A/N: Ladies and germs, Jinxy has found her next major chapter!fic project. Admittedly, with one major project still in the process of wrapping up and another smaller one in progress (not to mention all the real life nonsense for which I use fandom as an escape), this one should take some time getting off the ground, but I think the idea merits going ahead with nurturing the seed randomly sprouting in my brain. It might seem a strange concept, but I promise you I don’t (usually) go into these things lightly or without sufficient research. I’m a firm believer, and I think you all can vouch for me, that some of the best stories come from the most incidental of inspirations. :)

It’s Late

Act I: Prologue

A church. How appropriate… or strange. He couldn’t decide.

It wasn’t his idea, but the literature his last girlfriend left lying on his coffee table just kept catching his eye. He couldn’t throw it away, like he did her. Like he did pretty much every relationship he ever had.

His efforts to slip in the back unnoticed were foiled the moment the woman approaching the podium acknowledged him taking a seat, nodding in his direction before beginning her speech. Stupid slut. What right did she have to judge a newcomer to a meeting of which she was clearly a veteran? It was his own fault, he supposed, for being unfashionably late.

“Good evening, my name is Kagura,” the woman announced, greeted with the standard Hi Kagura Sesshoumaru had hoped was only a stereotype. She was dressed a little more provocatively than was suggested in the pamphlet he had damn near memorized before conceding to the fact he might have problem enough to attend a meeting, her low-cut blouse exposing some tantalizing cleavage. But there really wasn’t much difference between the prominent display of her girls and the tailored suit he was wearing; there was no greater aphrodisiac than money.

“As this is an open meeting and many of you present tonight do not know my story, I’ll share it again, the way Miroku so bravely did before me,” she continued. “I am an incest survivor as well as a sex addict. I believe the former ironically contributed to the latter of those conditions. I’ve been sober for six months now and it certainly hasn’t been easy.” Tears began budding in her eyes, Sesshoumaru uncharacteristically distracted when it came time for her to ask the newcomers if they would like to raise their hands. As if he intended to announce himself among the company of these miscreants. He was certainly in a different class, as was this woman, who couldn’t help but objectify herself based on the abuse she endured so early in her life.

All the God talk and praying didn’t exactly turn him on, but he supposed that wasn’t exactly the purpose. Despite his straining against his irritation and boredom, his attention faded after the first mention of a ‘Higher Power.’ The coffee and doughnuts behind him were growing more and more enticing, though he didn’t have a typical penchant for either. Sesshoumaru quietly stood, sauntering around the empty seats making up the majority of the last row, the woman called Kagura’s eyes undoubtedly following him.

He held his breath as people began filing out past him, more noisily and gracelessly than he had departed his seat, some piling doughnuts one on top of another and carrying full cups of coffee out between their teeth. Yes, he was definitely in a higher class than these losers. He filled up his own cup, watching the 'regulars' chat. It was surreal; like watching robots or cult members programmed to repeat the same drivel over and over again. He turned away with a sigh, topping his coffee with a lid, and walked out of the Sunday school room toward the church entrance. His hand gripped the door handle, something compelling him to take a long look back at the dark, empty church; all the little wooden pews lined up so perfectly before a podium much more ornate than the one at which they let the scrubs of society speak. Was it a higher power guiding his amber eyes to the stained glass window portraying his supposed savior? Nah.

Sesshoumaru pulled the door open and let the night wash over him, the cool air cut him. He needed a fix, the city lights demanded it. A woman in a form fitting leather coat stood promisingly on the corner, long hair dark as the star-studded sky pulled back in a ponytail, which trailed to the delicious curve of the small of her back; her jacket fitting nicely on either side of her tiny waist. He patted any wrinkles from his suit, ran his fingers through his hair, tousling his fringe in a preferably sexy manner, and approached the object of his charms with a self-assured smile.

“Tell me a pretty thing like you isn’t going home alone on a night this cold.” The words were out before he realized the six month sober incest survivor was the target of his lust.

She turned and smiled, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her purse. “I’m waiting for a bus, not a john,” she said, lighting her smoke.

“That isn’t what I was asking,” Sesshoumaru replied, his voice low.

“Of course not.” She puffed on her cigarette, looking impatiently down the street for her escape. Her head drooped momentarily, turning back once more to the man tactlessly threatening her hard-won sobriety. “Listen, do yourself a favor. Go home. Go to bed—do not pass go, do not collect two-hundred dollars—and, for fuck’s sake, don’t jerk off. Just go to sleep knowing you’re one step closer to conquering what has always conquered you.” She paused to take a draw, eyeing the large, diesel-smelling vehicle coming down the street. Her half-smoked cigarette fell to the sidewalk, an elegant boot stomping it out. “One vice at a time,” she sighed, rummaging through her purse. She drew out a card, handing it to Sesshoumaru. “Since I know you didn’t spend enough time in the meeting to find a sponsor.”

He barely had time to look up from the place their fingers grazed each other before she was gone, boarding the bus; no looking back. His eyes fell to the card, its slightly raised lettering smooth under his thumb. Kagura Kaze, Dance of the Dragon Dance Studio. Sesshoumaru loosed a weighty exhalation, his breath a fog dancing on the night air, not unlike the smoke from Miss Kaze’s cigarette, and pocketed the card. Where the hell did he park, anyway?

A/N #2: Bastard Time Warner wants to shut me off from the world come Monday night. I’m doing the best I can to keep this from happening, but just know it’s on the horizon. I want to thank all my friends and readers for hanging in there with me, especially Izzanami, without whom I’m not sure I could keep my grip on anything close to sanity, nor would I have had this and several other pieces beta’d. Hope to be seeing you all soon, in one story or another. :)