Previous disclaimers apply
(10/30/04)
A/N: I wish I had dated these chapters, because I really finished them awhile ago. Oh well. Anyway, since I have nothing good to say about this chapter, I'll just skip to the big paragraph of review commentary! Thank you to all the people who reviewed, sorry if I don't get to everyone.
Lady Sango 7, you're so nice. Always doing random nice things for me. So, please don't kill me after this chapter. WindSprite, you like it? Then I like you. faltering, you make me nervous. I am working on the ending chapters of the story, and now the reason is looking pretty stupid. But thanks for de-lurking just for me! OhJoy - You're like that too? I stalk everyone who reads my stuff. FlamingRedFox - Thank you! The stubbornness goes on for a few more chapters. Abbykat, gypsymuse - Thanks for taking an chance with AU on me. Marie Marko, Fireblade K'Chona - Please don't cry? :) Quiet Escapist, LavenderRose666, Lily Thorne, Starzski - You don't know the waves of relief I feel that each chapter is generally well received. Ayrith - Originally, I was going to do the poetry thing, but I realized after a while that it sucked and I took the lyric route. I disclaim the lyrics!
--
-
"I won't even ask," Kohaku said bluntly as he downed his glass of water as though it would make the sight before him blur.
"Oh, shut it Kohaku," Sango scolded good naturedly, spinning around on the spot, unable to see with a blindfold over her eyes. "Where is he Miroku? Bring him here so that I can pinch his cheeks."
"Now, now Sango," Miroku laughed as he pushed her shoulders down gently, indicating to her that she could sit. "Let's not get too violent."
"I'll put a clothespin on your nose while you're sleeping," Sango threatened, containing her giggles. "I'll put your hands in warm water, I'll -"
She paused, suddenly hit with a realization. "Kohaku's here?"
"Yes," Miroku confirmed, amused.
"Then you're . . . we're not going to - "
"Sango," Miroku muttered, putting a finger to her lips. "I just said that so you'd agree to the blindfold."
He looked over to where Kohaku was staring at him over the counter, clearly horrified. Sango, in her neat little blindfold, was oblivious, sitting on the couch contentedly.
"So why the blindfold then?" she questioned.
"You'll see," he said, grinning. He bend down to kiss her quickly before walking from the living room. The wind chimes jingled as he went through the front doors.
"Ane-ue?" Kohaku said casually to Sango when she began to fidget whilst waiting.
"Yes?" she answered, looking to where his voice was coming from.
"I'd like my walls soundproofed, and a signed certificate of authentication stating that any time you have used a blindfold, it was because you were whacking a Pinata."
"Hmm," Sango thought, tapping her chin with her finger. "You could say that. It wouldn't be entirely untrue."
Kohaku took another swig of his water, choking, and she smirked, not being able to see him.
"Which reminds me Kohaku, can I borrow your nylon rope tonight?"
"You wound me, dear sister."
Miroku was stepping quietly back into the room, and something like a bell jingled with each careful step.
"Put your arms up," he instructed. She complied.
A warm weight filled her lap.
"Okay, you can take it off now."
Excitedly, Sango undid the small knot of fabric, and it fell around her face, revealing shining eyes.
"Happy Birthday."
"It's adorable!" she burst in delight, gathering a small kitten in her arms, smoothing its deep cream coloured fur. It fit comfortably in her cupped palms, mewing.
"It's a girl," Miroku informed her between peals of laughter as the kitten batted at her hair.
"What's her name?" Sango asked as she rubbed behind its ear.
"Kirara."
"I love her. Did you hear that?" she cooed, rubbing noses with the kitten. "I love you Kirara."
Miroku cleared his throat loudly, and she paused, pretending she had just noticed he was there.
"Oh, and you too," she said in a bored voice.
Scandalized, his hands darted around hers and he pulled the kitten away from her, putting it gently on the floor. It scampered away and was promptly ravished by Kohaku.
"What did you do that for?" she pouted. "My birthday present!"
He held her face and slipped the blindfold back over her eyes. "I decided I can't share you. Kohaku I tolerate, but sharing you with a third person - animal, just doesn't leave enough for me," he explained, pressing kisses all over her face.
"Here's your new birthday present."
Kirara balanced on top of Kohaku's head as he deftly closed the blinds, mumbling to himself.
"And I'm standing right here too. You guys make me sick."
He closed the french doors behind him as he took the new pet upstairs to his room.
"If this is my birthday present - " Sango moaned breathlessly between long, languorous kisses as the door slammed shut. "It's my birthday every day, you cheapskate."
--
Any Given Someday
Chapter 6
Not So Easy
--
Thursday was always a bland day. Then again, everyday was moderately dull. But Thursday was doubly bland because it marked the day before Friday. Actually, Friday wasn't that insipid either but more drawn-out; what with everyone waiting for the day to just end before they were free for the weekend.
The grey space between morning and midday was probably the slowest period of time Sango had ever experienced. She was bored.
She opened her drawer in hopes of finding something to amuse herself with and was surprised to see a novel sitting on top of all the extra filing folders and staples. The novel, a horribly cliché and cheesy one at that, was one that Kagome had lent it to her a very long time ago. The cover was marred with dust, which she blew off evenly before coughing a little as a few of the particles found their way into her throat.
She'd been reading this to pass the time when she still was in need of a car and had just begun dating Miroku. It was funny as hell. According to the author, love was all sweet whispers, kind words, long winded explanations of how beautiful someone was and wild sexy copulation (from here forward referred to as 'making love').
And right now, she needed a cynical laugh.
Adjusting her chair so she could lean back, she propped her elbows on the armrests and flipped through the brittle, yellowed pages, hoping to recognize the spot where she had left off.
Instead, a small, stark white scrap of paper fell from between the pages and fluttered to her lap. She stared at it for a moment, wondering if that had marked the page.
With hesitant fingers, she pried the folded paper apart, revealing a hurriedly scrawled message.
Does he ever get her back?
She threw the book back into her drawer and slammed it shut, crossing her arms under her chest and glaring at the little note.
What the hell was his problem?
--
It was a little after hours, however everyone had practically run out the building over the course of the last few minutes.
She was still there, and he was still there. And the damn entrance hall was so empty.
Typical, she thought as she marched across the marble, the familiar sound of clicking heels anything but comforting. Sitting there with that stupid look on his face. Like he hasn't done anything.
"Hey," she snapped, stopping in front of him with her hands on her hips. His feet disappeared from atop the desk and he was standing, leaning lazily against the edge.
"Come to say it?"
She didn't answer, and her lips pursed into a tight line. A crumpled call of paper bounced off of his chest.
"What the hell is this?"
He was nonplussed. "It looks like a note."
"Since when did you get off sticking notes in my personal belongings? I could have you arrested for this, you stupid -"
"I didn't put that in your book . . . today. Maybe I did . . . once upon a time, before you let me go."
The words were like a slap in the face. Ironic. It was always, 'before she let him go,' never 'before he left.'
"Have you forgotten?"
The entire time they faced one another, she never looked into his eyes.
There was a faint sound of crinkles being smoothed from paper.
"So, tell me, how does the story end?"
She walked away so fast that the plastic leaves on the artificial potted plants shivered slightly. No matter what she did . . . he was always . . . him.
--
She was a frigid personification of pure ice as she walked through those doors, feeling his eyes on her the entire time. But inside, she wanted to shake with sobs, scream in anger, and pity herself for being such a coward. Brave enough? She was never brave enough.
He made it so simple. He put it all out there for her. He missed her.
But what did he miss?
Her body?
Her face?
Their idea of what they thought they were?
She didn't know. She'd never been able to tell. But what she did know was that all she had to do was say those words, to say she didn't want to try again. He gave her his word. Maybe somewhere inside, she really wanted to be without him.
It was raining.
She expected to get out easy this time. After all, hadn't she done enough damage? Every time those bitter words escaped her lips, she felt instant regret. She was pushing him away, and she knew it. By hurting him, she wanted to force him to place his thoughts of her in the past. Why couldn't he accept that? Why couldn't she? Why did she push him away?
Hurt?
Insecurity?
Honesty?
She swore as she realized she had forgotten her bag.
Angrily, her fists clenched around the handle of the doors and she pulled. Nothing happened.
Shit. They were locked.
The doors rattled as the pounded on them in frustration, tiny water droplets spraying from the impact of her arms on the glass, joining the falling rain.
"Fuck! Open the door!" she shouted, hoping the door wasn't soundproof. He could be just ignoring her; she could see him sitting there smugly, his feet on the desk.
She swore again, loudly, and he looked up in mild interest. He pulled the handle on the other side, the door opened before her and she seethed before him, a lone drop of water rolling slowly down her forehead. She stormed past him, pushing him aside, not caring if she was being unreasonable, if she loved this man, if he was watching her every move.
In fact, she was just so tired of it all that when she exited she didn't notice the desk was empty.
The rain was nothing but a light patter, barely enough to disturb the glass, and they stood beneath the small overhang over the entrance, her a few steps in front of him, where he was leaning against a wall.
She stopped just outside the door, holding her head between her hands and inhaling the strong fumes of secondhand smoke.
"Damn it" she muttered, muffled by her thumbnail being ground between her teeth.
"I thought you'd gotten rid of that bad habit," a voice drawled lazily behind her. Her blood began to reach a boiling point.
"You're one to speak of bad habits," she snapped, viciously nibbling at the edges of her nails. "At least mine won't cut a few years off of my life."
He smiled darkly as he tapped the burned ash off the end of the stick, watching as it floated to the wet stone beneath his feet, only to raise it to his lips once more.
"It's my first in a while," he said, the pale smoke escaping from his mouth.
She wanted to move farther away from him, while she waited for Kagome to pick her up with her family's car; she had had a day off. The silence was utterly unnerving . . . the mist-like patter of the rain barely audible in any normal circumstance, but right now it was like a waterfall from the heavens.
"You don't smoke," she said, dumbstruck. The overwhelming smell of burning tobacco invaded her nose.
"I did," he disproved with a rueful expression. "Quite a while ago."
"Y-you really shouldn't," she couldn't help saying; all of her words were coming out of reflex. "I never saw you - "
He threw the finished cigarette on the ground, a thin line of smoke escaping from it before he crushed it with his heel.
"You never saw me do this because it was before we'd met, before everything happened."
She was confused now, more so than angry, and her teeth ground on the nail of her pinkie vigorously. "Then - "
"I quit."
"You quit . . . when we met?"
His silence confirmed her now rhetorical question.
"Why . . . "
"I think that would be obvious," he casually remarked as he pulled another from his pocket.
She stared hard at him, his face shadowed by his bangs. He didn't say anything more, just smirked, not in mockery of her but perhaps of himself.
"I wanted to be someone you'd be proud to have around you."
"You were."
"Was I?"
A few sparks flew from his lighter and a low rumble sounded above them. The smell of smoke filled her lungs again and she took an unsure step back.
Where are you Kagome? Where the hell are you!
She stepped backwards again towards the curb as a low thunder rumbled overhead. There was a faint snap as her right leg suddenly jerked forward, the heel of her shoe wedged between a crack in the concrete.
And she was falling, not caring, waiting to hit the ground and feel the gravel in her knees, the water splash back upon her legs and skirt.
And his strong arms were about her, supporting her, firmly wound about her waist. Her body was limp, and her legs hung dangling, the toes of her shoes submerged beneath the rain water.
"Careful . . ." he was whispering in her ear.
His words . . . his stupid words.
He pulled her up with him, and she tried to squirm, to struggle, but she only pressed herself back against him, absorbing his warmth in the dampness. It was so cold, it was damp and cold, and he was warm.
Once on her feet, his arms loosened around her waist and she wavered before falling back into him. The light patter of rain combined with the lingering humidity created a light curtain of mist rising around their ankles.
Her hands rested on his chest, and she could feel his heart beating beneath them. Being back in his arms like this . . . so close to him . . . yet she tried to convince him this was over.
How could it be over when she was like this at the slightest touch?
"Sango?" she heard his voice call. It was low, hesitant, maybe a little afraid. All she knew was that she could see those lips moving. Those wide, slightly dry, barely parted lips; they were calling her.
She wanted to touch him. And so she did, running her fingers along his face and across his mouth. Inadvertently he turned his head and kissed her palm.
The bright sheen of headlights and blinding lightning flooded her senses and she recoiled, realizing where she was and what she was doing. Pulling her face away in disgust at herself and at him, he stood there in a daze. Her fingers . . . they were . . . touching him. He was holding a hand to his mouth, watching her silently.
She turned away from him, embarrassed and ashamed.
"Sango-chan?"
Kagome's hesitant voice.
"I could always . . . come back later."
"No, no it's fine. I'm coming," Sango managed to get out.
--
Kagome was uncharacteristically silent as she drove, only speaking when she asked Sango where the turns were. It seemed as though she were extra fidgety, gathering up her courage.
"Hey," Kagome murmured quietly to the girl in the passenger seat, who was staring listlessly out the window. "Are you -? "
"It's fine," Sango said flatly. "Everything is just fine."
"Didn't look like it," Kagome answered gently. "Not at all."
"It's not like he really cares," Sango spat, her emotions flaring. "He enjoys it . . . he enjoys toying with me."
"That's not true Sango-chan." She made a smooth right.
"How do you know?" Sango shot back, instantly regretful at her rude tone.
Surprisingly, she chuckled softly. "What did he say to you?"
Sango made a noise of discontent, nibbling on her thumbnail. "Misses me. So?"
"So you're distraught. Sango-chan, I don't know much about what happened, you've never been one to tell me every little detail about your personal life, and I respect that. But, as a friend, and a co-worker, I can tell you that I honestly think things have changed. I noticed, but I never asked you. Then one day I found you bawling in the washroom."
Sango continued to chew on her nails, anxious to know where her friend was going with this.
"The point is, I had to find you like that before you would even tell me anything. Sango-chan, you're kind and sweet, but it takes so much for you to open up. And maybe . . . if I knew a little about what had happened, I could give you more support. I feel guilty because I don't know how to help you."
"Turn left here," Sango interrupted in a small voice.
"He told you he misses you. What did you say?"
"Nothing," Sango answered in barely a breath.
"Nothing?" Kagome repeated, raising an eyebrow. "He put his feelings out on the table and you couldn't say anything?"
"What am I supposed to say Kagome?" Sango burst, her fists clenching on her lap. "I don't know! I don't know what to do! He might be . . . he might be just playing with my head. He always does."
The girl driving had an contemplative looked on her face as she turned into the neighborhood.
"It's the yellow house on the left."
"How does he play with your head, Sango-chan?"
"He makes me - he has a way with words . . . and actions . . . I don't know. I can't tell if he's acting . . . if he's telling the truth- "
"Sango-chan, he really does love you."
"What does that have to do with anything?" she exclaimed, slamming her hand down on the dashboard.
"Everything," Kagome said simply, smiling. Sango looked at her in disbelief. "He loves you. Even now. And I have a feeling that what I said about you not being able to open up may have had something to do with it. You love him too. You still do. You never stopped."
Me . . . not opening up. It's not like I didn't trust him . . . I thought the world of him. But I was afraid.
"Thank you for the drive Kagome-chan," she said quietly as her friend pulled up in front of her house.
Did I think that if I told him, he'd think differently of me? That if I whined and complained to him, he'd become annoyed?
"Umm, you're welcome I guess? I did accidentally wreck your car," Kagome said, flushing. Her expression softened. "But . . . I really hope everything works out. I'm here for you."
It doesn't matter. It's over.
Sango managed a weak smile.
"By the way, do you have guests over?"
"Not that I know of."
Walking up her driveway, she narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the expensive car that was indeed parked outside her garage.
"Kohaku, I'm home," she called out wearily into the house. "Where are you?"
There was a shuffling of bodies as Kohaku materialized breathless in front of her. "Ane-ue, I didn't want to let him in but -"
"Takeda-san?"
Her brother nodded.
Her unreadable expression was set and she looked determinedly towards the living room. "It's fine. I'll take it from here." She was looking straight ahead, anywhere but at Kohaku's face. "You go . . . do homework or something. Yeah." She nudged him towards the stairs, and he began to step upwards, though it looked like he was forcing himself to do it.
Taking a deep breath, she walked in through the doorway.
He immediately stood when he saw her come in.
"Sango-san," he said, rushing towards her and grabbing her shoulders. "Sango-san, I was so worried." His relieved expression became somewhat stern. "You shouldn't have gone to work if you were sick."
Her fingers gave an involuntary twitch. "I'm okay, Takeda-san. I wasn't really that sick."
He looked at her skeptically. "But the way Kohaku described it, you couldn't lift your arm," he chided, ushering her into a seat.
"Did he now?"
"Yes, he said you had multiple limb dysfunction and projectile vomiting," he explained seriously.
She stared at him blankly before recovering. "Oh, yes, that wasn't exactly it . . . but I feel better now. Thank you for your concern. Is that why you came over?"
"Well, I suppose I could . . . after all . . ." he mused. Sango looked at him curiously.
"I wanted to wait until you were better, but you seem to be well enough. Yes, this is the right time," he began to beam at her.
Something like a cough tickled the inside of her throat. He mistook it for impatient coaxing.
"Sango," he said warmly, smiling fondly down at her, reaching to tuck her hair behind her ears, not noticing her flinch.
What was supposed to be a 'yes' came out as a squeak.
"You know that I care for you very much."
Her lips parted, but he continued.
"And I know that it's hard for you to express yourself, but I can tell that you feel the same as I do."
Her eyes widened, and she was unable to speak, but again he mistook it for a positive response, a reason to continue.
"What I'm trying to say is that I'm willing to let you be with me, to help you and make life for you and Kohaku better. You won't ever have to work again, and I'll give you the world. I have eyes only for you," he finished, emphasizing his last point.
Here this . . . . this man stood, holding her hands and touching her hair and face, telling her that he cared about her and obviously she cared about him as well; promising her a mansion and riches, and everything she could ever want.
He knew nothing.
"I want us to be exclusive, Sango-san. I want you to be mine."
And it was a few hours ago once more, and Miroku was holding her, whispering in her ear, and she was dazed by him, reaching for his mouth and leaning towards him . . .
She didn't want that.
What did she want?
She vaguely heard the sound of something thumping upstairs. Or was it coming from her chest?
"Yes. I'm yours."
She felt nothing as he happily pressed his mouth to hers. Even if her mind wandered . . . and she imagined Miroku, it couldn't be helped. Takeda was overly aggressive, he didn't seem to notice (or care, for that matter) that Sango was still and frozen, and that she didn't respond.
"I'm so happy for us."
Did he ask her if she was?
No.
And if there were tears shining on her face as they rolled down her cheeks, he mistook them for tears of joy.
This was the easy way out.
--
-
I won't ask you
To give up on the things that seem to keep you gone
But I can be gone too