InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Fruition ❯ Resolve ( Chapter 11 )

Charity stared at the closed door for several minutes.  She'd lost count of how many times she'd raised her hand to ring the doorbell, only to stop, to hesitate.  A part of her wanted to turn around, to walk away because she feared what she'd see if she stepped inside Ben's townhouse.

The other part of her?

Squaring her shoulders, Charity raised her hand once more.  The door opened before she could, though, and she squeaked in surprise and jumped back a step as Eddie very nearly barreled right into her, her market bags slung over her arm.  "Oh, Miss Charity!  Did you just get here?"

"Uh, s-something like that," she muttered since she wasn't about to admit to having been standing there, on the front porch, for the last forty-five minutes.

Eddie nodded and stepped back to hold the door for her.  "Ben's upstairs dressing the babies—if he managed to finish their bath without maiming either of them, considering all the squalling I heard all the way in the living room while I was cleaning . . ."

"Thank you," Charity said as she stepped inside.  "Ben's not really doing anything mean.  The twins just really hate the water."

"I'm pretty positive that he's bent on dealing those girls mental trauma . . . Anyway, I'll be back shortly," Eddie called as she started to pull the door closed behind her.  "I made bottles.  They're in the cold sack on the counter."

"Okay," Charity replied as the door clicked shut.  She set her purse on the table by the door and rubbed her hands together as she stared at the staircase and the landing above.  Why did it feel as though she were trying to bolster her courage . . .?

'Because you are,' her youkai-voice remarked.  'You hate what's going on, and you know it.'

'Of course, I do . . . Those girls . . .'

'We could do it, you know . . . People do it all the time . . .'

'Humans do it all the time, sure,' she thought with an inward sigh.  'But . . .'

'They seemed like a perfectly nice couple—the Douglasses . . . The perfect, all-American dream . . .'

There was a very real viciousness underlying her youkai-voice's words that Charity completely understood.  She didn't want to think of those people as the twins' potential family.  The very thought was enough to make her want to run, to hide the girls, to secret them away from everyone—everyone but her.

'What do you want to do, then?  Do you have any ideas?  Anything that could stop the process?'

That was the problem, wasn't it?  There were no good ideas, nothing at all that wouldn't end up causing more harm than the good it might do, but as much as Charity wished it were otherwise, she couldn't help but think that her wishes really didn't factor into it, at all.

'Don't they?  Cherry . . .'

Biting her lip as the words of her youkai-voice trailed off, she crossed her arms, rubbing her upper arms as though she were cold when she really, really wasn't.

She didn't really know when it had occurred to her.  Maybe it was her talk with her father that had done it, had brought ideas, creeping into her brain.

"I don't think that it's necessary to have two parents, per se . . . 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 . . ."

'When to fight . . .? But what did Papa mean . . .?'

For once, her youkai-voice remained conspicuously silent, and Charity sighed.

She didn't want to be here; didn't want to see the Douglasses meet the twins.  The last thing she wanted to do was to see some woman she'd never met touch those babies—a woman who wanted to be their mama . . .

The last three days had been brutal; there was no other way to describe them.  She'd felt compelled to come by after work every day, needed to be with those babies, even if they weren't going to be there long . . . As much as she hated it, there wasn't much she could do about it, either.  But leaving the babies alone was just a little more than she could do, no matter the reason.  Maybe it would make it easier on her in some respects, but every time she hesitated, the image of the two darling faces—faces that she had come to adore—flashed through her mind . . . and Ben . . .

There was a strange sense of separation there; one that was too thick, too wide, to be breached.  He was polite, yes.  He was attentive, of course.  But she saw it, didn't she?  The strain that lingered around his eyes, and for some reason, she had a feeling that it wasn't entirely the situation with the twins that caused it, either . . .

So, why was she here, anyway?

Ben stepped out of the shadows of the great room at the top of the stairs with both babies in his arms.  He didn't notice her right away.  So busy paying attention to the twins, he was talking to them in quiet tones as they cooed happily at him, so when he stepped off the bottom step, he drew himself up short when his gaze finally lit on her.  "Charity," he said, offering her a tentative smile.  "I wasn't sure if you were coming over today or not."

Deliberately taking her time as she lifted Emmeline out of his arms, she didn't even try to force a smile.  "As if I'd miss a chance to cuddle with these girls," she murmured, kissing Emmeline's downy head.  Then she leaned to the side to repeat the kiss, this time on Nadia, who gurgled and waved her hands in response.

"I'm, uh . . ." Ben scratched his temple a little self-consciously.  "I'm glad you're here."

Forcing her gaze away from his face because she just didn't want to see the doubt, the panic that he was trying to hide, she turned to head into the living room.  "I'm not here for you, Ben," she said quietly.  "Don't . . . Don't thank me."

He looked like he wanted to say something to her as she settled herself in one of the oversized chairs by the sofa.  She didn't get to hear, it, however, because the doorbell sounded, clanging through Charity's head like a death knell.

"Here," he said, handing Nadia to her before he strode off to answer the door.

Drawing a deep breath that did nothing to quell the rising sense of foreboding that was thick enough to choke her, Charity closed her eyes for a moment, willing away the emotion before the girls sensed it and reacted to it.  In the distance, she could hear the voices, the couple's laughter.  It made her want to scream.

Ben strode into the room with the strangers that she'd seen at the bistro in tow.  The man looked nice enough, which really didn't do much to sway Charity's overall opinion, and the woman beside him kept leaning from one side to the other, making no attempt to hide her excitement, her curiosity as she caught sight of the babies in Charity's arms.  "The girls are in here with a friend of mine.  Charity, this is Jane and Denny Douglass . . . This is Charity Inutaisho."

Denny blinked and shot her a questioning glance.  "Inutaisho?"

"Toga's my father," she clarified.  "Pleased to meet you."

"So, your grandfather is Sesshoumaru . . ."

She nodded, tamping down the urge to tell the man that her family really wasn't any of his business, reminding herself that it was okay for someone to be curious.  After all, many of the youkai, especially here in the States, had never had occasion to actually meet Sesshoumaru or Toga, and, given that the family were, in essence, on part with royalty, the curiosity was a natural thing.  Even so, she was certain, at least, somewhere deep down, that her real reason for distrusting them was the basic idea that they were there to . . . to take away the girls . . .

"Oh, they're so precious!" Jane gushed, bending down, hands on knees as she got a little closer than Charity was comfortable with.  Tamping down the urge to ask the woman to step back, she blinked in shock when Jane reached out and neatly lifted Emmeline, right out of her arms.

About the second that Emmeline sensed that she'd changed hands and was now being held by someone she didn't know, her tiny little face screwed up in a terrible way as her frightened screech echoed off the walls.  Whether she'd sensed Charity's instant irritation or not shouldn't have mattered, though it occurred to her in a vague sort of way that the infant most likely had.  Nadia's face did a slower motion echo of her sister's expression, and, whether it was because of the ruckus from Emmeline or because she, too, sensed strangers near, she wailed as Charity lifted her to her shoulder, as she tried to comfort the infant as best as she could.

Casting Ben an imploring glance, Charity gasped softly when he deliberately turned his face away, but from where she sat, she could see the tension in every part of his body, too.  He was fighting, wasn't he?  Struggling to keep himself from stepping over, to keep himself from taking Emmeline back.  The knowledge did nothing to placate her, however, not when the sounds of their terrified wails filled her ears, made her feel as though she were losing her mind . . .

Jane clumsily held Emmeline against her shoulder, swaying to and fro as she tried to soothe the infant.  It wasn't working, and, if anything, the shrieking was growing steadily worse.  Jane tried humming, but it somehow seemed to make things that much worse as Emmeline's screeching escalated into a full-out bellow, her tiny body, tense, shaking, and Charity bit down hard on her lip, fighting against the basic instinct to try to shield the babies from the Douglasses.

"Here, let me," Denny said, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the din.  Before Charity could protest, he pulled Nadia away from her, too, as though he honestly believed that he could better comfort Nadia than Charity could.

An insular thought took root in her head, as irrational as the infants' wails.  They were hurting the babies, weren't they?  Whether they meant to or not, snatching them away from the only real stability—the only real comfort—that they'd known in their short lives, the Douglasses weren't going to calm the twins; not now, not ever . . . It was that thought that brought Charity to her feet, that emotion that moved her forward.  She was taking those babies back, the Douglasses be damned.  Ben must have realized what she was doing because he grabbed her wrist gently but firmly, keeping her from trying to rescue the twins.

"Let them try," he muttered into her ear.

She shot him a murderous glare that he completely missed since he had not taken his eyes off the infants, either, and she tried to free herself without being too obvious about it.  It didn't work.  "Ben!" she hissed, giving her arm a good yank.

"Give them a minute to see if they calm down," he replied.

"They're terrified!" she insisted.

A sudden sound—a new sound—got both of their attentions, and at first, Charity wasn't entirely sure, exactly what she was hearing.  Caught somewhere between the frightened wailing and angry howling was another sound—a lower sound, almost like an infant growl.  Charity reacted to the noise as soon as she figured out that it was coming from the babies, and she wrenched her arm away, sending Ben's hand flying out to the side as she ran over and took back both babies, careful not to be too rough, but making no bones about her intention.

Jane stared at Charity, absolute disbelief rife in her expression.  "You can't just—"

"What do you think you're—?"

Stepping back slowly, as though to ward off the couple, Charity glowered.  "If you think this is how a parent acts, you're sorely mistaken," she said, absently noting that the twins were still sniffling but had stopped shrieking when she'd taken them from the Douglasses, glaring from Jane to Denny then back again.  "Common sense should have told you that they don't know you, that they'd be scared, and yet you have the gall to waltz in here with barely any kind of proper introduction and scoop them right up without so much as a second thought about their well-being!  They are children, not rag dolls!  You cannot simply snatch them up, and think that they'll be all right with that!  They don't know you, not at all, and if that's your idea of bonding with these two, then you're wrong!  You could have sat down with me!  You could have slowly let them become acquainted with you, but you couldn't contain your own excitement, right?  Because neither of you stopped just for a second and thought that maybe you ought to put their needs before your wishes, and now . . . You know what?  I'll make it easy for you—keep your damn hands off of my babies!"

Ben tried to put his hands on her shoulders.  Maybe he thought that the action would calm her.  It didn't work.  If anything, it sent Charity's anger spiraling higher as the fierce need to protect the infants nearly overwhelmed her, even if it meant protecting them from Ben.  Yanking away from his touch, ignoring the aghast expressions on all three youkai's faces, she stomped away from the Douglasses and Ben, stalking out of the living room before she broke into a run up the stairs, deciding that she'd barricade herself in the nursery, if need be.

Once inside the sanctity of the nursery, Charity sank down in the rocking chair as she tried to brush aside her emotions—easier said than done—when the babies were still sniffling and whining.  It seemed like it took a lifetime to get them to settle down.  It was only a couple minutes, and when the cries finally died away, leaving behind only stuttering breaths and hiccups, punctuated by the occasional whine, she finally let out a deep breath, taking turns, kissing their heads, uttering nonsensical words in the high-pitched baby-talk that they loved.

It was only then that she realized that she, too, had tears coursing down her cheeks.  Uttering a frustrated growl of her own, she leaned to one side, lifting her shoulder to wipe the moisture away, then repeated the process on the other side, scowling at nothing in particular, disgusted at herself for allowing her emotions to run away with her when the girls were relying on her to put their world back to rights.

"I . . . I'm sorry, girls," she murmured, her voice breaking, quivering.   Shaking her head as she stared at the babies, she sniffled and tried to swallow the fist-sized lump, lodged in her throat.  "I'm sorry I let them . . . I'm . . . sorry . . ."

When she finally let her head fall back, resting against the high back of the rocking chair, she locked eyes with Ben, who stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, and an entirely inscrutable expression on his face.

"I sent them home," he finally said when he realized that she wasn't about to speak to him.  "I told them we could try again tomorrow—maybe a little slower."

"There won't be a 'tomorrow', Ben," she said, her voice no less forceful because of the diminished volume.  "They . . . They aren't taking these children."

"Charity—"

She shook her head slowly.  "I'm not letting you give them away," she stated flatly, her eyes igniting as her irritation shot to the fore again.  "They're mine, even if they're not yours."  She sat up a little straighter.  "You can either help me, or you can get the hell out of my way."

Dropping the telephone receiver into place, Ben heaved a sigh and slowly rubbed his temples as he stood up and wandered over to the wet bar to fix himself a drink.  Having just gotten off the phone with a very disappointed Denny Douglass, he figured that the worst of it was over, anyway.

He'd spent the last couple hours, just thinking about the fiasco of a visitation, and the truth of it was, he agreed with Charity completely.  Maybe he'd have handled it differently, but what did it matter when he'd been just as appalled as she was when the Douglasses had immediately tried to take the babies, when they didn't have the common sense to realize that the twins were crying far more than they should have been, and when they had broken into the little growls—a basic instinctive sound that meant that they thought they were truly in danger . . . A sound, he realized with a sigh, that the babies had known should bring their mother to defend them.

And it had.

The truth of it was that it all had been just a little more than Ben could stand, too, and, to be honest, had Charity not intervened, he would have himself.

'Face it, Ben . . . Be honest with yourself because you know that you completely agree with Charity . . . Right or wrong, those babies . . . They belong with us.  And they belong with her, too.'

Dumping a good bit more brandy into the crystal snifter than he normally would, he tossed it back in one gulp, ignoring the burn that seeped into his belly, before refilling it again for good measure.  'No one will approve it,' he thought with a grimace.  'Hell, I don't know that I would even recommend it, in good conscience . . .'

'Do you really think that's true?'

Clenching his jaw so tightly that he could feel the muscles bulging and ticking under the forced strain, Ben strode over to the bank of windows, stared at the mocking light of day . . .  'Of course, it's true . . . Zelig isn't about to hand over the lives of two tiny babies to me, not when he knows . . .'

'What he knows?' his youkai-voice parried.  'What Zelig knows is that he raised his own daughter alone, now didn't he?  She wasn't adopted, but it didn't matter.  He still managed it, and no one—not even you—said a thing against it, now did you?'

Scowl darkening—he really hadn't stopped to think of that—Ben sighed.  'But Em and Nadia . . . They deserve . . .'

'They deserve a father who loves them, Ben—one who has loved them from the very moment you clapped eyes on them.  They deserve a mama who’s willing to stand up to everyone—anyone—including you, you fool.  That's what they deserve.'

He sighed.  How had it happened?  Just when had he so completely fallen in love with those babies . . .?

If he'd asked himself that once, he'd asked himself that a million times.  What he kept coming back to was the moment when he'd taken the babies from Cain, when he'd stared into their eyes.  He sighed again and lifted the snifter of brandy to his lips.  No, as far as he could see, the only real problem would be in convincing Zelig that Ben could take care of them, even if he didn't have a mate . . .

"I'm . . . I'm sorry I got so angry . . . I'm sorry I . . . I yelled at you."

Turning his head to peer at Charity as she slowly stepped into the living room, he could sense the hint of nerves that were still riding high.

"Don't apologize.  You were protecting them, and I . . . I should have, too," he said, setting the glass on the nearby table and turning to face her as he dug his hands into his pockets.  "I called the Douglasses and told them that it wasn't going to work."

She seemed surprised by his statement, and he managed a wan smile.  "I . . . I'm going to keep them," he said.  "Maybe I realized that before . . . Maybe I knew it all along.  It's just . . . I thought I should at least try . . ."

"I'll help you," she said.  "They're . . ."  She shrugged almost helplessly.  "They’re . . . mine."

"Yes, well, you're going to have to share because they're mine, too," Ben allowed.  "It's not going to do any good to try to be stubborn, not when there's no chance I'm willing to give them up."  He sighed.  "Even if I tried to find another couple willing to adopt them . . ." Letting his head fall back, he stared at the ceiling without seeing a thing.  "They're not going to bond with anyone else," he said, his voice taking on a more pragmatic tone: the voice of the ageless general—the role Ben had been playing for centuries.  Letting his gaze shift to the side, meeting hers with a quiet sense of understanding, he stared at her.  "You know that, too, right?"

She sighed and nodded.  "Have you talked to oji-san yet?"

"No," he admitted.  "He needs me to come up to Maine for a few things, anyway, so I figured I'd just talk to him about it then."  Lowering his chin, he stared at Charity for a long moment.  "I don't suppose you could come along?  I'll be in meetings some of the time, and Eddie doesn't usually come with me unless I stay for an extended period of time.  I mean, I'm sure I wouldn't have trouble finding someone to watch the girls, but I'd feel better if they were with you."

"I do have some vacation time I haven't used, well, ever," she said.  "I'll call my boss and see.  When were you planning on leaving?"

"Whenever . . . Zelig didn't say, but the sooner, the better," he replied with a casual shrug.  "Are the girls sleeping?"

She nodded.  "They were pretty exhausted."  She winced.  "I think they cried themselves out."

Ben winced, too. Charity looked exhausted herself, and he stepped over to her, pulled her into a comforting hug.  "Why don't you give your boss a call?  We can discuss the trip arrangements over dinner."

"All right," she agreed, slipping her arms around his waist as she leaned against him.  "You should go look in on the girls.  They were still a little restless after I put them to bed.  I think . . . I think they could use your reassurance, too."

He held onto her for another minute before he sighed and stepped back.  "You . . . You were right, you know," he admitted, digging his hands into his pockets once more.  "I should have listened to you sooner."

Charity managed a wan smile.  "Maybe, and maybe I should have spoken up sooner," she countered, but her smile widened, and this time, it was closer to what a real smile should be.  "Listen to us . . . We're kind of sad, don't you think?"

He chuckled and shook his head.  "Is parenthood always going to be this difficult?"

"Well . . . We've got a few years before they discover boys, if that's what you mean."

Ben made a face and uttered a low groan.

She laughed, crossing her arms over her chest as she moved off to retrieve her cell phone.  "Now, go check on your girls.  I'll make that call."