A/N: Second part of this week's update. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Chpts One thru Nine, people.
Words To Know:
Nada. : ).
Chapter Eighteen: Consequences
X-x-X
All I knew and all I believed
Are crumbling images that no longer comfort me.
I scramble to reach higher ground,
Some order and sanity,
Or something to comfort me.
"Flood"/ Tool
X-x-X
It was hard to talk to Sango.
It was also very easy.
And how each could be true, Kagome couldn't have explained, couldn't have even tried to reason out, for the life of her.
They sat face to face in the field in silence for a long long time. Sango looked much as she always had in Kagome's memories, like Miroku, and she wondered if they had taken those forms for her benefit. Probably, they had.
In the end, Kagome took in a deep breath, let it out slowly and quietly asked,
"How much has Miroku-sama told you?"
Sango seemed surprised by the question. Kagome, despite having asked it in the first place, was no less surprised: she'd meant to start the conversation with the hanyou that plagued her thoughts and held fast to her poor, ragged heart.
"Everything," Sango said, once she recovered. She sent Kagome a worried look. "Houshi-sama is deeply troubled by your fate, Kagome-chan."
Kagome snorted.
"You mean lack of fate," she muttered, and Sango managed a faint smile before her face smoothed out into serious lines once more.
"I'm worried too," she said.
Kagome swallowed dryly, uneasy with the idea of having no future—literally.
"Sango-chan," she murmured. The young woman hesitated, not sure if she should ask her friend about the unpleasant thought that had occurred to her a few days prior, one she hadn't shared with Miroku, though he'd known she was struggling with something.
"Yes?" Sango prompted gently, looking concerned.
Kagome sent her a thin smile.
"I've been…thinking," she said slowly, still unsure. "About not having a fate, you know? About what that could…mean…for me. And I was thinking…that maybe I don't have a future…maybe…Miroku-sama can't find anything for me…because…."
Kagome closed her mouth and swallowed audibly, wet her lips with her tongue and let out a low breath.
"Because I…I'm going to…die."
The silence in the field was deafening, and the sunlight no longer so cheerful.
"I'm not sure," Sango murmured at long last, and the knot in Kagome's gut tightened with a jerk. "Neither I nor Houshi-sama…we haven't seen a death…but we haven't seen a life, either. And, to be frank, we're worried about that."
Kagome didn't know what she'd been expecting, exactly. Not quite a concrete yes or no, because Miroku would have given her that by now. But she had been hoping….
"So…I could die," Kagome said quietly.
Sango was silent for a moment, then nodded.
"You could," she acknowledged. "The future isn't certain. Usually, when the future shows itself, it is a future meant to be changed. Usually, there are signs, omens, of things to come. But your case seems to be very…special, Kagome-chan."
"Special" again, Kagome thought bitterly. There's nothing "special" about any of this.
"Kagome-chan, about all this—"
"No," Kagome breathed, closing her eyes. "No more. Not with you. I get the gloom-and-doom from Miroku-sama every time I see him. Not from you, please. Not right now."
Sango watched her with troubled, worried eyes, but relented:
"All right. No more gloom-and-doom. But don't get bitter or disheartened, please. It's the worst you could do to yourself at this point."
Kagome opened her eyes and looked at her friend, then nodded. Sango sent her a small smile that Kagome returned, and the sunlight seemed a little brighter than it had a while ago.
"Are you better these days?" Sango asked gently. "Houshi-sama's told me…you've been having a hard time."
Kagome smiled ruefully.
"I miss you guys," she murmured. "When I came through the well again, I didn't realize so much time had passed—only ten years have gone by in my time. And then, I found out Kaede-baa-chan was gone…and Inuyasha…."
Sango leaned forward and placed a comforting hand on Kagome's.
"Kagome-chan," she murmured.
Kagome closed her eyes and let out a short, tired laugh.
"He was trying to get to me when he died. Did you know that?"
"No," Sango replied after a pause.
"He jumped down the well on the night of the new moon, and ended up breaking his neck."
"Kagome-chan," Sango said sharply, "stop that. It's not your fault."
"He was trying to get to me!" Kagome snapped, her head snapping up, gaze furious. "Whose fault is it then, if it isn't mine!"
Sango watched her in silence for a time.
"It's not your fault," she repeated sternly.
"Then whose?" Kagome demanded. "Who can I thank for that?"
The two women stared at each other, Kagome angry and desperate and hurt, Sango sad and conflicted and hurt.
"No one," she murmured finally. "There is no one to blame, and no one to thank. That's just how it was written."
"It's not fair," Kagome whispered raggedly.
"Oh Kagome-chan," Sango said sadly, moving forward to embrace her heart-broken friend tightly. "It was never supposed to be."
X-x-X
Sesshoumaru returned to consciousness before Kagome did, and when he opened his eyes, it was to a dark room.
He lifted his head and saw the tray he'd ordered Yuki to bring sitting by Kagome's bedside. The dishes were covered, but he was fairly sure that they were all cold by now; the food didn't smell fresh.
He looked over at the woman on the futon. She had the end of his pelt tightly gripped and wrapped around one hand.
She can't be….
Sesshoumaru knew that what the houshi had said, about incarnates and their reincarnations not always being similar to the point of instant recognition, was true. The soul was a separate entity from the flesh, after all. The body did not join the soul in the other world, just as the soul did not stay with the body in this one. So it was entirely possible for a soul's various reincarnations to look nothing alike, or act nothing alike, or both.
But…to have Rin back in this form…in this alien being, this alien thing, that he couldn't separate from his damnedable half-brother's memory…. Why? Why her?
The smell of tears drew his gaze to her face. They were leaking out of her eyes and running down her cheeks, and she was sobbing in her sleep. This miserable, weak human woman. This horribly fragile human woman. This was Rin?
His hand, quite without his permission, reached out and hovered over her head. He wasn't sure what he meant to do. Kill her while she slept? Was it better to end her miserable existence now, end this Rin's life at his hand rather than let it end at someone else's? Or offer comfort? Let this Rin know that he was near by and she need not fear what demons plagued her sleep?
His hand hovered over her head for a long time, trembling faintly with the effort of holding back both the urge to destroy and the long dead urge to nurture. In the end, his hand descended and settled on her head—the urge to nurture had won out.
Then again, something about Rin had always stayed his hand. Something about that human made it impossible for him to deal with her as he dealt with others.
"Damn you," he whispered quietly, viciously. He didn't know who he was damning—the houshi, the miko, Rin, Fate, himself. Maybe all. Maybe none.
"Damn you."
X-x-X
Sesshoumaru spent the next three days sitting in Kagome's room next to her futon, silent and unmoving, while she slept and allowed her body to restore itself. If she found this arrangement odd, she didn't give any sign. And if any of the house staff found this odd, they were smart enough to keep it to themselves.
Yuki came in to help her attend to personal needs and to give Kagome her meals, rice gruel and tea mostly. And Jaken came in to inform his lord of the goings-on within and without the shiro. But other than them, no one came into the room.
The taiyoukai spent much of that time contemplating the far wall that still bore a large crack in it from Kagome's return to consciousness, and trying not to do too much thinking, which was completely at odds with his disposition. He was given to contemplation by nature, and he found it difficult to repress such a natural action, at least at first. Gradually—and especially when he allowed Kagome's ki to seek out his youki—it got easier to ignore the need to process and ponder and examine and understand. It was too soon to try to do that with all he'd heard from the houshi. Better to ignore it for now, and wait until later.
It was an excuse, and he knew that, but he chose to ignore that too. Because the truth of the matter was that he wanted to pretend nothing had changed. And if he started thinking, he'd be admitting that everything had changed, and he couldn't bear to do that right now.
So he sat quietly by Kagome's futon and let her hold onto his pelt and forced himself not to think.
Because everything was wrong again.
X-x-X
"Crap," Kagome gasped, just barely able to block Sesshoumaru's blow.
"It is that, yes," the demon intoned, abruptly bringing the hilt of his practice sword up to strike her.
Kagome jerked left and leapt back, her katana sweeping out in a rather useless attempt at keeping Sesshoumaru at bay. He easily dodged it and nearly sliced her arm off.
"What have I said about wasting your energy on pointless maneuvers?" he asked, voice more than a little annoyed.
Kagome leapt back again.
"Not to do it," she managed to get out between huffs. She tightened her grip on the handle unconsciously.
In the next moment, she found herself sprawled on the floor, her sword skittering across the wood floor of the dojo, Sesshoumaru's foot firmly planted between her breasts. She blinked, surprised at her position.
"I am beginning to think that I'm wasting my time with you," the taiyoukai said icily.
Kagome glared up at him.
"Why do you persist in being so stupid?" he continued, returning her glare with one of his own, and Kagome grudgingly admitted that his was probably a lot scarier than hers.
"What is your problem?" she snapped.
"I dislike wasting my time," Sesshoumaru snapped back. "And when you ignore what I teach you, I can only conclude that you do not care. In which case there is no reason for this Sesshoumaru to give a flying damn whether or not your obnoxious head gets cut off, now is there?"
Kagome rolled her eyes.
"Oh for the love of—you're pissed off because I "swiped unnecessarily" at you after you've told me not to?"
His glare deepened, and then he reached down, grabbed her by the front of her practice gi and jerked her up roughly.
"No, you stupid bitch—I'm displeased with you because I have repeatedly explained that a loose grip on your katana is to your advantage but you persist in gripping it as though it were a life-line!" he bellowed in her face.
She stared at him in silence for several moments.
"How do you DO that?" she demanded finally, astonished that he'd noticed her grip had tightened.
"PAY ATTENTION!"
"STOP YELLING IN MY FACE AND I WILL!"
He dropped her and she hit the floor with a grunt. She sent him a scathing look that he ignored:
"Pick up your katana."
She groused under her breath but did as he ordered. She turned to fall into defensive stance, but found her hands suddenly empty. She blinked.
"Turn around baka."
She resisted the impulse to tell him to go to hell and turned. He was holding her sword with his hand wrapped around the blade, the hilt pointed in her direction.
"What is this?" she asked wearily.
"Since you obviously can't remember how to hold a katana, we're going to go back over it."
Kagome eyed him. "This is your crappy idea of a joke, right?"
"I do not "joke," Miko. Now stop trying my patience."
"I know how to hold a stupid katana, Sesshoumaru," she said flatly, "I've been doing it for over a month now."
"Shut up and get over here."
"Look, can't we jus—"
"Miko," he said, voice holding warning, through gritted teeth.
Kagome sighed in frustration and stomped over to stand before him.
"Take hold of the hilt."
She immediately obeyed, and he immediately ripped the handle out of her hand and brought it down over her knuckles.
"OUCH!" Kagome yelped. "You bastard! What did you do that for!"
"I said grip it, not try to take it from me. Again."
"Did you have to break my knuckles?" she shouted, clutching her throbbing hand to her chest.
He glared at her.
"I didn't break your precious knuckles, wench. You'd have known if I had, trust me."
"You might as well have!"
"And why would I?" Sesshoumaru snapped. "What possible purpose would that serve?"
Kagome sent him an ugly look.
"How should I know! Maybe you get off on pain, you psycho." she snapped.
The demon lord's jaw tightened visibly, and that odd little muscle in his cheek twitched furiously.
"I'm giving you a fifteen minute reprieve, Miko," he said slowly, voice taut. "You will compose yourself, and then you will return here and we will continue with your lesson. Is that clear?"
Kagome eyed him suspiciously.
"Why?" she asked.
A muscle in his jaw jumped.
"Do. You. Understand." he repeated.
She pursed her lips and eyed him, and he lost his patience:
"Answer the question you stupid bitch!"
"All right all right! I understand already! Holy hells you're in a bad mood."
Sesshoumaru tightened his grip on the blade he held, ignoring the bite of the razor sharp edge and the blood that oozed out from between his fingers. Kagome noticed:
"You're bleeding!"
"How astute of you," he said tightly.
"Here, let me see—"
"I don't need your help in the least and I'll thank you to remember that fact."
"But—"
"Get out!" he snapped, raising his voice, and she jumped and did as he ordered, glancing over her shoulder at him as she left the practice hall.
As soon as she left he grabbed the practice sword by the handle with his free hand, and after making sure the fingers of his cut hand were clear, curtly snapped his wrist. The blood marring the cool steel flew off to spatter the polished wood floor, leaving the blade clean. The deep cut in his other hand stopped bleeding, and already the muscles were beginning the process of knitting themselves back together. He'd be fully healed from such a superficial wound within moments.
The youkai lord stood there for a moment, glaring at the blood on the floor, a little furrow between his brows, then abruptly walked out of the practice hall.
There were a few of his soldiers standing outside, acting as though they hadn't been intently—even eagerly—listening to his poor attempt at a training session with that insufferable bitc—
"Wipe down the floor," he snapped at the closest demon, voice harsh, and the demon immediately jumped to do his lord's bidding.
Sesshoumaru shoved his boots on, then stiffly began for the garden, to walk around and perhaps cool off before he had to continue the miko's training session. He folded his hands behind his back, both deadly appendages wrapped loosely around the handle of the practice sword. As he walked, he sharply flicked the sword to and fro, visible proof of his anger and irritation.
The demons left standing by the dojo waited until they were certain their lord's keen hearing wouldn't pick up on conversation. Then, one of them glanced around at the others and grinned broadly:
"Told you it was a good show," he said smugly.
X-x-X
"Get up," Sesshoumaru coldly ordered, glaring down at her.
Kagome matched his glare with one of her own. She was sitting on the floor, her practice sword still in hand, her other hand pressing against her right shoulder, still sore despite Sesshoumaru's having attended to it four days back.
"We've been here for four hours," she said between gritted teeth, her eyes angry and wet with gathering tears. "I'm tired."
"Get up," he ordered again, his voice dropping to a threatening growl.
"I want to go inside," she said, raising her voice.
"Woman," he snarled, advancing on her, "if you don't get up—"
"I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE!" she screamed, and threw her sword at him.
It went whistling through the air at him and if he hadn't recovered and jerked out of the way it would have impaled him clean through the head. It whooshed past his face, barely missing his nose, and didn't stop until it hit a post across the room, landing with a solid THUNK deep into the wood.
He wondered where that little burst of strength had come from even as he whipped his own sword aside and advanced on her, grabbing her by the hair and jerking her to her feet.
She put up a struggle, but he grabbed her around the waist and hauled her up off the ground, then strode out of the dojo with her under his arm, kicking and calling him obscene things that he ignored. He headed into the garden, walked straight up to the pond and threw her into it, and she hit the water with a shriek and went under, then exploded onto the surface, gasping and splashing and coughing.
"Are you through with your little tantrum?"
"NO!" she screamed, then went under and came back up sputtering.
Sesshoumaru's eyes narrowed.
Somewhere nearby, thunder rumbled ominously, and the smell of rain was on the wind. The air was heavy with the threat of rain, too, but neither the taiyoukai nor the miko paid it any mind.
Kagome finally managed to find a foot hold, and she was able to stand up. Water fell from her drenched gi and hakama and hair as she stood, shaking, watching him with all her pent-up fury on her face. He stared right back, face expressionless.
"Hurry up and finish throwing your fit—I haven't got any more time to waste," he said, voice sharp.
"I'm not doing any more!" she shouted.
"You'll do what I say, when I say," he snapped back, his patience with her thin.
"Go to hell!" she threw back, stumbling unsteadily toward the bank; her wet clothes were heavy now, and she was unbalanced. "I don't have to listen to you!"
Sesshoumaru's youki flared, stirring his hair and kimono.
"BE QUIET!" he bellowed.
"Don't tell me what to do!" she bellowed back. "You can't tell me what to do!"
"The hell I can't," he replied.
"I don't want to do any more!" she wailed, bursting into tears and falling to her knees in the pond. "Please, I don't want to do any more!"
He watched and listened to her loudly weep in silence, watched her shoulders shake from the force of it, his face a blank mask.
He was quite disgusted with her, not that he knew it'd make a difference to her if she knew.
Rin wouldn't have disgraced herself so, he thought before he could stop himself. And the thought caused a sharp pain in his chest, as if his own soul was reprimanding him.
Because she was Rin.
But…she wasn't.
Perhaps he hadn't quite reconciled what he'd learned.
The rain that had been threatening finally fell in violent sheets, with thunder roaring and lightning flashing. Kagome didn't appear to notice; she continued to cry, sitting in the pond, and Sesshoumaru watched her despite the fact that he had no desire to. But he was compelled. She was so pathetic, so pitiful—the seeming embodiment of everything he despised about humans.
How, he wondered again, could this woman…how could she share a soul with Rin? This weak woman who couldn't seem to drag herself out of whatever abyss she was mired in—how could she have come from Rin's soul? Rin, who'd surprised him with her hardiness of spirit. Who'd almost convinced him that humans could be redeemed. How could they have come from the same soul?
Eventually, the rain softened, was no longer pelting them relentlessly, and she stopped crying, settling for the occasional, wrenching dry sob. She really looked so pathetic, sitting in the pond and shivering, her hair drenched and dripping and untidy.
Most people would have been surprised to hear that Sesshoumaru was capable of pity. In truth, pity isn't nearly so difficult as other feelings. Hate requires work, as does love. Mercy requires the proper mindset. But pity was easy. Pity only required that you acknowledge how low someone else had sunk as compared to yourself. And that was easy for Sesshoumaru.
He walked toward her, into the water and stopped in front of her.
"Please," she begged, her voice hoarse and thick, her thin frame shaking and shivering. "No more. Please."
He watched the top of her head for a long time.
"No more," he agreed at long last. "Now get out of there before you die of chill."
She sniffled and looked up at him. She looked very pale and very fragile and very human, and he felt a strange pain in his chest that was different from any other pain he'd ever felt in his many years. He'd almost call it…remorse.
"I can't feel my legs," she whispered, teeth chattering.
He drew in a deep breath, then let it out. Then, he leaned down and picked her up and tucked her under his arm again. This time, she was limp, dead weight, and he wondered if it was a result of the chill in her body or if it was a result of his agreeing to stop her session for the night, or if it was a result of her giving up. He got the distinct impression that it was the last one. And he wondered exactly what she'd given up.
He sloshed out of the pond with her under his arm and walked out of the garden. As he was passing the cherry blossom trees, she lifted her head and murmured,
"We didn't watch the moon tonight."
He paused.
"There is no moon tonight," he replied.
"Oh," she whispered. "So that's why it's so dark."
X-x-X
Some time later, Kagome was sitting in Sesshoumaru's study by the large copper brazier that Jaken had fired up. She had changed out of her sodden practice wear and into the dark blue haori and hakama that Mine had given her, what now felt like years and years ago. Her hair was still damp, and when she remembered to, she shook the drying tresses out.
The demon lord was also there, silent and brooding. Usually, he'd leave her to her own devices when they returned from the dojo, but tonight he'd stuck around and made sure she changed into dry clothing and got warm. She knew there was no affection or concern behind his actions—he was merely looking after his investment. It was as cold-blooded an explanation as he was.
Kagome watched him, absently shaking out her nearly dry hair. She was beginning to feel that it was useless to try and figure him out. That she never would. She doubted that even he understood himself, and she doubted too that he ever would, not out of ignorance but because he truly just did not care. He was concerned with actions, not the reasons behind them. And yet, it was that very lack of concern that made him so intriguing. She wondered, somewhere in the back of her mind, why he didn't care. How he couldn't care.
He stirred, glanced at her and held her gaze. No, he hadn't begun to heal. Not by any stretch of the imagination. The ghosts in his eyes told her that, in the brief second she saw them before the familiar, studied disinterest hid them away. She thought that the ghosts in his eyes might have even multiplied. He was different, had been different since she'd recovered from the arrow wound he'd licked shut. It sort of felt like he'd drawn his melancholy more tightly around him.
They watched each other silently. Silence was always good if they were alone. It prevented them from interacting, allowed them both to distance themselves from each other.
But then it occurred to her that this was counterproductive to what she'd set out to do. Distance was only going to encourage his grief, not make it go away. So she'd have to get rid of the distance. How, though?
Kagome rose and padded, barefoot, to where he sat behind his desk and stood before him, before kneeling down so that her face was level with his. They watched each other, and she could feel his confusion and wariness.
There was one way. It was very simple, and her mother had used it on her several times in the past. And she'd found there was nothing more effective to cure most of what ailed you. She couldn't say why she felt compelled to help him. Perhaps it was the fact that he was as broken inside as she was. Or maybe it was because of the memory of a little girl that so obviously haunted him. Whatever the reason, Kagome, after meeting his gaze, crawled into his lap and hugged him.
Sesshoumaru had been curious as to what the miko was planning, but the second she touched him he stiffened. Of all the actions he'd assumed she'd take, this one had never even been in the running. His hands moved to extricate himself, and then suddenly stopped. Something refused to let him shove her away. He just couldn't. Desperately wanted to, but was completely unable.
He sat frozen, horrified and furious at himself. He also carefully avoided thinking about the last time a human had hugged him. It was a memory he didn't care to revisit, like so many others, and he grew even more furious with the miko for stirring up his tightly locked away memories.
Seconds ticked by and the miko didn't draw away. It dawned on him then that he wasn't being embraced—he was being held. The difference was both tiny and huge. And the epiphany so surprised him that he forgot to be outraged.
He hadn't been held since he'd been very young. By Hahaue. Gods, how long had it been since he'd really thought about his mother? Centuries, he decided. He hadn't allowed a single thought of her to cross his mind since she'd died. How strange that a weak human woman who was nothing like her at all had reminded him.
His mother was another memory Sesshoumaru counted among his failures. He'd been very young when she'd died, and logically, he knew her death had had nothing to do with him, but the idea stuck. It was why he'd avoided thoughts of her. And why the thought of her after so many many years, combined with being held, made a horrible wrenching ache rise in him. He swallowed with difficulty, trying to will the feeling away. Instead, it only seemed to grow worse.
The miko's ki nudged his youki, and there was a moment when he was tempted to lash out at it, to retaliate. It was her fault he was feeling this, after all; if she'd just stayed by the damn brazier, he'd still be all right. Dead inside, but that cold emptiness was preferable to this ache he didn't want to feel and didn't want to understand. But his traitorous youki slid into that strange, comfortable union with her ki, and some of the edge on the ache eased. He caught the scent of salt water, of tears, but they never fell, and he couldn't tell if they were his—though he rather doubted it, to be frank—or hers. Gradually, the tightness in his chest loosened and he was able to breathe a little easier, and his throat didn't feel quite as constricted, and he was able to get his bearings again. The second he thought about shoving her away, though, the tightness in his chest returned, so he decided he'd have to endure this until the ache was gone. And the moment he accepted that, a sort of serenity settled over them.
He let his mind wander back, years and decades and centuries ago, to find his mother. He sifted through his memories and suddenly there she was, tall and elegant, lovely and deadly. The crescent moon he bore on his forehead matched hers, and he'd inherited her more refined facial features. Her eyes had been quicksilver, with the ability to change into any and every color in the spectrum. She used to tell him a silly story about catching a rainbow in her eyes, and combing moonbeams into her silvery hair—hair that had been paler than his, paler than his father's, and strangely like moonlight. He'd been fascinated by it, by his mother, a child of the night and the moon. She'd been the reason the shiro had been called the House of the Moon.
He'd wondered sometimes if maybe his mother hadn't actually been a goddess, instead of youkai. She'd been the last of her family; by the time he'd been born, only she was left. And she'd seemed lonely, even to his child's mind, as she'd wandered through the halls of the shiro that had been named in her honor. Even when he'd been with her, accompanying her everywhere, there was a sort of sadness that clung to her. And after she'd died, it had felt as if the shiro had taken on that sadness of hers.
He had forgotten…so much. Even the grief he'd felt at her death had receded to little more than a vague, misty impression. But he recalled, now that he was allowing himself to, that he'd been inconsolable when she'd died. Only the moon had helped. He'd forgotten that too. He hadn't remembered why the moon brought him such serenity and also a fleeting sense of loss and sadness; he'd only known that it had, for so damn long….
The fire had burned itself out by the time he sank back into reality. It took him several confused moments to realize the fire was out and it was cold, he was home, in his study, at his desk, and the miko was asleep. He shook his head, feeling as if it were cluttered and choked with cobwebs, then lifted his head from where it had fallen to rest against the miko's shoulder. He reached up to remove her arms from around his shoulders, then stopped when he saw the pale fingers of moonlight on the floor, seeming to stretch out to touch, to dispel, the darkness he sat in. He slowly let his hands drop, and sighed softly. He sat watching the moonlight creep across the floor—always reaching out for him but never quite able to touch him—for a long time.
He was a child of darkness, not of the night as his mother had been; as with the line between being held and being embraced, the line between the night and darkness was both paper-thin and chasm-wide. His darkness came from somewhere deep within, from the place in him where his beast lived. His mother had had no such place—but his father….
He sat quietly with Kagome asleep in his lap for sometime, then decided that he should get up, because this was starting to get uncomfortable. He still hadn't quite reconciled Rin and Kagome, and having the reincarnation of his little girl asleep in his lap was making him feel things he preferred not to feel, things he preferred not to have to deal with.
But should he awaken her?
And why should the question have given him pause, much less occurred to him at all?
In the end, he did not awaken her, and he had no reason for this decision other than that the decision had to be made. Instead, he gently edged one arm under her backside and carefully placed his other hand against the back of her head, steadying and lightly anchoring her small body against his. For whatever reason, the miko had afforded him a sort of…kindness?…this night. He would return it and consider this whole, uncomfortable affair ended, any debt repaid.
He slowly stood, adjusted her weight in his arms so that both arms were under her now and walked to her chamber, trying not to think that he'd done this once for Rin when she'd been too ill to move. She never stirred against him, her heartbeat sluggish with sleep and her breathing deep and even. Once, she tucked her head more securely into the hollow of his shoulder, and he stopped dead in the hallway when she did, waiting. He had no idea if he was waiting for her to awaken or if he was waiting for his memories to come crashing back into the forefront of his brain when he was vulnerable to them. Instead, neither of those things happened. She slept on, and though there was a stirring somewhere back in the dark recesses he shied away from, nothing came out of hiding. He felt sort of odd, too, and it took him a moment to realize it was because of her ki; her energy had taken note of his distress and was trying to do something about it. What, he had no idea, but once he became aware of and acknowledged the holy energy's presense, it settled down and was quite content to simply be connected to his youki and hum along quietly.
He felt a little warmer than he had before, a strange sort of warmth that came from the inside out, and he wondered, as he began once more for her chamber, if it was her ki's doing. He knew for certain it was her ki's doing when in response to this thought, the energy nudged his youki ever so gently, as if to issue some sort of reply.
"So you read minds now, do you?" he muttered, not expecting an answer, and not getting one. "Let's hope you put this new talent to good use instead of squandering it the way you have all your other talents."
Well, perhaps that wasn't an entirely fair assessment. But he was feeling too weary to try to be fair. And she was asleep, anyway; unless she actually heard anything while she slept and could remember it in the morning (which he doubted very highly), he was safe from her whining and ranting and raving.
He reached her chamber at long last, and removed his right arm from under her, leaving her seated on his left. He slid the fusuma to the room open and stepped in and then slid the fusuma shut again, then walked to her futon. Yuki had already turned down the blankets and laid out a sleeping yukata. Sesshoumaru ignored the yukata and gently laid Kagome down, not wanting to awaken her this close to being home free, and was finally able to free his shoulders from her grip. The loss of physical contact, however, made the bond between their energies weaken ever so slightly, and that odd warmth he'd felt receded a little. He managed to ignore the sensation, but a part of him was put out to have lost the feeling—strange it may have been, but it had not been unpleasant.
She looked very small; the shadows under eyes were darker in the unlit room, and her face was paler. She looked very very mortal, very very damaged—and very much like Rin.
He smirked sardonically at the ache under his breastbone that throbbed at that thought. She brought comfort and horrible pain—just what was it about the miko that she inspired such paradoxes?
He began straightening, but a delicately-boned hand reaching out stopped him. He looked at her face, found sleepy eyes watching him. Fingertips made contact with the blue crescent on his forehead. They fell away just as quickly.
"I got to see the moon tonight after all," she murmured, closing her eyes and going back to sleep.
He stared at her, bemused, and that was when he realized that their energies had unraveled, and her ki had receded. He drew his own youki in, feeling a little disappointed without really knowing why, and also wondering what had prompted that sleepy remark. Deciding he was too tired to try and puzzle out the odd statement tonight, he rose and left the chamber, quietly and carefully sliding the fusuma shut.
Neither of them was visited by memories that night.
Additional A/N: I'm going to be quiet on this one for a while, as I'm trying to get the last chapters put together. Try me again in late September/early-to-mid October. Gomen. : (.