The Christmas Table by Caleesci

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha, and this story is all thanks to Ai Roku.

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It had started seventeen years ago, when a young man stood behind a long, rickety table known as The Christmas Table, his face set in a sour expression. In front of him sat a large pot filled to the brim with gravy. Carelessly, he dipped his ladle in and sloshed the contents onto plates as they were presented without so much as a smile. He was assigned community service to make up for the damage he caused a median when he had driven across it in order to avoid the red light. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, given that his wife was in the backseat in the throes of labor. Unfortunately, the cop did not agree. So here he stood, at the long table dumping gravy onto plates. Wonderful.

“You suck at this.” The distant, sharp tone drew the young man’s attention, his eyes widening as he gazed down at a young boy, golden eyes narrowed in clear annoyance. Beside him was an even younger boy, his messy mop of silver hair speckled with spots of gravy.

“Uh, sorry.” The man mumbled. The two kids moved on, the older carefully cleaning the clumps out of the younger’s hair, though the strands seemed caked in much more than just gravy.

“Higurashi, the gravy.” A woman nudged him in the ribs, and he shot the older woman an apologetic look before turning back to scoop the gravy onto the next plate, although with a bit more care. Try as he might, Kento Higurashi was unable to remove the image of the two boys from his mind. When there was a slight lull in the line, usually due to a slow moving elder, Kento would look out amongst the crowds, easily spotting the two boys sitting side by side in the corner of the room. They sat alone, not a single adult nearby.

“The oldest is Sesshomaru.” An older man said, presenting his plate to Kento. “The little one, he goes by Inuyasha. Started coming here two years ago.” Kento scooped the gravy.

“Where are their parents?” The old man gave a sad smile.

“Dead.”

“Where do they live?” Kento asked, shock coloring his voice. The old man raised his brow.

“Where all of us live.” He bowed his head in thanks for the gravy before moving down the long table towards the vegetables.

Kento felt his stomach churn uncomfortably. He looked back towards the two boys, the youngest sneaking mashed potatoes off his brother’s plate when he thought the other wasn’t looking. As a father to a sassy four year old girl, and a colicky six week old boy, the sight of two you boys living on their own left a sense of heaviness on his heart. The oldest couldn’t be older than ten, the youngest perhaps five. Did they have no other family? Was there no one they could turn to?

“It’s sad.” The older woman beside him, the one spooning the mashed potatoes, remarked. “Heard they were in a home before, but not a good one.” She gave the two boys a soft look, her features softening. “That’s what happens though. State don’t look for qualified fosters, only willing ones. The oldest, he came in a few times with bruises. Never said nothing. But the one time, the youngest, he came in with a bruise. Suddenly they were here every day. Took him, he did. Took his brother and left. Living on the streets ever since, I suspect. Tried to get them to go someplace, any place else, but they don’t trust anyone. So sad.” She trailed off towards the end, shaking her head. Kento continued scooping the gravy in silence, thinking over their story.

The night ended far quicker than he realized, and before he knew it he was standing in front of his home, heart feeling heavy. The door opened, and his wife peered out at him in concern.

“Kento?” She asked softly, wrapping her robe tighter about her body as the chilly winter air swept by.

“I want to become a foster parent.” He said the words before he truly digested them. Hitomi merely smiled.

“I will call Miroku. I am sure he will be able to watch the children on such short notice.

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Love,

Caleesci