Meeting in the Middle

She was still wearing his baboon pelt when she went to him that night. Beneath it, she had several layers of kimonos, but she still shivered.

There were so many rooms, empty and skeletal like starving children. But she knew where he was, somehow. She found him sitting alone in one, deep in concentration, unmoving. His hair was pulled back, but he faced away from her. She stood in the doorway and buried her face into the fur. It smelled of embers.

For a long time he didn't move at all, and she sensed a kind of uncharacteristic strain in him. She straightened a little, sensing. She moved into the room and stood behind him.

"You're in pain," she whispered.

There was an imperceptible stir of his head.

She touched his shoulder lightly. "Let me."

She waited, and he nodded.

She knelt behind him. He slowly slid his kimono from off of his shoulders. The sleeves draped over his arms and fell in a graceful crescent. It cupped his lower back, revealing the stinging scar, shaped like a squelching spider.

Kagome swallowed and inhaled. She lifted her hands, white and cool in the darkness, and gently pressed them to his back. She was startled, but did not flinch. The skin was feverish to the touch. She pressed a little harder, concentrating on pulling away some of the pain into her hands. The sensation increased. She felt as though she stayed too long in a steam bath. She felt as if she were coming too close to a fire. She felt like she had sunbathed too long. She felt like she was touching hot food. Hot stones. Dipping her palms into scalding water.

Kagome snatched her hands back. She pressed her fists tightly into her chest, squeezing her eyes in an instinctive effort to diminish the pain.

He sighed.

Presently, the pain faded, and she scooted back a little, readjusting the baboon pelt around her shoulders. Naraku lifted his kimono back over himself, first one sleeve and then the other. He was perfect and cool.

"You want something."

"No," she said quietly. "That one was on me."

He tilted his head a little, in a question.

"That means . . . I did it because I wanted to."

He turned away again.

She tried to think. It was like pushing against a brick wall. Finally, she half bowed, half collapsed, leaning on her hands. She touched her forehead to the floor. "Please. I will do anything. Anything. If you will give up the Shikon jewel."

She waited, prostrating, not even before him facing him. She expected a snort or a cruel laugh. But there was only a soft sound. "Little Kagome. You have nothing that I want." It was factual, and nothing more. Then, "Come here."

Kagome sat up and looked at his back. Then she jumped up, like a machine jolted into motion. She came around to face him. He was serene, and his dark crimson eyes unfocused. She knelt in front of him. Their knees nearly touched.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back a little. The black streams of hair coiled slightly. He spoke, "Once, there were two men walking along the shore. As they walked, they spied a strange creature. A turtle was circling in the sand, rolling this way and that, doubling back on itself, and collapsing, only to get up and move again. What was strange about this turtle was that it had no head. 'It must be dead,' the one man said. 'It has no head. It cannot live un-whole.' But the other man disagreed. 'It is moving,' he said. 'It must be living to move in such ways.' The two discussed it among themselves, long into the evening. They could not agree on whether or not the turtle was alive or dead.

"There was a wise man in the village who was renowned in those parts. They decided to take their argument to him. So they went before the wise man and told him of the turtle who lived yet was not whole. He listened to each man's case, nodding quietly. Finally, when they had finished, they asked him, 'Well, wise man? What do you make of this turtle? Is it alive or is it dead?' The old man smiled to himself and answered . . . 'It is simple. He does not know he is dead.'"

Kagome felt a strange drop in her chest, as though she had just jumped from a cliff and only now realized she could not fly.

Naraku opened his eyes. He looked at her, gaze empty but not cold. It enveloped her, embraced her. It took her into him. "I do regret," he said, soft as falling snow. "I regret . . . that I cannot be whole for you."

For an instant in time, she could feel nothing. And she wondered if perhaps she hadn't died a long time ago and, like the turtle, did not realize she was dead after all.

"Now come and kiss me," he said, evenly and softly. "Tomorrow morning we will be enemies."

She did. Not because he said to. She wanted to. She leaned in timidly, putting her weight on her left hand, the right clasping her collar. She hovered over his mouth, frightened yet expectant. Then he moved to meet her, and they kissed tenderly. For a lingering moment, she was un-alive, and he was un-dead, and they were all alone, and they were, and it was all right.

But he pulled back and touched her shoulder, softly pushing her away. She understood that she was to get up at once. She stumbled up onto her feet, half-numb. She walked away quickly and didn't look back. If she did, she knew she would fall into his lap and ask for death.