InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ No Such Thing ❯ Chapter 1

Wow. I was going to write "Prisoner of War" tonight, but I was reading a few fanfics about Inuyasha, and I realized that they all had something in common. Somehow authors make Kagome age like a youkai. I don't understand this. I don't think that could happen. Here's what came out of that thought.

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha and co.

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It was all so unreal for him. He sat in the folding chair unsure of himself. It seemed he had been feeling that a lot lately, the overwhelming sense that he didn't know what to do. He stared forward at nothing for a while. The sounds of the holy man speaking were foreign to him, like a dull murmur barely touching his usually hypersensitive ears. They were hollow words; he was sure. The man before him knew nothing of her. The wind swept by, and her scent wafted over him. He could barely hold down the gagging sensation. A comforting hand reached to hold his. He looked down at it still in a daze. The fingers were so tiny compared to his. The nails were small; she had been paid not to bite them though. Ten cents a week. They were the soft pink color of her great grandmother's favorite bathrobe. She smelled of the same lavender scent too. He closed the delicate thing in his palm. The gold ring on his left hand sparkled in the afternoon sunlight. He looked at it forlorn. The engraving had long faded to be almost indiscernible, but he knew the words by heart.

Happily ever after.

"Why would you want something silly like that?" She had pushed him lightly. He had been trying to goad her. He had wanted to see her smile, hear her explain again.

"I already told you. All fairy tales end like that. The prince whisks the princess away into the sunset, and they live happily ever after." She had whirled around in a small pirouette.

"We aren't in a fairy tale."

"Yes we are! Demons, shards of a sacred jewel, love stories. You are living five hundred years in the future staring at wedding rings. I think that is as good a fairy tale as any." He had crossed his arms and looked away.

"Keh!"

"So, you won't do it?" She had sounded so sad. His fingers had been at her chin in an instant drawing her face to his.

"I would do anything to make you happy."

"Kagome was a wonderful woman, spreading joy wherever she went." He dimly became aware of another person speaking of her at the podium. His right hand clenched and unclenched at his thigh. His left loosely held the tiny fingers of his great granddaughter. What right did they have to speak like they knew her, like she was anything to them? The small thumb rubbed reassuring circles atop his fingers, careful to avoid his claws. She had been taught their dangers long ago. An accidental prick had made him feel guilty for days. He noticed a small yellow butterfly flit by his face. It landed in the bunch of flowers at the feet of the speaker. Its wings stretched slowly in the sun. A growl came into his throat. How dare that butterfly be so peaceful? How dare the sun shine so brightly as if the world hadn't ended. He became aware of all eyes on him suddenly. His attention snapped up. The old woman beside him gently took his arm and shook his hand free from the hold on his own thigh. The material was lightly ripped. He was bleeding.

"This is what I told you about, father." The voice of his son's wife barely registered. He watched the butterfly flit away. He was led up to where the other speaker stood. A small squeeze to his arm. He looked out at the people sitting in folding chairs. They were all dressed in black; some women wore dark veils. His great granddaughter peered up at him from next to his empty seat in the front row. Her delicate hands and pink fingernails rested in her lap. Her head was cocked sideways, expectant. It was only a few words. He cleared his throat but found it no easier to speak. His ears were tucked low to his head, unseen for years of practice. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened again. The butterfly, or perhaps a different one, again brushed by his face. He wanted to tear it apart.

"My wife was my everything." His words were choked, full of sorrow. He lowered his eyes to avoid the scrutinizing glare of some of the younger members of the crowd, friends of his family that didn't understand his secret. They didn't want to. They thought he was lying.

"She… she…" Her scent hit him again, and this time he fell to his knees. There was a gasp and a murmur, hushed whispers as he practically crawled to her side. It was wrong, so wrong. He lifted himself up on the hated wooden box. He looked down at his life inside. She was all wrong. He knew that she didn't look like a girl anymore. All the years with him had put wrinkles on her face, turned her hair gray and thin. But he loved her all the more for the age spots, the scars she had accumulated from battles, from surgery, from rough nights when they first expressed their love.

"Inuyasha!" She had cried out his name as he sank his teeth into the juncture between her neck and shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Kagome. I had to claim you. I had to show everyone who you belong to. God knows I had to wait long enough. Now everyone knows who you belong to." She had smiled up at him, her whole body moving against the bed in time with his thrusts.

"Forever?" His muscles had tensed in possessiveness.

"Nothing will take you from me, ever." He could still taste her blood on his lips. He could still see her wedding dress lying forgotten in the corner.

He reached out a tentative hand to touch the scar. She was cold. Her face was darker than it should be, a result of coroner's make up. Her skin was pulled taught. Her hair was arranged like a doll's on the pillow. Her hands lay crossed on her chest. Her ring squeezed tightly against a distended finger. She looked so unnatural. She smelled so horrible. Her blood was gone, he knew. Pumped out, washed away. Her lavender scent was being overpowered by that of preservatives, make up, rotting flesh. He snapped his hand back. This was not his wife. This was not the reason he lived. He fell back down as his legs and arms trembled. Those who cared to notice would have seen deep scratches in the wood as he slid down. His head rested against the box. His white hair stood out in stark contrast to the blackness of it, of his suit. The sun made his ring sparkle as he brought his hands to his face. The smoothness of it further upset him. When was the first time he should have noticed? After one year, two? After ten?

"Come here, darling." He had followed her command instantly, always willing to be at her beck and call.

"What do you want?" She had pulled him against her and looked at their reflection in the large mirror of their bathroom. She had traced his well sculpted muscles, put her hand on his face. Feeling its softness, she had frowned.

"What is it?" His voice had been genuinely concerned. He hated seeing her unhappy. That was not what was supposed to be happening. That was not what he had promised to give her. She had leaned forward into the mirror. Her fingers had traced the pattern of crow's feet beginning to form, then to her stomach where she had been unable to lose everything she wanted from their third child. She had reeled back suddenly. She had looked at him as if struck by a train.

"You are still so beautiful." Her voice had been in awe. He had been hurt by her accusation that she was not attractive. He hadn't taken the time to fully consider the meaning. That was when she had known, he was sure.

"You are more beautiful than any other woman in the world. Now get dressed for this stupid gala thing you're dragging me to. The babysitter should be here any minute." He should have realized it then too.

He felt arms around him, a lavender scent, small pink fingernails. He fell into her embrace. She didn't even understand the fullness of the situation, yet she could still comfort him. She loved him. She loved her great grandmother. That was enough.

Even as the black box that enclosed her body was lowered into the ground, Inuyasha held onto the young girl. He still harbored that unsure feeling. He felt helpless. He couldn't do anything but watch the corpse that had once been his wife be lowered into the earth. He wanted to go after her. He wanted to rip her from the box, breathe life into her. He wanted to die to be alongside her, buried next to her in the ground. He wanted to cry. She had shed tears for him, over and over again. He loved her more than anything. Where were his tears? He felt wetness on his neck. The little girl trembled against him. He held her tighter and silently cursed the sun.

As he moved through the crowds to his car, he could hear them. To his face they offered their condolences, but behind his back, when they thought he could not hear, their words were much different. They were whispers not meant for him. They stung to his very core.

"I bet he was just after her money."

"That is just disgusting."

"He faked that outburst so well, I almost believed it."

"She was a cradle robber."

His claws bit into palm. He could feel the blood dripping off them, pooling on his uncomfortable leather shoes.

"Hello." There hadn't been any recognition in her voice or her eyes as she sat in that hospital bed, tubes sticking every which way. She had greeted him as if he had just come in, though he had barely moved from the chair beside her in weeks. His lips had quivered.

"Hello, darling." She had looked confused.

"Do I know you?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I am your husband. I have been for sixty-three years."

"How old am I?"

"Eighty-one."

"How old are you?"

"One hundred thirty-seven."

"You look about eighteen."

"I know." He had held her hand for a few moments, pleading with whoever would listen not to take her from him, that he needed her.

"Did you give me this?" She had lifted up a frail hand and looked at her gold ring. It hadn't sparkled under the florescent lights. It had looked dull, flat.

"Yes, my darling." She had looked at quite pointedly, very concerned.

"What does it say?" He hadn't wanted to answer. He looked down as his ring reflected the sunlight even as his blood coated it. Their whispers were getting louder, more insulting. Each word seared, burned.

"It's not too convincing. I haven't even seen him cry."

He suddenly felt something he had been missing for almost a year. He felt it deep within him, growing stronger. He looked at his reflection in the car nearest to him. It was that of an eighteen-year-old boy. He looked barely a year older than he had when he first met her sixty-six years earlier. He saw her in his mind. He saw her running to him to escape the centipede. He saw her protecting the kitsune pup. He saw her crying for him when he turned human. He saw her holding him when he turned demon. He saw her reassuring him that she liked him best just the way he was. He saw the awe in her eyes when he used the completed jewel to restore Kohaku. He saw her face as she explained marriage to him, and he'd immediately proposed. He saw their wedding day. He saw their wedding night. He saw their children being born. One, two, three, four, five. He saw her excitement when her company grew, and her salary skyrocketed. He saw her fear when she learned of her disease that would steal her memories. He saw her last moments. He heard her last words.

At that moment, standing in the parking lot of the cemetery, he was finally sure of something again. He no longer skirted around with uncertainty, in a daze, a fog. It was crystal clear. He knew what he had to do. He couldn't cry for her. He didn't know how. But he could do the next best thing. As he thought of her again, her last moments, her last words, he wondered vaguely why she couldn't remember the names of their children or who he was, but she could remember that. She asked him the same questions over and over. But she had never asked him about the ring again. Somehow that information stayed with her until the very end when she didn't even know herself. She had been sure too. Those words had come out because she knew nothing else. The memory faded; his ring glittered in the sunlight. He did what came natural, what he knew. His mate, his wife, his everything was gone. He threw his head back and let out a deep primal roar.

Happily ever after.

There were gasps, a scream. The young girl with small pink fingernails brought her hands to her mouth. She watched her great grandfather as he leaned his head against the car. His hand was pounding into the doorframe above the shattered window. It was bleeding, but he didn't seem to care. He was screaming. She wouldn't have been able to hear him over the car alarm if he wasn't. She didn't understand why he was saying the same thing over and over.

"There's no such thing! There's no such thing!"

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A/N: Can you believe I wrote that whole thing only an hour after coming up with the idea? Wow. Go me. I'm going to give myself a pat on the back. Okay for clarification, Kagome had Alzheimer's. The stuff about what she looked like comes from personal experience. I went to a friend's funeral once and was shaken by the look and smell of her for a long time. I can only imagine what it might be like for the hanyou. Anyway, I will eventually write something less morbid. My poetry leans mostly in a positive direction. Second pat on the back. Okay, please review!