When she comes in, the cups are no longer steaming hot and only a simmering warm in his hands, and Rin is still giving Miroku the silent treatment. At first, Sango doesn't notice him sitting away from the door, and she heads straight for Rin.
"Did I get a call while I was out?" Her voice is urgent and her body language screams a tornado of stress born from hard work, and Miroku wonders if it's a good idea to tell her today.
"No, Detective." His faint idea of escaping then and there is collapsed by the pointed glance Rin directs his way. "But someone did come by without an appointment."
"Who?" Sango asks as she turns. He expects her face to drop at the sight of him, but instead, she smiles, and something in her eyes light up. He covers up a wince with a short cough and rises to his feet, holding out the latte.
"Your friendly neighborhood stalker," he jokes halfheartedly. "I got you some coffee."
"Are you trying to encourage my addiction?" she laughs even while she cups her hands over the drink. "Thank you for my fifth cup today."
"Fifth cup?"
"I told you I have a problem," she quips, turning around and heading to her office. Miroku lingers behind, wondering if he ought to follow her, and she answers his silent worry with a glance over her shoulder. "Aren't you coming, Reporter Hoshide?"
"Oh, yes! Of course."
The two fall into an even pace side by side in a peaceful silence. She has yet to take a sip, he notices, and it's only then that Miroku realizes that he will be crushed if Sango is unhappy with the coffee he's bought for her.
Not because he particularly loves lattes, but because he hopes that she particularly loves what he bought her. His gift, so to speak. And perhaps caffeine has become his token of courtship, the shy bouquet of flowers, a dinner date in a single cup.
He gulps when they enter into her office, knowing that he'll have to crush that wistful dream soon.
"I think that you deserve a point," she says suddenly, sitting on her desk and peering up at him from beneath those long, dark lashes.
"A point?" His mouth is suddenly dry at the sight of her looking at him like… like she is seeing him in a new light, like she is admiring him and not merely examining him.
"Yes, for showing me the truth. It's helped more than you know." She mistakes her guilty silence as gratitude and smiles sweetly at him, taking a sip of her coffee. He waits, placing more weight on her reaction than it deserves because of the conversation he knows must come after.
After taking a drink, Sango holds the cup away from her to look it over curiously. "What did you get me this time?"
"A latte," he answers plainly.
She takes another sip cautiously, and then another. And then another. Finally, she laughs to herself and shrugs her shoulders girlishly at him. "I'm surprised to say that I like it, actually."
The balloon inside of his chest deflates with relief. "I'm glad," he says in a long exhale of Thank-God-you-like-it-because-you're-not-going-to-like-what-I-say-next.
"Sango, I have to tell you something," he blurts out without waiting for the moment to end and the next to begin.
He can see the emotion leaving off her face in one smooth sweep, and she regards him with an expression that he imagines she uses during interrogations. "Go on."
Goddamn her voice, not quite cold but not quite warm, not unfeeling but not at all emotional. Honest and straight forward, undemanding and unassuming. She is the perfect slate of nothing, and it should make him feel more comfortable about admitting his sins to her. But instead, he feels worse.
"There's no way to say this kindly, so..." He takes a deep breath, "so I'll do it at once. I only ask that you let me speak until the very end." Hastily adding a simple request to the end of his statement, Miroku searches her eyes for a hint of a reaction.
To his great worry, she doesn't give him one. "That's my job."
"Yes, of course."
And after one silent, desperate prayer to whatever God is out there, he starts at the beginning.
"The men of my family are spiritual by tradition. Priests, monks, rabbis… leaders of their faith in many religions. And they are all dead, save for myself. I can't speak for my other ancestors, but my grandfather and father… They were killed."
To her credit, Sango doesn't even blink, doesn't move a muscle. Her eyes are wide and encouraging in their blankness, and although he knows she will hate him in a few minutes, he finds strength in her gaze to continue his story.
"They were both at the temple together, praying and worshipping, when the temple collapsed upon them. Their deaths were, I hope, quick and painless. I was too young to understand when they were taken from me, but growing up, the monks who took me in mentioned a certain Naraku Incorporated."
And there it is: a flicker of an emotion that flees too quickly for him to identify.
"When I was old enough, I began searching for the truth that I always felt the monks withheld from me as a child. It took a long few months of traveling and questioning and examining, but I found it: Naraku Incorporated's corruption."
A fire scorches its way through his body and his muscles tense immediately. "They use faulty equipment and low-grade materials for their construction of spiritual centers, specifically. My father and grandfather died, because they found matters of the spirit too low of a priority to budget for. If it had been an accident, a mishap, a mistake, I would have overlooked it. But this happens now, to this day, and I can't forgive them for that. It's been my mission to bring the truth to the public for years."
"And this is where you come in." Miroku swallows and does his best to see Sango as a detective and a detective only, so that his words do not hurt him as much as they are sure to anger her. "I'm not a reporter. I'm a fact checker. But to achieve my goal, I needed the promotion, and I used you to get there. I took your phone and forwarded your files to myself, and did my best to get closer to you for my own selfish gain."
He resists the temptation to look down to his lap and locks his gaze onto hers; this is his punishment, to see her sorrow and fury at his cruelty. To see the exact moment she rejects him and spurns him and cuts off any chance there ever was at letting him into her heart. "I just got back from reporting to my boss the information about Inukimi Takashi, and received the job promotion," he finishes with a low vibrato.
Silence. A blank expression. Absolutely no response. Miroku bites down on his lip and waits for her to kick him out. But instead, she sets her coffee cup on her desk and steps forward. He braces himself for a slap in the face.
But instead, she takes him into her arms and she's hugging him. A little awkwardly, since his arms are glued to his sides and he gets the sense that she isn't used to doing this very often.
"I'm sorry about your grandfather and father and your mother," she says quietly, cheek against his chest, eyes closed.
Maybe he doesn't deserve this reaction but he will accept it because he knows better than to fight a kindness that has already been given to him. Lifting his arms to return the embrace, Miroku holds her loosely, still slightly wary of her reaction.
"Why aren't you angrier?" he murmurs into her hair.
"Oh, don't worry, I'm plenty pissed. I'm just too busy to deal with it right now," she says.
Miroku stammers softly with incredulity, and she ignores him and does her best to put aside her fury for the time being. There are bigger things in the world than Miroku and his manipulation, and she plans on getting back at him later.
"When should I expect to be scolded?" he asks.
"When this case is over," she says, removing her arms from his waist with mild embarrassment. There is still a great deal of betrayal and hurt and wrath stirring inside of her, coiled and ready to unleash, but she is an orphan, too, and it's difficult not to understand someone who carries a similar pain to yours.
She will scream obscenities at him another day. The thought of a future between them where she can yell at him freely brings a light blush to her cheeks, and Sango takes another drink of her latte; anything to avoid seeing his shock shift to mischief.
"Have you wanted to hug me for that long, Detective Taijiri?"
I regret so much, she thinks dryly. She takes another long gulp and ignores his teasing and that wretched, smug smile of his.
"You can have another, if you'd like."
"Stop it," she deadpans, suddenly fascinated by the wall of her office.
"Come now, Sango, was I not comfortable enough? I apologize, I was only taken aback by your boldness."
"Get out of my office."
"Would you like to hold my hand next, or—,"
"Rin, call the police! There is an intruder in the building! A pervert, a sexual offender, a stalker!"
"Sorry, Detective, I don't think they'll believe us after that phone theft incident!"
"You reported me even after I returned your phone?!"
And so, the office is full of merriment for at least another ten minutes, until Sango leans in and whispers into Miroku's ear, "You got four points, so I get four punches."
It's amusing, seeing the horror enter his eyes. "What?" he whispers back.
"Four punches," she threatens, a darkness coming across her face as her true anger reveals itself.
Shit, she's scary. Miroku gulps. "So… I'll get you another coffee now," he stammers, already halfway out the door.