Disclaimer: No InuYasha pwnage for me.

Author's Note: You know, for many years I wasn't a big fan of SessxRin. I mean, I liked them well enough, but I wasn't fanatical about the coupling. Lately, however, I want nothing BUT SessxRin. Weird how my mind works, hm?

Anyway, if any of you happen to have read my Full Metal Panic fanfics, you'll recognize the setup of this story. Essentially, this is all happening at the same time—however, both the italics and the normal print tell different PoVs, or at least describe it in different ways. It actually makes more sense to read it than for me to explain it, but I just thought I'd give you a heads-up.

Also, I have not yet had the pleasure of seeing the episode where Rin asks Sesshomaru if he'll remember her after death, so please DO NOT SPOIL it for me or correct me too harshly. I realize the quote is probably off a bit, or at least not verbatim.

Regardless, please enjoy!

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Letting Go
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He would never forget the first time.

"Sesshomaru-sama…"

Once, long ago, he had supposed that he might— that the clarity of the occasion would fade into obscurity. Now, years later, he found that suggestion nearly laughable: the scent of blood as it clung to the wind, almost tangible on the tongue; the muggy forest air as it swirled around him, thick with the odor of wolf; the tiny, mangled body that lay in a limp heap at his feet, her face bloodied and bruised beyond recognition. No… Each moment, every tiny detail of that summer afternoon had been etched into Sesshomaru's memory with far more clarity than he would ever admit to.

Hesitant and uncharacteristically calm, Jaken flicked his eyes from Rin to his lord, fingering his double-headed staff in visible discomfort.

Even now, the very thought of it made him silently sick.

But though he waited—patiently, even— for acknowledgement, Sesshomaru did not reply to this verbal prod. Instead, the regal demon allowed his eyes to smooth over the body before him. Unmoving, head at a slight tilt, hands folded gently on her stomach… She had been carefully arranged amidst the creeping charlies and columbine, all to suggest that she was merely sleeping, rather than the less polite truth.

The next occurrence, five years later, was equally traumatic, if not more infuriating. For the second time had been the result of a plague—an illness that Sesshomaru, even with his great and fearsome power, did not have the ability to heal. Instead, he was helplessly forced to endure the progress of her suffering, following the course of the disease as if watching a show: her face as it became paler, waxy; the sobs and dry heaves that kept her awake all night; the mutilating boils that covered her porcelain skin with scars.

The irony did not escape him.

She passed with blood trickling from her eyes, oozing from her mouth. The entire Eastern lands knew his rage.

"Sesshomaru-sama," Jaken tried once more, a nervous edge to his voice, now. He pawed the ground a bit with his feet, unable to meet his lord's gaze. "I… I say this not to be impudent, and I pray, my lord, that you can forgive me this rudeness, but…"

Four years later, it happened once more: not the plague, this time, but hypothermia. Stiff, frozen, and glassy-eyed, she'd laid in his arms like a broken doll, her indigo skin caked with frost. It was enough to make him wonder if she'd ever been alive at all; the musing chilled him much more than the winds ever had.

"…but?"

After the incident was over, Sesshomaru swore never to take her to the North again.

The word was ice in the air. Jaken could not keep from cringing.

The fourth time, three years after that, was the result of childbirth. The fact that the babe did not survive was of no importance to Sesshomaru; it was a half-breed, anyway. He did wonder briefly if this would upset her when she 'awoke,' but if it did she made no mention of it. Rather, she lifted herself from the pools of blood and the gelatinous results of the afterbirth only to admit to having no recollection of being pregnant in the first place.

"But my lord," he squeaked, speaking in a rush now, "isn't this cruel?"

Five and six were from starvation. Sesshomaru had been foolish enough to leave his precious one in the hands of mortals during a long, dangerous, and ultimately pointless endeavor. Many heads rolled as a result, but even he had trouble finding her nourishment that autumn.

Silence.

It was that year that her doe-brown eyes began to dull. Just slightly, perhaps, but permanently.

It said more than words ever could.

Seven.

"Please," Jaken pressed bravely on, cowering in place but groveling all the while, "in your infinite wisdom, you must see what this is doing to her. This is ripping her soul to pieces! Soon, there will not be anything left."

Suicide.

"Surely you see how the life drains from her, even though you bring her back from the brink every time. Human souls and bodies are just are not made to withstand this much magic!"

"I… I just wanted to know, my lord," she'd murmured, voice wavering with fear as he loomed above her, seething with a rage that shook the earth and split the mountains. She'd flinched when he moved towards her, as if afraid he might hit her; he snatched the small dagger and crushed it to dust in his hand.

"My lord," he finished breathlessly, all but crying with fear as he choked on his whispers, "for Rin, I beseech you. They say that if you truly love someone, you'll let them go."

As he spun away, he pointedly ignored the deadened tones of her voice as she whispered:

"Please, my lord, I beg of you…"

"I just wanted… to know if I could die."

"Let her go."

Now this. Number eight, no more than six years later. It had been a quiet affair, unlike many previous passings: in the middle of riding Ah-Un, she had simply slouched to the side, eyes half-lidded. Her heart had given out.

The words reverberated through the small clearing, bouncing off the brush and resounding loudly in the inu-youkai's pointed ears. But whether or not he heard the plea was a different matter altogether; as always, neither emotions nor thoughts were betrayed by Sesshomaru's face.

And so here they stood, in the midst of a twilight evening, with the middle-aged woman lying before them on the thick carpet of grass. Her long silk hair was streaked with grey; her supple skin had loosened in recent years, collecting in bags and wrinkles under her empty eyes.

"My lord…?" Jaken prompted, voice quivering through the hush.

She was still beautiful.

He turned away…

And as Sesshomaru had stared down his nose at her, golden gaze cool and decidedly distant, he'd heard the familiar question drift through his head again—as it always did in such situations—, floating like a memory on the breeze:

…after grabbing the hilt of Tenseiga.

"Sesshomaru-sama… will you remember me after I die?"

"…clearly," Sesshomaru murmured, his words as impassive as Rin's glazed eyes—

It had been a question he didn't know how to answer…

"—I do not love her much at all."

As even then, he knew he'd never allow it to happen.

The sword came swinging down.

XXX