Author's Note: Yay! I said I would get another chapter done before break ended and I actually did! Three cheers for me! Though unfortunately I ran into a minor problem with Alter Ego, so I haven't been able to update that like I planned. I actually wrote the chapter for it but I think it came out a bit on the dark side…or something. I really hope I can fix it without a complete rewrite.

    Anyway, that's not this story so I'll stop whining and get on with business! First thing's first – I have to address the 'hair issue'. Yes, I realize that a) Inuyasha should technically have a GI haircut (not to mention all the others) and b) Naraku and Kouga don't exactly look like your classic Germans (blonde and blue-eyed) but I'm afraid these things could not be helped. No one in Inuyasha (that I know of) is blonde and blue-eyed, so that would mean I'd have to invent new characters for those roles, which isn't nearly as much fun. Also I've seen movies and things with dark-haired Nazis, not to mention the fact that Hitler himself had dark hair (though I realize he was a bit of a hypocrite about that). And frankly I don't think any one of you really wants to see Inuyasha with a buzz cut (now there's an image for you – he'd look like a cat!). So, if you'll just bare with me on minor issues such as these (and I realize no one who mentioned this stuff intended it as offense – none taken either) that would be lovely. Besides, in a world where an American pilot can have dog ears, I think there's room to stretch the truth just a little!

    That being said, thank you all for your wonderful reviews! They are an excellent motivator for me. And now, just a couple of very brief replies:

Chibi Horsewoman: Uh-oh, someone who knows the military. I'm in trouble (grins sheepishly). 'Fraid I may have to bend the rules a bit for the sake of the story (see above explanation), but I hope you'll forgive me! Feel free to point out any additional errors anyway though – maybe I can prevent a few…

Akutenchi: Um, I'm not sure I understand your question. Kagome and Sango are both French and Kikyo is British (for the purposes of the story, of course). None of the women in the story are German. Hope that clears it up!

Missing in Action

Chapter 7: Utopia

Pain. Wrenching, earsplitting, mind-numbing pain. That was the very first thing to come to his awareness. He had no idea why he was in such pain, nor was he in any condition to care, for his consciousness did not yet extend to that level of thinking. As the darkness of a deathlike sleep gradually melted away he became more accustomed to the pain, feeling it pulse and throb, noticing, with the return of his capacity for organized thought, that it was localized in his head.

For a few minutes he merely lay still, eyes closed, concentrating on breathing in and out. After a while he realized that the pain was subsiding, becoming more of a dull ache in his skull. Finally he cracked open his eyes, wary of the light of the outside world in contrast to the now familiar darkness.

As his eyes adjusted to the brightness and came into focus he observed a strange old man hovering over him. The man's clothes were worn and rumpled, his hair and beard grey and somewhat unkempt and windblown, by the looks of it. His face held the lines of many years and troubles past, but the blue-grey eyes peering out of it were kind and bright, crinkled in a smile.

"You're awake," the man commented in a somewhat rough but pleased voice as he settled back in a chair beside the bed. "What's your name young fellow?"

He frowned slightly with the effort of thought, trying to recall it. "Uh...it's...Miroku," he replied finally, his throat somewhat raw and scratchy from non-use. "That's it, Miroku." He sighed, relieved that his memory hadn't been permanently damaged. But what the hell had happened to him? Why did his head hurt so much?

The old man chuckled good-naturedly. "Good, at least you don't have amnesia."

"Who are you? How did I get here?" Miroku questioned, taking in his surroundings. He was in some sort of cabin, apparently in the woods from what he could see out the open window in the wall beside the bed. The room he was in was small and rugged, but not uncomfortable. In fact it was rather cozy. Aside from the bed, the only furniture was a cabinet on the far wall, a small, rough-hewn wooden table, and two chairs, one of which the man was currently seated in. There was a woven rug spread on the floor and various homey odds and ends like candles and blankets and books spread about the room. The room had two doors, one seeming to lead to a second room, the other leading outside.

The old man watched as he surveyed the room with interest. "I'm called Teiresias. I came upon you in the woods, mortally wounded, and brought you here to treat you. Relax," he said calmingly, reaching out a hand when Miroku made to sit up, "You're still healing. That was quite the lucky shot you took," he commented with a smile. "A centimeter further in and you'd surely have been killed instantly. Indeed the men who shot you must have thought you so, not to have shot you again, finishing the job.

"I heard the weapons fire while I was out collecting firewood, went to investigate. There you were, lying unconscious on the ground, bleeding from the head, and I could hear those goddamned soldiers retreating, stomping about like elephants on parade. At first I believed you were dead, indeed you should have been, if only due to blood loss, but upon closer inspection I found you still had a pulse. You've been in a coma since then, and I was afraid you might not wake from it. Until now, that is.

"I've used a few home remedies to dull the pain, bandaged you up as best I could. You tend to learn a great deal about mending injuries living alone out here, and I expect you'll make a full recovery. You can feel all your limbs and everything, can you not? No paralysis?"

Miroku flexed his hands slowly, testing the muscles, doing the same with his feet. Everything seemed to be in order, with the obvious exception of his head, which still ached as though he'd gone on a weeklong drinking binge.

"Good," the man said, getting to his feet and moving across the room to tidy up the various supplies strewn over the tabletop.

Miroku closed his eyes again, trying to piece together his fragmented memory. By now he could remember pretty much everything up through his last visit with Sango and Kagome. From there, however, things became a bit sketchy. He wasn't entirely certain how much time had passed between leaving the village and his encounter with the soldiers. He had some vague memory of having returned to the Resistance base in between, but he might have been imagining it. Then gradually he recalled images of the woods at night. He was running, running for his life, pursued relentlessly by the sound of harsh voices snapping orders in German, and gunfire echoing in the dark as bullets ricocheted off the trees around him. He felt the panic welling within him, his mind overcome with the will to survive, primal and instinctive, giving him the strength to keep running even as his lungs burned and muscles screamed with the effort.

Then suddenly there was an unspeakable, shooting pain in the left side of his head, tearing his flesh, rattling his skull and depriving him of all remnants of rational thought as he gave a cry of mortal anguish, before falling into utter blackness.

"No...!" he said breathlessly, snapping awake, sweat rolling down his face. He didn't remember having fallen asleep, so subtly had his thoughts melted from those of consciousness into dreams.

Breath coming in uneven gasps, his pulse slowly returning to normal, he glanced out the window. The sky was slightly overcast, but not dark; he couldn't have been asleep all that long. But the room was empty at the moment -- the man was nowhere to be seen.

He took a deep breath, returning his gaze to the window. I wonder how long I've been here, he thought. I wonder where Sango is. Does she even realize I'm gone?

His head was feeling a bit better, no doubt due to Teiresias' 'home remedies,' and Miroku managed to push himself up into a sitting position. A cool breeze played across his face, and he reached up to gingerly finger the bandage that was wrapped around his head, testing the wound.

The sound of the door opening drew his attention to Teiresias, who entered the cabin, a smile on his face and a small sack in his hand. "Hi there," said the older man as he emptied a collection of leaves and herbs onto the table.

Miroku watched him with interest as he settled in to sort meticulously through the strange plants. It was strange the way this man and his little hut seemed completely cut off from the war going on around him, untouched and unscathed by it's violence and destruction. Yet it wasn't as if he was some sort of uneducated hermit. He spoke as one who had lived among people, and the many well-worn books stacked around the tiny room were evidence that he could, and did, read.

"I don't mean to sound rude or anything, but what exactly do you do here? How did you come to live in this place?" he asked curiously.

The man smiled amusedly. "I was wondering when you would ask that. Most people I come across are curious about me, not that I come across many who take the time to talk these days. Too many soldiers about."

"Why don't the soldiers harm you?"

"I'm not worth their time," he replied with a wink. "They leave me to my business as long as I don't get in their way. Most of them, especially that Colonel Kouga, take me for a crazy old hermit. I suppose I'm worth more to them alive if only so they can joke about me amongst themselves. The joke's on them though, isn't it?"

Miroku returned the man's smile, coming to increasingly appreciate his sharp wit. "But how is it that you live here in the first place?" he inquired again.

"I didn't always. In fact, I grew up in the village, lived there most of my life. My wife and I used to run a bed and breakfast there, years ago, before she passed on. Just wasn't the same without her, I suppose. The world itself was beginning to change, and I decided that I was tired of changing with it. So, I built this place, took my books and a few essentials, and made a world of my own to live in. I've been here for, oh, about fifteen years now. It's a quiet sort of life to be sure, but it serves me well. Especially of late."

Miroku listened in fascinated silence. In a way he envied this man, envied the uncomplicated simplicity of his life, and wondered if he could ever do it himself -- give up the world like that. But he knew in his heart that there was at least one thing, one person rather, that he could never leave behind. "Sounds like a good life," he mused. "I only wish mine could be as simple."

"It can be; it will be. All you have to do is work out the tangles and live through the rough times. Eventually, we all get there, one way or another."

The younger man eyed him skeptically for a moment, but Teiresias merely continued at his work. "I hope so," he murmured.

* * *

Sango knelt gingerly before the wide, dark stain which tainted the ground of the clearing, clutching a hand to her stomach, her breath coming in shallow, almost-sobs as she vaguely registered Inuyasha's confirmation that the blood belonged to Miroku.

"No..." she whispered, tears coming to her eyes as it seemed that the nightmares which had plagued her these days past were being played out before her. Miroku's kind countenance swam before her like a vision, his expression at once calm and mischievous, as only he could be. "Jesus god, it can't be..."

It was then that a ray of hope broke through her despair, and she clung to Inuyasha's words like a lifeline as he said with puzzled surprise, "The trail...it...goes out from here, but not in the direction of the village. Why would the Nazis have taken him away to be buried? It doesn't make sense, unless..."

Her eyes widened, a desperate light coming into them, and she quickly got to her feet. "Unless what?" she demanded urgently. "Inuyasha, do you think he might have survived?"

"There's only one way to find out..."

* * *

A cool breeze played across Miroku's face, ruffling his short, dark hair and stirring up the leaves from the forest floor. He was seated comfortably against a tree -- in fact, come to think of it, he felt no discomfort whatsoever, in his head or otherwise. That's odd... he mused, but his surroundings were so pleasant that he simply couldn't bring himself to puzzle it further.

So this was what utopia was like. Birds in the trees, peaceful, serene solitude like a spell over all the world. It was, for lack of a better word, perfection. Yet there was something missing...

A distant voice, hardly more than a whisper for all that he could hear of it, reached him on the wind. It called to him, beckoned him, and he felt drawn to it almost instinctively.

"Miroku..."

Again it called, louder this time as it grew closer. It was familiar to him but he could not fully identify it through the haze of bliss that seemed to fill his mind.

"Miroku..."

When the voice came a third time, still louder, he could just detect a hint of desperation in it. It was then that he knew whom it belonged to.

"Sango...?" he whispered questioningly.

Her voice answered him with another, more desperate call, though she did not seem to have heard him, and his heart swelled at the sound, the world around him becoming dimmer, more illusory. But he took no notice of this. All of his senses were trained on that voice, which seemed to pull him away from his utopia to...somewhere else. And he found he was more than willing to go.

"Miroku..."

"Sango..." Miroku said sleepily, his eyes opening slowly, mind readjusting to the waking world. The strange pain medication that the old man had given him had put him soundly to sleep and made his brain run a bit slower than usual even as he woke. But the voice...was it real?

"Miroku...!" He heard it, louder and more urgent than ever from outside the cabin. It was her. It had to be her.

"Sango..." he called more loudly, praying that she would hear.

His efforts were rewarded when the door to the hut burst open and a wild-eyed Sango appeared.

"Miroku! Oh thank god you're alright," she sobbed, falling to her knees beside the bed and clutching his hand in her own, pressing her cheek against it as though to prove to herself that he was real.

He lifted his other hand to her head, gently stroking her hair as she shook with silent sobs. "It's okay," he soothed, "I'll be fine Sango."

"Dammit Miroku, I was so worried about you!" she said bitterly. "When I heard that...and then we found... You should have let us know you were alright, sent word or something!"

"He's been in a coma, miss," Teiresias explained gently, and Sango turned back to look at him. By then Kagome and Inuyasha had caught up and were standing in the doorway, looking exceedingly relieved. "You needn't worry about him anymore," the old man assured her when fear flashed across her face at the mention of a coma. "He still needs to recover a bit, and for that he can stay here. You are welcome to stay as well if you like. But for now," he said, meeting eyes with Kagome and Inuyasha, "perhaps the three of us should give you a little privacy."

Kagome nodded in agreement and herded Inuyasha out the door, Sango giving the old man a grateful look as he too exited the hut.

Once they were alone Miroku merely observed the young woman before him, not entirely sure what to make of her actions. She had apparently been worried sick over him, and yet had she not, at their last meeting, made it perfectly clear that she wanted nothing to do with 'someone like him'?

Sango continued to stare after the others for a moment, lost in her thoughts, trying to decide how to proceed. Finally she took a deep breath and turned back to face him.

"Miroku," she began, still holding his hand, but more gently now than before, "I want to apologize for the way I acted before, when you came to the cafe that last time. I...I know I hurt you, and I had no right to say those things. At first I thought perhaps you didn't come back because of me, and I felt so guilty, and then I was worried you might be dead and I would never have a chance to tell you that...to-to make things right. I'm sorry..."

His heart sank in his chest as she spoke, and he slipped his hand out of hers, averting his eyes as he pushed himself into a sitting position. Of course that was it. She felt guilty. She was worried he'd go to his grave and leave her with a goddamn insult on her conscience. Why should it be any more than that? he thought bitterly.

She watched him apprehensively, confused by the hurt that flashed in his eyes. "Miroku...?" she inquired softly.

"Is that all there was to it then?" he asked evenly, before he could stop himself, still unwilling to meet her questioning eyes.

"I don't understand," she replied, wishing he would at least look at her.

There was no turning back now, so he continued in a deadpan. "Was that all you wanted from me? You wanted to make sure I'd forgiven you, is that it?" He finally met her gaze. "I'm not so petty as to hold a grudge, for something like that, Sango. Consider your conscience cleared."

"Then why are you still looking at me like that?" she asked, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "I said I was sorry. I don't know what else I can do."

"Sango," he said softly, "you may not have meant to hurt me, but the bottom line is that you did mean what you said. We both know that. It's not your fault; you can't change the way you feel about me any more than I can change the way I feel about you."

She stared into his eyes, entranced, finally beginning to understand what he was saying. Did he mean...? But...how was that possible? She swallowed, trying to get her voice to work again. "And...how is that, exactly?"

The pain flared in his violet eyes once more as he raised a chaste hand to her cheek. "Isn't it obvious? I'm in love with you, Sango."

Her heart seemed to stop as his sweet, velvety voice resonated with the words she'd hardly been aware of longing for. But in that moment she knew once and for all that this was what she had been waiting to hear all her life. For the first time since she'd come in the door, she knew exactly what to say to him.

She lifted her own hand to cover the one he still held to her cheek. "I've got news for you, hentai," she said with a sly smile, "I'm in love with you as well."

Of all the things he had expected her to say in reply, that was furthest from his mind. His eyes grew wide in surprise, locked with her own, which shone like fireflies in the waning daylight from the window. "You..." he began, but she merely nodded, answering him before he even had a chance to finish.

Seeing that she was serious he drew her forward, capturing her lips in the sweetest kiss either of them had ever experienced. It wasn't hungry and lustful, as she would have expected from him, but warm and gentle, like a silent promise, a silent request. His arms encircled her, but for once wandered no lower, as he contented himself with the new and deeper emotions stirred to life by only a kiss.

Only a kiss... he mused. A deceptively simple description of something much, much more meaningful than he ever would have believed.

At last they broke apart, both smiling secretively to each other. Carefully, she ran a delicate hand over the left side of his bandaged head, where the faint stain of blood was just visible through the cloth.

"Does it hurt?" she asked him, concerned.

"Not anymore," he replied with a smile, which she returned. They were so close he could see himself reflected in her eyes.

Now this is what I call utopia...

A/N: Okay, please review and tell me if this is good or not. It's the middle of the night and I'm a tiny bit unsure about my ability to gauge melodrama so…yeah. So is it too sappy, too dry, or just right? Let me know if you would and I'll do what I can to balance in future chapters. Thanks so much!