On the Wings of an Angel Chapter 21: The Quarrel, a disney fanfic

ON THE WINGS OF AN ANGEL

Lo and behold, another update, courtesy of yours truly. If the preceding chapter caught you off your guard, just wait until you read this one.

Characters (with exceptions) © Disney

Story © unicorn-skydancer08

Chapter 21: The Quarrel

Pinocchio expected Terence to come storming into his room straightaway, to lay into him the very instant he set foot inside the door. In fact, it was at least a minute before the door opened, and Terence came in quietly, though briskly. He did not shout or snap, either—for that matter, he didn't say a single word for another minute or two.

Even so, Pinocchio needed take only one look at his face to know he was very angry. The young man's face was terrible, as if all the love and gentleness had disappeared.

Terence stood by the boy's bed, arms crossed over his chest, one foot tapping the floor, his jaw set tight. Had Pinocchio not been simmering himself already, he would have quailed beneath that harsh glare. When Terence spoke at last, his tone was as cold as his eyes. "Young man, that was the most childish, disgraceful, completely uncalled-for display I have ever seen or would have ever expected to see from you. I just can't believe you, of all people, would have the gall to say such things to Rhiella's face. What have you got to say for yourself?"

Sullenly, Pinocchio shot back, "Why wouldn't I? It's not as if I said anything that wasn't true. It's not like she's not here every chance she gets."

"'She' is our guest," Terence said, even sterner than before, "and you had no right to treat her like that. I thought you knew better, Pinocchio. I'm far more disappointed in you than I can say."

"What do you care, anyway? She's all you ever think about anymore. She's all everybody else ever talks about anymore. Ever since she came here, it's been nothing but her, her, her, every stinking time I turn around."

"You watch your tongue!"

But Pinocchio had come too far to quit now. He was too full of his own resentment and ever-mounting frustration to keep it inside any longer. "What's so great about her, Terence?" the boy demanded, his posture growing straighter and stiffer as he spoke. "What business did she have to come dropping into our lives? Everything was just fine until she came along."

"Stop it!" Terence ordered, moving closer, his face flushing a dangerous shade of red.

"Maybe it would have been better if we never found her at all—"

At that moment, Terence lost it. Leaning over Pinocchio, both hands grasping the bed's edge, he all but bellowed in the child's face, "SHUT UP!"

That got Pinocchio, all right. The boy was so startled and so terrified that he toppled flat onto his back, and there he lay, frozen, speechless.

"That's enough out of you," Terence said as he straightened up, his voice quieter this time, but no less cross. "Until you can control that cheek of yours, until you can learn a little more respect, you will be staying here. As of this moment, little mister, you are confined to your room for the rest of the day and night. I do not want to see you or hear another peep out of you until then." With that, he turned his back on Pinocchio and marched out the door, shutting the thing behind him with considerably more force than usual.

No sooner was he gone than Pinocchio's mind and composure turned to soup. Tears leaked out onto the boy's cheeks, and he hid his face in his pillow and cried like a baby. He cried harder than he ever recalled crying before. Aside from the issue with Rhiella, shame and guilt flooded every inch of him; Terence had never spoken to him like that before, nor had he spoken to Terence like that. In all the time they'd spent together, this marked their first official fight about anything.

What was the matter with him? Why did he have to go and open his big mouth in the first place?

What must Terence think of him now? What about Jiminy, and all the others? Worse, what must his father think of him? No doubt Geppetto would have been so disappointed in him, if not the most disappointed of them all. That last thought alone nearly doubled the horrible feelings that weighed Pinocchio down, and Pinocchio buried his face further into his pillow and wept until he'd wept himself dry.

Meantime, Terence had only just made it to the parlor when he felt his anger melt away, to be replaced with his own shame. His own eyes filled up, a fist-sized lump blocked his throat, and in his heart, he groaned, Oh, Pinocchio…what have I done?

Notwithstanding Pinocchio's poor behavior, Terence had never thought he would see the day when he would yell at the boy, least of all punish him.

Slowly, shakily, the young man made his way for the nearest chair. His tears were already flowing before he sat down, though, aside from his ragged breathing, he didn't make a sound. With his elbows against his knees, he buried his face in his hands. He might have sat there for a long time, or for only a minute; he wouldn't have known the difference either way. But when he sensed someone's approach, when he mustered the nerve to look up once more, the sight of Rhiella greeted his watery eyes.

No questions had to be asked; Rhiella knew straight off that it had not gone well with him and Pinocchio at all.

"Well," she said at length. "Now you must know what it's really like to be a parent."

Wiping at his eyes, Terence half-croaked, "I'm sorry, Rhiella. I don't know what's gotten into him. He's never been like this before…nor have I been like this before, where he's concerned. A moment ago, I could have throttled him with my bare hands. Now I feel awful, simply awful. I just don't know what to do about that boy."

"Neither do I."

"W-what?" Terence gave her a somewhat puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I don't know how this is going to work." Rhiella sighed and turned away, putting her hand to her forehead. "Terence…we've been doing this for quite a while now. I have tried to be good to Pinocchio, tried to give him every reason to like me, and myself every reason to like him in turn. Heaven knows I've tried. But now, I can't help but feel that we're wasting our time."

Terence felt his heart sink. "Surely you're not giving up, are you?" he was almost too afraid to ask.

"No…but I don't see us going anywhere, either. I don't see how much progress we have made, if any. As far as I'm concerned, every time we take a step forward, we end up two steps further back. I don't know how I can keep this up, Terence…or whether I even can."

Though she didn't say it, Terence suspected she was thinking the same thing as Pinocchio: maybe it would have been better if they had never bumped into each other at the start. From the girl's tone and stance, it was almost as if she was telling Terence that he could only have one or the other. Once or twice, Terence opened his mouth, as if to say something, but instead he just turned away himself. With a sigh that seemed to come from the soles of his boots, he closed his eyes once more and put a hand over them.

At length, he heard Rhiella say, "I'll go let myself out."

And so she did, without looking back, without another word.

When she was gone, Arietta stepped into the parlor for a minute, with Armando right behind her. They looked at Terence, still slumped in the chair with his hand over his face, looking so forlorn that it plucked at their heartstrings. Arietta looked at Armando, who merely tilted his head the other way, indicating that they should go and leave Terence in peace. She followed her husband out the door with no objection, though she kept stealing anxious glances over her shoulder as they went.

Soon, only Jiminy and Duke were left. Duke pawed at Terence's leg and gave a soft whine, but Terence didn't budge, didn't acknowledge the collie in any way.

"Come on, Duke," Jiminy said softly. "Let him have some time alone."

So Duke did, and as he followed the cricket down the hall, Jiminy told the dog with a lopsided smile, "Well, big guy, I will say one thing—you know you're an official family when you start fighting like one."