InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Bitter Realities ( Chapter 68 )

~~Chapter 68~~

~Bitter Realities~

 

-=0=-

 

 

Kurt cocked an eyebrow and watched warily as the latest arrival—Evan Zelig—slowly circled around him. To be honest, Kurt wasn't entirely sure what to make of this Evan character. He'd overheard the others talking, and he'd realized that this guy was apparently some sort of musician, though Kurt couldn't rightfully say that he'd ever heard of his stage name, `Zel Roka', before.

 

But his obvious inability to take the whole thing seriously was more than enough to piss Kurt off, too.

 

“I know you,” the silver haired man said slowly. “You're the guy from that building,” Evan drawled at length. “But you don't smell right . . .”

 

Kurt shrugged in a blatant show of mock bravado. “Those pills,” he admitted.

 

“Pills?”

 

“Yeah. Samantha called them . . . scent-tabs? Something like that.”

 

He looked like he understood that well enough even if he did seem somewhat surprised by it, too. “So you're kind of a sneaky little monkey, huh?”

 

“A . . . a what?”

 

Bas snorted loudly. “Come on, Evan. Either beat on him or get out of the way.”

 

“I dunno,” Evan went in with a shake of his head. “Sami's got his reek all over her. Means we can't kill `im,” he said.

 

Kurt snorted and crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“No one's trying to kill him,” Bas growled.

 

“Uncle Kich tried to kill him,” Morio pointed out thoughtfully.

 

Bas nodded slowly. “Kich tried to kill him,” he allowed.

 

Kurt gritted his teeth.

 

Evan considered that then made a face. “You mean Uncle Ryo didn't try to kill him?”

 

“Nope,” Gunnar added in a condescending tone of voice with a vaguely irritated sneer on his face. “He just tried to maim him.”

 

Evan perked up suddenly. “Maimage is okay.”

 

“Keh!” Morio scoffed. “If neither Bas nor the almighty wearer of the fearsome nipple stud couldn't maim him, then he's not really maimable, in my opinion.”

 

Kurt rolled his eyes.

 

“Keh!” Evan scoffed back. “Bubby might hit hella hard, but he's hella slow, too. I've taken shits, what came out faster n' he can move.”

 

Bas snorted. “Shut your pie hole, and get to it, Evan,” he snarled.

 

Evan chortled. “Pie hole,” he repeated as he and Morio sniggered.

 

Kurt blanked his features since he hadn't noticed anything `slow' about Bas, in the first place.

 

Bas and Gunnar exchanged significant glances for a moment then drew their swords, leveling them at the center of Evan's chest. “Get serious, Evan,” Bas warned.

 

Evan laughed, but held up his hands. “Aww, Bubby, why you gotta do me like that? `You've lost that lovin' feelin' . . . whoa, that lovin' feelin' . . . You've lost that—' Okay, okay!” he agreed quickly when the elder brother broke into a menacing growl, thus ending Evan's song abruptly.

 

And the entire situation only served to reinforce the opinion that the Zelig family was one of the most bizarre collections of individuals that Kurt had ever met. He sighed. The family just got stranger and stranger, too, as far as he was concerned.

 

Evan reached out suddenly and tapped Kurt's cheek. He blinked and jerked away as the hyperactive guy bounced backward, holding his fists up loosely, like a shadow boxer. “C'mon, holy man. Show me your stuff!” he taunted, ducked left, ducking right, then leaning in to slap at Kurt's face again.

 

The damned fool kept it up, too, and for reasons that Kurt didn't understand, the entire thing only served to piss him off. Faster and faster, Evan kept hopping forward, slapping at Kurt, but not hurting him, just stinging his pride. Strangely, though, the actions seemed entirely degrading . . .

 

Growling low in his throat, he tried to smack Evan's hand away, but the asshole was too fast.

 

Evan chuckled. “What's the matter, Captain Kurt? Can't catch me?”

 

“Knock it off, damn it,” Kurt snarled when Evan dodged toward him, only to alter the course of his hand, grasping Kurt's right nipple and giving it a good, hard squeeze. Kurt knocked Evan away as his cheeks exploded in embarrassed color.

 

“What? Aren't you quick enough to stop me? C'mon! Don't be a wuss! Get your arms up to block me!” Evan goaded.

 

Kurt spun away to avoid the next onslaught, but Evan was just too damned fast. Dancing around like a crazy fool, he kept darting forward, slapping Kurt's cheeks, jeering at him, teasing him. “Shit!” Evan went on. “Can't you do better than that, old man?”

 

Swinging an arm to knock Evan's hand away, Kurt gritted his teeth and tried to remind himself that he deserved whatever they dealt him. It didn't help much.

 

The harder Kurt attempted to fight back, the more it seemed to amuse Evan. Darting around Kurt, only to dash up behind him to grasp and squeeze one of Kurt's ass cheeks, the irritating uncle-slash-cousin grinned like a damned fool and hopped back, easily avoiding Kurt's miserable attempt at a counterattack. “Well, this ain't a damn bit of fun,” Evan complained as he slap-boxed Kurt once more.

 

Kurt growled in frustration and swung the bokuto. The demon looked surprised—and amused—when the loud ripping of his shirt echoed in the air. The sense of accomplishment that shot through Kurt at the sound brought a smile full of grim satisfaction to his face, and he almost chuckled.

 

“Ye-e-eah,” Evan bellowed as a huge grin surfaced on his features, his deep blue eyes glowing with the unspoken challenge. “Now that's what I'm talking about!”

 

“Good God, you're twisted,” Bas muttered with a slow shake of his head.

 

Evan grinned, the miscreant.

 

Kurt couldn't figure them out, could he? The entire lot of them were nothing but a bunch of blood thirsty heathens with the exception of the little demon, herself. Samantha . . . was she the only sane one in the family?

 

Entirely possible, he decided as he finally managed to knock Evan's hand away when it shot out to slap at him again. He really was enjoying himself, wasn't he?

 

Evan reached forward, bringing his fist down on Kurt's wrist, and he dropped the bokuto with a grimace. A moment later, the same fist slammed into Kurt's jaw, lifting him off the ground and sending him flying back through the air about five feet before he smacked down hard on his back. He hadn't seen the strike coming, damn it, and that irritated him far more than the throbbing pain in his jaw did. Evan swaggered over, hands on hips as he stared down at Kurt's prone body with a cocky grin on his face. “Not bad,” he allowed, sticking out a hand to help Kurt to his feet.

 

Kurt stared at the open hand for a long moment as he struggled to catch his breath. “Not bad,” Kurt repeated in more of a grumble than a clarification.

 

Evan chuckled and shrugged offhandedly as Kurt grudgingly accepted the assistance. “What do you expect?” he complained as he tugged Kurt to his feet and slapped him on the back once. “I liked this shirt, damn it.”

 

“So sorry,” Kurt muttered insincerely.

 

Evan grinned rather wolfishly. “You got her out of there, right? That's what she said.”

 

Kurt let out a deep breath and shook his head. “I also put her in there,” he gritted out quietly, unable to staunch the marked scowl that surfaced on his features.

 

“Yeah, well, she's tough, and even then . . .” Evan trailed off suddenly, a strange sort of fleeting anger flickering over his features for the vaguest of moments. “Just don't hurt her again, or I'll kick your sad little ass, holy man,” he finished.

 

Though the words were said in a light enough tone, Kurt didn't doubt for a second that he meant them. “She deserves better,” Kurt grumbled, more to himself than to Evan.

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, don't they all?” Evan retorted. “Don't they all . . .?”

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“So this is where you disappeared to.”

 

Samantha hugged her knees a little tighter but didn't turn to look at her grandfather as Cain shuffled closer and hunkered down beside her. “I didn't go that far,” she replied a little defensively as she watched the small girl who was creeping closer to the edge of the water, holding onto the hem of the pretty white cotton skirt of her dress, her black hair blowing in the soft breeze filtering off the waves. Samantha had brought her out here, thinking that the child would enjoy the quiet, the peace, and while it had taken a few minutes for her to get comfortable enough to venture away from Samantha's side, she finally had.

 

Two weeks since she'd entered their lives . . . Two weeks . . .

 

And in those two weeks, Kurt allowed her to stay with them at night. She knew damn well that he told himself that it was for the child's sake, and maybe it was. If she could only get past the cautious distance he kept from her, even during those nights . . . She sighed.

 

“You didn't,” Cain agreed easily enough. “Your mother was looking for you, though.”

 

“We went for a short walk then came down here,” she replied quietly. “I'm not hiding.”

 

“Didn't think you were,” he said. “Seems like a nice day for a walk . . . How's she doing?” he asked, inclining his head toward the child.

 

“Better,” Samantha allowed thoughtfully. “She's just curious about everything; that's all.”

 

“Curious and maybe just a little afraid,” Cain corrected with an enigmatic little smile.

 

Samantha licked her lips and nodded. “It's a lot to take in, especially if she never got out of that place . . .”

 

“You're good for her,” Cain decided. “She seems to like you well enough.”

 

“Because I smell like Kurt,” Samantha said but smiled slightly. “He's a good person. I know that no one else wants to hear it, but it's true. He has his reasons—we all have our reasons, don't we?”

 

“I suppose we do,” he agreed slowly. “Samantha . . .”

 

“She went right to sleep last night, cuddled against him . . . Maybe he's the closest thing that she's had to a real daddy . . .”

 

Cain sighed but nodded, able to understand and concede that portion of it. “He probably is,” Cain admitted as he watched the girl shriek when a wave surged up toward the beach. She lifted her skirt a little higher and dashed away, and, satisfied that she'd put enough distance between herself and the water, she turned around and hopped up and down, taunting the ocean to come and get her. “He probably is . . .”

 

Samantha wrinkled her nose and scrunched up her shoulders. “Tell me something, Grandpa,” she began.

 

Cain chuckled suddenly then sighed. “You're about to ask me why all men are stupid, aren't you?”

 

She blinked but couldn't stop herself as she turned her head to stare at him. Blue eyes wide and sparkling with his own humor as he stared out over the water, he looked like he'd expected that question for awhile, and maybe he had. “How did you know?”

 

He chuckled again. “You know, Isabelle asked me the same question back when Griffin was being stubborn about admitting that he was her mate. Sound about right?”

 

Samantha sighed, too, and nodded slowly. “Yeah . . .”

 

Cain's amusement died away as he shifted himself, sitting in the pebbly sand beside Samantha, extending his arms to rest on his spread knees, hunching forward, letting his hands dangle limply. “Sami . . . is he your mate? Is he really? I mean, are you positive?”

 

“Grandpa—”

 

“Humor me, okay?” he interrupted gently. “You tell me exactly how you feel, because you have to be sure. Just because he was nicer to you than the others in that place . . . that's not love . . . You know that, right?”

 

She rubbed her face and slowly shook her head, ears flattening for a moment as she tried to find a way to explain her feelings, if she even could. “It's not like Papa thinks; really it's not,” she began quietly.

 

“Then tell me how it is,” Cain prodded gently.

 

She sighed. That was the million dollar question, wasn't it? Putting her feelings to words . . . Still, her grandfather was listening—really listening . . . and if she had a hope of convincing anyone, maybe Cain . . . maybe he could understand . . .

 

“He . . . he was familiar . . .” she murmured, unsure of her words. They seemed so insignificant in light of the feelings that she wanted to express. “I mean, even in the beginning, he . . . he wasn't cruel to me. He was . . . efficient, but never unkind, you know? But there was something about him . . . I . . . I was never afraid of him.”

 

“Familiar,” Cain repeated. “How so?”

 

Wrapping her arms a little tighter around her ankles, she scrunched up her shoulders. “Like . . . like I knew him,” she finally said then shook her head and waved a hand dismissively. “I know; I didn't, of course, but there was something about him . . . He . . . he was sad and angry and . . . and hurt.”

 

“And you knew all that you first met him?”

 

She nodded, digging her toes into the dirt. “It's not my place to say, but . . . but I know that he wasn't trying to hurt me. He didn't understand back then. He thought all of our kind were monsters.”

 

“Demons,” Cain replied with a curt nod, as though he understood something that he hadn't before.

 

She sighed and shot her grandfather a sad sort of look. “But as he got to know me, his opinion changed. I could . . . could see it in his eyes, and . . . and I just wanted to help him . . . My youkai voice . . . you've always said that we need to listen to it, right? And it told me . . . It told me . . .”

 

“Your youkai voice told you that he's the one,” Cain said quietly.

 

Samantha nodded as an infinite sense of sadness entered her gaze, pooled in her eyes. “I thought it'd be okay, you know? If I could just help him . . . All his anger and hatred . . . If I could do that . . .”

 

A sense of understanding passed over Cain's features as he nodded slowly. Blue eyes dark, inscrutable, he stared out over the ocean, the rising waves, the gentle crests of the ever-moving water. “I felt like that once,” he admitted at length. “The first time I saw your grandmother. She was . . . she was comforting to me.”

 

She smiled just a little and nodded. “Sometimes . . . sometimes I wonder if we'd met somewhere else, but . . . but I don't know . . . He spent time with me because he had to at first, but . . . but there was this wall around him. If I hadn't been there in that place . . . I don't know if he would have let me near him . . .”

 

Cain nodded, as though that made sense to him, too. “And you're sure that he's your mate.”

 

“I'm positive,” she replied.

 

Cain heaved a sigh and dug into his pocket for a cigarette, taking his time as he lit it and blew out a steady stream of smoke. “You ever told him? What it means to be mates?”

 

Samantha wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Would you tell Grandma, if she hadn't known already? It . . . it needs to be his choice.”

 

A strange sense of recognition slowly surfaced on his features, but he remained silent as Samantha pushed herself to her feet, pausing just long enough to kiss Cain's cheek.

 

He watched in silence as she wandered over to the girl, coaxing her away from the water with a Jolly Rancher that she'd had in her pocket. The girl saw the candy and followed happily enough, leaving Cain to his thoughts as he continued to stare out over the ocean.

 

“It needs to be his choice . . .”

 

God, why did those words strike fear into his heart? Ordinarily, he could understand that sentiment, sure, but . . . How fair was it to ask him to make that kind of choice when the reality of the situation was that Drevin knew nothing at all about the seriousness of it? He was human, and humans didn't really grasp or understand the consequences of stubborn pride, and while Cain might leave it up to them to figure it out, he had to wonder if he dared to do that this time.

 

He knew only too well what stubborn, stupid pride could do, knew damn well that he'd bargained and nearly lost everything. Thing was, this time, the stakes were so much higher, with Samantha's life on the line. If what she'd said were true, and he really didn't doubt her on it any longer . . .

 

But what kind of choice could Drevin make, really? A man who knew deep down that the woman that he cared about was just out of his grasp . . . and that was something that Cain understood a little too well, himself . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Kurt sank down in the thickly cushioned chair across from Cain Zelig and fought back the urge to fidget. He wasn't sure why he felt so restless, but he couldn't seem to help himself, either. Something about the formality of Cain's `request' that Kurt joined him in the study . . . well, it seemed odd to him, entirely too rigid, given the man that Kurt had come to know, at least on some level, through observation and in meeting the family that he had helped to raise.

 

Even so, as the seconds ticked slowly away, as Cain continued to sit there, staring at Kurt in that rather foreboding sort of way, Kurt had to wonder exactly why he had been summoned, in the first place . . .

 

“Your training seems to be progressing well,” Cain finally said, breaking the thick silence.

 

Kurt gritted his teeth. He knew damn well that Cain hadn't brought him in here just to discuss said training. He couldn't quite grasp why Cain would want to speak to him and in such a formal way as this, but he also figured that he wouldn't get anywhere if he demanded to hear the real reason. “I suppose,” he replied a little tightly.

 

Cain nodded slowly, as though something Kurt had said made perfect sense. But he seemed almost . . . preoccupied . . .? Was that the right way to describe it? “I . . . uh . . . I wanted to ask you something . . . something that's been bothering me lately . . .”

 

“Okay,” Kurt agreed slowly, warily, thankful, at least on some level, that he wasn't as sore as he normally was following the others' attempts to `train' him. Despite the lingering irritation at Evan's idea of training, Kurt had to allow, even if it were completely grudgingly, that he was more clear-headed than usual for this discussion.

 

Cain sat back and nodded. “You captured Samantha because you saw what she was and meant to sell her to that place, right?”

 

All of the air whooshed out of Kurt's lungs, and he nodded. “Yes,” he forced himself to say.

 

“But you got her out of there, too.”

 

“Y . . . yes.”

 

“Why?”

 

Kurt grimaced. He'd known that it was simply a matter of time before he was forced to answer that particular question—and he still wasn't entirely sure of the answer. No, that wasn't right. He knew damn well what the answer was, but . . . but he still wasn't quite ready to admit it, either.

 

“She . . . she was . . . different,” he heard himself saying.

 

Cain nodded again, and he didn't seem surprised by that answer in the least. “Can you tell me what was different about her?”

 

Kurt sighed, leaning forward, dragging his fingers through his hair. “She . . . she wasn't a monster,” he replied. “She was . . .”

 

“And you've met others who were. Monsters, I mean,” Cain supplied when Kurt trailed off. It wasn't a question, either.

 

“Something like that,” Kurt admitted.

 

“She says you're her mate.”

 

Frowning, Kurt shook his head. “What the hell does that even mean?” he demanded quietly, vehemently. “Mates? That . . . that—that—”

 

“That means everything to us—to our kind,” Cain interrupted. He looked a little sad, really, and the patience in his tone was enough to temper Kurt's rising irritation. He wasn't angry that the man was asking questions, no. He was irritated that he just couldn't answer those questions; not without giving away more of himself than he ought to. “It means,” Cain went on calmly, “that she lives . . . for you.”

 

Kurt snorted and shook his head stubbornly, refusing to believe the underlying statement—the gravity behind Cain's words. “I'm the last person she should live for,” he scoffed.

 

Cain stared at him for a long moment then heaved a sigh. “You don't love her?”

 

Caught off guard by Cain's softly uttered question, he slowly rubbed his eyes. “What I . . . I feel . . . doesn't matter.”

 

“Because you put her there.”

 

That simplistic statement earned a darkened scowl from Kurt. “Because I . . . because I sold her to them!” he hissed angrily. “Because I didn't give a damn enough to find out anything about her before I gave her to them . . . Because I . . .”

 

Cain chuckled quietly—a sad sort of sound that was touched by the slightest hint of a vague recognition—and shook his head though there wasn't nearly enough amusement in his voice below the thicker layer of regret that tinged his voice when he spoke. “Because you don't deserve her,” Cain finished quietly—knowingly. “Mr. Drevin . . . do you love her?”

 

Kurt ground his teeth together, refusing to answer that question, even in his own head. “Of . . . of course n-not . . .”

 

Cain stared at him for another long moment then slowly got to his feet, shuffling over to the window with a decidedly thoughtful air. He didn't speak right away and seemed to be lost in thoughts of his own as he gazed out the window at the lengthening shadows of the late afternoon.

 

“Can I tell you a story?” Cain finally asked as he slowly turned around to face Kurt once more, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room.

 

Kurt nodded slowly. “All right . . .”

 

Zelig's eyes dropped to the floor, and he stared at it for a long moment, as though he were gathering his thoughts. “I knew this . . . uh, idiot. Met this beautiful girl . . . gorgeous girl—woman.” He chuckled suddenly, his eyes taking on a lazy sort of glow as he considered the story he was telling. “But, see, he . . . he'd lost his first wife some years before that, and he blamed himself for her death. He thought . . . he thought that he owed her his life . . .” Trailing off with a shake of his head, Cain sat back down and leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the small calendar though he didn't seem like he was actually looking at it, at all. “This woman . . . she reminded him, you know? Reminded him that there were all these beautiful things in the world . . . things he hadn't seen in a long, long time . . .”

 

`Snow . . . and laughter . . . and . . . and that feeling—that breathy, dizzy feeling whenever she smiled at me . . .' Kurt thought as another pain—a deeper, more secretive ache—erupted somewhere deep inside him.

 

“But there's something you don't know about us,” Cain remarked quietly, so softly that Kurt had to strain to hear him. “We . . . we get one mate: one chance. This guy . . . He'd honestly thought that his first wife was the mate of his youkai blood. That's what he'd wanted to believe, you see? But she wasn't . . . and when he finally found the one . . . he, um . . .” Cain cleared his throat, unable to continue without doing so. “Fool that he was, he thought that she would be better off without him. He'd given his word to his first wife . . . promised her things that he never should have, and the girl . . . she knew in her heart, but . . . but she didn't care. She didn't know what it meant to be selfish, and she . . . she never told him. She didn't want him to be with her because he felt obligated to do so.”

 

Shaking his head, Kurt frowned at Cain, unable to grasp exactly what it meant; unable to comprehend what Cain was trying to say. Cain must have understood the confusion on Kurt's features. He smiled a little sadly and drew a deep breath. “What do you see when you look at us?”

 

Caught off guard by Cain's question, Kurt shook his head again. “See?”

 

Cain nodded, biting his lower lip, exposing the razor sharp fang. “You noticed, right? You had to have. We're stronger, faster . . . We heal in the blink of an eye in comparison to humans. We don't get sick; we don't fall victim to the things that could kill most men . . . Our senses are stronger, and most of us possess powers that humans could never comprehend . . . We endure where humans cannot . . . You did notice all that, didn't you?”

 

Kurt leaned forward, pressing his fingertips together as he rested his forearms on his knees. “Yeah, I did,” he admitted quietly. “So?”

 

“So,” Cain echoed with a shake of his head. “Haven't you ever wondered what our weakness is? Our one, true weakness?”

 

“You mean you have one,” Kurt remarked, only half-joking.

 

Cain nodded again. “Don't we all?” he replied in a rather ironic sort of way. “Our mates are our weakness,” he confessed at length, “but they're also our strength. Once we find the one . . . They become our lives in every sense of the word. Our very existences are tied together—bound by will and by blood . . . and if one mate should die, the other will, too.”

 

“That's ridiculous,” Kurt growled, casting Cain an angry look, a fierce scowl.

 

Cain didn't blink as he stared at Kurt. “You marked her as your mate by giving her your blood. That's only part of it, though. Youkai exchange blood—it's part of the ritual. Samantha's blood has the power to bind the two of you together—to allow you to live out your life in her time instead of yours. Our blood is a living thing, and as long as we live, that blood sustains us, and should we choose a human mate, it does the same for them, too.”

 

He shook his head, unable to believe the things that Cain told him. He started to say as much, too, when another voice, a softer voice, a gentler voice, whispered in his head; words that he had nearly forgotten . . . “If we die, so does our blood. It's that simple.” That's what she'd said . . .

 

Still . . . to believe something like that . . .

 

But another memory occurred to him. Watching those videos from the first few days of her incarceration, he'd seen her fight against them, even in her weakened state after being shot. She hadn't wanted the blood transfusion that they'd tried to give her then. Was that . . . was that why . . .? He'd never stopped to think about that before, had he? And then he'd . . . he'd given her his blood to save her life. Still . . . What the hell had he really done . . .?

 

“That's . . . crazy . . .” he muttered, unable—unwilling—to accept Cain's claims.

 

“Samantha said that you had reason for hating our kind,” Cain went on, ignoring Kurt's weak statement. “Could I ask you what it was?”

 

Snapped out of his own reverie, Kurt jerked upright as his frown deepened. “I don't want to make excuses,” he replied tightly.

 

“Is that what you think you'd be doing?”

 

“Isn't it?”

 

Cain let out a deep breath, as though he had figured as much already. He stared at him for another long minute before he stood and strode over to the doorway. “Baby girl,” he called as he leaned his head out of the room. Without another word, he returned to the desk as the rapid patter of soft footsteps approached in the foyer.

 

“Yes, Zelig-sensei?” she replied with a bright smile just after she wiggled her fingers in Kurt's direction.

 

The gravity in Cain's expression melted away as he smiled at his wife. “Do you have time to make me a cup of coffee?” he asked.

 

Gin rolled her eyes as her smile widened. “As if you have to ask me that!” she chided. “Would you like some, too, Kurt?”

 

Kurt shook his head. Gin nodded and hurried away once more as Cain sat back and watched her retreat. “I still don't think—”

 

Cain chuckled. “Pretty, isn't she?” he interrupted.

 

“Uh . . . yeah,” Kurt replied, acutely aware that the woman—Zelig's wife—mate—bore an uncanny resemblance to Samantha—or maybe it was the other way around since Samantha was younger. Even so . . .

 

A minute later, Gin breezed back into the room with a tray of coffee and biscotti. She poured a cup for Cain and one for Kurt even though he'd said that he didn't want one. Then she smiled brightly at Cain and headed out of the office again.

 

“She's a hell of a woman,” Cain ventured in the silence that fell with her departure.

 

Kurt nodded and set the untouched cup of coffee on the edge of the desk. “Look, I don't know—”

 

“Can I show you something, Kurt?” Cain broke in with a thoughtful nod.

 

The entire conversation seemed as though it were getting weirder and weirder, and while Kurt wasn't entirely sure what to make of it, he held his own council on that matter and nodded. “All right.”

 

Cain sat still for a moment then slowly got to his feet, shuffling over to a thick wooden filing cabinet. Fiddling with the keypad that secured the lock, he entered a series of numbers, and the lock released with a soft beep. He dug what looked like an old fashioned leather folder out of the cabinet and pushed the drawer closed, pausing for a moment to run his fingertips idly over the softened material before shuffling back toward the desk again. Letting out a deep breath as he untied the long sable ribbons that held it closed, he let those fall to either side and slowly opened the folder, taking a moment to scowl at whatever the file contained, as though it hurt him, but it was with a rather bittersweet smile that he finally closed the file and extended it to Kurt. “Everyone makes mistakes,” he said softly, almost apologetically. “It's what we learn from them that makes us who we are.”

 

Kurt stared at him for a long moment before turning his attention to the portfolio.

 

He wasn't entirely sure what he expected to see, hidden within the confines of the old yet elegant file. In a day and age where most everything worth keeping was saved on datastorage in one way or another, to hold something like that was almost enough to induce a certain reverence. He could smell the leather—uncannily strong, given that the binder had to be fairly old—the dusty and unmistakable scent of paper . . . and with a sudden sense that he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to see what was inside, he opened it.

 

He frowned at the first sketch inside, a graphite rendering that was slightly smudged, a little faded, and completely beautiful in a horrifyingly melancholy sort of way. It took a moment for him to understand it; the sketch of a tiny woman lying in the center of a bed that seemed to swallow her—too large, too cold . . . too impersonal . . .

 

There was something wrong with her; even Kurt could see that. The shadows under her closed eyelids were too dark, too vast; the hollows of her cheeks too deep and sunken. Even the hair that pooled around her was too defined, too stark, and as he stared in complete and utter horror at the image presented, he couldn't help but notice the tiny triangular ear that looked as though it were wilting, diminishing . . .

 

`Little demon . . .' he thought suddenly then shook his head. No, it wasn't her, was it? So many similarities, sure, but . . . but it wasn't her, and he knew it. The woman . . . she was . . .

 

Refusing to finish that thought, even in the confines of his own mind, Kurt carefully moved that picture aside, his gaze darkening as he gritted his teeth against the next picture, this one sketched on a cream colored page in the bold lines made of charcoal. The same woman, the same bed, but this time, she was uncovered to her waist. Even through the thin fabric of the delicate nightgown, he could see the subtle delineation of her ribs, her bones. The articulated outline of a collarbone that protruded much too prominently; the sunken hollows that were much too deep . . . and in this one, there was no mistaking the oxygen tube that was taped to her face, the lines of the IVs and cords of the various monitors . . . The macabre sense of a poetic and sad sort of aesthetic quality that reached out from the simple charcoal sketch, right into Kurt's chest, gripping his heart as tightly as a fist . . .

 

He wanted to stop looking at the images, but he couldn't. He'd known that Cain used to be a famous artist. Even he had heard of Cain Zelig before, but . . . but to work such wonders when staring at someone that close to him . . .? How . . . or better, why?

 

Cain cleared his throat, as though preparing Kurt before he dared to speak. “That's Gin,” he said quietly, eyes darkened with emotion that he simply didn't try to hide—a somber sadness, a sense of utter despair . . . “That's what happened because I thought . . . I thought that I didn't deserve her . . .”

 

Kurt looked up, his gaze meeting Cain's as all the bits of the story fell into place, into perfect, logical order in his head. “That story was about you,” he said.

 

Cain nodded slowly, the barest hint of a sad, sad smile quirking the corners of his lips. “That was me,” he admitted. Heaving a quiet sigh, he pushed himself to his feet again, digging in his pocket for a cigarette. “I thought—believed—for a very long time that I . . . that I killed my first wife. I thought that I deserved to die for my part in the whole thing. I even promised her as she lay dying—or maybe she was already dead . . .” With a grimace, he shook his head, as though the things that he was saying had the power to hurt him. “I told her that I would follow her because I'm youkai . . . because that's what we do, but . . .”

 

His hand was shaking as he took a deep drag off his cigarette, shaking as he turned away to stare out the window. “But I thought that Gin . . . I thought that as long as I didn't tell her how I felt . . . as long as I didn't claim her as my mate . . . I thought that she'd be all right, you see? I thought . . .” He sighed. “I was wrong. I'm not a doctor, and I don't profess to know exactly how or why things happen the way they do, and it puzzled me, you understand? Because Samantha has never really shown the signs of her body breaking down the way Gin's did—the way mine did . . . at least, it didn't when she first came home . . . You've noticed, right? She's lost weight recently . . .” He trailed off for a moment, as though he needed a moment to gather his thoughts, and maybe he did. “Let me tell you what I've learned about things you deserve . . . My first wife died in childbirth. There was a hurricane, and the roads were washed out . . . Hell, even if I had been able to get her to the hospital, it was full, too . . . full of those fools who ignored the weather reports and thought they could tough it out . . . The electricity was out, and Isabelle . . . she couldn't deliver the baby. She was dying, and she knew it, and . . . and she told me to save the child . . .”

 

Pausing again, Cain cleared his throat, a sadness so deep, so pervasive, radiating from him in palpable waves. “I cut her open with my claws, and I . . . I held my child for the first time with her mother's blood dripping from . . . from my hands . . . Samantha's mother, Bellaniece . . . and I knew at that moment that I deserved to die.”

 

“Deserved to die,” Kurt repeated quietly, thoughtfully.

 

“In your lifetime,” Cain went on quietly in a more resolute tone than he had been using before, “you'll find that there are always those things you deserve, the things you don't, and then there're the things that grace will provide. Gin . . . Gin is my grace, and I'll be the first to tell you that I don't deserve her. So instead, I made it my goal in life to make her smile every day. As long as she's happy, then that's all that matters to me. That's what matters, Mr. Drevin. That's all that matters.” Snuffing out the cigarette butt in a nearby ashtray, Cain stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned to face Kurt once more.

 

Those dark blue eyes he knew a little too well—Samantha had gotten them from him, hadn't she?—those eyes were unnaturally bright, bringing to mind another time and another place—a cold, cold room, a metal cage, and tears that formed but didn't fall as her quiet voice spoke of her father, of his birthday, and of the idea that she wanted them to have that party, even if she couldn't be there . . .

 

“Samantha knew—she believed—that you were coming for her. I think that was enough to sustain her, but . . . but if you walk away from her . . . if you're really her mate . . .”

 

`Then she'll end up just like this,' Kurt finished in his head, his gaze dropping to the distorted images of a frail woman—a woman who looked just a little too much like the little demon he'd come to know—too much like her— like Samantha . . .

 

“See, it's not about what you deserve and what you don't. I'm asking you, not as tai-youkai, and not as your . . . your warden, and I'm not asking you if you deserve her, either, because there isn't a damn man on earth who does deserve the woman he has. I'm asking you as Samantha's grandfather—as a man who has watched that girl grow from a little bump in her mama's belly to the beautiful woman with her mother's eyes and her late grandmother's smile . . . Do you love her, Mr. Drevin?”

 

Kurt didn't reply right away. Staring at the images that both horrified him yet compelled him, too, he couldn't look away as emotion rose to choke him, as the very real fear gripped him and wouldn't let him go. How long had he told himself that she was beyond him, better off without him? How many times had he sat up at night, wishing for things that he really didn't think he could ever attain, and yet . . .

 

That was the reason, wasn't it? The long and short form answer as to how she could possibly forgive him for something that he wasn't entirely sure he could forgive himself for . . .? One simple question, one simple answer, but the word . . . the words were lodged so deeply inside him that he wasn't entirely sure he could say them out loud . . .

 

“Y-yes,” Kurt whispered without looking away from the ghastly depictions of Cain's dire predictions. Swallowing hard, unable to staunch the moisture that blurred his vision, he nodded. “I . . . I love her . . .”

 

 

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A/N:

`You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin' recorded in 1964 by the Righteous Brothers. Written by and copyrighted to Phil Spector, Barry Mann, Cynthia Weil.

EXTRA chapter posted today. I hope this serves to cheer you up some, Simonkal, because I can't do much else for you. This is not meant to make light of your upset, but I hope that maybe this chapter will make you smile, and even if that's all I can do for you, then I hope it is enough. Take care!

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Reviewers

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MMorg

Sesshomaru4Kagura4ever ------ Sovereignty ------ sheastarr334 ------ malitiadixie ------ Simonkal of Inuy (Myheartfeltcondolences. My mother-in-law passed away a few weeks ago, and it's been really hard on us all. We were very close.) ------ Pinkit ------ kittycatkitten ------- AtamaHitoride ------ Usagiseren05 ------ darkangel05 ------ oblivion-bringr ------ kds1222

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Forum

Proforce ------ Mangaluva ------ PikaMoon ------ malitiadixie ------ laura.beth ------ cutechick18

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Final Thought from Kurt:

Good God …

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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~