If You Need Her
by Scribe Figaro
SESSION FOUR: BREATHE WITH ME
"I jumped into the river - what did I see?
Black-eyed fishes swam with me
A moon full of stars and astral cars
And all the things I used to see."
- Radiohead, "Pyramid Song"
Sango's eyes scanned the woods around them, checking the treeline for enemies, allowing her mind to adjust to this place, to feel its life-force, so that any interruption would be felt immediately, and the presence of any danger would be realized long before she heard or saw it. She was sure the same skill came quite easily to Miroku, though not at this time, with much of his mind lost in the spaces between life and death. But that problem would be solved, and solved this very day.
She looked at him, saddened by the frustration on his face, the embarrassment of knowing he was helpless, that only her efforts could repair the schism in his mind. For that was his condition, was it not? He was broken, hurt, a piece of his being snapped off and cast to the mists of death, the mists they would forge through together.
She turned to the pool, marveling at its shape, a circular arrangement of stones that gave way to short grass. The pool was dark, and she could not see its bottom, yet the water appeared clear, with mist clinging to its surface at spots.
She sensed strength here, and was certain that if Kagome were here, a girl so tuned to the spiritual realm, she would find this place breathtaking.
Even Sango, whose spiritual abilities were only those borne of necessity in seeking and fighting youkai, found this place immensely calming. There stood no barrier, no crackle of holy energy, no sparkle or lights. But she felt in her gut that there was something special in this place, that it was truly the barrier between worlds, a thin spot where the difference between things mortal and immortal became less clear.
You will continue this way past the gate of trees, into the grasslands beyond. There you will find the place where this world and the next blur together, the Ametsuchi no Reisen, the Miraculous Spring of Heaven and Earth. There you and Houshi-dono will purify yourselves, and there your journey will begin.
Houshi-dono's spiritual energy is strong, and upon death his memories were sealed and cast to the spaces between this world and the place of deities. So amazing was this occurrence, and so impressed were the keepers of those places, that the memories were protected, and there they remain.
Houshi-dono was revived by the healing sword Tenseiga, and his soul returned to him, but his memories cannot return to their own accord – he must seek them out.
Your role, Taiji-ya-san, is the most important, for it is the combination of your spiritual energies that will allow you to pass through the barrier, and it is you who shall comfort him when his worst memories return to haunt him, for otherwise his despair would lead him to falter.
At the same time, Taiji-ya-san's memories will return to her, the dark fears she had once forgotten will be relived, and Houshi-dono will do his part to comfort her.
"Sango?"
She turned to him. She saw his face pained, conflicted. He thought she was hesitating.
"Even now, we can turn back," he said. "I am surprised and flattered you would go this far, but even now it is not too late. There may be other ways for me to regain my memories. Even if there are not, I can live without them. They are not worth discarding our friendship for."
"No," she said. "No, Houshi-sama. I owe it to you. Not the Houshi-sama who stands before me now, but the Houshi-sama who sacrificed his life for me. You are only part of that man. I will do all in my power to make you complete and return your life to you."
"I would still care for you, and stay with you. I would teach myself the fighting skills I've forgotten. I would do whatever you ask of me."
"I know you would, Houshi-sama."
He smiled at this.
"Then," he said, "I suppose you would want me to blindfold myself."
She shook her head.
"Ahead of us is a sort of experience that would make men and wives balk. I can think of nothing more intimate than witnessing your life aside you, and you mine. The thought of us sharing a bath together seems something less than scandalous compared to that."
"I would not wish to invade your privacy, Sango. I would not wish you to sacrifice your honor and dignity for something so trivial as curing an illness of mine."
She set down Hiraikotsu with a thud and a sigh.
Unbuttoning her catsuit, she turned to him.
"You know, Houshi-sama," she said, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I rather like you as a sukebe." Absently, as if she were doing nothing more than scratching an itch, she pulled open her taiji-ya uniform. "Your mindless groping was far more tolerable than your mindless attempts to venerate me, and if I had to choose, I'd rather have you grabbing my ass than kissing my feet."
He frowned at this, or tried to frown at the insult, but now the flap of her uniform hung over her chest, and clearly there was enough of the Miroku she knew standing before her that he found it impossible to argue with cleavage, so rather than apologizing or disagreeing, he simply nodded and unfastened the knot to his kesa.
She piled her armor beside her, at the edge of the pool, and atop that she folded the skintight suit she wore beneath. Almost as an afterthought, she unfastened her ponytail and let her hair down.
She turned.
Miroku was already undressed, and stood patiently with his back toward him. She blushed as she took in his form, studying the line of his back, the definition of his legs, and the curve of his bottom.
The desire to grope him came suddenly, but was quickly and quietly suppressed.
"You can turn around now, Houshi-sama."
A pause. His right hand made a fist, and her eyes were drawn to the muscles that trembled beneath the skin of his forearm.
"I would rather not, Sango," he said.
"Houshi-sama?"
"Forgive me, Sango, but though you may be comfortable with the situation, I am not." He lifted his head, still turned away from her, but his voice lightened. "To see your unveiled beauty is a thing I hope to wait for, to keep a gift until the day – that is, if the day ever comes – that we shall know each other as man and woman. This day, my eyes are unworthy, and my mind is unprepared."
She blushed, turning away, embarrassed.
"I am not accustomed to this," she whispered. "To be the impure one. The lecherous one. If I had known, Houshi-sama, how it feels . . ." She shook her head, clasping a hand over her burning face, " . . . to find my desire . . . not met, and turned away."
His voice was strong, and she could see him turn ever-so-slightly to her, no doubt taking in her vague shape out the corner of one eye.
"Your desire is met, Sango, met and exceeded to levels you cannot imagine. So much so that I cannot possibly gaze upon you and control myself. I do not want to lose control. Not here. Not now."
"Not now," she echoed.
"But someday, if Sango wishes it."
She smiled. "She does indeed."
"Then we understand each other?" he asked.
"We do."
With that she lowered herself into the pool and turned her eyes away, affording him the same dignity she did him. And she did understand – a forced intimacy was no intimacy at all; a marital consummation without surprise and novelty and excitement was something less real. She wanted all of him then, every last bit, and a taste beforehand would simply not do.
She turned to him after hearing the soft splash, and watched him watching her, the mists curled around them, the water up to their shoulders, his hair unbound like hers, obscuring his cheeks but not his eyes, and the blue orbs pierced her as he smiled enigmatically. Doubtlessly, she did the same.
The water was soothing and warm, smelling not of sulfur but of soft rain and endless summer, of earth and cloudless sky. The tiny waves they made went back and forth between them, rhythmic as a heartbeat.
She closed her eyes.
She wasn't sure how much time passed – it seemed less than a second – but when she looked back to him, she found she was alone.
"Houshi-sama!"
She dove across the pool, but as she waved her arms back and forth through the waters where he had been, she realized he was gone.
She drew a breath and dove down, feet kicking furiously, and she could see the pool was a well, a terribly deep well, and there was a current drawing both of them deeper and deeper. She could see him now, eyes half-lidded, arms spread, one hand reaching out toward her.
Precious seconds passed. The distance began to close, but already she must have been dozens of feet below the water, and she waited with grim certainty for her eardrums to burst.
The breath in her chest grew stale, and though her body tried its best to wrest control, to turn back for air, she pushed herself still harder, letting small bursts of bubbles between pursed lips and clenched teeth. Death was painful, and drowning was among the worst ways to go about it, but she had been buried before, and she had buried Miroku before, and given the choice she would rather taste earth than taste the agony of losing him again.
Fish swam before her eyes, fish that looked and shone like stars, and when her lungs gave up hope for oxygen they settled for whatever was there. She sucked in water and the pain was exquisite, but it was fair payment for the sensation of his hand gripping hers, and as her fingers traced desperate paths over his wrist she realized this was indeed a good way to die, and she did not despair because she knew that love conquers death, not because it is stronger but because love simply does not care, and she knew Naraku did not understand and could never understand, and that ignorance would be his downfall.
All became dark, and Sango smiled.