"Good morning, angel. How are you feeling?"
Kagome only turned her blank, wordless gaze toward her friend. Sango watched as those eyes filled with tears and panic. Her breath quickened and her posture stiffened.
Sango reached the bed and set down the bowl she'd been carrying. She calmly wrung out the wet cloth it contained. Sitting soundly on the edge of the bed, she then rubbed the cool cloth across Kagome's forehead and hot cheeks.
She was glad that today was silent. These attacks could get loud and hysterical at their worst. This was the first quiet one since their reappearance the week before. Kagome was averaging one or two a day. The only sign of improvement was the decreasing volume.
"It's ok…" Sango soothed," I'm here with you."
Kagome lay on her back and stared at the ceiling, letting the hot tears flow from her wide eyes and onto her pillow. Sango continued, noticing the bags under her eyes were darkening.
They stayed this way for a full, quiet hour before the door opened and Miroku quietly stepped in.
"How is she?" he asked as he approached the two.
Sango looked at her husband. "Better," she answered earnestly,"still entirely dissociated but not as vocal." Just then, Kagome lifted her hand and reached for Sango, resting it on her wrist as if to say 'not entirely'.
Miroku and Sango smiled broadly. "That's my girl!", he cheered.
"She actually turned toward me this morning when I first came in," Sango informed him proudly.
"Wonderful news," he agreed.
Kagome continued to cry in silence with only the occasional hitch in her even breathing. She managed to give Sango's wrist a thankful squeeze, earning her a warm smile from her friend.
Sango looked back to her husband, "Any more good news today?" she asked meaningfully.
He shook his head, "I'm afraid not."
They both looked down worriedly.
Construction had been temporarily halted and no one had seen heads or tails of Dr. Taisho since he'd left the previous week. Miroku had received nothing but a single letter saying that he would return but not when.
Both were scared to bring their benefactor to mind for fear that Kagome would relapse into panic.
Both were holding their breath.
Over the next week, Kagome rode the wave of improvement all the way back to coherence. The episodes had tapered off to one a day and then, blissfully, none. She was tired and yet energized at feeling so much better.
She hated those episodes. She felt so foolish and weak when the darkness took over. This was especially frustrating as her rational brain endured through the hysterics every time, just like Sango.
She sent up a quick prayer of thanks for her two friends who not only took care of her, but understood her issues and knew how to work through them.
Miroku's theories were usually considered radical and ridiculous but Kagome knew better. Her own experiences showed her that Miroku was the only doctor she'd ever heard of who had true insight into the terrible problems of troubled minds. He was the only one who could help.
He deserved the highest position of honor at a prestigious institution but the fools of the medical community drove him out. Ostracized.
There were many reasons Kagome was thankful for the ward that was their home, not the least of which was the opportunity it afforded Miroku.
Here was a place where he could truly practice his brand of care. He was able develop his theories and practices in safety.
The ward was so important...
She shook her head, feeling the fear creeping closer. She was recovered enough at this point to keep it at bay and so she pushed it back.
Kagome looked down at her forgotten hands. She was still holding her paintbrush, the ink now pooling on the page.
A soft knock brought her attention to the door.
Miroku himself walked in. "Good morning, dear!" he greeted with a smile, folding his hands casually behind his back, "I'm glad to see you up and about."
She smiled at her friend, "Me too. Thanks again for everything."
He simply waved his hand as if to brush the thanks away, "What would you like for lunch today?"
She beamed, "I actually thought I'd fix something. I'm feeling like myself again and I'm going stir crazy!"
"Ah yes," he mused with humor, "Cabin fever claims many a vibrant life. We must take care that you are not lost to it." He grabbed her arm and led her to the door with flourish, "Come, Kagome! The hens are calling! There are eggs to be gathered and greens to be gained!" his grin widened, "…Berries to be picked!"
She stopped in her tracks and gasped. Berries were her favorite. "Will Sango…?" she asked expectantly.
He smiled warmly, "The first batch is already cooling on the windowsill."
Kagome shrieked in delight. She ran back into the room with new energy, grabbed her garden hat and ran right past Miroku to head to the kitchen.
By the time he caught up with her, she was seated at the kitchen table, chatting happily with his wife around mouthfuls of blackberry cobbler, hot out of the oven. She hadn't even waited for the cream Sango was whipping into sweet fluff.
Miroku sat down in front of the plate that was waiting for him and ate heartily. Sango used her mothers family recipes for just about everything but his favorite was her cobbler. It didn't matter the fruit; peach, blueberry, apple, strawberry- just as long as she topped it with that perfect, crumbly, crust.
Sango topped the remains of each of their helpings with the whipped cream and smiled. Moments like these were good for the soul. Even better, they were good for the mind.
She couldn't help but be aware of just how fragile she and Kagome were. The slightest push, the smallest reminder and they were gone. Moments like these were to be savored without reservation.
Just then, the faint sound of hammering drifted in through the open window and turned their heads towards the yard.
Kagome turned to Miroku with full cheeks and asked, "What's going on? Isn't that the old Manson next door? I thought it was all but abandoned."
"It was," he confirmed between bites, "but just this morning, I was visited by the head of the very same construction crew that worked here. He wanted to inform me that the house next door had been purchased, renovations were being made over the next couple of months and to apologize for the noise."
"I wonder who bought it." Sango mused. She reached above the table to untie a bundle of Rosemary, now dry.
"I wonder if he knows what's next door." Kagome added cynically. This earned her a swat with Sango's Rosemary swatch. She giggled at her friend.
Truth be told, they were all cheered at the prospect of a neighbor. Living in an asylum was incredibly lonely at times and hearing someone elses world go on nearby offered a small comfort.
And as it was, not one of them truly minded the sounds coming from over the stone garden wall. They added a certain energy to the stale ward. Kagome enjoyed the sense of company when she ventured out to the thicket of blackberry bushes to pick fruit for Sango's second batch of cobbler.
In their quick, flicking movement, her fingers eventually ghosted over a small stone. It rested near the far wall behind the garden patch, now covered in thick blackberry brambles. Kagame's eyes softened and she placed her hands tenderly over the tiny headstone. She never forgot and yet it always caught her by surprise when she happened upon it.
She kissed her palm and pressed it to the sweet name engraved there. Kagome had always had a soft spot for little ones.
Wiping the tear from her eye, she covered the stone more thoroughly with branches and continued picking.
She did not notice Miroku turn and retreat to the kitchen, his shoulders hunched. She didn't see him stop and lean against the door frame to collect his sorrow before his wife greeted his artificially cheerful face. She had a basket in hand and aimed to collect the first of the peaches from the tree in the opposite corner of the garden.
He thanked his lucky star that she didn't care to pick from the thorny blackberry bush.
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I love quiet moments, fresh food and mental health. I also have a soft spot for tragedy, mental illness and little ones.
I'm introducing Kagame's mental state slowly so it's not too anticlimactic. It's not a very glamorous mental problem, but a real and harrowing one none the less. How do I know? I'm lucky enough to have it.
I'm painting Miroku as a medical radical so that I can use diagnosable illnesses that were not yet necessarily discovered at the time. He's got way more perception and intelligence than other doctors, usually making him right.
Where's Sesshoumaru you ask? Let's hope he comes back soon and tells us ;)
As always, thanks for reading. Review if you like!