notes
Twelve Steps to You
Step Three
"And you're sure you're eating? – And don't you sigh at your older sister; someone has to ask these things!"
"I'm eating, I'm eating," her brother laughed gently. "Honestly, Sango. If you don't believe me, you can come down next weekend and see for yourself – we can even cook together."
"Don't think I won't," she huffed.
"Consider it an invitation, then."
"I'll be there. Need anything from home?"
"I'm good. Just come ready to eat all of the food you're going to make us cook. And don't worry about Kirara – I've got her stuff from last time."
"Alright," Sango smiled. "I'll see you next weekend."
"See you then – love you, Sis."
"I love you, too, Kohaku."
She hung up and looked at his caller ID – a picture of the two of them last summer – before her screen timed out.
She sighed and put the phone down, and turned back to the files she'd brought home.
Addiction was a tricky thing, and she always made sure she was updated on all of her patients, and kept emergency files on hand, should she ever get a call about a relapse, an overdose, or the need for an emergency intervention.
She'd just gotten to Miroku's file when Kohaku had called to say hello. She opened it back up now, studying the black and white picture of her patient, and the statistics listed there.
She'd only dealt with a handful of nymphomaniacs – usually she dealt more with other types of addiction – but none of them had been quite like Miroku. Many of them had been charming, but they tended to border more on sleazy or obsessive, depending on the severity and nature of their addiction.
She wondered who'd actually tendered his diagnosis. Reading through the file, he did fit some patterns – serial relationships and affairs, no longstanding relationships, not much in the way of a type or discriminating tastes… but there was also no mention of addiction to pornography, or prostitution, or other behaviors that sometimes accompanied the disease.
As far as she could tell, Miroku was just someone who enjoyed casual sexual relationships.
"Must be nice," she muttered, eyeing an extensive (but she doubted exhaustive) account of his sexual history.
Sango wished she was the kind of person that could just enjoy casual sex, or anonymous partners – it would be far easier than trying to actually build and cultivate a relationship in her busy life…. But it just wasn't something she was comfortable doing.
Aside from a small window of time at University, sex for her had largely been in monogamous relationships that tended toward long term. Her last relationship ended amicably nearly three years ago, and she'd heard through the grapevine that he'd had a whirlwind romance and gotten married within a year of their parting. He and his wife were expecting their first child in a few months.
"Guess when it's right, it's right," she mused.
And while she didn't begrudge anyone their happiness, she couldn't help but want small bit for herself.
She blinked, realizing she'd been staring at Miroku's picture while letting her mind wander.
"No you don't, Hoshisama," she chuckled, wagging her finger at his picture. "You keep those hands, those charms, and that baggage to yourself."
"So. Miroku." Inuyasha eyed him over the top of his cards. "How's therapy?"
"Not as bad as I had feared," he admitted, "but I wish my alibi required fewer sessions."
"Guess they had to make you seem like an even bigger pervert than you are, huh?"
"Thankfully, we focus on meditation and impulse control. My file says I am making good progress."
"Oh, yeah? And what does Sesshomaru say?"
"That we are making slow progress," he sighed. "Part of the reason I have to attend so many sessions is to lead credence to the idea that I need to have that many sessions."
"Uh-huh. And that palm mark on your cheek?"
"A misunderstanding," he muttered.
"She misunderstood when you grabbed her ass?"
"I didn't grab her ass," his eyebrow twitched impatiently. "I misunderstood how she wanted me to position myself for the meditation exercise. It was an honest mistake."
"Sure, it was," Inuyasha snorted.
"What do you have?"
"Full House."
"Oh really? Well mine is just like your love life – a Straight Flush."
He pulled the chips toward his pile.
"Looks like your luck still sucks."
"Hmph," Mirkoku shved the cards toward him. "I'm getting a drink."
He made his way to his kitchen, half wondering why he thought having Inuyasha come over had been a good idea. He stepped into the bathroom to wash his hands, and winced at his reflection. The handprint on his cheek was still very clearly visible.
Althogh he hadn't bothered continuing his argument with Inuyasha, it really had been an honest mistake.
"Besides," he thought to himself, "if I was going to risk being smacked, I would've done something a helluva lot more satisfying than accidentally grazing her backside."
Unbidden, an example of a substantially more satisfying exercise came to mind, and Miroku fought it down.
"She can't see you that way, and you can't see her that way," he reminded himself for possibly the millionth time.
"Get your head on straight," he growled at his reflection, and returned to the game.
