InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Flash Point ( Chapter 86 )

~~Chapter 86~~

~Flash Point~

 

-=0=-

 

 

“Kichiro, did you have time to try on that tuxedo?” Bellaniece asked as she breezed into the bedroom where he was reading through some paperwork that the assistant director had sent over from the clinic.

 

Kichiro didn't look up from his work. “I'm busy, Belle-chan.”

 

Carefully hanging the pink garment bag—her dress, he supposed—in the closet, she slowly pivoted to face him. “If anything needs to be altered, it has to be done today, you know,” she reminded him. “You've been putting it off for the last two weeks . . .”

 

Kichiro nudged his glasses with his knuckle. “I'm not going,” he said simply, as though he were telling her that the sun was shining outside.

 

Bellaniece stopped dead in her tracks, staring at him in a completely incredulous way. “What?' she asked quietly.

 

“I am not going,” he stated once more.

 

She didn't speak right away, probably trying to decide whether he was being serious or not. “Are you saying that you're not going to your own daughter's wedding?” she asked in a calm, albeit clipped tone.

 

Kichiro turned the page and settled back in the chair. “That's right,” he replied evenly.

 

“But it's her wedding.”

 

“I realize that,” he countered.

 

Bellaniece slowly shook her head. “You can't mean that.”

 

He snorted, shifting to the side and leaning his forehead on his fist. “It's not open for debate,” he said.

 

She strode over, planting her balled-up fists on her hips. “You are not doing this,” she insisted. “Your daughter is getting married tomorrow, and you cannot break her heart by refusing to show up!”

 

“It's her wedding, right? You said so, yourself. You honestly think she'd be happier if I were there? If I ended up attacking the groom? Last time I checked, that was bad form, Belle-chan.”

 

She narrowed her eyes at his acerbic reply. He could feel her gaze on him though he didn't look to verify it. “Can't you put aside your feelings for one day? Just one?”

 

Kichiro sighed. “No, I don't think I can.”

 

She drew a deep breath, as though she were deliberating the best way to get him to break. “Fine, then. I'm asking you—”

 

Gritting his teeth so hard that his jaw ached, Kichiro kept his gaze trained upon the paper before him. “Don't you fucking dare ask me to do something I cannot do,” he bit out quietly.

 

“How fair—?”

 

He shot to his feet, towering over Bellaniece and glowering at her in so fiercely that grown men would have backed down, but she did not. “Don't you talk `fair' to me! There is no such thing as `fair'! My daughter—my daughter! And you ask me to hand her over to him? And you think that's fair, do you, Belle? No!”

 

Eyes flashing, nostrils flaring, she glowered up at him as her temper soared. “She's my daughter, too, and whether you like it or not, she's getting married tomorrow. I will not push her away! I won't!”

 

“I've done all that I can do,” he argued. “I've done it, haven't I? Everything—everything—she's asked of me—I've done it! She chose him, and I've accepted that! She asked me to oversee the transfusion, and I did that, too! Samantha . . . him . . . Tanny . . . all of it—all of it! Every last damn bit of it, and I . . .” Trailing off, shaking his head furiously, he started to turn away, letting the paperwork drop from his fingers like rain. Bellaniece reached out, caught his arm to stay him. He jerked away from her but didn't move. “This, though . . . to give her away? To give her to him? Ask me to move a mountain, Belle-chan! Ask me to die for you—for her . . . but you cannot—cannot—ask me for this.”

 

Blinking back stubborn tears that she just couldn't help, Bellaniece shook her head and stood her ground. “You'll force her to choose, Kichiro, and you know it's true. Your anger, your hatred . . . You'll make me lose my little girl all over again!”

 

“Belle—”

 

She held up a hand and stomped toward the door, brushing the tears away with a furious hand. “If you drive her away, Kichiro . . . If you do that . . .” She drew a deep breath, took a moment to compose herself as she reached for the door handle. “If you cost me my daughter, Kichiro Izayoi, I swear upon all that is holy, I'll teach you the true meaning of `a woman scorned' . . .”

 

He heard her slip out of the room, heard the soft `snick' of the door closing behind her.

 

A sudden, intense burst of rage shot through him, so vile, so cloying that he grimaced. snatching up the nearest object—a glass of water he had brought up when he'd gotten the papers faxed over—and he spun around, hurling the glass as hard as he could. It smashed against the doorframe, shattering into a million splinters that rained down all over the floor. He watched the splattered water trickle down the wall, and slowly, the anger that had choked him ebbed away.

 

But the emptiness that it left behind was even harder to swallow, as though all the emotion that had carried him through months at a time were draining away, and all that was left was a hollow shell of nothing, of what was left . . . From the time Samantha had disappeared until this very moment, the emotions had suddenly become dull, blunted.

 

Too much fear, too much anger, too much anxiety and sorrow and pain; too much guilt, and yes, even happiness—a lifetime of emotions packed into the space of a few short months . . .

 

He felt his knees give way as he sank back down in the chair once more, burying his face in his hands as his eyes—hot, dry, burning—refused to shed tears.

 

He heard the door open with a whisper, felt the familiar brush of youki and knew it before she ever spoke. “Mama said . . . Mama said you won't come to the wedding,” Samantha said quietly.

 

Kichiro sighed and shook his head but didn't uncover his face. “I'm sorry, Sami,” he murmured, his voice distorted by his hands. “I . . . I can't.”

 

She crossed the floor, avoiding the shards of glass littering the floor, and sat beside him, her gentle hands pulling on his wrists so that she could see his face. It killed him to see the sadness in her gaze, the trembling smile that she was forcing just for him. “Papa . . . I wish you'd change your mind.”

 

“Dollbaby . . .”

 

She shook her head quickly, as though to cut him off, and that damned smile brightened as a sheen of tears filled her eyes. “Could you promise me something?”

 

He didn't answer. As much as he wanted to, he wasn't entirely sure that he could make a promise without hearing it first.

 

Her smile trembled but didn't diminish. “I . . . I can understand why you can't come . . .” She brushed away a single tear that slipped down her cheek. “One day, you'll see, though. Kurt really is a good man, and . . . and when you finally see it? Would you try to be happy for me then?”

 

Kichiro sighed and pulled Samantha into a hug. Whether or not she realized that he hadn't made that promise, he didn't know, but he could feel her pain—the pain she was trying to hide, and as much as he wished he could force a smile and pretend that he was okay with it . . . It was one lie too many, wasn't it? One lie that he simply couldn't give voice to . . .

 

Samantha hugged him and sniffled, but she still managed a weak smile as she got to her feet. “If you change your mind, Papa . . . I'll be the one wearing white.”

 

He held onto her hand as she slipped away, as her fingertips dragged over his palm, until they brushed against hers, only to fall away as she headed for the door again.

 

Getting to his feet, he shuffled over to the doors that led to the balcony and stepped outside. In the yard below, hired help were decorating, and he could feel the rush of excitement, even where he stood so high above it all.

 

He'd thought it would be so simple back then, hadn't he? When his children were born, and he'd held them in his arms, he'd thought that there was nothing he wouldn't do for them; not ever. He'd thought that nothing else would matter, if they asked something of him, that he would move heaven and earth to make sure that they had it.

 

He hadn't realized back then, had he? He hadn't realized that there were some things that he simply didn't have it within him to give . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“You're not thinking of leaving us, are you, Dr. Drevin?”

 

Kurt grimaced and tried not to be too obvious as he checked his watch. “Uh, no,” he lied with a careless shrug as he swigged his beer.

 

Evan chuckled and clapped a heavy hand on Kurt's shoulder. “Good . . . good . . . you haven't sung yet!”

 

That earned a blank sort of look since it'd be a cold day in hell before Kurt did anything of the sort.

 

“Who the hell picked karaoke?” Gunnar demanded as he frowned at the stock beer that the bartender had shoved across the counter at him when he'd asked to see their import list.

 

Evan's grin widened. “Well, as best man, my first and foremost thought was, of course, the strippers, but Bubby nixed that one.”

 

`Bubby' rolled his eyes. “Considering Sesshoumaru's here? I think strippers would be in bad taste.”

 

Evan snorted, draining his beer and slamming the empty bottle onto the counter for another. “Hate to tell you this, Bubby, but it's pretty obvious, isn't it? Sesshoumaru's the biggest dog of `em all, right? So it stands to reason that he's treed his fair share of pussy over the years, all things considered.”

 

Bas choked on a swig of beer.

 

Gunnar whacked Evan upside the head. “Shut it, you twisted little bastard.”

 

Kurt shook his head, unconsciously glancing across the bar at the man in question. He'd arrived while Samantha and he were tracking down Old Granger, and Kurt had to admit that Sesshoumaru's aura was even more intimidating on the whole than even InuYasha's, which was saying a hell of a lot, really . . .

 

“So where's that nutbag of a grandfather of yours?” Morio asked, squeezing between Gunnar and Kurt as he held up his empty bottle and waved it at the bartender.

 

Kurt sighed. “He discovered the honor bar in his hotel room. He was passed out for the night when I checked on him.”

 

Gunnar snorted, ears twitching as the only real sign on emotion on his countenance. “Speaking of `twisted' . . .” he muttered under his breath.

 

“Eh, I thought he was a pretty cool old guy,” Evan commented. “'Sides, it'd suck if he were just like everyone else, wouldn't it?”

 

“Says you, Evan,” Bas grumbled. “He groped my kitty . . . and she giggled.”

 

Kurt stifled another sigh since that was very true. The first time they'd brought Old Granger over to meet everyone, Bas and Sydnie had been on their way out, and before he could even be properly introduced, Old Granger had a handful of the cat-youkai's bottom . . . which might have been funny since Bas looked like he was set to maim the old man—at least, it might have been if Kurt hadn't been scared witless that he actually would.

 

And it had pretty much gone downhill from there, too, come to think of it . . .

 

“I say kick him the hell out. That old man is crazy—not just slightly crazy, but really crazy. No wonder you're as fucked up as you are,” Gunnar pointed out.

 

“Shut up, Gunnar,” Bas retorted from Kurt's other side.

 

Gunnar rolled his eyes and shot Bas a pointed glower. “Mark my words, Bas-tard. That old man is going to do something obnoxious at the wedding and ruin it for Samantha.”

 

“Since when do you care about weddings?” Morio chimed in.

 

“I don't,” Gunnar replied, “but Sami might. Stands to reason, doesn't it? She actually thinks she wants to marry that guy.”

 

`That guy' rolled his eyes and took another swig of the half-stale beer as Evan sauntered away toward the little platform the bar called a stage. “There's nothing wrong with getting married,” Kurt pointed out.

 

Gunnar snorted. “There's nothing right with it, either. Our kind doesn't need that sort of convention. It's only done to appease you humans, after all.”

 

“Is that right?” Kurt asked with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Shut up, Gunnar. Not everyone is as cynical as you are,” Morio said mildly.

 

“No, it's not,” Bas countered. “Ignore him. He was born jaded. Anyway, don't worry about it. After tomorrow, it'll all be a done deal.”

 

Kurt frowned and nodded, content to allow the conversation to move off into another direction, entirely. Even still . . . Why couldn't he shake the sense of unease that just wouldn't go away? There was something, wasn't there? Samantha had told him a thousand times if she'd told him once that everything was all set for the wedding, but . . . For some reason, though, he couldn't help but wonder if it were really going to be as simple as everyone else made it sound . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Kichiro stepped out of the shower and grabbed a dark blue towel, slinging it around his hips and loosely tucking in one end of it to hold it in place as he reached for the door handle.

 

He wasn't sure where Bellaniece was, but it was safe to say that she wouldn't be joining him in bed, which just figured, and if he wanted to be completely honest with himself, he'd have to allow that he didn't rightfully give a damn, at least not at the moment.

 

Pulling the door open, he stopped short at the sight of his granddaughter skulking around the bed. She looked like she might be searching for candy, but he wasn't sure. In any case, though, it brought a half-smile to his lips as he leaned against the jam to watch her.

 

She hadn't actually made any overtures toward him in the length of time that she'd been living there. She'd made friends with everyone—Zelig notwithstanding—everyone but Kichiro. Maybe she sensed his anger or his frustration, and maybe it intimidated her, and he sighed. He hadn't meant to alienate her; not at all, and suddenly, a vicious pang shot through him. He wanted to get to know her, didn't he? He was going to be her grandfather, after all . . .

 

“You looking for candy?” he asked softly, so as not to frighten her.

 

She uttered a strangled little yelp and skittered toward the door. Kichiro reached back to nab the candy he'd emptied out of his pockets earlier before his shower off the counter beside the sink. “Tanny . . .”

 

“You like candy, huh?” he said, careful to keep his tone light, unthreatening.

 

She stopped and slowly, hesitantly, looked back at him. Her eyes widened like saucers when she saw the candy in his hand. “Tanny,” she burbled, one hand on the handle, the other jammed in her mouth.

 

Slowly, Kichiro stepped into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. “Wow . . . taffy and cinnamon disks . . . and a purple sucker . . .”

 

He could feel the base conflict within her. She didn't trust him, but he had candy, didn't he? He almost laughed—almost. “T-tanny . . .?”

 

“Why don't you come here and get it?” he urged gently, holding out a single piece of pink salt-water taffy toward her.

 

She bit her lip but let go of the handle, her arms bent at the elbow as she slowly toddled toward him. “I wike tanny,” she ventured, cocking her head to the side as though she were imparting a great secret to him.

 

Kichiro chuckled and let her take the piece of candy from him. “So does your mama,” he murmured quietly.

 

She unwrapped and chewed the candy thoughtfully, and she must have decided that Kichiro might not be completely bad since he had candy. Crawling onto the foot of the bed—she grasped his ankle to pull herself up—she sat down in the middle of the coverlet and pointed to the candy in his hand. “Tanny for me?” she asked hopefully.

 

Kichiro nodded. “Sure. You want more?”

 

She nodded, too, her little pigtails bobbing with the exuberance of her nod. “Dat one!”

 

“This one?” he asked, holding up a cinnamon disk wrapped in red cellophane.

 

She nodded again and clapped her hands.

 

Kichiro chuckled and let her take it. It wasn't the first time that he'd realized exactly how far she'd come in such a short time, really. The girl was smart—very smart—and she was flourishing under Samantha's tender care.

 

Tanny crunched the candy and crawled over to Kichiro, planting her hands on the rough towel covering his bent leg. “Sucker!” she demanded, a cautious light dancing in her dark eyes despite the hopeful expression on her face.

 

Kichiro gave her the sucker and shook his head. Encouraging her to make friends through bribery wasn't exactly the greatest thing, he supposed, but given her past, he figured that whatever worked was just fine with him. “That's a pretty nightgown,” he remarked, touching the soft fabric covering her shoulders: white cotton decorated with pastel candies, of course.

 

She giggled. “Mommy gived it to me.”

 

He laughed. “Did she? She make your hair pretty, too?” he asked, tugging playfully on one of her piggy tails.

 

She shook her head. “Daddy,” she replied happily as she nabbed another piece of taffy. “Mommy pulls hair.”

 

Kichiro's smile faded just a little. “Mommy pulls hair, eh? Yeah, that sounds about right . . .”

 

“Daddy make me pwetty,” she said around a mouthful of taffy.

 

“Does he?”

 

She nodded one big nod and scrunched up her face as she tilted her head to the side to stare at him. “You're my gwampa?” she asked slowly in her sing-song voice.

 

“Mommy say that?”

 

She nodded then shook her head, looking a little perplexed by the simple question. “Mommy an' Daddy,” she replied.

 

Kichiro let out a deep breath and set the candy on the bed beside her before reaching for the sweatpants he'd set out before his shower. “Your daddy . . .” he murmured, more to himself than to her as he tugged the pants on, mindful not to let the towel fall until he had them pulled up in place.

 

She had a very thoughtful look on her face when he glanced at her as he swiped up the towel and tossed it in the general direction of the bathroom. “Gwampa is mommy's daddy `cause daddy don't gots no daddy . . .”

 

Kichiro nodded and forced a half-smile that he was far from feeling. “Is that right?”

 

She considered his question then nodded again. “Family is . . . porant,” she replied gravely.

 

“Daddy say that, too?”

 

Tanny paused as she worked at a particularly stubborn taffy-wrapper. “Yeah.”

 

Kichiro sank back down and took the candy, absently unwrapping it before handing it back. “He . . . he sounds like a . . .” trailing off for a moment, he swallowed hard and let out a deep breath, “. . . like a good . . . daddy . . .”

 

Tanny giggled and popped the taffy into her mouth. “I sweep here!” she suddenly exclaimed, waving a pointing finger at the bed beneath her.

 

Kichiro smiled just a little. “You want to sleep in here?” he asked.

 

She nodded and crawled over to the pillows, flopping onto her belly with a loud giggle.

 

Kichiro didn't say anything as he scooped up the wrappers and tossed them into the small trashcan beside the nightstand. By the time he'd pulled back the covers and pulled them up over her, she was asleep.

 

He sighed. He knew, of course, that Drevin was good with the child. He hadn't really questioned that, at all. Still, seeing the proof of it . . . it unsettled him. What did it matter, though, really? If Drevin could make such a poor judgment call, in the first place, like the one that had landed Kichiro's daughter in the midst of that kami-forsaken place, who was to say that he wouldn't make another one—one that might cost them all more than just three months of overwrought emotions . . .? No, that was just too big a risk to take, wasn't it, and the one to pay for that ultimately would be Samantha . . . and that little girl . . . Maybe it wouldn't be anything as bad as selling them to one of those so-called research facilities, but still . . .

 

A curt knock on the door drew Kichiro's attention, and he hurried over to answer it before they could wake up the child.

 

“Hey,” Griffin greeted tersely, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “You busy?”

 

Kichiro shook his head and took a step back to admit his visitor. Griffin let himself in and paused for a moment when he saw the child curled up in the bed. “So that's where she ran off to. Sami was looking for her.”

 

Kichiro shrugged. “She wanted to sleep here tonight. Figured that was all right.”

 

Griffin nodded. “I'll tell her . . .”

 

He strode over to gather the paperwork he'd discarded after the altercation he'd had with Bellaniece earlier. Griffin didn't comment, and he didn't move, except to close the door behind himself.

 

“I take it you wanted to speak to me about something?” Kichiro asked at length.

 

Griffin grunted, shuffling his feet in a decidedly nervous sort of way. Not surprising, not really. The man hated to `interfere', and Kichiro had a feeling that he wasn't going to like whatever he had to say, anyway, especially since he knew damn well what it was likely to be about . . .

 

“Is-Isa-Isabelle told me that you . . . that you won't come to the wedding,” Griffin admitted quietly.

 

Kichiro didn't falter as he stacked the papers neatly and stowed them in his attaché case. “No, I won't,” he agreed evenly.

 

“Guess I can't blame you for that,” Griffin admitted with a shake of his head. “If she were my cub, I suppose I'd feel like you do.”

 

“Tell that to Belle,” Kichiro muttered.

 

Griffin cleared his throat. “Can I be honest with you . . . sir?”

 

That earned a rather dubious sort of look from Kichiro since Griffin had knocked off the `sir' crap a long, long time ago. “Okay . . .”

 

The bear-youkai sighed and rubbed his forehead, turning his face just enough so that the scars that marred the one side weren't visible. “I just wondered . . . why? Why do you hate Drevin, but not me? I mean, I've thought about it, you see? What he did . . . the things I've done . . . there's no difference—not really.”

 

Kichiro snorted indelicately and rounded to frown at his son-in-law—a man who was far older than Kichiro . . . a man who had been through far too much in his lifetime. “There's a huge difference,” Kichiro challenged with a shake of his head. “You learned from your mistakes, Griffin, and you've never, ever hurt Isabelle—not like that.”

 

“Because Isabelle's your daughter, and that makes the difference,” Griffin concluded with a nod. “I see.”

 

“Yes!” Kichiro snapped then rubbed his face at the small sound of shock from the still sleeping child. He shot her a quick glance then sighed. “Yes,” he repeated in a more subdued tone. “That makes a world of difference, Griffin.”

 

Griffin considered that then shook his head slowly. “Not really. I mean, those people I . . . I hurt . . . They were someone's daughters . . . sons . . . children . . .” Slowly, he met Kichiro's gaze, his eyes darkened by the memories of the things he'd seen and done over his lifetime. “Yours or someone else's . . . Kurt Drevin is me, the way I was . . . The only difference is the passage of centuries when I thought I was worthless, useless . . . like my very existence meant nothing at all.”

 

“It's not the same,” Kichiro muttered angrily.

 

“You're right; it's not,” Griffin agreed simply. “Sami gave Drevin a chance to find that out early . . . the same things Isabelle taught me. Difference is, he has a chance to change it before he ends up as bad as I was . . . and I have to tell you, the way I lived? It wasn't really living, at all.”

 

Kichiro shook his head slowly, the familiarity of rage burning brightly within him.

 

Griffin sighed and turned to leave. “Whatever you decide, it's your choice . . . but I don't think you have to like Drevin to want to be happy for your daughter.”

 

Kichiro didn't respond as Griffin left the room as quietly as he'd come.

 

That was the thing, wasn't it? That was really the crux of it . . . He wasn't sure he could be happy for Samantha, not when Drevin . . .

 

He gritted his teeth and rubbed his forehead, wishing for the life of him that he could find some sort of reason, some sort of sanity . . . Maybe if they'd given him more time to get used to the entire idea, maybe . . . and yet, the anger that grew a little brighter every single day . . .

 

Kichiro sighed.

 

From the time that he was old enough to understand, his parents had taught him—instilled in him—the fundamental belief that he must fight to protect those things that he held dear. InuYasha had told him time and again that he had to protect his mother, and later, Gin. There was always something that he needed to protect, and he'd understood without needing to be told, that his mate, his own family . . . they needed his protection, too. Babies learning their first words, how to crawl and scoot, how to pull themselves up on his pants leg . . . babies with their wide smiles and their shining eyes . . . and as those babies grew up, he'd done what he could to encourage them, gave them a little more of himself with every passing day . . .

 

And they'd flourished, hadn't they? Secure in the unbidden knowledge that their father would always catch them when they fell . . .

 

But Samantha . . .

 

She'd always had her own belief of what was important, what was worth protecting, and in a very real sense, Kichiro had always known that Samantha was a fighter, more so than her sisters. She always wanted to prove something to someone, even if it were only to herself. Still . . .

 

Still, it frightened the hell out of him, didn't it? The one thing that she couldn't—wouldn't—protect herself from . . . she was marrying him . . .

 

 

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

A/N:

Sovereignty ------ AtamaHitoride ------ sheastarr334 ------ oblivion-bringr ------ malitiadixie ------- iloveanimecartoons ------ darkangel05 ------ monkeyseemonkeynodo ------ Dark Inu Fan ------- kittycatkitten

Amerise ------ Proforce ------ cutechick18 ------ fortunecomet

Final Thought from Griffin:

There's no real difference …is there …?

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~