AN: I love you all . . . broke 300! *Cheers* Rock ON! And for those of you who worried that I would end this in a bad cliffhanger, or perhaps end the entire story with Kagome and Sesshoumaru mad at each other, I'm morally offended! (Yeah, right . . .)*Thumps her voice of reason* Anyways. I do have some Sesshoumaru-yelling in here, and it may seem a bit OOC, but really. The guy's had 500 years to sit on his ass and think of what exactly to yell. Plus, 500 years changes a person—while it was OOC for the Sesshoumaru from the past, it's not necessarily going to be that odd for him 500 years later. He just needed some time to prioritize and decide what comes first (the chicken or the egg . . ): his pride or someone else. So read and enjoy my epilogue! It's much more lighthearted than the last few angst-ridden chapters.

*

Some time later . . . two months, specifically.

I don't care what therapists say; denial is a beautiful thing. It's the ultimate cure to getting a person through class when all they really want to do is curl up somewhere and cry. How is that, you wonder? Easy. If you're in denial, then technically you have no reason to cry, and therefore you can focus on the lesson in class, because nothing is wrong.

Denial is a beautiful place. You should go there sometime.

Unfortunately, you can't stay there forever. One way or another, you eventually realize that 'out of sight, out of mind' applies only to your refrigerator, and even then, you have to bring it back into sight when it starts to smell.

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't in denial about ever going through the well, or meeting Inuyasha—I wasn't even in denial that I'd ever met Sesshoumaru (just listen to me talk in my sleep). I was in denial over the fact that it hurt, even after two months. The mourning period is only supposed to last a few weeks, not a few months.

I stared at my desk as I thought about all these things, the test in front of me utterly blank save for my name and a few made-up answers. Damn that son of a bitch . . . he should have just killed me that night in the woods, right after he fought Inuyasha for the Tetsusaiga. Sure, it would have sucked, but then there would have been no Naraku, no Kouga (though I did miss him), no late-night make-out sessions, no still-healing scar on my stomach, and no Saeko. God, if I'd never met her, it would have been too often.

I sighed as memories rose again. The flashbacks didn't come as often as they had before—I used to have dreams and flashbacks every time I closed my eyes. Now they only surfaced when I least wanted them to (i.e., in class). The horrors of my time with Naraku were fading slowly—not going away, of course, but getting to the point where they weren't always on my mind.

Save for in the middle of a math test.

They weren't specific memories anymore . . . just little ideas. The air conditioning kicking on always felt like a hand brushing the back of my neck, and I could swear I felt him watching me—not saying anything, but hiding . . . watching. Not dead, not a ghost . . . alive and very present in the room with me. Always. It was the worst when it was quiet . . . like during a test.

I can make it hurt . . .

Not thinking about it. I live for theorems and matrices.

But I can make it much worse . . .

My head hit my desk with a solid thump, and I made a noise of misery. The teacher came up beside me and spoke to me softly. "Kagome, are you all right?" she asked with concern.

I shook my head. "No."

"Would you like some fresh air?"

I nodded unhappily, removing my head from the desk. "Yes, ma'am."

"Go on, then. Ten minutes at the most, if that's all right with you."

I stood up miserably. "Thank you," I muttered, excusing myself from the room and stepping into the cool air outside.

So much for putting the whole incident aside. I slid to the ground as my mind hashed up memories from what seemed like forever ago—things I had tried to forget. I couldn't forget anyone from that part of my life, even though it was over. What I wanted to forget were the little things, like . . . oh, I don't know, ultimate violation by Naraku, Kikyo setting me up to get killed, Sesshoumaru . . .

Nothing specific that he did. Just him.

Just thinking about him stung like salt on an open wound. I should have said something—he was the last person I saw before I came back home. If I couldn't have at least been polite . . . I should have been scathing. I should have said something that made an impression, left him as hurt and betrayed as I was. But nothing I could say would do that; after all, he was the one who slept with—

Ooooohh, if I didn't think about something else, I'd go crazy!

So what hurt the most? asked a voice in the back of my mind. The fact that he slept with someone else, or the fact that you wanted to fall in love with him? As I think the saying goes, 'I thought that I could love no other . . . until, that is, I met your brother.' Very appropriate, hmm?

Oh shut up.

*

"So where did you go during the test?" asked my friend Mai at lunch later on.

I shrugged. "Outside. I didn't feel too well."

"You've gotten awfully thin," Kito noticed, munching on a carrot stick thoughtfully. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Jeez, would everyone quit asking me that?" I sighed dramatically, taking a drink of lemonade. "It's like the entire world expects me to turn to dust and blow away."

"You were out of school for two years," Charlie reminded me. "We worry. You made a pretty fast recovery, in my opinion."

"Thanks," I told her. "I appreciate that you guys worry about me, but really—I'm okay. With what I've been through, you either die or you come back stronger—and I'm still here, aren't I?"

"You are different," Kito admitted. "I mean, if I hadn't known for a fact that you were sick, I would've thought you saved the world or something."

"Or something," I agreed.

"But we're not the only ones who've noticed that you're different now," she added. "I mean, Hojo has asked about you practically every day, plus he's asked you to call him like ten times now."

"And I would," I countered, "if he wasn't a student teacher here now. He's graduated and now he's supposed to be responsible for the students—it doesn't help if he's dating one of them. He knows on some level that I'm not going to call."

"If you don't call him," Mai told me, "then at least call one of the other million guys who've asked you to call them. You're avoiding guys like they're the plague."

"As far as I'm concerned, any guy who wants me to call them is the plague," I told her sourly. "I'm just out of a bad, dysfunctional relationship, and I don't need another one right on top of it. I want my rebound time."

"Is two months rebound enough?" asked Charlie dryly. "I know you haven't seen anyone since you came back to school. And EVERY guy who's hit on you has been cute, sweet, and funny—what more could you want?"

"Tall and broody," I tossed back, then let out a miserable sigh. "That's not what I want, never mind! Dammit, just because I get involved with emotionally constipated guys . . . you'd think I want to get away from that!"

Charlie snickered. "So can I have your cast-offs? They're all gorgeous."

I ignored her. "Why? Why can't I like someone normal? Why do I have to like a person who is sooo bad for me? Aren't I normal? Shouldn't I try not to thrive on pain?"

"Nah, you're a natural born masochist," Kito assured me. "You know how I get—I've been out with the same guy twice."

"Try three times," Charlie tossed back. "I went out with Girly Bangs three times. And I don't' even like him."

I stared at her. "Who?"

She shook her head. "We don't say his name in polite conversation . . . I swear he curled his hair."

"Oh, that ex-boyfriend," I said dumbly. "You went back out with him?"

"Yeah, wish I hadn't," she muttered. "So everyone tell me if I'm hallucinating the blond hottie by the school."

Kito and Mai glanced across all the cafeteria tables in the courtyard. "No, he's very real."

"Who wants to bet he's going to hit on Kagome?" asked Charlie. "Now that I think he's cute and all."

"You can keep him," I sighed. "I quit. I hate men—no more dating guys for me. I am officially a lesbian."

"That's great," Kito said distractedly. "Especially since he's walking over here."

Charlie was transfixed on the said cutie behind me. "He's going in a box under my bed," she decided. Must be gorgeous—only the true knockouts go in boxes under her bed. And I don't literally mean box—it's a phrase. I sighed and kept my eyes on my pudding—if I was going to stick to my gay resolution, then I couldn't look at guys anymore.

Hah.

Charlie poked me. "Check him out."

"Didn't I tell you I'm gay now?"

"Yeah, but you deserve to see my future husband. I want your stamp of approval."

I took a bite of pudding. "Describe him."

"Hmm, tall, cute, blond hair in a ponytail . . ."

"High or low?"

"Low, thank God. Brown eyes—very light. Tan. Cute. Box under the bed."

"Here, have pudding," I told her. "You need to chill."

"Not before you look. He's coming over here still."

"Well then all the more reason for me not to look," I replied smoothly. "It will be too obvious—I dare not run the risk of being caught."

"Like he'd complain. Besides, every other chick in the courtyard is checking him out. He won't notice."

"Another reason not to. He'll get an ego."

"Just look!" she insisted.

I glanced over my shoulder. "Fine, I looked, are you—"

So sue me. He wasn't blond.

I choked on the pudding that I was about to swallow—and he was still coming over. Okay, what to do. Run, walk, hide under the table . . .

"I'm keeping him," Charlie decided aloud.

I groaned. "You can't. He's the tall and broody one I'm sulking over. Why? Why can't I just die in peace?"

She sighed. "Fine. I call Hojo, then."

"Take him! I don't want him!"

"You want broody man who's two tables away?" asked Kito.

"I don't want him, either! There's a reason I'm sulking!" And what was he doing here anyways? Don't tell me he used the damn well—ooohh, I was going to have Grandpa destroy that damned thing! With a bulldozer, and a backhoe, and a lot of heavy machinery—

"Kagome." He spoke before I could do anything, be it speak first or bolt. He grabbed a chair from a nearby table and planted it across from mine, sitting backwards in it and resting his arms on the back of the chair. I looked at the ground.

"Sesshoumaru."

"It's been a long time," he said conversationally.

Anger, bitterness, and resent won out over everything else. "Not long enough," I snapped, getting up and storming off.

He was up in a flash, catching me by the arm. "Longer than you think."

"I don't care how long it's been!" I almost screeched. All that kept me from absolutely screaming was the fact that my friends were transfixed and I didn't need the whole rest of the courtyard to be the same. "It still isn't long enough!"

"How long have you been here?" he asked calmly.

"My whole freaking life, okay? If you're here to lecture me on why I ought to go back with you, then I'M NOT BUYING IT! I spent two years of my life either trying to beat Naraku or TRYING TO BEAT YOU!"

"That's not what I meant, although the attack on our first meeting is duly noted," he tossed back. "I'm not here to ask you to return through the well. Frankly, it would do me no good."

"Damn right it wouldn't, and if you must bring it up, then the first, like, three times we met!"

Let's all forget my friends were watching, why don't we.

"You've gone three months without returning through the well, haven't you?"

I scowled. "Two, thanks a lot."

"Do you know how long I have lived my life trying to atone the wrongs I've done?" he asked softly. There was a sort of . . . oh, he sounded mad. Great. I pissed him off. Smart, Kagome. Brilliant.

"I guess two months isn't the right answer," I muttered. His arched eyebrow said 'to say the least.' "So how long have . . . oh my god. You didn't." A concept I'd completely forgotten seeped into my brain—immortality. Okay, not immortality, but . . . really long life spans. Inhumanly long. In fact, demonically long. Holy crap. "You mean to tell me you went FIVE HUNDRED YEARS without getting killed?" I exploded.

"It's not hard."

"It's not hard?" I repeated. "You go five hundred years, and all you can say is 'it's not hard'? Have you gone crackers?"

"It was a learning experience," he told me calmly.

I fumbled for words pointlessly. Nothing brilliant would fall in my lap—best to settle for less-than-brilliant. "I don't care how long you've been around," I snapped finally. "I'm still not speaking to you! Fun as this may be, I have a bit of dignity left, and you're not helping! So just . . . leave me alone and do whatever it is you've done for the past five hundred years, okay? And leave me out of it!" I stormed off, hands trembling around my notebook and leaving behind three very confused friends.

I made my way to the rail that overlooked Tokyo and set my books down on the ground, resting against the rail and closing my eyes. The adrenaline rush was gone—yes, adrenaline. I wished I had done something different—said something different. Violent verbal explosions aren't my bag. But . . . this was unbelievable. The fact that a) he'd lived for five hundred years, b) he was here, and c) he was here, in my school, mingling with a life that had never included the warring states, was unreal. And all my friends thought he was cute (and blond. What was that?).

The anger rushed out of me very quickly, and I felt suddenly like it was the day I left, after defeating Naraku and going to the well. It felt exactly like I was standing there with him again. All the old feelings, the ones that I'd been able to bury under schoolwork and friends, came rushing back. I didn't need to look up to know he was beside me, resting on the rail.

"You know what the worst part was?" I asked him very quietly. "The fact that it wasn't you who told me. Naraku had to tell me. Of all people . . . like I haven't lost enough to him, I had to lose that, too. I—I don't care if you were in denial, if you were waiting for the right time—it should have been you. That was just something else he had over me."

He didn't say anything.

I barreled on. "Don't get me wrong, that was the worst of it—but not by a lot. The fact that you—that you could actually—I can't believe it. I don't want to. But why would Naraku lie about that?" I asked him bitterly. "The truth is much more fun than any lie could be."

"So it seems," he agreed solemnly.

I balked at the slap his agreement delivered, but I didn't let him see. He could probably sense it anyways. "Just go," I muttered, much in the same way as I had so many weeks ago. "Please."

"No." His voice was so firm that I was taken aback. "You asked me to do so once before, and I would not, and this time you will not, either. You will be silent until I say otherwise, because while you have been thinking about this for two months, I have had five hundred years to consider my wrongdoings. I am well aware that what I did was not the wisest thing when it came to your feelings, but fortunately your feelings weren't what I was concerned about sparing. I have some dignity," he told me grimly (some dignity? Understatement . . .), "and I sacrificed that for a greater good, among other things. All that concerned me at the time was your godforsaken worthless life, and if you don't learn to listen to what others have to say when they need to say it, then I'm going to start thinking that it was miserably in vain! I have paid very dearly for that little escapade, both at my own hands and the hands of others, but it was at your hands that I have truly deserved to suffer, because you were the one inevitably hurt by the entire situation. I will say all of this once and only once, so hear me very carefully," he added warningly, "because if I don't say it, then gods only know you'll never figure it out, you're so humanly dense! Yes, it was impulsive, and yes, it was foolish to sleep with that wretch of a demon, but I slept with her because—" he cut himself off. "I was left with no other choice. I really ought to leave you in the dark about the whole thing, but it just makes what I have to do so much more difficult in the long run, so keep quiet. You remember she mentioned a bargaining chip earlier in the evening?"

I nodded, careful to keep quiet lest he yell at me again. This was extremely odd. Painful, in the sense that he was bringing up everything I didn't want to think about, but odd too.

"You were the bargaining chip," he snapped. "Does that mean anything to you? Your life was forfeit should I fail to comply with her wishes. Somewhere along the fine line between dreaming and waking, I ended up with you. And at some point along there, she pushed you over the threshold and you woke up. I did not. Do you remember exactly what we were doing?"

Oh holy hell. "Yes, I remember." Could I turn any redder, please?

"At some point after I—I marked you," he continued, and I swore he was turning pink, "you woke up and I did not. At that point, I was presented with a choice between your life and—"

"And what? Your dignity?" I asked slowly.

"Never mind," he snapped. "Forget I said anything." Sesshoumaru turned on his heel irritably and began to walk off. I caught him by his denim-clad arm.

"Wait," I said helplessly. "So you're saying that . . . if you hadn't . . . she would have killed me?"

"I said forget it!"

That would be a yes. Guess he didn't want to talk about it. "You are kidding."

"What part of never mind do you not understand?" he demanded.

"You're serious," I repeated. "Has the world gone crazy or something? Who do you people take me for, anyways?

I couldn't see his face—well, okay, just his silhouette, but it didn't look very happy. He obviously wasn't going to answer me—oh shit, what if he'd just taken that the wrong way? He didn't think I thought he was lying, did he? I hated this with a passion akin to the fires of hell. "Sweet gesture," I said dryly, "but really. I can take care of myself."

His gold eyes fixed on me, totally unreadable. Over five hundred years, he'd lost that whole flat unreadability and gone for just being mysterious. Guess that comes after five hundred years, huh? I kept on talking, maybe because I'm stupid. Maybe I just needed to talk. "I guess I've already gone on about how you should have told me earlier—hell, you should have just told me when we left—but I won't go off on that again. You're telling me I've been mad at you for two months because you were trying to protect me and you didn't tell me?" I shook my head. "I'll have to chew on that for awhile. I . . ." reality was still staring me in the face. He had . . . duh. Everyone knew what he'd done. Jeez. I hate being sensitive. All well and fine for the cuddly moments and all, but really. When it came to stuff like this . . . I was still hurt, no matter what. Dammit. I would change it if I could, but . . .

I pressed down on the bridge of my nose to remedy my headache. I needed . . . I needed time, actually.

You've had two months, you freaking moron.

Oh, who brought my conscience into this? Holy hell.

'Who' is beside the point. You think you've had no time to stress over this? Fine. You've had two months to make yourself miserable; he's had five hundred years. You can't be totally selfish here . . . try waiting that long.

I scowled at my conscience. Who ever said I had to prove myself wrong, dammit? . . . I hated shit like that.

I sighed. "You just could have told me, is all."

"You wouldn't listen."

"Like when?"

"When you jumped down the well, for example."

I gave him a dark look. "I was a bit busy being mad at you."

"Did you know why you were mad at me?"

"Yes! I'd just found out you slept with the most conniving woman I've ever met!"

"And that's why we haven't spoken in two months," he replied shortly. "Or five hundred years, depending on which one of us you're thinking of. So long as that's how you think of it, we are going to have real problems."

My eyes grew wide. "You're making me the villain?" I exclaimed.

"I'm taking a break from being a villain," he told me. "Try it on for size."

"No, wait a minute! You were the one in trouble, last time I checked—now I'm the guilty one? I don't need that today!"

"Do you feel guilty?" he asked.

"Yes, you rude bastard!"

"Good. Then I'll be the bigger person here and forgive you for whatever you feel guilt over."

Now I really felt like shit.

I put my forehead in my hands. "You know what sucks? I can't hate you. Not even now, when you've shifted into asshole-mode and I should hate you by all rights."

"My intention was not to make you realize that."

"Then what was your intention?" I asked heavily.

He was silent for a moment, looking down upon Tokyo thoughtfully. "To ask your forgiveness."

I stared at him in blatant surprise. He had come to ask forgiveness? Sesshoumaru? What had the centuries done to him? He was . . . he was very different.

"You want my forgiveness?" I repeated uncertainly, turning to look at him fully. He leaned sideways on the rail to do the same.

"I didn't know there was an echo here," he said dryly.

I ignored him. "I—I don't—oh jeez."

He turned again to walk off. "I did not expect it, however," he told me over his shoulder.

DO SOMETHING, IDIOT!

I reached out and caught him—by the hand this time, effectively stopping him for the moment. His gold eyes were not hopeful—if anything, they still held the mystery that had replaced his standard poker face. I couldn't think of anything—not anything appropriate, anyways. A lot of short sentences flooded my brain, but none of them would work.

Kinks would have to be worked out later, wrinkles smoothed out. This didn't make it perfect—hell, it didn't even make it decent—but it made it right. Better to have something broken that could be fixed, rather than have nothing.

Don't get me wrong—this didn't fix everything. Far from it. But it gave us somewhere to begin when it came to fixing the broken.

I put a hand on his arm to keep him there and kissed him so deeply that you'd think I hadn't seen him in five hundred years.

~~The End~~

~~Or Is It? . . .~~

AN: Got questions? Feel like I didn't tie up some loose ends? Good thinking, because I didn't. What good is a sequel if you don't start out with unanswered questions?