Sesshomaru watched the slayer fall in slow motion, entirely powerless to stop her descent. His limbs were like stone, stiff and heavy and immovable. And, no matter how much he wanted to her side, he found he couldn't crawl if he'd wanted to. The skin of his back still felt as raw as it had the moment the lightning seared it, and his stomach rocked with the force of the battle between poison and antidote. But he couldn't sit idly by. Not when his mind was screaming for him to intervene, to jump, to stretch- something. His panic felt irrational, like when one's blood spiked with adrenaline over the sound of water rushing in the background or the crunching of grass beneath heavy boots.

He couldn't let her get hurt again. If he could not even protect her from stone, then what kind of husband would he be? The moment stretched as he forced his body into forward motion, but as he tried to lunge, everything cut to darkness.

He woke several hours later in his old bedroom, his mother perched upon his bedside with her embroidery. He was briefly surprised at how little it had changed. The walls were still the void-like indigo he'd always been so fond of, and his shelves were exactly as he'd left them.

When he'd left home to hone his skills as a warrior -to become as battle hardened and indomitable as his own father- she'd threatened to wreck this little safe space if he left. The threats had fallen on deaf ears and, as stubborn as he'd always been, he'd gone anyway. Now that he was no longer fourteen he could understand her worries. The mere thought of allowing Rin -or the fox kit, even- to traverse the world without so much as a dagger as protection made him nervous. At the time, though, he'd been too young and too eager and too scared to keep still within the kingdom.

"Drink."

He didn't know when his mother noticed his consciousness. He'd been too lost in his own inspection to pay her much attention, but as he looked over again at her he saw that she'd put aside her needlework and was holding out a cup. He glanced between the hands that quivered silently at his side and the mug with an invisible dilemma. He couldn't imagine holding a mug, much less managing to bring it to his lips, and so he turned away and ignored her, refusing to ask for help when she was still so obviously angry with him. It was written in her taut expression as obviously as words were written upon banners.

When she realized he wasn't complying, her expression tightened.

"Can you sit up?"

Every word was short and terse, a vicious little barb that burrowed into his skin despite his internal insistence that he was unaffected. He hated when she got like this, hated feeling like a child that broke her favorite vase for the sake of selfishness. He'd gone out and done what was necessary, yet she was treating him like a burden, like she hated that she had to put up with him at all. "You need to at least drink water if you're going to run yourself ragged, Sesshomaru, now can you sit or not?"

But then she'd show that bare mote of concern and he'd regret allowing that ugly little guilty feeling to make him feel unloved.

Sesshomaru flexed his fingers, trying to stall as he considered her question. He didn't know for sure if he could sit and he hesitated to try and fail, but he knew he couldn't keep ignoring her either. Her temper was a fine line one way and a canyon the next; easy to provoke and difficult to escape.

He could still remember the horror in a foriegn duke's glassy eyes when he'd been found stuffed after commenting that she was 'pretty enough' for an Asian woman. When her ire was earned there was no telling what she'd do to get her vengeance, and he didn't want to buy it so cheaply - especially since his feats of strength and bravery failed to impress her as much as he believed they should have.

In the end, there was no sense in angering her for pride's sake.

Finally ready to see how his body would handle the effort, he attempted to force himself up. His first attempt was embarrassing. His arms were entirely unwilling to support his weight and it took a great deal of internal bargaining to find the strength to try again, but -slowly-, with much scooting and scrambling, he managed to pull himself upward and find support against the painted stone wall. As he wheezed under the weight of his own body and tried to recover from the exercise he was overcome with a sudden rush of self loathing for his weakness it was the need to prove to himself that he was more than a useless hunk of flesh that forced him to push until he was sitting independently of the wall. Still recovering or not, plagued by sickness or not, he could normally shoulder an oak tree with ease and he refused to bow under the weight of nothing but flesh and air.

The action was not without its consequences. He tried to contain his wheezing until his breath caught somewhere in his chest with a sticky flutter. He tried to stifle the urge to cough, swallowing almost desperately, before finally giving in to another irritating weakness. Then there was no stopping it and he was descending into a spiral, coughing into his palm until liquid left his lungs and sprayed across the fleshy part of his hand.

"Hands."

The word came with such disinterest that any onlooker would have called her cruel. But he could see the fine lines of her distress in the set of her eyes, and it brought a despairing resignation. Worry would make her irrational if not assuaged, and in any case what more could he do? It was senseless to keep his fist balled up, she could smell the metallic tang as well as he could, but some small part of him wanted to hide his weakness away.

His mother was not his enemy. No matter how peculiar she was, her actions often served the both of them, and in exchange for her indulgence, he tried to protect her. This wasn't something he could protect her from, because it wasn't something she would allow herself to be protected from.

After a final, long moment of hesitation, he held his blood stained hand out over the bowl she sat in his lap, looking anywhere but at her. It continued to tremble in a way that he could not seem to control.

She took his bloody hand within hers, all but barking at him despite her lineage and grace.

"Look at me."

He didn't want to. She knew full well why he avoided her eyes, and for her to demand that he do it anyway was a testament to her agitation. Defiant, he cast the shame from his gaze and met her eyes.

"How can you pretend to be unashamed when you are falling apart before my very eyes, Sesshomaru?"

He pretended that he didn't hear her voice shake.

"Drink." Her short commands were agitating. He wasn't some mongrel in need of a command. "Or are you so broken you cannot even manage that?" He didn't know for sure if he could, but his thirst came before his pride and he took the warm mug between both of his unsteady hands and drained it. She filled the cup twice more from the pitcher at her side, mixing in the honey each time with a loving patience that was in direct contrast to her taunting.

With his lips significantly less dry than before, he managed, "The Slayer—," before his stomach cracked and rumbled, like thunder. Her eyebrow jumped as her frustration swelled. There was no telling what was setting her off at that point.

"Eat."

That time he did refuse, sick of being treated like a stray when he never asked to survive, let alone for her to bear the burden of his care. His plan had been simple, but perfect. Honor, peace, dignity- he'd die on his own terms the same way his father had, confident that he'd saved those that needed it. He was never supposed to wake up- the Slayer was never supposed to care enough to intervene.

Cold stones seared the soles of his feet before he could realize that he'd made a decision.

"Where are you going now?" Her words came clipped, like she bit off each one and spit it back at him, but he was tired of acquiescing to her many bad moods. If she wanted to try to lock him in his bedroom again, she would find herself wasting her energy.

"I wish to see the slayer."

"You can hardly sit up unaided- stop pushing yourself." The frantic edge of her voice frayed the ends of her words.

Unfortunately, he would not be doing that. He rose with a wobble, nearly collapsing the moment he was fully standing, and used the wall to support himself. He was determined to make it down to the guest rooms on the first floor, and after a moment of taking in his condition he was sure he could manage. The swirling in his head and the tremor in his protesting legs he ignored on principle alone.

"Sesshomaru-." Her voice was so sharp he paused, for just a moment he was apprehensive about gaining his mother's ire, but the moment passed as he looked down at her. Even standing she didn't compare to him, and it was difficult to turn away from her when she looked as shaken as she did. No longer was she hiding behind her tinkling laugh and cutting gaze. She lacked the aloofness that usually made her look so disinterested and cold. For just a moment she looked almost like every other woman with a dying son.

"I wish to see the slayer."

She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to remain in control of a situation she'd never been in control of. "Tomorrow you may see the slayer, but you will do her no good if you are on the verge of collapse."

"I don't wish to wait."

"And I do."

"I am not in the habit of considering wishes other than my own."

Her expression darkened considerably. "You will return to your bed and stay there or I shall find someone to chain you to it."

He did not care for either option, but as his stomach grumbled again in protest he admitted a momentary defeat in exchange for the sour plum stuffed rice balls next to the water pitcher. Tomorrow would bring strength and victory and he would be sure to make his mother pay for the liberties she'd taken with him.

xXx

The sounds of his mother's needle puncturing the canvas had lured him into a deep sleep, but he woke feeling stronger.

He began his hunt for the slayer, sure that she wouldn't be far, but slightly desperate to finally see for himself if she was alright. Ryukotsei's lightning had wrenched him from consciousness and cast him into darkness for too many consecutive days, and he was determined to confirm the condition of the one he'd nearly killed himself protecting. As the loss was entirely his fault it seemed the least he could do. He spent twelve years roaming around the countryside with a whip and a mission, yet he'd still been wholly and thoroughly beaten. There was no chance to reseal the dragon, no opening to murder him- he'd been completely helpless against his father's last enemy. Perhaps worse was the fact that once again he'd been caught up in his father's legacy.

Two weeks ago he'd have said his obsession with his father had died- what was the sense in chasing after a dead man's shadow? Two weeks ago he'd have confidently declared that there was no sense in it. Now?

He didn't know now.

Lord Touga; ruler of the west, kind hearted, fierce, loyal- his name was stacked with accolades that expounded upon his swordsmanship and personality. His memory went before Sesshomaru and followed again after.

Sesshomaru had nothing. Still he was merely the son of the Lord of the Western Lands, the son of the Untouchable Lady. Without them he had no presence, no intrigue, no claim to fame. How long into adulthood could he continue to be someone's son? At what point did they become his mother and father?

The bitterness of the defeat mounted as what it meant and did not mean sank into his bones. If he'd been successful, he would have been known as the man who subdued Ryukotsei, the only one who had been able to succeed where even Touga could not. Death had certainly not been too dear a price to pay for that reward. But he hadn't succeeded. He'd given everything and yet even his life was not enough.

Lost in his thoughts, he walked blindy through the halls until finally coming to a shut door, but when he was finally there he hesitated. The slayer was there, but not alone, and he was in no mood to deal with her loud friends. Instead, he settled near the entrance to wait.

It wasn't like he knew what to say to her. 'I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to save your monk' hardly seemed to be the right way to acknowledge his failure. It was almost arrogant to assume he could have saved him. Hell- he'd hardly been strong enough to save her. In that battle, the Slayer had been reckless in her assault of the demon and when he'd targeted her Sesshomaru had no choice but to act. His shoulder still ached, as he remembered Ryukotsei crudely popping it from its place. A-Un had done the rest, swooping to collect the the slayer at the last moment, as if he recognized the importance she held.

To acknowledge that he'd had to send his mindless familiar to do what he should have been able to do- it disgusted him.

"What are you doing out here?"

The door slid open, nearly catching Sesshomaru off guard, and revealed his idiot brother in the doorway. InuYasha was gripping the hilt of his sword, scowling down at him as he tried to discern threat from irritant.

"This is my mother's house, half breed. Do you honestly expect me to attack you here?" He didn't know why his brother insisted upon running around like some wall-eyed lapdog, but it was unsightly and they couldn't both be embarrassing.

Their father's bloodline could only take so much failure.

"Do I fuckin' look scared?"

"Your hand upon your sword says you are."

"I know you'll attack me!"

Sesshomaru felt his lips twitch at his earnest expression. He wondered what it was like to wear his emotions so blatantly across his face. How had he survived so long with his lackluster swordsmanship and honest disposition? It was a foolish question, when he knew the answer. There was no way to know how many of InuYasha's enemies he'd killed after overhearing their plans for the 'loud halfbreed' and his 'half naked priestess'. It was not hubris to say that InuYasha only survived because he allowed him to.

"To be concerned with that attack indicates some level of fear."

"I'm not a moron!"

"Debatable."

He sank back into the pleasant emptiness of his mind, only returning when InuYasha made himself known once more."You never answered my question. What the fuck are you doing here?"

Sesshomaru, who was gracious when he wished to be, had intended to let InuYasha live. He was in a melancholy mood and for the moment had no desire to tie his brother's trachea shut. Unfortunately, InuYasha didn't seem to tolerate being ignored and naturally Sesshomaru couldn't tolerate being poked. It was therefore with regretful good cheer that he finally punched his brother for his audacity, and with satisfaction that he watched as InuYasha folded around his bruised stomach and slid to the floor through no one's fault but his own.

"Don't tell me you're here to check on your bride, Lord Asshole."

Sesshomaru considered that InuYasha was closer to the truth than he would have expected as he took a moment to admire his handiwork, and enjoyed the bloom of amusement that the sight brought. He looked hilarious all bent over like that. The question did bring another to mind, however.

"Have you dissuaded your priestess from taking the slayer's place?"

He tried to sweep his fingers through his hair as he normally might while speaking, and frowned as his claws encountered a mess of knots. At least it was clean - courtesy of his mother no doubt - but there was a great deal of work that needed to be done before his hair would be in its usual state. He started unsnarling a knot with his claws.

"I don't wanna talk about that! I wanna talk about why you're creeping around out here."

Sesshomaru returned to his hair until silence drove the mindless man mad. Three minutes and fourteen seconds. It took three minutes and fourteen seconds for InuYasha to cave and -secretly- Sesshomaru wondered if that was a new record.

"She won't listen to reason! And- Sure! Sango doesn't deserve to put up with you! Sango has suffered a ridiculous amount already. Her clan was destroyed, her brother was made a slave, and then her fiancé gets fucking murdered and she can't even avenge him. And -if that wasn't all a lot- she gets sold off by a fifteen year old to become a jackass' bride at risk of that same fifteen year old becoming a soulless slave just like her brother once was!" InuYasha finally paused to take a breath after that final word, but just as Sesshomaru thought he was done he opened his mouth and continued., "So with all that it's not like I can say that she's crazy to want to protect Sango from this, even if she probably is crazy to volunteer to marry a jackass like you. But if I object, I'm the selfish one."

"You don't approve?"

"Obviously not! She's everything to me!"

Sesshomaru suspected that were he anyone else InuYasha would have begun to talk and not stopped talking about the twisted feelings of love and support or whatever else his woman inspired. Happily InuYasha didn't even try. Not that it mattered, since Sesshomaru's attention was drawn elsewhere by her voice.. He could hear Her voice breaking despite the fact that it sounded as if she'd shoved fabric in front of her face to collect the sound.

The object of his attention must have been obvious, because InuYasha said, "She's delirious from exhaustion, but the night terrors are making it impossible for her to actually sleep."

Sesshomaru found himself standing -moving- long before his mind could convince his body that his presence would only make things worse. It was only InuYasha's arm at his chest and his defiant little expression that kept him at bay.

"If you're going to go in there you're not going to be your normal jerk self. She can't take you being nasty right now." Annoyed, Sesshomaru attempted to brush InuYasha aside. The hands on his haori held tight, clinging to the sleeve as if he were a child having a meltdown. He didn't know what possessed him to let him remain standing. "I mean it, Sesshomaru! If you can't be nice, don't bother going in there!"

His dedication was irritating, and Sesshomaru's bad mood worsened, "I will not agitate the slayer."

"Her name is Sango and you should use it. Your insistence on making everyone feel small by only acknowledging the base amount of information you've bothered to retain isn't going to cut it here."

Sesshomaru stared down in shock, rendered speechless by the words. InuYasha was the last person he'd have expected to say something like that. Embarrassed by Sesshomaru's raised eyebrow, InuYasha's face bloomed until it was as obnoxious shade of red and he set Sesshomaru free in favor of rubbing the back of his neck, "I got bored one day and read Kagome's psychology book." That pleasant bashfulness didn't last as his expression turned shit- eating and he added, "Read all about your little superiority complex."

"Are you studying the brain in the hopes you will discover what is wrong with yours?"

"Psychology and neurology are different. Dumb ass."

As InuYasha flew down the marble hall, propelled by another punch,Sesshomaru found the riff in his spirit soothed by the sounds of his pain.

"Fucking sadist!"

xxx

The Slayer- his slayer- was sobbing into the chest of the priestess, shaking like a leaf, and that very priestess was holding her and staring up at him protective glint in her blue-grey eyes was deeply frustrating. Why was everyone so sure he would misbehave? Had he not made his feelings obvious by saving her, not to mention the rest of them? Even now, he'd never have bothered to visit someone he wasn't explicitly interested in, so why were they regarding him as if he were there to rip out her entrails and drape them about his hips for fashion? Did they think he'd planned it all? If that were the case then no amount of explaining himself would clear him of their suspicions.

His gaze slid away from the priestess and back to the slayer. Something was clearly wrong, though he could see no injuries. Of course, he couldn't ask her to strip so he could see for himself with the stares he was already getting, so instead he asked the air, "Is she injured?"

It was the kit who answered him, nervous as he always was when the youkai was near. "No. She's just… having a teensy psychotic break. Humans get really weird when they can't sleep, and Sango can't sleep because she's having nightmares."

Saying her name felt wrong, but he suspected she would respond to nothing else, and he would not be intimidated by something as simple as a name.

"Sango," and -when she looked at him- he felt something long dead flutter within his chest like the wind through a pile of last autumn's leaves or the beating of a hummingbird's wings. "If I promise you will sleep, will you swallow this?"

Someone, perhaps his mother, had left a collection of herbs and teas at his bedside. Pain, sleep… other undesirables- there was enough to fight out any number of maladies.

"No-." Her throat sounded all clogged and he wondered if she'd forgive his heavy handedness if he simply shoved it down her throat. It was for her own good after all.

"I can't see it again- I can't." Her wailing was tearing him to shreds, and his fingers itched to soothe her in the way the priestess was allowed to.

Again, the fox kit explained. "If someone isn't holding her, then she wakes up screaming for Miroku. She won't tell us what she's dreaming about, but it's not hard to guess." He looked smaller when he said that, less like a teen and more like a child, but there was nothing to be done for him in the moment and so Sesshomaru turned his attention back to the slayer, back to her dilemma.

That was a tall order. He glanced between the woman and the child, trying to come to a decision that didn't paint him in an unsavory light. If he offered, would they think he was leaning into the role of caring husband? And if they found out of his true feelings… would they color him an opportunist? It shouldn't matter what they thought, it shouldn't matter if anyone thought anything at all, but he was nervous to open himself in any directions and the possibility that she'd shrink away from it- made him want to abort the mission entirely.

"If I promise not to let go, will you swallow something?" He held out the root he'd taken from his bedside table before heading down to find her, freezing over inside as he awaited her answer.

The priestess was still glaring, the kit was still staring, and he was certain that there wasn't a soul in the room that couldn't hear his blood rushing through his veins.

"Don't promise something you don't plan to follow through on," the priestess bit eyes were framed by dark circles, but it did not seem to have cooled her temper. Sesshoumaru ignored the warning. He could not be bothered with her when that delirious slayer of his was hesitating.

"I do not say anything I do not mean."

That was enough. The breath he'd been holding came out in a little rush as she, Sango, Sango the Demon Slayer, the demon slaying demon slayer, came to sit in front of him. She was searching his eyes for something, sifting through hard layers of amber until she found what she was looking for. He couldn't say for sure what that was, but when she found it she whispered, "You swear?"

And he did.

She buried herself in the fur at his shoulder, boldly shifting the mass to better serve her before swallowing the offered root and getting comfortable in his embrace.

The priestess' heavy sigh of relief was hard to miss, but it was in direct contrast to the distrustful look in her eyes. What he'd done to deserve her hatred was beyond him, but she was starting to piss him off.

"Woman, have we some issue you feel the need to discuss?"

Sango was light in his arms bobbing between sleep and wakefulness as her exhaustion started to get the best of her. There was something addictive in the way she snuggled into the planes of his chest, trusting him so completely despite their being near strangers. If he were to be truthful he'd admit that he'd never held anyone so closely for so long, he'd never cared to, and now that she was drifting in his grasp, he found he'd give anything to not let go.

"You won't ruin her life." The priestess seemed ready to talk now. Her precious sour expression had gone vitriolic as she made demands with no prelude. If Sango was his piece then that woman, that chatty, irritating priestess was his hell on Earth.

She was a shimmering, grudgingly brilliant ornament upon his useless brother's sword handle and she'd done nothing but rub salt into his wounds whenever he came to claim the sword that was rightfully his. Petty or not, seven years had not been enough to assuage that irritation and so to say that her bad mood only worsened his dislike of her, was an understatement.

"Lack of sleep has made you delusional." But she didn't seem to think so. She shifted so she was leaning toward him, nearly spitting with anger and hatred as he was left to his guess at the catalyst.

"You're dismissive, cruel, and I'm pretty sure heartless, and Sango doesn't deserve to live the rest of her life with someone who doesn't want to have anything to do with her whole species!"

At this point, he didn't know how else he could make himself more clear. He was here, wasn't he? He was holding her to his chest. He was caring for her knees. How did humans show their infatuation if not by cradling one another? What more could he do to prove his obvious, long standing fondness if cradling her did not resonate with such a bland, moronic, flighty, irritation.

In growing annoyance he cast about for some more dog-like gesture of affection that might make her realize her foolishness. "Would you better understand if I licked her face?"

"What?"

Sango grumbled when he dragged his tongue across her temple, keeping eye contact with the priestess the entire time, "are we understanding one another now?"

The silence stretched between them for a moment and he was sure that she'd finally understood, but then that hopeful moment passed and she asked, "Are you a pervert or something?"

He could take no more of this. The tension shattered when the kit howled with laughter, throwing his hands up in the air as he did, "She's always been hopeless, Sesshomaru."