InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ Home for the Holidays ( Chapter 34 )

~~Chapter 34~~

~Home for the Holidays~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Griffin trudged up the stairs, scowling at the sadly wrapped package in his hand as he tried to tell himself that he wasn't being colossally stupid after all.

 

He'd spent the better portion of the day and most of the night laboring over the smallest details on the stupid sculpture—ridiculous since he really believed that she'd just laugh at him in the end. Still, it was the only thing he had been able to come up with, and to that end, he'd given it his best effort. Isabelle hadn't seemed to notice his absence, absorbed as she'd been in the translation notes. The few times he'd ventured upstairs, he'd found her scribbling notes as she read and re-read the pages.

 

The weak and watery sunlight that was just starting to filter through the windows should have brought a smile to his face, he supposed. Holidays were supposed to be fun, weren't they? So why was it that he couldn't quite shake the feeling of impending doom?

 

Heaving a sigh, he shook his head and glowered at the pathetic looking present in his hands. It looked . . . sad, didn't it? He'd tried, though—tried for over an hour to get the damn thing to look decent, and maybe it did look alright, given that it was the first time he'd tried to wrap a gift. Catching sight of the perfectly wrapped presents she'd painstakingly arranged under the tree only made the one he was holding look that much more ridiculous.

 

`What the hell am I doing?' he fumed, grimacing as his grip tightened. The wooden box inside the plain brown paper creaked and groaned, and with a heavy sigh, he forced himself to let up on it before it splintered into bits.

 

“Merry Christmas, teddy-bear,” Isabelle greeted as she emerged from the hallway, wrapped in a thick fleece robe.

 

Griffin blushed at her choice of words and turned slightly to hide the sad-looking package against his chest. “Jezebel,” he grumbled without looking at her.

 

“Want some tea?” she asked. She either hadn't noticed his peculiar stance or she simply figured it best not to comment on it. Either way, he grunted in agreement and breathed a sigh of relief when she shuffled off toward the kitchen.

 

He'd spent the better part of the night telling himself that maybe she'd like it, convincing himself that it wasn't nearly as asinine as it seemed. Somehow, though, he felt even more ridiculous than he had while he was wrapping the dumb thing.

 

Hunkering down before the tree with the softly glowing lights, he couldn't help but grimace as he tried to figure out where to stick the gift. It looked sorely out of place amongst the ribbons and bows, the brightly colored wrapping paper and the shine of foil. The plain brown paper of the present in his hands was tied with a simple bit of twine since it was all he could find in the dusty old basement. His idiot youkai had assured him the twine added a `rustic flair' to it, and while he'd bought into that at the time, he couldn't help but think that maybe he was a bigger fool than he'd ever been before . . .

 

“I stuck a candy cane in your tea,” Isabelle called as she shuffled through the dining room.

 

Smothering a gasp of surprise—he'd almost forgotten that she was only making tea—he tossed the modest gift under the tree, but he tossed it a bit too hard. Barely grazing the lowest branches and clearing the modest stash of presents, it skittered across the bare floor and into the shadows of the floor-length curtains.

 

Her soft laughter rattled through him, and she held a mug of tea over his shoulder. “I knew it,” she gloated. He didn't have to look at her to know that she was still grinning. “So you want your presents, Dr. G?”

 

He snorted loudly, refusing to look at her as he pushed himself to his feet and took the mug before turning away and taking his time while gulping down the drink—a gesture that he should have realized wasn't a good idea since the water was still way too hot for comfort. Gritting his teeth, he made a face at the added sweetness of the candy cane but didn't comment since he was fairly certain that he'd managed to blister his vocal cords with the boiling hot tea.

 

“Here,” she said, taking the empty mug from him and setting it on the coffee table. She'd retrieved a long, flat box from beneath the tree—a garment box, he supposed—and he frowned at it when she shoved it into his hands. “Merry Christmas.”

 

“Th-thank you,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His discomfort was slowly waning though he was of two minds about opening the gift. As much as he hated to admit it, he really was curious, but the same curiosity was tempered by the sneaking suspicion that whatever was in the box just couldn't really be good . . .

 

But seeing no way around it, he heaved a sigh and lumbered over to the sofa, pausing momentarily to watch as Isabelle—now sitting on the floor in front of the tree with her feet neatly hidden under the copious fabric of her robe—tried to coax Charlie into opening a very-obviously bone-shaped gift.

 

She was beautiful, wasn't she? Sitting there on the floor with her hair still tousled from bed and a gentle smile on her face, the absolute joy of Christmas shining through her eyes . . . Was that how she'd looked as a child? Had she run into her parents' bedroom on Christmas morning, demanding that they get up to watch as she opened her gifts with her eyes glowing with anticipation, with her cheeks rosy and flushed with excitement? It was the life she was meant to have, wasn't it? Happiness, laughter, the warmth of being secure in the knowledge that she was loved . . . that was what he wished for her . . .

 

“Well, open it!” she prodded, planting her hands on the floor and swiveling to face him.

 

He heaved a sigh but opened the box and blinking at the deep crimson cotton dress shirt nestled in the folds of pristine white tissue paper. Though it wasn't a color he would have picked for himself, he had to admit that it wasn't bad. Not nearly as flashy as he had feared, the fabric felt soft to the touch, and he slowly lifted it out of the box to give it a more critical once-over.

 

“I already pre-washed it to make sure it wasn't going to shrink up,” she explained with a satisfied little grin quirking the corners of her lips. “I'm sorry if my ironing job wasn't quite up to snuff.”

 

He didn't answer right away and couldn't do much more than nod since he really couldn't find fault with the garment. He caught her little grin out of the corner of his eye and sighed. “Thank you,” he mumbled, carefully laying the shirt over the back of the sofa.

 

She giggled and thumped over to him on her knees and bearing another gift that she brandished with a flourish before sticking it right under his nose.

 

He jerked back to avoid getting a mouthful of ribbon and narrowed his gaze on the suspect package, turning it from side to side, inspecting it before he made a move to unwrap it.

 

“It's not a bomb, if that's what you're thinking,” she remarked somewhat dryly, returning to her place by the tree and batting a gray fur covered fake mouse in the general vicinity of the kitten, who hopped straight up in the air only to pounce on the toy before rolling away with the unsuspecting mouse in a death hold.

 

“Sure, it isn't,” he shot back, slipping his claw under the ribbon and cleanly slicing through it.

 

Her response was easy laughter. “You're such a grump,” she chided though she didn't sound irritated in the least.

 

He snorted and tore away the paper, scowling at the box in his hand. “A cell phone?” he questioned. “And just why do I need one of these things?”

 

Her eyebrows disappeared under her bangs as she shook her head. “You need one,” she assured him. “I mean, what if I need to get a hold of you when you're out?”

 

“What for?”

 

She giggled, leaning to the side to bring her knees up. “To tell you how hot I think you are?”

 

Snapping his mouth closed, he scowled at the hideous rush of blood just under his skin at her offhanded and completely bawdy commentary. “Jezebel,” he hissed, setting the cell phone on the table with a heavy thump and rubbing the palms of his hands on his slacks.

 

She set a small stack of presents on the table beside the phone and winked at him. “You're so cute when you blush,” she commented.

 

“You know, you're kind of a pain,” Griffin grumbled.

 

“Am I?” Isabelle challenged.

 

“Yes you are,” he said.

 

She laughed; he figured she would. Still, he was relieved to know that her gifts weren't really as bad as he had feared. She stood up, grabbing his cup, and hurried off to the kitchen to get him a refill, pausing long enough to cast him a sly smile.

 

He watched her go and grimaced inwardly. He didn't trust that look; not in the least, and especially not coming from her . . .

 

The next couple of presents weren't bad: a book on ancient Aztec texts and a Christmas-themed glass jar full of mixed nuts. The jar had holly and candy canes painted all over it and a dark green ribbon tied around the neck—a bit garish, really, but given the season, he supposed that it wasn't too bad. Better still, the nuts were honey roasted, so that made up for the rather gaudy packaging.

 

Popping the plastic seal around the lid, Griffin sat back and shook a handful of nuts into his palm as Isabelle re-emerged from the kitchen, carefully balancing his tea, her coffee, and a plate stacked with the pecan-molasses cookies she'd baked the night before. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that cookies really didn't constitute a decent breakfast, but remembering that he was stuffing the honey-roasted nuts into his mouth at the moment, he thought better of complaining out loud.

 

She rolled her eyes as she set his mug on the table. “I should have known,” she said lightly. “Save some room for the turkey, okay?”

 

“A few nuts aren't going to fill me up,” he intoned with a grunt.

 

“You'll eat that whole jar,” she predicted, her voice echoing in her cup as she blinked over the rim. Both hands wrapped around the cup and completely ignoring the handle, she reminded him of a child drinking a glass of milk. Charlie whined, and she laughed, setting the cup aside in lieu of paying attention to the animal, who was sitting in front of the fireplace, tail wagging happily as he stared at the lumpy stocking hanging from the mantle. “Aww, does my Froofie want his sockie?” Isabelle asked, using a high-pitched, entirely silly tone with the poor dog.

 

“It's Charlie, and of course he does,” Griffin muttered, leaning forward to reach for a cookie. “You jammed about a thousand dog treats in there, didn't you?”

 

Isabelle fluttered her fingers over her shoulder in blatant dismissal and pulled down both the dog as well as the cat's stockings. Charlie took it and trotted across the floor, only to lie down, holding the stocking between his paws and burying his nose in the open end. The idiot cat just stared at the one that Isabelle set on the floor in front of her.

 

“Here,” she said, carefully unhooking the stocking she'd written his name on.

 

He eyed it for a moment before hesitantly reaching for it. He hadn't noticed when she'd put anything in his stocking. It had been empty the night before, hadn't it?

 

Wrinkling his nose as an unmistakable sense of guilt rippled through him, he sighed inwardly. “Isabelle,” he began only to stop short when he noticed that she was eyeing her own stocking rather dubiously. She hadn't made a move toward it yet, and his eyes flared wide when he realized that he'd forgotten to grab the God-forsaken bracelet out of there. When she'd arrived home a couple days ago, he'd hurriedly stuffed it in there since he couldn't think of anywhere else to hide, and he'd had every intention of going back later to retrieve it until he figured out what to do with it. Unfortunately, he'd gotten sidetracked by her interest in the translation notes, and then he'd spent the day yesterday preoccupied with what he could get her that wouldn't be completely humiliating . . .

 

`Damn . . .' Clearing his throat to draw her attention, he shot to his feet and started toward her in hopes of intercepting her before she found the stupid bracelet. “Uh, Isabelle—”

 

It was too late.

 

Grimacing as she shoved her arm into the stocking only to come away with the damned jeweler's box, he couldn't help the hot wash of color that flooded his cheeks.

 

“What's this?” she murmured, flipping up the lid and shaking her head at the shining bracelet nestled inside.

 

“Wh—oh—uh . . . th-that?” he stammered, feeling more and more foolish with every passing second. “It's, um . . . c-c-cat,” he blurted as his face darkened from pink to crimson, bypassing magenta completely. “Collar for the cat.”

 

“Really,” she said, amusement lighting her gaze as she slipped the bracelet out of the box and set the box on the mantle. “That's a shame . . . it's lovely, you know,” she teased.

 

He grunted and crossed his arms over his chest, unable to meet her gaze; unable to do much more than stand there like an idiot and wait miserably for the other shoe to drop, so to speak.

 

“Would you help me?” she ventured, extending the bracelet to him in a very quiet, almost shy, decidedly un-Isabelle-esque tone of voice.

 

`She . . . isn't going to tease me . . .?' he wondered as he forced himself to reach for the delicate bit of jewelry. Grimacing as he tried to grasp the clasps—God, they were tiny in his huge and clumsy fingers. He had a difficult enough time trying to hold onto something like a pen or pencil. The bracelet was damn near impossible, and yet he couldn't bring himself to admit that he couldn't do it, either; couldn't give voice to the frustration he felt surging through him as he gritted his teeth and tried to dislodge the eyelet.

 

She cleared her throat, her discomfort rising in the air. She must have just realized that he was having distinct trouble with the bracelet, but she didn't comment.

 

Somehow, he finally managed to flip open the clasp, and after a couple of tries, he pushed on the miniscule nub that popped free. Isabelle seemed to relax in an instant as he carefully draped the bracelet over her narrow wrist and fumbled with the clasp once more. When he let his hands drop away, flexing his fingers from the onset of stiffness that had set in, she rewarded him with one of the brightest smiles he'd ever seen.

 

He blinked and stood, transfixed, unable to do much more than stare. With a soft giggle, she pushed herself up on her toes, slipping a hand around his neck to pull him down as the warmth of her lips brushed over his cheek; as the heat of a rioting flush suffused his skin.

 

“Thank you,” she murmured, letting go and stepping away though the smile hadn't faltered at all. “I'll never take it off; I promise.”

 

“Don't get carried away, Jezebel,” he grumbled, dragging his gaze away and shuffling toward the sofa. “It's just a stupid bracelet.”

 

“Then maybe I'm just a stupid girl,” she remarked, her tone light, teasing.

 

He grunted in response, snatching up his tea mug for want of something better to do.

 

“Anyway,” she said briskly, skittering across the floor and plopping down beside him only to lean on his shoulder in an entirely playful sort of way, “you need to look in your stocking . . . Do you suppose you got coal this year, Dr. G?”

 

“You should have,” he stated, wiping his chin since he had been mid-quaff when she'd so unceremoniously descended on him.

 

She just laughed—he'd figured that she would. Ignoring the stocking that she picked up and held out to him, he finished off the tea and sighed. “I don't really believe in Santa Claus, you know.”

 

“Shame on you,” she chided. “You're never too old to believe in that.”

 

“Fairytales and rainbows,” he muttered, scowling at the idiot cat who was busy accosting the dog, who, for the most part, was trying his best to ignore the irritating feline as he gnawed on the huge bone he'd been given. “Did you chase those when you were a cub?”

 

“Hmm,” she drawled, considering his question. “The fairytales or rainbows?”

 

“Either.”

 

“I suppose . . .”

 

“Doesn't surprise me.”

 

She laughed again, but whether it was because he hadn't really sounded as gruff as normal or because he'd somehow managed to amuse her, he wasn't sure. Either way, it was a soothing sound; a nice sound, and he couldn't quite help the small smile that quirked on his own lips . . .

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

The laughter died in Isabelle's throat, and she knew that the grin on her face was slowly fading, too, but she couldn't quite help herself, either, not when faced with the one thing she'd never seen Griffin do before. The smile on his face was gentle, sweet—such a far cry from the gruff man that she'd come to know and adore. She swallowed hard, unable to breathe, unable to do much more than stare as the depths of his eyes took on a sort of glow: a spark that she hadn't realized wasn't there before. The emotion was fleeting—his smile was gone almost as quickly as it had come, and yet she couldn't shake the image of it from her mind, either.

 

He'd gone from handsome to devastating in the space of a moment, in the blink of an eye. If she'd been standing, her knees probably would have given out on her. Staring back at him, willing him to understand the things she couldn't put into words . . . and the curious knowledge that somewhere deep down, he did understand, after all . . .

 

“So,” he said, letting his gaze fall away as a hint of redness entered his cheeks once more, “does that thing have coal in it?”

 

“Coal?” she echoed, all sense of comprehension gone as she stubbornly tried to cling to the moment.

 

“Yes, Jezebel; coal.”

 

“Oh, right,” she blurted, feeling a hot flush filter into her skin. Heaving a sigh, she cleared her throat and shoved her hand into the stocking. “Nope . . . here,” she said, holding out a festively wrapped present.

 

He shifted his eyes to the side and looked at the present for several seconds before hesitantly taking it from her. She sat back, flicking her wrist to adjust the bracelet, gently rubbing her fingertip over the smooth gold while she bit her lip and tried not to smile at the tiny little Winnie the Pooh dangling from the links.

 

“What . . . is this . . .?” Griffin asked, breaking her out of her reverie.

 

She couldn't help but smile at the look of utter disgust on his face as he stared at the sunglasses inside the plastic case. “What do you think they are, silly old bear?” she countered sweetly.

 

He snorted. Loudly. “I'm not wearing those,” he stated, setting the case on the coffee table with a second loud snort.

 

She rolled her eyes and leaned forward to nab the sunglasses. “You should,” she informed him, slowly choosing her words.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because,” she said with a simplistic shrug, “your eyes bother you when you're in direct sunlight, and don't try to tell me that they don't. They'll help.”

 

“Th-they're not prescription,” he insisted, casting about for reasons, she supposed.

 

“Actually, they are. I borrowed your extra glasses.”

 

That earned her a narrow-eyed stare as he slowly shook his head. “I'm still not wearing those.”

 

“Well, you have them,” she said, reining in the urge to smile. “You know, in case you need them.”

 

He grunted in response to that and grabbed a cookie, shoving the entire thing into his mouth. Isabelle rolled her eyes and reached for one only to have her hand slapped away. “Hey!” she protested as he pushed her fingers aside and grabbed another cookie.

 

“Forget it, fat ass. The last thing you need is cookies.”

 

“Saving me from myself?” she asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

 

“. . . Yes,” he stated, shoving that cookie into his mouth in one bite, too.

 

She laughed. She couldn't help it. There was just something about Christmas that was magical, wasn't there?

 

`Or maybe . . .'

 

Her smile widened as she watched Griffin get to his feet and lumber off toward the kitchen with his tea mug and her coffee cup in his hands.

 

Or maybe it was because of the man she was spending her holiday with . . .

 

 

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Final Thought fromGriffin:

…Grumpy old bear …?

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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~