To Wait
By Neech
For Fred Brightside, who is, and always will be, a constant source of inspiration.
But to see her was to love her,
Love but her, and love forever
-Robert Burns
Love,
The key that unlocks the bars of impossibility.
- Fikayo Ositelu -
17 years…
For the first time in three hundred years, you linger at the shrine, watching uncomfortably as the old geezer you'd known so many years ago burns incense (which smells like sh- crap) and throws confetti into the air to celebrate the birth of his first grandchild.
He grabs you and twirls you around, the fact that you outweigh him by at least 30 pounds conveniently slipping from his mind as he yells (too damn loudly, in your opinion) wildly about the entrance of his Kagome, his littlest, into the world of the living, causing many tourists and shrine visitors to edge away in slight uneasiness.
You swear under your breath, hoping that your face is unremarkable enough to be forgotten, though grateful for the hat and sunglasses that conceal ivory hair and golden eyes. He lets you go in almost a second, leaving to go and badger yet another poor sod (vocabulary picked up from a brief stint in England) who was a fool enough to stay within a 10 metre radius of the old jiji.
You quickly vanish into the shadows, though your cursed human heart demands you stay until the wench finally returns home. Yet you know you have to leave, for you can barely resist the temptation of having her in your arms for the first time in centuries.
You will wait.
Seventeen years is nothing, when you will see her in fifteen.
15 years…
It has been two years since your last haircut, and you find yourself sitting outside the hairdresser's with stone fingers (or so it seems) encircling your wrist, preventing you from bolting and running for the hills.
Stupid kitsune.
You curse Shippou for his stubbornness, obviously something he inherited from either foster parent, though you swear it's from her, not you. You would never be so unreasonable.
"Let go of me." You glare at the offending hand; your teeth clenched so tight to your words come out as a low, guttural growl.
"I'm not going to until you start behaving like a rational human being-" You shoot him a look mid-sentence. "Okay, fine, rational person. Jeez! Since when did you care so much about semantics?" You grit your teeth as you notice that people around are beginning to stare, wondering why a (seemingly) fifteen year old is lecturing a grown adult like a disobedient child.
"Shippou…" For once, he hears the warning in your voice.
"Alright, alright! Fine! Anyway, why are you so averse to cutting your hair? You can't go into court like that. No one will take you seriously. Long white hair, fangs plus yellow eyes, they'll think you're some loon who thinks he's some kind of demon-"He chatters on loudly, and you resist the urge to drag him by his tail and hang him from some tree. Damn. Old habits die hard.
"Shippou!"
It is not the haircut you are afraid of, you know, but rather the person who does the work for you. You cringe, your ears flattening against your skull as you remember the spectacular result (of what could be counted as a haircut, but looked more like a train wreck) of your last visit to the hairdresser.
"Takahashi Inuyasha?" A voice echoes from within the salon, saving Shippou prematurely from your wrath.
Damn.
You resign yourself to your fate as you are dragged bodily into the hair salon.
"Hello, dogbreath."
You meet the twinkling eyes of a grinning Kouga, a tip of fang barely visible in front of his lip. Stupid wolf. You still cannot stand him, even though you know he is no longer after your Kagome.
"Keh." His greeting does not warrant an intelligible response, and you let him know so. He twitches slightly, but grins with good humour. Damn him. Ayame has changed him considerably.
You refuse to let that bother you, flinching slightly as he removes your hat, your ears flicking at the feel of clean, fresh air. You swivel to check the surroundings, only to receive a cuff on the ear from the annoying wolf. You glare at him, but he laughs it off, for he is well aware of the fact that you can do nothing to him. Or so he believes.
"Come on, Inuyasha. You still don't trust me about this. I'm not so stupid as to jeopardize you and the rest of the youkai community when I do this. If you get into trouble, so do I. And I have a mate and pups to look after." He smiles, and you know that look anywhere.
Ayame.
You smirk, and you know she has done a good job taming the alpha male of her park. Whipped.
And what would that make you?
You fell in love with a priestess who loved you for the release you could give her from her responsibilities, never truly trusted you, and later sealed you to a tree for fifty years, only for you to fall in love with her reincarnation.
Who you've waited for for five hundred years.
What does it make you?
A lucky fool.
You love her.
You've just never told her.
And as Kouga takes advantage of the peace and quiet to trim your hair, you tell yourself that in fifteen years, you'll be the given the chance to do just that.
That and more.
12 years…
You watch from above, sitting comfortably on one of the higher branches of the Sacred Tree as you keep your eyes trained on the small child of five that plays below you, too engrossed in her game of dolls (which seems to involve mud for a reason) to even notice your presence.
She is beautiful, even as a child. (Though you're hardly interested in her that way… For now.) Your eyes glaze over as a tinge of nostalgia sweeps through you, as you remember cerulean blue eyes dancing with amusement, laughing as she watches you practically inhale bowl after bowl of ramen, ebony locks swaying with the wind as she sits by the well in rare contemplation, her expression serene, her extremely short kimono (it's called a skirt, you berate yourself) which you constantly tried, though unsuccessfully, to pull past her knees to prevent undeserving gawpers from seeing her long slim legs, toned from months of running up and down half of Feudal Japan.
A shriek of childish laughter shakes you from your reverie, nearly causing you to slip out of the tree in the process. You right yourself with no trouble, with only a slight blush to indicate your embarrassment. A woman, who you've come to know as a possible foster mother enters the vicinity, calling for the child to clean up for lunch, listening patiently as the young girl babbles about princesses and guardian angels and the like.
You barely catch the small but clear wink she gives you as you slink away into the shadows.
And then she is gone.
7 years…
You sneak into the shrine, hoping to avoid the large crowds that seem to swarm the area during the various matsuri. Unfortunately, Lady Luck is not on your side.
After avoiding umbrellas, drippy snow cones and several sharp elbows, you manage to reach the Goshinboku unscathed, albeit a bit sweaty and covered by a thin layer of dirt. You cuss loudly for the thirty-eighth time of the day (a new record), cursing the bad day in general (rating a crappy assed nine on the lousiness meter), the well for all its stupid little idiosyncrasies (in other words, for suddenly locking you out five hundred years before) and the stupid broad who had been able to break your back with one word and still had you pining after her like a effing lovesick puppy.
You step over the barricade, the chain 'mysteriously' broken into two as you lean against the smooth bark of the Tree, ignoring the scandalized looks of other shrine visitors. You close your eyes, your anger gone, for the Tree's presence comforts you when hers cannot.
For the Tree is their tree, and theirs alone.
5 years…
You visit the shrine, three years too early as you notice, that for the first time in thirty years, there is no Higurashi family member present to watch the shrine grounds. You sniff the air cautiously, taking in a small whiff before choking slightly as the smell of pain, illness and death assails your nostrils, causing you to slip into the dog squat you were familiar with so many years before, your eyes watering at the acrid, unpleasant smell.
The scent belongs to a Higurashi.
You vanish from the spot, a briefcase and a pair of shoes the only indication of your initial presence.
-8-
You can smell her tears.
You watch quietly as she stands before the tree, her black kimono a vivid contrast to pale skin as she bows her head in silent prayer, her lips moving rapidly though no sound reaches you. Your heart twists suddenly, knowing, understanding her pain and loss at losing a parent.
She lifts her head and you wince, noticing the very obvious tear tracks that run past her cheeks.
To hell with rationality.
Forgive me.
You jump from the tree, causing her to gasp slightly as she notices your presence. You breathe in her scent gratefully, of peach blossoms, peony, lavender and the slight feminine scent that is just her, for it is your own personal addiction, and you have not smelt it in such a very long time…
You reach forward, inwardly pleased when she does not flinch away, to gently wipe away her tears, careful not to hurt her with your claws. She does not look away, as if captivated by your eyes, her gaze puzzled, searching.
And then she smiles, her grin knowing as she squeezes your fingers twice, her wordless thanks causing a faint flush to appear on your face. She shocks you then, planting an innocent, chaste kiss on your cheek (your second kiss from her) before turning away, giggling as you do a fairly decent impersonation of an over-ripe tomato.
Keh. Stupid wench. You wait till she is far away before you vanish into the approaching darkness, still feeling the warmth of her fingers wrapped around yours.
Not long now.
3 years…
You plonk (is that even a word, you wonder) yourself on one of the long sofa-like seats of the restaurant booth, muttering exhaustedly about slave-driver bosses and disgustingly long periods of waiting under your breath as you slouch in your seat, grateful for its soft and cushiony feel.
You quickly order an Ice Mocha (a fairly new indulgence to add to the list of ramen and Kagome-visiting) and a cheeseburger, paying no heed to the flirty waitress that serves you as your attention is grabbed by a bunch of rowdy teenagers that sit three tables away, a young woman of fourteen among them.
Your mouth suddenly dries, slightly agape as you gaze upon the young woman you first met five centuries ago, and you can barely restrain yourself from walking over and grabbing her.
A 'clunk' brings you back to reality, as the waitress rudely slams the drink on your table before walking huffily away, obviously upset at your complete lack of interest. You murmur a 'Keh', not particularly caring about the broad's hurt feelings as you turn your gaze back to the young woman who holds your heart, mind and soul.
She sits with her friends, with three of the usual suspects (Eri, Yuka and Ayumi, you remember) as well as two additional people, a boy and a girl whose faces are unfamiliar. You smirk, for the Hobo boy is not with her, obviously not part of her close circle of her friends. You watch as she laughs at some joke made by one of the girls, thankful for small miracles, for being able to see her.
You smile slightly, for she is just as you remembered, carefree, bubbly and impulsive as you watch her laugh with her friends, her azure eyes swimming with amusement. Your ears flick underneath your hat as you struggle to overhear their conversation, just to hear her voice.
You shift in your seat (though not obviously), trying to get into a better position to hear their words. You stop suddenly, frozen as the silly grin you originally thought burned into your face slides off as easily as butter on a hot pan.
Your eyes narrow as you observe the boy who sits next to her, chatting rather vociferously with her as his body inches towards hers, his arm casually slung across her shoulders as he then makes a soft comment you do not catch, eliciting a slight blush from the young lady that sits next to him.
You eyes snap in anger as the youngster's arm begins to migrate down her back, dangerously close to her waist and derrière. You growl loudly, causing other customers to edge away in slight apprehension at the feral sound, and you curse the fact that brandishing large Japanese swords is not particularly ideal in the 20th century.
She's yours, your Kagome, you want to snarl, your eyes taking on a slight red sheen as you begin to notice her discomfort, her grin appearing rather forced as her gaze darts to under her table (to the thigh and knee pressed up against hers, you realize), only to smile weakly and shake her head when her friends ask her what is wrong.
Stupid wench! Can't stand up for her own damn self! You swear under your breath, as she makes no effort to correct the boy's arm's position or distance herself from the touchy-feely brat. The tiny rational part of you protests her innocence, that she has never had the heart to push anyone away, but you shove that part away into the remote recesses of your mind, hardly caring that your fangs are elongating dangerously past your lips.
"Squik" goes your cup, for in your jealousy and rage, your grip has tightened, unconsciously gripping the poor plastic cup like a vice. You glare at the mournful-looking thing, as if it is to blame for your fit of anger. Then, you are struck by a sudden stroke of inspiration, your gaze flitting from the dented piece of plastic to the damned twit who is touching your wench.
Thunk. A splash. You smirk as the boy yelps, throwing himself out of the booth as he finds his hair and his uniform suddenly doused in iced coffee. You watch in slight amusement, your features back to normal (for a hanyou, anyway) as you take pleasure in the slight grin on your young woman's face, though it transforms into a look of concern as the boy groans, possibly concussed from the force of your throw.
As you stare at their table, you are almost glad, for the next time you meet her, you have the Hobo boy to deal with instead.
Almost.
2 years…
Beep. Beep. Biiip. Whizzz-thunk. The monitor winks out into a sea of blue, an indication of a computational error. You snarl, slamming your hands onto the keyboard as all your hard work vanishes in an instant, leaving you with an ERROR-screened computer and a keyboard with half the keys dented in inexplicable ways.
You use a few choice words (all which seem to rhyme with truck), throwing your pen at your PC in a fit of frustration as your CPU beeps dolefully, as if apologizing for its lost data.
Unfortunately, your aim is off. Way, way off.
Plip. A splash. "Agghhhhh! Takahashi!"
You groan, restraining the urge to whack your head against the table repeatedly as your boss walks in, soaked from head to toe in green tea.
"Dammit, Takahashi, if you weren't one of the best lawyers in court, I'd garrotte you and sprinkle your innards into the sea for the fish to eat!"
Bang. The door slams and rebounds against its frame, and you flinch, your ears ringing at the deafening sound. You wait for the sound of retreating footsteps before swearing colourfully, making a few rude hand gestures along the way.
"Nice going, Yash."
Kill me now. You glare at the figure that leans casually against your doorway, the shadows of your dimly-lit room doing nothing to hide the wide smirk on your colleague's face as he saunters in, plopping himself on the chair across you.
"Don't tell me. He took your pen too." You look away, refusing to meet twinkling amethyst eyes as you glower at the doorway, as if it is to fault for the visit of Nakagura Kiyo.
Kami, how you hate working, bosses and annoying colleagues. Especially those that were reincarnated shard hunters with nothing better to do than torment you.
"Go away, Nakagura. Don't you have work to do?" You ground out as you pull a file, slamming it against the table with enough force to leave a dent in the rosewood table.
"My, someone's grumpy today." You grit your teeth, tearing a hole in the paper as you write, the knuckles of the hand holding the pen white as you stifle the urge to punch the irritating human.
You can't kill him. You will not kill him. Annoying, yes. But a good friend at times, when he's not prying about your personal life.
"Is it me, or are you always PMSed on the 23rd of July every year?"
That's it. You've had it.
You throw him half-out of the door, your fangs bared in anger. "Get the f--- out, Bouzo!"
You only notice you've slipped up half a second later.
Damn.
"I never realized I had taken a vow of celibacy…"
Surprisingly, he allows it to slide, instead slinking back into your office, nonchalantly depositing himself in one of plush armchairs that lie by the side of the wall. You roll your eyes, your anger slowly fading, wondering what you did in the past to deserve work and interactions with Nakagura.
One lifetime with the damned houshi was enough.
"On the topic of monks and celibacy, are you sure you aren't the one on the way to priesthood? You ignore all the office girls head over heels in love with you, you don't date, you don't even come along when we go to the clubs!"
"I mean, you swear you're twenty-seven, but damn! You look like you're still twenty-one! Younger even. And you have all these good-looking girls pining after you, and you refuse to sleep with them!"
Kami, how you would pity the reincarnated Sango when she met him.
You growl. The answer is easy enough, for you.
Because of her.
A feeling of slight wistfulness, jealousy and sadness runs through you, for you know, somewhere, five hundred years ago, you're meeting her for the first time.
23rd July. Her birthday. The day you first met her, and in your anger, confusion and dream-addled state, mistook her for her more guarded, unflappable counterpart.
"Heeeelloooo? Earth to Inuyasha! Heeeeellloooooo?"A hand waves in front of your face, and you resist the urge to knock Nakagura out unconscious.
Reincarnated fellow shard-hunter or not, he deserved a good kick in the ass.
"Nakagura, if you do that one more time, I will personally-"
All colour drains from your face as you watch him remove a small painted portrait from its frame, his mouth opening in wonder as he looks upon the image.
You swear you had hidden that in the cupboard next to-
Crap.
"I see that answers my original question about self-imposed celibacy." His voice is dry as he glances up from the picture, and you know that you are in very. Big. Trouble.
You blush a deep red as you notice the gold heart-shaped locket in his hand, and you snatch it away, praying that he has not opened it to see its contents.
"I swear, did you file your teeth as a kid or something? That photo is seriously scary."
Too late.
He already has.
"What's her name? How old is she? How old were you when you first met her? She looks fifteen or sixteen. You look pretty young in the photo. Does she have, say, an older sister? "
As he blasts you with questions that you refuse to answer, you open the locket, and you smile, caressing her glass-covered face with your thumb.
Two years, Kagome. I'm waiting.
10 minutes…
You flinch slightly as a mountain of paperwork is dumped on your desk, to add to the small but numerous mounds that stretch from one end of the table to the other.
"Courtesy of Yamamoto-san. Enjoy."
You watch as your boss' assistant flounces out of the door, only too happy to be rid of the load that would have made its way to her desk, had you not thrown an entire file out of your office a week prior and hit your chief on the head.
You still haven't learnt from your mistake of throwing things out of the office via the door.
You swear under your breath, flipping feverishly through the various files. Principles of Criminal law… Evidence on the Narita case… Testimony from Yamazaki-san… Grisly evidence from the case on the murders of two English gentlemen… A folder on theoretical rubbish about a case of armed robbery…
The sheer number of the files alarms you as you glance at the clock, your eyes frantic as you watch the seconds tick slowly by.
You have to go.
"Yash. Oi. Work ends in an hour, not right this minute. Ease up."
You glare at the unwelcome visitor that walks in, quickly scribbling a short paragraph of utter nonsense below a page of wordy evidence that you can barely make sense of.
You don't have the time to deal with him (and his teasing) today.
One minute to go.
"Does this have to do with her? Ka-what's-her-name. Kari?"
Kagome. Ka-Go-Me. You grit your teeth, ignoring Nakagura as you throw yet another bounded book aside in search of a folder containing information on a kidnapping that you could hardly care less of.
"Ka-something. Nevermind. I have to do you some credit; you've certainly found yourself a looker. Wow. Gorgeous."
You are oblivious to his words as the paper in front of your face blurs, your gaze concentrated on the frame that sits proudly on your desk. You grin suddenly, remembering the looks of disappointment and jealousy on your female colleague's faces as you placed her portrait on your desk, for the whole world to see, if they wanted.
As it should have been. Your conscience mutters succinctly, sounding so much like the girl-woman you had known so many years ago. Your ears flatten against your skull as you suddenly realize the error in your actions; for in hiding her away, you refused to acknowledge her, which would lead to her expressed disapproval if she knew.
"How did you meet her, seriously? If you tell me that rot about being stuck to a tree and searching for the Shikon no Tama again, I'm seriously going to haul you off to get drunk so you can tell me the truth."
Your hands immediately go the nonexistent rosary around your neck, smirking as you realize that she can never subdue you ever again.
Not that you'll ever give her a reason too.
Twenty seconds.
"Anyway, are you still dating her? Or did she dump you? Is that why you're so hung up on her? I mean, I know she's attractive, but so are the rest of the girls in the office. And I know a few who really, really want to jump your bones. I mean, they paid me to talk to you and put in a good word for them. Nuts, I tell you."
You reach for the portrait, smiling slightly as you gaze into your masterpiece, drawn and painted two hundred years ago. You've kept it in mint condition since then, only removing it from its frame a few times in the past two centuries.
It started as a way to pass the time, after attending school fifty-six times in two hundred years. You had barely aged, looking roughly about eighteen or so, while Shippou appeared to be eight or nine. In a sort of trade, he had taught you to draw, and you had bought him a katana in return.
A fair trade, considering soon after, you discovered you had the talent for it.
Suddenly, the world had so much more appeal as you sketched everything in sight: trees, a rainbow, descendants of Sango and Miroku, mountains, cows by the side of the road…
Then, you began to imagine her.
It was difficult, in the beginning, for you had wanted it to be perfect, to be a complete likeness of a young woman you had known two hundred years ago. Until you realized, she wasn't. And she never wanted to be.
For she only wanted to be Kagome in your eyes. Your Kagome.
After that, every drawing went smoothly. For even though, as a person, she was imperfect, in your eyes, she was everything but that.
Ten seconds.
You stroke her face with the tips of your fingers, glad that your wait is finally coming to an end.
You wonder whether to pick Shippou up from school (for the twenty-fifth time) but decide against it, the evil grin threatening to overwhelm your face as realize that having the kitsune there would ruin any chance of a 'proper conversation' with her.
"So, Yash? How about it?"
Five seconds.
You quickly toss a few things into your briefcase. Yamamoto could kiss your a--.
Four.
"Oi. Takahashi. Did you hear a single word I've said?"
Three.
"Hello?"
Two.
"Inuyasha, no. You are not skipping out this time. I swear it, I have no idea where you go when you disappear, but if the boss catches you leaving, I swear I am not saving your butt."
One.
"Cover for me."
Blast-off.
-8-
Night.
You reach the shrine, sighing with satisfaction as your remove your hat and your shoes, allowing your ears the rare feel of moonlight on them as you dart from tree branch to tree branch, exercising muscles long stiff from disuse.
Hats. The very bane of your existence.
You soar, finally landing on the limb of a tree next to a familiar window, one you've stood guard over, so many years ago. Your original target all along.
A snowflake tickles your nose, and you look up, smiling as you remember her cavorting in the snow, playing with the kit so many years ago.
You'd do anything to have that life again.
To have her there.
A whiff of old scent slides out from beneath her slightly-ajar window, and you breathe in, taking in your old scent (stale by a month or so) and her own, immersing yourself in the smell of her…
Fresh scent.
Your nose twitches, and you nearly stumble back as you realize she is in. You press your face against cold glass, hoping, just hoping…
She is asleep.
Undeterred, you open the window silently, and with some difficulty (collared shirts and pants were not made for breaking and entering, you discovered), you finally slide into her room.
You smile. For even in sleep, she is beautiful.
You watch quietly, taking in the sight of slightly mussed black hair, her slender figure concealed by a baggy nightgown (and to your great amusement) covered with a Hello Kitty print, the even breathing of someone deeply asleep.
She is just as you remembered.
She moves then, stirring from her sleep as you stare in horror at the hand clasped in yours, and you drop it like a hot potato, still rooted to the spot.
"I'm dreaming." Bleary cobalt eyes meet yours as she slowly wakes, her voice still fuzzy from slumber. She clears her throat quickly, stifling a yawn as she rubs her eyes, struggling to clear the sleep from them.
You've missed those eyes.
Dazzling azure blue.
"What are you doing here? Get lost! You're just a figment of my imagination. The well locked you out, locked me out!" Her voice breaks, and you flinch, the bitterness and sadness obvious, and you bristle slightly, offended at the suggestion of not being real and you reach out, your eyes pleading for her to understand.
"You're not real! Stop tormenting me! Stop making me think of having things I can't have!" Her eyes blaze with anger as she glares at you, prepared to slap your hand away. You gaze back steadily, holding her gaze, as you wait for her, your hand still reaching, reaching…
"Kagome." How you've missed calling her name…
"You can't be…"
She finally does, her hand moving slowly, cautiously, almost as if afraid, reaching for yours.
Your hands meet, your fingers instantly intertwining with hers.
A gasp.
And as you gaze into opalescent azure eyes brimming with tears of shock, amazement, anger, fear and happiness, you smile, for you finally realize, that for her, waiting half a millennium was worth it.
The End
And the rest, dear readers, is for you to imagine.
Comments and constructive criticism are welcome, so please do so. Whether you liked it, or whether you didn't, please give your comments so I can learn to improve in any way I can.
A small note, the fifteen years bit is a small nibblet that I wrote during the whole period of my exams (which are still on-going, curse them) due to extreme boredom and loss of focus.
To those who have placed this story on 'alert', I am sorry to say that this is a 'oneshot' write when I'm concerned. Even I do not know what occurs after, so it is all up to your imagination to decide what happens after. Therefore, I hope you've enjoyed this story in total.
A bit of translation, just in case a couple of you were confused.
Jiji - Grandfather
Matsuri – Festivals
Goshinboku – literal meaning 'Sacred Tree'
Bouzo – Rude word for 'Monk'
Houshi – Priest