Title: Kaleidoscope
Author/Artist: tuathafae (tuathafaerie)
Pairing: Sesshoumaru x Kagura
Fandom: Inuyasha
Theme: #9 - Dash

Disclaimer:Inuyasha and all of its characters are not mine.

It's like a kaleidoscope, it twists and turns, over and under, intersecting and unwinding into endless superficial patterns. The mechanics escape the view of the eye, but they are there, you know they are there even if you cannot see them, because logic is putting everything into beautiful triangles and fragmented squares and nothing, nothing in this world can be geometric and illogical. But, because it has always been closer to the metaphysical than the anatomical, your heart blurs the lines until they bend hyperbolically, ignores the invisible hand behind the mirrors, and calls it magic.

And so love is magic, something fantastical that no one can decipher, the great wonder of the ancient world that no engineer can replicate, ephemerally mingling with the divine.

Inseparable, you call them. Inevitable, you predict for yourself. Incalculable, your heart daydreams on snare drums.

But the hissing slither of life snaps at your toes as you rush along and laughs a series of short, breathy chuckles that sound almost like words: unconnected, unpredictable, unimaginable. The mother of the counted chickens with knowing eyes and that tepid smile that will make you pay for ignorance before the sun sets in the west. Fate knows, destiny sees, and life pushes you ever onward.

The laughter echoes even louder as you dash along backwards like a blind man down a tangled path, stumbling only slightly as your heel slips over an artificial stick and you pick up a kaleidoscope...

“A river,” Rin says, nodding to herself as the small group winds it's way along the rocky banks. Jaken nods distractedly, more intent on keeping his footing with the help of the double headed staff, but Sesshoumaru glances over once to note that, yes, it is indeed a river.

Rin continues to herself as if an entire village of people cling to her every word. “A river is a good place to water Ah-Un. And wash your feet. Rin-chan thinks we need a rest.”

“We don't need to rest,” Jaken mutters back irritably. “Those in the service to Sesshoumaru-sama are not weak enough to play in every stream they cross.”

“Water is not weakness,” Rin counters good naturedly, scrambling up and over a mossy stone, “it's life. Right, Sesshoumaru-sama?”

Sesshoumaru does not reply. Such innate truths do not have to be validated. There are other, more encompassing matters to ponder, and so the conversation babbles like the unquiet rapids beside them as Rin and Jaken occupy both sides of the trivial debate. Sesshoumaru, daiyoukai of the west, is silently measuring the divide between monkey and man and the exact position of a hot tempered woman between those two points. It has been a week, maybe two?, since he last saw her, and it is strange to muse on the distending pit imprinted just faintly beneath his heart and its import on her absence.

Rin pauses and tilts her head, as if listening to something that had been forgotten long ago, an out of time phonograph with a scratching needle. Jaken's question of curiosity halts Sesshoumaru's gait as well, and he looks out towards the waves.

One time. One time is all it takes. Like a steel striker to a sliver of flint, sometimes you just get lucky. One meeting, one spark of intrigue, and your entire life roars and dances to a fevered tempo. Hand left, foot right; heel up, arm back. Spin, spin, spin, click, click, click.

The kaleidoscope shimmers into a new design, but isn't it pretty? Fresh, exciting. Your mind whirls and your heart beats, assimilating the pattern as a novel addition to the rhombi and trapezoids of your memory. The echoing laughter is only your own delight.

Spin, spin, spin, click, click, click.

“Oh, she's all wet.”

Jaken sputters as Rin hovers over their new find, this drowning, red eyed fish, trying to wring the fabric of the disheveled kimono out with her tiny hands. “Worry about yourself!” Jaken snaps back, shaking one sandaled foot quickly before bustling after Rin. “You almost killed us both for this worthless woman!”

Almost like an old man and his grandchild, Sesshoumaru thinks, moderately amused as he perches sedately on a nearby rock. His shoes are wet, but they will dry. He is more disquieted about this sprawled woman than his clothing anyway: not that she will die, because he can feel the pulse of youkai around her quickly closing wound and knows she cannot, but because he rescued her when it is not his intention to let her rely on him. Her fight with Naraku is not his, they had different purposes, no matter the similarity in goals. That he had allowed her assistance recently is not related.

“Tsk. Just go sit over there, Rin. I doubt she'll have the gall to die in front of Sesshoumaru-sama.” The young girl settles down after only a brief spat of fussing, and Jaken impatiently tugs at her offset ponytail. “Your hair's a mess.”

Golden eyes watch them before flicking back to the unconscious visitor. He does not want the responsibility of her freedom. Two mismatched companions are more than enough to look after, he does not need a third. He does not need to imagine the trouble that comes with her, either. It's imprinted fiercely on her back.

The whisper of a dream melts through his subconscious, however, and reminds him that a woman can provide the things a mere feal companion cannot. That look in her eyes has almost gotten him once or twice, knowing that she will give obeisance when necessary but has enough spirit to look him in the eye and say what she wishes. It is tempting, and it has been a long time since he had actually taken the time to pursue a conversation with anyone.

She has potential and that pit is lilting up a song of loneliness.

“Uhmm...ughh...” She shifts, Rin looks up, and his ethereal thoughts drift away.

Irrationality enters as fiercely as monsoon season. A downpour of ridiculous fears, giddy daydreams, and jealous eyes. They warp the picture just as deftly as love, only sourer, an exponential line that curves a little more offbeat and a little more analytical. The eyes are closer to the brain, they can access intelligent thought more easily, but they are tainted by the outside world, by a lack of depth perception and a lack of peripheral ability. And ever still, the kaleidoscope spins like a top as your heart beats out a rhythm of more and now and just don't stop.

It takes hold then, the fierce call of possession. It's yours, isn't it? You found it, you made it work, it's yours by right. Laughter is paranoia and the smooth barrel spurs endless need. It's an intemperate hunger for color exploding right in front of the retina.

Is this love or obsession? Or something beyond words?

She catches his attention with a single sentence, spoken with that insolent cadence of hers. “Even if I've found where Naraku's heart is?!”

He shouldn't turn around, Sesshoumaru knows it, knows the price of involvement with Kagura, but he does anyway. Pride, curiosity, intrigue, and just the heady scent of concern, they all pull his shoulders in her direction. Kagura's eyes light with a desperate satisfaction and she pushes her story out like a monk high on redemption, a dangerous story of her meeting with Goryoumaru and the weakness hidden in his temple.

Sesshoumaru ponders this quietly, absorbing the possibility of blotting out one more annoyance in this world, but Jaken questions her reliability, Kagura responds on the lack of trust now granted her, and Sesshoumaru is distracted. The hole in her chest is to recent an image, and he feels his own figurative one mew back in affinity.

“In that case, any further actions on your part are futile.” He says it with an even finality. And he means it, however impulsively stated. Kagura cannot jostle for her freedom now without risking her life. Sesshoumaru knows the youkai that healed her, knows by whose will she was saved, and knows that if that good will is revoked, her wellbeing is forfeit. She cannot assist him any longer. It is an unspoken instruction to keep herself safe.

Willful woman that she is, Kagura ignores or disregards his warning. She stands and leaves instead, and Sesshoumaru gazes after her feather and wonders where all of his original intentions have fled.

Does she understand that where she can no longer fight, he will stand in her place?

Even boiling water eventually condenses and cools again. The hot waves of excitement die down into warm laps at your feet, licking your toes with a familiar caress. You've seen all the patterns now, some of them you can even paint from memory, and the shivers that run up your spine every once in a while speak volumes of contentment. You can sense the trick to this magic now, can unconsciously identify the unseen hand pulling the strings, but you are satisfied to let the show continue, still enjoying the freedom of being tricked.

There are bad parallelograms and good diamonds and an eclipse chases through them all in testament to victory. You've seen them, perhaps stumbled, and pulled through, moving on your backwards forwards trip through life. It grants you the assurance that you can make it through anything, because an eclipse is just an algebraic oval after all and you've done it before.

Every once in a while, though, the laughter finds you, adding small quirks and new details to your kaleidoscope that you had never noticed previously. Is the sun bleaching the green or is it slowly fading into yellow? Was the barrel always this long? The little changes pop like scalding bubbles against your feet, just often enough to keep you on your toes.

It floats to him several days later as a surprise that is really no surprise, the unwelcome missive to return home to receive the last words. A tangy scent that is hers and Sesshoumaru knows. Without a word, he leaves Jaken and Rin behind to find the third unintentional companion of his group.

The sight of her, crumpled against the pungent flowers, causes the gap spiraling beneath his heart to yawn open. The pulse in his fingers throbs in frustration against Tensaiga and her careworn smile is a lonely consolation prize.

Sesshoumaru has failed, and he feels it to the marrow of his bones. When his half brother arrives, he can no longer stand it and has to walk away, the breeze swirling behind him.

He had told her... but he hadn't. He should have told her... but she knew – his presence, her smile, she knew.

The feather that trails him is trapped haphazardly by a passing breeze inside the crease of his breastplate, and Sesshoumaru slowly reaches up and carefully pushes it down below his heart.

It ends like it begins, by chance, with plaintive notes full of regret and longing, discontented base lines of anger and betrayal, and a cymbal of finality, all supported by the theme of loss. You stumbled and the kaleidoscope has slipped out of your hands, gone forever because you cannot ever return to the same point in your life. The magic trick finally got the better of you, and you wish you had paid attention to the logic because now you cannot even fashion the magic yourself. This crazy trick needs two minds to work.

But the memory – the memory remains, like the haunting aftertaste of a rich meal. It kisses your heart with hope. Remember how good it was? Isn't there a chance you'll find it again?

You find your balance and life is quiet now as you move on; the cold slide of reptilian commiseration brushes your ankles. It leaves you empty but assuaged at the same time. You've seen it now, you know what it's like. It hurts, but that only shows how deep your attachment ran. And you know you want it. Maybe not immediately, but you most definitely want it with the hunger that lies mostly dormant, just waiting to spring up again.

And who knows, you may even circle back, when the seasons have changed and the path is easier, and find that kaleidoscope made of love just waiting to be picked up again, spun, and tucked faithfully next to the heart.

Sleight of hand and twist of fate...