Inuvember: Week 1 (Relationships), Day 2 (Mir/San)

Title: Whatever The Future May Bring

Author: Kenkaya

Series: Inuyasha

Genres: Drama/Romance

Type: Oneshot, Post-series

Rating: K+, PG (Some non-detailed mentions/concerns of mothers dying in childbirth, but otherwise pretty tame.)

Pairing: Miroku/Sango

Summary: Miroku had been haunted by the Wind Tunnel for so long, it wasn't until Sango's announcement that he realized how woefully unprepared he was to actually be a part of his child's life…

Disclaimer: The characters and story of Inuyasha are copyright of Rumiko Takahashi, Viz Media, and other corporate someones who aren't me.

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When Sango told him she was carrying their first child, Miroku was hit by a sudden, very unexpected fear. He didn't embrace his wife, or shout his joy to the hills. Instead, the monk froze: brain stuck on a mental loop of, "holy shit... I'm actually going to be a father."

Not that her announcement had been completely out of the blue (they were quite enthusiastic about their marital duties, after all), or even unwelcome. Miroku had always anticipated having children. But, it wasn't until Sango's declaration that the man realized he wasn't ready for a future where he was an active part of his child's life. He had been haunted by the Wind Tunnel for so long, the necessity of preparing for what happened beyond the act of conception never dawned on him until that moment.

What do I do? What do I do?!

He had absolutely no frame of reference when it came to parenting. His father had succumbed to Naraku's curse when he was very young and, while Miroku cared a great deal for Mushin, the man was a proud drunken lecher. Those were hardly qualities he should be passing onto future generations. Clearly, he was the worst possible candidate to father offspring and the universe was indeed cruel since it saw fit to leave an impressionable life in his hands. He was going to fail. Horribly. He was going to fail his unborn child; he was going to let Sango (his beautiful, almost too gracious wife) down, and he still had no idea what to do-

"Is… something wrong?"

Sango's anxious question broke through the panicked maelstrom in his head. She was standing in front of him and shifting nervously at his prolonged silence, fingers twisted in the sleeves of her favorite pink yukata. He stared back blankly, blinking for a moment, before his frantic mind finally registered that she was waiting for a response.

"Oh! No, not at all!" he quickly assured, pasting on his empty con-smile through force of habit. Judging by her deadpan glare, Sango wasn't fooled one bit. "This… is wonderful news. Truly. I mean it."

"Truly," she parroted, expression stormy.

"Of course!" he suppressed the urge to laugh hysterically in the face of her ire. A little voice of reason (one that had been inconveniently absent until now) reminded him that physical displays were common to genuine enthusiasm and, despite his powerful misgivings, Miroku couldn't deny some bubbling excitement simmered beneath his fear. He bounced forward, clasping his wife's hands in a motion full of feigned restraint.

"We must tell everyone at once! I can barely contain myself as it stands!"

"Right now? But… w… wait," Sango protested half-heartedly as her husband dragged them across the village. By sundown, Miroku's announcement had been heard loud and clear throughout the entire region. Inuyasha threatened, rather crassly, over dinner to shove his chopsticks down the man's closest orifice if he, "didn't shut up about the damn baby, already!"

Meanwhile, Sango remained silent. Miroku gushed more to compensate; even so, the man couldn't help feeling he had already begun to fall behind in his parental role. She saw through everything with a stare born of stone. Internally, he was panicking, attempting to distract from the clammy sheen on his brow by doting on the woman until she snapped. Her exclamations of, "Stop treating me like a doll. I'm not made of porcelain!" only aided his downward spiral. If Miroku was incapable of figuring out the right support to give this early on, what did that say about his chances of adequately raising a child? A full day hadn't even passed, and still he managed to fail spectacularity.

That night, they lay awake in bed- side by side. Miroku stared intently at the ceiling, pretending he didn't notice Sango's obvious tossing, squinting as he tried to discern each individual beam holding up their roof. He saw nothing but darkness and shadows: uncertainty. A bleak future, indeed.

"I'm scared too."

He very nearly jumped at her sudden nighttime confession. Giving up all pretense, Miroku turned on his side to offer his full attention. White moonlight spilled through the gaps in their doormat, illuminating her pale complexion and reflecting off the telltale glisten in her eyes.

"Mother died giving birth to Kohaku, right after I turned five… and she never had a chance to give me motherly advice, or see her son... let alone any grandchildren. Just… I can handle not knowing how to be mother. I know we'll figure that out somehow," she spoke those words with such straight-forward conviction, Miroku was stunned. Instantly, he felt the day's trepidations melt back. Sango still had faith in him! He hadn't failed her yet-

"But… what if I never get that chance, either?"

The waver in her tone, followed by a half-aborted hitch, brought Miroku's renewed mood crashing down. He was brutally reminded in that moment how dangerous childbirth was. Sango could very well die bearing his child: like her own mother had or even his (though neither his father nor Mushin had confirmed the unknown woman's fate, Miroku had his suspicions). He had been so absorbed in how this pregnancy would affect him, the man neglected to consider his wife feelings.

"I might leave you… what if I'm bringing a child into the world only to leave it alone immediately after? I could be dooming this baby to life without a mother… and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Oh, Sango," he whispered, raising a hand to cup her cheek gently. The skin beneath his fingertips was cold to the touch.

"I'm not afraid I'll be a horrible mother… I'm afraid I won't be one at all."

"Everything will be fine," Miroku promised. He felt the truth of that statement settle in the air between them, and discovered he truly believed (for the first time since that morning) that they would be. "You are the strongest woman I've ever known. We'll both get through this… it's just a baby, after all. What is there for us to be afraid of? We should be celebrating."

"We'll see if you're still spouting those words after you change your first diaper," Sango challenged through a contrary combination of hiccups and giggles. Their home was too dark for Miroku to make out her budding smile, but he could hear the expression seeping into her voice. He broke out into a beaming grin of his own, elated to have finally found the words she needed to hear.

"It's just one baby," Miroku shrugged, confident once more. "How much can it poop?"

Naturally, seven months later, the cruel, fickle (we-really-need-to-have-some-words-now) universe decided to grace them with twins.

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