When she woke, she was in her bed staring at the ceiling – her eyes weren't even shut.

She tried to sit up at first but found herself seething in a harsh breath of pain, piercing reminders of the previous night wracking her body in response. She blinked her dry eyes a few times, then slid the rest of the way to sitting up.

"Kuso…" She hissed, reaching up painstakingly with one slow, trembling hand.

She'd never had a headache so harsh before – but, she recalled, she hadn't even had anything alcoholic to drink, so how could she be hungover? She knew immediately it couldn't be that, as save for that one time in the feudal era she hadn't spent a lot of time partaking, and last night she had already resolved to drink soda before she even arrived. The last thing she could really remember was –

Oh.

Sickeningly, and much like a slap to the face, a painful and immediate recollection of how she had left the party sifted back into her consciousness. Hojo had drugged her, had tried to attack her.

She gasped.

As her brain retraced the previous night, she recalled an important detail: someone had stopped Hojo – someone who looked, sounded like… exactly like him. The wellhouse, the long, silver hair.

She wanted to take the time to try and remember if Hojo had finished his attack, but the only thing she could think of in that moment was the silhouette in the doorway and the growling, predatory voice that had taunted Hojo last night in the dark. The comforting arms that had lifted her away from the well; Inuyasha. Had it really been him?

No, don't let yourself get excited. She tried to slow the rapid beating of her heart as it threatened to explode from her chest. Too many times a stranger all in red had her walking in the opposite direction for hours, or a man with long, light hair caught her eye – the latter none so frequent, but once outside of a comic convention she had nearly tackled a teenager dressed as some anime character, until they turned around, and she had squeaked out an embarrassed, "That's a great costume."

Do not. Let. Yourself. Get this way. There is no way – you were drugged, first of all. Right now, you need to find someone, anyone, and ask them how you got to your bed. Then you need to... Oh, I don't know. I don't know…

She lifted her hands to her face, though her body screamed in protest as she did so, covering her eyes as she wept in frustration and exhaustion. God, she felt sick. It was all so confusing, and so much. What would she even say? And to who? I think I was attacked and I'm in pain but now everything is fine, and I don't know why?

She wiped her face with her bare arm, doing little more than pushing the tears around her skin, and decided it was time to do something other than lay there, confused. Sliding her legs over the side of her bed, she resolved to get to the shower and wash off any trace of Hojo.

She stood briefly, regretted it instantly – tumbling to the ground with a thump made her realize her strength wasn't entirely back. Beyond that, her stomach rolled with illness as it processed the unknown drug, and her sore limbs told her bruises were forming. She could feel the sting of the bite mark on her neck.

All her thoughts were cut short when the sound of footsteps thudding rapidly up her stairs announced, loudly, that someone else was in her home.

A hot flush of fear seared through her body and her mind began to race again; what if Hojo had finished, what if he had stayed? What if he was here now, still, and wanted to attack her again? Her family had already left for their short spring vacation and wouldn't be back for another day or so; she had opted to stay behind and celebrate the first few days after graduation. Now she wished she had have given up this stupid once-in-a-lifetime coming-of-age bullshit. Who the hell else could be in her house right now? It had to be him.

She clenched one arm on top of her mattress to hold herself in a sitting position. Still splayed on the floor from where she'd fallen, her free palm flattened to the ground shaking beneath her weight, the effort of sitting was enough alone; she knew for sure, if it was him, he could do whatever he wanted this time.

Her door swung open.

Their eyes met, widening in mute and mutual surprise.

"I'm dead?"

She couldn't help it; it was still the first assumption she could grasp. How was he standing there in her doorway, looking down at her in surprise as if she was the one who had appeared suddenly in his time?

He started toward her, not answering, or acknowledging the odd statement. As he approached, he seemed too calm. She wished he would say something; he knelt down next to her and liberated the shaking hand that held her up, stopping to gauge her reaction for a moment before lifting her gently and setting her back on the bed.

Afterward he didn't pull away but drew back the blanket while keeping his arm around her. He slowly sat beside her, the mattress sinking with his body. Pulling the blanket back up, he laid her against the pillows, concerned eyes following as she drifted back down.

He brought his arm from where it lay securely around her waist to rest over the pillows above her head. His body leaned over her, blocking the light from her ceiling. She stared back in a state of shock, still in disbelief this all could be happening. But there he was, looming above her with the most serious expression.

For a moment, he continued watching her, saying nothing. She looked back at him with wide eyes desperate to keep him in her vision, to not even blink in case he dematerialized.

He opened his mouth once, thinking to say something, then shut it resolutely and pulled her into him, cradling her body against his own.

Tucking her head beneath his chin, stroking her hair so the scent danced up into his nose, he let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Unable to help himself, he buried his face into her locks and held her, knowing he would soon be incapable of ever letting her go.

"Is this heaven, Inuyasha?" She whispered from somewhere within his arms.

He begrudgingly held her away from him, lightly gripping her shoulders, but felt a wave of relief as he was able to look at her once more – her sweet, dark eyes, the hair that seemed to have been teased into curls the night previously, now limply falling back into waves. He had missed her face so much.

"You are not dead, Kagome." The thought was yet another wave of relief; he had wondered desperately over the years about her safety, her health, wishing he could just know somehow that she was okay without him. "I would never let that happen. That bastard from last night though… if I ever see him again, I don't care what rules you told me about this world."

She had been holding onto him; now she let go of her death grip, fearing he may still vanish into thin air, and lightly reached up to touch his face contorted with anger just from thinking about Hojo. The feel of her palm on his cheek brought him back from his thoughts and into her eyes; he lifted his own hand to hold hers.

"How?" She whispered through a flood of emotions.

"I…" He shrugged, unsure of what to tell her as he leaned into her palm, eyes shutting. "It just… it just worked. And here I was. I waited for you. I could tell you would come. If you hadn't, I would have found you." He gripped her hand, still softly, but confidently, and kissed the back of her knuckles in bliss. To his absolute joy, she didn't stop him, but stroked his cheek with her thumb.

It was all he needed to pull her to him again and kiss her cheek gently, as he had waited to do for so long. He didn't want to do more until she was feeling better, and they'd had a chance to talk- but she leaned into him, and he held her up, grateful to feel her weight in his arms.