InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Amends ( Chapter 71 )

~~Chapter 71~~

~Amends~

 

-=0=-

 

 

Kurt winced as he landed flat on his back with a very loud grunt for the twentieth time in the last couple hours since the daily game of `Maim the Taijya' had begun. Ryomaru—his opposition for the duration—snorted loudly and stepped back, his face contorting in complete irritation since Kurt was doing much worse than usual. “Kami, what the hell's wrong with you?” he grumbled. “I mean, you normally suck, but today, you suck dog balls.”

 

Kurt sat up, scowling at the unwelcome commentary, and jammed the tip of the bokuto into the ground to push himself to his feet. “I'm fine,” he gritted out.

 

So that was a big, fat lie.

 

Grinding his teeth together, he tried to keep from glancing over to the rose-trellis enclosed arbor where Samantha, Stinky-butt, and the strange couple had retired to for their `visit'.

 

They wanted to adopt her; that's what Samantha had said.

 

Damned if that sat well with Kurt, though . . .

 

`Knock it off,' he told himself as he freshened his grip on the wooden sword. `You want what's best for her, right?' He snorted, glancing at the arbor despite his resolve not to do any such thing, and grimaced inwardly. `Yeah, but what if they're not what's best for her?'

 

Best for her . . .

 

That's all he wanted for both of them, wasn't it? For Samantha and for the child . . . The problem was figuring out what that elusive thing could possibly be . . .

 

Ryomaru swung again. Kurt barely managed to step out of the way in time to avoid the descending blade as it whistled in the air.

 

Kurt whipped around, sweeping with the bokuto to knock Ryomaru's sword aside.

 

“Nice,” Ryomaru approved with a nod and a grim half-smile. “Not bad.”

 

Kurt gritted his teeth again as he parried another of Ryomaru's harsh strikes. He rounded again, bringing his sword up in a wide arc. Kurt reacted on instinct, lifting his in time to avoid the tip of the weapon as the blades met and clashed. He knew better than to get into a match of brute strength. Still, he tried to hold his ground, just the same. “Sh . . . shit,” he grunted as he felt his feet slide back in the loose dirt.

 

The sudden trill of a child's laughter rang over the top of the arbor. Kurt's head snapped to the side at the sound. He should have known better.

 

Ryomaru shoved him hard, sending him sprawling to the ground for the twenty-first time, and with a disgusted snort, he slammed the tip of Ryoteishuseishu into the earth. “Fuck,” he complained, draping his hands on his hips as he glowered at Kurt. “Get your head outta your ass before you end up sliced to ribbons,” he growled. That said, he grasped the hilt of his sword, jerked it free, and stomped away, slamming the weapon into the scabbard strapped to his waist with a resounding thud.

 

Heaving a sigh, Kurt sat up, leaned back on his hands, staring at the arbor with unmasked irritation.

 

“You want to meet them?”

 

He blinked and tilted his head back to stare up at Bas Zelig. “Uh, no,” he muttered. “I'm sure they're . . . fine.”

 

“Dad's been trying to find a baby for them for awhile,” he said. He looked like he wanted to say something else but didn't as he stared at the arbor thoughtfully. “They're pretty nice people.”

 

“Glad to hear it,” Kurt forced himself to say. “That's great.”

 

“You sure you don't want to meet them?” Bas asked again.

 

Kurt pushed himself to his feet and slowly shook his head. “No, thanks.”

 

“Sure,” Bas relented though Kurt could feel his gaze. “Come on. I'll take you back to your room.”

 

It was strange, Kurt thought as they headed toward the doors. In the beginning, they'd made sure that he was bound when he wasn't practicing or safely locked away in his room, but lately, they hadn't been quite as stringent about that. Maybe they figured that he wasn't going anywhere. Still, it was a little reckless, as far as he was concerned.

 

He scowled as they made their way through the mansion. He really needed to stop thinking about all of it. After all, there was nothing he could do, and common logic told him that she'd be better off with that couple, right? It wasn't like he'd ever meant to keep her, no . . . So why did the very idea tick him off so damned badly?

 

`Because,' he thought with a rueful frown, he'd spent the entire night with Samantha cuddled against his chest and the child nestled snugly on both of them, and while he hadn't slept—he'd been too busy enjoying the foreign and altogether pleasant feel of absolute completion that he couldn't ignore—he had come to understand the simple beauty of an insular moment, as though he were the strong one, able to watch over them, to ensure that they slept . . . The two of them had slumbered in a state of absolute trust, hadn't they? Slept deep in the belief that he would watch over them, and . . . and damned if he hadn't liked that, too. Maybe . . . Maybe he'd liked it a little too much . . .

 

Making a face, he rolled his head back slowly, grimacing at the newest round of aches and pains that his morning of exercise had brought on. What he needed was a nice, hot shower and a nap, he decided—and he needed to stop thinking about females in general . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“Wow. You look like you're about a million miles away.”

 

Bellaniece blinked, dragging her gaze off the window and forcing a smile as Nezumi slipped into the breakfast nook across from her. “You're back already?” she asked, glancing at her watch and realizing with a grimace that it was a little later than she'd thought it was.

 

Nezumi made a face as she fiddled with a cup of coffee. “I just dropped them off,” she said. “Not like I could go past the security checkpoint with them, anyway,” she said. She'd taken Morio and Meara to the airport to catch their flight back to Japan and John and Alexandra to get on their flight back to Sidney, Australia.

 

“Ryomaru mentioned getting a not-so-subtle hint from Sesshoumaru about getting back to work, too,” Bellaniece remarked.

 

Nezumi nodded but rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but knowing Ryo, he'll want to stay longer just to irritate him just a little more.”

 

Bellaniece laughed softly then sighed.

 

Nezumi sat back, crossing her arms over her chest as she continued to stare at Bellaniece. “Okay . . . tell me why you look like that?” she prodded.

 

Rubbing her forehead, she let her gaze return to the window once more—and the arbor that was obstructed from view. “Sami,” she replied in a tone that implied that Nezumi really should have figured as much.

 

“Her mate, you mean?”

 

Bellaniece smiled a little sadly, a little wearily as she fussed idly with the edge of a bright yellow linen napkin. “Kichiro swears that he's not. Daddy says that he believes her . . .”

 

Nezumi nodded slowly as she lifted the mug to her lips, pondering Bellaniece's statement as she slowly sipped the coffee. “And what do you think?” she finally asked in a cautious sort of tone.

 

Letting out a deep breath, Bellaniece slowly shook her head. “Honestly? I don't know.”

 

Nezumi didn't reply to that. It wasn't really surprising. She wasn't one to offer opinions or advice unless it was specifically asked of her, and Bellaniece had come to understand over time that it wasn't because Nezumi didn't care. She simply figured that if anyone wanted to know what she thought, they'd ask.

 

Bellaniece sighed again. “I feel like I'm going crazy,” she admitted. “Part of me wants to hate him—everything about him. When I think about what those men did to her . . . when I think about his part in all of it . . . Oh, I hate him. I really hate him . . . but . . .”

 

Nezumi got up, grabbing both her cup as well as Bellaniece's and shuffled over to the counter to refill them. “Because he sold her to them,” she murmured as she rinsed the cups and dropped a fresh tea bag into Bellaniece's before adding hot water and refilling hers with coffee.

 

“Yes,” Bellaniece said. “But you know . . . every time I think that I hate him, I realize that Sami . . . Sami thinks that he's special—sees something special in him, and I . . . I can't help but wonder, you see . . .”

 

Nezumi considered that as she returned to the table with the cups in her hands. She set Bellaniece's in front of her and sat down again before she bothered to speak. “Maybe . . .” she began, only to trail off without finishing her thought.

 

“What?” Bellaniece pressed. “What would you do if you were me?”

 

Nezumi shook her head as she reached for the sugar dispenser. “I think I'd . . . I'd try to see what Sami sees,” she replied simply, her gaze carefully averted.

 

Bellaniece considered that then nodded slowly. “She's so sure,” she said almost apologetically.

 

Nezumi smiled as she stirred the coffee. “He's taken a hell of a beating since he got here, and . . . and he really hasn't tried to fight back. Ryomaru said that he thinks that Drevin believes that he deserves it. I mean, he does, right? But then . . . then I wonder, what's the point, you know? Anger feeds anger, and hate feeds hate, and . . . and sometime, somewhere, it has to end, you know? Maybe . . . maybe that's what Samantha feels.”

 

The woman blushed just a little—she'd said more than she probably wanted to say, but all of it made sense, too, didn't it? Bellaniece considered Nezumi's words as she held onto the tag and bobbed the tea bag up and down. “You're right,” she finally said with a shake of her head. “You are . . .”

 

“Afternoon, ladies,” Isabelle greeted as she hurried into the kitchen with a large bag that she set on the counter before hurrying over to kiss her mother and aunt. “Lovely day, isn't it?”

 

“You're in a good mood,” Nezumi commented over the rim of her coffee cup.

 

“Oh, it's because I got some this morning,” Isabelle quipped.

 

“Jezebel,” Griffin hissed, face beet-red as he paused in the doorway. The poor bear looked entirely discomfited, which only served to make his mate giggle that much more. Shaking his head, he turned and got out of there as quickly as he could.

 

“You really should take it easier on him,” Bellaniece chided despite the little smile on her face as Isabelle sat down beside her. “Poor guy . . .”

 

“Well, I'm glad someone's getting it,” a very irritated Sydnie commented as she stomped into the kitchen, her arms crossed over her chest.

 

“Kitty,” Bas complained, grabbing a glass out of the cupboard and yanking open the refrigerator for milk.

 

“Some puppies think that kitties don't need love, too,” she pouted.

 

Bas sighed, but his face was definitely flushed as he stubbornly insisted upon filling the glass from the earthenware jug that Gin kept filled with fresh from the farm milk.

 

“Sebastian! Sydnie! I thought you two were staying home today,” Gin greeted as she hurried into the kitchen and tugged her son's arm to bring him down for a kiss on the cheek.

 

“Why bother?” Sydnie scoffed. Nezumi scooted over to allow the feline a place to sit. “You two are both doctors, right?” she demanded, eyeing Isabelle and Bellaniece in turn.

 

The mother and daughter exchanged significant looks. “Now, Bastian,” Isabelle started to say.

 

“Can we not talk about this?” Bas demanded hotly as he strode over to set the glass of milk in front of his mate.

 

“What's the matter, Sebastian?” Gin asked, concern bringing a thoughtful frown to her pretty face.

 

“Nothing, Mom, I swear,” Bas grumbled.

 

“Did you have sex while you were pregnant?” Sydnie asked, turning her gaze on her mother-in-law.

 

True to form, Gin blushed and cleared her throat—it was easy to see where Bas had gotten his rather shy tendencies when it came to discussing things of that nature. “W-well,” she hedged slowly, grabbing a bright green sponge out of the sink and scrubbing furiously at the already clean countertop.

 

“Yes. Yes, we did,” Cain commented as he strolled into the kitchen to slip his arms around his wife. “Lots and lots and lots—”

 

“Cain!” Gin complained, her cheeks pinking just a little more though she didn't try to get away from him, either.

 

Cain grinned rather wolfishly and shrugged. “Go home, Bas. Sleep with your wife, and stop being so overprotective.”

 

That comment earned him a round of snorts since they all knew well enough that Cain, more than anyone, tended to be more overprotective of Gin than anyone else had been with their mates—with the exception of maybe Toga.

 

“Was it something I said?” Cain deadpanned, letting go of Gin to kiss her on the cheek and grab a plate for a thick slice of his cake du jour.

 

Isabelle hopped up and kissed Bas on the cheek. “It's healthy, it's fine, and as long as it feels good to her, you don't have to worry,” she assured him with a wink.

 

Bas' cheeks darkened a little more. “Th-thanks, Bitty,” he muttered.

 

Bellaniece slipped out of the booth and headed for the doorway. The others were busy enough teasing Bas that they didn't notice, and that was all right. Still considering the things that she'd talked about with Nezumi, she couldn't help but feel restless, anxious—a feeling that simply would not go away, and she figured that it probably wouldn't, not until she tried . . .

 

She sighed as she slowly headed for the staircase. It really wasn't a question of how she felt about him—about Kurt Drevin—was it? No, it was a question of how she felt about her daughter. Samantha believed—absolutely believed—that Kurt was her mate, and while it was true that Bellaniece worried that she only felt that way because of her time in captivity, she also had to wonder . . . Cain was convinced, too. He'd said as much this morning. He'd smiled and told her that it would be all right, that he maybe Kurt wasn't exactly what he appeared to be, and Bellaniece desperately wanted to believe that for Samantha's sake . . .

 

Too bad Kichiro was so convinced otherwise. Bellaniece couldn't say that she was completely ready to accept the situation, but she couldn't say that she was up to being stubborn just for the sake of it, either. In the end, she supposed that she still wanted what any mother wanted for her child: happiness, and if that meant that this man was her mate, then Bellaniece would find a way to deal with that, too . . .

 

She paused outside the door of the room where he was being confined, biting her lip as she gathered what was left of her waning bravado. In truth, she hadn't tried to speak with him before, and she really didn't know what to expect. Gin had said that he really wasn't as bad as all that, but she'd also said that he adamantly refused to say a thing that might paint him in a different kind of light, as though he wanted them all to think that he really was some sort of monster . . .

 

Smoothing her skirt and taking a moment to run her fingers through her hair, she squared her shoulders and knocked on the door.

 

No sound came from inside, not a whisper, not a breath of movement. She waited for a moment then knocked again, this time a little louder.

 

She heard the sound of his footsteps in a vague sort of way. A second later, he called out. “Come in.”

 

She opened the door and stopped short. He'd obviously just gotten out of the shower, and while he was wearing jeans, he wasn't wearing a shirt, and when he glanced up to see her standing there, he made a face and snatched up the tee-shirt off the bed and hurriedly yanked it over his head. “S-sorry,” he muttered as he tugged the hem down and shook his head.

 

Bellaniece nodded as she quietly closed the door, heading over to the small table near the balcony doors. Gin had brought up a tray of iced tea, light, fluffy biscuits, and a smoked glass covered dish—his lunch? But she strode past that to open the doors, letting sunlight flood into the room as a gentle breeze wafted in, too.

 

“Sorry to disturb you,” she said, unable to think of anything less formal. “Please feel free to go on and eat.”

 

He nodded but made no move toward the food. “You're, um . . . Samantha's mother,” he muttered.

 

Pasting on a somewhat tepid smile, Bellaniece nodded. “I am,” she agreed. “I wanted to talk to you about . . . about Samantha.”

 

He wasn't surprised in the least. Licking his lips, he jerked his head once in a nod and gestured toward the table. “Would you . . . would you like to sit down?” he asked rather reluctantly, decidedly nervously.

 

Bellaniece did. He cleared his throat and sat down, too, pushing the tray away just enough to indicate that he wasn't hungry at the moment. Bellaniece stared at him for a long minute. Hair hanging rather carelessly into his eyes, he'd caught the rest of it back in a black cloth-covered rubber band, and while Bellaniece could see the slight discoloration just under his right eye and the bit of swelling near the corner of his mouth, he really didn't look any worse for wear otherwise. She was, however, taken aback just a little by the man's eyes. She supposed that she simply hadn't ever had occasion to look him over closely, and she'd always just assumed that his eyes were a dark brown or even black, but no; they were violet, weren't they? Darkened now most assuredly because of his acute discomfort, they seemed to hold emotion that he neither spoke nor encouraged, yet it was there, discernable just below the surface . . . Was that what had first compelled Samantha . . .? `Probably . . .'

 

Kurt cleared his throat, as though he were gathering the courage to say something. With a deep breath, he shook his head, unable to look Bellaniece in the eye. “I . . . I'm sorry,” he said. “I captured her, and . . . and I sold her to them . . . and everything that happened there was . . . was because of me.”

 

“I know,” Bellaniece said quietly. “I know.”

 

“Sorry doesn't mean a damn thing, does it?” he asked suddenly, a sad sort of smile that was completely devoid of any real humor gracing his lips.

 

“Why?” Bellaniece countered softly. “Maybe . . . maybe if you just told me why . . . Why Samantha? Why her? Did she . . . did she do something to you? Offend you? Why?”

 

Kurt seemed surprised by her questions—surprised and a little unnerved . . . or maybe it was the tone of her voice, because he had to know that she would ask him to explain. He shook his head, and for a moment, she had to wonder if he was going to answer her at all. He let out a deep breath, a flicker of regret making its way into his gaze before he managed to quell it, as though he didn't deserve to feel something like that, either. “I won't—I can't—make excuses for it,” he finally said.

 

“I'm not asking for you to make excuses,” she replied stiffly, “but . . . but my daughter . . . She loves you, and I . . . I need to know why she does: what she sees in you . . .”

 

He blinked as though that thought had never occurred to him. “What she . . . sees in me,” he repeated almost ruefully. “If you figure that out, maybe you can explain it to me, too.”

 

“Let me be crystal clear,” she murmured, unable to staunch the surge of indignation inspired by his almost flip response. “I hate what you did, and I'm not sure that I'll ever be able to forgive you for it, but Samantha . . . she's my baby—she'll always be my baby. I love her more than anything else in this world—her and her sisters . . . But if you make her happy, then . . . then I can accept that.” She shook her head, bit her lip as she tried to find a way to make him understand, why she needed him to tell her—why she needed to see. “You have to help me,” she stated in a tone that left no room for discussion. “You have to help me see what she sees. You took her away from everyone who loves her, and . . . and even if you did give her back, you . . . you owe me this—me, her mother—so that the pain I feel whenever I look at you might one day go away. Please.”

 

He sighed and shot to his feet, stomping over to the open doorway. It occurred to her that it wasn't that he didn't want to say anything; he simply didn't want to make anyone think that he was trying to garner sympathy or explain away his behavior, his choices, and she had to respect that on some level, even if it were a grudging sort of respect; one not willingly given.

 

“You're right,” he whispered at length. “I did, and . . . and you're right.” He drew a deep breath, seemed to pause as though to gather his thoughts. Bellaniece said nothing as she waited for him to speak once more. “I . . . I've always been able to see youk—youkai . . .” he finally said. “I thought everyone could. I never knew that most people didn't, and . . . My father did, but Mom couldn't . . . I don't know if my sister could, but I don't think so . . .”

 

Leaning in the balcony doorway, his gaze deep, somber, he shook his head, lifted his scowling face toward the sky so high above. “They . . . they came after me—after my family . . . Killed them—all of them. Cut them down like they were nothing at all. I didn't know . . . didn't know that there were decent ones . . . like . . . like her . . .” He trailed off and swallowed hard, clearing his throat a few times, and Bellaniece had to wonder if he weren't tearing up. “I don't kn-know how you did it,” he rasped out, his chin dropping once again as he scowled at the floor beneath his feet, “I'll never know how you managed to raise a creature like Samantha . . . instilled her with more . . . more decency—more grace . . . than anyone I've ever met before . . . but you have, and . . . and I . . .”

 

Bellaniece didn't need him to finish that thought. She knew what he was trying to say, and as she considered that for a moment, thought about what he'd said. To have lost his family to beings that he didn't understand? A faceless fear of something so vast, so terrible . . . Somehow . . . somehow she could comprehend that . . .

 

“How old were you?” she asked softly.

 

Kurt sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Seven,” he replied. “Eight when they killed my aunt and uncle . . .”

 

She grimaced. So young—too young . . . No one should ever have to deal with something like that, should they? And that he had been little more than a baby, himself . . . Even if she couldn't forgive or forget what he'd done to Samantha, maybe . . . maybe it would help her to at least understand that much of it . . . “And you thought that my daughter . . .”

 

He shook his head quickly, vehemently. “No, but . . . but . . . I also didn't . . . didn't want to know, either.”

 

Because he'd wanted to believe that they were all monsters, didn't he? Because he hadn't wanted to consider that maybe the ones who had hurt him and taken away his precious ones were the exception and not the norm . . . “`Project Demon',” she murmured.

 

He nodded slowly. “What I did . . . It's inexcusable, and I'm not asking you to forgive me,” he muttered. “Hell, I don't want you to . . .”

 

She frowned at his back as she slowly started to process and make sense of the things that he said. So afraid that people would think that his explanations were little more than attempts to shirk his hand in all of it that he refused to acknowledge anything beyond those things that damned him . . . and why did she understand that on some level, too? “Why didn't you bring her home then? Why didn't you make sure she got here safely? Afraid of facing what you'd done?” she challenged though her tone lacked any real hostility.

 

“Partly,” he admitted. “Maybe mostly.”

 

“And the rest of it?”

 

He sighed. “There were other facilities,” he said. “Different places doing the same things . . . They . . . they needed to be stopped, and the one in Chicago—those damnable bastards . . .” He let out a deep breath, a defeated sort of sound. “I couldn't let them get their hands on her again, and they would have tried . . . I couldn't let them hurt her . . . or her family . . .”

 

Bellaniece digested that in silence. She'd overheard enough of the men's conversations to know that something very obviously had happened to the laboratory in Chicago, but that was really the extent of her knowledge. Had he been the one who had wrecked the place? He . . . he had done it for Samantha . . . “And did it work to assuage your conscience?” she asked instead.

 

Kurt uttered a soft chuckle—a dry sound. “It wasn't meant to assuage anything,” he replied. “Those . . . men—” -he said `men' in an entirely derisive sort of way. “They deserved what they got, maybe worse . . .”

 

“Is that really what you believe?”

 

He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “They wouldn't have understood if I hadn't done what I did,” he said. “Maybe they'd have agreed to stop to save their miserable hides, but they would have turned right around and kept it up as soon as I left.”

 

“You thought that they'd hurt her again,” Bellaniece murmured.

 

“Something like that.”

 

She stood up and slowly crossed the floor, stepping out onto the balcony and into the brilliant daylight, wandered over to grip the railing. “She says you're her mate,” Bellaniece remarked almost absently.

 

Kurt sighed. “I . . . I know.”

 

“Are you?”

 

“I . . . I love her,” he replied quietly—reverently.

 

Bellaniece nodded as she slowly turned to face him, could see in his expression, how very much it had cost him to say that out loud. She could also see the truth behind it—the raw fear that he might be causing more harm than good, in the end, and while she couldn't say that she liked him—couldn't even say that she didn't hate him—she had to admit that it had taken a lot for him to have told her the things that he had.

 

“You . . . you swear to me,” she began in a choked voice as she clasped her hands before herself and forced herself to look him in the eye. “You promise me that you will never, ever make my daughter cry again—that you will cherish her like her father and I always have.”

 

Kurt nodded slowly as he stepped over to the railing, his eyes taking on a soft glow as he gazed down at the young woman in the yard below as she chased a small child with raven black hair around in circles. “I swear,” he murmured without looking away and without a trace of reluctance.

 

Bellaniece sighed. No, she wasn't entirely satisfied, but she was a little closer. If it were for Samantha's happiness, though, maybe . . .

 

Maybe she could come to terms . . .

 

 

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A/N:

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Final Thought from Kurt:

Little demons and Stinky-butts …

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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~