Kagome wakes in a puddle of blood, her stomach cramping and seizing. "No," she pleads, her hands moving to her stomach. "No, no, no—"
But the pleas go unanswered. She can already tell it's too late.
It's not the first time this has happened, after all.
She's sobbing, rocking herself back and forth, as her mate jerks awake. She should move, should get herself cleaned up, but she can't. She'd tried so hard, wanted this baby so badly—she'd managed to carry this one for six months.
They'd been so close.
Sesshomaru's arms wrap around her as he pulls her into his lap, uncaring of her bloodied and sullied appearance. He says nothing, but then, he doesn't need to.
Words alone cannot express their sorrow.
Her tears fall into his chest. She'd done everything the doctors had advised her, everything every expert can think of. And still, they lost this baby, too, not long after the last. "I'm so sorry." She sobs so hard that she begins coughing, a hoarse, desperate sound. "I'm so sorry, Sesshomaru—"
"It is not your fault," he says then, his own voice cracking. "It is not your fault, Kagome."
She hears his words, but they mean little. It's her body that keeps rejecting their children. If not her fault, then whose?
He does not offer false platitudes that it will be alright, or that they'll try again. Instead, he simply pulls her closer and rocks her in his arms.
And, for the moment, all they can each do is grieve the loss of yet another child.