AN: This is something different for those of you who are familiar with my other stories, it features a Sango/Miroku/Koharu triangle. Koharu is the young girl Miroku promised to marry sometime during volume #220 or so of the manga. As usual, I'm not making a profit from this fiction besides from reviews, so leave them please. Potential spoilers right up to the current volume (#450-something); there's also some character death. I owe a special thanks to Sara Teasdale for helping inspire this with her poem "I am Not Yours." Written for lucindathemaid.
JOURNEY'S END
She hadn't expected things to end the way they did. Her picture of the final confrontation had always been a victorious one; it was a vision tinged with a razor-fine edge of desperation. The battle had to end well. There was no other option. Hope was a thin thread that had snapped too easily in her hands on one too many occasions. Life had taught Sango not to rely on something as flimsy as hope; she drew her strength from determination and conviction. She was convinced they would win, determined to see Naraku die, and that would be enough. It had to be enough.
In the end, it was enough. Naraku was dead, after all, and she was still here. Oh yes, she was still here.
Sango smiled to herself and concentrated on placing one foot carefully in front of the other. Absently, she noticed that her leg was twisted at an angle that should have been uncomfortable. Fortunately, she had stopped feeling the pain almost an hour before. Or was it a day? She couldn't remember anymore. Right, left. Right, left. She hobbled a little, stumbling over the uneven surface of the ground and dropping to her elbows before regaining her balance. She tried to push her bangs away from her face, but they were matted against her skin, sticky with blood. Pushing herself up, she continued her journey.
"Journey" was actually a very generous term for Sango's trek across the countryside. A journey implied that one had a destination. She allowed herself to think of it that way because it was comfortable; travelling was what their small group had always done best together. Calling it a "journey" made her feel less alone. Not that she was feeling much of anything anymore; she didn't even feel her foot catch over another mound of dirt, nor did she register the wetness soaking through her clothing as she tripped and fell into the rice paddy. As she rolled onto her back, too exhausted to continue, however, she did feel the warmth of the sun on her face. She blinked and looked up into the sky, trying to come to terms with herself. "I guess my journey is over," she sighed, squinting. Warm sunshine looked back at her, painfully bright and cheerful. "It's so blue," she murmured thoughtfully as she directed her gaze upwards. Kagome had always spent an inordinate amount of time staring into the sky. Sometimes Sango would join her, searching for whatever it was that fascinated her friend so much. She hadn't really noticed until now.
Eternity, Sango realized as her eyelids began to droop closed.
I didn't know it was so blue.
When the long shadow first blocked out Sango's view of the heavens, she was barely conscious. She felt the absence of the sun's warmth rather than saw the figure standing over her. She didn't want to open her eyes; she wanted to hold the memory of the blue sky behind her closed lids for as long as possible. A small gasp punctured her moment of perfection, and with a tired grunt, she forced herself to search for the source of the disturbance. Wide, brown eyes were the first thing she saw. They were frightened and young; a child's eyes. Sango felt the sting of unshed tears burn against the back of her throat. "Kohaku," she whispered, trying to reach out for him. Her arm, like the rest of her traitorous body, refused to respond. "
I'm sorry," she wanted to tell him,
"I'm so sorry," she needed to say. Instead, as she tried to prop herself up the pain, so notoriously absent for so long, came back in full force. Her cry, however, was one of frustration rather than agony; as black spots danced before her eyes and she fell backwards into the muddy water, the only thought she could muster was that she was being robbed once again.
- x – x – x -
She worried her lower lip between her teeth and strayed towards the back of the group. It was foolish of her to worry, really; she was a demon huntress, the best in her village.
No, she reminded herself,
the village is gone. She was the best. She had to be, now that none were left. Sango stopped that train of thought before it could careen any further down its destructive path and focused on the problem before her.
Said problem turned and regarded her with a thoughtful smile. "My dear Sango," he said, "you really shouldn't injure yourself like that. If you feel the need to abuse your lips so, I would be happy to—"
"Can it, monk," she snapped out irately as she felt a blush racing across her cheeks. How was it that the pervert always brought out the worst in her? She narrowed her eyes at Miroku as he continued to grin innocently at her and held her breath, trying to regain her equilibrium.
I've got to go for it, she told herself, gathering her wits together.
If I can face demons, I can face one lecherous monk. "Miroku," she began, lengthening her strides and catching up to his side. "I want to know something."
Miroku's cheery face lit up with a surprised smile. "Why Sango!" he said, grabbing her hand. "You know you can ask me anything at all." He gave her a sultry stare, his smile growing wider. "Are you perhaps curious about the workings of the masculine body? Would you be interested in… searching for a weakness?" he added smoothly.
Sango recoiled and wrenched her hand free of Miroku's slightly-too-firm grasp. "No, you disgusting pervert," she hissed with annoyance. She glanced surreptitiously at their companions, and could distinctly hear Inuyasha mumbling about how it was her fault for even bothering to approach him.
Finish what you started, she reminded herself severely. "I want to know why you act the way you do. Why you say those…
things to every woman you meet," she added with a clear note of distaste.
Miroku's smile never left his face, but she could almost see the doors slamming shut behind his placid features as he reacted to her question. If they had ever really been open in the first place. "Sango, dear, you already know the answer to that question," he replied without missing a beat. She noticed, however, that the knuckles wrapped around his staff grew a little whiter.
"I don't think you mean it," Sango stated, studying his reaction. She had learned that Miroku was one to be watched carefully; it was easy to dismiss him as a distracted fool ruled by his libido. His battle prowess and unexpected moments of insight, however, hinted at a great depth hidden under the calm, shallow surface of his bright personality. It was drawing her in, though she couldn't fathom why; everything about Miroku rubbed her the wrong way. His constant cheer, his boyish good looks, his light-hearted commentary and lack of discipline; he was the opposite of everything she had trained herself to be. It fascinated and repulsed her at the same time, and she found herself wanting to know more despite her distaste. "You try your best to charm the villagers we meet, but you never follow through. So why?" she pressed again.
Miroku shook his head faintly, a tiny, enigmatic smile lifting the corners of his lips. "How could I 'follow through,' as you put it?" he asked her lightly. "You never give me the opportunity to even try," he paused and looked at her, and though the smile was still there his eyes held no humour. "… Sango."
When he said her name he had her, and he knew it. She stared back, unable to break his gaze, and felt suddenly as though she was the one being questioned. "I… I'm only trying to protect those girls' honour," she said quickly, feeling the flush rise to her cheeks once more.
"Just that," Miroku said, the tiny grin widening ever so slightly. "I see. An answer as equally obvious as its question."
The tone of his voice made Sango's heart stop for a minute; she felt as though she was being hunted, speared through by his eyes, which were staring at her with unusual clarity. Unable to free herself from the trap she could feel him weaving, she was grateful as her foot caught on the ground, causing her to stumble. The relief only lasted for a moment, because as she recovered, she realized she had been caught by a pair of strong arms. They held on for just a little too long, and not once did they stray from their firm grip to distract her with an ill-timed caress.
"You should be more careful," Miroku told her softly. "You might end up hurting yourself if you continue like this."
Sango froze, feeling herself recoil at his warning. She felt too hot, restless and uncomfortable while trapped in Miroku's embrace. It upset her, and that he was able to upset her at all made her furious.
Who is he to tell me what to do? she thought indignantly.
This is my hunt, not his. Angrily, she shook herself free of his grasp and stood on her own. "I can take care of myself," she told him bluntly, lifting her chin a little bit higher. She smiled at the look of genuine surprise that crossed Miroku's face; for the first time in the conversation she felt as though she had control. "Don't think that just because you caught me this once you can try your antics on me, lecher," she added warningly. "I'm not like other women."
"No, my dear Sango," Miroku said appreciatively, the smile returning to his face. "You are most certainly not."
- x – x – x -
Sango woke to the thick smell of herbs and the sound of a mortar and pestle being ground against one another. She forced her eyes open and was greeted by the dark ceiling of a peasant's hut. Her first feeling was one of intense disappointment;
I didn't manage to reach eternity, she realized slowly. The thick reed roofing was preventing her from completing the journey. The pungent smell of herbs was soon joined by the prickling sensation of feeling returning in her extremities; a moment after that, the pain followed. "Ugh," she managed to groan hoarsely, wishing that she hadn't woken up. Her movement brought the sound to a stop, only to be replaced by the shuffling of quiet footsteps. Wincing, Sango focused on the small figure that approached her. After a moment, she recognized the face that came into view. "Oh…" was all she said, turning her head slightly against the futon and staring.
A tiny, bashful girl stared back, her brown doe-eyes wide. "L-lady Sango?" she asked softly. She was slightly older than Sango remembered, but still painfully young. She might have been Kohaku's age; however Sango couldn't understand how she had mistaken the young girl for her brother earlier. Her eyes still held the sparkle of innocence; the breath of youth which Kohaku had lost so long ago.
"Koharu," Sango answered with resignation. "How long have I been here?" she asked tiredly, her throat sore from lack of use.
There was a moment of silence, and then the sound of water swirling. Sango felt her head being lifted gently, and reflexively swallowed as a small bowl of water was tipped against her dry lips. "You've been asleep for almost two days," the girl replied timidly. "Where… where are your friends?" she murmured. Sango heard the real question very clearly; it was framed very carefully in the form of an o-fuda pasted to a few stiff reeds, hanging on a rough string around the girl's neck. She averted her eyes quickly, and Koharu gently released her, allowing her head to rest against the soft futon.
"Lord Miroku… do you know where he is now?" Koharu tried again. She might have been shy, but Koharu was tenacious. This time Sango forced her stiff neck to turn her face away from the girl and towards the wall, ignoring the protests in her muscles. She remained stonily silent, her lips pressed together tightly. There was a pause, then a tiny sigh. "You should rest, Lady Sango. You're very badly injured." And with a soft rustle, she was gone.
- x – x – x -
She scrabbled across the muddy ground, trying to pull the lump beneath her upright, to jolt him into consciousness with her hands alone. "Wake up, monk! Please!" she cried again, her voice urgent. For once, the gods seemed to have answered her prayers, because Miroku's eyes slowly cracked open.
"Sango," he mumbled softly. His voice was light and breathy, as if the hell wasp poison had robbed it of its usual tenor. "I'm glad… you're awake," he murmured, his eyes closing as she clutched his hand to her chest. "You have to go ahead… tell the others," he whispered, his voice barely discernable above the rustling of the demons surrounding them. "I'm done for."
Sango only gripped his hand tighter. In that moment, she could see the barrier dissolving, the careful wall he had constructed to keep her, and everyone else, away. She saw his pain, his insecurity, and what he tried to hide the most of all, his fear. Not for himself; that had long since dulled into a grim resignation. His fear was for her, she realized, for her life, or at least the tattered remains Naraku had left of it. As scarred and malformed as it was, Miroku still cared for it enough to protect it with his own. In that moment, Sango realized that she loved him.
"No," she said finally as she dropped her head against his chest. "I won't leave you." She felt him stiffen underneath her, and smiled against the fabric of his robe. "We'll die together."
- x – x – x -
The broken promise was still ringing in her ears when Sango next awoke. She blinked and waited for the sound to die out, finally recognizing that it was really just the gentle rush of raindrops pattering against the roof of the hut.
"You're awake!"
Sango winced away from the cheerful voice.
"It's time for your medicine," Koharu continued softly, approaching Sango with a multitude of small bowls and poultices arranged on a large tray. Kneeling down next to the futon, she carefully set the dishes on the floor and held up one bowl, preparing for their daily ritual.
Sango sighed and sat up. She had learned quickly that it took too much effort to resist Koharu's attempts to care for her. They had settled into something almost like a comfortable routine. Sango would drift in and out of sleep fitfully. When she was awake, Koharu would be there, bearing gifts of either food or medicine, patiently administering both to her unwilling patient, and always,
always, asking after Miroku. She persisted even after it became clear that Sango would refuse to answer her. Sango didn't actually think the younger girl was really that slow; she was still holding onto her fragile hope, however, gripping it tightly with both hands and refusing to let go.
Everything becomes easier when you just let go, Sango thought.
Everything except living.
"I think you'll be able to move your right arm again soon," Koharu mentioned with a tiny smile. "Just a few more weeks and you'll see, you'll be on your feet again…"
"Stop," Sango said abruptly, harshly. She didn't believe in hope anymore, and she slashed through Koharu's gentle offering of it ruthlessly. She had left her hope behind along with the Hiraikotsu; it made no difference in the end. The village of demon slayers was gone, and her arm and leg would never heal quite properly enough to use the weapon again anyway. These were the truths that she wielded against Koharu's false hope; they were sharp and bitter, as was Sango herself. She turned that sharpness against Koharu's softness, trying to puncture the girl's eternal optimism and cheer. "Why do you keep trying to save me?" she asked the young girl pointedly. "I already told you, I don't need your help."
Koharu blanched at Sango's curt reprimand. "But… y-you'd die without someone to care for you right now, Lady Sango!"
Something about Koharu's innocence, her youthful earnestness, pierced through Sango, snapping at her control. "Ask me," she said suddenly, interrupting their well-rehearsed schedule and glaring at the girl balefully. "Ask me what happened to the monk," she threatened softly.
I'll tell you everything, she promised silently.
I'll expose every detail under the harsh light of truth, I'll burn away that idealism and leave you as scarred as I am.
Koharu's already whitened face grew impossibly paler, and her hands stilled over the tray. There was a moment of silence, and an electric fear in the atmosphere as the secret between them grew almost tangible. A single word would have broken the stillness and given the beast form, ripping to shreds any semblance of civility held together by Koharu's careful rituals.
It would be a release , Sango thought to herself even as the nagging fear of upsetting their carefully established balance wormed its way through her stomach.
I won't back away.
In the end it was Koharu who fled, leaving the tray of medicine behind in her rush. It didn't change the feeling of defeat that remained with Sango.
- x – x – x -
Sango felt his hand creeping slowly downward, and rolled her eyes upward in response. She twisted around on Kirara's back to glare at him angrily, but he only answered her with a half-smile. His hand moved lower. With a grunt of annoyance she faced forward and tried to ignore the pressure of his fingers against her thigh. "Is now really the time for that, monk?" she yelled brusquely.
Miroku only smiled, leaning in closer, his other arm tightening around her waist. "Near-death experiences are often very enlightening," he answered, his lips brushing against her ear. Encouraged by her passive acceptance of his attentions, he began to trace lazy patterns over the bend of her hip. The fabric of her suit suddenly felt much too tight and itchy.
"Miroku!" Sango hissed, turning her head slightly and glaring at him. "You almost died! Is now really the time to be…
exerting yourself?" As if in answer, his fingers danced higher and drifted across her stomach. They left trails of distracting warmth along their path, and Sango had to grit her teeth and lean away from him in her effort to ignore them. "We're about to enter a battle, Miroku!" she finally said, turning again to stare at him.
He smiled back at her, all charm and wits and good looks, no trace of his most recent brush with death reflecting in his cheerful face. "Does that mean you want me to stop, my dear Sango?" he replied. His fingers boldly probed lower, and Sango couldn't stop the shudder that ran through her shoulders as he swept under the folds of her armour. His smile widened, and a grain of the darkness behind the sparkle shone through, intense, desperate and full of longing.
When is the time? his fingers asked her, insistent and demanding, driven by something more than just playfulness or lust.
She turned away from him, unwilling to answer. But her resistance ended as well. And in that moment, he understood how much she loved him.
- x – x – x -
This time when Sango woke, Koharu was waiting for her with a bowl of steaming broth. "You have to eat, Sango," was the first thing she said.
Sango turned to look at the girl curiously. "What happened to Lady Sango?" she asked dryly.
Koharu's eyebrows drew together slightly. "You're not a lady," she answered, a hint of bitterness seeping through and tainting her smile.
That alone made Sango contrite enough to accept the food without any further argument. She allowed herself to be spoon-fed, her arms hanging limply and uselessly by her sides. Half-way through the meal, Koharu's rhythmic motion of bringing the spoon from the bowl to her lips slowed down, then eventually stopped. Sango waited, watching the girl quietly.
"Why don't you want to even try?" Koharu finally said, looking up at Sango with worry and confusion. "I remember you… you were such a strong woman. I…" She ducked her head down, and a tiny blush spread over her face, darkening the sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheeks. "… I wanted to be just like you. I thought… I thought maybe then…"
Sango stared at the girl with open pity. "You don't want my life, Koharu. Believe me, you're better off staying as you are." She saw the girl's shoulders shake slightly, and had a fleeting urge to reach out and touch her, to try and bring her some measure of comfort and reassurance. It left as quickly as it came; Koharu was a stranger to her. The young girl's grief was not for Sango's suffering or hard life. Her tears were shed for one person only, and it left Sango feeling cold and empty. "You still love him," she stated tonelessly. The words were sour in her mouth.
Koharu met Sango's gaze, her eyes shiny with moisture and her face slightly flushed. Her smile was small and still twisted with the remnants of the hope that Sango hadn't been able to completely exterminate. "Yes," she said firmly, touching the amulet that hung at her neck.
"I'm sorry," Sango said, looking away. She wasn't apologizing for Koharu's feelings or her own rough behaviour; it was a clear, precise statement, directed only to herself
; I'm sorry that my own life turned out this way. But she allowed the younger girl read into it what she wanted. There was no need to do any more damage, she decided then. The part of her trained for battle, the huntress, wasn't particularly surprised when Koharu leapt past Sango's barely lowered defences, spear in hand, and pierced through to her heart, tearing away the scabs that had been forming there.
"You loved him too," she said accusingly, her brown eyes fixed firmly on Sango's face. Sango tried to look away, but found herself unable to.
When did she become so strong? she thought to herself, finally meeting Koharu's searching eyes. There was a shared understanding between them, the one wrought by mutual loss; an understanding that Sango wanted to vigorously deny. She wanted to be
alone; you couldn't reach eternity with company, after all. And yet she found herself being weak once again, falling into the strange, habitual need for others, for companionship and empathy. And there was young, innocent Koharu, still staring at her expectantly.
"I… did," Sango managed to answer.
Past tense. It wasn't unnoticed by Koharu, who drove home the killing blow.
"When you're better," Koharu asked softly, "will you leave this village?"
Sango considered her options. "I don't know," she answered honestly.
"I wish you would," Koharu said firmly, meeting Sango's shocked eyes. Quietly, she deposited the half-emptied bowl of rapidly cooling broth by the side of the bed, and gathering her things together left Sango alone in the hut.
- x – x – x -
"Miroku!" Sango dug her fingers into his arms, her tears streaming down her face, leaving salty white tracks across her dirt-smudged cheeks. "Why did you do it? I told you not to use the air rip!"
Miroku chuckled painfully, his eyes still reflecting the same boyish charm and humour they always had. His good looks, however, were marred by the spidery veins that crawled across his cheeks, working their way up from his neck. Sango didn't have to open his robe to know what lay beneath; his chest would also be covered by the dark, twisting scars of Naraku's miasma, circling around his heart like a poisonous tattoo. It was a slow, painful death he had condemned himself to; one that was now apparent he had known the risk of. Still, he had unwrapped the beaded rosary, sucking in the demons that had been about to slice through Sango, saving her at the cost of his own life. "I had to rescue you," he said easily, focusing on Sango and cupping her cheek with his blotched, scarred hand. "If I didn't, I might as well have died myself."
Sango bit her lip as more tears spilled over her cheeks; she tried valiantly to stem their flow, knowing that she looked awful. Miroku had always been attracted to beauty; he deserved to see something beautiful in his last moments, not her dirty, swollen, tear-stained face. "You're always so self-centred, monk!" she managed to grit out angrily. "Did you even stop to think about me when you did that?" Her voice softened and broke. "You can't leave me! What will I do without you?"
Miroku smiled again, this time a genuine smile, and he caressed Sango's face carefully. "You're a beautiful, strong girl, my dear Sango. You'll learn to live again… maybe even love again," he added softly, with a look of pained regret. "Promise me that you'll do that for me. That you won't give up on my account." His smile flared into a playful grin, and he tugged at Sango's ear gently. "Anyway, I know it's foolish to worry about you, my dear Sango; you always could resist my charms. After all, you're not like other women," he teased her.
"Don't joke about that," Sango said hoarsely, annoyed that he could be making light of his own death, to
her of all people. Her tears did stop, however. She held him in her arms, and they talked quietly until there were no more words; then they lay together in silence until Miroku gently pushed her away, telling her it was time. If he noticed that she couldn't bring herself to make that promise to him, he chose not to comment on it; instead, his last words for her were to take shelter, and to express his love openly. For a man who threw around romantic platitudes like his o-fudas, his final confession was plain, blunt and heartbreakingly honest. Sango was strong enough to hold back her tears until after the winds died down; she allowed him to leave the world with a smile on her face. It was only afterwards, when she saw the crater, that the illusion was shattered. It brought her to her knees with the force of its blow, and she uttered a promise then, to herself.
"I'm not a beautiful girl, and I won't allow myself to be treated like one by anyone else. Not ever again."
- x – x – x -
Sango awoke once more to the sound of water splashing. Koharu was kneeling at her side, leaning over a large steaming bowl and carefully wringing out a cloth over it. "What are you doing?" she asked, her eyes travelling from the washcloth to Koharu's face.
"Your injuries have been healing well, so I thought you might like a bath," she replied, shaking out the cloth and offering it to Sango.
"Thank you," Sango answered, slowly sitting upright and reaching for the rag. At least, she tried to. Her left arm was still completely immobile, and her right arm shook terribly as she raised it. Strength was something Sango had always prided herself on, and with renewed determination, she steadied her hand and clumsily snatched the cloth out of Koharu's fingers. She attempted to squeeze the rag tightly, but her fingers only managed to spasm minutely before losing control. The cloth landed on the dirty floor with a wet slap, and Sango let out a tiny hiss of annoyance.
"Here, let me help you," Koharu offered with a note of pity, picking the washcloth off of the floor and rinsing it clean in the bowl. She reached for the tie of Sango's robe, but froze as Sango cut her off frigidly.
"Don't touch me." Sango scowled, forcing her unwilling hand to fumble with the tie on her own. She finally succeeded in shrugging out of the thin fabric after some difficulty. The weight of Koharu's gaze was resting on her scarred body the entire time, and her scowl deepened. "I don't need your pity," she spat, refusing to look at the younger girl. "Just give me that cloth and leave me alone." There was a long pause, and finally, her patience eroded, Sango looked up, fully ready to launch another verbal assault.
Koharu's face twisted into an expression of annoyance when she met Sango's glare. "I don't pity you," she said, dragging the cloth out of the water and squeezing it vehemently. For a moment, Sango wished she could do the same; the violent motion looked very cathartic. "You're injured, you smell, and you're living in my hut," she explained bluntly. "I'm going to help you bathe whether you like it or not. I don't care what you say."
A tiny, equally annoyed smile tugged at Sango's mouth, and she sighed in defeat. She didn't protest when she felt Koharu gently scoop her hair away and apply the pressure of the washcloth against her back; instead, she let her eyes drift closed and tried to ignore the indignity of being too weak to even bathe herself. After a while, the soothing motion of the warm cloth drained the tension from her body and allowed her annoyance to dissipate. Sango had never been one to enjoy bathing, much to Kagome's disappointment; for her, it was a necessary task meant to be done as quickly as possible. She had never understood others' desire to spend as long in the water as humanly possible; all it did was wrinkle the skin and waste time.
Koharu, however, was apparently of the same breed as Kagome had been; she took her time, working the cloth carefully over every stiff muscle and knot in Sango's body, coaxing her gently into relaxation. Occasionally, the ministrations would stop as Koharu would rhythmically dip the rag into the bowl of water and wring it out; the tinkling of the water in the silence of the hut combined into a soothing melody that put Sango at ease. Gradually, she noticed the rhythm of Koharu's movements slowing down and cracked an eye open. "Is something wrong?" she asked the young girl, who had a thoughtful expression on her face.
"I was just wondering," Kohaku said softly. Absently, she dipped the cloth into the bowl and raised it to Sango's neck, forgetting to wring it dry. She trailed the cloth lightly over Sango's shoulders. Trickles of warm water worked their way down Sango's chest, and Koharu's eyes followed their path hungrily. "Did he ever touch you?" she murmured, the question so faint Sango almost missed it.
She grew still, and felt Koharu's hands slide lower, the cloth forgotten as her fingers traced a light path over her collarbone. The question brought back memories, ones Sango didn't want to face, but Koharu's gentle, probing touches brought them back into focus sharply.
"Did he touch you here?" Koharu asked, her voice soft and breathy. She was leaning in, too close, and Sango felt her resolve eroding; she didn't want or need anyone, she reminded herself firmly, she wanted to be
alone . "Or maybe this way?" Koharu whispered again, exploring a new path over Sango's skin.
The last remnants of Sango's resolution crumbled, chipped away by Koharu's insistent touch. She drew a shuddering breath and allowed her eyes to close once more. Miroku's wandering hands had almost always concerned themselves with her lower body; his caresses were artful and practiced; he knew what he wanted. In comparison, Koharu's own attempts were timid and clumsily inexperienced. She was shy and innocently curious; the burning sensation that followed her fingertips from every fleeting caress, every soft touch, however, were much more than familiar and much less than innocent to Sango. Her lips parted softly and her breath came out in a soft pants as Koharu's fingers strayed over her chest; her promise to herself forgotten as Sango half-heartedly fought against the dull ache beginning to curl in the pit of her stomach. Its tendrils spread lower, licking at her thighs as Koharu cupped her breast in her hand. A thrill of lightning shot down her spine and forced her to gasp loudly as Koharu's thumb brushed delicately across her over-sensitized skin.
Miroku… why did you have to wake this beast in me? She let out an inarticulate murmur of protest as Koharu drew away, as if frightened by Sango's vocal reaction.
"I'm sorry!" Koharu squeaked, her face burning red with shame and embarrassment as she snatched the washcloth away. "I don't know what came over me, I-"
Sango opened her eyes and caught Koharu's retreating hand; her fingers flexed and she gripped the young girl weakly, silently cursing her frail body. "No," she answered hoarsely, glaring at Koharu angrily.
Damn you for bringing me to this, she wanted to say.
Damn you for making me hold on when all I want to do is let go. Instead, all she could do was stare and keep her weak, pathetic grip on Koharu's wrist.
Koharu hesitated, the blush fading from her cheeks. Instead of wilting under Sango's glare, however, she grew melancholy. "I guess it's not the same," she murmured quietly. Then, as if she wanted to be sure, she leaned in and kissed Sango softly, a full, tender, chaste kiss, directly on the lips. It lasted for a while, and when they finally pulled away from each other, neither girl looked happy.
It tastes like emptiness, Sango thought privately.
"No, it's not the same at all," Koharu replied out loud as if in response to Sango's thoughts, looking impossibly sadder than before. "Kissing you isn't at all like kissing Miroku."
Sango flinched slightly, the gently spoken words lashing out like a barbed whip against her tender, freshly unearthed feelings. She suddenly felt dirty and used, and all of the washcloths in the world couldn't scrub the sensation away. Her hurt and indignation died away as Koharu continued, however, replaced with a dejected understanding; she felt no joy in seeing the other girl's own misery.
"It's like kissing myself," Koharu finished, drawing her wrist away from Sango's grasp and folding her hands in her lap. Methodically, she packed away the wash articles and dressed Sango once more, carefully tying the thin robe shut. "Will you stay when you're better?" she asked again, her eyes remaining nervously focused on her task, carefully avoiding Sango's face.
Sango paused, holding her breath. She remembered the last time she had dropped her defences around the girl; the wound was still bleeding. "Do you want me to go?" she responded carefully.
Koharu sat up and met Sango's eyes; a measure of the innocence, the hope had been there was irrevocably lost. "I want his memory to go away. They're like thick clouds all around you. It's choking me."
Sango's mouth twisted into a wry smile, and she let out a harsh laugh in response. "It won't leave, even if I do," she said more sharply than she intended to. "He'll haunt you for the rest of your life, whisper to you from the dark corners of your mind. You'll think you're strong, that you can forget him, but one day, the most meaningless of things will suddenly remind you…" She trailed off, fixated on the o-fuda still dangling off of the reed ornament around Koharu's neck. "He'll never leave either of us alone. We'll be living in his shadow for the rest of our lives," she said sadly.
A heavy silence descended between them. "Will you leave?" Koharu finally asked again. This time it was a nervous, uncertain question, however, and not a demand.
Sango sighed and gently settled herself back into the futon on the floor.
I have control again, she realized. But she didn't feel satisfied in the least; instead, she felt empty. The last few weeks had drained Sango dry from emotions; she had been only a husk of her former self, broken by life and drifting aimlessly. Koharu had managed to shock her into realizing that there was still something left inside of her; something more that could be injured, shrivelling and dying if it wasn't nurtured; something Koharu had managed to breathe to life in her tattered body and abused soul. Sango also saw young Koharu, still fresh and idealistic in that moment, slowly withering up and drying on her own, becoming a mirror of herself all too soon. The thought brought a pang to her newly rediscovered heart, surprising her.
It hurts… but maybe, there's something worth holding on to here. Something I still need to protect, after all. She made her decision, and instantly, things became simpler.
"I don't believe in hope or promises," Sango answered finally, letting her eyes slide shut. She didn't bother to gauge Koharu's reaction; after all, she was going to do what she wanted to anyway. It felt good to be in control of her life once again; despite her broken body, she felt lighter and stronger than she had in a long time. Experimentally, she flexed her weak hand and grimaced. She could tell it was going to be a long road to recovery.
That's okay… I'm used to travelling, she thought comfortably.
"Why not?" Koharu's soft voice, full of curiosity, interrupted her musing.
"Both can be broken too easily," Sango replied. "But…" she opened one eye and glanced at Koharu from the futon with a lazy smile. "… since I can't reach eternity right now, I'd rather not face that journey alone."
- x – x – x -
In a cloud of dust, Inuyasha left them behind, pausing only long enough to call out over his shoulder. "Sango, take care of Kagome!" he instructed her before sailing out of sight.
Miroku was not far behind him, leaving Sango standing alone in the doorway of the hut with a look of surprise. Her eyes narrowed as Miroku stopped and spun around, pinning her with a serious expression. "Sango, take care of Koharu!" he called out, before sprinting after Inuyasha.
"Eh?" Sango's eyebrows drew together as her face dropped into a thunderous scowl.
Is it me, or are they not treating me like a woman? she thought angrily.
On her shoulder, Shippou shifted uneasily, sensing her displeasure. "
I think you're beautiful, Sango," he declared loudly, his small hands fisting into her hair nervously.
Sango stiffened and shook the fox child off of her shoulder irately. "You don't have to give me special treatment, Shippou," she seethed. Turning on her heel, she stormed into the hut and glared angrily at the nearest available recipient of her ire. The young girl was doubled over, clearly frightened; at best she couldn't have been more than fourteen years old. Kagome had been trying to comfort her, but moved away as Sango approached; she gave the demon huntress a warning glance. It was, however, completely unnecessary. Staring at the huddled, sniffling form before her, Sango felt the last of her anger evaporate and her features softened.
He was right, she really does need someone to look out for her, she thought with amusement. "Hey," she said softly, crouching down onto the floor and placing her hand on the girl's shoulder. A tear-stained, freckled face looked up into hers, and impulsively, Sango reached out and gently wiped away one of the moist trails on the young girl's cheek. "Don't be afraid." Wide brown eyes stared into hers, full of fear and uncertainty. With a sigh, Sango drew the young girl into her arms and gave her a careful hug. "Listen, I'll take care of you." Slowly, she felt the sobs wracking the young girl's body subside. After a while, she drew back gave the girl an uncertain smile. "Feeling better now?" she asked. Soothing others was Kagome's forte, not hers; it felt strangely uncomfortable to be the one to offer it to the fragile girl before her now. She half-wondered why she even bothered; still, if Miroku saw something in the girl, then perhaps she wasn't all that bad.
Reluctantly, Koharu slipped out of her grasp and stared at Sango intently. "You… you'll stay with me?" she whimpered nervously, her hand lingering on the sleeve of Sango's uniform.
Sango sighed and closed her eyes.
What have you gotten me into this time, Miroku? she thought ruefully. "I won't leave you, I promise," she added reassuringly.
Koharu watched her timidly, as if weighing her words carefully. And after a moment, she gave Sango a tiny smile of acceptance.
