Not mine, as always.
Kagome
She still was having trouble looking at him. When he spoke, she turned an ear toward him or cast him a sidelong glance, but never did she look directly at him if she could avoid it. The few times he had addressed her directly, he could see her breath catch in her chest as she steeled herself to meet his gaze, and when she did, it was as if something inside her wilted. Sonja's generous, patient nature slowly drew the girl out of her shell, and Maverick's dry humor and charming smile visibly put her at ease.
But she wouldn't look at Shane.
Weird, weird, weird. He knew exactly what it was, too, why she put him so on edge. Everything about her was unnervingly familiar – especially the way she wouldn't look at him. It made him feel guilty, but he couldn't have said why. It wasn't his fault he looked like her dead friend.
But that wasn't it at all. That wasn't what made him feel guilty, that he'd reminded her of someone she lost. It felt as though he'd hurt her somehow, and something inside of him accused him relentlessly for having done so.
He didn't even know her. Couldn't have betrayed her. But the feeling that he had was hauntingly familiar.
Weird.
Weird, too, how the fluid motion of her chopsticks brought flashes of slim white hands and smiling lips to his mind. Weird how she shook her hair out of the way, and he knew – he knew – the cut was wrong, it was too straight along the bottom edge. Weird how when she smiled, he knew it was at least partially faked, even though she concealed the falsity well.
But mostly it was weird that her reluctance to look at him felt so damnably familiar. As did the guilt that washed over him every time she met his eyes.
As he poked at his plate with his own chopsticks – an affectation he'd picked up during his years with Sesshoumaru in Japan, as he wielded a fork with equal dexterity – it occurred to him that she was slowly finding her footing with his friends, while she remained tentative and inhibited with him.
Sonja had said something in the room about how it would get easier once the girl could see the differences between her old friends and herself, Maverick, and Shane.
Perhaps she was acting so timid because he was behaving like the freak in the cat ears would have?
That was an unpleasant thought. He was being uncharacteristically belligerent and insensitive. No one would ever have accused him of being overly sweet-tempered or sociable, but he thought of himself as an okay kind of guy. It was true that she'd knocked him off-kilter, but that wasn't really a good enough reason for his sullenness.
He gnawed the inside of his cheek, thinking. If she'd been any other girl, anyone else Sonja and Maverick had taken a liking to, how would he have behaved?
Resolving to ignore the weirdness, he allowed his attention to wander back into the conversation.
"History? Really? That was Shane's minor; he ought to be able to help you out." Sonja smiled. "In fact," she continued, turning to Shane, "if any of his textbooks are still being used, I'm sure he'd be happy to lend them to you."
Shane forced a smile to his face. "Yeah. Unlike biology," he said, with a glance at Sonja, "most of the new editions of the history textbooks are just rewrites of the old ones. And there's only about six professors in the whole department who insist on having the newest versions."
She swallowed hard, and he stoically ignored it. "Arigato," she whispered, and then shook her head. "Thank you, I mean."
"Do itashi mashite." Her head jerked up in surprise, and he felt an ironic smile tug at his lips. "You're welcome, I mean."
"You speak Japanese."
"My dad was Japanese. Mom was an American exchange student."
"Was…?"
"They died when I was little." A little pang jumped in his gut; he set it aside with practiced ease. "It's just me and my brother, now."
She blinked rapidly. "You have a brother?"
"Older half-brother. Kind of a pain in the ass sometimes, but they tell me all older brothers are." Shane pushed his plate away and leaned back, a crooked smile stretching his mouth. Thoughts of Sesshoumaru were always tinged with both affection and aggravation, and he could never decide whether to grimace or smile when they crossed his mind.
"You," she hesitated, looking for an appropriate phrase, "you have a good relationship together?" she asked, dawn-sky eyes intense, as if the answer were somehow very important.
"Yeah, I guess we get along okay." Shane looked up. They'd redone the cafeteria last summer; the ceiling was now a deep blue color, lit with yellow pendent fixtures, and he considered it absorbedly. "He's really the only parent I've ever known, and I'm sure I wasn't the greatest kid in the world to have to get stuck with at only nineteen."
The answer curiously seemed to calm her. "My friend had an older half-brother," she said, looking at her plate. "But they… they were like enemies, mostly."
It was an odd word to use to describe sibling rivalry, but he figured it was just her immature grasp of the language that led her to it.
Sonja and Maverick had gotten lost in a discussion between themselves, leaving Shane more or less alone with the girl.
"Enemies, huh? Nah, I wouldn't say that. He annoys me, but I probably irritate him just as bad. We have different ways of doing things, that's all."
"Oh."
There was an awkward pause, and Shane groped for something to fill the silence.
"So you're a history major?"
"Yes."
"Minor?"
"I don't know yet."
He crossed his arms; she wasn't being very helpful, and he wasn't a great conversationalist. "Look out for Dr. Andrews – she's nice, but her tests are always crazy hard. And Dr. Karroway is exactly the opposite: a real asshole, but if you can stand him, his class is really, really easy." She nodded her acknowledgement.
Help me out here, girl, he thought to himself, with rising frustration. "Who are you taking this semester?" There, at least she couldn't answer yes, no, or I don't know.
"Dr. Johnson and Dr. Gerrald." Finally, she looked at him, without that awful catch in her breast. "Do you know them?"
"I had Dr. J. for World I. Nice guy. Easy class, you shouldn't have any trouble as long as you keep up with the reading. He likes pop quizzes." The memory of a few failed quizzes made him scowl, and his expression was rewarded with a slight smile. "Gerrald I never had, but everyone tells me he's kinda pompous. Real scholarly type. No sense of humor."
"That's not true," Sonja butted in. "He's just older, so no one expects him to crack a joke. And he is a little hard, so people don't like him. I got along with him just fine, though."
"That's because you're brilliant, beautiful," Maverick drawled, pulling one of Sonja's hands to his lips to kiss it.
The girl laughed a little, and there was something very bittersweet in the sound. "You two are very…" she blinked, and looked at Shane. "Kawaii?"
"Cute," he supplied with a grimace. "Disgustingly so, most of the time." She smiled at him.
Weird or no, she was very, very pretty when she smiled. His heart thudded in his chest, and a sudden flush crept over his cheeks. Kawaii – she was, definitely.
"You know what we should do, Shane," Maverick said with a bright, tooth-bearing grin, "is get together and jam for little Miss Japan over there. We haven't gotten to do it since last semester, but now that we're all back, we should give her a taste of real American culture, don't you think?"
As much as he resented the fact that Maverick had just invited the strange young woman to enter even more deeply into their little trio, he couldn't resist the invitation. It had been way, way too long since the three of them had really just let loose.
"Hmph. Whatever," he answered carelessly, which of course meant 'yes,' and both Maverick and Sonja knew it.
The pretty exchange student hadn't understood. "Jam? Like jelly?"
Shane laughed out loud at that, and she flushed with embarrassment. "No, honey, jam as in jam session – playing music," Maverick explained, wiggling his fingers in a decent air guitar solo.
That seemed to floor her for a moment, and they waited expectantly. "I… I would like to see you… have a jam," she said hesitantly, brows furrowed.
"No singing," Shane said, shooting a warning glare at Maverick.
"Aw, that's half the fun, Shane." Sonja drew her bottom lip into her teeth and opened her eyes wide. Although ostensibly the most serious of the three, Sonja had a killer puppy dog face. And she was never afraid to pull it out. "And you have such a pretty voice."
"Sonja," he growled irritably, "if you don't quit bringing that up, I swear…"
"Shane, buddy, you got out of that a long time ago, so just let it go already."
"Got out of what?" She tilted her head to the side, and what with the soft glow of the new lighting on her black hair, it wasn't just memory that caused him to flush and turn away.
"Shane actually started out with a minor in music," Sonja began, with a barely repressed grin. "He plays acoustic and electric guitars, and, even though he doesn't like to admit to it, he plays piano even better. But he found out pretty quickly that he didn't much care for the music department, and he left after only a semester."
She shook her head, not understanding.
"He kept getting hit on." Maverick sent him an amused look, and the color went even higher on Shane's cheeks.
"This is a bad thing?" She still didn't get it. Shane wanted to bury his face in his hands, but he merely continued staring into the distance off to his left.
"No, not really. Flattering, if you ask me. You've got to be a real looker and a great singer to get that much attention from the choir guys."
"Choir… guys...?" Finally it clicked in her head, and she blushed a little herself. "Poor Shane," she said, and there was the slightest hint of a tease in her voice.
"No singing," he repeated, amidst the laughter at the table. He flung a raw carrot from his chopsticks in Maverick's direction, but the gallant southerner ducked behind Sonja, who threw a french fry at Shane. Just before a full-scale food fight erupted, the little Japanese girl spoke up.
"Won't you please sing for me, Shane-san?" All three of them looked at her, surprised.
Something about the tentative way she said it made it impossible to refuse her. It was as if she had decided to risk just a little, to place a minute amount of trust in him over this small thing, and letting her down was inexplicably but undeniably out of the question.
"Hmph."
He almost never played his Gibson anymore. He only really used the acoustic for classical pieces, and he hadn't had time for that kind of solo work lately. But Maverick wanted to do an Eagles song – of course he did, he always did, tonight it was Tequila Sunrise – and so Shane broke it out for the first time in almost six months. It was badly out of tune, but, like always, its twelve steel strings warmed quickly under his fingers. Surprised to find he'd missed the guitar so much, he considered forsaking his Strat entirely for the night. He couldn't, of course, some songs just required an electric, but the Gibson was a beautiful instrument, and he felt the old thrill he'd experienced the day he'd gotten her. It was an old instrument, a 'classic,' he liked to say, with figured mahogany on the back and sides, and Bear Claw Sitka spruce for the soundboard. Sesshoumaru had given it to him the day he started college.
He played Layla for her, the bluesy version, although he insisted Maverick sing the lyrics – the lower notes strained his tenor voice, and suited Maverick's baritone much more comfortably. He did sing Dust in the Wind, and Wheel in the Sky. And then Sonja got tired of the ballads, and demanded something a little more rowdy for her Flying V. And then they ground out a very nice rendition of Pour Some Sugar on Me, at least, until Maverick's not-so-surreptitious game of footsie got out of hand. Some Whitesnake, some Aerosmith, some Zeppelin. All in all, a pretty typical night for the three.
Except it wasn't just the three of them in the soundproofed room in the music building. There was someone else there, watching in wonder as they fooled around.
"You're all very good," she said when they'd paused to catch their breaths. "How did you all learn to play?"
Maverick shrugged. "High school band. We weren't very good, but thinking we were gave me lots of incentive to practice." He grinned lopsidedly and strummed out a bit of the intro to Hotel California.
"I've been playing ever since I was little," Sonja shrugged, resting her cheek along the neck of her guitar. "My mom taught me."
"I just kind of picked it up," Shane admitted. "My brother tried to indulge any time-consuming hobby I picked up, mostly to keep me out of his hair." It was probably a little true, but Sesshoumaru really had been pretty encouraging where Shane's music was concerned. Why was a mystery to him, but Sesshoumaru could be pretty cryptic at times.
"Well, you all play beautifully," she declared, and a pretty smile tugged at her mouth.
Maverick winked at her. "It helps having an appreciative audience."
High on the spirit of the moment, good vibes from classic music sounding through his veins, Shane was feeling generous. "Helps having a pretty audience."
Something sad clouded her face, but was quickly erased. "Arigato," she said quietly.
"Sing something with me, Maverick," Sonja said suddenly, giving the now flushing Shane a reason to look away.
"Mmmm… how about that Seether song?"
"Sure."
He began to strum thoughtfully. "Hmm…
"I wanted you to know
That I love the way you laugh
I want to hold you high
And steal your pain away
Maverick was looking at Sonja, and Sonja at Maverick, so neither saw the sudden tension that rose in her shoulders.
I keep your photograph
And I know it serves me well
I want to hold you high
And steal your pain
There was a heart-shaped locket around her neck, and he knew somehow he'd been aware of it all along. It was like everything else about her, alarmingly familiar. She grasped it now, eyes distant.
Because I'm broken
When I'm open
And I don't feel right
When you're gone away."
The song had a special significance for Maverick, and for Sonja. Sonja had lost her entire family to a terrible accident just before she started college. Maverick's father had mysteriously disappeared a few years before that, and he'd never known his mother. When they came to Berkeley, both had been totally alone in the world. Until they found each other, and Shane. He always felt somehow that he understood that kind of isolation, even though he knew Sesshoumaru had always been there for him, so it was impossible for him to really comprehend the depth of their loneliness.
Looking at the girl beside him, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she understood it just as well as they did.
Sonja picked up her part, her vibrant alto soaring easily into the range of a second soprano.
"The worst is over now
And we can breathe again
I want to hold you high
You steal my pain away."
She'd begun to tremble, and he could tell her teeth were clenched by the jump of muscle in her jaw. Her arms clamped tightly around her, a futile attempt to hide the shaking of her shoulders.
"There's so much love to learn
And no one left to fight
I want to hold you high
And steal your pain."
A solitary tear dripped slowly out of the inner corner of her left eye; she made no move to halt it. Still staring at some point beyond Shane's vision, she sat silently in her chair, absolutely still but for the uncontrollable tremor of repressed tears.
"Because I'm broken
When I'm open
And I don't feel like
I am strong enough
Because I'm broken
When I'm lonesome
And I don't feel right
When you're gone away."
Maverick caught the shine of water in her eyes, and stopped playing. "Are you okay?" he asked worriedly, setting his Firebird aside. Sonja quickly crossed the room to sit beside Shane.
"I'm sorry, sweetie, we didn't mean to make you cry." She reached over Shane's lap to pat the girl's hand. "Do you want to tell me about it? We can go back to my room; Shane and Maverick can get us a pizza or something while we talk – it'll be okay, don't cry." She crawled over Shane to wriggle in between him and the girl.
Shane gritted his teeth with frustration. Everything had been going so well. She'd finally seemed to relax, to accept them as ordinary, everyday people, to put aside their queer resemblance to her old friends. And now she looked absolutely broken. She wasn't even really crying, just trembling, mind somewhere else, tortured.
Her nails dug deeply into the soft skin of her arms, and something intangible but very, very real snapped as he saw the white pressure marks appear on the pale pink flesh.
"Fuck, Kagome. It's over. Get over it." His lips curled back in a snarl, a veritable snarl, and he growled the words low in his throat.
Like so many things he'd said and done today, it was completely out of character – and it felt completely like himself. The strangeness of it all hit him again, and he fled the tear and the nails in her skin and the horrible, horrible loneliness in her eyes, fled it and disguised the retreat as an angry stalk, because he couldn't let them see how deeply her pain affected him, because he didn't understand it himself, because he didn't want to have to try to explain it to someone else.
He had almost made it to his car when he was struck by the realization that she had never told him her name, and yet he'd known it as surely as he knew his own.
Kagome.