Author's Note: Written for both Aamalie and the mirsan_fic prompt 'Possess'.
Sango was taking too long to return from her trip back to her village.
Miroku sat stock-still, his legs crossed in his usual meditative pose; Inuyasha lounged in the tree branch overhead while Kagome was sprawled on the other side of the tree trunk, nose in a book. Shippou was asleep, his little body entangled with the tall grass.
Although the monk's posture suggested serenity, he was anything but, his shoulders angular lines of tension. The fingers of his gloved right hand twitched to their own rhythm, drumming an insistent tattoo on his leg.
The young miko made a noise of frustration and put her book down. "Miroku-sama, go look for Sango-chan, then."
"... What do you mean, Kagome-sama?" His hand stilled.
"It's written all over your face – you're worried about her. She's a day late."
Inuyasha snorted lazily. "Keh. You worry too much, wench. Sango can take care of herself just fine."
Kagome shot him a loaded look which the hanyou did not fully understand; his survival instincts kicking in anyway, he quickly shut up.
The monk got to his feet, calmly brushing off his robes. "We will be back in a few days' time."
When he was a small speck on the horizon, Inuyasha turned to Kagome. "Are you mad, woman? Sango'll kill him – she left to be away from that lech's wandering hands."
"No, she won't," answered Kagome calmly; the very image of Buddha. "Miroku-sama knows better than that."
The hanyou snorted.
The journey there was strangely empty; Miroku found himself missing his companions. More specifically, one companion. He had forgotten how lonely travelling alone was. Just to shorten the time, he focused his energy into walking as fast as possible, stopping infrequently to rest.
His robes were soaked with sweat when he caught sight of the crumbling palisade mounted on the hill. A lazy curling plume of smoke from the ruins lifted the crushing weight off his heart he had no idea was there in the first place; she was there and she was safe.
The deep sound of a man's voice, mingled with Sango's, pricked Miroku's senses. She was not alone after all. His back stiffened as he heard her easy laughter.
The monk approached the hut and pulled back the door curtain.
Sango looked up. Surprise, mixed with some other emotion he did not immediately identify, filled her face. "Houshi-sama?" Kirara mewed a welcome from the cozy hearth she lay beside.
Miroku smiled a genuine smile. "Sango."
The other man with her rose to his feet. Tall and gangly, the most interesting thing about him was his clothes; he was dressed in the same slayer's outfit as Sango and Kohaku. The only difference was the colour of his armour plates; deep crimson, the colour of blood.
"What are you doing here, Houshi-sama?" asked Sango. He was delighted to note there was no trace of exasperation or annoyance in her voice. It seemed – to his anxious mind – that she was as happy to see him as he was to see her.
"You were supposed to be back the day before yesterday."
She gasped. "I – oh! I'm sorry, I lost track of time..."
The man bowed. "I apologise for having detained Sango-chan, houshi-sama. I am Satoru, of the northern demon slayers' tribe."
Miroku returned the bow. "A pleasure. I am Miroku, a humble itinerant monk and member of Sango's travel party." He tried not to react to the affectionate suffix attached to Sango's name.
"After we heard some – unpleasant – rumours, my headman sent me to see what had become of our sister tribe..." The young man's voice trailed away. "But I am thankful that at least my cousin survived."
"Cousin?"
"Satoru-chan and I are distantly related by marriage," Sango explained, a blush creeping up her face for no apparent reason. "He was lucky I happened to be visiting at the same time he came."
Miroku nodded. "I see." He ignored the shrill whine of alarm in his head, dismissing it as irrational jealousy. He had felt twinges of it before – whenever Kuranosuke had touched Sango – but it was much stronger now. Satoru was charming, good-looking and well-mannered; qualities he found attracted women like bees to a honeypot.
He knew it had been a bad idea to let himself fall – even secretly – for this maddening, vulnerable shatteredstrong woman.
Some of the tension he was feeling must have bled over his face; Satoru stepped over to the threshold. "Excuse me, I must go pay my respects to the villagers." Pausing at the doorframe, his hand tightened on the hanging cloth. "Please think it over carefully, Sango-chan." He was gone in a soft rustle of fabric.
She got up and walked over to where the monk was."Why did you come?" she asked softly.
"I was worried about you."
Sango gave him a half-smile, obviously and fully expecting his hand to descend upon her ass – but was disappointed. He was gazing at her through dark violet eyes, completely serious; his hands hung unmoving at his sides.
"What did he mean, think it over carefully?"
She bit her lip. Somehow, he gathered it was difficult for her to speak. "Satoru-chan invited me to return to his village with him. He promised to help me find Kohaku and take him back, and after th – that... become his wife."
Miroku nodded slowly. "I see. It is kind of him."
He saw slow-burning anger ignite in Sango's eyes; it was the situation with Kuranosuke all over again. "I told him so – and I told him that I already had a travelling party."
The monk kept his face blank and deliberate. "Maybe you should reconsider the offer carefully – "
"I will," she spat, not bothering to hide her frustration any longer. "Good night, Houshi-sama."
Fight for me, her eyes pleaded with him. Be jealous of him, as I am of the other women: the monk pretended not to see.
He watched with dulled eyes as she stalked out of the hut – presumably heading towards the graves. Why did she always never understand? He wanted her, yes – but more than that, he wanted a future for her. No sense in tying herself down to vengeance, or grief, or even a dead man walking. Miroku was being selfless, for the first time in his life – no second, counting the young lord – adhering to the principles of the Buddha.
But even that could not lessen the pain.
When a cry split the night air, Miroku was moving before he realised it, feet taking him to the graves of Sango's people.
All at once, Satoru's form was shifting, as though a pebble had disturbed the reflection in the water –
– Sango, a small knife in her hand, was striking –
– she was falling back, blood tracing the arc of her descent through the air –
– and Miroku was shouting. Sutras flew out of his robes and onto the demon's face; crackling spiritual energy disrupted and dissolved the illusion.
"Sango!" He was at her side in a heartbeat. The slashes to her side were deep but not life-threatening; Miroku felt the red haze begin to claim him.
The bear youkai sat back on its haunches. "My brother was right; yet more of those filthy slayers still live." It languidly licked Sango's blood off its claws. "No wonder the villages fell so easily, when you slayers are so gullible."
"What happened to the northern village?" asked Miroku sharply, already dreading the answer.
"What do you think, monk? You look more intelligent than the slayer."
Sango staggered to her feet, ignoring Miroku's admonition to lie still. "Murderer," she rasped.
"You are more despicable." The bear youkai opened its jaws, exposing long glistening fangs. "You make a living from butchering our kind."
Miroku leapt back with a curse; claws thudded into the ground where he had previously stood. A transformed Kirara roared and sank her teeth into the thick hide.
When he turned, Sango was gone. He knew where; heartsick, he yelled for Kirara to get away. The monk had to finish this before she came back.
"Kazaana!"
The wind tunnel exploded in a fury of howling; he was careful to aim it so only the bear youkai felt its full impact.
It roared, digging its claws into the ground –
– clods of dirt began to crumble away into the void –
"Hiraikotsu!"
The giant bone boomerang flew in between him and the youkai; Miroku bound his hand quickly. It returned to her hand; she stood in full battle dress on the edge of the fray, gasping from the strain catching the Hiraikotsu put on her wound. Blood trickled down her leg to vanish into the earth.
"I will avenge their deaths today, demon!"
And it was over; faster than it had began, with a slicing of the monk sucked the body into his Kazaana before it could defile the graves.
Even as the echoing death-cries of the demon faded away, Sango drove Hiraikotsu into the soil, using it to steady suddenly weak legs so they would not betray her.
But Miroku noticed, as he always did.
The monk and Kirara's warmth enveloped her. "Why, Sango? You're badly wounded," he said softly, easing Hiraikotsu from her shaking hands. "You shouldn't have fought." Kirara growled, nudging her hand, heedless of the blood that stained it.
His empty words fall on an equally empty heart. Without speaking, she tells him why. Without asking, he understands why. She and her brother are now truly the last of their kind, standing drenched in the blood of the others.
He binds her wounds carefully, almost tenderly; his hands ghost over her skin, cleaning blood off the ridged porcelain.
"Harder," she says.
He puts down the bloodied rag. "Your wounds have been torn open wider. It will leave an unsightly scar if I press too hard."
"Let it." She gestures down her body. "As though it makes a difference."
Ignoring her bitter words, he picks up the rag and continues cleaning placidly. "Will you be strong enough to travel tomorrow?"
He receives no reply as he winds cleanfresh bandages over the gashes.
Sighing, he fastens them and moves in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Sango?" She avoids his gaze, her brown eyes hollow with despair.
Miroku thinks he knows how she is feeling; she let her guard down and allowed the demon to crawl into her fragile heart, breaking it all over again. Much to his shame, he finds himself resenting the fact she let her defences down so easily to another man.
Losing – in more ways than one – is something that never gets easier with practice.
The monk drapes his kesa over her shoulders – her own kimono is torn and bloodied – and gets to his feet. He rests the palm of his hand to the top of her hair for an instant before leaving. Hopefully she will unburden herself to him later, if not now.
"I was afraid not to believe him."
He sits up, fully awake now, and glances at the silhouette of the woman in the darkened corner of the hut.
"I was so happy to see a face from my past – though I should have seen him for what he really was."
Miroku inches closer and gropes in the dark for her hand.
"I was careless – " Sango's voice wavers and gradually breaks, " – and foolish. Foolish to think I alone possess the strength to avenge my people and save Kohaku."
His gentle fingers find the curve of her cheek and trace it down to her jawline.
"I wanted so badly to know I wasn't alone anymore," she says, her voice now a whisper.
Miroku is close enough to kiss her. "You were never alone." His words caress her face. "You have me."
Whether he is enough for her, he leaves it open to interpretation.
She smiles, and for the first time since he arrived at the ruined village; Miroku's heart lifts.
Inuyasha's ear flicked. "They're back," he said matter-of-factly, too proud to admit he had been worried when they failed to return within the first few couple of days.
Kirara landed on the clearing beside Kaede's hut gracefully. Miroku hopped off and helped Sango down.
"Sango-chan, you're hurt!" The slayer smiled at her friend's worry. "No wonder you were late!"
"I'm alright, Kagome-chan. Just a scratch from a minor youkai battle, nothing serious. It was a good thing Houshi-sama came when he did."
A gleeful look appeared on the school girl's face as she looked between Miroku and Sango, her further questions banished to the back of her mind. "I see..."
After Kagome disappeared into the hut, the monk turned to the slayer, a hint of a grin playing on his features. "You distracted her."
She surprised him with a devious smirk. "I had to, or else she wouldn't leave us alone."
"I suspect she'll find out anyway what happened."
Sango shot him a hard look. "You mean, monk, what didn't happen."
"Of course," he said innocently. "I meant to say, nothing at all happened."
Nothing but Sango entrusting her heart into my hands.
She glanced at Miroku one last time before deciding to let it go, shaking her head and walking a bit unsteadily into the hut after Kagome.
And nothing but my accepting it gratefully – and giving her mine in return.