InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Denigration ( Chapter 79 )

~~Chapter 79~~

~Denigration~

 

-=0=-

 

 

Kurt heaved a sigh and rubbed his forehead as he frowned at the display screen of the slimfile. `Jesus . . . what the hell do they think I am? A miracle worker . . .?'

 

“Miss me?” Samantha asked, slipping her arms around his neck and leaning in to kiss his cheek.

 

He rubbed her clasped hands and closed the file. “Didn't I just see you a few minutes ago?”

 

She shifted her eyes up at the ceiling as though she were concentrating on something. “An hour, at least.”

 

“Oh, well, in that case . . .” he murmured.

 

She smiled and kissed his cheek again. “How's it going?”

 

Sighing again, he slowly shook his head. “Not too well,” he replied. “They didn't give me a hell of a lot of anything to go on here.”

 

Her smile faded slightly. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

 

Kurt turned in the chair but grimaced when his still store body protested the movement. “Yeah,” he said quietly, staring into her eyes, willing her to understand. “I'm sure.”

 

She looked like she wanted to argue, but she only nodded rather reluctantly. “Why don't you let me check your bandages?”

 

“I'm fine,” he told her. She didn't listen as she carefully pulled the bandage on his arm loose. “It's seeping a little,” she fretted. “Are you sure you don't need stitches?”

 

“It's not that deep,” he insisted. She frowned and shook her head as she reached for the herbal salve Gin had brought up just after the fight.

 

Kurt tried not to flinch when Samantha gingerly dabbed at the wound with a wad of gauze she'd dampened with antiseptic wash.

 

It was strange, wasn't it? The idea of being `free' . . . It didn't actually feel that much different, did it? Unlike the stark change that Samantha had to have felt when he'd let her go . . . It bothered him a lot, but . . .

 

Just after the battle ended, the men had asked him into Cain's office—again—only this time, they offered him a job, instead. They wanted him to work for Bas and Gunnar in the youkai special crimes division, specializing in locating and closing down other research facilities around the world. They'd also said that they'd like for him to consider dissuading any of the hunters that he knew of from continuing their practices, and while Kurt was inclined to think that the vast majority of those hunters who really could differentiate a youkai from a human were few and far between, he had to acknowledge the truth in their concerns.

 

“Sorry for being so rough with you out there,” Cain remarked, sipping a mug of coffee. “We needed to see what you're capable of—what you're really capable of.”

 

Kurt grunted, not at all placated by Cain's backhanded apology. “Sure.”

 

“We want you to work for us,” Cain went on. “Hunting down these facilities . . . making sure that they're wiped out . . .”

 

“Though trackers, alone, should take care of the problem,” Gunnar added. “You shouldn't have to . . . convince them.”

 

Kurt rolled his eyes at the blatant censure in Gunnar's tone, the disapproval at Kurt's prior methods used to convince the researchers that they wanted to find a new area of expertise. “How much do you know about human nature, Inutaisho?” he countered quietly, refusing to tuck his proverbial tail between his legs and run away. “I'll tell you: we're stupid and arrogant . . . We believe that we're smarter, better than anything else on earth. If I'd gone in and asked them to stop, do you honestly believe they'd have complied? Of course not. Tracker or no tracker, they'd have found another way to do those things . . . and that was not acceptable.”

 

Gunnar narrowed his gaze coldly. “Be that as it may, we do not wish to perpetuate the belief that we are . . . what was your word? Oh, right—monsters,” he reiterated.

 

“Kurt . . .” Cain interrupted as the two stared each other down. “What you did at those facilities . . . It may have been necessary in those instances, but we want to do things differently—for your peace of mind, too.”

 

“I already ensured my peace of mind,” Kurt replied evenly.

 

Cain nodded, a certain understanding entering his gaze. “Of course . . . Kurt . . .”

 

“Yes?”

 

“There is one other thing . . .”

 

Kurt sat back and waited for the other shoe to drop.

 

The men exchanged glances, and Cain sighed. “We . . . we wanted to know where you stand on the idea of Samantha going back to work.”

 

He frowned. “As a hunter, you mean?”

 

Cain nodded. “Yeah.”

 

The frown widened. Why did that question feel like a trap, waiting for him to step on it to spring it? “Do I want her to hunt, you mean?” he clarified.

 

Cain nodded again, his expression inscrutable.

 

Kurt sighed, rubbing his eyes in a tired sort of way. “To be honest? I . . . I don't want her out there, no,” he muttered.

 

“Good,” Gunnar stated. “Then we're in agreement.”

 

“Let's be clear,” Cain added quietly. “We're not babying her—we've never wanted her to hunt. It's a harsh job—taking lives, no matter the reason . . . It's not pretty . . . But now . . . The fear might be ungrounded, but it's still there, and . . .”

 

Bas cleared his throat as he sank further down in the thickly appointed chair where he'd been sitting ever since Kurt stepped into the office. He still didn't look like he was feeling too great, and for the briefest of moments, Kurt couldn't help the small twinge of guilt that surged through him. “We just don't know if she's mentally ready to go back out there. I mean, most of the time, she seems okay, but . . . but there have been a few times when she's . . . I don't know? Flipped out, I guess you could say . . .”

 

“`Flipping out', as Bas so eloquently put it, can mean death out there,” Gunnar added. “If Samantha were to `flip out' again . . .”

 

“I get it,” Kurt muttered.

 

And the hell of it was, he did understand. It wasn't that they didn't trust her abilities; they were frightened, just like he was. If something happened to her . . . “Sam . . .” Kurt began slowly, unsure exactly how to approach this subject.

 

“This might sting a bit,” she said.

 

He gritted his teeth and waited for her to finish spreading salve on his wound. A bit was kind of an understatement. The damned salve stung like a bitch . . . Still, he managed to endure it without letting her know that it bothered him, and he let out a deep breath when she finally taped another bandage into place.

 

“It does look better,” she mused. “I wish you healed as fast as I do . . . Let me see your back.”

 

He sighed but leaned forward so that she could check him. “Sam . . . you . . . you aren't thinking about going back to work right away, are you?”

 

She hesitated for a moment as she unwrapped the ace bandage that covered his chest. “They don't want me to, but no,” she admitted quietly. “At least not right away. It's not because of my family, though . . . You don't want me to go back, either, do you?”

 

He made a face, unsure how to explain his thoughts on the matter to her without upsetting her or making her feel as though he thought that she was inept. He didn't think that, at all, damn it. It just figured that her family would be as underhanded as to get him to do their dirty work, didn't it? Letting out a little sigh, he reached out to take her hand and tugged her around so she was standing before him. “It isn't that I don't want you to work,” he said. “It's just . . . hunting is dangerous, isn't it? If something happened to you . . . If I lost you . . .” Swallowing hard, trying not to flinch, he shook his head, couldn't meet her gaze.

 

She stared at him for several long seconds, then finally smiled. “I may want to go back to work eventually,” she confessed. “But right now . . . I was thinking . . . Tanny's been through so much—more than I have, really, and . . . and she needs me. There're so many things that she doesn't know—doesn't understand . . . and it's my job to teach her those things, right?”

 

“Our job,” he corrected quietly, frowning. “Is that what you really want?”

 

She considered it for a moment then nodded, her smile widening as she pondered his question. “I think so,” she said. “She's such a smart child. I don't think it'll take long to get her caught up to children her age, but . . . but the social skills . . . She needs those, but I think she's doing just fine. Did you know that she learned another word today?”

 

Kurt smiled, feeling the first stirrings of relief ebbing over him. “What one?”

 

She giggled, her cheeks flushing prettily. “Mama.”

 

He blinked then chuckled. “Good one to learn.”

 

Samantha nodded then shrugged. “Maybe when she's older—better adjusted . . . Maybe I'll want to go back to work then,” she mused. “We could work together, you and I . . . The new dynamic duo . . .”

 

Kurt snorted indelicately. “Like I'd be able to concentrate with you around.”

 

“Are you implying that I can't hold my own?” she teased though he could discern a trace amount of stiffness underlying her words.

 

“Nope, not in the least, but if you were there, I'd spend all my time looking at you, and that'd probably be bad.”

 

She laughed at his prediction then leaned in to kiss him. The warmth of her mouth was entirely too inviting, wasn't it? Too welcome . . . and way too intoxicating. He grimace when he tried to pull her closer, as his body reminded him rather vehemently that he should be thinking about recovering instead of trying to figure out a way to get Samantha into bed.

 

They both turned at the sound of the door scraping open in time to watch Tanny slip into the room, holding her skirt up like a hammock that was filled with an assortment of candy. Samantha bit her lip and shot Kurt a quick glance before turning her attention back to the child once more. “Where'd you get all that?” he demanded mildly.

 

She smiled sweetly up at him. “Mine,” she said.

 

Kurt blinked. “Now that can't be good . . .”

 

“That's a lot of candy, sweetie,” Samantha pointed out.

 

“Mine,” Tanny repeated. “Mine, tanny!”

 

Kurt shot Samantha a completely droll sort of look. “Wow . . . You know, I don't think I'm going to like that word at all . . .”

 

Samantha giggled. “No?”

 

Kurt snorted and slowly shook his head.

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

The singing . . . always the singing . . .

 

He smiled, recognizing the sound of that voice. He knew it, didn't he? Strange, wasn't it? He hadn't realized it before . . . Leaning against the sturdy tree trunk as the amber shades of evening fell, he felt a sense of contentment the likes of which he hadn't known in such a long, long time.

 

“It's beautiful, isn't it, houshi-sama?”

 

His smiled took on a tender sort of brilliance as his gaze fell away from the setting sun to the woman kneeling beside him in the grass. “Absolutely,” he replied.

 

She sighed a happy sigh and stroked the tiny fire-cat-youkai curled up in her lap. “Everything's been so quiet since InuYasha left, hasn't it?”

 

He nodded, dragging his eyes off her face, staring instead at the first bright stars so high above. Nearly a fortnight since they'd last seen their friend. He'd followed he woman he loved through the Bone Eater's Well, and while they all knew that he was where he wanted to be, it didn't mean that they missed him or Kagome, for that matter, any less. “I miss him, too,” he replied quietly.

 

“Promise me something?” she murmured.

 

He glanced at her, her skin glowing with a honeyed hue in the waning light of day. “If I can,” he agreed. “Maybe even if I can't.”

 

She shot him an endearingly bashful little smile before her gaze fell to the cat in her lap. “Well, I just thought . . . InuYasha and Kagome found each other, right? Kagome, the reincarnation of the woman he loved . . . and I thought . . .” Trailing off, she shook her head, as though she believed that whatever she had on her mind was silly.

 

“You thought what, Sango?”

 

“Promise me we'll find each other again . . . our souls . . . our hearts . . . If we are reincarnated one day, too, I think . . . I think I'd like to spend that lifetime with you, too . . .”

 

His smile spread over his features as he leaned the Shakuju against the tree and sank down beside her. “I'll find you,” he promised, reaching out, taking her hand, twining his fingers around hers.

 

“How . . . how will I know?” she whispered, and even in the semi-dark, he could tell that she was blushing.

 

He sighed and let his head fall back, gazing at the stars again. “You'll save me,” he replied simply. “You'll save me, just like you did in this lifetime.”

 

“How did I save you?” she asked quietly.

 

He chuckled. “You gave me a reason to fight,” he told her, “a reason to believe . . . and in the next life, and the next one . . . and forever . . . I'll find you, Sango. I'll always find you . . .”

 

Kurt's eyes opened slowly, focusing on the sun-brightened room. He was in bed, alone, and that was almost enough to disorient him. Sitting up slowly, he grimaced. His ribs hurt like hell. A moment later, he remembered. He was a free man, wasn't he? Free . . .

 

No one had brought him a breakfast tray. He supposed that was the first sign that things were different. He wasn't going to be confined to this room any more, was he? What a strange feeling, that . . .

 

Glancing at the clock, Kurt shook his head and looked again. It was nearly ten in the morning? It felt completely strange, didn't it?

 

Pushing himself to his feet, ignoring the various aches and pains that protested the movements, he frowned as he thought about that strange dream. He'd been someone else in that dream, hadn't he? The man in the black robes and purple sash . . . the one named Miroku . . .

 

For a split second, he considered taking a shower, but figured that he'd need a little help—at least to unwrap his ribs for the duration, and while he wasn't entirely certain that he'd actually get anything to eat since it was much later than he normally did, he remembered with a grimace that his ribs had been hurting far too much the night before to eat very much of his supper, and with that thought in mind, he headed for the door, half expecting it to be locked but knowing in the back of his mind that it wouldn't be.

 

Still, it was a strange thing, he mused, as he shuffled down the hallway toward the stairs. Samantha had mentioned that she had an apartment, and for a split second, he considered asking her if they could stay there, but in the end, he discarded the idea. No, her family wanted her here—here where they could reassure themselves that she was all right, and he supposed that he could deal with that, too, for as long as it took. After all, it was a pretty small concession, wasn't it? Besides, he had other things on his mind . . . things he couldn't even begin to understand . . .

 

That dream . . . It hadn't felt like a dream, had it? It had seemed more like a . . . a memory. It couldn't be his memory, though, and he knew it. He'd never been to Japan before, and . . . and how the hell did he know that was where those two people—Miroku and Sango—had been?

 

“So you really are his reincarnation . . .”

 

Kurt shook his head. He didn't believe in that sort of thing, did he? He didn't . . . and yet . . .

 

And yet, the woman's face—Sango—flashed through his mind again, as real and as vivid as it would have been had he met her just yesterday, and as quickly as her face started to fade, another replaced it: a human face that hadn't belonged on the body of the hanyou woman he'd come to know . . . and the faces . . .

 

He stopped mid-stride, his eyes widening then narrowing by turns. Samantha's face—her human face . . . it was the same as the woman in his dream, wasn't it?

 

`That . . . that can't be . . .'

 

Moving forward again, Kurt shook his head. Okay, so he was a skeptic, as far as that went. He didn't rightly believe in such things as reincarnation and all of that, but . . .

 

But, he had to allow, at least to himself, that if he were inclined to . . .

 

“Promise me we'll find each other again . . .”

 

So that wouldn't have been such a bad thing, would it . . .?

 

Stepping off the bottom of the stairs, he pushed the thought aside and headed for the kitchen. The mansion was strangely empty, but as he neared the doorway, he slowed his step at the sound of very familiar voices—and one word.

 

“Mine!”

 

“No, mine.”

 

“Mine!”

 

“No, mine.”

 

“Mine! Tanny!”

 

A very loud snort. “`Tanny,' yours. Cake, mine!”

 

“No, mine!”

 

Kurt stopped in the kitchen doorway and blinked, pressing his lips together in a thin line as he tried to make sense of the tableaux before him.

 

Tanny was standing on the pristine white marble counter with her hands on her hips in a frilly white linen dress adorned with yards of lace and streamers of ribbon—and a stubborn frown on her face as she glared at the North American tai-youkai, who was glaring right back at her, hands on the counter, and leaning down so that he was eye-level with the child. Beside Tanny stood the elevated cake plate where Gin always kept the cakes she made for Cain—even Kurt knew about those via Samantha. Just inside the doorway stood Gin, her arms crossed over her chest and the strangest look of near-exasperation on her pretty face as she watched the battle of wills unfolding, too.

 

“Ah-ah-ah! Don't you touch that!” Cain growled when Tanny started to reach for the cake.

 

“Mine!” Tanny insisted, stomping her foot with every syllable to emphasize her point. “Mine, mine, mine, mine!”

 

“No, no, no, no!” Cain argued. “Great-grandma's cakes are mine!”

 

“Zelig-sensei, you are not arguing with her, are you?” Gin finally demanded in a quiet, pinched tone.

 

Cain didn't even glance at her. “She's got to learn,” he insisted. “Everyone else knows they're mine—everyone but her.”

 

Gin's mouth dropped open at the sulky tone in the man's voice. Kurt bit his cheek.

 

Tanny stomped her foot once more, then leaned down quickly, digging her hand deep into the fluffy, white frosted cake and smashing it into her mouth.

 

“H-hey!” Cain grouched, shaking his head in abject disbelief. “Gin! Did you see what she did?”

 

Gin cleared her throat. “Oh, I did,” she agreed. Kurt had a feeling that she was trying not to laugh.

 

Cain reached for the cake plate. Tanny was faster. Grasping the edge with both hands, she pulled it along the cupboard out of his reach. “Mine!” she insisted in a completely triumphant tone.

 

Cain opened his mouth to say something. Gin was faster. “Cain Zelig, you leave her alone, you bully! She's just a little girl, and you need to learn to share, anyway!”

 

“But you make those for me!” Cain insisted in a completely whiny tone.

 

“And I'll make you another one—if you leave her alone and tell her you're sorry for being mean.”

 

“M-mean?” Cain sputtered indignantly. “She stole my cake! She's a cake thief!”

 

“Come on, Tanny,” Kurt said, carefully stepping around Gin to scoop up the child, fistfuls of cake and all. He gave Cain a wide berth as he headed for the doorway again. “Let's get out of here before he has you arrested or something.”

 

Kurt glanced at his soon-to-be daughter then shook his head. She was peering over his shoulder, sticking her tongue out at Cain.

 

“Uh . . . Zelig-sensei, you're not sticking your tongue out at a child, are you?” Gin demanded behind him.

 

Without stopping to think about it, Kurt looked back in time to see Cain doing exactly that.

 

“Completely bent . . . and I thought Evan was bad,” Kurt muttered under his breath.

 

Tanny heaved a sigh and happily licked the icing off her fingers . . .

 

 

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A/N:

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Final Thought from Tanny:

Mine!

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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~