InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ Full Circle ( Epilogue )

~~Epilogue~~

~Full Circle~

 

.:April 12, 2090:.

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Griffin stared around the small meadow with an odd sense of detachment that he couldn't completely understand. The air was crisp and light, touched with just the barest hint of the rain that the morning sun had banished mere hours ago, and Isabelle had laughed at him when he'd tried to ignore her steady if not gentle bits of coaxing as she'd tried to get him out of bed.

 

It was a good feeling, wasn't it? The desire to lie in bed all day still wasn't one that he was entirely used to, though he figured that he would, given time. Nearly four and a half years since the last of the reconstructive surgeries, and he still hadn't come to terms with the fact that he wasn't bound any longer by the physical limitations that he'd lived with for the better part of his life.

 

A lot had changed in those years, hadn't it?

 

To be honest, a lot had changed in his life since he'd opened the front door that fateful day, only to find Isabelle standing on his porch, smiling up at him in that sheepish way just before she'd asked for his help . . .

 

Letting out a deep breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding in, he lifted his gaze to the clear blue sky overhead.

 

He'd feared this place, hadn't he?

 

After so many centuries when he'd known in his heart that coming back here would only open wounds that were best left healed, he'd thought that maybe . . .

 

There was no trace of the cloying smoke that he remembered too vividly in the darkness of his dreams—the dreams that Isabelle had managed to chase away with her laughter and her smiles. Gone was the sense of trepidation, too, and while he didn't even try to delude himself into believing that he'd ever truly forget, maybe it was long past time to let go of those things that he hadn't been able to change. All reminders that there ever had been a village standing there were gone—lost in a hazy memory and in the clutches of nightmares that he had outgrown long ago. The sounds of birds singing in the nearby trees filled his ears, chasing away the lingering echoes of screams and tears and pain . . .

 

He wasn't sure that he wanted to see this place again, was he? He hadn't been sure until he'd looked across the breakfast table at his wife—his mate . . . and his three year old daughter.

 

“So this is the place . . .?” Isabelle asked softly, as though she were afraid that raising her voice would hurt him.

 

“This is it,” he agreed in a low rumble and without taking his gaze off the empty meadow.

 

“If you want to go back . . .”

 

He shook his head and took her hand, and while he didn't smile, he thought maybe Isabelle understood. It wasn't a sense of happiness, anyway. No, it was more a sense of peace, that he finally understood the things that he had struggled with for centuries. Everything happened for a reason, right? That was the old saying, wasn't it? Maybe he had to lose everything in order to truly appreciate the things that Isabelle had given him, and maybe . . . maybe that was enough.

 

“This way,” he said, tugging gently on Isabelle's hand to get her moving.

 

Strange how he knew the path despite the years and the changes in the area. He didn't have to stop to think, didn't have to gauge his position even once as he crossed the meadow with Isabelle in tow, heading into the forest without a second thought.

 

How frightened had he been the last time he'd walked this way? How much hatred had he carried with him back then? The path was completely overgrown, but Griffin didn't have any trouble breaking through it, clearing a path for Isabelle.

 

She didn't know where they were going, and she didn't ask. He supposed that she understood, even if he never told her. That was her way. It always had been.

 

He wasn't sure when the idea had first occurred to him. It wasn't as though he'd woken up one day with the burning desire to return to Japan. Well, that wasn't entirely true. They'd visited Japan a number of times since they'd gotten married, but he'd never thought to visit this place. He'd never considered it, really.

 

In the end, he'd just wanted to pay his respects to the people who had died that day—not just his family, but the humans that he'd killed. Ignorance and fear drove folks to do terrible things; he knew that, and yet . . .

 

And yet the anger that he'd nearly let consume him was gone, too. He frowned. Maybe not gone, exactly, but it had changed, evolved into something more like a deeper melancholy that would probably never completely go away. That was all right, wasn't it? It was okay to miss those he'd lost along the way as long as he kept in mind that he dare not forget them: not ever.

 

The trees thinned slightly, and Isabelle blinked as he pulled her out of the forest and into a small clearing. In the center of the clearing was a lone sakura tree: a tree so old that it seemed to bend over itself. The boughs were laden with delicate blossoms, and the fragrance of the flowers was thick in the air.

 

Griffin stopped short, his eyes narrowing as he frowned. There were three small stone headstones lined up at the base of the tree.

 

Letting go of Isabelle's hand, he slowly wandered forward, digging his hands into his pockets as he focused on the stones.

 

There was no writing on any of them; no indication of whose graves they were marking. Hunkering down at the base of the middle grave, Griffin turned his face up toward the sky. Staring up through the network of branches at the patches of sky, he frowned. The flowers were still in full bloom, yet petals had fallen to cover the graves, blanketing the ground in a down of pale pink and white.

“Is this her grave?” Isabelle asked quietly, laying a hand on his shoulder.

 

He reached up and covered her hand with his. “I . . . yeah . . . this one . . .”

 

She sank down beside him, reaching out to idly finger the delicate petals of the dying blooms. “It's beautiful, this place . . .” she ventured.

 

Griffin nodded. “It is.”

 

“Are these your parents' graves?”

 

Letting out a deep breath, Griffin finally lowered his chin and shrugged. “No . . . I mean, I don't think so . . . I didn't bury them here. They didn't . . . they didn't leave their bodies behind.”

 

“Daddy!”

 

Bracing himself against the ground, Griffin turned to watch as his daughter came barreling toward him. Not far behind, just stepping out of the forest, was Shippou. Catching Griffin's gaze, the kitsune lifted a hand to wave. Griffin nodded and slipped an arm around his daughter's waist before kissing her downy cheek. “I thought you wanted to go play,” he said. They'd dropped her off to play with Shippou's granddaughters at the Inutaisho mansion.

 

“I did played,” she insisted.

 

Griffin snorted but leaned down to rub his nose against hers. “Play,” he corrected gruffly yet gently.

 

She nodded rather emphatically. “I want to play with Mama.”

 

“With your mama?” Griffin echoed with a shake of his head. “But you're my girl, aren't you?”

 

“I want to play hide n' seek,” she replied.

 

“Your mama stinks at that game,” he pointed out. “Some of her parts are too big to hide.”

 

His daughter giggled and wiggled out of his grip to dart over to her mother's side. “Mama! C'mon!” she insisted, grabbing Isabelle's hands and tugging. “You're it!”

 

“I'm it? Why am I always `it'?” Isabelle protested, sparing a moment to wink at Griffin.

 

He snorted and tried not to blush then shook his head when her laughter stated plainly that his efforts hadn't worked.

 

“She missed her parents,” Shippou remarked as he stopped beside Griffin. “Figured you were coming out here.”

 

Griffin watched as his mate and daughter ran out into the sunshine to play. Isabelle covered her eyes and laughed as their child darted away to hide behind a very large boulder.

 

“I wanted to check on her,” Griffin admitted, nodding at the middle grave stone. “But whose graves are these?”

 

Shippou took his time as he pulled an errant sprig of ivy from the base of one of the other markers. The kitsune smiled sadly, idly running his claws over the weathered smoothness of the stone. “They never forgot, you know? And they never stopped blaming themselves, either . . .”

 

Griffin shook his head, unable to grasp the meaning of what Shippou was telling him. “They? `They', who?”

 

“Miroku and Sango . . . He always said that if they had gotten to the village just a little sooner . . .”

 

Griffin didn't miss the catch in Shippou's voice. He shook his head. “There wasn't a thing they could've done to save them,” he finally said. “There wasn't a thing that anyone could have done to save them.”

 

Letting out a slow sigh, Shippou nodded, letting his hands fall to dangle between his spread knees as he scanned the area without meeting Griffin's gaze. “Sango said it was the least she could do—watching over your sister . . . and Miroku . . . he thought so, too . . . They didn't want her to ever have to be alone again.”

 

Shippou's words caught Griffin by surprise, and he blinked as he let his gaze roam over the three nondescript graves. There was no engraving in the stones to give testimony to the souls who rested there, and somehow, that fit, too. He'd run away from them—from Sango and Miroku—when they'd tried to stop him—to comfort him, but he had been too afraid, hadn't he? Too full of anger and too scared to do anything but run . . .

 

He had to clear his throat before he could speak again. A suspect lump had grown so thick and solid that it took a moment before he could regain the ability to give voice to his thoughts. That the monk and his mate would remember a little girl who had died a violent death well before she ever should have humbled Griffin in such a way that he wasn't sure what he could say . . . “They . . . they wanted to be buried with her?”

 

Shippou nodded, his eyes suspiciously bright despite the smallest hint of a smile quirking his lips. “Yeah, they did.”

 

He didn't speak right away. It was enough that she wasn't alone—that she hadn't ever been left alone. Gazing around at the wide open space, Griffin slowly shook his head. “I can't believe this area hasn't been developed.”

 

“Well, the guy who owns the property is pretty well set against letting that happen. They've asked him about it a few times. He just doesn't think that graves should be disturbed.”

 

“You sound like you know him.”

 

With a chuckle, Shippou shrugged. “I suppose you could say that,” he ventured at length. “Sesshoumaru has owned it for . . . well, for a long time.”

 

Griffin shot Shippou a questioning glance. “Sesshoumaru?”

 

“Yep . . . He never really said as much, but it bothered him; what happened to your family. I mean, it was the reason he made the edict—the final one, anyway . . .” Eyes clouding over, he seemed to be looking into the past, his bright green eyes taking on a hazy fog of half-forgotten memory. “I remember . . .” he finally said in a quiet, almost preoccupied tone. “We had just finished burying the villagers—it seemed like we were always burying someone back then . . . Sango was tired, and Miroku was praying, and I . . . I looked up at the horizon, and Sesshoumaru was standing there. He didn't say anything. He just . . . looked.”

 

Turning his head, Griffin frowned at the sight of his mate and daughter as the two frolicked and played nearby. A bitter stab of guilt shot through him—regret over the blood he'd shed in his lifetime. He supposed that the feeling would never truly go away, and that was all right, wasn't it? As long as he didn't repeat past mistakes . . . Isabelle . . . she'd taught him that, too.

 

“He said he'd sell you this place if you want it,” Shippou remarked.

 

“This place?” Griffin echoed. “Why?”

 

The kitsune shrugged, his smile returning as the vague expression dissipated from his gaze. “She's here, isn't she? Don't you want it?”

 

He hadn't considered it before. To be honest, he hadn't known whether or not his sister's grave was still here, at all. Maybe that was the real reason he hadn't come looking for it before. Afraid that her resting place had been desecrated sometime during the passing centuries, he realized now that he had been worried that it had simply ceased to exist . . .

 

“I'll talk to him,” Griffin said, more to himself than to Shippou.

 

Shippou nodded and pushed himself to his feet, his smile widening as he whistled loudly and wandered over to Isabelle.

 

Griffin pondered Shippou's words. He wasn't sure he wanted the land where the village had stood, but this place . . . the peacefulness and beauty that he'd wanted for his sister . . . He wanted it, if only to ensure that it always remained exactly how it was now; how it had been in the recesses of his memories. Settling back, he wrapped his arms around his raised knees, smiling vaguely as the echo of a child's laughter—laughter silenced so long ago—echoed in his ears.

 

But it was another child's laughter that drew him out of his reverie, the comforting presence of an ebullient soul so very much like her mother's. He blinked then narrowed his eyes as he focused on his daughter's face—the golden eyes, the bronze hair . . . her mother's daughter, absolutely. She giggled happily as she leaned forward, lacing a sakura blossom into his hair.

 

“I make you pretty,” she said with a smile that displayed the deep dimple in her right cheek.

 

For a moment, Griffin couldn't breathe; couldn't think. The vivid memory of another child and the sakura blossoms that looked and smelled exactly the same . . . It brought a painful, throbbing ache to his chest, and he blinked quickly as a wash of moisture gathered.

 

“K . . . Kumiko did that, too,” he rasped out, unable to control the emotion that colored his voice.

 

His daughter's smile widened as another round of giggles slipped out of her. “I'm Kumiko!” she chastised.

 

“Yes, you are,” he replied.

 

She took a moment to arrange another flower in his hair before plopping down in her father's lap with a contented sigh. “Was she pretty?” she asked.

 

Griffin nodded, pressing his lips against his daughter's downy hair as he swallowed hard; as he fought down the rising lump that choked him. “Yes, she was,” he whispered.

 

“I'm pretty `cause I look like Mama,” she said thoughtfully.

 

“Of course you are.”

 

“You think I'm pretty?”

 

Griffin tilted his head back as Isabelle leaned down to kiss him. “Don't let it go to your head,” he muttered, cheeks pinking since he hadn't realized that she was within earshot.

 

“What is it about girls named Kumiko sticking flowers in your hair on your birthday?” Shippou deadpanned as he strode over.

 

Griffin shook his head and set Kumiko on her feet before pushing himself off the ground.

 

“It's your birthday, Daddy?” Kumiko demanded, tugging on Griffin's hand to gain his attention.

 

“Uh . . .”

 

Shippou laughed. “Yep, it's his birthday,” he replied. “Did you forget, Kiyoshi?”

 

Griffin nodded, caught off-guard by the use of the name that he'd left behind so long ago. “I guess I did.”

 

Shippou's laughter escalated, and he winked at Kumiko in a conspiratorial sort of way. “Ever see foxfire?” he asked.

 

The girl's eyes widened, and she ran over to the kitsune without a second glance.

 

Isabelle slipped her arms around Griffin's waist and leaned up to kiss him. “Happy birthday, Dr. Marin,” she said with a tender smile.

 

“I . . . I forgot,” he admitted quietly. “Then when I wanted to remember, I couldn't.”

 

She stared at him for a minute as the breeze stirred her hair, tossing it lightly, lovingly. Suddenly, though, her eyes clouded, and her smile faded as she sighed. “I can't bring back your family, Griffin,” she murmured with a rueful shake of her head, “but I can give you a new one.”

 

“You already have,” he said, his voice harsher than he'd intended, thick with emotion that he just couldn't hide.

 

She ducked her head as though she were trying to hide her tears from him. He smelled them, though, and he grimaced. Maybe he wasn't good with words, and maybe he tended to get tongue-tied whenever he tried to tell her how he felt. Still, with as much as she had already given him—as much as she gave him every day of her life . . . He had to try, didn't he? Just this once, even if he couldn't really give voice to the feelings in a more poetic way . . .

 

Catching her chin with his bent index finger, he gently forced her to look at him as he licked his lips and cleared his throat. “I-Isabelle?”

 

“I know; I know; I'm leaking again,” she blubbered with a sniffle as she wiped her eyes quickly.

 

He tried to smile but figured that it probably looked more like a grimace than anything. “N-n-no,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “I just . . . I mean, I . . .” He paused to clear his throat. “I . . . I l-love . . . you.”

 

She gasped softly, her watery gaze flicking to meet his as a fresh wash of tears filled her eyes. “I know,” she whispered, her smile weak and thready but genuine, nonetheless.

 

He snorted and shot her a fierce glower. “Y-you know?” he echoed incredulously.

 

She nodded and kissed him then threw her head back and laughed. “Of course I know, Griffin Marin. I've known for a long, long time.”

 

“I thought you women wanted to hear stuff like that,” he grumped.

 

She laughed louder and kissed him again. “We do, but that doesn't mean that we don't know.”

 

“I want a kiss, too!”

 

Griffin snapped his mouth closed on the retort that had been forming as he leaned to the side to glance down at his daughter. “I like your kisses,” he said as he scooped Kumiko up and settled her in the crook of his arm.

 

“Not that cheek!” she insisted, planting her little hands on either side of his head to turn his face. “That's Mama's cheek! This one's my cheek!”

 

He rolled his eyes but let Kumiko kiss his unscarred cheek.

 

Isabelle laughed and leaned in to kiss his other cheek. “That's right! The scars are Mama's, remember?”

 

Kumiko nodded once then shrieked with laughter when Griffin rubbed his stubbly cheek against hers. “Another kiss!” she insisted.

 

Griffin heaved a sigh but let her do it. Isabelle laughed again as a strange sparkle ignited in her gaze. “That's Kumiko's cheek, and this is Mama's cheek . . . and these—” She reached around and grasped Griffin's rear, “—are Mama's cheeks, too.”

 

“I—y—Jezebel!” Griffin growled.

 

Isabelle laughed and leaned in to kiss him again, and with a long-suffering sigh, he let her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

April 27, 2008.

7:05 p.m.

 

 

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A/N:

 

Thanks for reading! Now looking forward to posting Purity 8: Vendetta. The first couple chapters are already posted, so do feel free to look for them!

 

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Reviewers

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MMorg

Dark Inu Fan ------ theblackthorn ------ dewrose (no, he doesn't, so no he doesn't. Check my forum for the Mikio teaser) ------ kittycatkitten ------ Jester08 ------ FriskyPixie

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Forum Reviews

psycho_chick32 ------ cutechick18 ------ DarkAngel

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Final Thought from Griffin:

My…birthday …?

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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~