InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Of Gods and Monsters ❯ Chapter 32: Unfamiliar Territory ( Chapter 32 )

A/N: Great merciful gumdrops -- it's an update! Well, while RL is still fairly insane, my ulcer's stopped acting up, which I'm going to take as a good sign. I think the muse strike is over -- or, at least Sango and Miroku were able to cross the picket line. Anyway -- great thanks to Merith for her mad beta skillz, and a big cup of jasmine tea to Everstar for willingly listening to me gripe, bitch, moan and complain about all those things that led to that pesky bout of writer's block.

Chapter 32: Unfamiliar Territory

I knew you wanted to tell me,
In your voice there was something wrong.
But if you would turn your face away from me,
You cannot tell me you're so strong...
~Sarah McLachlan, "The Path of Thorns"

Sango's angry strides cut through the tall, dying grass as she walked, hands balled into fists at her sides, leaving a trail of battered blades behind her. Her eyes were open, but she was paying no heed to where her steps led her; all that mattered was that she had somewhere to walk, somewhere to vent her anger and frustration with herself.

The small group of traveling companions had left the den soon after illuminating beams of sunlight started filtering over the mountains and through the trees. Leaving with promises of a speedy return, they'd begun the trek back to the village where they typically made their home in between shard searches.

Once there, each member of the troupe had been left to his or her own devices. Miroku had departed with a wink and a quick grin, enthusiastic over a few of the village girls who'd made inquiries about palm readings. Kagome had gone off in search of Kaede; the young miko knew very well that their supplies were getting somewhat low, but she decided to remain in the village for the night. Inuyasha had then disappeared into the forest, which had then left Sango to her own devices.

How? How could I have forgotten? She ground her teeth furiously. More importantly, how could I have forgotten something like that?

The taiji-ya prided herself on having what she considered to be an excellent memory. She had to have impressive powers of recollection in order to call up an infinite number of obscure details about youkai breeds, their habits, and the most efficient method in which to deal with them. It was more than just a job -- it was her responsibility.

And yet this somehow managed to slip her mind. It was inexcusable. She'd known there had been something. It had been nagging at her for weeks. And now, triggered by some insignificant detail she couldn't be bothered to identify, the unlocked knowledge spewed forth in her mind, initially leaving her feeling empty and cold until red-hot anger had replaced the chill of disbelief.

Wrong. I have to be wrong, she thought, shaking her head, helplessness and anger making her legs work faster. The knee-length grass cut into her, stinging her skin even through her clothes. This has to be wrong. No. No, I'm remembering it incorrectly. The study was so many years ago -- I must be recalling it incorrectly.

In a distant corner of her mind, a soft, traitorous voice mocked her for starting to doubt her memory now. Now, when -- as much as she hated it -- she was sure.

Why else would there be so few hanyou?

The young woman's chest burned with annoyance and powerless frustration. Earlier. I should have been able to remember this EARLIER. When it could have HELPED. There was no excuse for her lapse, and that made the simmering rage she directed at herself surge, heating her veins. Uttering a fairly vicious oath through her teeth, she kicked angrily at an ancient, thick tree. Bark erupted outward in a tiny shower of brown flakes, but the tree itself was left more or less unmarred by the taiji-ya's attack on it.

She stood in the shadow of the great kashi oak, arms folded, head bowed, scowling at the ground. There's got to be a way to find out for sure, she thought, ignoring the throbbing in her foot. Closing her eyes, Sango's mind replayed tiny snatches of memory -- she could almost hear her father chiding her teasingly about her aversion to the elders' archives.

'But, Father, why?' she'd asked plaintively.

His smile, so warm, so full of paternal indulgence. 'Because, Sango, it is your duty. The taiji-ya does not work solely in the practical. You must study as well. Otherwise, you will know only that which has happened, and not what could happen.'

"I should have listened," she ground out, shaking her head, sending her low ponytail swaying behind her.

For all of her dedication to her craft, Sango had never held much interest in the theoretical side to her work. She had always hated spending time in the village archives, poring over scroll after musty scroll, reading the words of those who had only studied, but never fought. If she closed her eyes, she could call up the scent of the place, the stifling feel of hot summer days when she would have infinitely preferred target practice with Hiraikotsu to sitting at the low table, reading.

Her hands tightened into fists, fingers digging into the flesh at her upper arms, her nails catching the sleeves of her yukata. It was too late to undo what had already been done, but maybe it wasn't too late to prevent the disastrous from occurring. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she started walking again. Her foot complained a bit more as she started to walk and Sango idly wondered how hard she'd hit the tree.

Kagome said something about returning to her land tomorrow morning. I'll go back while she's gone. The archives are still intact -- as long as the scrolls haven't undergone any water damage, they should still be in pretty good shape. Maybe I'm just remembering it wrong. Gods, I hope I'm remembering it wrong.

Once again, Sango's steps took her through the tall grasses swaying gently in the chilly autumn breeze. Her arms still folded, she stared intently at the middle distance as her strides took her further into the forest. So absorbed in her thoughts was she that Sango did not see the shakujou hidden in the grass. Her foot caught on the staff unexpectedly, the rings jangling suddenly, shattering the peace that had settled over the forest as she was sent sprawling forward.

Swearing viciously as she landed hard on her palms and knees, Sango's head jerked up to discern what had tripped her. The glint of the shakujou's rings caught the early afternoon sunlight and she blinked, tilting her head. Looking up, she started to scan the area -- Miroku would never have left his staff lying about so carelessly.

Her search was a short one; the monk sat not more than several arms' lengths away, staring at Sango with an expression of surprise lighting his features, his brows contracting as concern mingled with that surprise. She looked away suddenly, her face burning with embarrassment.

"Are you all right?" Miroku asked. The sharp jingle of his shakujou followed by Sango's sharp invective tugged him out of the meditative trance he'd settled into, and he was almost surprised at the sight of the taiji-ya on her knees, her arms braced out before her. For a moment, his mind slipped as his eyes darted to the gentle curve of her backside, made even more obvious by her position, but he pulled his gaze away and noticed that she was now glaring at the ground, her features set in a deep scowl. Tilting his head slightly, he watched her profile for a moment. "Sango? Are you hurt?" When she didn't answer again, he pushed himself to his feet and approached her, dropping into a crouch.

After a moment, the taiji-ya pushed herself back into a kneeling position. "No, I'm not hurt," she answered dully, her cheeks flaming. She didn't know which was worse -- that Miroku was there to see her temper flare, or such a moment of careless clumsiness. Her palms burned from their sudden landing onto the hard ground, and tiny pebbles clung to her hands, biting into her flesh, but that couldn't possibly compare to the blow her pride received.

Miroku watched her for several seconds before reaching over and picking his shakujou out of the grass. "Sorry," he said, a bit sheepishly. "I wasn't expecting anyone." Standing, he walked back to the tree he'd been sitting under, leaning his staff against it.

Sango brushed her hands off on her apron before looking up at the young monk, who was lowering himself back down to the forest floor, sitting in the lotus position. A faint frown teased at her forehead. Wait... what's he doing all the way out here? "Houshi-sama?" she asked softly, sitting back on her heels.

"Yes?" Miroku replied, leaning against the tree.

"Aren't you supposed to be... somewhere else?"

He regarded her with a patently puzzled look -- one she didn't believe for a second. "Supposed to be? Not to my recollection."

"No?" she riposted lightly. "Then you said nothing about providing the village girls with another round of palm readings?" He was very still for a moment, and Sango's eyes narrowed. Hah. Thought so.

Clearing his throat, Miroku studiously avoided her gaze. "Ah. Yes. Well. You know, there's really only so many times you can predict happy, prosperous futures for everybody."

Arching an eyebrow, Sango replied, "I rather thought you didn't do it for the predictions."

Offering a small, disinterested shrug, Miroku rested his hands on his knees. "Not usually."

Narrowing her eyes slightly, Sango regarded the monk with a scrutinizing eye. She chose her words carefully, closely gauging his reaction to them. "It must be very dull in a village with neither teahouses nor geisha to occupy you."

Two dark eyebrows quirked upwards. "I've learned how to entertain myself."

Sango nodded slowly. "Yes, I'm sure you have," she said, her voice taking on a musing tone.

He flashed her a charming grin at that point, but Sango couldn't help but notice that it was lacking its typical polish. In fact, Miroku seemed rather... worn around the edges. His eyes no longer held the same degree of sly humor, and his smile seemed somewhat forced. "I could show you," he said, waggling his brows.

Tilting her head thoughtfully, Sango chewed on her lower lip. "No," she replied softly. "That's all right." There was a beat of silence during which Miroku shrugged again and closed his eyes, apparently attempting to recapture his meditative state. A moment later, Sango cleared her throat softly. "That little village... the one we stopped at about a week before reaching the den. Do you recall it?"

Violet eyes blinked open. "Huh?"

The taiji-ya was quiet for a few seconds, but plunged on. "There was a village we stopped in a couple of weeks ago. There were no rooms, so we set up a camp not far from it. Do you recall?"

"Ah, yes," the monk replied neutrally.

"That is," Sango said thoughtfully, "by my recollection, the last village we visited that had any geisha."

Two dark, bushy eyebrows raised in a perfect facsimile of surprise. "Sango, I had no idea you were interested in geisha."

Sango's smile was bland, but there was something crackling in her eyes -- something that bore a striking resemblance to triumph. "No interest. I merely pay attention to the whereabouts of my traveling companions. Tell me, how did you find them, houshi-sama? Hospitable?"

"Rude geisha don't make a very good living, Sango," he replied dryly, closing his eyes again.

"So, they were all you had anticipated."

"To the best of my recollection."

"Oh?" Sango replied lightly.

"You know me," he said smoothly, opening one eye and regarding her for a very long moment. "It all tends to blur together."

"Mmm," Sango murmured, nodding. "Yes. Except for one small thing."

The monk closed his eyes again. "That being...?"

Pushing herself to her feet, Sango closed the distance between them, crouching down in front of the monk until they were nearly nose to nose. "You're lying," she said softly.

He opened his eyes again and regarded her with a look of long-practiced innocence. "Lying?"

"Lying. Being dishonest, untruthful. Telling falsehoods."

"I?" he asked, his features bland. "A monk? Why on earth would I lie?"

Why indeed? "Only you can answer that question, houshi-sama," Sango replied, her eyes scanning his face, searching for any visible hint of the lie. "But," she said, her voice lowering, "I do know this for an absolute fact: That. Village. Had. No. Geisha."

There was a slight movement in his throat as he swallowed. "Ah." And, for a moment, Sango saw his façade waver -- but just for a moment. The young houshi then shrugged again. "Must've gotten it confused with another village."

Sango willed the triumphant grin to keep from forming. "Hmm. Perhaps. Maybe that mansion we stayed at..."

Miroku gave a small sigh, and folded his hands in his lap. Apparently he was going to get very little done in the way of meditating until Sango was through with her interrogation. "Which one?" he asked mildly.

Brown eyes pinned him, and for a moment the monk actually felt as if he couldn't move -- her gaze held him rooted to the spot. Well, her gaze and the fact that she was crouching down in front of him. "The most recent one?" she prompted innocently. "We stayed there a few days before the village?"

Tension formed a knot in the young monk's stomach. Gods damn it. Why is it I only get caught when I'm trying to behave? "What about it?"

"Were their teahouses to your liking, houshi-sama?" she asked lightly.

Emitting a small, exasperated sigh, Miroku opened his mouth to tell Sango that, yes, their teahouses had been to his liking, and if she had nothing better than to ask him about the quality of entertainment he'd managed to find in their travels, then he'd be sure to take her along the next time he went out in search of said entertainment. Well, that last part wasn't entirely true, but he was fairly sure it would get the taiji-ya, whose proximity was growing more unnerving by the second, to leave him alone.

The only problem was that Miroku never had a chance to say any of this. Sango's soft voice cut him off before he could utter his reply.
"I can't imagine you had time to find out. The work you did at the mansion must have kept you busy."

"Now how did you--" Clamping his mouth shut, he cut himself off, but the taiji-ya was only watching him, one eyebrow gracefully arched. She said nothing, but her thoughts were clearly reflected in her eyes: "Got you." Setting his jaw, he shifted to the side, pushing himself to his feet and picking up his staff. His legs were ready to propel him away from that spot -- to any spot far away from this one.

Sango sighed quietly. "Houshi-sama, come back."

His grip tightened around his shakujou and he stared off into the mid distance. "I haven't even moved yet," he said wryly.

Her words were soft but clear. "Sit down."

His mouth quirked, but still he didn't look at her. "That only works on Inuyasha."

"...Now."

Looking over his shoulder, Miroku eyed Sango for a moment before sitting down slowly. I know that tone. It presages pain. Sango had moved back slightly, which allowed him to return to his original spot. The silence that hung between them was vast, and it was difficult for Miroku to sit while Sango looked at him with that thoughtful look in her eyes -- the same expression that had been driving him mad for weeks now. When he ventured a glance into her brown gaze he saw the sliver of hurt there. Tightening his jaw, he dropped his eyes, focusing on an undefined spot by the taiji-ya's elbow; he could not make himself look her in the eye.

"Why have you been lying to us?" she asked hesitantly.

Miroku closed his eyes. Gods, that tone. Yell at me, Sango. Do anything you want, but don't speak to me in such a tone. "I've been trying not to, when I could avoid it," he said evenly.

Sango nodded once. "I'm not the only one who's noticed," she said, trying to look into his face.

"I know," was the flat answer.

Shifting to sit on her hip, she was silent for a moment. Then, "Why, houshi-sama?"

"Why do I know?" he asked, his voice tinted with only a fraction of the bitterness he was feeling. Why, why was it when he was trying to do the right thing, when he was making an effort to be more than either his father or his grandfather, when he was attempting to be a better man -- why did this sort of thing have to happen? "I know because Inuyasha has been asking me pointed questions and Kagome-sama has been looking at me strangely." No, he wasn't answering her question. Yes, he was being intentionally obtuse. And when Sango ducked her head to meet his eyes, he knew she didn't buy it for a moment.

"Why have you been lying to us?"

He swallowed hard under her gaze. It was so much easier to tell her something else -- anything else -- when she wasn't looking at him so. "I..." he swallowed and ran a hand through his bangs. "I thought you wouldn't believe me."

When Sango spoke, her tone was soft, and that fact almost surprised Miroku. "You would really think so little of m-- us?"

He gave a short bark of dry laughter. "Oh, yes. Because my announcing that I was ceasing the pursuit of women would be wholly believed." He shook his head. "I think quite highly of all of you, but..."

Sango blinked once, staring at Miroku, wondering if she had heard him correctly and knowing that she had. Giving up women? Is he serious? The sudden wave of incredulity that washed over her left Sango feeling somewhat ashamed of herself, and annoyed that she'd feel ashamed. After all, he'd been the one to behave in such a manner for so long. How else was she -- how were they -- supposed to react to such a declaration but with a certain amount of skepticism?

And yet, given his behavior lately... it all seemed to make sense.

Swallowing, she forced herself to listen to his words.

"Since I've never done anything to make you think me capable of such a thing, why should you have believed me?"

Sango bit her lip, hard. "Houshi-sama, did you say... ceasing?"

His reply was a small, graceful shrug. "Would you believe I finally got tired of being turned down?"

She paused for a moment before answering. "No."

His lopsided smile was a genuine one that lit his eyes and made a small dimple appear in his right cheek as he exhaled a soft snort of self-mocking laughter. "No, I don't suppose you would, of everyone."

"Then why?" she asked gently. "What made you... decide this?"

Miroku was quiet for several moments, and when he finally did speak, his words were spoken slowly. It was as if he was carefully contemplating every word before he said it. "I realized... that..." Frowning deeply, he looked down at his hands. "Buddha teaches that life is suffering," he said quietly. "And... one of the greatest sins you can commit is to inflict suffering on another." He looked up at her, relieved to see her watching him with an expression completely void of the scorn and disbelief he'd been expecting.

Sango nodded once, encouragingly, at which point Miroku said, "I felt Teles' child move, Sango." Again, he paused, collecting his thoughts, articulating them wholly for the first time. "That child knows nothing of the world that awaits it. Nothing of the pain that this world brings. Any child I fathered..." he swallowed hard. "If " -- not when, if -- "I die. I would be condemning that child to more suffering. And I can't do that." Shaking his head, sending his dark bangs swaying, he said, "My father did it to me. His father did it to him. And... well," here he shrugged again. "I decided that it ends with me."

Nodding slowly, Sango was quiet for several seconds, watching him, gauging him. "I understand," she said, her voice low. She had never expected to hear anything like this come from Miroku. It made a slow ache radiate through her chest as she allowed herself to consider the situation from his perspective. Then, the ache turned leaden and settled in her gut. "That child... brought you to such a decision?" she asked, almost inaudibly.

He nodded, reaching down and plucking up a blade of nearly-dead autumn grass, twirling it idly between his thumb and middle finger. "Well. The child, and a great deal of thinking."

Sango closed her eyes and reflexively moved away from the monk. She felt ill suddenly, faced with the task of putting into words what had only existed in her mind as an amorphous mist of prickling suspicion. It was not certain yet, but saying it aloud would make it more certain. Damn it. "Houshi-sama, there's something you should know," she managed quietly.

His brows quirking together at her tone, Miroku lifted his eyes from where they rested on the blade of grass between his fingers. "Yes, Sango?"

She angled her body away from him, as if to shield herself from his reaction. "Something's been bothering me for... a while now. Every time I thought I could remember it, it would slip away...." Pausing, Sango ventured a look at the young monk, who only nodded encouragingly. "Not long ago, Kagome and I were discussing... things. And... I remembered that my village had done a brief study on hanyou. We didn't have a problem with hanyou, but the study was done mostly for archival purposes. My father -- as a part of my training -- required I be familiar with certain parts of our archive, and one of the things that I learned was the reason why there are so few hanyou in these lands."

Miroku watched Sango, noting the constant, subtle change in her body language. No longer should she meet his eyes, and she had shifted in such a way that only her profile faced him. Swallowing against a sick sense of foreboding, he managed, "What is it?"

The taiji-ya took a deep breath before answering him, the infinitesimal space existing between her breath and the words that followed sounding more like a chasm of silence to the monk. And then, the words came. "There are so few hanyou because they so seldom survive gestation and birth."

The words hit him like a blow, and blood rushed suddenly from his head, leaving Miroku ashen. "Oh, merciful gods," he breathed, his voice a mere husk of its usual timbre. Those words were all he could manage; nothing else would form. Nausea cloyed through his gut as denial spiraled up through his mind; a million thoughts flew through his head, all of them challenging the young woman so intent on avoiding his eyes. But he couldn't speak. And he knew, deep in the pit of his soul, that Sango wouldn't have said such a thing if she wasn't sure -- or as sure as she could be. After several moments, he was vaguely aware of Sango's voice as she spoke again. Shaking his head quickly, Miroku turned his attention to her words.

"From what I recall... the elders believed that it was because a human female's body was not strong enough to house a half-youkai child."

Paling further, Miroku swallowed hard, his eyes never wavering from the taiji-ya's face. Suddenly so much made sense. Her increasing discomfort would have been unusual, had she been carrying a human child. But a half-youkai child? "Sango," he managed softly, "are you telling me..." Miroku trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Sango sighed deeply. "When I used to assist our village midwife, I learned a few things here and there about human pregnancies. Obviously, as the woman grows heavier with child, she grows -- because the child's growing. But youkai pregnancies are of shorter duration -- the child grows faster by comparison. And, as the child grows, it becomes more active -- even for a woman carrying a human child. But the thing is, houshi-sama, hanyou and youkai are far stronger than humans -- even when they're children. You're dealing with a child that is half-youkai. He'll have claws. Soft ones, yes, but still... And he's Sesshoumaru's child, so he may very well carry some of Sesshoumaru's natural poison as well. If you take those factors into consideration..." Sango trailed off, closing her eyes. "As it grows, the child eventually... injures its mother," she supplied softly. "Her pain is normal," she said, her voice growing hoarse, "for a hanyou pregnancy." Opening her eyes, Sango saw her friend's slow nod. She saw how very pale he'd turned, and nearly flinched from the guilt. Exhaling softly, Sango ran a hand through her bangs. "A human woman's womb can take a great deal of abuse, but... a half youkai child... it is far stronger and develops faster than a human infant. It's more than a human woman can keep up with."

"I see." Sighing wearily, Miroku slumped back against the tree.

Wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off a chill, Sango shook her head. "There's so much to be taken into account when the child is half you--"
"Thank you, I get the idea," he interrupted, his voice sharp.

Flinching almost imperceptibly at his tone, Sango mentally berated herself. "I'm sorry, houshi-sama," she said softly. "She is your friend. Like you said."

Miroku held up a hand in apology. "No, I'm..." Closing his eyes, he blew out a sigh. "Damn it." He was quiet for several seconds. "So fucking ironic," he muttered darkly, rubbing his eyes.

Sango's brows quirked together in puzzlement. "Ironic, houshi-sama?"

"The only woman I haven't felt even the slightest inclination towards in years.... And she's probably not going to survive her pregnancy. That just.... figures." They both sat in silence for a moment, Miroku's expression darkening further, his brows lowering as his mouth pulled downward. "Gods damn it," he muttered suddenly.

"What is it?" Sango asked. Once the question passed her lips, she wished she could retract it. She knew -- it didn't take a genius to figure out what had just occurred to Miroku.

The monk's answer was flat and delivered in a strained, hoarse tone. "Inuyasha." Sango did not respond; instead, she closed her eyes and turned away quickly as if his words held the power of a physical blow.

A thick, tense hush settled over the two companions, broken only by the rustling of Miroku's robes when he stood suddenly. He was completely still for a moment before his jaw tightened and his arm shot out, sending his fist slamming hard into the tree he'd been leaning against so peacefully. A sharp bolt of discordant pain shot up his arm, and the monk withdrew, swearing as he shook his hand. "Violence begets violence," he muttered. "Or at least makes me break my fucking hand."

Sighing, Sango pushed herself to her feet, approaching the young houshi. "Let me see it."

"It's nothing," he shrugged. His resistance didn't last particularly long; there was no compromise in the solemn brown eyes before him. Suppressing a sigh, he held out his hand for the taiji-ya's inspection.

"You're learning," she muttered as fingers skilled in searching out injury prodded the monk's hand.

"I can be taught," he muttered back.

She held his hand gently in hers, turning it this way and that, carefully checking for broken bones. "Tell me if it hurts," she murmured, frowning in concentration as she looked at his hand, gently bending and extending each of his fingers.

A heavy warmth settled like a fog over Miroku as Sango's cool, slender hands held his larger one. Swallowing hard, he willed the dryness from his throat. "No."

"Nothing seems to be broken," she said quietly, the frown still etched on her forehead. "But you've bruised it quite badly."

Miroku sighed theatrically, gently extricating his hand from hers. Strangely, he felt even colder without her cool, dry hands holding his. He shrugged off the sensation as a flight of fancy. "The tree's revenge," he replied. Swallowing hard and looking down at her, a small half-grin tugged at his lips. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said softly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Taking a half-step away, Sango inhaled deeply and blew out the breath. "Kagome-chan is leaving for her homeland tomorrow. I thought it would be a good opportunity for me to go back to my village for a few days and scour the archives." She lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. "I don't know what I might find, but anything is better than doing nothing."

Miroku's frown was instant. "By yourself?" When met with another of Sango's shrugs, his frown deepened. "Surely that would go faster with..." he bit his lip, trailing off; he had no desire to sound presumptuous, and yet he couldn't help but believe it to be true -- any search would go faster with two.

Sighing, Sango shook her head. "Well, I would rather not tell Inuyasha, and Kagome-chan will be gone..." Sango's brows came together, and she looked up at him, swallowing once. "Unless you'd... want to?"

Miroku blinked once. I'll be damned. "Certainly."

"It would be more efficient if the both of us were looking," Sango said slowly, choosing her words carefully. She'd had every intention of going to her village alone -- it certainly wouldn't be the first time she'd gone. And yet... the prospect grew less and less pleasing as she considered it. Besides, he has a great deal of experience with research and texts. He's the logical person to bring along, especially if Kagome-chan is going to be away. She shifted her weight slightly, masking the wince that came when her foot gave a twinge in complaint. "I had planned on speaking with Kagome-chan tonight and heading out sometime before sunset."

Miroku grinned suddenly. "Well, since I've no other plans..."

Sango looked at him for several long moments, gauging the smile. I hope I didn't just make a very big mistake.

The young monk sat back down beneath the tree. "Before sunset it is, then." In only half the time it would have taken a heart to beat, Miroku looked up at Sango, his expression suddenly sober. He hesitated a moment before speaking. "I'll behave."

A sudden wave of guilt washed over the taiji-ya and she pursed her lips in thought, watching him. "Do you know, houshi-sama, that actually doesn't surprise me?" But Miroku didn't respond. Instead, he closed his eyes as if in exhaustion, sighing softly. Sango bit her lip. He thought we wouldn't believe him capable of change. That he had reason to doubt them -- to doubt her -- troubled the taiji-ya. Lowering herself down into a crouch, Sango spoke in quiet, intense tones. "I'm saying that I believe you, M--" startled at herself, Sango bit his name back from her lips. "...houshi-sama. I... I believe you."

"Thank you," he murmured tiredly.

She only nodded once, even though he couldn't see it. "I'm going to speak with Kagome and gather supplies for the trip," she said, starting to turn and head back to the village.

He spoke once more, his voice lacking the polish of insincerity she had actually grown used to. "And, Sango?" When she stopped and glanced over her shoulder at him, she was almost surprised to see him watching her, dark violet eyes intent on hers.

"Yes?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

"I'm sorry."

She blinked. "You're sorry, houshi-sama? What for?"

"Everything I've ever done that you might've objected to. I could be more specific, if you like, but you wanted to leave today," he said with a wryly-humorous twist of the mouth.

The taiji-ya found herself clamping down on a wry smile of her own. "Well, you could spread those apologies out over time..."

"Very well," he chuckled softly; for a moment, Sango saw the shadow lift from his eyes, and she found that her previously wry smile had started to soften slightly. "For today, then, I'll concentrate on..." he trailed off, looking up at her earnestly. "What would you like me to be sorry for today?"

She pretended to think it over. "Since most of the day is spent, maybe you should start small. Today... you can be sorry for attempting to lie to me.

The young monk only smiled more widely. "I'm usually better at it." He paused for a moment, tilting a dark eyebrow at her. "But I can't fool you, can I?"

"Yes, well you can concentrate on the lies you have told me tomorrow," she riposted with dry amusement. He laughed -- she'd been fairly sure he would. But when he the small wave of laughter passed, he looked up at her, smiling -- a smile that reached his eyes and warmed them. Sango felt her breath hitch in her chest as her pulse gave a small flutter.

And then, just as quickly as it had arrived, the moment passed. Sango nodded once at nothing in particular. "I'm going to gather supplies. I'll be in the village if you need me." She turned to leave, shifting her weight again as she pivoted. And again, her foot complained heartily; Sango winced and shook her foot lightly.

Miroku's frown was instant, melting his earlier smile away completely. "Sango? Are you all right?"

"It's nothing," she murmured, reaching down to rub at the arch of her right foot.

The frown deepened, and he was pushing himself to his feet. "Let me see."

Sango looked at him, eyes widening, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Really, houshi-sama, I'm fine. It's nothing."

"If it were nothing, Sango, you wouldn't be favoring it so," he said, crossing the distance between them and dropping down into a crouch, taking her foot gently into his hands.

"Houshi-sama..." Sango protested, trying to pull her foot out of his grip. It was at that moment that his hands tightened slightly, keeping her foot still. He looked up at her then, all humor gone from his violet gaze; his mouth was set, and his eyebrow was slightly arched as if in answer to some implicit challenge. No words were spoken for several seconds until Sango gingerly lowered herself to the ground with a soft huff of annoyance. "Fine. You win," she muttered darkly, allowing the monk to bring her foot to his lap.

Without a word, Miroku divested Sango's foot of its sandal, prodding gently at it with his fingertips. His brows lowered when his ministrations made the taiji-ya hiss in discomfort. "It's swollen," he murmured, turning her foot carefully. "What did you do?"

Sango's cheeks flamed in embarrassment. "I'd rather not say," she replied quietly.

Miroku felt a faint pang of guilt; he'd seen Sango trip over his staff. Swallowing, he kept his attention on her foot. "I don't think you broke anything..." He looked up at her, concern warming the violet depths of his eyes. "Did you do this tripping over my shakujou?"

Sango's head jerked up, and she shook her head. "No..." she said, coloring slightly.

A wry smile twisted his lips. "Well, that's a relief," he said, long fingers still stroking slowly at her foot over the bruise that was bound to develop over the next few days. Intellectually, Miroku knew it was past time to let go of her foot. But he didn't. "I was worried for a moment that you were going to think it was out to get you," he said, his voice light with humor.

Feeling a strange tingle slither down her spine with the monk's ministrations, Sango managed a soft, almost nervous huff of laughter. "Don't be ridiculous, houshi-sama."

"But I am ridiculous," he replied with a grin. Looking down at her foot again, his thumb slowly dragged down her sole. "So, if it wasn't my staff..."

Sango felt a new flood of warmth color her cheeks as she tried to shake off the increasing lightheadedness. The throbbing in her foot had by this point subsided, and all good sense instructed her to pull her foot away. "I..." she started, stopping as she shook her head quickly, clamping her mouth shut to keep the words at bay. "It was a stupid miscalculation." He ventured a glance at Miroku, who had nodded once, but was still clearly waiting for more explanation. Damn it, she groaned inwardly. The fact that he'd seen her trip and fall so spectacularly was bad enough; Sango did not want to explain to him that she'd kicked a tree that was probably hundreds of years old that had probably had plenty of experience warding off attacks far more vicious than her sandaled foot.

And, of course, through it all, Miroku was still stroking her foot slowly. Another tingle danced across Sango's nerves and she nearly shivered in response. When his touch wandered away from the burgeoning bruise and moved to the delicate curve of her arch, Sango swallowed hard, feeling warmth rush through her veins. Licking her lips, she murmured, "It feels much better now, houshi-sama. Thank you." Gently, she pulled her foot away.

"You're welcome," he replied quietly, folding his hands in his lap. After a moment, Miroku broke the silence that had settled over them. "Sango, what did you do?"

The taiji-ya closed her eyes, sighing. "I... kicked a tree." There was a beat of silence during which neither heard anything but the distant twitterings of what few birds had not gone off in search of warmer climes. A faint breeze rustled the bare branches above them and rushed through the tall grass.

"What did the tree do?" Miroku asked soberly. When met with Sango's bland, un-amused look, he only shrugged. "Just wondering."
Shaking her head, Sango reached across and retrieved her sandal, slipping it back on her foot. "I was angry," she said softly. Her foot complained slightly when she slipped her shoe on, but she shrugged it off. Gods, I didn't realize I'd kicked it quite that hard.

"What made you so angry?" he asked quietly.

Sango didn't say anything for several moments as she stared at the middle distance. When she finally did answer him, her voice was low, and almost inaudible. "I..." she began, pausing to blow out a frustrated breath. "I should have been able to remember sooner. I'm supposed to know these things -- I'm supposed to know this sort of thing. It's not supposed to nag at me for weeks -- I should have remembered sooner than I did. It's my duty. My responsibility. It's my--"

"Sango." Miroku's voice was soft and calm, cutting through Sango's increasingly rising tone far more swiftly and far more efficiently than either of them would have expected. When the taiji-ya paused in her diatribe to stare at him, he merely said, "Stop." Folding her arms and setting her jaw, Sango looked away, a storm cloud still darkening her features. "There's no point in beating yourself about it," he reasoned gently. Here, Miroku paused. "Or the trees." He felt mild relief when she laughed half-heartedly, and his own lips pulled into a faintly wry grin.

Sango met his eyes, and for a moment, Miroku could see the emotion warring in the brown depths. "You told me she was in pain, houshi-sama. You told me. I just..." She looked down at her hands. "I'm not supposed to forget this kind of information. It was all right there, staring me in the face, but I couldn't think past the pup -- I got too caught up in..." trailing off, she shrugged. "Other things."

Sighing, Miroku shook his head. "Sango," he began patiently, you're a youkai taiji-ya, not a hanyou midwife. Surely your teachers never anticipated that you'd be providing advice to the mate of the Lord of the Western Lands."

Sending the monk a sad smile, she spoke the words that had been circling through her mind since the memory had struck her. "'The taiji-ya does not work solely in the practical,' houshi-sama. Otherwise, I will know only that which has happened, and not what could happen." She paused. "My teachers taught me to anticipate anything, because only then would I be prepared for it. Youkai are not always predictable, after all."

Leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, Miroku caught the taiji-ya's gaze. "And had you remembered this earlier, what would you have done?"

"I would have told Sesshoumaru, for starters," she replied firmly. "He deserves to know the potential for complications. And then... then I would have gone back to the archives earlier -- not now when it's a month -- maybe even less time than that -- before the pup is due."

The young monk pursed his lips in thoughtful silence. After a moment, he expelled a breath. "Well, I'm not going to point out that it's too late for that, since it seems to me," he said, glancing pointedly at her foot, "you've already realized that quite thoroughly."

"Quite thoroughly," she repeated wryly.

"Not that it matters, but..." Miroku trailed off for a moment, until Sango looked up at him. The fading autumn sunlight caught her hair and bounced off the strands, making it appear to gleam russet. Her bangs cast the rest of her face in shadow, and the image she presented caused the monk's words to still in his throat for several seconds. Swallowing, he plunged on. "I was going to say that one lapse of memory in the whole of your life as a taiji-ya is nearly nothing, considering." Here his mouth quirked, allowing the young houshi to conceal his discomfort behind light humor. "But then I thought perhaps I'm not the one to lecture on lapses." She smiled a bit, and a heavy, comfortable warmth settled itself in his chest.

"But, the thing is, houshi-sama... this is Inuyasha's niece or nephew. If... if anything happened to him -- or her -- just because something slipped my mind, I... I don't know if I could forgive myself."

"But you remembered," he said reassuringly. "And we'll go, and find out what we can, and everything will be all right."

Sango sat completely still as Miroku's heartening words sunk in. The comfort she found in his words, in the way he managed to say everything so matter-of-factly almost overwhelmed her. She swallowed hard, offering him a small smile. "Thank you." How is it he always seems to know what I need to hear?

"I know you won't let Inuyasha down, Sango," he said quietly.

"I'm going to do my best," she replied softly. I just hope it's enough.

"Actually," he said, a small grin lighting his lips, "we."

Sango's brows twitched together in puzzlement. "I'm sorry, houshi-sama?"

"You're not going alone. We are going to do our best." He pretended to think it over. "And, it seems to me that when we do our best, we don't do too badly."

The smile that curved the taiji-ya's lips was both warm and relieved. "You know... I don't think I can argue with you about that." Moving carefully, Sango pushed herself to her feet, testing her weight on her sore foot. She suppressed the wince, deciding that it was probably just bruised. "I'm going to head back to the village now and see if I can find Kagome-chan. She said something about helping Kaede-sama with a few things tonight and heading back to her time tomorrow morning. I think she might have a few left-over supplies that we might be able to make use of."

"Very well," Miroku replied, nodding. In one smooth movement, he had stood, returning to his original spot under the tree. He closed his eyes in what he suspected would be a futile attempt to regain his meditative state. "I'll catch up with you at sunset."

Sango nodded, turning to wade through the tall grass. "I should have everything arranged by then." She walked away slowly, only barely favoring her foot. In fact, to an untrained observer, the taiji-ya's stride looked completely unchanged.

Miroku, however, was anything but an untrained observer. He watched Sango through his lashes, a tiny frown marring his forehead. He'd already decided that if she appeared to be having difficulty negotiating the uneven ground, he was going to insist she let him carry her back to the village. He'd watched Sango walk often enough; she was skillful at masking her limps, but he was just as skilled at peeling away the layers of subterfuge in her movements. She seemed to be favoring her foot, but appeared to be having no difficulties. He chewed lightly on the inside of his cheek as he watched her. After a moment, he shook his head. No. She'll probably just argue with me. Perhaps I can get her to stay off it once we're at the village. Suddenly the implications of that thought slammed into the young monk with all the force of a lightning bolt.

Alone. In her village. With her. Great merciful gods.