Sango could feel the heat rush to her pale face as she asked Kaede and the others to allow her to be alone with Miroku for a moment, as he lay unconscious. She knew Kaede would understand, but she could still hear Jaken and, to some extent, Shippo grumbling about having to leave the hut. She hated feeling like a bother, but some things were more important than her own shame.

Her embarrassment vanished as she directed her thoughts (and her gaze) to Miroku, whose wounds were invisible beneath his robes, but that were etched in Sango's mind. She felt a pang of guilt coursing through her chest as she blamed herself for his near fatal injury.

'My good monk.' She thought as she brushed her fingertips through his hair, her eyes brimming with hot tears of anguish and frustration, that she could do nothing to save him. He had always been so willing to risk his own safety to save Kohaku and herself, or more often, to save her from saving Kohaku.

'You're so much more than that lecherous character you play for everyone else.' She clenched the wrist of his right hand with her left, the tears dropping from her eyes and shattering upon the clear blue surface of the beads that sealed the hole in his hand.

'Miroku… You can't die on me.' She mentally willed him to live, touching his face softly with her right hand. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his for the first time. They were soft and warm, tasting bitter from the potion Kaede had given him to numb his pain and help him sleep.

Miroku had been resting soundly in the hut, but was brought into slight consciousness as he heard the door to the hut slide open. He could hear voices, but they were muffled by his own grogginess and the paralytic effects of the medicine. Then, suddenly, the room felt emptier.

He felt the presence of the body sitting next to him, and knew it was Sango. He could tell from the way she would breath evenly for several minutes, but would then hold her breath and have to release it more forcefully when she did so. She often did this when she was upset. He could also tell from her pattern of movements, from the tremble in her muscles as she sat down beside him. Most of all, he knew from her scent. He was no demon like Inuyasha, and had no such enhanced olfactory sense, but Sango's scent had become ingrained in him. It was a mixture of tiger lilies and firewood, and it was intoxicating.

Then, rousing him more from his stupor, he felt her hand in his hair, and her teardrops on his wrist. Was she crying over him? He hated to see her upset, but he felt he deserved none of her tears. He was weak, he was perverse, and he was-

His thoughts left him as he felt a new sensation. Her lips against his, so soft, yet firm in their intent. He was not sure if he was dreaming, or if this was actually happening.

'Sango.' He thought her name, wanting more than anything to say it out loud, but not having the strength to produce a sound. His lips still tingled with the sensation from hers as she pulled away and peered down at him lovingly, a way no one else ever had, but then her expression shifted from that of sadness and love to one of shock. Miroku realized his eyes were open.

"M-Miroku," she stated apprehensively, "Have you been conscious this whole time?"

He managed to nod in affirmation, which caused the young slayer to apologize profusely for her forward behavior as she buried her face in her hands, attempting to stand up and exit the hut to escape the torture of her own shame. However, the monk refused to let that happen, and mustered all of his failing strength to grab her wrist. He could feel her clench her fist, and then relax as she turned to face him again. He felt his senses coming back to him and he knew he'd be able to speak.

"San..go," he said in a raspy near-whisper.

"What is it Miroku?" The concern resonated with every word. Here eyes were still full of tears that streaked down her face whenever she blinked.

"Please don't go, just yet," he urged, his throat burning with held-back tears, "Stay here with me for a bit longer."

"Hmm, " the woman responded with a a nod, and she lay down next to him, her head on his chest and one arm across his torso. He draped his left arm over her and kissed her forehead.

There was something unspoken between the two of them, more than just love. It was completeness. They might die tomorrow, but for now, this was the most alive either of them had felt in a long time