InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ Silver Bells and Mistletoe ( Chapter 24 )

~~Chapter 24~~

~Silver Bells and Mistletoe~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Isabelle stepped out of the restaurant and smiled as the sound of tiny silver bells greeted her. Something about the gentle chimes always had struck her as a friendly sort of thing, reminding her of simple times and soft laughter; of the warmth and good will of the holiday season. Stopping beside the bright red bucket suspended from the metal hook stand, she dug through her purse for money as Griffin followed her outside. It only took a moment for him to figure out what she was doing, and with a shake of his head and a sigh, he dug out his wallet and dropped a twenty dollar bill into the bucket.

 

“Thank you! I hope you and your girl have a happy holiday!” the black man in a Santa Claus suit said with a broad grin. The brass bell in his hand stopped ringing long enough for him to shake Griffin's hand.

 

“Sh-she's not my girl,” Griffin muttered, a startled sort of expression surfacing on his features as his cheeks reddened at the suggestion that they might be a couple.

 

Isabelle smiled and winked at the would-be Santa. “Merry Christmas,” she said as Griffin grabbed her arm to drag her away.

 

His laughter echoed behind them as he resumed the ringing of the bell.

 

Griffin grimaced and gave his head a good shake. “That sound just gets stuck in my ears,” he remarked when he realized she was staring at him.

 

“Your ears bother you?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Not really . . . you telling me that it didn't bother you?” he countered with a quizzical glance.

 

“I suppose,” she agreed then shrugged inwardly. He was leaning rather heavily on his cane—more heavily than he had on the short walk to the restaurant, and she wondered with a frown if he was pushing himself too much again. The memory of the night he'd taken off into the forest without his cane still bothered her. She knew damn well that he was too stubborn to admit that he was in pain, even if he had promised not to keep it a secret from her anymore . . .

 

“Tell me something?”

 

She blinked and glanced up at him only to find him staring off into space. She could see the faint hint of stubble thickening on his jaw line and smiled. He'd shaved just before they'd left the house, and she'd noticed before that Griffin's facial hair tended to grow unbelievably fast. He'd have a full beard in a few days if he stopped shaving, she supposed, but it didn't bother her. She rather liked the rugged sort of quality it added . . .

 

“Okay,” she agreed, careful to keep her tone neutral.

 

“You're Japanese, right? I mean, you grew up there . . .”

 

His question surprised her. She'd never kept that a secret, of course, but he'd never really asked her anything that could be considered a personal question before, either, and that he would choose that one . . . well, it amused her. “Yes,” she replied.

 

He grunted softly, more of an acknowledgement than a sound of disapproval. “Why don't you have a thicker accent?”

 

She smiled, figuring that was a fair enough question. “Well, Mama's American,” she explained, “and she speaks in English a lot . . . She's picked up a lot of Japanese, but she always wanted to make sure that we all knew English, and Papa encouraged it, too.”

 

He nodded slowly, as though her answer made a lot of sense. “That makes sense.”

 

“And I did spend a fair amount of time here, growing up,” she went on, her eyes glossing over as a million memories flashed through her head. Ice cream cones and beachside clam bakes . . . quiet walks with her grandfather through the dense forest that surrounded the Zelig estate . . . sharing jokes late at night near the fireplace while Grandma and she made s'mores over the small fire that Cain built up for them. Some summers were quieter than others—Bastian and Gunnar had alternated, training in Japan with InuYasha and Ryomaru, Toga and Sesshoumaru and Cain . . . During the summers when the boys were in Maine, they'd stay up way too late until they were yawning all morning during training and frustrating Cain to no end while Isabelle slept in all morning, only to wake up when Bastian, Gunnar, and Morio dumped water on her or worse . . . “It was pretty fun,” she confessed, the memories offering her a comfort that she welcomed. “I came here almost every summer, at least for a month or so, and then there were the holidays . . .”

 

“The holidays? You spent them here?”

 

She nodded. “Most of the time, Papa brought us here for Christmas,” Isabelle said as she and Griffin ambled along the sidewalk. “Mama always wanted to come home for Christmas . . . she said that Tokyo was nice, but nothing beat Christmas in Maine . . . I think she missed the snow . . .”

 

The tap of Griffin's cane accompanied his shuffling footsteps. “That doesn't explain why you're here in the States,” he pointed out rather dryly.

 

She sighed and shrugged, adjusting the thick taupe scarf that hung loose around her neck. “I don't know . . . I guess it just seemed like a good idea,” she ventured, her tone carefully neutral, as though she worried that Griffin would discern a little too much.

 

“So you traveled halfway around the world to go to college and start your career?” he countered with a shake of his head. “Try again, girly. I'm not buying.”

 

He really was too sharp for his own good sometimes . . . “I don't know . . . I suppose Papa's shadow was pretty daunting, too,” she allowed.

 

“The daughter of the famous researcher? I guess,” he replied, stopping to lean against the railing of the long boardwalk that ran the length of the river's edge. The blackened waters below frothed and flowed, untouched by the coldness as the temperature continued to steadily drop.

 

Isabelle pulled her coat a little closer and let out a deep breath as she stepped up beside the bear-youkai to gaze out over the moonlit water. His silhouette, etched so deeply against the backdrop of the night clung to her mind, seemed to float before her very eyes. She wasn't sure what she'd expected when she'd emerged from her bedroom, but he'd looked somehow different: a change that had little to do with the clothes he wore though he had changed into what looked to be a new white shirt and dark brown corduroy slacks. His hair was still damp, too, and meticulously brushed though she didn't doubt for a moment that it'd be just as unruly as ever once it dried. For a bear, he certainly had fine hair . . . All clean shaven and neat, he looked completely nervous, too—and despite his insistence that it wasn't a date, Isabelle had to wonder . . .

 

Shaking herself and sighing softly, she couldn't help the wan little smile that twitched on her lips as she turned her face toward the moon, her skin tingling in the cold night air. “It's sort of expected, I guess . . . You know, when you're introduced to everyone as `Izayoi Kichiro's daughter' with your actual name being secondary . . .” She shook her head and laughed softly, almost sadly. “I guess I have really big shoes to fill.”

 

“Which was the reason you jumped at the chance to have a crack at the research,” he guessed, his tone indicating that he'd figured out as much long ago.

 

She grimaced, wondering if she was really as shallow as all that. “Sounds crass, doesn't it? I mean, that's part of it, I'll admit, but this research could help a lot of people—hanyou . . . I'm lucky, or so I've been told. My grandmother's miko blood has always kept our hanyou blood in check, but it's not like that's something that would matter to someone else. Without some sort of seal, the things a hanyou can do are so limited . . .”

 

He grunted, tapping the end of his cane against the bottom of the railing in an idle sort of way.

 

Leaning forward on the railing, Isabelle clasped her hands and stared over the water; the gentle ripples as the moonlight chased after itself on the surface of the roiling crests. “There was a hanyou, I remember . . . he wanted to be a hunter for Uncle Sesshoumaru . . . I was really little back then, but I remember hearing the adults talking about it. Even Grandpapa InuYasha was against the idea because of the lack of a restrainer to limit the hanyou's youkai blood . . . They said it was too dangerous, that he'd be in trouble if things went wrong, and then he'd be a threat to both humans as well as youkai. They said that the risk of that happening might be small, but it was too much of a risk to take . . .”

 

He digested that in silence, and when she stole a peek at him out of the corner of her eye, she couldn't help the momentary tremor that erupted deep inside. The gentle breeze blowing off the river lifted the fine hair that always fell to cover his face, those shaggy bangs that she just wanted to touch while the light dancing off the water seemed to pool in his dark gaze, adding a dimension of light that lent him a far more melancholy sort of air . . . the sharp angles of his face, the pronounced hollows in his cheeks . . . even his scars seemed to have dissipated in the forgiving glow, and while Isabelle had come to cherish those marks, she had to wonder why it was that Griffin didn't realize how very much he had to offer.

 

“Anyway, that's neither here nor there,” she went on, forcing her eyes off the man in question. “If this research will help someone, then it should be completed, regardless of who does it.”

 

“Yeah, well, you won't be able to if you give up,” he said, his tone a little gruffer than normal. “You know that, right?”

 

She sighed, nodding slightly as she stared at her hands at the reminder of the lost infant. “I know,” she said. “I just can't help thinking . . .”

 

“If you start leaking again, everyone's going to think I did something to you,” he warned.

 

She smiled despite her glum thoughts, knowing without having to look that the man was blushing. “I won't,” she promised, abruptly pushing herself away from the railing. “Anyway, I think I want dessert.”

 

Griffin snorted, obviously relieved at the turn of conversation. “Dessert? You mean you didn't have enough chocolate at dinner?”

 

She did laugh at that. Just remembering the look of absolute incredulous revulsion on Griffin's face as he'd watched her dump pretty near a whole bottle of chocolate syrup onto the salad he'd made her eat was enough to elicit a fit of giggles on her part.

 

“If you don't like it,” he'd said as she stared unhappily at the small garden salad the waitress had placed before her, “then get some dressing or something that you like.”

 

Dragging her gaze off the salad, she quirked an eyebrow at him. “What kind of dressing did you get?” she asked.

 

“Bleu cheese,” he replied as he stabbed some lettuce and lifted the bite to his lips.

 

She made a face. “Moldy cheese? No thanks . . . that's just gross . . .”

 

He set his fork down and rolled his eyes. “Then get Italian or ranch or vinaigrette . . . and stop complaining. Vegetables are good for you, unless you want scurvy . . . I hear it's a great thing this time of year . . .”

 

She blinked in surprise—it was the first time she could recall Griffin being outright sarcastic. “Fine, fine,” she gave in with a sigh then snapped her fingers and broke into a smile before waving her fingers at the waitress.

 

But he hadn't said anything when she'd asked for chocolate syrup, and he'd only watched in silence as she added it to her salad. Of course, he'd looked like he was considering getting up and leaving, but he must have figured that at least he'd convinced her to eat the salad even if he did think that her choice of dressings was disgusting . . .

 

“It wasn't bad,” she said, unable to help herself as she smiled when Griffin's face contorted in a show of disgust spurned on by the memory of Isabelle's salad. “I think I'd eat it more often if there was enough chocolate syrup on it to mask the taste of the greens.”

 

“And you think bleu cheese dressing was disgusting,” he grumbled with a shake of his head.

 

“It is,” she argued. “Eating chocolate is natural. Eating mold is not.”

 

He grunted, falling into step beside her as they wandered along the sidewalk once more. “You summarily undid all the good of eating a salad with that,” he pointed out.

 

Isabelle waved her hand dismissively. “Hey, I ate it, didn't I?”

 

Griffin sighed.

 

A couple of women wandered past. It amused Isabelle when one of them kept looking over her shoulder, her gaze fixed on Griffin, and while the bear didn't seem to notice, she certainly did. The woman wasn't even trying to hide the appraising glint in her eyes, either, and she tapped her friend's arm, who also turned to look—and stopped dead in her tracks for a moment as she stared appreciatively at the man in question. Isabelle couldn't help the smile that surfaced as she squared her shoulders, unaccountably proud to be the woman walking beside Griffin. “You know, I think you have an admirer,” she murmured, leaning toward him as she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

 

“Huh?”

 

She laughed, jerking her head in the direction from which they'd come. Griffin shot her a narrow-eyed scowl but grudgingly glanced over his shoulder. With a loud snort, he whipped his head back around and quickened his pace just a little.

 

“Why are you rushing off? You should go back and introduce yourself!” she said, catching his arm as she hurried after him.

 

He snorted indelicately but didn't shake her off. “Hardly,” he grumbled, his embarrassment palpable.

 

“Oh, why? They thought you were hot, you know.”

 

He uttered a sound caught halfway between a grunt and a groan and kept moving. “Think again, Jezebel. If you haven't noticed, I get stared at because I'm . . .”

 

She frowned at the unspoken sentiment he left hanging in the air. “You're what?” she asked, a warning hint creeping into her tone.

 

He snorted, obviously nonplussed by whatever mayhem she had in mind if he tried to put himself down. “I'm a bare step above Quasimodo, if you haven't noticed,” he grumbled.

 

“That's not true,” she said, her voice quiet, punctuated by the raw vehemence underlying it.

 

“Yeah, well, just drop it, all right?”

 

She heaved a perturbed sigh to let him know just what she thought of the situation but did as he requested, concentrating instead on the crisp breeze that ruffled her hair, that brought the clean scent of Griffin to her. It wouldn't do any good for her to badger him at the moment, and she knew it. Still, she hated to admit defeat, damn it, and that was exactly what she felt like she was doing . . . “You know what sounds really good?” she finally asked, deliberately refocusing her attention before it completely ruined her fragile good mood.

 

Griffin shot her a sidelong glance but looked completely nonplussed, all the same. “What?” he finally asked, his tone stating quite plainly that he wasn't at all sure that he wanted to hear what sounded good to her.

 

“Ice cream,” she stated.

 

He stopped short and narrowed his eyes on her like he was trying to decide whether or not she was being serious. “Ice cream.”

 

She nodded and grabbed his arm, tugging him toward the small ice cream shop on the other side of the street. She didn't stop moving as she glanced both ways then stepped off the wooden planking. Griffin stared at her hand for a moment before heaving a sigh as he let her drag him across the pavement.

 

“Isn't it kind of cold for ice cream?” he demanded though he didn't try to stop her.

 

“Nope,” she insisted. “It's never too cold for ice cream.”

 

He grunted.

 

“Besides,” she went on brightly, “even you can't say no to ice cream.”

 

“Don't know,” he mumbled. “Never had it before.”

 

She stopped and swung around to face him, her expression full of unmasked surprise. He could tell that she wasn't sure whether or not she ought to believe him, and for some reason, he couldn't help the slight rise in his defenses. “Never? As in, never ever?”

 

“Never ever,” he allowed.

 

“Wow . . . then I suppose I should pay for it,” she decided. “You'll like it, you know. Bet they have butter pecan.”

 

Unwilling to admit that his interest was definitely piqued at the mention of butter pecan ice cream, Griffin settled for grunting again as she hustled him toward the candy apple red painted door of the building. “I said I'd pay,” he reminded her.

 

She laughed and reached for the old fashioned door handle. “You said you'd pay for dinner, and you did—thank you. I can pay for dessert.”

 

“Forget it, Jezebel. I'm onto your game,” he grumbled.

 

“My game?”

 

He nodded once.

 

She laughed softly, pulling open the door and stepping inside. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the brightness of the small ice cream parlor. The older man behind the counter looked up and broke into a welcoming grin. “Stop!” he called out suddenly.

 

Isabelle blinked and turned around to see what the guy was looking at. Griffin stood in the doorway with his hand on the handle, obviously caught in the process of pulling the door closed. He looked around slowly, as though he were trying to figure out what the man was talking about, too.

 

He chuckled then pointed upward. Isabelle looked again, slowly lifting her gaze only to break into a grin when she noticed just what the man was referring to. Standing where he was, Griffin was directly beneath a sprig of mistletoe, and when he noticed it, it wasn't surprising to see his face slowly drain of all viable color before exploding in a livid and vibrant blush. Jerking the door closed with a very loud `bang', he tried to hurry forward only to be stopped when Isabelle laid a hand on his forearm, leaning up on her toes to brush a chaste kiss over his cheek, much to Griffin's chagrin and the man's amusement.

 

“'Tis the season,” he remarked, still chuckling over Griffin's obvious embarrassment.

 

Griffin snorted, unable to do anything about the crimson staining his skin as he avoided Isabelle's gaze and lumbered past her, getting out from under the offending sprig as quickly as he possibly could. “Jezebel,” he choked out as Isabelle bit her lip and tried not to laugh outright. “What kind of ice cream do you want, fat ass?”

 

That did make her laugh, much to the man's surprise. “What other kind is there?” she quipped, stepping up beside Griffin and winking at the man before glancing down at the freezer display counter. “Chocolate, of course!”

 

“Why doesn't that surprise me?” he grumbled.

 

“And he wants to try some butter pecan,” she added for good measure.

 

“Sundae or waffle cone?” the guy—his nametag said Brian—asked.

 

“I'd like a waffle cone,” Isabelle replied.

 

“Plain in a cup,” Griffin said.

 

“You could get chocolate and chopped peanuts on it,” she told him.

 

Griffin snorted and shook his head. “No, thank you.”

 

Brian laughed as he grabbed a waffle cone out of the glass display where the cones were kept atop the counter. “Regular chocolate or chocolate lover's supreme?”

 

“Oh, what's the difference?” she asked.

 

“Supreme has chunks of liqueur-filled chocolates and ribbons of semi-sweet chocolate.”

 

“Mm, that sounds good,” she said. “I think I'll have that!”

 

“Special dark chocolate syrup?” he inquired as he scooped into the huge container of ice cream.

 

She stole a glance at Griffin who was frowning at the huge waffle cone in Brian's hand. “That sounds wonderful,” she intoned.

 

Griffin rolled his eyes but didn't comment while Brian finished filling Isabelle's cone. She took it and reached for a plastic spoon from the recycled restaurant powdered creamer container beside the cash register. With a quick wink, she stepped back to wait while Brian dished up Griffin's ice cream.

 

“Looking forward to Christmas?” Brian asked as he dug into the butter pecan ice cream.

 

Griffin shrugged. “Sure,” he replied though his tone was more of a grumble than usual.

 

Brian laughed. “My wife is more excited about it than most kids. She loves the holidays. She's been trying to talk me into going with her to her grandparents' house, but I don't know about that . . .”

 

“Yeah . . .”

 

“Is this your first Christmas together?”

 

Isabelle hid a smile behind a spoonful of ice cream as Griffin shifted uncomfortably. “You could say that,” he allowed.

 

“Your girl's a keeper,” Brian said with a conspiratorial wink as he leaned over the counter, obviously only intending for Griffin to hear the disclosure.

 

She didn't have to see his face to know that Griffin's face had taken on the reddened flush that he'd barely managed to get rid of after the mistletoe incident. Stifling the giggle that welled up in her throat, she wasn't surprised to hear his choked sort of cough, to see the tensing in his back and shoulders. “She's not—we aren't—this isn't a date or anything,” he blurted.

 

The man seemed genuinely surprised as he leaned to the side to glance at Isabelle. She wiggled her fingers in greeting as her smile widened. He nodded and broke into a grin as he straightened his back and looked at Griffin. “You sure?”

 

Griffin snorted. “Very.”

 

“Does she know that?”

 

“Y-yes,” Griffin retorted.

 

Isabelle did giggle at that. He sounded entirely shaken, which was amusing, all things considered. It really was a date, wasn't it? The only one who didn't seem to realize that was Griffin, and, well, Isabelle didn't think she'd point it out to him, either . . .

 

Taking his cup of ice cream with a mumbled `thank you', he paid for the treat and turned around as Isabelle wandered over to slip into a chair at a cozy little table near the plate glass windows that overlooked the river front. “Thank you for the ice cream,” she remarked, breaking off a bit of the cone and popping it into her mouth.

 

Griffin didn't answer. He was scowling at the ice cream in the clear plastic dish. Slowly he lifted it to his nose and sniffed at it. He must have figured that it was safe enough. Scooping a small bite onto the spoon, he rather reluctantly stuck it into his mouth.

 

“Good?” she questioned when he didn't say anything right away.

 

He took another bite and chewed slowly, as though he were considering his opinion. “Not enough pecans,” he mumbled.

 

Isabelle laughed since she could see the huge chunks—pecan halves—embedded in the ice cream. There were a lot of them, but of course he'd want more. She couldn't help but be amused when he showed his weakness for all things pecan . . . “But you like it?” she pressed.

 

He grunted and kept eating slowly, as though he wanted his ice cream to last a while.

 

Isabelle wasn't nearly as diplomatic as that. It didn't take her long to polish off the ice cream and the waffle cone, and she stuck her spoon out to snag a bite of Griffin's only to have her knuckles whapped with his spoon. “Back off, Jezebel. This is mine,” he informed her.

 

She laughed and licked the bit of melted ice cream off the back of her hand. “Aww,” she complained with an exaggerated pout. “Not even one bite?”

 

“Not even one,” he reiterated, scraping the last of his ice cream from the plastic cup. “If you want more, then get more, but don't try to steal mine, you thief.”

 

“Hmm,” she drawled, considering his suggestion. “All right!”

 

She started to stand up only to stop when Griffin got to his feet, instead. “It'll all go to your ass,” he remarked as he headed back toward the counter.

 

Isabelle smiled, propping her elbow on the table and resting her chin on her balled-up fist. Maybe he wasn't the best at expressing himself, and maybe he was a little rough around the edges, but she didn't mind; not really. After all, underneath that gruff exterior lurked a very sensitive man; one who seemed to understand her without any questions asked, at least when it came to the important things. Something about Griffin spoke to her—had always spoken to her in gentle whispers and muted sighs . . . and she knew deep down that he was the one she had been meant to find from the day she'd come into being . . .

 

He came back to the table, handing her another waffle cone sundae, and she couldn't help but smile when she noticed that his bowl had two kinds of ice cream this time: pistachio and butter pecan. It was safe to assume that he enjoyed ice cream, and for some reason, she couldn't help but be rather pleased that she was with him the first time he'd tried it.

 

“You want to try it?” she asked, extending a spoonful of chocolate dripping ice cream to him.

 

He made a face and drew back. “No,” he said flatly. “Absolutely not.”

 

She laughed since she hadn't figured he'd want to. “So tell me something?” she asked just before stuffing the spoon into her mouth.

 

Griffin shot her a dark glance as though he wasn't certain that he did want to tell her anything at all. “What?”

 

“You've been around while, right?”

 

He snorted at her indelicate jibe at his age.

 

Pointing her empty spoon at him, she went on, undaunted by his less-than-enthusiastic reaction. “Why is it that you've never had ice cream before?”

 

He looked surprised by her question, as though he'd fully expected her to say something entirely different. Thinking it over, he shrugged offhandedly, digging into the pistachio ice cream and savoring the first bite before answering. “Just never did,” he replied. “Never thought about it.”

 

“But everybody loves ice cream,” she parried. “It's . . . it's a global love type thing.”

 

“Global love, huh?” he muttered with a shake of his head. “I find that it's much less complicated if I just stay in my little hole in the globe.”

 

“Funny . . .”

 

He blinked and swallowed, his gaze glowing like coals in the darkness. “What's funny?”

 

She shrugged and waved off his question with a flick of her hand. “Well, not funny, I guess . . . it's just . . . I always sort of figured you to be a worldly sort of guy . . . I don't know why I always thought you had that look about you; like you'd been everywhere; seen everything . . .”

 

A strange sort of expression flickered over his features—the kind of expression she'd seen before when she'd once asked her grandfather, InuYasha about Kikyou—but he masked it quickly enough. “I've seen more than enough,” he said quietly; so quietly that she almost missed his words.

 

His tone, his demeanor, the sadness that crept into his eyes lent a haunted sort of quality to his expression nearly broke her heart, and deep down she knew—she'd known it for a while, hadn't she? His scars . . . his nightmares . . . everything he was . . . it was all tied together, wrapped in the darkest of memories and in secrets he just didn't feel worthy of sharing . . .

 

Staring at him in the quiet ice cream parlor as he pushed the plastic bowl away and scowled thoughtfully at the bright blue table, his words came back to her in a rush, in a whisper, in a gale so strong that it sent shivers down her spine, howling in her ears as surely as the wind of a winter blizzard.

 

“Are you so arrogant that you really believe you're the only person who ever . . .?”

 

Swallowing hard, blinking back sudden tears that sprang into her eyes, she finished his sentence in her mind.

 

“Are you so arrogant that you really believe you're the only person who ever felt responsible for the death of someone else . . .?”

 

She stole a peek at him through the thick fringe of her eyelashes and winced. `Griffin . . . what really did happen to you . . .?'

 

 

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

A/N:

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

Reviewers

==========

MMorg

sutlesarcasm ------ charity - nicole ------ smallflower ------ red_tigergirl2 ------ Simonkal of Inuy ------ AmberMae ------Kaida18 ------ evloer ------ angelfire777 ------ Love_Grows_83 ------ Tree-lynn ------ Cynbad146 ------ Jester08 ------ Lisa C ------ OROsan0677 ------ inuluver313 ------ silveraliora ------ kina12 ------ oblivion-bringr ------ Usagiseren05 ------ indigorrain

==========

Forum Reviews

kds1222 ------ cutechick18 ------ Jack-plus-Sally ------ pionus ------ Firedemon86 ------ OROsan0677 ------ Proforce ------ Chva the Mai-Coh

==========

Final Thought from Griffin:

…It's … not … a … date …

==========

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~