InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Fruition ❯ Eggshells ( Chapter 21 )

"I never would have guessed that you already knew Nami," Myrna remarked as she sat down at the breakfast table in Ben's kitchen.

"I never would have guessed that you did, either," he remarked, setting the newspaper aside as he turned his attention on the hawk-youkai woman.  "So, you used to be a dancer?"

"Don't remind me," Myrna grumbled with a flick of her wrist, as though to dismiss that topic entirely.

He smiled wanly.  "Envisioning you as a helpless young girl is kind of a stretch," he admitted.

Myrna shrugged, nodding in thanks as Eddie thumped a coffee cup down in front of her and proceeded to slosh the brew into it before refilling Ben's cup, too.  "It was a lifetime ago or more . . . Or are you telling me that you don't feel like you've had more than one, too?  You know, reinventing yourself every now and then, opting to go in an entirely different direction than you went in before?"

There was entirely too much accuracy in what she said, wasn't there?  Maybe it wasn't something that he'd ever consciously tried to do at the time, but the way she'd said it made sense.  He may not have altered his professional path, had never questioned the values that he held above reproach, no, but his personal life . . . That was a different story, entirely . . . "Once or twice, I suppose," he allowed, reaching for the still-steaming cup of coffee before him.

Myrna nodded slowly, crossing her arms over her chest as she settled back in the chair.  Usually, it was business that brought her around every now and then.  This morning, however, Ben had to wonder, and, considering he hadn't gotten much, if any, sleep the night before, well . . . He wasn't really in the mood to play her usual game of cat-and-mouse to get around to why she was there now, either.  “Do you want to just cut to the chase here, Myrna?  What brings you by today?”

She chuckled, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear as she idly turned the coffee cup in her hands.  “I have to have a reason to stop by?” she challenged, but she sounded rather amused.

Ben shrugged and pinned her with a no-nonsense look.  “I happen to know that you’re a busy lady, so, yeah, I think you do.”

She gave her head a little shake, but she didn’t really try to argue his point, either.  "Charity . . ." Myrna mused at length, her tone a little too careful.  "That woman . . . You know, don't you Ben?"

"Know, what?" he asked, his tone a lot sharper than he'd intended.  Given that the woman in question was already long gone when he'd gotten up an hour ago, he'd already moved past acceptable mood and into dangerous territory, well before Myrna had showed up . . .

Myrna lifted an articulated brow at his very obvious irritation, probably because he wasn't in the habit of holding his emotions so close to the surface.  He'd learned long ago, how to let things roll off his back—made it an art form, really.  This time, though . . . "I saw her face last night, you know," she went on, still just as calmly, just as rationally, like she was discussing the weather and not another person.  "You didn't, I'm sure.  You were a little busy, weren't you?"

"I get your point, Myrna," he grumbled, draining the coffee mug and ignoring the harsh burn of the still-scalding liquid.  He winced as he slammed the empty mug on the table.  "Damn it."

"Do you, Ben?" she challenged quietly, her other eyebrow joining the first one in the lifted-position.

"Myrna, it's really none of your business, and I don't think—"

"That's pretty obvious, Ben," she cut in, her words no less cutting despite the smoothness of her tone.  "I can't decide if you're really that stupid or just a complete and utter ass."  She sighed and shook her head, holding up a hand to stop him before he managed to get out anything at all.  "Look, I've known you for a long time now, and I've never seen you do something so . . ." She made a face, pinning him with an inscrutable kind of look, and she sighed.  "I'll be the first to admit that there are some women out there that thrive on that kind of drama-bullshit.  They're the ones with the shitty boyfriends who treat them like dirt, and they bitch and complain and carry on, just to get sympathy from their trashy girl friends, but yet, they won't do a damn thing to get away from it, no matter how badly their 'men'—" she flew air quotes at him, "—treat them.  Charity Inutaisho?  She's not one of them, and you know, she really doesn't deserve that, especially not from you."

The chair slid back with a horrendous scrape as Ben shot to his feet and stomped out of the room before he said something he'd end up regretting.

'Except that you kind of deserved that.'

'Not from her, I don't,' he grumbled as he headed toward his office—the one room in the townhouse that he might have a fighting chance of escaping from everyone.

'You have to admit, Ben, it would have been one thing if only Charity had seen that kiss, but no, a whole hell of a lot of her family was there, and they all saw it—every last one of them—and if you thought Zelig's face was a couple steps beyond entirely stunned, then just consider how Charity actually had looked because you didn't think about that at all last night.'

Plopping down in his desk chair, Ben rubbed his face and then let his arms drop to his sides in favor of glowering at the ceiling instead.

'I know; I know . . . I fucked up.  I never should have let Manami kiss me, and I wouldn't have if I had known that's what she was going to do . . .'

'Yeah, well, there's no point in beating the proverbial dead horse . . . So, how are we going to get her to listen to us?  And just what the hell are you going to tell her?'

'What do you mean, what am I going to tell her?  I'm going to tell her the truth—that I had no intention of kissing anyone else but her . . . If I can ever get her to listen, anyway . . .'

'So, you're not going to tell her about your past?  About Manami?'

'What is there to tell?'

'How about the idea that you thought she could have easily become your mate at one time?'

'And I'd say it's pretty damn obvious that she's not, wouldn't you?'

'Which doesn't mean that you knew that at the time.'

'But you did.'

His youkai-voice sighed.  'I don't know, Ben.  I mean, it's obvious now, but back then, nothing was ever cut-and-dried.'

'And I should tell Charity all of that?  Just what good would that do?  Sometimes, you're kind of stupid.'

'All I'm saying is that if everything had been different, Manami might well have ended up being your mate.'

'She's not.  She never was.  Charity . . .'

'Okay, so you are against the idea of telling Cherry that you—'

'Cherry?' Ben interrupted, frowning at the strange nickname.

His youkai snorted.  'Yeah, she told me that's what she calls her.'

'Who told you?'

Another pronounced snort.  'Her youkai, Ben!  Now shut up and listen, won't you?'

'. . . You can do that?'

His youkai uttered an exasperated growl.  'Not all the time, no . . . Just when the two of you are really, really close . . . like when you're sleeping.  For the record, I've never talked to anyone else, not even Manami, just so you know.'

'Then why don't you talk to her for me?  If she won't listen to me . . .'

'Did you not just hear me when I said that I could only hear her when you're close, not to mention that I’m pretty sure that you both have to be asleep, and the odds of that happening at the moment are kind of slim and none, so no, I can't smooth things over for you, Ben.'

Ben heaved a sigh. 'Utterly useless, aren't you?'

'Bite me, Benjiro.'

He snorted in response.

"All right, I'm leaving, and I won't say anything else about Charity, but I needed to tell you.  Larry called early this morning.  Said he trailed Jeet Unker to the airport where he met up with Hecht.  He said Hecht boarded a flight bound for Maine.  I already briefed Toga in the kitchen, so . . ."

Letting his head turn to the side, Ben met Myrna's gaze with a scowl.  "He's going to confront Zelig," he concluded.

"Maybe," she allowed with a shrug.  "Or maybe he thinks he can find out without actually going to the source, so to speak.  I just wanted to caution you, not that I think you need it.  Just protect your babies, Ben.  I . . ." She winced: something she didn't often do.  "I have a bad feeling about this."

"Thanks," he said, watching her go.  His expression darkened as Toga stepped into the office and dropped into one of the chairs across from him.

"I was talking to Sierra," Toga began slowly, almost carefully.  "I'm going to call my father.  He can handle things back home for a little while."

"Is that a good idea?" Ben asked, pushing himself up straight.

Toga shrugged.  "Good idea or not, I can't go home, knowing what's going on here."

Ben shook his head, drumming his claws against the polished desktop. "And what will you tell Charity?  It's going to set her off if you prolong your visit.  She knows how busy you are."

"I'll come up with something," Toga assured him.

Ben rubbed his forehead as he considered the situation. Maybe it would be good for Toga to stay.  If it came right down to it, the more eyes that were watching out for trouble, the better off they'd be.  The real trouble was Charity, because if her parents did prolong their visit, she'd surely ask questions, and unless Ben was ready to answer—to tell her the real reason behind everything . . .

"Anyway, I'm leaving as soon as I can get a car rented," he went on.  "I'm going up to Maine since that's where Unker's headed.  Sierra's still trying to decide what she wants to do.  She hates the idea of leaving the twins, but she'd also like to be there when Gin goes into labor, too . . ."

Ben nodded.  "I understand.  Keep me posted, please."

Toga regarded him for several moments.  "I'm leaving my daughter to you, Ben," he finally said, the gravity in his expression unsettling.  "I don't . . . I don't know what's going on between the two of you, but I . . ." He trailed off, letting out a deep breath—an infinitely weary sound.  "I trust that you and she can figure it out—whatever 'it' is . . ."

"She'll be safe with me."

Toga nodded.  "I'll hold you to that, Ben."

Ben watched as the tai-youkai stood, pulling his phone out of his pocket, probably to call the closest car rental agency.  Protect Charity?  He snorted inwardly.  As if there was ever a question about that . . .

Charity laughed softly as Nadia cooed, her tiny mouth moving as she tested out the various sounds she could make.  Emmeline grunted as she rolled a little but didn't quite manage turning completely over onto her belly.  Funny how spending time with happy babies could so dramatically improve her overall mood.

She ought to be celebrating, she thought with an inward grimace.  The presentation she'd given on the vestulus pharosa had been a success, and her boss was certain that the research department would have no trouble at all in getting the funding to further study the plant.  Then she'd put in the paperwork necessary for her to take an extended leave of absence so that she could devote her full attention to the girls.  Her boss wasn't thrilled, but in the end, he understood.  She had more than enough money saved up, not to mention her very healthy trust fund that she never actually touched, other than to deposit the interest checks she received quarterly.  As it was, she didn't really have to work at all, but she chose to because she loved her job.

But she loved the girls far, far more, and they deserved to have a full-time mommy.

"Ah, what am I going to do when you girls decide to start running in opposite directions?" she asked.  Emmeline paused in her efforts long enough to gaze up at her, and Charity laughed.

"How did your presentation go?"

Back stiffening at the sound of that voice, Charity swallowed hard, but didn't turn to look at Ben.  "It was fine," she said in what she hoped was a neutral tone of voice.  "Better than 'fine', actually.  They're expecting to receive full research funding for it, so that's something."

"Good.  Uh, your parents decided to go up to Maine in case Gin needed more help with things."

"Papa called me," she said.  "But thanks for letting me know."

He sighed and stepped forward, settling himself on the floor beside them as he pulled Nadia into his lap.  "Can we talk now?" he asked quietly.

"I . . . I told you, Ben.  It's fine," she replied, pasting on a thin smile that she was far from feeling.

He frowned at her, his green eyes darkening as he slowly shook his head.  "Except that it's not," he challenged.  "Except that I'm not."

"Give me a little credit, will you?  I'm not . . . not a child."

"I don't think that," he chided.  "Let me explain—" The buzz of his cell phone cut him off, and he smothered the urge to growl in frustration as Charity studiously avoided his gaze, playing with the girls instead of sparing him so much as a glance.  Pausing only long enough to send the call to voicemail without bothering to check the caller ID, Ben dropped the phone onto the carpet and reached for Charity's hand to force her to look at him.  "I didn't want you to see that," he said, his voice quiet, harsh with the irritation, the emotion that he tried to hold in check.  "I was just . . . I hadn't seen her in so long, and . . . But you—"

She carefully tugged her hand away, ears flicking nervously when his phone buzzed again, both thankful for the reprieve, no matter how brief, and angry—angry that Ben would make her sit here and listen to his bumbled half-apology.  Sorry that she'd seen that kiss, was he?  'But . . . He isn't sorry that he kissed her . . .'

'You don't know that, Cherry . . . You don't know—'

'It's really not that difficult to say that he didn't mean to kiss her, which meant that he did . . . He's just sorry that I had to see it . . .'

'Cherry . . .'

'It's fine,' she insisted, wishing that the inner voice would just shut up and go away for once.  'At least, it'll be fine—just like it always is, every time he lets me down . . .'

"You should answer that," she said, her tone giving away nothing as she nodded at his phone.

He shook his head.  "They'll leave a message," he grumbled, dragging a long-fingered hand through his hair in exasperation. "Charity—"

She reached out and grabbed his phone, raising an eyebrow at the name on that appeared on the screen.  "Kyouhei Muira?" she read, peering over the device at Ben's face.

His irritation was broken only by the trace curiosity that surfaced—a curious mix of emotions, really.  When he opened his mouth to speak without reaching for the phone, however, Charity slid her thumb over it and brought it up to the side of her head.  "Hello?"

"Uh . . . You're not Benjiro . . ." the very masculine voice on the other end of the line concluded with a chuckle.  "I'm trying to reach Ben Philips?  I thought this was his number . . .?"

"It is," she agreed pleasantly enough.  "He just didn't want to answer it, so I thought I'd be nice and do it for him."

". . . So . . . You're his secretary?"

"Good enough," she agreed as Ben leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest with a 'We-Are-Not-Amused' look on his face.

"If he's busy, would it be possible for him to call me back as soon as he has a moment?"

"Uh, I'll see if he's still busy," she said.  "Please hold."  She lowered the phone and hit the 'mute' button before extending it toward Ben, who narrowed his eyes and leaned back a little more.  "Take it," she hissed, forgetting for the moment that she'd actually muted the call.

"You heard him," he grumbled.  "I'll call him back when I have a moment."

"Don't be a jerk," she said, bouncing the device up and down in a vain effort to get the stubborn man to take it.

"Take a message.  We're not done here."

"What if it's important?" she demanded, trying again to shove the phone at him.

He snorted.  "He's my brother," he shot back.  "It can't possibly be that important."

She blinked, her retort dying instantly in light of what Ben had just said.  "Your brother?" she echoed, shaking her head just a little.  "You have a brother?"

Heaving a sigh, Ben nodded.  "You make it sound like I'd have a higher chance of dropping dead, Charity," he pointed out dryly.

She wrinkled her nose.  "I've known you—sort of—for years, Ben Philips, and you've never mentioned having a brother before."

"We're not close," Ben explained, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger as though he were willing away a headache.  "Just hang up.  I'll call him back when we're done talking."

She narrowed her gaze and tossed the phone into his lap.  "We are done," she insisted, scooping up the babies and striding out of the room.

"No, we're not!  Damn it, I want to talk to you!"

"I think we've talked more than enough for one day," she called back without stopping as she headed for the stairs.

"The hell we have!" he growled.  "Charity, will you just—?"

The doorbell interrupted his diatribe before he could actually get started, and Charity veered to the left as she stepped off the bottom stair, carefully negotiating Emmeline so that she could open the door without dropping her.

Eyes widening as she took an involuntary step back in retreat, Charity blinked and stared at the very tall man, who dug his hands into his pockets and broke into a lazy, if not somewhat dazzling, grin . . .