InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ Turmoil ( Chapter 47 )

~~Chapter 47~~

~Turmoil~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

“Get your sword up, Izzy. You're leaving yourself wide open.”

 

Isabelle snorted indelicately and whipped around in a tight circle, bringing the bokken around in a wide arc. Gunnar twisted his wrist, neatly parrying her blow with an absolute arrogance and ease that grated on Isabelle's already frazzled nerves. “Shut up and fight me for real, Mamoruzen,” she gritted out.

 

“I would if you were a more worthy opponent,” he scoffed, flicking his wrist to block her again.

 

“You're such a jerk,” she ground out, twisting her arms to deal a strike against Gunnar's torso that he blocked, as well.

 

“Are you certain that Uncle Yasha trained you?”

 

“And Ryomaru,” she growled.

 

“Your form is sloppy.”

 

“Stop criticizing me and fight!”

 

Rolling his eyes, he stepped out of the way as Isabelle lunged at him with the bokken hefted over her head. “Fighting women is entirely beneath This Mamoruzen,” he remarked dryly.

 

Isabelle shook her hair out of her eyes and pinned him with a formidable glower. “You've had this coming for a long, long time, you know,” she pointed out. “Now bring it—unless you're afraid to really fight me.”

 

Heaving a sigh, Gunnar shook his head but brought his sword up to ready stance, both hands gripping the hilt of his cherished weapon, aptly named Keppanshuto—the Blade of the Blood Seal. It did not contain his youkai, as Tetsusaiga had done for InuYasha years and years ago, but it was forged from the fangs of Toga, Sesshoumaru, and InuYasha and was said to be one of the most formidable youkai weapons in existence. “By all means, then, Izzy, consider it . . . brought.”

 

Uttering a low growl, she charged at him again, cleaving a neat arc in the air with her forward motion. He blocked her easily enough and even had the audacity to grin at her—that lazy, condescending grin that never failed to inspire complete and utter irritation on her part. Damn him, anyway . . . Just why was it that every one of the men in her life was conspiring against her?

 

“Face it, wench, you will never be able to defeat me,” he scoffed.

 

“The only reason I challenged you,” she bit out as she swung again, “was because I knew that Bastian wouldn't even try.”

 

“Bastian wouldn't have given you the time of day,” he shot back. “You're no match for me, and you're sure as hell not a match for Bastian the Barbarian.”

 

She almost smiled at the reminder of the nickname that the cousins had bestowed upon Bastian years ago. For all his quiet demeanor, he was the undisputed fighter out of the lot of them. Gunnar was no slouch, of course. Neither was her cousin, Morio, but Bastian had thrived on the training that the rest of the boys had believed to be more sport than necessity. Isabelle had learned because, in their tight knit family, she'd been considered one of his own to Ryomaru, and she'd been intrigued one day when sitting on a fence watching as Ryomaru gave Morio instruction.

 

Of course, back then, it had been a little easier. She'd been able to best Morio and even Gunnar fairly easily. She tended to be nimbler than the boys had been, but her true strength wasn't offensive as much as it was defensive. As she'd grown, her father, uncle, and grandfather—the men who had trained her—had stressed defense, and while she might be able to mount a decent attack, the rationale, she supposed, was that any fighting she'd have to do would more than likely be only to protect herself if no one else was there to do it for her.

 

Still, she wasn't sure why she'd gotten the bright idea that it was time to practice her somewhat rusty skills. Having spent yet another fitful night unable to sleep as she wondered alternated between wondering whether or not Griffin missed her as badly as she missed him and mumbling dire invectives by turns, she'd gotten up when her alarm went off, sparing just enough time to don comfortable clothing and grab the bokken that she'd brought with her from Japan. Then she'd driven straight over to Gunnar's house, barged inside, pointed her sword at him, and stated quite flatly that he was going to fight her. Gunnar, who had been in the middle of reading the newspaper with a cup of fragrant tea near the window at the small nook in his kitchen, had quirked an eyebrow at her and blinked once or twice as he tried to discern whether or not she was being serious. That gesture had irritated her enough to jab him in the center of his chest with the blunt end of the bokken before striding out of the room to fetch the sword that hung over the wide expanse of the obsidian fireplace mantle in the living room.

 

The truth was that she sorely, desperately needed to vent her abject frustration. Two weeks had passed since Ben had stopped by to tell Isabelle what he knew, and though she'd tried in the time since to see Griffin, he'd refused to so much as open the door for her, obstinate man that he was.

 

What she couldn't comprehend was why he insisted on being so stubborn. Surely he couldn't think that what he'd done back then had been wrong, at least not now. Still, it seemed they were at a complete and utter impasse, and that was almost more than Isabelle could tolerate.

 

And she missed him, damn it. Didn't he know that? He missed her, too—she knew he did. Getting him to admit it, however, was proving to be more difficult than she could credit.

 

Even Froofie missed him. The poor animal spent all his time sitting by the door, staring at it as though he believed that if he did it long enough, Griffin would walk in and demand that they come back home. Isabelle snorted. Of course, she'd have to make him grovel, at least for a minute or two; make him admit that he missed her as desperately as she missed him . . .

 

Heaving a sigh, she rolled her eyes at her own capricious thoughts. The odds of Griffin coming anywhere near groveling . . . `Well, okay, so that wouldn't really happen . . .'

 

And the worst of it was that her sweet puppy also refused to answer to `Froofie' anymore. No, somewhere along the way, he'd adopted Griffin, hadn't he, and the only time she could get any real response out of him was when she broke down and called him `Charlie' . . .

 

Grunting with the force of her exertion, Isabelle lunged at Gunnar once more, growling in abject frustration as he blocked the tip of the bokken with shocking ease. She knew damn well that she wasn't that bad; not really, and in any other circumstance, she might well admire his absolute abilities but at the moment, she sorely needed the outlet if he'd only comply with her wishes.

 

“Fight me!” she growled, tossing the bokken aside. Gunnar sighed and shook his head but jabbed the tip of Keppanshuto into the ground and stepped back, shaking his arms before assuming a ready stance. Black hakama blowing in the winter wind, she supposed that she ought to be somewhat pacified enough that at least he'd bothered to change into practice garb. She extended her arm with a snap, the heel of her hand extended, aiming for Gunnar's chest. “Ha!”

 

He blocked that with his wrist. “Form's not bad,” he appraised as he continued to block her strikes. “You're a bit rusty, aren't you?”

 

In the back of her mind, she could hear her grandfather's voice—InuYasha's voice—chiding her. “You can't get distracted, damn it! Pay attention to what the hell you're doing! Got that? No granddaughter of mine would let the boys kick her ass, do you hear?”

 

Twisting to the side, she extended her arm, aiming a blow at his chest. Gunnar, ass that he was, chuckled, pushing her hand to spin her away from him.

 

“Hey, Gunnar, you got that file on that snake-youkai we've been tracking?” Bas' voice cut in. “Oh, hi, Bitty.”

 

“Bastian,” she mumbled curtly, pausing for a second to nod at her cousin before renewing her efforts to beat on Gunnar.

 

Gunnar glanced over at him in time to see him step out of the house before turning his attention back to Isabelle once more but didn't miss a beat in blocking her attempts to strike him. “Yeah, hold on,” he replied almost absently. “Let me humor Izzy a bit longer first.”

 

`Humor me, will he?' she fumed, wrinkling her nose in abject irritation. She uttered a low growl and struck again with renewed fervor.

 

“Is that what you're doing?” Bas asked, curling his index finger over his lips in a vain attempt to hide the grin that surfaced on his face.

 

“Isn't it obvious?” Gunnar countered dryly.

 

The trill of a cell phone cut off any comment Bas had been about to make. “That yours?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

Gunnar grunted, making no move to answer the call. “Yes. It's on the table there. Who is it?”

 

Bas stepped over and picked up the device, pulling it open and frowning at the digital display. “It's Myrna,” he called back, tapping the phone against the heel of his hand to close it again.

 

“Damn it,” Gunnar muttered. “Toss it here, will you?”

 

Bas did, and Gunnar caught it without looking and without missing a block, either.

 

Isabelle rolled her eyes and gritted her teeth as Gunnar flicked his wrist to open the phone and hit the connect button singlehandedly. “What do you need?”

 

She wasn't sure whether it was more insulting that he didn't seem to mind fighting her as he was talking on the phone or that he so obviously thought so little of her skills that he was willing to do so, in the first place. Either way, his arrogance was wearing thin on her already frazzled nerves, and she reacted before she stopped to think about it. Dropping into a squat, she performed a perfect leg sweep, neatly catching Gunnar's shins and bringing the future Japanese tai-youkai down flat on his ass.

 

Hopping to her feet and brushing her hands together as a completely self-satisfied sort of smile surfaced on her features, Isabelle spared a moment to appreciate the total irritation on Gunnar's countenance before turning on her heel to properly greet Bas.

 

Bas, however, was laughing far too hard to respond as Isabelle rose on tiptoe to brush a chaste kiss over his cheek. `Howling' would be a good description, she supposed. `Guffawing' was another one.

 

“That was an entirely cheap shot,” Gunnar grumbled as he got to his feet, pinning Isabelle with a formidable scowl that she promptly ignored.

 

“There are no cheap shots,” she retorted, slipping an arm around Bastian's waist and shooting Gunnar an insincere, if not entirely saucy, grin. “That's what Grandpa always says.”

 

He snorted indelicately, cheeks ruddy from his absolute irritation over having being brought low by a woman, no doubt. “Have you gotten all of your aggressions out of your system?” he demanded, snapping the cell phone closed as he jerked Keppanshuto out of the ground and stomped over to them.

 

“Almost,” she said coolly, her gaze flicking over her arrogant cousin as a hint of amusement ignited. “Are you ready to apologize?”

 

That earned her a rather stoic expression. “And why would I do a stupid thing like that?” he asked in a somewhat bored tone.

 

“For doubting Griffin's integrity, of course,” she reminded him.

 

“Oh, that . . .” Trailing off, he tilted his head back and pondered for a moment before leveling a no-nonsense look at her. “Can't say that I'm sorry at all.”

 

Restraining the desire to grind her heel into Gunnar's foot, Isabelle rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh, crossing her arms over her chest as a mulish scowl surfaced. “You owe him an apology, too,” she pointed out in what she hoped was a reasonable tone.

 

“No, I don't,” he maintained stubbornly. “The day I apologize for worrying about your well-being is the day I keel over dead, Izzy.”

 

“You're such an ass,” she pointed out. “Back me up here, Bastian.”

 

Bas shifted uncomfortably and sighed. “Well, he is an ass,” he agreed slowly, “but you can't really blame him if he was worried about you.”

 

“Bastian!” she protested, mouth falling open in shock as she rounded on him. “He was entirely wrong, damn it! How can you possibly take his side?”

 

Bas shook his head and offered her a half-hearted little grin. “I realize that he has a tendency to do things in a completely misguided sort of way, but—”

 

“Misguided, my ass,” Gunnar snorted.

 

“—but you can't fault an idiot for being an idiot, can you?” Bas finished without pausing for Gunnar's surly interruption.

 

“Oh, I think I can,” she said, narrowing her eyes on Bas. He grinned at her for real, the jerk . . .

 

“As heartwarming as this is,” Gunnar cut in before Bas could form a rebuttal as he strode past them toward the house, “I'm kicking you both out now. I have work to do, if you don't mind, and I've had more than enough interruptions for the day.”

 

“I still need that file,” Bas called in his wake.

 

Gunnar didn't stop moving. “I'll bring it in with me,” he said over his shoulder.

 

“Come on, Bitty,” Bas said as he tossed an arm around Isabelle and wheeled her around. “Let's go get a cup of coffee.”

 

“You're buying,” she said. “I can't believe you, of all people, sided with Mamoruzen.”

 

Bas sighed and shrugged as he propelled her toward the house. “He cares about you, even if he is too anal to admit it out loud. You're like the little sister he never had.”

 

Isabelle wrinkled her nose. “I'm older than he is!” she pointed out.

 

“Same idea.”

 

“That's just stupid.”

 

“He's always been like that, remember? Maybe one of his sisters dropped him on his head . . .”

 

She couldn't help the little smile that twitched on her lips. “Maybe.”

 

He chuckled. “Speaking of dropping him . . . Nice leg sweep. I was very impressed.”

 

“Oh, yeah?”

 

“Yeah. It's not often that you see the Gunnar Inutaisho knocked onto his . . . laurels . . .”

 

She giggled at Bas' choice of words. “Impressed enough to fight me?”

 

He chuckled. “Absolutely not.”

 

She heaved a pointed sigh designed to let him know exactly what she thought of his refusal. The endearingly irritating man just laughed.

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Gavin Jamison scowled out the window at the sight of his mate playing in the snow with her mother. The scene, he supposed, was endearing enough, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.

 

To be perfectly honest, he'd felt that way for awhile. In the nearly two weeks since he'd convinced Jillian to come back to the States, they hadn't been able to reach Dr. Avis at all, and while Cain had assured him that Avis was still in Australia, something just didn't make sense.

 

“If he's still there, why didn't he answer his door or his phone?” Gavin asked at length. He didn't really expect a concrete answer.

 

Cain shuffled over to stand beside him at the window with one hand shoved deep in his pocket while the other held a steaming cup of coffee. “I don't know, Gavin. Maybe he decided to take a vacation or something. Maybe he moved.”

 

Heaving a sigh and running a hand through his hair in complete exasperation, Gavin snorted indelicately. “You and I both know that neither of those reasons makes any sense at all. Can't you do something? Send in a hunter, or . . .? Hell, my dad would be willing to go if it's for Jilli.”

 

Taking a swig of coffee, Cain deliberately took his time answering. “It's not an issue of whether or not I have an available hunter. The thing is, when I allowed him to be exiled, I turned him over to the jurisdiction of the Australian tai-youkai, and Jude Covington isn't exactly known for his cooperation. Unless Avis does something to warrant it, there's no way anyone can just barge into his house demanding answers. At this point, he's done nothing wrong—nothing—and as much as you and I might not like it, there really isn't a damn thing that we can do, either.”

 

Heaving a haggared sigh, Gavin dragged his hand over his face in an entirely frustrated sort of way. “Cain, you don't understand,” he finally said. “Jilli loves you and Gin. I mean, there's not a question in anyone's mind about that, but . . . she has questions. It's natural, right? There are times . . .” Shaking his head, he struggled to find the words to explain himself. “Sometimes when she's doing something, she gets this . . . look . . . on her face, like . . . like she's trying to decide if she does certain things because it's her, or if she does them because . . . because her biological parents did, and . . . and I want to have pups someday, but . . . Jilli doesn't say it, but I know that she can't do that while she still has all these questions in her head.”

 

Cain nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on the women in the yard. They were rolling a huge snowball—probably building a snow man, and while his lips were turned up with a little smile, the expression deep in his eyes was infinitely sad. “I can't do anything, Gavin, and for the record, I understand better than you might think. I've tried to think of a reason to demand that they go in and check on Avis, but there isn't one. Those were the terms of the exile. I have no jurisdiction over him anymore unless he breaks the rules.”

 

Raking his hands through his hair, Gavin shook his head and uttered a low growl. “So what? I'm just supposed to march out there and tell her that Dr. Avis is trying to avoid her? Is that it? But I suppose that at least you don't have to worry about Jillian's desire to know about her biological parents anymore, huh?”

 

“Of course not,” Cain replied acerbically, shaking his head at the young man's uncharacteristic show of temper. “Do you honestly think that I'm happy about this? Biological or not, Jillian is my daughter—mine. She's been my daughter since the moment I found her, and if you think that this makes me happy on some level then you're dead wrong.”

 

Gavin grimaced as Cain stalked away. He wasn't entirely certain where he'd come up with the brass to challenge the man in such a way. He never had before. The image of Jillian's face shot through his head, though—the complete defeat in her expression as they'd turned to board the plane in Australia. He supposed that was where it had come from. The look on her face at that moment in time would forever remain etched into his mind, and he clenched his jaw as a ferocious need to protect her surged inside him.

 

True enough, he could appreciate Cain's position in the matter. His hands were tied, so to speak, regardless of whether or not he wanted to do something to locate the missing doctor. In many ways, it probably was worse for Cain, after all. Being who he was had certain limitations at times, and this was one of those moments.

 

`So if the tai-youkai can't do a thing,' he thought as the first glimmers of an idea took root and grew in his mind, eyes darkening as his jaw tightened, as stubborn resolve drew him up a little straighter, “Maybe . . . maybe someone else can . . .”

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Griffin dropped the pen with a heavy sigh and hunched forward, pinching the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes closed. The silence of the house was almost overwhelming. Even the occasional crackle of the fire burning bright on the hearth did little to cut through the thickness.

 

It was nearly two in the morning, and he was exhausted.

 

Leaning back, he flexed his fingers, grimacing at the stiffness that seemed so much worse than usual.

 

`You're pushing yourself too hard,' his youkai commented.

 

`I'm fine,' he maintained, forcing himself to pick up the pen once more. `I'm almost finished with this.'

 

`Sure, you are. You're also killing yourself in the process.'

 

`I'm not.'

 

`Fool. You think that finishing the translation will somehow make it so that you don't think about her?'

 

He didn't respond to that. That wasn't at all why he was trying to complete it, damn it.

 

`Right . . . so you're not thinking that if you finish the translation that you'll have a reason to see her, huh?'

 

He snorted, his scowl darkening as he shoved himself away from the desk and stood up, stomping toward the kitchen for a mug of tea. `That's . . . that's not true, at all,' he maintained with a stubborn shake of his head.

 

`Isn't it? I mean, if you finish the translation then you'll have to see her, won't you? Not entirely without merit, but you're being dense if you think that I'm buying it. All you have to do is answer the door when she comes by—which, by the way, she didn't do today. Maybe she's finally gotten disgusted with you and has decided to give up.'

 

`Isabelle? Give up? Not a chance in hell,' he scoffed though his hand paused for a moment as he reached for the jar of honey.

 

`It would serve you right if she did. You miss her, don't you? So why not just admit it? If she doesn't hate you for what happened between Cain Zelig and you—'

 

`—Then she will when she finds out about everything else,' he snapped, gnashing his teeth together as the honey jar slipped from his clumsy grip only to shatter on the floor.

 

`But you don't know that for sure, do you?'

 

`Yes, I do, damn it!' he snapped, swiping up a dishcloth and jamming it under the faucet. `Just forget it, all right? Forget it . . . She's . . .'

 

His youkai sighed. `She's better off without you, right?'

 

Grimacing as he stooped down, his body protesting the movement, Griffin concentrated on cleaning up mess while ignoring the heavy sarcasm of his youkai voice's words. `Of course she is . . .'

 

`Yeah, and you're missing the most important point.'

 

`Which is . . .?'

 

`Which is that it doesn't matter if you think she's better off with or without you. It's what she thinks that ought to matter. Why don't you stop trying to hide behind excuses and just tell her everything? At least you'd know then, one way or the other, because this limbo-thing really, really stinks.'

 

As much as he hated to admit it, his youkai had a point. The not knowing was enough to drive him mad, wasn't it? Still, telling her everything . . . that was easier said than done. Some things were buried just a little too deep, weren't they? Dredging it all up again . . .

 

He scowled and shifted his weight, sitting on the floor and letting his head fall back against the cupboard doors with a dull thump. He couldn't do it, could he? That . . . that was the real reason behind his reluctance. He could feel the sheen of cold sweat breaking out all over his body, winced as his heart hammered heavily against his ribcage. In his head, he could hear the screams closing in on him from every direction. Though dulled by the passage of centuries, they hadn't gone away.

 

It was too much, wasn't it? Just thinking about it hurt far too much. There was no escaping it, and he knew deep down that she'd never understand. How could he expect her to when he still didn't? He couldn't change the past, could he, and even if it were possible, what good would it do him now?

 

She was too beautiful, too brilliant. She still believed that the world was inherently kind and that the true nature of man and youkai was fundamentally the same. Even if he tried to explain, it wouldn't make a difference. Some things were simply too awful to be credited, and some truths weren't nearly as pretty as the storybooks would have you believe.

 

Isabelle and he were entirely opposite, really. She had yet to see enough, and he had seen far more than he'd ever wanted to. Those two extremes were never meant to find a middle ground, and while he'd been foolish enough to let the idea entertain him for awhile, he was too pragmatic not to realize that it simply wasn't meant to be.

 

One day, if he was lucky, he might remember her and smile, but for now thoughts of her were far too painful. In his mind, she would forever be that woman-child with the stars in her eyes who stood just out of his grasp, and that was how it was meant to be, wasn't it?

 

Closing his eyes, willing away the absolute desperation, the overwhelming sense of melancholy, he sighed.

 

That was how it was meant to be . . .

 

 

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

A/N:

Bokken: wooden katana-like practice sword.

Keppanshuto: the Blade of the Blood Seal: Gunnar's weapon forged from the fangs of InuYasha, Sesshoumaru, and Toga.

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Final Thought fromIsabelle:

I sooooo kicked his ass!

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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~