A/N: A deeper look into the moment Sesshoumaru revives Rin. Liberties taken with the details of that moment.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Inuyasha nor make any profit from this work.
Something changed almost as soon as he returned the breath to her small, broken body.
Sesshoumaru watched with an internal denial of intrigue as the light slowly returned to the child's eyes. Her dark gaze, only moments before dulled by the sightless sheen of death, flashed with shock and panic as she locked onto his face and adjusted to life once again flowing through her veins.
He could not control the way his gut wrenched as the swell of her anxiety washed over him, and he instinctively tightened his hold around her fragile frame as her panic warred with her breathing. He held her gaze, Tenseiga burning at his hip while the blood resumed its normal rush through her veins. She warmed under his touch, the white pallor of death melting away as she pinked up held close to his chest. What a curious thing it was to watch her surge back to life and feel the pulse of its evidence hammer against his own body. Her limbs twitched and jumped as feeling came back to them, a grimace of discomfort contorting her face as she once again became acclimated to something so simple as sensation.
It disturbed him when he realized that he might have smoothed away the pained look if he had still had both of his arms.
Somewhere in the background Jaken caterwauled about some nonsense or another, but he ignored it in favor of the reviving anomaly he held. The awakening child had not once looked away from his eyes, her panic-stricken stare laced with a confusion that demanded the attention of his. For some strange, incommunicable reason, he could not begrudge her that. So, Sesshoumaru watched, and he saw the moment her confusion transformed into the guileless expression of what could only be offered by a humble, naive child. Trust.
Death's scent faded, pushed out by this strange, intoxicating, boozy aroma, and for a moment it was as if he were drunk. It permeated his senses and gripped at his core. He was lightheaded, disconnected with his surroundings. The sensation of his other knee crashing to the earth grounded him somewhat as the breath sucked from his lungs and refused to return.
Still, neither of them looked away.
Such a strange creature. She was meaningless scrap of nothing thrown from the table of life, held by the arm of one who could devour her in a single snap of his jaws. But there was no fear there in her eyes.
A scrap. But she was a fearless scrap who dared to gaze back and face the truth of what he was. She was a scrap who touched and nursed one who was feared without question, no matter how trivial her efforts. Just a scrap. A weak, innocent scrap who misplaced her trust.
His breath began to return.
Suddenly, a little, pink hand reached up and grasped the edge of his kimono, her desperate grip pressing filthy, innocent fingers that pierced like knives against his flesh. Her eyes widened, surprised as a low sound began to vibrate there, but even he was unsure whether it was a warning or something else.
So, he simply stared at her and watched curiously as her gaze dropped to consider her hand, watching it move with the returned rise and fall of his chest. She said nothing—did nothing—except quietly observe, the once again life-filled eyes unnerving in their reflection.
And he waited.
Minutes or hours passed, but she finally looked up and sought his eyes. Her inquisitiveness bled into determination, a silent challenge bursting forth from the depths. He watched as the small mouth that had never uttered a word in his presence pressed into a flat, firm line as she willfully embraced his scrutiny. She was a still a scrap, but her grit burned from somewhere deep within like a stubborn phoenix in the ashes of its pyre.
There was a single soul-clenching moment that stretched into eternity where he wondered at her thoughts. In truth, she also wondered at his. But then, never breaking his gaze, she flattened her dirty palm directly over his heart and pushed her little life-filled hand against his skin, daring once again to touch what no others had. And that was it.
Something cracked open.
A/N: Not sure if I will do more with this or not, but I've debated turning it into brief snapshots of moments between Sesshoumaru and Rin. This fic and any following strictly observe a parent/ child relationship between the two. Anyway, thank you for reading, and I'd love to know your thoughts!