Running With Scissors

Disclaimer - I don't own Inuyasha, and I don't own RWS. But the flashback scene that is this chapter is entirely my idea. Don't steal!

Author's Note - Whoo! Okay, new chapter to ring in the New Year! Even though I don't have as many reviews as I'd like, the ones that I DO have are all very positive, so I'd like to thank those who did take the time to review my pathetic excuse for a fanfic. ^_^

Author's Second Note - This ENTIRE chapter is a flashback. This chapter explains the whole story between Sango and Miroku; also, this is not in the play in any way, shape, or form. In the play, Love and Death have no past, secret relationship - they just flirt a lot. But in this story, I decided to increase the angst by giving the two their own little past to go with the main plot. So, if you ever do happen to see the play, Running With Scissors, and don't hear anything about this past relationship, that's because . . . well . . . it didn't exist. Enjoy!

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Chapter Four - Love and Death

***

"Uh, let's see. Hmm. Izumi Toyoshima and Akihiro Fujita. Both 23 years of age. Met in high school. Now work and live together. Pass or fail?"

Sango Hiraki read off what had been written on the form in front of her, frowning. "Ai-sama? Do they pass or not?"

Ai-sama, a beautiful young woman with jet-black hair with pink and red streaks, who wore a dark pink dress and wore sunglasses and carried a cane, smiled kindly.

"Toyoshima and Fujita? I've been following that relationship for years now, Hiraki. Of course they're in love. Put it in the 'pass' pile."

Sango nodded and set the form aside, in a plastic bin labeled 'pass'. She sighed, picking up another one.

"Kyoko Miyajima and Yuutaro Iwata. Miyajima is 25, Iwata is 28 . . . met through an . . . online dating service?"

"Doomed to fail," Ai-sama answered immediately. "Tch . . . online romances. Never work. Put it in the 'fail' pile."

Sango Hiraki was first assistant to Ai-sama, the Goddess of Love. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, the length of it traveling down her shoulder. She sighed, scanning the many piles of forms cluttered onto her desk, filled with information about couples in Japan, half of which were doomed to fail anyway.

Sango found it ironic that she had been born as a love-goddess when she didn't even believe in love in the first place. It was a stupid, pointless emotion that had no room in Sango's own life, and she usually scoffed at the stories that Ai-sama told her about successful relationships that she had helped form.

So, she never believed in love. She'd lived her whole life training as a love-goddess, and she'd been working for Ai-sama since she was fifteen. Now at a ripe age of nineteen, Sango still insisted on avoiding men and relationships, for the sake of keeping her own heart at safety.

But THIS couldn't be avoided . . .

The enticing glint of promise and pleasure . . .

Held within the eyes of a young death-god, Miroku Kikuchi . . .

Sango shuddered just thinking about it. The entire system that was the family tree of gods and goddesses was all centered in one main office building. The offices for the Love department and the Death department were right next door to each other, though Sango tended to steer clear of the Death office. Fire and brimstone wasn't her thing . . . plus the Death-God himself, Shi-sama, scared her to . . . well . . . death.

But lately, Ai-sama had been sending Sango on errands back and forth between the two offices, so she was forced to experience more and more of the darkness and depression that was the Death office. She could hardly forget the first day that she'd set foot in there . . .

And the first time that their eyes had met . . .

@------

She peered into the main room of the Death office, shuddering. The walls were painted a messy black colour, with blood-red borders and crooked sign that hung on the door across the hallway: "Shi-sama will see you 500 years after your death. Please wait in the main lobby."

She frowned and twitched, hesitantly stepping into the small room.

"Um . . . hello? S-Shi-sama? Anyone? Uh . . . message for Shi-sama, from Ai- sama! Hello?"

"Be with you in a moment!" A young, male voice shouted from the other side of the door. There was a short pause and then a blood-curling scream sounded, echoing around the small room, and the swing of a scythe was heard. A few moments later, the door creaked open, and a thin trail of blood slid onto the black carpet, the dim light above her reflecting it dully.

"Can I help you?"

She lifted her head and gasped. The face of a young, handsome man stared back at her, blood dripping from his stringy, jet-black hair, sliding onto the shoulder of his baggy black t-shirt. In his right hand was a long, thin staff that sported a silver, bloodstained blade on the end of it.

He grinned at her cheerfully. "Shi-sama can't see anyone else right now," he said, "but I'm his assistant. You have a message for him?"

She nodded hesitantly. "Yes . . . just give this to him." She handed him a folded piece of paper. "It's from Ai-sama." She turned, reaching for the doorknob.

"Ai-sama, huh?" he mused, making her stop. "You work in the Love department, then?"

She nodded again, slowly turning on her heel to face him again. "Yeah, I do. What of it?"

"It just seems to suit you, that's all," he answered, stretching casually. "Such a beautiful woman working to create such a beautiful thing . . . it just seems . . . natural, I guess."

Her heart stopped. "Beautiful? Are you talking about me?"

"Who else would I be talking to?" he replied with a cocky grin. "No one else is in the room right now, nor have I ever laid eyes on a beauty like yourself before."

She gulped, blushing. "Uh . . ." she laughed nervously. "I should be going now . . . you know . . . places to go, people to see, things to do."

"I know what you mean," he concurred, indicating his scythe. "Though, in my case, it's more like, places to go, people to kill, files to fill out."

She laughed dryly. "I see . . . um . . . I'll be going now."

"Right."

She reached for the doorknob again, pausing only to glance back at him once.

"I'm Sango, by the way. Sango Hiraki."

"Miroku Kikuchi," he answered evenly. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sango."

@------

Sango sighed wearily, rubbing her head. It ached to think of the conversations she'd had with Miroku. It had almost seemed as though she was doing the one thing she swore she'd never do.

Fall in love.

She frowned, standing and crossing the room to her dresser. The walls were painted a darker shade of red, with matching sheets on her bed and a fluffy pink pillow. The dresser and bed frame were made out of dark, rich polished wood, and on the dresser stood an assortment of red, white and pink candles, all of which were burnt down to the last of their wicks. ((Like all my candles. Heh.))

Sighing frustratedly, she dug through her dresser drawers, finally grabbing hold of the small plastic bottle. She opened it and two Aspirin spilled out onto her outstretched palm, and she downed them quickly, rubbing her head again.

"Kikuchi . . . damn you for the pain you cause my heart . . ."

She laughed bitterly to herself.

"Love sucks."

~

Miroku Kikuchi had been a servant to the God of Death for most of his life. And he never once complained. Sure, the paperwork sucked, but all jobs had paperwork. The best part was the killing. Using his scythe was like a hobby to him now; the sound of innocent screams and the sight of blood always put a grin on his face.

Having just celebrated his twentieth birthday, Miroku was looking forward to getting new privileges and he'd even heard from a co-worker that Shi- sama was going to be retired soon, and that he wanted Miroku as the new Death-God.

And it was on this day, his twentieth birthday and his soon-to-be promotion, that he met the woman of his dreams . . .

Sango Hiraki . . .

@------

He'd been shuffling around in the back, trying to find the form for a certain Chiemi Kamamoto, a 67-year-old woman from Osaka who was dying of heart cancer. He pulled open a drawer, rifling through its contents and pulling out the sheet of paper, scanning it with a click of his tongue.

"Loving husband, three kids with successful careers, stable finances, decent house in Kansai . . . what a shame. Cancer's a bitch," he muttered to himself, slinking into a back room that was lined with chairs, each one occupied by sickly-looking elders or people who'd suffered terrible death injuries, from things like fires or car accidents.

"Kamamoto?" he called, looking around. "Chiemi Kamamoto?"

The elder woman glanced up, trembling with fright.

"My time to die . . . I knew it was coming anyway," she managed to say, holding back sobs.

He rolled his eyes and signaled her to follow him. "Right this way, Mrs. Kamamoto."

He heard the sound of someone calling from the front entrance, and he swore under his breath. He didn't like to get distracted during work. "Be with you in a moment!" he called loudly, leading Mrs. Kamamoto into a separate room.

There were no lights, no chairs, no furniture or decorations of any kind. The only thing besides him and the old woman that stood in the room was a black coffin, which was barely visible in the dark.

"Mrs. Kamamoto, please, make yourself comfortable." He indicated towards the coffin, grinning.

The old woman nodded heavily and climbed into it, laying back and staring at the ceiling blankly.

"Tell my husband and children that I said good-bye," she whispered in a hollow voice. "Please?"

"Sorry, no can do," he answered, his smile disappearing for a moment as he swung his scythe down upon her.

Only screams and blood splattering filled his ears, and his grin returned. He sighed happily, muttering a small prayer before leaving the room.

He sauntered back into the hallway, leaving a small trail of blood as he went, slowly opening the door to the lobby.

"Can I help you?"

He looked up to see a gorgeous young woman, who gasped at his appearance, eyes wide.

"Shi-sama can't see anyone else right now," he said, "but I'm his assistant. You have a message for him?"

She seemed to be saying something as she handed him a piece of paper, but he was hardly listening. His eyes scanned her face, her eyes, her hair . . . her filled-out chest, her well-toned abdomen, her slender legs . . . a grin twitched at the corner of his lips as he responded to her statements in an almost automatic voice, not even hearing what he was saying to her. He remembered calling her beautiful, earning him a blush, but it was when she finally stated her name that he snapped to.

"I'm Sango, by the way. Sango Hiraki."

"Miroku Kikuchi. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sango."

~

They'd moved in together exactly one month later, and Sango's dislike towards the emotion of love was slowly waning. Currently, the two of them were curled up on the couch in their home, the TV on, playing a commercial, though neither paid much attention.

She snuggled closer to him, and he draped his arm over her shoulder, nuzzling her neck. She shivered and giggled slightly when he began to lick and kiss her skin.

"Miroku . . . stop," she managed to say, her face flushed with embarrassment.

The young death-god grinned. It was only a few weeks ago that the rumour had been confirmed, and Miroku was promoted to becoming the God of Death, and he wore the title proudly.

"Oh, is something wrong, koishii?" Miroku purred, his hands tracing over her shoulders, down the sides of her chest and to her waist. Sango tilted her head back and shuddered, closing her eyes lightly.

"I have some news," she murmured, shifting to meet his gaze again, her eyes flickering with what seemed to be sadness. "Oh? What is it?" Miroku sat up and looked down at her, unaware of her discomfort with the news.

"Well . . ." she paused, sighing heavily. "You remember when Shi-sama retired last month, and you became the new Death God?"

He nodded slowly. "What about it?"

"Well," she continued, "the same thing is happening with Ai-sama . . . she's getting to old to do the job, and . . ." she paused, sighing heavily. "I'm supposed to be the new Love Goddess."

Miroku blinked, smiling. "Well, that's great news! Why do you seem upset?"

Sango stood and turned away from him, covering her eyes to hide the tears.

"You wouldn't want a blind woman," she muttered, avoiding his gaze.

He blinked again. "Oh . . . that? Sango, I don't care if you're blind . . . I'd love you no matter what . . ."

"That's not it, Miroku!" She whirled around, and he gasped at her tears. "The policy is that The Goddess of Love handles all of the love lives in the world, except her own! I'm not allowed to be in love after this! I . . . I can't be with you anymore!"

Realization slowly dawned on Miroku and his eyes went blank as he rushed forward and gathered Sango into his arms, kissing her and shushing her. He stroked her cheek lightly and she melted into his grip, sobbing into chest.

"There's no other choice," she murmured into his t-shirt. "I have to do the job . . . if I don't . . ." she trailed off, the tears coming harder as she clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder.

Miroku frowned, glancing down at her. "Will you stay with me . . . one last time?"

Sango looked up to meet his eyes, her heart melting in her chest. "Of course I will, Miroku."

~

That night was the most memorable she'd ever had. Granted, their sex was always good, but that night held more longing and passion then ever before. Which is why she slowly felt her heart breaking as she stood from the bed, glancing down at the sleeping Miroku, silent.

She sauntered over to her dresser, took out all of the clothes and shoved them into her suitcase, then placed all of her trinkets in a separate bag. She got dressed quickly, tying back her hair and glimpsing at her watch.

It was only 7:00. She frowned, sighing as she slowly made her way back over to Miroku, kneeling beside him.

"I don't want to leave you, koishii," Sango murmured, reaching out to brush the hair out of his eyes. "But you know I have to . . ." she trailed off, tears blurring her vision again. She bent down and crushed her lips to his, causing him to wake and return her kiss equally.

She pulled away quickly, gazing down at him, tears sliding down her cheeks. She bent down to pick up her bags, her eyes never leaving his.

"Good-bye, Miroku," she whispered, turning on her heel and disappearing from the room.

"Good-bye, Sango," Miroku said to himself, hanging his head as he lay back on the bed, drifting into a light sleep with dreams of only Sango.