"Storms are waging on a rolling sea, down a highway of regret. The winds of change are blowing wild and free, but you ain't seen nothing like me yet. There ain't nothing that I wouldn't do, to the ends of this earth with you. Make you happy, make your dreams come true, to make you feel my love."

To Make You Feel My Love - Garth Brooks.

Sango cursed as the rabbit twitched its fluffy ears, gazed at her with mischievous wide-eyed bunny eyes, flicked its little nose, and took off into the woods. She cursed again, pushed herself into a sitting position and gingerly touched her ankle. She winced.

Sprained, she thought. Not bad, but enough to be annoying. Frustrated she scowled and watched the fluffy tail as it disappeared into the undergrowth. She could swear she heard the rodent laughing.

This was all Miroku's fault, she groused a bit unfairly. Thoughts of the monk had her grinding her teeth and she grunted as she pushed herself into a standing position. She winced again and gingerly put weight on her foot, testing its strength.

Her anger was still too near the surface and too raw for her to hold a civil conversation with him, so she'd ignored him and spoken to him only when absolutely necessary.

They'd barely said five words to each other the entire day.

It made for very tense traveling conditions.

To her surprise though he seemed to be honoring his promise to stay away from her; she also knew it wouldn't last.

Even though they were barely speaking she had felt his eyes on her all day. Frustrated, confused, and just plain weary she had gone into the woods to hunt simply to get away from his damnable all knowing gaze.

Now this happened.

She put a bit more weight on her injured ankle and was pleased to find it didn't crumple under the pressure. Limping slightly she made her way back to camp.

He looked up when she returned but she glared at him and ignored him. He sighed.

"No luck?" he asked. She shrugged and busied herself with checking for invisible cracks in Hiraikotsu.

He frowned at her, sighed again, got up, and disappeared in the direction of the stream.

Sango's shoulders slumped.

She knew that she was being a bit childish but she couldn't seem to stop herself. Frowning, she laid her boomerang down next to her and leaned back, tilting her head towards the dying day.

This had been a mistake. The more she tried to convince herself that she was indifferent to his presence the more keenly she felt it. She had almost forgotten in the two years he'd been gone how…comforting…it felt to be around him.

She scowled and blinked back the moisture gathering in her eyes. She needed to be strong, she needed to hold on to the pain and anger and not remember the other times, the good times.

Her pep talk did little to stop the flutter in her heart when he returned, carrying fish and a wet cloth in his hand. He laid the fish on a nearby rock and made his way towards her. She stiffened when he knelt down in front of her, close enough to touch.

"What are you doing houshi?" She asked, distrustful.

He said nothing as he gently but firmly took her ankle in his hands, pealed back her armor, and exposed the slightly swollen skin. She hissed and tried to pull away but he simple held on and draped the cool cloth over the inflamed area. He had his bedroll tucked under his arm and he shoved it under her foot, elevating the injury.

He said nothing, got up, and proceeded to cook diner. Sango closed her eyes and fought tears as she felt the heart thaw another degree.

The next day they had been traveling slowly because Sango's ankle still twinged a bit. They still weren't speaking to each other but Miroku made sure to stay close to her in case she needed his assistance.

She stumbled over a rock and he immediately reached out a hand to steady her, only to have her pull away from him violently and glare. He sighed and watched her with hooded eyes as she put some distance between them.

"Stubborn," he muttered, but not low enough for her not to have heard him. She tossed him another glare and picked up the pace.

He simple watched her and wondered for the hundredth time how it all went so bloody wrong.

He was once again contemplating the vast unfairness of fate and found himself muttering prayers at the oddest times for this torture to end.

It was quite literally killing him to be this close to her again, traveling and sharing days together. He breathed in deeply when the wind picked up and her unique scent teased his nostrils, cherry blossoms with a hint of sage.

She was dressed in her yukata, with her taijiya armor on underneath, Hiraikotsu slung over her shoulder along with her bedroll and a small bag full of varies travel supplies.

The bag hung across her chest and rested near her hip. It looked like something from Kagome's time with its strange metal clasps and strange design.

Curious and wanting a reason to talk to her he hurried along until he was even with her. She glanced at him stiffly and turned back to the road. He ignored his spiking annoyance and traced the letters on the canvas flap.

"What is this, 'fossil'? Is it the name of a master artisan?"

Sango glanced down and small smile curved her lips.

"I asked the same thing. Kagome said sort of, she calls them designers. She said this design was called a messenger bag. She got it for me for my birthday and said it would be useful."

"I have never felt material such as this."

"Kagome called it canvas. She thought it would go well with my yukata."

He frowned and neither seemed to realize that they had just spent five minutes having a civil conversation. It was almost as if they were normal again, comfortable, but then Miroku's hand brushed her bare wrist and a fission of awareness electrified the pulse point. She pulled away and he sighed again.

"Sango," he breathed. She shook her head and pulled ahead of him again. He felt his heart drop and let her go.

That evening found them still not speaking more than was necessary and both decided by mutual unspoken agreement, to retire early. Sango had been fighting emotional exhaustion since he'd re-entered her life and had dropped off to sleep almost immediately.

It was no wonder the nightmares came.

"No, Kohaku!"

She couldn't stifle the scream that ripped from her throat as she bolted awake. She was shaking and her dark bangs were plastered to her forehead. She ran an unsteady hand over her face and reminded herself that it was just a dream.

Not only that, it was a dream she had before, many times.

"Kohaku," she whispered and hugged herself. She hated these damn dreams, especially this one. It was the most deceptive.

She shivered. It always started out the way dreams were meant to, with brilliant blue skies and beautiful spring foliage.

She was standing in the middle of a field of wild flowers, riotous color splashed everywhere, and her brother stood facing her. He always looks so out of place in this dream because his eyes held such soul crushing despair.

He would face her with those drowning eyes and in the midst of all that beauty; he would lift his scythe, reach around, and use the point to pry the jewel shard from his back.

She would try to run to him but the flowers would bind her and the more she struggled the tighter they held. She could only watch and scream as her brother fell lifeless to the ground.

She usually woke up calling his name, just as she had done tonight. Sweating and angry, she viciously pushed down the lingering fear and turned to lie back down.

She started in surprise.

Miroku was staring at her.

Mortified, she looked away and repositioned herself under her bedroll. She chanced a glace at him.

He was still staring at her.

Praying he would simply let it be and knowing that he would not she let the silence stretch. It didn't surprise her at all when he spoke.

"Do you have nightmares often?"

She closed her eyes, opened them, and sighed.

"They come and they go," she whispered. She saw him shift as if to come to her, but something in her gaze stopped him and she sighed in relief. She wouldn't be able to hold it together if Miroku took her in his arms. She just wasn't strong enough.

The fact that he knew it and respected her enough to allow her the illusion of her strength caused another fissure in the ice encasing her heart. Silence descended once more until Miroku simply started telling her a story.

"I remember a night like this a few months ago. I was on a ship and we were anchored just of the coast of Greece in the Aegean Sea. My friend, a Christian priest by the name of Manuel dug out a bottle of rum he had been saving for a rainy day and we proceeded to drink.

I did not imbibe too much due to the fact that rum is much too sweet for me, but the good father finished most of the bottle and decided it would be a good idea to dance on the crow's nest and offers his thanks to God.

I tried to dissuade him but he is rather quick for such a hefty man and perhaps I had, had more than I realized. He climbed up to the top of the crow's nest, did a little jig, and promptly fell into the ocean…"

Sango felt her eyes flutter languidly as his warm, amused voice flowed over her. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to get her to relax enough to go to sleep, and to her surprise it was working.

"…Well I couldn't very well let him drown so I searched frantically for a length of rope to tie myself off with and jumped in after him…"

Her lashes fluttered and Miroku chuckled.

"…I managed to pull him back on to the ship and he promptly turned a sickly shade of green and gave his offering to the sea…"

Sango's lashes fluttered again and she lost the battle with her heavy eyelids. They drifted shut. A moment later she was asleep.

Her last thought was the vague realization that she had no idea what a Christian or rum were or how Miroku happened to be so familiar with both.