"Aaron's funeral was held today. Everyone turned out for it, as the whole community felt the pain of his loss. Young Annabelle was there, clinging to Jacob for comfort as the preacher conducted the memorial service. It's difficult to say who was comforting whom, though. I know Jacob blames himself for what happened, as truly he should, to some degree. But I wonder if he's told me the whole truth. His grief seems disproportionate; nearly all-consuming. What could he be hiding that would cause such guilt?"
--excerpt from the private journal of Ephraim Barton
Smoky Hills Part 21
Receiving a Clue
The next morning, as usual, Quatre was off to work earlier than Duo, who started an hour later than his boss, allowing time for sorting the morning's mail so it would be ready for him to case.
Of course, Duo made his usual doughnut and coffee stop. But when he heard the chatter between Hilde and several other regulars, he decided to treat Quatre to breakfast as well--so they could sit and have a quick gossip session before delving into their work.
He bounded into the post office with more than his usual vigor that morning, a travel mug of coffee in one hand, and a bag of doughnuts in the other. "Hey, Quat! You'll never guess what I heard over at Howie's this morning!"
Quatre looked up from sorting letters. "If this is about Mister Johnson and the preacher's wife--"
"No! That's old news." Duo set his mug down and held out a Styrofoam cup to his boss. "Tall, four-pump soy latte," he said with a grin. "And a plain jelly doughnut for you, chocolate-covered for me."
"Oh, bribery. I like it," Quatre cooed, accepting his drink and snack. He took a big bite, licked jelly from his fingertips, and then eyed Duo questioningly. "So, what's the scoop?"
"Seems the bone the big ol' dog at the Barton place dug up was no cow bone," Duo said in a conspiratorial tone. "It was human!"
"Really?" Quatre's eyes grew round. "Are you serious?"
"As serious as a heart attack," quipped the braided man.
"Wow." Quatre paused, taking another bite of doughnut and a long sip of his latte. "So--Yuy was right." He shook his head in wonder. "Do they know where the dog found it?"
"Nope. According to the rumor mill, he just came wandering home with a human bone in his jaws." Duo smirked sipping his own drink. "Maybe he ate the rest."
"Ugh, Duo!"
"Heh--just kidding," Duo grinned. "They said it was pretty old. I think the cops figure the dog got into one of the really old cemeteries in town."
"I doubt that," mused the postmaster. "They buried bodies pretty deep, even back in colonial times. No one wanted scavengers getting at the remains."
"Personally, I'd bet old man Barton shot some trespasser or revenuer and buried the body out back of the wood shed."
"Oh come on. There'd have been an investigation if he did something like that. I mean, tax men didn't usually go to places like that alone, and even if they did, someone would've followed up if they didn't come back."
"What about a trespasser? Could've been one of the bums that used to come through here when the railroad was still in business," Duo pointed out, chomping off half of his doughnut in one bite.
"How many years ago would that have been?"
"Depends on whether you're talking about Dekim Junior's father, or the original 'Old Man Barton,'" Duo shrugged, talking around his mouthful. He paused for a swig of coffee and swallowed. "I didn't know the first; he was before my time, though his reputation hung around long after. He's the one who built the still up in the woods and ran moonshine during Prohibition. His son was the one we all lived in fear of around here. Creepy old guy who carried a shotgun full of rock salt, or so he said. Warned all us kids if he saw us on his property we'd be gettin' a butt full." He gave a wry chuckle. "Of course, he didn't know some of us were gay and that phrase could have a whole other meaning." His brow wrinkled a bit. "Or maybe he did, and he was just an old pervert."
"Duo!" Quatre laughed even as he finished his doughnut and reached for another handful of mail.
"Y'never know," Duo said wisely, gesturing with his travel mug. "Maybe that's why Dekim ran away from home. Maybe his old man did stuff to him."
"Eww--you can stop now!" Quatre urged. "I don't even want to think about things like that."
Duo shrugged. "Shit happens, Quat. Not everyone comes from a well-behaved family like yours."
"Well-behaved?" Quatre snorted at that. "I'm not sure my dad throwing me out when he learned I was gay is what you'd call well-behaved."
"Depends on who you ask, I suppose. Ask an anal shithead like him, and he'd probably think it was the height of civilization to cast out the unclean." Duo reached a reassuring hand to his friend's shoulder. "He's an idiot," he said soothingly. "You and I both know it."
Quatre nodded, his expression turning a bit bleak. But he shook off the somber mood quickly, and turned the subject back to the latest gossip. "So, if it was the wolfhound that found the bone, your pal Mister Yuy must be right in the thick of things."
"Hm. Maybe he killed someone with that death glare of his, and is just trying to throw the investigation off by pretending the dog found the bone somewhere."
"God, that's some imagination you've got there," laughed the blonde.
"Hey, as nasty as Yuy was to me, I wouldn't put murder past him--"
"But he's not that way any more," Quatre reminded him.
"I guess not..." Duo frowned, looking away and sighing. "I just wish he wasn't so..." Straight, his mind supplied. If only the best-looking guy to show up in Smoky Hills in years wasn't a grouchy straight one. It seemed like such a waste.
"So--?" prompted Quatre knowingly.
"So nasty."
"And straight."
"That, too."
Quatre smirked at him. "Then check this out." He tossed something on the counter.
Duo looked at the magazine in the plain brown wrapper, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. "Hot Studs?"
Quatre's smirk widened into a grin. "Guess who it's for."
Duo read the name and address, and his jaw dropped. "Yuy?"
The blonde's eyes had a devilish twinkle. "Looks like your least favorite customer swings our way."
Duo dropped the magazine as if it were on fire. "No way!"
"Well why else would he subscribe to the most popular gay guy magazine ever?"
"Maybe it was a mistake--in the subscription department," Duo hazarded.
"And maybe not." Quatre gave a shrug. "He's sharing a house with another guy, Duo. Doesn't that seem like an indicator?"
"Not necessarily. Lotsa guys share the rent without sharing a bed--like you an' me."
"Yes, but we're gay."
"Yeah, but we were already roommates before we found that stuff out about each other. I'd have roomed with you even if you were straight. Wouldn't have mattered to me."
"I suppose," came the vague reply.
"Otto and Trant have an apartment together. And you know damned well they aren't gay!"
"Yes, but Otto's dad owns the building, and the only vacancy he had was the two-bedroom place. It's not like they could've gotten separate apartments anyway."
"I guess." Duo looked down at the simple brown wrapper and the telltale return address. "But if you're right, then the hottest guy to set foot in this town since you is already taken."
"You think he's hot?"
Duo just looked up with a "duh" expression on his face. He didn't even have to say the word.
"You hate him," Quatre pointed out. "Or," he added coyly. "You used to."
"Yes, but I can still admit he's easy on the eyes."
Quatre sorted a few more pieces of mail and then looked around the case again to find Duo still staring at the magazine with a sort of sad, pensive expression on his face. "You think I'm hot?" he asked pertly.
Duo looked up in surprise. "Well--yeah," he admitted. "I mean, not that I'd ever try to start anything--you bein' my boss and all." He blushed a little, focusing on the magazine again. "Besides, Quat--you're more like a brother, and you're my best friend. Doesn't make you any less gorgeous. I'd just feel weird hitting on you. And I wouldn't want to risk losing my best buddy if things didn't work out, yanno?"
"Yeah, I do," Quatre said warmly. "Same goes for me."
Duo shook his head, curling up the magazine and stuffing it into the sorting case. "Damned good-looking ones are always out of reach," he sighed. "I gotta get the hell out of this town some day."
"Me too," agreed his friend. "Me too."
~*~
After breakfast, Trowa went to take a shower and do his morning exercises, while Heero got to work sanding and painting the porch. He'd decided to do it in sections, since it wrapped around three sides of the house, and that way he could block parts of it to allow drying time.
He couldn't help noticing, even as he chipped away at some flaking paint on a thick, solid post, that the menial labor was oddly relaxing.
Compared to his previous job as a homicide detective, stripping paint from a two-hundred year old house was incredibly simple. He didn't have to think while he did it--just use the scraper to loosen old paint, and then sand it smooth enough to take a new coat.
Considering he was out on stress leave, he needed all the calming activity he could find.
A soft breeze blew through the trees, carrying the scent of pine and earth, and he took a deep breath as he swept some of the debris into a dustpan.
Then he paused, hearing the soft scuff of a bare foot on the boards behind him. "I like it here," he said quietly.
"Me, too," Trowa answered, using his cane as he walked around to take a seat on the railing. "I never had one before--but this place feels like home."
Heero placed a hand flat against the smooth wood of a post. "I--don't want to go back to Sanc."
"Then don't."
He looked up with a frown. "My disability income won't last forever, Trowa. And I'm nowhere near an early retirement yet."
"Fuck retirement," Trowa shrugged. "Get a different job--one around here. That's what I plan to do, when my knee is back to a hundred percent. I'll find something part-time, or a work-from-home kind of job, and just stay here and take care of animals and enjoy all the peace and quiet. You should, too."
"Yeah, I'm sure they have lots of openings for washed-up homicide cops around here," came a caustic reply.
"Jesus, Heero--you're not 'washed-up.' You just need time---"
"It's been months. And I'm not getting any better," Heero said flatly. "I still think about what happened--still see it every night when I close my eyes."
"Your psychologist said it could take years---"
Heero shook his head. "I don't have that long. Une wants me to check in with the department psychiatrist in a few weeks--to get a progress report."
"And what will that accomplish?"
"If he says I'm ready to go back to work, I'll have to go back." Heero sighed deeply. "If he says I'm not, they'll extend my stress leave one more time--and after that, they'll probably let me go for good."
"Probably doesn't mean definitely. And stressing out over it certainly won't change the outcome. So, worry about it when the time comes, why don't you?" Trowa suggested, patting his friend on the shoulder. "Meanwhile, enjoy the sound of the breeze and the singing birds, and the company of your closest and best friend--okay?"
Heero gave him a rather weak, lopsided grin. "Give a guy an ancestral home, and he just turns into a freakin' philosopher."
Trowa chuckled in return. "Naw--it's Ephraim's journals. Those things are just--well--amazing. He talks about the land like it's a living thing--describes the terrain and the sights and smells. He just makes it come alive. And being here while reading his thoughts and dreams-- Well, like I said, I feel at home."
"Me, too," Heero admitted, handing Trowa a paint brush and gesturing to the railing. "Why don't you pull up a chair and work on the spindles? You can do that with your knee stretched out to relax, right?"
"Yes, slave master," Trowa smirked back, grabbing the brush and feeling a surge of elation that he could help with the rejuvenation of the old homestead. As his mobility increased, so did his ability to help with more of the heavy work, and he was looking forward to a time he could do what he considered his fair share.
For the time being, though, he had to settle for a simple job, but one that definitely needed doing.
They spent the better part of the morning and early afternoon working on the porch, breaking briefly for lunch, and then resuming the tedious, yet relaxing task. And when they finally knocked off for the day in order to clean up and make supper, Heero decided to stretch his legs first by taking the dogs for a walk down to the mailbox.
He told himself he wasn't hoping for a glimpse of the attractive mailman. Really. But he did kind of hope to see him--if only to make sure he was okay, and hadn't had any further run-ins with the bullies they'd encountered at the convenience store.
"Lame, Yuy. Very lame," he muttered as he walked the two wolfhounds down the long, winding driveway.
He heard the Jeep rumbling up the road even as he turned the last bend and neared the mailbox, and resisted the urge to smile at his perfect timing.
He tightened his grip on the two leashes, as the dogs cocked their ears at the sound of the engine. "Easy, boys. No running out in the road."
Thor and Balder looked at him--unimpressed--and resumed sniffing the ground.
When Duo saw the man waiting near the mailbox, he pulled past it, grateful for the chance to talk to the gorgeous guy and mention the wildlife in the area.
"Hello Miste--er--Heero."
Heero smiled, glad that Duo had remembered to drop the "Mister." "Hi."
Duo fished under the seat quickly, grabbed the ever-present box of treats, and held out two dog biscuits. "Can I give Thor and his buddy a snack?"
"That's fine," Heero told him, walking the dogs close enough that they could sniff the offered treats and then take and devour them. "The other one is Balder."
Duo grinned, recalling that Trowa had mentioned the dog's name the day he'd moved the trunk for him. "Thor's brother--like in Norse mythology, right?"
"Yes." Heero eyed him curiously. "You studied Norse mythology?"
"Back in high school," Duo admitted with a shrug. "They offered an elective course in all kinds of mythology, and it was a hell of a lot more interesting than English Lit or Quantum Physics or somethin' like that."
"I'll bet it was."
Duo reached into the tray next to him and took the bundle of mail for the Barton home, holding that out as well. "Seems silly puttin' this in the mailbox with you standing right here."
Heero took the mail with a polite nod of thanks.
As he did so, Duo's gaze fell on the bandage around his forearm. "Ooh--what happened to your arm?"
"I cut it," Heero said flatly, hoping to discourage further questions on the subject.
Duo frowned slightly. "Geeze--first your dog's paw got hurt, and now your arm? You and Thor seem a little bit accident prone." He brightened as he realized he had the perfect lead-in for a topic he and Quatre had discussed.
"Hey--um--that reminds me," he continued, looking down at the dogs, instead of into the deep blue eyes. "Quatre and I were talking the other day. I dunno if anyone's warned you or Trowa--" He glanced up from under his bangs. "But there's a lot of wildlife around these parts--bear, moose, bobcats, coyotes and fishers--even an occasional story about a mountain lion sighting." He managed not to grimace, as he brought up the subject he'd so often been mocked about. "You said you go running with the dogs."
"Yes, every morning, and sometimes for a walk in the evening, if there's time."
"Yeah. Those are the times most animals are out and about. I just thought you should know, so you can be careful out there, y'know?" Duo gave a hesitant smile. "Thor may be big and scary looking, but he'd never be able to hold his own against a bear or mountain lion."
"I'm sure he wouldn't," Heero agreed, dropping a fond hand onto the shaggy head. "He's all bluff, really."
"Well--that and teeth," Duo pointed out, as Thor opened his mouth in a wide yawn.
"Thank you for the warning," Heero said, his expression very serious. "I'll be careful out there. Perhaps I'll start carrying a stick, or a heavy flashlight--something with enough length and weight for self-defense."
Duo nodded, his gaze sliding across the brown-wrapped magazine in the bundle of mail Heero was shifting to his other hand, so he could manage the two dog leashes more easily. He felt a blush creep up his cheeks, and studiously avoided looking squarely at the other man, as the words "length and weight" echoed suggestively in his head.
Shit! He had to get out of there before he totally embarrassed himself.
"Um--have a nice day," he said brightly, wincing at the hackneyed expression.
"You too," Heero replied, with a vaguely amused look on his face.
"Uh, yeah. Bye!"
Duo pulled away before anything dumber than "have a nice day" slipped past his lips.
"Fuck!" he hissed to himself, glancing back in the rear view mirror to see Heero staring after him. "Jesus, Maxwell--could you be any more idiotic if you tried?" he asked himself. "'Have a nice day?' What the fuck were you thinking?"
He wasn't thinking, actually. More like--reacting--to a totally hot guy standing there holding a gay porn magazine in his hand.
"Ugh! If he didn't think I was a moron before, I'm sure he does now," Duo sighed, shaking his head. He resisted the urge to bang his head on the steering wheel. "Loser. Fucking loser, Maxwell!"
And to top it off, he'd forgotten all about the human bone, and the fact that he'd wanted to ask Heero for more information, or at least congratulate him on embarrassing the local cops. Instead, he'd gotten tongue-tied and stupid in front of a handsome guy he really wanted to impress. A total loss.
"I hate my life."
~*~
Heero watched until the Jeep rounded a corner, and then turned in the direction of the house, giving a short tug to get Thor and Balder to follow. "C'mon boys. That's enough staring after the cute mailman."
He broke stride for a second, a bit shocked that the word "cute" had tumbled out of his mouth. But there really was no other way to describe the faint blush on those smooth cheeks, and the shy way Duo had looked up from under his bangs. "Cute?" He shook his head, resuming his even pace. "Trowa must be rubbing off on me more than I realized." He began thumbing through the mail as he walked, relegating each piece to the junk or bill category, for later disposal.
He held out a letter from Catherine, knowing Trowa would want to read up on how things were going back at the circus. Even though he'd left that life, Trowa would always consider those people family.
And then he noticed the brown-wrapped magazine. "What the--?" He frowned in confusion, pulling off the paper. He didn't recall having started a subscription to...Hot Studs?
"Trowa!" he snapped, glaring at the cover photo of a muscle-bound guy in a very revealing swimsuit.
He swore under his breath for several moments, as his dogs followed along looking faintly bemused by the tirade. Although, how Thor and Balder seemed to realize the anger wasn't directed at them, Heero could never understand. The dogs had a sixth sense about being in trouble, though it didn't seem to stop them from seeking it out.
Trowa was at the table, sketching out some plans for exercise yards for the exotics he planned to keep, when his roommate stalked in.
"Very funny, Barton," Heero said dryly, tossing the magazine on the table as he passed.
"Hm?" He looked up with as innocent an expression as he could manage, under the circumstances.
"Don't 'hm' me, Trowa Barton!" Heero tapped a finger into the center of the magazine, denting the paper. "Thought you'd give the mailman a clue, did you?"
"Well you certainly weren't doing it," Trowa hmphed. "And be careful! You put a dent in Mister June's forehead." He smoothed a hand over the glossy picture.
"You want to stare at 'Mister June,' then take him to your room and stare all you like!" Heero growled. "And don't ever start a subscription to garbage like that in my name again!" His glare intensified. "Why didn't you use your own name?"
"Well that would hardly help Maxwell figure out you were gay, now would it?"
"What makes you think he did?" Heero demanded. "It was in a plain brown wrapper!"
"Yes, but the return address on the outside was 'Hot Studs Magazine.' Trust me--the mailman knows what that means." He gave an unrepentant grin. "It means you're accessible."
"I'm not accessible!" Heero snapped. "I'm not interested in starting something with the mailman!"
"Bullshit," came the smooth reply. "He intrigues you, I can tell."
"I've said it before--I'm not here to be intrigued, or to start anything. I'm supposed to be nursing you back to health and getting my own act together so I can go back to work some day!"
"Sex might help," Trowa shrugged, smirking as he started to thumb through the magazine. "It'd probably improve that temper of yours, y'know. Stress relief."
Heero rolled his eyes. "Unlike you, Barton, I don't use sex for recreational purposes."
Trowa shot him a narrow look. "Maybe you should. It'd sure as hell be better than spending endless hours at the shooting range--or out running. You can't run away from yourself, Heero. God knows, you've tried!"
Heero flinched at that, and Trowa's expression changed to a more sympathetic one.
"Look, Heero, all the therapy in the world hasn't really gotten you over the past. Neither has the working out or all the slaving away you've done getting this place into shape. I just think the answer's not inside you. There's something missing that you'll only find by looking beyond yourself and your own thoughts."
"Be that as it may," Heero said quietly. "It's not something I'm likely to just stumble across. Trying to fix me up with the mailman for the sake of a distraction is a waste of time, Tro'."
"He's not a distraction," Trowa asserted. "He's a nice guy. I met him, remember? And he was way the hell nicer and a lot funnier than your last stick-up-his-ass boyfriend." His green eyes narrowed astutely. "I heard your tone of voice when you talked about running into him at that convenience store, too. You're genuinely worried about him, aren't you?"
"I hadn't given it much thought," Heero said brusquely, his attention distracted as he idly brushed some crumbs off the counter and into the sink. "Between working on permits and Thor finding that bone, I frankly haven't thought about the mailman in days."
Trowa smirked triumphantly. "Days? Meaning you had been thinking about him."
Heero rolled his eyes. "Would you just drop it?" he demanded. "Romance is the last thing I've got time for right now." He stalked out of the room, heading for a shower before dinner.
"But it's what might do you the most good," Trowa sighed, looking down at the magazine on the table.
TBC...
Back to Snowdragonct's Fanfictions Page