InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Vivication ❯ Lessons ( Chapter 10 )

"What are you doing?"

Glancing up from the fire that he'd built around a large, flat rock, Fai blinked as he came face-to-face with a very small otter-youkai girl.  Light brown hair pulled back in a high ponytail, she shuffled her scuffed sneakers in the dirt as she smiled a little reluctantly at him.

He wasn't sure why, but he'd ignored the common-sense part of his brain this morning that had suggested that he borrow a phone and arrange transportation to get back home.  After all, he'd done what he came to do: he'd seen the home, had met the children, had made arrangements with Director Bostoyev . . . But instead of doing that, he'd seen Saori, rounding up the children in her charge for a weekend camping trip along with another of the advocates, Dmitri and his children, and he'd volunteered to go along.

'Only because you didn't like how close Dmitri was standing next to her,' his youkai-voice scoffed.

'That had nothing at all to do with it,' Fai insisted hotly, intentionally refusing to think about how intimate they had looked as Dmitri leaned down to speak to her while Saori rested a hand on the man's forearm.  Then she had laughed . . .

'For tai-youkai, you're really dense, Fai.'

'Shut up.'

"I'm getting this ready to cook on," he said, jerking his head toward the dancing flames as he reached out to take the pieces of wood she'd gathered.  To her, it was a very large armload.  To him?  It was a few moderately sized sticks.  "These are very nice," he told her.  "What's your name?"

"Galinia," she replied.  "What's your name?"

"Me?  I'm . . . I'm Fai," he said, foregoing his title for once.

"Fai?" she repeated thoughtfully, her round cheeks tinged with a healthy pink.  She really was a gorgeous child—one who deserved a home—a family—of her own.  "That's a funny name," she decided.

"I was named after my mother," he told her.  "Her name was Faina . . . My real name is Faine."

She considered that and shrugged.  "I don't have a mother," she said.

He frowned.  Of course, he knew that.  None of the children had parents, obviously.  Even so, hearing the girl, stating it so matter-of-factly?  It bothered him—a lot.  "Do you know what happened to your mother?" he asked gently.

She shrugged, throwing her tiny hands up to her sides.  "I don't know!" she exclaimed.  "I don't remember . . ."

"I'm . . . sorry to hear that . . ."

"Saori says everyone here's family," she went on, entirely unfazed by the topic of conversation.  "So, I have lots of brothers and sisters and everyone!"

"I suppose you do," he allowed, clearing his throat as he tried to smile and failed.

She giggled softly.  "I'm going to get more wood!" she promised, backing away from him.

He managed to smile, just a little.  "You did a great job," he told her.  "In fact, I think we have enough for awhile . . . Why don't you go play instead?"

She looked a little confused, but he nodded to encourage her, and she laughed again before speeding away toward the large tent that had been set up for the girls.

"She likes you."

Blinking as he shifted his gaze to meet Saori's, he shrugged and turned back to fuss with the fire.  "She's cute," he replied a little defensively, as though to explain the reason why he was caught, chatting with the child.  "Where's your, uh . . . Dmitri?"

"Dmitri?  He's fishing with the older kids," she explained.  "I came back to help the little ones gather wood."

"Does he have to use a line?"

Saori laughed.  "Dmitri fishes with his hands, just like I do . . ." Trailing off, she giggled once more, but the laughter died away slowly, and she sighed, instead.  "Anyway, Galinia . . . Her parents were killed in a car accident shortly after her first birthday," she explained.  "She's been here ever since."

Settling back on his haunches, resting his bent elbows on his knees, he tilted his head up to the sky.  "When I go home, I'm going to start calling around, see if any of the other tai-youkai have parents looking to adopt . . . You, uh . . . You're right.  My pride isn't nearly as important as these children are."

She seemed almost surprised by his easy acquiescence, but she didn't remark upon it.  "I'd love to see these children have real homes," she said instead.  "I'd miss them, but it's best for them.  I mean, everyone deserves a place to belong."  She sighed.  "Well, I'll miss them, anyway . . . The director told me that you agreed to keep funding the orphanage, but he has to cut staff, and as the newest one, I'm going to be let go . . . I mean, I'm okay with that as long as the orphanage stays open, so . . . so, thank you for that."

"What will you do?" he asked.

She shrugged, as though it were of no real consequence.  "Go home, I guess," she said.  She sounded pragmatic enough.  She also sounded just a little sad, too.  "I was offered a job there, but I thought maybe I could make more of a difference here . . . Even so, if the home can stay open, then maybe I did help some, anyway . . ."

For some reason, Saori's thoughtful, reflective tone did little to please Fai.  If anything, it made him a little angrier at the situation, even though he wasn't entirely sure, why that was.

'Because,' his youkai-voice mused, 'she really doesn't deserve to lose her job, and you know it.'

He frowned.  Yes, he supposed there was a great deal of truth to that.  Even so, it really couldn't be helped, and he had a feeling that this impromptu camping trip was her way of saying goodbye to the children she'd worked with, that she'd come to care for, and, while he had little doubt that the children would ultimately be all right, he could understand that there was likely to be at least a little unrest while things got evened out.

'There's something else, you know . . .'

'What's that?'

His youkai sighed.  It was a long, drawn out sigh— a weary sigh.  'Just think about it, Fai . . . You'll figure it out.'

'You're not going to tell me?'

'No, I'm not.  Some of these things . . . They're too important to just tell you.  Some things are better if you figure them out yourself.'

He snorted inwardly at the enigmatic answer.

"You know, if you'd rather go back—sleep in a real bed, relax—I understand.  It's fine," she told him, reading his expression and interpreting it to mean that he was unhappy about the camping, in general.

"No, it's fine," he assured her.  "We brought a lot of food, though, didn't we?"

She laughed, but to him, it sounded a little less exuberant than usual for her.  "Well, they're pups," she explained with a simple little shrug as she sank down on a fallen log that they'd pulled over to use as a bench.  "They get hungry faster, and it's easier to pack some food for them instead of having to hunt it all."

"But they should learn how to hunt, how to track . . . Those things are important."

"They are," she agreed amiably enough.  Then she giggled.  "Do you want to take them out?  Show them how to track?"

He crossed his arms over his chest, cocking an eyebrow at her thinly veiled challenge.  "I could," he said.  "That would be simple enough."

Her smile faded, but the sparkle remained in her eyes.  "Well, when I was taught, oji-chan used little bags of candy.  He hid them in the forest, and I had to find them all, and the better I got at it, the smaller the bags became, and then, he started timing me.  I'd have find ten bags in less than an hour—stuff like that.  If I found them all, then he would agree to take me camping.  If I couldn't, then I would have to clean his doujo, top to bottom."

He considered that thoughtfully.  "When I learned how to track, there were no candy bags," he said.  "I was told to locate animals in the grounds around the estate, and I was not allowed to return without the metal tags that they'd affixed to each of them."

"Did you get a reward?"

He grunted.  "No, but Father told me that I'd done well."

She laughed again, shaking her head as though something he said was funny.  When she noticed the questioning look on his face, she waved a hand for a moment, until her amusement died down.  "You say you weren't rewarded, but that sounds like a reward to me," she said.

He blinked, frowned.  He'd never actually thought about it in that sort of way, and yet, what she said rather made sense, didn't it?  He supposed that the pride he'd felt when his father had gazed upon him, the light of approval in his eyes . . . She had a point.  "I . . . well . . ." he allowed.  "I guess so . . ."

"What is he doing?"

Turning her head to glance up at Dmitri as she leaned against a gnarled old tree trunk with her arms crossed over her chest, and she smiled.  "He's teaching them how to track, tai-youkai style."

Dmitri looked on for a long moment before slowly nodding.  "I can see that," he murmured.  "Ivan and Yuri might understand the whole thing, but Galinia?  She has no idea what he's telling them to do."

Waving a hand, Saori wrinkled her nose as a soft giggle slipped from her.  "He knows.  He's just including the young ones to make them feel like the big pups."

"And when they fail?"

Biting her lip, she shook her head.  "I . . . I don't know, but . . . but he said he had an idea."

With a loud clatter, the older children took off into the trees.  Fai stood still, watching as the children disappeared, before turning to face the four younger ones.  He hunkered down and gestured them closer, and from where she stood, she couldn't hear what he said to them.  To her surprise, though, the children all leaned in toward each other, and if she wasn't mistaken, she thought they might well be sniffing each other—an idea that made her press her lips together in a tight line to keep from laughing out loud.

"What are they doing?" Dmitri murmured, more to himself than to her.

A moment later, the children darted away in the opposite direction as Fai pushed himself back to his feet once more.

"What did you tell them?" she asked, pushing herself away from the tree and slowly wandering forward.

Fai slowly turned to glance briefly at her before turning his attention back in the direction where he'd sent the little ones off.  "Three of them are hiding while Boris counts to twenty then goes to find them."

"Hide and Seek?" she mused.  She'd never actually  thought about using that children's game to teach the small ones how to track.  "Is that right?"

"Hide and Seek?" he echoed.  "What's that?"

She smiled.  "It's a game, though we usually considered it cheating if someone tried to sniff out everyone else."

"That would defeat the purpose, don't you think?" Fai echoed dryly.

"That's a really good idea, Your Grace," Dmitri remarked as he drew abreast of them.  "I think I'll go trail the older kids—see if any of them are having any luck."

Saori watched as her friend ambled off, and then she sighed.  "The children like you," she said.

Fai looked surprised for a moment before he gave an offhanded shrug.  "No one likes me.  They either fear me or they want me gone."

She frowned.  She didn't know whether it was worse that he obviously believed it, or, at least, if the almost pragmatic tone of his voice meant anything, he'd accepted the truth in what he thought a long time ago.  "Is that really what you think?"

"It's what I know," he stated, matter-of-factly.  "I've dealt with all of it since I took office."

"Well, I don't fear you, and I don't want you gone, either," she said.

He rolled his eyes.  "You're also not from Russia," he told her.  "You don't count."

"I don't?  Why don't I?"

"I just said why you don't," he retorted.

She wrinkled her nose.  "I count," she insisted.  "Besides, I happen to know that the children don't feel that way, either.  They're too young to care that you're tai-youkai.  All they understand is that you've taken time out to play with them—to teach them."

He uttered a terse little chuckle.  "You make everything sound so simple," he said.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she tilted her head to the side, biting her lip for a moment as she stared at him.  "I don't think so.  I think you . . . You've been alone for a long time, haven't you?"

"Alone?  I've spent the last sixteen years, raising my younger brother.  My home is fully staffed with servants.  I'm not alone . . ." He made a face.  "I haven't been alone in a very long time."

"There's a difference between being around people and having friends," she pointed out gently.  "Don't you have anyone you rely on?  I mean, raising your brother . . . You were kind of like his father, right?  Maybe not in name, but it's the same thing, isn't it?"

Blowing out a deep, heavy breath, he rubbed his forehead, raked his hand through his hair.  She could tell from the rigidity in his stance, from the expression on his face, that he wasn't comfortable in talking about anything so personal.  Still, she had a gut feeling that maybe he needed to do it . . . "I . . . I guess . . . I mean, he's not really a friend, per se.  He's more of an advisor, I guess.  But he was Father's friend—his only real friend . . . When Father disappeared, he . . . He helped me a lot."

She smiled.  "Sounds like a good man."

Nodding slowly, Fai stared at her, absently appreciating the way the spring breeze toyed with the long strands of her hair that had escaped the high ponytail that she'd pulled most of her hair back into.  Cheeks kissed with beautiful color, lips parted, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth, she reached out, squeezed his forearm.  It wasn't the first time she'd done so, and, just as before, he stared rather blankly at her delicate hand.  She didn't notice.  It probably didn't even occur to her that she was touching him, but Fai . . .

He couldn't remember the last time anyone had dared to actually do that.  Not even Yerik would have the audacity to do so.  Well, he hadn't since he'd grown up, anyway.  When Yerik was a child, he hadn't thought twice about doing so, but Fai had told himself back then that it was natural for a youngster to require some form of contact.

The staff never had touched him.  Even when serving food, it was always placed on the table, never directly handed to him.  The closest anyone ever came to it was Vasili, who would use a short, stiff bristled brush to swipe at his clothes before he stepped out, if necessary.

No, the only one who had touched him once he'd passed childhood was Faina, and she had no qualms in hugging him or tousling his hair . . . Even the women he'd spent time with hadn't been daring enough to touch him outside of the bedroom, which was just as well, anyway.

So, why didn't Saori realize when she was slipping well past the bounds of propriety?

But why didn't it bother him more . . .?

And why did he rather . . . like it . . .?

A strange sort of sensation woke Saori from a fitful sleep.  Situated at the threshold of the girls' tent, she leaned up on her elbow, trying to clear her foggy brain as she struggled to figure out just what had roused her.

Blinking as she pushed the tent flap aside, she narrowed her eyes against the brightened glare of the dancing fire.

'Fai-sama . . . He's still awake . . .?'

It seemed to her like it took longer than usual for her eyes to adjust, but she pushed the flap back a little more when she finally noticed the tow-headed girl slip around the log and approach the tai-youkai.  From where she lay, she couldn't hear what was being said—could only see Galinia's shoulders, her face as she stared earnestly up at Fai.  A moment later, Fai slipped his hands under the girl's arms, pulling her into his lap, his usually straight back, hunching forward just slightly as he settled Galinia against his chest.

A sudden, almost savage, urge to get closer gripped her, and without a second thought, Saori slipped out of the tent, moving in closer, though not near enough to disturb the two.  She just wanted to hear what he was saying to the child . . .

"And you had a bad dream?" Fai murmured, his low, rumbling tone so vastly different from the ones she'd heard from him before.

"Yeah," Galinia whispered.  "It was a big bear, and he wanted to . . . to eat me up!"

Fai sighed.  "That is scary," he agreed.  "But you know, don't you?  Nobody here will let anything like that happen to you."

"Because you're tai-youkai?" she asked, sounding hopeful—so hopeful.  Saori felt her hand close around the fabric of her shirt, right over her heart.

"That's . . . That's right," Fai agreed.  "It's my job to keep you safe."

Galinia sighed, and despite the distance, Saori could feel the child's youki relax, little by little.

Fai sat there for a long while, saying nothing at all.  Saori had to wonder if Galinia had fallen asleep again, and after a few minutes, she slowly shuffled forward.

"Is she asleep?" she asked, carefully stepping over the log.

Fai shot her a quick glance—almost a guilty sort of darkness flickering over his expression before he schooled it away.  "Yeah, she is."

Smiling down at the child, sleeping so securely in Fai's arms, Saori brushed her knuckles over Galinia's cherubic cheek.  "I'll put her back to bed.  I hope she didn't disturb you . . ."

"She's fine," he said.  Saori wondered if he even realized that his clasped hands tightened as though to stop Saori from taking her.  "She had a bad dream—a nightmare."

Saori nodded and sat down beside him.  "She does . . . It's not as often anymore.  I usually check on her in the night, just to make sure she doesn't have one."

Fai frowned as he stared down at the sleeping child.  "Yerik used to have nightmares," he ventured at length.  "I never knew if he remembered that night or if he just . . . just remembered being afraid . . ."

"That night?  When your parents . . .?"

"Mother," he corrected.  "The house in Sri Lanka caught fire.  Yerik was two at the time.  She . . . She managed to get him out of the house, but she was trapped inside . . ."

"Fai-sama . . ."

He shook his head, but whether he was trying to stop her or was simply trying to brush aside his own memories, she didn't know.  "I don't remember how long he had nightmares.  I . . . I don't know if he ever still does . . ."

"And you?" she asked quietly.

"Me?"

She nodded.

He sighed.  "I'm all right."

"But you're not," she countered softly as she stared at him.  Something about the pensive expression on his face, the sense of darkness in his gaze, as though he couldn't quite make sense of his own thoughts, his own emotions . . . Had he always felt that sort of confusion?  And he didn't understand it, either.  "You want to be, but you aren't.  It's okay, you know?  Did you . . .?  Did you ever really get to grieve for her?  For them?"

His head snapped to the side, his gaze, wild, almost . . . almost afraid.  The gold and green flecks in his eyes seemed as though they were illuminated by some inner spark, nostrils flaring as he opened and closed his mouth a couple times, suddenly, his cheeks exploded in a mottled hue as he stubbornly looked away from her.

She caught his chin, gently forced him to look at her once more, her brows drawing together in a concentrated scowl.  "You . . . You've had nightmares, too, haven't you?" she whispered, eyes searching his, as though daring him to lie.

He grimaced, his gaze slipping to the side for a moment before reluctantly returning to meet hers once more.  "I'm tai-youkai.  I—"

"You're allowed to have feelings, Fai-sama," she insisted.  "Even you don't have to be strong all the time."

"Don't I?" he challenged.  "If I . . . If I show any weakness—anything—"

"Emotions aren't weakness," she told him.  "Surely, you can't believe that.  Okay, you can't allow yourself to be caught off guard, and I understand that you bear a great responsibility, but—"

He shook his head, his scowl darkening.  "If I cannot stand alone, I cannot stand, at all," he said, the conviction behind his words adding a deepness to his voice, a thickness in his youki.  "I cannot afford to—to break down or to hesitate, simply because I feel . . ." Trailing off with a fleeting grimace, he drew a deep breath.  "I cannot let them see a thing.  I cannot show any of it; not to anyone who might try to use it against me—to exploit it."

"Then show it to me," Saori blurted, letting her hand fall away, but he caught her wrist, held it, and he didn't let go.

She could feel his conflicting emotions as easily as she could feel the blood, racing through her veins.  Those emotions, however, shifted so quickly, so fluidly, that she couldn't read them, couldn't interpret them, but the fire that ignited in the depths of his gaze was enough to make her catch her breath, to hold her, spellbound.

Slowly, his hazel eyes softened, dropped, settling on her lips, and it was enough to set off an ache, a quiver, down so deep that she could feel herself shaking . . . He uttered a strange little sound—not quite a growl, not quite a groan—so very softly that it seemed like he was making it just for her, which was a crazy thought.

A sudden dizziness swept over her as he leaned in closer—so close that she could feel his breath, ripple over her lips, igniting another round of tremors as her body felt as though her very bones were dissolving, one by one . . .

It was a wash of emotion she'd never, ever felt before—an awakening of feelings that she couldn't comprehend, that left her reeling, unsteady.  It was frightening and entirely exhilarating, all at once.

Closer, closer . . . ever so closer, the heat of his mouth, singeing her skin despite the breath of distance that separated them, the inebriating scent of him—of smoke and wilderness, of warmed comfort, an underlying sort of spiciness that tingled in her nose, and his eyes slowly drifting closed, long lashes fluttering down as his stunted breath echoed in her ears . . .

"I'm scared!"

"C'mon!  It'll be fine . . . and you're the one who said you needed to go!"

Letting out a deep sigh as Fai jerked back, head snapping forward despite the high color riding in his cheeks—Saori figured she probably looked about the same—he cleared his throat a few times, and when she finally dared to shift her eyes to look at him, she noticed that his hands were shaking, too.

"Saori . . ." he finally muttered.  "I—"

Saori bit her lip and forced herself to stand up.  Whatever he was about to say, she had a feeling that she didn't want to hear it.  "You know, I think she'll sleep fine now.  Thanks for comforting her," she blurted, reaching down to take Galinia from him, and this time, he let her do it.  "G-Goodnight, Fai-sama."

She heard him sigh as she hurried back toward the girls' tent.  "Goodnight, Saori . . ."

And even after she'd tucked Galinia back into her blankets, even after she'd rolled herself up in her own, she winced.  She could still feel her heart, pounding hard against her ribcage, like a wild thing, struggling to escape.