Just. . . Maybe

Torn from her own world and thrusted in to his, she knew that he saw her as none other than a weak, digusting human that fell in to quick steps behind his most hated half brother.

But somwhere, in the back of her heart, she was beginning to realize that maybe, just maybe, she really did. . .

Somewhere, like an itch that he just couldn't scratch, Sesshoumaru Nishi, Lord of the West, Prince of the Moon, The Great Beast that is called King, was beginning to realize that maybe (now mind you, this is just maybe) she was beginning to grow on him.

She was quick with a smile, and quicker with a scowl, and when goosebumps chilled her skin and she shivered, he felt a gnawing sort of need to take her in to her arms and shield her frail form from the rest of the world. But that wasn't very Princely, nor Lordly, nor Kingly. So instead, he settled for taunting her mercilessly, just so that he could see that pale face of hers light up with a pale blush.

When Inuyasha had been cut down in a fight (the first and last of many) with Naraku, Kagome had fallen too. . . fallen to her knees, pale-faced and shivering, and stared up at her foe who had so carelessly taken the life of her first love.

You really thought you could win? Naraku had sneered, and she could have sworn that there was a hint of masochism in his face. Humans certainly do have that goning for them. . . hope. . .

And then, there was nothing.

And then, there he was.

To this day, Sesshoumaru wasn't sure what had prompted him to resurrect her. She was pale, and she was red, and she was so far gone that he wondered occasionally how he was able to pull her soul back from the after life anyway. Maybe it was luck. But it was more likely fate.

She had followed him, quietly at first, like a puppy who had lost it's owner (which, in retrospect, was almost the case. . . ) Sesshoumaru had tolerated her silence the same way people tolerate dentists. . . he wasn't particularly happy with it, but he knew that it was his own fault that he was in that position, so he let it slide. But it wasn't in her personality to stay silent. And it only took a few stabs at her name before she simply had to correct him.

My name is Kagome! Ka-go-me!

He had sneered, and continued on his way.

She mustn't have been too upset with him, because she followed behind him faithfully.

If he had listened carefully enough, he may have even been able to hear the clogs fallen in to place as he began to no longer tolerate her as much as maybe, possibly enjoy her. Maybe even. . .

They stopped in villages for what she deemed 'necessary to her survival.' Perhaps, though, what she deemed neccesary was to be reminded of the familarity of humans, and all the petty human things that came with it. "I want to go home." She would whimper every time they left a village.

"And where, pray tell, is your home?" he would insist, childishly.

And Kagome bit her tongue, and stared off in to the distance to where the sun was setting lazily. She knew better than to try and test this demon.

He tried, and tried, and tried to test her. To see her value. He pushed her, and she shoved. If he sneered, she scowled. And when he showed her a smile, she froze, her face alit with awe.

"I didn't know you could do that." She told him, smiling.

He didn't tell her that there was a lot she didn't know about him.

But try to forget as he might, she was inexplicably, uncontrollably human. And she, as one who had spent many-a-day traveling about, began to recognize her surroundings. She began to realize that they were heading to the west. . . where Inuyasha's forest lay.

Whether he knew that was where her home was, Kagome didn't know. Whether it was his plan all along to simply leave her by the well she could never be sure.

But she was tired of seeing people walk away. . .

She slipped out of their camp, and he watched her go with half closed eyes.

"Milord?" The vassal Jaken approached him. "She is escaping."

Sesshoumaru didn't speak, for there were no more words to be spoken.

Maybe if she had stopped to look back, she would have seen his hauntingly empty eyes staring back at her, hallow and grave and illuminated by dieing coals.

Maybe if he had rushed forward to stop her, she would have ceaded her humanity to him.

But it was not in her to quit, and it was not in him to ceade.

So she ran, and so he sat, both hallow and shallow and very, very weary. He wanted to tell her he loved her.

But he knew she already knew.

And maybe. . .