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"Humans are forgetful. It is a simple fact."

"Is it your fact? Or a universal fact?"

"They are one in the same."

            He was so going to relish being right. Again. It was in his nature. She was indignant, though, even as she huffed her way down the sidewalk and into the building, feeling herself flush from the brisk exercise without having to look in a mirror. She'd learned how to deal with his superiority complex early on, but that didn't make it any less frustrating, even after all the time that had passed. He'd better appreciate the effort, she thought to herself as the man in the black tie escorted her through an intricate maze of tables and chairs to a small setting next to the giant window overlooking the bay. I live all the way across town! She surreptitiously glanced here and there, looking for him...as if he'd be hard to miss.

"Why do you come back?"

"I have a duty to fulfill, and friends - a family - that I care about."

"It is a temporary situation. Both will be lost to you eventually."

            He wasn't there. Not at the table, not at the door, not anywhere. There was an empty space in front of her, one that should have already been filled with his towering form. She tapped. Nails, table, glass, silverware; it wasn't out of nervousness or impatience, but of excitement, anticipation, and a small but acute sense of fear. It wasn't like him to be late, let alone forget, or to avoid. To not show up due to a lack of interest or sense of obligation, that was definitely his style. She couldn't count, using all her available digits, the number of times he had simply...left. Had he decided not to meet with her, even after he said he would? He hadn't had to promise. A word from him was as good as law, and everybody knew it.

"Your duty is fulfilled."

"You're right. So how come you keep coming back?"

"Why do you stay?"

            Half an hour. She considered herself on time compared to his insane tardiness. She had convinced herself during the third piece of bread that he had been held up in something important, that he hadn't abandoned her to the pitying stares of the other patrons and the sympathetic attentions of the waiter. She drank copious amounts of water when she was nervous or desperate to look somewhat busy, which meant the waiter was almost constantly at her side, refilling her glass. He never brought a carafe or a bottle to allow her to do the job herself, as if he wanted to offer his presence to soften the blow of her being stood-up. But that was definitely not the case - he was simply busy. It was not as though she had the number to his mobile phone to contact him and ask of his whereabouts.

"You must return eventually. You do not belong here."

"But you don't want me to."

"But I do not want you to."

            She had to go eventually. After how long she had been sitting there, waiting, anticipating his arrival, it only made sense that the urge to go and avoid total embarrassment would overpower her desire to stay. But she wasn't gone long. What if she spent too long in the bathroom and missed his arrival? He would be late; she would be missing, with breadcrumbs brushed to the side and a folded napkin where her folded hands should have been resting. So she went, and was back within five minutes, brushing her damp fingertips against the flighty hem of her dress, having been too anxious to return to dry her hands fully after washing them. But he still wasn't there; no second presence at the darling, beckoning little table by the window, set for two.

"Would you care if I left? If I didn't say goodbye at all and you never saw me again?"

"You expect to be followed."

"I'm a romantic, so in a way...considering our circumstances...yes. I would like to be followed."

            But he was a leader, not a follower. She would have done the following had he been the one to leave. She should have realized that when she was going through for the last time. Had she overestimated what they had when they had it? Did she read too much into what could have been something meant only for the past, and never for the present? But then why would they - why would he - have arranged this meeting if he didn't plan to attend? Was it to comfort and appease her in the interim? She fumed in silence, showing her displeasure only by the furious swirling of the water in the glass. Her face belied nothing, for once. She could be just as composed as he if she wanted to - just as cool, aloof, proud, competent, and strong. She had the capacity to be all of that. And yet...it was beginning to hurt.

"It will be a long time - for both of us, but longer for you than for me. Can you wait? Will you even survive?"

"Anything can happen, as you say. But that does not change my desire to see it through."

"'Anything can happen.' That's what scares me."

            At least the other patrons had ceased their vicarious bemoaning of her unfortunate situation. Hadn't it been planned to go smoothly, effortlessly? Meet as if they had never known one another before that moment; never mention the past. To the rest of the world, they would be encountering one another for the first time - to them, it would simply be picking up where they left off: the continuation of a prior association. But apparently, he had no desire to pick up anything, or pretend to begin anything at all. He'd had all those years to meet someone else, and in turn to mate, to grow, to realize the folly and futility of...her. At the same time, he'd had just as many years to fight wars and small battles and die, or to simply fade. But that was an idea utterly uncharacteristic of...him.

"You will await the day?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

"It was a rhetorical question. Consider it a stipulation, rather than a supposition."

            She ordered her food one hour, nine minutes and thirty-two seconds after she had first sat down at her table. Her table, not "theirs." If she was going to get stood up by this man...person...thing, well, she was going to enjoy as much of the painful experience as humanly possible. She ordered something decadent for herself, something expensive as spite, and something she knew he would like. Perhaps she did so because that insistent hope of hers was still pushing her to believe he was going to come - that she was going to see him, that he would kiss her hand like a modern gentleman he would have grown to become, and everything would be as it should. One look and she would gladly forgive him for making her look like a total fool, for making her wait, for making her drink so much water. She would always forgive him, but only if he were there to be forgiven.

"Hn."

"Hn?"

"I will miss you."

            Do. Not. Cry. She demanded that much of her self-respect, but the food felt like guilt and shame sliding down the back of her throat, and all she wanted to do was spit it out and run home crying. He could not hold it against her if and when he showed up, only to be greeted by the vindictive glares of the patrons who had witnessed her embarrassment and heartbreak and tears. He would only have himself to blame. She battled the tears like the warrior she used to be, and in some ways still was, but only on the inside. With practiced delicacy, she dabbed the corners of her nude mouth with the napkin. When she pulled the cloth away, she was suddenly faced with two options: put it back on her lap and continue to wait, or fold it neatly and place it on the empty table before her. Both were tempting, each to a certain degree. She could wait a few more minutes, couldn't she? She had already waiting for so long. If he came, she would be humiliated to say she couldn't wait a few extra hours after he had waited five hundred years.

"How about one for the road, tiger?"

"I am a canine, miko. Do not forget your - ngh..."

"Yep, that's what I thought."

            Everyone else in the restaurant was gone. She had gone to the bathroom three times, each visit shorter than the last. The waiter was still sympathetic, but had realized that the young woman staring out the window with the wistfulness of fresh heartbreak needed to be alone. He'd left a bottle of water for her, and she hadn't even asked. The sun had set long ago - the mood lighting had settled on romantic dim, with hers being the only candle still lit. It flickered happily, greedily enjoying its chance to shine now that the sun was gone. The woman had played with the flame for a while, knowing that it would burn, knowing that if she held herself over the heat for too long she would be scarred, but in its own way, it felt good. It felt like being touched, caressed...by him. But she had lost interest in the flame as soon as the moon came out in the night sky and reflected itself in the blackness of the ocean below - the silver crescent beaming its light for all to see, but not to touch.

"Stem your tears, miko. This is not goodbye."

"Well, it sure as hell feels like it! If you were capable of it, you'd be a mess, too!"

"And who's to say I'm not?"

            It was no use. She would have waited until the end of the world for him. No hesitation, no questions asked. The words at their parting had been an unconditional surrender to each other. But the surrender had an expiration date, it seemed, as did 'them', whatever that meant. She had no desire to lift the water glass and quench her thirst after she had cried herself dry for the previous seven and a half minutes. There was no point to the action, and even less of a point to her being in that restaurant in a pretty cocktail dress, alone; dolled up with no where to go but back to an empty home, and now an even emptier life. She had set the napkin on the table ages ago, but did not have the heart to remove herself from the chair and make the final exit. The staff did not bother her in the slightest - they remade table settings and talked in the kitchen, leaving the poor woman to her own thoughts, which almost made the pain worse, because all she could think about was the man who should have been with her since sunset, burning her with his gaze, his touch, and acting that this had been the first time they'd ever met.

"How long would you wait?"

"As long as you lived."

"...Forever?"

            Enough was enough. Even she had her limits. So he wasn't going to show - good riddance. If what they had was meant only for the past, then that's where it would stay. Kagome flipped a lock of hair away from her face, swept a finger beneath each eye to brush away any lingering tears, and sat up straight. She sucked in a deep, invigorating breath, turning her gaze from the night sky to the opportunities before her. Before she could exhale, she felt it - a slight tickle at the edge of her senses. The breath stayed lodged deep in her lungs as the tickle became a nudge, the nudge a caress, and the caress a full envelopment of warmth, trust, and security. The woman exhaled deeply as the scorching heat of his fingers brushed against the soft skin of her neck, just below her ear. The fingers migrated forwards before sliding down the length of her neck, a lone claw dipping in to tug at the delicate skin of her supra-sternal notch, the little hollow at the base of the throat. She felt his words more than she heard them, as much as she felt his breath against the shell of her ear.

            "You waited."

            Her hand reached up to keep his where it rested, splayed against the side of her neck and just above her shoulder, but said nothing in reply. She burned at his touch, just as she always had. Nothing had changed, and nothing ever would. They were meant for the past, just as much as they were meant for the present, and the future. His lips ghosted against her cheek, and she nearly burst into flames. She would demand explanations later, but even then, she doubted she would remember any grievances she might have had against him. How could she?

            She loved him, after all.