Title: Living Legacy

Characters: Cloud, Denzel

Rating: G

Status: One-shot

Genre: Drama, (Some) Humour

Summary: "You'll be my living legacy," Zack had once said. Now it's time for Cloud to pass the legacy on.

Author's Note: This takes place approximately four or five years post-Advent's Children. It was also supposed to only be a paragraph or two. (I'm apparently incapable of writing drabbles.)

It had been a while since Cloud last visited Zack's grave, and the current bite of the winter air and the endless fields of white contrasted so strongly with the boiling heat of the summer and the pastel beige and yellow of the Wastes' stone that it was jarring.

Back then he had brought a few of Aeris' flowers with him, planting them. It had been Tifa's suggestion actually, one she'd been rather hesitant to make, having barely known Zack and worried that the flowers would shrivel and die in the barren earth. But Cloud had liked it and while he could see no evidence of the flowers now, and he liked to think they were just sleeping under the snow, waiting.

There was also one other major difference.

"Is that's his sword?" Denzel whispered.

He didn't bother to wait for an answer and as they pulled up on Fenrir, the boy now a teenager, practically flew off the bike, running over to where the Buster Sword has driven into the ground. A few years ago, Denzel would've probably jumped on it, but Cloud had been teaching him swordsmanship including a very healthy respect for weapons. So instead of touching it, Denzel's hands stopped a few feet away, hovering there as if they were basking in the sword's very aura.

"Is it true that he cut a Leviathan in half with it?" Denzel asked.

"No actually."

"But you said…"

"According to Zack his sword got stuck part-way through, so he cut it into thirds instead." It had almost certainly a tall tale on Zack's part. If it was true, Zack wouldn't have had to worry about ShinRa, he would have had the entire nation of Wutai out for his blood. But who knows? Stranger things have happened in his own experience.

Cloud strode forward and smoothly pulled the Buster Sword free and in a practiced motion spun it through the air, letting dirt and snow fall from the blade while Denzel watched with wonder. It was nice to see Denzel so enthusiastic. The boy had had a harder life than anyone should. Losing his parents in Sector Seven, Meteor, geostigma, the Remnants. Somehow he'd come out the other end more or less in tact. It was something Cloud was proud of him for.

"You know this is where it happened. Where Zack died. I don't remember much of it, but I know he must've fought hundreds of them to try to keep to me safe. Somehow he succeeded and when he was done. When he couldn't fight anymore, he gave all that he had left to me—his hopes and dreams, they were all passed on," Cloud said, his voice soft. He had chosen his words carefully, planned for this day, and now he offered the hilt of the Buster Sword to the Denzel.

The boy stared at it, his blue eyes widening until seemed they were are on the verge of swallowing up his face.

Then he violently shoved the sword away as if it were made of poison.

"You're going away again—aren't you?" Denzel said. "You said you'd never do that again. Never."

"Denzel, I didn't want to hurt—"

"You promised!"

"It's not what—"

"If you do I'll-I'll…" Denzel stuttered as he frantically looked for a suitable response. He apparently found one and after squaring his body and sucking in a big breath, he made his ultimatum. "I'll tell Tifa."

Despite the fact he was standing under the teenager's fierce scrutiny, Cloud felt the corner of his mouth tug upwards. Of all the monsters, evil executives and cosmic horrors that Denzel could threaten to throw his way, apparently telling Tifa trumped them all.

This amusement was quickly cut short when he realised that Denzel had snatched his PHS and he hastily grabbed the teenager's arm. "Wait a minute," he said as Denzel glared defiantly at him, his finger looming ominously over the speed-dial for Seventh Heaven.

Okay, so maybe telling Tifa was an effective threat. She would be delighted.

Denzel eyed him suspiciously, and seemingly finding no immediate danger, relaxed a miniscule. "Well?" he said.

Cloud released him and relaxed. "I didn't mean it like that. Look I… we… Zack and I, we never really had a chance. We were only really starting to be become friends. Well, we were friends, but we were just starting to get close and then, everything happened, Sephiroth going mad, Nibelheim burning, Hojo grabbing us and then the escape. All of it happened and one after another," he said. "And at the end of it Zack had to deal with it and I was usele…" He stopped at the word 'useless', forcing it from his tongue, and pressed the cool metal of the Buster Sword against his forehead while letting his gaze trail up its cracked surface. Bruised. Battered. Never broken. Never. "…I wasn't able to help. Then before he died he gave me his sword, his legacy. He passed it on to me and it seemed so enormous. Incredibly so. I thought there was no way I was equal to it… Does that make any sense?"

"A bit," Denzel answered cautiously.

Cloud gave him a slow easy smile. "But you have to understand, Denzel, it took time, but eventually I learned that it didn't have to be that way. It didn't have to weigh me down. It could help. Keep me strong when nothing else would… I think, if he had the chance, Zack would have shown me."

He offered the hilt to Denzel a second time. "If you want it, I'd like to show you."

Denzel stared at it, little lines worming there way into skin of his face. "You're really not going anywhere?"

"Not if I have anything to say about it."

Denzel took the Buster Sword, sagging for a moment under its weight before the sheer delight from before returned, sweeping through him and swelling his limbs with strength. He forced himself upward, parting his legs and raising his sword, pushing his body into a starting stance. Then carefully treating the sword as if it was made of glass, slowly did a few practice swipes, feeling how the still sharp blade cut effortlessly through the air.

Denzel stopped in mid-swing and looked in askance to Cloud. "Do you think he'd mind?"

"Not in the slightest." And it was true. As for a grave marker, well… half-buried, he could make out tiny sprig of green pushing its way out from under the snow. Just like you, Zack. Always bringing brightness wherever you go. Why should the wastelands of Midgar be any different?

He leaned forward and despite Denzel's protests, ruffled the boy's hair.

"Come on, Denzel," he said, "let's go home."

"Can I drive?"

"No."

"I'm almost fourteen. There are ten-year olds who are allowed to drive tractors and stuff in the Plains. I'll go really slow and everything."

"No."

"But Cloud!"

"Give it time." Cloud watched as the boy's features were torn between thrill as he stowed away the Buster Sword into one of the motorcycle's various compartments and melodramatic disappointment at the fact he wasn't going to be able to drive said motorcycle. It left something strong and warm inside Cloud's chest.

They did have time. Maybe one day Denzel would carry on alone. But with any luck, that would be many years from now.

Until then, they'd live Zack's legacy together.