Title: Gravitation
Rating: PG
Summary: Kohaku was killed in the last fight against Naraku. Sango reacts.
Disclaimer: Rumiko Takahashi created the characters and scenarios here and parcels out the rights as she sees fit. She didn't see fit to give me any rights, but then again, I'm not making any money.
Feedback: Yes
Use of this story: Contact me for permission. My email is BulkyMonster (at yahoo dot com)
Gravitation
It was still cloudy overhead that night, despite everything. Sango couldn't help but associate clouds with the ominous jaki that Naraku brought with him; reality had not yet sunk in. It probably wouldn't, not for a long while. She had a lot to think about. A lot of grieving to do, and she'd been prepared to do it alone… but it turned out that someone needed her to stay.
How could she leave when Miroku was lying there, telling her to go and be happy?
There was no way she could fulfill that request. Leave him, and be happy? She had nowhere to go but back to her desperately empty home, and spend her days fighting off madness and despair. Sango felt as if she stood over a precipice, looking down into a dark void she could never return from if she fell. She could only go in one direction to escape it, and that was very clearly towards Miroku.
It had been merely hours since Naraku's defeat, and she was too exhausted to sleep. She was standing in the doorway in the small hours of morning, watching the dark shapes of rustling leaves against the predawn sky.
Kohaku. The name was a whisper in the center of her mind; at the edges, it was a scream. Kohaku. She'd clutched the shard so tightly in her fist that it had cut her, mixing her blood with her brother's. Blood, drying on her hands. Blood that was now all but vanished from the earth, and coursed now in her veins alone.
She'd thought of spilling the rest of that blood on the ground, of chasing her brother to the afterlife. Could she ever catch up with him, now? She should follow him, she should make sure he was okay… but her hand had begun shaking on the hilt of her shortsword, and she'd found herself unable to move.
No, she couldn't follow Kohaku. Not yet. For now, she was needed.
A faint rustling distracted her from her thoughts, and she turned her head to see Miroku raising himself from his pallet on one elbow. The lamplight wasn't bright enough for her to make out his face, and she squinted.
"What is it, Houshi? What do you need?"
"I'm fine, Sango. It's you who has suffered the most severe injury."
"I…" Sango looked downward. He was genuinely concerned. She was too numb to appreciate his care, or respond to his compassion. She could only keep moving, stay busy. There was work to be done, and Sango had not stopped even to change out of her bloody clothes.
"Please, Sango. Come sit here with me."
Mechanically, she did so. He couldn't stand and come to her. She was supposed to be taking care of him, so whatever he was unable to do, she automatically compensated for it.
He smelled of Kagome's ointment and of fresh linen. He had been been drugged asleep for several hours, but now he was awake and lucid.
"Do you need more medicine, Houshi?"
"Thank you. I don't want it."
"Houshi-sama should take it, in order to rest and heal more quickly."
"I want to be awake, so I can be here with you."
The heaviness in her chest lifted slightly and dropped again. No words would come to her throat, so she fumbled to find and clasp his hand instead.
"Sango," he murmured, and pulled her to him. Surprised, she fell softly toward him. Miroku held her there, hands never straying where they shouldn't, and Sango felt her body relax. She hadn't realized how much tension she was holding until now; Miroku's touch had at once a fortifying and a tranquilizing effect.
Soon Sango was asleep. She had no dreams or nightmares, and didn't stir at all when Miroku kissed the top of her head.
"Rest a while, Sango." He laid her down, gently, and pulled his blanket over her. When sunrise came he was still awake, in case she needed him.