InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ Houseguest ( Chapter 6 )

~Chapter 6~

~~Houseguest~~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Isabelle blinked in shock and slowly shook her head as she struggled to wrap her mind around everything Griffin had just told her. “You've got to be kidding,” she said slowly, stroking the fine hair on Froofie's knobby head. His thick tail thumped heavily on the hardwood floor, and he whined softly and stuck his paw in Isabelle's lap.

 

“Do I look like I'm kidding?” Griffin growled, wrinkling his nose at the hot pink nail polish on Froofie's claws. “That poor dog . . . you know, that could be considered animal abuse,” he pointed out gruffly.

 

“What? The nail polish? He likes it, don't you, Froofums?”

 

It was Griffin's turn to blink. “Froofums?”

 

“Oh, I just call him that sometimes.”

 

Griffin snorted. “Thank God.”

 

“His real name is Froofie,” she went on.

 

“You're not serious.”

 

“Why wouldn't I be?”

 

Griffin heaved a sigh, rubbing his eyes as though he were at the end of his proverbial rope. She actually looked as though she wasn't entirely sure why he would find the name objectionable. That just figured, didn't it? “No reason . . .”

 

Isabelle opened her mouth to ask him what he thought was so odd about the dog's name, but shook her head when she recalled exactly what had started the entire conversation.

 

“So, are you going to tell me why you wanted my house keys?” Isabelle asked as she settled herself into the passenger side of her car.

 

Griffin took a moment to check the rearview mirrors before slowly pulling away from the curb in front of the hospital's emergency ward entrance. For a moment, she didn't think he actually was going to answer her. Driving in silence through the Saturday night crowd that milled around downtown Bangor, it seemed that it was taking all of his concentration just to navigate the busy streets, and not for the first time, she had to wonder just how bad his vision really was. Blinking, squinting as he tried to watch the road under the harshness of the streetlamps, he looked a little disoriented though he didn't complain. Stealing a surreptitious glance at him, Isabelle couldn't help the rapid flutter in her chest. Seeing his face in the capricious light filtering through the windshield, alternating with the darkness of the shadows cast from the night, he looked damn good to her . . .

 

“I'll explain it later,” he mumbled, obliterating the pleasant idyll she'd been lost in. “You need anything before we go back to the house?”

 

“Need . . .? Uh, no . . .” she replied, biting her lip at the unaccountable fluster that she was having difficulty hiding. Luckily for her, Griffin was far too preoccupied with driving and didn't notice, which, she supposed, was a good thing.

 

“You didn't tell me you had a horse of a dog,” Griffin remarked suddenly, scowl darkening though she wasn't certain if that was because of the aforementioned dog or because he really seemed to hate driving.

 

Isabelle couldn't help the little giggle that escaped her. “He's just a puppy!” she protested.

 

Griffin snorted, sparing a moment to pin her with a dubious glance before tightening his hands on the steering wheel and turning his attention back to the road once more. “Puppy, my ass,” he grumbled.

 

Her laughter died away when he rubbed his temple with a noticeably shaking hand. “You know, I could drive,” she offered slowly, hoping that her tone was a little more neutral than it sounded in her own ears.

 

“I'm fine,” he insisted, rotating his wrist to adjust his shirt cuff before grasping the steering wheel once more.

 

She opened her mouth to argue with him but closed it again when he shot her a foreboding look. The look shifted into one of mute irritation, though, and he braked rather sharply to avoid running a red light. “You're a medical doctor, aren't you?”

 

Isabelle blinked and nodded, wondering just what he was talking about now. No doubt about it, Griffin wasn't acting like himself; not at all . . . “Yes . . .”

 

He grunted. “Then you know that a good portion of traffic fatalities comes from the occupants of the cars' inattention to their own safety.”

 

“Are you planning on wrecking my car?”

 

He snorted.

 

“Do you actually have a driver's license?” she asked at length.

 

“. . . Yes.”

 

“Can I see it?”

 

“No.” He rolled his eyes and jerked the gear shift into `park'. “Put your seatbelt on, fat ass.”

 

“Ah, we're talking about my ass again?” she quipped but reached for the seatbelt, just the same. Griffin waited until she'd fastened the latch securely before grudgingly shifting the car into `drive' again. “I must say,” she went on, “I'm flattered that you care so much about my safety. I knew your cold façade was all just an act.”

 

“Just because I'd rather not scrape your mangled body off the pavement doesn't mean I give a damn,” he growled. “I don't like taking showers right before bed, and I'd rather not have your blood all over my sheets.”

 

She laughed. She couldn't help herself. There was something about his dry wit that appealed to her.

 

She wasn't sure what she'd really expected. She supposed that his odd behavior had something to do with the journal, and truthfully, she'd been wondering exactly why he'd wanted her house keys, but she hadn't really gotten to dwell on that. Shortly after Griffin's unceremonious departure, a couple of high school kids—a boy and his date—had been brought in. They'd been out partying and in a stupid, drunken moment, the boy had driven his car straight into a sycamore tree. Luckily, their injuries hadn't been too severe, but Isabelle had been worried enough to order a series of x-rays along with some other tests in order to rule out any possibility of internal injuries since the boy had been unconscious when he was brought in.

 

Of course, that wasn't the point. The actual issue was what Griffin had said in his usual blunt manner seconds after walking into his house and locking the door . . .

 

“So are you going to explain exactly why you think that I'm in danger?” Isabelle asked.

 

Griffin snorted, probably because she didn't sound concerned in the least. “I don't think it; I know it. Stop brushing me off, will you?”

 

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm in danger . . . You are going to tell me why you think so, aren't you, big boy?”

 

She could tell from the irritation that flitted across his features that he didn't like what she'd said. He chose to ignore it, casting her a dark look before pushing himself to his feet and lumbering over to the desk. He returned with the journal and a notebook, plopping both into Isabelle's lap before dropping back onto the sofa once more. “It's all there.”

 

Isabelle dug her glasses out of her pocket and put them on with one hand as she opened the notebook with the other, noting absently that Griffin's handwriting was small but neat and precise: exactly how Griffin tended to do everything.

 

`As the research's progressed, we've tried to keep the crux of it a secret. It wasn't hard in the beginning, but as we near the testing phase, it grows increasingly difficult. It was purely happenstance that we discovered and were able to isolate the arbitrary gene that causes the youkai effect in hanyous—more of a freak coincidence than anything—and there are those who would try to exploit this discovery if given the chance . . .'

 

“The youkai effect in hanyous . . .” Isabelle repeated, more to herself than anything. “The youkai effect . . .? What does that mean?”

 

Griffin snorted again. “What do you think it means? I'd say it's pretty obvious; wouldn't you say?”

 

Isabelle blinked, finally lifting her gaze to meet his. “You mean the danger of a hanyou's youkai blood take over in dire situations . . .?”

 

He nodded. “There's more. Seems like they also figured out how to counteract it—an immunization, if you will.”

 

She shook her head and sighed, biting her lip as she considered Griffin's claims. “Is that really a problem nowadays? Youkai and hanyous have evolved into much more peaceful beings. The risk that a hanyou would lose himself to his youkai blood is more of an anomaly than it used to be.”

 

Griffin didn't answer right away, and Isabelle, absorbed in the translation of the journal, didn't seem to notice. “Have you ever seen a hanyou lose control like that?” he countered, his gaze flashing with an angry sort of light.

 

Again she shook her head. “Well, no, I can't say I have . . .”

 

Griffin sighed. “Well, I have. It's not pretty, and there's not a damn thing you can do to stop it—except kill `em.”

 

That shocked her enough to get her attention. Of course she'd heard of it. She also thought that it was a rarity these days. She frowned, staring down at the translated text without really seeing it at all. “My grandfather . . . he had problems with it, but that was a long time ago, and he learned how to control it, himself.”

 

“Yeah, maybe. Some hanyous aren't that lucky.” Shaking his head, a disgusted expression on his face, he snorted indelicately, making Isabelle wonder exactly what he had seen . . . “In fact, most of them that lose control can't bring themselves back.”

 

There was something in his voice, wasn't there? A level of sadness that she couldn't possibly begin to understand . . . It made her want to reach out for him, and she might have if she thought he'd allow it. As it was, all she could do was offer him a consoling nod; a concerned expression that she hoped would suffice. `One day, Griffin . . . one day, you'll tell me why things make you sad . . .' Clearing her throat, she scratched her head thoughtfully then shrugged. “If they really found a way to counteract the effects of the youkai blood in hanyous . . . that's huge. I mean really, really huge.”

 

“It is,” he agreed then let out a deep breath as he rubbed his face. He looked like he wanted to say something else and was trying to find a way to state it. Hunching forward, he scowled at the floor, his elbows resting on his knees. “That guy . . . your aunt's biological father . . . he was murdered.”

 

“What?”

 

He sighed, jerking his head toward the journal. “It says in there . . . Well, it doesn't say it directly, but . . . It says somewhere in the beginning that Kennedy Carradine was a water youkai, remember?”

 

Isabelle nodded then shook her head. “But that still doesn't mean—”

 

“He drowned. It says that's how he died. In fact, if you look up the public record, it says that he drowned.”

 

She still wasn't quite ready to concede his point. “But it could have been an accident.”

 

“She's a water-youkai, isn't she?” he argued, as though it was the most reasonable question in the world.

 

“She? Jillian, you mean?”

 

“Yes, her.”

 

“Well, yes, but—”

 

Griffin snorted, plainly stating without words that he thought Isabelle was just being dense. “Then you know, right? Think about it: fire-youkai can withstand high temperatures that no one else could. Thunder-youkai can manipulate thunder powerful enough to kill another youkai. Ice-youkai can live in sub-zero temperatures without any trouble at all, and if that's true, then it stands to reason: water-youkai do—not—drown.”

 

She considered that but shook her head. As convincing as Griffin's logic was, she still wasn't certain she bought it. “That was years ago, Griffin . . . and if that's true, then why wasn't something done about it back then? My grandfather—”

 

“—Probably didn't know. They were trying to keep everything about this research hush-hush, and if there was a viable threat, maybe they were too scared to take it to the tai-youkai . . . or maybe they didn't realize the threat was that great until it was too late, but it's a fair bet that Carl Carradine figured it out, and that's why he imbedded the bio-chip into your aunt.”

 

Isabelle sucked in a sharp breath. It was one of the things that bothered Jillian the most: the idea that her biological parents would deliberately put her into danger by sticking her with the bio-chip . . . “He . . . he did it . . .?”

 

Griffin nodded at the notebook. “It's all there.”

 

“But that still doesn't explain why you think I'm in danger.”

 

“Who all knows you're handling this research?”

 

Isabelle thought that over and flopped against the back of the sofa. “Hmm . . . just my family . . .”

 

“You're sure?”

 

She nodded. “Yes, I'm sure.”

 

Griffin pondered that then shook his head, a stubborn frown drawing his eyebrows together as he stabbed her with a `don't-mess-with-me' sort of look. “Good. Keep it that way, and . . .” he trailed off with a marked grimace, “and there's no help for it, I suppose.”

 

“No help for what?”

 

He grunted, and she blinked in surprise when his already foreboding expression turned even more menacing. “I packed up some of your things and brought them over. You're not going back home until I'm sure you're safe.”

 

“You . . . moved me in . . .?”

 

He rolled his eyes and shot off the sofa to pace the floor. “No,” he blurted quickly, his cheeks darkening as blood rushed to the surface. Isabelle nearly laughed despite the gravity of the situation. “I mean, not really. You're just staying here until—”

 

“Until you're sure I'm safe. You do care, don't you?” Unable to stave back the brilliant smile that surfaced, she suddenly laughed, which, in turn, darkened Griffin's already formidable scowl. “And here I thought you despised me.”

 

His cheeks reddened a little more—an entirely endearing thing, all things considered. “Just because I don't like you doesn't mean I want you to die—though I suppose I'd be a lot less annoyed on a day-to-day basis.”

 

Why did she have the feeling that despite his gruff attitude and his prickly demeanor that he really was concerned about her wellbeing? She smiled. She couldn't help it. “I still think you're blowing it all out of proportion,” she remarked.

 

“I don't think so,” he said slowly. “Your grandfather said that this guy—this Dr. Avis—wasn't a threat, right? That he wouldn't hurt anyone?”

 

“That's right.”

 

Griffin nodded. “All right. So if you take that at face value, then ask yourself: why would a peaceable man go to the trouble of kidnapping your aunt? Peaceable men don't go around considering abduction unless they're not what they appear to be or unless someone else puts them up to it.”

 

Isabelle drew herself up proudly, unable to brush aside the obvious slur against Cain Zelig. “My grandfather is an excellent judge of character,” she informed him brusquely.

 

“I didn't disagree. Didn't you say that Dr. Avis disappeared?”

 

“No, I said—”

 

The look he shot her was positively gloating. “You said that he's been gone when your aunt's tried to visit him. He's disappeared.”

 

Isabelle wasn't ready to concede that easily. “Disappeared? Because he hasn't been home a couple of days? That . . . that doesn't make any sense!”

 

“Doesn't it? If Dr. Avis wasn't really the mastermind, then his getting caught would be a definite threat to whoever was pulling the strings from the shadows, don't you think? If that's the case, then the one in charge wouldn't want the doctor around to let anything slip, would he?”

 

The unmistakable throbbing of a growing headache pounded behind Isabelle's eyes, and she quickly rubbed her temples in a vain effort to stave it off. “But what you're saying . . . You really believe it, don't you? You really believe I'm . . . that someone would . . .?”

 

He grimaced and shook his head, draping his hands on his hips. “I'm saying it's possible—very possible. I'm saying that I'd rather know that you and the research are safe. That's all.”

 

A distinct shiver ran up her back as she let his claims sink in. If he was right in his deduction that Dr. Avis was nothing more than a pawn to someone far more powerful . . .

 

“Look . . . you said so, yourself. This research . . . the idea of counteracting the negative effects of the youkai blood in hanyous . . . it's a big deal, right?”

 

She nodded but remained silent. Struggling to assimilate all that she'd been told, she felt oddly thick-headed, dull.

 

Griffin sighed, raking his hands through his shaggy brown hair. “I wasn't trying to scare you,” he finally said, his tone grudgingly apologetic. “I just . . . I think you're safer here.”

 

Again she nodded. Digging her cell phone out of her purse, she flipped it open and started to dial Cain's phone number.

 

“If you call him,” Griffin said, stopping momentarily on his way out of the living room, “he'll pull you off the project.”

 

Her thumb stilled, poised over the `connect' button. “He wouldn't,” she said though her tone didn't sound very positive.

 

“You don't think so? And here I thought you were smart . . .”

 

“What's that supposed to mean?”

 

Griffin's head snapped to the side, an incredulous expression obliterating any other emotion. “You're not really that dense, are you?”

 

She wrinkled her nose but snapped her phone closed. “Maybe I am,” she admitted.

 

“Do you honestly think he'd have handed over the research if he thought you'd be in danger because of it?”

 

She didn't answer that, either. She didn't have to. Griffin knew the truth, even if she was loath to admit as much.

 

“Go ahead, and call him. Save me the trouble of babysitting you,” he goaded, and for reasons that Isabelle didn't quite understand she had the feeling that he was deliberately trying to draw out her stubborn streak.

 

Even so, knowing what he was doing and ignoring it were two entirely different things. “I don't need a babysitter,” she informed him haughtily. “I'm not as helpless as you'd like to think.”

 

“I find that hard to believe,” he mumbled. “Anyway, just don't make yourself too at home—and just to remind you: you're still expected to abide by the terms I set down when I agreed to help you, in the first place.”

 

“I know; I know . . . no hitting on you. Strictly business, but need I remind you that you're the one who insisted I move in?” she remarked, raising her voice since he'd headed toward the kitchen.

 

“You're not moving in,” he shot back. “You're just staying here temporarily. That's all.”

 

Isabelle sighed, smiling wanly as Froofie nudged her hand with his cold, wet nose. As much as she'd love to engage in the usual round of verbal banter, she just couldn't. Griffin's concern was far too fresh in her mind, and though it frightened her, she couldn't help but feel as though there was more to his worry than he was willing to admit, that maybe he really did care more than he'd ever wanted to. What was it that her father had once told her? “The promise to protect someone isn't one that is given lightly. It comes in all forms, and sometimes you have to listen carefully to hear it. The one who promises to protect you . . . He'll be your mate.”

 

Isabelle mulled that over, rehashing Griffin's words in her head. “I wasn't trying to scare you. I just . . . I think you'll be safer here . . .”

 

`Was that . . . the promise . . .?'

 

`Is that what you think?' her youkai blood challenged.

 

`I . . . I don't know . . .'

 

Griffin stomped back into the living room with a mug of herbal tea in his right hand, and he stopped beside her long enough to swipe the journal and notebook away from her before lumbering toward his desk.

 

A slow smile spread over Isabelle's features as she watched Griffin settle himself into the sturdy chair before slumping over the journal once more. The sudden warmth swept through her, leaving her feeling weak, breathless . . . and unaccountably happy when, by rights, she ought to be quivering in fear if what Griffin believed really was true.

 

“It's rude to stare,” he grumbled without turning around.

 

The edges of his ears were bright red, and she smashed her fist against her lips to keep from laughing out loud. “Sorry,” she apologized, sounding anything but contrite.

 

He snorted.

 

“Can I ask you something?”

 

“Will you listen if I say, `no'?” he countered.

 

“How did you get those scars? The ones on your face?”

 

His back stiffened, and his head jerked up. He sat stock still for a long moment before clearing his throat and turning his attention back to the journal once more. “None of your business.”

 

Isabelle pushed herself to her feet and ambled over to lean on the side of the desk. “I'll bet you got them doing something incredibly heroic,” she said. “Let me guess: you were rescuing a little lost kitty from a tree, and the cat clawed you, throwing you off balance, so you lost your hold and got scratched by a bunch of branches on the way down.”

 

He snorted. “. . . Yes.”

 

She laughed at the dryness in his reply. “I knew it!”

 

“Hardly.”

 

“Hmm, then did you—?”

 

“No more guesses,” he cut in.

 

She heaved a melodramatic sigh and bit her lip as she stared at the configuration of scars on his hands—both of them. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him about them, but she figured that she'd better not press her luck. After all, she'd be able to ask him another time. They'd be spending a lot of time together, wouldn't they?

 

“You know, Dr. Griffin, I think you'll love having me here. In fact, I aim to make sure you do.”

 

His pen paused for the briefest of moments. She wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't been staring at his hands. “Fat chance, and I could have sworn I told you it's Dr. Marin.”

 

“I will, and you did.”

 

He shifted his gaze to the side then slowly shook his head. “Hell, I think I'm already regretting it.”

 

She laughed and leaned over, propping elbows on the desk and resting her chin on her balled-up fists. “You might as well face it: we're inevitable.”

 

“And you're delusional. No flirting with me, remember?”

 

“I wasn't flirting,” she protested with a wink. “I was stating fact, and you might as well get used to it.”

 

Griffin didn't reply to that. Hunching further over the journal, he set about ignoring her.

 

Isabelle laughed, taking pity on the poor man and straightening up, gesturing at Froofie to follow her so that she could let him outside. “You'll see, Dr. Griffin. You'll see . . .”

 

 

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Final Thought fromIsabelle:

…Was that the promise that Papa told me about …?

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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~