[ D i s c l a i m e r ] nope
[ A u t h o r' s N o t e ] I've been working on this Miroku x Kikyou one-shot for weeks and I'm so glad that it's finished that I almost don't care about how many flames I'm going to get! As far as I know this is the first fic on containing this pairing, or at least the first good one, so I'm a tad excited. Anyway, this fic is my child and I love it very, very much, and I hope you all enjoy!
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She was lonely.
It was that simple. Her actions and surroundings and destiny and future and past were so infinitely complex and wound together just perfect enough so that one minute shift in any direction could jeopardize the entire fate of the whole planet, much less herself.
But the secret to understanding Kagome wasn't to factor in all those things. Technically, she was just a normal teenage girl out of millions. Her feelings were their feelings. When Miroku approached her that day as she sat idly on a log, sad look set on her features, he finally figured her out. It was horribly complex, yet completely simple.
She was lonely.
He could relate. He felt what she felt. In the whole world, he had but himself. Sure he had companions, but their care for him was shallow and did not break the surface. No one truly knew him, and much more no one desired too.
This point is what he used to justify his actions to himself. 'I was just as lonely as her,' he would tell himself, 'I simply wanted someone who cared about me.'
So he went to her, day after day, and they talked and talked and she fell in love with him because he always knew what to say. He always knew what buttons to push.
And whenever they could, they would rut in the grass or against a tree or simply on the cold, hard and uncaring ground. Miroku was proud of and disgusted with himself at the same time. He had found her out, he had pushed and pulled in all the right places and now she was his.
In the beginning, she was just a conquest, just a notch on his belt. But as time went on he found himself loath to go to other women. Geishas were nothing compared to her and when he looked at Sango, all he saw was Kagome's shining eyes and radiant smile.
Every time Inuyasha touched her, blind jealousy accompanied by its friend anger, rose up within him. It was all he had just to clench his staff tightly and look away. And when Kouga came around and argued over her with Inuyasha he was disgusted. For the rest of the day he would sneer and be completely unapproachable. Except to Kagome of course, whom he had to comfort over the whole ordeal for hours after everyone had gone to sleep.
And this was his life. It was completely simple. It was routine. As days wore on, however, it became more repetitive than usual and he could feel the pull of the Wind Tunnel heightening every day. As a dying man, he wondered if he had time for a routine. His life was wasting away, bleeding through his fingertips, shriveling and dying. He didn't have time for secrets, he didn't have time for jealousy, he didn't have time for routine and he certainly didn't have time for love.
'It would have been beautiful,' he wanted to say to her. But instead he said nothing at all. And he continued to rut with her in the bushes late at night because underneath it all he was a weak man and a foolish man and he loved her more than anything but not nearly enough.
Because when he was with her she wasn't lonely at all.
And it was that simple.
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She was lonely.
It was that simple. He realized that now as he regarded her from across the cave they were currently barricaded in. Earlier that day in the heat of battle, he'd pushed her out of a steady stream of stampeding rocks let loose by some attack gone awry. On some crazy impulse, his emotions had led him to the split second decision.
Now, trapped and tired, his eyes probed her unconscious form, searching and pursuing with the unbridled curiosity of the unknown. And it dawned on him. The secret to understanding Kikyou was simple; even through all of her tangled weaves of hate and betrayal, in which she was hopelessly caught, like a butterfly snared in a spider's web.
She was lonely.
As he observed her, body and soul, she slowly stirred and woke, pinning him with her haunting gaze. His breath caught in his throat and for once in his life, Miroku had no words. And with no words, there were no lies.
With one look he was completely bare to her, with one look she'd managed to dig deep down inside him and reach a part of himself he hadn't even been sure existed. With one look she had done what would have taken any other countless lifetimes upon lifetimes.
With one look he was in love, and his life would never be the same.
She sat up without as much as a wince, completely void of emotion as she craned her swanlike neck to look at him more closely through lidded and critical eyes.
Tilting her head to the side, she stood solemnly, towering over his sitting figure, blanketing him in a cold shadow, "Miroku," she said, an eyebrow cocked slightly, a twinge of recognition and amusement in her voice, "the monk with the curse of the Wind Tunnel bestowed on his hand by Naraku himself."
He did not speak, just buried his hands in his sleeves, gazing up at her stoically, trying to appear nonchalant and unaffected. His outward façade was impeccable and lacked even the most miniscule flaw, which he owed to years of devoted practice and thousands of empty promises made to himself, a lonely and dying man.
And yet she saw right through him without even the barest hint at any effort on her part. Her eyes were bottomless and looking into them was like opening your eyes when submerged in murky lake water. It made it impossible to know what she was thinking.
So she stood now, regarding him, silent for minutes, hours, perhaps years. Time was a motionless void around her. It stopped.
Finally, after eternities of drowning in her eyes, she came closer and kneeled in front of him, her daunting gaze piercing his flesh, "I'm in love with you, aren't I?" she asked quietly, expression as blank as ever.
He blinked once, twice, in complete surprise. Realization waved over him and he cocked a cynical eyebrow, trying in vain to piece together his smooth and suave exterior, "Since when do you refer to Kagome as 'I'?" he countered, answering question with question.
Fixing her gaze on the floor, her eternally blank expression seemed to sadden as she considered his words, "We share the same soul, do we not?" she began, voice low and calm as always, "I can't fight it forever."
She let her eyes slip closed and he immediately regretted his words, "I'm sorry," he blurted out after a good couple minutes of grappling for what to say. He vaguely wondered the last time he had apologized and actually meant it.
"Don't be," she said, when he expected her to say nothing at all, "You couldn't have known. And I know you would not purposely hurt me."
Her words seemed to echo in the air ethereally, like someone had tapped a crystal wineglass. It was impossible not to see the double meaning in what she had said.
"How do you know I wouldn't?" he asked after a while, voice questioning and guarded, even though he had long given up on his cool and collected exterior.
She lowered her eyes to the ground once again and brought her hands in her lap. In another life, he thought, perhaps she would have fidgeted nervously. The vision was deemed silly and quickly dismissed.
In a way that was entirely Kikyou, she sat and considered her words, lest she ever falter whilst speaking. He didn't mind waiting though. Being with her made him feel like he was thrown into an alternate dimension where there was no time and where one never grew older. The pull of the Wind Tunnel was helplessly forgotten. Naraku was forgotten. All worries were forgotten.
After an unfathomable amount of time, she dragged her potent gaze from the ground only to fix it on the wall behind him, "If you really would have knowingly hurt me than..." she said, voice low and mournful, "I wouldn't have fallen in love with you."
For a split second he could have sworn her eyes glittered with the threat of tears. That thought made his heart hurt. He imagined Kikyou crying, sitting alone and broken, perfect shining tears free-falling from her pale and flawless face like little droplets of her soul leaking out as if she had been wounded and her very essence was her blood. It would be beautiful. Everything about Kikyou was beautiful.
He was suddenly enraged, the thought of her pain awaking a person deep within him more and more every second. He moved forward and took her in his arms, attempting to will the wounds in her heart to heal.
'I would never hurt you,' he wanted to say. But instead he said nothing at all. And for the first time he noticed how small and helpless she really was as she clinged to him as if his touch was her life.
Her grip on his robes tightened and he wondered vaguely if she had ever allowed herself to appear this vulnerable to anyone before. And suddenly he wasn't so concerned that he felt naked in her gaze because he knew she felt the same.
"Don't call Kagome 'I'," he said after a long time, words harsher than he had meant them, "You're ten times the woman she is," he finished, voice warm and soft as he whispered into her ink colored hair.
At his words, she glanced up at him, her face blank as ever. She was so still and quiet he was torn between apologizing and checking her pulse. But then she was smiling, and he couldn't think at all much less move or form coherent words. The smile bloomed on her features like the first crocus of spring pushing up from beneath a blanket of cold, unblemished snow and for the second time that day, Miroku had no words.
"Now I know why she fell in love with you," Kikyou said, her voice the closest to happy he'd ever heard it, "It seems I have as well."
Miroku's anger dissipated and was replaced with a warm, fulfilled feeling unlike anything he'd ever felt before. His heart swelled and he looked down into her eyes that were still creased at the sides from her smile; they no longer seemed so chilling. Instead they emanated warmth that heated him down to his toes. And they were beautiful, because everything about Kikyou was beautiful.
Abruptly she cried out and clutched her side with one hand, the other still tangled in his robes, knuckles white with effort, as if letting go of him would mean her death.
He didn't know what to do so he held her closer, attempting to slow his heart, "What's wrong?" he asked finally, when her trembling had ceased.
Her brows were furrowed deep in pain and she sat deathly still. A single bead of sweat trickled down the side of her face and she began to glow, better illuminating the small cave. After a few seconds of what seemed to be concentrated effort, the light faded and he was left with the shell of a priestess, panting heavily and clinging to him even more fervently.
Miroku was scared, more scared than he remembered ever being in his entire life. Confusion washed over him mercilessly like waves crashing onto the shore.
"What happened?" he forced out once he found the air to breathe.
She sighed the low and tired sigh of one who'd born the depths of hell on their shoulders and burrowed her blank and sad face into his chest, "As you know, I am borne of hate and sorrow engendered by Inuyasha's betrayal. Now that I know it was Naraku who wronged me and not Inuyasha, my hatred for him wanes and I grow tired and weary of living. But my soul can not find peace as long as I am alone," her ever elegant voice cracked and tears were obvious in her words, "What happened a minute ago – I felt happy and," she paused, shaking with repressed sobs, "and loved. My hate was entirely forgotten and my soul tried to escape me, having nothing left to feed on."
She found she was unable to go on, the tears caught in her throat, but she did not let them fall. Instead, she just heaved another heavy sigh, forcing air into her lungs and he fancied she was the bravest woman he'd ever known.
"I wish with everything I am that I could leave this world and find the peace that has evaded me for more than fifty years," she said steadily when she had found the will to start again.
"Then why don't you?" he asked, voice quiet and slightly inquisitive.
"I'm scared," she whispered so softly and gently that he almost felt her words flutter across his cheek like a feather light touch, "I'm scared," she repeated in the same manner, "Of being alone."
Miroku instantly thought of Kagome and that day when he'd approached her as she sat alone on a fallen log, feet tracing indiscernible little patterns on the ground, arms crossed and brows furrowed. He thought of her and her tired eyes. He thought of her and her wind rumpled hair. He thought of her and his insights into her character. He thought of her and realized that what he figured out that chilly autumn day ran far beneath the surface.
Bearing the responsibility of the Jewel of Four Souls, Kikyou had lived alone. Bearing the responsibility of the Jewel of Four Souls, Kikyou had died alone. Five hundred years later, bearing the responsibility of the Jewel of Four Souls, she was still the same lonely teenage girl seeking love from the same oblivious half demon named Inuyasha.
The key to understanding Kikyou and Kagome was both entirely simple and infinitely complex. The logic was complex, the conclusion was simple.
"Will you help me?" she asked after calming down a bit, gazing up at him, eyes pleading. Not trusting his words, he nodded, fighting off a smile when her small hands tightened on his robes.
"Promise me," she said, voice low and unwavering, "Promise me you will never leave me, in this life or the next. If I know that I won't have to suffer this loneliness, I can leave this world in peace."
He sighed and smiled, a bittersweet smile, "I promise," he vowed, running a through her hair.
At his words, she smiled back and an unbridled happiness shone deep in her eyes before quickly disappearing only to be replaced with a touch of sorrow, "Is it selfish," she started, meekly bringing a hand to rest on his cheek, "To want to stay here with you?"
The warm feeling struck him again and he reflexively tightened his grip on her, wondering how he could feel so completely sad and happy at the same time, "Is it selfish," he began, eyes sparkling and playful, "That I want you to stay?"
The sorrow immediately melted from her face and the joy returned tenfold. It was then that Miroku noticed that the only thing more beautiful than Kikyou's sorrow was her happiness.
And so he kissed her, soft and chaste and gentle, even though underneath his hands he could feel the remnants of her soul bleeding through his fingertips. And when he opened his eyes she was still glowing and her eyes were heavy lidded and glazed but they shone with pure, unadulterated happiness.
'It would have been beautiful,' he wanted to say to her. But instead he said nothing at all. And he continued to cling to image of the life they could have had because underneath it all he was a weak man and a foolish man and he loved her more than anything but not nearly enough.
"I'm not so scared anymore," she managed, even as the last of her soul drained from her body and her hand slipped lifelessly from his cheek. And in the face of her death, a single, beautiful tear of happiness escaped her, glinting in the pale light of the cave.
He watched silently as her eyes slipped closed into eternal slumber, a distinct expression of peace set on her features.
And he said nothing as the final wisps of soul slithered through the rocks and left the cave just as cold and dim as it had started. And he said nothing as he lowered her to the ground and regarded her still, shell of a body, as he had been before she awoke. And he said nothing hours later when someone had finally managed to break through the rock wall. And he said nothing to all of the perplexed faces. And he said nothing as Inuyasha screamed and questioned and pointed Tetsusaiga at his throat.
And he kept his promise to Kikyou. And he stayed by Kagome's side. And sometimes when he went to kiss her, all he could see was Kikyou and for the first time in his life he understood Inuyasha more than anything.
And she was never lonely again. And neither was he.
And it was that simple.
It was simplicity.
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THE END