Dependent
By: Seabreeze
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, setting, or music. But I own my
AN: If you want "mood music", listen to "Last Dance" by Sarah McLachlan,
"Sango's Theme" from the Inuyasha soundtrack, "Gravity of Love" and "Return
to Innocence" by Enigma, and "Mad World" from the Donnie Darko soundtrack.
Sango froze for a moment, eyes glazing over as she thought. Her hands, shaking slightly, automatically began rubbing the hiratsu again. Trembling but firm, they moved in circles. It had hit her for no apparent reason in the midst of cleaning the hiratsu. Inuyasha, Kagome, and Shippo were at the river trying to fish. Miroku sat a few meters away, leaning against a tree and humming to himself. So like Miroku, who could appear childishly innocent after proving that he really wasn't. As he hummed, a bright red hand print from Sango's smacking a few minutes earlier very slowly faded from his face. It always seemed that her slaps remained on his face longer than other girls', lingering somehow. But maybe that was just her imagination. She laughed silently to herself, sadly, at the thought of her having some sort of impression on him. It was that moment that she truly realized what had shocked her so much.
Miroku had stopped humming, and was watching her thoughtfully. She stopped rubbing and looked at him suspiciously.
"Getting ideas already?" she asked. A slight smile played on Miroku's lips, but he shook his head.
"No," he said quietly after a minute. Confused, Sango went back to rubbing. A sickly hopeful yet sad feeling had hit somewhere in her ribs as she thought that maybe he was thinking seriously of her. But no, not Miroku. Not ever, she wanted it too much.
Cold realization hit her like the returning hiratsu.
She was altogether too dependent on him. Sure, she was Sango, independent warrior in search for the killer of her family and entire village. But she felt she needed Miroku in more ways than one, which proved her pathetic. Needing someone was pathetic, but that the person she needed was Miroku was even worse. Miroku, the perverted monk who asked every decent looking female he met to bare his child. Miroku, who would lie to resident owners about "evil spirits", just to get a free stay. Miroku, who, when he looked at her, made her feel special and normal and wonderful and ordinary and excited and calm all in one moment.
She began polishing harder.
And since when had a man, other than her father and her brother, meant anything to her at all? Men, at least to Sango, were painful wastes of time. One only had to look at Inuyasha and poor Kagome to find more proof of this. Entirely in love with Kagome, yet never being able to admit this and entirely in love with Kikyo, Inuyasha burned something deep in Kagome that, if pushed past a certain point, would never go away nor heal at all. Sango sighed and dropped the hiratsu, walking to the edge of the cliff. Miroku watched as she went, not asking questions but taking her in.
Sango stared into the brilliant wash of the setting sun.
Miroku made her feel innocent, like his stupid female-chasing was only a silly prank compared to everything that had happened to her. He made her feel like she had a slight chance of a normal life, a life filled with happiness. Or at least relief from the pain.
Presently, Miroku stood and came up behind her.
"Sango," he said. She was almost near tears and had no intentions of putting up with his stupidness. She turned abruptly away. Miroku frowned and followed, laying a hand on her shoulder like a true friend would.
"Sango."
She finally turned to face him, defiant and daring him- daring him to tease, daring him to grope her, daring him to give her solace. Dropping his hand from her shoulder, he faced her squarely.
"Don't you think you deserve a little bit of happiness, Sango? What's holding you back?" he asked quietly but firmly, showing a level of understanding Sango didn't think possible in any human being. It had the earnestness of Kirara and the intelligence of a human, with the love of a friend. Or possibly something more. She watched his eyes, and she knew that he knew, knew everything she wanted and worried about and made her sad and made her happy.
Sango flung her arms around his neck, holding him tightly. She pressed her face into his neck and sobbed silently as he comforted her. It touched her to think that Miroku cared enough to perceive and understand her, and more to comfort her when she didn't think it possible. Only Miroku. He held her just as tightly, for her own sake as well as his own.
It wasn't long before she realized that she had been holding onto the perverted monk entirely too long. Embarrassed, she pulled back. Miroku smiled as if everything was healed, and it wasn't. But it was a start. Silently they headed back to the empty campsite, separate and apart yet close.
Sango felt something grab at her hindquarter area.
"MIROKU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Sango froze for a moment, eyes glazing over as she thought. Her hands, shaking slightly, automatically began rubbing the hiratsu again. Trembling but firm, they moved in circles. It had hit her for no apparent reason in the midst of cleaning the hiratsu. Inuyasha, Kagome, and Shippo were at the river trying to fish. Miroku sat a few meters away, leaning against a tree and humming to himself. So like Miroku, who could appear childishly innocent after proving that he really wasn't. As he hummed, a bright red hand print from Sango's smacking a few minutes earlier very slowly faded from his face. It always seemed that her slaps remained on his face longer than other girls', lingering somehow. But maybe that was just her imagination. She laughed silently to herself, sadly, at the thought of her having some sort of impression on him. It was that moment that she truly realized what had shocked her so much.
Miroku had stopped humming, and was watching her thoughtfully. She stopped rubbing and looked at him suspiciously.
"Getting ideas already?" she asked. A slight smile played on Miroku's lips, but he shook his head.
"No," he said quietly after a minute. Confused, Sango went back to rubbing. A sickly hopeful yet sad feeling had hit somewhere in her ribs as she thought that maybe he was thinking seriously of her. But no, not Miroku. Not ever, she wanted it too much.
Cold realization hit her like the returning hiratsu.
She was altogether too dependent on him. Sure, she was Sango, independent warrior in search for the killer of her family and entire village. But she felt she needed Miroku in more ways than one, which proved her pathetic. Needing someone was pathetic, but that the person she needed was Miroku was even worse. Miroku, the perverted monk who asked every decent looking female he met to bare his child. Miroku, who would lie to resident owners about "evil spirits", just to get a free stay. Miroku, who, when he looked at her, made her feel special and normal and wonderful and ordinary and excited and calm all in one moment.
She began polishing harder.
And since when had a man, other than her father and her brother, meant anything to her at all? Men, at least to Sango, were painful wastes of time. One only had to look at Inuyasha and poor Kagome to find more proof of this. Entirely in love with Kagome, yet never being able to admit this and entirely in love with Kikyo, Inuyasha burned something deep in Kagome that, if pushed past a certain point, would never go away nor heal at all. Sango sighed and dropped the hiratsu, walking to the edge of the cliff. Miroku watched as she went, not asking questions but taking her in.
Sango stared into the brilliant wash of the setting sun.
Miroku made her feel innocent, like his stupid female-chasing was only a silly prank compared to everything that had happened to her. He made her feel like she had a slight chance of a normal life, a life filled with happiness. Or at least relief from the pain.
Presently, Miroku stood and came up behind her.
"Sango," he said. She was almost near tears and had no intentions of putting up with his stupidness. She turned abruptly away. Miroku frowned and followed, laying a hand on her shoulder like a true friend would.
"Sango."
She finally turned to face him, defiant and daring him- daring him to tease, daring him to grope her, daring him to give her solace. Dropping his hand from her shoulder, he faced her squarely.
"Don't you think you deserve a little bit of happiness, Sango? What's holding you back?" he asked quietly but firmly, showing a level of understanding Sango didn't think possible in any human being. It had the earnestness of Kirara and the intelligence of a human, with the love of a friend. Or possibly something more. She watched his eyes, and she knew that he knew, knew everything she wanted and worried about and made her sad and made her happy.
Sango flung her arms around his neck, holding him tightly. She pressed her face into his neck and sobbed silently as he comforted her. It touched her to think that Miroku cared enough to perceive and understand her, and more to comfort her when she didn't think it possible. Only Miroku. He held her just as tightly, for her own sake as well as his own.
It wasn't long before she realized that she had been holding onto the perverted monk entirely too long. Embarrassed, she pulled back. Miroku smiled as if everything was healed, and it wasn't. But it was a start. Silently they headed back to the empty campsite, separate and apart yet close.
Sango felt something grab at her hindquarter area.
"MIROKU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"