InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Noble Burdens ❯ You Can't Go Home Again ( Chapter 3 )

"Tempt not a desperate man.”

 

Romeo and Juliet - William Shakespeare

 

Miroku stepped off the gangplank of the Portuguese ship that had been his home for a little over half a year and stepped onto Japanese soil. The earth did not shift beneath his feet but a tiny flutter of completion jarred his weary soul.

 

He was home.

 

Father Manuel stepped off the boat next to him and seemed to be enthralled by the scenery before him.

 

The coastal village gave way in the distance to rolling hills, green fields, and on the distant horizon mountains could be seen touching the sky. It was nothing like the bustling city of Lisbon, nor could it compare to the splendor of Rome, but the priest found he enjoyed the sweet, fresh air rolling off the sea and the untainted atmosphere of the rural countryside.

 

“You're country is beautiful, my friend. Whatever possessed you to leave?” Miroku continued to stare out at the landscape before answering.

 

“I was looking for something that I could not find here.”

 

Manuel paused and regarded him critically.

 

“And did you find what you sought in the world beyond?”

 

Miroku grimaced and his mouth twisted into a sickly smirk but he did not answer. Instead he turned to his friend and lifted his cursed hand in the gesture of blessing.

 

“My friend, I wish you fulfillment in your endeavors and happiness in this and the next life. I must part with you now and continue on my journey alone.”

 

Manuel nodded in understanding and responded with a blessing of his own. He lifted his hand and made the sign of the holy cross over Miroku.

 

“May the Lord God bless you and keep you and may his angels guide thee on thy path, even if you are a heathen lecher; content to deny his omnipotent power.”

 

The monk smirked at his friend and bowed slightly; the priest grinned and bowed back.

 

“Good-bye you old drunk, try not to get scurvy on your journey west.”

 

Manuel shot him one last grin and watched his young friend start walking down the path that would lead him out of the village.

 

“Good-bye my boy, and God speed,” was the last thing the monk heard before his friend turned headed for the nearest tea house in the coastal village.

 

It was the close of what had seemed an endless chapter in his life, a chapter filled with uncertainty and endless frustration. He would, however, miss the strange Christian priest who had become his only friend on his unproductive journey. Miroku sighed and wandered further down the lane.

 

He drew the chilly air into his lungs and with it came the distant smell of wood smoke and the aromas that he had come to associate with fall.

 

He immediately wondered what Sango was doing at this very instant and sighed as his blood started to hum.

 

It doesn't matter what she is doing. I am not going to see her. I came back to honor my grandfather's debt, nothing more. I will leave again as soon as the task is completed.

 

He couldn't ignore the fact though that he was half a day's walk from Kaede's village, nor could he ignore the longing that had settled in his chest to see someone, anyone, familiar to him.

 

The sad truth was that wandering through unknown places alone, surrounded by strange languages, strange customs, had left Miroku with an aching loneliness in his soul.

 

“What could it hurt to see,” he murmured. He suddenly wanted to, more than anything else in this life; he wanted to see the village again.

 

The temptation floated there on the edges of his tired mind and he found his feet subtly shifting direction and heading towards one of the only places that had felt like home. After all, the slayer village was a good distance from Kaede's and the chances of her being there were very, very slim.

 

He blatantly ignored the part of his mind that was screaming that this was not a good idea.

 

Miroku foolishly journeyed towards his past for the better part of the morning and late afternoon. The sun was setting by the time he reached the edge of InuYasha's forest and heard the roars that could only have come from demons deep in the throes of bloodlust.

 

Miroku's eyes hardened into slits and he gripped his staff tightly in his hands as he started to run towards the sound.

 

“Welcome home,” he muttered and broke into the forest.

 

Miroku ran hard, using his spiritual powers to sprint at an inhuman speed. He broke into the clearing and had just enough time to yelp and roll as a familiar boomerang flew over his head and whipped around to be caught one handed by the taijiya who was the only one capable of wielding it.

 

The demons that attacked the slayer and the young boy with her, disintegrated in a flash of oozing, broken body parts, leaving slimy, dead flesh in their wake. Miroku froze and blinked trying to clear the image before him; sure that it could not be real, but when his eyes opened his mirage remained.

 

“Sango,” he breathed his heart bleeding and then he yelled in warning, “Sango!”

 

The taijiya turned towards him and her eyes went wide in utter disbelief as the man she had not seen in two winters, raced across the field and pushed her sprawling on the ground.

 

Miroku quickly raised his staff, blocking the serrated edge of a huge claw that had been about to cleave her in two.

 

With a grunt of pain Miroku felt the blow vibrated through his aching body, as his sandal clad feet dug for purchase on the slick ground. He slid back five feet and would have crashed into a nearby tree, but mercifully his feet clung and held.

 

He ignored the pain, twisted his staff, and in one seemingly fluid motion pushed the demon's claw back and leapt to the side.

 

Sango recovered, told Kohaku to get behind her, and hefted her weapon.

 

“Hiraikotsu,” echoed through the air to his left and Miroku had just enough time to duck as Sango's boomerang flew by his head.

 

The formidable weapon slashed through the claw, severing it from the demon's arm. It roared in pain and rage, clutching the useless appendage to its chest.

 

Miroku bared his teeth and readied his staff. The sheer size of the monster they were fighting was impressive. It was massive and ugly, with sickly yellow skin that hung like rotting meat. Black poisonous ichor dripped from bone crushing fangs, and the smell of blood, death, and fetid disease clung to the demon, poisoning the air.

 

The monk barred his teeth and the demon roared and charged. He wasted no time, but quickly pulled three sutras out of his sleeve and threw them at the charging beast. It roared in pain as Miroku's spiritual energy engulfed it, but it did not dissipate.

 

“By all the hells,” he cursed as the demon barreled into him, slashed him with a massive claw, and sent him flying.

 

The next few moments became almost slow motion for Miroku.

 

He watched the demon turn burning red eyes on the taijiya that had taken its arm. She braced herself for the attack and gracefully executed a perfect kick to the monster's face when it charged. The demon rolled and stumbled as Sango landed near him.

 

Her cinnamon eyes met his violet ones and locked onto him with the precision of a bird of prey. In the time it took for a single heart beat he watched a million emotions flash through those delicious orbs only to go blank as her well practiced mask descended.

 

Miroku would have said something, anything but the demon chose that moment to attack, again. Sango turned away from him and spun Hiraikotsu in front of her like a shield just as one deadly claw descended. She caught the blow with a grunt and held.

 

He could see sweat bead on her brow and due to the skin tight battle armor, he could see the muscles of her strong arms quiver.

 

He quickly tried to regain his feet and grimaced as pain flared in his right side and dizziness assaulted him. Confused and unsteady he reached around with his uncursed hand and his fingers came away sticky with blood. Frowning Miroku ignored it and reached into his sleeve for two new sutras. He threw the deceptively flimsy paper at the demon before him and muttered an incantation.

 

This time the demon screamed and its aura dissipated, leaving both Miroku and Sango on their knees, breathing heavy.

 

Miroku felt his vision blur as the taijiya turned towards him.

 

“It's nice to see you again, Sango,” he muttered just before blackness descended.

 

His last thought was that the universe must truly, truly hate him.

 

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

 

Full dark had descended by the time Miroku was able to fight his way back to consciousness. His eyes fluttered opened and he unconsciously shifted his batter body. He groaned as his broken ribs protested the movement.

 

“You're awake,” a feminine voice said. It was a bland statement of fact, containing absolutely no warmth or emotion. Miroku froze, closed his eyes, collected his courage, and turned towards the voice.

 

He felt a cornucopia of emotions assault his senses as he gazed fully on the woman that he had left behind. Love, lust, desperation, pain, uncertainly, and wariness, to name just a few, all of which he hide behind hooded bedroom eyes and a lazy smirk.

 

She was bathed in the flickering light of the slowly dying fire in the fire pit in the middle of what he recognized as Kaede's hut. The wise, elderly miko was nowhere to be seen but Miroku could see a small, blanketed body just beyond the slayer.

 

The orange/red glow danced over her neutral face, casting her in shadow and drawing out the auburn highlights in her dark hair. She was even more beautiful than he remembered and she was looking at him as if he were a stranger.

 

Fate truly was a cruel mistress.

 

“Kohaku seems to be sleeping well,” he said, just to say something really. Sango merely gazed at him, her whiskey eyes unfathomable.

 

“The nightmares have gotten a lot better and he feels safe in Kaede's hut. He should sleep through the night.” No inflection. Miroku felt his smile slip.

 

“How are InuYasha and Kagome?” He asked.

 

“The same.” Again, no emotion.

 

“How about Kaede?”

 

“She's well”

 

Miroku's scowl deepened.

 

“I was surprised to see you here. I thought you would have rebuilt your village by now.”

 

“I have, I'm visiting.”

 

Miroku's scowled turned into a displeased frown. She was deliberately acting as if they were two casual acquaintances making polite conversation instead of two almost lovers with too many regrets and so much baggage they could stock one of Kagome's airports.

 

He had imagined, many times, what he might say to her if he were to somehow cross her path again. In all his imaginings, never had Sango looked on him as she was doing now. She was cold…and indifferent.

 

Miroku felt the somewhat reckless abandonment that had characterized so much of his youth bubble in his gut.

 

He was about to do something extremely foolish but then, he had never had any self control when it came to Sango. He had truly never planned to see her again, and true he knew that as soon as he had done what he needed to, he would leave, but to have her pretend that there was nothing between them angered him.

 

He had spent two tortuous years longing for her, missing her, and yes dammit, still loving her. There was only so much loneliness a man could take and her utter lack of reaction to him caused that well of inner darkness he carried to simmer.

 

Miroku masked his ire behind his playful mask and did what he always did when Sango masked her emotions. He made her angry.

 

“Sango my love…”

 

Her whiskey eyes flashed and she growled in warning.

 

“Don't monk.”

 

An unholy gleam entered his violet orbs and her own flared in response.

 

“Well, well, well, I must have struck a cord my love. You only call me monk when you are truly annoyed with me. Surely something as simple as an endearment between old friends would not cause such a reaction, taijiya.”

 

Her title graced his forked tongue and rolled off like an intimate caress. Sango's fists tightened at her side and her nostrils flared.

 

“I am not your love and we are not old friends, Houshi. Friends don't...” she drew in a steadying breath. “What the hell are you doing here, monk?”

 

Miroku simply grinned.

 

“Perhaps I missed you? Surely you missed me?”

 

Sango's fists tightened even more and drove her nails into her palms. Blood trickled from between her tense fingers.

 

“No, I did not miss you. You could have descended into the lowest hell for all the thought I've given you.”

 

Miroku's eyes went dark and his jovial mask slipped. Briefly he looked down and noticed that his chest was bare and expertly wrapped in bandages from Kagome's time.

 

He recognized the style of dressing as being unique to the slayer before him. She had dressed his wounds which belied the fact that she wanted to see him rot in hell.

 

He narrowed his eyes and said much too cheerfully.

 

“You're lying, Sango. I could always tell when you were lying. You were never any good at it. Come taijiya; why not tell me the truth?”

 

The anger that she had been struggling to control burst forth and she practically choked on her rage. Looking at him, smirking at her in only that perverted way he could managed, Sango felt the years well up inside of her.

 

All the doubts, all the insecurities, all the heartache she had suffered at his hands fueled her boiling rage. She wanted to hurt him, she wanted to scream, she wanted …Kami she wanted lie in his arms and cry into his shoulder while he held her. Struggling with her conflicting emotions she stood up, stalked over to him, and glared down at him.

 

“The truth? You wouldn't know the truth if it jumped up and bit you in the ass! I can't believe this. You sure as hell weren't forthcoming with the truth when you slunk away like a snake without so much as a backwards glance, but I guess your village girls just couldn't wait! Tell me monk, did you even wait a whole day before bedding the first woman that would spread her legs for you!”

 

She hadn't been yelling only because she was still aware that her little brother was sleeping not two feet from her but there was enough venom in her words to flay Miroku alive. She was so enraged that it hadn't even registered that the monk had gone dangerously still.

 

Lightening quick Miroku stuck, ignoring his protesting ribs, and pulled the taijiya down and under him. Her eyes widened and she struggled but his two years of traveling had taught him a trick or two and he easily pinned her hands above her head.

 

He glared down into her flashing eyes and tried to ignore the fact that she was wiggling beneath him and that he was half naked. He couldn't believe that she had, had so little faith in him, in what they had shared that she thought he had left her to scratch an itch. True he had enjoyed flirting, and true he was not the most celibate of men, but it had always been Sango who held his heart. He had thought she would have known he would never have left her had if it not been important.

 

“Taijiya stop squirming. I am no longer the man who let you slap him silly for nothing more than an innocent grope and I most certainly was never a man who would let such an insult pass without retaliation.”

 

Miroku's voice was low and dangerous, a tone that she had only heard once or twice in their travels together. Usually it was directed at something he intended to kill swiftly and without mercy. Sango could not suppress the shiver that ran down her spine.

 

She faced him squarely. “Get off me, monk”

 

Miroku scowled.

 

“Sango, don't test me. You and I are going to get one thing straight. Yes, I left but it was not to, as you so succulently put it, to look for ladies to spread their legs for me. If I had simply wanted a woman to spread their legs for me I could have had you panting for me without so much as a by your leave.”

 

Sango stiffened in outrage and started struggling again. He hissed when she bumped his broken ribs and slammed her hands down with just enough force to get her attention.

 

“Now who's lying, monk” she hissed. He smiled, mischievously.

 

“I'm not lying and a simple test will prove that.”

 

“Wh-“ she started to say but was abruptly cut off when his lips descended and captured her in a deep kiss.

 

Startled and still angry she stiffened her whole body and refused to respond but her traitorous heart had other ideas.

 

Miroku moved his lips over hers demanding, suckling lightly on her full bottom lip and coaxing her to open for him. She gasped at the sensation and her body betrayed her, her nipples grew hard, heat pooled in her gut, and she melted.

 

Miroku took full advantage of her gasp and thrust his tongue deep into her mouth, dueling with her tongue and tasting her. He groaned and shifted his battered body to accommodated the very hard evidence of his response to her. He lightly sucked her tongue into his waiting mouth and she moaned.

 

He nibbled and sucked and sweet Kami did she taste good. He shifted her hands so that only one of his held them down and ran the other lightly down the underside of her breasts continuing to brush her slim hips before lightly caressing what he could of her bottom.

 

Sango shuddered beneath him, no longer indifferent and Miroku knew that he was going to hell for what he had just done.

 

He broke away and nipped at her bottom lip, which was swollen from his assault.

 

“Sango,” he moaned, half curse, half prayer. She turned her head and looked away from him. She was blinking back tears.

 

“Why did you come back, Miroku? I would have been all right if you would have just…stayed away.”

 

The anger was gone and in its place all Miroku heard was heartbreak. His own anger subsided and the darkness retreated back to the place deep inside.

 

He sighed, disgusted with himself. This was why he had not wanted to see her. He had not wanted to cause her even more pain and here he was, provoking her, wanting her…loving her.

 

The universe not only hated him it was out to destroy him.

 

He released her abruptly and she scrambled to her feet and backed away from him.

 

He sighed. “I'm sorry, taijiya. I truly did not mean to hurt you. I know that you do not believe me but I truly did not leave you to pursue what you would call, my lecherous appetites.”

 

“Then why? Why did you leave?” she questioned softly. The one question that he would not…could not, answer. Miroku looked away from her. He could not stand the pain he saw reflected in the firelight.

 

“It…It no longer matters; besides it does not change anything. I will have to leave as soon as my task in complete. I only hope that you can forgive me one day.”

 

Sango touched her fingers to her swollen lips and shook her head.

 

“I will never forgive you, Miroku,” she replied, collected herself, and calmly left. He watched her go and cursed himself a fool.

 

He should never have returned.