InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Sachi ❯ The Sachi ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer: InuYasha and company aren’t mine. I just covet them sinfully and abuse them vicariously. And they love me for it. *nods* Don’t ever let them tell you otherwise.

CHAPTER 3

Heaving a weary sigh, Kagome tossed the cloth back into the bucket and sat back on her heels. She ran a hand across her forehead, noting with satisfaction the fine film of perspiration that rubbed off against her palm. Keeping the hardwood floors clean in what basically amounted to a small mansion was a difficult and time-consuming task, apart from all the other daily tasks that kept the place livable. Kagome didn’t know how Kaede had done it almost by herself for so long.

Thankfully, this was her last chore for the night.

She got to her feet, brushing back the multiple strays that had drifted loose from her braid over the course of the day, then picked up the bucket before heading back to the kitchen, her bare feet thudding gently on the now-clean wooden boards. Her already fatigued muscles protested the weight, and -- much to her displeasure -- she had to use two hands to make sure she didn’t drop it. She was still pretty weak…although, with all the work to do every day, she was quickly regaining whatever strength she’d once had.

She paused at a junction and glanced around to orient herself. After looking left, then right, she nodded and turned right, down the dimly lit hallway leading away from the main wing.

Eight days. She’d already been awake and moving around for a little over a week, and she was only just getting her bearings. Miroku had warned her that it would take a while.

The Sachi, contrary to her first impression, was actually big for a traditional inn, with about twenty-seven Japanese style rooms, several common rooms, a laundry room, several baths and the kitchen, as well as several unused storage rooms. Spacious and comfortably furnished, the Sachi was an unusual mix of traditional Japanese and modern Western décor. Almost every door inside was sliding paper, while most of the main doors that led outside swung open in the western style, and could be locked for security. Each of the private guest rooms was covered with tatami matting and Japanese-style furnishings, while the rest of the inn was laid with smooth, polished wood, and cushy, comfortable western-style sofas and chairs.

The problem was that nothing was where it seemed it should be. Instead of clustering together on the second floor or in the side wings, the private guest rooms were interspersed with the common ones throughout the Sachi, connected by a rather confusing maze of hallways. You had to be careful which door you chose to slide open, or you could find yourself in the middle of a guest’s room rather than the laundry room or kitchen. To solve any potential affront, a standing rule at the Sachi ensured that all the common area doors remained open at all times. That way all closed doors were automatically assumed private.

Miroku had given her a comprehensive tour as soon as Kaede had given him the ok, just a few days after she had agreed to stay. She’d ended up hopelessly confused. Afterwards, over tea at the small table in the kitchen -- where, Miroku informed her, she would be eating her meals along with the rest of the staff -- Kagome had inquired about the design.

“Why is it all built so…” She bit her lip, afraid of being rude.

Miroku’s smile had been full of understanding. “Confusing? Bewildering? Maze-like? That, I’m afraid, is the entirely the fault of the original owner. He was an American businessman who came to Hokkaido about a decade after the war. He created the Sachi from scratch, designed it personally and built it with his own money.”

She frowned. “An American wanted to run a traditional inn? Weren’t there other things he might be better at?”

“Oh, the Sachi didn’t start out as an inn.” Miroku had paused in the act of sipping his tea to give her a surprised look. “That’s right…you don’t know the story, do you?”

She blinked. “Story?”

Miroku had nodded. “Oh yes, there’s a story behind the Sachi.” He set his cup down and leaned forward, resting comfortably on his elbows. “The businessman who built this place was an American soldier who had become extremely wealthy and successful after the war, but still found his life empty and sad. He decide to come back to Japan, searching for resolution for the things he’d done during the war, and found it in the kindness of the beautiful young daughter of a local inn-owner in Sounkyo, with whom he fell desperately in love.

“He courted her with gifts and affection, determined to win her heart. His kindness was so great that she couldn’t help but love him in return, despite the objection of her family. Against their wishes, she married him in a quiet civil ceremony, and presented him to her family. In retaliation, they disowned her, and to the young bride’s great sorrow, vowed to strike her memory from their lineage. Trying to relieve his love of some of the pain of being estranged from her family, the businessman took her with him back to the United States, and gave her everything her heart desired. She loved him all the more for it, and they were extremely happy.”

He gave a dramatic sigh. “Unfortunately, very shortly after their marriage, the businessman’s beloved wife fell ill with a serious disease. He called in the best doctors that money could buy, but the disease was incurable, and his wife was given a year at most to live. Heartbroken, the businessman brought his wife back to Hokkaido, and threw all of his effort and money into building her a house where she could spend the rest of her days in a peace, trying to reproduce some of the familiarity and comfort of her childhood home. He considered it a final gift -- a shrine to his beloved, and a symbol of his devotion to her.

“They say that when he showed her the house he had built her, he asked her to christen the house by giving it a worthy name. After exploring the house, she told him that she felt a great honor to have a husband that loved her so much. Therefore, she bequeathed it a name befitting the great happiness that his love gave to her. A short time later, she died peacefully in her sleep. The couple spent only a few months in their home, but it is said they lived a lifetime of happiness in those few months.”

Kagome had stared at him, touched. “How sad. They had so little time together.” She’d glanced around the kitchen, at the erratic design and homey feel. “So… she gave it the name ‘Sachi’, in honor of the happiness they brought to this house.” She looked back, curious as a thought struck. “What happened to the businessman?”

Miroku had lazed back in his chair, his tone studied. “Well, that’s the legendary part. Even though he was perfectly healthy, the husband was also found dead, kneeling next to the futon where his wife lay. Supposedly, an investigation could find no certain cause of death. They say his heart simply…stopped beating.”

His dark eyes trained on her. “The locals believe that their love was so deep and true that it pulled his soul with hers into the next life, ensuring that they would be together always. Some claim that their love marked the Sachi itself, and that the house is alive because of it. The legend of the Sachi is simple: if any true, soul-bound lovers come together in this place, the Sachi will bless them, bind them together, and forever after, no trial or obstacle will be able to separate them.”

He paused to let the drama of the statement sink in, then shrugged. “Anyway, people like to come here to stay in the place of the lovers’ death. We get a lot of young couples who believe that staying here is good luck because of the legend, and a lot of older couples who want to ‘renew their spark’, so to speak.” He grinned. “The original owners are very good for business.”

Kagome, who had been transfixed by the story, just rolled her eyes. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out that money was one of Miroku’s great loves. “So…the reason the Sachi is so…unusual is because…”

“Is because the businessman who built it wanted it to be a symbol of his love for his Japanese wife, and a visual representation of the bond they had together. It was only after they died that it was turned into an inn.”

She’d pondered that for a few moments, then looked up. “But…doesn’t the layout confuse the guests?”

He chuckled into his cup. “It certainly does. When we first came here, not even we could find our way around. Thankfully, whoever came before us thought to put up the signs.”

Kagome’s eyebrows rose. “Signs? What signs?”

He gave her a startled look. “You didn’t notice the signs? They’re everywhere, posted on the walls and…many other things.” Then he shrugged casually, but his deep violet eyes sparkled with amusement. “Oh well. You’ll notice them eventually, and then you’ll know what I mean. They help people find their way…for the most part…and most of our guests seem to find them amusing.”

His words echoed in her head just as the sign posted on the wall beside the kitchen entrance came into view, and she couldn’t help but laugh quietly.

It was a small, square wooden plaque, with carved, removable wooden characters. Currently, the words were cheerfully declaring ‘kitchen’, with an arrow pointing up, indicating the wide open space directly behind it, through which the generous cooking area and all its appliances, interspersed with the countertop, could clearly be seen. Underneath the word ‘kitchen’, were the words ‘dead end’, with an arrow pointing to the wooden wall that cut off the hallway some feet away. Underneath those words, was the phrase ‘nearest toilet: follow arrow’, followed by smooth blankness, sans any arrow whatsoever.

Whatever that was supposed to indicate, Kagome found it amusing. The signs really were everywhere in the Sachi, and seemed to change places and wording on a whim. One day a sign would be posted on the nearest lampshade, pointing at the light switch with explicit instructions on how to flip it; the next day it would have moved to the stairway, with precise directions on how to reach the second floor. Sometimes they were even illustrated.

Stepping into the deserted kitchen -- only faintly illuminated by the dim yellow bulb over the stove -- Kagome heaved the bucket of dirty water onto the table with a weary sigh. The newest wooden plaque caught her attention, and she grinned. Stuck into the center of the bare, polished tabletop, it warned, ‘Eat at own risk. Splinters and wood chips may occur’.

She shook her head at the nonsense. “Shippou.” No one had actually come out and said it yet, but she had a sneaking suspicion the fox-child was the one responsible for the seemingly animate signs. In the week she’d been here, she’d seen him pull some interesting stunts with that fox-magic of his.

She stared at the heavy bucket of dirty water, eyeing the distance between the table and the sink. Her arms were already tired, first from scrubbing the hallways for most of the afternoon and evening, then from hauling the heavy bucket all the way to the end of the left wing, where the kitchen was located. Just now, her muscles felt somewhere between the density of wood and lead, and the thought of having to haul the bucket up over the sink was just a little daunting. Still, all she had to do was dump the water and stick the dirty cloths in the laundry room at the back of the right wing, and she could go to bed.

She sighed again, then braced herself, giving each long sleeve an extra push to make sure it stayed above her elbows. Getting a solid grip on the handle, she tugged firmly. The bucket slid from the table…and dropped straight to the floor with a solid thunk, painfully yanking at her arms in the process. The water sloshed out over the sides, splashing all over the wooden boards, and all over her feet.

Good going, klutz. She glared at the dirty water, rubbing at her sore arms with both palms. Stupid bucket. Now she had to clean up the mess as well as dump the water. Grumbling to herself, she turned to get a cloth from the long counter that cut the room in half, separating the sink and appliances from the table and the sliding door that led outside.

Her vexed gaze locked with darkened amber, and her movement checked as a startled quiver shot through her stomach.

For a moment, she froze in shock, heart pounding, trying to recapture the breath that rushed from her lungs at his unexpected appearance. He stood just inside the open doorway, one hand resting against the frame. He was dressed with his typically casual manner, in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, and his silver hair hung free of the tie he tried to keep it in during the day. Her eyes widened.

InuYasha…gods…when did he get here?

His eyes narrowed. “Tch. dammit, do you always try to do things by yourself when you know you can’t?” His voice snapped at her in a low, irritated growl, shaking her out of her surprise. Then he was crossing the kitchen on silent feet, reaching out to snag a dishtowel off the polished countertop before stalking past her.

She drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly before rotating on her heel. He was crouched down on his haunches, ignoring the fact that his bare feet were getting as dirty as hers while he wiped up the moisture she’d put on the floor. Doing her job for her.

She stared, unsure of how to act now that he was actually in the same room with her…and a little shocked that he was. For the past week or so, she was sure he’d been avoiding her, always on his way out of whatever room she was in, always irritated or annoyed with her for being there. He never really seemed to look at her, not even when he spoke to her -- which was generally only in brief, surly grunts or short phrases -- and she was under the strong impression that he didn’t really want her at the Sachi.

Yet he had been watching her, she was sure. On more than one occasion she’d felt the unnerving sensation of his eyes as she went about whatever chore Kaede had asked her to do. Except when she looked around, he was either looking away from her, or not there at all. And when she did catch him -- once -- actually looking at her, it had been a glare that put her back up, and might have sent her running from the room if she could’ve figured out the reason for it. He was the one person here who was still as much a mystery to her as he had been when she’d first woken up.

“You know…you don’t have to do that,” she protested finally, walking over and putting out her hand for the towel. “It’s my mess. I’ll clean it up.”

His glance flashed over her as he swiped up the last of the water and tossed the towel into the bucket with the other cloths. “Too late.”

Hooking two fingers around the handle, he rose to his feet, lifting it effortlessly (much to her chagrin), then hesitated. His golden eyes drifted slowly over her form, taking in her fatigued features, dirty clothes, and mussed hair. She fidgeted, rubbing her hands along the legs of her not-quite-broken-in jeans.

An annoyed frown dipped his brows. “You should have asked for help if you were too tired to carry it.”

She flushed slightly under the reprimand. “I’m not too tired,” she insisted. “Really. It’s just that I’ve been carrying it around all day and…” She trailed off, and he rolled his eyes.

“And it got too heavy, right?” With a quiet snort, he ripped his eyes away from hers and headed for the appliance side of the room -- leaving plenty of space between her and him, she noticed.

Within moments, he had tipped the dirty water down the sink and started ringing the rest of the water from the small mountain of cloths she’d used that day. “It’s only been a few days, you know. Nobody around here expects you to be at full strength yet.” He muttered the words without looking at her, then abruptly turned a scowl on her. “Why the hell are you washing the floor at this time of night anyway? Most everyone else is already asleep.”

With a hesitant wince, she walked over to join him at the sink. As he set the damp cloths to the side, she picked them up and draped them over her arm, needing the busywork. “It’s not that late. Miroku is still up --”

He snorted again, throwing another wrung-out cloth onto the counter. “Miroku’s always up this late. He has a long-standing affair with his laptop. I think he likes the way it hums. Besides, he’s not recently injured.”

“I’m doing much better, really.” She grabbed the cloth and added it to the weight on her forearm. “Besides, I promised Kaede I’d get the floors done tonight so that we can start on the laundry first thing after breakfast tomorrow.” She fought a yawn, then shrugged self-consciously. “It just…took me longer than I thought it would.”

He tossed the last cloth, then noticed the pile she’d transferred to her arm. A hiss of exasperation slipped between his teeth, and he snatched at the rags. “You don’t have to work so hard, you know -- no one else around here does. You’re not a slave or anything.”

“Hey.” She reached out in an attempt to grab them back, but he just held them above his head. She’d practically have to climb him to get them back, and she definitely didn’t have the nerve to do that. She was already too close as it was. Instead, she backed up until her rear wedged against the corner where the counters met, and crossed her arms with a huff. Her gray eyes narrowed. “I have to add those to the dirty laundry. Give them back.”

“Do it tomorrow.” Seeing her back off, he allowed them to flop back into the sink in one soggy chunk.

The arbitrary order, along with the hollow squelching sound of damp cloth meeting metal, grated her nerves, and she gave him an aggravated look. “Why should I, when a simple walk will have it done tonight, and leave one less thing to do tomorrow?”

His hand slapped against the sink edge at the challenge in her tone, and he fixed her with a glare. “Look. I can see how fucking tired you are. Why bother walking all the way across to the other wing when you’ll have to make the same trip tomorrow anyway? Why not save the energy and do two things at once in the morning?”

She glared back, temper rising. “Because I want to do it tonight, that’s why.”

“Well, you don’t have to.”

“I don’t not have to. It’s not even that far of a walk.”

He took a small step forward, eyes narrowing. “I’m the boss, remember?”

“Well, I’m the one who has to do all the work that you’re telling me to put off. Just let me….” He was getting closer. Unconsciously, she pressed back against the corner until the small of her back pressed against the smooth edge of the countertop. “…Do my job.”

“You’ve done enough for today, dammit.” Another little step, and he was looming a few inches away. The pale light from the stove behind him cast deeper shadows across his face, intensifying the yellow in his eyes so that they almost glowed with frustration. “Just stop already. You’re beat. I can smell it.”

Her eyes widened as her heart jumped up to flutter in her throat, choking off the breath that was suddenly shallow and rapid. His animalistic eyes and the annoyed set of his features were intimidating, and for a split-second, she almost quailed. Then her spine straightened, and she raised her chin. “I’m here, I might as well finish what I started. And I told you…I’m fine.”

His frown deepened; her mouth firmed. Across the small distance, they glared at each other stubbornly.

“Well, well.”

The new voice surprised them out of their impasse, and they both shot startled looks over to see the Sachi’s manager just as he strolled through the wide entrance, hands shoved casually into his pockets, hair falling loose around his face. An unruffled, mildly intrigued expression cast his features as his eyes drifted across the negligible space separating the two. “Interesting. Is this a private party, or am I allowed to intrude for a glass of water?” His gaze slipped between them again. “And maybe stay and watch?”

InuYasha’s glance jerked back to her. His golden eyes blinked, then he was a breathable distance away, leaning against the sink with his arms crossed defensively across his chest, scowling like a child caught sneaking snacks before dinner. “Keh. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Get whatever you want.”

“Uh-huh.” Miroku’s attention turned back to Kagome. “Kagome, what a lovely surprise to find you up at this time of night. I didn’t realize you were such a night owl.”

She flushed again. “I’m not really. I just have some things to finish before I go to bed tonight. I…didn’t realize it was so late.” She failed to notice the scowl on InuYasha’s face deepen at her words. His eyes fell to the pile of cloths behind him.

Miroku smiled easily. “Yes, the time does have a way of getting away from you, doesn’t it? Well, I’m always up at this time of night, so if you ever find yourself wanting for--”

“Oi.”

Miroku looked over just in time to catch the hanyou’s actions as he scooped the rags up into a thick, clinging chunk.

“Here.” InuYasha heaved the moist bundle in his hands across the room. To Kagome’s astonishment, despite the startled look on his face, Miroku’s hands flew from his pockets, catching them all -- even the few that came loose -- with minimal hopping. He paused, looking with slow distaste at the damp, grimy rags in his hands, then glanced inquiringly at InuYasha. “And what, pray tell, am I supposed to do with these?”

“Go dump them with the other shit that’s going to be washed tomorrow.”

Miroku looked askance at him. “In the laundry room? But that’s --”

“Kagome was going to do it, but she’s had it for the day.” The hanyou leaned back against the counter behind him, his expression daring her to object.

Her glance skidded over Miroku before resuming her glare at her obstinate employer. “But it’s my responsibility. I can --”

“He doesn’t mind.” His gaze sliced warningly to his bemused friend, whose violet eyes slid from one to the other in disbelief as he followed their argument. “Do you, Miroku?”

“But he shouldn’t have to do it.” She gritted out at him.

“But he will anyway, because I --”

“Wait.” Miroku’s dry tone cut through their words, and again, they both turned to glare. “Let me see if I have this straight.” He paused, his eyebrows raising. “You two are arguing over who gets to take the dirty laundry out?”

The kitchen fell silent.

Kagome felt color warm her face and neck, and dismay sent her gaze to her feet. Stated aloud, the whole thing seemed rather….Well, not only was it childish, but -- she fought a groan -- she’d just spent the last few minutes in vehement contradiction of the one person who had the power to kick her out on the street. Gods. Was she insane?

“Keh.” InuYasha moved first, turning his back with a growl and crossing the distance to yank open the refrigerator door. “I don’t care. Do what you want.”

Kagome closed her eyes shook her head. “No, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have argued like that. I don’t have the right to --”

“It’s fine.” His reply was muffled and flat from the refrigerator walls.

She frowned at his back. “But --”

“Never mind about the water.” Miroku sighed, his eyes rolling to the ceiling. “I think I’ll just go take these over for you now, Kagome.”

She bit her lip and nodded her thanks as he retraced his steps out of the kitchen. “Thank you, Miroku.” He gave a faint wave with his good hand as he disappeared. Another muffled ‘keh’ sounded from in the refrigerator, and she glanced back with a wince.

He rummaged around, glass containers clinking loudly in the otherwise quiet kitchen. She stared, afraid she’d made a huge blunder by arguing with him and making him angry, and unsure of what to do about it. Fatigue wore at her, and she considered just leaving and going to bed, as he seemed so eager for her to do.

But she hesitated. Something -- some vague feeling or thought -- kept her in the room with him. There was something odd between them that she didn’t understand: some strange, uneasy tension that sprang up like a wall whenever she was anywhere near him. It was ridiculous, and she was tired of it. They lived in the same house, saw each other every day; they couldn’t exactly avoid each other forever.

As minutes ticked by and his exploration of the contents of the refrigerator still hadn’t yielded anything he wanted, it became obvious he was intent on ignoring her. The longer the silence stretched between them, the more awkward it became. Slightly aggravated by his behavior, Kagome clasped her hands together tightly to keep herself from fidgeting, but didn’t move otherwise.

Finally, he turned to glare at her, slamming the refrigerator door closed behind him with a bang that made her jump. “Why are you still here?”

She swallowed, and bowed her head. “I just wanted to…apologize. I was inexcusably rude.” She peeked at him, then down again. “You saved my life, and even allowed me to stay here. I’m very grateful, and I didn’t mean too…” she faltered, “…umm, I hope you’ll forgive me.”

He didn’t respond. After a few moments, she glanced up to find him staring at her, looking decidedly taken aback. For a spare instant, gold and gray collided, then his eyes snapped away to glower in the general direction of the open doorway. “Fine. Whatever. Apology accepted.” His voice was gruff, softened slightly -- but still retained that sharply annoyed edge that pricked at her temper. “Now will you call it a night?”

Her teeth gritted in frustration at being made to feel like a nuisance. She almost turned and left. He didn’t want her around? Fine. She’d apologized, hadn’t she? She’d tried to be nice. In fact, she’d been trying all week, but he obviously wanted nothing to do with her. She started to turn on her heel.

Except… Once again, she hesitated, as the almost pleading inflection in his question finally registered. She stared at him, intrigued. He noticed her attention and turned his back to her again to rummage through the cabinets, opening them only to slam them shut when they didn’t have whatever he wanted. She caught the irregular twitching movements of his ears as they betrayed some kind of anxiety…and for the first time, she wondered if she made him nervous.

It was an interesting thought, but one she didn’t have time to explore when his fruitless search through the cupboards abruptly stopped. He stood in the middle of the kitchen for a minute, mumbling something under his breath. Then, without warning, he whirled and headed for the doorway, passing her without a glance. She glared after him, irked by the dismissal. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

“Just what is your problem, anyway? What did I do?”

He froze, and she blinked in shock, pressing her fingers to her lips. She hadn’t intended to say that aloud. In fact, the question had barely formed in her mind before it had just sort of…dropped from her lips in a curiously indignant tone -- as if her offending him had offended her.

Well, too late now. She couldn’t take it back. Instinctively, she held her breath.

But he just turned and scowled at her like she’d lost her mind. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Somewhat surprised at the response, she lifted a shoulder in a reserved shrug and tried for a more composed tone. “Well…it’s just that you always seem angry or upset anytime I’m around. I barely know you, so if I did something to displease you, it’s only fair that you tell me what it is.”

His eyes narrowed at her, a peculiar look ghosting across his face before he turned his back to her. “Tch. Don’t worry about it. You didn’t do anything.” This time, a brooding, slightly sarcastic tone replaced his usually irritated one. He shoved his hands into his pockets and resumed his retreat at a more casual pace.

She frowned at the tense set of his back, wondering about that strange emphasis on the word ‘you’. Had someone else made him angry and he was just taking it out on her? That was hardly fair.

And now he was leaving, and she hadn’t made any progress with him at all.

She drew a deep breath while her palm rubbed nervously against the roughness of her jean-clad thigh. “Well…is there something I can do for you?”

“What?” He stopped just inside the door, and his head twisted around so fast she almost winced for him.

“You were looking for something earlier, but you’re leaving without anything.” She pointed out. “Maybe I can make you something?”

He stared at her for a long moment, then visibly relaxed and rolled his eyes. “I told you that you’re done for the night, dummy. Stop trying to work.” A little of his previous irritation had returned.

For some reason, this time it made her smile. “Actually, I was thinking of trying my hand at making hot cocoa for myself. Since I’m going to make it anyway, it wouldn’t count as work if I make a little more, would it?”

He stared at her again, and she was sure he was going to refuse. She saw the intention in his face as he opened his mouth to reply. “Fine. But make it quick.”

She hesitated, feeling as surprised as he looked, then gave a short nod, turning to rummage through the cabinets for the mugs and mix. She took the easy route and used the microwave, warming up the milk while she pulled out the cocoa and measured it out into mugs. She didn’t realize he was watching her until he commented, the gravelly tone of his voice much closer than it had been a few minutes ago. “Huh. You look like you know what you’re doing, at least. Have you managed to remember anything?”

This time her nervous start was far more internal than external when she realized he had come back into the kitchen. When she turned to find him leaning against the countertop opposite her, she was mostly composed, if a little tentative. After all, unless her memory fooled her -- which, unfortunately, is a possibility -- he was the one who’d been so upset when she couldn’t remember anything about herself.

She gave a tiny shake of her head. “I don’t think so. I’m finding there are many things I just know how to do as I’m doing them. Unfortunately, I don’t know that I know them until I try.” She sighed helplessly, and plucked absently at a strand of hair falling loose over her eyelash. “The knowledge is there. I just can’t find where it comes from.”

The microwave gave its ending beep, and her back went to him as she poured the hot liquid to mix with the powder in each mug.

“What sort of things do you remember?”

Once again, the husky rasp of his voice was closer than before, though still not too close. Her hand paused in the middle of stirring. Note to self: stop turning your back on him. He moved far too quietly for her comfort.

Drawing a deep breath, she picked up one of the mugs and turned to hold it out to him. “Besides the cooking and the laundry….” he took the mug from her without a word. She found it a little disconcerting to find his eyes suddenly intent on her face after he’d spent the last week avoiding her, and she turned her concentration on her own cup.

“Ummm…I know a lot of things about Japan -- history, geography, industry, mythology. I’m pretty good with math. Stuff like that. Kaede thinks that means that I’ve had a good education.” She glanced around the room, then back to where he stood a few feet away. “I know lots of normal, everyday practical things. How to use a telephone and a computer, or any other appliance; how to take the bus or ride the train, even about how much it would cost; what to look for in fruit and other produce when I’m shopping--things that everyone knows. Oh, and Kaede didn’t have to show me how to clean the tatami mats or any of the doors. In fact, I don’t have to be shown how to do most things around here. I just already know what to do.”

He wasn’t frowning anymore, and Kagome decided she liked his expressions a whole lot better when they weren’t glowering at the world. But he wasn’t staring at her anymore, either. Instead, his brows twisted slightly in thought as he stared into his mug. “Huh. Sounds like you lived in a city, at least for a while.”

Kagome gave a small nod and a glum sigh. “That’s what Kaede says. But that doesn’t help much, considering how many possibilities there are. And I might not even be from a city originally.” She shifted uncomfortably as her feet abruptly and achingly reminded her that she’d been on them almost all day. Sighing, she pushed away from the counter and headed for the table on the other side of the far counter. “I wish I could remember more, but my mind isn’t cooperating properly.”

His eyes followed her as she pulled out a chair and sat, wearily resting her forearms on the tabletop as her hands clasped around the heated clay of the mug. A slight frown creased his brows, and he moved forward to the barrier of the countertop, setting his mug down in front of him. “If you’re tired, you should just go to bed.”

This time, she didn’t bother to argue, but gave a drained nod. “I’ll go as soon as I’m finished.” He gave a short, grudging “humph”, and she took another sip of the cocoa, closing her eyes as the sharp warmth slid down her throat and into her stomach, helping to fight the distinct chill of the kitchen air. The temperature outside was somewhere below freezing, and the kitchen was one of the few rooms that had a sliding door leading outside. The insulation wasn’t the best.

She opened her eyes again to find him gazing absently into his cup, the anxious glower still in place. It seemed to her that the uneasiness between them had lightened a bit, and she was grateful. She was also curious about him. This was the first time she’d had anything near a normal conversation with him, and she wasn’t quite ready to give it up. “It’s very nice here,” she ventured. She was satisfied when his ears pricked toward her attentively. “At the Sachi, I mean.” When he didn’t respond, she tried again. “What made you want to run an inn, anyway?”

I she hadn’t been watching him so closely, she would have missed the tightening around his mouth at her question. She did miss the way his knuckles whitened slightly around the mug. “Me? Nothing. I never wanted to run an inn.”

She frowned, perplexed by the harsh slant to his words. “But…Miroku said you bought out the previous owner of the Sachi over five years ago. If you didn’t want to run an inn, then why did you buy one?”

She studied him as he continued his brooding contemplation of his cocoa. Finally, he sighed and relaxed his grip, looking up with a shrug. “I didn’t really want the Sachi. It just sort of…came to me on its own. I had it before I knew anything about it, and then it was just something to do to pass the time.”

She continued to stare at him, her brow furrowed. Something about that didn’t seem right. “But…if you were just bored, couldn’t you have found something you’d enjoy more than this?”

His dark brows rose slightly, and he seemed surprised. “What do you mean?”

She blinked, thinking. “Ummm…well, it’s just that, running an inn is a very social thing, and it seems that you don’t like people very much. You let Miroku and Kaede greet the guests when they come in, and Miroku generally interacts with them during their stay. He does the all the booking and keeps track of all the Sachi’s finances. Kaede does most of the cooking and cleaning.

“You seem to spend most of your time lurking in the hallways and the forest where no one can see you. You just fix anything that needs fixing, and help with anything really difficult or physically straining. Honestly, you seem…more like the handyman…than the…” Too late, it occurred to her that saying this to his face might not be the wisest thing in the world, and she trailed to a stop, “…owner.”

The look he gave her was strange, as if he wasn’t sure whether to be insulted by her assessment or not. “Something wrong with that? Who cares what I do as long as I’m helping?”

“I…” She faltered. “I don’t know. I guess not.” She tipped her head, still concentrating on him. “You said you never really wanted the Sachi, but you’ve lived here for a long time. Do you like it now?”

Again, her question seemed to surprise him, and he took a moment to consider; she took special note--this thoughtful look was his gentlest expression yet. “I guess so. I like fixing things around here, and the people don’t really bother me, because Miroku handles them. It’s mostly quiet, and when it’s not, I can always find quiet in the forest.” His gaze drifted over to the doors shut tight against the cold. “I like the trees.” He paused, frowned a little, voice dropping to a mumble. “Maybe I do like it better here.”

Better? “Better than where?”

“Tokyo.” He answered distractedly, still staring hard at the doors.

“Tokyo?” She recognized the name. Immediately, she identified it as the capital and the largest city in Japan -- and for a moment, something familiar niggled at the edges of her mind. “Tokyo…” She murmured it again almost soundlessly as she frowned, rubbing her fingertips over her temple, trying to grasp at the thought. Whatever it was, it remained just out of reach, teasing her for just a second more before fading away entirely. She released a frustrated breath, looking up to find InuYasha’s alert golden gaze focused on her.

“You remember something?”

She just sighed again, and shook her head. “What was Tokyo like?”

“Tokyo?” He hesitated, then to her dismay, his guarded expression dropped back into place. “Crowded. Busy. Not as many trees.”

He was back to his short, mumbled replies. Kagome would have groaned aloud if she weren’t so tired. “Well, what did you do there? I’m betting you didn’t run an inn.”

“No.” He’d focused his attention on his mug again. “I…owned a business.”

Her eyebrows shot up, betraying her surprise. “A business? What kind?”

His eyes flicked back up to her. “Sporting goods. Outdoor activities. Shit like that.”

Her eyes widened. Sporting goods? An image of him -- growling and intimidating some unwitting customer into buying a set of fishing rods -- flashed through her mind, and an involuntary giggle left her throat. Her laughter startled him out of his wariness for a moment, and he peered at her, affronted. “What’s so funny?”

She shook her head at the absurdity of her thoughts. No way. “Nothing. I guess Miroku was working for you then, too?”

For whatever reason, that was the wrong question to ask, because he immediately looked away. “Miroku’s been around for a long time.”

“And Kaede and Shippou?”

“Less time.”

“Well, you all seem very close.” Kagome hesitated, uncertain about his mood. “Did you all come here together?”

His head angled down, and his bangs fell into his face, effectively hiding his expression. “Something like that. You got anymore questions that are none of your business?” The sudden return of his hostility, in his voice, in his posture, was palpable. It felt almost like a slap in the face.

Cheeks burning, she fell quiet, and he didn’t say anything else. She suspected that talking to him any more tonight would probably prove useless anyway. Disappointed, she shook her head. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked.” A huge yawn hit her before she’d fully formed the sentence, slurring her words. She yawned again, and her arms reached above her head for a moment.

He started to roll his eyes, only to have his gaze stray over the lines of her profile as she stretched. “See how tired you are? Now will you go to bed?”

She sent him a reproachful look at the superiority now lacing his tone, too tired to get really annoyed. Rolling her eyes in return, she stood, cup in hand. “All right, fine. I’m going --” Her right foot stubbed into the leg of the table, and she yelped loudly, hopping on her left foot while somehow managing to set her cup down before it spilled over. The back of her knee hit her chair, and she crashed-sat with a thump. The stinging pain near her toe had her breath hissing from her lungs, and she pulled her right foot up onto her lap, trying to find the source of the ache.

InuYasha had set his mug next to hers almost before she was done yelling, and now stood looking her over with a concerned furrow. “You klutz. You should be more careful around the furniture.” His frown deepened when she ignored him, just continued with her head bent over her injured foot. “What’s the matter? You’re not hurt bad, are you? I didn’t hear anything break.”

She shook her head. “No, nothing like that. But I think I have a….” She trailed off as she looked up to find him crouched next to her chair, trying to see around her hands. It was the closest he’d gotten to her since she’d almost collapsed the day she awoke. For a split-second, breathing was difficult. In her distraction, her thumb brushed over a spot somewhere near her big toe and she winced, pulling her hand away. “Splinter,” she finished belatedly, glaring at the sliver, marked by a small red welt rising on her skin. “See?” She pointed helpfully.

He examined the red mark, then snorted, giving her an exasperated look. “You can’t walk on that.” He glanced at the table with a scowl. “Damn. There must be a rough spot somewhere. I’ll find it and sand it tomorrow.” He gave one last critical glance at her foot, then stood. “All right. Don’t move.”

Her eyes followed him as he went over to the sink, mumbling something to himself. She strained her ears, but only caught the words ‘humans’ and ‘weak’. He ran the water for a few moments, then returned with a wet paper towel in hand. He didn‘t look at her as he returned to the his crouch at her side. “Your foot is all dirty. We have to clean it before the splinter comes out, or it might get infected.”

She nodded, and he reached out and grasped at her foot. Pushing up the leg of her jeans so that his long fingers could wrap around her ankle, he angled it so he could see better in the faint light. Her eyelids flickered and her hands curled reflexively around the seat’s edge, startled as her stomach twisted at the contact; then the textured warmth of the paper towel began swiping over her skin, grabbing her attention. Slowly, carefully, he rubbed at the dirt around her toes and the arch of her foot, taking extra care around the small red spot at the base of her big toe.

Kagome just stared mutely. His touch was light, and his head bent slightly over his task. His hair fell forward so that she couldn’t see his expression, hiding his features behind a wall of silver and shadows. He didn’t speak again; he simply continued his ministrations in silence as she sat unmoving.

The faint chafing of the paper towel as it smoothed over the curves of her foot sounded loudly in the her ears. With each pass, water left a fine layer of damp that cooled instantly in the chill of the room, and she suppressed a startled shiver. When…did it get so cold in here? In contrast, the heat of his hand wrapped around her ankle seemed to burn.

The quiet around them grew thick, heavy with some confusing, foreign expectancy that wrapped around them like an invisible cocoon. Kagome was surprised to find her breathing had grown slow and shallow, the cadence of her lungs unconsciously mimicking the rhythm of the hand that cleaned her foot. Her tongue slipped between her lips, moistening their suddenly dry texture and attempting to distract herself from the strange pulling sensation in her lower belly.

Her gaze focused with fascination on his claws. His fingers shackled her loosely, and the startling, razor-sharp talons at their ends rested gently against her skin. He was cautious of them -- only the tiniest pinpricks of pressure gave any indication of their presence at all. They looked strong and dangerous, and she wondered fleetingly how much damage they could do.

He finished wiping away the dirt to his satisfaction, then tossed the paper towel onto the table. “Don’t move.” He muttered them, the same words as before but heavier in tone, more rough-edged than before. Still, he refused to look at her. His fingers skimmed over her skin, his hand moving from her ankle to her foot; his thumb pressed lightly into the bottom of her arch, while his fingers applied the same pressure from the opposite side. Her toes spread slightly in reaction, then she felt the sharp tips of his claws plucking at the splinter imbedded in her skin.

She stilled, eyes widening and lips parting, but whatever protest she had died in her throat as she felt the extreme care he took, the gentle way he maneuvered his claws around the wood so he wouldn’t tear at her skin. He was surprisingly deft with them, and within minutes had managed to grasp at the sliver. She winced again as it slid from her skin, then relaxed as the pain receded almost immediately.

For a moment they both sat like statues in the dark, unmoving in the quietly charged atmosphere of the kitchen. Then he gave a soft ‘tsk’, and the pad of one finger dabbed at the blood welling up after the splinter.

The tiny touch ran like an electric shock through her entire system, and her lungs suddenly burned, reminding her to breathe. At her sharply indrawn breath, he looked up, and their gazes locked with a distinct spark of awareness. She felt his fingers tighten on her foot -- a brief, involuntary pressure that let up almost as quickly as it started.

Abruptly, he looked away. He spoke, rising from his crouch on the floor. “You’re fine now. Get out of here before you hurt anything else, will ya? I got other things to do besides patch you up, you know.”

The unexpected curtness of his words stung slightly, but his manner remained gentle as he stood. His hand released her foot slowly, fingers dragging away from the skin; the barest scrape of his claws was the last thing she felt before he turned away, and the sensation zinged upward from her foot, dancing briefly with every nerve in her body. Snagging up the mugs on the table in one hand, he walked over to deposit them in the sink.

She blinked as she stared after him, heart thudding at a curiously fast pace, eyes wide as she absorbed his sudden departure. Without his body heat crowding close, she suddenly felt cold. Biting her lip, she glanced down at her foot, then dropped it to the ground. Cautiously, she stood, keeping the majority of her weight on her left foot as she tested her right. The bottom of her foot was a little sore, but it was nothing to bother with now that the splinter was gone. By morning, she’d probably have forgotten it was ever there.

She cast a glance at InuYasha, to where he stood at the sink, rinsing out the cups. Or not. She doubted she’d forget that he’d finally had a real conversation with her…and she felt a distinct loss at the absence of his hands on her skin. Flexing her toes on the bare wood of the floor, she cleared her throat in an effort to dispel the tension lingering in the air. His ears twisted, flicking back toward her, but he didn’t turn. “Thank you…for taking that out for me.”

She caught an odd, shrugging motion of his shoulders, but his only response was an indifferent, muted, “Keh.”

She stared at him for a moment longer, but he didn’t do anything else to acknowledge her. Sighing, she turned and left the room, her gait careful of her wounded foot. Still, she was smiling as she made her way into the small, square room that was slowly becoming hers, closing herself in the dark without bothering to find a light. Hobbling over to the corner where the futon still lay out from the night before, she collapsed onto the covers.

She’d made some progress. He’d talked to her without growling at her, and told her something about himself, even if he had gone back to his suspicion at the end. She had hope that eventually, if she just kept trying, he would drop it altogether and regard her as a friend.

Maybe staying here would be ok after all.

******************************************************************* *****

He shut off the water and rested his elbows against the sink’s edge, staring at the curtains covering the window directly in front of him, waiting for his body functions to go back to normal, for the burning heat coursing through his bloodstream to fade.

Touching her had to be the stupidest thing he’d done in a long time. He scowled. Correction: coming into the room in the first place, even when he knew she was in here, had been the stupidest. He should have just left the hallway the second he caught her scent.

It was the crash, that damned bucket that she couldn’t carry on her own. He’d thought she’d hurt herself, and before he knew it, he’d found himself in the room. Then she’d seen him, and it had been to late to leave. His scowl turned on the fridge as the memory of his idiotic rummaging returned. He’d had a reason for being in here in the first place…but damned if he could remember what it was. Her eyes, widened in stunned awareness, had wiped that bit of information from his brain the second they’d locked with his.

She’d just looked so tired.

He’d been doing so well all week. Avoiding her, staying out of the same room, not watching her…well, not watching her too much, anyway. He’d been hoping that eventually, the strange pull she had on him would fade, and he could pretend she wasn’t around at all, just like he did with most of the guests.

But tonight she’d looked so worn-out, had smelled so exhausted -- and smell was so much harder for him to ignore than looks -- that he’d just found himself helping. The mess, the bucket, then that stupid argument about dirty towels.

Dammit to hell. Miroku was never going to let him forget that, either.

His gaze drifted to the opening through which she’d disappeared. His lip curled. Infuriatingly stupid woman…working too hard, even though she was still recovering. Hell, her bandage had only come off yesterday. That fucking wound on her head still look fucking raw, for gods’ sake! No one would blame her for taking it easy for a while. But no, she had to work herself to the bone, then make him feel guilty for calling her on it -- by apologizing!

Maybe that was why he’d stayed when she suggested cocoa. He still couldn’t figure out what’d happened there -- he’d opened his mouth, fully intending to say no, then get the hell away from her…only to hear himself say yes.

She made good cocoa, though.

He picked up the mugs and started drying them off with some new paper towels from the roll he’d left by the sink. His fingers clung to the feel of the paper towel the same way they’d clung to her skin…even after he’d tried to let go.

Except her skin felt so much better than a paper towel.

He scowled again, viciously, as the memory re-kindled the subtle burning in his blood, and almost threw the mug in retaliation. What the hell had he been thinking? After being so determined all week, why had he given in and touched her?

Because the alternative was carrying her to her bed, idiot.

And what’s so terrible about that?

He grimaced, and picked up the second mug to dry it. She wasn’t the problem here. It was him. Him and his increasing preoccupation with her. She’d taken to the Sachi and its residents so quickly. He couldn’t figure it out.

She’d woken up with no memory, no past, and no direction. Nothing. But within the space of a week, she’d managed to become pretty comfortable with everyone. Kaede trusted her. The brat adored her. And -- while Miroku might not trust her yet--he’d had to watch his manager like a hawk just to make sure he was staying more than an arm’s length away from her. Even the guests liked her.

She didn’t brood, she didn’t sulk -- hell, she hadn’t even cried. The damn woman was always smiling. Smiling at Kaede as they cooked a meal, smiling at Shippou when he proudly displayed his latest drawing, smiling at Miroku when he said something charming. She’d even smiled at him…and she had a nice smile. She’d just slipped right into their routine as if she belonged with them, and it baffled him how. It had taken him months just to accept the Sachi as a living space, much less a home.

Then again, maybe not remembering helped…

He turned and set both mugs in the first empty cupboard space he found, frowning.

…If indeed she didn’t remember. They still had no evidence -- none at all, not even from her -- that she was anything but what she said she was. They had no way to prove anything one way or the other.

He left the kitchen, working his way through the Sachi’s darkened, random hallways to his room at the very back, a route he’d long since memorized. His ears twitched absently to catch the familiar sounds of people shifting in their sleep, assuring him he was the last one awake. Even Miroku’s computer was silent, left closed tight at his desk in the front hall.

The worst part of it was, he was starting to believe her. And that, more than anything, was breaking down his resistance to having anything to do with her. The more he watched her, the more he accepted her. The more he accepted her, the more he found himself drawn to her. Not even his initial hostility to the eerily similar face was proving any hindrance; she was just so different -- in bearing, in mannerism, and most importantly in scent -- that he couldn’t hold on to it.

The door to his room shoved closed behind him, and he immediately crossed the tatami matting to the sliding doors (his room being one of the only ones with a set of doors leading directly outside) and threw them open. He stared outside at the evergreens, darkened almost black in the night, spreading over the uneven rolls of hills and mountains that stretched into the distance. Still green, although Miroku and Kaede were both predicting snow any day now.

He hadn’t wanted to let go of her foot.

His eyes closed, remembering, as his hands clenched tightly. He’d had to force himself to get up and walk away from her, to ignore the tempting shift in her scent the moment he’d touched her. The faint, perilously enticing richness that had curled into the air around her as his fingers had glided over her skin.

And now the memory wouldn’t leave him alone.

Damn, damn, damn!

The pull was growing. The bizarre desire to be around her was getting stronger. He was dangerously close to desire--for someone he trusted less than he could throw.

And that was something he couldn’t afford.

**************************************************************** ********

A/N: All right, I was beginning to think this would never be ready to post. I was going for a specific feel here, so I hope it turned out all right. As always, any feedback, comments, and/or questions are always welcome. Hope you enjoy.

*stretches before sitting back down at her computer* Ok. Let’s see what else I can get written during the rest of my day off. :D

~As always, Quill