InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Home Front ( Chapter 83 )

~~Chapter 83~~

~Home Front~

 

-=0=-

 

 

“We can go back to the mansion, if you'd rather,” Samantha pointed out patiently for what had to be the twentieth time since they'd sat down to dinner in the quiet little restaurant.

 

Kurt glanced up, looking a little guilty as he slipped the cell phone into his pocket once more. “No, I'm sure she's fine . . .”

 

Griffin snorted and sat back, staring at Kurt through the shag of his unruly brown bangs. “You don't have to worry,” he muttered as he reached for the mug of herbal tea. “Not like you left her with Isabelle or anything.”

 

Isabelle rolled her eyes and heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I'm so misunderstood,” she complained lightly.

 

Griffin snorted again. “Like hell, woman,” he shot back.

 

Isabelle laughed and leaned over to kiss Griffin's cheek, which only served to deepen the bear-youkai's scowl as well as bring a very pronounced blush to his face.

 

Kurt shot Samantha a quick glance, only to find her smiling at the byplay between her sister and brother-in-law.

 

“You're trying to make him blush,” Samantha remarked almost idly.

 

Isabelle shook her head but winked. “If I do, it's just because I think it's sexy as hell.”

 

“Jezebel,” Griffin muttered under his breath, the ruddiness in his cheeks deepening just a little more.

 

Not for the first time, Kurt had to wonder exactly how those two had ended up as mates. They were so very different, at least upon first glance, that it was difficult to see them as a couple. The bear-youkai, Griffin was a huge man, quite literally a bear—huge in every conceivable dimension, as far as Kurt could tell. Not for the first time, too, it had struck him, exactly how the youkai tended to act in a very real sense like their animal associations implied. Gruff, brusque, even lumbering, and yet . . . and yet there was a certain friendliness that belied the harsher exterior, too . . . In fact, in the last few weeks since he'd been so unceremoniously released from the forced training regime and confinement, Kurt and Griffin had talked a few times—well, more like they'd sort of hung around each other without really saying much, but that was all right. Griffin, Kurt had learned, was the one Samantha had told him about before; the youkai whose entire family was killed by humans a long, long time ago, and maybe, in that sense, the two of them had more in common than Kurt had with most of them here, and maybe that was why Griffin didn't seem to judge him as harshly as the others could and did, including Kurt, himself . . .

 

But Isabelle . . . Well, if Kurt hadn't known that the woman was Griffin's mate, he never would have guessed it upon first impressions. Bright, bubbly, inexorably happy, the woman exuded confidence where the bear-youkai tended to falter. It was an interesting mix, really, the two of them, and maybe they actually complimented each other far more than Kurt had actually thought, to start with . . .

 

Still, Kurt hadn't been sure, exactly what to expect when Isabelle and Sydnie had suggested a `triple date' of sorts. He'd reluctantly agreed—Samantha had seemed keen on the idea—only to find out earlier that Jillian, Bas and Evan's younger sister, and her mate, Gavin would be joining them, too. By the time that all was said and done, it had become a regular family outing. Zelig had actually rented out the entire restaurant for the occasion, and even Samantha's parents were there, citing that Samantha's twenty-first birthday was occasion enough to make it a family affair . . .

 

He sighed and shifted in his seat, wondering exactly what he was getting himself into. Samantha was so adamant that she wanted to be married before the adoption was final that she'd rushed it, only allowing herself two months for planning, and they'd set the date for Saturday, July 4—Independence Day—just over a month away . . .

 

It wasn't that he was having misgivings about marrying Samantha, no, but . . . but he worried, didn't he? He couldn't help but feel as though he were intruding with her family, couldn't stand the palpable tension that seemed to stagnate the air every time that Kichiro and he were in the same room. It wasn't that the man went out of his way to be nasty or anything, of course, but the understated tension was a painful thing—something that Samantha never commented on, though Kurt knew damn well she could feel it, too. She was too intuitive not to, wasn't she, and as much as Kurt despised it—despised the feeling that he was inadvertently making her choose between her family and him—he also wasn't entirely sure what he ought to do about it, either . . .

 

At the moment, however, Kurt had bigger fish to fry. They'd left Tanny with the hunter, Cartham and his wife—for reasons that Kurt would never, ever understand, the girl had actually taken a liking to the uncouth pole-cat-youkai. It had reassured him a little that Bas and Sydnie had left Bailey with them, too. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that Cartham was just waiting to do something incredibly nuts, like draw a gun on the child . . . or teach her to fire one . . .

 

Too bad Samantha had just laughed and told him that Cartham was harmless. Harmless? The man had pulled a gun and fired it at him, and he hadn't known at the time that it was loaded with blanks . . . Harmless, indeed . . .

 

“I can't believe my baby sister's getting married!” Isabelle gushed. “Somehow, though, I figured you'd marry someone a little more . . .”

 

Kurt stiffened under the woman's lazy scrutiny. Something about those golden eyes . . .

 

“Isabelle,” Griffin began in a warning tone.

 

She ignored him. “. . . A little more . . . well . . . goofier . . . Yes, that's the right word, I think . . .”

 

Samantha giggled. “Goofier? Why's that?”

 

Isabelle smiled and shot Kurt a conspiratorial wink. “Well, you used to idolize Evan, didn't you? And I'm pretty sure that he's about as goofy as they come.”

 

“I'd hardly say that was the same,” Samantha pointed out with another giggle and a shake of her head.

 

“It so is,” Isabelle argued.

 

Samantha's cell phone rang, and she dug it out of her purse. “Oh, it's Lexi,” she announced as she opened the device. “Hello?”

 

She listened for a moment then turned to smile at Kurt. He could see the traces of anxiety behind the blue of her gaze that she was trying to hide from him and frowned. “I'll be right back,” she said as she got up and willed her smile to brighten. “Excuse me.”

 

Samantha felt her smile falter as she turned away from the table, casually making her way toward the bathroom before she deigned to finish this particular conversation. That was fine, though, wasn't it? Alexandra wasn't really listening to her, anyway . . .

 

“—And Papa says that we really don't know a thing about him or his past . . . Sure, maybe he has reason, and I agree, I'd want vengeance if someone did something so unspeakable to my family, but you must understand that excuses cannot exonerate him from his wrongdoings, and—”

 

She counted to twenty-five before she dared to answer. “Lexi,” she interrupted her sister's diatribe.

 

Alexandra sighed. “It's just because we love you, Sami, and we're concerned; that's all.”

 

“Lexi,” Samantha said again, inflicting a stubbornness into her tone: a firmness that bespoke her rising irritation, “I know that's how Papa feels, and I can appreciate his concern, but you're my sister, not my parent, and I'd prefer if you acted like it.”

 

“Sweetie, that's not what I'm trying to do,” Alexandra went on slowly, carefully, as though she believed that Samantha was going to break if she used a more no-nonsense tone. “I just worry about you . . .”

 

“I know,” Samantha replied, pacing back and forth in front of the plate glass mirror that ran the length of the opulent bathroom. “Everyone's concerned about me, but you don't need to be. I'm not stupid, and . . . and I resent the fact that everyone seems to think that I am.”

 

“No one thinks you're stupid, Sami,” Alexandra said quietly. “We just love you, you know? And we're worried, sure. You really can't fault anyone for that.”

 

“I don't fault anyone for being worried,” Samantha stated. “Honestly, though . . . Kurt makes me happy—really happy . . . and I just wish that you all could be happy for me, too.”

 

Alexandra didn't answer right away. Whether she was trying to decide how best to say whatever it was that she had on her mind or if she were simply unsure what she dared to say, at all, Samantha wasn't sure. In either case, Samantha couldn't help but feel a little angrier . . . “Look, Alexandra . . . my wedding is in a month, but if you cannot bring yourself to be happy for me, then . . .” Samantha swallowed hard, biting back the tears that suddenly clouded her vision. “If you can't be happy for me, then maybe you shouldn't come.”

 

“You . . . you don't mean that, Sam . . .” Alexandra said in a quiet voice, the hurt in her tone very evident. “You can't mean that . . .”

 

Samantha let out a deep breath and slowly shook her head. “I want you to be there, you know . . . I really do, but . . . but you have to accept that Kurt is my mate . . . and even if you don't like him, can't you pretend? Just for one day?” She swallowed hard, swatted a tear off her cheek angrily. “Please . . .”

 

“Of course I'm . . . I'm happy for you, sweetie,” Alexandra continued in an entirely placating tone of voice. “I am—at least, I want to be . . .”

 

Turning around, leaning against the countertop, Samantha bit her lip. “He's a good person, no matter what Papa thinks—and no matter what you think, too. You'd know that if you'd just give him a chance. He makes me happy. He makes me feel safe.”

 

“Safe . . .”

 

“Yes, safe. How else do you think I kept myself sane during those months, and maybe it was his fault that I was there, but . . . but getting to know him? I . . . I don't know if I would change things, even if I could.”

 

“Oh, Sami . . .”

 

Samantha straightened her back proudly and headed for the door. “Don't feel sorry for me, Lexi. Just because our start wasn't exactly perfect doesn't mean that our future can't be.”

 

Alexandra heaved a sigh. “No,” she allowed though she still sounded rather dubious, “I don't suppose it does . . .”

 

Sensing that the worst of the confrontation was over, Samantha smiled just a little as she pushed out of the bathroom. “Anyway, I've got to go. It looks like they're searching for me, and there are a lot of presents . . .”

 

“Okay, sweetie. Happy birthday . . . and I can't wait to see my new niece again, too.”

 

Samantha laughed and hung up the phone, taking her time as she wandered down the short hallway toward the main seating area where everyone was gathered once more.

 

It meant a lot to her, didn't it? Everyone she loved, gathered together in that place . . .

 

Kurt was talking to Bas at the moment, probably about business, and that was all right. Bas had told her that he respected Kurt's abilities and that he honestly thought that Kurt could hold his own and then some—high praise from Bas, after all. Even Gunnar had muttered something about Kurt being competent enough. He'd proven himself to them, and maybe he'd even proven a few things to himself, too, and that was, in Samantha's opinion, more than enough, wasn't it?

 

`He showed them that he is fully capable of standing on his own two feet—and that he's able to protect you, as well,' her youkai voice murmured.

 

`Of course he is,' she agreed with a small smile. `He might not have their brute strength, but he has his own power.'

 

`And he's really good in bed . . .'

 

Samantha's eyes widened, and she blinked at the bawdy commentary from her youkai voice. `Well, there is that, too . . .'

 

Her youkai fell quiet with a soft laugh, and Samantha couldn't help but smile, too . . .

 

It meant a lot to her, didn't it? The support of her family, for the most part, was genuine. She didn't know why it had surprised her that Isabelle had come around rather quickly. It shouldn't have; not really . . .

 

Griffin had talked to Isabelle, she knew—had told her that there really wasn't any difference between himself and Kurt, aside from a few hundred years that had served to temper Griffin's own anger, his frustration, his hostility . . . Isabelle understood that, and because of that, she was trying—really trying—to get to know Kurt without judging him for the things that he simply couldn't change. Samantha only wished that everyone felt that way . . .

 

But in the weeks that had passed since Kurt had earned his freedom, she had to admit that the others were slowly coming around, at least for the most part. Samantha sighed. She also had to admit that Alexandra and Kichiro's attitudes were the main dark spots that hung over her otherwise complete happiness. It wore on her, didn't it? They loved her, and she adored them, and the very last thing that she wanted was to hurt them, but . . . but . . .

 

But she wished that they'd try—just try—to get to know Kurt; that they'd make the effort for her, if for no other reason, and while she didn't blame them for feeling the way that they did, she had to wonder if it weren't the proverbial beating of the dead horse, so to speak.

 

“Happy birthday, sweetie,” Bellaniece said as she hurried over to give Samantha a hug. Her smile was warm, bright, and she looked happier than she had in awhile. “You know, the waiter was telling me that his cousin does wedding cakes—not so many as a business; more of a side job or hobby, but she'd probably talk to us if we told her that her cousin recommended her, if you'd like. He said that she made the mayor's cake last fall. There was a picture in the paper. It was really, really lovely. She specializes in candied flowers.”

 

“Really?” Samantha asked. “I wonder if she would give us a better price for the candied rose petals, too . . .”

 

Bellaniece's smile widened despite the slight grimace on her face. “Do you really think that's a good idea? I mean, I think that Tanny should absolutely be your flower girl, but the candied rose petals? What if she eats them all before the service?”

 

Samantha laughed. She'd wondered that, too. Still, the candied petals were so pretty, like iridescent prisms that caught the light and added a gentle yet sophisticated sheen . . . “I think it'll be fine,” she assured her mother. “But maybe we should order a few extras . . .”

 

“Well, it won't hurt to talk to this woman about the cake, right? I'll give her a call on Monday.”

 

“Happy birthday, Sami,” Kichiro said, slipping an arm around her and kissing her forehead.

 

She gave him a quick squeeze. “Thank you, Papa.”

 

He smiled and dug an envelope out of his pocket. “These are from your mother and me. You don't have to use them right away, but I do expect that you'll use them.”

 

Samantha stared at the round trip tickets—three of them—from New York City to Tokyo. They were all open-ended, and it did relieve her that he'd gotten three. “Thank you,” she said again, smiling at her father. “We will.”

 

Kichiro's smile faltered slightly. “You do still remember the way home, right?” he teased though she could hear the underlying gravity in his tone.

 

“Of course I do,” she told him. “Like I'd ever forget something like that.”

 

Kichiro nodded and kissed her forehead again. “Be sure that you don't,” he told her.

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Kurt stepped outside, taking a moment to draw a deep breath of the fragrant evening air. The open air patio behind the restaurant was empty at the moment, but bedecked with a thousand tiny yellow-white lights tucked into the thigh high sandstone wall that surrounded the area, it was bright enough. A few paper lanterns were suspended over tables here and there, too, and the tang of the ocean air, and in the distance, the low-hung moon shivered on the ever-moving waves.

 

He frowned. The truth was, he'd been a little out of sorts all day. It couldn't be helped, could it? He hadn't realized right away, why he'd felt so odd, but it had occurred to him, as he got dressed for dinner . . . and for reasons he didn't quite understand, the knowledge that came to him neither surprised nor bothered him nearly as much as it should have . . .

 

“It's pretty out here, isn't it?”

 

Samantha hadn't turned around. Standing near the wall, she was staring out over the ocean, a sense of peace radiating from her in the gentlest of waves. He smiled slightly, dug his hands into his pockets—damned if he'd actually get used to wearing suits, after all—and wandered over toward her. “Happy birthday, little demon,” he murmured, slipping his arms around her waist, drawing her back against him as he buried his nose in her hair.

 

She smiled—he could feel it in the way her body moved—the slight sigh in her shoulders, the shifting of the peace in her aura . . . “Birthday parties are nice,” she murmured, “but I'd have liked it just as much if we'd spent it alone . . . just the two of us.”

 

Kurt let out a deep breath, a smile toying with the corners of his lips, but it was a sad sort of smile; one tempered by memories, by time. “You know,” he said softly, slowly, “I used to hate today.”

 

“Why?”

 

He leaned in to kiss her cheek. “My . . . my family died today . . . well, thirty-two years ago today . . .”

 

She stiffened in his arms—he could feel the pang of sorrow hitting her hard, and he tightened his grip on her, as though to reassure her . . . or maybe he was reassuring himself . . . What did it matter, either way? His family . . . he missed them, and he supposed that he always would. Samantha was his future, and that was enough, wasn't it? “I'm sorry,” she said, grasping his arms and holding onto him fiercely.

 

“Don't be,” he told her. “I mean, it seems . . . I don't know . . . right, maybe? You were born on that day, so it gives me something happy, right?”

 

“Is that what you think?” she mused after a moment.

 

“Sure.”

 

She relaxed against him, content to savor the gentle ocean breeze. “It's my happiest birthday, ever,” she stated.

 

Kurt chuckled. “Well, it's not over yet . . .”

 

“It isn't?” she asked, turning just enough to peer at him over her shoulder.

 

“Nope. I didn't give you my present yet.”

 

“You mean you're not my present?” she teased.

 

He rolled his eyes. “Hardly.”

 

She laughed as he pulled the small box out of his pocket and offered it to her.

 

She frowned. “Did you buy me jewelry?”

 

“I'm too practical to buy jewelry all the time,” he told her.

 

She turned around, leaned against the low wall as she turned the package over in her hands. “Hmm . . . It's too small to be a new car,” she remarked with a grin.

 

Kurt stuffed his hands into his pockets and waited. He thought she'd like it—was ninety-nine percent sure she would, anyway. Still, the waiting was almost enough to drive him crazy, wasn't it? Pursing his lips, he tried not to look too anxious.

 

They'd seen it a few weeks ago. They'd gone out to eat and then to a movie—damned if Kurt could remember what one, though—and they'd opted to walk around a little instead of heading straight home after he'd called and was told that Tanny was fine, sleeping off s'mores and cocoa after the family had built a bonfire out of the brushwood that had washed up on the beach. As they'd walked through one of the quieter, older neighborhoods that Kurt had ever seen, they'd found it. Standing on the end of a small street lined with modest homes that had been built so long ago out of stones and mortar created from mixing sand and water was the house.

 

It was more of a cottage, really—a quaint, picturesque little place covered with ivy and smelling of seasonal blooms. Constructed, like all the other houses, of very large stones, bluish gray, washed with age, everything about the place spoke to him—to them. An old, wrought iron lamppost burning with a blue gas flame stood just outside the white wicket fence, overhung with ivy and pink roses, the arched gate that stood no higher than Kurt's waist stood ajar, welcoming those who passed by with a quiet warmth that only the older places could manage. It was as though time stood still in that place, even as the faint scent of burning wood from the chimney beckoned him.

 

Two small windows around the arched doorway were illuminated with a warm glow from inside, spilling out over the grass of the carefully manicured lawn in patches of light on the ground.

 

“That has to be the sweetest house I've ever seen,” Samantha said quietly, her hand clutching his tightly.

 

Kurt nodded but could only stare, smiling to himself as remembered the name of the street: Gingerbread Lane, it was. He'd thought it was silly at first, hadn't he? Staring at the small house and the peace that it exuded, he realized that maybe it wasn't nearly as silly as he'd thought . . .

 

So he'd gone over there the next day, wondering if he weren't out of his mind, but he'd talked to the man of the place—an older gentleman who had told him that he'd just retired a few months ago. His wife and he had thought that they'd never sell the house, but they'd talked about buying a camper and traveling all over the States, seeing everything and stopping here and there along the way, wherever and whenever they felt like it. His wife had said that they'd wait for some kind of sign, and a few days later, their lawyer had called Kurt to let him know that they thought that maybe Kurt's desire to buy the house for his fiancée and daughter just might have been the sign they'd been looking for.

 

The couple had stopped out to see Kurt just yesterday to drop off the keys a little early. They'd bought a Winnebago and were heading out to see the world. If they were ever in the neighborhood, though, Kurt had told them that they were welcome to stop in and see the old place. They'd smiled and waved and wished Kurt luck, telling him that they hoped that the house provided as much happiness to him and his family as it had to them over the years.

 

Samantha tore the paper away from the box and pulled it open. She didn't understand, though, slowly shaking her head as she pulled the Polaroid picture out. “What's this?” she asked quietly.

 

Kurt chuckled. “Well, the house has a keypad lock, so I couldn't give you the key to the front door like I'd planned,” he told her. “Hell, seems like nothing ever goes how I plan . . .”

 

She giggled and leaned up to kiss him. “Are you going to build me a house like this one?” she asked since he'd mentioned something like that as they'd walked away from the place.

 

“Nope,” he told her with an offhanded shrug. “Don't have to.”

 

“I don't understand,” she said slowly.

 

Kurt's smile widened, and he let out a deep breath. “They figured they'd rather sell the place and use the money to travel—at least, they'd do it if they had someone who wanted to love that house as much as they did.”

 

She gasped quietly, her eyes growing round as she stared at him. “Are you . . .? It's ours?”

 

He nodded and grimaced as she launched herself into his arms with a loud yelp. “I guess you're happy,” he deadpanned, wrapping his arms around her.

 

“Yes!” she hollered, kissing him quickly, kissing him hard. “It's perfect—perfect! And you really bought it? For us?”

 

“Yes, little demon,” he remarked.

 

She kissed him a few more times for good measure. “Just wait till I get you home, Kurt Drevin,” she promised. “I'll make sure I thank you good.”

 

“You don't have t—” Kurt began then cut himself off with a mental shrug as Samantha's kisses deepened, as she latched onto his bottom lip and suckled gently, sending a shiver down his spine as her fingers dislodged the hair he'd caught back at the nape of his neck, as she pressed her body even closer. Then again, there was something to be said for being grateful, wasn't there? Who was he to complain . . .?

 

 

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Final Thought from Samantha:

My little house on Gingerbread Lane!

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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~