InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Second Chances ❯ It's a Dirty Job... ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimers: All characters portrayed here are property of Rumiko Takahashi with the following exceptions: Yukio and Ian are Terri Botta's from the Lucky Ones Universe and used with her full permission. I have also received Terri's permission to post this story as a continuation, but it is in no way connected to her story, "Coyote Child".

 

~Chapter 2~

It's a Dirty Job…

 

“What is that?”

 

Yukio ground his teeth in an attempt to rein in the defensive response of his youkai. True to his prediction, Mrs. Clarkson had taken one look at Ian and started screeching. He knew the woman was simply a petty, self-absorbed hag, and not worth the energy it would take to shred her, but the ignorant client was pressing her luck with her insulting behavior towards his pack.

 

“Oh, him?” Yukio quipped with an overly bright smile. It was a good thing his concealment spell was firmly in place or his fangs would have definitely demolished the charming image he was trying to cultivate. “This is Ian. Big brother's on babysitting duty today, since Mother is at the clinic and Father is off at the Habitat site. Less danger for the little guy here.”

 

The woman looked at the toddler in his arms as if he were a cockroach, her alarmingly red lips turned down in distaste, nose curled up as if smelling something particularly noxious. Yukio's hackles rose at the expression, all the while he tried to convince himself it was nothing personal; the woman probably reacted the same way to her own children.

 

Mrs. Barbara Clarkson was one of New York society's grand matrons. Somewhere in her forties and currently on husband number two, the woman would have been considered attractive with her perfectly styled hair and Botoxed face, had it not been for her heinous attitude. Apparently, Mr. Clarkson had made a few million when he had taken his company public. Mrs. Clarkson somehow felt that put her above everyone else and seemed prepared to spend a very large chunk of that fortune making their Alberta house “habitable” by the spring. Yukio could only imagine what other work the woman had planned since it was only October.

 

Yukio tried to keep his annoyance with the woman out of his voice and body language, but it was difficult. A month ago their firm had been hired to renovate the kitchen and the woman had yet to settle on a basic floor plan! He had joked with his father the day before about the conniption the woman was having over counter space, but in actuality the woman had deeper issues than simple dimensions. Once she had had them in to discuss plans for the kitchen, she suddenly decided that the current dinning room motif would not match the new decor and needed renovation as well. That had sparked a number of hang ups as she stubbornly bounced back and forth between the designs she wanted in the rooms; as well as the demands being made from the Parisian chef she had imported to do all the cooking.

 

Mrs. Clarkson narrowed her steely grey eyes, nostrils flaring antagonistically; she was not happy at having her home invaded by a toddler. Evidently, children weren't “en vogue” these days. Still, it was obvious she wanted her kitchen finished more than she wanted to punt the little boy off her doorstep.

 

“Well, he had better not break anything!” She huffed, tossing her platinum locks over her bony shoulder and leveling him with a vicious glower. “I am not paying you to use my home as a daycare. I will be sure to hold you personally accountable for any damage he causes!”

 

She could probably give Uncle a run for his money, Yukio thought with ironic amusement. No one could level a cold, deadpanned glower like Sesshomaru, but this woman was close.

 

“Of course, Mrs. Clarkson,” Yukio's smile hardened a little further. “I wouldn't dream of inconveniencing you in any way. I assure you my brother is very well behaved.” Kami, he really hated this bitch. And, if he was having this much trouble controlling his reaction, he could only imagine the havoc that his father would have wrought by this point.

 

From his perch on his big brother's shoulder, Ian warily regarded the woman his enormous golden eyes; not that Mrs. Clarkson could see them beyond the concealment spell that lent him non-descript Asian features. Quickly deciding the nasty female in front of him was scarier than his momma when she got really angry at his Otou, he turned and ducked his head under Yukio's hair to hide himself from her. Yukio didn't miss the gesture, nor did he miss the little whimpering pleas for reassurance and comfort in inuyoukai. And he most certainly didn't miss the pleased look that crossed Mrs. Clarkson's face at Ian's frightened submission. Yukio's muscles tensed at the condescension on her face even as he nuzzled the top of Ian's head to calm him.

 

“Yes, well he had better be,” she preened. “If he doesn't interrupt our business I supposed he can stay. I'll need your undivided attention. Chef Arneau is concerned about the color of the marble I chose for the kitchen fitting in with his creative needs…”

 

Somehow, Yukio felt his day was just going to go downhill from there.

 

* * * * *

Yukio resisted the urge to tear into the neck of the woman beside him. He'd been there three hours and the woman was still vacillating between choosing the seven-by-ten obsidian or the eight-by-eleven midnight marble for the countertops. Oh how he wanted to tell her to let the damned chef decide since she sure as hell wasn't going to be using the kitchen. At some point during the first hour of her great debate the journeymen had come in to do the initial framing for the oak trim, cabinets and counter supports. Their arrival had reminded Mrs. Clarkson that if she changed the marble color, she'd have to rethink the color of the wood stain as well.

 

Suppressing a pained groan, Yukio bit the inside of his cheek when it started to twitch. The men had been grumbling at being made to wait for over two hours and he could tell Ian was starting to get fidgety. About ready to tell the woman exactly what she could do with her marble slabs, he was saved by the arrival of a mousy looking servant.

 

“Excuse me, Mrs. Clarkson,” she called softly, as if speaking any louder would bring down the wrath of the Almighty. “I don't mean to interrupt, but your decorator's on the phone from Milan. She says there's been a problem getting the suede for the formal living room in the color you wanted.”

 

Mrs. Clarkson merely nodded at the woman and left the room, without acknowledging or apologizing to Yukio or any of the men waiting on her decisions. As soon as she was out of earshot, Yukio released the frustrated sigh he'd been holding back, careful not to allow the explicative circling around in his head to slip out. It would be the perfect end to his day from hell to have Ian spouting the less than polite term he'd come up with in front of Kagome; and tell her how he'd learned it. If that happened he would no doubt be one very purified, very injured Aniki.

 

“Hey, Yukio,” called one of the carpenters, a barrel-chested but congenial man named Bart. Bart had worked for them long enough to know that Yukio's presence on the site instead of Inuyasha's meant this job would be a trying one. “We gonna do anything in here today? Cuz if not, I got a six pack and a game waiting for me at home.”

 

Yukio was about to respond when he felt a little tug on his pant leg. He looked down to see Ian, his little fist clutching the denim of his jeans, in full pout mode.

 

“Niki,” he whined. “I'm hungry.” :Pup, hungry! Food!:

 

Yukio smiled tightly; as much as he loved his little brother, a cranky pup was the last thing he needed right now. Judging by how far Ian's lower lip was poking out, he was headed for a fine snit; not that Yukio could say he blamed the boy. Bending down to catch Ian under his armpits, he hauled the little boy up to rest him on an untouched section of the counter.

 

“Sorry otouto,” he consoled. Whether he meant his tone to sooth Ian or himself he wasn't sure. “It's gonna be a little while longer.”

 

The pout deepened, Ian's little jaw jutting out even further and his pudgy little arms crossing over his chest.

 

“But I'm hungry now!” He emphasized the fact he was starving with a dramatically baleful whine and sad puppy eyes.

 

Yukio rubbed his forehead with one hand, using the other to dig into the black bag he'd brought to tote around all Ian's things.

 

“Why don't you have some of your O's and juice right now and then when I'm done here I'll take you out to McDonalds for a Happy Meal,” he negotiated. “How does that sound, otouto?”

 

Ian looked skeptical, but was openly considering the offer.

 

“I'll even let you have a vanilla milkshake,” he added to sweeten the deal. Ian would probably be bouncing all over the place later from all the sugar, but by then his parents would be home to deal with it. Right now he was desperate to keep the peace.

 

Ian's little face broke out into an ecstatic grin.

 

“Kay!” He agreed. “But I want chicky nuggets.”

 

Yukio smiled in obvious relief at having at least one problem solved.

 

“Anything you want, otouto,” he said pulling out a Ziploc bag filled with Cheerios and Ian's 101 Dalmatians sippy cup. He helped Ian to open the bag, making sure he was settled with his snack before turning to deal with his next problem.

 

The carpentry crew was obviously not happy at being made to sit around. Un-worked hours meant unpaid hours; and many of the men he and Inuyasha employed couldn't afford to go a full day without pay. One of the newer men, a young man with dull brown hair and haggard features, was the first to vocalize his displeasure.

 

“Are we just gonna be sitting around on our asses today or what?” He grouched. “Because if so, we'd better be on the clock! I'm not losing a whole day's pay just because some rich bimbo can't make up her mind!”

 

This had the man behind him nodding earnestly in agreement. Bart, ever the easy-going peacekeeper, jumped in before things got any louder or colorful.

 

“Clam down, Ricky,” he placated. “It ain't his fault the lady don't got two cents to rub together in that head of hers.”

 

Yukio had never wanted to hug another man in his life as much as he did at that moment. Bart would have been perfectly suited for a job at the United Nations as far as he was concerned. But the younger men were not prepared to let go of their gripe just yet.

 

"Fuck Bart!" The younger man yelled. "I hauled my ass an hour and a half out here twice just to have her fucking piss around again!"

 

"Yeah!"

 

This time Ricky's supporter had chosen to vocalize his ire, seemingly prepared to launch into an even louder display. Yukio winced; moving to nip the possible profanity in the bud before. . . a tiny voice cut off the ranting adults with its surprising volume and clarity.

 

“Fuck!”

 

Yukio groaned and turned his head to see Ian blissfully slurping his juice, absently kicking his legs against the cabinet door. Oh yes, he was so very very dead when he got home. Giving Ricky a glare, noting the man at least had the good grace to look uncomfortable, he sighed and turned to pluck the sippy cup out of Ian's mouth, commanding his full attention.

 

“Otouto,” he began evenly. “That's not a nice word and Okaa-san would be very sad if she heard you say it.” More like she'll make me very sad if she hears you say it, he thought grimacing to himself.

 

“You don't want to make Okaa-san sad do you?”

 

Ian shook his little head slowly, eyes very serious.

 

“Good, then you won't ever, ever use that word in front of Okaa-san, will you?”

 

Again, the little boy shook his head and Yukio heaved a sigh of relief.

 

“Good,” he said and turned back to his men again.

 

Bart gave him a sympathetic look, he had three children and eight grandchildren himself; he knew the danger of letting little ones spout off that kind of language in front of their mothers.

 

“Look, maybe if we come back on Friday that'll give the lady enough time to settle all the details on the dimensions, eh?” The man suggested diplomatically.

 

The fourth man, Bart's brother-in-law, looked as though he could deal with the proposed plan, but it was clear he did not possess the other man's patience. As the grumbling started again, increasing in volume, the smallest voice in the room once again proved to be the strongest.

 

“You're really pretty!”

 

A.N.

 

I am dedicating my interpretation of Ian to my Beautiful Beta's lil' Munckins.