A/N: This is the first Inuyasha fic I have posted on this site so be kind to me. This is also the first time I have ever tried doing a story within a story so it may be a little confusing at first but bear with me for the first few chapters and you'll be happy that you did. (At least I hope )

Disclaimer: I don't Inuyasha or anything in it so don't bug me about it or I promise I will make you hurt. However, I do own this story and the original characters so don't steal them from me!

Love Lost, Love Found

Chapter One: Six Feet Under

The biting breeze whipped through the eighteen-year-old girl's obsidian black hair and stung her normally warm brown eyes. Tears welled up beneath her eyelids but none had fallen yet. Leaves flew around her in mock joy and blended with the roses and flowers adorning the finely polished mahogany wood. She glanced around her and nearly laughed aloud at the ironic sight of life springing up beside the base of a nearby tombstone. Life and vibrant colors surrounded her--yet she herself was dressed in a long black dress that hugged her skin lightly, a heavy black overcoat that fell to her knees, long black leather gloves, black nylons and black heeled shoes. She was not here to celebrate life but death. The death of a man who watched her grow and loved her more than any other. The death of her father.

The droning voice of a minister buzzed in her ear alike to the incessant buzz of a bee. Many were gathered there because her father was a very likable man and had many friends. Many were in tears. Many...but not herself and not her mother.

She examined her mother's stone cold expression and was surprised at first. After all, her parents had a strong marriage that was nearing its twenty-first anniversary and they were the picture-perfect couple. Why wasn't her mother broken down and in tears? But then again, why wasn't she broken down and in tears. Then she looked closer and saw the pain buried deep within her mother's chocolate eyes. The pain and agony she knew she was holding back as well. Her eyes locked with her mother's and she saw understanding, love, compassion, sympathy, and the most confusing of all, dread. Dread--almost like this wasn't the first time someone she loved had died or left her and she was dreading the time realization would finally hit her. The truth of her father's death still had not hit her yet and her mother dreaded the moment it would.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Why did this happen? He was such a good man. Always caring, always looking out for others, my father. Why him? she thought in despair. Oddly enough, if her father had been killed on purpose--though she didn't know who would ever do such a thing--she would have felt better than she did now because she would have someone to pour out all her hatred on. But now...he was killed by some idiot teenage drunk who lost his own life as well as taking the life of her old man.

Her grip tightened around the hand of her mother in frustration, sadness, and anger. Anger at the world, anger at her father, anger at the man who killed him, and--most of all--anger at herself.

She didn't know why she was angry with herself because she knew it had nothing to do with her, but she couldn't help it. She knew her parents were proud of her and she knew they loved her very much. But it seemed that every time she tried to do things of her own, she would mess things up. It wasn't always her fault--like this time--but bad things always seemed to happen when she was involved.

It felt like such a long time ago but in reality it was only a week ago. A week since her father died. A week since it was her eighteenth birthday.

She was in her first year away from home and at college. When she was smaller, she had skipped a year in grade school and thus she was now a freshman in college even though she should only be a senior in high school. It was never a big deal for her and it still wasn't. She got along with the older kids easily because she herself was quite mature but she always felt out of place. Like she didn't belong. And more so now than ever since one of the two people she ever felt comfortable around was gone.

Spring break...this was supposed to be her last day of spring break. Everything came flooding back in a landslide as her memories broke through.

Originally she was supposed to arrive home the day of her birthday and the trio would go out for dinner and spend some quality time together. Behind her parents' back, she had scheduled her flight to arrive one day earlier than they expected to give them a little surprise. And they were surprised. It would seem that for the first time, she had planned something and it worked out perfectly.

They hugged, they laughed, they talked, and then they went to bed. She could remember snuggling deep into the fleece blankets in her room and sighing in satisfaction at actually being able to sleep in her own room with no roommates to bother her and no noisy dorm-mates. It was the most comfortable and relaxing sleep she had for the past who-knows-how-long. No more finals to cram for, no more pulling all-nighters, no more drinking insane amounts of caffeine-chalked coffee to keep her brain going. No more worries for the next week.

And then she woke up to her worst nightmare.

The morning had passed like a blur for her but she could still remember seeing her mother's surprised and grief-stricken face as she sat next to her on her bed and she knew. She knew before her mother said anything what had happened.

Her father had come in early that morning to kiss her goodbye before heading to work but she could barely remember that. She only knew he had come in because he had done that little act of love every morning for the past seventeen years until she went to college. And she missed it. And she knew he would never do it again.

She had glanced at the clock purely out of habit and noted unconsciously that it said 7:56. Her father had just left the house almost an hour ago. And now he was gone. Gone from this world and into the next.

Without saying a word, she had taken her mother in her arms and closed her eyes. She didn't cry and neither did her mother but they both understood each other's pain. For a long time they had just sat there in complete silence, content to be in each other's presence. Then her mother pulled back and brushed her still-mussed hair behind her ears and rested a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry it had to happen today," she had said simply. Her mother's voice was low and raspy--like she hadn't used it in a long time and was unfamiliar with how her vocal cords worked. Then she left her to indulge in pain by herself.

Happy birthday to me, she mused bitterly.

Her mind snapped back to the present and saw that everyone was looking at her expectantly and with masked pity. She hated pity. She glanced down at her free hand and noticed that she was still holding onto the rose she was supposed to toss on the coffin along with everyone else. Understanding immediately, she solemnly stepped up to the six foot hole in the ground and let go of the single crimson rose and watched as it seemed to float slow motion onto the coffin. With one last silent goodbye, she stepped away and rejoined her mother.

The grave diggers began refilling the hole while the sound of crying grew louder all around. The minister spoke aloud and added a final word of supposed comfort. "Here lies Hojo Makoto--a husband, a father, and a friend. May the soul of this kind-hearted man rest in peace."

Everyone began to drift away after adding their condolences to the widow and daughter Hojo left behind but she heard nothing. She replied politely and properly but she didn't really hear what the people were saying. She just wanted it to stop. She wanted her father back.

"Karina?" Her mother's soft voice brought her around to reality and she saw that nearly everyone had already gone. "Let's go home."

She nodded numbly and choked back the tears once again. She was going to be strong. She had to be for her mother. She had to be for herself.

"Get back here! I'm not done with you yet!" called out his father in a commanding voice. Under normal circumstances, he would have listened to his father drone on and on but not today. Maybe he just didn't want to spend his last day of spring vacation with bloody ears. Maybe it was because he had finally lost his mind. Maybe he didn't care for the safety of his life anymore. Most probably, it was all of the above. Whatever the case, he did something that he had never done before in his life. He walked out on his father.

"Whatever, Dad. Just don't forget to tell Mom I'm leaving. Oh wait. You can't. She's dead. I wonder whose fault that was?" he scoffed angrily before he could stop the flow of words. He knew that this time he had gone too far.

His mother died five years ago of breast cancer despite the fact that his father found all the best doctors in all the world to help treat her. But, she didn't want to go through chemotherapy. She decided instead to die as natural a death as was possible. She was diagnosed in the fall and her body quickly deteriorated. At first, it was little things like her hand uncontrollably shaking when she tried to write. And then her movements grew stiff and hard and each step looked like she was going through hell though she had tried to hide the pain from her family and friends. Her once clear and articulate sentences slurred together like she was trying to talk with water in her mouth. She began to rely on a walking stick to get around and eventually had to opt for a wheelchair. She spent more and more of her time on her bed resting and more of her hours were spent in the world of dreams rather than in the land of the waking. Soon after that, her once sharp memory faded until her short-term memory completely disappeared. For everyone around her, this was the hardest part to watch her go through because she used to be so quick-witted. Eventually, her mind completely failed her and she could do little more than slurp up liquids and mumble incoherent syllables. Then, one morning, he woke up next to her in the hospital room and she was gone. No warning. Nothing. Just like that she had left him in this pitiful world. Even until the very end, she never once complained or whined about how unfair life was. He would make up for that during the next five years.

He knew his father could do nothing more to prevent his mother's death, but he still couldn't help blaming him. It was easier to have a scapegoat than to believe that a woman like his mom would die such a painful death.

Of course, following her slow and agonizing death, he went to several psychiatrists, counselors, and support groups to help ease the pain but nothing worked. Although his relationship with his father was by no means strong before her death, they quickly grew even further apart without the glue that held them together as a family. He began to resent his father and even hated him to a certain degree. Father-son conversations were non-existent and they even stopped going to ball games like they did when he was younger.

And of course, being the half-breed that he was, he practically had no friends to talk with. He would go to class without saying a word and then go home to silence. That was his life. That of a hard-core loner.

Ignoring his father's demands to go back and talk to him, he jumped on his Harley, jammed a polished black helmet over his head and took off out of the driveway. His long silver hair was gathered beneath a black bandana in a low ponytail and stuck out beneath his helmet. The sleeves were ripped off of his dark red shirt to reveal toned muscles and tanned skin.

Before he knew where he was going, an hour had passed and he arrived at the cemetery where his mother was buried. Sighing, he parked his motorcycle and headed for his mother's gravesite. Along the way, he passed by a gloomy-looking procession and concluded that someone must have just had their ceremony. He fought through the approaching crowd of mourners and gasped for air when he finally broke through.

Two lone women stood still by a freshly dug grave and they fixated their eyes into the distance. They had a remarkable resemblance and he knew instantly that they were mother and daughter although the older woman could have passed for the other one's sister if she wanted to. Must have been the husband/father or the son/brother, he thought.

He gave them a curt nod as he passed in respect and noticed to his surprise that neither of them were crying their eyes out. They both had on the same look of intense sadness and the younger one even seemed angry, but they weren't crying. He hadn't cried during his mother's funeral either but he thought that human girls always cried.

His gaze lingered on the younger girl a little longer and noted that the look in her eyes was actually quite frighteningly beautiful. There was sadness, pain, and anger but there was also determination, strength, and something else he couldn't quite put a finger on. And he realized then that she was a fighter and a survivor. He also noted the way her raven black hair with hints of navy blue cascaded down her shoulders and merged with a sleek black dress that hugged her body enough to show off a slim and fit body but not enough to appear slutty or lose the mysterious quality of covered skin. He appreciated that in a woman--enough confidence in themselves to not try and draw off a man's lustful nature.

Deep pools of dark sienna met with his own golden amber eyes and he shivered involuntarily as he passed by. That girl has one freaky death stare, he thought absent-mindedly. She looks really familiar too. I wonder if she's in one of my classes or something.

Shrugging to himself, he continued past a stretch of multi-colored and various sized graves and finally arrived at a large black marble tombstone. He ran his fingers along the top and found his fingers spotless like he had expected. No dust. His father had been here recently. Several bundles of various flowers lay around the base of the grave. Why is he still pretending? Why don't people ever miss anything until they're taken away from us? he thought bitterly, not sure whether the second question was for his father or for himself.

Sure, his parents were loving enough when his mom was alive but his father always seemed to have someone else on his mind--almost as if his mother was his second choice. His father always remembered their anniversary, the day they first met, the place they first met, their first date, all the firsts and all the things people normally expect the wives to remember. He always brought her out to dinner and bought her flowers at random, but he never gave her the thing she wanted most--his heart. He loved her in a way, but not in the way she wanted him to nor in the way she loved him. For him, marriage to her and treating her well seemed to be more of a duty than a genuine desire to be with her.

And his son resented that.

"Hi Mom. How ya doing? It's me, Benji. You know, your son? I've really missed you, Mom." He crouched down beside the tombstone and brushed away a stray blade of grass lingering on the marble. "I had another fight with Dad today. He was being a real pain in the ass. I don't know why, but somehow I ended up here. Probably because you are the only one that ever gave me any comfort when you were alive and even now. It's been five years now. Five years and a week exactly. The hurt still won't go away. I tried counseling for a while but it never worked out. They were all afraid of me because I'm part demon. Oh well. Not like I care. Stupid humans. I don't mean you, Mom," he added quickly.

He fell silent suddenly and he bowed his head in frustration. Frustration with the world, frustration with the cancer that killed his mother, frustration with his father, and frustration with himself. "You know, Mom. Times like this...I really wonder if I shouldn't just end it all. Then I don't have to put up with all the crap in this world. It really is quite tempting." He laughed humorlessly and shook his head.

"Don't try it," came a low female voice.

He turned around abruptly and his heart nearly stopped when he thought he saw his mother standing behind him. Then blind anger and slight embarrassment took over when he realized it was the girl in mourning. His first thought was, How dare she take on the face of my mom! Of course, it was completely irrational and illogical, but that was how his mind worked.

At first glance, the girl had truly reminded him of his mother. However, when he looked more carefully, he observed that the girl was actually quite different. Her hair was a deeper black, her eyes betrayed all her emotions yet at the same time mysterious, her eyebrows slightly raised as if amused, her lips were probably often pulled up in laughter though they were stretched thin at the moment. And how had he gone from comparing her to his mother to silently admiring her qualities? And yes--he had to admit that he was admiring her.

Still, he was annoyed with the way she had walked in on him when he had let his guard down solely for his mother. "Jeez! What the hell was that for? Don't you know how to make some noise when you walk? And what were you talking about 'don't try it'?" he snapped.

Her left eyebrow raised slightly but her face remained emotionless. "Don't you have demon blood in you?"

"Yeah, but how did you--"

"Then your senses should be better than a normal human's. Shouldn't you be able to sense me long before I get to you?"

"Well, yeah, but--"

"Then it's not my problem," she interrupted again.

She's sure got guts for a human. Too much if you ask me, he thought. "What do you want?"

"Don't try it."

"Try what?"

"To kill yourself. It hurts too much," she stated simply. Then she turned her back to him and headed back towards her mother.

He was so surprised by her answer that it took him a while to gather himself. When he finally thought up a suitable reply, the girl was already a good thirty feet away and he was not about to go chasing after her just so he could spit an insult in her face.

"What a nosy little britch," he mumbled under his breath. Still, he was amazed by her boldness. She was either very brave or very dumb to talk back to a half-demon like himself.

Shrugging, he crouched down again and ran his fingers along the engravings.

Kikyo Toshiro

September 5, 1960-April 3 1999.

Loving wife and mother. She will never fade from the memory of those who knew her.

And not for the first time in his life, Benji had a very strong inclination towards being six feet under.

A/N: You peoples are probably wondering where the heck Inuyasha and Kagome are. Well, don't worry. They're showing up. Actually, they already did and if you couldn't figure that out....well, then...uh...oops?

Anyway, this is Inuyasha/Kagome even though it might not seem like it and most of the romance between them happen in the past (wink wink) but not in the way you would think. The actual storyline, however, revolves around the two original characters I have introduced in this chapter. Anyone want to take a wild stab at how they are related to Inuyasha and Kagome? Pancakes for those who get it right!

Oh and I won't be bashing Kikyo in this fic. Granted, she isn't my favorite person in the world--in fact, she's one of my least favorite--but her death was modeled after my grandma's and I can't go around bashing people having anything to do with my grandma. So, she's actually gonna have a nice character in this one and won't be trying to drag Inuyasha into hell. (Although that would be an interesting thing to add....I might just have to think about that...)