InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Waiting on a Wish ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: InuYasha and company all belong to Rumiko Takahashi and everyone she shares him with. I’m just borrowing him for my own private little fantasy which I am happy to share with you. :p

A/N: the terms youkai and demon are used interchangeably in this story.

CHAPTER 1

Frantic pounding woke her from a sound sleep. With a sleep-nonsensed mutter, she glanced at the glowing red numbers on her alarm. Three a.m. She let out a long moan. No, no, no, no. She’d just finished her monthly twenty-four hour shift at the clinic five hours ago. She deserved to sleep. She’d earned her sleep. The person pounding on her door seemed to disagree. Sluggishly, she pulled herself from her cocoon of sheets, pillows, and her favorite soft, warm, goose-down comforter.

Grumbling, she pulled on a thin dressing robe, very aware that she wore nothing but her underwear, having been too tired when she walked through the door to do anything but shed her work clothes and fall into bed. She stumbled through her small apartment, swearing mildly as she almost tripped over the shoes she’d left flung in the entryway. After twenty-four hours straight at the clinic on nothing but fifteen minute nap intervals, if whoever dared to wake her now wasn’t already dead or dying, they were about to be.

“Kagome! Wake up. We have to hurry!”

Blinking rapidly, Kagome stopped and stared at her front door, momentarily disoriented. “Sango?” Realization struck suddenly and she slipped the bolt and yanked the door, panicked. “Sango! What happened? Did someone get hurt? Is it Kohaku? Your Father? Is Miroku all right?” She stopped in shock.

Her best friend Sango stood panting in front of her door, her hair a mess, her expression intense. Her sleek black hunting uniform was ripped in several places, showing slashed skin and blood, the pink armor trimming it stained with splotches of burgundy. Too much for it all to be hers. “Sango! You’re hurt! Come in! Let me…”

Sango was shaking her head vigorously, the dirt on her face mixing with a particularly nasty gash on her cheek, dripping a thin, dark line down her throat. “We don’t have time, Kagome. You have to come now. He’s hurt and he needs help. He’s not healing on his own like he normally does, and I’m afraid that whatever injured him was poisonous. If you don’t come, that idiot might actually die.”

Sango was pulling her hand, yanking her out the door and into the hallway of her little apartment complex. “Wha…Sango wait! I’m not dressed!” She was already heading for the stairs. Kagome barely had time to tug the door shut behind her before she felt herself yanked over the side of the balcony. She screeched as they began to fall.

“Kirara!”

Almost immediately, she found her bottom cushioned in thick yellow fur, Sango landing expertly in front of her.

“Hello, Kirara.” Kagome greeted the giant cat gratefully, relieved that they hadn’t plummeted to the ground two stories below. Kirara purred fondly before her feet flamed and she flew straight up into the air. A gasp ripped from her throat as the bottom dropped from her stomach, and she clutched at Sango, desperate to hold on as they soared over the city.

“Where are we going?” She called to her friend as she shivered in the cool air rushing all around them. Kagome glanced around uncertainly, aware of how little she was wearing.

“To the clinic. I left him there.” Sango shouted back.

“Where are we going, Sango? Who’s hurt? It’s not Miroku, is it?” Kagome anxiously went through her mind. She could only think of three men who could worry Sango so much, and it could be any of them. She knew that Miroku sometimes accompanied Sango on her hunts. Since Miroku was a friend, the possibility concerned her.

“No, Miroku wasn’t with us tonight, he had an exam tomorrow with master Mushin, although he may show up, since I called him to let him know when you weren't at the clinic.”

She shivered again, pulling her robe tighter, silently thanking the gods that she still wore her underwear as the wind tossed the robe in all directions around her body. “You were already at the clinic? Then why do you need me? Dr. Hiraga's the on-staff doctor for the night.”

Sango let out a barely tolerant snort. “That old man was deep in the sake tonight, Kagome. He could barely hold the bottle, much less look at a patient.” She hesitated. “I thought you would be better than that old drunk. I trust you, not him. He’s a friend, and I want him to get the best care I know of. That’s you, Kagome.”

Kagome's response was a grimace. Dr. Hiraga was the main supervisor at the clinic where she worked, and he had the knowledge, skills, and credentials to work on almost anyone. Unfortunately, thanks to the perpetually filled flask he carried on his person, he didn't always have the ability. It wasn't usually an emergency, and almost always the other doctors were able to cover for him, but She wondered what the penalty would be for smacking her superior.

“Besides, this one needs a specialist. He’s hanyou. ”

Hanyou. Kagome nodded. Demons and their drugs made for big money in the modern health care industry. Most modern-day doctors scoffed at the ancient traditions of medicine, relying on science and lab-tested, government-approved medications instead. But modern day drugs had different affects on demons than humans – sometimes none at all – and different care had to be given to different species. So specialists had sprung up, and Kagome was one of them. Or at least, she was a budding specialist. She'd been studying hanyou her entire medical career, after becoming intrigued by the differences in their physiology in college.

“What are his injuries?” She called out as they landed just outside the swinging front doors of the well-appointed two-story facility.

Sango just shook her head and jumped off, pulling Kagome with her. They dashed through the swinging glass doors, and into the waiting area. None of the nurses who should have been on duty were in sight. Dr. Hiraga lay sprawled across three of the well-cushioned chairs – sleeping, from the terrible noise his nasal passages were producing. Lucky for him they had no overnights that night. Kagome’s temper flared, but she didn’t even have time to yell at him for sleeping on the job while she had to look at his patients. She was jerked past the reception desk with its sleek and humming computer systems and into the back, through the multiple exam rooms silently waiting for patients, to the rear of the building, where all the emergency rooms and equipment were kept.

The icy linoleum froze her bare feet as they came to a stop in emergency room three. “Oh damn.”

Lying on the stainless steel exam table in front of her was a male figure, his face white from blood loss, eyes closed. Long, silvery white hair fanned out in tangled, bloody clumps over the side of the table, and the most adorable velvet white dog ears nestled among the strands at the top of his head, one ear shredded in half and bleeding profusely. Cuts and scrapes nicked his skin everywhere, and his feet were bare. One clawed hand clutched desperately to a black-sheathed sword next to his body. The red haori he’d been dressed in was pulled off his shoulders and gathered around his waist, but the cream one underneath was still on him, sealed to his skin by the copious amounts of blood draining steadily from his body. His breathing was light, thready, barely there, the rise of his chest minuscule. He was very definitely in need of help.

Kagome drew a deep, steadying breath, and looked askance at her friend, immediately turning to a nearby cupboard, pulling out a scalpel, some herbs, and all the bandages she could find. “Sango. He has a hole in his chest.” Her voice was clipped, authoritative. “A big hole. What put it there?”

Sango looked helpless. “I don’t know. The Alliance sent us out early tonight to find a rogue in Marunouchi. We split up to look for it; InuYasha found it first. By the time that I got there, he looked like this. The demon was dead, but it was in so many pieces, I couldn't tell what it was, and I didn't really look too long.”

Kagome paused in the act of cutting away the patient’s clothing from the area of injury. “Why do you think it’s poisonous?”

“Because he’s not healing at his normal rate. The blood just kept flowing until he collapsed.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “I couldn’t even drag the stubborn ass out here until he was unconscious. He kept insisting he was fine.”

Kagome shook her head, drawing in a hiss of sympathy as she finished slicing the fabric from around the wound, revealing the extent of the damage. Her eyes widened. It was huge, cutting a smooth, oblong hole the size of a human fist straight through the center of his chest, all the way through his back. If he were a normal human, he would already be dead. She frowned at the pus and bubbling infection around the edges of the injury. Definitely poison…the blood on her fingers was starting to burn.

Damn it!

Working quickly, Kagome rinsed her hands and encased them in gloves. Chewing on her bottom lip, she chose the herbs that she needed and thrust them at Sango. “Here. Mix those and crush them together in that bowl.” She frowned at her friend, glancing critically over Sango's blood-spattered costume while she lay out the bandages. “And wash your hands and face. I think you might be right about the poison. Whatever it is, it's eating away at his skin tissue, working against his normal healing rate. If any of it got onto you, it could be worse. We need to cleanse his wound before we treat it, so hurry.”

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He looked so peaceful when he slept.

Kagome collapsed into a nearby chair, exhausted. Her head lolled onto the back of the chair, and she glanced uninterestedly at the clock on the wall. Six a.m. Gods. Not since the life-sucking hours they'd made her pull in med school had she felt so drained. She didn’t even have the strength to get up and change into scrubs. She glanced down at her now bloody robe, and a wry smile lifted her lips in reluctant acknowledgement that it might be a good thing he was sleeping. She hadn’t bathed or slept decently in almost three days, and she probably looked like one of the rogue youkai it was his job to hunt down. Not to mention the fact that she was practically naked. Her satisfied gaze drifted over his healing form.

He really is gorgeous.

Everything about him screamed strength, from the well-shaped, clawed hands, to the sleek muscles that rippled under every inch of well-defined skin. His hair – washed and drying now – would make the most beautiful supermodel purple in jealous rage, and those ears…

Lifting her head, Kagome bit her lip and looked around. Sango was gone, probably talking with Miroku, who had shown up about thirty minutes after she had started treatment. No one else was around. She scooted forward and reached out. Her hands ran over his ears, her mouth smiling at the silky velvet texture. She frowned when she reached the cut rending the left ear almost in two. Now there was an absolute crime.

Sighing, she slumped back into her chair. At least they were healing. They’d managed to cleanse the wound of its hindering impurities, and his natural youkai healing had immediately taken over, seaming skin and bone together at a rapid rate. He would be healed enough to leave by late afternoon.

Another frown passed over her brow. It had taken much longer than it should have to cleanse his wound, and the poison had continued to eat away at his skin until completely purified. It bothered her that the strain had been both unfamiliar and virulent. He was lucky she’d been able to help, and even luckier to get help when he did. Much later and he would have died.

It bothered her, too – more than she wanted to admit – that she had almost lost him.

Another sigh and she reached out, gently brushing a thread of silver away from the strong line of his jaw, grazing skin. Her hand drifted downward, marveling at the solidness of his body and the hidden strength of sleek muscle, down over the thick bandages now padding his chest before coming to rest on his long, clawed fingers. She squeezed them, running her fingertips over his, feeling the rough calluses, carefully avoiding the sharp edges.

Dropping her hand into her lap, she propped her head on one hand and watched him breath. He was okay. He was fine now that his own natural healing ability had taken over, and would probably be awake in a few hours. She knew that and yet....

Just a little longer and I’ll change and go home, she promised herself.

She had this odd feeling, a peculiar little urge that demanded she make sure he kept breathing, and a deep, chilling fear that if she left him for any reason, he would do just that. It was something she couldn't explain, and just then she was just too damn tired to try.

She just wanted to watch him.

Just a little longer…. Her eyes slowly drifted closed.

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The scent coaxed him out of the blackness and into painful awareness. His body hurt everywhere. He sniffed again, drawing in that incredible scent. He grimaced as his pain-hazed mind tried to assimilate the information his nose was giving him. Female. The scent was definitely female. Enticingly female. No perfume, just the faintest traces of soap covered by the bitter tang of medicines and herbs, and lots of warm, weary skin.

And blood. His blood. He had to see.

Golden eyes snapped open, feverishly seeking the source of the elusive smell. A room he’d never seen before. The scent of various wounded youkai and humans lingered in the air, all stale and wilting. Sango and Miroku were here too, so he was probably safe. Where the hell was that scent?

Bending an elbow, he attempted to sit up. Blinding pain prevented his movement and he blinked, looking down. Shit. Godsdamned youkai. No wonder he smelled his own blood. He bit back a growl. That stupid spider demon had been less than nothing. Biggest damned spider he’d ever seen, but still almost not worth the practice. What the hell had gone wrong? He remembered the fang piercing his chest, and ripping the thing to pieces. He remembered the burning in his blood, and Sango, then…that scent.

She’s close.

His head turned. Shock stole his breath at the sight of the young woman sleeping in a chair next to his bed. It wasn’t the skimpy night robe, or his blood soaking her skin and clothes. It was her face. Her beautiful, familiar face.

His hands clenched. Anger flared, then died quickly. Eyes narrowed as he leaned a little closer, studying her features, ignoring the pain. He sniffed again, examining her exotic scent.

No. Not her. He relaxed.

Even her features were different, although remarkably similar. Same blue-black hair, although this girl’s curled just slightly as it fell in thick waves over her shoulder. Her skin was different, too--richer somehow, filled with warmth and color. She wasn’t the same.

Wait. Confusion drew his brows low over his eyes. If not her, then didn't that mean something else? Something more important, but his brain wasn't cooperating and refused to relinquish the “more important” part from the pain-hazed depths of his brain. The effort to recall was too much, so he let it go. His eyes traveled over her curiously.

She looked half dead. He bristled at the dark circles under her eyes. Why the hell was she so tired, anyway? He could smell her exhaustion. Didn’t the idiot girl know when to rest?

He shifted to move, but the pain stopped him, waves of fire rippling throughout his body. Damn...it!

Fine. She could rest here, but she needed a better place than the godsdamned chair. His eyes focused on her body. He glowered, his temper degrading with his level of helplessness. And what the fuck was with that outfit? Practically everything was showing. He measured her generous curves, taking special note of the cottony green lace panties peaking through the slit of her robe – which did nothing to her hide slim, creamy thighs.

A tiny growl issued from his throat. What was she thinking, wearing that to treat a wounded patient? She was cold, too. She was shivering in her sleep.

Stupid girl.

Gritting his teeth, he sat up in one smooth movement. He could feel the hole in his chest starting to open up again, and little tremors formed at the severity of the pain. He ignored it, reaching for the woman sleeping in the chair. One great heave and he had her in his arms, on his bed. Falling back, he closed his eyes, concentrating on his breathing. Sweat coated his skin as the pain of his action broadsided him. He could feel fresh blood seeping from his wound. Shit.

The partially clothed girl with the alluring scent shifted in his arms, making a small sound of distress before turning slightly to spoon against him.

His expression immediately softened. She must be exhausted if she didn’t wake up after that. He blew out a short breath, and buried his nose in her hair, inhaling deeply. Amazement filled him as he felt his body relax, and peace filled his mind. One arm curved around her luscious body, just below her breasts, securing her against him. His eyes drifted closed.

His ears twitched, following the sounds in the building, making sure no enemies waited for his guard to drop. He could hear Sango murmuring to Miroku in a nearby room, and Kirara waited somewhere close, curled up in her kitten form. He could smell several females present, but they were harmless; and a strange male was in the building as well, but he was drunk and unconscious--again, no threat.

His hand curled around the sword at his side. Reassured, he allowed himself to sink back into the relative painlessness of oblivion.

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