Chapter 2: And then they started to fill up the holes.

Glossary:

Tadaima - I'm back (home). Often replied with "okaeri nasai".

Okaeri - Welcome back (home)! Often in response to "tadaima".

Daijoubu - Are you alright?

"Tadaima."

That was the first thought that came to him when he regained consciousness. His body felt very heavy and dead, but the pain was ironically real; so real that he felt as if his dying body was being simmered on slow-burning coals. Through his half-closed eyes, he could see a blurry image of a woman's face, all contorted in what seemed like worry and relief to him.

For a moment, he thought that she was Rin, and wondered why he did not hear her formal yet endearing address.

"Daijoubu?" Kagome asked while she laid a piece of damp rag over his forehead and crawled away with a light frown while she restlessly stoke the half-dying fire.

He then knew that she was not Rin, because his Rin would not talk like that. Her voice was more high-pitched, whereas this one was rather soothing. Rin would quietly tend to his injuries, not mentioning a word about his fall, his shame, and then would talk about her day of picking wild flowers, chasing lazy butterflies, catching slippery fish and how nasty and terrible and evil Jaken was to her.

Then he remembered; it was the miko, the one who had suddenly vanished into thin air, the one who was smitten with his hanyou brother, the one who could purify the damned jewel with one touch. He could feel the almost forgotten traces of the Shikon no Tama's power from her too.

Sesshoumaru wanted to talk, about what he could not recall, but the moment he tried to, he choked on his own blood.

He never thought such a day would come, that he would be tasting his own blood. It felt weirdly comical, interesting and pitiful. He spat out the half-congealed blood, and immediately felt a nerve-numbing pain that racked through his chest. His world spun like a child's wooden spinning top, and the last thought that went through his mind as her face hovered over him like some mother hen was that he really wanted to say it out loud.

"Tadaima," that was.

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"Okaeri!"

That was what she wanted to say when she saw his eyes flutter open the way new born puppies do. She was so worried about his condition that when she felt the joy and relief in her heart, she thought that the old Kagome was not lost, yet. The old Kagome had a big heart for everyone, would try her best for everyone and would even nurse her enemies because no one was really evil other than Naraku.

Like what she was doing now.

His eyes did not really focus on her face, and she wondered for a moment whether he recognized her. The young miko who wore her short green school-skirt everyday, who lugged a monstrous bright yellow schoolbag around, and who was once his enemy.

She told herself that there was no such thing as eternal enemies. Nothing was eternal, anyway.

"Daijoubu?" She saw that he was trying to concentrate, and she wanted to tell him that it was alright to rest, as long as he promised that he would return and not leave her alone. Afterall, she did not really want to see him die, and if she could not return to her time (since she did not trust the damned well anymore), his 'human' presence would be greatly appreciated and reciprocated.

She did not really want to be alone. No, not at all.

But because he was Sesshoumaru (no matter whether he was youkai or human) she swallowed back the words and contended for placing a wet rag over his burning hot forehead. Kagome frowned a little at his healing rate; he had been unconscious for two days and the fever did not subside at all. She knew that he would have to fight with the infection-causing bacteria himself since he no longer had the magical regeneration abilities and seemingly unsurpassable immunity of a youkai.

Kagome let out a silent, helpless sigh as she took a sturdy thick twig and jabbed at the fire which did not seem cooperative. Perspiration stuck to her skin like a crumpled sheet of cling wrap and for that instant, she wished that she was in her personal bathtub of cold water instead.

"Why did I come back?"

The question repeated itself in her mind as she tried to come up with answers.

Of course, it was a futile attempt. As futile as trying to explain the importance of her tests to Inuyasha.

But she could not give up; she had to find a reason. A logical reason, that would refute the illogical well, if that made any sense. Kagome just wanted to feel better, if that was a redeeming enough excuse.

Deep down in her heart, she knew that she was glad; to be able to return through the well-portal, and to see his half-brother because it represented her past, which was true and real and not a figment of her flailing imagination. But somewhere in her heart, somewhat, somehow, she knew that he was already dead. His body had returned back to the earth, ash-white bones buried somewhere and his spirit hovering in the realm of Neverdying.

Still.

She was sad too. Not so much about his death, not at all. She had expected it, had imagined it, had thought about what she would do if she returned to an Inuyasha-less world. She would go and find her remaining feudal companions; Miroku, Sango, Shippou and Kirara.

If they were still alive.

If not, well. Kagome looked back over her shoulder; Sesshoumaru's lips were trembling a little. "He's here, at least. Stupid well."

And then he suddenly let out a choking cough that zapped the hushed silence in her mind. By the time she scrambled back to him like a devoted, sadly twisted and half-crazed nurse, his nostrils, lips and chin were covered with sticky-looking blood.

For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of light in his eyes before he concussed.

Without thinking, she replied softly as she removed the half-dried rag from his forehead to wipe away the red that tainted her nightmares so very often.

"Okaeri."

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He dreamt of cool rushing streams, bright shining suns, colourful wild flowers and the then two-headed Ah-Un.

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She dreamt of unruly silver hair, cold full moons, blood-red haori and the untransformed Tessaiga without its sheath.

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When he opened his damp eyes, she was stirring a small pot like a subdued witch.

When she knew that he had woke up, she offered him a bowl of her porridge.

They drank the watery meal in silence with no complaints. He noticed that her sleeves had been torn off, while she patiently ground herbs in between two small stones. Then she changed the dressing around his chest, where she could almost see his ribcage and the brutal clawed marks of the ookami-youkai.

"There will be scars," Kagome thought.

He forced himself to look away, because he was uncomfortable. From her gentleness, from his weakness, and from all the wonderful barrage of human emotions that were booming and swelling in his heart.

"She is half-empty," Sesshoumaru thought.

"It's done," she sounded hollowed out; with resignation, hope, fatigue, anger, concern and worry.

He nodded his head, not trusting his voice and not wanting to say thanks. He did not ask for her help, and he still wanted to take her life.

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Then, he was tired of Rin's relentless, seemingly thoughtless chatter about her days. The things she told him were almost the same, day in and day out, and he once thought that the ever-changing moon was more interesting than his human ward. Sometimes, he would be so sick of it that he would give a stern look, or frown a little, and his Rin would get the idea and shut up.

That was, until the day she died.

He did not confess to anyone, there was no need for such frivolous things, that he felt a little 'mis-aligned'. He did not want to think about the things she had taken away from him, those insignificant, life-dreary things, as she passed onto the next world, to her next life. He did not want to admit to himself that he had gained a new level of understanding regarding human speech and thoughts, for it was not important.

Rin was not important to him. He might feel a little odd without her, but that was it. She had become a habit; his habit.

He had affirmed himself with such thoughts, as long as he could until regrets, shame and guilt started to crawl into his once never-changing mindset. They seeped into him; so slowly, so silently, so inconspicuously over the years after her brutal death that when it presented itself, so pure and stark and wholesome, he was shaken.

And then, he started to mourn for her death, started to miss her presence, and started to love her.

For he never really did love her as his own when she was kicking her feet on Ah-Un's back and singing ridiculous songs about him.

And Kagome was like her, talking about insignificant things all day long. All the while trying to push away silence, overcome her fears, and silently conveying to him her innermost thoughts.

A part of Sesshoumaru wanted to laugh at himself. Of all things to become adept at, learning to understand humans, women, was not what he had in mind or had anticipated at all. It seemed to him that Kagome was subconsciously replacing what Rin had taken away from him, and he was also being used by her the way Rin did, albeit without his permission.

To live her life out through him.

Still.

Filling in uncountables holes in each other's lives was not something that he wanted to do.

Yet.

He found himself edging, tilting, lurching towards her. And he knew that she knew, she herself was also doing the same thing, too.

"Why aren't you responding!"

Ah-

A smile formed its curves in the basin of his heart.

Sesshoumaru cleared his throat a little and looked at her coolly.

"I saved your life you know," Kagome tried not to pout, because she was no longer fifteen. And if he knew her actual age, he might laugh at her.

"What do you want me to say?" he tried to answer as tonelessly as possible. He could not afford to change that much, because it would cost him too much.

The thirty-year old miko bit the insides of her cheeks and started to bang the worn-out stone angrily at the dark green herbs. She had expected him to ask her questions, to complain about the humidity or simply told her to shut up. But he was as quiet as a ghost, and this unnerved and irritated her. She felt like a fifteen-year old schoolgirl who was infatuated with her teacher, dying to know his inner thoughts but yet feeling inadequate and insecure about herself.

Well, something like that.

"I've told you so much about me during these few days, shouldn't you say something in return! You just nod your head like a puppet."

He closed his eyes and tried not to inhale in too deeply, or sighed too much; did she wanted him to ask about her life? And why was he not angered by her remark? Was she becoming Rin to him? Or he becoming Inuyasha to her?

Sesshoumaru thought that he could almost hear the herbs crying out for help while the stones are being whittled down by her, and asked quietly, "Why did you save me?"

"I already told you that night. I can't watch you die, can I?"

The pounding continued, while Time ticked-tocked in both their heads.

"Who did this to you?" She asked quietly in return, as if it was a forbidden border that she should never approach.

He gritted his teeth so tight and for so long that his jaw muscles ached, and he cursed himself for being human.

He was born from a strong youkai, with powerful blood running through his body and immunity to poisons. He was once untouchable, unattainable, undefeatable and unrivaled.

Once, Rin was a habit to him. She belonged to the period 'once'; the Youkai Prince of the West too.

And then he fell; like his father, like Inuyasha, like Naraku.

But it was more shameful for his case, for he did not even know who his enemy was. All he could remember was the sudden white fog that had enshrouded Jaken and him when they were walking at the foot of the mountain. He was overwhelmed by the suffocating, pungent acrid stench to which he woke up in this new, unwanted state while Jaken was nowhere to be found.

To fall into another's trap without knowing who the attacker was more than shameful; it was inexcusable, odious, appalling and ignoble. At least his father had fought a good battle, had sealed his enemy, had passed on his two swords to his two sons.

He had no heirs, at all. And at this self-reached remark, the once Great Youkai Prince thought of his human ward.

Sesshoumaru squeezed open his eyes as the bitter heady scent of the mashed herbs reached his nostrils. He never dilly-dallied in such wasteful and useless thoughts before.

"Who did this to you?"

Kagome froze; half clutching the rounded stone in her right hand while her lips parted at the words that he so casually threw back at her. Did he saw the emptiness in her heart? Or the gaping wounds, or the bloodied nightmares, and was he being concerned or sarcastic?

"What do you mean?" She put away the stone and stared coldly at the dark green, dead mess.

Sesshoumaru did not answer her; he had no wish to. "I feel better today. Tomorrow I will set off."

Kagome slouched a little more, not sure whether she was feeling left out, neglected, or simply miserable at his ambiguous question. "To where?"

"You do not need to know," he closed his eyes and prayed. He never prayed before, too, since he had once thought himself immortal and invincible.

She bit her lower lip; what should she do?

To follow him, or to go home?

To head for more danger, or to return to dried-out comforts?

To follow her heart, or to heed her head?

And suddenly, Kagome felt very afraid and tired, even though she did not understand why. The unidentified fear washed over her shoulders and she squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to succumb to it for there was nothing in this world that she should be afraid of. She had stood at the end of her life for so long that nothing should scare her anymore.

Yes. She was tired, but not afraid. Not of the unknowns, the impossibles, or the possibility that she might step over the line to the next world.

"You need me."

For reasons he did not understand, his prayer had come true.

Helloooooooooo!

I am so glad that has installed this new review-replying tool! Finally!

Thank you to all those who reviewed Chapter 1; I'm not sure whether I can deliver to your expectations... but I'll try. :) Muchos thanks to Parsnip, who gave me the inspiration to continue this ficlet (and on with Chapter 3 soon I think!) and who read this over like my english grammar teacher.