A/N Special thanks to Cieraco for her faboo help with this chapter including the 3 hour cross-country phone marathon letting me read to her and hash out the details. Further thansk to TC-sama for being my faboo beta.
Disclaimer- Not mine, don't dues, got nothing. Turtle Schnoff
Small Packages
Chapter 9
Une frowned as she stared at the large house. It was larger than necessary for any two people, yet still small enough to be considered a family home and not an ostentatious mansion. Beside her Noin released a low whistle. "This is going to take a while."
Milliardo Peacecraft slipped his wife's hand into his own, squeezing lightly. "Don't be such a pessimist."
Noin snorted. "This from the man who tried to destroy the earth."
"I was merely attempting to restore balance in my own way, albeit a horrible way, but my own way none-the-less." He retorted affectionately.
Une cleared her throat and jingled out the keys she'd lifted from the evidence locker. "Let's get this over with."
She climbed the steps resolutely and inserted the key into the lock. The deadbolt gave way easily enough. The house's alarm system had never been reactivated after the premises had been searched. She stepped inside, looking around the eerily silent foyer. The thought that only a matter of days ago, the house had been a home flitted across her mind and sent chills down her spine. She truthfully had no idea what she was looking for. She should have come alone, the prospect of explaining to her two best agents that she was here for personal resolution did not sit well.
"So what are we looking for?" Milliardo spoke from where he was already rifling through the collection of mail that had been dropped through the slot in the door.
Une steeled her voice. "Anything that would connect Trowa Barton to the deceased."
"That's pretty obscure, Anne." Noin spoke thoughtfully as she wandered to a small table against the wall. The top held a vast collection of picture frames. The dark-haired woman was studying them intently. She reached out and lifted a small frame. "She had a neice… or maybe a daughter. There are a lot of pictures of the same little girl, from infancy until around the age of 5 or so."
Une swallowed hard. "I'll go upstairs and look for a safe. The home office was cleared out, but there were no personal documents, so there must be records around here somewhere." She paused on the first step of the marble staircase. "Look for journals, letters, anything of a personal nature. Medical records and documentation would be helpful as well."
She did not wiat for a response but mounted the stairs quickly. She'd briefly studied the blueprints obtained of the premises that Chang had procured in the event of having to take the woman by force. The study should be the third door… ah, there is was. The team who had secured the crime scene had taken only what could have been considered evidence, leaving behind personal effects for the family to sort through.
She tore the tape free of the door and stepped inside, taken aback by the disarray in which the room had been left. The presence of the dead woman seemed to linger in the air. Une scoffed mentally at the notion, chiding herself on her childishness. Her eyes landed on the antique mahogany desk, the chair pushed back and angled just so. As though someone had risen quickly. A mug of tea, containing a now moldy tea bag, sat half-empty on the left hand corner of the desk nearest the chair. She approached it and gingerly grasped the cup, moving it onto a stack of paper, noting with some strange sense of sadness that a ring had permanently marred the desk's surface.
A letter had been started, the pen tossed aside carelessly. She reached out and picked up the paper, her eyes scanning it critically. The letter was no more than three lines long and addressed to a Maria Velasquez. From the first few lines, it appeared to be a letter of dismissal from service to the family of some kind. Une replaced the letter carefully and shifted some of the other papers on the desk. Research from the internet on an experimental treatment for early stage pancreatic cancer. The date was almost 2 months prior. Une frowned. Had the dead woman hung on to the papers for some ray of hope? She stacked them together neatly to take with her, turning her attention to the drawers that stood open. They were all empty save for a few stray pencils and a calculator.
With a huff of annoyance at the fruitlessness of her search, she turned to study the walls carefully. There was nothing to indicate a hidden safe of any kind. She tapped her foot impatiently, then remembered her grandmother saying something when she was just a little girl. "Never hide the jewels under the mattress, that's the first place they'll look." At the time, Une hadn't thought anything of it. Now, she flew from the room, calling for Noin.
Her friend sprinted up the stairs. Une waved her down the hall. "Tell Milliardo to go to the kitchen and get a knife. A big one."
"Anne? What are you talking about? A knife?" Noin's eyes widened.
"Just do it, I'll explain later."
Lucrezia frowned in obvious confusion, but complied, returning a few seconds later. "He's doing it, now tell me what's going on!"
"The bed." Une threw open doors as she headed down the hallway. The master bedroom was at the farthest end from the study. The bed was unmade and another abandoned cup, this one of black coffee, sat on the bedside table. Clothing was strewn carelessly about the furnishings, painfully obvious signs of a life prematurely interrupted. Une swallowed hard and set her features into an expression of grim determination. "Help me strip the bed."
"What?" Noin's eyes narrowed fractionally. "No!"
"Lucy! I'm not asking. I know what I'm doing." Anne jerked back the duvet to fully reveal the pink silk sheets underneath. Reluctantly, Noin's hands snaked out, carefully pulling the sheet off the bed. Together they pulled back the feather bed to reveal the pillow top mattress.
"What on earth are you two doing?" Milliardo's disapproving voice came from the doorway where he stood, serrated bread knife in hand. "Haven't we violated her privacy enough?"
Une extended her hand and gestured for the knife. For a moment, her eyes glittered harshly, calling to mind the hardness she'd held as a Colonel in Oz. Her voice held no remorse. "She's dead. I sincerely doubt she cares about her privacy now." She stared at her friends, her voice softening significantly. "Listen. If I'm right, the answers we're looking for are in that bed."
"Why the bed?" Milliardo frowned. "I don't understand."
Understanding dawned in Noin's eyes. "I do." She spoke slowly. "Milliardo, give her the knife."
"What?" He held it protectively to his chest. "Lucy!"
Noin spun on heel and jerked the knife from his grasp by the long handle. "You're being a big baby, Zechs!"
"Don't call me that." He intoned reflexively. "Just tell me what you two are talking about? Is it a girl thing, because I don't understand."
Noin slid the knife across the bed to her friend and hefted the mattress. "Shut up and help me move this."
Obediently, her husband moved forward, lifting the mattress easily. "Where do you want it?"
"Flip it off the bed onto the floor." Une instructed. "There's an old saying, something that my grandmother used to tell me. 'don't hide the jewels under the mattress, that's the first place they'll look.'"
"Jewels? I thought we were looking for papers." Milliardo gave the mattress a great heave and sent it tumbling over the end of the bed to rest upside down on the floor.
"Nevermind, lover." Noin interrupted as she joined Une on the upturned mattress carefully inspecting the seams.
Une's heart race sped up as she tapped a spot near a corner with the knife. "Here. Right here. See the different coloring in the threads?" She stabbed the knife into the mattress at the spot. Milliardo's eyes widened as she sawed into the stuffing without so much as a backwards glance. "What the hell? ANNE! Have you lost your mind?"
"Shut up, Zechs!" The two women snapped in unison. Noin maneuvered herself to grip the mattress, giving Une the leverage she needed to cut.
"Don't call me that." He grumbled, ineffectually.
Noin lifted blazing eyes to him. "You could help, you know!"
He sighed heavily and knelt next to her, holding the corner down. "Watch where you put that thing, Une."
"I'm going to shove it up your…" She was interrupted by a dull metallic clang. Properly distracted, she cut faster. A moment later she set the knife aside and peeled back the patched area, pulling out the stuffing carefully. She gave a triumphant yelp of success as she pulled free an oblong metal box.
Milliardo released his edge of the mattress and sat back on his heels. "Don't hide the jewels under the mattress… so she hid them IN the mattress. Clever. That's very clever."
Une lifted her eyes to the wall. "Milliardo, look on the back of that painting, there should be a key taped to it."
"A key?"
"Yes. That painting is called 'the key to my heart'. It's by Octavio Nimholder." She explained shortly.
This time he did as he was told with only a shake of his head. "I'll never understand the logic of a woman."
"Thank God for that." Noin chuckled.
The two women watched as the blond man lifted the painting free of it's nail carefully. A moment later he gave a shocked whisper of "Holy shit." He held up a key that had apparently been scotch taped to the back of the canvas. He returned the painting to it's rightful place and tossed the key to his boss.
Une turned the box around and unlocked the box. She settled herself more comfortably atop the mutilated mattress and opened the lid. Tucked inside were several file folders and labeled vid discs. She reached for the first disc and read the label aloud. "For Megan's 6th birthday."
She flipped through the discs, reading a few more of the labels aloud. "Megan's 16th birthday. Megan's first date. For Megan's high school graduation. For Megan's wedding day." She chuckled lightly. "Where babies come from. Why Papa left us." Her laughter subsided.
Noin spoke up. "Megan was the name that I found on the back of the photographs downstairs. Do you suppose she's the daughter?"
Une nodded. "It would make sense."
"Then these must be…" Noin trailed off.
Anne gently set the discs aside. "They're videos for the child while she's growing up, to help her with life's problems as only a mother can."
She reached for the file folders. They were labeled clearly. Bank records, Medical records, financial statements for stocks, wills, and business related correspondence, combinations for locks and safety deposit box keys taped to the inside of one. She set these aside too, to go through later. Lining the bottom of the box were several jewel cases with the name 'Megan Noelle Hanahan' clearly labeled on their lids. She removed these and set them aside. Once the cases were removed, a ribboned bundle slid forward. On top was an old leather journal, on the bottom a thin sheaf of letters. Une untied the ribbon and opened the journal to a page at random, reading aloud. "September 16, AC 195. The most peculiar boys joined our class at school today. There were three of them, each as different from the next as could be and yet still the same in a strange way. David Maxton is a charmer with an incessant mouth and a beautiful smile. Quinn Robert Winston, a blond-haired and blue eyed devil with an angel's face. He is soft-spoken, polite and yet retains an air of steely determination. I should not wish to cross him on a bad day. And finally there is Thomas Baron, and I do believe dear journal, that I have fallen in love. He is the most noble and handsome creature I have ever set my sights on. Eyes of the deepest emerald that glitter with every emotion he feels."
Here Une's voice cracked slightly. "His expression never changes, but those eyes betray everything. I embarrassed him today when I cornered him in the lunch room and insisted he and his friends sit at my table. I think he wasn't sure how to respond. But I do know that though he did not speak as he stared at me before walking away, that his eyes were screaming at me, accusing me in silent consternation of invading his space. I apologized, and I do hope that someday he and his friends will sit with us. I should very much enjoy getting to know his eyes better."
She cleared her throat and glanced to Noin, who reached out and took the journal from her. "You think it's Trowa?"
"I don't know. Barton didn't talk a lot during the war, but I didn't really take the time to look him dead in the eyes. I was busy trying to rule the world, remember?"
Noin flipped over a few pages and began to read. "October 6th, AC 195. He spoke to me today, journal. His voice was like liquid fire rocketing straight to my belly. Of course he only spoke two words. "Thank you." I'd passed him the salt at breakfast. I at least know now that Thomas Baron like salt and Worcestshire sauce on his scrambled eggs. Good lord, I'm starting to sound like Relena Peacecraft the way she goes on about that Howie boy. I'd better curb this. She has no chance in hell, he's as gay as his friend David. Perhaps Thomas is as well. I suppose being his friend will have to be enough. I'll pass him the salt next time, before he reaches for it."
The blue-haired woman paused, glancing to her husband. "She knew Relena."
Milliardo nodded. "I'll ask Relena when I see her next. She should be able to shed some light on the entries. Find something from after the war."
Noin dutifully flipped through the pages, towards the back of the journal. "March 16, AC 197. I saw Thomas Baron again today. He seems to have changed somehow in the intervening time since we were at school together. We never did become as good friends as I had hoped for. He was so solitary, keeping to his small group of friends. It was odd, as though he never realized how popular he was. I suppose in no small part, Relena had something to do with it, the way she tagged after Howie Young. It chills me to think of the unhealthy level of obsession she expresses, even to this day. I found out after the second war was over that I had been mistaken in their names."
"I do not know the names of the other boys, only two of them. Quinn is in actuality the Winner boy who was presumed missing throughout the course of the war. Thomas's real name is Trowa Barton, yet there was a gleam of sadness in his eyes as he introduced himself to me this afternoon. His face has become more expressive, but his eyes still tell all. He is sad. I have decided to make it my mission to make Trowa Barton smile, and to erase the loneliness that is so prominent in those emerald depths. I must go, I have bullied him into taking me to dinner tonight."
Noin choked back something that sounded suspiciously like a sob. Her husband reached out and gently extracted the journal from her shaking hands. Without being prodded, he turned to the last page and began reading aloud. His voice was strong and deep, yet held a tone of sadness. "July 6, AC 197. For the past five months, I have neglected you my dearest journal, in favor of Trowa. I'm very sorry for this, but you haven't any feelings to hurt so I guess it's okay. Dinner turned into an entire night of talking, which turned into several dates, which ended up with where I am now. I've had my first love affair, and I suppose it will also be my last. I'm barely 17 years old and it would seem I am doomed to a life of being single and alone. Alone except for my child that is. Yes, you read that correctly. I went to the doctor just this morning. He confirmed what I have suspected for several weeks now. I am 8 weeks pregnant. Papa is very disappointed, yet I can tell that he is trying to accept this news gracefully."
"I don't know yet what to say to Trowa. He's barely older than me, and I feel as though this predicament will be the end of something before it can even really begin. Perhaps I have made a foolish mistake, but something happened when the doctor told me the news. I could swear that I felt something welling up inside me. I can't exactly describe it. I am joyful, grateful, and terrified and a million other things all at the same time. I love this child already, when it's barely the size of my fingertip. I also love Trowa. But he doesn't love me. I don't think he ever will, not the way he loves someone else. He doesn't even realize it yet, but I have loved him so long that I can recognize the symptoms in him as readily as within myself."
Milliardo blushed lightly and raised his eyes. "It gets rather personal."
"Go on." Une urged softly, enraptured by the words.
"She's talking about Quatre." Lucrezia interjected softly, to no one in particular.
The blond man swallowed hard and continued reading. "I can feel it when we're together, Trowa and I. It's almost as though we're both reaching and seeking some tangible evidence of something that eludes us both. I can feel his heart beating against his chest and I know that it is not for me. It pains me and makes me feel greedy and selfish and all the things I have seen in other people that I swore I would never embrace. Yet to hold him for a precious little while makes the pain of his inevitable departure bearable for at least a few moments. So I will take my selfishness and revel in it, in the knowledge that I now possess some small piece of him that I will never lose. I'm going to end this journal here and put it away. It is a piece of the childhood that I left behind that first night when I kissed his cheek as he left me at my door. I am to be a mother. I can not be a child and care for a child." He flipped through the last few pages. "The rest are blank.
He closed the journal and passed it back to Une. She accepted it and carefully settled it atop the stack of items from the box. "Should we read the letters?" Noin asked softly.
Une stared at the letters she still held in her lap without fully seeing. She did not answer. Noin leaned over and reached for the letters. Une covered her hand gently and shook her head. "No. Lucy, you were both right. We've crossed the line." She bit her lower lip in an uncharacteristic display of hesitation. "We should clean up this mess. I'll take these things over to Barton's home myself. I owe him an apology."
"Apology? For what?" Lucrezia wondered, her voice curious.
Une lifted her eyes to her second in command. "Don't worry about it. Just, please help me clean up."
Trowa cursed softly as he tugged at the knots in Megan's shoes. Somehow his neat double bow had mutated into a tangle. She giggled as she squirmed in his lap. He squeezed her gently. "Be still, Megan."
She grumbled good-naturedly, but complied as he awkwardly attempted to disengage the knot with only one good hand. "Papa?"
"What?" He responded absently.
"Do you love Babu?" She queried while fiddling with his bangs.
He frowned. What kind of question was that? His child appeared to have the attention span of a gnat. "Yes, Megan. I love Babu very much."
"Did you love Mama?" Megan's tone was innocent, the question posed in the same manner as the last 10 in her seemingly endless stream of chatter. Trowa's frown deepened incrementally.
"Megan, can we talk about this later?"
She stopped poking at his hair. "I want to know. Papa, please?"
He hesitated and stopped struggling with the knot. He spoke slowly, searching for the right words. "Your Mama and I didn't know each other very well and we… were really young."
"What does that mean?" Megan's frown matched his own.
Trowa sighed. "You mother was a very good woman. She was sweet and gentle and kind." He paused, conscious of Megan's big grey eyes on his face. "I cared about your mother very much." He shifted slightly, reaching into his pocket with his good hand and drawing out his pocket knife. "Don't move, I have to cut your shoelaces."
"Papa?" She remained as still as a church mouse.
He flipped the knife open and cleanly sliced through the laces of first one shoe and then the other. "What?"
"Do you love me?"
His hands shook for the briefest of seconds as he closed the knife. He had not considered this question. "Trowa?" Lord bless Quatre's impeccable sense of timing. Trowa's eyes sought out his husband's as he felt a wave of gratitude wash over him. Megan shot out of his arms and flew towards Quatre. She flung her arms around his knees. "Babu! You're home! We waited for you!"
Trowa watched mutely as Quatre winced slightly from the force of the enthusiastic greeting. "Quatre? Are you all right?"
The blond raised his eyes and nodded. "We'll talk later, in private." He took Megan by the hand and led her to the couch. Quatre moved stiffly, obviously in pain. His favorite lavender dress shirt was ripped at the shoulder and missing the top two buttons. Quatre's appearance was never anything less than pristine. Something had happened. Trowa flinched in sympathy as his husband gingerly lowered himself onto the couch. Megan made a move to climb up into his lap. Trowa reached out to stop her. Quatre held up a hand. "No, it's okay. Come on up, Megan, and sit beside me. But please be careful. I had an accident today and it hurts a little if I move the wrong way."
Megan carefully crawled onto the couch and sat next to Quatre. She puffed out her bottom lip. "Babu, you have an owie?"
"Oh yes, Megs. A very big owie." Quatre chuckled lightly. "But I went to the doctor and I'm fine now."
"Oh. That's good. I don't want you to have an owie." The small girl rose up on her knees next to Quatre.
Cerulean eyes rested on Megan for a moment. "Did you have a fun day today?"
The child shook her head promptly. "No. Miss Salina was mean to me and I cried cause my heart hurt. But then Papa came and made it all better."
Those perceptive eyes immediately landed on Trowa, who shook his head and mouthed 'later' to him. Quatre nodded slightly. "How was Miss Salina mean?"
"She wouldn't let me have a ham sandwich and she said she was gonna make me go to my room and that she was gonna tell on me."
"What would she have to tell, Megan?" Quatre prodded. "Maybe you should tell me what happened."
Megan cast her eyes to Trowa who merely arched a brow. She huffed quietly. "She wouldn't let me have a ham sandwich and so I threw potatoes at her. She said I lied and that I was dis'pectable to her and that was bad. So I said that you and Papa wouldn't let her be mean to me and she said you would and then she made Amala go to bed and I wanted to play and she said no." Megan's rambling was not easily understood." Quatre frowned for a moment before understanding dawned on him.
"You threw your food at Salina?" He spoke in a purposefully gentle tone. "And you lied about it. And then you were rude to her?"
Megan grew quiet. Her bottom lip quivered. "Yes, Sir."
"And then she wanted you to take a nap and you threw a fit." Quatre continued, for clarification.
The little girl shrank back and nodded.
"Did you apologize to Miss Salina?" Quatre frowned at her.
She glanced at Trowa who shook his head. "Don't look at me, young lady. I told you that Babu and I would both deal with this."
"Papa made me say 'sorry' and made me sit in the corner for a long time and wouldn't let me play with Amala all afternoon." She pouted prettily.
Trowa suppressed a groan. He'd been too harsh. Judging from Quatre's expression, he should have handled the situation differently. His husband's next words were softly spoken. "Megan, Miss Salina is a part of this family and she's your elder. We are not disrespectful to our family. How would you like it if Papa threw potatoes at you?"
Megan digested this new information. "I dunno."
"Yes, you do know." Quatre persisted.
Trowa watched as his mate skillfully handled the problem, far more tactfully than he'd stumbled his way through it. Megan squirmed uncomfortably. "I'd be mad."
"Yes, you would. In the future you will respect Miss Salina as well as all your family and elders. Do you understand?"
The taller man's fascination mounted when Megan's pout disappeared. She sighed heavily. "Yes, Babu."
"Good girl." Quatre pressed a kiss to her forehead. "No go in the kitchen with Miss Salina until dinner. I need to talk to your Papa."
Trowa lowered his gaze as Megan scrambled off the couch and darted out of the door. He waited until the door closed softly behind her. He hardly knew where to begin. He leaned forward and laced his fingers together. Quatre waited patiently for him to speak. At last he began. "She was crying for her mother. I didn't know what to do."
He paused for a few moments, fidgeting with his thumbs. "I rocked her and she fell asleep. But I was so scared. I don't know if I can do this, Quatre. Just before you walked in, she asked me if I love her. I had no idea what to say."
"I heard." Quatre answered gently. "Trowa. I know this is a lot to deal with. But you have to put her first, before you try to deal with your own issues. You handled things fine today. I'm proud of you."
Trowa breathed a sighed of relief. Four words, four small words that made all the difference. He lifted his eyes and gave a small smile. "So what happened to you?"
"It's a long story." Quatre eased himself up off the couch. "I'll tell you if you'll wash my hair while we shower."
"Deal." Trowa moved from his seat to help his lover.
Quatre laced an arm around his shoulder, leaning on him for support. "You know, Trowa… I think you'd be good at this fatherhood thing."
Trowa chuckled lightly. "I think it's an acquired skill."