InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Sweetest Escape ❯ Show Me ( Chapter 11 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha, Rumiko Takahashi does.

Author's Notes: Methinks…there is fluff in this chapter. Oh yes. I know you've been wanting it.

And I just want to say thank you to all of those people who review—you guys are great, really. It encourages me so much that you take the time to press that little link and give me a kind word. It really helps with the motivation to write, no lie. Please, continue to do so…and if you haven't reviewed yet…well, it's never too late to start…

Also—I'm so happy that I'm making you all feel the story! It truly is the best compliment to an author that their story moved someone, so thank you!

Onward!

Chapter 11: Show Me

“What's another word for…`wrong'?” Inuyasha asked aloud, chewing on the clip of his pencil. He smirked to himself when he heard Kagome groan.

“You know…there's a perfectly good thesaurus on the shelf over there,” she pointed out. Inuyasha followed her finger to the yellow bound book on her bookcase.

“Yeah…but there's a perfectly good thesaurus right at this desk too,” he said slowly. “And the best thing? I don't have to turn her pages…or get up,” he said with a smile. “Plus, she's got audio.” The girl in question gave him a pointed, slightly annoyed look.

“You're ridiculous,” she said flatly, tapping her pencil against her calculus book.

“Please? My grade depends on it,” he mock-pouted. She shook her head and smiled.

“Okay…what's the context?”

“Um…hell, I dunno. Just…`wrong' like…that's not right. You know? Something besides `incorrect', I've used that like ten times already,” he explained, frowning at his essay.

“Alright, um…inaccurate? Let's see, what else…fallacious? Erroneous?”

“Mmm…the second one.”

“Fallacious?”

“Yeah. Spell that, will you?”

“Inuyasha…”

“Okay, okay…that's like those logic arguments we did the other day, right?” he asked, jotting the word down

“Right. Fallacious, as in, `That is a fallacious statement,'” she elaborated. Inuyasha nodded his understanding, shaking a finger at her and squinting at her through one eye.

“You…I knew you were smart. Much better than some stupid thesaurus,” he stated with finality.

“You're smart too, you know,” she said softly.

“Yeah, right. No I'm not. I'm still borderline failing out of this stupid class,” he corrected.

“There's different kinds of smart,” Kagome pointed out.

“But there's only one kind that counts,” he retorted, eyes never straying from his paper. “And that is the kind that gets you to graduate. Just so happens to be the kind I don't have.” Kagome regarded him for a moment, his head propped up by one hand, bent over his messily scrawled essay, which she prayed he was going to type, eyes flitting back and forth between the paper and his open book.

It had become a ritual for the two of them over the past month. Everyday after school, they would drive to her house, she would pull her desk away from the wall, and they would do their homework together, her on one end, facing the wall, and him on the other, facing her bed. Well…she'd do her homework, and then help Inuyasha with Lit & Comp. He had trouble with that class quite often. He did fairly average in everything else, except for that class in particular. Even still…he didn't strike her as stupid. He was actually quite intelligent, she thought. It just didn't seem to translate to his marks in school.

She smiled at the top of his head. `Kami, he's so cute,' she thought. She'd find herself thinking that more and more lately, sneaking savoring glances at him only when she was absolutely positive he wasn't paying attention—usually when Souta had distracted him. She thanked the heavens that he'd finally gotten over his aversion to his ears being free in her presence—she tried to stifle her grin at the cute triangles' antennae-like swiveling.

Feeling mischievous, Kagome slipped her desk drawer open, and smuggled her large, bulky camera out. She turned the dinosaur on and waited a few moments. Popping the lens cap off and peeking the lens over the edge of the desk, she leaned back in her chair under the pretense of stretching, while trying to focus. She pushed the button, and the ancient piece of equipment snapped and whined loudly, alerting her subject.

“What the—what was that?” His eyes fell to the shiny piece of glass winking back at him innocently. “Hey! Did you just take a picture of me?”

“Yup,” Kagome said smugly, patting the camera. He frowned, eyes wide.

“Why?”

“Because. I like to have pictures of all my friends,” she said simply, and raised the camera to her eye so that she could focus properly. “Smile.” And she snapped another photo.

“Hey! Quit!” he groused. Kagome giggled at his peeved expression, imagining the way the photos would turn out. She snapped another one. “Kagome! I wasn't even ready!”

“That's the best kind—candid,” she replied brightly, and promptly shot him again. Inuyasha's face set in a sullen, petulant expression, his arms crossed as he shot her an annoyed look. Kagome captured that too.

“At least lemme see it,” he grumbled.

“Can't. Not yet at least. It's not digital or Polaroid. I do things the old fashioned way,” she explained. She stood and moved to his side, where he watched her with a contemplative look on his face. She refocused her lens and snapped.

“Dunno why you'd want a picture of me anyway,” he mumbled. Kagome lowered the camera from her face, looking at him thoughtfully.

“Why wouldn't I? You're a good subject,” she said, raising the camera and snapping his photo once more. `Because you're hot!' she thought. “You've got a good face,” she chose to say instead. He gave her a sidelong glance.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Your expressions—you've got a million of them.”

“Really. Well, how's this one?” he asked, and promptly gave her a one-fingered salute just as her flash went off. Kagome gasped, wrinkling her nose and shoved him in the shoulder playfully as he smirked at her.

“Jerk,” she said with a smile. She went to her bookcase. “Wouldn't you know it? I've got a new album. And you, Mr. Chikamatsu, have the high privilege of being the first one in it,” she told him.

“I'm honored,” he said. Kagome couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. He was hard to read sometimes.

“You should be,” she answered in rejoinder. “It's only a select few that get to be in my albums. It's pretty much an elitist group.” He shocked her out of her skull when he sidled up to her, hands in his pockets, and peering over her shoulder at the red album she'd pulled out.

“So…you develop `em yourself?” he asked.

“Yup. All on my own,” she said.

“How?”

“Well, first you've got to…well…do you want to see?” she asked him. He raised an eyebrow.

“Right now?”

“Yeah. I…I could show you better than I can tell you.”

“Where?”

“In the basement,” she said offhandedly. It wasn't often that she showed people her darkroom. Sango had only been down there once, and Kagome felt that even she didn't truly appreciate it. She'd said `Cool,' and that had been it. Kagome had been expecting…something. Some type of reaction…nothing major, but something to show that she understood how…sacred…the place had been to her. Of course…Sango wasn't into photo the way she was. And that was okay. She just wouldn't understand how special it was for Kagome to have her own space to do what she wanted. But…maybe Inuyasha would?

“Sure.”

~*~

“Well, this is it,” Kagome said proudly, leading Inuyasha down into the basement, furnished with red light. She let him go ahead of her when they reached the base of the stairs, closing the door behind them. She watched him apprehensively as he moved through her space, intense eyes flicking restlessly over her equipment and baths. There was an odd look on his face, and she wished she could have photographed it…an expression she'd seen from him only once before.

“You've got all your own stuff…your own space…” he stated more than asked.

“Yup…” He moved over to the several lengths of clothesline from where she hung her drying photos. At this particular time, there were a series of shots she'd taken on one of her private nature walks. His fingers brushed the edge of one gently, a picture of the forest's canopy with the light filtering through the leaves, and the entire line bounced from the disturbance.

“I like this one,” he commented softly. Kagome smiled at his back. Now that was the kind of reaction she was looking for. One of reverence and…maybe even a bit of admiration. “How do you develop them?” he asked.

Kagome grinned to herself and took a random roll of film from the bin that hung on the side of her sink. Her smile widened as he came closer to her, curious. Kagome poured the necessary chemicals into the tubs that served as her baths, and processed the roll of film. Inuyasha was especially impressed when the image of the picture swirled up to them through the liquid.

“Cool,” he breathed.

“Yeah,” Kagome agreed. She rinsed the new exposures and clipped them on a new length of clothesline to dry.

“When are you gonna develop those pictures of me?” he asked.

“Later. I haven't used the whole roll yet,” she replied, swinging herself up to sit on the edge of a fairly uncluttered table. He continued to wander around the little room, examining her pictures and peeking into bins to see what they contained. Kagome watched him, frowning a bit. He was still such a mystery to her. Even after all the time they'd spent together…when she thought about it, she realized that she still new very little about the beautiful boy in front of her. He didn't like to talk about himself, and the only thing she knew about him was that his mother had passed when he was very young, and that he had several favorite colors. She didn't know who he lived with, where he lived, or even what he liked to do. He was a puzzle, an enigma—he was absolutely fascinating.

“So…spill it,” she said suddenly, swinging her legs back and forth from her perch.

“Huh? Spill what?”

“Something. Anything. I've told you almost everything about me. But you…come on, Inuyasha, I hardly know anything about you! What…what do you like to do for fun, huh? Surely hanging out with me isn't the only thing you do,” she teased. He gave her a strange look at that, and quickly turned away. “Come on…show me…show me what you're into,” she prodded, hopping off the table and walking towards him. He was quiet for a long time, and for a moment, Kagome was afraid she'd gotten him mad, or perhaps he'd gone into one of his moods. He would do that from time to time—she would unwittingly hit on a subject that was apparently sore for him, and for unpredictable amounts of time, he would be silent as the tomb, and not even Souta could snap him out of it.

Luckily, this time, that wasn't the case, and he turned back to her, looking very uncertain, and, Kagome was surprised to find, quite vulnerable.

“You…you wanna take a little trip?” he asked timidly.

“A trip…?”

“Y-yeah…I…I could show you better than I could tell you.”

~*~

“When I said `Show me what you're into', I didn't mean your drug habit,” Kagome said flatly when they arrived at the seedy-looking building. Inuyasha rolled his eyes and nudged her with his elbow.

“Shut up. I don't have a drug habit, Stupid,” he said. Kagome looked unconvinced as she eyed the run-down place. When they'd left the house, she'd thought maybe he was going to show her some hidden sports talent he had, perhaps basketball since he was so tall. Perhaps he'd show her a theatre where he participated in plays, or something to that effect. But this…this was a bit strange, to say the least.

The place looked like a halfway house, and Kagome half-expected a crackhead or some other type of unsavory character to come out of the front doors. “Come on, let's go.” She didn't move. “Are ya gonna come up or not?” She gave him a doubtful look, and reluctantly followed him into the building's alcove, where Inuyasha proceeded to punch in a code to be allowed access.

In Kagome's humble opinion, it didn't get much better from there. The beige tiles that made up the floor were cracked, crumbling, and filthy. Once-white paint peeled from the walls in sheets, revealing the pocked plaster of the dry wall. Kagome was positive she'd seen a roach scuttle from underneath a stiff-armed chair to an open broom closet, which she was sure hadn't been used in any recent decade. Cobwebs hung heavy with dust from the corners of the musty-smelling lobby. Kagome cringed. Was she sure she wanted to do this?

She watched suspiciously as Inuyasha conversed lowly and briefly with a rather sickly-looking old man. The old man frowned at him, then shot Kagome an untrusting look, and handed Inuyasha an envelope, muttering a dismissal that she couldn't quite hear. Now she was sure. She didn't want to do this. She didn't want to be here, in this dilapidated, musty building with Inuyasha as he did something that appeared to be illegal—now she was almost positive he was into drugs, or something criminal.

“Uh…Inuyasha…” she called hesitantly. The boy already had one foot on the first stair. He turned back to her expectantly.

“Oh…sorry, the elevator's broken,” he said apologetically. `That, somehow, does not surprise me…' Kagome thought. `Even if it was working, I wouldn't trust anything mechanical in this building.'

“Oh, no that's fine…um…I just—“

“It…it's not as bad as it seems,” he said quietly, reading her thoughts before she could voice them.

“I wasn't thinking that! I was only—“

“Yes, you were,” he said knowingly. “If you don't wanna go up…I understand. I just, you know…wanted you to see it…”

“…O-okay…” Kagome sighed. She hadn't meant to be that rude. She hadn't meant to make him feel inadequate. And she surely didn't want to ruin the progress she'd already made with him by making him think that she felt superior to him.

“You sure?”

“Totally. Come on, let's go,” she insisted, even if she'd sounded a bit unsure and fake.

He led her up the stairs to the topmost floor. Kagome followed him to the end of a long, dark and dank hallway, which was lined with what she could only think of as loading docks in the backs of warehouses. Inuyasha squatted in front of one of the quasi-loading docks and punched a number into a heavy padlock that kept the door secure. Shooting her a nervous glance, he rolled the folding steel upwards to let her in as she ducked to enter. The rolling door slid closed loudly, and seemed so ominous as it echoed throughout the sparse room.

“Well…here it is…so…you can, you know…look around or whatever,” Inuyasha mumbled, hanging his jacket on a hook to their left. He held his hand out to take her coat as well. She gave him the garment, unsure what exactly she was supposed to look at.

There was a large, misshapen lump covered by a bright blue tarp in the far corner, as well as racks of some sort covered with dirty sheets on the opposite wall. Kagome crossed tentatively to the mysterious lump. Inuyasha had situated himself at the small window just beside it, leaning his elbows on the sill and chewing the claw of his pinky finger. He was focusing intently on something outside, careful to avoid her eyes at all costs it seemed.

Inuyasha's stomach was turning somersaults. He knew she was uncomfortable, and he slapped himself for not thinking about her comfort first. Of course she'd be uneasy—the place didn't exactly look like a top-notch hotel. He'd only been compelled to show her his little oasis when she'd shown him what was apparently hers. After that…he supposed he did want her to see his paintings. But now that she was here, and actively reaching out to remove the tarp that kept them hidden from view and safe from dust…well…he didn't know what he'd do if she disapproved. He couldn't bear to watch as she looked.

So he stared out the window, pretending as though he could actually see something through the smears that covered the glass. He realized that his hands were trembling quite persistently. Did she realize…? No…probably not. There was no way she could realize just how…huge…this was for him. After all, as she'd said herself: she hardly knew anything about him. There was no way she could know just how much he was putting himself out there, just how much he was risking by bringing her here.

The static-like rustle of the tarp caught his ear, as did her quick intake of breath. He clenched his eyes shut and bit his pinky claw hard. He waited for the inevitable laughter, `Ew,' or `What the hell?' that he was sure was coming—

“Oh, Inuyasha…” she breathed. “Kami…”

Well, that didn't sound like disgust.

“I had no idea…” she continued. The wood slats of the rack clunked together as she flipped through the dividers that held his pieces. “That's why you're so into colors,” she said, realization dawning on her. He took a chance and peeked at her. She beamed back at him. “You're an artist,” she said simply. Inuyasha blushed and looked at the window sill.

“Nah…I'm no artist. I just mess around,” he murmured, his voice shaking.

“Just mess around? Inuyasha, if this is you just messing around, I'd love to see what you do when you're being serious. These are absolutely incredible.” He watched her out of the corner of his eye as her hands fluttered lightly over the edges of the canvases, as she murmured small sounds of approval. His heart swelled in his chest, and he thought he might burst. No one had ever…complimented him before. But then…no one had even seen his work before. Even still—it felt wonderful to have someone tell him that they approved.

“Can—can I touch them? I mean, can I pull one out and look at it?” she asked.

“Yeah, go ahead.” He head the gentle `shick' of canvas against canvas as she pulled out a piece, and the sound as she replaced it. She looked at about three pieces before asking an innocent, “Who's this?”

Inuyasha turned to look, and froze. The girl had a knack for plucking on the deepest heartstring, didn't she? She'd gone to the back of the first rack and pulled out a fairly large canvas, one that stood at about her waist. She held out the large rectangle, her chin just barely grazing the top of it, a curious little half-smile playing on her lips. The image suspended on the cloth tugged at him, and he was hard-pressed to stifle the grunt of pain that threatened to pour out of him.

“My mother,” he said quietly, and he was positive that she hadn't been able to hear him.

“I thought so,” Kagome murmured softly. She leaned the top of the painting against the edge of the rack, holding the bottom to regard it more fully. “She's beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Inuyasha grunted, because he didn't know what else to say.

“You look just like her,” came her soft reply, and his breath caught in his throat. Was she saying that he was…? No. No, that couldn't have possibly been what she meant. He risked sneaking a glance at her, only to find her smiling gently right back at him. He quickly turned away, a blush staining his cheeks.

Yet and still, the image on the canvas she held haunted him. He could remember the exact moment his mother had given him that look—the one that whispered, “It's okay. It's alright. I'm here with you, and I love you.” The one he'd intentionally recreated, so that every time he looked at it, he could hear those words again.

It had been a horrible day. It had been nothing like what his mother said it would be. It wasn't fun, it wasn't wonderful, it wasn't happy. Inuyasha trudged towards the elementary school's entrance, dragging his brand new backpack on the tile behind him, tons of other children rushing past him and chattering like mad. His ears drooped, his mouth tugged downwards, and the torn collar of his t-shirt hung limply around his neck. Pushing the doors of the school open, he squinted as the sunlight hit his face, and raised a small hand to block the offending rays. He breathed a massive sigh of relief. She was there.

He picked up his bag and ran to the one woman that wasn't socializing with the rest of the parents lined up to receive their children. She leaned against their modest gray car, hands folded demurely in front of her, a cheery, if not uncomfortable smile on her pleasant face. As he neared her, she crouched and spread her arms, which he promptly barreled into, pressing his face into the crook of her neck.

“Mommy,” he murmured, his voice muffled, relief and calm flooding his system like a tidal wave. He inhaled deeply, having missed her scent, warmth and presence all day. He'd been looking forward to seeing her again since he'd entered the building that morning. He was shaking.

“There's my big boy,” she cooed, wrapping him up in a warm, cocooning hug. “How was your first day of first grade?” she asked cheerfully. Inuyasha seized up.

“Fine,” he said briefly, tightening his hold on the woman.

“Look at you,” she said, leaning back from their embrace a bit. “Your ponytail came out. You must have been playing hard, hm?” she asked, running gentle fingers through his now unruly nest of hair.

“Yes,” he lied. His ears flicked as he heard a word he didn't quite understand from the car behind theirs. His mother didn't appear to hear it, as she still attended to his hair. `What does `abomination' mean?' he thought. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to know. The man had said it with…such a mean voice. Surely it was something bad? “Can we go home now?” he asked suddenly. She chuckled lightly, musically and gave him a fond look.

“Of course we can, Sweetheart.” She released him and brushed back his silvery bangs, placing a light kiss on his forehead. She opened the back door, ushered him in, and lovingly buckled his seatbelt. She rounded the car and got into the drivers' seat, slowly pulling away from the curb and off of the school grounds. She glanced at her son in the backseat, where he stared listlessly out of the window.

“So…do you want to tell me what you did in school today?”

“No,” he said quietly.

“No?” she repeated, animating her voice to sound mock-offended. “Well, why not?”

“I don't know.”

“Come on, Inuyasha, Sweetheart. Tell me what you did in school today,” she urged. He stared out of the window for a moment or two more before swinging his large, honey-hued eyes to look back at her in the rearview mirror. “You don't want to tell me about your day?”

“No.” Izayoi frowned and bit her lip. Now she knew something was wrong. She'd been thinking something was amiss when he clung to her so desperately in the parking lot, but now that she couldn't even get him to share his day with her…she was worried. Inuyasha was normally such an animated, lively child.

“O-okay then,” she said hesitantly, resisting the urge to push him more. “You can tell me when you're ready.” He was silent the entire ride home.

When they entered the house, Inuyasha immediately trudged up the stairs to his room, and Izayoi listened to his light footsteps pad across the floor above her head, and end with a light slam of the door. She sighed deeply and rubbed her forehead wearily. She could only imagine…what had happened to her baby?

Dinner time rolled around, and Inuyasha was only coerced out of his room by his mother's gentle insistence. Even then, he only sat sullenly at the table, leaning his head heavily against a limp hand and poking at his food absently with a chopstick. Izayoi was caught between pressing him until he finally gave her information, and letting him come to her on his own. She wanted him to go back to normal. Just as she was about to ask him what was wrong, he spoke.

“Mommy?” he began.

“Yes?”

“Does…um…Kami punishes bad boys right?” he asked in an almost silent voice.

“Um…well…yes, I suppose,” Izayoi faltered. “Why do you ask that, Sweetie?” she asked, concerned. He shrugged and poked at a piece of his stir fry.

“How long do punish-times last?” he questioned, ignoring her inquiry.

“Well…I don't know, Inuyasha, I suppose it depends on how bad someone is…why do you ask a thing like that?”

“I dunno,” he said briefly, and lapsed back into his silence. Izayoi got up from her chair and walked around the table, kneeling next to the boy. She took his chopsticks from him and turned his body around to face her.

“Inuyasha, Honey, I need you to tell me: why would you ask me a question like that?” she said, a bit more forcefully. She was worried. He looked close to tears. “Baby, talk to me, please,” she pleaded, holding his small hands in hers. His eyes darted to hers, and then to the floor, then to her face again.

“I think I'm a bad boy,” he admitted in a whisper, his expression finally showing the intense worry he'd apparently been harboring.

“What? Why would you think that?” Izayoi asked him.

“Because… `cause none of the other kids at school like me,” he confided, his voice giving way to tremors. “Nobody will play with me at school…Kami punishes bad boys like me…so Kami makes it so nobody else likes me,” he said sadly. Izayoi's heart absolutely broke at the obvious hurt her son was experiencing. He was so young— too young to have to deal with things like this…

“Inuyasha…”

“I am bad, right? That's how come they don't like me, right?”

“No, Inuyasha, no. You're not bad, Sweetie, you—“

“Then how come they don't like me? How come they call me names? How come those bigger boys pushed me, Mommy?” he asked, tears choking his voice. He looked at her desperately, searching for answers that she could not bear to give, for fear of taking his innocence sooner than was proper. She couldn't…she couldn't ruin his beautiful mind—couldn't take away that innocence than only children possessed, only to place in its stead the ugly reality with which he would be faced. Not yet. He would have to learn the truth soon enough…but not yet. `He's only six years old…' she thought sorrowfully. Blinking back tears from her own eyes, Izayoi cupped his cheek gently and attempted a smile.

“Inuyasha…some people…some people treat others differently than what they should. Some people…are strange that way. Sometimes kids act a certain way because…their mommy never told them the proper way to do things. Some children don't have a mommy to tell them how to be kind, and so they don't know any better…you understand?” He thought on this for a moment, and Izayoi could see the wheels in his head turning.

“Yes,” he said finally, nodding.

“There's my smart boy,” she said fondly, caressing his baby-smooth cheek with the pad of her thumb.

“So…I…I'm not bad? I'm not a bad boy?”

“No, of course not, my Inuyasha. You're good. You are. You're so smart and good,” she whispered, and pulled him into her arms, pressing her face into his hair. “So smart and good,” she repeated, smoothing the silvery strands. She pulled away from him and took his chin in between her thumb and index finger, and forced him to look into her eyes. “Now you listen to me,” she instructed. “I love you. You know that?” He nodded. “Good. I want you to always, always remember that, Inuyasha. No matter what, you always remember that Mommy loves you. With all my heart, you understand that, Sweetie?”

“Yes,” he said, and moved to lay his head against her bosom, his arms looped around her neck. “I love you too, Mommy,” he whispered.

Inuyasha remembered being confused later that night as he stood outside of his mother's room. He had thought at first that perhaps she was getting sick and coughing. Upon further surveillance, however, he remembered discovering that she was crying, and so, he'd sought to cheer her up as only a small child can: with lots of hugs and series of questions consisting largely of `Are you okay, Mommy?'

He had never forgotten that look. It was burned onto the surface of his memory, and for that he was glad: he didn't want it to fade. That fierce, protective, yet loving look she'd given him when she told him to never forget about her love for him. He never had. He'd questioned it many times, mainly during his adolescence and `trouble period'. He'd questioned it because he felt, at times, that he didn't deserve it. He still, to this day couldn't understand sometimes why the woman had gone through such great lengths for him. When he looked in the mirror, all he could see was the worthless half-breed that everyone coined him as. It had become as much a part of him, he thought, as his painting was. And for the life of him, he couldn't see why the woman had loved him so, why she'd sacrificed so much for him: her pride, her reputation, her friends and family…

He supposed he'd never know. He supposed he'd never have any real explanation to all the questions he had for her; she'd been taken so abruptly. Anything she may have left to him in terms of financial aid or memoirs was forever lost to the system, and he doubted that if there was anything that he'd ever get it. All he really had left of her was the few precious items he kept safely stored and hidden, his memories, and the painting that Kagome held. He glanced over to the girl, who to his surprise, was looking back at him strangely.

“You okay?” she asked gently.

“I'm fine,” he muttered. He hated it when she did that. She could always trigger some memory, some pain rooted deep within him, make him relive it in a matter of seconds, and then give him the urge to want to confide in her. `Well, I'll show you…' he thought. `I'm not sharing anything.'

Kagome looked at him for a few minutes longer, and Inuyasha averted his gaze. She placed the painting carefully back into its slot and resumed her perusal, the hauntingly beautiful image still lingering on her mind, along with Inuyasha's distant, pained expression.

“How'd you find a place like this?” she asked, figuring that now was probably a good time for her to change the subject.

“I dunno,” Inuyasha shrugged. “I used to just kind of wander around the city when I was younger; when I wanted to get out of the house. I just kind of stumbled on it one day. Totosai—that was the man downstairs—he pays me to do odd jobs for him: cleaning, moving equipment. Whatever he needs done. It's a pretty good deal. He gets stuff done, I get paid and I get a flat for half the rate.”

Kagome was inwardly relieved. At least he was doing something honest; not selling drugs or running the streets as she'd originally thought as she watched the shady looking exchange.

“So…do you want to major in art in college?” she asked, eyeing a particularly frightening yet strangely beautiful portrait of three wolf demons, whose hateful, smug expression seemed to penetrate the very fabric of the canvas.

“Hmph. College. Yeah, right,” he snorted derisively. Kagome sighed. He was in one of his moods. There were good days and bad days with Inuyasha. Sometimes it even came down to good and bad hours. There were times when his nice, shy disposition would give way to something darker and snide, and he'd be full of bitter comments. It scared her. Not because she was actually frightened of him, but frightened for him…he seemed so unstable. Kagome didn't pursue the subject.

“Oh…is this…is this your brother?” she asked, pulling out another canvas, this one considerably smaller. Inuyasha flashed a brief glance at the painting and gave a shallow, limp smile.

“Mm-hm. Half,” he replied.

“Why didn't you tell me you had a brother?” she asked with a smile.

“Because I don't,” he said, puzzling the girl. Kagome frowned.

“But I thought you just said—“

“Well I do have a brother…but then again I don't,” he interrupted. He gave her a sidelong look. “As he puts it, `We are related only in the strictest biological sense of the word,'” Inuyasha quoted from memory the stinging retort. It had been three weeks since his brother had dealt him that blow, and it still made Inuyasha feel dreadful about himself. That was the power of Sesshomaru's jabs to the heart: they stung deep where it counted and lasted for what seemed like eternity. He smiled bitterly and picked at the hem of his t-shirt. Kagome still frowned at him, at a loss.

“So he means to say—“

“He hates me,” Inuyasha cut in bluntly.

“Inuyasha, I'm sure he doesn't hate you—“

“Oh, and I'm sure he does. He tells me every opportunity he gets…” he trailed off. “He's getting married in a few months…” he said absently, turning his gaze out the window.

“Well, that's great—“

“I'm not invited,” Inuyasha cut in, slanting her a look coupled with a sick smile. He shook his head and laughed, a dry, empty, bitter laugh. “He doesn't want me at his wedding.”

“Why wouldn't he want you there?”

“Because he's embarrassed,” Inuyasha replied simply with a shrug.

“But—“

“You don't get it, do you?” he snapped, turning angry eyes on her.

“Maybe I just don't understand why your own brother wouldn't want you to come to his wedding…I don't get it,” she said confusedly.

“Are you dense?” Inuyasha snarled. “Why would any self-respecting demon want anyone to know that he was related to someone like me?”

“Someone like you? What's that supposed to mean?”

“You really are stupid,” Inuyasha mumbled, leaning against the wall and folding his arms sulkily. “Perfect, popular, and successful Big Brother Sesshomaru doesn't want any of his snobby business partners and stuck-up friends to know his brother is a stupid half-breed,” he muttered. “Can't blame him, though…”

“Inuyasha…” Kagome started sympathetically. It was obvious to her how much he wanted to go. His posture and speech simply screamed yearning. If that weren't enough…he obviously idolized the man. The painting in her hands, highly stylized and colorful, portrayed the older demon in what could only be called an adoring light. Any viewer could see that the subject had obviously been someone the artist looked up to greatly. Her heart absolutely broke for him.

“Things aren't too good at home for you…are they?”

“What would make you think that?” he questioned, his voice sounding rough.

“Well…you never…you never talk about your home…I'm assuming you live with your dad, and you never say anything about him. You never told me you had a brother…so…it just seems like it's not, you know, the best place on earth for you…” Kagome trailed off. She watched him carefully, gauged his reaction. He was tense, agitated and fidgeting.

“Home is where I shower and sleep. That's it,” he said, his words clipped. His claws clicked loudly against the sill in measured beats. That lead Kagome to answer her own question, as he'd only gave her a vaguely indirect response. Home wasn't too good for him…that much was apparent. She didn't know what or how or why things were so horrible for him. She couldn't begin to guess, and she surely didn't want to press him, for fear of him shutting her out for good. She could only offer her support and comfort to her newfound friend, and hope that he would be better for her efforts.

Kagome slid the painting back into its place and timidly approached the potentially volatile boy. With shaking hands, she touched his shoulder, at which he immediately stiffened. He didn't brush her off as she had expected him too; he simply didn't look at her. She slid her hand across the warm expanse of his back, up and down in what she hoped was a soothing motion. Inuyasha was practically a ball of tension, not moving a muscle.

“You don't have to always take on the world by yourself, Inuyasha; you're not Superman. Sometimes it's better for us to let other people in…so they can help us,” she said softly.

“All the psychoanalysis in the world couldn't help me,” he grunted bitterly.

“I'm not talking about psychoanalytic help. I'm talking about a friend. I'm talking about me,” she said. “You…you're so tense. All the time, you're tense. Even when you're supposedly having a good time, you're tense. Don't you think…don't you think it'd be better to just let things go? If only for a little while…for sanity's sake?”

He pulled away from her touch and leaned his back against the wall, his expression closed as he regarded her.

“I know what you're gonna say,” she said with a smile, holding up a finger. “Kagome, you're deranged,' I know, you say that all the time—“

“Thanks.”

Kagome was flummoxed. `Thanks?' she thought. `Thanks?' It was usually times like these, times where he lost it a bit and confided something in her that he didn't want to that he called her sanity into question, and called her crazy, unhinged, or some other synonym. But thanks? That was a change…

“You…you're welcome,” she murmured. “And thank you. For…for showing me your place. It…it obviously means a lot to you…you're so talented.”

The fond look of appreciation he gave her warmed her heart. He quickly blushed and turned away.

“You really mean that?”

“Of course I do. I don't think I've ever seen such beautiful paintings, Inuyasha. Everyone you've painted must be honored,” she reflected.

“So…so if I did you…you wouldn't be mad or anything?” he asked, stammering.

“You…you'd do that? You'd paint me?” she asked, excitement spreading over her face. He shrugged, the pink blush still dusting the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah. Yeah…if you wanted me to…you know. I could, or whatever,” he said, trying to sound indifferent, yet failing miserably. His voice was shaking.

“Of course I want you to!” Kagome exclaimed. “I had wanted to ask you, but I didn't want you to turn me down! I'm so excited—should I pose or anything?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I'm not gonna do it while you're here…I work from memory,” he told her, smiling at her animation.

“Oh…okay. Well, when will you be done so I can see it?”

“I dunno…takes me a while sometimes,” he shrugged. `Especially when I have such a good subject to work from,' he added silently.

“Well, don't take too long…my pictures of you will be done way before you're done with the painting, I guess…”

“Yeah…”

“So…what's your favorite color today, Inuyasha?” she asked suddenly, strolling over to the drawers on the other side of the room. He followed.

“Hmm…poinsettia-red,” he said finally. She shot him a look.

“Figures. I had you pegged for a red kind of guy. What's in here?”

“Finger paint,” he answered simply, countering the amused look she gave him with a defensive one of his own.

“Finger paint?”

“What? It's…it's very therapeutic,” he argued.

“Really?” she asked, and eyebrow raised.

“You wanna try?”

“Yeah, how'd you know?” she laughed, breaking her skeptic façade. Inuyasha gave her a small smile and set the tub of paints in her hands.

“Don't even think about flinging that stuff,” he warned her, seeing the plotting look on her face. She quickly gave him wide eyes and ducked the paint behind her back.

“Who, me? I would never!” she insisted, filling her voice with mock-offense. Inuyasha looked at her disbelievingly. “Okay, okay, maybe I was thinking it…” she admitted, grinning, her nose wrinkling cutely. Inuyasha bit his lip.

He'd decided: she had a good face too.

Author's Notes:

Hope that wasn't too cheesy. I just wanted to end on a lighter note since everyone's saying this story is so depressing…not that it's gonna be chipper. `Cause it's not. There's lots more angst to come. I just wanted to give at least a tiny reprieve from the sadness, and I didn't want people to become so depressed that they decide that they're sick of this story. Please don't go!

I love Inuyasha and his mom. I think they're so cute. Well, at least I think the thought of them is so cute…not like we ever get to see them interacting…

I think I'm on a roll here with these extra long chapters…that's the only reason it's taking so long to get them out. Plus, this weekend was absolute hell at work…bleh.

Hope you enjoyed! Let me know if you did.

Wowzer313