InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Dark Side of the Moon ❯ Another Window ( Chapter 8 )

Meg: Heh…sorry for the long wait. The "Great One" was being lazy again.

Muse: Can you say "Gamecube"? And " Really Distracting Christmas Presents"? It's not ALL my fault!

Meg: * Sigh*

Muse: You know I'm right! I'm ALWAYS right!

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Title: Dark Side of the Moon

Rating: R

Obsession: Inuyasha

Genre: Dark, angsty stuff. Lots of it. And a bit of romance.

Main characters: Kagome (duh!), Naraku, Miroku and Inuyasha (sort of). May be others later.

Summary: Check the first Chapter!

Feedback: Duh!!

Disclaimer:If I owned Inuyasha, you people wouldn't even know who Naraku is. Or possibly Inuyasha and Miroku. You know why? Because I would have them locked in my non-existent basement and never let them out to see the light of day. EVER.

Author's Note: Yes, I'm a very bad Authoress. I've neglected my readers, most of whom were waiting patiently for this chapter! I'm sorry for taking so long. So, this one is a bit long. I want to thank all who have reviewed multiple times, or even just once! You've done wonders for my ego! ^^ Big thank you to: Black Kistune, Horrid porrid, LadySilverDragon2, Ichigo, Sessha, Daredevilx, LadyFluffy2003, Vic_18 & oneiropolos and of course to everyone that reviewed again. YOU GUYS ROCK! Also, a very special thank you to the following reviewers:

JadeBlueAfterGlow1, Slate Grey, and FireDemond

YOU GUYS ROCK EVEN MORE!

Now, on with the chapter. Hee hee….Responses at bottom!

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Dark Side of the Moon

By: Meg

Chapter 8

Weeks seemed to have gone by. Miroku had spent long hours of silence beside Kagome. The time was measured in moments of movement, which were few in number. First, Kagome and he had been moved to another room made to accommodate two guests. They were each given a wardrobe full of fine clothes, two more comfortable beds and a table, which was situated in the middle of the room. Many other things had been added through will since then.

Before both of them had been granted a different apartment, Miroku spent a majority of his time resting. Once they were shown their new room, Miroku found it harder to oblige Kagome's requests for bed rest. It began to bother him that she felt so inclined to help him constantly. He couldn't actually blame her; her character simply put his needs before her own. That thought consoled him when he found her motherly nature too overbearing; years of solitude had conditioned him into accepting independence and it was hard to change now.

Their situation aggravated him to no end. The fact that she wouldn't tell him what she knew only worsened his temper. He wanted to know why she was fussing over him so much. Perhaps it was because he was the only one left to fuss over. Or, perhaps, even Inuyasha had something to do with it. He reasoned that, though now gone, Inuyasha probably affected Kagome's rationale. He always had before. And that irritated Miroku even more.

Their new belongings, mysteriously given to them by seemingly invisible hands, did not seem to relive any anxiety from either of them. He might have enjoyed them in full had his mind not been constantly overwhelmed with questions. He mainly wished to know where he was. Why was he there? It could not have been a mere Lord that chanced by and saved he and Kagome. He didn't have that much faith in chance and nor did it explain the strange way things appeared before them by will. When either of them wanted anything at all, it appeared before them, sometimes before they even voiced a demand. There was also never a sound, other than the two of them. A place of such grandeur shouldn't be so melancholy.

In the silent time that was spent between the two, Miroku began to question his own existence for the first occasion in a very long time. He clearly had remembered the pain of the poison in his body; the agony of his heart stopping and the desperate attempts to continue breathing. Was it possible that Kagome had revived him? He had seen her abilities as a Priestess grow over the recent years, but he wasn't sure if she could revive the dead. The process was long and tedious, and considering her past experiences he could assume that she wouldn't want to. Enlivening the dead fell beside dark magic and he couldn't even visualize her finding an advantage to it.

So, if Kagome hadn't been the one to bring him back from the clutches of death's grasp, who had? Someone would need a very good reason to do so. The vortex in his hand was gone; what possible use did he have? He was now only a mere Monk. Granted, he was knowledgeable in the ways of combat, but the whereabouts of his staff had been lost to him since he had regained consciousness again, and even that was still limited. For the first time, part of him wasn't so happy to have lost the abominable weapon. Something told him that things were not over yet.

Miroku realized that he had been unconsciously rubbing against the now scarred palm of his right hand. The glove was gone; he had removed it when he realized there was nothing left to conceal. The beads were lying beside his futon, beside the glove. Miroku watched Kagome as she sat against the wall, lost in thought as her eyes stared, downhearted and empty. She was still mourning for everyone that had been lost to the both of them; it was evident in her face, which seemed cold as of late. Her head rested against the casing of the shuttered window, her black hair running down her shoulders, spilling over her front.

She often looked as she did now. Then again, there was nothing else to do. Their conversation had been limited in the past. Kagome had spent much of her waking hours conversing with Inuyasha or Shippou. Now, they spoke even less than ever before. He asked her the same questions now and again, to which she never answered, nor told him what he wanted to know. He wondered feverishly why she wouldn't tell him, and part of him hated her for it. Why was it so important that she keep it to herself? At the least, he deserved to know who or what had brought him back to life; even if he wasn't sure if he wanted to be alive or not.

He also thought he deserved to know Naraku's whereabouts. He was once linked to the bastard, after all. She ought to tell him; he had to know. It was as though she was knowledgeable in these things. It was written everywhere; the way she looked at him when he asked the same questions and how she hesitated a fraction of a second before she lied; she was getting better at it every time.

He also found himself curious when she glided into the lapses of thought, which stole her away from time and space. Were her deep thoughts consumed of Inuyasha, like it used to be? Was it Sango, Shippou, or perhaps even himself? Did she think about all the things that he did? Did she wonder what he thought about all day? Sometimes the silence was almost too much to bear. He wanted to talk to her, about things that really didn't matter. But now there were so many things that did and it was hard to remember trivial things.

" Would you like to know what Death looks like?" is not a good beginning to a conversation. Which was why both of them didn't speak for what seemed like days at a time. The stillness resembled the silence, refusing to break at certain moments when he wished it would. Either of them, stillness or silence, would only shatter when either of them became hungry, or something akin to that.

Her face was still, and paler than he remembered. She seemed much like a porcelain doll, with the fine white face and crystalline eyes. Her body seemed inanimately lain against the wall, discarded, on a shelf collecting dust. Her white, silk kimono finely beaded, with the sleeves of a furisode only completed the picture. Possibly for the first time, he looked at her as more than the Kagome he had always thought he had known. She wasn't the quite the same young woman she had been the first time he'd seen her. She was older, more mature in both mind and body. Her indecent green kimono was gone; had been so for at least a week now. He realized part --a large part-of him missed it; the part of him that hadn't completely drowned in confusion, frustration, or the experience of death. Her hair was longer, reaching down her back and touching the slope of her backside. His eyes trailed over her with a living shadow of his former vigor. He reached her face, where she seemed very tired. The need went beyond sleep, as his did.

He blinked, his mind taking in her tortured form. She seemed like she needed any rest she could get. " It's late," he said, stating something quite obvious to the both of them. Well, at least him.

He had startled her out of her thoughts. He momentarily wondered what she had been thinking of before she looked up at him. His voice had shaken her violently. She said nothing in response. Kagome only seemed to be waiting for whatever he wanted to add. " You should get some rest," he told her. His voice sounded thunderous in his own ears.

She blinked tiredly, smiling dolefully at him, trying to thank him for his care. " I'm alright, Miroku," she tried to tell him.

He looked at her squarely, giving her a stern look that betrayed he wouldn't be shrugged off so easily. She attempted to smile at him kindly, but the porcelain threatened to crack and only part of it reached her mouth. " I'll be fine. You are the one who should rest."

He tried not to frown at another of her seemingly on-going endeavors for him to stay bed ridden. He tried not to snap at her to the best of his ability. Sadly, his voice was still half brittle. " Don't worry about me. There are barely bruises left."

It was a lie, but a white lie. Kagome would never sleep if she felt the need to watch over him again. The previous smile crumbled away into dust. Her face grew grim, and her eyes turned inward again, but it was as though she was searching the floor for a lost item. Her brow knit together and anxiety slowly infected her face.

Miroku rose and went to her, looking down at her frozen form as he stood beside her. He waited for her to recognize him, that he stood there, worried for her.

" Kagome?"

She was brought back instantly at the sound of his voice. Kagome blinked up at him, seeing him, but only partially, and she was slipping away again. He touched her shoulder, kneeling beside her. " Kagome?" he called again.

This time she jumped, his hand felt her shoulders tense. " I'm fine, Miroku," she repeated, her voice soft and distant, as though she were not really even there. " I don't need sleep."

It was only a moment after these words that her eyes grew half lidded, her body swaying effortlessly. " Miroku!" she softly cried in frustration, " I don't need sleep!"

He witnessed her peculiar behavior, wondering just what had gotten to her. She seemed frantic and exhausted at the same time. Her body was falling into sleep without her wishing it. Was she really that tired? To the point where her body was giving out on her? She tried to stand, but did not succeed farther than half bracing herself from falling to the floor. Her head fell onto him, landing against his shoulder. She grasped his shoulder with increasing weakness. Why was sleep such a horrible thing?

Her grip was fading. Even before that, he was the only thing holding her up. Her eyes had long since been closed. " Help me," she murmured, the desperation gone, leaked away by exhaustion.

Miroku looked down at her head buried in his shoulder. Her breathing was even. He knew she was asleep. He held her, like an infant, and carried her towards her bed, lying her down upon it, and covering her. Her face seemed at peace, for the first time since he had seen her again. She did not stir, for her slumber was deep and she would not wake soon.

He left her bedside and turned towards his own, where he removed a few of the dark layers of his clothes and laid himself to rest. He then willed the candles to extinguish themselves and darkness came in a quick rush. " Good night, Kagome," he murmured softly, knowing she was beyond where his voice could reach. He felt a little more at ease now. Sleep was always a good remedy to forget.

His eyes watched the empty darkness before drifting shut. He would have fell into sleep quickly had it not been for the strange feeling that had overcome him. His eyes opened instantly, and he sat up, but it was as though he hadn't opened his eyes at all. The darkness was so thick that it seemed to consume even the faint moonlight that once came through the shutters in silver bands. He looked toward where Kagome lay, but she was not sleeping. She was kneeling beside him, framed in the inky blackness that devoured everything. " Kagome?" he called softly, disbelieving his eyes.

Her head lifted and her eyes stared at him, black and red like flames, with a shine he had never seen in her before. She leaned forward, onto her hands and knees, moving to crawl towards him. The color of her eyes stirred an alarm, and he stared at her with confusion.

"She's lovely, isn't she?"

He heard the voice instantly, but it quickly slipped away from his mind. Miroku let out a gasp at the color of her eyes and Kagome gave a small chuckle that was deep with something the girl should not yet possess. She grew closer and suddenly the room was aglow with the red and black flames of her eyes. Her skin was red and shadows drew across the shapes and curves of her face. "Miroku," she breathed, and then their noses touched.

He couldn't move. Her fingers found his hand, and then trailed up the bare flesh of his arm and shoulders until she found the curve of his neck. Her head dipped closer and she said his name again, the fire of her eyes becoming concealed. His own eyes drifted shut, confusion and paralysis fading as the warm sweet scent of her breath filled the air.

And then he waited, but nothing came. A gentle wind brushed his face, and he opened his eyes again. She was gone.

He looked up, and saw the moon, lavender and nearly full, and felt loss that he was given life again.

"She's so very lovely."

Miroku turned around, wind brushing his face as he heard the previous voice and remembered whom it belonged to. Naraku stood only ten meters or so away, clothed as a noble man, and with dark clouds moving forward from behind him. Miroku stared at him with a shock that he tried to cover. A stronger wind bit at his skin and the miasma moving toward him bit at his memory.

He remembered the pain in his body, as well as the loss of every companion, save for one. His eyes narrowed further at Naraku. His wind tunnel was gone; he was utterly defenseless as the mist grew closer and closer. His mind recalled his death again and the greedy darkness that took everything. Miroku's hands balled into fists and he stood there for the few seconds that lingered before the mist touched him. The wind grew stronger, and he felt the ground shake; his vision did not leave Naraku; if he was to die again, and return the gift of living once more, he would show no fear to the one creature he hated most. The dark fog cloaked his vision and he eagerly inhaled, ready to find the real end to death.

But it was not as he imagined; the wind ceased, everything became the stillness that once was and Miroku was left unharmed. He took in another breath, but there was nothing that happened afterward; there was no pain.

A laugh echoed in his ears and Miroku looked around, trying to find what was hidden. "Naraku!" he cried out, knowing that the despicable half demon could hear him. He had questions that he could not bring himself to ask, and therefore said nothing afterwards, but the fog dispersed just enough to regain some visibility and the form of his mortal enemy came into view.

He felt rage build up in him, and he tried to suppress some of it before he spoke again. " Where am I?" he spat out.

Naraku seemed to ignore his questions. " Still determined to live and die quickly, are we? I supposed nothing has changed then."

Miroku ground his teeth together and he felt fingernails digging into the skin of his palms. He saw Naraku come closer, wearing a devious grin that broke his face like cracked stone. " I know you have questions you refuse to ask. Kagome is where you left her-"

" What have you done to her?"

Naraku's grin faded away. " I have done nothing to her. She is not valuable otherwise."

The weight on Miroku's mind grew lighter, but not by much. He didn't like the idea of Kagome being "valuable" to him and he was curious as to what Naraku would want with him also. Did he simply want to kill him again? Miroku felt the absence of the glove and beads, as well as the feeling of the void in his hand; the static feeling that had yet still moved and flowed beneath this skin. He willed Naraku to die a thousand painful deaths.

" Do not hate me so, for I was the one who restored your life."

" So it was you? Why?"

" I was repaying my debt to Kagome. She handed me the remaining shards herself."

Miroku lost his senses momentarily. It couldn't be possible…

" Oh, yes, I've forgotten that you had already died by that time."

He felt an anger that swelled in his chest like a flame and his breath became labored with shock. She had betrayed them? No, it seemed impossible; he had to be lying. Miroku glared, trying to hide broken eyes. " That can't be true," he seethed.

" Suit yourself. I am not here to inform you of what transpired after your passing. I have come to protect my interest."

Miroku glared and pulsed with anger that possessed no less force, despite that some fear and despair had finally touched him, both because of the betrayal she had seemingly done. Naraku came forward, closing the distance between himself and Miroku, his face expressionless and cold.

Naraku nearly glided over the barren courtyard. Miroku realized for the first moment that he was in fact in the courtyard of a castle. The moon was high and tinted in violet, unlike the place he had been before, where Kagome supposedly now slept without interruption. How had he been brought here?

His eyes quickly followed his enemy. As Naraku neared closer, Miroku tried to move himself into a defensive stance, but his limbs were frozen. His hands were suddenly pulled behind his back and the rough feeling of rope gripped and bit his skin. He remembered this feeling, before Kagome had found him and healed him. She had not seen the truth, but instead Inuyasha, which was why she had actually come back here; she had not come for him, even if she denied it. Hurt rose and panic rose slowly, and more memories bombarded him. He had spent his first conscious moments like this, once he had been revived. Much pain had followed, hazy and sharp, like a nightmare. It was much more than he wanted to remember. And it dawned on him who his abuser had been, and he opened his eyes and saw Naraku standing in front of him.

He heard the sound of a blade unsheathing and he watched as the hand of Naraku brought a dagger into view. Miroku tried to swallow down his fear. If he were to die, then he would die again with honor and without fear. He forced his face into a calm, empty expression as Naraku's mouth twisted into another cat-like grin.

" Oh, I will not kill you," he chuckled delicately, " I have no use for you as you are, but that will change."

He felt Naraku push him backwards with a shove. Paralyzed, he fell stiffly, hitting the dry, hard ground like dead weight. Dust flew up and covered his face, getting in his mouth and eyes. He coughed with effort, and sent up another cloud of grey dust. Afterwards, a foot was brought to his side and shifted him onto his back. Directly above his frozen body, he saw the brilliance of the moon, but the form of a demon soon blocked its glow. Naraku crouched beside him, and he watched as the blade came into view again. The metal was soon brought down upon Naraku's own hand, slicing through flesh and tarnishing the blade with blood.

All the while Naraku retained the malicious grin as he enjoyed the spilling of his own blood. A coppery scent filled the air. It dripped from his hand, spilling blood on the dry earth and Miroku's face. He felt the bile in his throat rise. The smell was so near, much too near, and it smelled inhuman. Miroku had no choice but to watch as the demon above him raised his dagger and then brought it down upon Miroku's shoulder.

It took more effort than he knew he had not to cry out in pain. His eyes screwed shut and his breathing became labored, trying to cope with a pain he could not control. But then the blade was twisted and all human restraints could not keep him from crying out. He desperately wanted to move-- to do anything to destroy the horrible thing next to him. All odds were against him succeeding, even if he could move, but he didn't have much to loose. He had already died once.

Gritting his teeth and still panting from the wound, he saw Naraku watching him as he crouched there beside him. His eyes were transfixed on Miroku's shoulder, which suddenly began to pulse, pain shooting out everywhere. It burned, scalded and boiled its way through him. It ran from his shoulder to his arms and legs, and then finally, slowly reached his chest. Miroku gasped out for air, and the burning fire turned to freezing ice. It felt like a weight was crushing his lungs, drawing out his breath.

The ice then began to spread, too, cooling the fire, but stinging his insides with frost. He felt himself moving, and yet had no control over it. The dirt scratched against his bare back and his bloody shoulder. An invisible force soon threw his head back, and his body writhed on its own. He wanted to cry out again, as though it would keep the pain from consuming him, but he did not, however, as his eyes opened to catch a glimpse of the satisfaction glittering in Naraku's eyes.

He felt the blade being pulled out of his flesh by Naraku's hand, which only tore more of the wound open. The pain that burned and froze him at the same time continued, but only with less vigor. The weight was lifted and Miroku felt himself greedily trying to fill his lungs with air. His body went limp and he felt mobility restored to him. Though he dare not use it, his fingers dug into the ground, carving ruts of their own accord.

His breath was still labored and his body felt worse if he moved even slightly, but he looked up at Naraku regardless. The face of his mortal enemy was shadowed and Miroku's vision began to fail. The demon held the dagger statically in his hand. The filtered moonlight was unforgiving, as was Miroku's increasing fatigue. Despite efforts not to fall into unconsciousness, he was loosing the battle. Feeling and touch began to fade until he could no longer feel the dirt beneath him. Darkness shut out the moon and the demon now standing above him, but he knew that his eyes were still open, as he had blinked only a moment ago.

What has he done to me? He wondered with an ever-growing desire to slip away from the world.

The pulsing returned to his shoulder and spread to his fingertips like warm waves, but even that began to die away and Miroku knew he was slipping…

He did not fight it anymore; it was too hard to. He wanted to dissolve into sleep. It was a good remedy to forget.

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Responses:

Evil Bunny: Wow, I almost made the Evil Bunny cry? * tears up* Wow…

Kitsune-Balloon: Don't worry, it wasn't clichéd….too much. ^~^

Horrid Porrid: I know this doesn't really answer your question, but it's a step the right direction, right? ^^;

JadeBlueAfterGlow1: Can I have my pie now? ;-)

Rurouni Star: I too know the feeling of M/K withdrawal…don't worry!

Slate Grey: You've brought me ego up to the size of California. Thank you so much for your review! I'm so flattered!! @__@;;

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Review…Because I love you. *__*