Author's note: The final chapter. Are you ready? I'm not.

08: A Heart Can Cry But Shed No Tears.

Mrs. Higurashi received her son-in-law with delight and warmth, not even batting an eyelid at the sight of his pointed ears and bold markings; Kagome had requested that he dropped his concealing illusion in her mother's presence. While Kagome changed out of her uniform, she laid out tea and sweetmeats, engaging him in polite conversation.

When Sesshoumaru was ready to leave, she excused herself and took Kagome with her upstairs. In the relative privacy of the hallway between the bedrooms, she looked Kagome straight in the eyes and suggested sweetly that she pack a bag and spend the weekend with Sesshoumaru.

"But… but, Mama…" Kagome protested feebly, despite the fact the she so badly wanted to.

"He's waited long enough, Kagome-chan," her mother smiled teasingly, reaching out to tuck a lock of hair behind her daughter's ear. "And I'm sure you've waited long enough too…"

Kagome had never packed with such alacrity before.

Sesshoumaru arched a questioning eyebrow when mother and daughter descended the stairs, noting with some curiosity the overnight bag Kagome was clutching. Mrs. Higurashi ushered them to the door with a pleasant smile, kissed Kagome on the cheeks and wished them a good weekend.

Outside, on the porch, the former miko and daiyoukai exchanged a long look with one another.

"Mama suggested that I spend the weekend with you," Kagome said at last, her voice soft and her cheeks pink. Sesshoumaru said nothing in reply. He took the bag from her hands and draped an arm around her shoulder, guiding her off the porch, feeling thoroughly appreciative of Mrs. Higurashi's astute nature.

"Sesshoumaru-sama," the titian-haired kitsune cried in horror. "You cannot ask me to do that!"

"I am not asking. I am commanding you." Sesshoumaru's eyes first lingered on a framed photograph of a smiling Kagome that sat on a table, then his gaze moved to caress the tablet with her posthumous name that stood on the altar. "I have lived long enough." I am weary.

For appearance's sake, Kagome and Sesshoumaru waited a year after her admission into university before going through the wedding rites again for the benefit of her friends and family. It was a small, intimate affair and he was glad for that. She wanted no fancy honeymoon destination, and so during term break, he took her to the quiet house – their first home - in the mountains, five hundred years older and still standing, with discreetly added human comforts. Thereafter, they would spend most of her holidays there.

They were as contented and as happy as they could be together. The only darkness in their lives were the fact that there could not be any children, as they found out the hard way. At the end of the first trimester of her first and last pregnancy, as her the strength of her baby's youki grew, Kagome's body reacted to its presence as it would to a malevolent entity; her powers flared out of control and purified the youki of the child. The baby did not survive. If Sesshoumaru was disappointed and saddened, he did not mention it, but deep in his mind, he held a wistful memory – of Rin's baby kicking against his hand – and he had wanted so badly to experience that for himself with Kagome…

They had but a little over fifteen years together, until human folly took her life away. She had just hung up after talking to Sesshoumaru who was away abroad. She was on the way home from grocery shopping when he called. But she never made it back. An irresponsible reveller who had too much to drink too early in the winter evening and no sense to call a taxi had ploughed with considerable speed onto the pavement, injuring a few pedestrians and killing two – Kagome, and the domestic help she took with her for company.

Within the hour after he had bid his wife goodbye, Sesshoumaru's phone rang again. This time, it was a weeping Souta, disclosing the awful news to a disbelieving daiyoukai. Sesshoumaru was a few thousand kilometres and several time-zones too far to be of any help, and laws that governed travel had kept him from transforming and flying home in the biting wind that assailed countries above certain latitudes at that time of the year. Even if he could pull off such a feat, it would take him more than a day to arrive; Tenseiga would be useless then.

Impotent, he roared his rage and grief in the lonely hotel suite.

During Obon, a year after Kagome's passing, when the last obligatory rites have been completed, Shippou found himself standing behind the kneeling youkai lord in the main room of the mountainside house. Wielding a wickedly sharp katana, the kitsune stared down at the silver head, swallowing convulsively and intensely hating what he was commanded to do.

Sesshoumaru gathered his now long hair in one hand and sliced it short with his claws. He let the silky tresses fall haphazardly about him. With ritualistic slowness, he slid the layers of the white kimono off his right shoulder and pulled his arm free, baring the right side of his body before pushing the left lapel aside to expose his chest.

He dressed himself like he would a corpse, thought Shippou with morbid despair.

Picking up the short sword, Sesshoumaru positioned it over his heart and, without flinching, pushed the blade into his chest. Shippou felt his skin crawl at the sight of the blade bursting through Sesshoumaru's back, but he lifted his katana in readiness all the same, jaws clenched against the hot tears burning painfully in his throat. Twelve inches of gleaming steel protruding from the pale flesh looked so wrong, wrong, wrong… yet he was compelled to honour Sesshoumaru's devotion to Kagome. He would dignify the youkai lord's act with his own obedience, no matter how reluctant.

"Now." I'll see you soon, Kagome.

Spine straight and chin held high, the youkai lord gave his final command softly and calmly, even as his blood flowed, even as his torn heart and flesh sought to repair themselves. Sesshoumaru quelled his energy, stopping the regeneration of his body. But to Shippou, the determined and unwavering tone resonated like a desperate scream.

Shippou swung the katana down hard and closed his eyes at the sickening thud he heard. Sesshoumaru's body remained upright for a second before pitching sideways slowly, his dead hand still clutching the hilt of the wakizashi buried in his heart. Shippou dropped the sword with a clatter and caught the falling corpse, gently depositing it onto the floor. The kitsune was weeping openly now.

Moments passed before he could bring himself to pick up the head to lay it close to the body. When he did, he saw that Sesshoumaru's eyes were half-mast and the tiniest smile curved his lips, as if he was seeing something that pleased him. Then with a heart both heavy and light, Shippou exited the house. He stood in the garden and summoned his foxfire, turning the house into Sesshoumaru's funeral pyre, one that burned with eerie blue flames, one that burned with artic chill instead of searing heat. For an hour the fire raged without smoke as Shippou watched. When it died down, nothing was left but mounds of ashes, to be scattered by the cool night wind.

A year later, developers bought the land and built a boutique hotel, incorporating the existence of the nearby natural hot springs into its attractions. It became a rather popular vacation destination due to the nature of its tranquil surroundings.

And because it was rumoured to be haunted by a pair of supposed suicide lovers from centuries ago.

Some guests told stories of ghostly sightings, of a petite dark-haired woman and a tall ethereal man - if it could be called a man – with long, white hair, looking as if he had stepped out of a kabuki play. The unusual otherwordly twosome always appeared together, dressed in traditional attire, as wraiths were wont to do. The guests who had caught the privileged glimpse of the duo often remarked on the unusual red hue of the phantom bride's uchikake, and how strikingly beautiful they looked together.

Maiden, maiden tell me true,
What can grow without the dew?
What can burn for years and years?
What can cry, but shed no tears?

Foolish lad, the answer true,
A stone can grow without the dew.
Love can burn for years and years.
A heart can cry, but shed no tears.

- Tumbalalaika, translated

Last words: What Sesshoumaru did to terminate himself may seem like seppuku/harkiri, but this is not it. In ritual suicide to avoid dishonour, a samurai would cut his stomach – a fatal and painful wound – and a chosen second would cut through the neck, leaving a little skin behind so that the head would not fly off. Total decapitation would imply that the second is an unskilled swordsman. In no way am I belittling the ritualistic act that is the key to the way of the samurai by having Sesshoumaru emulate it closely because he can't go on alone. It's just that Sesshoumaru is a daiyoukai, and one has to go all out to kill a creature with regenerative abilities, no? So instead of a dagger to slice open the stomach, I gave him a short sword to pierce his heart. I don't think a tanto would do much to him. And I'm truly sorry that his head had to be totally removed from his body. Not pretty at all.

If you have been following this fic since the first chapter was posted, I recommend you read it the second time. The story flows better now that all the chapters are up. Thank you for your time and support.