A/N: This sort of thing isn't normally my cup of tea, but I have persuasive friends and a horrible impulse to find new challenges to my writing ability. This is the result.

Reassurance

Sango wasn't entirely sure why she let it get to her the way that it did. It was nothing, really—or at least not anything that she hadn't heard before.

The group had just finished slaying a troublesome demon for the sake of the town it had been terrorizing. It hadn't been a difficult task, as far as demon-slaying went, and Sango had been feeling particularly satisfied with her performance. She was the one who had dealt the fatal blow, after all, and while the others had contributed there was always a certain fulfillment in doing what she had been brought up to do.

She had been cleaning her large weapon in town, after the crowds of appreciative villagers had faded, when she overheard a piece of conversation between a pair of men who clearly thought that they were out of earshot. One of them made an admiring comment regarding Sango's figure; the other refuted it, saying that she was too "un-womanly"; and then the two passed by, and that was that.

Except that she couldn't get the remark out of her mind.

Sango sighed, wiping sodden bangs out of her eyes. Trust Inuyasha to insist that they continue traveling in spite of the rain, although to be fair they had left the last village days ago and would have gotten just as soaked had they remained encamped.

But the rain was doing no good to anyone's mood. Inuyasha and Kagome had been bickering almost incessantly since the rain had begun the previous morning. Shippo took every opportunity to point out how miserable and wet he was, which only made Inuyasha retaliate, which forced Kagome to intervene and start the arguing up more energetically than before. Even the monk was subdued, almost sullen.

And Sango couldn't stop brooding. It was unlike her to get such an unimportant comment like that get under her skin, but she couldn't help but wonder what truth there was to it. As soon as she started thinking along those lines, other evidence seemed to stack up unbidden. The way that Miroku always seemed to forget about her existence the instant he laid eyes on a pretty, effeminate girl; the disdaining looks she received from village women when they saw her in her slayer's armor.

The demon slayer scowled impatiently. This line of thinking was pointless, and probably only a result of the bad weather anyway. Irritated with herself, she cast her attention towards the terrain that was passing below, determined to find something to distract herself.

That pillar of smoke would do nicely. She turned to call down to the three that were stuck on the ground. "There's a village up ahead. We should stop there until the rain stops."

Inuyasha, of course, put up his token protest, but in the end he was far outnumbered by those that wanted some respite from the rain. Ultimately he conceded, saying that he was sick of everyone complaining anyway.

The village was busy when they finally arrived, in spite of the rain. The travelers passed by the house that seemed to be the center of activity with some curiosity.

"Excuse me," Kagome finally said, having caught the attention of one of the villagers. "What's going on here?"

"Our dear Yuri is getting married tomorrow," the villager explained, shifting the basket she was carrying. "It's good reason for the whole village to celebrate."

"I see," Miroku mused, coming to the front of the group. "So you're all helping to prepare for the ceremony. Tell me, do you know of any lodgings for a group of weary travelers? We would be happy to lend our assistance in return."

But the village woman was shaking her head. "No, not unless—" she cut herself off, looking with interest at Kagome. "Why do you wear such strange clothing?"

"What, this?" the younger girl asked, looking down at her outfit. "It's nothing, just—"

"Kagome is a priestess," Miroku interrupted. "Those are just the traditional robes of her order."

Sango glanced at Inuyasha, who had snorted at Miroku's explanation. She had to admit, though, that the monk had certainly made worse claims in order to gain them someplace to stay the night—at least Kagome really did have spiritual powers.

The villager had lit up. "Then would you be a part of the ceremony? I'm sure Yuri would be delighted to have a priestess's blessing."

Kagome looked uncertain, but Sango placed a hand on her shoulder. "Go ahead, Kagome. If there's anything you're not sure about, I'm sure the monk can instruct you." Sango knew her younger companion well enough to know that the only thing keeping her from jumping at the opportunity was uncertainty in her abilities.

Sure enough, with that encouragement Kagome enthusiastically agreed. It turned out that the villager's assessment had been correct: the bride and her family were more than happy to provide food and shelter in return for the presence of a priestess at the wedding, which Sango suspected had been Miroku's motive in presenting Kagome as a priestess in the first place.

The rest of the day Sango spent caring for her weapons, not having anything else to occupy her. Repairing the damage that so much water had wrought on her tools, she kept a careful eye on where Miroku was instructing Kagome in the knowledge she would need to fulfill her role in the ceremony properly.

It was moments like these that she remembered that he really was a monk. So often it was easy to forget, when he was flirting and conning, and then it came almost as a surprise when he did something purely spiritual.

Sango had to fight back a smile when Inuyasha burst in, complaining as usual. He put up such a gruff exterior, but it was plain that he cared deeply for their little band. Even Shippo, who was taking the opportunity to grate on the half-demon's nerves. It was too bad, she mused, that the "sit" command only worked on Inuyasha; there were times that she dearly wished she could do the same to Miroku.

As the girls settled into bed, Kagome gushed about how she loved weddings. Sango smiled and wondered if the younger girl was imagining a particular half-demon for her groom.

Kagome, it seemed, was thinking along similar lines. Sango was summarily forced to agree to it when the girl from the future decided that since Sango was going to be getting married as soon as Naraku had been defeated, she should participate in the preparations to get ideas of what she wanted her own wedding to be like.

So it happened that the next morning Sango stood off to the side, watching Kagome throw herself into the preparations with enthusiasm. It would seem that the younger girl was in her element, admiring the bride-to-be's dress and making suggestions about the decorations so energetically that it was lucky that Yuri was equally excited. As for Sango…she was content just to watch and offer up her opinions when they were asked for.

In all honesty, it was hard to watch all of this and not think of her own wedding. It seemed as though it would never be her turn. Some days she even wondered if Miroku really wanted her to be his one and only.

Still, though, when he wasn't womanizing… She smiled, and decided that she would participate in the preparations after all. A wedding was a joyous occasion, after all.

* * *

It was a beautiful wedding. Miroku admitted that wholly and without reservation. It was so rare on their journey that they could be a part of something so wholly happy, and it was a wonderful change of pace.

The bride and the groom were young and completely in love. Kagome played her part in it flawlessly. Inuyasha, of course, grumbled that it was a sappy waste of time, but Miroku couldn't help but notice that he wore a reluctant half-smile that he suspected had as much to do with Kagome as with the ceremony itself.

The monk stole a glance at Sango. She, too, was smiling gently, but she looked as though her thoughts were occupied elsewhere. She truly was a beautiful woman.

He held back a sigh. He didn't deserve someone as gorgeous and strong and loyal ( and the list could go on and on) as Sango. He wondered, not for the first time, if he was destined to be a disappointment to her. He couldn't count the number of times he had hurt her, and wondered what it was that brought her to forgive him every time.

As he watched the ceremony take place, he wondered if he would ever get to have one with his beautiful Sango. It seemed that their quest to defeat Naraku was never-ending, and their chances of surviving the final battle—should they ever reach it—were slim. She deserved something better than waiting endlessly for happiness to arrive.

As they progressed into the celebratory feast, Miroku plastered a smile on his face and got to doing what he did best: flirting.

It was like a reflex, reverting to his womanizing ways. Of course, he thought as he lavished praise on a pair of lovely ladies, it was practically a crime to let such beauty go unappreciated.

Then again, he began to reconsider as he felt the familiar chill of Sango's eyes on him. He froze and turned slowly, his smile too large and forced.

"Ah, Sango, lovely wedding, wasn't it?" he forced out, too cheerfully.

Her expression was flat, which somehow stung more than anger would have. "Forget it, monk." Without another word, she turned and walked away—away from the feast, and it seemed as though she meant to continue on out of the village, Kirara on her heels.

Miroku closed his eyes briefly. He didn't need Kagome's accusatory glare to tell him that he needed to follow after her and fix his latest mistake.

* * *

Sango ignored the monk's calls for her to wait for him. If he wanted to talk to her, he could very well catch up to her, because she was not slowing down. It never failed; every time they entered a village, he would inevitably find some other woman to push his affections on. It was only a matter of how long it took for him to find a new target.

She fought back tears, determined not to cry over Miroku again. It was anger at his philandering ways as much as the feeling of being overlooked that made her eyes sting. She should have been used to this by now, and yet every time it seemed to sting more instead of less.

She was forced to come to a stop as he gripped her hand in his, although she refused to look at him. At least they were out of the village now, with no witnesses but Kirara.

"Sango, please," he began, but she didn't want to hear it. She knew his excuses by heart by now.

"Let go of me, monk," she growled, although she made no effort to reclaim her hand.

Miroku sighed. "Only if you'll listen to me."

At that, Sango did wrench her hand from his grip, whirling around to glare at him through slightly misty eyes. "What is there to listen to that I haven't heard before?"

"Sango, you know the only woman that matters to me is you," he tried again. The demon slayer responded to this by turning and walking. It didn't matter if she was headed into the forest rather than down the road; all that mattered was that it was away from him.

"You always say that they don't matter to you," she half-shouted as she realized that he was going to continue following. "But if that was true, why do you keep doing it?"

"Because you mean too much to me."

The answer was so unexpected that she had to stop, although she was still stubborn enough not to look at him. "You tell me that you want to spend your life with me," she said quietly. She found, much to her chagrin, that she was starting to cry after all. "Then you turn around and flirt with the first pretty woman you see. What am I supposed to think of that?"

She flinched away from the feel of his hand on her shoulder, but he persisted. "I only flirt with those women because I value our relationship too much to demean it by treating you that way. Surely you can see that you are so much more than a pretty face to me."

Sango sniffed quietly, trying not to make it noticeable. "I know that I'm too masculine. Maybe it would be better if you found someone more womanly, someone who deserves—"

"Sango, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met, both outside and in," he interrupted. "You are strong and fierce, but don't for a second think that makes you less of a woman. In fact, if anything, I do not deserve you."

The demon slayer stiffened and turned around in surprise at his words.

"Despite your devotion to me, all I ever do is undermine your trust and hurt you," he continued, his eyes fixed on his right palm. "I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to find someone whose faithfulness you can be sure of, someone not cursed with this wretched wind tunnel."

Sango was transfixed; he so seldom confessed his insecurities to her—usually it was the other way around. Hesitantly, she reached out to clasp the hand that he was so intent on and brought her other hand to his face, forcing him to look at her.

"Miroku," she said softly, savoring the taste of the name that she so seldom spoke, "the only one I want is you."

She wasn't sure who it was that moved—possibly it was both of them—but suddenly their lips met. Heat rushed to her cheeks at this unfamiliar contact. She discovered that even as her hand moved from his face to the back of his neck, his free hand was finding its way to her waist, for once not venturing further down.

They were both flushed and out of breath as they broke apart. He smiled at her, his expression halfway between impish and tender.

"You said my name," he murmured, and she found herself smiling in response.

"Yes," she agreed, "I did."

He nodded solemnly, then knelt to address Kirara. "May we have a few moments alone?" he asked the demon cat, who chirped compliantly and trotted back in the direction of the village.

And then they were kissing again. She had now wrapped both of her arms around his neck, fingers burying themselves in his hair. One of his hands finally found its way to her rear, but she found that she couldn't mind, not here and now. In fact, she found herself considering the fact that if this was the kind of feeling he hoped to inspire by placing his hands there so often, she could hardly fault him, because it was so much more wonderful than she had imagined.

Sango was suddenly filled with the need to be closer to Miroku, although there was precious little that still separated them. He seemed surprised as she set about finding her way to skin beneath his voluminous monk's robe.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he asked her softly, nothing but concern in his deep blue eyes.

She smiled again, and again replied "Yes."

He took that as an invitation to slip her yukata from her shoulders, kissing his way down her neck. She couldn't help but make a small noise, but pulled away so that she could divest him of his clothing as thoroughly as he was removing hers.

The feel of his skin on hers was electrifying. Her breath caught at the feeling of his hand on her breast, this caress so different from the meaningless gropes he so often attempted. As if by mutual agreement they knelt, and then she found herself on the ground with him above her (with only one awkward moment as she had to move a particularly sharp stick out of the way).

They fit together perfectly. The bliss was so intense, in those few moments that their very hearts seemed to beat in unison, that Sango had to wonder why she had waited so long to let this happen.

As she nestled into Miroku's embrace, and as their breathing slowed and temperatures cooled, Sango couldn't help but think that he wouldn't be womanizing again for quite some time.

* * *

It was endearing, the way that Sango's cheeks lit up the instant their eyes met. Miroku couldn't help but smirk a little bit at her shyness after what had passed between them.

They had returned before the feast ended, although given that such banquets were sometimes given to last hours this was no difficult feat. Sango had, however, decided that she needed to take a quick bath in the stream before making her return, and so Miroku had already been there some time when she came back.

He was certain that Inuyasha had some idea of what had passed between the two, if only because of the half-demon's keen sense of smell. Still, even Inuyasha wouldn't confront him over this in a public place, so he still had time before he had to think about that conversation.

He smiled at Sango from across the room, an expression which she bashfully returned. When she froze in her progress towards him, he knew almost right away what the problem was.

"Oh, sir monk, we're so glad that you have returned," crooned one of the pretty women he had been flirting with earlier. He flinched, though given what it had led to he couldn't quite regret the action.

"What can have taken you so long?" mused the other, her voice sickly-sweet.

It was strange, Miroku thought, how little these women interested him now. They seemed so transparent and false. Of course, they were no less beautiful than they had been earlier that day—and yet, it seemed to him, there was no beauty in the world that could compare to Sango's, and frankly…the thought of sharing an intimate moment with either of them was detestable when he had a lifetime of her to look forward to.

He smiled warmly at both of them, and just as cheerfully told them "Oh, I was just taking a walk with my fiancée. Weddings are so romantic, don't you agree, ladies?"

Nothing could compare to the warmth of Sango's smile as the two beauties practically tripped over themselves apologizing and getting away from him as gracefully as possible.

It wasn't just the sex, he knew (although that was doing very little to dissuade him). It was the fact that she knew everything about him, his flaws and vices as well as his good qualities, and wanted him just the same. It was the way that they understood one another so completely, sometimes to the point that they didn't need words. It was the way they just fit together.

Yes, he thought as she sat down next to him, if he was only to love one woman for the rest of his life, he was glad it was Sango.