Running Up That Hill

By: The Hatter Theory

Chapter 42: One Fluid Gesture

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Inu Yasha or to anything by Kate Bush or Placebo.

AN: I know, I'm awful and late and ten shades of bad authoress. I'm sorry, I really am. I'm exhausted, and I've been remodeling my mother's house from the floor up, literally, in several rooms at the same time and I'm also taking care of a very sick kitten that recently adopted us on top of everyday life. By the time I get to my computer I'm cuddling the wee one and just wanting something utterly mindless like bejeweled, and I apologize for my extended break. We are resuming our normal schedule however. Thank you for your patience.

Sesshoumaru couldn't help but wonder what was waiting for him on the other side of the all too human ceremony they were about to undertake. He had not understood it's intricacies, and when consulting texts, found that his future wife and mate -he still couldn't comprehend how he was supposed to mark her again, when he felt so peculiarly not himself, a stranger in his own skin- had deviated from even normal human ceremonies, leaving him feeling less than certain about the affair.

The air of excitement that had been filling the shiro felt heavy, almost oppressive, and he wished he didn't have to do it suddenly, as much as he knew the ceremony mattered to her. Guilt immediately set in, a wave so thick it nearly choked him. Kagome had more than earned her right to whatever compensations she desired, anything that would disguise the farce they were undertaking. And it was a farce. Though he knew, felt, some surety of her feelings, his own had been dangerously unstable, foreign to him ever since his return from Hell.

He cared for her, loved her. It was a truth he did not try to fight. And he knew, in some strange, disconcerting way, that she loved him, although he couldn't be sure of how he knew it, and whenever his mind strayed too close to the moments they had been ripped apart and forced into the jewel, that dream-like place that had revealed too many secrets and rewarded him with further obscurity, his mind shied away. It was too soon, the events too tumultuous in his own mind to properly examine.

But love was not enough. And even though he respected her, cared for her, counted her as his best friend, he didn't know if he could lay with her, not as he had wanted to before. The very idea of lust made his own senses recoil, disgust sweeping through him. Whatever self loathing he had felt before was little compared to what he felt now. That she might have wanted him before her capture was irrelevant, whenever he thought of laying with her, intimately, he could only feel the rough stone slab and the pervasive chill of that cavern, at least before bile began to choke him.

"It is your wedding day," Resshin told him quietly, knowing his thoughts.

"It is," Sesshoumaru said, voice flat and emotionless. Steady.

"Perhaps this is a new beginning for you both," His general first and friend second advised. "There will always be sacrifices, but perhaps, for now, the time for sacrifice is past."

Sacrifices. He knew all about those, and the sense of bitterness that accompanied that word would have shocked him before. Sacrifice was something he knew, had accepted with his duties. But-

"You have both given. I think it is time for you to both be selfish."

Sesshoumaru knew Resshin could feel the incredulity, could read the frustrated anger that spiraled through him at the statement.

"She can understand, you know," Resshin said at last, after a long and indeterminable silence. "I think more than anyone, she'll understand what you feel."

She was already burdened with too much. How much more could her heart and mind take? Or his for that matter?

"Perhaps, despite your long history of ignoring advice, you would do me the honor of giving this some consideration," Resshin told him quietly. "More than ever you two are united. Never has there been such union, and all paths behind have been shattered. There is nowhere to go but forward, or to stay as you are now. But, as such unions have never occurred, there is no path to follow, except for the one you both decide to carve out for yourselves."

Sesshoumaru, in a moment of near hysterical rage, wanted to ask what his friend meant, but remained impassive, as if untouched by the words themselves. As if glutted with air and then denied, the rage died into nothing more than smoke.

"Tread lightly," Was all Resshin added, before walking from the room to give him time to compose his own thoughts.

Sesshoumaru hated himself for being weak enough to be grateful.

Kagome stared blankly at the wall in front of her. The events of the night before had reached the others, and both Nanmei and Sango, while less than pleased that they hadn't been informed until after the fact, were quiet. Yuugao looked unsure, as if she didn't quite know whether she was welcome, or trust that she was no matter how many times Kagome told her she was. As things stood, Kagome understood the daiyoukai more than she had ever dreamed of understanding her, and while empathy with her imminently to be mother in law wasn't what she had been expecting as a gift, she hoped, needed, Yuugao to be there, to remind her that duty could be survived, if not particularly relished.

It was difficult to smile. Everything that had happened the day before lingered, stubbornly resistant to her attempts to banish it. No matter how hard she tried to force a smile to her face, it came out as a resigned line, something less than happy and a little pinched to boot.

"You're getting married," Sango finally murmured. It didn't sound like a congratulations, or even a lament. Just a gentle reminder of the ceremony that's waiting. Kagome sighed, unsure if she could actually go outside and face down her friends and children, a new jewel on a necklace safely around her neck.

Maybe she would get lucky, and they wouldn't notice.

"Kagome, things- They're not like they should be," Nanmei told her, voice quiet. "But they will get better."

Kagome nodded. She hoped things would get better. But when she had woken in the middle of the night to Sesshoumaru twitching violently, claws digging into her flesh painfully, she had accepted that things would not be getting better soon. However, the pain, the worry, was a reminder that she was still in the real world, that inside of a jewel, or even the afterlife, she wouldn't feel so raw, and she was willing to find a measure of peace in that. It was really the only thing.

"May I have a moment with Kagome?" Yuugao finally asked quietly. Neither Sango nor Nanmei seemed inclined to give them that moment, but knowing Yuugao would not ask if it was not important, Kagome nodded mutely. Both women filed out of the room, closing the door quietly behind them, dubious looks cast over their shoulders.

"You look very much the same as I did on the day of my mating ceremony," Yuugao told her quietly, getting up and walking over to her. "I had hoped for something more for my son, and for you."

"I don't think life likes to cooperate with me," Kagome sighed.

Claws grazed her face, a warm, smooth palm rested lightly on her cheek. It was the first time she could remember being touched by the daiyoukai since meeting her, and while unfamiliar, it wasn't completely unwelcome. That Yuugao had started the whole mess, had been the lynchpin for where she was now, didn't matter. The daiyoukai had been an unwilling, coerced catalyst. How could Kagome blame her, when she'd been put in the same position not once or even twice, but more times than she could count? Understanding and empathy easily blanketed any lingering resentment. The memory of Souzou came unbidden, and Kagome remembered Sesshoumaru's offhanded comment about how his mother had once, according to many, been just like the overly bright, happy youkai.

Would she become like Yuugao, a creature of duty before all else?

The hand dropped away, the whisper of silks rustling seeming to echo in the room.

"There are no longer any paths ahead. You must have the strength to create one," Yuugao told her softly. "For the both of you."

"What if I can't?"

"Learn from my mistakes," Yuugao told her simply. "There is very little that can't be done, when one tries."

Kagome nodded, knowing what Yuugao meant but not willing to bring that subject up, not when the daiyoukai already looked so tired. As if the last few weeks had been months, she appeared a little older, aged instead of ageless. Dark circles still shadowed her eyes, giving her an almost hollow appearance. Her cheeks still stood out too sharply, her skin was still too white. It seemed as if she had barely recovered from their trial in hell, and the night before had, to all apparent affects, only undone what little she had gained.

Kagome knew she looked little better, and wished she could give the other female some kind of hope, but she didn't know what hope there was, and she couldn't find it in herself to lie, not when the subject was so important, so very, very dear to the daiyoukai.

"It is almost time," Yuugao told her.

"Alright," Kagome told her, following her to the door. She didn't want to be left alone. Alone, she was afraid she might break down, might run away. Alone offered more time to think, and she couldn't, or else she might not be able to go through with the wedding itself, and the last thing she wanted to do was leave Sesshoumaru standing alone.

Shinzuru waited, his single eye glinting red in the light and yet strangely vacant, as if he was thinking of some other, far off thing. Kagome knew he probably was, given the circumstances, and she couldn't exactly blame him.

It was terrifying, how things could change so quickly.

Yuugao said nothing to Shinzuru as she walked past, instead keeping her head held high, eyes fixed somewhere ahead of her. A hollow gaze, one Kagome recognized, knew intimately, and knew she would have to learn to emulate.

"Try to smile," She told her father. He tried as he took her arm, but Kagome flinched at the attempt and sighed heavily. He gave up and echoed her sigh.

"I suppose it's too much to offer a blessing," Shinzuru said, voice tired as they strode through the shiro, towards the room chosen for the ceremony itself. What passed for a great hall had been picked as the largest, needing to accommodate so many, some of which were also larger than the average youkai.

"I'm not really sure I want the attention of any more gods," Kagome joked weakly as they passed through the almost eerie silence, closer to ceremony.

"Things will work out," He promised.

Kagome didn't know how he could promise such a thing. He hadn't been present for the night before, hadn't seen the breakdown, didn't understand what had followed them back from Hell and how it had changed things.

The doors loomed in front of them, ornate when compared to the rest of the shiro. But they were the doors to the hall were petitioners were heard and Sesshoumaru, however rarely, played Lord of the West in a visual capacity.

And she would have to sit by him and play Lady of the West.

The doors opened, revealing a room full of people that she had known for years, some of which she hadn't seen since meeting. Everyone looked happy, the children especially so as she stepped in with Shinzuru. Forcing a smile to their face for them, she summoned all of her courage, all of her will and did her best not to tighten her arm around Shinzuru's.

The sound of cheering exploded around her, startling her so badly that her ki flared, making Shinzuru twitch and shudder before his arm tightened, supporting her as they continued walking. Flowers began drifting around them, the magic of kitsune and other youkai combining to give her a breathe of spring in winter. The bright colors seemed as out of place as the kimono she wore, layer upon layer of them.

Smiling again, taking a deep breathe, she glanced at her children, all of them on either side lining the path to her future husband, and found it easier to smile, knowing they would be safe and loved, and that she would see them grow and fall in love.

'Do not trivialize the gains.'

She realized it was becoming increasingly important to remember them, to find them against the backdrop of her future. But Resshin's words echoed like a damning prophecy.

'Leading the pack will always require sacrifices.'

She had never thought her wedding would feel like one.

Sesshoumaru could not remember the ceremony, could not remember what his mother said, what the human miko that had trained his wife said, what Keimou said. There were cheers and shouts echoing through the hall, and the only thing he could focus on was reaching into the sleeve of his kimono and pulling out the small bag that held the rings. Kagome looked up at him quizzically, and he wondered if she even remembered the half spoken request.

When he shook the two rings out of the bag, he saw the dark smudges on the metal, flaking off in crusty bits and cursed himself for forgetting that moment, wished he could take back what he had done and unsure if it was trying to destroy them or bringing them to the wedding at all.

But her breath catching in her throat, the wild fluttering of her pulse and the scent of her tears forced submission to circumstance. She carefully took the larger one from his palm and slipped it onto his third finger on his left hand with trembling fingers, sliding it past each knuckle until it rested at the base.

When she held out her left hand, he slid the ring down, wondered briefly how Totosai had gotten the sizes so perfectly, wondered if they really would wear the rings for the rest of their lives. Suddenly it seemed like a very long time, the rest of his life, to be wearing a piece of jewelry.

"If you both would come with me," Keimou told them, his voice gravelly and his milky eyes clouding to the point where the swirling colors were pale shadows and pastel blurs. "There is one more thing to do."

"But-" Kagome started. Resshin only shook his head.

"Perhaps this is best done elsewhere," He told them. Sesshoumaru gave him a sharp glance, but the other youkai's gaze was blank, and Sesshoumaru knew that whatever the old youkai had planned, Resshin knew what it was, had probably known since before the ceremony. But whatever it was, the youkai trusted his elder, and he trusted Resshin.

Not knowing where they were going or what excuses were made, they followed Keimou away from the crowd and through the shiro, alone with the elder as they escaped. Sesshoumaru couldn't say he was ungrateful for the excuse. He had never been one for festivities, though he knew Kagome was, and had been willing to endure. For a moment he considered going back, putting off whatever the youkai had planned so that she could go and see her friends and perhaps find some happiness, except that when he looked over to her, he saw that she looked just as relieved as he felt, shoulders sagging slightly and face pinched slightly in a frown. Unable to stop the thought before it came, he wondered if she was thinking about the blood on the rings.

Dark shadows smudged the areas beneath her eyes, and she looked tired, weary.

When he realized Keimou was leading him to the inner gardens, meant only for the pack, he almost said something, a growl beginning in his throat of it's own volition. But, as strange as it was unexpected, Kagome took his hand, her fingers lacing with his.

"Patience," Keimou told them as he slid open the door and stepped out into the cold afternoon. Sesshoumaru allowed his wife to lead him into the chill, overcast garden. Only a few trees, evergreens planted by his father, kept the garden itself from being nothing but blank black and gray, however, they were in further corners, too far to be of any comfort.

Keimou led them to a bare patch, the place where Kagome often chose to sit and eat with the children in warmer weather. He remained silent, refusing to admit his curiosity even if the older youkai knew it. Kagome however, was not so restrained, as he had expected.

"Why are we here?" She asked quietly.

Despite the clouds covering the sun and the general feeling of dreariness, the knife flashed with it's own light, like a star burst in his vision, vivid and dream-like. Immediately the growl that had been suppressed returned as he stepped in front of Kagome, shoving her behind him while the foolish, oblivious old youkai smiled serenely up at them.

"Fear not, daiyoukai. My grandson swore loyalty to you, and that of my clans in support of the miko. Were my intention to harm, I would forsake my own life."

"Then what is your intent?" Sesshoumaru felt himself growl.

"A point, perhaps. And a secret."

Sesshoumaru had endured enough of secrets and points to last a lifetime.

Kagome apparently, damn her eyes, had not.

"What point, and what secret?" She asked quietly, coming from behind him and stepping forward, chin held high. Her fingers laced with his, a quiet request or a reminder, he wasn't sure, but the anger did not abate, nor did the fear for her.

Keimou reached between them with his free hand, took both of theirs and lifted until they were held out. Then, more quickly than such an old being had the right to, slipped the whisper thin blade between their hands and turned it, pulling it back out and cutting both of their palms in the process.

Kagome's gasp mixing with her the scent and feel of her blood ripped a snarl from deep in his throat, and his free hand was reaching for the foolish youkai-

That was no longer there.

He tried to search for his scent but couldn't find it beneath the smell of his mate's blood mixing with his own, their palms slick and warm in the chill.

"Sesshoumaru," Kagome whispered, tugging at his hand and forcing his attentions back on her. He was readying to say something, perhaps something he would regret, except that old, decrepit, deceitful youkai had somehow harmed the both of them despite his oath.

Except she was staring at the ground, eyes wide and face so pale he feared she was going to faint. Tears burned her eyes, salt beneath the copper tang of her blood, and her body was tense, rigid, her fingers clutching his and refusing to let go.

He followed her gaze, looked down at the ground where their blood had fallen, plentiful enough that it had become a dark stain on the barren earth.

Something green was unfurling, growing at unnatural speeds. A memory flashed, painful and poignant, like a physical blow to his chest. Seasons before, in another place where the earth had been dark, bare of any life, a seedling had sprouted from the ground, delicate and unusual, just as it was before his very eyes.

Had he not returned from that place, was he still there, caught in a jewel? Was it all illusion?

"Do not doubt your senses, daiyoukai," Keimou's voice rasped as he appeared on the other side of the seedling that had grown to the height of his knees. "You are on the earthly plain."

"How-" Kagome whimpered.

He prayed to his ancestors that she was not remembering what had happened in hell, beneath a a tree that had been very much like the seedling that was growing with astonishing speed. He hoped, knowing it was futile, that she would not remember those moments today of all days.

"However distant, however much diluted, you are blood of our blood. Miko you might be, but there is a trace of kinship."

Sesshoumaru felt the world falling from under him, opening into a deep, vast darkness, one that promised an eternity of falling with no end, no bottom to save him.

"What do you mean?"

"Merely that somewhere in your lineage, one of my clan mated a human, and so on and so forth. I hardly think heritage matters so much as what it has given you."

Sesshoumaru felt the despair spiraling up to meet him, coiling around his throat and closing it tightly, dimming the edges of his vision.

"It grows, despite the adversity of winter. It has ever been thus for you both. Perhaps that is something to find joy in, despite the trials you endured today."

With that statement, a clearly understood metaphor, hanging in the air, the old youkai walked past them, spry for his age and able bodied.

Kagome let out a small mewling sound, and it wasn't until that moment he realized he was squeezing her hand tightly, too tightly, and forced himself to release it, to ignore the hot blood still eking out from the wound Keimou had inflicted on the hand that bore her wedding ring, now covered in her own blood as well.

"Sesshoumaru," She whispered, face reflecting her own disquiet. "Sesshoumaru, what's wrong? I know that- that the tree is surprising, but you look like-" She stopped abruptly, and he didn't want to know what she was going to say, what he looked like, because he felt like he was fraying at the edges, coming undone all over again when he least wanted to.

But the truth persisted.

"You bear youkai blood," He whispered harshly. A miracle in and of itself considering her powers, but a damning miracle that mocked everything he had done, everything they had given up.

"So, I mean, it's not a problem is," A pause, and her face, impossibly, paled even more. He wished he had said nothing, but did not know how to keep the truth from spilling out, didn't know how to bear the weight of the bitter realization that threatened to shatter him.

"Izanami couldn't have taken my body, could she?" Kagome whispered, eyes widening darkening until they were pools of midnight, deep and starless and terrifying for her pallor. "That's why we had to do it last night, because we would have known today. Izanagi would have known we wouldn't want anything to do with it if we knew the truth. All of that speech, all of his talk-" She continued, voice taking on a hysterical edge that scraped against his own, rasped and broke bitterly like a brittle blade.

Terror bolted through him as he recognized the signs he had not seen in months, the signs of her withdrawing, of going to that place, where he doubted there would ever be any peace again, for her or himself. Oblivious to the blood that smeared her skin, he cupped her face, forced her to look at him even as the ground rocked and roiled dangerously beneath his feet.

"Kagome," He growled, fear turning his voice into something darker, more feral than it normally was. "Stay. Stay here," He demanded, except it came out sounding more like a plea, and he hated himself for his weakness, for needing her when her own world was slowly fracturing again, opening up beneath her and sucking her under.

"Why can't they just leave us alone?" She whispered, the darkness in her eyes growing turbulent. "What did we do that was so wrong?"

There was a list of things he had done in his life that, with time, he was less than proud of, and and even longer list that he knew others would judge as wrong, but none of them had any bearing on her, and he could think of nothing she had done, could ever do, to have brought such a fate down on herself.

"I don't know," He told her honestly, voice raw as he peered down at her, hands still cupping her face. On side was smeared with blood, the other red from where his hand rested. Claws were hidden by her hair, his ring flashed in the dim light, the swirling energies mixing and glowing against her pale skin, but none of it's light reflecting off of the sharp curve of her cheekbone.

For a moment she looked ready to fall, to break beneath the weight, and he felt selfish for sharing the burden, for forcing her to consider the truth in his thoughtless angst. But as he was pulling his hands away to hold her up, to grab her arms, she was lifting her arms, the layers of delicate silk kimono falling down to reveal her pale arms and her hands were latching onto his wrists, keeping his own in place.

"Please don't go away again."

Don't go away?

"I won't," He promised.

"Good. If you disappear again I'll- I'll find you and chain you in the council chamber," She threatened, body trembling as she glared up at him.

The mood change was bewildering, disconcerting. Most of all it was, strangely, steadying. She wasn't retreating, wasn't running away.

And she wanted him to stay.

"I won't go anywhere," He promised. "Unless you're with me."

"Good," She told him, almost managing to convince him that she was on an even keel, except for the relief that made her voice crack in the middle of the single syllable.

For a moment he wasn't sure what to do, because he had never planned to find out that she had youkai blood, or for that tree to exist anywhere but in their own minds, or wherever that place was, and he had never considered that he would be standing in the gardens with her, her bloody hand clutching one wrist still bleeding slowly while the other held to him as if it was the only thing keeping her from flying away. It had never entered his mind that he would be cupping her face, smearing it with his blood, or that he would promise to never leave her, or that they would be mated, unmated, and then married.

"We should go inside, or you'll fall ill," He finally said, gaze locked with her own.

She surprised him by making a dismissive sound.

"Your mother finally got me in this ridiculous get up. I have as much chance of freezing as you do."

But she slowly lowered her hands, and despite everything, he couldn't help but lament the loss of contact.

"I don't want to go back," He said, the words flying out of his mouth before he even realized that he was considering them.

"Me either," She admitted. "I don't want to have to- to deal with everyone right now."

He didn't know whether he grieved her lack of joy, or was ashamed because he was grateful.

"Perhaps we should wash your face, before they are convinced I am trying to kill you again," He offered, a weak joke at best, but one that earned a tremulous smile and a nod. Ignoring the fact that there were stairs they could make perfectly good use of, and that she was perfectly capable of creating a cloud to fly on, he gathered her to him, craving the assurance of contact, and realized she was right. There was as good a chance of her freezing as he. The multitude of layers was awkward to say the least, and he resisted the urge to tell her it was foolish, except his mother had chosen the outfit, he was sure, and he didn't want to think about his mother yet. Ever.

Kagome made no protest as he took to the air, and he refused to admit, even to himself, that her trust despite the circumstances was a warm wind to combat the winter chill trying to settle in his veins. Quickly he found the door that led to his own rooms and opened it with one hand, quickly stepping onto solid ground.

She clung for a moment longer and he allowed her to cling. Given everything that had happened, he was unsure when it would happen again. Soon enough the implications of everything that had occurred would settle on her, and he doubted her reaction, whatever it was, would be to hold fast to him.

"Do you have water in here?" She asked quietly as she finally stepped away.

He walked over to the small table that held a wide, shallow bowl and a jug of water. She followed, the kimono rustling against one another, suddenly grating on his ears. But he would not, could not, ask her to shed even a single layer for fear of how she would take it. The sacrifice they had made in hell, useless or not, would not allow it. Still the taste of that experience cut his tongue like shards of porcelain, preventing any words that would even stray in that direction.

"Here," She told him, shoving the sleeves up as she grabbed the dry cloth that he used to wash his face most mornings. He poured clean water into the basin and she dipped the rag in it slowly, then reached for his wrist. The blood, already drying in the cold, came away from his skin easily. She dipped the rag back in the water, staining it red, and then made another pass, erasing the traces of her blood on him.

He took the rag from her, wiped her face gently, so much so that it took him several minutes to clear the drying rust brown blood away. Youkai blood. Miko blood.

He wondered if perhaps that was why their powers had accepted one another so readily, if that was why she accepted youkai so easily. Some latent recognition of her own kind, however dim.

Once her face was done, he reached for her hand, saw as much as smelled that it was still slowly bleeding. Mentally he cursed the youkai for his carelessness in making the cut, no matter how important he thought his point had been. Even more gingerly than her face he began to clean her hand, wiping around the open gash and clearing away the vivid crimson stain.

"I didn't get a chance to tell you," She started slowly, eyes on her hand. "The rings, I didn't think you would do anything, I mean, I knew you would get some, but these are- Actually, what are they?" She asked, words stumbling over one another. He looked at her, eyes on her face, and was reminded of the person she had been years before, when he had come across her in battle after battle.

"I gave one of my fangs to Totosai, as well as our hair."

"That's what the hair was for?" She asked, looking up at him, surprise commingling with something else entirely, a not unpleasant emotion, but one that made him wary because it was the expression that often heralded tears.

"It was," He answered stoically.

"And I thought it was for some weird youkai ritual," She chuckled lightly. "Thank you, for remembering. It means a lot."

"They are important to you," He told her quietly, a wealth of meaning in his words. Instinctively he knew that she understood, just as she had the night before, what he was saying, just as he knew she would push nothing.

"You should go to Tenka," He told her, looking at the now clean wound. The gash was still bleeding lightly, the blood pricking at something he did not want to acknowledge, whether it was anger or something else he didn't want to guess, and the sooner it was bandaged and muffled, the sooner he would feel less on edge.

"He's enjoying the celebration, let him," Kagome sighed. "I can take care of it until tonight, it's not that bad."

An awkward silence settled over them, and Sesshoumaru could think of nothing to say. The night before was becoming more and more painfully apparent, and embarrassed by his own display of emotions, he wasn't sure how to act around her.

However, she seemed content to save him, however ignorantly, from that silence with a small yawn.

"You're tired."

"I didn't sleep well," She sighed.

He hadn't either, and he wondered if she knew.

"You should get some sleep. I doubt they will miss our presence overmuch."

"Funny, considering it was our wedding," She said with a sort of half smile. "But you're probably right. They'll assume we, nevermind. A nap is a good idea," She mumbled, turning for the door.

Despite his own feelings, despite the fact that he felt weak and foolish and did not want her to go, he was letting her walk away, letting her go sleep somewhere else, because he could not break, could not ask for more. And when she closed the door behind her, he felt the lethargy creeping up on him, the exhaustion from the night before seeming to double beneath the weight of the new information granted to him, the revelations he had not asked for and did not want.

Carefully removing the ceremonial robes Shinzuru had found for him somewhere, and where he did not care to know, he laid them on the table, not bothering to fold them. Walking over to a chest, he donned a simple yukata and walked over to his futon.

When he laid down, it still smelled of her and him, of tears and sweat and lingering power. Psychic scents steeped the fabric, and he allowed himself a moment to revel in them, closing his eyes and soaking in the feel of her, all while trying to tell himself that she would need space after the secret of her lineage had been sprung on her, after the understanding had descended. It did not make it any easier to accept, and though he was loathe to think of any sort of intimacy of a sexual nature, he craved the solid reassurance of her presence. In that moment he hated how dependent he felt on it, how much he devoted to the woman.

His wife. He was a husband, a title he had never thought to hold, had never wanted to hold. Even now he was unsure of it. Mate seemed more solid, more steady, and yet he had no idea how he would give her the mating mark when he couldn't bring himself to hurt her, to chance that side of himself rising again.

The pattern of his thoughts, the ceaseless whorl was so consuming that he didn't notice the door opening, didn't feel her until she was kneeling next to his futon, blue eyes already hazed with the first stages of sleep.

"Sorry it took me so long. That thing took forever to get out of," She sighed, pulling a blanket back and slipping under it, settling next to him. "And I think I owe your mother an obi. The knot was impossible."

He couldn't help it, couldn't stop his flabbergasted confusion.

"Are you alright?"

He nodded mutely, knowing if he tried to speak, something foolish would come out, and he was unwilling to give away his ignorance. Instead, he settled closer to her and threw an arm over her waist as she reached up with her unwounded, non ringed hand and ran her fingers through his loose hair.

"Thank you," She finally whispered.

He waited patiently, unsure of what she would be thanking him for.

"I need you," She admitted quietly. "I don't want to go to sleep and not be near you. I'm scared I'll wake up-"

She didn't continue, and he didn't force her. Instead, he tightened his arm around her ever so slightly, a reassuring squeeze, and silently returned her thanks with one of his own. Exhaustion crept over them, but he forced himself to stay awake long enough to watch her fall asleep, to make sure that she was real and next to him, and that maybe she was as weak as he, and that in giving in, they would find some strength.

AN: I hinted at Kagome's heritage forever ago in chapter 13. A few people asked about it, and I was intentionally vague for this reason. Because I cannot answer questions here, I would like to direct them to my tumblr (since I've decided my LJ is for more personal stuff), which is linked on my profile. Go ask them there. As for what chapters are censored, I will make a note when they are, otherwise I won't say anything. Deal? Deal.