InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ The Conors ( Chapter 72 )

~~Chapter 72~~

~The Conors~

 

-=0=-

 

 

“She doesn't look like she likes them.”

 

Samantha peered over the top of the magazine and pressed her lips together to keep from giggling out loud. “You don't think so?”

 

He snorted without turning to face her. “No.”

 

“She's fine,” Samantha reassured him for what had to be the fiftieth time since she'd brought up his lunch tray about an hour ago.

 

Kurt snorted again. “See? He's making her cry.”

 

Tossing the magazine aside, she untangled her legs and got up off the bed where she'd settled down to read when it became apparent to her that Kurt couldn't be sidetracked into cuddling with her. “That's not crying,” she remarked as she wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned against his side. “She's pouting for candy; that's all.”

 

“And what does your grandfather really know about them?” he countered.

 

“Grandpa says that they're fine, upstanding people. He's a neurologist, and she's a kindergarten teacher.”

 

“So they sound good on paper. Big deal,” Kurt scoffed. “But what do they know about her?”

 

Samantha bit her lip since she'd wondered the same thing—wondered enough that she'd sought out her grandfather a few days ago to ask him exactly that . . . “Grandpa's told them just about everything—at least the important things.”

 

“Depends on what you consider `important',” he grumbled. “Did he tell them that her biological father killed her mother? Did he tell them that the bastard thought of his daughter as nothing more than a fucking science experiment?”

 

She grimaced at the harshness of his words—he'd explained everything to her a few nights ago—how he'd found her, why he'd brought her with him . . . the entire story of what the father had done to the mother . . . From Samantha's understanding, the woman was a hanyou, and the doctor had just managed to catch her on the right—or wrong, as the case was—night . . . and the child was the result . . . The entire thing had sickened and infuriated her. Kurt had told her that Cain had said that the hunters had found the man dead. He'd killed himself, but . . . but there was something darker, a little foreboding about Kurt's behavior at the time, and she'd asked him if he'd killed the man—he'd been entirely too angry about it all, too irate . . . Kurt had said that he didn't, but . . . she wasn't entirely sure she wanted deeper answers than she'd gotten, either. True, she didn't want the man's blood on Kurt's hands—he'd already been through enough in his lifetime. Still, she couldn't say that she was unhappy about his apparent suicide, either, though, in her estimation and in this case, only, he'd deserved to live with what he'd done to the child . . . “You don't want them to adopt her?” Samantha asked tentatively.

 

He shot her what she supposed he meant to be a quelling glance though it seemed a bit sulkier than anything else. “Of course I do,” he muttered then sighed. “And even if they do know her history, can they deal with it? With her?”

 

He looked so worried, didn't he? Did he even realize it? Did he understand? She did . . . in the short time that Samantha had been caring for her, the girl had brought back a level of peace to Samantha that she hadn't realized she'd been missing. She'd latched onto Samantha right away, and while she figured that it was because she smelled like Kurt, she couldn't complain about it, either. She opened her mouth, ready to suggest that the two of them keep the child, but she snapped it closed again. True enough, he was acting strange about the entire thing, but as much as she hated the idea of giving the girl to the Conors, she just wasn't sure how he'd feel about it. Sure, he was obviously distressed over the placement, and she knew well enough that his feelings had nothing at all to do with the Conors, themselves . . . but adopting a child was a huge thing, and as much as she thought that she knew how he felt, she wasn't sure if he understood what it all meant . . .

 

She sighed and tried not to watch as the couple played with the child in the yard below. It hurt, didn't it? Watching them with her . . . it felt wrong; so very wrong . . . “They . . . they really like her,” she heard herself saying.

 

Kurt snorted yet again and shook his head. “Of course they do. She's a cute kid—maybe the cutest one, ever.”

 

Biting her lip, Samantha wondered if he knew what he sounded like, but decided against telling him. After all, it had taken a lot for him to admit that he wanted to be with her, hadn't it? Still . . .

 

They were almost ready to try taking her home with them for an overnight visit, and that certainly didn't sit well with Samantha, not at all. But the child seemed to like the Conors all right, and maybe it was for the best . . . wasn't it?

 

“Has anyone bothered to check out their house? What if it's not kid-safe?” Kurt went on with a shake of his head.

 

Samantha let out a deep breath and nodded. That thought had occurred to her, too, not that she wanted to dwell on it. Cain had told her, though, that all of that stuff had been checked thoroughly. Ben had visited them to talk things over, and Cain and Gin had gone to visit them, too. The couple lived in a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of Bevelle in a renovated old farmhouse with a couple horses, a pony for the child, and close to one of the better preschools in the area—in fact, it was the one that Bas and Evan and Jillian had attended. They'd already bought a nice, sturdy swing set for the back yard, too—a pink one with streamers that stuck up from the small flags atop the construction. They'd also built a small playhouse for her, too, and from what she'd been told, her bedroom was decked out in white tulle and ribbons, complete with a princess canopy bed and enough toys to keep her occupied for a year or more . . . clothes and everything that a little girl could ever possibly need . . .

 

They wanted her. They really wanted her.

 

So why didn't that idea make her happier . . .?

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Kichiro snapped his cell phone closed and dropped it onto the nightstand with a long sigh and a shake of his head as Bellaniece stepped into the room with an armload of laundry that she'd just brought upstairs. “Did you call the clinic?”

 

He nodded and stepped over to help her put the things away. “Yeah, everything's fine,” he allowed. “Nothing to worry about.”

 

She shot him a smile as she hung a few items in the closet, fussing with them to make sure that they weren't wrinkling. “Good.”

 

He took his time tucking clothes into the dresser drawer. He'd gotten an idea in the last few days, and while he had a feeling that Bellaniece would like it, he wasn't entirely certain if she would think that it was a good idea. “You know,” he began slowly, carefully measuring his words. “I was thinking . . .”

 

“You're so sexy when you're thinking,” she quipped.

 

He chuckled. “Yeah, well . . . I kind of thought that since we really should get back to Japan soon . . . maybe we should see if Samantha might like to come along. For a visit,” he added when Bellaniece slowly turned to face him.

 

He could tell from her expression that she wasn't entirely against the idea, and that was good. Still, he could also tell that she didn't necessarily think that Samantha would like it or agree to it, either . . . “I don't know, Kichiro,” she began slowly. “I'd love that, but . . . but I don't think she'd do it.”

 

Kichiro shrugged and continued to put their things away. “It'd be better for her; give her some time away from . . . everything,” he muttered. “If we talked to her—”

 

“I don't think it's a good idea, either,” Bellaniece cut in quietly. “I mean, I'd love to have her, but . . . but she needs to figure things out for herself.”

 

Kichiro shifted his gaze, narrowing his eyes as he regarded his mate. She was keeping her own eyes carefully averted, as though she was afraid to see whatever was on his mind. Shaking his head slowly, he reached out, grasped her arm. “I thought we agreed, Belle-chan. That guy is not her mate.”

 

She grimaced and shot him an apologetic sort of look. “No, Kichiro . . . You said that, and I know that you believe it, but . . . but I'm not as sure as you are. If Kurt is her mate, then—”

 

“He's not!” Kichiro interrupted, unable to control his rising anger, his outrage that even Bellaniece doubted him. “If he were her mate, he never would have sold her to that damned place! If he were her mate, he'd treat her like it!”

 

Bellaniece turned to face him, staring at him for several moments with the kind of expression on her face that she only got when something really bothered her. “Kichiro, will you just stop for a minute and think about what you're saying?” she said quietly, evenly, calmly. “What if you're wrong?”

 

He shot her a cold stare. “I'm not,” he stated flatly.

 

She smothered a sigh, her eyes glowing in a way that he knew meant that her irritation was rising fast. “What. If. You. Are?”

 

Brushing past her, he strode toward the door. “I'm not,” he growled without stopping.

 

What the hell was wrong with everyone? Why couldn't they get it through their thick heads? Had they all lost their damn minds? He snorted.

 

Samantha . . . She didn't belong with that bastard. Didn't anyone comprehend what he'd done to her? Didn't they care? Why was he the only one who could see through it all? Okay, maybe she did want to believe that they were mates, but he knew better, didn't he? She didn't love him. He was just the most decent one to her out of all of them, maybe, but that wasn't love, and the last thing that he would accept was that she wouldn't wake up in ten or twenty years and realize that the man really wasn't her mate; wasn't anything at all but a miserable bastard who had gotten away with the things he'd done to her.

 

Not if he had any say in it, though. There was no way he'd allow anything to come of it. Sometimes it sucked to be the parent, to have to be the voice of reason when a child couldn't see things that should have been plain. He loved her—adored her, and it was his sacred responsibility to protect her, even if she didn't think she needed that protection . . .

 

Heaving a sigh as he stopped by the window, he stared down at the yard below. Samantha was there, kneeling in the grass beside Drevin with what looked to be a first-aid kit, nursing his injuries from his daily practice. It was a damned joke, wasn't it? Those bastards had stuck her in a fucking cage, used her as little more than a living science experiment, and all he got out of it was a few cracked ribs, a few split lips, and maybe a black eye or two. The room where they'd confined him wasn't even close to being a cage, and the meals they gave him were a far cry from dog kibble. There was no justice, was there?

 

And what was it Bellaniece had told him? That he'd had his reasons for hating youkai . . . Kichiro didn't give a shit about reasons, and he didn't care what sort of nice face they wanted to put on it all. What he'd done to Samantha was inexcusable, wasn't it?

 

He simply couldn't tolerate it, could he? The rage that burned so brightly within him . . . For every indignity his daughter had suffered, and she was content to forget it? To pretend that everything was fine? But it wasn't, and it wouldn't be. That man was a living, breathing reminder of the entire thing—the one who had done the unthinkable to her . . .

 

“Hmm, you don't look so happy.”

 

Kichiro grunted but didn't turn to look at his mother as she approached.

 

“Are you all right?”

 

“Fine,” he grumbled, ears flicking with his irritation.

 

“Oh, and you think that I don't know when you're lying to me?” Kagome asked in a gentle, teasing sort of tone.

 

He sighed and rubbed his forehead as he continued to watch out the window. “Why can't anyone else see that he's not the right one for her?” he grumbled.

 

“Are you so sure?” she asked gently.

 

He sighed and spared a moment to glower at his mother. “You, too, Mama?”

 

She smiled and slowly shook her head. “I'm not sure, no,” she allowed. “But I also know that there's a time when a parent has to step back and let his child figure things out on her own, too.”

 

“Not this time,” he insisted. “Mama, this isn't like she's trying to figure out what car she wants to buy or anything. This is big—huge . . . and the ramifications of a mistake like this will impact her for the rest of her life.”

 

“And you think she'll regret her choice.”

 

“I know she will.”

 

“Oh, I don't know, Kichiro,” she went on with a sigh. “Samantha's a bright girl, and I think . . . I think you should trust her. All her life, people have told her to listen to her youkai voice. Sometimes I think that she might be better attuned with hers than just about anyone. If her youkai were telling her that he isn't her mate, I think she'd know it.”

 

“You'd think,” he shot back then sighed. “Sorry.”

 

She was quiet for a moment, and then she laughed softly. “Do you remember when you were little, and you wanted to learn how to ride your bicycle, but you wanted to do it alone?”

 

He glanced at her then shook his head. “That's not even close to being the same.”

 

“Isn't it? Samantha's bicycle is just different from yours.”

 

He snorted. “Keh. I also remember the old man following me around when he thought that I couldn't see him.”

 

“And you can do that, too,” Kagome insisted. “Follow Samantha at a distance, close enough to catch her if she falls . . . but let her do this her way. It is her life, after all, and a parent might not like a choice a child makes, but in the end, you must understand that it is her choice; not yours. What might not be right for you might very well be right for her.”

 

He frowned as he stared out the window, pondering his mother's advice. “Is that what you told Gin?”

 

Kagome sighed and smiled a little sadly, the memory of her daughter bringing a slight shadow to her face: the very thought of how close they'd come to losing her all those years ago. “Yes,” she admitted as her smile faltered slightly. “It is.”

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Cain double checked the car seat buckles as the child idly kicked her feet. She was content to work her way through the bag of gummi bears that Gin had given her before they'd put her into the vehicle.

 

“Don't forget her bear,” Samantha fretted as she stood on tiptoe to peer around Cain to ascertain for herself that the girl had everything she needed. Looking sweet as could be in a crisp white cotton sundress with little white ribbons tied around the two little piggy tails on either side of her head, she looked entirely adorable. Samantha had taken extra pains in dressing the girl for the day. It was a special one, after all, wasn't it? “Oh, let me check her diaper bag . . .”

 

“Everything's fine, Sam,” Cain reassured her. “Besides, I'm sure that the Conors have all that stuff at their house, too.”

 

Samantha bit her lip and didn't look at all pacified. “Y-yeah . . .”

 

“Can you wave `bye-bye'?” Cain asked the child. She summarily ignored him.

 

“She'll be okay . . . right?” Samantha pondered as she watched him close the door and lope around to the driver's side.

 

Gin smiled brightly and gave her a quick squeeze. “Of course, sweetie.”

 

Samantha wasn't completely convinced.

 

“Cain said that they've decided to name her `Iris',” Gin commented as Cain started the SUV.

 

“Iris?” she echoed with a shake of her head. “I . . . see . . .”

 

“You don't like it?”

 

Samantha took a moment before answering. Iris Conor? She bit her lip. No, that just really didn't sound quite right, did it? “It's . . . nice.”

 

Cain honked the horn as he pulled out of the space between Gin's car and Samantha's, negotiating the long driveway slowly and carefully.

 

Samantha forced a smile and turned around to head back inside. Kurt was likely irritated to no end since his room was on the other side of the mansion.

 

He'd been moody, distracted all day, and she didn't have to be brilliant to know that this home visit was the reason why. Did he know—really know—how badly he was taking everything? Did he know what Samantha was starting to suspect? He cared about the child so much more than he let on—loved her, didn't he? Did he want to keep her? Somehow, Samantha knew that there was so much more to it than that, and she knew, too, that there was a very good chance that Kurt, himself, didn't even realize that he might want to, for that matter.

 

That was the trouble, wasn't it? With every day that passed; every day spent seeing the timid child slowly creep out of her shell, Samantha couldn't help but love her just a little more . . .

 

Waking up in the morning, just to see her smiles, her cautious fascination as she chased butterflies; as she ran and played . . . Just yesterday, she'd somehow managed to climb atop InuYasha's head, content to go wherever he went, much to Samantha's amusement. Her laughter as she darted over to Samantha's side, her need to reassure herself that Samantha was still there . . . and Samantha, sitting in the grass, was left to wonder as the girl dashed away again to chase after a squirrel that she didn't really have any real hopes of catching, if the complete feeling of contentment she felt was the same emotion that she'd seen so often, reflected in her mother's gaze. Was that the feeling of a mother? And if it were . . .

 

Climbing the staircase, she sighed. Letting go of the child . . . It was for the best, wasn't it? She . . . she needed a family in the very worst way, didn't she? A mother and a father who would dote on her every day for the rest of her life . . .

 

There had been a few times during the last few days when Samantha had come close to asking Kurt if he would mind adopting the girl, but she hadn't. Something always stopped her. There were moments when she'd look at him, only to see hints of the very familiar sadness that he still carried around, that he clung so tightly to, and she'd wondered whether or not those nightmares still plagued him. Those dreams that would make him cry out in the stillness of the night . . . She'd heard it so often, and yet . . .

 

To ask him to take on a little girl when she'd already asked him for so very much of himself . . . Did she really have a right to do that? Somehow, she didn't think that she did . . .

 

He was sitting on the balcony when she stepped into his room. The sheer white curtains that hung over the doors blew in the gentle breeze, but the sadness in his aura reached out to her, hurt her . . .

 

“She gone?” he asked, sensing her approach but not bothering to verify it, either.

 

“She'll be back tomorrow,” Samantha ventured.

 

“Tomorrow,” he repeated. “She . . . she didn't cry, did she?”

 

Samantha cleared her throat and sat beside him on the sturdy railing that ran around the perimeter of the balcony. “No . . . un, Grandma gave her gummi bears . . .”

 

“Gummi bears.”

 

She smiled just a little. “Yeah.”

 

“Candy . . .”

 

She sighed. “Grandma . . . she also said that they've chosen a name for her.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Her smile faltered at the flatness of his tone. “Iris.”

 

She didn't miss the incredulous look he shot her as he snorted indelicately and shook his head. “Iris? The hell . . .?”

 

Somehow, his response didn't surprise her. She had a feeling that he wouldn't have liked any name the Conors had come up with . . . and for even more disturbing reasons, she agreed . . .

 

Kurt let out a deep breath and forced a tight little smile. “It's . . . it's fine,” he said though he didn't look very pleased. “Iris . . . that's a . . . a great name.”

 

“She'll be fine,” she said, trying to sound completely positive.

 

“Y-yeah,” he replied. At least he tried to smile . . .

 

Samantha smiled and stood up. She needed to distract him before he ended up really agitated . . . “Tell me something?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“When all of this is over, where do you want to go?”

 

He blinked, surprised by her question, and he didn't seem to know what to say. “Go?”

 

She nodded. “We could go anywhere, do anything . . . I mean, I'd like to go back to work, but . . .”

 

“Back to work,” he echoed, his expression darkening just a little. “You mean, as a hunter . . .”

 

Stepping over to stick her finger into the soil of a nearby plant, Samantha turned to fetch a glass of water for it. “Yeah, of course.”

 

She didn't see the scowl that surfaced on his features, the thoughtful frown that the idea of her going back to work inspired in him.

 

“How does your family feel about that?” he asked, leaning in the doorway as he watched her fill a glass from the pitcher of water on the desk. “They okay with you going back to work?”

 

Hesitating in her task of pouring the liquid, she shot him what she hoped was a reassuring smile over her shoulder. “They're not very keen on it, if that's what you mean,” she replied honestly.

 

He nodded, and she had a feeling that he was measuring his words before speaking. “It's dangerous, isn't it?”

 

“Not if you're careful,” she said. “Not really, anyway.”

 

“And that's what you were doing when I captured you.”

 

She sighed. She'd figured it was something like that. “There's always a measure of risk,” she admitted as she took the glass and brushed past him to water the plant. “But the rewards outweigh the risk. What I do . . . I just want to protect whomever I can, in any way that I can.”

 

He grasped her shoulders and turned her around, his expression saying it all, even as he said nothing. `But who will protect you?' she read in his eyes, the turbulent churning of unspoken dread.

 

She smiled and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “You worry too much.”

 

Her response didn't please him, and he slowly shook his head. “Yeah, and you don't worry nearly enough.”

 

“Well,” she deadpanned, slipping her arms around his neck. “Look at it this way: I don't need to worry because I know you'll do it for me. How's that?”

 

He snorted loudly and rolled his eyes. “Little demon . . .”

 

Samantha sighed and let her cheek rest against his shoulder for a beautiful moment. “She'll be okay, won't she?” she finally whispered.

 

Kurt let out a deep breath of his own, his arms rather reluctantly encircling her, drawing her close. “It's . . . it's better for her, isn't it?”

 

“Is . . . is it?”

 

Her question seemed to stump him; he didn't have an answer. For a moment, Samantha wondered what he was thinking, but when he intercepted her stare, he slowly shook his head. “There are things I still have to do, Sam,” he admitted quietly, almost apologetically. “I promised . . . my family . . . I promised them . . .”

 

“Let me help you,” she offered in a low tone though not without conviction. “I . . . I could help you find them, and—”

 

He slowly shook his head despite the tender little smile that touched his lips, as he reached out to stroke her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “It's not your fight, little demon.”

 

“Taijya—”

 

“If I can find them,” he went on, ignoring whatever she'd been about to say. “If I can do that, then it'll be over . . . but I can't do anything until . . .” Trailing off, as though he were struggling to find the right words, he heaved a sigh and shook his head, letting go of her and stepping over to the railing once more. “I . . . I want to be with you, Samantha, but . . . but I have to do this first—for them . . . for me . . .”

 

Biting her lip, she frowned at him, wishing for all the world that she didn't understand his feelings yet knowing deep down that she really did. Too long a time of not being able to make sense of the violence and the loss . . . He'd simply been too young to do anything, and that feeling of absolute impotence . . . That was the anger that drove him, and while it might not be a beautiful thing, in the end, it had helped to form him into the man before her, the man she loved, and she knew that, too. “And when you find them? After you've destroyed them?” she asked quietly.

 

He let out a sigh that was more of a breath than a sound, as he slowly turned to face her once more. Captured in the afternoon sunshine, his hair seemed even blacker than usual, the wayward bangs blowing into his eyes that didn't blink, the steadiness of resolve pooling in his gaze. “Then I'll be free,” he said.

 

Samantha nodded just once, a gentle smile slowly turning up the corners of her lips as she stared at him, understanding in that moment that, even if revenge didn't set him free, at least it would allow him the closure that he so desperately needed and deserved, and knowing that as much as she needed him, she couldn't possibly ask him to be less than what he was. “Free,” she repeated as her smile brightened. “I guess I can wait for you.”

 

 

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

A/N:

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Final Thought from Kurt:

Wait for me …

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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~