Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha. And if I did, no worries, folks, it wouldn't end the way this little one-shot does.

From CI: This was inspired by the weather, my annoyance with how supposedly non-English people never speak their native language in movies (even when with fellow non-English speakers), and a girl who has an unhealthy set of delusions about the way life works.

Title: Fairytale

Author: Cyan I'd

Special Thanks to: Alex and Sashi, for all their beta-ing services!

Tokyo, Japan.

The most important things in her life were governed by chance. When she was fifteen, she was young and innocent and too inexperienced to know any better. She fell down a well and started a new turn in her life; she went on a quest that would change her forever and meant everything to those she held dearest. She stumbled across a boy eternally bound to a tree. She released a wild and untameable soul that would grow to rule her heart.

When she was seventeen, her second life was crumbling. The early days were easygoing, but as time passed the stakes rose and every adventure started with a solemn, serious air. Each one ended with another casualty and another scar in a heart that would never heal. She saw that boy kiss that girl, and she was gone again, biting back her tears with angry screams and modern comforts. And that's when she met a new boy. One from her world, understanding, and ignorant of the pains and crippling wars of the years gone by.

She left the past behind forever, a quest completed, a heart broken, and a small round jewel purified out of existence. Without the balanced power in the small gem of souls, the well no longer served its purpose as a gateway between the things that are and the things that were.

Four years passed, and it was purely by chance that she chose to go to that cafe that day.

Outside, winter drifted over the busy city streets and populated countryside. Cold winds whipped scarves and jackets, light and powdery snowflakes drifted on the wind before finally landing, and the cars slowed to a near standstill in the hopes of avoiding seasonal tragedy. Higurashi Kagome was one of many university students sloughing through the unplowed streets in the hopes of reaching a warm and welcoming home. She stuffed her hands deep into her pockets and buried her chin in the lip of her coat, doing her best to dodge the bite of the frost.

In the face of a furious winter and long trek home, Kagome peeked in the windows of a café as she passed and saw salvation. She trudged to the door and pushed it open, smiling as the bell jangled and warm air washed over her face. She snagged a table on her own and puffed on her hands, willing feeling back into her fingertips.

Behind her, a pair of girls were having a lively conversation in some European language or another and the music held a certain Spanish lilt, even if the words were in her own native tongue. She could smell the coffee brewing, and it only served to fuel her craving for something warm and comforting. The table was small and round and had lavish, curled writing about its rim. The place was painted in red and gold, with the feel of something stylishly out of date.

The waitress came and she placed her order. She knew that the girls she knew by heart would adore a little corner like this. It was just to their tastes, and to be honest, she was sort of enamoured herself.

Kagome sighed and took a tentative sip of her drink. She went over all the things she had to do tonight – with school, she was almost always busy, not to mention a part-time job, her social life and a full-time boyfriend. She absently rubbed the scar that carved a jagged line over the back of her hand – it was one of exactly four. She knew where each one was – they burned sometimes, late at night. Her shoulder, her back, her hand, her side. Kohaku, a demon, a demon, the Shikon no Tama – she'd grown quite inventive over the years when answering tricky questions. The girls rambled on, their words thick and throaty – German? – and something that sounded very much like Inuyasha rolled off their tongues.

The name 'Inuyasha' felt as normal to her as it was to hear someone comment on the weather. Then she truly thought about the name – the unusual, rare name; the title of a boy that she knew long ago. She tensed as a cold chill crept up her spine. Wait – what?

"Did you – Inuyasha?" Kagome choked, turning slowly around. The two women – one blond and fair-skinned, the other dark-haired and surprised – stared back, stumbled by her intrusion. She knew she was being rude, but… was it really possible? Could he have survived this long? Could he have somehow come through the well? How could…

"I – yes, miss. Inuyasha," the darker one replied. Her speech was impeccable, her looks were native – she was Japanese, for sure. She was also a little put-out with Kagome's interruption.

"I knew an Inuyasha… I just… I'm so very sorry. It's such an unusual name, it made me think of him," Kagome explained softly, feeling the flush creep up her face. A few other patrons were staring.

"It is an unusual name. I've never heard another like it… except, perhaps, his brother's."

"Sesshoumaru," Kagome murmured.

"Yes… that's it. Did you really know him, then? You must have! He didn't say that he had relations over here," the girl continued, beaming. Kagome swallowed thickly and gripped her chair. She felt like the room was spinning – or maybe that was just her. Faint, ecstatic, shocked, weak, and the past was gaining on her. She could almost smell the woods and the huts and the burning bodies in the villages they found too late.

"He's… here?" she asked. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answer.

"Yes, just for a couple of weeks. He's staying at an apartment near here, actually – the white one, just down the road and across from WacDonald's? Room 333. You should drop by and say hi, if you're old friends," the girl replied. Kagome nodded numbly, and let her chair scrape loudly across the tiled floor as she stood. She nearly tripped over her own bag as she headed for the door, her drink forgotten.

Outside, the wind whirled the flakes and stirred the snow already on the ground. Kagome let the door bang shut behind her, staring unseeing at the traffic as it crawled down the street. Her heart beat faster, her hair tumbled carelessly, and she wondered whether she should step left or right. Right was home, left was Inuyasha.

She tried to push all the questions from her mind by thinking of the boy she foolishly left behind; brash, rude, brave, protective, and a softy at heart – but there was one that stubbornly remained.

Why hadn't he ever come to find her?

Against the wind and away from the sun, Kagome took two hesitant steps to the left. She didn't know what to think about what was, so she chose to think about what could be.

When she saw him again… what would he be like? Surely, he had put away his old fire-rat clothes in favour of more modern wear… did he still have long, silver hair? Fiery, golden eyes, a slender but strong build, a callous but gruffly caring attitude? Claws, arrogance, self-conscious, graceful, iron, lithe, pale…

She started off down the street, picturing his pleased smile.

Scenario 1.

She was angry. She dredged up all the emotion clamouring inside and squeezed it into a comfortable state of being, like rage. She clenched her fist and jabbed her finger into his chest – how could you? You were here, the whole time! – and watched him blink and fluster before catching himself and screaming right back at her. Both were too proud to back down, too stubborn to apologise – but this once, Kagome would. She smiled and blinked back brimming tears, drinking in the flush of his cheeks and play of light off his silvery hair.

"Inuyasha…" she whispered, and gave him a shaky smile. He shifted and fidgeted with his clothes, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck rising in response to so much emotion. Rough and wild, such feminine reactions to colossal things were well beyond the realm of his experience. Even now, even after all this time, he still hadn't managed to mark a comfort zone in a world of tender moments.

"I thought… I mean… I was never going to see you again," she said. She saw him flinch slightly, then scowl, masking his hurt the only way he knew how. The very fact that she had been the one to cause that hurt made her sick – more so now than the day she left. The day she left, he watched her pack quietly, say goodbye, and he stared at the well after she left until the sun grew old and faded. Then he'd silently turned away, making his way towards the God Tree, where all things seemed to begin and to end.

No. Wait.

Scenario 2.

She raced the steps that lead to her old temple home, for once with her mind far from the image of her smiling family. A visit with them was not her intention this time around. She only wanted to grab a few things. Her parting with Inuyasha was less than friendly, and in the wake of breaking his heart, she had to prove that she still loved him like the day she left. She'd kept all of their mementos – the priestess garb she'd once worn, the little bottle that held shards of the jewel, the bandage he'd wrapped her finger in… pictures… words. Maybe, if she could show him she'd kept these things, she could prove that she'd really kept him close after all these years, too.

She quickly crossed the snow towards her door, already tugging her mittens off her fingers – but out of the corner of her eye, she spotted someone. A person, tall, still and silent, standing under the sweeping boughs of the God Tree. Silver hair, cut to mid-back and drifting in the chill wind, was all that she could see – but it was enough. She knew who was waiting for her – finally, after all these years, he'd come back… and he'd come for her.

Kagome's heart was pounding, and all the things she wanted to say were caught in her throat. Words were clumsy, so that was okay. All she had to do was walk to him, walk right up and tap him on the shoulder and smile – and then things would be right again.

So she did. And he gave her the saddest, most sincere smile she'd seen since Kikyou finally succumbed to the death she suffered from fifty years before. They stared at one another, searching eachothers' faces, reading the changes and the signs of years gone by that they found there. She was older, prettier, wiser; he was more mature, weary, and ready. She stepped forward, eyes fluttering shut, as he brushed a tender kiss across her lips.

Scenario 3.

Her steps were laced with trepidation. In mind and memory, he was raised on a pedestal – wild, feral, beautiful. To try to trap him would be like trapping a force of nature, and that would amount to no less than foolish arrogance. Once upon a time, she could brush her fingers along his jaw, but 'once upon a time' was four years ago; dead amidst heartbreak.

But she'd made the trek and climbed the steps, now all that was left was to knock on his door. That was the hard part. She couldn't seem to pull her fist from her heart, or to tear her eyes off the last and flimsy obstacle between her and the love she lost before. A closed door was oh so significant, however… and she'd be risking her heart by knocking.

She didn't have to. As if he'd known, as if that thin thread of fate that bound them had tugged his heart, he came. He opened the door and stared, gold and silver and red. Her breath caught as she didn't know what to say. His expression was neutral, his stance gave nothing away; he was guarded.

"…hi," she finally said.

"Kagome," he replied, a sort of verbal salute, but his voice trembled.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be. I don't care… I didn't care."

He was scowling, and she was trembling. Those words terrified her, but she refused to believe they were true. He always said so many cruel things, but he never meant a word, and she didn't believe that had changed. She couldn't believe them, she had to have faith, just this one last time – once more. If she was right… then she could have him. If she was wrong, she would crumble and crack, but to her it was well worth the risk.

"Liar," she whispered, and she stepped towards him. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, curled one around him to rest on the small of his back, let her eyes flutter shut with tears glistening in the lashes – and she leaned in for a kiss. He closed the distance for her, pressing over her, hungry, frenzied, desperate, wrapping his arms about her thin frame. He was shaking, rough, and everything she wanted.

"See," she smiled, "I knew you missed me."

Tokyo, Japan.

She was breathing hard by the time she reached the apartment building – tall, white and stark against the dark grey clouds. Her pace was quick, eyes trained solely on the entrance while her lips formed the numbers 3-3-3 over and over again, lest she forget. If she lost that now, she'd lose him forever – a reality she'd already suffered through once before.

The glass was cool against her fingers, and her long, brown coat was clutched tight against her chest. The place was simple: cream-coloured with a red carpet that lead down the hall and towards the elevators and stairs. She followed quickly, punching the button on the elevator more than once, to be sure. She clenched her fingers around her other wrist, hating this waiting, hating the feeling and the oppressiveness of walls. Finally, she couldn't wait any longer – she gulped a breath and made for the stairs, pushing into slightly colder air and letting the smacks of her steps echo up and down the concrete stairway.

She had the oddest need to chew her nails – a habit she kicked when she was five.

Floor one. The door would open, open to red and silver – surprised gold, shocked breath, and a relieved smile. Maybe even a sheepish apology, trapped on the tip of his tongue for so many years before he finally got the chance to roll it out.

Floor two. The door would open, open to red carpet spread over a small, modern apartment. He would smirk at her, as if he'd expected her – then point at the thin thread that started at her heart and ended at his. Of course he'd known she would come – she always, always came back.

Floor three. The door would open, open to red drapes and large windows thrown wide against the world. The crisp air would slither about the room, but she wouldn't notice. The winter would already be indoors, silver hair and pale skin, but never, ever cold. Only warm. Only hers.

She had to stop to straighten her clothes before continuing. 330… 331… 332… 333.

The door was closed.

She stared at the brass plate, stared at the grain of the wood, and tried her very best to swallow her heart. She dreamed of this – and now, she wasn't sure whether she was truly awake. After four years of abandonment, could she really face him again? She shifted, letting her heel scrape across the carpet, and then raised her hand to knock sharply – twice.

Small steps grew to larger, louder ones. The lock slid with a metal click, the doorknob turned, and there he was. Black, silk hair pulled back, dark eyes flicking over her face twice before recognition set in. He wasn't wearing red. He was wearing blue.

Kagome swallowed thickly, drinking in his apparently human appearance, unconsciously digging her nails into her palms. "Hi," was all she could think to say.

"…Ka…gome."

The floor creaked. Down the hall, a door slammed. The lights gave off a steady hum.

"I…Inuyasha…" Kagome managed, with some difficulty. He let the hand that rested on the door frame drop to his side. He looked almost the same – too much the same, taken out of place and time. It was so odd to see her hanyou boy under the modern clothes and framed by an apartment doorway.

"I—you—what are you…?" he stumbled. She suddenly felt foolish, standing out in the hallway.

"I… I overheard… that you were here. I came to see you," she said softly. He struggled for a moment with words that simply would not come, before giving up and fixing her with a disbelieving but sad look.

"I couldn't believe it… that you were here. I thought four years ago was forever – I thought you were gone, and I wouldn't see you again. Ever," she said. He said nothing.

She wanted to run, to hide, to slam the door shut on this strange version of the boy she loved. Where had he gone to, that wild boy? Who was this who took his place? He turned his eyes away, shifted restlessly, and Kagome thought of Kikyou. It was all so faded and familiar, and she wanted there to be a them, but all that stood between them now was dead air and empty, lost promises. She looked desperately for that thin thread, but couldn't see it.

"Inuyasha… I… why didn't you come find me?" she asked finally, blinking against the tears that threatened to spill. Before he could answer, another voice came from behind – a woman's voice.

"Inuyasha, who's there?" she asked. She walked up behind Inuyasha, curled her hand around his middle, and peered curiously at Kagome.

Kagome did not understand.

"This is Kagome… an old… friend," Inuyasha murmured. He closed his hand around the thin wrist of the woman behind and dragged the pads of his fingers across her pale flesh. "Kagome, I'd like you to meet my wife, Mai."

She still couldn't understand, but almost mechanically, she managed the proper greeting, "Pleased to meet you."

Her fingers trembled as she shook Mai's hand. Inuyasha brushed his hand past the other woman's middle, leaned into her, and watched Kagome from across the threshold. Kagome stared hard at all the flaws she could find in Mai's face – a pimple scar, her nose was slightly crooked, her hair frizzy around her forehead – and valiantly ignored how beautiful she was.

"Mai, could you go back inside? We've got something to talk about."

Mai watched him for a moment, flicked her gaze over Kagome's face, then wordlessly walked back into their apartment, leaving him behind. Inuyasha stepped forward and closed the door on his world, noting Kagome's scramble to get back from him – not to touch him. They waited in silence until the shadows grew longer.

"How could you?" she demanded. He turned his eyes away once more.

"We met in Germany," he answered. Kagome thought of drifting souls and eyes hauntingly familiar to her own. She turned away, made a show of anger – when really, she just didn't want him to see her cry.

"Human?" she spat. She could see from the corner of her eye that he did not flinch – and that just cut a little deeper.

"A spell, so I can fit in. Most youkai have them," he replied evenly. He didn't go to her or try to comfort her – he never was any good at those sorts of things anyway.

"Why… why didn't you wait for me?"

"Wait for five hundred years?" he asked. He smiled at her, bittersweet, and tilted his head. "Kagome, you couldn't even wait for three."

She flinched and hunched her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, "I didn't know… how much I loved you, how much I missed you… I didn't realize it until I'd left."

"And by then it was too late."

"No – it wasn't – it isn't. We can still work..."

"Kagome, I'm married. You're engaged, I can see the ring," he said, and Kagome stared at the ring on her finger as if she'd never seen it before. She wanted to tug it off and throw it away, to pull away her life and walk off the elevator a fifteen-year-old girl, hiding a secret in the past from the rest of the world.

"I always thought… that you would wait for me. Even when you ran after Kikyou, even when you were angry – you were always, always there."

"You left, Kagome, you left us all behind."

"But I always came back!" she screamed, flinging her hands in the air, glaring at him, hating every inch of the boy that stole her heart. She wanted to purify him, wanted to so badly that her skin prickled with the familiar feel of her miko energy – and then she wanted to kiss him, to drink him in, to pour herself into all the hurts and scars that she'd found in him so long ago. But somehow, they just weren't there anymore…

And then she realized what she was thinking, and she stiffened. She stared at her hands, watched them shake, and said simply, "I want you to be happy."

Because she loved him. And because he deserved it. And in the end, did she really have such a selfish right to call him her own?

"Kagome…"

"You know you'll outlive her, right?"

"We know."

"I… you deserve to find happiness. I just want that. That's all."

"You should be happy too," he said, and stepped forward. This time, she didn't recoil – she sucked in a breath and trembled, feeling like her world was tilting dangerously and she would drown very soon if she didn't escape. He rested a hand on her arm, tipped her chin up, and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to her shaking lips. He pulled back just a little so his breath still kissed her like a feather.

"For the thing that lies between us," he said.

Then he stepped back and quietly re-entered his apartment, leaving her to touch a finger to her lips and mourn the warmth she just lost.

Inuyasha reclined on the couch, a woman nestled in his arms. The lights were low, the day dying, and his heart far away. He remembered Kagome, remembered her vibrant smiles and optimistic attitude – and he remembered how much she'd cared and how much he'd loved her. He remembered that last day, the day she purified the shikon no tama and disappeared from their lives forever. She hopped down the well, tears wet on her cheeks, finished with all her careful and loving goodbyes. He'd watched her disappear. He'd stood by the rotting wood wall of the well long after she'd been through it. He'd stayed until he could no longer pick up the last tendrils of her cold scent. By then, the winter was fast approaching – frost froze the blades of grass solid, the trees had dropped most of their leaves, and a northern wind swept through clothes and hair and chilled the village to the bone.

And Inuyasha found himself full circle, stuck as all the things he never wanted to be: hanyou, cold, alone, and lost.

He rubbed his thumb along Mai's arm, staring at the hair that curved across her shoulder – it was red. She asked him if he liked her hair dyed like that, and he told her that he loved her any way she chose to make herself – but of course, he was lying. In truth, he preferred her hair the unnatural red rather than her natural black. During those days, they'd be sitting, just like this, and the light would hit her dark locks draped across pale skin just right – it would tug and tease at his memory. He'd taste earth and clay and smell death. He'd think of kindness and innocence and naivety.

He didn't want to live in the past anymore.

Kagome's fingers were cold and numb, wrapped around the icy chain of a swing. All about her, the playground stirred motionlessly – she vaguely remembered a little ghostly girl with pigtails and burn marks. She clearly remembered she hadn't seen any of those sorts of things since the finality at the well.

After a fresh snow, her footsteps alone spanned the park field to the looming playground. It was dark, but a few steel streetlights marked a path back to the road – one glared from over her head. She could feel the laughter of children vibrating the links beneath her fingers, but in the empty night, it was a hauntingly silent place to be.

When the streetlight above flickered and died, she bowed her head and began to cry.

When soft flakes began to fall once more, she took a few deep, even breaths and dragged her hand across her face. She stood carefully, sniffled, and practised a wide and cheerful smile. It came easily, and strangely, that comforted her – it was sort of nice to find that something had survived her lost time in the past, even if it was as cheap as a false smile. She adjusted her coat, retrieved her mittens, and made her way back across the park, careful not to follow her own footsteps back. She stopped when she reached the road, staring at the building she'd just visited, at the window she just knew was his.

She gave a cracked and crooked smile. "Of all my mistakes, and all the missed chances…"

The feel of a soft, feathery kiss…

"…you're my biggest regret."

owari

CI: Sorry to let all the Kag/Inu OTP shippers down. I wanted to explore a scenario that was a little more grounded in reality… but I think I have an idea for another one-shot that has a much more uplifting ending for the pair. I might write that one in a bit…

Please review if you have the time! Feedback is greatly appreciated. CI will cry if you don't, and you don't want to make her cry, do you?

It's cold outside. Flames will be stuffed in my shoes to keep my toes warm.