Week 4 Prompt 2
Title: His Hands
Genre: Introspective, Drama,
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,628
Pairings: Sango/Miroku, Inu/Sango Platonic with just a whisper of something more
Warnings: Character Death in here…not major
Universe: Canon
Prompt #2 used
Sango worked quietly, rubbing away the blood of the demon she’d killed just moments before. Inuyasha sat beside her similarly cleaning his sword. As she reached down beside her thigh to grab the rag that was lying there her hand came into contact with that of her companion’s. Startled she looked up, a light blush gracing her cheeks, as her brown eyes met gold.
Quickly averting her eyes, she dropped the cloth and continued to work on her hiraikotsu, leaning forward and cupping a small pool of water to poor over it, ignoring the intense, puzzled gaze she could still feel on her. ‘What was that?’ she wondered idly before glancing down to see the cloth lying on the floor again. Making sure his hands weren’t anywhere near hers, she picked it up and continued to scrub, willing her weapon to come to a shine.
Out of the corner of her she watched his hands as he held Tessaiga in front of him, studying it in the sunlight.
‘Inuyasha…’
---
They looked soft and deadly, Sango thought as she watched his hands from across the fire in the dark of night. The firelight brushed against his knuckles, the combination of light and dark creating a texture she just wanted to reach out and touch. Glowing brightly though, the claws looked just as dangerous as she knew they were. Sharp enough to disembowel an enemy in a second, there was a sense of security in knowing he would never turn them against her.
He would die before they would be used to cause her injury or grief. Such was his friendship.
Such was his loyalty.
“Sango, you okay?”
Caught, she blushed slightly and averted her eyes, trying to ignore her friend’s questioning gaze.
“I’m fine Kagome,” she laughed nervously. “Hey, there’s a spring, nearby, how about a bath after dinner?”
---
Miroku’s hands weren’t the same, Sango thought sadly, as he held hers in his. Kneeling in the dirt of her ancestral home, the only thing that came to mind was that his weren’t the same.
Bound by the rosary wrapped around his wrist and between his fingers, the fabric that held his wind tunnel in place was cool to the touch.
And so completely artificial.
She knew within there lay a strength he had used time and time again to save her life and the lives of the others. The power of the wind tunnel could bring even the mightiest of youkai to their knees against the sheer force of it.
But it wasn’t his true strength, she mused sadly as she tightened her grip on him. It was dark magic that lay sealed against his palm. At times the intensity of it, the aura of it gave her the shivers.
And when she knew she should feel safe, she felt fear.
No, they weren’t the same.
“Come on, Sango.” The monk, one of his hands dropping to the side while the other still wrapped around hers, lifted her gently to her feet. “Inuyasha’s waiting.”
Inuyasha…
---
They were cold, pale, and grey.
But no longer bound.
Weeping, she clutched Miroku’s hand, thankful that for the first time she could actually feel it against her own.
Fully.
Without reservations.
“Keh,” Inuyasha scoffed as he wiped the blade of his Tessaiga against the grass, wiping off what bits of blood he could. His own hands black with dirt and caked with mud and gore.
A testament to his own strength as a hanyou, and his determination to protect what he considered his.
For two years she had watched his hands, memorizing the slightest change in them.
And despite holding Miroku’s hands for what seemed to truly be the first time, she still couldn’t help but think: They’re not the same.
Watching Inuyasha wrap his own arms around Kagome, his claws lightly dancing on the small of her back, Sango let out a small sigh. They aren’t mine.
Somehow, something was missing.
“Are you okay, Sango?” Miroku’s hand lifted slowly before pressing it against her cheek. Blushing lightly she looked down at him, tears falling from her eyes and rolling off his fingertips.
Forcing a smile, she lay one of her hands against him as well. “I’m just relieved.”
---
His hands were cold.
Filled with grief Sango fought to keep the tears at bay. It was ironic, she thought morosely, that they had fought against Naraku, against all odds, and survived. They had faced down the power of the Shikon no Tama and survived. And yet some sickness was able to decimate them so quickly. The power of the evil was no match for what Kagome had called the flu.
Cradling his lifeless body to her, she felt decidedly selfish. She wanted him back. It was entirely soon. Their lives had barely begun.
“Sango.” Kagome’s hand fell to her shoulder in support before leaning over Miroku’s body, saying a prayer.
“It’s cold Kagome, you should be inside, you’re sick as well. Inuyasha is starting to worry.”
“I’m okay, it’s just a small cold. I’ll survive. You need to let him go. The villagers will prepare him for burial. The cold isn’t good for the baby.”
Looking up to see the women of the village standing on the edge of the woods, she shook her head sadly, one hand falling lightly on her still flat abdomen. “It’s okay. I’ll do it. He was my husband. Go inside.”
Brushing the black hair away from his face, she finally let the tears fall.
---
Her white-knuckle grip upon the hiraikotsu was perhaps Sango’s only hold onto sanity as she watched her friend fall into the well for the final time. Her time here was complete as the last of the Shikon jewel was put together, and the spirits within purified and freed.
The words exchanged between them would be cherished forever.
A sister.
It was something neither had but had always wanted, and so a vow of sisterhood was made and though five hundred years separated them, they would always have this link.
“Keh,” Inuyasha scoffed as he stared into the dark depths. For once his eyes were as inscrutable as his brother’s, but there were other signs of his upset. The slight furling of his brow, the way his hands clenched into fists, the blood pouring down his fingertips as his claws pierced his own skin.
He didn’t even flinch at the pain.
How could those hands be so gentle, and yet so dangerous at once, she thought, as she remembered the one time he held her close after Miroku’s death.
It was as if they weren’t even there.
“Are you going to wait for her, Inuyasha?”
Allowing the emotion to finally flood his eyes, he turned to her. “Hanyou don’t live that long. I’ll never see her again.”
“So what are you going to do now?”
It was a question she had asked herself time and time again as she thought of the growing life within her.
---
Howling in pain, not for the first time Sango wished she had somebody with her to help her through. The new village miko, while trained in childbirth, didn’t have the familiarity of Kaede, and was strictly business. Outside sat Shippo with Kirara, both keeping guard over the hut.
But that was it. And while she knew she should be thankful for that, it just didn’t seem to be enough.
“You’re almost there, Sango-san,” the young miko had coached as she handed the warrior another cloth to grip. “You are blessed. Everything is going well.”
She was blessed. She was going to have a child. Keeping that mantra in mind she pushed on more time, thankful to hear the wail of a new child, and seeing the strange hands holding her before succumbing to the darkness.
---
Drifting along the brink of consciousness, she was startled awake as she heard the sharp, piercing cry of a baby.
Her baby.
Eyes wide open she scanned the small room of the hut before she fell upon the sight of sharp claws holding the tiny bundle. Sighing in relief, she smiled. “Welcome home,” she greeted her friend. She had missed him after watching him take off shortly after Kagome’s return home.
“You don’t think I’d miss this, do you? A dead man would have been able to hear you scream.”
Red with mortification, Sango wanted to hide beneath the blankets and disappear. She wished, for just one moment she had her hiraikotsu handy so she could knock some manners into the hanyou.
“Inuyasha,” she growled before she was interrupted by a small cry.
“What are you naming her?” he asked as he handed the infant girl to her.
“I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it. It was always tradition for the father to name her.” Studying the little girl, there was only one name she could think of. “Do you think Kagome would mind if I give her her name?”
His hand came to rest upon the little girl’s head, his fingers running through the infant’s soft, black hair.
So deadly, Sango thought again as she watched him before he lowered his hand to his side.
And yet so gentle.
Claws that could strike down an enemy in cold blood.
And yet they held her daughter as if she was the most precious thing in the world.
“Knowing the wench she’d be standing here squealing and screeching.”
Smiling she looked down at her daughter. “Kagome.”
As she reached down beside her thigh to grab the cloth that was lying there so she could feed her daughter, her hand came into contact with that of her companion’s. Shyly, she looked up, a light blush gracing her cheeks, as her brown eyes met gold.
---
END
Genre: Introspective, Drama,
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,628
Pairings: Sango/Miroku, Inu/Sango Platonic with just a whisper of something more
Warnings: Character Death in here…not major
Universe: Canon
Prompt #2 used
Sango worked quietly, rubbing away the blood of the demon she’d killed just moments before. Inuyasha sat beside her similarly cleaning his sword. As she reached down beside her thigh to grab the rag that was lying there her hand came into contact with that of her companion’s. Startled she looked up, a light blush gracing her cheeks, as her brown eyes met gold.
Quickly averting her eyes, she dropped the cloth and continued to work on her hiraikotsu, leaning forward and cupping a small pool of water to poor over it, ignoring the intense, puzzled gaze she could still feel on her. ‘What was that?’ she wondered idly before glancing down to see the cloth lying on the floor again. Making sure his hands weren’t anywhere near hers, she picked it up and continued to scrub, willing her weapon to come to a shine.
Out of the corner of her she watched his hands as he held Tessaiga in front of him, studying it in the sunlight.
‘Inuyasha…’
---
They looked soft and deadly, Sango thought as she watched his hands from across the fire in the dark of night. The firelight brushed against his knuckles, the combination of light and dark creating a texture she just wanted to reach out and touch. Glowing brightly though, the claws looked just as dangerous as she knew they were. Sharp enough to disembowel an enemy in a second, there was a sense of security in knowing he would never turn them against her.
He would die before they would be used to cause her injury or grief. Such was his friendship.
Such was his loyalty.
“Sango, you okay?”
Caught, she blushed slightly and averted her eyes, trying to ignore her friend’s questioning gaze.
“I’m fine Kagome,” she laughed nervously. “Hey, there’s a spring, nearby, how about a bath after dinner?”
---
Miroku’s hands weren’t the same, Sango thought sadly, as he held hers in his. Kneeling in the dirt of her ancestral home, the only thing that came to mind was that his weren’t the same.
Bound by the rosary wrapped around his wrist and between his fingers, the fabric that held his wind tunnel in place was cool to the touch.
And so completely artificial.
She knew within there lay a strength he had used time and time again to save her life and the lives of the others. The power of the wind tunnel could bring even the mightiest of youkai to their knees against the sheer force of it.
But it wasn’t his true strength, she mused sadly as she tightened her grip on him. It was dark magic that lay sealed against his palm. At times the intensity of it, the aura of it gave her the shivers.
And when she knew she should feel safe, she felt fear.
No, they weren’t the same.
“Come on, Sango.” The monk, one of his hands dropping to the side while the other still wrapped around hers, lifted her gently to her feet. “Inuyasha’s waiting.”
Inuyasha…
---
They were cold, pale, and grey.
But no longer bound.
Weeping, she clutched Miroku’s hand, thankful that for the first time she could actually feel it against her own.
Fully.
Without reservations.
“Keh,” Inuyasha scoffed as he wiped the blade of his Tessaiga against the grass, wiping off what bits of blood he could. His own hands black with dirt and caked with mud and gore.
A testament to his own strength as a hanyou, and his determination to protect what he considered his.
For two years she had watched his hands, memorizing the slightest change in them.
And despite holding Miroku’s hands for what seemed to truly be the first time, she still couldn’t help but think: They’re not the same.
Watching Inuyasha wrap his own arms around Kagome, his claws lightly dancing on the small of her back, Sango let out a small sigh. They aren’t mine.
Somehow, something was missing.
“Are you okay, Sango?” Miroku’s hand lifted slowly before pressing it against her cheek. Blushing lightly she looked down at him, tears falling from her eyes and rolling off his fingertips.
Forcing a smile, she lay one of her hands against him as well. “I’m just relieved.”
---
His hands were cold.
Filled with grief Sango fought to keep the tears at bay. It was ironic, she thought morosely, that they had fought against Naraku, against all odds, and survived. They had faced down the power of the Shikon no Tama and survived. And yet some sickness was able to decimate them so quickly. The power of the evil was no match for what Kagome had called the flu.
Cradling his lifeless body to her, she felt decidedly selfish. She wanted him back. It was entirely soon. Their lives had barely begun.
“Sango.” Kagome’s hand fell to her shoulder in support before leaning over Miroku’s body, saying a prayer.
“It’s cold Kagome, you should be inside, you’re sick as well. Inuyasha is starting to worry.”
“I’m okay, it’s just a small cold. I’ll survive. You need to let him go. The villagers will prepare him for burial. The cold isn’t good for the baby.”
Looking up to see the women of the village standing on the edge of the woods, she shook her head sadly, one hand falling lightly on her still flat abdomen. “It’s okay. I’ll do it. He was my husband. Go inside.”
Brushing the black hair away from his face, she finally let the tears fall.
---
Her white-knuckle grip upon the hiraikotsu was perhaps Sango’s only hold onto sanity as she watched her friend fall into the well for the final time. Her time here was complete as the last of the Shikon jewel was put together, and the spirits within purified and freed.
The words exchanged between them would be cherished forever.
A sister.
It was something neither had but had always wanted, and so a vow of sisterhood was made and though five hundred years separated them, they would always have this link.
“Keh,” Inuyasha scoffed as he stared into the dark depths. For once his eyes were as inscrutable as his brother’s, but there were other signs of his upset. The slight furling of his brow, the way his hands clenched into fists, the blood pouring down his fingertips as his claws pierced his own skin.
He didn’t even flinch at the pain.
How could those hands be so gentle, and yet so dangerous at once, she thought, as she remembered the one time he held her close after Miroku’s death.
It was as if they weren’t even there.
“Are you going to wait for her, Inuyasha?”
Allowing the emotion to finally flood his eyes, he turned to her. “Hanyou don’t live that long. I’ll never see her again.”
“So what are you going to do now?”
It was a question she had asked herself time and time again as she thought of the growing life within her.
---
Howling in pain, not for the first time Sango wished she had somebody with her to help her through. The new village miko, while trained in childbirth, didn’t have the familiarity of Kaede, and was strictly business. Outside sat Shippo with Kirara, both keeping guard over the hut.
But that was it. And while she knew she should be thankful for that, it just didn’t seem to be enough.
“You’re almost there, Sango-san,” the young miko had coached as she handed the warrior another cloth to grip. “You are blessed. Everything is going well.”
She was blessed. She was going to have a child. Keeping that mantra in mind she pushed on more time, thankful to hear the wail of a new child, and seeing the strange hands holding her before succumbing to the darkness.
---
Drifting along the brink of consciousness, she was startled awake as she heard the sharp, piercing cry of a baby.
Her baby.
Eyes wide open she scanned the small room of the hut before she fell upon the sight of sharp claws holding the tiny bundle. Sighing in relief, she smiled. “Welcome home,” she greeted her friend. She had missed him after watching him take off shortly after Kagome’s return home.
“You don’t think I’d miss this, do you? A dead man would have been able to hear you scream.”
Red with mortification, Sango wanted to hide beneath the blankets and disappear. She wished, for just one moment she had her hiraikotsu handy so she could knock some manners into the hanyou.
“Inuyasha,” she growled before she was interrupted by a small cry.
“What are you naming her?” he asked as he handed the infant girl to her.
“I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it. It was always tradition for the father to name her.” Studying the little girl, there was only one name she could think of. “Do you think Kagome would mind if I give her her name?”
His hand came to rest upon the little girl’s head, his fingers running through the infant’s soft, black hair.
So deadly, Sango thought again as she watched him before he lowered his hand to his side.
And yet so gentle.
Claws that could strike down an enemy in cold blood.
And yet they held her daughter as if she was the most precious thing in the world.
“Knowing the wench she’d be standing here squealing and screeching.”
Smiling she looked down at her daughter. “Kagome.”
As she reached down beside her thigh to grab the cloth that was lying there so she could feed her daughter, her hand came into contact with that of her companion’s. Shyly, she looked up, a light blush gracing her cheeks, as her brown eyes met gold.
---
END