InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 4: Justification ❯ Measuring Up ( Chapter 37 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

'You made a few too many sandwiches, didn't you?'

Bellaniece blinked and stared at the cellophane covered plate of sandwiches and shrugged.  'Maybe.'

Sitting in the shade of the old white ash tree in the yard behind the mansion, she took out a peanut butter sandwich and carefully pulled the cellophane tight again.  It had been years since she'd last sat under this tree with a plate of sandwiches she'd made in hopes of coaxing Cain into coming outside to have a picnic with her.  She wasn't sure why she had the desire to do such a thing again.

'Do you suppose it might have something to do with what you were talking about the other night?'

She sighed, pulling a bite off her sandwich and popping it into her mouth.  'There's that . . .'

She hadn't meant to be so mean to Kichiro.  She hadn't meant to say she hated him.  She didn't hate him; not really.  She was just upset, but maybe he'd known that, too.

Strange, really, and it wasn't something that Bellaniece could put her finger on, but something had changed that night.  He was still grouchy and irritable in the morning until he had at least a pot and a half of coffee in his system, but overall, there was a gentler quality to him that she didn't fully understand.  The change unsettled her, and that was something else she wasn't about to dwell on.

"Belle-chan . . ."

Bellaniece slowly lifted her gaze at the sound of the tight tone Kichiro used as he strode across the lawn.

"Something wrong, Dr. Izayoi?"

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and glowered at the landscape beyond.  "Is there anything you failed to mention to me about the night you . . . painted my nails and  . . . ruined my hair?"

Bellaniece swallowed another bite of her sandwich and shrugged.  "No . . . Can't think of anything else, and the dye will wash out, you know . . . Why?"

Kichiro nodded slowly.  "So you don't remember doing anything else?  Nothing at all?  No . . . taking pictures or . . . anything . . .?"

Bellaniece cleared her throat and willed herself not to laugh at the disgruntled hanyou.  "Pictures?" she repeated in a bright tone.  "Ah, yes . . . Now that you mention it, I  . . . do . . . remember . . ."

Kichiro sighed and squatted beside her.  "Do you?  Well, I thought it'd interest you to know that Gin really enjoyed your sharing them with her."

"Did she?  I'm glad she liked them."

He nodded.  "As did Nezumi, who got them from Gin."

"Oh . . . Now see, I didn't know Gin was going to share them."

"And Ryomaru, who saw them on Nezumi's cell."

Bellaniece rubbed the back of her neck nervously, wondering why Kichiro wasn't screaming since he was obviously not seeing the humor in the given situation.  "What did he think?"

"He liked them well enough to send them to Toga.  Care to take a guess what Toga did with them?"

"I . . . don't think I should."

Kichiro nodded slowly.  "You owe me.  Big."

Bellaniece bit her bottom lip.  "How . . . big?"

"Oh . . . huge, princess.  Huge."

"We could just . . . call it even?"

"Kami, no."

"Did I mention?  I didn't have siblings . . . So, I never got to play dress-up with anyone else?"

He shook his head.  "Creative, but still no."

"I made sandwiches," she suggested, hoping to distract him since she wasn't at all sure about the strange glint in his eyes.

"Oh, don't do that," he told her.

She blinked and held up the plate.  "Do what?"

"Don't give me that look."

"Look?"

"Yeah, that one."

"What look?"

"That, 'I'm The Nicest Girl in the Whole Wide World' look, because you're not getting out of this; not by a long shot."

"Okay . . . I'll . . . let you paint my nails and dye my hair and take pictures for Gin?"

"Hmm," he drawled as he sat down and leaned back on his hands.  "That's a tough one . . . well . . . Let me think about it . . . Umm . . . No, not even close."

"Well, what are you going to do to me?" she asked, unable to keep the hint of trepidation out of her voice.

He sighed.  "I haven't decided yet.  I'm torn between the idea of feeding you to a fire breathing dragon and something far more feasible."

"Why do I have the feeling I'm not going to like you're more feasible idea?"

He grinned and stretched out in the grass, propping his cheek on his palm as he reached out to twist a lock of her hair around his finger.  "Oh, I don't know . . . probably because you won't."

"And why won't I?"

His grin widened.  She almost scampered to her feet to run away.  "It's simple, Belle.  You're going to let me teach you how to defend yourself."

Her mouth dropped open.  She snapped it closed as color flooded her cheeks.  "That's not a fair trade," she informed him.

"It is.  One lesson for every eye that saw each of those pictures.  That's twelve people—so twenty-four eyes times two pictures equals forty-eight lessons, princess."

"I choose the dragon," she countered.

He clucked his tongue.  "Ah-ah-ah, it doesn't work that way.  In the game of retribution, the person you wronged—that'd be me—gets to choose the punishment of the offender—in this case, you."

"You were a jerk to me!" she argued.  "You were mean and snide and . . . mean . . ."

"Yeah, and you girlified me!  I am the victim here!  No complaining!  You trespassed against me, and then you committed the ultimate treason by taking pictures of the heinous deed!  In days of yore, people who did what you did would have been put in the stocks . . . or worse."

"They were not," she pointed out, lips twitching as she tried really hard not to smile.  "They didn't have cell phones in the days of yore."

"Funny, wench . . . real cute."

"That's all well and good, you know, but you're forgetting something, Dr. Izayoi."
"What's that?"

"We're in the United States of America.  You can't convict me without violating my right to due process."

"Hate to tell you, princess, but I'm your judge, your jury, and your hangman.  Twenty-four out of twenty-four eyes agree: you're guilty.  Defense lessons, it is."

"I have the right to an appeal."

Kichiro chuckled then shook his head.  "Belle . . . learning how to defend yourself won't make you need your father any less."

Her laughter died, and she sighed.   "I know."

"Look, I know why you feel like you do, and I understand it.  I also know how I felt when I found you with those bastards.  I keep thinking: if I had been just a few minutes later . . . Can you understand that?"

As much as she hated to admit it, she could.  Bellaniece pushed the plate of sandwiches closer to Kichiro and shrugged.  "I don't have anything to wear."

He eyed the offering dubiously.  "What do you mean, you don't have anything to wear?  I've seen your closet, princess, and you've got more clothes than the queen of England."

She snorted.  "No, I mean, I don't have anything to wear for you to train me in."

The incredulous look on his face might have been humorous any other time.  Bellaniece blushed and turned her face away.  "You don't have any shorts or sweat pants?"

"Of course not!"

Kichiro rolled his eyes at the absolute disbelief in her voice.  "Fine, then.  Come on.  Let's go get you something to train in."

"Let me finish my sandwich."

Kichiro sighed but didn't argue.  "Why'd you make so many?" he asked, waving at the heaping plate.

Bellaniece bobbed her shoulders.  "Habit, I guess.  I'd make this many when I was little; then I'd beg Daddy to come outside and have a picnic with me, right here.  Daddy loves peanut butter."

Kichiro considered that for a moment before slowly reaching for a sandwich.  "Peanut butter, huh?  What's this other stuff?"

Bellaniece leaned toward him and looked since she'd made two kinds of sandwiches: the normal peanut butter and jelly as well as the kind he was holding in his hand.  "That's marshmallow fluff.  It's good."

He stared at the sandwich for a moment before hesitantly biting into it.  Bellaniece watched him.  He seemed surprised, but he slowly chewed and gulped a few times, very aware of her interest.  He opened and closed his mouth a few times clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth like he was having trouble swallowing.

Bellaniece frowned.  "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he mumbled, his voice slightly distorted.  "It's stuck to the roof of my mouth."

Bellaniece handed him a bottle of water.  "Do you like it?"

Kichiro wrinkled his nose as he drank half the bottle.  "Sure, it's fine . . . sticky, but . . . fine."  He ate another bite of his sandwich and nodded toward the plate.  "How many of these does your father usually eat?"

Bellaniece giggled.  "All of them!  I told you; he loves peanut butter!"

He nodded slowly, staring at the plate with a wry smile.  "I'll just bet he does."


Cain tossed his keys on the counter as Gin closed the door and turned on the lamp.  "This is so great!" she said for the fiftieth time.  "I really get to meet the L'amont Pierre!  I just can't believe it!  He's like . . . one of my idols!"

"Is he?"

She giggled and plopped on the sofa with her hands tucked under her thighs as she bounced up and down in anticipation.  "Absolutely!  His paintings are so full of passion and life!  I can't believe I get to meet him!  I can't remember being this excited . . . Oh, ever!"

"Really."

She clapped her hands and grinned at him as he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyed her.  "Yes, really!  I mean, he's just . . . brilliant, you know?  Oh, I can't believe I get to meet him!"

"Who else do you idolize?" he asked casually, crossing his ankles as he stared at the floor.

"Hmm," she considered, flopping back and tapping her chin with her index finger.  "There's him, and the great artisans, but they're all dead so I don't suppose I'll ever meet them . . . Oh, and Bowen Lara . . ."

"Just because she sculpted a chocolate swan?"

"That was a big chocolate swan, Cain."

He rolled his eyes.  "Anyone else?"

Gin slowly shook her head.  "Not really . . ."

"I see . . ."

"Wait . . . No . . . That's it."

"Pfft."

She snapped her fingers and sat up straight.  "You, of course!"

Cain snorted.  "Yeah, that's like coming in fourth in the Olympics."

"Fourth is good."

He shot her a dark scowl.

"Well, it's just that I've met you.  You're my teacher."

His scowl deepened.  "Yeah, so I don't count?"

"You're mad at me."

"No, no . . . Not at all . . ." He winced.  "All right, I'm  . . . hurt."

"Why?"

"I ranked fourth behind a bunch of dead guys, Gin . . . That's not good . . . and for the record, Pierre has a tendency to be a real ass, just so you know."

She winced.  "Can I do anything so you're not . . . hurt anymore?"

Cain shook his head then sighed.  "Yeah, okay . . . there is one thing."

"Anything!" she assured him, scooting forward on the sofa.  "Just name it."

He grinned.  "You can  . . . show me yours."

"Cain!" she gasped, cheeks exploding in a flush.

"Oh, come on, Gin . . . I'll . . . I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"I—You—Cain!"

He laughed.  "What's the matter, baby girl?  You outgrow that game?"

"That is so humiliating!" she moaned, burying her face in her hands.

Cain chuckled again.  "Okay, okay, I was teasing."

She peeked through her fingers.  "Really?" she asked, voice muffled by her hands.

"Sure," he agreed.  "But out of curiosity . . . What did you show him?"

"We were five!"

He pushed away from the counter and ambled over to kneel in front of Gin.  Taking her hands and pulling them away from her face, he laughed softly at the blush staining her cheeks.  "I was teasing, Gin . . . I thought it was a cute story.  That's all."

"That's me," she agreed a little sadly, "cute little Gin; everyone's baby sister.  Story of my life."

"Hey," he said, lifting her chin with his knuckle.  "You're not supposed to be sad on your birthday.  I'm sorry for embarrassing you."

"I'm not sad," she argued.  "I'm used to it.  Well, maybe a little sad . . ."

"I don't think of you as a baby sister."

"You don't?"

His gaze fell to her lips, and he brushed the pad of his thumb over them.  Gin closed her eyes for a moment as a violent shiver ran down her spine.  "No, I don't."

"I . . . can't . . . breathe . . ." she whispered.

Cain pushed her hair back with his free hand.  She leaned into his touch.  "You have to breathe, Gin," he murmured, transfixed by the sight of her: eyes closed, cheeks flushed, lips parted slightly as she struggled to draw breath.  "If you don't breathe, I can't kiss you."

She forced her eyes open a crack, her golden eyes veiled behind a haze of longing.  "Cain?"

He shook his head, brow furrowing as he stared at her.  "I want to paint you."

"You . . . do?"

He nodded.  "Yeah.  I still owe you a real birthday present.  Would you like that?"

She smiled vaguely, nodding as her fingers twined in his ponytail.  "Cake fairy?"

"My cake fairy," he agreed, leaning toward her.  Her ragged breath condensed on his lips, fanned emotion that he had forgotten so long ago.

"Cain, I . . ."

"Shh," he commanded.  "Just let me . . ."

Her lips were soft, sweet, opening under his like the first rays of dawn.  Perfect, simple, untainted by the darkness of the world, unaware of things that were best left in shadows, the beauty of her wrapped around him, made him forget the ugly things, too, even if it could only be for a moment.

Her kiss was reluctant, timid, reminding him that she hadn't been kissed like this before.  Trembling as he nibbled on her lower lip, she sighed softly, breathing in shallow gasps as she slowly reached out, pressed her hand to his chest.  He caught her fingers in his.  They curled around his thumb as he pulled her close with his free hand, rubbed her back to soothe her.  She held onto him, her heart hammering against her ribcage in a dizzying cadence that he could feel resonating in her aura.

The softest tendrils of her hair brushed over his fingertips; the sweetness of her mouth reminded him of a dream or a fairy tale.  Something about her spoke to him, drew on him, pulled him closer than he could have thought possible.  She was alive and addictive, strong and soft, vibrant and tempering.  Whether she was responding to his kisses on instinct or driven by a base need, she sighed as his lips lingered against hers, her mouth opening and closing like a morning flower.

She whimpered quietly as he skimmed her lips with the tip of his tongue.  Her body reacted with a wave of tremors, easing in his arms as deeper, headier, more convoluted scent pulsed around him, radiated from her, and with a harsh sigh, Cain pulled away.  "Happy birthday, baby girl."

Gin's giggle was thready and uneven.  She swallowed hard and opened her eyes.  "I want to spend all my birthdays with you," she murmured.

He tried to smile but couldn't quite manage it.  "Yeah," he agreed as his gaze fell to the side, as he tried not to feel guilty for what he'd just done.  "I . . . I want that, too."