WARNING: This chapter contains implied sexual content. If you are under the age of 18 or sensitive to the subject in question, please read no further. If you are of age and wish to see the uncensored version of this chapter, a link will be provided in my profile.

Autumn

Five long years had gone by. The youkai and the old man had lived in peaceful silence. They had come to enjoy each other's company quite a bit, though neither spoke very often. Quiet companionship served them both better. But over those years, the old man had become gradually frailer. The frequent cough that had bothered him five years previous had gotten much, much worse. When blood showed up in his sputum, he knew he hadn't a long time to live. He had hidden it from the youkai for as long as he could, but inevitably he found out. His apprentice confined him to his bed, not that he was able to do much anyway. He was glad for the rest.

The youkai was very attentive. Mushin could tell he was worried, terrified even. His apprentice had made great strides. He came here with nothing and would leave with so much more, Mushin knew this. But on his death bed, he realized he had made a grave error. This young man had come to this mountain to heal himself, and he had done just that, but foolish old man that he was, he had forgotten the depth of a youkai's loyalty to those that help them. He had taken advantage of it; pronounced the boy his apprentice, when he should have sent him back into the world. The old man cursed himself. He had been glad of the young man's company in his waning years, without seeing that this was no life for a youkai of his strength. Selfish, arrogant old fool!

Grabbing the youkai's work weathered hand with his own, he rasped, "Why are you here, youkai?"

For a moment, Sesshoumaru thought the old man might be in some sort of delusional state. "What do you mean by that?"

"Our journey together will end soon... you've found that which you've sought."

"Yes, and...?"

"This is not your place anymore!" The youkai opened his mouth to explain why this wasn't true, but the man silenced him with a hand squeeze. "You were not meant to stand still. You belong to the world. Once I pass, you must go back. It is the final step."

"But..."

"This life is not for you," the old man whispered, his words drowned out by a violent coughing fit that brought up a large amount of blood.

It was then the youkai had realized the seriousness of the old man's condition. He had been lead to believe it was only a nasty cold...

Against his wishes, the youkai found and brought a doctor to the mountain. This doctor had wanted to take the old man back to Teshikaga-chō for tests, but he had refused. Without any other recourse, the doctor could only guess by the old man's superficial symptoms. He was weak, easily fatigued and had lost a great amount of weight, not to mention the cough.

"Lung cancer, probably stage four," the doctor said; the clinical indifference in his voice bothered the youkai though he said nothing. "Untreatable. The only thing we'd be able to do would be to make him more comfortable."

And again, the old man refused. He was comfortable here. He had lived his life here. He would die right here. Three days later, he did just that-- his youkai companion by his side right to the end.

The youkai had never cried in his long, long life, and as he closed the old man's eyes, dead and blind to the world, he silently wished he could. Hand resting on the old man's bald head, he looked out the open door. The skies cried for him. Rain poured down from the heavens, clear and cold. It was September. The leaves had begun to fall. Sesshoumaru had never felt so empty.

Five days later came the old man's funeral. The entire village had shown up for it. In life, he had thought he had been forgotten, but he hadn't. Many owed their lives and the lives of their children and grand-children to him. He was given a king's send off. The youkai stuck to the periphery. Once the crowds cleared, he paid his respects and took the old man's ashes back to the mountain. He scattered them on the peak. When he came down, he went about the business of living, taking over the hermitage in the Mushin's place and forgetting the careful words of a dying old man.

Two weeks passed and he had settled into his routines once more, though they still felt strange without the old man, they were comfortable. They were his. Then she showed up one morning on his front stoop, with a young girl no more than five or six clutching onto her leg. He had never thought he'd see her again. The dog barked wildly, trotting around his legs excitedly, waiting for his master to direct him.

"Quiet, Koma." And the dog fell silent almost instantly.

She looked tired – like he had when he'd first come here.

He rose slowly, looking her up and down. Long minutes passed when they did nothing more than stare at one another. Both had changed so much and yet so little. Her eyes strayed to his bald head and the striking lack of his youkai markings, to his ears which looked so human. The only thing that indicated his heritage was his eyes which were still a bright, shining gold. He wore a concealing spell, something she recalled he had never done. He had always been so proud of what he was.

"You cut your hair."

He nodded, smoothing a clawless hand over his head. "So did you."

She fingered the short bob self-consciously. "Yes, I did."

"Please, come inside."

Seconds later they found themselves in the small common room of the hermitage, sitting across from each other, staring. Neither of them could find the words they longed to say. It was Sesshoumaru, finally, who bridged the distance.

"How did you find me?" he asked, honestly curious.

"Your brother."

"Ah, why are you here?"

"I didn't know where else to go." And then she began to cry.

With great reservation, he stood and placed a hand on her head. "Then you may stay here. Take the second room, over there."

She nodded, her entire body trembling. "Thank you."

Over the next few days he found out what had driven her here. The young human man whom she'd fallen in love with and married had been murdered. Before they had met, her young man hadn't been a moral, upstanding citizen. He was a yakuza assassin, and assassins, naturally, had many enemies and though he'd given up that life, he couldn't leave it behind entirely. Someone from his past had found him, and exacted revenge for a slight her young man had long forgotten. Fearing for her own life and the life of her child, she had fled.

"What will you do?" he asked her over breakfast one morning.

She had recovered some and could talk about it now without crying. "I'll go back eventually, once Miroku says it's safe."

"Hn." And he left it at that.

The next few weeks a new routine was born. He still went about many of his old ones, but she pitched in, cooking and cleaning while he went out into the forest. She'd sweep the worn boardwalk, curiously examining the age faded characters covering the ancient wood. Kagome recognized the prayer. Stooping low, her fingers traced the carvings and she wondered who had put them there. The color had been worn away by time and weather somewhat, but it was still bright, though no longer new. It had been carved and painted recently.

"Sesshoumaru," she murmured breathily.

He returned, as if conjured, with his dog and her daughter trailing behind him giddily. She still couldn't get used to seeing him without any hair. It was so strange. They glanced at each other briefly before breaking contact, and going about their respective chores without saying a thing.

The next day, he awoke early, as he always did. He began his morning ablutions, starting with braiding his newly grown hair. Being a youkai as powerful as he, even the old holy relic the old man had given him couldn't hold his strength at bay entirely. While awake, he could suppress it, but when he slept it leaked around the edges. Every morning he would shave his hair off, and every night it would re-grow to its original length. Cutting it off had become something of a ritual meditation for him, still evoking a sense of leaving everything behind. It was important, now more than ever.

Just as he finished the braid and prepared to cut it, he felt a tug on his sleeve. Turning, he met the gaze of Kagome's daughter, Rin.

"What are you doing, houshi-sama?"

"Cutting my hair."

The girl's head tilted to the side, doing the mental math. "You didn't have any yesterday," she commented, reaching out boldly to touch the braid with her hand. It was very soft.

"My hair grows fast."

"Yes, it does," she agreed, with a little nod. "Momma said you were youkai."

"I am."

"I didn't know youkai could be monks."

"Neither did I."

"I don't think you should cut it."

"Why?"

She shrugged and said, "what's the point, when it grows back so fast. 'Sides, it's pretty." A second or two of silence passed. "Want me to brush it for you?"

He didn't know what possessed him to put the knife down and pull out the braid. Perhaps it was the simple way the child had worded the request. Perhaps it was something else. One way or the other, he had indulged the girl, handing her his brush and turning away. Shortly thereafter, he felt her small hands comb through his hair before gently dragging the brush over it. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, nor did he notice when Kagome woke up to find her daughter brushing his hair.

In the end, it did not matter. From that day forward, he no longer cut his hair. He would wake and wait for the little girl to join him. She would brush and braid his hair, and after it was done, the day would begin.

More time passed, and only a few leaves remained on the trees. The air was crisp and cold. He guessed that it might snow soon. It always came early in Hokkaidō. He had become closer with Kagome and her little girl. It felt strange, but somehow right. Looking over the nearly bare trees, he thought that it might be the last step needed to find what he was looking for, though he had to be careful. Living with Kagome again brought up old feelings, ones that were so very hard to suppress. She felt it too. He could see it in her eyes – they spoke so much louder than words. The old man had often said as much. In the dull autumn light, he could hear her stir, stretching her sleepy limbs awake as she exited her room. Their eyes met, glowing with unspoken emotion. She had always looked her most beautiful first thing in the morning.

"Ohayō," she said, smiling sweetly.

Neither of them looked away. Hearts hammering in their chests as the air around them became electric.

"Ohayō," he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small half-smile.

And the day went forward in the same fashion as it had for the last two months; no change in routine but for the newly acknowledged tension between them. This day would be different from all others; they both knew it intuitively -- sleeves touching, fingers fluttering over flesh when a cup was passed from his hand to hers.

He resisted the feeling as much as he could.

They retired to their separate rooms that night. He sunk to his futon in relief, glad that he hadn't lost his resolve until he heard a soft click and a hiss as the shoji was opened. Another hiss, another click and it was closed. The room was nearly pitch-black, though he could see her perfectly well. She wore nothing but a thin cotton shift, what little light was in the room shone through the fabric so that her lithe figure was silhouetted underneath. How many times had he traced those curves with his own two hands...? His fingers twitched as he tried, and failed, to master himself.

She let out a shaky breath, and before she lost her nerve, she pulled the shift over her head and held it with nerveless fingers before dropping it to the floor, standing naked before him. Blood rushed through his veins, and he could hear every heartbeat, though he wasn't sure if it was his or hers. Swallowing, he sat up, coverlet falling to reveal his bare chest. His eyes traced her body, ending at her feet. She'd always had lovely feet. He watched her set one foot in front of the other, each placed so carefully – like a dancer – until she reached the side of the futon. She bent down and flipped back the coverlet, crawling in next to him.

Lifting her hand, she looked into his eyes hesitantly. Their bodies were so close, the warmth from them radiating ever outwards, their breaths harsh, panting. Rolling her lower lip over her teeth, she inhaled and placed her hand on his chest. After a moment, she could feel his heartbeat, strong and wild. She pressed her hand into his flesh more firmly, feeling the skin underneath. It was thicker than normal, smooth and yet oddly puckered, like a... Her eyes widened, fingers splaying across the scar.

In all the years she'd known him, the few times he'd ever injured himself, he'd always healed over within minutes. Scars and Sesshoumaru had never been acquainted. How had this... where did he... what could have... but the answer was simple and staring her right in the face. She looked into his eyes, pleading with him without words to tell her it wasn't true. That he hadn't done what she thought he'd done. He looked down and then away, ashamed.

Kagome did not pity him. She was proud. He had survived to become so much more than he was before. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to the scar. He stiffened, staring down at the crown of her head. She had always been so bold. It had been one of the things that had drawn him to her. Sensing his gaze, she met it, eyes peeking out from behind her bangs. Her smile turned impish as she pulled back and allowed her hands to explore. Fingers traced his collar bone. She drew them up along his neck, leaving a tingling trail of sensation behind. Her thumb briefly caressed his jaw line before her hand came to rest at mid-shoulder. She leaned in, inhaling his scent before kissing his neck lightly. He shuddered. Her lips, warm and wet, laved his skin. Another shudder and he leaned in. Gods above, she smelled so good.

"Stop," he breathed. She didn't. His hands found her shoulders, and with great gentleness, he held her back. "We can't."

She reached up, placing her hands over his. "Can't or won't?"

"Shouldn't. Your daug--" She leaned in and drew his ear lobe into her mouth, sucking on it sensually before letting it go with an audible pop. He moaned.

"Asleep."

"This is wrong." His hands kneaded her shoulders, positively aching to feel her.

She paused, drawing back to look him in the eye. Her lips trembled as she gazed at him, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. She knew. And she didn't care. She needed this. Her hand found his cheek, gently brushing the area where his markings would be. "Your spell, take it off." His eyebrows twitched as if to ask 'why'. "I want to see you. The real you." When he didn't answer, she became frustrated. In desperation, she whispered, "please."

There was a pregnant pause as they pulled away, their gazes shifting to his left arm and the beads wrapped around his wrist. He had worn those beads so long that he couldn't even imagine what it would be like without them, so he hesitated. Lifting his hand, he examined it thoughtfully, touching them with his other hand. His indecision was too much for her to bear. She took his hand, looked him in the eye, and unwound the sacred beads, throwing them across the room. They hit the floor noisily.

In a rush, his power was freed, his aura filling the room instantly like a gust of wind. Kagome watched his markings return with a small, sad smile. "Hello there," she said, a tear slipping from the side of her eye. She wiped it away quickly, intent on exploring his face with her fingertips until she was satisfied.

Her fingers then found his hair, brushing through it carefully. She leaned it and kissed him on the lips. He didn't return it at first, but Kagome had always been stubborn. She kept at it until he did. But he was still so hesitant. The kiss built upon itself. Their lips meeting and parting, meeting and parting, again and again -- the hesitation melted, becoming heated ardor as their hands joined in. Like great explorers, they roved the land. Each bit of skin they touched was an undiscovered country newly found, warm and inviting. They moved closer, everything in slow motion as their bodies touched and then pressed together. She fumbled with his pants. His hips lifted and they were shaken off, thrown into a corner of the room. The coverlet was kicked away as they fell onto the futon, moving with quick urgency as they pleasured each other.

It was quiet, but for the small gasps and moans falling from lover's lips.

Panting heavily, he hovered above her, his sweat-soaked forehead to hers. Their eyes opened simultaneously. There was no one else in the world but them at that moment. Her eyes were still glazed, her cheeks flush and lips swollen. She smiled at him, and it was heartbreakingly beautiful. He had never loved her more.

They rested, curling into a close embrace before beginning again, making love long into the night; only stopping when they were too tired to go on. Sleep claimed her first. She was only human and lacked his stamina. He watched her for awhile before joining her, his arms locked around her waist as if trying to prevent her from escaping.

In those last, quiet moments before he fell asleep, he whispered into her hair, "I love you."

Morning came faster than he liked. His body woke him at the same time like clockwork. Cool November light filtered through the hermitage's high rectangular windows. Eyes opening slowly, he sighed and gazed down at his ex-wife's sleeping face. What had happened last night, he had no illusions that it would last. It wasn't an act of love but desire (on her part, anyway). None-the-less, he was thankful for one more day with her. And it would be only a day, maybe less.

He hadn't used his youkai senses in five years, but he could feel the distant pull of an unfamiliar aura. He gently pried himself away from her grip, replacing the coverlet so that she'd stay warm. Giving her one last lingering look, he turned and dressed quickly, exiting the room as quietly as possible. He had a feeling she would need the rest.

Sesshoumaru stepped into the morning light, calmly sitting down on the boardwalk in front of the hermitage to wait for their visitor. He closed his eyes and meditated. The stairs that led to his home could be something of a chore to ascend for those not used to it. Brighter and brighter the presence got, and once it was close enough, he opened his eyes and stood up, hands clasped behind his back.

He recognized the face of the man that stood before him. He had seen him only once before. It was one of her new friends. He couldn't quite remember the name, however; he thought it might have started with an 'M'. His visitor hadn't been expecting to see him, he was sure. The man froze in place at the top of the stairs, staring at him like he would a dangerous viper that was ready to strike. Sesshoumaru couldn't help but be a bit amused by it all.

"So, you've come for her, then?" The man nodded mutely, lips drawn tight. "Wait here, she'll be with you shortly." And with that, he went inside and woke her up.

He didn't waste much time with small talk as she dressed, though he could tell that she wanted to say something. A conversation about last night was unnecessary. He conveyed it all with a sad, wistful smile which she returned. She was ready seconds later, greeting her friend with a wide grin, so different from the expression she'd just given to him.

Sesshoumaru stepped back, offering them the use of his home. He did not follow them back inside. Instead, he wandered into the forest, though he had no true purpose for doing so. Glancing at the peak far above him, he decided a climb would do him good. It didn't take so long now that he had his youkai strength back, but the exertion did make him feel better. Once he'd reached the summit, he took a moment to gaze at the valley below him, his hand setting on the stone Buddha's head. With a deep breath, he sat down and cleared his mind, resuming his meditation.

He stayed on the mountain for the better part of the day, returning just as the sun went down. The lights from the hermitage were warm and welcoming, yet he was reluctant to enter. He could hear the sounds of laughter, conversation that he knew would stop once he came in. The door opened suddenly, and she was there, a look of deep concern on her face.

"You're late." From the tone of her voice, he could tell she was angry.

"Is everything well?"

She didn't know how to answer that, so she pretended he hadn't asked. "Where were you?"

"Meditating."

"All day?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes," he answered simply. "You didn't answer my question. Is everything well?"

She wanted to rail at him, demand why he had left like that but her tirade died on her lips and what came out was a resigned sigh. "Everything is fine."

"You'll be leaving soon." It was not a question, but a stated fact -- the 'when' was implied.

"Yes, tomorrow."

So soon... He broke eye contact. "Tell your friend he may have my room."

"What?! But where will you--"

He held up a hand, and it silenced her. "I am youkai. The forest is as home to me as anyplace else." And before she could object, he melted back into the darkness.

The next morning, he returned, waiting patiently for the humans to wake. It didn't take long. Sesshoumaru had never cared for long goodbyes. It seemed neither of the adult humans did either. Rin caused a bit of a fuss, she had come to like her Sesshoumaru-sama very much. He quieted her objections with a present -- the unfinished dog netsuke which his master had been carving before he'd passed away. It mollified the girl long enough for her mother to pick her up and pass her to her friend. She grabbed his hand and squeezed, resisting the urge to give him a peck on the cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Any time." He squeezed back.

They smiled at each other. He could see the tears in her eyes, and he shook his head. She needn't waste anymore on him, but they came all the same. He wiped one away with the pad of his thumb, and she couldn't resist any longer. She kissed him, putting every last emotion into it to let him know that she hadn't forgotten and even though they could never be together like they once were, she would always remember. And then she pulled back. Her hands slipped from his fingers and she walked away, not looking back even once. But the little girl did. She waved at him as they descended the stairs. He waved back, didn't stop until he knew that it was too far for her to see. It wasn't too far for him. He watched them as they left the stairs, and boarded the old boat that took them to the village. He watched until they became small dots on the horizon, and then he turned away.

Sesshoumaru didn't notice until much later that night that the sacred beads he'd used to conceal himself were gone. She had taken them with her. Absently petting Koma, he smiled softly. Yes, he was quite glad he'd had one more day.