Sesshoumaru sits with his head in bandaged hands, the smell of antiseptic an uncalled-for torture as he waits for news. All around him he can hear and smell the evidence of death, and each fading monitor and each moan of pain grips his heart in a vise.

Clenching his eyes shut, he grits his teeth, trying to tune it all out as incoming sirens blare in the background.

His foot starts to tap, clacking rapidly against the floor.

"Sesshoumaru?"

Her mother.

His head snaps up, foot still tapping.

She sits beside him, taking his face in her hands. "She's okay."