Through the open door, Kagome gazed out at the silvery fall of rain. Against the smooth wooden frame her head leaned listless. An early summer storm had rolled in this afternoon. She’d watched as the roads softened to mud beneath the steady downpour, the smell of wet earth mixing with the clarifying scent of ozone. Buckets and pots filled to the brim and spilled over. Droplets pinged off rakes and axeheads and pitted the glassy surfaces of standing puddles.

She always enjoyed watching the rain fall—especially when she was safe and warm inside. Behind her, the hearth burned cheerily. Her husband dozed beside it, his snoring muffled by the sound of the shower outside. Silence, to Kagome, was oppressive, but the murmur of rain was soothing and serene.

Her lids lowered slightly as she felt her thoughts drift away, lulled by the song of the storm. It was times like this when she felt most reflective. Times like this when she thought about her father. She didn’t think of him much anymore, but as a child, she’d spent hours staring out the living room window—particularly on rainy days such as this one—watching with rapt attention, feeling the hope swell in her heart that this time she’d see his familiar figure striding toward her through the grey, returning home at last.

But he had never returned. The last memory she had of him was of his back as he’d walked down the shrine steps, out of her life forever. Her mother didn’t speak of him unless asked, and then only reluctantly. It wasn’t out of bitterness. Her mother was far too good of a person to harbor a grudge. Kagome knew that it was out of pain.

“Your father has a restless spirit,” her mother had once remarked sadly, her gaze lingering on her daughter’s.

Kagome had often contemplated that look. There was something worried in it—something foreboding. She had her father’s uncanny blue eyes. She wondered, now, what else of his strangeness she had inherited.

She had always striven to be like her mother—kind and dependable, loving and forgiving. Steadfast. True. And, secretly, she had always been proud of her efforts.

But now…

How could she be proud of anything now?

As if answering the summons of her guilty conscience, a pale shadow materialized through the haze—her own personal demon, here to complete her torment. Frowning, she met Sesshoumaru’s unreadable stare.

A restless spirit…

As she looked at him, her thoughts wandered once more down the path of reminiscence—to another day like this, years ago.

Another memory, in the rain.

Every one of them could feel it in their bones—the final showdown with Naraku was fast approaching.

After days of roughing it out in the wilderness, Miroku had worked his twisted magic once again, securing their stay at a palatial mansion. The rooms were amazing—the food, equally so. Despite the ominous atmosphere, Kagome and her friends had decided to make the most of it. When their grateful host gifted them several bottles of his finest sake, they didn’t even think to refuse.

Kagome had never cared for the taste. She winced as the pungent rice wine scalded a path down the back of her throat. Still, the feeling of lightness that settled over her was a welcome break from the oppressive dread that had been steadily mounting in her over the past few weeks. She smiled as she saw her friends relaxing as well. Even the harsh lines in Inuyasha’s face had smoothed out a bit. He looked younger, happier. Chuckling lightly under his breath, he watched Shippou show off for Rin by turning Jakken’s staff into a balloon snake, and for a moment Kagome’s heart was so full that she thought it might burst in her chest.

“Ah, Kagome-sama,” Miroku said from her other side, slurring slightly, “your cup is empty. Allow me to refill it.”

“Oh—no thanks, Miroku-san,” Kagome said, waving him off politely. “I’d better not…”

“I insist,” he said smoothly, pouring a fresh cup for her all the same.

“Houshi-sama, don’t-hic-pressure her,” Sango said with a frown. Her flushed cheeks and hiccup somewhat dampened the reproach.

“It’s all right, Sango-chan.” Kagome smiled. “I’ll see if Sesshoumaru wants it.”

“Feh, not likely,” Inuyasha scoffed, digging a finger into his ear. “He’d have to pull that stick out of his ass first.”

Kagome glared at him. “Don’t be so crude, Inuyasha. If he doesn’t want it, that’s fine. I’m just going to ask.”

The hanyou snorted dismissively as he plucked the bottle from Miroku’s hand. “Suit yourself.”

Scowling, Kagome stalked toward the shouji screen, wrenching it back with a little more force than was strictly necessary. Her irritation was sobering. She felt a trickle of her unease return as she stepped out onto the covered veranda. From the winged eaves, the rain streamed in breaking sheets, falling like shattered whispers in the distant gloom. 

Turning two corners, she found Sesshoumaru, reclining against one of the patio columns. His regenerated left arm rested on his upbent knee. The crimson stripes at his wrist were just visible beneath the raised hem of his sleeve. He cut a striking figure against the backdrop of the surrounding scenery. The sight of him was always striking, really.

Even though their groups had joined forces awhile back, Kagome had yet to become accustomed to his unearthly presence. She doubted she ever would. He wasn’t the type of guy you got ‘used to.’ Still, though he generally preferred to keep to himself and though she still found him rather unnerving, Kagome made efforts to include him as much as possible without grating on his patience. 

Even now she wondered if she was being annoying in disturbing his solitude. Before she arrived, he had been staring out into the rain, but as she drew near to him, he turned. His golden eyes regarded her levelly.

“Hi,” she said, smiling slightly as she extended the cup of sake toward him. “I don’t know if you like to drink, but the master of the house shared his best sake with us, if you want to try some.”

His eyes flicked briefly to the cup in her hand. 

“No,” he said. 

“Oh.” Kagome’s shoulders fell. An embarrassed blush crept across her cheeks. “Well, um, I’ll—I’ll just leave you to it, then.”

Feeling silly and stupid, she started to walk away—when she felt his cool fingers close around her wrist, halting her flight. Blinking, she turned to face him.

“Do you love him,” he asked her closely, “my brother?”

The intentness in his expression caught Kagome by surprise—even more so than the question itself. For a moment, she hesitated.

“Yes,” she answered, her voice trembling faintly, “I love him…”

Releasing her, Sesshoumaru took the cup from her other hand. As she watched, he raised the bitter draught to his mouth. His eyes remained fixed upon hers as he tilted the cup back and drank. 

It had dawned on her later, in a truly sobering flood of mortification, that he had drunk from her cup. It dawned on her now, as she studied him across the distance, that before he had drunk from it, he had rotated it slightly. By doing so, his lips had pressed to the right of a chip in its rim—precisely where she had pressed her own.

Kagome’s fingers bit into her knees. Shakily, she stood. Breaking from his gaze, she loosed the rolled-up door curtain and let it fall heavily between them.

---

Note: Artistic license taken with regards to Kagome’s dad. 😛

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

Revised 7/13/22

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