InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Reprieve ( Chapter 84 )

~~Chapter 84~~

~Reprieve~

 

-=0=-

 

 

“I don't like it.”

 

Samantha glanced up from the sheet she was carefully tucking in on the new bed that had just been delivered in time to see Kurt, leaning in the doorway with a marked frown on his face as he glowered at the piece of furniture. “Why?” she asked with a shake of her head as she stepped away and turned to give it a critical once-over.

 

“What do you mean, why?” Kurt grumbled, waving a hand at the bed. “It looks like a cage, damn it!”

 

She blinked, unable to understand why he'd think such a thing, in the first place. “But Tanny picked it out,” she said at length.

 

“Sam . . .”

 

“It's a day bed, taijya,” she pointed out.

 

He snorted. “I know what it is! It's got bars all the way around it!”

 

She let out a deep breath and bit her lip. “There's nothing wrong with it,” she said quietly. “She liked it. The bars look like peppermint sticks, don't you think?”

 

He shot her a fulminating glower. “They look like cage bars,” he countered. “Even then, if she thinks it looks like candy, she'll just try to eat them, you know . . .”

 

Samantha smiled. “Not really, you know. She liked it. Besides, did you see the pillows that Grandma found?”

 

He heaved a sigh as though he realized that he wasn't about to change her mind. “No, I didn't.”

 

Samantha giggled as she pulled the pillows out of the bag. There were a few cylindrical bolster pillows in taffy-pink covered with a sheer layer of white organza like the old fashioned salt-water taffy candies, and there were a few disk-shaped white pillows striped with red that looked exactly like peppermint disks. Kurt smiled despite himself. “Those . . . are probably the worst idea of all,” he remarked as visions of the little girl with pillow stuffing sticking out of her mouth assailed him.

 

Samantha rolled her eyes as her grin widened. Reaching for the pink and white striped comforter, she shook it out and let it fall over the mattress. “Grandpa did a wonderful job on the walls, didn't he?”

 

Kurt blinked, shaking off the strange ideas of the girl and the trouble she was going to get into as he turned his attention to the absolute artistry that Cain Zelig had employed in the floor to ceiling murals. He'd created the little girl's candy-themed bedroom with painstaking precision—everything from a chocolate lake surrounded by lollipop trees and gumdrop rocks to spun sugar fairies flying through a glen of Easter basket `grass'. Birds perched upon their nests, full of jelly beans as little gingerbread men and women walked, hand in hand, along a candy-covered-chocolate bit path. The clouds carefully adorning the ceiling looked like cotton candy of every conceivable shade while a lemon-drop sun smiled down over them all. It was plain to see that the entire thing was nothing short of a labor of love—he'd even painted the dresser to look like an unwrapped chocolate bar. Samantha had found some Hershey kiss-shaped drawer pulls, too . . .

 

Quite amazing, really, all things considered. Last week, Kurt woke up in time to realize that Stinky-butt was not with them, and while that wasn't an entirely new concept, it hadn't taken him long to figure out that she wasn't in the kitchen, either. After about half an hour of searching and swearing since the Zelig mansion was more like a damn museum than a home, he'd finally found her in Zelig's studio, and while that hadn't been horrible, she'd taken the opportunity to smear oil paint all over the current work in progress to make it `pretty'. Kurt hadn't known what to do. He'd grabbed an old rag towel off the paint smeared and splattered table, only to discover that the oil paint underneath was still quite wet, and he'd ended up wiping off a good sized patch.

 

In the end, he'd grabbed Tanny and headed for the door, figuring that he'd leave her with Samantha and explain things to Zelig without her anywhere within spanking distance, but he hadn't even made it that far. Nope, Zelig, himself had strode into the room, only to stop short to stare at the paint-covered child—and at Kurt.

 

Surprisingly, though, Zelig wasn't overly upset about it. For a briefest of seconds, he did look a little irritated, but he must have figured out who the real culprit was despite Kurt's insistence that he'd done the dirty deed. Zelig had stared at the ruined work before pulling Tanny out of Kurt's arms and letting her finger paint the rest of the canvas, too. Then he'd helped her paint different candies all over it—something that had won the child's grudging friendship. Cain later said that making Tanny smile and laugh was worth it, even if she had ruined the painting that he'd been working on to give Samantha and Kurt as a wedding present.

 

She shot him a quick smile as she arranged the myriad of throw pillows all over the white and red striped day bed. It still bothered him, though. Enclosed on three sides by those bars . . . and even if they did look a little like stick candy, the disturbing feeling that he was somehow putting her into a cage was enough to irritate the living, breathing hell out of him, too . . .

 

“See? With the pillows, it's not nearly so bad,” she pointed out with a smile.

 

Kurt wasn't entirely inclined to agree though the contented expression on Samantha's face curbed his irritation just a little. Wandering over to the window that looked out into the fenced in back yard, he sighed. Tanny was busy, running into and out of the playhouse that he'd just finished cleaning. The Pryors—the family they'd purchased the house from—had built it years ago—a miniature of the cottage, itself, and that playhouse would last a few lifetimes . . .

 

She looked so happy, didn't she? The baby he'd found in that God-forsaken place . . . She looked just like any other toddler, and even through the half-closed window, he could hear her laughter as she delighted in the tiny house that was all for her. Catching the reflection in the sparkling pane of glass, he frowned.

 

He could still see the damn bars on that bed, and they bothered him. He'd promised himself that he'd never willingly put another living creature into a cage. That the bed Tanny had chosen so closely resembled one, despite Samantha's insistence that it really didn't . . .

 

It still just didn't sit well with him; not at all.

 

But . . . but Samantha seemed to optimistic . . . and he had to admit that the spindles really did look like peppermint sticks . . . Maybe . . .

 

Tanny dashed out of the playhouse and broke toward the back door. Samantha had taught her how to open the handle, and a moment later, the girl was squealing with delight as she ran toward her newly made bed. “Tanny!” she hollered happily. “My tanny bed!”

 

Despite his misgivings, Kurt broke into a smile. The child looked like she'd died and gone to heaven, and in the end, Kurt let the discussion drop. It'd be worse, wouldn't it? Making a big deal out of it all . . . Maybe what he should do instead of focusing on the negative . . . He should probably take a leaf from Samantha's book and focus on the future . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“What are you doing out here, pup?”

 

Kichiro let out a deep breath as he whipped a smooth, flat rock over the rippling water of the crystal clear pond. He'd gone on a walk to clear his head, needing to escape the constant talk of weddings and plans and the lot of it.

 

“Just wanted some air,” he lied, unable to keep the trace tightness out of his voice.

 

InuYasha snorted, calling Kichiro on the lie though he didn't press for details. He strode over to stand beside Kichiro, his hair blowing in the gentle wind coming off the water.

 

They stood for awhile in comfortable silence; Kichiro trying not to think about anything at all while InuYasha looked like he might be thinking just a little too hard. In the end, he shook his head and sank down on the bank of the pond with his knees spread, his hands planted between his feet. Kichiro smiled despite himself and mimicked the pose. “Belle-chan thinks I'm being pigheaded,” he ventured.

 

InuYasha kept his gaze on the water and snorted. “Most women think men are,” he replied.

 

Kichiro sighed. “Yeah, but . . . I just can't do it,” he admitted quietly—almost sadly. “I can accept that Sam . . . that she's chosen him to be her mate. I mean, I don't have a damn choice, right? But . . .” Trailing off, he felt his ears flatten, felt himself wince, and though he hated how callus the words really were, he couldn't help feeling it, too . . . “But to watch that . . . I . . .”

 

InuYasha didn't reply right away. Considering Kichiro's claim, though, he only nodded.

 

“Kami, it just pisses me off. What the fuck? Am I supposed to shake his damn hand and just pretend that what he did was all right? Hell . . .”

 

“That what you think people are trying to tell you to do?” InuYasha countered.

 

Kichiro shook his head. “Isn't it?”

 

“I don't think so,” InuYasha ventured. “If you don't like him, that's your choice, but you gotta love your pup.”

 

He sighed, glowering over the water. “I do love her,” he replied. “I just don't like the bastard she chose.”

 

InuYasha snorted. “Fathers rarely do.”

 

Shaking his head, he dug his claws into the softened earth. He couldn't deal with any more of it, could he? Samantha had asked him to oversee the marking process. He'd done that yesterday, and while he hadn't liked it at all, he had done it, keeping his opinion to himself as he'd watched Drevin's blood drain out of his body, then he'd hooked the transfusion kit to Samantha to complete the process. He'd monitored all the man's vitals, making sure that nothing was going to go wrong, and nothing had, of course. He'd managed a small smile for his daughter, reassuring her when she looked distraught over the paleness that had seeped into the human's skin . . . and he'd done that for her.

 

And yet . . .

 

“I like Griffin,” he admitted quietly, shaking his head as he tried to bite back the froth of rage that rose deep inside him. “I . . . I figured I'd like all my daughters' mates . . .”

 

That was the crux of it, wasn't it? He'd wanted to like them; wanted to like them all. He'd never wanted for his daughters to think that he disliked the ones they'd chosen, but this time—this time—kami, he couldn't help it. The nightmares of those videos he'd forced himself to watch . . . every bit of the indignity that was trust upon his youngest—his baby . . . and if Drevin had just spared a moment—a moment—before he'd handed her over, he had to have realized that she was nothing at all like the youkai that killed his family . . .

 

Understand? Sure. Having those you loved yanked away from you in the blink of an eye was an awful thing that Kichiro understood all too well, but of everything he'd done since then, Drevin hadn't once . . .

 

“Yeah, well, I'll never know why your sister chose a damned baka like Zelig,” InuYasha grumbled, interrupting Kichiro's musings.

 

Kichiro's frown deepened. “They . . . they want me to give her away,” he admitted quietly—angrily—sadly. “Belle . . . she wants me to walk my little girl down the aisle and give her to that . . .” He grimaced. “To him.”

 

InuYasha let out a deep breath. “I heard that.”

 

Kichiro snorted. “When all I want to do is kill him? Not such a good idea, is it?” Letting his head fall back, he stared blankly at the slightly overcast sky. “He'll never know,” he said in a whisper, deadly quiet, unable to trust his own voice not to falter, “what it's like . . . From the time I . . . I knew she was there, inside her mama . . . from the moment she came into my life . . . He'll never understand how precious she is . . . To everyone else, she's just Samantha. To me? She's my baby girl . . .”

 

InuYasha nodded slowly, the expression on his face stating plainly enough that he understood exactly what Kichiro was trying to say. “So what are you going to do?”

 

Kichiro shook his head, his gaze suspiciously bright, and he sighed. “I can do a lot of things, old man,” he said at length, turning his face slightly, enough to stare his father in the eye. “I can accept that she . . . that she wants to be with him—at least, I will eventually, but I . . . I can't give her to him. I . . . I just can't . . .”

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Samantha frowned as she turned the pale pink envelope over, pushing the front door closed with her shoulder.

 

`Return to sender. Addressee unknown.'

 

She let out a deep breath, dropping the sparse stack of mail, mostly advertisements, on the table beside the door and bit her lip.

 

“Sam? Is that you?”

 

She blinked and started through the cozy living room toward the kitchen, following the sound of Kurt's voice. He was painting the walls with a fresh coat of rose-tinted white. Splatters of paint in his hair and on his arms . . . even some on his nose . . . She giggled. “Miss me?” she teased.

 

Kurt glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled. “Well, maybe a little,” he deadpanned. “What do you have there?”

 

She glanced down at the envelope she still held in her hand and shook her head. “The wedding invitation I sent to your grandfather was returned: addressee unknown.”

 

He set the paint roller down and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “Let me see,” he said.

 

She handed him the envelope and leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. “I used the address you gave me,” she pointed out.

 

Kurt let out a deep breath and shrugged. “Not surprising. Don't remember the last time he actually got any mail out there,” he muttered, tossing the invitation onto the new state-of-the-art stove he'd installed yesterday. “What a shame. Guess he won't be here.”

 

She made a face at the complete nonchalance in his tone. “You're telling me that you don't care if he's here or not?”

 

He snorted and reached for the roller again. “If you'll recall, little demon, I was against sending him an invitation, in the first place.”

 

She wrinkled her nose and swiped the envelope off the stove with a frown. “He's the only family you have, taijya. I want him to come.”

 

“Oh, you really don't,” he argued mildly. “Seriously . . .”

 

“Kurt—”

 

“Sam . . .”

 

“Douglas Junior—”

 

“Samantha . . . no.”

 

She wrinkled her nose. Maybe on some level, she could understand and even appreciate his concern. After all, Kurt had said that Old Granger could see youkai, too, right? So he was afraid that his grandfather would cause a scene or something, especially when he realized that Kurt was marrying into a slew of them. Still, that didn't mean that he shouldn't know. After all, he was the last family that Kurt had . . . “Maybe I should meet him first, then. I mean, if we explained things to him . . .”

 

Sucking in a sharp breath, Kurt dropped the roller onto the copious amounts of plastic that he'd taped to the floor as he lifted his hand in front of his face. “Damn.”

 

Pushing herself away from the counter, Samantha hurried over to see. “What'd you do?”

 

He shrugged then wiped the trace amount of blood onto his paint-splattered jeans. “Eh, nothing. Just pinched myself in that roller. It's fine.”

 

“Let me see.”

 

He rolled his eyes but held up his hand for her. Samantha looked it over and smiled. The cut wasn't deep, no, but she didn't doubt that it ought to have bled a bit more than it had. She figured that it was because the transfusion they'd done was working. He might not heal as quickly as she did, but he'd heal much faster than a human ought to . . .

 

“You know, Kurt . . .” she drawled innocently—too innocently—as she gently ran the tip of her claw down the center of his palm.

 

He shivered. She could feel it. “What?” he asked almost dubiously.

 

“We've still got a few days before the wedding . . .”

 

She felt him sigh. “Why do I get the impression that I'm not going to like whatever it is that's on your mind?”

 

She grinned. “It'd only take a day or so to fly out there to see your grandfather and invite him to the wedding personally . . .”

 

He made a face and pulled his hand away to drape it on his hip. “Yeah, I figured that I wasn't going to like it.”

 

“But he's your grandfather.”

 

“No, he's just a loony old man.”

 

She bit her lip. Okay, so it was underhanded—even dirty. Still . . . “It'd make me really happy if your grandfather was at our wedding.”

 

The scowl on his face shifted into a decided grimace. “Now, that's completely unfair,” he grumbled.

 

She didn't disagree, but she did lean on his shoulder to kiss his cheek. “Maybe Tanny should meet him now, too. I mean, he is her great-grandfather—at least, he will be . . .”

 

“Oh, God,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Little demon . . .”

 

“Do you want to call the airport, or should I?”

 

“Can we talk about this?” he demanded as she hurried out of the room to find her cell phone. “You know, there's a good chance that people will stop talking to us if we invite Old Granger . . .”

 

She laughed at his complaints as she grabbed the phone book and started to leaf through the yellow pages.

 

“Then again,” he went on, talking more to himself than to her, “would it really be a bad thing if everyone stopped talking to us . . .?”

 

She giggled since she could hear the dryness in his tone and knew damn well that he was joking. She reached for the phone, but Kurt was faster, smacking his hand down on top of it to keep her at bay. “I'm begging you, Sam,” he began.

 

She batted her eyelashes and very slowly gave him a very critical once over. “I like it when you beg, taijya . . .”

 

He grunted though his cheeks reddened. “Sam . . .”

 

Staring at him for several moments, she wandered closer and slipped her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his, pulling him down for a long, lethargic kiss. With a low moan, he wrapped his arms around her, dragging her just a little closer.

 

A moment later, she yanked away from him, giggling happily as she held out the phone. “Do you want to book the flights?”

 

Kurt sighed and scowled at her before finally reaching for the phone. “Let it be known that I was fully against this idea of yours,” he grouched.

 

Samantha laughed and pointed to the phone number in the book as Kurt dug his wallet out since he'd need his payment information at hand.

 

Satisfied that Kurt was going to take care of the travel arrangements, Samantha smiled. Now if she could only explain the necessity of the trip to her family without causing them undue concern, she'd be one step ahead of the game . . .

 

`What if he's right, Sam? What if his grandfather is crazy or something?'

 

Brushing that thought away as she hurried off to pack an overnight bag—she'd moved most of her things over the course of the last few days, partly to be ready once the wedding was over, and partly because the lease for her apartment was about to expire.

 

`Oh, relax! He's Kurt's grandfather! How bad could he be, really?'

 

Her youkai heaved a longsuffering sigh but didn't comment.

 

Samantha grinned as she dug a small black suitcase out of the back of the closet . . .

 

 

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

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Final Thought from Kurt:

…Oh, I think I'd rather be dead …

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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~