InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ Procrastination ( Chapter 1 )

:Purity 7:

:Avouchment:

 

~Chapter 1~

~~Procrastination~~

 

~September 27, 2064~

~Bangor, Maine~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Isabelle Izayoi drummed her claws on the antique cherry desk, scowling at the computer monitor as she struggled to make sense of the information on the screen.

 

`It's hopeless,' she admitted with a dejected sigh. `I can't do it . . . damn!'

 

`This is exactly what you get for telling your father that you could handle this when you weren't entirely certain that you actually could,' her entirely too-pragmatic youkai voice remarked.

 

With a grimace, Isabelle rubbed her eyes and adjusted her reading glasses, scowling at the scanned pages of the journal once more as she gnawed on her bottom lip and refreshed her grip on the ink pen in her hand.

 

“It's all written in this strange language. No one's been able to figure out what it is,” Kichiro Izayoi had said as he leaned over Isabelle's shoulder, deep lines of concentration marring his brow. Sitting in a chair beside the huge windows that overlooked the Montana landscape of Gavin Jamison's ranch where the family had congregated to celebrate Jillian Zelig's wedding, she stood with the opened journal in her hands. Isabelle's eyes widened in surprise when she recognized the first few lines scrawled in the book. “Cain said it looks like some sort of Indian dialect—”

 

“Like in Windtalkers?” Isabelle mused absently as she scanned the first page.

 

Kichiro shook his head. “That old movie?”

 

She nodded. “I . . . I can read this line . . . It's Abenaki . . .”

 

“Abenaki?”

 

“Yes . . . they were part of the Wabanaki Confederacy. Native Americans,” she clarified.

 

Kichiro's frown deepened as he stared at his daughter. “How do you know this?”

 

“I learned about it in Ancient Linguistics class in college. It's been awhile, but . . .” She shrugged. “It says here that this is Dr. Carl Carradine's journal as pertains to his and his brother's medical research.”

 

He nodded as though it all made perfect sense. “So this is whatever they were working on . . . at least, what they were working on when Kennedy died . . .”

 

“That's what it looks like,” she agreed.

 

Kichiro scratched his chin as he leaned back against the desk and regarded his oldest daughter carefully. “Do you think you can translate this?”

 

Isabelle peered at her father, tucking a long strand of golden bronze hair behind her left ear and nodded slowly without taking her eyes off the first page of what appeared to be a journal. “I . . . Yes,” she said. “But . . .”

 

“But?”

 

Carefully closing the book, Isabelle rubbed her hands together. “I can do this,” she stated again, “but if I translate it, I want to be the one to complete the research.”

 

Kichiro didn't smile, but his eyes brightened as he took in the steady light in Isabelle's gaze. “Let me talk to Cain,” he finally said, “and you're positive you can do it?”

 

“I'm positive,” she assured her father, a glint of sheer determination igniting in her eyes. “If this was important enough that they put the bio-chip in Jillian's body to hide it . . .” Trailing off and nodding stubbornly, Isabelle pasted on her most reassuring smile. “I wouldn't say I could if I couldn't do it . . . and you taught me everything you know about researching, Papa. I can do this.”

 

Blinking away the remnants of the memory with a disgusted sigh and a grimace, Isabelle pushed herself to her feet and paced the floor of her living room. Sunlight poured through the huge bay windows that overlooked the coast of Maine and the late September sky, but she rubbed her forearms idly, absently as the dog curled up on the floor beside the desk lifted his head to eye Isabelle curiously.

 

`Maybe you should call your father and tell him that you can't do it, after all,' her youkai blood prompted.

 

She sighed again, stopping beside the windows and sinking onto the cushioned window seat, curling her legs up to her chest, draping her arms around her ankles as her chin fell onto her raised knees.

 

It would have been fine had the journal been written in standard Abenaki. It wasn't. Parts of it were written in a dialect that she couldn't decipher, and others? `Well . . .'

 

If there were someone else in the family who could translate the information, she'd march right over to her grandfather's house and hand the work over. The trouble was that no one else could, either. Most of her family resided in Japan, and the rest of them lived here in Maine. She, herself, had moved to the United States to finish her medical training—at least, that was what she'd told her family. The other reason? Simple . . . She'd wanted to escape the overwhelming shadow cast by her father. In the youkai world, he was considered the authority on youkai medical research.

 

She wrinkled her nose, grimacing at the perceived callousness of her thoughts. She loved her family; of course she did. Her father, Kichiro was one of her biggest supporters, and her mother? Isabelle smiled despite her bleak thoughts. Bellaniece Zelig Izayoi was difficult to define. Having just finished her own schooling to become an OB/GYN in Tokyo, she was Kichiro's main research assistant, and the two of them made one hell of a team.

 

Maybe the added stress of being the oldest of Kichiro and Bellaniece's three daughters had led to this: her ultimate failure. Having lived her entire life always being asked if she was going to follow in her parents' daunting footsteps, always being the one that her younger sisters looked up to, Isabelle had jumped at the opportunity to do something that might offer her a little notoriety of her own, and maybe that was the real reason she'd so recklessly volunteered.

 

Pressing her lips together in a thin line, she rubbed her forehead in a weary sort of way.

 

The research . . . the research . . . Her cousin—or aunt, depending on who one asked—had been kidnapped to get the information on a bio-chip housed in her body from before she was born. Jillian was a model, and her new mate, Gavin was her childhood hero. She also didn't understand why her biological parents would put the chip in her to start with, especially knowing that it contained information that might potentially put her in harm's way. Isabelle had been horrified when she'd heard the story. Jillian was one of the sweetest people that Isabelle knew, and for her to have been saddled with such a burden . . . well, it didn't sit well with Isabelle, not at all . . .

 

And that was another reason why Isabelle had wanted to complete this research. If it was important enough to hide for so long, then maybe completing it could ease Jillian's upset over the entire situation. She could do that much for Jillian; of course she could.

 

Scowl deepening as her gaze came to rest on the computer monitor across the room. Isabelle's cousin as well as Jillian's older brother, Bas—Bastian to Isabelle—had scanned all the documents in order and sent them to her since it had been considered best to keep the original books and notes in the vault at the Youkai Special Crimes headquarters. The man who had kidnapped Jillian had been caught, but still her grandfather hadn't wanted Isabelle to have the actual documentation since no one actually knew exactly what was contained therein.

 

`No sense putting it off,' she thought with an inward sigh as she uncurled her legs and pushed herself to her feet. She might as well call and tell her grandfather, the North American tai-youkai, Cain Zelig that she couldn't translate the information, after all.

 

There was no shame in admitting failure, she knew. No, the real disappointment was in having to admit that this was just too big for her, and Isabelle had never liked being forced to admit that she wasn't up to snuff. Grabbing her cell phone off the coffee table, she weighed it lightly in her hands for a few moments, swallowing back the bitter disappointment in her perceived shortcomings.

 

`Wait, Isabelle . . .'

 

Pausing for a moment as she scrolled through the numbers stored in the cell phone's memory, Isabelle sighed. `What?'

 

`Okay, so let's think about this. You can't read all of the journal, right?'

 

`Right, and thanks for the reminder . . .'

 

`Focus, please? No one else in your family can even do that much, so you're still one step ahead of the game, right?'

 

`Right . . .'

 

`But you're forgetting one very important thing.'

 

`Which is . . .?'

 

`. . . Bet Dr. Marin can translate it . . . or at least point you in the direction of someone who could.'

 

Isabelle's chin snapped up as her eyes widened in late realization. `Dr. Marin . . .'

 

She shook her head, making a face full of self-disgust. Dr. Marin, her ancient linguistics professor . . . she'd taken three years of his courses just to be in his class—the reason why she was able to translate even part of the journal to start with. Dr. Marin, the Kodiak bear-youkai that had fascinated her from the first moment she'd clapped eyes on him . . .

 

Dr. Griffin Marin . . .

 

If anyone could help her, he could; she just knew it. A soft little giggle escaped her as she darted over to her desk, sparing a moment to scratch her dog's head behind his ears. Snapping her laptop closed, she unplugged the unit and tucked it under her arm, pausing long enough to grab her purse off the stand beside the door before hurrying out of the house.

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

“Your mother . . . Liza . . . she was something else,” Dr. Avis said as he set a cup of tea before Jillian on the coffee table in the modest little apartment on the outskirts of Perth, Australia. Sparing a glance at Jillian's mate, Gavin, who was leaning against the wall with a dark scowl on his face and his meaty arms crossed over his chest as he tried his hardest to look completely intimidating, Dr. Avis sat down and leaned forward a bit nervously.

 

Jillian didn't touch her tea, her eyebrows drawing together over the bridge of her nose as her pale blue gaze rose to meet the doctor's. “Sounds like you knew her really well.”

 

Dr. Avis shrugged his thin shoulders, cheeks pinking as he smiled sadly. “I suppose . . . she was my best friend growing up. We did everything together—well, we did until she met your father.”

 

`Like Gavin and me?' she mused then shook her head. `Not exactly . . . Gavin is my best friend, but he's also my mate . . .' She sighed. “You cared about her, didn't you?” she asked softly.

 

Cheeks deepening in color, he managed a wan smile and shrugged once more. “It was hard not to care about Liza.”

 

“What kind of youkai was she?”

 

He seemed surprised by her question. Sparing a moment to glance around the humble contents of the small house that had been given to him by the Australian tai-youkai, he nervously twisted the shiny black band that encircled his wrist. It looked like a watch, but Jillian knew better. It was a tracking device used to monitor youkai who had been exiled. Ofuda encased in the unit circumvented removal, and in the event that the youkai in question did manage to cut the band, a hunt was automatically issued, no questions asked.

 

“Liza . . . she was a ribbon-seal-youkai,” he said. “I didn't realize . . . of course you didn't know . . .”

 

Jillian digested that in silence, casting Gavin a quick look. He intercepted the glance and nodded his silent approval. He always seemed to know what she needed, didn't he? It was one of the many things that she loved about him. His gentle encouragement gave her strength when hers failed, and she bit her lip, twisting her hands together in her lap as she scrunched up her shoulders and forced out the one question she'd traveled from New York City to Perth to ask. “Did they . . . I mean, I just wondered . . . do you know . . . did they . . . want . . . me?”

 

Dr. Avis blinked in surprise, obviously taken aback at her question. “Want you? Your parents?” He barked out an incredulous chuckle. “Of course they wanted you . . . I never saw Liza so excited, and Kennedy . . .” trailing off as he scratched the back of his neck, he nodded. “Kennedy was really involved in his research, but . . . I remember . . . he would drop everything if Liza needed him. He was constantly checking her—checking you . . .” He smiled reassuringly though the smile seemed a little strained. “They laughed a lot after Liza got pregnant with you . . .”

 

Jillian fell silent, unable to reconcile what she knew with what Dr. Avis was telling her. The same parents that wanted her according to Dr. Avis were the same ones who had implanted the bio-chip in her, too. It didn't make sense, did it? How could her biological parents do that to her when it could potentially put her in danger?

 

She sighed as Gavin put his hand on her shoulder. “I think maybe this is enough for today,” he said gently, squeezing Jillian's shoulder as she slowly got to her feet. “Would it be all right if I brought her back tomorrow? If that's what she wants . . .”

 

“Absolutely,” Dr. Avis assured them. Though Jillian and he hadn't exactly gotten off to a great start, the youkai genuinely seemed to like Jillian, and while Gavin still harbored reservations about the entire affair, he knew and understood that Jillian didn't.

 

“Thank you,” Jillian said automatically, trying her best to smile but failing.

 

Dr. Avis stood up, stuffing his hands into his pockets, and he looked like he wanted to say something and was struggling to figure out exactly how to do it. “They did want you, Jillian. I know they did.”

 

She nodded and leaned against Gavin as he slipped his arm around her waist. Sparing a moment to shake the doctor's hand, he opened the door and escorted her into the hallway.

 

She didn't say anything as they stepped outside onto the small porch that ran the entire width of the house. As much as she hated being here—as much as she despised the negative emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, she knew in her heart that she needed this. Coming to terms with her past was difficult, and yet somehow, someway . . . if she could just find some answers . . .

 

Gavin held her hand as they descended the stairs. Not for the first time, Jillian grimaced as the sharp pang twisted her stomach. She felt horrible about dragging him halfway around the world, especially after he'd just given up two months of his life to protect her from Mickey B, the stalker who had been threatening her longer than she'd realized. Gavin had always been the one to protect her, hadn't he, and for that, she'd love him forever.

 

“If it's too hard for you, you don't have to go back,” Gavin said quietly, giving her icy fingers a reassuring squeeze.

 

Peering up at him, she smiled when she saw the obvious concern lighting the depths of his aqua gaze. “I think I need to do this,” she admitted sadly.

 

He scowled, and he looked like he wanted to argue with her. In the end, he sighed and nodded, instead. “Okay. I'll be here with you.”

 

She leaned on his arm and sighed, smiling just a little as he stopped on the bottom step that led onto the porch to kiss her forehead gently. Taking her hand, he shot her one of his endearingly shy smiles and led the way onto the sidewalk, waving his hand to hail a taxi.

 

She scooted into the vehicle as Gavin climbed in beside her.

 

Neither had noticed the lone figure standing below a streetlight on the corner. Hidden by the passing crowds of faceless people passing by, he stared at the nondescript apartment building, his face lost in the shadows cast by the baseball cap that was pulled down on his brow. Hands buried in the deep folds of his tan jacket, he smiled coldly as the taxi pulled away from the curb.

 

`Checkmate, Dr. Avis,' he mused as the smile dissipated. Pausing another minute, he turned on his heel and walked away.

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Hanging the towel over the wooden rod suspended from the bathroom wall, Griffin Marin scowled as he carefully tugged at the corners of the cloth to align them perfectly to air-dry. After brushing out his shaggy brown hair, he meticulously picked the vagrant strands out of the brush and tossed them into the trash can before slipping the brush into the drawer beside the sink. After one last look around for anything out of place, he turned out the light and slipped out of the bathroom.

 

He'd been awake for hours, sitting patiently on the wide patio behind his house with a cup of tea that he'd set on the rough wood table beside the thick oak rocking chair as he waited for the sun to rise. It didn't matter how many times he watched the darkened skies grow watery gray and pallid, didn't matter how often he'd seen the first hints of color creeping over the horizon, the trees. The beauty of that singular instant was never, ever lost on him. He'd made a habit out of watching the sun come up. Even on days when the skies threatened rain, there was a singular simplistic beauty in the burgeoning day. Then he'd gone on a four hour walk through the forest and along the banks of the Penobscot River before coming home to take his shower and feed the squirrels.

 

He headed for the kitchen, pouring himself another cup of freshly brewed dandelion tea and adding enough honey to blunt the bitter taste, he rinsed the spoon off in the sink before grunting softly as he knelt down and opened the cabinet below. Pulling four ears of dried corn from the paper sack, he made a mental note that he needed to stop by the local grain elevator to pick up more before carefully rolling the edges of the bag back down and closing the cabinet door, pausing only long enough to retrieve the cup of tea sitting on the counter and shuffling toward the doors that led outside.

 

His feet barely made a sound as he negotiated the sliding glass doors and set the cup of tea on the table beside his rocking chair. It didn't take long to make the rounds, either, pulling the empty cobs off the squirrel feeders he had stationed around the perimeter of the yard. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the subtle movement. The squirrels were already gathering though they wouldn't approach the feeders until Griffin was safely on his porch once more. Tossing the cobs into the pile beside the adobe kiln next to the porch as he passed by, he grasped the railing and climbed the four steps, heaving a heavy sigh as he sank down in his rocking chair once more.

 

The squirrels peeked out of their hiding places to make sure that all was clear. Skittering down the tree trunks and scampering across the yard, they climbed the poles to claim their breakfasts. Griffin almost smiled as he watched the animals attack the dried corn. Picking up the cup of dandelion tea, he sipped it slowly, enjoying the start of another beautiful day.

 

Saturdays were always a little boring. He rarely had anything to do on those days, having been told long ago that it was a good idea to keep one day of the week to himself, no matter what. It had been sound advice at the time, and between teaching at the university, his work with the nature center, and teaching his Sunday school class for some of the local children whose parents didn't believe in established religions, Griffin figured that Saturdays were the only days he could afford to do absolutely nothing.

 

Too bad he hated doing absolutely nothing. It gave him too much time to think.

 

Draining his cup of tea, Griffin shook his head since the squirrels had managed to strip the ears of corn unnaturally quickly. Sitting on the posts as they cleaned their little faces, they kept glancing at Griffin as if they were asking him for more. “Don't be hogs,” he mumbled, leaning heavily on the arms of the chair to push himself to his feet.

 

He needed to look over the plan for tomorrow's Sunday class, he supposed. He took the children hiking or fishing and sometimes he just led nature walks—the same sorts of things that he did with the preschool kids in the nature center program, but the Sunday classes weren't confined to preschoolers, and most of the fifteen children that consistently showed up at his house on Sunday mornings around nine o'clock were the some of the same children he'd taught there. It wasn't religious, and that was the thing that the parents liked. Instead of spouting gods and devils, Griffin taught a general appreciation for the natural things in the world: the forest and the rivers, the wildlife and the diminishing way of life where simplicity took precedence and all true necessities were provided by the earth and the elements.

 

Tomorrow's lesson was slated to be an indoor thing since the skies were carrying a hint of rain, just the barest scent of moisture that he could feel in his very bones. Teaching the children how to gather and create a meal without having to spend a dime was in the plans though he might have to do some quick thinking since the children weren't likely to be very appreciative of some of the things that Griffin ate regularly. Dandelion greens were excellent though they tended to be a little bitter, and most children were too used to the sweet things, like candy and snack cakes, jarred peanut butter and jelly that came off a store shelf and which most children had little or no conception as to what, exactly, went into them. Natural peanut butter made minutes before it was eaten . . . maple syrup roasted pecans . . . a fresh salad created from greens that grew naturally in most people's back yards . . . and a homemade paste of apples and dates instead of jelly or jam . . . Even if the children didn't try to make these things at home, Griffin wanted them to understand the base concept of where food ultimately came from.

 

The crisp knock on the front door drew him out of his reverie, and with a frown, he lumbered off to answer it. No one ever bothered him on Saturdays, and he wasn't very happy about the interruption, either. Peering out the long, narrow window beside the door, his frown deepened as he caught sight of the late model disgustingly bright yellow sports car sitting in the wood chip driveway. He didn't recognize it, but he did recognize the youki reverberating on the other side of the door.

 

He was seriously considering ignoring the unwelcome visitor when the knock sounded again. He sighed. If he could sense her, then she very likely could sense him, and if she sensed him, she'd never go away. She was rather like a parasite that way . . .

 

With a frustrated grunt, he jerked open the door just enough to glower at the dog-hanyou standing on his front porch. “What do you want?” he growled.

 

Isabelle Izayoi smiled brightly, her golden eyes wide, friendly as she shifted from foot to foot in a decidedly nervous fashion. “Dr. Marin . . . just the man I was looking for.”

 

Griffin snorted, knowing in the pit of his stomach that whatever brought the woman to his house was probably something that he was better off not hearing. “It's not time for Girl Scout cookies,” he stated flatly and started to push the door closed.

 

Isabelle stuck her foot in the crack to stop him. “Please . . . I just wondered if you could help me with something—or at least direct me to someone who can.”

 

“Help you with what?” he asked against his better judgment.

 

She smiled in a completely catty sort of way as her eyes traversed the length of his body. “Oh, I don't know, doctor . . . do you have an itch that needs scratched?”

 

“If you drove all the way out here just to—”

 

She wrinkled her nose. “I'm sorry, Dr. Marin . . . I just can't help myself around you. I swear I'm here on the up and up . . . just hear me out?”

 

“I'm busy,” he informed her, jamming his foot against hers and pushing her out of the opening.

 

“I have a journal and some research notes . . . I thought it was just written in Abenaki, but it's not, and I can't translate it!” she blurted quickly, pressing her hands against the thick wooden door as he tried to push it closed.

 

Griffin paused for just a moment, scowling at the floor, shaking his head slowly as he rubbed his right eye. `Abenaki . . .' he repeated in his head. `Damn . . .'

 

“It's really important,” she called through the door. “You're the only one who can help me . . . or at least give me a name of someone else who can?”

 

It went completely against his better judgment to open the door and look at Isabelle again. She was nothing but trouble, and he knew it. Spoiled, pampered rich girl . . . and for some God-forsaken reason, she seemed to think it was vastly amusing to needle him. Muttering a string of expletives under his breath, he cautiously opened the door again and held out his hand. “Give it.”

 

She looked surprised, and she nodded, holding up a finger as she dashed off the porch and over to her hideously-colored car. Rummaging around only to pull a notebook PC out of the passenger side, she hurried back up the path and onto the porch once more. “What's that?” he grumbled, nodding at the computer in her hands.

 

“It's the research,” she murmured, lifting her leg to balance the computer on her knee as she carefully opened the cover and retrieved the information she wanted him to look at. “Here,” she said, grasping the computer as she dropped her leg and carefully turned the machine so he could see the monitor.

 

Griffin narrowed his eyes on the small screen for another minute before scowling at the screen. “I need my glasses,” he grumbled. “Wait here.”

 

“I could come in,” she offered, her tone taking on an innocent falsetto.

 

He snorted loudly and shook his head. “You'll stay here,” he reiterated.

 

She heaved a sigh designed to let him know exactly what she thought of the idea of being left standing on the front porch. Closing the door in her face, he strode across the living room to grab the wire-rimmed spectacles off the rough hewn desk against the far wall.

 

`This isn't really a good idea . . .'

 

Grunting at his youkai's annoying habit of stating the obvious, Griffin slipped the glasses on and yanked the door open again. Isabelle was sitting on the steps with the notebook PC on her lap. Stifling a sigh as he asked himself just what he was thinking, Griffin shuffled outside and grimaced as his knees popped when he hunkered down behind her.

 

“It's a journal,” she said, pointing to the first line of the scan. “I got that much before I realized that some of it is written in something else.”

 

Reaching over her shoulder, he plucked the computer off of her lap and stood up, turning away when she scampered to her feet and tried to retrieve the device. “You can't take my computer!” she complained.

 

“Tough. You want me to look at this or not?”

 

“Okay,” she agreed. “That's fair.”

 

He snorted as he scanned the page. No wonder she couldn't make heads or tails of it. From what he could tell from the first few pages alone, whoever had written this had done so using a mix of about five different Native American languages—dead languages, at that, and while Isabelle might have been able to discern the Abenaki language from having taken his classes, the others were far more difficult to discern. It would have been simple enough to find someone who was familiar with one or two of the languages, but all of them? Griffin's scowl deepened. There was only one person he knew of that had that sort of knowledge . . .

 

`We think we have isolated the insular gene in the youkai DNA structure . . .' he read. He glanced at Isabelle. Standing on the porch looking out over the lonely stretch of road that led to the cul de sac where his house stood, she had her arms wrapped over her stomach and was staring into the distance with a measure of contrived calm, as though she were willfully attempting to keep herself from being too anxious. “Where did you get this?” he asked, his tone brusque, almost scathing.

 

She blinked and slowly turned to face him, reaching up to rub the back of her neck. “My cousin—Jillian Zelig—she had a bio-chip implanted in her with a location on it. This is what they found when they went in and looked around.”

 

“This is? This journal?” he asked, sparing her a narrow glance.

 

She shrugged. “This journal along with a few notebooks—three of them—those thick ones . . .”

 

“So you're telling me you have all the research.”

 

She nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

 

“This sounds like some fairly significant stuff,” he murmured. “Isn't your father the big medical genius?”

 

“Of course he is,” she exclaimed quietly.

 

“Then why isn't he trying to get this translated?”

 

She flinched just before her cheeks blossomed in a light blush that seemed completely unlike the brash young girl he'd come to know. “I, uh . . .” Clasping her hands before her, staring at her entwined fingers as though they were of sovereign interest, she scrunched up her shoulders and slowly shook her head. “I thought . . . I thought I could translate it,” she confessed, her cheeks pinking just a little more. “I mean, I could translate the first bit of it . . .”

 

Leaning back, narrowing his gaze, he nodded slowly as the rest of what she didn't say fell into place. “And you're too proud to tell your family that you were wrong?”

 

She grimaced, opening her mouth to argue then snapping it closed with a curt nod. “Something like that.”

 

Griffin nodded slowly. “Ever hear the phrase, `pride goeth before the fall'?”

 

She swallowed hard. “Of course I have.”

 

“I suggest you go tell them you bit off more than you could chew.”

 

“Yeah,” she agreed quietly, but suddenly shook her head. “Maybe . . . I mean, if you could just direct me to someone who might be able to help me, I'd be greatly appreciative,” she went on. “I could pay someone to do it if I knew who to ask.”

 

Griffin shook his head as he scanned through a few more pages. “I don't know of anyone else who can do it,” he mumbled.

 

Isabelle's disappointment was palpable. “Oh . . .”

 

He sighed, snapping the laptop closed and eyeing her carefully. Brows furrowed over the delicate lines of her countenance, she looked like she was attempting to gather her waning bravado, and she let out a deep breath as her smile resurfaced. “Right . . . well, thank you . . .” she said, reaching for the laptop again.

 

He turned away, pretending that he hadn't seen her hands inching forward. “Hold on, grabby,” he muttered with a shake of his head. He didn't really understand why he was about to offer to help her. Maybe it was the challenge. It had been a long while since anything had intrigued him this much. That had to be it . . . It certainly had nothing at all to do with the bitter look of disappointment on her face that had been impossible to ignore.

 

“But you said that you didn't know of anyone who could translate this,” she said slowly.

 

“I said that I didn't know of anyone else who could translate it,” he growled.

 

She caught her breath, staring at him with a measure of cautious optimism. “You mean . . . you . . . could . . .?”

 

Griffin wasn't nearly stupid enough to say `yes' right off the bat, though. “First, you're going to agree to my terms,” he stated.

 

“Terms? Okay . . . I could pay you, if that's what you want . . .”

 

“There will be no coming on to me while I'm translating all of this,” he informed her. “None.”

 

“. . . None?”

 

His scowl darkened. “None.”

 

She smiled impishly, her golden eyes sparkling with mischief. “But you like it when I come on to you, Dr. Griffin.”

 

He snorted indelicately. “No, I really don't.”

 

“So you say,” she countered, fluttering her hand dismissively.

 

“Do you want my help or not?”

 

She grimaced then nodded. “Okay, okay . . . completely professional; I get you.”

 

He snorted again.

 

“I don't have a lot of money, but I can pay you something for your work . . . and you'll be completely credited for your translation when the research is published,” she went on.

 

Griffin caught her arm and pulled her around to face him. “No.”

 

She shook her head. “No?”

 

“No money. I don't want my name anywhere on this, either.”

 

“But—”

 

“I mean it.”

 

She nodded slowly, her expression plainly stating that she didn't really understand his reluctance to be acknowledged.

 

That said, Griffin turned on his heel, striding back into his house, leaving the front door wide open and Isabelle standing on the porch. Peering out of the corner of his eye long enough to see her lingering in the doorway with an unsure look on her face, he grunted. “Either come in or get lost, but don't stand there with the door hanging open,” he growled.

 

That galvanized her into action. Hurrying into the house, she carefully closed the door. The sound of the latch clicking into place sounded distinctly like a death knell in his head, and Griffin sighed.

 

He still wasn't sure why he'd volunteered to help her, and he really didn't want to think about the reason, either . . .

 

 

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A/N:

 

Windtalkers(book) written by Max A. Collins. and copyrighted 2001 to MGM Studios.

Windtalkers(movie) Directed by John Woo. Produced by Lion Rock Productions and Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. Copyrighted 2001 to MGM Studios.

 

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Reviewers

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MMorg

Inuyoukaimama ------ inuyashaloverr ------ OROsan0677 ------ dewrose ------ fallenangel7583 ------ leeksandmisosoup

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Forum Reviews

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Final Thought from Griffin:

Anyone … but … her …

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Avouchment): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~