InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ Censure ( Chapter 17 )

~~Chapter 17~~

~Censure~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Isabelle glanced at the incident report paper clipped to the front of the file as she strode down the hallway toward examination room three. Well into her first week at the clinic, she had to admit that the change of pace was most welcome. She only worked three days a week though she did do rounds when patients needed it, and while she'd wanted a reduction in work hours, the extra free time was something that might take some getting used to.

 

Still she couldn't complain. She'd taken over for another doctor who had decided to take an indefinite leave when his mother was diagnosed with breast cancer, and for the most part, the patients were very enthusiastic about the change; at least they were after their initial worries were assuaged. Because of the suddenness of the change, Isabelle had been swamped with the patients who wanted to consult with her prior to committing to keep her on as their doctor. Two of her new patients were well within the final weeks of their pregnancies, and one of them was her next appointment. The woman had slipped and fallen outside the grocery store last night, and while she said that she felt fine, Isabelle didn't particularly want to take any chances.

 

“Hi, Kristen,” she greeted, smiling in a reassuring way as she breezed into the room. “How are you feeling today?”

 

Kristen McKinley heaved a sigh, rubbing her distended belly with a loving hand. “In a word? Big . . . but honestly, Dr. Izayoi, I feel fine.”

 

“Good, good . . . Can't be too careful, though,” she replied. “The baby's been active since the fall?”

 

Kristen nodded. “Yes, very . . . She was constantly doing somersaults and squirming around . . . I never thought I'd get to sleep last night!”

 

Isabelle nodded, setting the file aside before helping Kristen to lie back on the examination table. She couldn't help but smile at the very active baby that didn't like the prone position her mother had assumed. “And there was no bleeding? No pains?” Isabelle questioned.

 

“No, none,” Kristen answered, grimacing as Isabelle helped her sit up.

 

“That's great,” Isabelle assured her. Though she seemed calm enough, Isabelle could smell the heightened awareness, the anxiety, that Kristen was trying to keep at bay.

 

“So what are the odds that she'll be born before Christmas?” Kristen tried to joke.

 

Isabelle smiled. “Well, that's hard to say. You're not actually due until the middle of January, right? Still, if she came a little early, that'd be okay, too.”

 

“She'd be a pretty good Christmas present,” Kristin commented. “One that I wouldn't ever forget.”

 

Isabelle laughed and nodded her agreement, relieved that Kristin was finally calming down a little bit. She hurried through a basic exam since she knew very well that in Kristin's advanced stage of pregnancy that she couldn't possibly be comfortable, and she was pleased to find nothing that seemed out of sorts. “Everything seems fine,” she said, giving Kristen's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “As a final precaution, though, I'd like to have you do a urine sample, and if anything should happen—you start having pains or you start bleeding—you come in or call me, okay?”

 

Kristin's smile was genuinely relieved, and she nodded. “All right.”

 

Isabelle dug in her pocket for a business card even though she was certain she'd given one to Kristen during her consultation earlier in the week. “Here,” she said, handing the card to the mother-to-be. “This is my cell number. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call, no matter what time it is.”

 

Kristin's smile brightened. “Thank you.”

 

“If there aren't any problems, I'll see you next week. I'll send in a nurse to take you to the bathroom to do your sample, okay?”

 

“Okay. Thanks again!”

 

Isabelle nodded and hooked her stethoscope around her neck as she strode out of the room, satisfied that both Kristen and baby were going to be just fine. She hadn't been really worried, but then, one could never tell, and it really was better to be safe than sorry, especially when it came to humans.

 

Checking her watch, she stepped into her office and let out a gust of breath that lifted her bangs into the air. Less than a half hour, and she'd be off for the rest of the week since she only worked Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays with hospital duties if she had patients to see. Though she was used to having a time when she was supposed to get off work, she was also used to being delayed by one thing or another. It really was a novelty for her to actually be done with work when she was supposed to be.

 

All in all, she figured things were looking up. Griffin wasn't being quite as standoffish as he used to be, and that was progress, and the translations were coming along faster than she'd expected. He was nearly a quarter of the way through the first binder, and that was something considering he was dealing with a lot of technical jargon that had to be rougher to translate than a simple journal.

 

She couldn't help but smile at the thought of the consternated expression he got on his face whenever he reached a particularly vexing passage. He looked every bit like a grouchy bear just waking up from hibernation that it was a task to contain her amusement at those times . . .

 

He was coming around, slowly but surely, and as much as Isabelle wished that he'd move along a little faster, she was thankful enough for the progress that she'd made. It was just a matter of time before he admitted that she was his mate . . .

 

She grinned as she pulled out a notepad to jot down a quick shopping list since she'd printed out a recipe for pecan crusted salmon over lunch earlier in the day. Griffin would love it, she didn't doubt, and what was that old saying her mother had used before?

 

The grin widened as she tapped the end of the pen against her lips. `The way to a man's heart is through his stomach . . .'

 

That certainly seemed to be the case at times with Griffin . . . maybe he wasn't really so different, after all . . .

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Griffin stood in front of the Christmas tree with one arm crossed over his chest and his elbow propped in his hand thoughtfully scratching his chin as he frowned at the Christmas tree. Charlie whined beside him, his tail thumping heavily against the floor.

 

He'd just gotten home from the university about half an hour ago, and he'd sat down to work on the translations only to catch himself eyeing the tree, instead.

 

`It's her fault,' he mumbled to himself, scowl darkening the slightest bit as he spared a momentary glance at the dog.

 

`You're blaming your lack of self-control on Isabelle?'

 

He snorted. `Sounds about right.'

 

`Pathetic. Truly pathetic . . .'

 

`Shut up or help me figure out how to do this, will you?'

 

His youkai heaved a sigh but fell silent, which suited Griffin just fine.

 

“What do you think, Charlie? Think we'll get in trouble if we eat that?”

 

Charlie whined and wagged his tail a little harder.

 

“. . . You can have the popcorn,” Griffin allowed then sighed. “She'll notice, won't she?”

 

Yes, she would notice if he ate the garland she'd made by stringing popcorn, cranberries, and pecans on white thread that she'd bought specifically for the task. Every time he'd tried to grab the pecans out of the bowl on the coffee table, she'd slapped his hands away, stating that they were for the tree and that he'd leave them alone if he knew what was good for him. In a last-ditch effort to keep Griffin out of them, Isabelle had given him a big bag of honey roasted pecans, as though she really believed that it would keep him away from the ones she was poking holes in . . .

 

Charlie half-whined, half-growled, and Griffin nodded sagely. He wanted at the string as much as Griffin did. The only real question was whether Isabelle's irritation would ultimately be worth the sacrifice, though to be brutally honest, he rather thought that it would be . . .

 

Besides that, she wouldn't be home for a little while, anyway. If he got rid of all the evidence, maybe he could convince her that she'd just imagined making the garland, in the first place . . .

 

A curt knock on the door, however, saved the garland, at least for the moment. Uttering a sound not unlike a growl, Griffin shuffled off to answer it.

 

He wasn't sure who he expected to be standing on the other side of the door, but his scowl deepened as he came face to face with a hanyou he'd never met before. He stood eye-level with Griffin, his black hair blowing haplessly in the winter wind, his expression stoic, if not even a little bored. Only his eyes burned with an unearthly intensity—eyes that were entirely unsettling and yet wholly familiar at the same time. Golden eyes just like Isabelle's eyes, and Griffin understood: so this was the cousin, Mamoruzen . . . the future Japanese tai-youkai . . .

 

“Griffin Marin, I take it?” the hanyou asked, his tone steely, determined.

 

He didn't answer.

 

Griffin's lack of a response seemed to further his irritation. “I'd like to talk to you,” he went on brusquely, slapping a pair of expensive black leather gloves against his thigh.

 

“Isabelle's not here,” Griffin rumbled, answering Mamoruzen's unvoiced challenge without blinking an eye.

 

“So I gathered . . . I'm not here to see her.”

 

Nodding once in response, Griffin stepped over the threshold, pulling the front door closed behind him.

 

“There's no sense in beating around the bush, don't you think? Why don't you tell me what it is you think to gain?” the hanyou demanded, narrowing his eyes as though he were trying to see inside Griffin's head. “What are you after . . .? You know, right? Izzy's got money; her family's powerful . . . Are you looking for some kind of favor? Some sort of deferential treatment?”

 

“Leave,” Griffin growled as stabbing pains from the harsh sunlight reflecting off the snow erupted behind his glare. Resisting the desire to shield his eyes against the light, he willed his arms to remain loose at his sides.

 

Offering him a completely insincere little smile, the hanyou shook his head. “Not until I get some answers. Tell me what you're hiding.”

 

Griffin grunted at that but still refused to answer. He heard the rhythmic hum of Isabelle's sports car pulling into the driveway but didn't even try to look to verify it. Seconds later, the woman in question darted up the steps onto the porch and insinuated herself between Griffin and his unwelcome visitor. The grating chime of the driver's side door that she'd left wide open in her haste to intercede clanged in his head. Still Griffin refused to look away from Mamoruzen's face, refused to give so much as an inch in the battle of wills.

 

“Mamoruzen . . . what are you doing here?” she asked in a breathless, hopelessly bright, tone.

 

His gaze flicked over her for a moment before blatantly dismissing her as though she were of no real consequence. “I came for answers,” he said as his eyes narrowed on Griffin once more.

 

Gritting his teeth as an irrational surge of anger threatened to boil over, Griffin's fingers twitched uncontrollably as he fought to restrain the nearly overwhelming urge to wrap his hands around Isabelle's beloved cousin's neck.

 

Whether she sensed the mayhem that was rife in the air or simply because she wanted to avoid the escalating confrontation, Isabelle stepped forward, placed her hands in the middle of Mamoruzen's chest and gently shoved him back. “I said no, damn it!” she hissed. It registered in his mind that she wasn't necessarily trying to hide whatever involvement she had in it from him. Anger seethed in her youki in nearly palpable waves, and even the hanyou spared a moment to blink at her in unabashed surprise before pushing her aside and stepping around her.

 

“Tell me who you are,” the hanyou ground out as he closed the distance between himself and Griffin.

 

Griffin fought to keep his expression impassive, jaw clenching in silent refusal to answer any questions at all. It registered in the back of his mind that he'd do well to keep a tight rein on his temper. Still, he didn't like the intrusion, and he wasn't about to answer the questions of a noisy cub who still looked to be a little wet behind the ears. Sparing another long minute to glower at Mamoruzen, Griffin finally turned around and stomped back into the house.

 

It burned him, no doubt about it. Having some whelp show up on his front porch only to demand answers without any provocation and without the basest of pleasantries just wasn't something that Griffin would tolerate, and the longer he dwelled on it, the angrier he became. He had no right—no right—to show up here the way he had, and Griffin would be damned before he'd give an inch to a child like him..

 

Had she done this? It was obvious that she'd said enough to raise her cousin's suspicions. Stalking through the house, he didn't stop until he reached the back door and flung it open wide. He wasn't sure what to believe, and as much as he didn't want to think that she'd willingly set him up, he was just too angry to stay inside.

 

Ignoring the cold bite on the wind, he lumbered across the yard, smashing his palm against the stout wooden gate. It snapped open with a shuddering groan—he'd probably have to repair it later. He could still feel the acerbic tinge of Mamoruzen's youki fouling the air as he disappeared into the forest.

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Isabelle grimaced as the door slammed shut before rounding on Gunnar, eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms over her chest and glowered up at him.

 

“Don't start with me,” he said in lieu of the apology that she figured he ought to be making.

 

“Oh, I'll start with you, all right,” she muttered. “Suppose you tell me just what the hell you thought you were doing?”

 

Planting his hands on his lean hips, Gunnar's glower turned near mutinous as he slowly shook his head. “What I'm doing,” he said, his tone carefully even and completely at odds with the mayhem that brightened his jewel-like eyes, “is trying to get some answers.”

 

“You don't need answers, Mamoruzen,” she cut in coldly, nostrils flaring as her temper flared even higher. “I've told you, it's none of your business! Leave him alone or—”

 

“Or what, Izzy? What, exactly, will you do?” he challenged, the tight hold he had on his own temper slipping in response to her own. “You don't have a clue who that guy is! Did you know? He's hiding his past! Hiding it! Do you get it?”

 

“And I'm telling you, I don't care! He has reasons for what he does, and you . . . How dare you judge him! You don't even know him!”

 

“And you do?” Gunnar challenged, stepping toward her, grasping her upper arms in his vice-like grip.

 

“I know him better than you do!” she hissed, wrenching herself free only to poke her index finger in the center of his chest to emphasize her words. “He's a good man. I know he is. I told you to leave him alone, and I mean it! Leave. Him. Alone.”

 

The iciness in his eyes dulled almost instantly as the cold mask of indifference slammed down over his features. The only trace sign of his emotions was the slight ticking in his jaw; the almost imperceptible quiver of his nostrils as he regarded her with a cold stare. “He's not what you think he is,” Gunnar maintained in a deadly quiet tone. “Even if you don't want to see it, I do, and I'll be damned if I'll just sit back and let you make a fool of yourself when it's clear to me that your Dr. Marin is not the saint you want to believe he is.”

 

“I never said he was a saint,” she whispered, her anger fading almost as suddenly as it had surfaced. Turning away from him, she rubbed her arms through the thick wool of her coat as she scanned the surroundings as though she were searching for answers. “There are no such things as saints; not in this world . . . but he's not the monster you're trying to make him out to be, either. You don't know him like I do. You don't know . . .” Trailing off, she drew a deep breath, glancing down at her hands before raising her gaze once more, a troubled frown furrowing her brow as she struggled to find the words to voice the things she felt. “You . . . everyone . . . treats him like he's some sort of beast. He gets these looks everywhere he goes—the kind of looks that children get right after they tell you they've seen the boogeyman under their bed—and he doesn't deserve those . . . he's gentle, and he's kind . . . and he's . . . beautiful—at least, he is to me.” Spinning around on her heel, she dashed the back of her hand over her suspiciously bright eyes. “Leave him alone, Mamoruzen. Just leave him alone.”

 

Gunnar heaved a sigh and slowly shook his head before rubbing his eyes with an exasperated hand and scowling at Isabelle's back. “I can't,” he said, the barest hint of regret in his voice. “I'm sorry, Izzy, but . . . I have to do this, whether you like it or not.”

 

“You have to,” she echoed as a sad little smile twitched on her lips; as a darkness—a sadness—clouded her eyes. “You don't, you know. You really don't. I thought you were the one I could rely on. I used to think that you were perfect; did you know? But you're not . . . you're no different from anyone else.”

 

“Go get your things. You're not staying here with him.”

 

Her back stiffened at the sound of his words. Softly uttered but no less forceful, he really thought she'd comply with his wishes, didn't he? Isabelle shook her head, stomping back to her car to shut it off and grab the groceries she'd left when she'd spotted Gunnar and Griffin standing on the porch looking like they were ready to light into one another. Jerking her keys out of the ignition, she swiped up the bags and kicked the door closed with every intention of marching straight past Gunnar and shutting the door in his face.

 

He grabbed her arm as she tried to stride past, his gaze searching, probing. “I don't want to leave you here; not until I know more about him.”

 

She stared at him for a moment, her gaze meeting his without faltering. On some level, she could appreciate his concern, but it didn't excuse the fact that he still treated her like a child, even after they'd grown up long ago. “It's not up to you,” she said quietly. “It's up to me . . . and I choose to stay.”

 

Pulling away from him, she didn't spare another glance over her shoulder as she stepped into the house. It wasn't until after she'd slumped against the closed door and heard his retreating footsteps followed minutes later by the sound of his car that she closed her eyes and sighed.

 

She could appreciate his concern, sure, and maybe he was right to worry on some level, but the Griffin she knew was everything she'd said he was; she knew that as certainly as she knew her own name. This time Gunnar was wrong, and even if Griffin did have things in his past that he wasn't particularly proud of, didn't everyone? There wasn't a damn thing that could change the way she felt about the man, and Gunnar could just get used to that.

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Isabelle bit her lip and leaned on the counter over the sink to peer out the window at the falling darkness. Griffin had been gone for a while, and she was starting to worry. Her imagination had always been keen. As the minutes ticked away, she started to worry that maybe Gunnar hadn't really left but had hidden his car so that he could track Griffin down to rake him over the coals a little more. About as quickly as the idea had occurred to her, though, she'd realized that there just wasn't any way that Gunnar would do anything quite as sneaky as that. No, the man's ego was a little too big, and he'd never, ever have thought about hiding anything. Still she had to wonder . . . Griffin had been gone for nearly four hours, and while she hesitated to go after him since she wasn't at all sure that he didn't blame her for the Gunnar debacle, she couldn't help but think that his conspicuous absence was just not a good sign . . .

 

She'd prepared everything for dinner but hadn't started cooking the salmon steaks since they only had to sear for a few minutes on each side. Even Griffin's salad was ready and the water for his tea was simmering in the old fashioned whistling kettle on the stove.

 

Biting her lip, she turned around, staring at the immaculate kitchen. Froofie padded into the room, head lowered as though he were upset. `He thinks there's something wrong, too,' she realized with a grimace. `Griffin should be here—and he's not . . .'

 

“Don't worry,” she said, pushing herself away from the counter and striding toward the foyer to retrieve her coat with Froofie fast on her heels. Frowning as she grabbed Griffin's coat off the hook beside hers, she shook her head. He'd been so irritated he'd forgotten to take his coat? She sighed as she draped it over her arm, striding toward the back door. “We'll go find him, okay? After all, he's been alone for a while . . . he can't be that angry anymore . . .”

 

At least, she hoped he wasn't . . .

 

It didn't take her long to figure out where he'd gone, and it was pretty easy to follow him since it had snowed last night. His tracks led off into the forest, and Isabelle quickened her pace as Froofie bounded ahead of her.

 

The temperature was dropping, and with a shiver, Isabelle wrapped her scarf around her neck and brought Griffin's coat up to her nose only to sigh when she realized a little too late that her senses were too dull for her to be able to track him, and she could barely discern the scent of him that should have clung to the garment. “Find him, Froofie,” she called, squinting as the pulse beat sounded in her ears. For a few precious seconds, she clung to the remnants of her youkai blood before it faded away.

 

The forest seemed so much darker; so much denser as she glanced around. Froofie whined and darted ahead only to run back to her, pushing his nose against her hand. He wasn't a tracking dog. He'd never be able to find Griffin . . .

 

She considered turning back, but discarded the idea. It wouldn't do any good, anyway since she'd do nothing but stare out the window and drive herself insane. Deliberately ignoring the tiny voice in her head that told her that everyone was likely to have a fit if they knew that she was out wandering the forest alone in her human form, she trudged along the path, deeper into the trees.

 

She couldn't tell if the temperature was dropping or if it was her human state that made the cold that much more cutting, but she jammed her teeth together in an effort to keep from shivering, pulling her coat closer around her as she forced her legs to move forward. The sounds of the night came at her from every direction with the underlying groan of the wind in the trees adding a disorienting undercurrent to the world at large. Fear wasn't something that Isabelle felt often, but she couldn't help the trill that raced up her spine as she whistled for Froofie.

 

He didn't come back to her.

 

Stumbling over a fallen branch that she couldn't see in the darkness, Isabelle caught herself before she fell in the dirty mire of decaying leaves and slushy snow. It took a moment for her to catch her breath again, and she couldn't help the little whimper that slipped from her lips as she stared around at the unfamiliar territory. The woods that seemed so welcoming, so inviting during the daylight hours had shifted into a living, breathing thing, and the whispers in the shadows seemed to call her name.

 

`Get a hold of yourself, Bitty,' she told herself sternly in a tone that sounded remarkably like her cousin, Bastian's voice. `It's nothing but your imagination . . . just your imagination, all right?'

 

She knew it was. In her logical mind, she knew damn well that she wasn't in any real danger. Squaring her shoulders, she frowned at the path before her. It branched off to the left, and she sighed, wishing that Froofie had come back to help her decide which fork to take . . .

 

Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath, gnawing on her bottom lip as she willed her body to relax. It didn't really work, but then she hadn't actually expected it to. Shaking her head and hoping against hope that she wasn't going to end up completely lost, Isabelle started down the left path.

 

She'd completely lost track of time. It was too dark for her to make out the time on her watch. Her cheeks felt chafed from the blowing wind; her nostrils stung with every breath she drew. She heard the dulled burble of running water and followed it.

 

The trees grew denser as the sound grew louder. More than once, she nearly tripped over tangled roots that stuck out of the ground in an effort to thwart her. Stumbling into the clearing, she blinked at the sudden light—a gentle light—that flowed down from the thousands of stars in the moonless sky and reflected off the fresh blanket of pristine white snow, sparkling like a million diamonds; sparkling like the sea . . . The Penobscot River frothed and rolled, untouched by the cold that was fast seeping into Isabelle's very bones.

 

A soft whine broke through her reverie, and she spun around on her heel, uttering a harsh little cry when she spotted Griffin sitting on a fallen tree and leaning heavily against Froofie. She ran over to him, skidding and slipping and almost falling, dropping to her knees in the snow before him after she draped his coat over his shoulders. “Griffin?” she called gently, yanking her mitten off with her teeth and pressing her hand against his pale cheek.

 

He jerked back, eyes flashing open, and he blinked a few times to clear his head as a suspicious darkness entered his gaze. “What are you doing . . . out here?” he rasped out, clumsily trying to shove his arms into his sleeves.

 

“I came to find you,” she said matter-of-factly. “It's late, you know . . .”

 

He shrugged and brushed her hands aside when she reached out to help him with his coat. “I don't need your help,” he grumbled.

 

Forcing a smile, she nodded. “I know.”

 

“I was resting; that's all,” he went on, casting her a fulminating glower.

 

“Sure.”

 

“. . . Stop patronizing me, damn it.”

 

“I'm not,” she said, reaching out to help him to his feet but jerking her hand back before he noticed it, unsure if he was angry at her; unsure about a lot of things. There was something wrong, wasn't there? It was there in his bearing, in his stature. He looked . . . almost defeated, and that realization stung her deep.

 

He stood slowly, stiffly, and she couldn't tell if he really was pale or if it was the weak light that was casting stark shadows over the planes of his face, but it seemed to her that he was limping, and that concerned her more than anything. “Did you fall?” she asked before she could stop herself.

 

Griffin's head snapped to the side, his eyes glittering dangerously as he stared at her. “No.”

 

Pursing her lips, biting back the comment that was on the top of her tongue, she watched in silence as he shuffled his feet, his movements far too slow, far too wooden to be normal. Froofie licked her hand and trudged along behind Griffin, leaving Isabelle where she stood.

 

`He doesn't have his cane,' she thought suddenly, her eyes widening as Griffin stopped to lean against a tree. `That's what it is, isn't it? He . . . he's not angry at all, is he . . .? No, it's more like . . . he's in pain . . .'

 

She watched him for another minute before lowering her chin stubbornly and striding over to intercept the man. He started to protest when she ducked under his arm, grasping his hand in hers as she pulled his arm around her shoulders and tossed him a belligerent stare.

 

For a few moments, he seemed like he wanted to argue with her, and he opened his mouth a couple times only to snap it closed again. Certainly, he could be stubborn, but that was just too damn bad because she could be, too, and if he really wanted to have a battle of wills, she supposed she was up for it. He narrowed his gaze on her, shaking his head like he was trying to figure her out. She refused to look away, knowing deep down that if she did, she'd lose. In the end, she wasn't sure if he just didn't have it in him to fight her or if he simply figured he wouldn't win. Either way, he grunted in ill-grace but leaned against her, letting her help him toward the path—toward home.

 

 

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

A/N:

== == == == == == == == == ==

Reviewers

==========

MMorg

Jester08 ------ NyteAngelOfDarkness7 ------ Kaida18 ------ Simonkal of Inuy ------ OROsan0677 ------ Lianne ------ Mirahbella ------ silveraliora ------ happilyjaded ------ Perrin33

==========

Forum Reviews

OROsan0677 ------ My Own Self ------ Heoeca ------ kds1222 ------ cutechick18

==========

Final Thought fromIsabelle:

Stubborn man …

==========

Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Avouchment): I do not claim any rights to InuYashaor 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~