"Talking about love is like dancing about architecture"
Joan – Playing By Heart
Miroku smiled and his eyes drifted to the enticing sight of the soft globes of Sango's backside. His hand twitched and his mind drifted pleasantly back to this morning. Thank Kami some things never changed. He offered a prayer to the perfection of Sango's ass and fought the urge to curl his hand around it.
He was pretty sure she wouldn't be as forgiving a second time.
Sango, despite the relative camaraderie from this morning, had been surprisingly quiet for most of the day. His lustful smile turned to a frown as his gaze drifted from the temptation of her bottom, along the graceful curve of her back, to rest on her shoulder.
He watched the taijiya readjust her boomerang around her frame and wiggle it a bit as if it hurt. That was when he noticed the small spot of blood on her yukuta. He caught up with her and stopped her by placing his hand on her arm.
She turned questioning eyes on him.
"You're hurt, Sango," he admonished. She frowned in confusion, but understood when he ran his hand lightly over her shoulder blade. His gentle touch caused heat to lick in her belly and she stepped away.
"I-It's nothing houshi, an old wound."
Miroku's frown deepened and he pulled her kimono away from the flesh just enough to see for himself. Sango jumped and her reaction was instantaneous as her palm flew for his cheek.
"Hey watch it pervert!" He caught her wrist and narrowed his eyes.
"Sango, I was not being perverted…"
"For once," she grumbled. He continued as if she hadn't spoken.
"I was merely expressing concern." His mouth quirked into a mischievous grin.
"Now if the lady would prefer I do something perverted, I'm sure I can oblige."
She rolled her eyes and had to fight the urge to smile. It wouldn't do to encourage him and his hentai behavior.
His smile faded and this time his finger traced the unbroken flesh around the wound. The low heat became a throb and she suppressed her shiver.
"Why is this wound in the shape of the blade your brother wields?"
She wrenched her wrist out of his hand and pulled her clothing back into place. Agitated, she mumbled.
"It was a sparring accident."
She wouldn't look at him. She didn't want him to know about Kohaku and his…rages. They were her burden to bear and she did so without complaint.
Miroku was watching her with those all knowing eyes again and she glared back at him.
"Stop that." He blinked.
"Stop what?" She blew her bangs out of her eyes and averted her gaze.
"Stop looking at me like that." He cocked an eyebrow.
"And how am I looking at you taijiya?"
Her scowl deepened.
"They way you always do when you think I'm lying," she stated, flatly. He smirked.
"Sango, it is not my fault that you have no aptitude for deception. Besides, I know you are not lying to me; you are simply not telling me everything."
She huffed and glared. "Why should I have to? You've obviously got your secrets…why can't I have mine?"
He tilted his head and studied her. She was annoyed with him.
"My dear Sango, far be it from me to infer secrets out of you that you do not wish to share, but know that if you do wish to tell me…I am here to listen."
He had made it only two steps when Sango's weary sigh caressed his ears.
"Wait houshi." He turned, expectant, and she fell into step beside him.
She studied him. She'd always respected Miroku's opinion. He may be an incurable lech and a con man but he was also a Buddhist monk, educated, and with a well of power that was impressive for one so young.
Even without the wind tunnel he was a formidable man. She chewed her lip and caught his eyes following the motion out of the corner of her own. The deep indigo pools darkened, and she felt her breath catch in her throat as a blush crept up the back of her neck.
"I'm worried about Kohaku," she blurted suddenly. Mostly to suppress the sudden urge that had come over her to feel his lips moving over hers. He raised an eyebrow, but did not comment. She sighed.
"I don't know what to do about him anymore. I had thought…hoped that once he was free of Naraku he would be able to heal…maybe even be able to reclaim part of the boy he use to be…"
She hugged herself and whispered. "But he's not getting better."
Miroku frowned. "How so? You told me when we were still with Kaede that his nightmares were decreasing. Is that not a sign of healing?"
She looked away.
"He has these…rages, moments where he goes insane and lashes out at anyone who comes near him. I'm usually able to contain him and he never….remembers."
Sympathy filled the monk's eyes and he took her hand. Sango felt her blush deepen and prayed it had not reached her cheeks.
"Have you consulted Kaede?" She nodded.
"She has given me some herbs and remedies to calm him, but he still succumbs to the rage. I no longer know how to help him."
He was silent for a moment, assessing.
"Perhaps you simply cannot help him." Her eyes snapped to his, her brow furrowed in anger, and she parted her lips to deliver a scathing retort, but he hastily interrupted her.
"I do not mean it that way, taijiya. What I should have said, was that sometimes no matter how much you love someone, no matter how much you may wish to help, it is not with-in your power to heal them. Kohaku has suffered far more than, perhaps, either of us realizes, and only time can heal such a wound."
She felt her eyes mist and she looked away from him. She didn't want him to see her despair or rage at how unfair the whole situation was. She gritted her teeth in frustration.
"I don't know if we have the luxury of time. The jewel is almost complete and…"
She didn't have to explain. Miroku understood the significance. The shard in her brother's back was the only thing keeping him alive.
He frowned suddenly. When he'd seen Kohaku he'd noticed the boy had seemed older than the last time he'd encountered him.
A strange question occurred to him. If Kohaku truly was the walking dead why would he age? He looked at Sango thoughtfully. Perhaps his judgment was incorrect, after all he had been gone, and he was willing to admit that his recollections of the boy two years ago might not be as clear as he thought they were.
"Sango…is he ageing?"
Sango started. She was not stupid; she instantly realized why Miroku would ask such a question. If Kohaku has truly been dead, as Naraku had insinuated, then there was no way her brother could age.
The jewel shard may be keeping him from passing the rest of the way into the underworld but somehow, somewhere there must still be a spark of life inside him.
"He is…it's why I can't…"
He nodded and instinctively put his arm around her waist and pulled her close. She stiffened and tried to pull away, but he simply clutched her harder. She gave up and allowed herself the comfort of his warmth.
"Then there is hope Sango, and sometimes hope is all we have to hold on to."
She sighed. Hope…it was something she desperately wanted to cling to, but found in such short supply. Strangely though, nestled against Miroku's lean, muscular frame, she found that hope was something she was starting to believe in again.
She glanced up at his handsome profile from under lowered lashes.
Hope…it was something to think about.
The next few days had passed rather pleasantly between Sango and Miroku as they continued to journey south. They had conversed and Miroku had continued to regale her with tales about his travels, keeping her mind off of her brother and keeping her laughing most of the way. She was especially amused by the stories surrounding his time spent with the Portuguese and the priest, Father Manuel.
She was smiling and he was struck suddenly by how light and carefree and breathtaking she appeared. Without thinking Miroku slipped into the tongue of his friend's countrymen.
"Você é tão bonita."
Sango's smile faded and she paused.
"You learned their language."
Miroku frowned. Yes, he had learned Portuguese and for some reason this seemed to distress her. She had grown thoughtful and all the mirth had drained out of her.
"Sango?"
She shook her head as if to clear it and smiled, but he noticed it did not reach her eyes.
He frowned. "This displeases you, taijiya. Why?"
She shook her head again, and hugged herself. He drew closer to her and touched her check with his left hand, running his thumb over her cheekbone. She sucked in a ragged breath.
"Please…tell me," he entreated. She pulled away from his touch and fiddled with Hiraikotsu, agitated.
"It's silly," she murmured. He frowned deeper.
"Nothing that upsets you could ever be silly in my eyes."
A beat passed and she sighed.
"You've done so much…out there…seen so many things. You've met many beautif…" she trailed off. "I can almost understand why you are so eager…to leave again."
Miroku frowned and opened his mouth to comment, when a scream broke the stillness of the air. They exchanged looks and took off running in the direction the scream had come from.
They reached the edge of a forest and out of the trees a young boy broke through the clearing, headed right for them. Behind him a small pack of lizard demons roared.
Sango freed Hiraikotsu and Miroku readied his staff as they charged the demons.
"Boy, get behind us!" Miroku yelled.
The child headed towards them. Miroku was the first to reach one of the demon. It roared and yellow teeth dove for the monk's throat. He raised his staff and focused his spiritual energy into the wood, infusing it. The teeth were repelled and the demon roared in pain.
"Hiraikotsu," echoed across the field. Miroku dove to the side as the huge boomerang flew through the air over his head. The demon snarled and twisted, turning a killing blow into a harmless graze. Sango growled and caught the boomerang by the straps when it returned to her in a graceful arc.
She skidded back, and rolled as another beast charged her. The demon was a massive with a choking aura. Its tail swept towards the slayer and she leapt into the air to avoid the swipe.
Miroku was busy with two of the demons, leaving the other three free to go after the slayer. The one that had tried to cleave her in two roared and dove; she rolled to the side again, careful to keep an eye on the two that were trying to flank her.
This is not good. She thought and brought Hiraikotsu around in an arch landing a blow on the demon's head. He clutched his injury in pain and fell back to regroup. Sango swiftly turned and caught the demon that had succeeded in flanking her with a precise blow.
The sharp edges of the boomerang slashed across its throat and bright red blood squirted out as it fell over dead. The remaining demons roared in grief and charged. She blocked the first swipe of deadly claw but she wasn't fast enough to block the second demon.
She felt her body lift and fly as the demon threw her across the field. She hit the ground with her back, felt the air whoosh out of her lungs, and felt her skull crack against a rock that had been partial buried beneath the earth. The slayer lay gasping; her vision blacking in and out.
"Sango!" Miroku screamed and cursed when the demons he'd been fighting started towards the fallen slayer.
She wasn't moving and he knew that if they reached her she was as good as dead. Cursing again he held out his right hand, vanished the glamour, and unbound his prayer beads.
"Wind Tunnel!" he screeched. The boy behind him squealed in terror and the demons roared in fear as the void in Miroku's right hand sucked them towards oblivion.
The lizards' massive claws dug into the earth, scrambling for purchase but it was to no avail. With a cry of despair they shrunk and disappeared into the void. Miroku was sweating as he bound his prayer beads around his hand and sunk to the ground on one knee.
His hand convulsed painfully and he fought to keep the bile down and his head clear.
He turned his head to meet the boy's eyes and the terrified child blinked once and ran.
Miroku sighed. So much for gratitude.
Sango felt her head swim and her vision blur as she lay on the ground gasping for breath. She struggled to lift her head, knowing that the demons would be on her at any moment, but unable to make her body respond with any sort of movement.
She managed to find the energy to life her chin enough to see several blurry green shapes running towards her. The next thing she saw was an eerily familiar darkness engulf the charging demons and pull them backwards.
She blinked, dizziness assaulting her, and her heart pounding. She forced herself up enough to see what she was sure she couldn't possible be seeing. Purple and black swirled together as the demon was sucked into oblivion and she watched Miroku fall to his knees clutching his right hand.
Her last thought before darkness encompassed her was that her mind must be playing tricks on her.
When Sango awoke she was surprised to find herself tucked under the covers of a very comfortable futon. She was even more surprised to find Miroku sitting with his back to the door, his staff clutched against his chest, with his head resting at an uncomfortable angle, fast asleep.
She pushed the covers off and winced at the movement. She frowned and looked down, noticing the blood stained bandages for the first time and wondering how long she'd been out of it. She glanced back at Miroku and took in the state of his robes. He looked as if he hadn't had a decent meal or a bath in a couple of days.
She sniffed and recoiled. The same could be said of herself.
Not wishing to disturb him she found her kimono and pulled it on but paused to study him. He looked really uncomfortable. Biting her lip she crossed the room and pulled the covers off of the futon she'd been sleeping on and gently maneuvered him until he was laying down. Knowing his robes would keep him warm enough she balled up the blankets and made a makeshift pillow to stick under his head.
She should have pulled away instantly but her fingers didn't seem to want to listen. She found them inadvertently lingering to brush the soft strands of his hair off his forehead. A tender smile crossed her lips and she bent down and dropped a soft kiss on his cheek, before blushing and pulling away.
She glanced at him one last time, sighed, and silently slipped out of the room. She paused outside, letting her eyes adjust to the change in light and found that they were in a small village. She shielded her eyes with her hand, went down the steps, and surveyed her surroundings.
"Well, it's good to see you out and about young lady. Gave us all quite a scare you did."
Sango started and turned and found herself face to face with an ancient old crone struggling with a pair of water buckets. She instinctively stepped forward and took her burden.
"Here, let me." The old woman smiled her thanks.
"My grandson was right, you really are a pretty one," she cackled and Sango felt an embarrassed flush stain her neck.
"Grandson?"
"Ay, the boy you and the monk saved from those demons."
Sango frowned and tried to recall what the woman was talking about. She remembered fighting the demons and she had a vague recollection of swirling darkness, but everything after that was a blur.
"That boy was your grandson?" The old woman cackled.
"That little bump on the noggin must've really scrambled your brain, dearie. Yes, the boy was my grandson, Kenji. I am the mistress of this inn. You may call me Sora, taijiya."
Sango smiled and adjusted the water buckets so that their weight wouldn't pull at her injuries.
"How long have I been out of it?" Sora glanced at her and motioned her towards the door at the eastern corner of the inn.
"Two days…and your devoted young man has not left your side, not even to eat. I have been taking him meals but he only picked at them. He was powerful worried about you, he was."
Sango felt heat pool in her gut at the innkeeper's words but it was nothing compared to the ache that spread through her bruised heart. She tried to tell herself that it was nothing; that Miroku would have been worried about her regardless, but she knew that was a lie. Had he not disproved, during these many days of travel, that her misconceptions had been false and quite possible ridiculous?
Yes, to all. Whatever his reasons for leaving, they were not those that she'd invented to sooth her emotions and ego.
She frowned, in fact she had the strangest feeling there was something she should remember. Something that answered the question she'd been worrying over for two long years.
Her frown deepened as she lost herself in her mind, searching for the elusive memory that would shed light on her perplexing conundrum, which is why Sora had to repeat herself three times before the taijiya acknowledge her.
She blinked. "I'm sorry, what was that?" Sora graced her with a toothless grin.
"I said, I can offer you a bath in the house in the back. My grandson has just replenished the wood and stoked the fire inside. The water should be nice and warm."
Sango thought that sounded heavenly and said so. Sora's smile grew wider.
"Come then, and while you are bathing I will launder your garments. I have finished your taijiya armor. Kenji will deliver it, along with your kimono when I am through."
"Please, you really don't have to go to all this trouble. I am sure I will find time to…" The innkeeper cut her off.
"Nonsense, it's the least I can do for you for saving my grandson. I plan on doing the same for the monk. Now, enjoy your bath."