They have been telling her how to do things for a long time now. Ever since she can remember, smiling adult faces bending toward her, speaking in condescending tones.

Come now, Kagome, they instruct. Play nicely.

So she does.

She plays nicely with the other children. She plays nicely with her brother. Her mother smiles to see her crouching on the blue tile of the kitchen floor, playing, very nicely, with the cat.

And then…

And then she plays nicely with the hanyou she finds pinned to a tree, the one that dreams of loss. She plays nicely with the old woman, and the kit, and the helpless people that seem to stumble after them everywhere they go. They watch her, baffled, as she bounces around the wreckage of their lives; binding wounds, comforting the ill, washing the dead. Every so often she shoots a cheerful smile in their direction.

Wait your turn.

Because someone else was there first. And patience is a virtue. So she waits in line, and when her turn finally comes, she cradles her plaything very gently in her arms. He is fragile, after all.

Remember to share.

Children always come back for their toys.

So she supposes she shouldn't be surprised when suddenly the other woman is alive again. Her pale face is blank, looking the usurper over. "That," she says, finally, "is mine."

And she reaches out to place a cold, white hand on his arm.

The woman may only be made of bones and earth, but she strong. And so Kagome relinquishes her hold, so they don't tear him, and plasters on that useful smile; making sure to wave when the solemn looking lady drags her hanyou off again. Sharing is caring after all, just as the saying goes. And she cares very much. She only wishes that the woman made of clay were gentler with her toys. She always gives him back broken.

Still, she really needn't worry after all. He always manages to crawl back to her in the end; dirty and bewildered and loosing his stuffing. He is embarrassed to be falling apart, but he is brave enough to let her draw him into her lap. "Just a scratch," he mumbles, his eyes far away.

A smile at the corner of her mouth, she stitches him up again.

Always say please.

And sometimes, not so fragile.

"Kagome," he hisses, like someone in pain, as he settles down over her skin. And he is running his hands down her back, across her hips, heated and frantic. Over and over— a wind-up doll. "Kagome," he says again, gasping. "I need you…"

Play nicely. "For now," she whispers, before she is dragged under.

And thank you.

She has always been a well-behaved girl. So after everything is over, holding his broken body against hers, she thanks him. With the utmost care, she brushes her lips across his cheek. It is already cooling under her touch, and his eyes gaze unseeing into the distance. He is limp in her arms, heavy and blood splattered, and briefly she wonders if this is the happily ever after they were promised.

It is certainly the end.

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And now.

She peers down at the tiny jewel in her hand. So very small. She suppresses the urge to laugh, harsh and loud in the quiet. There is a profound irony somewhere in this situation, but she chooses not to pursue the thought. Some things a person is better off not facing. Instead, she focuses on the sphere in her palm.

And now…

Purify this jewel, miko-sama.

She stands there for a long moment. Then her face changes.

Very slowly, she frowns.

They have been telling her how to do things for a long time now. It is beginning to get on her nerves.

"No, thank you," she says, decidedly.

And after another moment she bends and sets it on the ground. Straightens back up. Walks away.

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A/N: Everyone hates to do what they're told, after all. Even the most well-behaved of us.