InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 10: Anomaly ❯ Uncertainty ( Chapter 25 )

"And then, they thought it’d be a great idea to start wrestling in the middle of the waiting lounge, and, of course, people thought they were actually fighting . . . I thought this one old woman was going to have a heart attack—so, understandably, the flight attendant who was checking passengers called security.  Both of them were almost arrested, and, naturally, both of them thought that it was the funniest thing, ever . . . I should have let them go to jail,” Valerie concluded with a disgusted sigh.

Madison chuckled, casually stirring the cup of tea that Mikio had slipped into her hands—just before Valerie’s unexpected, but entirely welcome, arrival.  Evan had flown out earlier, bound for Germany and a special pre-Halloween show at the Sonica, the largest open-air theater in Europe.  Unfortunately, because of some scheduling conflicts, he had actually had to fly commercial, and, though the accommodations were first class, it was still a public flight.  But he’d flown out as Evan Zelig, complete with short hair, so hopefully, he wouldn’t attract too much attention.  Valerie had opted to stay home since she’d had a few pretty nasty rounds of morning sickness when flying since she’d gotten pregnant.  Besides, he was only going to be gone a couple days, even if he was trying to make it sound like he’d be gone forever.  “You’d think Evan would know by now that he can’t beat Bone in wrestling . . . How bad was it?”

Valerie lowered her mug of tea, her lips twitching slightly, hazel eyes, shining suspiciously.  “Oh, you know Roka.  He grabbed Bone’s balls, and that pretty effectively leveled the playing field . . .”

Madison grimaced.  “You know, I’m convinced that he’s secretly gay,” she quipped.

Valerie rolled her eyes.  “Some days, I wonder, just why I married him . . .”

Mikio, who was leaning against the counter nearby, paused with his mug, halfway to his lips, and blinked.  “He grabbed Bone’s balls?” he echoed, looking even more unimpressed than normal.  “I thought Morio was the only one who did stuff like that.”

“Whose balls has Morio grabbed?” Madison asked, struggling to keep her smile from showing.

“Did it to Bas a couple times,” Mikio said, scratching his chin, as though he were considering her question.  “I think he might have done it to Gunnar before, too—and nearly died for it.”  He seemed to be thinking it over, but in the end, he just gave a shrug.  “Doubt he learned a thing, though, so he could repeat it later if the situation presented itself.”

Pressing her lips together in a very thin line, Madison stared hard at the hanyou.

Mikio intercepted the look and slowly shook his head, even though his cheeks pinked just a little.  “No, he’s never grabbed mine, and . . . and I wouldn’t tell you, even if he had,” he muttered.

Valerie laughed.  “I knew Evan’s people were a strange lot,” she said.  “Proof, right there.”

Mikio nodded.  “Some more than others.”

Valerie nodded, too, finishing her tea.  “That was really good,” she said.  “Maybe not as good as my coffee, but good.”

“It’s Mikio’s special blend,” Madison said.

“Would you like another cup?”

Holding up a hand, Valerie smiled at him.  “No, thank you, but you could send your recipe to Roka since I still can’t figure out where anything is in that ridiculous kitchen that he insisted upon?”  She wrinkled her nose.  “Don’t suppose you’ve seen the one he designed for the lighthouse.”  Rolling her eyes to emphasize her point, she sighed.  “He says he plans on doing most of the cooking, but honestly, I’ve seen smaller industrial kitchens . . .”

“Poor V, living in the lap of luxury,” Madison crooned, patting Valerie’s hand in an entirely placating sort of way.

“I know, right?” she insisted.  Then, she laughed.  “Anyway, I came by to see if you were busy?”

“I don’t know . . . What did you have in mind?”

“Well, we saw Bugs the other night, and between his moments of growling at me, he did mention that Kreigers is having a sale this week—a shoe sale.”

Madison gasped.  “A shoe sale?” she echoed, her tone taking on a rather worshipful lilt since the store in question was one of the newest, trendiest stores on this side of the city.  “You mean, you’re not going with Bugs?  He never, ever passes up a shoe sale . . .”

Valerie made a face that was ruined a moment later when she giggled.  “Are you kidding?  He still hasn’t forgiven me for marrying Roka.  He actually hissed at me when he saw me—you know, like a cat or something, so, no . . . No Bugs.  Besides, he said something about dragging Bitches along.”

“Bitches?” Mikio echoed, blinking a few times as his expression turned even more blank than it was before.

Rolling her eyes, Valerie laughed.  “Roka’s got some interesting friends,” she explained.

Shaking his head in confusion, Mikio appeared to be thinking about what Valerie had said.  “Bitches is . . . a person . . .?”

Valerie wrinkled her nose, but nodded.  “Oh, oh, yes . . .”

He didn’t look any less confused.  “I . . . have so many questions about that . . .”

Valerie sighed.  “I gave up, asking questions long ago,” she admitted almost ruefully.  “Better to just, let it go, Mikio.”

He nodded slowly.

Valerie’s smile was entirely full of mischief, and she looked entirely too pleased with herself to credit.  “Anyway . . . So, do you want to come along, Mikio?  We could use someone to carry the bags.”

Mikio blinked, setting his empty mug beside the sink.  “Oh, uh . . . Shoe shopping?  As . . . exciting . . . as that sounds, I . . . I’ve got some stuff to work on, so I’ll have to pass.”

Valerie giggled and stood.  “All right.  Suit yourself . . . C’mon, Maddikins.”

Madison stood up, too, neatly retrieving both mugs to rinse them.  She had just finished and was drying her hands when Mikio grasped her arm.  “Are you going to be okay?” he asked quietly, just meant for her to hear.

She smiled at him.  “I’ll be fine,” she assured him.  “Are you sure you don’t want to come along?”

Mikio stared at her for a long moment, as though he were trying to decide if she was lying to him or not.  Finally, though, he shook his head.  “Yeah, no, I think I’ll pass on the shoe shopping.”

“All right,” she said with an exaggerated sigh.  “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

He watched her follow Valerie out of the kitchen, both of them, talking excitedly about their soon-to-be shopping experience.  She seemed okay, didn’t she . . .? Maybe spending the day with Valerie would be good for her . . . He hoped . . .


“I should tell you, just how proud of you I am,” Valerie remarked as she and Madison wandered along the street, arm-in-arm and heading in the direction of the Inutaisho penthouse.

“Oh?  Why’s that?”

Valerie laughed.  “You only bought six pairs of shoes.  That’s got to be a low-end record for you.”

Madison sighed, giving Valerie’s arm a little squeeze.  They’d both paid a little extra to have their shoes delivered, and she couldn’t help the small smile that surfaced when she imagined Mikio’s expression when he answered the door, only to find that many shoe boxes, just waiting . . .

Valerie stopped abruptly and turned to face Madison, her expression shifting into her most lawyer-y ‘Don’t-Mess-With-Me’ look.  “All right.  You’ve been quiet all day—like you’re preoccupied or something.  So, you gonna tell me what’s up?  Is it something with Mikio?”

Letting out a deep breath, Madison slipped her arm through Valerie’s again and tugged her onward.  “No, there’s nothing wrong with Mikio,” she said.  “It’s just . . . You remember when I told you about Jazz?”

“Jazz . . . Jazz . . . Oh, the girl from the transvestite club?  Luscious or something?”

Madison nodded.  “Yes.”

Valerie nodded.  “The one you said you wanted me to meet?”

Madison winced.  “Y . . . Yeah . . . She . . . She killed herself last week,” she said, gaze falling to the sidewalk.

“Oh, honey,” Valerie breathed, eyes widening in alarm, even as the color drained out of her face.  “I’m so sorry . . .”

Madison reached over with her free hand, patting Valerie’s before she actually broke out in tears.  “Don’t you dare start crying,” she warned.  “If you start, I will, and then someone will call the nut house on us . . .”

Valerie choked out a half-laugh and sniffled.  “Blame it on the pregnancy hormones,” she complained.  “Are you okay?”  She made a face.  “No, of course, you’re not . . . Why didn’t you say so?  I never would have dragged you out if I’d known . . .”

“No, I needed this,” she insisted.  “I really did.”

Valerie didn’t look entirely convinced.  “I wish I had something really profound to say to you, but I don’t . . . Do you want to talk about it?”

That was the million-dollar-question, wasn’t it?  She sighed.  “Her mother showed up, started making a scene at the club . . . No one knows if anything else happened after they left, but . . . but it’s fair to assume that whatever did happen was ugly.  Jazz went home, swallowed a few bottles of pills . . . One of the other girls found her the next day . . . Her own mother . . .” Madison winced, and even now, she couldn’t quite repress the raw tinge of rage that colored her voice.  “She cut her hair, made sure that she buried her son, and it just . . . It feels so unfair . . .”

“Aww,” Valerie breathed, looking entirely horrified—and entirely angry, too.  “That’s . . . That’s awful.”

Nodding slowly as the two continued to walk down the street, Madison slowly shook her head.  “I just wish there were something I could do.”

Valerie grimaced.  “Mikio . . . He’s helping you, though, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, he is . . . He’s been . . . great.”

Valerie shot her a probing look.  “That doesn’t necessarily sound great,” she said.  “Talk to me, Madison.”

Smiling vaguely at Valerie’s no-nonsense tone, she shrugged.  “It’s just . . . a little complicated,” she replied.  “Sometimes, I think we’re really close, but sometimes, I . . . I don’t know . . .”

“But he’s helping you now?”

“Sure, of course, he is.  He’s too good not to.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Valerie said, drawing a deep breath of the crisp air.  “He has to care in some way or he wouldn’t be doing any such thing.”

“I . . . don’t know.”

“Well, I do,” she insisted.  “I mean, it’s not like he doesn’t have other things going on, and he’s still taking time to make sure you’re all right, isn’t he?”

Madison sighed and slowly shook her head.  There was a vast difference between spending time with her, because he wanted to and spending time with her because he felt sorry for her, but explaining her feelings seemed just a little out of her reach at the moment.

Valerie narrowed her eyes, and Madison figured that she’d read her reaction accurately.  Then, Valerie grabbed her arm again and tugged.  “Come on.  There’s a really nice little café around the corner, and I think we both could use a little something.”

Madison groaned, but smiled wanly as Valerie hurried her down the street.


Miki o frowned, crossing his arms over his chest as he settled back in the booth and pressed his lips tightly together, absently thankful that he was veiled in shadows as he watched the girls, all settled on the edge of the stage, each with a microphone, belting out some old song that he vaguely recognized.  Most of them were able to carry a tune easily enough, but Madison?  ‘Oh . . . Oh, she really . . . can’t sing . . .’

His youkai-voice heaved a sigh.  ‘Or it might have something to do with the, what? Six drinks she’s had?’

Mikio grimaced.  Yes, he supposed that was a very good possibility.  After all, he seemed to recall that she’d been in a high school musical with Evan once upon a time—Frenchy in Grease, wasn’t she?

‘Yeah, but if memory serves, that’s not a singing role, either,’ his youkai pointed out.

Mikio stifled a sigh.  ‘Oh . . . Makes sense, then . . .’

The girl who had introduced herself as Beth leaned over and planted a loud, exaggerated kiss on Madison’s cheek, and she giggled, but didn’t bother to wipe away the lurid red lipstick that was left behind.

Mikio smiled just a little, despite himself.  She’d just gotten back to the penthouse after her shoe shopping excursion with Valerie when Sin had texted Madison, inviting her to the club.  They’d closed down for the night in favor of having a staff party with some of Jazz’s closest friends, and he’d encouraged her to go when she wasn’t entirely sure she was ready to do such a thing.  It turned out that he was right—at least, so far—and she seemed to be enjoying herself overall.  Sure, there were a few tears, a lot of stories . . . He hoped that it would prove to be therapeutic for her—for all of them, really—and right now, he was cautiously optimistic.

It was one of the most surreal things he’d ever seen, really.  All of these girls, in various forms of their own personal metamorphoses, and yet, they were so warm, so loving, maybe because they already knew the heartache, the pain, that came from simply wanting acceptance for who and what they were . . .

The song mercifully ended, and the girls set the microphones on the stage.  Madison hopped down and wandered over to Mikio, but the smile on her face was entirely worth the effort, as far as he was concerned.  She didn’t look like she was entirely back to her normally bubbly self, but she seemed a lot better.  She wrinkled her nose and slipped into the booth beside him.  “I know, I can’t sing,” she said with a shrug.  “Evan’s said before that it’s a good way to get things out, and I suppose that part of it worked . . .”

“It . . . wasn’t . . . bad,” Mikio hedged, lifting a glass of beer to his lips.

Madison paused, staring over the rim of her wine glass at him, only to burst out laughing a moment later.  “You’re a terrible liar,” she said.

He smiled a little sheepishly.   “Well . . . but you knew all the words, so that part was good.”

“Hey, hey, hey!  Mind if we join you?”

Madison waved a hand to invite them into the booth.  She slipped into the other side and kept scooting until she was right next to Mikio on the other side.  No sooner was she settled than another couple girls joined them, too.

“This is Marla, and that is Chaz . . . Girls, this is Maddy’s boy, Mikio,” Beth introduced, sparing a moment to wink at Mikio, who blushed at the implied intimacy, even as he cleared his throat.

“Uh, pleased to meet you,” he said, inclining his head at the women in question.

“Oh, my God!  He’s so cute!” Chaz exclaimed, wiggling her fingers, complete with insanely long, black as midnight, acrylic nails, at him.

“So, is it that you’re curious?  Are you considering joining us on the da-a-a-ahk si-i-i-ide?” Marla asked, her smile indicating that she was very clearly teasing, and her wink at the end only reinforced that.

Mikio chuckled.  “Well, I can’t say that I’ve ever really considered it,” he replied.

Brit reached over, running her fingernails up along his jaw.  “Oh, I don’t know . . . I think you have the makings to be a fine-looking woman,” she said.  “Your bone structure is to die for . . . You know, we spend so much time with contouring to achieve that kind of illusion . . .”

He wasn’t entirely sure, what she was talking about, given that he really hadn’t paid any attention at all, ever, to womenfolk and their makeup rituals.  He shot Madison a sidelong look, only to find her smiling as she tapped a prettily tapered claw against her lips.  He narrowed his eyes, and that drew a husky giggle from her, which just figured.

“I don’t think—”

Brit laughed, but something about it was tinged with a slight hint of sadness.  “Remember when Jazz brought Hollie in here?  Well, she was Kent back then, wasn’t she?  And she just sort of stayed . . .”

“How is she?” Madison asked.

Marla sighed.  “Not doing well, I heard.  She hasn’t been in to work since.  Sin says she’s taking personal time.”

Chaz wrapped a long strand of platinum blonde hair around her index finger.  “We’ve been taking turns, stopping by her place, making sure she’s all right.  She is—and she isn’t.”

Madison nodded.  “I get that.  I wish she’d come in tonight.”

“We tried to talk her into it,” Brit said.  “She said she wasn’t in the mood for it, but to tell everyone she loves them.”

Madison sighed.  “And you, Brit?  Are you all right?”

Brit managed a weak little smile.  “I’ve had better days,” she said.  “My doctor gave me a prescription for Lonifan, so that helps.” Her smile widened.  “Being here with you all helps more.”

Marla and Chaz leaned in to hug Brit.  Marla kissed her, then took her time, wiping her lipstick from Brit’s cheek.

Mikio wasn’t sure what that was, but he figured, based on what she was saying, that it had to be some kind of anti-depressant.  He might not be given to taking medications like that normally, but he certainly could understand why others would use them.

“So-o-o,” Marla drawled between sips of her drink, shifting her light brown eyes between Mikio to Madison and back again.  “Where did the two of you meet?  How long have the two of you been coupling?  Have you run criminal background checks on each other?”  She held her hand up, shielding her mouth from Mikio as she leaned forward across the table.  “Does he have a really big cock?”

Madison laughed and shook her head.  “We’ve known each other a long time,” she said.  “We haven’t been—and we aren’t, he’s a squeaky-clean lawyer, and . . . I have no idea.”  That the last answer was given with a quick wink at Mikio, did very little to alleviate the fact that his skin had to be a really obnoxious shade of red.

Brit eyed Mikio for a very long and rather uncomfortable minute.  “Let us know when you find out, m’kay?”

“You’ll be the first ones I call,” she promised.  Mikio groaned.

“You know, even straight guys enjoy a little drag now and then,” Chaz said, obviously enjoying Mikio’s acute discomfort.

Marla gasped and clapped her hands.  “Oh, you have to let us make you up!” she exclaimed.  Then she batted her eyes and cleared her throat.  “You know, for Jazz.”

“For Jazz,” Chaz and Beth chimed in.

“I-I-I don’t think—”

Madison leaned in toward him.  “For Jazz,” she whispered in his ear.

Snapping his mouth closed, Mikio scowled at her, but his obvious umbrage only seemed to amuse all the ladies, even if he had no idea why.


“O h . . . wo-o-o-ow . . .”

“Da-a-a-ayum . . .”

“I think I feel entirely inadequate . . .”

“Hmm . . .”

Heaving a longsuffering sigh, wondering for the millionth time, just how they’d managed to talk him into this, Mikio scowled at his reflection in the long sheet mirrors that ran the length of the room.  His only real comfort in the entire situation was that no one he knew would ever actually recognize him, given that he looked entirely womanish at the moment.  If anyone in his family—most notably, Bas, Gunnar, and Morio—ever found out about this, he’d never, ever live it down . . . “Okay, okay, you’ve had your fun,” he said.  “Can I wash this off now?”

“What?  No!” Brit exclaimed.  “Would you really ruin our hard work?”

“Just be glad they didn’t want to put you in a dress,” Madison quipped, flipping her claws, giving them the critical eye.  He had the distinct feeling that she was trying not to laugh.

“You know, I think we have something that would look absolutely fabulous on you, Miki,” Marla drawled thoughtfully.

“Absolutely not,” he said flatly.

“But, why?” Chaz whined.

He started to reach up to rub his sore eyebrows—what was left of them, anyway—only to be stopped when Beth grabbed his hands and pushed them back down.  “You’ll mess up your look,” she scolded.

He grunted.  “For starters, I’ve already allowed you to emasculate me enough.  Secondly, you’d probably insist that I shave my legs, and I make it a rule to only allow one hair removal a day, and you already got my eyebrows.”

“Nicely done,” Madison muttered under her breath, lips twisting upward in a vaguely amused sort of half-smile.

“Don’t you at least want to see the dress?” Chaz asked hopefully.

Mikio blinked, hating the way his eyelashes kept entering his line of vision.  How women could stand fake eyelashes on a regular basis was something he would never understand . . . “No, thank you.”

The girls seemed a little crestfallen, but Mikio figured he’d been entertainment enough for the evening.

“Selfie, selfie, selfie!” Beth exclaimed, waving at the others to gather in close around Mikio’s chair.  They all leaned in, even Madison—the traitor—and smiled for the cell phone camera.

“Send me a copy,” Chaz said.

“I’m sending it to all of you—except Miki since I don’t have his cell . . . You want me to forward it to you, lovvie?”

“Oh, I really don’t think I need a reminder of this—ever,” Mikio replied dryly.  They’d also decided that his drag name should be ‘Miki’ since it sounded more girly than his normal name.  Somehow, he had the feeling that this wasn’t going to go away, and he sighed.

He caught Madison’s amused expression, and he shook his head.  “Madison . . .”

“Hmm?”

“Swear to me that no one—no one—will ever see that picture.”

“Are you sure?  I mean, I’ve always thought that the men in your family were ridiculously pretty.  It’s just proof.”

“Not funny,” he said.

She laughed.

‘Think of the bright side, Miki-chan.  At least, she’s laughing again.’

‘Go away.’

The irritating voice had the gall to laugh.

Mikio, however, didn’t find it nearly as comforting as his youkai intended for it to be.  “Don’t think I don’t know that you haven’t sworn yet,” he stated.

Madison’s only answer was a slight lifting of her eyebrows—and a definite widening of her smile.