InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ Hypothesis ( Chapter 57 )

~~Chapter 57~~

~Hypothesis~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

:July 12, 2065:

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Narrowing her eyes as she peered into the microscope, Isabelle worried at her lower lip as she studied the sample. “Zoom times ten,” she said, the clarity of her voice a little shocking in the quiet lab.

 

The microscope hummed quietly as the order was carried out, and she shifted her gaze to the side, studying the stills she'd procured from the original series of samples.

 

There was a distinct change in the structure of the tissue—an even more remarkable one than there had been in the last batch of samples, and everything looked good. The analysis she was doing on the DNA structure would prove whether or not the differences were the ones she was after, but she couldn't help the triumphant little smile that graced her lips.

 

“You ready to go home yet?” Griffin asked, rubbing his eyes as he stifled a yawn with the back of his hand.

 

She nodded absently but didn't look up from the microscope as she jotted notes at the same time. “Yeah, just a minute.”

 

He grunted and leaned against a lab table, patiently waiting for her to finish up.

 

She'd wanted to stop by to check up on the samples after they'd finished having dinner, not that he'd minded. It never ceased to surprise him, the tenacity with which she devoted herself to the project. Certainly, he'd known that she had a serious side, but when she tended to laugh and joke more often than not, it was easy to forget that she could be so dedicated.

 

He sighed and shook his head, pushing away from the table and shuffling across the floor. That wasn't entirely fair, was it? No, he knew damn well that she was committed to making sure that the research was completed. When she wasn't picking at him, she had her nose buried in her notes, and often he had to say her name a few times before she would deign to notice that she wasn't alone.

 

It had been nearly four months since he'd finished translating the research—nearly four months since her home had been broken into—and in those months, she'd made remarkable progress.

 

She'd determined that she should reproduce the trials that the Carradine brothers had recorded in the beginning, and in much less time than he'd have thought possible, she'd managed to do exactly that. Sure, he knew from having translated the work that Carl Carradine had been meticulous about writing down every little thing, every little measurement, every ratio that she'd needed, to the point that she'd simply had to gather the necessary ingredients, as it were.

 

He wrinkled his nose and crossed his arms, leaning against a table again to wait. She couldn't finish the damned research fast enough, as far as he was concerned. He could feel it in the air, the danger that grew steadily more ominous, like a storm cloud rising in the east over the ocean: one that rolled in so quickly that it could easily drop a few sprinkles of rain or break wide open, barraging the coast for days at a time. It was calm—too calm. As far as he knew, either Alastair Gregory hadn't figured out that Isabelle had the research or he hadn't been able to track her down yet, but with every day that passed unremarked, the more Griffin couldn't help but worry.

 

It was enough to drive him mad—certainly more than enough to irritate the hell out of him. He'd had trouble sleeping before, sure, but he'd be lying if he said that he got more than an hour or two of sleep at night these days. Jerking awake at the slightest noise, constantly checking and double checking doors and windows, he could feel the paranoia creeping in around him, and yet he couldn't let it go, either. If he did—if Isabelle ended up in danger because of a lapse in his judgment . . .

 

He snorted inwardly and shook his head. No one would ever hurt her, damn it, not as long as he drew breath . . . `Never.'

 

“Okay, big guy,” Isabelle said, her soft voice cutting through his reverie. Gathering a stack of micro-images, she shot him a big smile as she carefully stuck the pictures into the manila file.

 

“Got your slides?” he asked, pushing away from the counter to take the file from her before heading for the door that led into the decontamination room.

 

She held up the small digital device to show him then stuck it into the attaché case along with the file of pictures. “Yep.”

 

“You'd better appreciate this,” he mumbled, setting the case aside when they reached the locker room to methodically strip off the lab suit that he had to wear in order to sit with her while she worked on the research.

 

“But you're so damn cute in the lab gear,” she replied with a saucy grin.

 

Griffin snorted and shook his head, chucking the clothes toward the laundry hamper as he tugged the sterile cap off his head and dropped it into the trash can. “You're not nearly as funny as you think you are,” he pointed out. “Give me your keys.”

 

She dropped the car keys into his free hand before stooping over to pull the rubber booties off her feet. “Yep.”

 

“I suppose you're going to fall asleep going over that stuff?” he grumbled.

 

“Of course not,” she said, waving her hand dismissively.

 

He snorted since she had done exactly that more often than not in the couple of months since she'd started working with the samples.

 

“I wake up in bed every morning, don't I?” she challenged, lifting an eyebrow as she peered over her shoulder before turning off the locker room lights.

 

That didn't even deserve a response, as far as he was concerned. The reason she woke up in bed was, more often than not, because he carried her there long after she'd passed out on the sofa or on the dining room table or on his desk—wherever she happened to fall asleep. “Get a move on, will you?” he mumbled instead.

 

“I offered to come in alone, you know, so you can't complain,” she pointed out reasonably. “If you really think I'm going to run off with someone else, you're sadly mistaken.”

 

Snorting loudly as a tell-tale flush crept over his skin, Griffin shook his head and tried to put on a tough front. “I should get so lucky.”

 

She laughed outright at him, testing the door to make sure that it was locked before leaning up to kiss his cheek. “You'd be lost without me,” she informed him as she slipped her hand under his arm and gave him a quick squeeze.

 

“Hardly. Be jumping for joy, more like.”

 

Her laughter escalated as they navigated the murky darkness. A couple safety lights glowed here and there, but the watery brightness was entirely undermined by the starless night outside, leaving everything in the blackest of shadows. Even the halogen streetlamp just outside the clinic did nothing to disburse the unsettling night. The meager shaft of light fell straight to the ground, illuminating little more than the barest circle, misshapen where it tumbled off the sidewalk onto the asphalt street below.

 

Isabelle's hideously yellow car beeped softly as Griffin held out the keychain, unlocking the doors via the remote. The headlights blinked in welcome.

 

Stopping on the passenger side of the car long enough to open the door and deposit her things behind the seat, he stepped back, waiting while she got into the vehicle. She shot him a bright smile as he pushed the door closed, and he couldn't help the minute he spared to survey the surroundings before striding around the car and slipping in behind the steering wheel.

 

There was nothing amiss, was there? Of course there wasn't. There never seemed to be. Still, he couldn't help the trepidation that crept up his spine every time he thought about that damnable research and Isabelle's involvement with it. It was more of a feeling than anything concrete, the innate knowledge that something was closing in, and while every day the completion of the project drew a little bit closer, it wouldn't be done fast enough to suit Griffin; not by a long shot . . .

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Alastair tapped his claws against the thin black plastic techfile as he read through the fax he'd just received from the man he'd asked to take a look at the research notes.

 

`The files seem to be written in a strange Abenaki dialect,' it read, `or to be more precise, a few of them. As far as I know, there aren't many who can accurately translate the text, and there are only a couple of people who might be able to translate parts of it. In best case, it could take a few years to get a readable translation completed. Please advise.'

 

`Unacceptable!' he growled, crumpling the flimsy paper in his hand, his face contorting in a cold mask of impotent rage. He would not—would not—accept the idea that it could take that long. It was completely inconceivable.

 

It was one thing after another, wasn't it, never mind that he knew very well that if he was having trouble with the translations that Zelig was, as well. That knowledge appeased him just a little—not much, but enough to take the edge off of his mounting rage.

 

Drawing a deep, steadying breath, he flexed his claws and shifted his gaze to the techfile. He'd transferred the research file onto the portable computer before destroying the laptop.

 

“Call Bentley,” he said.

 

The system beeped in acknowledgement of his directive, and he waited as the dulcet tones of the dialing phone cut through the quiet.

 

Ernie Bentley answered on the fourth ring, his voice a bit winded, as though he'd had to run to reach the telephone. “Bentley here.”

 

“I need you to do something for me, Bentley,” he remarked in a carefully controlled tone—as close to humble as Alastair Gregory ever was, and entirely arrogant despite the effort.

 

Bentley didn't respond right away. Alastair could hear him breathe. “My lord Gregory . . . What do you need?” he asked carefully, almost hesitantly, and completely noncommittally.

 

“I need someone who is fluent in Abenaki and languages of the like,” Alastair stated without preamble.

 

“Abenaki?” he echoed, unable to keep the hint of surprise out of his tone. “As in, Native American?”

 

“That's right,” he went on smoothly. “I trust you can supply me with a name?”

 

Bentley cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the task he was being asked to fulfill. “I am to assume that you need someone with a bit more than a base knowledge of the language, yeah?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Understood, understood . . . do you, um, have a time frame you're looking to meet?”

 

Alastair's eyes narrowed dangerously though Bentley didn't see the expression. “As quickly as possible, of course,” he said, careful to keep his tone from betraying his feeling that he needed to hurry. “I would . . . appreciate if you would make this your absolute priority.”

 

Bentley sighed. “Certainly, my lord,” he replied after a pregnant pause. “I'll get to work on it right away.”

 

“Excellent,” Alastair murmured. “I shall anticipate your call.”

 

Pressing the button on the desk panel that ended the conversation, he let his claws rake over the desktop as he sauntered away. `Patience,' he told himself, struggling to control his lingering unrest. It would be difficult, surely, but the ends would justify the means, wouldn't they?

 

The reward was close enough to taste. Just a little more time . . .

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Looking over the notes she'd scrawled into the journal as she'd studied the slides, absently smoothing her eyebrow with a fingertip.

 

“I see what you mean.”

 

“Hmm,” she intoned without looking up from the notes. Her father was on the speaker phone, and he'd been looking over the slides she'd sent him. “The overall structure has been drastically reinforced . . . I just hesitate to pronounce the serum complete so quickly.”

 

Kichiro sighed, deliberating Isabelle's words in companionable silence from half a world away. “Repeat the sample trial a couple of times,” he said at length. “If you get the same results then—the exact same result—then I'd say you're ready to run a preliminary test.”

 

“If I can find a hanyou I can test it on,” she mumbled, letting the journal fall from her hand onto the coffee table with a dull thump. The cell phone jumped upon impact, and she steadied it, careful not to hit the button that would end the intercom connection. “I think that's easier said than done.”

 

“Yeah,” he agreed tonelessly, understanding her ultimate dilemma. “If worse comes to worse, you could talk to Sesshoumaru. He might have someone who would be willing to help out.”

 

Wrinkling her nose, she slowly shook her head, leaning back when Griffin stuck a steaming mug of tea under her nose. Telegraphing him a wan smile, she accepted the drink with both hands. “I'd just have to test it to make certain there are no adverse side-effects,” she said.

 

“Yeah, well, re-run the trials first,” Kichiro maintained. “Make sure that everything is consistent before you worry about testing.”

 

“I know,” she said with a sigh, her voice muffled slightly by the mug as she sipped the honey-sweetened tea. The sofa sagged slightly when Griffin sat down next to her. Sparing a moment to shoot her a thoughtful scowl, he shook open the newspaper and disappeared from view. “I'll keep you posted.”

 

“You do that,” Kichiro replied. She could hear the smile in his voice. “You can do this, you know. You're my daughter, and my daughters are fucking brilliant.”

 

Isabelle laughed when Griffin snorted indelicately. “I love you, Papa,” she said, leaning forward to pick up the cell phone.

 

“Love you, too, Baby.”

 

The line went dead, and Isabelle clicked off the device, snapping it closed against the heel of her hand, pondering the conversation that had just ended. Kichiro was right. Procuring the samples had been simple enough. Working through the clinic, she was able to garner support from her youkai boss, and he'd assisted in collecting them, making use of his network of associates who trusted him without being informed as to the exact nature of the ongoing research. Still, being able to find one hanyou willing to test the preliminary serum was a little more complicated. After all, nothing of this magnitude had been tried before, and while the potential gain was huge, so was the initial risk involved. Humans would have been able to conduct their tests on creatures with similar enough genetic structures, but there wasn't a beast close enough for that to be a feasible idea when it involved youkai or hanyous.

 

Heaving a sigh as she set aside the tea mug and unplugged the portable slide from the access port on her cell phone, she flopped back against the sofa. Scrolling through the digital images she'd captured from the microscope, she chewed on her bottom lip, narrowing her eyes in concentration.

 

“Send your father those slides?” Griffin asked without looking up from his newspaper.

 

“Yeah,” she replied absently. “He thought it all looked good, too.”

 

He grunted noncommittally.

 

Pressing the button to turn off the device, she leaned forward far enough to drop it onto the coffee table. “Put that paper down, will you?” she chided, tapping the front page with her claws.

 

“Get your own, woman,” he grumbled, sparing a moment to peer around the edge at her. Chin ducked and eyes glowing, he looked completely suspicious of her motives.

 

“I don't want your newspaper, Dr. G.”

 

His eyes narrowed. “So what do you want?”

 

She flashed him a smile. “Oh, scoring a little cuddle-time would be all right,” she drawled.

 

He snorted indelicately, cheeks pinking as he shook out the paper and buried himself behind it once more. “Jezebel,” he mumbled.

 

With a giggle, she reached out, neatly snagging the paper and folding it before dropping it onto the coffee table. “You're so cute when you blush,” she quipped, snuggling against his chest with a contented little sigh.

 

“I swear you're a leech,” he pointed out, unable to help the flush that darkened though he grudgingly slipped an arm around her.

 

Leaning up to kiss his chin playfully, she laughed again. “But you like it,” she shot back with a saucy grin.

 

“Debatable,” he maintained stubbornly. “Don't crush me.”

 

“I like this,” she murmured, laying her cheek against his chest, closing her eyes as she breathed in the scent of him: warm, strong, vibrant—everything that was Griffin. She loved the feeling of complete and total security that he gave her and the underlying sense of wonder that he never failed to inspire in her.

 

“Hmph. At least one of us does.”

 

“You don't like it?” she teased.

 

He snorted again, smashing her head against his chest when she started to tilt her head back to look at him. “Of course I don't,” he lied. “At least it keeps you from mauling Charlie.”

 

She snuggled closer. “So,” she said at length. “Are you going to tell me why you've been so preoccupied lately?”

 

“I haven't been,” he contradicted, shifting slightly, as though he were trying to make himself more comfortable.

 

“You have,” she corrected gently. “I just pretend not to notice.”

 

“You're paranoid,” he remarked mildly.

 

She didn't miss the hint of discomfort in his tone. He sounded like he was trying to reassure her; trying to pretend that everything was right as rain.

 

`Or maybe,' her youkai whispered quietly, `maybe he's trying to reassure himself of that.'

 

`But why? Reassure himself of what?'

 

Heaving a sigh, her youkai voice seemed irritated when it spoke again. `Listen, you. You know damn well that he's still struggling to come to terms with the idea that you really want to be with him—and you've been so busy of late that you haven't really thought give him that reassurance, have you?'

 

She winced. She hadn't thought of it that way. “Griffin?”

 

“What?”

 

She smiled at his grumbled question. “Tell me, how was your meeting today?”

 

That earned her a sigh, and she felt him shrug. “Same old thing,” he said in a rather bored tone. “Don't know why those meetings are mandatory when they just repeat the same information every year.”

 

He'd said as much before he'd left this morning for the faculty meeting at the university. All of the linguistics professors were required to attend—something that had irritated the surly old bear. After reminding her that she'd better let him know if she thought to leave the house, he'd glowered at her stubbornly as though daring her to disobey him.

 

Of course she'd simply laughed at him, crossing her ankles and leaning against the dining room table with the flannel shirt she'd confiscated from his closet weeks ago billowing around her thighs. Back warmed by the sunshine pouring through the windows behind her, she laughed just a little harder when his cheeks pinked up. He snorted but didn't comment, turning on his heel and stomping away.

 

“Sorry to hear that,” she murmured, her tone anything but contrite.

 

“Yeah, well, they did say that Will Hastings is retiring at the end of next year.”

 

She pushed herself up, her eyebrows lifting of their own accord. “Professor Hastings? He still teaches there? He's older than the hills, isn't he?”

 

“I'm older than he is,” Griffin grumped.

 

Isabelle kissed his cheek in an effort to negate the sting of her words. “Yeah, but you don't look it. He does.”

 

“He's human.”

 

“Are they going to offer you the head of languages position?” she teased.

 

That earned her a dark look. “I hope not,” he replied. “Even if they did, I wouldn't take it. Besides, Langtree wants it, and he can have it, for all I care. Thought he was going to wet himself when Hastings made the announcement.”

 

She couldn't help but laugh at the absolute disgust writ on Griffin's features. “True as that may be, you have to admit, you'd make one hell of a head of languages,” she remarked, idly kissing the corners of his lips.

 

“Keep—your—lips—to—your—self, ” he mumbled between her kisses.

 

“But I'd much rather share with you, and besides: Mama and Papa always said that sharing is good,” she pointed out.

 

He snorted. “We've discussed that before. You don't know the meaning of the word `good'.”

 

“I do,” she quipped lightly, kissed the tip of his nose. “Besides that, if I can't show affection to my mate, then who can I show it to?”

 

“Don't recall saying anything about that,” he grumped as he slipped his other arm around her waist.

 

“But you are.”

 

“Negotiable.”

 

“Absolutely not,” she insisted, gently kissing each of his eyelids in turn.

 

He swallowed hard. She could see his Adam's apple bob almost nervously. “Y-you really don't pay any attention to other people's personal space, do you?”

 

“Mm, but your personal space is so much more inviting than mine is,” she retorted.

 

“Spoken like a true daughter of darkness,” he shot back dryly.

 

Isabelle laughed and snuggled against him once more, content to enjoy the feel of his hands rather timidly rubbing her back. “Am I really so bad?”

 

He snorted. “Worse.”

 

“But you put up with me, right?”

 

He shrugged. “It's either that or turn you loose on the general population, and I don't hate anyone that much.”

 

Her laughter tumbled out of her, filling the quiet of the room with a certain warmth that only came with the sound. He was coming around, slowly but surely, and with every day that passed, he grew a little more comfortable with the affection that she so enjoyed lavishing on him.

 

As though he could read her thoughts, he grunted to let her know that he was supposedly just humoring her, but his arms tightened just the littlest bit, and she smiled.

 

 

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A/N:

There will be no new chapter for Avouchmentposted next week. Instead, I'll be posting the prologue for Purity 8: Vendetta, so please watch for it! And no, Avouchmentisn't complete yet, but we're getting there …

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Final Thought fromIsabelle:

Silly old bear …

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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~