Good morning, everyone.

Somewhat hesitantly, I step forward with a small, 
vignette-ish, waffy piece from Inuyasha. If you have no 
clue who Sango and Miroku are, or would rather that he 
chased Sesshoumaru around, this story may not be for 
you, but it is quite spoiler-free because it is mostly 
speculative.

And with that said, enjoy.

-- Aino


===============================
That Which is Never Said

An Inuyasha Fanfiction by Aino-kaachan
===============================

Disclaimer: Miroku and Sango belong to Takahashi Rumiko-
sensei. This non-canon interpretation of their future 
belongs to me.
Rating: PG
The Purpose of This Story: Just a few pieces of imagery 
and a charming scene that popped into my mind, and also 
an expression of opinion about one of the most used 
Japanese words in the fanfiction field.
===============================

The first light of dawn crept into the abandoned 
farmhouse, splashing a column of rosy silver across the 
floor. He stirred in his sleep, soon completely awake, 
and languidly got up, taking care not to disturb the 
young woman slumbering by his side. Her face was 
peaceful, wisps of raven hair trailing over her cheek. 
He brushed them away with light fingers, and gave in to 
the urge to linger and merely look at her.

He had used to sit like this long before he would have 
dared to sleep next to her, watching her, hesitantly 
sorting the emotions she had begun to invoke in him. He 
had attempted treating her like any other woman, 
attaching no special significance to the way her 
nearness calmed him or her rare smiles made him warm 
inside.

Still, he had guessed, and hoped, as the long search 
drew to its conclusion. There had been instances of such 
yearning, such intense feeling between them, moments 
that had pertained every barrier and suspicion and 
whispered and gasped: She is something else. She is 
someone to live for.

He left her, with some regret, to her dreams, and knelt 
by the hearth to reawaken the embers. The morning seemed 
a little chilly, and the house, where they had sought 
shelter from a nighttime rain, was drafty, though 
intact. There were several onigiri near the hearth, the 
remainder of yesterday's supper, carefully bundled into 
cloth.

Just how many times had she been up before him, kindling 
a fire, with quiet but poorly hidden delight waking him 
with the warm scent of food? It might be time to return 
the favour, if only once. She had earned her sleep.

He let his mind wander as he went about the task, 
picking up a still sound pot from among the debris 
littering the floor.

He remembered when, amidst the smoke and the fire, he 
suddenly felt a wave of strange warmth from his hand; 
the skin and flesh seemed to crawl and quiver with a 
powerful prickling sensation completely unlike the 
hollow ache he sometimes experienced, a gnawing, 
foreboding sense of the void.

He had slowly, woodenly, begun to unwrap the rosary, 
both dreading and hoping.

She ran up to intercept him, bleeding and hurting, but 
her eyes shone with a fierce light. Her face tight, she 
reached to take his hand, and, trusting in what she now 
knew, loosened the prayer beads and removed the glove 
from his hand.

She looked up at him, and tears drew pale traces across 
the soot and blood on her face as she held his right 
hand to her cheek, her fingers meshing with his, the 
rosary tumbling from her grasp. It was then that he 
clutched her against him as tightly as he could, and 
stood there, gasping and shaking in the face of elation 
so vast that it was unbearable, letting her hold and 
support him as much as he did her, until the others 
found them.

Perhaps it had been then that he had known.

They had taken to wandering after the quest had been 
completed, frequently visiting their friends, but both 
still feeling the call of the road, too strong to 
resist. Those were good moons, mild and pleasant, the 
land aglow in the summer heat, mostly with only 
themselves for company. But they had needed no others, 
and after a while the companionable solitude became 
something more, blossoming into a deeper bond.

It was under a harvest moon that they first made love, 
shyly almost, finding their way with one another. A 
slight smile stole across his face at the memory, and 
the one thought that memory still conjured: I am not a 
bearer of death any longer, but free, free to be and 
stay with you.

After that, what he had never seen necessary to tell 
her, he knew he could express in other ways. They 
settled in a village as winter drew near, and waited the 
snowy moons, slowly learning each other. Not that they 
did not have their disagreements, those could be blazing 
if triggered at the right moment, but she twined into 
him like no other ever.

She was turning over in the blankets, hazy brown eyes 
glancing up at him. She ran a hand across her face, 
trying to grasp the waking reality, the sight before 
her.

"You... made breakfast?" She stared at him.

He only smiled in return.

"That was sweet of you," she remarked, and rose to her 
feet to embrace him.

He returned the hug with one arm, breathing in the faint 
scent of her hair. No sweeter than what she had done for 
him, time and again. Giving and receiving. Helping and 
sharing.

And he knew, as he had before, that she did not need to 
hear any words to confirm that which she knew he felt 
with all his heart. Words were fleeting, soon forgotten. 
He had used them for purposes foul and fair so long he 
had almost grown wary of them. How could he ever tell 
her what it was like to hear her laughter, to see her 
face and sense her warmth as he awoke in the morning, to 
have her by his side day by day? Nothing like that could 
fit into words. Some of it might, perhaps, fit into the 
gesture of the breakfast that was now cooling next to 
the bedding as she unashamedly stole a kiss from him 
while blinking away the last vestiges of sleep.

He held her in the growing golden light that poured in 
through the doorway, and smiled into her hair, 
voicelessly whispering the word into the morning breeze.

Aishiteru.


=================================
aishiteru: can be translated "I love you", as in "for 
the rest of my life till death do us part".
onigiri: a rice ball with filling

Comments, critique and cookies are graciously accepted.
=================================

First draft 5th of February 2002
Minorly revised 14th of May 2002
Aino-kaachan
ainokaachan@yahoo.co.uk
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ainofics/


=====
o An Inuyasha Shrine: Round the Campfire at
http://dreamwater.net/hearthstones/iy/

o The Okaachan's Kitchen animanga Shrine at
http://dreamwater.net/hearthstones/okaachan.htm

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