Time

Sesshomaru has neither the time nor the patience to hate many things. He has dislikes, and things that irritate him, but he can only think of one thing he truly hates – time.

Time does not give, it merely takes, and it has taken much from him – his parents, his first wife, the little human girl he loved and raised as a daughter.

There are some who would argue you that time has given him things, great gifts – after all, if not for time, he would never have met that little girl, or the untamed and complicated woman who became his second wife.

But they are false gifts, and time always takes back what it gives.

And now it will take his wife.

They've had many years together – he doesn't know how many. He could, if he thought about it long enough; but it doesn't matter. Because the time of this world is ending, but hers will end first.

She hasn't truly aged; her hair has gone entirely silver, but her face is still mostly unlined. It is only in her eyes that one can see the age that has worn her spirit, her life, away. She seems smaller, somehow, less vibrant, more fragile.

He still has the lands he has held onto for so many years, and he has fought for them. He no longer truly cares – he has given up on the humans, and even on their own kind – but he holds them for her, so that she has a home, a place that she can call her own.

"I'm tired," she says, sitting at the base of her favorite tree in the garden. "I think it's almost over."

He looks at her, says nothing, but already he can feel the beginnings of the grief that losing her will bring.

She reaches out, smiles, touches his face. "I worry about you," she murmurs. "Sounds arrogant, doesn't it? But I do."

So does he. But he remains silent, takes her hand, pressing a kiss to the palm.

She cradles his face in her hands, presses her lips to his. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

"It is all right," he murmurs. "We will see each other again."

She smiles, even though there are tears in her eyes, and kisses him again. "Love me," she whispers. "Please."

He holds her to him, but gently, because she has become fragile, and he fears for hurting her. And when she sleeps, he lays awake, listening to the beating of her heart, hearing it slow almost imperceptibly.

He holds her and waits for the end, and he hates time.

--

She dies quietly, in her sleep, with no fuss. It is, he thinks, unlike her.

They bury her in the ancient tombs of his family, next to his parents and his brother and his human daughter. His children are by his side, and it hurts to look at them. She is in every part of them – Taisho has her face, Ichiro her eyes, their daughter her spirit.

He leaves as silently as he arrived, Jaken trailing behind him and sniffling. When his children go to find him, later, to offer him comfort in his grief, he and his retainer are nowhere to be found.

Ichiro and Yuki are confused, and lost. But Taisho understands.

"He is not coming back."

His brother and sister turn to look at him, eyes wide. "What do you mean, not coming back?" Yuki demands. "Of course he's coming back!"

Taisho shakes his head. "No. He trusts us to take care of ourselves and each other now. We are old enough. What reason does he have to stay?"

Ichiro nods. "You're not old enough to remember," he whispers. "Mother – she was what held him here. If not for her…he's gone back to the way it was before. He's wandering again."

"So we'll never see him again?" Yuki asks.

"If we need him, he will be here," Taisho says flatly. Of them all, he is the most like his father – perhaps that is why he understands. "And if we don't…then we will see them both when we die."

It is a cold comfort, but they both know what Taisho would say to that – better a cold comfort than none at all.

End