InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ A Gentle Chiding ( Chapter 18 )

~~Chapter 18~~

~A Gentle Chiding~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Griffin winced, unable to control the pained hiss of breath that whooshed out of him as he dropped onto the sofa, wondering absently when the last time was that his home had seemed so inviting. Though the walk back to the house had only taken an hour, it had seemed like much, much longer. As it was, he'd had to prostrate himself, leaning on Isabelle so much that she'd almost fallen more than once, and though he was fairly certain that he'd put an unwelcome strain on her, she hadn't complained even once.

 

Isabelle uttered a sharp little whimper and rushed around to help him shift to the side so that he could pull his arm out from underneath himself. His legs kept alternating between numbness and mind-boggling pains that shot straight to his brain. He couldn't stand the nagging condemnations that kept chasing themselves around his mind. He knew his limitations; he should have realized that he would end up this way. As the excruciating pains rattled through him—pains so bad that his vision blurred and darkened around the edges as he held his breath and willed the ache to pass—he berated himself silently for his own perceived stupidity. He'd been careless, taking off without his cane, too angry to think in any sort of rational terms, and by the time his head had cleared enough for him to realize what he was doing, it had been too late.

 

Satisfied that he was comfortable—at least for the moment—Isabelle hurried off toward the kitchen, mumbling something to him about `staying put'. He sighed. He couldn't move, so the question of staying put was a bit arbitrary, wasn't it, and he couldn't repress the soft groan that slipped from him as he gave up on the notion of making his body cooperate. Half-numb from the cold and completely exhausted, the effort he'd expended during the walk home was taking a huge toll on him, and even the welcome warmth of the living room did little to break through the permanent chill that had set into his very bones.

 

All in all, he supposed he was probably the sorriest sight, ever, and that just figured. He'd realized long ago that the scar tissue that covered his body also hindered his circulation, and he had to grit his teeth to keep them from chattering, unable to summon the strength to reach for the blanket that he kept neatly folded over the back of the sofa.

 

It was his own fault, wasn't it? Anger had never been a good emotion for him, and while he had spent hundreds of years honing his ability to let things slide, in this one instance . . .

 

The simple memories of the questions and the accusations in Mamoruzen Inutaisho's gaze were still enough to infuriate him, and while he could appreciate the need to protect one that he considered his own, that didn't mean that Griffin was going to forget the confrontation, either. As far as Griffin was concerned, Mamoruzen hadn't had any right at all in approaching Griffin in his own territory and demanding answers to anything, and Isabelle . . .

 

He'd been a little angry with her, too, at least at the beginning. After all, if it weren't for her, there wouldn't have been an intruder infringing on his domain, would there? If it hadn't been for the look of absolute outrage on her face as she stepped between the two of them, he might have believed that she'd orchestrated the entire affair. Every time he'd thought about the pup's brass, he grew just a little more irritated, and as his irritation grew, he'd found himself moving faster and faster through the trees. On the one hand, he'd been too angry to notice the first few twinges of pain that normally served as a warning that he needed to stop pushing himself. On the other . . . he'd shaken his head and kept moving. `To hell with the other hand,' he'd fumed . . .

 

As he'd stormed along the trail that normally soothed him, he'd come to realize on some level that Isabelle really hadn't intend to do any such thing. She was too outspoken, too direct to lower herself to sneaking about and setting him up in such a fashion. He knew that, didn't he? He knew her, and while he wished he could say that she'd known, he knew deep down that she hadn't. She had been to quick to jump between them; too flustered for her reaction to have been feigned. The truth of it was that she'd been just as upset in her own right as he was, hadn't she, and that knowledge did serve to pacify him a little bit, though he would bite his tongue off before he ever admitted why . . .

 

`You forgave her for her part in it fairly easily, didn't you? Interesting, Griffin . . . very interesting . . . Admit it, can't you? You really don't mind having her around . . . and you're a sucker for those big golden eyes of hers . . .'

 

Grimacing at the disquieting notion presented by his youkai blood, Griffin grunted as Charlie hopped onto the sofa only to flop down on his feet, sending another round of dull, aching pains shooting through his body. He groaned and tried to move his feet but gave up without much of a struggle. `”Get off me,” he muttered, loathing his inability to force the animal to comply. Froofie whined at him but wagged his tail once, twice, before letting his muzzle drop into the shallow vale between his paws. `She didn't have that much of a `part' in it.'

 

`I'm not saying that's bad. You're right, after all. She didn't. Still . . .'

 

He narrowed his eyes and scowled at the dog that ignored him completely. `Still what?'

 

`Still . . . She's getting to you, and don't try to deny it. The reason you forgave her without question was because you don't want to blame her, in the first place.'

 

`. . . No, the reason I forgave her is because she didn't want him showing up and nosing around. She might be a lot of things, but she isn't sneaky. She never has been . . .'

 

`And you're defending her.'

 

He grunted but didn't answer as the woman in question hurried back into the room with a steaming mug of tea and a couple slices of buttered toast and set them aside before turning to face him, the light of determination adding a glow to her . . .

 

He grunted, unable to reconcile what saw with what he knew. She looked completely normal at first glance, but she wasn't; not at all. Shaking his head slightly, he gaped at her for several seconds before narrowing his eyes with an calculated scowl. All at once, he noticed a few things that he should have sensed but hadn't before; things like her diminished scent, the conspicuous lack of her youki . . . and her eyes: they were blue. Her claws were gone, replaced by entirely normal looking human fingernails, and when she tucked her hair behind her ear, he wasn't surprised to see the softly rounded edge. His scowl deepened as he struggled to sit up. She hurried forward to help him as he lifted his hand to fend her off before turning his glower on her. “You're human,” he said. It wasn't a question.

 

She shrugged offhandedly and crouched beside him, taking the mug and holding onto it until she was certain that he had a firm grip on it. “Yeah, it happens,” she said in a carefully contrived show of nonchalance.

 

He snorted, sipping the tea before he trusted himself to speak again. Torn between the irritation that he hadn't noticed sooner and the sickened heaviness that weighed down on him that she would come after him in that state, Griffin latched onto the first of those emotions. Irritation was so much easier to deal with, wasn't it, because the latter would only lead to more guilt; guilt over the idea that in her weakened state, anything could have happened. She could have gotten lost, she could have stumbled and fallen. Hell, he'd nearly crushed her, hadn't he? Leaning on her for support the entire way home . . . `Damn it,' he thought as the sickened feeling spread, rose in his throat to choke him. `Damn, damn, damn, damn . . .' So many things could have come to pass, and while he knew that he should be grateful that nothing had, he couldn't help the bitter recrimination that his impulsive actions could have resulted in something far, far worse . . .

 

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” he demanded, his tone a little angrier than he'd intended.

 

“What do you mean, what did I think I was doing? I thought it'd be a wonderful time to take a walk in the woods,” she replied.

 

“Don't be cute, Jezebel,” he growled, wishing that she'd be serious, just one time.

 

She shot him a brilliant smile. “You think I'm cute?”

 

He snorted loudly and pinned her with an irate sort of glower—highly ineffective since he was still unable to stand up. “Didn't your parents ever tell you that you shouldn't be out wandering around when you're weak and vulnerable?”

 

Her laughter rang out as she waved a hand in a helpless sort of way. “I'm neither weak nor vulnerable, Dr. Marin,” she replied.

“Your amusement is sorely misplaced,” he growled.

 

“I'm sorry,” she said, sounding less-than-apologetic. At least she tried to curb her laughter, even if she did fail miserably.

 

“Oh? Then what do you call it?”

 

“Call what?”

 

He rolled his eyes. It occurred to him that she tended to be awfully flighty, given that she was a doctor . . . “Being human.”

 

“Oh, that . . .” she drawled, sitting back on her heels and tapping her chin thoughtfully. “That's just a minor inconvenience.”

 

“Minor inconvenience?” he echoed incredulously. “A mosquito bite in the summer is a minor inconvenience. A mile-long line at the checkout is a minor inconvenience. Being forced to sit in traffic during rush hour is a minor inconvenience. Being human when you're normally hanyou is definitely not a minor inconvenience.”

 

“And here I thought you didn't care,” she teased.

 

Stifling a sigh and shaking his head since he had a feeling that she just wasn't going to listen to reason, Griffin wrinkled his nose and snorted. “Go change before you freeze,” he muttered, glowering at the darkened patches on her pale blue jeans. “What'd you do? Roll around in the snow?”

 

Her smile was wan at best but genuine. “Worried about me, Dr. G? Careful or I'll start to believe that you're not as averse to me as you've led me to believe.”

 

“Don't be ridiculous,” he grumbled, cheeks pinking despite his resolve not to blush. “You smell like a wet dog; that's all.”

 

She giggled and shook her head as she reached for his hand and tugged. He gave a token resistance—he really didn't have enough energy to offer much more, and in the end, he could only watch as she turned his hand over and gently grasped his wrist. Flipping her arm to shake back her sleeve, she took his pulse and sighed. “Your pulse is a little erratic,” she said in an almost accusing tone.

 

“I'm fine,” he grumbled, finally managing to pull his arm away.

 

She spared a moment to eye him before standing up to retrieve the blanket and shake it out. The added warmth was welcome, and he finished off the tea while Isabelle dropped more wood on the fire. Scowling at his twitching legs, he gritted his teeth and willed them to be still. It didn't work. The nerves and the muscles seemed to be acting according to laws of their own. It wasn't often that his body reacted so badly, and normally only after he'd pushed himself beyond the limitations that he'd grown to live with. The aches that accompanied the overexertion seeped into his very bones; pain borne of loss and of fire and of blood . . .

 

The coolness of Isabelle's hand startled him, and he jerked away. She didn't comment, simply following him to feel his forehead, reaching down with her other hand to take the empty mug, her eyes clouded with obvious concern. “I'm fine,” he grumbled, knocking her hand away again.

 

“I think you should let me take a look at you,” she said slowly, ambivalently, as though she expected him to argue with her.

 

“No.”

 

She sighed and shook her head, her jaw tightening as an unmistakable stubbornness entered her gaze. “I'm going to go get you another mug of tea. Froofie, keep Griffin warm, will you?” she said at last. The idiot dog barked in reply. “Take your shirt off.”

 

Snorting loudly, he cast her a withering glower that had absolutely no effect since she was already disappearing into the kitchen and didn't see it.

 

`Oh, that's just not happening,' he fumed as he struggled to sit up, to get to his feet. If he could just make it into his bedroom, he could lock her out, couldn't he? There was no way, come hell or high water, that he was going to take anything off, damn it . . .

 

His legs felt leaden, throbbing with the awful aches that emanated from the jagged scars that traversed his hips. Pushing himself into an upright position left him struggling to breathe, and he couldn't make his legs move to save his soul. He couldn't summon the strength necessary to pull his feet out from under Charlie, much less retreat to the sanctity of his bedroom for the duration . . .

 

She hurried out of the kitchen with the refilled mug in her hands and a suspect-looking black leather bag slung over her shoulder. A strange sort of trepidation prickled at his spine, and he slowly shook his head. He couldn't shake the feeling that whatever was in that bag could not be good, and when she clapped eyes on him only to raise her eyebrows in silent question, her eyes darkening as she accepted whatever challenge she'd perceived, he couldn't help the belligerent little frown that surfaced on his face—and he couldn't help the unsettling feeling that he was little more than a cub in her eyes—and that he'd just been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar . . .

 

“You really must be out of sorts if you can't take off your own shirt,” she commented rather mildly as she set the mug on the coffee table and lifted her leg to balance the black bag on her knee.

 

Eyeing her suspiciously as she rummaged around for . . . something . . . Griffin crossed his arms over his chest and pasted on his most formidable scowl. “Forget it, Jezebel. I'm on to you.”

 

Pausing with her hands stuffed inside the bag and peering down at him with her chin lowered, she blinked a few times as a smile quirked the corners of her lips. “As much as I'd love to see you without your shirt on, I assure you this is entirely on the up-and-up,” she teased.

 

Griffin snorted but couldn't quite keep the hot flow of color from staining his cheeks. “I wasn't thinking that,” he grouched. “Just goes to show that you have a dirty mind.”

 

“Clean is boring,” she maintained, tugging a lurid purple stethoscope from her bag of tricks. “Anyway, we can do this the easy way or the hard way, but one way or the other, I'm going to check you out.”

 

“Leave me alone, girly. I don't need your diagnosis.”

 

“Griffin, you were out in the elements for hours, and I know damn well that you're having some sort of trouble with your legs. Now let me give you a check up or—”

 

He narrowed his eyes. “Or what?” he rumbled.

 

She narrowed her eyes in return. “Or I'll force you to.”

 

He couldn't help the incredulous grunt at her claim. Pulling together what was left of his bravado, he pushed himself up and shook his head. “No.”

 

Isabelle opened her mouth to argue with him but snapped it closed and whipped around when the telephone rang. It took her a minute to locate it since she'd never paid much attention to it before. “You mean it wasn't just for show?” she tossed over her shoulder as she strode over to answer it.

 

“Let it ring,” he growled, knowing damn well that there were only two people in the world who would bother to call him, and not wanting her Isabelle to speak to either of them.

 

She ignored him and grabbed the receiver, anyway. “Listen, you—” he began only to be cut off when she shushed him and pressed the receiver to her ear.

 

“Hello . . .? Me? Oh, I'm Isabelle . . .” She winked at him. He snorted. “Griffin? Yes, of course he's here. Let me take the phone to him . . .”

 

He almost breathed a sigh of relief when she started to amble toward him, figuring that wasn't nearly as bad as he had thought it was going to be. Then she stopped in the center of the room just out of his reach and giggled. “You don't say . . . he's really talked about me? Good things, I hope . . .”

 

He stifled a groan, slapping a hand over his eyes as he let his head fall against the back of the sofa.

 

“. . . Attean? That's an unusual name. It sounds very exotic . . .”

 

`This . . . cannot be happening,' Griffin told himself, splaying his fingers so that he could peer through them without lowering his hand.

 

“As beautiful as my voice? Isn't that a little cliché, Attean-san?” She giggled. “Oh, no . . . he thinks I have a fat ass . . . Well, of course I do . . .”

 

Griffin groaned and smashed his fists into the cushions, swinging his legs off the sofa with a wince as Charlie hopped up and darted away, startled at the sudden movement. A low growl erupted in Griffin's throat as he struggled to get to his feet, to no avail. An insular thought echoed through his head over and over: he had to get the telephone away from Isabelle before she thoroughly humiliated him.

 

“Just a moment, please.” Isabelle lowered the receiver and pinned him with a no-nonsense look. “And what do you think you're doing? Lie back down. I'm not finished with you yet.”

 

The growl escalated into a low rumble as Griffin renewed his efforts, gritting his teeth against the thousand stabs of dulled pain that shot up his uncooperative legs. “Give me the damn phone,” he ground out, swiping his cheek against his shoulder impatiently to wipe away the sweat that accompanied his overexertion.

 

She clucked her tongue and shook her head but lifted the receiver back to her ear. “It was very nice chatting with you, but Griffin wants the telephone . . . Oh, no, the pleasure was all mine . . . Tell me, have you known Griffin very long?”

 

He managed to heft his ass off the sofa but groaned as he fell back, his breathing ragged and uneven, closing his eyes as the willed the room to stop spinning around him. He was going to make himself physically ill if he weren't careful, and the idea of that was just completely unacceptable . . .

 

The thump of the phone receiver dropping into his lap registered in his brain though it took another moment to muster the strength to grope around for it since he wasn't quite up to opening his eyes yet. Isabelle's cool, soft palm pressed against his forehead as the sofa sagged just a little, enough to let him know that she'd sat down beside him. He tried to knock her hand away but only succeeded in waving his hand around in a vague sort of way. Cursing his physical limitations, he forced his eyes open, swallowing hard as bile rose in his throat and brought the receiver to his ear with a shaky hand, leaning away from Isabelle's persistent touch.

 

“Call back later,” he bit out, wincing inwardly at the hollow, weary sound of his own voice.

 

“Ah, Griffin . . . you don't sound like yourself.”

 

Griffin grunted, scowling at Isabelle as she leaned over him to grab the bag she'd set on the floor before answering the telephone. “It's been—Hey! Get your fat ass off me, will you?” he growled, feebly pushing on Isabelle's shoulder as she rose up on her knees to lean further in her attempt to snare the bag.

 

She shot him a somewhat droll glance over her shoulder and smiled just a little as she wiggled her backside in mocking contention. Stretching just a little bit more, she managed to catch the bag's strap, and with a smug sort of grin, she pushed herself back up and off Griffin, though not before nearly smashing her breasts into his face in the process.

 

“She's . . . on . . . you?” Attean asked between strategically placed coughs.

 

Griffin opened and closed his mouth a few times, his throat gone dry as he tried not to stare at the parts of the woman that she'd so shamelessly flaunted before him. Even wrapped in the soft yarn of the pale blue angora sweater she wore, her curves were far too noticeable, and Griffin . . . Griffin was noticing, all right . . .

 

“Griffin . . .? Are you there?”

 

“Wh-what?” he said, his tone more than a little distracted as he watched Isabelle dig into the bag for something else he'd probably rather not see. His doubts were confirmed when she produced an ear thermometer and fiddled with the disposable cap.

 

Attean laughed. “I daresay that your Isabelle is a fascinating woman.”

 

That snapped him out of his reverie quickly enough, and he uttered an indelicate snort as his cheeks shot up in flames. The only saving grace in the situation was that Isabelle hadn't noticed Griffin's rapt attention, but Attean had, and in many ways, that was probably worse. “No, she's not,” he growled, “and she's definitely not `mine'.”

 

“I could be,” she interjected casually.

 

He snorted, stubbornly shaking his head. “No, you couldn't.”

 

“All you have to do is say the word, Dr. G.”

 

He narrowed his eyes at her, hoping—praying—that she'd get the hint and shut the hell up.

 

“I'm sure that Maria will look forward to meeting her,” Attean said.

 

Grimacing since Maria probably would enjoy meeting Isabelle, Griffin uttered an exasperated growl. “Don't drag her into this.”

 

Attean chuckled. “In any case, I wanted to let you know that I got a phone call yesterday. Seems that one of Zelig's people is asking questions about your past.”

 

“Yeah, I—” Griffin sighed then grunted when Isabelle stuck the stupid thermometer into his ear without as much as a warning. “What are you doing?” he grouched, leaning to the side to avoid the ear probe.

 

Isabelle raised an eyebrow and leaned in close, grabbing his earlobe firmly and reinserting the thermometer. “What do you think? Now hold still.”

 

He narrowed his gaze but let her have her way since he knew damn well that she wasn't going to give up and since it really wasn't hurting him, even if he did find it slightly humiliating. Being talked to like he was a child . . . he had half a mind to—

 

“I told Myrna that I had not heard of you. I just thought you should know about this.”

 

“Myrna?” he echoed as the thermometer beeped softly in his ear. Isabelle sat back to read it while Griffin covered his ear and rubbed. “Myrna who?”

 

“Myrna Loy . . . She used to work for Jeb Christopher years ago—at least, she did until Zelig's son took out the entire organization . . . The Onyx, they were called . . .”

 

“And now she works for him?”

 

Griffin could hear the rapid tapping of Attean's pen against the desk. “Something like that, though from what I've heard, it wasn't exactly voluntary . . . Anyway, I'm not certain she's going to give up on this. We managed to bury all traces that would lead back to your past, but . . .”

 

Grunting his acknowledgement, Griffin rolled his eyes when Isabelle tugged his arm down, unbuttoning the wrist band to push his sleeve up out of the way before she wrapped the blood pressure cuff around it. “Cut it out, girly,” he growled, trying in vain to shake her off.

 

“I'm just checking your blood pressure,” she argued, frowning at his bared forearm.

 

He grimaced at the livid purple scars that she'd uncovered and tried to shake his sleeve back down. Isabelle reached out to stop him, snagging the blood pressure cuff under her arm as she pushed his sleeve higher. He opened his mouth to tell her once more to knock it off. Attean's voice stopped him.

 

“Griffin? Are you listening to anything I've said?”

 

Heaving a sigh, Griffin caught the phone between his ear and shoulder so that he could try to fend Isabelle off. It almost worked—almost—but he was at his limit. Between the confrontation with Mamoruzen Inutaisho and the overexertion of his walk, he just didn't have the strength to fight her, and with a mutinous glower designed to let her know just what he thought of her overbearing attention, he stuck his arm out, figuring that the sooner he let her do it, the sooner she'd leave him alone. “Never mind,” he said with a shake of his head. “I know who put her up to it.”

 

“So this isn't a new development?”

 

“No.” Lowering the receiver for a moment, Griffin frowned pointedly at the device as Isabelle squeezed the bulb that inflated the cuff around his arm. “That's not going to—”

 

The end of the cuff gave with a loud rip as the Velcro that held it in place tore open, and Isabelle jerked back in surprise. He was going to tell her that the cuff she was trying to use wasn't nearly big enough. Sure, it probably fit most people, but Griffin was a bear-youkai, and because of that, he was just a little larger than most of her normal patients . . .

 

She grinned and pulled the cuff back into place, tugging the end a little bit tighter around his arm and pressing it into place a little more securely.

 

“You're wasting your time if you think—”

 

She waved a hand and glanced at her watch. “Talk to your friend . . . it's rude to ignore him.”

 

He snorted at the set-down, but couldn't help but feel a little sanctified when the cuff ripped open once more. With a sigh, she gave up, pulling the device off his arm and stowing it back in the bag.

 

“And she doesn't fear you, I take it?” Attean asked, his tone thoughtful—too thoughtful.

 

Griffin made a face. “Hardly. She doesn't have the common sense that God gave a billy goat.”

 

Attean chuckled. “Of course not. Come to think of it, neither did Maria.”

 

That didn't sit well with Griffin, either. Attean had said once that he'd taken Maria to be his mate because she hadn't listened the myriad of times that he'd told her that she didn't want to be with someone like him—hanyou; not accepted by the youkai of the times, and certainly not accepted by the humans of his tribe. She had ignored his objections, and eventually Attean had caved in.

 

“Did you want to tell me anything else?” he asked, brushing aside the disquieting thoughts.

 

Attean chuckled. “No, but I have to admit; this is one of the most . . . enlightening conversations that we've had in a very long while.”

 

Griffin started to retort but was cut off when Isabelle tugged on the front of his shirt. She was frowning in intense concentration, working at unbuttoning his shirt with her far-too-nimble fingers. “What do you think you're doing?” he snapped, jerking away from her and nearly falling off the sofa for his efforts as his face bloomed in a hideous shade of crimson.

 

“What does it look like? I told you, I'm going to give you an examination,” she replied calmly.

 

“The hell you are,” he snarled. “I mean it!”

 

She shook her head slowly and gave him a look that pronounced her belief that he was being stubborn for no good reason. “The shy act is cute; really it is, but it's not going to work. Now let me take your shirt off—”

 

“Keep your paws to yourself,” he growled, pushing her hands away for the second time. He dropped the phone without a second thought, too concerned with Isabelle's insistence that he take off his shirt—something that he was not—was not—going to cooperate with. “No.”

 

“Don't be silly!” she chided, leaning in to reach for his shirt again. He slapped her hands away, his scowl darkening, and if she had any common sense at all, she'd back off and leave well enough alone.

 

“I. Said. No,” he ground out, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

She sighed. “Look, Griffin, I've seen hundreds of naked men—maybe thousands. I'm a doctor, remember?”

 

“I don't care if you're a holly, jolly elf! I'm not taking my shirt—or anything else—off, so forget it.”

 

Her lips twitched despite the hint of exasperation evident in the tightness lingering around her eyes. “It's not a big deal,” she insisted with a sigh. “I've seen everything there is to see! Everything you've got, I've seen before, so—”

 

The low growl that had started just after her assertion that it was `not a big deal' cut off abruptly as he shook his head again. “What part of `no' wasn't clear to you?”

 

“Do you have a penis?” she asked suddenly, eyebrows disappearing under her golden bronze bangs.

 

“Wh—I—You—of course I do!” he spat, his face flaming and unable to staunch the flow of blood that was gathering under his skin. “And my . . . p-p-penis is none of your business!”

 

She waved a hand airily. “And I say if you've seen one penis, you've seen them all—and let me tell you, I've seen a lot of penises . . . circumcised, uncircumcised . . . flubbed circumcisions . . . big ones, little ones, ones that lean to the right, ones that lean to—”

 

“All right!” he snarled, voice rising as the explosion of blood in his face made his eyes feel as though they were going to pop right out of his skull. “I don't care how many penises you've seen, Jezebel; you aren't seeing this one!”

 

“Oh, please! I don't know why you're making such a big deal out of this! You act like you've never let a woman even look at your—” Cutting herself off abruptly, her eyes rounded as her mouth formed an incredulous `oh', and she nodded ever so slowly. The surging blood felt like it was trying to seep out of Griffin's very pores, and he snorted indelicately, avoiding looking directly at her. “That's it, isn't it? You never have let a woman see your . . .” She gasped, hands flying up to cover her gaping maw as her eyes widened incredulously and she choked on a giggle. “You're a virgin!”

 

And if he'd actually thought that he couldn't be any more embarrassed, he learned in that instant that it was entirely possible. The furious surge of heat and color infiltrating his skin was rapidly approaching critical, and he growled in abject frustration, pushing her hands away again. “It's none of your business,” he ground out, forcing himself to his feet despite the pain that reverberated through him. He managed to stumble a few steps before jamming his foot against the coffee table. Isabelle caught him before he fell and gently pushed him back down on the sofa, her amusement fading as quickly as it had surfaced, much to Griffin's unabashed relief. He could hear the distinct sound of Attean's muffled laughter, and with a menacing growl, he snatched up the receiver and clicked the button to disconnect the call.

 

“I wasn't trying to embarrass you,” Isabelle said softly, shaking her head and heaving a sigh as though she were suddenly infinitely weary. If he didn't know better, he'd swear that she actually sounded sincere. Too bad he was onto her and her wicked, wicked ways . . .

 

“Leave me alone,” he said, dropping the phone onto the floor and refusing to meet her stare.

 

“No, I mean it . . . I was just surprised; that's all.”

 

“Surprised?” he growled. “Yeah . . . not that surprising, right? There's not a woman in her right mind that would want to . . . It's none of your business,” he stated once more. “Forget it.”

 

She was silent for a long minute, as though pondering the things he hadn't meant to admit. He was almost convinced that she was going to remain silent. He was wrong about that, too. “It's not true, you know,” she said quietly, drawing her feet up onto the sofa and wrapping her arms around her ankles.

 

“What's not?” he demanded absently, almost grudgingly, rubbing his thighs as he willed the resounding pain to lessen.

 

She shrugged, and he felt her sigh more than heard it. More of a shrug than a breath, she dropped her chin onto her knees and smiled sadly. “What you said about women not wanting to be with you . . . it's not true, at all.”

 

He didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't say anything. The acute embarrassment of her quiet admission was lost under the tide of color that had yet to recede.

 

Isabelle wasn't finished. “I'd feel better if you'd just let me take a look at you, and don't tell me that your legs aren't bothering you because I won't believe you . . . but if you don't want me to give you a check up, then I'll respect your wishes. Would you just . . .?”

 

“Just what?” he demanded a little sharper than he meant to when she trailed off.

 

She sighed, turning her face, resting her cheek on her knees as she stared into the dancing flames on the hearth. “Don't try to hide it from me anymore . . . when you're in pain . . . okay?”

 

Griffin finally looked at her and frowned when he noticed the unnatural brightness in her gaze. She wasn't crying, no, but she was close, and with a start, he understood. She'd known all along, hadn't she? All those times he'd tried to hide it from her, and she'd known . . .

 

He grimaced inwardly, wondering if he was really that bad in hiding his feelings.

 

`You're not bad at it, no, but don't you understand? She senses it, even if she doesn't see it . . . That's how she knows . . .'

 

`She . . . knows . . .?'

 

`Of course she does. It'd be weird if she didn't.'

 

Griffin's gaze shifted to the blazing fire, and he sighed, too. The silence that had fallen was not unkind, lulled by a certain resignation that he could only grasp on the basest of levels . . .

 

She sighed, too, and he could feel her quiet determination filling the air, ebbing and flowing like a viable thing.

 

“All right,” he agreed softly. “I . . . I . . . won't . . .”

 

 

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A/N:

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Final Thought fromGriffin:

…Jezebel …

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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 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~