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"Greeting Cards"Written By: Kaeru Shisho Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Gundam Wing
or its characters, nor do I make any monetary profit off this story. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Yaoi, funeral practices, AU, fluff Pairings: 1+4, 1x2x1, 3+H, 5xH, 3x4, 6x9 Summary: Each chapter is based on Heero’s
greeting cards and Duo's mortuary. "Greeting Cards " Chapter 6 -- June Bugs, part 1 I was, in fact, meeting Quatre in fifteen minutes, or however long it would take me to get to the campus pizzeria. Our date, dove-tailed between my work at the morgue and his graduate studies, would begin with dinner and end with either a great night of hot sex or just end, as in "end our attempts at dating." No middle ground. Not for me. I'd been playing outfield, right in the middle for months now. It was time to go all the way for the home run. Sitting and watching the other patrons, nursing a beer, listening to the mix of youthful voices and loud music made me wish I were somewhere, anywhere, else. I liked clubs, people, action, but not this night. Then the murmur quieted and heads turned. The moment Quatre stepped into the eatery reinforced the notion of just how damned lucky I was. He turned heads. Mussy blonde hair and that boy-next-door charm. Nice clothes. He was something else and he was there for me. "Duo, I'm so sorry I was late. Class went over and—" "It's okay. Beer?" "Ah, no thank you. Soda, please. Early morning for me. Have you ordered a pizza?" "Yeah." I could feel hundreds of eyes burning into my back. Every man and woman in the place wanted to be in my place. Burning a hole clean through me to get to him. Yeah, I was so hot Quatre was gonna need asbestos gloves to handle me in about another minute. "I ordered 'to go.' Hope you don't mind, but the vibes are getting to me here. I've got soda at home." "But we just sat down, Duo." "I just want you alone. Just you and me, no sharing with the world for an evening. I got my car outside." "That sounds nice. Let's go, but I have mine, too. I'll follow you that way I can leave for home and you don't have to do all that driving." "Or you could stay over and take a ride in the morning with me. I'm in early." "We'll see, Duo. Still, I'll take my car." "Okay." He waited for me to pay for and pick up the pizza, and then he put an arm over my shoulders on the way out. He was determined to be proud and gay and let me have my pride, too. He was rich and beautiful and thoughtful and...what was my problem? My problem was that he didn't want me. Desire me. Crave my body or my mind. We had a good time together, but. Just but. I decided this time I was gonna try my best, plead if I had to, but I was gonna get him to admit something. By the time we met at my bedraggled digs, I had agitated myself enough to start up a begging session. "If it's something I'm not doing right, just tell me. Like my hair. You want it undone? It's a bitch to get straightened out again, but what the hell, right? I think I've been pretty low key, haven't I? Not too demanding, up until now. Or, is that the problem; am I too tentative? You want me to just move on you, dominate you? It's not really me, but I can swing it. In fact, I'm pretty easy ya know? Hey, if you want kinky, I know if I call Chang he'll understand (eventually) when I say I need a pair of restraints, and fast. He'll bring em right on over." "Duo no! Don't do that. Put down your cell phone. Let's talk." "Oh." As good at talking as I was, I discovered I had nothing to say. "To tell the truth, I've never done anything. Anything. You were my first boyfriend." WERE? "Am. I am your first boyfriend." He forged ahead. "First to come out with. First to kiss. Everything. I had to know if I could do it, in case... well, but that doesn't sound very nice of me." "You mean in case you found someone else? Someone, ah, worth it?" I was incensed, and not the kind you light to cover up the other smells in your room. "Yes, but it could have been you. I didn't know! You are attractive, fun, smart, everything I was looking for." "But..." "Cute butt, too." Quatre pulled out a tentative smile and tried it on. It fit. I smiled back. "Right." "I'm really new at this, Duo. I only just suspected, okay, admitted to myself that I might be gay a few weeks before I met you. That's why I was working at that restaurant to meet a prospective boyfriend, and quit right after I met you." "Yeah, it worked. You're sure you are, ah, gay?" "Oh, yes, perfectly sure. Kissing you is wonderful, and I don't miss breasts at all. It's the rest, the next step that terrifies me." "Oh, the sex part. Yeah, I can see how that could be a problem. Two dicks and no jane." Quatre's face turned pink and then he laughed. "Even with a 'jane' I'd have a problem." "Don't tell me Mr. Voted-Most-Fuckable has totally evaded sex this long?" I did not believe it. If he had been red-faced before, he was scarlet from neck to ear-tips now. "I was a late starter, I guess, and I studied all the time; at least, that was my excuse for not dating girls. I never considered boys—not ever—until graduate school, and then I met you. Duo, I'm so sorry to let you down. This was not the way I wanted us to turn out. I do have...feelings for you." "Say no more. I kept racking my mind for a reason why I was so unappealing, but I never guessed it had to do with you being a newbie." "So, what do we do?" "About what?" "About...us?" "It depends on what you want to have happen." I wasn't letting get off that easily. "Oh, thanks, Duo, put the ball in my court." "Okay, you're right. That's not fair. I'm not sure what I want." That was when I felt a warm hand on my arm and Quatre shifting to sit close, thighs touching. Had he changed his mind and decided to make a move, now? Funny thing how my heart didn't jump in anticipation. "I think you attach importance to what makes you happy and what doesn't, Duo. I think you want a boyfriend who knocks your socks off and is crazy about you, you, you! And... who's not afraid to show you, and make time for you, and...right? I am right, aren't I? And you know what? I think there's someone out there who feels that way about you. I'll bet you know who I'm talking about-- and it's not Trowa." "And certainly not Wufei!" I put in before he said too much. "Okay, since you didn't pigeonhole yourself into the 'makes Duo happy' or the 'not' category, I guess I'm supposed to? And that's so damn hard because you are so damned near perfect I'd be a fool to let you go without a fight." "You are no one's fool, Duo. You aren't in love with me, you're in lust, and I'm very flattered. If I were ready for more, I'd choose you to show me, because I trust you." "Aw, man... We're breaking up, aren't we?" This was all pretty depressing, actually. I could feel another relationship crumbling as he nodded. As kind as Quatre was, endings hurt. "Duo? I have an idea. Try something for me, please?" "Okay." "Close your yes and don't open them until I say so. Now—" I closed my eyes and within seconds felt his lips on mine. God, it was so nice I could feel the tears threatening to fall. And then he pulled back, but not far. I could feel his warm breath on my ear. "Keep them closed. Now, who was kissing you? I don't mean actually, I mean, who were you thinking of?" "You!" I was choked up and fought back an embarrassing tear. "Okay, one more time, only this time I want you to let your mind go where it wants." I didn't get his meaning, I thought, but I steeled myself for another kiss. I would not break down! I thought of the morgue, which was sobering, but I needed to go to a nice place, a place where I felt comforted. Hilde came to mind, and then I was sitting in the coffee shop, Heero drawing my portrait. Suddenly I was saturated in sunlight, and, yes, corny as it sounds, my tears evaporated. "Open your eyes." Quatre was smiling. "You're smiling," he told me. "You are too," I told him. "We are going to be all right." "Still friends, right?" That was important for me to nail down right off. "Of course, Duo. You were my first love." "You mean 'infatuation'." "Call it that, then. It's time for us to move on." "Trowa likes you," I blurted out. I didn't mention that Heero was probably interested, too. I did not want to deliver Heero into his hands. He had the decency to blush and examine his fingernails. "He hasn't said a thing." "That should tell you something about him. He wouldn't interfere while we were dating, and it isn't just because he works for me." "Thanks. You know, Heero--" Leave him alone! "Nice guy, so do you want something to drink?" He searched my eyes a moment as if deciding whether to push the "Heero" topic further. I must have looked resolute, because he dropped his eyes and the subject. "No, thank you. I'll go now. I wasn't kidding about having an early start tomorrow, and it is quite late." Was it? I hadn't noticed. "Will you be all right?" he asked. "We already established that." "Yes, well, I'll see you later...at the coffee shop." "Okay." "Oh, Duo? I wouldn't want to be your excuse for having let him get away." Quatre gave me a serious look. "And don't you dare ask 'who' I mean." As I felt a chill ripple across my back, he opened the door and left. And that was that. What had he meant by that? Did he mean he would be pursuing Heero? Or, did he mean he I should get over him and take a shot at Heero myself? (o) The moment I arrived in the Peacecraft Palace, Relena greeted me. She must have been watching for me out the front, parlor window, God knows for how long, unless she knew my timetable as well as I knew hers. "You've been writing in that thingamajig." Relena said with a chic flourish of her wrist, discounting my little notebook's usefulness and waving it to its thingamagiggish grave. "Sketching. I was drawing downtown buildings. I ate there." And walked around wondering how Duo's date with Quatre was going. I pictured a crash-and-burn-date scenario and must have smiled, because Relena took it with wrong way, thinking I was encouraging her. "You could show me your pictures sometime." I was not adept at social game playing, but I didn't miss overt overtures. "If you want." I opened the book and let her examine the day's work. "I recognize the museum here by the sculpture out front. Lots of buildings!" She took the book from my hands and helped herself to the pages. She flipped backwards. "You draw a lot of flowers but not many people. Oh! Who's this?" Duo, isn't he extraordinary? "Now, don't tell me... I wonder... A braid that long is unusual. I saw a guy dancing at the hospital's Valentine Day's party with hair like that. So you know him?" "Duo Maxwell of Maxwell's Mortuary. Doesn't everyone, eventually?" I deadpanned. "Mortuary? Oh, that one. There is more than one, but—" The insistent ringing of the hall phone saved me from the rest of her response. No one ever called the palace phone number asking for me. I dealt with the card companies exclusively through e-mail and my agent and my few friends and acquaintances used my cell number. I closed my sketchbook and turned toward the staircase, when Relena called out. "Heero, it's a man, asking for you." "Who?" Who could it be? I had called my agent once from the palace number, who then probably saved it. That was what had happened. Well, my agent calling meant more work and more work would not be a bad thing. I walked to where the old-fashioned phone stand and chair awaited my attention, and Relena shrugged and stepped away. I should not have taken the call. "Hello?" "You're a hard dude to run down." "Ty." My heart sank. How Tyler Keel, ex-boyfriend, barely foster brother, tracked me down, I did not know. Staying with the Peacecrafts, with no driver's license from the Sanc city-state, no listed address, phone number, bills to lead him to me—how had he done it? "Who gave you this number?" "You'd think you didn't want to see me." "I don't. We're over. We've been over for a long time. We should never have even started. Now, answer my question." "I'll always find a way, you know that." "Leave me alone. And leave my agent alone. I'll tell him not to take cold calls again, since that must have been how you got him to give out this number. This isn't my place, by the way. I'm only visiting a short time so I don't want you bothering the residents here." "Tell you what then, Hiro. Give me the address and I'll just pick you up. You can stay with me." He used my Japanese name, saying it correctly. I hated that he knew it. However, he did not know where I lived, which implied that he did not have an address or figure that out from the number. The palace was unlisted. That meant he had no idea where I was, yet. He would eventually. "No thanks. As I said, repeatedly, we are over. Now, go away and don't call here again. I'll not take your call and I'll leave instructions so no one else will." I slammed the phone into the cradle so hard I may have cracked the casing, but touching it any longer, well, I was afraid he could get at me through it. That sounded crazy, but the feeling of his filthy hands on my body had taken months to get over. Now I had the sound of that nauseating voice in my head again, just as I'd thought I'd flushed it away for good. "Heero? Are you all right?" "Relena? Oh, yeah. Someone I'd rather not talk to. Ever." "Give the name to the security officer for the palace and it will be screened in the future, if you'd like. Not now, though." "No, the chief of security is not on duty now." I knew the roster and all the schedules for the help, the residents, my friends (when I could), and myself by heart. Detective Chang Wufei, for instance, took his breaks at eleven and three, was off Wednesday and Sunday, and had a two week vacation coming up next month. On entering a new place, some people located the bathrooms, I sited the clocks. I do not know why I let time rule my life that way. Relena was staring at me. "In the morning, I'll do that," I said. She continued to look up at me expectantly. "Thank you, Relena." It reminded me that I should be more courteous. She was providing me with free room, board, and a studio, despite her brother's insistence that I was a freeloader. I was aware that her graciousness stemmed from more than her feelings of obligation. Yes, I had saved her from an assault, for which she was grateful. It had been nothing on my part, but she saw it in another light. I had become her hero in fact and in name. "That's very kind of you," I tagged on. "Oh, Heero... If there's anything else, just ask. Would you like to watch a movie?" "All right." I had nothing else to do, and, possibly, it would distract me from the call from Ty. She was kind hearted, but I wished she would stop pursuing me. Maybe she could be satisfied with us becoming just friends. I do not recall what the movie was about. The small theater in the palace showed the latest DVD release-- a romantic comedy, if the excessive necking and laugh track was any indication. My chair was comfortable. Relena chattered a little afterwards, but seeing as I was incommunicative, decided that I really was ill and that I should go directly to bed. I agreed, not wanting to explore what my illness might be, and ran up the stairs. Once in my room, I removed my shoes and socks and then my shirt. My cell phone buzzed in my pants pocket and I nearly threw it against the wall. I imagined Ty magically transferring from one phone to the other like an electrical evil spirit. "What?!" I shouted into the tiny cell phone, hoping to shred his nerves with my tone alone. Creative people have vast imaginations; that is my excuse. (o) Okay, so I wasn't going to cry my heart out, but I wasn't at all happy. Here I was all on my own again. At least before, I could say I had a boyfriend. That validated my existence. Now, I was back to Duo Maxwell, broker to the dead, the God of Death. Untouchable. Un-sob-lovable. I was wallowing in self-pity. I was glad to be home or I might have gone for a long, dangerous drive and never gotten back to my grungy apartment. I live in a really awful place. No wonder Quat wanted to scat (that rhymes!) The building next to mine was an abandominimum. Maybe 'Fei would take down the crack house if I asked him nicely, but then he'd know where I lived. Anyway, had I been forced to drive home, I wouldn't have done anything too stupid. I would have ended up at work. One thing about being a mortician, I have never had any suicidal tendencies. I always sought solace, in the end, with the living. This time, as usual, I decided to call Hilde and take the chance that she might be in. Even if I had to listen to her describe her fantastic love life, which was better than thinking about my sucky life alone in my sucky apartment. To my surprise, she picked up. "Yeah! Talk loud!" "Hil? Where are you?" "Duo? I'm coming outta the ladies at a restaurant waiting for Wufei to get off work and meet me. Hey, you outta come! We could go dancing. Bring—" "NO! Ah, thanks. I'm not feeling sharp. You go on." "Catcha later, then!" "Yeah, bye." That was fruitless, unsatisfying, and a waste. I listened to my messages, made a note of business ones and... well, that one was interesting—a dinner invitation. I wondered if I should invite Heero. It would give me voice to cling to. A nice voice. I pushed away thoughts of Quatre already telephoning Heero with the news of our break up, and worked at entertaining a more positive attitude and following through on my mind-healthy impulse. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if I should call Heero this late at night. I wondered about as long as it took to punch his number. (o) "WHAT!?" I growled ready to tear into Ty's throat if I could reach far enough or become electrically charged particles so I could chase him through the ether. I was really on a tangent this time, I realized, as the voice morphed into Duo's face. "Hey, 'Ro, it's Duo here. Bad timing, huh? Sorry, I can catch ya later." "Duo?" I looked at my watch. "Oh, no, that's all right." "Sorry to call so late—" "Not late. I thought the call might be... forget it." He did not say anything for so long that I thought he might have hung up. I must have sounded insane over the phone. That impression, I had to fix. "Duo? You there? Sorry, but I just had a phone call out of the blue, an unwanted one, and I thought this was a follow up to it. Please, don't hang up!" "Oh, okay." He didn't sound so sure, though. "So...what's on your mind?" "Oh, well, ah, its kinda short notice, I know, but Mrs. Claremont called. She's inviting us to dinner." "Are you sure?" "Well, yeah..." "I mean, didn't she invite you and your boyfriend?" "Yeah, but she means you. She likes you." But do you?! I nearly screamed that into the receiver. There was a brief silence. "What was that, Heero?" "What?" I had not screamed "But do you?" I swear! "Could you fill me in on that?" "On what?" "I'm going to jump through this phone and kill you!" he yelled. "That isn't possible (although less than a minute ago I was contemplating doing the same thing,) but if it were, why?" I heard Duo sigh loudly. "Because it sounded like you were gonna say something...important. Forget it. Listen, can you go out Saturday evening—not too late? Rather early, in fact." "Yes. I have no other engagements." Although I would have to shuffle around my "to do" list quite a bit. I could be impetuous; I had several days to work it in. "Where should I meet you? Are we walking?" "How about I pick you up at your place? I'm not sure how soon I can get away. Anyway, we can park at the cemetery then walk the rest of the way, okay?" Not here! "I'm, ah... not home. I, ah, won't be here then either, ah, or anytime about then. I can meet you at the coffee shop at three. Is that too soon or is three o'clock good enough?" "Three's fine. I might not get there till four thirty or so, though, if you don't mind waiting?" "No, I have drawings I can complete there as well as anyplace." Anyplace? Why not even at home, smart guy? Don't you think Duo might wonder why I would choose to do my work in a coffee shop and not at home? Did I sound stupid or suspicious or what? Luckily, he did not press me for particulars. "Fine. See ya." "Okay, and thanks, Duo." I hardly saw him all week. He slipped in and out of the coffee shop in a blur. He waved. I waved. Quatre came and went, but didn't stay. Wufei and Hilde sipped tea politely, but didn't stay. I don't know why I stayed. Trowa stopped by, asked how things were going, and I told him I didn't know. He didn't know either but something was up with Duo, and he was concerned. "Maxwell talk to you this week?" Trowa asked. "No, he hasn't been here long enough for me to say 'hi' to," I replied. "All right, then. I'll find out. He works with sharp tools and shouldn't be distracted like he's been on the job." "Thanks." I hoped Trowa could help Duo. I wished Duo would come see me and we would talk. If I saw him, I would stop him and ask him to sit with me, if only for a minute. At least I knew why I had stayed. (o) I shut out everything else and waited for Saturday to come. I couldn't face anyone. I didn't want to come apart. I wanted to think over what had happened and heal before Saturday. It wouldn't do to break down over the guy I'd just broken up with around the new guy I wanted to impress. That would be bad. Speaking of bad, the police brought in an autopsy for us, a high priority case, and they didn't want the hospital involved. Ordinarily, I might have turned down the job. I didn't like those. Too technical for me, but it wasn't for Trowa and the day had only begun and there was only one embalming on the books. One embalming wouldn't take long and then there would be all that time to think. Alone. "We'll take it!" "Normally I can put away one complete autopsy in under two hours, assuming it's straightforward and I'm not interrupted," Trowa said. "And if both of us have our minds on what we're doing." I ignored his pointed remark and accusing green eyes. I might have been a little distracted, but I could focus on the job. "What makes one complicated?" I asked to keep him talking. "Oh, detailed explorations and special dissections like exploring the bile ducts, removing the eyes, or spinal cord. I had one take me nearly four hours once." I fiddled with the tools, inattentive, thinking about my sorry love life, as usual. "Duo?" "I try to forget." "Yeah." "You've done these more often than me," I told Trowa. "I'll observe and assist you, 'kay?" "Okay." "Note the blood seeping under the skin here and here," I pointed out as the autopsy was underway. "Not normal." He agreed. I watched as Trowa reduced the cadaver to a wide-open cavity. Aside from observing, my job was to clean up blood spills and follow any other directions. "I always thought of this as like field-dressing a deer, if you've ever done that," Trowa explained. "Nope." "Plus we have to take samples for slides and further testing." "The note appended to the work order says this is a court case so anything we can tell them we will," I told him, just in case he hadn't read it. "I'll keep that in mind." (o) A/N: If autopsies make you queasy, please, stop here. Skip the next 5 pages and I'll insert another note to let you know when it is safe. (o) The dissection began at the neck and proceeded downward, eventually removing all the organs of the trunk in a single chunk. As he identified the arteries in the neck and upper chest, I tied a long string to each and then cut them off, leaving the ties so that whoever did any future the embalming, when the case was closed, could more easily find the arteries for injection of the embalming fluids. Trowa detached the larynx and esophagus with a swift cut. He yanked the larynx and trachea downward and adroitly used his sharp blade to free up the remainder of the chest organs from their attachment at the spine. A couple deft moves and the diaphragm was cut away from the body wall, after which the abdominal organs were pulled out and down. All of the organs remained attached to the body only by the pelvic ligaments, bladder, and rectum. With a single slash with the blade, he severed this last connection, and all of the organs were freed in one mass. "Here you go," he said, passing the organ collection to me. "Have fun." "I'll deal with that mess in a minute," I told him. I dumped the organs on the dissecting table mounted over the body's legs. "I wanna watch what you do with the brain." "First, I have to elevate the head so that it's like on a stiff pillow. Here, pull the body block out from under the back." I was glad to have already tied up Heero for Saturday night. Quatre had a Friday night discussion group and an early Monday morning class, so that would seriously limit their chances to see each other. Pillow? Trowa nudged me to action as I stood there daydreaming about Heero and Quatre. "Yeah, that plastic block. Okay, now place it under the back of the head. Thanks Duo. Now, I apply my magic touch..." Trowa cut from behind one ear, over the crown of the head, to behind the other ear with a single swipe of his trusty blade. Like with the trunk incisions, it was deep, all the way to the skull. Dividing the skin and soft tissues into a front flap and a rear flap, he tugged hard to force the front flap forward over the body's face, exposing the top and front of the skull. I admired his skill. I could do it cleaner, I thought, but he was quicker. "This takes some strength," he grunted. "Uh, yeah. Like being 'scalped'." One more backward tug at the back flap of skin over the nape of the neck, and he had completely exposed the top hemisphere of the skull. "Right. Would you hand me that electric saw over there?" "We call it a Stryker saw-- for no good reason." "Stryker? Hn. Pass it over. Thanks." Trowa turned on the saw, and cut around the equator of the cranium. He shut it off and said, "This cut is tricky. It has to be deep enough to cut all the way through the skull, but not so deep that the brain is cut." I leaned in for a better view. "See how the cut is not totally straight but has a notch here so that the skull top won't slide off the bottom half of the skull after everything is sewn back up," he pointed out. "Nice job, Tro'. I hadn't even noticed, 'cause you did that so fast." That pleased him and he smiled crookedly, and then slowly lifted off the skull top, drawing out the odd combination of a sucking sound and the sound of rubbing two halves of a coconut. "Here, you can hold onto that for me." I took the offering gingerly and returned his smile with a smirk of my own. "So generous, Tro-man." I examined the bone fragment in my hand, turning in back and forth, noticing that the outer membrane coverings of the brain coated the inside of the skull top. Work distracted me from my miserable self-absorption. I hadn't thought about my own problems; my abortive relationship with Quatre, in particular, had been forgotten for an entire five minutes. Trowa cleared his throat to draw my attention off the piece of skull and on the task at hand. "So, the top of the brain is now fully exposed. After the chore of getting to it, it's a relatively easy matter to get the brain out. There are no tough ligaments that hold the brain in, so really all that needs to be done is to cut the spinal cord. See?" "Cool. Presto!" I stalked off in the direction of the wall of jars. I took one off the top shelf and marked the label with the code off the toe tag. On quiet days, we prepped the empty specimen jars, sticking on labels and filling them with formalin (a solution of formaldehyde gas in buffered water.) "Thanks," he said. He took the jar and carefully hung the soft brain in the jar with a string support. "What's with the string?" "That's to prevent it from having a flattened side from lying in the bottom of the jar because the brain is heavier than water and therefore sinks. The brain is very soft and easily deformable, but after it hangs in the jar for a couple weeks, the formaldehyde 'fixes' the tissue, not only preserving it from decay, but also causing it to become much firmer and easier to handle without messing it up." "Gotcha." I sighed audibly. "Now for the worst part." "Nastiest, yeah. I grant you that." At the dissection table, Trowa isolated the esophagus from the rest of the chest organs. He picked up a pair of scissors and cut the chest organs away from the abdominal organs and esophagus. As he separated the lungs from the heart and trachea, I stepped in. "Let me?" "Sure. Be my guest." Trowa stepped aside. "You just want to show off your knife skills." "Well, I am good." I quickly recorded the lungs' weight then sliced it like loaves of bread into sections about one centimeter thick using my handy-dandy, foot-long, sharp knife in only a few seconds elapsed time. "I'm further impressed," he said. He stepped closer to observe my technique. "Remind me to let you cut the holiday roast." "Right." Trowa weighed the heart and then opened it along the pathway of normal blood flow using the scissors. He moved quickly, opening the larynx and trachea longitudinally from the rear and then examined the interior. All the while, he was marking the chart with notes, recording his findings as he went along. "Nothing notable yet." I mumbled some agreement and drifted for a moment. If Quatre had been too busy for me, maybe he'd be too busy for Heero. 'Course, they had those mutual friends. Damn. I kept coming around to that. It just burned me to think Heero didn't introduce me to the Peacecrafts-- not that I was much to show off, but it was insulting. I caught the tail-end of what Trowa was muttering. "...and I'm dissecting the thyroid gland away from the trachea with scissors." I stood back and watched him weigh the plump gland and cut it into thin slices. "Sometimes the parathyroid glands are easy to find, other times impossible," he noted. "Any clues yet?" "I don't see anything obvious that was a cause of death, no." "Right. Nothing unusual." Trowa turned over the abdominal organ bloc, so that the backside was up. "The adrenal glands are located in the fatty tissue over the kidneys and are difficult to find. But here they are. You can do the slice an' dicing this time." He watched in silence as I carved the parts, ending with the liver, making amazingly delicate cuts for the long, unwieldy-looking blade. "You hone your skills for long?" he asked. "Yeah. The best of us," I said with a smug smile, "are able to make every cut with one long slicing action. To saw back and forth with the blade leaves irregularities on the cut surface, which are often distracting on specimen photographs. So the idea is to use an extremely sharp, long blade that can get through a 2000-gram liver in one graceful slice. This is my very own blade which I maintain myself and will let no one else use." He stared at my blade with open admiration. "I imagine if some attacker entered here at night then you, who are not a particularly tough or strong looking individual, could defend us with one desperate but skillful slash of the bread knife." "Almost cutting the assailant in half." I chuckled along with him at the thought. "That's right." He might have been kidding, but it was true. "What comes next," he said to me, "is we strip the intestines from the mesentery using scissors..." "The pussy method," I inserted. "... or bread knife..." "The macho method," I insisted. Trowa carried the tangle of intestines to the sink where he opened them under running water so that all the feces and undigested food were cleaned out. As one might imagine, "running the gut" was extremely malodorous. The material in the sink smelled like a pleasant combination of crap and puke. Silence reigned. There was no unnecessary commentary, for a second. "Talk about 'shit work'," Trowa said. I laughed and he continued to wash off the internal surface of the bowel, and then carried it back to the dissecting tray where he examined it and made a few notes. The more I thought about it, I knew I shouldn't blame Heero for keeping me at arm's length. Quatre never introduced me to any of his high-brow college pals. Look at the work I did? When Trowa opened the stomach along its greater curvature, the smell of gastric acid was unforgettable. It was repulsive. I was repulsive. No wonder I couldn't keep a boyfriend for long. "I'm turning up the fan." I made the offer and he nodded his assent. "More internal bleeding," Trowa muttered. "Write that down for me." "What?" I heard what he'd said, but I didn't know what it was he wanted me to write. I wasn't really fully compos mentis. "Forget it. I've got it." "We are lucky tonight," I commented as he scribbled some notes. He weighed the stomach and again took slices for examination. "If you mean it's a good thing the patient hadn't eaten solid food in a while, then yeah. Real lucky. It can discourage you from eating any stews or soups for a long time." The pancreas, duodenum, and esophagus were each opened longitudinally, washed out, and the weighed, sliced, and examined internally. "These are the kidneys," he said as he removed, weighed, halved lengthwise, and examined the solid organs. "This is the urinary bladder." And he repeated the procedure. "Since it's a male, I check the testes for enlargement, as they are in this case; it's necessary to remove them. So I pull'em up into the abdomen by traction on the spermatic cord, cut them off, halve them, and prepare them for examination." "Ouch," I hissed with a sharp intake of air. "Almost done," he reassured me, not that it was necessary. "The aorta and its major abdominal branches get opened longitudinally and examined," he said. Toward the end of the autopsy procedure, the room was not a pretty sight. Trowa wasn't particularly neat when he worked the dissection area. "It's a legend that old-time pathologists were so neat that they'd perform the entire procedure in a tux right before an evening at the opera." "No kidding," he muttered. The autopsy table around the patient was covered with blood, and some had dripped onto the floor. "Just try to keep blood on the floor to a minimum so neither of us slips and falls," I said as I tore off a handful of paper towels, dropped them on the floor, and rubbed at the floor with my shoe. The hanging meat scales used to weigh the organs were covered and dripping with blood. The pen Trowa had used to write organ weights on the clipboard was also smeared with blood, as was the clipboard itself, which was an especially unappetizing juxtaposition. However, none of it bothered him enough to call for a cleaning session. I was more meticulous and wanted it clean. "Uh, this place is a mess," I said. "Guess I'd better get cracking." While I mopped up, Trowa sealed the organ samples in specimen jars and labeled them carefully. We don't dissect and analyze them at the funeral home. We save jars of parts for a variable length of time, but at least until the case is 'signed out,' which is when the final written report is prepared. In the case of those bodies labeled "cc" for "court case," we keep them until an investigating officer picks them up. We usually just bag all the tissues that need disposed of and dump them in the tub marked "for incineration." "So what do we do with the body?" he asked. "Let's close it up, and lock it up in the keep. You didn't think we were just going to leave it like this tonight?" Indeed, the body was now an empty shell, with no larynx, chest organs, abdominal organs, pelvic organs, or brain. The front of the rib cage was also missing. The scalp was pulled down over the face, and the whole top of the head was gone. I replaced the top of the skull and pulled the scalp back over. "Hand me the twine, my good man." The ball of thick twine was next to the still-bloody scissors. "Wipe those off too, while you're at it." "Sure thing, boss man." Trowa chuckled and stalked off to wash up. I threaded a fat needle and expertly sewed up the wound using the type of stitch used to cover baseballs, leaving a line going from behind the ears over the back of the skull, so that when the head rested on a pillow in the casket, the wound would not be visible. Trowa returned in time to helped place the chest plate back over the chest, and then I sewed the body wall, again with baseball stitches, so that the final wound resembled a 'Y'. "Ummm, the whole trunk is collapsed, especially the chest since the chest plate was not reattached to the ribs," he pointed out. "It's not right." "Remember how I asked earlier how it was that you couldn't put anything back in a box the way it came?" "Now who's a comedian?" Trowa asked, smiling. "Okay, on the work-order papers it doesn't say if the body is to be embalmed or not, so we stitch it closed. The family may not have decided what to do; otherwise, we could wash it down and stuff the body cavity with filler to re-expand the body to roughly normal contours. Saves time, if we know, but we don't." (o) A/N: The worst is over. If you were skipping the autopsy, you can come back to the story here (o) "Uh, huh. We got more work yet to do. What do you want me to do with these?" Trowa indicated the tray of instruments that I had lined up in order of size: the bread knife, a scalpel, and scissors. "Rinse them off then use the pick-ups to put them in the tray with disinfectant." "Pick-ups? You mean 'forceps'?" "Only scriptwriters say 'forceps'," I told him, finally breaking a smile. "Right, you drama queens should know," he smiled. "Funny guy. You outta be a clown. You know all that anyway. Why did you ask?" "To see if you were listening." "Clown, yeah, that suits you." "So, what you think killed that guy?" he asked. "Well, we know what didn't, right?" I asked in return. "No knife or gun shot wounds, bruises, lacerations, or anything like that." "Right." "The heart looked okay, no arterial blockages, nothing obvious on any of the intact organs. Tests will tell. From what I can figure from the few scraps of information attached here by the hospital, it's a case against a doctor proving the patient got improper treatment. Ah...it mentions he had heart problems and was given coumadin." "Can I use the computer over there?" he asked. "Be my guest," I said and watched as he powered it up. In a few minutes, Trowa had some information for them. "Hey, this is interesting. Listen: 'Drugs that are helpful in therapeutic doses may be deadly when taken in excess. For example, coumadin is a beta-blocker used to calm and slow the heart , and it's often thought of as a blood thinner used to prevent blood clots. Drug interaction is another risk. If you're using the blood thinner coumadin, combining it with aspirin or Tylenol can lead to an increased risk of bleeding. Over-dosage effects, such as too much anticoagulant, producing bleeding into the skin, or a mixture of too much aspirin with Coumadin, leading to a dose-related rash, are seen. Hair loss as a result of heparin or Coumadin is also seen.'" "So, the doctor may have made a mistake and over-prescribed for this guy or not told him to avoid aspirins or something. The family may have a case. The samples we took will be able to determine the amount of that stuff in him," he said. "We noticed the internal bleeding, but who could tell about the hair with a bald guy?" I pondered the possibilities. "Hold on...go back...What's that about rat poison?" Trowa checked the search items and discovered one about dogs dying from eating rat poison containing coumadin. "You're right. It is the active ingredient in many rat poisons and may cause heavy bleeding and death if too much is taken. It's been around a long time. 'In the early 20th century, bis-hydroxycoumarin was discovered after livestock had eaten spoiled sweet clover and died of a hemorrhagic disease. Although it is no longer is used primarily as a rodenticide, several long-acting coumarin derivatives are used for this purpose and can produce profound and prolonged anticoagulation.'" "Maybe someone fed him rat poison to kill him knowing that it might be masked by his medical condition?" I grinned. "Look up how we can test for that poison!" "That would be in this text up here, and not on the internet." He hauled down an over-sized book and spent a few minutes thumbing through it. "It's not too hard." "You any good in chemistry, Tro'?" "Yeah, I was going to college to major in it." "Cool. I might have liked that." "We'll need the Bunsen burner and that specimen jar," Trowa said as he flipped through the directions. "It starts with the liver..." Less than an hour later, Trowa appeared delighted to have solved the mystery. "Okay, last step. It says: if this dissolves in alcohol and turns pink, it's the rat poison." "Drink up!" I said as he doused the beaker's contents with the alcohol. "Pink it is!" he crowed a moment later. I let Trowa fill out the forms with his observations and conclusions and call it in to the detective working the case. He had done a great job. I checked the clock. There was lots more of the day to go. Next thing on the schedule was a simple embalming. "I'll get started on the next job so we can cut out on time," I shouted on my way down to the cadaver keep, wheeling away the autopsied cadaver. "Unless you wanna break for lunch?" "You are kidding, right?" Trowa said. "I have no appetite. No, just work through." So, that's what we did. No break. I brought up the next body and time just flew. Embalming was the kind of work I could do in my sleep. I sometimes did, and must have this time because I hardly noticed what I was doing until Trowa stopped me. "I eat waffles for lunch with catsup and mustard, not that you are listening to me—" "Trowa, I was listening." "So?" he asked me, frowning. I probably missed something important he had said. "A needle pulling thread. Sew what?" "So, you going to clue me in on what's bothering you?" "Bothering me? Nothing." "Duo, you inserted the catheter into a vein instead of an artery and you're filling the vein with cleaning fluid." "The hell I am—shit!" I was. I switched bottles, before the switch had been turned on- no actual corpses were damaged by my ineptitude. "Damn it all. Thanks, Tro. Geez..." "I'll let it pass and not write you up for incompetence, if you tell me what's the matter." "Hey, I'm the boss! I write you up not the other way around." I met Trowa's eyes and froze. Heero and Wufei had nothing on skin-stripping stares. "Aw, shi-it." I had to come clean. "Quat and I broke up last night." Trowa grunted in a way could have that meant: "Oh, wow, man, that's tough. You gonna be okay? Wanna go out for drinks?" or "I saw it coming. He was too good for you, and you know it, so buck up, bozo;" or just plain "Hn, so what's it to me?" Take your pick. "He's probably crying on Heero's shoulder at their friends' palace." "Who's palace?" "The Peacecraps, Relena and Milli-icky-ardo." "What the hell are you chin-wagging about, Maxwell?" "The night you and I were slaving over that dead girl, after my date with death and my clubbing exhibition, Heero took Quatre to meet his friends, the—" "Peacecrafts, yeah, I heard of them. Big names at the hospital. Yuy's friends with that lot? Quatre, well, I can believe he might be, but Yuy?" "Well, it is true and he even said it happened. So, knowing just how out of Quat's league I am, I have given him over to the art crowd and rich bitches of Sanc. And that, my friend, is my story. So how about drinks after work, eh?" "Yeah, sure, Duo. Let's do that." Trowa stared at me, and this time he looked sad. "Fine then, I'll get the hose and sponge there and clean it all off. Cover it with the sheet and roll it into 'limbo'." We finished up with the embalming and closed down for the night. He automatically wiped down all the surfaces with a disinfectant, and cleaned up the autopsy suite with a mop and bucket. I read over his the notes concerning his findings, and updated the schedule for the next day. Twenty minutes later, we were improving our spirits with spirits at a nearby bar. "I can shower for an hour and still not get the stink of that place out of my hair," Trowa said. "It soaks into the pores." "It's an illusion. I'll get the ventilation checked. You're blowing out your olfactory. Mine was shot years ago." I finished off my first beer and hailed the waiter for a second. Trowa held up a hand for another, too, so it wasn't just me. "Oh, by the way, I fixed that tape recorder you brought in the other day. Someone had shoved part of a surgical glove inside." "Nice." "Duo, it wasn't fixable. They don't even sell blank cassettes around here anymore. It was a dinosaur. I'll pick up a digital one, if that's all right?" "Sure." "Duo." "What?" "When I was just starting college I was in an accident. I received a head injury and actually had amnesia for awhile." "Really? That's pretty rare, isn't it? What happened?" "I don't remember. It took all summer break to recover. I stayed with my stepsister, healed, and regained my memory, except for what happened to cause it all. The reason I'm telling you this is that I recognize borderline depression. Talking it out helps and I'm here." I hadn't expected compassion from Trowa Barton. He retained his distance most of the time. I knew he was right, though, and appreciated the chance to open up. I also recognized another opportunity, and if there is anything you can tag on me it's 'opportunist,' but not in a bad way. "I know Quat and I weren't 'made for each other' or anything. It just hurts not to be something special to anyone anymore, ya know? And to watch everyone else move on. Will I ever find someone who wants just me?" I could feel his eyes studying me as I examined the water rings on the table. "I don't think the artist is interested in Quatre. Not that way. He can't take his eyes off you when you're around. You should ask him out." "You should ask Quatre out." "You mean that?" "Yeah, I do. Fresh start for both of us." "Okay," Trowa agreed. "I will if you will." I grinned. I had him now. "I already did. We are going out to dinner on Saturday." "You...already--?" "Gotcha." That should keep Heero out of Quatre's plans for a while; hopefully, for long enough to work my magic and charm the socks (and pants someday, please?) off Heero.
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