The concrete and the clay beneath my feet begin to crumble
But love will never die
You know, we'll see the mountains crumble
Before we say goodbye
My love and I will be in love eternally
That's the way
That's the way love's meant to be...
--They Might Be Giants
Fingers trailed across a broad, pale back; nails digging into flesh followed by a sharp gasp of pleasure just as a calloused palm kneaded her breast. Hips lifted up to meet hips thrusting down, pressing in to penetrate harder, more deeply. Her legs splayed to let him in, toes curling as her body tensed in pulsing, almost painful anticipation. Pushing in ever so slowly, he paused mid-thrust, settling inside her to let his blood cool. Sighing shakily, pressed his face against the side of her head and breathed in deeply.
He tried to concentrate on something other than the woman underneath him, because he was so close, and she wasn't helping, squirming beneath him like she was. Unable to help himself, his tongue traced the shell of her ear lightly, causing them both to shiver. With another sigh, he drew in her earlobe. She moved underneath him, moaning as she felt the slight scraping of his teeth against her flesh. One last, lingering taste was enough before he let go, his tongue and teeth finding a more inviting home in southerly areas. He wondered dimly if she understood his rather unnatural obsession with her ears: her rounded and all too human ears.
Like father like son... This was how the mighty fall, he thought this just before he thrust into her, beginning their dance anew.
And she was a lithe little dancer.
She was too fast, too warm, too eager and he wanted to make it last – he wanted to get enough of her but no matter how hard he tried, how much he stilled, she always stirred and was stirring... always at arm's length and when he pulled her in, like any good dance partner would, she would give him such fire.
Her fingers tightened around his biceps as she strained to retain feeling, to feel him, to move, to push herself, and maybe even him, over the edge. So she writhed until she could feel him, feel the friction inside herself as her back bowed, taking from him everything he'd give.
A growl, deep and sweet, brought her from the black and she looked up at him. His hair illuminated by the moonlight, the same effulgent shade as the stars – radiant and so very white. Eyes golden and fierce during daylight were muted by the night and turned a sleepy bronze that glowed with carefully restrained passion and like the cold calm sea, that passion roiled just beneath the surface of the water, waiting to be churned from the depths by a passing storm into great, licking waves.
If it were possible, she believed he was more beautiful this way.
She shuddered, her legs trembling weakly as she wrapped them around his hips. With what strength she had, she bucked against him. Sweat soaked skin against sweat soaked skin sliding against each other, bodies pressed so close that there was barely a whisper of air between them. All around them was heat and they were desire made tangible. Their thrusts became urgent, almost frantic. They were fast and desperate, their bodies molding together as if they were truly attempting to become one as they chased that eternal goal that all lovers strive for.
She felt tears slide down her cheeks as she clenched around him, the tension in her body slowly releasing as she spasmed. Like a warm tide, her orgasm washed away her senses momentarily, her over-sensitized body driven delirious with pleasure. He came shortly afterwards, his breathing ragged as he stilled above her.
They stayed intertwined like that, joined at the hip for a very long time and even then their hearts still thundered in the aftermath. He pulled out of her and she shivered. Her thighs were covered in vaginal juices, cum and sweat; she was cold and wet, but not entirely dissatisfied with that fact. And the part of her that always felt guilty thinking that way was very small. Very, very small.
Because despite the fact that he'd finished, he hadn't moved away from her as he would have when they first began their little trysts well over six months ago. Instead, he stayed, nuzzling her, kissing her jaw lightly, breathing in the scent of her hair... and what was stranger than that, she reciprocated his small, almost affectionate gestures. She placed a lingering kiss on his throat, hands running along his back and arms restlessly. Laying back and looking at him, she stopped her wandering and began to smooth the fine hairs at his temple. She gently dug deeper, combing through his hair with a contented sigh. Pressing another kiss to his throat, she reveled in the very essence of him, using all her senses to imprint this moment with the myriad other significant moments in her life. Not that she could or would ever forget. The strings of fate between them had been tied together tightly, like the binding knots on a fisherman's line.
No matter how the sea raged, that knot would never loosen; never release them from the trap enclosing them.
Eventually, they separated. Time was master of itself, and it stopped for no one – no matter how long lived or powerful they might be.
He stood and watched her dress. A dark fire had lit his eyes, his face shadowed with smoldering emotion just barely held back. She often wondered where that fire came from. It was a recent thing, something she'd only noticed in the last few weeks. She didn't understand what that look meant but the fact that it showed was odd. At first, she'd thought that maybe it was her leaving – that maybe it was his way of saying that her departure was his favorite part of their nights together because it signaled a return to normalcy, even if it was only temporary. She had to admit that sometimes it was her favorite part. Other times, she could swear that he might actually resent her leaving, that, converse to her previous thought on the matter, he wanted her to stay or perhaps he just didn't want her to return to his brother.
Either way, the thought was powerfully seductive.
Kagome had tried not to succumb, because as tempting as the thought of being with him, really being with him, was, it was foolish of her to even think it. Even if he felt like she suspected he might, nothing would come of it. They both knew it.
She steeled her heart. Tried to go back to that bitter time before he'd seen to her pleasure but it was no use. At some point he had realized that pleasing her pleased him and so he sought to do it forever afterwards – not that she minded but it made it so much harder for her to ignore the pangs of her heart.
Unlike him, she was a feeling creature, entirely ruled by her emotions. She sometimes longed for his absolute control, his complete mastery of himself. Not realizing that oftentimes he was as lost and confused as she. He didn't understand what was between them any more than she did. In fact, the strange emotions surrounding their time together thoroughly infuriated and befuddled him, as they were firmly beyond his control... and there were very few things that were beyond his control. He just never showed his uncertainty.
Perhaps if he had...
Perhaps...
Then again, she hadn't been any more open than he, despite what she had felt, and she'd tried to deny it for the longest time...
She noticed that things had changed between them, drastically. He had begun to come for her more often, no longer content to have her merely once a week he came nearly every day, in one form or another. And he'd been gentle in all his dealings with her, be they carnal or otherwise. Then there were the small affectionate gestures he'd occasionally grace her with – the way he'd squeeze her hand just before he left, the small kisses he'd place on her neck, her face, her lips – it was strange and new and exhilarating. Stranger still, he stayed afterwards, walking her back to the well each and every time they met each other.
There were even a few times when he hadn't taken extra precaution and had almost caused them to be caught by Inuyasha, as if being with her distracted him somehow.
And then there was the night he'd come for her, and instead of taking her directly to their meadow, as he had before, he took her someplace else -- to a small, slow moving river with a set of tinkling rapids.
Over those rapids danced dozens of what she had taken for tiny fireflies. As they came closer, she realized her error. The motes of lights over the river weren't fireflies; they were spirits of some kind. Sesshoumaru had whispered to her that they were kodama that inhabited the cherry trees around this river. During certain nights in late summer, they would leave their trees and dance over the river for one last celebration of life before they were forced into dormancy for the winter.
The sight took her breath away as he moved in closer, so that they floated in the middle of their celebration. She was afraid at first, knowing how sensitive some spirits could be, especially when it came to humans. The kodama didn't seem to mind, though, capering about as if they weren't even there. Kagome smiled and held out her hand, allowing a stray kodama to flit across her opened palm. It tickled and she laughed.
The forest spirits mimicked the sound as best they could. It didn't sound much like her laugh at all, not that she minded. To her, it sounded like millions of tiny little bells chiming jubilantly while a host of softly played flutes underscored the melody.
Truly, it was one of the more beautiful things she'd ever experienced in her life. Her breath taken away, it was all she could do to smile and lay her head against her lover's chest, fingers absently playing with the collar of his kosode. He pulled her closer, maneuvering her so that her head rested in the crook of his neck.
She hadn't known what to think of the gesture at the time, other than to be exquisitely confused, wondering the entire time when the other shoe would drop. It never did. He simply held her and she held him while they watched the kodama flit through the trees like silent paper airplanes.
It marked the first time they'd been together fully clothed.
They'd stayed like that the whole night – not that she remembered much, she assumed that at some point she'd fallen asleep in his arms, because she had woken up the next morning in Kaede's hut, neatly wrapped in her own sleeping bag. How he accomplished this without waking anyone (especially Inuyasha, who should have sniffed him out, even if he hadn't noticed his presence) else up was beyond her.
He was a powerful daiyoukai, no doubt he had his ways and she chose not to question it, just as she chose not to examine why he'd shown her the kodama's grove. Sesshoumaru was ever inscrutable. She had accepted that she'd never be able to figure him out; besides, she kind of liked being surprised all the time.
From that night forward, their time together wasn't always spent naked and squirming. When he'd come for her, she never quite knew what it was he wanted – the sex or the company. Sometimes it was a bit of both, though more and more often, he'd take her to places just like the kodama grove.
In the intervening years, no matter how hard she'd tried to forget those moments, she never could. All she'd have to do was close her eyes and see -- the night they'd sat atop the trees and listened to the King of the Forest play his ocarina – the sunset they'd viewed just after a rain storm in the deep forest, hiding behind the underbrush as a kitsune wedding party marched by silently. They were amongst the happiest and saddest memories she had...
She'd never known why he'd done it. His actions suggested a sentimentality that was out of character, and yet... she'd always had the feeling that he seemed to like sharing the magical tranquility of such places with her.
Most times, they didn't talk, but sometimes, just sometimes, he would deign to explain to her what she was seeing – the significance of a certain tree or the kind of youkai that inhabited a particular river. She would listen raptly, occasionally asking a well thought out question, which he would actually answer without even a hint of condescension.
For the most part, however, he maintained the implacable facade of the Demon Lord of the West – cold, hard and immovable -- but every now and then, something would flicker beneath. It could be found in a small twitch at the corner of his mouth or the momentary softening of his eyes, but it was there and she saw it, no matter how hard she'd convinced herself in later years that she hadn't. During those quiet times with him, she observed a glimmer of a greater man, or demon as it were; one that loved deeply and could be loved in return.
Then there was the night he told her about Rin, how he'd found her and saved her. He hadn't said much, telling the story with a perfunctory bluntness, but beneath the taciturn tone of his speech she could hear the distant keening in his heart. That little girl had meant the world to him. Her loss had hurt him more than he would ever admit. And it was that bit of secret knowledge that had been her downfall...
Yes, things had complicated themselves quite nicely. Just like a kitten with a new ball of yarn, she'd inexorably tangled herself up in his string, because she'd realized that even if he wasn't capable of it, she had feelings for him – it wasn't quite like love and yet it was. Somehow, being with him became more a need, rather than the previously cold, pitiless want. It was a realization that was as startling as it was subtle, like a flower blooming overnight; so wondrous and unexpected but truer than those three words human and youkai thought so important. Indeed, what she felt for him went beyond simple love, beyond rational explanation. And even though those three words seemed so inadequate, they were the only words she could use to describe it.
I love him...
A few weeks after that little revelation, the ultimate showdown with Naraku began and ended with an absurd kind of abruptness. And as he lay dying, coughing up ropes of thick, black blood, he delivered his parting shot, ending her delusional little play with a final, bitter soliloquy.
"You think you've won," he rasped, smiling and laughing, blood bubbling from between his lips. He looked at Inuyasha pointedly as he spoke. "You think you're quite the hero, don't you? Won the day, defeated your enemy... got the girl. But you don't really have her, Inuyasha." There was an eruption of sound, where Inuyasha demanded to know what he meant, and everyone else told him not to listen, yet they all quieted when he spoke once more in a fierce but grating whisper. "Your flower has been plucked, Inuyasha, and not by you..." Naraku's line of sight strayed to Kagome, an action which hadn't gone unnoticed.
"What—what do you mean by that?" Inuyasha murmured, knowing deep down what Naraku meant but not wanting to believe it. He shrugged off Sango, who had attempted to keep him from approaching the dark hanyou.
Naraku made an odd gurgling sound as he struggled for breath. He coughed up wads of near black blood, further spattering his face and the ground around him with gore. "Don't be so obtuse, Inuyasha," he wheezed, his blood stained lips curling into a cruel smile. "She's betrayed you, just like Kikyo did, though I think Kikyo was far more merciful..." He chortled wetly. "At least s-she had the decency to kuh-k-kill you..."
Inuyasha snarled, his eyes briefly going red as he gripped the front of his enemy's tattered kosode. "ENOUGH GAMES! TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW!"
"The devil tempted her virtue and she, your not-so-virgin priestess, tempted heaven like a wanton harlot, allowing a snake to slither through her grass – behind your back, Inuyasha. Behind your back. But you mustn't blame her, we both know that power is seductive, now don't we?" He paused, eyes glinting harshly in the mid-day sun. "Ah, frailty, thy name is woman." And Naraku just laughed, long and hard.
Before anyone could stop him, Inuyasha turned on Kagome, eyes wet and full of disbelief. "Tell me it's not true..." he whispered. Kagome couldn't say anything, her eyes were wide and still locked on Naraku, whose dark eyes glared back at her as he laughed and laughed and laughed. Inuyasha shook her and she looked up at him. Her skin was ashen, her body trembling. She couldn't look at him, and he knew then – he knew. He growled lowly, his fingers tightening around her upper arms, nails digging into flesh.
Kagome was too afraid to say anything, too mortified to even look up, and a part of her almost felt she deserved this pain. Then the world became a messy blur and she wept hard and heavy, tears dragging down her cheeks like lead.
"Why?" he murmured tearfully, the grip on her arms decreasing. "Why, Kagome, why?"
She had expected rage. She had expected him to hurt her, perhaps even lose control of himself as a result of it. But she had not expected his simple, anguished question. Why? Why, indeed.
"It was the kindoku," Miroku interjected hesitantly, ignoring Sango's hand, which shot out and touched his arm in warning.
Inuyasha gasped, instantly letting go of Kagome. He knew of the poison, and the accompanying curse.
During all this, Naraku hadn't stopped laughing, the braying sound of it echoed through the clearing like a harsh and dissonant horn. "Yes, yes, it was the kindoku. The kindoku is to blame..." he growled, his voice thickly sibilant, like a man possessed. "Ah, how I wish I could claim the honor of your downfall, Inuyasha. Yes, the kindoku was a factor, but you see -- though I am The Grand Architect of your misery, past and present, this time I didn't execute the plans myself, I merely drew in the right elements and allowed the castle to build itself."
"Who is it? Who did this?" Inuyasha commanded, ignoring Sango's vociferous protest.
A twisted, feral smile snaked across Naraku's face as he hissed: "Why don't you ask your brother."
Several things happened simultaneously.
Sango quickly jammed her sword through Naraku's chest, which caused his wild, phlegmatic laughter to cease almost immediately. Inuyasha turned to Sesshoumaru, who had long since turned his back to walk away; his retreat was met with a roar of absolute, unbelievable rage. Kagome, who was as white as a sheet, fell to her knees numbly, so shaken by what had happened that she'd gone nearly catatonic. Miroku caught her, looking around helplessly as the world tumbled into chaos. And Shippou, who understood the least of all present, wept along with Kagome, all the while begging her to come back as he intrinsically understood that only she could stop this madness.
The young priestess wasn't aware of much. She had heard Inuyasha bellow Sesshoumaru's name. He'd called him a bastard, and then – and then he and Kouga had attacked the daiyoukai; were attacking him still while Sango pleaded with them, with sword and Hiraikotsu, to stop this madness.
"Kagome-sama, are you all right?"
"Kagome-chan, you have to stop them."
Said at the same time, she wasn't sure who was speaking to her. She looked up, towards the clamoring dust cloud – the battlefield where Naraku lay dead and those who killed him now fought each other as most vicious enemies. Her ears tuned to the cries of battle. Where accusations were made that he'd planned this all with Naraku, where equal denials were made and the one sentence that would haunt her forever sang out like the world's most cruel harmony.
And as his younger brother shouted at him, asking why he had to take this one thing for him – was he so jealous? – the elder brother answered with cold spite. "I won't fight you for a human woman, half breed. The girl was a means to an end. Take her if you like. She's outlived her usefulness to me."
Those words struck her heart, barreling through her chest like a cannonball through the thick, wooden planks of a ship, obliterating what should have been so strong and solid into a mass of matted splinters and debris. Kagome grabbed her chest, and whether it was to keep her heart from shattering or wishing it to stop, not even she knew. She could faintly hear Shippou crying and Miroku mumbling apologies, but most of the world was silent and gray.
All this time, and she'd been nothing but a tool to him. Truly, he'd felt nothing, even though she thought... and she had... she'd loved him. She loved him. And he... unable to even bear thinking the words, she clutched her clothing to her and shuddered. The shock was too much for her tired body and she fainted dead away.
Across the field, unnoticed by all, another priestess walked. She stopped to gaze with ill concealed disdain at the dark hanyou's remains, which were beginning to steam a bit as the now pure Shikon melted away his tainted body. Without even thinking about it, she reached into the pile of guts to pull the jewel out, regarding it curiously before wiping it off on her pants. Once cleaned, her dark eyes locked on to her reincarnation. Her fist tightened over the jewel momentarily as she approached.
The monk held her reincarnation a bit closer, while the little fox demon rose to stand just in front of her. This girl, this Kagome, seemed to instill such loyalty in those whose hearts she'd touched. Pity she'd given that heart out so freely – Really, we are quite alike, aren't we, Kagome?
"Monk, help the Slayer," she ordered smoothly.
At first, he was reluctant, but once his attention was drawn to Sango, he could see she needed assistance, yet he hesitated. This priestess was hardly trustworthy.
"Go to her, I'll take care of Kagome." He hardened his resolve, the hand with his Shakujo moving protectively in front of Kagome, as if to shield her. "The jewel is whole again. Naraku is dead, and my vengeance is complete. I won't harm her..." He still didn't leave. She sighed. "She's me and I'm her..." She smiled sadly, her eyes softening for the first time in her un-life.
The Monk nodded and dashed away, but not before transferring Kagome to Kikyou's care.
"Little fox demon, is your sense of smell sharp?"
Shippou nodded slowly, wary of what the priestess might want of him.
"Deep in the forest behind, you will find a hot spring with deep, red water. It'll smell quite strongly, so it'll be easy to find – but be careful not to breathe too deeply, the fumes are noxious. Collect the crystals at the water's edge and bring them to me."
Shippou, like Miroku, wasn't sure if he ought to do as told. He didn't want to leave Kagome alone with Kikyou, knowing their history, and yet he felt compelled to leave at the same time. It was well known that there was a kind of crystal that came from a hot spring that had a powerful smell; powerful enough, it was said, to wake the dead. Shippou's own father had told him that mortal daimyo kept a proliferation of the substance on hand in order to wake their women, who fainted often.
The kit had to think for only a second or two before dashing into the woods to find the hot spring. Several minutes later, he staggered from the wood with a small amount of crystals held tightly in his shaking fist. It had been hard for the kit to collect them, he'd nearly passed out from the smell – it really was quite strong. He handed the milky white crystals to Kikyou, falling on hard on his backside as he watched the priestess's every move, looking for any indication that she intended to hurt Kagome.
The priestess rolled the minerals in her hand, gazing at them contemplatively for a moment or two. "Kit, bring me two stones and a leaf."
Shippou did as he was told once more – procuring the largest stones he could find and volunteering one of his own leaves for Kikyou's use. The priestess carefully placed the crystals on one stone, using the other to grind them into a fine powder, which she swept onto the leaf. She carefully folded it so that it formed a crude container. Adjusting her charge's head, she held the open end of the leaf under Kagome's nose. The young girl jerked, her eyes fluttering wildly as she was brought back to consciousness. Registering who held her, she halfheartedly hoped Kikyou was here to take her soul; she wasn't so sure she wanted it anymore.
Setting down the leaf container, Kikyou gave her a wan smile. "It seems my soul will never escape my one mistake."
Kagome looked away, eyes full of tears as she struggled for breath. She didn't want to hear what Kikyou had to say, even if there was no malicious intent, the words still stung like hell.
"Do you know what my mistake was, Kagome?" Kikyou asked, holding the Shikon and her reincarnation tightly. "I didn't trust in the love I had for Inuyasha, I thought I did – but there was always a question in my heart because I never knew my place in his."
Kagome nodded numbly, sitting up and dusting herself off hastily in a halfhearted attempt to pull herself together. Kikyou's words were grim but true. Her lip trembled at this, and though she had tried to stop crying, the tears still fell – they came so fiercely that she nearly choked on it.
"I didn't—I didn't mean to huh-h-h-hurt anyone," she wheezed, words coming out between stolen breaths.
The elder priestess's mouth was drawn into a tight line as she pet Kagome's hair. Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly as she fought her own tears. "I know. I know you didn't."
Kikyou looked away, staring out at the battle that still raged around them. She watched Sesshoumaru and Inuyasha fight, dancing around each other in a twirling mass of red and white. Nudging Kagome gently, she drew her gaze away from her navel and towards the battle before them. She pointed and whispered: "They don't understand, Kagome. Even hanyou like Inuyasha -- with their half-human blood -- don't feel the way we do. They're selfish. It's their nature, just as it is our nature to give ourselves over to our emotions."
Kagome didn't have anything to say -- unable to negate or affirm the notion in her own head, much less outside it -- she remained tearfully silent; dark eyes trained on the one she loved as he fought like a brilliant, spinning beacon; she couldn't take her eyes off of him. Kikyou noted this, and was surprised. She had thought her reincarnation was brokenhearted over the hanyou, she had always seen this eventuality in the girl's future. However, it was clear that it wasn't the hanyou she was heartbroken over... though she supposed, in a way, she must have been. Their relationship would be ever changed because of her feelings for the older brother.
Kikyou had no desire to know how the girl had entangled herself with Sesshoumaru. Human-loving daiyoukai, like the Great Inu no Taisho, were an anomaly. His eldest son had always exemplified the true nature of greater youkai; who were, as a rule, all ruthless, cold beings that only sought for power and cared little for the lives of others, especially humans. She had killed a great many daiyoukai in her time, and had not once regretted it. And if she had the power now that she had in her first life, Kikyou would have killed Sesshoumaru in revenge for corrupting her reincarnation; the beast deserved no less.
But what she had told the monk was true -- she had let go of all her hate, and hence had lost any power the stolen fragment of Kagome's soul had given her. Even the power to purify the Shikon was beyond her.
Truly, Kagome would be the one to decide the jewel's fate.
She could not give the girl the comfort she needed, nor could she seek vengeance on her behalf -- there was nothing left but her final duty to the jewel. Kikyou gently helped her reincarnation to sit up, wiped away the tears and the dirt, and smoothed her mussed hair. After a moment of quiet contemplation while she waited for Kagome to regain her composure, Kikyou carefully pressed the jewel into her palm.
"Protect it, Kagome. And should wish on it; choose more wisely than I..."
Kagome clutched the completed jewel to her chest, eyes blinded by tears that had yet to fall. She watched the woman she was reincarnated from drift away like a lonely ghost and she wondered what Kikyou would do now that vengeance no longer moved her.
Would she continue on as she was or would she simply disappear?
Licking her lips, Kagome gazed down at the completed Shikon no Tama. It glittered in the sun, glowing with its own internal light – winking at her from its place in her palm.
"What will you do, Kagome," it asked, "will you fade away or will you remain?"
In that specific moment, everything had seemed so clear. She curled her fingers over the jewel, holding it tightly in her closed fist. She was unaware of how tightly she was holding it... unaware of the biting pain in her palms as her fingernails dug into her flesh. Small rivulets of blood circled lazily around her wrist as she stood up and took in the world around her.
Brother against brother, they had abandoned the tenuous pretense of fraternal loyalty they'd built over the last few years. The wolf prince had been taken out of the fight entirely; having been thrown through several trees, he was struggling with consciousness. He lay on the sidelines, wounded and semi-delirious. His pack-mates tried their best to tend to him, eyeing the still fighting brothers warily.
The demon slayer, who'd tried so hard to stop the fighting, lay completely unconscious and unmoving not far from the wolf prince. Her pale face was marred by a nasty cut on her forehead, which was bleeding languidly. The monk held her, tearing off one of his long sleeves to wipe the dirt and gore from her face, looking up long enough to regard the ultimate display of sibling rivalry with disgust.
At first, they'd used their swords to pummel each other. Tessaiga versus Tokijin. The hanyou had quickly realized that his brother's damnable sword, Tenseiga, would protect the bastard's life. And he was so focused on the battle that he didn't quite realize his brother's sword was missing. The hanyou's only thought was that Tessaiga was useless against him.
If he wanted the sonvabitch dead, he'd have to use his own two hands.
He had no problem with that.
So, the hanyou sheathed his sword. It'd be too honorable to kill him with his father's fang. The meaning behind the action wasn't lost on the young demon lord, and it incensed him.
"Giving up so easily, hanyou?" he sneered callously.
"You wish," the half-breed spat back as he launched from the ground, barely dodging his brother's sword.
The blade swung through the air, singing as it went, while the hanyou tried to find an opening, any weakness in his brother's defense.
"Your desperation is pathetic, Inuyasha. To think you could defeat me without our father's sword... as if your hanyou strength means anything."
The younger brother snarled, his fist swinging out, and, amazingly, it connected with the demon lord's face. Stunned, Sesshoumaru slid back; staring at his brother in silent disbelief as the hanyou surged forward to attack again, managing to land several punches and kicks before being thrown backward. His bare feet scraped the ground until he stopped – his eyes glaring at his brother from beneath his bangs. Inuyasha let out a small bark of laughter, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk. "Keh, as if I'd dirty my blade with your blood," he said, putting proprietary emphasis on the word 'my' as his eyes glinted maliciously, "you're beneath me, Sesshoumaru."
As soon as the words left his mouth, the temperature dropped abruptly and an electric tremor ran through the air, charging it with unseen power. The wind whistled through the trees, become steadily stronger. Leaves were torn off, branches broken, and dirt was kicked up as the wind became a howling din of sound and fury. And then, it just stopped. There was a booming crack – like the sound of gunshot going off – as Sesshoumaru shot forward, his eyes briefly flashing red as he launched himself at his brother. Inuyasha met him in the middle. And the clearing seemed to erupt as their youki met, pushing against each other like opposing magnetic fields.
Kagome watched this and she wanted to weep, but by will alone she held those tears at bay. She'd drowned her sorrows long enough. Now, she had to be strong, because looking around her, all she could see was her weakness. She had brought the Shikon no Tama to this era. She'd broken it. She'd invited the daiyoukai into the village. She'd healed him. And she... and she... but it would all end now. Kagome took one last look. Brothers fought. One lover cradled the other. Friends lay wounded and in pain. And here she was, mostly unscathed, having lost nothing when compared to all that those gathered before her.
A lover.
A friend.
A brother.
A family.
A soul.
A home.
A future.
All of them had lost so much, and all because of her, but only she had the ability to make it all right. She knew she couldn't wipe away the past, couldn't take back any of the hurt they'd endured. But she could give them an end – one happier than the last.
She called out to Kikyou's rapidly retreating form. The former-priestess turned from her place at the edge of the forest, looking at her reincarnation quizzically. Eyes glittering and alive, she smiled and mouthed two words: "Thank you."
At first, Kikyou had no idea what possessed her reincarnation to thank her. She'd done nothing to deserve any kind of gratitude. Even as she thought that, she realized the horrifying truth of those words and what Kagome meant to do. Her eyes widened and she sprinted forward, hand outstretched, she screamed, "KAGOME, NO!"
Every head turned, the fight stopped and all eyes were on Kagome. Tears flooded her face as she smiled serenely, looking into each face before she closed her eyes and whispered, "I wish..."
Time bent, curling in on itself like a burning leaf; it dragged her along behind, and she was left breathless in its current. It felt as if someone had pulled on her spine – like it was some kind of absurd child's toy or perhaps one of those little champagne crackers sold during New Years. Dreamily, she mused as she traveled through the blue and she wondered if she really was a champagne cracker and perhaps some happy divine partygoer was attempting to pull her string, waiting patiently for streamers and confetti to pop out of her head, it certainly felt like it might. Time shuddered and the back of her head exploded in agony. Her vision went white, then black, and then she lost consciousness, overwhelmed by the light in the time stream...
She awoke suddenly, gasping shrilly as the real world and all its sights, sounds and smells came back to her. She was lying on her back. Looking up blearily at the ceiling high above her, she found that moving wasn't something the rest of her body wanted to do right now. Groaning, she just barely managed to turn her head. Her hand came into view – fingers twitched and she half expected to see a small ant crawling up her wrist but that was six years ago. She'd woken up in the well, feeling just like this. Her hand covered in blood and aching all over, eyes puffy and swollen from tears. She'd just lied there, watching an ant crawling up her arm to her wrist and onto her palm, where it proceeded to ascend to the tip of her ring finger, descending on the other side like the world's tiniest mountain climber.
Six years had passed since then, six long years. This wasn't then, and she wasn't in the well, she was in... the museum.
It took longer than she liked, but she willed her limbs to move, sitting up after much grunting and complaining. Standing came next, once her legs had stopped shaking.
What the hell had—
The thought was left truncated as she screeched in pain. It felt like someone had pushed a white hot iron into her chest. Panicked, she pulled at the necklace around her neck, the source of her agony. Finding the clasp, she shakily unclipped it, instantly dropping the necklace to the ground. Kagome took a second or two to assess the damage. The necklace had hung to just above her breast, she rubbed the skin, which had turned an angry red. It stung. She could only hope the damned thing didn't blister; she'd hate to have to add yet another scar to her already overabundant collection.
"Gonna hafta put some aloe on that," she murmured to herself distantly, looking down at the necklace she'd dropped to the floor.
The Shikon no Tama glowed bright as a star, illuminating the dim museum interior, casting haunting, unearthly shadows over the dusty exhibits surrounding her. Her breath was pushed out of her by sheer shock and she shakily tried to reclaim it, her chest heaving rapidly as she drew air in and out. It glowed as brightly as the day she'd wished on it. She could feel its power, loud and demanding, hammering against every cell in her being. All these years it had been quiet, sleeping, but it was clear to her now that it was very much awake, and it scared the shit out of her.
Pulling off the scarf from around her neck, she picked the thing up and regarded it thoughtfully for a moment, before stuffing it into her pocket. Something was going on here as she gazed at the case that still held Tokijin. Yes, something was going on. Someone had found a way to activate the Shikon, someone who knew about her past –intimately.
For a fraction of a second, she thought that maybe it was Sesshoumaru. Perhaps he thought to draw her out and rectify the mistakes of his past by correcting his one moment of weakness. That thought was quickly pushed aside. For him, it'd been five hundred years. No doubt he'd forgotten all about her in favor of building his empire. She was insignificant to him; besides which, he'd never had any desire for the jewel to begin with. He'd gain nothing by its reactivation.
No, someone else was behind this, though she couldn't imagine who...
A tug on her dress drew her away from dark thoughts and she looked down, unconsciously clasping the still warm jewel wrapped tightly in her scarf. Large golden eyes gazed back at her with limitless curiosity. Kagome sighed, released the jewel, now perfectly cool, leaving it to rest in her pocket. Without even thinking about it, she placed her hand on top of the young child's head, fingers smoothing errant strands of white blonde hair that had escaped the ties that tried to futilely hold it back.
Kagome smiled – and it was so bittersweet.
The child could sense her sadness as if preternaturally attuned to it somehow. Her smile changed in response, becoming more reassuring, less sorrowful. This was why she worried – why the pain of six years ago seemed like nothing to her some days, and everything in the days in between, because this child, her child, wouldn't be here if she hadn't made that one dreadful mistake, and for that she had been gifted with all the joy in the world.
She had been given a daughter, who was beautiful and perfect, but also a daily, sad reminder of the father that never loved her mother. Sometimes it hurt to look at her, and sometimes it was all she could do not to just stare into her eyes – thinking about the girl's father, wondering where he was and if he'd care that he had a daughter. Kagome knew his feelings on hanyou, knew his feelings about her... but this was his child as much as it was hers.
Sometimes, she thought about finding him. She had the resources, but something always stopped her. Kagome knew what it was: she was afraid to face him and even more afraid of what his cold indifference would do to her daughter. She remembered very well the cruel things he'd said to his own brother – the cruel things he'd said to her, about her -- and she didn't have to guess that he'd gift the same kind of viciousness upon his daughter. That – she'd never allow.
The moment she found out she was pregnant she'd vowed not to be the weak wilting flower any longer. She wouldn't be like Izayoi or Shiori's mother, allowing their children to be broken by a world that reviled them. No, she'd be like Jinenji's mother, a fierce protectress – a champion for her daughter. Her daughter would know that she was loved, and she'd be damned if she left anyone harm her, physically or mentally. She wouldn't allow her to live her life like Inuyasha had – alone and afraid inside, hard and impenetrable on the outside, so hard that no one could find their way in. Her daughter would grow up happy and healthy, and no one would take that from her, no one.
The little girl, tired of watching her mom think, grunted impatiently and held up her arms. "Up," she demanded simply, her hands opening and closing when her mother didn't move quite as fast as she would have liked.
"You forgot the magic word," chided her mother.
The little girl pouted a little. "Please."
"That's my girl." And without another word, Kagome gathered the girl up into her arms, closing her eyes and holding her tighter when she felt the girl bury her face into her shoulder despite the shudder of pain it caused.
The little girl pulled back, her lips turning up shyly. She held up a finger and tapped her mother's nose, whispering quietly, "you're the oni now."
"Am I?"
"Mmmhmm." She nodded sagely, looking very serious for a five year old girl. Adding quickly, "no tag backs," just in case her mother thought about cheating. Grown ups always cheated at kid's games...
The little hanyou tipped her head, nose snuffling. A look of confusion crossed her face as her gaze turned towards her mother's chest.
"You're hurt." The girl's small hand hovered just above the reddened welt caused by the Shikon. Her mother quickly guided her hand away.
"It's nothing... I burned myself this morning with the curling iron." The little girl frowned, her expression conveying her doubt. "Don't worry about it... I'll be fine."
"You want me to kiss it better?"
Kagome could only laugh, shifting the young girl's weight so that it was more comfortable. "Uh, no—" she began; stopping abruptly at the crestfallen look her daughter was giving her. "Mommy's owie still hurts a bit, how 'bout you give me a kiss on my cheek instead?" This seemed to appease the child. She kissed her mother on the cheek.
"All better now?"
"All better," her mother agreed. The little girl beamed triumphantly in response. "So, how'd you find me?"
"Used my nose -- just like Uncle Shippou showed me."
"Uncle Shippou is going to be so proud... you gonna tell him when you get home?" The question was rhetorical, but her daughter was far too young to understand that. She nodded enthusiastically, a wide grin spreading across her face, made broader when her mother started to tickle her. The little girl giggled and squirmed until her mother stopped, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. Looking at her for a long moment, Kagome again reflected on how utterly beautiful her daughter was. Carefully straightening out the little girl's bangs, she sighed and said: "How 'bout we use that nose of yours to find Grandma, what d'ya say?"
Her daughter's eyes brightened as she was let down. She immediately grabbed her mother's hand and led her away from the dark hall that held Tokijin. After a short five minute walk, they found Kagome's mother, who was conversing with a young man near an exhibit of Tang Dynasty era pottery. They seemed to be deep in conversation, and Kagome hated to interrupt them. Luckily, her daughter didn't seem to have the same reservations.
The little hanyou gaily skipped up to her grandmother, and, without any hesitation at all, tugged on her skirt until the older woman looked down. She pointed excitedly towards where Kagome stood. She could just read her daughter's lips as they mouthed, "I found her". Kagome's mother looked up and smiled warmly. She politely excused herself from the young man's company and walked towards her daughter. Kagome strode forward to meet her.
"I see she found you," her mother remarked, looking over at the little hanyou, who hadn't joined them. Instead, she'd hung back, gazing up at the young man her mother had been talking with curiously.
"Yeah, she has her father's knack for sniffing things out..." Kagome commented wistfully.
"Or perhaps she takes after her mother – finding lost things," the deep, unfamiliar voice of a stranger spoke to her.
Her eyes immediately landed on the only man in the vicinity. She thought for a moment before answering slowly, gazing at him warily: "Perhaps."
Kagome regarded the young man, who her daughter had dragged over to them. He was young, perhaps a bit older than herself, and unusually tall for a Japanese native; if she were to guess, he had to be about six foot tall. His hair was disheveled, as if it had been a very long time since it and a comb were acquainted. There was a fine sheen of oil across his skin, especially around his face, which he wiped away with a kerchief he'd taken from his pocket. With that same kerchief, he cleaned the thin, wire rimmed glasses he wore. Unconsciously, her lip curled ever so slightly in disgust.
He wore a baggy tweed jacket with patches on the elbows and a pair of dark brown chinos that had seen better days, and his white cotton shirt looked un-pressed. It hung loosely off his frame, as all his clothes seemed to. His rumpled chic was accentuated by a loosened necktie that hung limply from underneath the collar.
He very much looked the part of an absent-minded professor, and that was the problem.
Something was off about him. He was too bland. Everything about him was generic, his face, his clothes, his manner of speech – so slow and deliberate, tinged with nervous social anxiety – it was like he was trying very hard NOT to stand out, like he was trying to blend in. She didn't know exactly how to explain it, but she supposed it was the difference between playing a part and just being. He wasn't just being a professor – she'd met plenty like him, who were awkward and on edge in front of others – no, he was playing a part. All of this was just for show, so that you wouldn't suspect anything, so that you'd trust him because he seemed just perfectly plain and harmless.
If this man's a professor, I'll eat my scarf...
If he was a demon, and she was sure he was, he'd have to have some kind of concealing or cloaking spell on him, because she couldn't sense any youki. She looked him over casually and she didn't find anything out of the ordinary. All spells of transformation usually required something to physically anchor them: like a piece of jewelry or a tattoo of some sort. She didn't see any jewelry or any tattoos, though she supposed he could be hiding them underneath his clothing.
Narrowing her eyes, she concentrated. Even the cleverest concealing spell had its weakness, they were never perfect and something always slipped through, always. Usually in the area the spell was attached to. It took a second or two, but she saw it. The spell flickered briefly around his right hand and just for a moment she could see his hand as it really was, claws and all. Gotcha. She hadn't enough power to do much more than that, but it was enough that she had confirmation of what he really was.
Her mother seemed to come out of a stupor, realizing she'd neglected to introduce her daughter to the young professor. "OH! Forgive my rudeness! Professor Saito this is my daughter—"
"Higurashi Kagome," she interrupted with a slight smile, bowing low. "It's nice to finally meet you in person, Saito-sensei."
"Ah, Miss Higurashi... I had wondered if you were related."
"You know each other?" her mother questioned, looking quite befuddled.
"Yes, sort of, he was the man I came here to see," Kagome said, smiling demurely as she glanced at her mother briefly, trying to signal her with her eyes.
"Oh, the one interested in the Shikon no Tama. Then you two have much to discuss." Her mother bowed out politely, carefully pulling her grand-daughter away from the young man. Clearly, her mother got the message.
"You needn't leave, Mrs. Higurashi. The middle of my museum is hardly the place to be discussing such important matters." He turned back to Kagome, just the tip of his lips turned up with as he gazed at her. "I apologize for missing our appointment, Miss Higurashi. Something urgent came up and I was unfortunately detained. I was returning to the museum hoping to catch you when I met your mother..."
"Apologies are unnecessary, Saito-sensei. I'm sure it was important."
"Yes," he confessed, pantomiming nervousness. "Allow me to walk you out."
There was no way for her to turn his offer down politely. She'd have to be out and out rude, and she wasn't quite ready to reveal herself yet, hoping to string him long enough to learn who he really was and what he wanted.
Damn.
She looked back at her mother, who'd gone a bit pale. Kagome had tried her hardest to keep her family life and her business life separate. Her mother had offered to come and meet her after her meeting for a pleasant girl's day out with her daughter and grand-daughter. She had not planned on meeting a youkai seeking the sacred jewel. Kagome's eyes hardened and she gave her mother a reassuring smile, letting her know she'd take care of it.
Pivoting back, she looked Mr. Saito in the eye and bowed politely. "Saito-sensei, your gesture is truly appreciated but..."
"I insist."
"But I'd hate to be a both—"
"I assure you, Miss Higurashi, it would be my pleasure. Shall we?" he asked, gesturing forward with artificially gawky gentility.
She forced a smile and nodded her acceptance, not trusting her words to speak for her.
Her mother gave her a worried look before taking her grand-daughter's hand to begin the long walk back to the museum entrance. Mr. Saito and Kagome followed just behind, far enough away to have a quiet conversation without their companion's notice if they so wished. But there was no conversation, instead, there was a terse silence punctuated by their footsteps as they echoed through the hallway.
Without really thinking about it, she put her hand in her pocket and held onto the Shikon tightly. Her mind was going a mile a minute. This situation had gone all wrong, and everything was out of her control. She was left to wait for him to make his next move, and so her mind began to conjure up different scenarios and how she might handle whatever it was he'd throw at her. The one contingency she didn't plan on was for him to simply talk to her.
"You have a lovely daughter."
"Thanks," she replied automatically, unnerved by his sudden attention.
She looked over at her daughter, who had turned around and smiled brightly at Mr. Saito. She gave a little wave and whispered a hello before she quickly turned around at the stony look her mother was giving her.
Strange, she thought. Her daughter had never reacted very well to strangers, especially men. It had taken only one disastrous date with Hojo for her to realize this. Her poor daughter had wailed like a vengeful onryō when he tried to pick her up, and when he wouldn't put her down, she'd put her little claws to use on his face. From that day forward, she'd always seen to it that new people were introduced to her slowly, and it always took a couple of visits before she'd warm up to anyone.
"Your husband must be very proud."
She answered with distracted honesty, not thinking before she spoke. "I don't have a husband."
"Oh," he gasped in surprise. After considering his words, he asked, "Did he pass away?"
Kagome snorted, mumbling under her breath, "probably not."
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, nothing – no, her father isn't dead." Or at least I don't think he is... "Listen, I don't mean to be rude, but is there a point to all these questions?"
"No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry. It's just... I was curious. That's all."
"Curious?" she challenged.
"Yes," he replied, clearly discomfited by something. It was the first genuine emotion she'd seen on him in the short time she'd been in his company. He looked at her, an odd light entering into his dark brown eyes. "You're a fascinating woman, Miss Higurashi."
The way he was looking at her made her uncomfortable. She'd seen that look before on the face of a youkai. That was the look they gave just before they pounced. Fingers tightening over the Shikon, she looked away. "Not really, Saito-sensei. I'm actually quite boring."
Kagome could see the museum's entrance just in front of her. Her heart beat a little faster.
"Is that so?" he asked.
"Yes, it is."
"I highly doubt that."
He opened the door for her. Seconds passed with terrifying speed as she moved in front of him, her back to him as he closed the door behind her. In front of her were the steps and freedom. Her mother waited at the end of the stairs, holding onto her grand-daughter tightly and looking up at Kagome with a mixture of worry and fear. All the while, she could feel the youkai's eyes on her. She looked her mother in the eyes and willed her to leave. If something were to happen, she didn't want her mother or her daughter in the middle of it. They'd only distract her.
She looked over at the youkai, and he looked back, his hand causally stuffed into a pocket. The 'aw-shucks' professor routine had disappeared, and in its place was cool, arrogant authority. His hair looked slightly less mussed, his skin was smoother, and the rough lines in his face were gone as the true beauty of his race struggled to surface. She wondered if he even knew what he was doing, wondered if he knew she could see – that she'd know the difference – she could feel just a bit of his youki as it leaked out. It was flaring so powerfully the spell was having a hard time hiding its presence.
She tensed in preparation...
"Have dinner with me." The tone of his voice was frighteningly commanding.
"What?!" she exclaimed incredulously. Of all the things he could say and do, she hadn't expected that.
He pinned her down with his eyes, which had mysteriously lightened – no longer were they a dull, dark brown, but a vibrant hazel. "I said, have dinner with me," he repeated.
"Mr. Saito, I'm flattered but I don't mix business with pleas—"
His eyes seemed to twinkle as if he doubted her words, but was too polite to say otherwise. He interrupted her smoothly, "This is business, as we would, of course, discuss the Shikon over dinner."
Kagome was flabbergasted into silence. Did youkai persistence know no bounds? Recovering herself, she thought a moment before she spoke. "I see you won't take no for an answer, then?" He nodded ever so slightly in response. "Then I'd be happy to. What day is good for you?"
They haggled for awhile, comparing schedules until they came up with an acceptable time both could manage. Two weeks from now, on a Thursday. Snapping her planner shut, she smiled at the youkai with faux-warmth.
"How 'bout you come over to the shrine? I'll cook for you... and you could take a look around. I could even bring out some of the scrolls you asked about, if you'd like."
"That sounds agreeable. Until then, Miss Higurashi."
"Until then," she said, holding out her right hand to seal the deal.
Kagome's sharp eyes turned to his hand as he accepted her gesture. The illusion flickered, and she could see the small tattoo on the flesh between his thumb and forefinger that was the source of his concealing spell. It was a crudely drawn leaf – a common leitmotif she'd seen in spells designed by kistune. But this style, she'd never seen it before. The mark was simple, but damnedably effective, as if the maker of the spell had been experimenting – perhaps it was even his or her first attempt – and it had gone well, not because they'd planned it that way, but merely by lucky accident. She clasped his hand and turned it, looking up at him with a smile that was all sweet innocence. He seemed startled for a moment.
"Nice tattoo," she remarked.
He relaxed almost visibly. "Thank you... I got it when I was young."
She could sense regret in his voice. Odd. The way he said that brought up thoughts of her own mistakes. Looking out into the rapidly fading sunset pensively, she pursed her lips. "Well, I think we've all done things in our youth that we regret later on..."
She looked over at him for a moment, the sun turning everything around them a bright, burning orange. His eyes met hers, and there was a fierceness in them that there wasn't before. "That we do, Miss Higurashi. That we do."
Looking at him, it felt as if she'd been punched in the chest. "Well, then... good evening, Saito-sensei. See you in two weeks."
"I'm looking forward to it. Have a good evening as well, and be careful, Miss Higurashi."
She nearly ran towards the train station where she knew her mother was waiting. Whoever or whatever Satoru Saito was, he was powerful. More powerful than any youkai she'd faced before then – and it terrified her bone-deep. She'd have to plan carefully...
Through the crowds of evening commuters, she could see her mother craning her head, looking for her. And when they finally made their way to each other, she gave her daughter the biggest bear-hug in the world.
"I thought for sure you weren't coming back, it took so long..."
"Phhhffftt, take more than a skinny youkai in professor's clothing to put me out of action," she answered with false-bravado, echoes of her hanyou best friend in her voice.
"Mama!" her daughter exclaimed from her mother's shoulder, holding out her hands insistently.
Kagome took her daughter from her mother's arms. The little girl wrapped herself around her mother, head lolling sleepily. Looking up from the shoulder she'd rested her head against, she smiled tiredly and closed her eyes. They got on the train.
Another passenger made room for Kagome to sit. And as she tried to get comfortable in yet another hard, plastic seat, her daughter murmured to her softly. At first, she found it hard to pick up what she was saying. Intent on ignoring it as it was most likely just the babble of a very tired child; she was surprised when the girl sat up a little.
Looking straight into her mother's eyes, her lids opening and closing languidly, she said, "Momma, are you gonna see that man from the museum again?"
"Yes, why?"
"I like him."
Kagome's eyebrows reached into her hair. She was beyond surprised, she was downright shocked. "Oh, really?"
The little girl nodded, her head softly hitting her mother's shoulder as she whispered: "He smells like home..."