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Author of 13 Stories |
A/N: Well, sorry it’s been a while…got caught up with Runaway and moving out of my house and starting college and everything else. Oh wah. My apologies…hope this helps a little. Battles and showdowns coming up, and those are always harder to write, I think, sorta. That has kind of also made me hesitate with this story…excuses excuses, eh? When I uploaded this FFnet had a small fit, telling me the first time that the document was empty, and I KNOW it wasn't, and low and behold, the second time I tried it worked. I don't know why it's so finicky. It does this to me a lot, sometimes repeatedly so that I can't update. So even tho that's not my fault, I apologize for that as well...retarded...
Disclaimer: Nope, I do not own any of them just about. Shinku is sorta mine though, in all his chain-smoking, smirking ways.
Last chapter: Early in the morning Shinku called a taxi and took Mrs. H home. On the way they spotted a woman…one of Mrs. H’s granddaughters. Shinku informed her that Sesshomaru (the Taishita) forbade them from searching for Mrs. Higurashi, and Sesshomaru is, according to Shinku, afraid of Mrs. H. Miroku is waiting on Sango, torn between his love for her and the need for vengeance against Naraku and of course for rescuing Kagome. Shippo, with Kaede’s help, placed a new restraining spell on Inuyasha. The command word is “Stop.” It forces a small semblance of sanity into our raging hanyou. Inuyasha, Kilala, and Shippo left to track down Naraku on their own and rescue Kagome. Naraku tried to take the Jewel, but couldn’t. He was also tempted sexually. Sesshomaru caught wind of Naraku and, after ordering Jaken and Rin to safety, headed out to track down Naraku and kill him, even though he feels it’s a trap.
A/N: regarding Mrs. H in this chapter with the shrine, I know little of how an actual shrine is laid out, or of the exact practices. I know there are a lot of steps, a long path involved. I guessed, and I can’t remember how the shrine looks exactly in the anime. It seems to me that the Higurashi family keeps records, artifacts, and takes care of the shrine itself. I know Shinto religion holds that there are spirits residing in physical things, animals, or in places that make it holy. Like the God Tree, but other than that my knowledge is limited. I guessed, I hope I don’t offend anyone with my lack of knowledge, and I hope I’m not enormously off the mark. I also know nothing about weddings (where they take place anyway) in Japanese culture.
When the taxi reached the outside entrance to the shrine and rolled gradually to a stop, I felt a great heaviness descend on me, as if I’d gained thousands of pounds in the few seconds it took for us to stop. I turned in my seat and glanced at Shinku, trying to open my mouth to speak. I didn’t want to leave him, I felt that if I did I’d never again reach their world, the youkai, hidden from me and yet right there for anyone to see. They were like caterpillars in a tree, camouflaged to look like leaves. I would never find them again when I left the taxi, when Shinku pushed me out of their world of secrets.
Shinku must’ve seen my feelings, but he didn’t react with anything but a mirthless grin. I could see the gleam of his fangs, and the nothingness in his greenish eyes. “Why are you wearing that long face, Lady Higurashi?”
Even through my sadness, I could still manage to find anger when he teased me so mockingly like this. “You know why.” I answered, bitterly.
“I know a lot of things—like you have a shrine to watch over, a son to take care of as I recall. And me? I have a date with a fine little vixen downtown at nine. With traffic, I might just make it if you get out now.” he grinned and made a rude motion with his hands, one that I would only see, not the driver, telling me without words that there would be sex involved.
I wanted nothing more than to get out and leave him in that moment, yet at the same time, when I looked to the sidewalk beyond the taxi, I could remember my daughter walking her bike up to the metal gates…now it was empty, barren. Dazedly, I pushed open the taxi door and climbed out. No sooner had I slammed the door than Shinku had signaled to the driver that it was time to leave. The taxi rumbled lazily and rolled away slowly into the street beyond.
I stared after it, feeling that invisible weight pressing on my shoulders, lengthening my arms and shrinking my legs. Eventually I turned and entered the shrine, pushing open the gate, and moving along the little concrete path.
A few of our regular visitors were also on the path, moving slowly. This part of the walkway served more as a personal place for those coming to worship. Visitors paused and stepped from the path slightly to leave incense or small offerings near the trees or in the moss, or on the rocks. An old man I’d known for years, who visited three times a week for as long as I could recall, saw me approaching and smiled, bowing and murmuring my name in greeting.
I couldn’t ignore him, it would be horribly rude, but everything inside me was heavy with grief and renewed loss. Despite it, I moved forward, smiling as best as I could.
“Hello, Mr. Kakyaku.” I bowed to him.
Kakyaku smiled at me kindly, tight lipped but with a great warmth in his eyes. “Mrs. Higurashi.” He made a small sighing sound and turned to look up the path and then back at the small bowl he’d left at his usual place, on some rounded, gray stones. Inside he had left a small stick of burning incense. The fragrance was light and calming. “I saw young Mr. Souta just a short time ago, searching for you.”
“I will have to find him, thank you Mr. Kakyaku.” I bowed again, excusing myself, and stepped away, following the path uphill. The bright red of the gate stood up ahead, beyond it would be our house and the God Tree. I started to climb the stairs, slowly, feeling heavy still.
Kagome had climbed these stairs everyday once. As a girl she’d been excited and dedicated to the shrine. She helped to repaint it and greet and welcome the visitors. If she had stayed with me, in our time together, Kagome would’ve become, technically, an apprentice to myself and Gramps. She would’ve inherited the shrine…
By the time I’d reached the top of the stairs and the gate there, I was sniffling back a few tears again, bitterly missing my Kagome. Souta’s voice, grown deep with maturity, reached me. I glanced up and blinked with alarm.
Souta was calling to me, gesturing for me to join him eagerly. I noticed that he glanced backward, and his mouth moved, his face worked into a smile. He was speaking to someone, but I couldn’t see them—they were around the other side of the God Tree, admiring the spot, probably, where an arrow tip had pinned the demon Inuyasha to the tree, as legend recorded it.
I regained my composure as best as I could as I moved toward my son hurriedly. I kept an eye on the God Tree and the person half-hidden behind it. I saw a foot sticking out, long and elegant and covered by tight, black leggings. A woman’s leg, but I could hear the deep thrum of a male’s voice as well.
“Souta?” I asked when we were within earshot. “What—”
“Mom!” my son hissed, reaching for me and enveloping me at once in a huge, warm, crushing hug. “Where were you last night?” he pushed backward and stared at me, searchingly.
“I saw Shippo.” I whispered, feeling the sadness and the tears trying to threaten all over again. I was shaking. “I spoke with his son…”
Souta’s eyes widened, he opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment the people behind the God Tree emerged. The man cleared his throat loudly, making Souta stiffen before me and pull instantly away.
“Taishita Fuishiken, Xun Rong-shuo,” he called to the man and the woman stepping forward from behind the God Tree. I felt myself stop breathing when I realized that the surname of one of them was Tiashita. It couldn’t be coincidence… “This is my mother, Higurashi Kira.”
I stared at them as I bowed awkwardly. If I could’ve detached my head while my body bowed just to be able to watch them while I showed the necessary formality, I surely would’ve done it. The man, Taishita Fuishiken I assumed, was blurry in my eyes, unclear. His outline was indistinct around his face and hands. Looking at him from the front I saw a man dressed in a traditional, but casual men’s kimono. His hair was short and tidy, his eyes handsome and almond-shaped. His face was long and well-shaped, clean-shaven. I saw a mole on his forehead, but when I blinked it would waver, changing positions, like a fluctuating computer screen. He was tall, narrow-bodied, and elegant. On the streets of Tokyo he would stand out as a beautiful specimen of masculinity, but he appeared completely human.
The woman, when I stared at her directly, was much the same as her companion. Her hair was in a loose ponytail, long and black and shining. Her face was rounder than the Taishita man, her lips thinner. When she smiled it was with a meekness I found endearing. Her teeth were slightly crooked, but like the man’s mole on his forehead, it wavered, fluctuating in my vision. Like him, she wore a casual, traditional kimono, but with the tight black leggings underneath.
I knew without thinking about it why they seemed too ordinary, and yet were so indistinct. They were youkai. Whatever magic they used to disguise themselves from human beings on a daily basis, they were using it before me now, but I was trying to see beyond it. I possessed some spiritual power, as Kagome did, which was why I was immune to the kitsune magic, and why I could see through their disguise.
“Pleased to meet you.” Fuishiken extended his hand after he had bowed and I accepted it tentatively. “I’ve come to ask if you can perform a Shinto wedding for my fiancée and I.” he gestured at the timid woman at his side and she smiled, murmuring agreement in accented Japanese. From her name I guessed that she was from China.
“My father often performed them,” I answered, frowning inwardly at the shakiness of my voice, “But although I am the caretaker of this shrine, I’m afraid traditionally a woman isn’t permitted to perform a binding ceremony.” (A/N: I have no idea if that’s true, but I’m guessing it probably was.)
At our side Souta was watching Fuishiken and his fiancée, but I couldn’t tell what was passing through his head. Had he, like Kagome, inherited spiritual power? Had he picked up on the fact that these weren’t human beings, they were youkai?
“We would very much like you to perform the ceremony, Mrs. Higurashi.” Fuishiken insisted, smiling. The smile was removed, a little cold.
His fiancée was nodding. “The Higurashi shrine is where we want to be married.” Her accent was there, but faint, her pronunciation and grammar was correct. She was either very sharp with languages, or she’d had a very long time to perfect it. I recalled Shippo and his wife, Cher. Were all youkai capable of learning and mastering multiple languages?
“If you’re willing, than I will gladly perform the ceremony.” I told them, bowing again. “You need only plan a date. We will arrange for the traditional kimono to be provided from our storehouse—”
“That will not be required.” Fuishiken told me, still wearing his distant, polite smile. “My family owns our own traditional kimono that we will provide for the ceremony.”
“Mine as well.” his fiancée added, smiling alongside him, like a mirror image but shorter and bubblier.
“Then all we will need is a date.” I gazed at them out of the corner of my eye, trying to see completely through their outer disguises, to see how they really looked.
The man, stripped of his disguise, was beautiful; his face was sculpted, handsome. There was no mole on his forehead, no blemishes at all. And over his cheeks I saw two faint streaks of color, red-purple like the colors from a brilliant sunset. His eyes weren’t a typical brown, but instead they burned gold. The snatch of a sight I got of those eyes stole my breath away—they were the same color that Inuyasha’s had been. On the woman I saw a perfectly oval face, bright, straight teeth in her mouth. Her hair wasn’t black when I viewed it from the corners of my eyes, it was more blue than black and had a glossier shine to it. There was a single mark on her forehead, a blue circle.
“We must consult the gods.” Fuishiken turned toward his fiancée and touched her shoulder gently. “And of course an almanac. We will return to you, of course, before this week is out, Mrs. Higurashi. We will have our answer for you then.” He paused, and this time smiled with real feeling as he looked at me. “My father may accompany us on that visit to finalize the appointment.”
“Your father?” I asked, startled.
His fiancée answered for him, glancing toward Fuishiken briefly before she spoke, as if asking for permission, then she said, “Yes, Taishita Sesshomaru.”
Now Souta reacted, blurting out, “Taishita Sesshomaru?”
“You have heard of him.” Fuishiken observed, keenly. I thought I saw a knowing gleam in his eye that reminded me a little too much of a certain Shinku Byakko and not a Taishita at all.
“Uh…yeah.” Souta answered, inelegantly, then stammered, trying to cover his tracks. “In legend, I mean. Or…just his first name—uh, there was a character in legend by that name!” he grinned and rubbed the back of his head nervously, “Isn’t that a coincidence?” he laughed, trying to brush away his nervousness.
My mouth was dry; I didn’t know what to say. Was it coincidence? It couldn’t be. One of Sesshomaru’s sons had come to the Higurashi shrine looking for me to perform their marriage?
To make matters worse, Fuishiken turned his gaze on me and asked, “You have heard of this myth as well, Mrs. Higurashi?”
I nodded, but said nothing, too afraid and overwhelmed to demand, as I wanted to, why they were there, the real story. Why were they all toying with me?
“How amusing.” His fiancée added, covering her lips delicately and laughing into them lightly. “Your father as a figure in mythology.”
“Indeed.” Fuishiken answered her without turning his eyes away from me. “Perhaps Mrs. Higurashi will wish to consult with my father regarding this myth when he comes to visit her.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Fuishiken and his fiancée stared at me knowingly, smirking lightly. Then, before I could regain my composure, they bowed and excused themselves, promising to return within a matter of days.
As we watched them walking away through the bright red gate, Souta began, hesitantly, asking me what I thought of them. “Did it feel like they were…” he frowned, searching helplessly for a word to describe what we’d seen. “…see-through?”
“They weren’t what they appeared to be.” I answered nodding. “It can’t be a coincidence.”
The youkai weren’t finished with me yet after all. And now it appeared I would deal with the Taishita himself. Part of me twisted with excitement while the rest of me cringed with fear. What have I gotten myself into? But as they disappeared beyond the gate, going down the hill to the street, I already knew what it was: answers. I was getting answers.
The sliding door opened. A faint shadow moved through the room. Bare feet passed within a few inches of Kagome’s face. The small, white-robed shape knelt at the miko’s head and bent forward, placing a small cup on the matting beside the thin futon.
Kagome woke blearily, moaning in a thick but weakened voice. Her face was caked with old, dried blood. The skin around her eyes was swelling slightly. She tried to speak, but the words were indistinct and unclear.
Kanna slipped her hands beneath the bowl she’d brought and lifted it, bringing it to Kagome’s face. Kagome blinked at the movement, but because of the blow to her head, her vision was even more disrupted than it had been before. Coupled with darkness, Kagome was nearly blind. The blow to her head had also thrown her into a light fever as her brain rebounded from the trauma. She was dazed, hardly able to comprehend the things that were happening around her.
Kanna touched the bowl to Kagome’s lips, gently, mimicking the touch one would offer if the bowl contained water. Kagome moaned, turning her face weakly away once. Kanna lifted the bowl away, keeping it from spilling as the miko lifted her hands and covered her face, shielding it. She was aware enough that she would resist strange liquids poured into her mouth.
Another shadow spilled across the doorway, filling the room. This shape was also female, dressed in a kimono, clutching a large fan in one hand and looking irritably into the darkness of the room. “Drink.” She ordered, bored.
In Kagome’s delusion, the wind demon’s voice warped and changed, becoming her mother’s. It was her mother at her bedside, oddly shrunken and in white. Kagome whimpered and lowered her arms. “Mama…?”
The voice repeated, “Drink.”
The bowl touched her lips again, a little more insistently now. Kagome squeezed her eyes tightly closed and parted her lips, letting the liquid pass into her mouth. She swallowed one mouthful without tasting the stuff, and then stopped on the second, choking.
Kagura stepped into the room, sighing with annoyance. “You choked her, Kanna.” She grumbled, reaching to the miko and pulling her onto her side. None too gently, Kagura patted Kagome’s back, encouraging her to cough up what she’d choked.
Spittle, a little of the liquid, and some old blood from the back of her throat, dirtied the floorboards, making the room smell acridly. Kagura snatched the bowl from Kanna. “You can clean this up. I’ll get her to swallow it.”
Kanna moved wordlessly away, letting Kagura settle closer to Kagome. The wind sorceress propped the still coughing Kagome up into a sitting position. The miko’s skin was burning, in multiple ways. She had a lot of spiritual power, and that made touching her hard. She also had a fever, which made her physically hot. Kagura brought the bowl to Kagome’s lips again and commanded, “Swallow this.”
The miko turned her face away, cringing and coughing still. The liquid was bitter, her mouth tasted foul. She tried to speak, tried to ask what it was, but the words couldn’t form in her mouth. Why would her mother be making her drink something that tasted like poison?
Forcefully, Kagura pressed the bowl to her mouth, parting the miko’s lips with the rim. “You’d better swallow it.” she groaned.
The liquid came again, faster now. Kagome swallowed the first mouthful to avoid choking again, the second one she spat right back out. The fluid was sticky and foul smelling in the air. Another mouthful—she swallowed some and spit up the rest. She shook her head, letting more of it spill away from her, coating her clothing, the futon, and the floorboards.
At last the bowl was pulled away. Kagome pawed at her messy, sticky face, trying to wipe away the strange broth that her captor had forced on her. A man’s voice made her body stiffen with fear when she heard it from the doorway.
“Did she drink it, Kagura?”
“Some of it.” the woman holding her upright responded, irritably.
“It will be enough.” The man answered, sounding smug and pleased with himself. “Leave her for an hour, then you will need to return and attend her. Find Inuyasha, I’m sure he’s on his way. Tell me how far he’s gotten, Kagura.”
The wind sorceress moved away from Kagome, letting the miko fall back into her sleeping position limply. She was a horrible mess; the broth was caught in her hair, smeared on her face.
Naraku watched her for a time, his lips curled in a small, cruel smile. Her suffering had only just begun. How delicious…
Kanna was still inside the room, trying to clean the floor where Kagome had choked and spit up the broth. She even wiped gently on Kagome’s face once or twice before the miko moaned and turned her head away. Naraku spoke in his deep voice, purring, “Leave Kanna.”
The ghost-like girl rose to her feet obediently and slipped past him, taking the soiled cloth she’d used to clean away with her.
Alone now and staring into the room with the doomed miko, Naraku’s expression changed, slackening with desire. The stink of illness was beginning to rise from her. Soon Inuyasha would feel the change and it would undoubtedly drive him mad…
He started to take a step forward, but abruptly his mind sharpened as Kagura reached out to him, shock and surprise coloring her mind powerfully. Sesshomaru is coming!
Naraku halted, his mouth falling open in alarm. He hadn’t considered Inuyasha’s older brother getting to him first. He hadn’t stopped to consider where Sesshomaru was, usually the brothers stayed as far apart as they could from one another. It seemed that luck was against him this time. The wind had shared his scent and his location not just with his intended enemy, but also—and perhaps first—with Sesshomaru.
Distract him, Kagura…
But she was already cut off from him, busy with the inuyoukai…
Naraku’s lips curled in a snarl and he turned away from the miko, stalking down the dark hall and toward the outside world. If Kagura was betraying him he would have to dispatch her without hesitation. She was beginning to become more menace than help.
“Kagura.” He acknowledged her, blandly. She had offered help or advice many times to him, but Sesshomaru wasn’t stupid. Kagura was still bound to Naraku irrevocably, and her only true interest was in survival and freedom.
“Naraku intends to lure Inuyasha here and kill him. He has the Sacred Jewel and—”
Sesshomaru interrupted her, almost sounding bored. “And the girl that my brother travels with. What have you come here to tell me, Kagura?”
The wind sorceress lifted her head a little higher, her jaw tightened. “Naraku has sent me here to distract you. He has not taken the Jewel Shards from the girl yet. They are…” she paused, frowningly, “…too pure for him to handle.”
Sesshomaru inferred her meaning quickly: Naraku wasn’t strong enough to ward off a combined attack. His plan had run into some trouble.
Without another word, Sesshomaru began to walk forward again, following the scent that was still flowing easily on the wind. Kagura took a step out of the shadows of the trees; she moved her fan, opening it slightly as if about to attack.
Sesshomaru halted, moving his hand to his waist, to the hilt of his sword. “You intend to stop me.” She was impossible to predict, at some times loyal to Naraku, at others clearly defiant. It was entirely possible that Naraku had counted on this interaction and had planned it all out already.
To his surprise—though he refused to show the emotion—Kagura dropped to her knees, though the motion was awkward. “Lord Sesshomaru. I’m not sure how much longer I will be able to speak with you frankly. I ask you, please, incapacitate me. I do not wish to stop you, but Naraku will force me to…”
His hand was still on the hilt of his sword, but Sesshomaru had not yet drawn it. He gazed at Kagura’s dark black hair, the red and white striped kimono, her bare feet. He couldn’t see her eyes. Was she afraid? Was she genuine? It wasn’t truly in his nature to attack without provocation but in this instance…
“You are certain?” as he spoke, Sesshomaru released the hilt of his sword and let his arm dangle. From the tips of his fingers, green spectral energy began to coalesce, growing from each finger and meeting, forming a long, green-glowing whip.
There was a pause. Kagura had not lifted her eyes to him yet, but her breathing had changed, growing deeper, heavier, as if she were falling asleep right before him where she kneeled in the dirt. She shifted and Sesshomaru tensed, anticipating an attack, but Kagura only placed her hands flat on the ground, palms flat to the dirt. She pushed her fan away with one hand weakly.
She nodded then at last. “I want Naraku dead.” She had always believed that only Sesshomaru had the power to do it. If she had to shed her blood to put an end to Naraku then she would gladly do it…
“Very well.” Sesshomaru lifted his arm in a rapid motion, too fast for the eye to follow. A cracking sound ripped the air apart as the glowing whip lashed out, throwing Kagura back.
She cried out, rolling away. Now Sesshomaru could see her face, pinched tightly with pain. Without hesitation she began to push herself back into a kneeling position, making no move for her abandoned fan. “Hurry.” She gasped, her voice already ragged.
Sesshomaru rushed forward, ducking to snatch Kagura up by the neck. The wind sorceress cried out with surprise, then just as quickly gritted her teeth, silencing herself. Her hands lifted, closing around his arm, as if trying to fight, but she didn’t dig her nails into his flesh, just held on tightly. Sesshomaru held her high in the air, holding her throat so tightly that her wind pipe closed up.
Kagura’s eyes opened widely, her mouth gaped uselessly, struggling for breath. Her hands dug at his arm now, trying instinctually to free herself.
His face was cold as he changed his grip, sinking his claws into the tender flesh of her neck. Sesshomaru closed his eyes briefly and when they opened again the pupils were dilated and bright red. Kagura’s own had changed from their usual red to an almost human shade, earthy and brown.
Sesshomaru freed his poison, letting it pass through his fingertips into Kagura’s flesh, into her body.
The wind sorceress convulsed, her legs kicking ineffectively, her eyelids flickering wildly, and her lips moving wordlessly.
She fought for consciousness for a long time, long enough that Sesshomaru’s face changed, becoming sour. There was almost a softness in his eyes, in the small frown in his lips.
At long last she fell limp in his grasp. Sesshomaru lowered her to the ground gently. He paused for a moment, taking in her pale face, her closed eyes, and the red-purple bruising around her neck, left by a combination of his choking hold and the poison that had entered her body.
Then, finally, Sesshomaru turned away from her and began to walk away. Only a few steps away, however, he stopped and turned, loosing the green-glowing whip from his fingers again. He bright his arm back and flicked his fingers forward, sending the tip lashing out. It caught the ground a few feet from where Kagura was lying unconscious, barely breathing. Her fan, lying open on the ground, splintered like glass at the touch of his whip. Pieces of it flew wildly about, scattering. A few landed on Kagura’s face, on her clothes.
Sesshomaru let the whip recede and turned away from the scene, following the scent on the wind—heading for Naraku.
He needed the Sacred Jewel.
Kanna had reentered the room where the miko stayed, knelt beside her futon stolidly, listening to the girl’s moans and occasional, choked sobs dispassionately. Naraku hovered, impatiently, feeling the aura of the girl and of the Jewel. The girl was suffering deliciously, but he had no time to enjoy that. The girl was strong; it would take a great deal of trouble to taint the Jewel even a little bit…
Finally the miko rolled over and began making a different sound, a gagging noise. Without emotion, Kanna reacted, bringing forward a large, ugly bowl and holding it out for the girl. The miko heaved, vomiting into the bowl until her efforts brought nothing but spittle and air. She fell back to the futon, clutching her stomach and moaning loudly.
Kanna pushed the bowl with its foul contents away and leaned over the miko’s writhing body, pulling the thin sheet from her. The girl’s kimono was colored with a growing wet stain of brilliant red. She was bleeding.
Naraku grinned and ran his tongue over his teeth. “It has begun at last.”
“Sango.” He called to her, touching her cheek with the outside of his hand gently. “Sango?”
The demon slayer’s face pinched with pain, the space between her eyebrows furrowed deeply. “M…” she started to murmur his name but ended up massacring the other consonants horribly. She fought to open her eyes, blinking up blearily at him. The corners of her lips tried to pull upward in a smile, though it was tight with pain.
The room was gray, darkening faster and faster. Outside the sky was clouding up, covering the stars and obscuring the last light from the sunset. Miroku was torn between leaving her side to light lamps or ignoring the dark and staying loyally at her side. He ignored the darkness for a time, choosing to treat her as best as he could first.
“You must drink something.” Miroku moved away from her and reappeared with a cup filled with water. Delicately, the monk tried to prop up Sango’s head and tip the cup to her lips. “Are you ready?”
She tried to nod, the muscles in her neck straining against the palm of the hand Miroku used to keep her head upright. It was all the signal that Miroku needed. He tipped the cup, gradually pouring the water into her mouth. She swallowed it until it was gone without choking. Miroku withdrew from her, setting the cup aside. Tenderly, though his hands shook slightly, he stroked her hair, moving it away from her face and mouth. “Are you hungry?”
Sango’s face was still creased heavily with pain, but she nodded. “Yeah…”
Again Miroku left her for a moment, fetching a thick, pasty gruel that Kaede had left for just this purpose. Sango would benefit more if she could simply swallow her food, saving all the energy she could. Of course Miroku would have to feed her as if she were a baby and be extra careful not to let it choke her. (A/N: as I was writing this I realized that mashed food like this would be impossible for him to spoon feed it to her because as far as I know they’re pretty much using chopsticks, there aren’t any spoons exactly on hand. That at once opened up another delicious thought…I had Sango feed one of her babies this way in Runaway, so now Miroku will get to do it…)
He knelt at her side and began to poke at the gruel in its bowl. The light was so faint now that only the moist things in the room showed any light at all. Sango’s eyes as she looked around the room, her eyeballs moving sluggishly with her exhaustion and pain. The gruel itself glittered wetly underneath Miroku’s chopsticks. He hesitated, glancing between the bowl and Sango, considering what it was he was about to do.
“M’roku?” Sango asked, again butchering parts of his name. Her voice was thick and slurred. If she hadn’t been Sango, and he hadn’t treated her wounds and watched over her for the better part of two days already, Miroku could’ve almost imagined that she was drunk from a good party, not horribly injured.
“Yes…” he had been about to call her lovely Sango or any one of the other teasing names he’d developed for her, but the words died on his tongue, cut short as the lump in his throat caught, stealing away his attempt at lightening the mood.
“Where…” she turned her head, trying to clear her throat and finish her sentence, “…is Inu-ya…”
Miroku sighed and stuck the gruel with the chopsticks with more force this time, sloshing the stuff a little. “Inuyasha, Kilala, and Shippo have left to pursue Naraku.”
Sango was staring at him through the dark, her eyes glistening and moist. “You…didn’t?”
He stiffened a little, avoiding her gaze. “I could not.”
“Houshi…sama.” Sango murmured, her voice dropping to a weak whimper.
“You must eat.” Miroku swallowed once, quickly, and then lifted the bowl of gruel to his lips and pushed a little of it in, half a mouthful.
Sango stared at him confusedly for a moment, frowning. “M’rok…”
He set the bowl and chopsticks aside and leaned forward over her body, moving his face close to hers. Sango stayed still, as if frightened. Her hands tried to move beneath the blankets covering her, but Miroku pushed them away gently. She didn’t fight him, whether that was because she realized what he was trying to do or because she just lacked the strength Miroku couldn’t know. Even so he pressed his lips to hers and passed the small mouthful to her, then withdrew quickly, wiping his mouth.
The gruel really didn’t taste very good. Miroku scowled, fighting both disgust at the flavor and embarrassment.
Sango made a small sound in her throat, startling Miroku. At first he moved as if to help her, assuming that she was choking on the disgusting gruel, but as she smiled, her teeth glittering in the darkness with moisture, he realized she was actually laughing. “Sango?”
The demon slayer turned her face toward him, but her eyes roved elsewhere. Miroku felt a jolt when he saw a gleaming teardrop fall from one eye onto the futon. Others followed it, some rolling even over the bridge of her nose and catching there, hanging like dew. “Kohaku.” She said, and swallowed so that Miroku could see her Adam’s apple move up and down. “I fed him…like that.”
Miroku understood her tears then. Whether she meant that she had fed him as a young child or on one of the occasions when, for a short time, they had recovered Kohaku from Naraku’s clutches, only to lose him again. (A/N: wasn’t there a time when that happened? They got him back severely wounded only to lose him again? Or did I make it up?)
“Sango, I’m sorry…” Miroku told her, whisperingly. He stared at her for a moment and then rose from his position at her bedside and moved to the fire, stirring the embers and adding strips of bark and leaves and wood until the tongues of flame lashed out high and healthy again, consuming the material he had fed them. New light filled Kaede’s hut, illuminating the room.
With a sigh, Miroku sat back down beside Sango and reached for the bowl again. In the light he was pleased to see that Sango appeared more alert now—he dared to allow hope to reach his heart. Sango had always been strong, to the point where he felt she could give Inuyasha a run for his money.
As Miroku scooped more of the gruel into his mouth, a little more of it this time, and cringed at the taste, Sango watched him. Both discomfort and amusement colored her face, battling one another for a spot there.
“Miroku.” She managed his whole name now, mastering her tongue at last. “You should’ve…” now her lungs were the only thing impeding her, she stopped to draw in another careful breath, grimacing with pain. “Gone with Inuyasha.”
Despite its horrible taste, Miroku was glad he had the gruel in his mouth to stop his tongue. The best he could do was a frown at the wounded demon slayer before he leaned down to feed her once more. She didn’t fight him at all this time though Miroku didn’t miss her scowl at the taste—though it could’ve also been disgust at the method of feeding, of course. If only she were healthy and allowed him to feed her in such a manner!
He fought the smirk on his face, hoping she missed it while he dug in the gruel. “I could not. I elected to stay behind and care for you, my Sango.”
She closed her eyes tiredly. “I could never be…” she drew a labored breath, “…happy knowing I prevented you…” she stopped this thought midway through and her eyes opened widely, “And Kagome…?” her face twisted with a new, raw emotion of worry and concern. “Naraku…”
“Naraku has held her captive before and not harmed her.” Miroku replied, weakly. It was a lame argument, they both knew that. He couldn’t meet Sango’s gaze. He pushed more of the gruel into his mouth and leaned forward to pass it to her before she could speak again.
As he pulled back from her, Miroku saw Sango’s face transform with pain for a moment before she stifled the expression and forced her body to relax into the sleeping mat. “Sango? Are you in pain?”
She spoke through gritted teeth. “Some.”
“Lady Kaede must attend your wounds and change the bandages…”
Sango frowned at the thought. “More pain then.”
Miroku laughed tensely but cut himself off just as quickly. There was a long moment of silence as the couple stared at one another, trying to smile. At last Miroku ducked his head in a bow. “I will pray for you, my Sango.”
Her eyes welled up abruptly with fresh tears, making her eyes glitter up at him as if from two puddles. “Thank you, Houshi-sama…” a wobbly, shaking hand reached out and touched his knee, the closest part of him, squeezing faintly. “But you must help…” she took another wheezing breath, “Kagome, Inu-yasha.” Her brown eyes were still full to the brim with tears as she looked up at him, entreating him pleadingly. “Kohaku…for me…”
Miroku’s lips compressed into a thin, tight line. “Sango…” he whispered her name, and blinked rapidly, feeling his own emotion reaching up inside him. “I can’t leave you.”
Her hand made a fist and tugged on his robes, trying to bring him closer. The hold was weak, but Miroku bent forward, moving closer to her without resistance. When he was less than a foot away, Sango let go of his knee and reached with her shaking hands for his face. She brushed his cheeks felt his hair. Her hand was damp and warm with sweat but Miroku grasped it anyway, holding tight.
“You must go.” Sango told him, her words faint but strong.
Miroku shook his head, still holding her hand close to his face. “No—I won’t leave you Sango, not yet…”
Sango’s face was stern, unyielding. “Promise you will. Soon.”
“Sango, please…” he searched her face and then tried to pull away, fighting his own tears.
She squeezed his hand with her own. “Promise me.”
He sighed, his shoulders sagging pathetically. “I promise—but you must promise me something too.” He launched into it without pausing to hear whether she was willing or not. “Promise me you’ll recover and when you do, whether we kill Naraku this time or not, you’ll marry me Sango…”
The demon slayer’s mouth had fallen open slightly; the tears continued to fall until it seemed to Miroku that she would never be able to see out of those beautiful brown jewels at all. The muscles around her mouth quivered, caught between speaking, smiling, or frowning as she cried. “Houshi-sama…” she breathed.
“Promise me.” Miroku repeated, firmly. In his passion he half-forgot to fight the tears that prickled his eyes.
Sango’s mouth closed tightly, the line between her eyebrows crinkled up. She almost appeared angry, but her eyes were still filled with tears. “I promise, Miroku.”
Miroku released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding and knelt lower until his face was against hers, cheek to cheek. He closed his eyes, shedding the tears that were in his eyes while banishing the rest that tried to well up there. “Thank you.” He murmured.
The only answer he received was Sango’s weak arms wrapping around him and her crying at last in earnest.
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