The frog grinned widely at Sanzo, its glazed eyes perfect circles of hand-painted porcelain. A film of light grey ash mapped a rough ellipse around its base, a few flecks spilling close to Sanzo's stack of papers. For the nth time that afternoon, Sanzo flicked a finished butt onto the pile already rising out of the frog's gaping mouth. He scowled at the tray; of all the gaudy pieces of ornamentation in Shangri-la, he had to currently hold the ugliest in his possession. But then, that was Hakkai's sense of humour for you when it came to birthday gifts. Over the months, Sanzo had tried throwing it out, but it always seemed to find its way back to his rooms as if it had a life of its own. He'd more or less given up now and conceded its place on his desk.

Chair creaking in a dismal tone, Sanzo leaned back and let out a bored breath, rolling his head on his shoulders to dispel the dull throb that'd formed at the back of his neck. He knew there were knots there, tucked beneath his skin, a reminder of just how long he'd been sitting down. Too fucking long.

Sadly, his break was only a brief respite. Willing himself to reach out and flip over a fresh parchment, Sanzo plucked his quill from its ink pot and once again bent to his task. If he didn't get moving he knew he'd be working well into dusk, which would mean a bitch of a headache and therefore no mind for the good sake he'd brought up from the village at the foot of the mountain.

Scratch-scratch-swish... scratch-scratch-swish...

Sanzo itched to shoot at something; signing documents for the Sanbutsushin was beyond tedious, especially considering no matter how many hours he put in his pile of paperwork never seemed to diminish. It had got to a point where he didn't so much read through them, but rather scan them at speed. Boredom was a wicked creature, seeping into the system and making a guy lax, but hell, there were only so many times he could write 'Genjyo Sanzo, 31st of China' before losing the will to live.

It was during one of his speedy scans that one particular letter caught his eye. Not the content, which he wasn't paying much attention to anyway, but the name addressed partway through.

Going back up to the top of the parchment, Sanzo checked the header. SPECIAL SUMMONS was printed in distinct black lettering, meticulously hand-written with not a drop of ink spilled or smudged. These types of documents were the official mission orders, direct from the top. Sanzo had received one years ago, shortly before the journey west.

Frowning, he began to re-read the paper carefully, his blood slowly running cold as he processed the words.

* * *

"I’ll try to be really quick." Hitching his satchel up on one shoulder, Goku stared at Sanzo unhappily. "Why’re they sending me? I wasn’t even allowed in the temple to ask 'em."

Shrugging, Sanzo held out a crisp envelope in which were sealed the details of Goku's mission. Since Goku wasn't permitted to enter the High Chamber, Sanzo had gone in his place to collect the instructions. When he'd got there, he'd been unsurprised to find that rather than relaying the details verbally, the Sanbutsushin had prepared another official letter. He didn't tell Goku that once the Sanbutsushins' minds were made up there was no reasoning with them, so he figured it wasn't worth wasting time discussing the whys and wherefores of their movements.

Gingerly taking the envelope from him, Goku's thumb brushed Sanzo's forefinger, his skin distinctly roughened from many months' worth of carving. Sanzo supposed Goku's latest projects would just be put on hiatus, unless he'd found the time to complete his current commissions the previous night.

Goku looked down at the letter with a strangely blank expression. "Should I open it now?"

"Do what you like." Sanzo couldn't deny his curiosity was piqued, but part of him decidedly did not want to know what was contained in the mission statement. It wasn't his business anyway, so he didn't push the matter.

"Think I'll wait 'til I've left Keiun." Goku didn't move, the envelope pinched cautiously between his fingers as if it were a fragile piece of sugar paper that would fly apart at any moment. Sanzo couldn't decide whether Goku was being so careful with it because it held directions he would need to remember, or whether he treated it with such reverence because he had been entrusted with something obviously important. A bit of both, probably.

After a minute, Goku finally pushed the envelope into his jeans' pocket.

Afternoon was smoothly dipping into evening, the sun wide and round like a gold coin, ambling below the skyline in the distance. Countless birds circled the temple, cawing eagerly their shrill song as they swooped to pick at the scraps the kitchen staff threw out after mealtimes.

The steps that led from Keiun partway down the mountain were roughly hewn straight out of the rock, evidence of many hours of manpower and pickaxes worn to the nubs. Standing on the topmost step with Goku by his side, Sanzo folded his arms over his chest, his fingers itching to hold a cigarette, his mouth craving to draw in a deep lungful of smoke. As far as he knew, he'd left his Marlboros in his office, which was bloody unhelpful but there was sod-all he could do about it now.

A sudden breeze picked up and a handful of leaves were tugged from the peach trees behind Goku – the very ones he used to climb and raid when he'd first arrived, much to the other monks' vexation. The leaves spiralled like miniature propellers on the air, a few catching on Goku's denim jacket and one planting itself in his hair.

Sanzo stared at the flash of fresh green against earthy brown, but Goku didn't seem to be aware of it; his eyes were large and sad, his gaze now settled on Sanzo's face again. There was a slight crease between his eyebrows and if it'd been any other day, any other occasion, Sanzo would've told him not to sulk.

"Will it be dangerous?" It came out uncharacteristically small and Goku blinked, quickly clearing his throat.

Probably, Sanzo couldn't say. He couldn't find his voice to say much at all right then. Strange, that.

The silence that landed was backed by a charged tension Sanzo couldn't place. Below that, he was aware of things unspoken twirling in the air around them like peach tree leaves, but he was damned if he was going to draw on any of them and speak. There was nothing to say, no words of wisdom to impart, no guidance to offer, and Sanzo was sure Goku knew it too - the three year journey west had been testament enough to the fact that you had to take what was thrown at you and just deal with it.

Reluctance was evident in the tight set of Goku's shoulders and the pinch of his mouth, a silent nervousness readable in the depths of his dark-gold eyes. The big difference now compared to India was that Goku would go it alone – whatever 'it' was. All Sanzo could think was how fucking quiet the place would be when he was gone.

"Sanzo..."

The unnameable tension was starting to smother, starting to sting at the back of Sanzo's neck and prickle down over his shoulders. Perhaps it was a burst of insanity, or maybe he should've laid off the coffee after his fourth cup earlier that afternoon – whatever it was, Sanzo saw himself reaching out as if from afar, felt himself fold beneath the compulsion to wrap his fingers in the collar of Goku's jacket.

With a rough, unceremonious jerk, Sanzo pulled Goku to him.

At the back of his mind, Sanzo knew his rush of impulse would come back to bite him in the ass, would nag at him for days to come. Though, at that moment he was aware of one truth at the forefront, one screaming truth of the situation: that even as he clenched his arms hard around Goku, it was time to let go.

* * *

Signing documents for the Sanbutsushin was still fucking tedious, only now there was an edge of stark, thundering silence following Sanzo in his every day life. Where there was once the sound of footsteps padding around in the room adjoining his office, there was now an oddly audible emptiness to his quarters. Where the sweet overlay of incense used to permeate the air, now a stoic dusty calm had settled. The distinct lack of another's immediate presence was unbalancing, no matter how Sanzo looked at it, though he supposed spending years on the road in close proximity to other people had spoiled him in that regard.

"Sanzo, I made ya some coffee. You got much left to do here? Man, that looks boring as hell!"

Bo Hing, a young, eager monk who was relatively new to Keiun had been appointed to Sanzo in Goku's stead. The first few days, he frequented Sanzo's office, but his coffee making skills left a lot to be desired and in the end Sanzo told him he'd do it himself.

There was something in Bo Hing's wide-eyed, enthusiastic manner that reminded Sanzo of the old Goku – the pre-journey one who'd followed him down from Gogyouzan. The striking contrast with Bo Hing, though, was that unlike the monkey he didn't test Sanzo's patience, instead carrying out whatever menial task Sanzo set him to willingly and without question. It was slightly troubling that Sanzo strongly felt the lack of Goku's keen back-talk and complaints – he wasn't sure what that said about him and the man he'd become.

In the end, Sanzo put it down to too much work and not enough sleep making him ponder all kinds of random, crazy things. Work and lack of sleep was also what he blamed for the incident outside the temple gates when Goku had departed. As expected, Sanzo's rash behaviour haunted him regularly, although there was little he could do about it in hindsight. At the time, Goku had said nothing, no sign of a reaction but for the very firm clench of his fist at the back of Sanzo's robe. Even that had been brief, before they'd pulled apart, before Goku had pursed his mouth as if forcing back things he wanted to say, before he'd taken the first step down the mountainside and Sanzo had turned silently away.

It was easy enough to forget about the shudder of static in the air that day, the way the earth had tilted, like two conductive materials had got too close and caused an imbalance.

Ridiculous. Fucking ridiculous. There was no point dwelling on it; Sanzo needed to focus.

As he settled behind his desk after supper on the eve of Magha Puja, he pulled his ever-growing stack of papers towards him and set his mind to approving them, blotting out the sounds of excited voices outside his window. The temple was rife with activity in preparation for the festival, though Sanzo felt no compulsion to get in on the action. This year, there was no persistent monkey nagging at him to "come outside an' watch them setting up, or you're gonna end up stuck to that desk an' I'll have to peel you off it!"

Arranging his quill and ink beside him, he lowered his eyes to the first page.

Boring work, yeah, but if nothing else it kept his thoughts from wandering.

* * *

Three weeks ago, Sanzo would've been sitting at his window, smoking well into the midnight hour and beyond, perhaps with a jar of sake beside him, or with the fire burning snugly on the hearth. It was getting warmer now, the nights becoming clear enough to see a spattering of stars against the black velvety sky above.

The rise in temperature and his increasing bouts of insomnia often forced Sanzo outside on long walks around the ridge of the mountain, or into the sparse rising forest to the north of the temple. It was pretty much the only thing he could find to wind down during the evenings after monotonous hours of paperwork. But gradually, over the weeks, he'd found himself taking a particular route, following a path rarely trodden by the monks of Keiun that lead to a run-down shed once used to store firewood, before another one was built closer to the temple.

Inside the shed, the air was rich with the scent of pine and zelkova. A carpet of perfect yellow curls crunched beneath Sanzo's boots as he moved further into the room, the wood shavings evidence of the many hours of carving done by the previous occupant.

Approaching the single workbench standing at the centre, Sanzo set down the lantern he was carrying and slipped his half-finished pack of Marlboros back into his robe pocket. An assortment of tools had been laid out on the bench; reaching out, Sanzo ran his fingertips over the handle of a long file, then up the abraded metal blade. The tool was worn from so much use, the same as all the others lying next to it – saw blades blunting, rasps having lost their sheen, sand paper worn down until it was almost as smooth as the parchments Sanzo signed on a daily basis.

"Na, Sanzo, I'll make ya a new desk if you want, since yours is so ancient it looks like it'll fall down at any minute!"

Turning sharply, Sanzo's hand unsettled the line of tools, making them clang together like metal wind chimes. A pair of pliers toppled off the edge, landing on the unusual wood-shaving carpet with a faint pfff.

Scanning the cabin, Sanzo was unsurprised to find there was nobody there.

It was just a memory. A startlingly clear one, but ultimately still just a memory.

Gritting his teeth at his behaviour, Sanzo ignored the rapid thud of his pulse in his ears, putting his irrational jitters down to tiredness. Looking towards the window, his eyes fell upon a large object covered with a plain white sheet set against the wall. The object had a wide rectangular surface, below which thick wooden supports were visible in the gap where sheet didn't quite meet floor.

Sanzo knew what it was. He'd known the first evening he'd wandered down to Goku's workshop and found himself stepping inside, but he would not lift the sheet, not even by an inch, no matter how heavy his curiosity became.

It wasn't for him to see, not yet.

Not until Goku had finished crafting his new desk and was ready to reveal it to him.

* * *

"If there's anything else you need, Sanzo-sama, I would be honoured to fetch it for you." Bowing politely, Bo Hing waited patiently, but when Sanzo didn't answer he began slowly backing towards the door, the light from a nearby wall lamp rebounding off the top of his clean-shaven head.

Sanzo rolled his eyes at the overblown courtesy. Outside, the courtyard gong rang low and mellow, signalling the end of supper. Sanzo had worked straight through the meal, but his eyes were growing tired after staring at so much fine print.

"There's one more thing," Sanzo said, impulse getting the better of him as Bo Hing reached the doorway. Pushing aside his papers, Sanzo reached down to open his lowest desk drawer. The soft shuffle of Bo Hing's sandalled feet ceased immediately and there was a pause as Sanzo straightened up, setting a dog-eared deck of cards on the tabletop. "Do you know how to play Gin Rummy?"

Bo Hing stared at him for some time, apparently at a loss for words. Blinking, he swallowed heavily before answering. "No, Sanzo-sama."

Sanzo hoped the guy was a fast learner. With a curt flick of his wrist, he beckoned Bo Hing back into the room, indicating to the spare chair set beside the wall. Obediently, Bo Hing lifted the chair and brought it to the opposite side of Sanzo's desk, setting it down carefully.

"Um... not to sound disagreeable," Bo Hing said as he perched on the edge of the seat, "but I thought it was against temple rules to-"

"Pipe down," Sanzo interrupted, already sure what Bo Hing was going to say. "It's not like we're really gambling - it's just a game. No worse than the baseball I've seen you and your dorm mates playing in secret behind the kitchens when everyone else is at morning meditation." Raising an eyebrow at the younger man, he was careful to keep his mouth from quirking.

A high blush rose on Bo Hing's rounded face, staining his cheeks a faint red. "I- uh, we were- just." Leaning over the desk, all formality momentarily forgotten, Bo Hing implored him with wide-eyes. "You won't tell the Head Priest, will you Sanzo-sama? We didn't mean any harm by it."

After surveying him in tortuous silence for a few moments, Sanzo finally showed him mercy, pushing the deck of cards across his desk. "Shuffle."

Shoulders visibly relaxing, Bo Hing obliged.

* * *

Sanzo's attendant was as fast a learner as he'd hoped, able to pick up the rules and intricacies of the game with few problems and minimal questions. Once or twice, he'd even given Sanzo a run for his money, not that they'd been gambling real gold; he'd finally found use for the tube of sandalwood incense cones he'd found in his bureau when he'd returned from India.

Yet, after that first time, sitting in Sanzo's office as the evening swept into night, playing game after game until Bo Hing was making moves by himself, Sanzo hadn't felt any real desire to play again.

It wasn't for the lack of Bo Hing's enthusiasm or mind. He'd proven himself an adept gamer, at least where Gin Rummy was concerned. Still, Sanzo couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong, what it was about playing Bo Hing that was so... unfulfilling. There was ample challenge, yes, though not enough flare. It never felt like Bo Hing was really going for it or that he was out to annihilate Sanzo's card hand. Bo Hing calculated slowly and cautiously, playing close to Sanzo's teaching, but he never used his gut and rarely took big chances. Ever rarer still did he try Sanzo – not just in mind, but also in his movements. Measured, careful placing of the cards, the Queen of Hearts smiling up coyly.

No, what was lacking was the fast snap of the game. The flash of a tanned wrist, the flip of red-patterned back then the sharp grin of the Jack. Dark-gold eyes alight with enjoyment and determination, no matter the odds of actually winning.

Fuck.

Trying to clear his mind, Sanzo went to his office window. The rusted latch was jammed, but after a quick curse and a hearty thump with the heel of his hand, he got it moving. Throwing open the window as far as it would go, he inhaled a grateful breath as a gust of cool wind blew in to bathe his heated skin, drying up the beads of sweat that had gathered on his forehead, throat and shoulders. Around Vesak, Sanzo rarely donned his formal robes, preferring the thin leather of his undergarment and soft denim of his jeans, though as the brumous summertime edged in it grew increasingly hard to keep cool whatever he wore.

Night shrouded the courtyard outside, but he could hear the odd voice floating in, puncturing the quiet impassiveness of the temple's atmosphere. In the distance, the outside lanterns glowed like ignited match-heads at the gates, a beacon for wayward travelling monks crossing the mountain.

Rubbing at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, Sanzo turned his eyes on the clay jug of sake on the bureau in the corner, tempted to get in a quick tipple before setting down to finish his work for the day.

What the hell, Sanzo decided in the end, snatching the jug and a cup. Pouring himself a draught, he wandered over to his desk and idled beside it, cradling his snifter in one palm. It wasn't lost on Sanzo that by throwing himself into work like this he had raised a fair few eyebrows. After all, rumours of his unconventional behaviour had been circulating ever since he'd first arrived at Keiun. Back then, he was labelled a slacker, unapproachable and snippy in his demeanour.

Not that Sanzo cared; they had left him alone, for the most part. Now, the whispers were about what a changed man he was, how the infamous journey west had developed Genjyo Sanzo into a monk to aspire to, someone to look up to.

Fucking idiots. What they obviously couldn't grasp was that a journey like that got well and truly embedded under the skin, that there was no shaking it off, not weeks, or months, or years later. If Sanzo threw himself into work, it was simply to keep from remembering the many horrors of the final battle.

That wasn't anything to aspire to.

Screw them – let them keep their fantasies, let them elevate him on their pedestals. It was inconsequential to Sanzo; it didn't change anything, not the fact that he'd seen innumerable evils, or that he'd participated in a fair few. It didn't change the fact that up until two months ago, only one other person at the temple shared those memories, that only one other person understood what India had been like.

One person who didn't look at him as a war hero or bow in his presence or try to impress him.

One who dared nag him constantly and irritate the fuck out of him and amuse him greatly and provide him with unassuming company. One who kept his mind off the darker demons constantly snapping at the edges of his memory.

So deep in unbidden contemplation was Sanzo that the shouting outside didn't register immediately, merely sinking in as random background noise. It wasn't until the first loud beat of the gong that Sanzo was torn from his reverie. Looking out into the darkness towards the source of the sound, he furrowed his brow.

Dong-dong-dong... dong-dong-dong...

That wasn't a normal evening signal.

It was an alert.

Sanzo was up out of his seat in a heartbeat. Snatching his Smith and Wesson from beneath his discarded robes and slipping it into the back of his jeans, he made a beeline for the door. Striding along the corridor outside, Sanzo was forced to dodge monks dashing back and forth. All seemed just as confused by the commotion as he, turning their questioning gazes at him, fear and excitement painted on every face he encountered.

He ignored them.

As he descended the entranceway steps, Sanzo stared off into the distance. At his closer vantage point, he could now see figures moving around within the glow of the gate lamps, but they were still too far away to tell exactly what they were doing down there. A gaggle of robed figures hovered at the centre of the courtyard, the gang growing in number by the second as more and more monks were roused from their evening tasks and temped outside by the chaos. The gong still beat dully, crying out in the night.

"What's going on?" Sanzo barked out as he reached the group.

"Sanzo-sama!" That was Bo Hing. Turning towards the direction of the familiar voice, Sanzo spotted Bo Hing pushing through the crowd to meet him. "Sanzo-sama," he panted breathlessly. It looked like he'd been running.

"Bo Hing, you'd better tell me what the hell this is about." The monks were crowding him now, some saying his name, asking for guidance, hands brushing his shoulders, bodies bumping his back. Sanzo forced himself not to start yelling – Bo Hing looked pale and nervous, like he was in the presence of a wild animal; he swallowed quickly.

"It's Goku-san," the young monk panted.

Sanzo's world went very still.

Sounds faded to a dull drone, like they were playing through layers of cheesecloth. Movements blended to become an undefined swirl of colour around him – the deep red of robes, the cream of skin, merging in the shadows of the courtyard like an abstract, panoramic mural.

It took a moment for Sanzo to locate his voice. "What about him?" he demanded, again looking off towards the gates, squinting at the mellow glow of the lanterns. He still couldn't properly see what was happening, but there were more people swarming there now, huddled around...

Huddled around something on the ground.

"Sanzo-sama!" Bo Hing's voice was a desperate plea, but Sanzo ignored it as he shoved his way through the crowd and made a hard sprint for the temple gates. The courtyard was paved and easy enough to traverse even under the thick cloak of night, but once he reached the main pathway the paving stones gave way to cobbles and Sanzo stumbled, spitting out a rough "Fuck!" and trying not to topple.

It seemed to take an age to reach the gates. As he drew near, Sanzo tried to slow his ragged pace, but his legs were moving automatically; he found himself barrelling into the commotion before he knew it, elbowing monks to get through, growling curses that were lost under the many voices muttering and murmuring.

"Get the fuck out of the way," he gritted, shoving people roughly aside. "Get the fuck out of the way!"

Goku was a limp sprawl of limbs and bloodied clothing, lying motionless on the ground. The orange flicker of the lanterns animated his prone form in an eerie dance. In the sparse light, Sanzo could barely make out where material ended and skin began.

"Back off," he yelled, kneeling at Goku's side to check him over. Again, the strange slowing of time fell around him like a blanket; Sanzo watched his own hand reaching out, but it felt like he was somehow detached from the action. It was evident Goku was unconscious, but as yet Sanzo couldn't tell where his wounds were, or what they were. Reluctant to move him in case of further breakages, Sanzo tore Goku's shirt open, pushing aside the soiled fabric and frowning down at him. "Bring me a light."

The order was obeyed immediately, a lit torch appearing overhead, but Sanzo didn't bother looking up to see who held it. Instead, he quickly scanned Goku's torso, running his fingertips through the dirt and blood painting swirling patterns on his body. All he could find were shallow lacerations marring Goku's golden-brown skin – cuts that were definitely not bad enough to knock him out like this.

It didn't make sense.

Brows knotted tightly, Sanzo leaned closer. As he did, he started to pick up an unusual, rich smell radiating from Goku.

"Sanzo-sama?" one of the monks asked from behind.

"I think he's been poisoned." Once certain there were no broken bones or deeper wounds, Sanzo grabbed Goku by the shoulders and roughly gathered him in his arms. With effort, he hoisted Goku's slack form up over one shoulder, growling as he rose unsteadily to his feet, staggering on the spot before righting himself. Goku felt like a dead weight, his head lolling against Sanzo's shoulderblade as he turned.

Every mouth was shut. Every pair of eyes were on Sanzo and his charge. The monks resembled a small army frozen in time and space, crowded around in a wall of red linen and shorn heads, an obstacle in Sanzo's way.

Then, soundlessly, the group parted for him, the unearthly silence broken only by the sound of feet scuffing on gravel.

Now was the time to set aside the fact that Goku was heavy, that the temple looked too fucking far away – miles, an eternity. Focusing on the movement up ahead, Sanzo set off, teeth clenched tight, fingers grasping Goku to keep him from slipping off his shoulder.

In the courtyard, almost as if in mirror of the gates, the monks parted for him. All except one.

Bo Hing was at Sanzo's side instantly. "Let me take some of the burden," he offered, holding out his arms.

"Burden?" Sanzo growled, heading towards the temple entrance. "There's no fucking burden."

From under the high stone arch of the entranceway, the Head Priest stood watching the proceedings. Beside him, Keiun's resident Healer eyed Sanzo's unsteady approach. As Sanzo ascended the steps, his legs shook under the pressure, Goku now practically hanging off him.

"This man's been poisoned," he informed them, his breath coming in short, harsh bursts. Ignoring the distaste with which the Head Priest and Healer looked at Goku, Sanzo added, "I want your entire medical supplies brought to my quarters." There was a pause during which nobody moved. "Now."

Wordlessly, the Healer bowed, and Sanzo was inwardly thankful that although he had turned down the position of Head Priest when he'd come back, his title as Sanzo still outranked them all.

* * *

"It was mostly nonsensical babble, though I did eventually pick up strains of what happened."

The snick of a lighter. "Well?"

"It would seem while he was climbing the mountain he was attacked by youkai bandits, who thought you must be travelling with him. When he refused to tell them where you were, they shot him with poisoned darts – he has a series of small punctures at the back of his neck, like a ring of bee stings. The poison worked fast into his spine."

Flecks of ash twirled to the flagstones. "How bad?"

"I've given him an antidote. Although it wasn't custom made for the toxin used on him, I believe it'll suffice – the poison was a crude concoction of snake venom and various herbs. Since this morning I've already seen improvement in his condition. I've also dressed his other wounds – it seems the bandits went to work on him in his weakened state."

Silence.

"Sanzo-sama, during his fits of delirium he repeatedly asked for you. Would you care to see him now or-?"

"No." The shuffle of sandalled feet. A cigarette dropped, then trodden on. "Feed him, water him, give him what he needs. I've something I have to do first."

* * *

Two days passed and Sanzo could still hear their screams. Grabbing the spare sheet from the futon in his living room, he set about clearing away his temporary bed, since his actual bed was currently occupied. The Healer's checks had grown less frequent, which Sanzo took to mean Goku was doing much better.

Halfway through rinsing out his coffee cup, he heard the familiar creak of a door hinge behind. The fine hairs at the back of his neck rose and he froze in place. Paused with his hand hovering in the air, the clay cup clutched in his fingers, Sanzo inwardly chided himself for his irrational reaction. Goku had to come out at some point – it was ridiculous to think the reunion wouldn't happen.

Setting the cup in the wash bowl and letting it bob there in the water, Sanzo flicked his fingers to discard droplets of moisture. A similar kind of silence to that day on the steps descended, wavering and bated, and as Sanzo turned he half expected Goku to be right behind him, really close.

Why Sanzo entertained such a random thought was beyond him, but something was building in the air, something unsettling the calm that had worked into his living space. It was akin to guilt but stronger, almost like anger – not at Goku, but at everything surrounding his return. There was something else at work, too – the other thing Sanzo couldn't name, not that he was sure he should. It made the area between them seem suddenly small, made his bedroom doorway look like one step away, rather than a whole room.

The face turned in his direction was paler than Sanzo had ever seen it. Goku may have been on his feet, but he kept one hand a little too casually on the door latch in an obvious attempt to conceal the fact that he needed support. Massive, deep brown eyes stared across the room at Sanzo, at once too close and not close enough to read.

For the first time in his life, Sanzo was unable to identify Goku's expression.

It had to be the illness; perhaps the poison had shut down some of his functions and he was unable to... Sanzo wondered what the fuck he was thinking. Groping for what to do next, he set his jaw and took a step forward, not entirely sure why – he had no real direction, just an instinctual drive.

Oddly, at that moment, Goku also took a pace. As he released the door latch it shuddered on its plate, rattling softly in the quiet.

When Sanzo froze so did Goku. This was getting ridiculous. A heartbeat, then two, then another, and Sanzo started to realise the fast breathing he could hear was his own. Goku opened his mouth to speak, but Sanzo knew on some higher level it would be a bad idea to let him. Something snapped then, ripped cleanly down the centre; in Sanzo's mind the room shifted, falling away like ash from the end of a cigarette, the furniture dissolving around him and then there was nothing, just an endless expanse surrounding he and Goku. It was the strangest thing, how he seemed to be carried to Goku as if on a rolling tide, or maybe Goku was carried to him as if on a wind. Suddenly, Goku was so fucking close Sanzo could clearly see the faint moles dotting his cheeks, the worried texture of his lips a little chapped at the corners.

Another heartbeat, and Sanzo's universe did an abrupt about-face, everything careening into surreality, his senses sharp and heightened, tuning into Goku's presence, the very presence he'd felt the palpable lack of in recent months.

"Fuck," he barked out, as Goku's mouth met his in an artless crush. Fuck, he thought, what the fucking fuck!

Goku was curling his fingers around the back of his neck, pushing up through his hair, urging him down. Sanzo was going with it, rushing headlong, allowing the glide of Goku's tongue, breathing in as Goku gently lipped the fleshy, sensitive curve of his mouth.

Then broke away.

"You killed 'em, didn't you." It wasn't a question. Soft in Goku's rumble. "It was days ago, but I can still smell 'em on you." He tilted his face up and now Sanzo could see his eyes were fierce, open and fathomless in their intensity. "I don't wanna smell 'em on you."

So many things were implied behind that statement. "If you hate it that much," Sanzo murmured, sensing the heat of Goku's breath on his face, tasting the unique, earthy flavour of him. "Then make it go away." It seemed like the simplest solution.

"I didn't wanna die before..." Goku ghosted his lips over the ridge of Sanzo's jaw.

"You won't die, idiot. You can't. What the hell are you doing?"

"Making their scent go away, like you told me."

Did I tell you that? Everything within the radius of Sanzo's perception had become Goku, the rush of him coursing over Sanzo like a dam had burst and there was no stopping the torrent. The heat and smell and taste of him was everywhere, the sounds he made at the back of his throat and far down in his chest so loud, the wild thump of his heartbeat a rhythmic shudder, the shift of his rough fingers purposeful, the encompassing pulse of his vivacious aura threatening to drown Sanzo.

The ground came up to meet them, but the hard impact was barely felt.

Goku was someone Sanzo had known for years and up until that moment the unspoken boundaries of their relationship had been firmly in place. Only now, Sanzo didn't know what those boundaries were or where the hell they'd disappeared to. What was Goku to him? No longer a charge, no longer a travelling companion, no longer the heart and enthusiasm of the journey west.

He was simply Goku, that was the only conclusion Sanzo could come to, and he was there right then and he was a surging weight against Sanzo, one that Sanzo didn't feel smothered by, but rather that temped an answering swell within him. Something unfamiliar and yet familiar at the same time, like when Goku used to wind him up, or brush past him, except that this feeling was a thousand times stronger.

Holy hell, he was losing his mind. The inside of Goku's mouth was as soft as velvet as he sucked on Sanzo's throat and then licked the spot, a gesture of experimentation, fleeting and yet unbearably erotic. After that, there was no point trying to figure out what the hell they were any more, or where the hell this was headed. Sanzo couldn't grasp his thoughts, couldn't hold on to them, because every time he or Goku moved a dizzying rush of sensation spiked through him and sent his mind spinning anew.

Arching his back, his head connected with the flagstones and he hissed.

"Sanzo..." Goku moaned in answer, his voice muffled against Sanzo's neck. The mad clutch of his fingers in Sanzo's robe reminded Sanzo of that day two months ago, standing at the top of the temple steps, holding Goku to him and saying goodbye, saying come back or I'll kill you, saying now get fucking moving and come back – all without saying a word.

Goku rolled with his hips, bearing down and matching Sanzo's pace – the pace he wasn't even aware he had set. Instinct. It was all instinct, uncoordinated, effortless thrusts, building a tension that bubbled so hot in Sanzo he thought he might burst from it, he thought the world might turn red from it. He had Goku's hair in his fingers at one point, slipping like raw silk. He breathed in a masculine sweat and a remarkable, almost tangible arousal, so rich it seemed like it'd built over a long period of time, gradually, surreptitiously ripening.

Pushing his knee between Goku's thighs, Sanzo used his foot as leverage to pump his hips up off the floor. Goku, rising on the sway of Sanzo's movements, cried out brokenly and jerked, his body rigid everywhere it touched Sanzo's. Teeth latched down on Sanzo's shoulder, sharp even through the layers of linen and leather.

"Ohh..."

Sanzo caught the scent of the unusual musk of release, not quite the same as his own and a thousand times more intoxicating, enriching the heated air surrounding them. He knew why Goku was suddenly so still. Why he shuddered so violently.

Why his voice sounded like that, like he was dying.

The next ringing noise in Sanzo's ears was his own voice, an octave lower than Goku's but matching in volume. There was no way in hell he could hold back the explosion of curses that poured out of him along with his orgasm, no way he could keep check on what he was saying. If the sounds carried under the door, along the corridors and throughout the temple, then so be it. There was nothing Sanzo could do but hold on, his fists clenched tightly and bunched at Goku's lower back, his body seeming to melt under the vivid beat of release.

He came harder than he ever had before, slicking his denims and his thighs, pearls of hot moisture sliding down below his contracted balls. A veil of perfect white blotted his vision, before it began fading at the edges like condensation drying on a windowpane.

Once clear, all Sanzo could see in his line of sight was the warm brown of Goku's hair. At some point he had pushed his face against Goku's neck and as his senses returned, he noticed he still had his arms wrapped around Goku's back. Letting his muscles relax one by one, Sanzo released him, hands slipping over the heated material of Goku's t-shirt, over the curve of his hips, to land on the cool flagstones.

An undetermined amount of time passed during which he simply breathed, no choice but to remain where he was, back to the floor, Goku to his front, soaking up the thrills of sensation still winding sinuously under his skin.

Just as Sanzo was starting to feel confined, Goku lifted his head from where he'd rested it against Sanzo's shoulder. Blinking blearily, Goku surveyed him from that strange angle, before carefully shifting to settle on the floor at Sanzo's side. Pushing himself up with a wince, the back of his head throbbing dully where he'd knocked it, Sanzo got himself into a sitting position, resting against the edge of the futon and running his fingers through his damp hair.

Without looking, Sanzo could tell Goku wanted to speak – the silence was edged with an almost-question. He had a feeling he knew what was coming.

"What do we do now?" Goku asked in the end.

"Who knows," muttered Sanzo, wanting a wash, wanting a cigarette, but too boneless to make the effort right then. Really, how the heck did he know what to do now? It wasn't like Sanzo had planned this happening. Whatever 'this' was.

"Sanzo? Is this why you summoned me back?"

"What?" Sanzo looked at him out of the corners of his eyes.

Goku was watching him carefully, a small frown creasing his brow. His face was tinged red, the flush of colour rising darkest over his cheekbones and also spreading down his neck. "Is this... When I felt you yellin' at me, I figured you had somethin' pretty important to say, so... that's why I hurried back."

Even more confused, Sanzo narrowed his eyes. "Make some sense, will you. What are you talking about – 'yelling at' you?"

Appearing unperturbed by Sanzo's curt tone, Goku shrugged, falling silent for a moment while he apparently pondered his words. "I dunno," he finally admitted. "I just sensed you yellin', like you were tryin' to tell me somethin'." Biting his lower lip briefly, he added, "Maybe I was wrong, but it sounded kinda important."

Important. Yelling. What the heck? Sanzo couldn't recall yelling at anyone. Hell, he couldn't recall thinking anything in particular that was aimed directly at Goku. Over the years he had conceded there was a bond between them. Koumyou had somehow known, had once said he'd heard Sanzo calling to him, blamed Sanzo's voice for his riverside discovery.

The voice Sanzo had heard years ago, shortly after the death of Priest Jikaku, had never really, truly vanished, only diminished to a vague hum Sanzo found he could ignore. On a base level he'd always felt Goku's presence in his mind, although he had a hard time wrapping his head around outright yelling at him from heavens-knew how many miles away. Yet, Sanzo found he couldn't shrug it off, either.

Before he could ponder too closely that his unintentional 'yelling' was in part the cause of Goku getting attacked, he felt Goku shifting at his side. As Goku shuffled on the flags, the brush of his shoulder against Sanzo's arm suddenly seemed to carry the power of moving the earth beneath them.

Ridiculous. It had to be the aftershock of such an intense release.

"So..."

Time to make a decision, if they were to ever move forward, if Sanzo was to ever make sense of anything ever again. "Clean up," he instructed.

"Um, okay." Goku sounded unsure, but he rose unsteadily. "Ow."

"Idiot, you know you shouldn't move too much while you're healing." Using the futon behind as a support, Sanzo also got to his feet and headed back to the wash bowl. The remnants of their outburst was rapidly spreading in his denims with each step, cooling on his thigh, turning unpleasantly sticky.

"It's not like I had much choice," Goku countered.

Nonsense. "There's always a choice."

The weight of his words dawned too slowly. Sanzo swallowed, flashes of what they'd just done in his head, the flavour of Goku still in his mouth.

"Then I choose you every time." It was spoken softly but with Goku's customary unbridled determination. Sanzo should've known he'd try to get in the last word.

Slowly turning from the bowl, Sanzo met his eyes. Two months may not be that long a time, but Sanzo could spot the distinct changes in Goku's demeanour. Whatever the Sanbutsushin had him do, it had changed him, it had nurtured him whether he'd liked it or not. Sanzo supposed it stood out so starkly to him now because for once he hadn't been there while it was happening. Goku was older. Goku was a man.

Sanzo could not ignore or shrug off what had fallen from Goku's lips just a few short seconds ago. No matter how long they'd known each other, no matter how far Sanzo had led him in the past, Goku had been out alone and become the man Sanzo had often caught glimpses of. Goku was showing him that he made his own choices now, that he could and would veer from Sanzo's path and on to one of his own making if he chose.

The thing was, it would seem the path he'd chosen was Sanzo.

It was crazy.

But there it was.

Goku matched his gaze levelly, expectantly, waiting for an answer of some kind. There was a hint of trepidation there, too – Sanzo could see it wavering in Goku's eyes.

"Then I choose you every time."

"Get changed," Sanzo said, his own direction starting to become clear in a winding sprawl, too far to find the end. "Then meet me back here."

"How come?"

"We're going to the Palace of the Setting Sun. The Sanbutsushin have wrung enough fucking missions out of us."

* * *

Standing at the top of the steps leading down from Keiun temple, Sanzo handed Goku a crisp, sealed envelope. Gingerly reaching out to take it from him, Goku brushed the pad of his thumb over the red wax stamp - Sanzo's own personal seal - staring down at the parchment.

"Should I open it now?"

Sanzo shrugged. "Do what you like."

"I'll wait." Goku smiled up at him, pushing the envelope in his pocket and hitching his satchel up on his shoulder. "Oh, I picked up your harisen – it'd found its way under the bed." Reaching back and drawing something from the waist of his jeans, Goku held out the paper fan, his smile turning into a knowing smirk.

"Che," Sanzo grumbled, taking it from him and tossing it to the ground. Ignoring Goku's wide-eyed shock at his gesture, he turned to leave, but a flash of vivid colour and movement behind Goku stilled him. A small green leaf rolled on the faint breeze from the direction of the peach trees nearby, eventually coming to land in Goku's hair.

Reaching out, Sanzo plucked it from the deep-brown spikes, twirling the stem between his thumb and forefinger as he drew back his hand.

Goku watched him as he let it fall to the ground at their feet, before a brilliant smile spread across his face.

Sanzo rolled his eyes. "Come on."

A lavender sky accompanied them down the side of the mountain as afternoon sauntered into evening, a canopy of stars coming out to wink from above.

The Sanbutsushin were cunning bastards, Sanzo had to hand it to them, though he supposed in the end it didn't matter – they'd got what they wanted out of him over the years.

As had Sanzo.

As Goku caught him up, falling into stride at his side, Sanzo bid a silent goodbye to Keiun. This would be the final mission, the last time he'd descend these steps. A mission of their own making.

Sanzo found the beginning of a new chapter unfolding, as he and Goku embarked on their next path together.

~Fin~