A/N: This is a somewhat fluffy chapter… so beware. I'm sorry to those of you who don't like them (who doesn't like them!) but if I make this M/S, I have to help them build their relationship first. The action comes later…

And…I kind of want reviews. Oh please, don't tell me I'm greedy! I'm really not… it's just, with each chapter; I feel I lose reviewers (maybe even readers!).

I won't continue this story if no one has interest in it! Therefore, I ask that I have at least 190 reviews in order to continue updating!

HAPPY READING!

Sango finally reached her room, and curled back up on the bed, thinking. She cursed herself for not asking more questions about Miroku when she'd had the chance—She barely knew anything about him, and she just knew that Inuyasha would have the answers. She knew, at least, that Erik wouldn't answer any of her questions.

She winced as she thought back to the conversation between the two men. She had wondered why Miroku's hands were bandaged… she just hadn't guessed that it was also she who had been the cause of it. Deep down, Sango knew it wasn't really her fault, but if she hadn't gotten him so upset…

Sango reached over and picked up her discarded book, determined to lose her thoughts inside of its covers.

She was so immersed in the story that she didn't even realize it when Miroku slipped into her room. For a moment, he lingered in the shadows, not wanting to frighten her. Finally, he stepped out into the light and cleared his throat.

xxxxx

Sango jumped and looked up, then quickly cast the book aside. "Miroku?"

For a moment he just looked at her, before saying, "I decided not to go anywhere for the time being. I ran into an old friend on the way out… but then, you already knew that, didn't you?" his eyes glinted.

Sango blinked, frowning. Slowly, however, she realized what he was implying… he had known she was there!

A blush crept across her cheeks, and she ducked her head so that he didn't see. Miroku, however, crossed the room. After a moment of hesitation, he placed a hand under her chin and delicately lifted it up so they were eye to eye.

"I also know," Miroku continued softly, "That he offered to take you back. He offered to take you away from this hell… and you refused. Why did you stay, Sango?"

Sango stared back at him for a moment, not sure how to answer. She was about to when he swiftly placed a finger to her lips.

"And tell me the truth," he warned, "I can see through your lies. Was it pity? Fear?"

"I-I don't know." Sango admitted shamefully. Was it because she was afraid he'd harm her? She wasn't sure. It was more probable that she pitied him, though. In his anger, he had never harmed her—at least, not badly—he had ended up hurting himself more. So perhaps it was fear…just not fear for her safety.

There was a moment of silence, and then Miroku stepped away, turning to leave. "Very well, then, I will see you tomorrow when I come to return you. Until then."

"No…wait!" Sango quickly reached out and grabbed his wrist. He turned back to face her with a confused, and somewhat irritated, expression on his face.

"What is it?"

"Your hands…I feel responsible…"

He snatched them away. "Don't." he said shortly. "It was my fault, not yours—"

"But if I hadn't gotten you upset, you wouldn't have… have…Please, just let me see—"

"Haven't you already seen enough?"

The angry retort rang between them, and Miroku almost instantly regretted it. Sango winced, hurt.

Miroku sighed, "Sango, believe me, it is not your fault. Please, don't worry about it."

"Miroku, I won't give up until you let me. If you leave, I'll wander around until I find you. By the way, there wouldn't happen to be any other murderous rooms that you left open for me? Because you might want to warn me this time before I accidentally walk into them and get trapped in there." her eyes flashed.

In turn, Miroku grimaced. Finally, he gave in. He felt as if he owed her something for nearly killing her—though, of course, he didn't! The sooner this was over, the better. Tentatively, he held out his bandaged hands.

Sango couldn't help but smile slightly with triumph, which awarded her a glower from Miroku. She carefully took a hold of his hands and began to remove the bandages from them, letting him sit down on the very edge of her bed as she did so.

Miroku shifted uncomfortably, sitting as far away from her as possible.

Finally, Sango got the bandages off of his right hand, then his left, and gasped. His hands, which she remembered as being long, slender, and white, had angry red gashes on them. Some of them were rather deep, and bled freely as she held them. Her eyes widened as she noticed he hadn't even bothered to take out the glass that was embedded in them still. As a matter of fact, it would probably be difficult for him to manage that himself…

Miroku began to pull his hands away, but Sango clung to them delicately, trying not to hurt him. "You didn't even take out the glass!" she exclaimed.

Miroku shrugged dismissively, and attempted to move away again. Sango, however, wouldn't let him.

"Here, let me—"

"Sango, don't be foolish! Let me leave, and you will hear no more from me."

"But I—"

"Please, Sango." His eyes silently pleaded with her, and in them she saw his fear of being hurt for a second time. She flinched inwardly… would he never trust her again? If he didn't, she wouldn't blame him.

"Miroku, I only want to help you, truthfully! Please just let me do this, and I will let you go. I won't ever forgive myself if you don't." She wouldn't ever forgive herself anyway…

After a moment, Miroku gently pulled away. "You'll need water and a damp cloth." he said at last. "Also a knife, unless you plan to pick the glass out with your fingernails."

Sango relaxed her grip and nodded. "Where can I find those things?"

Miroku paused as he inwardly fought with himself one last time, and then said, "Follow me."

xxxxx

"She wouldn't come back…" Inuyasha sighed, grasping the broom handle and sweeping up the stage. Inuyasha, if anything, was baffled.

Kagome gave him a look that bored into his eyes.

"Whatcha mean she wouldn't come back?" Shippou said from his comfortable position in Kagome's arms.

She shushed the kitsune and softly patted him on the head. "I'm sure she had a good reason for staying, right Inuyasha?" She met him at his side, and Inuyasha stopped his duties only to shrug at her.

"Well, why else would she stay there?" Shippou whispered into Kagome's left ear.

Kagome frown, and turned to Inuyasha once more, knowing that he wouldn't have the desired answer.

Shippou shivered. Oh, the stories he had heard! The Opera Ghost was not a friend— far from it! He was a prankster, a punk (as Shippou had called him one day as he saw the dark figure retreat into the shadows. He had just scared a group of ballet girls, plus him, for Shippou was the only male in the party.). Why would poor, innocent Sango insist on staying down in the dark subterranean of a damp cellar? It didn't make any sense!

"The only thing I can think of—" But then Inuyasha stopped himself and quickly shook his head. "No, Sango's not that stupid…"

"What?" Kagome and Shippou cried in unison.

Inuyasha growled, flying his hands to his dog ears. "Quiet!" There was a loud crash as broom hit wood, and the two automatically went mute.

"What if Sango likes Mir— the Opera Ghost?"

Shippou laughed uneasily. "I say, Inuyasha, you must have taken too many blows to the head. Imagine! Sango and…and…I don't even know what he is. It just would be disgusting"

Inuyasha pounded him on the head.

"What was that for!"

"For being an idiot!" Inuyasha snorted, picking up the deserted broom and slinking away from them.

"What's eating him?" Shippou pondered, rubbing his sore head and continuing to stare in Inuyasha's direction.

Kagome stayed silent.

xxxxx

Neither of them said anything as Miroku led Sango back down the hall. After a little while, he stopped in front of a door, pulling a ring of keys out from a hidden pocket. Swiftly, he chose the right key, slid it into the lock, and turned it. The door clicked open, and the keys vanished once more.

Miroku gently pushed the door open, letting Sango in first.

She stepped into a relatively small room, seemingly made smaller by the shelves that dominated three of the four walls. The shelves were piled with bottles of all kinds, with odd names on labels. Sango had to look at them for a while before realizing that they were different kinds of foreign medicine.

Miroku sat down at the petite table in the middle of the room, watching her as she continued to examine everything. On one shelf, there were fresh bandages. With a quick look at Miroku, Christine reached up and got them down. She also found a small basin, and brought that down as well.

She placed the bandages on the table in front of Miroku, and then looked around for where to get the water. Suddenly she spotted a ditch full of water over in the corner. Sango bent down and examined it, and realized that Miroku must have dug a kind of well, letting the water in so that he didn't have to walk all of the way to the lake when he needed some. This was smart, she thought, but she winced at the notion of using lake water to clean Miroku's wounds.

As there was no other water, however, it would have to do. Sango carefully filled the basin to the brim, and carried it back over to the table, grabbing a cloth on the way.

She soaked the cloth in the water, and then looked up at Miroku. He didn't meet her gaze. Slowly her eyes were drawn downward until they were staring at the object in the table between them.

Sango took a deep breath, and then lifted up the sharp silver knife, walking around the table to kneel beside Miroku. "Give me your hands." she said, gently but firmly.

Miroku placed his bloody hands in hers; not even flinching as she cautiously lifted the knife. She started with his left hand, using the tip of the knife to dig out the glass. The process was making her sick, but she got through the first few pieces without a problem.

When she got to the fifth piece, however, she noticed something that nearly made her heart stop. Oh no…she couldn't… His skin had started to heal over the wound were the glass had entered.

She would have to cut him open to get it out.

Sango took a deep breath and placed the edge of the knife at the edge of the healed wound. She wanted to close her eyes, but knew that she couldn't. That was probably the most stupid thing possible to do.

Quickly, before she could think about it anymore, she slit the wound open with one stroke.

xxxxx

Miroku watched as Sango struggled to remove the glass from his hands, wincing slightly as she did so. It wasn't the pain that made him cringe—after all, he had been through much worse than this—it was the look on her face. He could tell that the sight of his blood sickened her, and he was tempted to move away. She didn't have to do this.

"Sango…"

"Miroku," her voice trembled, "Please don't speak…just let me finish…" she trailed off, shuddering as she made another cut.

Miroku, for once, obediently went silent. He didn't want to distress her even more than she already was.

Finally, she finished getting all of the glass out of his left hand. She half dropped the bloody knife down onto the table, and grabbed the damp cloth. As gently as possible, she cleaned away the blood.

"Sango, there is a salve on the shelf to your left…second from the top. It will stop the cuts from bleeding so much. If you let me up…"

Sango hurriedly got out of his way, and he moved to rummage through the shelves, returning a moment later with a bottle full of thick, greenish-looking ointment. He removed the lid and began to awkwardly rub it into the slashes on his hands.

Sango almost instantly took the bottle away from him. "I'll do it." She delicately rubbed the salve into his hands in soothing little circles.

Miroku closed his eyes, almost enjoying it. Hastily, however, he caught himself and opened them back up. She wasn't doing this because she cared for him; she was doing this out of guilt for something she didn't have any control over.

Finally, she finished and wrapped the fresh bandages tightly around his left hand. Then she moved on to the next one. She was shaking so badly this time that she accidentally made a few cuts in the wrong places. To his dismay, she began to cry.

"M-Miroku… I'm s-sorry… I didn't mean to… I…I…"

"Sango, do not worry about it. I've taken worse than this before…I can hardly feel it. You don't need to continue, if you do not wish to."

"No…I'm almost finished…I can't stop now." Trying to control her trembling hands, Sango continued to dig out the glass.

xxxxx

At long last, Sango completed the gruesome task and cleaned off his hand, checking once more for any glass she might have missed. To her relief, there wasn't any. She spread the salve onto his hand, and then bandaged it.

They both stood, Sango not even realizing that she was shaking all over. Without thinking, she threw her arms around Miroku and clung to him, not noticing as he stiffened under her touch. Never in her life had she done anything like that before, and it had horrified her. She had rarely even seen blood, let alone touched it.

Miroku uncomfortably tried to pull away, but Sango didn't let him. She hung onto him as if he was the last thing on earth. She was quivering even worse now, and it took Miroku a moment to realize that she was crying again.

He hesitated, and then gently stroked her hair, amazed that she didn't flinch away. Instead, she snuggled closer. They stayed like that for a moment, until Miroku bent down and, so lightly that she could hardly feel it, kissed the top of her head.

"Miroku…oh, Miroku! Just look at me!" Sango continued to wail, obscuring her face in his shirt.

"Sango, stop this crying. I do not have a handkerchief to offer you. For you see, it comes in little use when you lack a nose…"

Sango stared up and blinked at him in horrible shock. "Is…is that supposed to be funny?" She cried harder and Miroku kissed her forehead for a second time before slowly pulling away.

"Come, Sango, I shall take you back to your room. Tomorrow, I will return you to the opera."