A Rickety Bridge

Chapter Nine: Miroku’s Offer

Sango didn’t immediately hear the watchman’s alarm. She was bathing, meditating with her head underwater. She came up for air every other minute or so, then sank back again. It was a technique her father had taught her as a girl, and nothing relaxed her quite like it. There was a restless energy in her veins that she knew would keep her up all night if she didn’t do something and a simple bath had not helped. She knew what it was of course—it was a heat urging her to go to Miroku.

Tonight would be the first since she had given herself to him that she would be sleeping alone. Her body didn’t seem to like the idea, but there was really nothing to be done. The way Miroku had snapped at her over dinner and stalked off to his room early left little doubt in her mind that he wished to spend the night alone.

Sango was puzzled by this about-face. She would have thought the impetus her imprudent declaration of love in Kaede’s hut, but this progression had begun before that. What was wrong with him? It was her every expectation that he would have been blissful at her submission to his charms, that he would gloat even. After all she had given him exactly what he wanted and under terms he himself had stated as a preference. But he had grown steadily more and more churlish as the days passed and he seemed to be angry with her. As much as Sango’s body ached for his touch, she had no desire to subject herself to his moods.

His moods. That was rich. Before these recent developments, she didn’t think Miroku had moods—Kagome was the unfortunate girl who had to put up with an unreasonable man. Miroku would have nights where he didn’t sleep, occasional instances where he lost his temper, but he was pleasant and serene even during the worst tension between members of the group. He was their mediator, the one they sent to negotiate lodgings when they entered a town, the one who calmed the frantic people they helped. Miroku was world-wearied enough to distance himself from his emotions for the interests of the group, understanding that his charm made their lives so much easier. Yet now that balanced—even calculated—young man was nowhere to be found. Sango had done something, and he was lashing out at her.

She had been considering what that may be, more bothered by his feelings than she wished to admit. Irrational worries had been plaguing her for days now, and they were beginning to seem more and more plausible. He had desired her for so long, and now she had given in. Was he...displeased? Was she not as he had pictured? In truth, she wanted to be confident enough that she didn’t assume any shift in his temperament meant some deficiency in her. But she was a girl who had just given her virginity to the man she loved, a philanderer who had apparently slept with at least one girl in every town he’d ever been to. Those weren’t circumstances conducive to self-assurance even in the most poised of young women.

Then, she came up for air and heard the chaos of battle preparation. She cursed as she vaulted from the water—how could she had been so careless?

She didn’t spare time to towel off, just snatched up her slayer’s suit from inside the bathhouse and pulled it on, her wet skin making anything resembling haste difficult. She tied her hair back so that it was out of her face and retrieved her katana and Hiraikotsu, battle adrenaline already pounding through her system. A good fight was just what she needed.

When she reached the ruckus and saw that it was just Kouga, her stomach fell. It seemed Inuyasha was the one who would be getting a fight, not her.

“I have come to speak with the lovely Kagome,” he was saying.

Inuyasha growled. “Over my fucking dead body.”

Kouga considered amicably, “If those are your terms.”

Kagome stepped between them. “What did you need to speak with me about, Kouga-kun?” she said in her calmest voice, making every effort to keep the fight from happening. When the wolf prince open his mouth with protest clear in his expression, she added firmly, “A private conversation is not a possibility.”

Inuyasha gave a snort of triumph and she threw a glare back at him.

Kouga didn’t look happy about this exchange being public, but must have decided that Kagome’s aggravation was not worth the argument. “I have spoken with the Elder and after much supplication and many ritual sacrifices, he has given me leave to request your hand in marriage.”

Sango was stunned. A kazen-youkai being given permission by an elder to marry a human was unprecedented. Inuyasha looked fit to succumb to his own demonic nature and Kagome seemed like she might faint.

“W-what?” she managed.

“I have the blessings of my pack to make you my mate,” he clarified.

“Oh, um, Kouga-kun,” Kagome’s hands were trembling, and she seemed to flinch at every noise Inuyasha made behind her, “I must decline. I’m sorry.”

The youkai shrugged. “I know.”

“You know?”

He gave her a grin that showed all his teeth in chilling detail, but that he must have thought winning, “I’ll ask again later.”

“Oh,” she repeated faintly.

Sango became aware of the prince’s two attendants staggering into the center of town short of breath. They approached, realizing that they recognized her.

“Did he ask her?” Ginta asked her between pants.

Sango nodded, “He asked.”

Hakkaku nodded, “She say no?”

“Yes.”

The wolf youkai shrugged. “Figures.”

“What do you mean ‘figures’?” an approaching Kouga demanded.

The two attendants were suddenly very interested in a muddy puddle. But Kouga was not her prince, and Sango was not afraid of him. She may get that fight after all.

“Kagome-chan will always say no, no matter how many times you ask her. She loves Inuyasha and that will not change.”

She was surprised when the youkai smiled at her instead of reacting with hostility. “Perhaps. But faith that she will one day say yes is important. I love her,” he said simply, as though he were telling her something so elementary that she should be embarrassed for not knowing it already.

Sango was taken aback by his words, so much so that she didn’t reply as the three wolves took their leave of the town. It was just as well, she supposed. Kouga was clearly not in the mood for the fight she wanted, and she doubted very much there was anything she could have said to dissuade that childish notion he had just spouted off. His unflinching conviction that Kagome would eventually choose him was rooted deeply in an arrogance that could only come from being both youkai and royalty—she couldn’t even fathom it. He was a rather ridiculous guy, that Kouga. And now she was just...cranky.

She walked toward her friends, seeing that Inuyasha was in a shouting match with the town head.

“What’s going on?” she asked Kagome.

Her friend sighed. “They want us to leave. They don’t like that we brought three dangerous wolves into their town.”

Sango wrinkled her nose, “Lovely.” She looked around. “Houshi-sama...is he still in his bed?”

Kagome shook her head and she seemed puzzled. “He was here just a moment ago.”

“He went back to the bathhouse,” Shippou chimed in, pointing in the direction of the hot springs. “I saw him.”

“Oh.” Sango stood for a long moment, torn. Then Kagome gave her a nudge and an encouraging smile. “I’ll just go see him then,” she whispered absently as she started toward the structure.

When she stepped through the door to the men’s hot spring her worst fears were confirmed. Miroku...had been bathing, too? Her slayer’s suit and yukata had been sitting out in plain view—he must have seen them, and yet he hadn’t spied on her obnoxiously or disturbed her bath with a game of seduction. She tried to swallow the ominous lump rising in her throat, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. Whatever was wrong must be serious.

“Houshi-sama?” she called tentatively.

He was down a ways off the cobbled path where his clothes were hanging to dry on a line near a fire. When he turned at the sound of her voice, she was surprised to see a smile split his face.

When she arrived at his side, she saw it was his “charming” smile. That meant he wanted something. Unfortunately, even recognizing the smile and knowing what it meant didn’t stop her from being entranced by it. She knew she was gazing at him slightly doe-eyed, and she hated it when she was doe-eyed. Sango groped for something to say. “You washed your clothes.”

He nodded. “I slipped and fell in a puddle on my way here.”

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He held up his hand and she saw a deep cut bleeding angrily from being freshly washed. “You didn’t bandage it?” she demanded, her hands taking his injured one in their grasp of their own accord.

He shook his head, “There wasn’t time—I thought the village was under attack.”

She nodded not really listening, then commanded, “Sit.”

He obeyed with a smirk. She cast about for something to use for binding, and finding nothing, took the belt from his robe. If he was remotely shocked, he didn’t let it show, instead teasing, “If this is what it takes for you to undress me in a public, I’ll be sure to wound myself more often.”

Sango’s cheeks burned while she bound the cut. “We’re not in public,” she quibbled.

“This is a communal bath.”

“Yes, but we’re alone,” she argued.

Miroku’s other hand caught her chin and tilted it toward his gently. “Yes, we’re alone.”

Sango barely had time to register he was going to kiss her before his lips touched hers. It was a soft kiss, almost chaste, and when he pulled away Sango couldn’t suppress a rapacious whimper. She leaned forward further, begging him to take more than he had. After a bereft moment however, she realized he was not going to.

Her eyes fluttered open to see his dark ones gazing seriously back at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Sango,” he took her hand, “would you accept eight months or so?”

She was puzzled and more than a little leery. He seemed so painfully earnest, an indicator that he was anything but, and she had no idea what he was asking. “What do you mean?”

He took a deep breath before he spoke. “I have been with no other woman since I met you, Sango—not for lack of motivation or effort, of course, but true nonetheless.”

This was not a conversation she wished to have and she moved to pull back, but his hand held hers firmly and wouldn’t let her.

“The point is, I have experienced eight months of celibacy, and I survived—something I wouldn’t have believed a year ago. I think I could manage eight months of fidelity.” His thumb stroked the back of her hand. “Would you accept that?”

Sango gaped at him. His appeal was in full effect and he was using his smoothest manipulation techniques...for this? What game was he playing with her?—he stood to gain nothing from this agreement. Which only meant that there was something she wasn’t seeing. There was always something in it for him. But to dangle this particular carrot.... Did he have any idea just how sacred the very concept was to her?

She heard the slap and saw his head snap back before it registered that she had struck him.

“Ow! Sango what...?”

Ripping her wrist from his grasp, she stood. “Exactly what is your angle?”

His eyes were wide, alarmed. “This isn’t like that.”

Liar. “Of course not.” She whirled and began stalking toward the bathhouse, “Don’t follow me.”

“I know.”

That made her angry enough to shoot a response over her shoulder. “You never follow me,” she accused.

She saw that Miroku had recovered from his blow and that his jaw had hardened. “I would be more than happy to follow you if you weren’t always running away.”

It felt as though he had smacked her. That was very near calling her a coward—very near the truth. How did he do this? So completely and adroitly, he had taken all the power, all the comfort she had worked so hard to gain away. She felt as though she had built a fortress of protection around her, and he had just casually sauntered through the front door. But then, that was the cyclical story of her relationship with Miroku—every time she started to feel safe, he would bring her face to face with just how emotionally assailable she was.

Sango stopped walking, stopped moving. The muscles beneath her skin were tense and itching for flight, making her feel like a frightened rabbit. What was wrong with her? This was Miroku and he could only hurt her insofar as she would let him. That’s what she told herself—and it was true. It was just that her judgment concerning Miroku was disastrously unreliable.

And what he was offering her...fidelity—eight whole months of it, she wanted it too much to trust any of her instincts.

Yet now he had thrown down a gauntlet, called her out on her habit of running away from any battle with emotional stakes. She felt naked and weaponless without her…well, without her weapons. It was so much easier to slap him, to whap him with Hiraikotsu, to stab him with her katana. Person to person confrontations where people didn’t end up bleeding were the types of battles at which Miroku excelled, and truth be told, she was panicking at meeting him on his turf where he had clear advantage. And it was unfair—he already had the advantage in almost every way. But he had called her a coward, so she stood her ground.

She swallowed heavily and turned to face him, resolving to level the playing field. Openness was the only thing that could make him as much a fish out of water as she. “What do you want from me?” she asked again.

His face still displayed confusion, which meant that even now he was trying to inveigle and swindle. He was going to lie. “I—”

“Please,” she said and she meant it. In fact, she heard her voice crack with swelling tears. “Please, just tell the truth.”

His face crumpled and wilted at her display of raw vulnerability. He closed his eyes and was silent for several excruciating beats. When he opened them they shined with all his intelligence and awareness, with his bitterness and spiritual exhaustion. Sango was wholly unnerved. This was what he looked like without his masks of amiability, politesse, and incompetence, and for the first time since the day she met him, she felt certain that he was going to be candid with her. It was what she had said she wanted only seconds ago, but reality of it was terrifying.

“I want you to think that I am a good man.”

Sango blinked. “You are a good man.”

His eyes narrowed. “I am being honest with you—against my better judgment. Please return the courtesy.”

“Do you really believe that I could be in love with you if I thought you were some kind of monster?” she was too taken off guard to be offended by his doubt and uncharacteristic rudeness.

His gaze did not waver. “You do not consider me capable of monogamy, of settling down in one place, or of romantic love.”

“Well, no,” Sango agreed. “But those are qualities that would make you a bad husband. They don’t make you a bad man.” She saw the blatant skepticism in his expression and knew she would have to go much further to convince him. “What’s more, you are good man despite yourself and your every inclination. You have your faults and you work so hard to make people suppose that you are harmless yet not to be trusted, that your skills of manipulation are much more transparent than they are. But I know that you love more deeply and sacrifice more selflessly than you would ever admit to yourself or anyone else, that this quest and our companions mean more to you than anything in your life.” Her voice became small, but remained steady and full of conviction, “And I know that you care for me more than you will ever tell me.” She was careful not to look away even as she spoke that last.

He was visibly shaken. “This is what you believe?”

“Yes.”

Miroku looked down and it felt like many, many minutes before he spoke again. “But...you no longer wish to be my wife.”

She hesitated before answering, not wanting to hurt him but very conscious of their agreement to be truthful. “I wish to be your lover.”

“Because you have decided I would be a bad husband,” he supplied as if she had simply given a ‘no’.

She had never imagined that this distinction would be important to him. “You could say that. But I love you too much not to take what you are capable of giving me.”

He finally looked up and his eyes were blazing with something near anger. “What if I’m capable of giving more than you believe? What if I could give you eight months of fidelity?”

This again? Her eyes widened slightly with fear. “Please don’t tempt me.”

“Tempt you into what? Having faith in me?”

Unbidden, Kouga’s words flashed in her mind. Maybe she was just as big a fool as the prince, because looking up into Miroku’s eyes, alight with a nakedness she’d never seen before, she knew that it would not be at all difficult to find that faith. “It’s not that.”

He seized her hands and pulled her closer, “Then what is it?”

“Eight months wouldn’t be enough,” Sango confessed. It was true; she would just want more. And it would break her if he dallied with someone else afterward—worse even than if he went out and found a girl tomorrow.

“How can it not be enough?” he demanded. “It’s all I have.”

It was strange, but for the first time Sango really understood Miroku’s level of pessimism. He acknowledged the possibility of surviving Naraku’s curse, but no part of him actually believed in it. That he would never live to see twenty was ingrained, a childhood conviction spawned the day he had watched his father die of the very same curse.

And for some reason this offer of his, and her acceptance of and faith in it, meant something significant to him.

She pulled one of her hands free and reached up to caress the side of his face. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I accept,” she clarified.

“Are you—”

She cut him off with a kiss before he could continue. Her heart swelled with the love she felt for this man, and she put everything she could to assuage his doubts and insecurities into the way her mouth moved on his. It wasn’t long before passion got the better of him and she found herself pressed a against a tree, his hands roving to the fastenings of her slayer’s suit.

It was different than the other times they had made love. Perhaps it was the first time she had ever felt truly safe from him in his arms—cherished. She could scarcely believe it, but for the first time since Naraku had entered her life, she was happy.