InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Zero-G ❯ 18 Months Later ( Chapter 19 )

The Japanese embassy lent her a hundred and fifty euros a month to pay for her living expenses. At first they had given her a room at the embassy and provided her with French lessons and food on a regular basis. But within six months, the arrangements had been changed. More people were coming and going from the embassy - very important looking people. Pretty soon there had been no place for a fifteen year old Japanese girl of relatively low importance.

She'd been given a flat and a form with which to enrol at the local school. Aside from the monthly cheque, they'd effectively washed their hands of her.

A hundred and fifty euros had seemed like a lot at first, but Kagome had soon discovered that if she wasn't careful, the money was soon gone. Between paying rent and providing herself with food, all that Kagome was left with at the end of the month was a few cents. Sometimes not even that. There were some days when she'd had to go hungry because the money had not been enough.

Fortunately Miroku was usually there, dropping by every now and then to pay off her frequent debts to the landlady downstairs. He could afford it now that he had a proper job as a teacher at the university. He'd commented that it was a step up from his usual line of work.

“There are more ladies panting over me, for a start,” he'd said.

Kagome suspected that half his students were only taking Japanese lessons in order to find an excuse to talk to him. He was quite good-looking. Problem was, he knew it and utilised it to an alarming degree.

But while Miroku could often help her out with the money problems, there was not much he could do to help her at school. Kagome had had to dive in the deep end while still learning to come to grips with the tricky language. None of the other students had spoken Japanese, and most regarded her with wariness - and even dislike in some cases. She'd learnt that the foreign view of Japan was quite different from what she'd expected. To her French classmates, it was a country brimming with terrorists, demons, corrupt powers and poverty. In their eyes, she was nothing but a refugee.

It had been almost unbearable to attend the school at first. She didn't understand half of what she was being taught, and no one seemed to want to cut her any slack.

But she'd fought through it. She'd forced her tongue around the silly, flowery words and nailed her Maths tests thanks to the universal language of numbers and symbols. She'd gradually begun to communicate with the others, and soon they'd warmed to her and treated her with respect. She'd only met Flora in the following year, and ever since then they'd been fast friends, despite the occasional language problem.

Things were getting better all the time.

At least… that was what Kagome kept telling herself.

So why did she feel so heavy-hearted as she dragged her brown bag full of groceries up the stairwell? Why did she keep sighing every time she turned the key in the door? Why did her heart seem to beat such a dull, pained rhythm every time she looked around her flat and surveyed her meagre possessions.

This is all I have now, she thought. And it all belongs to someone called Kyoko Sano…

That had been Miroku's idea.

“From now on,” he'd told her, back when she'd first arrived at the embassy, “whenever anyone asks for your name or asks for your signature, you tell them it's Kyoko Sano. You're not to write `Kagome Higurashi' down ever again. Not on your school test papers. Not on your rent cheques. Get used to it.”

But even while she dutifully wrote down her fake name wherever there was a `Name:' , she insisted that most people just call her Kagome.

“Just a nickname,” she told them. “I prefer it.”

Kagome sank down on her mustard coloured sofa and let the bag of food rest on the floor. She stared listlessly at the small, box-shaped television in the corner without ever really seeing it. Her ugly black monstrosity of a clock was ticking away relentlessly above the kitchen units with its usual loud fervour. She'd tried replacing it once with something quieter, but she'd only wound up switching it back.

There was something comforting about the black clock. Its wooden ticks filled the void in her flat, making it seem less empty than it really was. When she'd taken it down and removed the batteries, she'd suddenly been hit by how stale her life was. She could almost see the dust settling on everything - including her shoulders. It had been all too easy to see the emptiness that she'd wrapped around herself, and suddenly it had been terrifying.

So, like covering an unsightly table with a blanket, Kagome put the clock back in its place and let its hollow ticks fill her flat. The void was still there, but at least it was less noticeable.

Sometimes Kagome left the television turned on all night, just so she could sleep…

A knock sounded from the door.

Kagome roused herself and looked towards the source, frowning as she wondered who it might be. If it was the landlady, she was going to keep quiet.

The knock came again. Kagome chewed her lower lip. The sound was a little too hesitant to be her landlady, and the only other person who knew where she lived was Miroku - and he never bothered knocking now that he had a key.

“Ah, it's probably Kikyo come to kill me at last…” she muttered with a wry smile. She stood and moved across the small room to the door, leaving the chain on just in case it was Kikyo. She opened it cautiously.

Her mouth dropped open.

“Hello, Kagome.”

“Serge!” she cried in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

He smiled at her. “I came to see you, of course.”

“Oh.”

Neither of them moved. Kagome continued to stare in shock as Serge shifted his feet.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“No,” Kagome said quickly. At his shocked look, she explained. “Someone set loose a raging bull in here. It's a mess. Only qualified people are allowed.”

“I think I can manage,” he said, laughing. “I live with Flora, remember?”

“Right. Um, ok. Hang on.” Kagome promptly shut the door in his face and turned around to despair at the state of her flat. Suddenly it didn't seem so empty. It was bursting with crap! Embarrassing crap!

“Oh god,” she whined to herself and shot off around the living room, gathering all the knickers and bras that were lying in plain view. She stuffed them into the adjoining bedroom and shut the door, wishing she had a padlock. There was only enough time to cram the dirty plates on the sideboard into the cupboard under the sink. Faintly satisfied with her progress (she had done in ten seconds what normally took her two weeks), she removed the chain from the door and opened it for the bemused French boy. “Ok, it's safe now,” she told him.

“Right…” He inched inside, looking over the flat carefully as if he thought there might be the odd bear trap lying around.

“Have a seat,” Kagome pointed at the sofa. “You want a drink?”

“Oh, sure. Just water, thank you.”

Somehow, Kagome managed to salvage two clean glasses and returned to the sofa with drinks in hand. “How did you know where I lived?” she asked. “I don't recall ever telling you…”

“Well, you said you lived on Rue de Poitou. All I had to do was wander around and ask if anyone knew where the pretty Japanese girl lived.” The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement as he took a sip from his drink.

Kagome sipped her own drink, hoping the water would cool her cheeks. “You think I'm pretty?” she squeaked.

“No,” he answered solemnly. “I think you're beautiful.”

Kagome chugged her water. It saved her from having to think of something modest and witty with which to respond.

Serge was peering around her flat with interest. “Did you say you lived alone?” he asked.

“Uh… yeah.” She jammed the drink back to her lips, refusing to elaborate further. She didn't particularly want to discuss her solitude.

“Where do your parents live?” he asked. She could see it was just simple curiosity. Perhaps not even that. He was probably not even remotely interested and was just filling the distance between them with small talk.

“Back in Japan,” she answered truthfully. “I was sent here to escape some… some conflicts.”

“I see,” he nodded. “It must be hard living alone, so far away from your family.”

He didn't know the half of it.

Serge sniffed. “I like your… lamp.”

Kagome followed his gaze and realised he was just being polite. “I didn't choose it,” she said quickly. “All the furniture and stuff came with the flat. I'd burn it all, but my landlady would lynch me.”

“Well, it has a nice retro kind of feel,” he assured her. “It's quite cosy.”

Kagome couldn't disagree more, but in the interests of maintaining a friendly relationship, she kept her mouth shut.

“I was wondering if you'd like to come for a walk?” he said lightly, as if it had only just occurred to him.

Kagome blinked. “What? Now?”

“Sure.”

“Um… ok.” It was all Kagome could do to keep from giggling like an idiot who'd just won the lottery. That would undoubtedly be a terrible turn-off. So instead she just smiled calmly, pretending that being asked to walk with beautiful European men was a daily occurrence. “Let me just get changed…” she said, gesturing towards her bedroom. “I spilt orange juice on my lap this morning, and I'm sure that you don't want to be walking around with a girl who looks like she's wet herself… and… um… you probably didn't need to know that.” Ok, so she didn't quite have the `calm and coy' demeanour perfected yet. “Just wait there,” she ordered and disappeared into her bedroom.

After five minutes of anonymous banging and shuffling, she called to the patiently waiting Serge. “I'll just be a minute!”

Five minutes after that, she finally emerged wearing a bright red cashmere jumper and a wide smile. She'd swapped her skirt for a pair of faded blue jeans and shoes more appropriate for walking.

Serge smiled when he saw her. “How did you know red was my favourite colour?”

Kagome's smile faltered.

Serge noticed. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing!” She jumped, feeling guilty. “You just reminded me of someone, that's all…”

Looking troubled, Serge stood up and offered her his arm. “Are you coming?”

Kagome had no idea if the linking of arms was another bizarre European custom that was perfectly innocent - like the kissing on the cheek business - or if it meant something much more intimate. Either way, she liked the chivalrous gesture and readily accepted.

 

………………………&# 8230;……………

 

There was nothing quite as romantic as taking a walk along the River Seine as the sky began to fade to red and the street lanterns began flicking into life. It was a beautiful evening, and the air was still warm and sweet. Kagome inhaled deeply and let out a satisfied sigh.

“This was a great idea,” she told Serge with a smile.

So great, in fact, that every other person in Paris seemed to have had the same idea. The pair could hardly move down the quayside for fear of bumping into half a dozen couples coming the other way. And everyone seemed rather friendly with one another. If they weren't holding hands, they were linked at the elbows. If they weren't kissing chastely across candlelit tables, they were enthusiastically pawing at each other under the hanging baskets of flowers. Kagome felt quite the prude. Compared to most couples out for an evening stroll that night, she and Serge might as well have been three miles apart.

Serge was engaging her in idle chitchat. “How are your studies going?” he asked, after they'd beaten the topic of fruit flies and their incredibly reproductive tendencies to death. How they'd gotten onto that subject, Kagome had forgotten.

“Quite well,” she replied with an enthusiastic nod. “I think the Japanese curriculum was a little ahead of the French one. But I took so long to learn French that I'm a little behind. But at least I was able to start some fresh subjects this year.”

“Oh?”

“Psychology,” Kagome supplied. “So far it's the only subject I'm managing to keep on top of.”

“Ah.” Serge smiled as they sidestepped around a couple who'd stopped in their tracks to pet each other. “You have an interest in what makes people tick then?”

“I suppose so, yes,” Kagome said with a shrug. Her eyes grew hooded as her arms swung carelessly by her sides. “There's a lot of people I know… I used to know, who did things I couldn't understand. I think I was hoping that psychology might give me an insight as to why they did some of the things they did.”

“I see.” Serge's smile faded. He seemed to sense her shift in mood. “And is it working?”

Kagome sent him a sad smile. “So far, all psychology has taught me is that Freud had an unhealthy obsession with his mother… and… certain parts of the male anatomy.” She sighed. “No explanation yet as to why everyone is so bonkers.”

Her companion was strangely quiet. For a moment, Kagome worried that she'd ruined the mood by letting her silly angst seep into the conversation. But a second later, Serge brightened and turned to her. “Still,” he said, lightly. “You'll be fine at school. You're a smart girl.”

Kagome grimaced. “People at school think I'm stupid.”

Serge came to an abrupt stop. “Why?” he asked, staring at her in shock.

“Because I missed so much education.” Kagome's eyebrows tilted up as she looked at him helplessly. “Because I don't grasp things as quickly as everyone else. And because of my accent. They think I'm slow.”

Serge snorted. “They're the stupid ones.”

“When people talk fast, I have to ask them to slow down,” she admitted miserably. “Then they look at me like I'm five years old.”

“Don't worry about it,” he assured her, shrugging the matter off. “You'll get better. And you already speak more languages than most of them. Besides… I like your accent. It's cute.”

Kagome had to look away. She was blushing too hard again. She knew he was probably just saying that to make her feel better… but what if he'd meant it?

“Ooh, ice cream!” Serge, completely ignorant of the colour of her cheeks, pointed towards the ice cream parlour further down the street. “Would you like some?”

It would probably help her to blush less often. “Sure!” she agreed eagerly.

“There's a queue. You wait here and I'll bring you some. What would you like?”

“Strawberry.”

He nodded and jogged away to join the back of the line. Kagome turned around and mooched over to the railings overlooking the river. The sky was growing quite dark now, and the lovely green waters of the Seine had turned an inky black, reflecting the lights of the nearby cafés and restaurants. Across the street was a department store. Its brightly lit advertisements in the windows were rippling across the surface of the water, coaxing Kagome to look up at shop window.

She instantly regretted it.

Kikyo's face looked back at her from across the river. It was a beautiful face, with a coy smile and inviting eyes. Her skin had been airbrushed to perfection, although Kagome already knew that Kikyo was about as close to flawless as they came. Her dress was white, full of lace and ruffles styled in an elegant manner which was still contemporary and young. Across her smoothly tanned shoulder read the embossed, silver words, “G-Force.”

Kagome could have spat.

But she did nothing. She simply turned her back to the river and the department store and appraised Serge's backside instead. There wasn't much she could do about G-Force. The advertising had started almost a month ago. The girls at school had gone wild over the miracle product. Half were using it daily. The other half had to save up the money, as Kikyo had not marketed the cream cheaply.

Flora had tried to get Kagome involved in the G-Force boom.

“Look!” she'd said, brandishing her hand at Kagome. “It totally faded that scar I got in Eurocamp! And just look how smooth it makes your skin! You should have a go. This stuff is brilliant!”

“Are you implying that I need intensive skin therapy?” Kagome had inquired evenly, refusing to let Flora anywhere near her with the miracle cream.

“Possibly. If this stuff can make Mama look thirty again, then it can probably get rid of those bags under your eyes.”

Kagome pouted at the memory. “I like my bags,” she muttered contrarily to no one but herself. But she still felt slightly ill. Now that Paris, the cosmetic capital of the world, had been swept away by Zero-G - no - by Kikyo Higurashi's G-Force - all hope of getting the formula back had been dashed. What would her friends say if she stood up one day and announced that she, Kagome, was the legitimate owner and developer of the wonder cream they all wore on their faces?

She'd be laughed out of the city.

Let Kikyo have her cream and enjoy it, she decided wearily. Kagome couldn't have cared less about such a trivial product now. In fact, she despised it more than anything else as it had brought her nothing but pain and misery for the best part of two years. Kagome wanted nothing more to do with it.

“My mother often says that you can tell a lot about a girl from the flavours she chooses.”

Kagome blinked. Serge seemed to have popped back into existence beside her, holding a delightful looking ice cream in his hand. She took it gratefully and thanked him with a smile. “What's that then?” she asked, taking a nibble of the wafer. Irritatingly, she'd lost her appetite.

“They say that girls who pick chocolate are the indulgent kind. They love to spoil themselves and would probably be best suited to marry a man with a lot of money.” Serge leant against the railing beside her, gazing easily over the river that she could not bear to see. “The mint fiends, on the other hand, are always willing to try new things. Very open-minded people, the mint-lovers.”

Judging from the peppermint green trickles Serge was licking off his fingers, he probably qualified as a mint-fiend.

“Vanilla girls, on the other hand, are quite the stable crowd,” he continued. “Cool-headed, sensible… intelligent. Good with money and careers.”

“What about the strawberry variety, then?” Kagome's curiosity was getting the better of her. Kikyo and G-Force had temporarily been pushed from her mind.

“Ah, now, strawberry girls are very interesting indeed.” He gave her a sidelong look. “They're bright, they're playful and they're strong… both inside and outside. They have more spirit and beauty than any other flavour. They won't take things sitting down, and they go through life with a smile. If they fall down, they just get back up, laugh, and carry on. Nothing holds them down. You're lucky if you can stop a strawberry girl long enough to notice you. You're beyond lucky if you can get them to stay.”

Kagome didn't know quite what to say to that. “Huh,” seemed about all she could sum up.

Serge turned to her with a sigh. “Which makes me wonder… why on earth did you pick Strawberry?”

“What?!” Kagome squeaked. “Are you saying I'm not a strawberry candidate? I'll have you know I'm very spirited! A-And playful. And pretty. I think. I scrub up alright when I bother to put some mascara on. I know I look pretty ropey these days because of all the work, but I'm not ugly or anything, right? Oh, god. You think I'm ugly-”

“Kagome.” He held up his hand to interrupt her before she battered her self-esteem into the ground completely. “You are a strawberry and more. You're beautiful, you're smart, and you're the most kind hearted girl I've ever met. You put up with fools that no one should have to, and you don't complain.”

Flustered, Kagome turned her face to the cobbles. “I think I complained about five minutes ago…”

He grinned. “I took that as a sign that you liked and trusted me enough to confide in me,” he told her gently. She looked at him hesitantly and saw his smile fade. “But something's happened to you, hasn't it?”

Kagome said nothing.

“You are this amazing, vibrant girl who can make any old misery guts around here smile just by looking at them.”

She had thought this was just a town of extraordinarily happy people…

“But then I see you when you think no one's looking and it's heartbreaking,” said Serge, looking to her in earnest. “You have a beautiful smile. But it's not real. You're the most depressed person I know, and it's terrible because you won't let anyone see it.”

A frown tugged between Kagome's eyebrows. She slowly turned to face the river with him, unaware that her ice cream was dripping freely over the railing. Her eyes landed on Kikyo's image before dropping to their distorted reflections below. “How come you can see it then?” she asked quietly.

He shrugged with a small huff of laughter. “Because I can hardly take my eyes off you. It's hard to ignore it.” He licked up another trickle of mint from his fingers. “Back in Nice? At my parents' house? You were the happiest little thing when you were splashing around in the pool with Flora. But happy little things don't sit for hours in the spare room with their head in their hands.”

“Serge!” Kagome whined. “This is depressing. Let's talk about fruit fly sex again!”

“It would have been better if you'd at least cried once, but you never did. Every night. Eleven o'clock. You were up there in the spare room just sitting there, not moving. It was like you just stopped when there was no one there to keep you occupied. If you didn't have school, I'm half afraid you'd just sit in your flat gathering dust on the sofa without a care for the rest of the world.”

“Rubbish,” Kagome dismissed. “I'm perfectly fine. What you're talking about is just my… thinking position.”

“Oh, really?” He raised an eyebrow. “What were you thinking about?”

“Lots of things.” Kagome replied in the tone of someone who would rather talk about anything else. “Whether or not I should have potato or salad with my dinner. The meaning of life. Is this thing on my leg getting bigger. You know, the usual.”

Serge looked disbelieving.

“What?” Kagome raised her hands in a surrendering gesture. Strawberry ice cream flicked out everywhere. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “I just wanted to let you know that you're not as alone as you think you are. If there's anything I can do for you to cheer you up, then I'll be glad to oblige you.”

“That's nice,” Kagome murmured, “but I'm fine. Really fine.”

“No. You…” he trailed off, looking up at the purple sky as if for inspiration. “…are a crushed strawberry.”

Kagome blinked. “How poetic.”

“Creative Writing, D plus,” he told her proudly.

He brought a smile to her face, but it was tentative and short lived. In a matter of seconds, the awful, empty expression was back on her face, and he could tell she was a million miles away.

“Look,” he said. “I don't want you telling me your life's story and all your traumas and pet peeves as you clearly aren't comfortable with it. But I know there's a reason why you're here, and it's not because you're in an exchange program. Don't think I'm dumb enough to fall for that.”

Slowly, she swung her gaze back to him. “No,” she said thoughtfully. “You're right. I'm really here because my own cousin tried to murder me and a major terrorist organisation wants to finish the job. The only people who know I'm alive are the people who want to kill me. I can't contact anyone I love because I would then be responsible for their deaths.”

Serge blinked. “Right…”

He believed her.

Kagome's eyes flew wide. “No - you're not meant to say that! You're meant to laugh and say `If you don't want to tell me…', right?” She forced a laugh. “Don't take me so seriously!” Please God, don't take me so seriously or Miroku will wring my neck…!

“Sorry,” Serge grinned apologetically. “I guess that is a bit outlandish.” He nodded across the river to the department store. “Next you'll be telling me that you're moonlighting as a G-Force model, right?”

Kagome followed his gaze to Kikyo's advertisement. She pouted. “Don't make me chew your arm off.”

“Yeah, I know. Enough people have been noticing the uncanny resemblance, haven't they? That must get annoying.” He closed an eye and held up his hand, his thumb and finger at a right angle to frame the advertisement. “She looks a lot like you though.”

“She looks like a…” Kagome sought for the right word. “Like a trollop.”

“A pretty trollop.”

Kagome grabbed his arm threateningly. “Do you think they'll find your body before the Seine washes it out to sea?”

Serge laughed and took swift advantage of her grip on his arm. Showcasing his alarming military skills, he soon had Kagome backed up against the rail and trapped by his arms. He leered pleasantly at her. Kagome had frozen in shock.

“Are you going to kiss me?” she asked bluntly.

He cocked his head. “Depends. Do you want me to?”

Kagome gushed like a schoolgirl at a boy band concert. “Ohyespleasethankyou!”

There should have been a choir of singing angels behind them. Her first kiss was going to be from a gorgeous French boy with nice biceps! In Paris! Beside a river! Nothing could have made the experience more perfect. She'd be telling her grandchildren about this night… and anyone else who sat still long enough, for that matter.

Serge was leaning forward. She caught the scent of minty ice cream on his lips and wondered if he could smell the strawberry on hers. At least, she hoped he could. It would be awful if he could smell the garlic bread she'd snacked on a few hours earlier.

His eyes had shut and he was awfully close

now. Kagome was tilting her chin up to meet him, her eyes drifting closed as well… but a flash of white on the street behind the boy made them snap back open in alarm.

It was only the briefest of glimpses… but Kagome was certain.

“Inuyasha…” she whispered, stiffening up in panic.

Serge was confused. “What?”

“Inuyasha… Inuyasha. I saw him. Where is he?” She was mumbling in Japanese, much to Serge's further puzzlement. She strained against his arm to break free, but wound up having to duck underneath it when Serge refused to relent. She ran further onto the street, her voice gaining volume. “Inuyasha?”

“Kagome?” Serge was looking at her, clearly bewildered. “What's the matter?”

She ignored him. She was too busy scanning the heads in the crowd for a pale-haired hanyou. There were too many people on the street, and Kagome, not being especially tall, couldn't see over their heads. So she began beating a path through the couples in what was the most likely direction. “Inuyasha? Inuyasha, where are you?! I saw you! Inuyasha!”

Poor, bemused Serge ran after her, probably wondering if she'd suddenly had a mental breakdown.

She couldn't find him. Why wasn't he responding to her?

Kagome pushed on through the crowd, stopping occasionally to do a quick three-sixty before rushing on. It was no good. He was probably getting further and further away whilst she faffed around looking for him. She needed a good vantage where she could see the whole street - and quickly.

There! A street sign that jutted up where the quayside railing met the bridge railings. Kagome squeezed her way through the hapless people to haul herself up onto the rails, using the sign post for aid.

She moved too quickly. Her shoes slipped on the metal bars, and she began to fall backwards.

“Kagome!” If Serge hadn't been there, she would have toppled straight into the river. He caught her around the middle and dragged her back to the pavement. “What are you doing? You're going to get yourself killed!”

“Let go, Serge!” She struggled against the nice biceps wrapped around her waist. “I need to see - I can't see anything!”

“What are you talking about?” Serge demanded. “What's the matter?”

“He's here!” Kagome shrieked. “That damn rat-bastard is here!”

People were beginning to turn their way, casting disapproving looks at the wild girl shouting in a foreign language. Kagome couldn't have cared less.

“Kagome, slow down. I can't understand what you're saying-”

Abruptly, Kagome tore away from his grip. “Sorry,” she said, remembering herself as she backed away. A nervous hand swept through her hair. “Sorry, I have to go. I'm sorry.”

“Go?” Serge frowned at her. “Go where? Kagome, you have to tell me what the matter is.”

“I can't - you wouldn't understand.” She threw him an apologetic look. “I'm really sorry, but I have to go. I'll call you tomorrow… or something.”

She turned and began to run.

Serge shouted after her. “You shouldn't be alone, Kagome! It's not a good idea!”

“No, you're right!” she called over her shoulder without breaking pace. “But I'm not alone - just like you said!” She doubted she'd been alone for quite some time now.

 

………………………..

 

 

Miroku lived only a few streets away from Kagome, meaning she didn't have to run far before she found herself at the entrance to his flat. Like hers, it was simply a large, old house that had been cut up and converted for modern use, although unlike hers, it was a great deal bigger and more expensive.

The moment she arrived on the doorstep, her fist lashed out to smash the button next to his flat number. She stopped herself just in time. There was no reason to give the bastard warning and have him crawl out the back window while she hammered on the door. But how on earth was she supposed to get in? She'd left her keys back at her own flat, clearly not anticipating a visit to Miroku as part of her `stroll' with Serge, and she didn't particularly feel like running all the way home to get them. She had two stitches as it was.

Movement behind the door caught her eye. “Oh!” Kagome quickly rapped her knuckles on the glass pane. “Madame Pinon!”

The older woman blinked owlishly at her through the window. Her eyesight wasn't particularly good, and her hearing was hardly any better. She moved towards the door and eventually broke out into a smile when Kagome's face came into focus. “Kagome!” she declared, opening the door. “How nice to see you. Are you here to see Miroku?”

“Yes. His buzzer isn't working…”

“Ah, well, in you come then.” Madame Pinon stepped back to allow her inside, and with a soft farewell, she stepped out into the night.

Kagome squared her shoulders and set off up the stairs.

Flat number four soon loomed before her. From within, she could hear a high, twittering giggle, followed by a soft moan. Either Miroku was discovering his feminine side, or he was discovering someone else's.

Kagome didn't care. She slammed her knuckles against the door so hard that she surely bruised them. She didn't particularly care about that either.

“J-Just a minute!” Miroku called. “If it's about the money - it's in the post - I swear!”

“Miroku! Open this door!”

“Oh, Kagome?”

“Open the fu-”

“Alright! Calm down! Just hold on a moment!” Unsubtle whispers could be heard on the other side of the door, as well as a lot of shushing and shuffling. A door closed and someone coughed. After a moment, the door before Kagome swung open and Miroku peered out at her, utilising his ruffled appearance for the `Why the heck did you wake me up?' pretence.

“Why the heck did you wake me up?” he asked, feigning a wide yawn.

Kagome swept past him into the flat. “Where is he?!” she demanded shortly, arms folded tightly across her chest.

Miroku jumped. “`He'?” he echoed. “I assure you I only hide `she's in here. I don't care what my stylish fashion sense has led you to believe, but I certainly don't swing that-”

“Inuyasha, Miroku!” Her eyes swept around the living room as if expecting a pair of furry ears to be poking up behind the sofa. “Where is he?”

Miroku stared at her. “Wha…?”

“Don't lie to me!” she warned. “This is just like you three - you, him, and Sango. Always in on everything together and leaving me out of the loop. If he's here, tell me!”

Miroku shook his head. “Kagome, I have no idea what you're talking about.”

She jabbed a finger at him. “Classic guilty response!”

“No,” he said, “Classic I-haven't-a-clue-what's-going-on response. Are you ok? You seem fairly rattled.”

“That's putting it mildly,” Kagome said, shivering, and promptly sat down on the chair closest to the radiator. “I saw him, Miroku.”

The ruffled man cast a worried look in the direction of his bedroom. “Saw him where?” he asked, forcing a light tone.

“On the street, by the bridge. You know, the one near the ice cream parlour?”

“What was he doing?”

“Inuyasha-y stuff.” Kagome tugged on her lower lip. “Skulking, I think.”

“Ok… right…” Miroku was momentarily distracted by a heavy thud coming from the direction of his bedroom. “Uh, Kagome? I'd like to take this opportunity to direct your attention to this wonderful antique picture that I acquired from a special dealer a few days ago - if you'd like to look on the wall behind you?”

Kagome knew this routine. With a roll of her eyes, she dutifully turned her back and regarded the picture in question. It was a cross-stitch piece bearing the words “Home Sweet Home”, although Kagome was pretty sure that it had come with the flat.

“Yes, that's right. Keep admiring!” Miroku was busy ushering a rather put-out looking blonde across the room and out the front door. They mouthed sappy goodbyes to one another and kissed cheeks. All of which was all too audible to Kagome, who made a gagging expression at the cross-stitch.

The door closed, and she turned back around to find a more relaxed Miroku leaning against it. “Fascinating picture,” she commented dryly.

“Isn't it?” he agreed. “Now, what were you saying about ice cream?”

“Nothing. I said I'd seen Inuyasha. Just ten or fifteen minutes ago on the Quai des Orfévres.” She scratched her arm for lack of anything else to do with her hands. “I… I turned around suddenly and I saw him. But I lost sight of him and I couldn't find him…”

“What were you doing wandering around at this time of night?” Miroku asked, glancing at his watch. “I really don't think you should be going around alone like that. I know it's not as dangerous as Tokyo, but things still do happen in these places. What if you got picked up by an old pervert?”

Kagome shook her head. “I was with Serge.”

This did nothing to comfort Miroku. “You did get picked up by an old pervert!”

“You're the old pervert!” Kagome snapped. “Serge is lovely! He's in the army and he has green eyes! I was quite happily admiring them when he popped up and ruined everything.”

“Ah,” Miroku seemed to come to an understanding, much to Kagome's infuriation. “You felt guilty for being with a new man, so you psychologically imposed Inuyasha into the background as an excuse to run away from your date.”

“I did nothing of the sort!” Kagome replied hotly. “Inuyasha was there! I don't know why, but he was.”

Miroku's left eye narrowed sceptically. “Are you sure it wasn't just wishful thinking?”

“I wished to see him?” Kagome snorted. “Hardly. I hate the guy. I want him as far away from me as possible at all times, thank you very much.”

“Oh, come off it, Kagome.” Miroku flopped down into the chair across from hers. “We all know you have some inappropriate and naughty feelings for the boy. You've got that Norwegian syndrome.”

Kagome gave him a revolted look. “I do not have Stockholm Syndrome. I hate him and I want him gone, and if you're covering for him, I'll-”

“I'm not, I swear.” Miroku held up his hands. “As far as I know, Inuyasha is still toiling away in Tokyo with multiple death threats and blackmail hanging over his head. He's too busy to come pay you a visit. And it's not like he could hop on whatever flight he felt like and come to Paris. They don't let half-breeds onto planes.”

Kagome dropped her head into her hands and squeezed her eyes shut. “But I saw him,” she repeated heavily, trying to fix his image into her mind. “I know I did. I wasn't imagining it, and it couldn't have been anyone else. I saw him… hair like that sticks out a mile.”

Miroku sat forward with his forearms resting against his knees. The clock ticking in the kitchen could be heard in the long silence that stretched between them. Miroku finally broke it. “Kagome, have you been feeling stressed at all?”

“Don't!” she snapped. “Don't start implying that I just imagined it. I'm not crazy!”

“Didn't think you were. But I imagine things all the time.” Miroku shrugged. “Every now and then I see someone out the corner of my eye and I think it's my Dad, or sometimes even Sango. Sometimes I call her just to check where she is, only to find her sitting in some secret office in Osaka, telling me off for calling on a whim and compromising her security.” He sighed and gave her a lazy smile. “When you think of someone all the time, it seems inevitable that you see them in everything around you.”

Kagome swallowed. “I don't think of Inuyasha all the time. I haven't thought about him in over a year.”

Miroku wasn't impressed. “Trying not to think about someone is pretty much the same as thinking about them,” he told her. “He's the kind of person who's hard to forget. I think of him at least once a day, and he didn't even kidnap or try to kill me. I can't imagine how often a day you must think of him.”

Kagome tried to give him an angry look, but the effect was ruined somewhat by the brimming tears.

“You don't really hate him,” Miroku said, though Kagome couldn't tell if it was a statement or a question.

“I do,” she said, dropping her head to hide the tears that were suddenly streaking down her face. Her trembling voice still gave her away. “I should.”

“Well, yeah, he did something to you that no poor girl should have to go through,” Miroku said, forcing on a cheerful tone. Her tears were making him uncomfortable. “But it wasn't exactly his fault. The situation was beyond his control. Forgive and forget, Kagome!”

“I can't forget,” she ground out. “That's the problem.”

Miroku stood and moved to kneel down before her. He placed a comforting hand on her knee. “It's ok to miss him,” he offered quietly.

Kagome inhaled shakily with a small sniff. “I think about him all the time. I keep trying to force him out, but he's stuck there like a piece of glass. And it hurts just as much.”

“Thanks for the imagery…”

“I keep wondering if he's ok. I've not heard anything for over a year. I thought that it would get better with time, but it only hurts more. Every day gets worse.” Kagome dragged her hands over her face in a lame attempt to dry her cheeks. She sat up sharply. “I can't stay here.”

“You want to go home?” Miroku blinked.

“Yes.” She nodded firmly.

“Ok… I'll walk you there if you'd like-”

“Not that home,” she interrupted. A new fire of determination was burning in her eyes that Miroku hadn't seen before. He wasn't sure he liked it. “I want to go home. To Japan.”

He gave her a stupefied look. “You can't.”

“I have to.”

“Why?”

“Because I can't live here. I don't belong here, and it's killing me.” Her eyes were pleading. “I thought maybe I could be the kind of person who could do this. Who could just leave an old life with untied threads and start anew and make something for myself. But I can't. I'm not that kind of person. I can't live in Paris.”

“Ok… we can go somewhere else, if you'd like.” Miroku began grasping at straws, hoping he could dissuade her. “You speak a little English, don't you? We can go to America. I know the whole martial law thing is a little scary, but some states are still pretty cool-”

“I'm not moving to America-”

“Australia then!”

“The ten most deadly snakes on the planet live there!” Kagome half-shouted.

“What, all on the same street?” Miroku pursed his lips. “That's one to avoid.”

Kagome felt he wasn't paying attention to her original point. “Not a chance. I'm going to Tokyo.”

“How about the British Isles?” he begged. “The rationing kinda sucks, but on the other hand, you don't have to watch what you eat when you've got a limit of three hundred calories a day. People go there just to diet-”

Kagome thumped his shoulder. “You're not listening.”

“Ouch, and yes I am. I'm just… trying to talk you out of it.” He winced at her. “Is it working?”

“Nope.”

“Well, that doesn't matter.” Miroku drew himself up. “Because you aren't going anywhere without a plane ticket, and I'd like to see you scrounge up the money for a flight to Tokyo. On your salary as a dishwasher, I reckon you could afford it in about… ooh… five years?”

Kagome wanted to throttle him. “The embassy will give me a ticket!”

He just laughed.

It was too much for Kagome. With a near-feral growl, she got violently to her feet and gave him a hard shove. “Screw you! I don't need your help or the embassy's! I control my own life and you can't stop me!”

“Oh, Kagome, don't be like this.” Miroku tried to grasp her shoulder, but Kagome spun out of his grasp and headed for the door. He sighed. “Diva!”

“Porn star!” she shot right back and slammed out of his flat.

Kagome didn't care what Miroku thought. He didn't understand how desperately she needed to go back to Tokyo. He was a man who had easily faked his death and escaped many unwanted matters in his previous life by doing so. He probably couldn't see the negative side of starting a new life in a beautiful, free city. To Miroku, this was just one big fabulous holiday where he was free of his obligations. To Kagome, this was a prison.

Miroku didn't get a stab of heartache every time he saw an advert on the subway or in a magazine about the phenomenal new G-Force cosmetic range. He didn't know what it was like to depend on an institute that didn't really care about whether he lived or died to pay for his living expenses. He didn't come home to an empty apartment and feel so intensely lonely that he wanted to scream just to see if anyone responded.

He didn't have a family grieving for him in Tokyo. From what he'd told her, he only had two or three nagging wives who were too busy arguing over his will and generally hating his guts to miss him. The people he cared about knew he was safe and well, which was more than what could be said for Kagome's loved ones.

Miroku had no idea what it was like to find out that someone he loved had tried to kill him. Kagome knew only too well. It had happened twice. First Kikyo… then Inuyasha.

No. Kagome squeezed her eyes shut and gave her shoulders a stiff shrug. Thoughts like those were inappropriate and vastly unhelpful. It was better to just concentrate on how she was going to call Serge tomorrow and explain her odd behaviour. Maybe she could convince him that the reason for her odd behaviour was because she'd remembered an important dentist appointment… and certainly not because she was an escaped mental patient like he'd probably concluded by now.

Kagome was still mulling over her thoughts obsessively as she arrived at her flat and let herself through the door. Without really taking note of what she was doing, she bolted the door, shucked off her shoes, and sat down heavily on the chintzy, over-stuffed sofa before rolling her eyes to the ceiling.

A treacherous little thought floated through her mind.

I wish Inuyasha was here with me.

Kagome was too tired to reprimand herself. She did wish he was there with her, and that she didn't feel so lonely and depressed. If he were there, she could lean against his nice, strong shoulder and say, “I had a really bad evening.”

He would probably offer her a peanut or something as compensation and carry on watching TV. Kagome would naturally refuse his offer. She would much rather bury her nose in his sleeve and breathe in his musky, comforting smell. It was a smell that, even when confined to her memory alone, made her stomach ache with a feeling she couldn't quite identify, although she knew it was just as strong as her homesickness, and not at all dissimilar.

If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine him sitting next to her. She could almost smell him again…

Although that could have just been the sofa that hadn't been washed in thirty-odd years.

Kagome was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she almost missed the sudden, very subtle change in the apartment. Something was out of place. It made her sit up and open her eyes and look around in bemusement, trying to figure out what was different and why she suddenly felt quite claustrophobic. Then it hit her.

The clock had stopped.

Its minute hand was motionless about the fifty-five second mark while the other two hands told her it had gone half-past eight. Nothing moved within the apartment. The emptiness gaped at Kagome, unsettling her enough to reach instantly for the remote control. With a snap, the television switched on and the room was filled with bad reception and snowy images. Kagome couldn't have cared less. It covered the silence, and that was all she wanted.

Dropping the remote, she turned into the sofa and pressed her face against the arm rest.

“Stupid Inuyasha…” she muttered brokenly.

Nine thousand, seven hundred and seventy three miles away, at half past four in the morning on a quiet street corner in the pouring rain… a hanyou sneezed miserably.

 

 

……………

Fackyews

None today. Too sick to write any more…. ::dies::