InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ A Tale of Ever After ❯ Chapter 150

I do not own InuYasha or any of the characters created by Rumiko Takahashi


Chapter 149


Miroku walked up the path to his home. He looked at it thoughtfully as he neared. It was larger than a number of other houses in the village, thatched and not board-roofed. It even had sliding doors instead of a door mat. He had heard the gossip in the village, wondering why the headman had made sure a monk had such a fine house to live in.

“It’s not about me,” he muttered. “It’s for them - Sango and the children. Isn’t it?” He took a deep breath and contemplated his motivation as he drew nearer.

Smoke from the fire pit escaped through the roof vent, beckoning him invitingly. “I know I could live in just a shack, or even under a tree. I have done it enough when necessary. So why am I feeling guilty? Even InuYasha has a house. Is it wrong that it’s a good one?” His foot hit a small rock, which skittered across the path and into the grass alongside of the road. “Well, Tameo wanted him to have one, just like he wanted me to. It was his decision that it was built this well. He said he wanted to honor the Buddha.” He sighed. “Maybe I could have talked him into something a bit less grand. Still,  I wanted the best for Sango, and he offered. Was that greed?”

He sighed. A lone sheet flapped in the late afternoon breeze on the clothesline stretched between two trees. “I’m surprised Sango left this out,” he said, walking up to it. The cloth was dry, and he pulled it off the line. “Although as insane as everything has been...”

Tossing it over his shoulder, he passed the garden on his way to the house. Still an early spring garden, mostly filled with greens and some early daikon, the young plants in it were touched by the gathering shadows of the late afternoon. It showed the attention that Sango had been putting in it, things growing neatly, some fresh weeds on the compost pile not far from it. As he grew closer, a bird that had been scratching between two plants noticed him, and with a whirr of wings and a squawk, darted over toward the trees he had just passed.

Miroku turned to watch the bird, calling impatiently as it waited for him to pass.“Now what mischief have you been up to, bird? You sound like Kagome-sama used to sound when InuYasha was being particularly hardheaded. It’s not really fair, you know. I’m sure I’m causing you much fewer problems than he caused her.” He sighed. “And I am surely not causing you the problems I’ve caused others today. Be patient.” The bird hopped out of sight, deeper into the tree.

Shadows covered the verandah of his house. He stepped through them and was about to slide  the door open when he caught the sound of his daughters singing. He paused a moment, listening to what sounded vaguely like one he would sing to them when he was trying to get them to sleep, their high, children’s voices soft and pleasant. From where he stood, he couldn’t make out the words they were using. He wasn’t even sure what they were singing had any real words at all, but somehow, it stirred him more than most other music.

“What am I doing to you, girls?” he murmured. “Are you going to grow up with a shadow over you because of me?”

Miroku listened for a moment more and was about to go inside, when, something caught his eye.  A well-handled stick doll rested next to the door, its paint worn, and the cloth that decorated it soiled from much handling. He bent down and picked it up. “I bet if you could talk, doll, you could tell a thing or two about this afternoon,” he said, turning it in his hands. “Maybe more than I’ll be able to get out of my wife.” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t think like that, but why she didn’t tell me what was going on...We’ll need to work on that. I wish it was as easy as talking to you.”

Tucking the doll into his sleeve, and feeling a bit silly for talking to his daughter’s toy, Miroku slid the door open and walked into building. He didn’t say anything at first, merely stood there near the entry, and took in a breath of air. “Home,” he muttered, too soft to really be heard. Everything seemed perfectly normal. Oddly, after what he had been through during the day, somehow that felt a little unnerving, and instead of being relaxed by it, he felt tense. But from the looks of things, it could have been nearly any evening with him coming back from the village or the temple.

His daughters were playing near one wall of the building, stacking things up and tumbling them down, which was currently one of their favorite games. Sango was in her place by the fire pit. The air was heavy with the rich smells of the dinner that she had been making, fish and vegetables and rice. Slowly, he let out a breath, unsure of what he had been expecting, and then realized, in spite of the uncertainty he felt, the normalcy was winning. He was hungry.

Sango, feeding Naoya, looked up and saw her husband standing there in the entry. Her glance in his direction grew a little unsure when he made no effort to move, but she still managed a sincere, if small smile.

“Welcome home,” she said. Naoya, hearing her speak, stopped nursing, and turned to look at his father and gurgled at him, waving one hand that ended up in his mouth. Sango took that distraction to adjust her robe. “Are they finished with the roofing?”

The inertia that had Miroku pinned down in the entry broke with her voice. “They’re getting close,” he said, slipping off his sandals. “Tameo came back to get Susumu, but Ryota thought they still might finish this evening. I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”

“Tameo-ojiisan came and got Susumu?” she asked, wiping her son’s mouth.

Miroku sighed. “It was something to do with Chiya. We’ll talk about it later. I am too tired of that woman to deal with her now.” He stepped up on the wooden floor.

“If you want,” Sango said, and then noticed what the monk had draped over his arm. “Oh, I forgot about that sheet. Thank you for bringing it in. I probably wouldn’t have remembered it until tomorrow, and I bet I would have had to wash it again.”  


Miroku nodded, and began to fold it. “I’m not surprised. I’m surprised either one of us can remember anything. Today has been...well, not one of my favorite days.” Sango started to get up to help him. “No, I can handle it,” he said. “It’s one thing I can do to make the day a bit better. Not much, but...”

“Miroku,” Sango said, frowning a little as she looked more carefully at her husband, and saw the sadness in his eyes, the seriousness on his face, even as he wrestled with the white cloth. “You’re not blaming yourself for what she was doing?” Her eyebrows knit together as she tried to think of something to say, but before she could speak the next sentence, the two girls, seeing their father, ran up to him and he scooped them up in his arms, folded cloth and all.

“That’s another thing we will talk about later,” he said. “I have more important women to deal with right now.” He looked at one, and then the other of his daughters. “Well, my little jewels, are you being good for your okaasan?”  

Noriko nodded, but Yusuko, frowning, said, “I lost my doll baby!” It was a frown that very clearly resembled the one he walked into the house with.

Miroku fumbled in his sleeve, and produced the stick doll. “Did she look like this?” he asked.

She grabbed the doll, and began babbling something to it, then smiled up at her father, holding it up for his inspection. “My doll baby.”

“I thought it might be yours. She was sitting outside near the door. You need to be careful with your babies. You don’t want to lose them. It would make them sad.” He glanced at Sango, who raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

Yusuko, ignoring the interplay between her parents, merely nodded at what her father said, and leaned back into his arms, holding the doll close to her chest. “Don’t cry, baby.”

“You always did know how to talk to girls,” Sango said, putting Naoya over her shoulder.

“I don’t know about that,” he said, his face marked with a small regretful curve of the lips. A sad look touched his eyes again. “Even when they seem to like me, it seems I have a history of saying or doing the wrong things at times.”

“Maybe sometimes,” she said. She smiled, though, remembering their days on the quest. “A time or two or three.”

“Enough times that I wondered at times why you didn’t run away screaming.” Miroku’s voice was light, but his eyes were serious. “Between my hand and my eye and my stupid tongue...”

“I did think about it at times,” Sango admitted, as she patted their son on his back. “But we were too busy chasing shards and monsters for that. And then one day, I no longer wanted to.”

Miroku sighed, and gave her a grateful smile. “For which I will be forever blessed, but I gave you enough cause.”

“You were worth the effort,” she replied.

“But it doesn’t mean I - ”

Before he could finish that thought, a small hand pulled on his sleeve.“Hungry, Chi-chi!” Noriko said.

“This must fall in the more for later group as well, I see,” Miroku said. “Other women are interrupting us.” He kissed the top of Noriko’s head. “But I do have a lot I wish to say to you, my lovely wife. I don’t want to push all this aside.” Sango, studying his face and seeing the glint of determination there, nodded, and having received her agreement, he turned his attention to Noriko, who tugged once again. “You’re hungry? Have you been waiting for me to come home to eat?”  

His daughter nodded. “Ha-ha said wait.”

He looked at his wife, questioning.

“I would have fed them if you had taken much longer,” Sango said. “I wasn’t sure how late you’d be before getting home. I might have fed them already, but your son decided to eat first.”

“He can be a handful, wanting a woman’s attention just his father,” the monk said, nodding. He looked at Noriko. “Well, then, let me put this sheet up, and we will see about not waiting for dinner any longer.” He carried the girls over to the side of the room where Sango kept her clothing chest and put the sheet down on top of it. “Otousan is hungry too, so I guess we can eat soon as Okaasan is ready for us.”

“I made that fish stew you like,” Sango said. “I thought that stew would be a good choice. I didn’t know when you’d be ready.”

“I’ll always be ready for you, Sango my dearest,” he replied. His serious demeanor gave way to a twinkle in his eye and a small, knowing grin. “Don’t underestimate yourself. Even if I don’t always remind you of it. You...you want me to get the bowls out?” he asked, putting his daughters down.  

For some reason, either the words, or the look he gave her when he said them made Sango’s cheeks pink, just a little, which he followed up with a knowing wag of his eyebrows. The girls, totally unaware of their parents exchange, came to sit down, one on each side of her. Sango shifted her son to her other shoulder as she sucked on her bottom lip and gave him an answering glance with just enough simmer to let him know his message had been received. “Bowls?” she said, somehow keeping all of what had been passed between them out of her voice. “Yes, please. My hands are a little full right now.”


Naoya let out a resounding burp. “Finally,” Sango said. “I was beginning to think all you really wanted to do was have Okaasan hold you.”

“He’s a smart man, my son,” Miroku said, moving to the kitchen cabinet. “He knows what’s important.”

Yusuko giggled. “Loud baby.”

“You think that’s funny, now do you?” Miroku asked, removing the dishes they needed for dinner.

She nodded.

“You could be even louder when you were that small,” Sango said, laying the baby down on a blanket next to her.

“She’s not the only one who can be loud,” Miroku said, carrying the dinner dished to the fire pit. He gave her another eye waggle.

“No, she’s not,” Sango said, meeting her husband’s eyes, perfectly well aware of what he was insinuating. “I sort of think she takes after her otousan.”

Miroku, chuckling sat down. “Maybe so, maybe so.” As she handed him a bowl of rice, he grinned back at her. “Maybe later, we can have a contest to see who’s the loudest.”

“And wake the children?” she asked. “I don’t think so.”

“Perhaps Kagome-sama might do us a favor, then,” he said, picking up his chopsticks.

Sango gave him a look, part incredulous, part scandalized, until she thought about it for a moment. “Maybe,” she said. “But convincing InuYasha to agree might be the hard part.”

“You have a point there,” he said, and with a wistful, but thoughtful look, began to dig into his dinner.