InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ Denial ( Chapter 63 )

~~Chapter 63~~

~Denial~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

“Are you really Isabelle's mate?”

 

Choking on the swig of dandelion tea that he'd just taken, Griffin wiped his chin with the back of his hand and tried not to give in to a fit of coughing.

 

Samantha Izayoi shrugged, twisting her hands together in her lap as she sat on the top of the patio steps and scowled out over the expanse of the back yard. “I mean, I know she says you are and everything, so I just wondered . . .”

 

“M-ma . . .? We-I-uh . . .” Griffin stammered, unable to contain the furious blush that washed into his cheeks.

 

“You don't seem like Isabelle's type,” she went on, pulling up her knees and dropping her chin onto them with a dejected little sigh.

 

“Her . . . type?” Griffin managed, digging a handkerchief out of his pocket to dab at the spilled tea dotting his shirt.

 

The tiny white hanyou ears atop her head flattened momentarily then popped back up, twisting and twitching at every sound she heard. “Yeah . . . You're really quiet, aren't you?”

 

He frowned, unsure what to make of the current conversation, unsure as to why he was feeling more than a little defensive. “I guess,” he agreed slowly.

 

“You seem nice, though, and Papa told Mama that you had a good head on your shoulders,” she continued.

 

He grunted. He'd come outside seeking a modicum of peace and quiet that he wasn't likely to get inside. A couple of Isabelle's female relations had dropped in to say hello to her parents since they were visiting Isabelle for the day. Samantha, it seemed, hadn't been very impressed with the conversations being bandied about—everything from fashion to the research to the flight from Japan, it seemed. He couldn't rightfully blame her, he figured. The topics had bored the hell out of him, too. Still he hadn't been expecting her to follow him. She hadn't said anything at first, but as she'd sat on the steps, she'd slowly started to talk.

 

“Mama said that you saved Grandpa Cain's life,” she remarked at length, her deep sapphire eyes candid, openly assessing him over her shoulder. “Did you really?”

 

Despite the underlying knowledge that Griffin's involvement that night so long ago wasn't a secret any longer, he couldn't help the sharp spike of panic that surged through him at the mention of it, and while he knew that Zelig didn't actually blame him for his mother's death, it really didn't help to quell the feeling that he could have—should have—done something more. “I . . . I suppose,” he allowed, figuring that it'd be pretty pathetic of him to argue with the girl on the matter.

 

She broke into a brilliant smile, and Griffin felt himself blush again. “Then you're a hero—a real, living hero,” she decided.

 

“Uh, err, no,” he muttered, shaking his head as he tried to brush off the high praise. “It . . . it wasn't like that,” he said.

 

“Papa says that real heroes are the ones who say they aren't,” she told him.

 

“Your papa's a little off-kilter, isn't he?”

 

She laughed, her head falling back, her shoulders shaking as the sounds of her amusement spilled over. “Probably,” she agreed as her laughter wound down. “Papa says that everyone is.”

 

Griffin grunted since that was probably the sanest thing he'd heard in awhile. It struck him again, exactly how strange it seemed that this girl could possibly be related to Isabelle. Aside from looking completely different, there was something almost timid about her, and while she seemed friendly enough, she wasn't nearly as exuberant as Isabelle, either. In fact, as far as he could tell, Isabelle not only looked very much like her mother, but she acted like her, too—so much so that it was a little scary, as far as he was concerned.

 

No, Samantha was completely different from her sister, wasn't she, and that, in Griffin's opinion, wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

 

“You're really nice,” she stated with an air of finality. “Really, really nice.”

 

He blinked and did a double take. Samantha shook her long silver hair over her shoulder and smiled. “Nice?” he echoed incredulously.

 

She nodded, scrunching up her thin shoulders as the early fall breeze stirred her bangs. “Yes,” she stated once more. “Really nice. I suppose that's why Isabelle likes you.”

 

He grunted as his cheeks pinked once more, and he sighed. Why was it that Isabelle's family seemed to thrive on saying things that made him do that? `Must be in the genes,' he thought dourly.

 

Samantha sighed, too, her youki tinged with a peace that Griffin envied—the peace of the young who had yet to realize that the world could be a tougher place than they'd been brought up to believe. “Can I tell you a something?” she asked at length, her voice dropping to a breath above a whisper. “I haven't told anyone else yet . . . I'm not so sure that they'll understand . . .”

 

“What's that?” he asked, unsure if he really wanted to hear whatever confession the girl was going to make.

 

Shifting around to face him, she shrugged almost candidly and bit her bottom lip, her ears flattening for a moment while she considered exactly how to word whatever she was struggling to say. “I . . . I'm going to be a hunter,” she said, studiously averting her gaze.

 

Griffin shook his head, unsure if his ears were working right or not. “Wh-what's that?” he asked.

 

Daring to cast him a hesitant look, she cleared her throat and straightened her spine. “I'm going to be a hunter,” she said again, her tone taking on a more belligerent sound as though she was daring him to disagree.

 

Settling back a little more in the chair beside the table, Griffin considered that for a long minute. “A hunter?” he repeated at length as he watched a squirrel dart down a stout tree trunk and back up again. “Is that right?”

 

She nodded, and while he could tell from her posture that she was trying to look as tough as she could, there was an anxiety in her eyes that she couldn't hide. Maybe in time she'd learn how to cover that up, and if she really wanted to be a hunter, he figured that she'd have to, but at her age, she couldn't do it. “Y-yes,” she stated, forcing a measure of bravado into her voice that she didn't look like she felt.

 

Frowning at the tiny little thing that was Samantha Izayoi, Griffin just couldn't see her doing the things that he knew damn well were the trademarks of the hunters. “Why would you want to?” he asked, tamping down the sudden urge to tell her to go home and play with her dolls a little longer before she tried to make a grown-up decision like that.

 

She seemed surprised by his question. “My family's always protected humans,” she said slowly. “At least, Grandpa InuYasha has . . . Grandpa Cain, too . . .”

 

“More than one way to protect somebody,” Griffin mused, carefully keeping his tone as neutral as he could.

 

Samantha's brow furrowed as she thought about that. “I know,” she drawled, idly tracing a knothole in the wooden banister that lined the steps. “My uncle's a hunter—the best one in Japan—maybe the world!”

 

“So you have something to prove?” he concluded without shifting his gaze from the squirrel.

 

“No-o-o . . .”

 

“You like fighting?”

 

“N-not exactly . . .”

 

“But you want to be a hunter.”

 

She nodded. “Yes.”

 

Giving up the pretense of nonchalance, Griffin turned to look at the girl. She had a thoroughly contemplative look on her face, as though she were trying to find a way to explain why she felt the way she did, and Griffin waited. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that no one in the extended family was going to be pleased with the idea of Samantha becoming a hunter, and while he wasn't family, he had to agree.

 

“I just want to protect people like you did for my grandfather,” she stated simply.

 

Griffin gritted his teeth since he highly doubted that those things really should have been compared. “I don't think . . . You know, your family . . .”

 

“Won't like it,” she finished when he trailed off, her shoulders drooping slightly. “I know.”

 

“Then why do you want to?” he contended.

 

She let out a deep breath and bit her lip again. “Do you suppose everyone's lucky? Like I am? I mean, I got to thinking . . . what if I could help someone? Someone who isn't as lucky as I am? Shouldn't I? Why is it that only boys are expected to want to do something? Boy or girl doesn't matter. I could beat just about all of the boys in my class.”

 

The irritated light in her eyes flashed as her temper soared—anger at the injustice of being told to leave the job to someone else, he supposed. That flash of anger—he'd seen the same spark in Isabelle's gaze before, hadn't he—drew a soft chuckle from him as he slowly shook his head. “You could probably beat me,” he remarked.

 

She blinked and stared at him like he'd managed to surprise her, and when he noticed her inspection, she blushed. “Now you're just humoring me,” she said though she didn't sound irritated in the least.

 

He shrugged and pushed himself out of the chair, grimacing at the stiffness that had settled into his joints during the inactivity. “Not really,” he replied. “It's been a long time since I fought anyone.”

 

“I thought all youkai fought,” she murmured, standing up and brushing off her bottom.

 

“Not all,” he corrected. “Some only fight when they have to.”

 

She stared at him for a long moment then nodded slowly. “That's what you do?”

 

For some reason, her avid interest unnerved him, and he grunted, picking up what was left of his tea and shuffling toward the door. “Something like that.”

 

“I-I'm not afraid!” she exclaimed suddenly.

 

He stopped as he shoved the door open before stepping inside. The paleness of her skin and her silver hair gave her a strange sort of glow, lent a mysterious sparkle to her very being, but her eyes flashed with indignant fire as she crossed her arms over her chest stubbornly. He could see her determination, her resolve, and while he knew that she was still young enough that she could easily change her mind, he knew deep down that she wouldn't. “Killing isn't a pretty thing,” he rumbled at last. “Even if you think that the person deserves it, the only person who suffers for it is you.”

 

She didn't say anything more as he disappeared into the house, which was just as well. Maybe on some level he could appreciate her desire to protect those who were weaker than she was because he could understand it. That didn't mean that he agreed with it. Trouble was that the cub was entirely too set on it, and for reasons that Griffin didn't want to consider too deeply, it horrified him, too.

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

“Isabelle Izayoi, I'm so angry at you that I could turn you over my knee,” Bellaniece remarked as she crossed her arms over her chest and leveled a no-nonsense look at her daughter.

 

Isabelle set the coffee mug she'd gotten out of the cupboard down and sighed. “I know.”

 

Bellaniece didn't look pacified, but she heaved a sigh of her own and shook her head, letting her arms fall to her sides in a thoroughly defeated way. “I suppose you've already gotten an earful from your father?”

 

“And everyone else,” she said in a completely frank tone. “I didn't want to hurt anyone, I swear,” she went on quietly. “I just . . .”

 

“You just wanted to make sure that it was safe,” her mother finished for her.

 

“It doesn't matter,” Isabelle replied sadly. “I still messed up.”

 

Bellaniece's frown darkened, and she stared at Isabelle for several minutes. “Just promise me that you'll consider things a bit more than you did this time?” she asked as she stepped forward to smooth her daughter's hair out of her face.

 

“I will,” she promised with a shaky little smile. “I'm sorry, Mama . . .”

 

Bellaniece finally smiled, her dark blue eyes brightening by degrees as she slowly shook her head. “You know, I think I worry more about you than I do Lexi . . .”

 

Isabelle made a face and pulled away. It wasn't the first time that her mother had said such things, and it never failed to irk her, just the same. “Of course not,” she muttered, dumping two spoonfuls of sugar into the coffee mug. “I suppose she's always been more level headed than I am, hasn't she?”

 

“No,” Bellaniece said firmly, grasping Isabelle's shoulders and turning her around. “I worry because you think like I do . . . and I'll be the first to admit that I didn't always make the best choices.”

 

“You chose Papa,” she pointed out mulishly.

 

Bellaniece laughed softly. “I did, but you know . . . I tried so hard to protect . . . everyone else . . . for so long that I . . . I made mistakes,” she concluded with a shake of her head. “You understand, don't you? If I'd just told Daddy what I knew . . .” she trailed off, a sadness stealing into her expression that was a rare thing for her mother. “Everything worked out in the end, but if I'd been honest from the start—if I hadn't been trying to keep secrets from Daddy . . . maybe he and Gin wouldn't have had to take the long way around, you know?”

 

Isabelle nodded, understanding what her mother was trying to impart her. Maybe if she'd told Cain in the beginning, he might have been forced to deal with the idea that Gin had needed him more than she'd ever let on. Then again, maybe it wouldn't have made a difference at all . . . or maybe it would have made things that much worse . . .

 

Still, the underlying truth of what Bellaniece had said made sense. Even then, her father had said more often than not that Isabelle was truly her mother's daughter, but changing a lifetime of thoughts and beliefs was a pretty tall order, wasn't it?”

 

“Now enough of that,” Bellaniece said suddenly, her smile resurfacing as she adjusted the sleeves of her pretty violet dress. “Tell me about your Dr. Marin. A very good looking man, daughter-of-mine.”

 

“He is, isn't he?” Isabelle quipped as she smiled, too.

 

“Oh, absolutely,” Bellaniece agreed, “almost as good looking as your father.”

 

“Oi, wench,” Kichiro grouched as he stepped into the kitchen. “I heard that.”

 

Bellaniece laughed and slipped her arms around her mate, sparing a moment to breathe deep before she kissed his cheek. “I missed you, lover,” she breathed.

 

Isabelle rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee. “Didn't you get all of that out of your systems last night?” she teased.

 

Kichiro chuckled, wrapping his arms around Bellaniece's waist. “Of course not, Baby-Belle, and while I can allow that your bear is nice looking, your mother shouldn't be eyeing another man, don't you think?”

 

“Isabelle, did you get the paper?” the man in question asked as he lumbered into the kitchen.

 

All three sets of eyes shifted to stare at him, and he glanced from one to another as though he expected them to attack him. “Wh . . . what?” he finally asked.

 

“Oh, nothing,” Isabelle hurried to say before her mother could say something completely embarrassing to the poor man. “I left the paper on your desk.”

 

He grunted in response and gave them each a suspect look before he turned on his heel and stomped out of the room again, muttering under his breath about weird families and demented women.

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

“How are you feeling?” Isabelle asked as she breezed into the guest room with a tray of toast and weak tea for Gunnar.

 

He groaned upon spying the food and made a face of absolute disdain. “Kami . . . take it away,” he muttered, tugging the blankets over his head as he rolled over.

 

Isabelle set the tray aside and sank down in a nearby chair. “Your blood work's off the charts,” she said mildly as she tugged the blankets away. “It's safe to say that your dosage was too high.”

 

He grunted something entirely unintelligible and pushed her prying hands away.

 

“Think of the bright side, though . . . until you're better, you'll get to have my full, undivided attention,” she quipped, inflicting enough of a teasing note into her words to draw him out from under the blankets to scowl at her. She'd figured that'd work . . .

 

“That's really not a consolation, don't you agree?” he muttered irritably.

 

She smiled. Griping at her was definitely a good sign, in her estimation . . . “Now, now . . . it could be worse.”

 

“I fail to see how,” he intoned.

 

“Well, Mama and Grandma are in the living room catching up if you'd like to see them,” she offered sweetly.

 

Gunnar snorted and rolled over onto his side, facing away from Isabelle. “No, thank you,” he growled.

 

“Okay, okay,” she relented since any more teasing would likely have Gunnar out of the bed, and considering he was still running a fever though it had lessened somewhat, that would have been bad. “Let me check your temperature,” she said as she stood up and stepped over to the nightstand to grab the thermometer and a clean cap.

 

“I think you did this on purpose,” he accused acerbically as she tugged on his earlobe and positioned the thermometer.

 

“As if!” she scoffed, relieved that his temperature was below 102 degrees Fahrenheit for the first time since he'd been purified. “You think I want someone prettier than me in this house? That stubborn old bear has yet to admit that he's my mate, after all.”

 

That comment earned her the most scathing glower that Gunnar could manage—not particularly impressive with the more subdued coloring he possessed at the moment. “I fail to see the humor in the situation, Izzy,” he remarked.

 

She sighed, her smile dimming but not disappearing. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly as she sank down on the edge of the bed and smoothed the coverlet. “I'll change your sheets in a bit, and you need to try to eat some of that toast and drink the tea. You'll dehydrate if you don't.”

 

“Keh!” he scoffed arrogantly though he paled about three shades, too. “No food.”

 

“How's the patient?”

 

Isabelle glanced past Gunnar as her father strode into the room. “His temperature is 101.6,” she told him.

 

Kichiro nodded. “Good.”

 

“Where's my cell phone?” Gunnar asked suddenly.

 

Isabelle shook her head, and Kichiro narrowed his gaze on him. “You're not working while you're here,” she stated flatly in a tone that should've circumvented argument on his part. It didn't.

 

“The world doesn't stop moving simply because I am not feeling well,” he pointed out.

 

Kichiro rubbed his temples. “She's right,” he agreed. “Let Bas handle things.”

 

“Bas can't handle things,” Gunnar replied. “He's in Chicago.”

 

“Chicago?”

 

“Mm,” he intoned. “Checking out a few things . . . disappearances . . .”

 

Isabelle shot her father a questioning look. Kichiro intercepted it and shrugged to indicate that he wasn't quite sure what Gunnar was talking about. “Disappearances?”

 

Gunnar shrugged, taking the mug of tea and scowling at his reflection in the liquid. “There've been a few . . . Chicago . . . Milwaukee . . . St. Louis . . . Thought that they were just lesser youkai offing one another, but. . .”

 

“Lesser youkai tend to fight all the time,” Kichiro mused with a shake of his head. “Is there something strange about this?”

 

“Just worried that there's been more disappearances in the last couple years than there were before, I suppose,” Gunnar replied.

 

Isabelle digested that for a moment, realizing too late that it made sense. She hadn't really stopped to wonder why Bas hadn't come around to have his turn telling her how stupid she'd been. With an inward sigh, she bit her lip, figuring that Bas would probably make sure to rectify that as soon as he came home.

 

“Anyway, I need to check in with Myrna,” Gunnar concluded with a sigh.

 

Isabelle rolled her eyes but grabbed his phone off the bureau. “You'll take a nap after you call her?”

 

“I'm not—” Breaking off when a yawn surfaced, Gunnar looked more irritated than Isabelle could remember, and she pressed her lips together to keep from laughing at the absolutely disgruntled expression on his face. “Damn it.”

 

“Why don't you call her later?” Kichiro suggested as he glanced at his watch. “Speaking of calling, I owe Toga an update.”

 

Grimacing at that, Gunnar pushed himself up and shoved the blankets aside.

 

“Hold on,” Isabelle said, gently but firmly pushing on his shoulders. “You need to lie down until the fever breaks.”

 

He shook his head and shrugged her hands off. “No,” he argued. “I'm fine.”

 

“Keh! Don't be stupid. Lie down and rest,” Kichiro commanded. “Unless you really are that anxious to let everyone see you in that form . . .”

 

Gunnar frowned at Kichiro but grudgingly leaned back. “Don't worry him,” he finally muttered.

 

Kichiro nodded and strode out of the room while Isabelle cocked her head to the side and bit her lip. “He didn't want you to do this, did he?”

 

“Did you think that he did?” Gunnar shot back as he draped his forearm over his eyes.

 

“Hey, Isabelle, do you have—?” Stopping abruptly as she rounded the corner, Samantha stopped short, her eyes widening as she slowly shook her head, eyeing Gunnar in complete confusion. “Who's that?” she asked in a stage whisper.

 

Isabelle nearly laughed at the confusion on her baby sister's face. “You mean you don't recognize your own cousin? Mamoruzen, say hello to Samantha.”

 

Gunnar grunted, lifting his arm just enough to peer out from beneath it. “Samantha,” he greeted tightly as he let his arm drop once more.

 

The girl blinked and stared with an air of complete awe on her face, and Isabelle almost laughed again. “Did you need something, Sami?”

 

Samantha shook her head and blushed a little as she dragged her attention away from Gunnar. “I was just looking for the cat food,” she admitted. “She's hungry . . .”

 

“She's always hungry,” Isabelle replied with a smile. “It's under the sink in a white plastic tub.”

 

“O-okay,” Samantha said slowly, her gaze flitting to Gunnar's prone form once more. She stared at him for another minute, her cheeks pinking just a little more before she suddenly jumped back and swung around, darting out of the room as quickly as she could.

 

Isabelle did laugh then, giggling quietly as she shook her head and dug a clean set of sheets out of the closet. From the sound of Gunnar's even breathing, she could tell that he was asleep, and that was just as well. Considering her sister's reaction, she had a feeling that he'd be irritated beyond belief since it was quite obvious to her that Samantha had thought that he was damn fine looking. Besides, Samantha didn't have the same sort of memories of Gunnar that Isabelle did. By the time she'd been born, Gunnar hadn't come around as often. It was something that Isabelle had always thought unfair. Samantha hadn't grown up in a group as she and Lexi had. She hadn't had the luxury of hanging out with cousins, of being irritated at their stupid antics and loving them just the same. She'd grown up alone within the family confines, and maybe that was why Samantha tended to be a bit shyer than her older sisters. Of course, that didn't mean that Isabelle wasn't well and truly amused by Samantha's obvious appreciation of Gunnar's looks . . .

 

`Well, he is good looking,' she had to allow. All of her male relatives were extraordinary looking men, but she knew from experience that Gunnar tended to draw one of two reactions from the women he met. Some women found him intimidating—his quiet arrogance, his unwillingness to bend to anyone else's expectations—but usually women were inexorably attracted to him in ways that normally made her roll her eyes. She'd seen it often enough over the years. Having grown up with him, she'd seen how the girls in school had made fools of themselves as they vied for his attention. The stigma of the hanyou that he'd hated so much when they were young had somehow managed to add to his almost aloof nature.

 

In fact, she could only remember one time when Gunnar had actually gotten in trouble for less than upstanding behavior, and while she'd teased and cajoled him over the incident, she never had truly gotten a straight answer out of him about his level of involvement, after all.

 

Of course, she'd figured that Morio, being the miscreant that he was, had been the ringleader and mastermind behind it. Besides, Mikio tended to be a bit too shy to really have instigated it, though in hindsight, he hadn't tried very hard to dissuade Morio, either, had he? Gunnar said that he'd come across them after they'd already gotten started, and while Isabelle didn't think he was lying, she also wouldn't put it past him to stretch the truth, either . . .

 

Morio and Gunnar were fourteen at the time. Mikio was sixteen. Isabelle remembered only because it was the year she'd had her first real boyfriend, but from later accounts garnered from both Morio and Mikio—though mostly from Morio, who was rather proud of his part in it all—it just figured that she'd missed out on their particular kind of mayhem . . .

 

But they'd somehow come to the conclusion that it'd be a prime idea to bore a hole through the wall that separated the boys' changing room from the girls' side. It was during lunch hour, and since the three guys normally spent the time together, it wasn't surprising that Gunnar had located the other two, but what did surprise Isabelle was that Gunnar had actually gone along with it since behavior such as that would probably have been considered beneath him, or so she'd thought.

 

Apparently, they were taking turns peeping through the hole at the girls' swim team when her grandfather caught them. Mikio had forgotten his lunch and InuYasha caught them as he was delivering it. On the one hand, they were probably lucky, all things considered. InuYasha's form of punishment was a month of after school drills that left all three of them exhausted though Mikio, because of his balance problems, had spent the grueling days doing stationery exercises like push-ups and sit-ups while the other two were put through their paces by both Toga—she heard that he'd barely spoken during the entire month of training but stood stoically by with his arms crossed over his chest and looking far more like his father, Sesshoumaru than he ever had before or since—Ryomaru, who was more amused than irritated at his son's behavior, and InuYasha, who most certainly was not.

 

Still, it amused her, especially since it wasn't something that was typical of Gunnar to have done. She supposed now, looking back, that those particular guys only degenerated when they were together, and the more of them there were, the worse the degeneration was. She'd seen it first hand, hadn't she? The few summers she'd spent around all four of them had been full of pranks and silliness that the individuals wouldn't have pulled had it not been for the constant goading to one-up each other, and since she'd been the preferred target of most of those pranks, she couldn't help but laugh at it all now.

 

Letting out a deep breath as she set the new sheets on the nightstand and headed for the door, she spared one last glance at Gunnar and shook her head. To be completely honest, she hated to see him that way, hated knowing deep down that it really was her fault that he was suffering. While she could appreciate that he really was an excellent candidate for the testing, she still didn't like it.

 

She could only hope that the rest of the testing went better than this trial had . . .

 

 

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

A/N:

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Final Thought from Griffin:

Her family's just as weird as she is …

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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 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~