InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Clouded reflections ❯ clouded reflections ( One-Shot )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Genre: Remembrance/Romance
Word count: 921
Characters: it's better if you read and find out
Summary: Waiting beneath the clouds, finding some firsts.
She looks into the sky, watching. Waiting.
Not for a resurrected horror this time. No scorching heat, magick-seeming swords like lightning, no poison gas to choke breath and life, no living half-machines.
No.
This time, she waits calmly, for something that she cannot stop, cannot defeat, even should she desire to do so. Which she never would.
She remembers similar scenes from a long-ago childhood--she is only seventeen, she reflects; when did she grow old? —when family and jewels and hearts were whole, and the only magic she knew was the small, everyday sort: blooming flowers raised from seeds, the way her father could weave those same delicate blooms into a lacy crown for his fairy princess. Come spring, she would dance in the sun, bare feet skipping and tripping along to the bubbling tune of her parents' delighted laughter from their place in the shade of the old Goshinboku.
And there would be times like the one she was presently (feebly) attempting to recreate. Waiting in the snow with baited breath and wide, shining eyes, huddling under an old blanket at the roots of the same old tree--now bare of its leaves—between her parents, nestling into their protective warmth. Small hands clutching a big, hot mug of cocoa, reveling in the heat it gave off. Big fluffy marshmallows just starting to melt into the thick elixir, the perfect temperature when she raised it to her lips. (With each swallow she could feel it travel down her throat, warming her as it went.)
Brought back to the present, she sighs.
She sits at the roots of the old tree, which is just as she remembers it, and she is huddled under a blanket with a hot mug in her (now larger, and more callused) hands. But she is alone under the blanket—her mother and brother are out of town, and her grandfather is at bingo night. Her father? Colder than she, five years in his grave. The mug holds tea, not cocoa—they ran out last week, and no one has yet bought more.
Still.
She stares up at the dark cloudy sky once more, watching.
Waiting.
It's starting to get dark, and she won't be able to wait outside much longer. She'd so wanted to see it too.
She hears a rustle from the branches overhead. Thinking isn't it a little late in the year for squirrels?
Doesn't spare it a second thought.
Suddenly, something does fall form the sky.
Or rather, the tree.
Red, silver hair, golden eyes and…ears.
“Inu…yasha?” she questions, confused.
“In the flesh,” he replies.
She opens her mouth, closes it again, changes her mind and speaks: “Why are you here?” she elaborates. “I told you I just wanted a day at home.”
“Yeah...well…”
She says nothing, just raises one eyebrow and waits for him to continue.
“I…uh…” he falters, searching for words, looking at her pleadingly. His ears twitch like independent, living things.
She knows what he wants; she's just not going to acquiesce. Instead, she simply raises the other eyebrow. Curious.
“I…guh…wanted…” He turns red and stumbles again, his tongue catching on the words.
She lets her face take on an amused expression.
Dammit, woman!” He shouts the words, angry (at who?) and embarrassed. “I thought you might want company or something!”
Or something. The thought comes unbidden.
Sort of.
Save that thought for a rainy day.
She grins and pats the blanket. “Plenty of room under here.”
He turns red (more red) and hesitantly slips under the blanket, as far away from her as possible, stuffing his arms defiantly into his sleeves, watching her warily. She rolls her eyes and grins. The grin suddenly becomes a smirk and he looks momentarily frightened, ears swiveling forward, alert.
Momentarily, because before he can react, she has set down her tea and yanked his arm hard, the momentum sending him crashing into her. He is shocked--tense, immobile for long moments. Then, seeming to make a decision, resolutely staring at the gray sky, he tentatively moves his arm to circle her waist. She doesn't notice at first, he is moving slowly, carefully. But all of a sudden, when she leans down to reclaim her mug of tea—now tepid—she sees the clawed fingers resting tentatively on her side. She smiles slightly and covers his fingers with her own. For the first time, when he looks down, golden eyes wide, gazes meet. Her smile is slowly reflected on his lips, and she lays her head on his shoulder.
They sit, unspeaking, unmoving, but the silence warms them more than the old blanket can. Then, seeming to remember something, he shrugs his shoulder slightly, startling her out of her reverie.
“Kagome?” Quietly, softly almost.
Brown eyes stop searching the darkening skies for a moment to glance at him before resuming their investigation. “Hmmm?”
“Why are you out here, anyway?”
She shakes her head. “Just wait.”
He does so, obediently.
Time passes. The clouds darken a little more, still she continues her scrutiny.
Then, suddenly, her face breaks into a slow smile, like the sun rising. He has been watching her rather than the heavens, and sees.
“What?”
“See it?”
“No, what?”
She takes his hand, aligns her index finger with his, and points. “There.”
A single white speck, high up above their heads. He sees it, and his smile again matches hers. “The first snow of winter.”
She's still grinning, but now at him.
Thinking maybe…not so disappointing after all.