InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ Silent Night ( Chapter 33 )

~~Chapter 33~~

~SilentNight~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

“Well, if it isn't my prodigal daughter . . .”

 

Isabelle grimaced then smiled as she drummed her claws on the kitchen counter. “Hello, Mama . . . Merry Christmas.”

 

“Hmm, merry Christmas, yourself. So tell me, how is everyone?” Bellaniece queried dryly.

 

“Just fine . . . I drove out to Grandpa and Grandma's house earlier to drop off presents. How's Sami? And Lexi? I haven't heard from her in awhile . . .”

 

“Sami's doing well . . . a little stressed out since she's got a few exams coming up, but fine, nonetheless, and Lexi? She and John flew in for the holiday. They're staying until after New Year's. I have to admit that I rather hoped you'd be coming home, too . . .”

 

Grimacing at the not-so-subtle hint, Isabelle sighed. “I know, and I'm sorry. Everything's a little hectic around here right now . . . is Papa around?”

 

Bellaniece didn't answer right away, and when she finally did, Isabelle didn't miss the hint of censure in her mother's dulcet tone. “He's reading the newspaper. Don't you want to talk to your mama?”

 

Rolling her eyes, Isabelle slowly shook her head. “Of course I do . . . it's just that I also need to talk to him.”

 

“I see . . . but suppose you tell me about this man you're seeing?”

 

“You've . . . heard . . .?”

 

“I'm your mama. I hear everything.”

 

“Who told you?”

 

Bellaniece sighed. “Really, Isabelle. Do you think your father is stupid? A patient, indeed . . .”

 

She stopped with her hand poised on the coffee pot handle and laughed. Of course Kichiro would figure her unspoken feelings out easily enough. He was touted as being a genius, wasn't he? “Well, what do you want to know?” she hedged.

 

“Oh, everything,” Bellaniece said without preamble. “Is he handsome? Is he a good kisser? Is he good in bed?”

 

She couldn't help the giggle that escaped her as she poured a cup of coffee. “Yes, very handsome . . . and I don't know.”

 

“You mean you haven't kissed him?”

 

Wrinkling her nose as she reached for the sugar bowl, Isabelle heaved a melodramatic sigh. “Unless you consider a quick one to get rid of his hiccups `kissing', then no.”

 

“Oh, Isabelle . . .” Bellaniece chided, clicking her tongue melodramatically. “I brought you up better than that . . .”

 

“I'm sorry, Mama,” she giggled. “We're just taking things slowly.”

 

“I suppose there could be something to that,” Bellaniece agreed rather dubiously. “Is he your mate?”

 

Pausing long enough to peek around the doorframe to ascertain Griffin's whereabouts, Isabelle couldn't help but smile. He wasn't anywhere to be seen—still downstairs, she figured. “Yes,” she said as a silly little grin surfaced. “Yes, he is.”

 

“Oh? That's wonderful! But don't you think that you ought to be testing out the kissing then?”

 

“He's shy, Mama. Anyway, did Papa get you anything interesting for Christmas?”

 

“You know your Papa. He won't even give me a hint, no matter how hard I try to weasel a clue out of him,” Bellaniece complained.

 

“I'm sure you'll love whatever he gets you.”

 

“Hmm,” she sighed then laughed. “Here's your father. Love you.”

 

“Love you, too, Mama, and merry Christmas.”

 

“My Baby-Belle,” Kichiro's voice greeted warmly.

 

Her grin widened. “Merry Christmas, Papa.”

 

She could hear the rustle of the newspaper as her father set it aside. “Did you get our present?”

 

“The money?” she questioned. “Yes, I did. Thank you.”

 

“Yeah, your mother was complaining that it wasn't personal enough, but I didn't figure you wanted another baby doll or anything . . .”

 

“It's fine. I bought few new outfits with it.”

 

“Good. So what's the real reason you called?”

 

“I was homesick?” she deadpanned.

 

Kichiro grunted. “Yeah, I'm not buying.”

 

She sighed. “Well, to be completely honest, it's about the research . . .”

 

“What about it?”

 

Setting the plastic jug of nondairy creamer in the refrigerator, Isabelle brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and cleared her throat. “I'm not sure . . . something's just bugging me, I guess.”

 

“Mm, what do you mean?”

 

“The theories are sound,” she replied, taking a sip of coffee. “But I wonder . . .”

 

“About . . .?”

 

Picking up the mug, she shuffled out of the kitchen and into the living room where the translation notes lay scattered on the coffee table where Griffin had left them. “The differences in youkai . . . I mean, at first glance, everything makes logical sense, but the more I think about it, I have to wonder . . . if it's as simple as injecting a bit of a youkai's DNA into a hanyou . . .”

 

“You're wondering if that will have adverse effects on the hanyou's system,” he concluded.

 

“Something like that.”

 

Kichiro was silent as he contemplated Isabelle's dilemma. “I don't really know without looking over the research, myself . . . exactly what part of a youkai's DNA does it suggest using?”

 

“The transformation gene, but it goes on to mention that it is closely connected to the inherent ability gene, too, which is what really presents a problem. In best case, it might mutate into enhanced abilities for the recipient, but if it is a conflicting sample . . .”

 

“You mean for elemental youkai?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“That might be true, and if it's the case, then special care would have to be taken to make sure that it didn't happen, but youkai who manifest inherent abilities are rare and normally confined to those who have stronger blood ties to the most powerful youkai—take Sesshoumaru, for example. His energy whip might be considered a blood trait—there aren't many others who possess the ability to produce that. Toga doesn't even have that, though it seems to be something that isn't developed until later in life. He's only seventy-one now, and he's never really had to fight despite his training, so it's difficult to say.”

 

“And grandpa's incineration.”

 

“Right . . . not exactly something you'd want just anyone to be able to duplicate.”

 

She grimaced and nodded in silent agreement. Though she'd never actually seen the incineration, herself, she'd heard about it once; overheard Bastian talking to Ben. Apparently it was an inherent ability that had also belonged to Cain's father, and while it was something that he'd only used once in his lifetime, Isabelle knew that it was an ability that Cain hadn't ever really wanted.

 

“Don't give up,” Kichiro offered in encouragement. “Maybe there's more in the notes; a way to separate out the part you need for the serum from the rest of it.”

 

“I hope so,” she agreed. “If they were about ready to do a clinical trial, then I assume they were well aware of the potential risks.”

 

“Yes, well, make sure that you check into it thoroughly before writing up your proposal. Don't worry, though. I have every faith that you'll do just fine.”

 

“Thanks, Papa.”

 

“Any time, baby.”

 

“Merry Christmas. Give Mama my love, too.”

 

“I absolutely will.”

 

She clicked the cell phone off and sighed, dropping it onto the coffee table atop the notes. Hopefully her father was right, and she really was just worrying over nothing. After all, the Carradine brothers seemed to have been quite thorough in their research thus far. If they did overlook it, it was probably because of the lack of knowledge of the inherent abilities of some youkai. She supposed that the only reason it had occurred to her was because of those in her family who possessed the rare abilities, in the first place.

 

Blinking suddenly as the clock on the fireplace mantle struck midnight, Isabelle slowly smiled. `Christmas Eve,' she thought to herself as she smothered a yawn with the back of her hand and stumbled to her feet. She shuffled over to the basement door as she finished off her coffee and lifted her fist to knock, but stopped before she did. “Merry Christmas Eve,” she murmured, kissing her fingertips and pressing them against the closed door.

 

Then she took her cup to the kitchen before shutting the lights off and heading to bed.

 

 

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Griffin turned the small hunk of wood over his hands and carefully drew the claw of his right index finger along the faint outline he'd marked earlier. The crackle of the fire added an ambient sort of sound to the otherwise silent basement, and he glanced up long enough to stare at the dog curled up on the ratty old pillow near the hearth before turning his attention back to the simplistic work once more.

 

Normally he did some of his best thinking while he worked on the silly little carvings, didn't he? Too bad it wasn't working for him tonight, which just figured, really. He'd retreated to the basement shortly after supper, prepared to try to figure out something else that he might be able to get for Isabelle that wouldn't be stupid and, most importantly, wouldn't make him look absolutely ridiculous in the long run.

 

But there wasn't anything, was there? As much as he hated to admit it, there wasn't a damn thing he could give her that she didn't already have or didn't have the means to get for herself. No, it didn't matter what he considered, the end result was always the same. She either had it or could get it . . . or maybe she just didn't want it.

 

`So swallow your pride and take the bracelet back. Exchange it for a necklace or something—just listen to the woman if she tells you it's from the Walt Disney collection.'

 

`I don't remember asking for your advice,' Griffin thought with a mental snort.

 

`Yeah? Too bad you're not having any luck on your own. Beggars can't be choosers, can they?'

 

Wincing as the block of wood slipped out of his hand and thumped on the threadbare rug on the floor, Griffin spared a moment to flex his fingers before leaning over to retrieve the piece. `I'm not going back in that store,' he insisted, cheeks reddening at the very idea. `Hell can freeze over for all I care; I'm just not doing it.'

 

It was all her fault, anyway, wasn't it? If she hadn't been singing Christmas carols under her breath all night, Griffin wouldn't have retreated to the basement. As it was, he'd felt just a little guiltier with every song she sang, and he hated the very real prospect of not giving her a thing come Christmas morning when she'd gone through the effort of buying presents for him.

 

It just didn't matter, did it? There really wasn't a damn thing he could buy for her that didn't seem trite and stupid when he stopped to consider it. Clothes? Hell, she had more than enough of those, and even if she didn't, what did he know about fashion? Nothing, that was what. A bauble or trinket seemed ridiculous. What would she do with something like that? Set it on a shelf and forget about it, he figured, and God only knew that he'd tried—and failed—in the jewelry department. He supposed she'd like candy well enough, but given that he complained about her deplorable diet already, he didn't figure that was a good idea, after all, and since he'd seen firsthand the almost perverse number of presents she'd toted into the house just after dinner, he figured that anything he'd consider getting for her was probably wrapped in one of those boxes stowed under the tree.

 

`What do you expect?' his youkai chided with a weary sigh. `If it weren't bad enough that her father's a world-famous surgeon and youkai researcher, her great-uncle has damn near a mountain of money at his disposal, too. Add to that the Zelig fortune, and I doubt there's a thing on earth you could ever buy her that could actually come close to comparing with that.'

 

`Hmm, well, that was positive, thanks,' he grumbled, stifling a sigh as the hunk of wood slipped out of his fingers once more. He retrieved it and set it on the table beside the old sofa and pushed himself to his feet. He might as well get a mug of tea or something since his hands weren't going to cooperate, at least for the moment. His very bones ached, or so it seemed. There was a snowstorm coming. He could always tell a day or so before something like that because of the throbbing pain that just never quite went away . . .

 

Charlie braced his front paws against the floor and leaned back to stretch, his mouth stretching wide open as his lolling tongue unfurled and with a decided grunt, he padded after Griffin, his claws clicking softly against the wood floor. “Oh, so you finally decided to wake up?” Griffin mumbled, shaking his head as the dog half-groaned, half-grunted in response.

 

He wasn't surprised, either, when the animal trotted over and sat beside his empty food bowl. Charlie's tail scraped over the floor in a rhythmic cadence as he tried his best to look pathetic enough to convince Griffin to feed him. Too bad it he was immune to it. “Forget it, dog. You're fat enough, as it is.”

 

Griffin almost stumbled over the idiot cat that materialized out of seemingly nowhere right under his feet, rubbing against his shins and rattling out a rusty sounding purr as he scooted her aside and reached for a clean mug. Between Isabelle and her ridiculous traveling zoo, he figured it was just a matter of time before she brought home something else that she found out there, probably something hideous like a skunk . . . “Move it, Butt-Ugly, before I step on you,” he grumbled. The cat blinked and stared at him as her purring ratcheted up a notch.

 

Heaving a disgusted sigh, he shook his head and carefully sidestepped the ignorant cat who was rubbing against his leg once more to set the mug on the counter. Maybe the little beast would leave him alone if he fed her . . .

 

With that in mind, he carefully measured half a cup of cat food out of the bag under the sink and dumped it into the pink earthenware bowl on the floor. Charlie danced around, his body quaking at the very idea of being fed, and with another sigh, Griffin dipped into the dog food, too, since he didn't put it past Charlie to steal the cat's food if given a chance.

 

Satisfied at last that they'd leave him alone, he washed his hands methodically before filling his mug and trailing a spoonful of honey into it.

 

Heading back toward the basement door, Griffin stopped short and frowned. He could have sworn he'd heard a sound coming from the darkened hallway—Isabelle's bedroom. Setting the mug on the dining table, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and veered to the left, quickening his step as he strode down the hallway and shouldered open Isabelle's door.

 

Everything seemed fine. The sound of her breathing lent him a feeling of reassurance. Hidden in the shadows of the murky night, she lay curled on her side in the middle of the bed, her hair pooled around her in the softest waves.

 

`Are you sure you heard something?' his youkai asked carefully.

 

`Of course I did,' Griffin maintained with a shake of his head.

 

`You know, you don't really have to make up reasons for checking up on her . . . I'm on your side, remember?'

 

`I'm not checking up on her. She's trouble. Why shouldn't she be trouble while she's sleeping, too?'

 

`If you say so.'

 

`I do.'

 

Blinking suddenly, Griffin closed his eyes for a moment as he hunkered down beside the bed—he hadn't realized he'd come into the room. Somehow simply being near her was enough, wasn't it? Enough to lend him a sense of calm that he couldn't quite credit; a sense of well-being that he hadn't known in centuries . . . enough to bolster his desire to move forward when everything seemed to be turning inside out . . .

 

Reaching out with a reluctant hand, he brushed an errant lock of hair out of Isabelle's face and almost smiled when she shifted closer to his touch. A contented sigh, the slight upturn of her lips . . . she seemed to sense his presence, and it occurred to him that maybe—just maybe—those things that he felt whenever he was close to her . . . maybe she felt them, too. Her skin was smooth, impossibly soft—not like those stupid clichés that compared a woman's skin to silk or satin, no . . . Those things were cool to the touch, weren't they? Almost cold and definitely not like the Isabelle he knew. No, her skin brought to mind the finest cotton: warm, inviting, gentle . . . everything she was.

 

She was beautiful, and it wasn't the kind of superficial beauty that dissolved the moment she opened her mouth. No, it was an incandescence that shone through from the inside; beauty that was only embellished by the vibrance of her smile; by the sweetness of her laughter; by the sparkle in her eyes. It was that quality that made her dangerous; that quality that drew him closer when he knew deep down that he really ought to be fighting harder to keep his distance. Somehow she'd managed to insinuate herself into his life, becoming as necessary to him as the air he breathed. She was precious; so precious, and the sudden surge of nearly painful emotion that shot through him made him wince.

 

That was the crux of his problem, wasn't it? That was the real reason that nothing at all seemed to be good enough to give her. There wasn't a thing he could give her that would come close to showing her just how much she meant to him, even if he couldn't bring himself to admit as much to her, and it didn't help, knowing damn well that she'd be happy with anything at all. He knew as surely as he knew that the sun would rise in a few paltry hours that she'd still give him that brilliant smile of hers and tell him that she loved `it', no matter what `it' happened to be. She would tell him that it was special because he gave it to her, and he'd roll his eyes but be pleased somewhere deep down that she had looked genuinely happy when she'd said those words. Unfortunately, the truth of it was that he didn't want her to tell him those words. He didn't want her to have to say them, at all. He wanted to be able to tell from the look on her face and the sparkle in her eyes that he'd pleased her . . .

 

She sighed softly and snuggled down into the warmth and safety of the thick comforter and downy pillow, and he swallowed hard. The scent of her seemed to beckon him closer, drew him in even as he protested in the back of his mind. “Beautiful,” he mumbled, unsure if he'd said it out loud or if it was just the insular thought that kept running through his head. “What are you doing here with a . . . a . . . with me?”

 

As if she'd heard his words, she smiled just slightly, pressing her cheek against the palm of his hand as though she needed his touch. The unconscious gesture set off a spiral of conflicting emotion in him: a tightening in his throat as a deep ache exploded in his chest; an unsettling stinging behind his eyelids as he blinked to dispel the foreign sensation as a warmth that he couldn't credit, a surge of something he didn't understand took root in his mind, only to slowly blossom. Was it hope? Surprise? Something deeper? The feeling that if he closed his eyes and never woke again, he wouldn't mind as long as Isabelle was there beside him . . . but he didn't know how to label the emotion. He wasn't sure exactly what to call it or how to retain a grip on it . . .

 

`Something . . . rare . . . something special,' he mused as he almost clumsily ran his knuckles over the rise and hollow of her cheek. `Something . . . something . . .'

 

Wincing as the realization that he wasn't any closer to figuring out just what to give Isabelle for Christmas came abruptly back into focus, Griffin reluctantly let his hand fall away as he got to his feet and pulled the comforter up under her chin more securely. `Rare, huh?' he sighed as he shuffled toward the door.

 

Too bad he had less than a day to figure out what that could possibly be.

 

 

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A/N:

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Final Thought fromGriffin:

…Bah, humbug …

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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~