A/n: Don't write at 3:30am. This happens.

Falling to her knees, Sakura buried her head in her hands. Another night. He was only supposed to be gone a week. And now her little boy was gone. Tears flowed freely. Toya had moved in to try hold her together, because Syaoran (though he didn't say it) was just as broken, he rubbed her back gently.
"He'll come home." He promised her.
"He's only seven… what if…" She tapered off, returning to her tears. Syaoran only watched from his chair. She was too distraught to focus. But he could feel it. His son's energy. Something about it was strong, he was in danger. Right now. Far away. And he could do nothing.

Without a word he stood up and went to the kitchen, pouring the millionth cup of coffee for the night. He rarely even drank the stuff.
"She's a wreck without him." Kero said jumping out from behind the coffee pot. Syaoran didn't even give him the satisfaction of jumping.
"Of course she is." He said simply. "Can you still feel his energy?"
"Yeah… yeah he's… changing." Kero whispered softly. "It's like… he's becoming an entirely new life force."
"I feel it too… Sakura's too wrought with worry to know. So maybe for now we'll keep it quiet and just hope…" Syaoran bowed his head, ashamed to say 'and hope he comes back safely' knowing there was every chance he may not. Kero nodded.

She sat there, feeling numb. The boy knew nothing. As far as he and the rest of the world knew, he'd always lived here, he'd always been with Sakura and Syaoran as mother and father, he'd grown up here. Sakura knew better. That boy, whoever he was, was not her son. Even if her brother thought so, even if the boy himself thought so.

Syaoran, being of powerful magic himself, also knew. But had taken to it rather well. He'd accepted this boy, or some part of him, was their missing child, Sakura could only see them as different people. He was beautiful, with ebony black hair, and vibrant blue eyes just like Clow's, pale skin and perfect pearly white teeth. But he was not her little boy.

"Sakura…" Syaoran said softly. "You can't stay there forever." He allowed his amber eyes to meet with hers. "I know you're upset but…"
"I am upset." Sakura whispered. "He's out there… dead for all we know… and you're playing chef with a strange child." Her eyes lacked the same spark. Syaoran sighed, and returned to the young dark haired boy, who sure enough was pouring over a cookbook. A cookbook that had once belonged to their son. Sakura's eyes teared up again and she sobbed, alarming both her husband and the boy who believed he was her son.
"Okaa-san, please stop crying." Begged the child.
"Don't… call me that." She hissed. Then, reprimanded herself for speaking to a child in such a manner. Surely somewhere this boy had a real mother? Was she pining for him just as she pined for her own child? Syaoran grabbed his coat.
"Otou-san!" The boy squeaked, apparently worried. "Where are you going?"
"She's sick… she needs a doctor."
"I'm not sick! And I'm not crazy!" Sakura snapped, feeling her heart wrench, how could her husband, the father of her baby how could he turn his back on her, him, now! "That thing is not my little boy." She choked, and buried her head back in her hands.

Sakura didn't know whether he was a human child, a demon... a clow card even? This entity, whatever it was, she didn't give birth to it. She didn't hate it... she feared it. She didn't love it. She felt nothing for it.

Syaoran hurt for her. It hurt to know he was still out there, in danger? But they could do nothing. And this young boy, this tiny thing, was somehow connected to their son, the energy was the same… almost the same life force. They were the same and not the same. Sakura, overwhelmed with loss, could not see that. She could not sense it.
"Do you want to come with me?" He asked the boy, very hesitantly he shook his head.
"I want to stay here, and look after 'kaa-san." He said. Syaoran smiled, he nodded and bent down, kissing the boy's forehead.
"You protect her while I'm out okay." And with that he left, knowing the boy was capable of taking care of himself. Sakura really was depressed. She'd not brushed her hair in days, nor bothered to change her clothes, she barely ate, and when she spoke it was hysterics or tears. But Syaoran had to keep faith that his son would return, in the same form as he'd left. Until then he vowed to protect the young boy left in their care. Even if that meant shielding him from Sakura.

Careful to balance, the young boy brought through a steaming mug.
"Here okaa-san, you used to make this for me… when I got sick." He said kindly handing her the warm honey milk. Sakura gasped. She remembered that. Whenever her baby had a cold…
"I didn't." She whispered. "Not for you… but thank you." He nodded and like a small child he helped her grasp the cup and take a sip, tending to her as though she had the flu or something simpler than a broken heart. "What are you?" She whispered.
"I am Kimihiro."
"Don't use his name!" Sakura choked. "You can't be him! You're not you're not!" She dropped her cup, spilling the warm drink all over her clothes. Kimihiro stood, wiping his eyes. It hurt him when she got like this, he remembered times when they were happy. What had he done to make her hate him?
"Okaa-san… you're wet… I'm going to get a cloth." He told her, disappearing into the kitchen.

When he came back he'd found she'd moved, and followed her up to where he knew she'd be. His bedroom. She fingered an old photograph of the three of them.
"This isn't you. It wasn't you." She told him.
"Okay…" Kimihiro spoke kindly, and proceeded to dab at her skirt with the cloth. He didn't mind taking care of her, because he loved her, even when she sometimes made it hard for him to love her, he always tried. She stared down at him.
"What are you?" She repeated softly, in a much gentler tone. Again he replied.
"I am Kimihiro."
"Not who… what?" She asked, and her hand gently brushed his face, bringing him up to look at her. "A ghost?"
"I'm alive, okaa-san." He said simply.
"Then you're a demon?"
"No, okaa-san." He spoke as quietly as he could. She said such strange things sometimes. Dropping the cloth he wrapped his arms around her middle, hugging her as close as he could. "I am Kimihiro." He told her reassuringly. She sighed, knowing there was no reasoning with the child.

She felt lost. This little boy adored her. She had to assume he was human, even if her senses were out of whack. So where were his parents? Where was her little boy?
"Okaa-san, would you like me to make you another drink?" Sakura didn't respond, and sighing softly, Kimihiro left the room, to make her another drink. He had no choice but to believe his father, when he said she was sick… but sometimes he almost felt as though he truly wasn't her son. That maybe she was on to something. Maybe she wasn't as crazy as she sounded. He wiped his eyes to stop himself crying.

Sakura sat on her son's bed, cuddling the stuffed bears she and Syaoran had made for each other years ago, that they had passed down to their little one on the day he was born. She yearned for his sweet amber eyes, his chestnut coloured hair, his laugh that sounded like heaven's angels had let loose. His voice.
"Okaa-san." Kimihiro said, as he came up the stairs. "We're out of runny honey so I used set is that…" There was a sudden loud CRASH, and several thumps.

In a zombie like state, Sakura walked from the room, peering down the stairs. He lay in a heap at the bottom. And there was blood.
Syaoran would think she pushed him.
He'd think she meant to do it. She hadn't even been there.
Or had she?

Sakura felt her head start to spin as she came down the stairs. Nothing was real anymore. Sobbing silently, Kimihiro sat up. The cup in his hand had shattered splintering glass into his palm, scarlet stains spilling onto the white carpet. Sakura stared at him. She was torn. She wanted to help him. But at the same time she was frightened of him. He sniffled and slowly got to his feet, shaking a little.
"I'll clean it up." He promised, turning on his heel. Sakura bit her lip.
"Kimihiro…" She whispered. He jumped, and looked at her. "Let's… I mean… we should… that cut." She pointed to his hand.
"I can do it myself." He told her, smiling through his tears, so happy to be called by his name. She smiled back, however weakly, and he shot off to take care of his wound.

Sakura dared to peep at him, so independent as he set to work with his hand.
"Did… your mother never do that for you?" She asked him. He looked at her for a moment as though she was mad.
"You always tend to my injuries, okaa-san, but you're sick."
"You're so… utterly completely convinced that I'm your mother," She stepped into the kitchen, approaching him, she sat down in front of him. "But I know you're not my son." She leaned over, and started helping him wrap the bandage.
"Okay… just say for one moment that… you're right. That the rest of the world is wrong and you're right." There was a slight fear in his voice "That somehow I'm not your son…" He looked her in the eye. "Can I be… until yours comes home?" He asked hopefully.
"You're not him." She whispered, raising his hand and kissing it. "But you're someone's son…" She started considering karma. If she treated him like her own son, maybe whoever had hers would treat him kindly too? "I'll look after you." She promised. "Until we can get you home."
"You don't have to look after me, okaa-san." He spoke kindly. "Just love me like I love you… and in the mean time, take care of yourself." He reached up and sadly toyed with locks of her hair, which lay in tangles.

"You're so much brighter today." Syaoran said to her. She nodded slowly.
"I can't pretend I'm not still hurt… my little boy's out there somewhere, and as long as I live I have to live with the knowledge I may never see him again but…"
"Sakura… do me a favour." Syaoran said, kissing her cheek. "Before you tell Kimihiro again that he's 'not our son'… look at him. And I mean really look at him." Sakura thought this was a strange request, but nodded, she got up, tiptoeing across the hallway.
"Kimihiro?" He looked up, seeing her enter his room. She was in her pink pyjamas, and her hair was neatly brushed.
"Good morning." He said with a smile so proud that she was back to the way he remembered her. She sat beside him, staring at him intently.

Whoever this boy was, and he was somebody's son, she knew his smile.

A/n: Reviews are love