InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ Home Remedies ( Chapter 31 )

~~Chapter 31~~

~Home Remedies~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Isabelle bit her lip and cleared her throat in an effort to keep her amusement in check as Griffin stomped around the room with a black scowl on his face and uttering a low growl that was only interrupted when a hiccup forced its way to the surface.

 

`Ah, behold the mighty bear, felled by but a single hiccup,' she mused.

 

`Entirely untrue,' her youkai pointed out. `A single hiccup might have been alright, but he's done nothing but hiccup for nearly twenty minutes . . .'

 

As if in testament to the observation, Griffin's shoulders lurched as a very pronounced hiccup rattled out of him.

 

“Are you okay, big guy?” she queried, sounding entirely sympathetic. Too bad she couldn't help the completely unrepentant grin that lit her face . . .

 

That earned her an even darker frown as he paused in his pacing long enough to narrow his eyes on her. “You're not nearly as funny as you thi—think you are,” he grumbled, his words punctuated by another hiccup.

 

She giggled. “You know, my uncle always said that going for a nice run would get rid of hiccups,” she ventured, twisting around and resting her hands on the armrest as she followed Griffin's stodgy movements.

 

He snorted. “It's five degrees outside. I'm no—ot going for a run.”

 

“It always seemed to work for him,” she pointed out.

 

Griffin opened his mouth, probably to tell her that he thought she was being a pest, but another hiccup cut him off. “How often did he get hiccups?” he demanded, his expression full of suspicion.

 

Wrinkling her nose as she made a show of trying to consider the answer to Griffin's question, Isabelle tapped her chin with a delicate claw. “Hmm, not too often, if memory serves . . .”

 

He grunted at that. “Uh huh. Forget it.”

 

“Okay, okay . . .” she drawled, holding her hand up and splaying her fingers as she inspected her claws. “I'm just trying to help . . .”

 

He hiccupped again then growled menacingly—at least, it might have been menacing if he weren't periodically interrupted by the same hiccups that were the source of the initial irritation. She opened her mouth to tell him that anything was worth at least one try. He held up a finger two inches from her nose to silence her before whipping around on his heel and stomping out of the living room. Moments later, she heard the creak of the front door opening and the very distinct sound of Griffin's mumbled complaints—and another hiccup.

 

She laughed softly as she pushed herself to her feet and wandered toward the window. She couldn't help it, not really. The man was just too cute for his own good, wasn't he? The giggling escalated when he jogged past the window with a completely disgruntled expression on his adorably flushed face.

 

`You really shouldn't be laughing at the man you want to have as your mate,' her youkai pointed out reasonably.

 

`Of course not,' she agreed easily enough as her laughter wound down to a gentle smile. `Then again, I'm not laughing at him. I'm laughing with him.'

 

`Which might be more believable if he were laughing, too. He's right, you know. You're a Jezebel; an absolute Jezebel.'

 

She laughed again, scooping up the still-unnamed kitten as she leaned in and waited for Griffin's second pass.

 

`And another thing, while we're at it . . .'

 

`At what?'

 

`Hmm,' her youkai grunted. `Did you notice anything . . . strange . . . when you got your clothes out to take your shower?'

 

`Strange . . .?' she echoed absently as her smile widened when Griffin came into view once more. He didn't look like he was enjoying himself, but if the exercise got rid of his hiccups, he'd thank her later.

 

`Yes, strange.'

 

`Um, no . . .'

 

`Oh? So you didn't smell anything odd?'

 

The little smile quirking her lips widened. `Oh, that? Well, of course I smelled that . . . Do you suppose he was trying on my panties?'

 

That earned her a decisive snort. `I seriously doubt that, but it does make you wonder why he would have been in your drawers, doesn't it?'

 

There was that, too . . . Still it was pretty insignificant in the long run, wasn't it? After all, she really didn't care if Griffin saw her panties, though if she were to be completely honest, she'd prefer if he saw them while she was wearing them . . .

 

The front door opened moments later, and she bit the inside of her cheek as she turned and waited for the verdict.

 

Griffin didn't appear to be winded, but he did grimace when he stepped into the living room, still brushing snow off his shoulders.

 

“Well?” she asked since he didn't seem interested in divulging the results.

 

Those deep brown eyes very slowly shifted to meet her gaze, and he looked like he was ready to growl at her. His answer, though, came in the way of a very pronounced hiccup, and she couldn't help but giggle as his expression turned even more foreboding than it already was.

 

“Don't worry, I've got a few more cures we can try,” she said as she hurried over to him.

 

“Your cures can burn in hell,” he grumbled.

 

“Here,” she said, stuffing the kitten into his arms. “Why don't you just sit down and play with the pussy, and I'll be right back?”

 

She waited for his reaction. It was a little slow in coming. Then again, Griffin's mind just didn't seem to comprehend things the same way hers did. She'd spent way too much time around her male cousins, she supposed, and one of them in particular—Morio—had a penchant for perversity. He called it a gift . . .

 

Still it didn't take nearly as long for Griffin to catch the gist of her innocently asked question, and when he did, he sucked in a sharp breath, his cheeks exploding in indignant color, and he dropped the cat like she was a hot potato, jerking around and crossing his arms over his chest. “Jezebel!” he hissed, much to Isabelle's amusement.

 

She sighed and shook her head when he hiccupped again. `Okay, so shocking the hiccups out of him didn't work, either,' she allowed. `What's next . . .?'

 

`There's always that cure,' her youkai ventured slowly.

 

`That one?' she repeated thoughtfully. `Oh, I don't think that one is a good idea . . .'

 

`Maybe not, but it always works.'

 

Unfortunately, that was true, too . . .

 

Too bad there was a good chance that if she employed those tactics to rid Griffin of his affliction, he'd lock himself away forever, never to be seen again . . . It was true, though, that it always seemed to work for her parents. She'd seen it a few times in her life . . .

 

`No, no, no, no . . .' she insisted, jerking open the cupboard and grabbing a glass to fill with water.

 

`Tell me you don't want to try it,' her youkai goaded.

 

`What I want is entirely beside the point . . . I rather like that Griffin's a little more comfortable around me. I'd rather not jinx that, thanks . . .'

 

`Coward.'

 

`Ignoring you now.'

 

`Figures . . .'

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Griffin was pretty sure that Isabelle was enjoying his predicament just a little too much, as far as he was concerned. Scowling down at her, cheeks flaming red, he lifted his hand to brush her off as she carefully dabbed at the water he'd spilled all over himself as he'd tried to guzzle down the liquid while pinching his nose closed in a vain effort to rid himself of the blasted hiccups from hell. Too bad he'd ended up hiccupping mid-swallow. The sudden movement had upset the precarious balance between drinking the water and wearing it, and the infernal woman had yet to stop giggling over the accident, damn it.

 

She was an evil, evil woman, wasn't she? Between her outrageous commentary and her ridiculous suggestions on how to rid him of the hiccups, he was pretty sure that she was a demon sent from the fiery bowels of hell to torment him for the rest of his life, damned soul that he was. `It just figures,' he fumed as she unleashed another round of giggles. `Laugh at my suffering, will she? We'll see about that . . .'

 

“When I was little, I used to stand on my head and suck water through a straw to get rid of my hiccups,” she ventured innocently enough.

 

He knew better. “Supposing I could even stand on my head—a serious doubt, mind—if I hic—” Another hiccup cut him off, and he took a moment to grown in frustration before continuing his statement, which only added to Isabelle's amusement. “—hiccupped, I'd end up with water shooting out of my nose—no thank you.”

 

But she must have gotten the visual of that, because her laughter escalated to the point that she slumped against his arm, clutching him with one hand and her stomach with the other, the towel she'd been using to dry him off dangling uselessly from her limp fingers.

 

It was too much to bear, wasn't it? Erupting in another low snarl, he was thoroughly incensed when another hiccup interrupted his show of irritation. “It's not funny,” he gritted out.

 

“You're right—absolutely right,” she managed between fits of laughter. “Let's see . . . Oh!” Snapping her fingers, she pushed away from him and hurried back toward the kitchen. “Follow me.”

 

He could think of a million reasons not to do as she instructed since he was certain now that she was just doing things to prolong his agony. If she had her druthers, he'd be hiccupping for the rest of his life . . . Another hiccup rattled through him, and he sighed, stomping after her and ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that told him that he was a glutton for punishment . . .

 

“Wh—at are you doing?” he demanded as she dug a spoon into the sugar bowl he kept on the counter for her coffee.

 

“Try this, Dr. Griffin,” she instructed, holding out the heaping spoon with her other hand cupped below to catch anything that happened to spill.

 

He made a face. “You want me to . . .? Ugh, no.”

 

“It's just sugar,” she said, her expression stating plainly that she thought he was being a baby over the entire affair.

 

“I don't happen to like sugar,” he informed her.

 

“What's not to like? It's sweet and . . . it's sugar! Now open up.”

 

He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at her, trying not to look as petulant as he felt. “No.”

 

“Oh, please! It's nothing but a spoonful of sugar! Are you saying that Mary Poppins was wrong?” she countered.

 

He rolled his eyes. “Wasn't that to help the medic—cine go down?”

 

She wrinkled her nose. “Same principal.”

 

“Aren't you a doctor?” he demanded, leaning away from the hovering spoon.

 

“Yes . . . yes I am! So you should listen to me!”

 

“I did listen to you,” he grumbled. “I lis—listened to you about the r—running, and it didn't work. I listened to you about the wa—ter, and it didn't work. I think you're a quack.”

 

“A quack?” she repeated with an incorrigible grin.

 

“Quack.”

 

She giggled. “Well, you do say I have a fat ass.”

 

He snorted then hiccupped then growled. “You do.”

 

“Just try the sugar,” she insisted with another giggle.

 

He rolled his eyes but finally opened his mouth, but he couldn't help the disgusted face he made about the second that the sugar hit his tongue. “Urgh,” he choked, waving his hand around for something to force the overly-sweet stuff down his throat.

 

Isabelle hurriedly filled a glass with some water and stuck it into his hand. “It's not that bad,” she remarked rather acerbically.

 

“Speak for yourself,” he mumbled, affecting a full-body shiver to emphasize his point, his voice echoing in the glass that he held tilted to his lips. “Yuck . . .”

 

“Did it work?”

 

Griffin paused with the back of his hand poised over his mouth since he'd been in the process of wiping his lips. Before he could answer, though, another hiccup tumbled out of him, and he heaved a frustrated sigh. “No.”

 

She refrained from giggling—barely. “Okay, okay . . .” Snapping her fingers as another `surefire cure' came to mind, Isabelle spun around and grabbed the honey jar off the table. “Try this,” she said, dipping the spoon and extending it to him as a thin strand of stickiness dripped from the bottom back into the pot.

 

“Good God, do you have any id—dea how unsanitary that i—is?” he grumbled between hiccups.

 

Isabelle rolled her eyes and jabbed the spoon in his direction. “Sure, but they're your germs. Not a big deal, right?”

 

He snorted loudly, his scowl growing darker by the second, but he opened his mouth and let her feed him the honey.

 

“Eh?” she prodded as Griffin licked his lips.

 

He stood stock still for a minute, narrowing his eyes as he slowly shifted his gaze around like he was waiting for the hiccups to set in once more. “Maybe . . .” he began cautiously. “Maybe that worked . . .”

 

Dropping the spoon into the sink and setting the jar back on the counter, Isabelle laughed. “See? Now you can take back that comment about me being a quack.”

 

“I wouldn't go th—at . . . damn it,” he growled, cheeks reddening though she wasn't certain if he was angry or simply frustrated.

 

“You poor Pooh bear,” she crooned, her eyes sparkling with wicked amusement. Griffin snorted and turned on his heel to stomp out of the kitchen. She watched him go and shook her head as she reached for the empty glass he'd set on the counter. Pouring about an inch of milk into the cup, she set the cup aside so that she could rummage through a drawer for a straw.

 

He didn't have any, of course. It wasn't something that he'd have purchased himself, and she never bothered to keep any extras that might have been doled out the few times she'd gone through some fast food drive through. She was almost ready to give up on that idea when she remembered the bag of red licorice she'd stashed in the cupboard.

 

It was safe to assume that Griffin wouldn't like it, but with any luck, it'd help him get rid of his hiccups . . .

 

She bit the ends off the licorice and rolled it on the counter to widen the hole in the center. Pausing long enough to eye her handiwork, she dropped the candy into the glass of milk in her hand and headed out of the kitchen to find the disgruntled bear.

 

He was sitting at his desk once more trying to work on the translation, but every time he put his pen to the paper, a hiccup interrupted him. In fact, he was so preoccupied with his marked discomfort that he jumped when she tapped him on the shoulder to try out the next cure.

 

She hadn't actually meant to scare him. It didn't work to rid him of his affliction, anyway, and only served to earn her a rather petulant scowl. “What are you trying to do?” he demanded, sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest as he glowered up at her.

 

“Well, I wasn't really trying to scare the hiccups out of you—good thing, too, since it didn't seem to work.”

 

He snorted indelicately. “The day that I am sc—ared of you is the day I keel over and die.”

 

She laughed then winked at him. “Try this.”

 

Eyeing the glass as though he thought that something evil was dwelling just below the surface, Griffin slowly shook his head. “No. Way.”

 

“All you have to do is blow,” she informed him with a bright smile. “Just blow until you've gotten the bubbles to spill over the top of the glass.”

 

“Is that . . . candy?” he demanded with an incredulous shake of his head.

 

“I couldn't find a straw,” she said, pushing the glass closer.

 

“No way in hell,” he scoffed, staring in abject horror at the makeshift straw.

 

“It worked for me when I was a pup,” she insisted. “Just try it. After all, what can it hurt?”

 

His expression stated that he was fairly certain that she was simply trying to have a bit of fun at his expense. She couldn't help but laugh. “You're enjoyi—ing this,” he growled.

 

“I'm sorry,” she giggled, waving a hand in front of her face. “Seriously, though . . . it really did always work for me . . . Of course, I always used a real straw, but . . .”

 

Closing his eyes, he heaved a heavy sigh as a resigned sort of air settled over him. Cheeks reddening, he hunched forward, his forearms resting on the edge of the desk and started to blow.

 

Biting down on her lip so that she didn't giggle outright at him, Isabelle managed to refrain from laughing, even when he hiccupped and growled, breaking half of the bubbles he'd managed to accrue. Even the edges of his ears were red, and it was all she could do to keep from reaching out and flicking the tip of the closest one. `If he had a hanyou baby, would it have little round bear ears?' she mused.

 

That thought was nearly enough to send her careening over the edge into a fit of helpless giggles, and she had to press her fingers over her lips to keep from laughing outright. She could just picture it a little too vividly in her mind: Griffin surrounded by five little Griffins, all with cute little rounded bear cub ears sticking out of their shaggy brown hair . . .

 

Flopping back in his chair, he scowled at the bubbles running down the outside of the glass and sighed when another hiccup slipped out of him. “Forget it,” he muttered, propelling the chair back and rising to his feet. “I am not trying any more of your crackp—pot cures.”

 

She couldn't help the wide smile surfaced. `Sometimes,' she thought as she watched him, `he acts just like a big old bear . . .'

 

He pushed himself to his feet and stomped away, probably in search of a towel to sop up the pooling milk, mumbling under his breath about home remedies that didn't work and disgusting red licorice.

 

Heaving a sigh, she snagged the licorice and bit off the end, chewing thoughtfully as she waited for his return.

 

She had been in such a horrendous mood after she'd left Gunnar's office earlier. His smug attitude just ticked her off, especially when she knew that he was simply being an ass about the entire affair. True, she wanted to know what had happened to Griffin in the past, but it wouldn't really change the way she felt about him. She knew it wouldn't. Griffin was her mate; the knowledge grew stronger with every passing day. Gunnar might have good intentions, but that really didn't give him the right to be such an ass about it all.

 

But that was how he'd always been. She couldn't really remember a time when he hadn't been just a little too serious; a little too pensive. Even as a child, he'd always been a little quieter than Morio—even quieter than Bastian. He wasn't shy by any means. No, it was more the idea that he was constantly thinking, considering, trying to figure things out, and while that made him a damn good investigator, it also added to his general distrust of anyone that he didn't know on a more personal level, too.

 

And he'd always been quick to intervene; to try to put off the boys who showed any real interest in her. She supposed it was just that protective streak in him, and since his own sisters were older, he felt compelled to watch out for someone. Still, they weren't pups anymore, and Gunnar . . . well, he needed to face the facts. She didn't need him to tell her who she could and couldn't spend time with, and she most certainly didn't need him to give his seal of approval on Griffin . . .

 

“You're going to br—eak my desk,” Griffin muttered, cheeks reddening when yet another hiccup cut off his words. Smacking her hip with the towel he'd grabbed, he snorted when she laughed.

 

“I will not!” she argued, idly swinging her feet, her heels thumping against the built-in file cabinet.

 

“You will,” he maintained with a stubborn shake of his head, “and watch those boats you call feet, will you?

 

Snapping her mouth closed on the retort that had formed, Isabelle shook her head and hopped off the desk, casting Griffin a highly chagrined look before planting her hands on her hips as she pivoted to face him.

 

He was busy cleaning up the spilled milk, but she didn't miss the sidelong glance he shot her seconds before another hiccup jarred through him. “I told you,” she said somewhat stiffly, “the size of my feet isn't my fault.”

 

“I can't see how you can possibly walk with those without tri—pping all over yourself,” he grouched.

 

“I-I walk just fine,” she insisted, lifting her chin a notch in a blatant show of stubborn defiance.

 

“Sure you c—an,” he countered with a shake of his head. “You're like the female big fo—ot. You're the Sasquatch of hanyous.”

 

To her irritation, Isabelle could feel tears welling up in her throat, and she blinked fast to stave them back. “I'm going to bed,” she managed, proud of the steadiness in her voice as she hurried out of the living room.

 

She couldn't help it, damn it. The size of her feet had always been a sore point with her. Her cousins had teased her all the time. Her sister, Alexandra had done it, too—Lexi had been blessed with cute, delicate feet like their mother, and she'd enjoyed teasing Isabelle about it. Even her first real boyfriend had teased her about them, and while she'd always tried to act like it didn't bother her, she had to admit that it did. She had huge feet; she knew she did. She didn't really need Griffin or anyone else to point that out to her, after all . . .

 

`He doesn't know that it bothers you that much,' her youkai voice pointed out.

 

`I know,' she agreed miserably, sniffling as she flopped on her bed and glowered at her obscenely large feet.

 

Angrily dashing a hand over her damp eyes, Isabelle wrinkled her nose and bent her knees, bringing her feet up under her in a vain effort to hide the offending appendages. Of course she realized that everyone had something that they considered to be a sore spot. It was only natural, after all, and hers happened to be her feet. It was of little consolation, however, and while she wasn't angry at Griffin, she couldn't help but feel the sting of his gruff assessment just a bit more acutely than she might have otherwise.

 

“Why are you leaking again?” Griffin demanded, pushing the door open and stomping into the room with his arms crossed over his chest and a bewildered sort of expression on his face.

 

“I'm not,” she insisted.

 

He grunted when she sniffled. “All right,” he agreed slowly. “Then why are you pretending that you're not leaking?”

 

“I've told you,” she murmured, scowling at the moisture on her fingertips after she wiped her eyes again. “I can't help it. I'm a freak—a nasty freak—”

 

“Now you're just being melodr—amatic,” he informed her with a shake of his head. “This about your feet again?”

 

To her absolute horror, more tears sprang into her eyes, clouding her vision as she struggled to brush aside the unreasonable upset that gripped her.

 

Griffin sighed and gingerly sank down on the bed beside her, staring at her for several long moments as she scowled at her hands. She didn't have to look at him; she could feel his eyes trying to bore into her skull. He didn't speak right away, but he did hiccup.

 

He sighed again as the bed lurched with his sudden movement, and she slid her eyes to the side in time to see him lean over to tug off one of his socks. That done, he extended his leg and wiggled his toes to gain her attention. “That is a bi—ig foot,” he stated flatly. “Yours isn't.”

 

She smiled wanly despite herself when he wiggled his toes again. `Big' didn't exactly describe Griffin's feet. `Huge' might . . . A regular bear's paw, she supposed . . . wide and long, she figured that he had trouble finding shoes that actually fit him, and his toes? Short and stubby in comparison to the rest of his foot, his toes were rather chubby with very square nails and a sparse sprinkling of dark brown hair on his toe knuckles and the top of his foot . . . it was easily triple the width of her foot and a good four inches longer, and he wiggled his toes again to emphasize his point. A completely nice, if not blatantly male, foot, she decided as a temerarious smile quirked the corners of her lips. Even the trace of the jagged scar that extended from the shadows of his slacks did little to dispel the effect.

 

“Let's s—ee yours,” he muttered, shaking his head at the hiccup that he couldn't quite get rid of and wiggling his fingers to hurry her along.

 

Heaving a sigh, she leaned to the side and untucked her leg, sticking it out beside Griffin's and feeling marginally better at the blatant discrepancy in size. Next to his, her foot seemed so small, so delicate. He snorted when she nudged him with her toes, and she couldn't help but be amused when she glanced at him only to find him blushing. “Okay, you've made your point,” she allowed.

 

“No more leaking?” he asked quizzically, arching an eyebrow to emphasize his words.

 

She smiled wanly. “No more leaking.”

 

“Go—od,” he said then uttered a low growl. The hiccups were fast driving him to the brink of his sanity, and judging from the look of him, he was getting ready to rip something apart if they didn't let up soon . . .

 

“You know, Dr. Griffin—”

 

“Marin.”

 

She ignored the interruption. “—There is one cure that we haven't tried.”

 

His growl cut off abruptly. “I hesitate to a—ask.”

 

Drawing her foot up and turning to face him, she schooled her features and ignored the tiny voice in her head that insisted that she really shouldn't suggest what she was about to suggest. “No, no . . . it's a surefire cure. It always worked for my parents.”

 

“Another home remedy?”

 

She nodded slowly. “I guess you could call it that.”

 

“Is your father a quack, too?”

 

Giggling softly, Isabelle shook her head and waved a hand in dismissal. “Absolutely not. Do you want to try it?”

 

He opened his mouth to answer only to be cut off by a particularly harsh hiccup. “Fine,” he grumbled, looking even more disgruntled than he already was.

 

“All right,” she said, unconsciously pressing the heel of her hand against her chest in a valiant effort to restrain her painfully hammering heart. “Close your eyes.”

 

He didn't look like he was going to comply. Sparing a few minutes to narrow his eyes, to let his gaze rake over her face as he tried to figure out just what she was thinking, Griffin finally gave in, albeit with a completely ungraceful snort, and closed his eyes.

 

`Do it fast, Bitty . . . if you're going to do it, do it fast before you lose your nerve.'

 

Sound advice, that was . . . Resting her hands on his shoulders, tilting her head slightly, she leaned in quickly, her lips pressing against his as her eyes fluttered closed. He gasped—harsh and audible in the quiet—but didn't try to pull away. Every muscle in his body seemed to tense up like a coil being wound tighter and tighter. Warm and soft despite the underlying clumsiness of the gesture on his part, he did nothing to encourage her, yet he didn't discourage her, either. She ended the kiss and began again without moving away from him—without giving him time to think.

 

The undeniable sweetness of the moment brought the sting of tears to her eyes once more, and she sighed softly, content to simply be near him in those moments, willing him to understand just how very precious he was to her, even if he didn't want to acknowledge it.

 

But he seemed to come to his senses a little too quickly, and while he did pull away, clearing his throat as his unsteady breathing rattled in the silence that followed. He lifted a shaking hand to adjust his collar, his cheeks flaming red as he struggled to avert her gaze. She supposed she could understand that. After all, she was feeling a little shaky, herself, come to think of it . . .

 

“W-why did you do that?” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “I told you; it's a cure for the hiccups, but . . .”

 

“But . . .?” he choked out when she trailed off.

 

“But it has side effects,” she admitted.

 

Griffin's cheeks reddened a little more, and he quickly shook his head. “What kind of side effects?”

 

She wanted to laugh but couldn't quite manage it. “Well, see . . . the one who does the kissing . . . they take the hiccups.”

 

It took a moment for comprehension to dawn on him, and when it did, Griffin snorted. “So you're saying that you'd get the hiccups?”

 

She nodded slowly. “Something like that.”

 

She couldn't help the tender smile that surfaced while she peer up at him through her eyelashes as he slowly and somewhat clumsily got to his feet. Still red-faced and obviously feeling rather uncomfortable, he swallowed hard and made a face. “As I thought . . . another ridiculous `cure'.”

 

“Oh, I don't know,” she ventured mildly. “Your hiccups seem to be gone, don't they?”

 

That earned her another decisive snort as he turned to stomp out of her room.

 

She watched him go, rubbing her fingertips over her lips in an idle sort of way. Sure, she was disappointed that he'd ended the kiss much sooner than she would have liked, but it had to mean something, didn't it? He hadn't run away, either, had he . . .?

 

Griffin hadn't taken more than five steps down the hallway when he stopped abruptly, his head whipping around to stare back the way he'd come to frown at the warm glow of the bedside lamp that tumbled out of Isabelle's bedroom. Heaving a sigh, shaking his head, he swallowed hard as the memory of that one kiss replayed in his head, as unaccountable heat burgeoned under his skin almost painfully . . . as the distinct sound of Isabelle's hiccup resounded in his ears, attesting to the fact that at least one of her insane home remedies actually did work, after all . . .

 

As he smiled . . .

 

 

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A/N:

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Final Thought fromGriffin:

Serves her right …

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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~