Playing With Fire
Author's Note: Well, this chapter is a bit longer than the last one. The last one was pretty much just a taste of things—here's where the story really gets going. Hope you enjoy it!
Also, since someone asked about this in a review, I thought I ought to go ahead and clarify it: Inuyasha is in his hanyou form in this story simply because I like him better that way (and frankly, if I tried to write him the other way, I would keep forgetting… --grin--), but the fact that he's a hanyou isn't really an important theme or factor in this particular story, so I won't be addressing it specifically. Basically, for the purposes of this story, you can assume that youkai are commonplace (just another of the many races that exist around the world), and that youkai features wouldn't attract any more attention or questions than, say, black skin or Nordic-blonde hair.
Oh, and just for fun, brownie points if you know the show and the composer of the song in the chapter title. The answer will be in the notes of the next chapter… (--grin--)
Playing With Fire
Chapter 2: Anything You Can Do
So far, her first day was going relatively well—better than she'd expected, at least. She still hadn't quite gotten over the fact that she was actually working here, at Katana, easily the most renowned Teppanyaki restaurant in the Midwest. This was one of those places where people actually dressed up to go to dinner—a little different from the more run-of-the-mill, jeans and t-shirt places she had worked at previously. The sophisticated, Japanese-inspired architecture of the place, complete with tatami mats on the floors, rice paper screens dividing the larger rooms into alcoves of two or three tables each, rich, dark woodwork accenting the walls and ceiling, and even an elaborate Zen garden that served as a waiting room, created an aura of elegance and exoticism—and yet, in a strange sort of way, she found it rather comforting. It reminded her of the shrine where she had lived as a child, before her father had passed away and they'd moved to the States. Of course, this place had a polished, contemporary finish to it that made it a bit different—but still, it was a taste of home. The wealthy, powerful, and sometimes downright intimidating clientele, however, were another story. The thought of staining an unlucky patron's five-hundred-dollar blazer with a stray drop of cooking oil was enough to have her erring on the side of caution and staying to her more conservative tricks—at least for the time being. Not that she lacked any confidence in her own skills; she knew she had earned this. But still, better not to tempt fate on her very first day.
She finished butterflying a line of shrimp and separated the tender, fleshy pieces from any stray tails, which she collected in a little pile off to her left. Adding a squeeze of lemon and a generous pat of butter, she spread and gathered the shrimp pieces across the grill a bit to see that the flavors were equally distributed and that the shrimp would cook evenly. Then, setting it aside to grill, she turned back to the tails and, flashing a smile at the young boy on the left whose eyes lit up as he realized where she was going, began flipping them one by one into various receptacles. The first two received a mild "Ooh," as they slipped neatly into the front pocket of her jacket; a more impressed "Ahh," as she flipped a few more squarely into the top of her hat; and then an appreciative round of applause as she sent a couple up around the back of her neck to settle in her pocket as well. Finally, with three remaining, she set about juggling them in the air between two spatulas, and then, without looking, landed them one by one on the young boy's plate. He laughed and clapped all the louder, his parents and the other guests at the table chuckling as well. She grinned at him and slid the shrimp tales back onto her spatula, discarding them.
"Well, how are you all enjoying the work of the newest member of our team?" Miroku said jovially, coming up behind her as she dished out the freshly-cooked shrimp. He was working a lighter shift today, splitting his time between serving tables and shadowing her, just to make sure she was settling in alright.
The customers responded with a smattering of applause and appreciative murmurs as they dug into their food, and Kagome flashed him a grin of thanks, which he returned with a wink, disappearing again.
The rest of the meal went just as smoothly, her burden to perform for them easing in direct proportion to the amount of food on the customers' plates. Just as she was passing out the last couple of main courses, a flash and collective gasp of amazement drew her attention to one of the tables across the room, where a burst of flame vaguely resembling a mushroom cloud was just dissipating into the vent above the grill. The customers at that table, and even a few at the surrounding tables, cheered enthusiastically, but the surly, silver-haired chef barely even looked up from what he was doing—and yet even from here she could tell it was merely an affectation. He was basking in their praise like a pig in the mud. With a small shake of her head, she returned to her own work, cleaning the grill and offering refills of dipping sauce to any who desired it.
When she left the table, grinning to acknowledge their grateful applause, Miroku was waiting for her near the entrance to the kitchen, and fell in step beside her. "So, how are you holding up?" he asked as they disappeared through the swinging doors into the bustling kitchen.
She slid the cart into its alcove and turned back to him, hands on her hips with a sigh of accomplishment. "Alright, I guess. It's hard work, but I love it. And these grills are fantastic."
"State of the art," Miroku concurred, and then slyly gripped her arm, running his thumb comfortingly over her shoulder. "If you run into any problems, though, don't hesitate to call me. Even these fancy-schmancy grills can be tricky at times, and I can usually fix them when they do. I'm a man of many talents."
"Yeah, Sango warned me about that," Kagome said with a wry smile, glancing pointedly at his hand on her shoulder.
"A quick one. Good to know," he replied approvingly, removing the hand. "You'll fit in well around here."
"I hope so," she said, leaning back against the counter—and then, as if on cue, Inuyasha burst in through the door from the dining room, slipping his cart into the alcove and then brushing past her roughly, not so much as sparing her a glance.
She watched him with an irritated frown as he went to wash his utensils in one of the far sinks and check the updated order board for his next assignment. "What's that guy's problem anyway? Since the moment I walked in here he's treated me like I shot his dog."
"Inuyasha?" Miroku said, glancing over at the subject of her scrutiny. "Oh, don't mind him. He's always like that."
"Not to you," she pointed out. "Or Sango, or pretty much any of the other chefs or waitresses. Maybe some of the busboys—but even them he just doesn't seem to notice. With me, it's like he's going out of his way to make sure I know I'm a speck of dirt underneath his feet."
"Fair enough," Miroku conceded. "I think he's just having a little trouble…adjusting to the news. Inuyasha doesn't handle change particularly well. But really, he's not that bad once you get to know him. Deep down."
She raised an eyebrow skeptically.
"Really deep down," he qualified.
She still wasn't convinced, but simply heaved a sigh and glanced back over Miroku's shoulder to where the silver-haired man was now snatching ingredients from the shelves and loading up a fresh cart. "If you say so…"
The rest of the evening passed relatively uneventfully—except for the occasional flash or burst of applause from somewhere in the room. Eventually she stopped even bothering to look up when it happened; it was obvious whose table it was. On the upside, as the night wore on, she found herself compelled to be a little more adventurous and outgoing. Every distant flare of excitement fueled the fire within her, and soon she was joking with the customers right from the moment she arrived, and even incorporating some of her more daring tricks into each meal. None of them involved giant fireballs, but her customers all seemed to leave quite exhilarated and satisfied nonetheless. As far as she was concerned, even in entertainment, sound and fury signified nothing.
Despite her exhaustion, at the end of the night she hung back with Sango as she closed the place up. She had taken the train in that morning since her car was in the shop, and Sango had offered her a ride home. The train could be a bit treacherous at this hour, so she'd agreed—and anyway, she'd taken a liking to Sango ever since that bold handshake the night before, when they'd first been introduced. The woman had a sharp wit, and knew how to deal with guys like Inuyasha and Miroku without being as forbidding and standoffish as Kikyo. Kagome saw in her a kindred spirit, of sorts—and she got the feeling that Sango saw in Kagome the same thing.
"You're sure you don't mind giving me a ride?" Kagome asked as Sango punched in the security code to arm the system and locked the door behind them.
"Absolutely—you're right on my way. Don't worry about it," Sango replied with a smile.
"Thanks," Kagome replied, following Sango across the now-empty parking lot. "I really appreciate it. I thought my car would hold up for a few more months, but I think the trip back here pretty much killed it."
"Where was it you lived before again?"
"Minneapolis. I went to college at Carleton, and then I did my chef's training at the School of Culinary Arts," she replied, climbing into the car.
"Nice. I have a cousin who lives in Minneapolis—it's a nice place."
"I liked it. It's good to be back in Chicago, though."
"You grew up here?"
"We moved from Tokyo when I was seven, but I lived here until college. Most of my friends and family are here now. How about you?"
"Oh, I'm a native—lived here all my life. My grandparents on my Dad's side were from Osaka, though—they immigrated just before the war. But my mom's family is Irish Catholic—and most of them live around here, so I guess I just never felt the need to wander." She laughed. "I didn't even leave home to go to college—I went to Northwestern."
"That's a good school—I applied there."
"Yeah, it was alright. Frankly, I'm glad to be done with it. Education is nice, but being able to pay your own bills is nice too."
"Amen to that."
"And I have to say, I never thought I'd end up a waitress…but I actually really enjoy it. Sure, it's not exactly glamorous or intellectually stimulating, but the money is good, and the people are nice. Well, interesting, if nothing else."
"Speaking of which, how long have you and Miroku been together?" Kagome asked slyly.
A smile spread across Sango's face. "Three months—give or take."
"And?"
"And…it's good. It's really good. He's a pathological flirt—"
"I noticed," Kagome interjected wryly.
"—but he's really a good guy deep down."
"Hm. I seem to be hearing that a lot lately."
Sango frowned curiously. "That Miroku's a good guy?"
"No—but Miroku said the same thing about Inuyasha."
"Ah—well now that's a matter of opinion. Frankly, I think he's a jackass. As far as I know, Miroku's the only one who can stand him. Kikyo used to be able to, but that ended awhile ago."
"They were together?"
"Briefly. It made for some interesting conversations in the staff room, I'll say that much. But really I think we're all better off with them apart. Things are more peaceful that way. Most of the time, anyway."
"Yeah, well, I can definitely imagine that. He's not exactly the warm and fuzzy type, is he."
"Not exactly."
Kagome paused for a moment, pondering the wisdom of her next question—but then decided she couldn't resist. "Tell me if I'm crazy, but does it seem to you like he hates me in particular?"
Sango glanced over at her apologetically. "Yeah, kind of."
"Do you have any idea why?"
"Oh, that's easy—you're a woman."
Kagome's eyebrows shot up. "You can't be serious. That's the reason?"
"Of course. You know the type. He's a big, strong, macho man, and he makes a living throwing fire and knives around, so obviously women shouldn't be able to do that. He's your classic male chauvinist pig."
Kagome frowned out the front window. "I guess. I mean, it's not like I haven't taken flack from guys before, doing what I do, but…I don't know. I just felt like there ought to be a better reason. None of the other guys around here seem to have a problem with me being a woman."
"None of the other guys are Inuyasha."
She had a point there.
Inuyasha was not happy.
It had been nearly a month since that Kagome woman had begun working at the restaurant, and things were getting worse by the day. Really, she was a nuisance. Several times on any given evening he'd be going about his business, impressing the pants off a group of hoity-toity customers with his usual tricks—and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, there would be this roll of laughter, or sometimes a massive cheer from some other table across the room; and invariably, it was Kagome's. He couldn't begin to understand it. Whenever he glanced over to where she was working, she never seemed to be doing anything all that impressive—just smiling and laughing and talking to the customers, maybe flipping a shrimp tail into her pocket (really, that was like Teppanyaki 101. Any idiot could do that). None of her tricks even involved any fire. So what the hell was all the fuss about? It was damn annoying—not to mention distracting. The other day he'd just about cut his finger off when one of these mysterious cheers had risen up out of nowhere from just a couple of tables behind him. Okay, so maybe she wasn't a fire-hazard, but there ought to be something in the safety code about disruptively loud noises.
Well, except when they came from his tables. That was just expected—everybody knew that.
Inuyasha pushed his cart roughly through the kitchen door to find Miroku at the sink, washing his utensils. The other man glanced up with a slightly wicked grin.
"So what's the score today, Inuyasha?"
"I'd say about twelve or thirteen," he replied with a shrug, not looking up from his own utensils as he joined Miroku at the sink.
"And…that would be bullshit," Miroku replied, earning himself a dark glare. "I just stopped by the front—your tally is eight, my friend."
"Well why the fuck didn't you say that in the first place?" Inuyasha growled.
"And miss the expression on your face?"
Inuyasha rolled his eyes and re-sheathed his knife with a "klack," turning away to grab the next order slip off the board and collect the necessary supplies. Miroku leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms, watching Inuyasha bustle about.
"Wanna hear Kagome's score?"
"Who are you, Howard Cosell?" Inuyasha bristled. "Don't you have anything better to do?"
"Fifteen," Miroku replied, as if he had not spoken.
Inuyasha froze, a porcelain ramekin exploding in his grip—but he barely noticed. Fifteen? Fifteen? On a night when he'd only had eight requests, she had had fifteen? Oh no. No, no, no—not acceptable. No fucking way.
Tossing the shattered remains of the ramekin into the garbage, he hastily pulled together the rest of his supplies, furious determination pumping through his veins. She wanted to play? Fine. They'd play. He was going to get out there and give that next table the best damn show they'd ever seen. If she didn't have the common sense to see that she was out of her league (and she was out of her league—he knew that even if no one else did), then he'd just have to show her. He wasn't going to let some perky, smiley little bitch come in here and steal his throne out from under him. He'd just have to take it back by force.
As he rounded the edge of one of the rice paper screens, heading for table eight, who should he find just settling in at table nine, directly facing him, but the she-devil herself: Kagome.
She glanced up at him in mild surprise—but only faltered slightly, immediately returning her attention to the grill, where she was currently laying out a set of ramekins, preparing to fill them with the proper dipping sauces. Oh no—thought she could just ignore him, did she? Well if so, she was in for a bit of a shock.
It began simply enough. He fired up the grill, passed out the sauces, started frying the rice—all the while keeping one eye on the grill, and the other on her. When she formed her pile of rice into a heart and made it "beat" by sliding her spatula underneath it and tapping the handle (meanwhile giving the middle-aged man on the end a playfully flirty look that elicited an "Isn't that cute?" chuckle from the entire table), he formed his into a scale replica of the Pyramids of Giza, complete with little mushroom "tourists" wandering around the base. When she stacked her onion rings into a miniature Mt. Fuji and made it steam from the top, he pulled a lighter from his cart and made his shoot flames. When she passed out the rice bowls with a few smiles and cheerful conversation, he did so by stacking them all on top of one of his spatulas and flipping them one by one onto the other to be delivered promptly to the proper customers. With each trick, she cast a sidelong glance in his direction, looking at him as if she was wondering about his sanity—but he merely replied with an evil smirk.
It wasn't until she started in on the shrimp-tail routine that things really got interesting. Deciding to up the stakes a bit, Inuyasha, who was also preparing the shrimp course, couldn't resist flicking one of his own shrimp tails in her direction.
She glanced up at him, startled—but she caught it, square in the front pocket. Damn her.
He tried again, this time sending it far enough off course that she would have to work, but not so far that it wasn't obvious where he was aiming. She caught it again, this time in her hat—and gave him a look that plainly said, "What on earth are you doing?"
But he was just getting started. He raised his eyebrows at her, telegraphing, "Chicken?"
She narrowed her eyes, and his flashed in triumph. Now he had her—she'd walked right into his trap. There was no way she could beat him at this game. He was the champ—literally.
She flicked one of her own shrimp tails in his direction—and he caught it on the flat of his knife without looking, flipping it into his hat easily. Then, in one fluid motion, he fired off two more in her direction—and she caught them both, one in the pocket, the other in the hat, finishing it off with an innocent yet somehow wicked smile.
By this time, the customers had become aware of the little battle of wills taking place above their heads (he supposed the flying shrimp tails had probably tipped them off) and were edging their chairs out from between the tables to the edges of the "arena," the better to observe what was going on. Not that he much cared, but they all seemed more surprised and curious than upset—some of them even seemed to think that they were playacting, that it was something they'd planned in advance. So much the better—now that they were out of the way, this would be that much easier.
Inuyasha started butterflying his line of shrimp—but rather than doing them all in a row as usual, he did one himself and, without looking, flicked the next across to Kagome. Taking the hint, she butterflied it herself and shot the pieces right back at him, just as he was shooting her another, and butterflying one again himself. When she flicked him an unbutterflied shrimp of her own, he didn't miss a beat, butterflying it himself and sending it right back. Before long they had found a pattern, their hands moving at top speed, shrimp pieces in various states of preparation flying back and forth—but neither lost their place, each always knowing what to do. He was loathe to admit it, even silently, but the bitch could give as good as she got.
When at last the shrimp were finished, the ring of spectators let out a whooping cheer that reverberated throughout the restaurant, turning more than a few heads in their direction—but they had already moved on to the next challenge. He led the way by flipping his shrimp pieces one-by-one neatly across the gap to land on the plates at her table, and she followed suit, starting from the opposite end so that the arcs of flying shrimp crossed in the middle—and then it was on to the meat. Poultry first—a chicken breast landed before Kagome and she sliced it up, flipping the pieces back to him to be cooked. He surrounded them in a ring of cooking oil and used his lighter to execute his trademark "flaming mushroom cloud" maneuver, which earned him another round of applause. Of course, he failed to notice as he did this that Kagome had used those few spare moments to arrange a fresh lobster tail among an assortment of vegetables such that it looked like a mermaid, earning her a heartfelt "Aww," and a smattering of cheers and whistles.
By this time pretty much everyone in the restaurant—including the rest of the staff—had drifted away from their tables and come over to watch the show. Having moved on to the filet mignon, Inuyasha was running out of tricks—at least tricks he didn't need extra supplies for—but he knew they needed a big finish of some kind to keep the crowd from turning on them…and preferably one that made him look better than her. Usually fire was his solution to this—but he'd already played the "fireball" card, and he wasn't sure he could get away with anything else with only what he had on his cart. Finally, he started them in on a juggling round, with six bite-sized pieces of filet mignon between them, passing them back and forth two at a time while keeping the others airborne with their spatulas—and then he started eating them one-by-one, until he had them all. The crowd burst into applause as he lifted his hands in the air in triumph, grinning around at all of them—at least as much as he could grin, with half a steak in his mouth. Kagome was giving him a tolerant look, but he knew jealousy when he saw it, and quirked a scathing eyebrow back at her. She gave him a slight, exasperated shake of the head before turning a beaming smile on their audience and taking a couple of small, polite bows, laughing along with the crowd. Then she edged around the side of her grill, still smiling and waving modestly to the people as she passed, and grabbed him firmly by the arm, her fingernails digging into his flesh through the sleeve. As she dragged him off toward the kitchen, he heard Miroku taking over as ringleader before the crowd ("Inuyasha Takahashi and Kagome Higurashi—weren't they great, ladies and gentlemen?"), jovially herding everyone back to their proper tables.
As soon as they were safely out of sight behind the kitchen doors, Kagome rounded on him, looking livid. "Just what exactly did I do to you?" she demanded.
He turned away just long enough to spit the meat he was holding in his mouth into the trash. "Hey, wench, if you can't stand the heat, get the fuck out of my kitchen."
"This is not your kitchen, Inuyasha, and I've got as much right to be here as you have. Besides, seems to me like you're the one who 'can't stand the heat.'"
His eyes flashed. "Now listen here, bitch—you don't know who you're dealing with. You think you've got something to show for yourself with your measly little awards and a lot of dumb jokes? Well I've got a shelf full of trophies that says differently."
"Oh yeah? Well if all I've got are a bunch of 'measly awards' and 'dumb jokes,' then explain to me why you've been acting like a dog defending your turf since the second I walked in here!"
"I—" he began, floundering for a moment when no obvious retort came to mind. "Don't flatter yourself! I've got nothing to defend from the likes of you. I just can't stand to see you make a fool of yourself any longer than you have to."
"Oh, well now that's believable," she drawled, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Look—"
But the squeal of the door hinge interrupted him before he could complete the thought, and both of them glanced over to see Kikyo standing there, fixing them with a rather dry expression.
Kagome opened her mouth, but apparently couldn't think of anything to say, so she simply snapped it shut again.
Fortunately, Kikyo saved her the trouble. "I'd like to see you both in my office, please—not now," she corrected when they both moved to follow her, "after the shift closes." And with that, she left them to themselves.
As soon as Kikyo was gone, Kagome shot Inuyasha a furious look—and without another word, she shoved her way back through the kitchen door into the main dining room.
Since Miroku and Sango had seen to it that the two tables involved in the "battle" had all the correct orders in all the correct places, Inuyasha was able to move on to his next table. He conducted himself in a more subdued manner for the rest of the evening, not paying much attention to what he was doing. Of course, he didn't need to—he could prepare one of these meals in his sleep by now—but in any case, he was a bit preoccupied. He wasn't exactly worried about meeting with Kikyo after work—getting chewed out by her certainly wasn't his idea of fun, but he highly doubted it would be any worse than that. He knew she wouldn't fire him—after all, he was the restaurant's undisputed star chef (or at least he had been until recently…). Actually, there was one possible bright spot in all of this: Kikyo was used to these sorts of antics from him, but Kagome was new. She didn't have a record of excellence yet, like he did. He didn't want to get his hopes up too high just yet, but the thought of being there to see her face as Kikyo told her she was fired made his heart sing with sadistic joy.
By the time the place had cleared out and he had changed back into his jeans and t-shirt, he could barely keep the bounce out of his step as he walked up to Kikyo's office door. Kagome arrived beside him just as he knocked, her back ramrod straight, not sparing him so much as a glance. Well, at least she'd gotten it through her thick head that they could never be "friends." That was a step in the right direction.
"Come in," Kikyo answered, and Kagome pushed ahead of him through the door, taking a seat primly in one of the chairs before the desk while Inuyasha slouched into the other one.
"Well," their boss began, leaning towards them and resting her clasped hands on the desk before her, "it seems we've had a bit of excitement this evening. Would either of you care to tell me exactly what happened?"
Kagome edged forward in her chair immediately. "I am so, so sorry—he did start it, I have to say that, but I never should have let him goad me into going along with it. It was totally irresponsible and unprofessional, and I swear it will never, ever—"
"Oh, cut the crap," he interrupted. "Yeah, sure, I started it, but you were as into it as I was and you know it."
"You stay out of this," Kagome snapped, rounding on him briefly before turning back to Kikyo. "I know it was wrong, but I promise, if you'll just give me one more chance—"
But this time it was Kikyo who interrupted, holding up a hand for silence. "Relax, Kagome," she said, rather more kindly than Inuyasha had expected—which somehow made him uneasy, "I didn't call you in here to fire you."
"You didn't?" they both said in unison, exchanging a sideways glare of annoyance afterwards.
"No. Oh, don't get me wrong—I don't suggest you two make a habit of starting food fights in the middle of the dinner seating—but no one got hurt, the customers enjoyed the show, and everyone went home happy, so ultimately there was no harm done. Actually, I asked you here because I have a bit of good news for both of you."
"Good news?" Kagome repeated, frowning in bewilderment.
"I think so, anyway," Kikyo continued. "As you two must have figured out by now, you're easily our most popular chefs—and as you demonstrated this evening, you both have a great deal of technical skill and performance instinct."
Oh no. He had a sneaking suspicion he knew where this was going, and he didn't like it one bit. It couldn't be—the prospect was too horrible.
"And, as you may also be aware, Kagome, the annual North American Teppanyaki Championships in New York will be taking place in just a few weeks. We always send our two best people, and this year it's even more imperative that our representatives be the top in the field. You see, it's the tenth anniversary of the competition, so the purse is nearly four times the usual amount—and of course, the potential gains in terms of prestige and publicity are much higher than usual as well. So, this year I would like to send…"
No. No, no, no…
"…you two."
Fuck.
In the haze of his self-pity, Inuyasha was only dimly aware of the outside world—but Kagome, for her part, looked rather dumbstruck.
"Uh…us two?" she repeated. "You mean me and…Inuyasha?"
Kikyo smiled almost apologetically and nodded.
"Well that's…wow."
"You'll be there for a week, and of course all your expenses will be paid," Kikyo carried on to explain. "I don't know how familiar you are with the format of the competition, Kagome, but Inuyasha can answer any questions you may have—he's been the champion for the last three years." When she caught sight of Inuyasha's death glare, she gave a wry smile and amended, "Perhaps you'd be better off asking Miroku instead. He's usually been the one to go along, but, well, now that you've shown such potential… Anyway, the details can all be ironed out later, but for the time being, pencil it into your schedules, will you? I know you'll both be fantastic."
In a slight daze, they both got up to leave the office. It wasn't until the door clicked shut behind them that the spell was broken and they rounded on each other.
Inuyasha beat her to the punch. "Drop out."
"What?" she snapped back, careful to keep her voice hushed, wary of the various staff members still cleaning up the place.
"Hey, I know you don't want to spend a week with me any more than I want to spend one with you."
"So? Why should I be the one to drop out?"
"Because, you're new," he replied, as if it were obvious—which it was.
Unfortunately, she didn't seem to agree. "Exactly—you've won it three times. Now it's my turn."
"Hey, I'm only looking out for you. Just trying to prevent you from making a total fool of yourself."
"Oh bullshit," she hissed. "You're just afraid I'll beat you."
"Am not! I just don't want to spend a week listening to your whining."
"My whining?"
"Yeah, your whining!"
She made a frustrated sound, almost a growl. "You jackass! Well if you're so worried about it, you drop out."
"Fuck that!"
"Ditto!"
For a moment they simply stood there, at an impasse—but finally it was clear that neither one was going to be the one to back down or drop out. She might have been an obnoxious, insufferable bitch, but he had to admit—she was stubborn.
Unfortunately for both of them, so was he.
Kagome leaned back against the front door of the apartment as she closed it behind her, heaving a sigh and closing her eyes.
"Hey," Hojo said, and she heard him flick off the TV, heard the couch cushions creak slightly as he got to his feet. She wasn't surprised to find him up—he usually seemed to be awake, watching a movie or cooking or just finishing up some work, when she got home. "What's up?"
She opened her eyes to give him a weary smile. "Guess who's representing Katana at the tenth anniversary of the North American Teppanyaki Championships in New York City."
"No kidding—really?" he said, breaking into a smile and grasping her by the shoulders. "That's fantastic! Congratulations!"
She nodded halfheartedly. "Thanks—but that's only the good news."
He frowned in concern. "What's the bad news?"
"Guess who's going with me?" she replied, giving him a wry look.
"Uh-oh. The jerky guy?"
"Who else?" she said with a shrug—then she let Hojo pull her into a comforting hug, wrapping her arms loosely around his waist and resting her cheek against his soft, t-shirt-covered shoulder.
"What're you going to do?" he asked, his right hand rubbing soothing circles on her back.
She shrugged again, still in his embrace, and mumbled, "Put up with it, I guess. I mean, this is the chance of a lifetime—and there's no way he's going to back out. If he's anything, he's stubborn. And I'm certainly not about to back out, so…I guess we'll just have to go and do our best not to drive each other crazy. It shouldn't be that hard—I mean, it's not like we'll be sharing a room or anything. We'll only have to see each other at the actual competition functions, maybe take a few pictures together for publicity. We'll just stay out of each other's way, and it'll be fine."
"Yeah…that makes sense. You'll figure it out, I know you will. And hey, it's only a week, right?" he said encouragingly, pulling her closer by a fraction.
"Yeah," she nodded. "Still, what am I going to do for a week in New York all by myself?" Suddenly a thought occurred to her and she pulled back to face him. "Hey—you could come with me!"
"Huh?"
"Yeah—the restaurant is paying for my room, so all you'd have to buy would be the plane ticket. It would be so much fun—and maybe you could keep me from wringing that smug jackass's neck." He still looked apprehensive, so she gave him a beseeching look. "Please? I really don't want to have to deal with him alone…"
He sighed, looking her in the eyes, and she felt like he was searching for something, but she wasn't sure what it was. "I don't know…when is it?"
"Three weeks from Saturday."
He winced. "I…I can't. I'm sorry," he said, and from his expression she could tell he really meant it. In fact, he looked more disappointed than she was. "I'm working on a big project for one of our major clients, and the deal closes that week—I have to be here. But I wish I could go—really, I do."
She gave him a small, understanding smile and nod and eased herself out of his arms. "That's okay," she said, "I understand. Listen I…I'm really beat. I should probably turn in."
"Okay. See you in the morning," he replied, flashing a smile back at her.
She flicked her eyes back to his briefly, feeling a slight awkwardness, as though she'd walked into the wrong room and had only just realized it—and then she turned away and headed off to her bedroom, closing the door behind her.
It was probably better that he couldn't come with her, now that she thought about it. That expression on his face when he'd had to turn her down had said it all. She probably shouldn't have let him hold her for so long—but it had just felt so comfortable. It was nice having someone to come home to, someone to complain to when things were bad, and someone to celebrate with when they were good. She liked that about their relationship—no matter what, he was always on her side. But sometimes she worried that she was taking advantage of him, somehow, and that was the last thing she wanted. Then again, maybe she was just being arrogant and paranoid, reading too much into things. He was her friend, and he wanted to be able to support her—that was only natural.
In any case, she was back at square one. A week alone in a strange city with only Inuyasha for company loomed ahead of her like Mount Doom on the horizon of Mordor, and she was still short a Samwise. Tossing her purse on the bed, she picked up her cordless from the nightstand and dialed Sango's number, hoping she'd still be up.
Fortune smiled upon her when Sango's voice answered on the second ring. "Hello?"
"Hey, it's me."
"Kagome! I heard the news—you excited?"
"Well, yes and no," she answered noncommittally.
"Ah," Sango said ruefully. "The Inuyasha thing, right?"
"Yeah," Kagome sighed, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "Actually, that's why I'm calling. Look, I know it's kind of a lot to ask, but do you think you could ask Kikyo for the week off and come with me? You could share my room, so you'd only have to pay the airfare. Hell, I'll split it with you if you want—I just don't want to have to deal with him for an entire week by myself."
Sango gave a commiserating sigh. "Yeah, I know what you mean. No picnic, is he."
"So…will you do it?"
"I don't know…"
"Oh come on," Kagome begged. "Think about it at least?"
Sango hesitated slightly before replying—but at last she nodded and said, "Alright, I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you! Thank you so much—I really owe you one, Sango."
"Calm down already, I don't even know if it'll work out."
"Oh come on, give me a break here, I'm hanging on by a thread," Kagome joked, and Sango laughed.
"Yeah, yeah, okay. Listen, I've got a pot on the stove here, so I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay," Kagome agreed. "Thanks again, though, really."
"Don't worry about it. Bye."
"Bye."
Sango leaned back against the kitchen counter as they hung up, setting the phone aside and heaving a sigh. Well, a week in New York would be nice—assuming she could get Kikyo to agree to let her off. With their two best chefs already gone, the place was sure to be short-staffed—but then again, one more person gone couldn't make that big a difference, could it?
"Guess who I just got off the phone with," she said as Miroku walked back into the kitchen and crossed to stir the pot of chili that was on the stove.
"Kagome?" he replied, and she turned to him with a surprised frown.
"How'd you know?"
He glanced over at her, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "Inuyasha just called me on my cell."
"Ah," she said, nodding her comprehension. "Let me guess—he wants you to come along and play referee?"
"You too?"
"Yep."
"Well, they may hate each other's guts, but you've got to admit, they sure do think alike."
"Can't argue with you there," she agreed. "What did you say?"
"Told him I'd talk to Kikyo about it. You?"
"Same. When do you think we should—" But she was cut off as the handset she'd left on the counter only moments ago began ringing again. Miroku reached across the stove to pick it up.
"Hello?" His eyebrows raised in mild surprise as the voice on the other end responded, and Sango gave him a questioning look. "Kikyo," he mouthed.
Sango crossed her arms and waited semi-patiently, watching his expression transform itself from curiosity to amusement to almost mischievous joy. Most of the conversation seemed to be on her end, Miroku only interjecting the occasional "Mm-hm," "Yep," or "I agree. That's what I thought." Finally he nodded, saying, "Okay. Yeah sure, we'll figure it out. No problem. Okay… Bye."
"So?" Sango asked as he ended the call and put the handset back in the cradle where it belonged.
"Looks like we're going to New York," he said with a shrug.
"You're kidding."
"Nope," he chuckled. "Guess there are more than two minds that think alike around here. Kikyo's already booked us a room and airfare, all on the restaurant, of course, and she's offered us the entire week off with pay in exchange for one simple favor."
"And that would be?"
"In her words, 'keeping her two prize chefs from bashing each other's brains out.'"
Sango gave a wry laugh. "Easier said than done."
"Indeed." Miroku grinned and slid his arms around her waist. "But hey, at least we get a free vacation out of the deal."
Sango laughed again, leaned up to give him a soft kiss. "Good point. I think it's worth it."
A/N: I'm really having fun with this one. The "battle" scene was a bitch (action is not my specialty. I'm better with dialogue… --grin--), but I think it came out pretty well. And there are a couple of fun scenes I've got written for later on (actually, one of them will be in the next chapter) that I'm really excited about. Anyway, yeah—nuff said, for now…