by Shae

Inspired by Mimiko/Jasmine White's fanfic: And Take It Away

All disclaimers apply.

Author's Note: I have no idea what drove me to write a fic on a topic so sensitive. But I want to try it, and I hope my version of the overdone "rape/recovery" scene is adequate in the opinions of those who truly understand it. The song lyrics belong to the Metallica ballad "Fade To Black".

Things not what they used to be

Missing one inside of me

Deathly lost, this can't be real

Can't stand this hell I feel

Emptiness is filling me

To the point of agony

Growing darkness taking dawn

I was me, but now he is gone

"Fade to Black"-Metallica

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Inu-yasha came to an abrupt stop on a thick tree branch, dropping into a crouch and lifting his nose to the breeze. His nostrils twitched, flared, his eyes grew hot with rage like molten gold.

He dropped from the branch and to the rich earth below, touched with scraggly grass that fought for light beneath the shadows of the trees and a carpet of dead leaves. Moonlight made the entire forest surreal, and this area in particular, smothered in shadows, seemed to be throbbing with evil recollections.

The scent was thick here, almost overpowering. This had to be where it had happened for the last time. It was the right bastard, that was for certain. Something like a cross between a cat's cloying musk and wet woodsmoke. Disgusting, to even remember that reek all over her skin. And there was blood, lots of it, hers and-and ITS-and what he couldn't see he could smell so acutely it seemed to line his throat and choke him.

The smell of lust and arousal, and the pungent results of the satiation of that lust, clogged his senses and threatened to make him ill. The last thing he wanted to do was let this stench absorb into his senses, so that his nightmares would be suffused by it-that and her imagined screams, the smell of her blood and violation. But the other, stronger, colder side of him was eager to find its source. Find the source and . . . and . . .

There simply were no words for what he would do. Vulgar obscenities worthy of a full-blood demon slid through his mind, things that would make Sesshomaru shake his head in solemn pity and Naraku stare in silent surprise. And instead of feeling horror, disgust with himself, he felt only emptiness.

Emptiness that rivaled the look in her eyes that would haunt him for the rest of a life that seemed entirely too long, now.

Growling softly, a sound that was inadequate for the storm of pain and fury within him, Inu-yasha took to the air and continued his hunt.

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"How long is she going to stay like this?" Sango's voice was quiet, which was completely unnecessary, since the other girl probably couldn't hear her anyway. They were all fairly certain Kagome had abandoned reality some time ago.

Kaede's response was just as quiet, as she set a pot of water over the cookfire. "I know not. Few times have I had encountered such a horrendous act. Demons I know well, and few would ever lower themselves to defile a human as such. Kill, pillage, destroy, yes, this they do in abundance. But this . . . only the lowest creature could ever commit such a crime."

"But . . ." Sango swallowed. "You have seen this happen. If not from demons, then from," gods, she could hardly stomach to say it, "humans."

The old priestess nodded, still staring into the fire. "Aye. Distraught mothers and angered fathers would come to me for healing cures for the violated child."

"Then, do you know of anything that could heal her?"

"Time, for most. For others, punishment against the perpetrator. Comfort from family, from friends for still more. Isolation and violent lifestyles for the those strong enough to hate and fight. But some . . ." Kaede sighed. "Some never heal at all."

Sango blinked back stinging tears and looked at her friend.

Kagome sat curled in a corner, wrapped from shoulders to toe in a thick blanket to keep out the cold. Underneath that, she wore a kimono. Underneath that, her odd clothing that she wore from the future. Beneath that, bandages and healing poultices for her wounds. Her black hair, as freshly washed as the rest of her, shone in the firelight, still mildly damp. Her skin was pale, her face expressionless.

Her eyes were the worst part. As large and clear a deep brown as they had ever been, her eyes were . . . dead. Yes, that was the term. Like dark holes in her face, dry, ageless, cold and painful to experience as freezing, black water, Kagome's eyes were half-closed, almost unblinking. Dead.

To look at them made Sango shudder, and suddenly, she had to get away, BE away. Now, she could understand why the others had left so quickly upon making certain the girl was fine-physically, anyway. They all wanted to comfort her, but knowing that they couldn't, knowing that she had been through a trauma none of them could imagine, just being near her was a tax on the heart, on the very spirit.

Sango knew she didn't have a nose like Inu-yasha, but she imagined the air reeked of utter and absolute despair. It made her want to run, want to cry, and she couldn't stand it.

"Kaede," she croaked feebly, scrambling to her feet, "I . . ."

"I understand, child," said the priestess. "Go on. I shall watch over her."

Grateful beyond belief and also ashamed of her cowardice, Sango practically ran from the hut.

Outside, in the cool night, little Kilala strolled up to her and nuzzled her ankles. Some instinct had kept the catlike demon away from the hut, and now she tried to comfort her mistress the only way she knew how.

"Sweet Kilala," Sango murmured, and picked up her companion.

She wandered for awhile, at first, not sure of where she was going, but soon she realized where her path was taking her: Into the woods, along the path she had seen Miroku take only hours ago.

She found him in a clearing, sitting against a fallen tree, legs crossed and his head down, apparently deep in thought. Then he reached up a hand and slid it into his hair, squeezing his eyes shut as if holding back tears of his own.

Her heart ached for him. Approaching him, her footsteps crunching purposely so he wouldn't be alarmed, she asked, "Are you all right?"

Miroku looked up at her, then quickly away, at the dark forest. But she had already seen his red eyes. "I am not the one for whom you should be concerned," he said tonelessly.

"I suppose not." She went over and knelt beside him, hugging Kilala to her breast. "But you're the only one for whom I can do anything. For her, I can only cry."

The monk winced at the mere mention of Kagome. He dropped his head again, staring at his hands resting limply on his knees. He said nothing-probably because there was so little to say that didn't sound patronizing or simply not good enough. They couldn't blame themselves, blame the one who had done this, or blame the universe, because what good would it do? To anyone? To her? Inu-yasha was only hunting because it was all he felt he could do, and it was more than any of the rest of them could accomplish.

That thought brought a question to the surface of her mind. "Why did that blasted half-breed demand he go off on his own?" Sango muttered angrily. "I'd say I'm safe in assuming we would all like to flay the skin off the-the thing that did this."

"Inu-yasha probably will," Miroku interrupted the rest of her tirade. She looked up into his soulful dark eyes, now solemn with painful knowledge. "That is why he wanted to do this alone. You saw the look on his face. What he's going to do to the one who hurt Kagome . . . it's something he couldn't bear to let us see, for fear we think him a monster."

"But-we would never-"

"Sango. Listen to me." Miroku's tone brooked no argument. "There are parts of him that even we don't understand. Darkness and rage. And only for Kagome would he ever let those parts see light. He wants to take the bloodprice for himself, and we can only let him. It's what he considers his penance."

Sango still couldn't make herself understand. "But it isn't his fault."

Looking back into the forest, Miroku softly stated, "When it's someone you love, it's always your fault."

This statement ceased all further protest from her. Yes, she could understand that. Everyday she found a new way to blame herself for what had happened to her brother, her family, her village. As long as she blamed herself, as long as the responsibility was hers, then she felt strong enough to do something about it. If that was how Inu-yasha felt, then she couldn't begrudge his need to take solitary vengeance.

Silence rose again between the two. Then suddenly, Miroku asked, "Where has Shippo gotten off to?"

"I think Myouga found some way to distract him with the village children." It was best the fox-child be kept far from all that was happening. Even in all his experience with death and evil, he was still young enough to believe the world wasn't so very terrible. It would be a great wrong to take that from him. And he loved Kagome, making the wound that much more deep.

They all loved her. The strange, sweet, helpful, and brave girl from the future had drawn all of them to her with her kindness and her courage. And after all she had done for them, was there nothing they could do for her? Nothing that would draw her from the shadowy recessess into which she had retreated?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

"Sango?" Miroku's strained voice drew the demon hunter from her thoughts, and she looked to him. She noticed his hand clenched on his knee and shaking with the intensity of the grip. His knuckles were white.

The sight worried her. "Miroku? What is it?"

He wouldn't look at her. "I-I just wanted to reassure you that I . . ." His voice trailed off for a moment, and he had to take a deep breath in order to find the strength to continue. "Sango, I know I sometimes . . . touch you without your permission, but I swear the thought never crossed my mind to-to force you into anything, and if you ever believed as such, I'm so sorry . . ."

Oh, gods!

Horrified, Sango dropped Kilala and without hesitation, drew the monk into her arms. "Never!" she whispered fiercely, tears brimming in her eyes. "I never thought anything like that, Miroku! And I'm sure none of the others did, either. I've had my reservations about you, yes, but I'd never think of you as someone who would do something so terrible."

He clung to her desperately, and for once she knew that lecherous thoughts were far, far from his mind. So far that he would probably never invade a woman's space ever again. Just as she didn't know if she could ever be courted by a man without fear. Just as Shippo would one day learn what had turned his surrogate sister into a ghost. Just as Inu-yasha would fall victim to his rage and do things that twisted his soul. Just as Kaede would mourn for her sister's even more darkened spirit. And just as Kagome's family would agonize over their daughter's pain.

This experience had scarred each and every one of them.

But Kagome worst of all.

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A lithe form stained in red, from a ruined taori to his sticky, dripping claws to the ends of his silver hair was crouched in the moonlit clearing, crying into his fists like a pup. The soft, whimpering sound coming from him would have torn the heart of even the most hardened assassin.

Little remained of the man who had reeked of Kagome's essence. Nothing but limbs tossed about, blood-soaked soil, and a dismembered head gouged of its eyes and its tongue ripped away, its mouth still open in a scream of final agony.

Inu-yasha had made sure the bastard felt every second of his death, up until his heart ceased to beat in the dog-demon's palm. The man's blood had completely washed away what remained of her pain, her terror, on her attacker's skin, and it made the destruction of everything Inu-yasha had ever valued in himself almost worth it.

He was a monster now. But it didn't matter. Nothing he did would cleave away her memories, which had trapped her in the void that had rendered her unresponsive, and piqued his red fury to the point of . . . of this.

He could remember the state he had found her in, three days after her disappearance. The scent and the sight and the sound of her, quietly whimpering, yet unable to even cry, had left a large brand on his memory, and he would be taking it to the grave. The knowledge she had been tortured and violated. The fact that he hadn't been able to save her.

What was worst, the most devastating part was this: It had been a human. Not a demon. None of their colorful and evil collection of enemies, all which would simply have killed her. No. This was a man, one who hadn't even seen fit to offer her the mercy of death, and never before in his life had Inu-yasha been so sickened to know he shared the species with that filth.

And so he cried, rocking back and forth on his heels. Just as he had cried as a child, when his mother was slain, and as he imagined he would be crying until death claimed him as well, when the memories stole into his dreams and turned them to nightmares.

But eventually, he stopped, stilled, became a statue in the night just beginning to turn to dawn. He just crouched there, staring into nothing.

What to do now? What could he do?

Take her home.

Before he left the clearing, he burned the scattered remains to ashes. That man didn't even deserve to feed the forest creatures with his filthy flesh. Then he went to the nearby stream and scubbed his haori, his skin, till both almost matched in bright redness, and still, even though he could no longer smell the blood, he knew he would never forget it.

He'd lost something vital. He didn't think he could get it back.

Finally, Inu-yasha headed back home.

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The water was warm, soothing. She slid in up to her neck, her chin, unwilling to let any of her bruised and scarred flesh show above the surface. She longed to slip deep into the springs, deeper, deepest, and stay down there, breathing the soothing water, so that every bit of her would be clean, even the inside parts, the parts that hurt the worst, but no one would let her. The other girl watched her sharply from the shore, prepared to dive and prevent her internal cleansing.

She turned away from that stare. Thanks to them, she would never be truly clean.

She satisfied the need for purification by slowly scrubbing her skin with the rough cloth in her hands. Some closed wounds broke open with the contact and smoldered in the heated water. The pain felt good, somehow. It meant she was still alive, an affirmation of sorts, so the numbness within her was just her mind.

But she had to stay numb. If she thought, felt, remembered . . .

She panicked with even the suggestion and dove beneath the surface, desperate for something, anything, to wash it all away.

But before she could even inhale, a strong arm closed around her waist and lifted her clear, straight into the air, and in the next instant she felt sun-warmed stone beneath her back and was looking up into molten golden eyes.

"Oh gods," the other girl was saying, intense horror evident in her distant voice, "I can't believe she almost . . . I glanced away for an instant . . ."

He was touching her, why was he touching her, she had to make him stop, make him go

away . . .

"Let-let me go!" she screamed in a voice raspy from both disuse and all the screaming she had done what seemed like eons ago. She shoved at him violently and struggled to escape, and when the viselike arm encircled her waist again, what remained of her completely shattered.

Suddenly, she was a whirlwind of screams and dry sobs, blows and bites, as all that had happened came rushing back from behind the wall her soul had erected to keep her sane. It was too much, too much, and indeed, her sanity started slipping away. Every second that monster had-he had-she had hidden deep inside of herself to stay alive, to not to know anything until it was over and she was dead and she never knew anything again. But it hadn't happened, and she was still alive, and another one was touching her . . . God, she couldn't take anymore.

Leave me alone leave me alone stop get off let go I don't want you and I never wanted you stop it hurts you bastard you son of a bitch I'll kill you I'll rip your heart out you did this to me you can burn in Hell I'll fucking kill you . . .

In her panic she heard echoes of alarmed voices and even his voice, yelling at her, trying to pierce the thick terror that clouded her mind.

Then she found herself wrapped in something heavy, something warm, that tangled her arms and clawing nails, pressed against an equally warm and solid body racked with sobbing, his throat vibrating with unintelligible pleas into her ears, and a scent that was uniquely his, uniquely dark and musky and wonderful, engulfing her senses.

She froze-she blinked. The sun was so bright, hurting her eyes at she stared at nothing.

The words started making sense so far as being words, but they flowed in a string of alternating sobs and growls that still made them hard to decipher. Eventually she pieced together what she could, still blinking, confused.

"Gods, Kagome, forgive me, I should have been there, I should have protected you, gods, I swear I found you as fast as I could, but he had already, that fucker, and I killed him, Kagome, I tore his heart out while he screamed and I know you hate that but I couldn't let him go, I had to do something, but it doesn't help because he destroyed you and I can't . . . I can't help at all . . ."

The ramble faded into silent, but powerful sobs that shook them both.

Kagome? She blinked slowly. I'm . . . Kagome?

Her eyes refocused on the shore. The girl-Sango-was crying into the monk's-Miroku's- embrace, quiet yet inconsolable, while the little cat demon Kilala mewed softly. It was a strange sight to see the oversized flea creature . . . Myouga? . . . on Kilala's back, scrubbing at his beady eyes. The fox boy . . . Shippo was in an old woman's arms, sniffling, and a second later the woman with the sad, solemn gaze had a name: Kaede, the village priestess.

What an odd group, but somehow looking at them softened the sharper edges of the blades within her. But then this is . . .?

"I-Inu-yasha?" she rasped, and he stilled, ceasing his rocking. She pulled a little away to look at him. Her hands, freed of his taori, found the long, silver-white hair, the soft doglike ears, the carved yet young features of his face . . . even his fangs. She stared into glittering amber eyes that shone with tears and agony and traced the salt on his cheeks with her fingers.

Unbelieveable. He never cried. Ever.

She had made him cry.

"I'm sorry," Kagome whispered, her heart going out to him. "I'm sorry I made you cry."

He stared at her in wide-eyed disbelief. "Kagome . . ."

When he looked at her like that, every inch of his expression filled with pain and worry and guilt, and knew that he loved her, they all loved her, the remainder of the wall fell away.

As her tears came hot and endless, he embraced her tightly and let her cry.

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One month later . . .

"Kagome?" Her mom's voice came through the closed door.

Kagome looked up from her book and said, "Yeah, Mom?"

Her mother opened the bedroom door and smiled softly. Though her eyes were still shadowed, at least she was able to look at her daughter and not break down into tears anymore. The counseling sessions were really starting to help.

"Your friends are here," she said. "Should I tell them you're resting or-"

"Kagome!" a voice squealed and a blur shot past Mrs. Higurashi's legs, onto the bed, and straight into Kagome's waiting arms.

"Oh, Shippo, it's great to see you!" She squeezed him tight and stroked his tail, delighted that he had finally come to see her.

Mrs. Higurashi sighed with exasperation. "I suppose I should let the larger demon in as well?"

Laughing, Kagome said, "I don't think wild horses could hold him back!"

"Damned straight," said a deep, gruff voice from out of nowhere. She turned to see Inu-yasha perched on the edge of her windowsill in a crouch, watching her with those intense, amber eyes.

"Inu-yasha!" Kagome's mother scolded. "You watch your language in this house, young man, or out the door you go."

He scowled and grumbled, "Yes, ma'am," sarcastically, but that was all. Watching the unconquerable half-breed dog-demon submit to an overprotective mother was too much. Kagome and Shippo collapsed into laughter.

"Hey, what's so damn funny?" Inu-yasha snarled, then looked at Mrs. Higurashi with a guilty expression that set the other two off all over again.

With another sigh, Kagome's mother turned to leave, saying, "She couldn't find normal friends. Oh, no, my daughter just had to bond with two youkai. Honestly, a mother's work is never done."

When she was gone and Shippo went hopping about the room marveling over the wonders of the twenty-first century, Kagome turned to Inu-Yasha and smiled. "Thanks so much for coming again and bringing Shippo."

He rolled his eyes. "The kid wouldn't stop whining." He imitated the fox-child's squeaky voice with remembered irritation. "'I wanna see Kagome! I wanna go to the future, too! Inu-yasha, you're a big ugly meanie if you don't take me with you next time!' Then the little brat pinned me to the ground with another of those spelled rocks of his and wouldn't let me up until I said I'd bring him."

Shippo, on Kagome's desk, laughed. "You should have seen him, Kagome! By the river all night screeching for somebody to let him up! It was so fun-ow!" He scowled and rubbed his forehead where Inu-yasha's well-aimed rock had hit him. "What'd you do that for?"

"Shut up, brat," the dog-demon growled. Shippo stuck his tongue out at him, then moved on to playing with the cat, which lazed on the desk.

Kagome laughed softly, but sobered when Inu-yasha turned those probing eyes on her again. "How are you doing?" he asked with unusual seriousness.

"Better," she replied, pulling her knees up to her chest on the bed. "It's slow going, but I'm making progress. The nightmares aren't as bad as they were, and I can talk about it with my mom and grandpa. I might even be ready to go jewel-shard hunting again." When he opened his mouth, she held up a hand to stop him. "You're not talking me out of it. Everybody except you thinks it's good for me to get back into the swing of things. I even caught up with my schoolwork, so I'm going back. No arguments."

She was surprised when he sat on the sill, folded his arms and actually said, "All right."

Blinking, she stared at him, incredulous. "What did you say?" He never gave in so easily.

"I said all right," he repeated, his brow furrowed in a stormy expression. "Don't look at me like I'm stupid. You wanna get back to routine, that's fine. I probably couldn't stop you anyway. But don't you dare think I'm lettin' you out of my sight for five seconds, and when it gets too dangerous, I'm bringin' you home. No arguments."

Smiling, Kagome nodded. "Okay. It's a deal."

"Good."

"Yow!"

The howl caused them both to jump and look at the source: Shippo. He was presently running around the room being chased by the pudgy cat, who apparently thought he was a chew toy.

"Help, Kagome! It's gonna eat me!" the fox demon wailed. He raced out of the room, his pursuer hot on his heels and making happy little 'merow' sounds at the prospect of a meal.

Kagome giggled and got to her feet, intending to follow him. "Poor Shippo. I'd better get that silly cat before-"

She fell silent as strong arms embraced her from behind and his familiar musky scent filled her nose. A brief flash of apprehension was replaced by a warm glow as Inu-yasha nuzzled her neck, expressing his emotions the only way he knew how: Silently.

"Are you really okay?" he murmured.

She took in a shaky breath and placed her hands on his arms. "I don't know," she said just as quietly. "Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe never. Maybe someday. But it helps, being around family and friends and . . . and you. It helps. So, yeah. I guess I'll be all right."

"You'd better." His voice was more rough than usual. "It's a real bitch huntin' for jewel shards without someone to sense them. Miroku and Sango are useless. And I think they're courting each other." He made a derisive sound in her ear. "Worst yet, they're goin' about it in front of me. It's disgusting."

"Aw, I think it's cute."

He snorted. "You would."

They stayed that way for a while, comfortable with each other as they had never been before. Kagome knew it wasn't going to be easy. That hellish week had left permanent scars on both of them, and complete recovery was still in question. Maybe the tiny romance they had now wouldn't even survive the recovery period. But that was okay. He'd always be by her side, watching over her, ready to fight with her and for her, and she would always do her best to back him up-whether he liked it or not-and knock him senseless when he was in the wrong.

As long as that stood steady, she felt she could face anything.

The people who loved her would never let her become frozen again.

~end~

Author's Note: That was my first rape-victim fanfic, and since I'm not fond of the story concept at all, I'm fairly certain it will be my last. There's simply little to no satisfaction in writing about this kind of thing, besides stretching my writer's perception. I'm filing it as a sort of Alternate Universe kind of story, since it won't apply to any other Inu-Yasha fics I put out, unless I'm feeling masochistic and decided to follow up sometime in the future, in which case I'll plainly put: This is the sequel to "Frozen." Please read and review; my angst fics sometimes come out a bit . . . let's say melodramatic, and I'd like to know if this one was a another victim of my natural wordiness. Till then, later.