Miroku/Sango pairing: "Fear"

[windesprite.livejournal.com]

Title: Two Sides
Genre: angst/fear/romance
Pairing: Miroku/Sango
Squick: none
word count: 944


Sango’s hands trembled even as she tried to hold the knife steady. The blade
caught the moon’s subtle reflection and blinded her for not even a millisecond. But that small occurrence—on top of everything else that had happened—prompted her to take action.

With a surge of adrenaline, she gritted her teeth and cleanly ran the blade down the antebrachial region, near her wrist.

Dark red blood welled up and hovered in one area, as her body tried to heal itself, but the cut was too long, too deep, too flawless. Sango watched in fascination as the blood slowly dripped from her arm, like water pouring over rocks in a river.

She shook herself out of her daze and leveled the knife over her other arm. In her hesitation, she allowed a pictures of Kagome, Inuyasha, Miroku to flash through her mind.

No. Don’t think of them. Remember—you’re doing this for Kohaku.

Naraku had no use for Kohaku once she was gone—the boy held no leverage. Naraku would either free him; or dispose of him. Either way, her brother would be better off without that disgusting … creature.

“Be strong, Sango,” she whispered. “Be strong for your brother.”

She sucked in great breaths of air and pushed down the fear that rose within her. One more cut. That was all. One more than this would all be over.

Sango balanced the blade on her wrist.

“Don’t.”

The quietly uttered word spooked her more than a vociferous shout would have. She shrieked and accidently stabbed herself a little. Wincing, she cried out, “Who’s there?”

“Is it really so bad—” The voice took the form of her beloved monk. Miroku stepped out of the shadows and regarded her with hard eyes “—that you’d take your life.”

“It’s…this isn’t what it looks like.” It looked like she was a coward, like she was taking the easy way out. (Maybe she was?)

No. She was doing this for him. For Kohaku. For Miroku. For whomever.

“Yes it is.” He looked at her sadly. “You’re trying to be the heroine… to solve everyone’s problems with your own sacrifice. But let me tell you something, Sango: Naraku isn’t a rational being like you or me. He won’t be impressed by your heroic display. You’ll just be one more obstacle out of his way—and we’ll be worse off than before.” He cupped his chin with his hand. “Is that what you want?”
No!

“H-how do you know?” She steadied her voice. “How can you be certain? I’ve got to do something, Houshi-sama! I can’t just stay here, day after day, knowing that my brother…my brother…” She balanced the knife again.

Miroku stepped back and slowly raised his arm parallel to the ground. His right arm. Sango knew what he was going to say before the words left his mouth. “You cut your wrist—I open the kazaana.”

“Housh—”

“No,” he said evenly. “I don’t want to hear it.” His fingers played with the beads that held back the vortex.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked back her tears. He couldn’t see them. She wouldn’t let him see her fear, see her despair, see her desperateness to end this miserable suffering—

“It’s not fair,” she whispered, sinking to her knees. Couldn’t he see that he’d just taken away her only hope?

“It never is.” He stood behind her, watching her. Then, slowly, he lowered himself to the ground and pulled her into his lap. Sango’s wrist flicked suddenly, but Miroku caught it in his hand before the blade could make contact with her skin. “I know you too well to let you try and pull that stunt,” he said, his voice faintly amused.

Sango’s anger rose. Damn him, who did he think he was? “Let me go!”

“No.” He pulled her tighter. “Sango… fear is a funny thing. It’s always worse
in the dead of night than it is during the day.”

“So what?”

His mouth turned upwards. “So—I’m going to hold you like this until the sun rises and we can sort all this out in the daylight.”

“You—pervert! You’re enjoying this!”

“On the contrary—” She was surprised to hear the sadness in his tone—“it’s rather bittersweet to hold you like this, as I have wanted to for so long. But if it will protect you, Sango…” his voice dropped to a whisper. “Know that I will do so until the end of time.”

The lump returned, and she swallowed it again. Why did he have to be so…?

Sango didn’t fall asleep until the sun’s rays were just peaking over the top of the trees. Miroku watched them stoically, his entire energy centered on protecting the woman in his lap. The woman he loved. (Would he ever be able to speak such words? It was easy to think them.)

He wouldn’t tell Sango that he’d nearly taken his life last night, too—that he’d been this close to opening his kazaana and removing the burden of his being from his friends. But his fear for Sango had outweighed his fear for himself.

He laughed softly, humorlessly, in the irony. Two lives had almost been taken by fear—and then two lives were spared by that same—yet different—fear.

Sango stirred softly in her sleep, and unconsciously snuggled closer to Miroku, closer to the warmth.

Miroku stroked her tresses with her fingers. He couldn’t promise her that the next night would be better…

But for the present, the fear of the night was quietly dissipating as the morning’s stealthy rays attacked the last glimmer of shadow.