Author's Note: I'm updating a few hours early, Monday night instead of Tuesday morning, because I've got divorce court stuff tomorrow, and might be pressed for time in the morning. So, better early than late, right?
"Once again, Jacob got into trouble for fighting with another boy in school. But this time it was Aaron. I can't say it's a surprise to me, considering they both pine over the same girl. But I'd hoped their friendship would be stronger than their jealousy. Of course, Annabelle doesn't help matters, refusing to make a choice between them. I've tried to suggest to Jacob that she's not the only pretty girl in town, but since when has any young man in the flush of 'first love' ever listened to his father...?"
--excerpt from the private journal of Ephraim Barton
Smoky Hills Part 13
Returning a Favor
Heero arrived home after a long day consisting of over four hours of driving, half an hour spent sitting in a waiting room at the vet's office, an hour-long examination of his dog, and a brief stop for a meal on the way back.
The only reason he wasn't in a perfectly foul temper was that Thor had no broken or fractured bones, and was expected to be completely healed in a matter of days. But he was tired--very tired--and not particularly thrilled at the hundred bucks he'd had to shell out for x-rays, stitches and antibiotics for his wayward hound.
"Hey, you're back! How'd it go?" Trowa asked from his comfy seat in the overstuffed chair they'd nabbed from a tag sale.
"He's fine. They stitched the foot and gave me antibiotics for him. No bones are broken, and I told them you'd be able to remove the stitches in ten days."
"Yeah--piece of cake."
Heero paused at the sight of the open trunk in the living room, while Thor meandered on into the kitchen, looking for supper. "Trowa--how did you manhandle that thing down the stairs?"
The auburn-haired man hung his head rather sheepishly. "I asked the mailman in to help with it when he dropped off the express mail packet from the doctor's office in Sanc."
"The mailman?"
"Yes." Trowa gave a sly smile. "Your description didn't do him justice."
The cold blue eyes narrowed. "I told you he had long hair and an attitude. Was that not accurate?"
"I dunno. He didn't seem to have an attitude with me." Trowa shrugged. "And you never mentioned how good-looking he was, or that he had a smile to die for."
"I don't recall seeing him smile," Heero retorted, picking up a leather-bound volume sitting on the table beside the trunk.
"Well of course not. You were complaining about the lousy mail service at the time."
"He didn't smile when he dropped off the dog, either."
"Perhaps if you'd been civil--"
"I was civil. But I was more concerned with tending to Thor's injury than making small talk with the person who brought him home."
"Maybe you should've. Made small talk, that is. He's a nice guy." Trowa sipped his tea, looking carefully over the edge at his roommate. "I told him to stop by again some time."
"Why?"
"He was interested in the journals, I think. And after he was nice enough to lug the trunk down here for me, I felt like I owed him."
"Have you forgotten what's out in the barn, Barton? The last thing we need is a parade of visitors to this place." Heero scowled sternly.
"One person is hardly a parade--"
"No, he's just a person who knows everyone in town by name, since he delivers their mail. He's probably the biggest gossip around."
"I thought the girl at the gas station was."
Heero paused, thinking it over, and finally shaking his head and giving an exasperated huff. "Fine then. He's probably the second biggest gossip."
"But so much cuter--"
"I'm going to start supper," Heero cut in firmly. "What would you like?"
"Soup and sandwiches would be more than enough," Trowa suggested. "You look beat."
"I am."
"Then take a break from cooking."
"I don't think so. After eating fast food for lunch, I need something real," Heero grumbled. "Oh, wait!" He hastily patted himself down and pulled a slightly crumpled bag from the pocket of his windbreaker. "I brought you a crispy chicken sandwich."
"My favorite!" Trowa said with a grin, holding out a hand. "And I thought you were kidding about the 'person' bag."
"Don't you want to save it for lunch tomorrow?" Heero asked. "You'll spoil your supper."
"No I won't. This'll just be an appetizer." Trowa leaned far enough to snag his treat out of Heero's hand. "Kinda like the mailman."
"Would you stop talking about him?" came an exasperated sigh.
Trowa raised an eyebrow, studying his friend. "I think I was right about his being gay," he said teasingly. "And not because of the hair. He totally checked me out when he was walking up to the porch."
Heero scowled. "Good for you." He turned away and headed for the kitchen.
"Yeah, it was," Trowa snickered, peeling open the bag and diving in after his crispy sandwich.
Once he finished his "appetizer," he rolled up the wrapper and bag, and got himself out of the chair to go keep Heero company in the kitchen. He found his roommate chopping up vegetables for a salad, with Zero on his perch in the corner, waiting for an occasional morsel to be passed along.
Trowa chuckled. "By the way, Zero let out one of his death screams while the poor mailman was here. The guy went ass backwards over the trunk."
A smirk twitched one corner of Heero's mouth.
"Bet you'd have liked to see it."
"I might at that--considering his attitude when we first met."
"Yeah, but he brought Thor home."
"Yes, he did. And I thought I asked you to shut up about him."
"I know. I'm just saying, he was a pretty good sport about everything, and you might want to be a little nicer to him in the future."
"I intend to. Out of gratitude if nothing else. He could have ignored Thor and left him wandering the forest alone at night."
"Not and been human."
"I know a lot of 'humans' who wouldn't give it a second thought."
"Yeah, well--that's all back in Sanc. We've got a fresh start here, 'Ro. A chance to try out a different kind of life--to meet different people."
"I'm not here to socialize. I'm here to get you back on your feet."
"And to get your head squared away," Trowa reminded him.
"That, too."
As Heero passed the table on the way to the refrigerator, he saw the leather-bound book Trowa had brought along and laid on the table. He paused and put a hand on it. "So you found more journals in the trunk, eh?"
Trowa nodded.
"D'you know who wrote them?"
"Well, the one I'm reading now belonged to Ephraim Barton. I'd guess he was my great-great, or triple-great grandfather."
Heero raised an eyebrow, and looked down at the rows of spidery script, slowly flipping through a few pages. "Ephraim?"
"Yeah," Trowa said with a lopsided grin. "Pretty colonial, huh?"
"Very."
"He was a kind of interesting guy, really," Trowa commented. "There are several volumes of diaries in the trunk. The one you're holding is the first, I think, judging from the date on the inside cover."
"He talks a lot about the land around here, doesn't he? And the weather," Heero noted, reading as they talked.
"Yep."
"He was a farmer."
"Uh-huh. Apparently all the Bartons have been."
"Why do you draw that conclusion?"
"The place is still a farm, isn't it? Never got sold or subdivided."
"True." Heero glanced up from the book. "You could probably get a pretty penny for it, if you talked to a developer. Land is at a premium these days."
"Yes, but--" Trowa looked out the window, studying the way the spreading branches of an oak tree shaded the porch. "This place is kind of nice the way it is."
The wistful tone of his voice made Heero look more intently at him. "So, you're really serious about staying here?"
"I think I am."
The Japanese man's mouth twitched in a faint smile. "Then I guess I'd better get back to the hardware store and order more lumber, eh?"
"You're really going to help me turn this place into a rehab center for exotics?" Trowa asked, with a hint of excitement in his voice.
"I'll help you turn it into anything you want," Heero replied with a smile, closing the book and setting it back on the end table. "After supper."
Trowa rolled his eyes. "You are such a nag sometimes, Heero. Wholesome breakfasts...three meals a day...I'm gonna end up fat."
"Not on what I feed you," Heero objected. "It's a well-balanced diet."
"I'm sitting around all the time. It's not like I'm burning off the calories," Trowa protested.
"Your body is healing from surgery, Barton. It needs building blocks. And once you start exercising, it'll need even more."
"Yes, mother," sighed the slim man, looking ruefully down at the brace on his leg. He'd been told to wear it for the first few weeks, when he was moving around on crutches, in case he lost his balance and put too much weight on the injured knee too quickly. But it was too warm, and made his leg itch and chafe unpleasantly. "I'll be glad when they tell me I can throw this thing out."
"Soon, Trowa, soon," Heero promised, patting his friend on the shoulder, and going back to continue the supper preparations.
Trowa picked up the leather journal, and opened to the page he'd left off, eager to read more of his ancestor's observations about the land and the town.
Heero had to say his name twice to get his attention before setting a plate of food in front of him.
"That must be the most interesting thing in the world, Barton," he noted, sitting down and digging in to his own meal.
"Did you know Ephraim's wife died when their son was only eight years old?"
Heero rolled his eyes. "Obviously not, since you're the one reading the journals. There's probably not another living soul who's ever laid eyes on them."
"Not true." Trowa jerked his head in the direction of the living room. "A couple of newer volumes looked to be written by his grandson. And another must've been the first Dekim Barton--my grandfather--because I saw mention of a still and Prohibition."
"Your ancestors were bootleggers?"
"Looks that way."
"No wonder you ignore 'no trespassing' signs. It's hereditary," Heero teased. But his blue eyes warmed a bit. "Maybe I'll have to read some of those diaries, too. They sound intriguing."
"Duo thought so."
"Duo? The mailman, Duo? You're on a first-name basis already?"
"Most people don't use last names in conversation," Trowa pointed out. "I introduced myself as Trowa, and he told me he's Duo."
"I see. So we're back to this subject again?"
"No," Trowa assured him. "I was just saying, old journals bring out the curiosity in everyone. And these have some really interesting tidbits--about the history of the town and the hills around it."
"Never took you for a bookworm, Barton." >"Hey--knee surgery will do that to a guy! When you're used to being active and you can't be--you've gotta find some kind of outlet. And bein' that I'm single, there's not much to do in bed but read."
"Maybe you should look up the pretty blonde postmaster then," Heero shot back, turning the tables on his roommate. "As I recall, you're particularly partial to blondes..."
"Touch¨¦." Trowa kept his face impassive, not wanting to let Heero know that last remark had stung a bit.
But it seemed that Heero knew anyway. "Sorry. Cheap shot." He stood and started clearing away his plate. "I'm going to the gas station. Can you think of anything we need?"
"Milk. I used the last of it with lunch. And the bread is going pretty fast. Maybe another loaf would be good."
"Got it."
Heero headed out before Trowa had even finished eating, partly to get out and back before dark, and partly because he felt badly for bringing up an unpleasant incident. It wasn't Trowa's fault he'd been humiliated--although, if he'd listened to Heero's warnings, maybe it never would've happened.
"Shit. I should just shut up sometimes," Heero muttered, as he pulled out of the driveway and headed down the winding road.
He took note along the way, of places that could use bright new "no trespassing" signs, and began a mental tally of how many he'd need.
When he got to the convenience store, he remembered to pump the gas first, before going in to shop.
"Hey there, Mister Yuy!"
He nodded to the perky clerk, and headed for the back of the store where the milk was kept.
Along the way, he passed a news rack, and his glance was caught by a headline about Sanc, so he paused to give it a closer look.
He vaguely registered the sound of the little door chime again, and then heard Hilde calling out her cheery greeting to Duo.
God--why was it he seemed destined to keep encountering the sassy mailman?
"Hey sweetness," came Duo's reply to the girl, the teasing comment overwritten by a tension in his voice. "Ring me up quick. Company's comin'."
"Shit! You've got crap for timing, Duo."
"Tell me about it."
"Duo--if you an' those two bust this place up again--!"
"Yeah, I know. Just hurry up with the register, will ya?"
And then the door chimed again, and Heero glanced up at the round mirror in the corner and saw two men walking in and immediately approaching Duo.
"Well, if it isn't Miss Maxwell?" came the voice of one, sounding deliberately taunting.
"Ain't she pretty today--all that nice, long hair?" said the other.
Heero saw the mailman grimly pull his hat lower and turn towards the counter, tossing his money onto it, while Hilde glared past him at the new arrivals.
"Well hey, Hilde," the first man spoke up, heading over beside Duo while the other took a position blocking the exit. "Is this long-haired freak bothering you?"
The girl's eyes narrowed. "You know damned well he's not, Trant. Why don't you and Otto get your sorry asses out of here before I call the cops?"
"You turnin' away paying customers now?" the man at the door spoke up, glaring and crossing his arms over his chest. "Wait'll my dad hears that, and mentions it to the Chamber of Commerce. I'll bet they rethink that plan to bring in a big-chain gas station and put this place out of business."
"If you're paying," Hilde snapped back, "then stop blocking the door and get busy shopping. Otherwise, get out!"
The one called Otto shifted his bulky frame away from the entrance, but at the same time, Trant intercepted Duo, leaning in with an ugly leer on his face.
"C'mon, pretty boy, how 'bout givin' me an' Otto a few minutes of your time, hm? If you're good enough, maybe we'd even pay you--"
Duo's fist connected before the other man finished the sentence, but before he could press his advantage, Otto had slipped around behind him and pinned his arms to his sides.
Trant shook off the blow and closed in, grinning maliciously. "Not very nice, Maxwell. I gave you a compliment there, and you hadda go disturbing the peace--"
Heero had heard more than enough. He made his way back up the aisle, pretending to be oblivious to what was going on. "Excuse me, miss. I can't seem to find the two percent milk."
Four heads turned his way, and he resisted the impulse to smirk at their dumfounded expressions. Clearly even the girl behind the counter had forgotten he was there.
"Buzz off, mister," Trant said with a sneer. "The place is temporarily closed. Go buy your milk somewhere else."
"The sign said 'open'," Heero pointed out coolly.
Otto looked up from where he was still holding a struggling Duo in his meaty arms. "Maybe you can't read English, you slanty-eyed geek. Get the fuck out!"
Heero's deep blue eyes widened, and then went cold as ice. "I'll be happy to leave--after I finish purchasing my gas and milk. Do you mind getting the fuck out of my way?"
Duo's face was flushed with either anger or embarrassment, and his lips worked as if he were thinking of calling out a warning. But Heero didn't need the trapped mailman to tell him the two thugs were trouble.
Trant took a step towards Heero, who rocked eagerly forward onto his toes, ready for the confrontation. But at the same moment, Duo elbowed Otto in the gut and ripped himself free, losing a fair portion of his tee shirt in the beefy hand that had been gripping it.
"Hilde--call the cops!" he said sharply, sidestepping Otto's lunge, and ending up almost shoulder to shoulder with Heero. Or actually, he seemed to be trying to get between the Japanese man and the two bullies.
Heero fought down a smirk at the position the slim young man took--as if he needed protection!
Hilde held up a cell phone. "Already done, Duo!"
Trant scowled, exchanging a quick look with his partner, and then they both dashed out the door, jumping into a beat up pickup outside and roaring off in a shower of dust and gravel.
Duo breathed a gusty sigh of relief, running a hand back through his bangs.
"Are you okay?" Heero asked quietly.
Duo looked at him in disbelief, and then nodded numbly. "Yeah. Thanks."
Heero shrugged, and the hint of a smirk touched his lips. "I was in the neighborhood," he quipped, using Duo's line from the night before.
A faint blush crept up Duo's cheeks, even as he gave a grateful smile, and then he turned an apologetic look Hilde's way. "Sorry about the fuss," he sighed. "Did you really call the cops, or was that just a bluff?"
She smirked back. "A bluff. You know if the cops came, they'd throw you in jail right along with those two idiots until they sorted things out." Her gaze turned a bit stern. "You can't afford any more trouble, Duo."
"Don't I know it?"
Hilde gestured to a rack of tee shirts with slogans on them. "Take one of those stupid shirts, why don't you? It's on the house, since yours got ruined, and you didn't let those jerks trash the place."
Duo self-consciously plucked at his torn shirt. "Yeah, thanks Hil." He grabbed one of the less obnoxious shirts, and changed with his back to Heero, before turning around and tossing the remains of his old one in the trash.
Heero looked curiously between the two. "Care to explain why those two were so intent on causing trouble?"
Duo ducked his head and shrugged, just as Hilde blurted out, "Otto and Trant are just a couple of bullies--freakin' homophobes--"
Duo's head shot up, and he turned a warning look to his friend a bit too late. "Jesus," he muttered under his breath, not looking back at Heero. Might as well just get it printed on a tee shirt, once Hilde knew someone's deep, dark secret--not that the whole town didn't already know--but the blue-eyed Japanese man hadn't.
Duo sighed. "Gotta go, Hilde," he said in a tone that was just tight enough to clue her in to what she'd done. But he was out the door before she could apologize.
She looked at Heero's unreadable expression and forced a smile. "Thanks for helpin' him out; last time he tangled with those two, they messed him up pretty good."
The Japanese man frowned. "Why didn't the local police put them away for assault?"
Hilde gave a sigh. "Duo wouldn't press charges."
"Why not?"
"Dumb pride?" she hazarded with a faint smile. "He's lived in this town all his life, and put up with those two the whole time. He usually gives as good as he gets, unless they catch him unawares."
"Still--why not put an end to their harassment?"
"Because pressing charges wouldn't do that. Otto's dad owns the lumber mill and has the Chamber of Commerce in his pocket along with half the town government, and Trant's was a cop all his life. Even though he died a couple of years back, his friends are still on the force. Trant and Otto have pretty much gotten away with murder their whole lives."
"That doesn't make it right," Heero asserted, the cold gleam in his blue eyes making the girl take a step back.
"Right or wrong--it's the way things work here," she said quietly.
Heero shook his head. "Maybe things need to change."
"I wish--!" she said with a rueful laugh. "Hey--the two percent milk--"
"I know where it is," Heero said crisply, turning and heading back to the cooler to complete his shopping.
He didn't see the speculative look the girl threw after him, or the trace of a smile that touched her lips.
TBC...
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