InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ Friction ( Chapter 61 )

~~Chapter 61~~

~Friction~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Blinking incredulously as she shifted her gaze from her father to her cousin and back again, Isabelle shook her head and uttered a terse snort. “Okay, Mamoruzen. Joke's over. Very funny,” she muttered, rolling her eyes heavenward as she whipped around to make a grand exit full of haughty indignation. At least Griffin wasn't there to add in his two-cents on the matter. After repeated reassurances that she was feeling just fine and her father's promise that he wouldn't leave the house while the man was gone since he was fairly positive that Isabelle would only get into more mischief if left to her own devices, Griffin had finally given in and gone to work.

 

Kichiro caught her arm and swung her about to face them again. “It's not a joke,” he informed her quietly.

 

Heaving a longsuffering sigh, Isabelle slowly shook her head again. “I can't test this stuff on him,” she ground out from between clenched teeth.

 

“I appreciate your concern, but I've made up my mind,” Gunnar remarked in an acerbic tone of voice. “Besides, I'm the more logical choice, don't you think?”

 

Narrowing her eyes, she pinned her cousin with a fulminating glower. “No, I don't `think',” she shot back. “You're going to be the next tai-youkai, and—”

 

“Damn straight, you don't,” he cut in coldly, amber eyes flashing dangerously, “and you have absolutely no say in the matter. It's been decided, so you might as well leave it go.”

 

Rolling her eyes since she'd had just about enough of everyone and their uncle coming down on her for her decision to do the initial test to herself, she snorted indelicately and shot her father a dark look. “Papa, you know as well as I do that this is not a good idea.”

 

Kichiro took a moment to consider his response as Gunnar shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeve. “I understand what you're saying,” he finally allowed, “but it's his choice, and he's made up his mind. He knows the risks, and he knows what could happen. He's already discussed it with both Toga and Sesshoumaru, and . . .” Trailing off as he shook his head, he frowned at her when he finally continued. “He's right. He is the best candidate for the testing.”

 

“How did you come up with that load of malarkey?” she spat, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared from one man to the other and back again.

 

Gunnar snorted but didn't look up from his task. “As the son of the current tai-youkai and as my grandfather's—the Inu no Taisho's—grandson, I am one of the strongest hanyous alive, wouldn't you agree? Certainly the strongest of those you could test this on. What might hurt a lesser hanyou will not hurt me.”

 

She wanted to smack him for that bit of logic; she really did. Unfortunately, she could also understand the truth behind the arrogant claims even if she wanted nothing more than to blow a huge hole right in the middle of his condescending theory. “You're such an ass, Mamoruzen,” she muttered, still unwilling to admit that he was right.

 

He was completely nonplussed by her assertions. “You need to do this while my youkai blood is at its highest level; is that right?”

 

Without taking her eyes off him, she slowly nodded.

 

He met her gaze and nodded, too. “Then today's your lucky day.”

 

“That's absolutely crazy,” she insisted with a stubborn shake of her head. “First of all, I haven't even gotten any preliminary samples—”

 

“Uncle took them earlier,” he replied calmly.

 

“Secondly, I would need to figure the dosage that you need—”

 

“Which shouldn't take long, should it?”

 

Stifling a throaty growl, she pulled away from her father's grasp to pace across the room and back. “It's not a good idea,” she protested, rubbing her forehead in utter exasperation.

 

“I agree,” Kichiro spoke up. “It's a damn foolish one, if you ask me.” She shot Gunnar a smug if not completely insincere smile, but Kichiro went on. “But he's also right, and even if you don't like it, it's out of your hands. Toga and Sesshoumaru have given their agreement. Even Cain thinks it's the best alternative, though I'm inclined to disagree with him purely on principle . . .”

 

“Figure out what dosage I need, and give me the shot, Izzy,” Gunnar said.

 

She heaved a sigh and plopped down on the sofa. The last thing she wanted to do was to comply. “You're not the best candidate,” she grumbled as she flipped the latches on her attaché case and dug out the notebook where she'd written the initial ratios for the amount of serum to administer.

 

“On the contrary, Izzy. I'm hanyou. I share none of Aunt Gome's blood. I don't have a mate . . . and I'm willing.”

 

Kichiro's cell phone trilled, and he glanced at the caller ID. “Figure the dosage, Baby-Belle,” he commanded as he turned to stride out of the living room to take the call.

 

“This is madness,” she muttered as she started scratching new ratios on the page. “Mamoruzen—”

 

“I've seen what you considered to be a better alternative, Izzy,” he remarked dryly. “What the hell were you thinking?”

 

“Don't you dare start in on me, too,” she shot back, sparing a moment to glower at him as he crossed his arms over his chest and met her gaze with a condescending scowl. “I did what I thought was best, and—”

 

“And what? You'd do it again? Is that what you were about to say?”

 

Snapping her mouth closed as her cheeks pinked since that was exactly what she was about to say, Isabelle shook her head instead, shifting her attention back to the notes once more. “Shut up while I'm doing this, won't you? Don't want me to give you the wrong dosage, you know.”

 

Gunnar strode over to her and slammed his hand down on the open notebook. “I think you'll hear me out,” he said in a deadly quiet voice.

 

“I've already heard it,” she snapped, which was the gospel truth since her father had finally had his go at her earlier in the day. He'd used the word `stupid' a number of times . . . “So I should have had someone on standby; I get that. I'll be sure to do that the next time.”

 

“Are you really that pig-headed?” Gunnar demanded. “You don't honestly believe that it's solely about the testing, do you?”

 

Shooting to her feet, she glared defiantly back at her cousin. “What else could it possibly be about?”

 

Gunnar arched an eyebrow and leaned back to level a calculated stare at her. “What, indeed?” he parried.

 

“Just because the serum won't do a thing for my immunities doesn't mean that I shouldn't test it for potential side effects!” she insisted hotly. “Why can't any of you understand that?”

 

Gunnar snorted loudly, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her in abject irritation. “Because it isn't about that! Kami, Izzy, are you really that dense?”

 

“About what?”

 

“Your mate!”

 

She jerked back as though he'd struck her, the bulk of her anger fizzling out at the simple mention of that particular word. “I don't have one,” she admitted in a quiet voice.

 

Gunnar rolled his eyes. “What do you mean, you don't have one? Aren't you the one who is constantly saying that Marin is your mate?”

 

“Yeah, well, he doesn't seem to want the same thing, and you know as well as I do that it takes two,” she retorted.

 

“Don't give me that,” Gunnar said, waving a hand dismissively. “Now you're simply being childish.”

 

“I'm not!” she insisted with a petulant frown.

 

“You are,” Gunnar shot back. “Can't say I blame him, though. Who would want a mate who gives his feelings on the matter so little regard?”

 

Stomping over to plant herself directly in front of Gunnar, Isabelle felt her temper soar in a torrent of anger so temerarious that she had to dig her claws into her palms to keep from striking him. “I have always considered his feelings above everything—everything!”

 

“You haven't,” Gunnar argued, “or do you honestly think that he's just pissed off at you for making a bad judgment call?”

 

Tossing her hands up in the air in an entirely frustrated sort of way, she spun away from Gunnar since looking at him was only succeeding in fueling the anger that was twisting her stomach. “Since when do you take his side in anything?”

 

Grabbing her arm and jerking her around to face him, Gunnar's eyes were absolutely flashing as he stared her down. “It's not about taking sides, baka! It's about the number of times you've tried to preach to me about what I should do or think and then you up and do something even more stupid. I might be an ass—I might even be a bastard, but you know, at least I'm consistent! At least I don't turn hypocrite when I don't get my way!”

 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she gritted out quietly. If she yelled, she'd lose the slight hold she still held over her temper, and she knew it.

 

“Think about it,” he snarled, giving her a shake for good measure. “Lost his entire family, didn't he? Isn't that what you told me? So what do you suppose he's thinking now?” When she didn't answer right away, he uttered a low growl. “I'll tell you what he's thinking. He's thinking that this woman who waltzes into his life proclaiming to be his mate whether he wants it or not is just toying with him! The one person who has any chance at all of breaking through the solitude that he thought he wanted is so reckless—so stupid—that she'd test something out on herself that could have taken her away from him, too!”

 

It took a minute for Gunnar's assertions to sink in, and when they did, she couldn't help the grimace that surfaced on her features. Too caught up in her own indignant anger that everyone would treat her as though she were little more than a child when she'd thought that she knew what she was doing, it hadn't once crossed her mind, had it? The true motivation behind Griffin's anger, his concern . . . was he really afraid that something would happen to her . . .?

 

He was, and she knew it. The understanding that she should have figured out before left a nauseous feeling in the pit of her stomach, a sickened churning that she could possibly have been so completely and utterly selfish.

 

Gunnar must have seen that he'd made his point, because he let go of her arm and heaved a sigh. “You said you love him, didn't you? Why don't you try acting like it then?”

 

Wincing at the deadly accuracy of Gunnar's words, Isabelle wrapped her arms around her stomach and couldn't quite bring herself to meet his accusing gaze. “That's not what I meant to do,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

 

“Meant to or not, Izzy . . .” Gunnar trailed off.

 

Rubbing her forehead, she bit her lip and blinked to alleviate the hotness that had set in just behind her eyes. “I just wanted to make sure that the serum was safe,” she murmured.

 

“There're better ways to do that than to test it on yourself.”

 

She sighed again but didn't answer.

 

“Now are we going to do this or what?”

 

“Mamoruzen . . .”

 

He didn't move to face her though he did turn his head to level a sober look at her as he slowly shook his head. “It's out of your hands, Izzy. I've made up my mind.”

 

“Stubborn fool,” she muttered, sinking onto the sofa once more to resume her calculations.

 

Gunnar turned toward the window to wait.

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Alastair slammed his fist down on the button to end the phone call and sank his teeth into the inside of his cheek to keep from growling in absolute frustration. It was inconceivable, wasn't it? How could it possibly be that the people he'd found to translate the research materials only had a few paltry pages done despite the months that they'd been in possession of the text?

 

`Unacceptable!' he fumed, tapping his claws against the desk top as he struggled to maintain a level of calm. Too used to having results quickly because of the fear that he could inspire otherwise, this waiting game was something completely foreign to him; something wholly different, and he didn't like it; not at all.

 

Worse, though, was the suspicion that had been growing slowly over time. He'd been assured, of course, that he had the best of the best in the field of linguistics working on the translations, and it grated on his nerves that a one of the specialists was human. That was inconsequential in the long run. Alastair didn't rightfully care what the human learned as long as he continued to work. Humans were expendable, weren't they? No better than unsightly vermin that infested the earth . . . Still, he had to wonder and not for the first time exactly who was working with the Zelig's granddaughter. Not knowing exactly how far ahead of the game she was annoyed the hell out of him, after all.

 

`Damn those Carradines . . .' he growled to himself. If they had simply been smart about it, he'd already have had the entirety of the research at his disposal. `And those fools would still be alive today . . .'

 

The soft buzz of the telephone interrupted his musings, and he shifted his cold gaze to the caller ID unit before deciding to accept it. “What is it?” he demanded in lieu of an actual greeting.

 

“Afternoon, my lord,” Kent Murphy intoned cordially.

 

“Dispense with the pleasantries,” Alastair said stiffly.

 

Murphy sighed. “As you wish. I was calling because I've been looking into . . . something that might be of interest to you.”

 

“I abhor games of cat and mouse,” he reminded the youkai.

 

Murphy cleared his throat in a decidedly nervous sort of way. “Of course, of course. Absolutely, my lord . . . it's just that one of the specialists that you have working on the translation of your, um, I daresay, project?”

 

Alastair grunted, prompting Murphy to continue.

 

“She made mention in passing that there might well be someone more adept in handling something of this magnitude.”

 

“If that's so, then why didn't you bring him to my attention in the first place?” Alastair demanded.

 

Murphy fell silent for a moment as though he were collecting his thoughts or considering the best way to state whatever reason he was to offer as an apology for his oversight. “Well, there's the rub . . . to be quite frank, I'm having distinct difficulty in even procuring the man's name.”

 

“Meaning?” Alastair growled, his patience wearing thin as he rolled his hand in a vain effort to hurry Murphy along.

 

“Meaning,” Murphy repeated philosophically, “that he apparently wishes to remain under the radar, so to speak.”

 

“So who is this enigma?”

 

Murphy chuckled a bit uneasily at the nastiness underlying Alastair's tone. “I . . . I don't know, my lord. That is to say,” he hurried on when Alastair uttered an irritated growl, “Dr. Falley—the one who mentioned him—couldn't remember his name. All she could recall was that she believes that he teaches at one of the universities on the eastern coast of the United States. Unfortunately, I haven't able to garner much information on him. None of the universities, it seems, have their professors' home addresses on public file. Security issues, I would wager . . .”

 

Considering the information for a moment, Alastair licked his lips thoughtfully. “And if this . . . man . . . wishes for this anonymity, then how is it that one of the specialists came to know of him?”

 

“Simple enough. She attended a seminar awhile back, and she met him there. Quiet, she said . . . barely speaks, and doesn't like to have attention lavished upon him . . . and he is youkai. Anyway, I called around to see if I could pinpoint this conference where Dr. Falley met him, but she couldn't rightfully remember what year it was.”

 

“Youkai . . .” Alastair's gaze lit up as he slowly nodded. “Perhaps he is the one in the Zelig's hip pocket,” he mused more to himself than to Murphy.

 

“I doubt it,” Murphy intoned thoughtfully. “It seems to me that one so unassuming would try to avoid drawing notice, and if he really is the specialist that Dr. Falley implied, it would make sense that he ought to be more renowned, don't you agree? No, I think that it's not simply protecting his privacy that he's about. It seems to me as though he's gone out of his way to remain invisible to the tai-youkai.”

 

“Thank you, Murphy,” Alastair said, his claw tapping the disconnect button. “I trust you will continue to delve into this matter?”

 

“As you wish,” Murphy assured him.

 

“Very good.” A slow smile spread over his features as he ended the call. “A linguistics specialist,” he repeated in the empty quiet.

 

And then he chuckled.

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

“Hey, Dr. Marin? Do you have a minute?”

 

Glancing up from the papers that he was stuffing into his briefcase, Griffin blinked and frowned at the girl who had addressed him as she leaned in the doorway of his office. A junior who was majoring in language, she was normally very quiet. In fact, Griffin couldn't actually remember hearing her speak before . . . “Uh, yeah, Miss Thompson,” he mumbled, unconsciously tilting his head to the side to minimize her view of his scarred cheek. “Wh-what do you need?”

 

Offering him a hesitant, almost shy, smile, she re-shouldered her book sling and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Melissa's fine, and it's about my paper,” she began. “The one on the different Abenaki dialects?”

 

Scratching his head as he struggled to recall the paper in question, he nodded once. So wrapped up in Isabelle and her latest bit of irrational behavior, he had only bothered to grade the papers with a smidgeon of the attention that they probably deserved. “What about it?” he asked.

 

She cleared her throat, her cheeks pinking slightly as she shuffled her feet once more and shrugged in a deliberate attempt at nonchalance. “I just wondered why you gave me such a low mark.”

 

“Let me see your paper, please,” he said.

 

It took her a minute to dig it out of her bag, and she glanced over it before handing it to him.

 

Griffin scowled at the paper as he sank into the chair behind the desk, digging into his breast pocket for his reading glasses. Reading the paper over, he slowly shook his head since he was pretty certain that he'd actually been a bit lenient when grading her paper, in the first place. She leaned in close, reading over his shoulder, and he could feel her eyes scanning his features as though she were trying to figure out what he was thinking before he said anything. “You missed some key comparisons,” he informed her as he handed the paper back, frowning at her close proximity.

 

She nodded, her dark green eyes clouding over as she frowned. “If I re-wrote the paper, do you think that you could change my grade? I'd be happy to do more research or whatever you wanted, but this . . . this will drag my grade down, and if it drops too much, I could lose my scholarship . . .”

 

He could almost smell the anxiety radiating off of her, and he sighed. On the one hand, he understood her plight. On the other, it would hardly be fair to allow her a second chance. Even then, one paper wasn't really going to lower her grade point average enough to cost her a scholarship, he was certain. “If I let you do that, then I'd have to let everyone else do that, too,” he mumbled with a shake of his head. “I'm sorry.”

 

She braced one hand on the arm of his chair, the other on the desktop and leaned toward him. The deep `v' neckline fell away from her body, and it was all Griffin could do to keep from blushing deep red as he shifted his eyes to the side. “Please,” she blurted, her cheeks pinking a little more as her light brown ponytail fell over her shoulder and swished into his face with her sudden movement. “Okay, then . . .” she began, her voice taking on a silkier tone, “maybe some . . . extra credit . . .?”

 

He pulled his arm away gently and started to turn away. “Extra—?” he began only to cut himself off when she leaned in a little closer—close enough for him to feel the heat of her body—close enough to smell the lingering trace of some sort of mint on her breath.

 

He couldn't rightfully credit what was happening. It all seemed to happen so fast, and yet there was a surreal sense of lethargy wrapped up in it, too. Before he could make sense out of what she was doing, she moved in close to him, her lips pressing against his as her arms slipped around his neck, her fingers digging into the hair at the nape of his neck. Her tongue lapped against his lips, and he stood, shocked, unable to decipher exactly what was happening. A low growl escaped him as his mind started to process what was happening, as his entire being seemed to rebel against the understanding that should have come much quicker than it did.

 

Mistaking the sound as acquiescence, Melissa pressed herself closer, her breasts rubbing against his chest through the shamefully thin fabric of her blouse. The sensation was horrifying, wrapped up in the idea that he couldn't control the situation, and for the briefest of seconds, he nearly panicked.

 

A pair of sapphire colored eyes flashed before him, and he gasped, giving Melissa a little shove to get her off of him; away from him. “Wh-what were you—that's not—Don't do that again,” he growled as he dragged the back of his hand over his lips and pushed himself to his feet.

 

Her eyes filled with tears, and she rubbed her hip where she'd impacted against the corner of the desk. “I-I'm sorry,” she choked out in a strangled sort of way.

 

He couldn't control the shaking in his hands as he tugged at his collar and reached for his briefcase once more. “Y-your grade stands,” he muttered, brushing past her and hurrying toward the door.

 

Another teacher called out to him as he made his way toward the front of the building. A dull throbbing behind his eyes had kicked in, and he ignored the voice.

 

`What . . . what did I . . .?' Even the clean scent in the air that always followed a good, heavy rain did little to dislodge the feeling of absolute revulsion that seemed to surge just below the surface of his skin. A slow sense of hysteria was creeping up on him; he could feel it tightening around him like a vise.

 

It seemed to take longer than normal to cross the campus. Refraining from the urge to break into a sprint as the first sharp pangs shot from his hip to his brain, Griffin kept moving, deliberately blanking his mind in a pathetic effort not to think about what he'd done.

 

It didn't work. Grimacing as the familiar ache set in—deep within the very marrow of his bones—he doggedly kept walking, faster and faster as dire condemnations echoed through his head, ignoring the curious glances of the people he pushed past.

 

“Is . . . Isabelle . . .” he whispered, his lungs working in overdrive as he broke into a cold sweat. `What have I . . . done . . .?'

 

Never good enough, and yet he'd dared to think . . . only a fool's hope, maybe, and still . . . a fool's dream for a foolish man . . .

 

What had happened? How had it gotten so far out of his control? Worse was the innate knowledge that grew within him: he'd allowed Melissa to kiss him, hadn't he? He hadn't stopped her fast enough, and he'd let her do it . . .

 

He'd let her do it . . .

 

The bitterness of recrimination swelled inside him: an all too familiar friend that he'd come to know with all the confidence in the world. He'd allowed Melissa to kiss him, and that was sin enough.

 

Growing in abject disgust, Griffin moved faster, the ache in his body paling in comparison to the ache that threatened to encompass him completely; the ache of the spirit and the wracking sense of guilt.

 

How would he ever explain it to Isabelle? How could he look her in the eye after what he'd allowed to happen? How could he tell her that she couldn't do stupid, careless things when he'd done the same—maybe worse?

 

How could he ever make her understand that he . . .?

 

Cutting off that thought as he veered down a street off his normal route, Griffin suddenly slumped against a high brick fence and sighed, letting his temple fall against the roughened clay. The ambient sounds of the town he knew blended together into a dull hum as he squeezed his eyes closed and ran a trembling hand over his face.

 

`That you what, Griffin?' his youkai asked quietly.

 

Shaking his head as though to brush aside the question, he couldn't stand to answer.

 

`Go on. No one else will hear you.'

 

Pushing himself away from the wall to stagger a few steps to a faded and chipping wooden bench, he sat down, leaning forward with his saddened gaze trained on the cracked sidewalk below him. `I . . . can't . . . not after . . .'

 

`If you don't admit it now, Griffin, you never will.'

 

He understood the truth in those words, yet he still couldn't bring himself to say it, not even to himself. `I . . . I kissed someone else . . . I . . . betrayed . . .'

 

`You didn't, you know, and she'll know that, too. You know damn well that she understands even when you don't think she ought to.'

 

Wincing at that thought, another one whispered to him. Sure, she forgave him, or more to the point, she understood him . . . Still, how could he ask her to listen to him one more time? How could he possibly tell her . . .? How many times was he supposed to expect for her to understand? When, exactly, would the grace by which she was able to do that run out?

 

 

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A/N:

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Final Thought fromIsabelle:

…Testing on Mamoruzen …?

==========

Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Avouchment): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or 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~