InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Diffusion ( Chapter 26 )

~~Chapter 26~~

~Diffusion~

 

-=0=-

 

 

“So . . . so you might as well get used to it, demon, because the inside of that cage is the only thing you're ever, ever going to see.”

 

Samantha sighed inwardly as the truth behind those words sank in, but it wasn't really his words that troubled her. The anger, the confusion so evident in his tone, as though he'd had to lash out at her, as though he'd had no other recourse.

 

And for the last three days, he'd said nothing at all. It had helped her a lot as she'd worried about trying to hide herself on her human night. He'd let her go to the bathroom and had fed and given her water. After that, though, he'd proceeded to ignore her, and at least for that night, that had been all right, too. Huddled under the blanket, she'd sat up all night. Fearing that he'd discover her secret, she hadn't been able to sleep.

 

Luck had been with her, though. He'd said nothing to her until he let her out of the cage to go to the bathroom, but by then, she'd returned to her hanyou state, and that was all right, too.

 

The thing that bothered her about that, though, was the inner knowledge that she wouldn't be able to hide it forever. What would they do if they found out? The white-coats . . .

 

Biting her cheek as she tried to ignore the painful intrusion of the pin sensors they'd placed all over her body, she willed herself to think about other things, to ignore the barrage of tiny shocks set off at timed intervals as the hateful machines spewed a steady stream of paper—her reactions broken down into scribbled lines that measured her body's responses.

 

She really wished she'd managed to get the newspaper from the taijya. She'd told him that she wanted to read the comics, but the truth of it was that she wanted to see the date. She had no way of knowing exactly how long she'd been here, and while she knew that it had been over a month just because of the frequency of her human nights, she couldn't quite figure exactly.

 

Grinding her teeth together as an especially painful shock shot through her from the probes stuck into her nipples, Samantha was otherwise pleased to see the marked lack of response from her body on paper. That one was by far the worst so far. Still she stubbornly refused to allow herself to show the white-coats any kind of reaction.

 

The one they called Harlan slipped out of the room, muttering something about stepping out for a minute, which was also fine with her. The two miscreants who had tried to stay over the one night, though . . . they were staring at her, their gazes carefully bored, but she could smell them, couldn't she? They made her stomach turn.

 

Spending a moment jotting things on his clipboard, the one called Peterman cleared his throat. “Who'd have thought that a demon could look like that?” he murmured with a grin.

 

His friend nodded. “You know, I think that ol' Doc is trying to keep her for himself.”

 

Peterson stopped writing, glancing at the other with a calculating sort of look on his face. “Maybe,” he allowed at length. “I mean, without the camera in there, it'd be hard to prove, wouldn't it?”

 

“Wouldn't surprise me . . . Doc's always been a little weird.”

 

“Yeah, but he acts like he hates her . . .”

 

Peterson rolled his eyes. “He doesn't have to like her to fuck her, right? You don't like her, do you? Hell, I don't like her, either, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't fuck her . . . Besides . . . he's just as much of a freak as she is. I mean, think about it. He can see these things? I don't care what you tell me, that can't possibly be normal.”

 

The other white-coat was silent for a moment before casting a concerned eye toward the doorway. “Didn't Dr. Harlan say that he's got those researchers from San Diego coming in today?”

 

“Yeah, so?”

 

He chuckled, stepping over to casually turn off the camera beside the door. “So that means he'll be busy for awhile, right?”

 

Peterson blinked and slowly grinned. “That's true enough.”

 

Samantha could feel her panic rising. She'd have to be stupid not to understand exactly what those two had in mind, and regardless of what her upbringing had dictated regarding not causing humans harm, there was no way that she'd let them defile her . . .

 

But she wasn't entirely sure how she could stop them, either.

 

“And this is our latest acquisition, gentlemen!” Harlan exclaimed in a loud, booming voice as he strode into the room with three other white-coats in tow. The bastard looked inordinately pleased with himself, like he'd been the one to apprehend her . . . Trapped between sheer relief that the two miscreants couldn't try to do what they had in mind and abject horror as the new arrivals stared her casually up and down, she had to fight down the outrage that boiled up in her as she shifted her gaze to the clock on the wall.

 

“She doesn't look like a demon,” one of the men remarked dubiously.

 

“She looks almost human,” another added.

 

“Looks can be deceiving, can't they?” Harlan stated jovially. “She's a demon, all right. Allow me to demonstrate.”

 

He stepped over beside her, grabbing a scalpel off the small tray beside the gurney where she was restrained. Without ceremony, he sliced her thigh. Samantha bit down on her lip to keep from making a sound. The smell of her own blood hit her hard, and she closed her eyes as a trickle of blood ran down her leg. “Wait a few minutes, and you'll see for yourselves,” he offered generously. “Her healing powers are amazing!”

 

Those hateful men gathered in close, staring at her, their eyes traversing every inch of her body without even a hint of remorse or shame. “Oh, wow,” one of them breathed, leaning in closer to stare at the cut on her leg. “It's . . . it's closing up . . .”

 

“That's right!” Harlan crowed. “The scientific ramifications of it are staggering!”

 

“A demon . . .” one of them murmured as the trace of a smile appeared on his lips. “Remarkable . . .”

 

“Our handler swears that these things are dangerous,” Harlan went on with a broad wink, “but this one is quite tame.”

 

“Does it talk?” the third one asked.

 

“Pity, but no,” Harlan said. “We think it has the ability to do it; it simply doesn't appear to know how.”

 

“I've heard that some of them can hide in human form. Never thought it was true, though . . .”

 

Harlan gave a hearty laugh and herded the visitors toward the door. “Come, come! Let's go talk business, shall we? You two . . . You come along, too! I'd love for you to tell our guests about your observations.”

 

Samantha could have cried in relief. The two didn't seem like they wanted to go, but they didn't dare gainsay their boss, either. It was fine with her, wasn't it? Though it was about an hour before she was normally put away for the day, she figured that her cage would be preferable than remaining fastened to this stupid damn table . . .

 

A few minutes after the last of the white-coats finally, blessedly left her alone, she was caught off guard when the taijya strode into the room. His step didn't falter as he approached the table, the clink of the restraints resounding with his movements, though she thought she might have seen the faintest glimmer of irritation as he brusquely jerked the probes free.

 

She couldn't contain the little whine that slipped from her when he pulled the needles out of her nipples. Those two were the only ones that had actually hurt. His expression was impassive, stony as he let the probes fall on the concrete floor, the metallic pings echoing in her ears almost painfully.

 

He finished that quickly enough before jerking the sensor pads off her skin. The measurement machines protested the abrupt loss of data, beeping obscenely as they kicked over into error mode. He turned those off with a flick of his finger and didn't bother speaking to her as he unfastened one of the arm bands, which was just as well. Even though she knew that the camera by the door was off, she wasn't entirely certain if there were others. Snapping the cuff around her newly emancipated wrist, he loosened the straps around her neck, upper arms, chest, and waist. Swiping up the slightly smudged smock that the white-coats had carelessly tossed onto the floor, he dropped it in her lap without a word.

 

She wasted no time, pulling it over her head, feeling at least a little better with the addition of clothing, such as it was. He fastened the shackle around her other wrist as soon as she'd let go of the smock.

 

It didn't take him long to finish unbinding her and snapping the cuffs around her ankles. Then he tugged her off the table and set her on her feet before jerking his head toward the door. She understood and complied, grimacing inwardly as the muscles in her body protested the movement. Those damn pain sensors always seemed to force her body into involuntary spasms for a few hours following the testing. Her left knee buckled, and she veered against the wall, wincing as her shoulder smacked hard against the cinderblocks.

 

He pulled her back and held on long enough for her to steady herself, and she managed to make it into the holding area without another incident.

 

He stopped her before she could kneel down in front of the cage. “Do you have to go to the bathroom?” he asked in a brusque tone of voice that reflected his behavior thus far.

 

She didn't really have to go, but she figured she might as well, and when he unfastened her wrists, she couldn't help the involuntary reflex as she lifted her arms to cover her sore breasts, glad for once that she wasn't facing the taijya—glad that he couldn't see the pain she couldn't hide.

 

It didn't take long for her to take care of her business. When she approached him after she was finished, though, he was staring over her head rather thoughtfully. She turned around so that he could secure her hands once more, and she frowned at the vent in the ceiling. He'd been staring at that, hadn't he? But she told him that she couldn't get out through there . . .

 

“You're here early,” she said as she made her way back to the cage.

 

“I needed to talk to Harlan,” he muttered. “Anyway, I thought they already tested your pain threshold.”

 

She shrugged as she crawled into the cage and stuck her feet out for him to unlock the restraints. “I guess they didn't like the first set of results,” she replied rather evasively.

 

He eyed her for a moment before unfastening the cuffs and pulling them away. “I'll bet they didn't,” he replied in a tone that she didn't really understand. “Turn around.”

 

She did as she was told then scooted over into the corner to retrieve her blanket as soon as she was freed. To her surprise, though, he didn't close the cage right away. Resting on the balls of his feet with a strange sort of expression on his face, he stared at her for a long minute then finally shook his head and sighed. “You stink again.”

 

Wrinkling her nose, she shot him what she thought was a decently formidable glower. He snorted at her attempt. “You know, you're horrible for a girl's ego,” she pointed out, “and it's hardly my fault . . . It's not like I'm offered use of a shower . . . or soap, for that matter . . .” Heaving a sudden sigh of longing, she leaned back, a dreamy expression flickering over her features as she shook her head slowly. “Ivory soap . . . and shampoo . . . You have no idea what I'd give for either of those things . . .”

 

“You're a weird little demon,” he grumbled, carefully pushing the door closed before reaching around the side to pull the pan of water out of the cage.

 

“And you're a grouchy old taijya,” she retorted. “Guess we're even.”

 

He snorted at her assessment as he headed over to rinse and refill the bowl. “Harlan thinks that he can teach you how to speak,” he remarked, hunkering down in front of the cage after slipping the bowl back inside.

 

Samantha spared him a blank look before reaching for the water. “Does he?”

 

“Yep . . . so can he?”

 

She giggled quietly and waved a hand before helping herself to a long drink. “Of course not. I'm stupid, remember?”

 

He rolled his eyes but his expression said that he'd figured as much, already. “So you're really going to let them think that you can't talk.”

 

She shrugged offhandedly and sipped the water. “Why not? Besides, it's much better if they don't know that I understand them, don't you think? Did you know that those two white-coats that stayed over the one night think that you only act like you hate me and that in reality you've been fucking me every night in secret?”

 

“What?” he said, his tone a lot flatter than she'd figured.

 

She nodded, setting the bowl aside. “Said that you're probably just telling them all this so they don't figure out that you really like me.”

 

“Is that what they say . . .?”

 

“Don't worry,” she went on airily. “I know that you really do despise me and all that, so it's all right, don't you think?”

 

He didn't answer. He seemed rather agitated, not that she could blame him, she supposed. He really didn't like youkai, after all, and she knew that well enough. Still, he did come in early for whatever reason, so she figured that she owed him one . . .

 

The strange look he'd gotten on his face, though, as he'd started to pull the probes flashed through her head, and she frowned just a little. He'd looked almost . . . dismayed . . .?

 

`You're reading too much into it,' her youkai voice ventured. `Don't go looking for things that just aren't there.'

 

`Right . . .'

 

Even so, why did it bother her, anyway? Why didn't she care so much if those damned white-coats saw her body, leered at her, stared at her as though she were some kind of sex toy, but . . . but the idea that the taijya saw her that way . . .

 

Why did that seem somehow worse?

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Ryomaru stopped short, scowling at the forest that seemed to stretch on and on, dense and unyielding, in every conceivable direction.

 

And they'd been wandering around in it for a couple days now, damn it.

 

“This ain't getting us nowhere,” he growled, shaking his head as he struggled to reign in his mounting sense of frustration.

 

Griffin glanced at him but kept moving, trudging steadily through the knee-deep snow. “Just keep moving,” he muttered. “This area feels different, don't you think?”

 

Ryomaru spared a glance at the bear-youkai, considering Griffin's words carefully. “Different? Different, how?”

 

“There's something around here,” Griffin remarked. “I don't know what, but I feel . . . something . . .”

 

Ryomaru opened his mouth to tell the old bear that he was crazy but stopped suddenly, glancing around as a strange sort of premonition crept up his spine. “Someone's out here,” he mumbled, narrowing his eyes s he tried to see deeper into the trees. He couldn't smell anyone, but that wasn't surprising if the person were standing downwind. The thing was, he didn't know quite what to make of the strange feeling, either.

 

Griffin nodded but said nothing. Ryomaru cast him a quick look, and the bear nodded in understanding. Ryomaru veered away, moving off to the left in the hopes that they could intercept whoever was out there.

 

It didn't take long to find him. A strange old man stood just beneath the barren branches of a maple tree. Using one hand to steady himself, he was using the cane in his other hand to scrape snow away from the base of the tree, muttering under his breath though Ryomaru couldn't understand a word he was saying. But he was wearing some sort of old, rough robe with the hood pulled over his head though straggles of wiry gray hair had slipped free to blow in the bitter wind. All in all, Ryomaru wasn't entirely sure what to make of the old guy, but he did notice a couple of things just from watching: firstly, the old coot did seem to possess some sort of spiritual power though not nearly enough to construct a barrier, and secondly? He had to be insane to be wandering around the forest in the cold with nothing but that flimsy robe for warmth . . .

 

“Oi, old man . . . what are you doing?”

 

The old guy turned his head and squinted to see him better before muttering to himself and resuming his task.

 

Ryomaru blinked. He wasn't exactly sure what he was expecting, but he supposed that being summarily ignored wasn't exactly it.

 

“Old man?”

 

“I heard you the first time!” the old man exclaimed irritably. “I ain't deef, y'know!”

 

“You need some help there?” he asked.

 

That got the man's attention well enough. Moving stiltedly, he turned to face Ryomaru, waving his walking stick at the base of the tree. “I dropped m'choppers,” he muttered.

 

`Choppers? What the hell are choppers?' Ryomaru wondered but stepped forward just the same. “Down here?”

 

The old man nodded.

 

With a grunt, Ryomaru stepped forward and hunkered down to dig through the snow.

 

“You . . . you're one of them fairies, ain'cha?” the old man exclaimed suddenly.

 

Ryomaru blinked and turned his head to look at the old man. “I been called a lot of things, old man, but I don't think I've ever been called a fairy before . . .”

 

“It's the ears,” he mumbled, raising a gnarled old finger in the direction of Ryomaru's ears. “Yeah, you're one o' `em fairies . . .”

 

“Have you seen any other fairies lately?” Griffin demanded before Ryomaru had a chance to digest that strange bit of information.

 

The man stepped back as Griffin lumbered out of the trees, his gaze intent on the old man. Lifting his finger from Ryomaru to Griffin, he shook his head slightly as the wind whipped his robe around. “You're a fairy, too! Why ain't you got them ears?”

 

Griffin grunted and shot Ryomaru a quick look. “Because he's only half fairy,” the bear intoned.

 

Ryomaru snorted and flicked his ears. “Half fairy?” he growled.

 

Griffin ignored him. “So . . . have you seen any other . . . err . . . half fairies around lately? Maybe one that looked like him but, um, a girl?”

 

The old man scratched his head and looked duly befuddled by the question. “Huh? You mean that one ain't a girl?” he asked, waggling his finger in Ryomaru's general direction.

 

“Listen here, you old bas—”

 

“Shut up, Aunt Ryomaru,” Griffin interrupted.

 

“I'm a guy,” Ryomaru gritted out.

 

“You sure about that?” the old man demanded.

 

Ryomaru opened his mouth to tell the old crackpot that he was looking for his niece and that he could shove his idiot questions right up his ass. Griffin waved a hand at him to silence him before he could do it. “You . . . you can see us . . . what we are . . .?”

 

The old man nodded slowly, idly stroking his scraggly beard. “Eh . . . ain't like you're one of `em monsters—`em demons . . . Them's the ones you gotta watch for. Sneaky bastards, ain't they? Prowlin' around, waiting to ambush you . . . Killed m'boy some years back. Killed `em cuz he seen what they was . . . Him and his . . . for a damn thing like that . . .”

 

Ryomaru scowled at the ground, wondering exactly what the old man was trying to say . . . Demons? Demons . . . Narrowing his eyes as he caught a glimpse of something vaguely silver buried deep in the snow, he reached down, pulled it loose, eyes widening as he blinked at what he'd picked up. “Oi, is this what you're—Ack! It's your fucking teeth!” he hollered, dropping the denture as though it were searing hot.

 

“Eh?”

 

Ryomaru gritted his teeth and forced himself to reach down to retrieve the dentures again. They were covered with snow and decaying leaves. Ryomaru wasn't about to touch them more than he already was, though, so he held them out and shook them in a vain effort to get the old geezer to take them back. “Here, you old nutbag . . .”

 

Griffin nudged Ryomaru with the toe of his boot for the choice of address. Ryomaru ignored him.

 

“Eh, you found m'choppers!” the old man gloated, snatching the denture out of Ryomaru's hand and jamming them into his mouth, dirt and all. “Now I'll be on m'way . . .”

 

“Ugh,” Ryomaru grunted, making a face.

 

The bear didn't look much more impressed than Ryomaru felt at the display of grossness. “Wait! Where . . . where are you going?” Griffin called after him as he started to leave.

 

“Headin' to town,” the old man called back over his shoulder. “Needs me some whiskey . . .”

 

Ryomaru straightened up, pausing long enough to brush the snow off his knees. “That guy was a nut and a half,” he muttered as he slowly shook his head. “Fairy . . .?”

 

Griffin snorted and strode past Ryomaru, obviously heading to intercept the old man. “At least you're only half fairy,” he muttered.

 

“Keh!” Ryomaru grunted and heaved a sigh as he followed along behind . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Kurt stepped back, cautiously eyeing his handiwork with a nod of satisfaction. As far as he could tell, the tiny barrier he'd constructed over the air vent in the bathroom would do its job well enough. At least this way, he wouldn't have to keep escorting the demon to the john, right?

 

Besides, it was good enough, he figured. He wasn't scared of her, anyway. It just annoyed him to have to drop whatever he was doing just to let her out to use the bathroom; that was all.

 

That done, he turned his attention to removing the door. He might be willing to allow the thing to see to her own base needs, but he certainly wasn't stupid.

 

`Except that the real reason you're doing this is because you felt sorry for her, didn't you? You felt sorry for her just a little, and no small wonder after you saw what they'd done to her all day . . .'

 

Ignoring the gentle chiding of his conscience, Kurt knocked the pins loose that held the hinges tight. Besides, that really didn't have nearly as much to do with it as his far more juvenile desire to irritate the living, breathing crap out of that damned Harlan . . .

 

He'd come in early just to talk to that rotten lump of flesh. He'd demanded to know exactly what Harlan was planning on doing with the little demon. Unable to shake off her claims that Harlan was planning on creating some sort of super-soldier or something, he'd only gotten angrier and angrier. Just what the hell was that old bastard thinking? Kurt had warned him about exactly what those things could do, hadn't he? Playing with that sort of power . . . did he really think that it was all just some sort of really big, really stupid joke . . .?

 

Harlan, the jackass, had just laughed and said that they'd be fools to pass up such a golden opportunity to help out their fellow man. Kurt had stared at him like the idiot had somehow managed to grow an extra head. Help out their fellow man? Help him do what? Get good and dead . . .?

 

“If we die, so does our blood. It's that simple.”

 

Was it? Kurt frowned. Was it really as simple as that . . .?

 

Brushing aside the absolute irritation that he just couldn't shake, he grasped the door and carried it out of the bathroom, leaning it against the wall. There was still something about the entire thing that bothered him, damn it . . . The little demon . . .

 

“Won't you get in trouble for stealing company doors?”

 

Blinking quickly as the sound of the demon's voice broke through Kurt's silent contemplations, he shot it a quelling glance and deliberately strode past her cage.

 

“Or maybe that's the big plan,” she teased as she rolled over onto her belly, kicking her feet in the air. “You're trying to get fired, huh?”

 

“Hardly, and you'd better be glad. If I quit, you'll be stuck with Dustin again . . . or worse.”

 

She wrinkled her nose and propped her chin on her raised hands. “So what'd you bring me for dinner?”

 

Raising an eyebrow as he sat back and pulled his hand away from the nondescript white deli bag, Kurt crossed his arms over his chest and slowly shook his head. “What makes you think that I brought you anything? Awfully presumptuous bit of baggage, aren't you?”

 

She tried not to pout; he had to give her that much, he supposed. That she failed miserably . . . well, she probably was a little hungry . . . “O-o-oka-a-a-ay,” she drawled as her ears drooped in a completely pathetic sort of way, she actually did look like she was trying not to look overly upset by the perceived turn of events. “That's all right; I'm not hungry.”

 

Rolling his eyes as he let out a deep breath, slightly put out by the fact that he really did feel a bit bad for teasing her over dinner, he pulled the two deli sandwiches out of the bag and got up to take one over to her. “Here . . . you're kind of a pain in the ass, aren't you?”

 

She brightened up considerably when she saw the white parchment wrapped food. She let out a happy little squeal as she sat up and bit into the sandwich.

 

He watched her for a minute then shook his head as he headed back toward the desk once more. It certainly didn't take much to please her, did it?

 

Deliberately trying not to think about that, Kurt shook his head and let out a deep breath. `No doubt about it,' he thought as he slowly unwrapped his sandwich. There was something about her, wasn't there? Something that scared the hell out of him . . .

 

 

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A/N:

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Final Thought from Kurt:

Bastards …

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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~