A/N: Because I have no control of my life, or the story ideas that pop into my head.

In the Beginning, There Was Rin

His father had often told him about the curse of being old. Or rather, complained about it. Even right before his death, he would sigh woefully at the idea. Perhaps it was because Sesshoumaru wasn't as old as he was, but he never felt as such. Despite the amount of time that he has spent on the Earth, he still felt young in his bones.

But there were moments where he felt that twinge, that dreaded feeling- of being weary. Of being a bitter, old man.

This was one of those moments.

Rin looked at him, her big brown eyes sparkling as she laughed with joy. Her hands joined with Kohaku's at their side. A nervous blush crossed the man's face, as he looked towards the girl, but Rin only smiled back impishly. And Sesshoumaru could see the boy's heart melt.

He was a good choice, the best choice.

That's what he had told himself, when he left Rin in Keade's village as a child. She needs her own kind, the woman had said to him. How will she grow into a woman, if she's not around one? And since, Rin had done just that. She had passed the age of being nothing but knobby knees and limbs too long for the rest of her- she was a woman grown, filling out her subtle curves and ready to settle down.

Which she would with Kohaku. They would marry and have children, and grow old together and then Rin would-

And this was why he suddenly felt old.

Time flowed differently for the two of them. One day, she had been the little girl he had resurrected with his father's fang, and in the blink of an eye now she was-

"Sesshoumaru-sama, aren't you happy for me?" she asked, cutting into his thoughts.

What an utterly ridiculous question, of course he was happy for her. Couldn't she tell… actually, probably not, since he wasn't the most expressive of individuals. Even if Rin could read him better than anyone alive, she couldn't read his mind.

"Then at least say so!" she said with a laugh, leaning against Kohaku. "He's terrified that you'll kill him for even such a suggestion." She said it with humor, but Kohaku paled slightly at the idea.

"No, Kohaku is a good choice," Sesshoumaru said, in his carefully honed and quiet tone. "He will take care of you, where I cannot." Kohaku let out a long breath of air, easing slightly. That's when Sesshoumaru's lips quirked into the tiniest of smirks. "Of course, if he fails to do so, I'll throw him into hell myself."

Kohaku's face fell once more, and Rin laughed even harder. "He's joking!" she assured him, patting at his chest. "I swear, Kohaku-kun, he's only joking!"

But the boy met his gaze and grimaced slightly. Even if it was meant in humor, he wasn't joking. And the boy knew that.

Good.

The two kids married, and Rin was happy. At least she seemed to be so. When Sesshoumaru prodded her with questions about it, she always smiled, her face lighting up brilliantly.

"Truly, Sesshoumaru-sama, Kohaku-kun treats me with all the love in the world."

"And so, it was the right choice?" He didn't know why he asked, it wasn't like it mattered. The only thing that mattered was Rin's well being, and despite every time she promised, every reassurance, he still felt that doubt.

At his question, Rin cocked her head to the side with amusement. "Such a father, Sesshoumaru-sama," she teased. "But I promise you, I love him dearly. We are very happy. Thank you for letting it be."

Thank you. Why had she thanked him? He had done nothing. Rin was the kind of woman that forged her own path, paving her own way. He had only helped her a little bit.

"How you would feel about being Sesshoumaru Oji-san?" Rin randomly asked, and he froze, looking to her. And she looked back, a lazy smile spreading across her face as she laughed lightly, her hand moving to rest across her belly.

Not for the first time, he felt old.

But for the first time, it wasn't a bad feeling.

Sesshoumaru had been scared for Rin, when his mother had cast her into hell as a joke. But nothing would have ever prepared him for the danger of childbirth.

He had originally planned on being far away from this place, when she went into labor, but Kohaku had sent Kirara with a desperate plea to come immediately. Fearing for the worst, he had immediately traveled there… only to find an infuriatingly healthy Rin (Kagome's words, not his), and an incredibly frazzled husband, waiting outside the home.

And that was when Sesshoumaru realized that Kohaku had called upon him personally, not for Rin's sake. How annoying.

"How did you do it?" Kohaku asked, his face pale. Despite Kagome's assurances that Rin was doing rather well, he held such nervous energy, it was hard to not be affected. "How were you able to just… take her with you, into danger, and not worry every damn moment?"

It wasn't something that Sesshoumaru had really ever considered, until that moment. "I was constantly worried," he said. "Don't you remember boy?"

Kohaku considered for a moment, but Sesshoumaru already knew that Kohaku didn't remember much from that time. Rin had once told him that the boy described it as a blur. Finally, Kohaku let out a sigh that bordered on tired and amused. "I guess that's a good thing, then? That even you can be scared. She's been in that hut all day, and all I hear are screams and curses, and Gods above, I don't know what to do."

And Sesshoumaru wanted to tell him to not be scared, but in a rare moment, the words couldn't come.

"I'm a taijiya," Kohaku said, his voice trembling with the absurdity of it all. "I've seen death. I've seen hell, and fought hell, and what is the thing that pushes me over the edge? My wife in childbirth."

"You fear not only for her, but for your son as well."

At his words, Kohaku perked up slightly, pushing away from the wall. "Son?"

Sesshoumaru had forgotten that humans couldn't smell their offspring. Finally, he said, "It is natural to fear for those we love, but I wouldn't let Rin know that you called me here to comfort you. She would never let you hear the end of it."

At that, the boy managed to laugh. "You know Sesshoumaru-sama, I know it was hard for you to let her go."

"It wasn't," Sesshoumaru replied. "Because she managed to pick the most decent of men." Kohaku was about to reply, but the youkai raised his hand to stop him. "Don't. I won't say it again."

Kohaku didn't need to thank him, and so the boy didn't.

"I'll stay here, until the boy is born," Sesshoumaru said.

And so he did.

Rin would surprise him (and no one else), by asking him to come see the child first.

His new favorite days, were the ones where he brought Rin's children gifts.

She teasingly called them his grandchildren, and despite the little curl that would fall across his lip, he didn't find the term annoying. Instead, it was endearing.

As were human, children apparently. Rin had been married for almost fifteen years, and had two of them, and there wasn't a day that he didn't look forward to their stupid little faces. Stupid, he reminded himself, because it would do him no good to become too attached.

It wasn't like he could take them home with him. Unlike Rin as a child, they actually belonged to a family.

"For Hiro-san," he said, handing the boy a wicked looking dagger. Rin would be angry at such a gift, but Kohaku would smile devilishly, excited for a knew toy to train his son with.

"And for Hana-chan," he continued with, handing the girl a porcelain doll. He had acquired it overseas, and perhaps the twelve-year-old would find it to be a dumb present, but she smiled nonetheless, hugging it tightly.

They were too old to call him Oji-san, but did so anyway, and in return, Sesshoumaru gave them a rare smile. They ran off with their gifts.

"You know," Rin said from behind him, "If you keep spoiling them, it might go to their heads."

"You won't spoil them, so I will," he said with humor. "After all, aren't I their grandfather?"

At that, Rin laughed, leaning against him. Sesshoumaru gave her a one-sided hug, and he truly meant it. It was weird, to have such physical admiration, but the years had slowly worn him down. He met Rin's hugs with his own now.

"Don't think that I didn't see you slip that knife to my son," she said with an edge to her voice.

"It was either myself or your husband, and I guarantee that the quality of my blade would be far superior."

Rin hummed at that. "Yes well, when he cuts a finger off, you're the one to blame."

"I haven't yet used Tenseiga on him," Sesshoumaru replied easily. "There's nothing to fear."

"Sesshoumaru-sama, was that a joke?" she asked, her tone shining.

Sesshoumaru thought about it for a moment. "I suppose that it was." Honestly, the words had flown from his lips with natural ease.

"Sesshoumaru-sama," she then asked, her voice falling quiet. "Do you want more children to spoil?" He looked to her, surprised. Rin was old, by human standards- nearly forty. Could she even bear children still? Her face held youth, but there were lines around her eyes, and the faintest of feathered strokes around her mouth. "Kohaku and I thought we might want another," she continued with, when he didn't answer.

He knew that telling her it was stupid idea wouldn't stop her, so instead, he said, "Your family is a blessing, Rin. Any others who join, will be welcomed most assuredly."

At that, Rin smiled. "Good, because Inuyasha said they're going to be twins."

Just like the first time she had told him that she was pregnant, he froze. And just like the first time, she laughed at him.

He remembered the first time that Rin had gotten sick with a fever.

She had been only a child, and while he had known little to nothing about humans, he knew that the forehead wasn't supposed to feel that hot. Or that she wasn't supposed to be grunting with discomfort in her sleep. He remembered dumping her in front of Kaede's hut, demanding that she help.

And strangely, the woman had told him what to do, after telling him that he was as stupid as his brother. The only reason she had lived, was because she was helping Rin. But the girl got better, and did so any other time she ever had fallen sick.

When Hiro-san sent him a letter though, saying that his mother hadn't been doing well as of late, there was a strange pang through his heart that he couldn't quite decipher. Rin was into her sixties now, and though he would describe her as strong and stubborn as an ox… she was still human.

And she suffered the human condition.

Like many things nowadays, it made him feel old. And it wasn't a feeling that he liked anymore. In her youth, it had been okay. In her youth, he could feel that time separated them, but it had meant little. Rin was still smiling, enjoying her life.

But those days were just yesterday for him, and they had been a lifetime ago, for her.

And so, the letter-

I don't think there is cause for concern, Oji-san. I just wanted to warn you that with each winter, she gets a little more frail. Mother is as stubborn as they come, and insists on doing her own work around the house. I'm more concerned that she'll hurt herself, more so than she'll fall ill.

What I do know, is that she would love for you to visit.

He wasn't a fool. He knew that Hiro wanted him to come and talk some sense into her. Which meant that Kohaku had already tried and failed.

So when he arrived at their home in the village, and he saw Rin out front gardening, he frowned. It had been more than a year since they had seen each other last, but she had aged what seemed ten. Suddenly, her hair was gray, tied into a low bun. Her fingers and wrists were knobby and deeply veined, despite the strength that she still held. And her face- she was still Rin- but it was like a shadow of her was looking at him, full of wrinkles and lines, and deep-set eyes that seemed weary.

He realized he didn't know her exact age, and it bothered him.

And that's when he realized what that pang had been. It had been fear. Rin leaving him was something he had always known, but he had never truly comprehended the idea. Until now.

He watched her heave the hoe back and forth, grunting slightly. "I know that my son wrote to you," she said, instead of properly greeting him. It was a bitter, huffed tone that wasn't very Rin-like. She continued to pull at the earth. "Akane-san told me. Resorting to calling you here, the nerve of them!"

Akane-san, Hiro's wife. Good kid, with strong bones and a mouth that matched, despite her inability to have children.

"And so you know why I've come," he said cooly.

"They want me to slow down and do nothing, Sesshoumaru-sama. These bones are old, but they aren't brittle. They are restless, and I have to move around, otherwise I-" But she didn't finish her sentence, instead letting out a frustrated sound.

These bones are old.

The idea of Rin being old was strange and new, and he wanted to avoid it at all costs.

"Rin, think of your family," he said quietly. "Do they want you for only a few more years? Or do they want you for many years to come?"

"I don't want those years, if means sitting around like a hag."

"Kaede-san would be insulted to hear you say such things."

He had expected her to laugh, but she didn't. "Kaede-san was ancient, but she worked until she keeled over. If I were to die, I want it to be doing what I love, rather than wasting away."

What an incredibly Rin thing to say, so he wasn't sure why anger sprouted within him. "No one wants you to die, Rin, but you'll put yourself into an early grave." And the words came out heated.

Rin paused in her work, stabbing the hoe into the ground and leaning against it. "What's it to you, Sesshoumaru-sama? You haven't changed one bit, and you never will. Despite being my entire world, I'm just a little blip in your long existence. Give it another hundred years, and you're like to forget all about me."

She sounded dangerously close to accusing him of something, but then he remembered something from long ago.

"Would you remember me, Sesshoumaru-sama?" she had asked one day, the quiet musings of a little child. He hadn't realized that it was something that had plagued her for so long.

"Rin," he said quietly, "You dishonor me with such an accusation."

"Dishonor," she spat, before picking up the hoe again. "Such irony coming from you. Even after all this time, you'll never understand."

"Understand what?"

Finally Rin sighed, defeated, and she looked older in that moment than she ever had before. "It doesn't matter, Sesshoumaru-sama. Regardless of what you try to do, I'll live my life the way I see fit."

"You always have, Rin," he replied. "I wouldn't expect anything else."

She paused again and laughed, really laughed. It was sarcastic and sharp, bubbling up from deep within her, like she was making fun of him. Like they were on entire different levels of understanding. Finally, she stopped, wiping at her face.

"Sesshoumaru-sama, I would appreciate it if you would leave."

That confused him. In the entirety of his time with her, Rin has never asked him to leave. He's asked her to leave. He's left her places, telling her the importance of being with her kind. But never has the girl ever told him to leave her be.

"Rin-"

"Sesshoumaru, leave."

No suffix, no propriety. Just a strained plea, filled with familiarity. And there were more, just hanging onto the tip of her tongue, and he knew that if he left now, he wouldn't ever come back.

It hurt more than he would ever admit aloud..

Even so, he turned and left her be.

When Sesshoumaru slept, he would dream, and he usually didn't like what his subconscious had to say. And so, he rarely did so. But youkai still needed it once in awhile, and so he eventually had to cave and nap- even if for an hour or so.

This time, he dreamt of his father, and parts of a very old conversation.

"They say that the Kami-sama bless those that are good, with someone just for them," he said to him, his voice swooning with lightheartedness. Sesshoumaru frowned, and he knew that his father was thinking of that woman.

"Who said such a ridiculous thing?"

"Bokusenou-san, of course,"

At that, Sesshoumaru rolled his eyes. "Bokusenou-sama is a tree. What does he know?"

At that, his father frowned. "More than you, pup. Would it kill you to have a romantic thought once in a while?"

"Yes."

Inutaisho-sama turned to him fully, a sad smile crossing his face. "Such a pity then."

"What is your point, Chichiue? Do you think that you have such a fated one?"

"Of course I do," he said proudly, "Or did you think that Izayoi-chan is only a whim of mine?" Sesshoumaru didn't bother to respond, causing his father to sigh. "The good news is that The Kami-sama are benevolent. Even if we stray from that person, we are given as many chances as we need to find them again."

Odd. This wasn't how he remembered the original conversation, though it had been over a century ago. "Why does it sound like you are talking about me?"

"Because I am, pup." Sesshoumaru risked a look at his face, and was met with a sly grin that he didn't like. He scoffed, moving to step away, and Inutaisho reached out and grabbed his arm. "Really, my son, I'm only worried for you. You have everything, and yet… you don't. And now, it's too late."

"I am not good," Sesshoumaru then said. "I am not good, there for there is no one for me."

His father sighed. "I used to think the same, and then she fell right into my lap."

Fell into my lap.

Sesshoumaru shot awake, breathing hard. For once, he had retired to the Western Palace, and for once, he slept in his own rooms. But they didn't seem welcome really, because anywhere there wasn't Rin, was a dark and dim place.

He shouldn't think things like that. Rin was an old woman now. Rin had children of her own. Rin was happily married.

But what if.

What a ridiculous, foolish thought. These were the kind of thoughts that had gotten his father killed, and he was above that. He was above everything.

He had just pulled himself from his futon, throwing on an under robe, when Jaken came barging in. And before he could snap at the toad for such indecency, the little man squawked.

"Sesshoumaru-sama, I beg your pardon, but something has happened! Something-"

"Then take care of it!" he snapped. "This one-"

"This concerns you," Jaken interrupted, ducking slightly when Sesshoumaru turned his gaze onto him. "Sesshoumaru-sama," he added quietly. "They're waiting outside."

"Who."

"Kohaku-san," the toad said quietly. "And his son."

Kohaku and Hiro. The only reason they would ever come here to his palace, was if-

It was like his blood had run cold. "No," he breathed, and then he was gone, flying from his room with nothing more than his underthings. He didn't care if they saw his bare chest, or how uncomposed he was.

His servants had barely flung open the front doors, when he stumbled into the courtyard, barefooted and half-dressed. And there was Kohaku and Hiro, dressed in black, their mouths set into grim lines. And behind them, Kirara.

And across her back, was clearly a human, shrouded in canvas.

After she had told him to leave, he had never come back. He had written her letters, and she replied curtly, but he had never visited her again. Her children had begged for him to. Kohaku had pleaded as well, and Sesshoumaru had turned a blind eye to them all.

Because Rin was stubborn, and so was he.

And now she was dead.

Kohaku had never really been much of a tea drinker, so Sesshoumaru was surprised when the man had asked to share a cup. They had relocated to a Garden on the Western side of the palace, once this his father had kept.

One of the few things, that Sesshoumaru had kept as well.

"Why have you brought her here?" he asked the boy.

Except that Kohaku wasn't a boy anymore. He was an old man now, and despite his spryness, he was withered and wrinkled, his hair gleaming silver in the moonlight. Sesshoumaru wondered if this is how Rin had looked, the night she passed.

"She never actually requested it, but I know that she would want to be put to rest here."

"But your village-"

"You and I both know, Sesshoumaru-sama, that her home wasn't the village. Her home was always with you."

"You were her husband," Sesshoumaru said quietly.

"Yes."

"You loved her."

"Of course."

"And she loved you."

That time, Kohaku hesitated, his hands tightening around his cup. He took a drink and sighed. "Yes, she did," he finally said. "But not like she loved you."

They weren't words that he wanted to hear. They were the kinds of things that his father would have told him, not the husband of his dead-

His dead what? Ward? Daughter? Rin was both of those things, and at the same time, neither of those things. There wasn't a word that could describe what she was, to him.

And yet, Kohaku seemed to have known. He probably had for a long time.

"I married her, knowing that I would never be you," he said, confirming it. "And we were happy. She was sunshine and rainbows. And every day, she looked at me with warmth and contentment. But it wasn't the same. Her smile never reached her eyes, and it only did, when you were there."

"Such nonsense," Sesshoumaru said.

But Kohaku only laughed. "You were the first to know, whenever she was with child. She let you see them first, and honestly, I didn't really care. And even in the end, it was you that she asked for."

That startled him. But, he still wouldn't have come.

"And so," Kohaku said, "she belongs here. I know that it was hard for you to let her go."

Familiar words, Sesshoumaru thought. The boy had said them to him, decades ago, on the night that Hiro had been born. He must have known, even then. And instead of hating him, he had called upon him, knowing that Rin would want him to see their son.

His father had teased Sesshoumaru about being one of the good ones, but he wasn't. He was spiteful, and hateful, and the moment that he had felt such emotion, he had thrown her away. Kohaku was the good one, the man with honor. The man who had remained by her side.

Kohaku had every reason in the world to spit in his face, and instead, he had brought her back to him.

"How is it that youkai tend to their dead?" Kohaku asked.

"It depends, but for daiyouki, we burn them."

The boy considered this for a long moment, with a hum. "A fitting end, I would think. Rin was always a girl of passion. A woman of fire." And then he paused. "I fear that I will follow soon," he said quietly. "My bones hurt and even though I seem fine, my heart is tired."

"I will allow you to be put to rest here," Sesshoumaru said immediately.

At that, Kohaku looked to him, a smile easing across his lips. "That wasn't what I was going to ask but… thank you."

"Then what is it that you ask of me?"

"Find her again, and when you do, don't let her go."

It was like the boy was channeling his late father. And Sesshoumaru knew that he should have been reverent in this situation, but there was a sour taste in his mouth instead. Perhaps the tea had gone bad. "Rin is gone," he said.

"And the world is a dimmer place," Kohaku said, raising his cup of tea.

Sesshoumaru regarded it for a moment, and then lifted his cup, clinking them together.

She deserved better.

They didn't hold a funeral.

Hiro helped him build a pyre, while Kohaku sat to the side and watched. Jaken cried profusely, tears streaming down his face, as he lamented about the stupid girl and her humanity. There might have been words about how cruel the Kami-sama were.

Hana and the twins showed up later that day, Kirara bearing their weight effortlessly as she landed with grace. Hana hugged him tightly, whispering her apologies, and for once, he returned the gesture. Had everyone known?

The answer was clear, when they handed him the torch. And suddenly, he wasn't sure that he could do this. He hadn't looked at her yet, and when he stepped before her, he still didn't want to. He didn't want to set her alight, he didn't want her to pass onto the next life.

He didn't want that responsibility.

Finally he looked. And she looked like she was sleeping. Weathered and old, but still beautiful, her hair carefully coiled into a braid across her shoulder. She wore a plain yukata, something comfortable. She had never been one for being fancy.

And for the first time in his life, he felt stupid. Childish, self-centered and so very stupid.

He tipped the torch over her, and the brush caught.

It took longer than he would have thought, for her body to burn entirely.

He didn't leave though, standing there the entire time.

He had thought about keeping her ashes.

But then he remembered something else his father had told him.

"The good thing about the Kami-sama is that they know love when they see it. Why else do we get second chances? If we don't get our happy ending, then we surely will be reborn."

So there he stood, on a high peak that overlooked the Western lands. There was a cave not far, and Rin had loved to camp there as a child.

He wasn't a good man.

He was old and bitter, and very stupid.

But she had loved him.

And he had loved her.

He tipped over the bag in his hands, and her ashes fell. The wind that caught them carried over the Western Plains.

Find her again, and when you do, don't let her go.

He wondered how long he would have to wait.

A/N: This will have a happy ending, I promise.

I can't promise that it will be smooth sailing ahead.

I maintain that a person can love two people at the same time, wholeheartedly.