InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Of Gods and Monsters ❯ Chapter 50: As Time Goes By ( Chapter 51 )

A/N: Woo. The chapter that wouldn't die. Seriously. This is one I've been planning since last December, and when it finally came time to write it, I froze up. So that's why it took so frickin' long. I knew what I wanted, I just didn't know how to get there.

So -- Big hugs to Kat, who deserves them, Peppermint Patties to Nanda, so she doesn't have to sneak them on the sly, and a super-secret-uber-special copy of FF XIII to Ithilwen, complete with miniature box of candy. And, of course, eggnog AND gingerbread to Everstar, because she can't decide.

Obviously Casablanca does not belong to me. It is the property of Warner Brothers Entertainment and Turner Entertainment. And, just in case anyone's forgotten (doubtful), none of the Inuyasha characters belong to me, either; they are the property of Rumiko Takahashi, Shounen Sunday, and VIZ entertainment. Teles -- and what's in her tummy -- belong to me.


Chapter 50: As Time Goes By

You must remember this,
A kiss is still a kiss,
A sigh is just a sigh;
The fundamental things apply,
As time goes by.

The week passed more or less without incident. Once Teles had learned of Inuyasha's presence, he made it known more frequently, joining the couple for meals a few times. He rarely stayed long, however, and Teles suspected it had something to do with the solemnity, the untouchable sadness that flickered through his gaze after he'd been exposed to the mated pair for too long. Their joy pricked his memory, drawing beads of sorrow, and it made Teles' heart ache. She hated that something could cause the hanyou such distress, and she hated more that there seemed to be nothing she could do about it.

There were brief moments when it occurred to her that she'd cared far less about mortal creatures in the past. After all, an eternal being did not form attachments to that which did not endure. Now that she was one of those mortal creatures, she found herself forming very strong attachments indeed.

They spoke infrequently of the past, though sometimes the brothers shared a joke known only to them, or made vague references and analogies. After one such evening -- a shared meal with much mirth until Inuyasha grew oddly quiet before excusing himself and returning home -- Teles and Sesshoumaru retired to the bedroom. They curled up on the unfeasibly soft mattress, her back pressed snugly against his chest. She felt her mate fall asleep after a while, and though she felt herself lulled by the slow, deep rhythm of his breathing, Teles found that she could only doze for a moment or two. Her stomach was too heavy and awkward, which made it nearly impossible for her to get comfortable.

Some nights were better than others, of course, but on this night, the former goddess was finding it nearly impossible to sleep. If it wasn't her back that was aching, it was the realization that the child seemed to be resting uncomfortably against her bladder; if it was neither of these things, it was the simple fact that her stomach felt so large that it seemed she couldn't breathe. Her loss of sleep bothered Sesshoumaru greatly, but there seemed to be nothing for it; her abdomen was simply too unwieldy.

After the first sleepless night, he introduced Teles to something called a "DVD player."

"Essentially," he'd said, "there are plays stored on each of these discs. Drama, comedy -- whatever you think might interest you."

She had been dubious, of course. And then he'd shown her. The production -- the "film" -- he'd played for her was strange at first, lacking color as it was. But Sesshoumaru had assured her that not all films in his collection were in shades of black, white, and grey; this was merely film that was made at a time when humans had lacked the necessary tools to record these productions in color.

Almost immediately, Teles was infatuated with cinema. Sesshoumaru had eventually written down painstakingly detailed, step-by-step instructions for the DVD player. After a few mishaps and more than one trip across the hall to obtain Inuyasha's assistance, Teles began to feel more comfortable with the technology. This allowed the former goddess the freedom to spend her bouts of insomnia watching actors whose strange names clung insistently to her mind: Cary Grant, Ingrid Bergman, Katherine Hepburn, Jimmy Stewart, Humphrey Bogart and Bette Davis. Inuyasha had scoffed at his brother's taste, declaring the films dull, but Teles disagreed vehemently.

On this night, Teles slipped out of bed as carefully and silently as possible. Sesshoumaru shifted, making a soft sound of protest when her warmth no longer pressed against him, but he settled back into slumber after a moment. She smiled faintly as she watched him in the dim light of the room. His age occasionally showed itself -- there was a time when her body sliding from his bed would have woken him instantly. Teles reached down and let her fingers drift gently against the crescent moon at his forehead, watching as he fell further and further into dreams.

She turned, her steps taking her from the bedroom and into the kitchen. She paused for a moment; the ice cream was still in the freezer, and as Sesshoumaru had promised Inuyasha a very slow, very painful death if he even looked at the carton, in the freezer it would remain, until Teles decided otherwise. She retrieved the carton and found a spoon before bringing both into a room that Inuyasha called, perplexingly enough, the "den."
Teles set the carton down on a low table before turning her attention to Sesshoumaru's collection of cinema. She hadn't made much of a dent yet, and as her eyes absorbed title after title -- The Philadelphia Story, The Maltese Falcon, Rear Window -- she caught herself looking for one title in particular. Casablanca -- Sesshoumaru had told her it was his favorite and that alone sparked her curiosity. She placed the disc in the player and settled on the couch, opening the carton carefully and dragging the spoon through the smooth surface.

The frozen confection was sweeter, creamier than she could have imagined. She paused, letting it melt against her tongue, savoring the texture and flavor. It was unlike anything she'd ever experienced.

Better than ambrosia.

She curled up on the couch with the ice cream (Inuyasha's suggestion), and watched in silence as the film began.

She was intrigued almost immediately.

Set in a time of civil unrest and warfare, Teles felt the far reaches of her memory pricked by the overtones of despair and resignation, mingled with the underlying current of panic. She didn't recognize the place, or many of the references -- Nazis and Gestapo were terms unknown to her, but Greece was familiar enough with warfare. The tone of the film intrigued her, called to her.

Odd, foreign names that felt strange on her tongue -- Rick, Ilsa, Victor, Sam -- characters that spoke to her, that were real to her.

As the film progressed, the former goddess' heart ached for Rick Blaine. His pain was palpable, and as his past was revealed, she ached even more. At first, she didn't understand his cynicism; she couldn't see why he seemed to be so very bitter. However, when it became obvious that his bitterness was the fault of a woman, Teles was somewhat unsurprised. She was starting to find, in the handful of films she had already watched, that these sorts of romantic entanglements were frequent, and executed with such skill that they never failed to evoke emotion in her breast.

She watched in silence, her eyes tracking the subtitles rapidly when suddenly, something odd caught her attention. A line of dialogue so unusual and incongruent that she couldn't help but back the film up a little bit -- to make sure she'd read it correctly.

"A franc for your thoughts."

"In America they'd bring only a penny. I guess that's about all they're worth."

But what in Hades' name was a franc, and why would one exchange it for a thought?

She frowned at the screen for a long moment. Perhaps it wasn't important, but Teles was learning that the strangest things WERE important in these films. Certainly there were very peculiar lines of dialogue in this film, but she had managed to gauge their meanings contextually. Sesshoumaru had already explained a number of perplexing American idioms after watching The Big Sleep with her. She had proclaimed it an odd language, and he'd agreed.

But this...

She pursed her lips, pushing them to the side as she thought. Surely Sesshoumaru would be able to explain it to her. Though she hated waking him.


"A franc for your thoughts."


No, no, no -- it was far too odd to simply ignore.

Setting the ice cream aside, Teles paused the film and pushed herself to her feet, making her way quietly to the bedroom. She watched Sesshoumaru sleep for a moment, and again she felt a sharp pang at disturbing him.

Pursing her lips, she sat on the edge of the bed and gently grasped his shoulder, shaking it lightly. "Beloved..." she whispered.

A small frown creased his forehead and he shifted, exhaling out a soft "Hmm."

Teles supposed that meant he was awake, or, at least, awake enough. "Sesshoumaru," she whispered, "I have a question."

He stirred again, slowly blinking yellow eyes open. He gazed at her in confusion for a moment before sitting up slowly, resting back on his elbow. "Yes?" His voice was husky with sleep, and she gave an inward cringe at disturbing his rest.

The question now seemed unforgivably trivial. "What... Sesshoumaru, what is a franc?"

Sesshoumaru blinked once. "A... franc," he echoed, bemused. It took him a moment to marshal his thoughts, and he rubbed a tired hand over his face as he tried to collect his wits. "Well," he began, clearing his throat, "you already know that there are various countries in the world."

She nodded, combing her fingers through his sleep-tousled bangs. "Yes?"

"And you know that in some places, they use money to exchange for goods instead of bartering other goods or services," he continued, tilting his head against her hand. "There is a country to the west of Greece, called France. Their currency is called francs."

"Ohh, I see," she said, nodding slowly. "I understand -- so... this time has, then, established a means by which one might purchase a thought?"

Yawning, Sesshoumaru shook his head. "No, it's merely an expression. Offering to pay someone to get them to tell you what they're thinking."

"So, 'A franc for your thoughts' is merely... an expression." Teles frowned, tilting her head in puzzlement. "And I suppose a 'penny' is currency as well?"

"Yes, that's right. It's a type of currency used in a country even further west of Greece, called America. It's a very small denomination -- nearly worthless in this day and age."

"I see now," she said again, nodding. "I thought it would have been more important than that." The distended belly causing her to move carefully, Teles leaned over and brushed a soft kiss against Sesshoumaru's lips. "I'm sorry I woke you, beloved."

He shook his head, offering her a small smile. "It's all right." He watched as she stood again, slow steps leading her out of the bedroom. She paused for a moment and glanced over her shoulder, sending him a small, rueful smile.

"Go back to sleep, beloved." She slid the door shut and was gone.

Sesshoumaru sat up in bed, scrubbing his hands over his face, before settling back against the mattress. He lay still for a few minutes, feeling drowsy gossamer strands wind around his mind. What a damned odd thing to ask me...

Something clicked in the youkai's mind, and his eyes blinked open.

'A franc for your thoughts.'

"...Shit."

Moving quickly, he got out of bed, pulling on a robe before padding quietly through the apartment, keen hearing following the sounds of Casablanca. He entered the room, hovering for a moment by the doorway. Teles was settled again on the couch, the black and white film casting a flickering glow against the room's walls. Her back was to him, and over her head he watched Rick and Ilsa.

As Sam shepherded Rick onto the train -- without Ilsa-- he swallowed hard. Yes. I remember that feeling. Like... what was the phrase? Like his "insides had been kicked out." Sliding his hands into the pockets of his robe, he listened to line after painful line of dialogue as Rick, drunk but debonair, leaned heavily against the table.

"It's funny about your voice, how it hasn't changed. I can still hear it. 'Richard, dear, I'll go with you anyplace. We'll get on a train together and never stop--'"

Bergman's Ilsa, so reasonable, and yet so contrite at the same time. That had always struck Sesshoumaru -- how apologetic she was, sincerely sorry for hurting Blaine. "Don't, Rick..." she said, as if she knew his scorn was fueled by his insurmountable hurt. "I can understand how you feel."

But Rick only glared at her through the hazy ribbon of cigarette smoke. "You understand how I feel. How long was it we had, honey?" It was question posed by one who believed he'd been somehow cheated -- a bet placed at a fixed roulette table.

"I didn't count the days," Ilsa replied steadily. Sesshoumaru's gaze flicked to Teles' face as he took in her sorrow, her sympathetic tears. Pressing a quiet kiss into her hair, he knew why Ilsa had never counted the days. Why tally what was so uncertain in that day and age?

"Well, I did. Every one of them. Mostly I remember the wow finish. A guy standing on a station platform in the rain with a comical look on his face because his insides have been kicked out."

Ah, yes. That was the line. And the youkai indeed knew the sensation well. As long ago as it was, he could still remember the sinking dread, the denial, the anger -- he knew it all intimately.

Sesshoumaru continued to watch in silence as Rick tore Ilsa's heart from her chest, hoping that cruelty would override his own pain. He watched this fictional character hurt the woman he loved. And then he watched as she stormed away. He didn't blame her; he couldn't.

The faint salt-scent of tears caught his nose and he looked at the woman huddled on the couch. Stepping forward, he drew around to the other side of the couch, sitting quietly.

Teles looked up suddenly, using the cuff of her robe to dry the moisture trailing from her eyes. "I'm sorry I woke you, beloved. I'd hoped you would have gone back to sleep."

Shaking his head, Sesshoumaru reached over and brushed a lock of hair away from her forehead. "No, I thought I might watch with you."

"...You said this was your favorite." At his nod, she looked briefly at the screen. "It's... confusing at parts, but..."

The youkai gave a soft, wry chuckle. "Well, it's... only about fifty years old, which puts it four hundred and fifty years ahead of you."

"Ah." She looked again at the screen before pausing the DVD. "I suppose that would... complicate things." She stared at the frozen scene for a long moment, and when she spoke, her words were soft and far-away. "I rather... feel bad for... Rick."

"Well... he's a man who has had a hard life."

Clearing her throat softly, she glanced back at the television. "Yes, I'd gathered that."

After a moment or two, he gathered Teles in his arms and tucked her against his body, reveling in her warmth and scent. Almost of their own accord, his claws drifted slowly through her hair, and she exhaled a soft sigh before releasing the pause on the film.

They watched the film in silence, Sesshoumaru half-wishing she hadn't chosen to watch it at all, lest she actually understand what it was about the film that had drawn him in so. Rick Blaine, a man deserted by the woman he loved, and when he finally gets her back, when they finally come to an understanding over what had happened in the past, he has no other option than to do the right thing, rather than the selfish one. Except, in this case, Rick Blaine and Victor Laszlo were one and the same -- paradoxical rivals, separated by centuries.

He exhaled a soft sigh, watching the plot unfold, all the while knowing the outcome. There were a few moments, of course, when he had to pause the film to explain certain details -- the importance of travel papers, for instance. He swallowed the faintly bitter taste in his mouth as he explained Nazism and the Gestapo to her, but if she noticed his unease, she showed no evidence of it. Sesshoumaru suspected that Teles found that part of the story somewhat secondary, instead pulled in by the love story.

"But it's still a story with no ending. What about now?" It was, in the youkai's estimation, an excellent question.

The scene flicked to Ilsa, shaking her head slowly, and Sesshoumaru couldn't help but notice how Bergman's gaze seemed so lost, so uncertain. "Now? I don't know. I know that I'll never have the strength to leave you again."

"And Laszlo?"

Sesshoumaru looked away from the screen, his eyes dropping down to Teles' face once more. He knew every nuance of the scene -- Bergman's pleading gaze, Bogart's dissipating cynicism. He watched the flickering light play across her features as he listened to those lines, cemented in his memory.

"Oh, you'll help him now, Richard, won't you? You'll see that he gets out? Then he'll have his work, all that he's been living for."

"All except one. He won't have you."

He looked up again as Ilsa leaned against Rick, pressing her face against his shoulder. Sesshoumaru saw the emotions pass across Bogart's face, and the youkai almost believed he could pinpoint the moment of Rick's epiphany. Blaine had what he'd always wanted; but the precious gem he held in his hands was not his to keep, and he knew it.

"I can't fight it anymore. I ran away from you once. I can't do it again. Oh, I don't know what's right any longer. You'll have to think for both of us, for all of us."

"All right, I will. Here's looking at you, kid." Bergman's smile at that line, the fond shake of her head vaguely reminded the youkai of his mate in her quiet, more content moments. But Sesshoumaru had no illusions -- theirs was no carefully scripted romance filled with pithy lines and promises. He wasn't Rick and she wasn't Ilsa, and their problems would not melt into memory when the credits began to roll. He often wished that wasn't the case.

When the scent of salt tears tugged at Sesshoumaru, his arms tightened around her, greedily absorbing her warmth. He would hold her for as long as he could -- for as long as she would allow it.

"She loved him," she breathed, reaching up to wipe at her eyes. "Even when she left him, she loved him."

"Yes. She did," he replied softly, pressing a kiss into her hair. He didn't understand it then, but he understands it now."

They slipped into silence, the youkai continuing to let his claws slide through Teles' hair as he watched Humphrey Bogart breathe life into Rick Blaine, illustrating the enormity of his dilemma. Was it better to do what Ilsa wanted -- to remain with Rick together, always? Or was it better for all involved for him to send Ilsa off with the man who needed her more?

Rick knew the answer to that, as did Sesshoumaru.

The youkai had always admired the twists in the plot, Rick Blaine's skillful manipulation of all involved, from Louis Renault to Ilsa herself. No one but Rick knew what he had in mind until it was too late for any of them to do anything about it. Sesshoumaru knew the story, and so he had a far better time watching Teles watch it, noting her growing disappointment in Rick's character. He smiled inwardly.

Ah, beloved. Give him time. He will do the right thing.

When Rick's intentions finally revealed themselves, he felt Teles tense, he heard her soft gasp. "No," she murmured softly, shaking her head. "No, she can't..."

The scene -- that oft-imitated moment, the air heavy with fog, the waiting plane in the background, the familiar fedora and trench coat, and the dialogue, heart wrenchingly honest:

"Last night we said a great many things. You said I was to do the thinking for both of us. Well, I've done a lot of it since then, and it all adds up to one thing: you're getting on that plane with Victor where you belong."

Sesshoumaru knew Ilsa's expression by heart -- shock, anger, denial. None of it was what she had anticipated, but the situation was out of her hands. This was not her decision. "But, Richard, no, I... I--"

"Now, you've got to listen to me! You have any idea what you'd have to look forward to if you stayed here? --

Teles was weeping quietly, wiping at her eyes, as she shook her head in denial. Her hand found Sesshoumaru's, and she grasped it, lacing their fingers and squeezing tightly. He gave a gentle squeeze in return and pressed a kiss against her temple.

--You're saying this only to make me go."

"I'm saying it because it's true. Inside of us, we both know you belong with Victor. You're part of his work, the thing that keeps him going." Rick's words resonated with sincerity -- he knew the truth even if Ilsa was unwilling to accept it. But even so, Sesshoumaru had always seen that glimmer of understanding in Ilsa. She didn't want to believe him -- she wanted him to be wrong, but wanting something does not necessarily make it fact.

And then came Rick's immortal lines, delivered flawlessly by Bogart:

"If that plane leaves the ground and if you're not with him, you'll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life." Sesshoumaru wondered if Ilsa knew the truth of that statement.

"But what about us?"

"We'll always have Paris." Never had there been a better metaphor for such a halcyon time. Sesshoumaru could recall, in the furthermost reaches of his memory, a brilliant summer sun, blazing down on the world below, filling the air with the scent of grass. He could remember the unparalleled confidence of one arrogant immortal. Those untroubled days were tucked safely away in his memory, where they were kept far from the difficult days that had followed them. "We didn't have, we-- we lost it until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night."

"When I said I would never leave you." Not even the black and white film could diminish the warmth of Ilsa's smile, the affection in her eyes. She understood -- she finally understood.

"And you never will."

The movie played on, though it was Sesshoumaru's suspicion that Teles' tears were falling too freely for her to read the subtitles properly. Once the credits began running, he blew out a soft breath and he eased her into his lap, using the cuffs of his robe to staunch her tears.

"She shouldn't have left," she whispered brokenly, shaking her head.

"She had to," he replied quietly, the words weighing heavily on his tongue. "She was needed to keep Laszlo's spirit alive, so he could lead the resistance."

Teles turned her head, looking up into Sesshoumaru's gaze with saddened green eyes, damp with tears. "But she loved Rick."

He brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. "Yes. And he loved her. But keeping her with him would have been... selfish. You must understand, beloved, that Rick's choice in this situation had dire consequences for all involved. Keeping Ilsa by his side would have hurt far more than it would have helped." His fingertips lingered against her skin for a moment. "Sometimes it's more difficult to do the things we know we must do, rather than the things we wish to do. Call it... a sacrifice for the greater good, I suppose."

"But they... both hurt so much... and then he sent her away, just... just when she said..."

A tiny, sad smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "...Just when she said she loved him?"

Nodding, Teles closed her eyes, resting her head against the crook of his neck. "When she said she'd never leave him."

"But keep in mind that she also told him he'd have to decide for them both."

The words came out on an unsteady breath. "I'm sorry I left you, beloved. I'm sorry it caused you so much pain." The words made something tighten in Sesshoumaru's throat, but he swallowed it as he cradled her. "But we're together now," she continued, her voice a husky murmur, "and I won't leave you. Not again."

Sesshoumaru didn't reply right away. Instead, he eased Teles off of his lap and stood, crossing the room and turning off the television and DVD player. He rested his hands on the top of the console, trying to articulate the wild maelstrom of thoughts that were whipping through his mind.

Tell her.

He swallowed hard, hesitating on her name. "...Teles."

Her voice, soft and hoarse with lingering tears, came from behind him. "Yes?"

His teeth ground against each other as he clenched his jaw. His hands slowly curled into fists as he fought himself -- he didn't want to tell her, and he most certainly didn't want to tell her now. But time was running out, and it was perhaps better to invite her anger now rather than continuing putting it off until later.

Sesshoumaru took a shallow breath, but it was all he could manage. When he was finally able to form the words, they came out choked. "You have to go back."

He couldn't see her reaction. He didn't need to see it; he already knew that she was staring at him in unmitigated shock, struck dumb by the statement. He bowed his head, closing his eyes as the thick silence continued to grow.

Finally, a single word shattered the uncomfortable hush. "What?"

"You have to go back to the Sengoku Jidai."

In a tiny, distant corner of his mind, it struck Sesshoumaru as ironic that he who had been the source of much fear in the past, he who had struck down powerful adversaries with ease, was now hesitant to face his wife. He almost snorted as the wry thought flickered through his mind: "This Sesshoumaru fears nothing." Yes, of course. Ah, the folly and arrogance of youth. Slowly he straightened and turned to face her.

He regretted it almost immediately.

The blood had drained from Teles' face, leaving her pale and ashen, her eyes the only points of color in her face. Those eyes were wide and shocked, trapping him beneath her betrayed gaze.

With those words, Teles felt her heart give a shudder. Back to the Sengoku Jidai? Away from him? He was sending her away? Her chest suddenly felt too small, too tight for her to breathe. Every inch of her skin felt numb; she could no longer feel the couch beneath her, and even the warmth of the room seemed not to reach her.

Teles struggled to speak, the questions ripping through her head, making her dizzy. Her lips moved for a moment, but no sound came out. She couldn't breathe. Swallowing once, she tried again. "...What? Why?"

He didn't reply right away, and every second that ticked by made the silence more and more unbearable. Teles nearly asked again -- the words were on her tongue when he finally spoke, every syllable sounding as if it were being torn from him.

"There were... consequences to your leaving. Consequences that were not, perhaps, intentional, but that were... well. They were unintentional, but they exist nonetheless." He sighed, passing a hand across his forehead. "I knew that I would have to send you back. They have to be righted."

Teles heard his words, but was still having difficulty comprehending the situation. He was sending her back through the well. She'd been here this long, and he hadn't said anything? She stared at him in silence for several long seconds, her chest heaving with shallow breaths as betrayal radiated off of her in waves. "Then you...knew? You've been planning to send me back?"

There was a brief pause. "Yes."

Teles' voice was thin and soft with disbelief. "And... you didn't tell me?"

Amber eyes fixed on her. "I am telling you now."

That simple statement sent righteous indignation rushing through her veins like fire. "Yes, NOW. You are telling me now, Sesshoumaru, and that's hardly the same thing. Did it not occur to you that perhaps this is something you should have apprised me of? Or did such a tiny detail appear largely irrelevant to you?" Anger dripped from her voice as she narrowed her eyes. "Perhaps, my mate, there was a time when I would have done what you said simply because you'd said it. Now, however --" Furious tears formed suddenly, tightening her throat, and Teles swore silently. Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself to her feet, willing the salt water not to fall. "I've been here for days, youkai -- and you're just telling me now? Why in all the gods' names would you do something so completely, so utterly, so inexcusably thoughtless?"

A muscle twitched in his jaw. "I did not wish to upset you," was the calm reply.

A perfect beat of silence passed.

"You didn't wish to UPSET ME? Sesshoumaru, in case it has escaped your attention, I AM UPSET!" Her hoarse yell seemed to reverberate off of the walls, incredibly loud in the quiet apartment.

He ran a hand through his hair, sending his bangs into disarray. "I..." he looked annoyed, even disgusted with himself, "I... had to work up the courage. You must understand, Teles. I... needed to tend the pup. I needed to make sure you were well." A muscle twitched in his jaw and his throat moved as he swallowed. "But... most of all..." he trailed off into silence for a moment. "I wanted to see you. I needed... to have you forgive me."

Teles swiped angrily at the tears that had started to fall of their own volition. "When?"

Sesshoumaru blinked once, tilting his head a fraction. "...When?"

"When were you going to send me back?" she snapped heatedly.

The answer was nearly a whisper. "Two days."

"...Two days," Teles echoed on a breath. At Sesshoumaru's nod, she tilted her chin up, fire raging in her eyes. "I'm not going."

He shook his head slowly. "You must."

"I'm not going, youkai," she growled out through gritted teeth. "You... you kept this from me, and you're telling me now -- NOW that I'm supposed to leave you again? In two days? No! I refuse! I refuse to leave you again."

Sesshoumaru exhaled a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, exhausted. "...Were it as simple as what either of us wanted, beloved, you would not," he replied.

"What I would have wanted, Sesshoumaru, is for you to have told me about this... about this... caveat before now!" she yelled, hurt, betrayal, and fury resonating through her. "I do not care whose choice it is, neither do I care whose choice it is not." The next words were spoken slowly, carefully enunciated. "I am not going back." She took several steps forward, glaring at him. "I'm not putting you through that again, Sesshoumaru. So whoever's choice it is had better learn to accept that fact, because short of picking me up bodily and forcing me through the well, I see no other way for you to make me acquiesce." Her eyes narrowed to slits and her voice lowered until it held a dark edge. "And even then, youkai, I guarantee that you'll not have an easy time of it."

The youkai lifted his head and met her gaze with his own, filled with resignation and sadness. "It is not a choice, Teles."

"I refuse to accept that." She turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, brushing away the hot tears. She stopped suddenly, halfway through the penthouse. The air was too close; she couldn't catch her breath, as made evident by her ragged, shallow panting. Her eyes went to the window; she needed to be outside.

'Even those who live in the city find that a garden helps keep a sense of peace and order.'

Of course -- the roof. She hurried to the closet, tugging down her coat with trembling hands. Her movements quick and careless, she pulled it on over her robe. Numb fingers opened the door and she rushed into the hall, letting the door close heavily behind her.

When the door closed, Sesshoumaru closed his eyes, bowing his head. He'd known it would anger her, and the longer he'd put it off the more he'd known she would be furious with him. And she was.

No, it hadn't been a good time to tell her. Particularly not after watching Casablanca. In that respect, his timing certainly could have been better. But when was a good time to break such news? Sesshoumaru confessed he knew of no moment when he could have told Teles she had to return to the Sengoku Jidai that would not have resulted in anger.

He sunk to the couch, resting his elbows on his knees, feeling every bit of his considerable age. Several minutes ticked by, and when he didn't hear his mate return, he pushed himself to his feet and walked through the apartment and out into the hallway. He paused a moment, standing before Inuyasha's door.

He sincerely hoped his brother would not say, "I told you so."

Sesshoumaru opened the door to his brother's apartment. It was late, but Inuyasha kept odd hours, only retiring early on moonless nights. At present, he was seated on his couch, a video game controller in hand. His eyes were narrowed in concentration, and his mouth pressed into a thin line. Silver ears were pressed back against his head.

The youkai stepped in, closing the door behind him. "Working on your hostile takeover?"

Inuyasha, so lost in concentration, started at his brother's voice. Regaining his savoir-faire in an instant, he arched an eyebrow at Sesshoumaru's state of dress before turning his attention back to the screen. "Taking a break from my evil scheming."

Sesshoumaru took quiet steps into the hanyou's living room, taking a seat on the other end of the sofa. He watched Inuyasha play some racing game or other, maneuvering a prohibitively expensive sports car through the streets of London. Sesshoumaru noted the detail in the game as Inuyasha whizzed past Parliament and thanked all the gods that his brother had the good sense to choose... safer methods through which he could exercise his love of speed.

Several minutes passed in this fashion until Inuyasha sent Sesshoumaru a sidelong glance. "You told her, didn't you?"

"Yes."

The sound of a roaring engine ceased suddenly as Inuyasha paused the game and set down the controller. "I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that it didn't go over as well as you would've liked."

"She's on the roof," he replied, with a shrug. "On the whole, it's as moderate a response as I could have hoped for."

A dark eyebrow twitched. "What response were you expecting?"

Sesshoumaru closed his eyes and tipped his head back. "I... am not certain. Something thrown at my head, perhaps."

"The night's still young, you know." He paused. "And there are rocks on the roof."

"Please, don't remind me," the youkai said with a faint grimace.

"...Big ones."

"Yes, thank you."

"Don't forget the volcanic glass, either. Remember how you thought that the smooth river rocks looked too fake?"

"Inuyasha."

After regarding him for a moment, Inuyasha got to his feet and turned off the Xbox and television. "You need a drink."

A short silence followed. "Yes, I believe I do." His brows drew together. "What was it the monk used to say? Something about how some wounds improved only under the proper application of alcohol?"

Inuyasha chuckled, striding to a low lacquered cabinet. "Kagome used to hate it when he said that. Drove her crazy."

"I remember. And for as many times as he said it, still she felt the need to correct him."

"I think he would've been disappointed if she hadn't." Inuyasha withdrew a bottle from behind an intricately carved sliding door and disappeared into the kitchen, returning a short while later with two earthenware cups and a warmed bottle of sake.

"At least you told her," the hanyou said, sitting down and placing the cups and bottle on the low table in front of the couch.

"Yes, there is that," Sesshoumaru replied tonelessly, watching Inuyasha pour liquid into the two cups. A faint ribbon wove through the sake's scent and Sesshoumaru's nose twitched slightly.

Inuyasha caught the miniscule movement. "Shippou sent it -- fermented with foxfire, and good for what ails you." He sent the youkai a wry look. "Even idiocy."

Sesshoumaru made a face. "Inuyasha, please. Don't help. I feel quite horrible enough, thank you."

"Listen, I understand why you did this. I do. But that doesn't mean I think waiting this long to tell her was such a hot idea."

"The less time to think, the easier for all of us," he murmured, half to himself. "Besides, this is hardly last minute."

"True. A stunt like that would've landed your ass in the hospital." Inuyasha replied before taking a sip from the cup and blinking. "Well. That'll certainly put hair on your chest." Shaking off the sensation, he regarded his brother. "How did you bring it up? What got her so angry? I mean, besides... all of it."

Silence stretched out as Sesshoumaru contemplated his answer. "It didn't exactly 'come up,' so to speak. She was watching Casablanca--"

"She was watching Casablanca?" Inuyasha echoed in disbelief. "What the hell were the chances she'd pick that one?"

Sesshoumaru didn't reply immediately. "I... might have mentioned to her that it was my favorite."

"And you did that 'cause you're an idiot. Gotcha."