Kagome is seven years old when she knows death. She sits alone in the hospital's waiting room while her mother is filling out papers and answering questions.
An amalgam of odors filters through her nose and coolness clings to her skin. It smells of antiseptic and something timeless and intangible chills the atmosphere, something scentless but heavy with substance that she comes to know as death. Death of disease, death of weariness, death of fate. The hospital is filled with voices and all kinds of noise but it is quiet for those who wait. Kagome can feel the death that haunts its corridors but merely that.
She is too young to distinguish death from death, and right now, it is the death of blood that seeps into the fascicles of her nerves. Her father has been carried off to surgery before she has even seen his face. By the time she and her mother arrive to the hospital, he's already been in surgery for an hour. Car accident, or so she's overheard. Her mother slumps into the seat next to her then, skin ashen and bloodless, body nearly bent in half, head hung low, elbows on her knees, fingers laced behind her neck. A nurse takes note and kindly but firmly asks her to correct her stance. It isn't good in her advanced pregnancy to stress her body, she says.
They wait and wait and – wait. All that comes is delirium and despair and…death. Kagome gorges herself on different kinds of death in the years that pass after her father's death – but only one matters.
Death of innocence. Any other death is infinitesimal in comparison.
Tension suffuses the atmosphere and smoke is still coming down. A pale nimbus slithers out of her lips, dissolves into breath. Kagome stares at him, no streak of blue in her eyes. Grey hardened to granite, heated to charcoal.
"Did you bury her?" What was left of her? She can't speak the whole sentence but there's no need.
He takes a slow drag of his cigarette, then nods.
"Can we go visit her grave?"
A thin brow rises. "We?" Curious, mocking.
Kagome clicks her tongue, smashes her cigarette in the center of the ashtray.
"It was his birthday today, but with all that happened, we didn't get to celebrate. I promised him we would tomorrow, and I never break my promises." Irritation lines the expanse of her forehead, and she scowls. "If I can help it."
It's glaring that he is the reason she has broken her first promise. And that she won't be breaking this one. "But I'd like it if we could visit his mother in the morning. Will it kill you to give me one more day with him?"
He doesn't rebuff her, or give any kind of answer, merely sits there.
Staring.
Scrutinizing.
Dissecting.
The weight of his gaze is unbearable. Kagome clears her throat, needing to fill the silence with something other than his black-frosted inspection.
"If you don't want to take us then tell me where she's buried and I'll drive us there."
A ring of smoke slips out of his mouth, and if Kagome strains her eyes, she can see an upturn on its corners, as if he's more amused than piqued at her sass.
"The house they lived in was on private property owned by my family. It's not habitable after what happened, but I've arranged for it to be cleansed and renovated. I buried her near there, though it's just an unmarked grave for now."
The gap between her brows wrinkles with confusion. Surprise. She hasn't expected him to share this much and is kind of lost on why he does so. But one thing is certain. He hasn't said no. Hope swells in her chest and leaps out of her throat in one breath.
"So we'll go?"
He doesn't even nod this time. "I'll pick you up in the morning."
His cigarette is put out and he is standing before she can register that he does. Lightning-quick, not an ounce of unnecessary motion. It is lithe, spine-tingling, reminds her that there's nothing human under the guise he wears.
"Thank you," she says simply.
And he's gone.
Sesshōmaru comes early, so early that Kagome hasn't even had the chance to properly explain the situation to Inuyasha over breakfast. She has told him that they will be going to visit his mother's resting place but nothing beyond that. The boy has been acting subdued ever since his brother's arrival, strapped in the backseat of Sesshōmaru's car, quiet, eyes downcast, barely breathing. It is worrisome and she doesn't like it. Kagome keeps stealing glances at him from the front seat but it's hard to speak. She doesn't want to tell him what is going on in this claustrophobic environment, so she waits to make the revelations until after they return home. Not that it's going to be his home for much longer. The mere thought depresses her.
The ride lasts almost four hours. In absolute silence. Kagome unfurls from the car seat, takes a moment before she unstraps Inuyasha. The mountain air is crisp and pure and wildness susurrates over her skin. Nothing but earth and sky, far-spread, far-reaching. Smells of soil and tree sap, heavy and syrupy on her tongue, and lighter smells, flowers in full bloom and dew licking the grass. Sounds of birds and the buzz of insects, melodious and titillating her ears, and softer sounds, the psithurism of the trees and forest secrets. It's perfect – but more perfect is the smile that curves the boy's lips when he gets out of the car. He must have missed the place.
Kagome smiles and takes Inuyasha by the hand, following after Sesshōmaru's long strides. Where he leads them is a meadow of lush green and wildflowers, meant for children and sun-kissed laughter. His eyes fall on a patch of ground that appears freshly dug with one large rock marking the spot. She gives a brief nod, and he returns to the car with no words exchanged, leaving them to their privacy.
Kagome sinks onto her knees and gathers Inuyasha into her lap. Minutes pass by with her stroking his hair and humming a tune – then he speaks for the first time.
"Mama's here?"
Her eyes flicker to the boy buried deep in her arms.
"Mhm."
He's chewing his lips, brows creased, thoughtful, perplexed. "Why did niisan bury her?"
"We're all born of the earth, so when we die, we return to her."
Silence engulfs them once more. Kagome knows it must be a foreign concept to him and gives him time to absorb it before she parts her lips again.
"But you know, she isn't really gone." His head snaps up, the back of his skull thumping against her collarbone, his eyes wide and full of bemusement. And longing.
"Nothing truly dies until it's forgotten." She kisses his cheek, smiling. "She'll be with you as long as you remember her." Kagome's fingers are circling his wrist, guiding his small palm down to his chest, over the beat of his heart. "Here."
Her hand overlays his and they fall into silence again. Meekly, he sneaks a peek up at her, bites his lower lip. She smiles, urging him on, and his voice spills forth hushed, uncertain.
"Did your mama die, too?"
Her smile turns rigid on her lips, bitter with the slightest touch of sweetness. Something hot and viscous clogs her throat, stretches around her vocal cords, but she forces the words through the glutinous barrier.
"Yes, she did."
"Is she still with you?"
Inuyasha is staring at her with such an open expression – breath of gold-pure fire, believing – that she can only say the truth.
"Some parts of her, yeah."
Kagome has never lied – the only lie she's ever told has become truth before she's realized it can be nothing else.
Sesshōmaru is waiting by the car when she reaches him, cigarette half-smoked between his lips, one knee bent at a smooth angle, one forearm flat against the car's roof, his back resting lazily against the driver's door. Pale-thin coils slide out of his lips with each rise and fall of his Adam's apple, carried away by the breeze.
Kagome stares at him, frozen in place, jaw locked tight. It's like he's rubbing it in, and though she knows he's right, it's not his choice to make. She smokes maybe five cigarettes a day, fully conscious of the health hazards and despite of them. If she ever decides to quit, she will do so on her own terms and because she wants to. If she's learned one thing from her mother…is that nobody can force a person to quit their poison just because it's poison.
Inuyasha is still at his mother's grave after Kagome's encouragement to stay and speak to her as if she's right next to him. Some people like to speak to the dead to keep their connection alive. Perhaps he's one of them. They won't know until he tries, and she has things to discuss with his brother that she doesn't want the boy to hear. Kagome opens her mouth – she plunges straight to the heart of the matter with the delicacy of broken glass.
"Can you bring him here on his birthday every year?"
He exhales slowly and tilts his neck in what she perceives as a nod. Swift, definite. She has been ready to fight him tooth and nail about this, has steeled her nerves for the coming argument, that his easy acceptance has her blinking and baffled, lips slightly ajar. It takes her a few seconds to regain her composure.
"Good," is all she can say. Still mildly confused.
"Why?"
That why catches her unprepared, confuses her even more. Kagome looks at him, aghast. It should be damn obvious why she makes such a request of him…but if he needs to know then she'll damn well enlighten him. He speaks again before she can, though.
"You're still young enough to have children of your own. Why do you want him? He's not even human."
Oh. Kagome draws back, reigns in her anger. It seems that she has completely missed the mark with that why. Though to be fair, her misunderstanding is quite justified based on their talk. A sigh works its way out of her too-tight lips, and she shakes her head.
"I don't." It's emphatic and she doesn't care if he'll believe her or not. "I don't want children."
He is watching her carefully now. Half-lidded, maybe intrigued. But she can tell that he does believe her. He stays silent, takes another drag, almost taunting her. Tempting her.
A chuckle rumbles in her throat. To hell with it. Kagome snatches his cigarette, aware that he must have seen it coming. With his reflexes, he's had more than enough time to stop her if he wants – but he doesn't. The paper is warm and damp and has the taste of his skin. The tobacco tastes even better than usual. More potent, spicier. She doesn't know if it is because of the different brand or just the fact that she has stolen it from him. They do say that there's some kind of thrill in theft.
Nicotine hits her veins and she moans softly. A grin lifts the edges of her mouth, less grin, more teeth – rows of whiteness and the blunt side of provocation.
"And you're right. He isn't human, and I don't know how to raise him right. But you don't know either."
Her stare cuts through him. He's still watching her, quietly, waiting. Kagome gives his cigarette back. Only one drag is left of it now. She delivers her last line as he has the last smoke.
"You may be blood – but you're not brothers."
It has only been a quarter of an hour since their return to her flat. Kagome is more than a little surprised when Sesshōmaru comes up instead of leaving but doesn't make a big deal out of it. He knows what he's inviting himself into. Inuyasha is the first to use the bath, flushing beet red when Kagome makes to follow him since they usually take their baths together, and insisting he can bathe on his own. She has the distinct feeling that his brother's presence elicits this rare show of independence. Still, she's glad for it, laughs and shoos him in the bathroom. It gives her time to actually bake the cake for his birthday.
She makes a pot of coffee first, serves a cup to Sesshōmaru on autopilot, whether he wants it or not. Steaming hot and black. He takes a sip, then another, and that's that. Busying herself with the baking of the cake, she even forgets he's there, until Buyo saunters into the kitchen as if she owns the place. Kagome doesn't pay much attention, pretty much used to it, going over the ingredients in her mind. I need…hm, eggs, butter. She is bending over the fridge, searching for those and milk, when she's startled by the purr of pure satisfaction that resounds inside the small space.
What the –? She turns around fast, two eggs loosely held in one hand, only to see Buyo attached to his left calf, spine curved, eyes closed, purring her throat out.
"She's never that cuddly with me."
The sentence is out of her mouth before she is aware of it and without meaning to say it aloud…but the sight has rattled her.
"That's because you're human."
As if to give gravity to his point, he bends down and drags his fingers over Buyo's mottled fur, then dips them in its softness, stroking, rubbing. One deep, drawn-out purr echoes. Unlike any other. Kagome eyes the fickle feline flatly while Buyo rolls on her back, still purring, shameless and spread out for him. Kagome's brows twitch and he chuckles. It's…unsettling – this image of domestication. Contradicting. His words state one thing but his actions imply another. Kagome doesn't know how to interpret it, so she leaves it be.
"You weren't lying before."
Before –? Her lips purse, taken aback. Yet again. His predilection to changing subjects abruptly and without the barest warning is throwing her off, but she's starting to get the hang of it. There's only thing he can be referring to in this case.
"About not wanting children?" One dip of his chin. She shrugs, takes out the rest of the ingredients and puts them on the counter, then closes the fridge with her heel. "Yeah. You can tell?"
"You haven't told a single lie so far."
Kagome has her back at him, so she can't tell what expression he's making, if he even makes any, but it doesn't matter much. She gives another shrug, reaching in the cupboard for a bowl to stir the butter with the eggs.
"And I never will. I hate lies."
There's a small pause after that, fraught with something heavy, palpable.
"I spoke with my mother last night. We'll shoulder the living expenses."
The spatula slips between her fingers, clatters on the tiled floor. He can't mean what she thinks he does. Kagome spins around, eyes wide open, lungs burning and breathless.
"Wait…" Her gaze collides with his. "Does that mean –"
"You can have him until his coming of age."
He is dead serious. She can tell by the inflexibility in his tone, the brightness in his eyes. But what stuns her more is that he is dead serious. About letting her raise his brother. When only a night ago he has been adamant on the opposite. Kagome will say yes – they both know that – but she needs the why.
"Why the change of heart?"
"It was always supposed to be like this. Izayoi's death came earlier than we expected, but it doesn't seem to have changed anything." A sound vibrates in his throat – laughter meshed into sighing and something masculine that gives it an edge. "Maybe it was meant to be, that he's raised by a human."
That answers many whys – but one still remains. Kagome pins him with a piercing stare. Unblinking, unwavering.
"Why did you only visit him once every five years?" Her eyes narrow into thin slits, warning him that she won't let this go until he speaks the truth. "I thought that you just didn't care…but you kinda do. Or you wouldn't have agreed to this." She crosses her arms and tilts her head to the side. "So what gives?"
There's that same sound, and honesty.
"I used to visit more often the first five years after his birth, though I doubt he remembers." His eyes become darker – darker than black. "Inuyasha takes after our father in looks. But in my natural form, so do I."
Kagome studies him closely as he speaks. It isn't their color that makes them black but what lives inside them. He has seen…too much.
"It became…complicated."
Oh. She reels back, almost stumbles on her own feet. The why is like a hard blow to her empty stomach, deprives her of oxygen, makes her queasy and lightheaded. It's not because what he insinuates is unthinkable…but because it isn't. A film of tangled thoughts flashes through her mind and she can see it happening. Living alone deep in the mountains and the only man who comes is the mirror of things that reflect love and need and lust and damnation. Kagome can't blame the woman any more than Izayoi has probably blamed herself.
Teeth bite the inside of her lip until it bleeds. She is raising her eyes and diving into that fathomless void. Challenge laid bare, decadent, forbidding – his eyes.
"Once a month." She more growls than speaks. "I want you to visit once a month at the very least. It's not…complicated, in our case."
He is standing then. It is so fluid that seems like slow motion. His steps are languorous, and he is coming closer. Closer. Eyes burning blacker, knees grazing, shadow and heat looming over her. He reaches out a hand, whirls a tuft of her hair around two long fingers.
Kagome swallows thickly, takes a step back on instinct, her back colliding with the counter. "What –?" Her voice is low and husky and she's so disoriented. She can't tell if he wants to intimidate her or rip her hair out or bite her or –
"I need to know your scent."
He brings them to his lower face and inhales deeply. An unintelligible sound erupts from her throat, something between oh and hm and mn, and her knees have grown weak by the time it's over. He uncurls them with maddeningly slow motions, but doesn't move away, and when he speaks, his voice is smooth and hot on her lips.
"Once a month."