InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ A Purity Short: Cacophony ❯ Spontaneous ( Chapter 21 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

It had been an absolutely beautiful day.  Warm and sunny without a cloud in the sky, the approaching evening had just started to paint the heavens with the subtle brushstrokes of sun and fire and the somber hues of the inky darkness that slowly crept in around them while a briskness slipped into the gentle wind, coming off the water.

The merry crackle of the campfire was underlined by the rush of the waves as they ran to meet the shore not too far away, and Cartham straightened up from his task of setting up the tent, only to smile vaguely when he spotted Kelly, kneeling beside the fire with a thoughtful frown as she carefully maneuvered the grill rack with a couple of long sticks.

They’d stopped in a small town nearby a few hours ago, and Cartham had learned from the manager at the local grocery store that he owned some property on the ocean where they were welcome to stay for a night or two as long as they cleaned up after themselves.  The guy—Jerry—had been impressed with Cartham’s bike—even more so when he’d mentioned that he’d restored it himself, and as a fellow motorcycle aficionado, he’d declined an offer for payment in exchange for using the beach, but Cartham had insisted.  Then they’d bought some food for dinner and a few things to eat in the morning, and they’d set out once more.

“You know how to cook these, right?” Kelly asked, pulling the two steaks out of the cold pack bag with a thoughtful frown.

He chuckled and shuffled over to her, tugging on the legs of his jeans as he hunkered down beside her.  “How do you like your meat, Kel?”

She slowly turned her head, eyes sparkling as she bit her lip, giving him the distinct feeling that she was trying very hard, not to laugh.  “That’s a pretty personal question, don’t you think?” she challenged.

He blinked, stared at her for a long moment, and as slow understanding of just what he’d said—and how she’d interpreted it—crept over him.  Leveling a non-plussed look at her despite the rising color that filtered into his cheeks, Cartham shook his head, pulling the packages out of her grasp.  “Oh, my God.  You’re a pervert,” he stated flatly.

Kelly giggled and leaned in, kissing his cheek as he shrugged his shoulder to push her back.  “You’re the one who said it,” she retorted between the sounds of her sorely misplaced amusement.

Cartham grunted and made a show of paying a whole lot of attention to the steaks in his hand.  “I was talking about dinner,” he told her.  “I knew you were trouble . . .”

She laughed as she stood up, brushing her hands together with an industrious sigh.  “I’m going to go stick my toes in the ocean, if you’ve got this all under control?”

He nodded, watching her as she moved off toward the beach, a little smile, tugging at the corners of his mouth.  It was brisk, sure, and there was a good chance that the water was still pretty cold, but she’d be all right.

With a sigh, he turned his attention away from Kelly and back to the steaks.  It didn’t take long to open the packages and to season them both with the salt and pepper they’d bought in disposable containers at the grocery store.  Then he pulled the butcher paper over the meat again and pushed himself back to his feet.  They had to chill out for a little while before cooking, anyway.

Kelly was shuffling along the edge of the water as the ebbing flow surged gently over the tops of her bare feet.  She had tugged the sleeves of the off-white sweater she wore down over the heels of her hands and had her shoulders slumped slightly forward, her arms wrapped protectively over her stomach.  Tendrils of her hair had slipped out of the high ponytail, hanging down her back.  Those little wisps were being tossed by the capricious breeze, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Want some company?” he called out as he wandered toward her, pausing long enough to swish his hands in the ocean water and flicking his wrists to dry them off.

She turned on her heel and shot him an almost timid smile as a slightly more powerful wash rose up over her feet, over her ankles, dampening the rolled-up bottoms of her jeans.  “Is dinner going to burn?” she asked with a slightly arching eyebrow.

He shook his head as he shrugged off his jacket and stepped toward her to slip it around her instead.  It wasn’t something he often did, given that the chains were his normal weapons.  He could tell, though, that they were alone, and even then . . .

‘Even if someone jumps out at you, those chains won’t really be any use to you right now, not with all the damage,’ his youkai-voice stated almost ruefully.

Cartham ignored it.

Kelly frowned, shook her head as she glanced down at the garment that he carefully pulled together under her chin.  “You know, this isn’t nearly as heavy as it looks,” she mused.

He let go of the jacket and turned around to fall into step beside her.  “It adjusts itself to me,” he explained, as though it were the simplest thing in the world.  “It’s not that cold, really, so . . .”

“It’s youkai,” she concluded quietly, nodding slowly, as though it all made sense to her now.  “That’s not a common thing to have.”

“Yeah, well, it was my master task,” he replied.  “The last piece of my training, you could say.  I mean, I told you before that it’s my protection, right?  So, ol’ Rhen told me to hunt down the Vasloges, to bring back his hide.  Took me a while, but I finally did it, and, even luckier, it had just molted.  I brought it back, and Rhen created the jacket for me—and the chains.”

Kelly’s frown took on a more thoughtful lilt.  “The Vasloges . . . Where have I heard that before . . .?”

Cartham shrugged.  “It’s legendary, isn’t it?  The biggest—the worst—of the serpent youkai?  Well, at least, in North America.”

She pondered that, then she glanced at him.  “Right . . . but don’t they say that the molted skin becomes a new one?”

He chuckled and reached over, affectionately rubbing the fabric between his fingers.  “If it’s true, then this one didn’t get the chance.”

“So, this jacket is kind of like your armor?” she ventured, holding out her arms as she looked down at the garment.

“Eh, kind of,” he drawled.  “I mean, those chains?  Those are my real weapons.”

“Huh?”

“They’re youki-chains,” he explained.  “Kind of like InuYasha’s sword, I’d guess.  Tetsusaiga’s rumored to be able to absorb youki, and these kind of work the same way—kind of.  But from what I’ve been told, his sword was forged to specifically absorb another youkai’s power.  My chains don’t do that.  They only respond to my youki—my will.”

She wrinkled her nose as she carefully examined the chains in question.  “So, if I wanted to use them, they wouldn’t do anything for me.”

He gave a rather offhanded shrug.  “I dunno.  Never thought about it.  I mean, maybe.  Those were forged for me, but, it’s possible, I guess?  I mean, they were created to absorb youki and to respond to that youki, but I can’t say I ever had anyone else try to do that.”

She finally lifted her gaze—not her head, just her eyes—and the concentration that he could see made him chuckle since he had the distinct feeling that she was actually trying to will the chains to work.  Nothing happened, though, which wasn’t honestly that surprising.  After all, it had taken him a long, long time to gain the required mastery of his own youki to make the weapon work.

“Your master made this for you, then?” she mused, giving up as she reached for his hand and started to slowly walk again.

“The jacket,” he agreed.  “Originally, I had this sword—his sword, actually.  But it was never fully mine, you know?  I mean, I could feel it, that it cooperated with me because Rhen told it to.”

“And you all talk to your weapons?”

He snorted at the hint of doubt in her tone.  “Not out loud, no, but you can sense it if you use a weapon long enough.  Maybe it would have been different if I carried any of Rhen’s blood in my body, but I don’t, so it wasn’t the same as inheriting it, right?”

“So, how’d you get the chains, then?”

Breathing deep, enjoying the freshness of the wind off the water, Cartham tugged her along the beach.  “I went back to ol’ Rhen’s place awhile later,” he said, narrowing his eyes slightly as the breeze picked up just a little.  “He was gone, but he’d left the place to me, so I’m guessing he’d died.  Anyway, shortly after that, I was hunting this stoat-youkai down, deep in the mountains up north where he’d tried to hide after killing a number of humans—I can’t even remember, why—and I came across this old man up there—a really old youkai who said his name was Katagami.  He’s a weaponsmith—one of the finest I’ve ever seen.  He took the sword and one of my fangs, and he forged the chains out of it.”

Kelly shook her head.  “And that was all right to do?  I mean, if it was your master’s sword . . .”

“The sword was fine with it,” he told her.  “Katagami said that sometimes weapons needed to take on a new form when they were given to someone else who isn’t blood related.  Anyway, when I first held the chain after it was reforged?  I could . . . could feel the difference.  It felt like it was mine, if that makes any sense.”

Suddenly, he laughed, as though he were embarrassed by his own assertions.  Kelly, though, seemed to understand, and she gave his hand a little squeeze.  “Does he make a lot of weapons?”

Cartham grunted.  “Actually, no.  He told me that he’d only make a weapon if he liked the person who asked for it, and he almost didn’t make mine, as a matter of fact.”

“Didn’t like you?”

He shrugged.  “Nope, we got along pretty good.  Hates Zelig, though—a lot.  When I told him I hunted for him, he very nearly tried to chase me off the mountain.”

“He hates Cain?  Why?”

Again, he shrugged.  “He never said.  Just made the chain and told me to get the hell off his mountain and to never come back.”

Kelly considered that, but she still seemed confused.  “But . . . No one hates Cain.”

“He’s not that likeable,” Cartham grumbled, still rather irritated at the way the tai-youkai had unceremoniously forced him into taking time off, even if it was ultimately for his own good.

She rolled her eyes, but laughed.  The sound of it was entirely soothing to him, he decided.  “Come on,” he said, reaching for her hand.  “I’ll teach you how to cook steak.”

“Why would I do that when you already know how?” she challenged, but she turned around to head back, leaving him little choice but to follow.

“Yeah,” he agreed, leading her away from the edge of the water and back toward the campsite once more.  “I don’t think I’d mind cooking for you—steaks, anyway, though I can make a mean frozen pizza, too.”

She groaned in response, but laughed a moment later, and the sound of his own joined with hers, only to be carried out, over the water under the falling sky of night.


Kelly snuggled close against Cartham’s side under the thick down of the sleeping bags that they’d zipped together to create one larger one instead of two normal ones.  The temperature had dropped pretty significantly once the sun had gone down, compounded by the proximity to the water, she figured.  Inside the tent, though, it was pretty moderate—warm enough that they hadn’t bothered with the small heater that they’d brought along, just in case.

“Warm enough?” he asked, kissing her forehead as he gave her shoulders a little squeeze.

Stifling a yawn with a curled-up fist, Kelly nodded.  “You’re kind of like a heat generator,” she pointed out in a rather thick, sleepy tone.

He chuckled.  “Guess this isn’t too bad, this camping-thing,” he replied.

She smiled.  “Listen, you’re the one who said that we didn’t need hotels,” she reminded him.

“No, what I said was that we didn’t need to rely upon finding a hotel—a decent hotel . . . It’s kind of more fun, just stopping when we feel like stopping, don’t you think?”

“Okay, yeah,” she agreed.  “The lack of a shower, though . . .”

He made a show of sniffing her, and she shoved at him, but laughed.  “Jerk.”

“If it makes you feel better, you don’t stink,” he replied.  “Well, much, anyway.”

She rolled her eyes since she could tell that he was teasing.  Still, she leaned up on her elbow and narrowed her eyes at the mischievous sparkle in his violet eyes.  “Didn’t you ever learn that it’s rude to say stuff like that to a lady?”

He shrugged, but rolled onto his side, propping his head on his raised hand in pseudo-mirror of her own pose.  “Nope.  Parents died when I was young, remember?”

Her mouth dropped open for several seconds before she uttered a loud snort and made a face.  It bothered her that he’d said it in such a matter-of-fact kind of way.  It should bother him, shouldn’t it?  Sure, she knew that it had happened when he was just a child.  Still . . . “Tell me about them,” she said, letting her head fall to the side as she carefully regarded him.  “Your parents . . .”

His amusement was slow to die away, and, while his gaze didn’t cloud over, it did take on a far more pensive sort of air, and he let out a deep breath, reaching out, rather idly, toying with her hair, her bangs.  “What do you want to know?”

She frowned, giving her head a slow shake.  What did she want to know, really?  “Tell me . . . Tell me your best memories,” she said at length.

He chuckled softly, dropping onto his back once more as he reached out and tugged her in close to him again.  “My best memory, huh?” he mused thoughtfully.  Then, he sighed, but it wasn’t an unhappy sound.  “Pa . . . He was a hunter for the Cavendish—err, Cain’s pa—but he was also a farmer, so he was busy a lot.  By the time I was three?  Four?  By then, though, whenever he went out to the fields to work, I went with him, and we’d work from sun-up till sun-down . . . Come home, exhausted, but it was the good kind of exhausted—the kind you feel when you’ve worked damn hard.”  He chuckled again.  “Well, that’s how Pa described it . . . Sometimes, though . . . Sometimes we’d stop around lunch—Ma always packed up food for us—and sometimes, after we finished eating, we’d take some time, play hide and seek for a little while before heading back to work again . . . That’s what Pa called it, anyway.  When I think about it, though, I think maybe he was teaching me how to track . . .”

She considered that, a gentle little smile, touching her lips as she idly rubbed Cartham’s chest.  “Did he want you to be a hunter, do you think?”

He gave a little shrug.  “I . . . don’t know . . . I mean, maybe.  But then, maybe not.  I was young then, so he didn’t really talk to me about it, but . . . But sometimes, when he’d get ready to leave, he’d stop, stand in the doorway, and just kind of . . . stare at Ma and me, like he was trying to decide something—or maybe, he was trying to remember that . . . that moment . . . Anyway, if it were me, would I want my kit, running off, doing what I do?”  He sighed.  “I . . . I’m not sure I would.”

Kelly bit her lip, considering what he’d said.  He’d never complained about his job before, and he wasn’t exactly doing that now, either, but she really hadn’t stopped to think about it too much, either.  It made sense, what he’d said.  The idea of encouraging your own to follow in your footsteps as a hunter?  Kelly wasn’t sure she’d be too keen on that idea, in any case . . .

“I just mean, it’s not a job that any Joe-shmoe can do, and to be fair, not everyone should do it, anyway.  It’s . . . It’s not pretty, and it sure ain’t glamorous, and sometimes—hell, more often than not—it’s pretty tough to swallow . . . I . . . I became a hunter because I had to find the one who killed my Pa—and my ma, by extension . . . After that?”  Trailing off with a sigh that was more of an exhalation than anything else, Cartham cleared his throat a couple times before continuing.  “After that, it was . . . was the only thing I could do, the only thing I could hang onto . . .”

Kelly sighed, too.  “Was he killed on the job?” she asked quietly, as though she were afraid of raising her voice, as though she were trying not to hurt him with her tone.

“Kind of,” he allowed, and his voice sounded more resigned than anything.  “He was out, hunting this guy, but his brother laid a trap for him and killed him.  Ma died three months later.”

“You were ten, right?”

Rubbing his face, Cartham uttered a terse little grunt, and Kelly opened her mouth to take back the question, but he was faster.  “I was nine, ten when ma died,” he said.  “It was . . . a long time ago . . .”

She leaned up to look at him, smiling just a little.  “You don’t carry it around,” she concluded.

He shrugged.  “Be kind of weird if I did,” he said.  “I mean, it was . . . a couple hundred years ago?  More?  I stopped counting.”  Letting out a deep breath, he didn’t speak for a few minutes as he gently, almost methodically, rubbed her shoulder in small circles.  Then, he sighed.  “I never forgot them, but I . . . I can go, days and days—maybe a month or  . . . sometimes—sometimes—longer—without really stopping to think about them.  Is . . . Is that bad?”

She could hear it in his tone, the sense of shame that underlined his words.  “I don’t think it’s bad,” she finally said.  “It’s not like they’re not still in your heart.  They are.  They’re the reason you’re able to be who you are today, aren’t they?”

Her words seemed to give him pause, seemed to surprise him.  It was there in the way his fingers stilled, just for a moment, before resuming the idle stroke against her shoulder, in the way his body seemed to relax ever-so-slightly.  “You think so?”

Snuggling closer against his side, Kelly’s eyes slowly closed as she savored the feeling of being absolutely comfortable, absolutely at ease, that only Cartham could give her.  “Yeah,” she said, her voice, taking on that sleepy, slow lilt.  “I do . . .”


Kelly shivered and opened her eyes, blinking in a rather disoriented kind of way as her addled brain seemed to stall and hesitate before it sluggishly started to creak into life.  It took her a minute to remember that she wasn’t late for work, which had been her initial thought, and it took another minute before she remembered that they had camped out last night, too.

To be honest, she was surprised that she was able to arrange time off of work as easily as she had.  A part of her had actually thought that there was no way they’d allow it, especially on such short notice, but her boss had agreed, telling her that it was about time she took a vacation.  So, she’d finished out the week, and then, they had stuffed a few changes of clothing into a bag along with Kelly’s creams and a few other things—toiletries and for her, her makeup bag—and they’d set out.

Of course, she thought with a frown as she sat up and gnawed on her lower lip, that was all well and good, but, unless she wanted to wash her face in the salt water of the ocean, then she didn’t really have great options, as far as putting her daily face on.  But Cartham had never actually seen her without her makeup on, and, while she knew damn well that he really was her mate, the idea of allowing him to see her without was more than a little daunting, if she were to be entirely truthful . . .

Cartham was gone.  Well, not gone, gone, but he wasn’t in the tent.  She could sense him nearby, though, and when the tent flap flipped back a moment later, the man grinned at her, holding up two metal cups of something hot and steaming before carefully maneuvering himself inside while not spilling anything.

“Coffee,” he announced, slowly extending a cup to her.

She took it, wrapping her hands around it and leaning forward to breathe in the aroma.  It was, of course, his gourmet brew, but it smelled so good that Kelly didn’t have the heart to tease him about it, either.  Instead, she kept her head down, staring into the cup for several moments as she tried to decide, just how to go about, hiding her face from him.

‘But, why?’ her youkai-voice argued.  ‘You can’t really think that Cartham’s going to care, and besides.  There’s a good chance that he’s already seen you this morning.  He was awake long before you were.’

Kelly frowned.  No, that wasn’t it, exactly.  ‘Maybe, but . . . but I get what’s in this whole thing for me.  I mean, Cartham . . . He’s great . . . but I . . .’

‘Don’t do that, Kel.  You don’t get to try to say that you don’t deserve him, that you’re not good enough, that you’re not . . . not pretty enough or not smart enough, that you have too much baggage . . . Look at him, will you?  He’s been through more in his life than you ever have, and whether you like it or not, you don’t need to be a victim.  You’re better than that—and he thinks you’re better than that, too.  So, be what he thinks you are.  You’re not allowed to do what you’re trying to do.  I forbid it.’

Gritting her teeth against the deadly accuracy of her youkai-voice’s words, Kelly busied herself instead in taking slow and careful sips of the still-steaming brew.  Easy to think that she should just get over it, right?  But it was so much harder than that.  She wanted to think that it was all as it should be, and yet . . . Yet, a part of her just couldn’t quite let it go, couldn’t quite make herself believe when she knew—knew—what she saw in the mirror, every damn day.

‘And you’re missing the point entirely.’

‘Oh?  And what’s that?’

Her youkai-voice sighed.  ‘It’s not about what you see in the mirror, you know.  It’s about what he sees, and you . . . You can’t dictate to him, what that is, so don’t even worry about it because right now?  What he sees?  He sees you—the one he wants to spend his forever with—and don’t ever forget that.’

“So, do you want to hang out here another day, or do you want to move on?” Cartham asked, gazing past her and out of the open tent flaps at the stunning morning.  “If so, then we’ll have to go find some food because we don’t have anything, and I’m starving.”

Kelly gave a little shrug, but still didn’t raise her head.  “Whatever you want,” she heard herself saying, somehow proud of the steadiness in her voice.  “I mean, it’s your vacation, right?”

Cartham grunted, the sound echoing in the coffee cup that hovered before he lips.  “Well, it’s yours, too, innit?” he countered mildly.  “It’s nice here, but . . .” Trailing off for a moment while he drained his cup, Cartham lowered it, grasping his wrist, arms around his bent knees, as the now-empty mug dangled loosely by the handle from his fingers.  “Guess it’d be nice to find a place with a shower—or at least, with some fresh water.”  He chuckled suddenly, reaching over to brush her hair back out of her face.  “You’re, uh, really cute when you’re sleeping, you know?”

“I think you need your eyes checked,” she muttered, more to herself than to Cartham.

He didn’t miss her statement, though, and he snorted.  “My eyes work just fine, Kel, and I’ve spent a nice, long time, watching you sleep, here and back home, so I know what I’m talking about, anyway.”

“Umm . . . whatever you want is fine,” she blurted quickly, unaccountably flustered as she hurriedly lifted her mug, mostly because she needed something to do with her hands.

If Cartham sensed her rising anxiety, he didn’t give any indication, and, instead, he went on.  “I don’t know what you were dreaming about, but it must’ve been pretty good.  You were smiling just a little.”

“W-Was I?”

He nodded.  “Aiyuh . . . Don’t suppose you were dreaming about me, were you?”

She could feel the heat that washed into her cheeks, despite the absolute teasing in his tone.  “I don’t remember,” she mumbled.  “H-How long do you think it’d take to pack everything up?  I-I-I mean, I need to put makeup on, and—”

“Why?” he interrupted carelessly, taking her emptied mug and rising onto his knees.  “You look fine—maybe better—more . . . uh, more . . .” He trailed off, face scrunching up in a thoughtful, if not slightly exaggerated, frown, bouncing the empty mugs, as though he were struggling to find the word he wanted.  “More approachable, maybe?  Hell, I dunno . . . but you really don’t need all that gunk.”  He made a face.  “If you like it, then yeah, aight.  But you don’t need it.  Anyway, I’m going to go refill these.  Be right back.”

She stared at him.  She couldn’t help it.  Part of her was instantly ready to scoff at the things he’d said.  That was her automatic response.  Never had she ever stopped to consider that Cartham might well disagree with the things that she fundamentally believed, and that . . . He looked like he was being earnest, didn’t look like he was joking, or just saying things that he thought would please her.  No, if anything . . . ‘He . . . He means it . . . doesn’t he?’

‘Kel, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.  Instead of focusing on the things that you think you see, why don’t you open your mind to what Cartham does?  Because that man—that man . . . He sees the world in you . . . and that really, honestly, can be enough.’

‘Can . . .? Can it be that simple . . .?’

Her youkai-voice laughed, but it was a gentle sound.  ‘Sure, it can be, if you want it to be, anyway.’

‘If I . . . If I want it to be . . .’

Cartham was whistling under his breath, rather off-key, as he refilled both mugs and set the pot back into the ashes near the fire but not directly in it.  In the sunlight, his hair caught the golden sheen that seemed to glow around him, and the absolute peace in his aura reached her, despite the distance that separated the two of them.

That was the question, wasn’t it?  Could she do it?  Could she try to let go of the lifetime of insecurities that always seemed to get the better of her?  Because Cartham . . . Cartham had never made her feel like less than she was; not ever, and she knew that, too . . .

And slowly, hesitantly, she smiled.