InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Guilty Hero ❯ By a Thread ( Chapter 52 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Wait.... what? What's this?!  Is it... is it really an update?  Within a month of the last one?!  Yes, it is indeed, folks.  Hard to believe, I know.  All I have to say is.... don't expect this to be the norm. :P

First off, a thank you to all who reviewed.  I always love reading them, and it's great to see how some of you are so excited to find out what happens next.  It's a lovely inspiration. :)

I apologize in advance for the immense length of this chapter, but I'm assuming most of you probably don't care, and you hopefully will be too absorbed to even notice.  Hopefully.  Anyway, enough dithering.  On with the show!

Guilty Hero

Chapter 51: By a Thread



A week had passed since the fairly small group had reclaimed their headquarters.  However, there was no time for celebration.  Sango, Miroku, and Kagome all knew that Naraku would not be quiet for long now that he had the completed jewel in his possession.  Now with access to every member, they were rallying all.  

The cleaning crew had proven that, despite their long absence, they could still erase all traces of demon attacks, and the building was repaired in no time.  Koga, still in charge of the city's police force, now brought his teams over to train at HQ's facilities.  With other members returning to fight, he made use of the opportunity and let the police officers spar with the other demons.  That sort of training would be invaluable for the upcoming battle.  

Kaede was now training a new team of doctors and nurses on the techniques of demonic care. While the Order rarely needed more than two doctors to handle day-to-day altercations, they had learned from the last war that every medically capable hand was needed.  And with Naraku intent to raze the city, she could feel in her bones that the amount of injuries would far surpass that from the first war.

Needless to say, HQ was constantly buzzing with activity at all hours of the day and night.  It was for this reason Sessho-maru patiently held his tongue concerning the situation with his brother.  There was, of course, plenty of work for him to do.  Demon attacks were becoming far more frequent in the city, and he often destroyed several in his routine checks.  There was also the matter dealing with his apprentice, Shippo.  The fox's embarrassing behavior when the undead army showed up was inexcusable.  Shaming both himself and his teacher, Sessho-maru had to ensure that Shippo was capable of holding his own in the upcoming battle.  Special training sessions had left the poor fox battered, bruised, and bloody, but he was gaining confidence with every meeting.  It was worth it in the end.

There was the issue with his partner, Kagome that also kept springing up.  They continued their training at the shrine for a while longer, but Sessho-maru quickly realized that Kagome had hit a solid wall.  She simply could not release her full potential, and it was due to the fact that his blasted half-brother was, as far as Kagome was concerned, lying dead in a ditch somewhere.  That was an iron clad lock on her abilities.  However, this was a blessing in disguise.  It was a surefire way to get Sango and Miroku to act.

Armed with this knowledge, he entered headquarters seven days after the takeover, bathing the receptionist's desk in the warm orange glow of a setting sun.  Rin had already gone home for the day, of which he minded little.  While he was fond of the girl, he didn't need any distractions from his current task.

He was silent during the smooth elevator ride to the top floor, and when he arrived, he let himself into Sango and Miroku's office.  They both started at his sudden appearance, glancing up from massive piles of paperwork.

“Goodness, Sessho-maru,” Miroku grumbled, rubbing his forehead.  “Do you not know how to knock?  Now really isn't a good time, we're very busy here.  We just got a phone call from Kohaku.  He said he must meet with Kagome tomorrow, alone.  We're unclear on how we want to proceed with this.”

“You will  time for this.”  It was not a request, but an icy-cold demand.  Sango and Miroku looked sharply at him, surprised at his tone.  It was a little unusual, even for the demon.

He stood facing their desks, commanding their attention.  His back was stiff and straight, and his arms were clasped tightly behind him.  When he spoke, his voice was hard and chilly.  “The time has come to turn your attention to my half-brother.  His situation grows direr by the day, and you cannot afford to let this continue any longer.”

Guilt twisted their faces.  They glanced at each other, uncertain of what to do.  It was true, Inu-Yasha had been pushed to the side by all the tasks necessary to complete.  But there was simply too much to accomplish, and they had no idea how much time they had left.  Naraku was due to attack any day, and they could not be caught with their pants down.

The problem was Sessho-maru knew all of this.  And he still chose to pressure them with this task.  Clearly, it was urgent.
“You know well of Myoga's report.  Recall how alarming it was.  And now think of what an extra week has done to the fool.  If you wish to save him in time, you must act, and you must act now.”

“Why haven't  taken care of him?” Sango asked brazenly.  Although she knew the demon was right, she did not appreciate having someone barge into her office and berate her.  “If you're so worried, I don't see you rushing off there.”

Sessho-maru's composure, for the first time in front of Sango and Miroku, cracked.  He leaned forward and gouged his claws into her desk, baring his fangs.  “” he snarled, “my presence would do nothing but harm my dolt of a half-brother!  He must be cared for by his loved ones.  And as Higurashi is showing stubbornness that she could only have learned from Inu-Yasha himself, this task is left up to ”

Wrenching his claws from the desk, he strode angrily toward the door and flung it open.  He turned to face them once more, his eyes flashing in his ire.  “Mark my words: You would do well to force a meeting with Higurashi and Inu-Yasha.  Both of their lives depend upon it.  Do. Not. Fail.”  And then he was gone.

Silence fell for several moments once the enraged demon was gone.  Miroku and Sango stared at their massive amount of work, frozen to their seats.  Never before had they seen the demon show that kind of emotion.  Obviously, this was of the utmost importance to him.  And if invoked such strong feelings in a man who had been absent the vast majority of Inu-Yasha's life, then what the hell were they doing, sitting at their desks?

In the same fluid motion, they rose from their seats and collected their coats.  Miroku silently held the door open for Sango, and then shut the light off as he followed her to the elevator.  They had work to do.

As they drove to the grocery store to pick of the makings of dinner for the half-demon, Myoga's report rolled around and around their heads.  It was rather ominous.  Terrible words had been used, words that Sango and Miroku hesitated to believe.  Words like 'emaciated'. 'Ailing'. 'Dipsomania', which was a word Miroku had to look up later, and shuddered at the meaning.  But the scariest word of all was one they were quite familiar with, but had no idea how to face.

'

And, from Myoga's account, he was not using the word to describe the situation; he was using the word to describe Inu-Yasha himself.  This was an area they had never delved into with the half-demon before.

Thus, it was with some trepidation that they climbed the last few steps to the demon's apartment.  Miroku, whose arms were occupied with the bags from the grocery store, could not open the door, so Sango raised her hand to knock.  However, it stayed frozen in midair, inches away from the wood.

“Miroku...” she said softly, speaking for the first time since they had left the apartment.  “How are we going to handle this?  He has no reason to see us.  We'll only be the bearers of bad news in his eyes.  He'll assume we're going to plead with him to join the war.  I mean, will he even hear us out?  He rarely does, when he's angry...”  She trailed off, very uncertain.

“This is all true,” Miroku agreed, peeking at her face from behind.  “But nothing will ever change if nobody bends, my dear.  Besides, we do care about him.  And Sessho-maru did have a point.  We are two of his three 'loved ones'.  If we don't help him, who will?”

Sango didn't answer, although her hand started to tremble.  Taking a deep, steadying breath, she knocked three times.

For nearly a minute they stood on the landing, waiting.  Waiting for either the half-demon himself to fling the door open and snarl at them, or to hear his rough voice growling from inside the apartment.  But neither came.

Glancing at Miroku over her shoulder, who shrugged in confusion, Sango knocked again.  And again, they waited.

“Maybe... he's not home?” Sango asked half-heartedly.  She doubted it was true.  Inu-Yasha hadn't been seen in weeks except at his apartment.  

“Sessho-maru seems to think he is in a very dire condition.  Perhaps he's unable to answer the door.”

With a short nod, Sango gripped the doorknob and twisted slowly.  Unlocked, as his apartment always remained, the door swung open.

Sango and Miroku staggered backward from the incredible odor that washed over them.  Both started to cough, their eyes watering from the combined power of alcohol, smoke, urine, vomit, and the rancid smell of an unwashed body.  It was from this hideous air alone that Sango and Miroku fully realized just how long it had been since they had left Inu-Yasha to his own devices.

“My God,” Miroku wheezed, struggling to free one of his hands so he could cover his nose.  “What's ”

Sango, who had turned a magnificent shade of green at the unexpected attack on her nasal passages, couldn't answer from behind the hand clamped over her nose and mouth.  She merely shook her head, then turned and made to enter the apartment.

Slowly, hesitantly, they stepped across the threshold, greeting a scene they could hardly have imagined.  Inu-Yasha had gone on binges before; this they were accustomed to.  But what lay before they was an amalgam of all his binges combined.

Bottles were the first item they came across.  Dozens and dozens of them.  Every available space had at least two containers atop it.  The television. The side table.  The desk.  His coffee table was hardly able to be seen through the collection covering its surface.  Inu-Yasha's couch was no longer a place to sit down, but a place to store more of the vessels.  The floor was also littered with them—Miroku accidentally kicked one when he entered.

As for the floor, Sango and Miroku could not have been more grateful to be wearing shoes at that point.  The entire carpet was covered in various stains and puddles.  Many stains were unrecognizable.  Others were still wet.  There were burn marks everywhere, as well as the telltale cigarette butts.  It was a miracle the place hadn't burned down in their creation.  The overwhelming odor that had attacked them on the landing was being emitted largely from the carpeting, and looking at it was almost enough for Sango to wretch.  Another stain would have hardly mattered, but she didn't want to claim any of the mess as her own.

Taking in the full sight of the room, the pair could not help but wonder if a fight had broken out at some point.  Nearly all the furniture was askew and broken.  The coffee table was nearly touching the cracked screen of the flickering television set.  A lamp had toppled off a side table and was lying broken on the ground.  Had anyone dared to sit upon the filthy lump of fabric that passed as a couch, seeing the television would have been impossible from its strange angle.  And looking at the walls, they discovered that claw marks were gouged into almost every one.  There were also filthy hand prints and smears here and there, marking where Inu-Yasha had used the structures to gain an upright position.

Sango and Miroku could only stare in a shocked silence, taking in each disturbing sight with fresh horror.  With the air so thick and rank and the state of decay so alarming, they almost turned around to leave and regain their senses.  However, it was a thick, wet cough that rooted their feet to the spot.  Near the grimy window, something moved, and it took Miroku a moment to recognize it as the half-demon they were looking for.

Inu-Yasha was slumped, almost lying down, underneath the window, his back resting against the stained paint of the wall.  His hair was no longer held the silver luster as it had in the past.  It was practically as disgusting as the carpet, and was more of a rancid tan color than silver.  He was clad in what had once been his best dress shirt, but was now nothing more than a rag.  It was damp with sweat and liquor, and hung unbuttoned against his thin, quivering chest.  He also had donned a pair of khaki shorts that Miroku was unaware he had ever owned.  These were also hopelessly beyond saving, as it was clear Inu-Yasha had not made it to the bathroom on more than one occasion.  In his right hand, he gripped yet another bottle, this one with a few swigs of the damning liquid still left in the bottom.  In his left, the red afghan that Kagome had made for him was clutched, though it had clearly seen better days.

He coughed hoarsely again, rousing both himself and his companions from their stupors.  Shifting against the wall, he moaned and slowly pushed his frail frame straighter.

It was this small movement that propelled Miroku forward.  Doing his best to ignore how the heady smell grew even more pungent the closer he got to the hanyou, he crouched down next his friend.  “Inu-Yasha,” he said clearly, trying to keep his voice still.  “Inu-Yasha, can you hear me?”

The half-demon's head, which had been lolling against his chest, lifted jerkily.  Peering through matted bangs, his glassy eyes drifted slowly around the room.  They were so bloodshot that his amber irises were hardly visible. It was several seconds before they found Miroku, but it was obvious there was no recognition in their glazed and cloudy depths.

“K...K'gome...?” he uttered, his voice weak and cracked.  “D-did... didjoo come back...?”

Miroku frowned deeply.  “Inu-Yasha, it's me.  Miroku.”  He spoke slowly and clearly, hoping something might click in the demon's sodden brain.

“Mi...Miroku.”  Inu-Yasha seemed to be testing the name.  His eyes, appearing rather bulbous in their sunken sockets, fell to the floor as he thought.  “S-Sango?  I-is she here too?”

“Yes!” Sango replied quickly, approaching the half-demon with less trepidation at the mention of her name.  “I'm here, Inu-Yasha!”
It took him a moment to find her, but when he did, something that was supposed to be a smile tugged at his cracked, peeling lips.

“Did... D-did K'gome ask ya t-t' come ov'r?” he stuttered, attempting to sit up further.  “She l-likes you guys.”

Sango and Miroku shared a look of confusion.  “Uh, no, Inu-Yasha.  We just invited ourselves over.  I, uh... I hope that was all right.”

He nodded carefully, though the motion obviously nauseated him.  “'Sfine,” he slurred, waving his bottle in the air.  “K'gome 'n' me h-haven' had vis'tors in a long time.”

Again, Sango and Miroku met each others eyes.  Tears were welling up in Sango's.  Deciding it was high time to take action, Miroku got to his feet.

“Why don't you take our groceries into the kitchen,” he said softly, placing his hands on her shoulders.  “I'm sure getting that into a sanitary place to cook anything will take a little while.  I'm going to try and get him cleaned up.  Maybe knock some sense back into him.  Sound good?”

Nodding jerkily, she scooped up the bags that Miroku had dropped and ran into the kitchen, desperate to get away from the sight of her friend in such a state.

“Now, my friend...”  Miroku sighed heavily and faced the half-demon.  Inu-Yasha was taking a swig from his grimy bottle, and hadn't even noticed Sango leave.  “That's quite enough of that.”  Reaching down, he gripped the oily surface of the bottle and made to tug it out of the hanyou's grip.  However, while everything about Inu-Yasha appeared weak, his fingers apparently still held some strength.  Miroku could not pry the bottle away.

With a fierce snarl, Inu-Yasha wrenched it out of Miroku's grasp and bared his yellowed fangs at the man.  “NO,” he growled.  “This's MINE.”

Miroku quickly backed away.  From past experiences, he knew Inu-Yasha’s temper could turn on a dime when he was drunk.  Especially now, with Inu-Yasha so unstable, Miroku did not want to test his limits.  

“Okay…Okay.”  Standing straight and staring down at the half-demon, Miroku tried to formulate a plan of action.  If he couldn’t get the booze away from Inu-Yasha, then he simply had to skip that step and move on the next one.  However, with the rank odors pressing in on all his senses, he couldn’t think straight.

Stepping over Inu-Yasha’s spread legs, with the half-demon watching him warily, he wrestled momentarily with the latch and then wrenched the window open.  In an instant, a cool breeze swooped in from outside.  It rendered the pair silent and still.  For Miroku, it was out of sheer relief at being able to take a clean breath.  Inu-Yasha clearly hadn’t felt any fresh air in weeks.  He closed his eyes as the wind tousled his hair.

“All right.”  Now able to form a coherent thought, Miroku stared down at his friend.  The task wasn’t going to be pleasant, but it had to be done.  “Inu-Yasha, I think it’s time you got cleaned up.”

Shrugging out of his suit jacket and tossing it over the tattered back of the couch, he tried not to cringe as it undoubtedly soaked up any liquid staining the ripped fabric.  He already knew he’d have to burn most of his current clothing, but it didn’t make the idea any easier.  Tugging off his tie and throwing it to rest on his jacket, he then rolled up his sleeves.

“Inu-Yasha, I’m going to need your help here, okay?”

Slowly, Inu-Yasha dragged his eyes back open and mumbled, “With wha’?”

“Standing.”

The hanyou frowned at him.  “Y-yer already standin’…I think.”

With a humorless chuckle, Miroku crouched down and slid his arms behind Inu-Yasha’s back.  “Oh, won’t this be ,” he muttered.  Trying not to focus on how damp his friend’s shirt was, or how pungent the odors wafting his way were, he tugged Inu-Yasha to his feet.

“No, don’ do that,” Inu-Yasha moaned pitifully, his head rolling back as Miroku tried to get one of the half-demon’s arms over his shoulders.

“It’s not that bad,” Miroku lied as cheerfully as he could.  Fortunately for him, Inu-Yasha wasn’t very heavy, so he was easy to lift.  However, maneuvering him proved far more difficult, and he was trying very hard to pull away.  “Really now, hold still!”  

“N-no…”  Lurching forward out of Miroku’s grasp, Inu-Yasha staggered into the arm of the couch and promptly vomited a vile-smelling fluid all over Miroku’s jacket.

Miroku blinked once at the sight, and then gave a light sigh.  “I didn’t really like that coat anyway.”  He once again tried to put the panting half-demon’s arm over his shoulder, and this time Inu-Yasha allowed it.  Shaky from the sudden expulsion of his stomach contents, the hanyou leaned heavily into his friend.

“Come on, Inu-Yasha.  Let’s head to the bathroom.”

Normally, the walk from the hanyou’s living room to the bathroom was a short one, made in just a few seconds.  However, with the added challenge of being heavily intoxicated and having several empty bottles rolling in their path, Miroku was hoping they would be able to make it at all.  Inu-Yasha’s legs were hardly working, and he clearly couldn’t even see any of the glass vessels underfoot.  If he weren’t being held upright, he would have crashed to the floor in just a few seconds.

To make matters more challenging, Miroku found himself constantly fighting back his gag reflex with every step they took.  Inu-Yasha was still clinging to the red yarn afghan with his left hand.  The blanket apparently had been acting as a sponge during Inu-Yasha’s crash course in self-destruction.  It was incredibly moist to the touch, and smelled no better than the puddle of vomit that was oozing over Miroku’s jacket.  And it was slapping against Miroku’s entire left side with each unbalanced stagger.

He found himself staring at the ceiling, which was a strange source of comfort. It was the only place in the entire apartment that did not seem to be affected by Inu-Yasha and his insane binge.  He felt somewhat relieved knowing that at least one part escaped unscathed.

“Ouch!”  While staring at the ceiling, he had inadvertently led both himself and the half-demon crashing into the wall of the hallway.  This pressed the damp blanket even closer into him, nearly hitting his face, and he couldn’t hold back a disgusted groan.

“I-I’m sorry, Inu-Yasha,” he grunted, shoving them both upright again.

Inu-Yasha seemed to hardly notice, and merely repeated, “Sorry…” in a dazed tone.  Clearly walking headlong into a wall wasn’t an unusual occurrence to him.

With a shake of his head, Miroku continued on.  However, after just a couple uneven steps, he noticed the blanket had grown heavier.  Another step, and it was no longer sticking to his side.  A fourth step, and it was stretched taught, with Inu-Yasha’s grip on it now vice-like.  He took one more step, thinking perhaps the blanket had caught up some of the bottles that still littered the floor in the hallway, when a slight ripping noise forced him to stop.  

Inu-Yasha suddenly became quite rigid.  Apparently, the sound had not gone unnoticed.  Standing of his own accord, he gripped Miroku painfully on the shoulder as he turned around and squinted at the corner of his afghan.

A small rusty nail, sticking out of the baseboard just a few feet away, was entwined in the filthy red yarn.  It was also the culprit of a quarter-sized hole that was now torn in the corner.

To Miroku, it was a rather minor blight, considering the current state of the blanket.  The afghan was most likely past the point of saving anyway—a hole was really the least of the issues.

Inu-Yasha did not share this point of view.

Miroku yelped in pain as Inu-Yasha’s claws gouged into his shoulder when the half-demon lunged forward.  Slipping on a bottle, Inu-Yasha crashed to the ground, and then crawled as quickly as he could to the scene of the crime.

“No…n-no…no…” he moaned repeatedly, shakily trying to tug the yarn off of the cursed object.  “Dammit, let ”

Miroku was watching with a morbid fascination.  This behavior was… odd, to say the least.  Inu-Yasha was treating the blanket as though it was a person lying wounded on the floor.  He waited a few seconds, but the half-demon remained unsuccessful in freeing it, and was growing more and more agitated.  

“Um, look, why don’t you let me—“  Miroku didn’t get to finish his sentence.

With an enraged howl, Inu-Yasha wrenched the yarn free, now leaving a huge tear in the bottom corner.  “No, no, NO!” he roared again, rocking forward and smacking his head against the wall.  Miroku winced at the painful sound and tried to get closer, but Inu-Yasha had obviously forgotten he was there.

“This was KAGOME’S!” he shouted to no one in particular, shaking the yarn angrily.  “She made this for ME!”  With an animalistic snarl, he slashed at the wall, gouging four deep gashes into the sheet rock. “THIS WAS KAGOME’S!” he bellowed again, and swung his other fist into the abused wall.  Despite his rage, he was really too weak to actually break the sheet rock.  Instead, it left a sizable dent and some cracks around his fist.

“I broke it…” he groaned, his voice suddenly softer.  Pulling his legs up into his chest, he jerkily pulled the blanket over his head and held it tightly there.  “I broke it.”  His shoulders started to tremble, and Miroku soon realized, much to his shock, that Inu-Yasha had begun to sob.

He stood aghast at the display, staring in horror at the pathetic sight before him.   was what Myoga meant when he told them Inu-Yasha had gone insane.  And it was completely true.  Inu-Yasha was officially unhinged.

The only thing able to break Miroku from his shocked daze was the sound of Sango coming out of the kitchen, alerted by the strange noises and shouting.  As he desperately did not want her to see Inu-Yasha in his current state, he made a couple of strangled noises in his throat and frantically waved her away.  She jumped and stared worriedly between him and Inu-Yasha, but she didn’t linger long.  Covering her mouth with her hand, she disappeared back into the kitchen.

“Whew…”  Breathing out a sigh, Miroku tried to regain control of his senses.  Yes, Inu-Yasha was crazy.  But he was still their friend.  He had to help him.  So, taking a deep breath, he walked around in front of the half-demon and knelt down to meet his level.  Gently, so as not to provoke him, Miroku carefully pulled the blanket down so he could see Inu-Yasha’s face.

Tears were dribbling out of Inu-Yasha’s bloodshot eyes, leaving tracks in the grime on his cheeks.  His fangs were bared in a grimace, and he was sobbing uncontrollably.  He didn’t even notice Miroku was there until the man rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Inu-Yasha, just calm down.  It’s all right.”

Hiccuping, he held up the blanket for Miroku to see.  “I-I broke it,” he whispered hoarsely, as though Miroku had not heard the first two times he said it.  “K-K’gome made this fer me, an’ I let ‘er down.  I broke it.”  

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Miroku said soothingly, keeping his tone soft and calm.  “See?  It’s just a small tear.  I’m sure Kagome can fix it.”

Staring hazily at the damaged corner Miroku was holding up, Inu-Yasha's sobs began to slow.  He appeared to brighten slightly at the statement.  “Sh-she... she can fix it,” he repeated with a hiccup.  “Yeah...”  Straining to look behind Miroku at the door, he asked, “Is she back yet?”

Miroku glanced briefly over his shoulder, before shaking his head.  He didn't know what explanation Inu-Yasha's febrile mind had come up with for Kagome's absence, but he seemed to be holding the hope that she would be waltzing in momentarily.  He opted not to bring the truth crashing down on the half-demon just yet.

“Erm, no, but don't worry.  As soon as she gets back, I'm sure she'll be happy to take a look at it.  How about we get you cleaned up, so you can look nice for her?”

Inu-Yasha appeared to like the idea.  He nodded woozily, the crazed look in his eye slipping away as rapidly as it had come.  Groping for the whiskey bottle he had dropped during his tantrum, he took a quick swallow to recover a little.  Only then did Miroku feel it was safe to try and move him once again.

The journey from sitting to standing did not expel the half-demon's stomach contents this time, for which Miroku was very grateful.  They were even able to stumble all the way to the bathroom without any more incidents.  Once inside, Miroku kicked the toilet lid down so Inu-Yasha would have a place to sit, and then carefully shut the door behind them.  Sango did not need to see any of this.

He paused for a moment with his hands on his hips, surveying the state of the bathroom.  It seemed that as Inu-Yasha's intoxication escalated, he ventured from the confines of the living room less and less.  The end of the hallway had only a couple of empty bottles littering the floor, and the bathroom, while still in a disgusting state of dishevelment, was nowhere near the level of decay in the living room.

“Good,” Miroku muttered to no one in particular.  “That makes things easier.”  He swept a couple empty bottles from the top of the toilet tank into the trash can, and rinsed out the sink.  There were clear signs in the basin that Inu-Yasha had emptied his stomach in there more than once, but had been careless in cleaning up the mess.

“There.  Good enough for now.”

Without much ado, he heaved the unsuspecting Inu-Yasha to his feet and dumped him unceremoniously into the tub, fully-clothed.  And then, before the sot had any time to register why his world had suddenly flip-flopped, Miroku turned the shower on full-blast.

He stood with his arms crossed for a moment or two, grimly watching while Inu-Yasha yelped in surprise and thrashed under the spray.  Miroku didn’t really want to surprise Inu-Yasha like that, but it needed to be done.  Not only would it quickly wash away the first coat of grime, but it might also jolt the hanyou into a more sensitive state.  He knew, though he wistfully dreamed otherwise, that the ‘cold shower cure’ was a load of hogwash, and Inu-Yasha was not going to sober up from the blast of water.  Still, any way to keep him conscious was necessary.

Finally, Miroku turned the water off.  Inu-Yasha slowly stopped flailing and panted for breath.  Staring fuzzily at Miroku through dripping bangs, he slurred, “Wha’ th’ hell wazzat for?!”

“You reek,” Miroku replied calmly.  “Now please, if you can, start undressing.  I need to grab a few things.  I’ll be right back.”  Pausing to make certain the half-demon did as he was told, Miroku slipped silently out of the bathroom.

He headed first for the kitchen, deftly avoiding a half-dozen bottles littered across the carpet.  He was trying very hard not to dwell on those empty vessels.  They were a testament to just how close his friend was to killing himself.  Miroku really feared to think of what would have happened if he and Sango had not showed up.  How much longer would Inu-Yasha have lasted?

Upon arriving at the kitchen, the answer to that question seemed very bleak.  Sango had obviously been hard at work, but even still the results of Inu-Yasha’s debauchery were evident everywhere.

Sango, it appeared, had retrieved every empty bottle in the room and gathered them neatly on the kitchen table.  They covered the entire surface except for the far end, where and overflowing stack of newspapers and a moldy cup of tea sat.  The linoleum was sticky, damp, and discolored, but Sango had a mop and bucket ready and waiting for that.  The cabinets had been given the same treatment as the walls in the living room and hallway.  There were claw marks on several of them, and a couple had unusual scratches.  It took Miroku a moment to realize Inu-Yasha must have thrown a bottle at those particular ones, and the broken glass had marred the surfaces.  There was only one that was untouched, and that was the top right cabinet.  Kagome’s sutra was innocently stuck to the door, still as clean and white as the day she had placed it there.  Whether the danger of touching it had stuck with Inu-Yasha even in his intoxication, or the fact that it was connected to Kagome made the hanyou refrain from demolishing it, Miroku didn’t know.

Shaking his head, he focused on Sango.  She was currently scrubbing some pots and pans in preparation for dinner, but he could tell she was upset.  Her rigid posture alone told him something was wrong.  Unfortunately, he knew they couldn’t get into a serious conversation right now.  He had a naked half-demon waiting for him in the bathroom.  So, keeping his tone light, he walked over to the cabinets and asked, “How are you doing in here?”

Her response was a short, clipped, “Fine.”

The manner in which she spoke hardly came as a surprise.  Miroku knew that her behavior was harsh and brusque when she was trying to hold back her emotions.  She could be downright rude in an intense situation.  And with Inu-Yasha’s predicament, it was a surprise that she could hold back at all.

“I just needed to grab a few things for Inu-Yasha’s bath,” he continued conversationally, opening a door and peering inside.  “Have you seen a pitcher anywhere in your travels, my dear?”

“On top of the fridge.”

Surprised that she actually had an answer, Miroku turned to look and discovered the item in question placed neatly atop the refrigerator.  A small smile tugged at his lips at the sight.  Even though she hadn’t been in the apartment in weeks, Kagome still had left her mark.  The top of the fridge was neat and organized, unmarred by Inu-Yasha save for a thin layer of dust.  And as he poked around the cabinets a couple minutes more, they were much the same.  Tidy and sensibly organized.  Miroku found the trash bags he had been searching for in a drawer that also held sandwich and gallon-sized bags.  He took a modicum of comfort from the sight.  With his friend off the sanity wagon, seeing this small bit of normalcy gave him hope.

Sidling up beside Sango, he held up the dusty plastic pitcher with a silent question.  She nodded and stepped aside so he could rinse it clean.

“Do you need any help in here?” he asked quietly as he scrubbed.  “This room obviously needs some work.”

A smothered sniffle caught his ear.  He looked over to see Sango swipe a tear out of her eye.  “This whole  needs work,” she replied shortly, sniffing again.  Picking up a towel, she began to dry off a pan.  “I can hold my own in here.  You have a bigger job to do.”

They worked in silence for a moment longer before Sango set her pan and towel down.  Staring straight ahead, she asked in a tight voice, “How bad is he?”

Miroku wasn’t entirely sure how to answer that question.  He thought while he pulled the pitcher out of the dish water and shook it dry.  At last he replied, “There is little you and I can do for him.  However, he isn’t completely beyond hope.”  With that said, he gave Sango a small kiss on her cheek, and then left the kitchen.

Heaving a sigh, he slowly went down the hall.  He hated not being able to comfort her, but taking care of Inu-Yasha had to come first right now.  So, he fought his way through a maze of empty bottles to find a change of clothes in the bedroom, retrieved two towels and washrag from the hall closet, and at last returned to the bathroom.

“All right, Inu-Yasha,” he said, dropping his load on the grimy tile.  “Are you naked yet?”

The half-demon peered up at him from the tub where he sat slumped against the wall.  His shirt and shorts sat in a soggy pile next to the tub.  As Miroku approached, he could see the demon had been mostly successful in his task, except that his boxers were twisted strangely around his ankles.  Clearly those had posed a problem.

Kneeling down to untangle them, Miroku took the opportunity to take in any other maladies that Inu-Yasha had been hiding under his clothes.  He obviously hadn’t eaten anything since he disappeared from the radar; every rib was visible, and his arms and legs were unnaturally thin.  The skin on his hands and feet was translucent, and veins could clearly be seen.

Taking a deep breath, Miroku shook his head.  He had to stay in control.  If he gave in to worry and fear now, he couldn’t help Inu-Yasha.  He quickly freed Inu-Yasha from his boxers, then retrieved a trash bag and threw all of the half-demon’s clothes inside.  There was no point in trying to save them.

Pushing his sleeves up higher, he knelt next to the tub with the pitcher in hand.  “Okay.  Let’s get this train wreck started.”

It took the better part of an hour to get the weeks of filth cleaned off the hanyou.  Using the pitcher, Miroku poured warm water over Inu-Yasha, watching with a mixture of disgust and relief as the water turned a pale brown color before swirling into the rusty drain.  Once the water ran clear, he then scrubbed Inu-Yasha pink with a soapy rag.  Inu-Yasha growled a little when Miroku got soap in his eyes and when the man scrubbed a little too hard in his more sensitive areas, but he remained quiet otherwise.  Miroku could only assume that the act of getting clean felt so good that Inu-Yasha little to complain about.

After spending a good twenty minutes scrubbing every inch of Inu-Yasha’s tresses, Miroku at last rinsed the half-demon off.  He was finally satisfied that every trace of dirt and filth was eradicated.  This began the daunting task of getting him dried off and into the pair of clean pajamas retrieved from the bedroom.  Even though Inu-Yasha was clean on the outside, his bath hadn’t cleaned the whiskey out of his brain.  He was still heavily intoxicated, and therefore of very little help.

“W-when’s K’gome comin’ back?” he asked, speaking for the first time in an hour.

“I don’t know,” Miroku grunted in reply as he tried to wrestle the demon into a gray t-shirt.  He had already managed to somehow get a pair of flannel pajama pants on him, but the shirt was proving a challenge. Inu-Yasha was seated very unsteadily on the toilet again, and Miroku had to keep his leg braced on the seat to keep him from falling off.  “Where did she say she had gone?”  

Inu-Yasha’s face scrunched up as he thought.  His fingers twitched as though he was grabbing a bottle, and then he frowned when one wasn’t there.  This little act did not go unnoticed by Miroku.  At last, he slurred, “Th’ store.  She’s goin’ t’ th’ store.”

Tired, wet, and exhausted after the ordeal of cleaning him, Miroku didn’t feel like arguing.  If Inu-Yasha thought that Kagome had simply gone to the store, then he would play along.  “Then it shouldn’t be very long,” he replied.  “Now come on—get your arm in there!”  With a satisfied cry, he tugged Inu-Yasha’s arm through the sleeve.

“Okay.”  Standing up straight, Miroku put his hands on his hips as he peered around the bathroom.  The tile was covered in water around the tub, and both towels and rag were lying in damp piles on the floor.  The place almost looked worse than when they first came in.  “Oh, whatever.  This can wait.”  He waved his hand tiredly at the room, and then turned back to Inu-Yasha.

“I think Sango almost has dinner ready.  Are you hungry?”

Inu-Yasha wasn’t paying any attention.  His head was listing to one side, and his glassy eyes were fixed on the whiskey bottle that sat a few feet away from the toilet.  His fingers twitched again, involuntarily, and he let out a soft growl.  Flicking his gaze over to Miroku, he asked softly, “Please?” and looked at the bottle once again.

His heart ached to do it, but Miroku knew he had to.  He had to keep Inu-Yasha calm.  An outburst would be dangerous to any living thing in the apartment.  So, hesitantly, Miroku retrieved the bottle and placed it in Inu-Yasha’s waiting hands.  The half-demon’s claw rattled for a moment against the glass when he took it, but his fingers curled in a comfortable grip and the noise ended quickly.

Waiting for Inu-Yasha to finish his drink, Miroku tugged off his white button-down shirt.  It was now ruined, just like his jacket, so he tossed it on the pile of laundry.  He’d rather eat dinner in his thin white tank top than a stained wet shirt.  After that was taken care of, he opened the door in preparation for their trip to the kitchen.  Whether the half-demon was hungry or not, he was going to eat.  

“All right, pal.  Let’s get going.  Can you stand?”

Grunting, which gave Miroku no real answer, Inu-Yasha slowly turned on the toilet seat.  Placing one hand on top of the tank, he slowly pushed himself to his feet, and then promptly fell head first into Miroku’s chest.  

“Easy there, tiger.  That was a good try.”  Now getting used to Inu-Yasha’s unsteady gait, Miroku got one arm over his shoulders and hefted the half-demon upright.  

Inu-Yasha moaned in frustration as they slowly made their way down the hall.  “Why’s ev’rythin’ spinnin’ round so much?” he mumbled.  “K’gome said she’d make it stop.  But it hasn’.”

Miroku really couldn’t even make up an answer to Inu-Yasha’s question.  The answer was obvious, but it didn’t need to be told to the demon.  It took a moment, but he finally said, “Well, once we get to the kitchen, you can sit down.  And Sango’s fixed you a nice hot meal, so I’m sure that will help you feel better.”

“Mm.”  Inu-Yasha’s head lifted slightly at the comment.  “A-a meal?  K’gome hasn’ cooked inna long time…”  He trailed off, but then quickly added, “Bu’ that’s all righ’.  She works real hard.  I don’ wanna push ‘er.”

“Um, right.”  Miroku lifted his eyes toward the heavens, trying to stay in control.  These comments where highly worrisome.  Inu-Yasha really did believe Kagome was still living with him. Miroku wondered if this would disappear with sobriety, or if Inu-Yasha’s mind was so far gone that even drying him out wouldn’t cure the insanity.

“H-here we are!” he said loudly when they stumbled into the kitchen.  It was amazing the change Sango had been able to make in the hour they had been gone.  The table was cleared of all debris, which had been replaced with three plates of hot food.  The counters had been scrubbed, the dishes were clean and put away, and the linoleum had been scrubbed back to a sterile white color.  It was almost blinding, especially compared with how filthy the rest of the apartment was.  “Why, Sango!  This looks wonderful.”

Inu-Yasha didn’t seem to notice.  Apparently, the brightness of the room was too much for him.  He groaned and shut his eyes, turning his head away.

“Thank you,” she replied softly, her eyes fixed on Inu-Yasha.  He did look much better than when she had first seen him, but the telltale signs of drunkenness couldn’t be scrubbed away.  

“My dear, would you mind…?”  Miroku nodded at the closest place setting, eager to be relieved of his burden.  She quickly came around the table and pulled the chair out, holding it steady while Miroku eased Inu-Yasha down.  Both he and the demon sighed in relief.

“T-thanks,” Inu-Yasha mumbled, slumped forward and resting his head in his hand.  “So bright innere…”

As Sango and Miroku both took their seats, they stared at Inu-Yasha in worry.  The hanyou was looking very haggard and pale.  His hands were trembling harder than they were a moment ago, and his demeanor had seemed to darken.  Miroku didn’t know for sure, but he thought that all the excitement of having visitors was taking its toll on what very little energy Inu-Yasha still had.  If the demon had done nothing but drink himself into oblivion for weeks, then any kind of event would be draining.

“Well, go ahead and eat,” Sango said, breaking the silence.  Her expression and voice were still tight with concern, but she had to push forward.  “I didn’t cook this for nothing.”

Looking down at his plate, Miroku was greeted with what was probably the blandest dinner he had ever consumed.  A half a piece of poached chicken was residing on his plate, with blanched green beans nestled to one side and a boiled potato to the other.  However, he didn’t complain.  He knew Sango had prepared a relatively tasteless meal in the hopes that Inu-Yasha’s stomach would be able to keep it down.  With nothing but whiskey being poured in for weeks, his abused stomach was probably highly sensitive.  “This looks delicious,” he told her encouragingly as he picked up his knife and fork.

Slowly, Inu-Yasha sat back in his chair.  He brought the bottle up to his lips and drained the last couple swallows.  It took him a moment to realize it was empty, but when he did he simply let the vessel slip out of his limp fingers to the floor.  

Sango winced at the harsh impact, but it fortunately did not break.  She still had to bite back her temper at his complete disrespect for her hard work at getting the room cleaned up, but holding onto anger was difficult for her.  Inu-Yasha had clearly not done it out of malice.  It was simply out of habit.  So, forcing a pained smile onto her face, she said, “Inu-Yasha, your dinner is going to get cold.  Are you sure you don’t want to try it?”

Blinking blearily, he straightened a little bit.  “Dinner.  Y-yeah, I wan’ some…”  His blurred gaze roamed over the table in front of him.  He groped for the fork that Sango had set neatly next to his plate, but he suddenly froze before his fingers ever grasped it.

“Where izzit?” he asked, his voice much harder than it had been mere seconds ago.  His eyes were fixed at the end of the table, where the fourth chair sat empty.

Miroku, who recognized some of the warning signs from Inu-Yasha’s meltdown prior, was already half-standing in preparation to calm the half-demon down.  “Where’s what, Inu-Yasha?” he asked soothingly, his voice starkly different from his rigid body.

Inu-Yasha frowned, still staring at the end of the table.  “Th’ newspaper.  A-an’ her cup o’ tea.  K’gome always has those.  Right there.”  He pointed a trembling finger at the table.

Sango glanced worriedly at Miroku.  “I’m so sorry, Inu-Yasha,” she said calmly, taking Miroku’s lead.  “I had to put them aside while I was cleaning.”

“Don’t worry,” Miroku added.  “I’m sure Kagome won’t mind getting another newspaper when she gets back.”  Sango shot him a questioning glance at the comment, but he shook his head in reply.  He couldn’t explain that right now.

Inu-Yasha’s hands were now in fists next to his plate, opening and closing in agitation.  He also seemed to be a little short of breath, and his eyes appeared more bloodshot than they had been a moment ago.  “N-no, no.  We gotta have it ready for ‘er. Sh-she might not come back if I don’ have a spot ready.”  There was an edge of panic in his voice.

Again, Sango and Miroku shared a look.  Inu-Yasha was clearly on the edge of a breakdown, and it was terrifying.

Trying his best to keep calm, Miroku straightened.  “Well, then let’s fix her spot,” he said smoothly.   “Sango, do you still have those newspapers?”

“Um, yes!  I do!”  She quickly stood and strode over to one of the black trash bags sitting in a corner, ready to be taken out.

“I-I’ll make ‘er tea,” Inu-Yasha piped in, swaying to his feet.  “I know how.”

“Okay, sure.”  Miroku knew it would make Inu-Yasha feel better, so he didn’t volunteer to do it himself.  Instead, he lent his support to the half-demon, who leaned heavily against him as they shuffled over to the cabinets.

It took several minutes to get the tea prepared.  Inu-Yasha was determined, but awfully clumsy.  Sango had the newspaper set neatly on the table long before the hanyou had even prepared the water.  She waited, twisting her hands nervously as he fumbled with the tea bag once the water was at last hot enough.

Pushing away from Miroku when they reached the table, Inu-Yasha stumbled to the end and shakily set the cup down.  “Okay… okay,” he growled slowly.  He stepped back to stare critically at the tableau.  “Okay.  K’gome’s seat.  ‘Sall there.”  Bracing his hands on the back of her chair, his head drooped down.  He was breathing heavily.  Miroku could see beads of sweat had sprung out across his forehead, and his trembling had worsened.  “’Sall there.”

“Yes, Kagome has her place again,” Miroku repeated, staring hard at the demon.  “You did a good job.  Would you like to come sit down now?  I think you’ve earned some dinner.”

Roughly wiping the sweat from his brow, Inu-Yasha focused one red-rimmed eye on his friend for a moment.  He then groaned and pushed off from the chair, using the momentum to stumble back.  When he hit the wall, he used that as a support and made his way to the corner of the room.  Two cases of whiskey were stacked there, one on top of the other.  The one on top was open, with a few bottles still resting inside, untouched.  He pulled one out and wrestled with the cap for a moment, his trembling a severe hindrance in the endeavor.

At last the obstacle was removed, and he put the bottle to his lips, thirstily swallowing several mouthfuls.  He let out a moan of relief and slumped against the boxes once the whiskey was down his throat.  Miroku was at his side in a moment, having jumped to his feet as soon as he had stumbled backward.

“Okay, my friend,” Miroku said calmly, taking his arm.  “Come on back to the table.  Sit down.”

Helping the hanyou back to his seat, Miroku could only glance once at Sango before looking away.  She was staring at her plate, her eyes filled with tears.  He was having a hard enough time keeping himself in check.  To see Sango cry would push him over the edge.

The rest of the meal continued in relative silence.  Sango was clearly too upset to eat.  She merely pushed her food around her plate, glancing intermittently at Inu-Yasha.  Miroku was not particularly hungry after dealing with the rancid odors of the apartment and cleaning weeks of grime off the half-demon.  In fact, Inu-Yasha ate the most out of the three, but it was still hardly enough.  Sango had cut his food for him, correctly assuming he would be unable to cut it himself, but he still was having trouble with his fork.  With his hand shaking so much, stabbing the food was difficult.  He probably drank more whiskey than anything, but neither Sango nor Miroku dared to take it away.

At last, after twenty minutes of clinking dishes, Miroku pushed away from the table.  “That was delicious, Sango,” he said quietly.  He could no longer force any kind of joy into his tone.  “But I think it’s time we got Inu-Yasha into bed.”

She nodded, quickly standing up.  “I’ll go fix the bed.”  She all but ran out of the room.

Miroku stared after her for a moment.  She had been so quiet, which was rather unusual for his partner.  He was not looking forward to the conversation they were going to have once Inu-Yasha was safely abed.

With a sigh, he focused his attention on the half-demon.  Inu-Yasha had managed to spear one last bite of potato onto his fork, and was chewing it slowly.  His eyelids were drooping, and his head was bobbing.  Both were sure signs that unconsciousness was creeping up on him.  Checking Inu-Yasha’s plate, Miroku was pleased to see that half of the potatoes were gone, as was most of the chicken.  The green beans were relatively untouched, but those were the hardest to get on his fork.  He decided the half-demon had eaten enough.

Getting to his feet, he walked over and gently tugged the utensil out of Inu-Yasha’s weak grasp.  “Bed time,” he said in response to the confused glance Inu-Yasha sent his way.

“B-bu’ K’gome isn’ back yet,” he slurred in a weak argument as Miroku hefted him to his feet.  He still had a good grip on his whiskey bottle, though Miroku quickly thought to grab the cap before the booze spilled everywhere.  “Wha’ if I’m sleepin’ when she comes back?”

“Then she’ll check to make sure you’re all right and let you sleep,” Miroku replied soothingly, getting Inu-Yasha’s arm over his shoulder as he had already done several times that evening.  “And she’ll most likely be waiting for you when you wake up.  Won’t that be nice?”

“Y-yeah…” Inu-Yasha mumbled, tripping a little as they slowly made their way to the bedroom.  “Bu’ I-I wanna  ‘er.  Haven’ seen ‘er inna long time.”

“Hmm… Well, I suppose Sango and I could stick around for a little while.  We can wait for her to come home, and tell her not to leave again until you see her.  Would you like that?”

The hand that was holding the bottle smacked into Miroku’s chest surprising him a little.  Inu-Yasha was trying to grab his shirt.  “You w’ld do tha’ fer me?!” he asked loudly, looking far more excited than Miroku had seen him in months.

“Um, yes.  Of course we would,” Miroku replied, gently pushing the bottle away and readjusting the hanyou over his shoulders.  “That’s what friends are for, right?”

Inu-Yasha nodded, apparently too relieved to speak.

They at last found the bedroom.  Sango had fresh sheets placed on the bed, which was ready and waiting for Inu-Yasha.  She had even cleared a path through the bottles so they wouldn’t trip on their way over.  Miroku smiled gratefully at her as she pulled the blankets away.

“All right, Inu-Yasha.  Down you go.”  He eased the half-demon onto the sheets.  Inu-Yasha sat there for a moment, staring dazedly at him.  But the whiskey quickly won the fight to stay upright, and he toppled over.

“Ohhh…” he moaned.  Sango and Miroku couldn’t tell if it was from dizziness or from relief, but it no longer mattered.  He was finally in bed.  Miroku hefted his legs onto the mattress while Sango came around and carefully removed his slippers.

While Miroku drew the blankets over Inu-Yasha’s limp form, Sango knelt down by his head.  “Inu-Yasha?”

He opened his eyes a fraction, taking a moment to focus on her face.  “Yeah?” he mumbled sleepily.

“Will you please give me your whiskey?  I don’t want you to accidentally hurt yourself on it while you’re sleeping.”  Her voice was surprisingly kind.  Rarely did Miroku hear such a mothering tone come out of her mouth.

Inu-Yasha frowned deeply at the request.  He pulled the bottle his chest with both hands and appeared to shrink away from her.  “N-no… I need this,” he growled weakly.

“I promise I’ll leave it right here,” Sango said in reply, patting the corner of the side table next to the bed.  “It’s well within your reach.  If you wake up and need it, it’ll be right here.”

He was still eying her warily, hesitant to give up the one thing that had been a constant in his hazy world.

She at last said the magic words.  “Kagome wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself, you know.”

Holding a silent mental battle for several moments, Inu-Yasha finally growled in frustration and thrust the bottle into Sango’s waiting hands.  He watched as she gingerly set it on the side table, and kept his drooping eyes fixed on it as Miroku pulled the covers up.

“All right, Inu-Yasha.  Go to sleep.  Sango and I will keep watch for Kagome, so rest easy.  You’ve had a big day today.”

“Y-you will wait fer K’gome?” he asked worriedly, tearing his gaze away from the bottle to stare at Miroku.  He was on the brink of unconsciousness already; he could barely hold his eyes open long enough to get the sentence out.

“Of course we will.  Now sleep.  Kagome will be back soon.”

They never got a response.  Pausing in the doorway, they waited until the sound of heavy, even breathing drifted to their ears before slipping into the hall.

They didn’t even make it two steps before Sango turned and threw her arms around Miroku, burying her face in his chest.  In mere seconds, his tank top had a wet spot on it from her tears.  He immediately wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on her shoulder, drawing the same comfort from her as she did from him.  They remained this way, unable to speak, unable to put their thoughts into words.  

“What have we done?” Sango whispered at last, her face still pressed into his chest.  “How could we have let it get this bad?”

“Sango, we can’t beat ourselves up for this now,” Miroku said sternly, straightening so he could peer down at her.  “If we really care for Inu-Yasha, we need to figure out how we can help him.  We can heap the blame on ourselves later.”  The words sounded harsh, but he couldn’t let Sango know how dangerously close he was to allowing the guilt to cripple him.  If he cracked, they both would fall.

“Miroku, he has gone !” Sango said loudly, looking up at him with worry etched in every feature.  “He has gone cuckoo!  Stark raving mad!  Round the bend!  How the hell do we help that?!”

“We get Kagome,” he replied evenly, keeping his arms firmly around her shoulders.  “Sessho-maru was right.  She is literally the only thing keeping him alive right now.  And she is the only person who can bring him back.”

“Miroku, Kagome is a registered , not a damn psychiatrist!  What can she do?  She has no clue how to treat the mentally unstable!”

Frowning as Sango’s tone grew more and more hysterical, Miroku did the first thing that popped into his head.  With one swift movement, he leaned forward and sealed her lips with a kiss.  It was an effective solution.  He felt her arms entwine around his neck, and they held the position for several moments.  When they at last separated for air, Miroku rested his forehead against hers and shut his eyes, reveling in her touch.

“Sango, do you know how happy I am to have you with me?” he asked softly.  “I don't know what I would have done tonight if you hadn't been here.”

She let out a soft, disbelieving chuckle.  “Are you kidding?  I'm the one falling apart.  You've been so strong tonight.  Every time I thought I was going to lose it completely, I just looked at you.”

With a small smile, he pulled away and stared into her chocolate brown eyes.  “We can get through this, my dear.  All of this.  The war, Naraku, Inu-Yasha...  Somehow, some way.”

Taking a deep, calming breath, Sango nodded slowly.  “You're right.  Of course we can.  We've been through hell before, right?”

This made Miroku laugh aloud.  “Too true.”

Finally letting go of him, Sango took a step back and gazed critically around the apartment.  Placing her hands on her hips, she said, “So, what's the plan for Inu-Yasha?  How do we get him and Kagome together again?”

Miroku rubbed his chin.  “Well, I did have an idea.  It will involve Kagome's meeting with Kohaku tomorrow, Myoga, and us removing every drop of booze from this apartment.”

Raising an eyebrow, Sango shook her head and rolled up her sleeves.  “Well then, you can go into more detail while we get started with the booze.  Otherwise, we'll never get out of here.”

Staring at the sea of bottles that lay before them, Miroku nodded.  “You're quite right, Sango.  As usual.”


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There we have it, folks.  At last, our wayward hanyou has returned.  Well, sort of.  More to come on his saga in the next chapter.

I hope you all enjoyed the latest installment!  Please, leave a review and let me know your thoughts.  I always appreciate the feedback. :)