Hindsight

A/N: Well, the next chapter is up. It's even slightly amusing.


Disclaimer: Why???? WHY DO YOU PERSIST IN TORMENTING MY SOUL???? I DON'T OWN THEM!!!! SATISFIED?!?!?
Now, excuse me whilst I sob in a corner...

DAY ONE: ACT TWO: Sesshomaru


Sesshomaru, Taiyoukai of the Western Lands, concluded three things while free-falling head-first into a forest.

One, Keichi was a treacherous mongrel from which he would derive great pleasure in killing.
Two, staying in the air was damned hard when you had the equivalent of a teaspoon of blood in your veins.
And three, today just was not one of his best days.

Of course, such knowledge was entirely useless to him now. Had he known this several hours beforehand, he probably would not be bathed in his own blood, on his way to splitting a tree with his head.

Keichi, a high-ranking rat youkai in his court, had given him tainted information about a minor threat in a weak miko.
He had gone to warn the priestess about purifying any of his youkai subjects, without any guards. He was the Lord of the Western Lands, and although he respected and even liked his powers, sometimes he needed to get away from the administrative duties of his title. He was a youkai, after all…

When he had arrived at the place Keichi had specified, an army of rat youkai had set upon him, smashing his armor and relieving him of much of his blood.

After murdering them all, he had taken to the air. His aforementioned lack of blood, however, had him losing control for once, sending him plummeting.

As he landed with a jarring thud onto the hard, packed dirt floor of the forest, he seriously contemplated not getting up, just lying on his nose until he died.

The happy thought of introducing Keichi to his spleen kept him from succumbing.

As he was about to get up, or at least attempt it, a small hand closed in on his shoulder.

Usually, he would have grabbed his sword and hacked off the offending hand, but its size made him pause. It was the hand of a female, most likely a child. He did not hurt females, and definitely not children.

The hand pushed at him, and its owner soon tumbled on his aching back. He nearly jumped up to murder her, child or no, but he just couldn’t find the strength.

Soon, however, the female pushed herself off, muttering mild curses.

She then poked him in an especially deep cut. He couldn’t help it. He leapt up and closed his fist around her neck.

As he beat back the pain, an agonized squeak issued from the female. He sniffed, trying to smell her, but his own blood’s scent overpowered his nose. Her fingers scraped against his tender fingers, and his grip tightened in an effort to get her to stop. Damn it, but everywhere hurt.

He stared at the familiar girl, who he finally saw was actually a young woman, about twenty. Her curves certainly proclaimed her as older than a child.

“Uh…are you okay?” she asked, gasping slightly.

His brows drew down in his mind, but his face remained as impassive as ever.

“You should worry about yourself, not me.” He told her coolly, wondering what the hell he was going to do with her.

“Ordinarily, yes. But you just fell a couple hundred feet and landed on your nose. So, I ask again, are you alright?”

She was tugging at his fingers, and he realized with a start that he was squeezing too tightly. He loosened his grip marginally, allowing her to breathe.

As they exchanged insults and sarcasm, his head pounded fiercely, and all he wanted to do was find somewhere soft and never wake up. After, naturally, he finished up with Keichi.

When she told him, rather arrogantly, that she was a miko willing to heal him, he eyed her suspiciously. A miko willing to heal a youkai?

Still, stranger things than have happened.

Just as he was ready to release her, she sighed, a soft, soothing sound that sank deep into his bones.
While he was bawling at himself for his ridiculous reaction, a light, pink mist covered his hand, and a million sharp needles rubbed against his hand.

‘Well, shit.’ He mumbled mentally, unceremoniously dropping her. He would have put her down more gently, but all his energy was being spent restraining himself from pressing his hand to his chest and groaning.

After a little more talk, where she told him he was a grumpy, stubborn male youkai idiot that stank, she threw up her hands and stomped off in the direction of a stream.

He sighed very, very quietly, holding back the urge to drop to his bruised knees and thank the gods that he was in blessed silence.

He slowly trudged behind her, his right leg screaming in protest with every step he took. He really wanted to find a soft place and rest, but his father’s voice came screeching into his head.

‘Boy, you stop and I swear by all the gods that I will haunt you for the rest of your days! And you know I will!’

Sesshomaru scowled blackly, sorely tempted to tell his father something extremely rude and equally gratifying, but the certain knowledge that his father would indeed haunt him stopped his train of thought cold.

He watched through bloody lids as the miko collected random – well, random to him, anyway- flora, ambling slowly.

He had the sinking suspicion that she was walking slowly for him, but her unusual attire had his mind otherwise occupied.

She was clad in fitted pants, such as the taijiya of Inuyasha’s group wore in battle, except the miko’s were soft and smooth and definitely not leather. The sway of her outlined hips had him slightly mesmerized, but he again bawled at himself and all was well.

It was the blood loss.

It had to be.

He walked behind her, trying to figure out why in the world she was so familiar. The memory hung teasingly right out of his reach, and he snarled in frustration, then immediately regretted it as it spawned an entirely new headache.

Just as he was about to shame himself and his forefathers by putting a hand to his head, the miko stopped abruptly.

He straightened, looked about and almost grinned.

Almost.

When she asked him to sit, he sat. He knew it would give her ideas of authority, and he should have snarled at her, or at least bared a fang, but he was too tired to care.

He’d intimidate the hell out of her later.

She eyed his wounds with the practiced regard of a healer, and then ripped off a large piece of his tattered haori. As she went to wet it in the stream, he was hard-pressed not to strip off his clothes and lie down in the stream. As much as he loved hunting, fighting and even killing, he really didn’t like to be dirty.

She came back, dripping rag in her hand. He looked up at her, wondering if she would speak again. He hoped not.

“Could you take off your haori? It will be easier to clean your wounds.” She asked, blushing slightly.

He smirked at her blush before pulling off the haori. The silk clung to some wounds, and he had to pull slightly at them to remove it. He remained expressionless, but inside he was muttering obscenities through clenched teeth.

When he was barebacked, she took one of his arms and started gently wiping away the congealed blood.

As she bent over her task, forehead furrowed in concentration and her lower lip pulled between her teeth, he smiled inwardly, feeling marginally better that at least some part of him was now reasonably clean.

“What is your name?” she asked softly.

He looked at her, puzzled.

Why would she want to know his name?

Was it important?

Did he really have to open his mouth and speak?

“My name is Kagome.” She said.

Suddenly, it all fell into place. This was Inuyasha’s woman. The girl with the indecently short skirts and the nasty purifying arrows.

He opened his mouth, about to speak, when she suddenly stilled, staring at his wrist in apparent horror.

“S-s-sesshomaru?” she whispered.


A/N: And so, eet beegeens. This fic is nothing like 'Assassination', which is a lot more serious, or at least the subject matter is. I like this one, mainly because it's way irreverent and, well I think it's funny-ish. The Sess/Kags pairing is usually as a result of extreme circumstances and usually has Sess acting like a pompous ass and Kags acting like a schoolgirl, which they both are.
The formula works, so who am I to mess with it?
This time, though, it will be really light-hearted. Angst, thou art not welcome at mine door here.

Next chappy, Kags, Act 3.