Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha, or any of its characters.
Summary: Sometimes the choices we make lead us down a path we don't expect. She chose to leave his side, and he closed off his heart to the world. Now she is back, and he is the only one that can save her. Can he move past his pain to help her? Or will the consequences of their choices prove to be too much to bear?
Rating: T for language and alcoholism.
*Note, in response to a review: This story was previously posted on Dokuga under the same penname.
He set the cup of tea down in front of her before taking a seat adjacent to her. She thanked him quietly before lifting it to her lips. He watched her, noticing the way her body hunched forward. Even though she may not say it, he could see she was in pain.
"Chamomile. You remembered." She whispered softly. Sesshomaru did not respond. She seemed to accept his silence, and gazed down at the cup. "So my results are that bad, huh?"
"Yes." He could not lie to her. She would know if he tried. She knew how to read him better than anyone. He sat forward, his eyes connecting with hers. "The tissue samples we secured confirm that you have Stage III. It is located in both ovaries and your left fallopian tube, and has spread to the lining of your abdomen."
"What does that mean? That I'm going to die?" Sesshomaru felt his stomach drop. He wished she did not ask that question. He hated when patients asked that question.
"It means that the process to recover is much harder. There are more risks, and this stage is difficult to treat."
"You are dodging the question."
"It is not a question I can answer. There are many factors that go into treatment. I have had successful treatments, and I have had unsuccessful treatments. No case is the same." His words grew louder, and he felt a hand at his knee. He had not even noticed she moved closer.
"This is difficult for you. I am sorry, I shouldn't… I shouldn't have convinced you to take my case." Her voice was so weak, so timid that he struggled to recognize her.
"Difficult for me?" He asked, trying to keep his voice level. She was unbelievable, yet he already knew that. "You haven't changed at all, have you?" His hand, by its own impulse, lifted to her face. Grasping her chin lightly, he lifted her gaze. Her eyes, though misting with tears, were the same enchanting blue he remembered. She was always worrying about everyone else, never caring about herself. Even now, she was trying to be so strong so as not to hurt him. "You don't need to keep up this facade." Her eyes widened. He wanted to console her, protect her, shelter her away from the pain, but he couldn't. The least he could do was be the one she could confide in. He knew without a doubt that she never spoke of her pain, her fears, her anxieties with anyone else. She wouldn't want to burden them. He could be the one to help her face them. He could shoulder them with her.
"It hurts." She whispered, giving in to him. "Sometimes, it hurts so bad I don't want to get out of bed. I feel so weak. It's like… like I'm not me." Her body shook as the first sob fell past her lips. There was no struggle for him then, no moment of indecision. He was on his knees before her, cradling her body against his. She cried harder than he had ever seen her cry before. Her face was buried into his neck, and through the sobs she vented. Her fears, her frustrations, her pains, she told him all of it. Her tears soaked through his shirt, but he did not care. All he could focus on was her. Her painful cries, her heartbreaking words, and even the feel of her bones as he rubbed her back broke him, but still he listened. She was suffering, and it killed him to know that. No matter what happened between them, the small woman in his arms meant the world to him.
He did not know how long they stayed that way. At some point her tears stopped, but she did not pull away. She stayed buried in his neck, hiccupping every now and then. He closed his eyes, inhaling her sweet scent. His heart began to quicken, the simple feel of her in his arms too overpowering to stop it. He knew she would feel the increase of his pulse, but he did not care. He couldn't bring himself to care. A voice within his mind reminded him that she was engaged, but still he did not care. He just wanted to hold her, to stay like this for eternity.
"Do you hate me?" Her soft words caught him off guard. Hate her? That was something he would never be able to do.
"No."
"Are you saying that because I am sick?"
"Hn." He would not even dignify that with an articulate response.
"It wasn't because I didn't love you." Her admission caused his heart to throb painfully. He had known that. He had always known that. But their relationship ended eight years ago. If she were to bring it up, he didn't think he could handle it. No, it was too much too soon. He pulled away slowly before standing and making his way to the window. He couldn't face her, not without his control breaking.
"You will require surgery." He grasped at the first topic that would distract her, dissuade her from continuing. She seemed to sense his need and dropped the subject.
"And Chemo?"
"Yes."
"Will my hair fall out?" It was a question he heard so often, but for some reason coming from her, it was almost heartbreaking. He remembered the hours he spent running his fingers through those long ebony strands as they lay wrapped within the sheets of their bed.
"Possibly."
"I guess that is a stupid question to ask. Who cares about hair when you're fighting cancer, right?" In the reflection of the glass, he saw her reach up and gently lift a clump of the ebony locks and twist the pieces around her fingers.
"It will regrow. Once the treatment is complete." She smiled. He could see it clearly through the glass. It was a sad smile, but a smile none the less.
"Yes, I suppose it will." Perhaps he was giving her false hope, something he never did with patients before, but it didn't matter. No matter what it took, he would save her. He would not let her die. He couldn't let her die.
Love, Caleesci