InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 10: Anomaly ❯ Closer ( Chapter 12 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

"Y ou're a life saver, Bas, did you know?"

Bas Zelig shot Madison a cursory glance, pausing long enough to roll his bright golden eyes despite the smile on his face as he swiped the keycard in the slot beside the door.  A soft beep and the unmistakable sound of the lock releasing greeted her ears as the future North American tai-youkai grasped the door knob and gave it a curt turn.  "Yeah, well, I'll drop off a copy in a little while.  I'm assuming you'd rather leave this one with Evan, right?"

She made a face at the blatant barb, but smiled despite herself.  "I suppose that would be best, yes," she agreed with an embarrassed sigh.  "Oh, I meant to ask, how's your father?"

Stepping into the apartment after Madison, Bas grimaced, scratching the back of his golden bronze head and gave a little shrug.  "Not bad, I guess," he said.  "I mean, he's been pretty quiet ever since he got back from Chicago, Mom says.  I didn't really get to talk to him too much since we had to get moving right after he arrived.  You know how he is, though.  Taking a life in that kind of way just . . . Well, it's never easy for him."

She nodded, dropping her purse onto the small table behind the sofa.  Having known Cain Zelig since she was just a toddler, she understood just what Bas was saying.  Cain was a gentle soul, and killing for any reason never, ever sat well with him.  "I figured as much."

Taking his time as he inspected the panel beside the door, Bas grunted almost distractedly.  "Is this the only security you've got?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder at her.

Shifting through the accumulated mail that she'd forgotten to pick up since she'd been staying with Mikio, Madison had to look to see what he was talking about.  "What, that?  Oh, yes . . . I meant to upgrade it at some point, but then I kept getting sidetracked with stuff . . ."

He shook his head as he strode over to the long windows on the far wall.  There were only a few feet between her building and the one next to it—just enough for a joint fire escape that was attached to both.  "There isn't an alarm on these windows," he stated brusquely.  "Maddy—"

"Wh-What?"

Bas glanced back toward the door as Mikio stepped inside, idly scratching the side of his head before latching onto his twitching left ear.  "There's a door alarm, but there's nothing on these windows, and, considering the fire escape is connected to both of these buildings, it's not really the safest setup I've ever seen . . ." Pivoting on his heel, he shot Madison a no-nonsense look.  "Why hasn't your father insisted upon better security?  Cartham, better than anyone, would understand why this isn't acceptable.  I can't see him being that cavalier about it."

Mikio shook his head.  "It's not safe."

Bas shrugged, but still looked entirely irritated.  "Maybe, if she lived out in the middle of nowhere," he grumbled.  "Here, in the city?  Not hardly.  That security system is entirely outdated.  I wouldn't trust it on my garage, let alone on my apartment in the middle of New York City.  She ought to have known better.  Her father's a hunter, for God's sake, and—"

She wrinkled her nose, crossing her arms over her chest stubbornly.  "And she is right here, gentlemen," she cut in curtly.  "It's really not that big a deal.  I travel a lot, anyway, and, in case you both forgot, I am youkai.  I can damn well handle my own business, thanks."

'Um, Madison . . .'

'The nerve of them!  Stupid men!  Just why do they have to—"

'Madison?'

'—act like I don't have a damn brain in my head?  If they think—"

'Ma . . . di . . . so-o-o-o-on . . .!'

'Hmm?  Oh, what?' she growled at her youkai-voice since it had the audacity to interrupt a perfectly good tirade.

The voice sighed.  'You could get a new system installed . . .'

'Sure, I could, but even if I did, they don't have the right to—'

'And if you did, you'd need somewhere to stay while they're putting it in, wouldn't you . . .?'

'Well, of course I would! That's a dumb question, and—'

'Oh, good God, Madison!  You can stay with Mikio, you know!  In his penthouse?  In his bed?  A bed that is ridiculously comfortable, if you'll recall . . .?'

'Stay with . . .?' Trailing off, her eyes flared wide, not that either of the men noticed since they were busy, searching the web on their phones for reputable security companies.  'Oh-h-h-h-h . . .'

"That's all fine if you two are making my decisions now, but you know, right?  I don't have anywhere to stay while they're working here," she pointed out.

Bas blinked and glanced up from his phone before looking right back again.  "Not a problem, Maddy," he said in a very bland monotone.  "You can stay at the townhouse.  Sydnie won't mind, and—"

"Sydnie might mind," Madison pointed out since it was a well-enough documented fact that Sydnie was entirely ridiculously possessive of her mate, and even though she was all right with Madison, she wasn't at all certain that the cat-youkai would be all right with her, staying under the same roof as Bas, either.

"Nah, she thinks of you like a sister," Bas insisted.  "It's not a—"

"M-Maddy's going to stay with me," Mikio said in a quiet tone that was no less authoritative.

Bas glanced at him, then nodded.  "Oh, okay," he said.

Mikio met Madison's gaze, and he blushed just a little.  "Uh, that is, if you . . . if you want to . . ."

'Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes!'

'Shut up for a minute, will you?'

'Hmph . . .'

"Are you sure it's not a problem?" she asked instead.

"No, it's fine," he told her, visibly relaxing somewhat as he checked the phone.  "It's after five, so most of these places are probably closed.  I'll call and make the arrangements tomorrow," he told her.  "Is there anything you need to bring with you?"

Bas' cell phone rang, and he stepped away into the kitchen to answer it.

"Are you sure this is okay?" she asked Mikio as she took a tentative step toward him.  "I mean, I really could make other arrangements."

He shook his head.  "Stop thinking that you're being an inconvenience," he told her gently.  "I, uh . . ." With a chuckle, he shrugged despite the tell-tale pinking of his cheeks again.  "I really don't mind having you underfoot."

She smiled slightly, biting her lip as a strange and foreign sense of nervousness crept over her.  "If . . . If  you're sure . . . I mean, it's not like having me stay with you all the time is what you were banking on . . ."

His returned-smile was just a little self-conscious, just a little shy . . . "W-Well, you're a lot . . . prettier . . . than any other houseguest I could have . . ."

"Sorry about that," Bas said, dropping the phone into his pocket as he strode back into the living room.  "I have to go." Pausing as he stared at Madison for a long moment, he seemed like he was trying to make up his mind about something.  "That was Miss.  I didn't know she was here in the city . . . Have you seen her, Maddy?"

"Miss?  No, I didn't know that, either."

Bas nodded and let out a deep breath and headed for the door.  "All right.  I'll drop off a copy of the key tomorrow, Mikio."

"Tell Miss to give me a call," Madison called after him.

He lifted a hand to indicate that he'd heard her, but didn't stop as he stepped out of the apartment and closed the door behind himself.


"Fre nch, Italian, pizza—I guess that'd be Italian, too . . . Chinese that isn't really Chinese—more like a sad sort of loose resemblance to Chinese . . ."  Madison giggled as Mikio leafed through a stack of take-out menus from local eateries.  "One of us should learn how to cook," he ventured.

"The last time I tried to cook, it didn't turn out well," she pointed out.  "You?"

He grunted, dropping the menus and fiddling with his twitching ear.  "Mama thought it would be a problem since I'm . . . clumsy . . ." he muttered.  "Hot pot is about the extent of my cooking ability . . ."

"You don't seem that clumsy to me," she pointed out.  "We could always go for burgers and fries."

He made a face, mostly because he wasn't that keen on that much fried, fatty food, but ignored her comment about his clumsiness.  "Or we could go to the store and see if anything looks good . . . I mean, in the deli or something . . ."

She tapped a tapered claw against her lips thoughtfully.  "What do Bas and Sydnie do when they're here?  I mean, back home, Gin normally cooks their food, and they just heat it up . . ."

"Kind of like a delivery service?" Mikio asked.  "Then again, I doubt they pay her, and . . . and that's kind of like food extortion or something, isn't it?"

Madison laughed as she sat on the sofa and retrieved the stack of take-out menus off of the coffee table.  "More like they just benefit from the idea that Gin can't stand the idea that one of her babies might have to go without a meal or two . . ."

Mikio nodded and sat beside her, leaning in to peer at the menus once more.  "Mexican?  Is that all spicy?"

"Well, no, not if you don't want it to be," she said.  "We could always order out and then put it on plates and pretend that one of us cooked it."

His gaze shifted to her, though he didn't move his head.  "I'd feel bad and dirty if you complimented my ability to cook, and it was based on a lie," he told her.

"Bad and dirty is kind of my thing," she teased, giggling softly when his cheeks pinked just a little, when his gaze skittered back to the menu she held.

He cleared his throat.  "Somehow, I don't think you're talking about that," he said, poking a claw at the paper in her hands.

She just laughed, but didn't correct him.  "Well . . . I really don't care what we eat . . . I'm not that picky.  Maybe pizza and a movie?"

He considered that for a moment, then shrugged.  "I don't care what kind of pizza, but please don't make me sit through one of those comedies that tries to be funny but isn't."

"You mean, like stupid humor type movies?"

He nodded.  "Just . . . Not really my thing, I guess."

"Not really mine, either . . . So, what kinds of movies do you like?"

He thought it over, then shrugged offhandedly. "I don't really care, as long as it isn't stupid humor," he replied.  "Ryo-nii always teases me because I like to watch more serious movies—ones with really good plots.  Like he's one to talk, though.  He likes chick-flicks . . ."

Madison covered a smile with her hand.  "Does he really?"

Mikio rolled his eyes.  "Kami, yes . . . He's always watching stuff like that . . . and he always blames it on Nez . . ."

Madison giggled, settling back against the sofa, leaning her elbow against it, propping her temple on her balled up fist.  "Those two are the strangest couple . . ."

Mikio snorted.  "And now, you know what happened to Morio."

"You like your nephew," she pointed out.  "Isn't he your best friend?"

Mikio snorted, reaching for the television remote to scroll through the on-demand movie rentals.  "Only when I can't shake him off," he replied dryly.  "Oh, Stillwater . . . I didn't know it was streaming yet . . ."

She stifled a sigh and reached for her phone.  "What's that about?"

"This guy wakes up with amnesia in the middle of a war, and it slowly comes out that he's actually the reincarnation of an ancient demigod who was single handedly responsible for sinking Pompeii . . . It sounds really stupid, actually, but I hear it's pretty good . . ."

"Is the guy at least hot?"

Mikio blinked.  "W . . . Well, I wouldn't know . . . Can't say I've ever thought about it, but . . . It's Curtis Malone, and all the websites seem to indicate that he's a real heartthrob . . ."

She laughed at his rather philosophical assessment.  "Okay, sure," she replied.  "I'll order a pizza . . . What do you want on it?"

"I don't mind any of the regular toppings," he said.  "Uh . . . Madison . . .?"

"Hmm?" she intoned, only paying about half attention as she dialed the number for the nearest pizza place.

He cleared his throat.  "Do . . . Do you think he's . . . hot . . .?"

"Malone?  Sure, he's good-looking in the 'I-will-crush-you-like-a-bug' kind of way . . . Kind of like Bas, come to think of it . . ."

". . . You . . . think Bas is . . . hot . . .?"

"Sure, but don't tell Sydnie I ever said that.  She'd kill me, that one . . . Oh, hi, I want to place a delivery order?"

Mikio frowned as he stood up to retrieve a couple bottles of water from the kitchen.  It bothered him, didn't it?  The idea that Madison might well be attracted to men like that: the huge guys—the ones that might easily fall into the meathead category.  Bas wasn't one of those, but that wasn't the point.  If that was the kind of guy that Madison was drawn to . . .

'Does it matter, Mikio?  I mean, really, does it matter to you?'

Scratching the side of his head, Mikio's frown deepened.  'N . . . No . . . It . . . It shouldn't, should it? It's not like I . . . like I'm . . . interested or anything.  Just . . .'

'But you know, it's okay if you were interested.  Hell, it'd probably be weird if you weren't, don't you think?'

He sighed, yanking open the refrigerator door and nabbing a couple of bottles.  'It . . . It really doesn't matter.  It's not like she'd ever be interested in me, in the first place, but even if she were, I'm just not . . . not the kind of guy a woman like her would ever be looking for . . .'

"They'll deliver in half an hour or less," she said, accepting the bottle from him as he sat back down again.

"Okay," he replied, setting his bottle on the table.

She glanced at him, but frowned as she leaned her head to the side, as she stared at him.  "Mikio? Is something wrong?"

He blinked, hating that he really didn't have a great poker face, as far as that went.  He never really had.  About the only time he could manage a reasonable facsimile of one was when he was in the courtroom, but it was always different, so much simpler, when it was someone else's drama being played out . . . "Uh, nothing," he murmured, knowing she could see right through him, hoping that maybe she'd let it go.

She sighed, smiling at him in a profoundly sad sort of way, and she shrugged.  "You know, when I was growing up, I only had a few friends—real friends, anyway.  I mean, I got along with everyone.  Lots of birthday parties and sleepovers—all of that, but only Evan really got me, really understood me.  Most of the time, I felt like I was playing different roles: party girl, cheerleader, Evan's little friend . . . find a career that I didn't have to think about too much . . . Don't get me wrong, I love what I do, but when you're a kid—when you feel just a little different from everyone else?  It's hard . . . and you  . . . you know about that, too, don't you?"  She sat back, stared at him—stared at him in such a way that he knew that she saw right through him—through the things that he couldn't say, through the things that he was a little afraid to admit, even to himself.

That sad little smile on her face faded, shaking her head just a little as she stood up, as she grabbed her purse off the table next to the door. She had it open before the young man with the pizza box could even knock.  She conversed with him for a minute in low tones—words that didn't carry to Mikio.  Then she smiled, laughed softly, taking the box and handing him some money.

"Hope you're hungry," she said, setting the box on the coffee table before hurrying out of the room, probably for plates and napkins.

He watched her go, his brow furrowing in concentration, as he tried to make sense of the mystery of her.  All those smiles of her, all those laughs and giggles . . . Just how much of it was real?  And how much of it was nothing more than a role—the girl she perceived that he might want to see . . .?