InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Love's Smirking Revenge ❯ Walking the Line ( Chapter 19 )

The pier adjacent to the Tsukiji fish market was as quiet as the grave. A thin, early morning mist curled over the water logged wood of the dock on its way into shore and echoed the hollow sound of his footsteps back to him. In a few hours, well before the first bits of rosy dawn warmed the horizon, the dark waters of the bay would be teeming with fishing boats. Laden down by compartments filled with the night's catch, they would line up along the pier, one behind the other, and patiently await their turn to unload.

For the time being, there wasn't a boat or person in sight. Even the swollen moon seemed to hide behind the great dark clouds that'd returned to blanket the sky. With only the dim haze of the dock lights to illuminate the path ahead, he moved purposefully from storehouse to storehouse, stopping only briefly at each one to search for traces of her scent.

The combined aromas of old fish, decay and algae were practically overwhelming, making it hard to distinguish any individual scents, let alone single out hers. The saying, `like finding a needle in a hay stack,' didn't have shit on this. By habit he avoided the docks whenever possible simply because the stench that wafted up from them was enough to knock him over on a good day, but tonight, well tonight he just didn't have a choice.

Suppressing a gag, he pulled in a slow even breath and closed his eyes. After stripping away the stench of fish and algae, what was left didn't help in the least. His own scent was there of course, as were the heady aromas of wood rot and stale beer. Slightly less noticeable was the unmistakeable coppery tang of blood. There was lots of it around, but none of it was hers. He breathed a sigh of relief at that, if only a minor one.

There wasn't a shred of her in the first storehouse or the second and after the third turned up empty as well he began to panic. What if he was wrong? He had no proof they'd brought her here after all, just a half-cocked notion driven by a small lead and his blind determination to find her no matter what the cost. There was a book of rules about this kind of thing, a manual with steps and procedures that should be followed in hostage situations. He'd pretty much taken that book and used it to wipe his ass.

He'd left his partner, if he could stomach calling the bastard that, behind and gone ahead alone. He hadn't called for any backup and no one had any clue in Hell where he was. He'd “borrowed” a civilian vehicle to get there (if you call flashing your badge and ordering a bleary-eyed kid out of his parent's car “borrowing,” that is). He was armed with nothing more than his service issue side arm and a single clip of bullets, and he hadn't exactly had the time to pull out his spare bullet proof vest.

He'd worked himself into a bad situation and he knew it. Just being there was a gamble, a risky one at that, but if it meant that her safety was guaranteed then he was all in. She didn't deserve anything less. He just hoped the sons of bitches who took here were the bargaining kind, since he didn't have any intentions of leaving empty handed. Wearing a grimace, he also futilely hoped they preferred knives to guns.

Taking a bullet was no picnic, even for a hanyou. They hurt like a bitch, and more importantly, he had absolutely no intention whatsoever of spending another Christmas in the hospital. Hell, even his demon blood wasn't a fail safe. One clean shot to the head and it'd be lights out. So he was left with two options - calm the fuck down, find her and be smart about it, or rush in, gun blazing like an idiot, and hope for the best. It wasn't hard to choose the right option, but that didn't make it the easy one.

Stopping outside the fourth storehouse along the stretch, he leaned against the metal sheeting of the exterior wall and sucked in a few deep breaths. Shit, he could've killed for a cigarette - anything to keep his hands steady. The cool air and the brief rest seemed to give him some of what he needed though. His shoulders relaxed as the calmness of the night around him soothed his ragged nerves and he steeled his resolve with a nod. With determination shining in his eyes, he turned his attention to the door of the fourth storehouse.

Out of all the buildings he'd seen thus far, it was the only one with a lock on the door. He fingered the lock that'd been left hanging open and loose in the padlock with a contemplative look. The metal, though weathered, appeared new and the lack of rust around the key hole suggested frequent use. With a silent `hmmm', he took a step back and regarded the door with a subtle shake of his head. Waltzing in through the front door was just asking for trouble - he'd have to find another way.

Something about the look of this place had him excited. There was no hint of her scent lingering in the air to suggest that she was even inside, but something about it felt right. Gun drawn, he made his way silently round to the back side of the building. Wearing a look of disgust, he used the toe of his shoe to push several fish carcases and empty beer bottles into the murky waters below before making his way slowly along the foot and a half wide section of dock that separated the building from the water's edge.

He came to a halt next to a large set of double doors on the rear side of the structure and took a moment to scan the dock. Every sense he possessed strained and pushed outward in search of a sign, even a minor one, that he had company, but the night echoed only silence back to him. The dock was completely deserted. If Inagawa-kai was holding her here, they didn't appear to have any fear of being caught or interrupted. Their arrogance suited him just fine though since it gave him a chance to work. Using the freedom to his advantage, he took his time thoroughly inspecting the doors. He was more than a little surprised to find them not only unlocked but also standing partially ajar.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously at the darkened crack that was just large enough to fit a body through while his better sense told him to forget about it. The unlocked door at the front had seemed like an obvious invitation for trouble, but an open door? They might as well have put up a flashing neon sign for all the subtlety it had. He was tempted to say `fuck it' and try his luck with the front door after all, but his feet remained rooted to the dock.

From the opening between the two doors wafted the scents from inside; a mixture curiously similar to all the others he'd smelled along the way but for one crucial factor. Beneath the stench of rotting flesh, algae, water logged wood, stale beer and urine, was blood - her blood.

Fuck.

His mouth went bone dry as he tried unsuccessfully to swallow away the bitter aftertaste that lingered on his pallet. It was just like before, everything felt the same. He braced a hand against the metal sheeting next to him and closed his eyes against the memories. Just the scent of her blood had been enough to bring them all rushing back. He'd been too late to save Kikyou and the crushing weight of the guilt was a heavy burden. He'd never really be free from it - he'd just learned new and creative ways to deal with it - and at the moment it wasn't making things any easier.

Vivid images from a night five years past stole his breath away and left a pained grimace on his features. They'd left her on the grass of a children's playground. Beneath the stars and the blue light of the crescent moon her skin had shone like marble, flawless and smooth but for the lethal gouges carved out of her chest. The subtle, undeniable scent of death had hung all about her.

He'd knelt for an hour at her side, maybe longer, trying to absorb the scene before him. He knew, deep down he knew, that even if he'd arrived right after he never could've saved her. The wounds on her chest were deep, almost straight through; he could see the musculature, the white gleam of bone. That little bit of knowledge hadn't helped ease the pain though. The only thing that made sense in those few hours before the others arrived was that he'd failed her - utterly and completely. Her death was his fault and there was no way to fix that kind of mistake.

No one else blamed him of course. The Superintendent had given him one of those rare sympathetic looks before ordering him to let the Coroner do his job and go home. He hadn't wanted to let them touch her, any of them. Couldn't they just leave her alone? Hadn't she been through enough?

Used to obeying orders though, his body had moved automatically and his feet pulled him further and further away from the group of uniforms and flashing lights. His heart had railed against him the whole way but it wasn't loud enough to penetrate the numbness that'd overtaken him. He'd walked for hours, he didn't even know where, because he couldn't go home. Her scent was everywhere there, just waiting to taunt him with his failure and the emptiness of being alone.

It was three weeks before he worked up the courage to go back, and even then it was only to collect his things. He'd sucked back sips of JD and chain smoked the entire way. It hadn't helped a jot, but it'd numbed the pain enough to make it bearable. That was all he'd wanted anyway, to feel numb forever so he'd never have to cope with feeling that kind of ache again. The alcohol had worked until it wasn't enough anymore. The cigarettes had blocked out her scent until every trace of it had faded from the world. For five years he'd made himself numb, and then she'd walked into his life.

Kagome Higurashi - a bitch on a mission. He wanted to think that the past few months with her were worth what he was feeling now. He kept telling himself that, to spite the nagging voice at the back of his mind that whispered he was wrong. It said he should've left things alone, that he never should've gotten involved with her, and it was right, but he couldn't say he regretted any of it either. The road hadn't always been smooth, but he'd felt alive again. In her own way she'd taught him how to feel, how to trust, how to exist day by day without using his vices as a crutch. And for a while, he was ashamed to admit, she'd helped him forget about Kikyou and the guilt. But now… There was no forgetting it now was there?

Clenching a fist at his side, he gripped the gun tight in his other hand and focused on maintaining control. His breaths sounded sharp and ragged to his ears and the sound alone was enough to fuel the rage that left him see nothing but red. The bastards had touched her! Just the thought of it made him sick, but he didn't have luxury of taking time to dwell on it. If they'd cut her open and left her to die he might only have a few minutes left to save her or say good bye. Either way, that scent meant one thing - he had to haul ass!

Telling his better sense to take a hike, he manoeuvred his way through the opening between the doors and immediately took cover behind a large crate. If possible, the stench of rot was even worse inside the structure than it'd been outside. This he could only attribute to the dank, muggy heat that filled the room. Keeping his gun at the ready, he stood slowly and took a quick survey of his surroundings. The room was large, dark, and filled floor to ceiling with shipping crates. His ears strained through the silence but heard nothing, only the shaky sounds of his own breaths. He swallowed, shifted out of hiding and listened again - still nothing. With a grunt, he decided to let his nose lead the way.

Taking tentative sniffs every few feet or so, he moved slowly behind the cover of the large transport crates stacked against the walls. His shoulders ached from the strain of holding his gun constantly at the ready. He rolled them a few times forward, then once backward, before admitting defeat. He could've killed for one of her shoulder rubs. She had a knack for knowing just where the kinks were and her skilled fingers left him absolute putty in her hands.

Yeah… A nice long shoulder rub sounds good right about now…, he mused with a tiny wince.

He added it to the growing list of things he'd do with her once she was home safe. Also on the list were shaking her until her teeth rattled for being stupid enough to go to Shiba Park alone at night in search of a lead, spending a week with her in bed getting “reacquainted”, and taking that trip up to Hokkaido like he should've done in the first place. It wasn't misplaced optimism or naivety that led him to make such a list. He was just too damn stubborn to admit defeat. She was alive and well until proven otherwise because she had to be. At present, he wasn't in any state of mind to accept other options.

For a while there he'd debated adding `tell her about the night of the new moon' to the list too. On second thought, he'd decided to give it more thought. It was no small thing to reveal your greatest weakness to someone. She deserved to know the truth, sure, but he just wasn't sure if he was ready to give it to her. It'd been a long time since he'd trusted anyone that much. Not even Kikyou had known…

The room seemed to grow warmer and more uncomfortable with each passing minute. He'd only been through the door a couple minutes and already he could feel sweat dampening this shirt beneath his jacket. With an irritated `tch', he brushed at an itch on his cheek with the back of his hand and frowned. He felt like a damned rookie all over again - green and full of gusto. It'd almost gotten him killed when he'd first started.

An abandoned factory on the outskirts of Tokyo where they used to make mattresses; he still drove by it every once and awhile for kicks. It was the site of his first standoff and takedown. He was still a kid then, fresh out of the academy with a few rotations as a traffic cop under his belt - real heroic. He'd begged the Lieutenant to let him get in on the action and for whatever reason he'd agree. He later said he'd seen potential in him early on, but Takahashi doubted every word. He'd become the squad's biggest liability and its biggest disappointment - potential his ass.

So there he'd been, gun drawn, crouched behind a pile of mouse infested mattresses and trembling from head to toe. His eyes had watched with rapt fascination as the Lieutenant tried to negotiate with the hostile. The man was completely irate - there was no reasoning with him, everyone could see that. He kept blabbing on about the Second Coming or some other stupid nonsense. With two loaded guns in his hands though he was anything but harmless.

When negotiations fell through and the takeout went down, the hostile had fired wildly - semi-automatics, of course - and the Lieutenant was hit in the leg by a stray bullet. Wanting to be a hero, he'd dived out of his spot from behind the mattresses to help his superior and earned himself a bullet in the side. It was a through and through, just a graze really, but they'd put him on desk duty for two months because of it.

So much for being a hero. It'd become the theme of his life. He was always one step behind, one move shy, one minute too late.

But not this time, he told himself. Not tonight.

When he reached the end of the wall he made his way slowly up the rusted staircase that was there. He scent grew stronger with each passing step so he pressed forward despite the swaying of the metal and the ominous sounding groans that emanated from it. Finding himself safely at the top he blew out the breath he hadn't realize he was holding. Lifting an eyebrow, he glanced back over his shoulder at the staircase. How that thing had remained in tact all this time would forever remain one of life's great mysteries.

Thankful to still be in one piece, he turned his attention to the darkened hallway before him. Her scent was stronger here, the blood more palpable. Glaring at the darkened windows of the offices lining the hall, he kept his gun at the ready and his ears tuned to any sounds from ahead. Had they just left her alone in this place to die? He couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking blind into a trap, but there seemed to be no avoiding it.

At the end of the hall was a balcony, dimly lit by a grainy orange light. He took cover at the threshold, keeping his body pressed against the wall to the right of the door. Gun at the ready, he leaned forward just enough to survey what he could see of the view below - nothing but an empty room with some garbage strewn about. He frowned and darted across the hall to the other side and repeated his survey. A large bank of darkened windows covered the far wall. The layers of dirt caked to the glass blocked out any light from outside and hid the room from prying eyes. He blinked at the oddly placed beer fridge that looked relatively new next to the grime and mould covered crates it was resting upon.

He was still wondering who the hell would stay in this kind of place long enough to need a beer fridge when his eyes settled on her. For a moment he did nothing. Unable to breath, or think, or move, he simply stared. They'd tied her to a chair, feet bound to the legs and arms twisted behind her. Around her mouth was a gag to keep her quiet and from the way she was slumped forward in the chair, she didn't appear to be conscious. He'd never considered himself a spiritual man, but in that moment he thanked every kami in existence for small mercies. She was unconscious but alive, and most importantly, alone. Relief was replaced by rage when he caught sight of the blood stains, both fresh and old, that coloured her torn, white blouse.

While one hand unconsciously gripped his gun tighter, the other fisted at his side until his nails dug into the flesh of his palm and drew blood. All of his doubts and feelings of resignation faded into the background and for one brief moment, there was clarity in his thoughts - he would kill whoever had done that to her.

He would do it slowly, break them apart one piece at a time. It took a certain kind of man to hit a woman hard enough to make her bleed and the world would be one short by the end of the night if he had anything to do about it. He was a drunk, arrogant, violent bastard but even he had lines he would not cross and hitting a woman, that was definitely one of them.

Moving cautiously, he took his first steps out onto the balcony and did another quick sweep of the floor in search of unwanted guests. Seeing none, he proceeded to the stairs (which looked no less worse for the wear than their twin set on the other side of the hall) and made quick work of silently making his way down them.

Every instinct inside of him was screaming `DANGER! DANGER!' but he couldn't take his eyes off of her. His features softened into a look of sympathy as he drew closer and saw the extent of the marks and bruises that covered her body. She might be alive, but it was painfully obvious that she'd been through hell. A hell he could've prevented if he'd only found her sooner. Someday he'd ask her to forgive him, but before that he had to set her free.

She was so close. So close he could almost reach out and touch her. All it would take was one quick jog and he'd be at her side, loosening her bonds as he told her everything would be okay. His feet hesitated. His body knew something that his mind didn't. He paused to give himself time to mull it over but it was already too late.

Click.

The hollow sound echoed somewhere just behind his left ear and a shot of icy fear squirmed down his spine. For someone like him, the dull click of a trigger being cocked was unmistakeable. Closing his eyes in defeat, he slowly lifted his hands in the air and tried not to choke on the self loathing.

“Not quite the grand, heroic entrance you were hoping for is it?” quipped a mocking voice from directly behind him. He was still trying to wrap his mind around how it was even possible for someone to sneak up on him from behind without his noticing when the voice spoke again.

“Come,” it lured sweetly as a hand relieved him of his gun. “Now that you're here we can finally get started.”

oOo

The ambience inside the quaint coffee shop was warm and welcoming. Tucked away down a side street, it stood neatly out of the way. Even so, the golden glow of the dimmed lights and small table lamps was enough to ward off the darkness of the night and winter's bitter chill. Perhaps that was what'd drawn him to such a place. He couldn't remember the first time he'd stopped in at the Vica Cafe or why, but for one reason or another he kept coming back.

He mulled this over while the ceramic mug nestled between his hands steadily warmed his skin. There was nothing special about the Vica Café. It was ordinary, bordering on the side of plain even, and always sparsely populated. The lack of other patrons was something of a blessing after a gruelling night spent touring his many establishments. It'd been many months since he first set foot through the café's door and now his feet led him to this place of their own accord.

Despite its humble appearance, the café did possess some redeeming qualities. For one, no one in his line of business would consider stopping in at such an unassuming establishment - so privacy and a few solitary hours with his thoughts were almost guaranteed. For another, the coffee was some of the best he'd ever tasted. He nodded appreciatively as he took a long, slow sip from the cup in his hands. The rich aroma tickled his delicate palate as he swallowed and the coffee's liquid warmth banished the winter chill from within. Despite tasting heavenly, the coffee was reasonably priced - two characteristics that were hard to find anywhere in Tokyo.

Cup empty, he set it on the table next to him and bent down to thumb through the small collection of books stacked next to his chair on the floor. Classics mostly, Sun Tzu's Art of War, The Tale of the Heike, a little poetry; with an arch of his eyebrow he retrieved the English classic Macbeth from the pile. It seemed so out of place with the rest, and for that reason he couldn't help but pick it up. His hands caressed the weathered binding along the book's spine appreciatively as one well tailored pant leg crossed the other. After studying it a moment, he cracked the book open to revel in the smell of old paper and ink that wafted up from its yellowed pages.

This was another one of his unique pleasures - reading old books. There was something about the smell of them and the feel of the pages beneath his fingertips that he found intriguing. He often gazed at the publication dates and tried to remember where he'd been and what he'd been doing at that point in time. It was hard to keep track of just how long he'd been alive, hard to remember that the Japan he lived in hadn't always been like this - a mass of concrete and steel, hypermodern in every way. These old books were a whisper from his past, like a memory that refused to be forgotten.

He found there to be something oddly comforting and familiar about the books, regardless of their content. This one in particular, Macbeth, the story of a king written by a humble English poet, was one of his particular favourites. The lesson that it is unwise to trust those closest to you had never rung clearer in his mind. It sounded cynical, but it was an aloof detachment from the companionship of others that had kept him alive these many centuries. One of the many rules of life, and the business world as well, is that when you have power there will always be someone waiting in the wings to challenge you for it.

Being constantly on guard had kept him alive and successful, but even he couldn't deny that at times it was a lonely existence. He'd gotten by just fine, without companionship that is, and he was not starved for women or subordinates. His money, looks and status ensured that there would always be a steady supply of both, but at random intervals he found himself wondering how liberating it would feel to know that there existed even just one person who understood him on more than a superficial level.

These were the types of troublesome thoughts he pondered in this little coffee shop. For some reason this place had a knack for making him feel uncharacteristically introspective. He didn't mind it so much, it was just that he couldn't understand the need or the cause for it. Why did such trivial things even matter? The reality was they didn't, and never would, but that didn't stop his mind from mulling them over. It was a confusing cycle indeed, one he was glad to find was restricted to this one, unassuming coffee shop.

“Can I offer you a refill?”

Though he was startled by the sudden intrusion into his thoughts, his body showed no outward signs of being surprised. He slowly lifted his gaze from the weathered pages of Macbeth to meet the smiling chestnut eyes of the only waitress he'd ever seen working in the establishment. She was smiling brightly at him, a steaming coffee pot raised at the ready in her hand. His golden eyes flicked briefly to her name tag, though he'd long ago memorized her name, and he nodded graciously.

Humming quietly to herself, she poured him a fresh cup. As the coffee slowly filled the ceramic mug he noticed her eyes glance over at the book spread open across his lap.

“Macbeth? You a fan of the old English classics?”

She pulled the pot away and stepped back with a tiny bow. He nodded once more.

“Indeed. Thank you, Rin.”

“Well you picked a good one to read,” she determined with a thoughtful nod. “Macbeth is one of my favourites.”

He glanced up at her words, genuinely surprised that she'd read such a difficult piece of English literature. There was something poignant in the discovery that they shared an affinity for classic literature. His eyes met hers just in time to receive a warm smile and a playful wink.

“Can I get you anything else? We just baked up a fresh batch of biscotti…”

Her voice trailed off as she cast a glance over her shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. He'd smelled the fresh baking the moment he'd walked through the door but he wasn't in the mood for it tonight. He still felt somewhat sickened by the scent of the whore's perfume that clung to his clothes. With a subtle shake of his head he turned away from her expectant stare and declined.

“Not tonight.”

Un-phased she shrugged her shoulders lightly. “Well alright, but if you change your mind just let me know.”

She didn't wait for him to respond before she turned and retreated quietly to the kitchen. His eyes followed her until she disappeared behind the thin curtain that separated the kitchen from the rest of the establishment. The curtain billowed and floated back into place and when it came to a rest he studied its silk screened image of a blue heron poised amongst the reeds. Like the heron, the waitress was quiet and unassuming; a plain, awkward bird to some but graceful and beautiful in her own way.

Taking up the steaming mug from the table, he brought it to his lips and took a tentative sip. She was one of the other perks of the Vica Cafe. Were he honest about it, he would probably admit that the coffee alone wasn't enough to draw him here night after night. There was something about her company that he found appealing. Unlike the other women he associated with, he'd never found her presence to be invasive or irritating. She simply existed - as a fluid, constant part of the background, always there but never in the way, always attentive but never an annoyance. She was a curious creature and though he'd barely spoken more than a few words to her in all the times he'd come to this place, never much more than the simple niceties, he found himself intrigued by her presence, or rather, the effect it had on him.

Setting the mug down on the table he noticed she hadn't bothered to leave any milk or sugar behind. He quirked an eyebrow at the empty table and glanced towards the kitchen. She was perceptive, he'd give her that much. In all the times he'd come to this place he couldn't ever remember her asking if he wanted any. He glanced quietly at the dark liquid in his cup and wondered how she'd known he only ever took it black.

With an inward shrug of indifference, he returned his attention to the book resting in his lap. Within minutes he was thoroughly engrossed in the familiar tale. Even so, every few pages or so found his eyes lifting to meet the dead eye of the blue heron. After a quarter hour of this he finally snapped the book shut, retrieved his coffee from the table and made his way to the small bar located in front of the kitchen.

For a moment he gazed disinterestedly at the three bar stools lined up alongside it before settling on the center stool and easing himself onto it. He'd only just set the coffee mug on the counter top when she stepped out from behind the curtain. With a knowing smile she set a plate with two pieces of freshly baked chocolate biscotti on it in front of him. He lifted an eyebrow marginally in question but she merely shrugged.

“I figured you might change your mind,” she explained.

With a nod he selected one of the pieces and dipped it into his coffee. It was still warm to the touch and smelled sinfully delicious. Uttering something of a tired sigh she settled across from him on the other side of the small bar, and rested her cheek against her hand.

“How was Macbeth? As good as you remembered?” she asked, tilting her head towards the book.

He'd left it on the edge of the counter, nearly forgot about it in truth. He eyes followed hers and contemplated the book as he swallowed a bite of the biscotti. It tasted as delicious as it smelled. Feeling unrushed, he took his time and had a quiet sip of his coffee before responding.

“It happens to be a personal favourite of mine as well.”

He found that he liked the way her eyes lit up at his words. Suddenly the tired looking chestnut orbs came alive and glimmered with excitement. Folding her arms in front of her she leaned toward him, not enough to be invasive but just enough for her scent to greet him over the smell of coffee and baked goods on the air.

“Have you ever read Othello?”

She smiled with a barely constrained exuberance and he grimaced slightly as he remembered the play in question.

“I don't care for romances. That one, it's a bit tragic if I remember correctly?”

She nodded in agreement and rested her chin thoughtfully on her hand. Her gaze lifted to the ceiling as she considered his comment.

“Well, that's true,” she conceded, “but Macbeth… he's probably the most tragic of them all. Imagine not having a single person you can trust? I think that's a sadder fate than anything else really.”

He `hmmm'ed and took a long, slow sip of his coffee before asking, “Where did you learn about Shakespeare? Certainly not here…”

She shook her head and her expression grew serious, if only for an instant. “No. I spent a lot of time in Britain when I was younger. In the secondary schools there studying his plays is mandatory for students.”

He watched her discreetly as she spoke, all the while studying her chestnut coloured eyes. He kept expecting to see the same hungry look in them that he saw in all the others; eyes that saw no further than his exotic features and expensive suits. The women he met were of a certain breed - high class, wealthy, superficial and dangerously beautiful. This girl was none of those things and perhaps that was what drew him to her.

She was small, with plain features and simple clothes to match her simple name. It was obvious to his expert eye that she made just enough money to get by and then some, but she seemed content nonetheless. He'd never once seen her without a welcoming smile warming her features. It was so rare that women smiled at him without expecting something in return. She was a curious creature indeed. His gaze lingered on her thoughtful expression as he took another sip of coffee.

He wasn't sure why, but her comment about Macbeth's fate touched him. He stared openly at her, the coffee cup still resting between his hands, and with one glance something passed between them. It was something unspoken but somehow just as moving. Curious, he leaned imperceptibly closer to pull in her scent. Somewhere beneath the delicate aroma of coffee and the cocoa powder they'd used to make the biscotti he caught it. It was subtle and smelled of aloe, like the kind found in cheap hand lotions. It was also, rather unfortunately, very human.

Her smile wavered as he drew closer and she pulled back suddenly, putting some much needed space between them. Her eyes darted back and forth between his cold amber ones trying to read something in their depths. After a moment her brow furrowed and she glanced away in defeat to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

The air between them felt stifling and oppressive when she cleared her throat and slipped off her chair. Somehow the spell had been broken. Pointing to his empty coffee cup she took a step towards the freshly brewed pots sitting on their elements. “Another?”

Distracted, he took a second to realize what she was after and glanced down at the empty bottom of his cup. He seriously debated it for a moment and then shook his head `no'. Lost to his thoughts, he didn't acknowledge her perplexed expression, and reached instead into the inner pocket of his jacket to retrieve his wallet. Without a second glance he slipped a 50 000 Yen note onto the counter and gracefully slid off the stool.

He didn't look back as he pushed the heavy front door open and retreated outside. The door chime clanged and echoed dully as the door drifted closed behind him. His breath frothed in front of him in tiny white clouds, a testament to the stark cold of a mid-winter chill. Wearing a dark expression, he hastened his pace to put more distance between himself and the coffee shop. Stopping briefly at the end of the street, he glanced down the empty stretch of road in either direction before turning the corner and disappearing into the night; where the cold wasn't nearly so welcoming and the company even less so.

--

Author's Note: Hello everyone! I'm sorry this took a while to come out. I couldn't seem to get the first part right but hopefully all is in order now. The second part was written months ago and I never knew where to stick it in, but this chapter seemed like a pretty good fit. (The first half is all Inuyasha and the second is all Sesshomaru for those of you who may have had trouble deciphering it).

This chapter is dedicated to LRose, doggieearlover, and LuxKen27 for nominating/seconding LSR in the 2nd Quarter IYFG Awards. Thank you ever so much for your support :)

Lots of action next chapter so stay tuned!

- Langus