InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Fruition ❯ Busted ( Chapter 8 )

Flicking his wrist to check his watch for the third time in the fifteen minutes that he'd been waiting in the small bistro not far from his townhouse, Ben stifled the urge to sigh as he willed away the impatience that lingered just below the surface of his otherwise perceived calm.

"Still waiting, huh?  Well, can I get you another drink?  An appetizer?"

Glancing up at the waitress, Ben slowly shook his head.  "No, thank you," he said, forcing a tight little smile that he was far from feeling.

She grinned and nodded just once before hurrying away again, weaving her way through the maze of tables in the bright and airy bistro.

He had left the twins with Eddie since bringing them with him wasn't really an option.  It wasn't sitting well with him, though.  After all, any number of terrible things could happen in the time he was away from home, and every last one of those horrible things had occurred to him in the twenty minutes since he'd stepped out the door . . .

To that end, he pulled out his cell phone to see if he'd gotten any messages.  He hadn't, so he supposed that was good.  Maybe.

'Or maybe Eddie didn't have time to call you.  Maybe she had to rush right out the door to get the babies to the closest emergency room . . .'

'You know what?  That's really not helpful at all,' he pointed out, grinding his teeth together so tightly that his jaw bulged from the exertion.

'I know, but if you're going to be a fatalist . . .'

'. . . Shut up.'

Glancing up when the door chime sounded, Ben narrowed his gaze as he stowed the phone away once more.  The Douglasses walked into the bistro—he recognized them from the photo in the dossier.  They looked around, and Ben stood to wave them over.

"Hi.  Sorry we're late.  This city's crazy!  I'm Denny Douglass, and this is my wife, Jane," the man said, extending a hand and giving Ben's a hearty shake before helping his wife sit down and slipping into the chair beside Ben.  Blonde hair, blue eyes, tall but not nearly as tall as Zelig, broad but not huge like Sebastian Zelig, Denny Douglass looked like the proverbial boy next door, and his wife?  Jane Rightmore-Douglass, with her bright green eyes and long, sun-bleached hair, her graceful height that was just a few inches shorter than her mate, looked more like a runway model than she did like a preschool teacher.

'The perfect couple, right?' his youkai-voice scoffed.

Yes, Ben supposed, the Douglasses absolutely fit that bill perfectly . . .

"That's quite all right," Ben assured him, brushing off the almost cynical sound of his youkai-voice's words, with a tight little smile as he sat down again, lifting a hand to summon the waitress.  She hurried back, handing over menus and tugging out the small green and white order pad from her apron.

"What would you folks like to drink?" she asked.

"Oh, uh, iced tea would be great," Denney said.

Jane smiled.  "Me, too, thanks."

"Okay, I'll bring those right away, and I'll give you a few minutes to look over the menu."

"Thank you," Denny called after the woman, who was already hurrying away.

He let out a deep breath as he turned his attention back to Ben once more.  "Twin girls, huh?"  He chuckled.  "I admit, we hadn't thought about that before, but . . . I think we'd be up to it."

Jane smiled happily when Denny glanced at her, one of those expressions reserved for one's significant other, Ben supposed.

"And you feel that you can adequately care for newborn twins?" Ben asked.

"I think we can," Jane replied, nodding at the waitress as she slipped their drinks onto the table.

"I have to ask why you wish to adopt.  I mean, strictly speaking, most of us don't even consider it, all things considered.

The couple exchanged meaningful glances—not really surprising, Ben figured.  He'd asked an intensely personal question, even if it did bear a certain significance to the matter at hand.

Jane sighed, offering Ben an almost apologetic sort of half-smile.  "A few years ago, I was in a car accident.  It wouldn't have been life-threatening, but I was hemorrhaging pretty severely, and the doctor had to remove my uterus to stop it.  He said that it was possible that it might grow back, but it could take a long time, if it’s even a possibility—maybe centuries . . ."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Ben replied as Denny reached over to pat his wife's hand, to squeeze her fingers in silent support.  "I wasn't trying to pry," he assured her.  "It's just something that I have to ask."

"No, I understand," she said, and her smile was genuine.  "I thought you would, anyway."

"Would you care for something to eat?" Ben asked, changing the subject in an effort to alleviate the tension that had fallen over them since Jane's disclosure.  Over the years, he'd conducting more than one of these kinds of interviews.  Sometimes, it worked out for the people looking to adopt, sometimes, it didn’t.  This one had a different feel, though, if he were to be completely honest, he'd have to admit that it was his fault, not theirs.  Not for the first time, he had to wonder if he weren't entirely too close to the given situation to be wholly objective . . .

"Oh, um . . . a cheeseburger and fries?" Denny asked since he hadn't actually looked at his menu.

"Okay, and what do you want on that?"

"Just pickle and mustard, please."

The waitress nodded and scribbled on her pad before turning her attention to Jane.  "And what for you, hon?"

"Um, the chef salad, please . . . Ranch dressing on the side."

"What about you?"

Ben held up a hand.  "No, thank you."

The waitress hurried away once more, and Ben dug out the slim-file with the couple's information.  "You're a policeman?"

Denny nodded.  "For the last seven years, yes."

"How dangerous is your job?"

"Pleasant Hill isn't nearly as dangerous an area as a bigger city, if that's what you mean."

"Good."  He sighed.  "I'm just worried about family stability, you understand."

Denny nodded again, and he smiled.  "No, I get it completely.  My job's more dangerous than, say, someone who works in a factory or something, but not nearly as bad as it could be.  Most of my job is just routine traffic stops, busting up teenage parties on the weekend, that sort of thing."

Ben nodded, too.  "And you're a preschool teacher?"

Jane's smile was immediate and intense.  "Yes, I am."

"And if you adopt the girls?"

The smile faltered just a little as Jane bobbed her shoulders in an offhanded shrug.  "I don't understand what you're asking . . ."

"I mean, if you adopt the girls, are you going to continue to work?  I know that lots of people do, but we're talking about twins.  At least, while they're still infants, how are you going to deal with your job and taking care of them?"

It was pretty apparent from her hesitation before answering that she either had not considered it or wasn't entirely sure, just what Ben wanted to hear.  "Well, my daycare does have openings for babies, too, and then I can spend more time with them during breaks and while the other teacher is giving her lessons to the children . . ."

Ben took his time, sipping the coffee that was growing cold.  Ordinarily, whether the potential mother worked or not was not really much of an issue, but in this case, he couldn’t help but to feel as though it wasn't a good idea.  It was hard enough for adoptive parents to form the bonds necessary to ensure that the protection of the family as a whole would be as strong as it could be.  With twins, though, it'd be just that much harder.  "Would you consider leaving your employment for at least the first year?"

The couple exchanged glances, carrying on a conversation conveyed through expressions and gestures alone.  "I . . . I could," she finally decided.  "If it'd be better for them, then I’m open to anything."

Ben forced a smile that he was far from feeling.  "It can be difficult for adopted children to properly bond.  I'm not saying that you would have trouble, but it would definitely be in your own best interest as a family to consider it."

Flipping to the base directory of the slim-file, Ben tapped to open a document—the information release pages.  He handed it over to Denny along with a digipen.  "These just give us permission to run background checks on the both of you," he explained.  "Standard stuff, really."

Denny scanned it quickly then signed his name before handing it over to Jane for her to sign, as well.

"Thanks," Ben said, taking the file back and closing it.  "Providing everything checks out, I'll contact you and set up a time when we can meet again.  I'd like to visit your house just to see it and to make sure that the girls will fit into your lives.  If that all goes well, then we can discuss some visits."

Jane shot Denney a hopeful little smile, one that seemed as though she were genuinely excited, yet there was also a sense that she was also trying not to get her hopes up too high.  Her mate smiled back in what could only be described as an encouraging sort of way, and he gave her a quick little squeeze to the shoulders.

A familiar youki washed over him, and Ben's chin snapped up as Charity stepped into the bistro.  She didn't seem to notice him right away, but a moment later, she whipped around, her eyes registering her surprise even as a brilliant smile surfaced on her pretty face.

"Uh, just a moment, please," he said, standing up and excusing himself as he stepped over to intercept the woman who was heading toward him, her smile widening, eyes shining.  "Charity, hi.  I didn't expect to see you here."

She waved a hand as if it was of no real consequence.  "Are you kidding?  They have the best steak flatbread sandwiches in the area.  I'm just on a lunch run."  Her smile dimmed slightly as she tilted her head to the side.  "Where are the twins?"

Casting a quick glance behind him at the table where he'd left the Douglasses, he was relieved to see that they were absorbed in the food that had been delivered when he'd stepped away from the table.  "They're with Eddie."

Charity leaned to the side to peer around Ben. A moment of surprise flickered to life, only to be replaced with one of utter suspicion as she slowly met Ben's eyes once more.  "Ben?  Are they . . .?"

Ben grimaced and leaned down to whisper in her ear.  "Why don't you come by after work, Charity?  I'll tell you everything then."

She didn’t look like she wanted to agree.  In the end, however, she nodded.  "Okay," she said slowly, carefully.  "I'll . . . I'll see you later, then."

He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he watched her turn and weave her way through the tables and over to the counter to pick up her order.  Even from the distance, he could sense her absolute sense of irritation, and he didn’t even try to fool himself into thinking that maybe, just maybe, he should have at least mentioned that he’d found a potential couple to her before.  Stifling a sigh, he headed back to the table once more, willing away the sense that he had a killer headache, just waiting to drop on him.  He just wanted this interview to end so he could go back home, so he could sit down with the twins and forget the whole lunch, damn it . . .

"Sorry about that," he said as he slipped into his chair once more after he managed to get his own emotions back under control once more.  "So . . . Do either of you have any questions?

Jane cleared her throat and seemed to be deliberating what she wanted to say.  Finally, she smiled a little uncertainly.  "I don't suppose you have a picture of them?  The twins?"

Ben wasn't sure why her question caught him off guard.  Surely it was a normal enough thing to ask, wasn't it?

But why the hell was it so damn difficult to pull out his phone, to scroll through the images and open the photo gallery . . .?  Why did something deep inside him feel as though . . . as though . . .?

'If you say it, you'll only make it more difficult, Ben.'

Drawing a deep breath to temper the rioting emotions within him, Ben stared at the first image for a moment before handing the phone across the table.

"O-O-Oh," Jane breathed, turning the phone as Denny leaned to the side to see the image, too.  Blinking rapidly, the woman cleared her throat before she could speak.  "They're beautiful," she breathed.

"There are more," Ben heard himself saying.  "Just . . . Just scroll."

They did, punctuating the silence with soft laughs, with oohs and ahhs.  "What are their names?" Denny asked, his smile friendly and kind—and completely unwelcome, as far as Ben was concerned.

Swallowing down a strange lump that had grown thick in his throat, Ben shrugged.  "They, uh, don't really have names," he said.  "But we . . . We call them Emmeline and Nadia."

Jane giggled.  "Those are pretty," she allowed.  "But we were thinking of naming them after our mothers: Stephanie and Mary."

Gritting his teeth behind the tight smile on his face, he nodded, trying to ignore the sense that those names were entirely not right, not for the twins, in any case.

"We'll have to put bracelets or something on them," Denny said to his wife.  "Otherwise, we'll never be able to tell them apart."

She laughed and nodded, but didn't take her eyes off the images in front of her.

It was on the tip of Ben's tongue to tell them that he had no trouble in telling Emmeline from Nadia.  In the end, he bit his cheek instead, not trusting himself to open his mouth, all things considered.  They were good people, he could tell, and in any other circumstances, he’d be more than happy to endorse them for adoption.

But . . .

But the twins: Nadia and Emmeline . . .

And in his mind, he could hear them, couldn’t he?  The precious cooing of two little babies who just couldn’t speak for themselves, who were relying on him to make the right choice for them, for their lives, for their futures . . .

Charity strode into the living room with a carefully blanked expression on her face, and she said nothing as she crossed the floor and held out a small bag.

"What's this?" Ben asked, raising a black eyebrow as he slowly reached out to take it.

She shrugged, trying for an air of nonchalance that she just wasn't feeling.  "I was thinking," she said, her voice calm, even.  "When Mamoruzen was a baby, I remember one week when Mama wasn't there—I think that was when one of her brothers died and she went to his funeral—so Papa had to get some formula, and Kichiro-oji-chan gave them a bottle of stuff that needed to be added to it.  I was pretty small then, so I don't know what that was all about, so I called Isabelle and asked her, and she said that youkai babies need more vitamins and stuff than human babies do, so she sent me that—express delivery.  It cost a lot."  She narrowed her eyes at him.  "A lot."

Ben blinked and stared at her for a long moment.  "I can pay you back," he said carefully, cautiously, very aware of the invisible alarm bells that were clanging in his head.  Something about her demeanor, her tone of voice . . . He had the feeling that he was treading on very, very dangerous ground . . .

She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest as she turned her back to him. "You don't owe me," she informed him.  "You owe Isabelle.  Now, before I go spend some time with the twins, why don't you tell me who those people were in the bistro earlier?"

She heard him sigh.  "They . . . They want to adopt the girls," he admitted.

She winced.  He didn't see it.  She'd thought as much.  "I see."

"Do you?"

The carefully constructed façade that she'd carried into the townhouse with her crumbled.  "Of course, I do, Ben," she said quietly as her shoulders slumped.  "Give me some credit, will you?"

"Look, Charity . . . If it were up to me, I'd . . . I'd keep them.  Don't you know?  But . . . But it's not about me, it's about them—what they need, what's best for them."  He sighed, and she knew he was struggling, but that knowledge only made her feel just a little worse.  "If the background checks come back clear, there's no reason why I shouldn't recommend them to Zelig."

It didn't really help her to know that he didn't want to do any such thing, and the hell of it was, she could understand his feelings, could fully comprehend the truth in what he said.  But she’d be lying if she tried to say that she liked it.  She . . . Well, she just didn’t.  "Okay," she said, blinking fast to disburse the unwelcome moisture that had gathered in her eyes.  "You're right," she allowed quietly.

She heard him plop onto the sofa, and she peered over her shoulder.  Half-sitting, half-lying with his head tilted back almost horizontal to the ceiling and his legs stretched out before him, the expression on his face said it all.  "I don't want to be right," he admitted.  Suddenly, he barked out a laugh that was entirely devoid of any real humor as he scowled at nothing at all.  "I've only had them a few days . . . So, why . . .?"

“Why?” she echoed.  She understood what he was asking, and yet . . .

He grunted.  “I shouldn’t . . . They haven’t been here long enough for me to . . . Damn it . . .”

Letting out a deep breath, Charity spun around on her heel and strode over to him, sinking down beside him, grasping his hands in hers.  "You're a good man, Ben Philips," she said.  "But you know, it's okay to give away a few little pieces of yourself, you know."

He didn't move his head, but he shifted his eyes to the side, his gaze so intense, so dark that for a moment, she didn't recognize him.  "Do I ever get those pieces back, Charity?"

Letting go of his hands, she leaned her shoulder against the sofa, let her temple fall against it as she stared into his eyes.  "Maybe?  Someday . . ."

"Ben . . .?"

"Hmm?"

Charity bit her lip and crossed her arms over her chest as she stood beside him in the doorway of the twins' nursery.  "How long are we going to stand here?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He shot her a quick glance and straightened his back as he crossed his arms over his chest, too.  "I'm just making sure that they're sleeping."

She nodded slowly, almost sagely.  "But we've been watching them for almost an hour."

He waved a hand at her before tucking it into the crook of his elbow once more.  "Just a few more minutes."

Rolling her eyes since the twins were very, very deep in sleep, Charity grabbed Ben's hand and marched him away down the hall and toward the stairs.  Besides, he'd already set up the baby monitor—she'd stood there, holding both babies as he programmed the unit into the townhouse's central nav.  Then he'd taken both girls and asked her to go upstairs and make noise so that he could make sure it was working, so she'd spent ten minutes, yammering on about her research and the loose connection between the vestulus pharosa and the sirufalum genticala despite the knowledge that Ben probably had no idea just what she was talking about, anyway.  He'd finally declared the connection successful.

After that, they'd spent a good hour, giving the girls a bath, which was only marginally better than the first try at doing so.  The bath had helped, though, because the girls had gone to sleep after having one last before-bed bottle each.  They hadn't even stirred when Charity and Ben put them in one of the cribs, and if she didn't know better, she'd almost think that Ben was somewhat disappointed that they hadn't hollered bloody murder . . .

"Charity," Ben said as she dragged him down the stairs and into the living room again.

"If I let go, are you going to charge right back up there again?" she asked.

He snorted.  "No . . . Maybe."

"Thought so," she replied, pulling him around the sofa and letting go of his hand to push on his shoulders until he gave in and sat down.

"I just want to look in on them once more," he said as he started to rise again.

Charity was faster, leaning all her weight on her hands on both of his shoulders until he acquiesced, albeit with a ration of ill-grace, in the form of a very pronounced snort.

"You're kind of bossy," he muttered.

She wrinkled her nose, grabbing a slice of salami on a cracker with cheese that Eddie must have left there and shoved it into his mouth.  He sputtered indignantly as he chewed and slowly shook his head.  "If you keep going in there, you're going to wake them up," she told him.  "You'll hear them if they cry, right?  They're fine."

Heaving a sigh designed to let her know just how sorely put upon he felt, Ben poured two glasses of wine and held one out to her.  "I read an article that said how important it was for babies to be held and cuddled as much as possible."

Hiding her smile behind the wine glass that she lifted to her lips, Charity very nearly laughed.  "It's also important to let them alone, too, so that they can develop the understanding that they can do certain things for themselves."

Ben snorted, reaching for another cracker.  "They're infants.  They can't do anything for themselves yet."

She stared at him for a long moment, her gaze inscrutable, as though she were trying to see into his head.  "Did your parents hold you all the time?" she finally asked.

"When I was an infant?  Of course, they—” Cutting himself off with a heavy sigh, Ben shook his head.  “No, they didn’t.  But—"

She made a face.  "So, you never got to go outside and play by yourself?  You didn't get to roam and explore and do things without your parents, hanging onto your hand the whole time?"

A small smile broke over his features, and he chuckled.  "Of course, I did," he admitted.  "That was also over seven hundred years ago.  The world was a different place back then . . ."

Setting the glass aside, Charity pulled up her knees, wrapped her arms around them.  "Okay.  Then tell me about it."

"About what?"

She laughed.  "Your childhood!  Were you a troublemaker?"

Drawing in a deep breath, he looked like he wanted to deny it.  Then he chuckled and slowly shook his head.  "N-No," he drawled thoughtfully.  "Usually, I just went along with whatever Keijizen—Sebastian—wanted to do to so that I could try to keep him out of trouble."

"Did it work?"

Ben chuckled once more.  "Sometimes.  Back then, he had a bad habit of not thinking things through—of just doing whatever it was that he thought up, even if it was a bad idea at the time.  If it occurred to him, then why not?"

"He was reckless."

"Mmm," he intoned with a slow nod.  "He got better about that as we grew older, but when we were children, not so much."

She laughed, enjoying the mellowness in Ben that had been missing for most of the evening.  He was worried about the Douglasses, even if he wouldn’t admit as much, especially not to her—afraid that this couple was going to take the babies, and even though everything Ben had said about them was positive and good, she couldn't help but wonder if they really were, as Ben claimed, best for those girls in the long run . . .

"If he was so reckless, why on earth would you follow along with him?" she asked, ignoring the myriad of questions that swirled around her own head, and delving a little deeper into Ben’s past seemed like a good way to distract both him as well as herself.

Green eyes taking on a more far-away expression, he set his glass aside and leaned back, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully.  "He always had this . . . this way about him," Ben explained.  "He was always a natural born leader.  He’d . . . He’d suggest these things, and then . . . It was like, his enthusiasm was infectious, almost . . . almost mesmerizing.  Even if the things he suggested were the craziest things in the world, somehow, he made them seem perfectly normal, perfectly reasonable . . . He was always fearless, even if he knew he'd take a beating for his troubles.  It's just how he was."  Gaze taking on an amused light, he smiled just a little.  "First in for a fight, last standing in the end.  That was Keijizen."

Charity nodded slowly, thoughtfully, a soft smile of her own, quirking the corners of her lips.  "He was your best friend."

Ben's smile faltered, his eyes taking on a more somber richness in color.  "He was."

The sadness in his aura was a painful thing to feel.  It could have just happened yesterday, at least in his mind, because the spike in his youki was harsh, bitter, and so unlike the Ben that Charity knew.  These memories, these thoughts . . . He didn’t dwell upon them often, did he?  It was an emotion that hurt her, though she'd be hard pressed to put into words, why that was . . .

Reaching over, she grasped his hand, squeezed his fingers gently, and when his eyes flew up to meet hers once more, she tried to smile.  "You still miss him."

Letting out a deep breath, he nodded, his fingers closing around hers as he gently but firmly drew her close to his side.  She didn't resist as he wrapped his arms around her, rested his cheek on her hair.  She could feel the thump of his heart, could feel the deep-seeded sorrow as it slowly ebbed away, leaving behind a strange but welcome sense being in perfect sympathy, of two hearts that understood that unvoiced thing.  Idly twisting a lock of his hair around her finger, she tried not to think, struggled not to give voice to anything that could interrupt the welcome feeling of closeness, of a soul that understood hers.