The Ruins of History by thirteenxwishes

The Ruins of History

A/N:  Written for ebony_silks, where the challenge prompt was 'Nightshade'.  Consider this an experiment. :) Apologies for errors and general stylistic blah; a month of writer's block appears to have issued deadly consequences. x.x Anyone who points stuff out? Much love will be given.

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The Ruins of History

The dark alleys of the city were at their most dangerous at night. When the dirtiest dregs of society crawled out from between the cracks of the shattered world with their knives and guns and youkai weapons, stealing through shadow and silence after anyone who was suicidal enough to take his life in his hands and leave the shelters after the sun dipped below the horizon.

It didn't matter to him, though. No-one would dare touch Sesshoumaru Taisho. He stalked the streets regardless of the movement of the sun. He didn't care about the radiation left over from the last bomb drop. He didn't care about the miko-assassins - or the youkai ones for that matter. He didn't care about the whispers of poison that lurked in the broken shells of empty buildings.

In fact, there was only one thing in the world he was remotely bothered about at all: killing the bastard responsible for causing all of these many unfortunate things to happen in the first place. Which explained why he was walking through the west side of Tokyo - affectionately dubbed the death zone - with two swords sitting comfortably at his hip and eyes locked on the road ahead. Every so often, figures shifted in the gaps between ruined houses; he knew they were tracking him, could feel the burn of their eyes as they followed his progress through abandoned street after abandoned street. Once, a youkai was impertinent enough to trace a sniper rifle on his back, red dot vivid against his white shirt. 

His poison whip was eerily bright in the blackness of the evening. Those watching shuddered and moved away, accustomed to the scent of death but not to the one who brought it so easily to a member of Naraku's killing guild.

Sesshoumaru flicked his claws to rid them of invisible blood and turned right, up the steps that lay beneath the remains of what looked like a torii gate. The stumps were blackened and burnt, carved with the graffiti of the hopeless - because who could place belief in religion while living in a world left for dead? 

At the top of the hill, he found a wasteland. The grass was dead, yellow and wilted where there was once a rolling stretch of vibrant green. Trees loomed, branches bare and sickly; there was one he thought he recognised from many centuries ago, something about the missing patch of bark in the centre of its trunk. His brother had been pinned in a similar place by an arrow for a few hundred years - at least until he'd cooled his heels enough to be freed by Tenseiga. 

Sesshoumaru frowned. Was it this one? He couldn't be sure. Regardless, it was dying now. Slowly, surely, he could feel the life dripping away drop by tortuous drop from its aura, a horrible, drawn-out demise. Ill-fitting. Disgusting. His claws bit into his palms.

This was what they were fighting to end. He had to remind himself every so often, when plans and attacks and anarchy mingled together inside his mind. The restoration of the Earth couldn't begin if there was no movement. And predictably, his movement was the strongest of them all.

He stepped away from the tree, turned the last corner and stopped. Gold eyes narrowed: the house had obviously been fire-bombed. Planks of wood were rotting, crumbling into ash while windows with no glass yawned, overflowing with the darkness beyond. But downstairs, there was the tiniest flicker of light. His lips twitched into a smile. Of course she would be here.

Getting inside was remarkably easy - the door had been long hanging off its hinges and the miko barrier surrounding the property had no effect on him whatsoever. But, he reflected as he stepped casually into the hallway, maybe it was a good thing he hadn't brought Inuyasha after all. It was one of the more formidable barriers he'd encountered since the Fall, full of anger and potent warning. Having to deal with a human half-brother on this most important of nights would be utterly unacceptable.

The candlelight flickered in the living room, guttering in the exhale of the person beyond the door.

"You can come in, you know."

He never had been one to decline such an obvious invitation. The room was bare aside from a moth-eaten sofa and a thin blanket bundled across dusty cushions. The stump of a candlestick was jammed into the remains of the carpet. She was sat next to it, legs tucked up to her chin and black hair falling in a dilapidated curtain across her face.

His first thought was that she looked very small, for one with such a reputation.

"512."

"Lord Sesshoumaru." Her drawl was lazy and rasping. "How nice of you to lower yourself to my standards." One hand swept out, indicating the tumbledown room and its perilous roof. He snorted.

"Believe me when I say that this state of affairs is entirely unwilling."

He caught the hint of a smirk beneath that cascade of hair. She still hadn't acknowledged him. 

"Why am I not surprised."

"Your surprise or lack of it is of no consequence." He needed to get straight down to business. "Do you have it?"

At this, she did look up, pinning him with a resigned blue glare, half-hearted indignation sparking beneath the surface. He saw the sarcasm flash before it came spilling out of her frowning mouth.

"And which specific 'it' would that be?"

His claws once again became acquainted with his palms. He had forgotten exactly how infuriating dealing with this woman could be.

"It would be beneficial to your health to be wholly co-operative, agent. Need I remind you of where your allegiance lies?"

She scoffed, thin arms unwinding from her legs to drop flat hands against the grubby floor. 

"Not with that bastard, for sure. You may have my help, but you have yet to earn my loyalty, my lord." 

Her mocking tone was beginning to grate on his nerves. Some of his agitation disappeared as she got to her feet, brushing away a little of the dirt covering her torn trousers. Although she really was very skinny, he noted, watching her walk to one of the redundant windows and stop in the meagre patch of moonlight pooling on the floor. Despite being one of their best agents, she was unpredictable, stubborn... strong.

He admitted that much. Grudgingly. 

But he didn't understand her. At all. He remembered the day they picked her up, if only because of the hand-shaped burn he'd earned after 'rescuing' her from a group of looters on the south side. It had been so very long since he'd been marked by purification that he immediately recruited her based on that level of power alone.

He didn't realise at the time exactly how irritating her personality was going to be. If he had, he may just have left her for the looters, skills and all. There were moments when he still thought this - when she refused to listen to his orders or answered back with her smart mouth and annoyingly quick wit. But then he reminded himself of the endless number of situations in which she had been invaluable; the number of times she had indirectly saved his life. 

Not that she was going to be informed of that particular fact any time soon.

Despite these things, she hadn't been happy to be saved. She still wasn't, he observed, watching the stiff line of her spine as the rosy scent of purification began to collect in the air. Her palms were glowing steadily over the remaining chunks of windowsill, concentrating on a group of soil-filled pots sitting in a crooked line.

Why?

Why wasn't she happy to be living? To be fighting? She was lucky to survive at all so late in the war.

The question was unexpected. He hadn't asked himself before - too busy with organising the movement, picking up new fighters and sliding them into the ornate plan that was weaving itself around Naraku like a haphazard net, holes and all. Now, finally, the lines were tight and closing, and he had time to think about such mundane things as the motivation behind his agents and their reasons for revenge. But that little question - that small, insignificant 'why' - opened the floodgates, and suddenly his mind was crowded with many, many others, some big and small and all conspiring to use the formidable force of his innate curiosity against him.

How very irritating.

"I don't know what the hell you're thinking about so hard, but can you stop staring at my ass while you're doing it? Thanks."

He blinked, momentarily considering murder. Was the woman insane?

Probably.

The light pouring from her hands was cut off abruptly. He glanced beyond her, to the greenery now filling the empty windowpane. Flowers bloomed purple and gold - she brushed one absently, testing it with her fingers. She was obviously satisfied as her hand curled to yank viciously on the stem, unearthing the plant and sending the pot toppling to the floor. The root scattered earth in the moonlight.

"Here. Deadly nightshade, miko style. Use the root - it'll burn that bastard for certain."

He moved across the room in the work of a moment, examining his prize before plucking it from her crushing grip. Blue eyes watched him with all the perception of a predator, all the wariness of something hunted. 

She really was a study in contradiction. His curiosity grew.

"Why do you fight him?"

The question spoke itself. Her eyes widened, narrowed and blanked within the space of a second.

"Since when do you care?"

Evasion only irritated him further.

"I appreciate answers when I deign to ask you a question, 512."

"I appreciate my privacy, sir."

"You will tell me."

"No. Why do you want to know?"

Her frustration was a spice in the still air, tempered by the scent of... fear? His eyes sharpened.

"What are you afraid of?"

Now anger. Not unexpected. This was 512, after all.

"Again, why do you care? Just take the damn nightshade and piss off!"

Claws curled around her chin, shoving it upwards to meet his cool gaze. He watched her words fail and smirked inwardly.

"512."

"Shut up." Her voice shook and stank of bitterness. His claws pricked his cheeks, drops of blood welling and crawling across her skin like crimson tears. She met his eyes, furious. "What right have you to ask me this? You never bothered before, so leave it."

His fingers twitched at the barely veiled venom in her voice. However, Sesshoumaru was more intrigued by the old pain hiding in the lines of her face. He knew more than most that none had been lucky enough to escape the horror of Naraku's influence - but seeing it close up was another matter entirely.

Catching himself straying too close to personal sympathy, he pulled back with a disgusted snort. Why else did he give them numbers, if not to keep his distance?

"You would do well to remember your place."

"Yeah. Everyone's beneath you, Sesshoumaru. Maybe you'd do well to look down every so often. Might do your attitude some good."

He narrowed his eyes, fingers tightening around the nightshade.

"Watch your mouth."

Her sarcasm had apparently returned with a vengeance. Sesshoumaru could see it in the curl of her smile, the cold blue gleam regarding him with iron-willed indifference.

"Yes, my lord."

There was something oddly unfinished hanging in the air - something unresolved. It irritated him, but he didn't have the time to stop and address it. Naraku was waiting, and the poison in the plant would debilitate his forces for a short time only. As he turned to leave, her voice reached him from across the room.

"Oh, by the way?"

He paused despite himself. Why did he put up with this annoying woman?

"Go and kill those bastards."

Something in her voice made him turn around. What he saw almost forced him to look twice. Her chin was held high, back straight, regal and arrogant. Black hair fell about her in waves and her eyes - her eyes were afire, blazing at him with power and determination.

She was a glory.

For the first time in a while, he asked himself: 'Who is she?' His brow crinkled beneath the surprising weight of the question. Yes, 512 was an enigma. It had always been like this, but now... it was more? He wasn't sure. Somewhere along the line, his unspoken rule - his unspoken distance - had grown slack. It was lax of him to leave it unnoticed. But another look at those eyes, that strength - and he wavered. Maybe it would be beneficial to continue pushing for answers. Maybe.

For now, though, he had work to do.

"I will require your presence at headquarters before the end of the week, regardless of the outcome."

... but that didn't mean he wouldn't find out. Later. Because if there was one thing that Sesshoumaru refused to do, it was give up.

"Tch. Whatever. Get out of here and leave me alone."

He slanted her a look which said clearly how little he appreciated her smart mouth before striding out of the door, out of the house. The nightshade was tucked in a pocket. A mobile phone replaced it. 

"Inuyasha."

"About time, bastard. Hurry up!"

"Be ready."

He hung up to avoid overexposure to his half-brother's vulgar personality. Behind him, he felt eyes on his back and smirked. She was watching from the window, hidden by the curling green of the nightshade plants - it was oddly befitting of her barbed nature, of the power hiding in that deceptively small frame.

Miko 512 didn't look away until he reached the shrine steps. 

... maybe he wasn't the only one who was curious.

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Reviews and criticism welcomed.  :)  Thanks for reading!