:2:Out of :2:
"Our deeds are like children that are born to us; they live and act apart from our own will. Nay, children may be strangled, but deeds never: they have an indestructible life both in and out of our consciousness."
-George Elliot
"Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up."
-James Baldwin
---
Sango could hear Shippou calling after Inuyasha even from her room at the back of the inn. Poor Kagome…even with the borrowance of Kirara, it didn't look like she would get home anytime soon. Secretly, she was thankful that they were gone for a little while. Miroku was off meditating, and that gave her time to think. She began to pack, knowing what she had to do. It was just how to do it that bothered her so.
She had less than a few hours left before she had to go. That didn't give her much time. Two days…she might as well have had two minutes.
And she got less than that now, for Miroku walked in and smiled at her before she had even put away the rag she had cleaned Hiraikotsu with. She continued tidying up. He looked at her oddly, and she knew that avoiding his look had been the wrong way to go. He knew something was up now.
Miroku's hands stopped hers.
"What's going on?" he asked, concerned. She pulled her hands from under his and strapped Hiraikotsu to her back.
"I'm going to find Kohaku," she told him. Hey, the best lies were closest to the truth, weren't they? He nodded.
"I'll stay with Kaede until you're done," he said. She turned around. Now was the time to do this. Now or never. Her obligation was to her brother. Everything else could wait – forever, even, if that was the case. And it was best that this be one of those cases.
Why was it so hard to convince herself that this was right?
"Don't bother," she said, still not able to meet his eyes. She didn't need to see him to know that he would look puzzled and unsure; that his look would sway her judgement. She couldn't let that happen.
"I don't think…I can do this anymore."
It was a minute or so before Miroku understood what she was saying. But at the same time, he didn't. If she wanted to go, he'd let her go without a fuss, but what had gone wrong? Had he done something? Not done something? It didn't fit together in his mind. His tongue seemed stuck in his mouth, his throat closed. He said nothing.
She couldn't bring herself to look at him, and hoped that maybe saying nothing would help him to hate her. Externally, she looked fine. She had gotten good at that over the years. Internally, though, there was fire and ice and brimstone throwing itself around. Her heart was getting the worst of it, and her conviction was wavering. It was time to leave.
She straightened, and opened the door.
"Goodbye."
"Houshi-sama," she gasped.
"It's been awhile, Sango-san," he greeted politely. The respectful suffix rolled of his tongue slowly, as if the flavour of it didn't sit well within his mouth. But it slipped into her heart quickly enough, reminding her of what she had done.
"It has been awhile," she replied, picking up Kirara. She looked at him with an impassive expression, and tried not to say anything. She met his eyes squarely, and managed to keep it together, just barely. Who would have thought that despite the years that had passed between them she still felt their separation as keenly as the first day?
Miroku worked at his lunch, glancing at her every so often, as if he was re-learning her appearance. Sango looked down at Kirara, who lay in her lap. She looked worriedly up at her mistress, and mewed softly. The taiji-ya ran her fingers through the neko's fur, softly combing out the bristles. The moment hadn't passed, but instead it lingered in the air, a foul smoke that weighed heavily upon them. It filled the room, choking of their supply of serenity. Neither of them wished to speak, yet both with that the other would say something. Anything would have been better than that God-awful silence.
But the disquieted vacuum was all they had, and so they sat in discomfort. He watched her as she combed her fingers through Kirara's fur. She had changed much since he saw her last. Her hair was a little longer, and the ribbon that tied it was green, not white. She looked older, but not wearier. More like…she had finished growing and maturing, and this was the woman she had become. He reminded himself that she would have just turned twenty, and it was with only the slightest inward wince that he reminded himself that this made him twenty-four. He was getting old. Something he'd wanted to do with her. Not for the first time, he wished that he had gone after her that day. Or any day after that, actually. But he wasn't the sort to fight when it was futile, and there had been something final about her voice, her expression, the way she rushed away from him and out of his life.
The unspoken filth in the air filtered through the hut, and Shippou looked up. Only now did he notice that this was the first time Miroku had come to visit since they all went their separate ways. He watched them out of the corner of his eye, hoping to see something normal. Maybe Sango would look at Miroku, and he'd look at her, and then they'd both look away and she'd blush. Maybe they'd go outside for 'firewood', and talk this out. Maybe all they needed was a push…
"So where's Kohaku?" Inuyasha asked.
…in the right direction, which that was not. The taiji-ya and the houshi froze up even more, if that was possible. Miroku worked at his lunch with 'peaceful' single-mindedness, and Sango's attention to her neko's fur became an obsession. She answered with forced carelessness that he would be along shortly, that he had been up to his elbows in muck when she left and the cleanup would take a little while. And then it hit her.
Kohaku was coming, and Miroku was here. She bit her lip to keep from losing her grip.
'Oh God,' she thought, 'What am I going to do? Kohaku can't see him! He can't!'
she thought,The hanyou, still unaware of the almost-tangible tension between his companions, continued the conversation. His questions were posed mainly to Sango, who was becoming increasingly unnerved. Little things about her life were slipping out, as was expected, but this time Miroku heard them. And for some reason that bothered her. She didn't know how she should feel about it, that he was learning what had happened in the past few years, but it wasn't a good thing. That much she knew. And he kept asking for explanations, in the most polite and non-invasive way humanly possible, and then she – or Inuyasha, in his oblivious way – would answer, and he'd know even more about her life without him.
Life without him was life, she reminded herself. She wasn't some silly girl, lost without a man. Her man. Was he still hers? Or had he moved on? Those were the sort of questions she couldn't ask. Not that she could ask him anything, right now. Why was she so weak around him? It was so frustrating. She was stronger than this, dammit! His mere presence shouldn't turn her into this…this writhing mass of nerves.
"So where've you been for three years, bozu?" Inuyasha asked, and everyone (save him) tensed. Sango watched the houshi out of the corner of her eye, wishing that Inuyasha hadn't asked that question, and yet waiting with baited breath for the answer.
Miroku thought carefully about his answer. What had he been doing? Travelling. Earning enough to get by, and then moving on. Wandering. Wondering if the next village would be hers. Some days it was better than others. He managed to stay sober most of the time, but some nights he was just desperate to forget. It had been worst in the beginning, though after an extended stay at Mushin's, it got better. When he left the elderly monk's temple, his drinks became few and far between (but always, when he did, he got soused. Just enough to forget, though. Just enough). The night Shippou found him had been his first drink in over a month.
But he couldn't explain this to his companions, for obvious reasons. And so his chose his answer delicately, choosing only a few details to mention.
"Out and about. I stayed with Mu-"
"What the fuck kind of answer is that?" Inuyasha interrupted, scowling. Shippou looked at the hanyou, and wished (not for the first time) that his friend had brains with that strength of his. To the kitsune's immense surprise, it was Sango who replied.
"He wasn't done, Inuyasha," she said in a tone obviously picked up from Kagome, whether the taijiya knew it or not. Her voice was kind and mellow, and she smiled over at Miroku, who smiled back. The hanyou's rash behavior caused them to forget, for just one moment, the years they spent apart. For not even a minute, they were 'Sango and Miroku' again.
But that moment was over swiftly as Sango remember what she had done, and she looked away quickly, biting her lip. The hope that had flared in Miroku died suddenly, for the swiftness in which she had looked away was not the usual sort. A blush didn't accompany it, as it had before, and he knew that there was nothing he could do. He had been right all along; she had never learned to trust him
'She looks at me and remembers the flirting,' he thought, 'the broken trust. I shouldn't be here. Not if it hurts her so much.'
"Fine then," Inuyasha said crossly. "What were you gonna say?"
Miroku was startled into the present, and he sighed.
"I stayed with Mushin for awhile," he continued. "But I spent most of my time travelling." 'Forgetting.'
And so the conversation continued, with questions about who had done what, and where they had been. The day went on, and twighlight began to settle. Dinner was served and eaten, and all were glad for the silence it brought. Miroku was surprised to find that Inuyasha was the one who had cooked it, especially since it was not ramen, and he had shown no interest in the culinary arts on their journey. Though, he supposed as he ate the rice in silence, if he lived on his own like this it only made sense. Kagome would have taught him how to take care of himself. And who cooked for him after his mother died? If it was cooked, that was.
When he was finished he stood, and stretched. He left the hut undisturbed, but knew that it was noted. That much hadn't changed. He walked towards the spot he meditated at when he was last here. It would be of much help. He didn't quite feel like himself.
Sango watched him leave over her rice, and wondered what she was going to do. Kohaku would be here any moment, and she would be hard pressed to keep him away from Miroku.
---
It was nearly sunset when Kohaku – bedraggled, but clean – arrived at the hut. Sango was guiltily pleased to find that Miroku hadn't returned yet. She was still half-working on a plan to keep them from seeing each other, but hopelessness still filled her. This was so hard…perhaps next month they wouldn't come, not if Miroku was going to begin coming to visit. She couldn't handle it.
Mechanically, she stood and hugged her brother, asking the usual questions about the trip, not listening to a word of it. Her companions chattered, oblivious to her worries. Her pulse throbbed, and panic tightened in her chest each time she heard footsteps outside the hut. Every time, it was just villagers passing by, but she never dropped her guard. When they began settling for the night, she decided that they would not stay the usual day or two. Only long enough to see Kagome, and perhaps eat lunch. She could always use recruitment as an excuse to leave early – though Kohaku would ask questions later. That was manageable. This terror, this pain, the ache that filled her lungs with every breath she took in Miroku's presence – that was what made this trip so hard.
Giving little thought to the questions that her brother would ask later, she settled near the door for a sleepless night. If Kohaku awoke in the night…if Miroku came back and her brother awaked to the steps…there were just too many 'if's'. She would stay up, nervously guarding Kohaku's memory through the long night.
Not too far away, settling down to sleep in the woods, Miroku spared a glance towards the hut. He had seen Kohaku arrive, had smiled to see the boy in such good health. He only wished that he could have met him, the brother that meant so much to Sango. But he wouldn't go back to the hut that night, not if his presence was a plague on her. No, his night would be spent here. He'd go back in the morning to say hello to Kagome and to apologize to Sango. After that, he'd take pains not to run into anyone again.
Sleep did not come easy to the wayward monk. The same doubts and questions which had boiled over when Sango left had begun to rise again. In the years since that day, they had come to a manageable simmer, where he could just forget. But now…seeing her again…it was all there.
He had never truly known why she left. He could only assume that she had been unable to trust him. There was no other way to account for it that he could think of. She had probably moved on since then, on to other people and (as much as he hated to think it) another man. Someone she could believe in. Someone who she could trust. Someone who was nothing like him.
He frowned, and drove those thoughts from his mind.
'It's pointless,' he told himself firmly. 'And no matter what, it's none of your business. You've done enough damage already.'
he told himself firmly.---
It's bright as they walk along the river, just the two of them. The warm sun filters through the glimmering leaves to cast patches of light on their skin. A neko pads along a little behind them, stopping to sniff this patch of grass or that fallen leaf. The jangle of the rings on his shakujo keeps a steady rhythm with their steps – not that it's heard over the talk of the houshi and the taiji-ya.
Their conversation wanders, as it is wont to do, over to the business of demon extermination. The dark-eyed taiji-ya pulled a shell from under her shoulder guard, and they are discussing the contents.
"I've never seen you use it," the houshi says, warm eyes lingering on the woman's face before inspecting the gel.
"I've actually never had to," she admits. "It's more of a just-in-case thing."
"Really? I'd think you'd use it an awful lot."
"Well, for one thing, it's pretty potent, and for another, you don't want to become dependant on it. You should be able to live with your pain. Not to mention it's dangerous not to be able to feel the injury – how would you know how bad it is?"
He pauses for a moment, thinking.
"So then, what's the scenario that you keep it for, 'just in case'?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. She looks grimly at him.
"So that the victim won't know how bad the injury is."
He nods, looking ahead of them. There's a pregnant pause between them, neither of them wanting to think of a situation where a wound would be that serious. The tension breaks when the neko hops up onto her mistress' shoulder and licks her cheek. The taiji-ya laughs, petting the little demon, and the houshi looks at her softly. He likes to see her smile.
The darkness past, he asks what it's made from, and she shrugs.
"A couple of herbs I don't know the name of, and the venom of a snake demon who paralyzes its prey."
He looks startled, but recovers. His next question has nothing to do with the copper-coloured shell, or the goo inside. The monk asks about her shoulder guard, and as she unties one and hands it to him, a handful of other items – string, a couple more shells, and a small roll of cloth bandages – escape from her sleeve and scatter over the forest floor.
Miroku helps her pick up the fallen items, and Sango puts them in another hidden pouch, along with the gel she doesn't like to think about. She'd rather think about him.
---
Tousled hair Falling in dark Eyes lingering on her lips Silly smile Warm mouth close to hers Close to her Scent of green tea and earth Soft flower tucked behind an ear by Callused hands The clack of beads –
And the wind that tears him away.
She woke to the sound of Kagome's voice hollering at Inuyasha to sit. The amusement that stemmed from this brushed away the grief that had covered her like dust on a neglected statue. It was an old dream, one she hadn't had in a long time. She hadn't intended to fall asleep, and panic gripped her for a moment as she wondered if Miroku had returned.
But no extra pallet was set, and Kohaku greeted her normally. Her heart ceased its attempt to leave her chest and she sighed. If she hadn't been convinced the night before that leaving was a good idea, she was now. Shippou was nowhere to be seen, and when Sango stepped outside the hut she found out why.
Whatever argument Inuyasha and Kagome had had was stemmed from Shippou, who was making faces at the hanyou from his safe spot behind the girl (being, as he was, too big now to fit on her shoulder). It was not uncommon, and Sango returned inside to inform Kohaku of her plans. The boy, however, was already outside, walking past her to say hello to Kagome. Shippou quickly traded his spot behind Kagome for one beside Kohaku and her brother looked down and smiled.
She couldn't make out what they said, but as she walked up, the taller (though probably not older) boy told her that they were going to go wash up before breakfast and catch up on things. She waved goodbye with a smile that she wasn't entirely sure was passable, and hugged her younger friend.
The same 'sit' that had woken Sango also woke Miroku. He smiled and stretched. Seeing Kagome had always cheered him up – her attitude was catching. He picked up his shakujo and made his way towards the spot where his companions were greeting the young woman.
He stopped only once to splash his face in the river, to clear the rest of the sleep from his mind. As he did, however, the sound of voices wafted through the trees to him. He ignored them, for the most part, until he heard one voice – sounding notably like Shippou – ask:
"How's Sango doing?"
Miroku stopped with his hands still in the cool water and stood up sharply; now with all his attention focused on the unseen pair.
"What do you mean?" the second voice asked carelessly.
"You know," the first voice, now cemented in his mind as the kitsune, said. A sigh was heaved.
"I honestly don't know. She seems fine, most of the time, but…"
"But?"
"If she's not distracted by training the new recruits in the village, or working on weapons, or…something then she seems…I don't know, almost lost. Like she's missing something that she needs, and she doesn't quite know how to do without."
There was a pause, and the Shippou asked:
"Do you have any idea why?"
And the voice that the young boy used was eerie, sounding as if he already knew the cause of Sango's difficulty.
"I haven't a clue!" the other boy cried, sounding frustrated. "And I don't want to ask. She's trying so hard not to show it, especially when I'm around – I mean, she even took to hanging around the smithy when Miyazaki-san's new apprentice was about and I know that she did it because I said that I thought they would be a nice match! Not that it went anywhere, she turned him down flat when he asked to court her."
The boy finally stopped for a breath, but continued in a low voice. Miroku had to move forward to hear it, and only caught part of it.
"…misses father."
Miroku sighed, suddenly understanding the conversation much better. He moved away from them in a quieter mood, feeling more like a burden to the young woman than ever. If he hadn't been certain that Kagome would know by now that he was here he would have left then.