InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Little Victories ( Chapter 37 )

~~Chapter 37~~

~Little Victories~

 

-=0=-

 

 

Kurt stifled a yawn with the back of his hand and shook his head, groping for his coffee mug with his free hand as he tried to keep himself awake. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he sighed. It was almost time to go in, and he'd only been able to get through two of the surveillance videos that he'd stolen out of the facility. At the rate he was going, it was going to take him two months just to watch them all, not to mention that they were ongoing.

 

Raking his hands through his hair, he leaned forward and closed his eyes for a moment. It was taking too long, damn it. He hadn't realized that it was going to be so hard for him to leave her there when he'd gotten up this morning. Staring at her sleeping form huddled in the cage, she'd looked so tiny—so very tiny. Why hadn't he ever noticed that about her before . . .?

 

How was it that she could smile and laugh when she was trapped like a rat in a cage? Why could she seem so happy about something as stupid as a simple postcard? Her laughter was both welcome and . . . and frightening, awakening long dormant memories that were best left in the past . . . weren't they?

 

Slugging down the tepid coffee in the mug, he made a face and turned off the archive video. At least those were small enough that he was able to sneak over a week's worth of cards out of the security room without detection. The cards were only about half an inch long by a quarter of an inch wide and roughly the thickness of a credit card, and they played just fine in the media palmtop he'd bought expressly for the purpose of checking them over.

 

That was something else he'd quickly decided as he'd scanned through the first few minutes of tape. Those things were dangerous, and he was going to get rid of them before it was all over, too. The plan was to wreck the place so that viable research would never be possible there again, but those tapes . . . They were going to be the first things to go, damn it . . .

 

He hadn't known before, hadn't seen what those damn bastards called `research' . . . or maybe the other demons he'd taken in there simply hadn't lasted long enough for any of their witchery . . . In any case, the things that he'd seen thus far . . . Was that even really `research'?

 

Even then, he had to admit that he'd never cared to know exactly what was going on there, was he? He'd never given it a second thought, and the little demon . . .

 

Glancing at the clock, Kurt sighed. It was still a little early, but they'd mentioned something about testing her sense of smell today, and that hadn't sounded too great to him, either. Standing up so abruptly that the chair that he'd been sitting on skidded back on the barren floor, Kurt grabbed his coat and knapsack and headed for the door.

 

He knew damn well that her sense of smell was light years beyond his. She could smell a chocolate bar wrapped in foil and stuffed into his knapsack without any real effort. He'd heard her make commentary more than once regarding food or things of that nature. When he'd first realized that, he'd grimaced, worrying that those demons he'd seen at the hotel had somehow managed to get a good scent of him, and while he didn't think they had or they'd have confronted him, wouldn't they, he couldn't help but worry about it, just the same.

 

So he'd considered taking one of those so-called scent-tabs that he'd found in her pocket, but he wasn't entirely certain that it'd work on him, and even still, he probably should see if she'd tell him more about them before he went off and swallowed one.

 

Those things aside, though, he took the subway—something that he normally tried to avoid since he hated it—but since it brought him out at a station less than a block from the facility at the longest end of the commute, he figured it was a necessary evil. Besides, if he were lucky, he'd be early enough to do a little bit of poking around without anyone being the wiser. He really needed to get into the monitoring room alone, though, so that he could get an accurate count on the number of cameras hidden through the lower levels up to the ground floor, and he wanted to make certain that they were all the old Nantech 8000 series. If they were, then it'd be a simple thing to put them on a timed tape loop so that they thought they were running through the security cycles when they really weren't. If they were the newer Nantech 9000 series, though, he'd have to figure something else out . . .

 

Still, though, the most daunting part of the entire process was figuring out if they had put one of those tracking devices into the little demon, and even if they had, the problem was in removing it since those things had no real way of doing that. When the devices were first introduced less than a year ago, they were touted as, of all things, mother's little helper—track your children should they get lost or abducted, and a lot of parents jumped at the idea, thinking that they were one of the best inventions, ever, and while they weren't a bad idea, there were always those who would take advantage of such technology, too, and Harlan and his gang of bastard thugs, otherwise known as `scientists' were some of those . . .

 

The subway ride across Chicago—or under it, as the case were—took almost forty-five minutes, but that was still shorter than walking. Still, by the time Kurt climbed the steps that led back to the sidewalk, he couldn't help the slight anxiety that churned inside him. He didn't know why he felt that way. It wasn't nearly the same as yesterday's strange feeling that something was not right, but it was there, nonetheless.

 

Stopping long enough to pick up some cheeseburgers and fries before heading toward the facility, Kurt couldn't quite make sense of the strange emotion that grew heavier with every step he took. It was vaguely familiar to him, as though he'd felt it before, even if he didn't completely recognize it. It was almost as though . . .

 

His step faltered, and he blinked suddenly as it dawned on him. The strange emotion . . . the feeling . . . it was the same one he'd had when his father had told him that they would be going to Disney World during summer vacation, wasn't it? Had it really been that long since he'd felt that sort of thing? And now . . . he was looking forward to seeing the little demon . . .?

 

But that really was it, wasn't it? The anticipation of seeing her, of hearing her laughter . . . Her eyes really did sparkle when she laughed, didn't they? He hadn't actually thought that anyone's eyes could do that; he'd believed that it was something only written in sappy books that he had no use for . . .

 

It had bothered him, just how excited, how pleased she'd been by that simple postcard. There was something entirely too . . . final . . . in her reaction, as though she knew somewhere deep down that she'd never be free to see those things again—as though she knew it, and she'd accepted it, too . . .

 

And that bothered Kurt more than anything could . . .

 

Grasping the doors and yanking hard, Kurt stomped into the building as the black clouds of abject irritation rose inside him. How dare she give up, damn it! How in the hell could she think that it would be all right if she never got out of there? It wasn't right, and he wouldn't accept it . . . and he'd be damned if he'd let her accept it, too . . .

 

“Hey . . . you're early, Doc!” one of the security guards—Mazer, Kurt thought his name was—called out as he passed.

 

Kurt waved a hand but didn't stop as he moved toward the stairs. The building was emptier than normal, too, which was just as well with him. By the time he reached the lowest level, he had to restrain the desire to break into a full-out run.

 

She wasn't in the holding area—not really surprising since he was about two hours early. They weren't on this level, either, which surprised him. In any case, though, it was as good a time as any to start checking the cameras stationed in the hallway. Digging a handful of change out of his pocket, he figured that pretending to use the vending machines would work just fine. Staring at the cameras he passed—they were stationed about every twenty-five feet—he recognized them easily enough as the 8000 series. At least that was good . . . Tinkering with those wouldn't be a problem at all.

 

Feeding money into the coffee machine—it was the only one that wasn't broken—Kurt was still waiting for the coffee when the doors to the freight elevator off to the right slid open. Six guards strode out, two of them supporting the little demon on either side. Her head was bent forward, sort of just lolling rather listlessly, and Kurt frowned. “What'd they do to it?” he demanded, careful to keep his tone a little flat.

 

One of the guards shot him a look and shrugged. “I think they were testing her sense of smell,” he replied. “She passed out a few hours ago, and they were hoping she'd wake up again, but, well . . .”

 

Kurt nodded slowly and turned away. The guards dragged her down the hallway toward the holding area as Kurt's gaze slipped to the side to watch them without turning his head. `Testing her sense of smell, huh . . .?'

 

He supposed that those idiots had tested her sense of smell about the same way that they'd tested her hearing before, though this time, at least, she didn't seem to be throwing up from it. It struck him again, exactly how warped he thought the entire situation really was. Were those bastards the kind of children who had to deconstruct every toy they were given, just because they could? The little demon wasn't a toy, but the principle was the same. Worse, though, was the innate knowledge that it was his fault that they were able to do such things to her, in the first place, all because he hadn't realized that some demons weren't really as awful as he wanted to believe . . .

 

Pulling the cup out of the machine, he followed the guards down the hallway and stood back as they filed out of the room again. They uttered things that he figured were little more than perfunctory niceties as they passed, and Kurt just nodded.

 

He wasn't surprised to find her in her cage, and it seemed to him that the guards had pretty much just tossed her in there before closing the door. His initial instinct was to pull her out and check her over to make sure that she was all right, but he stopped himself. He'd do that just as soon as he was sure that the researchers had left for the night, and he could tell she was breathing. Reaching for her wrist, he stared at the clock. Her pulse was strong if not a little erratic, and that was enough to reassure him for the moment.

 

He'd just stood up and turned away from the cage when Harlan strode into the room with one of his patented smiles that reminded Kurt of a coffin-maker scoping out the morgue. Kurt ignored him, figuring that he could damn well speak first. “Evening, Doc,” Harlan said in a loud, booming, very falsely bright tone.

 

“Evening, Dopey,” he muttered under his breath, not particularly caring whether or not Harlan actually heard him.

 

He didn't, which just figured. “I guess she doesn't like some smells,” Harlan went on without an ounce of remorse.

 

“Hmm,” Kurt intoned. “Just like she has better hearing and probably better vision and better . . . well, everything. Big deal. You should have realized that a long time ago.”

 

Harlan laughed as he strode over and settled himself on the edge of the desk. “So . . . I take it you didn't have any luck in finding a male demon for us?”

 

It took everything Kurt had to keep himself from decking the old bastard. “I don't think I ever said that's what I was doing,” he remarked blandly.

 

“I thought we'd talked about this. I assumed—”

 

“And maybe you shouldn't make assumptions,” Kurt cut in. “I thought that you wanted to get rid of those things; not perpetuate them,” he reminded him, playing the part, and playing it well, he figured.

 

Harlan's smile widened, as though he actually believed that Kurt was buying all of it. “It's all one in the same, Doc! All one in the same!”

 

Kurt didn't respond to that. There wasn't a point, really. All he was doing was humoring the damn doctor, anyway.

 

Harlan said some other things, none of which was of interest to Kurt, and he finally left.

 

He sighed, rubbing his eye in a distracted sort of way as his gaze shifted to the huddled form of the little demon in the cage. It was still something that he was trying to reconcile himself to this whole thing, this . . .

 

It was simple to think that he wanted to let her go; it was easy to believe that the gentle creature that he'd come to know deserved to be free, but . . .

 

But would that freedom have a cost? She said that they didn't hate humans; that they fought to protect them, and he . . . he wanted to believe that . . . or was something else—something he was only beginning to grasp—clouding his judgment when it came to her?

 

`She . . . she'd never do that sort of thing to anyone . . . what those demons did to my family . . .'

 

But how had he known that? And he had known that, didn't he? How was it that he had known without question and without hesitation that she . . .?

 

Letting out a deep breath, Kurt cut himself off abruptly. For some reason, those questions . . .

 

Reaching for the newspaper he'd bought earlier in the day, he slowly shook his head. He wasn't entirely certain that he wanted to know the answers . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Bellaniece sat that the table in the breakfast nook in the kitchen with a cup of tea that was gradually growing cold and an untouched peach muffin on a sparkling white china plate as she stared out the window at the fluffy blanket of snow that steadily fell from the slate gray skies.

 

She'd been awake for hours even though she'd only come downstairs about forty-five minutes ago. Gin had smiled encouragingly as she stepped into the kitchen, and within moments, she was seated here with a cup of tea and a still-warm muffin.

 

She'd had the strangest dream, hadn't she? It wasn't anything that she understood, and she wasn't even sure exactly why she'd have dreamt anything even remotely like that, in the first place, but . . . but it had bothered her, and more to the point, it bothered her more because she couldn't remember much of it, and she felt that she should, that it was important . . .

 

All she could remember was a picture: a field with a tree and a small creek . . . and impossibly blue skies high overhead . . . and bars . . .

 

“Morning, Belle . . . Sleep okay?” Sierra asked as she slipped into the nook across from her.

 

Bellaniece shook herself and smiled automatically—the same sort of smile that Gin had given her earlier. “Not so bad,” she lied. Okay, not completely lied . . . dream aside, she had slept well, hadn't she? Better than she had in a long while, anyway.

 

Sierra gazed out the window, too, her eyes cloudy with the concern that hadn't completely left her gaze in the time since she'd arrived in Maine. “No word?” she asked quietly.

 

Bellaniece shook her head. “Nothing.”

 

“Maybe today,” Sierra replied as she reached over to squeeze Bellaniece's hands. It was the same thing that she said every morning. Funny thing was that it sounded just as genuine today as it had every day before it.

 

“Morning, Belle-y!” Kelly Cartham greeted brightly as she strode into the kitchen. She had a huge cardboard box of . . . something . . . and a bright smile on her face.

 

Bellaniece stood up and hugged her longtime friend. Kelly had taken it upon herself to bring the strangest things over in the hopes that they would get Bellaniece's mind off things, at least for a little while, and normally, they worked. “What have you got there?” she demanded, poking the box with an articulated claw.

 

Kelly grinned then hurriedly greeted Sierra with a quick squeeze, too. “Oh, you'll love this,” she insisted as she dug into the box and dragged out a gaudy, garish, hot pink feather boa. With a giggle, she wrapped it around Bellaniece's neck and tossed the end over her shoulder. “What do you think? Remember when we were little, and we used your dad's Mokomoko-sama like this? Didn't we tell him we were going to join the Rockettes or something like that? Poor ol' Cain . . . I don't think he ever quite got over that . . .”

 

Bellaniece smiled wanly at the memory. They really had told Cain that they were practicing to join the Rockettes, and he'd just smiled and said that he was sure that they'd both make it despite the hint of worry in his eyes as the girls tugged and yanked on the Mokomoko-sama . . .

 

“I guess we forgot to go audition,” Kelly said with a wink.

 

Bellaniece nodded then hugged her friend. “Thanks.”

 

Kelly sighed and shook her head as she reached for the end of the boa. “Don't mention it . . . it's the least I can do, isn't it?”

 

“Is Cartham back from New Mexico yet?” Sierra asked as she sipped a mug of tea.

 

“Hmm, no, but he called this morning to say that he'd be back around noon unless his flight's delayed.”

 

“Morning,” Nezumi mumbled as she stumbled into the kitchen with a wide yawn. “Ugh, I need coffee . . .”

 

Bellaniece fell silent as she sank back down at the breakfast nook. Gin hurried over and took her cup to refresh it, pausing long enough to give her a gentle squeeze on the shoulder before she turned away.

 

Meara wandered in, smiling just a little as she stared at her cell phone. The women asked her what flower Morio had sent her for the day as Bellaniece's attention shifted back to the window again.

 

She felt as though she were slowly going crazy, and while she loved her friends and family, she couldn't help but wish that, maybe just for today, they'd leave her to her thoughts. Their support meant the world to her, and every last one of them loved Samantha almost as much as she and Kichiro did, but . . .

 

`A stream . . . and a tree . . .' she mused to herself. Why did she feel as though it had some significance? If she could remember her dream, maybe she'd understand that, too . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Samantha groaned and slowly opened her eyes, her head thick and dull as she tried in vain to shake off the lingering stench that seemed to be clinging to her nasal passages.

 

“You all right?”

 

Blinking at the taijya, she nodded and forced a smile that she was far from feeling. “I'm okay,” she lied. Well, it wasn't a complete lie—more of a fib, really. “Guess I didn't cooperate with their testing today, did I?”

 

Shaking his head at her rueful assessment, he rubbed his face as he pushed himself to his feet to walk away.

 

Samantha groaned quietly as she rolled onto her side, realizing a little late that she wasn't in her cage. No, she was . . . on his cot, wasn't she? He must have put her there, didn't he? He turned around quickly when she started to sit up. “Lay back,” he commanded as he strode over to her once more.

 

Letting out a deep breath, she did as she was told, though mostly because she simply didn't have the strength to argue with him. Besides, the cot was comfortable enough, wasn't it? “I'll be all right in a little bit,” she assured him.

 

He grunted and stared at her for a long moment before he moved away again. “So . . . you . . . your kind . . . you have strong senses of smell, I take it?”

 

“Mhmm,” she murmured, “we can identify people by scent . . .”

 

“And that's why you use those pills.”

 

“Yeah . . . as a hunter, if someone wanted to get revenge for what we have to do, it can get dangerous. It's a safeguard . . .” she admitted.

 

“Do those pills just work on demons?”

 

She blinked slowly. “Why? Would they work on humans, you mean?”

 

“Sure.”

 

She thought that over as she pushed herself upright. “I suppose,” she ventured at length. “Yes, I'm sure they'd work . . .” Staring at his back for a moment, she smiled suddenly. “Are you going to take one?”

 

He shot her a quick glance. “Maybe.”

 

“Why? I like the way you smell.”

 

He started to grunt something but stopped suddenly and turned to face her as he crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head to the side. “What do I smell like?”

 

She stared up at the ceiling as she considered it, then shrugged. “You smell like . . . sandalwood . . . and ocean water that washes up on the shore first thing in the morning.”

 

He looked vaguely amused by her assessment. “Sandalwood . . .”

 

She nodded then shook her head. “Why would you want to change the way you smell? It's like a fingerprint; did you know? You can smell similar to someone else, but there are never two people who smell exactly alike—even twins.”

 

“Is that so?” he countered, leaning against the desk and crossing his ankles casually.

 

“Well, take my father and uncle, for example. They're identical twins, and they smell similar—enough so that people who just meet them for the first time don't always realize it.”

 

“Okay . . . well, assuming that I believe you about those pills . . . how long would the effects of one last?”

 

She raised an eyebrow at the dubious quality in his tone. “Why wouldn't you believe me? And it lasts about seven days, give or take . . . You're not really going to take, are you?”

 

He shrugged and pulled the bottle out of his pocket, idly tossing it into the air and catching it again. “Because you're a demon,” he reminded her though his tone lacked any real rancor, “and since you're a demon, you could be trying to fool me, couldn't you?”

 

“But I'm not,” she replied, scrunching up her shoulders.

 

“I could take one of these and see if they do what you say they will.”

 

“You could,” she agreed easily enough.

 

“Of course, you might be wanting me to do exactly that, especially if they'll kill me or something . . .” he mused.

 

“I wouldn't kill you,” she snorted. “You feed me . . .”

 

He cocked an eyebrow at her as he shook a pill out of the bottle. “That's the only reason why you wouldn't kill me?”

 

She giggled. She couldn't help it. “Well . . . and you do have a nice butt.”

 

“I-I don't think that's . . . You . . . Eat your cheeseburger,” he grumbled as he tossed a cheeseburger at her, chin snapping up at that as he blushed. He actually blushed. It was enough to draw another round of giggles from her, as well.

 

“So you do blush,” she mused.

 

He snorted loudly, shaking his head and turning around, though she had a feeling that his blush was darkening instead of going away.

 

`He really is cute,' her youkai voice admitted.

 

Samantha's smile widened just a little. `He is . . .'

 

`Though you might want to tone it down. Poor guy looks like he might choke if you don't . . .'

 

She watched him stomp around the desk and flop into the chair, staring at the pill in his hand for several moments before popping it into his mouth and gulping down some water to chase it.

 

`He's been different since he came back, hasn't he?'

 

Her youkai blood was quiet, as though it were considering her observation. `He has . . .'

 

`Why do you suppose that is?' she wondered as she unwrapped the cheeseburger and bit into it.

 

`I don't know . . . but it's a good thing.'

 

`It is, isn't it?'

 

`M . . . maybe it's not as impossible as I thought . . .'

 

A stuttering warmth brightened inside her, growing steadily brighter as she gazed at the taijya, who was making faces at the bitter aftertaste that the scent-tab left in his mouth. It wasn't her imagination; she knew it. He really was different, and while she couldn't exactly put her finger on it, it was definitely a positive sign. Her youkai blood had chosen him, and she knew it, but more than that . . . More than that was the encompassing feeling that maybe . . . as long as he was with her . . .

 

Everything would be all right, wouldn't it?

 

 

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

A/N:

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Final Thought from Kurt:

…I have a cute …butt …?

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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~