A/N: Just read volume 23… and now I need to finish this. Because Furuba is done, and I should be too. I loved it. So much.

The premise behind this one is a bit weird. Uh, sorry.


"A baby boy," she whispers, unbelieving. To see her daughter lying in a hospital bed—slightly pudgier than she remembers, her hair tied back in a messy bun, her eyes exhausted—reminds Kyoko of her own time in that hospital, with Katsuya at her side and squeezing her hand.

"That's him?" asks a gruff voice beside her ear. She jumps and looks over at him. Katsuya's eyes are narrowed at Kyo; the man Tohru fell in love, the man who fell in love with Tohru. Kyoko rolls her eyes and hits his shoulder lightly.

"He's a good kid. I used to chat with him when he was little. Would you believe it?" She lets a sad smirk tug at her lips. "Some things just aren't a coincidence…"

They're silent, surveying the quiet hospital room without speaking. Earlier that day hordes of people had come in and out, in and out, bringing gifts and flowers and cooing over the baby. Now that it is two o'clock in the morning it's just Tohru and Kyo; the baby is in the nursery.

"So we're grandparents," Katsuya whispers, and Kyoko feels his hand brushing her short hair back gently.

"We would be grandparents," Kyoko reminds him with a hint of despair. She is supposed to be accustomed to the thought by now, that her daughter is living a life without her, that she is having experiences and meeting people she can never tell Kyoko about. That train of thought makes her heartache, and she always tries to push it aside and just be happy for Tohru, like Katsuya seems to be able to.

"We should be getting back," he says again, softly, and Kyoko knows he's right. Earth is no place for them. Not anymore.

"I just don't want to leave her," she whispers, feeling tears falling. "It's not fair." She steps closer to her daughter, but then hesitates, afraid. Even if Tohru wakes, she will not see her. That scares her more than anything.

"Kyoko." Katsuya's hand holds hers suddenly, fingers intertwined. "She'll be fine. She's our daughter, after all." The smirk on his face is enough to make Kyoko let out a choked laugh. She glances at her daughter, at the boy—no, man—Kyo.

"I'm so glad she's happy." Kyoko rubs at her eyes furiously with her free hand. "So glad she's safe. I'm so glad." These words are all uttered in between repressed hiccups and quiet sobs.

Katsuya reminds her once more they must leave, and finally Kyoko leans down and kisses her daughter, now a mother about to embark on a whole other journey on the cheek; brushes her hair back from her pale face. "We love you," she whispers.

Tohru wakes up abruptly. Sees nothing but Kyo dozing in the chair in the corner. She feels an ache in her heart, doesn't think that's normal. She drifts back off to sleep, and later that morning when she wakes up to find Kyo holding their baby son in his arms, she doesn't even remember the feeling.