Adult-FanFiction.org : Inuyasha / Yashahime

Love Marches On	By : InitialA Category: InuYasha AU/AR > Het - Male/Female Views: 1353 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own InuYasha, nor make money from this story.

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- 1-Love Marches On
- 1
Title: Love Marches
On
By: InitialA
Rating: M
Genre:
Angst/Romance/Tragedy
Universe: AU
Summary: My duty is
not to stand behind him with pom-poms. I am the marble pillar of strength, with
no one to lean on. I am the one to pick up the pieces when the government
tosses him back to me. I am a military wife.
Warnings: Various
kinds of abuse. The ugly truth. It�s never easy and
it�s not always pleasant, but it�s there. This was not easy for me to write.
Author�s Note: I�ve
been through this backwards and forwards. It�s the darker side of courage. It�s
not always happy and ends well. I know. I lived it, or at least part of it.
Please brace yourselves; this has been stretched for dramatic purposes, but it
has happened. This is in dedication to all the military servicemen and women I
know and don�t know, and to their wives, husbands, and significant others who have to pick up the pieces when it�s over.

�� I don�t
remember exactly when I started smoking. I think it was somewhere during the
second deployment, when three months went by without a word from him or his
unit. I cried myself to sleep at night, threw up from anxiety during the day,
and never went anywhere without a phone. I think I lost about fifteen pounds
from stress alone. The other women in my support group looked about the same:
all of us with bags under our eyes from worried, sleepless nights and long,
silent days. Something had to calm me down, and nicotine was my drug of choice.
When Kouga came to tell me he was
alive and coming home, I think I screamed loudly enough to be heard all the way
at the Pentagon. I didn�t even notice the shadow in Kouga�s
eyes as I danced around the living room; he didn�t have the heart to tell me
the rest of the story.
�� He took
me to the VA on the other side of the base three weeks later. I wasn�t nervous
until we were standing outside of the doors. Kouga squeezed my shoulder, and we
went inside.
I stared in numbed silence at the
man beneath the tubes and the bandages: my husband. He would heal more quickly
than expected, the doctors told me, and would even regain his sight in another
week or so thanks to his demon blood, but it would be a long road to full
recovery. They droned on, but I stopped listening. I sat next to this battered,
courageous shell of a man, and gently took his hand. I felt a faint squeeze in
return. I blinked back tears, hardening my heart. I�d seen enough of my
friends� husbands return in good health, but with shadows in their eyes, to
know what the doctors were talking about. I think I shook a little at that
realization, but I steeled myself. If my husband could risk himself to save two
squads of men from an IED and still crawl back to life, I could handle PTSD.
�� It
wasn�t bad the first few months. InuYasha was awarded several honors, including
the Purple Heart, for his duties overseas and for his bravery for saving the
men he served with. It was a bittersweet moment as I watched his buddies wheel
him on stage to receive his honors. I was proud of him, and happy he was being
honored for his sacrifice, but inside I wept for why.
He went to therapy and in time, his
health returned. We celebrated that night by going to dinner and dancing�something
I teased him about during the weeks of therapy; he�d promised me before he left
that we would celebrate his return in that way.
It started out as a wonderful
evening. InuYasha didn�t tire as I thought he might; we laughed and danced and
ate well for a couple on an infantry-level military budget. We�d sat back down
to have another glass of wine, laughing at something that had happened the
previous day during PT, when one of the bus boys dropped a loaded tray of
dishes. InuYasha�s reaction was instantaneous: he flew to the floor, pulling me
down with him and tipping the table over as a shield. I tried snapping him out
of it as he screamed �Surrender! Surrender or I�ll shoot!� in Arabic, but his
eyes were faraway, as if he couldn�t even see me; he was pale, sweating, and
breathing hard.
�� It took
twenty minutes to calm him down enough to leave. He ended up locking himself in
the bathroom that night, and I could hear frightened sobbing through the door.
I could do nothing but sit on the other side of the door and cry my own tears
for him.
�� He
refused to see the psychiatrist. I begged and pleaded as the days wore into
nights; four nights of seven he would wake, violently, in the night, his jaw
and neck muscles working to conceal his screams, fear-sweat dripping down his
face. Six months after he�d returned, I found him passed out on our couch,
empty beer bottles everywhere. I was disgusted, and once he sobered up he swore
to never do it again.
That promise was short-lived.
It began gradually. Saturday nights
he would have several beers, and I would make him sleep on the couch. Saturdays
evolved into weekends. Several beers turned into cases. Weekends turned into
weeknights. Cases turned into fifths of the hard stuff. Weeknights turned into
days. Once his unit was dismissed for the day, he hit the bottle. Hard. He became unstable, violent, and cruel. He hit me once
for not returning from the store when he thought I would. He screamed at me,
yelled obscenities, and broke bottles before passing out.
Three months later, I was staying
with Kouga�s family, with bruises on my neck and a
scar at my side: delusional, InuYasha had thought me enemy spy trying to seduce
him into giving information. His claws punctured my side, as his other hand
grasped at my neck. We fought, and after a few well-placed kicks I escaped with
minimal damage. I still wake up with my own night horrors from that night. I
can only be thankful he�d been too drunk to remember where the keys to the gun
case were.
�� For
now, I�m still staying at the Ookami�s. InuYasha
placed himself in alcohol rehabilitation after learning what had happened. He�s
under orders to see a shrink three times a week, and I hear it�s helped him
some. He needs rides to and from the rehab center these days; he was placed
under in-patient treatment for detox, and after
observation he was allowed to being outpatient treatment. Kouga or one of his
buddies usually picks him up, but I need to begin my own healing process. My
own therapist suggested it. So, I�m driving him home today, the first I�ve seen
him since he started rehab; his license was revoked the moment he�d entered the
program. I throw the butt of my cigarette in the street and watch him as he
realizes it�s me standing at the curb. �Kagome?�
�� Hey,�
I reply, my hands shaking in their pockets.
�� I�m��
I know he can�t say what he wants
to yet. It�s okay. I�m not sure I�m ready to accept it, which is okay too. I
love him, but he�ll need to fix it. I let him kiss me softly on the forehead. I
notice my shaking lessens, and a knot begins to loosen in my chest. We�ll get
through this, eventually. We just need time and courage.

((I had to prune this to fit the word limit, so I�m sorry if it seems
choppy. Also, this touches on some very tough subjects. Several of them I
personally experienced after my ex-boyfriend returned from the war, though some
of them not to the extent that was described here, so please be warned that
harsh words will be countered with my own. This was not easy for me to write at
all, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Semper Fi and God bless.))
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Love Marches On