Refert Retuli
: Hana no Ouji
Genre: General
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Kagome and Kikyou have been summoned once more—from home and from hell, two years after the destruction of the Shikon no Tama, to assist in combating a force that threatens to destroy the heir to Midoriko's legacy: Sango.
Warnings: [Cough] Naughty words, alternate pairings, and zombie Midoriko. I doubt there will be a ratings' bump, unless the word "fu—"… Okay, there might be a ratings' bump. [Laughs] The romantic focal point is IY/S. Kagome-isms next chapter, by the way. M/K the chapter after that.
chapter 2 :: comrade in arms
I would swallow my pride
I would choke on the rinds
But the lack of thereof would leave me empty inside
Swallow my doubt
Turn it inside out
Find nothing but faith in nothing
Wanna put my tender heart in a blender
Watch it spin around to a beautiful oblivion
Rendezvous, then I'm through with you…
Inside Out – Eve 6
---
Midnight.
Sango always considered herself a night person; she was comforted by the eerie silence, with soft moonbeams drawn from between wisps of weightless cloud extending like impatient fingertips. An accumulation of stars, luminous dots against a secretive background, glimmered coolly; she had even seen perhaps two fall from their thrones, but in the presence of the Shikon no Tama, she dared not wish upon it aloud.
Clutching the Shikon no Tama between her fingertips and balancing it precariously between sharpened fingernails, she raised it, comparing it to the austerely somber moon, close to achieving fullness. Kagome-chan once told Inu Yasha and her the relative size of the moon in contrast to the world—Inu Yasha stubbornly refused to submit to the theorem, but Sango had never put much thought into it before. Normal children were curious about everything and anything they could get their tiny hands on—Shippou and the village children were ideal examples; her childhood had revolved mainly around physical training, exercise, eliminating weakness, and in between the concrete horrors, as much education as possible and the timid construction of mental and emotional walls.
A short recollection of her nightmare told her that her father had been one of the focal points in the dream. Her father really had taught her everything. He considered every possibility, took into account every defect and every risk and teaching Sango to work against it; then Kohaku was born, and Sango would have rigorously trained him had he not…
Sango stopped abruptly, lowering her hand from the air and clutching the Shikon no Tama, damning it quietly.
She felt alone again, as she had the day she attempted to kill herself. She sighed, drawing her knees to her chest and rocking back and forth—she wished Kagome were here. As sorry as it sounded, the 15-year-old girl had been her best, and perhaps only, friend (aside from Kirara). Often, in times of crisis, Sango would ask herself what someone like Kagome—brave with naïveté, power with accountability—would do.
If she had the Shikon no Tama, Kagome would…
The answer became painfully clear.
…Protect it, like her predecessor.
A conclusion. Sango studied the Shikon no Tama again, taking in its lavender, simplistic beauty—the way it spangled on its own accord, regardless of where light and shadow struck it. I might not be Midoriko or Kikyou or even Kagome… She bit her lower lip, the corners of her lips curved downward in a slight frown. But until I find out what's going on, I guess I have no choice but to guard it.
But…her predecessors had failed where Kikyou had succeeded. The tribe of demon exterminators found it too difficult a task—and even with Inu Yasha and houshi-sama, what good were a taijiya, a monk, and a hanyou compared to the awesome might of a priestess?
The femme taijiya buried her face in her knees. Help me…someone…?
A soft, almost noiseless thud prompted Sango to leap to her feet, a blade shooting out of the clamp on her right wrist. She paused, brown eyes analyzing the rooftop; they narrowed, and she spun around, left foot shifting backwards and position of fists changing. A basic defensive pose. No one there, either. She lowered her clenched fists just barely—was she imagining things…? I'm so hopeless… Otou-san would be angry… She smiled weakly, eyes widening slightly, laughing in negative self-appraisal. "Heh…heh…"
A tap on her shoulder. "Hey."
The normally collected 18-year-old jumped in unadulterated surprise, yelping loudly before gravity took over. She plummeted back onto the roof, sans her usual feminine grace and poise amassed from being born and raised a woman of warfare.
Inu Yasha snickered to himself upon witnessing her almost comical expression of irritation. Sango leapt to her feet and launched her fist out in a blind attempt to punch the hanyou in the face—one that missed, and she became very aware that her center of balance changed; she stumbled forward, falling to one knee. Inu Yasha placed clawed hands on his waist, bending forward to lean over the stiff and slowly recuperating form of the taijiya.
"Geez, Sango. Not on the ball t'night, are we?" he asked mockingly.
"Go to hell," she snapped, giving up the menial task of standing and plopping herself on the wooden log, damp with years of preservation.
"You dropped something." Inu Yasha waved the Shikon no Tama tantalizingly in front of her face, baring his fangs in a savage grin. Sango's eyebrows quirked almost to her hairline.
"Give it to me," she seethed.
"No."
"Now."
"No. I wanna use it."
The taijiya snarled in severe exasperation, grabbing the almost weightless Inu Yasha's ankle and yanking the object clear out from beneath him. He let out a short string of choice words before collapsing onto the rooftop. The jewel bounced up and out of his hand and into hers; she clung to it defensively, glaring at him with a homicidal intensity. "Don't tell me you're still on your little I-wanna-be-a-youkai tirade," she said coldly. "I thought you got over it with Kagome."
Inu Yasha flinched perceptibly at the mention of Kikyou's reincarnation, eyes softening with a sort of melancholy nostalgia. Sango blinked. He wasn't just sad.
He was wounded.
It was a festering injury, the edges still ripe with the formations of an emotional scar. Apparently, over the past two years, it had grown resilient to the world around it—oblivious to care and assistance and love in any formation; the hanyou had taken special precautions so as not to let this tough-ass wound bleed, especially in the presence of others. Reopened, scarred, tough, unfeeling—you name it, he was it. Hell, her father would commend him for such calloused imperviousness to damage, for being tougher than his own children.
Any mention of Kikyou's name or Kagome's name, presumably, would rip apart any self-inflicted mending on the wound, and Inu Yasha would…bleed. Sango was well aware of the fact that Inu Yasha hated company, specifically when he was discovered in…vulnerable states; he would become a recluse, attempting to bandage and cover up the blood flow with cruel words and violent outbursts. Does Kagome… Did Kagome know?
She had similar injuries, she realized.
And he knew it.
Sango found herself murmuring apologies. "Sorry," she said quietly. "Inu Yasha, I didn't mean to…er…that is to say… Sorry," she finished lamely. Inwardly, she kicked herself. Hard. Sango rarely lost the power of speech; she was usually an expert at verbal and physical jurisdiction, often playing leader when asked to exterminate youkai for money. The only person around whom she stuttered was Miroku…
That was a long time ago.
Inu Yasha was quiet, suddenly stiffening, and back ramrod straight—abnormally so; he was almost bending backwards. Perhaps it was indignation—at least, that's what she associated it with, but she couldn't afford to make sure.
He blinked, eyes of a startling golden hue refocusing.
"Sorry," she said quickly.
He blinked again, and waved one scrawny hand dismissively. "…Don't worry about it."
Her relief was muted, and she smiled tentatively at her hanyou friend. He simply looked away, an unreadable expression crossing his often-angered features. He spoke again. "The monk wanted me to come up here." She tilted her head questioningly; the hanyou rolled his eyes, irritated, indicating the brace from which she had ejected her weapon—the very same she had used on herself. "Why d'ya think?"
She smiled weakly. "Houshi-sama was worried about me?" Full moon tomorrow…or the day after.
Inu Yasha grumbled and folded his arms. "You sound pathetic, Sango." She shrugged helplessly, still with that weak smile. "What happened to the tough, ass-kicking chick I used to know?"
Sango shrugged, tilting her head backwards so as to catch a good glimpse of the moon. "I don't know whom you're talking about," she said blandly, but nonetheless frighteningly sincere—dejected, almost.
His smirk straightened slightly. "What happened to 'er?" he challenged, persistent still.
There was an underlying regard in his question. Kagome really has changed him.
She shook herself out of her reverie, and her voice dropped to a low whisper—one only he, with his accentuated hearing, could net. "I missed my family."
Inu Yasha seemed mildly annoyed.
"…I want to see my mother again," Sango whispered—or, more accurately, mouthed; the hanyou, however, heard it perfectly. With a visible wince, he conjured a visual of at least forty demons ransacking and pillaging a single town, purging it of life and burning it to the ground. The taijiya smiled, reveling in the comfort of her earlier memories. "Kaa-chan didn't die because of Naraku," she said in a louder tone, as if she could tell what he was imagining.
Sango closed her eyes. "Sometimes, for payment, otou-san would have artisans or painters…sculpt or…paint models and portraits of kaa-chan."
Inu Yasha couldn't help but scoff, arcing the corners of his fanged mouth in a smile. "A little over the top, ain't it?"
The taijiya didn't seem to hear him, lost in her memories. Inu Yasha listened with foreign patience. "Kaa-chan was…the best," she said softly. "She was the strongest…the best taijiya in the village… I wanted to be just like her. And so…Kaa-chan…started training me when I was four, a year or so before Kohaku was born."
He began to tick numbers off his fingers, one by one. "How old are you again?" he asked distractedly.
"…18."
Inu Yasha smirked again, a gesture she was beginning to find annoying. "I think you've been slacking off for the past two years, Sango."
"…One day," Sango began again, clasping her hands in front of her, the knuckles crackling loudly as she extended her fingers, "kaa-chan went to the Western Lands." This time, she looked at him, fully and correctly expecting he would recognize it at once. The hanyou's eyes jolted, undergoing a rapid tremor and turning sheet white, though a vein pulsated in the side of his temple. "Wait, wait," she interrupted a soundless ramble, waving her hands. "Let me finish.
"And there…she fought the taiyoukai…your half-brother, Sesshoumaru."
Inu Yasha froze, guilt beginning to leech off of his normally stable heart. "And she…there? Why the hell didn't you tell me before!?"
The taijiya shook her head. "Sesshoumaru didn't kill her."
He relaxed a little. "When…?"
"When I was five…she'd already given birth to my little brother."
"That's…not too long ago, I guess."
"For you," she snapped in reply.
"How'd she die, then?"
"…After she died, otou-san trained me in her stead. He was…" Sango hesitated.
"…A bitch?"
"…Harsh," Sango amended. "He didn't have kaa-chan's patience…but he tried so hard to fill the gap my mother's death created… Kohaku knew, too…even when he was only three years old. And we respected him. We wanted to be the best, so he and kaa-chan wouldn't be disappointed." Little silvery orbs danced in the corners of her eyes; her vision of the moon and the sky swam. "Kohaku…he was so young. He would walk around the house…and see so many paintings…so much art created in kaa-chan's memory…" Her voice broke, and instinctively, she spread one hand on her face, fingers tending to each threatening tear and the tremble of her parted lips. "…And he didn't even know who she was…"
"He never told his own son about his mother?" Inu Yasha mused, doing his very best to ignore her very real pain. That was, of course, a gesture of pure respect—he sure as hell hated being seen if or when he cried, and so did she. "Did he ever find out?"
"He found out," Sango said bitterly, eyes tightly shut. "I told him.
"I told him…everything. What she was like. How she died. The songs she used to sing. He needed the memories," she said, almost defensively, "and I needed someone to tell. He needed to know. For someone to just…never know their mother…"
Too cruel, Inu Yasha agreed wordlessly.
"…After I told him how she died…Kohaku began having doubts…about becoming a taijiya. I told him that kaa-chan would be proud of him…" She shook her head. "…He tried to run away so many times."
She stopped abruptly, recovering from a brief state of misery. "Er… Guess I got carried away," she said, sitting down. "Sorry."
The hanyou shook his head, strands of silver dancing over his eyes. Unbidden emotion—tonight, he had connected with the taijiya; something that, he realized, he had never done before. Sure, he recognized they had a lot in common, but Sango had never…trusted him, or any of them, with that sort of secret, a snippet from a past obscured by the unwillingness to trust… Out of fear that they simply. Wouldn't. Understand.
Sango was right. They wouldn't. Kagome didn't—she listened, and it felt nice. But she couldn't forge any sort of link to it, and that was why she never understood his enduring and unyielding love for Kikyou.
"At least you said something about it," Inu Yasha grumbled. He looked down at her, having stood up long before—after she had reclaimed the Shikon no Tama. "You sure you're gonna be alright? Should I hurt the monk?"
"I'm sure you don't need my permission."
"Feh. You're right."
Silence.
"Are you gonna leave anytime soon?" Sango asked, rubbing at her eyes with her sleeve.
"You'll probably kick me off anyway."
Sango's shoulders loosened, and she slumped against the wooden roof, folding her hands behind her head. "You know, Inu Yasha," she began, a feeble smile playing on her lips, "although you'd probably rather die than admit it, you're…not a bad person." He opened his mouth to retort, but she cut in again, heavy-lidded gaze shifting to the hanyou in question. "And not that bad a friend, either."
"Hm."
The hanyou slowly stalked to the edge of the roof, peering down at the distance between it and the hard dirt below.
"Leaving?"
"Looks like."
"…Thanks."
"No problem."
He hopped off the roof; a soft thud alerted her to his safe descent.
---
Inu Yasha entered the hut, the once-lively fireplace having long been extinguished; it was a dark and gloomy house, presumably an asset of Miroku's, unfurnished with two small beds and a table. Simple, he mused. He was able to discern the fact that the fireplace had recently been lit due to the scent of smoldering wood; he was also able to discern that it was Miroku's because the monk was sitting at the table, looking very forlorn.
The hanyou's eyebrow elevated. "How much did ya hear?" he bristled.
"Enough," Miroku said, voice toneless and negotiable as per usual—but there was a sort of distant antagonism, navy eyes steely and piercing. Inu Yasha could see—he saw perfectly well in the dark, thanks to his youkai half—and he did not like it. At all.
"Idiot," Inu Yasha snapped, folding his arms resentfully. "I don't know what the hell you're thinking, but it's obviously nothing smart. I—"
"Relax," Miroku interrupted hastily, though his voice did not change, "I'm not going to accuse you of anything. (Yet.)"
"S'rude to eavesdrop, you know. Maybe Sango doesn't want you to know some shit. So what?"
"Well…no offense, Inu Yasha, but who would trust you instead of a charming houshi such as myself?"
"She would."
"And that's all that matters to me," Miroku finished triumphantly. He paused, eyes narrowing slightly in a manner that would suggest deep thought—contemplating a way to string it together in the most…courteous way possible. "I have no intention of being rude, Inu Yasha, but…" His voice rose, steel-sharpened and resolute: "Don't let her trust you too much."
Inu Yasha's left eye was twitching rather dangerously. "You're fucking kidding, right?"
"No, it's not what you think. I… I'd like her to confide in me. Thus, it is essential that you…"
"…Back off. Right, I got it. Dumbass."
Author's Notes: Heh… I found it really hard to personify Sango. I don't know; Takahashi-san made her seem far too two-dimensional. I mean, she's loud, yes; she's always denying her feelings for Miroku, yes—but…hmm. I just found it really hard to get her to launch into a spiel about her family and make it seem realistic.