Chapter 3

Knee Deep

Are you going to live your life wondering

Standing in the back looking around?

Are you going to waste your time thinking

How you've grown up

Or how you missed out?

Things are never gonna be the way you want

Where's it going to get you acting serious?

Things are never going to be quite what you want

Even at twenty-five you got to start sometime

- Jimmy Eat World, A Praise Chorus

A most incredibly handsome and well-dressed underwear model (she could only assume) stared down at her. He was so much taller than Kagome that she barely came up to his shoulder if that. Dark suit. The lean body mass of a Greek God. Sharp features. Perfect posture. Something about the way he held himself told her he was not used to looking down. His light hair was pulled back from his very, very serious face.

Drop Dead Gorgeous Man Bun Man, she thought, somewhat hysterically. I've run into the most handsome hipster underwear model this side of Japan. What luck!

"I don't usually do that in the first few minutes of meeting someone," he said without an ounce of humor.

Mortification City, population Kagome.

"Oh my God! I am so sorry!" She clapped her hand that was holding her to the wall and turned awkwardly on her heels, proceeding to slip further into his grasp.

The man reacted, tightening his grip on her arms, practically hoisting her off the floor and free from the leather bound mess at and around her feet.

"I am so sorry I said that. I can't say how terribly sorry- thank you so much. I- I-" she stammered as she realized he was bending down to pick up the files "Oh, no, please, don't-"

He stood, files neatly arranged in his large hand, extended to her. She shifted the papers still into her arms, balancing the burden precariously, reached for the files all while wobbling precariously on legs of jello.

He laughed then, a quiet deep sound. It reminded her of quiet rivers. She felt it more than heard it, like the crashing of water over falls. Her eyes immediately went to his face but she saw no trace of cruelty, only amusement. He was hardly even smiling but there was playfulness in his eyes.

"Don't apologize. It's quite flattering to be propositioned this early in the day."

She flushed, a cold sweat immediately breaking out over her body.

"All the same," she managed to croak out. "I'm sorry on all accounts. I have a tendency for this," she gestured awkwardly.

He shifted the files, turned toward the direction she had been hurrying, his hand coming to rest gently on her right arm as if to escort her. She blinked and looked from his hand to his face and back again.

"You tend to do what? Run into people or make suggestive remarks to strangers?"

She was at such a loss for words that she merely gawped at him stupidly. He guided her down the hallway in the direction that she had been headed before she ran into him. "Er…Both? No! Nope! I meant the first one. I should stop talking now."

She had never been so embarrassed in all her life. Not even when she tripped in the parking lot in high school and her skirt wound up flying upwards and traitorously let everyone in on the secret that she had started wearing skimpy underwear.

Monday, she thought, please kill me now.

He made another amused sound and it echoed off the halls. His voice was deep.

"Please, I'm fine. Really, you don't need to wal-"

"You might run into someone else. And the next person might let you topple right out of those dangerous things you call shoes. Or take you up on your offer."

Kagome blushed again and laughed nervously which meant she practically barked the laugh into his ear. "Well, since I plan on finding a closet to hide in and never come out from ever, ever again we have nothing to worry about." She glanced down at her feet, "And they are dangerous. You're the second person to tell me that," she huffed under her breath.

The man said nothing but she could feel him smile. She kept her head down. She was much too flustered to look anyone in the eye again. She would just be known as that woman who couldn't die of embarrassment doomed to avert her eyes from humanity for the shame of being an awkward bastard.

"Are you here to see Dr. Wesley?" she managed to force out.

"I do not know a Dr. Wesley. Is he the curator of this gallery?"

She nodded her head and stopped walking. They had reached Dr. Linus' office door. "It's just right here that I needed to go to," she said, gesturing to the door on their left. "I'm so sorry again and thank you and I'm going to go die now."

She started to walk toward the door but the hand on her arm was gently restraining, "Wait. May I ask your name?"

She stalled her step and regarded him carefully. Her face was still burning and she was sweating through her dress as if it weren't currently the tail end of winter. She wondered if Fanny Footinmouth sounded like a real enough name to give him. Better not risk it. She was going to change her identity and move to Australia at the next possible moment anyway.

"I'm Kagome Higurashi."

He took his hand from her arm and extended it toward her, his face a serious, impassive mask.

Oh, hell, she thought. Please don't make me touch you.

When she didn't immediately take his hand he took hers, gently. His fingers engulfed hers. Kagome nearly dropped her files all over again as something electric passed between them. She finally managed to take her eyes up above his collar.

What in the ever-loving hell is going on here? The rational part of her brain demanded.

Ooooh, he's pretty, the rest of her said.

And he really was. He was intense. His eyes pinned her in place. She didn't think she could fall out of her shoes if she tried.

"It suits you." Before she could shift out of his grasp he continued, "Higurashi? You are Japanese?"

"I- no, I am not." she said, pulling on her hand, hoping it wouldn't insult him. "My stepfather was half-Japanese. I lived in Japan for a few years," she added as an afterthought.

He still hadn't let go of her. Interest flickered across his face. "Did you enjoy your time there?"

"Very much," she said, wistful. "I miss it."

His lips parted to reveal a white flash of teeth and finally, he loosened his grip so she could extricate her hand. "I reside in Japan as often as I can."

She studied his face more closely. She knew without a doubt she had never seen this man before. She would remember someone with such a… presence. But he suddenly seemed very familiar to her.

"I'm sure it's not possible," she started, hesitant, "But do I know you from somewhere?"

Surely not from Japan? That might as well have been lifetimes ago.

He looked mildly uncomfortable. It was the first crack in his perfect facade that she could kind of sort of see.

"I am known… in places," he finished, looking away.

"Oh, god. You're the someone Very Important and Prominent aren't you?"

She immediately backed away from him, caught somewhere in between her western culture and her eastern, trying to bow, while trying to get her feet to flee from his sight.

"I don't know what that means," he said, bemused. "Please, Ms. Higurashi, for the sake of your nerves, do not grovel, do not apologize, and certainly," he reached forward and grabbed her arms and the folders within them before they toppled to the floor once more, "do not drop those folders again."

"I-Ok. Sorry," she said reflexively, grimacing. Unable to stand another second in his presence she grabbed the folders out of his hands, turned on her heel, disappeared into a room at their left, shoved the files onto a desk, placed both hand on her hips, bent over and took a deep breath in through her nose- she was so totally getting fired over this- stood up, threw her hair over her shoulder, and returned to the hallway, slamming the door in the face of a shocked Dr. Linus who watched the whole display unfold in three seconds flat.

"Please, what can I do for you?" she asked back in the hallway, her tone now completely calm. Her voice, so full of nerves a moment before, had dropped, becoming formal, apologetic, and unoriginal.

What a funny little thing.

"First, drop the formality. It has always bored me. It was a decent conversation until just now."

Kagame really, really doubted that was true. She could certainly be entertaining for the right audience but she didn't think this man regularly enjoyed listening to a blundering idiot find 65 different ways to say sorry. "Second, could you take me in the general direction of your gallery director? Dr.W-" he paused, clearly having forgotten the director's name. "Dr. Whatever, I would be obliged. That is, again," he paused, his eyes darting over her small frame, "if you do not have anything pressing to attend to."

"I was on my way to see Dr. Whate- before…" Before she inadvertently offered him a real good time? "… before. Please, follow me. Can I take your coat?"

He glanced down at the dark, heavy thing in his hands, and back at the woman, "I don't think you should carry this burden. It looks as if it might overtake you. I'd hate to see how you entangle yourself in clothes. Unless that's part of your initial offer."

He saw the blush bloom over her checks again. With a certain amount of amusement, he watched as she bit her lip and stared back in wide-eyed horror.

"Um!" she finally said back. "Right. This way!"

She set off at a brisk pace trying to outpace him but he was tall and long-legged and he easily kept up with her. Damn it, legs. She was practically running.

"I find your insolent behavior quite refreshing," he said conversationally. Insolent? "If you start again with the formalities I might be offended."

"Then I'll be perfectly insolent for the rest of our time together," she said and instead of tripping over her words she tripped over her feet. She saw his hand move suddenly as if to steady her. Luckily she and gravity were back on speaking terms and she managed to keep upright. "He's just this way." She gestured to the hallway ahead of them wanting this horrifying chapter in her life to just be over already.

"I wonder, "he mused aloud to her back since she had broken into what basically constituted a light jog, "what is an obviously well educated young woman like yourself is doing running files around hallways?"

"I'm obviously well educated?" she asked. And then, immediately, because the question bothered her, "I guess I'm working my way up?"

"You don't deny then, that you are over educated and over qualified for the job of an errand girl?"

His stride matched hers. They were walking (and jogging, respectively) next to one another again.

"Educated enough, I suppose," she replied quietly.

"How old are you?"

That brought her up short. She regarded him sharply, her forehead lined as dark eyebrows drew together, "I-"

"I don't mean to be rude."

She faced forward again and turned a corner. Better not to dig herself in any deeper here. Not today, shovel! She managed to smile brightly. "I don't mind really, I suppose I'm too young to take offense! I'm 21."

She chanced a glance at him. He looked puzzled. "I assumed you were older. You are very mature in your handling of… situations." She could hear the laughter in his voice again, but she quickly looked away.

"I don't know if I would call running into you and then… um… cursing at you mature. But I appreciate the compliment."

"As I've already said, it is quite flattering to be propositioned so eagerly and the mere fact that you did not run away from me after our unceremonious meeting is a testament to your ability to handle unfortunate events."

"Ahhh," she said awkwardly, "I- Thank you?"

"You don't need to be nervous. I will not tell your gallery director about our run in if that is what you are worried about."

Her shoulders, which had been visibly tense, lowered a fraction of an inch.

"Thank you. I'm pretty sure I'd be fired on the spot."

"That wouldn't do at all," he agreed.

They turned a corner, passing various pieces, displayed beautifully but his eyes never left the woman next to him.

Was it her imagination or was he walking very close?

"Did you study at University in Japan?"

He seemed to take an infinitesimal step closer.

"No. I would've liked to, but I only lived in Japan for three years during high school."

"You were schooled in the states then."

"Yes."

"Did you ever travel in your studies?"

"Yes. To Mexico for several digs."

"And you received a degree in gallery studies or anthropology?"

My but he was a very chatty Very Important Person. "Both actually. I minored in cultural anthropology and majored in gallery Studies."

"Well rounded choices for this line of work. A little on the safe side though."

She sighed, wistful, "You have no idea."

Ahead of them, a large archway carved into the marble signaled that they were near their destination.

Kagome led him into the Japanese wing, her eyes searching for Dr. Wesley. Instead of finding the cultured doctor her gaze landed on something entirely different. In the middle of the room, freshly constructed, was a marble stand, covered in cloth, upon which the newest artifact of unearthed treasures sat. Along the walls were scrolls, beautiful statues, and even samurai armor and intricately detailed kimonos.

But it was the new piece that Aaron had mentioned earlier that drew her attention. It was a sword. And it was beautiful. She felt her breath suddenly leave her body as she gazed at the forged steel. It gleamed in the spotlight trained from above. Approaching it slowly, she leaned down over the glass case, examining every detail.

Behind her, the man watched curiously, his eyes sweeping over the exhibit, calculating, remembering, storing away information for later use, before his attention returned to Kagome.

She looked up. He was staring at her. Right. Mysterious Handsome Chatty Prominent Man needed Dr. Whatever. Wesley. Dr. Wesley. He wasn't here to watch her marvel at a sword.

"I'm sorry, I don't know where Dr. Wesley is. I'm sure he'll be here soon. I could take you to his office if you'd like."

"No, I will wait here."

She nodded and then looked back down at the sword. She had never seen anything like it before. The steel was dark, almost black, perfectly polished. She could see her face, strangely reflected back at her, and she wondered if the sword had always looked this way, so dark and tantalizing. She wondered if the owner, or the person who forged it, had spent time gazing at his own reflection in its perfect surface.

"What are you thinking?"

She jumped at the sound of his deep voice just over her shoulder. Personal boundaries were not his thing apparently. Although to be fair, she had basically body slammed him by way of greeting.

"I'm thinking I should go and find someone to help you." She straightened but he held out his hands, coaxing.

"Won't you keep me company while I wait?" Kagome had practically used up all her nervous energy and didn't think she could be in the same room as this strange, enigmatic man anymore. She hedged. "What were you really thinking?" he asked again.

She looked back at the sword and swallowed the knot in her throat.

"I was just wondering," she said slowly, "what the original owner of the sword thought when he…or she," she smiled to herself, "gazed at it. I wondered…"

"What? What did you wonder?"

She dared not look at him. She had used up all 9 embarrassment lives today. She couldn't afford another.

"I wondered if he… or she… spent time looking at his own reflection. It seems so perfect that it's hard to believe it's a weapon and not art. It was created for destruction. Anything could look beautiful from there." She motioned to the blade.

"Do you always think so poetically?"

She winced. Foot, meet mouth. Was he trying to make fun of her?

"No. Not usually. It's just really beautiful."

"You find this beautiful?"

She circled the marble pillar, her eyes never leaving the smooth curve of the blade, the intricately carved hilt.

"I do. It's art in a way we don't see anymore."

"It dispenses death. You consider it art?"

There was no hint of mockery or incredulity in his voice, only mild interest. She finally looked up to see him gazing at her in his steady, disarming way.

"Dispensing death can be an art, can't it? In its most gruesome form? I remember reading an article somewhere about the way a samurai viewed the death of an opponent. I don't know if it was this one man's thoughts or if many believed this, but he believed in swift, honorable, rehearsed killing. It was like a dance to him. I remember thinking that it must be horrifying to be part of those deadly steps. Horrifying… but beautiful nonetheless. There's almost something magical about pieces like this. It's so exquisite but so very deadly."

"If I didn't know any better, Ms. Higurashi, "I would say you sound like a warrior."

He was rewarded with a laugh, "It's a good thing that you know better. I'm just appreciative of something so unique. I can't help but notice its beauty. It was made to catch the eye. Whoever created this must have been brilliant." The man stared at her as she ran a hand over the glass that protected the sword. She looked up and smiled, "But what do I know? I'm just an overly educated errand girl!" She laughed lightly and the serious mood was dispelled, along with some of her creeping apprehension.

The man opened his mouth to say something but a voice behind him interrupted.

"Ms. Higurashi?" The voice belonged to Dr. Whatever-Wesley.

Kagome's heart froze in her chest. She really hadn't wanted to be around when her boss met Super Important Handsome Underwear Model Man from Japan. She knew he wouldn't like that she was talking to someone big and important. That was just the way of it. Unconsciously she closed her eyes and composed her face.

The stranger witnessed her face falling, the bright light in her eyes fade. He frowned as her voice sounded out, echoing dully.

"Yes, Dr. Wesley?"

"What in heaven's name is going on? I asked you to deliver the files to Dr. Linus not forge the Nile River! What took you so long? And who is the guest that you have failed to introduce me to?"

Kagome's eyes darted from the curator to the tall man before her. As Dr. Wesley came into the exhibit she opened her mouth to explain everything before it all came crashing down on her and she was finally fired. But Dr. Wesley spoke first. Upon walking around Handsome and Mysterious Important Guy his mouth dropped open in a completely unDr. Weseley like manner. Suddenly, all of his pompous airs dissipated into the gallery around him. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, attempting to straighten his posture and say something intelligent. Finally, managing to sputter something along the lines of, "It's an honor" he held out a trembling hand to the man, still staring in astonishment.

Kagome watched the exchange between the two men, anticipating. Oh, Stoic and Impressive Man was regarding the curator coolly, his eyes filled with distaste. She could actually feel his changing demeanor in the air around her. It was alight with fricative electricity.

"Dr. Wesley?" His voice suddenly sounded cold and cultured, so unlike the polite interest that had existed in their previous conversation.

"Yes, I – I am. I am so pleased to meet you Mr. Taisho. I was expecting your lawyers and art dealers but I had no idea that you were going to grace us with your-"

Kagome's mouth dropped open. Taisho? Of the super rich and adventuring and collecting rare and precious things Taisho?

Well. Fuck me. Kagome thought and just barely managed not to say it out loud. Again.

"Spare the gushing." Taisho cut the other man off curtly.

Mother of god this was a weird Monday.

Handsome Stranger- Taisho, Kagome reminded herself, towered over the diminutive Dr. Wesley whose smile remained plastered to his face even as its brilliance faded. He now looked more like someone had trod on his sensitive bits than anything else.

"Many apologies!" Dr. Wesley said breathlessly. "Mr. Taisho I am so sorry I was not here to greet you and, I apologize for my assistant who didn't immediately call my attention to your arr-"

Taisho tossed the man his overcoat and looked above him, gazing at the ceiling as if the lights had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room.

"She has been more than helpful. And amusing," he added. Kagame withered. "I quite enjoyed her candor and intelligence, which, it seems, was not bestowed on the other employees here."

His eyes returned to the little man fumbling to straighten out the jacket. The director made to hand it to Kagome, who hurried forward to take it. "I am so sorry that you find our staff less than adequate. Kagome, take this."

Taisho's eyebrow rose, but Dr. Wesley was too embroiled in maintaining his hold of the overcoat to notice.

"Ms. Higurashi," Taisho addressed her as she reached to take the jacket. She looked up at him, fingers stalling midair, "I would prefer if you did not run off to hang my jacket up. Please stay. Right where you are."

Dr. Wesley stared at the man and slowly retracted his outstretched arms.

"What?" her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. "I mean, yeah. Yes," she added quickly, seeing 's emphatically nodding head. "Of course."

His sudden mood swing notwithstanding, she was really enjoying seeing the great and powerful doctor completely befuddled by Taisho. She certainly did want to stick around to see more, thank you very much.

"Good." His voice rumbled with authority.

Dr. Wesley hesitated, his eyes darting around, thinking quickly.

"Well, then, now that is decided-"

"I am here in regards to the piece that you have just received. I wish to purchase it." Taisho interrupted. One large hand gestured to the sword.

The doctor was, for the second time in all Kagome had known him, rendered speechless.

It was her voice that broke the surprised silence.

"You want to buy it?" She immediately shut her mouth upon Dr. Wesley's glower. Averting her eyes to the floor, she did not look up as Taisho spoke.

"Yes. I wish to purchase it." His voice was not as cold and he gazed at her with considerably warmer eyes but with her own gaze on the floor, she didn't notice.

"Mr. Taisho, our gallery has been waiting years for a piece of this type! Our board is expecting to view it this week." Dr. Wesley shuffled his feet. Taisho seemed intent on making the director as uncomfortable as possible.

"Money is no object. Since this is a private gallery I assume you have sold more than a few pieces to individual buyers. Every piece has it's price, Doctor, and I am sure what I offer will be nothing but good news for both you and your gallery."

Kagome could almost see the dollar signs rolling around in the curator's head. She watched as he thought it over, physically struggling with the anxiety of the situation. He was an intelligent, if impersonal man, and he knew the value of a dollar, the long-term effects of this potential offer. Within a matter of seconds, he had made up his mind to at least hear the deal that Taisho was offering.

Dr. Wesley shifted the heavy overcoat into his other arm and regarded the taller man carefully.

"I am aware of your reputation, sir, and I know that you offer nothing but a fair price for items for your collection. Would you like to go into my office and discuss the piece and the amount you had in mind?"

Taisho's eyes flit to Kagome and then back to Wesley.

"No. I don't make business deals sitting down. That tends to draw them out unnecessarily. I will make you an offer here and now and you can decide whether or not you wish to take it. I will return this afternoon after business hours to pick up my piece."

Dr. Wesley looked taken aback and Kagome thought she saw a small smile play on Taisho's lips.

"Very well," The curator wheezed, and Kagome noted that his balding head was perspiring heavily. He turned to her, his voice suddenly commanding, "Ms. Higurashi, you may leave us to business."

She nodded and made to leave the room, passing by the handsome man, carefully keeping her eyes on the floor. But his hand darted out and grabbed her arm, gently, but firmly bringing her to a halt.

"Was I not clear? She will stay," he said quietly.

Startled, she looked up at him, but he was not looking at her. He was staring down at Wesley, daring him to object. When the curator said nothing, Taisho continued.

"Here is my price." He let go of Kagome to fish a folded piece of paper out of his suit pocket. Wesley took it with trembling hands.

Kagome glanced over her shoulder and when for a moment his face went an interesting shade of eggplant she was afraid the older man was going to have a heart attack.

"I feel as if this arrangement is most agreeable," the curator managed to say, digging into his pocket to produce a handkerchief which he swept over his face. Kagome suppressed a laugh.

Never, in all of her days had she ever thought she would see Dr. Wesley interrupted, put in his place, and made nervous to the point of physical ailment. Fighting back her grin she saw the corners of Taisho's mouth turning upwards as well.

"Good. Draw up the necessary papers. My lawyers are in your lobby. They will ensure everything is satisfactory." He glanced at his watch. "I will be back at 5:00 pm." He held his hand out and Dr. Wesley gave him back his coat. Shrugging into it he glanced down at Kagome.

"I expect you to be here as well, Ms. Higurashi. Now, if you would be so kind to show me the way out?"

She nodded and started to turn toward Dr. Wesley to tell him she would be back shortly, when she felt Taisho's hand slide onto her upper arm, much as it had earlier, guiding her through the archway and into the corridor. Under any other circumstance, she would have been affronted and would have chosen a few colorful ways to say 'no thank you, sir'. She liked her personal space and did not appreciate it when people- Men, especially- had the audacity to touch her. There was, however, something very gentle and tranquil about his large hand, gently leading her down the hall. It was very gentlemanly, almost old-fashioned.

She would let it slide this once! But the next time a mystery man tried to get fresh with her upper arm then he wouldn't be so lucky!

She was far too caught up in the bizarre reality she had fallen into to be angry anyway. Realizing too late that she was star struck, and acting like a dip, she tried to open her mouth to apologize in case she had humiliated herself again. But, as if he were reading her mind, Taisho said, "You haven't embarrassed yourself. I have this effect on people. You, however, are the most composed person I have met in at least a few years. Normally they can't even form sentences."

The guy had a lot of confidence, she'd give him that.

"Oh," was all she ended up saying back. Apparently she now also fell under the category of people who could not form sentences.

Quite suddenly, they were at the entrance. Taisho dropped his hand from her arm and she looked up at him, craning her neck to do so. People this tall shouldn't be allowed, she thought with mild jealousy. The only good thing she got out of being short was being able to swing her legs in chairs. And sometimes she could blend into a crowd. He, on the other hand, seemed to take up all the space in the room.

"I guess this is your stop," she said, jerking her head to the door, immediately wishing she had kept her mouth shut. Composure: 0. Kagome: Also 0. Whatever cosmic joke this was: 1.

He glanced at the door and then back at her. He looked concerned. "I will be back here this afternoon and you will be here?" Still utterly confused as to why he wanted her to be present she started to ask and he shook his head, interrupting, "You will be here?"

"I- Sure- yeah- Yes, Mr. Taisho." She took a tiny step away from him. He nodded once, pleased. He turned to leave and then paused, his face half turned toward her.

"Do you enjoy your job, Ms. Higurashi?"

"I don't know," she said, bewildered, reeling, wanting nothing more than this weird day to calm the hell down.

"Yes, you do." Voice low and serious.

Trying to gauge his intent, she paused, weighing what her answer would cost her. Working her lips over to one side of her face she bit the inside of her cheek and stared at him a bit peevishly.

"Alright. No. But it's all I've got." Forcing a wry smile she added brightly, "That and my dog!"

He was slightly taken aback at her sudden false cheer, "Well," his voice was gentle, as if speaking to a small child, and that made her feel smaller still, "that's something, then, isn't it?"

"Do you always ask so many questions?" she wondered, her mouth saying what she was thinking before she could stop it.

The look he cast her in return was something crossed between amusement, surprise, and satisfaction. All of which perplexed her thoroughly.

"No. Rarely. If ever. Which says something about the people who elicit my interest." Seeing her confusion he took a single step back and away. Kagome didn't dare to breathe. He looked to be measuring the size of her very soul. "They would have to be compelling enough for me to break my own rules."

Kagome blushed to the roots of her dark hair. He stepped toward the door. Striding out, he turned and spoke before the door swung shut, "And be careful this afternoon. It looks like today has more in store for us." With that, he stepped out into the rain. She ran up to the door, watching his dark form as he stepped into a waiting limo.

Her eyes trailed up to the sky, seeing, far to the east, darker clouds looming. She wondered if that was what he meant when he spoke of what was in store. Somehow, deep inside, she didn't think he was talking about the thunderstorms.

"Ohhhhh, girl," a dumfounded Margie chose that moment to lean out from the welcome desk, "That man is trouble and you are knee deep in it."

Fucking Mondays.