Welcome one and all to the start of Guilty Hero's prequel one-shots! If you haven't read my main story, Guilty Hero, I would recommend you do so. It will make this much easier to follow, I think.

These one-shots will jump around to different points in time prior to the main storyline of Guilty Hero. There were a few significant events that I have wanted to flesh out for a while, so this will be the dumping ground for them.

So, if you want angsty, drama-filled vignettes, then you are indeed welcome here. Enjoy!

Spiraling Downward

The 2nd Annual Peace Day Gala

God, how he hated this day. It was a physical weight, crushing down on his shoulders. That knife of guilt was ever-present in his chest on this day, digging deeper with every movement. It hurt to move, it hurt to think, and it hurt to breathe. And, in a most cruel act, the one thing that would make all that pain disappear was being denied him.

Sango and Miroku had called him at five o' clock in the morning, yanking him from his whiskey-sodden sleep. They were calling him out on an emergency assignment, and kept him busy the entire day. In fact, he hadn't had a moment to himself until a mere hour before he needed to return to headquarters.

He knew full well what they were doing. Keeping him busy was the only way they knew of to prevent him from drinking. And after the prior year, where he missed the entire gala due to being in the middle of a three day drinking binge, they were taking no chances this year.

Sighing heavily, he sunk down on to the edge of the bed. He was mostly dressed. His cummerbund was draped across the end of the mattress, and his tie hung loosely around his neck. His hair had been brushed, and he had even dabbed on a bit of cologne. But for all the primping, he still felt rotten inside.

With trembling hands, he lit a cigarette to soothe his nerves. He didn't understand Peace Day. To everyone else, it was a celebration of the city's survival. But to him, everyone was celebrating the day he murdered the love of his life. He could not join them in their frivolity. It was an affront to Kikyo's memory. Sango and Miroku still pushed him to join in the Gala, and it frustrated him to no end. They didn't understand, and he was wondering if they ever would.

The cigarette was burned down to the filter before he moved again. Crushing it in the ashtray by the bed, he finally finished getting ready. With one final tug on his bow tie, he sighed and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He felt like a marionette. Dressed up in play clothes, he would move when Sango and Miroku tugged the strings.

Another sigh, and another shake of his head. He had no fight in him today. With heavy steps, he left his bedroom. He was certainly in no hurry to rush to HQ. Rather, it was akin to attending his execution. Nothing but pain and suffering would greet him once he left his apartment.

Plodding into the kitchen, he tugged a whiskey bottle out of the cabinet. After a moment's consideration, he retrieved a second one as well. He wouldn't want to maintain any level of sobriety upon returning home from the Gala. Two bottles would guarantee that and then some. Twisting the cap off one, he filled his hip flask as full as possible. Rarely did he leave his apartment without this flask, and he would be damned if he went to the Gala empty-handed.

Glaring down at his distorted reflection in the glass bottle, he snarled. The sight of himself all dressed up for this day was enough to make him retch. With hatred coursing through his body, he put the bottle to his lips and chugged back several swallows.

The burn was just enough to bring his temper back under control. Breathing heavily, he set the bottle down and shakily screwed the cap back on. He had to stay in control tonight, if only for Sango and Miroku. They were the only friends he had left. Even though they were borderline cruel to him with their lack of understanding, he still didn't want to lose them. He needed some sort of attachment to a normal life. If he didn't have that... he would be lost.

With a quick glance at the clock on his microwave, he knew it was time to leave. He tucked the flask away in his jacket pocket and slipped his cigarettes and lighter in his pants. Then, feeling as though every step was taking him in the wrong direction, he left the apartment.

OoOoOoO

"Phew... I always hate that bit." Sango sighed in relief as the mansion's doors were shut behind her. "Those news reporters are always so damn pushy."

They had just waded through the sea of microphones and flashing cameras to get from the limo to the mayor's mansion. Bombarded with questions every step of the way, the trio had to fight to get to the door. Inu-Yasha, far too overstimulated by the lights and sounds, had snarled so fiercely the last few feet that they were able to slip inside in peace.

"They are quite persistent." Miroku shook out his coat while he frowned at the doors. "Thanks for scaring them off, Inu-Yasha. I was getting ready to punch one of them if they got any closer."

"Mm." The half-demon was busy lighting a cigarette. Large crowds always made him uncomfortable, and he needed something to calm his nerves.

Led by a baby-faced concierge to the ballroom, the trio handed off their coats at the coat-check before facing the large double doors. Taking a deep breath, Miroku smiled at Sango and Inu-Yasha. "Is everyone ready?"

Sango nodded soberly, while Inu-Yasha took a deep drag of his smoke. They both knew what lay beyond those doors.

Taking a deep breath, Miroku motioned to the concierge. The man swung open the double doors and led them to the landing at the top of the stairs.

Below them was a sea of tables decorated elegantly with beautiful tablecloths and crystalware. They were spaced around a dance floor, and an orchestra sat off to the side playing soft music. There were dozens and dozens of elegant gowns and crisp black tuxes moving about and creating a low buzz of voices. But as soon as the trio's names were announced, a hush fell over the room. Every set of eyes turned toward them. And then, like a slow rumble of thunder, applause rolled across the crowd. Every attendee got to their feet, clapping as hard as they could. This was the greatest show of respect they could do, and the greatest display of gratitude they could convey to their heroes.

Blushing furiously, Sango gripped Miroku's hand. "I wish they wouldn't" she whispered. "It doesn't feel right."

"Agreed." Miroku squeezed her hand in response before focusing on the half-demon. "Inu-Yasha? Are you all right?"

Inu-Yasha was white as a ghost, and trembling uncontrollably. He had been told about this moment. He had been dreading this moment. And now that this moment had arrived... it was worse than his nightmares. Outright, open admiration for his actions in the war against Naraku. His stomach roiled at the thought.

"Inu-Yasha." Sango rested her hand on his shoulder, yanking him back to reality with that light touch. "It's all right. We just need to get to our table and they'll stop." She gave him a small smile.

Afraid to open his mouth from fear he would be sick, he nodded shakily. Anything to make the torture end.

The trio was guided down the staircase among the applause. The crowd parted to let them through, still clapping solemnly. Inu-Yasha shied away from the other partygoers, keeping close behind his friends as they were led to their table. Sango and Miroku weakly waved to the crowd before taking their seats, while Inu-Yasha dropped into his like a stone. His ears were pressed flat against his head in a desperate attempted to keep the noise out.

His mind was racing in his panic, and his heart was beating faster and faster. He hated this show of appreciation. He had done nothing to earn this, nothing to deserve their gratitude. Did they not know the torture this was? As the clapping went on, harder his pulse beat, until he was nearly hyperventilating. Grabbing the arm of a passing waiter, he managed to make a single-word inquiry. The moment the waiter gave him an answer and gestured down a hallway, Inu-Yasha was off. In less than ten seconds he was hunched over a toilet in the men's room, heaving up what little was in his stomach.

"Oh, God..." he groaned, then hurled once again. This was hell. There was no other way to describe it. His throat burned with acid, his eyes stung with tears, and his chest felt as though he'd swallowed a brick. He couldn't do this... how could he have thought otherwise?

He remained over the toilet bowl for a few more minutes, uncertain of his stomach's condition. But a light knock on the stall door brought him back to reality.

"Inu-Yasha...?" Miroku's voice washed over him, full of worry. "Are you all right?"

Flushing the toilet, Inu-Yasha unlocked the door and clung to it, glaring at his friend. "Do I look all right to you?" he rasped, knowing full well how much of a wreck he was. Shoving past Miroku to the wall of sinks, a quick glance in the mirror confirmed this. He was pale and waxy, his eyes were red, and his bangs were stuck to his forehead with sweat. "Ah, dammit..."

Miroku watched as the half-demon tried to clean himself up. "...I'm sorry, Inu-Yasha."

A low growl was his response as Inu-Yasha wiped his face with a paper towel. "For what? Draggin' me to this god-forsaken event?! You should be sorry." He couldn't help the harshness in his tone. He felt like an exposed nerve, raw and painful to outside stimuli.

"...We had no clue coming here would affect you so badly." The reply was lame, even to Miroku's ears. Yes, he and Sango knew Inu-Yasha was struggling, but he had not expected the stubborn hanyou to suffer a panic attack.

"Really? No idea?" Inu-Yasha rounded on Miroku, his fangs bared in anger. "My life has only been a fuckin' train wreck for the past two years, and you had 'no idea'?! Bull shit, Miroku. Bull. Shit."

Miroku sighed, his shoulders slumping in submission. "I know, Inu-Yasha. This is the worst day of the year for you. But we have an agreement. We need you at one high-profile event each year. This is it."

This time, Inu-Yasha had to physically stop himself from getting a stranglehold on the man. "That's the Order talkin'," he snarled. "What about my friend? Ever since you got that damn promotion-"

"We are trying, Inu-Yasha!" Miroku interrupted him with a sudden shout, his temper finally sparking. "We are trying to be your friend and run the Order! But Sango and I cannot put our lives on hold like you! We want to live our lives, not drown in the past!"

Falling silent, Inu-Yasha found he could only glare at Miroku. Unfortunately, he had a point. Inu-Yasha was frozen at that on horrible moment in time. He couldn't move past it, and was stuck reliving that day over and over and over. And nobody else was stuck with him.

The anger slowly seeped out of his body. His posture slumped, and the snarl dropped from his face. He felt more alone than ever before. "I hear ya," he mumbled, turning to leave the restroom. "You think I should just move on with you two... Everything would be fine... Hmph." He strode out of the room without a second glance at his friend.

"Dammit." Miroku groaned and rubbed his face in frustration. That wasn't what he meant at all. But he had clue how to properly convey his feelings to Inu-Yasha. The man he thought he knew was long gone, and he had no idea how to reach out to this stranger in his life. Inu-Yasha needed help, and Miroku wasn't sure how to provide it. "Sango is going to kill me for making this worse."

By the time Miroku returned to their table at the edge of the dance floor, Inu-Yasha was seated next to Sango. Inu-Yasha paused in lighting a cigarette to shoot him a sharp glare, but nothing more was said. It would do no good to continue that conversation out here.

After a couple moments of awkward silence at the table, Inu-Yasha spotted a nearby waiter and motioned him over. The poor lad, shocked to be addressed by the mighty half-demon and savior of the city, was trembling as he approached.

"Wh-wh-what may I get you, sir?" He barely managed to squeak out the inquiry.

"Whiskey on the rocks," Inu-Yasha ground out, hardly sparing the boy a glance. "Double." The drink order was bit out like poison, his temper barely kept under control.

The waiter nodded and made to retrieve it, eager to get away from the obviously angry half-demon. However, an enraged snarl stopped him in his tracks.

"Hey! You need to take their orders too, moron!" Inu-Yasha waved his cigarette at Sango and Miroku, his fangs bared at the poor boy.

Trembling from head to to toe, the waiter turned to the pair and tried to speak. However, he found that his voice was gone, and he could only get out a gasp. Fortunately, Sango was kind-hearted enough to rescue him.

"Don't worry," she said with a gentle smile. "He won't hurt you, I promise. I'll take a white wine, please."

"I'll have a red. Dry as you can find," Miroku piped up, also giving the poor boy an encouraging grin.

Nodding, the waiter disappeared in a flash. The sooner he retrieved their drinks, the sooner he could melt into the crowd and wait on someone, anyone else.

"Ugh. Inu-Yasha..." Sango rested her forehead in her hand. "You didn't have to scare him like that. He's done nothing wrong."

"It's not my fault one look had him pissin' his pants." There was no remorse in Inu-Yasha's voice.

"Look..." Sango caught his eye, a surprisingly gentle expression on her face. "I know you're miserable. I know you hate today. But... could you please try to restrain yourself until after the Gala? This night is very important to the Order. We need to foster goodwill here, not burn bridges."

He glared flatly in return. She had no idea what she was asking of him. Just entering this building had been a nigh insurmountable task. Being here made him physically ill. And she wanted more? She was pushing her luck.

"Sango." Miroku rested his hand on her shoulder and shook his head. "It's all right. Leave him be." Having seen Inu-Yasha's condition in the bathroom, Miroku understood a little better how difficult this night was. He received a barely-perceptible nod of appreciation from Inu-Yasha, and that was enough.

Their drinks arrived a couple minutes later. The poor waiter dropped them off and was gone before anyone could breathe a word to him. Sango and Miroku, after trying to give him their thanks, simply shrugged and took small, polite sips of their wine. Inu-Yasha, however, downed his in three huge swallows, paying no attention to the terrified boy. Miroku opened his mouth to say something, but quickly decided to keep quiet. The half-demon was visibly relaxing as the drink hit him, and Miroku felt it was best not to push his luck.

"Sango! Miroku!" A booming voice echoed across the room. Sango and Miroku immediately got to their feet at the sound. The city's mayor was a boisterous man, hard to miss in a crowd. As he approached the table, Inu-Yasha regarded him warily; that personality type didn't mesh well with his own. He knew his friends respected the man, but he was feeling exposed and vulnerable right now. He didn't feel like putting up a facade.

"Mr. Mayor." Miroku smiled warmly and shook the mayor's proffered hand. "You have outdone yourself this year. The place is beautiful."

Waving the comment away, the mayor laughed. "That would be my wife's doing, young man. But I'll pass along your compliments." He turned to Sango and kissed her hand. "You, my dear, look stunning tonight."

Sango blushed at his praise, but kept her composure. "You're too kind, sir."

"No, no. Credit where it is due." His gaze then shifted over to the half-demon who was staring suspiciously at him. "Ah, Inu-Yasha. I have wished to meet you for some time." He held out his hand in greeting.

Inu-Yasha didn't take it until Sango nudged him sharply. Glaring at her, he grudgingly took the mayor's hand in greeting. "Mr. Mayor," he grunted. He still didn't get to his feet despite Sango's eyes boring into his back. However, he blinked in surprise when the mayor, rather than releasing his hold, gripped Inu-Yasha's hand with both of his own.

"Inu-Yasha. This city... no, not just the city... I owe you a huge debt of gratitude. Your actions that day... They were nothing short of heroic. I hope you understand this." These were not the honeyed words of a silver-tongued politician—the mayor was truly grateful to Inu-Yasha. His sincerity was evident in his firm grip and his steady gaze. "Thank you for all you have done. For myself, for this city, for us all."

Trying to keep the rising panic down, Inu-Yasha yanked his hand back and groped for his cigarette. Anything to distract him from the horrible emotions welling up in his chest. The cigarette was almost burned to the filter, but he took a drag anyway. "D-don't mention it..." he mumbled, raking his fingers through his bangs. "Please don't."

Though a little confused by the half-demon's odd reaction, the mayor didn't push the issue. He even held up a hand to calm Sango, who was ready to throttle the half-demon for his poor manners. The pair had explained some of the problems Inu-Yasha had endured since the war, and the mayor recognized his suffering as a form of PTSD. Having seen many a police officer in a similar state, he was more than willing to extend patience and kindness to the hanyou.

"Here, lad." Reaching into his inner coat pocket, he tugged out a large gold case. "You look like you could use one of these." Flipping the case open, a row of dark cigars came into view.

In spite of his rising emotions, the powerful aroma of the cigars caused Inu-Yasha's nose to twitch. Slowly, the panic seeped out of his posture as he leaned forward to inspect them. Their smell was positively tantalizing to his strong nose, and he glanced up at the mayor in question.

"Cuban-made, soaked in twenty-year old cognac, and wrapped in Maduro." The mayor grinned at Inu-Yasha. "I assure you, you will find no better cigar in the whole of the city."

Unable to resist, Inu-Yasha carefully removed one from the case. "...Thanks," he said softly.

Satisfied to know he had made a somewhat decent impression on the half-demon, the mayor turned back to Sango and Miroku. "Well, I must continue to make my rounds. As always, it's been a pleasure." He shook Miroku's hand, gave Sango a deep bow, and clapped Inu-Yasha on the shoulder before melting into the growing throng of guests.

The moment he was out of earshot, Sango rounded on Inu-Yasha. "Could you have been any ruder?!" she hissed. "That man is important to the Order! We need him to think well of us! And your appalling behavior is doing us no favors!"

Inu-Yasha, who had bitten the tip off his cigar, took his time lighting it. Finally, after a deep drag and a slow exhale of rich smoke, he finally met Sango's glare with one of his own. "I have never kowtowed to anyone. I'll be damned if I start today."

Once again, Miroku had to stop Sango from continuing her tirade. "My dear... the mayor himself said he was indebted to Inu-Yasha. You need to let this one go." He rested his hand on her arm to help calm her temper.

Unfortunately, she wasn't so easily cowed.

"No, Miroku. We ask for one night a year. One damn night for Inu-Yasha to make an appearance, prove he's still alive, and keep morale high in the city. He needs to appreciate what all we do for him!" She rounded back on the half-demon, who's teeth were clenched in fury around his cigar. "You have no idea how many things we turn down for you, Inu-Yasha! I counted—last year there were fifty-three functions you were requested to attend! That's fifty-three times we had to apologize and decline on your behalf! This city wants you, Inu-Yasha. You attending this event means the city knows you are still there to protect it. You attending this event means you don't have to go to fifty other charity fundraisers, school functions, political dinners, or company gatherings. So could you act like a damn adult for once and behave yourself here?!"

Miroku groaned and put his head in his hands. She had gone too far.

Inu-Yasha's entire body tensed as she shouted. His teeth were clenched around the cigar like a vise, and his claws had punctured eight holes in the tablecloth. Once Sango finished, he spoke in a voice starkly different to hers. It was soft, low, and very dangerous.

"Yes..." he growled deeply. "You two suffer so much, turning down all those invitations, slaving away month after month. I only had to murder my fiancee. Shame on me for being so insensitive. Shame on me for ruining the Order's political relationships. Shame on me for not getting over Kikyo's death when you think I should. Shame. On. Me!" He bellowed out the last word, pounding his fists on the table. It was enough to garner the attention of several nearby guests.

"Excuse me for hurting, Sango! Excuse me for not wanting to celebrate this god-forsaken day! I can't do it, all right?! I can't be the damn poster boy you want! So stop waitin' for me to be one, because it won't happen! Now leave me alone!" And with that, he shot to his feet and stormed away.

"Oh, Sango..." Miroku sighed, resting his head in his hands. "You and your temper."

Sango, her cheeks flushed in anger and embarrassment, snapped at the nearby spectators. "The show is over! Stop gawking!"

Amid the startled yelps as the guests quickly turned away, she whipped back around to face Miroku. "And you! Why did you try to stop me? He needs to hear the truth! It's been two years—it's time for him to move on!"

"Sango... do you hear yourself? Inu-Yasha doesn't... can't operate on our timetable. We don't know what's going on inside his head." Miroku gave her a stern look. "And while I do agree that he should try and behave better, today of all days is not the time to call him out on that."

Her cheeks still burning, Sango was at least appropriately shamed as she hung her head. "He... he just knows how to push my buttons."

"And you know how to push his."

"Damn it." Heaving, a sigh, she reached out for Miroku's hand. "Fine. I'll let him cool off a bit, then I'll go apologize. All right?"

With that, Miroku finally smiled and squeezed her hand. "You are a passionate woman. I love that about you."

"Oh, stop..." Now even her ears were turning red.

Chuckling, Miroku looked away, but kept hold of her hand. One crisis had now been averted. He just hoped Inu-Yasha's temper would calm down just as quickly.

OoOoOoO

"Another."

"Of course, sir." The bartender pulled out a bottle of top shelf whiskey and splashed a generous amount over the ice in Inu-Yasha's tumbler. She had repeated this action more times than she should have since the half-demon stormed up half an hour ago. But his anger had been palpable, and she knew better than to test him.

Inu-Yasha snatched up his freshened drink and took a gulp. Right now, whiskey was the only thing keeping the haze of red from taking over again. Despite how hurtful and insensitive Sango's comments had been, he truly didn't want to cause any more of a scene tonight. The smoother tonight went, the sooner he could go home and forget the day.

Breathing out a cloud of cigar smoke, he glared over at one of the waiters who had approached the bar. The waiter managed to get his order out to the bartender, but was staring at Inu-Yasha for just a little too long in the process. It pissed him off. He hated being treated like a sideshow attraction.

"Piss off," he grunted, and the waiter squeaked and looked away.

"Now, now," the bartender chastised, returning with a red wine and martini for the waiter. "No need to go ripping his head off. It's not often people meet a real hero. Can't blame him for staring." She set the drinks on the man's tray and shooed him off.

Inu-Yasha snorted and swallowed the rest of his drink. "I ain't no damn hero. The city put that label on me, I didn' ask for it."

Shrugging, she tugged out a couple chilled beers for another waiter approaching the bar. "I thought you would have been celebrating today. It's your day, after all. So why the long face?"

This time, Inu-Yasha breathed out a cloud of smoke through his nose. He was trying not to yell at the woman. She was his ticket to alcohol, and he couldn't risk getting on her bad side. But clearly, she was starting to get chummy with him, and that was his cue to leave. So, deftly ignoring her prior comment, he changed tactics. Flicking his golden gaze up to a particularly fine bottle of whiskey behind the bar, he nodded at it. "What'll it take for you to give me that?"

"That?" She glanced at the expensive bottle, then back to the half-demon. "Hmm..." Leaning on the bar in front of him, she arranged herself so that her chest was leaving little to the imagination. "Well... are you talking about money, or something a little more... fun?" She ended with a wink.

He barely glanced at her ample breasts before looking away. His stomach clenched at the thought of touching another woman. Ever since his claws had torn through Kikyo's flesh, the thought of an intimate touch was enough to make him ill.

Fortunately, this bartender knew none of that, and she had also given him an escape. Keeping his scowl firmly in place, he tugged out his wallet. His work at the Order paid him handsomely, particularly after the destruction of Naraku. While he didn't like being rewarded for his actions that day, his pay was enough to keep him drunk as often as he wanted. That was coming in handy now.

One at a time, he pulled out hundred dollar bills, five in total. He slowly laid them on the bar, watching as the bartender's eyes followed the progress of each bill. "I ain't here for fun, lady. I just want to forget tonight." He slid the stack toward her. "You willing to help me do that?"

Banging the Hero of the Year may have been an exciting prospect for a woman, but five hundred dollars was far more tempting for a broke bartender. Snatching up the bills, she plonked the bottle down in front of him. "You didn't get that from me, all right?"

Inu-Yasha snagged the bottle before she could change her mind. "I don't even know your name, lady. And I don't really care to learn it." With that, he stuck the cigar back in his mouth, gathered up his glass of ice, and made his way back to the table.

Much to his relief, Sango and Miroku weren't there. The orchestra had started playing while he hung around the bar. His friends had volunteered to start the dance, so he knew the couple would be out on the dance floor for quite some time.

"Fine by me," he muttered under his breath, prying the cap off his rather expensive bottle. "Sango can just yell at me later. Dammit." For a brief moment, he hesitated to pour a drink. He knew full well that continuing down the path of intoxication was paving the way to a massive fight down the road. The problem was that he wanted to forget now. Later was another time to deal with. But now was a time he needed to get rid of.

Thus, it only took a moment for the first glass of whiskey to slide down his throat. He didn't care anymore. He didn't care that Sango was furious with him. He didn't care that he was supposed to be making a good impression for the Order. All he cared was that each glass of that amber poison would cart him closer to oblivion. There would be no more guilt, no more heartache, just sweet darkness...

OoOoOoO

"I had no idea you were so light on your feet, Miroku." Sango nudged his shoulder as they made their way off the dance floor. She was clearly in a much better mood than when they had first stepped on it.

Miroku beamed with pride. "It's not often I get to take you dancing. I don't want to disappoint when I do get the chance."

"Well... Thank you." Glancing to make certain no one else was watching, she leaned over and kissed Miroku's cheek. "We need to spend time like this more often. I... enjoyed it."

"I heartily agree." Miroku squeezed her hand in return. He had to actively prevent his wandering hand from finding her bottom, but he managed to succeed. It wouldn't do to ruin such a perfect moment.

Unfortunately for them, an outside source would do just that.

As they approached their table for the night, Sango suddenly tensed. "Inu-Yasha!" she hissed, bringing Miroku crashing down from cloud nine. "What are you doing?!"

The half-demon glared hazily at them as Sango stormed up to him. His hair was a bit disheveled, and his cheeks were rosy. His tie and the top few buttons of his shirt were undone, a sign of how warm he had become. The source of that heat resided in the tumbler clutched in one shaky hand, while a half-empty bottle was gripped in the other.

"Oh, great. Yer back." He sneered at Sango with ill-concealed disgust.

Miroku, not wanting a repeat of their scene earlier, quickly caught Sango's arm. Inu-Yasha was already defensive and preparing for an onslaught. If Miroku didn't intervene from the start, things would get ugly. "Sango," he murmured under his breath. "Don't. Let me handle this, please."

She glared furiously at Miroku, but even she knew that her temper was not going to help diffuse the situation. So, with a snort of disgust, she dropped her shawl on a chair. "I'll go to the facilities, then. You take care of that... that... that idiot." Then, with disapproval oozing from her stiff body, she stalked off.

"I heard that," Inu-Yasha snarled after her, leaning in his chair and nearly toppling off it.

"All right, all right. Enough." Miroku steadied the half-demon before taking a seat next to him. "Inu-Yasha. Talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

"Whass goin' on?" Inu-Yasha repeated, wobbling around to squint at his friend. "I'll tell you whass goin' on... This night is... is... is shit. A-an' I don' wanna deal with it."

Miroku took a deep breath. He needed to keep his head and not yell. Nothing would get Inu-Yasha to shut down faster than yelling at him.

"I can see that, my friend. But I was hoping you could explain why you've picked this moment to drink yourself into oblivion. I thought we had agreed you would refrain from that particular past-time today."

A dark scowl met his comment. "I though' I wouldn' get insulted today. We both didn' get what we wanted, did we?" He tossed back the rest of his glass in a gulp.

With a light sigh, Miroku nodded. "Sango was out of line, I agree. She and I both need to be more sensitive to your feelings, especially on a day like today."

Not expecting to hear such a response, the scowl dropped off Inu-Yasha's face. "Ruh... really?"

"Really. You have been through severe trauma. It's affecting you greatly. We need to be mindful of that, and we haven't been." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "However... I would hope you might be willing to meet us halfway."

Instantly, Inu-Yasha's guard was back up. "Whadda you mean...?" he asked warily.

"I mean... I hope you could see things from Sango and mine's point of view. We are trying to help this city through the aftermath of a war. We are trying to lead the Order. Hell, we're just trying to learn how to lead. And it would help us greatly if we knew we could rely on you for this one, very important, occasion. And unfortunately, for two years in a row... we have been disappointed."

Visibly withdrawing, Inu-Yasha turned back to the table and poured another glass. "I told you, M'roku..." he mumbled. "Yer pinnin' yer hopes on th' wrong guy. I'm not good for anythin' anymore. You two need t' learn that."

"No. We don't." Miroku's reply was firm. "Because we don't believe it. We still have faith in you. We aren't willing to give that up."

Inu-Yasha shut his eyes, a grimace crossing his face. "Then you'll jus' be disappointed. Ev'ry time."

"And we'll keep trying. As many times as it takes. You won't push us away that easily, Inu-Yasha."

With a groan, Inu-Yasha rested his head in his hands. "Yer a fool, M'roku. Jus'... jus' leave me be."

"Sorry. You're stuck with me." He patted Inu-Yasha's back. "I promise, I will talk with Sango. She is passionate, and often focuses a bit too hard on a single goal rather than looking at the big picture. I know that is why she said such hurtful things earlier. But be that as it may.. she owes you an apology."

Inu-Yasha shrugged lightly, but the hurt look on his face belied the air of nonchalance. Sango's words had cut him to the quick.

"Doesn' matter," he slurred after a moment. "I can't be wha' she wants me t' be. I can't even make it through this damn night. She doesn' have t' 'pologize. She's right. I do need t' move on. Bu' that doesn' mean I can." He swallowed a large mouthful of whiskey. The top shelf stuff was dangerous—it was so smooth that it was easy to drink. This bottle was depleting faster than he had expected.

Miroku frowned as he watched his friend drink. This was not good. Inu-Yasha was supposed to go onstage later on in the program to receive his medal and give an acceptance speech. At this rate, he was more likely to fall off his chair first. But, having learned from prior experiences, taking away the drink was next to impossible. He'd have to try and talk it out of the half-demon's grip.

"Inu-Yasha," he said cautiously. "Don't forget you have a speech to give later. Maybe you should have some coffee instead?"

Inu-Yasha's brow furrowed, but he didn't turn to face Miroku. Instead, all Miroku received was a glare out of the corner of one bloodshot eye. "Always worried 'bout looks," he growled softly. "Who th' hell would wanna lissen to a damn speech from me?"

"Everyone in this room," Miroku immediately replied. "People want to know more about you. You saved their home, their way of life... They want to see their hero."

Inu-Yasha's grip on the bottle tightened, turning his knuckles white. But before he could respond, Sango approached the table once again. Seeing her, he clamped his mouth shut. While Miroku was calm and more open-minded, Sango was the stark opposite. She would never understand, he didn't feel like trying to convince her othewise.

"I take it the speeches haven't started yet?" she asked tersely, taking her seat next to Miroku.

"Not yet, my dear. They should be soon, though." Miroku smiled at her, but it was clearly a bit strained.

"Right." She glanced over at Inu-Yasha, who was polishing off yet another whiskey. "I thought you said you were going to handle this?" Her tone of voice sent a shiver down Miroku's spine.

"I was just trying-" He was interrupted by Inu-Yasha's furious snarl.

"Wha' th' hell're you sayin', Sango?! That I'm jus' a problem to be fixed?" He slammed his glass down, rattling the silverware. "You don' give two shits 'bout me! You jus' want some li'l puppet t' dance at yer ev'ry command!" His fangs were bared, and Miroku had to place a hand on his chest to keep him from lunging at Sango.

"Look at you, Inu-Yasha!" Hissing right back, Sango only kept her voice down to try and prevent the spectacle from getting worse. "You're stinking drunk in a room full of the city's most powerful policitians and businessmen! What the hell are you thinking? The Order needs these people to like us!"

"I don'-"

This time it was Inu-Yasha who was interrupted, but it was by the dimming of the lights. A spotlight snapped on, illuminating a podium that was set up onstage. The mayor was standing there, which meant the speeches were about to begin. Thus Inu-Yasha wisely chose to shut his mouth rather than continue the fight. He sent a murderous glare in Sango's direction, then snatched the whiskey bottle off the table before either of them could take it away. Sango was equally furious, but she simply faced the stage and kept her focus on the mayor. If she looked at the half-demon now, she would be unable to restrain herself.

Between them, Miroku nervously sat. He knew Sango was both upset and worried, and Inu-Yasha was hurting. The problem was that he was unable to resolve both issues at once. Frankly, he wouldn't be able to smooth any ruffled feathers while the speeches were going on. The room was too quiet for private conversation, and both he and Sango were slated to give a speech later on. All he could do was pray for the rest of the night to pass without incident, and then all bad blood could be addressed the next day. That wasn't too much to hope for... right?

OoOoOoO

Inu-Yasha started when thunderous applause suddenly washed over him. He had sunk into a very pleasant haze, and was relatively unaware of his surroundings. There had been some voices droning on in the background, but they were little more than a mild annoyance now. Even Sango's furious glare at him had faded away. When she had left the table to give her speech, her eyes had been boring into him like a hot iron. But now, he could hardly make out her blurry figure onstage, let alone any looks she shot his way.

Yes, he was quite happy with his choice to focus on his drink rather than the speeches. Squinting at the bottle on the table, he snorted in surprise upon realizing it was empty. When had that happened? Either way, it didn't matter. Its contents had wrapped him in a warm little cocoon, and he was more relaxed than he had been all day.

However, there was a slight problem. His throat was dry, but the bottle was empty. He frowned for a moment, but was distracted once again by applause. What the hell was going on that made everyone so noisy? It was damn annoying.

Ah. A weight in his jacket pocket reminded him that he had a solution to his problem. With a bit of difficulty, he tugged his flask out. This would do nicely. Fumbling with the cap, he at last put it to his lips and swallowed more of that precious liquid. This whiskey burned down his throat, a stark contrast to his five hundred dollar purchase from earlier. But it made no difference—the drink still served to dull his senses, and that was the only important thing.

Ugh. Clapping again? Ridiculous. Why was he even here? Miroku was being an idiot and Sango just wanted to yell at him. There was no point to his presence at this event. With a scowl, he took another swallow. He should have just stayed home. There was nothing left for him to do here, anyway.

"-INU-YASHA!"

His name, shouted into the microphone, was met with the loudest applause yet. He flinched, then hurriedly crammed the flask back in his coat pocket. It was not a moment too soon, as a spotlight swung over him.

Great. Now he was deaf and blind. What the hell was going on? Why was everyone cheering? His senses were starting to get overloaded from the barrage of light and sound.

"Come on up, Inu-Yasha. You deserve this moment in the spotlight!" More cheering and whistles met the mayor's proclamation.

Moment in the spotlight? No, no, he didn't want that. This spotlight was too hot. It was making him dizzy. Who the hell wanted that? So, frowning deeply, he shook his head to signal that he was just fine in his chair. Then he stopped. That had been a bad idea, as the dizziness had only worsened.

"Ah, it looks like he's feeling shy. Let's give him some more encouragement, folks!"

Shy? Hell no, he wasn't shy. He was closer to puking at the moment. But any protests he might have given were instantly overwhelmed by the volume of applause. Holy hell, weren't anyone's arms about to fall off yet?

Suddenly, his world spun as two pairs of hands gripped him under the arms and hefted him upright. "Whadda you doin...?" he slurred out as the room rushed past him much faster than he could follow.

"Your name has been called, sir." An unfamiliar voice piped up by his ear, speaking low to be heard above the clapping. "You are to receive your medal for saving the city. Now please, try to move your feet."

Medal? Oh god, no. He didn't want that. He couldn't quite remember why he was getting one, but he did recall that he didn't want it. However, he wasn't being given much choice. The loud cheers and rumbling applause were propelling him onto the stage. Whether he moved his feet or not, he was being carried up the steps and closer to the podium. Now he was starting to get really dizzy. His poor brain, sloshing around in a pool of whiskey, could not keep up.

At last, the hands supporting him set him down. Once his eyes stopped spinning, he was able to make out a couple of familiar faces before him. Miroku was staring at him with a look of barely concealed horror, while Sango was glaring at him with fire in her eyes. It was yet another reason why he would have preferred to stay in his seat back at the table.

"Inu-Yasha." The mayor's voice broke through his daze, and he wobbled around to face the man.

"Whadda you want?" he grunted, trying to get his tongue working again.

With a fixed smile, the mayor placed his hands firmly on Inu-Yasha's shoulders. Frankly, Inu-Yasha was glad for the stability—he couldn't topple over if he was being held in place.

"Inu-Yasha," the mayor hissed through clenched teeth. He was keeping his voice low to prevent the microphone from picking up the words. "What are you doing? You were supposed to give a speech!"

Rolling his eyes, Inu-Yasha patted the mayor's arm. "I don' give a damn 'bout a speech," he slurred. The words weren't angry, but more tired than anything. He was too hot and dizzy to bother getting upset. And when was someone going to dim those lights? They were beginning to swirl above him, and he was pretty certain that wasn't a good thing.

"Then just straighten up, for god's sake," the mayor snapped in response. "Pretend you don't hate being up here."

Inu-Yasha watched with mild amusement as the mayor returned to the podium. So he'd pissed off the mayor, had he? Well, that wasn't a surprise. He'd made many people angry tonight, what the hell was one more?

The mayor cleared his throat, and managed to keep the frustration out of his voice when he spoke. "For Inu-Yasha... You have saved us all. You risked your very life, and have destroyed a demon who threatened the future of the entire city. You were severely wounded, nearly sacrificing your life for us all. And here you are at last, standing before a grateful people."

Inu-Yasha snorted. What a load of hogwash. Kikyo's murder was completely glossed over, and the mayor also neglected to mention that he certainly hadn't been given much of a choice in the matter. Damn... that comforting haze from the alcohol was no longer quite so pleasant. His stomach was churning, guilt was digging into his chest like a knife, and those damn lights were so hot. Was this over yet?

The mayor solemnly approached him with a gold medal in his hands. Inu-Yasha's stomach lurched at the sight. Why was it that such a simple thing made him so angry?

"Inu-Yasha, for the sacrifices you have made... for the hardships you have endured... you deserve far more than this city can provide. But please accept this meager offering. I present to you the Hero of the Year award. This city will forever be in your debt."

As the mayor lifted the medal up by its red ribbon, Inu-Yasha squinted at it with extreme hatred. It hung so innocently in front of him, and yet he wanted nothing to do with it. He glared at it as the mayor raised it over his head. Damn, was his stomach not feeling good right now...

Things came to a head just as the heavy weight of the medal hit his chest. His stomach flip-flopped, air bubbled up, and soon a very potent belch rolled into the mayor's face. "Ungh... thass a li'l better."

The mayor didn't seem to agree. His discreetly coughed off to the side and wiped at his watering eyes. "Damn it, Inu-Yasha..." he groaned softly.

Once again, applause rumbled up to the stage, interrupting the mayor's sputters. This time, Inu-Yasha noticed people were beginning to stand as they clapped. That was good—did that mean they were getting ready to leave? He hoped so. He was ready for a cigarette and a nap. And to get out of this stupid tuxedo. How was anyone else standing this intense heat?

A chanting began in the back of the room and worked its way up, until the entire crowd had joined the cry. "Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech!"

The mayor turned toward the audience with a grim expression. There was no escaping this. Heaving a sigh, he gripped Inu-Yasha's elbow and half-dragged him over to the podium. "Keep it short," he hissed in Inu-Yasha's ear. "And for god's sake, don't curse!"

Stumbling a bit, Inu-Yasha gripped the sides of the podium with relief. It was nice to have something stable to hold onto. Strangely, all the noise in the room stopped the moment he touched the stand. Well, all the noise except the buzzing in his ears. His head was beginning to pound as well. Why were the lights even brighter over here? Ugh, this was so much worse...

He squinted out at the room, but between the overly bright lights and the fact that his vision was splitting in two, he couldn't make out anyone. Hell, why was he giving a speech if no one was there? That didn't make any sense.

Hm. Now there were little black spots appearing in his vision. And the ground was moving beneath him, threatening to tip him over. His grip on the podium grew tighter as he sagged against it. Boy, was he not feeling well... But he needed to stay something, apparently. If he said something, anything, he could go and lay down on a bed of ice. That might be enough to cool him off.

Groping for the microphone, it took him a couple of tries before he finally found it. What should he say? Ugh, those blasted lights were just awful. That's what he could say.

"Damn," he slurred, his voice exploding through the speaker system. "It's hot innere."

And that was that. It was time for a nap.

OoOoOoO

A slap to his head brought Inu-Yasha crashing back to consciousness. He groaned, sinking deeper in the pillows in an attempt to escape further punishment. His stomach was a mess, he was sticky with dried sweat, and a rat must have crawled in his mouth and died. Not to mention the throbbing of his head was making him desperate to return to sleep. Getting hit in the back of the head certainly hadn't helped things.

"Wake up, Inu-Yasha. Now."

He recognized the voice as Miroku's, but there was none of the warmth he was used to hearing in the man's tone. Clearly, whatever had gotten him in this condition had also pissed off his best friend.

"Lemme 'lone..." he grunted, burying his face in the pillows. They were surprisingly plush, signifying that this was not his own bed.

"Get up. I mean it."

The pillows were yanked out from under him, and he moaned at the movement. "Dammit, all right..." Pushing himself up on his elbows, he squinted blearily at Miroku. "What the hell's got yer panties in a bunch?!"

Glaring at him, Miroku moved over to the large windows along the wall and flung the curtains open. Afternoon sunlight lit up the room, making Inu-Yasha wince and shield his eyes. "Agh, that hurts..."

"Sir. Water and medicine for you."

Inu-Yasha nearly leapt out of his skin at the soft voice that come from his left. When had that butler gotten there? Hell, why was he in a house that had a butler?

"You're at the mayor's mansion," Miroku curtly explained in response to the half-demon's confusion.

"Th' mayor's mansion...?" Inu-Yasha took the water and waved the butler away. Human medicine didn't do much for him. The water, however, was a gift from above. He drained the entire glass in moments.

"Yes. Clearly, you have no memory of last night." Miroku looked grimly at him, crossing his arms. In response to Inu-Yasha's grunt of affirmation, he sighed and shook his head. "Where to start..."

Inu-Yasha raised an eyebrow. Just how badly had he messed up this time?

"I suppose you recall the fight between you and Sango. You were still sober then."

His lip curling in a snarl, Inu-Yasha nodded. However, he stopped that quite quickly. His head was liable to topple off his shoulders if he did that again.

"Indeed. Well, after that you had several drinks at the bar, then you downed an entire bottle of whiskey, and finished up with part of your flask. You had to be carried onstage by two waiters, you belched on the mayor when he gave you your medal, and when you got to the podium you shouted 'Damn, it's hot in here'." Miroku, not normally quick to anger, was staring at Inu-Yasha with such fury and disappointment that the half-demon quailed.

"You then passed out on the mayor's wife onstage. And your flask, which was still open in your jacket, spilled all over you and the mayor's wife. You were brought up here, where you threw up all over yourself twice. They had to put you in the mayor's pajamas since your tux was ruined."

Inu-Yasha glanced down and realized he was bare-chested, clad only in a pair of pajama pants that were a few inches too short and several inches too wide for him. "...Oh."

"Really? That's all you have to say for yourself?" Miroku's quiet anger was far worse than any tirade Sango had dealt him.

His cheeks flushing, Inu-Yasha snapped his gaze up to glare right back at Miroku. "What d'you want me to say?" he snarled defensively. "It's not like I didn't warn you that I couldn't handle that stupid day! I wasn't hiding a damn thing from you, you just refused to listen to me!"

Before Miroku could reply, a knock on the door interrupted him. "Miroku?" Sango's sharp voice came from behind the door. "Is he decent?"

"Yes," Miroku responded grimly, still frowning at Inu-Yasha.

The door swung open and both Sango and the mayor filed inside. Inu-Yasha bit back a growl—it was obvious that he was in deep trouble.

"Inu-Yasha." Sango was unknowingly mirroring Miroku's posture with her arms crossed over her chest. "I take it, from your expression, Miroku told you what happened." When Inu-Yasha shifted uneasily on the bed and look away, Sango shook her head. "Inu-Yasha... That kind of behavior... It's unacceptable. The Order has a reputation to uphold, and having our top agent acting in such a manner..." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "We expect more of you."

"Your actions have not only spat in the face of the Order's integrity, but you have done so on camera." The mayor spoke up, his hands clasped behind his back. "Tales of your drunken exploits are now being broadcast on every news channel across the city—it has even reached a few national news stations as well. It is making a laughingstock of your organization, which is the last thing the Order needs. If they are not feared by their enemies, then their fight to keep order becomes that much harder."

At that, Inu-Yasha moaned and covered his face with his hands. He had done foolish things in the past after imbibing too much. But never before had he ended up on the news. What was wrong with him? When did he lose control?

Miroku's voice broke into his thoughts. "You need help, Inu-Yasha. Serious help. This will not continue."

"We have already contacted a couple of therapists who have agreed to meet with your for a few sessions. And thanks to you finally crossing the line with this self-harming behavior... you have no choice. You have to attend."

Inu-Yasha's shoulders tensed, though he didn't look up from his hands. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place now. Mostly, he was angry. He did not appreciate having his problems ignored, and he certainly did not like being forced into anything. But still...

Deep down, he knew he didn't have a leg to stand on. He was hurting the Order. His life was spiraling downward, and he was doing nothing to stop it. The Inu-Yasha from a coupe years ago would have looked at his current self with derision and loathing. He was weak. He was hurt.

And he didn't want any help.

But under the combined glare of Miroku, Sango, and the mayor, what choice did he have? The Order was his only semblance of a life. If he didn't agree to their terms, there was a very real chance he would be kicked out. And if he didn't have the Order... well, he hated to think of how far he would sink then.

So, with a sullen growl, he glared at his bosses. "Fine. You just tell me when and where I need to be. Your little puppet is ready to dance."

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There we have it. The events of the second annual Peace Day Gala, in their entirety. And the start of Inu-Yasha's many failed therapy sessions. It certainly doesn't set anyone up for success when they are forced into getting help...

If you have a yen to see another scene written out from Guilty Hero's history, feel free to let me know.

Thank you all for reading, and please leave a review! Take care in this crazy world. We're getting closer to the end of 2020...