Liberation by Demonlordlover2

Liberation

I have the author's permission to post this work on this site, under this pen name. If you have any questions or comments, please feel free to email me at the address associated with this profile. ~~Wiccan~~

Disclaimer: All InuYasha characters depicted are the intellectual property of Rumiko Takahashi and are copyrighted by Viz. All original characters and the plot are the intellectual property of Demonlordlover. All names and places, either factual or imaginary, are used for the purposes of entertainment only. Demonlordlover is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of InuYasha. Copyright infringement is NOT intended.

AN- For Aleta Ruffin for her donation put toward bettering A Single Spark.

Liberation

Once the tall, imposing figure walked into the room, all conversation ceased. He removed the overcoat with economical grace, revealing a severely cut grey suit that complimented his lean physique and a black tie.

A thick braid of silver hair hung down his back, each strand in place, not a hair out of order. Even his bangs obeyed the call for restraint, framing stern, patrician features that spoke of a nature not disposed toward tolerating any sort of tomfoolery. Rather than detract from the overall presentation of poise and control, the crescent moon anchored upon his forehead, ochre eye markings, and twin magenta slashes across each high cheek bone added to the aloof mystique surrounding the male.

From her place beside the small table, Kagome's stomach lurched.

Her grandfather had prevailed upon a friend of a friend to gain an entr�e to the classes the great Wakahisa presided over. The shrine was in desperate need of the elegant touches only an expert in ikebana could produce, but they couldn't afford to pay a true master.

It was expected that she would learn what she could from Wakahisa before returning to the shrine to share her knowledge with her brother, Souta. He was in training to be a monk, so he couldn't take the classes himself. Already finished with her miko training, she had been the only choice. Given her poor marks in school and the lack of finesse she'd displayed on the archery field, this was her last chance to bring honor to her family.

Sweaty fingers plucked at the hem of her blue sweater-blouse. She wondered if she should have worn the more sedate pair of brown slacks rather than black pants. Wakahisa was always so critical of everything she did.

She covertly peeked out from beneath the shield of long lashes to survey the reactions of the other students. The only other female in the room was a wind youkai, Ochimoto Kagura. The little flirt was primping herself in a mirror.

Kagome wanted to scoff at the delusional youkai. It was just sad. Wakahisa was so far above Ochimoto, and she was so obvious with her feelings. It was apparent to anyone with eyes that Wakahisa barely tolerated her if at all.

A snicker brought Kagome's attention to a pair of men, the only other students, sitting to the right. Ichito Kouga and Wakahisa Inuyasha were goofing off again, too, and she was sure Wakahisa would frown upon their bad behavior. Ichito and Wakahisa Inuyasha were such braggarts. When Wakahisa turned his sharp tongue on them she almost enjoyed it.

Kagome turned back to her table and sighed. The little water lily that had looked so pretty while still in the pond sat in its bowl, a picture of sad majesty. Petals drooping and colors faded from the sunshine it had lived its whole life under, it looked as pathetic as she felt. She moved it a little to the side to better hide the bend in the stem.

It wasn't fair, Kagome decided when a petal dropped to land on the polished mahogany surface of the work table. Wakahisa would be sure to sigh over her arrangement now. Nothing was worse than a sigh. A sigh meant she was hopeless, that no comment could possibly fix her mistakes.

She just couldn't help it. Nervous, her fingers clenched the stems and leaves too hard. To her untrained eye, unrelenting greens and browns looked bare and ugly, and she couldn't resist adding a splash of color.

Helpless to do anything about it now, Kagome carefully palmed the small petal and lowered her head. Maybe he would forget she was here if she didn't look up. She wanted to snort, but was afraid it would come out as a choked sob instead.

Wakahisa saw everything.

Sesshoumaru circled the small table his newest student kneeled beside. He ignored the fluttering lashes of the crass Ochimoto and leveled a warning glare on his baka half-brother and the would-be wolf prince. Once satisfied the two idiots would remain, if not silent, then quiet, he eyed the pathetic arrangement with distaste. "Higurashi."

Kagome's shoulders slumped. "Yes, Wakahisa-sensei?" she asked in subdued tones.

Gold eyes glinted. He held out his hand, waiting.

Knowing there wasn't going to be a timely earthquake to spare her the indignity that was to come, Kagome handed over the blue glass bowl that housed her arrangement while ignoring the snickers from the men. Despite their immaturity, they always managed to create something beautiful. Even Ochimoto could take two twigs and a leaf and turn it into a masterpiece.

Well, there was nothing for it but to take it like a woman, Kagome decided. Straightening her shoulders, she prepared herself for the verbal let down that would be sure to come.

Sesshoumaru didn't understand why Higurashi had such a hard time grasping the basics. Up close, the mess he held looked no better. It was obvious to even the simple-minded idiot Inuyasha that restraint meant one did not stuff every nook and cranny with flowers.

Irritated that he must repeat himself once more, his voice deepened in obvious displeasure. "Did you think you were here to learn to prepare Western Bouquets?"

Not trusting her voice, she shook her head.

"Then why, Higurashi, do you continue to disregard every rule and example set before you by myself?" He should have known better than to allow a ningen to sit in on his class. They had no respect for history. No connection to the ancient meanings behind ikibana.

Made nervous by how carelessly he held her little blue bowl, Kagome had to clench her fingers to keep from reaching for it.

"You do not deserve to sit in this class." Letting the bowl fall from his hand, he turned on his heel when the glass shattered against the hard wooden floor. "Your last act here will be to sweep that mess up," he ordered without looking back at the woman.

Feeling as fragile as the shards that refracted the sunlight into hundreds of bright rays, Kagome stared at them in dumb shock. Her bowl, her poor little bowl.

She reached for the largest shard and plucked it out. Without a word, she pulled the handkerchief from her pocket and wrapped the glass in the soft linen before slipping it into her purse.

Mechanically rising from her assigned seat, she retrieved the small broom and dustpan from the closet in the back of the room.

-----

Later that night, Sesshoumaru was walking home through the park. In the quiet, the sad little face of his former student came to him. Something about how brittle her posture had become, as if she, too, was made of cheap carnival glass, told him that he had been too hard on her.

Without care for the people already occupying it, he sank onto a stone bench beside the koi pond.

Her failure was not in the effort but the execution. If only all that came into his classes had half the enthusiasm to learn as she did. She arrived on time, was quiet, did what she was told to the best of her ability, then left until the next day. She was just so inept! He had better things to do with his time than pour it into an unworthy vessel.

The fierce scowl that crossed his features at the reminder scared off the couple seated beside him that had planned on necking. Once they left silence descended hand-in-hand with night.

When the cold began to seep through his pants, Sesshoumaru decided it was time to leave. Higurashi was no longer his concern. To dwell on her dismissal would serve no purpose. She would never learn. To prolong her tutelage would have only tortured him and done absolutely nothing to guide her in the right direction.

Just as he was about to leave the park, a muffled sound caught his attention. He would have ignored it entirely if it wasn't for the fact that he knew the scent that accompanied it on the chilly breeze.

Why Higurashi was in the park and not at home he didn't know. It was late, however, and instinct urged him to send her home before the ningen stumbled into trouble she couldn't handle.

Arrogantly assured that this kindness would remove all guilt, perceived or otherwise, for her dismissal, Sesshoumaru stalked over to the clump of bushes. Pushing the leaves aside, he was startled to see the woman curled up on the frozen ground.

An occasional hiccup escaped from between rosy lips, giving away the identity of the sound that had alerted him to her presence. Lashes spiky and cheeks mottled from crying, she'd obviously only just fallen asleep. Clutched in one hand was a familiar piece of blue glass. On the ground beside her a faded photograph was turned over to display the yellowed back.

He almost turned around and walked away. Something told him he would regret succumbing to curiosity.

Recalling the blank look on her face when she finished cleaning up the shards, he picked up the photo. The ookami's snickers and the strumpet's taunting smile when Higurashi claimed the last of her belongings and left the room fresh on his mind, he turned it over.

Staring up at him, a dark-haired man smiled. One arm around a woman with a vague resemblance to Higurashi, the man held the little blue bowl under the other. Sesshoumaru was surprised to see a perfect replica of one of his own signature arrangements completely at home in the blue glass. It was hard to find pupils with the ability to duplicate one of his more creative moments.

Underneath the smiling couple, the words "My Daddy" were written in a childish script, followed by dates indicating birth and death. Sesshoumaru swore softly under his breath before lowering the photo to stare at the woman that laid on the ground. The shard winked accusingly in the starlight. She began to shiver and he sighed.

-----

Who are you? Sesshoumaru silently asked the woman laid out on the bed. Carefully watching her for any sign of movement, Sesshoumaru leaned back in the leather armchair that he had ordered brought to her bedside.

Unable to countenance leaving her in the park, he had brought her to his home. Jaken, his manservant, had been sent on the errand of tracking down her family so that they could retrieve the female. For the first time, the Daiyoukai was forced to reconsider his policy of leaving insignificant details such as the addresses and phone numbers of his students to the secretary. On vacation, Jakotsu was absent. With him, the opportunity to immediately unload the unwanted visitor followed.

Had he been spared the extra time with Higurashi he wouldn't now be curious about the ningen. He wouldn't now wonder why she carried a scent barrier about her skin.

Modern Japan was a terrible place for youkai possessed of sensitive olfactory abilities. In order to function in and about the city he was forced to make use of a dulling spell, rendering his ability to smell as non-existent as a human's. It wasn't until he had removed the spell in the safety of his own home that Higurashi's secret became known.

Now he wondered. Now he questioned. It was a dangerous undertaking, that. No good could come from interest in a ningen. That had been proven time and again by his own father.

And yet, in this case, forewarned was not forearmed.

The years had passed in a blur. Centuries of living had dulled the fine edge of his interest in what life had to offer. Whittled down to the bare essentials, intentions geared toward hoarding more money with which to buy his privacy, maintaining his aloof persona in the press as well as in his home, he existed in a remote world. Separate from the rest of humanity and youkai society.

It was his last wish, to remain unbothered by the world that had changed into something he could barely tolerate.

Only for his classes had he been willing to walk into living. And recently that, too, had lost its appeal. No one, it seemed, could comprehend the reason behind the conception and continued existence of ikebana. The need to create something in harmony with the nature of man, youkai and beast, despite how very much they warred with each other in reality.

Tangible and short-lived, it was utopia in a bowl.

And this woman, this ningen that had been utterly inept, could claim to be the child of the only one in existence that had ever managed to properly emulate his work. Add to that the scent barrier, and his interest in this woman could prove problematic.

He was getting too old to deal with a Higurashi wrench in the gears of his smooth-running life.

Jaken returned three hours later without an address or number. After dismissing the annoying servant, Sesshoumaru's thoughts turned back toward the way she had exited the class that morning. Dignity in the face of failure and ridicule.

Such a rare treat.

The photograph and the questions it raised were what had placed her under his protection. Yet, it was the woman herself that would keep her there, granting her the sole honor of spending a night under his roof.

-----

"Thank you, Wakahisa-san, for allowing me to stay in your home." Eyes to the ground, Kagome bowed before the tall youkai.

She had woken up shortly after the sun peeked over the horizon. Surrounded by opulent luxury, she had been instantly aware that she was not at the homey shrine she called home. Silken tapestries hung from the walls of the huge, sports arena-sized room. The bed, a four-post mahogany affair that probably cost as much as a car, had made her feel as insignificant as an ant when she fought her way out from under the heavy coverlet.

Grateful for small blessings when she discovered herself to be dressed in the same clothing she'd worn the day before, Kagome had found her shoes neatly placed beside the door next to the bed. Assuming it was the exit, grateful she wouldn't be forced to traverse the distance between the bed and the only other door in sight at the far end of the room, she left in search of her unknown savior.

Just outside the door she had been met with a rude toad youkai that had demanded she follow him to stand before his master. Rather than insult the one that had shown her kindness, Kagome had held her tongue and done as bidden.

Imagine her surprise to be led into the study of the great Wakahisa himself. Seated on a silk pillow behind a simple, elegant table, already dressed for the day in an exact replica of his suit of the other day, he hadn't looked up from the polished surface at her entrance.

Drawn to follow his gaze, she had been mortified to see that it was the photo of her father and mother that had captured his attention. He didn't look up from the picture. When he finally spoke his voice was devoid of the scorn she was accustomed to.

"Your father should have come to me."

Unsure if he expected a reply, Kagome remained silent.

Irritated that she hadn't offered the answer without him having to profess a personal interest in the matter, Sesshoumaru peered into her wide blue eyes and sharply demanded, "Why did he not come to seek my guidance?"

It was common knowledge that he wouldn't have turned away a ningen if they had had half the potential he saw in that photograph. Higurashi, herself, had been granted access to his classes on the basis that she was born of a shrine.

Kagome bit her lip in indecision. Wakahisa had put her into an awkward position by asking her that. Despite his actions in class, she had come to learn that it was his way. He had not been deliberately cruel, just ignorant on how easily he could hurt her. She had no desire to insult him in return for his kindness last night. And she had always -

No!

She stopped that thought before it could even formulate. It didn't really matter, not now, not in a million moments of nows.

Sesshoumaru leaned away from the desk. His hands settled on his knees and he regarded the hesitation of the woman with more interest than was probably deserved. "Higurashi."

She wanted to cringe when he said her name in that way. The you-are-wasting-my-precious-time tone. There was no hope for it. She couldn't very well lie. Even unable to scent out her fib, he was no fool.

Wakahisa always saw everything.

"He didn't want to." She cleared her throat. "I mean, he felt that, um... Well, he thought you were very skilled. He just didn't think you could teach him more than he knew."

One of the few memories she had of her father involved him showing her some arrangement or another that he had copied from a book that displayed Wakahisa's work. She had been curious as a child, and had once asked why he didn't go to class like she did to get better. To learn.

He'd laughed before patting her head. "Wakahisa is a very wise youkai," he'd said. "He is a part of history that you and I can only read about in books. Yet, even he has much to learn. The legend of his distaste for life has reached my ears. I can copy his work, but the meaning behind it... That is something that he cannot teach."

"Arrogance," Sesshoumaru hissed, all respect for the ability of the man gone in lieu of the explanation. So the ningen had thought himself above, he, Sesshoumaru?

Taken aback by the tightening of Wakahisa's features and the clenching of his hands, Kagome paled. "I didn't mean it like that! He just... Father thought that you didn't appreciate life enough to teach its value in art."

Narrowed eyes met her hurried words, and Kagome surrendered to the inevitable. She bowed again. "I apologize if you were insulted by my honesty, Wakahisa-san. I will leave you now to your peace."

In a hurry to escape, Kagome fled the study before he could reply. Assuming he'd even intended to. Once out of the study, she ran down the length of the hallway toward the light of an open door. Jaken, arms full of newspapers, squawked when she raced by, but she didn't bother to slow down until she was on the road. The bustle of street traffic surrounded her as street vendors tried to sell their wares to the morning crowd. She didn't relax until her small form was swallowed by the anonymity it offered.

-----

Three weeks after Higurashi fled his office, Sesshoumaru stood outside the small shrine that supposedly housed the miko. It appeared to be well cared for, if a bit on the poor side.

Not for the first time he questioned his decision to personally return the photograph the flighty ningen had left behind. Jakotsu had offered to mail it to the shrine, but it hadn't seemed right. Cowardly, even. Add to it Higurshi's parting words, and here he stood.

He, Sesshoumaru, did not hide from the truth. It rankled that she believed her words capable of disturbing his inner balance. Though, he mused, she had reason to assume just that. His reaction had been immediate and irrefutably emotional.

And so he climbed the stairs to the shrine, prepared to deliver the photograph in a final dismissal of woman. Once he reached the top a genial, dark-haired young man, broom in hand, greeted him with a bow from beside the small house.

"Good morning, Wakahisa-san. May I help you?"

Sesshoumaru regarded the boy's robes and resemblance to Higurashi. His lips thinned. "Higurashi is your sister."

Souta blinked, but managed to hold on to his smile at that hard declaration. He knew Kagome had been dismissed, but that hadn't been such a bad thing. Especially now that he knew what a hard guy Wakahisa was with those four words.

"Yes, Wakahisa-san, Kagome is my sister. Do you need to speak to her?" At the youkai's nod, Souta propped the broom on the side of the house and gestured to the door. "If you come inside, I'll go tell her you're here."

Resigned to the inevitable, Sesshoumaru stepped into the ningen house and was startled to find himself faced with an uncanny replica of the arrangement he had tried for two months to teach Higurashi to create. There was a slight difference, as if the image it presented to the world was skewed from what he had intended, but it was close. So damn close.

Sensing the source of the tall male's shock, Souta laughed. "Pretty, isn't it?" He shrugged. "I know you thought she was stupid or something, but she just doesn't do too well under pressure. Mama said dad was the same way. When Kagome came home she started putting all sorts of neat stuff around the shrine. Grandpa is ecstatic."

"Show me."

Partially out of the instinctive need to obey that imperious command, Souta did as bidden. That didn't stop him from gleaning satisfaction from the obvious surprise of the youkai at his sister's accomplished arrangements when Souta revealed them. Vindication for the insult to his sister, as it were.

At the end of the tour, Sesshoumaru had regained his equilibrium but was even more determined to see Higurashi. The boy had left to fetch her, leaving Sesshoumaru to his inner turmoil.

It was appalling, that she would allow something so asinine as an inability to cope with his expectations to interfere with the realization of her potential, he thought. Was this what she had meant by her father's words? Had it not been arrogance but timidity that had kept the deceased man from seeking his guidance?

He rolled his eyes heavenward. Ningen.

A flash of red caught his eye and he turned to better inspect it.

-----

When Souta had raced into her room, Kagome hadn't believed that Wakahisa was there, in the shrine. His excited whispers refuted that initial disbelief, however. After a brief splash of water on her face and a minute to run a brush through her hair, she came downstairs to see him holding one of her most recent arrangements. It was the first one she'd made out of her own heart and not by copying his style.

"Wakahisa-san?"

Sesshoumaru held the bevel-cut, raspberry glass up to the light. "You are responsible for this?" The cherry blossom swayed with the movement, broadcasting the lovely scent of spring into the room.

She froze. The smile that had been politely in place dipped before disappearing entirely. Did he hate it? Would he tell her that her lines were all wrong, that her perception was completely flawed?

Irritated by the visual signals that she was prepared to revert back into the safe little shell of a dumb sycophant, Sesshoumaru lowered the bowl to demand, "Higurashi."

Kagome eyed the bowl, remembering all too well the fate of the last one he had taken possession of. She frowned. He may be the great Wakahisa, but he was in her home. Holding her bowl. "Please put it down."

A brow rose at the request. It was the first sign that she had anything resembling a spirit. That didn't mean he would obey. "If this is your creation," he ordered, holding the bowl before him, "retrieve it."

Uncertain of his strange mood but unwilling to leave her arrangement in his grasp, Kagome closed the short distance between them. She gently took the bowl from his outstretched hand. Pulling it back to her chest, she cradled it in her arms.

"You will return to class tomorrow morning."

Kagome took a deep breath. The bowl moved out with the exhalation, casting red beams of light across the pink sweater she wore. "No, thank you."

"No?" Sesshoumaru regarded her steadily. He had never been refused before. It was novel and entirely unacceptable.

She gave a short nod. "I'm sorry." It was an honor that he asked, but he was so demanding. The pressure to live up to his standards was stifling. Here, in the safety of her home, she felt free. Capable of anything.

"You intend to allow your potential to be wasted." He sneered. "All out of a fear of criticism."

Stiffening, Kagome scowled. He was crossing the line. This wasn't the classroom, and she was no longer obligated to take his insults with a smile. "I am not afraid of criticism, but condemnation is another matter entirely. You don't know the difference."

The hands on the bowl tightened, remembering the last time she'd given up a piece of her precious memories to him. She scoffed. "What is the point in explaining that to you? You think nothing of who you hurt with your words because you feel nothing in return."

His jaw tightened. It had been eons since that last time anyone had uttered anything uncomplimentary to his face. He had forgotten how much he disliked it. "You think you know this Sesshoumaru?"

Kagome blinked. Had he just used his name? Yes, she decided when he remained quiet, waiting on a response from her, he had. She cleared her throat, unsure in the face of the conversation's transformation from angry to personal. "I only," she began cautiously, "know the face you present to the world, Wakahisa-san."

"Hn." Starting forward, Sesshoumaru wasn't unduly surprised when she held her ground on his advance. It seemed taking her out of the classroom would prove advantageous. He stopped just shy of touching her, blatantly invading her personal space. "This Sesshoumaru is not the only one presenting a separate face to the world, Kagome."

Eyes wide, Kagome tried to swallow the huge lump that had formed in her throat at hearing her name on his lips. She croaked, "I don't know what you are you talking about!"

He arched a brow. "Your barrier." The corner of his mouth twitched upward in victory, scenting blood. "This Sesshoumaru asked himself why you would need such a thing. You are a miko, a human. What secrets could you possibly need to hide behind such a thing?"

Kagome immediately relaxed. "Oh, that." She smiled and let out a relieved chuckle. "I don't like to broadcast it, but my body is the temple for a holy artifact, the Shikon No Tama. I use the barrier to prevent youkai who would try to steal it from becoming drawn to it."

She went on the explain about her ancestor, Midoriko, and the miko Kikyo's solution to get rid of the jewel. Conversant on the tale of the jewel, ignorant on its fate after being burned with the body of the miko, Kikyo, after her death at the hands of the bandit Onigumo, Sesshoumaru peered down on the suddenly talkative female with a blank expression when she pointed to her side.

"So, I was born with it in my side." She shrugged as if being born a temple of holy power was an everyday occurrence. "I'll have to move soon, since people will get suspicious when they start to wonder why I don't look any older than a teenager."

Feeling as if he had stepped into an alternate dimension where such things as reason and logic had lost all meaning, Sesshoumaru asked, "Move?"

She stared up at him askance. "Well, yeah. I can't stay here. In a few years Souta will look older than me, and that will be a sure sign that something fishy is going on. We planned for it a long time ago, so it's okay." She sighed, a faraway look dimming her bright gaze. "I'll miss everyone, but at least we still have web cams and everything."

"Why did you reveal this?" To him, of all people?

Kagome brushed the braid of ebony hair off her shoulder. "You asked. It was easy enough to answer."

"Hn. And are you so forthcoming with all who ask?" She had been entrusted by the kamis with a trinket of power?

She snorted. "Not likely. I trust you," she admitted.

Struck by the stark honesty, he was forced to repeat himself. "Why?" She wouldn't return to his classroom. He had been admittedly hard on her, and yet she professed to trust him? The ningen was either touched in the head or... He didn't know.

"You've got a steadfast character. Ethics. I may not agree with all I know about them, but you've got too much pride to want what the jewel could give you. I guess, in this, your arrogance is a shining tribute to your trustworthiness. And I don't have to worry about you telling anyone, either, since you value order too much to ever countenance some wicked person getting their greedy hands on the power."

He fell silent. How was one to reply to such candid speaking about oneself? It was humbling, to say the least, that this ningen had such faith in him. He had made no attempt to foster such an emotion in anyone, let alone a not-so-simple ningen woman who had felt the razor edge of his anger on more than one occasion.

And yet she gave it willingly, freely, to him. Required nothing in return, simply answered because he had asked.

"You will not return to class."

She gave a shaky nod. "I'm sorry, I just don't think I'd do well." Maybe, she thought, a little bit of plain speaking would go over better than trying to save his feelings. It wasn't as if she needed to cotton the truth with him, her opinion meant less than nothing. "You make me nervous. I know I shouldn't care so much, but your opinion as a master of ikebana means something to me. And, on a personal level, from the moment I walked into the class, I felt as if I had already failed. That you were just waiting for the opportunities to present themselves to tell me in how many ways I was flawed."

A self-depreciating smile ghosted over her lips. "And, in that regard, I didn't let you down, did I?" Shrugging, she walked over to the table he had removed the raspberry colored bowl from and returned it to its position of honor. "I don't imagine my nervousness would go away anytime soon. Not with you there."

Sesshoumaru pulled the photo out of the breast pocket of his suit jacket. As skittish as a wild hare, she ventured close enough to retrieve the picture before pacing back to the door.

She smiled down on the happy faces of her parents. "Thank you." She looked up, but he was gone. Disbelieving her eyes, Kagome called out, "Wakahisa-san?"

Silence greeted her questioning tone. Glancing back at the photo, Kagome's smile faltered. She could still smell rain on the horizon mixed in with the delicate aroma of cherry blossoms. Pieces of themselves intermingled in a way their lives never would be.

Inhaling deeply, she committed the scent to memory.

When she left tomorrow, it would serve as a reminder of home and old, unrealized dreams. She would cherish it, be forever grateful to him, for giving her this last meeting so that his act of kindness would be her final memory of him.

The one she knew as her Sesshoumaru in her secret heart of hearts.

-----

Kagome smiled at the man and handed him the tip for carrying her bags to the door. He bowed and left her to the empty room. Once the door was shut behind his exiting form, Kagome sighed and flopped onto the massive bed.

It had been eighty-three years since she'd left home. Souta had called, though, and so she had returned. Not even for her grandfather or mother's death ceremony had she returned, abiding by their wishes for her to remain anonymous in her immortality.

Souta, the last connection she had to her home, her childhood - humanity itself - was dying. They had kept in touch through web cam, and when it became more readily available, video phone conversations. Paper trails were too tricky. She didn't want anyone to place her, possibly discovering her origins.

It was getting harder and harder to hide it, though. Governments in all countries wanted papers. Documentation of birth and death, identification numbers, etc... Those things took money, money she had been hard pressed to make when she couldn't even stay in one place long enough to gain the seniority that would grant her a higher paying salary.

She was afraid that soon she would be forced to seek asylum in some country, impelled to give up her secret to a potential enemy who would seek to use the jewel. It was a terrible fate to contemplate, and so she turned her mind back to her ailing brother.

He hadn't wanted her to return to Japan, had issued the same command as her mother and grandfather to stay away. He had no children, though. Having outlived his old friends, there was no one to sit with him.

Her brother needed her, and after a lifetime of his protection, she would go to his side.

-----

"Kagome?"

The woman in question bit her lip at the querulous tone. She had watched him age through the decades. Bombarded by the things hidden from her by distance, however, she felt tears spring to the surface. He was so weak, his skin fragile and as dry as parchment. Ammonia and vinegar permeated the air, cleaners used by the nurse that came in daily to see to his needs, making her slightly nauseous.

"I'm here, brother." She gently squeezed the gnarled hand between her smooth, unblemished ones before rubbing a thumb across his arthritic knuckles in the hopes that it would ease a fraction of the pain they caused him.

Souta coughed, and Kagome held a tissue over his mouth. "Thank you," he wheezed after the spate calmed. "It won't be long, I think. It takes longer to catch... my breath... each time."

Never had she seen death up close before. Bonds of friendship were forged lightly and were just as easily left behind when the need arose. This was her brother. Her little brother was dying, fading away before her very eyes, and there was nothing she could do about it.

"Don't say that, Souta," she whispered fervently. "You're strong, you can hang on just a little more."

He chuckled, a rusty grating sound that whistled past his swollen thyroid. "I'm old, Kagome. It's time. I want... to leave... while I still have... my memories to... carry me into the hereafter."

Kagome fell into helpless silence, consigned to be a spectator to her brother's demise. Her thumb stilled over the pulse point on his wrist.

He paused, swallowing the phlegm that threatened to send him into another coughing fit. "I've been thinking. You... Find someone, Kagome. Don't be a fool. Promise me. Fear... It will kill you... as surely as this... illness will me."

Sniffling, Kagome opened her mouth to refute his worries, but he silenced her with a half-blind but still lucid gaze. "Promise me."

His pulse began to slow, a mere whisper of sensation beneath her touch, and Kagome let the tears that had been damned up inside flow. "I promise, Souta. For you, I'll try. I promise."

Her brother died with a smile on his face.

-----

For a month Kagome wandered her home country. The shrine had fallen into government hands with the death of the only living heir, Souta. She took odd jobs to support herself on her journey to rediscover the place of her birth. A waitress in Tokyo. A nursery attendant in Hiroshima. The list went on and on, until finally she stumbled back home to the shrine, numb and lost without an anchor to hold on to.

For twenty years, after the death of her mother, Souta had been her port to settle in. Communications reminded her who she was, that her prolonged presence in this world was a blessing, not a curse.

With him gone...

Wandering aimlessly in the city after watching a demolition crew begin their work wrecking the shrine for another apartment complex, Kagome wondered what there was left for her. Nothing was the same, and in her ever-changing surroundings and acquaintances that she daren't allow too close, the only constant was her loneliness.

Kagome walked into the path of a woman walking her son to school. The impending collision startled the woman into shouting at the absent-minded miko, and Kagome came out of her morose musings.

It was to her surprise that she recognized the building that she stood beside. Sesshoumaru...

She hadn't asked Souta about him, not wanting to dwell on everything that had been left behind when her memories were so much sweeter than any reality could have possibly been. There had been a few rare moments when new broadcasts had mentioned his name, but she had turned her ears away from the temptation they had whispered of.

Now, heart-sore and empty from the loss of her brother, Kagome faced the seduction the promise of his presence offered. Would he remember? Was there was a single being still alive who knew she existed, who she was beneath the masks she was forced to wear or the lies she was compelled to utter?

"If you are not going to enter, remove yourself from this Sesshoumaru's path."

Kagome started badly when the hard baritone slammed into her from behind. Heart thumping painfully, she whirled around to come face to face with an old dream.

He didn't know her, she realized seconds later when the icy glint in his golden gaze neither lightened in pleased recognition nor dimmed in irritation at her return. Soul cracking, splintering into thin slivers of memories and forgotten fantasies of what life could have been; those things that should have been spoken of and the even fewer that had been said, Kagome slipped yet another mask in place and smiled. Gently. Apologetically. Because there was nothing else she could do, would do. So easily had she been forgotten, lost to time, and even more importantly, to the sole being alive who could have remembered. Could have, had he desired too.

But he hadn't.

Kagome walked away.

Head bowed while she jostled along with the morning crowd, the sidewalk beneath her feet was lost to the sheen of salt water. No human was meant to be immortal. Being forgotten, being forced to live a life in hiding behind new identities, each lie more elaborate than the last, was a fate worse than the finality mortality offered.

Most humans only had to die once. She... She would never live. Not truly, not fully. Instead, she had an eternity of death and subsequent rebirths stretched before her in an endless, lonely horizon.

Kagome felt the last touch of the Daiyoukai's aura fade away. Distance had finished what his apathy had begun.

The last of her past and the only hope for her present was carefully folded away and placed in the darkest recesses of her heart.

She had never felt so tired.

---

He had been more than surprised to see the ningen again after so long. At first, he had not heeded the niggling memories attempting to surface that had spoken of an association with the female when confronted with only the back of her form. When she'd turned around, that doubt had become a certainty.

Shock was not something he was at all familiar with. He had been surprised, startled; even, on rare occasions, caught off guard. Shock?

Yet it was the only way to describe how seeing the reality of the human's claims had affected him. She looked no older than the day he had met her. Even most youkai age, albeit at a considerably slower rate than humans. His own longevity had surpassed the thousand year mark, and he had many more such anniversaries to come before he would fade to time. Weaker youkai lived for two or three hundred years before passing.

To all appearances, the Shikon Jewel was powerful enough to grant her an expectancy of his own considerable longevity. Curious.

Sesshoumaru, for the first time in many a year, faced with an anomaly he had no answer for, stood silent when she walked away. It wasn't until the crowd had swallowed her that he was struck with how thin she had been. How her shoulders, once held proudly and with great dignity, had been slumped.

What would it be like, he wondered, to walk the earth alone in her place? As a youkai he was surrounded with his belongings and his memories. Even though he detested them for the most part, there were other youkai for company should he feel the need to divest himself of his aloofness for a night.

A human made immortal, hiding her own nature out of necessity, would not have that luxury. The woman had most likely been alone all these years. He knew, himself, that he would not trust another with the secret she held within her.

The way she had looked up at him, hopeful and yet resigned. As if he had the answer to a question she wanted to ask, yet didn't expect him to supply it, danced across his mind's eye.

Sesshoumaru mentally dismissed the appointments he had planned for the day without a thought to those that would be left waiting. He had nothing to lose, and there were too many questions to allow her to remain an unsatisfied curiosity.

Without a scent to follow, Sesshoumaru decided the shrine would be the best place to locate her.

---

Kagome didn't know how she ended up back at the shrine. The house had already been demolished and removed piecemeal. Slipping under the construction tape and walking around the cement barricades that blocked off the gouges left behind by the heavy machinery, she soon stood beside the stump that had once been the God tree.

Seeing it's sad fate crushed her. It survived for so long only to be cut down for the sake of progress. For the betterment of man, it had been sacrificed. How she could relate to that. To the knowledge that her misery was directly proportional to her duty to man and youkai alike. Without the jewel she could have married. Had a family, been with her family.

Instead she had been relegated to a lifetime of wandering when she had only ever wanted roots. To the monotony of constantly shifting, changing universes.

Unable to look at the tree a moment longer, Kagome turned and took the path that would lead to a pond. The further she left the sight of the ruins of her home, the easier it became to breathe.

Sunlight streamed down through the leafy canopy, warming the shadows of the small clearing she entered. Birds silenced at her entrance, sensing a stranger in their midst, but soon returned to their gaiety once she settled beside the pond.

Her reflection stared back at her. Gaunt cheekbones mocked her with a reminder of her promise to her brother. She had been so lost to her grief that she had lost all interest in food, eating only when she knew she had to. Haunted blue eyes flickered in the shadows of the shallow pool.

A melancholy smile crossed her lips when she sighted a water lily, floating peacefully beneath the curved, gnarled root of the lichen and moss covered cherry tree that had grown too close to the pond. In a few years it would die, the roots absorbing too much water and inducing rotting to commence.

For now, however, the little enclave beneath its roots gave the lily an anchor to hold it in place and protection from hard rain and hot sun that could damage and fade the petals.

Luminescent in the shadows, petals glowing in the sun beams' reflections off the water, she'd never seen such a lovely flower. Half tempted to pluck it, to bring it closer, she decided it was best where it was. The life of a lily was already so short. Faced with the slow rotting, even the cherry tree would survive for much longer than the lily; vibrant, protected and cosseted by the dying tree until its petals would drop and it would become just another addition to the detritus on the pond's surface. Perhaps another lily would take its place. Snuggled in its protection until it, too, faded.

How many lilies would the dying cherry tree serve until it was allowed to rest?

Life, death - a never ending cycle that she had learned all too well - did not take into account feelings or accountability. It just was. Like the world is round and the universe is infinite, death happened to everyone and everything.

But it was not fair nor just.

It was not blind, nor did it impartially mete out the peace it offered.

For some, it wasn't a simple matter of how or when, but of for how long it would linger, a taunting shadow of promises never to be kept.

---

When Sesshoumaru came to the shrine, he had been disappointed to observe the destruction there. Humans and youkai alike were so eager to rid the earth of its history. So damn impatient to forge new beginnings on the rubble of civilizations past rather than using them as they ought - bedrock cornerstones capable of providing stability and support.

Instinct guided him to glance down, and age-old training kicked in when he spotted the small footprints that led away from the stump. When he came upon the woman, she was completely lost to her surroundings.

Crystal droplets welled up in her eyes before falling over the edge of her long lashes to trace her cheeks, but she made no acknowledgement of their presence. Gaze centered on the single lily floating in the pond, she could have been a statue. A living, breathing, monument to abject misery.

Bored with what life had to offer, tired of his own masks, he decided that perhaps, in answering her unasked question, he would understand where it all led.

"Higurashi."

She barely moved, but he could sense her awareness return with every second that passed. Yet she made no effort to look upon him. He sighed. She had always been a difficult woman. "Come back to class."

Brought out of her mournful contemplations, Kagome looked at him, questioning and doubtful all at once. He met her silent inquiry with his normal stoicism, but in the end, she understood what he offered. Closing her eyes, she was revisited with the promise she had given her brother.

Sesshoumaru was never meant to be touched by one like her, but he might be the path she needed to walk to rediscover herself. Her purpose. And...

He remembered.

She nibbled on her bottom lip. She could taste salt, but for the first time in many years, she reveled in the fact that she could, rather than bemoaning the melancholy that had granted her a taste of her emotions. Kagome stood up and nodded. "Yes, Wakahisa-san."

Because it bothered him, because they had long since passed the formalities that had been so carefully observed and righteously defended from all others, he sniffed. "Sesshoumaru."

To her, he would be Sesshoumaru. No masks.

Her Sesshoumaru... Dare she to dream an old dream once more? Wide-eyed, she nodded minutely. "Kagome."

---

"Do you think you will ever allow people to come here?" Walking side by side with Sesshoumaru, Kagome glanced at his profile. They had decided to walk after dinner, needing the exertion to dissipate the tense atmosphere that had arisen with the press releases that morning that had declared her his potential mate.

She had known in the beginning that moving into his home would be a bad idea. He had taken one look at her small room in the shabby hotel and had declared outside opinion null and void.

Classes had been hard to take up again. Her long-ago classmates had been replaced by an obnoxious pair of thunder demons. Luckily, they had stopped coming to class after two days. She had a feeling Sesshoumaru had something to do with it, since they had been hinting at her usefulness to the Daiyoukai within his hearing.

That had been easy to handle. Working under the strain of Sesshoumaru's expectations, made all the more tangible by her personal attachment to him, had been wearying. It had been so long since she had attempted to create an arrangement, that she was starting anew in many ways.

Jaded, she also lacked the fire that had once fueled her imagination.

Instead, she concentrated on his movements. The way he handled the delicate materials so capably. So careful of his strength. And she finally understood.

Their life had been so short, their purpose so devoid of meaning once plucked, to mishandle a single leaf was a crime. To bruise a tender bamboo shoot, a gross offense.

Ikebana wasn't about creating masterpieces to admire, but in giving homage to those living things that had been denied their purpose for being. To link their short lives to her own, if only in a single bowl, so that she could better understand that purpose wasn't tangible, but it could be felt.

Maybe, if she thought long enough, dug deep enough, she could then accept her life.

"No."

Kagome had to backtrack mentally to recall what she had asked him. "Why not?"

"These lands belong to this Sesshoumaru. No other."

She rolled her eyes. She understood his need for privacy. Even in her saddest moments, however, she couldn't cut herself off entirely like he seemed inclined to do.

It hurt to be alone almost as much as being lonely.

"There is a barrier on this estate. Jaken is the only servant."

Kagome blinked. "Ohhh... Okay." She knew there was a barrier. It kept the pollutants out and afforded him further privacy to be free with the emotions that must be controlled lest they show in his aura while out and about.

What did this have to do with her, however?

It wasn't until he answered that she realized that her last thought had been voiced aloud.

"Your scent and aura barrier."

Comprehension dawned. After almost an entire year of intermittent interaction and observation, she had figured out that he hated to ask questions if he could get away with loaded statements instead.

The real question was, why did he care?

She took a deep breath. "Does it bother you that much?"

He scowled.

Groaning, she said, "What I meant to say was, 'If you really want me to, I'll take it down.'"

Only for you, she added in an silent addendum. Years and years ago, he had been the only one she had entrusted with her secret. Now he was also the only one she trusted to reveal the true extent of the power housed within her.

He stopped walking. She halted and faced him. Centering herself, she allowed the barrier to fall.

The first impression he received was the pure reiki and the taint of youki that flowed off her form in wave after wave of tantalizing power. How she could house that and not go insane from the temptation to abuse it was most impressive.

The unsure glance she sent him preceded the secondary impression by only a fraction of a second. Warmth. The gentle brush of heat on a winter night, the careless hug given just moments after he'd announced she had managed an arrangement to his satisfaction. The rosy flush that had risen on her cheeks upon walking in on him during his bath.

Warmth. She smelled of it, of woman and nervousness and careful masks just ready to be shoved in place. Shielding her from the hurt she didn't think she could survive.

And finally he understood.

----

They left Japan the next day. Leaving behind his search for privacy, that elusive utopia finally attained through the forbidden anonymity of illusions and barriers he had never dared to think possible, they traveled to Australia.

After a few years they moved to America. Then Canada, followed by Africa, which was preceded by a jaunt to France. Funded by the fortune amassed over the ages, they wanted for nothing but the rediscovery of the world they had forgotten in the hurry to remember how to live.

Until, one day, they stopped wandering. Stopped the frantic search for answers from without. They understood, but they hadn't understood.

On a small island, far away from the hustle of the cities or even the relaxed countryside inns they had frequented from time to time, distanced from anything known or those things not yet discovered, they rested.

Kagome felt the brush of cool silk against her thigh when Sesshoumaru settled beside her on the lounger. "Do you know what I want more than anything?"

He didn't reply, he hardly ever did, but she knew he was listening.

"Nothing." She waved a hand to encompass the clear blue water lapping at the shore line, the squawking birds fighting over the bread she had thrown out there just moments ago, and the small sand devils kicked up in the wind. Her hand crept into his, and she smiled when his fingers tightened around it. "It's all here."

He snorted. "Paris didn't have everything?"

She shook her head. "It was nice. All of the places we had been were wonderful. But..." She paused to formulate her next words. "We were so busy trying to take in everything, to recapture the passion for life we once held, that I couldn't appreciate that life is beautiful just for its sake, not only for what we can take from it."

"This Sesshoumaru appreciates the passion."

Blushing, she smacked him lightly on the arm. "I wasn't talking about that!" He smirked, a small uplifting of his lips that had her rolling her eyes. "Who would have guessed that the great Wakahisa-san was a jokester."

"This Sesshoumaru does not joke. It was truth, nothing more." He leaned closer, nose to nose with her. A clawed finger traced her arm from shoulder to wrist. "Do you say that you do not appreciate what you've found in this Sesshoumaru's bed?"

Flushing all over now, Kagome couldn't help the shiver that his words induced. "That wasn't what I was talking about," she whispered.

"Hn. What were you discussing, then?"

His lips had moved even closer to her own, and Kagome's mind came up blank. "I can't remember."

He smiled, warm and remote all at once. "Exactly. It is not in the remembering, but in how you learn to forget just a little more every day." His breath brushed over her lips with every word.

"Wise youkai," she murmured between kisses. "Will you forget me one day?"

At the unexpected question he pulled back to steadily regard her. Vulnerable blue eyes begged for denial but were prepared to accept the truth.

"Kagome," he chided. "This Sesshoumaru forgets nothing that is anything and you are more than something."

Her answering smile was blinding. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him down on top of her. "I'll take that as a 'no.'"

She loved him then, showed him in a million ways what she could never find the words to describe.

In his arms she had been set free from the past, from the worry and the fear of being alone. He remembered her, would always remember her. In his eyes, she had found her own value as a person, in her life. How could she not love him?

And, she knew, in her embrace he had found his own purpose. It was a cycle of dependency and support, of want and need, that would see them through the years for however long that horizon stretched.

On the table beside the lovers, life and the absence of death had united, a water lily supported by a single twig that had been carefully claimed from an ancient cherry tree waved in the happy reflection of a shard of blue glass.