Kagome jolted into a sprint as soon as she spied the field ahead. It was lovely, filled with tall feathered grass and flowering weeds. Truthfully, it reminded her of home. Of her time. In particular, it reminded her of one of Sesshoumaru's pieces.

They had been travelling for a month now, three weeks of which had included the Sesshoumaru that wasn't hers and countless instances of the undead version of herself that wasn't her weaving in and out like a snake ready to strike. She didn't honestly see the resemblance between Kikyo and herself, other than their powers and odd taste in 'men', she supposed. She recalled faintly holding a grudge against the other priestess for a while, though that had been short-lived and more to do with her soul being ripped apart without much consequence rather than any blossoming feelings she may have held for the foul mouthed little mongrel she now gladly called a friend. In short, Kagome was feeling rather tense from expectations and assumed feelings; the looks of pity, annoyance, and in the case of the man she loved, not a glance at all. So when she had seen the familiar landscape, she ran without thinking, without caring that she had lost one of her shoes or that her skirt had ripped on a thorny shrub. Without thinking of what may be thought of her. She ran, and she twirled, and she laughed herself silly until eventually, she fell on her back and stared up at the autumn sky, panting.

She imagined being enveloped in loving arms, the symbolism of the painting explained to her in hushed tones, the duality of its nature discussed between kindred souls. She recalled her love mentioning that it had been one of his earlier pieces and to excuse the weak form as he had yet to grasp...well, not grasping everything so tightly in his claws. Kagome giggled at the memory. That had been the first time she had seen him look so self conscious. So unkempt and dissatisfied with himself. She couldn't imagine the Great Lord Sesshoumaru feeling bad about anything he did, but then again, he had always shown a tendency towards perfectionism.

The priestess closed her eyes and sighed. If she lay like this, just this still, she could almost imagine the swaying grass was his hair. Lord, how she missed him.

She wondered when he had started painting. Whenever she asked, he replied with the same, "Long enough ago to know that I am not a natural talent," which again, was something about him that made her grin even if it was evasive and she wanted to know absolutely everything about him, from his favourite colour (it was blue) to the oddest of his quirks (he was deathly afraid of milk and would convulse whenever it was presented to him. As it turned out, he was as lactose intolerant as any street dog).

Waiting for the others to catch up, Kagome hummed to herself and made a list of funny things she knew about Sesshoumaru that even he probably didn't at this point in time:

One. He was a terrible flirt. As in, he thought, "Can you take me home and feed me tonight?" was an appropriate pickup line (and had actually used it on her), but also in the sense that women swooned at his aloof demeanour, misreading it as sexual tension. Miroku would be awed by the sheer amount of females that Fitzwilliam Darcy kind of attitude could draw in modern Tokyo, but then she didn't want to give him any ideas.

Two. He was wary of people. Almost afraid. Unless they had steak. He loved anyone who had steak for exactly as long as they held it in view. It drove him to distraction. She had once watched him walk into a light pole following a steak sandwich attached to a elementary schooler's hand. It had been quite amusing.

Three. Despite this, he did not eat very often. She originally thought this was due to his heritage but when he had fallen over on her welcome mat and begged for scraps a few days into their relationship she realised he was...a bit of a ditz. He actually needed more food than his brother, if that was even possible. Not that Inuyasha needed everything he ate, the greedy pig.

Four. Four? Could she think of four things? She would feel really bad if she couldn't think of four traits of the man she loved... She supposed he couldn't read well, but... Oh! Yes, Kagome nodded to herself, he couldn't read very well. His tutors had tried their best, but the Western Lord was what they had deemed 'slow'. Kagome didn't think it was that strange. He was a dog after all. Well, obviously not a dog dog. That would be gross. Not that she didn't like dogs. She loved them. She had begged for years to get one all her own but...that was totally irrelevant to Sesshoumaru, she supposed. He couldn't read and that was just fine. He had survived centuries without the ability to string letters together. If he expressed the wish to learn properly, she would help him, but until then, he was functionally illiterate.

"Kagome! Where are you, Kagome!"

That was Miroku's voice. And it was close. Kagome sighed.

Time to get back to reality.

She sat to wave down her friend.

"I just felt like taking a break, oh great pervy monk! Come join me!"

A thought came unbidden and quickly left again.

Five. The field in his painting had always been splattered with blood, though he wouldn't tell her why.


Sesshoumaru looked on in silent horror at the field the miko had run to. He would never have taken this path if it wasn't for those weak humans and his stupid brother. He never wanted to set foot here again. The site before him was an abomination.

"My Lord?" Jaken pulled out in front of him. It occurred to the young lord that he had stopped walking and had been still for quite some time now judging by how far ahead the rest of the party was. He felt his muscles tightening, refusing to move even one step closer to the field, but his pride forced him forward. He took a halting step, then another, then several more. He kept walking until he reached the monk and priestess, who were considering camping in the area for the night.

"That is not an option."

He grabbed the protesting priestess by the arm, pulling her up and along with him. The others would follow her, as they always seemed wont to do. He felt the urge to vomit rise and fall within his chest with his heartbeat. He wasn't staying here.

"Bloody slave driver!"

Sesshoumaru heard the cry but did not heed it. He kept his eyes straight ahead, though his gaze was blurred and warped. The miko was regarding him with a shrewd gaze that made him uncomfortable. If he was in his right mind at that moment he might have thrown her into a tree, but he was terrified.

He really was going to vomit.

No! he thought.

No. It would not be like last time. It couldn't be.

He berated himself for not sealing the mountain path in the first place, though that would have required coming back up here. He felt his stomach heave once more as bile filled his throat. The hand that was gripping the priestess unintentionally tightened, his claws lightly piercing her skin. He didn't notice.


Kagome frowned. Firstly, her arm hurt, which almost offended her except that it could have killed her if not for the older, wiser Sesshoumaru very quickly making sure she was immune to his poison. Just in case. Kagome held her boyfriend in the highest esteem for his actions, but this was not her boyfriend. Well, he was, but he didn't know that yet. As far as she knew, he had convinced himself the kimono incident was a fever dream.

Secondly, he looked constipated. Emotionally constipated. Like he was in pain. From the way he had dragged her out of the field, and the field's similarities to his older, wiser counterpart's painting, Kagome had deduced that her older, wiser boyfriend and his younger, dumber self were hiding something from her. That being said, older, wiser Shou might actually be trying to tell her something. After all, she had seen the painting many times. He had brought her attention to it, even.

Something bad had happened here, or in a place so similar to this field that it may as well have been the same. Kagome's head started aching to match her arm. Much like maths, mysteries never sat quite well with her. She was absolutely certain that this was a mystery, and wittingly or not, older, wiser, still idiotic Shou had alerted her to its presence.

The miko sighed.

Just another fun day in the feudal era.


At the back of the group, Shippo smelled blood mingled with demonic poison. Fresh, human blood. The kitsune frowned, eyes zeroing in on Kagome. She was definitely injured. Her blood had started to stain the white of her uniform around Lord Sesshoumaru's deathly grip. She wasn't complaining though, and she wasn't dead. In fact, he could almost say she seemed...exasperated? How odd...


A/N: Yes, hello. I have a writing schedule. Or not. I have plenty of excuses for not uploading, none of which you haven't heard before. Please enjoy my late upload.

Love,

Lucy~!