InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 4: Justification ❯ Exhibition ( Chapter 39 )

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

Gin rolled over onto her back and tipped her head to stare up at the youkai who was idly stroking her hair.  "You think I can meet him?"

Cain didn't glance up from his magazine.  "Hmm?  Who?"

Gin sat up and pushed his shoulder.  "L'amont-san!"

He snorted.  "Why is it you want to meet him?"

Gin rolled her eyes.  "He's brilliant, Cain!  He's one of the most renowned artists of our time . . . and he's not bad to look at, either."

"What?" Cain growled as the magazine fell out of his hand.

"I think it's his eyes," she mused, idly folding the pleats in her skirt.  "I've always been a sucker for those big, green eyes . . ."

Cain pushed her off his lap and stood up, muttering under his breath about fickle women and nothing wrong with blue.  Gin blinked and shrugged.  "Cain?  Are you okay?"

"Fine, fine," he grumbled.  "Just fine."

She shifted, sitting on her knees as she clasped her hands in her lap and tilted her head.  "I can't believe you know him!  That's so cool!"

"Pfft.  I told you; Pierre's . . . Well, he can be an ass."  He shook his head.  "And just what's wrong with blue?"

"Blue?  Blue's nice . . ." she answered, obviously confused by his question.  "I guess I should go get ready . . ."

Cain made a face.  "Yeah, why don't you go alone to the damn thing?  I'll just . . . I don't want to go."

"Oh . . . I see . . ."

He sighed when she ducked her head, ears flattening against her head as she chewed on her bottom lip.  "Gin—"

"It's okay," she assured him.  "If you don't want to go, then I won't go, either."

Damn it, he hated the fuss of exhibitions and openings.  He hated the gala premiers and the social hierarchy of the art world.  Schmoozing backstabbers and whispering gossipmongers . . . It was the side of his profession that he didn't want to deal with.  Still, it was all Gin had talked about for days.  "Thought you wanted to meet the green-eyed wonder."

She peeked up at him, her eyes still troubled.  "Sure, but . . . I wanted my first time to be with you."

Cain did a double-take and stifled a groan.  "Gin, you know . . ." he trailed off with a quick shake of his head.   He didn't have the heart to tell her that she'd just said something that could be taken the wrong way again.  "You'd better get ready, unless you're going to wear that."

Glancing down at the short pink jumper-dress, she giggled.  Complete with a cute, lacy pocket in the middle of the chest, it looked like something an eight year-old would wear, and the white bobby socks with pink lace ruffle trim didn't really help the ensemble, either.  "What's wrong with this?" she teased.

Cain grinned.  "Not a thing, baby girl; just not something someone would wear to an art exhibit."

"But you'd look so pretty!"

"Even though I don't have big green eyes?"

Gin's cheeks pinked as she stood up and wandered over to him.  "Blue's nice, too . . . I . . . I like blue . . ."

"Do you?  Somehow I feel like you're humoring me."

"I wouldn't humor you, Cain."

A shiver raced up and down his spine at the husky quality that had entered her tone.  If she knew what she had done, she didn't react.  He cleared his throat and forced a smile.  "You'd better go get ready."

"Thank you for taking me to it."

He rolled his eyes, catching her hands and holding them loosely against his chest.  "Yeah, we'll see if you're still thanking me after you're bored out of your mind."

She giggled.  "It's kind of like a date, isn't it?"  She winced and shook her head.  "I mean, it's not, I know.  Just . . . sort of . . ."

"Do you want it to be a date?" he asked slowly.

"Oh, no, I don't!  Not at all!  I mean—"

He leaned down, brushed a kiss over her lips, and when he straightened up, she was blushing.  "Now you'd really better hurry.  Dates should start on time, don't you think?"

"It's a date?  Really?"

Cupping her cheek in his hand, he rubbed his thumb over her lips and smiled.  "Whatever you want, Gin."

She bit her lip, cheeks reddening more, and she giggled.  "Then I'd really better hurry . . . Oh, no, I'm even more nervous now!"

He laughed as she turned her face to kiss the palm of his hand before careening around to head for the door.  Stopping before she left him, she shot him a brilliant smile and wiggled her fingers.  He waved back, grinning as she left his apartment, trying not to consider just why making Gin smile made him happy.

'You don't know why?' his youkai prodded as Cain strode off to shower.  'That's simple, you know.  It's because when she smiles, everything about her smiles, too.  Eyes, mouth, even her youki is happier . . .'

'Yeah.'

'It's her eyes.  They're remarkable.'

'There's that.'

'And her ears.  Her ears are pretty cute.'

'Those, too.'

'Cain?'

'Hmm?'

'We could . . . I mean, you . . . She's nice to have around, isn't she?'

Cain turned on the shower taps, adjusted the water temperature, and sighed.  'She is.  She's a little too nice to have around.'

He'd thought that maybe he could keep her at bay.  He'd tried to tell himself that she was just a pretty girl.  Gin was becoming as necessary to him as breathing, and he wasn't sure how she did it.  He hadn't even looked at another woman in years.  How was it that such a tiny slip of a girl could completely twist him inside out?

'You know, she's nothing at all like Isabelle.'

He grimaced and stepped into the shower, letting the drum of the hot water flow over him as he tried to make sense of it all.  'No, she's not.'

'It's not a bad thing, you know . . . You rushed things with Isabelle, and it wasn't until later that you realized the cost of it all.'

'I know,' Cain agreed as he lathered his hair.

'Gin doesn't care about the public or even about the prestige of your title.  Then again, Isabelle didn't care about that, either, did she? She hated that you were tai-youkai.  She'd have been happier if you were just human.'

'She liked my life well enough.  She loved the premiers and all that crap.'

'Maybe but she never cared about the things that mattered most.  She never wanted the same things you did.  You know . . . I don't think she ever wanted to live your life.'

'I know that, too.  Isabelle . . . She wasn't a mistake, but maybe . . . I don't know.'  To call Isabelle a mistake . . . Wouldn't that be the same as calling Bellaniece one, too?  Cain shook his head.  'No, Bellaniece . . . she was never a mistake.'

'But Gin . . . Gin's special.'

Tipping his head back to rinse the soap from his hair, Cain squeezed his eyes closed and sighed again.  'Of course she is.  She's . . . It doesn't matter.  I made a promise.  I have to keep it, don't I?'

'You didn't make the promise to Isabelle, Cain.  You didn't promise her a thing.  She was already—'

'Don't say it,' he thought with a grimace.  'It doesn't change a thing.  I gave my word, and my word is my vow.  I owe her that.'

'And what about Gin?  Do you owe her anything?'

Cain took his time lathering his body, absently noting that he needed a good shave.  'I don't owe Gin.  I've never made a promise to her.  I can't.'

'There are promises you make out loud, and there are the promises you make in your heart.  Do you think that Gin will be all right, when all is said and done?'

'. . . We're just friends; no more, no less.'

'And you believe that?'

'Yeah, I do.'

'Then you're a fool, Zelig; a real fool.'

Cain rinsed off and shut off the water.  'Maybe I am.   Gin knows I have obligations.  She understands that.'

'She says she does to pacify you.  Do you really think a girl like her can comprehend the promise you made?'

'Just what do you think I should do, then?  Tell her the truth?  About all of it?'

His youkai was silent as Cain draped a towel around his hips and lathered his face to shave.  'Maybe you should explain it to her.  She'd understand, I think.'

'She'll think I'm a monster.  I think I'm a monster.  Gin . . . She really doesn't need to know.'

'You're going to hurt her, Cain, and you know it.  Even if she weren't hanyou, she's the kind of woman who will love only once.'

Cain scowled at his reflection as he stopped with his razor poised at his cheek.  'I'll never hurt her.  It won't happen.  I won't let it.'

'You're a fool then.  You can't control her emotions any better than you can stop seeing her.  She's everything you've ever wanted; everything you never found in Isabelle.  Just don't think that she's going to come out of this smelling like a rose because I don't see that happening.'

'She'll be fine.  She's stronger than she looks.'

'You're good at denying things, Cain.  Do you remember how long you tried to ignore Isabelle's feelings?'

He had to set the razor down for a moment.  The half-forgotten doubts and silent arguments with his youkai flashed through his mind, fresh and painful as they had been so long ago.  He had tried to tell himself that he was imagining things.  In the end . . . In the end, it had cost him dearly.

'It's just one night, just one 'date',' Cain told himself stubbornly as he finished shaving and brushed out his hair.  'Nothing big—a stupid exhibition where I will be bored out of my mind.'

'Ask yourself this, then: if this is just a stupid exhibition and just a one measly date, why are you going, at all?  No one—not even Bellaniece—can talk you into going to your own, and God only knows she's tried.  Why are you going?  Because Gin wants to go; that's why.'

The cooler air in the hallway was a welcome change from the steamy bathroom dampness.  Opting for the silk shirt Gin had bought him and a pair of black trousers, Cain dressed quickly and was tucking in his shirt when someone knocked on the door.

Grabbing his shoes and socks off the bed before darting out of his room and back down the hallway, Cain dropped the items on a chair as he breezed past on the way toward the door.

"Hey, you're . . . ready . . ." he trailed off, staring at Gin in something akin to awe.

She smiled nervously and shrugged as her cheeks pinked.  "Your hair's down."

Cain nodded vaguely.  "What?  Oh, yeah . . ."

She stepped toward him, fingered his hair with a timid little grin.  "I like it down."

"Do you?" he asked, trying to come to terms with the woman she'd suddenly become.   That wasn't right.  She was a woman when she'd left his apartment.  It was just that now, she looked more like one than ever.

'You're going to freak her out if you don't get moving,' his youkai grumbled.  'Stop staring at her like a fool and do something.'

That snapped him out of his gawking, and he turned on his heel, heading for the chair where he'd left his shoes.

Gin closed the door and wandered over.  "You look really nice," she told him, wringing her hands as she waited for him to put his shoes on.

He glanced at her and was struck again by the difference in her appearance.  Gone was the fun and approachable girl he knew so well.  She'd been replaced by a mysterious young woman in a filmy black dress that barely kissed her knees, billowing around her hips and legs with a whisper of movement.  The top wrapped around her slender neck, and she'd pulled her hair up in a chignon though a few tendrils of hair had escaped to fall around her face.  The entire vision of her left him speechless, breathless, dizzy . . .

She bit her lip, slowly shaking her head.  "It's the dress, isn't it?  You . . . You don't like it."

"What?  No, it's . . . It's nice."

"Really?  Good!  I was worried . . . You didn't say anything, but Mama said it was perfect for the exhibition . . ."

"Your mother's seen it?" he asked, dangling his hands between his knees after he finished putting on his shoes.

She smiled almost apologetically.  "I wasn't sure how to put my hair up, so Mama came over to help me.  She just left . . ."

"You could have worn it down.  I like it . . . down."

Her cheeks pinked a little more, and she quickly ducked her head.  "It's the back of the dress, you know?  It wouldn't have looked right if I had left my hair down."  She peeped at him through her lashes and frowned slightly.  "You haven't seen it, right?"  Cain shook his head.  Gin turned a slow circle and stared at him expectantly.

'Oh, my God . . .'

'Damn, Cain . . .'

'. . . Yeah . . .'

There was nothing covering her back.  The dress didn't actually clasp behind her neck but narrowed into two thin straps that crisscrossed over her back between her shoulder blades but the rest of her pale, soft skin was exposed to her waist.  Her hair would have covered it, and while Cain could definitely appreciate the delicate curves of her body, he would be damned if anyone else would be doing the same . . . Her waist was impossibly tiny; every bit of her seemed more fragile, daintier, than he could credit.  She looked frighteningly intangible to him—his tiny goddess set on bringing him to his knees . . .

"So . . . what do you think?" she finally asked as she clasped her hands before her and waited patiently for him to speak.

Cain had to clear his throat before he could answer.  "It's . . . lovely."

Her smile was his reward, and he had to shake his head and look away before he did something really stupid, like demand that she change back into the cutesy little dress she'd worn all day.  She looked good.  She looked damn good.  Other guys were bound to notice, and that just didn't sit well with him, at all.

"We'd better hurry," she told him as she turned back toward the door.  "We'll be late if we don't, and I already called a cab."

'Oh, hell!' Cain growled as Gin walked away.  Every so often, the edge of the dress would slip just enough that he could see the tiny fairy temporary tattoo she'd gotten the week before.  The effect was remarkable—and devastating.

'We're going to die, Cain; we're going to die tonight.'

'Death by lethal Gin?'

His youkai sighed.  'Something like that.'

He swallowed hard as she stopped with the door open, waiting for him.  'Well, if I have to go, then that'd be as good a way as any.'

'Yeah, just stay alive long enough to keep Pierre as far away from Gin as you can.'

Cain made a face, scowl surfacing as Gin stepped into the hallway, oblivious to his shifting mood.  'Yeah . . . He'll stay away from her or I'll kill him.'

'Kill him?  He's your friend.'

'He might be a friend, but he's collected far too many pretty little things over the years . . . I'll be damned if he'll try to add Gin to his sordid collection . . .'

'You could just tell Pierre that Gin's ours.'

Cain snorted but didn't argue.


"There he is!"

Cain grimaced as Gin tugged on his arm and nodded toward the ferret-hanyou making his way through the milling crowd in the Edo-Tokyo Museum.  The turnout was larger than Cain had expected.  Though he'd been to a few of his own exhibitions, mostly at Isabelle's insistence, he had always been informed of the numbers, and Pierre had more people in attendance than Cain normally did.  Then again, Cain hadn't ever really cared who had attended his, and it showed in the number of invitations.  Consequently, the tickets for his premiers had become quite sought-after.  Pierre had always basked in the limelight much more than Cain ever had or wanted to.

"He looks awfully busy . . . Are you sure I can meet him?"

"Of course you can," he assured her.

Gin giggled and pointed at one of the portraits lining the walls of the conference room.  "Wow, that one's really interesting!  His use of color is just amazing."

Cain snorted.  "It's a ball on a table, Gin."

"Yes, but the simplicity of it, and the shades of blue . . . It's really good."

Cain rolled his eyes.  "That's not art!  It's crap!"

Gin scowled at him.  "It's not crap!  That's not nice!  How would you like it if L'amont-san called your work 'crap'?"

"Actually—"

"So it's true!  You've come out of hiding, Zelig?  Still making the crap you call art, are you?"

Cain snorted again and pivoted to face Pierre L'amont as the ferret-hanyou strolled over, his attention completely on Gin and making no bones about letting his eyes rove over her in a completely predatory way.  "Speak of the damn devil," Cain grumbled.

Pierre laughed.  "I've been called many things, but devil?  You flatter me, friend," he countered lightly, using the light French accent that he didn't really need.  "And who is this enchanting woo-man?"

Bristling at the way Pierre had pronounced the word 'woman', Cain gritted his teeth and drew a calming breath.  "This is Gin Izayoi—one of my students—and this is Pierre L'amont, purveyor of all things craptastic."

Gin shot him a quelling glare.  He ignored it as Pierre reached out to grab Gin's hand—the one that was still resting on Cain's arm.  Cain growled.  Pierre grinned and lifted the back of Gin's hand to his lips without taking his gaze off the tai-youkai.

"I'm so pleased to meet you!" Gin gushed, obviously forgetting that the hand being held by the wayward ferret-hanyou was hers and should be returned.  "Your work is just spectacular!"

"Ah, a woo-man with good taste . . . and I'll just bet you taste good, too."

Cain's arm shot out, catching Pierre on the shoulder and knocking him back a step.  At least he'd let go of Gin . . . "Izayoi, Pierre . . . Does the name ring a bell?"

"Can't say it does," Pierre remarked with a shrug and a wink at Gin.  She giggled and cleared her throat.

"Izayoi, as in InuYasha.  As in Sesshoumaru's half-brother.  As in her father."

"Oh, the angry hanyou," Pierre mused with a nod.

"Yes, angry . . . and he doesn't like perverted lechers like you sniffing around his daughter."

Pierre shot him a calculated glance and chuckled.  "Learn this first hand, have you, Lord Dog?"

Cain snorted.  "Hardly.  I'm not afraid of InuYasha.  I could take him."

Gin choked then coughed.  "Cain . . ."

Cain figured he'd hear about that later, but didn't rightfully care, either.

"I would dare the wrath of the angry hanyou for this girl.  She's an absolutely stunning little bite, wouldn't you say, Zelig?"

Cain jammed his hands into his pockets and shrugged offhandedly.  " Izayoi-san is my student," he growled.

"Student?  What are you teaching her?"

Cain opened his mouth to tell his friend to shove it.  Gin's voice interrupted.  "I . . . I think I need to find the little girls' room, if you'll excuse me."

Wincing inwardly as she walked away, Cain sighed and slowly shook his head.

'Nice, idiot.  Way to stick your foot in it.'

'Shut up.'

'You told her it was a date.'

Cain pushed aside the guilt that ate at his stomach.  'It is . . .'

'Do you call all your dates 'san'?'

'All right, I got the point.  I'll apologize later.'

'Yeah, just don't dig your hole any deeper.'

'Okay, okay . . . Now, will you shut up?'

His youkai snorted.

"Your student, huh?"

Cain shifted his gaze back to the ferret-hanyou once more.  "Yeah, my student."

Pierre digested that for a moment then nodded.  "All right.  If she's just your student, then you won't mind if I ask her to dinner while I'm in Tokyo."

"Over my dead body."

"Do you care so much?"

Cain shrugged.  "She's . . . my daughter's friend."

"Ah, yes, the ethereal Bellaniece . . . How old is she now?"

Cain's glower narrowed.  "Don't even think about it."

Pierre held his hands up in mock surrender.  "It's nice that you're pretending that you're just Izayoi-san's teacher, but you're ignoring the facts."

"Which are?"

"You never come to these things.  Why are you here if not for her?"

"I was ambushed by her mother," Cain argued.  "She put me on the spot.  What would she have thought if I'd said that I didn't want to escort her daughter to this godforsaken thing?"

"And since when have you given a rat's ass about what other people thought of you?"

"Call it a favor, then.  Her uncle is Sesshoumaru."

"Sorry I took so long," Gin apologized as she stopped beside Cain again.  She wouldn't look at him.  He stifled a sigh.

Pierre smiled almost indulgently at her.  "You look like you could use a drink," he told her.  "Allow me to get you a glass of champagne."

"Pierre—" Cain began in a warning tone.

"Lighten up, Zelig.  One glass of champagne never hurt anyone, and you've already tried to ruin her fun for the evening."  He smiled at Gin again.  "Pardon, mademoiselle.  I'll be right back."

He walked away as the silence thickened.  She finally cleared her throat, as though she couldn't stand the tension, and she refused to meet his gaze, too.  "This is, um . . . Really, um . . . Thanks for coming with me."

Cain sighed and reached out to touch Gin's arm.  She turned away as if she didn't see him.  He might have believed she didn't if he hadn't heard her smothered whine—a sound that she hadn't intended for him to hear, at all.  "Gin—"

"Oh, look at that painting, Cain!  I think . . . I think I'll go get a closer look."

He watched her go and rubbed his forehead.  Pierre stopped her, handed her a champagne flute, whispered something that made her smile just a little, and moved away.  "Damn it . . ."

"She's a beautiful woman, no?"

Cain took the glass of champagne from Pierre and shrugged.  "Is she?"

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

"So what if I have?  It doesn't change a thing."

"You've always been a bit of a fool, haven't you?"

"Maybe," he replied as he downed the champagne.  Gin sipped hers and rubbed her nose.  She was smiling a nervous kind of smile and chatting with the curator of the museum.  That smile . . . It somehow broke his heart.

"Well, if you're not interested in her, then maybe I will see if she's available for lunch sometime."

"Stay the hell away from her," Cain growled.

"Why should I?  She's available . . . I'm available . . . We could be unavailable together . . ."

Cain shook his head, setting the empty glass on a small table nearby.  "Gin's not that kind of girl, Pierre."

Pierre shrugged.  "I've been thinking that I should start really looking for my mate," he remarked.  "I think I could stand being with her for a long, long time."

"Touch her, and I swear on all that is holy, I'll kill you, myself."

Pierre clucked his tongue as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his rumpled trouser.  "You treat her like a toy, Zelig.  If you don't want her, you shouldn't be holding her back from meeting someone else, don't you think?"

Cain wasn't inclined to agree, and his expression said as much.  Pierre chuckled, but sighed as he shrugged and swallowed the last of his champagne.  "What's going on with the two of you, and don't say she's just your student.  She calls you by name."

"There's nothing going on," he argued stubbornly.  "She's just a really sweet girl—Bellaniece's friend."

"You bring your daughter's friend to an art exhibit?"

"I told you; she's Sesshoumaru's niece.  I had to bring her."

"So you let her drag you out of your comfort zone into the lion's den, so to speak?"

"Think what you will.  Not everyone is as perverse as you."

"I know you better than most, Zelig, and I'm not stupid, either.  Bellaniece's friend, indeed . . ."

"Look, I told you, there's nothing going on.  Gin's nothing to me—nothing."

A small choked sound stopped Cain's angry tirade.  Both men turned around only to find Gin standing just behind them. Too many people, too many scents, too much noise . . . He hadn't heard her approach.  Golden eyes wide, hurt, she stepped back as her face colored in a painful flush.  Nostrils quivering just a little, just enough to give her away, she looked like she was ready to cry despite her will not to do so.

Cain didn't say anything.  He didn't trust himself to speak.  Unable to meet her gaze for long, Cain strode out of the museum, digging into his pockets for a cigarette only to remember that he didn't have any on him.  'Easily remedied,' he thought as he ran down the stone steps and toward the nearest store, ignoring the condemnations echoing through his head in his youkai's voice.


Gin twisted her hands together as she stared at the floor and told herself that she wasn't really going to cry.

"Gin's nothing to me—nothing."

She felt her chin twitch as her lips trembled.  The hot prickle of tears stung her eyes, and she blinked furiously to stave them back.

A warm arm closed over her shoulders, and suddenly she was stumbling forward as her vision blurred and as a tear slipped from the corner of her eye, much to her horror.  She didn't know who was escorting her, nor where they were taking her—her nose had clogged, too, curse the stupid tears.  She dashed the back of her hand over her eyes and sniffled, accepting the white handkerchief that was offered to her.

"He's always been a little stupid."

Gin managed a pathetic laugh as she dabbed her eyes, stretching—reaching—for a nonchalance she just didn't feel.  "Oh, it's nothing . . . I'm fine."

Pierre sighed, letting his arm drop away from her shoulders as he closed the door and leaned against it.  Gin looked around at the small waiting room.  She'd never been in one of these before.  Located off the main convention room, these were the rooms where the guests could retreat for a moment to collect themselves or just to relax.  "Zelig's words were uncalled-for.  I don't think he meant it, anyway."

She shrugged.  "No, I think he did.  I mean . . . You don't say something unless you mean it somewhere deep down, right?"

Pierre seemed almost apologetic as he shook his head and shrugged.  "Zelig's never been good at expressing his feelings.  Frankly I'm amazed me that he was able to keep his feet out of his mouth long enough to woo Isabelle . . . He's got a tendency to be a bit socially inept when it comes to beautiful women, as you've seen for yourself, I don't doubt."

She tried to smile.  "I'm not beautiful."

"You sure about that?"

She winced.  "It doesn't matter, anyway.  He said . . ."

"Zelig's a fool," Pierre remarked, casually flicking a bit of dirt of his sleeve.  "Occupational hazard.  Most artists aren't very good with actual people."

Gin's ears flattened momentarily at the mention of Cain's wife's name.  "Did you know her?"

"Her?"

She nodded.  "Isabelle."

"Ah, yes . . . A beautiful woman, that Isabelle.  Far better than Zelig deserved, that's for sure . . ."

"I see."

Pierre chuckled and handed Gin another glass of champagne.  She stared rather dubiously at the drink.  "I don't think I should . . . I don't usually drink alcohol."

"It's just champagne.  No one gets drunk off champagne."

Gin nodded and sipped the liquid, wrinkling her nose when the carbonation hit the back of her throat.  "The bubbles tickle," she admitted, swatting at her nose with her free hand.  Pierre chuckled as Gin's scowled at the crystal champagne flute in her hands.  "How long have you known Cain?"

"I don't rightly know . . . it seems like I've known him forever.  Before you ask, he's always been moody and pensive.  I imagine some things never change."

"He's not so moody," she replied as she sipped her champagne.  "I mean, he . . . teases me some, and plays with me a little bit . . . and he doesn't get angry with me when I ask stupid questions . . ."

"That doesn't surprise me," Pierre commented as he wandered over to the makeshift wet bar and poured himself a drink.  "You strike me as a very special young woman.  I'd be surprised if even the mighty Cain Zelig could ignore the likes of you."

"He doesn't talk about Isabelle very much.  I'm sort of afraid to ask him.  I did once, you know?"  She sighed and shook her head.  "He got really mad . . ."

"That doesn't surprise me . . . I'd imagine he was angrier about having to think about her than he was at you, no?"

"I know that she was a dancer, and I know that she died when Bellaniece was an infant.  What . . . What was she like?"

"Isabelle wasn't just a dancer, m'dear.  She was an aspiring Broadway actress.  If Zelig hadn't snatched her up when he did, she would have been a huge star."

"Oh . . . That makes sense.  She'd have to be beautiful, wouldn't she?"

"We tried to tell him.  Isabelle wanted different things than he did.  He wouldn't listen; not to me, not to Sesshoumaru . . . Not to anyone."

Gin frowned and slowly shook her head as she set her empty glass aside.  Pierre filled another glass with the same liquid that he was drinking and pushed the glass into her hand.  She stared at it and sniffed it, making a face as the fumes from the drink made her cough.  "What is this?"

"Just a little scotch—Zelig's drink of choice, by the way."

"I don't know," she hedged, swirling the liquid as she eyed it dubiously.  "It smells really strong."

"You're going home with him, right? You'll be fine as long as you aren't driving."

That didn't make sense to her, but she shrugged inwardly and cautiously sipped the drink.

Pierre winced and gently slapped her back when she choked and gagged then coughed unmercifully.  "That's . . . strong!" she rasped out.  Pierre held out his hand for the glass.  Gin cradled it to her chest, blinking back tears brought on by the round of coughing.

"You don't have to drink it," he remarked with a thoughtful frown.

Gin shook her head.  "No, it's . . . I kind of like it," she replied, clearing her throat before daring another swallow.  At least the second one wasn't quite as bad, but she couldn't help the little cough that came after.

Pierre sighed.  "You will get drunk off that, though," he warned.

Gin waved her limp hand and swallowed the rest of the scotch, trying not to make a face as the liquid burned her throat, her belly.  Stubborn resolve, and the vicious memory of Cain's words that still resounded in her ears.  "One glass . . . I won't get drunk off one glass!  I'm hanyou!"

He laughed at that and shrugged.  "You feeling better now?  If your guard dog comes back, he'll tear this place apart to find you."

"Cain doesn't . . . own me," Gin insisted as she slowly shook her head.  "I'm an adult, you know.  He thinks I'm still a child, just like Papa . . . Just like everyone."  She felt her ears flatten and heaved a sigh.  "He says he doesn't, but I think he's lying.  If he didn't . . . If he didn't think that, he wouldn't have said I was nothing to him, right?"

He looked like he wanted to say something to her.  He looked almost sad, a little angry, even if she didn't understand why.  In the end, though, he only nodded, offering her a wan little smile.  "Do you feel up to returning to the festivities?"

Gin blinked then winced as a painful flush infiltrated her skin.  "Oh . . . I've dragged you away from everything," she blurted with a shake of her head.  "I'm so sorry.  I—"

"No apologies, Gin."  Pierre held out his hand.  Gin didn't hesitate as she set the glass down and slipped her hand into his, letting him lead her back to the conference room.

"I really do love your painting!" Gin exclaimed softly, stopping before the first one they came to.  "This one is just . . . It speaks to me."

Pierre shrugged, hands in his pockets.  Gin took a glass of champagne from the mingling waiter and winked at the boy.  The young man blushed and stammered before nearly dropping the tray of drinks as he hurried away.  Gin frowned and shook her head.  "I think he's been into the champagne," she said, leaning toward Pierre and whispering conspiratorially.

Pierre coughed.  "Maybe."

"That was just curious."

"Let me give you my cell phone number," Pierre offered.  "Maybe we can get together for lunch sometime next week."

"Really?  You want to have lunch with . . . with me?  Are you—? I mean, that'd be great!" she said.

"Do you have a pen and paper?"

Gin scrunched up her face as she thought it over.  "No . . . but I have my cell phone.  You could call it, then I'd have your number in the memory."

"Or I could just program it into your phone."

"Oh, you're so clever!" Gin clapped her hands as she grinned then dug her cell phone out of her purse.  Pierre chuckled and took the device as Gin drained her champagne glass and grabbed another.  "I should give you my number, right?  Because that'd be the polite thing to do, and Mama always said I have to be p'lite."

"It's fine," Pierre began absently as he keyed in his number.

Gin waved him off and squared her shoulders before she strode over to interrupt a couple of men nearby who were examining a painting.  A strange fuzziness had engulfed her mind, but Gin didn't question it.  It made her feel pleasantly giddy, and she liked the change.  "S'cuse me.  I hate to be a bother, but would either of you gentlemen have a pen I can borrow?"

The nearest man seemed surprised by her request but pulled a pen from the inner pocket of his dinner jacket.  Gin touched his arm and smiled.  "Thank you!  You're so nice!  I should do something nice for you, too . . ." She frowned.  "Can I do anything for you?"

The man's surprise dissipated, and he laughed.  "No, it's fine.  Just return it when you're finished."

Gin nodded.  "I will!  I'm going to give L'amont-san my cell phone number.  Thank you!" she exclaimed with a low bow.

She hurried back with the pen, clicking the end to expose the point and retract it again over and over.  A napkin sufficed for paper, and she scribbled her name and number on the flimsy scrap.  Pierre held out her phone.  Gin tucked the napkin into the pocket of his rumpled shirt and patted it.  "There!  You have my—"

"Gin, what the hell are you doing?"
She stiffened at the anger in Cain's tone and slowly turned to look at him.  "I gave him my phone number," she explained, taking care not to slur her words.  "It's called being polite—which you are not, you big . . . meanie."

He shook his head, gaze narrowing as he stepped closer to her.  "You're . . . drunk?"

She leaned back indignantly, lifting her chin as she tossed her head to the side.  "Don't be silly, Zelig-sensei!  I'm not drunk."

Cain glowered over her head at Pierre and reached out a hand to steady Gin when she swayed just a little.  "Okay, I think we need to take you home."

Gin tugged her arm away.  "I need to return the pen I borrowed," she insisted, shoving the pen under Cain's nose.  "It's not nice to borrow something and then not return it."  That said, she careened around and stumbled over to the young man she'd gotten the pen from. Returning his bright smile, she held out the pen and bowed.  "Thank you, thank you, thank you," she told him.

"You're—" the man cut himself off as Gin leaned on his arm and quickly kissed his cheek.

A rough growl erupted behind them, and Gin found herself tugged back against a very solid chest.  "Let's go, baby girl," Cain rumbled through clenched teeth.

She blinked and leaned her head back to gaze up at him.  "You're really tall, you know it?  

He sighed, muttering goodbye to Pierre as he guided Gin toward the door.  He took her champagne glass and handed it to a waiter before pushing open the doors and leading her out into the night.  "How much did you have to drink?" he demanded.

She shrugged.  "Dunno . . . not that much . . ."

He sighed again.  "Where's a taxi when you need one?" he grouched.

"We can walk," she told him.  "I can, anyway . . ."

"A taxi would be better."

Gin bit her lip, leaning heavily on Cain since her balance seemed to be way off.  "Cain?"

"Hmm?"

"Why does Pierre call you 'Zelig'?"

Cain shrugged.  "I thought I told you.  It's because that's my real name."

"Oh . . ." she said, mouth rounding as she slowly nodded.  "Cain?"

"Yes, Gin?"

She sighed.  "Why were you mean to me?  Did I do something to make you angry?"

"Mean?"

She shook her head, ears flattening as she stared at the concrete sidewalk.  "You said . . . You said I was nothing."  She sniffled.  "That wasn't very nice."

He was quiet for a moment, but he pulled Gin a little closer.  "I didn't mean that."

"I  . . . I wouldn't have said that; not about you."

"Yeah," he replied, his voice strangely vague.  "I know you wouldn't.  I'm sorry."

She finally dared a glance at him.  He was glowering off into the distance, as though he weren't really seeing anything at all.  "It's okay.  I don't mind.  Cain?"

"Yes?"

"This wasn't really a date, was it?  Not to you."

"Gin . . ."

"That's fine, too.  I'm glad it wasn't really a date.  If it were a date, I'd never want to go on another one, ever again."

He winced and pulled her toward the darkened alley beside the museum before kneeling down and catching her hand to pull her onto his back.  "Come on.  I'll take you home now."

She giggled softly as he held onto her and leapt onto the nearest building.  The night was cool and fresh despite the staleness of the city around them.  Up so high, it was easy to forget that the tired old buildings below them existed.  It was easier to believe that they were the only two people anywhere in the world.  "This is better than a taxi."

She heard the hint of amusement in his tone as he vaulted to the next structure.  "Yeah, it is."

Gin closed her eyes and rested her cheek on his shoulder, a small smile forming on her lips as she snuggled a little closer.