InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ Middle Ground ( Chapter 50 )

~~Chapter 50~~

~Middle Ground~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Isabelle groaned softly and burrowed deeper under the thick blanket, unwilling to let go to the last remnants of sleep that clung to her. There was something waiting for her—something that she really didn't want to think about, and if she opened her eyes, she'd have to deal with it, wouldn't she?

 

Still, the intrusion of cognizant thought was too relentless, and when a dull thumping erupted somewhere in the quiet house, she let out a soft whimper and reluctantly sat up.

 

Blinking as she looked around, it took her a minute to figure out where she was. She wasn't entirely familiar with the room, and her numbed brain didn't seem to want to kick over, either. The darkened wood surrounding her lent a comforting feel—strange, she would have thought that it would be a little daunting, but no . . .

 

Or maybe . . .

 

Maybe it was the scent that was so familiar to her, so comforting that it brought tears to her eyes. `Griffin . . .'

 

Everywhere she turned, she could smell him, and gradually, like ice melting in a warm spring breeze, it came to her. `This is . . . Griffin's room . . .? Yes, yes it is . . .'

 

He'd brought her in here last night, hadn't he? After they'd gotten home from the veterinary clinic . . . She'd been so lost in her concern for her dog that she hadn't even realized where he was taking her until he'd shoved a glass of water into her hand along with a couple of nondescript white pills that he'd said would help her to sleep.

 

“Froofie . . .”

 

Vaulting out of the bed and wracking her ankle against the nightstand in her haste, she grimaced and gasped but stumbled out of the bedroom and down the hallway to the living room. Griffin stood just inside the entrance from the foyer, and when he glanced up at her, his signature scowl in place, she headed straight toward him. “Did they call?” she blurted, grabbing his arm and squeezing.

 

He winced and grunted, pulling on his arm in an attempt to get her to loosen her grip. “Are you trying to maim me, and yes, they did.”

 

“Why didn't you wake me up?” she hollered, letting go of him and whipping around to go find some clothes.

 

He caught her hand and pulled her back despite her efforts to tug away. “Calm down, will you? The doctor said that you can come see him tomorrow. They had to wait until he was fully stabilized, but they're going to have to do some surgery to repair some internal bleeding and to put a pin in his hip, so he'll be under anesthesia for awhile today. It'll be easier for them to get this stuff done if you give them time to do it.”

 

“What if he needs me?”

 

Griffin shook his head, catching her upper arms and holding her still. “Don't they say that dogs can sense their owners' emotions? Do you really think that your upset would be good for him? You trust Dr. Brandon, right? He's in good hands, don't you think?”

 

She didn't want to agree with him. She wanted to argue his logic. Put that way, though, she couldn't, not really. With a defeated slump of her shoulders, she nodded. “You're right,” she said quietly, wishing that he wasn't. “He'll be okay, won't he?”

 

The expression on his face was inscrutable, but he tried to smile, and for that, she was grateful. “Yeah,” he said with a nod. “He'll be just fine.”

 

“I . . . I'm okay now,” she lied in a small voice. “If you want me to go home . . .”

 

His snort was louder and dryer than usual. “Your house was ransacked, Isabelle,” he reminded her.

 

She winced. “Then I can go to a hotel . . . or Grandpa's . . .”

 

“Forget it,” he rumbled. “You're fine here.”

 

“But you don't want me here,” she whispered, unable to meet his gaze. A sudden surge of shame washed over her. Did he think that she'd called him just to get him to bring her here? How pathetic did it seem, really?

 

“Your grandfather knows you're here,” he said with a sigh. “Besides. Bevelle's a hell of a commute.”

 

“I didn't mean to call you,” she admitted with a miserable shake of her head. “I just . . . just dialed the phone . . .”

 

“It's all right,” he assured her, letting go of her arms and turning away. “I was probably closer . . . and . . . I'm . . . glad . . . you called me.”

 

Letting her chin drop, she frowned at the oversized flannel shirt—Griffin's shirt—that she didn't remember putting on. Even the quick shower she took was hazy in her mind, but she supposed that was all right, too. None of her thoughts from the night before were good, and though she was still concerned, she had to allow that Griffin's quiet presence was enough to soothe the edges of the hysteria that wasn't very far away. “You took care of me last night, didn't you?” she asked quietly.

 

She could see the trace hint of pinkness steal into his cheeks though she could only discern a portion of his profile. “Yeah, well . . . y-you were kind of a mess . . .”

 

She wanted to ask him why he'd put her in his bed. Surely it would have been just as easy to put her in the guest room. In the end, though, it was enough that he'd done all he had, and asking him questions that were only going to embarrass him . . . well, she just didn't want to do that . . .

 

“Uh, Isabelle?”

 

Fiddling with the red and brown plaid cloth on the end table, she didn't look up. “Hmm?”

 

“Your laptop . . . was it at your place?”

 

“My laptop?” she echoed, unsure where he was going with this line of questioning.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well, yeah . . . it was on my desk . . .”

 

He sighed, sinking down in his recliner with his cell phone in his hands. “Okay. Why don't you go put your stuff up?”

 

“What stuff?”

 

He shrugged but didn't look at her. “Your cousin brought some clothes and stuff over for you. It's in the foyer.”

 

She nodded. “I think I'll take a bath,” she mused, her voice dull.

 

“All right,” Griffin agreed, eyeing the cell phone in his hands as he waited for her to close the bathroom door. He supposed he could have made the call while she was still in the room, but he hadn't wanted to. She'd been through enough, hadn't she? No sense in worrying her until they had some concrete answers.

 

Fishing the business card out of his pocket, Griffin scowled at the phone, turning it from side to side until he located the card reader slot. Carefully feeding the bit of cardstock into the reader, he pressed the `scan' button on the phone and waited for the soft beep before tugging the card loose and stuffing it back into his pocket once more.

 

It didn't take him long to locate the number in the phone's memory. It was just under Isabelle's since hers had been the only one programmed in. He selected the number and hit `connect', drumming his claws on the armrest as he waited impatiently for Bas Zelig to answer.

 

“Dr. Marin,” the younger youkai greeted. “How's Bitty?”

 

“Bitty?” he intoned with a frown.

 

“Uh, Isabelle.”

 

“Oh . . . She's okay. Taking a bath,” he replied, mildly disturbed by the friendliness he heard in Bas' voice. “I asked her about the laptop. She said that it was on her desk.”

 

“Damn,” Bas said with a long sigh. “So that's what they wanted.”

 

“Any ideas on who it was?” he asked, leaning forward and craning his neck to make sure that he wasn't overheard.

 

“We think it was a youkai,” he replied. “It's a little hard to say since the smell of the dog's blood was so strong.”

 

“You can't separate them?”

 

“Not that easily. If I didn't know better, I'd say that the bastard hurt the dog and dragged him around just to cover his scent.”

 

That idea didn't sit well with Griffin; not at all. “Did you read the journal translation?” he asked instead, tamping down the stone cold anger that surged through him at the very idea of such a blatant act of depravity.

 

Bas sighed. “Not yet. We wanted to get the investigation done here first. I want this place cleaned up before Bitty comes home.”

 

“She's not going back there,” he mumbled, more to himself than to Bas.

 

“Either way, it's a mess, and even if she just comes back to get her things . . .”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Would it be all right if I called you if I have any questions about the research?”

 

“Uh, sure . . . yeah . . . Um . . .”

 

“I'll call when he have more information,” Bas supplied, understanding what Griffin was trying to ask.

 

“Th-thanks.”

 

“Not a problem.”

 

Blinking as the connection cut off, Griffin lowered the device and clicked the `end call' button. Her laptop . . . and Charlie . . .

 

Griffin sighed, shaking his head as he pushed himself out of the recliner.

 

He didn't like the feel of the situation, not at all, but if this guy—this Fellowes or whoever he was—thought that he was going to get his hands on Isabelle . . .

 

Eyes darkening as his jaw cinched tight, Griffin stomped off toward the kitchen, willing himself to calm down before Isabelle realized just how precarious the situation really was. She had enough on her mind at the moment, and he'd be damned if he'd add to her concerns.

 

If he thought for even a moment that Griffin was just going to hand her or the research over to the likes of him then that bastard had another thing coming . . .

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Jeremiah Willis rubbed his face and tapped his foot, glancing over his shoulder as he waited for someone to answer the door. He was exhausted. Having been awake for better than forty-eight hours was taking its toll on him. Still he was in fairly good spirits, all things considered. Unconsciously tightening his arms on the nondescript brown leather bag, he almost smiled—almost.

 

It was easier than he'd thought it would be. Finding Dr. Isabelle Izayoi had been simple enough. Thanks to a recent charge of malpractice, her name had been all over the local papers in Bangor. He'd read one article over coffee in a grimy little diner upon his arrival in Maine, and from that one article, he'd learned the name of the clinic where she worked and had been treated to a more recent picture of her, as well.

 

It couldn't have been simpler. All he'd had to do was follow her when she left the clinic to find out where she lived. He'd watched her for almost a week, though, just to make sure that he had a better grasp on her schedule. Alastair told him that he wanted anything that looked like it could contain confidential data, and either the woman led a very boring life or she was far too trusting, overall, because the only things he'd found were her laptop computer and a small PDA tucked neatly into the right hand desk drawer. He'd looked for anything that resembled a diary or a journal, but he'd come up empty, and while he would have liked to have done a bit more thorough of a search, he'd been reasonably satisfied that he'd looked in the main places of the small home.

 

Oliver, the aged old youkai who served as Alastair's butler, opened the door, peering down his hawkish nose at him. “Are you expected?” he asked without preamble, his high British accent lending an even drier quality to his tone.

 

“No, but I'm certain that his lordship will be most pleased to see me,” he replied tightly, despising the uppity butler in that moment.

 

Oliver stared at him for a long moment before stepping back to allow him to enter. “Wait here, please. I shall inform his lordship of your arrival.”

 

Narrowing his eyes on the flippant youkai, Willis said nothing, shifting impatiently from one foot to the other as he watched Oliver amble down the long corridor toward the office at the back of the aged manor house.

 

Telling, wasn't it? He hadn't even considered the idea of getting in some rest before heading here to deliver the pilfered goods to Alastair. It wasn't wise to put off a man such as him; not if Jeremiah wanted to continue to breathe.

 

He sighed, running his fingers through his spiky orange hair. Just what did Alastair hope to find? he wondered. It wasn't the first time that particular question had crossed his mind. To be completely honest, he'd wondered about it more often than not, and the question was enough to drive him to the brink of distraction. Of course, he was better off not knowing. Even he knew that much. No, whatever it was that Alastair Gregory was after, Jeremiah would be far better off if he just followed orders and didn't think too much about anything else . . .

 

“My lord Gregory will see you now,” Oliver stated as he glided out of the room off to the left. He looked quite irritated, Jeremiah noticed. The butler absolutely hated any sort of infiltration into his perceived domain.

 

Offering a mocking bow, Jeremiah couldn't quite suppress the tiny grin that surfaced on his features as he strode past Oliver.

 

His footsteps echoed off the cold stone floor like gunfire exploding in the distance. Ignoring the tremor of foreboding that surged over him, he cleared his throat quietly and paused long enough to garner his courage as he turned to face the closed door. He could feel Alastair's youki undulating from within. The youkai had perfected the art of intimidation long ago—well before Jeremiah had ever met him. Every single move he made was designed to instill fear, and even knowing that, it irritated him to no end that it still worked.

 

Knocking curtly, he stepped back, unconsciously tightening his grip on the leather satchel. With any luck at all, Alastair would be pleased with the spoils he'd brought back, and his part in whatever Alastair was plotting would be finished . . .

 

“Come,” Alastair's voice called out. Jeremiah shook his head quickly. It was almost as though Alastair's voice had come into his mind instead of being heard by his ears. It wasn't the first time he'd thought as much, either. Forcing himself to reach for the handle, he slowly pushed the door open.

 

Standing in the shadows near the window, the youkai seemed to melt into the backdrop of curtains. “My lord,” he greeted, forcing his voice to be strong, steady.

 

Alastair didn't even glance at him. “I trust you bring me good news.”

 

Striding across the office, he set the satchel on the desk and stepped back. “Her computer and her agenda,” he supplied.

 

A quiet rumble issued forth. It took a moment for Jeremiah to recognize the sound: laughter? “Good, good . . . you may go.”

 

Jeremiah made a low bow before he turned to leave, reining in the desire to run from the room. He couldn't quite believe that he was finished with his task. In any case, he wasn't about to hang about for Alastair to change his mind and send him on some other mission . . .

 

In fact, maybe a well-deserved vacation was in order . . . after all, what was that saying? `Ah, yes,' he thought as he stepped out of the house onto the impressive porch. `Out of sight, out of mind . . .'

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Isabelle let out a deep breath as she picked up the suitcase and headed through the house.

 

Griffin didn't even glance up as she passed behind the sofa. Sitting in his recliner with the owner's manual for his cell phone held open and his glasses perched on the end of his nose, he seemed to be quite absorbed in whatever he was doing, and Isabelle didn't comment as she headed down the hallway in the direction of the bedrooms.

 

Stepping into the guest room where she'd stayed for so long, she stopped short and frowned. It looked exactly as it had the day she'd left, and yet there was something different about it, too—not so much a tangible difference, but it was there, nonetheless.

 

`What . . . is it . . .?'

 

Scowling at her surroundings, she bit her lip and shook her head.

 

`You know what it is, Bitty,' her youkai spoke up gently.

 

`No, I don't . . .'

 

`You do. You know that if you stay in here—in this room—you're allowing him to go back to the way things were—the way things were before you slept together. Is that really what you want?'

 

`Going back . . .' she trailed off. Was that what it was? Was that the feeling she couldn't quite put her finger on? It was true, wasn't it? If she acquiesced—if she put herself in this room after he'd let her sleep in his bed—it would be akin to giving up, wouldn't it?

 

Unconscious of the stubborn expression that surfaced on her features, Isabelle turned on her heel and strode purposefully out of the room. If he thought that she'd just roll over and let things be, he was sadly mistaken, wasn't he? Even if she wanted to, she couldn't. That she'd called him without even bothering to consider calling anyone else was telling, and he . . . he'd come to her aid, hadn't he? That had to mean something; she knew it did. Easier to dissect the insanity of the night before, wasn't it? In the bright light of day, she remembered with vivid clarity the absolute fear in his expression as he'd checked her over, demanding to know if she'd been injured or not. It wasn't an expression of a man who was only casually concerned at all. No, it was the look of a man who was frightened half out of his wits that she'd come to harm . . .

 

And though the memories of his quiet if not gruffly tender care of her were a little hazy, she could recall the words he'd said to her as she'd finally drifted off to sleep—a thick sleep devoid of dreams; a leaden sleep that could only be achieved through the use of medicine . . . He'd told her in a husky tone that he was sorry; so very sorry; that he should have realized . . . At the time, she'd wondered in a vague sort of what, exactly what he should have realized. She hadn't been able to think about it too deeply as she lay there caught in the transient state between awake and asleep. Had he actually held her so close to him—close enough that she'd felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under her cheek? Had he really lulled her to sleep by the stroke of his hand on her hair?

 

A trace smile lit on her lips as she recalled the warmth of his lips on her forehead. Though as sketchy as the rest of her memories from the night, she knew—just knew—that it was a memory that she could trust.

 

Heaving an industrious sigh, she hefted the suitcase onto the stout trunk at the foot of Griffin's bed, pausing long enough to smile indulgently as she shook her head. The bed was as big as the man, himself. Of course, she'd be surprised if he had tried to squeeze his six-and-a-half foot frame onto a humble standard sized bed.

 

Pressing the pads of her thumbs against the identi-locks, she waited for the soft beep to let her know that they'd been released before lifting the lid of the suitcase. She couldn't help but giggle at her cousin's unorthodox way of packing. She supposed that the tightly rolled garments were a concerted effort to fit more things into the suitcase. The man was far too good at that sort of thing, especially since he tended to travel a great deal in his line of work. Bastian's primary function in the youkai special crimes division was gathering intelligence, which often meant that he and his mate were gone on reconnaissance missions. In fact, the only things that Bastian hadn't rolled were her panties and bras, and those were rather haphazardly thrown in. She had a feeling that her poor cousin was more than a little unhappy about being asked to pack her things for her.

 

“All right,” Griffin grumbled, stomping into the bedroom with a scowl on his face and the cell phone in his hand. “I give up. How do I change the godforsaken song you programmed into this stupid thing?”

 

“I'll show you later,” she remarked absently, picking up a handful of panties and turning a thoughtful eye on the dresser. “Which drawer is mine?”

 

His head jerked up, his gaze darkening as a hint of disbelief surfaced on his features. “Which . . . what?” he demanded incredulously.

 

“Which drawer? Actually, I might need a couple, if that's all right,” she went on. “A girl can never have too much drawer space.”

 

“You have a perfectly good dresser with lots of empty drawers in the guest room,” he growled, cheeks pinking as he shook his head at her.

 

She spared him a momentary glance before stepping closer to the dresser. “Now why would I put my things in there when I'm going to be staying in here?”

 

“But you're not—” he began.

 

“Oh, but I am,” she argued lightly.

 

“And just what makes you think that I'll let you?” he countered, crossing his arms over his chest in a decidedly stubborn stance.

 

“Because you brought me here,” she reminded him.

 

“Only because you were leaking.”

 

“And you said you were glad that I called you,” she reminded him sweetly.

 

He snorted. “Not that glad, damn it.”

 

“Don't be so stubborn,” she insisted. “I haven't slept decently in weeks, and it's all your fault. The least you can do is humor me.”

 

“Humor you?” he echoed, narrowing his eyes and pinning her with a mulish expression. “Why on earth would I do that?”

 

Pulling the top drawer on the right hand side open, Isabelle moved his neatly arranged socks aside and dropped her panties into the empty spot. “Because I'm not taking `no' for an answer; that's why,” she quipped, closing the drawer and brushing off her hands, ignoring the wheezing intonation of Griffin's breathing. “You said it, yourself. You don't mind having me here, and I'm tired of playing this game. You're my mate. You know it, and I know it, and I'm not going anywhere anymore, no matter how much grumping you try to do.”

 

Blinking in dulled surprise at the uncharacteristic brusqueness in her tone, Griffin opened his mouth to argue with her only to snap it closed on whatever retort he'd been trying to form. Skin darkening precariously, he shook his head at her and stomped over to the dresser, jerking open the drawer where she'd just put her things as he dropped the cell phone onto the dresser with a dull clatter before scooping out his socks and yanking open the next drawer over. Mumbling under his breath about pushy women and some things that ought to never touch, he shoved his socks in with his plain white tee-shirts and shoved the drawer closed once more. “You're not making my bedroom all girly,” he growled, shaking his head furiously as his already ruddy cheeks colored just a little more.

 

“I wouldn't dream of it,” she assured him. “Don't suppose you could spare a second drawer?”

 

“Don't suppose I could,” he grumbled, pulling open another drawer and lifting a stack of carefully folded pants out of it with a pointed sigh. “You're a pain in the ass; did you know?”

 

“Maybe,” she allowed almost grudgingly, scooping the rest of the contents of her suitcase out and shoving it all into the newly emptied drawer.

 

“Definitely a pain,” he insisted, eyeing the haphazardly filled drawer with something akin to acute disgust. He thought better of complaining about it, though, and simply watched as she smashed things down in order to close the drawer.

 

“Well, this pain is tired,” she said, unable to hide the hint of petulance in her voice. “Will you take a nap with me?”

 

He didn't look like he was going to comply. In fact, he looked like he was considering opening the drawer and arranging her things. He glanced at her, though, then heaved another sigh before snapping her suitcase closed and stowing it away in the closet. “Fine,” he mumbled in a completely guarded tone, “but only if you promise you'll stay on your side of the bed.”

 

Only then did she smile and nod. “Okay,” she said, figuring that it was all right to concede on the issue as she padded over to the side of the bed where she'd slept the night before. Griffin watched her for a moment before reluctantly rounding the other side and slowly stretched out beside her. As much as she wanted to move in closer, she didn't, but she could feel her wan smile widening.

 

She was making progress, wasn't she? To be completely honest, she had to admit that she hadn't actually expected him to give in so quickly. He was Griffin, after all, and she knew damn well that he had a tendency to be stubborn just for the sake of the act. Still, it was encouraging, and she supposed that she could give him the battle as long as she won the war.

 

 

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

A/N:

== == == == == == == == == ==

Reviewers

==========

MMorg

smallflower --- Simonkal of Inuy ------ Sesshomaru4Kagura4ever ----- CandyEars ------ Jester08 ------ OROsan0677 ------ Ayame87 ------ Sunekai ------ hippiewolfgirl ------ half cat demon kagome ------ Death-by-Minnow ------ Zetsuii

==========

Forum Reviews

Proforce ------ psycho_chick32 ------ DarkAngel ------ Mermaid77 ------ Stefikittie ------ cutechick18 ------ MouF ------ BENGbeng ------ GoodyKags ----- OROsan0677 ------ atticus ------ Chva The Mai-coh ------ DreamLOVE ------ CarmMelDoll ------ WonderAway ------ Danico

==========

Final Thought fromGriffin:

She moved … in …?

==========

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~