Sango kept constant vigil by her brother's bedside. Now and then she would dab his face with a cloth, adjust his blankets or smooth his hair; small, useless actions. She knew they were pointless, but it kept her hands busy as Kohaku fought his own personal battle.
How long before he woke up? If he ever woke up? Even if he did, what would he be like? Would he remember nothing – or worse: everything?
So many questions swirled unanswered in her mind and she was helpless to answer them.
"Sango?" Miroku came in, balancing a tray of food in one hand, his shakujou in a white-knuckled grip in the other. She gave a start, darting over to help him with his burden.
"I brought you some lunch," he said pleasantly. "Kagome-sama guessed you wouldn't want to come out and eat so she prepared this for you." The monk motioned to a covered bowl sitting on at the corner of the tray. "This is herbal soup for Kohaku, Kaede-sama was kind enough to brew it specially this morning."
"Thank you, Houshi-sama. Please thank Kagome-chan and Kaede-sama for me later." Sango took the bowl first, easing Kohaku into a seated position with Miroku's help and spooning the warm liquid into his mouth. Only when the last few drops were scraped up and Kohaku helped back into bed did she turn to her own meal.
Sango ate everything on the tray with little fuss, not really tasting the food, eating for the sake of nourishing her body. Miroku watched her with hooded eyes.
"When was the last time you slept, Sango?" he asked abruptly as soon as she put down her chopsticks. She gave him a tired smile, piling the dishes neatly back on the tray and pushing it to one side.
"Last night. I wasn't tired, Houshi-sama."
"Bullshit," he exclaimed. She blinked in surprise; she had never heard him use such coarse language before.
"Houshi-sama?!"
"There are dark circles under your eyes," said Miroku coldly; she noticed he avoided looking directly at her, fixing his flinty gaze on the wall of the hut. "Tell me the truth – I deserve that much."
His words stung her into belligerent self-defence. "So I haven't been sleeping regularly," she hissed. "So what of it? Kohaku is my brother. It is my duty to look after him."
"By making yourself sick? I suspect if I didn't bring food for you at mealtimes, you wouldn't be eating at all."
"Do you think so little of me? My only brother is lying there – I don't know if he'll ever wake up – and I am powerless to help!" Sango glared fiercely at him. "I am a taijiya, not some weak, simpering village woman: I don't fall ill that easily."
Miroku turned to face her, the anger in his eyes replaced by a deep sadness. "And I am your fiancé."
The fight went out of Sango and she slumped. "Don't ask me to choose, Houshi-sama, please."
"I never did. I only want you to take care of yourself as well." An awkward silence descended over the pair.
The monk reached out and felt the sleeping boy's forehead, frowning in concentration. "If it's any consolation, he's not in any pain or suffering." He withdrew from the bedside and gathered up the tray. She let him leave without saying anything; although the slayer knew he was angry with her, she was not exactly calm herself.
I'd best apologize to him later – or I might say something now I'd regret.
Sango knew she was to blame for the argument – Miroku was so patient with her, he very rarely lost his temper. She should not have lashed out at him like that but she could not help it: caring for Kohaku night and day was running her ragged despite her best efforts. The stress showed, regretfully through harsh words and flared tempers.
She would have gone after him there and then, taken his hand in both of hers and beg his forgiveness but her stubborn pride held her rooted to the ground.
He should understand – I almost lost Kohaku. I don't want to lose him again. I'm sorry, Miroku. But before I knew you, there was my little brother. He was always there as far back as I can remember.
Almost immediately after thinking that, Sango bit her lip in contrition. She had no right to be thus opinionated: Miroku had done so much for her in the short time between her tragedy and Naraku's fall. She had a duty to them both; Kohaku for their blood ties, Miroku for loving her.
And – kamis help her! – she loved him back, enough to almost forgotten her unhappy brother in the face of her concern for him.
Somewhere between caring for Kohaku and wallowing in her melancholy thoughts, Sango fell asleep.
The next thing she knew, a hand was shaking her awake gently. "Sango, time to eat." The slayer opened her eyes to find Miroku there, another tray balanced on one hand.
"You look hungry; eat first while it's still hot. I'll feed Kohaku," he said, his voice blandly polite before she could open her mouth.
"I'm not hungry," she mumbled stubbornly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Sango chanced a look upwards which quickly dropped upon seeing his emotionless face, shame and embarrassment burning her cheeks.
"Eat. It's your dinner." The monk's eyes flicked sideways. "You'd fall sick otherwise."
Meekly – for fear she might aggravate the situation if she trusted her rebellious mouth to speak – the slayer let him set the tray in front of her. Miroku took a bowl and spoon from it, turning his attention to the sleeping boy.
Sango ate sullenly, following his every move over the rim of her rice bowl. Miroku had his back turned to her and she did not see much other than the occasional spilled mouthful; now and then, he would murmur soothing words, coaxing the boy to eat more. The heart-warming sight of the two most important men in her life melted something hard and cold inside of her and Sango relented.
"I'm sorry, Houshi-sama," she said softly.
He did not react whatsoever, calmly pulling the blankets over Kohaku's still form.
Sango blushed furiously and went back to her dinner, stung that he was still angry with her.
"I'll take the dishes back to Kaede-sama's hut," she said, not looking at him.
Miroku did not even look up. "Thank you," he muttered absently.
A dull sense of dread forming in the pit of her stomach, Sango gathered the things and stepped out into the sharp night air. It had been a while – she knew it was at least a few days – since she had left Kohaku's side without intending to return immediately. Only the guilt she felt seeing the hurt in his eyes drove her legs to carry her body from the hut.
He was right: her pride still stubbornly refused to let her admit it yet. She needed this break, more than anything. The slayer walked slowly, following the dirt path to the river and kneeling to wash the dirty dishes.
When her hands touched the water, Sango let out an involuntary gasp. The water was icy. The young woman rinsed the utensils as quickly as she could, minimizing her contact with the river. Stacking them neatly at the side, she hesitated for the briefest of moments before bringing a handful of freezing water to her face.
The sensation was numbing. Rubbing at her cheeks vigorously, she wiped it dry with her green apron. Sango felt alive again, the stinging cold rejuvenating her senses. Much more cheerful than before, she made her way to the lit hut at the corner of the village.
She pushed aside the door hanging to find Inuyasha, Kagome, Shippou, Kirara and Kaede sitting around the hearth drinking tea. Judging from the mild looks of surprise they wore, they did not anticipate the possibility she would leave Kohaku's bedside.
"I've brought back the dishes," she said by way of explaining her unexpected appearance, holding out the tray in her hands. "They've been washed already."
"Thanks, Sango-chan," chirped Kagome, taking the utensils from her and stacking them neatly with the others. "Where's Miroku-sama?"
"Tending to Kohaku." A faint blush coloured her cheeks as a little guilt nagged at her. "I really should be getting back."
"Ye should stay for some tea, Sango," interrupted Kaede. "Let Houshi-dono take over for a while; ye look exhausted."
"I'm fine – "
The younger girl gave her a warm smile, linking her arm with Sango's. "Kaede-baa-chan's right. You'll fall sick if you go on like this. I'm sure Miroku-sama will look after Kohaku-kun just fine."
The slayer wanted to refuse; to pull her arm from Kagome's grasp and return to her pale, sleeping brother's side, even though she was not even sure whether he knew she was there or not. The least she could do for him was to be there, like she had never been when he was younger. Her taijiya training had somehow always taken precedence over a small boy and his toys. The guilt stirred up by his disappointed face was driven from her mind by the latest move her father was teaching: they both had little time for him.
The expectant faces of her friends and the soothing heat of the fireplace combined with the fragrant aroma of freshly-brewed tea penetrated her battered defences and she let Kagome pull her to the floor, gratefully accepting a cup of steaming hot tea. Goodness knew she needed the time to think of a way to tell Miroku she was sorry and make sure he listened.
She knew it was quite late by the time Kagome and Shippou finally let her go back to the hut from the number of stars strewn across the night sky, like a spilled box of beads. Miroku had not yet returned and she was becoming anxious.
Sango was about to lift the door hanging when she heard Miroku's voice. For an instant, anger boiled in her gut: that lecherous monk must have found a girl to accompany him. Holding her temper in check, she strained to listen and found he was talking to himself.
Or rather, carrying on a one-sided conversation.
"You're a lucky man, Kohaku," sighed the monk. "Sango loves you more than anything else – I won't pretend it doesn't hurt."
Her breath caught in her throat. It was true, now that she thought of it. She was always choosing Kohaku over him. It must have affected him badly but Miroku never let it show, shrugging it off with a smile and a grope. All feelings of sympathy inevitably fled Sango's mind instantly.
"I can't very well be envious of you, though. You've had a far worse time of it than I ever had."
The single lantern beside Kohaku's head illuminated her fiancé's face, giving it a tranquil cast. He was smiling.
"Come back to her. She needs you."
Miroku gave the boy's hair a last affectionate ruffle and was about to leave when he felt strong, warm arms embrace his shoulders.
"… Sango?"
Warm tears dropped on his neck.
"I'm sorry… Miroku."
He took her small hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over the backs of her palms, not letting on the fact his heart skipped a beat when she said his name.
Just his name, without any titles or honorifics.
Miroku tried to speak but could not: a large and unpleasant lump had formed in his throat.
"It's alright," he croaked out eventually – since when had his voice become so soft? – and ran his fingers along her arms. He had the sneaking feeling she had overhead him talking to Kohaku: his Sango was not normally given to spontaneous affection.
"I've hurt you, haven't I?" Sango asked bitterly. "I'm sorry."
"You could never do anything that would truly hurt me," he replied, curling an arm around her waist, forcing her to let go of his shoulders and allow herself to be eased into his lap. Miroku's lip twitched. "Apart from telling me the engagement's off, of course."
She giggled. Trust her monk to make jokes at a time like that.
They fell silent. Miroku brought his hand up to her face, the tips of his fingers gently brushing away the still-wet tracks of tears.
It still felt strange, to see the unblemished palm, a little soft and pale from years of concealment. As the said palm began to caress her cheek, Sango amazed herself the way her mind could think of nothing but how odd the sensation of skin on skin was.
"Yes, I agree: it feels different. Much better."
She blinked, snapping her brain out of the fog. "What?"
He drew back his hand and held it in front of her nose, fingers spread. Miroku gave the digits a little wiggle.
"Not having the prayer beads and glove in the way all the time of this." The monk replaced the hand on her cheek.
Sango gave a strained laugh. "Miroku," she said a little weakly, "have you learned how to read minds?"
"Would it be so bad if I did?" he shot back, a merry twinkle in his eyes. "You don't tell me everything without me having to painstakingly coax it out of you first." She sighed – partly in grudging acknowledgement, partly because she was so comfortable – and leaned into him, angling her face to look at the unmoving form of her brother. The monk caught the shift in her train of thought and squeezed her shoulder comfortingly.
"It'll be alright," he whispered in her ear. "Kohaku will wake up soon and you'll have your brother back."
Sango bit her lower lip. "I know." She felt annoying prickles of tears starting again. For someone as strong as herself, the slayer wondered why one word, a mention of a person or even just a negative thought could always bring her dangerously close to tears.
Miroku sighed softly, wiping the moistness from the corner of her eyes. "Why is it every time you let me come this close, you're always crying? It's not me, is it?"
She rubbed fiercely at the offending tears with her sleeve. "No, it's not. It's me."
The monk chuckled and held her closer. "I wonder why I ever fell for you. Perhaps I have a weakness for crying beauties."
"And I for lecherous monks."
"Touché," he answered, slowly disentangling her fingers from his robes. "It's late – we both need to sleep, especially you," he said in response to her confused glance. Miroku shot her a firm look which let her know he had not forgotten their argument earlier on.
She hardened her own jaw in response, moving fluidly to her feet and crossing the room. "Don't just stand there, help me, Houshi-sama," called Sango, unconsciously slipping back into habit, sliding open a door and removing bundles of bedding. She missed Miroku's wince as the now-unwanted title grated on his ears.
He held out his arms rather reluctantly – and was promptly deluged by a mini-mountain of bedding. "That's yours," she pointed out, emerging from another mountain she held. "Good night, Houshi-sama."
"Wait!" he protested as she knelt down and laid out her futon. "Shouldn't we be sharing a futon?"
Sango placed a free hand on her hip and shot him a withering glare. "Don't push it."
"Ah," he said, backing away rapidly. "Yes, yes, it's better this way."
She huffed, arranging the bedding loosely, lying down and closing her eyes, feeling fatigue already tugging at her body. She was dimly aware of a rustling sound from her side but chose to ignore it as she drifted off to sleep.
The next morning dawned bright and early and a few rays of sunlight fell upon the occupants of the room. Sango woke gradually, feeling refreshed. It had been too long since she had slept so soundly and it felt good.
Warm breath tickling the back of her neck made her body go rigid, instantly awake. Not to mention a warm something else around her waist…
"Houshi-sama?!"
He was still asleep, one arm thrown carelessly over her hips. His fingertips grazed – were they touching skin? – her stomach, sending white-hot stirrings through her gut. With much difficulty, Sango squirmed out of his loose grasp and sat bolt upright, blushing furiously.
"Houshi-sama, wake up!"
Miroku snorted and opened bleary eyes. "Sango? What…"
"Why are you sleeping next to me?" she asked hotly, fighting back the red-hot blush. "And pray tell, monk, do you have any idea why I woke up this morning to find your hand on my waist?!"
He shrugged.
"Instinct? Anyway, I don't recall you saying anything about where I could put my futon – "
"You pervert!"
Her hand flashed out and connected with his face, the force of the blow sending him right back into his pillow.
"Ouch! Such violence is uncalled for," he commented, rubbing the fresh welt.
"Can you imagine how I felt, waking up to find that hand of yours… well, there?!" she huffed, not easily placated.
"I most certainly can."
Sango growled. Miroku was only saved from what looked like certain death by Kagome's timely popping in.
"Good morning!" she said brightly, the smile slipping somewhat as she took in the tableau.
"Miroku-sama, up to your antics again?" said the schoolgirl with some exasperation, her visions of wedding bells drifting a little further away.
He responded with a jaunty wave.
"Out," ordered Sango, pointing one finger at the door menacingly. "Now." He did not need telling twice, taking up his shakujou and disappearing with Kagome in a flash.
Despite his antics, Sango had to admit she was feeling much better than she had in days: she had gotten a good night's sleep, Miroku had made her laugh, he had been dutifully making sure she ate well… and although she would never admit it to him, she had enjoyed waking up next to him that morning. Though she would rather die than tell him her true response to his wandering hand.
Her smile slipped a little as she remembered the other sleeping occupant of the hut.