Week 225: Doing Nothing
Title: Be Reasonable
Author: aimee_blue
Prompt: Doing nothing
Rating: T
Genre: Romance, humour.
Words: 6,761
Warnings: Fluff.
Summary: AU. Sango needs a new employee and he needs a reason.
The muffled thud followed by the timid squeak made Sango roll her eyes jadedly.
Third time today, she mused resignedly. She was all for giving people a second chance, and maybe even a third chance, but any more and she’d have to nip the problem in the bud.
Shifting the books in her arms slightly, she used her hip to nudge open the door to the storeroom, not surprised at the chaos that was hidden behind the innocent wooden door.
Her newest part-time worker, Yuka, was sprawled out on the floor, a stack of old books collapsed over her back, a vase stuck on her left arm up to her elbow. At least she hadn’t broken anything - this time.
Kagome, her co-worker and best friend, was clumsy and slightly airheaded, but she had nothing on Yuka. Kagome’s biggest mishap to date had been to accidentally mismatch the price cards on two vases, but Yuka had managed to trump that within the first five minutes of working in the little store.
The shop sold magical goods to wealthy - often demonic - patrons, who sometimes travelled from distant continents in order to browse their crooked shelves looking for rare potion ingredients or mystical artefacts or aging spell books. Yuka was not a demon-person, a tanuki demon had entered the shop that morning and the girl had screamed blue murder. And, if she couldn’t handle a tanuki, she would faint clean away if she met some of the dog demons who frequented the shop.
Sango couldn’t deal with incompetence, and her patience was wearing thin at the sight of what the girl had done to her stockroom.
“Yuka-san,” Sango said, pushing the books onto a spindly legged table carefully, “let’s talk.”
0-0-0
Clutching her sheaf of papers tightly to her chest, a bemused Kagome watched as Yuka sprinted past her, bawling like a young child denied ice-cream.
“Yuka-chan?” Kagome uttered, wide blue eyes tracking the tearful girl down the street, Kagome winced as the girl nearly ran into a lamppost in her haste.
Pushing the shop door open, the bell gave a merry tinkle in tune with Sango’s huff of frustration.
“You need to stop making the part-timers cry, Sango-chan,” Kagome needled, crossing the store to drop her papers onto the counter.
Sango scoffed and tossed her long ponytail. “I’ve only made one part-timer cry,” she corrected defensively, folding her arms under her breasts.
Kagome shook her head, amused at Sango’s selective memory problems. “Before Yuka there was Hojo, remember?”
Sango blinked rapidly and had the decency to blush. “He was too emotional, I really hadn’t given him any reason to cry!” she protested, scowling lightly.
Kagome sniggered and adjusted a bottled potion on the shelf behind the counter. “He was rather timid, probably not best suited to our demon patronage.”
Sango huffed irritably. “I’m beginning to think that I should close this job to humans, they’re all far too scared of demons!”
Kagome quirked a wry brow. “But they didn’t grow up in a demon slaying household,” Kagome gestured towards Sango, “Or train to be a Miko,” she pressed a finger to her own chest, “and no one could possibly be harder to intimidate than Rin-chan.”
It was true. Rin was the most cheerful person that anyone could ever hope to come across, her smiles could crack the most stoic of people, as proven by her recent mating with the stoic Inu-Yokai Sesshoumaru. There weren’t many capable of baring the weight of Sesshoumaru’s stare, but Rin seemed to pull the feat off with ease.
“Well,” Sango wrinkled her nose, “we’ll just have to make do without a part-timer for now. We can handle this place,” she gave the counter a friendly pat and it creaked in protest.
“We should get that fixed,” Kagome muttered. Their counter leaned rakishly to one side and had done since Sango’s father had run the store, each time someone touched it, it felt the need to voice its disapproval with an ominous noise.
“Yeah,” Sango shot it a dubious look before glancing at Kagome, who was pressing her index fingers together and shifting from foot to foot uneasily. “Kagome?”
Biting her lip, Kagome met Sango’s questioning gaze. “Did you forget, Sango-chan?”
“Forget? Forget what?”
“I’m leaving tomorrow for Tokyo to visit mama for her birthday, I have two weeks of scheduled time off,” Kagome reminded her tentatively.
Sango’s nose wrinkled. Come to think of it, she did remember Kagome proposing something like that. Glancing at the little calendar they kept behind the counter, a crease formed between her eyebrows as she saw that the next two weeks had indeed been marked as ‘Kagome’s holiday time’ in red pen, in Sango’s handwriting.
“Drat,” Sango muttered beneath her breath, “and Rin is on maternity leave...” she continued in an undertone, smiling unwittingly at the memory of the girl cheerful and round as Buddha.
“I could reschedule,” Kagome muttered, sounding unconvinced yet determined. Kagome did not like to leave her friend in such a pinch.
Sango blinked; touched at the offer but shook her head adamantly. “No, Kagome-chan, it’s your mother’s birthday, you should be there. It’s my fault for forgetting,” she assured her friend.
Kagome wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips. “Well,” she hedged, trying to gauge from Sango’s determined expression whether she really was fine with this or not, “I suppose we could just call the temp agency and get them to send someone over for the two weeks,” she suggested, grabbing the white plastic phone from under the counter in readiness.
Sango scowled. She hated temps. Batting Kagome’s hands away, she smiled beguilingly, “It’s fine, Kagome-chan, I can handle it on my own, you should go home and pack.”
“If you’re sure,” Kagome hedged, tapping a neatly manicured nail against the topmost paper in the sheaf she’d carried into the store. “This was a rush order by Totosai, he said he needed it by tomorrow morning.”
Sango smiled breezily and tilted her head to one side. “As good as done!”
Pursing her lips distrustfully, Kagome allowed her way too chipper friend to push her from the store watching from a little further down the street as Sango squared her shoulders as if getting ready to go into battle. There was no way that Sango would call the temp agency on her own, the woman hated asking for help, time for a little friendly intervention.
Kagome rolled her eyes and rooted around in her bag for her phone. And I know just the person to help.
0-0-0
Sango gave a little yell of accomplishment as she located the vial she’d spent the last four hours searching the store for. It was a tiny vial, barely the size of a thimble and ridiculously expensive. But, now that she’d spent so long looking for it, she’d had no time to tidy the mess Yuka had made in the store room, or to fix the light in the store that Yuka had fused, nor had she had time to dust those shelves that no one could reach without a ladder, like she’d promised herself she’d do every day for the past month. To top it all off she had some of her best customers dropping in tomorrow, and they were all out of tea.
Climbing down the ladder with the little vial clutched tightly in her hand, she sneezed daintily as the dust she’d stirred up in her search took its toll on her.
I’m pooped. She sighed gustily, blowing her fringe from her eyes. The shoes she’d borrowed from Kagome, though gorgeous, were hardly practical, and her ankles ached reproachfully. She should’ve known better; pretty shoes always pinched the most.
Sighing and running a distracted hand through her light brown hair, she placed the vial next to the till and glanced at the clock.
Ah! I’m so late!
Deciding to leave everything until tomorrow was never a smart move, but if she didn’t head home now Kohaku and her father would burn the house down trying to cook themselves dinner. She’d buy the fancy-schmancy tea before she arrived tomorrow.
0-0-0
The whoosh of the sliding doors announced Sango’s freedom from captivity and she breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped from the cramped and crowded train onto the platform. The day hadn’t been going well so far, and a moody Sango predicted that the worst was still to come.
She’d laddered her tights on the door of the train, burnt herself on the wrist whilst cooking Kohaku’s bentō and she’d broken the shoe rack next to the getabako on her way out of the house and somehow managed to pull up one of the wooden boards on the floor of the genkan. All in all, her day really hadn’t started that well at all.
Striding into the busy street, Sango quelled the nagging feeling that she wasn’t going to be able to keep tabs on the amount of work waiting for her at the store. Her reassurances for Kagome the day before had been flaky at best and with the amount of work the clumsy Yuka had left for her to attend to,, she was swamped.
Her parents had always run the shop seamlessly together, she could remember that twinkle in her mother’s eyes as she’d watched her father work his magic on the patrons. A large man, even by demon standards, he’d made up for his threatening demeanour and demon-slaying training by having a heart of purest gold and a sales rapport that blew customers away. Her mother had been more methodical, carefully and ruefully making sure everything was perfect in the shop. They’d prided themselves on having the only shop in the world of its kind, and they’d run it like clockwork. But there’d been two of them, and there was only one of Sango.
Slipping her key from her pocket as the shop front came into sight, Sango ran her thumb over the warm metal distractedly, noting from the frost that she should probably buy some hand warmers soon.
But, upon inserting it into the keyhole, her brow furrowed in consternation. It wasn’t going in, which either meant someone had changed the locks, or someone’s key was in the other side of the door. Pushing the old door open, she blinked, bemused, as it swung into the shop easily, the squeak of protest it usually made gone as if someone had oiled the hinges. Kagome’s bright fuchsia pink key stuck out of the other side of the door innocently.
The tinkle of the bell heralded her arrival and she cautiously called out, “Kagome?”
Her voice echoed strangely in the quiet store and she had an absurd urge to snatch up the spoken words and press them back into her mouth.
There was a clattering noise from the storeroom, followed, oddly enough, by the faint whistling of a jaunty tune, and she edged forward tentatively, gripping her handbag tightly and holding it in such a fashion that it could be used to strike someone with.
The storeroom door popped open at a gentle pressure from her finger tips, and she blinked, bemused, at the immaculate storeroom.
The mess from yesterday and Yuka had disappeared as if it had been naught but a nightmare, books were organised, vials stacked on shelves that surely hadn’t been there before, scrolls sorted into their cubbyholes, cursed and charmed jewellery sorted into velvet lined compartments in glass topped boxes. The storeroom literally sparkled. She was certain it had never looked better.
But, aside from the sparkling cleanliness, there was another disturbing discovery to be made. In the middle of the room, perched atop a ladder, fixing the light, was a man she’d never set eyes on before that day.
He was wearing a dark suit, the jacket neatly folded over one of the spindly tables, and a violet shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal a watch on his left wrist and a string of prayer beads wrapped around his right. Dark hair was pulled into a tail at the nape of his neck and his ears were pierced with little golden hoops.
“Can I help you?” she asked crisply, interrupting his jaunty whistling, and causing him to straighten up slightly, nearly hitting himself with the light bulb for his troubles.
“No,” he corrected as he calmly descended from the ladder, smile jovial even when she backed away from him cautiously, “but I can most definitely help you.”
“I sincerely doubt that,” she muttered, backing up into the spindly table with a low curse.
The stranger smirked, his odd violet eyes flashing with mirth as he reached around her, growing perilously close to touching her, and turned on the light.
“So sure?” he asked, leaning back and allowing Sango a little more room to breathe, though, she noticed shrewdly, he didn’t retire from her presence completely, seeming to edge slightly nearer every moment.
“Very sure,” she bit out, voice hostile as she carefully judged his relaxed posture. Not a fighter, but still... “Who are you?”
Sketching a bow, the man smiled winningly. “I’m Kobayashi Miroku,” he introduced himself elegantly, “I’m an acquaintance of Kagome’s.”
Sango’s eyes grew wide in shock, so she saw through my bluff, but then they narrowed again. “And why should I believe you?”
“Oh, I’m not asking you to take me at my word!” he dithered, patting himself down in the fashion of someone who has lost something important, he frowned in consternation after a few moments. “Though my proof seems to have pulled a disappearing act...”
Sango’s eyes narrowed, and her fingers itched with the urge to pick up the phone and call the police.
Violet eyes widened as he caught onto the direction in which her gaze kept flickering, and he held up a triumphant finger with an, “Aha!” his desired evidence was thusly procured from the breast pocket of his discarded suit jacket.
“What’s this?” she asked tersely, snatching it from him before he had time to offer it to her.
Quirking his brow, he replied easily, “read and ye shall see.”
Sango,
I know you said you could handle it on your own, but after hurricane Yuka, I was worried. Miroku is a brilliantly efficient person, plus he’s a priest and so should be able to pick up my purification duties and such. Don’t worry, I didn’t find him on the street, he’s Inuyasha’s old friend and he’s always been pretty reliable. So don’t hate me, having help is good for you. Try it and see.
Kagome.
P.S. Watch his hands.
Sango’s brow crinkled as she read the letter. How like Kagome, always so darned helpful and I can’t even be mad at her...
The handwriting was indeed Kagome’s and the letter even sounded like her friend.
“If I call her, she’ll confirm this?” Sango asked cautiously.
“Of course,” he nodded earnestly, holding his hands out, palms up; the universally understood body language for ‘I’m not going to hurt you’, “In fact, I’m pretty certain she said she’d left you a message.”
Sango frowned and pulled her phone from her purse quickly, snapping it open and jabbing at her new message.
Yes, I really did send him. Kagome.
Scowling and blushing with equal severity, she tossed her chin and sniffed contemptuously.
“I take it that my authenticity had been proven?” he enquired, waggling his eyebrows.
Making a disapproving noise in the back of her throat, she threaded around him and walked out into the front of the shop, flipping the sign without a word.
Following her doggedly, Miroku leant one hip against the creaky counter and drummed his fingertips against the pile of orders.
An irked glance was tossed in his direction, and she unwittingly remembered Kagome’s strange post script.
“What did Kagome mean, ‘watch his hands’?” Sango inquired curiously, glancing down at his large hands and missing his rather sheepish smile.
“Ah, Kagome-chan, she never forgets,” he muttered, rubbing the back off his head in such a fashion that his hair stood up in tufts, looking for all the world like recently grazed grass in a herbivore infested meadow.
“What do you mean?” Sango demanded suspiciously, checking the calendar to make sure she had no appointments to keep.But her curiosity was swiftly thrust to the back of her mind as she realised that it was a Wednesday. “Crap.”
Violet eyes blinked dumbly. “Something I can help you with?” he enquired softly, sidling up to her side and peering over her shoulder at the little calendar, hand resting on the curve of her hip as he leaned over. Swiftly nudging him away, she danced across the wooden floor and pinned him with a gimlet stare.
“Don’t be so familiar,” she bit out, a slight smattering of pink across her cheekbones, “And no, you can’t help.” She glowered at her pencil skirt and wondered if she should simply take her laddered tights off, or keep them on and pray the difficult customer didn’t notice. As if she wouldn’t notice, that demon has a nose for imperfection. “Of all the days to wear a skirt,” she grumbled in an undertone.
Miroku tilted his head to one side, appreciative violet eyes basking in the swell of her pert bottom under the demure black cotton of her skirt. As if sensing his gaze, she slapped her hands to her cheeks and shot him a reproachful over-the-shoulder glare.
“Get to work!” she barked, embarrassed and irked beyond measure.
Saluting jauntily, he let out a, “Yes, ma’am,” and returned to the store room, like an unruly puppy sent away by its master.
Though she really shouldn’t be referring to him as a puppy.
Shaking her head at the rather disturbing mental image of Miroku with Hanyou ears like Kagome’s boyfriend, Inuyasha, Sango instead set about finding the obscure items for the deliveries that had piled up without her noticing. Totosai’s order was already gone, and his cheque sat innocently on top of the till, as was his custom. She never saw him unless he wanted to be seen, and that was rare, Kagome had said it was something to do with the old coot owing most of their regular customer’s money.
Which brought her back to the predicament of the ticking clock that could, and would, count down the minutes until one of her most difficult patrons arrived. Hastily checking her teeth for lipstick stains and smoothing her ponytail in the antique mirror behind the counter, she growled at it as the surface turned misty.
“Stupid enchanted mirror,” she grumbled, quickly turning it upside down before it could show her something gruesome.
The tug on her ponytail made her give a little squeak, and, clapping her hands over her mouth, she turned to glower at Miroku, who still held a strand of her long hair coiled around his index finger.
“Let go,” she hissed, blushing as the browsing tanuki demon spared them an offended glance.
“Is that any way to thank me?” Miroku cajoled, patting her forehead with the corner of a packet of... tights?
“How did you... why do you have a pair of hose?” she asked, wonder and exasperation tingeing her tone and causing her to throw a hand into the air in disbelief.
“They were buried under a rather complex spell on turning a feather into a kimono,” he announced, taking her hand and pressing them upon her.
“Um... thanks?” It sounded like a question.
“Oh, you’re welcome!” he sang, nodding jovially as he bid his retreat into the store room again.
The resistant tug on his own ponytail caused him to halt rather comically and he peered to his left at the chagrined woman. “I need to use the storeroom to change,” she admitted reticently.
“Don’t we have a bathroom?” he enquired, surprised.
“The building is so old that we don’t, we have to go to the bakery next door,” she disclosed, slipping into the relative privacy of the backroom and closing the door on him with a firm click. Miroku’s lips twitched ruefully as she literally slammed the door in his face and he ducked behind the counter to hold down the fort.
When Kagome had requested this favour of him he’d been surprised to say the least. Being one of very few women who had learned to scoff at his charm, Kagome was the closest thing he had to a woman friend, but every previous time he’d wheedled to be introduced to the fiery Sango she spoke so highly of, he’d been shot down brutally. Kagome had been teasing when she’d said she was protecting him from the wrath of Sango, he was beginning to wonder if there wasn’t a shred of truth in the jest.
The tinkling of the bell almost sounded imperious, and Miroku pasted a charming smile on his face as he turned to greet the ojousama who stepped into the shop daintily but with pious reserve.
Long silver hair was coiled into a sleek bun and held with ornamental hairpins that clinked gently as she strode towards Miroku. Her silken obi was tied at her front and a deep blue in colour, complimenting her robin-egg blue kimono that skirted across the polished floor boards of the shop. Her lacquered zori clacked demandingly as she stalked up to Miroku and the tilt of her chin belied her haughtiness. A blue crescent moon rode proud on her smooth brow and neatly tapering stripes accentuated her aristocratic cheekbones. The demon was analogous to Mt Everest; she was cold and unmoving.
Her mauve painted lips curled with distaste as she laid frosty golden eyes on him.
“A monk, why you are little better than that twit of a Miko,” she announced, tones clipped and treading the fine line between disinterested and hostile, she waved a hand in his general direction, exposing delicate wrist stripes and diamond hard claws, “bring me that slayer. She is little more use than this shelf in that not only can she hold things, she can also bring them to me when bid, but I much prefer her to you.” Bored, she drummed her deadly claws against the counter top for emphasis.
Miroku’s smile didn’t waver in the face of such a blatant dismissal, instead it gre brighter. “Ah, my lady, it does sadden me so that one of such beauty refuses me her company, I will go away defeated and devastated at not being able to cast my eyes on you a little longer.”
A slender brow arched and golden eyes sparked. “A glib tongue, monk, but I know the words of a flatterer when I hear them.”
Miroku’s eyes widened, affronted at the insinuation and he pressed a hand to his chest, as if physically wounded by her words. “A compliment, my lady, is always sincere when it passes from my lips,” he vowed, extravagantly.
When mauve painted lips quirked at the corner, Miroku had triumphed.
0-0-0
Smoothing her skirt over her hips, Sango turned back and forth, twisting her body so that she could see her back and check it for lint and such. The tricky customer had a thing for spotting the imperfections in a person and using them to reduce them to an emotional wreck, she pulled at a loose thread and dismantled the fabric with manipulative glee.
The tinkle of china alerted her to her surroundings and it was with panic that she glanced at the clock to find it past the time that Nami-sama - Sesshoumaru's very formidable mother - usually deigned to visit the shop.
This is bad, she’ll eat Miroku alive... and I didn’t buy any of that expensive tea like I’d planned!
Trying to calm her frayed nerves, she quietly opened the door and peered into the shop in time to see a little man scurry out of the door; Nami’s presence did that to people, made them want to run and hide.
The almost tranquil scene at the counter very nearly made her double take, but the bone china cup of piping hot tea that Miroku pressed into Nami’s elegant hand made her flinch.
The only tea in the shop was convenience store bought tea that would offend Nami’s pallet - this she knew from personal experience.
Short of performing a ridiculous dive to toss the cup from Nami’s hands, Sango could see no way of stopping the brew from reaching her painted lips. She closed her eyes tightly and waited for the reaction.
“It is passable,” Nami muttered, golden eyes regarding Miroku over the brim of her cup, “for something a monk made.”
One hazel eye hesitantly peeped open, and Sango blinked in surprise, releasing her tense grip on the door as she watched Nami take another sip of the tea.
“Ah, but it is an ancient family recipe!” Miroku protested, “so much better than any designer wishy-washy tea!”
Golden eyes sparkled with humour. “Indeed,” she allowed, and then, without moving her eyes from Miroku, she reproached, “Sato-san, how long must you linger in the doorway like that? It is impolite to ignore a guest.”
No sneaking up on demons, her father had told her once, and if that was the case, then it was impossible to even think about Nami-sama without her hearing you.
“Don’t look quite so disturbed, Sato-san, I’m not that ominous,” Nami needled, eyes slanting mockingly in Sango’s direction.
Mind reader.
“Nothing so devious,” Nami corrected without missing a beat, “your thoughts are merely written all over your face.”
“Of course, Nami-sama,” Sango smiled briskly, striding to Miroku’s side, shoulders stiff and posture composed, “I hope Kobayashi-san has been treating you kindly.”
Sango watched as Miroku placed the teapot down on a little table delicately and returned to his original task of folding and packaging a small scroll into its wrappings with deft fingers.
“He is more adept at this than you,” Nami sneered, looking down her nose at the woman despite the fact that Sango was actually taller than her.
“That is good to know,” Sango spoke through gritted teeth as she smiled a smile that reflected Nami’s perfectly; it didn’t reach her eyes.
Sango sighed an inaudible sigh of relief as the demoness departed and sagged against an old wardrobe that protested against her leaning with a low groan.
“A tricky customer?” Miroku asked companionably, pouring another cup of the tea he’d brewed and handing it to her, nonplussed by her apparent rejection of the beverage, he took her hand and clasped it around the cup on his own, ignoring her huff of indignation.
“Drink it,” he ordered, pouring himself a cup, “it helps relieve stress,” he promised with a wink.
“And cures a broken heart, and helps with a cold?” she ventured, a slight smile playing at the corner of her pouty mouth.
“Ah! So you’ve heard of it!” Miroku joshed.
An indulgent smile softened her eyes and she clasped the mug to her chest. The beam of light that drifted in through the window above the shop door lingered on her lips like a lovers caress and the nostalgic yearning painted the serious-minded woman beautiful. Miroku had instantly appreciated that she was pretty, but suddenly she became very real. “My mother used to make tea just like it.”
Love transforms her, he mused. Inspired by the peace that shone from within her, Miroku recklessly decided that he wanted to see her smile like that again.
0-0-0
Delighting in his new objective, Miroku spent the better part of three hours chasing Sango and trying to form the bonds, at least, a friendship. Strangely enough, however, she was proving immune to all his usual tricks and his wit was more likely to inspire ire than a smile.
Even more vexing; she seemed to be highly aware of where he was at all times, so even harmless little touches were fended off with glares that could freeze a man where he stood.
Irritating her to the point of distraction seemed to be the only way to get her eyes to flash in that way that enticed him, so he took it upon himself to do just that. Delighting in her combatant’s personality, he danced around her, wary of her claws.
Skirts were brilliant. This Miroku was certain of. But they were especially excellent when they were caressing the pert behind of a beautiful woman who stood above you on a ladder.
Miroku was well aware that he was probably tempting fate by enjoying the view, but he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away.
Meanwhile, Sango was stretching up on her tiptoes, her shirt lifting to bare an expanse of toned stomach as she determinedly reached for the back of the topmost shelf. Miroku had, as a gentleman, offered to fetch it for her but, feeling mollycoddled and patronised, she’d insisted that she could fetch it for herself.
Unfortunately for Sango, her burnt wrist hindered her at the worst possible moment as she bit it into the side of the shelf, the searing pain made her flinch back and subsequently loose her balance; toppling backwards into space.
Quick thinking combined with daring lecherousness enabled Miroku’s rescue of the damsel in distress.
Sango squeaked as two hands cupped the cheeks of her bottom suddenly, pressing her back into the ladder and ensuring that she didn’t fall. Cheeks flamed red instantly at the mortifying rescue and as soon as she had a firm grip on the ladder, she pushed him away.
Safely on the ground once more, she turned on him, eyes bright with a combination of righteous anger and piqued mortification. Splaying her hands across her bottom defensively, she growled, “What did you do that for?”
Miroku smiled cheerfully; he’d expected her indignation and he relished the fire in her eyes. “I would not like to see you hurt yourself,” he explained truthfully, “and letting you fall would be inexcusable.”
Sango fidgeted uncomfortably under the sincerity of his gaze and muttered, “Next time do it without the unnecessary touching.”
Lips quirked wryly and he sketched a jaunty bow. “Your wish is my command.”
“Good,” she mumbled, a slight smile toying at the corners of her lips. It was beautiful, but he wanted that smile. The smile that came from her heart, more than that, he wanted it to be directed at him because of him. Selfish really.
Miroku’s wish for more of Sango’s special smiles was granted as the clock struck seventeen minutes past twelve and the jingle of the bell interrupted the impatient glances Sango had been flinging at the clock all day.
A young boy in a school uniform crept into the shop sheepishly and Sango sighed and smiled an indulgent smile that was not dissimilar from the one that had lightened her expression when she’d spoken of her mother.
The boy sidled up to the counter and rubbed the back of his hand across his freckled nose.
“Sorry,” he muttered as she slid a wrapped bentō box across the counter towards him.
“I didn’t go through all that to make this so that no one would eat it,” she chastised, reaching over the counter to ruffle his short brown hair indulgently.
Ducking from under her hand and blushing at the attention, he snagged the bentō and nodded to her as a goodbye.
The crinkling of her hazel eyes as she watched him depart was as a mother’s for her child, but the ages suggested siblings instead.
“Your brother?” he enquired softly.
“Kohaku,” she murmured, fiddling with the silver charm that was clasped around her left wrist absently.
“He is very like you,” Miroku complimented.
Her spine straightened into an unforgiving line, as if she’d just realised she was conversing about private matters with a stranger and she prodded him harshly in the shoulder. “Back to work, monk.”
“Yes ma’am!”
As much as Sango hated to admit it, Miroku was an asset to the little store. His purifying techniques meant that those jobs that would’ve had to have been delayed until Kagome’s return were done in no time, his natural charisma and wit entranced the patrons and lured in people who had not been planning on paying the store a visit, woman, both human and Yokai, seemed to be enamoured by his charm and Sango was continually finding herself without anything to do, he was so efficient that by the time she’d realised there was something she needed to do, he’d already done it.
Equal parts grateful for the help and annoyed at being thwarted every time she tried to do anything, Sango treated him as a pariah, something that amused Miroku to no end.
This fierce independence makes her immune to a helping hand.
The only thing she seemed to actually accept from him was the tea he made for her at regular intervals throughout the day.
I’m a tea boy, he mused mournfully.
0-0-0
“Kitsune,” Sango growled as she glared down at her hands. She hadn’t noticed one enter, but it was the only explanation for her current predicament. They’d made the counter so sticky that when she’d placed her palms atop it, she’d been stuck immovably. Loathe to call for Miroku’s help, she cursed for a while and tugged fruitlessly.
Gritting her teeth, she swallowed her pride and muttered, “Miroku.”
As if he’d been waiting for her call, he appeared at her side and smiled hugely.
“In a pinch?” he asked cheerfully, ignoring her growl as he pulled on her ponytail playfully.
“Just help me,” she bid him irritably.
“Yes ma’am,” he saluted softly, leaning across the counter and stroking his hands across hers. She felt the spike in his spiritual abilities like a cool breeze against her skin, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
The sudden release of the spell would have sent her tumbling backwards, but Miroku kept her hands clasped in his carefully.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, looking everywhere but at their intertwined hands as she blushed brightly.
“Time to go then?” he proposed, folding his jacket over his arm and using their clasped hands to steer her out from behind the desk.
Working together for a while already, he’d never proposed such a thing, but she shrugged and tossed her suspicions to the wind.
“What do you normally do for work?” she asked as they strolled down the chilly street together, Miroku donning his jacket hastily as the icy wind reached his skin.
“Normally?” Miroku shrugged nonchalantly, “I dabble in a little of everything.”
“Jack of all trades, master of none?” she enquired glibly.
Smirking wryly, he crooked his arm and she slid her hand to rest on his elbow companionably. “Something like that,” he conceded.
“Where do you live?” she asked, snuggling into her scarf to fight off the chill that stung at her exposed neck.
“Right now I’m living with Inuyasha,” he informed her sombrely, “but soon I’ll have to make a decision.”
“A decision?”
“I was planning on moving to Hong Kong after this little stop-off at your shop,” he allowed, brow furrowing slightly as his breath puffed out in a cloud before him.
Beating down the discontent that stirred at his words, Sango queried, “Why?”
“I had no ties here... no one has asked me to stay,” he shrugged, “but I might be staying a little longer...” he hedged vaguely.
“You might?” she niggled, feeling a rising sense of unease at the topic of his impending departure.
“Yep.”
“Why?”
Violet eyes peered down at her and he tapped the side of his nose secretively.
She rolled her eyes, frustrated as they drew to a stop outside her home.
Miroku’s lips curled into a mischievous smile and he sneezed lightly, looking ridiculously surprised at it; as if he’d never sneezed before.
Sango giggled, and Miroku’s smile turned into a wistful longing. “It’s because you haven’t got a scarf,” she chastised, “I’ll bring you one soon... when I remember.”
Miroku pursed his lips thoughtfully. “You know... they say that to get rid of a cold... you have to give it to someone.”
Sango blinked as he pressed her back against his front door and kissed her, his cold lips pressed against hers, warming her and heating her cheeks to scarlet.
“I’ll be waiting for a reason,” he informed a bemused Sango as he strolled away, leaving her standing against her door in complete bewilderment.
0-0-0
Sango watched as Miroku moped around the shop, his usual cheerful demeanour and teasing sparkle vanished into nonexistence. Wracking her brain for a reason behind his uncharacteristic melancholy, she came up with nothing and rolled her eyes when instead of performing his frequent tea ritual - it was his usual time for a bought of tea making; just before closing time as was customary - he started to prod the counter so that it creaked in an irritating manner.
Was it the kiss recently? She’d thought that he was ignoring that it had ever happened and had followed suit... so what was bugging him?
“Why are you standing around here doing nothing?” Sango demanded perilously, “make tea, monk.”
Violet eyes lit up with pleasure and she watched, bemused, as he zoomed around making the tea with an enthusiasm she thought he’d lost.
Can’t keep a lecherous monk down I suppose, she mused, smiling indulgently as a piping hot brew was thrust into her hands.
“I’ll give you this,” Sango murmured, taking a gratified sip from the cup, “you make the best tea.”
“Enough that you’ll ask me to stay?” he asked, leaning in slightly, violet eyes serious.
Balking, she backed away frantically and rammed into the shelves behind the counter. “No way!” she yelped. How had he gotten that impression; there was no way she wanted him to stay after hours...
She blushed furiously and blinked as Miroku’s face shifted to dejection once again.
“Well,” he uttered, smiling regretfully at her, “goodnight, I trust you can lock up without my assistance?”
“Of course!” she bit out; insulted that he’d think otherwise.
“Ah,” he looked... disappointed, if she had to pick an emotion, “Sayonara, Sango.”
Hazel eyes grew large. “Don’t address me so familiarly!”
“Sorry, Sato-san,” he bowed his head, hiding his eyes and muttered, so quietly she wasn’t sure she’d even heard it, “and I had such high hopes...”
0-0-0
Pushing the door open the next morning, Sango unwound her scarf from around her neck and paused as she entered; something was off.
Normally Miroku had already brewed some tea and the aroma generally wafted to great her as she walked through the door. Hearing a clatter in the backroom, Sango went to investigate, a scarf for Miroku in her hands so that she could give it to him, as she had threatened previously. Though such a notion embarrassed her rather a lot, she couldn't help but want to give it to him.
“Miroku?” she called, poking her head into the back room and stopping dead in her tracks.
Kagome peeked at her from behind a pile of scrolls. “Just me,” she explained.
Sango blinked, unable to assimilate that Miroku wasn’t there. “Where is Miroku?”
“Gone,” Kagome shrugged, “It was his last day yesterday... remember?”
Was that why he was moping?
“Sango-chan, are you okay?” Kagome asked softly, worried at the spaced out expression on her friends face.
“I’m fine,” Sango bluffed, retreating to the front of the store dazedly.
He’s gone... gone to Hong Kong... is that why he called me by my name yesterday when he said good bye? Come to think of it, every other day he said ‘see you tomorrow’ but not yesterday.
Shocked with how badly his sudden disappearance had unsettled her, she ignored the jingle of the shop bell as the door opened and stared vacantly at the scarf she had bought specially for him.
“Thought of a reason yet?” Miroku asked, startling her from her shock and making her chin jerk up to look at him.
“A... reason?”
“I said I had no reason to stay here,” he prompted easily, though his eyes were searching, “have you found one yet?”
Sango blinked slowly. “I got you a scarf?” she offered, holding the white and blue stripy number up for expression.
Wrong-footed, Miroku blinked agape for a few moments before chuckling ruefully and rubbing the back of his head. “That really wasn’t what I had in mind but... I’ll take it.”
Sango glowered, certain he was teasing her, but he cupped her chin and pulled her across the counter for a lingering kiss that was so perfect, so all consuming, that the creaky counter didn’t even disturb them.
Author: aimee_blue
Prompt: Doing nothing
Rating: T
Genre: Romance, humour.
Words: 6,761
Warnings: Fluff.
Summary: AU. Sango needs a new employee and he needs a reason.
The muffled thud followed by the timid squeak made Sango roll her eyes jadedly.
Third time today, she mused resignedly. She was all for giving people a second chance, and maybe even a third chance, but any more and she’d have to nip the problem in the bud.
Shifting the books in her arms slightly, she used her hip to nudge open the door to the storeroom, not surprised at the chaos that was hidden behind the innocent wooden door.
Her newest part-time worker, Yuka, was sprawled out on the floor, a stack of old books collapsed over her back, a vase stuck on her left arm up to her elbow. At least she hadn’t broken anything - this time.
Kagome, her co-worker and best friend, was clumsy and slightly airheaded, but she had nothing on Yuka. Kagome’s biggest mishap to date had been to accidentally mismatch the price cards on two vases, but Yuka had managed to trump that within the first five minutes of working in the little store.
The shop sold magical goods to wealthy - often demonic - patrons, who sometimes travelled from distant continents in order to browse their crooked shelves looking for rare potion ingredients or mystical artefacts or aging spell books. Yuka was not a demon-person, a tanuki demon had entered the shop that morning and the girl had screamed blue murder. And, if she couldn’t handle a tanuki, she would faint clean away if she met some of the dog demons who frequented the shop.
Sango couldn’t deal with incompetence, and her patience was wearing thin at the sight of what the girl had done to her stockroom.
“Yuka-san,” Sango said, pushing the books onto a spindly legged table carefully, “let’s talk.”
0-0-0
Clutching her sheaf of papers tightly to her chest, a bemused Kagome watched as Yuka sprinted past her, bawling like a young child denied ice-cream.
“Yuka-chan?” Kagome uttered, wide blue eyes tracking the tearful girl down the street, Kagome winced as the girl nearly ran into a lamppost in her haste.
Pushing the shop door open, the bell gave a merry tinkle in tune with Sango’s huff of frustration.
“You need to stop making the part-timers cry, Sango-chan,” Kagome needled, crossing the store to drop her papers onto the counter.
Sango scoffed and tossed her long ponytail. “I’ve only made one part-timer cry,” she corrected defensively, folding her arms under her breasts.
Kagome shook her head, amused at Sango’s selective memory problems. “Before Yuka there was Hojo, remember?”
Sango blinked rapidly and had the decency to blush. “He was too emotional, I really hadn’t given him any reason to cry!” she protested, scowling lightly.
Kagome sniggered and adjusted a bottled potion on the shelf behind the counter. “He was rather timid, probably not best suited to our demon patronage.”
Sango huffed irritably. “I’m beginning to think that I should close this job to humans, they’re all far too scared of demons!”
Kagome quirked a wry brow. “But they didn’t grow up in a demon slaying household,” Kagome gestured towards Sango, “Or train to be a Miko,” she pressed a finger to her own chest, “and no one could possibly be harder to intimidate than Rin-chan.”
It was true. Rin was the most cheerful person that anyone could ever hope to come across, her smiles could crack the most stoic of people, as proven by her recent mating with the stoic Inu-Yokai Sesshoumaru. There weren’t many capable of baring the weight of Sesshoumaru’s stare, but Rin seemed to pull the feat off with ease.
“Well,” Sango wrinkled her nose, “we’ll just have to make do without a part-timer for now. We can handle this place,” she gave the counter a friendly pat and it creaked in protest.
“We should get that fixed,” Kagome muttered. Their counter leaned rakishly to one side and had done since Sango’s father had run the store, each time someone touched it, it felt the need to voice its disapproval with an ominous noise.
“Yeah,” Sango shot it a dubious look before glancing at Kagome, who was pressing her index fingers together and shifting from foot to foot uneasily. “Kagome?”
Biting her lip, Kagome met Sango’s questioning gaze. “Did you forget, Sango-chan?”
“Forget? Forget what?”
“I’m leaving tomorrow for Tokyo to visit mama for her birthday, I have two weeks of scheduled time off,” Kagome reminded her tentatively.
Sango’s nose wrinkled. Come to think of it, she did remember Kagome proposing something like that. Glancing at the little calendar they kept behind the counter, a crease formed between her eyebrows as she saw that the next two weeks had indeed been marked as ‘Kagome’s holiday time’ in red pen, in Sango’s handwriting.
“Drat,” Sango muttered beneath her breath, “and Rin is on maternity leave...” she continued in an undertone, smiling unwittingly at the memory of the girl cheerful and round as Buddha.
“I could reschedule,” Kagome muttered, sounding unconvinced yet determined. Kagome did not like to leave her friend in such a pinch.
Sango blinked; touched at the offer but shook her head adamantly. “No, Kagome-chan, it’s your mother’s birthday, you should be there. It’s my fault for forgetting,” she assured her friend.
Kagome wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips. “Well,” she hedged, trying to gauge from Sango’s determined expression whether she really was fine with this or not, “I suppose we could just call the temp agency and get them to send someone over for the two weeks,” she suggested, grabbing the white plastic phone from under the counter in readiness.
Sango scowled. She hated temps. Batting Kagome’s hands away, she smiled beguilingly, “It’s fine, Kagome-chan, I can handle it on my own, you should go home and pack.”
“If you’re sure,” Kagome hedged, tapping a neatly manicured nail against the topmost paper in the sheaf she’d carried into the store. “This was a rush order by Totosai, he said he needed it by tomorrow morning.”
Sango smiled breezily and tilted her head to one side. “As good as done!”
Pursing her lips distrustfully, Kagome allowed her way too chipper friend to push her from the store watching from a little further down the street as Sango squared her shoulders as if getting ready to go into battle. There was no way that Sango would call the temp agency on her own, the woman hated asking for help, time for a little friendly intervention.
Kagome rolled her eyes and rooted around in her bag for her phone. And I know just the person to help.
0-0-0
Sango gave a little yell of accomplishment as she located the vial she’d spent the last four hours searching the store for. It was a tiny vial, barely the size of a thimble and ridiculously expensive. But, now that she’d spent so long looking for it, she’d had no time to tidy the mess Yuka had made in the store room, or to fix the light in the store that Yuka had fused, nor had she had time to dust those shelves that no one could reach without a ladder, like she’d promised herself she’d do every day for the past month. To top it all off she had some of her best customers dropping in tomorrow, and they were all out of tea.
Climbing down the ladder with the little vial clutched tightly in her hand, she sneezed daintily as the dust she’d stirred up in her search took its toll on her.
I’m pooped. She sighed gustily, blowing her fringe from her eyes. The shoes she’d borrowed from Kagome, though gorgeous, were hardly practical, and her ankles ached reproachfully. She should’ve known better; pretty shoes always pinched the most.
Sighing and running a distracted hand through her light brown hair, she placed the vial next to the till and glanced at the clock.
Ah! I’m so late!
Deciding to leave everything until tomorrow was never a smart move, but if she didn’t head home now Kohaku and her father would burn the house down trying to cook themselves dinner. She’d buy the fancy-schmancy tea before she arrived tomorrow.
0-0-0
The whoosh of the sliding doors announced Sango’s freedom from captivity and she breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped from the cramped and crowded train onto the platform. The day hadn’t been going well so far, and a moody Sango predicted that the worst was still to come.
She’d laddered her tights on the door of the train, burnt herself on the wrist whilst cooking Kohaku’s bentō and she’d broken the shoe rack next to the getabako on her way out of the house and somehow managed to pull up one of the wooden boards on the floor of the genkan. All in all, her day really hadn’t started that well at all.
Striding into the busy street, Sango quelled the nagging feeling that she wasn’t going to be able to keep tabs on the amount of work waiting for her at the store. Her reassurances for Kagome the day before had been flaky at best and with the amount of work the clumsy Yuka had left for her to attend to,, she was swamped.
Her parents had always run the shop seamlessly together, she could remember that twinkle in her mother’s eyes as she’d watched her father work his magic on the patrons. A large man, even by demon standards, he’d made up for his threatening demeanour and demon-slaying training by having a heart of purest gold and a sales rapport that blew customers away. Her mother had been more methodical, carefully and ruefully making sure everything was perfect in the shop. They’d prided themselves on having the only shop in the world of its kind, and they’d run it like clockwork. But there’d been two of them, and there was only one of Sango.
Slipping her key from her pocket as the shop front came into sight, Sango ran her thumb over the warm metal distractedly, noting from the frost that she should probably buy some hand warmers soon.
But, upon inserting it into the keyhole, her brow furrowed in consternation. It wasn’t going in, which either meant someone had changed the locks, or someone’s key was in the other side of the door. Pushing the old door open, she blinked, bemused, as it swung into the shop easily, the squeak of protest it usually made gone as if someone had oiled the hinges. Kagome’s bright fuchsia pink key stuck out of the other side of the door innocently.
The tinkle of the bell heralded her arrival and she cautiously called out, “Kagome?”
Her voice echoed strangely in the quiet store and she had an absurd urge to snatch up the spoken words and press them back into her mouth.
There was a clattering noise from the storeroom, followed, oddly enough, by the faint whistling of a jaunty tune, and she edged forward tentatively, gripping her handbag tightly and holding it in such a fashion that it could be used to strike someone with.
The storeroom door popped open at a gentle pressure from her finger tips, and she blinked, bemused, at the immaculate storeroom.
The mess from yesterday and Yuka had disappeared as if it had been naught but a nightmare, books were organised, vials stacked on shelves that surely hadn’t been there before, scrolls sorted into their cubbyholes, cursed and charmed jewellery sorted into velvet lined compartments in glass topped boxes. The storeroom literally sparkled. She was certain it had never looked better.
But, aside from the sparkling cleanliness, there was another disturbing discovery to be made. In the middle of the room, perched atop a ladder, fixing the light, was a man she’d never set eyes on before that day.
He was wearing a dark suit, the jacket neatly folded over one of the spindly tables, and a violet shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal a watch on his left wrist and a string of prayer beads wrapped around his right. Dark hair was pulled into a tail at the nape of his neck and his ears were pierced with little golden hoops.
“Can I help you?” she asked crisply, interrupting his jaunty whistling, and causing him to straighten up slightly, nearly hitting himself with the light bulb for his troubles.
“No,” he corrected as he calmly descended from the ladder, smile jovial even when she backed away from him cautiously, “but I can most definitely help you.”
“I sincerely doubt that,” she muttered, backing up into the spindly table with a low curse.
The stranger smirked, his odd violet eyes flashing with mirth as he reached around her, growing perilously close to touching her, and turned on the light.
“So sure?” he asked, leaning back and allowing Sango a little more room to breathe, though, she noticed shrewdly, he didn’t retire from her presence completely, seeming to edge slightly nearer every moment.
“Very sure,” she bit out, voice hostile as she carefully judged his relaxed posture. Not a fighter, but still... “Who are you?”
Sketching a bow, the man smiled winningly. “I’m Kobayashi Miroku,” he introduced himself elegantly, “I’m an acquaintance of Kagome’s.”
Sango’s eyes grew wide in shock, so she saw through my bluff, but then they narrowed again. “And why should I believe you?”
“Oh, I’m not asking you to take me at my word!” he dithered, patting himself down in the fashion of someone who has lost something important, he frowned in consternation after a few moments. “Though my proof seems to have pulled a disappearing act...”
Sango’s eyes narrowed, and her fingers itched with the urge to pick up the phone and call the police.
Violet eyes widened as he caught onto the direction in which her gaze kept flickering, and he held up a triumphant finger with an, “Aha!” his desired evidence was thusly procured from the breast pocket of his discarded suit jacket.
“What’s this?” she asked tersely, snatching it from him before he had time to offer it to her.
Quirking his brow, he replied easily, “read and ye shall see.”
Sango,
I know you said you could handle it on your own, but after hurricane Yuka, I was worried. Miroku is a brilliantly efficient person, plus he’s a priest and so should be able to pick up my purification duties and such. Don’t worry, I didn’t find him on the street, he’s Inuyasha’s old friend and he’s always been pretty reliable. So don’t hate me, having help is good for you. Try it and see.
Kagome.
P.S. Watch his hands.
Sango’s brow crinkled as she read the letter. How like Kagome, always so darned helpful and I can’t even be mad at her...
The handwriting was indeed Kagome’s and the letter even sounded like her friend.
“If I call her, she’ll confirm this?” Sango asked cautiously.
“Of course,” he nodded earnestly, holding his hands out, palms up; the universally understood body language for ‘I’m not going to hurt you’, “In fact, I’m pretty certain she said she’d left you a message.”
Sango frowned and pulled her phone from her purse quickly, snapping it open and jabbing at her new message.
Yes, I really did send him. Kagome.
Scowling and blushing with equal severity, she tossed her chin and sniffed contemptuously.
“I take it that my authenticity had been proven?” he enquired, waggling his eyebrows.
Making a disapproving noise in the back of her throat, she threaded around him and walked out into the front of the shop, flipping the sign without a word.
Following her doggedly, Miroku leant one hip against the creaky counter and drummed his fingertips against the pile of orders.
An irked glance was tossed in his direction, and she unwittingly remembered Kagome’s strange post script.
“What did Kagome mean, ‘watch his hands’?” Sango inquired curiously, glancing down at his large hands and missing his rather sheepish smile.
“Ah, Kagome-chan, she never forgets,” he muttered, rubbing the back off his head in such a fashion that his hair stood up in tufts, looking for all the world like recently grazed grass in a herbivore infested meadow.
“What do you mean?” Sango demanded suspiciously, checking the calendar to make sure she had no appointments to keep.But her curiosity was swiftly thrust to the back of her mind as she realised that it was a Wednesday. “Crap.”
Violet eyes blinked dumbly. “Something I can help you with?” he enquired softly, sidling up to her side and peering over her shoulder at the little calendar, hand resting on the curve of her hip as he leaned over. Swiftly nudging him away, she danced across the wooden floor and pinned him with a gimlet stare.
“Don’t be so familiar,” she bit out, a slight smattering of pink across her cheekbones, “And no, you can’t help.” She glowered at her pencil skirt and wondered if she should simply take her laddered tights off, or keep them on and pray the difficult customer didn’t notice. As if she wouldn’t notice, that demon has a nose for imperfection. “Of all the days to wear a skirt,” she grumbled in an undertone.
Miroku tilted his head to one side, appreciative violet eyes basking in the swell of her pert bottom under the demure black cotton of her skirt. As if sensing his gaze, she slapped her hands to her cheeks and shot him a reproachful over-the-shoulder glare.
“Get to work!” she barked, embarrassed and irked beyond measure.
Saluting jauntily, he let out a, “Yes, ma’am,” and returned to the store room, like an unruly puppy sent away by its master.
Though she really shouldn’t be referring to him as a puppy.
Shaking her head at the rather disturbing mental image of Miroku with Hanyou ears like Kagome’s boyfriend, Inuyasha, Sango instead set about finding the obscure items for the deliveries that had piled up without her noticing. Totosai’s order was already gone, and his cheque sat innocently on top of the till, as was his custom. She never saw him unless he wanted to be seen, and that was rare, Kagome had said it was something to do with the old coot owing most of their regular customer’s money.
Which brought her back to the predicament of the ticking clock that could, and would, count down the minutes until one of her most difficult patrons arrived. Hastily checking her teeth for lipstick stains and smoothing her ponytail in the antique mirror behind the counter, she growled at it as the surface turned misty.
“Stupid enchanted mirror,” she grumbled, quickly turning it upside down before it could show her something gruesome.
The tug on her ponytail made her give a little squeak, and, clapping her hands over her mouth, she turned to glower at Miroku, who still held a strand of her long hair coiled around his index finger.
“Let go,” she hissed, blushing as the browsing tanuki demon spared them an offended glance.
“Is that any way to thank me?” Miroku cajoled, patting her forehead with the corner of a packet of... tights?
“How did you... why do you have a pair of hose?” she asked, wonder and exasperation tingeing her tone and causing her to throw a hand into the air in disbelief.
“They were buried under a rather complex spell on turning a feather into a kimono,” he announced, taking her hand and pressing them upon her.
“Um... thanks?” It sounded like a question.
“Oh, you’re welcome!” he sang, nodding jovially as he bid his retreat into the store room again.
The resistant tug on his own ponytail caused him to halt rather comically and he peered to his left at the chagrined woman. “I need to use the storeroom to change,” she admitted reticently.
“Don’t we have a bathroom?” he enquired, surprised.
“The building is so old that we don’t, we have to go to the bakery next door,” she disclosed, slipping into the relative privacy of the backroom and closing the door on him with a firm click. Miroku’s lips twitched ruefully as she literally slammed the door in his face and he ducked behind the counter to hold down the fort.
When Kagome had requested this favour of him he’d been surprised to say the least. Being one of very few women who had learned to scoff at his charm, Kagome was the closest thing he had to a woman friend, but every previous time he’d wheedled to be introduced to the fiery Sango she spoke so highly of, he’d been shot down brutally. Kagome had been teasing when she’d said she was protecting him from the wrath of Sango, he was beginning to wonder if there wasn’t a shred of truth in the jest.
The tinkling of the bell almost sounded imperious, and Miroku pasted a charming smile on his face as he turned to greet the ojousama who stepped into the shop daintily but with pious reserve.
Long silver hair was coiled into a sleek bun and held with ornamental hairpins that clinked gently as she strode towards Miroku. Her silken obi was tied at her front and a deep blue in colour, complimenting her robin-egg blue kimono that skirted across the polished floor boards of the shop. Her lacquered zori clacked demandingly as she stalked up to Miroku and the tilt of her chin belied her haughtiness. A blue crescent moon rode proud on her smooth brow and neatly tapering stripes accentuated her aristocratic cheekbones. The demon was analogous to Mt Everest; she was cold and unmoving.
Her mauve painted lips curled with distaste as she laid frosty golden eyes on him.
“A monk, why you are little better than that twit of a Miko,” she announced, tones clipped and treading the fine line between disinterested and hostile, she waved a hand in his general direction, exposing delicate wrist stripes and diamond hard claws, “bring me that slayer. She is little more use than this shelf in that not only can she hold things, she can also bring them to me when bid, but I much prefer her to you.” Bored, she drummed her deadly claws against the counter top for emphasis.
Miroku’s smile didn’t waver in the face of such a blatant dismissal, instead it gre brighter. “Ah, my lady, it does sadden me so that one of such beauty refuses me her company, I will go away defeated and devastated at not being able to cast my eyes on you a little longer.”
A slender brow arched and golden eyes sparked. “A glib tongue, monk, but I know the words of a flatterer when I hear them.”
Miroku’s eyes widened, affronted at the insinuation and he pressed a hand to his chest, as if physically wounded by her words. “A compliment, my lady, is always sincere when it passes from my lips,” he vowed, extravagantly.
When mauve painted lips quirked at the corner, Miroku had triumphed.
0-0-0
Smoothing her skirt over her hips, Sango turned back and forth, twisting her body so that she could see her back and check it for lint and such. The tricky customer had a thing for spotting the imperfections in a person and using them to reduce them to an emotional wreck, she pulled at a loose thread and dismantled the fabric with manipulative glee.
The tinkle of china alerted her to her surroundings and it was with panic that she glanced at the clock to find it past the time that Nami-sama - Sesshoumaru's very formidable mother - usually deigned to visit the shop.
This is bad, she’ll eat Miroku alive... and I didn’t buy any of that expensive tea like I’d planned!
Trying to calm her frayed nerves, she quietly opened the door and peered into the shop in time to see a little man scurry out of the door; Nami’s presence did that to people, made them want to run and hide.
The almost tranquil scene at the counter very nearly made her double take, but the bone china cup of piping hot tea that Miroku pressed into Nami’s elegant hand made her flinch.
The only tea in the shop was convenience store bought tea that would offend Nami’s pallet - this she knew from personal experience.
Short of performing a ridiculous dive to toss the cup from Nami’s hands, Sango could see no way of stopping the brew from reaching her painted lips. She closed her eyes tightly and waited for the reaction.
“It is passable,” Nami muttered, golden eyes regarding Miroku over the brim of her cup, “for something a monk made.”
One hazel eye hesitantly peeped open, and Sango blinked in surprise, releasing her tense grip on the door as she watched Nami take another sip of the tea.
“Ah, but it is an ancient family recipe!” Miroku protested, “so much better than any designer wishy-washy tea!”
Golden eyes sparkled with humour. “Indeed,” she allowed, and then, without moving her eyes from Miroku, she reproached, “Sato-san, how long must you linger in the doorway like that? It is impolite to ignore a guest.”
No sneaking up on demons, her father had told her once, and if that was the case, then it was impossible to even think about Nami-sama without her hearing you.
“Don’t look quite so disturbed, Sato-san, I’m not that ominous,” Nami needled, eyes slanting mockingly in Sango’s direction.
Mind reader.
“Nothing so devious,” Nami corrected without missing a beat, “your thoughts are merely written all over your face.”
“Of course, Nami-sama,” Sango smiled briskly, striding to Miroku’s side, shoulders stiff and posture composed, “I hope Kobayashi-san has been treating you kindly.”
Sango watched as Miroku placed the teapot down on a little table delicately and returned to his original task of folding and packaging a small scroll into its wrappings with deft fingers.
“He is more adept at this than you,” Nami sneered, looking down her nose at the woman despite the fact that Sango was actually taller than her.
“That is good to know,” Sango spoke through gritted teeth as she smiled a smile that reflected Nami’s perfectly; it didn’t reach her eyes.
Sango sighed an inaudible sigh of relief as the demoness departed and sagged against an old wardrobe that protested against her leaning with a low groan.
“A tricky customer?” Miroku asked companionably, pouring another cup of the tea he’d brewed and handing it to her, nonplussed by her apparent rejection of the beverage, he took her hand and clasped it around the cup on his own, ignoring her huff of indignation.
“Drink it,” he ordered, pouring himself a cup, “it helps relieve stress,” he promised with a wink.
“And cures a broken heart, and helps with a cold?” she ventured, a slight smile playing at the corner of her pouty mouth.
“Ah! So you’ve heard of it!” Miroku joshed.
An indulgent smile softened her eyes and she clasped the mug to her chest. The beam of light that drifted in through the window above the shop door lingered on her lips like a lovers caress and the nostalgic yearning painted the serious-minded woman beautiful. Miroku had instantly appreciated that she was pretty, but suddenly she became very real. “My mother used to make tea just like it.”
Love transforms her, he mused. Inspired by the peace that shone from within her, Miroku recklessly decided that he wanted to see her smile like that again.
0-0-0
Delighting in his new objective, Miroku spent the better part of three hours chasing Sango and trying to form the bonds, at least, a friendship. Strangely enough, however, she was proving immune to all his usual tricks and his wit was more likely to inspire ire than a smile.
Even more vexing; she seemed to be highly aware of where he was at all times, so even harmless little touches were fended off with glares that could freeze a man where he stood.
Irritating her to the point of distraction seemed to be the only way to get her eyes to flash in that way that enticed him, so he took it upon himself to do just that. Delighting in her combatant’s personality, he danced around her, wary of her claws.
Skirts were brilliant. This Miroku was certain of. But they were especially excellent when they were caressing the pert behind of a beautiful woman who stood above you on a ladder.
Miroku was well aware that he was probably tempting fate by enjoying the view, but he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away.
Meanwhile, Sango was stretching up on her tiptoes, her shirt lifting to bare an expanse of toned stomach as she determinedly reached for the back of the topmost shelf. Miroku had, as a gentleman, offered to fetch it for her but, feeling mollycoddled and patronised, she’d insisted that she could fetch it for herself.
Unfortunately for Sango, her burnt wrist hindered her at the worst possible moment as she bit it into the side of the shelf, the searing pain made her flinch back and subsequently loose her balance; toppling backwards into space.
Quick thinking combined with daring lecherousness enabled Miroku’s rescue of the damsel in distress.
Sango squeaked as two hands cupped the cheeks of her bottom suddenly, pressing her back into the ladder and ensuring that she didn’t fall. Cheeks flamed red instantly at the mortifying rescue and as soon as she had a firm grip on the ladder, she pushed him away.
Safely on the ground once more, she turned on him, eyes bright with a combination of righteous anger and piqued mortification. Splaying her hands across her bottom defensively, she growled, “What did you do that for?”
Miroku smiled cheerfully; he’d expected her indignation and he relished the fire in her eyes. “I would not like to see you hurt yourself,” he explained truthfully, “and letting you fall would be inexcusable.”
Sango fidgeted uncomfortably under the sincerity of his gaze and muttered, “Next time do it without the unnecessary touching.”
Lips quirked wryly and he sketched a jaunty bow. “Your wish is my command.”
“Good,” she mumbled, a slight smile toying at the corners of her lips. It was beautiful, but he wanted that smile. The smile that came from her heart, more than that, he wanted it to be directed at him because of him. Selfish really.
Miroku’s wish for more of Sango’s special smiles was granted as the clock struck seventeen minutes past twelve and the jingle of the bell interrupted the impatient glances Sango had been flinging at the clock all day.
A young boy in a school uniform crept into the shop sheepishly and Sango sighed and smiled an indulgent smile that was not dissimilar from the one that had lightened her expression when she’d spoken of her mother.
The boy sidled up to the counter and rubbed the back of his hand across his freckled nose.
“Sorry,” he muttered as she slid a wrapped bentō box across the counter towards him.
“I didn’t go through all that to make this so that no one would eat it,” she chastised, reaching over the counter to ruffle his short brown hair indulgently.
Ducking from under her hand and blushing at the attention, he snagged the bentō and nodded to her as a goodbye.
The crinkling of her hazel eyes as she watched him depart was as a mother’s for her child, but the ages suggested siblings instead.
“Your brother?” he enquired softly.
“Kohaku,” she murmured, fiddling with the silver charm that was clasped around her left wrist absently.
“He is very like you,” Miroku complimented.
Her spine straightened into an unforgiving line, as if she’d just realised she was conversing about private matters with a stranger and she prodded him harshly in the shoulder. “Back to work, monk.”
“Yes ma’am!”
As much as Sango hated to admit it, Miroku was an asset to the little store. His purifying techniques meant that those jobs that would’ve had to have been delayed until Kagome’s return were done in no time, his natural charisma and wit entranced the patrons and lured in people who had not been planning on paying the store a visit, woman, both human and Yokai, seemed to be enamoured by his charm and Sango was continually finding herself without anything to do, he was so efficient that by the time she’d realised there was something she needed to do, he’d already done it.
Equal parts grateful for the help and annoyed at being thwarted every time she tried to do anything, Sango treated him as a pariah, something that amused Miroku to no end.
This fierce independence makes her immune to a helping hand.
The only thing she seemed to actually accept from him was the tea he made for her at regular intervals throughout the day.
I’m a tea boy, he mused mournfully.
0-0-0
“Kitsune,” Sango growled as she glared down at her hands. She hadn’t noticed one enter, but it was the only explanation for her current predicament. They’d made the counter so sticky that when she’d placed her palms atop it, she’d been stuck immovably. Loathe to call for Miroku’s help, she cursed for a while and tugged fruitlessly.
Gritting her teeth, she swallowed her pride and muttered, “Miroku.”
As if he’d been waiting for her call, he appeared at her side and smiled hugely.
“In a pinch?” he asked cheerfully, ignoring her growl as he pulled on her ponytail playfully.
“Just help me,” she bid him irritably.
“Yes ma’am,” he saluted softly, leaning across the counter and stroking his hands across hers. She felt the spike in his spiritual abilities like a cool breeze against her skin, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
The sudden release of the spell would have sent her tumbling backwards, but Miroku kept her hands clasped in his carefully.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, looking everywhere but at their intertwined hands as she blushed brightly.
“Time to go then?” he proposed, folding his jacket over his arm and using their clasped hands to steer her out from behind the desk.
Working together for a while already, he’d never proposed such a thing, but she shrugged and tossed her suspicions to the wind.
“What do you normally do for work?” she asked as they strolled down the chilly street together, Miroku donning his jacket hastily as the icy wind reached his skin.
“Normally?” Miroku shrugged nonchalantly, “I dabble in a little of everything.”
“Jack of all trades, master of none?” she enquired glibly.
Smirking wryly, he crooked his arm and she slid her hand to rest on his elbow companionably. “Something like that,” he conceded.
“Where do you live?” she asked, snuggling into her scarf to fight off the chill that stung at her exposed neck.
“Right now I’m living with Inuyasha,” he informed her sombrely, “but soon I’ll have to make a decision.”
“A decision?”
“I was planning on moving to Hong Kong after this little stop-off at your shop,” he allowed, brow furrowing slightly as his breath puffed out in a cloud before him.
Beating down the discontent that stirred at his words, Sango queried, “Why?”
“I had no ties here... no one has asked me to stay,” he shrugged, “but I might be staying a little longer...” he hedged vaguely.
“You might?” she niggled, feeling a rising sense of unease at the topic of his impending departure.
“Yep.”
“Why?”
Violet eyes peered down at her and he tapped the side of his nose secretively.
She rolled her eyes, frustrated as they drew to a stop outside her home.
Miroku’s lips curled into a mischievous smile and he sneezed lightly, looking ridiculously surprised at it; as if he’d never sneezed before.
Sango giggled, and Miroku’s smile turned into a wistful longing. “It’s because you haven’t got a scarf,” she chastised, “I’ll bring you one soon... when I remember.”
Miroku pursed his lips thoughtfully. “You know... they say that to get rid of a cold... you have to give it to someone.”
Sango blinked as he pressed her back against his front door and kissed her, his cold lips pressed against hers, warming her and heating her cheeks to scarlet.
“I’ll be waiting for a reason,” he informed a bemused Sango as he strolled away, leaving her standing against her door in complete bewilderment.
0-0-0
Sango watched as Miroku moped around the shop, his usual cheerful demeanour and teasing sparkle vanished into nonexistence. Wracking her brain for a reason behind his uncharacteristic melancholy, she came up with nothing and rolled her eyes when instead of performing his frequent tea ritual - it was his usual time for a bought of tea making; just before closing time as was customary - he started to prod the counter so that it creaked in an irritating manner.
Was it the kiss recently? She’d thought that he was ignoring that it had ever happened and had followed suit... so what was bugging him?
“Why are you standing around here doing nothing?” Sango demanded perilously, “make tea, monk.”
Violet eyes lit up with pleasure and she watched, bemused, as he zoomed around making the tea with an enthusiasm she thought he’d lost.
Can’t keep a lecherous monk down I suppose, she mused, smiling indulgently as a piping hot brew was thrust into her hands.
“I’ll give you this,” Sango murmured, taking a gratified sip from the cup, “you make the best tea.”
“Enough that you’ll ask me to stay?” he asked, leaning in slightly, violet eyes serious.
Balking, she backed away frantically and rammed into the shelves behind the counter. “No way!” she yelped. How had he gotten that impression; there was no way she wanted him to stay after hours...
She blushed furiously and blinked as Miroku’s face shifted to dejection once again.
“Well,” he uttered, smiling regretfully at her, “goodnight, I trust you can lock up without my assistance?”
“Of course!” she bit out; insulted that he’d think otherwise.
“Ah,” he looked... disappointed, if she had to pick an emotion, “Sayonara, Sango.”
Hazel eyes grew large. “Don’t address me so familiarly!”
“Sorry, Sato-san,” he bowed his head, hiding his eyes and muttered, so quietly she wasn’t sure she’d even heard it, “and I had such high hopes...”
0-0-0
Pushing the door open the next morning, Sango unwound her scarf from around her neck and paused as she entered; something was off.
Normally Miroku had already brewed some tea and the aroma generally wafted to great her as she walked through the door. Hearing a clatter in the backroom, Sango went to investigate, a scarf for Miroku in her hands so that she could give it to him, as she had threatened previously. Though such a notion embarrassed her rather a lot, she couldn't help but want to give it to him.
“Miroku?” she called, poking her head into the back room and stopping dead in her tracks.
Kagome peeked at her from behind a pile of scrolls. “Just me,” she explained.
Sango blinked, unable to assimilate that Miroku wasn’t there. “Where is Miroku?”
“Gone,” Kagome shrugged, “It was his last day yesterday... remember?”
Was that why he was moping?
“Sango-chan, are you okay?” Kagome asked softly, worried at the spaced out expression on her friends face.
“I’m fine,” Sango bluffed, retreating to the front of the store dazedly.
He’s gone... gone to Hong Kong... is that why he called me by my name yesterday when he said good bye? Come to think of it, every other day he said ‘see you tomorrow’ but not yesterday.
Shocked with how badly his sudden disappearance had unsettled her, she ignored the jingle of the shop bell as the door opened and stared vacantly at the scarf she had bought specially for him.
“Thought of a reason yet?” Miroku asked, startling her from her shock and making her chin jerk up to look at him.
“A... reason?”
“I said I had no reason to stay here,” he prompted easily, though his eyes were searching, “have you found one yet?”
Sango blinked slowly. “I got you a scarf?” she offered, holding the white and blue stripy number up for expression.
Wrong-footed, Miroku blinked agape for a few moments before chuckling ruefully and rubbing the back of his head. “That really wasn’t what I had in mind but... I’ll take it.”
Sango glowered, certain he was teasing her, but he cupped her chin and pulled her across the counter for a lingering kiss that was so perfect, so all consuming, that the creaky counter didn’t even disturb them.