Reverberation

by Captain applesauce

Sequel to 'The Pain'. Once upon a time, he was a coldhearted murderer, but that was a different time, a different life, a different past. Sometimes, though, things come back around. Sometimes an echo remains even when the source is gone. Sometimes...

25. Recovery

Chapter 25: Recovery

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Thank you for the reviews! They are lifeblood, and it's always nice to know that people are still reading!

Looks like this chapter ended up being another monster. It went from being 13 pages to almost 50... Hopefully it's not too much.

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"But fuck it, I love you even if I'm gonna feel like shit by the time I get to you. Now the sky is turning blue. The stars, they disappear one by one, and daylight's near, and yes, you're in my head. But that doesn't make you here. And I've lost all my friends, but you're the one I miss the most." - 'Cars and Telephones' by Arcade Fire

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"Fuck—hold on." Inuyasha kept a tight grip on his son's waist as he slipped in through Kannon's window first, even when Hiroshi started to sway back, his landing on the windowsill sloppy. "I got you—come on. Head first. You ain't gonna fall." Inuyasha helped him through the window just as his youngest son was closing his bedroom door.

The boy froze, eyes widening as he stared at his older brother—dirty, impossibly thin, half-dressed and half-asleep—draped over his father.

Inuyasha's eyes flickered over him for only a second before his other arm circled around Hiro's waist, pulling him closer against him as the weak hanyou tried to regain his shot balance. "I thought I told you to keep your mother busy."

It took him a little while to figure out that his Old Man was talking to him, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times and his eyes never leaving Hiro's,. The silent older hanyou refused to meet his gaze, shame flushing hollowed cheeks. "…Mimi's…Mimi's talking to her in the kitchen…" he said finally in breathless astonishment.

Inuyasha grunted, jerking his head for Kannon to move away from the door. "Gotta get him in the shower. Open the door, will you, pup?"

With a dumbfounded nod, the boy hurriedly opened the door, still staring in horror at Hiroshi—the one he always turned to for help, the only one he'd ever seen hold his own against Sesshoumaru or his father, the one who looked like he hadn't seen food or water or sun in god knows how long. Hadn't it only been a week since he'd last seen him? What the fuck was happening?

He watched as the two older hanyou left the bedroom in favor of the bathroom the three pups had shared, or fought over, at one point in time, but he didn't dare follow after. Within seconds, he could hear the showerhead burst to life.

Inuyasha kept a grip around his son's bicep as he reached out to test the temperature of the water.

He hadn't really said anything to Hiroshi since his outburst back at his place. There were some words, some brief instructions or commands, but nothing substantial. Nothing real. He no longer looked furious, though. All of his fire had been doused back in Hiro's bedroom, and now he seemed to his son to be fueled by a nervous energy, trying to move at a careful pace for Hiroshi and trying to resist the urgency of action that was so instinctual. Which Hiro appreciated, because he wasn't sure he could take it if his father lost his patience with him and just tried to carry him to speed things up. This was humiliating enough as it was.

At last Inuyasha seemed satisfied with the water's temperature, and pulled his hand back.

"Do you want me to stay in here, or you got this?" his father asked, glancing at him with uncertainty. He slowly removed his hand from Hiro, as though to test whether the hanyou was steady on his feet and prepared to catch him again if he wasn't.

"Are you asking me if I can stand in a shower without your help?" Hiroshi asked, lips twisting into a sardonic smile that did nothing to remove his father's frown.

"You almost fell out of a second story window just now, Hiro," he pointed out curtly. "You've been making that jump since you were three. So yeah, I'm asking if you need help showering."

"No. I think I can handle this just fine without you, thanks."

His attitude wasn't lost on his father, but Inuyasha had bigger concerns than his son's sudden cattiness. "Alright then. I'll be right outside the door. If you need anything, call out."

Grunting his acknowledgment, he started to untie the cinched drawstring on his sweats when he realized the older hanyou was still standing there.

Inuyasha was staring at his chest, at the hollows under his clavicles, the ripple of each rib, his expression one of pained horror. "Fuck, Hiro," he breathed, and shook his head slowly. "Just…" He sighed again then, and tried to shake himself out of his daze to grimace at his son. "Just hurry up. After you've bathed, we gotta get some food in you."

"I just ate," Hiroshi told him distractedly, abandoning his drawstring for now in favor of picking a washrag out of the linen closet in front of him and draping it over the shower rod.

An irate, disbelieving huff of air was expelled through Inuyasha's nose. "Yeah? Pardon me if I don't fucking believe you. Shower, then food. Fuck, and your mother… Christ," the hanyou grumbled under his breath, dragging a weary hand over his face.

And Hiro could understand some of his reluctance because confronting his mother, as he looked now… He wasn't sure that there was anything he dreaded more.

"I'll lay some clean clothes on your bed," Inuyasha muttered on his way out. Hiroshi waited until the bathroom door was closed before he stripped off the sweats and boxers and climbed carefully into the shower, holding onto the rod for balance.

Immediately the water swirled lightly pink with the dried blood from the soles of his feet and he watched it fade back to clear before he stepped under the warm spray of water.

The moment the water hit his skin, he felt the least little bit better, even though he also realized, at that moment, exactly how filthy he was. Days of sweat, of grime, dead skin, chemicals from his meltdown this morning—He didn't have bedsores on his body, thank god, but he imagined he hadn't been too far off from them. He was disgusting. Foul. Pathetic. Weak.

Things it had reminded him of constantly over the past ten days. Things it continued to whisper to him now.

He scrubbed suds into his hair almost viciously, minding his claws all the while. The last thing he needed was the scent of fresh blood to reach his father right now… Honestly, time in the bathroom was probably going to be the last private moments he was going to be allowed for quite some time.

Because his parents were going to take one look at him—Pathetic. Weak.

Resting his head against the cool shower tile and closing his eyes, he tried not to think about it, not to think about her—tried not to think at all, but just stood there as the water pounded on his back, because this was the closest thing he'd had to some semblance of peace since all of this started.

It wasn't until ten minutes later when his father rapped quickly on the door with an "Oi! You about done in there?" that Hiroshi snapped out of the daze. He quickly snagged the washcloth off the rod before responding.

"Almost."

After another ten minutes, he emerged from the bathroom in a towel, dirty cloths and rag in his hands. Inuyasha, who had been leaning back against the doorframe, arms folded, righted himself and took the dirty laundry from him. With a jerk of his head, he motioned towards Hiroshi's old bedroom.

"I found a pair of gym shorts and a shirt for you—on your bed. Gonna put these in the wash. Get dressed, pup. I'll be back up in a minute."

After Inuyasha had disappeared down the stairs, Hiroshi carefully and quietly made his way into the bedroom, least Kannon reemerge from his room and catch him in the hallway. He had no idea what he was going to say once he was forced to speak with him. But right now, he was content believing that he'd never have to face his brother again.

Maybe his father had forgotten about him, and he could just crawl into bed, and not have to deal with Kannon or Kimiko or his mother… Maybe he could just shut off and be alone and not have to think or talk or face any of the hard truths that were trying to destroy him… Maybe—

The unlikely thought still soothed some of the knots in his gut.

With a sigh, he picked up the cotton tee his father had left on the bed for him and shrugged it on, inhaling deeply. He almost hated that the shirt, his father's scent, instantly made him feel less vulnerable, comforted in some way—he was too old for security blankets. He was too old to need his parents to come to his rescue.

He huddled deeper into the shirt, and with closed eyes, rolled his head from side-to-side to pop the bones there, trying to release some of his pent-up anxiety.

Fucking failure. Disappointment. Weak. Disgusting—

After he traded the damp towel for the clean shorts, he examined himself as best he could without a mirror. Before this, he and his father hadn't been that different in size, despite Kagome's constant fear that he couldn't remember to feed himself. He was taller, so he looked leaner, but Inuyasha's gym shorts would have fit him well two weeks ago. Now, they were ridiculously rucked after he'd cinched them as tight as they'd go, so that they'd sit on his hips.

Even his shins looked sharper than usual, his calves almost atrophied. He had effectively ruined his body, and god, he wished he'd had some of his sweatpants to hide his legs.

But then he remembered that he no longer owned sweatpants—no longer owned clothes, with the exception of the sweats and boxers in the wash, because he'd just destroyed them all in a tantrum.

Now he was going to either have to leave his isolated bubble and brave the world to go shopping, of all things—while wearing his father's poorly fitting clothes, or he was going to have to coerce Mimi into buying a brand new wardrobe for him. Which meant talking to her, too.

He almost started laughing—he couldn't help the grim chuckle that escaped. Everything had gone to shit, and it was almost funny because how the hell had everything gone to shit so goddamned fast?

"What's so funny?"

Hiroshi glanced at his father over his shoulder, his smile fading fractionally. "Didn't hear you come up," he admitted, ignoring the question. Inuyasha frowned, but said nothing, as he stepped aside and motioned toward the hallway. And taking a deep breath, he nodded and followed.

"Alright," his father said finally, pausing at the top of the stairs and casting a sidelong look at him. "You ready for this?"

A tired ghost of a grin pulled and cracked Hiroshi's dry lips as he stared down the empty stairwell. His mother was waiting for them down there. "Not even remotely."

"Alright, good. Let's go," Inuyasha commanded, his hand around Hiroshi's bicep again as he took the first step and waited for his son to catch up. "Careful."

He nodded meaningfully at the fingers curled around his arm. "I can do this, you know."

A dark eyebrow cocked skeptically. "Can you? I don't think you realize how fucking terrible you look, Hiro," the hanyou argued carefully, no fire behind the tone now, though his words shut his son up. "Not gonna clean you up, just for you to crack your skull open on the stairs in front of your mother. So…" With a pointed brow, he jerked his head back towards the bottom floor, and biting back a sigh, Hiroshi relented and they slowly made their way down the stairs together. His mother and Kimiko were in the kitchen, separated from the stairs only by the entryway. He could barely smell them, could barely hear the murmurings of them speaking, though he couldn't make out what they were saying. It almost felt like being under the influence of the new moon, his senses were shot, numbed.

By the time they reached the bottom step, his legs felt like jelly, and his entire body was suddenly burning and clammy, black dots filling his vision, and—

'No, no, no—'

His heart seized with panic in his chest. He was not going to fucking pass out in front of his parents after walking down a single flight of stairs. That was not about to fucking happen.

"Almost there, Hiro," his father murmured. He seemed to understand that Hiroshi was having trouble now, because his grip on his bicep relaxed before that arm was hauled over and around Inuyasha's shoulder, an arm around his waist so that his father was doing most of the work in keeping him upright. Hiro leaned into him and stumbled along blindly beside him, begging his legs to work just a little longer. "We have anything he can eat, wench?"

Hiroshi's eyes were squeezed shut, so he couldn't see, but they'd apparently made their way into the kitchen after a fucking eternity.

Kagome took one look at her son, and then she was on her feet and under his other arm helping Inuyasha get him to the kitchen table.

"I've got him, Kagome, it's okay."

Her voice was stony and quiet when she answered, heavy with upset that she was trying to manage. "This isn't okay, Inuyasha. Nothing about this is okay. Sit him down here." Once the hanyou had collapsed in the chair, his parents on either side of him, he seemed to sag with exhaustion.

Kagome took one look at his pinched, bloodless face, and placed a cool hand on his cheek. "He's burning up," she murmured to her mate. "Hiro. Hiroshi, do you feel like you're about to pass out?"

He clenched his jaw, his eyes closed as he tried to steady himself and his stomach as an uncomfortable flood of prickling warmth washed over him and numbed each of his limbs, which were too heavy to lift now. This was just so fucking embarrassing. Instead of answering, he took a deep, steadying breath and kept his head bowed, waiting for it to pass.

"Head between your knees," Kagome demanded, and Inuyasha pulled his chair back to help him slump forward. "He really should be on the floor," she murmured under her breath before she pushed forward. "Mimi, please get me a rag—wet it with cold water. Then go upstairs with Kannon."

And goddammit, he'd forgotten that Mimi was here, her stunned silence louder than anything she could have said. A moment later, his mother was suddenly placing a cool, wet cloth to the back of his neck. "Have you had anything at all to drink lately? Water—anything?"

He couldn't look at her when he shook his head.

Kagome continued to hold the cloth in place. "If I give you something to drink, do you think you'll be able to stomach it?"

'No,' he thought, but nodded anyway.

"Inuyasha, will you please grab a Gatorade from the fridge? Cut it with water. About half and half." There was a grunt of acknowledgement, and Hiroshi heard his father make his way into the kitchen, allowing his mother to keep a hold of him where he sat, doubled over and waiting for the spell to pass.

"Okay, Hiro, when was the last time you ate or drank anything?"

"'Roku made ramen this morning," he bit out, face still pinched.

"Were you able to keep it down?"

He grunted, eyes closed as he tried to ignore the voice crowding in on him, berating him for his weakness.

"Here, 'Gome," Inuyasha handed the glass with a straw to his mate so that she could set it on the table in front of their pup. "There was ramen all over the floor when I picked him up. Looked like he tried to eat it but couldn't keep it down."

"Alright, honey, think you can sit up now?"

He still felt like shit, but the spell was beginning to pass now. With a nod, he braced his arms on his knees to push himself up, aided by his parents and his chair was swiveled back to the table for him. When he first opened his eyes, the deep, troubled gray of his mothers was the first thing he saw from where she was leaning over from his side, a glass in her hand.

"I want you to try to drink this, okay? Slow, steady sips—don't gulp it. If you feel sick, let me know. You need fluids, Hiroshi, but I can always get an IV if you don't feel like you can do this."

He took a sip and immediately felt his stomach revolt, and it was through sheer force of will alone that he was able to keep from retching in front of them.

"What about food?" Inuyasha murmured to his mate, unable to mask his concern at this point.

"We'll get there. He needs fluids first. Maybe some broth soon."

"Broth?" he interrupted, disgusted, "The fuck good is broth going to do? He needs—I don't know—fat or meat or something, Christ, he's a stick!"

Yes, Hiroshi was certain this was the most humiliating moment of his life.

"We'll get there, Inuyasha," his mate repeated more firmly. "He's dehydrated. And I'm sure that hot shower didn't help. We have to fix that first before we can—"

"I'm right here," he mumbled, half asleep. "Please don't talk about me like I'm not…"

"You need to be drinking," his mother told him, voice cold and steely, a tone she rarely, if ever, used with him. "Not talking. Save your smart aleck remarks for when you're well enough for me to tell you what I'm really thinking right now."

"Don't hold back on my account," Hiroshi tried to tease before his tired smile faltered and fell.

Kagome said nothing, but bit her tongue, clenched her jaw, and grabbed his wrist to time his pulse.

She fussed silently around him for several minutes, taking his blood pressure, his temperature, and trying to contain her distressed noises as she worked before she finally pulled the glass of sweetened water out of his grasp and pushed it to the center of the table. "That's enough for now. Too much, too quickly, and you'll get sick again."

The likelihood of that was very strong, he thought, trying not to think about how his stomach was positively churning right now.

She pulled away from him at last, and sat herself down in a chair directly across from him, her mate at her side. She looked from Inuyasha to her son, both of them looking ill, but no one made a move to speak.

"Okay," Kagome said at last, "I'll start, then. What is happening? What is this?" She gestured at his body, trying to wrangle her distress into a brisk, forced calm.

And still no one spoke. He could only stare at his claws where they still rested on the table, unmoved since the glass had been taken from him. His head was absolutely throbbing—hot, tight pressure, against the back of his eye.

"Hiroshi. Speak."

"I think," he said at last, "I'm sick."

Inuyasha scoffed in amazement, arms folded over his chest as he stared openly and incredulously at his son. "Yeah, Hiroshi," he bit out impatiently, "You're sick. No shit."

He cringed back, still feeling an inch tall. "I didn't mean for this to…"

"Why would you hide this from us?" The question burst out of his mother with a sudden sob, as though she'd been holding onto it for as long as she could. Even she looked shocked that she'd spoken. She wasn't crying—not yet, but her eyes were wet, and Hiroshi felt like utter shit for causing it. "Why would you rather try to deal with this on your own instead of coming to us for help?"

He had nothing to give her, though, and remained silent and miserable, much to Kagome's frustration.

"God, Hiroshi, I am sick of this! Do you hear me? I am sick of you trying to pull away from us, and us having to cling tighter to have any sort of relationship with you at all! You would really rather suffer like this than just…talk to us? Why?"

"I'm sorry." It came out as a whisper, so quiet his mother almost missed it if she hadn't been waiting so intently for any kind of response from him.

She leaned back in her chair, her face temporarily softening from its urgent desperation as she studied him. "Oh, Hiroshi. I know you are. But that doesn't tell us why. That doesn't assure us that this will never happen again." She ran a frantic hand through her hair in agitation, eyes once again registering unbridled fear. "Hiro, if the New Moon had fallen at any point in the last three or four days, you'd be dead right now. You realize that, right? That's what happens when you deny your body water for days. Your organs would have failed, and you would be dead."

At her side, her mate said nothing, but couldn't help the short whine that built in his throat as he stared at his son with wide eyes, face bloodless.

"I need something more from you than just 'I'm sorry.'"

"I didn't think…" he told her quietly, staring blindly at the glass of water in front of him, "At first, I didn't think it would get this bad. I thought…this…feeling would pass. That I could handle this on my own. And then it didn't, and I couldn't, and things got worse."

"But why?" she pressed again, palms flat against the table now as she leaned forward in her seat. "Why did you think you had to handle it on your own, Hiro?"

"Kagome—"

"No, Inuyasha, I want to hear what he has to say."

If he weren't so exhausted, he'd be able to deflect pretty easily, but he was spent. And so tired of running from this. "Because you already don't trust me in stressful situations," he told her bluntly before a grim chuckle, and admitting, "And I am stressed the fuck out right now. …I didn't want to scare you—"

He was cut off by his father, who was staring at him still, mouth agape. "What the fuck."

"It's fine," Hiroshi muttered, burying his face in his hands again to rub at his eyes and brow, trying to manage the incessant pounding. "I don't blame you at all. I mean, I get it. I just didn't want..."

"What?" Kagome cut in. "Who in the world ever said we were scared of you? Where did you get that idea?"

"Is this…is this about Daphne?" Inuyasha asked incredulously, shaking his head in disbelief when he caught his son flinching. "Hiro… you were a pup," he stressed. "Tell me that wouldn't keep you from coming to us when you're in trouble…"

"You say that like it wasn't a big deal," Hiroshi warned, a small frown playing at his lips, though he didn't lift his head from his hands.

"It wasn't! Not this big, at least." He gestured to Hiroshi's entire body. "It's been fifteen fucking years, Hiroshi!"

His head snapped up to stare incredulously at his father, who met his gaze stubbornly. "Are you serious? Of course it was a big deal," he retorted, stung and upset when he felt all of these emotions grip him, felt his heart thundering and stumbling in his chest at his father's careless dismissal. "It was a big deal to me. That was the first time it took control of my body, and it hurt you. How is that not a big deal?"

"He didn't mean it that way, Hiroshi," Kagome cut in, her voice soothing as she recognized his agitation. "We know it was traumatic for you. It's something we took—and take—very seriously because of that. We knew you were hurting, and we hurt with you. But we have never not trusted you, baby."

Hiro snorted dubiously, casting a disbelieving look at his mother. "You don't even trust me to feed myself regularly," he reminded her pointedly, softening his expression when she inhaled sharply. And then he remembered exactly what he looked like at the moment and that maybe he had proven her concerns to be valid. "I mean, before this," he muttered, cheeks pinking much to his dismay.

"That… Hiro, that has nothing to do with that day with Daphne… Not entirely, at least."

"Trust," Inuyasha spat, suddenly. "You were a pup, Hiro. You were placed in a stressful, unfamiliar situation at ten years old, and you did what you could to protect—"

"—Protect'?" His eyes were positively feral now, and he let out a single, dark laugh, full of anger and incredulity. "Who the hell did I protect that day? It wasn't my dog. It certainly wasn't you."

"Hiroshi, deep breaths, okay?" his mother interrupted, voice gentle but firm, as she slipped her hand into her mate's. "We can still talk about this, but until you're feeling a little better, we need to watch your blood pressure. Don't let yourself get too worked up."

Her words quelled the fire in her mate's eyes, though Hiroshi still looked like he was ready to challenge them both. Inuyasha took a deep breath and squeezed Kagome's fingers gently. "You protected yourself, Hiro. Ain't nobody going to fault you for that. And in case you need a reminder: you're responsible for an entire department of people in a dangerous line of work… You think I woulda let that happen if I didn't trust you? If I didn't think you could do it—manage all those lives, I would have had Sesshoumaru shut that shit down immediately. Immediately, Hiro."

"Okay, you trust me," Hiroshi allowed, eyes drifting closed as he started to feel the crash from the sudden adrenaline spike.

He wondered if the pressure behind that eye would ease if he just plucked the eyeball out. A brief, intrusive thought.

'Do it,' it dared him. He pointedly ignored it.

"But…it still talks to me," he breathed at last. "And if you're not worried that it won't resurface one day, you're being naïve."

When the front door suddenly burst open and the immediate sound of footsteps were scrambling up the stairs, he didn't react—too tired and worn. Resigned to everything.

However, Inuyasha's face had darkened considerably. Releasing his mate's hand, he stiffly abandoned his seat at the table and left the kitchen to intercept Miroku in the entryway on his way back down the stairs.

The kitsune was panicked, eyes wild and darting from his uncle, to the living room, to the kitchen opening behind him. He didn't have their noses, but he could still pick up on Hiroshi's scent.

"Is he here?" he asked, breathlessly, and his uncle only scowled at him, letting the seconds pass before he gave a curt nod.

"He's here," Inuyasha allowed slowly.

All air escaped him then in his relief, body sagging. "I thought… Fuck," he sighed, running a shaking hand through his hair and taking a deep breath. He finally turned his wide eyes up to meet Inuyasha's cool gaze again. "I'm s—"

"Save it," the older hanyou interrupted, unmoved. "I don't want to hear it right now. We're talking to him, so you can either come back later, or you can wait upstairs with the twins. I don't give a shit."

Miroku swallowed miserably, but nodded, guilt twisting his guts. "I understand. I'll …I'll try to clean up a bit at his place, then."

"Fine."

Inuyasha watched, arms folded, as Miroku left the way he came, but looking absolutely defeated. And then he rejoined his mate's side at the table.

"You shouldn't be mad at him. It's not his fault," Hiroshi said at last once his father had reclaimed his seat across from him. "He wanted to tell you as soon as he realized. I stopped him."

Inuyasha grunted noncommittally. "I figured as much. That's the only reason I didn't bust him in the mouth. Don't mean I can't still be mad, though." His eyes were molten gold as they flicked upwards to meet his son's. "At both of you."

"You?" Hiroshi asked with a weak smirk, "Not passing up a chance to be angry? Color me shocked." But the joke was ill-received, neither of his parents cracking a smile—not that he'd truly expected them to. He just wanted them to stop looking at him like that. Like he'd broken their hearts, brought all of their worst fears to life.

"Julia's gone?" Inuyasha watched his son flinch at the question—at the mention of the woman. Then he sighed and nodded, expression guarded.

"Yeah."

"…Is it giving you problems again?"

Hiroshi snorted, looking away from his father's solemn face.

"I guess that's a 'yes,' huh?" he muttered tartly, slipping his clawed hand back into that of his silent mate.

"It's furious," Hiroshi admitted quietly after a moment, staring out the large kitchen window. "It loved her before I even…" He drifted off mid-sentence with a soft, rueful smile as Zooey pressed his wet nose on the other side of the glass, left nose-art in his wake as the dog watched them talk. He leveled a steady look at his father. "It hates me now. It hates most things now. But what was I supposed to do? She left me. It wasn't the other way around—I didn't do anything."

'Maybe that's the fucking problem, huh?' it snarled, dragging up and perverting another happy memory, and he tried not to flinch again in front of his father.

"'Course you didn't. Don't be stupid." The words were gruff, but the tone less-so.

"It won't let me forget about her. I can't even eat without remembering…" He sighed, ducking his head to bury it in his hands as he propped himself against the table. "If I could just…have a minute—just a minute to make sense of this… If it would just give me a chance to pull myself together, I'd be all right. I think I'd be all right." He could have laughed at the situation if only he could get some distance. People break up all the time, right? And they do it without hiding and starving themselves for days on end.

'This is so goddamned ridiculous… In the grand scheme of things, this is nothing.' But it was his entire future.

It retaliated by continuing to dismantle his very being piece-by-piece, prying up unwanted memories. Now was the way she'd smirked into her champagne glass after handing him her panties after a ballet.

Now the first time she told him that she loved him, her face pressed against his thigh as they rested on their pallet, words she repeated over and over again in this memory—a broken record being ruined by its needle.

Dark desires to make others hurt as badly as he was hurting ran strong, unbidden through his mind, constantly warring with his own reasonable nature. As bad as it had always been, never before had it been this hell-bent on destruction. Never before had it kept up its assault with such dedication and determination. It was tireless, and he was… He was exhausted. Spent.

He heard the soft scrape of a wooden chair against the tile floor, heard the quiet footsteps of his mother walking around the table, breath catching when she carefully ran a soft hand over his short hair. And then she wrapped her arms through his, around his shoulders, her forehead resting against the crown of his head. She held him silently as his eyes began to burn.

For the second time in a week—in fifteen years—he wanted to cry. More than anything. He was just so tired.

'Don't you fucking cry,' it demanded, livid. 'Don't you dare.'

There was no danger of that, though. His body had no liquid to spare, not even for tears—there was only a dry, stabbing ache. He clenched his jaw before releasing a deep, ragged breath.

"Kagome? Can I talk to him for a minute?" his father asked quietly. "What we've talked about—I think it's time he knew."

At first she was suddenly and uncomfortably rigid against him. Then she nodded mutely, pulling back to press her lips against his temple, her fingers running over clean silk hair one last time before she pulled away.

Hiroshi squeezed his eyes shut when he heard her choked sob as she tried to reach the hallway before her tears could come.

""Gome…"

Her name left her mate's lips as the beginning of a promise, and it paralyzed her for a moment. But then she shook her head and hurried out of the room.

Finally Inuyasha released another deep breath. "Alright then, pup. I think it's time we talk about what exactly it is you're dealing with, hm?"

"We're not mates," he muttered softly, stubbornly ignoring the way his heart clenched with the lie. "I know what happens when you separate mates." He wasn't convincing, and Inuyasha looked distinctly unimpressed with the weak denial.

"Well, good. Cause I don't care. I'm telling you anyway. I'm telling you what it felt like, and you're going to tell me if any of this sounds familiar." His tone left no room for argument. "I need you to be completely fucking honest with me, do you understand me, Hiroshi? This isn't a game."

Hiroshi's eyes had lifted at the implication, brow furrowing. It was becoming more and more difficult to focus, but it looked like this conversation had no end in sight. "Familiar…?" he dared to ask at last, and even in his total exhaustion, his senses almost useless under it's assault and his lack of sleep and hydration, he knew that change was hanging in the air around them.

"I need your word, Hiro. I gotta know exactly how bad this is, okay? If you fucking lie to me…" It was an empty threat, but Hiroshi didn't care. He nodded anyway, and he meant it.

"I promise."

So Inuyasha took a deep breath. And then he began a story he sometimes wished he could forget: Once upon a time, Kagome died.

---

Julia took a quick sip of her bourbon—neat, like Hiro preferred. And yeah, it still tasted horrible and burned as all hell. She doubted she'd ever acquire a taste for it, no matter how many times she tried. Though that could be because she'd had no idea what to order—maybe it was just a shit or middling whiskey… She almost smiled—almost.

The last time she was here—well, in the States, not here—it had been a vastly different experience. Back then, she'd had Hiroshi and Miroku. And a brother. She had been happy and wild and surrounded by love. Had that only been three months ago?

She'd thought her life was finally, finally coming together. That she had finally figured things out, and knew what direction she was working towards. Her dreams no longer seemed impossible, but attainable. Realistic. She'd given interviews on two of the most popular talk shows in America, and they were well-received. And then she'd gotten two more calls for possible roles.

And she was happy with her personal life, too. In fact, She'd been so in love, so crazy with it back in New York after her Jon Lawson interview, that she'd led Hiroshi to the women's restroom, her hand around his wrist and giggling and shushing like a drunken teenager, trying to be sneaky while surrounded by other drunk people. Because he brought something out in her that no one else had—she did and felt things she didn't know she could.

He made her reckless. And needy. And brave.

Before everything went to shit, she'd like to think that she'd had the same effect on him. That he felt and shared things he never had with anyone else. That he wasn't normally the kind of man to accompany a girl to a public restroom for a heated make-out session. But he had—with her.

The memory was so vivid, so real that she could still feel his fangs drag across her lower lip to her jawline as he grinned against her while she fought with the button on his pants and rubbed against him like a creature possessed...

And now… Now she just felt empty. Numb and empty. A husk of who she'd been even a month ago. She didn't even cry that often anymore—not until the numbness would temporarily give way to sharp, vicious hurt.

With a sigh, she went ahead and signed the bill with the tip, pushing it out in front of her on the bar top before returning her attention to the terrible drink she was nursing. This was only her third night back in the States, and tomorrow, she would begin training for her newest film. Training with someone who could teach her to handle a gun and shoot, since she was supposed to be playing a badass assassin and had never even so much as held a gun in her life.

She forced another bite of her Caesar salad down, trying to ignore the taste of ash in her mouth. She never seemed to have an appetite anymore, but she couldn't afford to lose any more weight. If she lost this job…

She thought about having to return to Tokyo early—and what waited for her there, her whole body cringing in on itself.

She just couldn't lose this job. Another bite, and then one more, but she tasted nothing, still.

The enormous man beside her was suddenly on his feet and downing another shot of vodka before he looked down at her. "I'm going to toilet," he informed her bluntly, a scowl fixed on his face. "Do not move."

His name was Sasha, she'd discovered, and he was youkai. And equally as no-nonsense as his twin brother—the silent but angry mountain of a man she'd met at the same time as Ikeda over a month ago now. He'd been sent as a bodyguard (or her warden,) so even though he did not care to spend every waking moment in close proximity with her—and even seemed to find her company distasteful—she still was never truly alone.

She'd tried to run so many times over the last few days—just to have a moment to herself, to breathe—but he never let her far out of his sight. He caught her every time, and his patience with her, which had never been abundant to begin with, was practically nonexistent now.

It was something she was very proud of, if she were being honest with herself.

She was determined to make every second of his job as difficult as she possibly could. And so she waited until he was out of sight, and then she polished off the last third of her drink, stood up and left the bar, hailing the car she'd just ordered through a ride-share app on her phone.

It dropped her off several blocks away. There was a cinema there that she could escape into for a couple of hours because—where else could she go?

Not to the hotel room. And most of the shops had already closed for the evening. It was either this or another bar or—

She stopped in her tracks on the sidewalk in front of a small parlor and watched a couple of artists through the window as they worked with other customers. And for the first time in what felt like ages she was filled with fierce joy, poignant and almost painful, as an idea struck her.

She always had been an impulsive thing, and Hiroshi only exacerbated that trait in her.

'You sure you want to do this, Jules,' she could almost hear him asking her, voice soft and smile playfully droll. 'There's no getting rid of me after this.'

Her smile faded, and she looked at him, where he wasn't, but should have been, and felt that joy dim, that familiar sadness wrap tightly around her, felt her chest tighten and her nose sting. "I never wanted to get rid of you, Hiroshi," she promised with a whisper.

She could see him right himself from where he'd been leaning against the side of the building, straightening until he was looking down at her, smile gone now and expression giving nothing away. 'But you did anyway.' And then he stepped around her and was gone.

When she blinked her tears away, she was alone again on the sidewalk outside the tattoo parlor.

She saw him sometimes. Him. Jackson. Miroku. But Hiroshi most of all. She was just so lonely. Never in her life had she truly had no one she could turn to. So she'd conjure him there beside her, try to imagine the way he'd look or act or talk, and always, always punish herself by the end of it. Sometimes he'd say terrible things to her. Things the real Hiroshi would never say. Sometimes he'd call her a coward, a whore, a traitor. Sometimes, he'd remind her that she needed to eat or get out of bed. Sometimes when she was on the verge of sleep, his hand would be over hers, his breath damp against her neck as she'd sneak her fingers beneath the band of her panties—anything to not feel so goddamn alone for just a moment. Anything to keep him as close as she could have him.

She didn't think twice. She opened the door and stepped into the tattoo parlor.

---

Inuyasha sank down into his wooden chair, reaching over the table to hand his son a cup of coffee. When Hiroshi took it without a word, he sighed. "I know this stuff tastes like shit. Twenty-five years in this world, and you'd think I'd be able to make a decent pot of coffee by now," he muttered under his breath. "But it'll make you feel better."

He didn't have the heart to tell his father that coffee was the exact opposite of what he should be drinking right now, and that his mother would be horrified if she'd found him drinking anything other than water—at least until his stomach was stronger. But he knew his father, and he appreciated the gesture.

"Yeah," he rasped, staring into the dark liquid with unfocused eyes. "Thanks."

His gratitude was waved away with a dismissive hand. "Alright then, let's get this over with."

Hiroshi tried to remember what they were supposed to be talking about—what they had been talking about before Inuyasha abruptly stood to fix a pot of coffee. Thinking was becoming more and more difficult now. He'd spoken infinitely more in the last hour than he had in the last ten days combined.

"You said you knew what losing a mate felt like," he recalled before he snorted, smirking at his mug. "What, did Mother temporarily lose her mind and decide to run off with Kouga?"

"No." Inuyasha's tone was clipped, and he stared long and hard at his son before he took a long sip of his coffee. "And you're having a rough time right now, so I'm going to look past your attitude. But that was a shitty remark, Hiro, just so you know."

Hiroshi had the grace to look ashamed, but said nothing.

"So no, she didn't fucking leave, you ass. She was killed."

He blinked, jerking back in his chair to stare at his father. "What?"

Inuyasha just looked ill now. Ill and miserable. "When Kagome was pregnant with you—eight and a half months—I made the biggest mistake of my life. I left with Miroku and Sesshoumaru to try to stop Naraku from destroying a neighboring village. Of course, we were too late. Everyone was long dead—completely butchered. We stayed long enough for Miroku to say some prayers, and then we headed home. Sango—she met us on the way, and I remember…not too much after that. I wasn't really thinking, so much as running."

Hiroshi knew this part of the story. Or he thought he did. His mother was attacked, injured, her jewel shards taken from her yet again. But Naraku did not know of her ability to heal, and she'd survived—they had survived. There were rumors—rumors that she'd died with her child, rumors that she had been reborn like a Phoenix from the ashes of her grief, but those people had not known that they'd left Sengoku Jidaii for his Mother's world. And he'd trusted that his parents had told their story truthfully.

"It had all been a distraction, and all those people that were butchered, they had been decoys. Naraku wanted Kagome and her jewel shards. And you know your mother—all it took was his incarnation grabbing Rin as leverage, and she handed herself over.

He took another sip of the coffee, his eyes on the table because he just couldn't look at his son while he told him about his biggest failure. "I didn't make it back to the village in time. Nazakaki killed her. And I knew exactly when it happened—there's no way that I could have been confused about what I was feeling. Your mother…she'd become a part of me. It sounds so fucking cliché, I know. But she'd become an organ every bit as necessary as a heart or brain. And when she was gone, I immediately began to shut down. I could feel it. This crushing pressure, this bleeding out even though there was no wound—there was nothing I could bandage, no way to stop it. And I was so fucking relieved about that," he whispered, staring at his hands, momentarily awed. But then that painful moment passed, and he found enough resolve to meet his son's stunned gaze. "Because a world without your mother wasn't a world I wanted to live in. I'm telling you, Hiro: You don't fuck with mating. If it hadn't been for Sesshoumaru and the Tenseiga…" Inuyasha rubbed his face in a decidedly weary manner.

Hiroshi was silent, brows furrowed as he considered his father's surprising revelation.

"That's only the first point I wanted to make. There's something else we need to talk about. 'Gome and I decided long ago that you—you and the twins didn't need to know, but I think you need to hear it so you'll understand. When I found Kagome, you were gone. Nazakaki had cut you out of your mother. Because we had been such a pain in Naraku's ass, he believed that any pup we had together…would be worth devouring." Inuyasha held up a quieting hand when his son opened his mouth to interject. "Sesshoumaru was able to bring Kagome back to life, but…the moment she realized that you weren't…" Hiroshi did not fail to notice the strained expression on his father's face, did not fail to notice that the elder hanyou couldn't look him in the eye now. "She wouldn't stop screaming," he murmured with a helpless shrug and a sad smile. "And when she did, she stopped talking altogether. For days, she didn't eat, sleep, wouldn't talk to me… It was like I'd lost her all over again. No mate, no pup." Finally, Inuyasha lifted his gaze, and Hiroshi realized for the first time that he was ancient—an old soul, despite how immature he may seem at times.

"By a stroke of luck, Kikyou grew a conscience and took you away from Nazakaki before she could make it back to Naraku. We got you back. We couldn't believe it. I know…I know we protect you more than you'd like. I know we worry more than you'd like. And I know you hate it—I've always known. But your mother… She can't help it. And fuck, pup, neither can I. And it's not because of your voice. And it's definitely not because we think you're weak—pretty goddamn far from it. You're strong. We raised you that way, but it's not just the influence Kagome and I had on you—you've always been that way. You were three days old, born two weeks early, cut out of your mother with a dirty carving knife in the middle of the forest, and against all odds, you found your way back to us. You don't realize how goddamned lucky we are that you were and are so resilient."

For some reason, his father's fierce, almost emotional pride affected him even more than his mother's tears. He was—

Pathetic. Weak. The Old Man's greatest disappointment.

Inuyasha's voice was thick, hoarse, but he smirked wearily at his son. "I know I don't say it often. I'm, ya'know…not great with words and feelings and shit. That's more your mother's thing. But you've made me—us incredibly proud. Even more so because…we weren't supposed to keep you. We'd lost you. And it was the worst thing we'd ever experienced. There is nothing your mother and I wouldn't do for you—for Kimiko and Kannon. There is nothing that you can't come to us with. So this…this hiding from us, keeping secrets from us—things that are destroying you? This shit is not acceptable, Hiroshi."

"I'm sorry," he said again dumbly, nearly flinching when he realized how short the words fell. He didn't know what else to say, and God, he was so fucking tired. He needed this day, this conversation to be over. "I just…I couldn't stand the idea of telling you, seeing your faces… That pity. And before I could deal with you and your feelings, I had to deal with my own."

"'Our feelings,'" Inuyasha repeated to himself with an incredulous laugh and a shake of his head. "You are something else, pup." He sighed and took another sip of his coffee. "The worst part of this is that it's not surprising if I think about it. You've always tried to handle shit on your own—almost your entire life. You have always tried to keep us at arm's length with personal issues. Why should this be any different?" He looked almost angry or bitter now, but Hiroshi knew it was a rhetorical question. And thank Christ, because he was so tired of talking and his headache was nearly blinding now. "So…did you have any questions or anything you want to say? I know I just dumped a load of shit on you."

Hiroshi blinked at him again and tried to rub the sharp, stabbing pressure from behind his eye. 'Is this an aneurism?' he thought, only half joking. 'A stroke?'

"Hiro?"

He refocused on his father only to find that the man was staring at him with blatant concern now, brow furrowed. "Hm?"

"You okay? Need me to grab your mother?"

"No, just a headache," he muttered, dropping his hand back to the table.

Inuyasha pulled the untouched coffee from his grip and pushed the water back towards him. "Drink."

He obediently took a sip, feeling it slosh miserably in his stomach—a time-bomb. All he had to do was keep it down until the conversation ended and he was allowed to go to bed. Once he had the privacy of the bathroom again, he'd feel better.

'He'll hear,' it reminded him with a nasty smile in its voice. 'He'll know how weak you are. What a fuck-up he raised. No getting around that, Hiro.'

It was always better to just ignore it. Don't give it a reaction, an audience. Maybe it will get bored. And what were they talking about again?

"It's not like that," Hiroshi told his father at last, and the hanyou's gaze sharpened fractionally.

"What's not like what?"

"What you said earlier. What you felt when you lost Mother—god, that's weird to say," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head to clear it. "It's not like that. Not exactly."

His father released a heavy breath that he didn't even realize he'd been holding. "Good. That's good. We can work with that. Tell me what it's like then."

He took a second to gather his thoughts, to collect himself as much as possible. "I remember one time in high school, just after dusk on the new moon," he began quietly. "I broke out in a cold sweat and just had…aches all over. Mother told me that I had the flu. I just felt bad. But I wasn't dying, and I knew it. This…I just feel bad. I'm tired. All the time. But I don't know if it's because of Julia, or… It's so fucking mad," he whispered, closing his eyes. "It's all I can do to keep my hands under control. It is constantly, constantly fighting me for control of my own body. It's fucking with my memories—of her. And I can't read its thoughts, so I have no idea if it's dangerous to someone like Mother or Kannon or Mimi… It wouldn't normally be, that much I know. Before this… it at least had a vague sense of loyalty or fondness or… I don't know. But Julia?" he stressed, eyes open and boring into his father now. "It loves her. Or is obsessed with her, and now… Scorched Earth. And I don't know who it's going to burn in the process. I feel like I'm going crazy. I'm just so tired. But I can't sleep because it doesn't sleep, and… Has your voice ever…?"

Inuyasha's brows were sloped with concern again, but he was quiet, pensive—something Hiroshi had seen him be far too often around him. "No," he admitted. "It hasn't."

"It doesn't feel like it," Hiroshi began uneasily, "but could it be my youki—fighting with my human blood? Maybe Mother could—"

"—I've met it before," Inuyasha reminded him. "It's hanyou, too. But your youki signature is slightly different. …You let it speak that day in Sesshoumaru's office, right? When Kouga's pup was helping you prepare…? That wasn't you talkin', was it?"

Hiroshi had the grace to look ashamed, ears drooping further under his father's unreadable expression. "No…it wasn't."

Inuyasha thought that over silently for a moment before he gave a nod and refocused on his abashed son. "Sesshoumaru noticed, too, you know."

A grimace, even more ghastly in his father's opinion since he looked like a nightmare right now. "Fuck. How? Did you tell him about it?"

Inuyasha snorted incredulously. "Course I did, pup. You shut us out for an entire fucking season—months, Hiro. You think I wasn't gonna see if someone had any answers that could help? Hell, it was his fuckin' idea to have Gintsume made. Your mother initially wanted to wait until you were fifteen before we gave you your own weapon."

All of this was news to him. How much information was he missing just because they all tiptoed around that day like it never happened?

"Who else knows?"

"About your voice?" Inuyasha asked, and then he shrugged. "Sesshoumaru's the only one I've really discussed it with, other than your mother. Shippou was there that day, but we haven't talked about it, really. Sesshoumaru may have told him—not sure. Doubt anyone else knows, except for maybe Miroku—but that's on you, pup."

Hiroshi groaned, and let his head fall to his arms, folded on the table.

"I know it's not what you want to hear, but I've never seen anything like it, pup. I'm not sure what your mother could do that wouldn't impact you, too." When Hiroshi had nothing to say to that, Inuyasha cleared his throat. "So when did you realize that she was your mate?"

His small smile was even more bitter than his father's coffee. He peeked up from his folded arms and then relented, straightening back up in his seat. "It wasn't romantic, if that's what you're asking—"

"That's not what I'm asking. Don't really give a shit if it was romantic or not, pup."

This time, his smile was more genuine. "Right. Of course."

"Well…?"

"…She stayed the night at my house one night, and when I woke up the next morning, I found her in my bathroom, brushing her teeth. And…it just…hit me. For a moment, I forgot that she didn't live there—that it wasn't our bathroom." He chuckled. "And then she smiled at me in the mirror—toothbrush hanging from her mouth and everything. That's how sudden it was. She brushed her teeth at my sink, and I knew she was my mate, which seems so…stupid."

When he looked up to meet his father's eyes, his smile slipped. It wasn't often he saw Inuyasha so solemn and thoughtful. It reminded him how serious this matter truly was. "What about you? When did you know that Mother was your mate?"

His father expelled another almost humorous sniff. "We'd had a big fight. Your mother had just saved my life after I did…something really fuckin' stupid, ended up getting pretty messed up—that was the first time she'd ever used her power to heal…" he drifted off for a while before his eyes snapped back into focus. "Anyway, I was a complete asshole to her. I think I told her I never wanted to see her again," he growled, and Hiroshi raised his eyebrows.

"That was kind of harsh…"

"I told you I was an asshole. But I…told her I was sorry, and asked her not to leave. She forgave me, of course—that's your mother, though. I walked her to the well, and she promised she'd be back—by ten," he remembered suddenly. "And then I kissed her for the first time—and I knew. I remember thinking, 'We're in trouble'." He barked out a laugh, and Hiro joined in, his a haunted sound.

"My first thought was 'Holy shit…'"

"Mm. So how long have you known?"

Hiroshi shrugged, fidgeting with his glass on the table. "It wasn't long after 'Gabriel' showed up at my house. Same week, I guess."

"The wolf? Christ, Hiro," Inuyasha groaned, rubbing at his face. "That was almost a year ago…"

More like nine months, but Hiroshi wasn't going to correct him right now. He could see his father thinking quickly, probably realizing how bad this recovery was going to be, if he'd spent the last nine months playing house with a woman he'd viewed as his mate in every way possible, except on a technicality. Their lives were too intertwined.

They even shared a fucking dog.

"Okay," the older hanyou muttered at last, eyes still unfocused as he tried to think through the problem. "Okay. I gotta get your mother, and then we need to talk about how this happened. And where we go from here."

---

"So…" Kagome began hesitantly, "so Julia just…?" And then she paused and seemed to reconsider her words before her disbelief hardened into the same stubborn determination that her child and mate had seen on her face too many times to recount. "No, I don't want to jump to conclusions. Can you tell us what happened, Hiroshi?"

He shrugged, then sighed. "I came home from work last Thursday, and her bag was packed. She was…upset. I'd known she was upset for a while—she and Jackson… But I didn't think…" He fell quiet, his heart clenching painfully yet again, as though it was going to make sure that it wrung every drop of blood and pain from him. "I thought I'd gotten through to her, and that she was beginning to heal…"

He remembered their last night together—her tearful plea for help, remembered sinking his fingers deep inside her, desperately clinging to her lips as she rode his hand, needing to be a part of him. She had needed him. That hadn't been a lie. That was real.

His stomach was in ropes, and he felt the familiar pull of nausea rising up—fast and inevitable. He pushed away from the table and was on his feet so quickly that dots filled his vision again. His father was already up and at his side, trying to grab him and keep him upright, but Hiro only shoved his hand away and made a dash for the sink before he could make a mess on his mother's kitchen floor.

All of the water regurgitated now, his arms gave out beneath him and he leaned further into and against the sink. When he felt Kagome's small hand against his back, rubbing soothing circles, he wanted to sink into the floor out of shame. "This is so fucking dumb," he moaned in frustration. "This is ridiculous."

But it hurt, it hurt, it hurt.

To think that he loved her so completely that his very being was being reduced to nothing without her, and she'd left him to further her career.

'Don't fucking say that,' it hissed, still livid. 'She never said that.'

'That's right,' he thought tiredly. 'She didn't, did she? He did.'

'And why the fuck would you believe anything that comes out of that asshole's mouth?'

"It's not," Kagome argued firmly behind him, though her soothing never stopped. "It's not ridiculous." All three stood in loaded silence while Hiroshi tried not to zone out. It was getting restless again, pacing, prowling, and he was almost done. This day had taken more from him than any other so far.

"Can we talk about this later?" he practically begged. "I don't know how much longer I can do this now."

"What do you need?" his mother asked at last when his father helped him straighten up and push away from the sink.

"I need to sleep, but I don't… I don't want to not be awake," he admitted quietly, unable to meet her eyes. "It wants to hurt me, and it knows the best ways to do that. I don't trust it to fight fair."

His meaning wasn't lost on either of his parents, and for a while there was nothing but silence.

Her hand was cool against his cheek and he lifted his eyes to meet the stormy gaze of his mother. "Oh, baby," she murmured softly. And though she looked like she wanted to cry again, she offered him a small smile of understanding. "I can help with that," she promised. "That, I can do. I'll be right back, okay?"

And while she left to make a supply run, Inuyasha helped him back to his room, an old familiar safe-haven. Both of the twins were holed-up in Kannon's room, and while he could hear them talking, he still couldn't make out the words.

'You finally giving in?' it asked, vice rife with dark victory. 'You gonna let me handle it?'

'No. Fuck off,' he told it petulantly barely able to keep his dry eyes open.

'You will. You're gonna beg me to put you out of your misery. …Beg.'

He pointedly ignored it again, groaning into his hands as he rubbed wearily at his face. "It feels like I've shoved my head into a blender," he mumbled, and Inuyasha eyed him unsympathetically.

"Yeah, you've been how many days without sleep now? Ten?"

Hiroshi only continued to rub wearily at his face from where he stood at the foot of his bed.

Inuyasha snorted dryly. "No fucking wonder, then. I just woke up three hours ago, and I'm already exhausted. You've worn me the fuck out, Hiro," he griped half-heartedly, flipping a corner of the sheets and comforter back. "Aged twenty goddamned years in the last two hours, I swear—get in the bed."

"You seem to think I'm still in elementary school," Hiroshi mused, finally lowering his hands enough to quirk an eyebrow at his father.

"I swear on all that's holy, Hiro, if you tell me one more fuckin' time that you're not a pup 'to be ordered around,' I am going to lose my shit." He pointed at the bed while scowling at his son. "Bed. Now."

With an exasperated sigh, he relented, and sat on the bed—

Which he'd shared with her before—after the wolf.

He pushed the thought away before it could sink its talons deeper and climbed under the covers, easing back into the pillows with a wince and staring up at the ceiling. He'd gone so long without sleeping, that he wasn't even sleepy, exactly—just painfully exhausted, physically, mentally and emotionally. He was a little disoriented, his thoughts riding that razor thin line between lucid and confused, sometimes teetering violently one way or the other.

Tired, sunken eyes fell on his father when the man reached out to pat the blanket covering Hiro's legs—a "magic" ritual his father always observed whenever one of children had had a bad day or after being woken by a nightmare.

Hiroshi smirked at him. "You really do think I'm still in elementary school," he drawled, amused, earning himself another half-hearted glare from Inuyasha.

"You keep it up, smart ass. I'm takin' note of all these smart remarks, and I'll take it out of your hide later."

He yawned and rolled over onto his side, his thoughts already sliding, drifting. It was becoming more and more difficult to focus while he waited for his mother to return. "Sure you will, Old Man."

His father fell still at his bedside, biting back a soft whine. "Listen, pup, these things work out in the end. If your mother and I could get through death and the 500 year barrier between us, then you two can get through this. And if worse comes to worst, you fight. You're a fighter, right?" he asked with a small smile. "I'd hate to know you gave up so easily on something this simple."

A ghost of a smirk touched his lips as his father repeated words from his past, and he fell into his old roll. "Simple?"

"Yeah, pup. 'Simple.' You feeling this way—it's not a one-way street, Hiro. If she didn't want or need you, your youki never would have recognized her as your mate. We'll figure this out, okay? After you get some sleep."

He hummed noncommittally, eyes closed but still barely clinging to consciousness.

Once Kagome had returned, she immediately busied herself with the IV drip, setting the stand at his bedside. He barely noticed the prick in his hand as she found his vein, barely noticed her tape the line to his wrist and arm. Barely felt the sharp pinch of the sedative in his bicep. And after she had anchored a barrier to his room to assuage his own fears, he was left alone once again. He curled into the blankets until the deep relief of nothing claimed him.

At first he didn't dream. And when he did, he dreamt of her, and the violence of it took his breath away.

He couldn't remember the nightmare, specifically, but he woke up thirteen hours later, body heavy with medicated sleep and covered in a cold sweat, heart hammering and claws gouging holes in the mattress.

---

Julia stared at the reddened skin and fresh black ink glistening on the soft underbelly of her left ring finger. It hadn't hurt as badly as she'd expected it to, considering she had the fingers of a piano player—as her mother had once so lovingly told her. And it was small. Minimalistic. Something only she would be able to divine the meaning of—a little secret just for her. Her thumb passed over it reverently, careful not to actually touch the ink.

Tattooed into the small, soft flesh of her finger, right above the top of her palm, above where any wedding ring would go, were two small, open-ended arrowheads connected by a curved line. Two akita inu ears.

She couldn't be his—not in this life, but that didn't mean that her heart didn't belong to him, and to him alone. His claim sat on her finger before any ring—more permanent and irrevocable than any ring.

'This is the cheesiest thing I have ever done in my life. Hiro'd be so disappointed in me.' She could have grinned as the thought filled her with pride. She played out the scenario in her head: He would have rolled his eyes and tried to hide his smile, but his gaze would have been a little too bright, the corners of his eyes a little too crinkled to be anything other than amused and flattered. And then he would have taken her back to the hotel room, and she wouldn't have had any doubts as to how he felt about being permanently etched in her body.

"You're stuck with me now, Jules," he would have said.

Her finger passed around the reddened skin once again. "Good."

"You are trouble."

With a soft gasp, Julia spun on her heel at the familiar gravel voice, her heart hammering in her chest. Sasha stood just out of reach of the streetlight's glow, an ominous shadow. An angry, looming mountain blocking the sidewalk behind her. Mount Doom.

He stood watching her, eyes glowing and menacing, and for a moment, she wondered if he'd removed his anchor so that she was about to see him as he really was for the first time. She tried not to let the fear choke her. He could probably smell it—maybe even hear the way her heart was racing.

It wasn't until she took a step back that he moved toward her, spell broken. He looked the same as he always did—a comically large human. Some of her fear abated, she tried to steel her features once more into one of defiance and stubbornness.

"Do it again, and we have problem," he growled, catching her by the elbow and yanking her along after him as he passed her. She almost tripped over her own feet trying to keep up with his brisk, angry pace.

"You don't have to drag me around like a child," she snapped, trying to tug her arm away from him, but it was futile. His grip wasn't quite painful, but it bordered on it, and his fingers might as well have been iron shackles for all the good she was doing in freeing herself.

He stopped, spun her towards him roughly, glaring down at her. It took everything in her not to shrink back. "Then do not act like child. This is my job, to keep eye on you. I did not sign up to chase down teenager," he spat back, and she bristled. "Like babysitter." The word was foul on his tongue, his whole face scrunching in disgust.

"First of all—not a teenager. Second of all—fuck you."

His angry, rumbling laugh told her exactly how seriously he took her temper. "You are firecracker, da? Next time I go to bathroom, you will come with me, like little baby that cannot be left alone. Problem solved." He cast her a knowing sidelong glance and nodded pointedly towards her hand. "I hope that was worth it."

Face flushed with anger, she pointedly looked away, clenching her fist to hide the small tattoo.

"Next time you run, I will have to tell him. And any punishment dealt will be on your hands. He does not handle defiance well."

"You're just a regular chatty Cathy this evening, aren't you?" she shot back suddenly, finally managing to jerk herself free from his grasp. "Can we please go back to not talking? I preferred that."

He shrugged, unbothered, his massive hands shoved into his pockets. "Suit yourself, kotyonok."

They walked in stilted silence side by side toward their hotel.

'You're strong,' she thought to herself, watching him out of the corner of her eye. 'No doubt about that. But could you survive a bullet to the face?' She couldn't even bring herself to be ashamed for the vicious thought.

They were only a block away when a wicked though struck her, and she felt the pinpricks of adrenaline as she realized she was about to poke the sleeping bear. "Have you ever killed someone?"

He didn't pause, but he was looking at her now as they continued to make their way down the sidewalk. "You said you do not wish for me to talk. Change your mind?"

"I just want to make sure you are…qualified for your position. You seem to be having some trouble keeping up with a human woman—a teenager, you called me," she mused to herself, satisfied when he stopped in his tracks again to snarl at her, at her knowing, daring tone. "What would Kenji think if he knew—that I'd just spent two hours roaming the streets alone? Eluding what I assumed was one of his best employees…"

The growl quieted, and he was all the more menacing for it as he stared down at her. The seconds stretched into a minute, and she tried not to squirm, her arms breaking into gooseflesh. She swallowed nervously, and gathered herself up to stand taller, straighter. "I just want some alone time every now and then. That's all I want. Just let me have a few hours to myself here and there."

"You are brave because you think you have a position of power," he told her at last, voice quiet. "You think you have some power over me. But you do not." He stooped down until he was eye level with her, his gaze thinning dangerously under the streetlights. "You have more you can lose. More that can be taken from you. Ikeda has not yet realized your dog has human night. Has not yet thought to ask you about it."

He might as well have gut-punched her. The breath was stolen from her lungs and she was winded, frozen with horror that she couldn't hide quick enough.

"But he is human, and ignorant of our ways." The youkai smirked at her. "And until now, I have not felt the need to tell him. …You have seen it, da? You know when your dog is at his weakest."

'Oh no, oh please, please no—'

She shook her head rapidly, drawing back and trying to curl in on herself. "What—what are you talking about?"

His chuckle was dark and knowing. "You are horrible liar. Terrible actress," he told her and then straightened up. Without another glance back at her, he continued to make his way to the hotel, confident that she would follow. "Do not run again."

---

It was eight in the evening before Miroku returned to check on Hiroshi and accept whatever punishment his aunt and uncle wanted to dole out. His eyes lit briefly on the black luxury sedan in the driveway—and his grandfather, it seemed.

This was going to be excruciating.

'It's fine, all that matters is he's alive,' he reminded himself. 'He's getting help. He'll be okay.' With a sigh, he braced himself and then opened the door, closing it quietly behind him. His eyes immediately connected with Kagome's from where she sat in the living room, talking to Inuyasha and his grandfather, though he couldn't see the two brothers from where he stood.

And then a fist connected with his jaw, and the kitsune stumbled back a few steps into the door in his surprise, but made no move to defend himself.

There was a shocked cry from his aunt, who was on her feet now. "Kannon!"

The younger hanyou looked furious, as he started to round on the kitsune again, snatching at the collar of his shirt, and drawing back for another blow. "Why the fuck didn't you say anything?"

Inuyasha was suddenly there between them, bodily hauling his youngest back and away from his cousin. "Oi! Knock it off!"

Kannon's teeth were bared as he pulled against his father's iron hold on him. "Four times, Roku! Four times, I stopped by, and you told me he was fine! You fucking liar!"

"Enough of that," Inuyasha snapped testily. "Calm the hell down, Kannon, or I'm not going to let you go." After a minute of struggling against him in vain, Kannon finally relented, still glaring at the silent kitsune, jerking himself out of his father's grasp once his hold loosened. Inuyasha's scowl moved from Miroku to Kannon and back. "I should kick both of your asses."

Kannon sniffed angrily, still glaring daggers at his contrite cousin. "As long as I get to watch you kick his—"

"That is not helpful, Kannon," his mother interrupted sternly from her place at Inuyasha's side.

Sesshoumaru's unreadable gaze was heavy on Miroku now, and the kitsune tried not to squirm like a schoolboy who'd been reprimanded. "Explain yourself."

"He was upset," Miroku began with a grimace. "And, I think, embarrassed. He wanted some time to process what had happened before…"

"Before what?" the miko asked. She was still upset, he could tell—of course she was. How could she not be? But she wasn't angry, brow creased and hands wringing.

"He was worried," he began, worrying at his lip to figure out how to best word this without hurting their feelings, "that once you found out, you would…hover. And he didn't want to be scrutinized while he was…dealing with this."

"'Dealing,'" Inuyasha grumbled under his breath with a snort.

"He's…very private when it comes to personal issues."

"Tell me something I don't already fucking know." Inuyasha pinned both of the young hanyou in place with dark gold intensity. "Look, I get it—I know you both want to protect him, but this?" he snapped, an arm sweeping toward the stairs behind him. "This is not protecting him. I mean, fuck, Miroku. You were there—you saw what he was turning into! And you said nothing. He could have died!"

"I know. I'm so sorry," the kitsune said miserably. "I didn't think it would get so out of hand. I kept hoping each day that that would be the day he started feeling better…"

Inuyasha's arms were folded across his chest now, the scowl still firmly in place, though any of his true cold rage from this morning had long since smoldered. "How bad were you gonna let it get? When were you going to tell us? When his organs started shutting down? When his body was too exhausted to keep repairing itself?"

The kitsune paled but shook his head quickly. "I was going to tell you this morning," he promised.

"He was alone when I found him."

The kitsune was practically on the verge of tears now. He'd seen all of that destruction… He'd seen evidence of what the hanyou had done and felt when he was alone. "I know," he whispered. "I left him to grab food for Zooey. I didn't think anyone would have time after I called you… I only meant to be gone for a minute, but…I shouldn't have left him. I know I shouldn't have."

"No, you shouldn't have kept this from us, Miroku. I know you don't like upsetting him, and again, I get it: You're best friends, and Hiroshi is really good at talking people into things. But when he has a shit idea that endangers his life or affects his health and you know it's wrong, I need you to stand your ground and stand up to him. He talks to you. He trusts you. You have to have his back, Miroku. Even when he fights you." He finally relented, his expression morphing from anger to disappointment. "You should have called us the second you knew he was in over his head. Days ago. A week, even." He tossed a pointed look to his son. "Same goes for you, Kannon. You knew that Julia left, and you kept it to yourself. And this after we told you that your brother had chosen her for a mate. So honestly—both of you—what the fuck did you think was going to happen?"

He sighed when they both looked thoroughly shamed and turned his attention back to his mate and brother, silently dismissing them, though they made no attempt to move.

"We need to discuss where this leaves us with the Investigative unit—"

"He'll be staying home with me," Kagome announced, interrupting her brother-in-law and leaving no room for argument. "He cannot go to work in his current condition."

To his credit, Sesshoumaru only looked mildly annoyed with the interruption. "That was never an option, Miko," he told her dismissively. "No one can know that he is ill right now."

"So we get Ryuu to cover him until he's recovered," Inuyasha supplied. "Tell the board and his team he's on assignment—undercover."

"Fine. I will speak with Ryuu tomorrow. Has anyone attempted to contact Julia and find out what happened and if this can be resolved?"

Miroku and Kannon both looked uncomfortable now.

"I spoke with her," Miroku admitted softly. "A few days ago. She's in America right now, preparing to shoot another movie."

"Hiro said…he said that she was getting married. It sounded like he knew the guy."

Inuyasha leveled a sharp look at his son. "What, exactly, did he say, Kannon?"

It was Miroku who spoke next, though. "He doesn't know him. Not really. Hiro, uh, forced his way into Julia's father's house—"

"He did what?"

"The guy's an asshole, Dad," Kannon argued, and Inuyasha quietly studied each of the two abashed hanyou before him.

"Mr. Braden apparently knows the man. So Hiro went to see him—"

"You said 'forced his way' into his house," he reminded carefully.

"Still an asshole—"

"Kannon, please," his mother sighed, a hand to her forehead in exasperation.

"I wasn't there, and I don't have all of the details, but I have met her father a few times. And I can guess that he was drinking, and didn't want to speak with Hiro. But Hiro thought Julia was involved in something—dangerous."

"So he broke into the house. Go on."

Kannon was glaring pointedly at Miroku again, and the kitsune resolutely ignored him because he was done covering for Hiroshi. It was time to protect him from himself. "He, um, asked him some questions."

Inuyasha narrowed his gaze suspiciously on his nephew, and when Miroku's cheeks pinked uncomfortably, Inuyasha drew back in shock. "He threatened him."

"No," Miroku rushed to say, "That's not what—"

Clenching his jaw, Inuyasha held up a hand to silence him. "Doesn't matter. Continue—So he went to speak with Braden…"

"He got the name of her, uh… Anyway, he works in television. He's human, wealthy, has a lot of connections."

"You got a name?"

Miroku shook his head, fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves. "No. He wasn't that specific. He didn't want to talk about it, really. It's all I could do to get that much…"

"So what's the story, then?" he snapped impatiently. "She left him for someone who can help her career?"

"She's not like that," Kannon shot back fiercely. "Roku doesn't know what he's talking about. Hiro told me that she didn't even like the guy. Said that he was using her."

"He meant using her to further his own career," Miroku pointed out quietly.

"The three of you are close," his grandfather told him, and Miroku look up sharply. "Does this behavior seem uncharacteristic to you?"

He remembered their very brief phone call. She'd been upset, and he had only wanted to understand… But she hadn't been able to give him anything more than Hiroshi deserved better. "Yes," he told Sesshoumaru firmly, no hint of doubt in his tone. "She loves Hiro. It would be one thing if she left him to handle the issues she's dealing with right now—her brother's murder, her mother's illness, her father's alcoholism. But to leave Hiro for another man—a stranger… Even for her career. No, that's not something I ever would have believed she'd do."

"Because she's not fucking like that," Kannon stressed again impatiently.

Sesshoumaru considered his words and shared a loaded look with his brother, who was, for once, quiet as he ran the information over and over in his head. "Very well. We shall look into it. Call me once he is rested."

---

When he woke up, heart still hammering from a nightmare that he'd already forgotten, he was confused, sleep-drunk, the sedative still in his system. He tried to remember exactly what had happened, to figure out where he was and what time it could be.

This wasn't his bedroom. His bed. His clothes.

Right. His parents' house. His childhood bed. His father's clothes.

The room was still dark except for the moonlight that spilled in from his windows, but his senses were returning somewhat—albeit slowly. Someone was in the room with him. He could hear the soft breathing and smell the salty tinge of old tears in the air. It only took him a second to identify the half-dozing intruder.

With a grunt and a lot of effort, he lifted his heavy body to prop up on his elbows. There was a sleeping bag on the floor beside him, a lump huddled deep into it. When he sat up, the lump stirred.

"Mimi?" he muttered groggily, voice still slurred with sleep as he squinted at his sister. "Mimi, what are you doing in here?"

She sat up from her spot on the floor, hands fidgeting nervously with the hem of her sleep shirt. "I just…wanted to make sure you were okay," she whispered, and he heard nothing but misery in her voice.

"What time is it?"

She was sitting on top of her sleeping bag now, knees drawn to her chest and feet crossed at the ankle as she balled herself up protectively. He remembered playing Popcorn with her, Kannon and Miroku a lifetime ago, when they were all babies. She'd sat on the trampoline at Shippou's house just like that, and he'd tried to break her open. "Almost two."

He grunted, rubbing at his eyes and frowning when the tape on his hand pulled. Never before had waking up been so difficult, he thought, his mind slowed to a crawl.

"You want something to drink?" she asked, voice still a whisper. "Mama left a pitcher in case you woke up."

He was going to refuse, but paused, his mouth as dry as cotton. And for the first time in ten days the thought of drinking didn't make him ill. Whatever his mother had given him—fluids, sleep—had made all the difference. He still felt like shit, but the migraine and body aches were gone… But he could feel it stirring now, waking up within him.

He looked down at his sister, who looked so small huddled on the floor. "You shouldn't be in here. That barrier is up for a reason."

It scoffed, and he clamped down on it with renewed vigor.

'Stay where you are until she's gone.'

He could feel it struggle against his hold, but it wasn't a match for him right now—not since he'd gotten some rest. 'You're a real piece of shit, but I ain't got a problem with Mimi. And fuck you for thinking I'd hurt her.'

"I'm really sorry, Hiro," she told him then, voice choked with tears and pulling his attention back outward. "I never should have pushed for you two to—"

"Oi, stop that," he demanded quietly, and she choked on a sob, tucking her chin deeper into her knees. "You don't have anything to be sorry for. This has nothing to do with you."

"But you told me to mind my own business," she argued weakly, a tear making it's way down her cheek unhindered. "You told me not to meddle—and so did Julia. And I should have listened—"

Her insinuation that she was the reason he'd found his mate, that he and Julia wouldn't have found each other without her was almost insulting. Like it cheapened what they'd had. But she wasn't much more than a child, and he quickly reminded himself that she meant well. With a heavy sigh, he sat up fully now to frown at her. "Julia and I weren't together because you made some awkward jokes, Mimi. You know better than that."

"Are you dying?"

He stared at her in bewilderment, her eyes still leaking miserably as she chewed on her bottom lip, ears almost buried in her messy bun. "What? No."

She quickly wiped away a tear and met his eyes defiantly, searching his face for the truth. "I overheard Papa telling Miroku and Kan that you could have died."

Hiroshi snorted and motioned silently for the water, and she stumbled to her feet to pour him a glass. He accepted it with a small smile. "He's being dramatic, Mimi. Don't listen to him."

"But why didn't you say anything?"

He took a sip of the water, waiting to see if it was going to force it's way back up. When it didn't, he eyed her, expression flat. "You know why."

She shook her head uncertainly. "You just made it worse, Hiro. You scared them. I've never seen Mama this upset before."

And didn't he know it? He took a deep breath and released it slowly. Now that he was fully aware again, he could feel the anxiety bubbling up again "Well…I guess I'll have to deal with that, too."

"Can I please stay in here tonight? Please, Hiro?"

"Mimi…" he sighed, shaking his head.

"Please."

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her 'no,' to tell her that she needed to get out of his room. But he was picking up on notes of her fear now, acrid and stifling in he air around him. He relented hesitantly, focusing inward again.

'If I feel you so much as try for my hands…' he promised darkly, leaving the threat hanging in his mind.

'Suggest that I'd hurt her one more time, Hiro. One more fuckin' time and see what happens. She's my blood, too.'

Biting back another sigh, he scooted to the other side of the bed, making room. Mimi took the invitation for what it was and scrambled to her feet quickly settling under the covers before he could change his mind.

She didn't say anything else, just cuddled up to him, her face pressed against his arm, like she used to when they'd all crash on a pallet on a rainy day as pups.

He ignored the tightening in his chest and let her wrap herself around his needle-less arm, while he stared up at the ceiling, body stiff and vision finally acclimated to the dark room.

And once her breathing eased into soft, rhythmic puffs as sleep claimed her, he carefully pulled himself free from her hold and turned away from her, curling in on his side to stare at the wall, to stare through the window.

He wasn't aware he'd fallen asleep again until he blinked into awareness and the room was suddenly bright.

This time waking was easier, more natural with the sedative no longer in his system. His mind was clearer than it had been in days, and he didn't have to roll over to know that Mimi had been gone for a couple of hours now.

But he still wasn't alone.

"I know you're awake."

Hiroshi groaned into his pillow but couldn't stop the resigned smile from quirking his lips. "I'm not sure why Mother even bothered with a barrier if everyone's going to ignore it anyway," he murmured, still not quite ready to give up on sleep and fully embrace awareness.

"I'm going to guess that the barrier was your idea. Everyone else knows it's unnecessary."

Something in his cousin's clipped tone made Hiroshi pause. Miroku was annoyed—possibly even angry. God knows he had plenty of reason to be… Hiroshi rolled onto his back and pushed himself up. Miroku was watching him, face carefully blanked, from where he sat at his childhood desk.

Yeah, he was definitely angry.

"How long have I been out?"

"It's lunchtime—Monday. About twenty-four hours?"

"Oh." He looked down at his right hand, the IV line still taped to the back of his hand. Honestly, he felt better, more alert. But he wasn't sure he was exactly happy about that.

He could feel memories of her try to pry to the forefront of his mind, and he willfully, deliberately pushed them back and tried to focus on something—anything—else. Like Miroku.

The kitsune was frowning petulantly at him now, the expression almost shocking because Hiroshi was certain that look had never been directed at him before.

"You know…for the first time in my life, I want to hit you," he snapped, and Hiroshi's expression instantly became more guarded, cautious. "I want to hit you really badly," Miroku reiterated, just in case Hiro had missed it the first time.

At last the hanyou managed a weak smile. "Sorry, Miroku."

"What are you sorry for?"

"You really helped me out this past week, and I was a bastard to you."

"That's what you're sorry for? That was nothing. You'd have done the same for me. That was nothing," he repeated waspishly, "but try to imagine thinking that the worst thing I'd have to come home to yesterday would be an uneaten cup of ramen, a phone call that I'd have to make to Uncle Inuyasha. And then I find your house ripped apart, and you weren't in it. And you didn't answer your goddamn cell, Hiro? Do you know what I thought had happened? While you were on my watch?" Miroku was on his feet now, and pacing, torn between glaring at the wall and glaring at his best friend. "Dammit, Hiro! I did you a favor! I kept it a secret from your family because I thought you needed the privacy—I thought it'd be good for you, and then yesterday, I thought I'd fucking killed you. Asshole," he finished, still glaring at his friend.

With a wince, Hiroshi lowered his ears, the picture of contrition. "I didn't mean for that to happen. I wasn't thinking very clearly," he murmured, sincere. "And I am sorry. I didn't realize you'd tried to call… I don't have my phone on me right now." He looked around the room to see if either of his parents had placed it on one of the nightstands or the desk.

"Yeah, I know. I found pieces of it yesterday when I was cleaning."

"Shit," he sighed, rubbing at his face again. "How bad is it?"

"Your house?" Miroku asked, scowl finally relenting, though his body remained uncomfortably stiff. It wasn't often he got angry. Things tended to roll off his back like water on a duck. So now he was left unsure of how to deal with all of this residual irritation and fear—unsure of how to shake it off completely. "Destroyed. You even tore the door off the oven…"

And his father had walked in on that… Hiroshi wanted the floor to open up and swallow him.

Miroku took one look at his blanched face, at the way he fiddled absentmindedly with the tubes on his right hand, and finally softened with a sigh. "Don't mess with that," he commanded, nodding at the IV. "I've already talked to the guy that fixed your roof last year. He'll replace your windows and patch up your cabinets and drywall. Mimi is already talking to Grandmother about replacing your furniture. I imagine she'll handle your clothes as well so that you don't have to keep wearing Uncle Inuyasha's basketball shorts," he added with a small smile and a nod at his attire.

Again his throat tightened miserably at the lengths everyone was having to go to because he couldn't contain himself. Because he'd had a tantrum—like a goddamned child. Because he couldn't even find the energy or motivation to feed or bathe himself. Like a burden—a failure. "Thanks," he mumbled, voice hoarse, but the kitsune waved him off.

"It's not a problem, Hiro. All I did was make a call. And Mimi wants to go shopping for you."

"But still…"

Miroku refused to let him continue as the scent of misery permeated the air, almost choking him. "He hasn't been to the house yet to see the damage for himself, but I gave him an idea, and he estimated that he could have it ready in a week—week and a half at most."

Hiroshi almost looked amused by that, cocking an eyebrow knowingly at his cousin, who felt the tension leave his body at the sight of the familiar smirk. "You think I'm going to be back in my own home in the span of a week and a half? That's wildly optimistic, Miroku. And maybe a little naïve. If you think Mother or Father are going to let me out of this house anytime soon…"

At that, Miroku did bite his lip remorsefully. "We'll…we'll figure something out, Hiro," he promised hesitantly.

"Mm. …I hope I didn't get you into too much trouble," he risked finally, his remorse genuine and Miroku gave him a half-hearted smile full of regret.

"No more than I deserved."

"You didn't deserve any of it. I mean it, Miroku—I was a bastard to you. I really am sorry. And grateful. That you stayed."

"Not really sure what good I did," he murmured. "I should have gotten you help sooner. Before it came to this."

There was no point in arguing, and Hiroshi was still too tired to try. "I'm surprised Mother and Father aren't in here," he mused. "Maybe this won't be as bad as I thought it would…"

"I'm supposed to let them know when you wake up," Miroku admitted with a sympathetic wince.

"Ah. I knew it was too good to be true." He was grinning, at least, however bitter it was.

"I have to, Hiro…" It sounded like he was asking for permission.

He sighed but nodded once and carefully lowered himself back onto his pillows. "I know. It's fine, Miroku. Go ahead."

---

Two days later, and Hiroshi was about to lose his goddamned mind—what little of it he had left.

He'd known it was going to be bad. He'd known what to expect, and his father had even warned him—had told him why they were so protective and nervous. But between them and it, he rarely had a moment to himself. And even when they weren't with him, he was tense, on edge and expecting one or both of them to poke their head into his room, to encroach in his personal space at any given moment.

But yesterday… Yesterday had been the worst, by far. Kagome had forced him onto solid foods under threat of administering a feeding tube using an ofuda if he didn't cooperate.

"This is hard enough as it is," she'd told him, "Please, please don't make me do that, Hiro. Please just try to eat."

And even when he resented her, the lack of privacy and space and autonomy she afforded him, he couldn't deny her anything. And so he'd eaten what he could, the stew metallic and ashy in his mouth. Everything about it wrong. Everything was wrong.

He couldn't stay here any longer.

It had only been three days, and he already felt he was going mad, had to escape this prison, or rather, this institution where he was monitored so carefully, he couldn't even go to the bathroom without having his motives questioned

So Wednesday morning, he'd woken early before the sun had risen, and he quickly and quietly tried to dress himself some of the clothes Mimi had just bought for him. He didn't have many options—and none of them really office attire, so dark jeans it was.

Hiroshi frowned at the pants that didn't want to hang right on his hips as he slipped a leather belt through the loops. Mimi had even sized down. He really had lost too much weight, and didn't even want to imagine how fixated his mother would be on forcing him to eat now.

"What are you doing?"

Hiroshi ignored the panic and accusation in his Mother's tone as he slipped the leather strap through the belt buckle, fastening it. "Getting dressed," he informed her without looking up. He'd meant to wake up early enough to avoid her altogether. His father, as well.

"I see that. But why? Where do you think you're going?"

With a sigh, he met her dark grey eyes and saw nothing but panic. He did this to her. He had validated her greatest fear—that he somehow wasn't strong enough for this world. And so far, he had no idea how he would convince her otherwise. Hell, he was still trying to convince himself otherwise. "Work. And I don't 'think', Mother. I am."

"Do you think that's a good idea, Hiroshi? Are you really ready for that?" There was measured, soothing patience in her tone, as though she was approaching a skittish animal she worried might bolt with any sudden movement.

He worked at fixing the buttons at his cuffs. "Yes, Mother. I need to go to work. I've missed too much as it is."

"Hiroshi—"

"What's going on?"

Kagome sent a concerned look to her mate when her son failed to respond, but shrugged into his blazer. "He says he's going to work."

Inuyasha's piercing gaze jerked back to his son, and he was silent for a long moment, arms folded while he studied him. "Is that right?"

"Hiroshi… It's only been three days. You still need to build up your strength, and—" She fell silent at his grim chuckle and strained expression.

"Do you think you are making this easier for me?" he asked bluntly, ears pinned. "Do you think this is helping? All of the doting, and watching, and uneasy glances, all of the questions, the surveillance—All you're doing is reminding me that I'm less of a person now. All you're doing is reminding me of her."

Kagome bit her lip when his expression was suddenly wide-eyed and trapped. "Mother, I have to get out of this house—…I cannot stay here another minute and constantly be reminded. I need to work. I need to be my own person again. I can't stay here and just be your weak, lovesick child. I'm already your weak, unstable child. This will kill me."

She looked like she was about to object, mouth opened, but her mate cut her off. "He's right, Kagome. If he's busy working, he's too busy to pine."

She stared at her mate with wide eyes before the fury came, her whole body practically vibrating with it. She was fuming. "Inuyasha. A word outside."

Her tone left no room for argument, and with one last look at his pup, who had resumed dressing himself and was fiddling with his boots now, Inuyasha followed out of the room after her.

If Hiro had wanted to hear what they were saying he could have—they were only at the bottom of the stairs now. But he didn't. It didn't matter—one way or another, he was leaving this house, regardless of what they decided. With one last tight tug of the laces, he straightened up, grabbed his wallet, and left the bedroom.

They were at the bottom of the stairs, still whispering back and forth heatedly, but they fell silent and watched him make his way down the stairs towards them.

"Excuse me," he mumbled, hoping one of them would step aside and face hardening when they didn't.

"Alright," his father said, "here's the deal." At his side, Kagome was still obviously unpleased, jaw clenched and arms crossed tightly closing her off from both of them as she glared at the wall beside Hiroshi. "I'm going to talk to Sesshoumaru. You can work remote for now—"

Hiroshi tried his best to hide the sudden contempt he felt for them, to squash it before it could blossom into something wild.

He knew, now, why they worried the way they did. And he couldn't blame them—hell, he'd probably feel the same if he were in their shoes. His resentment towards them—or towards the way they dealt with him rather, wasn't fair. But that knowledge didn't make him feel any less stifled or caged, like an animal on display at the zoo. Separate, and always, always being watched.

It was Inuyasha who had spoken first—Inuyasha who always tried to unclench his fist enough to let slide the leash Hiroshi was tethered to—to give him more room to move and breathe.

But it still wasn't enough.

"Remote? No, I'm getting out of this house," Hiroshi told him firmly.

Inuyasha sighed, but remained unmoved. "You're not going to the office, Hiroshi."

Fury and panic were building now. They really were trying to trap him here… "Last I checked, you're not my boss. Uncle is. And I'll speak with him myself."

"Oh, get a fucking grip," Inuyasha snapped irritably. "You think Sesshoumaru is going to, what? Ignore me and let you do as you please when you look like that? Don't be a dumbass, Hiro, it doesn't suit you. Now let me finish, or you can just stay your ass here in bed—I know which option your mother and I would prefer you take, so—up to you." When it became clear that Hiroshi, still disgruntled, was going to begrudgingly hear him out, he continued. "You can work remote for now—If you need to get out of the house, we'll set you up at Sesshoumaru's."

"But—"

"No. No 'buts,' Hiroshi. That's the offer. Take it or leave it. If we need you in the field, I'll let you know. But I want you to stay away from the office until you're stronger, got that? Don't stop by, no team meetings, board meetings, nothing—Outside of family, only Ryuu for your team. Kichiro, Cillian, Eli for mine. Those are your points of contact. Your only points of contact. Call them before any of the others. The last thing we need is word getting out that you're not running at a hundred percent. I'm sure the Slayers are waiting for something like this to happen."

He was consumed by indignation and ire. His father was his peer—his equal in the workplace. And now he was going to pull rank solely on the basis that he was his father? Rope his uncle, his employer in to keep him in line? The line drawn by his peer? A family matter bleeding into his work-life…?

Bullshit.

"Look at me, Hiro." He waited until Hiroshi was staring at him, eyes filled with muted, defiant fire. "I mean it. This shit is not up for debate. If you come to the office before we give you the green light, then Sesshoumaru will put you on Leave without Pay, and you won't be working at all. Got it?" Again his father was trying to hide his nervousness while he waited on Hiroshi's response. Inuyasha's expression was stern, but his eyes had never been able to lie. He knew he was bulldozing through boundaries that he'd always tried to respect, knew he was twisting his pup's arm, and he knew Hiroshi was going to remember this forever.

"Yeah," Hiroshi bit out quietly. "I've got it."

Inuyasha tried not to appear affected by his son's tone, by the cold frown. But he couldn't stop the slow crawl of dread and guilt that crept over him. "Good. Now, go eat breakfast with your mother while I get dressed. I'll drop you off at Sesshoumaru's on my way to work.

Other than clenching his jaw, Hiroshi didn't respond, but followed his still stiff and quiet mother into the kitchen anyway.

---

"Well, you look like fresh hell."

Hiroshi tossed his cousin a half-hearted smile from where he sat perched on his windowsill, one knee crooked to support his chin as the spring breeze brushed his face.

It had been just over two weeks since Inuyasha had brought him home, half-starved and delirious. It had been almost a month since he'd last spoken to Julia, and he had been showing signs of improvement, physically-speaking. He was slowly gaining some of his lost weight back, and had been working part-time out of Sesshoumaru's home office. On paper, he was doing better. His mother seemed happy with his vitals, at least. And he was eating again.

It still spoke to him, still tried to ruin him, but as he gained his strength back, it had less and less influence over him.

"You think so?" he asked distractedly, turning his attention back to the pink and purples of the setting sun. "Is it the hair? It's time for another cut, I think." His smile was dry, familiar and teasing, but Rei found himself struggling to pretend that everything was okay.

He leaned against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets while he studied his cousin, expression too serious, too careful for Hiroshi's liking. "How are you feeling?"

The smile was gone in an instant, and he watched something in the hanyou close itself off. Rei wished he could take the question back because really, it was a fucking dumb question. He remembered people asking him a variation of that same fucking dumb question after he'd almost lost his mate—after he had lost their child.

"Better. Like I just told Mother. And Father. And your father. And Kimiko—"

"Alright, alright. I get it. I won't ask again."

Hiroshi hummed noncommittally, no longer willing to entertain his cousin. It was better to be alone, rather than feel supervised.

"You've caused quite the stir, you know?" Rei asked, striding almost lazily across the room to settle into the chair at his desk. "People around the office are speculating about the top-secret, super-dangerous undercover operation you are currently involved in."

Hiroshi's humorless golden eyes fell on Rei, and the youkai could see exactly how tired the hanyou was. "Why are you here, Rei?"

The youkai shrugged. "Wanted to see you. Do I need another reason?"

Hiroshi only stared at him, silent and unnerving, and Rei rolled his eyes, giving in with an irritated huff of air. "We're trying to break you out of here," he admitted, almost annoyed when Hiroshi still didn't react. "Kannon and Miroku are downstairs with your parents. They've agreed to let you spend the weekend in your house, provided we stay with you."

"Let me," Hiroshi repeated sulkily under his breath with a disbelieving sniff. He glanced at the freedom outside again before he suddenly decided not to brush off this anger and rounded, turning hard, burning eyes onto Rei, jaw set. "You see how ridiculous this is, right? I've been making progress, so they're, what? Giving me a day-pass to go to my own home—supervised?"

"They're just worried about you, Hiro."

"Aren't they always." He turned his attention back to the sunset.

For a moment, Rei said nothing but allowed Hiro a moment of self-pity and indignant anger. But what purpose was that serving? "You know, a part of me gets it," he admitted quietly. Hiroshi was unmoved, though the flick of an ear assured the youkai that he was still listening. "After that night at Kouga's… Eri and I put Hana to sleep in our bed every night for over two months. And now that she's sleeping in her own bed again, I still get up to check on her at least twice a night…"

"Hana is six, Rei. That's understandable."

"Yeah, maybe," he allowed slowly, but the doubt was not inconspicuous. "I'm just saying—I look at you, and I know you can take care of yourself. I know you're going to be fine. You're a grown man. And even though you can be a dick," he grinned when his cousin scoffed, "you're smart. And capable. But they're your parents, Hiro. They're supposed to worry about you. If they aren't, then they aren't doing their jobs."

"Mm." Hiro's mood was still sour, still quietly defiant, and Rei sighed.

"Just give them some time. Try to be patient with them. They'll relax once you build your strength and don't look like hell warmed over."

That earned him a sardonic smirk. "I really look that bad?"

He chuckled drolly, shaking his head. "I mean…you don't look great, if I'm being truthful. Father's secretary might still go for you, I guess. Fifty-fifty shot, I'd say."

For the first time in almost a month, Hiroshi's laughter was genuine, his smile crinkling his eyes.

It was livid.

He suddenly remembered laughing at one of the countless corny jokes she told, remembered her happy, unrestrained laughter—the sound echoing over and over, reverberating through his skull, and he sobered, almost embarrassed at the wave of despair that crept in and over him. But he knew Rei was still watching him closely, so he forced another smile. "I suppose I have seen better days. Mother's been practically shoveling food down my throat every time I turn around now, though, so I've gotten a few pounds back. Before long, I'll be just as pretty as you remember me."

She had called him pretty once—more than once. He tried not to flinch at the thought.

Rei snorted gracelessly. "Sure, Hiro. Pretty."

The teasing air abated, and the youkai's smile fell because everything in this room just felt sad. Hiroshi was one of the strongest, most capable people he'd ever met—a natural-born warrior, a natural leader and strategist. For the last few years, he'd suspected that his father was grooming them both to take the mantle of Tai Youkai together, as Kouga had done with Ronan and Cho. Rei would be the face, but Hiroshi would be his right-hand man, his enforcer and advisor—once they were both older and had more experience under their belt.

And to see him reduced to…this—sick, weakened, obviously depressed, a prisoner in his own home… "Come with us," he implored softly.

Hiroshi sighed, closing his eyes in exasperated patience. "Rei…"

"Don't you want a break from this? Don't you want to at least pretend that everything isn't different? Come with us, Hiro," he said again, not a question, but not quite a demand either. "We'll order takeout and play some Halo. Have a guy's night."

If he were being honest, no, he didn't want a guy's night. He didn't want pretend that everything wasn't crashing and burning around him. He didn't want to entertain anyone or worry that they were trying to hide their concern or their pity or their fear that he would relapse. He didn't have the energy.

He wanted to hole-up in this room, alone. No Rei, no Miroku, no parents or siblings. No voice. No thoughts, at all.

But what was that old saying again? Fake it until you make it? If he pretended to be okay long enough, eventually it might be the truth.

Eventually, maybe he could remember how he was before he'd found her, bonded with her, stupidly pulled her so thoroughly into his life…

'You will never move on from her,' it promised fiercely. 'You told her there would never be another woman, and there won't be.'

'I know. Leave it alone.'

'If you ever so much as look at someone else, I'll take their throat before you can even think to stop me. Try me, Hiro.'

His eyes met Rei's, and he hoped he didn't look as miserable and dirty as he felt. 'You're a monster.'

'I never pretended to be anything else.'

"It's not a Friday," he pointed out quietly, his hesitation not sitting well with his cousin. Hiroshi never hesitated on anything. He was never unsure or wavering or…

"Who gives a damn? Come with us," he demanded one last time, more firmly now. "Please."

"Fine."

Rei was visibly relieved, his smile genuine as he stood from the chair and offered his cousin a hand to pull him to his feet.

Hiro returned the smile wearily, and determined to pretend, for one night, that everything was okay. He was grateful for the lengths they went to in order to help him anyway they could. So he would eat takeout, and play Halo, laughing when Miroku would say something outrageous or Rei did something stupid, like accidentally blow himself up with a plasma grenade. He would gripe when Kannon would drink a beer in front of him, but ultimately not do anything about it as he drank one himself.

It would be exactly like their game nights in the past, before Julia had so thoroughly inserted herself into his life.

And then, when they all crashed on the new pull-out sofa and roll-away beds in his newly repaired house (that he still had yet to see), he would leave for his bedroom, for his new mattress that she had never slept on, sheets she had never slept in, and he would lie there and miss her.

He couldn't tell them that he was beyond their help.

---

Kotyonok: Russian for 'Kitten.'

For those of you who were wondering how Hiro would find out about the circumstances of his birth, there you go! Though Hiro is being told while he's practically impaired, and not fit to respond properly... I can't imagine Inuyasha ever willingly telling him about Masuru, though. He's self-loathing enough as it is, and it would probably end up being some self-fulfilling prophecy.

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I know it's still pretty heavy. Turns out, going days without water and sleep is SUPER bad for you. Who knew?! ;)

Hopefully I'm not vilifying Inuyasha and Kagome OR Hiroshi, too much. I'm hoping that both reactions are understandable, but because they are so opposing, that's a big fear I have/risk I'm taking.

Most of these chapters/scenes will be focused more on Hiroshi and his family/friends, rather than Julia because she is pretty isolated right now, other than Sasha, and not a whole lot is happening with her outside of work.

Oh! The next chapter, "Feral," is almost entirely written already, so I should have it posted soon-ish. It needs polishing and the ending needs to be wrapped up, but other than that…!

Reviews are love! I know most of the characters are original now, so it's always flattering to see that people are reading.

---

Quote of Randomness:

"You can't steer from the pain. If you do, you'll rob yourself… You'll rob yourself of every memory of her. Every last one. From her first step to her last smile. Kill 'em all. Just take the pain, Martin. You hear me? You take it. It's the only way you'll keep her with you." - Corey Lambert in Wind River