InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Stealing Heaven ❯ Untitled ( Chapter 35 )

(I am sorry, but, yes, this is another dreaded way-point chapter [evil, but sometimes necessary for getting from one point to the next], but as stated in the last one, I am trying to keep them both short and to a minimum. I'm also very sorry for the update delay; it's getting increasingly difficult to get the words out knowing that this will be drawing to a close soon.) And I couldn't think of a title to fit this chapter.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Untitled

Kagome felt as though they'd been waiting forever by the time Myoga tottered back into his apartment. They had arrived on his door step unannounced, but in that unnerving way that the old man had, he didn't seem very surprised. He'd simply pursed his lips in thought for a long moment after she'd explained the reason behind her visit . . . or, at least a neatly edited version of the reason.

The demon had overstepped his bounds, leaving Sesshomaru in his place with no recollection of how he'd gotten there and the only way to protect the poor, victimized man's sanity would be to somehow be able to tell him what was going on. Neatly edited. That she had to do this in a way that wouldn't alert the demon went without saying, Myoga already knew that such a thing would only endanger Sesshomaru.

He'd told them to wait for a moment and shuffled out of the apartment. A moment turned into five minutes and then five became ten, until Kagome, Miroku and Sango found they'd been waiting for Myoga to return for half an hour. During their long, strained and silent wait Kagome could feel Miroku's gaze shifting to rest on her every now and again. She and Sango had not shared with him exactly what the demon had done to finally light a fire under Kagome's ass- as Sango so eloquently phrased it- and he hadn't pressed the point after seeing how upset Kagome instantly became at the faintest hint that he was going to try to force an answer out of her.

Given the nature of her relationship, though she dreaded to refer to it like that, with Nah Rah Ku she was pretty certain Miroku had some idea of what might have transpired, but she wasn't about come out and say it, nor was she of a mind to confirm or deny anything. She'd spent the entire day and most of the night before mentally kicking herself for being so blindingly stupid, she didn't think she could cope with a verbal lashing. It was as true now as it had been last night that she felt she probably deserved one, but she simply didn't think she could handle it- that she'd break down and start bawling like a little girl before Miroku even got two sentences into his rant.

Finally the door was creaking open and the tiny, stooped old man was shuffling his way back into the apartment. He made a beeline for Kagome and, with very little presentation or ceremony whatsoever, shoved an old- yet obviously ornately painted and meticulously care for at one time- tin into her hands.

“Um,” she began, feeling an odd little tingle from the press of the worn surface against her fingertips, but was unable to find anything to actually say.

“It's a tea,” Myoga informed her, turning on his heel and proceeding to putter around his house, speaking to her over his shoulder. “He must begin drinking it within five minutes of being brewed. Have him sip it- it will draw out the time you have. You will have approximately one hour to explain what you need to him, after which you risk anything you say slipping past his defenses and being heard by the demon.”

“Why didn't you just give her the tea for him months ago?” Miroku asked sourly, for a moment seeming to forget his typical respect for his elders. “You would have saved her and the professor a shit load of turmoil.”

Myoga's head whipped around, fixing Miroku with a single, glaring beady eye over his shoulder. “I am a spiritual adviser, not an apothecary, boy!” the old man snapped in a rushed, creaky tumble of words, immediately causing all three gazes of the young people in the room to regard the feisty little being cautiously.

“My knowledge of herbs,” he went on smoothly, as though he'd not just had an outburst, “is extensive, granted, but it is not limitless. However, there is a fellow on the fourth floor who had made his living as an herbalist. I was conferring with him. Be aware, this will only work for Sesshomaru because of how he excels at compartmentalizing. The walls he's built around separate emotions and trains of thought are utilized- and fortified- by the mixture in that tea. Anything you tell him while the herbs are active will be clouded to the demon's perception, should he try to delve into those thoughts.”

“So I have an hour?”

Myoga gave a slow, solemn nod, echoing, “An hour.”

Kagome frowned sadly, lowering her gaze. “Ya know . . . when you don't know what to say to someone an hour seems like all the time in the world, but like this . . .” her voice trailed off for a moment as she shook her head, she could feel Sango's and Miroku's eyes on her, needing to force herself to go on. “I have so much I want to say to him. Not just about what's been happening to him, but why. Why it chose him, why I couldn't tell him. I want to make him understand. I want-” she cut herself off, sinking her teeth into her suddenly trembling lower lip.

Sango pushed up from the saggy cushions of the sofa and stepped quietly over the Kagome, cautiously raising a hand to rub her friend's back soothingly. “You want what, sweetie?”

It took the passing of a long, pained moment before Kagome could lift her watery gaze to Sango's, whispering brokenly, “I want him to not hate me.”

The pause was short, but still obvious as Sango forced a small gulp down her throat and shook her head. “I'm sure he won't.”

A mirthless, miserable chuckle bubbled out of Kagome at that. “Liar. You have no way of knowing he won't . . . .” She turned then, sliding her arms around Sango's waist and hugging her tightly, “But thanks for saying it.”

O-O-O

Sesshomaru looked up from his newspaper, a flicker of irritation in his amber eyes as they fixed on the door. He wanted to ignore it. He'd finally gotten his head on straight sometime between the end of Kagome's scheduled class and the time the day's courses were finished. Well . . . not entirely, but he'd managed to stuff his feelings away for now, and that was close enough.

It had also helped that he had noticed that Sango and Miroku were both missing as well. Perhaps that was a good thing- didn't it mean it was possible that they were attending to something else entirely? That it was possible that it was only coincidental timing that made it appear obvious that she had skipped class to avoid him?

He had returned home- though it was difficult to be here and not trouble over the few and scattered memories from last night- and was at last settled in with a cup of coffee and the paper, as was his daily ritual to wind down from his day. The man was barely two sips and half an article in when his doorbell rang. He'd not bothered to as much as glance up from the printed words before him.

But then it rang again. He was no longer reading, but staring at the page as he considered ignoring it entirely. True that his car was right out front, but maybe if he didn't answer it whoever it was would assume he simply went for a walk or something. Yet again, it rang. This person was very persistent, he observed with a frown as he'd at last lifted his unhappy gaze to the door.

“One moment,” he called out as he stood up and- despite the sore inclination to throw it down- set the paper down on the table beside his barely touched coffee.

He couldn't help pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger tiredly as he strode across the living room, slowly shaking his head as he unlocked the door and turned the knob. There was little time to be dumbfounded at who he found staring up at him on his doorstep, because nearly as soon as he muttered her name in surprise she was already pushing past him and making a beeline for his kitchen.

“No, no coffee now,” she said hurriedly, scooping up the mug as she passed the table.

Sesshomaru watched her over his shoulder as he closed the door before turning on his heel and following her through the house. By the time he reached the kitchen she was dumping out his coffee mug in the sink. He tipped his head to one side, leaning his hip against the entryway and folding his arms across his chest as she proceeded to rinse out the mug and then fill the kettle from his stove top with water to set it to boil.

“Kagome . . .” he said evenly, waiting for her to say something.

Even from where he stood behind her it was obvious the way she hung her head before she turned toward him and fished a small, antique-looking tin from her purse and set it on the counter beside his mug. “Sesshomaru,” she said back, forcing a small gulp down her throat, “we need to talk.”