Adult-FanFiction.org : Inuyasha / Yashahime

Waiting on a Wish	By : Quillwing717 Category: InuYasha > General Views: 42890 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own InuYasha, nor make money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
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.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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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Waiting on a Wish