Things I don't own: Inuyasha, Dashboard Confessional.
A/N: So here we are again. Today's flashback has a little more . . . questionable implications. Time for feedback!
Sango's Counterpart, that's the overstatement of the year. I have much to improve on before I consider stuff remotely readable. But thanks alot for all the endless compliments. Starzski, it makes me really happy when people think I'm handling the AU setting properly. Thank you! Aamalie, I think I spoil you. Lady Sango 7 & Sango0808, thanks, your reviews always get me in a good mood. FlamingRedFox, yes I do love the rain. It never makes me sick.
Thank you everyone who reviewed! (They picked up this chapter.) I'm sorry I couldn't get to everyone (I might be able to do a little on e-mail). But thank you so much for still leaving your review and helping me improve.
I believe 'sempai' is a term used to refer to an upperclassman. Yes, I added that for no reason. But make a mental note.
(10/23/04) Dedication: Kat
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"Are you sure you're okay to drive me to school today, Miroku-san?" Kohaku asked skeptically as he shut the door beside him. "You look awfully tired."
"I'm not tired," Miroku answered, shaking sleep from his eyes. "I just had a late night last night. You know, security business."
"Oh yeah, I know all about 'security business,' Kohaku chortled. "Did it involve 'securing' my sister to the bed?"
Miroku kept his eyes on the road. "It involved no such thing."
"What'd you secure her to then? The shower curtain rod?" The boy's smirk contorted into an ill look as the corners of his lips turned downwards, his complexion slightly green, and he thumped his head against the window. "On second thought . . . don't tell me."
The car screeched to a halt as they encountered a stop sign.
Kohaku pointed a finger at him. "I saw that smile!"
"Well, you were staring at me! How do you expect me to drive while you're just . . . leering at me like that? Plus all that groaning?" Miroku complained, though a grin occasionally ghosted across his lips.
"Even though I refuse to believe it, I will acknowledge that I know what is going on behind closed doors. I do live there you know." He held his hands to his stomach as if he were about to be sick.
"The fact that you can even suggest Sango and I engage in that sort of activity appalls me. Get your mind out of the gutter Kohaku. We are the epitome of a pure and honorable courtship."
There was a loud hacking cough from the boy seated on the passenger side.
"Feeling okay?" Miroku asked cheerfully as he slowed the car at a red light.
Kohaku coughed loudly one last time for good measure before answering. "I think."
"I'll have you know that I was doing an evening shift last night," Miroku said smugly as he accelerated.
"I bet you were doing someone - I mean, something, in the evening. Now in shifts . . . I'm not sure about that."
"Not funny."
"Wasn't meant to be. It's actually kind of disturbing."
"How can you say that human nature is disturbing? Have I taught you nothing?" Miroku asked as they approached the school, where a few other cars had accumulated to drop off students.
"Pure and honorable courtship mean anything to you . . . ?" Kohaku countered with a grin as he opened the door and set a foot on the concrete.
"Oh yeah." The driver scratched his head. "Ignore my other question."
The young boy stepped fully out of the car and made to shut the door when he poked his head back in.
"Listen, I don't mind what you and Ane-ue get up to . . . which is pretty good of me, considering I'm her younger brother," he added thoughtfully. "But just keep in mind that I have ears. And that sound travels through walls."
With that, he closed the door leaving a dumbstruck Miroku sitting behind the wheel. He stayed still for awhile, but smiled widely after the boy had walked through the gate.
--
She didn't hear him enter the house, nor did she hear the wind chimes signal this, because she was too angry and too frustrated. She was bent over the counter, propped on her elbows, one hand massaging her temples, one pressing the receiver to her ear tightly.
"Father, I'm telling you, I'm sure . . . no, it's not what you think - Father, this is the right decision . . . won't you please listen?"
She had yanked the fridge door open, and was now angrily tossing various vegetables onto the counter, not noticing Miroku watching her just yet.
"Don't bring up damn Takeda Kuranosuke!" she exclaimed, nudging the refrigerator door shut with her hip. "If you like him that much, than why don't you date him?"
Switching the receiver to the other ear, her voice was muffled as she ducked her head into the cupboard. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner - Well, you're never here anyway! What'd you expect? The world to slow down for you?"
The entire kitchen vibrated as she kicked the cupboard door shut and nearly dented the countertop as she slammed the cutting board down, the vegetables bouncing alongside it.
Observing, he idly noted that this wouldn't be a good time to grope her or perhaps suggest a romp in the living room for a solid hour now that Kohaku had gone to school.
Finishing his musing, he focused on the scene before him and saw Sango fumbling for something in the utensil drawer. He panicked as she pulled out a large knife and pulled an onion towards her.
Tear inducing onion? Cleaver? Clearly angry and distracted Sango?
This wasn't going to fly.
Not to mention the sheer danger of it all.
Rushing towards her, he pushed her wrist to the counter, shaking his head vigorously when she turned to him. She relinquished her grip and the knife clattered to the surface, where was immediately swept aside to a safe distance.
'Sorry' she mouthed, pointing to the receiver and scrunching her nose. He smiled weakly.
"I'm fine! No, I know him! We've been dating for a while and - Yes I did tell you! When it got serious, that's when! Everything's fine! I'll be happy when you stop - Father! Father? Fath -"
There was a loud clang as she shoved the cordless receiver back onto the mounted cradle, before slumping against the wall next to it and swiftly bringing her fist against a few times, followed by her head, a small dent forming.
"Sango, think of your poor brain cells," Miroku said as he encircled her waist from behind with one arm and stroked the top of her head with the other. "They can take only so much abuse."
She sighed heavily, her chest rising and falling deeply. "I just - I just, " her voice was so strained. "It's father."
He bent his head lower so that his chin could rest on her collarbone. "It's okay."
She shook her head, jostling him a bit. "It's not. You don't have to put up with this Miroku. I'm - I'm sorry."
Her body was twisted around to press flush against his, and he leaned his weight against her, pinning her lithe frame against the plaster. "Don't apologize," he spoke in undertone. "And don't stress yourself out like this." His hand dipped lazily over her curves.
Draping her arms over his shoulders and linking her hands, she exhaled again, closing her eyes. "It's just that . . . he makes me so mad sometimes!" she complained, the frustration climbing in her voice.
"You don't see one another often, you never did as you were growing up Sango, why shouldn't you disagree once in a while? He . . . doesn't know some things about being a father. Do you sort of understand?"
Her right hand gripped his shoulder as he darted forward to kiss her briefly.
"I guess," she admitted as he pulled away. "I just wish he could have actually met you before he got all defensive about men . . . he's about a decade late when it comes to that department."
Miroku looked as though a wicked thought struck him. She guessed correctly. He was wearing that grin again.
"Sango, honey, do you still have your old high school uniform?"
Bewildered (and suspicious) she nodded slowly, narrowing her eyes.
"Well . . . let's pretend you're seventeen again, I'm the desirable bad-ass upperclassman and your father isn't coming home for a while."
She raised an eyebrow and her mouth curved mischievously. "Oh? And am I not allowed any boys in my room?"
"None under any circumstances."
"I guess I can only say three things: I'm young, I'm a rebel, and I'm breaking the rules."
"And we have three hours."
"To my room, Miroku-sempai!"
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Any Given Someday
Chapter Five
Now Hold Me Back
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The next morning she awoke by the way of voices wafting up the stairs through her half-open door and a blistering headache.
Looking down, she saw that she was still clothed in her white dress shirt, now lined with wrinkles and open to her navel. There was a run in her pantyhose and the lining of her skirt hung out from underneath.
"Damn it," she muttered into the mattress, being forcibly reminded of her little tantrum last night.
I - I hit him, she realized. I hit him for no good reason.
"He wouldn't let me use the phone," she said aloud.
And so you hit him?
Whoever was downstairs talking, she assumed, was now walking up the stairs. A polite knock sounded on the door, and because it was already open, she beckoned them in, despite her state of distress.
"Ugh, Ane-ue, you don't look so good."
"I know," she croaked, hiding her face with her hands.
"Is this a bad time to tell you Takeda Kuranosuke is downstairs?"
"What time is it?"
"Ane-ue, it's half past noon."
"Yes, that would be a bad time."
"Well, he is. He brought you some soup and is making you tea because I told him you were sick when he called."
She rolled over to stare at her brother in horror. "And you let him in?"
"He said to open the door, I thought he was just going to leave whatever he brought here but then he just pushed past me!"
"Tell him I'm sick," she muttered, rolling over so she faced away from him.
She didn't see him roll his eyes. "You know where that got you."
He stepped part way into her room and bent down to pick up the sheets. Looking from them to his sister's limp form, he threw them over her body in one fluid motion. The mattress squeaked as he perched on the edge, his back to hers.
"Listen Ane-ue, I know you don't want to hear this right now." His tone was soft. "But he's not going away. He cares about you, he wants to be with you, and father only encourages him. He goes out of his way to be polite, to both of us, but frankly, I don't buy it."
There was another creak of springs as he stood up to leave, turning around and speaking directly to her still back. "If you keep on avoiding him, he won't know how you really feel. I may be your younger brother, but I know when you're hurting. I don't like it, because I can't do anything. It has nothing to do with me."
He huffed slightly as he whipped around, this time speaking as he walked towards the door. "I'll send him away now, but I can't continue to do it for you. I'm your younger brother, key word, 'younger.' It hurts me to say this, but . . . Ane-ue, please, pull yourself together."
With that, he swung the door shut and shuffled down the stairs, leaving her alone to stare at the medicine cabinet and wait for tomorrow.
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"You did what?!"
The poor girl clutching the mail to her chest hung her head. "I - " Her mouth moved but no sound came out.
"Kagome-chan. What did you just say?" Sango asked, willing herself to be calm, even as she gripped the armrests of her chair.
"Inuyasha and I . . . your car . . . " She trailed off with a mumble.
"You and him. My car. And . . ."
There was an echo on the marble as the parcels and envelopes scattered on the ground.
"I'm so sorry Sango-chan! It was my fault, all my fault!" she was wailing.
"Kagome-chan? Calm down." Sango attempted, though she'd be hard-pressed to calm herself down.
She looked on the verge of tears, incredibly guilty and sniffing every so often. "It was so fast! I told Inuyasha not to race but - "
Sango felt as though a bomb had exploded in her gut. She stood up quickly, now gripping the edge of the desk and staring at Kagome with a pleading look in her eyes.
Please don't say it.
"Your car . . ."
My car . . .
"It's in the shop."
Kagome looked up hesitantly following her confession, giving Sango a hopeful look.
"And why is my car in the shop, Kagome-chan?" Sango asked, emphasizing the girl's name.
"Because . . . because . . . " her bottom lip quivered. "Because Inuyasha was racing Kouga-kun and he hit a fire hydrant!"
Sango blinked. "He what?"
"He hit a fire hydrant!" Kagome wailed, waving her arms around. "He hit a damn fire hydrant! And Kouga pulled over and started saying that he was supposed to 'piss on it, not break it open'!"
The receptionist dropped her pen and could only stare back at the girl who was close to hysterics across from her.
"It was horrible Sango-chan!" she continued to cry as she hugged Sango who had come around the desk. "There was water everywhere, and Kouga was telling Inuyasha to shake! To shake!"
"There, there," Sango comforted as she patted her friend on the back.
"I'll help you pay for it, I promise," Kagome said earnestly. "We both will, I'll make it up to you, I swear!"
"I'm sure you will," Sango said with a bright smile, holding the other girl's shoulders. "I'm sure you will."
"No, you aren't. You're just saying that," Kagome sniffled, blowing her nose as Sango handed her a tissue. "I really will help out."
Sango leaned back against the edge of the desk, folding her arms. "But how will I get home?" she asked herself under her breath. She looked at Kagome, now dabbing at the corners of her eyes, and couldn't help but see past her, to where he was sitting, feet crossed on top of the desk.
--
She chickened out.
Somehow, she had ended up standing on the outside of the glass doors, leaning up against them and taking a deep breath. He'd let her get by easily today. When she came through those doors at a semi-sprint, she'd been ecstatic with the feeling that she'd be able to wait for the cab she'd called in peace, without any hassles . . . or so she'd thought.
"Really needed that fresh air didn't you?" his voice wafted through the air between them as the second door swung open suddenly.
Her lips pursed and her face began to tingle. With anger, yes, but something else . . . familiarity, and annoyance. Why did he insist on doing this to her? Make her feel guilt, make her moods fluctuate so spontaneously, make her . . . miss him.
Because he knew her. He knew everything.
And she did miss him. Didn't she?
She loved him.
She turned her face to she side, her body following suit. "Now is not the time," she said quietly, wondering if he could hear her.
"The time for what?" he asked. She knew he wasn't looking at her either. She could feel it.
"For this," she answered with gritted teeth. "Go back inside."
"For us?"
Her shoulders stiffened and she felt sudden pressure, as though the sides of her head were being squeezed together.
"When is it the time?"
Her hair billowed about her shoulders in an arc as she whipped her head back to glare at his profile over her shoulder. "It's over. It's over, okay?"
"What's over?"
"What is it with you, Miroku? You can never admit . . . give me a straight answer for once, damn it!"
She swore under her breath, leaning her back against the wall and leaning her head back slightly. It still ached.
"I admit a lot of things Sango," he said, his tone a hint defensive. "I know that I can give straight answers."
"Straight lies?" she spat.
"You think I lie, Sango? You think I keep things from you? Don't you remember?"
Sango's breath caught in her throat for a second, her breathing shallow as her mind begged the past to stay behind.
"Why do things have to be this way, Sango?"
Her hands were whitened fists, one grabbing a chunk of her hair and threatening to rip it from her scalp, the other clutching the handle of her bag so tightly her nails dug trenches in her palm.
"We're meant to be this way. Why fight it? This is how it was meant to be."
He sounded angrier now. "And who decided that? Did you? Tell me now because I sure as hell didn't."
It must have been an uncomfortable scene for the night janitor, something he could go home and gossip about with his wife. The receptionist and the security guard, yes, they were fighting outside the entrance. She was red with anger, he was almost shaking trying to keep his control . . . it was a riot.
"Who cares who decided?" Sango snapped loudly, turning around and slapping a hand on the door, rattling it slightly. "The point is, it's over."
"And you don't even want to try?"
Her teeth gnawed into her bottom lip as she struggled not to let her emotions get the best of her. She looked away.
"No."
There was a pause as her single response hung between them.
"Look me in the eyes and say that."
She couldn't do it. Her head raised, but as soon as her sight grazed the bridge of his nose her chin dropped again.
"Damn it Sango, look me in my eyes and say that!"
He sounded so on edge . . . so desperate.
"I can't."
Her voice was the ghost of a whisper, sobs fought to escape her and the tears brimmed her eyelids, clinging in droplets to her eyelashes.
"You can't say it."
There was a low rumble of a muffler as the ordered taxi circled the parking lot to pull up next to the curb.
As if a moth in front of a fluorescent light, she automatically stepped towards it.
"Sango . . . I miss you. I'm putting it out here for you now. I miss you," he said to her back.
She paused, telling her legs to keep moving.
"The day that you can look into my eyes and tell me that I meant nothing to you, I'll happily give up. I'll never talk to you again. But is that what you want?"
No, the tears weren't coming, there was no way he could be seeing her cry again. She hated when he saw her cry.
"Why are you trying so hard to say goodbye?"
When she was crying, he would be there as comfort, and the tears reminded her that she needed him.
And so she didn't turn around.
She wondered, as she rubbed her temples in small circles, if he was as chilled by the feeling of watching her drive away in a taxi as she was of looking at him through the back window, until they made a turn, and he was no longer visible.
If he was in her line of sight for a second longer, she would have seen him lose his temper and fall with his back against the wall, but she was too busy breaking down herself.
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These cuts are leaving creases.
Trace the scars, to fit the pieces,
to tell your story, you don't need to say a word.