Disclaimer: Nope, still don't have any rights to Inuyasha or the franchise.

I like to think Inuyasha could be a sweetie. In some capacity. Getting into fights with people does have consequences. Also, what she makes isn't fake, it's a thing I do when I'm on a low budget.


Inuyasha gripped her tight around her waist, her body occasionally flopping on his shoulder. She had carelessly gotten herself knocked out during the brawl. It was worrying, being partnered with a young women who possessed such drive. He was sometimes frightened that, no matter what the two of them did, she might never rest or stop fighting. He thought perhaps she saw no reason to stop. People would always get hurt or meet with trouble. Making a difference in their lives would mean the world to her, that much he knew from spending time around her. She was kind when she could be, but stoic when that mask was on – which was the entire time Inuyasha knew her.

It took some time getting back to his apartment. He tried to carry her as gently as possible on the way in, stumbled a bit before stepping more carefully.

He laid her out on his futon and for the shortest of moments she woke, she whispered a broken "thank you" before sleeping truly. He sat under the window, watching the rise and fall of her belly as she breathed, unwilling to sleep beside her.

The morning greeted Kagome with a harsh light and she cringed as the pain in her face woke her more. She sat up slowly. This was officially the last time she would allow herself to kiss pavement. A glance at her surroundings told her that her glimpse of Bloodhound tucking her into bed last night was not a dream. The dim light overhead was still flickering and convenience store food-wrappings surrounded her futon sparsely on the floor. The walls were bare of pictures and ornamentation. The blankets were plain but warm and heavy.

She attempted to clamber to her feet and took a steadying breath. Nauseating. Moving was nauseating. How did she think she could have escaped a concussion? She rolled onto her knees and tried pushing herself upward as a toddler might, rocking back and forth unsteadily. Everything ached. It had been a long time since Kagome felt that way. Probably eleven months. She walked over to the kitchen area, checked cupboards and the fridge. Instant ramen. A few eggs. Pears. Half-eaten rice balls of the grocery store variety. She could see little bits of plum or fish sticking out of them.

There was a sudden and desperate need for home-made food. However, people would start questioning her if she went out and buy anything like this. Kagome huffed. "Okay, then. I'll just…maybe…. Crap." A noise at the door had her running to the opposite wall, hunched low, despite the protesting muscles in her back. "Ow, ow, ow."

She grabbed a nearby lamp and brandished it before her. Quiet footsteps and the rustling of plastic sounded through the apartment. She feared the worst. A man stepped into view, tall for their country. Probably multiracial. His skin was darker than she was used to seeing in the region she lived in. Wide eyes surveyed the room before landing on her.

"You look different."

"What?"

"In my head, I imagined you'd be older. And your face is more beat up than I realized. Guess you're not going out today." He went to set the bags he carried onto the counter by the stove. "I thought you might be hungry so I got stuff."

The rising panic in her chest dissipated. "Bloodhound?"

"Huntress?" he retorted. "Yeah. So, are you gonna make something with this or not?"

"I…yes, I'm starving. Where are your knives?" She groaned inwardly as she talked, her jaw clacking.

He produced one from his pocket.

"That's fine, I guess. How did you know what to get?"

"I asked an old broad what makes a good meal."

Kagome laughed. "Can you get me the eggs from the fridge?" She slowly removed green onions from the bag and began to chop them.

"Just sit down in that chair." Bloodhound watched her impatiently for a minute before snatching the knife from her. "Sit down. Tell me what you need and I'll do it."

"Three quarter pieces. Thanks." She had him put eggs into a pot of water and set it on boil.

"Yer going too slow," he snarked.

"I also need you to chop – is this chicken? Chop that. Doesn't matter how."

Bloodhound a packet of ramen noodles, tore open the bag, threw away the seasoning, and started to boil the noodles with the eggs. "Why aren't you using the seasoning? That's the best part."

Kagome closed her eyes and allowed herself to slouch to rest her muscles. "I can make something better. Do you have lemons?" When he shook his head no she thought for a second and asked for hot sauce which he procured from a cupboard. He squeezed some into scratched pan as well as vegetable oil and mixed. "Why'd you bring me back here?"

"Couldn't just leave you." He shifted his feet, uncomfortable with the turn of conversation. "You're supposed to be my partner. I have to make sure you're safe."

She shot him a look. "Supposed to be? Thanks, I guess. Do you not know how to cook?"

"I can fry eggs. And make ramen. And boil rice. I burn the bottom of the pot."

"That's fine. You can steam some rice ahead of time in preparation for dinner." Kagome watched him dice mushrooms silently. He had long fingers with nails that were a little ragged. His skin had bronzed and freckled at the knuckles, most likely from being in the sun a lot. "What's your day job?"

"Watering flowers."

"Are you lying to me?"

He went to roll up the futon and clear space on the floor. "No. I like outdoors, but I like the city. So I garden. Do landscaping jobs." And so they continued in discourse, enjoying one another's company greatly. It was in silent agreement that their true names were not spoken. In less than ten minutes the meal was ready; Bloodhound procured a rather large bowl from a random cabinet and two sets of finely lacquered chopsticks. "You eat from the bowl," he said, "I'll eat from the pan." He helped her from her chair over to the table he set out on the floor.

Kagome managed a smile. "Alright." The meal was silent and slow for the most part. "Thank you."

Bloodhound paused. "For?"

"For taking care of me."