This is the goofiest thing I've ever written. Thing is, it took root in my brain and I just couldn't get rid of it until I wrote it down. I have a bunch more chapters written or mostly-written, so updates will be regular if there's any interest in the story.
1. This is a Sesshoumaru/Kagome story, but it's not the kind of story meant to convince you of them as a couple. They start out married. In fact, this is kind of a sequel to another story I'm writing, but it's not finished yet (and as such, not online). I get that this pairing isn't everyone's cup of tea, but it's the fundament of the story, so ... um, reader beware?
2. Things do get explained, but some of them take a while. I've uploaded three chapters at once because a lot of the explanations happen in Chapter 3. Your questions will be answered, I swear.
3. I have watched and enjoyed a lot of DS9, but I'm not as familiar with it as I am with IY canon. If I've made goofs, please let me know and I'll do my best to correct them! Some diversions from canon (e.g. Jem'Hadar having spiritual energy like youki) are obviously my own invention, but my inventions are few and far between (and obvious!).
4. I clearly own none of these characters.
Thanks for indulging this little attack of random! Again, I'm very new to writing fan fiction, so I'm eager for reviews - even a word or two, whatever you feel like sharing. If you read, please let me know what you think! I don't intend to hold chapters hostage for reviews/follows/favs/whatever, but I also probably won't post new material if it doesn't seem like anyone's reading. Thanks again :)
Kagome woke to find that the world had stopped exploding.
It was disconcerting, to say the least; the last thing she knew, she'd been on an unknown ship in an unknown part of the galaxy, there was a crash that shook the world, then things started sparking and blowing up. She had huddled in a corner of her cell, knowing that Sesshoumaru was somewhere nearby, as he'd only just been dragged away from her – and then she felt a peculiar fuzziness in her limbs, and there was nothing but silence, and cool, fresh air.
Coughing and wheezing around the smoke that still clawed at her lungs, she pushed herself up on her arms and looked around.
There were at least a dozen people staring at her warily, a few with weapons trained on her. Most were wearing black uniforms with grey yokes, the split mandarin collars showing variously-colored turtlenecks underneath them – yellow, blue, red. Some were human, some clearly not; there didn't seem to be a single species in charge, really. She wasn't sure whether or not this was an improvement.
She blinked at them for a moment before glancing around at the room. She was on some kind of transporter pad, but it didn't look like the ship she'd been on before. Everything seemed too stable, too heavy, too ... permanent. Was she on some kind of base on a planet somewhere? And where was Sesshoumaru? Was he here somewhere, also being held at gunpoint? Still on the burning ship?
She decided that, since interrogating her captors seemed like a poor choice of first impressions, the first thing she needed to do was to get to her feet; she always felt vulnerable when people towered over her, even knowing as she did that she could take them all down without any trouble. Assuming they didn't shoot her first, but they didn't seem inclined to kill her before the questions.
"OK, folks," she said quietly, holding her hands up in plain view. "I'd really like to stand up; is that going to get me shot?"
One of them, a slender, dark-haired man in a blue-collared uniform, stepped forward. He was holding something, but it didn't look like the things the others were clearly wielding as weapons. He crouched before her, meeting her eyes.
"My name is Doctor Julian Bashir," he started, surprising her with his posh English accent. "You're welcome to stand, but I'd like to examine you for injuries first." He waited for some confirmation, his expression open and unthreatening.
She watched his face warily. 'Examine' didn't sound like something she really wanted to be subjected to. She decided to press the issue, but as diplomatically as she could.
"I appreciate it, but I'm fine," she said quietly. "A few more minutes of breathing clean air and I'll be good as new."
He inclined his head in acknowledgement, but didn't relent. "I'd like to make sure of that. You are not in any danger here; we want to help you."
She blinked at him. "That's a lovely sentiment, but I'd be more convinced if there weren't a bunch of weapons pointed at me." He grinned wryly.
A burly black man with goatee and a red collar stepped forward, looking down at her from just behind where the doctor still squatted. She could feel him evaluating her, trying to determine how much of a threat a tiny unarmed Japanese woman could possibly be. She hoped he couldn't tell how much damage she could actually do, or she'd have guns trained on her for the rest of her life.
"You and I need to talk," he said in a deep, rich voice. Making eye contact with the doctor briefly, he nodded at something Kagome couldn't quite follow. "I'll accompany you and Dr. Bashir to the infirmary." He turned to the small group with the weapons; she noticed that they were all wearing yellow. "Security, I want a small detail to stay with us, but she is not to be threatened in any way unless she instigates a conflict." They nodded and put away their weapons, and all but three left the room.
When Kagome turned her eyes back to him, the doctor was giving her a boyish smile and had his instrument trained on her. It made a faint warbling noise, and she flinched. As though to distract her, he asked, "What's your name?"
She hesitated a moment. Should she give her real name? She thought about all she'd seen so far. These people seemed fair, if cautious, and she found herself wanting to trust them. She drew a deep breath, and made her decision.
"Kagome. Higurashi Kagome."
The doctor's smile widened. "Well, then, Kagome, you don't have any injuries that will be worsened by walking, so why don't you come with me, and I'll treat you for smoke inhalation and take care of the nasty burn on your shoulder." She looked at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, then glanced down at her shoulder. She couldn't contain a shocked gasp at what she saw: her flesh was charred, the skin at the edges bubbling. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten it.
"Wow," she breathed. "That's ugly." The doctor stood, chuckling, and offered her a hand. She reached her uninjured arm up and allowed him to help her to her feet. He led the way, the man in the red collar and the three security officers following closely. Chewing idly on the inside of her lip, she triple-checked that her scent and aura were still masked; it made her feel better, whether or not anything nearby was actually able to sense her.
Within half an hour, her examination was over – the doctor hadn't so much as laid a hand on her, but used a number of small instruments like the one he'd used earlier to determine the location and severity of everything that ailed her. Before long, he'd healed her burn, soothed her lungs, fixed an old injury in her ankle (a broken bone that never quite healed right, making her prone to sprain her right ankle at the slightest twist), and informed her that she'd never have another migraine. They didn't bring up anything important – where she was, who she was, where she came from, what she was doing on those bastards' ship. Where Sesshoumaru was.
Finally, her worry got the better of her diplomacy.
"Where are the others from the ship I was on?" She could hear a tinge of desperation in her voice, but was too focused on their reactions to care. The doctor and commander exchanged glances.
"The ship you were on exploded within seconds of our getting you off it," the commander explained quietly. "You were the only one we could get off in time."
Kagome's heart stopped. The room swayed; the doctor lunged for her, grabbing her arm roughly to keep her upright. She didn't notice.
Sesshoumaru was not dead.
Suddenly coming back to the reality of two strangers staring at her, she yanked her arm brusquely from the doctor's grasp and stalked over to a large window out onto star-spangled blackness. Balling one fist helplessly, she pressed the side of it against the cold glass, willing it not to be true. There was a writhing, living pain twisting through the center of her chest. She could feel her face screwing up in agony, teeth bared in a snarl; for the first time in centuries she was helpless to contain the emotion that was devouring her. She pressed her forehead to the glass, noting absently that her face was wet with tears.
"Who else was on that ship?" the commander asked, a peculiar gentleness in his voice.
"My husband," she gritted out through clenched teeth. She wanted to scream; she wanted to rip her hair out from the roots; she wanted to claw the skin off her arms; she wanted to rend the flesh from her bones with her teeth. Anything to distract her from the seething emptiness consuming her heart. Dead. Dead. Dead. Never coming back. Dead. Gone.
"My husband," she repeated, her voice nothing more than a broken whisper.