It was a late Sunday evening, and he could hear the crowds singing distantly. The sky was blood-red and warm-orange, and the air was just beginning to cool down and get traces of moisture--it'd rain later that night. It was sticky, and smelled like booze, and tasted like a lightning storm. Jecht lit his cigarette and looked down at the bouncy little brown-haired thing next to him. "Don't you wander off," he said sternly, seeing Tidus's attention drawn towards the bars littered along the street. "You do and Daddy's gonna kick your sorry little ass when he finds you."

Tidus smiled brightly up at him. He was two years old; the words didn't have so much meaning for him right now. All that mattered was the tone, and Jecht was careful never to take a harsh tone with his kid. These were the growing years, after all. He took his cigarette out of his mouth and exhaled lightly. "Mom sure is pissed tonight, huh?" he said conversationally. This, Tidus understood; he'd heard it often enough, after all. He nodded, blue eyes bright in the darkness. Jecht sighed and reached to take him by the hand. "C'mon. We gotta hurry or else it's gonna be too dark to see when we get there."

The docks were deserted tonight, littered with stray broken bottles that the sailors had dumped off in their eagerness to get home. Not trusting him to navigate well enough to protect his feet, Jecht took Tidus in his arms (damn, but he was so small for a kid his age) and jogged the rest of the way to the beach, where it was shallow for a long, long time before getting deep. He set down Tidus and let him run for a while, let him experience the thrills of an empty beach for himself. Jecht sat down at the water's edge and discarded his cigarette. Cold water lapped at his feet and thighs, darkening the very edge of his shorts.

After a while Tidus came back to him, sitting down in his lap like a chair. His face was flushed with exertion. He babbled on about kid things, the sand, the gulls that were eating dinner, the treasures of little stones in the water. He opened his palm and showed Jecht a few. They were soft, smooth, round little rocks. Tidus dumped them in Jecht's pockets, said something about showing Mama. Jecht sighed.

"I'll marry her soon," he whispered to Tidus. "She doesn't think I will, but she's wrong. I'm just---well, I got cold feet. You ever get those, kid?"

Solemnly, Tidus lifted up his feet and showed them to Jecht. They were dark and grimy, and probably were cold. Jecht quirked a smile and patted them. "I know you got to have a father," he continued quietly. "I know I'm not around that often... I mean, I don't see why I gotta slap some legal term on what I have with you and your mom, but you know, if that's what she wants, I'll do it. All I did was knock her up. She does everything else." He sighed, the thought hanging like a heavy black rock in his mind. He was a bad father. And right now Tidus didn't care, because that's the way real little kids were, but someday he would. Someday, he'd look back on his life and say, "Why'd that old bastard even bother? He was a fucking lousy father."

He looked at Tidus, and he could see himself. See himself in the curve of Tidus's jaw, longer and sharper than Milyna's, in the shape of his brow, how it was high like Jecht's; in the way his big toes were shorter than his middle toes, even. Stuff like that, that made him Tidus's biological father. But like he'd said, knocking Mil up didn't make him Tidus's dad. It just made him the fucking sperm donor.

Oh, for God's sake, Jecht, just say it. Say what you took him out here to say.

"Sorry I missed your birthday, kid." He winced as he did so. It sounded terrible. It wasn't like it made everything better, after all. It didn't make him any better a parent or a person. How could he miss his own son's birthday?

Tidus looked back at him and raised his eyebrows, a funny little grown-up thing he did every now and then. "It's okay," he said, lisping slightly. He patted Jecht's arm, as if he were the adult, Jecht the kid.

Tidus was going to hate him, someday. So why even try? Which was better, the miserable fucker who beat his wife shitless, or the miserable fucker who bit his wife shitless, then apologized for it and thought that that made everything all cool again? Really, he shouldn't even bother.

Then Tidus leaned forward on his palms, shaking unsteadily, and pressed a kiss to the side of Jecht's mouth. And he was off and running again, shouting at a flock of birds who had come to rest on the beach, his arms waving like little gold flags in the air. Jecht stared after him.

That was why. Because he just couldn't help himself. He loved his son. He was a lousy dad, but he did love his son. A lot more than he loved himself, sometimes. Most of the time.

That was the how the human race kept surviving, he supposed. Sex was great, sex was wonderful; but the thing that came from it, that little part of you that looked like you and spoke like you but wasn't you at all, that was the really wonderful thing. He might be a miserable father, and Milyna's new little Fling was probably better. But Jecht was willing to bet his salary that he would never choose Tidus over himself. He would never look at that wonderful little dark-haired, bright-eyed thing running on the beach and just be totally, absolutely willing to give his life for him.

That was being a parent. That was what Jecht, who had grown up parentless and raised by distant relatives, had never known. So he could take it if Tidus hated him, someday. Because he knew, after all. There were parents who were good parents, really, but had never had an affectionate thought about their child in their entire lives. And then there were parents like Jecht, who might be lousy, but who sure as hell loved their kids. Didn't matter which one was better, because he couldn't be that other parent. He couldn't live like that. And, really, he didn't think Tidus could, either.

Tidus fell asleep in his arms about an hour later, when the sky was pitch-black and the waves were glittering with diamonds; a warm weight in his arms, a scent of floral shampoo in his nose. Jecht got to his feet carefully and tried not to jar Tidus as he walked back home. It started raining half-way through; cold rain, soaking through his shorts and turning his hair into a wet, dripping mess. He stripped off his tee-shirt and wrapped it around Tidus, and tried to shield him with his arms. Tidus didn't stir once.

Milyna was asleep when he got back, sprawled out on the couch with her mouth hanging open. She'd gone out on a date with The Boyfriend earlier, which was how Jecht had gotten Tidus all to himself; he figured that this was her way of telling him she wanted to Get Married, Right Now. There was a note lying out on the table: Jecht, call me if you take Tidus back to your place. I leave for work at 3 a.m. If you can, I need you to babysit.

Jecht smoothed aside the blankets on Tidus's futon with his foot and laid his son down on the little pallet. He thought of how empty his flat would be, no kid, no girlfriend. He arranged himself next to Tidus, curled one arm around his little body. After a few minutes, Tidus turned over and wrapped both his arms around Jecht.

He fell asleep quickly, an engagement ring in his pocket, and his son in his arms.

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