If You Need Her
By Scribe Figaro
SESSION THREE: REUNITED
"So hold me when I'm here
Right me when I'm wrong
Hold me when I'm scared
And love me when I'm gone."
- 3 Doors Down, "When I'm Gone"
Sango was alone.
She was sitting comfortably on yet another hillside of yet another village, her knees drawn up to her chest. Kirara had been with her, but Sango had become so lost in her thoughts that she had ceased petting her. The neko-youkai, clearly hungry, wandered off to search for food. Her mistress had not been feeding her regularly.
The days had passed by slowly, but each day blended into the next so that she couldn't remember how long it had been. A few days, at least. A week, or two weeks, at most. They had traveled on slowly since Miroku's death, managing 5 ri each day at best. Before, the group had been averaging nearly 20.
Then, there was the bird-youkai that leapt out at the group yesterday, or what Sango thought was yesterday. Sango hadn't seen it, and her hesitation would have cost her life if Inuyasha had not crossed in front of her and parried its beak with Tetsusaiga.
Inuyasha shouted at her, but if it was his intention to make her aware of her weakness, of her constant state of distraction, it was a pointless endeavor. She knew it all too well; she just couldn't help it.
Kagome was still protecting her – she quickly "osuwaried" Inuyasha, and told Sango that she would be alright, that she just needed more time to heal. It was hard enough to get here without Kagome's interference, but the fact was, Kagome simply wasn't helping.
Here, she could be alone again.
Here, her only company were the thoughts in her mind.
Here, she could think of him, and at times forget that he was dead.
It hurt sometimes, to forget, because it was followed by remembering. She wasn't sure how many times she had turned to the side, called his name to acknowledge him, and found that Houshi-sama simply wasn't there, and would never be there.
Sometimes she called him "Houshi-sama." Sometimes she called him "Miroku." Sometimes she came to her senses before saying anything, and her mouth would be parted, dry, staring at the empty spot beside her where she could have sworn she heard the jangle of his shakujou, the rustle of his heavy robes, the shuffling of his feet through the tall grass, the gentle sound of his breath catching as he realized she had seen him.
She thought of his robes, of how warm they felt when she had hugged him on his deathbed. How he had smelled, of soft rain and sweat and dirt and incense and inks and papers. How his eyes had drooped when the pain hit him, and how he pretended that the wound she gave him did not hurt and would not kill him. He might have been right about the latter, but not knowing one way or the other was no better than knowing for sure that it was her fault.
She missed her family and her friends in the village, but she had found peace with that. Houshi-sama was part of her new life. Her new life had friends and adventure and a baka houshi who flirted with her but wouldn't ask her to bear his child because he knew she would. She had suffered a lifetime of tragedies, had lost everything to Naraku. She shed her blood, her brother's blood, her father's blood, and the blood of all her people. She was cleansed, the slate was wiped clean, and this was her new life.
Her new life was not supposed to have such tragedy.
Her first love was not supposed to suffer and die.
Her new life wasn't supposed to involve sitting on a hillside, knowing that he was never going to come up behind her, greet her as she sat alone in her thoughts, and offer his company.
Biting her lips, Sango leaned forward, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes.
She had not cried for him yet.
She thought it might help to cry, but each time she thought she might, she just shook so hard it rattled her teeth. She might have whimpered once or twice, a pathetic sound she could not have believed she was capable of making. Never did she shed a tear.
Somewhere, Sango knew, there was a rainstorm, a storm so great that it tore the banners from ships and pushed waves of rain into homes and snuffed out cooking fires.
Somewhere, Heaven cried because Sango could not.