A/N: Finally after months of wrestling with this chapter, it's up at last. It's been such a long time since I've published anything here that I kind of went back to the first time I'd ever published here. I was paralyzed with the fear that the story that I'd devoted time and energy to wasn't good enough. But after extensive editing, I realized I had nothing to worry about. I love this story, and that's enough for me. Well, in any case enjoy, and as always, please leave a review. Constructive criticism is much appreciated. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha, and in no way make money from the production of this work of fiction. It's for entertainment purposes only.

Searching for Love, Sleeping with Danger

Chapter 1

I was pretty certain contemplating self-harm on a first date was a bad sign; a very bad sign.

I forced a smile onto my face, dredging up what I hoped sounded like a genuine laugh, while resisting the urge to sigh, and roll my eyes. If I had to endure one more corny joke about work, I'd be out the door faster than he, Saito Mitsuragi,could say my name. My eyes dropped to my plate, which was mostly full of food, and frowned, poking the remnants of grilled salmon and steamed vegetables.

He ran a hand through his gelled hair, lights shining on his dark tresses, giving it the odd look of being white in some places. He laughed to himself, returning his attention to his platter of assorted sushi rolls, picking one up with ease with his chopsticks and popping it into his mouth. He chewed it vigorously, strong jaw working on it until he swallowed, adam's apple bobbing. I adjusted the spaghetti strap of my black dress, and stared down at my nearly untouched food, trying to combat feelings of envy.

I'd arrived at the restaurant hungry, yet somehow, I'd lost my appetite over the space of 40 minutes. And the cause of my sudden loss of appetite sat across from me, none the wiser. I resisted the urge to glower at him for ruining what I was certain would've been a delicious dinner, at least judging from the smell and presentation alone and instead settled for tapping my foot.

I was counting down the minutes until I would finally be free of this travesty, when my foot accidentally bumped his. Saito jerked upright in his seat, and shot me a surprised glance, eyes darkening briefly in response to the contact. I stifled a frustrated groan, realizing that he must have thought I was playing footies with him. Saito's look alone made me squirm in discomfort. If he honestly thought he was getting to second base, he was sorely mistaken.

I was just about to open my mouth to right this misunderstanding when our waitress came by to replace our empty glasses with filled ones. The opportunity was lost in the space of 30 seconds, and I didn't see any reason to bother with clarification. Instead, I directed my attention to the people milling about trying to latch onto snatches of conversation that held far more promise than the ones I'd been suffering through as of late. The cacophony of noise—children crying, men and women sharing laughs over a glass of wine, the clink of cutlery on white ceramic plates and the ding of a service bell—distracted me from my predicament, but only momentarily.

The ebb and flow of sounds seemed to soothe my sour mood, that is, until Saito's voice shattered my inner calm.

"Would you like dessert, Kagome? They have quite a selection."

He pushed the menu towards me, and I looked from the colorful depiction of ice cream sundaes, brownies dipped in fudge, and extra-large cookies topped with a generous dollop of vanilla ice cream, to his face. I resisted the urge to cringe at the hopeful gleam that shone like a beacon in the swirl of darkness of his eyes. No way. Let me rephrase that: no way in hell was I going to agree to spend another 15 minutes with him. I forced a smile, which was little more than a hasty baring of teeth, and threw my hands up in defense, before patting my stomach, as though full of the food settled on the plate.

"No, I'm fine."

He frowned, pushing the menu even closer to me. "Are you sure? You might regret it . . ."

The only thing I regretted right now, was ever agreeing to this date.

Note to self: refrain from indulging in pity dates fueled by desperation.

The results: purely disastrous.

Saito shot me a cheesy grin meant to persuade. I returned the gesture, but I knew there was firm edge to it that said, 'Push me again and see what happens.' I shook my head once just in case my smile gave him the wrong idea.

He looked about ready to try again, when our waitress circled back to us to clear our table.

"How was everything?" She offered what I believed to be a genuine smile, one that seemed to lighten the mood between Saito and me.

"Wonderful," I said, smoothing my hands along the table's varnish.

"Indeed," my date said from across from me.

"Would you like dessert, or the check?" Our waitress—her name was Nancy, I realized as I glanced briefly at her name tag—pulled a pad and pen from the deep pockets in her black apron and held them poised, chest-level, awaiting our order.

"Check, please!" Those two words burst out of me in a rush fueled by my need to beat my date to the punch. Knowing him he'd request dessert just to trap me into spending more time with him. I didn't want that; not in the least.

An awkward pause followed my outburst—which I hadn't meant to come out so stentorianly—and I tried to smooth things over by smiling and tacking on another "please." All sounds seemed to still around us, and I felt several pairs of eyes upon me. Maybe I was a bit louder than I thought.

"Coming right up," Nancy said, and off she sauntered with our plates.

I sighed in relief as conversation continued as though it hadn't been interrupted, and turned apologetic eyes to Saito.

"Sorry about that. I really am pretty full. Lunch was a little heavier than normal, and I'm not looking to gain any extra pounds."

That's if you considered a few celery sticks filling.

I resisted the urge to hunch over a roiling stomach, hoping that he couldn't hear it churning. If everything worked out in my favor, my explanation would serve two purposes: 1) to explain my sudden loss of appetite and 2) to cover the enthusiasm with which I asked for the check. Even though this had to be one of the worst dates I'd ever had the misfortune of suffering through, I still felt the need to preserve Saito's feelings in any way I could. We were co-workers after all, and depending on how things went for the remainder of the night, the workplace dynamic between us might be severely altered. No pressure, right?

He grinned, obviously feeling much better about pressing me for dessert, before waving off the whole thing.

"No big deal. I'm pretty full myself," he said, leaning further back into his seat. "Besides, it's probably a good thing we declined the offer for dessert. Thing is . . ."

He trailed off, eyes dropping to the table, his face flushing beneath the harsh glow of the fluorescent lights above. I waited for him to continue, almost certain of what he was getting at. Well, if this wasn't a kick in the gut? The cheapskate wanted to go Dutch, and on a first date no less! Bad impression. He made up some excuse about forgetting his wallet at home and only having X amount of cash on him, but I'm hardly paying attention. I still couldn't wrap my mind around the fact that he had forgotten his wallet AND that he didn't have enough cash on him to pay for our dinner, an outing he had insisted upon.

" . . . I assure you that next time I'll pay everything in full."

He shot me a sheepish grin that I returned with a prickly quirk of lips. I was certain, without a doubt, that there would be no next time. Once we had settled the bill, we stood to leave. I, of course, still in the fuming mood I was in, decided it might be best to mentally prepare myself for our 15 minute car ride to my house. My head was filled to the brim with scathing remarks, and not-so-nice things I could say to him about this date and about him, but I had to keep it all locked away. Even if I was planning to let him down easy at the end of tonight, I didn't want to stir up animosity between us that might carry over into the workplace. Since I couldn't ditch him and go home solo (Damn Souta for needing to borrow my car tonight of all nights!), I decided the best course of action was to make an excuse to be alone. And what better way to get some much needed privacy than to slip away to the Ladies' Room?

"Ready to go, Kagome?"

"Not yet. Just need to freshen up. I won't be long. I'll meet you at the entrance."

And with that, we went our separate ways, with him walking at a steady gait toward the front entrance of the restaurant, and I cutting a warpath to the back of the restaurant, eyes locked onto my destination. I hadn't anticipated running into a literal wall of flesh. At the pace I was going, I was surprised I hadn't teetered precariously on my black stilettos, before promptly hitting the floor. No, the person I had so rudely slammed into prevented that with one hand at my left elbow and the other at the small of my back. I allowed my eyes to open a crack when I didn't impact with the carpet below, and a second later I looked up into the eyes of my captor.

My heart dropped into my stomach; I was completely mesmerized by the deep, intensity of this stranger's eyes. They were a warm color, one I couldn't really put my finger on; they weren't brown, but a much richer, and more exotic. It took me a moment to pinpoint the hue—crimson, his eyes were crimson, a deep, deep crimson—and just as quickly for me to dismiss the idea altogether and blame it on my delights of fancy. I mean, come on. Crimson? What in the world made be believe that? Sure, the guy could be wearing contacts, but I chalked it up to it being a trick of the light, nothing more. He had nice, brown, normal eyes.

And yet, they drew me in, hypnotized me like no other, which might have been why I allowed him to hold me for far longer than was deemed appropriate. To onlookers we might have appeared to be two lovers locked in an embrace, scant, inconsequential inches and intermingled breaths away from kissing. Man, I wish that were the case! I blushed and withdrew, mourning the loss of contact and what could never be. Was it wrong for me to wish his pale, slender hands upon me, and to long for the rippling of firm muscles beneath clothed skin pressed to my own in intimate contact? I think not.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

I didn't want to risk the chance of falling victim to his spell, so I kept my gaze averted. I felt his eyes on me, and I stiffened, resisting the urge to look up.

"You're welcome," he said, and I nearly melted.

His voice sounded so good—so good, in fact that I nearly looked up, just to catch a glimpse of the lips that spoke those two, delicious words. I didn't, and with much willpower turned and fled the scene. The privacy of the restaurant bathroom gave me some much needed space, and a heaping helping of solace to contemplate why I was here in the first place.

Desperation, though I was afraid to admit it, was partly why I found myself on a date with Dr. Saito Mitsuragi, whom I'd found so little in common with. The other part was because I wanted to prove to the world that I was over him. It happened the third time he'd asked, and I was geared up to tell him no for the final time and be done with it. And I did at first, but when Asami heard this, she opened my eyes to what I was missing.

"C'mon, Kagome! He's a sweet guy, he's persistent—"

"Don't you mean annoying?" I quirked a brow, before stuffing a bit more salad into my mouth.

The two of us sat alone at a waist-level countertop in the staff cafeteria, indulging in a much needed break from the hustle and bustle of everyday hospital work in the lab. I'd just finished declining Saito's date request, and I was more than a little irritated with the fact that he couldn't seem to take no for an answer. Asami considered it romantic; I classified it as a nuisance. I swiveled in my stool, pushing around the contents of my food, deeply regretting sharing Saito's most recent attempt to get me to go out with him with her.

"No, I mean persistent."

Asami jabbed my side with a bony elbow, and took a hearty bite of her club sandwich. Dusting invisible crumbs from her hands, she rotated on her stool so she was facing me, fixing me with green eyes that held a level of seriousness I could not ignore. She kept staring at me until the weight of her gaze forced me to look at her. I focused my attention on a spot above her short mop of brown hair, bracing myself for what was to come.

"Kagome, you have no other prospects going for you. Can you honestly tell me you want to live out the rest of your life devoted to a memory?"

The words struck too close to home, and I sagged in my seat, hoping to defend against the onslaught of painful images that always assaulted me whenever someone mentioned him. Asami reached across the marble surface and gave my free hand a gentle squeeze; it was warm and provided some protection against the chill of the past.

"Look, I'm sorry to come off so harsh. I didn't mean to."

She averted her eyes for a moment, just as I turned my gaze upon her, before quickly returning it to my face.

"All I want is for you to be happy, and I'm sure Luke would want the same. You can't live your life in the shadow of his memory forever."

I set my fork down then and laid my other hand on top of hers. "I know."

As much as I wanted to remain true to Luke and the life we shared before his tragic passing, a part of me also longed for a taste of that happiness I once had. So I agreed, and look at what it brought me. I mean, sure, I wasn't expecting to hit things off tonight, but even still, I wasn't anticipating enduring the worst date of my life. How unfair. The least I could've gleaned from this night of hell was maybe a few genuine laughs and a good time, but I guess that was too much to ask for given the circumstances.

Well, such is the hand that had been dealt me, and to contest it was truly an exercise in futility. Taking in a hearty gulp of the Glade Plug-in-scented air, I steeled my features in preparation for a car ride I could honestly do without. Why did I have to lend Souta my car today? Obviously, I didn't contemplate the possibility that things could go south otherwise I would have kept my car as an escape option. No sense in kicking myself now; the sooner we left the sooner I could curl beneath my sheets and forget any of this night ever happened.

After washing my hands (stalling, who me?) I reentered the restaurant, eyes darting about my surroundings in search of my date. But in all honesty, I was really looking for the mystery man that saved me from a painful rendezvous with the floor. If only I had met that man first, then maybe this night would have turned out differently. People started to give me strange looks as I walked by, and I realized that I was making my desperate search far too obvious. It took every ounce of effort I had just to steer my eyes forward and keep them there. I waved to Saito, plastering on a smile that could almost pass for a genuine one to those witnessing the exchange.

My muscles tensed as I drew nearer to him. In that moment, I dreaded that I would have to spend another 15 minutes with him in close, private quarters. It was enough to make my skin crawl. But I would endure, and soon I would be climbing up those steps to the Shrine, putting an end to this dreadful night. All I had to do was control my urge to run. Quite a struggle that.

"You alright," he asked, when I was within arm's reach.

"Yup."

Would be even better if I were home right now . . .

He held out his arm, and I took it, though reluctantly. He must not have noticed me cringe prior to making contact, because he smiled down at me with such radiance. I had to admit, he had a nice smile at the very least. That's more than I could say about his personality. Too bad; if only he could keep his mouth shut, and his shoddy humor to himself, maybe we could have hit it off?

"Shall we," he said making an attempt at chivalry.

I smiled despite myself, nodding to him in consent. "We shall."

The walk to the car was brisk and silent. Relief washed over me as I secured my seatbelt and settled my purse onto my lap. Just two more awkward exchanges remained—this car ride and the walk to my front door— and I would be home free. We were off as soon he was buckled up, the smooth glide of pavement beneath tires the only sound filling the darkness around us. Guess he wasn't much for small talk, just corny jokes. I shifted in my seat, eyes cast out to the storefronts with their neon lights flashing like a beacon to beat back the shadows that filled downtown Tokyo.

I squirmed once more, cleared my throat unconsciously, and quickly realized that I was very uncomfortable with the silence. Although I'd spent the better half of the night dreading any form of conversation with him, I really didn't want to spend the remainder of the night twiddling my thumbs; it wouldn't make the time go faster. As much as I wanted fill the car with chatter, I didn't know what to talk about. All this eerie hush surrounding us was making me wish for the cacophony of noise that engulfed us back at the restaurant. Thinking back, it was the only thing that saved us from devolving into awkwardness, and it made me realize just how little we had in common after all. Why on Earth did I agree to this?

We were about another 7 minutes away the Shrine, and the purr of the engine and whir of the tires on the pavement was starting to grate on my nerves, settling into a tight knot between my shoulder blades. I had to break up this monotony somehow, and what better way than with mindless small talk; I just needed to come up with safe, common topics that we could both engage in to fill the time it would take for us to arrive at our destination—my home. I figured the restaurant was a good place to start. I sat up straighter and turned as far as my seatbelt would allow, so that his profile was in clear view.

"So, what did you think of the restaurant?"

He kept his eyes on the road as he said, "Great. The food was good and I liked the homey atmosphere. The sushi platter was especially good."

At the mention of food, my stomach growled in protest, longing for the full spread I'd left nearly untouched. A trip to the fridge before bed was definitely in order if I had any intent on sleeping peaceably tonight.

"Yeah. It's my favorite place to eat," I said, smiling in memory of the good times I'd had there.

"Maybe we could go there again sometime." He looked at me then, when we sat waiting for the light to change, that brilliant smile once again plastered onto his handsome face.

I bit my tongue as the word 'no' threatened to spill from my lips. I would never consider a second date with him, not if he was the last man on Earth. The fact that he thought we were compatible in any way was nothing short of ridiculous. His subtle hint at a possibility of seeing one another again just cinched the idea that we were not on the same page; apparently we were both on two different dates tonight. What he found to be a deep connection was really a fluke, a misunderstanding in my eyes. Now I'd have to find some way to let him down easy, adding just enough force so that he knew I meant business.

Insist too much and I ran the risk of ruining our professional relationship at work. If I teetered around the subject, he would think there is still hope, and that's something I could not stand for. How did one crush the hope of future intimate exchanges without destroying the tender bud of friendship just peeking up from the soil? Hell if I knew . . . But I had to try for the sake of my sanity.

"Yeah . . ." I said, struggling with the words to tell him exactly what I thought of that notion.

The rest of the drive was spent in silence, and was I fine with that. Anything that I could have possibly thought of to say to him, no doubt would have been diverted to hints at seeing each other again. I didn't want that any more than I longed to spend the rest of my days alone. We pulled up at the base of the hill that led to the Shrine, and I was none too subtle with my enthusiasm. I had my seatbelt undone and was out of the car and onto the pavement faster than he could cut the engine and do the same. Maybe I could get out of having him walk me to my front door. To say I was eager to be alone was an understatement.

"Well . . . goodnight," I said, eyes cast up the steep incline of stairs.

"Not quite. I think the gentlemanly thing to do would be to walk you to your front door, don't you think?"

Again with that broad, disarming smile; it was rapidly losing its charm. I stiffened, but in the dark that hung around us, I knew he couldn't make out my change in posture. I surely hoped he didn't notice the flash of pain that shot across my features before melting away into a blank expression. What I wouldn't give to decline his offer and walk myself. I was fully capable.

Plastering on a thin-lipped smile, I nodded, not trusting my mouth to give an appropriate response. From the corner of my eye, I saw him offer his arm, but I pretended not to see it, and instead climbed the first pair of stairs, before turning to face him.

"Shall we," I said, mimicking his chivalrous phrase.

He nodded curtly then joined me, all evidence of his radiant expression gone. We started our way up at a pace I was none too comfortable with, and I struggled to keep abreast of him. My muscles bunched with the effort not to bound—heels and all—to the very top, clearing the distance to my front door without a backward glance. It was partly because I didn't want to be rude, and mostly because my dress was just a wee bit short for my tastes and I was not in the business of flashing men on bad first dates. He didn't deserve the show anyway. My thighs were ablaze with cramps, and all I could imagine as we mounted the last of the stairs were my cushy pair of pajamas, a long hot shower, a half-eaten container of Ben and Jerry's Rocky Road ice cream, and, of course, my bed.

After what seemed like ages, we reached my front door. A minute longer and I would have perished from muscle fatigue. Looking at him now, I almost wished I had. As we strolled across the grounds to my house in the distance, I realized that though the night was coming to a close, it wasn't quite over yet; in fact, the worst was yet to come. Now was the time for me to squash his hopes of there ever being a thing between us, and, in all honesty, I was eager to avoid this inevitable reality at all costs. Not because I wanted to spare his feelings, though that was part of it. I just didn't want to endure that awkward moment when I shut him down, and an awful silence ensued, with discomfiting eye contact that would make even the most callous of all squirm. Worse than that was the fact that tomorrow, no matter how much I set out to avoid him, I would see him, and the awkwardness would continue from there on, shrouding our strained relationship. And all of this from a single night of regret and discarded feelings.

Before I knew it, we were at my door and the moment of truth; there was no way to get out of it now. We stood with a respectable amount of distance between us, me swaying in my heels and keeping my eyes averted elsewhere, and he with his gaze fixed steadily on my face. It held a weight to it that I could feel like a caress along my skin; it was disconcerting to say the least. A moment more passed, the wind, the sound of nearby crickets and the distant thrum of the city's nightlife the only signs of life. He stepped closer, his shadow melding with mine. I looked up eyes level with his chest at first, before I craned my neck in search of his gaze. His eyes were dark and tempting, but my body didn't so much as stir at the heat and want on display there. He wanted me, but the fact of the matter was I could not, and would not, reciprocate.

I took a step back, relishing in the rush of air that settled in the space between us, creating an intangible barrier. I hoped he'd get the message from that reaction alone, but such was my luck, he didn't, and instead stepped in close once more, only this time I stopped him with a hand on his chest. Heat warmed my palm at the contact, drawing sweat from my pores. I withdrew my touch just as quickly, regretting ever touching him, and equally afraid that he might get the wrong idea; I had to set the record straight before things spiraled out of control. Thankful for the darkness that blanketed the Shrine I wiped my palm on the hem of my dress and took a firm step back, offering a small smile.

Before he could mistake this gesture as playing coy, I said, "I really had a nice night . . ."

"I did too."

The gap was closed again, and I maintained the distance between us, bumping into the door behind me. He moved to follow, but I held out a hand, patience wearing thin. No more games, I was going to end this now, quick and painless—or painful depending upon how you looked at it.

"But," I began, hand dropping down at my side when I was sure he wouldn't venture closer, "Saito, I don't think this is going to work."

"I know the restaurant wasn't all that great this time, but I promise we'll go someplace nicer."

I just barely resisted the urge to wrap my hands around his neck and stifled a growl, releasing it in a less threatening—and crazy—sound: a sigh.

"No, I mean us." I made a sharp you-me gesture to illustrate my point. "I don't think we should see each other after this."

He opened his mouth to respond with yet another botched interpretation of what I'd just said, but I beat him to the punch. If there was one thing I knew after this night, it was to anticipate that no matter what I said if I didn't make it painfully clear, he would misconstrue my meaning, warping it until my true intentions were lost.

"As in, I'm not interested in taking this any further." I wanted to tack on a firm 'ever,' but I think the previous words, coupled with an unwavering gaze, were sufficient for him to get the idea; no need for overkill.

His face fell then, the truth crushing any hopes he had of a future with me. The silence around us seemed to drag on into eternity, and I inwardly cringed, coming to terms with the fact that tomorrow and the days to follow would be nothing but torture.

"So," I said, feeling behind me for the door handle, and seeking ways to draw my attention away from the situation at hand, "I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

The questioning lilt didn't escape my notice; there was no doubt I would see him tomorrow, because there was simply no way of avoiding it, but dammit all, I sure as hell was going to do my level best to pointedly evade possible awkward meetings with him. I just had to steer clear of all public places where he might be, which in the case of the hospital was pretty much everywhere. Don't suppose there was any way I could do my work from the bathroom?

He offered me a curt nod, and I turned my back, preoccupying myself with rummaging around in my purse for my keys. I flushed despite myself, and started searching for them with more gusto. Suppressing a victory cry, I clutched them in my hand and turned back to him, offering a small smile and a wave.

"See you tomorrow."

He gave yet another, nod and returned my gestures with their half-hearted counterparts. I shoved my key into the lock, turned it, and thrust the door open, nearly clamoring over my own two feet as I cleared the threshold. Way to seem inconspicuous. I shut the door, trying to block out speculations of what he must think of me. In the end, it didn't matter. I had no intention of having extended contact with him, if I could help it, that is. I gulped down a deep breath of air, and leaned against the door, allowing the coolness to soothe my nerves.

If I could have one wish, it would be to erase this night from existence, but such was not the way in life. Events often happened beyond our control, and all we could do was look upon them in fondness or despair. Luke's death taught me that. I shut my eyes against the warmth of tears filling my face, threatening to spill from my sealed lashes. I refused to cry—not now, not when all it has ever done for me was exacerbate the pain; tears, no matter how fervent, never brought the dead back. Despairing over the past, when I was so hell bent on moving forward with my life would not help me.

With that thought in mind, I pieced together strings of false bravado, and convinced myself to face tomorrow's fiasco with my head high, and my emotions locked up tight; a façade, but a very much needed one if I had any intentions of returning to work. After a moment's hesitation I withdrew from the solid comfort of the door, taking a deep breath to settle the turmoil raging inside. Standing here wouldn't make the break of day come any less sooner, and making fruitless wishes was not going to grant me the gift of time travel. As they say, time waits for no man, and I knew tomorrow would come, whether I wanted it to or not. Sad, but true.