InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 10: Anomaly ❯ Nerves ( Chapter 7 )

"Here."

Madison blinked and let go of the fluffy white towel she was using to squeeze the water out of her hair in favor of taking the steaming mug Mikio offered her instead.  The lovely scent of very strong tea wafted to her, and she cautiously tasted it, taking care not to burn her tongue.  "Mmm, this is good," she said, smiling at him as he hunkered down beside her and carefully sipped from his mug.  After he'd grabbed one of his shirts to wear until her clothing dried, he had changed his shirt, as well, since he was almost as wet as she was.  The plain white dress shirt he'd given her fit him well, but on her, it seemed so much bigger—surprising since she really wasn't a tiny woman at all.

"Thanks," he said, blushing slightly at her compliment as he forced his gaze away from the long expanse of her legs, just now tucked demurely to the side.  If he kept staring at her, he was going to end up making a complete and utter fool of himself, and he knew it.  Even so, he had to clear his throat as he struggled to refocus his thoughts before he spoke again.  "It's a special blend . . . Souta-oji-chan showed me how to make it.  He said that Mama's grandfather used to make it, too . . ."

"And you were able to find the right kinds of teas here?"

He shrugged.  "Not exactly. Close, though.  Oji-chan's tea is a little more on the sweet side—almost more floral—so I added a little honey to offset the extra bitterness in this."  Then he frowned.  "He, uh . . . He died a couple years ago.  Mama took it pretty hard."

"Oh, I hadn't heard about that," Madison said.  "No, I take that back.  Evan did mention it to me."  She sighed and shook her head.  "Actually, I remember now.  He wanted to blow off a few shows so he'd have time to fly to Japan, but Kagome told him that it wasn't a good idea . . ."

"Everyone else at the funeral was human," Mikio went on simply.  "Mama went, of course, but had to wear a thick black veil.  Papa didn't go, either.  He wanted to, but . . . but we had a small memorial service later, too."

A strange look, almost a darkness, stole over her features for a moment, but she managed to cover it before Mikio could really discern it. He grimaced.  Talking about someone dying?  'Not exactly the best topic of conversation, now is it?  Baka . . . Baka, baka, baka . . .'

"Mikio?"

Mikio shot her a quick glance and stifled a sigh.  "I guess that's not very good light banter, is it?" he muttered apologetically.  "I'm sorry."

"No, you're fine," she insisted, laying a hand on his forearm as he started to get to his feet.  "I mean, I don't mind.  It's sad, but I like to hear about your family."

He contain his surprise at her statement, but he smiled a little shyly since she sounded perfectly sincere.  "Well, I guess you know almost everyone, right?"

"Almost," she admitted.  "For example, I've seen your cousin, Aiko, but I can't say I've ever been truly introduced to her—or Shippou and Rin's daughters, either."

"Truthfully, I don't know them very well myself," he mused.  "Aiko-san and her husband live in Hong Kong since he is in charge of that division of Inutaisho Industries, and Toshie and Nori . . ." He trailed off then shrugged.  "They're a lot older than me.  We used to play with Toshie-san's daughter, Yuka-chan until they moved to Nagano."

"You and Morio?"

He nodded.  "And Gunnar and Bitty."  Chuckling at the raised-eyebrow-ed expression she cast him, he nodded.  "We were just pups . . . I think I might have been about three, so the others were around one, and I doubt they remember it.  Toshie-san used to come by the house to visit with Mama and Papa a lot.  I guess that was before we figured out that girls were yucky."

Madison dissolved in a fit of giggles at his choice of words.  "Yucky?" she repeated, attempting to sound offended but failing pretty miserably.  "Do you still think girls are yucky?"

He chuckled, too.  There was just something about her that made him want to laugh.  "Only the ones I'm related to."

"I guess that makes sense," she allowed.  "I never had cousins to play with or anything—just Evan and Jilli . . . and Gavin in the summers.  Usually, though, Jillian would run off with Gavin, so really, it was more just Evan and me.  Then it was Evan and Bone and me—and then it was Evan, Bone, Dieter, and me . . ."

He frowned as her smile faltered then faded away, as her violet eyes took on a darkened kind of light, and for a moment, she looked like she'd slipped about a million miles away.  He'd heard about Dieter, and he didn't have to be brilliant to realize that the mention of his name was more than enough to quell her ebullience.  "I'm sorry about him," he ventured softly.  "I . . . I heard about the shooting . . ."

She tried to smile, he'd give her that.  The expression didn't quite reach her eyes, not that he could blame her.  "Thank you," she murmured, dashing her nimble fingers across her cheek, and Mikio winced inwardly as the salt of her tears registered in his mind.  "You know, it still doesn't make any sense.  I guess it never will."

He could've kicked himself for being the reason why her mood had suddenly changed.  He'd been horrified enough when he'd heard what had happened, but to be that close to someone and lose him like that in such a senseless and stupid way?  No, he figured he wouldn't understand it, either.  "I didn't mean to dredge up bad memories for you."

She shook her head and managed a weak smile, but it was closer to a real one than her previous attempt, at least.  "They're not all bad memories," she remarked with a sigh.  "The four of us did some pretty crazy stuff over the years.  I tell myself that it's best to focus on the good instead of the end."  She shrugged a little helplessly.  "Sometimes I manage to do it, too."

Mikio nodded.  "He . . . He had a mate and a child, right?  How are they doing?"

"Miss?  She seems okay.  She was a little pale, a little skinnier, but she's doing better than we'd thought.  Daniel . . . He's so young, it's hard for him to understand, but he seems to be catching on.  It's just a shitty lesson to learn, though . . ."  Letting out a deep breath, she stared into her mug for a moment before swallowing the rest of it and setting it on the floor.  Wrapping her arms around her ankles, she rested her cheek on her raised knees and stared at him for a minute, her darkened gaze staring at him like she was trying to read his mind.  "Bas is keeping an eye on her," she finally said, her voice low, barely above a whisper.  "Deet never marked her, you know?  So we're hoping . . ."

She didn't finish her statement.  She didn't have to.  Mikio nodded, and he started to reach out, to touch her—maybe to hug her—but he stopped with an inward grimace when he realized that he really didn't know her well enough to offer her that kind of comfort.  Clearing his throat, he picked up her empty cup instead.  "Uh, do you . . .? Would you like some more tea?"

"That would be great," she replied.  If she noticed his momentary slip, she didn't remark upon it, and that was just as well.  True enough, he had never liked to see anyone upset over anything, but it seemed worse when it was Madison—Madison, who smiled and laughed in the pouring rain, who went out of her way to go on walks on the beach with men she'd just met—men who ran her down on staircases, no less . . . Madison, who danced slowly, who never mentioned the stilted motions of her dance partner when she really had to have noticed . . . Madison, the girl who looked like she belonged in the pages of fashion magazines and who could just as easily crack a crab without a second thought about getting anything on her clothing . . .

It bothered him more that she was the one who was upset.  It bothered him the most that he really had no idea at all, just how to make her smile again.

She watched him head out of the room, willing away the sadness that had come over her as she'd thought about Dieter, about Miss, and ultimately, about Daniel, as she idly squeezed the ends of her hair in the towel once more.  It amused her that he hadn't bothered to tuck in his shirt, though he had rolled up the sleeves a couple times.

She hadn't actually realized that she was near the Inutaisho penthouse when her laughter took over, but she couldn't say she was unhappy with the outcome, either.  Call it dumb luck that Mikio just happened to be coming back home at the time—at least he had been wise enough to take an umbrella though it hadn't actually helped that much.  He had been looking at her like he wasn't entirely sure if she had lost her mind or not, which had only served to further her amusement, given the situation.

When she finally got a good look at herself in the bathroom mirror, she wasn't entirely sure if she should laugh some more or be completely and utterly mortified.  Hair plastered to her head like she'd just gotten out of the shower, blouse ruined and plastered to her like a second skin, makeup streaked and smudged, she looked absolutely horrendous, and yet . . .

And yet, there was a certain radiance underneath it all, too, that even she could see, but she couldn’t help but to wonder if Mikio had seen it, too . . .

She'd quickly showered to wash away the hair products that were already beginning to dry in a crunchy, sticky mass, washed off all the ruined makeup and the rest of the polish that she hid behind on a daily basis, and for reasons that she didn't stop to consider, the idea of letting Mikio see behind all of that really didn't bother her in the least . . .

"So, are you like Jillian?"

Madison blinked away the memory and shot Mikio a quizzical glance as he handed her the refilled tea mug.  She hadn't actually heard him return since she was so lost in her own thoughts at the time.  "Like Jillian?"

He nodded and sank back down beside her.  "Well, she always liked to take walks in the rain, right?"

She laughed.  "Oh, no . . . I mean, it wasn't raining this morning, so I thought I'd walk, but then, I didn't think to take an umbrella with me, never mind that the sky was pretty overcast.  It just didn't occur to me, I guess, so . . ."

"That makes sense, then," he allowed.  "I was a little surprised to see you there."  Suddenly, he shrugged.  "Or a lot surprised, actually."

"Why were you out in that?" she asked, casually sipping her tea.

"I . . . I bought a few things to make dinner," he said haltingly, nervously.  "I was just coming back from the grocery store when I . . . when I saw you . . . Are you . . .? You aren't . . .?  I don't suppose you're hungry, are you?"

Staring at him for a long moment, her smile widened as she bit her lip.  "You know, I think I am," she admitted.

He blinked and seemed like he hadn't heard her right away.  Then he chuckled.  "It's nothing fancy or anything.  I just got some vegetables and meat.  Thought I'd make a hotpot or something."

"That sounds wonderful," she insisted.  "I mean, if you bought enough . . .?"

That slightly shy smile resurfaced, and he reached up to fiddle with his twitching left ear.  "There's plenty," he assured her.  "I'm not as good a cook as Mama or my brother, but I'm . . ." He gave another little shrug as his smile widened just a little.  "I eat my cooking pretty often, and I'm still alive, so I guess it's all right."

"Then you're one step ahead of me.  Microwaving frozen dinners or heating a pizza is about the extent of my culinary skills.  It wasn't so bad before.  I mean, Evan cooked for me whenever I wanted something different or didn't feel like going to a restaurant."  She laughed.  "Came in handy when I didn't feel like fussing with how I looked just to go get something to eat."

"You don't really look like you need that much fussing, to begin with."

Caught off guard by the understated compliment, Madison felt her cheeks pink. Good thing he wasn't looking at her right then, anyway.  "In my business, it would be bad to be caught out without all the paint and polish," she mused.

"I . . . I think you look better without all of that," he ventured, his gaze faltering, dropping away as heat stole into his face, too.  "I mean, you look nice with it.  It's just . . ."

"Thank you," she said when he trailed off.  Leaning forward, reaching out to gently lift his chin, she smiled at him, and after a moment, he smiled, too—shy, unsteady, but still a smile—one that took her breath away.  "Uh, dinner . . . I . . . I could help you," she finally offered, mentally shaking off the fluster that threatened just around the edges as her hand rather listlessly fell away.  "I mean, I can't cook, but I can cut things up or something . . ." She wasn't entirely sure, what to think, not really.  Was it too much to hope that he felt those things, too—felt that electric sort of shock that seemed to have run from him, straight into her fingertips . . .?

"O-O-Oh, sure," Mikio replied, pushing himself to his feet once more.  Then he held out a hand to help her up, too.

"Oka y, so how do we do this?"

Mikio set down the tray where he'd arranged plates of the vegetables and thinly sliced meat.  Dropping some of the veggies into the lightly simmering liquid, he caught Madison's rapt attention as she leaned forward and stared down into the pot and chuckled.  "It all cooks pretty quickly," he told her, handing her a small bowl of rice before adding more veggies and settling back to wait a few minutes for them to cook.  Her stomach growled, and he blinked then laughed.  "I guess you are hungry."

She giggled.  "Just a little," she agreed, drawing a deep breath of the rising steam.  "That smells wonderful."

He shrugged.  "Not as good as Mama's since the grocery store didn't carry fish flakes or stock, but I think it'll be okay without it.  I hope . . . I guess I'll have to find a Japanese grocery if they have one around here."

"Oh, there is.  It's just a few blocks away.  Evan goes there all the time when he feels like having something Japanese . . . I'll show you tomorrow.  I have an appointment in the morning, but I'll be free after that if you are."

"Yeah, okay," he agreed, breaking into a rather nervous little smile that also triggered the twitching in his left ear to pick up.  "If, uh, if you're busy, though, you could just give me directions . . ."

"I like spending time with you," she admitted.

The look he shot her was surprised, almost comically so.  "You . . . do?"

Slowly, she nodded.  "I do."

For a moment, he didn't seem to know what to say, but in the end, he chuckled despite the tinge of pinkness in his cheeks.  "I'm not nearly as exciting as Evan," he ventured quietly.

Madison wrinkled her nose.  "His kind of excitement isn't for everyone," she told him thoughtfully.  "Don't get me wrong, I really adore him, but he's kind of like the Energizer bunny."  She sighed.  "Keeping up with him . . .? V's got her work cut out for her—and I don't really envy her in that."

He considered that as he carefully dropped in some slices of meat.  Ordinarily speaking, his family didn't eat steak very often, but the cuts had looked so good that Mikio had opted to buy it instead of shrimp or even crab legs.  Besides, if he was going to alter the hotpot anyway, he might as well try something entirely different, he figured.  "Morio and I went to one of Evan's concerts in Tokyo a couple years ago," he ventured without taking his eyes off the cooking pot as he dished out a serving.  "He gave us those cards so we could go backstage, and it was completely insane—utter bedlam.  I can't imagine living with that every night."

She nodded, taking the bowl he offered her.  "I haven't been out on the road with him in awhile," she admitted.  "I mean, I'd fly out and sometimes and hang with him, but not nearly as often in the last couple years as I used to.  It was pretty crazy back then, and it's only gotten worse.  Everyone wants a piece of him, you know?  It's almost . . ."

"Frightening?" he supplied when she trailed off.

Nodding slowly as she reached for a fork, she smiled.  He'd gotten out chopsticks for himself, but he'd brought both out for her, and, while she could use chopsticks a little bit, she had no desire whatsoever to embarrass herself in front of a native Japanese man, trying to use them now.  "Sometimes his life is a lot like a three ring circus," she concluded.  "But V can handle it."

"I hope so," he replied, settling back with his food and a pair of chopsticks.

"You didn't have to help me with the dishes," Mikio remarked, drying his hands on a crisp white dishcloth.

"It's the least I could do," she insisted, wiping off the wooden cutting board.  "That was really good.  Thank you."

"Oh, uh, sure," he mumbled, digging his hands into his pockets as he turned to lean against the counter.  "It was nothing."

"Are you kidding?  I love a man who can cook."

'Quit blushing, Mikio.  If you blush every time she says something to you, she's going to start thinking that your parents have every reason to worry about you, don't you think?'

Which was easier said than done, he thought with an inward sigh.

"Have you managed to look over the evidence they have against Gavin yet?"  Then she grimaced.  "You probably can't talk about it, can you?  I'm not trying to be nosy," she hurried on to say.  "I have no idea what kind of proof they think they might have, but Gavin's one of the most honest people I know.  There's no way he'd ever do anything dishonest, let alone to people who trust him with their money."

Letting out a deep breath as he slowly rubbed his forehead, Mikio glanced at Madison, only to find the woman standing there, arms crossed over her stomach, worrying at her lower lip.  "I really shouldn't talk about it, no."

"Sorry," she said.  "I just don't want to see him get in trouble when he didn't do anything wrong."

"I don't, either," he assured her.  "Let me worry about it."

She didn't look like she was quite ready to let the subject drop, but with a sigh, she did.  "You're good at what you do, right?"

He shrugged.  "I'm not a criminal defense lawyer, if that's what you mean," he said, "but a lot of this stuff does fall into corporate law, so I'm not completely out of my element."

"But you can do it?  You can make sure that the right person is charged, can't you?"

He frowned at the hopefulness in her tone, in her stance, as she tilted her head to the side, as she gazed up at him through her eyelashes, and it struck him: she truly did believe that he could do it, didn't she?  "I'll . . . I'll do my best," he promised her.

Only then did she smile, but that smile was instant and brilliant, igniting an incandescence behind her eyes, carving a dimple in her left cheek.  That smile was enough to make him forget that he needed to breathe, only to remember it a moment later with a sudden and sharp, indrawn breath . . .

"You'll be Jillian's hero if you can get Gavin out of this with his reputation still intact," she pointed out, that teasing quality back in her tone.

"She said as much," he replied.  "I just want to keep him out of prison."

Her smiled faltered then faded, and Mikio scowled at himself for stating something that'd he'd so far only thought in his own head.  "It really is bad, then, isn't it?"

She wasn't really asking him for information, he could tell.  She'd simply interpreted his words for what they were, and he grimaced.  "Looks that way," he admitted quietly.

"Is there anything at all that I can do?"

Shaking his head, he tried to smile.  He must have failed, though, because Madison winced.   "It's still too soon to worry," he told her despite his concern that lingered just beneath his superficial calm.

She didn't look like she was buying into his attempts to reassure her, but she let out a deep breath and managed a wan smile.  "It's almost ten . . . I guess I should change and get going.  That appointment I mentioned . . ." Madison rolled her eyes as her smile widened.  "Who in the world schedules a meeting at eight in the morning, I ask you?"

He chuckled.  "Not your idea?"

"If I could stay in bed till noon every day, I would," she informed him.  "The guy I'm meeting has to fly out to LA tomorrow afternoon, though, so it was early or postpone for a few weeks till he gets back.  On the plus side, it means that I can show you around tomorrow afternoon."

"That . . . That sounds good."

She laughed and winked at him before moving toward the doorway to go change back into her clothes.  "Then it's a date, Mikio."

He watched her go, his smile faltering, though it didn't disappear completely.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear the very distinct sound of warning bells, very much like alarms that sounded just before the trains docked at their station platforms, the ones that were always heard long before you could ever see the train coming, that he summarily ignored.  "A . . . date," he whispered into the quiet that had fallen in her wake.

Then he pushed himself away from the counter to wait for her in the living room so that he could walk her home.