InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ Unrequited ( Chapter 43 )

~~Chapter 43~~

~Unrequited~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

“I hate Valentine's Day.”

 

Cain Zelig blinked and glanced around the canvas of the portrait he'd been working on to stare at his granddaughter as he tried to discern whether or not she was being serious. She looked like she was, as far as he could tell. Golden eyes narrowed as she scowled out the window at the otherwise gray February skies over Maine, she looked just as irritated as her words had led him to believe. “I thought you loved . . . love,” Cain remarked mildly, setting the fine brush aside and reaching for a smudgy cloth.

 

She wrinkled her nose and snorted, crossing her arms over her chest as she wrapped her feet around the spindly legs of the stool she was perched on. “I changed my mind,” she stated. “It sucks, and everyone who celebrates it sucks, too.”

 

Chuckling softly since her sulky tone assured him that she was just venting, Cain wiped his fingers off, one by one as he slowly shook his head. “Sucks, eh?”

 

She nodded, tucking an errant strand of somewhat dull hair behind her ear, her bottom lip sticking out in a decidedly petulant sort of way. “Yes.”

 

“I see,” he hedged, tossing the cloth onto the worktable and scratching his shoulder as he shuffled toward his granddaughter. It struck him not for the first time, how very closely she resembled her mother, and he smiled. “So I take it you don't have a boy to make chocolate for this year?”

 

She wrinkled her nose again and peered up through her thick fringe of eyelashes. “I stopped giving chocolates to boys long ago, Grandpa,” she chided.

 

“Why's that?”

 

She shrugged belligerently. “No one worth giving them to.”

 

Cain grimaced and sank down on the stool beside her. “That was a bit harsh, wasn't it?”

 

“Maybe,” she grudgingly allowed. “Why are guys such jerks?”

 

“Uh . . . we—jerks, huh? I . . . don't know. Must be something in the genetics,” Cain teased, trying to coax his granddaughter out of her current mood.

 

She almost smiled—almost. Shaking her head and ducking her chin, she stared at her hands in what had to be the most pathetic fashion that Cain had ever seen. “Well, you're not a jerk, Grandpa,” she allowed thoughtfully, “but the rest of them? They can all get in a boat together and row straight off to hell.”

 

“I can stay behind?” he deadpanned with a chuckle. “Your grandmother will be happy to hear that.”

 

Isabelle let out a deep breath, and just for a moment, she looked much younger than she really was. “I suppose Papa could stay, too . . . and Grandpa InuYasha . . . all the men in the family, really—well, maybe not Mamoruzen . . .”

 

Cain did laugh at that. “Don't be too hasty to toss all men into the fiery bowels of hell, okay?” he asked, leaning to the side and slipping an arm around her shoulders to pull her in for a kiss on her forehead. “Maybe there's room on that boat for your father and grandfather, though . . .”

 

She shot him a chagrined look that was completely undermined by the trace quirking of her lips. “They're very good men, I'll have you know.”

 

“So your grandmother tells me. She's been brainwashed, and I think you have been, too.”

 

“Grandpa . . .”

 

Cain sighed and shook his head. “So you want to tell me why you suddenly believe that all men are jerks?”

 

Isabelle wrinkled her nose and untangled herself from the stool, pushing herself off the seat and wandering over to the worktable. “No reason,” she hedged, kicking out her foot as she leaned to grab the paint cloth that Cain had dropped earlier.

 

“You don't look like it's no reason,” he chided.

 

Isabelle shrugged and plodded back, twisting the cloth around her fingers. “Grandpa . . . when did you know?”

 

“Know what?” he queried as she dabbed at a paint smear on his cheek.

 

“You know: that grandma was the one. I know you've said that you knew it on some level long before you admitted it to yourself, but . . . but how long?”

 

Cain frowned slightly, carefully regarding Isabelle's face. Something in her tone worried him; something in her aura . . . Her eyes weren't sparkling the way they normally did, and he thought that perhaps she looked a little peaked. Then again, he could simply be reading something into it that wasn't there, at all. He would be the first to admit that there were moments when he tended to be a bit paranoid when it came to the subject of mates.

 

But her hair really was a bit on the dull side though it could well have been that she simply hadn't washed it in a couple days. He couldn't rightly see whether or not she'd lost any weight, though, hidden as she was in the copious tent of a jogging suit that looked to be about four sizes too large, anyway. She reached a little higher, this time targeting a smear on his forehead, and Cain was relieved to see that her watch still fit her wrist perfectly.

 

“When did I know . . .?” he mused, momentarily satisfied that she wasn't on death's proverbial doorstep, so to speak. “Hard to say . . . It wasn't like my youkai blood just stated it one day. It kind of just . . . hinted at it, I guess.” Smiling rather abashedly, he shook his head and sighed. “I don't know that I would have listened to it if it had said as much earlier on . . .” Slipping her a sidelong glance, Cain's smile turned sheepish. “Guess I'm kind of a jerk, too.”

 

“No,” she said slowly, pinning him the expression that he remembered from when she had been a little girl—no more than three, maybe—when he'd caught her smeared from head to foot with pink acrylic paint that she snuck out of his art supply cabinet. She'd wanted to be a fairy, she'd said . . . Back then, he'd been the one to wipe her face clean . . . “You didn't know, right? Uncle never told you how those things worked . . .”

 

“That's not really an excuse,” he chided, taking the cloth from her hand and tossing it toward the table. “You going to tell me about your . . . jerk?”

 

Her expression softened a little, a smile that was tinged with sadness touching her lips. It was a relief to see a hint of a sparkle creep back into her gaze, and Cain frowned for a moment, unable to fully repress his irritation that anyone would dare hurt one of his own. But she didn't notice the look—probably a good thing, considering, and just as quickly as the weak smile had come, it dissipated as she levered herself back onto her stool, bringing her feet up to perch on the edge as she wrapped her arms around her ankles, dropping her chin onto her knees in a decidedly dejected sort of way. “He isn't a jerk,” she confessed in a whisper, her cheeks pinking as though she were ashamed of herself for having said as much. “Not really . . .”

 

“I didn't think so,” Cain allowed. He might not completely agree with Isabelle, but she didn't look like she wanted to hear that, either . . .

 

She sighed. “It's my fault more than his . . . I mean, I knew, but . . .”

 

“Knew what?”

 

She grimaced and turned her head, resting her temple against her knees as she studied Cain's face, her eyes slowly shifting as she tried to discern what he was thinking. “I knew that he wasn't ready, but I just . . . I wanted to . . . show him, you know? I wanted him to understand that he wasn't alone, or at least that he didn't have to be alone anymore . . .”

 

Cain's brain seemed to slow to a crawl as the implications of Isabelle's statement slowly sank in. It was purely the grandfather part of his mind that wanted to overact, but he managed to rein that in well enough. “You . . . slept . . . with him?”

 

“Y-yeah,” she breathed. “Maybe not for the right reasons, but I . . . I didn't know what else to do.”

 

Cain sighed and rubbed his forehead, wishing that she was still little; that he could tell her that she wasn't allowed to do such things only to send her off to play with her dolls in the quiet of the bedroom that he and Gin had so painstakingly decorated just for her to use whenever she came to visit. Even as that notion dissipated, though, another face—an entirely different time and a wholly different place—came to mind. Was that what Gin had been thinking on that night so long ago? When she'd known that he was leaving with the coming of the morning's light, and all she'd wanted was just one night . . .? And he'd been the selfish one back then, thinking only of the toll that her simple request was taking on him. The crux of it was the same, wasn't it? In Gin's mind, hadn't she been trying to tell him the same damn things? That he wasn't alone anymore; that he didn't have to be alone anymore . . . “You're a lot like your grandma, did you know?” Cain murmured, his voice tinged with a thickness that he couldn't suppress.

 

Isabelle lifted her chin, looked away from Cain as though embarrassed by what she considered to be the highest of compliments that her grandfather could give. “I'm not,” she muttered, shaking her head slowly. “Grandma entirely unselfish, and—”

 

“And imperfect,” Cain interrupted though not unkindly. “We all are.”

 

“I thought you were supposed to think that your mate was perfect,” Isabelle teased.

 

Cain chuckled. “She's a lot closer to perfect than I'll ever be.”

 

She sighed and untangled her legs before slipping off the stool again. “I'm going to go home. I've got a container of Double Chocolate Death-Bomb ice cream in my freezer, and it's calling my name.”

 

Cain rolled his eyes but stood up to hug Isabelle tight. “You sure? You're welcome to stay for dinner. Your grandmother would love to have you.”

 

She forced a smile and shook her head, rising up on her toes to brush a kiss over his cheek. “Thanks, but I'm sure that you don't really want to have me hanging around on Valentine's Day.”

 

“Make it sound like you're a nuisance,” he mumbled. “You're not, you know.”

 

“Sure, I am,” she argued lightly then cocked an eyebrow. “Did you buy Grandma one of those huge peanut butter cup hearts she loves?”

 

“Ten of them,” he replied.

 

“Ten?”

 

“Well, she's not getting them all at one time, if that's what you're thinking.”

 

She did laugh at that, but Cain winced inwardly at the hollow sound of it. “Hold up,” he said, catching her arm before she could go. She stopped, and he held up a finger before striding away to the kitchenette. Cutting her a thick slice of the heart shaped red velvet Valentine's Day cake that Gin had baked for him earlier, he carefully slipped it onto a plate and covered it with plastic wrap. “Here,” he said, shoving the plate into Isabelle's hands as her mouth dropped open in mild shock. “What's ice cream without cake?”

 

“Grandpa . . .”

 

Cain made a face. “Don't let Bas see that, all right? He's around here somewhere, I think . . .”

 

Her smile was much brighter, much to his relief, and she kissed his cheek again before turning to leave. She stopped in the doorway to cast him a jaunty wave, and Cain returned the gesture with a tender smile that only faded after she slipped out of the studio.

 

“When did you know . . . that grandma was the one . . .?”

 

True enough, she looked fine. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something just wasn't right as he realized a moment too late that he hadn't taken the time to ask Isabelle what her `jerk's' name was . . . Of course he'd made damn sure that all of his children, and in turn, their children, understood how serious it was, to be certain that they didn't mess around once they'd found their mates, but . . .

 

But what if the other person didn't want to admit as much for whatever reason? That wasn't something that Cain was willing to play around with, damn it.

 

Snatching his shirt off the back of another stool without breaking his stride, he headed out of the studio in the hopes that he could catch Isabelle before she left.

 

He almost collided with Bas as the latter came wandering out of the living room into the foyer with a folder in his hand. He skidded to a halt just in time to avoid the collision, though, as he shot his father a quizzical look. “Something up, Dad?”

 

Cain didn't stop to talk to Bas, stepping over to the door and jerking it open. Isabelle's car was gone, and he couldn't help the irritated growl that spilled out of him as he pushed the door closed once more. “I don't know,” he replied, scowling at the window beside the door.

 

“I see . . .” Bas remarked tentatively. “Hey, has the Australian tai-youkai's office called back yet?”

 

Blinking, Cain shook his head. “Is he supposed to?”

 

“Yeah . . . I called him to ask if there was anything he could tell us on Avis' whereabouts.”

 

“Oh, uh, no,” Cain replied absently, only halfway paying attention to his oldest son. “Bas?”

 

“Mm?”

 

Turning away from the window, Cain slipped the shirt on. “Has Isabelle mentioned anything to you about seeing someone?”

 

That got Bas' attention quickly enough. Head snapping up, his eyes narrowed as he pondered his father's question. “No . . .”

 

“Damn it,” Cain growled.

 

“Why?”

 

Shaking his head, Cain planted his hands on his hips and sucked in a cheek as he racked his brain in case she had mentioned him and it just hadn't registered.

 

“Well, there is that professor of hers,” Sydnie intoned as she slipped her arms around Bas' waist and hugged him from behind.

 

“What's that?” Bas demanded, arching an eyebrow as he craned his neck to look over his shoulder at his mate.

 

Sydnie wrinkled her nose and uttered a curt `hrumph', obviously convinced that her mate simply didn't pay enough attention to things around him. “Where have you been, puppy?” she chided. “Isabelle's had a thing for one of her college professors for years now.”

 

“She has?”

 

Sydnie snorted.

 

“What's his name, do you know?” Cain cut in before the cat-youkai could reply.

 

Sydnie's expression turned thoughtful as she considered the question. “Hmm,” she drawled, tapping a tapered claw against her lips. “Oh, what was that? Dr. Melvin? Martin . . .? I don't remember, exactly,” she admitted with a shrug. “He taught old languages or something boring like that . . .”

 

“Well, there was a Dr. Marin who taught there when I was in school,” Bas remarked. “I think he taught some sort of linguistics course or other . . .”

 

“Marin,” Cain repeated, more to himself than to Bas or Sydnie. “Thanks.”

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Gunnar slowly shook his head as he eyed the stacks of boxes littering Myrna's living quarters. “Tell me again: just how did Ben manage to talk you into dealing with all this?”

 

Myrna uttered a terse grunt as she glanced at another document before feeding it into the scanner. “He's got the gift of gab—something you'd do well to learn from him,” she muttered without looking up. “Why?”

 

Gunnar grinned lazily—little more than a slight quirking of one corner of his lips. “So I can file it away for future reference, of course.”

 

“Forget it, puppikins,” she mumbled. “It only works for real men.”

 

“Hmm. If you weren't old enough to be my mother, I might be offended by that.”

 

“Getting nasty now, are we?”

 

He chuckled and lifted a dusty old paper by one corner. “Absolutely not. Are you or are you not older than my darling mother?”

 

“Your darling mother must be a saint to put up with the likes of you—either that or she's the devil incarnate to have given birth to hell-spawn like you . . .”

 

“She's a saint, of course,” Gunnar insisted, scowling at the document in his hand. Dated the tenth of June, 1967, it was a memo regarding a youkai wanted for questioning in the disappearance of a couple of humans. “This is what he wants you to scan in?” he questioned.

 

Myrna glanced over and sighed. “Yep,” she said. “Boxes and boxes of memos and notes, and . . .”

 

“How far back are these dated?” he asked, not noticing when Myrna trailed off as he poked around in a few of the different boxes. “Some of this stuff looks like it might crumble if you try to run it through that scanner . . .”

 

“I've got the handheld one,” she remarked absently. “Gunnar . . .”

 

“Good,” he replied, lifting an old journal out of one of the boxes and scowling at the small cloud of dust it dislodged. “Looks like you're going to need it.”

 

“Oh, my God . . .”

 

“Oh-your-God, what?”

 

She reached back and grabbed his sleeve. “Look at this.”

 

Jerking back as Myrna shoved a musty smelling leather-bound book under his nose, Gunnar spared a moment to cast the woman a droll glance before narrowing his eyes on the open pages. “What's this?”

 

“One of Ben's journals,” she replied.

 

He snorted, shoving the book back at Myrna. “His journal? And you honestly think that I want to read—?”

 

“Just read that page,” she insisted.

 

Gunnar snorted once more but lowered his gaze. It was Ben's handwriting, no doubt about it. Centuries later, the youkai's script hadn't really changed at all. The black ink of a fountain pen was slightly faded but still quite legible, and it was the words that captured his attention.

 

:

 

`The hunt for the unknown bear-youkai has stalled. The hunters sent to retrieve him for questioning have reported that they cannot find a trace of him. At this time I have little choice but to close the case. The odds that he survived are slim though I would have rested easier had they been able to verify this . . .'

 

:

 

Gunnar's face contorted in a show of obvious disgust as he dropped the journal on the desk and brushed his hands together. “That proves nothing,” he growled.

 

“Doesn't it?” Myrna challenged. “How many bear-youkai do you think are around, and of those bear-youkai, how many of them do you suppose is old enough to have been around back then? This entry is dated January 19, 1753.”

 

“And it still means nothing,” he gnashed out from between clenched teeth.

 

“Sorry . . . am I interrupting?”

 

Gunnar whipped around at the intrusion in time to see Ben leaning in the doorway with two document boxes stacked in his arms.

 

Myrna snorted quietly. “Ben . . . just the man I was waiting for.”

 

“Oh, dear,” Ben deadpanned. “Do I want to know why?”

 

She broke into a small smile, standing up and turning around as Gunnar reached for her elbow. “I promised Isabelle,” he hissed in her ear.

 

“You did,” she agreed, her gaze flicking coolly over his features, “but I didn't, and I'm sick of this stalemate.”

 

“Myrna—”

 

“I could come back later if you're . . . busy . . .” Ben offered.

 

“You mentioned a bear-youkai in one of your journals,” she blurted before Gunnar could stop her. “Why were you hunting him?”

 

Ben looked puzzled for a moment as he considered Myrna's words. “Was I?”

 

Ignoring the death-glare she was getting from Gunnar, she pulled her arm away and positively glided across the floor to Ben's side. “Hmm, yes . . . Don't play coy, Ben Philips.”

 

He chuckled at the chagrined expression on Myrna's face. “I honestly don't . . . wait . . . bear-youkai in my journal . . .?”

 

“Yes, a very old one: 1753.”

 

“Hmm, that is old,” he agreed but narrowed his eyes on Myrna. He was far too good to let any sign of recognition slip by unnoticed. “Why do you want to know about him?”

 

She shrugged offhandedly, looking smugger by the moment as Gunnar's expression grew blacker and blacker which should have served as a warning—if the damned woman would deign to notice. “Call it payment. You owe me for pawning off all your grunt work on me.”

 

Ben chuckled and lifted his eyebrows in half-hearted apology. “I am very sorry for that,” he allowed, sounding anything but sorry at all. “But there's not much to tell. I imagine he died.”

 

She appeared to be considering that. Gunnar knew damn well that she was just playing coy. Grinding his teeth together to keep from saying something to make the entire situation look even more suspicious, he crossed his arms over his chest and waited to hear what she'd say next.

 

“Possibly, but you understand better than most: youkai don't die so easily.”

 

Ben nodded slowly then shook his head with a shrug. “True enough, but he'd been injured quite badly. Besides, the hunters I sent out couldn't find him—didn't hear as much as a whisper of him, and I doubt that he'd have had an easy time hiding.”

 

“Why's that?”

 

Pushing himself away from the door frame, he strode over and deposited the box on the floor near the desk. “He was covered with scars,” Ben remarked, nudging the boxes with his toe and stuffing his hands into his pockets.

 

“Scars,” Gunnar cut in before Myrna could comment and ignoring the absolutely exultant expression on her face in the process.

 

Ben nodded, casting Gunnar a somewhat puzzled look. “Why?” Ben asked.

 

“Why were you hunting him?” Gunnar demanded, ignoring Ben's question.

 

Ben didn't answer right away, staring at Gunnar as a hint of suspicion swelled and thickened. Inclining his head as his lips pressed together in a thin line, he narrowed his eyes as though he were trying to make sense of something. “Do you . . . you know where he is?” he asked a little too casually.

 

“I might,” Gunnar replied slowly, carefully. “First . . . tell me what you know.”

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Cain squinted at the small house numbers tacked over the porch and double checked the bit of paper where he'd hastily scribbled down the address before he'd left the mansion. `19786 Forest Lane,' he read. Set back from the road and partially obscured by a line of trees and surrounded by forest on the sides and beyond, the house blended in almost too well. He'd only noticed it because of the faint light glowing in the windows. Small, modest, and built of rough timber, it looked like a throwback to another time and wasn't at all what Cain had expected for a man who had drawn Isabelle's attention, but there was no doubt about it: it was definitely the right place.

 

He'd had to call in a couple of favors in order to get the address since his search on the internet had proven futile. The University of Maine didn't have a picture of this Dr. Marin though he was listed in the faculty. In the end, it had taken a phone call to the head of the music department—a man who Cain knew just a little too well after having been called in a few times to curb his overly-rambunctious son, Evan when the miscreant was enrolled there for a couple years. Cain had made a few sizable donations to the department in order to keep Evan out of trouble, and in the end, the man had been more than willing to help Cain out.

 

Grimacing as he got out of the SUV, Cain heaved a sigh. There was a good chance that Isabelle wasn't going to be pleased with his intervention, but that was just a chance that he was willing to take. After her visit, he wasn't satisfied to sit back and wait. He figured he'd at least gauge the situation by meeting the man in question. He wasn't there to threaten or anything like that, anyway. No, it was nothing more than a gentle reminder . . .

 

`Nope, it's meddling,' his youkai stated bluntly. `No use in trying to pretty it up, Zelig.'

 

Cain heaved a sigh, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he shuffled toward the porch. `I'm her grandfather,' he thought with a scowl. `I have the right to be concerned.'

 

There had been something about the look on Isabelle's face when she'd asked him about mates, something that Cain just couldn't shake off . . . If this guy was playing with her . . . God help him if he was. After all, Cain wasn't there on a social call, and he certainly wasn't there as the tai-youkai. He was Cain the grandfather, and he wasn't leaving until he knew exactly what was going on one way or another.

 

Raising his fist, he knocked on the door and stepped back, scowl deepening as a surreal sense of unease crept up his spine. He didn't feel as though there was any real danger, certainly, but he was hard pressed to define it, too . . .

 

Brushing aside the unreasonable feeling, he waited impatiently for Dr. Marin to answer the door.

 

After a couple minutes, Cain knocked again.

 

`Maybe he's not home . . .' he thought then shook his head. No, he swore that he could sense someone inside.

 

The sudden light made him blink as the lamp beside the door blazed to life, and the thump against the door followed by the unmistakable click of a deadbolt lock being released drew Cain's attention. He stepped back to wait. Very slowly, almost reluctantly, the door opened.

 

“Sorry to disturb you, Dr. Marin, but I wondered if . . . you . . .”

 

Cain trailed off and stumbled back a step as his gaze shifted away from the yard to the man—the bear-youkai—filling the doorway. Pale, almost peaked-looking, with eyes so dark that they looked black in the wan light, he stared back at Cain without blinking, and while he sensed no hostility from him, Cain couldn't repress the odd chill that crashed over him in wave after unsettling wave.

 

A thousand thoughts—flashes of memory?—converged on him; an inane jumble that held no rhyme, no reason. Dappled sunlight filtering through a green canopy of leaves . . . the distant sound of a familiar voice that he couldn't quite place . . . the stench of burning things as smoke wrung tears from him . . . flashes of light, crashes of thunder and the pitch black of night . . . the screech of horses echoing in his head so terribly that he had to smash his hands over his ears to escape the sound . . . soft yellow silk and a ruffle of lace . . . the curious eyes of a family of badgers . . . the coppery tinge of blood filling his mouth as a scream welled up somewhere deep inside him . . . a grassy knoll . . . a whispering stream . . . the slap of water that had lulled him to sleep . . . Half forgotten memories that made no sense at all, and the softest chime of a woman's laughter that twisted and collapsed and grew into a harsh cry, a bellowing resonance grew louder and louder.

 

The pinpoints of light that gathered in the youkai's eyes sent a shock through Cain, and while he couldn't quite grasp why it was so, somewhere deep down, he understood. This man—Griffin Marin—Cain knew him, didn't he?

 

They stood for several minutes staring at one another without a word. In the bear-youkai's eyes was unmistakable recognition and an underlying sense of inevitability, as though he'd known that this day would come, and yet . . .

 

And yet Cain, himself, could not comprehend a thing. Too many jumbled thoughts; too many forgotten emotions . . . in the end, it was the sound of Marin's voice that snapped Cain out of his trance. “Zelig,” he said, his intonation no more than a low rumble.

 

“I . . . I know you,” Cain mumbled, narrowing his eyes as he tried to understand how it could be so.

 

Marin nodded tersely—a single jerk of his head. “Yes.”

 

Cain shook his head; retreated another step, mouth suddenly gone dry, hands shaking as he struggled for a semblance of calm. “C-can you come with . . . me?”' he rasped, his voice not registering as his own.

 

The bear-youkai stared at him for another minute then slowly nodded and turned around, trudging back into the house but leaving the door wide open.

 

 

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A/N:

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Final Thought fromCain:

Wha-a-a-at?

==========

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~