Shattered Stars
Summary: She could forget, sometimes, that he didn't love her. But in the end, it was too easy to remember that if he belonged to someone, it was not to her… Kagome x Inuyasha x Kikyo
Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha. People should be glad for this, as otherwise it would be filled with more angst and torment than it already contains. Waha. :D
Author's Note: Everybody's out of character in this fic. Please forgive me, don't kill me, and don't hate me for utterly mutilating the storyline. Sankyuu and drop a review by. I could do with the flames to bring my ego down.
White hair, pristinity refracted by the glow of the firelight, was transformed into bits of hazy smoke and gleaming, finely-spun embers that never seemed to grow any dirtier in contact with soil. Golden eyes half-lidded with drowsiness, allowed their amber to deepen beneath the half-light, half-shadows that the fire emitted. A slight sigh escaped, like a soul, from half-parted lips as a slight movement brought his gaze up to the stars..
"Kikyo…"
She could virtually forget, sometimes, that he didn't love her.
It was almost easy to let herself go to the drowsy murmurs of affection, post love-making, that the hanyou so rarely allowed himself to speak. It would be so easy to fall into the pretenses of love, of deep affection that she glimpsed occasionally in his eyes. And she was certain that he wanted her to. It would certainly make things easier to him; a reciprocated love, rather than only shy agreement every time he wanted her.
But she couldn't.
She had given him everything of hers that she could afford to give away, but this she would not, selfish though it made her feel. She loved him, but she wondered, occasionally, if she could live with this; with playing a part for the rest of her life.
It wasn't like her to be this passive, and the brunette knew this. Occasionally, when it was over and the both of them had retreated furtively to opposite sides of the camp, she would wonder why she allowed this to go on. She had rejected the advances of suitors (well, one suitor) from home, even when they had wanted her for herself. And here she was, pretending to be someone else, for a half-love that she treasured far more than all the puppyish adoration that had ever been otherwise showered upon her…
It just went to show, perhaps, that life had more of a sense of irony than she recognized.
A fitful tossing and turning shook her from slumber, clipping the threads that bound her to her dreams and towing her back into reality. Not hers; Kagome was a peaceful sleeper, except when she unconsciously sensed that she was sharing space with others, at which point she became a fitful kicker.
Groggily, she attempted to shake the fog from her mind. "Miroku?" She murmured dazedly, rising sleepily. "Sang-oof!" Unsurprisingly, with only half an eye open, she had tripped over something; or rather, someone.
A light flush colored her cheeks as she felt a caressing sensation upon her posterior, and automatically, she lashed out with a foot. The sole reply derived was a slight grumbling, drowsy snort as the pervert returned to complete slumber.
"Some people sleep walk... but I have to travel with someone who sleep-gropes. Figures."
But then who was it that had roused her from her sleep? Carefully rubbing at the ingrained sleep-sand within her eyes, Kagome peered wearily about the camp, sight only half-aided by the flickering illumination of the fire. A half-smile twisted her lips at the frozen figure of a distant Shippo on vigilant guard – it would be a few more hours until his shift was over and Inuyasha's began. But thoughts of the hanyou led to other thoughts that twisted her stomach and made her ache with something that she did not yet comprehend. And Kagome was nothing if not sensible about it; she would not contemplate them.
She could not prevent her eyes from straying in his direction, however, nor from leaping sharply as the realization dawned upon her.
The hanyou was muttering under his breath, half-words that were garbled and unintelligible but possessed an ominous tone as he writhed beneath the ordeal of some unseen tormentor. With a wary but swift step, Kagome was kneeling by his side in only instants, gently catching at his shoulder to rouse him from his dream.
"Inuyasha." She whispered, not quite loudly enough to bring Shippo. "Inuyasha, wake up, it's only a dream. Whatever you're dreaming about, it's not here." She froze as he lashed out, hands scrabbling a moment before they secured her own, pulling her close…
He's strangely warm; it's almost nice of him…
If Inuyasha ever bothered to be nice, that is.
As though cued by her thoughts, moments later gold flickered incoherently for a few seconds before snapping to full consciousness. Immediately, the hanyou pulled away, his features set into what seemed to be a traditional scowl.
"What kind of blasted trick are you trying to pull, Kagome?" He snapped, but quietly, with a careful glance at Shippo.
Her eyes narrowed considerably, as did her former sympathy for the half-demon. "You," she said precisely, "were having a nightmare. Or some dream. You were tossing and turning-"
"I was not."
Kagome's eyes widened; the sound was less of a denial for which he could be teased than an absolute refusal to acknowledge the existence of that dream. Nevertheless, she pursued it.
"What were you dreaming about?" She inquired softly, with the artless manner that was her charm.
"I wasn't dreaming." Inuyasha replied testily. "I was… exercising. In my sleep. Without getting up." Those beautifully crafted golden orbs narrowed considerably as they regarded the reincarnated priestess. "You shouldn't concern yourself overmuch with it, wench."
And suddenly her temper flared with the casual insolence that he delivered his reply. Leaping to her feet, her eyes sparked with the unholy rage that he had provoked, though she spoke with the same tightness that characterized all of her tempests. "You know what?" She inquired tautly. "That's fine, Inuyasha. You obviously don't need me for anything. Am I useless baggage that you occasionally use for the Shikon Jewel? Is that all that I am?"
His only response seemed to be an exasperated sigh.
"Ugh!" If it wasn't for the demonically swift reflexes and the fact that the body contact she wanted with him didn't really involve hand-to-cheek motions, she would have slapped him. As it was, Kagome settled for flouncing back to her bedroll, collapsing into a sleeping position with her back to the hanyou.
What seemed an hour passed before he spoke again, startling her from the half-slumber that she had begun to achieve.
"Kagome?"
She didn't reply, though her breath quickened slightly.
"Thank you."
A lip curled, though in disdain or fond remembrance, she could no longer discern. The singular object that the schoolgirl recognized now was the fact that the memory was important. She viewed it with the critical, unbiased eye of a jeweler with a geode, wondering at its quality, whether it was worth it, to take the glittering heart from the stone. It wasn't that the event had changed much between them – in daylight. He was still the blasted, rude hanyou that she had first met what seemed ages and ages past. But at night, when the dreams ran rampant and he was no longer so much in control… she was in a position to dictate things for once.
And then it had all gone to hell. Or perhaps it was heaven – she could no longer distinguish the difference between either of those either. These nights seemed a blistering, searing heat, but they were nights that she would not give up for all the world…
It was ordinary, now, to be roused from her vigil occasionally, and to go to his side to wake him. Occasionally, now, even when he was awake, he would allow her to hold him; an embrace of safety that would hold him quiet until dawn. He had not taken to it the first time, but with a little insinuation that it was a comfort she required as much as he, and an acknowledgement that it didn't impinge upon whatever masculinity he had, he had allowed himself that tiny fragment of weakness.
The others had trusted her judgment when she had said that she could take most of the night watches – she didn't know what she would have done if they had not. Surely they would have discovered the nightmares; and Inuyasha would have murdered them all for laughing.
It was, of course, almost equally inevitable that they would have laughed – not arrogantly, but dismissively, which was equal, if not worse. The hanyou would have never tolerated being dismissed; occasionally, the girl could not help but wonder whether he would choose death over humiliation. Even she, whom he trusted to wake him from his nightmares, was never privy to the exact content of those dreams.
But that night… there was something different, some odd stillness to the air that had not been present before. And when she bent to wake him, she could have never predicted what would occur next.
His muscles tensing, he sat up abruptly, forcing her to sit down as well in startlement. And before any sort of protest could begin to form within the depths of her mind, he had bent and kissed her shocked, half-parted lips. All without opening his eyes or so much as evincing consciousness.
Ah. So I'm traveling with a chronic sleep-groper and sleep-kisser. Nice.
Though perhaps she was the one dreaming now; aside from Kikyo, the hanyou had never appeared to express much romantic interest in anyone or anything. And the most passionate liaison that she had known him to possess had involved several bowls of ramen noodles. (Nary a glance was spared for the noodles' cook, save for a briefly mumbled 'Thank you,' as the hanyou all but attacked his bowl.) And if it was only a dream… surely there would be no harm to indulge it for a little longer.
It was at that moment that his eyes flew open. Obsidian stared into and was refracted by bright gold before breaking apart and glancing a little aside. A flush stole up her cheeks – though the setting and events were entirely unreal, there was a coarse, diffuse reality to the moment that could not be displaced. This was reality, definitely – and she had just made a terrible, uneraseable mistake.
"Kagome," The hanyou's voice was low and rough with some incomprehensible emotion. "What the hell were you doing?"
"I didn't…" She began, "I wasn't…" But the brief embrace seemed to have stolen all the breath from her lungs, as well as robbing her of the capability and the desire to speak. "You started it." She said at last. "In your sleep. Look, I realize that it was a mistake and we can just forget about it and you can get back to sleep and-"
"You're babbling." He said flatly, though not without his share of amusement. And abruptly, her embarrassment was replaced by fury.
"Is that all you can say?!" She demanded. "That was my first kiss, and it went to someone who didn't even want it, and…" She paused for breath in the midst of her whispered tirade. She had not been a romantic, to be precise about it; though she had dreamt of future days in which there would be someone who loved her, they had never been completely defined, though recently the features of that undefined someone had acquired white hair and odd, strokeable ears.
"Did you… mind so very much?" He was still speaking in that low tone, and when she glanced up, she thought that she could glimpse the slightest fragment of hurt within his gaze, though it leapt away so quickly that she could not be certain. "Do you hate the idea so?"
"What idea?"
And suddenly his lips were fastened on hers again, and there was a roaring within her ears; as though he were slowly but surely pulling a steady strand of life from her lips and winding it upon some invisible spool within himself. And strangest of all, she was not entirely certain that she minded.
"That idea." He replied softly as they came up for breath. "Do you mind?" He asked it grudgingly, gruffly, as though he would hardly forgive her if she replied negatively.
She did not respond with words – at this point, they were unnecessary. But there was still something nagging at the back of her mind…
She never wondered about how odd it was that a single night's random event should span into weeks, months… It was less comfort for him alone, now, than it was something to look forward to. In the midst of shifting dangers and havoc, they would always have each other, and this. Kagome was never certain why it had taken the path it had taken, but she was grateful for it, grateful for the event that allowed her knowledge of a love that seemed to transcend time itself…
In the day, however, things had already begun to go wrong. He distanced himself more from her beneath the baleful eye of sunlight even as he clung to her all the more furiously in the hours that spanned from dusk to dawn. She did not understand it, but she did not question it, too worried that a single misplaced question would crush the fragile bloom that had flowered between them. If nothing else, she was certain that she loved him… and would not be able to bear it if that bloom faded into nothingness.
And then there were the whispers in the night.
She tried to pretend, sometimes, that he didn't say them, that he didn't murmur endearments when he was kissing her with a gentle pressure that was not exhibited in his forceful personality. Not because she loathed them – she would have loved them if they were hers – but because of the way that he said them.
They were endearments, but not directed to the person in his arms…
Limpid in his arms, she was drifting in some timeless space in the world that consisted only of him and everything that he was. Liquid gold filled her vision whenever she chanced to open her eyes, and white silk fountained over her hands.
A soft sigh escaped her lips in contentment as she ran gentle fingers through ivory strands, content with her imprisonment in this domain, and asking for no more than this…
Mid-embrace, the hanyou whispered a name, but it wasn't hers.
And abruptly that world shattered.
Kikyo.
Beautiful priestess, betrayed by the man that she had nursed to health and the half-demon who had almost become her beloved.
Despite the matter of souls, which differed depending on what religious books were consulted on the matter, Kagome was certain that whoever Kikyo had been, she was not that person. And yet it seemed that everywhere her gaze chanced to fall, there was yet another person who wished that she was not Kagome, modern school-girl, but Kikyo, ancient miko who would solve all their problems.
Surely it should have been too much to see that Inuyasha, too, wanted the ghost-form of a woman whose only portion still alive was her hatred for him.
It was something that she asked herself beneath the cover of daylight, under illumination and the glaring of a baleful sun's eye. She would have never dreamed of asking it at night, when he was all that concerned her.
But even if he had asked her to be… to be Miroku (pervert monk that he was) at this point, she did not think that she possessed strength enough to say no.
She didn't think that she had will enough to let him go.
Author's Note: It's ten-thirty here. I'll probably edit this a bit later, but hopefully it's all right the way it is now. What do you think? Leave a review and let me know!