AN: First of all, I suck. It's been at least a year since my last update. And I apologize greatly for that. From now on, I'm going to make sure that if someone takes the time to review my fic, I will take the time to update the fanfic. So thanks to all for your patience!

Sango stared at her fiancé, mouth agape. Somehow it didn't quite make sense that Miroku had a mother.

"Your…?" She said weakly.

"My mother," Miroku confirmed. "Misao, this is Sango, the woman I am going to marry."

Mother and bride eyed each other. Sango wasn't sure what to think. Misao was very beautiful. Her hair was artfully styled and jeweled clips held it all together. She smelled of jasmine and cherry blossoms and her kimono, although clearly a traveling dress, was made of very expensive cotton. Her kimono also did not do much to hide a very ample bosom, which Sango had a hard time taking her eyes off of while self-consciously crossing her arms over her own small chest. Her eyes…Sango gulped. Misao's eyes were a deep, penetrating blue-gray.

Like Miroku's eyes.

Misao bowed respectfully and murmured a formal introduction. Sango copied her, clearing her throat to alleviate the shock.

"W-welcome," Sango said shakily. "Forgive my rudeness, I wasn't aware—I didn't know any of Miroku's family would be able to come." Existed, more like, Sango thought to herself wryly.

Misao smiled brightly. "Don't concern yourself too much," She said warmly. "Excepting our dear Muushin, I am the only family Miroku has. There will be no more surprise guests. Unless Miroku has a few forgotten children tucked away somewhere!" She giggled at herself. Sango's smile became very fixed and Miroku coughed awkwardly.

Misao glanced about. "I know my visit is unexpected," She said with feigned apology. "But I don't mind sparse accommodations. If someone could spare a pallet, I'd—"

"Oh please, take mine," Sango said immediately. "I stay with the High Priestess Kaede, I'm sure she won't mind."

"Thank you," Misao said, looking pleased. "What a polite girl. How on earth did you come to accept my Miroku!" She giggled again. "Miroku, please show me to my quarters."

"I'll tell Kaede," Sango said quickly, hurrying off. Her mind was buzzing—she badly needed to clear it.

XXXXXXX

Miroku escorted Misao to Kaede's hut. Misao immediately set about making herself at home, unpacking various cosmetics and clothes.

Miroku watched her, eyes narrowed. "Misao, what on earth are you doing here?"

Misao looked offended. "I told you! I am here for your wedding—which quite frankly, I am still hurt you didn't see fit to invite me to!"

Miroku sighed. "I didn't mean to upset you. But—I haven't even told Sango about you. It would've been nice to give her a little fair warning."

Misao stopped rustling her lipstick brushes and looked up at him. "But I can assume," She said, a little sadly. "That Sango knows a great deal about your father. And your grandfather, come to that."

"Sango was one of my companions during my hunt for Naraku," Miroku said impatiently. "So yes. The hole in my hand didn't come from your side of the family, Misao."

Misao's dark eyes flashed. "And that's something else—Miroku, for nineteen long years I have worried and prayed, terrified of the day your curse would swallow you up—and you don't even see fit to tell me of your release yourself! Once again, I hear from Muushin!"

Miroku averted his eyes. "Misao—"

"It's just like your father wanted," Misao said flatly. "You've been a good son to him, obeying his wish that I might not be a part of your life. But your father is gone! You're no longer doomed to die! Doesn't—doesn't that change anything?"

Miroku's face was impassive. He leaned against his side of the wall, contemplating. "I don't know, Misao. Honestly, I never expected to live through the curse and survive Naraku. I don't know where that leaves us."

"What I do know," Miroku added firmly. "Is that I do not want your meddling or influence to do anything that might cause problems between Sango and me! Understand?"

Misao stared at her son, almost reproachfully. "You truly love her, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Miroku said quietly.

"Well," Misao said bitterly. "You didn't get that from your father. I'm not going to scare off your bride. Frankly, she doesn't look as though much would scare her off." She went back to her things, carefully organizing them.

Miroku cracked a grin. "You're right about that. But one more thing." Miroku's face turned deadly serious.

"Under any circumstances, you are NOT to tell Sango what you do for a living," Miroku's voice was sharp. "I don't care if by the end of these two weeks you think she's your best friend—you do not tell her."

Misao's eyes were steely but she nodded in acquiescence.

"Good," Miroku said with a little relief. "I'm going to go find her."

XXXXXX

Sango was not angry with Miroku—not really. She was…concerned. She was concerned about why Miroku hadn't told her—hadn't told anyone—that he still had family left.

After all Naraku's done, she thought to herself moodily, throwing Hiraikotsu towards the forest to vent her feelings. After all Naraku's taken away from me. Miroku knows how much family means to me. Why keep this a secret? Hiraikotsu neatly clipped the top of an oak tree and came whirling back to her.

"Sango?"

Sango caught Hiraikotsu but before her thoughts caught up with her, her reflexes had flung it again. Hiraikotsu cut through the air violently and Miroku just barely dodged it.

"Okay," Miroku managed. "You're not happy."

Sango raised and lowered one shoulder. "I knew it wouldn't hit you," She said carelessly. "You're agile."

"So you're not angry?" Miroku edged towards her carefully, eying her weapon in case she should change her mind.

"Confused," Sango stuck Hiraikotsu into the ground and faced him. "I was under the impression your mother was dead, like your father. I think we all were."

Miroku sighed, running his fingers through his hair agitatedly. "Misao…is complicated," He tried to explain. "I didn't grow up with her—she's not entirely a maternal figure to me."

"She's still your mother," Sango pulled away from him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Do you even know how lucky…how blessed you are to have her?"

Miroku gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Maybe I don't," He said softly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to hurt you."

"I don't want to fight," Sango turned into him. "Just—no more secrets, okay?"

"No more secrets," Miroku agreed, a twinge of guilt piercing him slightly. He gently brushed a finger across her cheek.

Sango's heart began to flutter. She suddenly realized that for once, the two of them were not being pestered by villagers, they were not in the midst of some crisis, and they were all alone. Miroku seemed to realize this too and he smiled softly. Sango licked her lips nervously. He bent his head towards her, their lips barely brushed, when—

"DEMON! DEMON ATTACK! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! CALL INUYASHA, CALL FOR THE SLAYER, CALL THE MONK!"