Dislclaimer: Not mine.

Authors Note: I know that there are at least four other stories called Whiskey Lullaby in the Inuyasha fandom. One of which I know to be Sango/Miroku. I am not in any way trying to copy them, I haven't even read the stories. That way, I can't accidentally use material they did. However, if you have read those stories, and this one seemssimilar to them, there's a very simple reason for that. We're all basing our stories off the song Whiskey Lullaby by Brad Paisley and/or it's video. There are only so many different ways someone can write out the lyrics to a song when you're trying to stay within the context of the lyrics. yeah...so...enjoy?

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La lala lala lala La lala lala lala
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Whiskey Lullaby.

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The sun was out. That was the first thing wrong with the scene. Funerals were supposed to be dark and gloomy. The wind was supposed to try and knock down the beaten family, chilling and filling their bones with misery, filling them with incomparable agony. The sky was supposed to be filled with clouds, clouds as dark and forboding as those that remained by the grave. Rain was supposed to fall, wind was supposed to blow and above all, the sun was not supposed to shine.

But it did anyway.

There was no rain. There was no wind. And there were no clouds. But there was sun. An endless supply of sunlight, taunting and teasing the miserable crowd that had gathered as a casket was lowered into the dirt, the body inside waiting to have it's flesh devored and stained by the pests and insects that would undoubtably find their way through the cheap wood and plastic.

"This is all his fault," he heard whispered behind him.

"Give him a break, Kagome." Miroku's grip tightened around his cup. His friends. Even his friends.

"A break? Sango is dead, Inuyasha. She's not coming back!" Slowly, Kagome's voice rose above all others and the conversation around started to fade. "She's not coming back. Sango will never laugh again. She'll never laugh, never smile! She'll never cry." Miroku lifted a shaking head to his face as Kagome's voice broke. Inuyasha was heard hushing her, trying to calm the woman down. But Kagome would not be silenced. "Sango is dead," she repeated, "and it's all his fault!"

Heads turned as Miroku's glass shattered in his hand. Ignoring the pain it sent up his arm, Miroku made his way silently over to the couple, his chest heaving with labored breathing.

"I know that," he hissed, "I know all of that. Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I loved her any less?"

Brown eyes glared at him coldly and Kagome raised her chin, staring at him in defiance. "Yes Houshi," she spat his name out like a curse, "That is exactly what I think."

Miroku held her gaze until her eyes began to tear and she turned away, pushing blindly through the guests, her sobs stabbing Miroku in the chest. The air was tense as people awkwardly tried to restart their lost conversations. Out of the corner of everyone's eye was Miroku.

Inuyasha laid a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You'll be okay, man."

"Yeah," Miroku agreed, not believing a word of it, "I'll be just fine."

Patting his shoulder awkwardly, Inuyasha left him, undoubtedly to find his girlfriend. Slowly, but at a steady pace, the guests began filing out, offering empty condolences and apologies, as if they were somehow responsible for the untimely death.

Miroku hated every one of them for it.

The last to leave was Sango's brother. Hehad still been a boy the last time Miroku had seen him. He was a young man now, however, still with freckles sprinkled across his face and big wide eyes. Miroku's heart lurched at those eyes. Sango had had those eyes.

The younger man was clearly uncomfortable. Miroku understood the feeling. He didn't know what to say either. He willed himself to speak the question hanging between them.

"Do you blame me?"

Kohaku would not answer his question directly. "I think you loved her," he said, his face full of sadness, "But I know she loved you." Kohaku slipped his fedora onto his head and sighed. "I've got a train to catch. I'll see you around." Miroku nodded his head, but made no other movement. Shaking it off, Kohaku pulled him into a hug, patting him on he back. Miroku cautiously brought his arms up around the boy, doing the same. With another pat on the back, Kohaku pulled away, clearing his throat.

"Take care, Miroku."

Miroku stared at the door, even after Kohaku was gone. He took a deep breath.

Miroku needed a drink.
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"Nothin' like the night life, eh?" Miroku spat his drink back into his cup as he was thumped on the back. He examined it for a moment, shrugged, and chugged the tan liquid down again. "Aren't cha glad you came back home?"

"Yeah, Mushin, real glad." Miroku waved the waitress over and she came over once more, refilling the shot glass. Music pounded in Miroku's ears and his vision was blurred by dancing colors and lights. The waitress smiled at him.

"Any more whiskey and you'll end up the like the old man," she teased, leaning over the counter to poke him in the chest. He gently pushed her away and took another drink. She sighed but didn't press him, disappearing to serve other customers.

"Grown up, hasn't she, that Koharu?"

"She has," Miroku agreed, watching her over the rim of his glass. She looked over at him, smiled, and gave him a small wave.

"I think she likes you," Mushin teased. Miroku gave a lazy shrug.

"She always has."

"Whatever happened to that wife of yours? That Sango?"

Miroku paused, blood rushing to his ears. He'd come home to get away from that, not to be haunted again by her ghost. Miroku tilted his head back, letting the whiskey flow down his throat, warming his veins as it raced through his body.

"She's dead, Mushin, I told you that when I first got here."

"Oh... Yeah..." Mushin looked confused; the night's festivities were getting to him. "Sorry ter hear that."

"It's fine. It was a while ago." Miroku fought back the memories that weretrying to push past the hazy wall in his mind. A week was a long time...

Miroku felt his old friend nudge him, and he looked up, greeted by the nervous face of Koharu. Her face was tinted pink, and she was wringing her hands underneath a towel.

"My shift is ending soon," she muttered, looking at him through her eyelashes, "and I'm getting ready to head home. I was wondering if you wanted a ride."

"Mushin is..."

"Nah, don't worry about me," the old man laughed, thumping Miroku on the back again. "I'll find my own ride home. You two spend some time catching up."

Miroku's hands shook and he ran his hand through his hair. What harm could it cause? Just one night? Miroku made his way off the bar stool and nodded firmly.

"Yes."
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"You're going? Again?"

Miroku looked up from his laptop and sighed. She was angry. And hurt. And Miroku didn't really care. He'd been living with Koharu in her downtown apartment for exactly eleven months. It wasn't as if he didn't care about her. He liked her - a lot. Just not enough to marry the girl.

"It's only one night."

"One night every week." Miroku gave her an exasperated look at the exaggeration, but she continued. "Why can't you wait? For once?"

"I'll be back before you know it," he claimed, getting up from the desk. He walked over to where she sat on their bed, wrapped in blankets to ward off the December cold. She closed her eyes and he kissed her forehead, maneuvering his hand to grab his keys from the night stand. Koharu gave a desperate shriek and looked up at him with sad eyes.

"But Miroku... It's New Years!" Miroku ignored her plea and continued to look about the room for his jacket. He felt her eyes staring holes into his back, but he didn't turn around until she spoke again, accusation in her voice. "It's Sango, isn't it?" Miroku's search halted and he froze. He turned slowly and licked his dry lips.

"How do you know about Sango?"

Koharu gave a painfully casual shrug. "It's kind of hard not to notice her picture at the bottom of your underwear drawer."

"Look Koharu, I don't know what you think..."

"She's pretty," she continued, her eyes welling with tears. "She has really pretty eyes. I wouldn't blame you if you were having an affair with her."

"I'm not having an affair..."

"And why wouldn't you? I mean, if you're obviously so dissatisfied with me... And she's so beautiful. I bet it's just grand sex..."

"Koharu!" Miroku yelled, wanting her to just stop. Miroku didn't need this. "I can't have an affair with her because she's dead!"

"Oh."

Silence rang in the room. Koharu had covered her mouth with her hands and was shaking her head, trying to form an apology of some sort. Miroku ran a hand through his hair and turned back around, pulling his coat from the bottom of the closet. He quietly began to explain while preparing to depart, opening his underwear drawer to take out Sango's picture.

"Sango was my wife... She died last year."

"Oh Miroku..." Koharu sighed, crawling to the end of the bed. "I'm sorry, I didn't know! You never told me." Miroku said nothing as he gathered his overnight bag, slipping a purple beanie onto his head. "Miroku, I'm sorry. Don't go. Miroku!"

Koharu yelled at the closed door.
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Hey. You awake?

Of course not, you're dead. You probably get to sleep all day. Must be nice, huh?

I don't know why I bother coming out here. It's not like you can hear me anyway. You're probably too busy, doing whatever it is angels do.

I bet you're the prettiest angel up there.

I'm sorry, there must be something in my eye.

Got it.

I think Koharu's mad at me. I don't blame her, I left things kind of badly. But she had no right to say anything.

Two more minutes to New Years.

One minute.

Wow, the last year has been really fucked up, huh? And to think: I don't even have a New Years resolution.

What should mine be?

No more love affairs?

Try not to cause anymore suicides?

No More Sex.

Maybe all the above.

Except the last one. I hope you'll understand.

Happy New Years, Sango.

Two.

This drink's to you.

Bottoms up.

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The End

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End note/rant: gaaaah... I don't even remember writing half of this x.x it's been like... a year. oi. I hope it wasn't too terrible. HappyNewYear everyone -heart-