Chapter 19: Day 98
Her father looked her over dispassionately. "Where is your taijya suit?"
Sango shifted, injured arm throbbing against her chest. Her other arm, the one with the red circular scar that she had broken weeks ago, prickled in the cold air, almost completely bared to the shoulder from where she had torn the sleeve for a makeshift sling.
"I'm repairing it," she said automatically.
His mouth twisted ever so slightly, but he nodded. Then his eyes turned to her bandaged arm and his mouth softened. "What happened to you?"
Sango stared, heart pounding, feeling like she had some how fallen backward through time.
She knew better than to take his odd priorities personally. He always asked the wrong questions first. He'd been the village leader first, her father second. She'd almost forgotten what that felt like…
Fist clenching, Sango took a step back. "You should know. You were there, weren't you? In the cave when I was dying?"
His eyes flicked to hers. Then he scratched at his cheek with an index finger. "Well," he said contemplatively and her heart dropped at the familiarity of it. "This is unexpected. I had hoped our reunion would be a bit more…warm."
Sango's lip trembled. Of course she wanted to run into his arms. Of course she wanted to cry. But she couldn't. He was stalling.
"Father," she said quietly, and the word was like deliverance and damnation at the same time. "Were you there?"
A pause. She braced herself.
"When I last saw you," he said finally, and the carefullness of his words sent a spike of anger through her, "you didn't have a sling on that arm."
Gods.
Sango drew in a shaky breath. "No. I suppose not." She waved at her injured arm carelessly. She wanted to laugh, but she just felt sick inside. "I don't know what happened to me. I don't understand anything that is going on right now." And then, almost flatly, "I suppose that you probably do."
Silence. Long enough for any feeble hope she might have had that this was the world's biggest cosmic coincidence to die a swift death. In its place, an ocean of numbness. Beneath it, an endless sea of fire.
Sango looked at him, at those eyes so much like her own, at that face she had known for her entire life. It was her father. Her father was standing right in front of her. Not dead, not a corpse, not dying. Alive.
She looked at the ground, unable to hide the watering of her eyes.
"Why did you even come," she said, voice cracking a little.
"You called me," he said. He was still looking at her, probably with that same awful expression. Something almost like pity in his eyes. She wanted to scream.
"I called you," Sango repeated blankly. A lump in her throat, then the moment passed. She blinked down the tears, turning a cold gaze to him. Her voice was ice. "I did call you. For months. In my sleep. In my dreams. Where were you, when I was recovering in Kagewaki's castle? Where were you, when that bastard Naraku—" she saw his expression flicker "—gave me a shard that would have killed me if someone hadn't stopped me."
He shifted on his feet. "I was not…zawakened then. I would not have let that happen—"
Sango cut him off. "I've been chasing Naraku for months. And you let me. You let me run around the country trying to avenge someone who wasn't even dead." Her jaw clenched and she took a step forward, voice rising. "Go ahead. Tell me that isn't true. Go ahead and lie to me. And then tell me I "called" you, as if I ever had a choice. As if it wasn't you who finally called me."
Her last word echoed harshly down the mountain edge. As she had yelled at him, her father's expression had cooled ever so slowly and now the look on his face, severe and disapproving, made her nearly flinch away. Never once in her life had she interrupted him before, questioned him. Raised her voice at him. Not once. He was the village leader. He was her father.
But he had been dead.
"You know more than anyone why I can't trust this," she looked at him, almost pleading. "Can't trust you. You taught me that. Once a person is dead, they stay dead. Anything else is a trick, an illusion." Her lip trembled. "How could it be otherwise? What possible excuse is there for my own father to let me believe I was the only one who had survived all this time?"
For a moment, she thought he wouldn't cave to her. Her father, immutable, stone. She almost expected it, considering he never had before. But then he sighed, brow furrowing, a hand moving to pinch the bridge of his nose. She felt something crack a little in her chest at the sight of it, so achingly familiar. He was tired.
"I always meant to come for you," he said, and oh the way those words filled her with child-like joy. She was so weak. "But…Sango, I have a responsibility to our village. You know that."
His words cut. As if she had forgotten. "Our village is dead," she said flatly.
His head jerked up, for the first time a spark of temper in his eyes. "For now."
For now.
She froze, staring at him.
At her expression, he sighed again, rubbing his beard. "I was not going to speak of this today. You are always so impatient, Sango."
"What are you talking about," she said lowly, anger bleeding into her voice. How—how dare he just say such an impossible thing and not…
"Not today, Sango," he said again, eyes narrowing, and now there was a warning in his voice. "I have already put up with your questioning for longer than I have ever allowed from anyone. We will discuss this another time."
Another time? Sango thought wildly. What other time was there? What time did he think any of them had?
They stared each other down. The leader of the Taijya and the strongest of the Taijya warriors. A father and his wayward daughter. Her idol. His favorite.
She had been the strongest because he had bequeathed that title to her, not because she had ever bested him in battle.
Sango lowered her eyes, a bitterness she had never tasted before in her mouth.
"Why did you come," she repeated, the words almost dragged from her. She wished she had never asked in the first place.
She felt her father's gaze, heavy on her face.
His tone were almost…regrettable. "My lord has asked that I bring you home."
There was a large gap in the path. A shear rock cliff, with only a dirt bottom and rocks that looked like pebbles from way up here. She didn't remember seeing it on her way up, which meant she had probably deviated from the path somewhere. But it didn't matter. She wasn't about to turn around now.
She slid forward on her backside, gingerly hovering over the rock edge. When she felt stable enough, she leaned her weight on her elbows a little and kicked a foot out. To her chagrin, a fully stretched out leg barely scrapped the other side with her toe. There was no ledge for her to put her foot on this side either, certainly not a suitable enough foothold for her to try to push off from.
She could jump this in a heart beat another day, but today she was exhausted. And her arm was throbbing miserably. If she missed and had to grab hold of the ledge…
There was a sigh somewhere behind her, then the sound of foot steps. She stiffened, only to see her father vault over the gap in the rock, a dark shadow gilded in moonlight, landing in an easy crouch on the other side. He turned to her, dusting the pants of his taijya suit a little and then leaned over the gap, his hand outstretched.
She glared at him.
"Don't give me that look," he said, the knowing in his voice setting her teeth on edge. "I am sure you can get across yourself, and any other day I'd let you. I just don't have the time today to wait that long."
She didn't say anything. His hand wiggled a little between them.
"Sango," her father said, and this time a trace of amusement. "I don't remember you being this stubborn."
She wanted to snap at him that there were a lot of things he didn't know about her anymore, but it felt to fresh. Too cruel. She reached forward, clasping his hand in hers.
His hand was warm. Callused in the same places as hers. His grip was strong. She settled her foot as best as she could on the opposite ledge and he hauled her up and over with surprising ease, taking a step back as her other leg found purchase on the ground. She let go immediately and started to dust off her pant legs, ignoring the sound of amusement he made. She had got that habit from him.
"Thank you, father," she said, and then moved past him and continued down the mountain side. After a moment, she heard his foot steps follow her.
After his little declaration on the mountain top, she'd immediately said, "Another time, then," turned away from him and started down the way she'd come. She'd made her way a fair bit down the steep incline before she'd finally heard him coming after her.
She'd probably surprised him. But if he thought for even a moment that she would stand there and fall in line like his good little daughter and listen to him because he said he would bring her home, he hadn't been listening to her at all.
She couldn't believe this. Him. That he was alive. She had seen him die. She had seen it. And he had said My lord.
There was only one person she had ever called my lord. Only one person any taijya would have called that, given their fate. Her rescuer. Her savior.
Her enemy.
She would never forgive that man. Never. He was not her lord anymore.
By the time she had made it to the forest floor, the trees and the grass were cast in a cool pale light. While the sun hadn't yet risen, dawn was rapidly approaching and if she wanted to make it back before anyone noticed, she'd have to leave now.
Her body ached. She barely made it to a nearby tree, leaning her back against it just as her father slid down a smooth stone incline and landed on his feet. She turned her head away from him, gazing at the ground, fingering the grass there. There were not shadows in the shades of dawn, just endless pale lavender.
She heard him hesitate. Then he walked toward her crouching a few feet away, and she was forced to look up at his impassive expression.
"I thought you said another time," she said, barely keeping her voice level.
He nodded. "I did. But you should let me heal you."
That was not what she had expected. She blinked at him. "Why."
He frowned. "Because you are in pain."
Memories of past training sessions with him as a child, and then youkai hunting trips when she was older, burned in her mind. "I've gotten used to traveling in pain. You taught me that."
He sighed sharply. "Never unnecessarily, Sango. I would have been a poor leader indeed if I'd forced our people—no less, my daughter—to remain untreated just to teach such a lesson."
That was true. Her father had been strict but merciful. Unsentimental, but practical. When Kohaku had sprained his ankle on a hunting trip nearly half a year ago, her father had carried the boy on his back himself all the way home to prevent any further permanent damage.
Her breath froze in her throat. She looked up at her father then. "…is he alive?" She whispered. Her voice caught a little. "Please…tell me he is alive."
Her father looked at her. She didn't have to say who. There was only one person she could have been asking for.
"…Your brother is alive," he said. Her breath shuddered out of her.
She'd known. She'd known he'd been alive.
He just had to be alive.
Sango slumped forward, hair falling in front of her face, as she took great shuddering breaths. No tears, though. She was too numb for that, now. Maybe later, when she had time to think. Time to grow cautious at how easily her father had given her such information.
But for now just….relief.
"Can I heal you now?" He said. If he'd been aiming to soften her, it worked. She shrugged her shoulders, looking down at the grass tangled in her fingers.
She heard him rummage in his taijya belt. The unwrapping of cloth. A low hum. For a moment, she thought it was him making the sound, but that didn't make sense. It was deeper than his voice could go, and familiar, though in a different way.
Her eyes flicked up, curious, just in time to see her father press a cloth—something black and gleaming contained in it—to the exposed skin of her right hand.
The world vanished before her eyes. In its place, a languid darkness. Floating, an endless empty space stretched before her, and yet there was something there, too. She could feel it. Gentle waves washed over her senses, cocooning her. Crooning to her like an old lover.
There was a warmth crawling up the spidery viens of her hand. Like a hand, ghosting fingertips up her skin. Up her wrist, past her elbow, into her shoulder, now spiraling down into her—
She threw herself back, gasping, and the contact broke. Her vision returned in a flash of white and she found herself on her back, staring up at her father, who was still kneeling where she had been.
A dark shikon shard gleamed in the center of the cloth in his hand. Even from the small distance she could feel it.
Calling to her.
As if it had been calling to her for a long time and she'd just never recognized the sound.
She scrambled to her feet, trembling. "What—what did you—" and then she stopped, her gaze snapping to her side. She'd used her injured right arm to get to her feet. There had been no pain. In fact, she felt like she'd just woken from a long sleep, rested and restless.
She peeled back the bandage against her palm and stared. It wasn't just the pain. There was no burn. Not anymore. Unblemished flesh, perhaps a little red and irritated, nor more burned than if she'd touched hot water for a moment.
She turned her back to her father quickly, peeling the collar of her kimono away from her shoulder…and there. A few red lines like claws against her breast, the last remains of her burn. She touched a red stripe with the pad of her finger, wincing a little at the sharp sting, though the edges of it crawling into her shoulder had faded entirely.
Everything had healed but these. The marks closest to her heart.
She replaced the hem of her kimono and then slowly turned to face her father, who had stood up from his crouch and was dusting his pant legs off again. The shard was no where in sight. But…
There was something. A faint humming, stretched along an impossibly thin thread in her mind, ending at the space in front of her. Warm. Familiar.
And there were other threads too, she realized now. Faint, just like the flicker of needles in a vast empty space, flashing and disappearing in her mind's eye. Too weak to really pinpoint where they ended.
For now. The words came to her, voiceless and terrible. Filled with such promise.
She opened her eyes to find her father looking at her, solemn. Her hands were trembling. She brought them to her chest, clenching them hard.
"What did you do to me," she whispered, terrified.
"I didn't do anything," he said, almost gentle, the way he had done so long ago when she was a child and he was teaching her something new. There was something like pity in his eyes again, but this time it didn't make her angry. It made her afraid. "You did that, Sango."
She stared at him, aghast. With a small shake of his head, he turned to walk away. To the north, the opposite direction of the village. But, then he paused. She held her breath, despite herself.
"Two days," he said. "Return here in two days, high noon. You will get the answers you seek."
And then he walked away.
Day 100
Another dawn found her at the forge. The furnaces were blazing and almost too bright to look at, smoke pouring out of the chimney, the heat making visible waves in the air.
The hammer in her hand glowed molten hot as Sango pounded it again and again on the largest piece of Hiraikotsu, flattening the new white material she had welded to its broken edge.
After a few powerful strikes, she set the hammer on the anvil and lifted the bone weapon with gloved hands, inspecting the crystalized edge.
She had taken a lot of the cured youkai weasel's bones from their salt vats and had, with other materials from around the shop, dissolved the contents with a light acid it into a wet paste. This she could then use as a structural matrix to weld the broken pieces of Hiraikotsu together.
Theoretically, anyway—she hadn't done a repair job this big before. Today's small batch was a test run. Eventually she would add the fangs, claws, and even the blade resistant fur of the demon to the bone matrix, to make it stronger. She would need to get more materials too. Soon, even, if she was going to go through so much bone.
It wouldn't be tomorrow. Maybe not this week. But soon. Soon, she could fix Hiraikotsu. Soon, her beloved weapon would be whole again. Hopefully…
The door of the forge creaked open, startling Sango from where she had been staring at her weapon. She turned to see a small head wedged through the crack of the door, red hair and a pair of blue eyes. "Sango?"
Sango looked at Shippou, then at the weapon. While the bone matrix had started to crystalize nicely, it was much too brittle to take more hammering. She would need to let it cool and then try again later this afternoon. Sighing, she set the large bone of Hiraikotsu down and leveraged herself to her feet. She felt an odd sense of vertigo—she'd been kneeling in this position for a long time.
She made her way to the wall and took a seat against it, sighing. She'd have to watch to make sure the fire went down, but with out her stoking it, that shouldn't take long. A glass half full of water sat on one of the tables, forgotten from this morning, and she picked it up, drinking greedily. She made a motion with her hand for Shippou to come in.
The kit beamed, wiggling from between the heavy door and making his way over to her. He placed his small hands on her knee, looking up at her with his pale blue eyes. "How's it coming along, Sango?"
She smiled, ruffling his hair. She saw his nose wrinkle just a little—probably the smell of the iron on her hand, or perhaps the smell of the bone paste, she wasn't sure. "It's coming along. I made good progress today."
The kitsune looked down, picking at a stray thread in her kimono. Sango raised an eyebrow. Kirara had picked up the awful habit too whenever she was bored and sitting in Sango's lap, unravelling loose threads with her claws or teeth. She was going to have to mend her clothes more frequently, if the the two of them kept doing that….Sango frowned a little.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Shippou looked back at up at her, saying, "You've been working in here a lot, lately."
She sighed. "Yes. Sorry about that." Two mornings ago, she'd been in the forge before anyone had noticed her missing. She'd stoked the fires so high and the flames so hot no one had tried to do more than check on her. Miroku had been bringing her meals and Kagome had stopped by yesterday, asking if she wanted to take a break for tea.
They'd sat awkwardly on the porch, tea cups in hand. Kagome had asked questions about her progress and Sango had answered them with as much detail as she could, all the while suppressing the urge to return to her work again.
Sango had known the moment was important, that if she'd rejected the offer Kagome would think she blamed her for the burns. And Kagome shouldn't think that, because it certainly wasn't true. But the tea break hadn't been without its awkwardness, considering half the time Sango couldn't think of a single thing to say. Nuance and subtlety and tiptoeing on egg shells was beyond her capabilities at the moment.
She'd been working herself from dawn to dusk, sleeping in the forge either because she had to tend the fires or because she was too tired to walk back to the main house. To the room she shared with Kagome. Her old room. Her old home.
She'd asked Kagome, almost guiltily, to come back this afternoon, if she had time, and eat a late lunch with her. The girl had agreed cheerily enough. But the fact that Shippou was here made her wonder…
Sango picked at the bandages on her right arm. She still hadn't taken the bandages off. It wasn't like either Miroku or Kagome had even seen the worst of it, but…
"Is there something wrong?" She said. "Should I go down?"
The kit hesitated. Then, "No. It's okay. We all know you're working really hard." At her raised eyebrow, he fidgeted a little. "Kirara's getting a little worried, maybe."
Her heart panged. Well that decided it for her. A glance at the fireplace saw that it had already simmered down to hot coals, nothing too dangerous. She pushed to her feet and shoveled some ashes over the embers, just in case.
Shippou had followed her, peering curiously behind her leg at the fireplace. On impulse, she swooped the child up, causing him to squeak in surprise then giggle as she deposited him onto her shoulder and strode to the door. As she started to push the thing open—she was surprised the kitsune had managed to squeeze through at all, she really needed to oil up the hinges on this thing—she felt the kitsune nuzzle into her hair.
"You smell like Inuyasha," he said absently.
She froze, for just a moment. Then she resumed pushing the door open. "Not sure why. I haven't seen him." Which was true. Not since….not since they'd returned a few days ago. "He did help me carry a lot of this demon carcass."
Shippou wrinkled his nose. "I bet he complained a lot."
She gave a small laugh, though it came out a little high. "Oh he did. Endlessly." At least when they were actually talking.
"He's such a pain," Shippou continued on. "He's finally stopped sulking from where ever he's been for the last few days and now he's annoying everyone about jewel hunting again. He won't stop until we finally go, you know."
Sango could only nod, heart in her mouth.
Sango was staring at a particular deep gouge in the earth where elder Nishiyama used to set up his market stand when Kagome touched her elbow.
"You okay?"
Sango's gaze lingered on a missing chunk in a nearby roof top before turning to Kagome. "I'm all right."
The girl was balancing a basket of fresh laundry on her hip, which she readjusted to her other side. She let her hand drop from Sango's arm. "Shall we continue up?"
Sango nodded, lifted her own basket of laundry to prop on her other shoulder, and together they turned, continuing up the path.
"I'm sorry," Kagome said after a moment. "I know you've been working all day. I shouldn't have bothered to ask you to help with the laundry, its just…its been piling up lately." Her smile was sheepish. "Thanks for the help. I wouldn't have gotten so much done by myself.
Sango shrugged. As she and Shippou had been heading down from the forge, they'd found Kagome struggling valiantly with a pair of dirty laundry baskets. Sango had acquiesced without much thought; they'd needed to do the laundry and it happened to be an unseasonably warm day. Shippou had, of course, immediately abandoned them for his coloring book back at the house, and so there had been a few awkward moments of silence as the two woman trudged to the river with their baskets. But it hadn't lasted long. Kagome had always been easy to talk to and it had been a nice moment simply talking about nothing at all. Almost like they were back to normal again.
She'd also finally been able to put the finishing touches on her Taijya suit. A quick scrub and a quick dry in the sun, and she'd been able to slip it on again and make the final adjustments. She fingered the material on her wrists with a thumb. Wearing it felt like returning to her own skin again. She nudged Kagome's arm. "Being busy isn't an excuse. I'm glad you asked."
A small breeze flitted around them, stirring up nearby fallen leaves. Kagome's skirt fluttered in the wind as they walked. Sango eyed it, and the way the girl surreptitiously shivered. "Are you sure you should be wearing those clothes right now?" Sango asked. They were probably the biggest reason why she'd gotten sick awhile back.
Kagome shook her head. "When I go home next, I'll bring some tights." Her voice turned to a mutter as she continued, "And maybe some jeans. And a hat. And a jacket. And a…"
As Kagome continued to list off things to bring, expression growing increasingly disgruntled, Sango's gaze drifted to the horizon.
"That reminds me…why haven't you guys headed back to the well yet?" She asked.
Kagome paused, glancing at Sango. "I didn't think you were ready yet…unless you want us to leave you here?"
Sango blinked, caught off guard. Then her mouth pressed together a little as she looked at the tree line. "I wouldn't want to hold you guys back…"
"Kagome! Sango! Look at my drawing!"
Both girls looked up to see Shippou running towards them down the dirt path, Kirara hot on his heels. It was a normal sight now, seeing the two of them together. Sango swallowed a little, looking away.
In doing so her eyes caught the shadow of the main house with it's strange silhouette looming from a distance.
From here she could see the occasional wooded column protruding from the roof, where her father had frequently hung chains or training equipment for practice. The practice hall down the hill may have been where most young Taijya learned their skills, but for as long as she could remember, the main house had been a frequented training grounds too. Generations of her ancestors had lived, worked, and passed on their skills in this house.
Sango returned her gaze back just in time to see Shippou jump right into Kagome's basket of clean clothes. The girl nearly tumbled over, shouting, as Kirara twined at her legs with a coy mewl.
Shippou should really know better, she thought as she watched them. He'd been told enough times not to ambush Kagome like that. But perhaps it never stuck because Kagome's scolding of the kitsune was made completely ineffective by the laughing smile on her face.
Her eyes drifted first to the sky, where the sun had long since passed its zenith and was heading towards the horizon. Then, unwillingly, to the mountains in the distance.
Sango's thoughts were interrupted by a small meow at her feet.
Sango looked down to find Kirara looking up at her, head cocked to the side. Without thinking, she reached down to pick the cat up gently, cradling her to her chest. Kirara mewled again, nudged at her jaw with a cold nose, but Sango didn't turn her head. Instead, she buried her nose into Kirara's soft fluffy neck and just breathed.
Miroku's expression was skeptical. "…if you're sure."
Sango nodded, still holding Kirara in her lap. She hadn't set the cat down since they'd put away the laundry and retired to the main living quarters. "I'm sure. I've still got a few days of work ahead of me, at least. If Kirara doesn't go with you guys, we can catch up with you back at Edo village by the end of the week."
A puzzled look flashed over Miroku's face, but then it was gone. She was confused for a moment, until Inuyasha said suddenly from the other side of the room, "Why wouldn't Kirara stay with you?"
Oh. Sango's eyes flicked to him. Not seeing him for a few days had made his golden eyes seem starker, vibrant. They seared into her, always seeing too much for her liking. She looked back at Miroku, smiling. "I meant, unless you plan on returning here. In which case, Kirara could go. There isn't much for her to do here while I'm hanging at the forge."
Kirara made a snorting sound. Sango looked down to feel the cat give her a gentle smack on the chin with a paw. She blinked. "Okay. Never mind then."
Kagome laughed suddenly from across the table. "I've never seen her do that before!"
Shippou popped his head up from the floor. "You tell her, Kirara!" He crowed. The eyebrow Sango slowly raised at him sent him scurrying back under the table.
"So it's settled then," she said, eyes flicking back to Miroku and Kagome. "Will you head out in the morning?"
Miroku scratched the back of his head slowly. "I…suppose." He had been oddly reluctant to agree to her plan that they return to the well without her. Which was strange considering Kagome had supported it. And Inuyasha—
Actually, Inuyasha had been silent. Despite what Shippou had told her this morning, he hadn't said so much as a word about jewel shard hunting or searching for clues of Naraku, or any of his usual comments. In fact, all he had been doing was staring at her since she had walked into the room and every time one of the other's flicked their eyes to him, curious at his behavior, she resisted the urge to flinch—
Inuyasha stood up abruptly. Sango jumped. Not that she'd been looking at him directly but…
The others looked at him, but his eyes remained on her. "Sango," he said, and the tone of his voice set her hackles on edge. It was not a nice tone.
Sango finally looked at him, fighting down her irritation. "Yes, Inuyasha?"
"Can I talk to you outside," he ground out. It wasn't a question. It was a command.
And then he stalked out of the room.
Kagome and Miroku stared after the hanyou, then turned as one to look at her. Shippou too, had pulled himself up off the floor to give her a wide eyed stare. Sango realized her mouth was hanging open, which she closed with a click of her teeth.
What did he think he was doing? He had never called her out like this before.
Kagome held out her arms mutely. After a moment, Sango transferred Kirara to her and then got to her feet. "Excuse me," she murmured as she left the room.
He wasn't in the hall way. She found him standing outside in the courtyard, a hand resting on one of the wooden posts dug deep into the ground. The one Kohaku had used most frequently for his scythe practice. She wondered if she could find his name still carved on one of its sides. It was too dark to see now—dusk had painted Inuyasha and the post in a warm orange and pink.
As she took down the steps to the ground level and moved within arms reach of him, Inuyasha whirled suddenly to face her. Her step faltered.
He was furious. Not annoyed, not angry. Furious.
Oh, what the hell...
"What the fuck," he said, "was that in there."
Sango glared at him. "What is wrong with you? Why can't you talk like a normal person." When his jaw clenched, she continued. "Now please explain. I have no clue what you are even mad about..."
"You are wearing your suit," he said flatly.
"…Excuse me?"
"Why are you wearing it right now?" He took a step closer. "You said yourself you need several more days to work on Hiraikotsu. You don't need it."
She gave him a confused look. "I've been working on the suit for days. I just repaired it. I wanted to see if there were any issues—"
"Why? I just said—"
"Why wouldn't I? It's not like—"
"Fine," he hissed, advancing on her. She resisted the urge to step back. "Then why. The. Fuck," he said slowly, like she was a small stupid child, "are you trying to get us to leave."
Sango looked at him, mouth open. Oh. Her gaze lowered to his chest. "I'm not," she said after a moment.
He made a derisive noise. "Do you think I'm stupid?"
Eyebrows narrowing, "Well actually—"
"Where did you go?" He interrupted again, rapid fire and from what felt like no where, throwing her. Her eyes snapped up. "That night. When Kagome burned you?"
She gaped at him. He…someone had told him? Or had he…
"And don't," he snapped as she started to respond. "Don't even think about lying to me right now, or I will not be responsible for what happens."
It was the tone, if anything, that finally caught her temper. Sango straightened, teeth bared.
"You are not my keeper," she said to him, watched his eyes flash. He straightened, emotion bleeding out of him, as she continued, "Even if I did go somewhere, which by the way is still none of your business, who do you think you are interrogating me like this. I don't owe you an explanation. You are not my—"
"Are you leaving?" He said sharply.
Sango's voice died. She stared at him, unable to recognize the look on his face. It made her head hurt. It made her heart hurt. It made her feel guilty when she hadn't even done anything wrong.
"Sango," he said, and it was oddly vulnerable, like the calmness in the eye of a howling storm. "You promised me you would tell me when you were going to leave again."
She took two steps back from him, needing to breathe. He was too close. He took up too much of her space, he took up too much of her everything. "I was thinking about it," she hedged over the pounding of her pulse, hearing his breath hiss out. "Wouldn't it be better this way?"
His jaw clenched. "For who?"
Now he was just being obtuse. She growled, "For both of us, idiot."
His face reddened. He looked like he was about to pop a blood vessel. "Absolutely not—"
"And why not?" She cut in, voice rising. Why was he being so difficult about this? "Just…just look at us, Inuyasha. We both—we both have obligations to other people." She swallowed. "We never should have—"
His face turned severe. "No. No. You don't get to pull that card on me right now. This," he said, gesturing at her and him, "has nothing to do with this conversation—" and damn it if that didn't feel like he'd just punched her in the heart.
"How the hell does it not? This…made everything complicated!"
"No it didn't."
"Yes," she hissed, poking him in the chest. "Yes it fucking did. I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to hurt Kagome."
He reared back, surprise flashing across his face. "Kagome? What the fuck does Kagome have to do with—"
"Are you serious right now?" She told him, voice cold. "Are you going to tell me to my face that you've just been fucking around with me while not understanding how much Kagome cares about you?"
Something uncomfortable flashed across his face, replaced quickly with seething. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I'm not blind," Sango snapped. "Like apparently you are pretending to be."
"Kagome," he said harshly, "cares about everything. Every one and every god damn thing. She doesn't know how not to."
"And what's wrong with that?" Sango shot back.
His eyes widened, incredulous. "What is—" he bit himself off, making a furious sound in his throat, then turned his glare on her. "She cares too fucking much. And I think we both know this world is not a god damn nice place and takes great fucking pleasure in destroying people like her."
And Sango did know. But— "Your pushing her away doesn't solve anything. I don't understand what is wrong with you two but I am tired," she breathed in shakily, "of feeling like I am letting you get away with hurting her."
Inuyasha put a hand to his head. "Why the fuck are we even talking about this. You have completely changed the subject."
Maybe she had. It didn't matter. "What you are doing will only drive her away—"
"And I don't fucking care," he exploded, resolve flaming in his eyes. "I don't want her to stay in this cruel, fucked up place. I've told her a thousand times. She should go home."
Home. Not away. Not somewhere. Home.
It occurred to her that in his own way, Inuyasha was trying to protect Kagome. That he did care. That he was, in fact, doing the only thing he thought he could do, that he had any control over.
But what Inuyasha didn't understand was that he had no more control over who loved him then Sango had of controlling who she loved.
"Just because you don't care," she said softly, "doesn't mean I don't. I really do. About her and about you."
Damn him. That declaration was hard for her, and yet he looked like she'd said something stupid again.
"Don't," he said, eyes flashing gold as his hand clamped like iron over hers in a vice grip, "misunderstand me again. You always do. Just like you misunderstood this entire fucking conversation. I never said I didn't care about Kagome. I also never said I didn't care about you."
She drew back, feeling whiplashed. What did that have to do with anything? "…I don't follow."
"Why are you trying to leave?"
Her mouth clicked shut, then open again. "Why do you even—"
"Care?" he said lowly. "Why shouldn't I? You're the one that keeps trying to tell me I only care about fucking you."
What. The. Hell.
She tried to jerk her hand from his grasp, but he refused. "Now… now wait just a minute. I never said you didn't—but even so—you told me. That was the whole point of this, Inuyasha. Neither of us were supposed to get attached. Neither of us was supposed to care."
"No," he said. "I said it didn't have to be complicated. I didn't say I wouldn't care."
"Why?" Words burst out of her. "You don't even love me."
She immediately wanted to take them back.
He straightened, and for just a second, she saw something old and strange in him. Years in his eyes that spoke of lifetimes she could never, would never know.
"Love," he said darkly, "doesn't have anything to do with this."
And gods if that didn't just...it was what she wanted, wasn't it? It wasn't like she loved him. So why did it feel like he was comforting her and ripping her heart out in the same breath?
"…so what are you even saying?" She said finally, miserable. "I don't understand. Why are you telling me its okay for Kagome to go home but asking for me to stay? It's not fair to her. It's not fair to me."
"Because you don't get to use me as an excuse to run away," He told her lowly, eyes burning. "Kagome doesn't need me. Kagome doesn't need any of us, or this world. But you…" he hesitated. "…You don't have—"
"Kagome?"
They both froze.
That hadn't been either of them. It was Miroku, coming from deeper in the house. He was calling for Kagome. The sound of foot steps. He was coming closer.
"Kagome? Why are you standing…" his voice trailed off. The footsteps tapered off, approaching the entrance that was behind her.
Was Kagome…was she standing there? Had she heard? Had she—
Sango stared at Inuyasha's face. She watched as his eyes slid behind her, to look towards the door. She watched his shoulders tense, her hand slip from his grip, his arm slowly drop to his side.
Sango didn't look. She didn't have to. She couldn't breathe.
This was not the way she had wanted to tell Kagome. This was not the way—
She brushed straight past Inuyasha and walked with large strides down the road.
"Sango!"
She was chasing after her.
Not Inuyasha, not Miroku. Kagome. Kagome was chasing her, stumbling through the darkness of the road. Sango tried to keep walking, but the footsteps were getting louder.
"Sango! Wait, please!" the voice choked. "Don't leave. We can—we can talk about this—"
Sango stopped abruptly, staring at the ground through a sheen of wetness that she desperately tried to blink back. She heard Kagome stagger to a stop a few arm lengths behind her, chest heaving.
"Sango," the girl breathed. Sango turned to find Kagome staring at her in abject misery, her face red and wet with tears. Sango bit her lip.
"Go back, Kagome," she said. "There isn't anything to talk about. I'm…I was planning on leaving at some point anyway. This is just—"
"No, Sango. Look, I—" Kagome scrubbed her face with her hands. "I won't lie to you. It really hurt to hear all that. It really hurt." Tears streamed down her face. "But it's not like…it's not like I'm innocent in all this either."
Sango was shaking her head. "It doesn't matter. I…I knew how you—"
A cold shiver raced down her spine.
Sango cut off abruptly, whirling around.
A buzz, in her head. A line, sinking right into the darkness.
Oh no. No. Please no. Not now.
Kagome didn't notice. "I think I knew," she was saying tearfully. "I think I knew all along and I just didn't want to admit it. It's not like," she wiped her face with the back of her hand, and the little laugh she made sounded awful, "It's not like I don't understand—"
It…it was coming closer.
"Kagome," Sango said, ears ringing. "Please go back."
Kagome sniffled, frowning. "Wait I…I want to tell you—"
"Go. Go back right now. Get the others." Gods. She'd known this would happen eventually. But not now. It was too soon. She was not ready.
Bless her, but Kagome just wasn't getting it. "The others?…but I. Why would you—"
"Kagome," Sango repeated, and her voice was high pitched now. She threw a wild glance over her shoulder, saw Kagome stiffen at the look on her face. "I promise you. I promise you I will listen to what you have to say another day. But now is not the time." And then, because she was desperate, "Don't you even feel it?"
A shocked look crossed Kagome's face, but it was enough. The girl straightened slowly, eyes flicking to the darkness beyond Sango. Her eyebrows furrowed and then something seemed to click. Sango watched with dread as Kagome's face paled.
"Sango," she whispered, and the confirmation was like a punch to her gut. "Why are there jewel shards coming right towards us?"
At that exact moment, a sound like a clap of thunder struck some distance behind them, rocking the earth. Both she and Kagome flinched, the latter covering her ears, as another clap of thunder erupted to the side. And then the last, somewhere in front, so loud and so close that Sango could almost smell the sharp metallic scent of lightning—
No, not lightning. Smoke. Sango whirled forward again, eyes wide.
Not thunder.
Explosions.