Donald knew he was being irrational, but he didn't care. He'd already lost his career -- what he planned on being his life -- when he got kicked out of the Army. And he'd overcome that. He found happiness. He found a job he was good at. But more importantly, he’d built a life with Timmy, a life that he didn’t want to give up. Ever.

Being a private investigator taught Donald that there were no absolutes in the world, and he was usually okay with that. But hearing words like "most likely", "worst case scenario", "might possibly be permanent" made him want to smash Dr. McMahon calm, clinical nose. Timmy must have sensed Donald’s mood because he sweet talked the doctor into releasing Donald and sending him home. They wouldn’t know any more about his condition for at least a week as his eyes needed time to try and heal from the damage.

The first few hours at home weren’t bad. He didn’t feel much different from the many other times Timmy took care of him after he’d been injured in the line of duty. That was until the lights went out. He couldn’t see Timmy’s beautiful face in bed beside him and it ate away at him. Even though he certainly didn’t marry Timmy for his looks, he could admit that the sight of Timmy’s face was probably his favorite view in the whole wide world.

And the idea that he could never see that again made him want to scream and punch the wall. Timmy must have sensed something because he pulled Donald in his arms and stroked his back, whispering, "it's going to be okay.Everything's going to be okay", over and over again until Donald fell asleep.

~*~*~*~*~

Things didn't look any better in the morning. Under normal circumstances, Donald would have laughed at his own bad joke, but smacking into the door jam for the third time did nothing to improve his mood. Timmy settled him on the couch for breakfast when Bub showed up.

"Strachey."

Donald turned to the voice as he heard Bub settle on the couch beside him.

"Bailey."

“Should you be out of the hospital already?”

Donald shrugged. “I try not to overstay my welcome.”

Bub chuckled. “I figured you had some sort of frequent guest card or something.”

Donald stretched his arms across the back of the couch. “Yep, I’m almost as popular there as I am at the police station. What brings you by, Bub?”

“Detective Bailey’s wife made you a coffee cake,” Timmy said. Donald could hear him settle a tray on the table in front of the couch. He felt Timmy’s hand in his as he handed him a plate.

“She wanted to show her appreciation for your heroics yesterday,” Bub said, as Donald heard Timmy hand him a plate as well.

Donald took a bite of his cake. “Well I just got you broken in, I wouldn’t want to have to train another officer.”

“And here I thought you were just incapable of not throwing yourself in harm’s way.”

Timmy laughed. “Oh believe me, he’s not. At least you guys captured Carlson before he could do anymore damage.”

Except maybe blinding me. “What’s the status on the case?”

“The District Attorney’s charging him with three counts murder and two counts of attempted murder from yesterday morning. He thinks he’ll plead out in order to get the death penalty off the table.”

Donald nodded. Whatever happened, he figured he could live with Carlson being locked up for the rest of his life. “Something good came out of all this then. Thank your wife for the cake. It’s great.”

Bub set his plate down on the table. “I’ll let her know. And Strachey, don’t worry. You’re going to get your eyesight back.”

Donald wanted to believe, but blind faith was never his strong suit. “How can you be so sure?”

Bub put his hand on Donald shoulder and squeezed. “Because I could never be so lucky as to not have you be a royal pain in my ass on a consistent basis.”

Donald laughed. “Thanks, Bub.”

“Thank you, Donald. I made it this long having never been shot in the line of duty. I’m lucky you were there to help extend that record.”

For all their griping at each other, Donald knew how lucky he was to have Bub on his side. He was glad that he stopped Carlson from shooting him, not matter what happened with his eyes. Plus, he was damn sure he now had an automatic in with Bailey for the future. “I’ll be using that to my advantage, you understand.”

Bub laughed and squeezed Donald’s shoulder once more. “Wouldn’t expect anything less from you Strachey."

Donald heard Bub stand up. “Try and keep him out of trouble,” Bub said to Timmy.

Timmy kissed the top of Donald’s head. “I’ll do my best. Let me walk you out, Detective.”

~*~*~*~*~

The next day he made Timmy drive him to his office. He felt cooped up in the house and for some reason the idea of listening to Kenny drone on about his most recent conquests seemed like just the medicine he needed to forgot about his own troubles for a while. Of course the reality of listening to Kenny made him wish it was his hearing that had been damaged.

So he gave Kenny a job to do to shut him up. Donald could admit that it wasn’t probably very smart to have Kenny look up and read to him the statistics of permanent blindness resulting from exposure to bear spray and other arsenal agents, but he was desperate. The thought of not being able to see Timmy’s face again was bad enough, but Donald couldn’t stand the idea that Timmy would have to take care of him for the rest of his life. He deserved so much more than that. So he had to know what his chances were.

Fuck. Not good apparently. He sent Kenny out on a coffee run so that he could have his meltdown in private. He wanted to find Carlson and return the favor, gouging the bastard’s eyes out with his thumbs. He settled for trashing his own office instead. Oddly enough, not being able to see didn’t seem to hinder his ability to wreck the place.

He ended up on the floor among the rubble, his back up against his couch. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there before he heard footsteps on the floor.

Crouching down, Timmy reached out and stroked Donald's hair, settling on the floor beside him. "Feel better?"

Donald did his best not to lean into the touch. He'd have to learn to live without it. Better to start now. "Why are you here?"

"Kenny called. That was an impressive display by the way. I never knew computer monitors bounced."

Normally he would appreciate Timmy's attempt at humor. But nothing would ever be the same again. He put his hand on the couch and stood up. "I’ll sleep here tonight."

“Yes, because bandages over your eyes and not a clear path in sight is a perfect combination.”

God, he hated it when Timmy was so damn reasonable. “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

"Darling, what part of in sickness and health don't you understand?"

Donald turned so he was facing Timmy. He couldn't see him, but he could feel his breath on his face. He shuddered at how much that closeness meant home to him. "This isn't what you signed on for. This is not the house and the dog and weekends in bed. This is not normal."

Timmy leaned in and kissed Donald's temple. "Donald, sweetheart, I hate to break it to you, but we've never managed normal. I've been kidnapped numerous times, had a gun held to my head, and been beaten up and threatened in my own home, so if I'm okay with all of that, why in the world would you think I'd abandon you because you *temporarily* can't see?"

Donald took a step back. He had to be strong. He had to let Timmy go. He deserved better than some useless blind guy. "So what? You want to have to pick up after me and lead me to the bathroom so I can take a piss?"

"Yes I do."

God, why did he have to sound so sincere? "Bullshit. No one would want that. And I don't want you to stay with me out of pity."

"Believe me, if I'm feeling pity for you right now, it has nothing to do with your lack of eye sight."

Donald might not be able to see Timmy's face, but he knew that tone of voice. The tone that meant you are being a stupid idiot, Donald, but I love you anyway. It was a tone he heard a lot over the years. "Timothy."

Timmy reached out and took Donald's hands in his. "No, you listen to me Donald Strachey. You aren't getting rid of me."

Donald tried to pull away, but Timmy held on. "You don't get to decide that."

"Actually, I do." Timmy ran his thumb over Donald's wedding ring. "You see, you gave me the right when you had me put this ring on your finger and I'm holding you to that promise."

Donald had no defense against that. He never had any defenses against Timmy. "And if this is permanent?"

Timmy kissed both of Donald's eyes through the bandages. "Then we'll adjust. Together, just like we always have. But I have faith that you'll see again."

Donald confessed what was at the core of his meltdown and voiced his greatest fear. "I don't."

Timmy pulled Donald into his arms and stroked his back in comforting circles. "I know, but I have enough for both of us."

Whispering into the nook of Timmy's neck, Donald apologized. "I'm sorry."

Timmy just kept on hugging him. "Don't worry about. Your office doesn't look nearly as bad as it did before Kenny started working here. It'll give him something to do tomorrow."

Donald smiled at that, his first real one since he’d come home from the hospital. "That's not what I was talking about."

Taking Donald's hand in his and threading their fingers together, Timmy walked them to the door. "I know that too. Let's go home."

Donald leaned against Timmy and let him lead the way. That's wasn't new. He'd been following Timmy forever.

~*~*~*~*~

It was a long week, but Donald tried to stop himself from dwelling on what the outcome might be. If Timmy said he’d see again, Donald would choose to believe him because while he didn’t have faith in a lot of things, he always had faith in Timmy.

Timmy held Donald’s hand as Dr. McMahon removed the bandages from his eyes. Donald let the smooth stroke of Timmy’s thumb across his wedding band soothe the fear churning in his gut. And when the doctor told Donald to open his eyes, the first thing he saw was Timmy’s smiling face, even more beautiful than he remembered.

He reached out and took that face in his hands and leaned in to kiss Timmy, keeping his eyes open all the time. When he pulled away, he knew he was wearing a smile that usually only graced his face when he and Timmy were alone, but he couldn't seem to help himself. "Honey, I have to say, you are a sight for sore eyes."

Timmy laughed and pulled Donald into a hug. "Okay, now. Let Dr. McMahon finish his exam, so we can go home." Timmy waggled his eyebrows at Donald and winked.

Watching Timmy try and pull off one of Donald's moves was the best medicine Donald could have ever imagined. He could see. Really see. And not just with his eyes. Timmy would always stand by him, just like he'd always stand by Timmy. No injury would ever change that.

Their love would always be a beacon for Donald to find his way home.