DISCLAIMER: I do not own Inuyasha or any related characters. The story and art is property of the great Rumiko Takahashi. This fan fiction is for entertainment purposes only, and in no way will be used for my betterment. I wrote this because I admire the owner's work and wish to daydream about the characters.

Go easy on me. I apologize if they are a little ooc...but overall I'll try to make them work Also if anyone can tell me the name of the girl that had agreed to Miroku's question, I'd be much appreciative..nreep!

SANGO'S SON, AND MIROKU'S DAUGHTER

summary: Miroku and Sango are single parents facing problems of their own. Can the two help each other out? Will they ever be willing to love again?

Chapter 1

Miroku sat back on his heels, trying to get the kink out of his neck and ignore the soreness of his back. He was tired, having spent most of the night up worried. It felt like eternity before the sun rose. Now Miroku was scrubbing the floors of the small and humble shrine that his adoptive father and him ran. But the old drunkard's habits quite often left him taking care of everything.

The early morning sun rays beat down on his wet hands, and warmed his neck, slightly coated with sweat from his activities so far that day. He wore a simple black and purple t-shirt and blue jeans, rumpled from attempts to sleep, and dirty from the day before. He'd been so anxious that he hadn't bothered to get changed. Miroku's black hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, messy from once again, not having anything done to it in the last twenty four hours. Purple rings of lack of sleep matched the violet colored iris of his.

Miroku bent back down, and continued to scrub at the floor boards, aware that Mushin was approaching him.

"It's good to see you getting to work already. Finish the floors, then go polish the bells. I'll handle the guests," Mushin said. Miroku focused on a single spot, and put his muscles behind trying to eradicate it. He didn't even look up when he answered.

"Are you sober?"

"Enough," Mushin replied. It was the typical answer. Miroku had come to learn that it meant, 'No..And now that you've mentioned it...'. The drunkard lifted his already half emptied bottle of sake to his lips. It had been a tough night on both of them.

"Go back inside. I can handle it today. Opening the shrine a little later in the day isn't going to kill business." Miroku said tossing his rag into the soapy water. He was fifteen years old since Monday. That was five days ago...he felt like he was twenty.

The old man looked at this strange boy. His father had come up to him years ago, and the two had opened this small Buddhist shrine. Then sometime after Miroku was born the mother died, followed after by the husband. Miroku had been old enough to remember his dad, but not enough his mother. "Alright then. I'll trust you"

His words hurt Miroku more then he would let on. But then again, the would be monk always was good at hiding his emotions away. What he wanted then was to turn to Mushin and yell at him, 'No you can't trust me! Just look at what trusting me got us!'. Instead he simply went away with his bucket to do his other tasks.

Sometime after noon when Miroku was sitting on the footbridge over a goldfish pond, Mushin approached him once again. Miroku's body tensed up in preparation of the news. He looked calm otherwise, eyes closed and head tilted up to the cloudless sky, one leg dangling into the water, the other drawn up to his chest, where his head rested. His left arm hung at his side, and the right fiddled with the silver ring on his middle finger. "Well?"

"She's fine, everything went o.k. considering.. well you know" Mushin rushed out to say.

Miroku breathed a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing. "And..."

"Healthy and strong, a beautiful little girl." he finished, placing one of his massive hands on Miroku's head, giving it a small shake. Miroku looked up to him, weak smile on his face. "Congratulations."