Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. Except the idea. And any random original character. And The Dancing Buddha, which is an awesome name for a bar, thank you very much.

A/N: All right – this is the last chapter, everyone. It took me a loooong time to finish this fic, and though I'm sort of relieved that it's done, I'm as sad as some of you to see it finished. There will be no sequel, so let's not bug poor Cori, hmm? Everything's wrapped up all nicely, and picking at the knot would be asking for trouble… I have other plotbunnies… watches them hop> … that are clamoring to be written, so expect new things from me. I appreciate every one of you! You make me creative. And a creative Corisu is a happy one. Enjoy the chapter (which is short and to the point)! Oh, and Opposites Attract comes from one of Aamalie's fics - The Opposite of Attraction. Go read it, if you haven't. Ish excellent MirSan, yepyep.

Epilogue: Let it Ring

The room was cold – uncomfortably so. Sango lay on her back on the freezing linoleum, unclad except for a tattered pair of quite indecent shorts. A swath of redness coated her chest and abdomen, and the floor around her was stained crimson. Her lips were slightly parted and sported a bluish tint. The room was nearly silent, save for an almost imperceptible scratching. Then, that silence was broken.

"Time's up!"

Sango bolted up, muttering, "Thank goodness." Standing carefully, she worked her way out of the pool of costume blood around her, walking gingerly to keep herself from falling. She made her way over to an empty stool and seized the towel that was sitting upon it. She began to wipe the gunk off her body, rotating her head to each side to work the tension out of her neck; she'd been in that pose for the last forty minutes, after all.

A hand touched her upper arm and she jumped slightly, turning around. After instructing the students to finish up their works, he'd come over to check on his favorite model. "Shower?" Miroku asked, holding a black duffel bag out to her.

Grinning, Sango seized it and nodded. "Absolutely." She leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before wrapping the towel around her chest and stepping into the hallway. The dressing room was three doors down from the classroom, on the left. She slipped inside quickly, locking the door behind her, and set about washing the fake blood from her chest, and the pallid, deathlike makeup from her face.

As she cleaned up, she reflected. It had been six months since that night at Naraku's mansion, and so much had gone on since that night that it was hard to believe that she'd been in so much danger. Naraku had been put in a prison comparable to Alcatraz. After all, he'd betrayed the government; there was literally no way that he could get any mercy at all, and he'd spend the rest of his life behind bars. None of them had seen Shippou since that night, and everyone suspected that he'd gone off to handle another delicate situation.

Sesshoumaru had proven to be an excellent department head. He ruled with an iron fist, of course, but he was still efficient and unbelievably just. Sango had learned all of this secondhand, from Kagome. Naraku's capture had marked the end of the Taijiya's career. She hadn't quit because she had grown weary with the lifestyle… She'd left because, as far as she was concerned, her objective was complete. Her main motivation for hunting felons was revenge, and because she'd hoped, some day, that she would be able to catch her parents' killer. Naraku was now behind bars, and she felt content with her hard work.

Kikyou, to the surprise of no one, had gone back to her normal life, her normal job. No one had expected for her to go back to her old job now that Naraku was gone; she had Kaede to look after, and the mission had made the woman realize that she was all her younger sister had in the world.

Sango had, at Miroku's persistent cajoling, decided to pick up modeling once more. It was a source of income, after all, and she really didn't want to go job-searching right away. It had started out as a one-time thing, but she'd found herself agreeing to do it more and more. It was much better than sitting at home all of the time, anyway. Four months, and he'd persuaded her into less and less clothing… She was now actively searching for a job, just to keep him from getting her completely nude within the next month.

Miroku, with the aid of Professor Myouga's glowing recommendation, had taken the old man's position as professor of art on a probationary basis. Usually, the university did not tolerate such young professors, so they had made a deal with the old man – they would allow Miroku to teach as long as he could display his competence when the end of the year came. This 'display' would be in the form of an art auction that would be taking place in a few short weeks. Myouga had been upset, claiming that the school was trying to capitalize on Miroku's successes, but the younger man had quickly agreed. It would bring him one step closer to his goal of owning his own private school.

Once Sango had scrubbed every bit of the fake blood from her body and hair, she stepped out of the shower, dug a clean towel from the duffel bag, and began to dry off.

She dressed quickly, donning a pair of black blue jeans and a nondescript black shirt. Shoving her feet into black sneakers, she smiled wanly. As much as she'd gone through, she hadn't changed her style of dress one bit. Obviously, it would take much more than a life-threatening situation to change Sango's habits.

Well, there was that, and the fact that her wardrobe was very limited, and she was not eager to wear that loathsome skirt that Kagome had forced her into so long ago.

She was just pulling her damp hair into a low ponytail when Miroku came into the room, a wide grin on his face. "Another productive class," he said, sitting in a chair by the door. He absentmindedly plucked the small paintbrush from behind his ear and began to twirl it between his fingers.

Sango raked her fingers through a clump of hair that was refusing to behave, finally getting it smooth enough to serve. "You should knock, Miroku." She didn't look over at him, choosing to ignore the unspoken 'Since when?' hanging on the air. Once she was marginally presentable, she packed everything that she'd brought into the bathroom back into the bag, slinging it over her shoulder. "Ready?" she asked, indicating that she was prepared to head for home. It had been a long day, and she'd had to model for three separate classes.

"Not quite yet," Miroku commented. "Come here. I want you to see something." He stood and stepped through the door, back into the classroom. Sango followed, stifling a yawn. What could he possibly want? It was going on nine o'clock, and they'd been there since the early hours of the morning.

He led her over to one of the covered canvases, and it was then that Sango realized that he was going to show off the work of the people who had painted her. She was immediately interested; he hadn't done that since the first time that she had modeled. There was no Sesshoumaru in the class now, of course, nor Ginta and Hakkaku to add humor to the environment. Many of the students were still very good, and quite dedicated. As a matter of fact, there was a young girl still seated at her easel, painting away. "She's slow to add color," Miroku remarked quietly, noticing Sango's eyes drifting to the girl. "She's great, though."

He smiled then, putting his hand on the closest easel. "Ready to witness how far you've come?"

Sango rolled her eyes, but knew that he was joking. "Just show me, already, so we can go."

Miroku looked wounded, but the expression lasted only a moment. "Voila," he said, before taking the cloth off the canvas. The picture that was revealed rendered Sango momentarily speechless.

It was so much like the one that Sesshoumaru had done several months ago, but so different. In a style that was uncharacteristic with her conceptions of art, the creator of this work had completely ignored her bare chest. Her features were clearly and perfectly depicted, but that was obviously not supposed to be the focal point of the painting. Instead, her torso was a violent slash of color, different shades of red drawing the eye to the center of the painting instead of the model.

"Great, isn't it?" Miroku said thoughtfully as Sango stepped forward, brushing the painting lightly with her fingertips. "The focus of the painting isn't the model, but the concept. 'Death Blow', he calls it. It's going up for auction."

Quite suddenly, Sango turned to look back at him. The girl who was in the corner shuffled to her feet and, bowing to Miroku and Sango, excused herself from the room. When she was gone, Sango said, "I want to ask you something."

"Anything," he said swiftly, putting his hands on her hips.

"Why have you never painted me?" she asked, meeting his eyes steadily. "I've been modeling for a while now, and most of the time, you're not giving tips or teaching at all while I'm in the pose – you do all that before and after. So why not…?"

Miroku smiled. "Have you ever given a thought to what art really is?"

The woman tried to frown to show that she was serious and put her hands on his as if to pull them off her body. "Don't answer my question with a question."

"Art…" Miroku continued as if he hadn't heard, "is trying your best to render your view of reality." He linked his fingers at the small of Sango's back and pulled her close. She offered no resistance, and he pressed his forehead to hers as he continued. "Everything must be depicted exactly as the artist intends… Were I to paint you, I would have to linger everywhere… the curve of your shoulders…" He raised his hands to her shoulders and rested them there lightly. "…each of your fingers…" he lowered his arms and linked their fingers together. "… I would have had to perfectly show everything." He kissed her gently, briefly. "You're perfect. I'm not a perfect artist."

Sango blushed lightly, smiling helplessly. She groped for something to say, something to use to defend herself. Still grinning, she declared, "Bullshit."

Miroku laughed and kissed her on the forehead before letting her go. "But it sounded good. I meant everything I said, though. You are perfect… but I will paint you someday. When I can paint you nude, that is." He raised his hand and tipped an imaginary hat to her. "Your carriage awaits," he quipped, heading for the door.

Sango stared after his retreating form before shaking her head in exasperation. Typical Miroku. Straightening the strap of the bag on her shoulder, she trotted after him.

A drive across town later, Sango fitted her key into the lock and pushed the door open, stepping into her home. Miroku followed on her heels, shutting the door behind him as she tossed her bag into a nearby chair. He'd been in her house countless times now – and not uninvited, as the case had been the first time.

Reaching the living room, Sango's first order of business was to check her answering machine. She didn't care for voicemail, which was what many people used; she preferred having the option of screening her calls by voice, and not caller ID. The number three was flashing on the machine's display in bright red, and she clicked on the lamp beside the table before pressing the play button. A beep sounded, and Kagome began to speak about something inane.

"Sango? Where are you…? If you're there, pick up!…." Ah. The downfall of people knowing that you had an answering machine… everyone figured that they could just call you to the phone, no matter where you were.

Miroku had moved to the armchair, and Sango joined him, unabashedly sitting in his lap and curling against him. "Tired," she stated simply, her eyes closing in contentment. There was no need for her to shun contact, after all; they'd been together for a long time, not to mention that fact that they'd stared death in the eyes while side-by-side.

Miroku put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. "I love you," he murmured softly. The words had been exchanged quite a few times over the course of the last few months, but something poignant in his voice made Sango open her eyes and look up at him.

The voice on the answering machine changed with a 'beep'. "Hello, I'm Tsumaki Wei from Opposites Attract, a new reality show! This is to inform you that we're interviewing in your area…"

The words came from Sango's mouth much quieter than she'd intended. "Love you, too." She didn't know what it was, but something was on Miroku's mind… something obviously important.

Beep. "Hello, Sango." Sango blinked. That was Miroku's voice. But why would he…? He'd been with her all day, after all; why would he have needed to leave a message? "You're showering as I say this, probably expecting me to barge in on you. Or wishing I would." She could practically hear the smile in his voice, just as clearly as she could see the smile on his face now.

"What…?" she began to ask, but the man shushed her quickly, and the message went on.

"We've been through a lot together… We've protected each other, argued with each other, brought joy and pain and lots of other things to our relationship. And… well… you've done more than save my life. You've given me hope, and-" He broke off with a laugh. "That has to sound so corny. There's just no other way I can say it, except-" Another pause. Sango was staring wide-eyed at Miroku now, who was simply looking at the ceiling and smiling innocently. "I love you. I need you. When we're together, I'm truly happy, and I know you feel the same. Or I hope you feel the same, because if not, the next few minutes are going to be really awkward." The machine fell silent. It was evident that Miroku hadn't hung up then, because the recording didn't click off. The Miroku that was sitting in the chair shifted and moved Sango off his lap, standing.

He broke off with a laugh. Another pause. Sango was staring wide-eyed at Miroku now, who was simply looking at the ceiling and smiling innocently. The machine fell silent. It was evident that Miroku hadn't hung up then, because the recording didn't click off. The Miroku that was sitting in the chair shifted and moved Sango off his lap, standing.

Still, the recording was silent. Miroku turned slowly, smiling wanly at Sango. Then, slowly, he dropped one knee to the carpet. Sango's breath caught in her throat and she tried, unsuccessfully, to force his name out of her mouth. Miroku then rummaged in his coat pocket, pulling out a small black box. Covering her mouth with her right hand, Sango's eyes suddenly welled.

Miroku mouthed the words along with the answering machine as the voice resumed. "Sango, will you marry me?" He snapped the box open, revealing a beautiful diamond ring.

Sango couldn't speak for a moment. As such, she began to nod fervently, tears finally falling as a wide smile spread across her face. She held out her left hand, which was shaking, and Miroku slipped the ring onto her finger. He was grinning and teary as well, and he let out a delighted laugh as Sango lowered herself to the floor and promptly threw herself into his arms, knocking them both to the floor as she pressed her lips to his.

The phone rang at that moment, and they both stared at it. Sango made as if to rise. Miroku murmured, "No way," and rolled over, pinning the woman so that there was no way that she could go to the phone. A characteristically lecherous grin on his face, he said three words.

"Let it ring."

"Are you there, Sango? Sangooo…"

THE END