InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ A Purity Short: The Fairy Tale ❯ Holiday ( Chapter 10 )

~~Chapter Ten~~

~Holiday~

 

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:Edinburgh, Scotland, UK:

:Sunday, December 25, 2061:

 

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“You know, Morio, if your face gets any lower, you'll step on it,” Deirdre Mitako Izayoi—most commonly known as `Nezumi', or in Morio's circumstance, `Mama'—commented as she peered over the top of the latest issue of Popular Mechanics magazine.

 

Morio forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Sorry, Mama.”

 

She sighed. “Don't tell me you're sorry. We can wait to meet Meara.”

 

He grunted in response but didn't speak.

 

“Maybe you should go out there and beat the shit out of her old man,” Ryomaru suggested, lounging against the counter. “Hell, I'll help . . .”

 

Nezumi rolled her eyes at her mate's perceived propensity toward violence. “You will not, baka,” she grumbled as she dropped the magazine on the coffee table and turned to face Morio once more. “Ignore him,” she said with a shake of her head. “He's never had a lot of common sense.”

 

“Keh!” Ryomaru snorted, one of his ears twitching indignantly.

 

“You could call her . . . I'll bet she misses you,” Nezumi prompted.

 

Morio shrugged, grimacing inwardly since he hated to admit the truth out loud. “She . . . doesn't like it when I call her there,” he confessed. “She worries that her father will find out about us.”

 

He could feel his father's gaze boring into the back of his skull as he concentrated on not giving in to the blush that was threatening around the edges, despising how pathetic that reason sounded in his own mind. “Ian MacDonnough is a damn bastard,” Ryomaru stated. “Never liked him; never will.”

 

“You've met him?”

 

Ryomaru nodded. “Met him? Yes. Liked him? Hell, no.”

 

Morio nodded slowly, pushing himself to his feet and striding over to grab a bottle of water out of the refrigerator. “Meara said he doesn't like hanyous.”

 

“That's putting it mildly. Had the balls to try to tell Sesshoumaru that Toga didn't deserve to be tai-youkai `cause Sierra's human. Too bad Sesshoumaru didn't force-feed them back to him. Damn bastard.”

 

Morio's eyebrows shot up, disappearing under his bangs as he lowered the water from his lips. “Bet Uncle liked that.”

 

Ryomaru grunted in response.

 

“You'd think I'd stop being surprised by the depths of MacDonnough's asshole-ish-ness,” Morio grumbled, crossing one arm over his chest with a scowl. “You'd think, but no . . . just when I think he can't get much lower, someone tells me something else that makes me wonder how the hell the man ever had a daughter like Meara . . .”

 

“They come in all kinds,” Ryomaru muttered.

 

Nezumi sighed, telegraphing her mate a censuring glance before frowning at Morio. “Why don't you call her anyway? You miss her, and it's Christmas.”

 

Morio grimaced but nodded, reaching over to snag his cell phone off the coffee table and pausing a minute to take a picture of the poinsettia he'd picked up for her last night—not a flower, exactly, but she'd understand—that was, if he didn't kill the plant before she got home, that was. He wasn't exactly skilled when it came to taking care of stuff like that, though a few days ought to be all right . . .

 

Dialing the number, he lifted the phone to the side of his head—not ear-level, no, but he could hear well enough that it never had been a problem—intercepting his mother's amused little grin out of the corner of his eye.

 

“I was just thinking about you,” Meara's voice came over the line. “Merry Christmas.”

 

“Yeah? I'm not interrupting anything, am I?”

 

Meara laughed. “Not unless you call helping Aislynn diaper her baby doll `something',” she teased.

 

“Oh, well, that sounds pretty important,” he drawled.

 

“Who's that?” he heard the little, high-pitched voice in the background.

 

Meara giggled, her voice muffling as she lowered the phone from her ear. “Remember that special friend I told you about? He's on the phone,” she explained.

 

“The one with the puppy ears?” the girl—it had to be Aislynn—demanded.

 

“Yes, that's the one.”

 

Aislynn giggled.

 

“Come here. Say hi to him.”

 

After a momentary pause, Meara laughed and got back on the line. “I guess she's being shy right now,” Meara apologized.

 

“She sounds tiny,” Morio allowed, unable to restrain the little smile that twitched on his lips.

 

“She is.” Meara sighed. “I miss you.”

 

“I miss you, too.”

 

“I told Father that I'm leaving after his New Year's party . . . I'll be home on the first.”

 

“Good. What's this party?”

 

“Ach, nothing important—at least, not to me. Father hosts this New Year's party every year—all of the important people in Europe, I suppose . . . At least five hundred people last year, and I hear this year's party will be bigger . . . do you really think he'd notice one way or the other if I weren't here?” she complained.

 

Morio's smile dimmed. “Well, now . . . you've got to keep up appearances, don't you? Get anything good for Christmas?”

 

She heaved another sigh. “Just a beautiful ring from the gorgeous man I'm going to marry,” she quipped.

 

“Oh, yeah? What's his name? I'll kick his ass.”

 

Meara laughed. “How was your parents' flight? You didn't make coffee for them, did you?”

 

Morio snorted at her indelicate reminder that despite the passage of a few years and numerous attempts, he still had yet to brew a drinkable pot of coffee. “It was fine, and yes, I did. They loved it. Drank it while I serenaded them with my ukulele.”

 

“Su-u-ure,” she said dubiously. “They're there to visit, mind, not to be tortured.”

 

“Ouch!”

 

She giggled. “You forgot my flower today,” she pouted, her voice taking on a saddened tone.

 

“I didn't,” he protested, lowering the phone and sending the image through. “See?”

 

Meara laughed. “So you didn't. Good. I'm glad.”

 

“You know, I was thinking,” Morio went on. “It seems to me that you've never, ever admitted that you were wrong and I was right.”

 

“Hmm,” she mused, “you were right? About what?”

 

He snorted. “Keh! About us being meant for each other; that's what.”

 

“Oh, that,” she teased. “I'll think about it.”

 

“Keh! I want to hear it, wench.”

 

“Wench?”

 

“Yes . . . highest form of flattery in my family.”

 

She laughed. “Did I ever tell you that your family is a little odd?”

 

“Incidentals,” he retorted. “Anyway, about admitting you were wrong . . .”

 

“I said I'd think about it,” she reiterated. He could tell from the tone of her voice that she was smiling, and it made him smile, too.

 

“Aww, just say it: Morio was right; Meara was wrong. Morio's a god among men, and Meara's just a lowly wench.”

 

She snorted. “Is that what you're thinking?” she challenged.

 

“Yes, that's what I'm thinking, Meara.”

 

“I don't think—hold on.” He could hear the rustle on her end as she lowered the cell phone. “What is it?”

 

He could hear the muffled intonation of Aislynn's response though he couldn't make out the words. Catching his father's slow shake of his head, Morio grinned unrepentantly.

 

“Aislynn wants to say hello,” Meara said. “Here.”

 

He could hear the child's shallow breathing, the scrape of tiny claws against the phone's plastic casing. “H-hi,” she whispered.

 

“Hello, Aislynn . . . are you—?” Jerking the phone away from his head and grimacing at the thunderous crash that resonated on Meara's end of the line, Morio cautiously brought the phone back to his head. “What was that?”

 

“Sorry . . . Apparently she didn't realize that you'd talk back to her,” Meara apologized, unable to keep the undisguised humor out of her tone. “She's gone and hid her face in her pillow . . .”

 

Morio chuckled. “Then you'd better go comfort her . . . scared by the evil hanyou . . .”

 

“You? Evil? Hardly . . .”

 

“I love you, Meara.”

 

She sighed yet again. “I love you, too.”

 

“Hurry home.”

 

“I will,” she promised. “I will . . .”

 

 

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It was late—really late—as Meara slid the plastic card through the scanner and waited for the door lock to release.

 

There really hadn't been any choice for her. She'd been unable to stand Nightsboro another moment, especially after the farce of a party that she'd been forced to attend, accepting the well-wishes of perfect strangers for the announced marriage that was never going to happen. Aislynn was in bed sleeping—she was never allowed to attend those sorts of functions. She'd be upset in the morning when she awoke only to find that Meara had already left, but . . .

 

She grimaced. It wouldn't have been so bad, but Paul . . . She wasn't certain if he'd simply had too much champagne, but he'd been so adamant, and she'd barely been able to fend him off, fleeing down the hallway to her bedroom where she hurriedly threw her things into her bag and got out of the mansion before anyone discovered that she'd gone.

 

Deliberately shoving those thoughts aside as she concentrated instead on the happier idea that she was home, she leaned down to grab her satchel. She'd sneak in and shower before slipping into bed with Morio . . . God, she'd missed him . . .

 

The cottage was dark, and she had to grope her way to the bathroom after hanging her coat on the hook beside the door, depositing her purse and keys onto the table next to the door. It didn't take long for her to shed her clothes and slip into the old fashioned enclosed shower stall, and she hurried through her shower, anxious to snuggle close to Morio; to draw from the comfort he unwittingly offered her. The very idea of being home was enough to make her smile as she turned off the taps and reached for a towel.

 

She dried off quickly and slipped on her robe, tying the belt in a feminine bow before reaching for the door handle. Her mood had improved significantly with the shower and the washing away of Paul's overbearing scent that had clung to her since the party . . .

 

“Welcome home.”

 

Gasping softly as the harsh kitchen light blinded her momentarily, Meara blinked and slowly focused on Morio's scowling face. She started to run toward him but stopped when he crossed his arms over his chest, taking a step back in retreat. Anger was delineated in every angle of his face, in every plane of his expression. “Morio . . .?”

 

He shook his head; let his arms drop only to rake a hand over his face. “How was the party?” he demanded, his tone oddly cold, hostile.

 

Meara bit her lip, unsure why he was acting this way. “The . . . party?”

 

“Yeah,” he ground out, “the party—your engagement party.”

 

She winced. “It wasn't . . . How did you . . .?”

 

He snorted, stalking around the room as though he had to move. “I was there, Meara,” he snarled quietly. “I was there . . . I saw it . . . Fucking bastard had his hands all over you, and you let him!”

 

“I didn't . . .” she said weakly, rubbing her throbbing temples as she tried to figure out how to diffuse Morio's anger before it got worse. “I . . .”

 

Rounding on her, he narrowed his eyes and pinned her with an icy glare. “You didn't,” he echoed with a curt nod. “Then why don't you tell me where your ring is?”

 

Glancing down quickly, she flinched when she realized too late that she'd forgotten to take off the gaudy diamond ring that Paul had made a show of bestowing on her at the party while Morio's ring was tucked neatly away in her purse. Jerking the jewelry off her finger, she darted over to retrieve Morio's ring once more, carefully putting it on her finger as she stowed the other one away. “I . . . forgot . . .” she murmured, praying that her answer didn't sound quite as lame to Morio as it had in her own ears.

 

“You knew, didn't you? You knew that the fucking party was to announce your engagement to that damn bastard.”

 

Meara didn't deny it, clasping her hands and staring at the floor.

 

Morio snorted. “Keh! That's nice . . . good, Meara . . . fabulous . . . were you going to tell me before or after you fucking married him?”

 

“I'm not going to marry him,” she said softly, without lifting her gaze to meet his. “I . . . I'm going to marry you.”

 

“Yeah, well . . .” Trailing off with a frustrated sigh, he strode over to her, grasped her hand, staring at the ring on her finger in a sad sort of way.

 

Meara pressed her lips together, told herself not to cry. Morio hated it when she cried, and the last thing she wanted to do was to make him feel guilty over something that was entirely her fault. It took everything within her to grasp the ring and pull it off her finger again. She couldn't hold back the little whimper that escaped as she took his hand and gave it back to him. “I . . . I don't deserve this,” she whispered, her words harsh, grating as her throat swelled closed.

 

With a grimace, he swallowed hard, taking the ring she dropped into his hand as tears washed into Meara's eyes. He scowled at the ring for another minute before unhooking the gold chain he wore around his neck and slipping the ring onto it and fastening it once more. “So that's your choice,” he forced himself to say. “I . . . I understand.”

 

“No!” she insisted, grabbing his arm when he swung away from her. “No, it's just . . . you're right! I'll give Paul back the ring—I'll drive out there right now . . . Then I can have yours back, can't I?”

 

He didn't answer for a long moment, staring at her hand clutching his sleeve. “Meara . . .”

 

“I have to tell them all,” she said, sniffling, wiping her cheeks with impatient fingers. “I want to tell them . . . Aislynn . . . she'll understand one day, right? I can't wait anymore . . . it's not fair to you . . . and it's not fair to me, either . . .”

 

Morio sighed and reached out, pulling her into his arms as the tears wrenched free from her precarious hold over them, as she buried her face against his shoulder and sobbed. “You let him touch you,” Morio murmured brokenly as he rubbed her back and sighed once more. “I wanted to kill him, damn it . . .”

 

“I'm sorry,” she muttered, her voice muffled by his shirt. “So sorry . . . I hate this! I really hate this . . . the lying . . . the hiding . . . and all I ever do is hurt you . . .”

 

“You don't hurt me,” he lied then grimaced. “At least, not so much,” he amended. “Meara . . .”

 

“All I wanted was to come home to you . . . I couldn't stand it anymore . . .”

 

“I came up . . . you'd said there'd be lots of people there . . . I figured that your father would never know,” he confessed. “Then I saw you through the window . . . that bastard was giving you that ring . . .”

 

She uttered a soft little moan, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist as she slowly shook her head. “I don't want his ring, Morio. Please believe me . . .”

 

“I can get you a bigger diamond,” he said suddenly. “As big as you want . . . whatever you want.”

 

“I don't want a bigger diamond,” she insisted, leaning away, clasping his cheeks in her hands. He looked like he was suffering a severe bout of recrimination, and she stubbornly shook her head. “I want that ring,” she stated again, determination hardening her tone. “When I tell them . . . when I tell everyone so we don't have to hide anymore . . . I can have it back, right?”

 

Morio sighed, ears flattening for a moment as he grimaced and closed his eyes. “You can have it back, Meara. I'll never take it away from you again.”

 

“No,” she said, managing a wry smile, just for him. “I . . . I want you to keep it . . . until everything's out in the open . . . I want you to keep it for me.”

 

“Meara . . .”

 

Her eyes suddenly widened, and she drew away, glancing down the darkened hallway with a guilty expression on her face. “Your parents . . .?”

 

Morio shrugged. “They'd sleep through just about anything,” he replied. “But they went to visit one of my father's old friends since they didn't figure you'd be back until tomorrow.”

 

She nodded and bit her lip, her cheeks pink from acute embarrassment at the idea that her future in-laws might have overheard the conversation. “I should have told you,” she said. “I'm sorry I didn't . . .”

 

He tried to smile; she had to give him credit for that. In the end, she stepped over to him once more, letting herself be folded into the comforting warmth of his embrace. “I'll live . . . anyway, why don't you wait to tell them, just for a couple months? Aislynn's birthday isn't far away . . . She'll be three . . .”

 

“Three,” Meara intoned.

 

“Give yourself a little time to tell her the things you need to tell her.”

 

“You're sure?”

 

He sighed but nodded, gently kissing her forehead. “I'm sure.”

 

“Three months . . . that'll be long enough,” she murmured, unsure if she was asking herself or trying to reassure herself that it would really be enough time.

 

“Longer if you need it,” he said though the reluctance in his tone was enough to give him away.

 

“No,” she said, shaking her head and closing her eyes to concentrate on the comfort he offered her so freely. “I can't wait longer than that. Father . . . he said that he would see me mated to Paul by the end of June.”

 

Morio stiffened. “The hell he will,” he growled.

 

Meara nodded, eyes opening as a determined look stole into her features. “The hell he will,” she vowed.

 

 

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A/N:

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Final Thought fromMorio:

She doesn't want it back …?

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Fairy Tale): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~