Disclaim: I do not in any way own Phineas and Ferb and other associated characters.
Whoever said money doesn't matter was obviously a rich son of a bitch. That was the thought-of-the-day brought to you by Buford, the poor son of a bitch in need of money. Well, technically in need of a motorcycle, specifically a classic Road King from Harley-Davidson, but he needed the money to get the bike and to get money he needed a job. Which is what brought Buford to stand outside the Patel residence something he hadn't done since the incident with a flyer crumbled in his fist the other poised to knock.
Why was he doing this? There were plenty of better paying easier jobs listed on the community bulletin board yet he ripped this ad of the board before even reading it, recognizing the neat hand writing. It was a pointless question to ask he knew why he is taking this job, for Baljeet, to see his ex-nerd after five years, to see how different the Indian was from the scrawny ten year old he used to be. Buford had certainly changed over the years following the incident not really physically he was still rather chubby and menacing just now he was taller with acne, the real change had happened mentally he had matured and calmed not much but to those who knew him before the difference was notable.
Buford's fist pounded on the brown door two feet above an old bend in the wood left from when his ten year old self would beat at it with vigor. The memory of a young Baljeet opening the door and looking at him with a sort of annoyed fondness caused a rueful smile. He knew now there would be nothing but blind hatred in the Indian's eyes now, not that he could blame him.
The brass door knob jiggled and Buford held his breath like a man does when he sees his wife in her wedding dress and didn't release it until the door swung open in a very un-Baljeet manner. Standing in the boxed frame of the doorway was an Indian man dressed in loose grey sweatpants, a green flannel shirt left unbuttoned displaying a decently toned set of abs, and sock covered feet incased in sandals. His hair was brushed back but it had a definite kink to it, stubble was set across his jaw line, and two thickly arched eyebrows framed his brown eyes. Surely this couldn't be Baljeet, the nameless man in the doorway was too broad and short, hair to straight, nose to large, lips to thick, chin to squared, and his eyes – Buford stared hard at those eyes seeing the deep brown incasing the pupils and knew this wasn't his ex-nerd this man's irises are too bright! It was next to impossible to distinguish Baljeet's eye color from his pupils.
"You ain't Baljeet!" he expressed, tossing his hands up in some mix of anger and annoyance.
"Can't say I am." The man grinned scratching his chest absentmindedly, "I'm his brother, Kumar, just visiting from college for a while."
"I didn't ask for your life story – I asked for Baljeet!"
"Technically you didn't ask for him you just stated I wasn't him."
Buford didn't like this guy he was smart, like Baljeet, he saw it in Kumar's eyes that certain brightness that comes along with intelligence but this guy didn't use it the way Baljeet did he used it to be a smart ass and make other's feel like a dumb ass.
After using his mental countdown to cool off Buford managed a tone that wasn't too homicidal, "I need to see Baljeet…please."
"I'll get him," Kumar looked about ready to turn and walk up the stairs to where Buford knew Baljeet's room was but he stopped and inclined his head as far as it would go in the general direction of the stairs and bellowed, "BALJEET!"
"I coulda done that!"
"Well then why didn't you?"
"Coming,"
Buford bit back his sarcastic reply at the sound of Baljeet's muffled voice, to muffled to tell how it had changed. He didn't even hear Baljeet come down the stairs he was simply not there and then suddenly Kumar stepped aside hand gesturing to the Indian he came to see perched on the last step a small smile cast at his brother before those dark eyes looked to the door and saw him.
Buford saw hatred but it wasn't as blind as he anticipated it was a sad sort of hatred the kind where you don't really want to hate but you've been given no other option but to hate. Buford could admit to not giving Baljeet a lot of options.
"Leave," without the distance and walls Buford heard Baljeet's voice for the first time in five years.
It was so different yet still so similar he could hear where the voice came from, where it had its humble beginnings, recognize the soft flow but notice the loss of its squeaky, high-pitched quality. Baljeet's voice hadn't dropped like Buford's had it had become more soothing and slow more practiced and even.
Baljeet took the final step down and Buford scanned the further revealed body. Baljeet looked nothing like his older brother or even showed a hint of one day looking as such. He was no longer scrawny he was coltish with long limbs he looked like he would outgrow his brother and he was only a few scant inches shorter then Buford, his curls weren't so persistent and looked far more relaxed and manageable, his nose and ears that had once looked oversized on his face now appeared slender to fit in with the rest of his delicate features. Baljeet's eyes were still rounded and wide, still so black Buford couldn't tell where pupil ends and iris begins with that spark of intelligence adding light to the otherwise dark depths.
"I said leave."
"I'm answering your ad," Buford explained, holding up a crinkled mass of something resembling Baljeet's post.
"Uhhh," Baljeet drawled, eyes spinning in a roll, "no."
"What? Why?" he sputtered hands flailing, "I'm perfect for the job it's mindless and repetitive!"
"The position has been filled."
"No it hasn't!" Buford slipped, "I took all the flyers!"
Baljeet snorted, "I highly doubt that. I hung hundreds of them all over the tri-state area."
Buford had learned at a very young age that lying to Baljeet was impossible the kid was just too damn smart and Buford was well Buford.
"Yeah and I spent all of yesterday hunting all two hundred forty-seven down," the light in Baljeet's eyes shimmered but Buford stopped the undoubtedly smart retort cold, "and I know there were only that many because you numbered your pages."
Baljeet huffed at being out witted and rambled to cover his embarrassment, "Two hundred forty-seven was the optimal number to post and at a distance of ten kilometer it covered the tri-state area in an efficient manner."
Long fingers curled around the door knob ready to close away the image of Buford, "I will find and tear down every flyer you post no matter what and if that fails I will bully whoever you give the job to into quitting."
Baljeet's exasperated sigh was the beginning of a beautiful thing Buford was sure of it.
AN/ I'm not even sure how this came about. It started off as an Adam/Tommy prompt but then it got totally scrapped into a Kevin/Ben thing and I wrote out the first like four chapters following a similar plot but then my Word program accidently autocorrected (I rebooted my system and forgot to disengage it) Benjamin into Baljeet and I could not stop myself. I scrapped all those chapters and kept the basic plot because it is impossible for me to ever think of a plot for Buford/Baljeet and I was not about to pass up the opportunity.