AN: Well, my happy readers, ff.net's back up! That means I can actually post something, and here it is. But first, some responses to reviews. Wow... 3 people wanted to kill Hojo... sorry, not in this fic, I'm going to keep the bloodshed to the minimum. However, be on the lookout for Hojo death in other fics... if I ever manage to finish this one. And don't worry, Kagome and Inuyasha will eventually join us... actually, I want to write a little side story of what they're doing. *smashes the happy hentai thoughts of the perverted reader* NO! Not like that! But anyway, have to get through this one first. Enjoy!
Future Lovin' Part 5
Maybe she had gone too far, pushed just a little too much. He had looked so sad as he wandered away from the festival, his shoulders drooping as he clung to the stuffed cat. Maybe she shouldn't have...
But it was unfair what he had said about Hojo. He had made up his mind to hate the kind boy based on Inuyasha's opinion and a five second encounter. He deserved...
No, he didn't. No one deserved the kind of emotional pain she could tell he bore by his stance. She had only wanted to make him realize that Hojo wasn't such a bad guy, that Inuyasha was wrong. But she'd only made things worse. She hadn't meant to. All she wanted was to soothe the feathers ruffled unnecessarily at the arcade, but she had only managed to tramp all over Miroku's feelings. She hadn't planned, hadn't even imagined that she would- even _could_ make him jealous to the point of... heartbreak.
*****
Sango slipped into the Higurashi house roughly half an hour after Miroku and Souta's return. Even though the monk had told her to have a good time, the image of him walking away in defeat had disturbed her to the point that she had mumbled a quick apology to Hojo and darted away without waiting for a reply.
The moment she stepped over the threshold, Souta, clad in his train-covered pajamas, launched himself at her from halfway up the stairs. "Sango-san!"
Sango staggered backward slightly at the unexpected weight in her arms, but long practice with Shippo doing the same thing helped her recover quickly.
"Miroku-san said you wouldn't be here till late, but I knew you'd be home sooner! I was waiting up for you! Mama said I could." He paused in his monologue to make a sour face. "I guess I have to go to bed now though." He slid down to the ground. "Night, Sango-san!"
Sango nodded goodnight to him and headed towards the living room where she could hear voices emanating from the TV. Someone, most likely Miroku, was watching the surprisingly active little box. She peeked into the unlit room and saw Miroku sitting on the couch, staring listlessly at the screen, his face a show of light and dark due to the television's ever-changing image.
"Houshi-sama?" she questioned quietly, not wanting to disturb him if he was meditating.
The monk jumped slightly and turned to her, his expression blank. "Oh, Sango. I thought you wouldn't be back so soon. I was waiting up for you. Guess I'll go to sleep now." He rolled to his feet, turning his back to her and tugging his tee-shirt over his head; it caught in his sling though and, with a frustrated growl, he pulled harder. A ripping sound resulted. He cursed, dropping his indifferent, unreadable mask.
Sango, approaching cautiously, placed a calming hand on his bare shoulder. "Houshi-sama, let me help."
Miroku snapped, "Don't you think you've done enough?" and refused to look at her.
Sango sighed and grabbed hold of his mostly-torn shirt, guiding it over his broken arm with great care. She tossed it to the ground and regarded his stiff back with amusement. "Pretending to be Inuyasha is not a good idea, Houshi-sama. You should never let your back get so tense. If you went into battle with your muscles bunched like that, you could do a lot of damage to something." She pressed her hands, palm down, in the middle of his back.
He tensed further, and Sango moved her hands in small circles along his back. He slowly began to relax and sank on to the edge of the couch. Sango continued the massage, rubbing and squeezing his muscles until all the knots were gone and Miroku's head was bent down, his chin resting on his chest.
Thinking he was asleep, Sango slowed her hands to a stop, but did not remove them from his shoulders. After a moment, she let her fingers wander over his skin, marveling at the definition of his muscles. He really did have a nice physique; it was a shame he hid it under monk robes.
Blushing at the turn her thoughts had made, she pushed Miroku on to his back and rearranged his limbs to make him more comfortable. Once finished, she stepped back and studied her work, her appraising gaze lingering once more on his muscular torso. Miroku was sleeping peacefully, lightly snoring. She turned to go.
"Sango!"
Sango whipped around, startled at his call. She thought he was asleep... Oh, he still was, dreaming apparently.
"Sango, don't go. Please," he pleaded plaintively
Sango grew suspicious. Was he actually awake? But why would he pretend to sleep just to ask her to stay? He could do that just as easily if he were awake. Against her better judgment, she returned to the couch and sat down beside it, resting her head on the cushion by his.
She watched him shift in response to his dream, moving his arms and legs and, at one point, tilting his head so that their faces were mere inches apart. Through all this, his lips moved in silent entreaty, but when he drew closer, she could hear him whisper, "Kiss me goodnight, Sango."
Sango stared at him, wide-eyed. Kiss him? Her mind ran with the possibility. Now that she thought about it, she could. And he, _no one_ would be the wiser. It wasn't every day that one got the chance to kiss a lecherous monk and not get your bottom squeezed. She leaned closer. But how should she kiss him? A brief brush on the lips? Or should she make it deeper, longer? Coax his mouth open and let her tongue dance with his until he woke up? She shivered at the image her mind fed her. He would certainly be surprised, but was she daring enough to attempt it?
She licked her lips nervously and decided against it. There was too much risk involved. She angled her mouth towards his cheek; her safest bet would be a simple peck on the cheek. Just as her lips reached his skin, Miroku's head turned, and his hand came up behind her head. So startled at the sensation of Miroku's lips crushed to hers and his tongue exploring the interior of her mouth, Sango did not immediately react. Not until his hand moved from her neck down her back to her rear.
Breaking away from him with a gasp, Sango stared at him, heart beating wildly, breathing erratic. "Y-you're awake!"
Miroku smirked. Flustering the taija-ya was a rare occurrence. "After a kiss like that, that's all you can say?"
Sango blushed. "I-I was aiming for your cheek!" The second she said those words, her hands flew up to her mouth as if to grab them back. Why did she admit that she actually _was_ trying to kiss him?
"Well," Miroku responded drolly, "you missed."
"You turned your head!"
"Aren't you glad I did?"
Sango opened her mouth to deny it, but found she could not. And admitting to _that_ was out of the question. She stood. "I'm going to bed."
Miroku caught her wrist and twined his fingers with hers, all seriousness now. "Why did you come home so early?"
Sango's gaze jumped from their joined hands to his eyes, such warm, dark, caring, sensual- She shook her head to keep it from turning entirely into mush. "I- um..." She tried to recall what he had asked... Something about home... Had he said home? Did he mean here? The Higurashi house? Or this side of the well in general? Or was he just using the term "home" loosely because "Why did you come to the place where we're staying so early?" is just awkward?
"Sango?" He squeezed her hand to get her attention. "Where'd you wander off to?"
Sango flushed again. "Um..." She suddenly remembered her initial reason for finding him. "I just- Hojo-kun remembered that he had promised his mother to do something, so he had to leave. There wasn't any point in my staying without him. I just wanted to make sure you weren't worried and... Well, goodnight." She bowed quickly and spun on her heel, practically fleeing the room. She leaned on the door as it closed behind her, horrified with herself. _Why_ had she lied? She had planned so long to just apologize to him, but... The moment had come, and the words had left, replaced by a horrible, disgusting lie that further hurt their relationship. Stupid, Sango, she berated herself, so stupid.
*****
Miroku glared at the door through which Sango had disappeared. He was angry at her, at himself, and at the stupid, fucked-up, thrice-damned door that wouldn't stop acting like such a... door. Miroku ground the palm of his hand into his forehead, sighing angrily.
He was so stupid. First, he was angry at a door. Second, he let Hojo have Sango without a fight... well, he had tried to fight, but the guy was too nice to even recognize competition. Third, Sango had come in, given him that hell of a nice back rub, and then run away, mumbling something about Hojo leaving early. He didn't believe her for one second, but what was she initially going to say? Fourth, he'd kissed her... He paused for a moment. He _had_ kissed her, hadn't he? That fact took another long moment to settle in. _He_, Miroku the sometimes (okay, okay, _usually_) lecherous monk, had just kissed (and not a simple brush on the lips either) _Sango_, the totally gorgeous demon huntress, and _then_ had calmly bantered about it. Holy fucking shit! He'd just kissed Sango, something he'd dreamed about doing for months, and he'd come away scratch-free!
A lazy, contented grin crept on to his face. And the way he'd done it too was absolutely brilliant, even for him. And she hadn't really protested... His grin faded. Yes, she had. Not immediately, but she ran away. Talking about Hojo... He clenched his fists. Stupid, stupid boy!
And as Miroku sat glaring at the door, blaming it for all his misfortunes, he was not sure whether he was insulting Hojo or himself.
*****
Sometime the next morning, Miroku became aware of someone tapping his foot. He tried to ignore it, tried to cling to the small world in his imagination where he and Sango got along without a hitch and no Hojo existed, but his foot, unfortunately enough, was highly sensitive. Biting the inside of his cheek to hold back a laugh, he sat up and glared, bleary-eyed at whoever it was messing with his foot.
A brown-and-white striped, very fat cat sprawled next to his legs, pawing at his feet.
Not sure whether to be amused or annoyed, Miroku drew his feet under him and reached out to pet the cat. Lacking any sort of self-preservation instincts, Buyo rolled over, presenting its stomach to be rubbed.
Miroku was very happy to oblige. Petting small, furry animals was relaxing in an odd way. And after last night's fiasco, he was more than tense... Well, he hadn't been tense after the back rub, but... He shook his head as if to toss Sango completely out of his mind. He would not think about her today until he absolutely had to. He'd stay right where he was, stroking the family pet all day, but he would not actively search Sango, or anyone else for that matter, out. He would sit right where he was... all day... forever, if need be. However, Fate or, in this case, Mrs. Higurashi rarely has the same plans.
The older woman glanced into the living room as she passed through the kitchen and noticed his wakefulness. "Ah, Miroku! I'm so glad you're awake! Sango's not feeling that well this morning, and could you be a dear and stay with her for awhile? Just in case she needs anything."
Miroku stopped petting Buyo for an instant, hand frozen in mid-air. Stay with Sango? After he wanted to avoid her?
Mrs. Higurashi, seeing his hesitation, quickly added, "You don't have to, of course."
Miroku stood, scooping up the obese cat and holding it close. "No, I can sit with her." He headed for the stairs.
Mrs. Higurashi exhaled with relief. "Oh, thank you. There's some chicken soup in the cupboard any time Sango's stomach settles down enough for her to be hungry. Just toss it into a pan and turn the oven on High. Don't forget to turn it off though. I'm going to run to the pharmacy since Kagome took all the flu medication with her. I'll be right back." She grabbed her purse off the kitchen table and hurried to the front door.
Miroku sighed. It seemed like he saw more of their host rushing to or from somewhere than anything else. She reminded him of Kagome in that way. Both had far too much energy than was healthy. And speaking of health...
Sango was lying hidden under three heavy quilts, a very fluffy, large comforter, and several pairs of sheets. Her head was the only visible portion of her body. When Miroku walked in carrying Buyo, she raised it and glanced at him with fever-glazed eyes. "Houshi-sama?" Her voice was hoarse.
Miroku nodded and pulled Kagome's chair away from her desk to the bedside. "Sango," he acknowledged.
Her head sank back to the pillow. "I'm cold," she complained quietly.
Miroku eyed the mountain of blankets, doubting, but said nothing. He settled as well as he could into the hard, wooden chair and calmly stroked the cat.
Sango drifted in and out of sleep for a time, only waking up long enough to peer about for a second or two before sleeping once more. This continued for an hour or so, Miroku petting Buyo all the while. The theory of the relaxation petting provides was destroyed as Miroku's thoughts revolved round and round Sango's recent actions. As he thought, his anger and frustration at the situation grew until it reached a breaking point.
When Sango returned to consciousness, she gathered enough strength to lever her upper body somewhat upright. "You're still here, Houshi-sama?"
She sounded better, Miroku noted absently, and her cheeks looked like they had a bit more color. He nodded to her question, still intent on the loudly purring Buyo.
Sango sighed. "You don't have to sit here, you know. You might get sick if you do."
Miroku shrugged and mumbled something.
Sango strained to hear what he said. "What was that?"
"I said, I don't care." He glanced up, anger smoldering in his eyes. "What am I supposed to do in this place without you, hmm? It's bad enough that I have to deal with you chasing after every guy that falls across your path. Now you're sick, and you _still_ don't want me around! I said I'd stay with you until Kagome and Inuyasha came; it's kind of hard to do when you don't want to stay with me." He delivered this speech in a quiet voice which conveyed his anger far better than yelling would. He turned his gaze back to Buyo when he finished.
Sango stared at him. It took a moment to find her voice. "Um, Houshi-sama, I'm... ah-" She shivered. "Cold."
Miroku sighed and stood, heading over to Kagome's dresser. "Because your clothes are soaked with sweat." He rummaged through the drawers and pulled out a turtleneck and a pair of sweatpants. He tossed them to her and turned around. "There, get changed."
Sango studied his back as she nervously fingered the clothing. "You're going to stand there?"
Miroku snapped, "You could have been changed by now!"
Sango flinched. Normally she would defend herself, but she still felt guilty for not apologizing; so she wordlessly stripped her soggy nightclothes off and donned the clean, dry, warm clothes.
Exhausted by that brief exercise, she sank back on to the bed and would have lain down had Miroku not grabbed her wrists and forced her on to her feet.
"You need to get some fresh air. You'll never get well sitting in a room full of sickness," he explained when she raised her eyebrow at his action. He led her from the room.
They had almost made it to the stairs when Sango's illness made itself known again. Her mouth went dry, the world started to spin, and her stomach lurched. Her legs collapsed beneath her, and Miroku caught her, awkwardly, because of his sling, pulling her up against his chest and supporting her legs and back with his arms. This swift movement did not help her roiling stomach one bit, and with a small gasp, Sango emptied the contents of her stomach on Miroku's shoulder and chest.
To his credit, Miroku said nothing nor made any disgusted faces; he simply changed course to the bathroom, set Sango down on the sink counter, and pulled off the smelly shirt.
Sango apologized profusely, several times in fact, but Miroku never responded. He silently trudged down to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water, silently handed it to her and watched her drink, silently ran the glass back downstairs and carried her back to her bed. All this without a word and hardly a glance.
Sango was certain he was still mad at her, even more so now that she had vomited all over him, but why wouldn't he say anything? Or glare? Or slap her? Or something, anything other than this cold, emotionless nothing! It occurred to her then that perhaps he wanted her annoyed because of this silent treatment. Well, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He wouldn't accept her apologies; fine, two could play that game.
Future Lovin' Part 5
Maybe she had gone too far, pushed just a little too much. He had looked so sad as he wandered away from the festival, his shoulders drooping as he clung to the stuffed cat. Maybe she shouldn't have...
But it was unfair what he had said about Hojo. He had made up his mind to hate the kind boy based on Inuyasha's opinion and a five second encounter. He deserved...
No, he didn't. No one deserved the kind of emotional pain she could tell he bore by his stance. She had only wanted to make him realize that Hojo wasn't such a bad guy, that Inuyasha was wrong. But she'd only made things worse. She hadn't meant to. All she wanted was to soothe the feathers ruffled unnecessarily at the arcade, but she had only managed to tramp all over Miroku's feelings. She hadn't planned, hadn't even imagined that she would- even _could_ make him jealous to the point of... heartbreak.
*****
Sango slipped into the Higurashi house roughly half an hour after Miroku and Souta's return. Even though the monk had told her to have a good time, the image of him walking away in defeat had disturbed her to the point that she had mumbled a quick apology to Hojo and darted away without waiting for a reply.
The moment she stepped over the threshold, Souta, clad in his train-covered pajamas, launched himself at her from halfway up the stairs. "Sango-san!"
Sango staggered backward slightly at the unexpected weight in her arms, but long practice with Shippo doing the same thing helped her recover quickly.
"Miroku-san said you wouldn't be here till late, but I knew you'd be home sooner! I was waiting up for you! Mama said I could." He paused in his monologue to make a sour face. "I guess I have to go to bed now though." He slid down to the ground. "Night, Sango-san!"
Sango nodded goodnight to him and headed towards the living room where she could hear voices emanating from the TV. Someone, most likely Miroku, was watching the surprisingly active little box. She peeked into the unlit room and saw Miroku sitting on the couch, staring listlessly at the screen, his face a show of light and dark due to the television's ever-changing image.
"Houshi-sama?" she questioned quietly, not wanting to disturb him if he was meditating.
The monk jumped slightly and turned to her, his expression blank. "Oh, Sango. I thought you wouldn't be back so soon. I was waiting up for you. Guess I'll go to sleep now." He rolled to his feet, turning his back to her and tugging his tee-shirt over his head; it caught in his sling though and, with a frustrated growl, he pulled harder. A ripping sound resulted. He cursed, dropping his indifferent, unreadable mask.
Sango, approaching cautiously, placed a calming hand on his bare shoulder. "Houshi-sama, let me help."
Miroku snapped, "Don't you think you've done enough?" and refused to look at her.
Sango sighed and grabbed hold of his mostly-torn shirt, guiding it over his broken arm with great care. She tossed it to the ground and regarded his stiff back with amusement. "Pretending to be Inuyasha is not a good idea, Houshi-sama. You should never let your back get so tense. If you went into battle with your muscles bunched like that, you could do a lot of damage to something." She pressed her hands, palm down, in the middle of his back.
He tensed further, and Sango moved her hands in small circles along his back. He slowly began to relax and sank on to the edge of the couch. Sango continued the massage, rubbing and squeezing his muscles until all the knots were gone and Miroku's head was bent down, his chin resting on his chest.
Thinking he was asleep, Sango slowed her hands to a stop, but did not remove them from his shoulders. After a moment, she let her fingers wander over his skin, marveling at the definition of his muscles. He really did have a nice physique; it was a shame he hid it under monk robes.
Blushing at the turn her thoughts had made, she pushed Miroku on to his back and rearranged his limbs to make him more comfortable. Once finished, she stepped back and studied her work, her appraising gaze lingering once more on his muscular torso. Miroku was sleeping peacefully, lightly snoring. She turned to go.
"Sango!"
Sango whipped around, startled at his call. She thought he was asleep... Oh, he still was, dreaming apparently.
"Sango, don't go. Please," he pleaded plaintively
Sango grew suspicious. Was he actually awake? But why would he pretend to sleep just to ask her to stay? He could do that just as easily if he were awake. Against her better judgment, she returned to the couch and sat down beside it, resting her head on the cushion by his.
She watched him shift in response to his dream, moving his arms and legs and, at one point, tilting his head so that their faces were mere inches apart. Through all this, his lips moved in silent entreaty, but when he drew closer, she could hear him whisper, "Kiss me goodnight, Sango."
Sango stared at him, wide-eyed. Kiss him? Her mind ran with the possibility. Now that she thought about it, she could. And he, _no one_ would be the wiser. It wasn't every day that one got the chance to kiss a lecherous monk and not get your bottom squeezed. She leaned closer. But how should she kiss him? A brief brush on the lips? Or should she make it deeper, longer? Coax his mouth open and let her tongue dance with his until he woke up? She shivered at the image her mind fed her. He would certainly be surprised, but was she daring enough to attempt it?
She licked her lips nervously and decided against it. There was too much risk involved. She angled her mouth towards his cheek; her safest bet would be a simple peck on the cheek. Just as her lips reached his skin, Miroku's head turned, and his hand came up behind her head. So startled at the sensation of Miroku's lips crushed to hers and his tongue exploring the interior of her mouth, Sango did not immediately react. Not until his hand moved from her neck down her back to her rear.
Breaking away from him with a gasp, Sango stared at him, heart beating wildly, breathing erratic. "Y-you're awake!"
Miroku smirked. Flustering the taija-ya was a rare occurrence. "After a kiss like that, that's all you can say?"
Sango blushed. "I-I was aiming for your cheek!" The second she said those words, her hands flew up to her mouth as if to grab them back. Why did she admit that she actually _was_ trying to kiss him?
"Well," Miroku responded drolly, "you missed."
"You turned your head!"
"Aren't you glad I did?"
Sango opened her mouth to deny it, but found she could not. And admitting to _that_ was out of the question. She stood. "I'm going to bed."
Miroku caught her wrist and twined his fingers with hers, all seriousness now. "Why did you come home so early?"
Sango's gaze jumped from their joined hands to his eyes, such warm, dark, caring, sensual- She shook her head to keep it from turning entirely into mush. "I- um..." She tried to recall what he had asked... Something about home... Had he said home? Did he mean here? The Higurashi house? Or this side of the well in general? Or was he just using the term "home" loosely because "Why did you come to the place where we're staying so early?" is just awkward?
"Sango?" He squeezed her hand to get her attention. "Where'd you wander off to?"
Sango flushed again. "Um..." She suddenly remembered her initial reason for finding him. "I just- Hojo-kun remembered that he had promised his mother to do something, so he had to leave. There wasn't any point in my staying without him. I just wanted to make sure you weren't worried and... Well, goodnight." She bowed quickly and spun on her heel, practically fleeing the room. She leaned on the door as it closed behind her, horrified with herself. _Why_ had she lied? She had planned so long to just apologize to him, but... The moment had come, and the words had left, replaced by a horrible, disgusting lie that further hurt their relationship. Stupid, Sango, she berated herself, so stupid.
*****
Miroku glared at the door through which Sango had disappeared. He was angry at her, at himself, and at the stupid, fucked-up, thrice-damned door that wouldn't stop acting like such a... door. Miroku ground the palm of his hand into his forehead, sighing angrily.
He was so stupid. First, he was angry at a door. Second, he let Hojo have Sango without a fight... well, he had tried to fight, but the guy was too nice to even recognize competition. Third, Sango had come in, given him that hell of a nice back rub, and then run away, mumbling something about Hojo leaving early. He didn't believe her for one second, but what was she initially going to say? Fourth, he'd kissed her... He paused for a moment. He _had_ kissed her, hadn't he? That fact took another long moment to settle in. _He_, Miroku the sometimes (okay, okay, _usually_) lecherous monk, had just kissed (and not a simple brush on the lips either) _Sango_, the totally gorgeous demon huntress, and _then_ had calmly bantered about it. Holy fucking shit! He'd just kissed Sango, something he'd dreamed about doing for months, and he'd come away scratch-free!
A lazy, contented grin crept on to his face. And the way he'd done it too was absolutely brilliant, even for him. And she hadn't really protested... His grin faded. Yes, she had. Not immediately, but she ran away. Talking about Hojo... He clenched his fists. Stupid, stupid boy!
And as Miroku sat glaring at the door, blaming it for all his misfortunes, he was not sure whether he was insulting Hojo or himself.
*****
Sometime the next morning, Miroku became aware of someone tapping his foot. He tried to ignore it, tried to cling to the small world in his imagination where he and Sango got along without a hitch and no Hojo existed, but his foot, unfortunately enough, was highly sensitive. Biting the inside of his cheek to hold back a laugh, he sat up and glared, bleary-eyed at whoever it was messing with his foot.
A brown-and-white striped, very fat cat sprawled next to his legs, pawing at his feet.
Not sure whether to be amused or annoyed, Miroku drew his feet under him and reached out to pet the cat. Lacking any sort of self-preservation instincts, Buyo rolled over, presenting its stomach to be rubbed.
Miroku was very happy to oblige. Petting small, furry animals was relaxing in an odd way. And after last night's fiasco, he was more than tense... Well, he hadn't been tense after the back rub, but... He shook his head as if to toss Sango completely out of his mind. He would not think about her today until he absolutely had to. He'd stay right where he was, stroking the family pet all day, but he would not actively search Sango, or anyone else for that matter, out. He would sit right where he was... all day... forever, if need be. However, Fate or, in this case, Mrs. Higurashi rarely has the same plans.
The older woman glanced into the living room as she passed through the kitchen and noticed his wakefulness. "Ah, Miroku! I'm so glad you're awake! Sango's not feeling that well this morning, and could you be a dear and stay with her for awhile? Just in case she needs anything."
Miroku stopped petting Buyo for an instant, hand frozen in mid-air. Stay with Sango? After he wanted to avoid her?
Mrs. Higurashi, seeing his hesitation, quickly added, "You don't have to, of course."
Miroku stood, scooping up the obese cat and holding it close. "No, I can sit with her." He headed for the stairs.
Mrs. Higurashi exhaled with relief. "Oh, thank you. There's some chicken soup in the cupboard any time Sango's stomach settles down enough for her to be hungry. Just toss it into a pan and turn the oven on High. Don't forget to turn it off though. I'm going to run to the pharmacy since Kagome took all the flu medication with her. I'll be right back." She grabbed her purse off the kitchen table and hurried to the front door.
Miroku sighed. It seemed like he saw more of their host rushing to or from somewhere than anything else. She reminded him of Kagome in that way. Both had far too much energy than was healthy. And speaking of health...
Sango was lying hidden under three heavy quilts, a very fluffy, large comforter, and several pairs of sheets. Her head was the only visible portion of her body. When Miroku walked in carrying Buyo, she raised it and glanced at him with fever-glazed eyes. "Houshi-sama?" Her voice was hoarse.
Miroku nodded and pulled Kagome's chair away from her desk to the bedside. "Sango," he acknowledged.
Her head sank back to the pillow. "I'm cold," she complained quietly.
Miroku eyed the mountain of blankets, doubting, but said nothing. He settled as well as he could into the hard, wooden chair and calmly stroked the cat.
Sango drifted in and out of sleep for a time, only waking up long enough to peer about for a second or two before sleeping once more. This continued for an hour or so, Miroku petting Buyo all the while. The theory of the relaxation petting provides was destroyed as Miroku's thoughts revolved round and round Sango's recent actions. As he thought, his anger and frustration at the situation grew until it reached a breaking point.
When Sango returned to consciousness, she gathered enough strength to lever her upper body somewhat upright. "You're still here, Houshi-sama?"
She sounded better, Miroku noted absently, and her cheeks looked like they had a bit more color. He nodded to her question, still intent on the loudly purring Buyo.
Sango sighed. "You don't have to sit here, you know. You might get sick if you do."
Miroku shrugged and mumbled something.
Sango strained to hear what he said. "What was that?"
"I said, I don't care." He glanced up, anger smoldering in his eyes. "What am I supposed to do in this place without you, hmm? It's bad enough that I have to deal with you chasing after every guy that falls across your path. Now you're sick, and you _still_ don't want me around! I said I'd stay with you until Kagome and Inuyasha came; it's kind of hard to do when you don't want to stay with me." He delivered this speech in a quiet voice which conveyed his anger far better than yelling would. He turned his gaze back to Buyo when he finished.
Sango stared at him. It took a moment to find her voice. "Um, Houshi-sama, I'm... ah-" She shivered. "Cold."
Miroku sighed and stood, heading over to Kagome's dresser. "Because your clothes are soaked with sweat." He rummaged through the drawers and pulled out a turtleneck and a pair of sweatpants. He tossed them to her and turned around. "There, get changed."
Sango studied his back as she nervously fingered the clothing. "You're going to stand there?"
Miroku snapped, "You could have been changed by now!"
Sango flinched. Normally she would defend herself, but she still felt guilty for not apologizing; so she wordlessly stripped her soggy nightclothes off and donned the clean, dry, warm clothes.
Exhausted by that brief exercise, she sank back on to the bed and would have lain down had Miroku not grabbed her wrists and forced her on to her feet.
"You need to get some fresh air. You'll never get well sitting in a room full of sickness," he explained when she raised her eyebrow at his action. He led her from the room.
They had almost made it to the stairs when Sango's illness made itself known again. Her mouth went dry, the world started to spin, and her stomach lurched. Her legs collapsed beneath her, and Miroku caught her, awkwardly, because of his sling, pulling her up against his chest and supporting her legs and back with his arms. This swift movement did not help her roiling stomach one bit, and with a small gasp, Sango emptied the contents of her stomach on Miroku's shoulder and chest.
To his credit, Miroku said nothing nor made any disgusted faces; he simply changed course to the bathroom, set Sango down on the sink counter, and pulled off the smelly shirt.
Sango apologized profusely, several times in fact, but Miroku never responded. He silently trudged down to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water, silently handed it to her and watched her drink, silently ran the glass back downstairs and carried her back to her bed. All this without a word and hardly a glance.
Sango was certain he was still mad at her, even more so now that she had vomited all over him, but why wouldn't he say anything? Or glare? Or slap her? Or something, anything other than this cold, emotionless nothing! It occurred to her then that perhaps he wanted her annoyed because of this silent treatment. Well, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He wouldn't accept her apologies; fine, two could play that game.