InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 4: Justification ❯ Giving Her Wings ( Chapter 15 )

"Not everyone is like you.  Not everyone looks at things and sees what you see."

"What do you see?"

"What do I see?"

"When you . . . When you look at me, what do you see?"

Cain rubbed his temple and heaved a heavy sigh.  That was the question he hadn't wanted to answer, wasn't it?  What did he see when he looked at Gin Izayoi?

'Careful, Cain.  You're treading on dangerous ground.'

For once, Cain didn't disagree with his youkai voice.   'Yeah, I am.'

'You know, you don't make it easy.  I'm supposed to remind you of your obligations, right?  How can I do that when you can't figure out your priorities?  Do you hear me?  Gin . . .'

He nodded and stood, shuffling through the apartment, down the hallway and into his studio.  There wasn't a trick to his art.  The only real secret to it was closeting himself away, sometimes for days on end.  Hiding behind the closed doors in the sanctity of his studio with nothing but his thoughts and sometimes his daughter.  Losing himself in silent contemplation, it was easier to think while his hands were busy.  'Creating beauty while you contemplate the end of your life?  That's . . . morbid . . .'

Ignoring his inner voice while he dug around in the closet, he wasn't sure what he was looking for.  He wasn't certain why he felt compelled to do anything at all.  Rough granite blocks stood lining the back of the closet.  Buckets of clay were stacked in the corner.  A few blank canvases on the top shelf were too stark, too white, too pure.

He was about to close the closet when something else caught his eye.  Narrowing his eyes as he slowly reached for the large spool of thirty-gauge silver wire, Cain passed it from one hand to the other as he considered.  More of a fleeting thought than a real idea, he stepped away, hooked the spindle on a peg mounted on his worktable, and pulled a length of the wire free with one hand as he tugged off his shirt with the other.

As his hands worked the wire, his mind wandered.  

Gin, frowning in concentration as she tried to make sense of Cain's anger . . . He hadn't meant to take it out on her.  He shouldn't have gotten so angry at her, but the rawness of the memory still had the power to hurt him even as Gin's softly uttered statement shocked him all over again.

"Cain?  Was that her name?  Belle?"

'Yeah . . . Yeah, her name was Belle . . . Isabelle . . .'

He could still remember that day so clearly.  Dragged out of his house about two hundred miles from Miami to attend a visiting production of Les Miserables, Cain had been ready to make his excuses and leave when he first saw her in the role of Fantine—Isabelle.

After the show, he'd hung around, letting his friend use his influence to wrangle a meeting with her.  Sesshoumaru Inutaisho had been in town on business, and while he wasn't a fan of the theatre, he did have an appreciation for the arts.  Couple that with the fact that Kagura had accompanied him on that trip . . . Cain sighed.  Men were forever yielding to the sway of a good woman . . .

'Bend the wire a little more, Cain.  You're after delicate, right?  You're after 'ethereal.  You're after 'light' . . .'

Complying with the voice of his youkai, Cain bent the wire and kept working.

It seemed to him that she was always laughing.  Sparkling aqua eyes always crinkled at the corners as she filled the house with sounds of happiness.  He remembered touching her golden hair, remembered smelling the scent of her that lived on in their daughter.  Isabelle was tall for a woman, but short in comparison to him.  He stood six-feet-eight-inches tall, and Isabelle barely reached his shoulder.  Everything about her was slender, graceful.  She had the body of a ballerina—had been trained for years in classical ballet.  In the end, she preferred the flash of the Broadway lights, but she'd left that all behind for Cain.

Fading into the obscure life with him, it was Isabelle who encouraged Cain to sculpt.  She loved to pose for him, loved to sit for hours while he painted her, while he sculpted her.  Every so often, he'd see her standing by the windows, gazing out at the ocean, and she seemed so sad.  She always told him that he was being ridiculous.  She always told him that it was enough for her, to be with him.  She said he made her happy, and yet Cain couldn't help but wonder.  That faraway look in her gaze . . . Had she been seeing those things she'd left behind?  When he asked her, she would laugh at him.  She would tell him he was being silly.  She told him she was exactly where she wanted to be.  Then she would do what she always did to distract him, to lure him out of his bleak thoughts that his mate might not be satisfied; she would take him by the hand and lead him into the bedroom . . .

'She . . . She said I was silly, and she said she was where she wanted to be . . . She never once said she was happy, did she?  She never, ever said . . .'

'Does that matter now?  You can't change it, and even then, Isabelle never told you.  You'll never know what she really thought . . . Watch the angle of that wire . . . It needs to bend a little more, right there . . .'

Isabelle was a natural exhibitionist.  From the start, she was more comfortable in front of a thousand pairs of eyes or more, happiest when she was basking in the limelight.  Her propensity toward the more risqué spilled over from her acting into real life, and it didn't take long for Cain to realize that the angelic face of the woman he'd chosen was matched only by the wicked streak that Isabelle possessed in abundance.  Time and place meant nothing to her.  Her sense of propriety was skewed.  Love was a beautiful thing, she said, and why should they hide something as beautiful as that?  Isabelle didn't care where they were or if they'd be seen.  Her lust was unbridled, and her drive to have him was merciless.

She was right, of course.  It was a beautiful thing.  Everything about her was beautiful.  Impetuous, almost foolish, daring, yet gentle and kind, Isabelle had laughed at Cain's worries, had rolled her eyes, waved her hand, told him that he was concerned about nothing.  They had all the time in the world, didn't they?  He'd promised, and still . . .

She was mortal.  She was human, and Cain had allowed her to assuage his reticence to do what was necessary to ensure she'd remain beside him.  The thought of hurting her was sickening to him, and though he knew it was something that had to be done eventually, he had let her convince him that it didn't have to be done right away.  Whether she feared it, herself, or if she simply sensed Cain's reluctance, he'd never know . . .

"Oh, Cain, you're always so quiet.  Don't tell me you're thinking about that marking-thing again."  Cain shrugged casually, watching as Isabelle rolled over in bed, as she arched her back to stretch.  "Come back to bed, and stop worrying.  What's meant to be will be, okay?"

"It needs to be done, Belle . . . It really can't wait too much longer."

"I know, I know . . . But you're not doing it right now, are you?  I've got better plans for today . . ."

Closing his eyes as she pressed her body against his back, as she kissed his neck and reached over his shoulders to rub his chest, Cain forgot to think, didn't he?  He forgot everything around Isabelle . . .

'Be careful of that wire.  You don't want to scratch her, do you?'

Wrapping the ends together in the center of the frame, he covered it with white floral tape to blunt the sharp edges.

Isabelle loved the rain.  All too often he'd emerge from his studio only to find her gone.  The first few times, he'd panicked, and after finding her wandering around in the storm, he dragged her inside, yelled at her for her recklessness.   Didn't she know that storms were dangerous?  Didn't she realize she could get sick from the damp?  If she possessed a modicum of common sense, she didn't show it at times like that.  Laughing—always laughing—she'd tell him he was worried about nothing.  The rain was her friend.  The rain set her free.  Had she known then, what the future would bring?  Cain shook his head.  'Don't be stupid.'

Setting the finished frame in the middle of the table, Cain returned to the closet for the tub of fast-setting silicone and six metal clips.  Grabbing a tube of iridescent glitter powder as almost an afterthought, he closed the closet and strode back to the table once more.

In his mind, he could still hear Isabelle's laughter.  He could hear her sighs, her breathing.  He'd made a deal with her, in the end.  He needed an heir, and Isabelle wanted her freedom.  He hadn't realized back then, the price that it would cost him, and Isabelle hadn't, either.  The end result had been the same.  His lack of vision, his carelessness, but it had been simpler, to let himself believe that Isabelle might change her mind, or had he even cared?  In the end . . . Well, he had agreed . . .

'Is this really doing you any good?  Reliving all this history?'

Cain winced as he dragged his claws through the clear, wet silicone.  'It can't be much worse, can it?'

'Pfft!  It can always be worse!  Oh, wait, that's perfect.  Leave it alone.  Just mount the clips and you'll be done.'

Cain followed the advice of his youkai, carefully setting the edges of the metal clips in the rapidly solidifying silicone.  Blinking in distaste as his vision cleared, he stared at his filthy claws and snorted.  'You're really good at making messes,' he pointed out as he pushed out of the room, careful not to touch anything as he shouldered open the bathroom door.

'Yeah, I know . . . just think, though . . . you really did it.'

Cain sat on the toilet and started picking the film of silicone off his hands.  'I did it, huh?  What did I do?'

His youkai chuckled as Cain rubbed his hands together, sending strips of the film falling on the floor like clear snow.  He was washing his hands when his youkai spoke again.

'You made her wings, Cain.'

Cain froze as his heart stopped for a moment before hammering out a painful pattern against his ribcage.  'I . . . No-o-o-o-o . . .'

His youkai laughed again.

"Daddy, I'm home!" Bellaniece called as she pushed the door closed with her elbow.  "Come see what I bought you . . . Daddy?"

Bellaniece frowned.  She could sense him near, knew he was home, but he wasn't answering, and that was strange.  Dropping the bags on the nearest chair, Bellaniece started down the hallway.  'In his studio, I suppose . . . How predictable!'

She reached for the door handle but paused when she heard her father inside, and the sound . . . 'Growling?'

Nudging the door open, Bellaniece smashed her hand over her mouth before she could interrupt him with her shocked gasp.

Cain stood by the worktable grasping a beautiful set of wings in his hands.  Judging from the looks of him, he was ready to destroy them, but it was Cain's eyes that gave her pause.  Flashing from crimson to deep blue, she'd never seen him in such a state before.  She'd never seen him so furious, had never seen him that close to losing control.  Why would he have created something so lovely and then be angry about it?

"Daddy?" she whispered, her voice barely discernible, though she had little doubt that he'd hear her.

He hesitated at the sound of her voice.  Bellaniece carefully slipped into the room and closed the door behind her.  "Daddy?" she repeated a little louder.

Cain's head jerked to the side, his wild gaze finally lighting on Bellaniece, and she shook her head.  "What are you doing?"

The anger drained out of him so rapidly that it stunned Bellaniece.  Slumping back against the wall as the emotion drained out of the air surrounding her father, he heaved a sigh—a sad, wavering sound that exactly matched the trembling in his hands.  She winced.  It hurt to see him that way, didn't it . . .?

"Bellaniece . . ."

"What's wrong?" she asked softly, gently.

He sighed, turning his gaze back on the wings still clutched in his hands.  "I . . ."

"You're not . . . going to destroy that, are you?" Bellaniece asked carefully.

Cain's back stiffened, and she braced herself for another show of his anger.  It didn't return, but the sadness that surrounded him, the confusion that enveloped him . . . Bellaniece grimaced.  "I . . ." He flinched, smashing his free hand against his eye.  "I-I-I don't know what I was thinking," he admitted.  "Maybe I wasn't thinking at all."

Straightening her back, Bellaniece slowly walked over to Cain, rounded him to stand by his side as she reached out to gently turned his face toward hers.  "Maybe you just wanted to do something nice for the girl next door who makes you cakes every night because she wants to.  Does it have to be more than that?"

Cain seemed surprised by Bellaniece's words, but he nodded slowly, and he tried to smile.  "No, it doesn't, does it?  Gin . . . She's a really . . . She's . . ."

Bellaniece smiled.  "Yes, Daddy, she is.  She'll love those, I'm sure.  They're . . . They're beautiful."

Cain sighed as he held up the wings for inspection.  Narrowing his gaze critically, he tilted his head from side to side as he examined his work.  "This isn't . . . completely stupid?"

Bellaniece rolled her eyes and leaned on her toes to kiss Cain's cheek.  "Nope, not stupid in the least.  Stupid would have been to tear them up.  So . . . are you going to give them to her before or after I show you your new clothes?"

Cain groaned.

Bellaniece laughed as she watched her father stalk toward the door.  "I thought as much . . . coward."

Cain waved over his shoulder without looking back or breaking his stride.

"Oh, I have a date."

That, however, stopped Cain dead in his tracks.  Whipping around on his heel, he paused in the doorway and cocked an eyebrow at his daughter.  "You have a . . .?"

"A date," Bellaniece said again, flashing her father her most winning smile.  "He's a very nice young man . . . I met him today after Gin and I—"

"Gin?"

"Yes, Gin went with me since I'm not too familiar with Tokyo," Bellaniece went on, wisely not commenting on her father's choked tone of voice.  "Anyway, he'll come by tomorrow, and he said he'd be happy to meet you before he takes me to dinner and a movie.  His name is Raidon, and he's calling for me at five o'clock."

Cain looked like he wanted to demand that she cancel.  In the end he snorted and shook his head.  "So . . . did Gin  . . . meet . . . anyone?" he asked at last, failing in his mission to keep his tone nonchalant.

Bellaniece grinned.  "She sure did.  He was big and broad and handsome . . . Oh, and he wants her to be his cake fairy, too."

Cain flushed about seven shades of red and snapped his mouth closed on whatever retort he'd formed before stomping down the hallway.   Moments later, Bellaniece heard the door slam shut, and she burst out laughing.  "Oh, Daddy . . . You've got it bad, don't you?  Don't forget your shirt."

'That was a dirty trick, Bellaniece . . . You'd better hope he didn't believe you, and the bit about the shirt would have been more welcome had he heard it.'

Bellaniece rolled her eyes as she skipped out of the studio.  'Maybe, but you know . . . I think Daddy was ignoring his brain for once and thinking with his heart, instead . . . and I think Gin will enjoy seeing Daddy's chest . . .'

'Still . . .'

'Oh, lighten up, you!  You just hate to admit that maybe I'm really right this time!  Gin is the best thing to happen to Daddy in . . . forever!'

'Yeah, and while we're on the subject of living in the state of denial—'

'We weren't.'

'Close enough . . . Why did you agree to the date with Raidon?'

Bellaniece's ebullient mood wavered.  'He seemed nice, didn't he?'

'Sure, he seemed nice.  He seemed disgustingly nice.  Boringly nice.  Get the picture?'

Bellaniece let out a deep breath, sending her bangs flying straight up in the air.  'I know . . . Nice and boring . . . absolutely no one I'd ever consider to be my mate.'

'Ah, so he's safe, you mean?'

Bellaniece made a face as the remnants of her good mood popped like an over-inflated balloon.  'Yeah.  Safe.'

'I can think of a thousand reasons why this is just a really, really bad idea.'

'No one will know, right?  I mean, I was just curious, is all . . .'

'Your curiosity will be the death of us both, you know that?'

Gin ignored the common sense of her youkai and stripped off the little blue sundress she was wearing.  Dropping it in a careless heap on the floor, she bit her bottom lip and grabbed the white silk shirt she'd bought for Cain.

'At least put a bra on, Gin!'

Gin made a face as she pulled on the billowing shirt and buttoned it, leaving the top button undone despite the wide collar that went along with the large shirt.  'No one's going to know; I'll only have it this shirt on for a minute, and what's the sense of putting on a bra when I'll just take it off again to put that dress back on?'

'Which is hardly the point!'

'Kami, this thing is huge!  I mean, I knew Cain was tall and everything, but I could swim in this!' Gin marveled as she held her arms up and stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror on the wall.  'I could fit ten of me in this!  Wow!'

'Ten?  Not hardly . . . maybe three.'

'Hmm, well, ten or three or something in between, the point is . . . Cain's really big, isn't he?'

'Gin—"

The telephone rang, and Gin pulled her hair out of the collar as she darted to the living room to answer.

"Gin?  It's Kich.  The old man wanted me to call to remind you that you're expected at home tonight."

Gin rolled her eyes.  "Oh, you . . . I have a bone to pick with you, nii-chan . . ."

"With me?  What's that?"

'Gin, you promised!' her youkai hissed.

She sighed, remembering the promise before she stuck her foot in it.  "Never mind."

"Well, don't forget about going home, okay?"

"Like I'd forget.  I'll be there, I'll be there.  Are you going to be there?"

"Of course."

"Yeah, well, consider yourself challenged when I see you.  I'm going to hurt you."

He laughed at her claim.  "You and whose army, baby girl?"

"Oi, baka!  Like I need an army to take you on, you pathetic excuse for a hanyou!"

"Kami, you sound like a female version of the old man—except tinier—and, well, entirely un-scary.  You want me to come by and get you?"

Gin wrinkled her nose.  "No, thanks," she replied haughtily.  "I think I can manage finding my way home, baka."

"All right.  Just be careful.  See you."

"Bye."

She hung up the phone and crossed her arms over her chest as she gazed at the receiver.  Even if she couldn't yell at Kichiro over his stupid behavior, she could try to beat on him, instead . . .

Sighing, Gin dropped her arms and started to shuffle back to her bedroom.  It was starting to get late, and she really ought to leave soon . . .

A loud thump on her door startled her, and Gin squeaked out a tiny yip as she wheeled around and ran to see who was there.  She didn't need to check the peephole to sense Cain's youki, and without a second thought, she opened the door.  "Cain!  Hi!  What are you . . . doing . . . here . . .?"  Trailing off as she stared, wide eyed, at Cain's bare chest, and more importantly, the teal stripes that wrapped around Cain's sides, Gin shook her head slowly.  "Are those . . .?"

He made a face as he stared at the wall over her head.  "Yeah, they're . . . uh . . . your wings."

"Wings?" she echoed with a perplexed shake of her head.  "That's new . . . They're really . . . nice."

Cain shrugged, bracing his free hand on the base of his neck.  "They are wings."

"Can I . . . I really want to touch them."

" . . . Okay."

Ignoring what he held out to her, Gin stepped closer, lifting her clawed index fingers to lightly trace over the tips of the stripes on Cain's abdomen.  With a gasp, he jerked back.  Gin jumped.  "Sorry."

"What . . .?  My  . . . Here," he finished, thrusting the wings out toward her.

"But—"

"Your wings," he grumbled.  Gin blinked slowly as she finally saw what he was trying to give her.

'Oh, I can't believe I did that . . .'

'Well . . . those crests of his are . . . nice.'

'Yeah, they are . . .'

'Doll, pay attention!  He made you wings!'

Willing away the embarrassment over her overly-bold behavior, Gin took the construction very gingerly, as though she were afraid it would tear in her hands.  The silver wire frame was sturdy but not heavy, and he'd filled the wings with a clear silicone streaked with iridescent glitter swirled into a pattern of veins.  Six metal clips were fitted into the silicone to fasten to her dress, and Gin stared, speechless.

"It's stupid . . . You can throw them away, if you want," he told her as he turned to leave.

Her hand shot out to stay him, and he slowly turned back to face her.  "No!  Why would I . . .?  Oh, Cain . . . they're . . . beautiful . . . You . . . You made me wings?"

"Yeah," he mumbled.  "For the, uh, cake fairy . . ."

She smiled and giggled, lifting the back of her left hand to her lips to subdue the sound.  "Will you . . .?"

Taking the wings from her as she turned around and held up her hair, Cain carefully clipped the wings to the back of the silk shirt for her.

Gin let her hair down and tried to turn from side to side to see the wings that kept moving with her efforts.

Cain cleared his throat, and chuckled.  "You'd have more luck if you have a mirror, Gin," he pointed out.

She snapped her fingers and grabbed his hand, dragging him behind her as she led the way to her bedroom.  "Silly me!  I knew that!  I have a mirror in here."

"Gin?"

"Hmm?" she asked as she smiled at her reflection in the mirror and completely missing the choked sound of Cain's voice.

"I'll wait out in the living room," he stated.

"What?  Oh . . . it's fine!  Just my bedroom, that's all.  I don't mind."

"Yeah, about that—"

"And you really made these?  Just for me?  No one's ever made me wings before!"

He stared into the mirror, into her eyes.  "You deserve wings, Gin . . ." He looked like he wanted to say something else, and Gin held her breath as that strange feeling rumbled through her stomach again.  Cain dropped his gaze, his cheeks reddening just a little, and he stepped back.  "Bellaniece said you met a . . . someone today."

Gin turned to face him, frowning as she slowly shook her head.  "I didn't . . . She did.  I just went with her to help her find shops, and—Oh!  I bought you a shirt!"  She winced inwardly as she realized where the shirt in question was.  "Uh . . . this shirt, actually . . ."

Holding up her arms to show him the shirt, Gin tried not to blush as he slowly shook his head.  "It's for . . . me?"

She nodded.

"But it's on . . . you."

She nodded again as her cheeks heated more.

"And you have it on because . . .?"

Gin bit her bottom lip and flattened her ears for a moment.  "I just wondered how big it really was," she explained, hoping—praying—that it didn't sound nearly as lame to him as she suspected it did.

"And?" he prompted, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back as a tiny grin twitched at the corners of his lips, obviously enjoying her discomfort.

"And . . . it's . . . really big, but the silk is really nice!  It's so soft!  You want to feel it?" she asked, lifting the shirttail from her knee and extending it toward him.

Cain backed away, hands shooting up in surrender.  "Nope, nope . . . I believe you.  It looks . . . really . . . soft."

"It's longer than most of my skirts!" she mused as she leaned forward to reach around and unclasp the wings.  Grimacing in her effort to unhook the wings without incident, Gin leaned over a little more.

Cain cleared his throat loudly and stepped toward her.  "Let me get that, Gin, before you . . . hurt yourself."

"Thanks, Cain," she replied as she stood back up and waited patiently for him to unfasten the wings.  "You're sort of my hero, too."

He stopped for a moment.  Gin peeked up at him.  He was staring at the clasps with a thoughtful frown, but his eyes were inordinately bright.  "Cain?"

"There," he interrupted, stepping back, holding the wings.  "I'd better go.  Bellaniece said she wanted to show me what she bought."

"Hold on a minute, and I'll give you this shirt . . . if you'll wear it . . . If you don't want to, I can get you another one."

"That one's fine . . . Uh . . . just give it to me later, okay?"

"Are you sure?  Bellaniece said—"

"It's okay.  You didn't have to replace my shirt."

"It'll only take a minute to change," she assured him.  "I can't believe you made me real wings!"

"Yeah," he mumbled.  "It was just a thought."

"A beautiful thought!  I love them!" Before she could stop to think about it, Gin tugged Cain's arm, rising up on her toes as he bent forward, and kissed his cheek.  "Thank you!"

Cain looked a little dazed as color filtered into his cheeks again.  He grimaced then buried his hands in his pockets, clearing his throat as he stared at his feet.  "Gin . . ."

Gin smiled then grimaced as she caught sight of the clock on her nightstand.  "Oh, no!  I'm late!  Cain, I'm sorry, but you have to go . . . I'm supposed to be over at my parents' house now . . . I don't think I'm going to make it . . ."

Cain blinked in surprise at Gin's abrupt dismissal.  Without waiting for the question she could see forming in his mind, she grabbed his hand and dragged him back through the apartment, not stopping till she was holding open the door.  "Night, Cain, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Is everything okay, Gin?"

"Yep, just fine!  Absolutely great!  I've got to hurry . . . Good night!"

Wincing as she closed the door gently but firmly in his face, Gin didn't have time to worry over that as she sprinted back toward her bedroom to change.  Sparing another quick glance at the clock, Gin sighed.  There wasn't any way she was going to make it, and, well . . .

'Papa's going to be furious.'

'Not just your papa, Gin . . . Ryo-nii and Kichiro-nii-chan will be, too, and your Mother will not be impressed, either, I'd wager.'

Tossing the silk shirt on the bed as she jerked her dress off the floor and yanked it up over her legs and hips, Gin let a small whine escape.  'I'm dead,' she decided.  'They'll kill me, all of them . . .'

'Don't worry about that, Gin!  They'll understand if you call and explain it.  After all, it's not every day you get your wings.'

That didn't reassure Gin.  She groaned and sank down on the edge of her bed.   'And if I told them that, they'd kill Cain, no questions asked.  Nope . . . I'm just dead.'