MiroSanta

…

She is awake because she is tired, so tired, fatigued from a life of fighting (demon slaying) and responsibilities (Kohaku); of hopeless-loves (Miroku) and hopeless-lovers (Miroku Miroku Miroku).

But it is the kind of weariness that keeps one up at night, because there is no such thing as rest in peace for bitter bones. Of all people, Sango knows this better than anyone else - she, who’d dug herself out of her own grave, having been buried there by someone who’d put her family permanently to sleep; one who had shushed her with the ugliest of lullabies, composed in betrayal and blood, a song that has made her restless ever since.

.

.

.

When the sky goes black and they are curled up on the Earth, Miroku turns over and whispers, “Go to sleep, Sango,” and Sango replies, “No, I will not,” as her eyelids droop, dark lashes fluttering over rosy cheeks.

There is a rustle of fabric, followed by the click-clack of prayer beads, before Sango feels his fingers fall against her face, warm and heavy.

“Go to sleep, Sango,” Miroku repeats, tone colored with something like concern, but not quite. “But please, sleep alone. Don’t sleep with him.”

Although she wants to say How dare you, she refrains, because he knew of her infidelity just as well as she did, so the luxury of white lies is something she cannot afford.

“I’m not going to bed,” Sango murmurs, half to herself, struggling to keep her eyelids open, failing miserably. “Not alone, not with him.”

Regardless, Sango makes no promises, nor does Miroku demand one of her. Both know she won’t be able to keep it.

As Sango slips away, the feeling of guilt lingers between her ribs, counting time with the tick of her heartbeats.

.

.

.

“You love him, so you love me,” Naraku lulls, tracing a circle in her palm with his pointed fingernail, the sensation of which contrasts sharply with the softness of his hands themselves. “I made him who he is long ago, before he was even born, before you were even born. If not for the kazaana, the monk would not be the man you know today, and you two would never have met.”

Sango blinks blearily, brain foggy with exhaustion, too far gone to do anything but agree.

Naraku smirks, digging his claw in her flesh, coaxing blood to the surface. Vaguely, Sango’s aware of the stinging pain beneath the bubble of crimson, though she makes no move to alleviate it - only accepts it like anything else in a dream, this is all real until it’s not, wondering how someone like him could ever be interested in a girl like her, oh what do you want from me now, you’ve tainted and taken and touched so much, why me, why me, why -

“Because I’m your favorite nightmare,” Naraku answers mildly, lips lingering above her own; the weight of his breath like cold nights and blue bodies, the prettiest pieces of a rotting soul. “You know it, I know it, Miroku knows it. Don’t fight me, Sango.”

Drowsily, Sango attempts to formulate a coherent reply - to disagree - mentally scrabbling through what she remembers of herself to ignore his words and wishes, thinking no it’s not true, I don’t love you, or maybe I do?

The self-doubt is strangely palpable, tangible, heavy in her throat. Naraku’s gaze burns burgundy as he leans forward, tendrils of inky hair falling forward to caress her cheek, and she sighs dreamily, beginning to close her eyes.

“Sango?”

Naraku stops mid-motion, the smile dying on his lips.

Sango’s heart freezes, missing a beat.

“Sango?”

“Don’t listen, Sango,” Naraku orders her sternly, desperately, even though it’s too late, and he’s already fading into the murky purple backdrop of their world, “don’t fight me, Sango, don’t - “

.

.

.

After she rubs the sleep from her face, Sango notes that Miroku looks disappointed, and she does not blame him.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes quietly, pushing hair out of her vision. “I cannot help it.”

“It’s a problem,” Miroku agrees, but leaves the matter at that; chooses instead to pull her inside himself, cushioning the back of her head with his thigh, adjusting the sleeve of his robe so that it will fall over her, and he strokes her forehead with the hand that bears the kazaana.

“Sleep with me,” Miroku offers, voice blurred between yawns.

…

Whenever he’s on the job, Miroku makes sure he looks fabulous. There are plenty of beautiful women to be met when you’re hunting down the news, after all. He takes one last glance into his car’s window to make sure his hair is lying the way he likes before walking away, whistling as he strolls.

He finds her in a coffee shop, sipping on a warm mug as she scrolls through her phone intently. Long brown hair tied back tightly into a bun, eyes sharp, plump lips disappearing into the white ceramic cup. The picture of perfection. No one would suspect such a beautiful woman of being the most expensive detective on the market, but she is: Sango Taijiri, detective.

More importantly, Sango Taijiri, detective put in charge of Governor Takashi’s investigation, the search for his second wife’s disappearance.

It makes perfect sense that she is here, since her office is so close by. What luck it is, to find her away from her desk. The door greets him with a slight ring of a bell when he enters, and after ordering a cappuccino, he sits beside her as discreetly as he can.

“I can’t help but be jealous of whoever you’re texting,” he comments, hoping that it comes off as charming and not creepy. Judging by her sudden side eye, he’s guessing it’s the latter. Shit, time to recover. A hand rubs the back of his neck with genuine nervousness as he laughs sheepishly. “I’m Miroku.”

He can see the transition in her eyes, the hardass Detective Taijiri turning her antenna off and slipping back into Sango, the woman behind the desk. Precisely why Miroku’s goddamn grateful to have found her in a coffee shop. It’s so much easier to flirt with a woman than a detective.

Looking more mildly surprised than distrusting, she nods her head and takes a small sip of her drink. “Sango. Do you usually hit on strangers without invitation?”

She’s blunt — probably the nature of her profession, he supposes. Just as well; it’s part of his profession to be likable. “I try to make conversation with strangers daily,” he answers lightly, dismissing the slight dig. “Is it a crime to be curious?”

“Depends on what you do with it,” she fires back, but she’s smiling and that’s how he knows he’s in.

“Ask a harmless question, hoping a pretty woman will look up from her screen and talk to a handsome man instead?”

There it is: her laugh. He didn’t expect to enjoy it, but the sound is musical and pleasant and, truthfully, irresistible. Without even planning to, Miroku’s smiling back at her, almost forgetting that this isn’t a conversation, this is an investigation of his own — and she’s the target.

“And she laughs!” Miroku throws up his hands as if his favorite sports team just scored a goal, and she shakes her head at his antics. “One point for the handsome man?” he suggests.

“Just one,” she allows. He tries to glance at her screen subtly but it’s locked, a pitch black reflection of nothing. Damn.

“So what do you do, Sango?” he asks casually, wondering if she noticed his peek. Normally, he would accept her pleasant and unemotional expression as proof of success, but this is his first time playing games with such a high-profile detective. There’s no way of knowing, and maybe that’s part of the thrill that’s rushing through him now. The danger, the surprise, the sensation of meeting his match.

“I’m an investigator.”

“Wow, impressive.” He nods as if he hasn’t known this entire time.

“I like to think so.” Slim fingers curl tighter over the white mug as the cold settles in from the winter breeze outside. “And yourself?”

“I’m an aspiring writer.” Well, it’s not a lie. He is an aspiring writer; one day, he’ll write a profound expose on the company that killed his grandfather and father prematurely. The veins in his wrist twitch as his right hand curls into a fist for a brief second. It’ll happen soon enough.

“What do you write? Anything I’ve read?”

Conversation is easy with Sango, the woman; it’s too easy, and he’s forgetting to redirect the conversation to what he wants the most. Still, he can’t resist falling into the warmth of her eyes and the comforting vibrato of her voice. “No, unless you somehow hack into my laptop and see the pathetic rough drafts in the Trash folder,” he jokes.

She smiles kindly. How is this the same woman with a ruthless reputation? “I’m sure one day, you’ll write a great rough draft.”

“A smooth draft,” he jokes.

The only response he gets is a subtle raised brow, an indication that she gets the joke, yes — but it’s not a good one, and she’s above giving pity laughs. Something pools in his stomach at the look, but he chooses to ignore it and grin boyishly instead.

“Well, I got one laugh today — I hope that’ll be enough to last me the day,” he sighs with exaggerated disappointment.

“It’s going to have to be, if your sense of humor is so pitiful,” Sango quips.

Oh, her bite! A hand thumps on his chest with exaggerated dismay. Gaping at her, he pouts as pathetically as he can without disarming his good looks. “I’m wounded.”

“Serves you right for lying, Mr. Hoshide,” she retorts before taking a long drink from her cup, waiting for his reaction.

“She digs the knife in deeper! Me, lying?” Keep your cool. She’s probably joking, referencing something else. She doesn’t know the truth.

“Mr. Hoshide, fact checker at Shikon News, with a dangerous curiosity in the Takashi case,” she continues as if he hasn’t said a word. “I’ve heard of you, Mr. Hoshide. You must be a fool, to think that detectives don’t know how to research as well as journalists.”

Stunned is one word for what he’s feeling — fucked is another. “You are as clever as you are beautiful, Sango.”

“It’s Detective Taijiri.”

“I much preferred speaking to Sango. Is there any way she can come back, maybe give me her phone number, go out to dinner with me sometime?”

His ‘preference’ is a lie, too; the way Detective Taishiri smiles without mirth, the way her eyes light up with a burning intensity, is more attractive than she knows. The stirring in his stomach moves to his groin, and he ignores it yet again.

“All the charm in the world can’t get you what you want, Mr. Hoshide.” The mug taps lightly onto the wooden table, empty and stained with black drip coffee. She is all business now, folding her fingers over each other and placing them in her lap primly. Miroku can’t help but straighten his posture, too.

“And what do I want, Detective Taijiri?” He leans in closer than what she’s comfortable with, his eyes still dancing as if this is yet another phase of a flirtatious game. “Don’t tell me that those chocolate eyes can see into my very soul.”

She does a good job of appearing unfazed, but Miroku is sure that he’s getting to her. He hopes, at least, because right now, Sango looks all too similar to a rock wall, and he likes to think that he’s suave enough to move a mountain. “Naraku. You want Naraku Incorporated.”

And that’s where the line is crossed. Miroku snaps back, away from her (to her private relief), eyes hard and fingers jerking slightly towards his palm.

“Your coffee is getting cold,” Sango remarks. She’s good. She’s good, and she’s ruthless, and she’s all fire and no ice, which is the exact opposite of what he’s prepared for. The heat of the flame calls out to him, taunts a reaction out of him. He doesn’t know how to withstand it, and he’s slipping already.

She’s good.

“I guess the Takashi case isn’t going too well, then,” he retaliates, beginning to drink from his own cup.

Every instinct she has screams at her not to respond, but Sango can’t help it; she does. “What makes you say that?”

“Haven’t you heard the rumors, Detective?” Miroku asks innocently, knowing fully well that she hasn’t.

“What rumors?” Sango asks harshly.

“They say that Takashi is determined to keep this case under wraps and as discrete as possible. He’s running for Senator, after all.”

His suspicions are confirmed when she inhales sharply at the news. The cup hides the small smirk on his lips as he relishes the warmth of espresso and foam, as well as the indignant expression on her face. Even when she’s pissed, she looks cute.

“I guess detectives can’t research as well as reporters can,” Miroku teases as he rises from his seat and begins to leave. “I’ll take that for you,” he offers like the gentleman he is, grabbing her empty mug and taking it with him.

Behind him, Sango sits, stunned and still. Angry at the governor for keeping this from her, angrier at the reporter for besting her.

She grabs her bag and reaches for her phone — only to find that it’s not on the table where she left it. The retreating backside of a certain Mr. Hoshide taunts her, and her gaze locks onto his bottom — not only because it’s bubbly and plump (a detail Sango does her best to forget later on), but because there is a certain blocky bulge in the back pocket that is all too familiar.

“Stealing from law enforcement, what an asshole!” she curses as she runs after him.

…

“I’m going to arrest him!” Sango mutters angrily as she enters her office.

“Detective Taijiri?” Her secretary probes hesitantly.

“Not now, Rin. Call the police department, ask them if we can have Miroku Hoshide arrested for stealing my phone in broad daylight!”

“Did he run away with it?” Rin asked, eyes wide and worried.

“No, I retrieved it from him.”

“Detective, I don’t know if we can arrest him when you have the phone.” Shrugging her petite shoulders, Rin is already filing the incident away under Sango’s Impulsive and Emotion-Driven Requests.

“Well. It was worth a try.” Her hands fly up to her temples, fingers moving in slow circles, calming breaths coming in and out on the count of three. Rin waits, as she always does when her boss is regathering her composure.

“Alright. Rin, if you could get me an appointment with Ms. Takashi sometime this week, I would really appreciate it. Let Governor Takashi’s secretary know I’m coming in tomorrow afternoon, and please send Inuyasha another voicemail. Send Sesshomaru a thank you message for speaking with me the other day and I’ll be in touch.” The requests are coming in left and right but Rin has been doing this for over a year, and the notes she makes on a small flower notepad are short but thorough.

“Got it, Detective!” The small young woman salutes and turns to begin the day’s work.

“Oh, and Rin?”

“Yes, Detective?”

“Is the coffee maker working again?”

Rin stifles a smile, knowing what’s coming next. “I just fixed it, Detective.”

“Great. Could you get me one more cup of coffee, please?”

…

Okay, sure, Miroku almost lost a limb and another vital body part that’s long enough to be a limb (I have a great sense of humor, he thinks spitefully), but it was all worth it for the phone numbers printing from his computer right now.

A few minutes is all anyone needs to email himself the entire file she has on the Takashi case. It shouldn’t be this easy — but thank the stars it is.

A part of him feels bad, of course, but this is necessary. He grabs the paper from the printer as soon as it’s out, still warm and slightly inky. The long list of numbers, notes, and even pictures is more than enough.

Now they have to give him a promotion, and then he can pursue whatever investigation he wants. First up would be Naraku Incorporated.

“All is fair in love and war,” Miroku reminds himself as he slips the document into a folder.

…

“As you can see, this is all the information that Detective Taijiri has at the present moment. With our unmatched resources, we can keep pace with the detective during the Takashi investigation. I am more than happy to assist with any further involvement in the Takashi case, as I know the Detective relatively well, having flirted successfully with her myself—”

“You are a fact checker, Mr. Hoshide. Not a reporter.”

He refuses to let the quick reprimand dim his confidence. “In my defense, sir, this is more than any other employee has reported, and I did personal investigation myself to attain this information. I do believe that I have proved myself worthy of being a reporter.”

A silence hangs over the two as both size each other up, pushing and pulling, estimating the other’s determination and willpower and gumption.

“If you can find more within another week, then I’ll move you up. Until then, we’ll cut your fact checking responsibilities in half. If you’re capable of more than just one stroke of luck, then we’ll have a talk.” The man pauses, eyes skimming over the folder Miroku handed him another time. “And thank you for this, Miroku. It does not go by unnoticed.”

Chest swelling with pride, Miroku leans forward and shakes the hand of his boss heartily. “Thank you, sir! You won’t regret it!”

“I hope not, Miroku.” The man hesitates before withdrawing his hand. “And a word of warning — you don’t want to get on Detective Taijiri’s bad side.”

“If things go my way, sir, I won’t be.”

He raises a doubting brow, looking his employee up and down appraisingly. “Sure. That’s what they all say.”

…

Governor Takashi may be the man who helped her and Kohaku stay alive after the death of their father, but that doesn’t mean Sango feels comfortable around him in the slightest. Still, it gives her some leeway in conversation, and today, she’s feeling quite comfortable testing his patience. “So it’s just a rumor, then?” Sango repeats, confirming Governor Takashi’s statement for the fifth time in the last hour.

“Yes, Detective,” he says again, “it’s just a rumor.”

“Why not run for the Senate, sir?” she asks, still in doubt. “You’re beloved as a governor, and there are enough supporters to get you through. It seems to me, a regular citizen, that Senator is the next step for your career.”

The chair spins slowly as Governor Takashi looks away, giving Sango an excellent view of his side profile, sharp and defined. “I say this to you as your uncle, Sango, do you understand?” Without glancing over to see her nod seriously, he continues. “I plan on retiring from politics as soon as this term is over.”

Sango jerks with surprise and then quickly recovers, concealing her bewilderment with a blank slate. “I see.”

“You don’t wish to know why?” He turns to the detective, expressionless save for a glimmer of curiosity.

She hesitates and wonders how candidly she can speak before choosing to play it safe. “If you are willing to share your reasons with me, sir.”

His smile is formal and maybe a little sad, with memories that he is unlikely to share with her. “My wife dreams of more than this life. Which is why it’s essential that you find her. There’s no use in moving on without the woman you’re doing it for.”

His honesty brings a kind smile to her lips, and something akin to respect begins to form towards the man she and Kohaku have called the Ghost Uncle their entire lives. “I understand, sir. I’ll work harder to find her.”

She rises to her feet and, to her surprise, he stands with her. “Thank you, Sango. I appreciate it, really.”

Their hands clasp and shake. “You’re welcome, Governor. It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for me and Kohaku.”

His face softens at the mention of her younger brother, and the sight of it sparks a new connection between them. Imagining a man caring for the little that is left of your family is entirely different from seeing it yourself. “Your father was my best friend, Sango. Even if he was alive, I would have done everything the same.”

They are not family, but she supposes that he’s the closest thing she has. With a grateful smile, she nods respectfully and makes her leave. Time is running out.

…

The coffee shop has become a favorite of his, but only because it’s the only option he has left. Either his favorite coffee shop is the one by Sango’s office, or he’s pathetic for wandering around, praying for a glimpse of the beautiful detective who may hold the key to his promotion.

One day is all it takes for him to get impatient and restless. A missing persons case, by nature, moves at a speedy pace, and it certainly doesn’t help that the persons involved are so high profile. It’s his desperation that leads Miroku to her office, waiting at the secretary’s desk, charming the beautiful lady regarding him curiously.

“You haven’t seen the new Star Wars movie? What a shame. You know, I’m free later tonight, if you were thinking of watching it sometime soon…”

“Rin, is someone here?” a woman behind him asks. Recognizing the voice, Miroku makes sure to remain calm as he turns to face the beautiful Detective Taijiri. He even grins and waves. “Mr. Hoshide, you’ve returned. You must be desperate for more information, then?”

“I’m all ears for anything you have to say, Detective. You know how I love to listen to a beautiful woman speak.”

“He asked me out on a date, Detective Taijiri,” the secretary chimes in.

“Be sure to say no, Rin. He might steal your phone, too,” Sango warns as she glides by them both towards her office.

“Or your heart,” Miroku counters.

That makes the secretary giggle, and he considers that a great success in comparison to the rest of the day. “If you could tell your boss that I would really love to talk to her, please,” he leans in flirtatiously.

“Detective Taijiri doesn’t want to talk to you, if you can’t tell,” she reminds him, as if he has no idea.

He shrugs it off. “Well, let her know I’ll be back in ten minutes with two cups of coffee.”

She laughs again, only this time, Miroku doesn’t know why. “What is it?” Miroku questions.

“You already know her weakness,” Rin dimples.

The admission makes him pause. Her weakness is not something he should know; it almost feels like he’s stealing something from her, something more personal than her work files. But guilt isn’t something Miroku takes well to, so he shakes it off easily and winks. “It’s my job,” he sings as he leaves the office.

At least that’s true: knowing people’s business is his job. That doesn’t mean he has to like it, though. If only he weren’t so damn good at it.

…

“Back!” Miroku holds up the two cups like he’s a champion walking very slowly to the finish line.

“Detective, he’s here!” Rin calls out over her shoulder.

“Tell him I’m busy.”

“But I have coffee!” he whines.

“But he has coffee,” Rin informs her boss.

“Still busy!” Sango hollers.

With a pout, he looks longingly at the doorway to her office and then back at Rin. “Why is she so—,”

“Watch what you say next, Reporter,” interrupts Sango, who suddenly stands behind Rin with her arms crossed, a small smile on her face despite her unforgiving tone.

He doesn’t quite mean to brighten completely at her appearance, but he knows that he feels entirely lit up by the sight of her, and it shows. Something inside Sango’s chest falters at the sight of him, beaming at her like the two of them are friends. What a strange reporter. In her line of work, she’s come across dozens of them, but none quite as peculiar as Miroku Hoshide.

“Why is she so beautiful,” he finishes, holding out one white to-go cup. “Your coffee, Sango.”

“Detective Taijiri,” she corrects automatically, reaching out to take it.

“Aren’t you going to ask what I ordered for you?” Miroku blurts out before she can take a sip.

“I’m not picky.”

“I ordered a nice hot Americano. Thought you might like it,” he answers a question she hasn’t asked.

Hesitantly, Sango takes a few sips in silence, debating on whether she likes it or not. Miroku watches intently, and even Rin is staring with interest. Just for show, she smacks her lips a few times, and pretends she doesn’t see Miroku’s gaze drop from her eyes to her lips.

“I like it,” she eventually admits, to his great pride.

“I knew it. So one more point for Miroku Hoshide. Does this mean I can ask one question on record?” His dark brows dance up and down suggestively, and she has to give him credit for persistence.

“How about you get one question for every five points,” she concedes.

The mischief in his eyes immediately worries her, and Sango wonders for a brief moment if she just gave him too much freedom. But it’s too late; her word has been given, and Detective Taijiri has always been adamant on complete honesty from others and from herself.

“Sounds like a deal.” Although he moves without any grand flourish, there is still something about the way Miroku carries himself that makes every motion noticeable, every word an exclamation point, every action something to pay attention to. Rin is certainly fascinated with him, and Sango quietly scolds herself for buying into it, too.

“See you soon, ladies!” Before he can turn around to leave, she is heading to her desk to go back to work.

And maybe to rid herself of the temptation to glance at his butt, too.

…

It’s been about an eighty minutes since he’s left, and Rin is still talking about him.

“He is so cute, Detective! And he knows you like coffee and he even managed to get you to drink something other than black coffee! Who knows, maybe you’ll try a latte next. What an adventure, I wonder when he’ll come back.”

And on, and on, and on it goes. The entire experience seems to have made Rin feel personally connected to Sango, as if the two of them are friends instead of professional coworkers. She doesn’t quite mind; Rin is a sweet girl, naive and talkative and untouched by the world.

But the fact remains: she has to get work done eventually.

“If he comes back again, do your best to distract him, will you, Rin? Even if it means going to the Star Wars movie with him right away.”

“I couldn’t do that! This is still my job,” Rin insists.

“I think I can handle a day on my own. If the offer comes up, please, consider it part of your job description to keep him away from me.”

“Well…” Her secretary grapples with the idea of being ordered to take a free day if offered, but eventually, nods her agreement, albeit reluctantly. “Alright, if it comes to that.”

“Thank you, Rin.” The sound of shuffling papers interrupt the friendly moment between them as Sango pulls her notes together.

Sensing that her boss is ready to get back to work, Rin straightens and heads back to her desk. Behind her, the detective takes a deep breath and begins dialing numbers.

…

His third point comes from a Post It Note. Rin places it neatly on the desk while Sango is speaking to Inukimi Takashi — Governor Takashi’s first wife who continues to go by her ex-husband’s surname. Still listening intently, she skims over Miroku’s scrawled handwriting, expecting a cheesy pick up line.

Instead, her spine immediately straightens once his words register. Inukimi Takashi is rumored to take over as governor after Governor Takashi leaves for the Senate. — Miroku Hoshide

Her thoughts reel as she considers two things: 1) that Inukimi Takashi has political aims of her own, and that 2) Miroku has no idea that Governor Takashi has no intention of retiring. Her pen moves at lightning speed as Sango rushes to write them down on her legal pad, and she almost forgets to listen to Inukimi.

“… and the last time I saw her, Mrs. Takashi was on the arm of Governor Takashi at the theater.”

“Thank you, Ms. Takashi. And your family, they have a long history of government involvement, is that correct?”

“Many of the men in my family have been government officials, yes, Detective Taijiri.”

Most people are intimidated by Inukimi Takashi, that much is clear from her overarching coldness. Even on the phone, Ms. Takashi is a fearsome woman, the pleasant ring to her words misleading and, in a darker light, slightly sinister. Sango, however, deals with these characters for a living. She has little fear of the powerful.

“You and your son are the last of your line, if we exclude your first husband,” she points out, “Do either of you plan to continue the tradition?”

Ms. Takashi laughs, short and melodic, as if the very idea is unheard of. “Is that expected of us, Detective Taijiri?”

“Power tends to run in a family like yours, Ms. Takashi,” Sango points out lightly, as if this is a joke, a flirtation between them. But it’s not; she’s hunting for answers, and Miroku has given her hope that Inukimi may hold a clue.

“Will this help you locate the current Mrs. Takashi, if I do answer?” Her voice is oddly seductive, not so much sexual as it is teasing. As if the world is made of mice and she is the only cat around. It sets Sango on edge. She isn’t here to play games; she’s here to find the governor’s wife.

“Anything will help, Ms. Takashi,” Sango does her best to sound patient.

“Well as long as it helps.” She pauses before continuing, sounding casual as if she is discussing the weather. “I’ve entertained the thought before, I’ll admit. It sounds nice, doesn’t it, to be the first woman to continue the family legacy. But no concrete plans have been made as of yet.”

“And Sesshomaru?”

“You’ll have to ask him.”

Sango scribbles a few more things on her legal pad diligently, brow furrowing as she reconsiders the facts. “Thank you, Ms. Takashi. I’ll be in touch.”

“Please, I insist — don’t be.” The subtle insult is padded with an almost cheerful tone, amused and lighthearted. “Goodbye, Detective.”

Before she can get a word out, Sango is hung up on, and she stares at the phone with bewilderment for a second before hanging up as well. Are all powerful women like this? Wrinkling her nose, she taps her pen impatiently on the paper.

She doesn’t like to deal with politics, with briberies and false promises and games of power — but if that’s what she has to do, then she’ll do it. It’s how she’s lived her entire life: doing what is necessary, even when it’s hard.

Crossing out Ms. Takashi’s name on her list of people to call reminds her of the Post It note, written by some belligerent reporter. Before she can stop herself, a smile blossoms on her face and she sticks it down on her legal pad for future reference. Surprise, surprise, Miroku can be useful even when he’s being a pest.

She supposes that he at least deserves her gratitude for that, and after putting her notes away, she walks to Rin’s desk expecting to see the two of them chatting amicably. Instead, Sango is surprised to find him texting on his phone at her desk and her secretary filing away papers in complete silence.

“Ah, Miroku?” she says hesitantly, almost afraid to break the hush of the office.

His gaze snaps up from his screen to her face, and at the sight of Sango, Miroku smiles. “Sango! Did you get my note?”

“Yes, I did,” she answers, glancing over at Rin, who remains attentive to her work.

“And? Did it get you anywhere?” he asks smoothly, leaning an arm against Rin’s workplace smoothly.

“That’s my business,” she reminds him politely, “but I will give you a point for that.”

“That puts us at three. And it’s only been two and a half hours.”

“Looks like you’re making good progress,” Sango points out with a small laugh. His charm is all over the place, from boyish to suave to borderline inappropriate — but it’s still charm all throughout, and she has to admit that he’s become more comfortable to be around.

“Would be better if I had some information for my article,” Miroku quips, innocently raising his brows at her with such childish hope that she rolls her eyes and decides to throw him a bone.

“Inukimi Takashi doesn’t seem to be set on running for office.” Sango leans against the doorframe and waits for his reaction.

He doesn’t seem to have one. There is no single expression to be found on his features, no subtle movements, no body language to hint at a response. Her brows come together as she questions what’s wrong with her eyes, and he looks unwilling to tell her for a second or two before sighing.

“It’s just not much information,” Miroku shrugs.

Sango blinks. “Of course it’s information, I spoke with her myself. She has no concrete plans to run for office as of yet,” she rephrases.

“That’s what all politicians say,” he counters, “It’s always about the seems and as of yets and the unforeseeable future. It’s what you find in between the lines that tell you the truth.”

“The truth,” she repeats skeptically, not sure whether to believe a man whose job is to sneak around and uncover gossip.

Recognizing her tone, Miroku smiles wryly and mirrors her position, leaning against the other side of the doorframe. “Yes, the truth. Detectives hunt for the truth, isn’t that right?”

“That’s my job,” she nods.

“It’s mine, too. Only while people are happy to cooperate with you, they choose their words carefully with me. So I learn to pick up clues and piece them together in the details. And politicians essentially treat everyone like a reporter.”

His eyes are wide open, a little lighthearted, sincere, honest. And she believes him. She isn’t such a fool to trust him so easily, but she does believe him in this instance. Without responding, Sango grabs the phone and redials Inukimi Takashi’s phone number.

Miroku opens his mouth to ask her what the hell she’s doing but is silenced with a single finger.

“Yes, may I speak to Ms. Inukimi Takashi, please?” Sango glances at Miroku and offers a small, reassuring smile, although he looks more amused than bewildered.

“Hello, Ms. Takashi. I’m sorry to be calling again, but I recently received word that you were, in fact, planning to run for the governor’s office. Is this true?”

Miroku casually steps forward and presses the speaker button.

“—accusing me of lying, Detective?”

“No, Ms. Takashi, I’m only wondering if you understood the importance of your response. Because it may be vital to the investigation that you are being thoroughly honest, ma'am.”

He doesn’t know which feeling is stronger in the pit of his stomach: attraction or admiration. She looks over at him and smiles, almost shyly, and he marvels at how many facets there are to Detective Taijiri.

Perhaps things are becoming dangerous, he considers as she continues to reason with Ms. Takashi. It’s not the fear of commitment that worries him; Miroku looks forward to his future with a wife and many children. But his future cannot begin without Naraku Incorporated behind him, and at this moment, it is still a looming goal ahead.

He stares at Sango and wishes her to become Detective Taijiri to him once more: a woman to question and pester and essentially use to get to his end goal. But she’s Sango now, a bright woman with an addiction to coffee, a witty sense of humor, and chocolate eyes. Intelligent, alluring, strong.

It’s cruel, to have met the perfect woman before the perfect timing.

The click of a phone hanging up reminds Miroku that he is not alone, and he raises his brows questioningly at her pensive expression. “Penny for your thoughts,” he says as he moves away from the doorframe and closes the distance between him.

She ignores the weight of his body hovering a few inches behind her, pulls out her legal pad instead. It doesn’t matter anymore, that all of her thoughts are in plain sight, that Miroku will get all the information she’s denied him. All of the pettiness of secrecy pales in comparison to the information scurrying in her thoughts.

She scribbles a single sentence: Inukimi Takashi is running for governor.

A pause, and then another sentence: The opposition is infrequent but fierce.

And lastly, an arrow to the first statement Sango ever wrote for the case: Izayoi Takashi is missing.

“Do you think—,” she begins, but Miroku interrupts her.

“Yes.” He is tempted for a fleeting moment to put a hand on her shoulder knowingly, but to touch her would be to cement his budding feelings for this woman, and so Miroku resists. “And I also think you should call Governor Takashi.”

She nods and begins dialing, and without a word, Miroku steps back and exits. Something in his chest sinks as he exits the office, waves goodbye to Rin, and walks back to his own boss. He won’t allow himself to betray her even further; he will take as little as he can.

He only hopes that she will forgive him, after he confesses and repents to her after he’s received the promotion.

…

“Detective Taijiri,” Governor Takashi greets her.

“Governor, I have a very serious question to ask you.”

Sensing the gravity of the situation, he waves away his advisors and focuses on the conversation at hand. “Yes, Detective.”

“Are you aware that Ms. Inukimi Takashi plans to run for governor?”

“Yes, I am. My first wife has my full support.”

“Have you made it known that she has your full support?”

“No, not yet. My term isn’t coming to a close until much later, and I didn’t find it necessary to make that public knowledge. Is there… Does this involve Inukimi?” he asks, worry suddenly seeping into his voice.

“I’m beginning to think so, sir. Has any organization contacted you about Ms. Takashi’s plan to run for office?”

“Not officially, but…” He hesitates, and everything in Sango prickles up to a fine point.

“But?” she presses, leaning in forward, gritting her teeth in anticipation of his next words.

“But I did receive a letter today about Ms. Takashi’s intent to run, warning me of what she would do to the state if I allowed her to take my place.”

She takes a deep breath, feeling part exhilarated by how close she is to closing this case, and part anxious at what closing the case will mean. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

…

Sango sits in the same chair, facing the same man, in the same office, on the same day. But the circumstances are decidedly different, and Governor Takashi looks more human than governor. He is just a man with a missing wife.

“So you believe that these people took Izayoi to dissuade me from stepping down,” he clarifies slowly. His eyes are hard as a rock but his mouth gives his sadness away, the despair and the worry of not knowing where his wife is.

“Yes. I stopped by Ms. Takashi’s home to pick up her own letters that they sent to her, and they match the one you received. They seem to have enough organization to pull off large stunts like this, but they’re clearly unstable, making them that much more dangerous.”

Governor Takashi exhales loudly and closes his eyes, a flicker of emotion passing through like a shadow on his features. When he opens them, his face is once again unfeeling. “Then I will announce my plans to remain in office so that she returns.”

“If that is what you are willing to do, Governor. But,” she hesitates before choosing to see him as her uncle and not as her governor, “I think you ought to consider how happy Mrs. Takashi would be with that decision.”

“I believe my wife would be happy enough to be back home, with me. Where she belongs,” he deadpans.

A shiver runs through her at the hardness of his voice. “But would she want this for you, Governor? To remain in office when you are prepared to step down?”

He squares his shoulders and meets her gaze with the firmness of an ox. The man is gone, and the governor has taken his place. “That is my decision to make. You will hear from me in an hour with my plans to move forward.”

Taking that as her cue to leave, Sango stands and bows her head. “Yes, Governor Takashi.”

Her hand has already grabbed the doorknob when he speaks up once more. “Sango?”

“Yes?” she looks at him over her shoulders.

“Thank you.”

She smiles kindly at her uncle. “Any time, Uncle.”

…

You would think that a job promotion should make me want to get a drink, Miroku thinks to himself wryly as he hands his card to the cashier, But all I want to do is grab a coffee.

He takes the latte in one hand and the americano in the other. Two coffees, that is.

Without wasting a moment to question why he feels the urge to buy two drinks, he leaves. His own desire to see Sango again leads him a few blocks down to his new favorite place: Detective Taijiri’s office.

Rin looks completely unsurprised to see him, eyes crinkling happily at the sight of Miroku with two cups in his hand, cheeks pink from the wind. “Hi again.”

He smiles almost sheepishly at the knowing look in her eyes. “Hi again. Is she in?”

“No, but you’ll probably wait here until she comes back, right?” Expecting a resounding ‘yes’ from the man she’s convinced is her boss’s soulmate, she is already typing again at her computer as if the conversation is finished.

But it’s not, and her question reminds Miroku of how furious she will be if she finds out why he has come here four times in one day. “I don’t think so.”

The typing stops. The sharply glances up with wide eyes and a frowning mouth. The air thickens with Rin’s now-accusatory glare and the fear that is building up in his throat.

“Just give this to her when she comes back,” he says, holding out the latte and setting it down on her desk.

She ignores his pathetic attempt to get away. “She’s going to be disappointed if you don’t come back.”

And although Miroku knows that he is disappointed to not be coming back, he’s surprised to hear that she may be as well. “What?” he says dumbly.

“She obviously likes you,” she tells him, “Why do you think I ignored you last time you were here?”

“Because you were busy?”

“Because you were going to ask me out again and I didn’t want to say yes,” Rin rolls her eyes at his ignorance. Boys. They’re hopeless.

This isn’t the right time to be offended, but Miroku can hardly help his reaction to hearing any pretty woman say they’re not interested in going out with him. Shaking her head and smiling at his wounded expression, Rin returns her gaze to the screen and begins typing once more. “Look, just stick around. At least say goodbye. And give her the coffee yourself, you big pussy.”

Him? A pussy? A pussy wouldn’t steal a woman like Sango’s phone to download information, just to secure a job promotion. A pussy wouldn’t risk returning after securing that job promotion just to see her again, either. He is not a pussy.

But maybe a pussy would hide the truth from a woman like Sango and try to run away, tail tucked between their legs. He cringes at the thought and resolves to tell Sango everything as soon as she returns. Frowning deeply, he takes a seat, hanging his head in mourning of all the progress he’s made with Sango.

It really is cruel, to have met the perfect woman before the perfect timing. But more than that, it’s cruel to have met the perfect woman before you are the perfect man.

…

When she comes in, the cups are no longer steaming hot and only a simmering warm in his hands, and Rin is still giving Miroku the silent treatment. At first, Sango doesn’t notice him sitting away from the door, and she heads straight for Rin.

“Did I get a call while I was out?” Her voice is urgent and her body language screams a tornado of stress born from hard work, and Miroku wonders if it’s a good idea to tell her today.

“No, Detective.” His faint idea of escaping then and there is collapsed by the pointed glance Rin directs his way. “But someone did come by without an appointment.”

“Who?” Sango asks as she turns. He expects her face to drop at the sight of him, but instead, she smiles, and something in her eyes light up. He covers up a wince with a short cough and rises to his feet, holding out the latte.

“Your friendly neighborhood stalker,” he jokes halfheartedly. “I got you some coffee.”

“Are you trying to encourage my addiction?” she laughs even while she cups her hands over the drink. “Thank you for my fifth cup today.”

“Fifth cup?”

“I told you I have a problem,” she quips, turning around and heading to her office. Miroku lingers behind, wondering if he ought to follow her, and she answers his silent worry with a glance over her shoulder. “Aren’t you coming, Reporter Hoshide?”

“Oh, yes! Of course.”

The two fall into an even pace side by side in a peaceful silence. She has yet to take a sip, he notices, and it’s only then that Miroku realizes that he will be crushed if Sango is unhappy with the coffee he’s bought for her.

Not because he particularly loves lattes, but because he hopes that she particularly loves what he bought her. His gift, so to speak. And perhaps caffeine has become his token of courtship, the shy bouquet of flowers, a dinner date in a single cup.

He gulps when they enter into her office, knowing that he’ll have to crush that wistful dream soon.

“I think that you deserve a point,” she says suddenly, sitting on her desk and peering up at him from beneath those long, dark lashes.

“A point?” His mouth is suddenly dry at the sight of her looking at him like… like she is seeing him in a new light, like she is admiring him and not merely examining him.

“Yes, for showing me the truth. It’s helped more than you know.” She mistakes her guilty silence as gratitude and smiles sweetly at him, taking a sip of her coffee. He waits, placing more weight on her reaction than it deserves because of the conversation he knows must come after.

After taking a drink, Sango holds the cup away from her to look it over curiously. “What did you get me this time?”

“A latte,” he answers plainly.

She takes another sip cautiously, and then another. And then another. Finally, she laughs to herself and shrugs her shoulders girlishly at him. “I’m surprised to say that I like it, actually.”

The balloon inside of his chest deflates with relief. “I’m glad,” he says in a long exhale of Thank-God-you-like-it-because-you’re-not-going-to-like-what-I-say-next.

“Sango, I have to tell you something,” he blurts out without waiting for the moment to end and the next to begin.

He can see the emotion leaving off her face in one smooth sweep, and she regards him with an expression that he imagines she uses during interrogations. “Go on.”

Goddamn her voice, not quite cold but not quite warm, not unfeeling but not at all emotional. Honest and straight forward, undemanding and unassuming. She is the perfect slate of nothing, and it should make him feel more comfortable about admitting his sins to her. But instead, he feels worse.

“There’s no way to say this kindly, so…” He takes a deep breath, “so I’ll do it at once. I only ask that you let me speak until the very end.” Hastily adding a simple request to the end of his statement, Miroku searches her eyes for a hint of a reaction.

To his great worry, she doesn’t give him one. “That’s my job.”

“Yes, of course.”

And after one silent, desperate prayer to whatever God is out there, he starts at the beginning.

“The men of my family are spiritual by tradition. Priests, monks, rabbis… leaders of their faith in many religions. And they are all dead, save for myself. I can’t speak for my other ancestors, but my grandfather and father… They were killed.”

To her credit, Sango doesn’t even blink, doesn’t move a muscle. Her eyes are wide and encouraging in their blankness, and although he knows she will hate him in a few minutes, he finds strength in her gaze to continue his story.

“They were both at the temple together, praying and worshipping, when the temple collapsed upon them. Their deaths were, I hope, quick and painless. I was too young to understand when they were taken from me, but growing up, the monks who took me in mentioned a certain Naraku Incorporated.”

And there it is: a flicker of an emotion that flees too quickly for him to identify.

“When I was old enough, I began searching for the truth that I always felt the monks withheld from me as a child. It took a long few months of traveling and questioning and examining, but I found it: Naraku Incorporated’s corruption.”

A fire scorches its way through his body and his muscles tense immediately. “They use faulty equipment and low-grade materials for their construction of spiritual centers, specifically. My father and grandfather died, because they found matters of the spirit too low of a priority to budget for. If it had been an accident, a mishap, a mistake, I would have overlooked it. But this happens now, to this day, and I can’t forgive them for that. It’s been my mission to bring the truth to the public for years.”

“And this is where you come in.” Miroku swallows and does his best to see Sango as a detective and a detective only, so that his words do not hurt him as much as they are sure to anger her. “I’m not a reporter. I’m a fact checker. But to achieve my goal, I needed the promotion, and I used you to get there. I took your phone and forwarded your files to myself, and did my best to get closer to you for my own selfish gain.”

He resists the temptation to look down to his lap and locks his gaze onto hers; this is his punishment, to see her sorrow and fury at his cruelty. To see the exact moment she rejects him and spurns him and cuts off any chance there ever was at letting him into her heart. “I just got back from reporting to my boss the information about Inukimi Takashi, and received the job promotion,” he finishes with a low vibrato.

Silence. A blank expression. Absolutely no response. Miroku bites down on his lip and waits for her to kick him out. But instead, she sets her coffee cup on her desk and steps forward. He braces himself for a slap in the face.

But instead, she takes him into her arms and she’s hugging him. A little awkwardly, since his arms are glued to his sides and he gets the sense that she isn’t used to doing this very often.

“I’m sorry about your grandfather and father and your mother,” she says quietly, cheek against his chest, eyes closed.

Maybe he doesn’t deserve this reaction but he will accept it because he knows better than to fight a kindness that has already been given to him. Lifting his arms to return the embrace, Miroku holds her loosely, still slightly wary of her reaction.

“Why aren’t you angrier?” he murmurs into her hair.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m plenty pissed. I’m just too busy to deal with it right now,” she says.

Miroku stammers softly with incredulity, and she ignores him and does her best to put aside her fury for the time being. There are bigger things in the world than Miroku and his manipulation, and she plans on getting back at him later.

“When should I expect to be scolded?” he asks.

“When this case is over,” she says, removing her arms from his waist with mild embarrassment. There is still a great deal of betrayal and hurt and wrath stirring inside of her, coiled and ready to unleash, but she is an orphan, too, and it’s difficult not to understand someone who carries a similar pain to yours.

She will scream obscenities at him another day. The thought of a future between them where she can yell at him freely brings a light blush to her cheeks, and Sango takes another drink of her latte; anything to avoid seeing his shock shift to mischief.

“Have you wanted to hug me for that long, Detective Taijiri?”

I regret so much, she thinks dryly. She takes another long gulp and ignores his teasing and that wretched, smug smile of his.

“You can have another, if you’d like.”

“Stop it,” she deadpans, suddenly fascinated by the wall of her office.

“Come now, Sango, was I not comfortable enough? I apologize, I was only taken aback by your boldness.”

“Get out of my office.”

“Would you like to hold my hand next, or—,”

“Rin, call the police! There is an intruder in the building! A pervert, a sexual offender, a stalker!”

“Sorry, Detective, I don’t think they’ll believe us after that phone theft incident!”

“You reported me even after I returned your phone?!”

And so, the office is full of merriment for at least another ten minutes, until Sango leans in and whispers into Miroku’s ear, “You got four points, so I get four punches.”

It’s amusing, seeing the horror enter his eyes. “What?” he whispers back.

“Four punches,” she threatens, a darkness coming across her face as her true anger reveals itself.

Shit, she’s scary. Miroku gulps. “So… I’ll get you another coffee now,” he stammers, already halfway out the door.

…

For the next hour, Sango waits for the phone call. She taps her nails against her desk, pulls at her hair, replays Miroku’s look of terror in her head about a thousand times, doodles, and considers writing a novel until finally, the phone rings.

“You’re late,” she begins.

He ignores her slight reprimand. “I received a letter.”

And suddenly, it doesn’t matter that he’s over fifteen minutes over the hour timeframe. “What?” she asks sharply.

“A ransom. $1,000.”

She sucks in a short breath and racks her brain for anything she knows about kidnappings. Unsurprisingly, it isn’t a lot. “And?”

“And I’ve already found out where they’re located and I’m heading there now.”

“Governor Takashi, I don’t know if—,”

“Sango, this is my wife. I’m going to bring her home. And I’m going to kill those men myself,” he practically growls in her ear.

“I don’t know if you should go alone,” Sango finishes.

It’s as if her words are a balm to his temper, and when he responds, his voice is almost peaceful. “I won’t be alone.” She can almost hear the smile in his voice when he adds, “She’ll be there, too.”

…

Epilogue

After the longest week of her life, Sango drops off the face of the Earth.

Rin calls Miroku, wondering if he’s seen her. He hasn’t.

Miroku calls Rin five minutes later with a long list of people she should call to ask after Sango.

She goes down the list only to find that not a single soul has seen Sango. When Sango returns, her secretary is a nervous wreck, and for the first and last time, Sango sees Rin cry. After that, they resume their usual professional relationship, in which each feel somewhat uncomfortable with anything too personal. Eventually, after Sango retires from her job as a detective, the two lose touch, and that is alright.

When Sango tells Miroku that she was on a trip with Kohaku, he sighs with relief. He then (unsuccessfully) pretends he wasn’t worried at all. He receives his first punch then, and it shuts him up for at least thirty seconds before he tells her that he was extremely worried and that he’s moving into her home.

He doesn’t; it’s much too soon for that. Besides, Sango reminds him, they’re not even dating yet. It’s inappropriate for him to live with her when they’re not romantically involved.

Without missing a beat, Miroku tells her they need to change that at once. He leans in for the kiss but Sango punches him again. She says she won’t go on a date with a man who used her so shamelessly just to get ahead in his career. The next day, he shows up at her office and refuses to leave until she will agree to watch the new Star Wars movie with him.

And thus begins their relationship.

Governor Takashi and Izayoi are happily reunited. They have a large dinner with their family once every two months. Inuyasha comes begrudgingly. Sesshomaru eats in silence. Inukimi Takashi doesn’t change her last name even after she remarries. Sango and Kohaku are also invited, but they only go after Inukimi Takashi is named the next governor to celebrate.

After seven months, Miroku proposes to Sango, proclaiming that this is the longest he has ever been with a woman. Sango turns him down.

To prove he is responsible enough to take care of her and Kohaku, Miroku buys a kitty. He names her Kirara and promises Sango that Kirara is hers to raise if she would just marry him.

That’s how he gets his third punch.

She is given ownership of Kirara anyways. While buying cat food for her new companion, Sango meets a girl named Kagome, who is also shopping for her cat. The two become fast friends, and after a few years, Sango finally admits that the only reason she pursued a friendship with Kagome was to get more information about raising Kirara. Kagome laughs it off and says she doesn’t mind.

After nineteen months, Miroku proposes again. He emphasizes the fact that it’s taken an entire year to recover from her last rejection, and that he doesn’t know if he will be able to recover again. Sango rolls her wet eyes and accepts. He pretends that he knew she would say yes all along, but in private, he whispers all of his relief and thankfulness to her in the middle of the night.

Their wedding is simple and sweet. It’s where Inuyasha and Kagome meet, and for years after, Miroku will hold that fact over Inuyasha’s head whenever the two bicker. I’m the reason you met the love of your life, so you do what I say, because you owe me for life.

It doesn’t usually work.

Kirara is given to Kohaku, who becomes a detective just like his older sister. Sango steps down from her job and focuses her attentions to her twin girls and to her husband’s goal, as well. By the time Naraku Incorporated is exposed and shut down, their fourth child is two years old and there is another baby on the way — but they can say they did it together, and that night, as the two celebrate in the dark of midnight, Sango can’t stop telling him how proud of him she is.

One day, when they are old and their sixth child is napping in second period of high school, Miroku asks her about her fourth punch. Sango smiles and recites 1 Corinthians 13:4-7. He smiles and tells her that’s beautiful, and when he leans in for the kiss, she punches him.

“Promise me that we’ll die together.”

It’s been a long day.

And that was the last thing I wanted to think about it, but there it was- sitting heavily on my mind like the dozens of other things that liked to tear into my heart.

Funny how when I was younger, all the girls would flock to me with their ribbons and dresses and after I’d bed them and strip them of their decencies, they’d ask me for other things, less likely scenarios- promise me we’ll stay together forever.

It would be one of those phrases that was routinely tossed at me and I’d follow them up with a wordless reply, or when pressed enough to answer- a silencing kiss.

Because there was no such thing as forever, and even more importantly if I had to choose, none of those girls would have even been an option.

It wouldn’t be until much later, on an open battlefield, wearing a tattered patch of armor and a dented helmet, that I would meet the one (the choice), and she hadn’t even known my name yet.

She passed by me like a hurricane, her path breaking to pieces with every wide stride she took to reach whatever destination was unlucky enough to fall under her nose.

“Sango! Wait!” I looked behind me to find the owner of that voice which called to the fallen angel, and I was met with a pair of amber eyes the turned to lock on the brunette in front of us, “Damnit! Sango, you don’t even have your weapon.”

“Don’t need it.” Her voice was music and spring and God.

“What the hell do you think you’re gonna do? Walk in there and kill those sonsofbitches with your broken fists alone?”

“It’s sprained!-not broken. And yes.”

The golden-eyed stranger pointed to the lame pistol trembling in my hands and gestured back to her, “At least take this one- he’s lookin like he’s gonna die out here anyway.”

I hugged it tight to my body and probably looked pointedly offended, “I haven’t died just yet.”

He scoffed and walked ahead of me, trailing the brown-headed owner of my heart, “Sango, would ya please just get back here, the general is going to be pissed if he loses his star recruit,” he lifted a hand dramatically to his chest, “- and you- on the same day!”

“I don’t care about the general!” She responded with fire and ice, “Those bastards fucked with my favorite unit, they ambushed them like the damn slimy yellow-bellied piles of shit they are, and I’m going to make sure they meet a death to match.”

 Lieutenant?…she was- “You’re the lieutenant?”

Her focus was on me then, and I think the cold open bluntness of her stare may have shaven off a few years of my life- but let me assure you, it was well worth it. 

“What of it, pretty boy?”

“Well- I…” I glanced towards her empty hands and then beyond the horizon where a plume of smoke began to mushroom into the sky, “I need help getting back to camp and you’re under obligation to help me get there.”

“I’m under what?”

“He’s right,” the stranger nodded and flashed me a relieved look, his voice taken on a sudden clinical tone. “You’re Lieutenant, you can’t leave your men on the battlefield like this. He still has all his limbs.”

“I’m not his lieutenant! My unit was just scorched to the bone!”

“If you’re a Lieutenant of this army, you’re my Lieutenant.” I said confidently, and after a second I felt a smirk curve onto my lips despite the surrounding chaos, “I’m your man.” I think I sounded suave; I hope I sounded suave.

Though, something about the way she glared daggers into my soul all the way to camp and all throughout the night into the next morning-had told me differently.

-

It is almost easier to have hope in the darkness, when the darkness feels like it’s all you know. It is almost easier to believe that all can be well again when you lie at your wife’s side, an arm wrapped around the softest part of her, protectively, desperately. It is almost easier to remember your name when you are moaning hers, the cloak of night as thick and as present as the release of tension and yearning and pleasure.

It is the light that confuses him, because in the light, all of his fears have come true. The sun shined on as his father was devoured, and the sun shined on as he prayed for a future that was his own and not Naraku’s. It is the day that makes him feel hidden, that makes him feel helpless against the universe.

He doesn’t know when this happened — when black became more comfortable than white, when darkness gave him hope and light made him tired. All he knows is that in the sun, he feels torn between the distractions of domestic life, and the horror of all that he has left behind.

It is easier to confess your heart when the sun has gone down because he does not feel watched, because he feels like all there is in the world is this: him and his wife, lying side by side, awake for far of the nightmares to come and silent, the warmth of each other the only anchor they have to this life they try to live.

“Sango,” he whispers, “are you awake?”

“Yes.” Her voice is a soft blanket that sounds much stronger than she truly feels. He knows, because he knows her, and he knows, because he is the same way.

“May I tell you something?”

He loves her for not turning to meet his eyes. He loves her for the curve of her bottom resting warmly against him, and he loves her for nodding without looking back because she knows he has never been able to keep his eyes off of her for one second.

“I am still plagued by a curse that has moved from my palm to my heart.”

He loves her for turning around at that moment, because there is no greater safety than looking into the gaze of the woman you love. Her eyes are awake and warm, so warm that he can feel toasty in the cold of a fall night. She places a hand on his chest and he sighs.

“What do you mean, Miroku?” she asks.

“I still lived as a cursed man,” he admits as he looks away from her and to the skies that lay beyond the roof of their home. “There is too much behind me to live as if I am free. I am still chained by the way I used to live, even after I’ve achieved my ultimate goal.” He raises the previously cursed palm to his face and stares into the uncovered skin, the absence of an enormous hole.

Without warning, his fingers clench over the skin and harden into a fist, and he closes his eyes with regret. “At times, I feel there is nothing left to live for.”

His eyes open when a warmth overtakes his fingers and jerks them to a pair of lips, supple and rough. He watches as she presses his palm to her mouth, hard and firm. He can feel her teeth through her skin and he knows this is not a kiss, this is her silencing a scream that still tears at the sides of her throat.

She turns his hand over and the fingers that are not clasping his run over what used to be, the hole that once was and no longer is. She is so gentle, and it leaves him aching.

“Shouldn’t the absence of an absence make me feel whole?” he wonders aloud. “A hole. A void. A tunnel of nothing. How can it be that I mourn the absence of nothing?”

“You turned a curse into a weapon. It is far from nothing.” His hand is released, and his wife rests a cheek against his shoulder. The two rest in silence, tired and not quite sleepy. Their thoughts are heavy; they always are.

“I love you, Sango,” he finally says, a confession that spills from his mouth like stones to be hurled at his shaking figure. Even now, attachment feels like a weakness, a string to be pulled and plucked and snipped by a man who has ruined their lives many, many times.

“I love you, good monk,” she finally whispers, her heart hammering as hard as it always does on nights like these: when they speak aloud of their fears and their hopes. For words make emotions real, and sentences weave together all the ways that everything can be ruined.

He props himself up to hover above her body, and in the darkness, they look upon each other. She is the woman that he loves, and he is the man that she chose to let in. They have made a life for themselves, and they are trying to move on.

But it is harder, on some nights, to forget the gory details and the sinister purple that clouds every memory they have together.

“Let me show you how I love you,” he murmurs, his lips suddenly at her throat, and her moan is the only response she is capable of giving.

It was raining demons, but that wasn’t anything particularly new.  Miroku tossed a handful of ofudas out in the direction of the demons, two stuck, and he managed to defeat them with a couple quick swipes of his Shakujo.  Beside him, Sango was using the Hiraikotsu at a short range to overpower as many of their opponents as she could, and Kirara was ripping demons apart alongside her mistress.  InuYasha and Kagome had gone on ahead to another danger that demanded their attention when the pair had been swarmed, and had immediately been forced to jump into action.  None of the demons seemed particularly high powered, nor did any of them seem particularly bright, but it would have been more convenient if he could have used the wind tunnel.

Miroku tugged at the rosary beads wrapped around his right hand anxiously; he wasn’t sure how many uses the wind tunnel had left, the scars from sucking in too much poison were already inching precariously close to his heart, and though he could no longer feel pain when he used it, he knew that his time was coming close to its end.

He turned around for an entirety of six seconds to whack another demon on the head with his staff, and when he turned back, Sango was gone.

Miroku was used to keeping a level head, particularly in fights, for if he didn’t have a level head, then what advantage did he have?  But something inside of him snapped.  They had come too far, Sango had been through too much to be picked off by a group of low level demons.

Miroku panicked.

“Sango?! Sango!!”

Kirara was exactly where she had been the last time Miroku looked, and the nekomata roared, charging into the crowd of demons with double the fervor.

Now he really had no chance at the wind tunnel, if he wasn’t sure where Sango had gone, he couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t suck her in alongside the demons, and that was not a gamble he was willing to make.

Kirara swooped up, high above the shower of demons, evidently circling for Sango, who was nowhere to be seen.  Shaking her head at Miroku, the nekomata swooped back down, allowing Miroku to clamber onto her back.

Without Sango, it felt all wrong.

A short while later, after the shower of demons had stopped; Miroku and Kirara were left alone, staring at each other.  Miroku was at a complete loss, his mind whirring to try to process what had just happened, and where he could even start to begin looking for his companion.

Then, just as suddenly as she had disappeared, Sango reappeared, “Houshi-sama!”

“Sango!”  Before Miroku could think, he ran to her and wrapped his arms around her, relieved beyond belief.  “What happened?”

A growl behind him interrupted, and Miroku dropped his arms to whip around, just in time to see another hoard of demons begin to descend upon them.  It took him a moment to realize something was amiss, but when he did, his eyebrows furrowed together with his concern.

“Sango, where is the Hiraikotsu?”

“I must have – dropped it somewhere.”  She didn’t entirely sound like herself, and his heart wrenched.

“Stand back.” His left hand moved to once again tug at the rosary beads, his mind made up about using them if it meant keeping her safe.

“You must, Houshi-sama!  You must use the wind tunnel.”

That stopped him entirely, and even Kirara took her eyes off the demon swarm to look at Sango, who was staring back at them both innocently.  Sango would never instruct him to use the wind tunnel…

“What’s the matter Houshi-sama?”

At that moment, Kirara started snarling and growling, her gaze focused on Sango, and Miroku was doing his best to keep his focus on the demon swarm, but it was proving to be increasingly difficult.  His first course of action needed to be making sure Sango was safe, but what was the most prudent course of action?  Take care of the demon hoard?  Attempt to make sure she wasn’t being possessed somehow?  An unknown option three?

For some reason, the hoard stopped short of raining down on the trio, and Miroku licked his lips, grip tightening around his rosary beads, gaze snapping back and forth from Sango to the demons.

Clearly, he was in a little bit of a tight spot.

Sango groaned, coming to incredibly confused, her head pounding in such a way it felt like it may have split into two.  She moved up a hand to rub at the sore spot, and she came away with her hand covered in blood.  That wasn’t good.

Sitting up, she breathed deeply through her mouth, and tried to assess the situation.  What was the last thing she could remember?

She had been fighting a swarm of demons with Miroku.

Where was she now? What were the immediate dangers?  Where was Miroku?

No immediate dangers and she seemed to be in the forest.  Miroku was - nowhere to be found.  Her Hiraikotsu had been discarded beside her, and she pushed the pain aside, tucking it away into a small box to be opened and dealt with later.  It wasn’t a deep gash, merely a bump on the head; the headache hurt more than anything else.  Something was clearly amiss, Miroku was nowhere to be seen, and she needed to jump into action.  So, she wiped the blood off her head, and grabbed her weapon.

She had to find her way back to Miroku.

“Houshi-sama!” Sango came running out from the trees into the clearing, Hiraikotsu perched firmly on her back, and Miroku’s normal poker face gave a hint of his confusion.  

“Sango?”

She came to an immediate halt, a horrified look overtaking her features as her gaze shifted quickly back and forth between Miroku and the mirrored version of herself. In that moment, Miroku knew the Sango who had urged him to use the wind tunnel was not the real Sango, but he wasn’t 100% sure that the new Sango was the real Sango either.  The demon hoard were still halted in their brigade, their sinister aura almost smothering, but waiting for something unknown to make their move.

“Houshi-sama!” The second Sango called over to him, “That’s an onryō!  They’re a vengeful, shape shifting spirit come back to the Earth to try to seek vengeance for the crimes committed against them in their death.”

The Sango closest to him gave him a particularly nasty smile, a smile he had never seen her give, and never wanted to see her give again, as she took a step forward.  “I believe there’s only one imposter here, Houshi-sama, and that imposter certainly isn’t me.”

Miroku knew what he had to do.  As calmly and nonchalantly as possible, he slid his left hand under his robes, attempting to keep the focus off what he was doing, and on the demon.

“How am I to know that you’re the real Sango?”  He turned his attention to the second Sango, the one furthest from him, widening his eyes slightly, hoping she would pick up on his plan.

She didn’t.

Sango’s eyes widened in hurt, “Houshi-sama…”

The Sango closest to him made a noise of what could best be described as malicious amusement, and Miroku took the distraction to fling one of his ofudas at her, hitting her square in the forehead.

The imitation Sango shrieked, backing up a few steps before bursting into flame.

Sango was at his side in an instant, ready to help him face of the demon hoard, but they had disappeared, as well.

“Do you believe that the spirit is actually gone?”  She asked him, and Miroku nodded.

“I believe that took care of it.  I’ll send the spirit off with a prayer, in the hopes that it can find peace in the afterlife.”

“Where did the other demons go?”  Sango looked just as puzzled as Miroku felt, and he shrugged up a shoulder.

“I believe they’re gone along with the demon, but we’ll have to be on our guard.”

Sango nodded and blew out a breath, moving to Kirara to give her a hug. Kirara whined, nudging Sango with the side of her head.

“It kept urging me to use the wind tunnel – I wonder if the spirit had any connection to Naraku, or if it was operating on its own.”  Miroku wondered aloud, dropping to the ground to compose himself and slow his racing heart.

“That seems like something Naraku would do, sic a vengeful spirit on us to keep us distracted, especially if it knew about the wind tunnel.  I hope InuYasha and Kagome are okay.”  Sango hesitated a moment, then moved to sit down beside Miroku.  “It may have been operating on its own, though, wanting to attempt to drag you into Hell for its own vengeance.”  She paused for a moment, and then tacked on, “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“I’m sorry that you doubted me, Sango.”

She was quiet for a long moment.  “I apologize too.”  Sango paused once more, wringing her hands together.  “How did you know it was me?  Weren’t you afraid I might have been a demon too?  We were surrounded by them.”

He had a few reasons; her knowledge of demons, and the look she gave him when she thought he had betrayed her, but he settled on, “You had the Hiraikotsu.”  Then he couldn’t help but tease, “Would you like me to take more precautionary measures?  I believe I have a spare ofuda.”

“If you feel like that is necessary.”

He didn’t.

Miroku knew that they should have been on their feet, on their way to find their companions, but he cherished moments alone with Sango such as these.  With Naraku holding most of the Shikon jewel, they were busy fighting demons more often than not, and he wanted to take a moment to be selfish.  So he wrapped his arm around Sango, and she leaned into him.

Sango let him hold her for a few moments before sighing.  “We should probably get a move on.”

“We probably should.”

Neither of them made an attempt to move.

“And you are certain that your daughter will be the next target?” Miroku asked.

The lord seated across from him nodded solemnly. “The assassin has struck all of the major families in this area this year. All of the children of the great clans are now dead, save for my daughter.” He paused, grappling with the horrifying possibility that hung over his head. “She is my only heir.”

Miroku remained calm. “And you are certain that this is the night when the killer will strike?”

Another nod. “It fits the pattern. The assassin always attacks on the night of the full moon.”

“I am only a humble monk,” Miroku said, “but I will do everything in my power to protect your daughter.”

The man’s expression was sincere when he said, “Thank you.”

Miroku inclined his head slightly. “There are a few things I will require of you in return for my services.”

“Of course.” He didn’t even hesitate. This man was indeed desperate. “Anything that you ask will be yours, provided my daughter is alive and well in the morning.”

“Of course,” Miroku agreed. An unpleasant sensation tingled at the edge of his senses. Nerves? Or…

He shrugged it off. “I will begin my preparations as soon as we are done here. Before the sun sets, I will place protective wards around your daughter’s chamber and remain there with her until dawn. Once I have sealed the room, no one must enter until morning, no matter what you see or hear. Do you understand?”

Every head in the room gave a curt nod of understanding, for it was not just the noble lord in attendance, but all of the most important men of his court and a great many of his personal guards.

Satisfied, Miroku began the negotiation of payment.

~

It was much later than he would have liked before Miroku made his way into the chamber where the young woman, the assassin’s target, awaited. Clad in layers of fine, gorgeous silk, the woman was a vision of beauty even with a veil covering her hair and face.

She quietly dismissed her handmaids when he arrived and sat quietly watching as he placed protective sutras around each of the room’s several points of entry.

“There is no need to worry,” he assured her. “You will be safe in my care.”

“Thank you, Houshi-sama.”

He turned to smile reassuringly at her. Their eyes met, and even through the thin fabric of her veil her gaze was enough to send heat coursing through him. This woman was indeed beautiful. In other circumstances, he would have considered himself fortunate to be alone with her. But tonight he had work to do.

When he was satisfied with the placement of his sutras, Miroku seated himself near the door that led to the garden. If an assassin were to strike, it seemed likely that this would be his preferred mode of entry, rather than creeping through the rest of the castle to enter by the main door.

The young woman stayed where she was, waiting patiently with him as the day slowly edged into evening. The room grew dark around them, but Miroku made no move to light any of the lamps. Tension swelled to fill the room as surely as any light.

“You truly think you can protect me from this?” she asked at last.

“The timing suggests to me that your assassin may not be human,” he told her. If she was afraid, she did an admirable job of hiding it. Even so, there was a part of him that wanted to go to her and comfort her. “If I am correct, then I should indeed be able to protect you.”

He thought he caught a glimpse of a lovely smile beneath that demure veil, and wished she would uncover her face. He had no more time for wishes, however, for the assassin chose that moment to strike.

As he had predicted, the killer entered by the garden door and did not notice the monk sitting just to the side. The sutras ought to have prevented him from entering, but Miroku could sense an unsettling aura emanating from the figure, which otherwise appeared human.

The man wore formfitting clothing and carried a sword at his waist. There could be no mistaking his intent. The noblewoman shrank back slightly, but refused to cower before the man who would kill her.

Miroku was on his feet in an instant, the jangling of his shakujou giving him away. The assassin whirled, drawing his sword in a powerful slash, but Miroku had expected this and brought his staff forward to block. Undeterred, his opponent whirled forward, turning a full circle, aiming a powerful jab at Miroku’s face with one elbow.

The monk staggered backward, barely avoiding the blow. He slammed into the wooden support beam behind him, his vision swimming as his head cracked against sudden and unexpected barrier of solid wood. He groaned and slumped, horrified at the knowledge that there was now nothing standing between the assassin and his victim.

As if Miroku did not even exist, the assassin turned and strode toward the noblewoman. He seized her by the arm and forced her to her feet; her lovely veil was dislodged in the process as she struggled against the man’s grip, the filmy fabric drifting to the floor like a fall of snow. Miroku watched all of this, feeling ill at his inability to intervene. He blinked to clear his vision and forced himself to his feet in time to see the assassin’s expression turn to one of confusion as he brought up his blade to cut the young woman’s throat.

He’d heard the soft metallic sound. Half a heartbeat later a hidden blade tore through the layers of fine silk that covered Sango’s arm, and with this curved blade she expertly deflected the assassin’s blade, using his shock to her utmost advantage. She followed through on this motion by thrusting outward with her arm, leaving a long, but shallow gash along the man’s chest.

He released her immediately, his face screwing up with fury. She leaped backward, away from him, only mildly hampered by the long layers of silk that surrounded her.

He didn’t realize that Miroku had recovered himself, and did not at all expect the sealing sutra that suddenly adhered to his back. He screamed in a voice that sounded like several voices at once. Flames like foxfire sprang up around him as he fought to dislodge the sutra from his back. His human shape wavered, altered, becoming something far more unusual. Something far more reminiscent of an ogre than a man.

“Where is the girl?” the creature howled.

Sango gave a grim smile. “She is safe.”

“And all of that, earlier –”

Sango’s smile only grew wider, and grimmer. “An act. We switched places a week ago.”

“And the monk?”

“My husband.”

“Husband?” The creature’s fury was palpable, but the sutra’s power held it immobile.

Satisfied with the effectiveness of his sutra, the only one with true power that he had used all night, Miroku joined his wife in front of the youkai assassin. “I don’t think you’ll be killing anyone else,” the monk observed idly.

The assassin gave a cruel laugh. “Maybe not, but that doesn’t matter.”

“Who sent you?” Sango asked.

“You won’t find out from me,” the creature taunted, “but I will tell you one thing: he’ll send another. It won’t matter a bit that you’ve stopped me today. The girl will still die.”

Miroku glanced to Sango. “Think we’ll get anything useful out of this one?”

She shook her head. “He’s just trying to waste our time.”

The youkai said not another word, even as Miroku applied the sutra that would purify the creature into oblivion. When all that stood before them was a pile of ash, Miroku turned to his wife and asked, “What do you think?”

“Other than the obvious?” she replied, fussing with the torn silk sleeve of her borrowed attire. It had been her idea to trade places with the noblewoman in the first place, but it bothered her that the ploy had necessitated the destruction of such lovely and expensive clothing. “We defeated the assassin, but he gave us nothing. We still have no idea who sent him or why they want so badly to create instability in this region.”

Miroku nodded, feeling much the same way. They had won the battle, but there were too many questions left unanswered.

This mission had been unusual, but was also of unusual concern. This area was too close to home for comfort; any unrest here could easily boil over into the surrounding areas, bringing the threat of violence to their home village. And with the most powerful families deprived of the intergenerational stability promised by their heirs, it seemed only too likely that the situation would grow violent in the near future.

It was the timing that had made Sango suspicious, and which ultimately spurred her into offering her services and those of her husband. It did not seem to appease her at all to be proved right, and Miroku could see why. All tonight’s incident told them was that their enemy was capable of bending youkai to his will.

They still knew far too little about the plot underfoot. And while assisting tonight had saved a young woman’s life, it had also potentially put them in harm’s way until the perpetrator could be rooted out. But that, Miroku hoped, was a concern for another day.

“We should let the lord know that his daughter is safe for now,” he decided, feeling suddenly very tired. First Naraku, now this. It was beginning to feel like their struggles would never end.

“Why does this not feel at all like a victory?” Sango murmured.

Sango was troubled, and nothing wrenched at Miroku’s heart more than realizing the pain she was in, and not being able to do much of anything to help to ease that pain.  He knew she worried for him, worried for her brother, worried for their traveling companions, and it was all too much worry for one person to take the brunt of themselves.

Kagome had left the night prior to go back to her own time and take one of her tests, and InuYasha had waited his usual amount of time before following her, leaving Miroku alone with Shippo and the woman he had promised to marry.  The timing might not have been the best, if the amount of shards Naraku had in his possession was any indicator, but if anyone could pick an opportunity out of any situation, it was Miroku.  He had decided to take their down time to at least attempt to ease some of Sango’s worry.  She was the strongest woman he knew, but the last thing he wanted was for her to buckle under the weight of her concern.

Miroku had found her sitting alone, and extended the invitation for her to join him in a meditation.  There was no better way to clear the mind, to become focused, and rejuvenated.  She had flushed lightly, but to his slight surprise, had accepted, and so the pair found themselves sitting on the ground, across from each other, surrounded by nothing but the tranquility of the forest.

He settled in, legs crossed, fists on the sides of either knee, shoulders rolled and back straight.  Sango fiddled until she seemed comfortable enough, settling in on her knees across from him, and she mirrored what he had done with his hands, placing them on her own knees.

There were many different things he could have told her about meditation, from rightful mindfulness in body, feelings and mind; to rightful concentration with serenity and insight, but instead he instructed, “Try to clear your mind.  Any thoughts that may come to you, try to wave them away.  Just focus on your breathing.”

Sango nodded, and Miroku closed his eyes, focusing on his own breathing for a few breaths, before he started to feel the slightly uncomfortable feeling of eyes burning into his head.  He opened one eye, and sure enough, Sango was staring at him.  She immediately flushed at being caught, and it was all he could do not to smile.

“Perhaps it would be best if you were to close your eyes as well.  To fully focus and turn off your mind.”

She looked as if she had something to say, but then she merely nodded, and let her eyes flutter shut.  “Right.”

“Let your mind relax.”  Miroku instructed again, calmly, gently, and Sango sighed.

Then she sighed again.

And again.

Miroku fought a smile, his normally steely concentration broken for the second time, but chose to remain silent.

Sango sighed once more, and then he heard her fidgeting.  Even without opening his eyes, he could tell that she was wringing her hands together, and shifting from side to side, her kimono rustling against the grass.

This continued on for a few moments, and then she fell silent again, and Miroku took the chance to open his eyes to see if she had settled in.  Her lips were slightly parted, her cheeks still faintly flushed, chest rising and falling steadily, though her eyebrows were knit together in a half frown, and it looked like she was putting all her efforts into concentration.

She was beautiful.

And wholly distracting.

Still, the entire point of the exercise was meant to be about her, and he didn’t want to cut it short if she was actually benefitting from it.

Sango cleared her throat, and Miroku snapped his eyes shut lest he be chewed out for having less than honorable intentions.  He could hear her beginning to fidget once more, and she sighed again.

“Houshi-sama?”

It took a good portion of his will power to keep the mirth out of his voice.  “Yes, Sango?”

“I don’t think this is accomplishing anything.”

“Yes, I believe you are right.”

Miroku opened his eyes once more, standing up and offering out a hand to Sango.

“Perhaps we should attempt a different method of relaxation.”

Sango narrowed her eyes slightly, almost as if trying to decide whether or not she was going to ignore the innuendo, then she blinked.  “Perhaps we should.  I know exactly what will help, but I’ll need the Hiraikotsu.  Excuse me for a moment.”

He remembered his first impression of her well. She was surreal. At times he had trouble accepting her authenticity. Not that she was untrustworthy - though the group’s initial encounters with her would suggest otherwise. No. His discomfort rose from the very idea of who she was.

She seemed to him a tale spun from ancient legend. She was clever and just. The only thing greater than her might was her beauty. She claimed to be a demon slayer by trade, though he would not be surprised in the slightest if she revealed herself to be a masquerading deity of war. 

No one could be so perfect.

His touch attempted to expose what his eyes could not believe. It proved equally as inconclusive. Her form felt like electricity on his fingertips. Then her swift and forceful retribution would knock that sensation out of his nerves, leaving him to wonder whether they had actually made contact. The harder he tried to believe the further from reach she became. She was more mirage than human. He’d begun to accept that it was better to enjoy her phantom image, rather than reach for it endlessly.

He remembered the very instance that impression changed.

“What are you thinking about?” 

She disrupted his musings, curious of the faint smile that had crept across his lips.   

“Do you recall when you tripped over a rivulet?” 

He watched the color drain from her face, then flare back with cherry red embarrassment. 

“You remember that?” she groaned.

He laughed pleasantly at his wife and enveloped her in his arms, “It was very out of character.” 

“It was covered in tall grass,” she defended against his robes.

“We heard a yelp and suddenly you’d disappeared.” 

“The rocks were slippery.”

“I walked over to find you sitting in that mossy stream with the most endearingly miserable look on your face.”

“Why are you even bringing this up?” she huffed in frustration, pulling back just enough to narrow her eyes at him. 

He wanted to tell her. How back then he’d reached down to help her, and when she accepted he felt her hand and came to the understanding that it was made of flesh and bone like his. How as he pulled her up her body lurched forward and collided with his, and he knew for certain that she was not an apparition. How despite the close proximity between them she hesitated to move, and he realized she was just as human as he – and deserving of the same measure of support and protection.  

He wanted to tell her, but didn’t. Instead he kissed her forehead and allowed her to resume her training. Back inside he went, his eyes falling over their three-week-old son as he slept.  He answered because she asked, though the memory was genuinely for his own sake. With an enemy threat looming over their heads, she’d given herself the bare minimum amount of time to recover. She met the demands of their three children and worked herself to the bone training without complaint. Again, she felt to him more than human.

He worried for her health. She’d had her moment of weakness, of embarrassment, and was now trying to help herself up. She thought he hadn’t noticed how she rejected his hand this time. It was upsetting, yes, but he knew who she was. He could accept this intangible deity back into his life for now, as long as she promised to let him sweep her back on her feet when she needed it.

-

“Aha! And what could be behind this lovely ear?”

Miroku lavished in the chorus of giggling that followed his magician banter and revealed a shiny nickel between his gloved thumb and index finger.

“A whole nickel!” He announced with a grin, bending forward for the applause that followed. “Now, that’s one lucky ear you have there ma’am.” And one lucky wallet if I don’t say so myself, he thought off-handily while he picked it from her pocket. She, being none the wiser- blushed furiously while Miroku took her hand gently and planted a kiss on the back of her palm.

He smiled handsomely and then glanced warily at the clock tower. He gulped and let a second of petulance appear on his face before covering it with another grin- time to wrap it up.

“Well girls, it’s been a joy, a simple and heavenly joy, but I must be going now.” Before you realize you’re broke.

“Not so fast!” A deep man’s voice cut right on time with the chiming of the new hour, followed by angry pounding of running boots.

Miroku winked devilishly behind his glass monocle at the audience and chucked a pebble sized sack to the ground, disappearing into a cloud of purple smoke. The shrill cries of the crowd faded away as he sped on the rooftops with his cape whipping at the wind behind him, taking exceptional pleasure in hearing one voice in particular filter up in a high-pitched bubble: “My wallet!!”

He stepped along a narrow bridge connecting one apartment complex to another and then slid down the emergency escape ladder, finally feeling a safe enough distance from the patrolling police force that hounded him. Poorly.

Ever since Miroku had wandered into this small spit of a town with his cape and top hat, the sheriff and his deputies put as much effort as they could- within the lines of protocol- to catch him in the act and lock him up for violations against the public- such as fraud, robbery, operating without a proper license, and maybe mocking law enforcement more times than necessary. But they could never catch the charlatan, and fell over each other trying, even when they monitored the corners that he often scouted for victims- er…loving admirers. He was always too quick to vanish under a mask of his magician tricks and conniving grin.

He slumped against the brick wall with both hands on the knobs of his knees, panting and out of breath. He was normally remarkably adept at fooling his followers with his cardio alone, but lately the episodes had been happening one after another- these damn cops weren’t handing him a break. And the stress on his joints and heart were catching up with him.

“It might be time to take this show somewhere else.” He sighed.

“Where to?”

Miroku gasped sharply and jumped sideways to face the intruder with a pair of wide-set eyes. How in world did she keep sneaking up on him all the damn time?

He sized over the long black clothed legs that lead to a trim waist and crossed arms over a buttoned over bust. His vision stopped squarely when it reached a bright sparkling badge at her heart.

“I mean it’s not like you haven’t already ransacked all the cities within an 80 mile radius.”

“Ransacked is an awfully harsh term. Make no mistake, I steal hearts- not funds.”

“Oh?” The woman tilted her head with a half-smile, “And that wallet tucked into the right pocket of your suit was originally yours?”

“It was a present,” he confirmed eyeing her warily. “My precious late grandmother gave it to me for my 13th birthday, and she’d be furious with your insinuation.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes none too pleased, “Miroku, hand it over.”

He held out his arms in wise gesture to the alley around them, “Out here in the open? You’re going to loot me for everything I own?” He pursed his lips and gave her a pitiful look, “And you consider yourself a cop…”

“I’m not robbing you,” she snapped and held out her hand in emphasis. “Give me the stolen wallet and I’ll let you go.”

He lifted both fingers in a display of patience. “How about we do a trick first?”

“I’m not in the mood for tricks.”

“Nonsense,” Miroku appeared closer than before, his cheeky grin spreading from ear to ear, “You’re always in the mood for my charms.” His fingers danced along her hip with a target in mind.

She scoffed and before his hand could reach for its intended destination she caught it and bent it expertly behind his back, restraining him with practice and ease. “How many times am I going to have to punish you before you start doing things the easy way?” She reached a free hand into his right pocket and fished out the red leather wallet.

“…define ‘punish’,” Miroku grinned and twitched his eyebrows with emphasis.

Sango looked half-way sickened at his suggestion and brusquely pushed him forward, stashing the wallet for safe-keeping in her own pocket. “Get going, before I’m forced to imprison you.”

“You know, now that you mention it- You are oddly tolerant of me, Sango dear.”

“I never mentioned it.” She deadpanned.

“And I have to ask, why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do we always run into each other?” He began to circle her with a raised eyebrow. “And why do you always let me go?”

Sango flashed out her handcuffs and their stainless steel clanking echoed out into the alleyway, “Well if you wanted to be cuffed, you could have just asked.”

He blanched and skipped onto the nearest escape ladder, his white gloved hands dirtying themselves with the rusted dust of the metal. “I think there are other uses for those handcuffs, but we’ll have to experiment some other time. In the meanwhile…” He snapped his fingers and before Sango could take note of another disappearance act, she felt something itch against her ear. Instinctively she reached out-to find a stem. Pulling it out, she stared at the white rose in her hands and was appalled with the way the back of her neck flushed with a heat that found its way to her cheeks.

-

“So we find each other again!”

“Go away.”

“…Is everything okay?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Just making conversation.”

“I don’t want conversation with you.”

“Well I was only inquiring. You’re not normally this unhappy. Especially when I make an appearance.”

“I’m particularly unhappy when you make an appearance.”

“You’re not in your usual police attire either. I didn’t know you had a life outside your policing job.”

“You don’t know a hundred things about me.”

“True. Given the opportunity though, I’d love to learn. Study you like a book.”

“Disturbing.”

“Fair enough. You want me to leave?”

“…I don’t care.”

“Great, I won’t then.”

“…”

“…”

“…My brother’s pretty sick.”

“Like- cold sick?”

“Like-he’s in a coma and probably won’t be waking up sick.”

“…oh.”

“Mhm.”

“I see.”

“…”

“I can’t offer you much, but I can sit here in silence if that’s what you need…”

“That would be nice.”

“Alright.”

“But don’t grope me.”

“I wasn’t even thinking about it.”

“…”

“Okay I was thinking about it…”

“Then keep the thoughts to yourself.”

“Noted.”

-

“Hello Sango.” He greeted warmly like a friend and she felt her stomach do backflips while her nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Miroku, you’re in over your head with this.”

“Whatever do you mean?” He quipped.

She took a step forward to where he was hidden behind the billboard of a rooftop advertisement.

“You stole the mayor’s daughter’s favorite purse is what.”

“You know, I recognized that condescending nose.”

“Well now the whole city’s recognized you. She’s making a huge deal about it- acting like it was her baby you took. This isn’t a joke Miroku, I’m here to bring you in.”

An uncertain grin crept onto his face, “I’m finally going to see the inside of your bedroom?”

She shook her head, the bob of her pony-tail moving along with it. “You never let up, do you?”

“Never give up, Never give in.”

“Is that- did you just quote the Nike Ad we’re standing behind?”

The sound of sirens blared into the dusk and Miroku reached forward to pull Sango into the shade of the billboard before anyone noticed them.

She felt his caped shoulder brush against her own and trailed her gaze down to where their hands were clasped between them. She looked up to catch him smirking, and quickly undid her hand and shook it like she was trying to rid herself of his germs.

“So you’re really going to do me in?”

“Absolutely.”

“Even after all we’ve been through?” His voice had dropped into a husky indistinguishable tone and she didn’t favor it much.

She swallowed and nodded in denial, “I have a job to do and you keep provoking my boss.”

“I have to live,” he excused looking her square in the eyes, and she never noticed before how vividly his violet eyes matched the covers of her satin bedding.

“You could get a real job.” She whispered, unsure as to why she was doing so.

“But then we wouldn’t keep meeting like this.” His head dipped so close she could smell his peppermint breath, “And that’s no fun.”

Sango lifted a hand to his chest to stop him from trying anything disastrous and her heart pounded, her body responding to the feel of his smooth magician outfit. And the plane of muscle underneath. Her fingers splayed against it and she stared at them in horror.

He cleared his throat and she almost squeaked removing it- one second before caressing him. She hid her face in the arch of her hand in shame. God.

“Does this mean I get to feel your chest?”

Whatever emotion was lodged in her throat dissipated quickly when she turned to strike him with a glare so ferocious, it could have killed a small animal.

He chuckled and the sound of his laughter broke through her defenses, dropping her frown to look at him contemplatively, “What are we doing?”

“Well I don’t know about you,” he sprung up and walked backwards towards the edge of the building, “But I’m off to pawn this Louis Vuitton purse.” He spread his arms out dramatically and fell back vanishing from sight.

-

“Purple.” He said, gesturing to the walls and the sheets and the loveseat by the window. “I love it.”

“Be quiet.” She ripped a strip of gauze from its roll with her bare teeth and skillfully wound it around the clotted bleeding of Miroku’s wound.

He blew out a held in breath as she gently wrapped him up, covering the open flesh quickly. “At least I finally get to see your room.”

“What do you not understand about the concept of silence?”

He sealed his lips and focused on the bend of her neck as she did what she could to help him. When she was finished, she stepped back and pulled off her cop jacket angrily, throwing it towards a neglected chair in the corner- a string of curses falling out of her mouth.

“You did a fabulous job,” he commended, twisting his arm to get a better look at the patchwork. “I feel myself already healing-”

“What the hell were you thinking?” She spat out, cutting him off with a chilling scowl.

“Just now? I was thinking of how lovely you look standing there-”

She growled audibly enough for him to shrink and cut the light banter to give into her trail of conversation.

“…That I had to run away from certain death?” He shrugged.

“You should have stopped when they started shooting at you!” She hissed.

A moment of silence passed between them and Sango finally resorted to sitting complacently on her bedding rather than pulling all the hairs out of her skull. She blew out an irritated sigh and covered her face with her hands in utter frustration.

“What am I doing? I have to deal with a brother in therapy, defending the city, and now you with a target over your head?” She slumped her shoulders in defeat, “I can’t deal with this.”

“Then don’t.”

“It’s not that easy,” she replied. “I can’t just forget about all of this either.”

“Why do you care so much?” His voice was tender and closer than before. When she turned her head she realized he was moving to sit next to her. The mattress shifted with his weight.

“I don’t.” She denied, incapable of looking at him, choosing to concentrate on the flower pattern of her lavender walls. They needed to be painted- no more purple. Tomorrow. Today, she needed to turn in the charlatan magician sitting next to her.

“Miroku, I have to bring you in now. The more time that passes, the less likely I’ll be able to help lessen your sentence. Right now you’re looking at 4 years- maybe 3 with good behavior.”

“Only 3? What a relief.”

“This is serious, you retaliated against the force and the government doesn’t take too kindly to that type of behavior.” She bit her lip and shook her head with an exasperated sigh. “Damnit Miroku.”

“Don’t be so worried, no one is bringing me in.” He placed his uninjured hand on her shoulder softly.

She laughed lightly; it sounded sad. “I have no choice. At this point, it’s either I bring you in, or someone comes in and does my job- lethally.”

“Aren’t you listening to me?” His hand had snuck behind her neck and now he was pulling on a strand of brown tousled hair that hung near her ear, trying to gain her attention. “No one is turning me in.”

“I am. That’s not up for discussion.” She closed her eyes briefly and smiled. When she opened them, his face was closer. So close, that she had to cross her eyes to see his. His breath fanned against her face- peppermint again of course- his lips so near hers. But he did not move, he didn’t take that little step to channel whatever kept them apart.

That bridge was for her to cross.

He watched her, so tantalizingly close, his gaze flickering from her eyes to her lips.

A soft cat’s mewl interrupted her train of thought- or lack thereof- and she poked a hand at his chest, jabbing him backwards with resolve…and realized that her wrists felt heavy with an unfamiliar weight.

With a gasp of horror she glanced down to confirm her fears, her skin registering the cold metal that contained it. He didn’t.

“Like I said.”

She shot her head back up to watch the bastard smoothly press against her window frame, the moonlight filtering over his raven hair and streaking through his thick eyelashes.

“No one is turning me in.” He said smugly as he slipped out into the darkness.

A frustrated scream bubbled at the base of her throat and ripped out of her in a trembling yell, cursing him to the darkest circles of hell while she searched relentlessly for the keys to the cuffs linked over her wrists.

-

After numerous stakeouts and routine patrolling of the popular corner streets-with no sign of the magician- the police force of the city had slowly (and expectedly) forgotten about him and all his tricks.

But Sango who had registered for more time monitoring the metropolitan areas than necessary, could not forget the man with the violet eyes and smooth tongue. There were times when she could have sworn that she saw a figure standing nearby- a dark form in the shadows of the clock tower, smirking.

But she’d blink, and it was gone.

After the third month, on the morning of the sixteenth week, she watched with idle eyes as her cat propped itself up onto her bedding with a curious expression- and decided she was going to get over it.

He had moved his fraudulent show into another city center, flirting with another cop, and she was never going to see him again, and that was that.

“Come on Kirara, let’s get you some breakfast,” she murmured while gently scratching the back of the animal’s fluffy neck. The cat purred in reply.

Her bare feet stickily slapped against the kitchen tile as she made a bee-line towards the top cabinet for the Pretty Kitty canned goods. Kirara leapt elegantly on the counter where her red bowl awaited, mewling hungrily.

But when her owner creaked the small door open, she found fresh spider cobwebs instead.  “Oh no.”

The cat tilted her head excitedly towards the empty opening, and wiggled her cream colored tail in agitation when she came to the same conclusion that her owner had come to.

“We’re out of Pretty Kitty.” Her cat hissed and jumped from the table, turning and walking away sassily with her tail high in the air, mooning Sango with an unpleasant view.

Sango sighed and slowly pushed the cabinet door closed, deciding she should sport some appropriate clothing for the walk to the local market- else her cat will riot and there’s no saying what would happen to her couch.

After she had pulled on a pair of sweat pants and a mismatching jacket, she announced her departure- which would normally incite the sweet mewl of her animal companion, but she merely regarded her with the cold silence that only could cats could fully embody.

“Drama queen,” she huffed right before walking out.

-

Focused on the last Pretty Kitty can on the shelf, Sango sped up trying to reach it before anyone else; halfway there, she accidentally half-crashed into someone else, bumping shoulders hard enough to strike pain. Immediately she turned to offer a quick apology…which died on her tongue in favor of, “You!”

Miroku jumped backwards when he realized exactly who he had collided into. A warm smile fit comfortably on his face before his hand rose awkwardly to wave at her. “Sango! Funny meeting you here…”

“What are you doing here?” Sango asked, more incredulous than angry. She hadn’t seen him such a long time, and at the market of all places. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t flippantly imagined (dreamed endlessly) their next meeting- but it was always behind billboards or alleyways. Not a brightly illuminated aisle at her neighboring grocery store, in front of the litter boxes.

“I…work here,” he said slowly. He even pointed at the nametag over his heart with the store brand’s mascot of a fox grinning ecstatically beside it. They looked at each other for a minute, a pregnant silence stretching between them with the occasional background noise of scuffling shoes passing by.

Finally a delirious laugh fell out of her mouth, “You got a job? Here? When?”

He rubbed the back of his head, wishing he was prepared for this conversation and his mind racing with the million things he wanted to say to her, “Just last week.”

“Where the hell have you been?” She asked quietly, then shook her head as if she wanted to erase the question all together and threw her hands up in the air exasperated with him already. “Forget it. Forget I asked, I don’t care- I’m over you- ah it.” I’m over it, I’m over it, I’m over it.

 “Over me?” He arched an eyebrow and felt himself getting comfortable with her all over again, “I never even had you under me!”

She heard an angry noise throb through her, stifled behind her teeth, “And you never will!”

“Still pessimistic I see.”

“Still capable of locking you up too.”

He sucked a sharp breath of air into his lungs and stuffed his hands into his pockets, playing with the notion of walking away and trying this all over another time- preferably when she was less shocked and more warmed to the idea of him. He had stayed in the city for her after all, even waiting patiently for the police to drop their efforts in seeking him. He couldn’t let this end here- especially when he was so close!

Miroku was caught inside his head when her brown pony-tail whipped by him, determined to ignore his very existence.

He was within enough distance to catch her elbow and she stilled quietly- waiting.

“Sango, I’m sorry.”

She stared angrily at the empty aisle in front of her, wondering if she had enough change to pay with cash rather than debit.

“I shouldn’t have just left, no less leaving you tied up with those cuffs.”

She closed her eyes in annoyance at the reminder of their last meeting, “It took me all night to find those damn keys! God I had almost forgotten about that…”

He gulped and pulled at his collar, releasing her elbow now that he felt certain she wouldn’t flee. Maybe not the best idea to bring that up…

“To be fair,” he started with a thoughtful look, “You were going to tie me up in those cuffs before I even planned to do that.”

Rolling her eyes, she pivoted on her heel with a lecturing finger in the air, “I wasn’t the one going around stealing people’s belongings with magic tricks.”

He waved his arms in front of her, “Shh!- I don’t think my boss would take all too kindly to that, and I’m not trying to lose this job.” He winked at her coquettishly, “After all, I want to save up enough money to take you to dinner and a movie.”

“Wha…what…” Sango looked halfway scandalized. There was no keeping up with this guy, his words jumbled up all her feelings and left her confused and searching for an exit. He couldn’t keep winning at these games, she was tired of it.

“If you would be willing of course.”

“Are you…” She pointed at him and then at herself as it finally dawned on her. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Precisely.”

There was a pause as she processed his request, and then she hesitantly said, “No.”

His shoulders fell in defeat, his whole face crumpling before building up again into a little sad smile. He had to know rejection was plausible response. He bit his lip and figured it was better he had tried then not try at all.

She twisted back towards the register lines but then coyly looked over her shoulder with a hooded look-

“But you can pick up some pasta and cook it at my apartment later.”

-

Sango felt a welter of conflicting emotions as she followed Miroku and Kohaku down the road. Kohaku led the way, Kirara’s tiny, kittenish form perched on one shoulder, leaving Miroku and Sango to trail along behind. Sango was perfectly happy to follow with only the monk for company. In fact, just glancing his way was enough to bring a smile to her lips and a blush to her cheeks.

The incandescent joy of walking beside this man, his right hand clasped loosely in her left during the furtive moments when no one might see, was enough to chase away the shadows of her other thoughts, at least for now. The shadows would return soon enough, so she allowed herself merely to exist in the moment with no thought of her destination. It was easier to take the journey one step at a time than to fully consider the fact that she was going home.

It was a long walk without Kirara to carry them, but each step brought them that much closer. They were days out from Kaede’s village now, and had left last night’s inn far behind. The landmarks were growing more and more familiar to Sango’s eyes with each hour that passed. The rise of an oddly shaped hill in the distance, the unusually large tree that had been growing beside the road since time immemorial, the cheerfully flowing river that passed by as the land began to slope upward into thick forest. The split in the road where they would leave the real road behind and follow the tiny, winding track the rest of the way to the village of her birth.

Afternoon was fading into evening by the time the outer wall came into view. With all of the trees and the winding path, the village did not appear until they were almost upon it. For a brief moment, Sango remembered this place as it had been a year ago: crowded, busy, alive with the scents and sounds of her people. The village was empty now, and silent save for a whisper of wind.

Sango paused, letting Kohaku go on ahead. Miroku came to a halt beside her, content to wait with her until she was ready. She had expected this to be difficult, but the strength of the emotion inside still caught her unawares. Don’t think about it had been enough to get her here, but she could avoid it no longer. The time had come to face it all, the pain and sorrow and the bitter loneliness.

Standing just outside the gate to the place that had once been her home, Sango wasn’t sure she was up to the task.

For several long moments she hesitated, gathering courage and strength. In all that time the monk did not speak. He simply waited with her, lending his silent support. I’m here for you, he said, without needing to say a word. She loved him and hated him at the same time for his perfect calm.

At last she stepped past the ruined gate and stood again within the village of her ancestors. This was not the first time she had returned to this place since the destruction that had slain her family and friends, but it was the first time she had come here with her brother and her intended husband. The first time since their victory over Naraku.

Miroku followed as she slowly made her way through the empty village, saying nothing but speaking volumes. The ringing of his staff, step by step, was a comforting rhythm as they approached the row of graves that lined one edge of the village.

Kohaku was waiting there when they arrived, head bowed solemnly. Kirara wound her way around his ankles, looking just as forlorn as the boy.

Sango kept her distance. This was not something she could help him with. She could only try to be there for him, as Miroku had always been there for her.

She was not sure what she had expected to find here, but quiet sadness was not it. The bitterness had gone and in its place she felt an unexpected sense of peace. Tears came to her eyes as she knelt beside graves in need of tending, but they were not tears of sadness or loneliness.

I won, she thought, and hoped that her words would be heard by the souls of those buried here. The one who caused this is dead. My battle is over. Her gaze shifted to where Miroku offered quiet prayers for the dead. And now my life begins.

The light was fading. They would have to tend to the graves in the morning.

They spent an uncomfortable night in the house that had once belonged to her family. Sango would have rather stayed just about anywhere else, but it was in the best shape of any of the buildings save the workshop. But when Kohaku suggested it, she knew she couldn’t say no.

They made their fire and cooked their dinner outside under the stars, and that was where Sango stayed until late in the night. She was hardly conscious of Kohaku going to bed, or of Miroku sitting close beside her. Eyes closed, she tried to imagine what the village would be like if she tried to return and rebuild. If she tried hard enough, could she imagine her children being born and growing up in this place? Could she imagine Miroku living here? And what about Sango, herself?

It was so quiet, so empty, so isolated. So filled with memories…

And it would never be again what it had been before. Nothing she did would restore what had been lost.

“Sango.” Miroku’s voice pulled her slowly out of her imaginings. “Is everything all right?”

She ducked her head, a little embarrassed at having been caught so lost in her own thoughts. “Just thinking.” Realizing that this was no help at all, she admitted, “Wondering what I ought to do about this place.”

“Hm,” he mused, and that was all the answer he gave her. They sat in companionable silence for a time, save for the occasional crackle and pop of the fire.

With Kohaku gone to bed, Miroku inched closer to her so that his leg rested against hers.

“I’ve been thinking about what Inuyasha and Kohaku said before we left,” she told him, “and wondering if I’m making the right decision.”

He offered a small smile.

Sango grimaced slightly. “What do you think?”

“I think that Inuyasha meant only that he is afraid we will leave him, too,” he replied.

She nodded. “I know that.” Knowing did not, however, make it easier to bear. Inuyasha had refused to join them on this trip, preferring to stay with Kaede and close to the Bone Eater’s Well. Sango remembered all too well the hurt in his voice when he’d asked her the question – aren’t you slayers going to be on your way to rebuild your village soon? – and stormed off. That same evening, Kohaku had informed her that he wished to continue his training as a taiji-ya and would likely not remain for long in Kaede’s village. He was heartsick over the evils he had caused, and training to become a strong taiji-ya was his way of making amends. Sango understood; she would have felt the same way. “And I know why Kohaku has made this decision, but…”

“You still feel troubled.”

Another nod.

“About what Inuyasha said, or Kohaku?”

She took a moment to collect her thoughts. How could she explain to him why this bothered her so much?

“I never thought much about what would happen after Naraku was gone,” she admitted. “It seemed like such a thing could never be. I thought if I set my heart on something, and then saw that future torn away from me –” she shuddered, thinking of how Miroku had come so near to death so many times “– I didn’t know how I would bear it.”

She sighed, surprised at how difficult it was to find the right words to explain what she felt. “After Naraku was defeated and the Shikon jewel destroyed, I thought I knew what I wanted. Now I’m not so sure.”

He put his arm around her, encouraging her to lean against him. It was one of her favorite things, to sit like this with him. There was something deeply comforting about sitting quietly beside him. She sighed, letting the tension drain away.

The question of what to do in the coming months remained, of course, and with it all her doubts and fears. But those concerns no longer seemed so immediate. She would have time. They would have time to consider their future. Together.

~

It still surprised Sango a little bit to wake each morning beside Miroku, though she was finally becoming accustomed to the closeness of sharing a blanket. Somehow the monk’s steady presence, and the comforting sensation of his arms wrapped around her, made it easier to wake up in the crumbling remains of her former home and carry on with the difficult task that lay ahead.

There were so many graves that needed tending, and only the three of them to do it. They spent all day clearing the overgrown plants that had encroached upon the area around the graves, hauling rocks from the area around Midoriko’s cave to build commemorative markers, and performing the proper rites for each of the deceased villagers. They were so few, to be tasked with remembering so many, but through it all Sango was grateful for Kohaku’s quiet presence and the sound of Miroku’s voice as he intoned prayers for the dead.

So many times she had feared that this would be left for her alone to do. Today she was conscious of just how lucky – and how not alone – she was. The burden of remembrance would always be great, as great as the tragedy that had occurred here, but she would not have to bear it all on her own.

By evening the village was filled with the thick, pleasant scent of burning incense mixed with that of the simple dinner that Sango had cooked. She felt bittersweet, watching the flickering firelight as it fell on the two most important people in her life, knowing that in the morning they would go their separate ways. Kohaku and Kirara would return to Kaede’s village, their first brief journey as a team, and Sango and Miroku would continue on to Mushin’s temple.

She had been trying not to think about that, just as she had tried not to think about the purpose of this trip to her village. She could not deny Kohaku this trip any more than she could fault him for seeking the only redemption available to him. But she could wish with all her heart that it was not necessary, so that was what she did.

Sleep eluded her until well into the night, when long after they had gone inside and Miroku lay dozing beside her. She shared a knowing glance with Kirara, the only other one still awake, and then the nekomata padded over to snuggle in the crook of her neck. How many times had they slept just like this in this very place? Pretending there weren’t tears in her eyes, she ruffled her fingers through the familiar, beloved fur.

This would very likely be the last time they shared a night like this. They would leave in the morning, and then the village of the slayers would stand silent and empty once more.

~

Sango awoke to find midmorning sunlight streaming into the building where she lay. For a panicked moment her heart pounded frantically at finding herself utterly alone. As if sensing her fear, Kirara soon appeared in the doorway, sitting down in the sunlight with a soft, happy mew. Calming herself enough to listen, Sango could hear the sounds of her companions outside as they spoke in quiet tones.

Not alone.

She joined Miroku and Kohaku outside a short while later for breakfast. The day was bright, sunny, relentlessly cheerful, despite the subdued pall that hung over the small group. This was a simple thing, a parting for a few days only, but to Sango it felt like everything was about to change. Again.

It seemed that her entire world had only just been turned on its head with Naraku’s defeat, and now it was about to happen all over again when Kohaku and Kirara left.

They were in no real hurry today, and it was past midday before they had packed all of their things, checked on the graves one last time, and walked out the gate.

It’s not forever, she told herself as she and Miroku followed Kohaku down the path and away from the village. They had a way to go yet together before their paths would part, but already it felt like two piece of her soul had been stolen away.

When they at last came to the crossroads, Sango supposed she should be glad that Kohaku had walked this far with them when he and Kirara could have simply left the village of the slayers by air. She managed a dry-eyed and smiling farewell, waving to her brother and her former partner until they had rounded a bend and passed out of sight. But she couldn’t help a dejected sigh after that. She had not thought, truly, that it would hurt so much to see him go.

Her head drooped, her shoulders sagged. Miroku said nothing, but was simply there. His arms enfolded her, pulling her to him, letting her hide her face against his shoulder.

“I’m okay,” she insisted, and let him hold her for a while anyway.

~

Sango tried not to blush as she glanced toward Miroku. She could not explain, even to herself, why she felt so shy just walking beside this man. Even when she wasn’t sneaking glances at him, she couldn’t seem to help thinking about the events of the past several days. Although, she could admit, it might be more honest to say the past few nights.

In truth, it was the nights that stuck in her memory more than anything else, intruding on even the most unrelated thoughts as they made the trip from the ruined village to Mushin’s temple. Without Kirara to carry them it was a trip of a few days, and they were in no hurry. While Miroku was eager to bring news of his victory to his mentor and friend, Mushin would have no idea that they were coming at all and would not be expecting them.

If Miroku chose to use this as an excuse to take their time and enjoy the time spent alone together, Sango was not going to complain. In fact, the sense of shared adventure helped take her mind off the fact that Kohaku was far away where she could not protect him. She knew that he was safe so long as he was with Kirara, and that he was more than capable of looking after himself, but a part of her was still very much his worried big sister. But somehow the nights spent alone with Miroku managed to be more distracting even than her sisterly fears.

She had been painfully aware of her dangerous attachment to Miroku long before now. But she had not been quite aware of just how precarious their attraction was until suddenly there was nothing standing between them. His curse defeated, her family avenged, their shared enemy defeated, there was nothing stopping them from fulfilling the promise they had made. And so they had done just that. And they renewed that promise nearly every night. She felt a little bit guilty that Miroku could so easily distract her from her fears for her brother, but it was also a relief to find such easy happiness after everything she had been through.

She was so thoroughly distracted by that same happiness, and the memory of a night spent making love to her intended husband under the open sky, that she tripped over a root that protruded into the path and would have fallen on her face if Miroku had not steadied her.

“Sango, are you all right?” he asked sweetly, teasing. “This isn’t like you.”

She swatted at the arm that had insinuated itself around her waist. “Maybe if you hadn’t kept me up all night,” she retorted, “I’d be able to see straight.”

“Is that so?” His voice was all impish innocence. “I shall endeavor to behave myself tonight, then.”

She frowned thoughtfully. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

He was already laughing as he pulled her close, knowing she would turn to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him down for a kiss.

Then again, she thought, maybe Miroku wasn’t the only one doing the distracting.

It was probably a good thing that they weren’t in any hurry.

~

Mushin’s temple was as quiet and nearly as empty as the village of the slayers had been. Sango had never known the temple to be anything but quiet and remote, and for that reason the sense of isolation here was less oppressive to her than it had been at the village. For Sango, the temple was almost pleasant, in its own quiet way. For Miroku, however…

She followed silently into the bowl-shaped depression that was his father’s grave and stood beside him with head bowed as he paid his respects, wishing that she had the knowledge and understanding to comfort him as easily as he comforted her. Was it enough just for her to be here beside him today? Was he hurting the way she had at her village? What did it mean to him, to stand here where his father had died, freed of his family’s curse, with the woman who would be his wife standing at his side?

It had never been easy to discern Miroku’s true feelings, and that was one thing that had not changed much in the days since their victory, although it was slowly beginning to change. She could ask, she knew, and he would tell her… but now was not the time to ask. There would be time for that later.

Miroku seemed somehow lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, as they climbed out of the basin and went in search of Mushin. Sango half expected to find the old monk passed out somewhere with a bottle of sake in his hand, but it was still early enough in the day that he was conscious, though it took them a while to track him down in one of the temple’s storerooms where he was taking stock of supplies. For once, Mushin seemed truly happy to see Miroku.

He took one look at the two of them where they stood in the doorway and asked, “You have succeeded, then?”

“The curse is lifted,” Miroku told him, and his voice wavered ever so slightly with what Sango realized was barely contained joy.

“And the woman?” Mushin prodded, with a nod of his head toward Sango.

“Sango has agreed to marry me and bear my children.” There was such smug pride in his voice when he said it that it was all Sango could do not to blush – or roll her eyes.

“Huh,” the old monk mused, his quiet thoughtfulness a stark contrast to Miroku’s increasingly obvious elation. “Who’d have thought she’d actually say yes?”

~

Later, after the story of Naraku’s demise and the days that followed had been shared, Sango wandered the temple grounds on her own. There was much that Miroku wanted to discuss with his old mentor, and Sango did not want to intrude. And besides, she had much to think about, herself. Walking the quiet paths between the main temple and its several outbuildings helped to clear her mind.

She was grateful that she now had the luxury of time and solitude in which to weigh her options. During the trip to the village of the slayers and their subsequent journey to this temple, she had done her best to set aside thoughts of the future and to focus only on the present. With Miroku’s death no longer imminent and her brother finally safe, it hadn’t truly been that difficult. But a part of her had been aware the whole time that she would eventually need to turn her thoughts forward, to the future. And now, at least, she had the opportunity to do so in peace.

For the first time since Naraku’s demise, she did not shy away from uncertain thoughts of the future. She allowed herself to wonder, turning the thoughts over and over in her mind, hoping to forge a plan out of them.

What would it be like to live in her village again after all this time? Sango had wondered often, but after this visit it was no longer a cheering thought, especially when juxtaposed with the lively vitality of Kaede’s village. She remembered the village of the slayers now not as it had been in her youth, but as it had been when she departed with Miroku so recently: silent and empty, home only to the spirits of the dead.

If she returned now to begin her life with Miroku, it would be little better. It might even be worse. Returning would not restore Father or any of the others to life. Even when she had children of her own and those children started to grow up, the village would be far too big and empty and isolated for them.

Sango was no stranger to hard work, but she could already foresee the challenges living in such isolation would present. They would have to spend much of their time on the road, using their skills as monk and youkai taiji-ya to obtain the everyday necessities they would need to get by. Food. Clothing. Money. The ingredients needed to concoct the various potions and powders she used in her trade.

And it would only get worse once they had children in need of care. She knew that she and Miroku could make it work somehow, but she couldn’t imagine him choosing such a life. Not now, not when he was finally not a threat to everyone around him, when he no longer needed to isolate himself for fear of causing harm to others.

So she would cherish the dream of the village one day restored, but that was all it might ever be. She was not fool enough to think she could repopulate an entire village all by herself, even with Miroku’s ambitions to father ten or even twenty children.

For now, she could finally admit even to herself, she had a different vision for her future.

What Inuyasha and Kohaku did not seem to realize, she mused, was that it was not the village that had made the slayers what they were. It was the people that lived there, and the knowledge and traditions held by those people, knowledge and traditions that Sango had brought with her when she left. Wherever she was, she was confident that her children could grow up to be slayers just as she had. It would not be easy, not without Father and his warriors or the village elders to help with teaching and training, but she could do it.

And, in the end, it didn’t matter what Inuyasha said or what Kohaku planned to do. It startled her to realize it so clearly and powerfully, but she could not start her family in that dead and silent village. Maybe, one day, when the children were older…

But she would walk that path when she reached it.

There remained, of course, the question of what Miroku wanted to do. This was not her decision to make alone. She almost did not want to confront him about it, though she knew that she must. She was not sure whether she was more afraid that he would agree with Inuyasha and Kohaku, or that he wouldn’t.

Inuyasha would come around eventually, no matter what she decided. He might grumble, but in the end, he would be happy to have her and Miroku around, or not, as they chose.

Kohaku, however…

She knew this choice might cost her Kohaku. Without the village to use as a home base, it seemed very likely that he would choose to travel widely, seeking to hone his skills in the field and to help as many people as he could along the way. Her heart ached to think that she had gone through so much, had struggled against such impossible odds, to get him back safely and now she intended to let him go all over again. But how could she do otherwise? He had his own destiny to find, and his own redemption. And she would have to accept that she might not be a part of that.

~

It was late by the time they returned to the small room that would be theirs for the duration of their stay. Sango was tired after the day’s activities, but knew that she needed to have a serious conversation with Miroku – and that she wasn’t likely to get much of a chance to talk to him alone once they returned to Kaede’s village. The thought of discussing this with Miroku made her more than a little nervous, mostly because she was not entirely sure what to expect.

When they were finally alone, she began, “Miroku…”

“Yes, Sango?”

“There’s something I want to talk to you about,” she told him.

He was silent, looking at her expectantly.

“It’s about what we should do next, now that things are settling down. What our plans should be. Where we should live.”

“Have you come to any conclusions about that?” he inquired.

“That’s why we need to talk. You haven’t said anything about it all this time,” she observed. “Everyone else wanted to tell me what they thought I should do. But you’ve always avoided the subject. What would you have me do?”

“This is your choice, Sango,” he explained. “I do not want you to make it because of something I may or may not have said.”

She appreciated his trust in her judgment, but would have appreciated his input even more. After all, this was a decision that would affect more than just her. This would decide the course of their future together.

“Could my village ever be your home?” she asked, exasperation coloring her voice.

For a long moment he did not answer her. She did not know which she feared more, that he would say yes or that he might say no. And then his hands cupped her face. His eyes met hers. And with perfect calm he told her, “I have spent my entire life wandering. I don’t ever remember having a place to call home. But you, Sango, you feel like home to me. Wherever you are is where I choose to be.”

Sango flushed to the roots of her hair, her face heating in a painfully obvious blush. Did he really mean all that? The sweetness of his smile only made the blushing worse. “Have I sufficiently astonished you, my love?” he asked.

She couldn’t help smiling back.

“If you want to return to your village to start our life together, then that is what we will do. If you want to stay in Kaede’s village, I would be happy there, too, so long as that was where you were.” He paused, grinning. “If you told me you wanted to live in a hut in the middle of nowhere, just the two of us, so we didn’t have to pay taxes, I would agree to that, too.”

There was something in his voice just then that compelled her to kiss him, or maybe it was just the desire to shut him up before he could spout any more ridiculous suggestions.

She felt him smile against her lips and in that moment she felt it too: this feeling, more than any village, this was home. There was reassurance in that kiss, and the knowledge it had provoked. Whatever they did next, wherever they went, they would be okay. There was heat in that kiss, as well, and this had an immediate effect on her. So much so that Sango wondered if this man she had chosen to spend her life with was having a bad influence on her already.