InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ Loss ( Chapter 56 )

~~Chapter 56~~

~Loss~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Griffin stopped short as he entered the bedroom, only to be hit with a balled-up sheet right in the face. “What was that for?” he asked dryly, slapping the sheet away and pinning Isabelle with a marked frown.

 

She giggled, shaking out a fresh one and spreading it over the mattress. “Sorry,” she apologized, sounding anything but contrite. “I was just changing these.”

 

“You're changing the sheets now?” he muttered, arching an eyebrow.

 

“I figured I could toss them into the washer before we leave, and they'll be ready for the dryer by the time we get back.”

 

Shaking his head, he swiped up the sheets and turned on his heel. “All right, but hurry up. The vet's clinic closes early on Friday night.”

 

Hiding an amused smile, Isabelle made quick work of smoothing the fitted sheet over the mattress cover. It wasn't surprising that he knew the clinic's hours. The man was methodical to a fault, and he'd very likely called ahead to make sure that Dr. Brandon would be in when they got there with Froofie.

 

He just needed to go in for a checkup, and while he still had a lot of mending to do, he was growing a little stronger every day. Earlier, she'd caught him creeping a few inches to his water bowl, and she figured that was a really good sign.

 

To be honest, Griffin had been a bit edgy all day, and while she knew that part of it had to do with the dog's checkup, she wasn't entirely certain that it was the only reason. More than once, she'd watched as he'd paced around the house, pausing by the windows to stare outside at the familiar surroundings. It was almost as though he expected someone or something . . .

 

She'd spent the better part of the morning making calls in an effort to procure both laboratory space as well as feeling out potential candidates for donating blood for the research. Her boss at the clinic had offered to let her use the lab there during the weekends and after office hours. Understanding that it was for some kind of youkai research, he hadn't asked many questions, and in a roundabout way, he'd even offered to help her out in whatever capacity she'd require—a great thing since he was also youkai, and he'd be a perfect candidate for collection.

 

And she hadn't been able to resist teasing Griffin just a little, either. He was getting better about it, she had to admit.

 

“Hey, big guy. Care to help me out?”

 

Without lowering the newspaper he was reading, Griffin grunted something unintelligible.

 

“Would you be willing to donate some DNA to the project?” she said, tapping her claws on the desk.

 

That got his attention easily enough. Peering up from the paper, he shot her a glance full of trepidation. “DNA?” he echoed.

 

She nodded. “Yes. Just a small sample. . .”

 

“A sample? Of DNA . . . What kind of . . . sample . . .?”

 

She didn't miss the marked reddening of his cheeks, and she laughed. “I could strip for you if that would help . . . or I could get you some porn. I'd imagine that Evan has some lying around. He might have even left some in his room at Grandma and Grandpa's house . . .”

 

“You're not—I'm not—you don't need—damn it!” he blustered, his face growing redder by the second.

 

Her laughter spilled out and grew louder when he rather unceremoniously shoved her off his desk. “You're right; I'm not asking for your semen. A little bit of blood would do,” she said between fits of giggles.

 

He refused to speak to her again for nearly three hours.

 

She smiled to herself as she spread the coverlet over the bed and stepped back to survey her work. She didn't even try to delude herself into thinking that the battle was won, but she had to admit that she was almost positive now that she would be victorious in the end.

 

He really was coming around, and she'd figured something else out, too. Griffin really liked to cuddle, and while he'd always grumble and complain whenever she tried to get him to cooperate, he gave in every time, hesitantly wrapping his arms around her and holding her close as she dozed off or as she savored the absolute feeling of closeness that passed between them at those times. Though she doubted that he'd ever admit to it, she knew intuitively that it was something that he needed as much as she did.

 

That was all right, too, wasn't it? Even though he wasn't a poet or an artist, even though he couldn't quite give voice to the emotions he was feeling, she knew deep down. It was there in the gruff yet sweet way that he took care of her, there in the quiet sighs and the brush of his youki on hers. All she wanted—the only thing she wanted—was to make him understand how very much he still had left to offer, and he would understand eventually.

 

It was thoughts like those that slowed her down when all she wanted was to crawl into him and never let him go, when his very proximity made her remember that one shared night. In the darkness, the stillness, it had been wonderful, and yet she held back. As much as she wanted him, wanted to show him how much she loved him, she wanted him to feel it, too; wanted him to want her on his terms, in his time. It was enough for now that he was slowly and a little reluctantly letting his guard down. She could wait for something beautiful, couldn't she?

 

“We don't have all day, Isabelle,” Griffin's voice echoed through the house.

 

She laughed softly and hurried out of the bedroom, humming a low song under her breath.

 

Griffin was something special, and this time . . .

 

This time she was going to do things his way, even if the waiting killed her.

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Sucking in a sharp breath, Gavin's eyes flashed open wide when Jillian jumped on him with a happy sigh and a million kisses all over his face. “Gavvie, Gavvie, Gavvie, Gavvie, I missed you!” she breathed.

 

“J-Jilli?” he stammered, his voice still thick with sleep.

 

“Of course it's me, silly! Who else would it be? Wait! Don't answer that . . . what's her name, and what does she smell like?”

 

He chuckled at the deep intonation—a miserable impression of some of the more twisted male members of her family. His laughter, however, had a hollow-ish sound, and she pushed herself up on her elbows to blink at him. “What's wrong?” she asked without preamble.

 

Pushing himself up on his elbows, he kissed her quickly and flopped back, pulling her down to cuddle her against his chest. “You just get in?” he asked, ignoring her question as he closed his eyes again.

 

“Yes,” she allowed.

 

“Good trip?”

 

“Ye-es . . .” she drawled. “Don't think I don't know that you're hiding something.”

 

He grimaced then heaved a sigh. He'd have rather had this discussion after getting a few more hours' sleep, especially since he and Cain had just gotten home about four hours ago, themselves, and while Gavin had been dead tired, he'd still taken a shower and shaved before finally dropping into bed in the room that he'd always slept in whenever he was staying with the Zelig family. Staring into Jillian's concerned eyes, though, he let out a deep breath and sat up. “I, uh . . . I . . . lied to you,” he admitted quietly, his gaze skittering away as his cheeks flushed as a fresh wash of guilt rose to choke him.

 

She shook her head, her eyes darkening in complete confusion. “What do you . . . mean?” she asked.

 

“I went to Australia. I went to find Avis.”

 

Silence greeted his admission. Gavin could feel the upset in her aura but didn't look to verify it. Rubbing his face, he turned his scowl toward the window—toward the sunshine that was growing stronger with every passing minute as the sun rose higher in the bright morning sky.

 

“And?” she finally prompted, her voice low, husky, as though she were trying to repress some sort of emotion.

 

“And,” Gavin said slowly, wishing that he didn't have to tell her what he knew but knowing deep down that she deserved to hear it. “I found him . . . He . . .” trailing off with a grimace, he reached out, pulled her close against his side. “He's dead.”

 

“W-what?” she breathed, her youki spiking sharply, drawing in tight around her.

 

“I'm sorry, Jilli,” he told her, unable to do much more than to offer his strength, his support. “I'm sorry . . .”

 

“Wh . . . how?”

 

Tightening his hold, he shook his head, kissed her hair in a vain effort to comfort her. “I don't know,” he whispered. “They're looking into it. Jilli . . .”

 

Slumping forward, she buried her face in her hands, choking back a quiet sob. Gavin winced. On some level, she'd viewed Avis as family, hadn't she? The closest connection she had to her biological parents, and the loss she felt was akin to losing them all over again, only this time was worse, wasn't it? This time she knew something about them, and that made all the difference . . .

 

“I'm sorry, Jilli,” he said, pulling her against his chest once more, rocking her, soothing her, wishing that he could do something—anything—to make her pain go away. “God, I'm sorry . . .”

 

In the end, all he could do was hold her for what seemed like forever as she cried. If he said he was sorry once, he said it a hundred times, and with every tear that fell from her eyes, he felt a part of himself die away. Maybe it was inevitable; the regret that assailed him. If he hadn't gone there, she'd still be holding onto that fragile hope, and yet . . .

 

That hope was a malicious thing. It kept her wishing and hoping and thinking, and while she was mourning the loss of the answers that she might never have, maybe she could move on, too. Maybe she would realize that those answers wouldn't change who she was nor would they validate her life, either. It was what she did with it that would be her legacy, and in the end, Gavin could only hope that he could retain the smiling, laughing woman he'd loved his entire life.

 

“Am I selfish, Gavin?” she whispered between choked breaths.

 

“What? No . . . Why would you think that?” he asked gently, smoothing her hair off her face when she leaned back to look up at him.

 

Shaking her head miserably, she wiped her eyes with a trembling hand. “A man dies, and all I can think is that I'll never know . . . things . . .”

 

Letting out a sad little sigh, Gavin kissed her forehead and offered her a thin little smile. “Jilli, you know, right? Your biological parents are not who you are. They might have given you that . . . that pretty smile of yours, but Gin and Cain are the ones who taught you how to do it. They . . . they gave you the legs to stand on, but Gin and Cain caught you when whenever you fell. They gave you arms, but Gin and Cain hugged you until you learned to do that, too . . . Do you understand?”

 

She blinked quickly, her eyes glossing over with a fresh sheen of tears, but the smile that emerged, while precarious, was the brightest he'd seen in far too long. “You're right,” she murmured, snuggling against him once more. “They did . . . Mama and Daddy . . . and you, Gavvie.”

 

“I love you, Jilli,” he said, his voice thick, choked by raw emotion.

 

“I love you, too, Gavvie . . . my best friend.”

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

“Damn them!”

 

Sweeping everything off his desk in a fit of rage, Alastair couldn't staunch the menacing growl that escaped him as he dug his claws into the desktop in impotent anger.

 

“I apologize, my lord,” Kent Murphy said without blinking at the uncharacteristic show of frustration. His normally peaked face paling noticeably in the wake of the angry display, the unobtrusive mole-youkai seemed to shrink into himself in an effort to avoid any unwanted backlash. “But I was able to crack the password.”

 

Striding across the study, Alastair spared a derisive snort but didn't break his stride. “And that avails me absolutely nothing, doesn't it?”

 

No, it didn't, and that was more than enough to peeve him completely. To be so close then to have the research elude him once more was simply intolerable, and while Avis had alluded to the idea that the data would be encrypted, he hadn't thought much of it, given that Avis had been wrong far too many times on the whole.

 

“I don't recognize the language,” Murphy said with a frown as he looked over the scanned document.

 

Alastair slapped the laptop closed and snatched it off of Murphy's lap. “You were only brought in to retrieve the password,” he reminded him, “and I trust you will forget anything you happened to see within that file.”

 

Nodding once at the unspoken but very definite threat, Murphy slowly got to his feet, smoothing back an errant lock of devil-black hair that had escaped the severe tightness of the low ponytail he sported. “If that is all you require, my lord?”

 

He uttered a terse growl; enough to allow the mole-youkai to make a hasty retreat, leaving Alastair alone in the stagnant room.

 

Drawing a deep breath designed to steady his untapped rage, he carefully, deliberately set the computer atop the cleared desk. First things first, then, and that was to figure out what language that contemptible Carradine had used to transcribe the research. Then it would only be a matter of time before he possessed what had been eluding him for far too long: the power and the wherewithal that he needed to see his master plan to fruition. Then they would see it, wouldn't they? They would see the error borne of their complacence.

 

He'd considered it a long, long time, and for awhile, he had let his hatred seethe in silence. There was a time when the great and powerful Sesshoumaru had openly despised those of mixed heritage, of humans and youkai and the atrocities that came from such an unholy union. When it came about that the great and terrible Inu no Taisho's own son would betray the youkai by taking a human to mate and then flaunted his `heir' before all of their kind, Alastair had decided that it simply could not be tolerated any longer. Proclaiming a hanyou to be the next Japanese tai-youkai was of little import to him. As far as Alastair was concerned, they could sully their line as much as they wanted. His pride of the motherland had been lost long ago, after all, but as the blood heir to that particular tai-youkai, the hanyou might one day be placed above all—the Inu no Taisho—and that was something that Alastair simply would not suffer.

 

`Patience,' he told himself as he plotted his next move. `Good things come to those who wait . . .'

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

“You look like you're waiting for someone,” Isabelle murmured as she leaned in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest, watching as Griffin stood on the porch, his eyes sweeping over the familiar surroundings.

 

He grunted but didn't turn to look at her. “Don't be stupid,” he retorted.

 

“You have something on your mind,” she remarked quietly. “You think I can't tell when you're preoccupied?”

 

“I'm always a little restless this time of year,” he evaded. “I don't like being cooped up all winter.”

 

She didn't fully believe him, but she let it drop. The man was far too stubborn for his own good, wasn't he? Pulling her sweater closer around her, she tugged the door closed and ambled toward him. “Did I tell you that I managed to get lab space?”

 

He shot her a quick glance, cheeks pinking just slightly when she slipped her arms around his waist, leaning heavily against his arm. “You're ready for that?” he asked, opting to ignore the intrusion on his personal space, at least for the moment.

 

She nodded. “Just about. The research was pretty much completed, and they were ready to start a clinical trial. As long as there isn't a problem reproducing the serum, then it shouldn't be too much trouble.”

 

“Sounds a little too easy, if you ask me.”

 

Offering a shrug, she let her arms drop before sinking down on the top porch step. “Not really . . . Putting together a solid study to start with can be far more work. I mean, you have to analyze every little thing, even things that seem fairly inconsequential, plot out all the possible outcomes, both good and bad . . . It's pretty involved, but they did all stuff when they were theorizing, to start with. Of course, there were a few more variables that occurred to me, too, and I've added them to my notes, but as long as a few things are avoided as a precaution, it shouldn't affect the overall outcome.”

 

Grimacing, he slowly lowered himself onto the step beside her. “What if it doesn't work?” he asked mildly.

 

Casting him a sidelong glance, she sighed. “In best case, if it doesn't work, then hanyous will be in no worse condition.”

 

“In worst?”

 

She pondered that, considering the things she'd read—the parts of the research that she'd questioned already. “There shouldn't be a huge risk. After all, everything will be carefully controlled, and while it may be possible to administer the dosage yourself one day, for now it would have to be done in a clinical setting.”

 

“You're avoiding the question,” he accused mildly.

 

She smiled. “No, I'm not. In worst case, it might result in accidentally triggering the youkai response, but that shouldn't be a problem. I mean, there would have to be a really severe offset of the youkai versus the human blood for that to happen, and even then, it's more comparable to the problems that might result from any transplant or transfusion in a human. If the body views the serum as a threat, then it might start to fight against itself, but given the dosage in the actual inoculation, that shouldn't be an issue, even if one tried to overdose on purpose.”

 

“But aren't you offsetting the balance by giving the shots on the day when the youkai blood is highest?” he pressed.

 

She shrugged—not necessarily indicating indifference; more of a halfway response between the two extremes. “Yes and no . . . if the blood were lower, then the ratio is bound to be off, too. It's easier to control the result if the shot is given on the highest day so that the serum will assimilate fastest.”

 

He scowled at the bare patches of pavement where the snow had melted away during the course of the day. “No, that's wrong, too . . . Just injecting youkai DNA isn't going to solve the problem.”

 

“You don't think so?” she parried.

 

He shrugged. “There needs to be a safeguard; a way of tempering the youkai part of the DNA. Think about it: youkai DNA isn't all that stable to start with, is it? I mean, if a youkai is able to transform into a higher form, then it has to mean that their bodies aren't like humans, so to apply that sort of logic is a little . . . careless, don't you think?”

 

She frowned. She hadn't considered that, but what Griffin said . . . it made perfect sense. “You know, I can't lose myself to my youkai blood,” she ventured at length. “Grandma's blood protects us.”

 

“Because she's a miko, you mean?”

 

She nodded. “When he was young, my uncle, Ryomaru got into a really bad fight with some youkai. He was pretty severely beaten before anyone got there to help him, but he never lost himself, either. Papa said that he's sure that it's because of Grandma's miko blood.”

 

Griffin pondered that for a moment then shook his head. “So can you create a serum with your grandmother's help?”

 

“You mean, use her blood to temper the youkai blood?”

 

“Something like that. It'd stabilize the mix, wouldn't it?”

 

She nodded slowly, biting her lip as she considered it. True, that part of the research had always bothered her. The curious mix was precarious enough between a hanyou's youkai and human sides, and she'd wondered more than once whether the balance would be offset by introducing any level of youkai DNA to their systems, and what Griffin said had made complete and perfect sense.

 

“You know, you'd make a damn good researcher,” she pointed out, nudging him with her shoulder as a playful smile surfaced on her lips.

 

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “I'm just a teacher of ancient languages,” he maintained.

 

“I'll give Papa a call later—tell him what you've said.”

 

He nodded but didn't speak, staring off over the top of the trees at the lengthening shadows of the coming evening. The expression on his face was sad, almost like he was recalling something that may not have been a bad memory but did have the power to hurt him. Brown eyes bright, reflecting the late afternoon sunshine, he clenched his jaw for just a moment, his hair ruffled by the invisible fingers of the soothing late March breeze.

 

“A penny for your thoughts,” she murmured, smiling slightly at the silly little expression.

 

He blinked and shot her a quick glance then shrugged offhandedly. “Not worth a penny,” he allowed.

 

“I don't know,” she said with a soft sigh then smiled just a little bit. “If it's enough to make you look like that, then I'd say it's worth more than just a penny.”

 

Shaking his head, he leaned forward, pressing his fingertips together between his spread knees. “This research,” he finally said slowly, haltingly, as though he didn't want to talk about it. “Maybe . . . maybe you ought to let your father finish it.”

 

Frowning as she turned her head to eye him carefully, she sucked in her cheek, assessing his silent profile as she struggled to understand exactly what he was thinking. “Why?”

 

“It's . . .” he trailed off and cleared his throat but didn't look at her. “It's a lot of work,” he muttered, shaking his head, “and it's big—you said so, yourself. Your dad . . . he's done this sort of thing lots of times, right? You can do it, sure, but . . .” Heaving a sigh, he lifted a hand, palm-side up, as though he were searching for the right words floating in the air. “I'm not trying to say that you can't do it,” he finally said. “I just don't know if you should.”

 

She sighed, too, digesting his words before posing the question she'd been meaning to ask him. “You said that you've seen a hanyou lose control before, right?”

 

He blinked but nodded. “Yes.”

 

“Tell me what happened?” she prompted gently.

 

Resting his elbow on his knee, he rested his chin against his balled-up fist, his eyes glossing over, looking back into a time that Isabelle didn't really comprehend. “Attean had a brother—Miquois,” he said, his voice dropping to a breath above a whisper. “I didn't know him very well; only met him a few times. He was, um, younger than Attean, and a little scrawny thing. There was this, uh, huge storm that blew down from the north. Biggest blizzard I ever saw, just . . . everywhere . . .” Lifting his head, he scowled at the sky for a long time, watching as the clouds drifted across the horizon. “He was on his way back. The tribe's chief had sent him to deliver a message, and he . . . Well, he just wanted to be accepted, you know?”

 

She nodded without a word, frowning slightly as she waited for him to go on. He didn't seem sad, exactly; more like reconciled to what had happened.

 

Griffin let out a deep breath and ducked his chin, scowling at his hands for a moment before turning his head to look at her. “Anyway, I don't know what happened to him to start with. Attean and I were outside . . . I think we were chopping wood or something, but the wind—you know, you can smell things; even things miles away if the wind is just right. Attean smelled his blood, and we went to find him.” Tapping his palms together, he licked his lips, his eyebrows drawing together in a confused sort of expression. “He was . . . torn up. The skin on his arm was shredded; his chest was . . . ripped wide open, and I remember . . . his, uh . . .” Swallowing hard, he waved his hand in front of his face. “His eyes . . . they were red—not red, but, like . . . crimson, and he . . . he just . . .”

 

Isabelle bit her lip. Griffin wasn't having difficulty talking, she knew. No, he was having difficulty in choosing the words that he wanted to use to explain everything to her . . . Laying a hand on his arm, she offered him a gentle squeeze of encouragement, and he sighed.

 

“Attean tried to talk to him. Tried to tell him that he needed to calm down, and he—Miquois—attacked us. Just kept fighting and fighting and . . . and Attean kept trying to talk to him—make him understand that he was destroying himself. Attean was covered with Miquois's blood. The place reeked—just reeked, and . . . and this little girl came walking up. She had a bucket for water, I guess, and Miquois grabbed her . . . tore her up and ran off. We caught up with him right after he'd cut down her family.”

 

Rubbing his eyes, he shook his head, his eyes telling her plainly that he still didn't quite understand all that had happened on that day. “Attean . . . he had to kill him—his own brother—because the decent part of him was already dead.”

 

She digested that in silence, her hand idly rubbing his arm. He still felt bad for the friend he hadn't been able to help, didn't he? He understood, of course, that what had happened couldn't be changed, and even if it could have been, it didn't really matter now. A hanyou who lost himself to his youkai blood couldn't be controlled or reasoned with, and while she'd heard the stories about her grandfather, she also knew that he'd admitted that if he hadn't learned to control his youkai blood, he might have died a long time ago, too. In her mind's eye, she could see what Griffin had told her, and she couldn't help the absolute trill of trepidation that raced down her spine. “That's why, you know,” she said, breaking the stony silence that had fallen. “That's why I want to do this.”

 

“I know,” he said, his voice full of regret.

 

She shook her head slowly, casting him a sad sort of look that she hoped he understood. “What you saw . . . I don't want that to happen again. I can do this—I know I can.”

 

He nodded once then heaved a sigh. “That's not it,” he growled, scuffing his toe against the step.

 

“Then tell me what it is,” she challenged softly.

 

Ducking his chin a little lower, raking his hands through his hair, he grimaced again. “It's the world,” he said at length. “Every time you see something like that—every time you try to make sense of something that has no rhyme or reason . . . it changes you, and those changes . . .”

 

Smiling sadly, she reached out, pushed the bangs out of his face, cradled his cheek in her hand. “Life is change, Griffin.”

 

“I . . . I know,” he said, his eyes taking on a haunted sort of look—the one she'd seen before, and yet there was an underlying hint of something else there, too: something brighter and infinitely more beautiful.

 

“I can do this,” she repeated, her conviction sharpening her words.

 

He closed his eyes for a moment then jerked his head once in a nod. “Yes,” he allowed. “I'm sure you can.”

 

 

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

A/N:

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Final Thought fromIsabelle:

He's just so cute …

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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~