STRICKEN
by Scribe Figaro
"I know these voices must be my soul.
I've had enough, I've had enough
Of being alone
But I've got no place to go."
- Dave Matthews Band, "Rhyme and Reason"
Chapter One: Fall
I.
She's left again . . .
Having thought about the issue for a long time, Miroku had at this evening come to a conclusion about Sango.
She really, really annoyed him.
She probably didn't intend it. And surely, he bothered her in far more invasive ways - the repeated slaps he received from her made that quite clear. But her tendency to awake late at night and leave the group so often grated on his nerves, because every time she stirred he could not help but hear her, and every time she wandered off alone he could not help but watch her step lightly and quietly through the forest in which they stayed, and every time he watched her he knew sleep was lost to him that evening.
She was no woman of weak will - the repeated slaps he received made that clear, as well - but there was something in Miroku's nature that made him want to protect her, even though all reason indicated she neither wanted nor needed his protection. She was strong, she was fierce, and she showed no mercy to those that hurt her or her friends.
But at the same time, she was not experienced to the ways of the world. She had not gone far from her own village until he, Kagome, Shippou, and Inuyasha arrived. Her tribe of taiji-ya always did their work in teams, so she had not fought alone for many years as he or Inuyasha did. Without experience, it was unlikely she or anyone else would know how vulnerable one person traveling alone can be in these endless forests. She could not know the sort of desperate men that lurked in these lands, nor the lengths they would go to for a prize so unique as Sango. There were, after all, worse things than youkai.
Miroku did not want her to learn this firsthand.
True, he felt similarly for all women he came across. It was one of the few good lessons he took from his upbringing, the idea of protecting women. Perhaps his father ingrained such a rule in his mind because of his mother.
Regardless, Miroku knew that he posed little help in any dangerous situation Sango may find herself in.
Perhaps it is I who wants to be protected by her.
He smiled at the thought, partly at the irony, partly because it may have been true. How many times had he been alone, trapped, under the spell of some youkai, and saved at the last minute by Sango? How many times had she rushed into a deadly situation without regard to her own life, simply because she knew he was in danger?
He played off such situations, usually, but only because the truth was oftentimes too chilling to imagine. To know he had been careless, or outwitted entirely, and to imagine never knowing the stunning taiji-ya would be the same as being killed many times over!
He wasn't slack in assisting her, either. He had taken his share of wounds intended for her, and he would gladly take many more. Sango had been hurt so many times since she came across Miroku and their group, and the pain of being wounded, to Miroku, failed to compare to the pain of seeing Sango struck down and bloody yet again.
It didn't matter who was helping whom; none could possibly deny that they fought well together. Miroku had battled so many youkai alone that it was hard to believe anyone could adapt to his style and complement his weaknesses, but Sango did so with practiced ease. Clearly, her years fighting alongside the strongest taiji-ya in her village gave her the training necessary to do so, but Miroku had the indication her particular style and grace was all her own.
Though she probably did not realize it, she strengthened him in ways he would not have believed. The simple sensation of her battle aura quickened his heart and sharpened his senses like nothing else could. Her mere presence made him well at ease, collected, and prepared for anything that would come their way. He wondered if she felt the same way about him.
The fact that Kagome and Inuyasha shared the same type of relationship did not pass by Miroku's understanding, and the idea that this indicated a possible romantic relationship between him and Sango was not easily dismissed, given that such thoughts led to his most unusual and favorite fantasies. So many daydreams with women began and ended with sleeping with them - much like his rare but memorable real-life experiences. But what woman, besides Sango, did he fancy as his wife, as mother of his children?
None, of course. And even though he did not feel about ready to give up his womanizing ways - he was still young, thank Kami-sama - he knew when Naraku was defeated and their respective curses vanquished, she would have no reason to stay with them anymore. Miroku knew at that time he would gladly give up the thrill and excitement of chasing other women to stay with her.
Ah, he would miss the tea-house girls and the sake, but he could still live without them. But life without Sango . . . how could any man bear it?
Thinking further, Miroku realized that this was the only reason he followed her. Not to rescue her. Not to protect her. Only to watch her as she sat and thought her sad thoughts. To approach her, interrupt her tears before they could come, and give her whatever reassurances he could come up with. Or, failing that, to grab her ass and make her angry enough to forget her troubles for a little while. Which wasn't to say such a thing was an entirely selfless act.
Miroku was certain his curse, the Kazaana, would fulfill its purpose within a few years. His time in this world was so much more precious because of it. It was the reason he so often reached out for simple or carnal pleasures in his wilder days, the days that more or less ended when he first came across Inuyasha, Kagome, and Shippou. Now, with his life so much shorter due to repeated damage and strain to his Kazaana, he felt the need to take advantage of the pleasures of life with increased vigor.
Could he help it, then, if the only pleasures he sought were to be beside Sango, to talk to her, to tease her, and to touch her, just to make sure she was real?
Miroku suddenly stopped short, eyes wide, mouth agape. He felt Sango's battle aura, jarring him like smelling salts. His hand became white-knuckle tight on his shakujou, and within an instant he could sense direction, hear the muffled sounds of battle, and began to run.
II.
He ran swiftly, silently, and within moments he could hear the laughter of men, the clang of steel on steel.
He burst through a copse of trees, finding himself overlooking a ravine. He took in the scattering of bodies before him – gruesome-looking creatures that could possibly have been boar-youkai, all wearing dirty clothes and pierced armor. Rusted swords lay near them.
Several were quite alive, he saw, as he leapt from the bank. He drove his shakujou through one upon landing.
"Houshi-sama!" Sango shouted. She seemed to be doing well, though she was wielding a heavy, long katana that was clearly stolen from one of her fallen enemies.
He threw his shakujou at her, which she caught in midair. The weapon, imbued with his houriki, nearly unbreakable, and far better-balanced than the war-weapon she held, would serve her much better.
"Arigatou!" she called, dropping the heavy sword and dispatching another creature with the decorated edge of Miroku's staff.
Miroku nodded, and quickly dodged an arrow from the opposite bank. He took a survey of his enemies. Three swordsmen, all surrounding Sango at the moment. One archer. Two youkai with halberds. At least a dozen of their companions scattered the ground. Miroku found himself wondering if his intervention was necessary, or even helpful.
Perhaps this is her idea of a date.
It was then he tripped and fell over the youkai-corpse behind him.
Damn.
O-fuda took care of two of them as he fell, but one youkai remained, and he raised a halberd above him, intending to cleave him in half. The creature's porcine nose, decorated with a brass ring through the nostrils, sprayed mucous as it smiled, revealing two-inch tusks that dripped saliva and let forth a sort of victory grunt.
Before he could react, Sango was standing above him, holding his staff above her head to block both of them from the blow. The halberd made contact a few inches below its blade. The wood splintered and broke, sending the heavy metal head flying.
The broken edge continued to travel downward, striking Sango on the forehead, just above her left eye, with a gut-wrenching crunch.
She didn't even flinch, and spun the shakujou forward, decapitating the last youkai. Blood sprayed, its grubby claws waved, and the body fell backward.
She stepped aside, allowing Miroku to get to his feet. She put a hand to her head and grimaced.
"Sango? Are you all right?"
"I'll be fine," she said. "It's just a bad bruise."
"Let me see."
She hesitated for a moment, but his concerned expression calmed her. He leaned forward, gingerly pushing aside her bangs. A bruise already began to flower, the blue-black swelling flesh cut in two with a deep gash.
"I don't want to take a chance with a wound like that," he said. "Get on my back; I'll carry you to Kaede-sama's home."
She grinned wryly, as she did when she figured out his more perverted plans. "It's not that easy, Houshi-sama." She handed him his shakujou. "You can walk with me, if you choose, but I'm not about to let you get your hands on me."
They didn't get far. Miroku counted about twenty steps before she stumbled and fell.
He didn't catch her in time, but she got up quickly. She stood on wobbly legs, and Miroku gripped her arms to steady her.
"Would you let me carry you now?"
"Ssshkebe," she slurred. Drool trickled from a corner of her mouth. Her eyes did not focus on him.
Muttering a quick prayer, he picked her up and threw her over one shoulder. She mumbled protest, but he paid no heed.
He ran. Branches whipped across his face, drawing red lines across his cheeks, but he felt nothing but the waning breath and heartbeat of the woman against his back.
He felt her gag, suck in gulps of air, and heave. He stopped, getting a firm grip on her obi and pulling her to a standing position before him. One arm was firmly around her waist and the other crossed her chest, his hand at her shoulder. He felt her tense, her hands reached to the arm across her chest, holding tightly.
She vomited, staining her kimono. Her fingernails drove into his forearm.
"It's alright, Sango. Just let it out." She let go of his arm, and he wiped her chin with the edge of his wide sleeve. "Better now?"
She nodded, almost imperceptibly. He picked her up again, this time holding her in front of him, one arm supporting her back and the other beneath her knees. She seemed to slip in and out of consciousness now.
"Eyes open, Sango!"
He gritted his teeth. He jostled her as he walked, but it was no use. She was limp in his arms now, one arm waving before him, the other clutching at the collar of his robe. The reek of sick on her clothes was joined with a different, acrid smell. Miroku thought he might cry.
This is bad. This is very, very bad.
This was how things ended, wasn't it? She fought against countless youkai, fought with skill and grace and cunning, suffered the manipulations of Naraku, saw the loss of her village and her family, saw the kidnapping and continued torture and enslavement of her brother, and rose above it, all of it. She was the first of them to battle Naraku, battled him alone, without fear or hesitation. Her character was forged of the finest steel, her honor of the whitest cloth, her heart wider than all the sea, and her beauty more prolific than the bejeweled night sky. She was all of this, and yet she would fall, here, because Miroku had tried to help her in battle, had given her a weapon she was unfamiliar with, and had distracted her.
No, damn it! It isn't supposed to be this way. I was supposed to die for her! Me! My life is short, my curse comes ever closer to consuming me. My only options are to slay Naraku or to circumvent his curse by sacrificing my life. Why didn't she see that?
Miroku winced as his side began to ache, but he continued on.
He had to bring her to safety. He could not fail her.
Author's Note: I decided, mired in "If You Need Her," that I would not post another incomplete fanfic. This one is pretty much ready to go; I plan to post the remaining three chapters within a week of each other.