Pound Puppy by susie

Chapter 1

A/N:  Woo-hoo!  Looks like this one is going to be my 30th fic!!  I wasn't sure which one would get done first, but I'm kinda glad its this one actually.

You'll notice I tried something new, so I hope you like it.  Enjoy!!

***

Months pass in that uncomfortable chair as she watches men trickle through the open door in the back. It's a miraculous sight as one by one, hard and haggard expressions light up with varying degrees of joy, relief and affection.

That such tough and frightening men could turn almost soft on a dime even in the bleakest of circumstances is uplifting enough to nearly encourage a smile of her own, but envy coils around her heart too tightly, and pairs poorly with the anticipation roiling in her gut. After a steady stream of disappointment, she unglues her gaze and spares it to the clock high up on the wall.

'Seven minutes late,' she notes anxiously, and shifts in her seat. 'Where is he?'

She wouldn't doubt for a second that he was coming if it were he who had made such assurances; but it wasn't, and her heart had been broken several times by this point. Too many.

She swore not to get her hopes up again, but a part of her knew there was no way she could keep that promise to herself. If he doesn't make it this time, she literally doesn't know if she will survive it.

On her right, the divider is doing a poor job of muffling her neighbors' private conversation; prolonged, involuntary separation no doubt lending it a lasciviousness that would make Miroku blush.

It goes unnoticed, however. There is no vacancy in her thoughts; for every square inch is occupied by a murderous dog demon - and has been since he set up shop there six weeks ago.

There have always been barriers between them - some self-imposed - but this time it's literal. Once again, an impenetrable wall keeps him out of reach. She can sense her anxiety mount, and seeks a remedy in letting her gaze drift over her own side of the glass.

Littered with lawyers and loved ones; she can't claim to be either. She wishes she were both, and wonders which he needs more right now. Which he'd prefer.

It doesn't matter; she's all he has. All he would have.

The insufficiency of that is glaring as she looks around the cold, heavily guarded space. He helped her escape Naraku's body once, and she longs to return the favor. But she's not optimistic.

The chair's hard plastic is inhospitable, and she shifts again; wondering not for the first time if she looks alright. Idle thoughts have a penchant for self-destruction as of late, so she really doesn't appreciate his tardiness- though she knows it isn't his fault. The former master of the universe had been stripped of his agency, let alone control over his daily schedule. She often agonizes over how he is fairing with that.

As she is forced to wait, her thoughts are spent no differently than they had otherwise been- toggling between that fateful night, and the last time she had seen him... in the flesh, at least.

The nature of the crime ensured the coverage would be relentless, but this criminal was particularly photogenic. His handsome face is everywhere, even her dreams. Inescapable, even under lock and key.

By the mob of fangirls outside, she predicts that won't change anytime soon. He probably gets hundreds of letters; she knows a few who has sent them. It would explain why he hasn't written back.

Her breath hitches when another orange jumpsuit invades her periphery, stealing her attention back to the open doorway. Despite his ridiculous height, the state-issued material is obviously meant to accommodate a man of more generous carriage. XXL covers both planes of size here, so the perfectly tailored demon of prior is forced to swim in the baggy clothing as it bunches at his ankles - the long, rough denim sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms to help mitigate.

She sits up straighter as he ducks beneath the doorframe.

And of course, his escort immediately follows. Sesshoumaru's eyes seek hers, and she is quickly reminded that he can sense her likely no better than she can sense him. His once-indominable youki is now barely detectible; but as she stretches her reiki out and engulfs him in her soothing assessment, weak traces are there, proving that - while dormant – it isn't completely gone.

Though it brings little solace, as his tattoos' dulled appearance is a glaring reminder of what he had lost. What she had taken from him.

The number stitched above his breast burns itself into her brain.

She's been waiting for this moment for six long weeks; since the slam of that wretched gavel pulverized her heart, tearing a scream from her throat that echoed off the courtroom walls. And long after she'd grown hoarse with despair, the agony that gripped her instantly has still yet to slacken its hold.

She scraped and clawed to reach his side then, and hasn't stopped. But now that she's here, all the words she practiced are dead in her throat while the object of her daily torment is close enough to touch – provided 3 inches of bulletproof glass wasn't preventing it, of course.

He wore the same thing then – that awful, orange uniform of the damned that no one but he could ever look amazing in - and it transports her to the terrible day she is forced to keep reliving.

~ She had been granted a front row seat as he gave his chilling recount - a reward for her miraculous, inexplicable recovery. Expression cold and placid as ever and youki notably muted; his nonchalance as he clinically described the grizzly event sent a shiver through the courtroom. Despite the swell of support he'd garnered, it was an open and shut case. Not only did he nail his own coffin shut; he'd commissioned it, and jumped willingly inside.

And he was lying his ass off.

She tried to set them straight, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. A traumatic brain injury has a funny way of nullifying one's credibility. And he knew it.

Horrified blue eyes never left him during his stone-faced fabrication, but he'd not spared her a glance. Not until after his sentence was levied with the cold crack of wood sealing his fate, and they began leading him away. She cried his name and rushed desperately to reach him. She just wanted to touch him – to embrace him for even a moment – but she was not permitted, and forcibly restrained.

He'd finally met her gaze then, and that's when it hit her with the force of a head-on collision.

Twenty years. They were taking him away for twenty years.

And he hadn't looked perturbed in the slightest. At worst, it appeared to be a mild inconvenience for him, but he hardly allowed them even that. She was the one who broke down.

She was the one being punished. ~

Despite the small, swollen cut on his cheekbone, she thinks he somehow looks happier now - given, he had been stoic as always back then; and painfully resolved, but sure. He looks better, and she doesn't know how to feel about that. She supposes it's not a bad thing, but she's been so worried for him. Leave it to him to come out of prison looking refreshed.

When he locates her, that elusive smile of hers makes a genuine appearance for the first time in six weeks; and just like the parade of inmates that filed in before him, his entire expression lightens. Even the great Western Lord is not immune to the effects of a friendly face in this very unfriendly place.

She distantly knows she is gaping - if his amused glint is anything to go by. And while inappropriate, his smile is not unwelcome.

He appears eager to come to her; but centuries of discipline allow him to remain perfectly still while his guard escort finishes removing the steel cuffs chained to his belt. Once given the order, the Lord of the Western Lands acquiesces with an obedient nod and makes his way over as a sickening mixture of elation and fear play games with her insides.

He moves far too slowly for her liking; and before he reaches his chair, she already has the phone's speaker smashed to her ear. Holding her gaze unblinkingly, he seems to enjoy her torment as he makes a show of sitting down. Blue eyes plead with him from behind bulletproof glass - but he savors the moment, drinking her in to the fullest and wasting not a drop.

Finally, mercifully, he plucks his phone off the wall, lifting it from its cradle with agonizing languor. Placing it only to his ear; his smile endures while he keeps the receiver away, suspending it torturously while still never breaking her gaze.

And he waits.

This is finally it. She could speak to him now, and he would hear her. All she has to do is form the words.

But an eternity passes in the span of seconds, and nothing comes.

It could be sadism staying his tongue, she decides, or it could be courtesy. Or it could be that he has all the time in the world, and nowhere to be.

He tilts the phone towards his lips at last, and leans in on his forearm.

"A sight for sore eyes."

That smooth, honeyed tone carries through the phone line, though it does not do it justice. It still manages to warm her all the way through her ear and down her neck until it reaches her toes.

"Sesshoumaru-" she gasps. It's all she can say.

"You look even more beautiful than the last time I saw you." Smiling sincerely; his gaze is appreciative but not intrusive as it settles over her like a warm pelt. He looks more at peace than she has ever seen him - and appears content to remain simply staring at her for the duration of the visit.

"That can't be possible." She blushes, failing to maintain eye-contact.

"I did not think so either."

She obsessed over her appearance that last day, insisting on perfection as a way of quelling her turbulent thoughts. Everyone thought it was for the cameras, but her stunning presentation was the culmination of a distraction effort she'd imposed upon herself to avoid self-destructing.

And sure, she put in some effort prior to this long-awaited visit as well; but the trauma of the last month and a half has left her haggard and tired and aged. At least, that is how she feels.

But general compliments seem to carry more weight coming from him; because he doesn't just say things - he means them literally. And it in no way diminishes it knowing she is most likely the first female he's seen in over a month.

"Did you get my letters?" she asks, bypassing her embarrassment. "I've been writing you."

"I got them." His kind smile endures with an affirming bow. "My apologies for not responding; however, circumstances would not permit it."

"I heard you were put into solitary." She frowns, remembering getting turned away on her first attempt to visit him. They are tight-lipped and vague; but she still always called ahead after that. "Did something happen?"

Even despite who he is – what he is - she can't help being worried about him; but it is more for the choices he is making in there than any punishments they could dish out- which, compared to feudal demon warfare, had to feel like summer camp to him.

"Nothing to be concerned about," he assures her; though she doubts he would tell her if it was. He certainly doesn't seem concerned, but her focus falls back to the laceration on his cheek slightly discoloring his faded stripe.

"You have to be careful." Her tone is firm, but her eyes pleading. "If you kill anyone in there, they will add time to your sentence. But you can get out early for good behavior if you are a model prisoner."

"I am aware, Kagome." He eases back in his seat comfortably. In contrast, she is gripping the phone so tightly, she might break it.

"I have twenty years ahead of me, and a show of force now to establish my dominance will save me countless altercations throughout my tenor. I know what I am doing."

Forcing herself to relax, she decides to believe him. She knows he isn't stupid; it's just hard to imagine Sesshoumaru playing by anyone's rules but his own. Being humble and obedient instead of obstinate, even to save his life. Not challenging his oppressors, but biding his time.

Though, he certainly had it in spades. And she knows the ageless demon to be patient. Knows the accomplished warrior is a capable strategist.

Still, she has to bat back the fears she harbors of him carelessly racking up life sentences just to show how little it affects him. Just to be defiant.

"How are you doing?" she finally asks, leaning closer to the glass that separates them.

He smiles, following suit. "I am well."

"You look well."

He does, and she allows herself to enjoy that a moment- allows the knowledge to soothe her- but concern quickly overruns her appreciation.

"I added to your commissary, but you've hardly touched your account."

"Unnecessary," he insists, waving her off. "Save your money. I do not require much more than the prison provides."

Right before his trial, he placed most of his money into lucrative investments sure to appreciate handsomely by the time he is released, but he'd opened her an account too. Just a fraction of his fortune, but it has already earned enough to keep her comfortable for the foreseeable future.

He told her it was hers, but it doesn't feel right spending his money on anything that won't help him get out of prison. She considers herself more of a money manager- a trustee, authorized to make decisions while he is stuck in there.

But he doesn't seem to appreciate her outlook.

"I want you to have everything you need," she says. "Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all? Just say the word."

"As a matter of fact, there is."

She snaps to attention, more than willing to track down anything he needs and do whatever he wants with it. Her breath won't come as he stares meaningfully into her eyes.

"Stop worrying about me and live your life."

The request clearly disappoints her as she deflates back into her seat. He folds his arms on the counter, still managing to look dignified in a scratchy orange jump suit.

"I sacrificed quite a bit so that you could, and I do not wish to see my efforts wasted," he adds superiorly, and remains calm in the face of her scowl.

"What am I supposed to do?" she asks hotly. "Leave you here to rot while I pretend like you aren't stuck here because of me?"

He watches as incredulity turns to hurt, uncommonly powerless behind his glass shield. "I thought you knew me better than that."

"I will be fine," he says. She supposes she should find solace that losing his freedom hasn't cost him a drop of his confidence. "Twenty years is nothing to me, but you are in your prime. Go enjoy it," he urges; but to her, he is being flippant. "And after I am released, you will show This One what you have done with it. You do owe that much, and I expect a great deal from you."

So hopeful and light, you'd never think he was the one in a cage as icy blue eyes glare back.

"I will fill you in along the way," she says sternly - non-negotiable - and his optimism falters. "I'm getting a place in town, and I am coming to visit you as much as possible."

"Kagome-"

The first fissures of worry crack his careless features at the determination in her tone; knowing once her mind is made up about something, there is no getting around it.

"Sorry, but there isn't much you can do to stop me," she says, and she is painfully right. Shaking her head to ward off any argument gets the desired result, as he can only watch on helplessly.

"And in the meantime, I am doing everything I can to get you out of here. I'm working with your lawyer on an appeal."

With a heavy sigh of exasperation, he falls back in his plastic chair. "It is pointless. You are wasting your time."

"Time I owe to you," she counters.

Frustrations born from lack of recourse are stacked high on both sides of the glass; but she clearly has the edge over him - at present. Saving his strength for a winnable battle, Sesshoumaru resigns himself to her stubbornness and relents for the time being.

He has nothing but time to spare, but precious little of it with her. He does not want to waste it arguing- especially when it is a dead end.

She sees the surrender in his eyes and posture the same time as his lips twist into a half-smirk, and the thrill of victory rejuvenates her.

"In that case, I wish to hear about the life I have given you, and what you are doing with it," he states plainly. "How is work? Still on administrative leave?"

"No. I quit."

He hides his concern fairly well, but her disgust is more than clear through her sneering lip. "I'm done with the force. I wanted to make a difference; I wanted to help people get justice."

"And you have," he assures her.

Despite the warm feeling his confidence sends through her; it is a sad, defeated feeling keeping her down. She shakes her head.

"Not the way I wanted to. I found out that the only way to affect change is by playing dirty - and then I am no better than them." She meets his gaze intently; her painful decision had not been made lightly.

"If I corrupt my values just to get results, no matter how well-intended, it will only be a matter of time before I'm just another dirty cop. I mean, just look at me already!" she gestures at herself distastefully with her free hand. "Only two years in, and I already-"

"Miko." The harsh, commanding baritone bites just as hard through the phone, silencing her instantly. His dangerous glare is one she didn't know she'd missed. "Not. Here."

He speaks clearly and slowly, so there is no chance of confusion. She doesn't like it, but even through her defiant countenance, she will not disobey.

But she is starting to crumble. The stress becomes overwhelming, and suddenly, having him so close – being able to see and speak to him, but not touch – feels worse than not having him at all.

"I want to talk without all these eyes on us," she blurts, gaze darting to the guards. 'And ears,' goes unspoken, knowing all conversations are recorded.

Their interference clearly aggravates her; but as he watches on sympathetically, her irritation melts into something a little shier, corrupting the assured confidence she displayed only minutes ago.

"Since we're married," she intoned, "you can receive, um... family visits once a month."

His eyes widen noticeably for several reasons as she tries to glaze past it quickly. "You just need to put me on your visitor's list to get approved."

She feels like she can see him processing each part of her statement separately in real time; and once her meaning registers, she sees hesitation searching for a reason to deny her. She glowers.

"If you don't, I will just say everything I want to tell you right now-"

"I will add you," he promises, reaching out with his free hand; clawless fingertips atop the counter almost touch the glass.

She instantly brightens; and that warmth from earlier returns, but removes a heavy weight that lets her feel her happiness fully. She doesn't know when hugging him became so important, but it is everything to her in that moment that someday soon, she might be able to.

"But you have to keep your nose clean from now on." Becoming serious again, her gaze returns to his slightly puffed cheekbone, and she knows it is dangerous to hope. Nothing is guaranteed, but she has her eyes on the prize. She has to make sure he does as well.

"It's meant to serve as incentive; so you need to be good, or they will take away the privilege."

"And quite an incentive it is," he purrs appreciatively, eyes glinting. At her faint blush, he straightens up a bit, lifting his chin. "Henceforth, I shall be the most well-behaved inmate in Sheridan Correctional."

"Thank you," she sighs. Her relief is palpable in that moment, for a promise from him is as good as stated fact.

Something comfortable passes between them as silence ensues. Something that even their government-imposed barrier can't get between. It almost feels like it was before all this- how it was just starting to feel. It's a relief to know that it isn't gone.

"So, we are to remain married," he finally breaks the spell. "I assumed our union would end with the trial."

"I never said I wanted it to."

He'd been adamant she move on, and not concern herself with him. The last thing he wants is for her to waste energy and youth dwelling on his situation, when he will be perfectly fine.

But despite her defying his orders, and going against his explicitly expressed wishes on the matter, her stubborn decree sparks something inside of him that forces his traitorous lips to curve at the edges.

He is trying to look disapproving, but becomes instantly aware it is a fool's errand.

"This news is going to break some hearts in here," he informs her instead.

She scoffs at that.

With the highly publicized trial, Kagome quickly learned what dedicated fanboys inmates could be. Though it made sense – they have the most time to obsess and pen love letters, and the least real-life prospects available to them.

"Nah, I don't get as many letters now that the trial is over. I think they finally forgot about me."

"I was talking about me," he deadpans. The unbidden amusement it looses from her revitalizes and encourages him. "There has been some expressed interest-"

"Stop," she demands, but can't restrain her grin. "Don't make me laugh right now."

"You would deny me the pleasure?" he asks, gentling. "I am afforded so few in here."

She sobers, guilt creeping in as he confirms what she already knows. He never complains, never lets on that any of this is unpleasant for him, but she knows it is. He doesn't want her to feel bad, and it feels like she is disrespecting him by doing so. After all he's done, she is just making it worse for him.

She can see the pain she is causing him right now, as anguish replaces her merriment once again.

"I am really sorry, Sesshoumaru," she says, hoping he can feel her sincerity. Hoping the depths of her regret do not upset him too badly. "This is all my fault."

"I do what I please," he sniffs, tilting his chin stoically.

He used his strength to carve himself into an island. He thought just because he could weather any tides on his own, that he should. That he had to.

He thinks he is being noble, but in trying to shoulder her burden, he saddled her with one that is even more cumbersome, and she resents him for it.

"You don't want to be here."

He is unfazed by her glare. "I have no regrets."

"I do," she gasps, pinning him with pained blue. "So many."

"And gratitude?" he chides.

Despair welling in her eyes has them both steeling their composure, and he watches on stiffly as she fights to keep it at bay.

"I wish you didn't do this," she says, too harshly to be whispering. Despite his cool façade, she knows how much her impotent railing displeases him. "But I am grateful."

"Then show it," he demands. "Try and be happy. Make something of yourself. I will not be wasting my time in here, and I do not wish you to waste yours in useless lament."

His frustration is glaring in his intensity. He is so driven, sees things in such enviable clarity, but for how logical he is and how well he articulates himself, he cannot seem to relay this to her. He looks at things so simply, but she just can't compartmentalize like he can. She wishes she could.

"You wish to quit the force - fine," he says. "Good, I commend your integrity. But you must not give up."

Her eyes widen as she becomes mesmerized by the ferocity in his own. He is always so reserved, but something about being contained is having an effect on him. Maybe being restrained by outside forces is wearing down his ability to do so internally.

But the apathetic demon is simmering with a passion that lights a fire low in her stomach.

"Find a way to save the world in a way that is more suited to your... unique talents."

She isn't sure exactly what he means by that. She isn't even sure he completely knows.

"Policing wasn't what you thought it was, but you can still help your people."

"I'm not so sure," she admits aloud.

In the Senjoku Judai, things were so much simpler. Good and evil was black and white, and the path was always clear. She doesn't even know what the right thing to do is in this era; let alone, how to get there. If she did, she would do it, but everything is so ambiguous and complicated.

"If anyone can, I know it is you."

But while her confidence had all but left her, his is steady and sure as it has ever been. And for some reason, he placed it all in her without a doubt or reservation. Even though doing so had cost him everything, he is still so unblinkingly certain of her, and she can't fathom why. Maybe she was all that he had.

And as much as she owes it to him, as much as she wants to, she just can't join him in it.

"I don't know, Sesshoumaru." She wants to please him, to do as he asked. But he seems to think she can just forget about him. She can't do that. She doesn't want to.

Is it so easy for him to forget about her?

She traces the window lightly with her fingers before pressing her palm to the glass. "I know it's not what you want to hear; but these past six weeks, all I can think about is you."

"It is pointless to dwell on your mistakes," his smooth voice rumbles through the speaker, "unless you seek to remedy them."

He lifts his palm to hers, dwarfing it in comparison when his large hand presses against the glass. Her fingers curl into his phantom caress as his own twitch in kind.

Her attention falls to the display.

"That is exactly what I am doing."

"That's time. Wrap it up."

The guard's booming announcement from the back causes her to look up. Something tender in his gaze makes her chest constrict, and then the distress of having to leave him again.

Men in orange are preparing to file out behind him, and she knows he has no choice but to join them.

He stands, phone still pressed to his ear as he complies to the guard's command.

"Put me on that visitor's list," she reminds him urgently. "Just six more weeks until your probationary period is up."

He wasn't even supposed to have this visitation yet, but she has a friend in corrections who was able to pull a couple of strings. Now it would be another six weeks; but next time, she will be able to touch him. She could finally talk to him privately, without guards listening in.

"I look forward to it," he says fondly.

He had been vocal about her staying away, but she is pleased to see that her disobedience doesn't entirely displease him.

"Me too," she says, rising as well.

She can't bring herself to hang up yet, and the way he lingers suggests he feels the same. Gazing at one another, so much would go unsaid. So much had to wait.

"Please heed my wishes." His cadence becomes sullen as he implores her one last time. "If you insist on visiting and writing, ensure you have something good to report."

"I promise," she nods determinedly, "I will find a way-"

"Good for you, woman."

He refuses to encourage any notion of his freedom, particularly at her behest. Twenty years will go by in a blink for him, and waiting it out should be relatively painless.

But not if she squanders half her short life fretting over him. He will be fine, but she has limitless potential, and only so long to realize it. To make use of it. He will not allow it to go to waste.

To make his sacrifice for naught.

"I want you to be happy, Kagome," he says more softly. "That is all I care about."

"Then you fucked up!" Emotion cracks her voice as overwhelming distress finally seeps; wild, blue eyes becoming red. "Because I will never be happy as long as you're in there. Can't you understand that?"

"I understand completely, you fool."

His low, restrained tone betrays his anger and helps to reel hers in.

Sniffling, she wipes the few tears that fell when she broke the promise she'd made herself.

"I didn't want you to do this," she says mournfully. She never would have acted so rashly if she'd known someone else would pay for it.

"I did not want you to throw your life away over one pathetic degenerate, but you nearly did," he reminds her. "And now you think to do so again. Why do you torture me so, miko?"

"I just want to help you! Like you helped me. And if you want me to be happy, you have to let me."

A guard approaches him suddenly from behind, and barks something at him curtly that she can't quite make out, but she gets the gist.

He nods respectfully at the armed man who impatiently brandishes his cuffs and begins to prepare them.

Sesshoumaru turns back to her, phone still to his ear – but she knows not for long.

"Thank you for the visit," he says genuinely, and all earlier traces of his irritability are gone. "It was lovely to see you."

With a gentle smile, his eyes lock with hers to relay the rest. He returns the phone to its cradle and allows the officer to lead him back through the door.

She waits until he disappears completely before she hangs up on her side, bittersweet emotions rendering her motionless. They are not the parting words she had planned to say, but it would have to suffice.

Six more weeks, and she would be back.

She vows to have something good to tell him.

TBC...

***

A/N: Hope the mixed tense didn't bother you. This was my first try at doing a present tense, but I deviated a bit so you could have the urgency and the background. I think its kind of a literary no-no, but as long as you weren't confused (other than the way I wanted you to be lol), I think its fine.

This was gonna be a one shot, but it will have one, possibly two more chapters. And if things go well, I will give you guys a prequel too. =)