InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Fruition ❯ Delusions ( Chapter 10 )

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

Charity laughed softly as the twins waved their tiny hands, kicking their feet as they tried their hardest to 'talk' to her.  She'd spread out a thick blanket on the floor of Ben's living room where the three of them were having what she'd dubbed 'girl-time', while some silly nursery type show on the television added a whimsical and amusing bit of background noise.

"You're going to be talking before your sister, huh, Nadia?" Charity cooed at the rambunctious infant who was nowhere near ready for her afternoon nap.  "You're going to be more like Chelsea, aren't you?  I can tell . . . You're going to be a hell-raiser, through and through . . ."

Nadia waved and managed a few incoherent burbles in reply, which only made Charity laugh a little louder.  Emmeline seemed to understand that something had amused Charity, and she screwed up her tiny face in abject concentration and managed a little half-screech, half-coo, as well.

"And you're going to be the sweet one, aren't you, Em?  Sweet and funny . . . Just don't let Nadia drag you into too much mischief, okay?"

The babies kicked and waved their arms happily.

The trill of her cell phone interrupted the one-sided discussion, and she sat up to grab it off the coffee table, only to raise her eyebrows at the name that flashed across the screen.  "Papa!" she greeted after connecting the call.  "What a pleasant surprise!"

Toga's soft chuckle was like a balm on her soul, bringing a smile to her face despite the physical distance between them.  It didn't matter that she'd just seen him a few weeks ago at Evan and Valerie's wedding.  She supposed that she'd just never outgrow the need to talk to her father . . . "Just thought I should give you a call to see how you're doing," he said.

"Everything's going well," she assured him.  "How are you and Mama?"

"Fine, just fine," he replied.  She heard him sigh, and she raised an eyebrow that he couldn't see.  "It's just that I got a really strange call from your sister yesterday."

". . . Coral?" Charity hedged, knowing full-well, just which sister her father was talking about.

"No, not Coral," Toga said, his tone indulgent, even though he had to realize that she was stalling.

". . . Cass?"

He grunted.  "No, not Cassidy, either," he stated.

She sighed, too, giving up the ruse since it just wasn't working, anyway.  "What did Chelsea tell you?"

"To be honest, not a lot of what she said made much sense," he admitted.  "Something about Ben Philips and babies and . . ." Trailing off, he sighed again, and she could hear his chair creak as he adjusted his posture.  "Charity, just what the hell was your sister trying to say?"

Smiling to herself just a little sadly, mostly because of the duly befuddled hint in Toga's familiar voice, Charity drew a deep breath.  "There's . . . There's not much to tell," she lied—well, maybe not a lie, but definitely a vast understatement if there ever was one.  "I've just been helping Ben with the twins—You know about them, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do," he allowed.  Then he chuckled.  "Chelsea did say that they're the cutest babies she's ever seen."

"Of course, they are!  You want to see them?"

"Absolutely."

Her smile widened as she glanced over at the infants who were still waving their tiny hands and kicking their feet.  "Hold on," she said, lowering the phone so that she could switch the voice chat to video feed.  "This one's Emmeline," she said, laying down beside the babies so that she could move the phone to capture them for her father.  "And that's Nadia."

"Pretty cute," Toga remarked with a soft, gentle chuckle.

"I'll have you know that you interrupted girl-time," she chided.  "See him?  That's my papa," she explained to the infants.  "My daddy, just like Ben—” Biting off her words abruptly, Charity cleared her throat, hating the sudden and sharp pang that dug at her from the inside out.  "I mean, like . . . like Denny Douglass wants to . . . to be . . ."

Clearing his throat, Toga seemed to sigh, which didn't really surprise Charity, though she had hoped that he'd missed the slip.  "Charity . . ."

"It's okay," she hurried to reassure her father, hoping—praying—that he couldn't see right through the forced brightness she inflicted into her tone.  "It's just, you know.  Being around them, sometimes it's easy to get carried away, is all.  In fact, that's where Ben is now . . . He's doing a home visit to make sure that the Douglasses are equipped to take on the twins . . ."

He didn't look like he was buying, and Charity winced inwardly.  "Ben's good with them?" he asked instead.

Charity nodded quickly.  "He really is," she insisted, switching hands holding the phone so she could run her knuckle against Emmeline's downy cheek.  The infant turned her head toward the touch, her mouth opening automatically, and Charity giggled.  "They . . . They really love him, too . . ."

"Why doesn't he want to keep them?"

She snorted indelicately, scowling down at the babies for a moment.  "He says they need a two-parent home.  I mean, I understand what he means.  That's how it is for our kind.  Sure, I get it . . ."

Toga considered that for several moments.  "I don't think that it's necessary to have two parents, per se," he said slowly, as though he were giving the discussion a lot of thought.  "I mean, look at Zelig-san.  He did very well, raising Bellaniece on his own.  Maybe it wasn't the perfect situation, but he managed it, and honestly?  I think he did a damn fine job, even though it was just him."

"Papa, you know how old-fashioned Ben can be about some things," she countered with a sad little shake of her head.  She could feel her ears droop, but there really wasn't anything she could do about that, either.  "It's just that he really is so good with them, and they . . . They love him.  He says that they need to have two parents—they deserve it."  A sudden sense of impotent anger surged through her—a rage so thick, so cloying that it frightened her.  "Don't they deserve to have the sense that they belong?  The security that comes with knowing that Papa and Mama aren't going to change?  Less than a week old, and they've already lost one set of parents that they never even got to meet, and Ben says . . . Papa, tell me, how is that fair?"

Toga seemed to be taken aback by Charity's impassioned speech, and he slowly shook his head, his gaze shifting to the side, to the babies, his expression taking on an almost sad kind of lilt, as though he were seeing things that she simply couldn't.  He spoke before she could question it, though.  "You don't have to sell me on it, Charity.  I'm on your side—whatever side that is."

Dashing the back of her hand over her eyes as she scowled furiously at the tears inspired by the righteous indignation, she slowly shook her head.  "I know, but . . ."

"Charity, let me tell you something you might not know."

Sniffling quietly, she dared a peek at the screen, at the concern evident on her father's face—and the unerring love.  "What's that?"

He smiled.  It was an encouraging kind of smile, the kind of smile she remembered seeing on his face when he'd helped her with school projects or tried to give her pep talks when she'd despaired that she'd never actually finish grad school . . . "There are no set rules as to when one becomes a parent.  For most of us, it happens when we choose to make a child to share our lives with, but that's not always the case . . . Sometimes, very special people are chosen—chosen by kami or by necessity or simply by being at the right place at the right time.  The trick is to know when to fight for those children, especially when they're too small to fight for themselves.  Do you understand me?"

Frowning thoughtfully as she pondered his words, Charity slowly nodded.  "I . . . I think so," she said.

Toga chuckled.  "Good, then."  Then he sighed.  "I hate to cut this short, but I've got a meeting I can't get out of . . . Do me a favor, though?  Give your mama a call—soon."

She managed a weak little laugh.  "Hai, Papa," she said.

He nodded and blew her a kiss.  The connection ended as Charity let her phone drop onto the blanket beside herself as her father's words echoed through her head . . .


"At the risk of pissing off Charity, she likes you—a lot.  She always has.  If you like her, too, then great, but if you don't and this is all just some weird game to you?  If she's just convenient because she's 'there' or because you need her help with the girls?  If that's the case, then leave her alone, Ben, because if you don't?  If you don't, I promise you, there won't be a place on earth where you'll be safe from me."

Poking the button on the steering wheel to mute the radio, Ben let out a deep breath, wondering for the hundredth time if there really was any truth to what Chelsea had claimed in the restaurant.

'But I didn't . . . I haven't . . . Why in the hell would Chelsea think that I would have anything but the highest of regard for her sister?'

'I know that, and you know that . . . Of course, she isn't just 'there' . . . and it's not just because of the girls, either,' his youkai-voice fumed, also for the hundredth time.

Weird games . . .?  Just where in the hell had Chelsea gotten a stupid idea like that, anyway?  And why did he get the feeling that she thought it was something he'd done before?  Never mind that he wasn't at all answerable to Chelsea Inutaisho, anyway . . . He had clothes in his closet that were older than she was, damn it . . .

Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, Ben could feel his jaw ticking as another bout of abject irritation spun through him, as fresh and terrible as it had been that night in the restaurant.  Just what, exactly, did Chelsea take him for, anyway?  Did she honestly believe that he would use Charity for his own gain?  And if so, then how dare she misjudge him so quickly and so thoroughly . . .?

'We've taken down a number of youkai for less than that—for daring to impinge upon our honor.'

'That's not what she was trying to do,' Ben thought with a frown.  Angry and insulted or not, the truth of it was that Chelsea was still Charity's twin, and on some level, he had to respect, however grudgingly, the absolute desire to defend her sister.

"The point, Ben Philips, is that you're giving away her babies!"

Ben winced as those words echoed in his head.  Surely, Charity didn’t think . . .? How could she, really, when they hadn’t been in their lives long enough to make that kind of declaration?

‘So, you’re thinking that you don’t understand that, too?’

Again, he grimaced, but he remained silent on it, unable—maybe a little afraid—to acknowledge any such thing, even within the confines of his own mind.

'Yeah, but that whole thing about the girls?  I mean, sure, it makes sense that Charity's grown attached to them.  So have you.  So have I.  But Charity understands why keeping them was never an option.'

Did she?  Did she really?

Unfortunately, that was a question that only Charity could answer, and Charity . . .

"I don't want to talk about it, Ben . . . Your mind's made up, right?  So, it really doesn't matter.  As long as the girls are . . . are all right . . . It's not . . . It’s not about me, now, is it?"

Gaze narrowing as he glared at the empty expanse of road before him, Ben sighed.

And yet, understanding something and dealing with the emotional toll of it all were two totally different things, weren't they?  He understood that only too well.  It was something he'd had to deal with a few times over the course of his life, and even if the circumstances were different, the end result had been the same.  How difficult had it been to reconcile himself to the whispering sense of understanding as he'd watched in silence as Sebastian Cavendish had carried young Zelig onto the ship, bound for the Old World?  And he'd known that he'd never see his friend again, but it hadn't been until years later, when he'd stood on the same dock and watched as Zelig—who had somehow become a man in the passage of time between—walked down the gangplank: tall, proud, and most certainly Sebastian's flesh and blood . . .

Did Charity know how to deal with such a thing?  Ultimately, though, at least, in this, there was comfort in the idea that the girls would benefit from it all, even if it was a small consolation, at best.

The beep of his cell phone interrupted his convoluted thoughts, and Ben hit the buttons on the steering wheel that unmuted the radio and transferred the call to the car speakers instead.  "Ben Philips," he said.

"Hey, Ben, it's Cain . . . Are you done with the home study?"

"Oh, yeah," he said, stifling another sigh since it really wasn't something he wanted to talk about.

"How'd it go?"

"Fine, fine.  Large house, nice yard, good school district . . . They've already started looking into preschools in the area, too.  They showed me the room that they’re already converting into a nursery . . . Everything . . ."

Cain digested that for a long moment before responding.  "You don't sound pleased about that."

Ben winced.  It looked more like a grimace.  "No, I am . . . They're . . . They’re perfect for them."

"Good," Cain said.  "Did you set up a time for them to visit yet?"

If he didn't want to talk about everything else, he most certainly didn't want to talk about visitation.  Even so, he squelched the warring emotions.  "They are coming this weekend," he said.  "They can meet the twins, and we'll see how it goes from there."

"Then it sounds like it's all but settled," Cain concluded.  "Look, I know you've got a lot going on at the moment, but I need you to come up as soon as possible.  There are a few things that I wanted to go over with you.  Next week, maybe?  If things settle down, that is?"

"Okay," Ben agreed, rubbing his forehead as though to soothe a burgeoning headache.  "That shouldn't be a problem."

"All right, thanks," Cain said.  A moment later, the call ended and the speakers switched over to radio once more.

Just as Zelig had said, it was almost done, right?

'Right . . .'

So, why didn't he feel better about it all . . .?


"Look at that silly dinosaur!" Charity said, her voice reaching pitches that should not really have been possible, and despite the funk that had clung tightly to him on the way home, he couldn't help the little smile that quirked the corners of his lips as he leaned against the archway and watched as the hanyou woman held both babies on her lap, their backs braced against her chest.  He didn't actually think they could see the television or the ridiculously bright dinosaurs dancing around on the screen, but he wasn't about to point that out to Charity, either . . .

'She looks damn good with those cubs,' his youkai mused quietly.

Ben nodded.  'She does.'

'You know, right?  She . . . She belongs here with us.'

Yeah, he knew that, too . . .

Shoving away from the arch, Ben wandered over to the sofa where the three of them were sitting.  The girls were both clean and fresh, dressed in cute little impossibly ruffled sleepers.  Charity gave him a brilliant smile as he sat down beside them and handed over Nadia.  "How was your girls-day?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow to emphasize the question.

Charity laughed.  "We had a fabulous time, of course!  Mud baths, champagne by the pool . . ."

He chuckled, wondering vaguely what it was about Charity's laughter, her smile, that could erase all the negative feelings he'd been suffering with since he woke up this morning and remembered just what it was he had on the agenda to do . . . "Sounds like I missed a lot."

She smiled at him for another long heartbeat before heaving an industrious sigh as she glanced down at Emmeline, who was dozing against her.  With another soft laugh, she picked up the infant and carried her over to the portable crib set up nearby.

She didn't return to the sofa right away, though.  Taking her time as she roamed around the room, she seemed almost restless.  He knew damn well, what was going through her mind, and he understood that she was trying to figure out the best way to broach the subject . . . If there was a good way to do it . . .

He let out a deep breath, struggling for a semblance of calm, trying to hide his own emotions when he knew well enough that Charity wouldn't be able to do the same.  "They're coming this weekend to meet the twins."

He didn't know how he honestly had expected her to react.  He supposed, if he had really thought about it, he'd have expected some sort of outburst, some kind of emotion.  When she did speak, however . . . "I . . . I see," she said softly—so softly he almost missed it.

Staring at the baby in his arms, Ben frowned.  Eyes so wide, so beautiful, as she took in the world around her, so calm and so content just to be held . . . and somewhere, deep inside, it felt as though something was crumbling, tearing, shredding apart, and he was entirely powerless to stop it . . . "If all goes well, they might . . . They’ll probably take them overnight to their hotel . . ." Choking out a terse laugh that was thin, hollow, horrifying, he slowly shook his head.  "Maybe . . . Maybe they'll bond instantly."  When she didn't respond, he sighed as he stood up to put the now-drowsing Nadia in the crib with her sister.  "They, uh . . . They have a big house, a nice yard—a good place to raise children . . . Two rooms, but they're planning to remove the walls to make one large nursery-slash-playroom for them, and—"

"You don't have to sell me on them," Charity interrupted quietly.  "I don't doubt that they're good people, Ben."

"That's not what I . . . I'm not trying to sell you anything," he told her.

"Isn't that what you're trying to do?" she countered just as softly.  "Telling me all about their house and their yard and . . . and . . "

"Charity . . ."

"No, Ben," she cut in, her voice taking on a weary sort of edge that cut him through.  "If . . . If you really feel that it's best, then . . . Then there's really nothing I can say . . . right?"

Somehow, he felt that her softly uttered question was masking something else, something a little deeper, but probing for answers to that . . .? Ben was too mentally exhausted to try.  "I just thought it might make you feel better if I told you about them."

"I'm sorry if I can’t assuage your conscience," she replied as a certain bitterness crept into her tone.  "This . . . This . . ."

"That's not what I'm trying to do," he insisted, crossing his arms over his chest as he frowned at her back.  Something about her stance made her appear smaller, even more fragile, as though she were trying to make herself disappear . . . and that thought . . . He hated it.  "I just . . . This isn't easy for me, either."

She whirled around, and Ben winced.  The tears that stood in her eyes didn't fall, and that was somehow far more appalling.  With a muttered curse, he crossed the floor in three long strides, grabbing Charity to pull her into his arms.  For a moment, she struggled, as though she had to put some distance between them.  Then she relaxed completely, as though she had simply lost the will to fight him.  Leaning against him, she still refused to cry, her fists tightening around fistfuls of his shirt, her fingers clenched so tightly that her knuckles leached white, and Ben closed his eyes, hating the feeling of her overwhelming misery, hating the circumstances that had complicated everything, hating the timing that felt so very wrong.

Hating himself.