If You Need Her
by Scribe Figaro
SESSION FOUR: BREATHE WITH ME
"Breathe the pressure
Come play my game and I'll test ya."
- Prodigy, "Breathe With Me"
"Into the sea of waking dreams
I follow without pride
Nothing stands between us here
And I won't be denied."
- Sarah McLauchlan, "Possession"
I.
The fallen leaves danced around them, mirroring the chaos and confusion in Sango's mind as she sat beside him.
Kaede had eased her torment. The woman knew of a cure for Miroku's illness, but it would not be so simple as some sort of tea or medicine. No, the old miko's powers were not absolute, and making Miroku whole again would require a trial and a journey.
The old miko knew of an ascetic that lived within a few hours' journey, a woman who knew well the boundary between this world and the next. Kaede assured them that if anyone was capable of regaining memories so lost as Miroku's, this old woman would be.
They would begin their journey after a midday meal. She should have felt rushed, but delaying a few hours did not bother her. She missed him, missed him very dearly, and she appreciated the chance to spend some time with him, even if in silence. It was possible they would have some more youkai to fight before Miroku could be helped, and since his fighting abilities and houriki were forgotten along with his memories of his friends, it would be best to allow both of them rest before moving on to what could be a very perilous series of battles.
Meanwhile, she sat here with Miroku beside her. Despite his ailment, he retained his stoic mask. Ever-patient, ever-truthful, ever hers, her anchor, her rock, the one thing in this world she could trust unflinchingly. It was amazing how little his expression changed. He was so closed off from her, his thoughts locked down so tightly, that here, while he held no dreams to consider, no nightmares to obsess over, no enemies to hate, he kept the serene expression of a Buddha, a learned man who thinks lightly of serious matters and thinks seriously of trivialities.
Again he was hers, and the leaves fell.
"You can, if you want," she blurted out, breaching the silence between them.
He turned slightly toward her. For the past few minutes he had been stealing glimpses at her, and appeared relieved he could study her face more freely.
"Caress it, I mean," she said. Her lips tightened in a line, her cheeks blushed.
"My bottom."
He chuckled lightly.
"I assure you that I would not betray my feelings for you with such an uncouth act."
It amazed Sango that her immediate reaction to this was one of disappointment.
"Oh," she said.
The utterance hung awkwardly in the air. Sango bit her bottom lip.
"May I . . . caress Sango elsewhere?"
Her eyes met his.
"Your hair," he said.
She nodded, closing her eyes as she felt his hand stroke her head. She leaned toward him and felt his lips touch her forehead.
"When I awoke days ago, I thought that I was married. I thought that picture was drawn by our child, but now I realize it was Shippou's."
She let loose a sigh. "Yes," she said. "Shippou is quite talented at drawing."
His voice became deeper, more urging at her pointed evasion of his words.
"You have nothing to say to me when I tell you I thought we were married?"
"It would seem rude to dwell on such an honest mistake."
His hands tightened on his shoulders. She pressed her cheek to his chest.
"What are we, Sango? Husband and wife?"
"No," she said, her voice low and serious.
"Betrothed?"
"No." Despite herself, she felt a twinge of disappointment with saying so.
"Friends?"
"More than that."
He leaned back. Deprived of her shoulder to lean on, she again sat beside him, keeping his quizzical stare.
"What am I to you, Sango? After what I've been through, I beg you, give me an answer from your heart."
His voice cracked slightly on that last word, though he otherwise maintained his composure. It hurt him to walk into a relationship blind like this. It hurt him to have feelings for a woman without knowing to what degree they were reciprocated, if at all. It hurt him to know he held no claim to her, that the ties between them were not marital or societal, and were perhaps invisible to all but their closest friends.
She tilted her head slightly and, without intending to, found her mouth turning upwards in the hint of a smile.
"You are my Houshi-sama." And with that she felt her eyes water, for rarely did she have the courage to say something so true to anyone. She wanted him. She needed him. And what more, she had him.
Miroku smiled, his sudden worry evaporated. "Your Houshi-sama." He chuckled. "Yes, that's exactly how I feel." He turned away from her, pretending to study the valley beneath them, but keeping watch at her out of the corner of his eye as she lay serenely on the grass.
Still, the leaves fell.