InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ The Crack in the Wall ( Chapter 14 )

~~Chapter 14~~

~The Crack in the Wall~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

The smoke . . . the smoke . . . forever the smoke that rose around him, choking him, cloying at him, shattered him a million times as it seeped into his pores, clung to his skin, wrung tears from his eyes . . . as he struggled against it, flailing in the darkness, his ears filled with the roaring echo of a thousand cries; the pleas for mercy falling upon him time and again only to be ignored . . .

 

The echoes in the night mingled with the resounding crash of collapsing buildings . . . leaving desecration in his wake, and still he was unsure . . . had he done that? Had he summarily rent everything asunder? Torn apart everything in the futile hope that it would offer him a sort of solace that was not to be found . . .

 

Stumbling through the haze of smoke as flames licked at his tattered garments, he pressed on as the lingering remnants of her laughter mingled with the sounds of her cries—the pathetic cries that he hadn't been able to assuage . . .

 

Words made no sense in his disjointed thoughts, or maybe they weren't thoughts at all. At some point, his mind had switched over into a more primal state of being where the only thing that mattered was that he live; that he survive, no matter what the cost. The pounding of his pulse throbbed in his ears, his vision tinged with shades of crimson, lending a hellish glow to the most simplistic of objects.

 

Bare feet torn and bleeding, the scent of his blood lost in the confusion of a million smells . . . the scarlet stain on his claws lent him a grim satisfaction even as he knew somewhere deep down that he should be horrified—completely horrified . . . and still he smiled . . .

 

And still he smiled . . .

 

The charred remains of twisted corpses littered his way as he stumbled forward, as he searched for a means to escape the carnage. In the distance, he could hear a voice calling to him over and over and over again. A ragged growl slipped from him as he curled his lips back in a visceral snarl. It was a voice he knew, wasn't it? But he couldn't trust it; no, he couldn't trust it . . .

 

The pounding of running feet bearing down upon him; the soft chime of a familiar sound; one that used to be comforting, but this time it echoed in his head, painful and grating, and he backed away as the darkened form emerged through the fog of smoke . . .

 

“. . . Thank kami . . . came as soon as we . . . Come with me . . .”

 

He stumbled back, tripping over a faceless woman's corpse, and he flailed his claws in warning, rolling to his feet despite the pain surging through his body. Crouching in a wary stance, warning the intruder to keep his distance, ignoring the pleading in his gaze even as he masked the emotion in his eyes—pity? Fear? Remorse . . .? “Come . . . We can help you . . . let us see to your wounds . . .”

 

Grimacing against the soothing sound of his voice, he shook his head, uttered a vicious growl as he dug his toes into the dirt. Vaulting off the ground, he shot forward, knocking him aside as he broke into a sprint. He couldn't trust any of them, could he? He couldn't trust them at all . . .

 

Something cold and wet touched his hand, and Griffin sat up with a smothered gasp as Charlie whined. The dog was stretched out beside the bed—he'd touched Griffin's hand with his nose. As the familiarity of his bedroom came slowly into focus, he winced, willing away the remnants of the nightmare that clung to him, even after the passage of centuries.

 

He wasn't sure why he'd had that dream again . . . it'd been such a long time since the last time it had plagued him. Maybe it was the unsettling emotion that had riddled his mind as he lay trying to sleep. He hadn't thought he'd be able to do it; not with everything else running through his head.

 

`Isabelle . . .'

 

Squeezing his eyes closed against his own thoughts that he couldn't escape, he bit his lip, his fangs sinking deep into the tender flesh as blood pooled in his mouth.

 

`What the hell was I thinking?' Griffin berated himself for the millionth time since he'd made his unceremonious departure from the dining room earlier in the evening. The house was silent, dark, and the sky outside the windows were black, inked over with clouds that stubbornly prevented the weak moonlight from dispelling even a trace amount of the pervasive gloom.

 

Flopping onto his back, he heaved a sigh, rubbing his forehead as he heard himself blink. He couldn't stand it. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her: the look on her face, the complete surrender . . . she hadn't fought her feelings in the least; he knew that. When had she ever? No, he was the one who denied how he felt; the one who hid from the very truths of what he wanted most in the world, and why? Because he knew—knew—that some things weren't ever meant to be his, and Isabelle Izayoi was one of those things.

 

Her cheeks flushed with a tinge of pinkness—not a blush; more like the heightened color that came with being in a room that was heated a little too much . . . her lips parted as the shattered sound of her shallow breathing echoed in his ears . . . the brightness in her eyes sparkling like the moon on the ocean's waves . . . everything about her had called out to him. He'd known what she wanted, and for those precious moments, he'd desperately wanted it, too . . .

 

With another sigh, he sat up again, swinging his legs off the bed before slowly getting to his feet. Charlie shuffled around and got up, too, following Griffin out of the room like an ever-present shadow . . . or maybe a ghost . . .

 

He'd meant to get a glass of water, so he was more than a little surprised when he realized exactly where he'd ended up. Standing in the doorway of the pitch black room and listening to the steady, even sounds of Isabelle's slumber, he couldn't summon the will to be disgusted at his perceived weakness.

 

The soft glow from the digital clock situated on the nightstand beside the bed gave off precious little light, and yet it was enough to discern the trace outlines of her face, and as though he hadn't the strength to fight against it, he felt his feet carrying him over to her. He knelt beside her, cocking his head to the side as he stared at her, loathe to touch her but somehow simply being close to her was enough to calm the frayed ends of his emotions.

 

Curled on her side lost in the tangles of golden-bronze hair, she looked so different from the woman who did her best to drive him insane during her waking hours. She wasn't really a small woman by any means, and yet in her sleep she seemed so very fragile, so delicate that he had to wonder if she really was the same Isabelle he'd left in the dining room earlier . . .

 

Breathing light and even, her lips slightly parted, she mumbled something that had no true form as her eyebrows drew together in a little frown. The expression was gone as quickly as it had come, fading away as the trace lines dissipated, as she snuggled a little deeper into the pillow, her face lost in the darkness of shadows. A painful surge shot through him, and he winced, leaning away, gripping his chest and slowly shaking his head.

 

Of all the things he'd ever mourned, of everything he'd ever thought he'd lost, he'd never felt quite this way before. Sitting in the quiet and watching her sleep yet knowing in the back of his mind that she was little better than a fantasy meant to torment him, Griffin felt the unfamiliar stirrings of something wild and wanton and . . . and bittersweet . . .

 

He couldn't place it. He couldn't rightfully remember having felt that way before, and if he ever had, it had been so long ago—over a lifetime ago—before he'd realized that sometimes people were born not to live, but to die slowly from the moment they drew breath, and that those unfortunate ones were damned to bring nothing but sorrow and destruction to those who tried to touch them, tried to reach them . . . tried to love them . . .

 

And he was one of them, wasn't he?

 

An unfamiliar longing gripped him, the desire to reach out, to touch her, to reassert to himself that she was real, and yet he could not—would not . . . The aura of her youki beckoned him, and he propped his elbow on his knee, biting down on his finger, feeling the barb of his fang sink deep into his flesh, yet the pain was only a minor distraction and not nearly enough to help him elude the invisible lure of her.

 

Maybe he'd been alone for far too long; maybe he'd forgotten what it was like, to have someone to talk to—to have someone listen to him . . . Her proximity was a dangerous thing, and every single day that passed only served to bring her closer: closer than his own heartbeat . . . closer than the echoes of screams that tainted his very existence.

 

It should have been bad enough that she was beautiful—more beautiful than he could really credit. She shone like the sun in the summer sky, banishing the shadows that he welcomed with little more than a simple smile. Even now the sound of her laughter warmed his soul, lent him a quiet sense of strength to bolster the harsher reality of his own weariness. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he could feel the long dormant stirrings of life coursing through him. After such a long time of little more than going through the motions, she'd reminded him that there really were precious things in the world; all he had to do was look for them.

 

Still he could sense the danger. He knew that there were things that could not be forgotten; vile things that he had no right to ask for forgiveness for the part he played in all of it. The hand of Fate had pointed her finger at him so very long ago, and there was no escaping the inevitable. It was just a matter of time before the first cracks in the proverbial wall shook and crumbled and came tumbling down.

 

And when that happened, the only thing he could do was to protect Isabelle from it all; from him, from his terrible secrets, from the blasphemy that his life had become.

 

He stared at her for another long moment, committed the visage to his memory. She was everything he could never have, and best he remembered that . . .

 

Shuffling out of the bedroom, he quietly pulled the door closed. The broken chair still sat beside the dining table, and he scowled at it—at the splintered leg. A knot in the wood had given way. He'd been careless when selecting the wood for the piece. With a grunt to acknowledge the late worry that she might have really been hurt in the fall, Griffin grabbed the chair and turned toward the basement door. It was a simple enough spindle. He could replace the faulty leg in no time at all.

 

Yet something else to weigh his conscience . . . he'd been there to catch her, sure, and even now, his shoulder groaned in abject protest of his overexertion. He simply wasn't used to doing anything that was overly strenuous. His body wouldn't allow it. He figured it was a small price to pay. He'd paid for his sins, and the price was his blood. He was simply biding his time until the bill came due in full; condemned to walk the earth until such time when that justice found him.

 

But knowing this wasn't dissuading his mind from wanting things that he could never have. The sound of Isabelle's laughter, so freely given . . . the soothing quality of her very presence . . . and the consuming sense of resignation when he knew that the countdown to his ultimate end had already begun to tick away . . .

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

“Anyway, he seems nice enough . . . a little quiet, maybe, and a little gruff, but Isabelle really likes him . . .” Jillian said as she snuggled in Gavin's lap. He was playing a new racing game that Jillian had picked up for him, and she was content to let him so long as he didn't mind letting her cuddle with him while he did.

 

“A bear, you say?” Evan Zelig interrupted without taking his eyes off the television. He'd taken time off his current touring schedule to spend Thanksgiving through Christmas at home, so when Gavin had called to tell him that he'd gotten his hands on the latest installment of the Dangerous Curves franchise, he'd rushed right over to spend the evening getting his ass handed to him on the game.

 

“Is he a big bear?” Madison Cartham, Evan's constant consort in evil, or so Gavin maintained, asked.

 

“Yes,” Jillian agreed, rolling her eyes when her brother leaned to the side, hefting the video game controller into the air as though the movement would help him take the corner at full speed on the game.

 

“Didn't know there was a bear-youkai around these parts,” Gavin added, a hint of distraction evident in his tone.

 

Evan groaned as Gavin's car slid over the finish line. “I swear to God you cheat,” he insisted, setting the controller down and flopping back against the sofa.

 

Gavin shot him an amused grin. “Nope, I'm just better than you,” he goaded before stooping down to kiss Jillian's forehead. “You tired, Jilli?”

 

She shook her head and leaned up to kiss Gavin's cheek. “No . . . I'll just take a nap here.”

 

Evan made a face. “Good God, the two of you are so fucking perfect together, it borders on perverse.”

 

Gavin grinned, cheeks pinking at Evan's assessment. “I like perverse.”

 

Jillian giggled, wrapping a lock of Gavin's hair around her finger. “I do, too.”

 

“I want a pretty girl to sit on my lap,” Evan grumbled. “Hey, Maddy . . .”

 

“Forget it. That lap is reserved for your mate, and I'm certainly not that,” Madison laughed.

 

“Yeah, but you could just keep it warmed,” he suggested.

 

Madison dropped the magazine she'd been leafing through onto the sofa cushion beside her and leaned forward to tug on Evan's hair—tinted golden bronze for the day, most likely in an effort to annoy his father. “I warm your parts often enough. I don't need to sit on your lap, too.”

 

“Anyway, Gavvie, unless you're ready to go to bed, then I'm fine where I am,” Jillian asserted.

 

Gavin chuckled since he knew first hand that she really didn't care how long he stayed up. She'd just fall asleep, and he didn't have a problem carrying her to bed when he was ready to go. It worked well, really. Jillian always had been more of a morning person while he tended to be quite a night owl. She didn't mind keeping his late hours, and he never minded her particular notions about waking him up bright and early, especially when, more often than not, she woke him up in the most congenial of ways . . .

 

“So Bitty's got a new toy, does she?” Evan mused with a soft chuckle. “Poor bastard.”

 

Jillian crumpled up a candy wrapper that Gavin had dropped on the floor and tossed it at her brother's head. “Jerk! You be nice.”

 

“I am being nice,” he argued. “Suppose she'll bring him with her to Thanksgiving dinner?”

 

Jillian shrugged. “Don't know . . . maybe.”

 

“She won't if she's smart,” Gavin stated, shaking his head at the idea of the impending dinner that he wasn't sure he wanted to attend. It wasn't that he disliked the Zelig family, but he had to admit that they could be rather daunting, especially when they were all together. “Are Kichiro and Belle flying in?”

 

Evan shook his head. “Kich said that there were a few things going on and that he wasn't able to get away this year.”

 

“That's not very nice, Gavvie,” Jillian pointed out, pinching Gavin's arm.

 

“Nice enough,” he maintained with a shake of his head. “They'd put him to the third degree, especially Gunnar and Bas.”

 

“Aww, Bubby's full of hot air,” Evan stated with a loud snort. “He's harmless.”

 

“Harmless, huh? Maybe . . . still, having those two in particular breathing down your neck? Thanks, but no thanks,” Gavin maintained.

 

“I'm sure that he can take care of himself,” Jillian asserted with a wan smile followed in quick succession by a wide yawn.

 

Gavin opened his mouth to tell her that she'd be more comfortable in bed, but was cut off when his cell phone rang. Leaning back but careful not to drop Jillian, he reached over to grab the device off the coffee table. “Hello?”

 

“Gavin . . . hi, this is Dr. Avis . . . I tried to reach Jillian, but her cell went straight to voicemail.”

 

Gavin frowned and glanced at the clock. It was nearly ten o'clock . . . “Is something wrong?” he asked, careful to keep his tone neutral since Jillian wasn't asleep just yet.

 

The doctor managed a rather weak chuckle. “Wrong? No . . . I just felt badly because she seemed like she wanted to talk longer the other day when she called.”

 

His frown deepened at the strained thinness behind the doctor's words. “Oh, well, uh, just a moment, please . . .” He gently shook her until she opened her eyes and peered up at him. “Jilli? It's for you.”

 

“Me? Who is it?”

 

Offering her a wan smile, Gavin shrugged, hoping that she couldn't see through the expression. “Dr. Avis. You want me to tell him to call back in the morning?”

 

“Dr. Avis? Oh, no . . . I can take it,” she replied, holding out her hand for the phone.

 

He handed it over as Evan scrolled through the start screens, ready to begin the next race. In his preoccupation, he hadn't noticed that his new brother-in-law had also taken the liberty of choosing a car for him—the worst one in his garage, for that matter. It didn't really surprise him . . .

 

“Hello?” Jillian said as Gavin reached for his controller.

 

“Jillian? Hi . . . I hope I'm not calling too late . . .” Dr. Avis said in an apologetic tone.

 

“Oh, don't worry about it! I'm glad you called.”

 

“Me, too. Sorry about rushing you off the phone the other day . . . I had the feeling there was something you were going to ask me?”

 

Jillian scooted off Gavin's lap and got up to retrieve drinks from the kitchen. No sooner was she on her feet than Madison slipped onto Gavin's abandoned lap. “I'll keep your place warm for you,” she called behind Jillian.

 

Jillian laughed. “Okay!”

 

“M-M-Maddy?” Gavin choked out.

 

“Hmm, I love the strong, silent type, don't you?” she purred.

 

“Hey, Maddy, why don't you wiggle around a little? Gavvie likes that!” Evan added.

 

“Shut up, Evan!” Gavin growled.

 

“Why? Afraid something's gonna pop up?”

 

“Shut up, Evan,” he reiterated.

 

“Why's your face all red, Gavvie?” Evan asked for good measure.

 

“Oh, my . . . you really are a big boy, aren't you?” Madison teased.

 

Gavin choked again.

 

“Well, sure . . . Jilli likes `em big boys, you know,” Evan stated.

 

“Hurry up, Jilli,” Gavin hollered as Jillian hurried into the kitchen.

 

“It wasn't important,” she replied, shaking her head when a plaintive groan followed by a triumphant whoop erupted behind her. Gavin insisted that Evan was cheating while Evan just laughed.

 

“Important enough that you wanted to say it,” Dr. Avis chided.

 

Catching the phone between her shoulder and ear, Jillian pulled four glasses out of the cupboard and grabbed an ice tray out of the freezer. “It wasn't important,” she insisted again. “I just wondered . . . I mean, you worked in the lab with my father and uncle, didn't you?”

 

Dr. Avis paused for a moment before answering. “Yeah, I did . . .”

 

“Did they . . . did they get along well?”

 

“Uh . . . your uncle and father? Yeah, of course they did . . . why?”

 

She couldn't help the bashful grin that twitched on her lips as she set the empty ice tray aside and pulled two Sprites and a couple Diet Cokes out of the refrigerator. “It's silly . . . I couldn't help but wonder about that, but I'm glad.”

 

“Of course,” he allowed a little tersely. “You . . . you managed to get the bio-chip removed, correct?”

 

Jillian bit her lip and glanced back toward the living room. Gavin had warned her against saying anything that pertained to the research to Dr. Avis, citing that it was possible that he still had hopes of getting his hands on the project despite his assertions that he didn't have any such ideas. `But it's not as though he's asking about the research, really; just the chip . . .'

 

`I don't know, Jilli . . . you promised Gavin that you wouldn't say anything to Dr. Avis about it, and the bio-chip does have a loose association with it, you know . . .' her youkai voice pointed out.

 

`Still,' she argued, shaking her head slowly. “Why yes, I did. It was a simple procedure, really,” she said in a bright tone that should have ended the line of questioning.

 

“Good . . . I have to admit, I was a little worried about that.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Sometimes there are complications in the removal of such things,” he remarked. “I'm glad that there weren't in your case.”

 

“Complications?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Like . . . what?”

 

“Well, it's rare, but there have been incidents where the bio chip had been in place long enough that it had assimilated with the host, in effect making the chip, itself, a viable organ that the body has adapted to; one that is viewed as necessary by the host tissue.”

 

She couldn't help the vague worry that gripped her. She felt fine, true enough, but she didn't like the sound of the `rare' reaction that the good doctor had so eloquently spelled out for her. “Thank you for your concern, but I'm fine—just fine,” she insisted.

 

Dr. Avis fell silent. In the background, she could hear the television. It added a sense of normalcy to the conversation, and that, in turn, comforted her. “I'm glad to hear it,” he assured her. “I wasn't trying to scare you.”

 

“No, it's fine,” she said, smiling at the ridiculousness of her own thoughts. “My uncle did the extraction, and he's the best there is.”

 

“Ah, the renowned Kichiro Izayoi?”

 

“You've heard of him.” It was a statement; not a question.

 

“Yes, of course. I doubt there are many youkai who haven't heard of him. He'd be very capable of completing the research, so I'm sure it's in good hands.”

 

She smiled. “Oh, he would be,” she agreed easily enough, rinsing the empty soda cans and turning them upside down in the sink.

 

There was a slight pause on the line before Dr. Avis spoke again. “Anyway, I'm glad you had a safe trip back to the States. I'm sorry I missed your last few visits.”

 

“You're feeling better now, aren't you?”

 

“Certainly, certainly . . . right as rain.”

 

“Good!”

 

Dr. Avis sighed. “Ah, but your mate said that it was rather late there. I'm sorry for disturbing you . . . I forgot about the time difference, I suppose . . .”

 

“Oh, no, it's fine! I'm glad you called.”

 

“I'll let you go. If there's anything else you want to know, feel free to call.”

 

She laughed softly. “Okay.”

 

“Good night, Jillian.”

 

“Night.”

 

The line went dead, and Jillian clicked the phone off before carefully picking up the glasses and heading back toward the living room. She knew that Gavin still didn't completely trust Dr. Avis, and sure, she could understand why. Still, he'd been so kind; so helpful in giving her information about her biological parents, and he was the last real tie she had with the past, and it wasn't like he was asking her questions about the research, not really. All in all, she could trust him; she knew she could, especially when Gavin was always there by her side.

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Isabelle bit her lip and peered over the top of the notebook. She'd been trying to comb through the translated journal to gather as much information as she could, but her mind just wasn't on the task. `No . . .' she thought slowly, shaking her head as she stifled a sigh. Her mind was on something completely different—or someone, if she were completely honest with herself . . .

 

Griffin's empty desk chair sat undisturbed. She hadn't even as much as seen him all day though she could sense him nearby which could only mean that he'd been holed up in his basement, likely trying to avoid having to deal with her, she supposed.

 

Still, she couldn't quite regret the moment that had passed between them. Too much had been said without a word to be ignored, and to be honest, it was something that she had desperately needed. To know that he wasn't as immune to her as he would like to have her believe . . . it was a simple reassurance that maybe her intuition was based on something more than just what she wanted to think . . .

 

The look in his gaze, the absolute draw of his youki on hers . . . and she knew that Griffin was simply not the type to let himself go on a whim. No, if he'd come that close to kissing her, then there was more to his feelings that what met the eye. `He feels it, too . . . he knows, just like I do . . .'

 

That thought brought a smile to her lips, and while she didn't believe for a moment that the road that lay ahead would be easy, she also believed completely, unerringly, that Griffin would be worth the effort.

 

`Too bad he's insisting on hiding himself away in the basement all day,' she thought as she wrinkled her nose.

 

`Yes, well, take it to heart, Isabelle. When he does show his face, don't tease him. That'll just make it worse, you know.'

 

Sound advice, that, she had to allow however grudgingly. Trouble was she hated playing games. Too bad Griffin always thought her direct attitude was just that when in actuality, it was her way of telling him exactly what she wanted.

 

She'd get to him eventually. She'd make him understand that they belonged together. It was just a matter of time . . .

 

Just the memory of being held in Griffin's arms was enough to send a delicious little tremor up her spine. He'd felt so safe, so strong, and all she'd wanted was to crawl into him so that she could feel that way forever. Running the tip of her claw over her lips, she sighed softly. Sure, she'd dated men she'd consider excellent kissers, and maybe Griffin hadn't really done any such thing before, but she couldn't help the deep seated knowledge that Griffin's kisses . . . they'd be special. They'd be different . . .

 

The rattle of the basement door drew Isabelle out of her reverie, and she blinked to dispel the lingering fantasy as the comforting lines of the living room came into focus once more. Glancing over in time to see Griffin dragging a chair behind him, she sat up, crossing her arms atop the back of the sofa, content to watch as he set the chair aside and stepped back for Froofie to emerge from the basement behind him. Then he closed the door, locking it fast—she didn't figure he'd let something like that slip—and picked up the chair to replace it at the table as Isabelle's grin widened.

 

“So that's where you've been all day,” she mused quietly. “I was starting to think you'd taken up residence down there.”

 

“Thought about it,” he grunted, grasping the back of the chair and leaning on it, wiggling it from side to side to test his handiwork.

 

“You fixed it?” she asked. For some reason, it didn't really surprise her, though perhaps it should have. With as much trouble as he tended to have with his hands, that he could imitate the size and design of the chair's legs was remarkable, really. “Nice . . . the stain even matches.”

 

“`Course it does,” he grumbled without so much as glancing at her. “Now do me a favor and keep your fat ass off my chairs. I don't feel like replacing any more of them.”

 

“Where did you get that set?” she questioned suddenly, sitting up a little straighter as inspiration hit her.

 

He glanced over his shoulder at her, his expression inscrutable. “Why?”

 

She shrugged. “My mother would love it,” she commented. “She's always saying how things aren't made the way they used to be . . .”

 

“It was handcrafted,” he admitted, pushing the chair into place under the table.

 

“Oh? But who made it? I mean, I'd pay him to make a set for Mama . . .”

 

Griffin snorted and shuffled over to retrieve the mail off the small stand where Isabelle had left it. “He doesn't make them anymore.”

 

Isabelle heaved a sigh, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “That's too bad,” she murmured. Staring at the solid dinette set, she couldn't help but look a little wistful. Though simple in design, she'd always admired the pieces. The only real embellishment on them was the intricate carvings in the backs of each chair, and while each one was different, the imagery all melded together to create a sort of scene: different kinds of wildlife visiting the same lake. Whoever had crafted the set really had taken great pains to make them as functional yet beautiful as possible. It was a skill that Isabelle, with her mind that tended to think in terms of form and reason, could truly appreciate since she, herself, would never be able to create something like that.

 

“. . . It's just furniture,” he mumbled.

 

“Maybe,” she agreed easily enough, shifting on the sofa so she could pull her feet up and lock her hands around her ankles. “I don't know . . . it's just something that Mama would've loved.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Anyway . . . I think you've claimed my dog,” Isabelle commented with a rueful smile.

 

“No wonder. I'd abandon you, too, if you'd given me such a ridiculous name.”

 

She blinked. “Why? What's wrong with Froofie?”

 

His snort stated quite plainly that she should have been able to figure that out by herself.

 

Isabelle giggled. “Be that as it may, Froofie likes his name.”

 

“It's Charlie, and he doesn't.”

 

“Sure, sure . . . don't suppose I could talk you into coming to my grandparents' house for Thanksgiving dinner.”

 

“Don't suppose you could,” he said.

 

“But you can't spend the holiday alone,” she chided.

 

“It's just another day,” he maintained.

 

“That's not true; it's a special day. Holidays are always special days.”

 

“You're Japanese. Thanksgiving isn't even one of your holidays, you know.”

 

“I'm half-American,” she argued, “so it's half my holiday. Anyway, Grandma always makes tons of food. She'd love to have you over, I'm sure of it.”

 

He shook his head stubbornly and shot her a look that told her very loudly that the subject was closed as far as he was concerned. “It's not a big deal,” he mumbled, heading toward the kitchen to throw away the junk mail.

 

She watched him go with a frown. The idea of Griffin spending holidays alone bothered her much more than she wanted to admit. How depressing must it be; sitting down to a regular dinner that he could have had any other night of the week with nothing to mark the day as extraordinary? Did he bother to decorate his home for Christmas? Did he ever celebrate anything? Somehow she didn't think he did, and that thought more than anything made her want to cry.

 

Maybe it was the barrage of memories of her own holiday celebrations that made her sad. How many times had she opened her eyes on Christmas morning only to jump out of bed to tackle her still sleeping mother and father without so much as a second thought that maybe they'd been up well into the night putting together the Barbie Dream House she'd begged for or the baby carriage she just had to have? How many times had they gathered around the extended table in the Izayoi family's home—InuYasha and Kagome's house, or even in the Inutaisho home? Failing that, how many times had Isabelle and her sisters happily boarded planes to travel across the ocean to spend the holidays with the Zeligs? Those memories were always surrounded with laughter, with love, and Griffin . . . She frowned, blinking away the rising moisture that clouded her gaze . . .

 

Griffin should have those kinds of memories, too . . .

 

Biting her lip, she inclined her head to listen for tell-tale signs of what Griffin was doing. She could hear him rummaging through the refrigerator and figured he was probably making himself a salad. Digging her cell phone out of her pocket, she hit the fifth number on her speed dial and waited.

 

“Hello?” Gin Zelig's warm voice came over the line.

 

“Hi, Grandma . . . It's Bitty.”

 

Gin laughed. “Is everything okay? You sound a little troubled.”

 

“No, I'm fine. I just called to let you know that I can't make it for Thanksgiving dinner, after all . . .”

 

Gin clucked her tongue, her disappointment registering in the sound, and she sighed. “Oh, really? That's too bad! We'll really miss you . . . Do you have to work?”

 

“Something like that,” Isabelle said, tamping down the guilt that accompanied the little white lie she was telling. “Yeah . . .”

 

 

~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~ =~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~

A/N:

== == == == == == == == == ==

Reviewers

==========

MMorg

Kyasumi ------ indigorrain ------ GalacticFire ------ OROsan0677 ------ Jester08 ------ yashamaru1 ------ cynbad146 ------ charity nicole ------ evloner ------ Inuyoukaimama

==========

Forum Reviews

cutechick18 ------ stefikittie ------ kds1222 ------ My Own Self ------ OROsan0677 ------ semikarmic ------ Chva the Mai-Coh ------ Proforce

==========

Final Thought fromGriffin:

…Holidays …

==========

Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Avouchment): I do not claim any rights to InuYashaor 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~