Beloved

by

Nana

Chapter 8

Apology

Author's Notes: This chapter has been delayed for far too long. Too long, it seems, that it has lost its flavor following the appearance of manga chap 292 as well as various anime episodes that have shed more light into MiroSan and have clearly established them to have something more going on than before.^^ Anyways, I hope the contents of this chap is still applicable. Reviews are welcome, as always.

Disclaimer: Yeah, still don’t own anyone (except Kimiko).

            I have to get away…

            It was the only clear thought that he had had in the hours that followed after the incident under the sakura. It was the only thing he could think of as he turned the corner of the house and saw Sango sitting on the edge of the engawa.

            He did not want to think about her or see her now. Throughout the whole day, he had hardly had any luck trying to get her out of his mind.

            Worst of all, he could not stop himself from reliving the aftermath over and over again.

Sango's blow across his cheek had awakened him from the stupor that Suzuko had induced, but it was only when Sango had fallen unconscious in his arms that he realized just how terribly close he had come to killing her.

            "Sango…" he whispered as the horror of it all hit him. His grip on her shoulder tightened even more as he ran a hand blindly across her closed lids.

            Forgive me…

            He continued to hold her for a while longer as he struggled against the numb panic that was washing through him.

            The steady rise and fall of her chest reassured him somewhat, but her hand was bleeding. Already, dark bruises were showing on her pale skin.

How did this happen? What had he done?

This was the worst part of all--the fact that he could not remember specific details save one: he was sure he was directly responsible for inflicting Sango's injuries.

He had come to his senses when she had slapped him. Groggily resurfacing, it was a nasty shock for him to find her pinned under him. Before that, everything had been a dark void until he heard her calling him--not by his usual title, but by his name.

"Miroku…"

His name on her lips. It had been too strange to be real, but he had no doubt that it was.

Tears sliding down her eyes. How many times had he actually seen Sango break down and cry? Not many, but enough for him to make a mental note that it wasn't happening again. Not if he could help it.

And now…

I'm so sorry, Sango…

"Miroku-sama…"

He slowly lifted his head to find Kimiko trying to stand up.

"Can you walk?" he asked, his voice terribly calm.

"I think so," she gasped.

In the end, he had shouldered Sango onto his back, and allowed Kimiko to take his arm as they started back to the village.

It was already light by the time they got back to the inn, and Kagome and Inu Yasha were already awake. He had allowed Kagome to take over, had firmly avoided answering questions.

How could he possibly answer them all, when he himself had so many things to ask?

He would have to start from the very beginning then.

            Miroku waited until Kimiko woke up during midday. He made sure she was awake before he entered the room. He was not exactly sure how his heart would take it if he were to see Sango so soon.

            Already, the numbness enveloping him was dissipating to give way to an excruciating pain at the mere thought of her.

            Upon entering, though, it was all he could do not to look away. Sango was still sleeping, and he wasn't sure if he was supposed to be relieved or worried at that.

            He turned to Kimiko.

            "How are you doing?" he asked softly.

            "Miroku-sama…" Apology trembled from her lips, and Miroku shook his head.

            "There is no need," he said. "It wasn't your fault. You know that."

            "Yes, it was," whispered Kimiko as tears slid down her cheek. "I was too weak."

            "All of us will have moments of weakness at one time in our lives or another," he said simply.

            "She took advantage of it," she said.

            "But you overcame her, Kimiko-chan," he answered patiently. "That's the most important thing there is. I would not have been able to exorcise her otherwise."

            They sat there in silence for a minute longer.

            "Miroku-sama…"

            "Hai?"

            "What was Suzuko?"

            "I was hoping I could ask you that, Kimiko," he said. "I've never really seen a youkai like her before…"

            But he had heard of stories of these creatures. Most peculiarly, he had heard some of these from Kagome herself. Around a campfire some forgotten night ago, she had stayed up to swap frightening stories of a being starved for blood--a creature with the ability to draw and hook onto victims by hypnotic trance.

            The creature's myth seemed to be quite popular in Kagome's time. Of course, she reassured them the creature was pure make-believe, belonging to the superstitions and imagination of a foreign people half a world away, but couldn't Suzuko be classified as a vampire in her own right?

            She didn't partake of blood, but what she had needed was a force just as essential as that fluid running in her victims' veins.

            Love me… Miroku-sama… feed me…

            Miroku closed his eyes and repressed a shudder of repulsion and reluctant delight at the memory of those words.

            Yes, he could remember the dreadful way those cold, hard lips had sweetly demanded and taken…the way they had wanted more.

            And he had been willing--more than willing--to give more…to do anything that being asked of him, even to--

            Kill her…

            Miroku shut his eyes briefly as he remembered that honeyed voice.

            Even to go as far as kill somebody like Sango for her. In those few, insane minutes, he had not remembered Sango at all.

            But you didn't kill her, and that's the most important thing there is, a voice in his brain whispered, mimicking the reassurance he had voiced to Kimiko just a few minutes ago. Did it sound as hollow and unconvincing to Kimiko as it had been to him just now?

            There would be no collection of words sufficient to reassure and to comfort Kimiko, just as there was none sufficient as an apology to Sango when she woke up. And so, he said the only thing left to say to Kimiko.

            Kimiko did not cry as he murmured his farewells. She watched him sadly, and interrupted only when she felt he was going to tell her something quite impossible.

            "Don't," she said.

            "Nani?"

            "I know what you're going to say next," she said quietly. "Please don't tell me that I can forget all about you in due time. You know it won't--can't--happen."

            Miroku smiled a little at her words. "I wasn't going to," he said. "I was just about to say…"

            He paused, and when he continued, his voice was very soft.

            "I was just about to say that I would like to be able to think of you thinking of me …as good friends will, from time to time. Can we do that?"

            It took a while for Kimiko to recover, and when she did, she nodded her head and smiled.

            Making peace with Kimiko had been the easiest part, thought Miroku, sighing. The hardest part was yet to come.

            How was he going to face Sango? What was she going to say?

            The mere thought was enough to make him shudder. She was going to be angry, needless to say. Or sad and disappointed, which was even worse. He was afraid he wasn't going to have any chance to say anything before she finished with him, and he did not want to start.

            He was simply too drained right now.

            And dirty. Dirty in a way no amount of water could wash off.

            The purification ritual was going to take a while. As he settled below a waterfall near the village to cleanse his body and his mind, an earlier thought arose to take hold of him.

            I have to get away…

            The more he thought of it the more convinced he was that it was the right thing--the only thing--to do. He was sure the others would not think so. Perhaps Sango may not think so; but then, he did not want to think of her just now.

            Tonight then…he thought as he made his way back to the inn. He had to do it while the others still had no inkling of what he was about to do. Doubtless, they would go after him, but this time, he would take care not to let them find him.

            He had no idea where he was going, but he had to go.

            The sun was setting when he got back to the house. The cool evening air carried with it a distinct chill.

            Quite appropriate, he thought grimly as he made his way to the sleeping quarters.

            As he rounded the corner of the house, the sight of Sango sitting on the edge of the engawa made him stop. Curiously, he felt as though the wind had been knocked from him. He was not prepared to see her.

            Then and there, he realized the futility of all his intentions of removing himself. He knew he would not be able to do it. Not when Sango was here.

            Dimly, he realized that all his struggles to keep his distance from her would end in defeat. As if he needed any evidence, Sango chose that particular moment to turn her head to him.

He had not made any sound, made no indication to reveal his presence, and yet she had not needed any of it to know he was there. She had been aware of him instantly, just as he would always be aware of her.

Too late to retrace his steps, he went forth to whatever was left in store for them both.

            She saw him approach as though in a dream.

            "Sango."

            His voice was real enough.

            "What are you doing up?" he asked as he sat down beside her. "Shouldn't you be resting?"

            She felt his gaze land on her injured hand briefly and she saw him look away.

            To be truthful, Sango did not know what to think or feel when Miroku came. By all rights, she should be angry at him--angry that once again he had compromised himself (and others) because of his weakness for women, angry that she had to be dragged into the whole mess, angry that he had to make it so obvious she was nothing to him.

            She knew it was quite illogical because he was being controlled at the time, but the sight of his blank eyes beholding her with no recognition at all had filled her with bitter disappointment.

            She had planned to be angry, but now…now that he was here, all accusations, all feelings of resentment vanished in a flash when she saw him glance at her hand and look away.

            She could feel the hurt inside of him as though it were palpable. When she saw the look of determination fleet through his gaze just then, she grew almost afraid.

            What is he thinking of right now?

            "Kimiko said you've been in to see her," she heard herself say.

            Miroku glanced back at her and said nothing.

            "She said you've said goodbye," she said.

            He waited for her to continue.

            "And I don’t seem to recall us moving along anytime soon," she finished. "What are you going to do, Houshi-sama?"

            Miroku gazed into her brown eyes, too surprised to say anything.

            "What's going to happen later tonight?" she asked, her voice betraying the slightest of trembles. "Are we going to wake up just like the last time to find you gone without a word tomorrow?"

            What was it about Sango, Miroku wondered briefly, that she could sometimes tap into him just like that without any effort at all? Was it empathy springing from mere camaraderie, or was it something else? Something more?

            He had let Kimiko go with a promise that she would be in his thoughts, but in Sango's case, would mere memories do?            Now was the crucial time to deny everything, to try and put her at ease. But he found that he could not do it.

            "And if I did disappear," he found himself saying instead, "what is to be done?"

"How very convenient for you," Sango said dryly. "Of course you should know that I won’t allow it."

He stared at her, surprised. "Why not?" he asked.

Why not, Sango? Why would you want to detain somebody who would have wanted to kill you, no questions asked?

It wasn't merely the incident with the ningyo that had left Miroku shaken. Suppose…just suppose Naraku knew of this; how would the fiend use this to his advantage? If one youkai could have done it, how much more…

"Because," said Sango quite clearly, "you are my friend. And I won’t let you go. I won’t let you run away from yourself."

This, said in that no-nonsense tone of hers, without heat or embarrassment, and the look that she gave him that forbid any apologies, moved him unbearably.

            "Should I leave, what will you do?" he asked softly.

She gazed at him steadily as she said, "I'll find you. No matter how long it takes, I will find you. And in the meantime…"

"In the meantime…?"

"You must learn to forgive yourself as well," she said, her gaze on the quiet garden before them.

           With those simple words, the last traces of the invisible wall he had been building to insulate himself in crumbled and fell. What was it about this girl? He thought. She had found him when he was lost and brought him back from the brink of annihilation…

            He had hurt her, nearly killed her, and in exchange, she had said she was never letting him go.

            Faced with such obstinacy and an overwhelming tide of wordless forgiveness, Miroku felt himself give in. In the long time that he had known darkness, could it be that he would find the light in Sango? After all, hadn't she saved him more than once from himself?

            There was still a long way to go before there would be any form of resolution with Naraku. There was no telling what was going to happen. But for now…

            "Houshi-sa--what do you think you're doing?"

His fingers curled around the wrist of her injured hand, gradually sliding to twine her fingers against his and giving her no opportunity to withdraw. His grip was firm, silently insistent that she not shield her palm with her fingers.

Sango sighed in exasperation. She briefly considered tugging her hand away, but he would probably stop her. She was aware that the houshi was going to be obstinate. So she kept her hand still as he scrutinized the wound.

The bleeding had stopped, and thanks to Kagome's medicinal ointments (antibiotics, she called them), it was on its way to healing, but the swelling and discoloration around its edges were still clearly evident.

"It hurts, doesn't it, Sango?" He asked softly.

Well, yes, now that you're asking…

She was about to say no when he lifted her palm and carefully pressed his lips to the wound.

Sango stared at him in shock, not bothering to pull at her hand when he finally lowered it from his mouth. Without another word, he took out the bottle of antibiotic and a roll of gauze from the medicine kit and began to dress her wound.

She had not allowed him to apologize, and he had not allowed her to get away with it. The wordless kiss was apology enough.

As she watched him wind the strip of gauze over her palm, she asked, "what was that for?"

"That's me telling you that I'm not going to let you get away too," he said, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips. "I guess that we'll be on each other's cases for some time to come."

"I guess so," she said, and gave him a rare smile.

"Would you like to eat?"

"Hai."

He helped her up gently, and together they ambled over to where the familiar smells of dinner wafted.