Author's Note: I know, I know, it's been way too long. Mea culpa. I can promise you though—cross my heart—that the next chapter will be out within a week, two at the most. It's like 80% written already—just have to connect a few dots.

Just FYI (and since I haven't updated since this occurred…yikes…), this story won a couple of awards from the IYFG in the third quarter of 2009—specifically, 1st Place in Best Comedy, and 2nd Place in Best Action/Adventure (plus a nomination for Best Alternate Universe). I've been moderating at the IYFG for several years now, but this is the first time I've ever won an award for one of my multi-chapter stories, and also the first time I've ever gotten a first place in any category for anything, so this really made my month (--grin--). Anyway, just wanted to give a shout-out to anyone who nominated/voted for this story—thanks guys! I really appreciate it…

(Speaking of the IYFG, if you aren't a member and/or have never heard of it, you should come join us! See my bio page for links and more info. I know the group has a reputation in some circles for being a bit…argumentative, but we've recently made some procedural changes that have turned things around drastically, and there are more good things to come!)

Last but not least, this chapter's title is by Jackson Browne. It fits the chapter moderately well, but I mainly picked it because it was the song that helped me buckle down and finish writing it…

Playing With Fire

Chapter 11: Runnin' On Empty

Almost immediately after Kagome had left to go down to the match, Inuyasha took off for the gym to get in his morning workout and blow off a little steam. He wasn't even exactly sure what he was angry about—he just felt antsy, like there were all sorts of little annoyances running around inside of him, and he couldn't make them stand still long enough to find out what they were. Not that he really wanted to—he just wanted them to leave him the fuck alone.

There were a few other people around by this time, but thankfully no familiar faces. Instead of starting with the treadmills, as usual, he headed over to the other end of the room where there was a punching bag rig. He didn't have any boxing gloves, but he didn't need them—he just walked right up to the bowling-ball-sized speed bag and started going at it until it was rattling against the rig in a satisfying rhythm, his muscles burning pleasantly in his shoulders and arms with each punch. No thoughts, no anxieties, no desires—they were all successfully drowned out, and he reveled in the comfort of the blankness. And yet, the vague sense of agitation crawling beneath his skin seemed unwilling to subside.

Growing frustrated with his frustration, he rounded on the larger punching bag and started attacking it with a flurry of punches and kicks that made the whole rig shudder dangerously. When his sand-filled opponent showed no signs of weakening, he stepped up his game just that much further, until he was battling it so vocally and enthusiastically that the other occupants of the gym were staring in turns at him and each other, wondering what the hell was wrong with him—not that he noticed this, of course. A few of them even quit their workouts early and ducked silently out of the room, watching him warily as they slipped away.

By the time he finally gave up, collapsing back onto the mat below him and panting for breath, the gym was empty.

Inuyasha stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes, listening to the punching bag creak innocently as it swung back and forth near his feet, thoroughly undamaged.

What the hell was wrong with him today?

He opened and closed his right fist in front of his face, noticing that his knuckles felt slightly bruised and giving a wry laugh. Tilting his head back slightly, he glanced over at the clock above the door—when had it gotten so late? He needed to head upstairs to get ready if he was going to make his call time.

Picking himself up off the floor, he ran a hand through his rumpled hair as he made his way back upstairs. His skin still felt itchy with annoyance, but at least he felt a little better than before. A little. He picked at some of the knots he'd created in his long, thick mane during the workout and tried to do a mental rundown of his routine—most of it was pretty standard, but he always liked to throw in a new trick here and there to keep things interesting and justify his exalted status. The fingers of his right hand twitched unconsciously at his side in the elevator, mimicking the motions of a knife twirl or a shrimp-tail flick.

When he got back to the room, he tugged his sweaty t-shirt off over his head—after peeking into the bathroom to make sure his insane roommate wasn't lying in wait to bean him with a coat hanger again—and tossed it on top of his suitcase, working at the button of his jeans with one hand while he dug through the closet for his chef's jacket with the other. It wasn't until he'd turned back toward the dresser for his black slacks that he noticed his knife set sitting on top of it, a note attached. Pausing with an inexplicable scowl, he tossed the chef's jacket onto the bed and crossed over to the dresser, picking up the handwritten note.

Thanks again, Inuyasha—I really appreciate you letting me borrow these. Thoroughly cleaned and sharpened, as promised.

—Kagome

Inuyasha stared at the note for a bit longer than was strictly necessary, considering the brevity and straightforwardness of its contents—then, grumbling at his own odd behavior, he crumpled it up and tossed it in the wastepaper basket, turning to grab his slacks out of the top drawer so he could finish changing.

It was no use. The frustration was back, creeping up on him again. By the time he got down to the antechamber outside the arena, he was ready for another punching bag.

Technically Kikyo was invited to the board meeting that afternoon, because technically she was a member of the board. All the owners were—technically. However, given that she hadn't attended a board meeting once since Katana had joined the competition circuit, and given that the others all thought she was still out in Chicago, she knew she wouldn't be expected.

She preferred it that way.

She glanced at her profile in the mirror lining the hallway as she rounded the last corner on the way to the conference room, checking her makeup and straightening her suit jacket out of habit. Then she pulled open the door and swept inside. "Hello all."

A room full of raised eyebrows greeted her from the far end of the long conference table, and she allowed herself a satisfied smile. Most of the other owners were in attendance: Kaede, Hakudoushi, Totousai, Bankotsu, Naraku of course—he had managed to snag the place at the head of the table, making him the first one to meet her eye when she walked in the door. He didn't look pleased to see her, but then he never looked pleased about much of anything. She didn't bother taking a seat herself—she didn't plan on staying long.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said smoothly, resting her hands on the back of the empty chair at the near end of the table. "I just got into town this morning—my staff tell me there have been some rather odd things happening lately. Some trouble with reservations, a case of food poisoning—they suspect foul play, but of course I reassured them that none of us would tolerate anything of the sort from any of our employees. Still, I just thought I should let you all know so that you can be on the lookout. As far as I know these incidents have only affected my people, but you'll no doubt want to warn your own to be careful, just in case. I'll be speaking to the judges' panel as well, keeping them appraised of any new developments. And if any of you should hear anything," she let her gaze slide casually away from the other board members to meet Naraku's eyes head-on, "we'd certainly appreciate the information."

He didn't so much as blink, merely giving a tolerant nod in answer to her request. Then he settled back in his chair, lacing his fingers together across his stomach. "Anything else?"

Kikyo smiled coolly. "Nope. I'll see you all at the afternoon matches."

It was fucking bullshit, that was what it was.

Fuck. Could those numbers be right?

He scanned the mental image of the day's scoreboard once again, but he knew there was no mistake—not with his eyesight, anyway. He'd only looked at the damn thing about a million and a half times. Growling low in his throat, he turned his collar up against the chilly evening breeze and stuffed his hands into his pockets, taking his brisk walk up a notch. The others had gone ahead to the restaurant just after the scores had been posted; he'd taken a detour to the hotel bar.

Ninety-seven. Ninety-seven. She'd gotten a goddamn fucking ninety-seven to his frankly pitiful eighty. How in the hell could that possibly be right? Sure, he'd been a little distracted…but eighty?

He ran a hand through his hair as he ducked into the warm, cozy restaurant, smoothing it out from the breeze. The place was rather dim, decorated in reds and golds with dark wood paneling and mirrors on the walls. Classy—a little snooty and old-fashioned for his taste, actually. It didn't take long to identify Kagome, Miroku, and Sango sitting in a booth near the back and looking downright celebratory, and he shrugged off the ingratiating hostess to wend his way back to them on his own.

"Hey," he muttered, slumping onto the end of the curved booth, next to Miroku and across from Kagome—whose gaze he carefully avoided.

"Hi, Inuyasha," Kagome greeted pleasantly, ignoring his surliness and offering a benevolent olive branch instead. He flicked a blank glance in her direction, and her smile dimmed slightly. If she thought she was going to get away with acting like the "bigger person" just because she happened to have a teeny, tiny little edge in the scores at the moment, she had another thing coming.

"Have you guys ordered yet?" Inuyasha asked, addressing Miroku and Sango.

"Not yet," Miroku answered, though the look he gave Inuyasha as he said it admonished him to behave himself. Ha—fat chance.

Wait—well, that is, he was behaving himself. Meddling jackass. Mind your own business, Inuyasha eyeballed back.

"Well, we did order a bottle of champagne," Sango corrected, eyeing Inuyasha rather coolly. "To celebrate."

"Celebrate?"

"Of course," she said, giving him a challenging smile. Kagome gave Sango a look that implored her to just drop it, but she ignored it. "After all, the two of you have the top two spots in the tournament so far. That's something to celebrate, isn't it?"

Inuyasha smiled tightly. "Of course."

Everyone returned to their menus.

The clink of silverware and the mild hum of surrounding conversations didn't quite drown out the ringing silence.

Miroku turned a page. "Mm—they have duck. That sounds good…"

Kagome nodded, still staring at her own menu. "Mmm…"

Inuyasha glanced up at her over the top of his menu, but she didn't notice. Sango, on the other hand, was still shooting occasional glares in his direction. He ducked back down into the menu.

"Shit," he mumbled, his eyes straying over to the caviar price list. "Three-hundred bucks for an ounce of fish eggs? What the hell is that?"

Miroku rolled his eyes. "Inuyasha…"

"What? It's fucking ridiculous, that's all I'm saying."

Sango turned a page in her menu, one eyebrow arched in annoyance.

Kagome put down her menu, heaving a bracing sigh and sitting back, turning to Miroku and Sango. "So, what did you two do today? Besides going to the matches, of course."

"Oh, not a whole lot," Miroku replied, setting his menu aside as well and seizing gratefully on Kagome's endeavor to break the tension. "Wasn't a whole lot of time between…the ones we wanted to see, so we just grabbed a quick bite at the hotel and did a little window shopping in the meantime."

"That sounds nice. Did you buy anything?"

"Not me," Miroku shrugged. "Sango bought something from one of the street vendors, a wallet I think."

"Oh yeah?" Kagome turned to Sango. "What kind?"

"Oh, just one of those Coach knockoffs. Pretty good one though. Real leather interior, I think."

"Nice. You'll have to tell me where you found it—I might go get one for myself."

"Sure."

Inuyasha couldn't help a small roll of the eyes at the inanity of this conversation. It was bad enough to have to sit here with the three of them when they all knew perfectly well that Kagome was beating him—which ought to have been impossible, and they all damn well knew that too—but if things didn't get a hell of a lot more interesting pretty quickly he was going to have to go into the restroom and try to bludgeon himself into unconsciousness with the toilet paper dispenser. It would be a lot less painful than sitting here—with her…

"Inuyasha?" Kagome snapped her fingers in front of his face, and he jerked back, realizing he'd been staring at her as he'd drifted off. And she'd noticed. Dammit.

"What?" he grumbled, shifting in his seat and busying himself with spreading his napkin over his lap.

"Just wanted to make sure you were still awake. Didn't want you sliding out of your chair and tripping a waiter or something."

"I can take care of myself, thanks," he snapped.

Kagome's expression thinned, but she refused to rise to his bait, instead just setting her jaw and returning to the conversation she'd been having with the others. For some reason this just annoyed him more than if she'd kept talking to him. He didn't want to talk to her—he didn't want to be near her—but he didn't want to be ignored by her either. He didn't want to be tolerated. He wanted…

Actually, he had no idea what he wanted. He just didn't want this.

Unfortunately, "this" lasted another hour and a half. Mostly the other three chattered away, covering such riveting subjects as preferred toppings on eggs Benedict, the cheapest place to buy reusable coffee filters back in Chicago, and whether Holiday Inn or White Christmas was the better cheesy Christmas movie. He almost chimed in on that one—obviously it was White Christmas—but he stopped short when he realized that it would mean siding with Kagome. Wasn't worth it. Every time he felt tempted to join the conversation, he shut himself up by ordering another scotch.

Once they had paid the check, they walked back to the hotel, Inuyasha hanging back a few feet so that he could continue his stubborn silence without interruption. They all got into the elevator together, but Miroku and Sango soon departed when it reached their floor. After that, silence. Tense, uncomfortable, inhospitable silence.

She was mad. Weird—he hadn't even noticed. He'd thought he was the only one who was mad—she'd seemed happy enough to chatter away with Miroku and Sango once they had given up trying to draw him out. But now that they were alone and the conversation had died away, he could see she was positively steaming.

Interesting…troublesome…

Wait, what the hell was she mad about? She was the one who was fucking winning. She had no right whatsoever to be mad at him—bitch…

She was the first one out of the elevator, proceeding down the hallway at a sharp clip and arriving at the hotel room several feet ahead of him. When she breezed inside, she shoved the door carelessly behind her so that he had to reach out and grab it to keep it from breaking his nose.

"What the hell is your problem?" he asked irritably as he shut the door behind him.

She rounded on him, throwing her purse down on the bed, indignation flaring in her expression. "What's my problem?"

"Yeah."

"What's my problem?"

"Yeah, what's your problem—what are you, a fucking parrot?"

"I'll tell you what my problem is—you. You're my problem."

"Me?"

"Yes, you—what else!"

"How am I your problem?"

"Oh, don't hand me that—you know damn well. You've been sulking like a five year old all evening just because I got a higher score than you in the stupid contest."

"I haven't been sulking!"

"Ha!"

"Hey, just because I didn't feel like being all chatty doesn't mean I was fucking sulking—stop treating me like a child!"

"Stop acting like one!"

They glared at one another for a moment, and then Kagome broke away with a frustrated sigh, apparently trying to get a rein on her anger. She kneaded her forehead with one hand as she turned back to him. "Really—I can't believe I was actually starting to think you might not be so bad underneath all that selfish crap, if anyone could ever sandblast it away—but it's all the same underneath, too. It's all petty backbiting and competition, all of it—"

"Of course, I'm fucking competitive—it's a competition!"

"But it never ends! You just can't stand to see someone else do well, even just a little bit—not if it comes at your expense."

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about—just back off, alright?"

"What?" she snapped, advancing on him in challenge. "What is it? What is this selfish, narcissistic, petulant little obsession you have with this competition?"

There was a moment's pause—and then his restraint snapped, and he took the bait, gripping her shoulders roughly to snarl into her face. "It's mine, alright? It's all I've got, and I'm not giving it up to you or anyone else! This is what I am," he shook her, "this is it! And if you don't like it, you can just go to hell—I don't take this shit from anybody, got it? Especially not you."

For a moment they held still, their faces mere inches apart, Kagome staring at him with a mixture of fear and pity. He wasn't sure which one he hated more—but there was nothing he could do. He couldn't lose this. If he lost this, he lost everything.

He pushed her away and paced across the room—faltered and turned back as if to continue the fight—but she was still standing there, looking at him like he'd just grown a second head. It was no good.

He turned and walked right out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. No way was he spending the night in there—he'd have to crash at Miroku and Sango's.

As he stormed off down the hallway toward the stairwell, hoping the exercise would give him a chance to blow off some steam, he failed to notice the person who rounded the corner into the hallway behind him, following silently.

A/N: Not completely happy with this chapter (it gave me a hell of a time, for some reason), but it is what it is—next one will be better, I can promise that with reasonable confidence…