InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ Holding Out ( Chapter 48 )

~~Chapter 48~~

~Holding Out~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

“This has `disaster' written all over it, doesn't it?”

 

“What was your first clue?”

 

Sebastian Zelig glanced over at his cousin and slowly shook his head. Amber eyes narrowed speculatively, he was idly swirling the contents of the thick glass as he observed the dance floor. For all intents and purposes, Gunnar Inutaisho looked amused enough. That just figured, Bas supposed, since Gunnar had less of a vested interest in the entire affair than he did.

 

Shifting his gaze back to the dance floor once more, Bas stifled a sigh and tried not to scowl at the scene playing out before him—or to be more exact, he tried not to scowl at the number of men populating the rather seedy establishment who were enjoying the spectacle as Sydnie and Isabelle danced to the obnoxiously loud music. Of course he'd realized long, long ago that Sydnie could move in ways that could leave him on his knees and begging. What he was less-than-pleased about was that she seemed set on making sure that the rest of the bar knew it, too.

 

“Careful, Bas. You'll make a scene,” Gunnar warned.

 

Bas snorted, his scowl darkening as he tried not to take the bait Gunnar dangled before him. “Wouldn't think of it, Gunsie,” he said mildly. “Sydnie'll scratch their eyes out if she notices them staring at her.”

 

Gunnar chuckled again. “True enough,” he allowed with a shake of his head. “I'm not sure if it's worse that those bastards are staring or that neither one of them ever seems to notice stuff like that at all,” he remarked, nodding once at the women, currently engaged in one of the raunchiest female dances that Bas had borne witness to outside of a strip club.

 

That did little to assuage Bas' growing irritation. “I suppose,” he remarked rather tightly.

 

“Oh, relax, will you? She is going home with you, after all.”

 

Ignoring the dryness in his cousin's tone, Bas grunted. “That might be true, but trust me, you'll understand one day. The last thing you'll want is for every fucking man in town to be staring at your mate.”

 

“Keh,” Gunnar snorted. “As if that'll matter.”

 

Bas rolled his eyes. He knew damn well that Gunnar honestly believed the bullshit he often spouted. In that vein, Bas had to admit that he was looking forward to the day when the arrogant bastard was brought to his proverbial knees. “If you say so,” he retorted, reaching for his beer without bothering to look for the bottle, opting instead to keep his eyes on the women.

 

“If you don't like men staring at her, why don't you tell her to dress a little less provocatively?” Gunnar suggested, nodding at Sydnie, who was too busy gyrating every part of her lithe little body to notice the perusal of the gaggle of men.

 

Bas shot Gunnar an `are-you-stupid' sort of look. “I like the way she dresses,” he pointed out.

 

“Mhmm, and so does the rest of the male population.”

 

He could only heave a sigh at that remark since the irrefutable truth was staring him in the face, as it were. Glancing from Sydnie to Isabelle, however, only served to deepen his already formidable frown. “She get Dr. Marin to talk to her yet?” he asked, nodding at Isabelle.

 

Gunnar rolled his eyes. “No, she hasn't. Why else do you think we're here?”

 

Bas shrugged and sat up a little straighter when a man with a death wish strolled over to the women. Sydnie stopped dancing long enough to listen to whatever he had to say before fluttering her hand in Bas' general direction and promptly ignoring the poor bastard. The guy turned and looked around but must have realized exactly who Sydnie was gesturing at. He might have found it amusing if the man hadn't been trying to hit on his wife because when he saw Bas, his eyes widened, and he quickly hurried away.

 

“For kami's sake, will you stop scowling at people?” Gunnar grumbled, shaking his head and setting the glass aside.

 

“No, I don't think I will,” he shot back.

 

“Pathetic,” Gunnar scoffed.

 

Bas opened his mouth to answer but snapped it closed again when the song mercifully ended. Isabelle linked her arm through Sydnie's, dragging her off the dance floor.

 

“Just what do they think they're staring at?” Sydnie huffed, narrowing her eyes as she glared in the direction of the bar as she slipped onto Bas' lap despite the fact that there were a couple empty chairs at the table.

 

Isabelle flopped down beside Gunnar and reached for her drink.

 

Bas wrapped his arms around his mate and glanced over to see what she was talking about. He grimaced. A couple of women at the bar were looking over toward their table though it was Bas' considered opinion that they could be and likely were watching Gunnar. “It's fine, kitty,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the din as he idly rubbed her thigh with the pad of his thumb.

 

“Hmph!” she pouted, her jewel-like eyes taking on a glow that bordered on mayhem. “We'll see about that,” she warned as she started to rise.

 

Bas tightened his arms around her to hold her where she was. “Absolutely not,” he told her. “Behave, will you?”

 

She uttered an entirely unladylike snort. “Let go, puppy. I'm going to sharpen my claws on them.”

 

“You're not,” he argued mildly. “A hundred bucks says that they're looking at Gunnar, and besides, you don't really think that I'd be interested in them when I already have you?”

 

That seemed to placate her a little bit. Still she wrinkled her nose and scowled at him. “They ought not to stare at you like that. I own you, remember?”

 

He chuckled. “Of course you do.”

 

“You sound like Mama,” Isabelle remarked with a smile.

 

Gunnar grunted. “Your mother only did that one time,” he pointed out.

 

Isabelle's smile widened. “She only had to do it once,” she retorted. “I guess word got around after that.”

 

Bas made a face. He'd heard about that, of course. Bellaniece hadn't liked being subjected to a number of women that Kichiro had apparently gotten to know on an intimate level and had ended up taking her claws to the counter in a very posh establishment in Tokyo in an effort to warn off any of the women who still thought that Kichiro was on the market. Unfortunately, he could see Sydnie doing so much worse, and while he didn't comment, he did tighten his hold on the often impetuous feline.

 

“I'm thirsty, puppy,” Sydnie suddenly said, her change in topics lightning fast despite the still-present scowl that she directed at the women who were still, in her opinion, ogling her man.

 

“Want some milk, kitty?” Bas asked.

 

“In a bar?” Sydnie asked with a high pitched giggle.

 

“But you don't like beer,” he pointed out.

 

Sydnie heaved a sigh and shook her head before reaching over the table to snag Gunnar's drink. She downed it before he could protest, thumping the glass down with a satisfied smile. “Your manners are deplorable, puss,” Gunnar pointed out despite the amused little smile that quirked on his lips.

 

She hopped up and darted around the table to slip into Gunnar's lap, instead. “Buy me another,” she demanded, wrapping her arms around Gunnar's neck.

 

“Absolutely,” he agreed, his lazy smile widening when Bas uttered a disgusted snort.

 

“Buy me one, too,” the already tipsy Isabelle said seconds before slamming back the rest of her drink. Standing up a little shakily, she leaned on the table for support before skirting around to drop onto Gunnar's other knee.

 

Gunnar shook his head. “Why would I do that?” he countered.

 

“It's my celebration, isn't it?” she reminded him. “That's why.”

 

Raising his hand to summon the waitress, Gunnar chuckled. “In that case . . .”

 

Sydnie gave Gunnar a little squeeze then hopped up to return to her place on Bas' lap. “What are we celebrating?” Bas asked as Sydnie nudged her head under his chin.

 

Isabelle smiled at Bas, leaning toward him to pat his hand. “I've been cleared of all charges—completely exonerated, if you will! I'm an innocent woman—the inquisition board said so!”

 

He nodded and cracked a little grin though he had to wonder, really. She didn't look like a person who had been just been cleared of any suspicion of malpractice, and while he realized that a large part of her mood could be attributed to her inability to get a certain college professor to talk to her, he also knew Isabelle well enough to know that she wasn't nearly as pleased with the outcome as she would like to have them believe.

 

The waitress came back to deliver the drinks without a word. Gunnar sat back, watching as Isabelle downed hers in one long drought. “Was it ever a question about whether or not you'd be cleared of the charges?” Gunnar asked.

 

“Well,” she drawled, frowning at the empty glass as though she couldn't quite figure out what had happened to the liquid it had contained. “Sure. There's always a risk, isn't there? I think I need another drink,” she stated, looking around for the waitress.

 

“Oh, I think you've had enough,” Gunnar said with a shake of his head since she was already slurring her words rather badly.

 

Her lips puckered in a moue, and she shook her head, batting at his shoulder in a pathetic effort to beat him into submission. “You're a pooh, Gunnar . . . So is Griffin, did I tell you? He's a Pooh like the bear, but you're just a poopy-pooh.”

 

“Wow. That was quite an insult,” Gunnar deadpanned, sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest.

 

Isabelle nodded, her expression grave. “It was, wasn't it?” Turning suddenly, she stumbled to her feet and grabbed Sydnie's hand. “C'mon!” she prodded, tugging until the cat-youkai stood up. “Let's go do karaoke!”

 

“Oh, I've never done that before,” Sydnie intoned. “How do you do it?”

 

Isabelle fluttered a hand dismissively. “It's easy. Just read the words on the screen.” She leaned in as though to tell Sydnie a secret. “The words light up when you're supposed to sing `em.”

 

Bas shook his head as the two wandered away toward the small but well-lit stage off to the right. Heaving a sigh, he rubbed his forehead. “What do you think?” he asked.

 

Gunnar shrugged but didn't take his eyes off the women as they conversed with the DJ. “I think she's had more than enough to drink for one night.”

 

“Not about that,” he contradicted.

 

“Hmm . . . You mean about her innocence? You thought she'd done something wrong?”

 

“Of course not,” Bas said. “I mean about karaoke.”

 

“Oh, that,” Gunnar intoned. “Yeah, that's bad.”

 

Bas sighed as the girls stepped up onto the stage. “Yeah,” he said with an inward wince. “That's pretty much what I thought, too . . .”

 

 

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

The hesitant knock on the door drew Alastair's attention as he set aside the newspaper and slowly got to his feet. “Come,” he murmured, refusing to raise his voice. The door opened slowly.

 

“Do not lag about in the doorway,” Alastair commanded. “Why are you here?”

 

Jeremiah Willis reluctantly stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. Shifting nervously from one foot to the other, the young man looked like he'd rather be somewhere else. It was a reaction that Alastair was accustomed to.

 

“I've gotten some information on the Zelig, though I must say it'd be easier if I had an inkling as to what, exactly, you wish to know,” Willis remarked casually enough.

 

“Was I not explicit enough?” he asked, a warning buried in the depths of his tone.

 

Clearing his throat, he forced himself to meet Alastair's unwavering stare, his eyes skittering to the side moments later. “No, my lord, not at all,” he blurted, cheeks reddening under Alastair's close scrutiny. Stepping closer, he extended a slim black plastic folder. “This is everything I could gather without drawing undue attention.”

 

“Oh? Then you'd better pray that it is enough,” he intoned, his patience wearing thinner and thinner with every passing second.

 

Willis paled just slightly. “Understood.”

 

Sparing another minute to regard Willis thoughtfully, Alastair pushed the lock release on the thin side of the folder. The top popped open, and the monitor flashed to life. He touched the icon labeled `next of', scowling thoughtfully at the first bio sheet that opened. Sebastian Zelig, complete with a candid photo opened. There was no way that he would have the research. Alastair touched the upper right corner of the screen to scroll to the next page.

 

The room was silent as he shuffled through the assembled information. The list was thorough enough, he had to allow. Willis was even able to garner a full educational history for each of them, as well.

 

It was ridiculously easy to decide who didn't have the research. By the time he'd gone through the pages again, closing each one that he deemed irrelevant, he was left with only two, and interestingly, both were Kichiro Izayoi's daughters. The older of the two was an obstetrician currently living in the States but she had minored in medical research in college while the younger was living in Japan working in a nationally accredited facility.

 

He frowned. On the outside, it would seem that the younger sister would be the most likely choice, but hadn't he thought that before? Besides that, would the woman really have the time to devote to such a project if she were already working on something entirely different?

 

But the older sister . . . She lived in Maine and worked at a family practice. She would have much more time to devote to the research, wouldn't she, not to mention the idea that she was close to Zelig. His intuition was telling him that she was the one to concentrate on, and his intuition was rarely wrong, after all. `Isabelle Izayoi,' he read, his gaze flicking over the supplied image. There was no mistaking her, was there? She shared the same coloring as the Zelig . . .

 

“This one,” he said, shoving the electronic file into Willis' hands.

 

He blinked in surprise then scowled at the screen. “Her?”

 

“Aye,” Alastair said with finality. “She's the one who has it, and I want you to get it back for me.”

 

“Get it back for you,” he echoed with a shake of his head. “What am I trying to get . . .?”

 

Alastair's lips curled back in a visceral grin—a cold expression that made Willis take an involuntary step back. “I'll explain that to you, Willis, after you've found her. Do you understand?'

 

Willis nodded slowly, his Adam's apple obscenely bobbing as he forced himself to swallow. “Y-yes, my lord . . . absolutely.”

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Isabelle leaned heavily on Gunnar's arm as the latter entered the access code on the panel beside her door. “You don't have to go inside with me,” she pointed out, her words slurring together.

 

“I know,” he said dryly, pushing the door open when the panel beeped softly. “Come on, Izzy. Kami, you're a mess.”

 

“I am not a mess,” she argued, slowly shaking her head. “I'm perfectly fine, you know. You just worry too much.”

 

“You think so?” he asked mildly as he kicked the door closed and led her over to the sofa.

 

“Yes, I do. You're entirely too nosy, I'll have you know.”

 

He chuckled as she took a rather unladylike dive onto the sofa, smashing her face into the cushions and mumbling something entirely unintelligible. Gunnar shook his head and strode off toward the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee for her.

 

Everything had gone pretty much downhill after the karaoke moment. He'd known it before, but he'd had to suffer the terrible reminder that his darling cousin simply couldn't carry a tune in a bucket to save her life, and worse, Sydnie wasn't really that much better. Of course, he supposed that some of it could have been due to the fact that both women were on the drunken side of things when they'd marched onto that stage. Still, the men in the bar had still been more than happy to cheer the girls on—not at all surprising given that Gunnar seriously doubted they cared what the girls did so long as they could stare at them for awhile, which, of course, had Bas nearly seething.

 

Gunnar shook his head as he filled the carafe with water for the coffee. Bas was entirely too anal when it came to his mate. It was a trademark of the men in his family, he supposed. How often had he seen his father don that ridiculously overprotective demeanor when men admired his mother? In his estimation, taking a mate was akin to being made a fool of for the rest of his life—something that Gunnar would absolutely not abide.

 

Love turned perfectly reasonable men into blithering idiots, damn it. If he'd heard the story once, he'd heard it a thousand times, how his father had actually helped his mother leave him when she'd figured out that she was pregnant with Gunnar, and all because he didn't want her overdoing it in her `condition'. Everyone else thought that the story was a riot. Gunnar knew better. It was absolutely humiliating.

 

He supposed that he might feel differently had it only been one isolated incident, but it wasn't. He'd seen examples of it all too often over the years. Sierra Crawford Inutaisho didn't really try to get her way in the classic sense, but the end result had been the same. Her sense of quiet displeasure was more than enough to make her husband rethink his decisions over and over again, and while Toga had always given in with a little smile, maintaining that Sierra was right, after all, Gunnar couldn't quite reconcile himself to the idea that his father—the tai-youkai, for the love of kami—would be so willing to give in when he ought to have stood his ground.

 

Leaning against the counter as he waited for the coffee to brew, Gunnar heaved a sigh and rubbed his forehead. To be fair, he loved his parents dearly, and he respected his father as the Japanese tai-youkai. He'd be the first to admit that his mother was a fabulous woman; one he adored and held in the highest of regard. His father, too, was a fair and honest man who held his post as the tai-youkai with dignity and honor. Sierra never butted in when it came to youkai affairs, but when the doors were closed in the little empire she called home, there wasn't a doubt in anyone's minds exactly who was in charge there.

 

And the worst of it, in his mind, at least, was that as strong as Toga might be, when it came to the women in his life, he was just a big marshmallow. His sisters had a horrible habit of being able to cajole their way into and out of every conceivable situation and all Toga ever did was smile and indulge them. It was . . . it was . . . He made a face. It was deplorable, that's what it was. Sure, he loved his sisters. He simply couldn't abide being too close to any of them for any real length of time, and while it may have had a lot to do with the fact that they all still treated him like he was a pup, he knew damn well that it was enough to set his hackles rising that they'd always—always—ran to Papa to fix every little thing . . .

 

He sighed and shook his head, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that nagged at him, telling him that he really was just being an ass, after all.

 

After pulling a mug from the cupboard, Gunnar poured the coffee and strode back into the living room again. “Here,” he said, sitting on the sofa and tugging Isabelle into an upright position.

 

She whimpered in protest and made a face when he carefully stuck the coffee mug into her hands. “I don't want this,” she pointed out with a sad shake of her head.

 

Rolling his eyes, he steadied her hands to keep her from spilling the coffee. “I know you don't,” he informed her. “Drink it anyway.”

 

“Why do you hate me?” she whined, trying in vain to shove the cup away.

 

Gunnar chuckled. “I don't hate you, Isabelle. Now be good and drink that coffee.”

 

“You're just trying to kill my buzz,” she asserted, narrowing her eyes and leaning toward him.

 

“Yes, I am,” he agreed.

 

She heaved a sigh and lifted the mug to her lips. “Ugh,” she sputtered, using her elbow to shove him back and setting the mug on the coffee table with a dull thud. “I refuse to drink any more of that if you refuse to let me have sugar.”

 

“Hmm, yeah, drunk and wired on sugar; I think I'll pass.”

 

She wrinkled her nose then shook her head sadly. “Why are all you men such jerks?” she demanded, blinking quickly as the scent of tears accosted Gunnar's nose. He could only blink at the mercurial shift in her mood.

 

Digging around in his pockets for a crisp white handkerchief, Gunnar offered it to Isabelle seconds before the first tear fell. “You ought to warn me before you start crying,” he pointed out in an effort to change her mood.

 

She sniffled and dabbed at her eyes. “Griffin says my leaking will flood him out of house and home,” she ventured sadly.

 

“Yeah, well, your Griffin's a—”

 

Whipping her head to the side, she pinned him with a fierce glower. “Don't you dare finish that,” she warned, the overall effect she was going for, thwarted by the sniffle that followed.

 

“Keh,” he snorted, but didn't bother trying to point out that the reason she was so unhappy was because of that damned bear-youkai, after all.

 

“Do you think he misses me? At all?” she asked in a tiny voice.

 

It was on the tip of his tongue to say something completely snide, but the look on her face stopped him. As much as he hated to admit it, he never could stand to see Isabelle looking so forlorn. “He'd be a damn fool not to,” he muttered instead. “Here. Give me your feet.”

 

She sniffled again but shifted to the side, drawing her feet up and dropping them in Gunnar's lap. He grimaced and shook his head as he eyed the unearthly contraptions that she called shoes. “Why the hell did you wear these?” he demanded, scowling at the shiny buckles that ran the length of the boot.

 

“They're cute, don't you think?” she asked, turning her feet to either side, struggling to sit up so that she could better admire them.

 

Heaving a sigh, Gunnar pushed her back and started picking at the top buckle. “Cute isn't exactly the first word that came to mind, no,” he ventured. “More like, pain in the ass or something . . .”

 

She giggled weakly—an entirely pathetic sort of thing, all things considered. “Why is it that you can be such a sweet man sometimes and a complete baka at others?”

 

Smiling wanly at Isabelle's choice of words, Gunnar tugged the buckles free and dropped the first shoe on the floor. “A baka? I think not.”

 

Resting her head on the arm of the sofa, she regarded him through half-closed eyes. “I keep thinking that he'll show up to tell me that I have to come home, that he can't live without me . . .”

 

Unable to suppress the need to roll his eyes at the melodramatic assertion, Gunnar snorted and shook his head. “Oh, please, Izzy. Do you really believe that life is like the movies?”

 

Heaving a sigh, she looked entirely too sad in Gunnar's estimation. “Of course not,” she murmured. “I just wish it was.”

 

Dropping the other shoe onto the floor, he pushed her feet off his lap and brushed at his slacks. “You're entirely too naïve, you know. You've always been that way, haven't you?”

 

“I'd hardly call myself naïve,” she said mildly, pushing herself up and tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “I'm a hopeless romantic; that's all.”

 

He narrowed his eyes as he leaned down to look into her face. Whether it was late effects of the booze or something a little deeper, she looked like she was going to cry. `No, not the alcohol,' he thought slowly, knowing deep down that he'd caught glimpses of that same emotion throughout the evening meant for celebration. “Come here,” he said, tugging her to him and pulling her against his side. “I thought you said that you were happy about the outcome of the inquiry.”

 

“I am,” she said in a tiny voice.

 

“You could have fooled me.”

 

She shrugged, knitting her fingers together in a perverse conflagration of wiggling flesh. Gunnar grimaced, restraining the desire to reach over and forcibly separate her fingers. “Why shouldn't I be? I'll be able to go into the office tomorrow with my head held high and pretend that all is right in the world, and even if that's true, what does it matter? Nothing's going to bring their little girl back. See, Mamoruzen, I've learned something.”

 

“Oh? What's that?”

 

She smiled sadly. “Every good thing that happens has its bad side. Look at me, for instance. I can go on with my life and pretend that nothing ever happened, but the McKinleys? What sort of comfort will they be able to find?”

 

“It wasn't something you ever intended to do,” he pointed out reasonably. “You didn't do anything wrong, and that's why they were forced to drop the charges. Don't worry about it, Izzy. If you do . . .” he trailed off with a sigh, offering Isabelle a simple shrug since he wasn't about to try to explain away something that really didn't make any sense. “If you do, then you're just going to drive yourself crazy.”

 

“Crazy . . . right . . .”

 

That didn't comfort her in the least, and Gunnar shook his head. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry that you had to go through all that,” he murmured, squeezing her shoulders.

 

She was silent for a few minutes, lost in contemplation, he supposed. He was almost starting to think that maybe she'd fallen asleep when she finally spoke again. “He loves me,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I know he does.”

 

“Why don't you go to sleep?” Gunnar suggested, ignoring her commentary since he really couldn't think of a single nice thing to say.

 

She uttered a soft little sound, a keening sort of whimper. “He used to come into my room at night and just . . . sit beside me. I think sometimes he talked to me, but I . . . I never remembered exactly what he said . . .”

 

“Love is entirely overrated,” he remarked dryly, shifting so that he could stretch out on the sofa, tugging Isabelle down beside him. “It's just a fabrication made up to sell candy on Valentine's Day and to make men spend their hard earned money on a woman's whim.”

 

That earned him a darkened scowl. “You can't really believe that.”

 

“Can't I?” he challenged.

 

She snorted. “No. If love doesn't exist, then what about your parents? They love each other, you know.”

 

“So they've bought into the illusion. I tell you now, Izzy, it's all just a mirage.”

 

“Hmm, and one day that mirage will come back to bite you in the ass, you know, and when that day comes, my dearest cousin, you'll be eating your words.”

 

“As if I'd ever let someone else dictate my thoughts and actions,” he scoffed. “It'll never happen.”

 

She let out a deep breath and smothered a yawn with the back of her hand. “You can't really ignore convention,” she pointed out reasonably as she snuggled close to him. “You more than anyone should know that. You're going to have to have an heir, and you can't do that without taking a mate.”

 

“I never said I wouldn't take a mate,” he reiterated.

 

“And that cannot be done without falling in love,” she insisted.

 

Rolling his eyes at the entirely too triumphant tone in her voice, Gunnar reached over, flicking Isabelle's nose with the tip of his finger. “It can,” he replied simply. “One does not need to have one's better judgment clouded by what you call love. It's all a matter of biology, Izzy. I'll have my heir, and my wife will understand that she will not overstep her bounds.”

 

“Spoken like a true tyrant,” she muttered. “I take back what I said earlier. You're a complete jerk all the time.”

 

He chuckled. “Shut up and go to sleep, wench. I'll stay till you do.”

 

“Remember when we were little, and that boy pushed me down and I scraped my knee?”

 

Gunnar blinked and nodded. “Sure.”

 

She closed her eyes and shifted to make herself more comfortable. “You carried me all the way home on your back . . .”

 

He almost smiled. “You kept crying when you tried to walk.”

 

“You beat him up because he pushed me,” she murmured. He could hear the trace lethargy stealing into her voice.

 

“Never strike a woman,” he recited. “I supposed that applied to weak little cousins, too.”

 

“Mmm . . . I felt so safe with you, you know.”

“You were safe with me, Izzy. You still are.”

 

She nodded. “That's how . . . I feel . . . when I'm with . . . Griffin . . .”

 

His smile faded as he watched her drift off to sleep. He hadn't noticed the darkened circles under her eyes. She'd brushed powder or something over them, hadn't she? Trying to hide her marked lack of sleep from everyone; maybe even from herself . . .

 

`Griffin Marin . . .' The man was a fool—a complete and utter fool, and the only thing that saved Gunnar from getting up and marching right over to the fool's house was the sight of her, soundly sleeping, and he knew damn well that it was the idea that she wasn't alone that lent her that sense of peace.

 

He'd always protected Isabelle, hadn't he? He couldn't remember a time when he wasn't warning off potential boyfriends or trying to decide whether or not someone was simply trying to use her. Old habits died hard, didn't they, and watching out for her . . .

 

With a sigh, Gunnar settled more comfortably on the sofa, careful not to disturb Isabelle. The clock on the wall read four a.m., and he sighed and closed his eyes. If she could get one decent night's rest because he was there, then he supposed that a sore back from sleeping on a sofa that was too small for his frame was the least of his worries in the long run.

 

 

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A/N:

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Final Thought fromGunnar:

Two words: tone. Deaf.

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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~