Author's Note: Finally, the long-awaited meeting between Quatre and Trowa! Hope it lives up to expectations. And some day, the blonde in Trowa's past will be explained, I promise.
"The rumors surrounding his death are many, though none come close to the truth, thank the Lord. Everyone believes it to be an accident; and indeed, it was--just not the kind they imagine. But there is no way to undo the past, and no reason to destroy the future in trying to do so. Still--for my part in concealing the facts, I will surely burn in Hell..."
--excerpt from the private journal of Ephraim Barton
Smoky Hills Part 18
Bone of Contention
Naturally, Heero had no luck locating the place Thor had unearthed his find. It clearly wasn't within the immediate surroundings. The Japanese man had gone step by step in a meticulous pattern throughout the barnyard and the forest nearest the house, with Thor on a leash--hoping the dog would head back to the place he'd found such interesting stuff.
And finally, when that proved fruitless, he left Trowa with a list of sit-down activities to keep him occupied, promised to be back before lunch, and headed downtown.
Heero found a bored-looking cop seated at the desk in the tiny, local police department, idly pushing papers around. "Good morning," he said politely.
The officer looked up and gave a smile. "What can I do for you?"
"I need to report a crime, and turn over some evidence," Heero said evenly.
"Okay." The officer dug around on his desk and came up with a form, placing it in front of Heero and setting a pen beside it. "If you could fill out this form--"
"Certainly." Heero set down the paper bag containing the bone Thor had brought home, and began filling in the blanks in the form.
"What sort of crime?" asked the policeman, half of his attention on Heero and half on a television screen across the room, where a replay of a baseball game was being broadcast.
"Murder."
The cop nearly went over backwards in his wobbly office chair, turning a shocked expression on the Japanese man. "Murder? When? Where? What're you doing filling out a stupid form when someone's been killed?" He stood up, reaching for the jacket over the back of his seat. "Take me to the scene!"
Heero looked up calmly. "I would if I could."
The officer paused, frowning at him. "What do you mean? You said there's been a murder. You must know where."
"No, actually, I don't." Heero picked up the bag and set it on the desk. "You see, my dog brought home a human bone. While that indicates a victim, it doesn't help with the location of the body."
Officer Kurt, as his badge said, gaped at Heero and then reached to pull the bone out of the paper bag. He studied it for a moment, and then dropped it back in, shaking his head. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but I think you got excited over nothing. It's probably a cow bone. There used to be a lotta farms around here, and when a cow died, they usually just put the carcass out back for the coyotes, or bulldozed it into a convenient gully." He gave a patient smile. "Dogs dig them things up all the time."
Heero's eyes narrowed. "I considered that before I reached the conclusion I did," he said firmly. "But this is definitely a human bone. My guess is it's a femur or tibia, though with the amount of decay and chewing, it will take a forensic professional to positively identify it."
The cop snorted derisively. "What're you--a doctor or something?"
"No. But I know the difference between human and animal bones. That is too long and slender to be part of a cow; their bones are thicker and flatter. I considered it might be a deer. But again, the dimensions and shape are off. I'm quite certain it's human."
The officer picked up the bag and gave the bone a longer look, before shaking his head. "Look, Mister--?"
"Yuy. Heero Yuy. I live at the Barton place with Trowa Barton." Heero crossed his arms, glaring at the cop. "One of our dogs brought that bone home, and my guess would be that he found some remains that have finally surfaced after an indeterminate amount of time in either a shallow grave or some sort of makeshift burial site."
"An' how d'you know he didn't just get into one of the old cemeteries around here?"
Heero resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "That bone isn't two hundred years old. There's too much left of it." He resumed filling out the form the officer had given him. "Look, just do us both a favor and send the bone out to a lab for identification."
"They aren't going to be able to tell who it belonged to--"
"I meant that they could confirm that it's human. As far as matching it to a body, you'd have to locate the rest of the remains and see if there are dental records or DNA to confirm the identity."
"Watched one too many crime shows, didn't you?" scoffed the cop. "We haven't got a big-budget crime lab in a town this size, y'know. All I can do is send it to the State lab and hope they don't laugh their asses off when it turns out to be a horse or cow."
Heero frowned, turning to face the man again. "I suggest you send it to Doctor Chang at the Forensic Institute of Sanc. He won't laugh at you, no matter what his findings are, if you tell him Heero Yuy recommended him."
Once again, the officer gave a dubious shake of his head. "Have it your way. I'll send it to the Institute, but I can't promise anything. They don't generally deal with small-town departments like ours."
"That's why I suggest you use my name. I happen to know Chang, personally." Heero nearly grimaced as he said that, hoping the cop didn't read into the statement as much as really existed of their relationship.
"Okay. I'll play along," Officer Kurt agreed, still looking skeptical. "At least you gave me something to talk about at the coffee shop this afternoon."
And talk, he did. By that evening, everyone in Sally's Diner had heard about the nutcase resident out on Barton's farm, whose dog had dug up a cow bone he tried to pass off as human.
Duo had wandered in with Quatre, near the end of the conversation, and they exchanged a look when they heard the name Yuy being soundly ridiculed by their local off-duty officers, Ralph Kurt and Alex Brown, and anyone who'd listen and join in.
Duo shook his head. "Poor guy. I'd feel sorry for him, if he wasn't such an ass."
"Surely his good-looking ass outweighs the fact that he acted like one at first," Quatre countered. "Besides, he did you that favor at Howie's."
The braided man shrugged, sipping his soda. "Let's just say, he was in the right place at the right time. Yeah, I guess he helped me out."
"I knew rescuing his dog was a good move," Quatre pointed out. "If you hadn't picked him up and taken him home, Mister Yuy might not have been so inclined to step in."
"I think he would've anyway," Duo disagreed. "He seemed like he didn't care for the bullying type." He smiled as Sally brought over his usual meal of chicken wings and French fries, and set a chef's salad in front of Quatre.
"Well that's good then," Quatre replied, ruining his wholesome meal by drizzling chunky blue cheese dressing all over it, and then stealing some of Duo's fries to add to the side. "At least we've got residents with a sense of fairness moving in."
"Won't matter," Duo shrugged, snagging a leaf of spinach to nibble on. "This town never changes. You can bring in all the nice guys and good Samaritans in the world, and it'll still be a backwater hick town run by old fogies who should've retired years ago. Dinosaurs."
"Hm. Maybe that's what Yuy's dog uncovered," Quatre joked. "A dinosaur bone."
Duo nearly snorted soda through his nose, coughing and trying to regain his composure. "Right!" he chuckled. "Barton's place will become the archaeologic find of the century."
"Archaeological," Quatre corrected him automatically.
"You call it what you want, and I'll call it what I want," Duo retorted with a glare. He'd never liked it when his educated roommate showed off--even unintentionally.
Sally had come back to refill their glasses, and laughed along with the two of them. "Well, it's as sound a theory as thinking there's a human body buried somewhere out there."
"Actually, no," Duo countered. "Considering Old Man Barton and how much he hated 'them damn revenuers,' he might've buried a few bodies out there." He gave a dramatic shiver. "That man was seriously creepy."
"C'mon--you're not old enough to remember that Mister Barton," she reminded him.
"No, but I heard stories. Howard's the same age as the first Dekim, and remembered his dad, Samuel. Said Dekim was just as paranoid and crazy, and Howard knew him personally. Called him a complete freak. No wonder Dekim Junior ran off; I would've too."
"You just want to get out of this town. You always have," Sally pointed out.
Duo sobered. "Yeah, without much luck," he sighed.
Quatre frowned across at him. "Is it really still that bad? I mean, you've got friends, and a good job." He ducked his head and looked up through his blonde bangs. "And a really nice roommate."
Duo smiled, his expression softening. "I've got the best roommate," he admitted. "And I guess I don't hate living here as much as I used to. But it still feels kind of like a dead end, yanno?"
"You're young," Sally said sagely. "You've got plenty of time to go chasing your dreams."
He rolled his eyes at her. "Thanks for the voice of experience, you Wise Old Woman."
"I believe the term is Wise Old Hag," Quatre said innocently.
Sally glared at him and put her hands on her hips. "See if I waste any words of wisdom on you two any more!"
Duo snickered nastily. "Now you sound like a fortune cookie, Sal."
"And you sound like an ass--as usual!" She whacked him lightly on the back of the head with her tray as she moved off to wait on other customers.
Quatre smirked at his friend. "She had a point. It's not like you've got one foot in the grave or anything. And aren't you still taking those on-line college courses?"
Duo nodded. "When I can squeeze 'em in. Still holding out hope, I guess--that maybe some day I can save up enough to go after a degree."
"That's a good plan," Quatre assured him.
They finished their meals with the usual idle chit-chat, listening to Ralph and Alex regale anyone who'd listen with the story of the bone found on Barton's place. It got old after about the third re-telling, and the two men were delighted to pay their tab and get out of the restaurant.
~*~
However, they continued to hear the prattle around town for the next several days, as word spread quickly, and the rumor of yet another crazy Barton family fired up imaginations.
"Okay--now I really am starting to feel sorry for him," Duo commented as he was stacking his mail trays one morning in preparation to head out on the route. "Mister Hendersen said the guy in the butcher shop actually walked up to Yuy, held out a bone and asked if he'd 'be so kind as to identify it.' Made a wisecrack about not wanting to inadvertently sell a human steak."
"Good lord! What a jackass," Quatre commiserated. "Can't people just keep their thoughts to themselves now and then? I may think Mister Yuy's mistaken; but I'd never laugh at him like that."
"Smoky Hills," Duo intoned snidely. "Home of gossip, bigotry, and lost causes." He shook his head. "I should know."
Quatre frowned, thinking of the times he'd teased Duo about the mountain lion sighting. "Duo?"
"Hm?"
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"All the times I've joked around about the mountain lion. You don't deserve that." He walked back so that he could look around the case at his employee. "I hadn't realized how--unkind it was."
Duo blinked at him in surprise. "Wasn't unkind," he shrugged. "You were just sayin' the same as everyone else--"
"That doesn't make it right." Quatre shook his head. "I just realized I'm no better than those people who are mocking Mister Yuy." He held out a hand. "Forgive me?"
"Jesus, Quat, of course!" Duo blurted, looking uncomfortable. "Yours was just good-natured teasing. I know you never meant to be mean--"
"Whether I meant it or not, I think I was." Quatre jiggled his hand, and Duo finally shook it.
"Forgiven," Duo said firmly. "Now would ya just drop it?"
"Yeah, I'll drop it," Quatre grinned. "But I promise, no more joking about that. If you say you saw something out there, I believe you did, and I'll back you up on it. Promise."
"You don't have to--"
"I think I do." Quatre sobered. "I think because I was an outsider that I sort of took your comments about people here with a grain of salt, figuring that growing up here had skewed your perspective a bit."
"Done what?" Duo asked with a frown.
"It made you biased--unable to be objective about people here, because you knew them too well. But--you're right. This is a harsh town, and some of the people are just mean. Not all of them. I don't think Mrs. Heinz would ever scoff at someone for believing something most folks don't. But--a lot of people would."
"Welcome to my world," Duo quipped back at him, shaking his head and picking up a tray. "I'm outta here, Quat. Wanna get the mail all out early so I can go home and finish weeding that little patch of dirt you call a garden."
"It is!"
"Watch me scoff," Duo grinned back.
"Hey!"
"I'm from Smoky Hills--whaddaya want--tolerance?"
Quatre scowled at him, though a smile twitched the corners of his mouth. "Just keep your mountain lion out of the rhubarb, okay?"
Duo chuckled back, relieved that Quatre would at least still joke about it. "He's not litter box trained, y'know. He might just use the whole thing for his personal potty."
"Oh, that's just gross!"
"Yup. I'm the king of gross," Duo replied cockily.
"Go be the king of rural delivery, why don't you?"
Quatre went back up to the window to wait on customers, while Duo loaded up the Jeep and got on the road.
It was perhaps an hour later and Quatre was seated at his desk doing paperwork, when he heard the little door chime jingle, and looked up to find himself staring into two of the greenest eyes he'd ever seen.
Whoa! Duo hadn't been kidding...
"Hi!" he said a bit breathlessly. "You must be Mister Barton."
The green eyes widened, and a faintly confused look crossed the handsome face. "How--?"
"Oh. Duo--" Quatre trailed off, realizing he couldn't very well tell him that the mailman had raved about the good-looking newcomer to town. He gave a weak smile. "It's a small town," he offered by way of explanation.
Trowa smiled back, and Quatre briefly wondered if he dared try to stand up from his desk. If his knees gave out and he landed flat on the floor, he thought he might die of embarrassment.
"So it is," Trowa conceded.
Quatre decided he'd have to take his chances with his suddenly-weak knees, and stood up and brushed his hands nervously down his thighs to smooth his slacks. "Can I help you with something?" he managed in his most professional voice, while walking carefully up to the counter.
"Actually, yes." Trowa laid several letters on the counter, fanned out to show they were all from the same sender--R. Darlian. "I'd like to refuse these."
The blonde frowned slightly, looking at the name "Heero Yuy" in flowing script on the envelopes. "I'm afraid only Mister Yuy can refuse mail addressed to him--"
Trowa ducked his head slightly, looking sheepish. "He's out in the car," he admitted. "I was the one who kept putting them aside, so he sort of tasked me with bringing them in here."
"Even with your injured knee?" Quatre asked in a horrified tone.
Trowa glanced down at the crutches he'd become so accustomed to using, and gave a little shrug. "I keep telling him I'm allowed to exercise the leg now--so I guess this is his way of calling my bluff." He smiled, and Quatre found the little wrinkles around his eyes just captivating. "Really, it does feel good to stretch the leg, especially when I've been sitting in the car awhile. And it's better than being left at home."
"I'm sure it is."
"Should I have Heero come in and--?"
"Oh, no! That won't be necessary." Quatre smiled warmly. "I don't need to call your bluff."
They both chuckled at the little joke, and Quatre picked up the letters, glancing to be sure they hadn't been opened, and then grabbed a rubber stamp with "refused" printed across it.
"I can just mark them and send them on their way," he assured the man, using the stamp on each one.
"Is it possible to just have them returned without getting them in the first place?"
"Ah--no. I'm afraid by postal regulation we have to deliver them to you. But if it would be easier, you can just write refused on them yourself and place them back in the mailbox with the flag up. Duo will bring them back here and we'll send them out with the evening mail."
"Maybe we'll do that next time," Trowa replied.
"I take it the sender doesn't know your street address--?" Quatre asked, noticing the letters only had Heero's name and the town, state, and zip code on them.
"No!" came a quick, sharp response. "And we'd like to keep it that way!"
Quatre smiled reassuringly. "The post office never gives out that kind of information, Mister Barton. I can assure you, only a postal inspector or a police officer accompanied by one can squeeze that out of us."
They shared another brief laugh.
"Call me Trowa?" came a rather wistful request.
"Okay, Trowa--as long as you call me Quatre."
Trowa held out a hand. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Quatre."
"Likewise."
The handshake lasted just a fraction longer than necessary, and they both blushed as they let go and Trowa stepped back. "I, uh-- Heero's waiting. I guess I should get going before he comes in here and tries to shove me back into the wheelchair."
"I hope your knee gets better soon," Quatre offered, nearly wincing at the lame attempt to prolong the conversation.
"Thanks." Trowa hobbled over to the door, turning to look back with another smile. "Um--tell Duo I said 'hi?'"
Quatre hated the little stab of jealousy that stung at his chest. "Oh, yes, of course," he replied politely.
Just as Trowa was heading out, another customer was coming in, and Quatre heard him make some comment about "Barton and Yuy's dinosaur bone" as he passed. And then Trowa was gone, and Mister Brewster was walking in.
Quatre gave him a perfectly icy smile, reminding himself that calling customers "gossip-mongering assholes" would be frowned upon.
Besides, he and Duo did their own share of gossiping--but at least they did it in private, just between themselves. They never openly mocked someone to their face the way Mister Brewster just had. He thought it was petty and mean-spirited--and not just because it was directed at the good-looking green-eyed man he could happily fantasize about the rest of the day. And night.
Okay--maybe he did hate it because it was directed at Trowa. But that didn't make it any less obnoxious.
"Can I help you, Mister Brewster?" he asked with forced civility, resisting the urge to run after Trowa and tell him not to pay any attention to nasty people like that man.
Oh, he had it bad--already! Duo would have a field day with this.
TBC...
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