InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Precarious ( Chapter 16 )

~~Chapter 16~~

~Precarious~

 

-=0=-

 

 

“Have you actually seen her eat anything when you're there with her at night?”

 

Kurt crossed his arms over his chest and leveled a look at Dr. Harlan. “Can't say I have,” he admitted.

 

Harlan sighed and rubbed his temple as he made a deliberate show of pacing around the observation room. “You know what we're trying to do here,” Harlan began in a conspiratorial sort of tone. “We're on the same page, you and I . . . but the thing is, if we cannot keep her healthy enough to stand up to our testing, we won't be able to do it.”

 

“The same page?” he echoed. “Is that right?”

 

Harlan shot him a broadcast grin—a hollow gesture that he honestly believed Kurt would find genuine. “Aren't we? These creatures aren't normal—probably produced by some freak of genetics . . . If we can figure out what makes them tick, we could—”

 

“Could what?” Kurt cut in coldly, pinning the good doctor with a penetrating look. “Harness their power? Is that what you were going to say? You can't. No one can. Those things need to be destroyed. They only thing they want to do is to kill humans because we're weaker than they are. Do you understand that? That's it, and that's all. It's not a woman or a girl or anything like that. It's a beast: a monster. That's all it's ever going to be.”

 

“Of course, of course, but you know, this research is important! It's that old adage: know your enemy as you'd know yourself.”

 

“Spare me your reasoning, Harlan. I don't give two shits about any of it. If you're so worried about that demon, then you figure out how to make it eat.”

 

A slight narrowing of the eyes was Harlan's immediate response. Kurt turned on his heel and stalked out of the observation room that he'd been dragged into before he could make it to the holding area. Harlan followed. He'd figured that he would. At least he was tenacious, Kurt had to give him that . . . “The board isn't overly impressed with your demon. They're questioning whether or not they should keep compensating you for it.”

 

And that didn't really surprise Kurt, either. “Is that right?”

 

“She needs to eat,” Harlan went on. “If she loses more weight before the next board meeting, I'm not too sure that I can talk them into continuing your payments.”

 

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the fat old bastard to go straight to hell. If there was one thing that he couldn't stand, it was being manipulated. That Harlan was trying to do that and quite blatantly at that irked the hell out of him, damned if it didn't. “Then I highly suggest you find a way to make it eat,” he growled. “Or do you really have that little control over it?”

 

“Just think about what I said,” Harlan remarked as he offered Kurt a tight little smile. “Have a good night.”

 

Glowering at the demon's chart, Kurt still couldn't brush away the complete irritation that just wouldn't leave him alone. The more he thought about Dr. Harlan and his smug attitude, the more ticked off he got. He wasn't sure whether it was funny or just really, really sad that those damned morons actually thought that he could make the demon eat. More to the point, they spent the bulk of their time making idiot comments when they thought that he couldn't hear them: comments about his stubborn insistence that the little demon could talk, comments about his own `freakish' power . . .

 

But who did they come to when they had a problem, after all? The freak, of course . . .

 

Never mind that he'd felt the little demon's eyes on him all evening, too. It had yet to speak to him, but it didn't have to, did it? It was infinitely more annoying to just be stared at, he supposed, so if it were trying to tick him off, then its plan was working in spades . . .

 

`Testing pain reflexes,' the chart had listed for the day as another little `ping' announced that it had just dropped a kibble of dog food down the drain. Kurt shook his head, tossing the clipboard aside. Besides, he seriously doubted that those things felt anything akin to pain, anyway . . .

 

Shuffling over to the small desk, he dug his dinner out of the knapsack and unwrapped the cheeseburger he'd picked up on the way. The bun was soggy, the meat looked gray—all in all, a pretty sorry looking sandwich, he figured. He took a couple bites of it and pushed it away with a grimace before grabbing his bag again, this time pulling out his night vision goggles and the cleaning kit.

 

Since the last time he'd come across such a strong aura, he'd figured that he'd be better off to carry his gear with him. Might was well be prepared, right? At least, that's what he figured, anyway. He couldn't afford to let his guard down, not that it was likely to happen. He wasn't going to go out of his way to find another one at the moment, but he wasn't going to miss an opportunity, either.

 

Besides, with the way his luck was going, if he did manage to capture another one, he'd be stuck with watching over two of them, at least long enough to collect his money . . .

 

It didn't take long to clean his gear despite the methodical way he checked everything over. He relied on the stuff far too much to take it for granted, didn't he?

 

`Testing pain reflexes . . .'

 

That was laughable, wasn't it? Those things only knew how to inflict pain, didn't they? What did they know about that sort of thing, anyway? It pissed him off. That damned Harlan had told him in the beginning that they were trying to find a way to destroy the beasts, to discover a way to ensure that they could not survive—a type of genocide, he'd called it. The demons were far too powerful to be allowed to thrive. Kurt hadn't completely bought into it, but he hadn't been against the idea, either. Researching them? Testing pain thresholds? What point was there in all of that?

 

Of course, Kurt wouldn't have cared, one way or another, as long as he got the funding he needed to continue his quest. He didn't care how long he had to search or what he had to do to find them, one day he'd run into the ones who were responsible, and when he did, he'd destroy them. He didn't care what happened afterward as long as he knew that those monsters couldn't ever do what they'd done to another family, ever again.

 

A rattle sounded from the cage, and Kurt glanced up with a frown. Nothing out of order, he supposed. The little demon was trying to stretch out in the cage. Even as small as it was, it had difficulty accomplishing its task. It heaved a tiny sigh—a sound that he wasn't meant to hear—and he sat back, crossing his arms over his chest as he continued to watch it.

 

It fidgeted around like it was trying to get comfortable before finally settling for propping its feet on the end above the food and water bowls, then using those feet to brace itself to lift its hips enough to wiggle the smock down just a little more.

 

Letting out a deep breath as he slowly shook his head, Kurt stood up, swiping up the abysmal sandwich and started toward the trash can. He stopped mid-step, though, frowning at it thoughtfully, then altered his course, ripping a small bite-sized piece off the sandwich as he walked.

 

The little demon blinked and sat up with minimal difficulty as it stared at the food he dropped into the cage. Eyes darting curiously from the disassembled bite he'd tossed in to the rest of the half wrapped sandwich in his hand, it looked completely suspicious.

 

Kurt snorted. “I know damn well you saw me eating it, so you can't say that I drugged it,” he pointed out.

 

It blinked slowly, its mouth shifting into a petulant little pucker as it forced its eyes away from the food. “No, thank you,” it muttered.

 

He couldn't help the incredulous growl that slipped from him as he eyed the stubborn demon. “Oh, yeah? You don't eat dog food, and you won't eat that? What the hell do you eat?” Rolling his eyes as he turned on his heel, he uttered another loud snort and stomped over to the trash can. “Don't answer that,” he grumbled, berating himself for his own stupidity as he crumpled the wrapper around the sandwich and dropped it into the trash. Of course it didn't eat food like that. Those damn things . . .

 

Completely disgusted, he pivoted again, but stopped short at the sad expression on its face at it stared almost mournfully at the scrap still lying in the cage where he'd dropped it. Kurt frowned. It did want it, didn't it? The way it was staring at it was obvious enough. The little demon wanted that sandwich, and it had to know that he really hadn't drugged it, but he couldn't understand why it wouldn't eat it.

 

Exhaling sharply, Kurt dragged his hand over his face and shook his head. He didn't care, damn it, but he couldn't let it starve itself, either; not if he wanted to finish collecting his fee, that was . . .

 

Tamping down the feeling that he was being completely manipulated, Kurt stifled a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. If he left it there, maybe the damned stubborn creature would give in . . . Maybe . . .

 

So he forced himself to move back over to the desk again, careful to keep the little demon in the periphery of his vision the entire time.

 

`That thing gives the word `stubborn' a whole new meaning,' he thought as he plopped into the desk chair and propped his feet up, making no bones about the fact that he was blatantly observing the demon. It wouldn't have mattered, anyway. Staring at the bite of food so intently that Kurt actually doubted that it was even blinking, it took no notice of its audience as he settled back to watch and wait.

 

`Okay, little demon,' he thought with a grimly determined scowl. `I'm going to win this round . . .'

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“What do we know?”

 

Inutaisho Toga sighed and rubbed his forehead as he settled back in the thickly cushioned chair across from his father's desk. “Not a hell of a lot,” he admitted with a shake of his head. “Cain said that none of the leads were even remotely connected, but it doesn't make sense, does it? The person has to be able to use spiritual powers. It stands to reason that someone knows something.”

 

Sesshoumaru nodded slowly, his gaze calm—almost bored—the normal expression that he tended to favor when he was considering things in his head. “She has been missing for nearly three weeks . . .”

 

Toga sighed and inclined his head once, acknowledging his father's observation. “Yes.” Standing abruptly, Toga paced the floor, knowing damn well that Sesshoumaru wasn't going to like what he was about to say. “I want to go,” he stated.

 

“And what will you do if you go? Can you accomplish something that the others cannot?”

 

Shrugging offhandedly, Toga shook his head. “Probably not, but . . .”

 

“But?” Sesshoumaru prompted when his son trailed off.

 

“If it were one of my girls . . .”

 

“And if Samantha isn't really the target that they're after?”

 

Toga shook his head again and met his father's gaze full-on. “I would not sacrifice one of the children in order to avoid an altercation . . . and I daresay you would not, either, Father.”

 

A vague hint of recognition sparked behind Sesshoumaru's gaze; the acknowledgement of the complete understanding of his son's logic. “I would not,” he allowed quietly. “Toga . . .”

 

“Yes?”

 

Sesshoumaru stood and turned toward the window, his gaze scanning the horizon as he contemplated the situation. “I do not believe that you or Zelig or even I am the target of this. If that were the case, they would have already voiced their demands.”

 

Toga considered that and nodded. He'd thought as much, himself. Even then, it wouldn't have changed his mind. If it were different—if one of his daughters had gone missing—he knew damn well that Kichiro and the others would not just sit back and do nothing. That he'd given in to his father's initial insistence that he stay put irritated the hell out of him, and while he certainly could appreciate the concern that it would draw too much attention, the bottom line was that Samantha was family. Kichiro was family, and if family didn't come first, then nothing in the world ever would.

 

“Will your mate be going, too?”

 

Toga sighed. He'd had that particular conversation with Sierra before he'd come over to apprise Sesshoumaru of his plans. He'd wanted to her to stay here just in case it wasn't safe. She'd insisted that she was going and was probably home packing right now. She might not be able to help them search, but she could be there for Bellaniece, and despite his reservations on the matter, he hadn't had the heart to argue that logic, either. “She will,” he said quietly.

 

Sesshoumaru nodded but didn't turn away from the window. Toga, figuring that the discussion was over, started to go, only to be stopped once more by his father's voice. “Tell Zelig . . . he has the full support of the Inu no Taisho.”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

Narrowing his eyes as the sound of the door softly closing faded away, Sesshoumaru stared past the drizzle falling from the hazy November sky. How many times had he watched out this same window as Samantha had wandered around the yard? A quiet child—not exactly shy, but thoughtful, she was . . . and yet he hadn't been nearly as surprised as he likely should have been when she'd stated that she wanted to be a hunter.

 

And she'd gone to Toga to ask for a job. Toga had been horrified, and rightfully so. No one wanted her to take on such a daunting occupation. For some, they disliked the idea of a woman hunter. For others, they worried that she was far too petite to be effective. Sesshoumaru had his own reasons for disliking the idea . . .

 

He knew that she was capable. He did not believe that her size was a disadvantage. He did not believe that women were inferior or any ridiculous notion such as that. No, what worried him was the gentleness within her—the same gentleness of spirit that her father also possessed. It was that part of her that gave Sesshoumaru pause. That sort of quality was so easily crushed, and to have chosen to be a hunter . . .

 

“So you're going to let him go?”

 

Turning at the sound of his mate's voice, Sesshoumaru regarded Kagura as she slipped into the office and wandered over to his side. “I do not believe he was asking my permission,” he remarked dryly.

 

She nodded, her bright eyes slowly shifting over his features as she tried to read him. “This isn't right, is it? I can feel it . . .”

 

“I've thought as much,” he allowed. “You believe that we should go, too.” It wasn't a question.

 

She didn't answer right away as she turned her attention outside. Sesshoumaru had very little doubt that she wasn't seeing the past, just as he had when he'd stared out the same window. “She's such a beautiful girl,” Kagura murmured, lifting a hand to press against the glass. “That smile . . . everything about her smiles when she does . . .”

 

Sesshoumaru shook his head slowly, uttering a terse grunt—a sound that was rather unusual for him. “Her grandfather is there,” he said at length. “That baka will tear down everything he sees if given the chance . . .”

 

Kagura turned her head to look at him, the barest hint of a smile touching her lips. “And, of course, you're the only one who can stop him.”

 

Sesshoumaru nodded once as his gaze narrowed the smallest bit. “Of course.”

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

`I hate him; I hate him; I hate him; I hate him . . .' Samantha fumed as she glowered at the bit of sandwich the holy man had dropped into the cage.

 

`You ought to hate him,' her youkai admonished. `You don't, but you should . . .'

 

Flattening her ears for a moment, Samantha tried to force her gaze away from the tiny hunk of meat and bread but couldn't. `I do,' she insisted stubbornly. `It's right there! But . . .'

 

`Don't you touch it!' her youkai snapped. `You know what'll happen if you do.'

 

Stifling a sigh since she did know what would eventually happen if she did, she dug her claws into her arm—they were crossed and resting on her drawn up knees—she grimaced as the scent of her blood hit her hard. It didn't smell right, and she knew it. It didn't smell quite as rich as it normally did. Deliberately trying not to consider what that might mean, she tried once more to get her mind off the food that was much, much too close.

 

`Umm . . . remember that time that Morio broke his arm? The bone was sticking out all funny? I thought I was going to puke . . .'

 

Her stomach growled in reply.

 

`Or the time he fell out of Goshinboku and busted his head on the pavement?'

 

Yeah, that one didn't work, either.

 

`How about the time Papa told me about that patient of his that got his big toe cut off with a length of fishing line . . .'

 

The sigh she was trying to hold in slipped out in a dull whoosh.

 

She couldn't forget that bite of cheeseburger. It was entirely too close for her to do it. She wanted it. She really, really wanted it. It was the aftereffect that she didn't want . . .

 

How could he do that? How could he be so cruel as to offer her what she desperately wanted, anyway? It wasn't enough that those damn white-coats were trying to strip away every last bit of her dignity, but that he would help them was almost more than she could stand. The couple times that she had broken down and let her body's needs take precedence were entirely too vivid in her mind. The humiliation of the white-coats' disgust and ridicule—laughing and sneering as they'd gotten out the power hose and sprayed her with it . . . They'd spent more time disinfecting the table she'd been strapped to than they had in cleaning her up, and all the while, they'd talked and jeered and belittled her . . .

 

And there was no way she was going to repeat that, even if it killed her.

 

She'd spent hours trying to console herself, telling herself time and again that she hadn't had a choice. They'd taken that away from her, and even though she knew that logically, it hadn't helped her; not at all . . .

 

Okay, so it wasn't the perfect solution. If she didn't eat, she was going to get weaker, and if she got too weak, she'd never be able to escape, but she also couldn't stomach the idea of repeating that kind of humiliation. Just considering it was enough to bring a sudden and savage surge of panic rising to the fore.

 

She heard the holy man move but didn't look to see what he was doing. She heard the sound of the power hose being pulled loose. With a smothered gasp, she jerked away into the corner of the cage as he slowly turned on the hose and fiddled with the nozzle, taking his time as he aimed it at the floor and started to spray.

 

He was going to flush out her cage, wasn't he? He hadn't done that since the night she'd puked up the water he'd given her . . . Gasping out loud when she realized exactly what he meant to do, she couldn't help herself when she laid her ears back and uttered a rather vicious growl, snatching up the bite of sandwich before he used the hose to push it into the drain.

 

He didn't look particularly impressed by her show of ferocity. If anything, he looked a little irritated by it. Still, he switched off the hose and crossed his arms over his chest, arching an eyebrow at her as he waited impatiently for her to explain.

 

“So you do want it,” he finally said when she ventured nothing.

 

Grimacing when she realized that she was cradling the food against her chest, using her body to shield it from him, she tried to make herself lower her hands but couldn't. “Of course I want it,” she whispered, unable to keep her ears from flattening slightly as she scrunched up her shoulders a little more and tried to keep from looking entirely pathetic though she figured that she'd already failed in that department, anyway.

 

“Of course,” he echoed, his voice thick with sarcasm. “That's why you wouldn't touch it, right?”

 

Clenching her jaw, she forced her hands to lower as she stared miserably at the food. “They . . . they won't . . . take me to the . . . the bathroom,” she muttered.

 

He stared at her for several moments, as though he couldn't quite believe what she'd said. “You're refusing to eat because they won't take you to the bathroom?” he blurted incredulously.

 

Her ears flattened at the underlying contempt in his voice, and suddenly, she had to blink fast to keep herself from crying. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head slowly as she swallowed hard to keep him from hearing the emotion that she was fighting to hide. “I refuse to eat this because of that . . . but I won't eat dog food. Not ever.”

 

She didn't really know what she expected of him. She supposed that she figured he'd say something caustic and tell her to eat it anyway. Maybe she was even hoping somewhere deep down that he'd make good on his threats to force her to comply. It struck her then, just how pathetic her situation really was, and at that moment, she just wished that he'd go back over to his desk and leave her alone . . .

 

“Yeah, well, you'd damn well better tell me before you have to do anything like that,” he grumbled as he turned his back and strode away to hang the hose back on the hook. “They're not paying me nearly enough to clean up after the likes of you.”

 

She gasped and blinked, her chin shooting up as his words slowly sank in. He'd sounded angry, and he'd sounded disgusted, and she couldn't really blame him for that. Somehow, though, his offer was enough, and even if he'd made it for purely selfish reasons, Samantha didn't care. That he'd allow her that much of a concession . . .

 

She started to shove the bite into her mouth but stopped when he whipped around to face her. “Chew it, demon,” he commanded, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Throw it up, and I won't give you more. Got it?”

 

She nodded quickly.

 

“I mean it,” he stated once more. “You chew it until I tell you to swallow. Understand?”

 

She nodded at that, too, and hastily shoved the food into her mouth before he could give her another condition.

 

Closing her eyes as she suddenly slumped against the back of the cage, she couldn't contain the rapturous moan that slipped out of her as she slowly chewed. At the moment, she couldn't recall having ever tasted anything as good as that cold bit of meat that was more gristle than lean . . . stale bun that was starting to harden on the outside . . . and she simply didn't care.

 

“Swallow,” he said.

 

She opened her eyes and did as he said. Sometime during her moments of blissful chewing, he'd come closer and was hunkered down in front of the cage with the wrapped up portion of the sandwich he'd thrown into the garbage can earlier. Sparing a moment to eye her dubiously, he broke off another small bite and tossed it into her lap. “Same rules, demon,” he said.

 

She wasted no time in stuffing that into her mouth, too.

 

He continued to feed her little by little despite the obvious irritation in his features. The very last thing he wanted to do was to sit there and babysit her, she figured, and in her absolute relief, she never thought to question whether or not he really would make good on his word later. Somehow, though, she knew he would, even if she didn't understand why.

 

 

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Final Thought from Kurt:

What a pain in the ass …

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Vendetta): 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~