Stand By
Chapter Eight
Chi splashes around in the water and I float towards her, holding out the bottle of shampoo. "This makes your hair smell pretty, like flowers." I hold it underneath her nose as she sniffs it cautiously. She pauses, her dark eyes flicking up to mine for a second, and then takes another deep breath.
"It smells mighty pretty nee-chan." She looks from the bottle up to me, the surprised delight shining in her eyes. "Are ya sure ya wanna waste some on me?"
I laugh and then pile some into my hand. "I won't be wasting it Chi, besides, I have two more bottles with me. Now stop squirming and let me put this in your hair." It takes us several minutes to get it done; Chi gets some of the soap in her eye and causes a commotion. Afterwards, it seems she has forgotten all about the incident and wants to do my hair. I sit in the shallow part of the pool and let her scrub my head. It feels raw after she's done, but she beams with pride and I try not to wince.
Next is the body washing. I give her a washcloth and some soap, telling her to scrub off all the dirt. She is finished before I am, her skin pink from abuse. I laugh and she swims like a fish around me, popping her head up here and then there.
I can't help but feel a twinge of pain in my heart.
She's just like the child that I've always wanted; quiet yet curious, cute and precious. She could pass for my daughter I suppose; she has my eyes. She has Inuyasha's mouth too, which makes me want to cry and laugh at the same time. I stretch to reach the scratches across my back and wash them out, wincing as the skin pulls. Maybe there's a scab forming.
Chi notices my troubles and swims over, her dark hair sticking to the sides of her face. Curiously, she looks at my back and waits till I stop, turning around to face her. I expect questions, lots of them, but nothing comes from her but silence. An enigmatic grin spreads across her face and warm fingers trace some of the scratches along my shoulder. Not her normal smile. "You dream…" She whispers and I barely catch it, but when I do, my whole body freezes. The little girl just grins at my shock, shakes her head as though telling me not to say anything and manages to spray water everywhere, then takes off from the rock she was leaning against. She moves like a fish in the water.
I stand there with my mouth hanging open. It just has to be some sort of freaky coincidence… The scabs on my back suddenly burn and I wince, moving my body so that the skin is slack once again. When Chi pops out of the water once again, her face is the same as it was before, and I remember the old man's words.
Rattled, I whisper, "Oh hell."
I walk along the ground, my feet making the barely a noise against the wet, dewy grass. It's cold but I welcome it, loving the feel of the fresh, strong blades beneath my bare feet. The moon, full and proud, hangs over my head and shines light over the once packed dirt and the broken logs of a once strong and proud fort. The walls are splintered and broken in places, like a bulldozer had gone through and nobody had bothered to repair it. Or nobody was around to bother with repairing.
The village itself is located on the cliff side, high above the ground. If it were daytime, the inky scenery below me would be miles and miles of rolling hills and forest, all green and in its glory because of the season. It must be a beautiful sight in the autumn. Turning my head around to look at the grass and ivy covered ground of the inside fort, the houses long reduced to rotting logs by years of wind and rain, I see something that makes chills run up and down my spine. My feet move towards them.
I don't what draws me to the graves, but I go anyway. Maybe it's because I live my life constantly on the edge, always teetering between life and death, and I come to pay homage to those who have fallen off that delicate balance. There are many mounds of dirt, each one covered by a rotting weapon. Then I remember. This is Sango's home, probably what it looks like now. Inuyasha, Miroku, Shippou, and I buried the bodies and then placed their broken, bloodstained weapons over their graves. It seemed appropriate.
I had gone to a field with Shippou while the other two dug graves. We picked small, yellow flowers that looked pretty which I'm sure were weeds now that I think about it, but it's the thought that counts. After the defeat of Naraku, Miroku and Sango came here and buried Kohaku's grave here with the rest of his village. A good place to say final farewells.
My eyes fall on one grave. I don't know why, I don't understand, but I just stand there, as though waiting for something to happen. I'm not exactly sure if something should happen or if I want it to happen at all, but I keep watching, staring. It takes me a few seconds to register that I'm staring because the dirt is shifting. The first adrenaline rush comes.
A hand reaches out from the lone pile of earth. Horrified, I watch as it stretches as though trying to reach for something, my heart pulsing and the blood pounding in my ears. The earth moves, the flowers and grass shifting. The hand is covered in the tattered, torn, and bloodstained yellow cloth, a wrist guard made of black polish hanging off it. It's exactly like Sango's, made from the shells of youkai.
I take a step backwards, my eyes widening in fear. An arm, soon followed by shoulder and then the long, pale neck, come, wisps of shoulder length hair blacker than the night sky above hanging down like loose spider webs. The head follows but I can't see its face, the bangs hanging low over the nose. Thin lips are parched and dry and a pink tongue comes out to wet them, my fear escalating. It moans and my hands fly to my mouth to stifle a scream, watching with relief as it only cups its face with its hands, moaning in the same way I would if I crawled out of bed at four in the morning.
The armor is like Sango's, but where hers is magenta and dark pink, it's a swirl of navy and sky blue swirls, white clouds among the dusk. Again it moans, running its hands along to push the black strands, complete with clumps of dirt and some grass roots, out of its face. I take another step back, not able to tear my eyes away from it in morbid fascination. My back hits a still standing wall of great logs, the ivy creeping up and the wind picking up to make the grass swish around my legs.
The creature looks up and I can't make out any details. Spurred by my curiosity and the fact that I haven't died from fright yet, I peer at the features turned deathly pale by the moonlight. I have a strange feeling he (for it surely is a he by the strong, straight curve of the chest) would even be deathly pale in the sunlight. He takes out the rotting yellow cloth that would have held his long hair up atop his head, then slowly looks around. His face is covered in a half-grown beard and dirt.
The clothes on him have so many rips and holes that it's surprising most of it still clings to his body. I'm sure it has something to do with the fact that it is of demonic origin and won't fade as quickly as normal clothes would underneath the ground. His large, crystal blue eyes scan the area, sweeping right past me as though he can't see me even though I'm barely ten paces away, the shadow of the wall hiding me.
He grunts in surprise and wipes the back of his hand against his eyes, almost as if he were wiping away tears. I suppress the urge to cock my head, my heart probably the loudest thing within a five-mile radius. Can the undead cry? I pause at my sudden thought, my mind racing. Is he really undead? Probably is, if he just popped up like a damn weed.
Hauling his legs out of the grave, pushing aside the grave marker, the young man (he looks to be a few years younger than me) rolls out onto the grass and sighs before trying to get to his feet. His legs wobble and collapse underneath and it takes a few times before he finally gets up and stays there, panting. It's almost as if his legs aren't used to carrying him around or he has to get used to using his legs once again.
His head snaps around and his eyes bore into mine, blue like deep water…
Rolling over, my breathing shallow and quick and my heart racing, I find myself staring up into the wooden beams of the ceiling, the candlelight flickering and making strange shadows dance in my line of vision. I lay there panting for a second and then squeeze my eyes shut, pressing the heels of my hands into them and wiping the tears of sleep from them.
My feet are cold.
Pulling them out from underneath to protective barrier of white cloth, I run a finger down one of them. They are cold, blocks of ice even though I have been lying in bed with the covers over my feet for hours. Dew makes them shine and sparkle in the flickering candlelight. My shadow dances with the rest on the wall as my head dips down and sees the wrinkled lines that one gets from having been too long in the water.
Not again… (Good Kagome grins sheepishly and says that at least it wasn't something explicit and Bad Kagome grumbles about not having any orgy sessions in the mountains. Good Kagome has grown used to her evil twin's comments and just rolls her eyes. Bad Kagome sulks.)
I roll over like a good little puppy and watch Inuyasha, his slow and steady breathing calming me down. A lock of hair crosses his face and I push it away absentmindedly. As I pull away, my hand freezes, hovering an inch or so from his face when he rolls over in his sleep, afraid that I woke him up. "…Kikyou…" he mumbles.
What a killjoy.
(Good Kagome reprimands me and says that he can have dreams about his wife and I have no right to interfere. Bad Kagome tries to demonstrate on her goody-two-shoes counterpart what I should do to Kikyou. Good Kagome suddenly develops aichmophobia.)
I pull my hand away from his face. Gods know what I would do to have him sleep beside me like this every night, to have his large hands encircle my waist, to have his face buried in my neck. I'd run my fingers through his hair and kiss the skin behind his ear, holding him, just holding him till the sun rose…
Groaning lightly, I press the heels of my hands into my eyes. Shit, shit, shit, shit. I do not like doing this to myself; a feeling of hopelessness wells up in the pit of my stomach and spreads down my legs, up to my neck. I absolutely hate it. I try to think of better things, like Sango's new baby, but I can't. My mind keeps on wishing how I could just… Damn.
Inuyasha and Kikyou are husband and wife till death do they part. They won't divorce; they both have huge egos and wouldn't do anything that would purposely put their honor and pride on the line.
I turn my head to look at Chi. Her hair is very fine, the kind that doesn't tangle easily, and it's spread across the pillow like a fan of black silk. I wonder what's so strange about her. I saw the face of someone else within her when we were at the hot springs. Self-consciously, I put the tip of my finger on one of the scratches. I remember his claws upon my back and his lips upon my mouth.
Is it just me or are these living dreams turning me into a horny teenager?
I grumble, then with the will of several men, push myself out of the futon and walk (more like stumble) over to the big yellow bag that has seen my journeys for the past decade. As quietly as I can, I flip open the top and rummage for my laptop, my trusty friend.
The computer boots up, and the little whirling noises of it working remind me that once upon a time, this little nightly escapade would have woken my sleeping lover right up. I steal a glance at Inuyasha, his black hair all over the place. His fingers twitch in his sleep, his clawless, calloused fingers. I turn back to the blue screen, sitting down and leaning against the shoji screen. As much as I hate to admit it, somehow that look at his fingers made me a little unhappy.
In these past nine years it's been… strange. I'm happy, but unsatisfied. I know I could be euphoric, and maybe that's the problem. Sometimes I look at Kikyou and despite the meager friendship we've set up between us, I still manage to envy her, to be jealous, to wish that Urasue had never brought her back from the dead.
Kaede told me once before she died that Kikyou had hated me because of the healing I did to Inuyasha's heart. I can imagine the old woman's voice, raspy and smoky, telling me that I did wonders to Inuyasha, that she was surprised that she was seeing her sister walk the earth once again.
My expression sours and I think, 'I wish she wouldn't have.' Normally I would beat myself up for such thoughts, would have reprimanded myself for hating someone, but I'm in a particularly bad mood. I know that the world isn't all strawberries and whipped cream, and as much as I try to hide that fact with my perky attitude, it's still there and I still know it's there.
It's only now, in the dark of night when Inuyasha sleeps with the sun that I face this truth and allow myself to hate. But that's the difference; I allow myself to feel these things but pretend it never existed come sunrise. That's what makes me different than Kikyou. Yet right now I'm not so sure if it necessarily makes me the better person…
Inuyasha rolls over in his sleep and kicks the blanket off his foot. I stare at it. It's large and there are a few scars here and there, looking strange in the pale blue light that my laptop screen is producing. With my fingertip, I trace the scars, a hair's breadth from his foot. I don't know if he's ticklish or not. I pause, then slowly draw my hand away. I guess I'll never know.
Moving my finger and opening a couple of word documents, I rest my fingers along the keyboard and hope that something will come to me. Images of Jakotsu and Bankotsu and Suikotsu flood my mind, of the strange tattoos that cover their faces. They were feared before they had died, feared in the minds of men like the Boogey Man was feared in the minds of children.
Normally the words just come. I'm able to tell a story, my story, but right now I have the scourge of the writing world on my fingertips; a writer's block. I don't really care to think about the adventures of the past. I want to know what's going on now, why all these things are happening to me, why I've had three dreams in as many days, dreams that leave scratches on my back and make my feet colder than ice even though they are buried underneath layers and layers of blankets.
This new dream shakes me. The previous two have all been of a hanyou Inuyasha and me in comprising positions. Before this dream tonight, I thought they could be a repercussion of my pent up lust and my shattered dreams. Add a little miko power and POOF! recipe for disaster.
But this new one was of… a dead man coming back. Maybe is a vision or something, warning me of what is too come. But that wouldn't explain the other two. There is no way that Inuyasha can become hanyou once again.
At least, none that I know of.
I bite my lip. This thought leads to a whole series of questions that I don't think I'm ready to ask yet; or for that matter, I don't think anyone is willing to give up any answers. Maybe I don't want the answers. I twirl a lock of my smooth hair around my finger. Chi's strange smile dances in front of my eyes and I nearly moan in frustration. Inuyasha kicks in his sleep once again, rolling over. His hand is having a spasm.
I lean down and hold onto his hand. It stops twitching so violently and he holds on, moaning in his sleep. I nudge his side with my toe. No. I can't really see him as a hanyou again. I've known him as the human for too long. Hell, I've known the human nearly ten times longer than the hanyou, but yet I know the hanyou better than the human.
Life really can be a bitch at times.
I try to weasel my hand out of his sleepy death grip. It takes several minutes but I finally get it, then sit back down to type. The words I've already written from about a week before seem flat and unmoving. I want people to feel the fear, to have Suikotsu's transformation scare them as much as it scared and surprised me.
I glance at Inuyasha's head and can almost see the ears atop his head twitching back and forth, listening to everything from the sound of the birds to the crunch of rocks underneath my shoes. I never really touched his ears after that first day. Not when he was awake. Not when I knew him.
I kinda regret never doing that. Kinda, but not really. There are things that I regret more; like how closed I was about my love for him. Maybe if I would have come out with it, maybe I would have him. Maybe Kikyou would still be a freakin' walking pot. Maybe we would have a family of our own and maybe I wouldn't be having these dreams.
These are all big what if's. I don't think I could live with a what-if. Maybe even if I had confessed my love, maybe he still would have brought Kikyou back from the dead and stayed the same course. I clench my fists, my knuckles turning white. I don't think the Well will toss me back any farther than what is right now. Even if it did, would I do anything? I know how much my actions could be messing up the time stream. Maybe I've already done this in the future and the future is the way it is because I have done this. Maybe I've already gone back, sometime in the future, and confessed my love but this is how it still ended up.
A migraine pounds between my eyes. I sigh and rub the bridge of my nose. I really should watch it. I need to wake up early tomorrow morning. Today has been exhausting; helping to rebuild the village is a hard task now that Inuyasha isn't hanyou, just an incredibly strong man.
I just sigh, push the top of my laptop down, and climb back into bed.